Knowledge I Am Alive
© Surazeus
2025 05 11

Though this sullen world cares less about me
than rocks that hum in river of rainbows,
I wander landscape of unwelcome wind
to howl with beasts who want to eat my soul
and dance with wild abandon of the dead
till I ache with knowledge I am alive.

No hymn I harp with howl of holy hurt
could mirror anguish of my angry heart
quite like rain crashing into fields of mud
where I crawl chortling to the Promised Land
that always fades into bright glare of dawn
to vanish with foul words I blush to speak.

Dead gods I worship shiver in black rain
as murky shadows hungry for my blood,
so I hide in cracked television screen
to prove I am more than blind mind machine
programmed to sing soft elegies of faith
which I scratch with my bones in river mud.

Knees torn to bloody shreds by jagged rocks,
I crawl the long and winding road of faith
through meadow of the dancing skeletons
toward Misty Mountains of the happy wolf
who gives the silver moon of apple fate
to this poor fool I accept that I am.

Tall pines of hope that gleam with golden rays,
which thread our lonely mountains in breasts
by which we breathe ethereal ghost of truth,
invite me to transcend my wretched frame
of brittle bones enwrapped in shroud of fear
so I release crow of my heart to fly.

Unfocused purpose of forgotten quest
diverts my fierce attention from fake wealth
I yearn to hoard from dragons I have slain
in burning tower of the weeping queen
who hurls my body back to my own time
where I will play no genocidal king.

Thus I cannot regret the holy hour
I first meet on the signless road of fate
the perfect soul mate for my twisted heart
whose clarifying eyes of honest truth
extract my spirit from hell-loop of guilt
which straightens out my random thrust of hope.

Reborn from sultry womb of dreamless cave,
I play lithe River Walker with pizazz
through mask of vigorous vitality
to woo young princess with long golden hair
who wears wreath of red flowers my hands wove
and smiles while pouring me hot cup of tea.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus visits deserted Temple of Cronus in the ancient city of Athens to leave crow feathers he used as quills to write hymns to dead gods.

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