Ten Thousand Doors Of Time
© Surazeus
2026 03 08

Strange beauty of inflections keys my mind
with barbaric flash of the star-black eye
that gazes from core of the universe
to dream my soul awake with flashing words
frail as icicle on limb of the tree
that whistles casually in winter wind.

Lucid shadow of my eternal soul
traces indecipherable cause of hope
through bodies of all my ancestral souls
who speak with inescapable concepts
about great circle of euphoric light
that glitters sharply at far edge of time.

Great river of my adaptive heart flows
with brave insistence of electric snow
that molds our bodies from evasive fear
so we climb trees and swing vast canopies
six thousand miles from sea to shining sea
till we transform from monkeys into humans.

Silver-eyed blackbird in the apple tree
recounts obsessive journey of my soul
one hundred million years to find the cave
where the sun is reborn every new day
till I forget what I am looking for
and live by the river ten thousand years.

Blue clouds occur above my empty house
where I collect raindrops in open eyes
unfractured by contorted strength of faith
to prove I first designed the wheel of time
that mimics eye in mirror of the sun
which survives the death of every state god.

One fragile candle, glowing gold with faith
one fleeting moment through eternity,
contains dim conscious sense of self I am
because I play the Mad Astronomer
whose eyes have seen galactic deities
possess chemical shells of mortal gods.

Essential shadow of my abstract mind
proves my organic body must be real
when I eat apples of the mountain slopes
that teach my animal mouth how to speak
so I walk through ten thousand doors of time
to find lush valley of my singing skull.

Only the blind remember how the past
shines clear in tragic tales of story books
which I record with raven quill of truth
I dip in gold ichor of divine blood
till time erases every word I write
so all your names vanish from cliff of truth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus chats with thirteen blackbirds in the tree of tangled words who lead him to the grave where Wallace Stevens drinks a glass of Meursault.

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