Ride Carousel Of Fate

Ride Carousel Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 01 25

If the sky is doorway to everywhere, 
opened wide by joy of my aching heart, 
then I will soar into immensity 
with awe at breathless beauty of all light 
which I perceive with mind-expanding scope 
of conscious passion for honest respect. 

If owl of my heart, perched on broken branch 
of faith in cosmic energy of love, 
stirs ancient wings of silent urgency, 
then I will find pure egg of soul rebirth 
gleaming with crystal eyes inside my brain 
as psychic battery charged with solemn words. 

If holy cow of spirit-fueling milk 
arrives at dawn across the misty field, 
pulling wagon of bricks baked in the sun, 
then I will build new temple for our god 
who holds the spotted dragon egg of faith 
with tender care of time-unspooling hope. 

If opal gleaming on the signless road, 
containing eyes of every long-dead god, 
radiates pure wisdom of eccentric books, 
then I will dig sacred river canal 
so we can irrigate vast fields of wheat 
that forms foundation of our empire state. 

If angels guard our bodies while we vote 
for who will rule our disorganized state 
with random laws he thinks of in the bath, 
then I will count how many apple seeds 
lie scattered on the marble temple floor 
where turtles analyze profits through loss. 

If blind children ride carousel of fate 
with sly plan to paint frescoes on church walls 
depicting deaths of saints in accidents, 
then I will travel toward the holy land 
through flashing portal of argentine light 
to find divine doctor who heals all wounds. 

If my grandfather flies airplane of faith 
low over rippling lake of secret snakes 
who sing psalms in heavenly choir of ghosts, 
then I will map every telephone pole 
that connects our brains as the world wide web 
in global marketplace of false ideas. 

If I keep walking in circles of truths 
in frantic chase for the most scathing joke 
that exposes weakness of tyranny, 
then I will carve runes on the rock of ages 
cleft wide by earnest zeal of loyalists 
so we can ride the carousel of fate. 

Tears Of Sad Mermaids

Tears Of Sad Mermaids
© Surazeus
2026 01 25

To find pure pearls from tears of sad Mermaids 
I dive deep in dark sea of swirling fears 
with pure celestial breath of cautious faith 
where I face hungry demons of despair 
in noble fight to safe humanity 
from monsters lurking in gloom of our hearts. 

I perform these actions in long day dreams 
while sitting at desk in small cubicle 
as one among many soul programmers 
typing magic runes on keyboards of truth 
to code whole history of humanity 
in tales that chronicle our fight for Life. 

Though bitter winds of winter blast bleak streets 
with grim indifference Nature shows Mankind, 
millions of people demonstrate with signs 
proclaiming principle dear to our hearts 
that every person breathing air of life 
has equal right to liberty and justice. 

These bromides, that sustained our hearts for years 
through centuries of soul awakenings 
and wars for freedom against slavery, 
taste bitter now that our once noble state 
teeters on shaken foundations of faith 
at long-expected rise of tyranny. 

Even this grand republic of free will, 
which our fathers built with brave sacrifice, 
crumbles now from rotten bureaucracy 
asserted by aggressive gangs of thieves 
disguised as masters of the money game 
who seek to enslave us with credit debt. 

Immortal spirit of the cruel dictator, 
that possesses greedy men everywhere, 
emerges in White House with bloody hands, 
emboldened by fear millions of men feel 
which Voldemort channels with magic wand 
carved from Spear of Longinus into guns. 

Yet when dictators of Satan appear 
to manipulate minds of angry men 
with hate to exploit people to gain wealth, 
our brave messiah sleuth, with honest heart 
honed by suffering, appears from our minds 
to lead freedom fighters with flag of truth. 

Minerva stands on pyramid of bones, 
bold one-eyed watcher keeping our world safe, 
to catch pure pearls as tears of sad Mermaids 
that nurture our courage to fight for Life, 
preserving state of world democracy 
which blossoms as Tree of Life from our hearts. 

Time To Wake As The Earth

Time To Wake As The Earth
© Surazeus
2026 01 25

Time to round the building corner of fate 
and ask the blind man in swan-feather cape 
how children are reborn from sticks and stones 
based on fake legends in old leather tomes 
stolen from libraries by bitter trolls 
who cannot find humans without weird souls. 

Time to ride the rocket ship beyond fate 
in dream trip captured on celluloid tape 
long before angels had all left the Earth 
to animate concept of the light word 
tangled with emotions of gods in rooms 
who play tragic lovers to jolly tunes. 

Time to escape glass labyrinth of homes 
constructed from code of dinosaur bones 
despite commitment to holy crusade 
contrived by bankers to monetize faith 
because mad jester crowns himself world king, 
proposing marriage to the skating rink. 

Diana drives red Volkswagen at dawn 
in splatter of rain from the Bible psalm 
on crowded highway in large Texas town 
with her son destined to play prophet clown, 
who thinks about his bike with demon wings 
despite how often the telephone rings. 

