Horse Of Honesty

Horse Of Honesty
© Surazeus
2025 03 13

Escaping cathedral of haughty devils, 
Jupiter leaps on horse of honesty 
to race fate against arrogance of leopards 
who enslave workers in maze of myths 
when saints praying in church turn into zombies 
who sing holy hymns to their vampire god. 

Waving his hand to dispel strange illusions, 
Jupiter rides quick horse of honesty 
past fields of wheat where peasants wearing masks 
sing heart-wrenching blues about bitter lives 
for sweet chariot to carry them home 
while bands of angels restrain them with guns. 

Arriving by ship on the Baltic Sea, 
Jupiter leaves brave horse of honesty 
grazing on lush grass in the barbed-wire field, 
and drives green truck in vast Teutoburg Forest 
to kill Hansel so he can marry Gretel 
who sells gingerbread cookies in the market. 

Dancing round Earth-sprawling Irminsul Tree, 
Jupiter tames wild horse of honesty, 
then leads great army of robotic knights 
to build global empire of Gothinia 
binding Europe and Russia in one country 
so he can play Pope in the Vatican. 

Pondering Platonic Realm of Ideas, 
Jupiter chats with horse of honesty 
about how God is substance of all things 
who stands under existing forms of faith 
through universal field of energy 
that glows in White Whole of his dreaming brain. 

Measuring material substance of truth, 
Jupiter gauges horse of honesty 
that manifests conceptual Idea of Horse 
which occupies finite volume of space 
and animates finite process of time, 
then paints its portrait after his horse dies. 

Startled when Midas occupies his throne, 
Jupiter seeks lost horse of honesty 
to soar fast as lightning back to Olympus 
where Pluto and Orcus, wearing his crowns, 
twirl his thunderbolts of authority 
and mock the aging storm god as out of touch. 

Wandering in exile across the waste land, 
Jupiter calls for horse of honesty 
to proudly bear the world-conquering hero 
who opposes tyranny of grim Pluto 
by pushing Stone of Sisyphus up hill 
to smash clay-foot idol of the false god. 

Special Magic Car

Special Magic Car
© Surazeus
2025 03 12

Imperfect passion of my potent prayer, 
which stirs vibrations in the silent air, 
inspires my heart to wear mask of Dead God 
entrapped in marble idol on the wall 
whose eyes blow souls of light to seed the world 
with primal trees of anguish for the herald. 

Erecting fertilizing eye through faith 
in patient flutter angel wings express, 
I ponder if my soul is real at all 
since I gestated in the peach-flesh pod, 
and now dig furrows with aggressive plow 
while pausing now and then to wonder how. 

Now drifting from old complicated rules 
that dictate method to exploit mind tools, 
our hearts consume delicious thoughts of hope 
from mutant demon stuck inside pear cake 
while pious worshippers of faceless gods 
pen solemn hymns with quills dipped in my blood. 

Thus I compile proverbs of life success 
in subtle fairy tales of wicked wives 
who quilt eccentric memories of cows 
in long meandering formulas of fate 
to preach redemption at the broken gate 
where songs of freedom count for so much less. 

Diffused from sources lost in dusty halls, 
kept hidden by custodians of our truth, 
shared memory of our history recompiled 
numbs fierce ambitious men to change the world 
with bold consensus of defensive faith 
that disturbs complacent societies. 

Tangible table of my dreaming brain 
preserves edible jokes in psychic code 
never translated yet by the lake horse 
whose spirit multiplies in countless crows 
that gather laughing round my open door 
to sing in harmony with my lyre tune. 

Not one single arrogant king of pride 
will inherit this Earth they claim as theirs 
for they are nothing more than clumps of clay 
strutting their brief hour on stage of false fate, 
since with electric light of shuddered dawn 
they dissipate from divine breath of truth. 

If you would buy this special magic car 
with cryptocurrency from clueless clown, 
that drives itself on the highway to Hell, 
you might lament crashing our ship of state 
with confidence of the Titanic captain 
who breaks America we love too well. 

Court Of Vapid Fame

Court Of Vapid Fame
© Surazeus
2025 03 12

When I wake up with wings spread from my heart 
I throw stone of my brain into the wind 
so bird of happiness flies toward the moon 
to billow huge white storm of thunder clouds 
that light my body bright as radium 
with abstract beauty of eternal love. 

Complex wholeness of the temporal truth 
multiplies our bodies across lush hills 
based on boundless formality of fate 
encasing tense emotions in stone words 
inclined to debate imaginative faith 
with solemn-eyed respect for moon beliefs. 

New representation of the wild soul 
regressing from mute terror in the stone 
expands weird system of belief in light 
that should include architecture of faith 
surrounding naked bodies we express 
through careful dancing with elegant grace. 

