Twilight Zone Of Fate

Twilight Zone Of Fate
© Surazeus
2025 12 17

Half-awake in the twilight zone of fate, 
I wander in the waste land of my heart 
through endless maze of myths in city streets 
where strangers resemble gods of old tales, 
yet I perform the role my brain designs 
from obsessions my ancestors forgot. 

Half-aware that Death stalks my every step, 
I gaze through telescope of holy faith 
to study how wild stars of energy 
generate self-conscious organic beings 
like me who search the twilight zone of fate 
to find the last fruit seed from Tree of Life. 

Along the signless road of Nevertime 
I walk toward somewhere I think might be real 
on quest for beauty of the aching heart, 
yet long to gaze at face of one I love 
whose shadow flickers in the sun-blazed woods 
while I search in the twilight zone of fate. 

Untwisted galaxies of thriving worlds 
birth countless conscious beings with dreaming brains 
who give each other names that seem unique 
then bloom and wither in vast field of hope 
veiled by love in the twilight zone of fate 
where children gather by the lake to play. 

Unmapped paradise without walls of stone 
dreams itself alive in conscious beings 
who build empires on ideologies 
discovered in the twilight zone of fate 
where gods defy laws of physics and faith 
till exploding stars burn planets to dust. 

Beside the rain-filled lake of watching eyes 
we gather in the ring of standing stones 
to claim our role in strange story of love 
that we play in the twilight zone of fate 
before the meteor cracks our spinning world 
and scatters faceless souls among the stars. 

Half-amused by anecdotes gods tell 
to prove their right to rule the spinning globe, 
I ask the raven in the apple tree 
why all great empires collapse into gangs 
who fight till new messiah unites all 
in world religion of the puppeteer. 

Half-reborn in the twilight zone of fate, 
I walk with wife and children of my heart 
on signless road of temporary hope 
because the meaning of this mortal life 
is to generate life before we die, 
yet feast and sing while we are still alive. 

Dream Of The Blue Danube

Dream Of The Blue Danube
© Surazeus
2025 12 16

This is not the time to fall from the sky 
so I float around on breath of respect, 
ignoring all the suffering down on Earth 
because people will all die anyway 
regardless of the good I try to do, 
so I become flow of the blue Danube. 

I hear no laughter from the bombed-out homes 
where children used to play with carefree joy 
and parents would teach them how to be good 
for they are all bones now, fractured in dust, 
yet I am driven forward by sweet lust 
to procreate more children till I die. 

We waltz together on the river shore 
where people have dwelled in groves of fruit trees 
for fifty thousand years of blooming flowers 
and pledge vows of loyalty through true love 
with random stranger we happen to meet 
while strolling one day by the blue Danube. 

Delicate birds of frantic innocence 
flit light between trees of our shared world view, 
but since we believe in Providence 
that guides how we live with the subtle clue 
we forget some people are greedy and cruel 
as they build empires where people are tools. 

I almost forget cuteness of the deer 
who prance with startled ardency of faith 
in gentle expression of divine soul 
because men fearful of losing to death 
organize fierce gangs to fight for control 
over who dwells free by the blue Danube. 

She never remembers sound of the flute 
that emanates sweet from the dark lake 
till I appear from weird shadow of gloom 
so she beams with joy at sight of my face 
and I beam back as mirror of her trust 
for we are strangers familiar in love. 

Still shocked at perfect surprise of the light 
that explodes from fractured stone of my heart, 
I search for song of the river I knew 
that still vibrates in forest of my dreams 
though my ancestors sailed across the sea 
yet remain in tune with the blue Danube. 

Entranced by strange music of truth she plays 
while stroking strings on the wood violin, 
I sit with awed crowd in the concert hall 
as we feel flow of rivers in our veins 
with each graceful melody she performs 
till we become dream of the blue Danube. 

Slow-Walk The Apocalypse

Slow-Walk The Apocalypse
© Surazeus
2025 12 16

I want to slow-walk the apocalypse 
by wielding bloody sword Excalibur 
which I steal from tomb of the greedy king 
so I can free lost people of the Earth 
from wealthy minions of the emperor 
who slouches on old throne of Bethlehem. 

I plan to slow-walk the apocalypse 
by calculating worth of human lives 
to balance spreadsheet of profit from loss 
for return of investment through my scam 
that keeps the hungry people of the Earth 
enslaved by credit-card debt of desire. 

I fear to slow-walk the apocalypse 
from getting tricked with glamorous hoax 
into buying timeshares to the afterlife 
by the man with the calculator brain 
who buys homes from the bankrupt unemployed 
before the second coming of the Lord. 

I laugh to slow-walk the apocalypse 
when I strut the catwalk of global fame 
to prance with power of the beautiful 
disguised as angel fallen from the clouds, 
cursed with charisma of devilish charm 
while I seek my soul mate to love in vain. 

