King David Weeps © Surazeus 2025 09 25 Sitting on the street corner by the bank where cars and people stream by in sunlight, King David plays the psaltery on his lap and sings with eerie voice of aching hope, "the Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want," barely heard behind rumbling traffic noise. We live the strangeness of our mystery unsolved by magic-eyed sleuth of the moon who sells salvation to the gullible with certain agony of sweet contempt for ancient woman of the lonely field who scatters seeds of flowers in my heart. To penetrate the shadow of despair with words carved from the meteor of the mind King David bends steel beams with his bare hands through calcified regret of withered veins by measuring beauty on scales of desire despite unhappiness of wretched joy. Though everything is pulse of molecules that flash in boundless void of everywhere, we search for primal cause of all existence in hollow dream of everything we bought before the Devil tries to sell it all while we search oblivion for true love. In this brief moment called eternity, where we live in confusion of blind faith, King David draws weird vision of our hearts presenting cave homes on the river shore where we have lived for thirteen thousand years by carving laughter from heart-warming stone. Because the ocean drains into the sky in burnished waterfalls of restless words we scour clean blood-stained cathedral walls so spiders weave vast web of mirror eyes with obsolescent spells of ardent faith designed to make our lives more interesting. Though the sun fits inside his living room, which partitions time in fragments of dream, King David paints the American Crow as divine savior of our broken world that urges us to cherish obstacles which make us stronger as we strive to live. Nothing appears to be attainable as magic treasures of the talisman that alerts us to the treacherous trap when we build walls of paradise from lies to nest our homes in cavern by the sea where King David weeps for his lost Lenore.
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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Thursday, September 25, 2025
King David Weeps
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Orpheus teaches young shepherd named David how to improvise narrative verse tales about social heroes while he strums melodies on the lyre carved from dinosaur bones.
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