Fields Of Silent Hope
© Surazeus
2025 03 20

Once I rise from gold casket of the sun,
dazed by strange wisdom of the spinning Earth,
I walk across the fractured-mirror sky
to scatter teardrops on the conquering dead
who took nothing of the world in their hands
when they crumbled to dust with those they killed.

The woman who swallows poisonous spiders
shows me how to extract honey from trees
so we can eat sweet sorrow of the world
before great sprawling cities of steel towers
disintegrate into computer code
that mistranslates tales of our futile lives.

Black cows graze in the valley of despair
without aggressive interest in results
of horses races men bet on to get rich
while mourning for fall of their world empire
at second coming of the hungry clown
who steals gifts from Christmas trees at midnight.

I see no star man floating in the sky,
but I do see farmers, feet on the ground,
working in boundless fields of silent hope,
while the girl who keeps the sea in her heart
looks for solutions among purple thistles
while whistling The House of the Rising Sun.

No one regrets true love more than she does,
so she studies how moose and arctic fox
live in the tundra of perpetual faith
by measuring distance to half-frozen pool
that resembles eye of the dinosaur
who walked these lands millions of years ago.

The child who speaks ancient language of sheep
tells his mother about the laughing crow
that hops on the freezing cast-iron stove
before dawn sun can break another heart
with silent absence of the nameless face
which means the opposite of what she thinks.

The gray-haired mother who still prays in church
tells the tombstone where her son lies in dirt
that she trusts in God to protect his life,
and glares at the old man in the oak tree
who tells her God has abandoned mankind,
then wades into the lake to drown herself.

The riderless horse with moon-silver eyes
glides regally in streets of Washington
to bring faceless ghost of the fallen king
back from lush meadows of Elysium
so he can save the republic at last
from grasping hands of Ozymandias.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/03/…

Orpheus films farmers working in silent fields of hope to raise crops that feed the empire of people at computers in sprawling cities of steel towers.

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