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. 

Build Empire Of Liberty

Build Empire Of Liberty
© Surazeus
2026 01 28

Through adulation of exploding stars 
we celebrate national independence 
from fascist gangsters wearing crowns of gold 
to fight for justice and freedom for all 
in name of democratic principles 
on which we build empire of liberty. 

Awake as angels in our holy mountains, 
we dig our ancient names from soil of faith 
to build enormous statue from our fear 
that honors heroes who perform great deeds 
to free every people from slavery, 
inspired by ancient songs of troubadours. 

Affirmative in action of the mind, 
we join with refugees from many nations 
to form world state with liberty for all 
based on names of heroes on the black wall 
digested by malice of billionaires 
who fear romantic songs of the wild people. 

Harmonious America unites 
tribes from every nation of the world 
in fierce contentious system of respect 
beneath universal sky of the Ungod 
whose spirit glows the more we love each other 
as we unite to fight cruel men with guns. 

We sing our elegies and jubilees 
with humble hope to build safe paradise 
for every person living on this globe 
who work together sea to shining sea 
to nurture new world born from all our hearts 
with courage to face murderers with guns. 

Each day the world ends in apocalypse 
we clear away crimes evil men commit 
to build new world from our wagons and boats 
that we employ to find the Promised Land 
where Liberty stands in Temple of Truth 
to guide our way with fragile light of hope. 

Though I fall wingless in the ring of fire 
and walk the signless road of everywhere, 
your love weaves new wings on my wounded heart 
so I rise as Lucifer who bears light 
to lead lost souls to Heaven we create 
from prophet-singing skulls of our ancestors. 

When I retrieve the Golden Fleece of faith 
from lawless land of gangsters in gold castles 
I stand on pyramid of the one eye 
and give my testimony to the world 
that we fight thieves and slavers with courage 
though they shoot hundred million of us dead. 

Way Too Far Away

Way Too Far Away
© Surazeus
2026 01 27

Even though you seem way too far away, 
remote as cold stars of unmeasured time, 
my heart returns from void of snowy fields 
so I can reach across abyss of fear 
and give you treasure I found in the woods, 
which must not be the shadow of my name. 

Therefore I shall outline multiple paths 
to gain majority of voiceless thoughts 
across rugged terrain of secret hopes 
where forsythia spills over river banks 
in disabled meadow of broken doors 
where curious children invent new myths. 

Durable books contain our enterprise 
to climb inflated hills of heritage, 
impressive with knowledge of integers 
introduced by jewels in faceless ponds 
where mutual friends ponder new mystery 
concerning novel ownership of faith. 

Petulant lovers exchange moral jokes 
based on productive game of give and take 
fueled by fierce opposition to loss 
despite arrogant state of curious doubt 
that strengthens our fraught relationship well 
enough to notice our hard-earned success. 

Avoiding pitfalls every teacher maps 
through pledge to investigate observed facts 
with measured analysis based on fear, 
we consolidate unspoken concerns 
in clever proverbs old people recite 
when they remember lessons learned from pain. 

Through strife to become more consciously real 
as organic being of chemical lust 
I transcend bitter angst of suffering 
which liberates my soul from prison camp 
where my mind stays trapped after eighty years 
though my body lounges in paradise. 

Paradox of still shapes that never move 
through shards of time devised by ticking clocks 
reveals illusion of motion I rule 
as spiral swirl computing finite curve 
that arcs conceptual change of constant war 
toward perfect impersonation of God. 

Beyond the utmost bound of divine words 
I follow knowledge on the Golden Path 
through dream-tangled woods of pulsing masks 
to catch electric star of blood-hot faith 
that leaves me stranded in yard of your heart 
so we can be together for all time. 

Black Milk Of Daybreak

Black Milk Of Daybreak
© Surazeus
2026 01 27

Once again we drink black milk of daybreak 
while digging graves for our teachers and nurses 
who tend festering wounds in doorless rooms 
where the blind man writes with tooth of the snake 
riddles on walls of museums and churches 
that bleed words of truth in eyes of the ground. 

Each morning we drink black milk of daybreak 
to make room for more graves in empty clouds 
where faceless ghosts of people with lost names 
hide stories of harsh suffering they endure 
deep in blinking hearts of red traffic lights 
that signal our duty to oppose hate. 

