Weird Voice Of The Dead
© Surazeus
2026 10 26

I want to be normal, like everyone
else who walks around like they know the game,
but I would rather perform Belshazzar,
slouched securely on unearned throne of fame,
than Apollo prancing around on stage
as if I speak with Weird Voice of the Dead.

Tripped up by hungry beauty of the heart,
that drives me with ambition to compete
against glamorous stars everyone adores,
I sing heart-aching verse fate will delete
to arrest downward spiral of despair,
then stumble gracefully in silent rain.

Cruel devil of Pride haunts my halting steps
with urgent passion to express in spells
weird visions flashing in vault of my brain,
which I find writhing in moon-vortex wells,
so I tear off my performative mask
to expose raw horror of being alive.

Obsessed with hoping people will perceive
ghost of my being as spirit of insight
equal to great seers, whose visions provide
guidance for nations to thrive in the light,
I flee town square crowded with frightened mob
who seeks salvation from prophet of hate.

Preferring to play the prophet of love,
I hide in wilderness cave of despair,
eyes blinded by illusions of harsh truth,
and seek in shadows of my demon lair
puzzles I need to construct new world view
that frames events with values we perform.

I see all objects of material form
are structures of atoms that grow from cause
inherent in seed of their origin,
so I devise strict set of moral laws
that we do what we will, if we harm none,
when we construct rather than destruct things.

When I descend from mountain of Fire Ghost,
bearing emerald tablets carved with Thought Code
that describes physical nature of life,
I find mankind worshipping the Gold Toad,
so I shoot arrow of Apollo straight
when I sing spells with Weird Voice of the Dead.

Struggling to escape egg of the blind horse,
I grasp the broken lyre of Mercury that sticks
bent from trunk of the ancient rotten tree,
then climb headless idol of the World God
to stand on shoulders of the giant fool,
and laugh as empires collapse into gangs.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus ventures back to the city of the world that teems with chaotic energy of civil conflict over whose god may rule on the ziggurat of arrogant pride.

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