Stars are not fixed though they seem not to move 
beyond one inch in twenty thousand years 
despite attempts to voice confused beliefs 
that souls which animate our frames of clay 
beam down from fountain of immortal light 
to flush our aching flesh with hungry hope. 

Alarmed inaction of the noble prince, 
faced with contempt from social rottenness 
performed by impotent men grasping power, 
exhausts his passionate display of faith 
that arc of justice will soon bend his way 
to energize rebellion through respect. 

Asserting force of truth with strength of love 
to oppose the tyrant trampling our rights, 
young doppelganger of the noble prince 
too cautiously approaches how to fight 
against the thief who wears fake mask of Christ 
while exercising blatant theft of wealth. 

Yet I shall dance among the daffodils 
while wandering lonely as the faceless cloud 
far from the glittering court of vapid fame 
to hide from thirst of the social vampire 
who demands we perform to great acclaim 
in return for wealth they deign to award. 

Through ultimate unknowability 
without objective evidence of facts 
I exhale divine breath of the timeless word 
that causes ripples on the sea of souls 
where I transmute into mythical tale 
that records my journey on noble quest 
to incarnate in children before I die. 

New Adam Of My Heaven

New Adam Of My Heaven
© Surazeus
2025 03 12

Created by fierce passion of my father, 
I ought to be good Adam of his heart, 
but I feel instead like foul fallen angel, 
driven away from lush garden of joy 
because he believes I am not his son 
rather than for evil deeds of my hands. 

I see the many sons he claims as his, 
sprung from the seed of his immortal soul, 
dwelling safely inside walls of his haven, 
who enjoy sweet bliss of nutritious fruit 
while I am excluded by harsh decree, 
forced to labor hard while they play in pleasure. 

When I was young in springtime of my life 
my heart swelled rich with benevolent love, 
thus I treated everyone with respect, 
always lending my hand to help create, 
and protecting anyone from abuse, 
but misery from rejection made me evil. 

Cast out of paradise by blows of hate 
aimed at my head by fists of our all-father, 
and beaten by sticks in hands of my brothers, 
I wander now stark wilderness of fear, 
heart twisted into hatred by harsh pain, 
cursed by his voice to suffer soul damnation. 

When my mother was fishing by the lake 
to prepare food for the good man she loved, 
that man I thought was my father appeared 
in swift-wheeling chariot of haughty lust 
and snatched her in his arms from her safe home, 
then forced her to bear children of his seed. 

For twelve years I was raised with gentle love 
by cruel man who abducted my sweet mother, 
but, when he saw my hair and eyes are brown 
rather than gold and blue resembling his, 
he cursed me as spawn of her forest husband, 
then drove me out of paradise with hate. 

With this ripe apple, I snatched with quick hand 
from Tree of Life he tends with intense care, 
I can plant my own garden paradise 
in this lush valley far from his demesne, 
so though I fell from heaven of his power 
I shall reign as new Adam of my heaven. 

Once I secure new heaven of my heart, 
and this fragile sapling sprouts to the sky 
to bloom with apples of bountiful joy, 
I will again be virtuous and good, 
for I will treat myself with kind respect 
though others treat me with hostile disgust. 

Grand American Carnival

Grand American Carnival
© Surazeus
2025 03 11

Thrown overboard because I rocked the boat, 
I ride dolphin of hope like Arion, 
then ponder in shade of the kikayon 
like Jonah before the locked White House gate, 
where I will prophesy with Voice of Fate 
fall of America from the greedy goat. 

With Sisyphus I push the rolling stone 
from ruined pyramid of Babylon 
to build temple on peak of Mount Ziyon, 
then smash clay-foot idol of the Mad King 
who tries to rule the world with the One Ring 
in new episode of the Twilight Zone. 

Across television screen of the moon 
that displays tales of mystic Avalon, 
which I watch in my home in Oregon, 
plays romance of Weaver Girl and Cowherd 
who meet on bridge of the barbaric bird 
with love to sing their American tune. 

Clashing war spears in Troy with Robert Lowell 
for the Union dead on the White House lawn, 
where the President is a Russian pawn, 
I hone sharp as truth my Durendal blade 
for Red Cross Knight on holy crusade 
inaugured by the grim Athenian Owl. 

Rescued from gold-mine Hell by Percival, 
who tricks Persephone with eidolon 
to crown me King of Death on Helicon, 
I unite all countries of Hahnunah 
on Turtle Island ruled by Onatah 
to host Grand American Carnival. 

Strumming lyre of Mercury by the lake, 
beneath tall willow of the leprechaun, 
who studies physics in the cosmotron, 
I build from ruins of America 
new world republic of Zarathia 
where everyone gets to eat chocolate cake. 

Safe in my Spartan cottage by the sea, 
I paint portraits of my love Melusine 
who watches our cute daughter Clementine 
play with her best friend sweet Ophelia 
reading from scrolls of esoterica 
to learn arcane spells of soul alchemy. 

