Saturday, December 31, 2016

Turning Of Our World

Turning Of Our World
© Surazeus
2016 12 31

No bells are ringing in the chilly night
where homeless refugees from brutal war
are huddled hungry in the bombed-out church
while fireworks explode in the empty sky
to celebrate the turning of our world.

No candles are glowing in roofless hall
where tables are not heaped with plates of food
and no sweet melodies from violins
vibrate with beating hearts at midnight hour
to celebrate the turning of our world.

No children gather at the giving tree,
no teens dance carefree at the party pool,
no lovers kiss in the light-flashing hall,
for all were burned to ash by flaming bombs
to celebrate the turning of our world.

The fallen sun god who gazed at the light
of ten thousand exploding nuclear bombs
walks empty highways sea to poisoned sea
and holds radioactive rain in burned hands
to celebrate the turning of our world.

Though blinded by the light of war for power,
he kneels in the meadow of broken skulls
and breathes on the last flower that may bloom
since all the honey bees crumbled to dust
to celebrate the turning of our world.

The girl who talks to ravens looks at me
through swirling cloud of smoke from blasting bombs
and tells me why the moon will weep tonight
then writes history of kings in bleeding runes
to celebrate the turning of our world.

Though millions of people will die in war
girls and boys will hold hands and kiss with love
and so regenerate new tribes of souls
who tend lush gardens on clean river shores
to celebrate the turning of our world.

We gather on the pyramid of eyes
and vote for who will play our tribal god
then first mother will give him sword of truth
so he can fight the beast who slouches near
to celebrate the turning of our world.

Though all our cities burn from falling bombs
hurled by greedy kings to enslave our hands
we lift high cups of wine at midnight hour
and drink to memory of our long-dead god
to celebrate the turning of our world.

Another year our world of aching hope
spins swift around the mindless glowing sun
whose beams of flaming light inspire our souls
so we express the zeitgeist of our angst
to celebrate the turning of our world.

Thursday, December 29, 2016

Mask Of Your Superstar

Mask Of Your Superstar
© Surazeus
2016 12 29

When I push through the light of the glass door
and browse characters in the story store,
am I searching for new costume to wear
so I can stride on stage of life with flair?
I wear pretty mask of your superstar
so I can play your queen till we all die.

When you gaze in the mirror of my eye
you see nothing but the empty blue sky
where I must play the fateful tragic role
that was written by the bard on lost scroll.
I wear pretty mask of your superstar
so you can love my soul till we all die.

When you watch me on television screen
enact the fascist-fighting heroine,
cheer me on as I break chains of your fears
while I drink the sweet sorrow of your tears.
I wear pretty mask of your superstar
so you can become me till we all die.

When I play dead after the tale is done
and we drink together in the bright sun
will you worship me or just be my friend
as we laugh and play till the world will end?
I wear pretty mask of your superstar
so we can know true love till we all die.

Tuesday, December 27, 2016

Where No Heaven Shines

Where No Heaven Shines
© Surazeus
2016 12 27

She rises from the flowers of the field
and dances around me with flashing eyes,
translating the secret code of our names
into the song of the wind and the stars.

Laughing like the river, she sings to me,
"We are the children of the dreaming Earth,
flashes of sunlight congealed in thick flesh
who long for the stars where no heaven shines."

Holding my hand like I might fall back down
into the gloom of the bottomless sea,
she leads me along the river of eyes
to the grove where ravens watch us from oaks.

She kisses the gray-bearded sage who grins
and shows me one hundred tablets of wood
where he carved in Runes, thin letters of trees,
the tale of his father, Godin the Just.

When moonlight gleams through branches of oaks
she holds me close to her warm beating breast
so her eyes enclose the stars of my hope
and kisses me till I become the world.

She sings in my heart as I lose my name,
"Before your eyes appeared bright in my sky
I was drowning in moonlight of despair
and now your spirit fills my heart with light."

Beneath the oak tree that holds up the sky
she suckles the daughter born from her heart
and sings to her stories of how the world
was made by the hands of the singing sun.

She places our sleeping child in my arms
and lies cold among the flowers of light
and though I call out her name day and night
she never wakes again from dreamless sleep.

I embrace the child she formed from my soul
and kneel by the river where her eyes flash
white lightning that pierces my aching heart
but it seems no kiss can wake her from death.

Her body melts into the rain-wet soil
and her eyes sprout into flowers at dawn
where I teach our daughter to sing and run
and play in the wings of the shining sun.

Beneath the oak tree that blossoms with stars
she sings with the raven who brings her gems
and listens when the moon asks her true name
though her eyes gleam blue with knowledge of death.

Holding her hand like she might fall back down
into the gloom of the bottomless sea,
I lead her along the river of eyes
to the grove where ravens watch us from oaks.

I show her one hundred tablets of wood
where an old man carved thin letters of trees
to preserve the tale of some ancient god,
but the tablets rotted away in rain.

She rises from the flowers of the field
and dances around me with flashing eyes,
translating the secret code of our names
into the song of the hills and the sea.

Laughing like the river, she sings to me,
"We are the children of the dreaming Earth,
flashes of sunlight congealed in thick flesh
who long for the stars where no heaven shines."

Monday, December 26, 2016

Cornelia Crow Mother

Cornelia Crow Mother
© Surazeus
2016 12 26

Longing for the light of their dreaming eyes,
Cornelia sits among shiny green leaves
at the top of the apple tree of truth
to count stars that disappear behind clouds,
and names them for each person she once knew,
when the moon asks the crow why people cry.

Reaching her hand to the shining moon,
Cornelia feels her hair grow into Earth
like roots of apple trees on rolling hills,
and whistles secret code hidden in seeds
so the crow of her heart lands on her hand
when the moon asks the crow why people laugh.

Gazing into the infinite black eyes
of the crow who flutters wings in soft wind,
Cornelia kisses his long beak with faith
though soft faces of everyone she loves
turned to stone at the crack of blazing war
when the moon asks the crow why people die.

Whispering beams of light that flash in her tears,
Cornelia remembers how Sucellus smiled
when she gave him basket of apples ripe
as sunset gleaming on the cheeks of hills,
and they kissed like rain drenching fertile vales
when the moon asks the crow why people love.

Embracing her breast under silver moon,
Cornelia feels again caressing hands
when Sucellus sprouted tall tree of life
that reaches nine branches toward shining sky
and tended green buds of apples that bloom
when the moon asks the crow why people sing.

Caressing her belly that swells with child,
Cornelia whispers, "If you are a boy
I will name you Cornelius, Laughing Crow,
so you will always laugh and sing with joy
though sorrow of death strikes deep in your heart,"
when the moon asks the crow why people smile.

Leaping from the top of the apple tree,
Cornelia spreads black wings to dance on wind
and soars above the frail sphere of our world
that shimmers like cracked glass in gold moonlight
while breathing deep the spirit of lost love
when the moon asks the crow why people fly.

Folding her wings inside tattered white gown,
Cornelia kneels on the stone pyramid
where Sucellus taught her to cook and sing,
and caresses the gold ring of emeralds
which gleam green as his laughing eyes at dawn
when the moon asks the crow why people sigh.

Clutching black branches of the apple tree,
Cornelia howls in the moonlight and rain
till wailing child slides out into her arms,
so she suckles little boy at full breast
that flows with milk from the heart of the sea
when the moon asks the crow why people are born.

Holding his hand as they stroll in the grove,
Cornelia points her hand at everything
and teaches him their secret spirit names,
then together they climb the apple tree
and laugh as they pluck and eat its ripe fruit
when the moon asks the crow why people play.

Gazing in the sparkling pool of his eyes,
Cornelia sits among shiny green leaves
at the top of the apple tree of truth
and tells Cornelius how every bright star
is the soul of someone who lived on Earth
when the moon asks the crow why people search.

Reaching her hand to the shining moon,
Cornelia sings the history of the world
and Cornelius claps his hands with delight
when the crow of the moon lands on her hand
and tells him the secret of life and death
when the moon asks the crow why people live.





"The Moon Asked The Crow" by Christian Schloe
https://www.facebook.com/ChristianSchloeDigitalArt/photos/a.426541304159525.1073741828.159152167565108/468591163287872

Sunday, December 25, 2016

No God Answers

No God Answers
© Surazeus
2016 12 25

On this most holy night of all the year
when millions worship the sun as a man
reborn from death to rule the world with war
I hear children of bombed-out cities cry
to god their parents said lives in the sky,
yet no god answers their sad prayers for help.

What new-born child of homeless refugees
born this night in dark abandoned garage
may rise high through swirling turmoil of war
to campaign well from sea to shining sea
and win our votes to reign king of the land
since no god answers his sad prayers for help.

The sons of Jesus and his Mermaid wife
appear each age to reign as emperor
for though he is dead his spirit is god
reborn each generation to play king
by right of bloody sword that severs heads
while no god answers our sad prayers for help.

Each president that we elect descends
from ancient bloodline of the holy grail,
Jesus, Constantine, Arthur, Charlemagne,
William the Conqueror, to Henry Lionheart,
so we sing in church and proclaim Jesus God
but no god answers our sad prayers for help.

Why must one man out of millions ascend
pyramid of the Ever-Watching Eye
to reign as emperor sea to shining sea
when we would dwell on Utopian farms
in communal peace on lush river shore,
yet no god answers our sad prayers for help.

The dragon erupts from the sea of fire
and roars to burn down the cities of men
so we huddle and pray to empty sky
till the Lion King leads brave warriors
to cast the tyrant down from tower of heaven
since no god answers our sad prayers for help.