I yearn to slow-walk the apocalypse 
by navigating seven seas of hope 
while building empire of conceptual banks 
to fund civil wars in countries of fools 
so I can excavate rich minerals 
and construct artificial dream machines. 

I dread to slow-walk the apocalypse 
across broken Bridge of Forgetfulness 
where faceless ghosts of living human beings 
scream in horror at rise of tyranny 
while demon of the abyss laughs at us 
for thinking we can build Heaven on Earth. 

I crave to slow-walk the apocalypse 
by breathing purple haze of outer space 
out of the timeless scrolling of the brain 
that spirals far across the multiverse 
till I wake in my body on this Earth 
and eat scrambled eggs of the frozen star. 

I hope to slow-walk the apocalypse 
though entire universe of pulsing forms 
remains indifferent to my mental needs 
because great freedom of the aching heart 
is won by how I choose to live each hour 
that Earth continues spinning in the void. 

Demystify Beauty Of Hope

Demystify Beauty Of Hope
© Surazeus
2025 12 15

Mysterious beauty of assembled words 
mirrors visions of Earth my brain designs 
when I perceive secret language of birds, 
safe in lush meadow where Hera reclines, 
while I fix piston engine of her car 
so she can drive home to her spirit star. 

Feeding Hera with sweet fruit of my heart, 
while Phoebus strums the lyre of Mercury, 
I relate tale of the girl with fruit cart 
whose grandson constructs banking treasury 
by which he funds the rise of empire states 
with grand palaces behind jeweled gates. 

While nymphs dance gracefully in meadow grass 
Aphrodite plays heart-expanding tunes 
on electric violin forged from glass 
extracted from one thousand flashing moons 
that spiral slow around bright Jupiter 
who once worked as the cosmic janitor. 

When heart of Tellus is fractured by pain 
because Consus marries Ceres instead, 
she sings heart-aching melodies in rain 
till Stellius places wreath on her head, 
so they drink wine and pledge vows of respect 
since they found someone they want to protect. 

Enchanting gracefulness of vibrant sounds, 
that ring in harmony with swirling spheres, 
radiate from instruments of stellar bounds 
played by musicians trained by puppeteers 
to perform symphony of holy strains 
that guide our souls to transcend cosmic planes. 

Spurred by the mind in motion to express, 
with ringing timbre of celestial fire, 
attentive perception through consciousness, 
I reconcile mute sorrow with desire 
to inhabit uncertainty of faith 
through heightened awareness of the star wraith. 

Through transcendental music of the heart 
I seek to embody my spirit frame 
with seductive passion of the dream chart 
to escape nothingness of the life game 
that always ends with blank finality, 
sealed by secret code of mortality. 

Based on irrational analysis, 
that might demystify beauty of hope, 
I mimic performance of Tantalus 
when I observe through cogent telescope 
time-animated history of mankind 
as we seek enlightenment of the mind. 

Tuneful Choir Of Nature

Tuneful Choir Of Nature
© Surazeus
2025 12 15

Nature lures me to join her tuneful choir 
so I imagine how I could ascend 
with angelic grace the narrow church spire, 
but I stay firm on the ground, and extend 
bright energy of life that always glows 
through my persona mask I wear in shows. 

Expanding eye of my perceptive heart, 
I tell how bodies bloom from chemicals 
to trace beginning of each urgent part 
that spirals matrix through bright particles 
so we can tell beginnings we express 
through nourishment of love our mothers bless. 

With spark of hope from seed our fathers give 
our mothers generate our dreaming souls, 
so, from mistakes, our bodies learn to live 
in daily rituals through creative roles 
with clear vision on boundless stage of faith 
in play directed by no cosmic wraith. 

We gather in halls of worship each week 
to nourish beginnings of ritual games 
that we perform to conjure what we seek 
by defining progress with sacred names 
so we may feast in many-living home 
that hosts homeless refugees forced to roam. 

Together on long signless road of hope, 
we map weird unknown world of frantic fears 
with soul-healing techniques we learn to cope, 
because we follow faring stars with gears 
adjusting fortune-fueled engine of fate 
that drives efficient system of our state. 

Through magic words we dream forgotten things 
to visualize their beauty in brave hymns 
reflecting brain power of angel wings 
that pour sunlight to flush organic limbs 
so we create good world we want to shine 
with ancient spirit wise humans design. 

Our birth is half-remembering intense scenes 
our ancestors experience till we sprout 
from lust of life-generating machines 
that mold our souls from brains of urgent clout 
so we create Heaven from memories 
our ancestors encode in psychic keys. 

I wake wild spirit I employ to deal 
with the whole compass of our universe 
from which my brain mutates conceptual wheel 
so I become soul time cannot reverse 
while I sing in tune with mercurial lyre 
when I join Nature in her joyful choir. 