Each lunchtime we drink black milk of daybreak 
while flames of world war consume garden trees 
where Sulamith plays with serpent of truth 
who recites riddles from book of fake lies 
that prophesy fall of America 
and rise of Zarathia to rule Earth. 

Each evening we drink black milk of daybreak 
while Albert plays electric violin 
to raise soul of Odysseus from the dead 
who catches capital bullets of rage 
with psychic aperture of his blue eye 
since he lives in the house with countless graves. 

Each midnight we drink black milk of daybreak 
since Margarete with the long golden hair 
wanders in the house of the rising sun 
to transform nuclear missiles of despair 
into blackberry vines of innocence 
so she can bake pies from our wounded hearts. 

We decide to drink black milk of daybreak 
because the bridge of happiness we built 
collapses in swift River Styx of change 
through urgent pride of honest arrogance 
to assert principles of thought control 
hidden by polished mask of Jupiter. 

No one wants to drink black milk of daybreak 
during the century of global wars 
when angels in airplanes bomb paradise 
as spies infiltrate foreign governments 
till time assimilates nations of gangs 
in peaceful United Nations of Earth. 

I refuse to drink black milk of daybreak 
after digging graves for millions of souls 
who haunt me on long restless afternoons 
so I record their names and tragic lives 
in sacred chronicle of the blind crow 
while I float in house of eight billion doors. 

Most Lonely Telephone

Most Lonely Telephone
© Surazeus
2026 01 26

If I ever forget why children cry 
I will become the most lonely telephone 
that never rings across the countryside 
where I hang out on trunk of the old elm, 
ignoring angels falling from the sky 
in terrible war against silver planes. 

When she finds the gold-spotted serpent egg, 
Tellus slips it in straw basket of grass, 
then runs graceful as lithe deer in the woods 
to small cave by the gleaming pool of gems 
where she fries it in the skillet to eat, 
then leans against old elm to count the crows. 

Young slender man in brown suit and red tie 
steps from the motorcar in polished shoes, 
and asks the girl with flowers in her hair 
where he can find the waterfall of wrens, 
so she leads him through shadows of old elms 
while chattering about how angels cry. 

Three grim men in black suits with machine guns 
burst into the grove by the waterfall 
where Belenus stares in shock of surprise, 
but Tellus twirls around and kicks the guns, 
and fights all three goons in martial combat, 
whacking them on their heads with willow wand. 

After they run away into the woods, 
Tellus sits on the grass and spreads her skirt, 
then offers him sandwich of beef and cheese, 
so he devours her lunch with eager joy, 
then recites poetry while they drink wine, 
and she dances gleefully at sunset. 

Embraced in twinkle of eternal stars, 
Belenus and Tellus make love with relish 
of passionate bliss with blooming of flowers 
that tremble when bees drink nectar of faith 
to pollinate their pistils from their stamens 
till sunburst scatters dew to soak lush hills. 

When their son Lugus reaches eighteen years 
he joins the royal rifle regiment 
sent overseas to hills of Hindustan 
where he climbs rugged trail to mountain cave 
and falls in love with graceful Parvati 
who plays haunting melodies on the flute. 

While Lugus is building new four-wheeled wagon 
and Parvati is frying Paratha bread, 
grand silver airplane of imperial power 
drops righteous bomb that blasts their mountain hut 
and rips their bodies so they lie on grass 
trembling in pain as they embrace and kiss. 

Evasive Algebra Of Faith

Evasive Algebra Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 01 26

I have never wondered when I will die 
because Death will unalive my hot soul 
so suddenly my conscious sense of self 
will puff out into lightless nothingness 
as I fall endlessly in sea of gloom 
and dissipate into light of the moon. 

While still aware of pulsing pulchritude 
that gushes hotly through my quivering flesh, 
I grasp at beauty of clear nothingness 
by letting go deep breath of agony 
so I release grip on meaning of life 
which I designed to balance me afloat. 

My heart beats wild with time-ascending wings 
to gallop swiftly along river shores 
beyond horizon of the flaming dawn 
with eager passion to fly among clouds, 
but stumble into evening glow of fear 
and lie unbodied by the singing tree. 

Calm stillness cloaking me with cricket chirps 
enshrouds my naked soul in twilight gloom 
of blue dispersal fading into thoughts 
concerning how roots curl into my flesh 
and suck my body dry of bitter tears 
so I spring laughing into flash of day. 

