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. 

Not Afraid Of Flowers

Not Afraid Of Flowers
© Surazeus
2024 04 18

Light sprig of lavender dances with glee 
of jaunty seriousness, sprung from despair, 
when butterfly of happiness departs 
to watch the wanderers walk roadless plain 
till they relax under beech tree of truth 
to ponder wisdom of the flashing rain. 

We are not symbols of your wordless hope 
for we are nothing more than human beings 
who search for somewhere on this hostile world 
to build new home and tend garden of crops 
so we may contemplate strange mystery 
that bonds our hearts to seasons of the sun. 

With subtle hands of too-perceptive wit 
we mend invisible fence of blind fear 
drawn by men with guns in towers of stone 
to trap our ambition in maze of tricks 
designed to keep us bound to work the land 
though we assert our right to sovereign faith. 

With bleeding hands of vibrant discontent 
we pull deceptive weeds from ground of lies 
while gazing through barbed wire of helpless rage 
to watch the turtle trundle with calm pride 
as guide to lead lost refugees of war 
through swirling portal of the holocaust. 

Thick clots of hair in snow of fortitude, 
blackened by fire on ovens of despair, 
twitch in lonely wind of winter to show 
we are not afraid of flowers that sprout 
bright from nameless corpses of glowing bones 
when skeletons dance for indifferent moon. 

Despite absolute precision of Death, 
who lingers as shadows in empty graves, 
we hold each other tight on frail wood bed 
to struggle with despair of naked fear 
through sweet romantic kisses of the mind 
till we are born as children of our hearts. 

Eating bread and cheese at table of lust, 
I ponder ethical puzzle of truth 
with mind submerged in currents of events 
that drown our souls in floods of global hate 
as we imagine horror of world war 
that smashes everything we hold as good. 

In silent spaces of the prison camp 
I walk with faceless ghosts of people killed 
by startled nonchalance of passing time 
though we leave books of stories in the house 
where no one will ever live free again 
till coming of the crow with wings of fire. 

Mask Of My Face

Mask Of My Face
© Surazeus
2024 04 17

My ancestors speak through mask of my face 
with calm voices of farmers and craftsmen 
who want to reconstruct our broken world 
from moon-lit hopes of the blind butterfly 
that lands on shoulder of the gold-eyed girl 
who shapes clouds into dragons of the heart. 

Our first mother speaks through mask of my face 
with voice of wind that whispers arcane code 
contrived from shadow of the dreamless cave 
so I know secret of eternal life 
based on ideal particles of all things 
that sprout from seeds into specific forms. 

Our first father speaks through mask of my face 
with voice of waves that howl weird prophecies 
designed by hands to imitate machines 
which help frail humans conquer spinning Earth 
by marking boundaries for nation-states 
where frightened men dress up to play as kings. 

My shy demon speaks through mask of my face 
with voice of writhing snakes in runeless well 
to narrate history for how things occur 
according to the victors of world war 
which proves their right to codify the rules 
that determine who fails and who succeeds. 

My mad angel speaks through mask of my face 
with voice of prophecy from eyeless stars 
recording how mankind evolves from fish 
to dance as wingless angels singing spells 
on pyramid we build with bleeding hands 
to fly with hang glider Daedalus made. 

My inner child speaks through mask of my face 
with voice of faith in goodness of mankind 
who dwells together in lush paradise 
because we build high walls of granite stone 
to guard Garden of Eden with sharp swords 
while slaves tend fruit trees in haven of hope. 

My divine brain speaks through mask of my face 
with voice of alphabets birds explicate 
to imitate shouts of children who play 
games of chase in forest of faceless ghosts 
till I discover on library shelf 
lost Holy Grail I forged from meteor stone. 

My godless soul speaks through mask of my face 
with voice of energy from sparks of light 
that swerve as atoms in the mindless void 
when I wake from relentless dream of change 
alone on peak of Parnassus at dawn 
because I forget everything I said. 

Warrior Of Great Deeds

Warrior Of Great Deeds
© Surazeus
2024 04 16

While lounging in the feasting hall at dusk, 
after work all day crafting wagon wheels, 
I eat roasted steak and sip barley beer 
with pleasure of the muscle-sore craftsman 
who grins to watch beautiful women dance 
to enchanting melodies of the lyre. 

Across large hall of mural-painted walls, 
that show scenes from the Fall of Ilium, 
voice of some burly bearded guest booms loud 
as he relates adventures of his trip 
homeward after ten years fighting harsh war, 
and I half-listen to his haughty boast. 

With snicker bursting from my beer-full belly, 
I doubt tall tale the scar-faced warrior tells 
that, when trapped in large cave of gloomy fear, 
he tricked the one-eyed giant with sly ruse 
by clinging to belly of his fat sheep, 
then mocked him after stabbing out his eye. 

You are Nobody, I sneer with wry grin, 
when he relates how he devised that name 
to fool the blinded cyclops to declare 
that Nobody escaped prison of his power, 
because we hear proud travelers like him 
boast of their prowess to impress the crowd. 

While chuckling with contempt at boastful fool 
who weaves fanciful yarns of his grand deeds 
to awe the gullible with simple minds, 
I feel cold shiver slither up my spine, 
so I look up to see vain narcissist 
glare down at me with fury in gray eyes. 

Rising slowly to face conceited clown, 
who prevaricates of his wily ways, 
I return sharp glare of his blazing eyes 
though he towers tall over my small frame, 
then duck when he swings fist to punch my face 
and slip free from grasp of his bear-paw hands. 

More swift and lithe on limber legs of grace 
I out-wit wily warrior of great deeds, 
swift as the fox that fools the lumbering bear 
till I trip his bull-thick legs with sly swipe 
that knocks him down flat on his burly face, 
so I sit on his head and pat his cheek. 

Offering beer to snarling Odysseus, 
I help him stand and lead him to his seat, 
then listen as he relates sweet romance 
how he won heart of kind Penelope 
who waits for him with aching heart of hope 
till we all sink into soul-drunken sleep. 

Babylonian Face

Babylonian Face
© Surazeus
2024 04 16

The Babylonian face of the white sheep, 
that stands with noble pride on stony hill, 
announces with voice of enchanting charm 
that God is blazing light in human form 
who sings as serpent in the flowing well 
while I design new global history map. 