Saturday, December 24, 2016

I Want To Stay With You

I Want To Stay With You
© Surazeus
2016 12 24

If through the window I can see her face
when falling snow flakes shroud the silent world
I think I may be able to hold light
of aching love inside my heart forever.
I want to stay with you but I must go,
and so I turn to ice in shining snow.

With every bauble flashing candle light
we hang upon the drooping pine tree branch
I give away cracked fragment of my heart
I never knew I had till death approached.
I want to stay with you but I must leave,
and so I turn to rain when mothers grieve.

She reaches up to grasp my fading hand
and fills my body deep with burning flame
that warms me when I trudge in howling wind
and buffers me against the chill of death.
I want to stay with you but I must fly,
and so I turn to stars in gleaming sky.

I can afford no gift to give my child
who sighs, all I want for Christmas is you,
so I give her my last school photograph
before I vanish in the winds of time.
I want to stay with you but I must go,
and so I turn to dust where trees can grow.

I see her smiling face before my eyes
while I move forward in the hollow dark
and rehearse every word I long to tell her
to angel statue who stands on her grave.
I want to stay with you but I must leave,
and so I turn to thread that fate can weave.

I am no Santa Claus in cheerful suit
nor am I Jesus born on divine night,
for I am just one man who tried to live
and failed at it all but giving you life.
I want to stay with you but I must fly,
and so I turn to spirit in your eye.

Friday, December 23, 2016

Children Of Flowers
© Surazeus
2016 12 23

December is the sweetest month when flakes
of snow from heaven, angel dust from stars,
freeze throbbing hearts of love to broken ice,
which forms vast mirror of enchanting eyes
to arch around the world in flashing skies,
but cracks in shards reflecting every face
scatter one soul into lost nameless souls
when children of flowers weep in rain of fire.

All seeds of trees and flowers hidden in mud,
frozen hard as stone under marching boots
of howling wind which sucks from fragile flesh
our soul flames that were born in distant sun,
lie dormant in the brittle mirror face
who watches mute as we shiver in cave
of gloom that swallows words in silent fear
when children of flowers stare at empty sky.

From black clouds that devoured the last warm sun
white-feathered owl of light descends on wings
that shroud the world in freezing gusts of wind,
and golden eyes that glow with dawning light
stare deep into the cold numb core of death
that yawns down bottomless beneath our hearts,
so I chant names of everyone I love
when children of flowers reach for frozen stars.

Tall white owl brings hot glowing eye of light
from naked vast of infinite despair
and places frozen apple in my hand
so I bite deep and taste wild river waves
that gush again through my numb arms and legs
till searing flame of hope from silver lake
erupts at beating of my heart to live
when children of flowers eat last fruit of love.

I wake at flash of sunlight through black clouds
and rise from heaps of rotten flesh on skulls
to crawl toward fluttering wing of anguished hope,
and so emerge from cave of mute despair
to stand on broken rock of singing words
and watch hard crystal ice melt into tears
that trickle sparkling in gold glare of light
when children of flowers rise again from death.

Alone I kneel by gushing river flood
that scatters broken ice, which melts to flames
of glittering light when fear flows from my heart
to fill the valley, where apple trees sprout,
and white petals sprout from twisted black trees
who whisper my name on refreshing breeze,
so I shout loud to vast indifferent sky
when children of flowers sleep in cave of death.

I call their names to come from cave of death
but no one appears, so I touch their cheeks,
yet see no flash of life in silver eyes
that stare blank at nothing inside my heart,
so I weep in spring rain that flashes light
of evening sun to soak my heart with tears
while standing on the river shore alone
when children of flowers dissolve into mud.

April is the cruelest month when drops
of rain from heaven, angel tears from stars,
melt throbbing hearts of love to flowing stream,
which circulates through body of my world
to fertilize the valleys full with trees,
and clear I see in every drop of rain
lost nameless souls merging into one soul
when children of flowers laugh in cleansing rain.


Thursday, December 22, 2016

Puppet Of Greed

Puppet Of Greed
© Surazeus
2016 12 22

In the Tower of Love the prophet of truth,
son of Cassandra whom no one believes,
howls wordless into the blustering wind
to warn the Children of Israel with signs
that the king they crowned in the falling snow
will enslave them in his factories of wealth,
unless they defeat the Puppet of Greed.

Robed in his thin tattered messiah gown,
Cassandrus wanders the vast city maze,
staring forlorn into the blank eyes of men
whose trembling hands clutch at thick wads of cash
that change to butterflies and fly away
when he mumbles mathematical spells
before they battle the Puppet of Greed.

He stumbles alone in the falling snow
back to Wall Street through the Valley of Death
though the Raven who rules in Avalon
maps path of his quest through the labyrinth
where eyeless girls sing on tall pyramids
and explains how to win every chess game
to help them battle the Puppet of Greed.

On the bridge of lost souls he stares surprised
to see that Liberty was chained with fear
and forced to slave in factory of wealth
where shiny cars are built by new machines
so unemployed men drink beer in dark bars
instead of farming fruit in their back yards
afraid to battle the Puppet of Greed.

The Angel of Truth with sharp shining sword
strides confident on the chess board of power
and deflects ten thousand nuclear bombs
hurled by the snarling devil in disguise
as the Businessman in the Tower of Pride,
and falls to his knees at barrage of death
while he fights against the Puppet of Greed.

Breathing deep the spirit of selfless love,
Cassandrus rises on wings of desire
to wield the Scepter of Wisdom he forged
from fallen star to smash the Tower of Pride
and breaks chains of fear that blinds minds of men
who aid his war to give justice for all
united to defeat the Puppet of Greed.

United in peace of justice for all,
the people of our world, spinning in space,
gather at the Pyramid of One Eye
where Liberty holds Book of Names and Deeds
and Light of Truth that fills our hearts with love
to join the feast of fruit on globe we share
and celebrate fall of the Puppet of Greed. 

Wednesday, December 21, 2016

Her Song Enchants My Heart

Her Song Enchants My Heart
© Surazeus
2016 12 21

When I see the poet in a black dress
stand serene before the intimate crowd
in the city bookstore with white brick walls
and read about her grandmother who sailed
across the ocean to escape cruel war,
I see in the sparkle of her black eyes,
and the genial enthusiastic dance
of her lips as she recites secret dreams,
all her mothers of her mothers and fathers
who lived across the past ten thousand years
on the fertile shores of a thousand streams
in the lush meadows of a thousand vales
whose tender love generated her soul,
and her song enchants my heart with pure love.

Without eyes I see the movie of her song
reveal mysteries of love between lost souls
that flash on the horizon in my head
while Orpheus tries to retrieve the dead
by singing spells that beam into our eyes
visions of how we reassemble mask
we wear to hide the animating spark
of conscious desire I forge into key
I slot to open door of ancient tower
where grey-eyed Sibyl writes on crumbling leaves
prophecies that reveal our brave new world
where every soul who ever walked this world
assembles in the stadium of my hope
while her song enchants my heart with pure love.

While sitting at the desk of singing oak
that grows tall from tangled roots of my brain
I open leather book to read my fate
but find that every page is glowing blank,
so I dip quill, delicate wand of truth,
white feather I plucked from dead angel wing,
in ink of blood that bubbles from my heart,
and write the tale expressing deeds and words
of every soul who ever walked this world
so all their memories inside their brains
will be preserved forever on white stone
while these bodies that generate our souls
dissipate to dust that blows in mute wind
since her song enchants my heart with pure love.

I enter in the vision of her song,
like dancing in the veil of swirling mist,
accepting the mask she lays in my hand,
then place it over my face to become
spirit that animates her endless quest
through narrow maze of obstacles she plays
so I can understand well how she feels
while starring in the drama of her life,
and when I wake outside the bounding shell
of shining crystal eyes that guards our globe
I will become the angel I was born
though I attempted to escape its goal
for I still dream the history of our world
though her song enchants my heart with pure love.

Welt Angst Of Rapunzel

Welt Angst Of Rapunzel
© Surazeus
26 November 2002
Lansing, Michigan

Lost in Alentejo with scarlet albacore
in steel wagon with five wheels and a sail
Aida mumbles please Absalom blind warrior
bring me Acanthus and six yellow tree frogs
so I may light gold Menorah at midnight
before menopause cripples my girl power
to create human soul from seed of man.

Walking over Bifrost ice-rainbow bridge
Odhin strides through swirling snow
to knock on wood gates of Thrudheim
shouting I found bag of Cacao in truck
so come over and share a drink with me.

Thor appears from glass green house
holding pot with Coleus painted nettle
and stands on threshold between heat
of plants and chill of sea waves to smile
after I finish contemplating frescoes
of Antonio Vivarini he painted with blood
in Church of Eremitani but his television
explodes broken guitars and wrecked cars.

Weeping from osteoporosis on park bench
in Central Park surrounded by yuppies
chatting on phones to close business deals
Aida explains menstruation to young girl
wearing white gown with long gold braids
who blushes when Beethoven appears
from woods hollering Rapunzel come home.

I had a near-death experience last year
while strolling along Ubangi River at dawn
when long silver Limousine with satellite dish
stopped and Abd al-Malik ibn Marwan asked
if I would like glass of wine and Feta cheese
so I tried to hide inside television with Jack
but he was busy counting broken masks.

Marwan took my hand and flew Limousine
over Kilimanjaro to Al-Aksa on Mount Moriah
where Solomon and Crassus play chess
over Key of Ankh that opens pyramid door
buying and selling shares on Wall Street
where young people work sixty hours a week
shuffling papers while corporate kings ski
on Aspen slopes chatting about Ava Gardner.

