Weirdness Of Eternal Now
© Surazeus
2026 06 09

Through tight control of intermittent thoughts
we wind disparate memories in spheres
of flashing strategies to burn god stones
with tattered pages from ancestral books
so prior tests we dare contrive from code
enchant our hearts when sad nightingales sing.

While sitting blindly in windowless house
with numberless door of inequity,
I roam the whole universe of strange lands
though tethered to fragile skull of my soul
since gushing mountain river piles logs high
against enormous stone of innocence.

Slouched by unkempt grave of the famous seer
who harvested peaches from tangled trees,
I mutter prayer of sorrow to his mask
to checklist deeds I refuse to perform
through mechanism of uncertain grief
that covers me in random leaves of hope.

No star-eyed visitors appear from mist,
seeking redemption from gratified corpse
to highlight uselessness of sentiment
that could not resurrect my pardoned heart
from graceless circumstance of fortitude,
since love might manifest in dormant seeds.

Could I return from underworld of faith
with contract that impacts my credit score,
I would sail leaking boat across dark sea
to harrow blatant sense of urgency
with greatness death displays at crack of dawn
when everything I knew as true is wrong.

Up jagged cliff of ambition I climb
against assertive gusts of lonely wind
to count bright sparkles on the silver sea
by wishing goodness for each soul alive
who walks alone the signless road of fate
to prove people can govern themselves well.

Inspired to extract my body from roots
of ancient trees, I breathe faith to express
despair we deny pierces hearts with truth
despite our vow at picnic by the lake
to savor weirdness of eternal now
by drinking sorrow brewed in bitter herbs.

I seek sublimity of perfect thoughts
that swell at suddenness of your sharp eyes
beaming subtle blast of rainbow bliss
with cheerful jubilation gladly struck
in harmony of love we blithely share
with brokenhearted document of faith.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus searches for ghost of John Keats in the grove of fruit trees where a thousand nightingales used to sing, but they all seem to have disappeared.

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