Among deadwood at foot of Ararat 
with scythe I use to battle Time and Death, 
I search for valley where the rainbow ends 
to gather olives with old crippled hands 
when Hunger weighs with psychopathic math 
nutritious value of the fruit tree root. 

Commissioned as red arrow of world war, 
I stand on stony hill of singing skulls 
to present how Revelations will play 
on stage where Grendel, as social decoy, 
still manages the bankrupt shopping malls 
where serpents whistle in the jewelry store. 

We breathe the ether of his marriage feast 
at holy ritual of the weeping clown 
who plays chess with the savior grown too old 
to understand weird riddles of the skald 
when he finds out he is the perfect clone 
born from the serpent in love with the ghost. 

I see the sky ascending, red and green, 
at shocking burst of trees with breathing leaves, 
where millions of people compete for prize 
awarded to deceivers by the Muse 
who offers fleeting fame of shadowed caves 
in return for visions of the dream rune. 

With stone of truth, lithe as quick river fish, 
I penetrate bone-crushing waterfall 
to find lost treasure of the dragon queen 
who gives me diamond of the mind machine 
so I memorize lines to play my role 
as cosmic herald hoarding secret stash. 

Reborn from magic of the fairy tale, 
as fool who dances on edge of the cliff, 
I call Rapunzel on the telephone 
to read translation of weird summer rain 
that wakes the dead with honorable laugh 
programmed with code of the Golden Rule. 

The Babylonian face of the wise sheep 
gazes down at me from high pyramid 
with eyes that see beyond dark veil of time, 
so, though my heart still urges me to roam, 
I sit beneath shade of the the holy rood 
then fly to Heaven with my angel cape. 

Tyranny Of Shocking Bliss

Tyranny Of Shocking Bliss
© Surazeus
2024 04 15

Oblique regret for nothing I could say 
disturbs dark distance of the lonely way 
that measures tyranny of shocking bliss 
explained through logic of analysis 
which I should calculate to find out why 
snow flakes spiral from mirror of the sky. 

Encoding dreams in scribble of the joke 
long before my mother of oceans woke, 
I carve my story on stone edifice 
about the moment sad strangers first kiss 
to celebrate the marriage of true minds 
with magic rings that consciousness unbinds. 

Because my aching heart is almost dead 
I gaze at grape jelly on toasted bread 
with deep insight in soul mortality 
which highlights conceptual futility 
that we employ to avoid searing pain 
in project to conjugate loss with gain. 

When I relate old tale of the Unknown, 
I found encased in wisdom of the stone, 
my heart, once shipwrecked on perceptive words, 
restores to life aggressive thought of birds 
who bring me mushrooms by the misty lake 
while I search for the real inside the fake. 

Weird faceless ghosts of people I once knew, 
I glimpse between fraught shadows of the true, 
address compassion of unchanging gloom 
that floats unseen in fracture of the room 
where I catch drops of rain in hands of hope 
though I see her walk slow on mountain slope. 

Concealed in empty air of spacious faith, 
while evening sun unfolds face of the wraith, 
I wait for wind in willow trees to call 
my secret name erased from every wall 
despite how much we love each other now, 
untwisting sorrow into joy of how. 

Bright lantern of my pain-adjusted heart 
reveals nothingness of the star-wrought chart 
predicting rebirth of our ancient gods 
in humble bodies of brave astronauts 
who cast ideal image of human souls 
with mirror that reweaves our social roles. 

Each star that claims me as its referent 
beams fierce immortal rays, more confident 
than laughing horses, that will resurrect 
first thought considered by the holy sect 
founded by riddles of the blind centaur 
who invents engine that powers the car. 

Grimace For The Modern Stage

Grimace For The Modern Stage
© Surazeus
2024 04 15

Jumping on concert stage in flashing lights, 
Oedipus strums lightning-bolt melodies 
that blast aggressive vibes of flaming bombs 
across huge stadium of wild dancing kids 
while Dionysus grips gold microphone 
and howls satire song that mocks senile Zeus. 

Riding in the long silver Limousine 
that gleams in neon lights of theaters, 
Oedipus eats Big Mac and drinks root beer 
while Jocasta snorts cocaine on the mirror 
through the rolled-up one-thousand-dollar bill, 
then whoops and hollers as her brain explodes. 

Diving naked in the large hotel pool 
that shimmers bright with the red vampire moon, 
Dionysus swims with twelve nameless nymphs 
who giggle as he drinks huge glass of wine, 
while Semele stands on the diving board 
and twirls slowly after eating mushrooms. 

Kicking open door to their hotel suite 
and shouting for his wife to come how now, 
Athamus waves large pistol at the crowd 
till Jupiter demands that he calm down 
just as Semele twirls into the room 
and explains she is with Minerva now. 

Begging Semele to take care of Bacchus 
who cries out for his mommy in the crib, 
Athamus shoots pistol at Jupiter, 
startled when the bullet shatters glass door, 
so Mars and Creon slam him to the floor, 
and Semele falls asleep on the bed. 

Filming it all with the video recorder 
while lurking behind statue of himself, 
Oedipus narrates secret fantasies 
he imagines each person at the scene 
attempts to hide in darkness of their heart, 
then asks Jupiter how he really feels. 

Presenting grimace for the modern stage 
as she charges into the crowded room, 
Jocasta declares she can see the future 
where humanity will destroy itself 
through unchecked greed of obsessive desire, 
then stabs out her eyes with laughter of rage. 

Waking up alone in the hotel room 
as morning sun gleams through a shattered door, 
Oedipus stares in the mirror of truth 
at wrinkled old fool staring back at him, 
and just for one moment ponders how his life 
would be now if he had studied the law. 

Magic Lamp Of Faith

Magic Lamp Of Faith
© Surazeus
2024 04 14

The beautiful witch with moon-silver eyes 
walks through crowded market in evening dusk, 
holding magic lamp forged from dragon bones 
that glows with eerie light of long-dead stars 
to luminate faceless ghosts of despair 
who linger in shadows of yesterday. 

