Strange September Sea
© Surazeus
2025 03 09

My mother drives the red Volkswagen slow
narrow road that winds around silent hills
among tall birch trees gleaming white as snow
on Sunday afternoon in early Autumn
to go somewhere we never went before
so we can walk around the anxious lake.

Disconnected scenes of fragmented thoughts,
boxed in broken sentences of regret,
clutter unlit stage after the last show,
tattered costumes of undead characters,
and masks that represent feelings we hide,
heaped in shadow of unspoken despair.

So I run down to strange September Sea
and wander mute on the heavenly shore
while searching for the lush Elysian fields
where ghosts of people I once knew may float
as silver mist along the gushing stream
where I decide to build the Golden Bridge.

Awake in raptured vision of this world,
I pluck taut strings on lyre of Mercury
to sing praise for Warder of Paradise
who guards the border to the Promised Land
with flaming sword of arrogant disdain
for anyone not born with the right glamor.

Kneeling before grave of the blonde-haired girl
whose sky-blue eyes entranced my heart with love,
I weep with sorrow at her early death
because the redemption story is false,
for after we crumble to Earth in death
we never rise to glory in the sky.

Yet varied marvels of Nature express
artless grandeur of atoms shaping forms
that stream with beauty of eternal light
still flaring forth from the first flash of love
to shine as creatures with bright conscious minds
from raptured thoughts of bountiful desire.

Even in sequential dreams of free will,
when we glow brightly with passion of love,
we will find original spark of hope
that revives compassion of selfless faith
to beam with empathy for living souls
which springs from emptiness of Hungry Self.

Always capable of love for everyone,
we drive cars on newly signified roads
to participate in fun social games
where strangers give each other secret names,
then eat mushrooms and worship the God Toad
whose timeless love song vibrates from the sun.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/03/…

Orpheus visits the grave of his childhood friend Lori Lee Whetmore, placing the yellow daffodil of carefree joy as he remembers how her eyes sparkled when she laughed.

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