Keyed To Open Minds
© Surazeus
2025 11 08

Baked cookies are flying saucers of the heart,
warming my soul on chilly autumn nights
when oak leaves shroud my house and yard in names
of all the people who have ever lived
so I remember stories of their lives
as I eat sweetness of our innocence.

My heart remembers what it contemplates
with aching sorrow drawn from memory
that raises ghosts of people I once knew
from mute oblivion of being unnamed
as they haunt silence of dark evening hours
and ask me to write their names in the dirt.

When birds sing cheerfully in evening glow
I am fooled that Gabriel has returned
with another message for me to write
with blood of angels killed by speeding cars
so I pause in half-open door of fear
to translate solemn words of prophecy.

Yet when the Future speaks into my heart
dumb echo of its voice reverberates
down endless corridors of city streets
in coded signs of weird profundity
which substitute old meanings for new lies
through execution keyed to open minds.

Aligned with travelers of bravery
who never turn back to the homes they leave,
I measure vastness of the changing sea,
heart split by lightning flash of new respect,
which Nature leaves undated in the sky,
for I still live though love has burned my heart.

If Earth reverses hemispheres of fate
by how time could unstitch our universe,
I would record strict circumstance of chance,
appalled by ghastly wisdom children find
as serpents slithering in tall grass of faith
because I stand alone with ghosts of time.

Unworthy talent of my shy attempt
to bandage wounded heart of travesty
convinces few to gamble liberty
for souls that retake moments of despair,
hearts laden with unwanted guilt of failure,
since horror always finds us vulnerable.

Arresting fall from Heaven on bold wing,
I rise with courage of attentive theme
designed to resurrect my wounded heart
from grave of sadness so I fly again
on swift plumed feet of delirious angst
and give cookies to homeless on the street.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus leans against the lamppost outside the bookstore filled with shoppers for holiday, and contemplates the mystery of human existence.

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