Hard Soil Of Desire
© Surazeus
2026 10 26

The angel may need their clandestine sorrows
to fuel aggressive progress of their soul,
but humans rely on religious faith
to veil reality from their sharp eyes,
so I reach out my trembling hand of hope
to snatch ripe apple from the snake of fate.

The seed of thought that blossoms from my brain,
then fructifies as spirit of the self,
binds me to cherished frame of reference
that is my fragile body of hard flesh,
since glowing wind of mindless clouds conveys
breath of infinity through my sponge brain.

Lodged by design or random accident
of fateless chance through passionate discourse
of strangers, who embrace with hope to leap
beyond abyss of death on frantic wings,
I wake as flower of this dreaming globe,
deluded to believe I might be God.

Through unknown process of electric thought,
my sense of conscious self expands each hour
that I express through motion of intent
concern for maintenance of my soul flame
that flickers fragiley in blast of time
when I scrape food from hard soil of desire.

When I attempt to outstrip bands of time
with breath-fueled bout of energetic faith,
then stand unjaded on high peak of thought
and challenge faceless clouds of gusting wind,
who seems aware that I assert my right
to exist, I feel my heart swell with love.

Proud men with gangs of mindless warriors,
who obey commands of his voice to kill
lone men who dare defy his right to rule,
sit on high thrones of judgement to declare
rules that govern how men should interact
to maintain the food-production machine.

When I stand before that proud mortal man,
who insists he reigns by right of the sun,
I wonder that he hopes with bitter faith
to live forever as God on this Earth,
because false glory of all human gods
will fade as they decay and dissipate.

Vain humans who believe that they are gods,
commissioned by the mindless fate of fear
to organize complex societies,
come and go in strict tides of social change,
but farmers who produce food from the soil
remain in gardens where their children play.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus eats cake that Emily Dickinson provides on porcelain plate painted with pastoral scene, then strums lyre of Mercury as she sings her hymns.

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