Savior In The Sycamore © Surazeus 2026 09 20 Skipping in the autumn evening rainstorm is how we can find out we are still real even though events in our mirror world spiral out of fictionalized control that transform people into hungry gulls who search for Heaven in the wilderness. In the field of flowers blooming from graves I am more than the absence of the field, though I am missing from puzzle of truth where I walk as air in the empty space filled with the wholeness of the long-dead souls who animate my body with desire. I should not trouble younger hearts with hope that fractured strangeness of our social game will readjust our world view where we play noble heroes in dramatic events, watched by the savior in the sycamore who bids us farewell as he flies away. Since silence is impossible this year, demanding that we howl with principle against relentless anger of cruel men blind with rage that story of our state is based on exploitation of the poor, then we shall gather by the moon and hum. If we sink deep in shifting sands of change by laughing at forbidden laws of love, then we shall grow flowers from wounded hearts so we can write new universal laws for every person in the world to live free from delusions of religious creeds. When snowflakes flutter from the faceless sky to prove God is delusion of despair, I gaze in windows of suburban homes where they share meals at tables of respect beside the pine that blinks with fairy eyes, then wander past to sleep in Raven Wood. Since Shamash lives as flame inside my heart that widens cope of my subconscious vibe, I gather force of psychic energy from millions of minds frantic with surprise that world view we have shared for eighty years collapses into gibberish of lies. Retrieving it from mirror of my eye, I slip my soul back in its secret place, but it remains as twinkling star of faith that quivers bright in vastness of deep space since light of atoms flashing in my brain remains dream key to my infinity.
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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Sunday, September 20, 2026
Savior In The Sycamore
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Orpheus strolls on the beach by the Pacific Ocean and ponders political events that are quickly devolving into absurdity of tyrannical greed.
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