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Thursday, October 1, 2026

Lost On Ghostless Moors

Lost On Ghostless Moors
© Surazeus
2026 10 01

By stretching my mind across centuries 
to wind my heart with frantic memories 
my soul becomes the boundless sky of doors 
through which I wander lost on ghostless moors 
to gather blossoms from the playful breeze 
so I forge trauma into psychic keys. 

Because I am calm enemy of hate, 
tricked to play happy by swindle of fate, 
I am uninterested in fraught game 
of who suffers most to achieve false fame, 
so I transcend stark agony of pain 
by floating wingless in electric rain. 

If I cast hex of calibrated spells 
through inefficient laughter of church bells, 
I may revive my equestrian heart 
long enough to check fortune-twisting chart 
against status of episcopal faith, 
fabricated through lust of the Star Wraith. 

Since I may inherit Book of Weird Lies, 
composed by children of dynamic spies, 
I may attempt to grow angelic wings 
through spiral sparkle of demonic rings 
that proves my soul is native to this land 
as frightened rebel of divine command. 

Concealed by silence of old broken truth, 
designed by ravens acting out of ruth, 
I analyze consequence of my deed, 
then adjudicate fault through mental need 
to exercise free will within constraints 
applied by nature to create more saints. 

Through ballads, strictly coded to express 
moral values that conjure happiness, 
I document events of this wild age, 
performed by sly mortals on global stage, 
depicting tragic passions of blind gods 
whose arrogance transforms them into toads. 

Across the waste land of eccentric rules 
children wander nowhere past fractured schools 
to learn of freedom for the wounded soul 
who studies secrets of the flashing whole 
so they can sell anger in holy books 
because temple priests are restaurant cooks. 

With tale-tattered quill, from my crippled wing, 
I chronicle our age of suffering 
by giving voice to the marginalized 
who storm Heaven though they are unbaptized, 
then compile ten billion stories with runes 
that dissipate into soul-haunting tunes. 



1 comment:

  1. Orpheus reads poetry from his Book of Weird Lies at the Bookstore of Graveling Fame where hordes of star-eyed followers gasp with awe at his satires against wealthy elites.

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