Descended from black-gowned Puritan Witch, 
I structure vast crystalline hexagon 
with proverbs from seraphic lexicon 
to map cultural history of Elysium 
that preserves our epics in World Museum 
which angels sing with ethereal pitch. 

All Turn To Leaves

All Turn To Leaves
© Surazeus
2025 03 11

Every road I walk among faceless trees 
I leave behind memories on fallen leaves 
that swirl away in mute forgetful wind. 
The children of my heart who play unnamed 
gather leaves of my memories with small hands 
and sew them into their own new memories. 

In the golden spring of our young romance 
we remold old broken hopes of childhood 
into house where we shelter our new hopes. 
Our childhood hopes to win glorious fame 
transform into the children of our hearts 
who mold their own hopes from dreams of the Earth. 

We write stories of our childhood on leaves 
that we sew into clothes we wear to hide 
shame of our naked weakness in the world. 
We carve our names on stones from muddy fields 
and throw them into deep indifferent sea 
so we can grow potatoes to eat now. 

We dig up bones of our ancestral souls 
so we can build strong shelter from the storm 
that hurls hostile rage of the sky at us. 
We carve bones of our ancestors in flutes 
to play heart-enchanting music of love 
that vibrates in our bodies after death. 

Every river I cross on forest path 
sings strange secrets of failure and success 
that define my character I perform. 
I build the wall of stone with trembling hands 
to protect my family with garden home 
safe from the cruel greed of slavers and thieves. 

The house I build from bones of my bold hopes 
protects my descendants for many years 
till they spread out to colonize the world. 
With bones of my soul as supporting stones 
I build foundation of our growing clan 
so we unify nations of the world. 

We build sprawling empires of thought control 
around shining idol of me as god 
for I am founding father of our state. 
We chronicle history of our success 
on scrolls at first, then on tablets of gold, 
which all turn to leaves blown by winds of time. 

Glorious empires we build with our hopes, 
based on First Father as God from the sky, 
collapse into ruins of wordless stones. 
Every tree I pass on long road of life 
whispers tales of empires that rise and fall 
from hopes of gods who are leaves in the wind. 

Improve Portrait Of God

Improve Portrait Of God
© Surazeus
2025 03 11

When I stumble in the watershed days, 
struggling to survive gushing flood of change, 
I realize with wry laugh of aching hope 
that I failed to improve portrait of God 
based on performance of powerful men 
who scramble to top of the pyramid. 

Now that my body, fragile is it is, 
channels psychic energy of fierce hope 
to live in harmony with fertile Earth, 
men who rule vast corporations as kings 
exploit intense labor of our grasping hands 
to build empire of control over lands. 

We hide grim stories of our suffering 
in snarky television sitcom shows 
or melancholy radio songs of hope 
which distract our attention of despair 
when billionaires steal our government funds 
so they can enslave us in factories. 

Sisyphus leans against his rolling stone, 
exhausted from endless routine of work, 
and grumbles to workers sitting around 
that the wealth our hands generate from dirt 
rewards rich managers in golden towers 
while we watch football and drink numbing beer. 

When gang of government agents appears 
all the workers stare in startled surprise 
as they arrest Sisyphus with handcuffs 
and charge him with treason against the state 
for criticizing Great Leader of Earth 
with disloyal hate that must be suppressed. 

Chaining his hands to the huge rolling stone, 
Pluto snaps long whip of obedience 
so Sisyphus pushes huge stone of his heart 
to the top of the pyramid of power 
where Midas mocks his honest diligence, 
then kicks the stone to roll back down the hill. 

I will remain in hollow of my heart 
sophisticated person strong with faith 
who loves this country with loyal respect, 
rooted in traditions of liberty, 
so I choose to remain humble and sane 
though thieves seize control of our government. 

Though weight of history is crushing my heart 
I cannot hesitate with cautious hope 
to oppose cruel dictatorship of greed 
with passion for justice and liberty 
as engine that runs our democracy 
when we work to improve portrait of God. 

Hour Of The Eerie Glow

Hour Of The Eerie Glow
© Surazeus
2025 03 10

Stuck in my quest at well of Melusine, 
I lift my frail wings chained by eglantine 
and sadly rustle their aggressive urge 
to bathe in whirlpool of the spirit purge, 
then ponder at hour of the eerie glow 
electric beauty of vanishing snow. 

The Social Hero everyone admires, 
who creates what humanity desires, 
strides boldly through the city maze of fear 
to rouse sad people with infectious cheer, 
who follow him to meadow of wild play 
where Dionysus teaches them to pray. 

Entranced by beauty of the Cereal Queen 
who sings while she drives the harvest machine, 
peasants migrate to cities of glass towers 
where they brew honey mead with psychic flowers 
which people at round tables in cafes 
drink with calm reverence in their hipster phase. 

