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.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Orpheus listens as Endymion explains the regular phases of the moon while his children play chase on the river shore.
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