Tick Of My Clockwork Heart
© Surazeus
2025 09 13

If you hear sharp tick of my clockwork heart
echo in ancient forest of stone trees,
wrap your sinuous arms around my chest
and embrace wordless anguish of desire
that sparks pleasure when our bodies entwine
with nonchalant excess of perfumed faith.

Languorous in sensuous sea of flesh,
we writhe with agony in dazzling dream
of sailboats voyaging across wild waves
with bodies open to the glorious sky
that shimmers with eternal heat of hope
as we emerge from shadows of lost time.

Shadows of the unveiled invisible
reveal electric spirit of my brain
sparked by imperishable swirls of truth
that reflect hallucinations of hope
which lure me far across the rain-wet field
through horror of derision and despair.

Disheveled tresses of the pretty ghost,
who holds ticking clock of my vibrant heart
with languorous fascination of the mad,
veil atrocious cavern of my vast mind
where I chase rainbow of progressive fear
to cracked fountain where I drink blood of faith.

Bold mother of memories utters prayers
illumed by glow of coals in fractured heart
with divine attention of lightning strikes
that open pure door of momentous fright
when I give infinite kisses of trust
which rejuvenates the sun in my brain.

Hunched on enormous boulder of respect,
I gaze from mountain slope in frantic wind
at wordless shimmer of the boundless sea
where beautiful hawks glide above the world
with proper privilege of sudden faith,
invisible yet everywhere alive.

Yet when I pause in shadowed atrium
and listen to soft burble of the stream,
weird howl of silver clouds above the sea
refracts strange memory of the muddy path
where she appears in flash of sudden light
with eyes that understand the why of death.

Though you hear soft tick of my clockwork heart
that vibes in harmony with ocean waves,
teach me to focus on the here and now
with clear perceptive eyes of fragile faith
accepting how flowers bloom from my brain
when I try to regenerate the dead.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus tries to explain his adventure to his daughter when he returns to the cave of shadows by the sea where she shapes clay into pottery with administrative hands.

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