Holy Trees Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 04 22

The striped lizard of arrogance, that crawls
mewing across the eyeball of the sky,
counts all the people wandering alone
amid the ruins of their fantasies
who sing the anguish of their broken hearts
all together in harmony of hope.

The old man sitting on porch of his home
on the cabbage farm by the country road
considers why the lizard knows the name
of every poet wandering alone
in ancient cemetery of dead gods
who come out as zombies every full moon.

Chewing on the stalk of wheat in his teeth,
the old man wearing the tattered felt hat
ponders what folksy proverbs he could share
on his next radio show on Sunday night
that might inspire working people to hold
fast to faith that slithers away as sand.

The people wandering in the wilderness
who look for signs along the wheel-worn road
search for the dandelion of the sun
which might reveal the hour the ship comes in
so they can follow chimes of freedom ringing
across the broad prairies of wind-blown grass.

So when the children of the country town
run down the dirt road in the afternoon
to pick wild plums from holy trees of faith
with joyful exuberance of the young,
the old man brings them baskets with a grin
as finches flit between the white-laced trees.

The way the world of hills and valleys burst
with bright explosions of slow-motion blooms
after rain drenches farms and towns at dawn
revives his sense of skeptical respect
as children jump around with jubilance
with muddy feet that curl roots into Earth.

Thus we are rooted to this ancient land
where we are born from hearts of migrant souls
because we eat the light of singing trees
that transform mud of this land into fruit
which molds our bodies from its timeless dreams
and welcomes us with comfort in its graves.

Yet flock of starlings shrieking in the sky
remind the old man with hair white as snow
that he can see eternity of truth
when he gazes in the rainwater pool
which reflects the face his ancestors wore
before they became fruit the Earth consumes.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus plays banjo and sings folk songs from the old country as children eat plums on the porch of his farm.

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