Frosted Winter Nights
© Surazeus
2025 02 13

Long after starry eyes of winter night
ceased looking in window pane of his mind
because Robert passed from dream of this world,
the outside world looks darkly now at me
with the same indifferent intensity
of time-wound emptiness that knew his soul.

I long have wondered with fierce grumpiness
what strange spirit is looking in at me
with timeless light of ancient burned-out stars
till I read spell he wrote with demon blood
about his endless frosted winter nights
brooding mute with the broken moon of fate.

No nameless ghost of my ancestral genes
disturbs my half-slumber by the cold hearth
while I compose angelic spells with runes
of gleaming light on glass screen of the sky,
for I scare not the night of everywhere
nor does eternity of night scare me.

I keep behind placid mask of my face,
which I took from the ancient gallery,
terror of nothingness with unconcern
of calm acceptance that we all will die,
so I watch moonlight gleam on backyard lawn
with heavy breathing of monstrous respect.

I gaze at outerness of the vast world
and fancy some omniscient super-mind
returns my gaze with divine nonchalance
that fills my chemical frame with cold shock,
yet I must laugh at quietness of God
who smiles as reflection of my own soul.

To understand strange darkness of our world
which watches me with eyes of nothingness,
I ask sly smirking ghost of Robert Frost,
whose ghost emanates from book of his poems,
what weird mysterious spirit of blind gloom
haunts our houses on frosted winter nights.

Slumbering dreamless by moon-silver stream,
the word wizard wearing Saturnian mask
stirs at puzzling code of my anxious voice,
rises tall with lumbering stillness of faith,
and slowly chants Hyrkanian spell of hope
that stirs majestic spirit in my heart.

Then I step back with startled state of mind,
surprised by wyrd epiphany of truth
that I am darkness of the outer world
gazing at myself through the window pane,
for God is mirror of my conscious mind
as atomic light in my dreaming brain.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/02/…

Orpheus hangs out with Robert Frost on frosted winter night in his farmhouse, drinking apple cider and talking about the demonic night.

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