Land Where Our Skulls Sing
© Surazeus
2025 11 06

My sad raven keeps my secret name hid
in sun-purpled shadows of lonely spruce
so I can see my soul inside my home
built from bones of ancestors who hold
holy words of wisdom my mothers mold
from stories blind ghosts whisper in the wind.

Through swirls of fog over the blood-black sea
I sail fragile boat of my heart to find
secret island where my enemies dwell
as I cross boundary of the craggy land
to gather raven eggs with wounded hand
for we spring from deep furrows of the past.

Respect for strange beauty bound by cold light
reaches high to caress sky of my mind
that reflects secret thoughts I never share
with people who build walls of our abode
yet always walk with me on the long road
that winds around high mountain of the stars.

From breath of silence in valleys of lakes
my tongue spirals words on the origin
of primal thunder that powers our hearts
with solemn rattle of mortality
for we accept spirit finality
in songs that death articulates with hope.

Yet thunder that vibrates on mountain walls
expresses passion of my wordless heart
with bitter honesty of splintered faith
when I meet Cadmus by the singing sea
whose letters give my heart wings to fly free
over cloud-capped summits of boundless hills.

Though scattered now across the endless plains
our fragmented tribes build homes on lush shores
where they all sing with voices of the wind
tale of our first mother in ancient lore
whose wisdom programs our rich mental store
as lamp that guides our quest for paradise.

If our first mother rises from the dead
she may stride bravely in fear-shadowed woods
to gather golden resin from spruce trees
so we can chew nurturing blood of faith
that sparks in our hearts dream of the god wraith
whose spirit feeds our souls with blood of time.

Our bodies writhe from roots of ancient spruce
so we spread raven wings of curious hope
to heap dust of the dead in bulging hills
where we build homes from dragon bones of truth
according to rules of messiah sleuth
because we own the land where our skulls sing.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus travels village to village along the river from the mountains to the sea where he sings about legendary deeds of first mother Scythia.

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