Call Me Endymion

Call Me Endymion
© Surazeus
2024 10 17

The thing of beauty eternally real 
projects aggressive joy of lonely hope 
at quiet breathing of the forest brake 
where I shelter under overturned boat 
from gloom shadows of unhealthy mists 
dispersed by light of the indifferent sun. 

Though loveliness of beauty inside things, 
my eyes perceive as shifting blurs of light, 
increases intense joy of breathless fear 
vast as the boundless sky I cannot touch, 
I shiver in stark dizziness of faith 
that Death will not notice me, and pass by. 

Trees sprouting shady boon over lush hills, 
that teem with spiders, mice, insects, and snakes, 
regard my fragile state of mind with grin 
of mocking honesty that pricks my heart 
with fierce determination to explore 
beyond blurred hedge of the rustling bush. 

Yet under cool soil where I press my hands 
deep thunderous heartbeat of the rolling world 
rumbles with monstrous voice of piercing light 
spoken slow by the faceless dead who haunt 
dreams of my memories with silent glow 
that flickers in my eyes from wings of crows. 

Emerging from shade of overturned boat, 
bare feet squishing in muck of wriggling worms, 
I step cautiously toward tangled grape vines 
where startled crows fly off with stolen fruit, 
then crouch with silent hope that I am safe, 
till I turn to see white face of the moon. 

Gazing entranced by beauty of her soul, 
I study motions of the shining moon 
each day and night above tree canopies, 
noting how she always rises from hills, 
travels across the sky of clouds or stars, 
then dips into deep gloom of the green sea. 

Floating in sweet dream of beautiful joy, 
I wake to find young woman with eyes gray 
as the new moon kissing me with delight, 
so we embrace and share pleasure of love 
to generate new life from timeless breath, 
then lounge with Selene in gold moonlight. 

Hearing my love call me Endymion, 
I wake each dawn in arms of my moon girl 
who laughs, and twirls so her long shining hair 
swirls in undulating waves of holy breath, 
then we gather berries from dew-wet fields, 
for she is beauty of the moon made real.