Question Formal State
© Surazeus
2025 04 23

To be the one who comprehends the why
that spirals plight of the helical ray
which beams from nuclear mind of the sun,
I question formal state of nothingness
essential to chain atoms in thought strings
which pulse with passion of my eager heart.

To wash contention down with flushing words
despite decision angels calculate
to stretch our souls beyond bounds of the brain,
I drink excessive flow from melting ice
which leaks thick psychedelic dreams of fate
constructing palaces of jeweled eyes.

To think aggressive logic forth from doom
through curved progressive steps of ardency
reflecting metered tales on angled walls,
I pour demonic blood squeezed from sponge flesh
on sunbaked desert pavement of my heart
to oil jagged fragments of memories.

Orpheus pauses in the bleak waste land,
and squints into nerve-jangling glare of fear
that shimmers thick on boundless plain of dread
where no signs point the way to paradise,
then laughs wounded with hysterical pride
at shriek of vultures circling void of time.

To strum taut strings on lyre of Mercury
that twang too taut across eternity
as tangled sinews that compose my being,
I scratch at desert pavement cracked by hope
for one faint simmer of moisture dispersed
though I shiver freezing in blaze of light.

To taste soft flowers Ophelia held
in trembling hands of shy flirtatious faith
still plump and white with sorrow of dawn snow,
I croak audacious hymn of travesty
at mirror mask of death who watches me
crawl ten million years across scorching sand.

To bloom from rain-soaked soil of honesty
with lithesome grace of heaven-reaching flight
fire-fueled by urgent quest to transcend pain,
I scream nonverbal howl of rasping cough
on crippled wings of pure angelic rage
as Earth embraces my frail soul with death.

Orpheus stumbles into apple grove
and falls face-first on plush lawn of wet grass,
skin cracked and peeling from hot desert sun,
and coughs as Ophelia pours in his mouth
cold apple cider spiced with cinnamon
that beams divine soul of god in his brain.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus groans at pain of his skin cracked by the hot sun as Ophelia smooths herbal paste with gentle care of loving eyes.

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