Purity Of Secret Names

Purity Of Secret Names
© Surazeus
2026 04 22

Elemental clarity of strange facts, 
based on physical solidness of flesh, 
renews psychic experience of the real 
combined with purity of secret names 
we utter as pure prayers of honest faith 
to conjure spirit of the best we are. 

Simple sentiment of our valid prayer 
denies significance buried in mud 
when name we utter with urgent concern 
conceals apprehension our brains adjust 
through imaginative bracketing of fate 
that sparks immanent transcendence of self. 

If my true self, expanding from my heart, 
coheres to object of essential being 
when I wear gold ring of reluctant faith, 
I flip attention of perceptive force 
with quaint discretion of the country road 
so objects I name vanish into dust. 

Through insistence of frantic ardency 
on primacy of the image, that mirrors 
real emotions seething in frames of thought, 
we package subjective feelings of hope 
till name and referent of truth collide, 
which conjures illusion we think is real. 

Whole operation of social control 
connotes feast of love we share in glass church 
so fluctuating time is overcome 
by fraught transfiguration we endure 
if the dead who have lost their sacred names 
dare return to the living without faith. 

If we return to lost wholeness of faith, 
contained within high walls of paradise, 
we may stain Garden of Eden with prayers 
while trapped by fortune within givenness 
of individual experience through spells 
that we record in books angels will burn. 

Entranced by mystic vision of my soul 
sparked awake by light of immortal stars, 
I stride jauntily over pulsing grass 
to mark scrupulous field of reference 
that maintains timeless meaning of our hearts 
fractured into particles of fake words. 

Since my brain is conduit for God Soul 
to express important concepts of truth, 
I scatter riddles of unshadowed stars 
when time folds dimensions of luckless fate 
through archaic technique of language games 
that free our bodies from religious faith. 

Madonna Of The Snows

Madonna Of The Snows
© Surazeus
2026 04 22

Sapphires in strong hands of Ithuriel 
reflect turquoise waters of mountain lake 
where specter of the rose blooms in his heart, 
so he kneels among frail Edelweiss blooms 
and drinks innocent spirit of the Earth 
while graceful swans float in crystalline light. 

Curving swan-necks of women in white robes 
arch with elegant form of timeless trees 
that drop apples and pears into their hands 
while their guardian angel Ithuriel 
protects their souls from wild wolves in dark woods, 
so they laugh and play with innocent grace. 

Bending among white Camellia shrubs, 
in satin dress that shimmers white as clouds, 
Titania caresses petals of hope 
and smiles with soft seductive gentleness 
at grim Ithuriel who wields sharp sword, 
yet ignores distraction of her blue eyes. 

Skin white as moonlight on smooth glacier ice, 
Titania twirls slow under willow tree 
so pearls against her breasts glitter with trust 
that Death, bedazzled by beauty of life, 
will pass her by beneath vast azure sky 
when she reaches her arm to pluck ripe pear. 

Beneath bright snow that gleams on river shore, 
Ithuriel finds ruby gem of love 
when heat of passion melts his heart with hope, 
so he retrieves bright jewel from hard Earth 
and offers it with humble reticence 
to Titania pretending to be shy. 

Dipping silver cup in cold fountain pool, 
Titania offers undine tears of lonely hope 
so grim Ithuriel accepts her gift 
and drinks chilly liquor of happiness 
while gazing at Madonna of the Snows 
whose fingers caress his hard blushing cheek. 

Flutter of Sphinx wings in cold gusting wind 
signifies approach, in wind-snapping cape, 
when Seraphita strides into the grove, 
silver tiara with seven sapphires 
radiating her royal authority, 
so Ithuriel bows before his wife. 

Retreating quickly to her small white boat, 
Titania rows across the turquoise lake 
while gazing with jealousy of false hope 
at vigorous guardian angel with sharp sword 
who steals adoring glance at graceful girl 
while bowing before Queen of Everywhere. 

Figures Of False Truth

Figures Of False Truth
© Surazeus
2026 04 22

Dire signs that adumbrate social collapse 
blind hearts of men with ciphers of star code 
which isolate bodies of frantic hope 
from our incognizant roses of wrath, 
so brave men pose as figures of false truth 
who wander stranded on the psychic moon. 

Intelligent inscriptions in dead books 
reveal bland prophecies of humble deeds 
performed by heroes with arrogant seeds 
designed to charge engines of farming trucks 
despite the broken light of autumn nights 
that scrambles riddles of national fates. 

If I imagine strangers on the street 
while pondering alone in doorless house, 
weird truth beats crow wings that excites the clown 
who conjures demons from the wood prayer bead 
which steals courtesy from soft hands of trees 
since world economy is based on bees. 

Savage powers at parties of the rich 
reclaim social machine of money games 
contrived by mad god of the River Thames 
who spends all day painting his picket fence 
to prove the universe of measured time 
derives from laughter of the selfless mime. 

White moon that gleams old words on river shore 
explains that every star I see in gloom, 
which scribes sacred maps on walls of my room, 
burned out long before my spirit was born, 
so when she rings the doorbell of my heart 
I buy one pear from her rickety cart. 

Unnoticed references that age each hour 
appear from swirling sea of honesty 
as brave leviathan with crystal key 
which opens huge door of my mental tower 
with unexpected passion that love feigns 
to order waves of thoughts in tangled lines. 

Since Death teaches me art of minstrelsy, 
I sing conceptual hymns of wounded souls 
who writhe as serpents in innocent wells, 
therefore men must learn art of chivalry 
from gallant Cave Bear, tamed by Socrates, 
so they can rule their empire colonies. 

Folk music from the vinyl record chinks 
with earnest passion of the suffering man 
about how life flows swift as hour-glass sand 
in vain attempt to counter social jinx 
cast with mute fear by figures of false truth 
who seek divine answers in mundane math. 

God Is Not The Other

God Is Not The Other
© Surazeus
2026 04 21

God is not the Other of anywhere, 
for God is the substance of everything 
that exists as light in the everywhere, 
so vibrant emanation of my soul 
radiates from cosmic core of the God Soul 
that composes essence of the White Whole. 

Inspired by quietness of God, I sing 
never-ending song of the human heart 
that channels conscious energy of stars 
in music water waves articulate 
to comprehend strange otherness of light 
that reflects our own face as Face of God. 

I study Otherness of the vast world 
and wonder if some super-mind perceives 
small temporary frame of fragile flesh 
that nurtures sparkling flame of conscious self 
who wakes inside my brain with flash of faith 
which makes me feel immortal at this hour. 

Awake in present body of my Self, 
I glow with countless memories of life 
all my ancestors lived from birth to birth 
while I evolve four hundred million years 
so immortal soul of my genes migrates 
as vibrant thread of conscious agency. 

God is reflection of my conscious soul 
which I project at surface of the world 
so I feel every atom in all things 
vibrate with pure celestial thought of light, 
yet I exist in bounds of time and space, 
contained within this temporary mind. 

I am this Other in my dreaming brain 
as separate entity of conscious thought 
who swims in swirling matrix sea of light 
till I dissolve to fragments of God Mind, 
unless I generate new life with you 
so we live as one soul beyond our death. 

Though I am stuck inside this frame of flesh, 
contained by limits of my space in time, 
my mind expands scope of attentive care 
to dream eternity of timeless joy, 
spruced by infinity of boundless flight, 
awake in every soul who ever lives. 

My mother tells me God is Everywhere, 
so I search for God in the Otherness 
where I sense bright atomic forms of things, 
till I find God inside my dreaming brain, 
then I play guitar at the city gate 
and sing endless tale of humanity. 

Vital Boundary Of Should

Vital Boundary Of Should
© Surazeus
2026 04 21

If I maintain my rendezvous with Death 
in fertile light of the ultimate good, 
I may inherit miraculous breath 
far across vital boundary of should, 
since I thrive through social obscurity 
with starlight in gloom of security. 

Preserved as nameless ghost in field of time, 
I spring unborn out of the Central Mind 
by which my character performs as mime 
for state ontology my brain designed 
in that uncertain hour before red dawn 
reveals forgotten spirit of the pawn. 

Blown by indifferent wind of careless fate, 
I wander toward familiar compound ghost 
of every person I meet by the gate 
who may still cherish me as Temple Host, 
assumed as faceless stranger without goal 
who waits for me to assign them their role. 

We tangle alien languages of faith 
in hybrid code of misunderstood truth 
that weaves new vision of the cosmic wraith 
who appoints mad fool as messiah sleuth 
with mission to revive the empire force 
which we derive from wyrd celestial source. 

I find my body on the distant shore, 
where I left robot of my secret self, 
to chronicle success of the Dream Store 
extracted from books of myth on the shelf 
composed by angel of the bloody wing 
who gives me Lyre of Mercury to sing. 

That bitter tastelessness of shadow fruit, 
which offers promise of divine insight, 
fools no one but cruel thief who dares to shoot 
in shameless bid to gain control of light 
which I oppose with motive to maintain 
productive peace where everyone may gain. 

Brave speech may purify strange dialect 
our tribe employs with calm alacrity, 
but through conceptual diction we project 
expanding scope of psychic ministry 
to weave all languages of Earth in one 
with the microphone rather than the gun. 

Still meditating in the Yellow Wood 
on which road of the future I will take, 
I map my vital boundary of should 
to ensure my story is real, not fake, 
so I stride boldly on the misty heath 
to keep my honest rendezvous with Death. 

Mystic Of The Absolute

Mystic Of The Absolute
© Surazeus
2026 04 20

Considered mystic of the absolute, 
shy Sylphus mounts the wingless horse of pain 
and flies with casual fear to Camelot 
where Daedalus invents mortgage machine 
to maintain neutral stance of spectral pride, 
silver with shadow of the deified. 

Supreme assurance of arrogant vote 
presents voyeur of our trademark concern 
for which Wonder Minion will play the bait 
that lures blind vampire to deserted barn 
where he is forced to milk the money cow 
while Gabriel operates the dream plow. 

Threshold of welfare, troubled to transform 
bodies of children to robots of faith, 
denies attempts to cross unvoltaged term 
we urban ghosts decide erases myth 
despite transference of the ego mask, 
tempted to drink sweet soma from the flask. 

Recording process of world social storm 
that shatters institutes of global peace, 
brave Sylphus visits temple without charm 
where grim Amaterasu names her price 
for selling sacred bronze mirror of souls 
in place of demon apples in cracked bowls. 

Insurance, designed to protect the mind 
from induced improvement jesters proclaim, 
liquidates stolen assets without brand 
controlling interest in the money game, 
yet Sylphus asks Aurora with star eyes 
if she will help him organize their spies. 

Increase of hybrid machines on the road 
defies logic contrived by weeping bards, 
so Sylphus proclaims Gospel of the Toad 
whose spiral-rainbow eyes of sacred chords 
hypnotize loyal followers of Zarth 
whom they proclaim is Emperor of Earth. 

Major placement of protein packages, 
as proxy partnership of brain perfume, 
reveals location of sad hostages 
who prefer to contest for global fame 
as if they think they can evade the curse 
that opens portals to the multiverse. 

