Rugged Hills Of Arcady © Surazeus 2026 06 20 After I escape from cold cement maze where hordes of people speed in metal cars in contest over who gains cheese of wealth, I roam through rugged hills Of Arcady and lounge with Orpheus by the River Styx where angels wearing masks of devils dance. I kneel in wet grass by the sparkling stream and dip my hand in sorrow of desire to fish for sublime truths and wholesome themes, but I perceive reflection of my soul masked by this temporary face of mine that hides strange ache of hope inside my heart. When I hear weeping of the broken heart that causes snow to fall in summer time, I see Adam and Eve wandering lost on signless road from gates of paradise who search forever for the Promised Land that shimmers beyond horizon of vain hope. Then I hear laughter of light-hearted souls where siblings Dorothy and William stroll along lush margin of the River Styx where they see endless rows of daffodils dancing merrily in the shining sun with passion to sense the divine in Nature. For every human city on our globe springs from first city of humanity, that garden in Eden where fruit trees bloom, till God enclosed them inside walls of stone and forces us to buy fruit of the Earth with metal coins forged in hot caves of Hell. Narcissus stares at his face in the pool, Saturnus slumbers numb on river shore, Orpheus wanders weeping for lost love, Icarus floats stunned on wild ocean waves, Lucifer bears cracked Lamp of Liberty, and I wonder if I am real or not. Beneath broad-leafed myrtle of innocence, I watch bright clouds swirl slowly in blue sky till Evening Star gleams brilliantly opaque, so I feel life of every soul on Earth that eddies with atomic flash of love far from the city stage on Helicon. My spirit, too long trapped in creeds of faith, entombed inside strict duty of the church, urged me to open door of fearful rage, so I now walk with hawk-winged heart of hope across the rugged hills of Arcady where star-eyed Death waits still to hear my song.
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, June 20, 2026
Rugged Hills Of Arcady
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Orpheus explains to the crowd of people in the Museum of Dead Gods why no one ever returns from bourn of the undiscovered country of death.
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