Angels Of The Apple Moon
© Surazeus
2026 09 16

Because my ancestors wake in my brain
and show me dreams of their experiences,
I learn to grieve for their strife to survive
and rejoice when they transcend weaknesses,
so the wolf transforms to bride of my hearth
who shows me how to love the apple moon.

Though eerie silver light of mindless eyes
dreams me through tangled branches of old trees,
I morph instinctive howl of anguished rage
to joyful ritual of collective grief,
so through the psychic switchboard of our hearts
we call wild angels of the apple moon.

Gathered together on the star-lake shore,
we cultivate weird silence of stone faith
while we reflect on how we interact
through collective awakening from fear
to sing through water language of the heart
wild laughter we drink from the apple moon.

Though we are blind from blazing words in books,
that veil our eyes to state of our real world,
we navigate its shadowy terrain
with fantasies our lost ancestors mapped,
till we pause on the precipice of fate
to hear new riddle of the apple moon.

Huge jagged mountain of dim memories
traps wild demonic energy of love
that whispers secrets in electric trees
who seem to know why we still search for peace
though pages of our books are scattered far
as seeds that sprout gods on the apple moon.

Since we are beetles on vast trees of time,
and crickets singing by deep lakes of souls,
we hurl our spirits at blind light of God,
then float of waves of childhood with new hope,
reborn from mothers and fathers of fate
who teach us wisdom of the apple moon.

Each day we rise with rhythm of the wind,
and flow with laughter of the water stream
while strolling in vast woods where demons lurk,
then listen to bright angels sing in halls
about fragile beauty of transient lives
because we vanish in the apple moon.

Blind clouds where no gods control human fate
break open hearts of anguish to release
refreshing torrents of rain that revive
lush garden of truth from waste land of lies
so we become the ancestors who sing
stories to children of the apple moon.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus leads souls of the dead to Fields of Elysium where they assemble in crystal palace of glorious truth as ghosts of children of the apple moon.

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