Lost In Fake Tomorrows

Lost In Fake Tomorrows
© Surazeus
2025 12 14

While young girl plays sweet melody of sorrow 
on heart-aching strings of the violin, 
I ponder why, when I express despair 
through tangled threads of arrogant dismay, 
I win grand prizes for anxiety, 
rewarded for how bitterly I scream. 

Old gray-haired man in room of shining windows 
traps joyful sprites in cores of mandolins 
played by blind troubadours at country fairs 
whose music leads the lost through crowded maze 
where idols worshipped by societies 
come alive as puppets in secret dreams. 

As young boy stares at keys of huge piano, 
to breathe deep spirit of its harmony, 
his heart transforms to swan of ardent faith 
that guides him from Tuonela to his home 
where he attends to faceless ghost of sound, 
then plays heart-breaking tune of secret love. 

Old sad-eyed woman of the weeping willows 
frees crippled slaves from social tyrannies 
who preach salvation sold by stellar wraiths 
in brave rebellion against righteous domes 
built by warriors buried in high mounds 
studied by archaeologists with gloves. 

If tired mother cries at song of the sparrow 
that flutters wings of hope in cage of fate, 
mad jester driving full delivery truck 
abandons capitalist money game 
to meditate outside the mountain cave 
while she washes dishes and clothes all day. 

Yet angry father, lost in fake tomorrows, 
decides to return from fixing house gates 
to find his home possessed by playful Pucks 
commissioned by Oberon to steal names 
and organize roles of newly-freed slaves 
who perform boat races on sunlit bays. 

Mike counts red chickens by the red wheelbarrow 
glazed with rainwater after the sea storm, 
then boils one in the pot on Christmas Eve 
for his children to feast before they die 
of starvation in Land of Liberty 
while singing hymns to Savior of the World. 

Jane spends all night assembling perfect arrows 
that Janus needs while guarding Realm of Forms, 
then cooks chicken soup for blind queen who grieves 
death of Apollo with electric eyes 
who tried to lift mankind from poverty 
with help from gang of self-appointed heralds. 

Broken Ring Of His Heart

Broken Ring Of His Heart
© Surazeus
2025 12 14

When young boy walking in heather at dawn 
sees pretty rose girl dancing in red gown 
he desires to taste sweet fruit of her heart 
so he embraces her in eager arms, 
and though she pricks his chest with a sharp knife 
she melts into passionate kiss of hope. 

Down in the verdant meadow of his heart, 
Johann hurries to the spinning mill wheel 
where Rosalyn waits in shadow of hope, 
beaming with joy at the sight of his face 
as they kiss with song of the flowing stream, 
hearts beating with splash of water in light. 

Gazing with joy at beauty of her face, 
Johann accepts her token of true love 
when she slips ring on his finger with trust, 
then waits six days by the spinning mill wheel 
for her to return with promise of faith, 
but wedding bells ring in soft evening glow. 

Standing in door of the stone village church, 
Johann stares from guileless shock of surprise 
to see Rosalyn recite wedding vows 
with first-born son of the wealthy town mayor, 
so he breaks her ring with stone of his heart 
when he wanders alone in forest of night. 

While wandering alone in forest of night 
Johann sings with angst to moon-glowing clouds, 
asking for angels to descend from stars 
to soothe the wretched pain wounding his heart, 
then pauses at song of wrens in oak trees 
that fills his breast with illusion of peace. 

Roaming signless roads far across the land, 
Johann strums melodious strings of the lute 
and sings by sparkling fountains in town squares 
about the faithfulness of honest love, 
then drinks beer in the crowded inns at night 
while clutching the broken ring of his heart. 

Though Beauty many conquer humans and gods, 
all beautiful people die in the end 
in tragic loss that moves not Stygian Zeus 
though Venus tries to heal our wounded hearts 
for Orcus brings to cave of faceless death 
every beautiful soul who ever lives. 

Weeping alone by the stone village church 
before the tombstone beside the rose bush, 
Johann laments sad death of Rosalyn 
who never woke after birth of her son, 
then buries the broken ring of his heart 
for her to wear by the spinning mill wheel. 

Buy Presents For Everyone

Buy Presents For Everyone
© Surazeus
2025 12 14

This holiday season of lonely lights 
that flash with candles in windows of faith 
dislodges me from childhood memories 
so I wait in the movie theater 
for world messiah to descend from clouds 
while eating popcorn at the end of time. 

If I should wait for the apocalypse 
before I buy presents for everyone, 
then Christmas carolers may pass my home 
and leave strange beauty of sad melodies 
to birds with frosted eyes in wind-blown trees 
who sing of sorrow humans choose to hide. 

No restless angels sleep in snow-veiled pines, 
yet I hear eerie voices of their plots 
disguised as cheerful songs on radios 
with haunting echoes in cold lightless homes 
where festive ghosts hang stars on plastic trees 
then hover over me with dreamless wings. 

