Sing On Every Globe

Sing On Every Globe
© Surazeus
2024 04 26

Erased from dream of Earth with flash of fire 
which transforms my body to beams of light, 
I disappear from swirl of singing life 
as nameless mask that hangs on temple wall 
where no sad singer recounts tale I lived 
while leaves of trees whisper in evening breeze. 

Reborn in frail body of chemicals 
life after life four hundred million years, 
I wake again from timeless dream of hope 
in each newly designed organic form 
to stand on ocean shore of singing stars 
and remember true name of my first soul. 

With memories of each life from birth to birth, 
all my ancestors lived from dawn of time, 
I grow more wise in knowledge of the truth 
about how we regenerate our souls 
from immortal soul of life-weaving genes 
that mold our bodies from light of the sun. 

Each face I wear as new incarnate soul 
reflects eternal spirit of the sun 
who beams unconscious power of desire 
to nourish passion of my will to live 
as I evolve fish to lizard to mouse 
to cat to monkey to human to god. 

Now I turn mirror mask of my new face 
up toward eternal beauty of Blue Sky 
where I aspire to transcend mortal frame, 
yet I know with wry laughter of respect 
that my conscious soul of self-aware mind 
is chemical function of neural cells. 

My conscious soul is function of this brain 
nurtured by chemical flash of desire 
that surges vibrant waves of aching hope 
which motivates my progress beyond fear 
across the waste land of terrible truth 
to build garden of fruit trees by the lake. 

After First Mother rose from sea of dreams 
she generated children from her love 
who multiply into billions of souls 
now forming nation-states around the Earth 
forever fighting to control rich land 
in endless world wars of kill or be killed. 

I take no sides in regional conflicts 
for we are all children of Mother Earth, 
so I weep for every human being killed 
while rivers flow and fruits ripen on trees 
and stars twinkle on their own fruitful worlds 
where I will wake and sing on every globe. 

Weird Beauty Of Life

Weird Beauty Of Life
© Surazeus
2024 04 26

When I see world of ever-changing forms 
by light of that different necessity 
which reframes story of how we survive, 
I sing old tale of heroic deeds new 
to metal ears of those indifferent cars 
that pass by on their way to grave of dreams. 

Because I felt no comfort of warm light 
that ancient gods radiated on mankind, 
I never feel bleak absence of their being 
when they desert the world of nation-states 
that teem with greedy gangs of hungry men 
who declare their leader immortal god. 

I feel no dread of punishment in Hell, 
nor hope for rapture from volatile states 
to dwell in Heaven of conflictless peace 
where I would play gold lyre of Mercury 
to sing of noble souls who perform deeds 
of selfless sacrifice to save the weak. 

Alone on ship of state in moonlight glow, 
as Argonaut who seeks treasure of truth, 
I gaze at seething waves of timeless love 
modulated by calm atomic force 
of glaciers melting from high mountain peaks 
through dynamic motions of eager hope. 

Intense aggression of wild ocean swells, 
that carve their songs on jagged rocky shores, 
tutor my heart to perceive unity 
of natural forces nominating Earth 
with spiritual formulas of strange truth 
which vex my frail heart with respect for death. 

Entranced by vision of the faceless sun 
as spider with ommateum that sees 
my single soul in billions of live souls, 
I perceive facets of reality 
outside collective scope of wordless faith 
that all compose one god-eyed view of truth. 

To measure stippled outline of my mind 
refracting many images of truth, 
I walk one hundred times around the Earth 
to dance with glee on highest mountain peaks 
and swim with joy in deepest ocean vales 
till I become nameless ghost of the world. 

With evanescent reason of bold faith 
I map conceptual patterns of ideas 
that spiral into radiant galaxies 
where countless planets nurture conscious life 
who all sing in harmony as one choir 
hymns rejoicing in weird beauty of life. 

Agony Of Truth I Sing

Agony Of Truth I Sing
© Surazeus
2024 04 26

With agony of hope stuck in my throat 
I interpret riddles of silent rain 
that reveal sad strangeness of growing old 
far from bright valley of my spirit birth 
where birds still contest over space in trees 
with songs too beautiful for me to sing. 

Remaining with me over centuries 
of exploration beyond far hills of mist, 
their cheerful songs of territorial lust 
frame how my mind perceives social events 
contrived by proud mavens of thought control 
where I feed ideology through hope. 

If I have traveled far enough away 
from familiar venue of youth home life 
I may not feel as sharp the pain of loss 
when people of my family I respect 
pass from this world into blank nothingness 
so grief my mother felt would not be mine. 

When she was struck with agonizing grief, 
after her mother and my father died, 
my heart was blasted with heat of her pain 
so I had to walk way from despair 
and travel far from valley of my birth 
to find safe haven of protective faith. 

No more stuck in strict dutiful routine, 
performing rituals of survival day 
after day to evade anguish of death, 
I roam with freedom from accomplishment 
through indolent curiosity to research 
strange beauty of this world outside my mind. 