Time to prove bent-space formula correct 
by dream wizards from the Adventist sect 
who worship sorcerer of butterflies 
to calculate thought-twist of the next phase 
we humans must dream-travel to evolve 
with romantic tension lovers resolve. 

Time to play honest game of chess with Death 
in effort to translate what the tree says 
about proper etiquette on the wood path 
where we wrestle shadow of the pop quiz 
before we build our house upon the sand 
this shifts word dunes to redesign the land. 

Time to grow up and become the adult 
who sells secret prophecies of the cult 
about Tzatziki-flavored kettle chips 
that Jesus and Achilles share on trips 
to explore landscape of Greenland with hope 
humans will soon find peaceful ways to cope. 

Dionysus searches for quiet spot 
away from distraction of money games, 
and listens to breath of planes among clouds 
when obligations bluster past in wind, 
knowing we decay as Self vanishes 
at death just in time to wake as the Earth. 

Super Beauty Of Wild Hearts

Super Beauty Of Wild Hearts
© Surazeus
2026 01 25

Far beyond super beauty of wild hearts, 
faceless ghost in slime-clean gray business suit 
withdraws money earned torturing mute books 
from the automated teller machine, 
and buys hamburger and fries for his lunch 
before returning to work in the bank. 

Yet laughing turtle in the pink tutu 
dances gracefully on the iced mailbox 
while clowns in red and yellow uniforms 
beat people on the head with rubber bats 
which transform into tinsel butterflies 
that eat silver handcuffs off hands of kids. 

Trapped in voiceless midnight of the glass church, 
photocopied letters on wings of swans 
arrive from Gobi desert in blue eggs 
laid by famished horses in can of words 
that wriggle into shape of wet clay dolls 
who give each other flaming guns as gifts. 

King Lear mistakes the rusty can of words 
for slab of roasted beef as credit card 
he thrusts in hourglass of unspooling fate 
in vain attempt to purchased rugged cross 
designed by blind woman with thirty arms 
who sketches faces of children on doors. 

Pretension to awakeness of the lamp 
contrives new secret room of breathing walls 
where millions of people without cell phones 
bypass memories of traumatic events 
by laughing as they swing in the playground 
enclosed in glass dome on the misty moon. 

Yet Ariadne tugs at broken thread 
tangled in maze of quaint alleyway stores 
to conduct memory trace with images 
encoding characters from ancient myths 
which always leads to Sunday morning church 
where shadows of gods reverberate masks. 

Kwan Yin reveals in jar of honey wine 
shadow following shadow of my brain 
as echo responding to sound of words 
unspoken by shy lovers who grow old 
together in house of the rising sun 
where angel eyes are hammered in our masks. 

At moonrise youngest woman in the world 
drops eyes in glass of water to recall 
how wings of ravens hide wild ocean tide 
since color of milk reveals beating hearts 
we drink to celebrate when empires fall 
now based on super beauty of wild hearts. 

When God Wakes From Dream

When God Wakes From Dream
© Surazeus
2026 01 25

Aware of wind and water in bright air, 
Mike holds brass astrolabe in his left hand 
made by Jamal al-Din ibin Muquin 
three hundred sixty years ago from light 
of stars that weave our bodies into souls 
so he can see where he exists on Earth. 

If absence of quantity represents 
null value symbolized by great round eye 
enclosing all that exists in one mind, 
Mike feels diameter of nothingness 
beam out from zero as circle of light 
through first flash from which all atoms form shapes. 

Placing warm hand on his shoulder with care, 
Aryabhata explains in simple terms 
relativity of motion to note 
how we perceive while in the moving boat 
still objects on shore move backward from us, 
like stationary stars appear to move. 

Bright sun who seems to watch us humans live 
with silent glow of indifferent respect, 
radiates from center of eight swirling globes 
as we rotate through empty void of time 
with undulating hum of psychic love 
which generates our bodies from raindrops. 

Heating metal of meteor that fell 
in streak of fire from high Realm of Ideas, 
Mike forges sword of honest self-defense, 
then patrols river shore by fishing town 
to fight sharp-toothed monster with golden eyes, 
then hangs slain crocodile on rugged cross. 

Bending steamed wood in circle propped with spokes, 
Mike builds sun-round wheel for wagon of fate 
which Helios invented to support 
platform pulled by horses to transport goods 
from farm fields to market stalls on wide roads, 
which forms foundation of great empires. 

Aware of his body composed with light 
from atoms flashing bright since dawn of time, 
Mike invents symbols encoded in words 
to signify perceptions of his mind 
which designs grand ontology of truth 
defining cosmology of dream worlds. 

Expressed by character of conscious sight, 
our new global world view of what is real 
blooms from brain of the genius seer who sings 
riddles that explain how things operate 
as atoms swerving willfully to weave 
neural nets of love when God wakes from dream. 

