Language Of Dead Gods
© Surazeus
2026 09 12

Pandora gives me old unopened jar
that sat on top shelf in tall cabinet
in kitchen where she cooks for eighty years
to feed gods of Olympus every day,
so I hold it up to the evening light
to see my soul floating in honey liquid.

Stung by consolation of swirling rain
that drives me into vast cathedral cave,
I draw stark breath of stars into my body
to hollow out my heart with ecstasy
that makes room for insight to state of sleep
too similar to nothingness of death.

Dawn light gleams through stained glass window of fate
to illustrate vision of noble strife
depicting Phoebus wrestling Lucifer
over who will redefine how we see
essence of being framed by electric words
that drift as smoke from sacrificial flames.

Exhaust of cars that billows from steel pipes
in crystalline nights on star-frosted streets
highlights strange beauty of eye-twinkling stars
that should illuminate galactic face
of our one world Mother Wraith who provides
bounty of Earth we gather with our hands.

I find myself in language of dead gods,
small spark of life in vast abyss of nothing,
so I lie on lush grass by stream of thoughts
and savor glow of warm light on my skin
to wonder why pain teaches us to feel
alive from suffering in our search for pleasure.

Pandora calls to me across the room,
which is dream of the room where we live free,
framed by quaint narrative of our romance
which we repeat to anchor surge of faith
that tosses us on seething tides of change
so we hold hands till we find stable ground.

She moves quick as bright beams of morning light
across vast field of flowers on our graves
till her fleet flash of temporariness
becomes clear window of my empty house
where I paint image of her smiling ghost
on mirror floating at the core of time.

White blossoms sprout from margin of my mind
so I join Seraphim with brave intent
to organize passion of human will
through exercise of self-control in law
when I patrol the market streets all day
while Pandora cans peaches in glass jars.

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Orpheus returns home after work to find Pandora baking peach cobbler, so he sits by the window and watches people walking together in the river park.

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