Wandering in ruins of abbey stone walls 
to gather berries and nuts for lone meal 
in grove of trees where birds discuss desire, 
I pursue self-communion with my soul 
through mighty heart of transcendental mood, 
till I mitigate misery of my mind. 

With pensive restlessness of silent faith, 
which I design from patterns of sunlight, 
I make deserted wood my lonesome home 
while wounds of sorrow festering in my heart 
are healed by beauty of birth and decay 
that fuel sweet aura through my solitude. 

Alone in oneness of Nature and Death, 
I no longer need to identify 
myself as white female of Scottish blood, 
for now in wildness of high rugged hills 
I am but human struggling to survive 
by savoring agony of truth I sing. 

Calm Of The Stoic Fool

Calm Of The Stoic Fool
© Surazeus
2024 04 25

I respect with calm of the stoic fool 
agony of existence we endure 
for passion of this body we inhabit 
fuels our journey across waste land of fear 
on endless quest to find the Promised Land 
where we tend apple trees with cautious hands. 

Stumbling home to small village of his birth, 
Gubazes falls to his knees by the well 
and gulps sweet water from bucket of oak 
as friends and family gather around 
to express shock at sight of his bruised face 
till he lies gasping under apple tree. 

Running from loom where she weaves tapestry 
that depicts Jesus saving humankind, 
his mother embraces him as she weeps, 
then leads him to feasting hall by the hearth 
where he drinks juice she pours into his cup, 
and caresses his arm as he eats steak. 

Ten years ago when I left with my father, 
hauling wagons full of minerals we mined, 
we were ambushed in narrow mountain pass 
and though he fought with bravery he was killed, 
and I was sold to slave as janitor 
in court of Justinian in Byzantium. 

Escaping maze of golden mirrored halls, 
I fled into rugged mountain waste land 
where Thustra, wizard dwelling in deep hell, 
taught me how to forge metal into swords, 
so I labored in cavern of illusions 
transforming despair into beams of light. 

While searching deep in labyrinth of gems 
I found enormous egg of spottled stars, 
so I warmed its heart with flames of the Earth, 
and from its shell rose red dragon with eyes 
that blaze bright gold as sun that gives us life 
which leaped from my heart to destroy the world. 

Weeping bitter tears for child of my heart, 
whose life I nourished with blood of my soul, 
I notched in bow I carved from taut Yew bough 
arrow of justice tipped with gem of truth 
and fired it straight into heart of my dragon 
who fell wounded into my trembling arms. 

Placing both hands on shoulders of her son, 
Valeriana proclaims for all to hear, 
God has appointed you, my noble son, 
with power to unite our oppressed land, 
so I crown you new King of Lazica 
destined to lead our nation to victory. 

Person Who Dreams

Person Who Dreams
© Surazeus
2024 04 25

The person is walking along the street 
past houses nestled among wind-blown trees 
that could be in any city on Earth, 
for this person who breathes life in the flesh 
is every person who has ever lived, 
and every name ever spoken is theirs. 

The person looks at leaves fluttering on trees 
and feels eternal beauty of the sun 
that blooms in every tree that ever blooms 
in every meadow beside every lake 
filled by every river that ever flows 
where they walk along every road of hope. 

The person looks at white clouds in blue sky 
that gather water from oceans of faith 
which they scatter as rain on every hill 
where people gather in light of the moon 
to prepare meals from the bountiful woods 
then feast and share every tale ever dreamed. 

The person who stands on our spinning sphere 
is me who gazes at the world with eyes 
that beam rays of light into my brain cells 
which organize their colors into shapes 
based on ideas my thoughts categorize 
to conjure virtual model of the real world. 

The person who perceives the world of forms 
is you who ponders what is real or not 
by expressing concepts in sentient sounds 
that convey vision of that world you see 
which indicates to others how you feel 
so you accept the fruit I offer you. 

The person who dreams the world we perceive 
is us who tell each other how we feel 
by inventing language that distorts the truth 
to conform to state ideologies 
prophets design to control our rogue minds 
when we enforce our right to live and eat. 

The person is standing on the hill top 
and painting image with wet globs on wood 
that represents the world our eyes perceive 
where organic forms made of chemicals 
interact through romantic tragedies 
in games that determine who breeds with whom. 

The person who plays lyre of Mercury 
sings ballad about daughter of Apollo 
who falls in love with son of Lucifer 
so they run away to build paradise 
where they raise children in Garden of Eden 
who sell apples in the market of hope. 

Woman With No Door

Woman With No Door
© Surazeus
2024 04 24

While Ruth strolls slowly in gold field of wheat, 
caressing wispy stalks of hopeful light, 
Tiresias films her progress toward her goal 
to generate life from the timeless soul 
who gleams in coils of genes inside her mind 
based on prototype first mother designed. 

