Goldfinch Of Nostalgia © Surazeus 2025 03 02 When the goldfinch of nostalgia steals his name with busy awkwardness of splashless rain, he pours himself tall glass of Merlot wine to regulate excessive flash of time. Her eyes pretend to conjure spring from death, dispersing seeds when bells unwind the clock. Bright green flows the river, and sand gleams gold, so Tracy dances in long gown of lace to feel how urgent waves of untime fold in tangled solitude of psychic space. Bare limbs of the special sun-woven tree lean gracefully over the finite sea. She summons him with tragic voice of hope broadcast over the radio at midnight, concerned about death of the lonely pope who fries fish for her meal with second sight. Weird blueness of the alligator lake sparks her most ancient ancestor awake. Moonlight fills her bedroom with ghost of words who gives her cup of secret honey juice, so she drinks sorrow of eccentric birds till he drives her back home to Andaluz. Iberian chiffchaff flutters sun-gold wings deep in the Pyrenees where Triton sings. Since he leaves home to wander mountain vales on endless quest to find the Demon Book, his trail unfolds in spell of fairy tales which alters spiral of the warm chinook. Still Justice searches landscape of her heart to find secret cave of Truth on the chart. Forgetting why she walks the country road toward blazing sunset of eternity, she asks voiceless God if he is the toad who never comes back from modernity. He asks her name when they meet by the pool, so she gives him newly-invented tool. Progressive growth of social values proves fair justice and truth will always prevail despite how slowly Jupiter approves project to measure their hearts on love scale. While he surveils the world of broken hearts, she puts baskets of fruit in market carts. Now she will never go to Innisfree to bury her sister in fertile soil so her rotten corpse may feed the pear tree with painful love they earn from bitter toil. Between two realms they remember how breath exhibits sacred spirit of the rock.
Sunday, March 2, 2025
Goldfinch Of Nostalgia
Plagiarize Your Dreams
Plagiarize Your Dreams © Surazeus 2025 03 02 He cannot help but plagiarize your dreams with serpentine grace of the alphabet that leaves corpses of truth in icy streams seeking resurrection from Baphomet who plays violin on the hill of skulls to avoid judgment of the prancing bulls. While Janice knits pink sweater for the ghoul Robert puts vinyl record on the player so they can rage against machine of school which trains Accountant to be Demon-Slayer since the Devil wants to eat apple pie and gaze at sunset blazing in the sky. If I should measure out play of my life with anniversaries of dire events while writing self-help book to manage strife, then I should vote for honest presidents who treat our global allies with respect each time arrogant thieves try to defect. He pilfers tropes from dreams that you forget so he can sneer at Hamlet and his seems while nursing bitter wounds of fake regret for angels left to die in cruel moonbeams since ballet dancers express human form with elegant grace far beyond the norm. Barely surviving in forest of noise, he steals eggs from nests of traitorous birds which breaks his brain in mirror of mute poise, paralyzed by hope to manage goat herds, while pretending everyone is his friend so he can ride the blue snake to the end. Brain brimming with spiders of diamond shards, he kneels and asks the girl with bleeding eyes if she will let him join the castle guards, but she prefers he join the palace spies so she can drink wine on the river shore while her old mother becomes the locked door. Deciding to marry the anarchist, she plagiarizes dreams found in the trash, then participates in the Eucharist, eager to eat his body burned to ash despite assurances from the fake king that she will receive new angelic wing. He plagiarizes dreams you throw away with mocking laughter of the tangerine because you do not know just what to say when he sells you to son of Melusine, so if you acknowledge Glycon as God he will save you from the telephone fraud.
Worth Pondered Words
Worth Pondered Words © Surazeus 2025 03 02 The stars inside cells of our bodies buzz with supernatural energy of light, so I follow song of the mountain stream, groping my way into shadowy glare, because I believe I will understand the story the water wants to tell me. Over the Bridge of Hunger without wheels I drive past houses, churches, schools, and stores where thousands of nameless people may dwell, though I never see more than shadows of faith glow behind torn curtains of privacy to make masks they wear in pageant of life. Since the stars are indifferent to my life, I strut around like I own this whole globe, but so does every other man and beast who growl at me if I invade their space, so I am grateful for the twinkling stars that still shine though the stars themselves are gone. Sublime beauty of the blank starless sky would make my heart ache with sorrow of loss despite substantial lack of unity inadequate to bind our hearts as one, so I reach out my invisible hand to touch tangible remoteness of time. Potential meaning of existing things reveals that my perception of their forms relies on language first mother designed to help precisely define what exists, how all things move from assertion of will, and what qualities are worth pondered words. Though the dreamer who loves horses attempts to prove that the importance of elsewhere relies on loneliness our bodies feel based on strangeness of our essential being, I perform customs of society to underwrite existence of the mind. Since I never beweep my outcast state, nor trouble Heaven that does not exist with cries of victimhood from lack of gain, I disdain disgrace fortune casts at me, and treasure art I create with my heart because I am king only of my mind. Time causes all things to disintegrate, and hope creates things from atoms of light, so I savor beauty of teeming Earth blooming richly with plants and animals which all share genes our first mother creates to mold bodies for temporary souls.
