Yellow Wood Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 04 18

The crumbling stone bridge over the brown river,
on which the statue of the poet stands,
waits for my ghost to cross its wildered way,
humming with gusts of arbitrary wind
that scatters pages of verse from frail hands
so our dreams dissolve into silent song.

Delicate plum stone of my rotten heart,
charred by sad flame of the arrogant lamp,
contains original purpose of life
designed by Raven Witch of Serpent Lake
who brews honey wine in Cauldron of Faith
while chanting hex of wisdom from the stars.

Atomic light of pure love in my cells
began to gleam before our world was born
from frantic swirls of penitential lust
that sparkles carbon molecules to bind
aggressive force of hope with grim desire
which aggregates proverbs in Book of Dreams.

Startled awake by the wrinkle in time,
that folds every universe of my mind
in vibrant matrix through radio waves,
I study flashing quarks in supple words
preserved as letters writhing on white page
that prove ten dimensions spiral through eggs.

When I come to the road less traveled by,
that has never appeared on any map
drawn by Lone Wolf in monastery cave,
I find pregnant woman by the blind oak
who seems to know the secret of my name,
so we walk in the yellow wood of hope.

Alert in classroom full of changeling sprites,
I teach how Mercator projection map
provides the best navigation device
for brave explorers who sail Seven Seas
across ten dimensions of time and space
to colonize the world with fantasies.

My sensitive spirit of eager faith
writhes with rancid bitterness of gloom
when I transverse the endless realm of words
with yearning to retrieve Diamond of Death
by crossing threshold of the Otherworld
that leaves me stranded in my first hometown.

I drift in dreary reverie of fear
to seek asylum in your weary heart
where grief corrupts sagacious honesty
through quaint cathexis in your faceless soul
for which I leap to cross eternity
as swirling shadow of atomic words.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus finds old gray-haired bard standing alone where two roads diverge in the yellow wood of ten dimensions, so they sit by the fire at midnight and think about why.

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