Highest Hill Of Thought
© Surazeus
2026 10 17

Though all my memories vanish in the wind
when I wake from bright spark of ardent hope,
I hear voice of the woman with three eyes
sing soft in harmony with ocean waves
so I become the tree with long black wings
emerging from blank pages of the book.

Strange dreams of running on gold sand of fear
urge me to rise from nothingness of hope
and fly on breath of mountain-swelling ache
till time obliterates the question why,
so I sit on huge tuft of grass to play
the faceless ghost who wears mask of the cloud.

Surprised by laughter of wind-rustled trees,
I open ribcage of my pulsing chest
to read the ancient book of memories,
releasing ghosts of my ancestral selves
who speak in voices of the twinkling stars
with humble frisson of psychic resolve.

With curious passion of the hungry beast,
I rummage in cracked rubble of my mind
to find the secret treasure of my heart
though I admit embarrassment of faith
because I grieve for someone who is gone,
their body vanished in the swirling dust.

Voluble with attentive care for moons
that flash across the awkward clouds of trust,
I breathe in fluent language of the ghost
who teaches me to stand on steady legs
and walk in surging tides of social change
till I ascend the highest hill of thought.

Still hidden in safe habitat of love,
considered genius by the writhing snake,
I dance with dazzling beauty of the brain
to prove my flightless arrogance requires
brave admiration of the cheering crowd
whose frail-leaf hands applaud my slow decay.

Reborn as angel in the factory
where devils carve new masks of noble class,
I glide with vibrant beat of city streets
to taste pure accuracy of loyal pride
for architect of balanced clumsiness
when I construct grand hall of fluting bones.

Because I bleed from portrait on the wall
as lacrimating prophet without hands,
despair transforms my body from glass rain
to throbbing ghoul of beautiful contempt
which proves my right to reign with stolen laws
as faceless god on highest hill of thought.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus watches the young woman on the beach gather and roast clams, so he approaches with basket of apples to share, so they eat together and sing in moonlight.

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