Awake In Blue Rain

Awake In Blue Rain
© Surazeus
2026 02 15

Awake in blue rain of horrible hope, 
I whisper name of every soul who lived 
on every planet in our universe 
to keep alive brave spirit of their heart 
that gleams with first flash of the white-whole light 
which flashes bright in neurons of my brain. 

Awake in blue rain of innocent fear, 
I walk the endless maze of psychic myths 
to chat with idol of every dead god 
ever worshipped by tribes of hungry folk, 
who live reborn in children of their genes 
in tangled web of human families. 

Awake in blue rain of psychotic peace, 
I stand on ziggurat of the God Eye 
with compassion for every conscious soul 
who follows guiding star of their desire 
which weaves their fate with every choice they make 
to generate new life before they die. 

Awake in blue rain of arrogant faith, 
I host communal feast of loyal friends 
in grand cathedral of angelic love 
contrived from doctrine of demonic hate 
that binds our minds with world religious rites 
presenting heroes who succeed or fail. 

Awake in blue rain of marvelous mirth, 
I wear the shining mask of Lucifer 
to walk crowded cities of Zathamar 
with brilliant lamp of wise Diogenes 
while guiding refugees from civil wars 
across the waste land to new Wonderland. 

Awake in blue rain of frantic desire, 
I wield the lightning bolt of Jupiter 
to fight the tyrant who exploits the people 
and rescue Rapunzel from golden tower 
so she sells apples in the market place 
where Phoebus helps Justice manage world life. 

Awake in blue rain of pleasurable pain, 
I bear the holy grail of Guinevere, 
forged by hands of Jesus, the Fisher King, 
through incarnation of his first-born child, 
the star-eyed Mermaid with divine blue blood 
whose spirit animates my social hymn. 

Awake in blue rain of glamorous gloom, 
I strum the sacred lyre of Mercury 
and sing epic poem of philosophers 
who laid foundation of our world empire 
preserved in creed of Academia 
to build world view on truth, not fantasy. 

We Rebuild Our State

We Rebuild Our State
© Surazeus
2026 02 14

Once I break on through to the other side 
and dance in doorway of eternity, 
I float in blissful consciousness of pain 
as bright electric snow of spirit gain, 
then sing new world view for modernity 
that sparks pure laughter of our humble pride. 

She asks me where I live with river voice, 
so I build highways sea to shining sea 
that link all cities in vast maze of souls 
awake with joy of oscillating roles 
between vast emptiness of light we see 
because we weave our fate with every choice. 

We dwell in holy land of Zathamar 
with brave attention of community 
that we join hands and hearts with honest faith 
and guard our fellow citizens with ruth 
based firm on social opportunity 
despite dictatorship of Belshazzar. 

We float on ocean of one global mind 
with earnest wisdom of dynamic change 
encrypting dream code with fantastic tune 
to open wide perceptive door of soon 
through sudden renaissance of perfect strange 
contingent on weird contract Phoebus signed. 

Intrusive measurement of tethered light 
exposes romance of intense surprise 
we share while watching fearful castles fall 
at subtle psalm that chronicles weird call 
contrived to explicate our mirror eyes 
so we learn how to calculate the right. 

If we break free from arrogant dismay 
at serpent song of pine trees on the ridge, 
we might see Helios create the wheel 
in time to understand how we should feel 
while dancing on frail sorrow of the bridge 
that fools is into learning how to pray. 

Because doors of perception reveal truth 
recorded on gold scrolls by cosmic herald, 
our eyes perceive ideas forming things 
that channel energy through horcrux rings 
which we employ at stage we are imperiled 
to vote as president messiah sleuth. 

Confused by joke of ardent tragedy 
unspooling fortunes gambled for by time, 
we all unite our individual goals 
to guard our neighbors from aggressive trolls 
who earnestly repent of evil crime 
as we rebuild our state through comedy. 

Queen Juno Sospita

Queen Juno Sospita
© Surazeus
2026 02 14

Billions of voices whisper in the dark, 
expressing emotions that beat our hearts 
with wild atomic passion of desire 
to explain vision of the world we see, 
and how we hope to play our chosen role 
in global drama we create as fate. 

I try to hear what each voice has to say, 
to focus on conception of their mind 
beamed by descriptive stream of sentences 
so I may comprehend vision of truth 
that glows as virtual model of the world 
in pulsing framework of their fragile brain. 

Their individual voices, trickling bright 
as single rivulets of private thought 
that curl down verbal fields of mountain slopes, 
merge together in larger flow of dreams 
to blend in world view everybody shares 
till all our different views form one great sea. 

With deft hands trained by Muse of lyric voice 
I weave eight billion threads of conscious minds 
in global tapestry of human hope 
so all our special colors intertwined 
depict with honor Mother of Mankind 
embodied by Queen Juno Sospita. 

Our Savior Mother Queen with gleaming eyes, 
who wears goatskin cap with strength-curling horns, 
brandishes brass spear with emerald blade, 
and shakes long sun-drenched tresses with pizzaz 
while dancing on porch of her temple hall 
to melody that Phoebus strums with joy. 

Our many voices blend in one great cry 
that swells with brutal ecstasy of faith 
while we leap high toward Glow Cloud of respect 
through bold transfiguration of our souls 
from individuals desperate to survive 
to commune bonding with vision we share. 

I stand alone on cloud-veiled mountain peak, 
arms spread with joy as wings of Icarus 
to sing my truth with private voice of hope 
that channels voices of humanity 
so all conflicting dreams blend in one dream 
where every soul shares Earth as our great home. 

Because I disappear in teeming crowd 
and lose my self in vast humanity, 
I find my true self deep inside my heart 
designed by First Mother all humans share, 
for Juno Sospita wakes in us all, 
brothers and sisters on one turning world. 

Under Indifferent Stars

Under Indifferent Stars
© Surazeus
2026 02 14

Despite regret for how life has panned out, 
based on each strange choice he refused to make, 
half-blind Wagat limps on hot river shore 
to ask Willow Witch secret of true love, 
but her skeleton lies tangled in roots 
though her young ghost still shines bright in the sun. 

Squinting through half-blind eyes of lethargy, 
Wagat imagines in haze of despair 
that he sees three tall angels in white robes 
bearing swords of flame that glint in their hands 
as they float down from hot-air balloon disk 
and speak to him with celestial thoughts. 

Grumbling in his short guttural speech of fear, 
Wagat explains to divine messengers, 
who came down from glorious clouds of light, 
that his housemate Willow Witch died last month 
and her body dissolved in tangled roots, 
but her soul should dwell in the clouds with them. 

The tallest angel with long golden hair 
explains with ethereal voice of soft wind 
that chimes with sweetness of morning birdsong 
how the world of land and water was made 
by hand of Lightning Ghost in thunder clouds, 
or so Wagat imagines he might say. 

Gasping in shock as tall angels of light 
bind his body with thick harness like theirs, 
Wagat wriggles to escape as he shouts 
when they all ascend high above the field, 
and the willow tree shrinks small as a bush 
beside the broad river that sparkles blue. 

Peering up at vast blue sky of Glow Clouds, 
Wagat sees disk of the hot-air balloon 
shudder in sudden gusts of freezing wind, 
and he howls to see the great mountain peak 
that always loomed high where the sun-eye glows 
now jut below his feet as they drift past. 

Gasping for breath as he tries to stay calm, 
Wagat stares surprised at towers of stone 
that gleam on the cliff high above the sea, 
vast maze of streets full of people and carts 
which appear to him like ants in stream beds, 
till they land on plat of the pyramid. 

Trembling as he walks with angels in streets, 
Wagat hopes to meet his lost Willow Witch 
in halls of Heaven she told him about, 
but they teach him how to pull two-wheeled cart 
so he works each day taking trash away, 
then cries each night under indifferent stars. 

With Soul Of Helius

With Soul Of Helius
© Surazeus
2026 02 14

When sunlight at dawn glitters in my eye 
I rise from the Earth and walk in the sky. 
I wander the roadless plain by the sea 
and drift with the wind that wafts my soul free. 
The ocean tells me, wherever I roam 
I am not lost for my heart is my home. 

With warm glitter of sunlight in my heart 
I stride across the world without star chart. 
I gather apples in basket of hope 
from deep-rooted tree on the mountain slope. 
The mountain tells me, wherever I roam 
I am not lost for my heart is my home. 

I spark new fire in ashes of my dream 
and roast fish I catch from the flashing stream. 
I hum in harmony with the moon chime 
to measure constant flowing of breath time. 
The river tells me, wherever I roam 
I am not lost for my heart is my home. 

To mimic rolling circle of the sun 
I bend steamed wood into wheel of the dawn. 
With soul of Helius, my father, in me 
I journey in wagon toward the Great Tree. 
The Glow Cloud tells me, wherever I roam 
I am not lost for my heart is my home. 

Sinews Of Electric Words

Sinews Of Electric Words
© Surazeus
2026 02 13

She weaves references of angelic stones 
in tangled sinews of electric words 
beyond comprehension of mortal minds 
which sparkle with frozen sheen of brave rain 
so I may witness suffering of mankind 
in tales erased from archive of our hearts. 

Filled with shy conviction of earnest faith, 
she strides with rebellion of untamed song 
down pathway of unspeakable respect 
against foundational effort of hope 
to discipline her uncontrollable mind 
trapped in dire narrative of tragic love. 

Notching arrow of truth in bow of love, 
she fires intense trajectory of change 
across attentive hollow of lost time 
composed of history angels never share 
with borrowed words of honest travesty 
that threaten frail security of faith. 

Obsessive passion for relating truth, 
which should examine brutal hours of fear, 
writhes from locked archive of hungry hearts 
to crawl on wounded breast explicitly 
down centuries of manufactured lies, 
then lies in mystic ruins of half-burned books. 

Reductive code of illegible dreams 
still urges me to explore shadowed wood 
with twisted curiosity of tunes 
which unify disjointed claims of trees 
choosing to array both present and past 
through coexistence of ghosts in my brain. 

Inspired by stars she names with whispered voice, 
she chases echoes of misaligned thoughts, 
exposing lies of painters who despise 
false wholeness of virtual reality 
contrived to imitate national myths 
translating jokes from penitential cries. 

Hushed willows anchored in glow of weird eyes 
betray her safety with bold promises 
based on ruthless energy of contempt 
bound by urgent expectations we sell 
through coopted struggle of emptiness 
that leaves us stranded on cold roadless plain. 

Debased by facts of cruel modernity, 
our grandest university of truth 
decays from corporate comedy of greed 
though hearts beat rapidly with holy pride 
when anxious Orpheus pounds at the wall 
while chewing rotten alphabets of dreams. 

Limping Toward Heaven

Limping Toward Heaven
© Surazeus
2026 02 13

Reborn on Earth as Jesus Jupiter, 
assigned by Jove to guard the Holy Grail, 
I wear computer mask of Lucifer 
to play my role as prophet in Dream Tower 
who studies psychic riddle of Brain Flower 
while limping toward Heaven with Book of Ghosts. 