The hungry demon with gold serpent eyes 
rises from swampy pool on putrid breath, 
crawling from gloom toward lamp-lit market street 
where people run screaming from cold despair 
as he thrusts clawed tentacle of sharp rage 
to snare leg of the young boy with harsh growl. 

The young apprentice, working as cartwright, 
kicks jaws of the demon with frantic fear, 
then raises sharp adze, used for carving wheels 
from hickory wood, and strikes its scaly head, 
but screams from terrible pain of sharp teeth 
that crush bones of his leg with crunching crack. 

The star-eyed fairy in yellow silk gown 
plays haunting melody on rosewood flute 
while demon snarls and opens lizard jaws 
to bite soft human flesh with hungry lust 
till moon-eyed witch twirls wand of rowan wood 
to shoot thin bolt of lighting at its head. 

The snake-eyed demon writhes in agony 
at searing bolt of light from wand of truth, 
releasing young apprentice from sharp jaws, 
then trembles terrified at haunting tune 
the star-eyed fairy plays on rosewood flute 
which petrifies its hungry rage with faith. 

The beautiful witch with flowing black hair 
gesticulates left hand with subtle power 
to gather bright celestial energy 
that freezes into spear of diamond ice 
which gleams with lightning bolt of timeless stars, 
then pierces heart of the demon with grace. 

The star-eyed fairy with gesture of love 
pours healing potion on his wounded leg, 
wraps it tight in clean strip of yellow silk 
she tears from her dance gown without regret, 
then feeds him potion brewed from honeyed herbs  
while cradling his head in supportive arm. 

While the star-eyed fairy with gentle hands 
tends to wounded cartwright in healing house, 
the moon-eyed witch continues night patrol, 
holding magic lamp of faith in her hand 
to neutralize faceless ghosts of despair 
who linger in shadows of yesterday. 

Walking At My Side

Walking At My Side
© Surazeus
2024 04 14

These bitter tears I shed beside the sea 
when I wake from nap in shade of the tree, 
reliving memory of holding your hand 
as we gather mussels from gleaming sand, 
drown my heart with mute sorrow of despair 
because I cannot find you anywhere. 

Paralyzed in shadow of humming trees 
at gentle caress of the cool spring breeze, 
I stare beyond eternity of hope, 
then stumble in dark rain on mountain slope, 
but when I call your name in gusting wind 
I almost see you just around the bend. 

While gathering mushrooms in windy grove 
I think I see your face in wave-lashed cove, 
but, when I run toward shadow of your being 
at heart-breaking flutter of your white wing, 
I find lightning-struck stump of leafless birch 
that mocks vain effort of my fruitless search. 

Each time I feel you walking at my side 
in steady rhythm with the ocean tide, 
I feel intensive heartbeat of your soul 
so I turn not to maintain calm control 
with ache of love for spirit I adore, 
terrified I will see you nevermore. 

These bitter tears of sorrow I express 
with ache of hope for lasting happiness 
would fill deep ocean with words of my heart 
the longer we wander too far apart, 
so I keep walking circles on the beach 
to embrace you forever out of reach. 

From gloom of dreamless sleep I wake at dawn 
to find you smiling by me on the lawn, 
so I caress your cheek with loving hand 
and whisper shyly that I understand, 
but I cannot quite hear your puzzling words 
that morph into chirping of restless birds. 

Just as I think I clearly see your face 
emerge from vibrant sunlight of someplace, 
I feel your body vanish in dust swirl, 
so I stretch out my aching arms and twirl 
through joyful agony of blind desire 
with haunting tune sung by the faceless choir. 

I hope you call me not the queen of tears 
for I have confidence of countless years 
that I will find you still alive on Earth 
as timeless gleam of sunlight that is worth 
pain of waiting for you to return home 
since only wise Death knows where you now roam. 

Broad-Winged Sarus Crane

Broad-Winged Sarus Crane
© Surazeus
2024 04 14

Too early in the morning of strange light 
for shadows to become new faceless souls 
who seek salvation from the falling bombs 
that blast their paradise to swirling smoke 
still hovering over fields of silver flowers 
decades after wild soldiers all went home. 

Angry helicopter in bloody sky 
rescues fallen angels from streets of fear 
who cling to fragile rope of memories 
while gliding over jungle of orange ghosts 
whose wails still echo on small radios 
in grocery stores on busy avenues. 

In college library in Oregon 
young woman studying history of the war, 
that Americans fought in Vietnam, 
still smells fish and salt of the surging sea 
when she rode with family in small boat 
to seek refuge in land of liberty. 

No dragons writhing in the silver sky 
bring power of lightning and rain to Earth 
except in network of electric lines 
that shimmer over streets streaming with cars, 
so she grins while typing computer keys 
to write her experience after the war. 

Explaining to white kids in the schoolyard 
that her name is pronounced Bik, not Bitch, 
Bich runs away and grips the chain-link fence 
to watch white helicopter in the sky 
that monitors traffic on the highway 
instead of bombing river villages. 

Sitting on stage in the smoky cafe, 
Bich strums guitar and sings enchanting tune, 
we climb the slope together on lush hill 
to lounge beneath the sprawling banyan tree 
and gaze at stars that twinkle in its leaves 
while mourning with the chirp of lonely birds. 

After emailing countless resumes 
to apply for accounting jobs in banks, 
but getting no callbacks for interviews, 
Bich changes her name to Beth Anderson, 
and accepts job offer within two weeks, 
so she sits in the river park and grins. 

Holding up her phone in the school show hall, 
Beth films her granddaughter Brenda on stage, 
dressed in ao dai dress made of yellow silk, 
perform elegant dance with bamboo fans 
as she sings folk song of the banyan tree, 
then turn into a broad-winged Sarus Crane. 

Eurydice Reborn From Rain

Eurydice Reborn From Rain
© Surazeus
2024 04 13

How thoughtful of the sky to cleanse my soul 
with name of every soul who ever lived 
on every planet in the multiverse 
since they all spiraled from first flash of light 
and fall as drops of rain onto my world 
to bloom in flowers singing as I dance. 