Treasure Chest Of Dreams

Treasure Chest Of Dreams
© Surazeus
2026 01 25

After I ransack treasure chest of dreams, 
hidden by Pandora beneath her bed, 
I might find ghosts of noble characters, 
long worshiped as gods by long-vanished states, 
struggling to express their stale points of view, 
so I set their skulls on book shelves to sing. 

Yet after I let all those ghosts escape 
to haunt snow-frosted homes with Christmas trees, 
I find Pandora by the kitchen sink 
peeling potatoes, and hard-boiling eggs, 
to cook delicious meal that warms my heart, 
grateful I freed her from bitter regret. 

After eating chicken and gravy dish, 
that warms my heart with dreams of noble deeds, 
I wander woods along the sparkling stream 
where daisies bloom, and lithe goldfinches tweet, 
as I follow haunting song of desire 
which Pandora sings with uncanny joy. 

Wearing long white gown with thick leather belt, 
and coronet of flowers in her hair, 
Pandora kneels in sunlit meadow grove 
with hands caressing cheeks of spotted fawn 
that gazes up at her with moon-black eyes 
while she whispers and kisses his forehead. 

Climbing ancient apple tree on high hill 
where sharp-eyed hawk watches me with calm grace, 
I reach my hand to pluck ripe fruit of love 
but Nirah, serpent with star-flashing eyes, 
hisses at me with aggressive umbrage, 
so I breathe ethereal hope of respect. 

"Before you take sacred apple of truth," 
lithe Nirah hisses with celestial voice, 
"you must answer this riddle with brave poise 
by telling me secret name of the house 
where you enter blind, but exit with sight 
that lets you see inner essence of being." 

Entranced by reverie of my childhood, 
when I sat all day at the classroom desk 
learning to write letters that signify 
sounds depicting objects, actions, and states, 
I reply, "the house where I learned dream-sight 
is called the school where humans see the truth." 

Sitting with Pandora by the oak tree 
among daisies along the river shore, 
I give her basket of apples with love, 
so princess of the city-haunting ghost 
kisses my lips with passionate respect, 
then laughs as we eat and share tales of life. 

Time Of Startled Dreamers

Time Of Startled Dreamers
© Surazeus
2026 01 24

Assembled in vast city of dark ice, 
we demonstrate against cruel tyranny 
and call for equal rights for every soul 
who works with faith in our community 
to create instead of destroy with hope 
in our time of startled dreamers from Heaven. 

Masked agents of cruel tyrant in the tower 
assault our neighbors with aggressive hate 
and drag them trembling in the bitter cold 
so we bring bread from hearth of liberty 
and bandages to heal their broken hearts 
in our time of startled dreamers from Heaven. 

Resurrected from television tombs 
with bodies composed of engines and glass, 
we challenge bullies of the fascist king 
with recording cameras instead of guns 
to chronicle abuse of human rights 
in our time of startled dreamers from Heaven. 

Untethered from ideal concept of freedom 
where every person lives based on free will, 
our bodies buzz with anguish of contempt, 
shrouded by brilliant glare of tyranny 
that blinds our eyes to paradise we lost 
in our time of startled dreamers from Heaven. 

Scattered in the waste land of lost ideals 
when our noble world view of social progress 
collapses into civil war from greed, 
we find each other in the ring of stones 
where we conspire to restore liberty 
in our time of startled dreamers from Heaven. 

Demonic laughter of dark winter storm, 
congealed from spirit smoke of bitter rage, 
looms over frosted land in purple surge 
that breaks the silver heart of noble warriors 
who struggle through thorny bushes of ghosts 
in our time of startled dreamers from Heaven. 

Suffocated by eyeless shade of faith 
that howls at bleeding gate of paradise, 
brave people of America assert 
civil rights to assemble and speak truth 
with trumpet voices that break down walls 
in our time of startled dreamers from Heaven. 

Black metal skies full of hunger-crazed crows 
mourn over city streets of demonstrators 
in thick polluted clouds of mocking angst 
till one voice of our many hearts radiates 
with luminescent beauty of bold faith 
in our time of startled dreamers from Heaven. 

Pregnant With Forgotten Dreams

Pregnant With Forgotten Dreams
© Surazeus
2026 01 24

Cloaked in white sheet of ghostly attitude, 
Ardith pretends to be the summer cloud 
that floats benignly over rolling hills, 
pregnant with forgotten dreams of lost souls 
who would inhabit idols of dead gods, 
then gives everyone slice of honeyed bread. 

Deemed unfit for proud royal company, 
Ardith wears mask of the black albatross 
at parties in the London Underground, 
pregnant with forgotten dreams of sad clowns 
who wear gray suits of strict accountancy 
as pirates of the global empire game. 

