Faceless Ghosts Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 07 12

When the red skimmer dragonfly alights
on edge of my book to gaze in my eyes
and seek the true facts about my weird life,
I sell nostalgia to the hungry souls
who seek to understand the precious thoughts
that drive me mad with wisdom of the sky.

Souls of all my ancestors in one ghost
wind clock-spring cobwebs of my dreamless mind
to unfreeze undulating wheel of time
which teaches my heart wisdom of old pain
with creak of wings that crack idol of faith
too like my fake face carved in effigy.

Stuck in the Garden called Gethsemane
with the cup of sorrow I wish to drink,
I give my twisted heart to my true love
who reaches down into the underworld
to grasp my hand and lift me from my doom
so we can drink and dance on rain-wet grass.

Thus I unthink the roaming storm of fear
that wanders carelessly across our land
wrecking destruction of uncertainty
when people swim in sudden flood of truth
that washes all we built far out to sea
where we become fish skeletons of death.

Yet, calm in sturdy riverboat of faith,
I glide across the waveless gleam of light
that shimmers clear with glass of ancient minds
frustrated that dark shadows of desire
writhe still concealed in books of holy writ
which bloom as apple trees from muddy shores.

Out of that empty sky our eyes fall slow
with snowflake dizziness of anguished hope
for metaphysic birds from humble hills
unfolding endless pages of new books
that help us center our wild hearts with love
in piles of leaves that rustle in the breeze.

Bent over chessboard of world history,
I note how kings maneuver gangs of thieves
while I play blindfolded against kind Death
who shows me angels on telephone poles
hung from electric wires of ardency
through voices from the faceless ghosts of faith.

Stuck in the hell loop of my random life,
reliving every moment when I failed
to play standard role of obedient fool,
I tear off black robe of false penitence
and dance with wild abandon of the lost
when I find myself deep inside my heart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus drinks wine as he watches home movies of his childhood in Olympus that shows Apollo trying to teach him to play the lyre while Aphrodite dumps mud on his head and laughs.

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