Summer Tree Of Tongues
© Surazeus
2025 11 17

If owls still wail before old fathers die,
I should walk windswept road of dancing trees
to find the house I built collapsed in rain
when rage erases beauty from the sky,
though I hide wingless angels in my eye
because they seek to understand the why.

Cloud-stippled wings of thunder-laughing crows
beat urgently against hole of my face
since sharp words spoken by the shadow ghost
targets my heart with ubiquitous faith
that God attends my fortune with bold plan
which cripples my ability to play.

Mysterious beauty of the singing stone
attracts attention of the nameless girl
who pauses search for blueberries and eggs
to ask the crow in summer tree of tongues
why no one seems to understand her words
as if their souls are water of the lake.

So she leans close to study flower blooms
where bees buzz languidly in shimmer-thought
for simple concept of possessive fate
contained in promises of falling rain
that still reminds her why she needs to know
how human bodies pulse with energy.

If she explores dark chambers of the sea
with hazardous assertion that time swirls,
she fears frail hope will shatter at the strike
of supple wings old butterflies consign
to sighs of happiness from casual waves
despite allowance for excited ploy.

Our perfect voices blend with radiant choirs
in company of sudden ringing spite
that leaves our bodies throbbing on hot sand
when we embrace in tangled hope of love
though we sink wordlessly in liquid gloom
to escape hollow duty of the tomb.

Trapped by terrible silence of respect
that blesses lonely hearts with fortitude,
we sell each other lies for eggs and gems
based on capacity of hearts to know
glamor of lies from grittiness of truth,
delicate with frantic friendship of faith.

Distraught with heartless majesty of angst,
we store our precious relics in our hearts
to prove we grow beyond obsessive game
our parents teach us to play so we gain
plaintive glitter of earnest ardency
when I rebuild home with paternal bones.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus and Ophelia find each other in the forest of singing stones, so they share stories and food as they sit by the lake in moon-white twilight and kiss.

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