Instruments Of Dream Sense
© Surazeus
2025 12 20

Wandering lonely as the gloomy rain cloud
that looms hungry over your city maze,
I want to play instruments of dream sense
to conjure visions of the Beautiful
from endless misery of our daily lives
as we struggle to maintain global peace.

Wearing crown of ice molded from your tears
that drown our cities in false memories,
I want to play instruments of dream sense
with deft fingers of aggressive concern
to prove with absolute uncertainty
that Death will take us to her Nowhere Land.

Wishing to comprehend how spider webs
mirror matrix of our star-flashing brains,
I want to play instruments of dream sense
that vibrate with thunderstorms of god eyes
which scatter snowflakes on gray city streets
to illustrate beauty of human hearts.

Wagering fabulous ethics of mute pain
to understand wordless song of wild trees,
I want to play instruments of dream sense
that praise weird beauty of nature in psalms
no matter how boring time seems to be
because sunlight always invades my gloom.

Waiving my inalienable rights to life,
liberty, and pursuit of happiness,
I want to play instruments of dream sense
that open doors of perception to Hell
where Orpheus leads mute souls of the dead
so they can sing in the heavenly choir.

Waiting forever on the river shore
where angels talk on eye-phones of the mind,
I want to play instruments of dream sense
that sanctify symphonies of mad seers
who breathe delicious anguish of desire
with each eerie shriek of violin tunes.

Wielding Excalibur with gentle grace
to render judgement against criminals,
I want to play instruments of dream sense
that frame extensive legal arguments
supporting freedom and justice for all
born from the womb of Mother Liberty.

Whistling past the graveyard of long-dead gods
who call to us with voice of mountain wind,
I want to play instruments of dream sense
that surrender loneliness to sea waves
so when we meet at random on the street
we can share feast of winter solstice eve.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus directs choir of not-yet-dead humans who express intense desire of the human heart to savor beauty of this too-brief life on our spinning globe of abandoned homes.

#Poetry #Poem #Pastoral #Necropastoral #MetaModernism #Transrealism #NewSublimity #NewRomanticism #AmericanDream #Cinemism #Existentialism #Surrealism #NegativeCapability #NewGnosticism #MetaRealism #NewTranscendentalism #Astarism

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Last Apple Tree On Earth
© Surazeus
2025 12 20

The old man in tattered jacket and pants
waits in the urgent care clinic at noon
for the winter storm that never arrives
to shroud the fruit tree on the hill of skulls
because snowflakes wait in heavenly clouds
to preserve apple seeds in frozen soil.

The young boy in brand new pants, coat, and boots
walks across the field of bright pristine snow
to stand under the tree where god once hung
nine days and nights with one electric eye,
and asks the blind angel with crippled hands
if he can find the home where no one lives.

Eyes blinded by strange beauty of the light,
the young boy in the field of bitter snow
watches bees drift far across the multiverse
to sweeten tea of martial-artist seers
who dance with Death in woods of faceless ghosts
where psychiatrists burn books of fake poems.

The seed of the last apple tree on Earth
explodes from sorrow of the frozen soil
to shade one spot in the waste land of words
where couples dance to the Blue Danube Waltz
before the meteor strikes the spinning globe
and shatters illusion of paradise.

In the psychiatrist office of faith
the young teacher with no children at home
plays chess with Anger in angelic robe
but always wins against proverbs of faith
so she drives circles in the broken car
around forever in the city maze.

The car mechanic wanders streets at night,
reciting poetry of broken hearts
to telephone poles where angels abide
that explain the secrets of life he learns
while pondering lifestyle of the honey bee
preserved in nature of the avalanche.

When the teacher and the mechanic meet
by random chance beneath the frozen tree,
their hard eyes spark electric flash of love,
so they hold hands and pledge eternal troth
but they both die after their son is born
who stands beneath Tree of Fidelity.

Raindrops stuck in clouds know secret of love
so they transform to snowflakes in the cold
that nurture seeds to grow into fruit trees
fertilized by bees on the river shore
so the waste land blooms as Elysium
where he sees the cute girl riding her bike.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus and Ophelia gaze at their new-born son Orion and hope he has a long and happy life after they die in the car crash on the highway of fate.

#Poetry #Poem #Pastoral #Necropastoral #MetaModernism #Transrealism #NewSublimity #NewRomanticism #AmericanDream #Cinemism #Existentialism #Surrealism #NegativeCapability #NewGnosticism #MetaRealism #NewTranscendentalism #Astarism