Frantic Fairy Faith © Surazeus 2026 10 28 Aroused by unkept memories of light reflected by slow flutter of oak leaves, I weave the spin of bike wheels with the flash of stops signs where ravens never assert strange answers to imponderable concerns that milk smells sweetest in the cereal bowl. Startled by unsung melodies of love that crackle on the untuned radio, I imagine that the round blue sky-dome is one enormous eye of innocence, like my eye with green isle inside blue sea where people live in memories of their hopes. Alert to unspooled stories in old books that wait for magic of my eyes to glow, I replay half-cut scenes of my short life to map my journey to the somewhere else from mountain far away where I was born as half-told tale of frantic fairy faith. Though I have stumbled randomly awake through decades of existence to my state of present being in small town of desire, I weave coherent tapestry of fate that narrates my life as some noble quest to become who I always choose to be. Enormous silence of eternal now, that hovers over me as cloud of light, slowly flaps excessive wings of words, so I gaze in eyes of my private Seraph whose face reflects, in one mask of the Self, all my ancestors who designed my being. Though split by storm of arrogant regret, the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil still provides fresh apples for me to eat, so I join sweet Ophelia by the lake who bakes apple pie from our wounded hearts which we share with Sigmund and Beowulf. Alone in vast white-walled museum room, I assemble from fragments of old tales, and news stories about tragic events, perceptive puzzles of the human soul that almost mirror psychic ghost of hope who haunts our dawns with wails of wordless prayers. Clouds float above broad field of barns and poles where cows graze among trees by the dirt road, this firm foundation of productive pain from which empires rise through labor of our hands when we weave memories of humble strife in religious tale of the sacrificed king.
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, October 28, 2026
Frantic Fairy Faith
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Orpheus looks through photo albums arranged by his grandmother to depict the visual narrative of their family blooming from the farm house of lonely apple trees.
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