Amazed by strangeness of the multiverse, 
Ardith rides white horse on the carousel 
to leap timelines through variants of our world, 
pregnant with forgotten dreams of mad seers 
who navigate political constraints 
to ensure victory of democracy. 

Amused by images of her false face 
reflected on mirror masks people wear, 
Ardith hosts party in the stately hall, 
pregnant with forgotten dreams of gardeners 
who transform wilderness of shadowed woods 
to Garden of Eden where Josh plays god. 

Startled by his shy confession of love, 
Ardith stares at Josh with skeptical eyes 
to understand true nature of his being, 
pregnant with forgotten dreams of mechanics 
who fix piston engines of cars and planes 
which are time machines that only move forward. 

Ignored by haughty elite of fine art, 
Ardith poses nude in art gallery 
to hide weird genius of analysis, 
pregnant with forgotten dreams of blind painters 
who recreate ontology of truth 
vital to zeitgeist of our new world order. 

Astonished by wiles of Odysseus, 
Ardith weaves tapestry of world events 
that chronicle our second civil war, 
pregnant with forgotten dreams of scared soldiers 
who weep when her brother Bob sings grim hymns 
about the second coming of Perun. 

Crowned our new World Goddess of Liberty, 
Ardith rides chariot of fire with four angels, 
pulled by six white horses of innocence, 
pregnant with forgotten dreams of brave mothers 
who teach children how to fight tyranny 
as comrades in State of Zarathia. 

Know How Apples Grow

Know How Apples Grow
© Surazeus
2026 01 24

These woods are mine because I am here now, 
declares the wingless angel to the oak, 
then looks for devil dancing in the dark 
whose gold hair glows bright as the morning sun 
because her green eyes know how apples grow 
from stones to serpents with long rainbow wings. 

Concealed in honeysuckle bush of fear, 
the wingless angel watches bullets soar 
beyond the destined point of history 
where singing devil with three thousand eyes 
gives melons to lost strangers on the road 
because she knows the irony of loss. 

Each wood boat floating on the river waves, 
that flows from snow-white mountains to the sea, 
requires our bodies understand how time 
adjusts conceptual progress beyond death 
since all organic creatures dissipate 
to flashing atoms of attentive stars. 

If time is thinner than pages in books 
where stories of romantic partnerships 
record the tragic comedies of love, 
the singing devil might remember how 
her body glows from first kiss of her fate 
when she meets wingless angel by the lake. 

In chasm breaking hearts that lovers bridge 
words congeal frantic feelings into thoughts 
with ardent heaviness of lonely hearts 
so they bend undulating arc of time 
with kiss that folds enormous galaxies 
in tender vows exchanged to bind clear eyes. 

No anger billows at imminent death, 
retrieved through blunt refusal to concede, 
when weeping devil with long curly hair 
decides she will be strong in spite of pain 
by breathing deep celestial energy 
that fuels courage to endure suffering. 

Perfume of fresh-turned Earth intoxicates 
souls of wild children born from seeds of corn 
who bring baskets of vegetables at dawn 
to wingless angel and his devil bride 
who sweetly kiss by the blackberry patch 
while cows discuss philosophy of love. 

When spirit of the sky comes down to Earth 
and fills our bodies with fierce urgency 
to dance and sing beyond the end of time, 
the wingless angel and his devil bride 
call refugees of war to gather safe 
in walls of haven no tyrant can crack. 

One Sun-Sourced Tear

One Sun-Sourced Tear
© Surazeus
2026 01 24

Eyes swirling far beyond eternity, 
Sofia stands alone in crowded hall 
in world museum of the weeping mother 
before painting of mountains by the sea 
and feels Aurora Northern Lights transform 
her mortal body into divine wraith. 

One sun-sourced tear, infused with ancient light, 
sparked by first flash at beginning of time, 
slides down her cheek with sparkle of insight, 
reflecting countless spirits of pure chime, 
that gleams with journey thirteen billion years 
as egg preserving dreams of endless years. 

One drop of water gleaming in her brain 
preserves the dreams of progress fueled by hope 
from every organic creature of flesh 
through whom it flows as binding thread of light 
as we evolve four hundred million years 
to weave our bodies in serpentine web. 

Our bodies merge with bodies of our lovers 
when parents generate children through love, 
embraced with passion by the river shore, 
so we transform through endless soul rebirth, 
programmed by immortal soul of our genes 
to search for fruit tree of the holy land. 

Heart pulsing with assertion of desire, 
expressed by globe of atoms flashing bright 
as we spin slowly in void of strange stars, 
Sofia turns from painting of her world 
to see me standing in scope of her faith 
so light of joy bursts from her clouded eyes. 

Approaching me across vast plain of fear, 
with slow attention of cautious desire, 
Sofia smiles and reaches out her hand, 
palm open to receive gift of my heart, 
so I accept brave spirit of her trust 
to shelter in warm haven of my love. 

