Build Shadow Homes
© Surazeus
2025 07 18

The bee that hides in anguish of my tongue
leads me to river of the singing stone
where three horses drink lost tears of the world
so we put on our hats of ardent hope
and dance with passion of the disappeared
to build shadow homes on the signless road.

The window that reflects my unseen face
floats in the air without its framing home
awake with words children scribble in dirt
so we hold pencils in our crippled hands
and write false stories of our broken hearts
to build shadow homes among writhing trees.

The shadow of my home glows on the grass
but I cannot with telescope of faith
find that sacred home my grandfather built
so I carry its door on my bent back
and walk over seven hills to the sea
to build shadow homes where rain never falls.

The broken lyre that dangles from my hand
reverberates with songs no angel sings
though this face that looks at me is not me
so I carve mask with mocking satire grin
that leaves me and becomes its own weird soul
to build shadow homes in vast maze of myths.

The tangled string of memory I hold
forgets the story of my random life
encoded in folk songs gods never sing
so I watch children play tag in the park
far from the battlefields of politics
to build shadow homes in the twilight zone.

The agitation of the aging fool
who still insists he is king of the world
crackles secret codes on the radio
so I erase news of all tragic deaths
from cluttered streets where superheroes roam
to build shadow homes on the avenue.

The winter sky of fractured puzzle plates
depicts the wise sage still roaming the world
after six thousand years of selling pears
so I collect frail bones of dinosaurs
on which our ancestors carved shopping lists
to build shadow homes by the bridge of hope.

The distance I must walk to find my mask
that hangs on museum wall of wise fools
keeps stretching rainbows of ambitious angst
so I conceal my spirit in blank words
that clatter marble-mirrored in your hand
to build shadow homes without walls or doors.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus builds new home on shore of the River Styx where Ophelia and their children Orion and Ostara live beside the orchard of pear trees where niker-sprites flutter on gossamer wings.

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