Saturday, March 1, 2025
Flood Of Divine Truth
Flood Of Divine Truth © Surazeus 2025 03 01 Sleepless in cluttered room of memories, I lose interest in conundrums of faith devised by weak abusive control-freaks to keep me dependent on their false creeds, so I throw their books up into the air where they turn into crows with bloody beaks. Unlocking paragraphs of bitter words that flutter on limbs of arrogant trees, I turn the corner to the crowded street where blind people wear masks of movie stars to scatter apple seeds on cracked sidewalks while bobbing their heads to the engine beat. When I speak works that I am told to say to entertain bored people of the world, I leave my self-mask broken on the stage so when people throw tomatoes at me I take them home to eat with omelets, then hide my sorrows on the bleeding page. Through diagnosis of the pristine curse I analyze omen carved on the door by trembling hand of the shy oracle who hurries away with hammer of flame through loud disquiet of ineptitude to sail Loch Ness in hide-bound coracle. That face I see in cracked mirror of time smiles back and calls me on the telephone, so I wear mask of Jesus Jupiter to play his character in world dreamtime erased by winners who write history books which prove I must be son of Lucifer. Born sixty years ago in Oregon, I journey with guitar on signless road without my mask from sea to shining sea because we humans, hungry to be loved, are actively dying as we transcend nothing except pretense that we are free. When I find your sorrows on the wet ground as fragments of verse on the tattered sheet, I record the sad dreams you threw away with wry obsession of the desert saint who thinks neglecting our bodily needs will transform their bodies the way gods pray. Exhaustible resource of empathy limits expression of my broken heart based on prerequisite puzzle of fate because love multiplies when freely expressed and flows from infinite well of faith till we drown in the flood of divine truth.
Allowing You To Live
Allowing You To Live © Surazeus 2025 03 01 Blue water ripples in white porcelain tub as Cassandra stretches and cleans her skin with flower-paste soap on the soft sea sponge, and flames of candles delicately dance in soft river breeze among plum tree limbs that gleam black in purple evening dusk glow. Long red silk gown draped around her lithe curves flutters in river breeze tinged by moonlight as Cassandra glides gracefully alone past portraits of ancestors that swell bright and reach gaunt ghostly hands to grasp her hair that swirls free from desperation to live. Climbing tall maple tree on the hill top, Cassandra gazes far across broad valley where the river winds among orchard groves with seven villages where angels dwell in stone cottages with gardens of herbs, and cries at vision of them all in flames. Approaching locked door of the castle tower, Cassandra gestures hand sigils to spark invisible flame that knocks the door open, then climbs stairs winding up into the sky to find her daughter Rapunzel hogtied, so she cuts ropes and they flee down the stairs. Five men with swords surround the open door so Cassandra swirls and knocks them all down, then crouches in martial stance of calm force to fight Tereus, who kidnaps young girls, but he shoots her with bullet from long gun and she lies bleeding under the red moon. Weeping distraught at cruel death of her mother, Rapunzel flees through mist in mountain woods, clambering past tangled vines of despair till she lies gasping by small sparkling pool as gold sunlight gleams through indifferent pines, trying not to scream loud as she births her child. Cradling new-born baby in trembling arms, Rapunzel gazes in her silver eyes with heart-breaking ache of desperate love that banishes her vow of just revenge to drown child of her rapist after birth, unable to commit that tragic act. "By allowing you to live, my dear Sibyl, I reward evil man, driven by greed, who kidnapped me and locked me in his tower, then forced me to bear child against my will, with life for immortal soul of his genes, but you are innocent of his foul crime."
Chessmaster Of Time
Chessmaster Of Time © Surazeus 2025 03 01 Luminous salamander of my heart rejoices when rain falls on maple leaves because she reigns as chessmaster of time when she maneuvers dictators and kings to believe they can fly on divine wings yet fall into the sea of arrogance. If the moon becomes the white horse of hope who gallops toward me on the open field, I may drive east across the prairie road while singing holy songs of grim despair which opens hole of possibility though another war is soon to begin. Among the lonely daffodils of fate we shall stop beside the rotting oak and eat sweet honey from heart of the world while contemplating where we shall go next on the secret journey of our own play for we are the stars of our cute romance. Though quicksilver storm of the holy mask crackles over vast fields of wheat and corn, we shall dance through the wild radio song with spectral sheets of anguish turned to joy when we join the grand victory parade swept by the wind down lonely small-town streets. Someday I want to see the Star Heart Sea which covers half our lumpy spinning globe with sparkling water of pacific calm so I can meet the Goddess of Despair who teaches me to show mercy to all though her eyes crackle with the judgment flame. Somnolent beauty of the apple tree sparks ponderous hunger of my stubborn heart to preach theology of mortal faith that every conscious creature dies someday and floats to nothing in stark empty light with soft distempered soul of unconcern. I never find tombs where my ancestors lie rotting in coffins of unshielded scorn till bones of their special characters form structure of bleak hills where children play chase with seamless fabric of our lost world view that flaps as melancholy flag in wind. Yet flowers of our bodies woven taut with private memories of lost childhood hours shine on the other side of silver light ten thousand years longer than empires last, prophesied by kind chessmaster of time who rides white horse of hope to Scythia.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)