Still crazy after years of wandering woke 
on quest to find lost sword Excalibur, 
I give star-jeweled crown to Guinevere 
with pledge to maintain world democracy 
in holy crusade against tyranny 
while limping toward Heaven with Sword of Right. 

Awake from timeless dream as Sirius, 
startled by weird beauty of this strange world, 
I emerge from bottomless Well of Light 
to channel Sibyl Soul of Melusine 
so I can calculate when empires fall 
while limping toward Heaven with Scales of Truth. 

Alert with Wand of Zambor in my heart 
as Watcher in Tower of the God Eye, 
I find Rocket Boots that Charlemagne wore 
so I can fly with Wings of Icarus 
above sprawling cities of Zathamar 
while limping toward Heaven with Skull of God. 

Shocked by return of Satan on world stage 
disguised as presidents of super-states, 
I carry Lyre of Mercury with care 
to sing dire prophecies on city streets 
with Voice of Cassandra no one can hear 
while limping toward Heaven with Harp of Hope. 

Trained by Orpheus to lead refugees 
from war-torn lands to Elysian Fields, 
I ask shy Ophelia to marry me 
so she bakes large turkey and pumpkin pie 
when we celebrate Thanksgiving in Hell 
while limping toward Heaven with Horn of Fate. 

Reborn from Ishtar as Astarius, 
bright incarnation of the Morning Star, 
I rebuild Empire of Meroveus 
which I name for Mother Gothinia 
and rule from Fruit Garden of Scythia 
while limping toward Heaven with Bow of Faith. 

Planting apple seeds on lush river shores 
while riding Pegasus on Wings of Wind, 
I learn to build wheeled cart from Helius 
then drive west to Cave of Solaria 
with soul of Phoebus singing in my heart 
while limping toward Heaven through Maze of Myths. 

Jumping In Dream Book

Jumping In Dream Book
© Surazeus
2026 02 12

Jumping in dream book of innocent hope 
through oscillation of my dreaming brain, 
I weave complex tapestry of events 
to bind opposing forces of desire 
in tender fabric of outrageous faith 
that strengthens truth in land of Zathamar. 

Jumping in dream book of arrogant fear 
through fractal blooming of my wounded heart, 
I search dark caves of Hell for faceless ghost 
who understands how seeds sprout into trees 
so we can rebuild paradise of peace 
that brokers wealth in land of Zathamar. 

Jumping in dream book of obvious facts 
through research measuring ethereal breath, 
I float above world television tube 
with psychic humming of the Buddha Toad 
who teaches children how to chase rainbows 
that spiral home in land of Zathamar. 

Jumping in dream book of terrible truth 
through mead in cauldron that Cerridwen brews, 
I prophesy cycle of life and death 
for tyrant who proclaims himself world king 
so we celebrate his fall at glass tomb 
that crumbles lost in land of Zathamar. 

Jumping in dream book of mysterious myth 
through bleeding pages scratched with angel quills, 
I join crusade against cruel tyranny 
lead by hands of Justice and Liberty 
who reign on Pyramid of the God Eye 
that preserves peace in land of Zathamar. 

Jumping in dream book of addictive trust 
through transformation of Soul-Birthing Well, 
I marry daughter of Achilles Christ 
to found new dynasty of prophet-kings 
who nurture people in workshops and farms 
that market health in land of Zathamar. 

Jumping in dream book of confident song 
through vibrant strings on lyre of Mercury, 
I record epic of philosophers 
to glorify brave seekers of real truth 
who teach in Schools of Curiosity 
that foster growth in land of Zathamar. 

Jumping in dream book of infinite love 
through reincarnation again in flesh, 
I mutate forms four hundred million years 
from fish to wingless angel who asks why 
to preserve immortal soul of my genes 
that mirrors Self in land of Zathamar. 

Electric Scream Of Rain

Electric Scream Of Rain
© Surazeus
2026 02 12

When I wake in Museum of Lost Dreams, 
heart pounding with wild song of ocean waves, 
I greet faceless Spirit of Mother Light 
who teaches me how to translate my thoughts 
to tangled riddles of conceptual verse 
that swirl wings from electric scream of rain. 

Searching for love on Desolation Row, 
visions flashing in my glass brain of faith, 
I ask Ishtar with diamond eyes of hope 
for program code that helps me learn to cope 
with constant chaos of time-pulsing change 
when I dance with electric scream of rain. 

Alert for demons in Strawberry Fields, 
feet tense with lithe exertion of respect, 
I find the Carpenter building the Ark 
to save humankind from the coming flood 
of world wars that may destroy paradise 
who sail safe in electric scream of rain. 

Alone on new Bridge of Forgetfulness, 
hands reaching out to touch the sail-boat moon, 
I ask young Remus for lost map of dreams 
so I can find glass idol of Kwan Yin 
who offers me Holy Grail with peach juice 
so we kiss in electric scream of rain. 

Wandering nowhere in global Maze of Myths, 
eyes twinkling with ripe Apple of Zathar, 
I join Explorer on the signless road 
who knows how to cast tyrants from gold thrones 
and free humanity from mindless faith 
to sing psalms from electric scream of rain. 

Eating burger in Wingless Horse Cafe, 
tongue twisted by riddles of refugees, 
I help the Social Architect design 
political system with equal rights 
that ensures freedom and justice for all 
who are born from electric scream of rain. 

Browsing books in Library of Lost Tales, 
I play Creator who crafts Ideas of Things 
that formulate how our bodies evolve 
fish to lizard to mouse to cat to monkey 
to wingless angel striving to be God, 
dream-conscious in electric scream of rain. 

Awake in Empire of Zarathia, 
we build from ruins of America, 
I strum old Lyre of Mercury and sing 
epic poem on lives of philosophers 
who built foundation of our old world view 
they devised from electric scream of rain. 

Attentive Scope Of Faith

Attentive Scope Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 02 11

These boots have tread lush hills of distant lands 
where strangers welcomed me with generous hands, 
and brought home lurid chunks of fertile soil 
to plump flourishing garden of my heart 
with sacred elements of ancient truth 
which nourish fruit trees of my paradise. 

This coat has flapped in winds of rugged hills 
where fairies teased me with conceptual tricks, 
and served as wings like those Icarus used 
to transcend narrow mindset of my tribe 
so I expand attentive scope of faith 
while mapping maze of myths with strict insight. 

This hat has sheltered my frail head from storm 
hurled by indifferent Nature without care, 
and shaded gaze of my observant eyes 
so I progress on sacred quest for truth 
that lead to cave of illusions in Hell 
where I retrieved bright diamond Eye of God. 

This pack has borne treasures of hopeful dreams 
which I have found in tombs of long-dead gods, 
so I display them in museum halls 
as records of our human quest for beauty 
for they bear spirits of creative minds 
long after their mortal craftsmen have died. 

This wand, that Zambor forged from meteor stone 
which blazed from haughty hand of Jupiter, 
provides emotional support through trust 
for my ascension on long winding road 
around snow-frosted Peak of Mount Takoma 
where Kwan Yin and Athena grant me visions. 

This book of tales, detailing human lives 
of every soul who ever lived on Earth, 
records grand epic deeds of mortal men 
as tragic heroes or romantic fools 
who battle tyrants in fraught game of power 
to maintain justice of wise Liberty. 

This tongue of eloquent expressiveness 
has sung elaborate tales of human deeds 
to praise the curious seekers of truth 
who built foundation of philosophy 
on which our world civilization thrives 
as efficient food-production machine. 

This brain of neurons woven from bright atoms, 
which has evolved four hundred million years, 
generates virtual model of our world 
programmed by my ancestral memories 
while we strive to transcend material form 
and become manifestation of God. 

Utility Network Of Truth

Utility Network Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 02 11

Disrupted process of aligned concern 
outlines new golden way of psychic games 
for fools to achieve financial success 
by scamming people who labor all day 
in factories, restaurants, and offices 
to purchase timeshares for the Afterlife. 

Shocked beginning of our fragrant return 
provides expanded scope of fake world views 
for tourists to amusement park of Hell 
where they descend to lair of Beelzebub 
in brightly painted train on gleaming tracks 
so they can experience being refugees. 

Prim secretary in polka-dot skirt 
disburses funds to handless engineers 
busy designing new woke principles 
for everyone to follow in Dream Book 
compiled from code preserved on turtle shells 
so they can buy trucks and guns for the war. 

Startled horses on Seventh Avenue 
sell chocolate bars to businessmen and clerks 
who search for happiness in smoky bars 
till Jupiter rides by on white giraffe 
while throwing pamphlets to the cheering crowd 
with instructions to buy investment funds. 

Trapped in utility network of truth 
through tangled formulas of psychic lust, 
the haughty jester in black suit and tie 
steals language toolbox from the sleeping wizard, 
then runs into the wilderness of jokes 
to untwist meaning of obscure concepts. 

Assembled puzzle of random events 
presents global tapestry of mad kings 
who fight each other for the Crown of Thorns 
while pretty small-town girls seeking world fame 
dance with joy on broken power-line poles 
in solemn opera of the civil war. 

Disguised as tufts of grass with sparkling eyes, 
one hundred maidens with clay lamps of oil 
dance slowly in the football stadium 
while the haughty jester with angel wings 
sings in strange language no one understands 
about how empires fall from greed of kings. 

Woven in matrix of the God Mind, 
eight billion human beings on planet Zarth 
merge disparate religions in one world view 
so everybody plays by the same rules 
in never-ending game of breed and eat 
till light incinerates ideas of things. 

Read Books Backwards

Read Books Backwards
© Surazeus
2026 02 10

Ability to regulate despair 
by singing hymns my flashing brain designs 
provides foundation for excessive thought 
based on how I take responsibility 
by beaming radiant passion of my being 
to nurture spirit of my loving spouse. 

Though I transcend state of oblivion 
by striding forth with comic seriousness, 
sharp sword of ice-bitter wind penetrates 
wounded shield of my heart with obvious truth 
that I am fragile human stumbling lost 
through endless maze of myths that is our world. 

Aware of mute mephitic melancholy 
that poisons my heart with obnoxious faith, 
I read books backwards to misunderstand 
how humans hide weaknesses of their souls 
with frantic performance of sudden joy 
to misdirect attention of false friends. 

Wind blows snow off peak of the distant hill 
as I trudge slowly across sparkling field 
white is page of the book where I write spells 
to understand language of power lines 
that translate whisper of snow in sunlight 
to heart-breaking songs of romantic loss. 

I shall change my secret professor name 
to Robin Arthazar of Oregon 
for I twang lyre of Mercury with sass
to challenge gods of Academia 
who study how I run red light of fate 
and almost crash into the chariot. 

