Wild Electric Heart
© Surazeus
2026 01 17

Muted tone of my wild electric heart,
loaded with anguish of harrowing loss
from laughing flames that hammer at black sky
despite unfinished business of sad rain,
hums soft with spooky honesty of fear
when blind angels escape in sudden flight.

Awake in pulsing endlessness of pain
sliced into searing hours of gloom and glare,
I measure changeless beauty of the sea
with each assertive step of cautious hope
as I pray to the path my feet design
in stubborn innocence of wordless rage.

Because I am not self-portrait of God
reflected in clear pool of silver gleam,
I eat ripe apple from the Tree of Fate
to understand why flowers bloom from seeds
with anxious burst of supercilious leaves
which dare explain why I must not be real.

Overwhelmed by flashing rays of sunlight,
which beam from enormous eye in the sky
watching me with relentless glare of truth,
I check my privilege with nervous hand
that I reach helplessly to touch the light
which pierces me with frantic energy.

Inspired to collect proof the sun knows why
ache of sorrow converts my bitter rage
to shocked surprise at sparkle of cool rain,
I must accept that God Mind in the sun
sees my body with original love
though I reverse my journey from my birth.

So I kneel by small pool in Shadow Wood
to cup sweet water with tingling hands
and drink invisible darkness of faith
till I see face of Narcissus by mine
who kisses me with gentle ardency
as we both levitate above the world.

Immortal spirit of my dreaming mind
swells ripe in secret pocket of my heart,
morphing through each evolutionary form,
fish to lizard to mouse to cat to monkey
to wingless angel suckling at my breast
who echoes every breathy word I speak.

Syncopated hymn of humble respect
blooms pure as lily from mud of my flesh
when playful daughter of my soul matures
to young woman with the same silver eyes
Narcissus opens from mask of the sun
when we bury him by pool of our tears.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/01/…

Orpheus visits grave of Narcissus where Echo and their daughter Electra boil apples into sauce they can in jars which they sell at the market just outside of town where the river sings.

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