Implied assertion of extreme regret 
explains foundation formed from graphic seeds 
yet neutral to contrived accomplishments 
which caravans of blind angels broadcast 
through bulletins of wedding catalogs 
that strikes with valid voltage of respect. 

Alone surviving on wisdom of truths, 
claimed as welfare by winners of rigged games, 
I sample unique response of grim gods 
restricted by signals of scheduled tricks 
encoding sensors of routine upgrades 
contrary to testament of the seer. 

Segments of nature model innocence 
by which we network merchant companies 
retrieving options of unlicensed games 
through hybrid justice still unjustified 
in context of agreements no one signs 
with boolean bankruptcy of avatars. 

Because I know exactly when I die, 
based on evasive algebra of faith, 
I play appellant in court of brave lies 
enforced by discipline of holy jokes 
encrypted as dependence on vain trust 
since I cannot duplicate my dream brain. 

Weird Music Of The Stars

Weird Music Of The Stars
© Surazeus
2026 01 26

Acerbic laughter through fury of art 
inspires unwavering vision of the cool 
with meticulous craft of ardent truth 
based on generous dedication to love 
which serves our bodily autonomy 
for dancing to weird music of the stars. 

Refusal to perform heart-broken clown 
for blood-thirsty crowd of fierce warriors, 
who battle tyranny of legal words, 
remains the primal goal of my project 
to be intimate with mask of my soul 
that conceals my secret identify. 

Unafraid to speak the obvious truth 
about class we inherit from dead gods, 
because we thrive with ruthless honesty, 
I inhabit random gender of fate 
through fertile generation of new ghosts 
who animate robotic shell of hope. 

Laser-focused on trouble spots in spells 
my brain unspools from anguish of respect 
through chance survival of exploding words, 
I explore uncanny valley of lies 
to trace journey of my strange life from Hell 
in process of finding my place on Earth. 

Born in bright valley of nine singing skulls, 
I know mute sadness in the wings of crows 
that guide my path across the trackless waste 
where I can change into wolf of my heart 
to protect my family from greedy thieves 
because we have always lived by the sea. 

Long prayers to ocean tides and mountain peaks 
conjure ghosts of my ancestors from stones 
smoothed by millions of years of gentle waves 
so I can ask them what experiences 
that they endured program how I see life 
as manifestation of my desires. 

Numinous phantom of the holy pearl 
glows before my eyes on wind-swept beach, 
who gazes deep in hollow of my heart 
with countless eyes of stars in her moon face, 
so I offer apple of naked trust 
which she transforms into my pulsing heart. 

Ferocity through humorous restraint 
braids each random day I experience 
in spooling film of pretty memories 
to frame bitterness of abandoned grief 
as menace I embody when I sing 
empathic clarity of selfless love. 

Nothingness Of The Universe

Nothingness Of The Universe
© Surazeus
2026 01 26

Brilliant nothingness of the universe 
fills my heart with swirling rivers of joy 
for I have heard soul of the water sing 
four hundred million years of turning time 
in melodies that vibrate through my mind 
so all my cells ring with pure cosmic chime. 

Aching nothingness of the frozen hour 
traps my dreaming mind in form of my body 
so I breathe deep celestial thoughts of light 
to sing in harmony with flashing stars 
that weave my soul in tapestry of time 
which signifies my being with secret name. 

Urgent nothingness of my daily task 
rewinds my memories into ringing phones 
so I call everyone alive on Earth 
to ask if they remember timeless hour 
when our common First Mother woke from dream 
and sang first wordless song of human hope. 

Fertile nothingness of wide rain-soaked fields 
provides encouragement of sacred code 
which cows express in wisdom of fresh grass 
so I play flute of soft mercurial wail 
that wakes eight billion souls from water dream 
with passion to attend World Festival. 

Patient nothingness of hand-fashioned crafts 
supports productive factories of faith 
so we construct new civil infrastructure 
from shattered ruins of our old world view 
designed by cosmic Architect of Truth 
who loves that we express true happiness. 

Sterile nothingness of religious faith 
deceives my heart with desperate belief 
that my body will resurrect from death 
if I believe some honest tribal king 
who died two thousand years ago loves me, 
so I love everyone before I die. 

Coded nothingness of cultural myths 
provides moral guide for how I perform 
special role I compose from social tropes 
when I play Tiresias in World War Three 
as prophet of the Ungod no one sees 
to lead faceless ghosts to the Promised Land. 