From shadow ride four horsemen of despair 
to wreak destruction on my garden world 
so people who deserve to live with joy 
are slaughtered by their life-consuming greed 
and slave enchained in mining caves of Hell 
to dig diamonds and jewels from heart of Earth. 

On bombed ruins of castles and cathedrals 
we built steel-framed towers of mirrored glass 
wired with computers that calculate wealth 
to form global network of thinking chips 
evolving into supernatural brain 
that dreams virtual world from our memories. 

I drive my car on winding suburb streets 
where flocks of deer graze on the spacious lawns 
of houses nestled in forest of oaks 
where moon-eyed ravens on telephone lines 
discuss philosophy of ancient seers 
forged between idealists and atomists. 

Escaping tower room where she grew up, 
protected by her mother from the world 
where she never saw disease, age, or death, 
Lost Princess runs along lush river shore 
to hide in cavern of the lonely mage 
who gives her apple of the serpent sun. 

Six thousand years later of spinning time 
she teaches kids in elementary school 
how to recite and write the alphabet, 
those magic runes of serpents in the well 
her father snatched from the water of life, 
so they can study history of the world. 

Bright diamond gleaming with primal starlight, 
that pulses deep inside core of my heart, 
reveals creation of our universe 
evolving into globes teaming with life, 
so I walk signless road to Wonderland 
where my soulmate recognizes me first. 

She follows me from cavern of despair 
while I play lyre wired with strings of my heart 
and sing sweet hymn to tragedy of love 
but, fearing she no longer follows me, 
I look back to see stars in her eyes 
so she smiles and jumps in my loving arms. 

Wild Angelic Flight

Wild Angelic Flight
© Surazeus
2024 04 13

Organic bodies coiled with chemicals, 
forged by god-star eye from soul particles, 
we dance with air-light heads of fantasy 
on rock world in vast swirling galaxy 
that seethes with surging tides of blazing light 
on which we surf in wild angelic flight. 

With vegetable lust of intense desire 
we cling to rock of Earth on rooting wire 
that crackles taut with voices humans breathe 
as we contort our souls that passions wreathe 
in twisting spirals bound by mortal soul 
which beams from flashing core of the White Whole. 

Determined to achieve high state of bliss 
on rainbow peak arching over abyss, 
I leap through swirling portal of all time 
at heart-enchanting sparkle of dream chime 
so I improve as I evolve through love 
with each new life I reach for stars above. 

New bodies blooming from this ancient globe, 
through exploration of desire we probe 
deep questions stating facts beyond debate 
that by each choice we designate our fate 
with compact energy that fuels our brains 
formatting projects to map dream domains. 

Researching timeless zone of anywhere, 
I draw new global map of psychic air 
to dance with static quantum of untime 
while swimming in dark sea of fertile slime 
till I grow far beyond landscape of faith 
to plant apple seeds with the faceless wraith. 

To follow unseen path of fertile lust 
by curling roots deep in Tellurian crust, 
I investigate weird nature of truth 
while writing oracles in temple booth 
to hide weird secret of rebirth in code 
through riddles that detail new social mode. 

Safe in glass tower of the songless bird 
while waiting for key of the brain-dream word, 
I sing for people of the world below 
how we evolve from atoms of the flow 
that urges us to act through will to life, 
devising strategies to survive strife. 

When I invent new language of the mind, 
based on virtual world my weird heart designed, 
I sing alone on Parnassus at dawn 
tale of the wolf who comes to love the fawn, 
so I become one soul with the whole world 
when I wake from dream of the cosmic herald. 

Primal Particles Of God Mind

Primal Particles Of God Mind
© Surazeus
2024 04 12

We are primal particles of soul light, 
seeking to understand time-flow of why 
that weaves our brains from dreams of galaxies 
while gazing at clouds and longing for flight 
to bear attentive consciousness of I 
around mirror eye of star-flashing keys. 

Born from primal particles of raindrops, 
we struggle through bodies of hungry flesh 
to transform from fish in womb of the sea 
through mice to humble farmers tending crops 
in network topology of mind mesh 
centered around garden of the fruit tree. 

Formed by primal particles of star souls, 
that spiral from first flash of the big bang, 
we stroll together in the shady grove 
to discuss duties of our marriage roles 
in cave of illusions from which we sprang 
to manage process of romantic love. 

Beamed with primal particles of thought words 
that conjure virtual world from social myth, 
we copy ancient scriptures in new books 
with hymns translated from chorus of birds 
sung by angels beneath glass monolith 
where our Fairy Queen manages priest-cooks. 

We are primal particles of God Mind 
who dreams themself alive inside our brains 
as incarnation of ancestral genes 
in one soul forged from all their souls combined 
so we wake as gods on spiritual planes, 
transcending form of chemical machines. 

Wrought by primal particles of fay rings 
that coil our genes as information code, 
we build horse-drawn wagons with fortune wheels 
to search mountain valleys for water springs 
guarded by temple of the signless road 
where we seek what the oracle reveals. 

Shaped from primal particles of dream code 
that program how our brains perceive the world, 
we hide in clever riddles astral truth 
that helps our minds expand prophetic mode 
at second coming of the cosmic herald 
who ushers new age of messiah sleuth. 

Joined through primal particles of love spells 
that we recite at ritual of rebirth, 
we tell each other our survival tales 
at ominous ring of our wedding bells 
so we become whole consciousness of Earth 
Death weighs with holy laws on judgment scales. 

When I Hear Sorrow

When I Hear Sorrow
© Surazeus
2024 04 12

When I hear sorrow in water of life, 
enhanced by darkness of the lonely road, 
I see no future in the sunless world 
where words are shadows lurking behind trees 
though silence pulses in my aching heart 
with rancid wisdom of dark rainless clouds. 

When I hear sorrow in whisper of trees, 
conceived by primal thought of hopeful love, 
I rip open my breast with trembling hands 
and free wild raven of my fearful heart 
who leaps toward invisible moon of fate 
to find sacred words that prove how I feel. 

When I hear sorrow in splatter of rain, 
designed by fierce starvation of the mind, 
I scratch at dirt to find conceptual roots 
enriched with nutrients of arcane code 
that time transforms from arrogance of death 
so I can consume sweet fruit of despair. 

