Tricks Of Standard Words

Tricks Of Standard Words
© Surazeus
2026 06 03

If darkness bursts in cavern of my heart, 
expelling me from world of swirling eyes, 
I crawl through grass of moonlit ardency 
to find elusive absence of your face 
so I float up on wild ethereal breath 
to touch what cannot exist outside words. 

That stranger with fear-startled eyes of hope, 
reflected in vast pool of sky-flashed thought, 
must not be me because I am not real, 
though ache of anguish twists my hungry heart 
with stubborn laughter of our island world 
enclosed by wall of hills that hide my words. 

Bright sheen of thoughtless waves big as my eyes 
decide to swallow vastness of my mind, 
yet I hold still in gusts of angry wind 
that push my frame of self against contempt 
at sudden spark of wings untwisting hope 
that writhes in heart Orion seals in words. 

Since flock of ravens, white as silent snow, 
pass through expansive cavern of my heart 
at brute attention to details of peace, 
I feel my body stripped of name and rank 
so I am no one stranded on lake shore, 
tormented by false pride of naked words. 

Rain showers trapped by laughter of black clouds 
assail time-fractured frame of my mute mind 
with expectations I should conquer fate, 
inspired by courage of progressive plans 
to manage profit of expanding gain 
contrived by puzzling tricks of standard words. 

We enter cave of dreams to search for gods, 
but find dim shadows of assertive birds 
that teach us how organic beings disperse 
by leaping swift with carousel expense, 
undone by fleeting concept of bold faith 
that spools reflections of our minds in words. 

Edge of my soul that brushes shore of time 
recedes in swirls of storm clouds after dawn 
to prove my journey far from cave of faith 
requires attentive caution of regret 
that spurs evasive action to transcend 
frame of my body, safe in ship of words. 

If I should hesitate with cautious faith 
while nearing portal beyond mindless stars, 
my wounded heart may grow too fond of fate 
at slow descent to desolate vale of thoughts 
where I ponder disorder of cracked stones 
from which spring howling angels of dream words.