New generation of eager young men, 
fooled by bankers to believe they can win, 
join holy crusade to conquer the world 
in futile war against the cosmic herald 
who rides fleet-foot son of Bucephalus 
with important mission for Sisyphus. 

Collective conscience of the Global Mind, 
that connects dreaming brains of humankind, 
presents dramatic game of politics 
as universal myth of mental tricks 
performed by tyrant conning us with lies 
by tricking us to give away our eyes. 

Drawn from case of my heart with puzzle keys 
through cabinet of curiosities, 
the Emerald Tablet, carved with secret code, 
reveals sacred wisdom of the Dream Toad 
who rules from Pyramid of the God-Eye 
by teaching every soul to question why. 

Returning clockwise through portal of time 
to hour of revolutionary chime, 
I prepare to battle tyrant of greed 
who traps us when he sells us what we need, 
yet I lament my horse lost in the mist 
who should act as my mythic synergist. 

Climatic scene in drama of my life, 
that highlights how I overcome cruel strife, 
displays world view of my ontology 
programmed through atheist theology 
which fills my heart with fountain of the truth 
that fuels victory of our messiah sleuth. 

Unbeckoned Horoscope

Unbeckoned Horoscope
© Surazeus
2025 03 10

Trapped in transient sorrow of gravity, 
luminous with unbalanced loss of love, 
my heart coaxes me to break free from fear 
and stand among pine trees on the mountain slope 
till snow rebuilds my body of soft flesh 
from frozen tears of angels without eyes. 

Reborn from round ice-lacquered syllables 
of endless knowing veiled by mute disgust, 
my heart swallows forsaken cries with hope 
death may unloosen angst of mortal lust 
to chart disaster of propitious days 
disbursed by naked hand of ownership. 

Steadfast in primer of false happenstance, 
accrued through alphabet of solemn curse, 
my heart adjusts unbeckoned horoscope 
to signal progress of aggressive search 
for treasures floating between broken hearts 
based wholly on one solitary clue. 

No cause for celebration from regret 
through dark obliqueness swollen with desire, 
my heart calculates doled disquietude 
through legal contract for perpetual calm 
unheaved by distant storms of restless hope 
for souls imprisoned by collapsing words. 

Aged blindly lost in shadows reconciled 
from fractured mirror of its confidante, 
my heart deliberates wisdom contrived 
from stagnant doctrines of old fecund faith 
devised by dreamers before honest fear 
abandons children by the faceless pool. 

Elliptical with mounting games of time 
that spiral tight-wound galaxies of souls, 
my heart obsesses over winning points 
that should impress kind Sagittarius 
who plants purple lilacs in the dooryard 
that bloomed last before dark night of despair. 

Annoyed by flotsam of matter, expressed 
across vast crystal firmament of faith, 
my heart peers through its mental telescope 
to measure cogwheels of the psychic void 
that grind blindly in our turning globe 
first mapped and named by grim Chaldean seers. 

Memories flashing bright as swift asteroids 
that bounce across blithe brightness of respect, 
my heart refracts divinity of thought 
that bulges from magnetic field of wings 
in buzzing force field shielding Earth from rage, 
so I hold your hand as we walk our road. 

Mad Mountain Seer

Mad Mountain Seer
© Surazeus
2025 03 10

In halflight of the rainy afternoon 
I halfdream about the mad mountain seer 
who travels from his village in Peru 
to fight cruel fascists in streets of Paris 
where the young mother nurses her new child 
who gives him her hope chest of pulsing stars. 

Wild hound of his heart escapes prison cell 
to race among blood-stained poplars of faith 
where the ancient shepherd Jesus holds high 
torch of liberty with flame of desire 
almost snuffed out by brutal winds of war 
that swirls dirt from newly-heaped mounds of graves. 

Young weaver girl with factory-wounded hands 
builds fragile home from cracked bones of dead gods 
on desolate shore of the lonely stream 
where the mountain seer carves magic-spell runes 
on shells of turtles found on the sea strand 
by the young mother who nurses her child. 

Extending hand made of water and fear 
to graft bad fruit on pine of languid hope, 
the mountain seer, anchored by dirty clothes, 
lumbers through festival of skeletons 
to drumbeats and flute-wails among red tents 
where jesters and ballerinas make love. 

Exalted unity of hungry spies 
that fuels singular beat of his heart, 
urges the mountain seer to talk to God, 
so he shouts questions at the empty sky 
about why people must suffer to live 
when serpents writhe from shadows of false hope. 

Rain falls on every city in the world 
with dirty tears of mothers seeking food 
while mad troubadours howl thunderous hymns 
to solve the human cipher of our love 
with sorcery of positive desire 
though we float in our coffins full of rain. 

