How Quiet Blueness Knows
© Surazeus
2026 07 18

With startled eyes on quivering twine of truth
I cast my longing in vast sea of dreams
but I catch nothing more than devil-gods
who think they are brave rulers of the world,
so I lurk in strange shadows of the mind
to multiply my soul as wordless books.

I walk on shifting sands of honesty
to prove I know the secret name of God
who floods parched land of hope with bitter tears
where we drown laughing in sorrow we sold
so we can buy gold castle of the clouds
designed by children in library rooms.

Awake on blackberry lane without fear,
I gather fragments of ghosts from burned books
to plaster them in beehive of delight,
concerned for lesser platitude of light
contained in boxes stacked with silent thought
despite how quiet blueness knows our names.

Because I open wide my quiet voice
with long contrition of excessive hope,
I blindly wander green fields of dismay
in search for ordinary time alone
because I need new battery for my heart
to understand what strangers want to say.

No road is straight enough to follow home,
though they extend beyond hills of esteem
with proverb I should overcome my fear
for loss of people I try not to love
because they disappear in swirling fog
each time I call their name at stubborn dawn.

Across bleak moorland to gray city streets
I follow twisted signs of pulchritude
on mission to repair bridge of disgrace
with fractured concepts of seasonal wealth
derived from sales of flowers to the dead
before lamps flash while swinging in rain wind.

Another harried age of our weird world
returns with summer glow of hungry leaves
refracting rainbow demons through our hearts
so we hear spiders sing with ruthless love,
undone by beauty of her maskless face
without exception of uncertain truth.

Through hedonistic wholeness we aspire
to float on sprawling silence of god eyes,
based on the stark indifference of grace
that splits unsteady happiness with smiles
while we walk endless trail of dire renown
to channel typhoon winds with humble hymns.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus considers selling castle of his ancestors to the Witch of Wherever so he can pay his gambling debt he owes to Calypso of the Floating Isle.

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