Frantic Fairy Faith
© Surazeus
2026 10 28

Aroused by unkept memories of light
reflected by slow flutter of oak leaves,
I weave the spin of bike wheels with the flash
of stops signs where ravens never assert
strange answers to imponderable concerns
that milk smells sweetest in the cereal bowl.

Startled by unsung melodies of love
that crackle on the untuned radio,
I imagine that the round blue sky-dome
is one enormous eye of innocence,
like my eye with green isle inside blue sea
where people live in memories of their hopes.

Alert to unspooled stories in old books
that wait for magic of my eyes to glow,
I replay half-cut scenes of my short life
to map my journey to the somewhere else
from mountain far away where I was born
as half-told tale of frantic fairy faith.

Though I have stumbled randomly awake
through decades of existence to my state
of present being in small town of desire,
I weave coherent tapestry of fate
that narrates my life as some noble quest
to become who I always choose to be.

Enormous silence of eternal now,
that hovers over me as cloud of light,
slowly flaps excessive wings of words,
so I gaze in eyes of my private Seraph
whose face reflects, in one mask of the Self,
all my ancestors who designed my being.

Though split by storm of arrogant regret,
the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil
still provides fresh apples for me to eat,
so I join sweet Ophelia by the lake
who bakes apple pie from our wounded hearts
which we share with Sigmund and Beowulf.

Alone in vast white-walled museum room,
I assemble from fragments of old tales,
and news stories about tragic events,
perceptive puzzles of the human soul
that almost mirror psychic ghost of hope
who haunts our dawns with wails of wordless prayers.

Clouds float above broad field of barns and poles
where cows graze among trees by the dirt road,
this firm foundation of productive pain
from which empires rise through labor of our hands
when we weave memories of humble strife
in religious tale of the sacrificed king.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus looks through photo albums arranged by his grandmother to depict the visual narrative of their family blooming from the farm house of lonely apple trees.

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