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Thursday, April 10, 2025

Garden Of Dead Books

Garden Of Dead Books
© Surazeus
2025 04 10

Too much combustion of the ardent kiss 
leaves us stranded in garden of dead books, 
poison of love stinging our eyes with trust 
as we create ideal lover from hope 
in masks we wear to keep us interested 
in constant fever of the flowering moon. 

Remote from malice of the naive tree, 
our bodies are yoked to fountain of secrets 
which traps us in gold cage of honesty 
as our hearts transform each dagger-sharp word 
to seeds that heal excessive wounds of faith 
with each heart-rending howl of hungry hope. 

We zigzag through reckless maze of our hearts 
with untamed horse of hope that fools our eyes, 
amazed by vapor of untruth that veils death, 
invented by metallic tongues of fear 
in time to catch the falling star of fate 
which discombobulates our marriage vows. 

Beneath the hazardous tree of despair, 
where we find shelter from the evening storm, 
we gather black feathers of ravens to weave 
new pairs of wings for our hearts to attain 
freedom from gravity of arrogant hate 
while waterfalls erase our souls from time. 

Shadow of horror transforms into swan 
who soars into thundering clouds of rage 
to strip our minds from garments of false faith 
when sunset rays stipple lake of our hearts 
with vibrant passion we cannot deny 
since we keep on kissing reluctantly. 

Fallen into flood of terrified tears, 
we feel our bodies transform into stones 
exploding with children of eager hope 
who carry that concept in trembling hands 
to retrieve our bodies from tangled roots 
of trees that scream owls of eternity. 

Huddled after rain on the river shore, 
beneath the willow that will never die, 
we tell each other we will be all right 
because we hide our stories in the book 
that sits unread for twenty thousand years 
on hidden shelf in library of ghosts. 

We cannot own the field that bears our names 
except when we bury with trembling hands 
bones of our ancestors in unfenced soil 
so carrots and corn may grow from their brains 
to provide nutrition for fragile bodies 
supported by framework of unborn hope. 


1 comment:

  1. Orpheus and Ophelia rip tangled vines and wild plants from the field of bones to create a garden of organized crops in the wilderness of fake hope.

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