Fractured Globe Of Ghosts
© Surazeus
2026 02 06

Winter brightness blinks from core of my soul
with closed alacrity of searing glints
that wrench my freckled happiness with fear
since hour I first reach out my helpless hands
for mother of mankind to lift me high
though I revise my memory with hope.

Before I fall from complicated choice
to measure future success with tree limbs,
I drag withered bag of my punctured pride
across heat-withered yard of honesty
that leaves chunks of my memories behind
which I collect and stew in pot of dreams.

Adjusting tone of fierce anxiety
with evening darkness of sequestered thought,
I name each faceless ghost I meet with number
to honor stars that blaze across the sky
and smash our world view into smithereens
so we remember why we are not born.

Frost on the window glass of memory
refracts clear light of wisdom bent to faith
by severed sighs of wordless desperation
which I would package with symbols of fate
to understand how ice erases death
each time I wake with arrogant surprise.

So this is how I deconstruct your truth
from mocking laughter of the greedy priest
with rooted pleasure to expose your hate
for everybody on this world but you,
which leaves us stunned on threshold of world change
beneath new arch of triumph stained with blood.

Blurred flicker-flash of my immortal soul
appears on both sides of the door at once
with leaping fracture twisted by contempt
when I cross field of alabaster skulls
to visit every variant of our world
till I find paradise unlost on Earth.

Half sunk in ardent lake of hungry hope,
I beam electric sparkles through my bones
because this world should be more beautiful
though countless creatures have died miserably
over four hundred million years of lust
to dominate this fractured globe of ghosts.

I teach my children secret of this world,
that we are driven by desire to breed
new children who incarnate soul of genes,
yet worship people who succeed as gods,
dream guides who show us how to kill to live
because we eat sweet sorrows of our hearts.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus explains how he feels to his therapist who looks just like the statue of Arthemis in the Zarathian Museum of Psychological Codes.

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