Flowers In Field Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 10 13

The faceless ghost of the person I love
haunts my heart as the absence of their being
because my brain with lonely ache projects
idol of their essence in empty air
so I seem to feel their presence still near
when their shade picks flowers in field of fate.

The apparition of their gleaming face
remains unmoving in old photographs
recording features of their transient being
at fleeting moment in that bygone hour
that we carelessly thought would never cease
when their shade picks flowers in field of fate.

The laughing specter of their vibrant soul,
masked by play of their joyful character,
seems to dance forever in movie reels
preserving sport of their mischievous tricks
that makes my heart ache with nostalgic pride
when their shade picks flowers in field of fate.

The writhing wraith of heartbreaking anguish,
wounded by random pranks of tragedy,
conceals harsh suffering that they endured
in mute sorrow they tried to hide from me,
tainting their spirit as much as their joy,
when their shade picks flowers in field of fate.

The traces of their existence remain
as poignant scent of their long-vanished essence
that lingers through electric flash of hope
in eerie crackles after drenching rain
that fools my heart to think I feel them close
when their shade picks flowers in field of fate.

The woeful phantom of my cherished one,
too long abstracted from subjective scope
of my oblivious mind in truant plight,
lurks ever near antenna of my heart
so I hear whisper of their thoughts in dream
when their shade picks flowers in field of fate.

The sudden spook of their revenant soul,
which my brain conjures from lost memories,
fools me to hope their consciousness remains
in whole coherent frame of their true self,
yet I know they have vanished from this world
when their shade picks flowers in field of fate.

The mindless shadow of the soul I love
remains as bright illusion in my brain
so they seem to live in my memories,
still active in clear dramatic replay,
though I will never see their face again
when their shade picks flowers in field of fate.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus leads ghost of the person I love to the beautiful paradise of happiness that exists only in the heart-healing fantasy of my self-deceiving hope.

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