Haunt Our Empty Home © Surazeus 2025 12 14 If I get safely home on road of faith after walking nowhere ten thousand years perhaps you will see me as the wild fox that wanders without care in city streets while you drive your car without angel wings then call my name when I gaze in your eyes. When I transform into lithe human being you take my hand with innocent respect so we may dwell in possibility where windows of our hopes frame what could be if we return to chambers of our hearts with everlasting love in paradise. Together in uncertain slant of light we heft our hearts with brave cathedral tunes to heal unheavenly hurt of deep love, hearts afflicted by misunderstood words that twist true meanings into breathless fear till we transcend the distance with new faith. Our lonely sapling town on roadless plain reveals delirious flowers in our brains that bloom from inner shadows of desire, lost deep in fields of golden wind-blown wheat till glass rain shadows innocent despair because we paint our names on new-road signs. Yet when I hear song of the balladeer assert world view of my merciless bride, I hide what ails my withered heart at noon with anguished lily rotten on my brow for you have vanished at harsh flash of dawn as fairy child in meadows of blind mist. Your wild eyes lure me to your elven grove where we dream endless paradise of love in fleeting hour of sun-veiled dance with death till I wake startled in lush dew-wet grass and wander mute along the busy road where cars race past eternity of now. I find you by wood coffin of our son killed in jungle war across the cruel sea, red tears of chaos streaming from your eyes that flash fierce hurricanes of social change to shatter pillars of our world empire that crumbles prairie homes in nuclear wind. If I revert back to my primal form as wild fox hunting in snow-mountain range far from the busy streets of city wealth, I wonder if you will escape its maze and search for me in valley of tall pines where we forever haunt our empty home.
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, December 14, 2025
Haunt Our Empty Home
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Orpheus comforts Ophelia as they weep at the funeral of their son Orion killed in the Vietnam war.
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