Rapunzel flies home to Arusha National Park
where she meditates in pagoda of blue ice
on rim of Ngorongoro Crater watching barbets
eat lizards and chatter voices from cell phones
that beam signals from Caduceus of crystal
we see beeping from Eye Ball that Sees All
on pyramid of gold bricks on Arlington Hill.

Hermes grins sweating while he bikes swift
past Aida smiling as Beethoven plays piano
in Central Park at noon hoping to find Asclepius
riding bikes with Chausson discussing Roi Arthus
to organize conspiracy for democracy and truth
in spite of white-collar sweat-shop slaves
being bought and sold by Solomon and Crassus
who own credit card companies out in Utah.

Instead Hermes finds Rapunzel with Fang Lizhi
discussing astrophysics and thermodynamics
while hundred thousand people without jobs
or unemployment benefits or health insurance
form giant ring of Uroboros around White House
chanting we see hot flames from Croix de Feu
burning over hills of America where freedom rings.

Rapunzel walks long hall way of Versailles
searching empty rooms for Andrea Amati
but finds his pupil Stradivari standing alone
in sun beam gazing at uncarved block of wood
whispering I see Pu essence of simple love
for Tao that can be carved into sweet violin
is not essential Tao so why bother and weeps.

Girl at Dojo Temple flies from Tahuata Island
with basket of mangoes and nutmeg and cacao
and capuchin monkey with cards on her shoulder
to bring bowl of honey from Matteo da Bascio
as gift but Stradivari laughs and walks outside
into glaring heat to climb slopes of Alban Hills
to gaze in waters of Nemi crater lake and shout
rise Diana from dark waters and reign as queen.

Rapunzel kneels before Saint Francis of Assisi
who hangs crucified on burning cross of steel
laughing as telephone lines and television cables
are threaded from spiraling nerves of his brain
to connect monks in Jabal Musa on Mount Sinai
with Angels in Templum Astarium that shines
crystal pyramid with spinning eyeball of vision
on Mount Tahoma where white ravens sing.

Take me back to Alentejo where my mother
was raped and murdered by government agents
who stole her mangoes and albacores for lunch
and from there I may discover trail of life
my ancestors traveled from Hellas to Arcadia
to Septimania and Aquitania on to Avalon
escaping knives of Roman puppets to hide
in Scotia mountains where giant spider weaves
web of dreams over cave of eternal salvation.

Francis hands her Dead Sea Scrolls and smiles
ask Ogata Kenzan to explain art of Hana-kago
flower baskets that contain skulls of children
murdered by bombs falling from American planes
skulls ground to powder cocaine snorted fast
by Oil Baron who grins at addiction of empire
sucking black gold from desert dunes of Arabia
then maybe you will know way back to Eden.

Rapunzel hides Damascus Document under skirt
and walks streets of Cairo to escape police
paid by Antiochus Epiphanes to steal scrolls
and they almost catch her but Indiana Jones
swoops down hanging from vine of his whip
to carry her safe to secret palace of Agartala
where Queen Nefertari protects her from harm.

Sophocles invites Rapunzel to play Electra
for movie adaptation to be filmed in London
by Peter Greenaway who hurls ancient books
of dead prophets into pool of burning words
then kisses mouth of Iphigeneia where she lies
bound to burning cross on Cathedral of Peter
hoping to save her soul from tax collectors
who fly helicopters hunting rebels in Alabama.

This world and all its games of social politics
spinning among stars is a complicated puzzle
assembling random elements of molecules
into organic tapestries of drama that record
lust of bodies transforming into new generation
of souls swirling on chessboard of world power
though women in Peru and Sweden and Ohio
were sterilized in eugenics programs of doctors
who played god stealing ovaries of our Creator.

Amenhotep known today as Prophet Moses
climbs pinnacle of Angkor Wat to discuss
with Suryavarman majestic architecture
of Petronas Towers to develop programs
that help young women all over this world
raise their children without agonizing worry
for they create our souls from wiggling sperm
therefore my reincarnation is my living child.

Rapunzel stands on crown of One Eye Pyramid
while everyone gathers silent in sunset glow
praying to unite Jews and Christians and Muslims
in one grand religion following Father Abraham
Brahman son of India who binds all world religions
with her hands weaving my heart into dream
of all world views giving wings to my Welt angst
so I may deliver message of Godin to humanity
gather you nations into one temple of love.

Rapunzel plays harp and sings hymn of creation
while Calliope holds Orpheus sitting on her lap
who gazes with awe at tall woman in gown
of diamonds that beam signals of world dream
to tablet computers when lost programmers
gather on desert in Republic of Burning Man
to praise Earth Guardians who twirl Caduceus
as they dance around Cauldron of Vision Wine.

Found in Arcadia I am King of kings on Earth
proclaims shadow man wearing robe of light
who touches my forehead with crystal sphere
filling my mind with visions of life and death
as he teaches me secrets of enlightening breath.

Monday, December 19, 2016

Gods Of Liberty Or Slavery

Gods Of Liberty Or Slavery
© Surazeus
2016 12 19

Since the Romans overthrew haughty kings
and voted for new leaders every year,
five hundred years of republican progress
passed before searing flames of civil strife
between the rich land-owners and poor workers
shattered public institutions of justice,
and brute dictators reigned with gold scepters
over vast empire for a thousand years.

Yet only half that time of peaceful growth,
since the Americans broke from their kings,
and voted for new presidents to rule
every four years over fifty wild states,
passed before searing flames of civil strife
between the rich land-owners and poor workers
shatter public institutions of justice,
and brute dictators reign with gold scepters
over world empire for a thousand years.

The god of justice, progress, truth, and light
contends to rule vast lands of working men
against the god of oppression, tradition,
lies, and darkness, fighting for souls of people
who choose which ambitious man will rule all,
the god of light giving us strength of courage
through vision of equality for all,
or the god of gloom taking all we made
then enslaving us to work for his wealth.

Some bold men who seize the scepter of power
destroy themselves and people of their empire
through arrogant lust to control all nature,
while other honest men with loving hearts
who accept the scepter of power with grace
through humble dedication to uphold
equal justice of human rights for all
create a better world for everyone
while guiding each person with gentle love
to learn special craft that flows from their hands
through humble desire to understand nature.

Our nations ever spin on wheel of change
when god of light and god of darkness fight
to rule empire with laws or selfish greed
embodied by people of mortal mind,
cooperating workers who create
or mindless slaves who long for liberty.

Contending gods of liberty or slavery
campaign across our land to win our hearts,
one offering liberty for every person
to craft works of art with creative hands,
the other offering slavery of all people
to work making wealth we never enjoy.

On cold misty morning I like to drink
ginger-tinctured hot chocolate that sparks dreams
of fairies before our world burns in war.

Sunday, December 18, 2016

Hollow Crown Of Power

Hollow Crown Of Power
© Surazeus
2016 12 18

Were they to place that gold crown on my head
I would descend the tower of howling wind
and throw the ring of gold in flowing stream
where blood of honest men glows in sunlight
for that hollow crown chains my soul with dread.

Though holy men in red robes proclaimed me
bold representative of God on Earth
I shake with horror as men with sharp swords
surround me in the tower of weeping girls
for that hollow crown weighs my head with fear.

I am no God endowed with divine wisdom
who sits like shining sun in clouds of glory
since I am but mortal man made from dust
who gasps for breath as I flee in dark storm
for that hollow crown blinds my eyes with pride.

I would strip these robes embroidered with gold
to expose my bare soul to howling wind
and dance on verdant heath where shepherds play
rather than play war games with brutal men
for that hollow crown bends my mind with dreams.

Saturday, December 17, 2016

Skull Of My Father

Skull Of My Father
© Surazeus
2016 12 17

The small white cricket on the bare white wall
will never be the emperor of all
or play the violin while the world burns
but will teach me wisdom while the globe turns.

The tall granite mountain that shimmers white
in the clear blue mountain lake of cracked light
explains to me the power of gods and kings
who all lie dead while the blind angel sings.

I hold the skull of my father and muse
on the meaning of life I dream from clues
written in runes on the mirror of time
which reveals divine truth in coded rhyme.

I wander the labyrinth of great towns
to recruit noble heroes from drunk clowns
and form new army of righteous police
to assassinate god and maintain peace.

The young boy who cannot see my true face
orders scattered blocks in each destined place
to imitate chemical play of life
while carving formulas with beaming knife.

At midnight when the sky glows red as blood
I see the girl make flowers bloom from mud
and when I least expect to feel her eyes
she gives me apple that fell from blank skies.

So forth I go from ruined church of lies
and stop before each soul who lost their eyes
to sing new name from star light and sea waves
while leading them back home to mother caves.

We gather on the pyramid of flames
where Ishtar gives countless lost souls new names
then sends us out to every distant vale
commissioned to teach secret of the grail.

I point to stars and tell them, high above
our spinning sphere dwells mother of true love
who molds our bodies from warm soil and light,
then lead them dancing in her rebirth rite.

Whoever rises from the common tribe,
as chronicled by the rebellious scribe,
and dares to rule nations of men this year
will fail to control fate on our vast sphere.

We see so many proud kings rise and fall
and strut without restraint in palace hall
but we the people will continue on
helping each other survive night till dawn.

I follow owl and wolf through misty grove,
tracking the last angel of truth who slove
from maze of superstition and built wall
where the dead girl is mistaken for a doll.

I stand on street corners at night to sing,
angel of liberty with broken wing
will fall forever from the golden tower
when Odin kills Saturn and seizes power.

Athena leads me through the hall of kings
and shows me every man who wore gold rings
and reigned as ruler was transformed to stone,
but now I walk the ocean beach alone.

