Secret Voice Of Earth

Secret Voice Of Earth
© Surazeus
2025 09 15

After rain of my hope evaporates 
and tree leaves glisten with indifference 
of nature, I stretch my hand to the moon 
to hold shell of its hollow beauty firm, 
then analyze vicissitude of fate 
that charms my heart with agony of faith. 

I loop my heart on wild angelic wings 
far out into the world of nameless forms 
to translate song of waves to truth I bear 
with casual eagerness of my fierce heart 
that hangs as apples from the tree of faith 
where the wren tells me why we are alive. 

Therefore I chase the black butterfly home 
past grove of apple trees on the lake shore 
to catch sad song of vanished languages 
which leads me to the anvil of my heart 
where I forge sword of faith from bleak despair 
so I can save the world from tyranny. 

With bones of ancient gods I build my home 
far from centers of political power 
so I can hear the secret voice of Earth 
bloom through flowers on high mountain slopes 
and flash in rivers tumbling over stones 
when I become wrens flocking in the clouds. 

Surprised by topaz shimmer of the sky 
while stumbling clumsy in cathedral woods, 
I listen for the deer that knows my name 
to learn strange art of the ventriloquist 
so I can perform my role in world play 
without weeping for stirred beauty of the sea. 

Shocked at how often dreaming creatures die, 
I wrap jagged shadows of twisted limbs 
around frail tremor of my apple heart 
to gnaw on bleeding fruit of morbid faith 
through celebration in wild rites of spring, 
pungent with passion for vegetable soup. 

Death strikes my heart with light rays of the moon 
so I remember how to analyze 
aggressive actions of terrified souls 
who thrash with anguish in tangle of words 
because they cannot express how they feel 
in struggle to survive another day. 

Yet star-eyed owl on bent branch of the tree 
shakes dust of dead souls on my golden path 
so I grasp stone of confidence with dread 
to blaze my path beyond hard walls of power 
till I become clear slanting beams of dawn 
that weave my body from songs of the dead.