Weird Map Of Everwick
© Surazeus
2025 08 10

If we return to town of Everwick,
where horses graze in shady yew-tree groves,
we may feast by the sparkling sea of time
to sense how water flows with endless hope
till flash of insight from the boundless sky
enlightens heavy hearts with sacred truth.

I read strange stories of humanity
while gazing in the river-book of fate
to dream long record of assertive faith
performed by spirits of the ancient dead
who wander lonely streets of Everwick
to replay tragedies of honest folk.

With fiery hue of rainbows in their eyes
ghosts of my ancestors watch me perform
relentless progress of ascending power
while I walk endless circles every day
to chase swift star-eyed fairies of desire
who scatter dust in streets of Everwick.

Still nestled safe in bushes of respect
on misty shore beside the stream of light,
I draw in dust weird map of Everwick
where gods play chess with helpless human souls
who hunt for demons in the yew-tree groves
while elves sing haunting melodies of hope.

Mute in yew groves near town of Everwick,
we hear the spectral singing of the moon
that highlights beauty of the human face
which masks demonic energy of lust
to generate new life before we die,
therefore we sing with hope to empty skies.

Crows caw in cheery silence after dawn
while mushrooms sprout from rotten flesh of hope
as I dissolve in glow of intense light
till voices humming with observant fear
echo softly from streets of Everwick
which wakes me from the soundless drowning dream.

I flit between opposing states of mind,
assertively active with happy hope
or introspectively passive and sad,
in rapid ricochet of wretched ruth,
and thus create fierce fortune of my fate
with each helplessly random choice I make.

With bleeding hands of frantic joy for life
I construct stone towers of Everwick
where I guard heaven of its garden homes
one thousand years of restless loyalty
where ghost of my obsession to survive
remains in breeze that rustles yew-tree leaves.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus strolls the busy streets of York to find the lost-long groves of yew trees where he once played heart-haunting ballads for the Fairy Queen at the moon-lit feast on midsummer nights.

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