Propensity to master artistry, 
involving dexterous skill of aptitude, 
traps my attentive mind of star-chess moves 
in childish game of chase the faceless ghost, 
so I must temper adroitness of faith 
with honest prowess involving dead crows. 

Weird expertise for drawing network dreams 
provides resource of brilliant cleverness 
for how I organize masks of dead gods 
on white museum wall of diffidence 
with self-effacing passion to secure 
key to salvation for creating truth. 

Capacity to gather gems of truth 
provides foundation of marmoreal words 
for me to reassemble frame of mind 
in global puzzle of new paradigm 
I weave in tapestry of social heroes 
imprisoned in procedure of concern. 

Grand Wedding Feast

Grand Wedding Feast
© Surazeus
2026 02 10

So many snowflakes floating from the sky 
shroud the death-mangled world in silent beauty 
which gleams in silver eyes of young wolf boy 
who stands alone before angry bull man 
snarling at his intrusion on his land, 
in contest over who controls fruit trees. 

"I am Galates, ruler of these lands 
which I have named Galatia for my soul," 
young wolf boy declares with arrogant smirk, 
"for I am son of Celtus and Minerva, 
son of Celto and Hercules the brave, 
daughter of Britannus, king of the world." 

Snarling with rage at the arrogant boy, 
Tauriscus swings knotty club at his head, 
but lithe Galates avoids every blow, 
prancing all about as he somersaults 
with graceful gestures of martial defense, 
and mocks brute bull man with sneering insults. 

Walking to the lake with her retinue 
to gather apples from snow-frosted trees, 
Scythia, wearing long white fox-fur cloak, 
stops and turns at echoes of shouting voices, 
then gasps with concern when she sees harsh fight 
for power between bull man and wolf boy. 

When Tauriscus spies tall elegant princess, 
he rushes forward with vicious intent 
to abduct Scythia and make her his wife, 
so she shrinks back in paralyzed surprise 
as bull man grabs her waist with greedy hands 
and throws her over his shoulder with laughter. 

Grasping bow of Hercules with firm hand, 
who gave it to his mother at his birth, 
Galates chases bull man through the woods, 
breath puffing mist in frigid air of hope 
while they run swiftly over fields of snow, 
till Tauriscus threatens to kill the princess. 

Squeezing her neck with greedy hands of rage, 
Tauriscus shields himself behind her body, 
so sly Galates notches in yew bow 
sharp arrow he honed with stone of the moon, 
and aims bold justice at his glaring eye, 
then fires when Scythia twists herself aside. 

Holding hands with Scythia in red gown, 
Galates guides her in grand hall of pine 
that gleams on hill above Alesia, 
crowns princess bride Queen of Galatia, 
then sits with her before the congregation 
to host grand wedding feast for everyone. 

While Orpheus strums the lyre of Mercury 
and Phoebe sings Great Deeds of Hercules, 
Galates and Scythia drink red wine 
from jeweled grail, kiss with passionate love, 
then lead communal dance to celebrate 
his victory against cruel tyrant of greed. 

Children Of Brave Caliban

Children Of Brave Caliban
© Surazeus
2026 02 09

I remember when my brain was first wired 
with shocking memories of frantic escape 
from sharp-teethed monster with glowing gold eyes 
so terror of harsh pain flooded my heart 
with urgent energy of ardent hope 
that helped me escape death four million lives. 

Standing on street corner in downtown Gotham, 
Zarthus contemplates how his brain perceives 
the whole real world with complex virtual model 
complete with alarm system that detects 
danger in the form of men and machines 
so he proceeds with caution down the street. 

Four million generations of my soul 
have survived for one hundred million years 
since I was small furry mouse in the woods 
running with intense passion to survive 
till I transformed into long-legged cat 
then climbed into trees and became lithe monkey. 

Now I walk upright on two sturdy legs, 
skill I learned floating in calm ocean tides 
while dancing in electric surge of joy 
along ever-winding shore of the world, 
till I traversed whole landscape of our globe 
so I know song of every mountain river. 

Leaning against greasy telephone pole 
while eating ice cream with leather-gloved hands, 
Zarthus watches all the colorful people 
of every shape and size and type and color 
who populate our global maze of streets, 
reborn as children of brave Caliban. 

When Jupiter ruled Earth with lightning bolt, 
brass martial wand tipped with emerald blade, 
as judge of life and death on the ziggurat, 
he chose his son Phoebus as the Crown Prince, 
so Lucifer lead rebellion from pride, 
then Adam had to vote who would play God. 

Yet every god and king and emperor 
who dared play god in mortal game of power 
has rotted into dust of nothingness, 
leaving nothing but skeletons and idols 
to signify their legacy of power, 
mute and blind head of Ozymandias. 

Programmed by terror of death to survive, 
I focus attention of crafting hands 
to compose new ontological code 
expanding religious creed of old myths 
so faith includes respect for all world gods 
who glow as ghosts of mortal souls long dead. 

Awesome Realm Of Fantasy

Awesome Realm Of Fantasy
© Surazeus
2026 02 09

Extracting feelings from his rotten brain, 
David drops them in his bucket of dread, 
then grips slimy handle with frozen hands 
and slogs through muck across cold field of dreams 
to dump false memories on heap of lost myths 
so they will compost into mindless faith. 

Elevation of emotional landscape 
fluctuates with soul-quake of assumed regret, 
so David stumbles disgracefully alert 
between bouncing stones of arrogant need 
despite attempts to bind his flighty soul 
with heavy anchor of his rusting heart. 

Expecting beautiful angels of fate 
to beam before him on the broken world, 
David waits patiently while fractured time 
reassembles puzzle of fraught events 
with random linkages between strange facts, 
unrelated to shocked ache of desire. 

Exhilaration born from painful rate 
in ordered reversal of wrenched insight, 
that twists objective sense of ardency, 
sparks awake his sense of absurdity, 
so David considers how roots crush stones 
with slow accretion of secret respect. 

Expelling questions of arrowed contempt, 
that strike too deep in alphabetic gloom, 
David measures enormity of fear 
embodied by the man with thirty arms 
who mocks inverted pride of bitterness 
by making faces with devilish glee. 

Enticed by beauty of elusive truth 
that lures his progress to conserve false hope, 
David assumes he is now the lost cause 
condemned by fortune to suffer alone, 
so he slingshots laughter at Face of God 
to mimic victory of Zeus against Cronus. 

Exploring awesome realm of fantasy 
that exists nowhere but inside his own head, 
David wears crown with thirteen spikes of power 
that resembles crown of thorns Jesus wore 
to prove his claim to divine right to rule 
all the lonely people who ask for names. 

Excited by vision of blazing stars 
that flash across eternal sky of truth, 
David types code on white computer screen 
to program how brains of humanity 
will now perceive evolution of life 
through framework of our world ontology. 

Wrong Direction Home

Wrong Direction Home
© Surazeus
2026 02 08

If my emotions leave tracks in the snow 
to misdirect the tyrant from my goal 
then I will journey wrong direction home 
to fool the gang of thieves with perfect signs 
so no cruel bully driven mad by greed 
could ever predict motion of my heart. 

When I review strange journey of my life 
I realize with absolute surprise 
that I left false trail of my broken heart 
for all my loyal followers to find 
that leads them far across the smokeless hills 
where they search everywhere for sparkling rills. 

Beneath gold statue of their long dead god 
I rise with bruised knees of disabled faith 
and pluck ripe lemons from the Tree of Life 
then wander by crystal river of tears 
where Shekinah sits on glorious throne 
with crown of bright diamonds that blind my eyes. 

Flamboyant sunset of exploding eyes 
feathers clouds with glory of devil wings 
so I hug every lonely soul I love 
because they think I am Saturn reborn 
though I prefer to play Phoebus on stage 
while folding wind in pages of the book. 

Though negligence attracts the mumbling ghost 
who tries to play wise counselor for me 
I shun the shining face of Robot God 
to save myself from agony of truth 
when I accept grand prize of global fame 
that crushes weak souls into followers. 

I hold sweet names of flowers in my heart 
to wander home with the delicate dead 
who hail spring beauty of the hungry queen, 
unhindered by huge clouds of glowing eyes 
that gaze with love at trees of stoic grief 
which bleed sweet syrup of arousing pride. 

Each stubbornly hopeful child of the world 
carries basket of herbs on street of gold 
to sit in circle of companionship 
beneath the constellated chandelier 
and share strange story of their wretched life 
contrived by random events outside myth. 

I step in every river more than once 
though material waterdrops of their flow 
exchanges content of conceptual thought 
despite strange wishes of the Glitter Ghost 
who lives unblemished life of languid lust 
since all we know is delusion of hope. 

Free Land Of Yaskonia

Free Land Of Yaskonia
© Surazeus
2026 02 08

Escaping cruel thugs of the police state, 
Heyhlamas travels northwest on winding roads 
to snow-frosted land of mountains and lakes 
where he stops along Yellowhead Highway 
and stares amazed at Yehaihaskun Mountain 
that shimmers bright with stripes of black and white. 

"Here I shall found new empire of my heart," 
Heyhlamas proclaims to eagles and bears, 
"which I shall name Yaskonia to replace 
British Columbia, imposed by invaders, 
as declaration of our sovereignty, 
free from greedy exploiters of the east." 

Climbing halfway up the striped rugged cliff, 
Heyhlamas carves cave from darkness of fear 
where he finds bright spirit of Manitou 
gleaming in enormous diamond of fate, 
so he reigns with justice and liberty 
over peaceful land of Yaskonia. 

While gathering nuts and berries in pine woods 
to cook nutritious meal for energy, 
wise mountain emperor with moon-black eyes 
encounters giant woman with long hair 
tangled with bones of demons and kings 
who whispers to red raven on her shoulder. 

When army of tanks invade mountain vales 
to impose dictatorship of King Midas 
on lush fertile lands of Yaskonia, 
Mother Dzunukwa grabs them with large hands 
and hurls them far into the Salish Sea 
where they transform into Mikinaak turtles. 

Inviting Kwan Yin, Lakshmi, and Athena, 
Heyhlamas convenes World Council of Sibyls 
who protect free land of Yaskonia 
from powerful states of Telluria, 
safe from tyranny of corporate kings 
hungry to mine minerals from her hills. 

Inviting with open arms of respect, 
Heyhlamas welcomes homeless refugees 
who flee civil wars in America 
and many other lands around the world, 
to dwell free in land of Yaskonia 
where every human lives with equal rights. 

While dictators and kings in many lands 
exploit work of their people to steal wealth, 
people in free land of Yaskonia 
dwell together in peaceful paradise 
based on justice and liberty for all 
in vision Heyhlamas dreams in his cave. 

Facile Force Of Fate

Facile Force Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 02 08

If we ignore how our tears drown the world 
with cheerful anecdotes of weird success 
we might find ancient mask of innocence 
in gloomy evening of the silent house 
by counting raindrops streaming down cracked glass 
which seem to represent people we love. 

