On Prairies Of Zathamar
© Surazeus
2026 03 02

Since no one watches television show
of my life, I do whatever I want
if I harm none, for I value with care
special beauty of each frail human life
that shimmers with the mindless glow of atoms
woven in briefly conscious brain of hope.

My brain invents stories for people I see
walking past the window beside my desk
where I work in the Water Business Office,
mapping water and sewer system pipes
that cycle through every building in town
with water-words I hear blind angels sing.

When I peel off mask of America,
composed of steel towers and asphalt roads,
I perceive timeless land of Zathamar,
plains teeming with dinosaurs, buffaloes,
horses, and humans hunting them with spears,
then businessmen driving cars to oil wells.

I find bleached skeletons of my ancestors
buried in graves from sea to shining sea
along the signless roads of immigrants
forever searching for the Promised Land
somewhere over the horizon of hope
where gangs are not driving them from their homes.

Arising from bright dust of Mother Earth,
Smohalla carries Dream Rock in his heart
and shouts from the mountain of dancing trees,
"My people shall never work with lust for wealth
because they will find wisdom in their dreams
when their spirits rise from flames of respect."

We gather on prairies of Zathamar
where no ring of stones has ever been built
to pitch our tents beside the Stream of Souls
and share songs of our sorrows with the wind
that rise as smoke from fires of hungry hearts
which weaves clouds into tapestry of truth.

We ask each other with serious concern,
what is the nature of America,
that marble hall where idols of dead gods
proclaim glory of expanding empire,
though vines break down divisive walls of faith
so we walk together on broken roads.

Our stories map vast land of Zathamar
that details complicated maze of myths
where river of all time orchestrates
fruit trees of Eden from bleak parking lots
where Yemaya erases boundaries
with nurturing rain of our hopeful hearts.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus leads pioneers in wagons on the Oregon Trail across the nourishing land of Zathamar.

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