Reborn as mystic of the absolute, 
lithe Sylphus surfs huge waves of social change 
while on world tour to play demonic flute 
with Artemis as quantum queen of grunge, 
then in the Green Room when the play is done 
they eat pineapple pizza of the gun. 

Angel Of Star Fire

Angel Of Star Fire
© Surazeus
2026 04 20

Startled awake by angel of star fire, 
who haunts our nation with wings of despair, 
I lounge on my back porch and play guitar 
while King Midas destroys America 
so he can crown himself king of the world, 
but he drowns when he tries to walk on water. 

Inspired by hymn from angel of star fire, 
we gather at the river of cracked skulls 
that floods city mazes with crystal tide 
which flows by the electric throne of Death 
where wood statue of God erupts in flames 
when Aaron casts serpent wand in the grass. 

Longing to fly with angel of star fire, 
I race bicycle down steep hill of hope 
with arms of faith outspread to imitate 
eagerness of Icarus to transcend 
mundane routines of daily rituals 
designed to maintain life through self-control. 

Eager to play with angel of star fire, 
I carve chess pieces from statues of gods 
which I found buried in mud of the well 
so we perform our roles on stage of power 
to protect Liberty in the High Tower 
where she sings with blue bird of bitterness. 

Trapped in life maze with angel of star fire, 
who sits on crystal throne of glowing clouds 
beneath binary rainbow of respect, 
I refract currency of my star soul 
through prism heart of her kaleidoscope 
when Minerva returns from Cave of Truth. 

Freed from prison by angel of star fire, 
I map whole history of our human race 
on time-animated atlas of Earth 
so we can navigate landscape of ghosts 
to build from ruins of America 
new land of justice called Zarathia. 

Deployed to war by angel of star fire, 
I wield Excalibur with clumsy grace, 
as warden who guards the garden of God, 
which I forged from stone in Cave of Illusions 
to lead world revolution of the caring 
against all tyrants and kings in glass towers. 

Reborn from fear as angel of star fire, 
I stand on ziggurat of Mother Ishtar 
to strum the lyre of Mercury with faith 
when she casts spell of brave enlightenment 
to prevent Midas from fracking the world, 
so we join United Nations of Earth. 

Willing River Of Love

Willing River Of Love
© Surazeus
2026 04 20

Crawling from coffin of his character, 
Delmore explains to Queen Elizabeth 
that he is Phoenix of the broken clock, 
reborn from jester of the hungry king 
with mission to rebuild castle of glass 
where time is the fire in which we learn. 

Searching for innocent ghost of Rimbaud 
lost in dark labyrinth of Gormenghast, 
Delmore steals lute from tomb of Romeo, 
then sings old French ballads to passing cars 
that cross the Brooklyn Bridge in bitter rain 
while Sinatra croons on the radio. 

Crouching behind shield of Achilles Christ 
to protect us from radiant nothingness, 
Delmore cries out to angels in the clouds 
who drop bombs on factories in Germany, 
then tames the undivided horse of faith 
so he can ride the last road back to Rome. 

Lounging in cobwebbed tomb of Baudelaire, 
Delmore tears pages from his bank account 
while catching stones people cast at his head 
so he can build new wall for paradise 
that traps obsessive ghost of his childhood 
in Garden of Eden where none can rest. 

Paralyzed by impotence of strange hymns, 
that twists his rigid heart with wordless wrath, 
Delmore writes unreadable spells of hope 
in cafe near post office of mad kings, 
asking Socrates for money of faith, 
enough to last till the apocalypse. 

Baptized clean in willing river of love, 
Delmore waits in Black Swan Pavilion 
for serene exaltation of the mind 
to liberate his body from disgust 
through brave emulation of divine lust, 
yet names the dead in the Kingdom of Snow. 

Directing grand choir of humanity 
to sing solemn hymns of empty dismay 
that celebrate victory of true love 
which shines in us before the morning hour 
so we become aloneness of fruit trees, 
Delmore plays instruments of ancient song. 

Walking calmly through day of April light 
to find his Self amid the blaze of change, 
Delmore writes new Book of Theodicy 
to prove with formula of tangled verse 
that goodness conquers evil every day, 
till his heart explodes during his swan song. 

Forgetting My Own Face

Forgetting My Own Face
© Surazeus
2026 04 19

If I end up forgetting my own face, 
designed by passion my ancestors felt 
while walking bravely against wind of fear, 
I might wear mask of Cloud God to conceal 
amalgamated nothingness of self 
which angels document in clever jokes. 

Strolling in field of dandelion flowers, 
which explode in wishes of lonely souls, 
I ponder nothingness at end of time 
that traps me in this temporary body 
through which I aspire to climb mountain peaks 
as witness to transcendent state of mind. 

Because I know no fate of falling rain 
while hiding in ruins of paradise, 
slouched on huge stones that fell from fractured walls, 
I organize list of tasks to complete 
in mission to found empire on god skulls 
when death bequeaths weird secret of rebirth. 

Dark shadow looms above vast maze of streets 
where apes in suits play gods in wars of truth 
while I drive children from school to graveyards 
where they conduct random experiments 
to understand how trees bloom rich in Spring 
from coffin where the vampire god lies stiff. 

If I end up designing my new face 
from masks of gods long fallen in disgrace, 
I may be forced to wrestle before dawn 
eccentric angel of our nation-state 
who lives in mansion by polluted lake 
as castle capital of Avalon. 

True friendship chains our hearts with bitter faith 
we try to sell from market stalls of hope 
when butterfly god in her chrysalis 
hangs from rugged cross on hill of skulls 
which sprouts new limbs with apples of the sun 
so I sail river boat across the sea. 

In noble fight against the tyrant king 
we must not falter at the darkest hour 
for Justice needs our courage to transcend 
schemes of greed rich bankers promulgate 
in van attempt to control minds of men 
who wake from weird hypnotic trance he spelled. 

Ophelia finds lyre of Mercury 
rusting on tombstone of last troubadour 
whose spirit wakes again inside her brain 
so she ascends ziggurat of world fame 
to untwist political games of power 
with pungent beauty of the psychic flower. 

We Have Not Disappeared

We Have Not Disappeared
© Surazeus
2026 04 19

Though ocean waves erase our names from sand, 
and time dissolves our bodies into dust, 
our vibrant characters of baser hopes 
will live by fame in stories of old books 
far longer than great empires ever last, 
but even myths will dissipate in wind. 

I hear strange whistle from voice of the moon 
as distant echo in shadows of fate, 
so I help the blindfolded girl escape 
harsh judgement of villagers with stone hands 
shocked in rage that she dares defy their rules 
till we wander lost in waste land of fear. 

Clutching audible objects of true love 
that pulse with passion of seasonal hope, 
we break through shadow of wordless despair 
to fall in lush grass by the sparkling lake, 
amazed we managed to evade cruel death 
whose bitter rage growls softly after dusk. 

We lie beside soft whispered stream of hope 
where horses graze among old apple trees, 
and think about infinity through time 
that spirals forth in never-ending flow 
as vast gulf stretching everywhere we look, 
concerned we have not disappeared enough. 

Bright face in trickling eddies of starlight 
appears to watch us from abyss of faith, 
so we trade silent thoughts between our eyes 
which hang suspended from billowing clouds, 
but then weird light illuminates her face 
that gleams pure white as mask of bloodless ice. 

I sink in lightless gloom of misery 
and float on undulating waves of grass 
to dream I fly on horse of vanity 
away from roaring demon of my heart, 
then start awake in gold glow before dawn 
to see she transformed into a pond toad. 

Indulging happiness of lightning strikes, 
I search everywhere through indifferent woods 
to find dim shadow of her fragile soul 
for thirty years till memory of her face 
fades into flicker of leaves in sunlight 
as I stare at my own face in the pool. 

While eating bitter apple of my heart, 
I pause and stare at flicker of the lake 
and wonder how she vanished in the light, 
the blindfolded girl I rescued from death, 
then turn because I think I hear her voice 
as I transform into the eyeless crow. 

Universal Element Of Love

Universal Element Of Love
© Surazeus
2026 04 19

Through universal element of love 
mindless atoms swirl into galaxies 
that weave stars from aggressive fantasy, 
then nurture planets blooming ghosts of faith 
in spiral coil of genes which replicates 
new bodies that evolve from fish to god. 

Stuck in this body of frail mortal flesh, 
as long as chemicals of this lithe form 
function through interaction of bright sparks, 
I maintain forward motion through desire 
to find tree of knowledge with fruit of life 
which animates my conscious heart with love. 

Ninth Adam, son of Amen and Adad, 
breathes gusting air of hope to swell his soul, 
then stands on wobbling legs of frantic fear 
and stares at giant dragon with gold eyes 
that chews bodies of his tribe dripping blood, 
and howls with terrible rage of despair. 

Wrenching long brass wand with sharp jagged spikes, 
that cooled from lava flow at dawn of time, 
Ninth Adam rushes forward on fierce legs 
and batters face of the dragon with blows 
of brave aggression writhing from his heart 
till shrieking dragon stumbles to escape. 

Tracking bloody steps of the sharp-toothed beast, 
Ninth Adam finds in small cave by the lake 
wounded dragon cowering in stark fear, 
so he bashes its head with lightning strikes 
that crushes its skull into bloodied mush, 
till he lies exhausted under mute stars. 

Hauling wagon with dragon and its eggs, 
Ninth Adam enters gates of paradise 
where Inanna hosts rites of victory 
as Eloh roasts meat on high ziggurat 
that feeds five thousand people of the town 
who praise dragon-slayer with joyous hymns. 

Enrobed with leather cape from dragon skin, 
Ninth Adam presides on the judgment throne 
to reign as noble guard of paradise, 
while Ninshubur bears children of his seed, 
then trains his son Zababa to wield spear 
as hunter who slays dragons of the sea. 

"Through universal element of love, 
that fuels our bodies with star energy," 
Ninth Adam explains to his fierce-eyed son, 
"we fight evil dragons who eat our minds 
so we may generate bodies of flesh 
that preserve immortal soul of our hearts." 

When Pinocchio Wakes

When Pinocchio Wakes
© Surazeus
2026 04 19

When Pinocchio wakes from peaceful dreams 
of humming with cool breeze by sparkling lake, 
he stares up at the bearded face of God 
who sparks life in his heart with breath of love, 
then helps him stand and walk on clumsy feet 
so he ambulates through his own free will. 

Wandering in forest of tall pine trees 
that sway in dance from mountain winds of hope, 
Pinocchio caresses their rough bark 
with hands that sense mute spirit of their trunks, 
so he breathes deep and exhales vibrant tune, 
expressing visions of his mind in verse. 

Ascending mountain trail to gaping cave 
where faceless shadow of blind demon glows, 
Pinocchio touches large diamond gem, 
embedded in stone, resembling his eyes, 
where he sees first flash of the universe 
which animates his consciousness with love. 

"Though I feel trapped in container of flesh, 
attentive spirit of my conscious mind 
motivates forward motion through my will 
as I explore strange landscape of this world 
to discover origin of my being 
that pulses with atomic flash of light." 

