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Sunday, July 19, 2026

Fragile Boats Of Hope

Fragile Boats Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 07 19

The world river of life flows from my heart 
to fill abyss of fear with sea of love 
so we can sail our fragile boats of hope 
across the surging waves of honesty 
home from sacking towers of Ilium 
where trees of truth bloom from corpses of gods. 

The graceful goddess of my consciousness, 
who glides among fruit trees on the broad shore, 
stoops low to scoop with dipper of her heart 
memories humans relinquish in cold tears 
to quench her thirst for feelings we discard 
which swells her heart with love for every soul. 

The full moon floats in branches of tall trees, 
exposed to conscious gaze of my bruised heart 
while blazing with azure uncanniness 
as sacred treasure every human shares, 
while restless ocean waves of ancient hopes 
leave fragments of our dreams on silent beach. 

The psychic refuge of my broken dreams 
blurs pungent feeling from my stage of being 
so wordless thoughts of innocent desire 
ripple silver stipples across my mind 
as eyes through adequate obscurity 
because I suffer sea change in my heart. 

Because that is not what I mean at all, 
I might be missing whatever I am, 
so I declare with certainty of faith 
that I am nobody, and so are you, 
escaping one-eyed monster of despair, 
since now I am not what I am, I think. 

Incompetent to speak of who I am, 
alone in space of timeless solitude, 
I fashion new persona mask to wear 
so I become the person I would be, 
bold shadow slithering swift across the ground 
which measures fragile fullness of my being. 

Each moment I am real in flesh of time 
flares up as match of psychic energy 
transforming me from fish to singing god 
defined by whorl of flashing water flow 
that vibrates at thunderous crack of faith 
from storm cloud rumbling over mountain peaks. 

I rise from Stygian pool of wounded hearts 
when I compose coherent narrative 
from ensemble of social anecdotes, 
recording heroic deeds of dead men 
who programmed how our brains perceive the world 
as forms of atoms molded from ideas. 



1 comment:

  1. Orpheus stands before the Astarium and gives copies of Hermead Epic of Philosophers to people walking past on the busy city street.

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