Souls Of Hungry Seraphim
© Surazeus
2026 09 03

Too deep the sorrow of brute wakefulness
that scatters souls of hungry seraphim
frail as crackled leaves across parking lots
where demons give each other stolen eyes
to make up excuses for scamming gods
who insist on their hard-won happiness.

Strange idea of the true way to live
blinds generations of eager wanderers
who clean the spotless windows of their hearts
in numberless houses where no one lives,
apprenticed to the changeless flow of time
unspooling clocks that scream too silently.

If books unfold themselves with angel wings
against sapphire intensity of hope,
we share ripe peaches in the afternoon
while Satan vacuums empty offices
because no one meets him at the crossroads
with newspapers from secret centuries.

The greatest tales of history ever told
seem to have happened far too long ago
for children to remember why they need
bread to eat with honey of demon tears
that soothes the wounded hearts of honesty
with inconvenience of forgotten dreams.

Since we get nothing from old memories
except mute madness of the speeding car,
we look for kind gnomes in suburban yards
who ask us if we vote for president
before the second coming of the toad
whose eyes gleam bright as headlights in the fog.

She tells him with soft voice of fluttered leaves
that she prefers to fill her heart with love
instead of waiting for his love to fill
the empty places of her hopefulness,
so he calls her the beautiful and brave
with open eyes in museum of her heart.

Since I was born with the weakness to fall,
she sings while twirling in clear sparkling rain
where flower petals flutter in the breeze,
I was also born with the strength to rise,
so he holds wingless anguish of her heart
till she grows wings and flies into the clouds.

The human heart is stronger than the stone
smoothed by ten million years of river tears
because it shatters from betrayal each day,
yet throbs again with dawn flash of the sun,
so we hold hands to bind our weakened hearts
with strength of eager loneliness we share.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury while High Priestess of Wounded Hearts sings heart-healing melodies for young women in her Temple of the Honest Girl.

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