Almost Obscene Truths
© Surazeus
2025 08 09

More than conceptual laughter of white crows,
or angels tangled in crabapple trees,
or green regret of almost obscene truths,
unfurling pages of observant books
reflect how children love to play at dusk
aggressive games against mute emptiness.

Because nothing begins with the glass trees
that intertwine burnt bodies dangerously,
we kiss too tender for angels to die
against assertive ardency of clocks
that strike us with libidinous concern
before the second coming of the horse.

Abandoned infants of the deviled seer
decide to salvage half-burned tree of faith
consumed by silver flames of baseless fears
when broadleaf shoots ascend toward fractured light
since winter sullies righteousness of love
which nature keys to propagate our brains.

With reckless courage of the chestnut horse
you dare decode lost chocolate cake of fame
despite the onyx storm of crumbling thrones
for which cruel oligarchs of banks compete
while ghosts stare at their faces in dead trees
beneath the brightening sky of fractured words.

Half dead already with the torch of time,
I keep on playing chess with angled tricks
in praise of mystery for the cheerful girl
who rides white bull of Zeus on ocean shore
to write unerring book of galaxies
with expert constancy of curious awe.

Some claim that darkness still unites our hearts
with distant coldness of internal space,
but I disprove their weird hypothesis
by catching raindrops from glass eyes of god
whose weeping causes world-destructive floods
while we sip root beers on library steps.

No ordinary god with zillion eyes of light
dwells happily on invisible worlds,
yet I confuse my pleasure with mute grief,
accustomed to grim quietude of time
when sand yawns vast as star-creating clouds
because my soul cannot be trapped by words.

I pierce adamant solitude of life,
evading need to die as sacrifice
so people of the world can read and write
with simple letters that signify sounds
though I dance ballet on transmission wires,
passionate to transcend my wretched pain.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus writes self-help book about almost obscene truths on the giant cockroach typewriter that mocks his confidence in psychiatric methods of enlightenment.

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