Beauty Of My Changing Face
© Surazeus
2026 09 28

Remote as starlight in eyes of the dead,
I gather yellow apples of the sun
to sell for copper pennies of regret
to lonely housewives in suburban zones
whose children reincarnate ancient gods
while angels paint roses on temple walls.

To dwell in pale mirage of fractured homes,
where healthy demons wear cute human masks,
we blink as slow as stars in river waves
and cast strange treasures on soft satin mud,
though death projects our spirits at black clouds
so words we speak could conjure cosmic minds.

Since we are atoms flashing in the void,
we are the cosmic mind of nothingness
that beams from countless stars of swirling gas
till we evolve from sloshing waves of hope
and crawl with agony of gasping breath
on muddy shore beneath the tree of fruit.

Thus I rise up from gravity of fate
to stand half-steady on this wobbling world,
and reach with dizzy confidence of lust
to grasp sweet fruit of frantic innocence,
then eat with laughter of the falling leaf
that fools us with the cycle of rebirth.

Since I am gray with sleepiness of time
while nodding by the fireless hearth of faith,
I watch forgotten tales in ancient books
transform to shadows of the nameless dead
who weep for beauty of my changing face
though I sell sorrows to the smirking toad.

If love has fled across the mountain range
with urgent mission of the messenger
who scatters letters on numberless graves,
I wake the pilgrim soul of ardent faith
to travel nowhere on the signless road
till I become the house where no one dwells.

When I was new-born child of the dead king,
old bearded wizard of the jagged cave
received my body from wild ocean waves,
and taught me how to improvise bold tales
while strumming sacred lyre of Mercury,
but I run bank to finance struggling farms.

Gold rays of sunlight beam through stalks of wheat
with timeless shimmer of transcendent truth
that fills my heart with scope-expanding awe
so wingless angels of this wicked world
perceive weird beauty of my changing face
in masks of god that pulse on temple walls.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus writes doctoral thesis with raven quill on parchment made from skin of devils that analyzes beauty of my changing face in Halloween masks.

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