Three men in black robes with fear-sharpened blades 
follow young woman where she blithely glides 
with intent to control her sacred womb 
that generates bodies for the hungry tomb, 
but pause to watch her sing with cheerful birds 
transforming sorrow into charming words. 

White raven in tall oak on river shore 
calls to the lonely woman with no door 
who hears strange secret in his riddled code 
that reveals method of the signless road 
which she could follow to escape despair, 
but she decides she must not really care. 

More beautiful now than Helen of Troy, 
from casual regard for the clever ploy, 
Ruth stands with sad grace on heavenly walls 
overlooking empire of empty halls 
where mirrors reflect faces of the dead 
who return from Heaven with wings of lead. 

Though Ruth decides her strength resides in faith 
derived from prophecies of the blind wraith, 
who writhes like smoke from pages of old books, 
she manages daily routine of cooks 
preparing feasts in temple of the god 
who directs missions of his justice squad. 

Too young to know why men employ brute force 
to misdirect intention of the course, 
Ruth turns back from cliff edge of the abyss 
in vain search to find out why humans miss 
essential clues to how we choose to live 
in restless religion of take and give. 

When she abandons life on the wheat farm 
to dwell in city of rebellious charm, 
Ruth dances with hippies in river park 
where she falls in love with the long-haired lark 
who plays guitar before the National Guard 
though Fate deals to him the Hanging Man card. 

With child born from their sweet romantic tryst 
same hour as the Apollo rocket blast, 
Ruth wanders lost on Desolation Row 
to find out where all the mad jesters go, 
then finds job in the factory sewing clothes 
where she silently composes dream odes. 

Fate Of Religious Ways

Fate Of Religious Ways
© Surazeus
2024 04 24

Fractured windows of the abandoned house 
reveal in swirling snow of frosted eyes 
soft faceless voices of convenient wells, 
and shadows torn from books of lonely tales 
that fail to praise fate of religious ways 
as if our bodies stumble on the loose. 

Bright yellow flowers of the rain-wet field 
that spew conceptual poison of despair 
attract naive butterflies of honesty 
who dance in fragile hope of ecstasy 
above smooth shining roof of the fast car 
that takes us to empty church of the failed. 

Long rows of houses on curved suburb roads 
entomb our treacled fantasy of faith 
concerning venomous beasts of the book 
that teaches young wives how to bake the cake 
so homeless people pay to come and look 
with access to swamp temple of mad toads. 

Old woman with her long hair drawn out tight 
photographs bats crawling on blackened wall 
to disprove reproof of long-silent bells 
which still distort the hours with silent tolls 
when ghosts in empty cisterns climb the hill 
to play chess with the puppet of moonlight. 

More bodies dug from graves of swirling sand 
leave dry bones rattling on our kitchen shelves 
who whisper stories of arrogant hope 
because the price of freedom is too steep 
though rain waits on the streets of angry calves 
herded by the oak clown with curious mind. 

Falling towers in cities of mad kings 
who once controlled vast empires of dream slaves 
radiate soft glow of unreal consciousness 
confusing people who try to buy bliss 
based on decay of truth from smoking stoves 
since the sad jester protests social wrongs. 

Wind under the door from riddles of bones 
leads homeless refugees from land-grab wars 
to search for eyes of pearls in shallow seas 
where drowned men clutch with fear at greedy keys 
designed to open academic doors 
where robots study secrets of lost runes. 

Huddled in torn tent on the river shore, 
Tiresias asks the turtle with gold eyes 
if he can purchase stocks in companies 
that finance wars for building colonies, 
then rattles tin can of bones to call spies 
who dwell in abandoned house of the star. 

Choir Of Singing Souls

Choir Of Singing Souls
© Surazeus
2024 04 23

Since poets are gardeners and poems are seeds 
we scatter our dreams in dark soil of hope 
where some will bloom into songs we all share 
while others vanish in the silent void, 
yet still we generate poems from our hearts 
and fling them into wind of hapless fate. 

Since poems are pollen and poets are bees 
we visit hearts of fellow troubadours 
to cross-pollinate visions of our minds 
with rich conceptual patterns of ideas 
which fertilize our whole imaginations 
transforming memories into virtual worlds. 

When vision of the world our eyes perceive 
blooms bright as flowers in soil of our mind 
we weave weird sentences of thoughtful words 
to beam that vision in song of the truth 
so others may understand what we see 
and thus communicate in riddling spells. 

So breathe deep spirit of the dreamless sky 
and with intense passion of faithful love 
express that vision of life you perceive 
to join our global choir of singing souls 
to weave one grand religious epic tale 
reflecting light in mirror of our eyes. 

Free In Paradise

Free In Paradise
© Surazeus
2024 04 23

Strumming lyre of Mercury as he weeps, 
Orpheus sings in garden of tall trees 
where people fill baskets with ripe fruit 
while angels in long white robes with sharp swords 
patrol high granite walls of paradise 
to make sure nobody escapes from Heaven. 