If we must think about empowerment 
by running across shifting sands of change 
we should assess treasures from cabarets 
that we inherit without ache of need 
so we may fashion better way to live 
beyond confusion of hypocrisy. 

If we escape cage of bewilderment 
with shining faces of gods we could steal 
we may dispel deception of the state 
that preys on us with facile force of fate 
by choosing who plays prophet of our creed 
though trapped in shadow of the global church. 

If we sell bread of hope to lonely souls 
who wander in the signless neighborhood 
we might learn how to fish for compliments 
that we can roast on flames of poverty 
while we adore the new celebrity 
who gives us cans of food we cannot eat. 

If we think we are not responsible 
for safety of our stolen relatives 
we cannot sell torn tickets to the game 
because we lost the key to global fame 
so we extinguish smoldering fears of death 
to sell our luggage in the marketplace. 

If we presume to be more innocent 
without insurance to back up our claim 
we should suspect the holy priest of fraud 
who sells us tickets to the afterlife 
that we leave scattered on the desert sand 
as we keep searching for the Promised Land. 

If we try to improve our attitude 
by waiving all our inalienable rights 
we may have to fight for rotten respect 
because we are the lost cause of the world 
detained by secret police without eyes 
who accuse us all of being foreign spies. 

If we divine state of our bankruptcy 
through gleam of trophies on the sagging shelf 
we could buy forty acres by the sea 
where proud grandfather clock of broken time 
records each penalty we cannot pay 
by burning family albums just at dawn. 

Civil War In Cyberspace

Civil War In Cyberspace
© Surazeus
2026 02 08

Staring out the kitchen window at dawn, 
Martin wonders if his life has been real, 
or if his memories are fragments of shows 
he saw on television in childhood, 
which his mind composed from various tropes 
to present himself as hero of fate. 

Driving car on crowded highway of hope, 
Martin considers possibility 
that he is not first son of Bob and Kate, 
that he is some manufactured android 
programmed with memories his maker designed 
from home movies about his son who drowned. 

Gasping for breath in wild waves of the sea, 
Martin swims away from the sinking ship, 
smashed by the white whale of the dark abyss, 
till he lies exhausted on beach of sand, 
then wanders in dark forest of blind ghosts 
to drink fresh water from small bubbling spring. 

Typing bold words on bright computer screen, 
Martin transcribes company documents 
to digital format for the Space Age, 
yet dares not daydream he pilots starship 
on five-year mission to explore deep space 
and go where no android has gone before. 

Drinking beer with college classmates at night, 
Martin declares with confidential smirk 
that his real name, as Android Eight Mark Four, 
is Nitram, mirror image of his soul, 
then staggers home in darkness of the world 
to sleep all night on the library porch. 

Transforming from human to demi-god, 
Martin extends one hundred thousand arms, 
and blinks awake with eighty million eyes 
inside the minds of all his relatives 
who walk around the Earth in mute surprise, 
when he ascends as Nitrama to Heaven. 

Transcending physical limits of being, 
Nitrama floats above the turning world 
on flowing fibers of angelic wings 
while watching humans live their futile lives 
as they fight civil war in cyberspace 
over true nature of America. 

Sitting on the couch with his girlfriend Grace, 
Martin watches the World Superbowl Game 
and cheers when his favorite team wins the trophy, 
then stands at the fractured window of time 
and feels his god-spirit Nitrama float 
too big to contain the world in his head. 

Opposing States Of Mind

Opposing States Of Mind
© Surazeus
2026 02 07

Every soul on Earth can see the same moon 
vibrant with carnelian glow of brain quartz 
as we dance with faith in strawberry fields 
to comfort lost souls on the windy plain, 
so I cannot feel lonely in my home 
when I can see your faces in its mask. 

My restless eyes shift up toward mirror skies 
to see electric energy of minds 
employ brave perseverance to perceive 
star-focused landscape of questioning hearts 
which sparks aspirant curiosity 
encoded in bold mission to the stars. 

Through cosmic contradiction of our faith 
we comprehend opposing states of mind 
as mirror images reflecting clear 
both aspects of each complex circumstance 
conditioned by global state of affairs 
so we build castle from hard blocks of ice. 

With furtive glance of cautious interest 
I shout into vast void of innocence 
while standing on Mount Carmel before noon 
to eat the poisoned fruit of haughty hope 
which cures depression of anxiety 
so I know why the caged bird is dead. 

Though fallen from bright Heaven of respect 
on tattered wings of comfortable despair 
I walk beside dark sea of nonchalance 
to clear my heart of soul-wounding fatigue 
by cultivating calm aesthetic mood 
which fuels my brave ascension beyond fear. 

Fertile landscape of our generous world 
is filled with people wounded by their pride, 
trapped by ambition of time-spiraled hearts 
to play ecstatic receiver of love, 
palpable with angst of harrowing hope 
no more inevitable than sunrise. 

Far down dark passage I will never take 
toward door I never open till I die 
I follow echo ringing beyond time 
to twirl on still point of the multiverse 
since I follow deception of the crow 
who teaches me to sing with dignity. 

Though I cannot say where I always am 
I weave weakness of my body with pain 
so I gain courage to endure long hours 
when I expand scope of my consciousness 
to dream the future present in the past 
till I may reconcile with nothingness. 

Impact Of Modal Verse

Impact Of Modal Verse
© Surazeus
2026 02 07

Articulation of conceptual thought 
through modalities of image and sound 
motivates heart of Luke with weird insight 
to navigate complex landscape of truth 
by crafting virtual vision of our world 
that connects passive viewer to the seer. 

Impactful statement of the portrait sears 
assertive code of emotional truth 
to bridge linguistic gap of writhing words 
between the artist and their audience 
by sparking private connection of hope 
within broad cultural framework of desire. 

Intellectual impact of modal verse 
echoes proverbial jokes of social change 
based on transcendent principles of love 
that lights our journey beyond simple myths 
through complex maze of ambiguous facts 
in large-scale exhibition of strange tales. 

Process of engaging multiple layers, 
that support opposing concepts of truth, 
through non-linear installations of scenes, 
guides Luke across political landscape 
as character in national tapestry 
woven from our human experience. 

Depictions designed by mad fools present 
natural, rural, and urban environments 
through digital landscape of photographs 
where Luke explores modalities of truth 
with image of divine authority 
preserved in gesture of dream-tangled text. 

Abstract creeds of grand ideologies 
form critical structure from fractured states 
based on accessible puzzles of fate 
through sensory experience of pleasure 
so Luke interprets song of ocean waves 
which translates nodes of psychic energy. 

Diverse methods of expression enhance 
impactful progress of remembering 
when Luke conspires with personalities 
he finds lost deep in mordent maze of myths 
to finetune resonance of social tropes 
that help us navigate emotional states. 

Physical context of critical thought 
extracts raw concepts from cave of illusions 
so Luke converts soul-wounding angst to love 
through alchemical transference of fear 
to mold verbal container for dream wraiths 
who writhe rooted in semiotic trance. 

Helpless Fantasy Of Wealth

Helpless Fantasy Of Wealth
© Surazeus
2026 02 07

Irrational residue of vibrant matter 
contracts through sentences of phony words 
which resonate with blackness of the night 
based on virtual reality of thoughts 
we sell each other in dark alleyways 
while leaning on the chain-link fence of faith. 

Each morning we wake up stronger than hope 
by sealing midnight pain with almost love 
despite expressive stones of ardency 
contained in familiar story untold 
about how society breaks in bands 
who dwell unpeacefully in dead-end towns. 

Heroic figures straddle tallest clouds 
to scatter coins of water on our heads 
while we watch prophet of the fallen god 
wrestle vainly in fields of rotten wheat 
where characters from stories never read 
wither with helpless fantasy of wealth. 

Awake on our wedding night, I explain 
how sorrow burns beautiful hearts to glass, 
deeper than inability to talk 
about violence half-seen in dim woods 
where noble warriors get caught in traps 
yet yell at houses with exploding doors. 

Clever belief system of structured facts 
intrigues hungry gangs of wandering clowns 
who insist they are hunters of the heart 
though biographies they scribble with blood 
are thrown on junkheap of religious faith 
beneath great mountain carved with face of God. 

Alert to sudden truth of angry kings, 
she spreads her arms out to the fractured sky 
that disappears in tone of screaming trees 
with courage to oppose the police state 
that imitates how Heaven controls minds 
based on progress of economic games. 

Through unilateral breath of holy law 
our car mechanic memorizes jokes 
encoding principles of moral tricks 
which illustrate our failure and success 
despite dissatisfaction shared by all 
concerning state of illusion we flee. 

Gorgeous fortune never favors the bold 
for superfluous gears programming time 
since we must accept emotional traps 
which we present as the true way we live 
supported by traditions mothers mend 
through symbiosis of our pageless book. 

Certified Clown Of Faith

Certified Clown Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 02 07

Seven million years after my first birth 
I ask the shadow tree of flashing clocks 
how to find the Whirlpool of the God Eye 
so I can jump worlds through the multiverse 
in quest for garden where you are the one 
I would choose to weave my destiny with. 

I am only one of billions on Earth 
reluctant to close my heart with faith locks 
in case my spirit swells huge as the sky 
though commissioned to play my part as nurse 
healing innocence wounded by the gun 
contrived to celebrate my life as myth. 

Eager to gain legal acknowledgement 
for calculating chemistry of hope, 
I craft component for each curious scene 
in which I play certified clown of faith, 
designed to integrate mineral brains 
based on mutation of logical code. 

Weird assumption of social argument, 
sealed with triode rate in my envelope, 
presents elective destiny to mean 
extraction proves my birthright as the wraith 
assigned to maintain engines of mind planes 
we fly with fuel of visions from the toad. 

Embedded lectures are not guaranteed 
to nourish formal principles of fate, 
so we buy life insurance from the spy 
who always seems to know what integer 
we need to maximize our profit gain 
required by soul mechanics of desire. 

Modified concept of my puzzling creed 
converts opposite patterns from blind hate 
through mechanics of medicinal why 
to published prototype of Lucifer 
I wear as mask in effort to be vain 
with reference to harmony of the choir. 

Mystery programmed in our life narrative 
presents migration of relevant tribes 
regarding ransom notes for refugees 
who seek salvation through false privacy 
managed well by our solemn treasurer 
who requires that I update my world view. 

Religious beliefs far less cognitive 
deliver customized faith with proud vibes 
based on dynamics of sad adoptees 
who choose to live with brave efficiency 
through deviant loyalty to Jupiter 
who chooses Venus for our rendezvous. 

Fractured Globe Of Ghosts

Fractured Globe Of Ghosts
© Surazeus
2026 02 06

Winter brightness blinks from core of my soul 
with closed alacrity of searing glints 
that wrench my freckled happiness with fear 
since hour I first reach out my helpless hands 
for mother of mankind to lift me high 
though I revise my memory with hope. 

