Ground We Dwell Upon
© Surazeus
2025 03 05

I hear no angels call from sunken ships
that went down in sudden erratic storms
thousands of years ago in wine-dark seas,
so I bring their statues back up to land
where they stand in museums of soft light
and wear stone masks of divine dignity.

I feel my laughter flow in roots of trees
to transform sorrow from excited dust
as time converts rain to new languages
spoken by young tribes wandering the Earth
without knowing they will stop by the lake
and build the first city to hide despair.

Tall oak tree alone in the open field
asks me to bring her fresh mushrooms and eggs,
so I climb the mountain of singing stones
to measure the distance from birth to death
where children leap from bushes in surprise
and dance around me as they wave their arms.

Happy in this timeless place of sad trees
that cover me with leaves of tender hope,
I watch empires of power rise and fall
along flowing rivers ten thousand years
while I write names of their glorious kings
on dry brown leaves that crumble in the wind.

Small frozen sun calls me across the field
where gold wheat stalks whisper alluring lies,
so I walk alone beyond garden walls
where weeping angels keep watch at midnight
to protect their families from hungry thieves
who steal everything we make with our hands.

While the old woman in the long black dress
who stands on rocky cliff above the sea
plays heart-enchanting music of starlight
on vibrating strings of the violin,
millions of people are born from our eyes
who walk together on the bridge of lies.

When divine kings in grand tombs are exhumed
we find their flesh has withered into dust
and their bones are fragile as angel wings,
but the crowns with jewels they wore with pride
still gleam with immortal glory of power,
though we have forgotten their names and deeds.

I search for angels in the apple tree
and find young children wild with joy for life,
so I play songs with lyre of Mercury
to sing about great heroes of the past
whose visions shape how perceive the world
for their minds are the ground we dwell upon.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/03/…

Orpheus maps the ground we dwell upon in ancient myths of cultural heroes who programmed how we perceive the world.

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