Harvest Honey From Fear © Surazeus 2025 12 26 Not resting till the fire is almost dead, I toss and turn in sorrow of my bed, then throw another log on bank of coals while ignoring hot-huff breath of lithe foals, and sip spiced cider that flushes my brain with soft memories of golden summer grain. When millions of bees swarm out of the moon while I express sorrow with haunting tune I follow them to old tree on the hill where I search for secret source of free will to carefully harvest honey from fear so I can return as the puppeteer. Startled from reverie by the soft chime that accelerates my weird sense of time, I wield knife to slice loaf of quietness with calm self-discipline of Tantalus, then offer with love to the faceless ghost of my absent lover honey-soaked toast. I feel strange joy of pleasure swell in waves of vibrant energy among deep graves when I strum lyre of Mercury with grace to sing folk-songs borne from this ancient place where people feast and dance on river shore in country where nobody locks their door. Blue ghosts of trees from smoke of crackling fires transcend material trap of flesh desires, yet I long to kiss your cane-scented mouth to celebrate dark genius of the South that seethes in souls of people fighting fate who hide in paradise behind locked gate. Lost people fallen from the dream machine go dancing through wild woods of Melusine while singing along footpaths of the swamp to join parade of refugees with pomp who build rough shacks in villages of hope and with humble reverence learn to cope. No wild-eyed shaman or arrogant priest dares challenge Tiresias at the feast for crown of wisdom he bears in his hand while searching solemnly across the land for brave descendant of the Lion King to conduct our national choir to sing. Yet moon-eyed owl in sprawling oak of faith would judge my slanted progress on the path that leads my brave ambition to escape curse of fame by hiding under the cape that renders me invisible to Death when I meditate with celestial breath.
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, December 26, 2025
Harvest Honey From Fear
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Orpheus harvests honey from fear to brew mead which he serves at the feast in the forest of Melusine where refugees from war gather to build new homes in the Promised Land.
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