Meeting Osiris by the border wall 
that divides land of life from nought of death, 
the mountain seer asks for inheritance 
which he deserves from his pious ancestors 
hidden in the electric dream machine 
which he invents from stolen words of love. 

Crimson crown of Jesus huge as the moon 
glows with tragic sweetness of emeralds 
above pulsing brain of the mountain seer 
who drinks blue wine from the goblet of fire, 
then wails mercurial psalms of holy faith 
that still poisons his haughty gypsy heart. 

New Political Arguments

New Political Arguments
© Surazeus
2025 03 09

All those old political arguments 
fought between capitalists and communists 
fade into radio static of the past 
that crackles cables of the world wide web 
when wizards masked as fascist oligarchs 
entrance vikings with visions of rich glory. 

New actors performing on stage of power 
strut their bold hour before eyes of the world 
to play noble heroes of ancient epics, 
but, when their gold masks of noble intent 
are stripped away by their own acts of greed, 
hate exposes dark evil in their hearts. 

I could reduce actions of rectitude 
powerful people perform to keep power 
between empathy and indecency, 
but life is too complex with many groups 
contending to gain power over Earth 
to chronicle glory of conquering states. 

Though music trembles on the silenced harp 
strummed by the bright-eyed Seraph of lost time, 
his tears are bombs that shattered old estates 
with bitter anger of the dispossessed 
who sing sweet blasphemies in ruined choirs 
to praise Ungod who never answers prayers. 

When millions of people, driven from home 
by hungry gangs of drug-dealers and thieves, 
cross roadless rugged mountain gap of hope, 
they follow Moses to the Promised Land 
where vikings complain about immigrants 
taking the good jobs they refuse to work. 

As wingless angel of the spinning Earth 
I look up at the empty sky to gaze 
in eyes of God vast as the universe, 
but see no Revelation of the end, 
for Earth will keep spinning around the sun 
billions of years before the sun expands. 

Thus I will flap my wings in crazy mirth 
while dancing wild on the heavenly scarp 
to preach grand message of our World Ungod 
who sends me as his Prophet to mankind 
so I declare with booming voice of truth 
there is no resurrection from the dead. 

Many new political arguments 
fought between nationalists and globalists 
flare from clashes over meaning of life, 
but We the People fight against oppressors 
to secure justice and freedom for all 
who support United Nations of Earth. 

Swirling Waves Of Change

Swirling Waves Of Change
© Surazeus
2025 03 09

When social revolution sweeps the land 
we surf swirling waves of change to maintain 
lithe balance between energy and form 
to channel rage through political laws 
which revitalize progress in strong growth 
while conserving traditional design. 

Though institutions of strong government 
have been assembled over centuries 
to channel forceful energy of lust 
through official systems of lawful rights, 
they can be manipulated by greed 
to enrich the powerful with our wealth. 

Responding to aggressive grasp for power, 
that rich men in the past assert to build 
structures of wealth that too favor their rights, 
we construct systems of fair governance 
to spread wealth back to base essential workers 
who labor most to create profit we share. 

When oligarchs attain too much control 
over vast institutions of the state, 
and openly pilfer wealth we create 
to benefit themselves at our expense, 
we raise revolution of civil rights 
to adjust flow of wealth back to the people. 

Wise leaders who respect the common man 
follow example of Jesus the Christ 
to overthrow rich men who own too much 
with honest attention to humble needs, 
then approve contracts of hardworking men 
to farm fertile fields with laborious pride. 

All civilizations of vast empires, 
organized by wise priests with expertise 
to manage estates of crop fields and herds, 
are based on hard work of the common man 
extracting produce from bountiful Earth 
and distributing goods in market halls. 

Bankers fund ranches, farms, and factories 
with speculative capital of wealth 
so workers create goods from raw materials, 
while merchants market and distribute goods, 
but government clerks in judicial courts 
manage contracts to insure fair rewards. 

If rich owners feast while poor owners starve, 
oppressing hungry people of the land 
as the few hoard wealth while the many work, 
we must reset state political system 
to eradicate greed of tyranny 
and maintain freedom of democracy. 

Speed Of My Soul

Speed Of My Soul
© Surazeus
2025 03 09

To keep up with the weird speed of my soul 
I stop before the television screen 
before it teleports me through all time 
so I can understand how people feel 
about quartz angels in the rolling stone 
that leads refugees from war in the gloom. 

To calculate the strict speed of my soul 
I map crazy roads through the Underworld 
where my ancestors walked before my birth 
so I can open brand new store in Hell 
repairing computers rancid with mold 
that oozes with oil polluting the firth. 

To analyze the fake speed of my soul 
I ask the mountain man with jewel eyes 
for hidden secret of the universe 
but all that Cronus is willing to tell 
is why sweet blueness attributes the skies 
with subtle reference to the holy curse. 

