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Tuesday, June 9, 2026

Weirdness Of Eternal Now

Weirdness Of Eternal Now
© Surazeus
2026 06 09

Through tight control of intermittent thoughts 
we wind disparate memories in spheres 
of flashing strategies to burn god stones 
with tattered pages from ancestral books 
so prior tests we dare contrive from code 
enchant our hearts when sad nightingales sing. 

While sitting blindly in windowless house 
with numberless door of inequity, 
I roam the whole universe of strange lands 
though tethered to fragile skull of my soul 
since gushing mountain river piles logs high 
against enormous stone of innocence. 

Slouched by unkempt grave of the famous seer 
who harvested peaches from tangled trees, 
I mutter prayer of sorrow to his mask 
to checklist deeds I refuse to perform 
through mechanism of uncertain grief 
that covers me in random leaves of hope. 

No star-eyed visitors appear from mist, 
seeking redemption from gratified corpse 
to highlight uselessness of sentiment 
that could not resurrect my pardoned heart 
from graceless circumstance of fortitude, 
since love might manifest in dormant seeds. 

Could I return from underworld of faith 
with contract that impacts my credit score, 
I would sail leaking boat across dark sea 
to harrow blatant sense of urgency 
with greatness death displays at crack of dawn 
when everything I knew as true is wrong. 

Up jagged cliff of ambition I climb 
against assertive gusts of lonely wind 
to count bright sparkles on the silver sea 
by wishing goodness for each soul alive 
who walks alone the signless road of fate 
to prove people can govern themselves well. 

Inspired to extract my body from roots 
of ancient trees, I breathe faith to express 
despair we deny pierces hearts with truth 
despite our vow at picnic by the lake 
to savor weirdness of eternal now 
by drinking sorrow brewed in bitter herbs. 

I seek sublimity of perfect thoughts 
that swell at suddenness of your sharp eyes 
beaming subtle blast of rainbow bliss 
with cheerful jubilation gladly struck 
in harmony of love we blithely share 
with brokenhearted document of faith. 



1 comment:

  1. Orpheus searches for ghost of John Keats in the grove of fruit trees where a thousand nightingales used to sing, but they all seem to have disappeared.

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