Snow tangled in bare limbs of apple trees 
bends porch lights into hearts wounded by faith 
because bright whiteness of pure innocence 
resembles wedding dress the blind girl wears 
as she parades alone in empty church 
beside the polar bear with emerald eyes. 

Each moment passing songless into death 
adjusts harsh chill of cheerful morning winds 
that wake from restless dreams of bearded gods 
millions of people who trudge streets of ice 
to work sustaining bloom of hungry flame 
which flickers anxiously in human hearts. 

Though memories of you all may come and go 
with flicker of flames on candles of hope, 
we walk with noiseless feet down curious stairs 
to see if angels haunt our living rooms, 
but children vanish in time-swirling snow 
to build new homes in towns across the land. 

Half lured to Heaven by time-swirling snow, 
I concede that our human lives on Earth 
are messy with intense desire to thrive 
in maze of streets that zigzag out from Hell 
where liquid moon floats boatly over trees 
with complicated details we ignore. 

Caught in bare monochrome of winter days, 
we hunch our hearts against brute winds of change 
to gather feathers from torn angel wings 
so we can weave them in our bitter hearts 
through energy of weird religious faith 
to make our home in this house where we dwell. 

Haunt Our Empty Home

Haunt Our Empty Home
© Surazeus
2025 12 14

If I get safely home on road of faith 
after walking nowhere ten thousand years 
perhaps you will see me as the wild fox 
that wanders without care in city streets 
while you drive your car without angel wings 
then call my name when I gaze in your eyes. 

When I transform into lithe human being 
you take my hand with innocent respect 
so we may dwell in possibility 
where windows of our hopes frame what could be 
if we return to chambers of our hearts 
with everlasting love in paradise. 

Together in uncertain slant of light 
we heft our hearts with brave cathedral tunes 
to heal unheavenly hurt of deep love, 
hearts afflicted by misunderstood words 
that twist true meanings into breathless fear 
till we transcend the distance with new faith. 

Our lonely sapling town on roadless plain 
reveals delirious flowers in our brains 
that bloom from inner shadows of desire, 
lost deep in fields of golden wind-blown wheat 
till glass rain shadows innocent despair 
because we paint our names on new-road signs. 

Yet when I hear song of the balladeer 
assert world view of my merciless bride, 
I hide what ails my withered heart at noon 
with anguished lily rotten on my brow 
for you have vanished at harsh flash of dawn 
as fairy child in meadows of blind mist. 

Your wild eyes lure me to your elven grove 
where we dream endless paradise of love 
in fleeting hour of sun-veiled dance with death 
till I wake startled in lush dew-wet grass 
and wander mute along the busy road 
where cars race past eternity of now. 

I find you by wood coffin of our son 
killed in jungle war across the cruel sea, 
red tears of chaos streaming from your eyes 
that flash fierce hurricanes of social change 
to shatter pillars of our world empire 
that crumbles prairie homes in nuclear wind. 

If I revert back to my primal form 
as wild fox hunting in snow-mountain range 
far from the busy streets of city wealth, 
I wonder if you will escape its maze 
and search for me in valley of tall pines 
where we forever haunt our empty home. 

Aphelion World Of Dreams

Aphelion World Of Dreams
© Surazeus
2025 12 13

Because Seraphus knows the way to Hell, 
we elect him psychopomp of our tribe 
so he guides us to pool of dreaming stars 
to show unfinished beauty of our souls 
that blooms from mirror of our vast god-brain 
so we climb stairs of water to the sky. 

Because Seraphus teaches us to fly 
with hope and grief as wings of earnest faith, 
we follow him beyond the weeping hills 
to understand the failure of our hope, 
but we hear something eerie in the wind 
so we hide faceless in window of knives. 

Because Seraphus steals our shadowed bones 
to gamble devilish thoughts on success, 
we seek quintessence of Zephyrine dust 
with Valkyrian reverence for rebirth 
through fraught conviction of soul immanence 
concealed in cypher of auric respect. 

Because Seraphus builds sanctum of lies 
where we seek auspice of unyielding truth, 
we consider sovereign rights to life 
trapped in penumbra forged from vital lust 
expressing arcane solitude through myth 
that acts as catalyst for social change. 

Because Seraphus measures sublime fear 
enraptured by vile vortex of our brains, 
we seek hermetic code of vigilance 
designed to nurture ataraxia 
based on exousia that Phoebus assigned 
for me to wield Aeonian ardency. 

Because Seraphus keys tenacity 
through incandescent augury of love, 
I feel strange vibe emanate Jovian 
from runic core inherent to my faith 
based in strict impulse of my discipline, 
therefore I seek aphelion world of dreams. 

Because Seraphus maps the multiverse 
while I trudge river shore of changeless truths, 
I invent meaning for this random life 
that leaves me stranded on the signless road, 
so I erect ten thousand signs as clues 
for all the yet-born with Astarian faith. 