Hands clasped with calm companionship of trust, 
we stroll together winding road of life 
across bare waste land of eager respect 
to build Garden of Eden from our love 
that flourishes in lush Elysium 
where children of our love sprout into souls. 

Expanding conscious scope of our two minds, 
we circumscribe all possible outcomes 
by narrowing path of productive fate 
we choose to create from star energy 
so water of our souls nourish the world 
that preserve our dreams in tears you will shed. 

Bridge Of Social Happiness

Bridge Of Social Happiness
© Surazeus
2026 01 23

My heart escapes cage of my fleshly frame 
to soar above vast maze of ancient myths 
about brave warriors and honest kings 
so I can play wood lyre of Mercury 
and praise their noble deeds in epic tales 
when I cross Bridge of Social Happiness. 

To highlight quest for truth as role to play 
through tales of people who achieve great things, 
I travel far across waste land of hope 
in journey on the signless road of faith, 
yet stumble into innocent success 
when I cross Bridge of Social Happiness. 

Each mask I wear from ancient gallery 
of tragic characters inscribed in myth 
exposes me to new experiences 
that broaden scope of mental consciousness 
so I become aware of human fate 
when I cross Bridge of Social Happiness. 

Consigned to live one tale of bumbling ploy 
by quick temporal state of chemical being, 
I blindly follow instinct of my heart 
to do whatever seems the best each hour 
I grope through global maze of frantic hope 
when I cross Bridge of Social Happiness. 

Now paused in old age on far side of fate 
beneath the shining moon in misty woods 
where old Narcissus stares back up at me, 
I narrate random events of my life 
through structured frame of the holy grail quest 
when I cross Bridge of Social Happiness. 

Each choice I made from gut instinct of faith 
at crucial moments at crossroads of change 
led me to secret haven of my heart 
where I dwell with precious children and wife 
on stage of fate I design with my will 
when I cross Bridge of Social Happiness. 

Still safe from price-demanding curse of fame 
as prophet commissioned by World Ungod 
with Code of Cassandra to program change, 
I compose riddle satires that expose 
how Midas will destroy America 
when I cross Bridge of Social Happiness. 

Awake from swirl of historical change 
when cruel Satan appears again on Earth 
to destroy social system based on greed, 
I join justice squad that Minerva leads 
to build world nation of Zarathia 
when I cross Bridge of Social Happiness. 

Speak With Brave Voice

Speak With Brave Voice
© Surazeus
2026 01 23

Honest arrogance of the special fool 
fools everyone to think they are more wise 
than brave horse that leaps barbed-wire fence at dawn 
to race swift train of new technology 
where artificial intelligence dreams 
electric cows that give conceptual milk. 

I would rather consume chocolate bars 
after I encounter ghouls of despair 
that suck all happiness from my sponge brain 
soaked with divine oil of transcendent truths 
that children buy at the penny arcade 
where King Chuckles wears plastic crown of power. 

Turning away from modernist despair 
to avoid snark of juvenile satire, 
I seek strange beauty of the mountain lake 
that shimmers bright as Mirror of God Mind 
which reflects how humans perceive themselves 
as wingless angels on heavenly Earth. 

When cursing agents of the government, 
who break open doors of our private homes 
without warrant that proves committed crimes, 
I overhear myself speak with brave voice 
of Jesus when he drove from temple hall 
money-changers who cheat people with scams. 

Now I would rather sing Horatian odes 
praising athletes at the Olympic Games 
where humans test endurance with lithe skill 
in harmony with slippery ice of change 
as we evolve beyond our present state 
to overcome our weaknesses with verve. 

How gracefully she swirls on gleaming ice 
with calm elegance of the broad-winged swan 
while her brother, who wears black suit of fear 
and mask that covers his face, grips huge gun 
to arrest people on their way to work 
and locks them in vast prison camp of greed. 

Transforming from republic to empire, 
like Rome during civil wars for control 
between gangs of thieves who claim heritage 
of Hercules the Mighty Conqueror, 
America strives to fulfill oracle 
which Onatah proclaimed in field of corn. 

When brutal ice storm freezes Dixieland 
under black boots of Jack Frost and his gang, 
Minerva will rise from woods of the south 
to wave our blood-stained flag of Liberty 
while Apollo plays electric guitar 
in holy war to save democracy. 

Choices Calculate Our Fate

Choices Calculate Our Fate
© Surazeus
2026 01 22

I hear wild angel in old apple tree 
holler about how she likes to live free, 
but walks to town with the alphabet gun 
and shoots proud man who thinks he owns the sun, 
then twirls around with bliss on twinkle toes 
even after the nuclear winter snows. 

She switches personalities each day 
to match weird purpose of her social play 
leading revolution of honest folk 
in national program to become more woke 
through global consciousness of liberty 
which eradicates hate and poverty. 

