Mindless Business Of Days
© Surazeus
2026 03 17

Now that spring is approaching with regret,
we organize mindless business of days
with porous unconcern for getting sleep,
adrift on horizon of innocence
because seasons of providence we flee
retaliate for spilled secrets of love
in terrible incidents we ignore.

If Death comes home with us before our hearts
are ready to breathe dust of obstacles,
we could hide in alcove of singing books
without desire for what matters the most,
because I just want to hear your soft voice
explain why the sky pretends to be blue.

Alone with my madness stuck in third gear,
I study the flower with countless eyes
that tells me love must change every new day
with gradual expansion of honest scope,
because bees sing about color of trust,
authentic with chronic engine of hope.

I cannot repeat puzzles of my dream
over and over of variable thoughts
trapped in books nobody will ever read,
disguised as the turtle of confidence
that boldly traverses waste land of faith,
so I drape my heart in knowledge of self.

Atrocious fanfare of enchanting trees
ignores how I stumble over dead books
with marvelous body of poisoned words,
so I observe torments of wounded hearts
wrapped in laughter of children who know
how to restore discord of fervent faith.

Elegant madness of panicky rout
perfumes austerity of lonely souls
who trade their consecrated memories
for horror that twists faces of the loved
to seek gratification through free will
by choosing to glorify undead gods.

I want to ask for shelter from the ghost
who wanders mutely with the noonday crowd
to find the mansion where no one else lives,
yet nothing happens till the clock explodes
with betrayal of language time invents,
so we speak with one voice of surprised love.

I build the mansion where we will now live,
nursing wounded dignity of soft pain,
so we can find the pattern God will break
when we sleepwalk together back to Eden
if we should watch the geyser dance with grace
as we regurgitate hymns of salvation.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus turns around suddenly and stares at the old man with spectacles who grins with teasing transparency of insane obviousness.

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