Graves Of The Nameless Dead
© Surazeus
2026 07 17

Awake in ghost-glow of the city maze
that sprawls across vast plain of anguished wind
where turgid swamps once festered amid palms,
I walk along the endless lamplit roads
past thousand churches with harsh clanging bells
where frightened people pray to stick of wood.

When I slouch despondently by the sea,
the mad-eyed Fletcher from dark mountain woods
points to the trembling topaz of his heart
which I mistake to be the Evening Star,
so I return to cave of humming ghosts
where diamonds glow with light of the First Flash.

Orpheus wanders with his broken lyre
through choking shadows of the underworld
because no faceless ghost with wavering voice
follows his untuned melody of faith
in vain attempt to escape numbing fear
that we return to mute flame of our birth.

I trust dire vision of Orpheus more
than deceptive lie of the afterlife
that Paulus preached by the tomb of Platon
because our bodies cannot resurrect
from organ-crushing nothingness of death,
nor do our souls linger mute in dark Hell.

Though I descend to grim Plutonian caves,
where Orcus whips chained slaves to mine more gold,
I find no spectral spirits of the dead
for they are living men enslaved by greed
who toil in Underworld where treasures bleed
tears of despair from men who long to die.

Two souls of immortal transciency meet
in circle of firm flesh on jagged hill
to weave taut threads of spirit-binding genes
that sparks divine soul of immortal hope
with words of truth unheard in human speech
which flare forth flame of faith in dreaming eyes.

Though stars that flicker with beautiful gleam
burned out to lightless spheres of spinning gas
millions of years ago in swirl of time,
their rays of hope appear in our night skies
with surge of blood-tides in our mortal hearts
so we express our faith in solemn hymns.

Orpheus strums the lyre of Mercury
and sings about the lonely odyssey
of wily men who learn through suffering
to honor sacred pale of every home
by offering shelter to lost refugees
who build homes on graves of the nameless dead.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus wears mask of my face to perform role of my life as I attend my private odyssey when I quest to discover spirit of the bard in my aching heart.

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