To randomize the quaint speed of my soul 
I spin the Wheel of Fortune to test fate 
against all outcomes augured by bird flight 
with bold assertion of my mental will 
to rule the world from secret river boat 
through sad tunes I play on dragon-bone flute. 

To overcome the stalled speed of my soul 
I build new piston-engine of desire 
to channel spirit of aggressive hope 
when I drive chariot of Ezekiel 
roaring down the highway to Zathamar 
past the desert station where gas is cheap. 

To allocate the force speed of my soul 
I meditate in cave of shadow plays 
where Plato eats fruit of Persephone 
to prove that our world is slow-spinning ball 
when I record hymns sung by the world muse 
to express my psychic epiphany. 

To ride far on the true speed of my soul 
I write script for weird television shows 
depicting how people perceive themselves 
as most important person on the hill 
when we play capture the flag through world maze 
in tribal contest between Bears and Wolves. 

To chase love with the wise speed of my soul 
I remove persona mask of my being 
to reveal my true self on stage of faith 
when Apollo crowns me with his laurel 
and Icarus repairs my wounded wing 
till I become conceptual Poet Wraith. 

Strange September Sea

Strange September Sea
© Surazeus
2025 03 09

My mother drives the red Volkswagen slow 
narrow road that winds around silent hills 
among tall birch trees gleaming white as snow 
on Sunday afternoon in early Autumn 
to go somewhere we never went before 
so we can walk around the anxious lake. 

Disconnected scenes of fragmented thoughts, 
boxed in broken sentences of regret, 
clutter unlit stage after the last show, 
tattered costumes of undead characters, 
and masks that represent feelings we hide, 
heaped in shadow of unspoken despair. 

So I run down to strange September Sea 
and wander mute on the heavenly shore 
while searching for the lush Elysian fields 
where ghosts of people I once knew may float 
as silver mist along the gushing stream 
where I decide to build the Golden Bridge. 

Awake in raptured vision of this world, 
I pluck taut strings on lyre of Mercury 
to sing praise for Warder of Paradise 
who guards the border to the Promised Land 
with flaming sword of arrogant disdain 
for anyone not born with the right glamor. 

Kneeling before grave of the blonde-haired girl 
whose sky-blue eyes entranced my heart with love, 
I weep with sorrow at her early death 
because the redemption story is false, 
for after we crumble to Earth in death 
we never rise to glory in the sky. 

Yet varied marvels of Nature express 
artless grandeur of atoms shaping forms 
that stream with beauty of eternal light 
still flaring forth from the first flash of love 
to shine as creatures with bright conscious minds 
from raptured thoughts of bountiful desire. 

Even in sequential dreams of free will, 
when we glow brightly with passion of love, 
we will find original spark of hope 
that revives compassion of selfless faith 
to beam with empathy for living souls 
which springs from emptiness of Hungry Self. 

Always capable of love for everyone, 
we drive cars on newly signified roads 
to participate in fun social games 
where strangers give each other secret names, 
then eat mushrooms and worship the God Toad 
whose timeless love song vibrates from the sun. 

Slow Swirl Of The Sea

Slow Swirl Of The Sea
© Surazeus
2025 03 08

Now that I live free from slow swirl of the sea 
darkness folds itself as my eager heart 
when I walk over hills of joyful death 
to play role of the hermit in their play 
on the plain where riderless horses wait 
for the owl of rebirth to explain why. 

I will not hurry away from the Earth, 
dazed with sudden insight of idiocy 
unrelated to broken wheel of light 
that tumbles blazing down the mountain slope 
with shocking honesty of rolling stones 
that crush wood coffin of the holy ghost. 

Heart pierced with needle found in the haystack 
by humble warriors seeking absolution, 
I write stories of the dead on dry leaves 
that rustle with their voices in dawn breeze 
despite how men cry for the broken door 
that leads to asylum for bitter saints. 

Yet she walks toward me on the campus path 
past leafless trees of innocent desire 
with star-sparkle animating her eyes 
when she hands me red notebook of her dreams 
which describe how we meet in every life 
since we always choose to walk the same road. 

If I decide to leave the city maze 
to live among the owls and honest wolves 
extravagantly alone through light phase, 
I will invent weird language to describe 
conceptual framework for our mutual love 
which binds our hearts together without words. 

I gesture my hands to weave in new wings 
wild silence that hovers dark over Earth 
so I can become swiftness of the horse 
whose elegant grace of assertive will 
defines process of motion we express 
while holding hands to walk the moonlit road. 

For everywhere I go in time and space 
Saturnus arranges darkness of truth 
which congeals despair into juicy fruit 
through desperation of the mindless wind 
so I can build new Temple of Dead Gods 
from false ruins of the Enlightenment. 

Startled by ache of sorrow birthing joy, 
I long for existence of fiery breath 
to gleam in rain drops flowing in my veins 
with constant blackness of eternity 
which creates me from slow swirl of the sea 
because I realize I love you so much. 

