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Wednesday, April 15, 2026

Immodest Seraph Of Fate

Immodest Seraph Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 04 15

Because stars have names that describe their glow, 
I walk around the neighborhood of doors, 
curious about angels who occupy 
empty rooms where faceless people consider 
why secret smudge in the back of our souls 
obscures celestial light inside our brains. 

Though I realize the longest way back home 
is thirteen times around our spinning globe, 
I live with circus of the weeping clown 
on lost island where oranges are not bombs 
designed by immodest seraph of fate 
who charges me for parking in her garden. 

Nothing is spotless in house of desire 
except the screaming clock of happiness 
that teaches me to count eternity 
as blind apprentice stuck at the crossroads 
where sapphire of intensity gleams eyes 
of time-entangled gods in human flesh. 

When I break open fresh-baked loaf of bread, 
searing light of the condensed sun expands 
scope of memory flashing through my brain 
so I remember stumbling in dark rain 
because huge shadow of the angry man 
lurks behind gate of home my father built. 

Discolored scene of urgent lassitude 
defeats perverse order of faded prayers 
stalled by gracious flowers of fragile chimes 
that trap me outside my own space and time 
as if my face reveals continuum 
through dramatic suddenness of soft waves. 

Fear hesitates to antagonize honest souls 
who float suspended in sequestered state 
between survival and global success 
based on refreshing absence of desire 
to question how verbal systems of truth 
reframe old events with new moral laws. 

Disinterested in tactics of regret, 
I measure how the storm of social change 
transforms weariness of the hungry world 
to special promises through rivalry 
unique to our obsessive age of hope 
where people sell motives to stay alive. 

Mirage of paradise that blinds our eyes 
presents potential hazard to the heart, 
explained by immodest seraph of fate 
as fashion brokered by the searching soul 
based in arguments carved on cliffs of faith 
since we never meet at the broken door. 



1 comment:

  1. Orpheus helps John Ashbery tape pages of discombobulated prophecies written by the Revelator on museum walls between famous paintings.

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