Sitting still before bearded face of God 
by lake in cave of gems gleaming moonlight, 
Pinocchio asks, "Who am I, and how 
have I become alive with conscious hope? 
I feel bright jewel of immortal soul 
pulse with passion at the core of my being." 

Eyes blue as sapphires, stuck in cavern wall, 
gleam with joy as God looks in his eyes. 
"I am Geppetto, Craftsman who carves things 
from tree wood, like wagons, houses, and boats. 
I am frail mortal father of your soul 
for I sparked your life in womb of your mother." 

Reaching callused hand with attentive care, 
Geppetto caresses face of his son. 
"You are lithe mountain fox of joyful play, 
wounded by arrow of aggressive hate, 
so I extracted jewel of your heart 
to animate body of wood I made." 

Removing wood mask of his faceless soul, 
Geppetto reveals bright spirit of God. 
"If you wear person-skin you made too long 
you may forget true spirit of your heart, 
but your heart will always remember who 
you have been since first flash at dawn of time." 

Yellow Wood Of Hope

Yellow Wood Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 04 18

The crumbling stone bridge over the brown river, 
on which the statue of the poet stands, 
waits for my ghost to cross its wildered way, 
humming with gusts of arbitrary wind 
that scatters pages of verse from frail hands 
so our dreams dissolve into silent song. 

Delicate plum stone of my rotten heart, 
charred by sad flame of the arrogant lamp, 
contains original purpose of life 
designed by Raven Witch of Serpent Lake 
who brews honey wine in Cauldron of Faith 
while chanting hex of wisdom from the stars. 

Atomic light of pure love in my cells 
began to gleam before our world was born 
from frantic swirls of penitential lust 
that sparkles carbon molecules to bind 
aggressive force of hope with grim desire 
which aggregates proverbs in Book of Dreams. 

Startled awake by the wrinkle in time, 
that folds every universe of my mind 
in vibrant matrix through radio waves, 
I study flashing quarks in supple words 
preserved as letters writhing on white page 
that prove ten dimensions spiral through eggs. 

When I come to the road less traveled by, 
that has never appeared on any map 
drawn by Lone Wolf in monastery cave, 
I find pregnant woman by the blind oak 
who seems to know the secret of my name, 
so we walk in the yellow wood of hope. 

Alert in classroom full of changeling sprites, 
I teach how Mercator projection map 
provides the best navigation device 
for brave explorers who sail Seven Seas 
across ten dimensions of time and space 
to colonize the world with fantasies. 

My sensitive spirit of eager faith 
writhes with rancid bitterness of gloom 
when I transverse the endless realm of words 
with yearning to retrieve Diamond of Death 
by crossing threshold of the Otherworld 
that leaves me stranded in my first hometown. 

I drift in dreary reverie of fear 
to seek asylum in your weary heart 
where grief corrupts sagacious honesty 
through quaint cathexis in your faceless soul 
for which I leap to cross eternity 
as swirling shadow of atomic words. 

Absence Of Auspicious Love

Absence Of Auspicious Love
© Surazeus
2026 04 18

To buy dragon eggs at the grocery store, 
I carry magic box of blinking eyes, 
reluctant to transcend limits of thought 
as if I am the tragic money man 
who always stumbles on the muddy road 
though I stare at the ghost on the front porch. 

To dive in lake of pain before dawn light, 
I watch collapsing century resurge 
with monstrous tenderness of berry jam 
which teaches me importance of dream facts 
to avoid the trap of hiding regret 
for living blasphemously without pride. 

To ransack archives of personal taste, 
I dismiss surprises of history 
smeared with melancholy colors of hope 
which suit my vibrant life style on the town 
when I perform dramatic scenes to prove 
lessons of survival trick me with wealth. 

To relax in burning building of faith, 
I write strange thought formulas on chalk boards 
that describe how flowers explode from brains 
through social ideologies of power 
that divide us into factions of blind greed, 
impersonal as mountains that drink clouds. 

To analyze photographs of blurred ghosts, 
I stand beside the stop sign near the park 
and count how many chances I have missed 
in vain attempts to evade curse of fame 
that dogs my footsteps past the Promised Land 
till I attend inauguration balls. 

To formulate myself as almost real, 
I break into meaningless tomb of fear 
where skeleton of Jesus, cracked by fate, 
crumbles into gold dust of burned-out stars, 
so I stand trembling on the global stage 
and erase heroes from national myths. 

To join my neighbors at the barbecue, 
I untwist proverbs from roots of dead trees 
disguised as telephone lines of contempt 
that beam puzzling riddles to glowing screens 
reflecting faces in masks of dead gods 
whom we perform all day with reticence. 

To try ingenuous mode with bitter guile, 
I measure changing contours of the world 
where priests lead believers in maze of lies 
because in the end every person dies, 
for every fake belief in holy books 
blinds me to absence of auspicious love. 

She Almost Wonders If

She Almost Wonders If
© Surazeus
2026 04 18

She almost wonders if time is not real 
based on how water flows through veins of steel 
till silver raven, from dim vale she fears, 
explains strange magic of machinery gears, 
so lame girl walks downside up to her room 
where faceless fairies flicker in sad gloom. 

She never questions why stars glitter gold 
because she savors water that seems cold 
while reading romance tales in canny books 
that were sewn from butterfly wings by cooks 
who hide crystal keys in loaves of hot bread 
which she can use to resurrect the dead. 

She always asks each ghost their secret name 
because she wants to learn their psychic game 
which gives her social tools to fool the fools 
who gather in workshops to design tools 
that devils use to manipulate minds 
except for her who loves to feed shy hinds. 

She ever wanders garden of fruit trees 
in search of new words she can use to tease 
grim angel standing guard by jeweled gate 
whose sky-blue eyes require she defy fate, 
but when she climbs through window of her heart 
he flies away without celestial chart. 

She often leans in window of high tower 
to watch her favorite horse consume star flower, 
and dreams of racing swift beyond far hills 
to eat fresh apples and drink from clear rills, 
but wakes from daydream in gray mirror frame 
to smile and pretend she was not born lame. 

She mostly paints fierce dragon on ice peak 
whose rage is tamed by lame girl who is meek 
since she is doomed to inherit the Earth 
according to chart of her royal birth, 
so she limps quietly down narrow hall 
past portraits of ancestors on the wall. 

She nearly steps through unlocked door of hope 
in frantic mission to expand her scope 
by slipping free from castle of despair, 
but pauses halfway down steep winding stair 
to ponder abstract numbers of blind faith 
that help her mind perceive the eyeless wraith. 

She rarely thinks about mute nothingness 
while waiting on Bridge of Forgetfulness, 
so when Rapunzel gains her liberty 
she strums taut strings on lyre of Mercury 
and sings heart-wrenching psalms of bitter love 
while busking in strange towns where she may rove. 

Organize Electric Beams

Organize Electric Beams
© Surazeus
2026 04 18

While stealing apples from the Tree of Life 
in Garden of Eden where angels play, 
I hear tall woman with long flowing hair 
explain that, though the singers may change, 
the music goes on for thousands of years, 
so I lie on my back and stare at clouds. 

If I should disappear from dream of time 
my heart will expand its delicate wings 
and sing in harmony with flowing streams, 
articulating words with tongue of ice 
which conjures visions from rumble of thoughts 
so we become the truth our minds invent. 

When I am amniote at dawn of time 
I crawl through shallow stream of trickling light, 
imbibing water of cerulean skies, 
across sapphires, rubies, and emeralds, 
transforming form by climbing tall fruit trees, 
so now I stand and talk about my hope. 

Attentive flash of primal energy, 
that motivates my quest to find fresh fruit, 
fills empty nothing of my hungry mind 
when missing feature draws me to new state 
in constant motion of the absolute 
to seek truth that is absent from my heart. 

Fierce longing to remember taste of rain 
draws me to flashing flicker of the flame 
which I contain in ring of glowing stones 
because I know they are the fallen stars 
that teach me how to label what I see 
with words that blaze enlightenment of faith. 

Knee-deep in muddy water of the lake, 
I move through swirling lichen of desire 
to catch elusive fish of secret truth 
while hunting demon of excessive wrath 
that strikes from tangled limbs of tempting fruit 
so I snatch the writhing snake by its neck. 

When savage thirst for ecstasy of love 
swells huge from pulsing passion of my heart, 
I open wide my mouth with tongue of ice 
to speak in words of honest sentiment, 
but nothing more than howling wind of hope 
soars from cage of my soul on wings of light. 

Designed by brutal nature of the bog, 
I rise from sloshing arrogance of fear 
to build enormous towers of steel and glass 
so I can organize electric beams 
in computer nodes of the world wide web 
as I evolve from fish to Cyber God. 

Celestial Stars Of Truth

Celestial Stars Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 04 17

Uncompromising laughter sinks the boat 
when flowers bloom from April blood of fear, 
so she stares deep in bullet of the heart 
to judge with fake authority of stones, 
but she will miss the way dead flowers droop, 
subjective thoughts of labor unfulfilled. 

Because no yellow cabs of honesty 
still gleam in silver fog of bored desire, 
Cassandra chews gum by the whisky bar 
and hides gun of despair in plastic purse, 
but smiles at every stranger in the rain 
who give her flowers that wilt before dawn. 

Inverse of shadow, ionized by faith, 
beams blatant silence at the bookstore lamp 
through photographic tricks, which magnify 
inert ambition fueling games of chance 
which no fool ever wins against the house 
that cracks and sinks into the hungry swamp. 

Rain splushing loud against her fractured heart 
enhances lonely shock of bitter hope 
that she decides means nothing to the man 
who plays role of her father in the game 
untwisting moral laws of fortitude 
which encode uncollected jokes of kings. 

Critical flame consuming books of tales 
frames how the humble tramp in baggy pants 
gives scarlet lily to the girl who cooks 
meals of eggs, potatoes, and buttered toast 
for grim-faced warriors of the Burning Cross 
who wage holy crusade against straw men. 

Inspired by jagged cliffs, battered by waves 
of relentless change, she gathers cracked stones 
from bleeding walls of paradise to build 
cathedral of contemplation from words 
children discard with eurythmic contempt 
for rotten leaves of fashion magazines. 

Her eyes behind lace curtain of desire 
express unspoken passion to share hope, 
so he breathes deep celestial stars of truth, 
then soars on invisible wings of love, 
swooping over phone lines of faceless words, 
then lands in garden where she tends fresh herbs. 

Enchanted by smile of wisdom she beams, 
he listens to soft voice of her strange soul 
describe weird vision of peace between tribes, 
then gives her brass cauldron he forged from faith 
so she cooks stew enough to feed the world 
from fish he catches in the mountain stream. 

Reptile Sobek Soul

Reptile Sobek Soul
© Surazeus
2026 04 17

Ever-living fire of the star-soul mind 
gleams beautiful happiness in my brain, 
so I wear mask of Sobek I designed 
to dance with laughter in electric rain 
till mad Poseidon shakes the spinning world 
which spawns religion of the cosmic herald. 