When Queen Victoria ruled her world empire 
her prophets wrote epics that would inspire 
her people to expand enlightened rule 
through social progress of empiric tool 
advancing science through heroic deeds 
performed by honest clerks fulfilling needs. 

We work for ascendance of Onatah 
who will return to rule America 
through social system like Utopia 
that we rebuild and name Zarathia 
as free republic, not cruel police state, 
because our choices calculate our fate. 

I see her God Star shining in the East 
when she leads us to fight demonic beast 
who reigns as tyrant in tower of greed 
till we defeat him with the apple seed 
that sprouts as orchards in vast parking lots 
and blooms from aggressive empire that rots. 

Wise mortal woman with attentive heart, 
whose fate she navigates with world dream chart, 
will die into narrative of her myth 
when she rules from ziggurat monolith 
as goddess who unites the world with truth 
through world view designed by messiah sleuth. 

When I am sad and lonely on the street 
after busking all day on faith-sore feet, 
Minerva arrives in gown of black silk 
and gives me bowl of chocolate cake and milk, 
so I know, though the old world order falls, 
Nature sings forever through waterfalls. 

Wild angel singing in new apple tree 
teaches humanity how to live free 
so we do what we will, if we harm none, 
because every soul glows in the same sun 
when we form United Nations of Earth 
where every person may express their worth. 

Corpse Of Your Dead God

Corpse Of Your Dead God
© Surazeus
2026 01 22

When I am finished eating all the stars 
after running through valley of the dead, 
I will carry huge corpse of your dead god 
on my back to open love-broken doors, 
then suavely stroll across the writhing bridge 
till I arrive at the ultimate edge. 

Sufficient compensation as reward 
for cleaning rotten garbage from the church 
will never resupply my bank account 
while butchered cow of god hangs from the cord 
on which depends joke of the destitute 
with aggressive faith for the absolute. 

When I grow youthful with the turning globe 
that spirals over pyramid of fruit 
I play cowled role of the scythe-swinging ghost 
who beckons you to join judgmental probe, 
qualified by blind devil of the lake 
to advocate for the fruit-stealing snake. 

Though jauntily unbowed by social crash 
our old world order suffers this strange hour, 
I seek the star-eyed Sibyl in Dream Tower 
to learn calculus of puzzling potash 
which fertilizes fields of theology 
through prophecies based on psychology. 

With constellated powers of the brain 
I trick aggressive tyrants of empires 
to fund operations of psychic choirs 
through preposterous scam of cloistered coins 
exchanged by proud ghosts of the stock exchange 
who read auguries of the crumbling range. 

We sell our failures to the sports goods store 
with brave ambition of scared puppeteers 
who hang enemy skulls on chandeliers 
despite bad dreams that shake our mental core 
before we take tea on long afternoons 
to avoid explosions of graveyard moons. 

We plant trees we never sit under now 
to construct kites from insecurities 
because no one gives up their liberties 
till Jesus returns on the holy cow 
which never happens, even to this day, 
since none escape catatonic decay. 

Through attentive parlay of energy 
we present our bodies as tragic art 
by understanding how we got our start 
evolving fish to god with panurgy 
so we can build new order of the world 
based on dream design of the cosmic herald. 

Troubled Guest Of Time

Troubled Guest Of Time
© Surazeus
2026 01 21

The silent candle burning in the night 
illuminates strange feelings in my heart 
about how moonlight glimmers in the pool 
where happy demons of my ancient heart 
lurk in cruel darkness of obsessive love 
which gives me wings to fly toward ancient stars. 

Insane for perfect light of jagged cliffs 
which beams my soul into the butterfly, 
I keep imagining how I may die 
so I can grow beyond my clumsy fear 
for I am but the troubled guest of time 
who wanders nowhere on the roadless Earth. 

Though I want to tell each person I meet 
about the holy longing of my heart 
to understand strange burning of my flesh, 
I keep my words of frantic eagerness 
concealed in silent book of puzzling code 
that floats unread on surface of the pool. 

Caught in obsession with electric gloom 
that wraps my naked soul of aching hope 
in bitter glamor of eternal faith, 
I try to be the carefree butterfly 
that flutters fragile wings of honesty, 
but I remain as sturdy as the stone. 

Untroubled by excessive agony 
that every conscious creature wrestles with 
through endless suffering of our tender flesh, 
I strip off all social identities 
and float in silver pool of calm regret 
to cleanse reckless rage from my wounded heart. 

Though I give love I need no love returned 
through transformation of my flashing brain 
when flames of passion burn to angsty ash, 
yet I remember magic word of love 
that always resurrects my wounded heart 
so I become the faceless ghost you call. 

Though I remain the troubled guest of time 
as nameless stranger in this crazy world, 
I dance with wild abandon of the fool 
around the walnut tree in paradise 
when evening light glows red as divine blood 
that forms the word I speak with confidence. 

