Time Machine Of Books
© Surazeus
2025 06 02

Since the day I arrived on this weird Earth
I have tripped haphazardly anywhere
on vast unmapped landscape of erased myths
recorded in the time machine of books,
so I have compiled from random events
coherent narrative of my grand legend.

In conversation with dead faceless ghosts
I chat with invisible birds in trees
whose secret language describes anecdotes
for psychic revolution of true faith
encoding social values in folk songs
based on epistemology of truth.

Scarecrow of guilt in field of humming wheat
reaches out to touch frail moth of my heart
lacerated by sunset of desire
when bodies of innocent people, killed
in famines from destructive wars for power,
bloom into flowers where young children play.

The whole family in the small mountain town,
who were all born from river rocks at dawn,
sit on wood stools in front lawn of their house,
and sing with pop songs on the radio
as they shuck corn to find the golden treasure
in holy seeds from which the world is born.

I care about every soul in the world,
amused that none of them care about me,
because we bloom together in the sun
from river stones and flower seeds and feathers,
for each contains scent of eternity
recorded in the time machine of books.

The only stories humans ever tell
depict the sadness of women in love
for they generate the bodies of children
designed by hope in alternate dimensions
who tell each other tales of their survival
which compose holy scripture of their nations.

Yet I mistake dread for end of the world
as tragic romance of every good marriage
that produces each new world generation
whose childhood games in schoolyards of despair
become civil wars societies fight
between liberals and conservatives.

Released from prison of the optimist,
I assemble puzzle of new world view
from every story any human told
since our first mother in the apple tree
expressed frustration in conceptual sounds
that inspired her daughter to invent language.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury while Ophelia sings Ballad of the First Mother Who Invented Language.

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