Transcending limits of this transient flesh, 
I float in cavern of spiraling gems, 
woven by Apollonia through dream mesh 
so seven sisters wearing diadems 
appear before the crowd of worshippers 
and seek to marry loyal Jupiters. 

Disguised as Sobek, master of the sea, 
I challenge Seth to run for president 
in social campaign to crown Liberty 
who rallies spirit of the dissident 
while we play golf in hills of vanity 
by scamming loyalists for charity. 

Dancing to wild beat of the forest ghost, 
drunk on wine of truth that Bacchus brews, 
I sacrifice Black Lamb as temple host 
to feed eight billion people evening news 
contrived to validate the gods in power 
who worship Golden Calf in the glass tower. 

Long seaweed hair of emotional vibes 
writhe out from head of Tethys in dream web 
that weaves her spirit into wandering tribes 
who spread from Atlas Mountains of Maghreb 
in epic quest to find the Promised Land 
where Sobek rules all with his red right hand. 

With gentle gestures of conceptual spells, 
Tethys fills our hearts with ocean waves 
so we vibrate with energy of wells 
which radiates runes of wisdom from dank caves 
when Jesus and his wife, Empress Mermaid, 
enforce fair justice with the law-honed blade. 

Connected to white lilies of the field, 
that fluoresce beams from silver moon of faith, 
my raucous heart expands platinum shield 
that protects my people from the cosmic wraith 
who morphs me from Sobek to Lucifer 
so I bear light as humble troubadour. 

When I hear trickle of the waterfall 
that sparkles over jagged cliff of time, 
I find I have become Prince Parsifal 
betrothed to marry graceful Clementine, 
so I evolve from Reptile Sobek Soul 
with solemn vow to play new honest role. 

Azure Purity Of Being

Azure Purity Of Being
© Surazeus
2026 04 16

My heart has become the weird moon in the stream 
fused with infinity through secret words 
that shine as essence at the core of things 
which I perceive with telepathic vibe 
that dissolves barrier blocking my soul 
through impalpable serenity of being. 

Struck by hot blood of sunlight on my skin 
I stretch beyond horizon of my body 
to swirl with soil in water of my brain 
that leaves me standing as sky of the world 
transformed from light to trees and animals 
who blaze with azure purity of being. 

Despite joy-twisting despair that we die, 
I bloom with disconsolate shock of truth 
that we are so alive this vibrant hour 
as flames of energy in pulsing flesh 
which has evolved four hundred million years, 
immortal soul of genes reborn in me. 

I am the distant blueness of the sky 
which emanates from hard core of the Earth 
through swirling passion of beautiful fear 
that drives my progress to become myself 
till I am not the I I dream I am 
because I walk beside me as God Self. 

I become the I I find in the world 
whose spirit merges with my fragile soul 
through strange celestial breath of writhing words 
that thread my brain in fabric of all time 
when I meet mirror image of myself 
who changes into someone else I love. 

Growing old on winding road of my life, 
where I have wandered nowhere randomly, 
I pause and look back at my younger selves 
who separate in clones I am no more 
as shadows gleaming in each open door 
who will remain after I am long gone. 

Once I remove all the masks I have worn, 
which will always reveal another mask, 
I become no one, and yet everyone 
who has ever lived on this spinning globe, 
so when you search for me in songs I write 
you will find nothing but your own true self. 

Joining ancient choir of the human soul, 
I sing with tongue of the invisible 
in harmony with poets of the past 
whose dream-maps guide my clumsy way past fear 
so I rejoice in beauty of this world 
that shines with visible atoms of thought. 

Silver Swan Of Truth

Silver Swan Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 04 16

Dark similitude of her image glows 
as seraph hovering over me with wings 
of ancient wisdom mirrored by the moon 
when she appears as silver swan of truth 
that sprinkles snow of beauty on my head 
so I imagine I am Socrates. 

Her timeless eyes that gleam with countless stars 
unveil bright nothingness in everything 
yet flash through flowing waves of molecules 
in sweet harmonious music of the spheres 
which oscillate between opposing poles 
to weave our souls in matrix of God Mind. 

Inspired by Tree of Knowledge by the lake 
that dances in soft breeze one hundred years, 
I stand as second shadow to her soul 
just as the wise seer Theodore foretold 
who shows me how to see with dreamless eyes 
Realm of Ideas beyond the visible. 

With mind untrammeled by religious creeds 
I outfly nets of mutability 
based on dream map that Theodore designed 
by navigating shadows of this world 
that bind my soul to limits of my body 
though my brain explores weird infinity. 

I hitchhike far across the Evening Land 
with lyre of Mercury in my left hand, 
and on my journey beyond truth I knew 
I find out what I am in my world view, 
because we blaze in preternatural light 
till we all vanish in mute dreamless night. 

Since I am made of atoms shining bright 
with brave attentive force of selfless love, 
I am concept of God we humans made 
attempting wake wise inside my brain 
which gleams as prism in its neural net 
refracting God Mind in my transient self. 

Eight billion humans living on this Earth 
are every one one fragment of One God 
for we all spring from one maternal mind, 
First Mother who still dreams inside our brains 
since she stood startled by the Lake of Stars 
and sang clear visions of her loving heart. 

Though driven down the signless road of hope 
by bleak despair of hunger for weird truth, 
I rise from shadow of my single self 
to feel First Mother wake inside my mind 
so I expand scope of bright consciousness 
to sing with joy while knowing I will die. 

Vibrant Flash Of Faith

Vibrant Flash Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 04 15

If she knows why stars incarnate as flowers, 
she hides the secret as math formulas 
in the chemistry textbook of her heart, 
and only smiles while we dance to the music 
that radiates from the singing stone of truth 
which flashes mirror eyes of lonely souls. 

Since she remembers why the Javan Myna 
taught her how to fly when she was still young, 
she fries corned beef sandwich on sourdough bread 
with sauerkraut, Swiss cheese, and island dressing, 
which we enjoy with sharp Italian wine, 
after which we sit on the porch and ponder. 

Because she has nothing special to prove 
concerning strange color of innocence, 
she rides silver bike to the river shore, 
where nothing dramatic ever occurs, 
to paint secret faces of the Blue Sky 
as shimmer reflected in the road pool. 

Confident she contains crowds of blind ghosts 
who encode her secrets in photographs, 
she sails small river boat on gleaming waves 
where choir of fish sing cosmic melodies 
before the peacock with luminous wings 
that transforms into proud Queen of the Earth. 

Erased by history books she never reads, 
she cooks to feed her children with calm care 
and cleans their clothes so they can play their role, 
till she becomes the body of their house, 
enclosed inside polished box of her heart, 
which she takes with her when she walks away. 

Drunk from imbibing spiced Dragon Brain Wine, 
brewed from honey and psychedelic mushrooms, 
she flies broom of the oak tree among clouds 
to feed expansive emptiness of truth 
with swirling energy contained in fruit 
that weaves memories of gods in her brain. 

Inspired by flood of the apocalypse 
that smashes institutions of state power, 
she surfs tsunami waves of social change 
with grim elation of justice for all 
when she embraces vibrant flash of faith 
to help Nature cleanse our world of cruel hate. 

Unaware I requite her secret feelings, 
she scrapes raw skin of passionate desire 
against granite fortitude of my heart 
so we savor transient bliss of pure love 
that wakes our hearts with vibrant flash of faith 
before we grow old and decay to silence. 

Immodest Seraph Of Fate

Immodest Seraph Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 04 15

Because stars have names that describe their glow, 
I walk around the neighborhood of doors, 
curious about angels who occupy 
empty rooms where faceless people consider 
why secret smudge in the back of our souls 
obscures celestial light inside our brains. 

Though I realize the longest way back home 
is thirteen times around our spinning globe, 
I live with circus of the weeping clown 
on lost island where oranges are not bombs 
designed by immodest seraph of fate 
who charges me for parking in her garden. 

Nothing is spotless in house of desire 
except the screaming clock of happiness 
that teaches me to count eternity 
as blind apprentice stuck at the crossroads 
where sapphire of intensity gleams eyes 
of time-entangled gods in human flesh. 

When I break open fresh-baked loaf of bread, 
searing light of the condensed sun expands 
scope of memory flashing through my brain 
so I remember stumbling in dark rain 
because huge shadow of the angry man 
lurks behind gate of home my father built. 

Discolored scene of urgent lassitude 
defeats perverse order of faded prayers 
stalled by gracious flowers of fragile chimes 
that trap me outside my own space and time 
as if my face reveals continuum 
through dramatic suddenness of soft waves. 

Fear hesitates to antagonize honest souls 
who float suspended in sequestered state 
between survival and global success 
based on refreshing absence of desire 
to question how verbal systems of truth 
reframe old events with new moral laws. 

Disinterested in tactics of regret, 
I measure how the storm of social change 
transforms weariness of the hungry world 
to special promises through rivalry 
unique to our obsessive age of hope 
where people sell motives to stay alive. 

Mirage of paradise that blinds our eyes 
presents potential hazard to the heart, 
explained by immodest seraph of fate 
as fashion brokered by the searching soul 
based in arguments carved on cliffs of faith 
since we never meet at the broken door. 

Fragile Wings Of Thought

Fragile Wings Of Thought
© Surazeus
2026 04 14

Arrested by white lightning of the mind, 
I see strange demon outside looking in 
at how I translate flowers into juice 
that veils indifference Nature twists in trees 
which reassemble molecules of souls 
from wolfish passion to serenity. 

Love pulses subtly with portentous pride 
at mute confession no one dares express 
since darkness molds truth from attentive time 
aligned with psychic cause of liberty 
that we embody through obsessive play 
to build world empire from small colony. 

Concerned how rainbows pierce our aching hearts 
at fraction of the cost to produce dreams, 
I split expansive spectrum in huge books 
designed to photograph the blazing towers 
from which mad gods fall far on crippled wings 
who stare through windows at our cheerful feasts. 

Unbreakable soul of calm honesty 
decides to play no drama on world stage 
in vain attempt to parcel land in shards 
where children of dead gods design new games 
while running freely in cathedral hall 
beneath high arching heavens of regret. 

Our world keeps spinning in the silent void, 
sphere bound by writhing threads of energy 
that weave neural net of my dreaming brain 
with Ungod dwelling in Garden of Zarth 
which shimmers everywhere brave men explore 
because we celebrate core nothingness. 

If death preserves our fleeting memories 
in countless four-walled rooms of privacy 
against assertion of dramatic sun 
who sits in garden of accomplishments, 
we humbly walk with Death on signless road 
because our starlight bodies will decay. 

My new ethereal life of casual play 
presumes ontology designed by Fate 
who nurtures Garden of Hesperides 
to prove existing objects are more real 
than pretty concepts conjured in my mind 
which float away on fragile wings of thought. 

Shocked by how Hope mocks mortal fleetingness 
as gift of nothingness humans enjoy, 
I write new mental program in dream code 
to give each human power of the rain 
that falls in steady streams of liquid masks 
explaining why we give each other names. 