When you all find the prophet of truth dead
read his deep analysis carved in lead
that calculates wild waves of war and peace
which smash empires till games of greed cease.

Who knows the reason why we are alive,
so we gather all tales on one archive
that record the names of men who played god
in power games that only the dead applaud.

Thursday, December 15, 2016

Owl Heart Of Genevieve

Owl Heart Of Genevieve
© Surazeus
2016 12 15

The white owl with four wings crippled by hope
sleeps dreamless in the thunder-throbbing heart
of the girl who laughs to create the wind
for no reason that can be spelled with code.
She cuts her name into letters like shards
of glass from the window shattered by night
and gives each puzzle piece of her bruised heart
to anyone who refuses to ask.
Wrapped in cold sheets of aluminum foil,
her body pulses with rivers of blood
that imitate the owl who flies on wings
designed by the blind maker of mute clocks.
My body is mine, she cries to the sun
who weaves fabric of her soul with glass laws.

You cannot call me Genevieve, she smiles
at the television camera that beams
mask of her face on rays of shimmering light
ten thousand miles to the gold satellite.
The satellite flies circles around Earth
where people once thought angels danced on light,
and beams her face to television tubes
that glow blue in one hundred million homes.
My father Stephane reigned as king of dreams,
the swan frozen in the lake of desire,
the clown of spells crucified on the pole
that bears telephone wires from town to town.
My body is mine, she sings to the moon
who weaves atoms of her soul with silk wires.

Despite the golden dreams of the Word Clown
the ringing guitar sleeps in his blank heart,
till he wakes and cries, I forgot her name,
haunted by the blue void of ideal sky.
I heard him in the gloom of the cold church
speak the word flower, and the eternal flower
bloomed pure and perfect from oblivion,
given true shape by the light of his voice.
He gave me the concept of the true flower,
the ideal flower absent from all bouquets
of this ever-changing world where all flowers
live and die in unfolding flash of days.
My body is mine, she laughs to the air
that puffs structure of her soul with bright words.

My father Stephane gave me an owl heart
so we could fly together to the spheres
where angels move stars to create our world,
but we drifted lost in limitless void.
Copernicus shattered the crystal spheres
that Aristotle forged around our world,
and now we humans who suffer and die
are angels who change the shape of the world.
I sit by the bright hearth of glowing flames
and murmur names of every soul who lived
while counting every star that shines in heaven
till dawn recreates the real world we dream.
My body is mine, she howls to the sea
that waves ripples of her soul with clear drops.

Wednesday, December 14, 2016

Last Orange In Aleppo

Last Orange In Aleppo
© Surazeus
2016 12 14

Amid the broken rubble of stone homes,
blasted into fragments by falling bombs,
the little girl in a brown tattered dress
clutches a dead tabby cat to her breast.

Strands of black hair curl on her blood-stained cheek
and black eyes dart like bees looking for flowers
while she steps gingerly among cracked stones
in dusty dawn that mutes her songless voice.

Staring at the splintered wall of a mosque,
stained with blood of bodies blasted by bombs,
she sees the face of her mother, who called
her name for dinner, vanish in blue shadow.

Bright among tangled wires and split concrete
an orange and a gilded Koran gleam, lit
by the indifferent sun of numb hope,
so she grasps the orange and sniffs its tart skin.

Slipping out through a narrow alleyway,
she sits on small patch of brown grass and weeds
by the yellow river, and lays her cat
with tender care by an Oregano bush.

White blossoms smile in the red morning sun,
and two warblers talk about light on water,
as the young girl washes blood off her cheek
then peels and eats the sweet succulent orange.

Monday, December 12, 2016

Lost City Of Taratha

Lost City Of Taratha
© Surazeus
2016 12 12

Since Taratha, sweet lady of the sea,
first walked the white city of Halab,
the children of Zobah play chase in groves
and sing with birds at sunset by the stream
that flows now with the red blood of lost souls.

Who hears their voices cry out in the night
when the lion son of Baal stalks old streets
and devours the children who played in groves
where birds twitch mute at sunset by the stream
that shines now with the red blood of lost souls?

The lord of death soars among weeping clouds,
hurling thunderbolts of pride at white homes
where children of Zobah hide in burned groves
and clutch dead birds at sunset by the stream
that howls now with the red blood of lost souls.

Grieving Taratha returns to the sea,
where she emerged eight thousand years ago,
bearing bodies of children in dark waves
while wind erases their steps by the stream
that weeps now with the red blood of lost souls.

The white city that long rang bright with songs
of love and sorrow from the hearts of lovers
lies ruined in rubble of broken dreams,
ancient streets cluttered with skulls by the stream
that moans now with the red blood of lost souls.

Whose voice will ring now off white marble walls
where Taratha clutches the bleeding child
who once played games, laughing in sunlit groves
where birds dissolve to white dust by the stream
that screams now with the red blood of lost souls?

Sunday, December 11, 2016

Red Moon Of Love

Red Moon Of Love
© Surazeus
2016 12 11

After I walk from the house of the dead
I go down to the valley where trees bloom
and stare at the flowers that grow from skulls
of people I once loved whose names are lost
and walk till I find the red moon of love.

I see their faces nowhere anymore
except when I stare in the lake of stars
at shining reflection of my own face
till seven tears fall from my dreaming eyes
and dissolve to light the red moon of love.

I talk to the trees who talk back to me
and tell me the secrets of life and death
then I laugh with their stories of true love
though nothing but cold wind blows in my face
and whispers about the red moon of love.

Though the hard rain falls and drowns the whole world
I grasp the white ladder lost in the pond
where I was reborn from atomic egg
and lean it high against the apple tree
and climb till I reach the red moon of love.

Saturday, December 3, 2016

When I Die

When I Die
© Surazeus
2016 12 03

Moonlight on the river that flows nowhere
preserves the secret sorrow I forgot.
I cut pieces of light from my dark soul
and give them to people hungrier than me.
I become apples and wind when I die.

We walk together on the river shore,
holding hands with memory and desire.
I peel away regret to expose fruit
that drips forgiveness from our kissing lips.
I become flowers and light when I die.

Flocks of birds that nest in trees near our home
bear stories of our lives to distant lands.
I watch them play in drama of their lives
and they watch me, but our eyes never meet.
I become rivers and dirt when I die.

I give my name away to all I meet,
and receive their names I hang on my tree.
I write the names of every person killed
on beach sand so ocean waves claim their souls.
I become mountains and birds when I die.

I tell her she is the Muse of my songs,
and then she sits mute for ten thousand years.
She never speaks but I hear her sweet voice
from every creature who dreams the weird world.
I become lions and oaks when I die.

I gather fruit and herbs from the waste land
and plant them within walls of paradise.
My love becomes the fountain that flows free
when I search for her, bearing honeycombs.
I become honey and bees when I die.

I walk the highway past fast-zooming cars
and explain to them the names of all stars.
She leads me away to the mountain grove
and teaches me the secret of rebirth.
I become children and rain when I die.

I hide in the cave when flashing bombs fall
and watch without tears when rich towers burn.
Though the king destroys everything we built
we will rebuild it all when he is dead.
I become mirrors and eyes when I die.

You Shoot Us Down

You Shoot Us Down
© Surazeus
03 Dec 2014
Columbus, Georgia

While I was walking on a sunny day,
whistling happy that I am not yet dead,
I heard a cry echo across our land,
so I turned around and saw a black boy
shouting, "What are you following me for?"
Trayvon Martin was shot and bled to death.
I see people gathering town to town
and their cries of anguish ring in my head.
"You shoot us down because our skin is brown."
"You shoot us dead because our skin is red."

While I was editing maps at my job,
still hearing his cries of desperate fear,
I heard a cry echo across our land,
so I turned around and saw a black man
gasping as he struggled, "I cannot breathe."
Eric Garner was grabbed and choked to death.
I see people gathering town to town
and their cries of anguish ring in my head.
"You shoot us down because our skin is brown."
"You shoot us dead because our skin is red."

While I was walking with daughters and wife
by Chattahoochee River after noon,
I heard a cry echo across our land,
so I turned around and saw a black boy
who cried, "I don't have a gun. Stop shooting."
Michael Brown was shot down and bled to death.
I see people gathering town to town
and their cries of anguish ring in my head.
"You shoot us down because our skin is brown."
"You shoot us dead because our skin is red."

While I was strumming sad aching guitar,
wishing I was Anansi or Robin Hood,
I heard a cry echo across our land,
so I turned and joined ten million people
shouting, "Treat us with respect. We are human."
Who else will get shot down next and bleed to death?
I see people gathering town to town
and their cries of anguish ring in my head.
"You shoot us down because our skin is brown."
"You shoot us dead because our skin is red."

Friday, December 2, 2016

Birth Of Abelius

Birth Of Abelius
© Surazeus
2016 12 02

Then Lugus stands before assembled crowd
whose faces glow gold from bright roaring flames
that light the feasting fall at dark midnight
and strums tall harp that rings like wind in willows.