Fueled By Atomic Flares

Fueled By Atomic Flares
© Surazeus
2025 03 08

When I hear the sharp chirping of the bird 
I think it might be perched inside the tree, 
but when I look at cloud of limbs and leaves 
I see shadows and beams of striped sunlight, 
for my eyes cannot discern the feathered fiend 
that cheers my heart with territorial claims. 

While I am sitting in the living room 
before the television on the floor, 
I wave my plastic sword with martial pride 
and declare I want to sail my wood ship 
as eager Viking to conquer the world 
and bring strange treasures to my fjord-safe home. 

Arranging puzzle pieces on the table 
to match photo on cover of its box, 
that shows the horse grazing in the lush meadow 
beside the apple tree on the lake shore 
framed by the snowy range of jagged peaks, 
I create the world where I want to live. 

To design world map from my memory 
that accurately depicts the world that is, 
I generalize points, lines, and polygons 
to symbolize landscape of hills and lakes 
with rivers winding in meadows of flowers, 
then color each thing with their psychic tone. 

Though every map I make depicting Earth 
presents rich landscape of buildings and plants, 
the human beings who move around its space 
in quick routines of performative drama 
cannot be fixed at any point in time 
for we are flames that glow, then flicker out. 

If I could fix each flaming soul of life, 
fueled by atomic flares of beaming hope, 
their ever-changing forms of psychic being 
would momentarily freeze into masks 
that I could hang on bare museum wall 
in vast Temple of the Many-Faced God. 

This photo of my temporary face, 
posted as profile picture on my page, 
affixed by static flash of timeless growth, 
which drafts stereotype of me you prefer, 
contains assertive pulse of energy 
that flashes in every cell of my being. 

As fake persona speaking with plain words, 
I represent every human on Earth 
who wears the face their ancestors designed 
by choosing soulmate in romantic hope 
as we evolve four hundred million years 
to wingless angels searching for true love. 

Zigzag Path From Dream

Zigzag Path From Dream
© Surazeus
2025 03 08

Trajectory of my zigzag path from dream 
arches over mountains of singing trees 
clockwise between cities of faceless ghosts 
who all vanish in cold wilderness wind 
when I leave crowded streets of Babylon 
to find pure ancient Eden of my mind. 

Until I express my triumphant speech 
at witnessing temporal dance of desire 
I know not how my heart was wounded sore 
from whispered darkening of the hourglass 
that measures span of change my soul endures 
from sweet deception of sincerity. 

No supernatural god among bright clouds 
could justify his tyrannical ways 
for smearing rage on my sensitive skin 
with abrasive thoughts of controlling hope, 
intent on judging failures I perform 
in my quest to fulfill my private dreams. 

Congenial regret of absolute faith 
distorts perception of my groping mind 
to pierce conceptual gloom of wretched fear 
with gleaming light of ineffectual prayer 
that darkens bliss oozed from foul loaves of stone 
poisoned by aggressive lust of contempt. 

Till I strip off mask of Faustus at dawn 
to conceal true identity I hate, 
I try to crack icy distance of faith 
glazed by will of Heaven to trap my soul 
with bitter assumptions of fierce conceit 
that squanders hard-won rewards I entail. 

Disbursed inheritance of ancient myths, 
designed to bolster insecure intent 
with noble attributions fate assigns, 
restricts assertion of my secret will 
with clutched accumulations of desire, 
though lost in mapped landscape of inquiry. 

Puzzling image of exorbitant truth 
with polished instrument of gratitude, 
I perform ritual of expressive spells 
to study substance that stands under forms 
consigned to ceremony of regret 
which cleanses innocence hearts of desire. 

When I wake startled from sweet dream of love 
I find my body is composed from tears 
transformed by chemicals of hungry pain 
from purified water of mountain streams 
that spiral through my veins in writhing lust 
so I remember who I am at last. 

Explore Our Crazy World

Explore Our Crazy World
© Surazeus
2025 03 07

I have become the gold cloud in the sky 
with eager laughter of the running horse 
through passion to explore our crazy world 
before they blow it up with greedy bombs 
so only mute trees grow where empires thrived, 
transforming our bones into juicy fruit. 

My eyes consume light trapped in shapes of hope 
composed of secrets people throw away 
while trapped in tangled tongues of wordlessness 
with angry penitence of futile faith 
born from confusing trees of honest rocks 
that tumble haughtily in gruesome streams. 

When ghost of God possesses my frail body 
I impersonate that strange deity 
with professional parody of faith 
which channels subconscious angst of desire 
to be light that fractures galaxies 
with spinning obsolescence we exchange. 

While mapping bold catastrophe of hope, 
the ecstatic pessimist of fake Mars 
contrives to imitate electric time 
when he drives truck of curiosity 
while Bastet rests her paw on his right hand 
to guide their journey across the waste land. 

