Planks Of My Lost Ship
© Surazeus
2025 02 09

Wood ships that once sailed wild seas of the world,
bearing people to strange exotic lands,
have all sunk in dark silence of the past,
or wrecked on cold indifferent sands of fate,
so treasures they bore across silver waves
have faded from dim memories of the dead.

This fertile land with hills of wind-swept trees,
where light of timeless summer shimmers sweet
in hair of children dancing on gold hills,
consumes old ships laden with precious freight
and spits their bones as piston-engined cars
that race on highways of aggressive hope.

Yet that shining moon, which illuminates
city towers of steel and glass that sprout
from Elysian fields of free summer play,
gazes silently with indifferent eye
on ships that sail the seas ten thousand years
but almost weeps at their quick vanishment.

For many centuries of the turning Earth
my ancestors build wood boats with curved hulls
on rational shores of ambitious pride,
then sail down winding streams of restless time
to explore every beach, bay, and headland
that frills fractal edge of our global isle.

Fate leaves me stranded on this nameless land,
so I search obstacles of tangled woods
for bright pool fed by quick fresh-water spring
to found new city on one humble home
which sprouts into metropolitan maze
where millions chase flashing rainbow of wealth.

With tender heart in lonely reverie
I listen to wind-songs on surging waves
to measure glory of our roving race
that follows wonder of weird guiding stars
in silver pathways on the restless sea
to understand bright vision of old truth.

Mute grief weighs heavy as dark mountain snow
that glistens under pallid moon of fear
to soothe old wounds of passion in my heart
while I lie prone in garden of lost stars
and sing mad sorrow of terrible truth
with ache of laughter that heals me with love.

Through dreamless dread of darkness on dead hills
I search for wood ships on the silver sea
but find they all sunk in grim gloom of time
so I walk west over mountains and plains,
soul cleansed of hate in sparkling prairie rain,
to build new home from planks of my lost ship.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/02/…

Orpheus stands on prow of the Argo and plays lyre of Mercury as they sail west across the wild ocean toward the shining island of Atlantis.

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