Flaming Wings Of Fear
© Surazeus
2026 07 02

Each evening at this time the gold sun glows
bright rays of beautiful sadness through trees
with bold assurance of belief that proves
the typist knows why children never cry
when angels fall on flaming wings of fear
from bomb-blasted tower of arrogance.

Walking in fairy woods of Zathamar,
every evening when I get home from work,
I browse electric books of moon-bright words
to understand the sorrows people hide
as serpents coiled in cavern of their hearts
because they think of things that torment them.

My friends keep vanishing in mist of time
so when I call their names with ringing chime
their ghosts hide in sibilant water flow
with stolen grace of innocent despair
that surges hot as sap in trunks of trees
at supple clack from spinning wheels of fate.

My father named me Sagittarius
because he hoped with prayers for my success
that courage of the archer strengthens me
with bold ambition of spontaneous fun
so I explore and colonize the world,
trapped by stereotype of my horoscope.

Long undulant curves of my flowered mask
reveal intensity of hope I hide
with brave emergency of sudden loss
despite unfolding sadness I deny
with fibrous innocence of tangled roots
because we touch each other with desire.

Strange wholeness of my body is not me,
I never say in words you understand,
so we share suffering in how we dance
through disunited harmony of rage
we channel into stories we invent
with fractured concepts of honey disgust.

Attempts to smooth lugubrious concern
with frantic compound of anarchic peace,
still capable of fixing flummoxed fear,
discombobulates our brave ardency,
bewildered by weird truth we must ignore,
till second coming of the eyeless ghost.

Bright halo that once shone above my head
falls off one day and fractures on cement,
so I sweep shards of innocence with broom
on which my mother flew across the moon,
then build new world from ruins of the past
because the gold sun glows through happy trees.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus teaches Sagittarius art of bending steamed yew wood to fashion the bow taut with string of courage so he can shoot arrow of salvation at Death.

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