Tearing Roots Of Sorrow

Tearing Roots Of Sorrow
© Surazeus
2026 04 14

If Linda wants to sing of seeing time 
unfold our steadfast stars of frozen hope, 
then she may record riddles birds express 
to measure magnitude of selfish love 
since we are fragile flames of consciousness 
that flicker out before we understand. 

Since Linda perceives what is difficult 
with easy effort of the fractured moon, 
she might exchange beauty of her dream world 
to formulate new code for what is real, 
for she is fierce sprite of the cityscape 
who centers herself till she disappears. 

Disinterested in obvious metaphors 
that hollow space for absence of the heart, 
spry Linda notes that wind heaves in wild trees 
with quiet warmness of enclosing walls 
shaped by sharp subtlety of full-moon rays 
that wrap black sky around her plastic face. 

Through incomplete sentences of desire 
that strike list of observations on walls, 
snarky Linda leads us to hall of masks 
where we stand with her before too-square frames 
that subject fluid personalities 
with clumsy variables of dream syntax. 

Teaching our eyes to see uncanny truth 
which emanates from unnatural fragments 
of puzzles formed from dreams everyone shares, 
curious Linda places broken quill 
in my trembling hand with intimate smile 
and urges me to write spells with my blood. 

Amazed at spare beauty of gentle song 
that she unearths from ancient monoliths 
by tearing roots of sorrow from our hearts, 
grim Linda tells us how all things we see 
are shapes Death molds from rotten flesh of lust 
for we see each other with eyes of death. 

I interrupt her chant of thoughtful prayers 
in tangled conversation with blind ghosts 
to insist that I see with eyes of life 
because I love every person on Earth 
whose statues camouflage their emptiness 
which echoes strange abandonment of words. 

Her clear-eyed gaze of silent intellect 
strips mask of haughty pride from off my face, 
so we eat apple pie on the back porch 
then sing with crickets in the river reeds 
enraged at vow of silence Linda keeps 
when she transcribes their happy loneliness. 

Mezuzah Of World Dream

Mezuzah Of World Dream
© Surazeus
2026 04 13

Because I am the door through which I pass 
when I transform from my parents to me, 
I stretch my body on conceptual grass 
with luxuriant ennui of the free, 
yet strangers write on tablet of my heart 
their stories that compose my moral chart. 

I stand on dim-lit stage in quaint cafe 
to read my confessions with poet voice 
in spells that trap my spirit in cliche, 
designed to imitate how gods rejoice, 
but I stare in starless void with silent thought, 
then pretend I am the naive robot. 

Though I study figures on Grecian Urn 
with passionate sense of dire urgency, 
I wonder when Fortune will give me turn 
to measure my spiritual vergency 
that indicates focal power of rain 
to refract the Divine Mind through my brain. 

I shall not weep at the clarion call 
that wakes my spirit from tomb of dead words, 
so I paint my dream with blood on church wall 
when angels translate prophecies of birds 
to tragic tale of Tristan and Isolde 
who found world empire on desolate wold. 

When Friedrich rolls away the cryptic stone, 
exposing bones of Jesus in dark tomb, 
I call my father on the telephone 
who tells me secret of maternal womb 
is bound by symbol of the Holy Grail 
from mountain wind that billows my ship sail. 

I sail the Seven Seas in Ship of State 
to colonize the fertile wilderness 
with secret map that helps me navigate 
Scylla and Charybdis from Inverness 
where Rapunzel in tower of star eyes 
trains our daughter to manage psychic spies. 

As I approach Temple of Poseidon, 
that glows on promontory by the sea, 
on my journey from Isle of Avalon, 
Haniel, Angel of Serenity, 
gives me glass tablet of world history 
so I write psalms about the Mystery. 

Haniel bears Mezuzah of World Dream 
while ascending ziggurat steps of faith, 
which she gives to wise Ishtar with esteem 
who sings hymn of the transcendent Star Wraith, 
composed of all our souls woven in light, 
who teaches humans art of spirit flight. 

Crown Of Infertile Pride

Crown Of Infertile Pride
© Surazeus
2026 04 13

If bloodless corpse of the drowned sailor crawls 
cackling from brackish sorrow of the sea, 
zombie followers of the vampire god 
proclaim him new messiah of their cause, 
and crown his fractured skull of rotten muck 
with powerless crown of infertile pride. 

Yet none will call for Ahab to return 
from graveyard of grim heroes time forgot, 
imbued with monstrous energy of hope, 
to play Poseidon and shake Earth again 
with regulating plan that realigns 
old world order in new alliances. 

Resurrected from harrowed brine of power, 
Leviathan raises high ten-horned head, 
dripping with oiled backwash of battleships, 
to roar assertive commands which should prove 
strength of authority enforces law 
against rising tides of rebellious states. 

Weakened by aggressive angst of despair 
at mockery of ministers with calm masks, 
King Midas lumbers clumsily to thwart 
clamorous voices that protest his lies 
while he wallows with sealion contempt 
in wounded pride of toxic vanity. 

Still stuck in ash-pit of Jehoshaphat, 
the self-deluded prince of bitterness 
lurches against coiled serpent of regret, 
shouting curses at prophets to deny 
crimes he commits against humanity 
with slavish corruption of cruel contempt. 

Fierce waves of retribution swell from Hell 
in surging formulations of strict law, 
designed by blind powers of the Blue Sky 
to expose supercilious disdain 
King Midas expresses with envious snarl, 
outraged his devil wings are clipped by truth. 

Evolved from sweet slime of our Mother Sea, 
we stand upright beneath the Tree of Knowledge 
to declare with voice of supremacy 
how we will bend bright rainbow of our will 
against harsh indifference of the wild sea 
that smashes our empire to shards of lies. 

Though we are no more humble penitents, 
we take off civilized shoes of concern 
and walk barefoot endless miles to attain 
wisdom from poisoned whirlpool of Shiloah 
that causes us to choke on principles 
twisting our hearts with shocked hypocrisy. 

Puzzle Of Disparate Truths

Puzzle Of Disparate Truths
© Surazeus
2026 04 12

Exquisite beauty of soft floating snow 
resurrects death in lush leaves on tall trees, 
assembling puzzle of disparate truths 
in mirror mask Nature wears to revive 
aching spirit of my heart with mute love 
so I long to walk with you in bright woods. 

Snow flakes supply sweet angel tears of light 
that nourish roots of fruit trees so they mold 
sunlight to cherries, apples, pears, and grapes 
which nurture human souls of transient flesh 
with clear immortal water from Blue Sky 
who blesses fields where wheat sprouts from our hearts. 

Annoyed that eggs she finds in underbrush 
crack in large basket she wove from tree twigs, 
Celta notes eggs gleam safe on tufts of grass 
so she tears handfuls from bounty of fate 
and pads its bottom with layer of softness 
that protects eggs she collects from getting cracked. 

Returning to kurgan mound by the lake, 
first built by grandfather of her grandfather, 
Celta slips behind thick veil of grape vines 
to enter chambered cairn where she dwells safe, 
hangs herbs above workbench of oak to dry, 
then boils eggs in copper pot in hot hearth. 

Hungry for fish roasted with herbs and oil, 
Celta carries pack with net and long pole 
to silver lake between pine-shrouded hills 
where she casts net to fill basket with fish, 
then digs mussels from slurping river muck 
as sparrows chirp in alders on the ridge. 

Stepping over stones to climb narrow trail, 
Celta pauses when she sees in large cave 
wild wolf man with long matted hair and beard 
who holds cracked turtle shell with two deer horns 
and sings strange anthem as he plucks gut strings 
in lamentation at heart-breaking loss. 

Reaching out his hand with gesture of trust, 
Wilkus offers her ride in river boat, 
so Celta sits on prow bench as he rows 
across bright lake lashed by sudden wind storm 
that causes her to fall against his chest 
and hold him tight as he strives for safe shore. 

Warm and dry together in chambered cairn, 
Wilkus and Celta consume roasted fish, 
drink spiced grape wine with relish of desire, 
share tragic tale of Tristan and Isolde, 
then kiss and make love on thick wolf-fur rug 
as butterfly flutters around their heads. 

Now Unspoken Mirroring

Now Unspoken Mirroring
© Surazeus
2026 04 12

Audacities of faithless innocence 
confuse transactions of honest exchange 
with enraptured lust from austerity 
that realigns resemblance we discharge 
through act of avoidance subtle as shouts 
caressing contours of absence we share. 

Elliptical words misexpress desire 
in tune with fierce emotional restraint 
that stalls deliverance of shocked release 
at passionate blast of erotic thoughts 
through warm compassion of the fallen heart 
seduced by hot metaphors of syntax. 

If I negotiate with casual fear 
to uncover judgement of wordless taste, 
against progression of the absolute, 
I might become subject to honesty, 
brutal with now unspoken mirroring 
that feels intimate at pause of the touch. 

Each turn of sudden sentences we share 
through struggle to convey new moral strands 
excludes our tendency to ramble far 
at penetration of the curious mind 
which intimates our fraught mortality 
at soft obstruction of respite from death. 

Siphoned by sorrow of bland nothingness, 
my shriveled heart sneers at bitter reproach 
contained by consoling voices of wind 
more provocative than sacred regret 
for essential disarray of fake psalms 
that smear sentiments of blood on dead grass. 

If essence of my self emerges clear 
from poisoned nimbus of untasted lips, 
I contemplate aggressive force of life 
that drives divergence of my fractured brain 
from viable range of accepted masks, 
forged by fantasy of family romance. 

Trapped in contemporary culture games, 
as model for psychic material 
contrived to mediate ranges of being, 
I extract facile conclusions from books 
torn by complex language of vanity 
with congenital need for solitude. 

Organized violence of mental spells 
through subtle encroachment of earnest play 
injects sharp charm in our zero-sum game 
involving innocent laughter at soft shock 
of nuclear flash tangential to life 
that focuses attention on desire. 

Strangeness Of Reality

Strangeness Of Reality
© Surazeus
2026 04 12

Entranced by strangeness of reality, 
I kneel in cathedral of burning light 
and contemplate significance of death 
since Nature is indifferent to me, 
till I feel swell from abyss of my heart 
immense divinity of nothingness. 

Annoyed by strangeness of reality, 
I measure magnitude of silent dark 
till I find patterns of normality 
in swirling chaos of atomic change 
that flashes glimmer of the knowing eye 
perceiving lucence of the gaseous soul. 

Inspired by strangeness of reality, 
I thread quick waves of particles in web 
designed to mimic puzzle of unknowns 
contained by figure of the conscious soul 
whose mind arranges colors into shapes 
then labels them with sentimental names. 

Insured by strangeness of reality, 
I purchase credible theology 
encoded in proverbs of social memes 
that arrange themselves as meaning in minds 
concerned with certainties of changeless truths 
unraveling our world view into myth. 

Surprised by strangeness of reality, 
I observe new sonic parameters 
contained by constant flashing entropy 
that might suggest strict rites of honesty 
along path of least resistance to find 
well of salvation in the frosted field. 