"Hark to my good tale, Children of Belenus,
about his clever grandson, wise Abelius
who first planted apple trees in rich soil
he brought from lush valley where he was born.
His mother Sirona, Queen of the Lake,
gave him bag filled with small black apple seeds
and bade him walk along the flowing stream
and scatter seeds so apple trees may grow.
His long gold hair shone bright like morning sun
as wise Abelius walked on river shore,
and after he counted one hundred steps
he kneeled and planted small seeds in wet soil.
Thus wise Abelius walked from Aquitania
to nourish apple trees in every land,
remembering how his father, lithe Silvanus,
taught him how to tend sapling apple trees.
When young Abelius came to river vale
he saw pretty Litavis in long gown
woven with flowers dancing among trees
while sun beams glowed bright on her long gold hair.
Abelius danced in meadow by her side
and woven thick wreath of flowers for her hair
and on the hillside where white sparrows play
he kissed her lips and pledged his heart as hers.
But fierce Cocidius, warrior with long spear,
returning from the hunt with hart for feast,
shouted in rage, claiming her as his bride,
and challenged Abelius to fight for honor.
When sweet Litavis clutched his hand in hers,
she urged him with hope to run by her side
and hide in secret cavern from his wrath
and so they ran together through dark woods.
While leaping over stone on river shore
Abelius spilled large bag of apple seeds
and stopped to scoop them with his trembling hands
while frightened Litavis called out his name.
Forget the apple seeds, she cried in fear,
and follow me into my secret cave
where we can live in haven of my heart
and raise your child who grows now in my womb.
But when wise Abelius stood up to run
fierce Cocidius leaped down before his face
and thrust long spear into his beating heart
and left him bleeding on the river shore.
Litavis kneeled in sorrow by his side
and cradled his head in her loving arms
and tears of her sorrow fell on his face
as she gazed weeping in his smiling eyes.
Though you lie dying in my arms, she cried,
your spirit lives again inside my womb,
so I will name your son Abelius
and teach him how to grow lush apple trees.
Bright blood of life that flowed from broken heart
sparked all the seeds in fertile soil
so now one thousand trees with apples grow
rustling in spirit breeze on river shore.
And now you know how the king of our tribe,
clever Abelius of ripe apple trees,
was born to rule our land Litavia,
so raise cups of cider and cheer his name."

Accepting cup of cider from Epona,
Lugus raises it high to shining moon
while wild Belenians cheer and call his name,
then everyone drinks deep and howls at stars.

Thursday, December 1, 2016

Clown Of Aleppo

Clown Of Aleppo
© Surazeus
2016 12 01

Blind Saturn falls asleep in the White House
so Bacchus leads zombie army of fools
to raid the Garden of Eden again
where Satan plays chess with skulls of the dead,
when the wise Clown of Aleppo is killed
protecting nameless children from his greed.

Now King Bozo nominates Gomer Pyle
to direct the Department of Defense,
so he knocks Humpty Dumpty off the wall
to let Daffy Duck steal gold from our bank,
when the wise Clown of Aleppo is killed
protecting nameless children from his greed.

After Santa Clause arrives back in town,
riding his silver limousine of wealth,
he climbs gold tower protected by dump trucks
and sits on the huge throne to drink our blood,
when the wise Clown of Aleppo is killed
protecting nameless children from his greed.

Laughing as he steals keys to every home,
King Midas sends his sons in army tanks
to pillage the peasants who crowned him king
and basks in their praise as he robs them blind,
when the wise Clown of Aleppo is killed
protecting nameless children from his greed.

Though Gandalf roams from sea to shining sea
to fight the balrogs in gray business suits,
the people cry for Galadriel to save them,
but she weeps in tower where Rapunzel died,
when the wise Clown of Aleppo is killed
protecting nameless children from his greed.

Tyrion hides in the cave where Plato dreams
shadows of truth that dance on wall of hope,
while Frodo wanders lost in city maze,
trying to sell some ring for a bite to eat,
when the wise Clown of Aleppo is killed
protecting nameless children from his greed.

After Athena frees all men from chains
and gives every woman the jewel of love,
who will arrive on the dragon of justice
to topple the Golden Calf Christians worship,
when the wise Clown of Aleppo is killed
protecting nameless children from his greed.

Be a good person and do the right thing,
no matter how the president may act,
by following the star of your own ideals
to transform waste land into paradise,
though the wise Clown of Aleppo is killed
protecting nameless children from his greed.

Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Glow Of Sunlight

Glow Of Sunlight
© Surazeus
2016 11 30

The gold oval leaf, tinted red, lying prone
on gray sidewalk under roiling storm clouds,
contains the glow of sunlight in its death.

She picks up each leaf and, with feather quill
dipped in lemon juice, she writes secret name
of each dreamless person who died that hour.

The pile of leaves that represent the dead
rises far higher than the tallest mountain,
deeds of their lives vanished in silent wind.

The memories and hopes that glowed so bright
in the tangled neural net of their brains
swirls around her head as dust in sunlight.

She can envision every dream they lost,
faces she threads in tapestry of souls
that hangs from gray wall of her doorless tower.

I find another leaf on the sidewalk
imprinted with blush of her hidden face,
then sing her name as wind swirls it away.

Tuesday, November 29, 2016

My Fox And I Meet Death

My Fox And I Meet Death
© Surazeus
2016 11 29

Two white owls in the oak tree breathe my soul
and young Chinese woman in long red dress
plays enchanting tunes on wood violin
that leads me through groves of Broceliande
while my fox and I meet Death in the park.

The red fluorite that glows with starlight blood
which I found under lush mountain in France
reveals history of the whole universe
in pulsing flash that blinds my eyes with truth
so my fox and I meet Death in the cave.

The banker clown in genteel pinstripe suit
whose face is painted white with desert dust
watches blind slaves in cave of Pluto claw
through infinite fear for light clumped in gold
since my fox and I meet Death on the street.

The sons and daughters of Mermaid and Christ
build castles of bones on hills of despair
where I dance reborn as son of Sucellus
in sun-warmed valley where apple trees bloom
though my fox and I meet death by the lake.

The King of Clocks in huge castle of glass
turns away from the cracked mirror of truth
while Rapunzel warns him the peasants come
to behead the Beast who devours their cake
but my fox and I meet Death in the square.

All tyrants who rule on high pyramid
fall far from the weight of arrogant pride
though nations destroyed by war can rebuild
the Garden of Eden where apples bloom
when my fox and I meet Death in the sky.

Monday, November 28, 2016

Faceless Messenger

Faceless Messenger
© Surazeus
2016 11 28

Across hot dusty terrain where bare trees
weep dead leaves to shroud heaps of broken skulls
I wander signless road through barren waste
since black clouds refuse to offer cool rain.

On jagged stone by dusty riverbed
I wait for Godot to give me new book,
and half expect from tempest of hot wind
wild troop of mocking demons to descend.

I think I hear voices in restless wind
snicker at me and leer vile blasphemies
so I kneel in dust and smear on my face
foul mud white from bones crushed to dust by time.

When you look at me, I ask the bright sun
that stares in silent disdain down at me,
do you see ghost of Hamlet, dressed in rags,
clutching precious crown that rusts in gray rain?

Or do you see frail imitation clown
of Charles Baudelaire, cursed poet of fear,
who poses on the stage of prophecy
and dares proclaim the fall of tyrant kings?

Shall I grip microphone in coffee shop,
shrouded in smoke of cigarettes and weed,
and howl agonizing sorrow of love
betrayed by vile greed of Voldemort?

No Beatrice lounging with demons mocks me,
nor descends to pure Purgatorio Peak
to lead me, singing hymns of reverent praise
in dance-ring of angels, to Paradise.

I may be no Hamlet or Baudelaire,
no Dylan Thomas howling in good night,
no Bob Dylan chasing Tambourine Man,
and no Godot, but I am still alive.

Nameless fool, who loves to riddle in code
of conceptual verse that beams surreal dreams,
I wear their faces like mask of One God
for I am the lost faceless messenger.

Through flash of blinding light on wings of fire
Dewi Sri leaps from broken egg of Earth
and kisses me till I wake before dawn
so I go forth as if reborn from death.

I name you, she whispers in spring-warm breeze,
Voldevit, the Will to Life, for your soul
sparkles alive with atoms born in stars
and threaded conscious with galactic rays.

Then, dancing under apple tree by pond
filled by sparkling fountain of flowing streams,
long black hair illuminated by light,
she embraces me to her buxom breast.

Caressing my face with hands red as soil,
Dewi Sri whispers in falling raindrops,
you are my faceless messenger of truth
so sing the visions beaming from your eyes.

While Ophelia floats on river of tears,
and Beatrice lounges in waste land with demons,
Dewi Sri whispers secret songs of truth
so I transcribe her dreams in coded verse.

Temple Of Our Faith

Temple Of Our Faith
© Surazeus
2016 11 27

Though all the sacred temples of our land
may crumble broken from earthquake of greed
and leave us wandering hungry in cold rain
we gather at the hill of apple trees
and build again the temple of our faith.

Though all our trust in goodness and respect
is shattered when the tyrant kills our sage
we band together to combine our strength
then battle and defeat the greedy king
and thus restore the temple of our faith.

Though our belief in god who dwells in clouds
to guard our lives and guide us on true way
dissolves in rain of disillusionment
when he fails to defend our lives from harm
we trust sage who builds temple of our faith.

Though our invisible god in the sky
fails to help us in our great hour of need
the living sage who stands before our eyes
and speaks the word that leads us all safe home
earns our strong loyalty and honest love
and leads us well in temple of our faith.

Saturday, November 26, 2016

Why Everything Exists

Why Everything Exists
© Surazeus
2016 11 26

No slow flood of sophisticated waves
that communicates irate wishes past
can ever consist of furtive beliefs
used to invent flawless material
that cannot prove why everything exists.

I cannot lighten weird adamant faith
that accounts for zealous behavior since
your wistful vessel of excellent hope
could help me balance my bike on smoke wings
and discover why everything exists.

If lush cactus can be adaptable
to tedious rivers of dust lost in mist
I could square her cynical key of glass
while guarding outpost of my sacred quill
which helps describe why everything exists.

