Windshield Frame Of Hope © Surazeus 2025 11 16 Perpetual journey of my restless soul urges me to spend my wild precious life forever on the road to somewhere else as fairy-tale character on vain quest to map our messy world with one neat myth that answers all our questions in weird code. Though all my ancestors had journeyed west to find ever-elusive Promised Land, I journey east to find their origin, but get stuck in lush Appalachian hills while war planes bomb homes in Scythia where my first mother ran with prancing wolves. No fair destination of my fierce heart shines brightly in the windshield frame of hope, so I keep driving past the pearly gates since paradise becomes prison of fear where desperate believers pray on their knees for Jesus to return with sword of justice. I drive the lonesome highway of the heart to find the sea cave where the sun is born, but stop in roadside cafe by rail tracks to eat hamburger of grilled dragon meat, then sit on the front porch ten thousand years and play grunge folk songs on battered guitar. When war-winged demon of lost history escapes the falconer in widening gyre, I know the central world view of our nation spins wild with anarchy of innocence so we must surf destructive waves of change at ninth coming of Goddess Liberty. Now paralyzed with complicit despair that thieves have seized control of government, we rise with brave Valkyrian respect to march with holy flag of liberty lead by Helios in chariot of fire against bold tyranny of oligarchs. For twenty thousand years small human tribes journey along rivers in sturdy boats to colonize valleys of singing ghosts, but now we drive fast piston-engine cars on pillared bridges above water flow with nostalgic songs on the radio. Unbounded spaciousness of endless plains invites our journey into solitude across existential bleakness of faith through constellated night of unmapped fate which I perceive in windshield frame of hope that only has the meaning I assign.
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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Sunday, November 16, 2025
Windshield Frame Of Hope
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Orpheus and Ophelia drive on a road trip from Oregon to Georgia to find that the Promised Land was always an illusion of refugees from religious wars.
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