Because Seraphus plays chess with Despair, 
I marry Death and crown her as my bride 
so we raise children with conceptual rules 
based on how humans employ mental tools 
to build from ruins of America 
order of justice through Zarathia. 

Jump The Clock Of Fate

Jump The Clock Of Fate
© Surazeus
2025 12 13

Surprised by beauty of the sudden sun 
that strips cold darkness from essence of things, 
I feel my soul emerge from words of books 
to float through troposphere of psychic waves 
and surf eclectic tides of social change 
when I decide to jump the clock of fate. 

Gold rays of dawn illuminate my face 
as I stride bravely down the signless road 
to leave valley home of wheatfields behind 
and journey to the castle court of power 
to join the justice squad of loyalty 
when I conspire to jump the clock of fate. 

Startled by serpent of Tiresias, 
who guards gate of Heaven with Wand of Weird, 
I solve strange riddle of his honey tongue 
that man is mask of his ancestral ghost, 
then enter paradise with cautious faith 
when I arrive to jump the clock of fate. 

Assigned to assist honest Sisyphus, 
I perform role of psychic architect 
to construct cathedral of slanting light 
that calculates through angled formulas 
immortal spirit of the spinning wheel 
when I resolve to jump the clock of fate. 

Alert to clever scheme of Tantalus 
to crown his son, mad Midas, King of Earth, 
I reassign the chess-game characters 
by changing rules of interactive play 
allowing me to win against his greed 
when I contrive to jump the clock of fate. 

Inspired by frantic faith of Icarus 
to escape tower where Rapunzel weeps, 
I soar above the endless maze of myths 
to fracture idols of dead gods with truth 
whose howling voices scream from violins 
when I ascend to jump the clock of fate. 

Amazed by wisdom of calm Athamas 
to rescue Daphne from the laurel tree, 
I dive with courage in the surging sea 
and rescue Helle from depths of despair 
so we raise children in our apple grove 
when I refuse to jump the clock of fate. 

Five hundred years ago in swirl of time 
more than one million separate human beings 
over twenty generations converge 
to wake as memories in my dreaming brain 
so I expand my divine consciousness 
when I contract to jump the clock of fate. 

Between Her World And Mine

Between Her World And Mine
© Surazeus
2025 12 13

If angel of light descends from the stars 
and chooses to glow outside my locked door, 
the vast distance between her world and mine 
haunts my heart with intense desire to know, 
so I sing ache of my hope to embrace 
grace of her beauty long lost from this world. 

Stunned by assertive passion of strange eyes, 
I wander mute in forest of sad winds 
to lie beside the shallow pool of frogs 
till I sense invisible shift of light 
that pulses with palpable vibe of truth 
since I contain the world inside my breast. 

Surrounded by waving ferns of concern, 
I reach out to touch white moth of the moon, 
and muse if angel of light may return 
while I curl roots of my passionate hope 
in sun-thawed soil of our slow-spinning globe 
to contemplate relentless change of forms. 

Awake in moon-shadow of ardent faith, 
I gather dismembered fragments of dreams 
to patch strange memories with threads of fate, 
framed by clumsy gratitude of bright eyes 
that stare through useless clouds of urgent joy 
as unseen bats that constellate my heart. 

They crowd my empty room before midnight, 
those faceless ghosts of people I once knew, 
who gather to discuss risk management 
by filling boxes with thick documents 
that analyze how floods destroy small towns 
where mothers cook us potatoes and corn. 

I study densities of river stones 
in long reports about anger repressed 
based on paintings that crowd ten thousand rooms 
where angels dwell in landscapes of lost worlds 
to ponder why choices result in how 
we sail boats on floods from electric storms. 

Invulnerable books of recognized myths 
detail each time in history of mankind 
angel of light hovers by my locked door, 
so I record another song of love 
contrived from psychotic anxiety 
that flashes meteors across my mind. 

I shall organize schedule of events 
to render strong semantics mirrors seal 
through iridescent thoughts of angel wings 
that bring my true love safe around the world 
when she appears outside door of my heart 
and I open wide to embrace her close. 

Soul-Generating Art

Soul-Generating Art
© Surazeus
2025 12 13

The sweet little girl in lush field of flowers 
plays with the shiny key-words of her heart 
which her father forged from water and stone 
by catching lightning strikes with gentle hands 
so she transforms wild swirls of energy 
to fruits and vegetables that bloom from dirt. 

Loading pushcart with baskets of ripe fruit, 
Pomona travels across bumpy fields 
to large ring of stones on the river shore 
where people gather every afternoon 
to exchange rich produce of the fertile Earth, 
then feast and sing in the cool evening dusk. 

Working all evening in the restaurant, 
Pamela brings plates and glasses of food 
to people gathered at tables of faith 
where they eat and talk with passionate joy, 
then lies exhausted on her bed at home 
and thinks about the ancient times in Rome. 