This agonizing attraction I pull
with high-pitched cheer from my last childlike heart
injects thoughtful tunes in white robin wings
when enchanted ships leave my harbor saved
to navigate why everything exists.

Floating on wide hollow lake at midnight,
I obtain scorched terrible sun of wealth,
relieved to coordinate adhesive heat
from incandescent hands that divide hate,
which obfuscates why everything exists.

My ossified eyes question true speed
that beams from precious hour of ancient fear
since furtive flash of imperfect desire
shocks ancient hours with electric contempt
if I measure why everything exists.

Now we must calculate chess moves of faith
that wink obnoxious melodies past death
before they can puncture circle of weight
when sisters skate nimble beyond fake walls
that paradise why everything exists.

I taste aromatic smoke that snakes slow
where river and road irritate command
which causes me to stop and observe why
snakes alone live in ruins of control
yet fails to rule why everything exists.

This chivalrous game all refuse to play
reveals evanescent mirror of change
as excuse to obtain true magic flight
that clutters fancy square of dancing wind
still unconcerned why everything exists.

Who can grab ludicrous rate of each dream
that wipes quizzical comfort of good trade
since unnatural attraction breeds fake life
though subsequent eras rinse all souls clean
before knowing why everything exists.

Through alleged size of frantic weariness
they feel profuse frame of shivering lust
which some would instruct to texture wild dare
since thoughtless rule constrains long-term awareness
hiding truth for why everything exists.

Before capricious payment can increase
apathetic march of each joyous name
we wake colossal hands to minister
payment of priceless consciousness from death
while dissolving why everything exists.

We must return to deserted homeland
where helpless elders stir embers of love
to trade important laughter with dead king
though he gave rice for real statement of trade
to purchase code why everything exists.

Thick apparel of his teaching retrains
seething brains of sages and fools alike
that hang from limb of tree which grows no fruit
while gleaming fairies revive glorious truth
coded to hide why everything exists.

Your letter sleeps in abstracted mailbox
to preserve secrets of aquatic breath
before we suck noise on violent seashore
while dead father constructs repulsive bridge
that connects us why everything exists.

Therefore we complete abstract form of wisdom
that defines universe of swirling atoms
within vague limits of subtracted fact
designed by wise architect of our dreams
and thus wonder why everything exists.

Inner Spiral Sea

Inner Spiral Sea
© Surazeus
2008 07 28

Sparkling blue water gurgles over boulders
down a mountain slope from melting snow
roaring in a cascade of crescending voices
that whisper ancient dreams in our hearts.
We dream alive galaxy of spirits in stars
flowing together through inner spiral sea.

Herd of horses gallop on elegant legs
over wind-swept meadows of low hills
manes flowing in soft mountain breeze
then stand gazing over sparkling sea.
We dream alive galaxy of spirits in stars
flowing together through inner spiral sea.

Swallows flit among oak branches in web
where acorns fall among brown leaves
that rustle in soft lake breezes at sunset
and sit twittering on eggs of gold light.
We dream alive galaxy of spirits in stars
flowing together through inner spiral sea.

Black wolf glides among tall river reeds
watching flock of deer with gold spots
who dart away leaping into shadow grove
where ghosts of endless generations sing.
We dream alive galaxy of spirits in stars
flowing together through inner spiral sea.

Three sisters young and three sisters old
dance by moonlight around cauldron gold
twirling a sword and a spear and a stone
now hidden lost in a dark treasure cave.
We dream alive galaxy of spirits in stars
flowing together through inner spiral sea.

Remember your name before you were born
and walk untrodden road before it gets worn
then sing without words a song of your heart
and rise again tall from first lake of dreams.
We dream alive galaxy of spirits in stars
flowing together through inner spiral sea.

Two bodies merge in a flash of pure light
reborn again in flesh to dance under stars
so remember our eyes that help you see
and carve our names on mountain stone.
We dream alive galaxy of spirits in stars
flowing together through inner spiral sea.

Friday, November 25, 2016

Wish Upon A Star

Wish Upon A Star
© Surazeus
2016 11 25

On small dismal asteroid in deep space,
Salorius, young wizard with long hair,
wearing a long green robe and crystal crown,
stands before oak wood door on gray-dust hill.
Licking the sharp knife, he carves on dark wood.
"I wish for a swan on a lake of fire."

Closing his eyes as he takes a deep breath,
Salorius opens the door and steps forward
into infinite darkness of black flames,
and appears by the well of sparkling eyes
in the courtyard crowded with busy people
at Oberon Wizard Academy
where he was a young student years before.

His friends Gothinius and Mercurius
look up from their chess game and call his name.

Salorius slouches by the courtyard well
and drinks Dragon Brain Wine from crystal cup.
"I knew that magic mirror was a hoax."

Gothinius claps his shoulder, and laughs.
"I thought you were going on a long quest.
You said you would be gone for many years."

Salorius grins as they stare at his face.
"I was gone for twelve years on my grand quest,
traveling across Waste Land of empty homes,
climbing jagged mountain of desperate hope,
leaping across nine frozen asteroids,
flying in the endless hurricanes of Saturn,
and have at last returned by random chance."

Mercurius shakes his head and gives him apple.
"You only left us ten minutes ago."

Salorius nods and watches young women
weaving cloth from clouds and rays of sunlight.
"I heard about Magic Mirror of Marta
so I journeyed to planet of Saturnus
by leaping across frozen asteroids.
Last time I traveled on quest with Pomona
she left acorns behind, frozen in ice,
which sprouted into forest of oak trees.
Alithea appeared from mist and explained
that one can fabricate time-portal doors
from special wood of oak trees that grow tall
on asteroids molded from tears of sorrow
that fall from the eyes of young jilted brides.
When you are done you carve what you desire
on the door, and when you open it wide
you will be somewhere else entirely.
So the trick to go where you want to go
is to carve something random on the door
you do not wish, that means nothing to you,
and you might get where you want to go.
The magic of time-portal doors is tricky."

Young girl without eyes rows rotting sailboat
over sand dunes that blow across the courtyard,
then she steps on shimmering thread of light
and holds up her dead raven by its wings.
"You said you wanted a pure snow-white swan
so I brought you this black raven as gift
from island of mist, so you must give me
your eyes to help me dream how atoms glow."

Salorius sees that his friends turned to stone,
silent statues playing chess to build empires,
so he places rusting crowns on their heads
and walks backward around the courtyard well.
Red blood bubbles from the bottomless well
when the eyeless girl follows him past rain,
falling backward slowly onto soft flowers.
"I spell your name backwards to calculate
the number of tangled threads that compose
your throbbing brain where all dead gods survive."

Eyeless girl sews wings to his crippled arms.
"My name is Hekate, so call me Kate,
because you must teach me how to ice skate."

Salorius runs down road of sticky mud
toward the glass tower that shimmers far off,
but stops at the crossroads between four worlds
where the eyeless girl gives him crystal sphere.
"Look into my eye and you will dream
the entire history of our universe
and see how it flowered as light from gloom
to transform spirits into conscious minds.
You will find your heart in this leather purse
for she sings to you from high tower room,
source of every valley-watering stream."

Hekate leads him by hand to the pond
where her face appears smiling in the trunk
of the last oak tree in the universe.
Salorius carves a new door from the tree,
then takes off the mask that defines his face
and gives it to the tree who opens eyes
of endless history where secret name
of every person who lived sparkles clear.
"Truth will conquer all tyrants if we fight,
because our world is always upside down."

Salorius, wizard with colorless eyes,
stands before oak wood door on bare white hill.
Licking the sharp knife, he carves on dark wood.
"I wish for a boat that will sail on air."

Closing his eyes as he takes a deep breath,
Salorius opens the door and steps forward
into infinite darkness of black flames,
and appears in the secret tower room
where the eyeless girl cradles in her hands
his empty skull that smiles and calls his name.
"Salorius, son of Sabazeus, you
must marry me to gain eternal life.
Wish upon a star, and I will be yours."

Pouring apple juice in two silver cups,
Salorius sits beside her at the window
and they drink while galaxies spin their eyes
that causes seeds to sprout from tears of love.

Faceless Girl

Faceless Girl
© Surazeus
2016 11 24

Gray leaves swirl around the young faceless girl
who walks nowhere along straight signless streets
past ten thousand numberless homes with doors
locked tight against the darkness of despair.

Pausing where dead tree breaks her cement heart,
young girl looks at window glowing warm gold
that cuts pure square out of darkness and gloom
to watch her family eat a holiday meal.

Stepping close through swirls of sparkling snow flakes,
she touches cold glass that mirrors her face,
blank oval of white in infinite black,
and sees nothing behind the pleasant scene.

Opening the locked door of the white house,
young faceless girl steps in the empty room
where mannequins sit at table of dust
as colorless eyes stare at plates of shadow.

She tries to tell her mother that she hates
this world of illusions, but cannot speak
because her mouth is sewed shut by thin wires
stripped from telephone lines that never sing.

Threads of gray wind streaming from lightless cave
weave two wings that flutter in rotten tree
so she tugs them down and they grasp her shoulders
and she flaps them slow as she rises high.

Young faceless girl wearing torn white lace gown
glides over vast metropolitan maze
and drops apple seeds on roofs of dead homes
where they sprout into vast forest of trees.

Each tree that sprouts from broken skull of hope
bulges egg that reveals round ticking clock
with constellations in circle of eyes
who whisper tales of every soul who lived.

When she appears before me after dawn
I think I see my face reflected clear
in her face, but when I look past her mask
I see her real face and dream her true name.

The young girl with silver eyes and black hair
molds her spirit breath into snow-white raven
who threads our hearts together with her wings
so we dance as one soul by tree of fruit.