Before I fall from complicated choice 
to measure future success with tree limbs, 
I drag withered bag of my punctured pride 
across heat-withered yard of honesty 
that leaves chunks of my memories behind 
which I collect and stew in pot of dreams. 

Adjusting tone of fierce anxiety 
with evening darkness of sequestered thought, 
I name each faceless ghost I meet with number 
to honor stars that blaze across the sky 
and smash our world view into smithereens 
so we remember why we are not born. 

Frost on the window glass of memory 
refracts clear light of wisdom bent to faith 
by severed sighs of wordless desperation 
which I would package with symbols of fate 
to understand how ice erases death 
each time I wake with arrogant surprise. 

So this is how I deconstruct your truth 
from mocking laughter of the greedy priest 
with rooted pleasure to expose your hate 
for everybody on this world but you, 
which leaves us stunned on threshold of world change 
beneath new arch of triumph stained with blood. 

Blurred flicker-flash of my immortal soul 
appears on both sides of the door at once 
with leaping fracture twisted by contempt 
when I cross field of alabaster skulls 
to visit every variant of our world 
till I find paradise unlost on Earth. 

Half sunk in ardent lake of hungry hope, 
I beam electric sparkles through my bones 
because this world should be more beautiful 
though countless creatures have died miserably 
over four hundred million years of lust 
to dominate this fractured globe of ghosts. 

I teach my children secret of this world, 
that we are driven by desire to breed 
new children who incarnate soul of genes, 
yet worship people who succeed as gods, 
dream guides who show us how to kill to live 
because we eat sweet sorrows of our hearts. 

Healed By Cassandra

Healed By Cassandra
© Surazeus
2026 02 06

Heart twisted by sweet laughter of the sea, 
who gives her wrecked ships full of long-lost hopes, 
Hilda brings mass of violets from the marsh, 
tufted with pungent soil in tangled roots, 
to haunt men cluttered in their wave-tossed ships, 
breaking their taut hearts with lies of their thoughts. 

She plans to make disciples of all nations, 
so they can lounge on decks of sinking ships, 
while eating hamburgers and chocolate bars, 
and listen to calm sons of Frankenstein 
play violins and trumpets with pizzazz 
while rich people from bankrupt estates drown. 

Opening her bloody mouth of shark teeth, 
Hilda explains with confident discourse 
that the gold crown with pointed spikes kings wear 
represents the crown of thorns Jesus wore 
while hanging crucified on the phone pole 
as he sings, "Look on the bright side of life." 

Wielding eye-phone as sword Excalibur, 
Hilda photographs leagues of wind-blown sand 
because she loves how little ridges curve 
as great waves of time break over our plans 
and wipe out our empires with calm respect, 
then posts them on her social media site. 

Breaking out beyond the crowded town gate, 
to escape precinct of the temple hall 
where marble statue of Artemis cracks, 
Hilda wanders up cold path of the stream 
on unclaimed stretches of bleak mountain slopes 
to secret altar in the alder grove. 

Leaving Phoebus to his sheltering porch 
of white marble, luminous with his logic 
applied to system of the market game, 
Hilda tries not to think about his eyes 
blue as the restless sea after fierce storm 
that drives her in the cave of lonely toads. 

Far from strident business of shipping ports, 
in jeweled cave among towering pines, 
Hilda breathes mountain air of wild desire, 
and sings enchanting hymn to Artemis 
against rhythms of sycophantic priests 
who try to trap her in garden of walls. 

Ship-wrecked on rough shores of Arcadia, 
Hilda hides from angelic helicopters 
to run with wolves among luminous trees 
far from hard temples of powerful wealth, 
to nurse her bitter heart with fruit of faith, 
healed by Cassandra with voice of the wraith. 

Return To The Blank Room

Return To The Blank Room
© Surazeus
2026 02 05

John wakes up when Fate knocks on his fake door 
with polite insistence of the wet towel 
so he argues with cracked cup at the sink 
while history drips on germ-infested floor 
with calm regret for leaving the burned book 
on the bench in the park where small frogs think. 

Eating eggs and sausage smeared with vain sauce 
at wobbly table set with common sense, 
John thinks about the girl with long red hair 
who never will wave from the train he missed, 
then awkwardly tangles his trench coat on, 
and wears bowler he forgot in the bar. 

Certain he will return to the blank room 
sooner or later with ashamed respect 
for trembling body that Death passes by, 
John thinks about the time he kissed her cheek 
beneath the streetlamp that judges his failure, 
concerned the moon clocks out before his time. 

If we will become briefly infinite, 
despite the way typewriters erase truth 
with holy racket of the gangster code, 
John chooses to believe with wounded heart 
that Tomorrow will forgive our worst sins, 
though Fate records our deeds with broken pencil. 

Since love says nothing about jokes he tells, 
which not even cruel laughter can erase, 
John decides that is the trick of brave faith, 
so he leaves unpolished shoes by the bed 
which walk away while he is fast asleep 
and visits the graveyard where no one lies. 

Arranging numbers in accounting books 
with professional focus of sharp puzzles, 
John misplaces his soul in the bookstore 
where he has never been before the fall, 
forever alone just outside the door 
where he cannot hear her voice in the glass. 

When John hums sad tune of Amazing Grace 
even Death leans in to listen with hope 
though he always gets the simple tune wrong, 
so he sells record of his latest hit 
to Death who breaks it on rock of salvation 
because lyric truth makes him want to cry. 

Because the moon measures passage of time 
in harmony with fast typewriter dance, 
John decides time is sequence of weird words 
that keep arriving with permissive shock 
at vastness from the silent pause of faith 
between each knock that Death raps on his door. 

Door To The Dream World

Door To The Dream World
© Surazeus
2026 02 05

Standing on round table of aging knights, 
Sarmentus shouts with serpent voice of pride 
that worthy men rise up from poverty 
through brave assertion of creative work 
to push through golden doors of elite clubs 
and claim their place at feast table of power. 

What more should humble men of farms endure 
when they perform before greed-bloated king 
to prove inalienable right to exist 
when Herod mocks their country bumpkin talk 
and forces kind Sarmentus with harsh sneer 
to crawl on hands and knees, and bark for food. 

After escaping from gold feasting hall, 
body and mind scarred by brutal abuse, 
Sarmentus stumbles to the River Styx 
where he cleanses sorrow from broken heart, 
then lies on his back beneath sparkling stars 
to remember his brave father Orion. 

Startled from reverie on the river shore, 
Sarmentus sees appear through grove of elms 
graceful Diana with yew bow and arrows 
glide on winged feet over rugged hill, 
long gold hair flowing in cool river breeze, 
while her favorite dog ambles by her side. 

Running along with the swift moon-eyed hunter, 
Sarmentus offers assistance to bear 
with strong arms in wagon of his calm heart 
game she dispatches with accurate aim, 
and though at first she seems annoyed with him 
lithe wood-leaper soon appreciates his help. 

Relaxed in small temple among oak trees, 
Diana rests while Egeria combs her hair, 
Virbius roasts deer steak on the cooking altar, 
and Sarmentus fletches arrows with care, 
binding points he sharpens with focused skill, 
as she peeks at his chest through half-closed eyes. 

Embracing separate bodies in moonlight, 
Diana and Sarmentus merge two souls 
in one romantic blend of gentle faith 
to writhe entangled with attentive trust 
till they transcend bounds of all time and space 
and she becomes pregnant with their love child. 

Suckling baby Janus in gentle arms, 
Diana sings soft lullaby of love 
while gazing in both pairs of curious eyes, 
then Sarmentus teaches his two-faced son 
how to navigate endless maze of myths 
where he stands guard at door to the dream world. 

River Of Dream Keys

River Of Dream Keys
© Surazeus
2026 02 04

Rather than eat the ocean stone of faith, 
while thinking about black milk of the Earth, 
I prefer to become the first apple seed 
that dares to crack the asphalt parking lot 
where holy angels park cars to attend 
church service in glass cathedral of lies. 

Jealous that I found secret jewel mine 
from which I extract wisdom of star gods, 
the faithful servants of the Lord attempt 
to chain my hands in dungeon of despair, 
but I am subtle whisper of the breeze 
that dances on the river of dream keys. 

After selling ice cream to Tantalus 
and soothing hand lotion to Sisyphus, 
Socrates attends the Rolling Stone show 
to dance with wild abandon of the fool 
because he is in love with Hecate 
who brews wine in cavern of innocence. 

Despite regret for beheading the seer 
who prophesied his fall from mental grace, 
King Herod sends goon squad with guns of hate 
to chase immigrants out of paradise, 
so Phoebus builds ark of the covenant 
to sail home on the river of dream keys. 

Forgetful how he came to rule the world, 
the Weeping Jester of Wohalia 
paints portrait of grand eagle on tall pine 
with noble bearing of angelic power, 
then calls Rapunzel in her prison tower 
who listens to him talk about the truth. 

Nobody knows why men kill other men, 
invading valley of the laughing skull 
with principle of faith to colonize 
Garden of Eden with new shopping malls 
where gangsters fight battles for thought control 
over who owns the river of dream keys. 

In our search for freedom in the woke world, 
programmed by urgent need to evade death, 
we give each other fake holiday gifts 
with preciously obscene anguish of love 
while staring at rose window in the church 
that slants conceptual truth with psychic heft. 

Though Jesus Christ will never come again 
because his mortal body is now dust, 
brave spirit of Good Leader he embodied 
appears each generation in the world 
to free the people from cruel tyranny 
so we fish on the river of dream keys. 

Erase My Secret Name

Erase My Secret Name
© Surazeus
2026 02 04

Stuck alone between the heart and the mind, 
floating in the river that swirls nowhere, 
I laugh at how often crows call my name 
as if they know how I feel about love, 
so I explain to them, nothing is real, 
but they insist on giving me mushrooms. 

My brain receives signals from singing trees 
that beam flashes of emotions in code, 
so I listen closely with attuned ears, 
but I cannot understand what they say 
though I fold my hands and attempt to pray 
as I reply with caws wild crows express. 

Clouds glow gold on horizon of my hope 
so I reach out my hand to touch their thoughts 
but I feel nothing since I am so small, 
no more than speck of dust in the vast world, 
no more than drop of water in the sea, 
though I feel the whole world inside of me. 

Electric buzz of frantic arrogance 
jolts suddenly through fail frame of my being, 
so I scream loud to crack the crystal sky 
till my voice vanishes through everywhere, 
which leaves me stranded on the roadless globe, 
laughing at how significant I feel. 

I write my thoughts in letters on the scroll 
that form words linked in writhing sentences 
to bundle flashing concepts in tight pack 
containing huge vision in fractured jars 
yet strange emotions leak out through its cracks 
so I feel confused what I really feel. 

When I sing weird emotions of my heart 
in structured patterns of conceptual thoughts 
defining rapture that expands clear scope 
involved in conscious vision of my mind, 
I feel confident my insight is clear, 
yet people stare at me, then mock my song. 