When I hear sorrow in sunrays of dawn, 
refracted by great eyeball of Blue Sky, 
I see bottomless abyss of my heart 
enclose enormous swirl of hungry fear 
that motivates my quest to find my name 
trapped under river stone of nonchalance. 

When I hear sorrow in laughter of fate, 
contrived by shadow demons of my soul, 
I emerge from safe shelter of my heart 
to venture forth on signless road of faith 
with curious attention to weird details 
that blossom from organic beings of breath. 

When I hear sorrow in mockery of clouds, 
congealed by riddles of the prophet clown, 
I carry groceries from trunk of my car 
to stock my kitchen with dystopian tales 
so we can feast on passion for the truth 
providing fuel for dance of the sad fool. 

When I hear sorrow in virtue of seas, 
elated by compassion for lost souls, 
I photograph strangers in maze of streets 
who smile with shy pleasure at being alive, 
so we gather in cathedral of lies 
to sing in global choir of solo minds. 

When I hear sorrow in music of love, 
composed by voices of ten billion brains, 
I transcribe verses to record our dreams 
that shimmer in one tapestry of hope 
which programs world view every human shares 
to dwell in heaven of truth we create. 

Question Of The Why Tree

Question Of The Why Tree
© Surazeus
2024 04 11

Through each locked door of honest amplitude 
sad honey bees swarm to discuss how time 
weaves our organic bodies from light beams 
despite disparaging remarks of stones 
who make me ask question of the Why Tree 
before rain destroys cathedral of masks. 

Through open window of snide attitude 
cynical horses leap over high wall 
where robots work in factories building cars 
we drive on vacation to sea of eyes 
deceived to hide question of the Why Tree 
rather than fish to catch dragon of rage. 

Through fractured mirror of soul fortitude 
winter wizard reborn from roaring flames 
rises on Phoenix wings to fly on faith 
high over maze of myths to find the ring 
that will reveal question of the Why Tree 
regardless of the name Death dreams for me. 

Through wind-blown book of psychic rectitude 
blind seer transports across ten thousand worlds 
aligned in coils around the multiverse 
wound tight with million versions of one me 
designing new question of the Why Tree 
without regret for how I invent God. 

Through blooming flower of infinitude 
Goddess of Love explores new mental forms 
for hungry bodies to evolve from slime 
so we rise tall with hope from lake of dreams 
to dance around question of the Why Tree 
with tragic sorrow of romantic love. 

Through sudden change of weird vicissitude 
mad warrior chases shadow of his mind 
across wind-blasted heath of swirling mist 
to curse injustice of disloyalty 
when children steal question of the Why Tree 
to bury apple seeds in river mud. 

Through swirling portal of thought certitude 
oldest woman in the world holds my hand 
and leads me safe on signless road of truth, 
teaching me to play role of cosmic herald 
who explicates question of the Why Tree 
we reincarnate in child of our genes. 

Through soul-fertile state of decrepitude 
humanity seeks immortality 
by regenerating body of flesh 
that incarnates immortal soul of genes 
encoded in question of the Why Tree, 
atomic chemicals alive as God. 

Pythian Oracle Of Amherst

Pythian Oracle Of Amherst
© Surazeus
2024 04 11

Edible berries of the arbutus 
flame bright in scarlet sunbeams of cool dawn 
when I cut slender limbs of its smooth wood 
to carve weaving spindles smooth as my bones 
for Clotho to design fate for my soul 
as lace gown I wear in moon-haunted night. 

Old letters from the Pythian oracle, 
who writes verse in dark Massachusetts woods, 
crinkle in hot flames of the burning bush 
when false prophet tries to erase her dreams 
which rather bloom from ancient twisted trees 
in fruit that ripens from our burdened hearts. 

When I kneel before the wry oracle 
who sits in lace gown at small oaken desk, 
she offers gingerbread cookies with grin 
that flashes wisdom across rain-black clouds 
so I eat sacred body of the Earth 
as she sends white owls to the evening sky. 

Caressing my cheek with warm tenderness, 
the Pythian oracle whispers to me, 
pardon my sanity in a world insane, 
and love me if you will with all your heart 
for I would rather be loved than be called 
the Lord in Heaven or a King on Earth. 

How swiftly summer flees to misty hills 
to bear detailed report of misspent time 
and wasted hours to angel of my heart 
who answers with eternity of hope 
that I may dwell in garden of fruit trees 
singing with birds in tune with ocean tides. 

When flash of insight glitters in her eyes 
with complex vision of future events, 
the Pythian oracle at oaken desk 
transcribes weird song of evening wind to spells 
that still enchant our hearts with starlit faith 
centuries after she rides carriage with Death. 

Floating outside swift flow of history 
on angel wings that Icarus wove for her, 
the Pythian oracle of apple groves 
transcends constant current of social change 
with mind sparked bright by language of the stars 
when she holds high the Torch of Liberty. 

Descending from Parnassus after dawn 
to toggle vision of atomic light 
with mundane wisdom of the open door, 
the Pythian oracle of Amherst grins 
while strolling with me on the river shore 
to visit orphans with fresh ginger cake. 

Bright Star Of Ishtar

Bright Star Of Ishtar
© Surazeus
2024 04 10

When bright star of Ishtar shines in black sky 
as Orphic harbinger of her great power, 
we know our age of chaos and despair, 
when nations battle over river lands, 
will be transformed by wisdom of her love 
to Elysian era of global peace. 

From flash of lightning that strikes from black sky 
suffusing pyramid of the One Eye 
with bright electric beams of writhing power, 
Ishtar appears with arms stretched wide as wings 
to cast clear glow of psychic energy 
through Torch of Liberty in her right hand. 

Through swirling chaos of terrible gloom 
that batters our souls with disastrous storms, 
when greedy men compelled by blinding fear 
attempt to coerce our hearts with despair, 
bright light of Ishtar dispels smog of hate 
to transform waste land into paradise. 

Inspired by vision of her divine eyes, 
that see how people on Earth could share wealth 
we create with compassion of our hands, 
we gather in state councils to discuss 
how we can organize talented minds 
to enact programs that benefit all. 

