Ghost Of The Wind
© Surazeus
2026 03 18

The strange way my thoughts fall into the pool,
transforming into pink petals of hope
that float away on swirls of nonchalance,
startles my heart with beauty of this world
that shimmers bright for no reason at all,
because these feelings are silly and cute.

Though none of my thoughts are original,
having been felt in equal depth of passion
by billions of humans who lived before me,
I savor these feelings with intense faith
because I experience them at this hour
as I gaze entranced by the fragile flower.

Soft grass glowing green with warm rays of light
emanating from one immortal sun,
tree leaves whispering in soft river breeze,
birds chirping surreal language of desire
as they flutter wings with innocent hope,
all conspire to wake feelings in my heart.

I keep those feelings hidden in my heart
where they gently fan butterfly wings
through weird intensity of obvious fear
that shadow of death will spring at my soul,
so I look around at the sudden world,
conscious with eternal suspense of thought.

Breathing deep with shock of scopeless insight,
I stand with sudden clumsiness of fear
as if my heart is sparked by deep alarm,
but I float suspended in changeless thought
and wonder what startles me to observe
demonic silence that knows I am real.

White apparition on the distant hill
alerts my anxious sense of mute surprise,
so I peer with intention to perceive
nature of that beast that stares down at me,
and gasp with joy to see the graceful horse
who often gallops with ghost of the wind.

Yanking apple from basket of friendship,
which I plucked as gift for my ghostly friend,
I hold it out with tense arm of respect,
and almost think the sky-dancer will come
accept it from my heart, but flash of light
briefly blinds me, and the wild horse is gone.

Sudden gust of wind scatters apple blooms
of pinkish disappointment in my hair,
so I eat the apple with grumpy sigh
at sudden tilting of the unknown world,
then I wander back to my secret cave
where I lie in moonlight and dream of flight.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus searches for Pegasus as he wanders along the Alpheus River while filling baskets with apples for Ophelia to sell at the pyramid market.

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