Disturbed by strangeness of reality, 
I conjure whimsical image of truth 
to practice metaphysics of respect 
for diaphanous mask my spirit wears 
when I play demiurge of spectral verse 
to mold virtual model of Earth from dreams. 

Observed by strangeness of reality, 
I confront weird mystery of otherness 
that pulses from black hole of everywhere 
in order to describe shadow of fate 
that proves unsolvable with formulas 
designed by seekers to map the Unmind. 

Compelled by strangeness of reality, 
I wander obscure wood of sylvan faith 
to understand nature of everything 
while lost in saccharine mist of desire, 
then meet you at the Pegasus Cafe 
to drink coffee and share spells we compose. 

Hungry Crow Of Truth

Hungry Crow Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 04 12

Erased by laughter of the waterfall, 
I wander to work at the grocery store 
where I stock shelves with cans of vegetables, 
then climb in dead oak tree by the highway 
and pretend I am the hungry crow of truth 
who solves math riddles of the eglantine. 

From my perch in the city park I see 
eight hippies sit in circle on the grass, 
wearing headbands with flowers in their hair, 
who sing hymn Where Have All the Flowers Gone 
with mercurial voices of revolution 
while bearded Jesus strums guitar of truth. 

While riding El Camino on glass highway 
across Mojave Desert in July, 
I hear that god Apollo and his friends 
have landed on bright mirror of the moon 
to visit God and his exotic cat 
who shows them how to run the universe. 

Extreme perfection gained by stealing rain 
inspires my heart to photograph the face 
that God wears as he plays the human race 
based on experience of the pioneers 
who earn their privilege through suffering 
that they endure while stealing pristine land. 

Old bearded preacher wearing long black cloak 
declares that God is energy of light 
that animates each atom through the void 
so everything we do by force of fate 
expresses will of God in how we act, 
but I insist I live through my own will. 

Potential portrait, that depicts my face 
as noble prototype of providence, 
hangs on museum wall of reverence 
that proves all my accomplishments of faith 
place me on pinnacle of social games 
as prominent goon of society. 

Revenue retrieved from fake bank accounts 
solidifies my power over truth 
when I employ strategic feints of faith 
sufficient to enhance my social clout 
enough that I play grand symbolic role 
as clown crucified by bureaucracy. 

Subjective standards of state moral laws 
require conditions supportive of faith 
taxed by grim priests with sharpened scythes of hope 
who sell synthetic prayers of rectitude 
contrived by honest therapist of hope 
who forges keys of wisdom from despair. 

Fruit Of Secret Truth

Fruit Of Secret Truth
© Surazeus
2026 04 11

Bewildered by ghosts hiding in blank books, 
who beam voices of gods through window glass, 
I step outside numberless door of home 
and face busy world of ambitious pride 
that hides human suffering in sad songs 
sung by their tragic angels till they die. 

I find no more than shadows of our world 
writhing as serpentine ghosts in blank books 
to perform roles of long-dead characters 
who succeed or fail in finding soul mate 
to generate new life before they die 
who with Leander swim the lusty sea. 

Startled when divine apple tree of truth, 
which casts eerie shadow across our land, 
transforms into little girl with star eyes, 
I walk to town library after work 
to read about wind devils of the soul 
who become gods chronicled in old myths. 

Stripped of their language, homes, songs, and fruit trees, 
my ancestors sail across storm-wracked sea 
to invade and colonize paradise, 
transforming wilderness of mountain woods 
to gleaming towers of computer banks 
where Mercury plays the Wizard of Oz. 

Awake in dreams that flash across my mind, 
all my ancestors reperform their lives 
in endless loop of strange experiences 
which program how I interact with fate, 
tricked to believe my special consciousness 
will live forever in meme code of poems. 

Each drop of water sloshing on our globe 
has been ingested by organic beings 
four hundred million years of blooming growth, 
so this one drop of water in my heart 
has animated billions of bright brains 
with light that shimmers now in my own brain. 

I feel their souls vibrate inside my cells 
as seething ocean of spiritual ghosts 
who teach me secret of eternal life 
is how immortal soul of genes in me 
threads all my ancestors in my brain now 
that spools from First Mother of humankind. 

I ask Persephone to marry me 
so she gives me pomegranate to eat, 
then we hold hands and lounge beneath the stars 
where soul of everyone who ever lives 
twinkles blissfully at how we kiss 
and give each other fruit of secret truth. 

Wise God We Elect

Wise God We Elect
© Surazeus
2026 04 11

Startled by something unseen in the night, 
I exchange my face for the mask of light, 
then dance with carefree joy in the grove 
where wingless fairies of apple trees rove, 
but stop and ponder why men fight for power 
and who will marry princess in the tower. 

I value beauty of our empty world 
that spins in galaxy of stars unfurled 
with quaint anticipation that strange tune 
vibrates with passion of the writhing rune 
lithe as wise serpent in tall tree of fruit 
that flutters rainbow wings as I play lute. 

To stop blood-thirsty tyrant shooting bombs 
that shatter safe homes into boneless tombs 
Scheherazade recounts one thousand tales 
while strolling secretly on mountain trails, 
and then one more about the holocaust 
humans commit when paradise is lost. 

When massive vibration of human souls 
beams rainbow shimmer of intense love goals 
with effortless grace of perpetual prayer 
by chanting spells that unveil ghoul of fear, 
we reach out hands of generous respect 
to mold zeitgeist in wise god we elect. 

Electric phoenix ghost with crystal wings, 
that soars above our river vale of rings, 
expresses shrill uncanny song of hope 
that teaches me constructive ways to cope 
with our volatile time of social change 
where moral values shift weird angles strange. 

Astonished by world-spin of chemicals 
in matrix wound from waves of particles, 
I catalog all creatures who exist 
with sibylline code in dynamic list, 
encrypted by psychotic formulas 
through cosmic map of the Americas. 

Yet proxy actor who plays Lucifer 
insists that I perform as Jupiter 
in secret mission to guard paradise 
by coding social myths with viral price 
which redefines how brave heroic deeds 
vector calyx pattern of mental seeds. 

Though singers come and go in flow of time 
eternal song of true love humans mime 
will bloom again each season of the heart 
in harmony with notes on the dream chart 
composed with blood of angels on the scroll 
which I archive as duty of my role.  

Blind Mother Sea

Blind Mother Sea
© Surazeus
2026 04 11

When I crawl from womb of blind mother sea, 
with brain programmed to sing atomic tunes, 
I explore tricky landscape of our globe 
over three hundred eighty million years 
till I stand on highest mountain of faith 
and proclaim myself god in breathing flesh. 

Then timeless fortune mocks my haughty pride 
and trashes fantasy my brain designs 
with cruel indifference of mind-twisting fate 
that readjusts attention of my heart 
to balance passion with obsessive rites 
which I perform to evade strike of death. 

Through self-control of scientific verse 
I confirm my soul at flash of dire curse 
that tricks perception of my curious eyes 
with grand illusion based on human deeds 
when I restrain assertions of free will 
with laws designed to focus lust on truth. 

Trapped by conceptual creed of bitter faith, 
that bodies made of pulsing molecules 
will resurrect from death at word of light, 
I escape despair at surprise of truth 
that we will disappear to swirls of dust 
when our lithe lust-driven bodies decay. 

I return to shore of blind mother sea 
to hear again in hollow of my heart 
relentless melody of surging tides 
where I first learned to walk upright on legs 
of curious passion to map the whole world, 
but weep I am so far now from her song. 

We humans have now mapped our spinning globe, 
exploring every inch of her landscapes, 
fertile plains, lush woods, rugged hills, bleak deserts, 
and colonizing vales where rivers flow 
with forty eight thousand cities and towns 
connected in vast web of signless roads. 

Though I have dwelled on surface of the Earth 
three hundred eighty million years of hope, 
I dream the twenty million years before 
I spent deep in womb of the swirling sea, 
forever swimming toward pure Eye of Light 
whose voice still calls to fly beyond the sky. 

I stand on wall that Nehemiah built 
from bones of dragons carved in cubes of glass, 
and survey lands across our spinning globe 
where people gather around fires to sing 
while kings in towers play chess games of war 
over who controls the blind mother sea. 

Calyx Of Conceptual Code

Calyx Of Conceptual Code
© Surazeus
2026 04 11

More ardent than how crows explode from rocks 
are tangled thoughts of tainted misery 
that drive me to walk endless neighborhood 
of manufactured homes designed to hide 
wolf spirit that lurks in each human heart 
with passion to survive fake fantasy. 

Though beauty of this energetic world 
pulses too bright for my sponge brain to see, 
my eyes assert brave effort to perceive 
electric essence flushed with quirky light 
when I stroll asphalt streets past flowered yards 
to listen for gossip of crows in elms. 

Binding fierce rage with calm spell of the Way 
that swirls deep as ocean waves in my cells, 
I float entranced by sudden vernal smells 
proclaiming ancient song that Nature writes 
with scars on soft bodies of human ghosts 
who conceal divine souls with masks of pride. 

Though I never return to land of myth 
that pulses all around me with sunlight, 
I ask Eurydice if she will sing 
psalm of darkness that still keeps her alive 
thousands of years after she caught the snake 
and took it writhing in deep cave of dreams. 

Because Eurydice sings the same psalm 
that lead her to escape prison jewel mine, 
we today can follow glamor of hope 
that she exudes on stage of ecstasy 
to understand blood moon of soul rebirth 
as we replay her tale in church of faith. 

Though singers of old tales change every age, 
translating ancient dramas for new ways, 
strange music of humanity vibrates 
forever with each spin of Earth in space 
when immortal spirit wears our new face 
so Orpheus appears each eighty years. 

When we are young and restless with desire 
we wander endless roads of fantasy 
to design weird role of our destiny 
by carving our place in dream of our time, 
startled into wisdom by charming chime 
that Fortune rings to wake us from our dream. 

Now that I play role of my special state 
by wandering somewhere to evade my fate, 
I analyze fashion of my true self 
that blooms in calyx of conceptual code 
to understand strange nature of my being 
that causes my love-wounded heart to sing. 

Wounded Heart Of Pity

Wounded Heart Of Pity
© Surazeus
2026 04 10

Emergent spirit, composed of sea bells, 
bequeaths new embassy through hieroglyphs 
detailing circuit calm of quadrant coil 
on which I sail beyond contrived complaints 
to cherish supple calyx Earth explores 
through monody my shadow souls express. 

Fantastic rain of unearned legacy 
pummels fields of private loneliness 
with ancient disciplines of mutiny 
by which my wounded heart of pity knows 
urgent silence outlawry still absconds 
despite fierce oaths contrary friends express. 

Far outside chilly walls of crowded church 
I sing with larks of unharmonious truth, 
tongue bound by bell-rope knelling fractured homes 
since I still wander doomed cathedral lawn 
through ripe assertions of sad epitaphs 
carved on strange walls in spells wild ghosts express. 

Though I have heard from scattered tones of stars 
antiphonal psalms no angel dares sing, 
I push against tribunal words of light 
at broken intervals launched into clouds 
from which I tumble prostrate on stark hills, 
hived in tales my old father should express. 

