Truth-Wounded Heart
© Surazeus
2025 04 04

Ten thousand waves crash against island rocks,
adjusting righteous order of door locks
with broken masks of arrogant disdain
that reflect spirits of humans in rain
who give each other stones with secret names
to understand the horse no devil tames.

Ten thousand winds swirl trees on rugged hills,
expanding consciousness of human wills
with rich experience each ancestor lives,
recorded in our brains, which pain retrieves
to program how we analyze events,
that threaten our lives, with bold confidence.

Yet still rock of salvation bears my soul
with nurturing passion through maternal role
that provides support so I can stay strong
when I get entangled by right and wrong
in staged performance I am forced to play
by earless Fate who mocks me when I pray.

So I map web of roads that bind the Earth
in social communes based on psychic worth
we explicate with volatile contempt
despite our request to remain exempt
from patient attitude of honest Death
who stalks me while I practice with deep breath.

Thus I dispense with meaning spelled by words
in mental tunes charming as songs of birds
to focus your attention on this spell
compiled by serpentine runes in the well
that brims with water of the sacred Earth
through revelation of our second birth.

Awake this sultry Appalachian eve,
I teach my truth-wounded heart how to grieve
when nations collapse into civil war
since some have nothing when others want more
in legal game of theft employed with tricks
since every soul must cross the bloody Styx.

Sometimes I want to pack my memories
and sail back east across the stormy seas
with plan to return to my first homeland
where apple trees bloom I tended by hand,
but land of Scythia is under attack,
so I lament I can never go back.

Thus I remain in land where I was born,
though our great Constitution has been torn,
to build from ruins of America
inclusive state of free Zarathia
where everyone lives together in peace
with the Holy Grail and the Golden Fleece.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus feels ocean wind blow through the apple trees on the hill where his family gathers around the bonfire to drink cider and sing with fireflies.

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