Stuck in this weird realm of necessity 
as contradiction of inherent means 
for giving love without expecting love, 
I overcome illusion of desire 
through brave expression of my star-wound will 
to translate misery into joyful psalm. 

Vanishing Mist Of Avalon

Vanishing Mist Of Avalon
© Surazeus
2026 01 21

She says she cannot catch the falling snow 
with soft voice hiding how she must not feel, 
and stares around at people in the park 
who walk together in close family groups, 
then peers at the green sun behind gold clouds 
which seems to understand without fake words. 

She strolls with awkward nonchalance of hope 
that something miraculous may occur 
while kicking piles of autumn leaves that swirl 
in sudden gust of wind from kingdom come 
that makes her cackle with unexplained love, 
but hides her mouth and hopes that no one saw. 

She steps sideways just off the cement path 
when seven boys race past her on sleek bikes 
then finds buds on bare twigs most interesting 
when the bright couple with tightly linked arms 
stroll by while laughing flirtatiously calm, 
then she watches them clandestinely sad. 

She thinks about the time her father cried 
when her mother was in the hospital 
sick with some strange fancy-named disease, 
but he ignored her when she came back home, 
drinking beer as he watched basketball games 
while she painted landscapes that no one bought. 

She spots tall man with glasses in tweed suit 
and hair tousled wistfully on his face 
as he reads some thick leather book that seems 
to contain secret knowledge about life 
that might explain how people grow in love 
to sweetly populate the universe. 

She wanders toward him under the ash tree 
with hope to gain knowledge about star runes, 
and tactfully bumps into his right arm, 
then catches the book as it falls with wings 
before his heart can fly into the sky, 
then blushes as she gives it back to him. 

She smiles at faceless ghost of everywhere 
as he mumbles thanks and continues on 
so she sighs sad as Lady of Shallot 
who pines in glass tower for Lancelot, 
though all knights in shining armor have gone 
into vanishing mist of Avalon. 

She stares at mirror-demon of her soul, 
her alter ago who appears from gloom 
to mock her fantasy with grim insults, 
so she returns home and lies in warm bed 
while singing heart-aching tunes of lost love 
which causes lightning flash to crack the world. 

Museum of Faceless Gods

Museum of Faceless Gods
© Surazeus
2026 01 20

Linking America to Angloland 
through Arthurity of my startled heart, 
I cartograph through noble characters 
narrative charter of our mythless state, 
rebuilding both Eden and Avalon 
as amusement parks where children can play. 

Constructing nation of Zarathia 
from crumbling ruins of America, 
I constitute new order of the world 
based on liberty and justice for all 
that aggregates all nations of the Earth 
with equal opportunity to live. 

To be means to belong to the tale 
of all world nations united through law 
that treats each individual with fair code, 
instead of the enclosed genetic tribe, 
for all humans on this resourceful globe 
spring from One Mother who taught us to sing. 

Though Justice sometimes seems to take too long 
to bend arc of the universe toward right, 
we stake fate on Utopian asymptote 
to secure thin curve from rational function 
of historical progress toward democracy 
against existential void of despair. 

Great heroes die into world narrative 
when selfless deeds of courage they perform 
inspire our hearts with vision of their role 
as now essential to our social health 
so we idolize them as divine gods 
to preserve ideal spirit of their trope. 

To achieve immortality through fame 
as stereotype based on your character, 
you must sacrifice your life to your myth 
through curse of fortune engineered by stars 
which molds your spirit to mask of your mind 
portrayed in Museum of Faceless Gods. 

After empire of America falls, 
corrupted by greed of the narcissist 
who tries to make himself hero of fate 
till his fantasy collapses from lies, 
we rewrite tale of our democracy 
signified with new name Zarathia. 

Zarathia means courage of the truth, 
which motivates our quest for liberty, 
inspires brave heart of every human being 
who shares this globe from sea to shining sea 
with generous attention of respect 
to each soul whose tale weaves our world myth. 

Find My Empty Grave

Find My Empty Grave
© Surazeus
2026 01 20

Faster than excited laughter of rain 
that drenches my brain with thunderous good cheer, 
thoughts about how to survive rage of death 
swirl wildly in waves over sharp river rocks, 
yet I forget why I am still alive 
as I crouch on smooth stone of bitter faith. 

Tall idol that emanates from my brain 
projects grand myth of the hero with pride 
whose jagged mind of arrogant respect 
scrapes the night sky with hunger from despair 
based on myopic archive of lost fears 
which I initiate through monuments. 

Based firmly on conceptual stone of truth 
deep in vortex of psychic energy, 
I carve names of great heroes on stone cliff 
who contribute noble deeds without fear 
to sustain momentum of discrete growth 
through progress of polite chastity. 