Noting that guardian angels in watch towers 
seem enchanted by music of his voice, 
Orpheus nods at Helius and Phoebus 
who climb to top of the two tallest trees 
where he hid bows and arrows in the night, 
then aim sharp attention at drowsy guards. 

As they shoot arrows that soar silently 
and pierce hearts of guardian angels with stealth, 
Orpheus leaps on high stone of contempt 
and shouts with jaunty laughter to distract 
attention of Jehovah from his friends 
who gasps in shock as angels fall in death. 

Facing each other with tense arrogance, 
Orpheus and Jehovah leap to fight 
in hand to hand combat of graceful dance, 
punching and blocking with strict-gestured strikes, 
till Orpheus somersaults on hawk wings 
and cracks skull of Jehovah with his lyre. 

While Orpheus and Jehovah contest 
in brutal fight for power over Heaven, 
Helius and Phoebus leap to the ground 
to protect women and children in groves 
when angels swarm to arrest their rebellion, 
two noble men fighting fierce cherubim. 

Snatching thick branch he breaks from apple tree, 
Helius twirls to fight ten angels with grace 
till they thrust swords into his beating heart, 
and Phoebus hurls stones with noble intent 
to crush their skulls till one runs up behind 
and whacks off his head with swipe of his sword. 

Defeating Jehovah and angel guards 
through rebellion against his tyranny, 
Orpheus and people in paradise 
cheer for their victory against slavery, 
then secure Heaven by appointing guards 
who wield swords of dead angels to keep watch. 

Sitting on throne where Jehovah once reigned, 
Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury and sings 
hymns to valiant heroes, Helius and Phoebus, 
who sacrificed their lives for liberty, 
and fought with love to set our people free, 
while they feast and sing, free in paradise. 

Real Is Now Strange

Real Is Now Strange
© Surazeus
2024 04 22

No more than hubris of calm petulance 
explains bravado of shy insolence 
when humble shepherd of the misty vale 
considers revolution might prevail 
with shocking passion of fake selfishness 
that resurrects blank mind of happiness. 

With bold obtuseness of the holy fool 
he rides fierce donkey to enforce world rule 
by wielding nuclear missile like dream wand 
he fished from horror of polluted pond 
to transform into white angelic cat 
who purrs on state desk of the autocrat. 

What secret code programmed by blinking rune, 
read only by sad witch born from the moon, 
conceals apocalypse in riddled verse 
conveniently forgotten in the curse 
that blazes flame of laughter from sea stone 
which powers robot brain of the god clone. 

Too long in temple of the singing snake 
reigns hungry king who knows all laws are fake 
though he is mad soul again in the flesh 
of bitter tyrant, son of Gilgamesh, 
who plays guitar on star-lit stadium stage 
to channel global mind of fearful rage. 

Awake as avatar from vampire bat 
who runs gambling den in old laundromat, 
King Midas shuffles in grove of dead trees, 
and sprays insecticide to kill the bees 
who swarm from open mouth of Melusine 
in civil war to rule the mind machine. 

Each prophet rising from their nation-state 
speaks words of wisdom to reprogram fate 
that channels spirit of all citizens 
by polishing their heart as psychic lens 
through which we dream wise gods in empty skies 
who watch us live with kaleidoscope eyes. 

Eager to live while my body of light 
can function well with chemicals of sight, 
I balance energy and form through dance 
of graceful accident from random chance 
till I meet Death at last on my own terms, 
and vanish with indifference of blind worms. 

Dispersed across cruel wilderness of hope, 
we learn from dire mistakes techniques to cope 
with nature that seems hostile to our being 
while floating dizzy from demonic wing 
that carries us through storm of social change 
since world truth that once seemed real is now strange. 

Map Of The Mythoverse

Map Of The Mythoverse
© Surazeus
2024 04 22

Skipping through endless maze of mirror masks 
which constitute map of the Mythoverse, 
I bring hamburgers to temple of ghosts 
to chat with Odin, Zeus, and Jupiter 
who argue over who will rule the world 
after the global election is done. 

Crawling over contours of measured hills 
which formulate story of the Mindscape, 
I plant seeds from apples, peaches, and pears 
in rotten hearts of giant dinosaurs 
who sang in hymn of global dominance 
till Zeus hurled meteor of blazing light. 

Laughing in Theater of the Absurd 
built on fake stages of the Innerworld, 
I play arcane role of the cosmic herald 
who sends three angels over Middle-Earth 
with subtle message of apocalypse 
urging mankind to fight cruel monarchy. 

Digitizing features of the real world 
in the complex model of Virtual Earth, 
I replicate rivers, forests, and roads 
as psychic metaphors of human life 
depicting how we struggle to survive 
by wrestling demons of the underworld. 