Wednesday, November 23, 2016

Fall Of Big Brother

Fall Of Big Brother
© Surazeus
2016 11 23

The young boy sitting on cathedral steps
holds silence in his hand like butterfly
that tasted rotten fruit of paradise
while angels lock the Gates of Eden fast
and parties battle for the broken crown
that fell from head of his father at dawn.

Though she was stabbed seven times in the back
the honest queen who filled all cups with wine
falls weeping at the tree of fruitful life
and clutches broken dragon egg till rain
washes tears from eyes of mothers who sing
while bearing dead angel with broken wing.

Retrieving broken egg from withered hand,
young boy who never speaks walks slow alone
through winding labyrinth of burning town
and gives each weeping girl new apple seed
so they parade to bright river of tears
and plant each seed to bury blinding fears.

Where tree leaves whisper secret names in song
of every soul who ever walked this world
the young boy holding broken crown of truth
stares past the polished mask of painful death
at skulls of kings that smile in shimmering pool
who once raised scepter of justice to rule.

Bound to the electric throne of lost dreams,
the young boy guides gold flying saucer swift
above vast globe where billions live and die
to watch mankind sprout from valley of hope
and follow streaming rivers among flowers
where they build great empires in divine towers.

In ruins now lies every tower of might,
and young boy, trained by his mother to speak
with tongue of prophets, wanders busy streets
where people wound by clocks chase rainbow wealth,
and thieves in fancy suits forge their own crowns
while girl he loves lies dead in satin gown.

Though every seed they planted in despair
sprouts tall in fragile grove of apple trees
ten million girls are killed by men they love
and all their skulls in cathedral of lies
sing secret prophecies that none can hear
while mute boy stares at lost crown in the mere.

Since face of Big Brother on glowing screen
glares down from the ancient cathedral wall
three hundred million people without tongues,
who follow Plato from dark cave of lies,
climb the high prison wall to escape hell
and follow blind queen to the water well.

Digging for roots beneath the Tree of Life,
the young boy whose father once ruled as king
snatches the tongue of the serpent who sings
and slips it in his mouth as his own tongue,
then stands before the tyrant on his throne
and bids him peer into the dreaming stone.

The girl whose third eye births each butterfly
appears from Waste Land with the egg of life
to replace his right eye with diamond lens,
then young boy raises flag of liberty
and leads lost souls to gates of paradise
where they crown our first mother Queen of Truth.

Though our nation is torn apart by war
we must exercise our right to free choice
for when our queen steps through the White House door
at the fall of Big Brother we rejoice.

Tuesday, November 22, 2016

Infinite Sky Of Hope

Infinite Sky Of Hope
© Surazeus
2016 11 22

Wind rises from valley of flowing stream,
springing from cracked bones of people long dead,
and dances on blind mountain of lost rainbow
then whispers her soul on apple tree leaves.

She crawls under thick bushes of taut fear,
pausing in shadow of suspended hope,
and nibbles berries hidden in sun beams
while wind chases silence in fluttering leaves.

Cold shadow of death swallows silver sky
when he pauses by apple tree at sound
of whispering leaves, but cannot see her face,
so he walks toward cave where she hides from rain.

Watching him climb toward her haven from death,
she runs on hands and knees to sunlit grove
but pauses in beam of sunlight through trees
and stares at water bubbling from dark soil.

Cupping hands in bubbling water, she drinks
cold spirit that slithers throughout her flesh,
and feels her eyes sparkle wider awake
as she splashes water to clean her face.

Gripping long crooked stick in her left hand
and clutching jagged stone in her right hand,
she walks toward secret cave of dancing dreams
while clumping hard stones inside her frail bones.

She pauses in shade while creeping toward cave
and remembers when her mother revealed
how to spark sun flame by striking two stones,
then peers inside cave where her frail skull still smiles.

She sees him sitting still inside her cave
and holding ripe apple in curious hands
then leaps forward and throws rock at his head
as she thrusts crooked stick to pierce his chest.

He ducks sharp rock and snaps stick with his hand,
then wraps both arms around her agile waist
and pulls her gasping close to his broad chest
while pressing his mouth tight against her mouth.

Pulling her head back, she wiggles and squirms,
but his arms embrace her to his warm chest,
and she gazes startled in large blue eyes
that shimmer bright as bubbling fountain pool.

He sings like swift horse that neighs when it runs,
expressing noises from his moving mouth,
but she slips free of his embrace and runs,
leaping down hillside like high-bounding deer.

He runs beside her across wind-swept plain,
two bodies leaping lithe among tall stalks
of wheat that shimmer gold in sharp sunlight,
side by side on shore of loud gushing stream.

He runs faster, but she frowns and runs faster
toward towering tree where apples bloom red,
and sunlight gleams in blaze of swirling flames
as she runs faster, leaving him behind.

Running close behind, he slaps her thigh,
and she glares as she leaps into tree branch,
and climbs toward blue sky while he pants for breath,
then he follows swiftly to climb tall tree.

Perched together on high branches, they smile
and gaze over vast meadow where winds play,
while silver clouds tumble across blue sky
and swift river sparkles in sunset glow.

Cradled between two thick branches, he smiles,
and holds her trembling in chill on his lap,
then she gasps when beaming rays of red sun
penetrate her heart with hot pulsing light.

Crescent moon descends from infinite sky
to shimmer silver in dark purple night,
and shooting star gushes fountain of light
that flushes her breast with warm glow of love.

She closes her eyes, embraced by his arms,
and feels him swim deep toward her dreaming eye
where pulsing apple of his soul transforms
into little boy who squirms in her mind.

Her belly bulges nine full flashing moons,
then she grips branch, while he kneels at her feet,
and pushes till baby falls in his arms,
and she lies in grass while he bathes it clean.

Cradling their child in her arms while he sucks
milk from her breast, she stares surprised to see
he was born with no tail and his big eyes
shine blue as the infinite sky of hope.

Monday, November 21, 2016

Liberty Or Tyranny

Liberty Or Tyranny
© Surazeus
2016 11 21

Three times we, the people of America,
have challenged and defeated tyranny,
and fought to establish strong liberty
for every person who lives in this land.

We fought well the war of independence
to secure our right to self-government.
We fought the civil war to free from chains
every man who works to earn a living wage.
We fought the second world war to defy
the hateful creed of nationalist power
that declares one race superior to others,
and ensure equal rights for every person
who shares global community of nations.

Once again cruel forces of tyranny
threaten to chain billions of human souls
in thrall to huge corporate gangs of thieves,
and subject vast populations to greed
of rich men who would profit from our work.

Every eighty years dark forces of greed
possess the hearts of men denied their rights
who attempt to subject all to their will,
but we must unite against tyranny
of the few and rich to control our lives,
and exercise self-control within law
to ensure equal rights for every person
to achieve their dreams of productive life
by sparking light of love for fellow souls.

Each morning we wake on our spinning world
we must choose light of love and liberty
to defeat dark of hate and tyranny
by treating all souls with equal respect
who share United Nations of Earth.

Sunday, November 20, 2016

Eye Of Knowing Flame

Eye Of Knowing Flame
© Surazeus
2016 11 20

Sick with fever from a festering sore throat,
I float in pool of hot water to soak
in death for an hour which kills nasty germs.

When I close my eyes I see in dark gloom
eye of knowing flame gazing down at me,
then tremble in fearful hope that some god
beyond the glowing sphere of cycling stars
watches me with great eye of wrathful love.

I wonder if this conscious deity,
which my father described in vivid words,
created my body from river mud
by breathing gusty wind of hills in my breast
and sparked my heart to beat with sunlight flames,
which causes me to wake each glowing dawn
and search for food to satisfy my need.

Do you organize drama of my life,
I ask the silent watching eye of fire,
and guide my pointless wandering in this world
on signless roads for purpose to exist,
and manage opportunities to work
so I may care for my children and wife?

Then glowing eye of fire fades in dim gloom
and I float nameless in vast empty void
of selfless peace, bodiless soul of light
who feels all stars of burning atoms flash
in spiral web of song, that forms huge egg
of spinning galaxies which bulge one space,
pulse through channels of my frail throbbing flesh.

Waking inside heavy body of flesh,
I open my eyes and see clear blue sky
surrounding globe of hills where rivers flow,
and then I realize that eye of flame
was nothing more than my own watching eye
reflected on the mirror of blank death.

No conscious god outside vast shell of stars
created me, nor plots course of my life,
for consciousness that wakes from lightless gloom,
fueled aware by seething rays of sunlight,
shines nowhere else but inside my own brain.

I stand reborn in cool refreshing rain
and walk through wet grass and dew-sparkling trees
along the gushing river of my veins,
and feel high hills pulse as I breathe wild wind.

Philosophers once described universe
as globe composed of swirling elements
surrounded by huge crystal shells of stars,
but now with telescopes we can perceive
our universe is one enormous bubble
of shining light, like single drop of rain
that contains billions of huge galaxies.

Each drop of rain reflects our universe
as each brain reflects consciousness of god.

I laugh to know that I am god alive,
for my eye is that eye of knowing flame
who sees myself exploring this strange world
while I blaze new trail of purpose for life
through dreaming wilderness of ripe fruit trees.

Now I stand face to face with you in joy
and see eye of knowing flame in your eye.


Saturday, November 19, 2016

Chaos Butterfly

Chaos Butterfly
© Surazeus
2016 11 19

Parvaneh steps from bus and walks to work
at flower shop in little town in Maine,
then stops to buy mocha at coffee shop
while followed by the chaos butterfly.

Patricia steps from car and walks to work
at city bank in little town in Maine,
then sees Parvaneh wearing green hijab
while followed by the chaos butterfly.

