Frame Of What Is Real
© Surazeus
2025 05 18

Each scene of unresolved false memory
that flashes blurred across his fuzzy mind,
as Seth floats through the quiet afternoon
in peaceful sadness of eternity,
sparks dull anxiety of numb despair
that makes him chuckle when he snaps awake.

Nobody cares about my memories,
Seth mumbles to the finch on the back porch
that hops along the rail of eager hope,
then drinks cold faucet water of concern
in small home nestled in the grove of oaks
along suburban street lined with dead cars.

Submerged in half-dream of the afternoon,
Seth rides the horse across the windy plain
to catch the shadow of objective fear
embodied by the man with doorless key
whose laughter twists the oak tree into rope
that dangles from the beam of unjust law.

Haunted by faceless god his father feared,
Seth walks quickly past every empty church
because he knows the doors are locked all week,
then browses fiction section of bookstores
to read short summaries of unreal plots
about men numb with angst of modern life.

The plush green couch in middle of his house
floats just above the ground of principles
in shy defiance of grim gravity
each time his brain designs new alien world,
completely different from the state of Earth,
where he is the brave angel who can fly.

When Seth decides to fish on lake of dreams,
where he casts line into abyss of fate
to catch the Loch Ness Monster of his heart
who knocks him off balance from his wood boat,
he falls nine days and nights in wingless flight
to hum half-awake on his floating couch.

Through sudden field of shocking certainty
Seth runs through thunderstorm of laughing gods
to find the girl he loves beside the lake
who kisses him in drenching rain of time
till she reminds him of her secret name
which reconstitutes frame of what is real.

Shouting at the empty sky of false faith,
Seth asks divine zookeeper of the Earth
if he can perform with elastic grace
roles of both therapist and referee
as pope who rules empire of fairy tales,
then stares out the window as evening falls.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus waves to Seth in the window as he walks up the path, then they sit on the porch to drink mead and play chess while thrushes sing in the evening dusk.

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