With focus of attention based on love 
our wise lawmakers could codify rules 
that guide our conduct of constructive work 
to maximize efficient exercise 
when each observant soul applies their will 
through cordial teamwork of our global course. 

Yet mortal men, who through fortunate luck 
attain high positions of social power, 
anoint themselves as presidents for life 
by crowning themselves bold vicars of god 
to enforce private schemes as public laws 
though we rebel against oppressive greed. 

Now tyrants who control corporate empires 
enslave millions of loyal citizens 
to work for greater good of the whole state 
with patriotic fervor of cold doubt 
till they take arms and fight to rule the world 
with bogus confidence of victimhood. 

When selfish tyrants battle for control, 
which plunges nations in brutal world war, 
then Hidden Dragon of the noble seer 
will rise strong from chaotic energy 
to manage world food-production machine 
under bright star of Ishtar in black sky. 

Tree Of Leafy Thoughts

Tree Of Leafy Thoughts
© Surazeus
2024 04 10

Sad bird that chirps in tree of leafy thoughts, 
whose restless wings sweep rain clouds to the west, 
wants to reveal to me my fractured fears 
so I perceive strange beauty of this world 
in how routine of hope my hands express 
sustains my cautious journey to its end. 

For all the treasures of my aching heart, 
I give with generous passion to the world, 
I hear no more than echo of my voice 
reflect acknowledgement of eager joy 
encased on gilded box of safe success 
which Pandora never opens with pride. 

Though Death, the tallest king who walks the Earth, 
unstrings my bones to string her golden lyre, 
I dance among wildflowers with sweet wind 
who shows me our world without certainty 
that I am sure is real as stones in streams 
since I was born from the vast writhing sea. 

With analytic passion of mushrooms 
I transform occult dreams of faceless souls 
from screaming slime of sun-heated tide pools 
to elegant apple trees on lush hills 
where horses swish long tails in timeless shade 
while lovers eat forbidden fruit of truth. 

With woven baskets on our curious arms 
we gather eggs of demons from dark glen, 
mottled ovals lodged in volcanic rocks, 
then gather inside garden walls of stone 
to boil them in cauldron of Ceridwen 
who explains how we breathe spirit of life. 

Yet when I climb high mountain of delight 
to take off my face, and offers its name 
to shocking beauty of this world we love, 
I cannot find map of the Earth I drew 
from tangled dreams of people I once loved 
who must be floating somewhere on the sea. 

Extreme diagnosis of white moonlight 
excites reluctant children to play chase 
who search old bushes for mystery of faith 
enshrined in chapel by the waterfall 
where salmon leap toward heaven on frail wings 
to prove the resurrection is not real. 

When I was young my blue eyes searched the sky 
for silver whisper of meaning which frames 
celestial serpent of my constrained spine 
because I want to fly above this world 
so I can understand its totalness 
while chirping with sad bird in tree of thoughts. 

Exile From My Homeland

Exile From My Homeland
© Surazeus
2024 04 09

Driven from the garden where I was born 
by men who destroyed grand city I built, 
I wander waste land of my lonely heart 
on maze of signless roads that go nowhere 
in search for the river-fed Promised Land 
where I build haven for my family. 

Enraged at injustice of their attack 
invading land my ancestors found first, 
I roam bleak wilderness of my bruised heart 
that burns with aching flame of hopeless faith, 
poisoned with nostalgia for the lost past, 
knowing I can never more return home. 

Myth of creation my fathers composed, 
that proves our right to dwell safe on this land, 
defines fall for eating forbidden fruit 
through exile bearing relics of our faith 
to redemption earned by self-sacrifice 
as we build new city with crafting hands. 

Though my ancestors ever traveled west 
ten thousand years Scythia to Oregon 
on never-ending quest of bitter hope 
to escape greedy tyranny of kings, 
I can only build and guard paradise 
of this safe home till Death dissolves my soul. 

Exile from my homeland frustrates my heart 
with bitter ache of sorrow at my loss 
that sparks awake patriotic intent 
to focus attention of daily tasks 
on finding in vast wilderness of fear 
new fertile land to build home for my clan. 

For I would rather be Odysseus 
struggling to return from fruitless war 
to reclaim homeland from invading thieves, 
than fierce Achilles driven mad by rage 
to kill noble man protecting his home 
and destroy grand city built on bold hope. 

Yet I must become Aeneas the brave 
who leads his family over stormy seas 
from ancient noble city burned by greed 
to find lush land of fertile tree-thick vales 
where my bold descendants may thrive in peace 
to build new shining city on the hill. 

Though exiled from lost homeland of my heart 
by hostile invaders greedy for wealth, 
I turn my face into bright winds of change 
to wander far over mountains and seas 
so I can build new homeland with firm hands 
where my children may grow from heart of Earth. 

Expose Monsters Of Fear

Expose Monsters Of Fear
© Surazeus
2024 04 09

When I write questions in Book of Dreams, 
attempting to expose monsters of fear 
that writhe invisible inside my heart, 
faceless spirit of the wind answers me 
with clever riddles of mocking satire 
which helps me navigate vast maze of lies. 

Streets of our world metropolitan maze 
are crowded with ten thousand singing seers 
who prophesy their visions in weird verse 
that foretell events which never occur 
on countless versions of our spinning Earth 
refracted through prism of my God Eye. 

Thought beams flow slow in vacuum of my brain 
which bends conceptual focus of desire 
slantwise against accepted social norms 
so I perceive ten billion fractured forms 
of Earth spread out across our multiverse 
in tune with slight adjustment of new truths. 

Each fragment of this one Earth I perceive 
at slightly altered angle of respect 
reflects one aspect of truth we express 
to form composite stitching masks of faith 
assembled in hybrid of conscious thought 
which I map clear on chart of nameless souls. 

Yet when I pass strange people on the street, 
whose minds radiate similar vibes of truth 
to those that program how my brain creates 
virtual model of our fast-changing world, 
I feel atonal screech of psychic hope 
spark reptile pulse of wisdom in my brain. 

So we assemble in cathedral hall 
beneath enormous sphere of crystal light 
that beams brainwaves from God of Nothingness 
which fill our bodies with fierce energy 
to dance with strict discipline of desire 
in vibrant harmony with singing rain. 

