Children Wear My Face © Surazeus 2025 03 13 Green flashing radar blinks its gargoyle eye and beeps to indicate with pulsing point existential threat to our normalcy tangled with blues of tornado debris sung by the blind seer on the busy street whose mercurial voice haunts hot afternoons. I will not let the world transcribe my life with standard stereotype in plastic mask when children wear my face on Halloween, for my time on this spinning globe of dirt may be intense with melancholy angst but brief as flutter of butterfly wings. Trapped in hungry state of barefoot resolve with tattered hat of Huckleberry Finn, I become someone else I never was after thinking I should be who I am, pliable sculpture of the headless god bestowed with laurel of the thorny crown. I shield my heart with books of faceless ghosts which insures it is not available for manipulation through social codes which program how I navigate this life, so where I end up falling over dead is inconsequential to where I go. When I find discarded on the sidewalk random page from lost book of poetry, I realize with wry grin of droll insight the destination of this life we choose has always been the farce of consequence we fail to avoid when we change our life. Tracing forms of objects my eyes perceive which manifest changeless ideas of hope, and climbing trees on rugged mountain slope to understand ritual I play to grieve, I gaze upon stone idol of my soul which reflects weird beauty of the White Whole. Each action I perform as human being, composed of atoms swerving through the void, transmits immortal spirit of my genes compiled from flashing molecules of love through each organic body I become as I evolve from fish to wingless angel. Spells I transmit in morse code of the heart are indicator of my psychic state through holding pattern of enlightenment which I attain with wings of Icarus when I strum lyre of Mercury and sing before I crumble in my silent grave.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Orpheus arranges torn fragments from pages of ancient stories in puzzle of perception to rediscover lost dreams of the dead.
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