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Sunday, November 16, 2025

Windshield Frame Of Hope

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. 



1 comment:

  1. 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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