I wonder with surprise of muted shock 
what alien language outside their purview 
I must be using to express my thoughts 
that no one seems to understand my truth, 
mocking me with vicious sneers of contempt, 
though I sing with beautiful voice of faith. 

Perhaps I should erase my secret name, 
Elijah, from book of the bleeding crow, 
but when cruel people throw stones at my head 
I bat them away with my magic wand, 
then stand before tower of the mad king 
and expose his crimes with dire prophecy. 

Invent Fractured Identities

Invent Fractured Identities
© Surazeus
2026 02 03

I telephone absent friends who are dead 
because eyeless birds are answering machines 
whose eyes of wisdom set the world ablaze 
though I ardently desire to transform 
beyond definition of the sad clown 
who wants to make people laugh as they cry. 

My memories flock across the burning sky 
as ravens searching for the Promised Land 
which I design with perfidy of faith 
through penchant for supple tonalities 
I share with blood-stained angels who detest 
men who abuse people with selfish greed. 

Stymied by corruption of sterile greed, 
my quest to free the world from cage of hope 
persists against iniquities of bombs 
which I encode with riddles of respect 
in constitution of progressive pride 
through checks and balances of honesty. 

Determined to settle colonial scores 
through dispensation of the frightened clerk, 
I sharpen schizophrenic knife of truth 
between discourse of brave equality 
and double-talk of arbitrary power 
based on practice of plundering pure prayers. 

I constantly question the lyric I 
through careful ridicule of structured cost 
by undermining pride of calm concern 
based on writhing analysis of truth 
that shimmers with ethereal travesty 
since I invent fractured identities. 

Amused they crucify the robot clown, 
I host peace conference of global fate 
on holy island of the prison camp 
where bankers play chess with peasants and fools 
when they negotiate fraught settlement 
between opposing gangs of hungry thieves. 

King of the most reviled pariah state, 
I give nicknames to everyone I meet 
when I convince them unicorns are real 
as vibrant shadows of our bleeding hearts 
who steal light of our complex legacy 
by selling cynical doubts to believers. 

Reptilian tears of biographic myth 
reveal entitled right to eat ripe fruit 
that falls from twisted limbs of power poles 
from which hang voiceless lines for telephones 
because we dream of worthless paradise 
while climbing hills in seasons out of time. 

Declare Myself Uncitizen

Declare Myself Uncitizen
© Surazeus
2026 02 03

Straight over broken rocks of rugged hills 
toward azure infinity of the sea 
I walk across Thasos Island at noon 
to join Staphylus in his wicked dance 
for mocking small kings who think they are gods 
though they are hidden in towers of glass. 

My heart spurts blood on barbarian land 
to cleanse attentive angst of thought control 
while soaring wingless across the last sky 
which gains finality beyond exile 
by wrenching free from cubicles of gold 
before blind gods expel me from their myths. 

Since I lost interest in the shining world 
based on supreme fiction of global fame, 
I stand mute on stage bathed in dusty light, 
perched equidistant between East and West 
to map topography of broken minds 
crushed by bland forces of conformity. 

Thus I declare myself Uncitizen 
of every crowded country on the Earth, 
accomplished emblem of democracy 
since I transcend strict borders of the state 
as psychic chameleon with many names 
detached from national greatness of pride. 

I dwell in Middle Earth of shifting tones, 
devalued by elite crowd of the state 
as parrot nomad of the mapless mind 
till I return to my ancestral land 
disguised as savior of humanity, 
trapped by principles of the Underground. 

As the most dangerous public enemy 
who established network of terrorists 
I paint cute demons in the holy book 
with pretty faces of celebrities 
while imprisoned in legend of my fate 
where I watch angels hanged by the world state. 

Threatened by otherness of common folk, 
proud haughty butcher of the twisted tree 
builds walls of Aparthood as paradise 
enclosing special people inside fear 
who buy and sell identity with gold 
melted from skull of Ozymandias. 

Awake at edge of our pulsating world, 
we live in dark times of our poisoned pride 
as sparks streaking vaults of eternity 
to annotate our victories on church walls 
with Voice of the People they crucify 
till Staphylus gives me glass of sour wine. 

Sword Heavy In My Hand

Sword Heavy In My Hand
© Surazeus
2026 02 02

When my just sword grows heavy in my hand 
from brave defense of world democracy, 
I must find the place to end my crusade 
in our noble fight against tyranny, 
so I will face the tyrant with calm faith 
and cast him down from tower of his greed. 

Thus I will sacrifice health of my soul 
to save brave people of Earth from his greed 
by rolling stone of justice up the hill 
so power of the people may roll down 
and smash idol of gold with feet of clay 
that leaves his head lost in waste land of truth. 

Just as spirit of Jesus comes again 
each generation as prophet of freedom, 
spirit of Satan erupts from foul hearts 
with fierce aggression to exploit our souls, 
endless battle between darkness and light 
since Mazda and Iman fought for the crown. 

Nebuchadnezzar with his iron fist, 
Ozymandias with his jeweled crown, 
and Herod with his eagle on the pole, 
possess bodies of morally weak men 
who enforce dictatorship of their greed, 
tearing through institutions with mad rage. 

When weird angelic son of Tantalus, 
shifting deep in dragon egg of our hearts, 
struggles to be born from chrysalis 
of social justice in depths of the well, 
we unleash black dog of our revolution 
and beat our plowshares into swords of fate. 

Weak men who rage against machine of death 
with fierce intention to control the state 
expend intense amounts of energy 
to sustain fragile structure of fake power, 
till they fall exhausted in cave of Hell 
so creative work may blossom in peace. 

All mad kings grasping at rainbows of wealth 
collapse from rotten anguish of despair 
while clever smiths who design work machines 
wave aprons high as flag of liberty 
to design system of social exchange 
that benefits every soul who works well. 

When bloody sword grows heavy in my hand, 
I beat firm function of its sharpened state 
in plowshare I employ to furrow fields, 
and tend wheat as loaf-ward of the warehouse 
disbursing loaves of bread to every soul 
so we may feast while Phoebus plays the lyre. 

Vanish In Wordless Wind

Vanish In Wordless Wind
© Surazeus
2026 02 02

If I stand on the edge of our lost world 
so I look forward and backward at once, 
I might perceive how process of the past 
guides where we go in the future through change 
with clear insight to analyze progress 
we achieve to build on what we conserve. 

Haunted by star-bright ghosts of famous souls 
who performed grand roles on stage of the world, 
I want to record tales of the nameless souls 
who wander nowhere in vast maze of myths 
while they live and die with no role to play 
till their names all vanish in wordless wind. 

Since Death can be adjusted without change 
through strict dynastic system of control 
I build citadels of conceptual truths 
that cannot be dissolved by silent fear 
so I waste not my life with frantic search 
by dancing on the river shore of fate. 

To hear strange voice of Earth in song of fire 
I exit maze of myths with crystal ball 
to stand frail on volcano cauldron rim 
and listen to churning rumble of rocks 
tumble over ocean of liquid metal 
that beams magnetic field from swirling streams. 

Material of the churning iron core, 
effusing through thin mantel of our globe, 
transforms from burning minerals of hope 
to plants that blossom fruit we humans eat 
while we sing hymns in choric harmony 
with seismic waves that pulse in joyful tunes. 

If giant ocean deep inside the Earth 
springs forth from fracture in mirror of time 
organic creatures who breathe oxygen 
may drown in seething waves of endless change 
yet fish will evolve again into humans 
who ache to fly with brave angelic wings. 

Awake from ancient dream of singing stones, 
I register with jovial delight 
I am indigenous to Avalon, 
that mist-veiled island floating in the sea 
where I lived for almost one million years, 
cultivating cherry trees on lake shores. 

With Helen I sail from Laconia 
to populate the world with Calibans 
who dance with drunken revelry of faith 
then program concept of the world wide web 
that weaves our brains in cosmic mind of god 
till meteors smash our globe to smithereens. 

Lost In Fog Of Delusions

Lost In Fog Of Delusions
© Surazeus
2026 02 01

This republic of ours I vow to keep 
by joining with my fellow human beings 
to maintain fair justice for every soul, 
declares the oak on Seventh Avenue 
where people tie yellow ribbons of faith 
to celebrate this time of all last things. 

Snow covers round table in the back yard 
where ghosts of animals who never speak 
gather to discuss how democracy 
should encourage our loyal brotherhood 
in fighting to defend the sacred right 
of every breathing person to live free. 

Based on heroic wealth of hall and bower, 
my project to redeem this angry world 
leads me to search for sword and pen of truth 
in stagnant water of our crowded land 
so mighty souls of Milton and Wordsworth 
may teach us brave freedom of the small voice. 

Their souls still shine in firmament of faith 
that shelters scattered peoples of our land 
where we now dwell in teeming maze of myths 
with selfish wisdom of majestic pride 
to mission to expand scope of our laws 
enforcing equal rights for every soul. 

Greedy taskmasters in towers of glass 
oppress our freedom to express dark fears 
that haunt our daily exercise of speech 
because we stumble toward paradise lost 
in fog of delusions our hearts discharge 
in frantic quest to find the Promised Land. 

What noble purpose to build paradise 
once challenged our bestial hearts to aspire 
with courage to transcend our tribal past 
and dwell in peaceful commune on lush land 
with fellow humans from diverse estates 
as we strive to create Heaven on Earth. 

Unchecked power of cruel self-proclaimed kings 
who grasp state power with familial wealth 
was rendered obsolete by brutal wars 
they fought to maintain fascist grip of greed 
so we elect with liberty-bound vote 
wise man whose program benefits us all. 

Though gang of thieves disguised as oligarchs 
threatens to seize control of federal gears 
so they can exploit labor of our hands, 
we join Minerva in her noble quest 
to keep our brave republic free from greed 
so we live as we will, if we harm none. 

Material Otherness of Nature

Material Otherness of Nature
© Surazeus
2026 02 01

Though grim shadow of mortality haunts 
harsh hills of prelapsarian Arcady 
full of lovesick shepherds and prancing sheep, 
I search for vision of transcendent truth 
through experience of Nature I record, 
suspicious of mystical sentiment. 

If shimmer of pure sentimental love 
for Nature distorts perception of life, 
I shall assert my clear identity, 
reflected in Narcissan pool of fate, 
and conduct solemn quest with open heart 
to comprehend essential soul of Earth. 

Alone on hilltop by the windswept tree, 
where I enclose the whole Earth in broad scope 
of my world view projected from its base, 
I seek God in clear absence of its power 
through which my consciousness expands to glow 
in tune with numinous phantom of love. 

Since humble shepherd with the raven quill 
advises I look at the land with love 
and not confuse my own flesh for its field, 
I feel its blank indifference to fate 
almost seem to mock effort of my will, 
but I laugh knowing Nature has no mind. 

