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.
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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Thursday, October 1, 2026
Lost On Ghostless Moors
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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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