Considering how stars regulate our fate 
that redesigns matrix of the Mindspace, 
I plot how atoms swerve in void of thought 
to weave vast undulating web of time 
that forms our thirteen-dimensional space 
where we perform rites to spur life from death. 

Strumming electric strings on lyre of Hermes 
that entangle concepts of the Dream Plane, 
I gesture hand with gold wand of Zambor 
to deconstruct my conceptual world view, 
then analyze base assumptions of truth 
so I can reprogram how I perceive. 

Soaring on thought-wings of Icarus 
to explore conscience of the Noosphere, 
I calculate web of relationships 
that bind my soul to eye of the White Whole 
when atoms beam consciousness of my brain 
so I imagine God as Ideal Man. 

Chanting epic poem of philosophers 
that composes the Imaginarium, 
I record progress of curious minds 
who build foundation of society 
by how they define the nature of things 
as divine atoms swerving in the void. 

Lost In Starless Void

Lost In Starless Void
© Surazeus
2024 04 21

Sweet sorrow of our ever-spinning world, 
we share in tales we sing around bright fire 
when cold wind howls across the rugged plain, 
sparks joy of faith inside our lonely hearts 
so we look forward to rise of the sun 
that will dispel blind ghosts who haunt our way. 

Regretful passion of cold falling rain 
dissolves despair that paralyzed my heart, 
so at fierce blasting of wind in my face 
I wake from agony of searing pain 
to laugh with bright joy at the darkest hour 
when all I love seems lost in starless void. 

Excessive hope for beauty of rebirth, 
when I attempt to alter code of fate, 
obstructs my way to enter paradise, 
though I spread arms like eagle wings of will 
and leap across abyss of hungry fear 
so high I fall beyond reality. 

Aggressive strum of lyre strings in my mind 
allows wise serpent of rage to escape 
egg of solitude in sea of despair 
so I stand shaking with fear on the stone 
that gleams white as the dawn sun in my eyes 
when I shout curses at wild ocean waves. 

Benumbing tune of fractured mirror bursts 
naked with ambition from time-bruised hearts 
to drive young humble farmers mad with hope 
that with each democratic vote for truth 
they may taste pure fruit of eternity 
before they cry at dying of the light. 

Glorious dismay at laughter in glass hall 
confounds my journey to the Promised Land 
when I stop by high waterfall of blood 
to ask the crippled eagle why she cries, 
but she recites weird riddle of the horse 
that misdirects my attention with love. 

Resplendent ennui unlocks faceless doors 
each hour I marvel at the fabulous show 
angels and demons unite to present 
in theater where Death always triumphs 
because she has no room to call her own 
and he has way too many empty rooms. 

Fair emptiness of words our brains express 
contains all thoughts that every conscious soul 
who ever lives in the whole universe 
ponders while they gaze at gleaming sky 
and wonder at fantastic mystery 
we write about with proverbs in the book. 

Wake In World of Atoms

Wake In World of Atoms
© Surazeus
2024 04 21

With gesture of my hand to cast dream spell 
I draw pure water from the broken stone 
to lure serpent queen from the singing well 
with tune I play on flute of dragon bone, 
then wake in world of computers and cars 
where fate is not determined by the stars. 

Wild song of Dionysus lures my heart 
to follow signless road to paradise, 
which I map on ever-changing world chart, 
and dance with maenad who seems to be nice, 
then wake in world of hand-held telephones 
where people work to pay off student loans. 

While bearing sword of justice in right hand 
I ride with our king on holy crusade 
to drive evil infidels off our land 
and restore kingdom on Earth Jesus made, 
then wake in world of machine factories 
where republicans destroy monarchies. 

Weird vision of global apocalypse 
glows before my eyes to show fall of gods, 
so I guide pilgrims in fanatic ships 
to escape castles of tyrannic lords, 
then wake in world of companies and banks 
where angels operate airplanes and tanks. 

Official gangster in grand castle court, 
I wear gold crown with jewels of bright stars 
to claim myself vicar of God on Earth 
who reigns with wand of Jupiter and Mars, 
then wake in world of bold democracy 
where presidents guard social liberty. 

Confused by global scheme of nation-states, 
I climb Parnassus to observe the world 
of neighborhoods enclosed by pearly gates, 
and dream Ishtar appoints me cosmic herald, 
then wake in world of corporate entities 
where pop-stars sing of romantic disease. 

Religions of fierce faithful worshippers 
form around prophet-singers and their books 
presenting visions of suffering and cures 
designed by progress of atomic clocks, 
then wake in world of scientific facts 
where keys explain weird magic artifacts. 

Vast puzzle of our world depicts one truth 
in contradictory views of fractured faith 
through diamond eye held by messiah sleuth 
whose spells conjure illusion of God Wraith, 
then wake in world of atoms in the void 
where ideas bloom from the faceless voice. 

