Your Great Empire Falls
© Surazeus
2025 05 10

While they sing of the Promised Land in church
I stand up and walk out the shadow door
to stand beneath the flowering chestnut tree
where birds discuss romantic states of mind.
If I become the lark no one hears sing
then no one can steal my liberty wing.

Frogs croak in the pond by the cemetery
where my ancestors can hear their lonely songs.
I vow while gripping yew bow of concern
to dedicate my heart to right all wrongs
unjustly done to the weak by the strong,
then stare at the river flow in bright haze.

Strange sleepiness seems to numb my fierce heart
with anguish of suffering people endure
who struggle to survive hunger and fear
enforced by men on horses with sharp swords.
Cars honk as traffic lights flash green and red
past park where I doze in the afternoon.

We found the Promised Land across the sea
after we escaped the dark castle keep
and sailed by ship to search for liberty
through storms that almost wrecked our fragile faith.
We killed the native tribes of paradise
and built this empire of true faith with guns.

Swift horses, we once rode with gusting wind
to build vast empires sea to shining sea
for God on Earth who reigns on throne of gold
from Tower of Babel on pyramid
we built with bleeding hands of loyalty,
now graze all day in fenced fields of regret.

Pink flowers of the wind-blown chestnut tree
spiral from heaven to glow in my hair
as I watch people drive cars somewhere else
with frantic purpose to earn wealth of faith.
As homeless savior of the busy world,
I wait the hour you call for me to rule.

Three thousand years ago I harrowed hell
to save my love from slavery of fear,
but learned I cannot bring the dead to life
for once our bodies crumble into dust
our animating souls disperse in wind.
Yet still I hope to give her life again.

The oldest woman in the world strolls by
the park bench where I ponder history
to pause with gleam of wisdom in her eye
as she gives me fresh hamburger and fries,
so I hold communion with faith in love
while your great empire falls around your heads.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus sits homeless on the park bench, discussing current political events with squirrels and crows.

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