While imagining simple ways of life 
in ancient times before technology, 
Pamela sketches young girl with long hair 
who sells fruit from her pushcart by the tree, 
then shares ripe apples with the handsome boy 
who roasts fish he caught for them both to eat. 

Though life seems simple in those ancient times, 
stronger people often exploit the weak, 
but today government agents run laws 
providing everyone who wants to work 
protections against exploitative greed, 
though that system seems to be breaking down. 

I cannot tell if life in ancient times, 
tending trees of fruit with attentive hands 
to protect them from harsh weather and thieves, 
or life today as waitress serving food 
then watching shows on computer at night, 
is the lifestyle I would prefer the most. 

This organic body of chemicals 
that conjures my conscious soul from its brain 
requires constant input of biomass 
that we produce from fertile soil of Earth 
so we must gesture with physical craft 
to sustain body-vibrant glow of life. 

When immortal soul of Pomona wakes 
in mind of her descendant Pamela, 
her spirit of soul-generating art 
inspires her to maintain strict daily rite 
working to provide food people must eat 
so she can eat and enjoy painting comics. 

True To My Secret Self

True To My Secret Self
© Surazeus
2025 12 12

True to my secret self against all odds, 
I savor sparkle of mist on my face 
from endless melodies of waterfalls 
that measure vastness of my consciousness 
wide as the swirling sea with each new chance 
by which I mold weird fortune into fate. 

Down endless street of arrogant dismay 
I walk past swords of angels made of flame 
to follow Morning Star of righteousness 
while floating wingless in hypnotic trance 
by singing hymns that wake the dead from dream 
who wonder at the blood that stains my coat. 

Dressed in black lace dress of elegant grace, 
Death walks beside me on my road of life, 
revealing beauty in each mundane thing 
since sunlight glows on walls of silent stone 
so I clap hands in rhythm with sea waves 
because the wind takes all my parts away. 

Time scatters me on tragic plain of faith 
though I inspire celestial breath with fear 
so people born long after I have died 
assemble fragments of my memories 
to build their own new personality 
encased in faceless monument of Me. 

Because each Me I live as each new day 
emerges bright from stone of haughty grief, 
I drink from sparkling fountain in the square 
while strangers watch my face appear from rain 
so I strum lyre of Mercury with joy 
through call for truth in valley of my heart. 

Secure in realm of sudden consciousness 
that sings through tree of affectionate trust, 
I publish our undeniable tale 
based on sincere candor of crumbling cliffs 
because divine insight broadcast by Death 
remains unpublished through dire prophecy. 

Trained as calm architect of healthy homes, 
I build cathedral of human despair 
where sorrows embodied in human minds 
correct assertion of the holy fool 
through maladjusted hours of wizardry 
because rain writes my misery in flowers. 

Without strong angel wings on which to fly, 
swooping high over hot telephone lines, 
I study nonsense of the human heart 
that wants true love against reason of faith 
so we share drinks in moonlight on the snow 
while never exposing failures in tales. 

Play Orpheus Psychopomp

Play Orpheus Psychopomp
© Surazeus
2025 12 12

About as subtle as hammer of hope, 
my heart beats wild with speculative faith 
that delusions of hope and faith dissolve 
at shocking vision of the bloody sword 
that emerges from my Chaldean Star 
each time I need to understand the Why. 

Though I inhale celestial god of light 
to energize my body with intent, 
I analyze progressive quest for faith 
that beams as moonlight through tangled tree limbs 
each time I need to understand how come 
time breaks organic bodies into shards. 

If I emerge from veil of apple leaves 
to observe situation of concern, 
I measure distance to the danger zone 
each time I need to understand how far 
my body falls from cloud of innocence 
though I grasp at feathered wings of blind gods. 

So I approach gold idol of the king 
that shines with beauty at the fear-locked gate 
each time I need to understand how long 
Death takes to tally names of hungry folk 
trapped inside ancient walls of paradise 
till tyrant on fake throne falls over dead. 

I spread angelic wings of brave esteem 
each time I need to understand how high 
palace of achievement looms above me 
because I strive to earn fame-forged award 
through bright apotheosis of my soul 
till I tumble wingless down to the Earth. 

Each time I need to understand my heart 
I stand on breathless plain of everywhere 
and cry out to blind angels on bright clouds 
for dream-key to unlock huge gates of Hell 
so I can play Orpheus psychopomp 
who leads mine slaves back home to Liberty. 

Each time I need to understand the world 
I map features on landscape of its form 
in virtual world that programs how my brain 
perceives social functions of the real world 
stratified as radiant layers of truth 
through linguistic structure of linked ideas. 

Because the author of these puzzling codes 
is no more real than gust of humming wind, 
you, as the reader with observant eyes, 
create the virtual world of psychic truth 
your brain designs as you read lines of verse 
each time I need to understand my song. 