Journey Of Each Soul

Journey Of Each Soul
© Surazeus
2024 04 20

When the sword of truth shatters mask of pride, 
exposing natural element of lust 
that motivates each individual soul 
to enforce unspoken will of desire, 
our primal lizard mind of hungry hope 
blooms into human love for the unself. 

With quiet contemplation of the world 
I linger in still forest of tall oaks 
as mute companion to ravens and deer 
to feel that timeless spirit of the Earth 
that gleams with soft uncanniness of truth 
in pastures where farmers and shepherds toil. 

Through daily routine of creative work 
farmers tend rich crops of nutritious food, 
herdsmen herd grazing flocks of sheep and cows, 
craftsmen construct wagons and boats of wood, 
and metalsmiths forge plates, cups, swords, and shields 
from raw material of the spinning Earth. 

To celebrate plain rustic way of life 
common men employ to sustain our souls 
I lounge beneath tallest oak in the world 
and with lithe style strum lyre of Mercury 
while singing tales of simple folk who seek 
romantic love to generate new life. 

Yet grander tales of warriors, kings, and gods, 
whose actions institute the nation-state 
in formal rituals through cause and effect, 
inspire my heart to recount epic themes 
recording rise and fall of world empires 
embodied in glorious deeds of great heroes. 

Prophets who lead lost tribes to paradise, 
priests who prepare feasts for solemn rites of faith, 
warriors who defeat monsters of deep caves 
or guard fruit garden of walled paradise 
from attacking gangs of enslaving thieves, 
and more great men are models of grand songs. 

More than pastoralists, warriors, and kings 
the cultural heroes who inspire me most 
are scientists who research state of being 
that compose with atoms nature and man 
through particles in seething coils of light 
organ bodies that nurture conscious minds. 

We curious seekers on grand quest for truth 
about the chemical nature of things 
record perceptions of observing minds 
through philosophic lyrics of our hearts 
that recount epic journey of each soul 
who transforms into god, then sinks in death. 

My Real Personality

My Real Personality
© Surazeus
2024 04 20

I like it when the breeze brushes my face 
with gentle caress of the universe 
that vibrates with pleasure of molecules 
beaming with atoms in cells of my soul, 
as if to tell me with music of light 
that we are flames of spirit in the void. 

I create my real personality 
from tales I find discarded on the ground 
by beautiful celebrities of fame 
who grow bored with stereotypes of the past 
when I carve mask of the many-faced god 
as pastiche of carpenter and mad king. 

The horse composed of wind in hills of trees 
recalls the time the moon burst from the stone 
so we could change the color of our eyes 
because we were raised by wolves of the rain 
who teach us how to sew feathers in wings 
so we can pretend to fly among clouds. 

When I kneel on the lonesome river shore 
I close my eyes to wash my face with tears 
so everything made real by rays of light 
may vanish in dark void of inner thoughts 
which helps me find out who I am again 
because I keep losing mask of my soul. 

From deep inside gloomy well of my heart 
intensive surge of passion to express 
soul-searing pain from loss of souls I love 
compels me with psychotic fortitude 
to stand in vast cathedral of cracked skulls 
and sing heart-wrenching hymn of honest rage. 

Loud echoes of my devastating voice 
reverberate through cold cavernous hall 
with searing agony enough to stun 
holy angels that bear blessings of hope 
so they fall crippled to the solid ground 
and never fly again among bright clouds. 

When disembodied eyes of ancient skies 
hover unblinking in the empty house 
of green walls seething with sap of fruit trees, 
I light wax candle of my naked soul 
to gleam through darkness of eternity 
each time lost soul on signless road sings softly. 

I turn around with shy alacrity 
and with assertive hand of holy faith 
caress face of the universe with love 
so she knows without words sweet joy I feel 
that she exists brief hour of conscious hope 
to savor strangeness of this world we share. 

World Mermaid Queen

World Mermaid Queen
© Surazeus
2024 04 20

Through lithe balance of energy in form 
I maintain progress of expressive life 
with self-control of passionate respect 
on quest to generate incarnate soul 
when egg of woman, sparked by seed of man, 
transforms chemicals into human soul. 

Through stringent logic Apollo designs 
I channel with conventions of thought words 
star spirit Dionysus represents 
that seethes in neurons of my dreaming brain 
to energize my body with my soul 
so I glow bright with pure celestial light. 

As fish I swim from hydrothermal vents 
that weave chemicals into carbon coils 
which spiral from first flash of the big bang 
so I evolve from light to organism 
who swims in liquid womb of Mother Earth, 
inspired by faith to fly toward Eye of Light. 

As lizard I crawl diamond-crusted stream 
from deep abyss of salt-congested sea 
to sparkling lake of moon-white lily blooms 
where I reach out achievement arm of hope 
to grasp ripe berries hanging on thick vines 
when I lie gasping air on sun-warm stone. 

As mouse I crawl dark tunnels of despair, 
avoiding hungry dragons with sharp jaws, 
till blazing meteor explodes with flames, 
then skitter over world of frozen ice 
that melts in swirling rivers of desire 
so I crawl tangled vines of sun-ripe fruit. 

