Become The Eyeless Ghost © Surazeus 2026 05 16 Tangled in roots of the ancient pear tree, scroll of sorrow swells with hydraulic tears of nameless people in forest of shadows whose suffering has become the eyeless ghost that haunts the solemn courtrooms of old law, so I preserve the scroll in hall of glass. Each time I gaze at ghost of some dead soul, whose face is painted with colorful goop smeared on wood panel and hung on the wall, I see reflection of immortal soul encoded in the human genes we share, so I smile till their soul wakes in my heart. Arrhythmic beat of wounded angel wings asserts free will my heart preserves in code of static words that I repeat each day in rote routine as groove of legacy which scratches when I skip confining phase to weep with nostalgia for frantic dreams. Trapped by hope in dark evening of the mind, I chase fireflies twitching in sunset blood to hide from shadow slithering among trees till I find Apple Witch with golden eyes reading book of spells by the garden wall who gives me last martyred peach of her heart. Though I wander somewhere in her dark woods without purpose, except to understand why every living creature has to die, she calls my name no one else knows but her till I wake in circling aura of her heart where she makes me wear mask of her desire. Trees represent stillness of stoic grace we cannot keep with our time-anxious hearts, she explains to me with confusing words, so I sew leather skin of angry bulls into basketballs on courts of warfare that symbolize this civil war we fight. Magnified by strategies to gain fame, her mission readjusts focus of fate to avoid flaws in dilemma of truth that vague concepts trap our minds in grand creeds in which we dare indulge against regret with inconclusive utterance of faith. Thus I shall quaff moon ale from pewter stoup to taste sweet blood of angels with mad hearts who fall from Heaven every day or two then trudge to work at the cold factory to transform bones of dragons into tools we use to build empire of howling ghosts.
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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Saturday, May 16, 2026
Become The Eyeless Ghost
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Orpheus remembers how Ophelia likes to visit the folk museum in Oslo where ghosts of her ancestors haunt the ancient log cabins of innocent faith in honest love.
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