Road That Never Moves
© Surazeus
2025 06 25

I want to ask clouds in the distant sky
to tell her through the drops of sparkling rain
that I will always journey at her side,
but all I find is shadow of her soul
silent beside me on the meadow grass
far from the endless road that never moves.

Perhaps she will return from somewhere else
and call my name before my sunless tomb
to come forth from cold darkness of my fear
so I can walk with shadow of her soul
one hundred million years of flowing time
as we transform from mouse to faceless god.

If death is secret moving in my heart
with ache of sorrow springing tears of hope,
then I will touch the object of desire
to understand strange essence of this world
so truth invisible to dreamless eyes
may shine as lamp that guides our journey home.

The absent body of her vibrant soul
still resonates with passion of her heart
from hollow emptiness of where she glows
so when I wake from dream I find myself
standing beside myself among fruit trees,
expanding to be everywhere at once.

When our ship splits on the rock of our faith
we will rebuild material of its hope
in home with rooms to keep our memories
preserved in hymns we sing before we die,
and doors that lead our souls to other worlds
so we dwell safe in haven of shared love.

The tree of knowledge on lawn of our home
looms spectral at the silver sky of hope
with shaggy gloominess of pure respect
that weeps to see us humans live and die
through endless generations of rebirth
which surge in waves of innocent desire.

Long branches twisting at the empty sky
map disappearance of our hungry souls
as we blaze trails across the wilderness
to network cities with connective roads
while weaving empire of world-view control
which becomes the truth we cannot dismiss.

Through summer stillness of the sultry air
our lithe bodies emerge from soil of Earth
to harvest food from bounty of its faith
so we share feast of friends in temple halls
while the blind bard sings long-forgotten tales
of heroes whose dreams animate our minds.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury and sings for revelers at the glorious feast to celebrate the rise of Zarathia from the ruins of America.

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