Shadow Of The Burning Book
© Surazeus
2025 06 12

When the water sprite of bitter regret
smells blood of my sorrow in river flow,
he rises dripping from pool of my heart
and races toward me with thirst of despair
from blind lust to consume my glowing soul,
but I dispel him with heart-warming songs.

My body luminous with phantom joy,
I build elaborate bridges of dream words
between our hearts to bind our fates with love
as psychic spider weaving tapestries
from half-remember memories in tales
that form flexible matrix of our minds.

Through traced triangle of the fractured sky,
reflecting faces of dead gods in mirror
fragmented by the freezing fear of fate,
I speak weed language of the surging sea
with bioluminescent angst of faith
transformed from embryonic words of truth.

Drowned in flung sorrow of the nowhere else,
I stop regressing past the broken gate
and gaze in piercing eyes of her pure soul
to see landscape of Earth on her vast face
as her generous hand offers fruit of trust
that fills my heart with raindrops sparkling light.

Wild trees dance back and forth in flashing sky
to mirror dreams of walking through dark woods
when I touch face of each strange nameless soul
who smiles at me from shimmer of soft hope
which resurrects my bones from boundless grave
so I may flutter on gold heron wings.

If Death dares arrest passion of my heart
I vow to break open cathedral doors
and write spells of truth with hot dragon blood
on gold idol of my crucified god
to conjure from cold Hell demonic clown
who mocks ambition of my haughty heart.

When film of life where I play starring role
crinkles from heat of my arrogant brain,
I hurl mask of my face at temple wall,
then paint vast mural from lost epic age
that shows gods fighting for supremacy
in wars that crush the innocent and kind.

Through unrequited love for faceless trees
I worship weird amazement of respect,
now more adept at casting spells to catch
mischievous spirits born from river stones
who leap from shadow of the burning book
to assure us all we are not yet dead.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus finds Ophelia writing lyrics for folk songs on walls of the abandoned cathedral after world war three has burned itself out.

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