Necessity Of Paper Skulls

Necessity Of Paper Skulls
© Surazeus
2025 12 12

Unruined stillness of my lucid heart 
expresses anguish of supportive flaws 
we share with mottled voices darkly clear 
when we advance across the seamless span 
that bounds our sober thoughts of rippled rage 
in naked wilderness of circled sense. 

Yet eyes of painters staring beyond time 
laugh at proverbs perched on putrefied walls 
since innocent hearts of togetherness 
are coarsened by feckless grief we must sell 
based on necessity of paper skulls 
we mass-produce in factories of fake words. 

Sad spiders spin somnolent jealousy 
that we exchange with bold alacrity 
till manic chagrin for positive change 
fools us to think relationships are real 
as festered shackles of contractual code 
dissolved by storm clouds of our loyal love. 

Not even the wildest music of clowns 
could drive me mad with brave telepathy 
since path of my insistent quest for truth 
gleams brightly on horizon of my fear 
from garish light of my Chaldean star 
that softens jeers of brute banality. 

All aspects of my pulsar heart refract 
miasmic tunes of structured harmony 
on which I march for beauty to escape 
conceptual slaughter of dream piracy 
when we invent new melodies of faith 
that scam us with sweet fantasy of life. 

Diminishing returns of honest love 
invested to earn profit from regret 
reveal our complicated states of mind 
contrived by marketing budget of lust 
despite foreclosure on my flooded heart 
that leaves my beneficiaries poor. 

My gazed fixed firm on face of fantasy 
requires grand celebration of our feast 
as we approach our hidden skeletons 
with golden joy of arrogant dismay 
that seals our contract with elated pay 
through swelling surges of new social change. 

That lifeless image in mirror of eyes 
explains my graceful dance of aching hope 
to leap beyond our solid bounds of faith 
with bloodless ecstasy of festive fear 
till I sing dreadful prophecy of truth 
encoded in weird puzzles no one gets. 

Exchange Fake Money

Exchange Fake Money
© Surazeus
2025 12 11

Excessive anguish of my loving heart, 
encased in copper sulfate crystal shell, 
might radiate nuclear passion of respect 
when I explode with silver fog of dawn 
to join festivities on ship-wrecked beach 
where castaways buy and sell books of blood. 

Reluctant penance of obsessive waves 
inscribes our bitter loss with hieroglyphs 
we carve on plangent gravity of fate 
against clarified habits we exchange 
through lucid effort of accomplished thoughts 
based whole on choreography of love. 

No faint electric trail of muddied steps 
lures us to unplowed fields of warrior skulls 
where honest heralds will conspire to fool 
the hungry crowd with phonemes of disgust 
because we dig with shovels of contempt 
to rip soft heart of Earth for treasure chests. 

Yet wounded by uncertain words of faith, 
we translate climate of confusing truth 
based on the certain slant of winter light 
which cracks cathedral walls with ardent bells 
where young girl in black dress sings coded hymns 
to prove imperial affliction of air. 

Escape from Heaven shows why nameless god 
traps souls of seekers in shadow of truth 
through oppressive laws of false bravery 
despite internal meanings we conceal 
though we wait in round temple on the hill 
for bakers to turn pearls to loaves of faith. 

Sounds of our voices exclaiming with joy 
may disappear in breath of crashing waves, 
yet we hide feelings inside polished jokes 
to prove our memory of corrupted homes 
provides foundation for new way of life 
when we exchange fake money for good lies. 

This road we walk may lead us far away 
but we will find ourselves back home again 
though emptiness of faith inspires mad kings 
to bomb museums full of singing masks 
because we sell true evil to our friends 
in exchange for dead leaves wet from cold rain. 

Clean masks of polished personalities 
hide brutal emptiness of loud desires 
valued by the fearful who worship brutes 
constricted by approval of fake strength 
when we embellish skills through agency 
till motives drown our hearts in tears of faith. 

Tomb Where Jesus Rots

Tomb Where Jesus Rots
© Surazeus
2025 12 11

Each time the door of our house opens wide 
I feel the universe invade my heart, 
so I step through its liminal divide 
to leap across abyss of innocence 
and stare at statues of people who wear 
mask of god to prove they should be alive. 

I hear gravelly voice of the old man, 
who calls everyone he meets Mister Bones, 
clatter loud as boulders of the landslide 
that wipes empires off map of Wonderland 
when he recites proverbs from holy books 
that praise the man who shovels mud with pride. 

The sturdy woman in torn peasant dress, 
whose face shines gold as pumpkins at sunrise, 
recites the alphabet with water voice 
which sparks arousal of my hope to learn 
secret code she recites to indicate 
proper behavior for every event. 

Sudden roar of demonic energy 
startles me from tending my pumpkin patch 
so I spin the circular multiverse 
angled enough to see blur of wings 
when the horseless carriage zooms past my field 
and trundles over horizon of hope. 