Material Otherness of Nature glows 
with personality my mind projects 
so I see in vitality of fruitful trees 
compassion for fragile being of my soul 
which is not there in radiance of its growth, 
pathetic fallacy of fearful hope. 

When scolding moralist with magic wand 
cautions me to avoid idolatry 
that worships mindless Nature as its God, 
I cast aside delusions of false pride 
that local spirit of this land loves me, 
and treasure spinning Earth is glob of dirt. 

That vision of God on huge mossy rock, 
who seems to gaze at me with loving eyes, 
I realize through epiphany of faith 
embodies soul of my ancestral fathers 
whose guidance showed each new child how to live, 
mortals providing ideal form for God. 

Nature bristles with bright ancestral souls 
of all my fathers and mothers who lived 
millions of years in vales by sparkling streams 
with negative magnitude of mind power 
so God embodies spirits of their love 
awake in conscious dreaming of my brain. 

We Hear The Weeper

We Hear The Weeper
© Surazeus
2026 02 01

If every dream deferred were to explode 
with fear from sweet syrup of rotten meat, 
then Red Maria with hands of hawk wings 
will lead the hungry refugees of war 
across the Jordan River of despair 
and to crumbling church where devils sing. 

When Red Maria passes by my home 
to tell us how the new day has begun, 
we turn away from where war always burns 
to hide in silver mist from factories 
that shroud the lake of fish in silent rage 
where singing stones inform us of the score. 

If we should all arrive in Lombardy 
where rumors of mutual acquaintances 
reveal secret code of conspiracies, 
I shall prowl restless archives of my mind 
to find the gentle Monster of our state 
who wants to sing instead of scaring us. 

Hydra-headed bird of America 
lurches with wounded wing of arrogance 
across the windy prairie of the heart 
to ask if Red Maria could restore 
score for our cheerful tune of nourishment 
despite how milk-cart horses wait for wealth. 

We hear the Weeper in the doorless home, 
whose voice is querulous with shrill regret, 
express blind silhouette of wordless grief 
explicit with strange idiom of the street 
preserved in dictionaries no one reads, 
since we are all reluctant witnesses. 

Packed on the bus that bears dead souls to Hell, 
we race through forest of the howling wolf 
in vain attempt to escape bombs of rage 
by seeking ticket to the Promised Land 
without pretense of pleasure in fine art, 
hearts tangled in strings of the violin. 

We face our fate with courage of the fool 
while all the world weeps at harsh tyranny 
established by cruel kindness of the king 
who would pardon both assassin and thief 
by stabbing them with smile of unfair law 
that traps us in these strange times of despair. 

Over the trading world in fractured ship 
Odysseus sails beyond all legal bounds 
to grasp lost treasure with his diamond hand 
by selling coal to peasants in glass shacks 
who vote for Sun Thief as World President 
while clutching at their useless dreams deferred. 

Moral Parasites Of Faith

Moral Parasites Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 02 01

If we are moral parasites of faith 
then life is programmed to generate life 
when self-replicating genes of molecules 
design new bodies to maintain concept 
of lithe organic hope while God evolves 
from fish to wingless angel born of angst. 

Hygeia gives me grail of honey wine 
that wakes immortal soul of divine genes 
bright in my brain as timeless energy 
composed of memories my ancestors lived 
which programs how my mind perceives the world, 
inventing quest for my soul to fulfill. 

Transparent flame of conscious energy 
contrives to cause my brain to visualize 
stone wall enclosing garden of fruit trees 
so I play architect of paradise 
constructing haven to protect my clan 
in cathedral of bones where angels pray. 

We worship Wise Fool, who woke from weird dream 
with conscious vision of our spinning world, 
as God who teaches secret of rebirth 
through conjugal relations which conceive 
new bodies for immortal soul of genes 
so children carry on our legacy. 

Love urges me to find soul mate of hope 
so we transform our dreams of paradise 
to children running in lush yard of trees 
where they play hide and seek to learn the game 
of social power, trapped by hierarchy 
by judging who can eat and breed new souls. 

Erased by mirror of conceptual thoughts, 
I project bright silhouette of my soul 
as faceless shadow encoded in verse 
which reprograms how brains perceive the world 
so strangers recite spells dispelling curse 
that opens space for selfless love to grow. 

Awake through divine fever of desire, 
though trapped in mortal shell of aching flesh, 
I journey on quest for the Holy Grail 
that drove my ancestors for centuries 
to expand from castle on hill of faith 
and build world empire to enheaven Earth. 

Arresting progress of my world conquest, 
shocked at aggressive stance of blinding fear, 
I survey wreck of history in old myths, 
preserved in fractured nations of the world, 
and wonder how we plan redesign 
social system to equalize all souls. 

Raised Fist Of Desire

Raised Fist Of Desire
© Surazeus
2026 01 31

Glass city clenches raised fist of desire 
with knuckles whitened by harsh winter light 
that signs its name in smoke along gray docks 
with brute authority of iron rules 
that click sharp as rosary beads in the head, 
each prayer grim bargain struck with appetite. 

Since power prefers mirror of respect 
instead of human face that hides intent, 
it studies angled posture of slow grins 
that pass for brave conviction on the stage 
where mortals portray gods with human grace 
before assassination of the heart. 

Power sits at home in slippers and robe, 
and sips hot tea while counting silver spoons 
passed down as heritage from merchant kings 
when fathers harden sons with silver coins 
as profits kept in ledgers by the hearth 
through blessings rationed thin on winter nights. 

History enters hall of haughty tycoons, 
dragging rusty anchor through living rooms, 
to offer glass of wine with palsied hand 
to faithful dogs who always bark on cue, 
while those who bite the feeding hand will bleed 
black tears of sorrow in the surging sea. 

Young heroes seeking glory in the game 
may trip on names and dates of broken vows 
when they attempt to wake from gold-filled vault 
blind ghost of Fortune who requires their hand 
in bargain with the Devil bought with hope 
to steal the pot of truth from leprechauns. 

Cracked radio recites weird measured calm 
of aching violins that makes wives cry, 
while sirens teach hard streets the sharper truth 
that strength and wiles will always win the day 
in second civil war to rule the world 
fought long between the Joker and the Thief. 

Shy savior who appears from swirling smoke 
feels power pulse from bruise beneath his skin 
as weather front that chooses who will freeze 
which leaves dark print of ash at tender touch, 
yet when he wields lost sword of just reward 
his bullhorn voice is silenced by cruel lies. 

Still when he stands on tower of lost faith, 
stripped of awe at grand principles of good, 
he feels brute power shiver with torn wings 
as moth caught in vast spider web of rage, 
strange truth that dies when he names it aloud, 
yet rises strong when he names it again. 

Fields Of Mute Bones

Fields Of Mute Bones
© Surazeus
2026 01 31

Young silent menace wanders mountain trails 
to find ghosts of her childhood by the lake 
where flowers transform our bodies of flesh 
to unseen beauty of assertive faith, 
yet search for secret identity fails 
through revelation of the falling rain. 

Awake in forest of anxieties 
without broken lamp of Diogenes, 
he gathers apples in basket of faith, 
yet ponders cost of his self-sacrifice 
to save the world from tyranny of greed 
when men destroy what they cannot possess. 

When she brings wet lavender to his home 
and gives him cinnamon of her desire, 
he gives her cheerful sparrow of his heart, 
so they sit by the pool of gold moonlight 
and smile shyly as they eat apple pie 
while they invent new language of their love. 

Her song of longing wakes him from strange dream 
so he gathers stones of the mountain trail 
to repair crumbling wall of paradise 
and fix the leaky roof of their small house 
to keep her warm and dry in winter rains 
that weave new rivers in fields of mute bones. 

Because his homeland has become deep well 
that fountains sorrow from his wounded chest, 
he gives loaves of bread with honey and nuts 
to all his neighbors in dark anxious woods, 
then kneels before shrine of the faceless god 
carved from scented pine that gleams in ice rain. 

While he is sweating in fever of fear, 
she nourishes his wisdom-wounded heart 
with milk of stellar light drawn from the moon 
that writhes trapped in limbs of the hawthorn tree 
though she prays to the impossible sky 
for miracle from stones that question why. 

Stopping as she gathers herbs in dark woods, 
she observes the clock of infinite time 
that ticks in trunk of the elegant tree 
to measure transformation of her heart 
urged by pain to assume passionate love 
for every creature living in the world. 

Breathing ethereal spirit of the moon, 
she determines to remain honorable 
with plan to survive evil of this world, 
so she hugs him when he wakes from weird dream, 
and caresses his cheek with ghostly hand 
that dissipates into swirls of snowflakes. 

Find Tellurian Beryl

Find Tellurian Beryl
© Surazeus
2026 01 31

I will never tire of this spectacle 
of humans fighting each other for power 
for that is all we have done to each other 
through ten thousand years of the miracle 
we call strange passion of living in peril 
on sacred quest to find Tellurian Beryl. 

Dark energy of life that moves our souls 
in harmony with seasons of sea tides 
contrives no grand goal of hope, yet abides 
as blind lust driving us to play our roles 
in global theater of tragic fame 
that bleeds with wealth from idol without name. 

Thus I record with chronicles of fear 
senseless splendor of love we dare express 
stumbling across Bridge of Forgetfulness 
to win ruthless grace of the puppeteer 
who mocks our victories with hollow praise 
even as we transcend each psychic phase. 

I shall not think of those I love as dead 
though they are ghosts my song revives with care 
for grief of loss fuels energy we share 
till they are but faint shadows in my head 
who build snow demon on our sun-bright yard, 
safe in paradise where I still stand guard. 

No more do I feel terror of the grave 
for that small hole in surface of this world, 
where I rest after I play cosmic herald, 
converts my body to its spirit wave 
which beams my voice to radio of faith 
so you hear haunting song of my star wraith. 

Awake in higher consciousness from pain 
that spurs our mental growth from animal 
to god whose thoughts are philosophical, 
I grasp dire emptiness of social gain 
entrapped by fraud of mental suffering 
which I forge as horcrux in magic ring. 

Inured to agony of knowing fate 
that calculates how every soul will die, 
I search for Ungod in soul-empty sky 
till I know how to extract love from hate 
in progress that blooms from truth I believe 
to generate new life our hearts conceive. 

Startled awake from dream of crowded towns, 
I float in viridescent haze of tunes 
that fill my sky with hundred million moons 
bright as fire-lit forts on mist-shrouded downs 
where my angelic heart becomes more feral 
when I gaze deep in found Tellurian Beryl. 

Masked With Seraphic Light

Masked With Seraphic Light
© Surazeus
2026 01 31

Embrace my body when I die, great Earth, 
so I may live masked with seraphic light 
bestowed as grace by angel of my heart 
who congregates in one immortal Muse 
all female ancestors who weave my soul 
from their memories that program how I love. 

Ascension on effective wings of faith 
provides pure psychic energy of hope 
for me to dance on light quicksilver toes 
on winding path around harsh obstacles 
so I evade cruel Death in Slough of Despond 
when I transform on whirring edge of night. 