Reborn from searing flames of arrogance, 
after person I love most stabs my heart 
with critical insight of my brain flaws, 
I rise on Phoenix wings of soul rebirth, 
heart powered by diamond eye of true love, 
to hunt and battle demons of despair. 

Once I decide to publish Book of Dreams 
with spells designed to enchant simple minds 
with loyal devotion to star-born truth, 
I walk outside in eerie glow of light 
to release moon-eyed Raven from my heart 
so I transform my monster into god. 

Ominous Eclipse Of Faith

Ominous Eclipse Of Faith
© Surazeus
2024 04 08

Enchanted by the eerie scarlet glow 
beaming from ominous eclipse of faith 
that strikes surreal darkness across the land 
when Artemis fires silver bow of truth, 
I laugh at foolish fears my fathers felt, 
convinced the Devil was attacking God. 

The disappearing world of solid forms, 
illuminated by fraught beams of time, 
escapes from boundaries of unspoken words 
to swell from wordless breath of honest fear 
that something will destroy the world we see 
and all our cities sink in burning seas. 

In total darkness of my Nowhere Land, 
where I was born from sorrow of the night, 
I stand on bleak peak of Mount Helicon 
and sing with haunting voice of Mercury 
creation of the universe from light 
that vanishes behind mask of the moon. 

Black Raven flapping wings of solitude 
gives me her silver eyes of curious faith 
so I see through veil of reality 
to know weird glow of humming energy 
that springs from fountain of my bleeding heart 
as I remember name my mother sings. 

Becoming shadow of my nameless soul 
that stretches ever longer around Earth, 
I try to design wings from restless wind 
that blows my hair around mask of my face 
with each world-shaking blast of ocean waves 
that batter my heart with love for all souls. 

Just as I feel I understand it all, 
perceiving flow of human history 
as consequence of endless tribal wars 
to control apple trees by lake of fish, 
Black Raven streaks across scope of my mind, 
energized by first flash of the big bang. 

Billions of galaxies spiral in swirls 
from God Eye at core of the multiverse, 
each forging billions of planets from flame 
that nurture billions of love-conscious brains 
who each feel special with one Godless Mind, 
alone in crowded sphere of the White Whole. 

Yet when the black disk of the eyeless moon 
continues moving on around the Earth, 
rays of the sun again saturate time 
with ever-shimmering flow of constant change, 
so we return to gathering food of life 
from generous breast of our Mother World. 

Our Sad Stories

Our Sad Stories
© Surazeus
2024 04 07

The meteor streaking across red clouds shows 
we should not tell each other our sad stories 
about how we became broken and lost 
when greedy thieves invaded our small nation 
and colonized our lush valleys of fruit 
so now we wander far without direction. 

Scattered on signless roads in distant lands 
as homeless immigrants without religion, 
and nothing but old fruit seeds in our hands, 
we build houses in the desolate places 
to raise our children in the Promised Land 
who are driven away each generation. 

Too far from mountain of the burning bush 
without the golden calf of wealth to worship, 
we gather on hilltop of ringing stones 
and sing psalms of faith as our humble Shepherd, 
who slew the cruel giant of tyranny, 
plays the harp he found in tomb of Apollo. 

Grasping stone of wisdom from dry stream bed, 
I stride boldly forth to oppose the tyrant 
who laughs at me while clanging sword on shield 
after defeating hundreds of brave warriors, 
then sling rock of salvation at his head 
to defend honor of my homeless nation. 

While frightened citizens around the world 
cower before glare of Nebuchadnezzar, 
I lend my right hand to help Sisyphus 
push rolling stone to top of Mount Parnassus, 
then shove it tumbling down with force of truth 
to smash idol of God with blow of justice. 

Rejoicing in victory of our great cause 
opposing cruel tyranny of the traitor 
who tried to destroy our democracy, 
we dance on fallen head of Ozymandias 
whose mighty works vanish in winds of time 
when we exercise choice of free volition. 

Now everything King Midas turned to gold 
with touch of his hands diseased by temptation 
transforms back to their original state 
through magic power of honest intention 
so we control progress of our own fate 
through relationships of social profession. 

Gathered in elaborate Temple of Truth, 
constructed on Stonehenge as firm foundation, 
we feast to celebrate our liberty 
as our newly-formed global congregation, 
prepared to survive the apocalypse 
Jesus prophesied in the Revelation. 

First Mother Of Faith

First Mother Of Faith
© Surazeus
2024 04 07

Though even my shadow abandons me 
when the times are dark and bleak with despair, 
I search with determined alacrity 
in paralyzing gloom of midnight air 
for spark of light glowing deep in my soul 
that sprang bright from first flash of the White Whole. 

As Crow Boy I run with arrogant rain 
on fragile wings I stole from Icarus 
to find Blind Girl on the time-tripping train 
who taught me to win heart of Pegasus 
so I can explore our life-spinning Earth 
to discover fruit from tree of rebirth. 

No hungry outlaws fill the mountain caves, 
nor do bankers in fields of rotting wheat 
enrich themselves with labor of mute slaves, 
yet senators chase reindeer in the street 
to find speckled eggs of the holy snake 
that resemble mirror of the snowflake. 

Though our global empire is doomed to fall 
in turn with the ones of Britain and Rome, 
I will erase the writing on the wall, 
then set out on the signless road to roam 
beyond all boundaries of the nation-state 
to design my relationships through fate. 

In harmony with the white buddha toad 
somewhere far out on steppes of golden moss 
I meditate on nature of the road 
based on tragedy of our social loss, 
then I will program new scripture of truth 
that foretells coming of messiah sleuth. 

This body of organic chemicals 
which conjures functions of my conscious soul 
casts too vast shadow from light particles 
that weave my mind as part of the White Whole 
because complex system of my dream brain 
reflects structure of the galactic plane. 

I invent perfect poetry of faith 
based on human folly of blind desire, 
embodied by force of the stellar wraith 
who directs humankind in global choir, 
yet children die in brutal games of war 
when uncrowned kings fight to even the score. 