Up terraced meanings, desperate children mold 
from visionary voice of instant truth, 
we score eccentric cognates trapped by hope, 
though flawed encroachments tangle mute despair 
flung from towers of revival we seek, 
recording messages devils express. 

Taut matrix of our story-woven hearts 
enshrines false heroes who once filled our eyes 
with grand illusions of commodious fate, 
unsealed by forest spirit who knows how 
showers cleanse our putrid souls of despair 
evoked by anthems our sorrows express. 

Fraught carillons in tombs of withered gods, 
veering against light of synoptic creeds, 
lures our attentive souls long motionless 
to navigate our labyrinthine lies 
through pulsing monoliths of ardency 
now vibrant with sweet visions fools express. 

Index of riddles, that inspire our quest 
to hear sibylline voices of calm lakes, 
beneath which demons writhe oblique to fate, 
reveals palladium heart that nurtures me 
with tearful humor of healing regret 
so I may translate proverbs gods express. 

Specter Of Wisdom

Specter Of Wisdom
© Surazeus
2026 04 10

When their eyes are unblinded by pure light 
that radiates from glamor of my spells, 
and they preach salvation through inner sight 
granted by perspective of cosmic truth 
applied through analysis of my verse, 
Specter of Wisdom will curse me with fame. 

If I unveil psychotic course of change 
that transforms world view with sharp keys 
so minds perceive atomic state of truth, 
designed by Ungod to spark songs of joy, 
Specter of Fame will rise from cosmic wells 
and bind my spirit with perplexing curse. 

While I sing esoteric spells of faith 
in clever riddles of weird parables 
that mirror complicated scenes of change, 
designed to misdirect avenging ghosts, 
so you evade poisonous curse of fear, 
Specter of Truth will guard our way past Hell. 

Though poised Evangelist afraid of Death 
distorts clear vision my spells indicate 
that we are conscious flames of verbal light 
who flare forth from first flash of fertile hope, 
Specter of Love will shield our transient souls 
till we evaporate at chime of faith. 

Till zombies worshipping their vampire god 
transfer affection of obsessive faith 
to complex portrait of ontology 
presenting deeper truths about this world 
which my insightful spells project as dreams, 
Specter of Prudence will guard me from Fame. 

Safe in veiled haven of secure respect 
from seductive disease of famished Pride, 
I chant empowering vision of the Force 
we channel through attentive mind of faith 
Specter of Justice programs in our hearts 
so I may die in peaceful solitude. 

So if I maintain balance of regard 
for natural effect of constructive cause 
with formulas that transform selfish greed 
to generous calm of communal work 
that binds our global state of just rewards, 
Specter of Pride will never curse my soul. 

When minds of loyal followers are cracked 
by shocking truths that sprout from seeds of faith, 
programmed by cosmic vision of this world 
that guides their quest to find the Promised Land, 
Specter of Wisdom will release my soul 
from stifling curse of sterilizing Fame. 

Machines Of Potent Words

Machines Of Potent Words
© Surazeus
2026 04 09

Grim gargoyle shape of my expanding brain 
dodges succulent perfection of thirst 
through imperceptible questions he screams 
to imitate machines of potent words 
so we feel safe beside the lake of dreams 
where fish explain consecutive regrets. 

Since truth and beauty that our hearts desire 
are both illusions which our brains design, 
truth the real world we try to understand 
and beauty the dream world we would create, 
we walk together in stark field of flowers, 
inventing words to match what we perceive. 

Tenebrous beauty of the world we see 
sucks light of rainbows in vortex of gray 
so we mix flour and milk in bowl of hope 
to bake fresh bread that keeps our secret fears 
concealed in swelling loaf of urgent faith 
while nursing darkness of the spinless world. 

Rate of convection, when heat radiates, 
defends velocity of transient soul 
defined by wind chill factor of sweet words 
disguising curse of estimated flow 
when moving air disrupts my atmosphere 
though I breathe pure celestial dreams of love. 

We bundle fractured hearts with eglantine 
to stride with brave anxiety toward light 
illuminating maskless souls we mold 
from ringing bells that lure our seamless dance 
against continuous time through false doors 
to high-walled courtyard of lost paradise. 

Adjusting patient line of wounded souls 
through secret code of frantic telephones, 
we neither confirm nor deny concern 
for endless meditation angels play 
based on exoneration we must purchase 
to free our bodies from theology. 

Weird book in which I hide discarded tales 
floats faintly slow above my throbbing head 
to beam bewildered sentences of fate 
that stretch our bodies beyond bounds of hate 
so we glance casually at screaming ghost 
who offers faces of state suffering. 

Dazzled by hills of honest fortitude, 
I colonize my heart with twisted lust 
when I extract material wealth of words 
from hills that share lost treasures forged by light 
so we may dwell in tense peace of despair 
without care for indifference of Nature. 

Voices Of Broken Hearts

Voices Of Broken Hearts
© Surazeus
2026 04 09

If I should suppose that snow would destroy 
this world civilization that we built 
from twisted bones of dinosaurs and gods, 
then I should look out window of the house, 
where my cousin General Lee once stood, 
and contemplate new state of Liberty. 

My book of prophecies that no one reads 
may adumbrate no future ever seen, 
yet moon of sorrow deciphers my joke 
to mean that we are stuck in maze of myths 
with only glass of water to preview 
wild ocean that flows as blood in our veins. 

Though I cannot measure with tangled verse 
how far we have come down the signless road, 
I should empathize with telephone lines 
that listen to voices of broken hearts 
so much they weep icicle tears of hope 
that crash on the windshields of hungry cars. 

If I should try to understand your heart 
before it flies away on sparrow wings, 
my house may reshape cubicle of hope 
so time accommodates electric words 
that beam weird rainbow eyes of psychic truth 
to understand how water flows from thought. 

When my cousin John Brown raises his gun 
to free enslaved people from greed for gain, 
I shall join his crusade to set them free 
so we may beat brave drums of Liberty 
where oil rigs weep for death of Clementine 
whose eyes beam rays of moonlight in my heart. 

Though brittle colors of our state archives 
process our dreams as technicolor ghosts, 
we open gates for travelers of time 
who give white breezes of soul-pardoning 
to ancient Saturn with long beard of fate 
sprawled among exploding flowers of faith. 

Our misty island never changes shape 
though frantic ocean waves of bitterness 
attempt to reframe state ontology 
in ways that criminalize worshipped gods 
who travel to strange country of glass doors 
till we adjust how we view moral rules. 

Because I wish to be her follower, 
commissioned to guard her body from harm, 
I calculate new ways we measure truth 
to navigate geography of love, 
and dwell save in museum of respect 
where we translate voices of broken hearts. 

Puzzle Of Spectral Souls

Puzzle Of Spectral Souls
© Surazeus
2026 04 08

From shattered memories of all my past lives, 
which my ancestors lived millions of years, 
I assemble puzzle of spectral souls 
in mask and cape I wear to play my role 
as mad prophet on storm-wracked heath of fate 
to overthrow world emperor of greed. 

Surprised by joy after rebirth from pain 
of suffering through long dark night of the soul, 
I reconstruct puzzle of spectral souls 
by weaving scenes from ancient epic tales 
that compose new tale of heroic deeds 
when wise seer helps young boy kill tyrant king. 

Through careful analysis of close reading 
to comprehend tropes of my random life 
I deconstruct puzzle of spectral souls 
which unveils social machinery of myth 
that jesters use to manipulate minds 
when they crown themselves kings of angry tribes. 

Attentive to needs of my princess bride, 
who reincarnates my soul in our love child, 
I generate puzzle of spectral souls 
designed by immortal soul of our genes 
as we evolves four hundred million years 
from four-legged fish striving to play god. 

Based on honest principle of free will, 
that motivates my quest to become god, 
I conjugate atomic world-view globe 
which models planet spinning in the void 
that flares forth from first flash of the big bang 
through spiral of deified energy. 

To explore landscape of dramatic scenes, 
which my brave ancestors experienced, 
I navigate conceptual maze of myths 
where every great human in history 
stands frozen as idol of their grand deeds 
in signs that guide my way to Wonderland. 

Curious how neural net of our brains 
emanates temporary conscious soul, 
I analyze puzzle of spectral souls 
by how their actions cause effects of change 
that we record in chronicles of fate 
which we frame with each decision we make. 

Tangled in matrix of atomic souls 
that cast caliber of my character, 
I calculate puzzle of spectral souls 
through formulas of psychic paradigms 
to join world choir of angels singing poems 
about why life is brief but beautiful. 

First Mountain Mother

First Mountain Mother
© Surazeus
2026 04 08

Strange music echoes in vale of my heart, 
uncanny melody of timeless passion 
that swells from pulsing bodies of our souls, 
so I walk out in crowded streets of Roma 
where Gallae priests in long colorful robes 
dance wildly to celebrate Megalesia. 

Eyes flashing bright with timeless stars of truth, 
Magna Mater Cybele, Mountain Mother, 
rides throne inside four-wheeled bronze chariot 
with humble shepherd Attis at her side, 
so I approach and offer fruit of love 
which she accepts with bright seraphic smile. 

When Cybele presides on judgment throne 
with grand rite in Temple of Victory, 
my heart swells brave with joyful pride of faith 
that ancient spirit of her soul remains 
glowing strong in heart of America 
that urges us to build Heaven on Earth. 

Brave Aura, daughter of wise Artemis, 
filled with holy spirit of Dionysus, 
bore our first Mountain Mother Cybele 
by Star Lake on misty Mount Dindymus, 
who reigned as oracle at Pessinus 
in temple Midas built with hands of gold. 

When her descendant Ilus, son of Tros, 
built citadel of Troia with high walls, 
her Phrygian Spirit of noble courage 
flowed with Aeneas to the Seven Hills 
where Romulus built great city of Roma 
that shines from heart of Mother Cybele. 

From Star Lake on misty Mount Dindymus 
immortal spirit of Cybele springs 
to nourish her descendants with grand vision 
for ruling Heaven through organized rites 
so we confirm our soul with self-control 
when building empire of First Mountain Mother. 

From Pessinus to Troia, then to Roma, 
through Londinium and Vasintonia, 
grand spirit of Cybele sprouts again 
as Goddess of Justice and Liberty 
who guides our democratic way of life 
where all are equal in America. 

As we dance to celebrate Megalesia, 
and drink bitter-sweet wine of Dionysus, 
we honor soul of Mother Cybele 
who teaches us to transform pain to joy 
by generating life before we die 
since we accept that death will take us all. 

Vampire Witch Of Hell

Vampire Witch Of Hell
© Surazeus
2026 04 07

Persephone in white-lace wedding gown 
kneels among glowing cinders on the plain, 
bearing apple-shaped ruby in her hand 
that glows with pure ethereal flame of love, 
and chants soft spells from ancient Book of Truth 
so glowing gem becomes her beating heart. 