Blind Mother Sea creates from beams of light 
these heavy bodies of muscles on bones 
through which immortal spirit of our genes 
transcends immensity of pulsing byss 
along jeweled streams to sheltering lakes 
where we rise from water to walk on Earth. 

While hard Earth, carved in curves by wind and rain, 
supports our journey to the Promised Land, 
she shelters our frail bodies in her heart 
when temporary nodes of conscious souls 
wither and decay till we fade away 
and sleep while our children maintain our soul. 

Perennial flowers bloom from corpse of God 
whose chemical engine of chugging veins 
urges passionate response of tense hope 
as Isis searches every land on Earth 
to find his severed limbs of rotten flesh 
and sew fragments of Horus in one mind. 

Now wild Prometheus, restored to life 
by Doctor Frankenstein in castle tower, 
presides over corporate empire of wealth 
that binds sovereign nations with strands of greed 
in global state of fraught relationships 
as fractured federation based on faith. 

Yet Queen of Maytime, rising from despair, 
still burning bright with holy taunts of prayer, 
howls wild with mantra of the flower child 
to rule war-torn world as Lord of Misrule 
so Jesus joins with Buddha on high hill 
to flash the world awake with blinking eye. 

All brutal tyrants grasping reins of power, 
who try to kill all who oppose their rule, 
exhaust their souls from bitter rage of hate 
when Earth embraces them with gentle arms 
and snuffs out flames of war so trees of fruit 
may bloom from corpses of their rotten souls. 

Tathagata With Nine Eyes

Tathagata With Nine Eyes
© Surazeus
2026 01 30

When she travels back to land of her birth, 
small island ever floating in blue mist, 
she finds photos and relics of the past 
as treasures that vibrate with psychic signs 
containing spirits her ancestors beam 
that preserve their memories in mute form. 

When she opens old leather-covered book 
to read poems her great-grandmother composed 
concerning life of curious characters 
who lived in village by the mountain lake, 
dust of her long-vanished soul from the page 
causes her to sneeze as she starts to cry. 

Fragile photo with crumbling edges gleams 
with gray fading ghost of the slender girl 
wearing long batik skirt and white lace blouse 
whose body aged and vanished long ago, 
wrinkled and thin as long vine in moist heat, 
eyes black with beauty of the midnight moon. 

She rides Garuda halfway round the Earth 
to visit village by the muddy stream 
and walk in grove of old banana trees 
where her ancestors lived six thousand years, 
lush paradise now teeming with small cars 
that crowd narrow roads in vast city maze. 

She opens tin box hidden in the drawer 
to find small jewel her ancestor found 
eight hundred years ago one afternoon 
when he was hunting demons in dark woods 
on slope of Mount Semeru where swift birds 
lead him to cavern of One-World God. 

Enchanted by tune of the Gamelan 
that rings with voice of Nyai Roro Kidul 
in sun-gleaming temple of Achintya, 
she ponders oneness of all deities 
who emanate from supreme nothingness 
to manifest multiple states of mind. 

She feels glow deep in vastness of her heart 
emptiness of truth that beams energy 
composing all material forms of being, 
so she takes new selfie with her eye-phone 
and posts it on her social media site 
to preserve ancestral soul of her heart. 

Having worked her way up to state of love 
for every creature living on this Earth, 
she becomes Tathagata with nine eyes 
as she glides gracefully on glowing clouds 
when she returns home to Oconia 
where she eats Batavia soup with her family. 

World King By Accident

World King By Accident
© Surazeus
2026 01 30

Commencing slide into abyss of faith, 
we try to surf electric waves of truth, 
but tumble laughing with frantic delight, 
sprawled across fraught landscape of broken skulls 
because our faces are erased by light 
though we humans invent magical tools. 

Despite arduous task assigned by God 
to build social system from psychic mud, 
we skip with carefree joy of happy fools 
in haunted valleys of Elysian Fields 
to rescue children from church-funded schools 
in scenes depicted on Achillean shields. 

Digging trench to assemble water main 
which channels spirit energy of rain, 
Daedalus directs construction project 
to link our hearts across Antarctic waste 
according to plans of the Architect 
on which our social system will be based. 

Arrest of Midas and Herod at last 
will prove the second civil war is past 
when journalists reporting latest news 
find Isaiah mute on the White House lawn 
after he escapes with help of the Muse 
from gulag prison of the Golden Dawn. 

While twanging electric guitar on stage 
to sing lyrics that express youthful rage 
against machine of empire we oppose, 
Bacchus collapses from huge heart attack 
that blooms from his heart as angelic rose, 
recorded live on film with the laugh track. 

Mask of his face illuminated bright 
when Fame finds Mad Prophet with truth spotlight, 
Phoebus declares campaign for President 
when he preaches salvation by faith of works, 
then finds himself World King by accident, 
so he rules wisely without power perks. 

Electrocuted by conceptual wire 
of language code programmed for global choir, 
Jove plays police with authority voice 
with crucial help from lamp clown Lucifer 
who preaches truth by democratic choice, 
conceived through Liberty by Jupiter. 

Crowned God by Melusine and Guinevere, 
to nurture people as the Puppeteer, 
new World Messiah floats on pyramid 
as Big Brother watching all with One Eye 
to guide our growth beyond being Hominid 
till I fall head-first from Heavenless sky. 

Pencil Of Secret Codes

Pencil Of Secret Codes
© Surazeus
2026 01 29

Not clever enough to avoid the trap 
of telling sick jokes to the lizard king, 
cute ray of sunshine dressed in methane skirt 
nurses child of the devil with black milk 
while chewing the pencil of secret codes 
that crouch with moon toads in abandoned mines. 

Adjusting perspective through edgy truth, 
she deals with hilarious opposites 
that pivot around Still Point of all time 
within framework of cerebral concepts 
based on project to design new world view 
that deconstructs imperial rule with lies. 

Misdirect focus of attentive greed 
from propaganda project to brainwash 
fools willing to believe religious tales 
presenting miracles as measured facts 
which support grand state ideology 
so we can see essential truth of being. 

She surfs event horizon of star waves 
with graceful anguish of lonely respect 
through slow revolving door of formal change 
programming how we understand the real 
based on aggressive twinkle of brain stars 
that twitch in cosmic wind of endless change. 

Raindrops paint dry dirt with radiant eyes 
that dazzle hearts of young vivacious ghosts 
who count how many crows fly outside time 
forever west to find where the sun hides 
with sharp intention of untampered books 
to build palace of notes from broken bones. 

Immaterial orchids by garden pool 
explain confusion about soul rebirth 
involving various objects without names 
that we assemble inside walls of stone 
with plan to purchase from ghost in the cave 
house of the haunting melody we play. 

Amorphous desire of rational fate 
urges me to invent new simple words 
that lurk on edge of aesthetic regret 
through intellectual game of puzzling charge 
based on sensational spark of dawn light 
that misleads progress of our retrospect. 

Social collision between private kings 
and public jesters over whose world view 
will better assimilate in one myth 
psychic trauma every human endures 
transforms countless warring states of the Earth 
in global drama no one wants to play. 

Curse Of Global Fame

Curse Of Global Fame
© Surazeus
2026 01 29

This collapse of our old world view is no loss 
because blind butterflies carry gold stones 
to build colossal web of fragile words 
from shining filaments of memories 
which maps how glass bees pollenate our brains 
with frantic visions of escaping cars. 

When first my pencil beautifies the world 
with breathing figures sprung from rancid eggs, 
I purchase prospects to give soul delight 
with new creation blooming from fake sight 
that spurs my deathless passion to transcend 
hard obstacles that block my noble path. 

Trapped deep in maze of my seraphic theme, 
I hide in vain from curse of global fame 
to survey blissful wonders of the sky 
we share with every living soul on Earth 
which should elate our brains with wishful keys 
that opens gate to splendid hall of fears. 

Celestial Salem settled long on Earth 
decays from endless centuries of change, 
no longer calm from lost serenity 
despite how high my Muse ascends to Heaven  
with balmy wings now crippled by contest 
to mold weird vision in tablets of fire. 

Blinded by radiance of her bitter eyes, 
Damon guards Aurora with hard work, 
adjusting parts of engines with steel tools 
in brick garage near highway of brave wealth 
that shimmers on ethereal plain of hope 
beside the warehouse full of romance books. 

I fix my ardent view on moon-haze goal 
to map whole history of our spinning world 
with tale of each lost soul on signless road 
composing chronicle of long-dead gods 
who spread seraphic pinions with intent 
to savor anguish of this comic hour. 

Majestic grandeur of thundering flash, 
that luminates abyss between our worlds, 
expands from passion of my mountain wing 
when Zephyr dances in bomb-shattered church 
to gather pages torn from book of dreams 
and weave them in new global myth of fame. 

We bear in trembling hands of honesty 
fragments of our lost world view with care 
with arduous task of intricate concern 
to assemble new puzzle of world truth 
which assimilates all religions in creed 
that factors all obsessions in one myth. 

Crippled By Attentive Lies

Crippled By Attentive Lies
© Surazeus
2026 01 28

Whatever the wind carries my heart will lose 
because its pain-carved riverbed contains 
memories of my youth scattered on dry plains 
in strange country with language devils speak 
through riddles about my fugitive past 
since time omits my being from beams of light. 

Fake mask I wear through solidarity 
with faceless strangers I meet on long roads 
reveals no anger twisting my hard heart 
with fierce solidity of transient truth 
too terrible for children to recall 
based on ambiguous stories of the fall. 

Guilt-laced cape draped with calm alacrity 
exiles my soul to vale of absent grief 
shaped thick from shadows no one dares retrieve 
though I walk crippled by attentive lies 
in place unreconciled by correct laws 
beneath renegade star of fate I sell. 

Shape of my shadow, heavy on frail Earth, 
regrets how guiding constellations prove 
altered course is not incorrect way home 
though I maintain calm dignity of fear 
based on crumbling grace of abandonment 
against belief people cling to with hate. 

Penance purchased in marketplace of rage 
contrives reward for deeds of wretched hope 
despite concern innocent friends express 
in proverbs tangled by electric words 
that teach us how to survive lies we choose 
if we should cover our tracks with sly laugh. 

Because I think of how apples may fall 
at bitter crack of brave barbarity, 
I play my own ghost in bright morning glow 
by treading iced path up high rugged hill 
where I survey lush valleys of wheat farms 
while flakes of snow swirl cutely from gray clouds. 

Gestures of my fingers weaving weird words 
manipulate auras beaming from brains 
fractured by paradigm shift where old truths 
reframe spooky perception by new faith 
presenting morals for how we behave 
as rules enforced by the world justice squad. 

Amused by anguish of electric eyes 
that glows with optimistic view of change, 
I find my memories carried by the wind, 
scattered as feathers on dry river shore 
because I meditate ten million years 
on how nothing is solved with honest tears.