Secret Voice Of Earth
© Surazeus
2025 09 15

After rain of my hope evaporates
and tree leaves glisten with indifference
of nature, I stretch my hand to the moon
to hold shell of its hollow beauty firm,
then analyze vicissitude of fate
that charms my heart with agony of faith.

I loop my heart on wild angelic wings
far out into the world of nameless forms
to translate song of waves to truth I bear
with casual eagerness of my fierce heart
that hangs as apples from the tree of faith
where the wren tells me why we are alive.

Therefore I chase the black butterfly home
past grove of apple trees on the lake shore
to catch sad song of vanished languages
which leads me to the anvil of my heart
where I forge sword of faith from bleak despair
so I can save the world from tyranny.

With bones of ancient gods I build my home
far from centers of political power
so I can hear the secret voice of Earth
bloom through flowers on high mountain slopes
and flash in rivers tumbling over stones
when I become wrens flocking in the clouds.

Surprised by topaz shimmer of the sky
while stumbling clumsy in cathedral woods,
I listen for the deer that knows my name
to learn strange art of the ventriloquist
so I can perform my role in world play
without weeping for stirred beauty of the sea.

Shocked at how often dreaming creatures die,
I wrap jagged shadows of twisted limbs
around frail tremor of my apple heart
to gnaw on bleeding fruit of morbid faith
through celebration in wild rites of spring,
pungent with passion for vegetable soup.

Death strikes my heart with light rays of the moon
so I remember how to analyze
aggressive actions of terrified souls
who thrash with anguish in tangle of words
because they cannot express how they feel
in struggle to survive another day.

Yet star-eyed owl on bent branch of the tree
shakes dust of dead souls on my golden path
so I grasp stone of confidence with dread
to blaze my path beyond hard walls of power
till I become clear slanting beams of dawn
that weave my body from songs of the dead.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus records secret voice of Earth with mysterious code of symbols, that no one is ever able to translate, in huge volumes preserved in the Zarathian Archive of Ancient Manuscripts.

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