Bend Our Wounded Bodies
© Surazeus
2026 09 05

I cannot bury thoughts in open ground
except they sprout to angels without wings
who plow deep soil and plant aggressive seeds
with plan to claim this land as ancient home
based on weird paradigm that graves may mark
our territory where we live and die.

Heart quickened with tellurian redolence,
sweet scented by dream-rotten flesh of gods,
I pour libation of mysterious wine
in soil for skulls of prophets to imbibe
that fuels intense expression of deep faith
far-rooted from great mountains of contempt.

Against now-sudden freakish snow of hope
we bend our wounded bodies to contain
enduring hope for time-unspooling truth,
connived by thieves who wear official robes
by claiming land our fathers tilled as theirs
despite objection at injustice done.

Contorted by fierce loneliness of faith,
propped up by worthless prayers for liberty,
we grasp contingent way for solving how
dire vanishment at stark cadence of hate
constrains alert expansion beyond pain
when house door of our hope is locked by greed.

Sweet berries may sustain our bitterness
that buoyant urgency drives our vain quest,
though we dare retain our false bravery
with dreamless laughter of indifferent storms
that thrash our straw homes into swirls of power,
unbound by helpless acceptance of fate.

Preserved by peaceful absences of fate
that twist our mountain hearts in coils of rage,
we search for cold wind in fear-jagged cave
that hides unspeakable truth in bright names
we share with sparkling ardency of change,
still mirrored by dark river of our faith.

On last day of the world near edge of truth
we pluck fresh fruit of knowledge from the tree
that transforms bodies of ancestral dreams
to pulchritude of loyal innocence,
because this land is formed from hidden graves
where ghosts of people whisper how to live.

Down stone-paved trails of jagged opulence
we search for beauty blooming from cracked skulls
to find soul of our world in faceless gods
who loom in shining clouds above brave hills,
revealing wounds that strength hearts with faith
till we become dirt of the signless road.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus finds refugees from the highland clearances and takes them on ships from Scotland to the hills of Carolina where they steal land from faceless ghosts.

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