When golden stairway to Heaven beams down 
through frantic storm clouds of urgent respect, 
I kneel with brave expectancy of faith 
and watch for Jesus in long fluttering robe 
to float on vibrant wings of piety 
with huge eyes of nuclear divinity. 

Though I pray deep with calm solemnity 
at vision of Heaven transforming Earth 
from cluttered messy hell to paradise, 
Jesus never appears in glorious blaze 
long after darkness shrouds the world in gloom 
so I hide shocked in the windowless room. 

When Phoebus wakes at flash of ecstasy 
from smoky ruins of my aching heart, 
I channel spirit of harmonious Muse 
to sing about the brave philosophers 
who journey forth on quest of curious faith 
to understand true nature of this Earth. 

Lost in the endless maze of history, 
I follow glowing light of wisdom close 
that radiates from Lamp of Diogenes 
to measure structure of this universe 
and analyze physical states of being 
when I explore from tomb where Jesus rots. 

Echo Of Transient Fire

Echo Of Transient Fire
© Surazeus
2025 12 10

We fall from echo of transient fire 
when bodies dissolve in oceans of light 
that forges our bones into frantic words 
we sing to channel sorrow into love 
preserved on pages torn from holy books 
that flutter wings of sly ambitious hope. 

Unbearable coldness of hurried breath 
constrains elastic brains with moral laws 
contrived by strict procedures angels use 
to wake as elemental beings of soil 
inspired by incidental leap of faith 
till I stop breathing at the end of time. 

We watch attention of our hungry minds 
shift through each writhing spiral curve of fate 
with humble wonder at flowers that bloom 
from eyes of corpses trapped in trunks of trees 
because we welcome birds on trembling limbs 
secure with knowledge that we all will die. 

We float in moon boat on time-steady stream 
to learn about the dead who disappear 
because we fear they wander bodiless 
somewhere behind us on the vanished road 
and call our names with voices soft as wind 
that causes leaves of anguish to retreat. 

If we stop breathing subtle honesty 
when stones allow adjustments of regret 
through mental focus on exploding words 
we might react with physical intent 
to register random absurd events 
based on identity we claim with prayer. 

Pathetic laughter sparks new flame of hope 
through urgent anguish to transcend our pain 
so we discuss heart-shocking sense of loss 
that twists subjective ambience from fate 
based on unflappable resolve to live 
with brave attention against fractured lies. 

Thus we transcend multidimensional planes 
through complex registry of secret names 
despite our catalytic trust in books 
that burgeon text in rockets of brave snow 
stuck in proverbs that detonate our hearts 
which leaves us stranded on the signless road. 

I search myself for alien mysteries 
and find that no one thinks I am alive 
so I become reflection in the pool 
who questions if my face is even real 
till I turn around and gaze in your eyes 
as we rise from echo of transient fire. 

Siren Call Of Social Fame

Siren Call Of Social Fame
© Surazeus
2025 12 10

Because my plutonian heart is laid bare 
by stolen passwords of classified code, 
I raid the treasure house for secret tropes 
so with each sentient spell my tongue recites 
I may free demon of my inner child 
to dance while laughing on the ocean shore. 

When I hear songs of sirens on sharp rocks 
who seek to lure me with visions of love, 
I sail away through swirling mist of fear 
to find the Garden of Eden in Hell 
where angels in white robes of feathered wings 
compose our tales on scrolls of energy. 

Disarmed by meter of relentless waves 
that wrack indifferent cliffs of solitude 
with anxious thoughts of wordless ecstasy, 
I seek to trick the woman with sad eyes 
by giving her sweet fruit from Tree of Life 
then sell her wisdom of the holy light. 

Yet she buys nothing from box of my dreams 
because she sees behind my fractured mask 
while gazing amused in my mirror eyes 
where face of beauty gleams with sudden power, 
so she embraces me with urgent faith 
to generate new life before we die. 

Her heart-enchanting melody of hope 
possesses me with vision of Star Truth 
so I become small part of her grand play 
where I perform creative tasks with faith 
that build world view of sacred guardianship 
where she reveals true nature of all things. 

Though I keep falling from Tower of Truth 
because my fantasy of flight fails me, 
I stand again on ardent legs of faith 
and search the endless maze of Wonderland 
till I find thirteen keys of magic mirth 
to spring the locks of churches without doors. 

When chronicles of human history, 
which I compose with pure angelic blood, 
appear unclassified with secret codes, 
I strum the lyre of Mercury and sing 
brave odes about anti-heroes and fools 
who heed the siren call of social fame. 

Almost forgotten in the Promised Land, 
Muse Calliope finds me by the tree 
where I assess mind-state of misery, 
and gives me crystal sphere of potent power 
so I can dream history of the Earth 
till waves of time wash me out to the sea.