Hole Of Finite Thought
© Surazeus
2026 03 30

Because death collapses time in my head
with sudden nothingness of the bright soul,
I ponder what the living do each day
to ignore the fact that we all will die,
then I fish on shore of the singing lake
and eat its roasted meat under weird stars.

Framed in my unfurling future, I feel
exaggerated vastness stretching time
long enough to catch me before I fall,
thwarted by excessive passion to live
when I evade cruel death by accident
in close proximity to sudden hope.

Morning light of each new day after death
arrives with bright elusive flash of faith
that blinds my mind with truth beyond all words
at sharpened thrill of opened aperture
that strikes me with expected solitude
so I float far alone on waves of where.

Undetermined moment of someday soon,
when I will cease to be awake with buzz
of frantic energy to taste sweet fire,
tethers tight my heart to silence of wind,
hidden in scroll of lost voices by quill
plucked from demonic wing of innocence.

Brave enough with fractured luck of respect,
I confront absence of my nameless self
by calling phone number of my dead clone
who answers with strange voice of ocean waves,
but I become mad raven with three eyes
that hangs out on the sad telephone line.

So I avoid speaking in my own voice
with assiduous intent to detach
my body from lush fields of sparkling lakes
where birds tweet love songs in flower-flame trees,
because my being is hole of finite thought
around which nothing radiates in blind gloom.

Despite personal investment of hope,
I stand in spotlight on stage of despair
and drink milk of angels from burning clouds
that pour from my eyes in fountains of tears
which nourishes eight billion hungry souls
while I float on surging sea of desire.

My happiness fills shadow of my heart
with sudden nothingness of silent death
that blows bright rainbow darkness of my eyes
open wide enough to become each star
that twinkles in vast galaxies of souls
while beneath every city my heart beats.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury to lead dead souls down to shore of the lake where they become fish we catch and roast over the evening picnic fire.

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