Psychic nothingness of our empire state 
frames national events with shards of truth 
which I assemble as puzzle of facts 
in global epic tale of noble deeds 
when Jesus defeats Satan once again 
so everyone lives together in peace. 

Ride Carousel Of Fate

Ride Carousel Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 01 25

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tears Of Sad Mermaids

Tears Of Sad Mermaids
© Surazeus
2026 01 25

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time To Wake As The Earth

Time To Wake As The Earth
© Surazeus
2026 01 25

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Super Beauty Of Wild Hearts

Super Beauty Of Wild Hearts
© Surazeus
2026 01 25

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When God Wakes From Dream

When God Wakes From Dream
© Surazeus
2026 01 25

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Treasure Chest Of Dreams

Treasure Chest Of Dreams
© Surazeus
2026 01 25

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time Of Startled Dreamers

Time Of Startled Dreamers
© Surazeus
2026 01 24

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pregnant With Forgotten Dreams

Pregnant With Forgotten Dreams
© Surazeus
2026 01 24

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Know How Apples Grow

Know How Apples Grow
© Surazeus
2026 01 24

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One Sun-Sourced Tear

One Sun-Sourced Tear
© Surazeus
2026 01 24

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bridge Of Social Happiness

Bridge Of Social Happiness
© Surazeus
2026 01 23

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Speak With Brave Voice

Speak With Brave Voice
© Surazeus
2026 01 23

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Choices Calculate Our Fate

Choices Calculate Our Fate
© Surazeus
2026 01 22

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Corpse Of Your Dead God

Corpse Of Your Dead God
© Surazeus
2026 01 22

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Troubled Guest Of Time

Troubled Guest Of Time
© Surazeus
2026 01 21

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vanishing Mist Of Avalon

Vanishing Mist Of Avalon
© Surazeus
2026 01 21

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Museum of Faceless Gods

Museum of Faceless Gods
© Surazeus
2026 01 20

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Find My Empty Grave

Find My Empty Grave
© Surazeus
2026 01 20

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Remember Paradise I Lost

Remember Paradise I Lost
© Surazeus
2026 01 19

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy Apples Of The Sun

Holy Apples Of The Sun
© Surazeus
2026 01 19

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reborn On Buddha Wheel

Reborn On Buddha Wheel
© Surazeus
2026 01 19

We are the lonely people of the world 
who stare at faceless portraits on the wall 
and listen to how sad violins fall 
in violent cascade of conceptual twirl, 
pretending we will never die of truth 
by wandering with the memory of Ruth. 

She always seems to know how we should feel 
as if our bitter hearts are forged from steel 
so we dare cross the street when lights blink red 
to scatter shouting demons from our head 
before the Lord returns on clouds of fire 
because my tone disharmonates the choir. 

Therefore we must exchange with laughing zeal 
these faces only angels dare to steal 
except how far the humming toad can reach 
my naked shadow shivering on the beach 
too late to be reborn on Buddha Wheel 
that twists timeline of my fate beyond real. 

Yet when I pause on jagged cliff of rage 
at startled turning of the wordless page 
I feel strange dizzy twirling of the world 
that asks not how swift my soul could be hurled 
against aggressive wall of honesty 
since I am stuck in play Absurdity. 

When Emily rides black carriage with Death 
I force my body to inhale deep breath 
that swells my heart huge as hot-air balloon 
which floats my fractured skull up to the moon 
where rabbit on blue car remembers why 
every organic creature wants to fly. 

Alone on global stage of star-cursed fame, 
I sing with hope that old cromulent hymn 
composed by Gabriel in the subway car 
to translate scream of dragons stuck in tar 
with dulcet tones of our blind nightingale, 
encoding way to find the Holy Grail. 

Since I have know the kind judgmental eyes 
that fix me wriggling on the godless skies, 
I shall presume to rule the world with love 
expressed through wisdom of the howling dove 
that gleams in lamplight of Diogenes 
whose lovely Mermaid gives me broken keys. 

I wear mask of Prince Hamlet to the ball 
to start world revolution at the fall 
of nine aggressive tyrants when the stone 
of Sisyphus rolls with the golden bone 
that crushes Nebuchadnezzar to dust, 
then dance on skull of Ozymandias. 

Monster Of My Fantasy

Monster Of My Fantasy
© Surazeus
2026 01 19

We have to be cautiously cynical 
in order to survive this hostile world, 
always keeping mental radar alert 
with attitude that evil ever lurks 
in shadows of hate to attack our souls 
and suck our bodies dry of energy. 

