Forgetful Kingdom Of Death
© Surazeus
2026 08 08

Every dawn I walk out into the world
I gaze long moment at the blazing sun
to see face of Apollo in its light,
that wise God of Healing and Archery
who maintains order with logic of truth
from reason through analysis of facts.

I taste sweet rind of Earth in juicy peach
which I pluck from the Ancient Tree of Truth
where we meet for our secret tryst of love
to share fresh fruit we gather with our hands
that seals our hearts with sacred bond of trust
no thief could break between flesh of our souls.

Before we wander on long nowhere road
straight into forgetful kingdom of death,
we shall hold hands and dance upon the hill
that knows our secret passions we would hide
till pleasures of our bodies we must share
expands scope of our mutual consciousness.

Though sadness about creatures who have died
twists my heart with loops of potent grief,
I celebrate new life that springs each day
from mothers of each species on this globe
who nurture tender bodies with bright eyes
that knot our planet with progressive life.

After catching lithe fish from deep lake of hope,
we roast them over crackling flames of faith,
chew tender strips of scorched flesh with delight,
then lie relaxed on soft grass of respect
to hear song of water rippled by wind
so we understand mute kingdom of death.

Sparked awake by nothingness of death,
we open eyes of infinite delight,
then walk together where trees dance in peace,
far from lush lands where men with guns of greed
kill other men to control fertile land,
happy because we hear cute sparrows chirp.

Attentive to strange worries of the heart,
that burrow roots of sorrow in dark soil,
we stroll about this miraculous world
and share amazement at freedom to live
that brave people before us fought to win,
though we stay alert to thieves lurking near.

Since we are not our shadows on the Earth,
cast by light of the sun on land of time,
we travel to Valhalla on the hill
where are mothers carve our spirits from wood
so our bodies sprout children of our eyes
who will plant apple seeds above our graves.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus finds Sigmund and Brunhilde sitting under the apple tree by the feasting hall where they smile with delight to see the immortal singer of tales.

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