Old Song His Father Sang
© Surazeus
2026 04 27

Small pony gallops on the river shore
with casual nonchalance of happy hope
to find the celestial pear tree of truth
and feast on transient beauty of this world
while Phoebus plays worn lyre of Mercury
and sings the same old song his father sang.

"Regret should not rule how we live each day,"
Phoebus explains to the gold yarrow bloom,
but sighs and leans against the tall pear tree
as aching sorrow settles on his heart,
heavy as river stone no man can move,
longing to sing old song his father sang.

Dozing half-asleep in warm late-spring sun,
Phoebus feels presence of shimmering ghost
whose long gold hair wraps his mind in soft web,
so he reaches out his attentive hand
to caress glamorous haze of her face
and wakes to see her leaning over him.

Clear face of Cassandra with dark gold eyes
fills the whole sky with gleam of her skin,
so Phoebus stretches and offers her pears,
then strums strings of worn lyre with inspired hope
and sings heart-enchanting melody of love
while she eats fruit with juice-glistening lips.

Embraced with passion of the turning world,
Phoebus and Cassandra kiss with delight,
weaving spirit threads of their pulsing minds
through shimmering web of the universe,
which expands scope of compassionate faith
till they become one soul of nameless joy.

Setting Cassandra on pony of trust,
Phoebus leads them along the winding stream
while she bears basket of pears on her lap,
toward the large market town on the lake shore
where she sells pears while he strums taut lyre strings
to practice same old song his father sang.

Glowing with pleasure of living their day,
Phoebus takes hands of Cassandra in his
so they dance together on the lake shore
while everyone gathers in temple hall
to feast and laugh, till they all hush with hope
to hear Phoebus sing song his father sang.

"We are frail flowers blooming from the Earth
who scatter seeds of our souls in the soil
so our children will bloom from womb of time,
for, though our bodies may flourish, then wither,
in seasons of change for thousands of years,
we are born again in children of love."

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus strokes his long gray beard and grunts with respect as his son sings the same old sang he sang many years in the temple feasting hall.

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