Easily startled by shadows of rage, 
I jump out of my body on wild wings 
and flap around in frantic ecstasy 
in search for monster of my fantasy 
that always haunts my path to somewhere else 
as I breathe pure celestial energy. 

Fortuna, pulling loaded apple cart, 
senses gang of boys lurking behind trees, 
so she grabs stick and twirls it just in time 
to whack their heads as they rush quick to steal 
fruit of her labor, causing them to groan 
and flee as she continues on to town. 

Selling her wares at the small market stall, 
along with farmers, tailors, and craftsmen, 
Fortuna stares at distant silent woods 
with strange anxiety at something wrong, 
so she leaves with baskets half full of fruit, 
and hides in copse of oaks near the town gate. 

Trembling in terror at shadowy ghost 
that causes her to shiver in despair, 
Fortuna stares in shock when gang of thieves 
on fierce horses attack the market town, 
beating people and stealing all their goods, 
then racing wagons to their secret fort. 

Noting where gang of thieves base operations, 
Fortuna hurries back to market town 
and joins assembly of angry townsfolk, 
who vote to form army of self-defense, 
then leads them armed to hidden mountain fort, 
where they approach with stealth of cautious hope. 

Striding alone to guarded fortress gate, 
Fortuna shouts that she punishes crime 
and comes to kill them all, but they all laugh 
and carelessly leave strong protective walls, 
so townsfolk attack and kill every thief, 
then take their goods home to victory feast. 

Crowned as their noble hero of defense, 
Fortuna sits on throne in feasting hall, 
remaining cautious as they sing and dance, 
fighting back when surviving thieves attack 
to kill assassins with sharp justice sword, 
then drinks wine as townspeople cheer her rule. 

Beyond The Seventh Wall

Beyond The Seventh Wall
© Surazeus
2026 01 18

When I have arrived at the seventh wall, 
that shimmers between my Spirit and God 
who wears mirror mask of my secret face, 
my primal conscious sense of Other-Self 
will wake at center of the metaverse 
as persona my songs invent from dream. 

I am no Orpheus, Hamlet, or Balder, 
nor Jesus dancing on the Rainbow Bridge, 
because I create my persona mask 
from fragments of mythical characters 
to assemble puzzle of who I am 
so you can see your true self in my face. 

Whether I am faceless ghost of I Am 
which replicates my self as many selves 
seen by people in every town on Earth, 
or I am one human being with hot brain 
who wears many faces of long-dead gods, 
I am always the person you perceive. 

Brave human performing my self on stage, 
as stereotype I pretend to play, 
I am the director, the backstage crew, 
the stage, the camera, and the bright screen 
of the television and the computer, 
as well as the actor who plays all parts. 

This role of myself I perform each day 
is nothing more than puppet of my brain 
completely separate from the outside world, 
though tears of rain seep on my cluttered stage 
where I assemble fragments of the world 
in global puzzle of our new world order. 

Because I am the Theater of Hope 
on which I play character I design, 
I freeze into the idol of my soul 
so I still stand in temple of my tale 
ten thousand years after my body dies, 
for torso of Apollo I remain. 

I see you reading words of this dream verse, 
feeling your eyes scan thoughts of my sponge brain 
with passionate desire to understand 
anxious fears that motivate how I write, 
for poems that I compose with ardent faith 
spark conscious sense of my self in your brain. 

Beyond the seventh wall of my dream play 
I walk the endless maze of psychic myths 
that humans of the past built from their lives 
so you see statue of Surazeus 
when you read my words bleeding on this page 
every year for the next ten thousand years. 

Statues Buried In Mud

Statues Buried In Mud
© Surazeus
2026 01 18

We build our empire of contending states 
on grand revelation that liberty 
should be enjoyed by every dreaming soul 
born from the fertile womb of Mother Earth 
to share fruits of our labor in the fields 
while we ensure equal justice for all. 

Yet portraits of gods on museum walls 
display no delicate features in forms 
that mimic bodies humans animate, 
nor resemble statutes buried in mud 
by avalanche of fate which cracks stone walls 
that should pertain to code of paradise. 

Convinced the secret treasure, Jesus forged 
from meteor that almost cracked the Earth, 
is buried lost in wind-lashed field of snow, 
young girl travels halfway around the globe 
to walk the treeless waste land of deep hope 
where she finds nothing more than one shy deer. 