As cat I race through forests in wild packs 
to hunt for food with ambitious regard, 
then climb tall fruit trees on high mountain peaks 
to escape fierce demons of snarling rage, 
and leap broad canopy around the world 
in swarms of lovers singing to the stars. 

As monkey I sing to child in my arms 
who follows close as we swing in broad trees, 
but without tail I fall to humble Earth 
to catch quick fish in seething ocean tides 
where I walk upright with observant breath, 
then follow cows across song-ringing plains. 

As human I build god-eyed ziggurat 
where Amen welcomes us to House of Song, 
then Ishtar trains priests to manage food farms 
in global baby-production machine 
while empires rise and fall ten thousand years 
till we form United Nations of Earth. 

As wingless angel I transcend my form 
to cultivate soul-energy of love, 
powered by atomic clock of space-time, 
while I evolve four hundred million years 
fish to lizard to mouse to cat to monkey 
to human who communicates with words. 

Marya Magdalena, World Mermaid Queen, 
generating life from Jesuvian seed, 
guides human tribe on signless road of faith 
to populate our spinning globe with clans 
so we teach our children to express thoughts 
that conjure virtual world of Earth we dream. 

We are mermaids designed by Mother Earth 
to transform bodies of conceptual style 
as we engender children from our love 
who perform social ritual to create 
visions of freedom and justice for all 
while Goddess Liberty reigns with fair laws. 

Awake with souls all my ancestors dreamed 
as they sought secret of the Holy Grail, 
I strum enchanting lyre of Mercury 
and sing conceptual hymns to human souls 
that plot our scheme to generate new life 
so we transcend Death who comes for us all. 

Star-Eyed Lucifer

Star-Eyed Lucifer
© Surazeus
2024 04 19

George Gordon Byron 
22 January 1788 – 19 April 1824 

That sacred flame Prometheus stole from Zeus 
glows in stone heart of world-exploring seer 
who dares to challenge tyrant of cruel greed 
so he can save his people from despair 
when he descends to underworld of fear 
to slay demonic mother of our rage. 

Determined to fight tyranny of greed, 
and free land of Athena from grim kings, 
wry club-foot jester from dark castle tower 
rides proud Bucephalus in Attic hills 
with polished blade of truth Excalibur 
commissioned him by Lady of the Lake. 

Through noble sacrifice of his bold life 
in fighting dragon of world monarchy, 
Lord Byron channels soul of Beowulf 
in cleansing sacred halls of Avalon 
by fighting Jupiter with mocking jest 
when he plays witching lyre of Mercury. 

Descending narrow cave of Niflheim 
where demons dance with Dionysian glee, 
descendant of brave Beowulf proceeds 
through winding maze of myths to cave of Hell 
where shadows of illusions flash stone walls 
that blind our eyes to true reality. 

Where Asmodeus reigns with grail of blood, 
drained from thick veins of psychopathic gods, 
light-bearer Lucifer with wand of wisdom, 
that gleams with diamond eye of timeless truth, 
appears to challenge tyrant of despair 
in battle over soul of humankind. 

To fight for freedom of the common soul, 
both man and woman seeking to express 
duty of justice through force of free will, 
star-eyed Lucifer employs righteous voice 
to battle and defeat tyrant of greed, 
and cast him out through gates of paradise. 

Yet angry Jupiter with snarling sneer 
hurls bolts of lighting in dark thunderstorm 
with torrents of cold rain that drench frail Earth 
and chills courageous Lucifer with curse 
that strikes disease at heart of his pure faith 
so he lies sweating in fever of pride. 

Lord Byron wearing mask of Lucifer, 
who fought cruel dragon of world monarchy 
with soul of Beowulf glowing in his heart, 
lies wounded after killing tyranny 
as sacrifice to save humanity, 
borne to Heaven by wings of Sariel. 

Controlled By Secret Code

Controlled By Secret Code
© Surazeus
2024 04 19

Stuck in sorrow of unheard messages 
regarding missing vision of the eye, 
I journey across wind-blown passages 
with crushing sense of wonder about why 
we stand paralyzed at edge of despair 
from absence of thunder in misty air. 

Suspicious of desire to search for faith, 
unmindful of loss without anguished dread, 
I wait with voiceless sternness for the wraith 
fleet as mute emissary of the dead 
to bear key for door of forgotten home 
as sentry of Heaven who longs to roam. 

If I abandon bright place of belief 
to bring new book of myths as precious gift, 
your gate attendants who ask for relief 
would choose to ignore broken boats that drift 
lost on swirling currents of cruel regret 
that poisons discourse on the ethernet. 

From rugged hill of skulls and singing stones 
I see arrival of brave travelers 
who ask me how to carve love spells on bones 
which naiads play as flutes in conifers 
that sprout on mountain of the howling god 
who leads fanatics of his drunken squad. 