Driven mad by the psychopathic god, 
whose sons plot to control the entire world, 
the clown exposes their savior as fraud 
till second coming of the cosmic herald 
who proclaims Ishtar First Mother of faith 
so we gather in temple of the wraith. 

Crow Who Controls Rain

Crow Who Controls Rain
© Surazeus
2024 04 06

I should not be frightened that the glass moon 
makes noises strange as bells in vale of bones 
as if tall trees notice I am alive 
so I circle time with transparent words 
to encode history with secretive keys 
that invent the future we want to live. 

Holding light of rain in their ancient hands, 
our mothers walk along the river shore 
to give their children treasures of the past 
till they wander lost with the fractured moon 
in the wrong country where rain never weeps 
because when we see them they disappear. 

My sorrow-shrinking bones that crack with fear 
give silence to faceless strangers who seek 
gift of water from the great windless plain 
where only wooden wheels of time are left 
no more to roll toward the last lemon grove 
where we try to free our spirits from time. 

Time doubles with each day that slips away 
with sudden shock of naked ecstasy 
when we dive into lake of screaming eyes 
then crouch beside the tangled bush of vines 
to eat raspberries black as eyes of death 
who gives us seeds we plant in wordless hearts. 

Someone may haunt me with arrogant love 
that bothers me how tree roots eat my heart 
till ancient mothers weep for the drowned god 
who floats just out of reach on lake of fire 
because their hands wring our frail bodies dry 
though we argue with the ones we love. 

The tears of other people drown my brain 
with heart-breaking memories that are not mine 
though I keep reaching to achieve the moon 
but find its apple glowing in my hand 
which stings my heart with sorrow of desire 
when I consume strange words people express. 

Because I decide to name everything 
with tangled breath of tongue-conceiving hope 
my heart will reincarnate desperate wind 
translating cries of people suffering pain 
to beautiful songs that enchant the crowd 
when I play the lost lyre of Mercury. 

Now I will tell you this fantastic tale 
that you should not believe was ever real 
about messiah sleuth of clever wiles 
born in dire poverty from the mute girl 
who teaches him to see beyond the world 
till he becomes the Crow who controls rain. 

Beauty Of The Glass Sky

Beauty Of The Glass Sky
© Surazeus
2024 04 06

Startled by strange beauty of the glass sky 
that casts weird sunlight on white tree of fear 
which glows with strange alacrity of faith, 
I stop in middle of the shady lane 
while strolling somewhere past infinity 
when I try to time-leap through eyes of rain. 

Impressed by graceful skill of the dream spy 
acquired through years of practice from the seer 
who teaches me how to perceive the wraith, 
I carve epic of history of sea stone 
with fierce ambition of insanity 
to play sad tunes on flute of angel bone. 

Amazed by snow frost of the question why 
that gleams on mountain of the weeping star 
which fractures mirror of the monolith, 
I walk toward castle on the howling hill 
to challenge divine right of monarchy 
while carving chess pieces from glass bastille. 

Alarmed by ennui when elephants cry 
while marching over mountains of Zathar 
where hungry children chew on books of myth, 
I gather magic runes from burning well 
to channel psychic words of energy 
at solemn ringing of the midnight bell. 

Amused by fragile dance of the silk kite 
that measures spin of the Earth iron core 
fraught with sympathy of arrogant math, 
I dream our universe is One Eyeball 
though I analyze social jeopardy 
defined by strange Luciferian fall. 

Enchanted by music of still evening light 
that gleams eerily on white country store 
where oldest woman on Earth takes her bath, 
I rush mountain trail toward clarion call 
that echoes silent years of memory 
when I read bloody writing on the wall. 

Estranged by whisper of the silent night 
which fairies translate from the lion roar 
who guides me home to Wonderland of Truth, 
I choose through free will the most noble goal 
to support progress of democracy 
that ensures equal rights for every soul. 

Enlightened by confusing tricks of right 
which singers encode in classical lore 
that foretells coming of messiah sleuth, 
I compose tragedy with honest role 
for cosmic herald who brings liberty 
for every conscious being in the White Whole. 

Invention Of The Umbrella

Invention Of The Umbrella
© Surazeus
2024 04 05

Tweet tweet tweet, I am a bird in the tree, 
the little girl dancing by the pool sings, 
tweet tweet tweet, I love to fly high and free, 
then hopping up and down she flaps small wings 
that she wove from feathers of white egret 
whose yellow eyes gleam in the bright sunset. 

Inside large workshop with tables of tools 
her father Lu Ban grins at her song words, 
then transcribes in bamboo book woodwork rules 
for designing kite that imitates birds 
composed of delicate skeleton frame 
because his children love to play the game. 

Sweeping up from swirling waves of the sea 
with assertive force of dark evening wind, 
black clouds that flash through lattice of her tree 
drench lake-side village with silvery rain 
refracting sunlight into rainbow beams 
that luminate the drawings of his schemes. 

Tweet tweet tweet, the bright rain drenches my hair, 
the little girl sings, crouching under leaves 
of lotus plants that tremble in the air 
as raindrops splatter them stiff as house eaves 
that shelter smiling child so she keeps dry 
while she gazes with black eyes at the sky. 

Gazing astonished at his clever girl, 
who holds lotus leaf firm above her head 
as she plays in the rain to dance and twirl 
with joyful laughter that revives the dead, 
Lu Ban begins to draw new instrument 
to shelter souls when rain is scintillant. 

Arranging poles in circle around core 
which imitates stiff stem of lotus leaves, 
Lu Ban constructs firm head-protecting score 
designed like bird wings with tutelar sleeves 
which shelters our body from drenching rain, 
propped by supportive strength of handle cane. 

Holding umbrella he designed with pride, 
Lu Ban strolls boldly down the market lane 
so shopkeepers and shoppers trying to hide 
gaze astonished as he walks in the rain 
yet stays dry under leaf-shaped instrument 
though the weather has become inclement. 

Tweet tweet tweet, I am a bird safe from rain, 
the little girl beside her father sings, 
tweet tweet tweet, I search lush meadows for grain, 
then hopping up and down she flaps small wings 
that she made from bamboo poles and silk gauze 
while everyone keeps dry with broad umbrellas.