At thrilling conclusion of her vain quest 
she finds quaint haiku written in the snow 
by feet of dark-eyed Junco that describe 
how friends gather around warm glowing hearth 
and linger late in moonlight to share tales 
from their childhoods in Television Land. 

Amused that she misunderstood cruel joke 
she heard from Tengu in the mountain cave, 
young girl sails Argos east across the sea 
to ask the bearded men beside the lake 
how we can trust intuition of signs 
based on clever twist of dire prophecies. 

Then just as she stands on the frozen hill 
to watch the train glide slowly with the sun, 
she feels how cherished daughters of our hearts 
are incarnations of the ancient Earth, 
so she cries out to beauty of the light 
despite how truth is always in our eyes. 

Because the ocean bares sharp teeth of ice 
we ask if mothers always know the way, 
appalled by bitter anguish of soul birth 
when seeds break open with demonic faith 
that sucks sweet sorrow of the endless rain 
each hour we are reborn to thrive and die. 

Beneath the oak that blooms on river shore, 
her father planted at hour of her birth, 
Persephone measures deliberate wind 
as breath transformed from ravens into words 
which teach us how to taste cerulean fruit 
because we know that all great empires fall. 

Knock On The Scary Door

Knock On The Scary Door
© Surazeus
2026 01 18

Each morning I knock on the Scary Door 
to ask the Happy Ghoul for Hour of Death, 
the Weeping Woman in White Tattered Dress 
answers instead with box Pandora made 
from which my secret desires swirl as bees 
that lure me to Gate of the Twilight Zone. 

Each morning I knock on the Scary Door 
to purchase Weird Truth from Fiery Redhead, 
the Southern Gator, plucking banjo strings, 
tries to sell me Cool Crown of Psychic Power, 
but I search for the Blind Girl in the Tower 
who keeps the Holy Grail in her heart. 

Each morning I knock on the Scary Door 
to map the Golden Way to Fairy Land, 
the Sad Clown points Rubber Gun at Thor 
who flees to Shining City on the Hill 
to wear Mask of Secret Identity 
as Car Mechanic for the Techno Wizard. 

Each morning I knock on the Scary Door 
to give my heart to Damsel in Distress, 
the Evil Queen sucks spirit of my brain 
to float as shimmer in Mirror of Lies 
till Quirky Bard with Lyre of Mercury 
tries to rescue me from the Underworld. 

Each morning I knock on the Scary Door 
to trade Ring of Invisibility, 
the Jungle Princess, with Bow of Desire, 
recruits me to rescue from House of Rubies 
Innocent Nuns who weave Basket of Bones, 
so we defeat Good King in the Glass Castle. 

Each morning I knock on the Scary Door 
to answer Call to Adventure in Hades, 
the Mystical Waif at the Burning Bush 
gives me Sacred Scroll with Riddles of Ruth 
so I can program how brains perceive life 
to imitate Principle of the Thing. 

Each morning I knock on the Scary Door 
to deconstruct prudish Victorian Novel, 
the Time Wizard, who repairs Tree-Trunk Clocks, 
explains how to contrive the Happy Ending 
for the Knight Errant and the Femme Fatale 
who married in Church of the Vampire God. 

Each morning I knock on the Scary Door 
to wrestle Lame Bull of Anxiety, 
the Wandering Minstrel on the Signless Road 
calls the Shrinking Violent prone to tears 
who transforms to Uncanny Valley Girl 
when we kiss in Cathedral Ruins of Faith. 

Beyond The Promised Land

Beyond The Promised Land
© Surazeus
2026 01 18

Below the hill where fortune waits for me 
rain puddles shimmer in the morning sun, 
so I gaze down in mirror of my mind 
to ponder how human history is based 
on the Mother and Child beneath the tree 
that blooms with holy apples of the sun. 

Iridescent sheen of beautiful hope 
inspires my heart to construct from strong wood 
home of four pillars on firm pyramid 
to shelter bodies of my family 
from harsh conditions of indifferent weather 
so we can thrive in garden of the light. 

Ascension up scale of authority 
to manage domestic scope of insight 
provides elevated view of the world 
composed of wheat fields divided by roads 
that channel water from the lake of dreams 
where farmers cultivate soul sustenance. 

