Angels Of The Apple Moon

Angels Of The Apple Moon
© Surazeus
2026 09 16

Because my ancestors wake in my brain 
and show me dreams of their experiences, 
I learn to grieve for their strife to survive 
and rejoice when they transcend weaknesses, 
so the wolf transforms to bride of my hearth 
who shows me how to love the apple moon. 

Though eerie silver light of mindless eyes 
dreams me through tangled branches of old trees, 
I morph instinctive howl of anguished rage 
to joyful ritual of collective grief, 
so through the psychic switchboard of our hearts 
we call wild angels of the apple moon. 

Gathered together on the star-lake shore, 
we cultivate weird silence of stone faith 
while we reflect on how we interact 
through collective awakening from fear 
to sing through water language of the heart 
wild laughter we drink from the apple moon. 

Though we are blind from blazing words in books, 
that veil our eyes to state of our real world, 
we navigate its shadowy terrain 
with fantasies our lost ancestors mapped, 
till we pause on the precipice of fate 
to hear new riddle of the apple moon. 

Huge jagged mountain of dim memories 
traps wild demonic energy of love 
that whispers secrets in electric trees 
who seem to know why we still search for peace 
though pages of our books are scattered far 
as seeds that sprout gods on the apple moon. 

Since we are beetles on vast trees of time, 
and crickets singing by deep lakes of souls, 
we hurl our spirits at blind light of God, 
then float of waves of childhood with new hope, 
reborn from mothers and fathers of fate 
who teach us wisdom of the apple moon. 

Each day we rise with rhythm of the wind, 
and flow with laughter of the water stream 
while strolling in vast woods where demons lurk, 
then listen to bright angels sing in halls 
about fragile beauty of transient lives 
because we vanish in the apple moon. 

Blind clouds where no gods control human fate 
break open hearts of anguish to release 
refreshing torrents of rain that revive 
lush garden of truth from waste land of lies 
so we become the ancestors who sing 
stories to children of the apple moon.