Fugitives From Modern Times
© Surazeus
2025 06 11

Though blind ghosts of faith, hope, and charity
haunt leafless forest of my word-chained heart,
confounding vision of the sacred truth
that glimmers with alluring fantasy,
I wander lost beyond the Afterlife,
drowning in waves of perceptible space.

No monstrous evil possesses my mind
with ache of absence from the restless wind
that casts bleak shadows on pictureless walls
to highlight center of my heated cause,
untwisted by murderous breath of fate
less healing than smart pain of innocence.

Still wounded in faint shadow of dread snow,
I feel your absence haunt my hollow heart
with fragments of false memories we share
despite state doctrine we should always care
long after furious blowing of hot wind
that drenches oak-treed neighborhoods in fear.

If our hearts throb at sudden flash of truth
when we turn on artificial room lights,
we my remember why we cling to hope
with fierce intensity to fragile rope
that dangles frame of flesh above the deep
since sacred relics are not ours to keep.

Still prodigal of light till end of time,
I feign indifference to this piteous state
marked by the crooked spite of honesty
because we think this wicked world is right,
conceived from sweetness of selfless regret,
though stranded by the misty lake at dawn.

Unwound by frantic clock of Nevertime,
our names on headstones by the empty church
yield stories of our lives to elements
erasing memory of our consciousness
which dispels rumor of immortality
through desolation of the hungry hour.

Agrarian principles of desolate faith
compel the fugitives from modern times
to seek faint solace in lush fields of oaks
where grass blooms rich from corpses of dead souls
who beg uncomfortable angels for facts
which recalculate road to paradise.

Chipped wing of the stone angel, who knows why
organic bodies bloom and then decay,
extends protective services of faith
through twilight uncertainty of brave hope
to pray important shrift of timeless death
for rancid circumstance of charity.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus joins the fugitives for a picnic in the forest of oaks by the river not yet polluted by factories of oligarchs who exploit the poor for wealth.

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