To protect the Mother and Child from harm 
I build safe house on pyramid of skulls, 
then plow fields with solemn strength of cows 
to bake bread from wheat that gleams with sunlight 
which I store in warehouse as the loaf-ward, 
and thus build world food-production machine. 

We cannot return to that Eden state 
as we connect all cities on the globe 
in teeming web of wealth-computing towers 
where we drive swift piston-engine machines 
in endless chess game of productive strife 
ruled over by thieves in gray business suits. 

Still alive after sixty centuries, 
World Pharaoh stands on pyramid of gold 
to rule the Earth as Demon of Desire 
whose faceless mask of great authority 
controls state presidents as puppeteer 
through statue of gold with soft feet of clay. 

Blind singer homeless on the White House lawn 
strums lyre of Mercury with crippled hands 
and sings with crackling voice of radios 
psalms of David and hymns of Orpheus 
to lead lost refugees of civil wars 
on signless road beyond the Promised Land. 

Escaping prison camps of feudal farms, 
ruled by tyrants in castles with gold crowns, 
we sail the wild Atlantic Sea of fear 
to colonize Edenic Promised Land 
where we crucify our messiah sleuth 
on the telephone pole of the waste land. 

Wild Electric Heart

Wild Electric Heart
© Surazeus
2026 01 17

Muted tone of my wild electric heart, 
loaded with anguish of harrowing loss 
from laughing flames that hammer at black sky 
despite unfinished business of sad rain, 
hums soft with spooky honesty of fear 
when blind angels escape in sudden flight. 

Awake in pulsing endlessness of pain 
sliced into searing hours of gloom and glare, 
I measure changeless beauty of the sea 
with each assertive step of cautious hope 
as I pray to the path my feet design 
in stubborn innocence of wordless rage. 

Because I am not self-portrait of God 
reflected in clear pool of silver gleam, 
I eat ripe apple from the Tree of Fate 
to understand why flowers bloom from seeds 
with anxious burst of supercilious leaves 
which dare explain why I must not be real. 

Overwhelmed by flashing rays of sunlight, 
which beam from enormous eye in the sky 
watching me with relentless glare of truth, 
I check my privilege with nervous hand 
that I reach helplessly to touch the light 
which pierces me with frantic energy. 

Inspired to collect proof the sun knows why 
ache of sorrow converts my bitter rage 
to shocked surprise at sparkle of cool rain, 
I must accept that God Mind in the sun 
sees my body with original love 
though I reverse my journey from my birth. 

So I kneel by small pool in Shadow Wood 
to cup sweet water with tingling hands 
and drink invisible darkness of faith 
till I see face of Narcissus by mine 
who kisses me with gentle ardency 
as we both levitate above the world. 

Immortal spirit of my dreaming mind 
swells ripe in secret pocket of my heart, 
morphing through each evolutionary form, 
fish to lizard to mouse to cat to monkey 
to wingless angel suckling at my breast 
who echoes every breathy word I speak. 

Syncopated hymn of humble respect 
blooms pure as lily from mud of my flesh 
when playful daughter of my soul matures 
to young woman with the same silver eyes 
Narcissus opens from mask of the sun 
when we bury him by pool of our tears. 

Secret Scroll Of Tiresias

Secret Scroll Of Tiresias
© Surazeus
2026 01 17

Driven mad by the sweet laughter of truth, 
I walk around the town of faceless ghosts 
who might be real people with secret names 
if I look close enough in their bright eyes 
to see one deity our bodies share 
animate them with passion to sing their pain. 

Scribbling parables from the new age creed 
that programs how people perform their roles 
in framework of religious fantasy, 
I throw book of lies, forged with valency 
from myths of miracles, in lake of tears 
where fish devour them with rapacity. 

Back from lush garden of insanity, 
where children struggle to escape dream stones 
to play hide and seek in temple of fate, 
I knock on locked doors of suburban pride 
to sell salvation of the Buddha Toad 
who teaches why creatures are free to choose. 

Carefully observing forgotten clues 
in fragments of tales scattered on the road, 
I seek the crippled angel where she hides 
in wrecked car on the crumbling bridge of hate 
who keeps in her body oracle bones 
on which are written spells of vanity. 

Purchase dreams that increase capacity 
of your brain to analyze bogus fears 
preserved in folk beliefs of fulgency 
which fester truth in global fallacy 
that more than atoms alchemize our souls, 
or else admit that love is all you need. 