Yet smooth peak of Takoma reflects light 
that fills my Muse with visions of the world 
transformed by strange machine of the cartwright 
driven from Heaven by the cosmic herald 
who teaches our souls how to navigate 
vast virtual world our brains hallucinate. 

In the glass castle the man with no face 
explains mechanism of the dream clock 
controlled by secret code of the star voice 
that radiates from the billion-year-old rock 
which I roll to top of Parnassus peak 
so I can earn the right of pain to speak. 

When blond witch with the arrogant guitar 
gives magic typewriter to the blind bard, 
I crown her new Empress of Zathamar 
so she can pick lilacs in the dooryard, 
but she bakes cookies with the shy recluse 
who wears mask of my persistent Muse. 

Threatened by conceptual storm of my thoughts 
that crackle when I perform on world stage, 
I juggle nuclear bombs made by robots 
who program tragedy with bitter rage 
till all the players of world politics 
vanish as ghosts through weird poetic tricks. 

Eyes Of Holy Light

Eyes Of Holy Light
© Surazeus
2024 04 19

Though Hylas skips down on the river shore 
Metope waits for him outside their door, 
but when he never returns home to her 
she goes looking for son of Jupiter, 
then strides on stage to play guitar and sing 
about faithful love of the magic ring. 

With long blond hair flowing in evening wind 
Metope dances in short sequin gown 
to sing about the boy who broke her heart 
because he could not read the psychic chart, 
and left her wandering city streets at night 
still searching for his eyes of holy light. 

Alone in apartment of lonely souls, 
she stares at his typewriter of lost goals, 
yet tries to understand his mythic code 
left on the television in stealth mode, 
as if our feelings are the hurricane 
that leaves us dancing wildly in the rain. 

Waking up at dawn in the Moon Hotel 
with demon lover who crawled from the well, 
Metope smokes to chase away dark ghost 
who haunts her silence with arrogant boast 
that he speaks for man with the voice of God 
who found him wandering on the signless road. 

Rekindling flames of love in castle hearth, 
Metope maps weird secret of rebirth 
in blank-paged book that flutters in cold wind 
each time she texts him without hitting send, 
then smiles as she embroiders memories 
about their good times till he stole her keys. 

Painting garden of Heaven they once shared 
with impressionist style that shows she cared, 
Metope dances barefoot on wet lawn 
when the Light-Bearer appears after dawn 
to explain grand project of his new scheme 
that came to him in bright Parnassian dream. 

With valiant purpose beyond fantasy 
to fight evil and save democracy, 
Metope searches by the rancid pool 
that once bubbled with beauty of the cool, 
but finds Hylas passed out from despair 
after wandering lost in the Everywhere. 

Helping Hylas stumble back to their home, 
Metope asks why he would rather roam 
bleak wilderness of horror in his head 
than cuddle with her in their love-warm bed, 
but she weeps for the drowned man on the shore 
who will never laugh with her anymore. 

Toward The Promised Land

Toward The Promised Land
© Surazeus
2024 04 18

Because each individual in the world 
savors strangeness of private memories, 
we tell each other stories of mute ghosts 
who haunt our lazy sun-gold afternoons 
with flashes of times and places long gone, 
our secret world that vanished in the past. 

Though more than forty years of life have passed 
in swirling currents of cultural change, 
transforming world I knew when I was young, 
I carry passion of juvenile faith 
still glowing bright in engine of my heart 
that nurtures purpose of my will to live. 

Calm energy of city social life, 
that carried me down shady streets of hope 
across landscape of businesses and homes, 
gleams bright in private vision of my eyes 
though I now live in strange land far away, 
inspiring me to savor this new hour. 

Alone in front yard of home I now own, 
I stand under oak where the raven dreams, 
and think of every house where I have lived 
across this land from sea to shining sea, 
fifty different homes in fifty-nine years, 
forever wandering toward the Promised Land. 

Why should I be surprised that I am lost, 
since my ancestors journeyed across Earth 
three hundred thousand years on quest for truth 
from Egypt to Sumeria to India to China 
then back along high mountains of the world 
to wave-washed misty Isle of Avalon. 

Since Epona first tamed the wind-swift horse, 
and Helius designed the four-wheeled cart, 
my ancestors traveled ten thousand years 
Scythia to Scotland, planting apple seeds, 
then sailed across the wild Atlantic sea, 
escaping kings to live in paradise. 

Always escaping royal police states, 
controlled by fanatics of mind control 
who rule with tyranny from castle towers, 
they journeyed west into the wilderness 
from Massachusetts to wild Oregon 
where I was born at far edge of the world. 

Now paradise is once again oppressed 
by conservative fascists who demand 
we slave to build global empire of wealth, 
but paradise is lost in parking lots 
where the blind bard sings epic tale of fools 
while I wander lost toward the Promised Land.