Want To Build My House © Surazeus 2025 08 15 I want to build my house with sturdy walls inside wide bend of the sparkling river so we can play beneath lush apple trees in fertile valley among verdant hills, but dream of paradise vanished in mist six thousand years before hour of my birth. Orange mist sparkles in maze of cement streets from lights in windows of tall square steel towers as I walk cluttered sidewalk past street lamps to red-brick apartment with fear-locked doors where I sit at wood desk by the cracked window and type lines of verse about paradise. Slicing beef, onions, peppers, and tomatoes, I grill supper on apartment rooftop while ravens gather on sagging phonelines, then eat hamburger in eerie moonlight in sad attempt of my time-aching heart to recreate paradise of the past. Strumming guitar with callused fingertips, I sing, "Today is last day of my job, so when I get home I will write weird poem of how my hopeless heart still longs to roam sea to shining sea in land of the free," then quick-pick old heart-breaking melody. While typing endless lines of tangled verse to help my restless spirit navigate confusing maze of myths in human dreams, I look up at flutter of eager wings to see the citrine wagtail with sharp eyes that seem to see weird beauty of my soul. So I think about the day years ago when man first walked on surface of the moon to find that angels live in paradise where thousands of crystal cathedrals gleam because I want to understand how fate is written by each choice our wild hearts make. I want to return to Calabria to live in Aragonese Castle I built with noble purpose to guard paradise, but I stroll down to the corner cafe to eat beef sandwich with cheese on rye while helicopters putter in the sky. Old woman who survived the holocaust paints portrait of me as angel with wings, then conjures the moon from song of the sea so I understand truth of liberty earned by the courage of great warriors willing to die to protect paradise.
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, August 15, 2025
Want To Build My House
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Orpheus gazes out the window of his apartment to watch hundreds of people in the street below going to dance clubs on late Friday night.
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