If I see spark of light in cymophane, 
retrieved from Persephone on a dare, 
I might fall upward in soul-slippery skies 
to land in Heaven where devils play games 
with humans in cathedrals without hosts 
who wait for coming of messiah sleuth. 

Though I retreat in labyrinth of fake words 
to find secret scroll of Tiresias 
on quest to find most fertile Holy Grail, 
I always end up at the faith-locked door 
to grand cathedral with slant rays of light 
where Emily sings hymns of broken hearts. 

Young girls in markets sell apples from carts 
while I learn magic art of airplane flight 
so I can photograph the cosmic core 
where God sorts our intergalactic mail 
with psychic map designed by Pytheas 
who translates riddles of religious birds. 

Indifferent Nature Of Life

Indifferent Nature Of Life
© Surazeus
2026 01 17

Tangled in relentless progress of change, 
I move through maze of life on puppet strings 
in search to find the master of my fate, 
but sense no super-conscious puppeteer 
other than indifferent nature of life 
that drags me into the future of hope. 

My brain projects the future of the world 
I want to see on blank wall of desire, 
but everything that happens in the past 
erases fancy dream of paradise 
so I am blinded by strange light of truth 
that leaves me stranded in a strange new world. 

I wake in future world of strange events 
I never imagined in wildest dreams, 
so I outline on mirror of the sky 
complicated status of social being 
to help me understand where I am now 
somewhere in endless maze of nowhere else. 

While I look at the mirror of my mind 
I get in the way of who I should be 
when I remember who I used to be 
because I know myself better than me 
though I am still alive with flame of faith 
that twists my body into what I am. 

My body flows with endless stream of time 
so I research true nature of my being 
and find unmeasured strangeness of my heart 
embodied by ancestors of my soul 
as numberless characters who make me, 
indifferent with compassion of the dead. 

My inner demon dictates tale of life 
I want to play regardless of the rules 
so I invent advanced conceptual tools 
that help me build vast paradise of truths 
composed of stories that depict in scenes 
life of every person who ever lived. 

I have no answers for questions you pose 
about strange beauty of this world we love, 
surprised by glory of the flaming clouds 
that illuminate silent mountain peaks 
with secret honor of the falling god 
who wakes inside my body as me now. 

Inseminated with pure cosmic light, 
my brain expands beyond bounds of belief 
so I know name of everything that is, 
programmed by circuits of existent souls 
who follow routines of heart-breaking grief 
to offer pamphlets on the end of time. 

Echoes Trapped In Vows

Echoes Trapped In Vows
© Surazeus
2026 01 17

In bitter rain of the cold morning hour 
all I know are thick mud and tangled trees, 
so I search the world for the last gold flower 
that intoxicates me with scented breeze, 
till I ask ghost of the horse with gold eyes 
how she unveils dizzy sun in the skies. 

Enclosing me with ancient eyes of light, 
snow horse explains how angels without wings 
explore our dream world in fantastic flight 
as mushrooms bloom in moon-round fairy rings 
because I speak in echoes trapped in vows 
while writhing with hope under golden boughs. 

If I can play baptism of the brain 
to understand strange riddles of the clown, 
I might arrive at work unwet from rain 
at oldest crowded restaurant in town 
where I bring plates of food to hungry souls 
who excitedly discuss social roles. 

The countless selves that separate their masks 
from faceless core at center of my mind 
imitate me when they perform weird tasks 
that sustain social system men designed 
because I hide in home of doorless fear 
at second coming of the puppeteer. 

My younger self on swing of ardent faith 
attempts to leap into bright sky of joy 
but disappears in mirror of the wraith 
to challenge God with puzzles seers employ 
in mental game of chess in tune with Death 
who teaches me key of celestial breath. 

Sad orphans wait for parents to return 
from grand amusement park of bankruptcy 
despite noble expressions of concern 
church leaders sell to steal dream gadgetry 
sealed to hide bloodline of the holy grail 
through lost heritage of the great white whale. 

Awake at hour of midnight outside Heaven, 
I search for mask from ancient gallery 
designed to enchant spirit of the Raven 
whose secret project of world wizardry 
realigns structure of great nation-states 
to tangle genes that favor divine traits. 

Enwrapped in satin cape of princesshood, 
I name each person on the signless road 
who wants to live in pleasant neighborhood 
where every soul bears the same heavy load 
in struggle to transcend our mortal state 
since we choose how stars reprogram our fate.