Graves Of The Nameless Dead

Graves Of The Nameless Dead
© Surazeus
2026 07 17

Awake in ghost-glow of the city maze 
that sprawls across vast plain of anguished wind 
where turgid swamps once festered amid palms, 
I walk along the endless lamplit roads 
past thousand churches with harsh clanging bells 
where frightened people pray to stick of wood. 

When I slouch despondently by the sea, 
the mad-eyed Fletcher from dark mountain woods 
points to the trembling topaz of his heart 
which I mistake to be the Evening Star, 
so I return to cave of humming ghosts 
where diamonds glow with light of the First Flash. 

Orpheus wanders with his broken lyre 
through choking shadows of the underworld 
because no faceless ghost with wavering voice 
follows his untuned melody of faith 
in vain attempt to escape numbing fear 
that we return to mute flame of our birth. 

I trust dire vision of Orpheus more 
than deceptive lie of the afterlife 
that Paulus preached by the tomb of Platon 
because our bodies cannot resurrect 
from organ-crushing nothingness of death, 
nor do our souls linger mute in dark Hell. 

Though I descend to grim Plutonian caves, 
where Orcus whips chained slaves to mine more gold, 
I find no spectral spirits of the dead 
for they are living men enslaved by greed 
who toil in Underworld where treasures bleed 
tears of despair from men who long to die. 

Two souls of immortal transciency meet 
in circle of firm flesh on jagged hill 
to weave taut threads of spirit-binding genes 
that sparks divine soul of immortal hope 
with words of truth unheard in human speech 
which flare forth flame of faith in dreaming eyes. 

Though stars that flicker with beautiful gleam 
burned out to lightless spheres of spinning gas 
millions of years ago in swirl of time, 
their rays of hope appear in our night skies 
with surge of blood-tides in our mortal hearts 
so we express our faith in solemn hymns. 

Orpheus strums the lyre of Mercury 
and sings about the lonely odyssey 
of wily men who learn through suffering 
to honor sacred pale of every home 
by offering shelter to lost refugees 
who build homes on graves of the nameless dead.