Empty Room Of Everywhere
© Surazeus
2026 06 26

Darkness enters hollow room of my heart
so I eat sorrow of the eyeless moon
when she undresses mirror of her mind
to bear witness with melancholy faith
in lonesome laughter of new sentiment
we share as photo of romantic fear.

No tragic ghost of famished innocence,
I enter empty room of everywhere
through clacking aperture of sacrifice
with lovesick passion for the happy moon
who bleeds tears of the gentle masochist,
disappeared by shadows of broken doors.

Electric arms of writhing platitudes
expose bitter resemblance of the spy
who translates arrogant language of stones
which triggers frantic dance of stoic faith
by sharing love with unprepared respect
to wake enormous beast inside my heart.

Contained by tragic memory my heart molds,
my spirit slithers in contemptuous waves
with blessed mimicry of angry saints
who howl with shame in sermons of despair
that we should take what we desire the most
which proves our right to dwell in fractal eggs.

Fooled by illustrious vision of rich joy
extracting laughter from wild twirl of fate,
I stand behind the empty church and count
skeletons of glass that emerge from mud
as holy warriors of the noble cause
who sail across the sea of wordless storms.

Determined to escape fake paradise,
I pull ghosts of children from graves of faith,
tangled in roots of trees that transform blood
of our bodies to apples angels eat
in bid to flush depression from the brain
pulsing with lust to generate new life.

Emergent specialist, trained to construct
idols of gods from bones of terrorists,
I consider weird meaning of true love
sold in plastic packages at the store
where devils trick naive nurses with glam
of the wealthy lifestyle in palace cage.

Attempting to disguise my wounded heart
with mask of fortitude, designed by pain
more searing than rain on sun-hot asphalt,
I run across the thistle-bristling plain
with diligent focus on turning fault
to virtue based on proverbs of the chart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus searches for Minerva all over the rugged hills of Scotland till he finds her by the sparkling pool in the fairy glen chatting with three blind angels.

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