Broken Things Of Time © Surazeus 2026 08 26 If I wrap huge thoughts in small cage of wings to climb complex ladder of chorus tunes, I might feel swelling of my conscious mind with urgent passion to become the sky, but this body my ancestors designed constrains my quest to analyze the why. I never mourn the broken things of time since more than magic of conceptual faith preserves integrity of vibrant souls with web of words we weave from memories to maintain format of our worldview creed connecting us to every soul on Earth. My face glows in the window of my home as constellation formed from long-dead stars that flash awake in eyes of the moon owl who always watches me perform my life in vain attempt to earn credits of faith enough for admittance to paradise. Half-open doors of innocent desire lure me to restart play of my failed life with new beginning in some distant town where I seek treasure of the secret truth hidden in library of ancient tales recording lives of people without names. Though I try to carry joy in my hands, it flows away with liquid solvency while I sing quiet carol of my heart in silent darkness of the endless day where nameless people wander streets of fate by hiding pain of sorrow in their eyes. When Artemis returns from bright moon with seeds of trees she finds in every land, she asks me to plant them in town square parks where they bloom lush with soft angelic souls who whisper fairy tales as I pass by so I may understand why all souls die. When she explains long lineage of her grief in strange words her heart attempts to invent, she speaks with fondness of her bitter pain since she has danced with searing thorn of fear too many years to extricate it now, then grips my hand and sings in agony. I wonder, as I wander in oak woods with basket of persimmons on my arm, if my death will be silent as the lake that sings with shimmer of sad restless wind, but when they make short movie of my life I hope they show how much I ache to live.
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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Wednesday, August 26, 2026
Broken Things Of Time
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Orpheus dances with Ophelia on shore of the River Styx where millions of drowned souls flow away in the flood of sorrows that cleanses the Earth.
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