Ghosts Of Fake Words © Surazeus 2025 05 16 Along bright beam-path of the lonely moon, heart beating wild with dark misshapen wings, I run toward glowing shadow-heart of hope that winds out spiral-flight of honesty for eye-swirl mist of harrowing desire to aim my soul straight through eternity. Accelerating leap of earnest faith propels my soul across night-wide abyss with fierce intent to reach infinity on eager wings I bought from Icarus who hides in cave of illusions to weave expansive matrix of our mutual minds. Enclosed within courageous form of faith, that whirrs from tides of nothingness I feel, my heart embraces time-strong vanity to drive fate of my heart against harsh rules restraining fierce aggression of my hope to play competing game of arrogance. Regret winds taut with anger self-control by which I rein assertion of my rights to manage flushing flow of energy that fuels my mission to investigate confines of caverns gleaming rich with wealth I wish to extract with world-crafting hands. Attained by bloated conceit of false faith, through aggrandizement of bland boastful pride, I glut my heart with insolence of praise, disposed toward innocence of vacant nymphs who feast on rumors swollen with grim tears despite offensive charge of charity. Each object pulsing with Solarian light vibrates bright outlines of existing forms beyond horizon of our consciousness in mountains haunted by ghosts of fake words whose hands caress my brain with pungent lust for bitter juice of my sea-mirror soul. Trapped by eternal glow of evening dusk that challenges rich substance of my faith with naked longing of my heart heart, I exit pale of sacred temple hall so I experience struggle to survive till I return home with treasures of truth. Trite manifestation of empty choirs, when I paint mural of our tribal tale with blood that oozes from my reckless mind, deranges how my brain processes facts now symbolized by divine characters misconstrued as normal people we are.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
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Friday, May 16, 2025
Ghosts Of Fake Words
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Orpheus directs choir of ten million poets to sing grand epic tale of human experience, then we all go out and eat plates of nachos with ground beef, cheese, and guacamole.
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