Floating In Green Light © Surazeus 2024 10 02 Flame of light flickering on the candle wick could stand in for the spirit of your being, so when you become electricity, glowing brighter than the moon at midnight, I call your name in darkness of the world so we can find each other by the tree. I place gold apple on the windowsill I hope will gleam as beacon in the gloom to guide your journey home back to our hearth across the misty waste land of false hopes since you have gone to help the empire grow, once founded by Alfred in the wild snow. The lonely jaggedness of ocean cliffs contrives to comfort my unbroken heart with cold indifference of relentless wind that wants to tell me why I am alive though I stand on graves of ancestral bones with skull of my father who stares at me. Each memory I weed from dry garden soil exudes foul scent of sorrow to my heart, so I wipe tears of anger from smeared cheeks while carving your face on the pumpkin mask so you can smile at me with glowing light when I light candle of your soul, and cry. Yet evening rain of silver flashing eyes sweeps over golden hills of restless hope with slow explosive prayer for sudden truth to drench the wastrel ocean of my heart with laughing shadow of the yet-born soul who wants to incarnate Arthur for this world. The yellow-breasted chaffinch in the hazel explains with honest song of travesty the burlesque nature of the serious man who preaches salvation of the Glow Cloud that hovers over me with cherub wings, poor imitation of the faceless king. If I could sail across the frenzied sea to build new Eden in the Promised Land, I would escape the labyrinth of stone halls where statues of dead gods watch over me, ruthless with their gentle authority when blood of my eyes smears their Holy Book. Attempting to spread wings I do not have, with eager faith in goodness of their hearts, I dream I fly from stone kirk by the sea to find your ghost in swirl of ocean waves where I dive deep to where all life began to find your body floating in green light.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Orpheus brings news to Sorcha in Linlithgow that her husband drowned sailing to America.
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