Who Still Haunts My Life © Surazeus 2024 09 01 Soft grass that whispers by the signless road contains no wisdom I would need to know, yet when I see its green glow in sunlight I feel strange timeless ache of wordless hope that I might find the person I love most who still haunts my life as the faceless ghost. Parking my car on margin of the road, I stand in knee-high tufts of weeds and shrubs that rustle from gusts of quick-passing cars, astonished I have nowhere else to go now that the person I love most has died, who still haunts my life wherever I hide. The western tanager with scarlet head, and breast gold as hills in afternoon glow, explains to me the secret of true love is never wanting others to love me, so I whisper name of the lonely soul who still haunts my life as their fateful role. When I speak their name with breath of my heart their soul transforms into the butterfly that wafts over meadow flowers of faith and ignores busy rush of human games competing to earn more love than the one who still haunts my life in the silent sun. Lingering by the road, I laugh to recall poster of star dove on library hall that says, if you love someone set them free, for they will return to live by our side if they choose that fate with an eager heart, who still haunts my life though we are apart. I walk back to my car parked in the grass, thinking about how cars are time machines because they take us to our future dream faster than if we walk on hungry legs, yet I will not find my love when I go, who still haunts my life as indifferent snow. Driving highway that winds through tangled woods, hedged around Eden that kept Satan out, I grin that world view of my hopeful mind, which I constructed from sweet memories, disintegrates in sunlight of their eyes who still haunts my life in conceptual guise. She is no Pandora with guileless smile who gives me box of secrets from her heart, so I play lyre of Mercury and sing spells of compassion Orpheus taught me to call from Hell sweet woman I adore who still haunts my life in the empty door.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Sunday, September 1, 2024
Who Still Haunts My Life
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Orpheus weeps by the side of the road after failed to save Ophelia from drowning in the river.
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