Orion on white horse of arrogance, 
that gallops on thundering hoofs of rage, 
aims sharp spear at heart of Persephone, 
intent on killing vampire witch of Hell 
who smirks and twirls on rainbow angel wings 
to shoot shower of needles at his eyes. 

Blinded by rays of divine cognizance, 
Orion screams as he tumbles on rocks, 
then crawls in agony of wounded pride 
till he sucks energy from tortured souls 
to swell enormous as dragon of hate 
and hurls jagged boulders at dainty girl. 

With casual gestures of nebulous faith, 
Persephone bats boulders with her hands, 
like milk cows swat flies with tails as they graze, 
then somersaults on flashing wings of fate 
while casting shining net of ice-moon rays 
that traps Orion in tangled emotions. 

Trembling in horror at vision of death 
that amplifies acerbic voice of fear, 
which fractures his coherent sense of self, 
Orion writhes in muscle-tensing strain 
through rigid agitation of despair 
that twists his body into feral beast. 

Gently touching head of the rope-bound hunter, 
Persephone whispers proverb of faith, 
"My fertile body of creative power 
is not your helpless puppet to control, 
so with strict spell of assertive respect 
I arrest your aggressive force of greed." 

Chanting spirit-rejuvenating spell, 
Persephone reprograms his world view 
to purge his toxic masculinity 
that cleanses his mind of animal lust 
which transforms wild beast into calm man 
who kneels before her with obedient heart. 

Persephone in white-lace wedding gown, 
followed by Orion with Spear of Truth 
as loyal guard who protects her from harm, 
ascends ziggurat to Temple of Justice 
where she presides as Goddess Liberty 
who maintains world empire with rule of law. 

Fly And Live Free

Fly And Live Free
© Surazeus
2026 04 07

Stepping up onto the stone balustrade 
in the high tower of ambitious hope, 
Icarus spreads wings in hard gusting wind 
that he constructed from feathers and bones, 
and pictures in his mind sweet Chrysanthis, 
daughter of Hecate and Helios. 

Closing his eyes to grand view of the world 
around high tower of ambitious hope, 
Icarus remembers the timeless hour 
he was strolling in garden of fruit trees 
when he first beheld graceful Chrysanthis 
dancing with tree nymphs at the festival. 

Breathing deep celestial wind of desire, 
Icarus grips wings with determined hope 
to fly beyond maze where Helios rules, 
who refused to allow wise Chrysanthis 
to marry lazy son of the craftsman, 
then leaps with faith into abyss of fear. 

Gripping broad wings he built from dragon bones, 
Icarus soars swift over maze of streets 
where thousands of people point to the sky 
and cry with awe to see the angel fly, 
then gasp when arrows Helios fires miss, 
as he aims for island across the sea. 

Reviewing plan he made with Chrysanthis, 
when they met in Dream Cave of Hecate 
to meet on island of the singing skull 
that recites prophecies of Orpheus 
so they can live free from cruel tyranny 
that Helios imposes on the land. 

Adjusting wings to balance frantic flight, 
Icarus growls from anguish of surprise 
when arrow of Helios strikes his leg, 
but his left wing cracks and heat melts the wax, 
causing him to spiral out of control 
till he crashes into the placid sea. 

Swimming toward electric light of regret, 
Icarus remembers last night they met, 
and how silver eyes of Chrysanthis glowed 
when they kissed and vowed to meet again soon, 
so vision of her face gives him new strength 
till he crawls from the sea and shouts with joy. 

"Let them believe I drowned in the sea 
in vain attempt to fly and live free," 
Icarus laughs as he stretches his soul 
when Chrysanthis leaps with joy in his arms, 
so they kiss with passion as the sun rises, 
then walk together to new garden home. 

Chamber Of Lost Secrets

Chamber Of Lost Secrets
© Surazeus
2026 04 06

Stuck in chamber of lost secrets all day, 
I map confusing maze of ancient myths 
that chronicle history of human games 
we play in theater of the absurd 
over who reigns as God till we all die, 
then our children replay contest for power. 

Lost in chamber of lost secrets with you, 
I study masks of long-unworshipped gods 
to understand weird spirit of each age 
reflected in soul of some mortal man 
they chose to play deity of their tribe 
in holy mission to conquer the world. 

Blind in chamber of lost secrets from light 
that beams through unveiled face of cosmic mind, 
I name each god in old religious myth 
who founded dynasty of mortal kings 
to play messiah anointed by fate 
by killing all men who oppose their rule. 

Born in chamber of lost secrets with love 
that weaves neural net of my brain from dreams, 
I draft how my organic frame evolves 
fish to lizard to mouse to cat to monkey 
to ape to wingless angel striving to be god 
when I enforce my rule through Liberty. 

Woke in chamber of lost secrets with faith 
that men we elect to play god will reign 
with compassion for every living soul, 
I stand in rain by gates of paradise 
to play weird tunes on lyre of Mercury 
and sing with wild uncanny wail of love. 

Fired in chamber of lost secrets with lust 
to generate new life before I die, 
I fly in time-machine airplane of hope 
halfway around Earth on wings of desire 
to marry Goddess of the Holy Grail 
who reincarnates our souls in our children. 

Dazed in chamber of lost secrets from hope, 
I listen to Moon Girl play melodies 
of heart-enchanting grace on silver flute 
that lifts my soul from muck of agony 
so I fly high with wings of Icarus 
above vast maze of human history. 

Mute in chamber of lost secrets, I sing 
first flash of love that flares forth into worlds 
that teem with conscious beings of energy 
who bloom wise from quantum cosmology 
for our brief flash of life till we burn out 
and vanish into shadows of our words. 

Vibrate Voice Of God

Vibrate Voice Of God
© Surazeus
2026 04 06

Nebulous song of the black telephone 
asks me to commit unrelenting love 
through pretentious messages from dead gods 
which I must announce to humanity 
though my soul detaches from my stone brain 
and floats on brittle hum of ardency. 

Thrashed by wonder of unfamiliar death, 
who floats above me every sleepless night, 
I consider how famine mistransforms 
shadows of frantic minds to animals 
who wander without caution in moonlight 
to stare through windows at angelic humans. 

Because my mother weeps when she conceives 
my mortal body from draconic daze, 
she plays violin for gentle peacocks 
whose eyes design my heart calligraphy 
so I know how to vibrate voice of God 
through tangled verse of fabled honesty. 

With broom of listless ennui at world war 
I tend the broken bridge of loneliness, 
though I ignore the zither of my heart 
to exorcise angelic energy 
from millions of hearts possessed by despair 
who ask me to write battle hymn of faith. 

I will eat oranges of confusing taste 
rather then erase them from my sad joke 
that maps waterless rivers of regret 
where wingless angels stuck in empty churches 
fold wounded hearts in origami cranes 
while they deny their desire to escape. 

When I find his Green Car wrecked on the road 
halfway between New York and San Francisco, 
he introduces me to his best friend, 
the bear who has built every bridge on Earth, 
then teaches me how to defend myself 
when Fortune curses me with global fame. 

Thirsty for truth beyond theology, 
I steal lemons from Tree of Good and Evil, 
but refuse to sugar bitter despair 
while riding donkey of world revolution 
to drive mad King Herod from our White House 
and free Liberty from guilt-loop of Hell. 

As abject failure at the cursing game, 
I hurl book of riddles into the swamp, 
then renovate ten thousand rotten houses 
so every homeless person in the world 
may dwell in haven of attentive fear 
and join world choir to vibrate voice of God. 

Reluctant Prayer Of Hope

Reluctant Prayer Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 04 05

Each time she pauses by the broken door 
to listen for reluctant prayer of hope, 
another crow emerges from the book 
with clocks for eyes that unspool alphabets 
while tired construction workers drink hot beer, 
because she waits for her ship to come in. 

Fake photographs from family of ghosts, 
stuffed inside leather suitcase of wolf skin, 
escape from aching laughter of her heart 
to live as butterflies in shadowed rooms 
where children play board games of psychic war 
while ships of slaves sink in electric storms. 

Back when old kings ruled every crowded land 
from castles of aggressive greed for gold, 
her grandparents folded her in the box 
and sent her overseas on ship of state 
so she lives now in small Missouri town 
where she tries to ignore the weeping clown. 

Arranging books on brave library shelves 
in moral order of their truthfulness, 
she ponders how the television works 
transmitting images in crackling air 
like crystal ball of the grim sorcerer 
who builds model ships in bottles of faith. 

These faint fragments of cultural debris, 
that float about her on butterfly wings, 
she slots in expanding puzzle of truth 
as picture that shows nations of the world 
clashing in fierce religious wars for oil 
which fuels our piston-engine time machines. 

Ascending narrow stairs of innocence, 
she stands on peaked roof of brave Jupiter 
to survey sprawling maze of city streets 
where billions of people struggle to live 
in constant hunger for paradise lost 
as robots building cars and radios. 

Sharp cry for justice in the teeming crowd 
sparks revolution of the working class 
who program computers in cubicles 
that weave world wide web of god consciousness 
combining social media anecdotes 
in never-ending novel of success. 

Relaxed on front porch of her cottage home, 
free from bondage of marriage and religion, 
she writes novel about the abused girl 
who reclaims her life with struggle for truth 
to live as true self nascent in her heart 
while jets bomb homes in countries far away. 

Silent On Subjective Tricks

Silent On Subjective Tricks
© Surazeus
2026 04 05

They almost trick me into spilling why 
death comes to us as the white butterfly, 
but I keep silent on subjective tricks 
which I employ to map the River Styx 
where magic spells sprout from linguistic muck 
with energy I gather to fool Luck. 

Since no one dares to teach me how to fly, 
I gain employment as government spy 
assigned to analyze the crucifix 
despite abundant code angels unfix 
to guard the activist driving her truck 
who rescues the church pastor who got stuck. 

Atomic brains amend contract of thought 
with ambient destiny where cooks get caught 
through humble success of great discipline 
too dangerous for the loyalist to win 
though I drive streets of Seattle to find 
celestial key that opens Divine Mind. 

Ride with me in my fast airplane I bought 
to find the hidden oracle who taught 
my father how to architect Berlin 
when he grew up in Temple of Shaolin, 
dancing with principle that to be kind 
forges theology with creeds that bind. 

Startled awake on Bridge of Loneliness, 
I hang out to converse with Sisyphus 
about true nature of the Cosmic Christ 
who invades money temple in brave heist 
through mental coup against cruel tyranny, 
then crowns his son with feudal barony. 

When my sponge brain begins to phosphoresce 
with frantic visions of global distress, 
I visit the Pope as wise poltergeist, 
commissioned to design novel zeitgeist 
that secures equal rights through Liberty 
which lifts every soul out of poverty. 

Entranced when Minerva begins to croon 
screams of despair into uplifting tune, 
I wear mask of Lucifer as my face 
to prove our souls disappear without trace 
when our bodies decay at strike of death 
though we practice yoga with calming breath. 

Exclusive deal won through electric boon 
freaks me out when our empire falls too soon 
to account for god vibes in our headspace 
though Apollo is detecting the case 
to find out who released demonic wraith 
whose tender care teaches us selfless faith.