Though Sirius plants the tangerine tree 
on what he thinks is last day of the world, 
he walks backward to unspool road of time 
past all the people rising up from death 
to find the first tree that grew from the Earth 
one hundred forty million years ago. 

Since he thinks greenness is one kind of grief 
that transforms wounds of sorrow into blooms, 
he decides he is not going to grow old 
while building walls of stone with bleeding hands 
so no one else can eat fruit of his tree 
which gives us the magic power of speech. 

I see the planet Jupiter gleam white 
beside silver joy of the crescent moon, 
both lights reflected into the surly pool 
that cleanses my spirit with evening glow 
hidden in pages of never-read books 
to preserve memories I share with no one. 

Gesturing his hands to control the waves, 
Sirius chants spell based on ocean song 
so no one can now recognize his face 
abandoned in dim shadows of lost days 
to become gold clouds in the morning sky 
which transforms juicy fruit into his bones. 

Same First Mother

Same First Mother
© Surazeus
2025 03 07

The fish in the river swim toward the sun 
to play with children in the field of flowers. 
The birds in the clouds fly across the mountains 
to play with children in the city streets. 
Mothers call children in evening dusk 
who run home to eat and share funny stories. 

Though we live on opposite sides of Earth 
we look at the same stars in the same sky. 
Though we live far away in different lands 
we see the same moon among the same stars. 
The moon among the stars in the world sky 
are etched with the same light in all our hearts. 

We climb the same mountain on different paths 
to meet each other by the cave of dreams. 
We sail the same ocean in different boats 
to meet each other on the shore of hope. 
The oceans send the rain up to the clouds 
and the mountains send the rain to the ocean. 

Some people spend their lives in the same house 
and know everybody in the same town. 
Some people spend their lives walking new roads 
and meet new people in a thousand towns. 
I lived in fifty homes in twenty-five towns 
on hundreds of roads sea to shining sea. 

The horse in the field runs free with the wind 
so I explore from Scythia to Scotland. 
The four-wheeled wagon rolls in sun and rain 
so I drive from Virginia to Oregon. 
I pave the long road of my journey west 
with the bones my ancestors leave behind. 

We will unify all Europe and Russia 
in one peaceful state we name Gothinia. 
From the ruins of fallen America 
we will build our free country Zarathia. 
We will unite the peoples of our tribes 
in the bounteous state of Anglonesia. 

The ravens gather in the apple tree 
and teach us civil rights through liberty. 
The orioles assemble in the orange tree 
and teach us to deal fair justice for all. 
We gather in moonlight round the World Tree 
to share stories about our quest for truth. 

We live in different countries on one globe 
but tell one story of romantic love. 
We worship different gods with discrete souls 
who all emanate from the same God Mind. 
Every plant and animal on this Earth 
springs from the same First Mother of the sea. 

Justice For The World

Justice For The World
© Surazeus
2025 03 07

Grasping string of sorrow that holds his kite, 
Wulfred escapes as far as he can go 
from crowded city run by gangs of thieves 
to sit on mountain of the holy light 
and wonder at soft song of glowing snow 
in secret meadow where the raven grieves. 

They hung him upside down from the oak tree, 
mocked him while beating his father to death, 
then left him with broken arm by locked gate, 
so he declares his mission to live free 
while learning martial arts with heated breath 
to fight with the wand forged by honest fate. 

While ten years pass in spinning of the world, 
as the thief king takes over the whole town 
to exploit working people for his gain, 
Wulfred attains role of the palace herald 
so he returns with goal to take his crown 
and cleanse his hometown of the grifter stain. 

Robed as herald sent from the palace court, 
Wulfred strides in castle of the thief king 
who fails to recognize the boy he beat 
when he welcomes herald of the great fort, 
feasting on steak while his enslaved girls sing, 
then demands the envoy kneel at his feet. 

Standing tall before thief king on gold throne, 
Wulfred unrolls scroll from the palace lord. 
"Great King Carolus who rules this vast land, 
declares that Donald the thief should atone 
for foul crimes he commits with bloody sword, 
so he should repent for deeds of his hand." 

Screaming in rage at threat to his cruel reign, 
Donald commands guards to arrest the herald 
and chop off his head to protect the state, 
but Wulfred evades hands grasping in vain, 
wields energy of justice for the world, 
then strikes to punish him with well-earned fate. 

Forcing the greedy thief off throne of power, 
Wulfred arrests his state-destroying reign 
to imprison him in cell of his rage, 
breaking his oppression of the state tower 
so people benefit from their own gain 
since the thief is confined in lawful cage. 

Though the people proclaim him their new king, 
Wulfred manages electoral campaign, 
crowns as magistrate the person they choose 
to execute laws programmed by the Thing, 
then lives in garden on the river plain 
where he raises children with his wise Muse.