Find The Hidden Star
© Surazeus
2026 05 25

If no dead angels are found on the street
nobody will throw them on the trash heap,
yet the girl who paints make-up on her dolls
always mistakes them for infernal trolls,
so she transforms them into graceful cats
who insist that angels are really bats.

Sophie weeps for the boys in uniform
shot in war to make slavery the norm,
whose mangled bodies rot in summer sun
while she stares in shock at the blood-stained gun
her brother leaned against the bedroom wall
while his horse flicks her tail in the barn stall.

When Death knocks on the farm door at midnight,
Sophie sees his face glowing with moonlight,
so she gives him cup of chocolate to drink
while he sits by the glowing hearth to think
about how time unravels dreamless souls
who think they are born to play special roles.

Kneeling by lace-curtained window of faith,
Sophie prays for insight from the Star Wraith,
but all she hears in rustle of elm trees
are voices of the dead as buzz of bees
who explain nothing about why we die
as she watches sunrise bleed from the sky.

Trapped by necessity to calculate
how rhymes help our spirits navigate
confusing maze of myths with psychic tropes,
Sophie records details of intense hopes
she harbors in secret cove of her heart
that will appear on no nautical chart.

Laughter echoes in halls of the wood house
where Sophie sings hymn in her favorite blouse
with voice that fades in plangent prairie winds
so her heart starts to ache where the road bends
beyond horizon of Ohio hills
in townless valley of innocent rills.

For thirty days she rides the wagon far
on noble quest to find the hidden star
that gleams above the Rocky Mountain range,
though she almost cries at the need to change
from social turmoil of the civil war
that shatters truth outside her bedroom door.

No angels rot on Colorado plains
so bones dissolve in cataclysmic rains
where Sophie builds new house from memories
which she hides as riddles in arcane keys
that gleam in tangled neurons of my mind
to bloom in fruit trees of weird truth I find.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus visits farmstead in Colorado where his great-great-great-grandmother lived after migrating from Ohio after the Civil War.

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