Ensconced with courage on top the cracked slab, 
inherent in mind-spiraled modesty 
with selfless performance to defy death, 
I balance scales between epic concern 
and intimate sorrow which maintains trust 
through different keys of the same global play. 

Shocked by peaceful arrival of blind fear, 
I watch the blue butterfly of despair 
teach existential quandary of the word 
that melts contractual elements of truth 
with each explosion of soft water waves 
that shake foundation of my self-esteem. 

I sing molecular music of life 
vibrating from cells composing my soul 
with colorful ghosts of attentive faith 
through legendary laugh of eagerness 
to share this time and space of lavender 
with strangers trapped by random innocence. 

Because I am the learned Astronomer 
who calculates fate from choices we make, 
I feel stars wink at me with sparking shots 
as bright demonic eyes of solitude 
who know where I am in the maze of myth 
but laugh at me when I ask where I am. 

Wind chimes of dizzy hope wake me from death 
though I fold leaves in wings of alphabets 
that shine as lantern of my naked heart 
so I convince fine shadow of the boat 
to bear my withered spirit far from time 
so laughter cannot find my empty grave. 

Remember Paradise I Lost

Remember Paradise I Lost
© Surazeus
2026 01 19

Though eight billion people inhabit Earth, 
each one speaking their own language of hope, 
I sit in voiceless silence of my home 
where I hear voices of the countless dead 
relate traumatic events of their lives 
while I record their names in book of myths. 

One more step on the bridge of silent song 
takes me beyond the bounds of paradise 
where people crowd vast maze of open doors 
that open to worlds of the multiverse 
where every human lives on their own globe 
which all swirl together in our One Earth. 

Iced pond smooth as silver eye of the witch 
reflects face of the angel without wings 
who falls to Earth from cloud of Jupiter 
and springs to life in body of my soul 
so I remember paradise I lost 
which I recreate in Heaven on Earth. 

Bright city of marble temples and halls 
that shines on summit of Acropolis, 
from which Athena reigns with sword of truth, 
projects world view of brave democracy 
based on justice and liberty for all 
which always triumphs over tyranny. 

With map Gerardus Mercator designed 
I sail bold ship across the seven seas 
by navigating straight line shore to shore 
to explore and colonize fertile lands 
assimilated in one world empire 
founded on Platonic Realm of Ideas. 

Somewhere on Earth with face no one can see 
one mortal human through humble respect 
embodies spirit of the Architect, 
divine Craftsman who programs our world view, 
managing world food-production machine 
with clear analysis of human needs. 

Tiresias explains in simple terms 
recurring world cycle of social change 
where we keep running faster every day 
in fierce competition to control land 
producing food for everyone to eat 
so I open my door to welcome Death. 

When I remember paradise I lost 
by molding metal of bright meteors 
into piston engine of time machines 
which I drive through maze of forgotten myths, 
I chronicle history of human life 
while sitting in ghostless church of the past. 

Holy Apples Of The Sun

Holy Apples Of The Sun
© Surazeus
2026 01 19

If I wake up from slumber of the sea, 
hair muddy with invective of desire, 
I slice tomatoes with sharp knife of fear 
to walk in woodlands of the singing bear 
who offers refuge to the crippled finch, 
then asks if I can ever love again. 

No strike of lightning startles me awake 
yet I feel flash of whiteness in my eyes 
so I touch cloud of fire with trembling hand 
that spawns new angel in my aching heart 
each time I draw weird meaning on the sand 
in tangled words that might console the land. 

Too awkward to remember words of faith, 
I try to heal all broken things of time 
but end up with large box of precious lies 
contrived by faceless ghosts of everywhere 
who strike my heart with guilt I cannot sell 
though I dig fingers in moist soil of fate. 

My black bones wriggle among roots of trees 
each year I reinvent the alphabet 
so we can write sad letters about hope 
borne far in boats on restless waves of tears 
because we hail from ancient land of skulls 
which gleam in shallow lake of silver fish. 

Old bearded man from hall of broken doors 
places skulls of dead tyrants on the shelf 
inside World Temple of the Laughing Skull 
so we can hear their riddles about fate 
encoded safe in solemn prophecies 
about the most evil king in the world. 

Cautious alertness of the apple girl, 
who senses danger in how sparrows fly, 
saves people of her city from attack 
when they assemble on the river shore 
and plot assassination of the thief 
who crowns himself in castle court of greed. 

Because we give each other secret names 
our bodies thrive safe from insults of thieves 
who spend their energy in frantic fear 
while we tend fields of wheat and cabbages 
since carrots sharpen vision of our eyes 
according to blind woman by the well. 

If I find holy apples of the sun 
on sacred tree of demons with snake eyes, 
I shall retrieve from cave of sparkling gems 
sweet fruit that nurtures us with energy, 
and leave them in rooms of people I love 
so they can taste eternity of love.