Broken Things Of Time
© Surazeus
2026 08 26

If I wrap huge thoughts in small cage of wings
to climb complex ladder of chorus tunes,
I might feel swelling of my conscious mind
with urgent passion to become the sky,
but this body my ancestors designed
constrains my quest to analyze the why.

I never mourn the broken things of time
since more than magic of conceptual faith
preserves integrity of vibrant souls
with web of words we weave from memories
to maintain format of our worldview creed
connecting us to every soul on Earth.

My face glows in the window of my home
as constellation formed from long-dead stars
that flash awake in eyes of the moon owl
who always watches me perform my life
in vain attempt to earn credits of faith
enough for admittance to paradise.

Half-open doors of innocent desire
lure me to restart play of my failed life
with new beginning in some distant town
where I seek treasure of the secret truth
hidden in library of ancient tales
recording lives of people without names.

Though I try to carry joy in my hands,
it flows away with liquid solvency
while I sing quiet carol of my heart
in silent darkness of the endless day
where nameless people wander streets of fate
by hiding pain of sorrow in their eyes.

When Artemis returns from bright moon
with seeds of trees she finds in every land,
she asks me to plant them in town square parks
where they bloom lush with soft angelic souls
who whisper fairy tales as I pass by
so I may understand why all souls die.

When she explains long lineage of her grief
in strange words her heart attempts to invent,
she speaks with fondness of her bitter pain
since she has danced with searing thorn of fear
too many years to extricate it now,
then grips my hand and sings in agony.

I wonder, as I wander in oak woods
with basket of persimmons on my arm,
if my death will be silent as the lake
that sings with shimmer of sad restless wind,
but when they make short movie of my life
I hope they show how much I ache to live.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus dances with Ophelia on shore of the River Styx where millions of drowned souls flow away in the flood of sorrows that cleanses the Earth.

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