Parvaneh sips her hot coffee and smiles
and thinks about the small town in Iran
where her young mother lived on river shore,
chasing after the chaos butterfly.

Patricia stops her with an angry glare
and shouts, "You cannot wear that headscarf now
that we elected our new president
who will deport you back where you came from."

Parvaneh stops to stare bold in her eyes,
and grins, "I was born in this little town
and I attended all the local schools,
so I am right at home where I came from."

Patricia fumes while Parvaneh slips past
and declares, "He will make you register
your name in our national database
so we can keep our eye on terrorists."

Parvaneh ignores woman at her side,
and frowns, "Just like the Germans registered
innocent Jews they gassed in prison camps,
so now you Christians are the terrorists."

Patricia snarls, then reaches out her hand
to snatch embroidered hijab off her head,
and sputters, "We will lock you all in jail,"
urged to act by the chaos butterfly.

Parvaneh ducks and swats her hand away,
then steps backs, frightened by her angry face,
and looks around for help from passing strangers,
but all trudge, charmed by chaos butterfly.

Patricia follows her to flower shop
where she paints white swastika on blue glass
then stomps away enraged to city bank,
willing agent of chaos butterfly.

Parvaneh paints box over swastika
with four letters of Love inside each square,
then covers her face and weeps from sharp fear
that fuels havoc of chaos butterfly.

Friday, November 18, 2016

Lion Queen Of Avalon

Lion Queen Of Avalon
© Surazeus
2016 11 18

When the Leopard King is counting his coins,
that he stole from carpenters and electricians,
Zeus will strike Tower of Gold with righteous wrath
and his false crown will shatter into leaves.

Since the Lion Queen wanders in exile,
and gathers fresh flowers in Broceliande,
the lost Well of Tears in the Grove of Nymphs
reflects the eyes of the true Queen of Hearts.

While the blind swordless knight plays chess with Death
by Scamander River, that shines with blood
of bold warriors who died defending Justice,
the White Priest comes to stab him in the back.

Since Hamlet on the Pyramid of Power
talks with the Orphean skull of King Lear,
Galadriel gives the secret Ring of Wisdom
to the nameless boy of hope with three eyes.

The Hero that Hera trained to guard women
journeys through the Waste Land of broken laws
to find the Emerald Tablet in the cave
where Pluto weeps for dead Persephone.

The White Raven with three eyes will return
to lead Robin Hood from Castle of Lies
but not before the White Priest will attack
and overthrow the Leopard King in a coup.

Though Mad King Lear howls on highway of wind
to prophesy the fall of the Republic,
the Children of Angela cover their ears
and run together off the cliff of pride.

When the Bear and the Eagle unite armies
to battle the Dragon on desert dunes
the Lion of Judah will rise again
to bear the scepter of wisdom and truth.

After Mithras rides the Bull of Wall Street,
that Neptune roasts on Pyramid of Eyes,
Athena will return from the Waste Land,
bearing water jar that fills every glass.

When the White Priest betrays the Leopard King
the scapegoat will be lead to the new temple
and sacrificed on the altar of peace
though he tries to steal the Fasces of Caesar.

Though Orpheus descends to Cave of Wealth
to rescue the lost Lion Queen from Death
the Leopard King will try to chain her neck
and keep her locked in the dark Zoo of Lies.

But Hamlet and Robin Hood will unite
to lead the army of hippies and clowns
who will battle bankers for Key of Truth
and free Eurydice from Cave of Fear.

After Beatrice leads Poet of Lost Souls
to the secret temple on lush Mount Zion,
the true Children of Israel will hold hands
and sing new psalms around the Lake of Dreams.

Before Richard the Lion-Heart returns
to misty Avalon covered in snow
Melusine will reveal the devious plot
to steal Diamond of Truth from Crown of Faith.

Though the Sons of Richard Plantagenet
sit on the Throne of Swords in the White House,
the Wizard of Mount Mazama will lead
the Empress of Stars to the House of Wisdom.

When the Gold Tower falls from Lightning of Greed
the Lion Queen, riding Beast of Liberty,
will return from the Waste Land of despair
to wield the Scepter of Justice and Truth.

Thursday, November 17, 2016

Bloody Door

Bloody Door
© Surazeus
2016 11 17

"My darling husband, who won me with love,
after charming me with your love for Christ,
then bought me nice home with lush garden of herbs,
took me to Hawaii on our honeymoon,
and gave me a huge sparkling diamond ring,
why did you slam my face in the door?"

"My precious wife, with long curls of blond hair,
whose sparkling blue eyes enchanted my heart,
so buxom and lithe in my eager arms
when we danced in warm moonlight on the beach,
always obedient to my good commands,
I will tell why I slammed you in the door."

"My gentle husband, my God-sanctioned love,
you always tended all my needs with care,
sang hymns to Jesus in church by my side,
provided for our children to grow well,
and bought me everything nice I asked for,
so why slam my face in the bedroom door?"

"My obedient wife, companion in Christ,
who raised our three children with doting love,
hosted parties for my company colleagues,
ran our busy home with efficient duty,
and never argued back against my word,
you voted for Hillary, that vile whore!"

"My protective husband, guarding my life
with devoted love, my mind is my own,
and I have the right to vote as I choose
since we live in this great democracy,
equal companions in church of our Lord,
and yet you slammed my soft face in the door!"

"My subservient wife, given me by Christ,
God says the man must always rule the home,
and the wife who is good obeys her man,
so you must always do as I command,
and I told you the man you should vote for,
but you voted for Hillary, that whore!"

"My childish husband, who betrayed my love,
though you promised to honor and protect me,
you hurt me from your angry jealousy,
and broke law of God to cherish your wife,
suppressing my right to choose as I will,
so I am leaving by your bloody door."

"My docile wife, my eternal soul mate,
bound to obey me by old law of God,
the Bible says you are to serve my needs,
for you are the helpmate of home I rule,
so you must do your duty as my wife
and stay within the confines of my door."

"My treacherous husband, weak with male pride,
I voted for Hillary as President
because my mind and body are my own,
and I should have freedom to live my way
and receive your loving support for my choice,
but you slammed my face in your prideful door."

"My loving wife, long gone from my bleak home,
you left my heart empty of love I broke,
and never return when I call your name,
and though I know I should never hit you
you made me angry and made me hit you
because you voted for that haughty whore."

Kings Rise And Fall

Kings Rise And Fall
© Surazeus
2016 11 16

Kings rise and fall on waves of haughty greed,
and strive to rule lives of men by command,
threatening death if we refuse to obey,
till death strikes them down from high pyramid
and they fall nine days and nights into dirt
where flowers transform their ambitious hate
into pollen for bees to brew sweet honey.

Kings rise and fall on pyramid of power
while farmers till fields of barley and wheat,
and shepherds tend flocks of plump wooly sheep,
and craftsmen construct wood wagons and ships,
and witches brew healing potions from herbs,
and mothers teach their children how to sing,
so we live while they fight for rings of gold.

Kings rise and fall in conniving chess games
of political intrigue in shining courts
where hunger hides behind sweet mask of smiles,
and glorious gods robed in divine rights
parade in pageant of superior power,
but truth will conquer all tyrants and kings,
grinding them down in the dust of death.

Kings rise and fall in vicious game of thrones
that swirl in wild revolutions of power
since Sargon built first empire of Akkad
four thousand years ago to honor Ishtar,
but now we control that process of change
by electing one to rule over all
every four years in dance of life and death.

Wednesday, November 16, 2016

Black Kitten

Black Kitten
19 August 1989
Last Exit on Brooklyn
Seattle, Washington

On piano her fingers are weaving
a fragile tune for purple butterfly
but outside stain glass window
car of a man in a clean grey suit
nearly runs over a trotting kitten.

Without missing a beat girl shrieks
when small and frightened cat
leaps into people-crowded window.
Coffee drinkers pour from doors
of Last Exit coffee house on Brooklyn
and gather chattering on hot sidewalk
to examine wounded creature of night.

Human fingers and tongues of flies
caress blood of its broken neck.

An old Jewish man with a beard
flowing at his chest bows his head
and weeps when he sees its blank eyes.
They remind him of his little sister
who was raped and shot by Germans
when they invaded Russia one afternoon
forty years before. Sorrows of life
he wails never cease to plague our hearts.

His granddaughter, slim piano girl,
bangs on discordant keys a few times
that batter soft walls of their ears
with storms of a cool summer night.
Her boyfriend Brent, a loud painter
at espresso counter, paints a series
in purple, red, orange, green, and blue
of furry frightened cats with wings
and giant steel blocks of cars.
Brent sells each fire-furious painting
for two hundred dollars. Next year
she bears her Brent a pretty daughter
and buys her a black cuddly kitten.

Lost in black storm cloud, she prays
for ministry of refreshing rain.
When storm has spent its frustration
sky will be clear and golden blue,
and air sweet with scent of pines,
she hopes, folding her hands with faith.

Was that name of her secret lover
carved by rays of perfect sunlight
on side of a flat granite mountain?
Or was that just flash of a wing
on a cold sparrow hawk against blue sky?

Whether flame of a sharp wing
or purity of white transcendence,
she feels her heart to be fulfilled,
even in this moment of consumption.
Kitten combs her hair with gentleness
of sad fairies, and washes her face
to hide tears of crystal blood,
then she clothes her slim nude body
in a torn dress. This is her readiment
for long eager arms of cold death.

As her eyes dim in mist of death,
dark sky clears and red blazing sun
sparkles in dew on fresh spring grass.
Small black kitten relaxes on tomb
of her sleep, licking its pink paws.