Faceless Ghost Of Thought
© Surazeus
2026 09 14

Trees speak the most ancient language of faith
so I love to walk with them in twilight glow
and listen as their long-winded tales flow
to shape creation of the multiverse
from dreams all conscious creatures leave behind
when we breathe sorrow and pleasure of time.

When faithful people of the world assemble
in shady forest of tale-whispering trees,
I feel my heart swell huge as mountain clouds
with selfish loveliness of fragile flowers
that teach how beauty blooms from misery,
therefore I prance about with gleeful joy.

With brush of angel feathers dipped in blood
of half-dead gods, I paint trees on brick walls
of abandoned factories in city maze
to cast dark shadow of nature on streets
where people wander lost in daze of faith
till they drive to the mountains and cry.

Cows speak the lonely language of hope
so I explain to daughter of my heart
that words of thought are molded by our tongues
which shape air into concepts we envision
so we extend our hands in gloom of fear
to name all things with angel words God speaks.

While birds chirp in tall trees of flapping leaves
I sit in wood fane Phoebus built for me
and copy words of epics he composed
on skin of devils he killed with thought-spear,
which prophesy our days of dream machines
powered by flashing wires of imitation.

Though I cannot see results of my actions
designing fate through choices I perform,
I know the end state of the universe
created by beginning flash of love
that sweetens endless hours of hungry faith
when I explore valley of singing skulls.

Euphoric song of trees on river shores
reveal faint glimpse of horror we expect
from codified annulment of desire
when time unravels concept of our being
by deconstructing frame of chemicals
so we become the faceless ghost of thought.

I walk this spinning globe into bright dream
by shaping virtual model in my mind
that maps landscape where dramatic events
occur at clash of angels fighting gods
for whose tale shapes world view of yet-born souls
who listen to our voices in new trees.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury and sings enchanting hymn that causes trees to wake so they talk to humans for ten thousand years to no avail.

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