First Mother Am
© Surazeus
2026 04 04

I compete only against gears of silence,
which Death employs to unravel my mind,
by expressing through machinery of words
complex contraption of conceptual truth
designed by ancestors of my desire
to conjure virtual model of the world.

Millions of lonely explorers like me,
who muddle through daily routines of hope,
string frail words of concepts in brittle verse
to weave veil of illusions in loose net
with scheme to catch elusive fish of faith
so we can eat roasted dreams of desire.

Small groups of people huddled on the beach
around the world from Africa to China
gather each night for eighty thousand years
to share tale of the man with gleaming spear
who kills enormous dragon of the deep
and roasts it on pyramid for our feast.

Wearing dinosaur skull that crowns his head,
brave storm god, who provides fresh food to eat,
stands strong beside first mother of our tribe
to guard her soul when she adjudicates
disputes between contentious appellants,
then pours juice in our cups for all to drink.

Strange vision from our pre-civilized age
glows bright before my disconcerted eyes,
so I sing ballad of First Mother Am
whose ghost reigns still on pyramid of power,
her star-bright eye of knowledge watching us
as immortal spirit we now call God.

First Mother Am teaches her daughter Amen
to host weary travelers on long roads
with feast of bread and juice in temple hall
where Yusa strums strings of her harp and sings
heart-enchanting melodies that present
men as heroes who protect everyone.

Millions of poets alive now on Earth
sing alone in their rooms around the world,
for we remember aching song of hope
First Mother Am sings in our pulsing hearts
through voice of Ishtar on high pyramid
that binds our souls in one global religion.

We poets chanting verses of fierce faith
are curious prophets of First Mother Am
for we compete with stark silence of death
as choir of angels singing tale of hope
till we all vanish from dream of this Earth
when voices echo faintly in the void.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus follows voice of the angel to the giant pyramid deserted for several thousand years where ghost of Am, Amen, Inanna, and Ishtar still sing visions that inspire humanity with hope.

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