Steorberht The Astronaut

Steorberht The Astronaut
© Surazeus
2024 12 11

No reason for dollars to fall with snow 
and shroud city streets in quiet despair 
yet the girl in the red dress walks alone, 
holding the balloon with soul of the wolf, 
and the old mad prophet jumps off the bridge, 
thinking he can fly high on angel wings. 

Each dollar bill that flutters to the street 
imagines itself the last butterfly, 
yet the woman who floats down from the sky 
under umbrella of social reform 
calls out to the girl who hides her wild wolf 
when the mad prophet sinks into the sea. 

The butterfly that lands on the car roof 
thinks everything yellow must be the sun, 
yet the girl with the camera in her purse 
hurries past the mad prophet with pearl eyes 
who asks if she wants to buy angel wings, 
so she hides in the novel on the bench. 

The mad prophet with stolen angel wings 
asks the woman with the gun in her mouth 
if she would like to dance on bridge of hope, 
yet the girl who transforms into the wolf 
explains to the policeman with six arms 
she found the camera in the burning church. 

Dollar bills delicate as flakes of ash 
swirl upward from the writhing flames of fire 
burning in Notre Dame cathedral spire, 
yet mad prophet climbs flying buttresses 
and sits with the gargoyles safe under stars 
to watch Death searching for the wild wolf girl. 

Still in love with Steorberht the astronaut, 
the wolf girl takes pictures of the church fire 
with the camera she stole from Lucifer, 
yet the woman who captures nameless ghosts 
smiles as she tends the mad prophet with love 
who shows her jewels he found in the sea. 

Enchanted by glow of her moon-black eyes, 
Steorberht kisses the wolf girl with sweet love, 
so she takes him in restored Notre Dame 
with pillars and walls gleaming white as milk, 
then sings heart-breaking hymn of honest fear 
when he places crown of hope on her head. 

Annoyed Steorberht has stolen the spotlight, 
mad prophet gives him arcane book of spells, 
yet the shy astronaut fails to go mad, 
instead he crowns wolf girl queen of the damned 
who sing hymns of despair in angel choir 
when falling dollar bills turn into snow. 

Home Of My Ancestors

Home Of My Ancestors
© Surazeus
2024 12 11

I see the world the same as no one else 
so I will scatter words upon the ground 
and tend them with the tears of lonely souls 
so they will blossom into trees of fruit 
that feed our spirits with ethereal dreams 
till bomb blasts wake us and we stumble lost. 

Just because my grandfather built this house, 
and several generations of our clan 
have lived here one hundred and twenty years, 
does not mean we should leave our hearts attached 
to rooms haunted by our sweet memories 
for our photos have fallen off the walls. 

Though we have never traveled far from home 
more than fifty miles any way at least, 
we can take this opportunity now 
to see the world beyond bounds of our hopes, 
exploring lands where no one welcomes us 
so we keep moving down the signless road. 

The treasures of our family memories, 
toys we played with when were little kids, 
books we read by the fire on winter nights, 
photos of our together happy times, 
presents we gave each other out of love, 
these priceless things mean nothing to us now. 

The world I see with eyes of bitter tears 
is different than the pretty world you see, 
so though we seem to exist on one plane 
we dwell far away on parallel worlds, 
divided by our faith in honest men 
who drive us away and steal all we made. 

Though people tell me some lost prophet said 
arc of the moral universe is long, 
but it bends towards justice, and this inspires 
my heart with hope that I can reacquire 
home of my ancestors stolen from us, 
yet I think this arc bends not fast enough. 

If no judge in any state court of law 
will rule deed of my home returned to me 
and thieves imprisoned for their heinous crime, 
then I will gather army of the lost 
to fight the tyrant on false judgment throne 
in revolution to right every wrong. 

When on the field of battle we charge forth 
and I am shot by bullet of despair, 
bury me by that house long burned to ash 
so I can claim that I have returned home, 
then eat apples that ripen from this tree 
which grows now from the sorrow of my heart. 

Accidents Of Natural Change

Accidents Of Natural Change
© Surazeus
2024 12 10

With the walking cane made of dragon bone 
I will traverse the mountain of the world 
to stand beside the ancient twisted tree 
and feel wild clouds burning sorrow from me, 
but back home by the hearth the cat lies curled 
as I explore dark lands of dreams alone. 

When I am on the signless road of hope 
somewhere far beyond the last city zone 
I will gaze into the bright pool at me feet 
and ask ghost of my father why cold sleet 
stings my heart with knowledge of the star stone 
that leads me ever higher up the slope. 

While we are accidents of natural change, 
evolving by chance from sparkles of light 
that float with careless passion in the sea, 
I push against the wind of what is free 
to test bound limitations of the right 
that leaves me laughing on the Texas range. 

Though darkness hovers over me with wings 
reflecting all that happens on the Earth, 
I choose to not participate in games 
men fight for power of celestial names, 
imagined puzzle of the fractured worth 
richer than wisdom of lost magic rings. 

Desire for pleasure hidden in wet soil 
still motivates my tending fields of flowers, 
concealing silent rage in songs of birds 
who steal fruit seeds arranged as haughty words 
so I decide to build ten thousand towers 
which imitate code from genetic coil. 

Time would leave me stranded on the peak 
of every mountain I have dared to climb 
since heart-broken witch on the radio 
waits for me on her palace patio, 
so I emerge from her pool with sweet lime 
that proves I am the one she wants to seek. 

The wood stork at the Homosassa Springs 
asks me if I remember scriptural truth 
regarding laws for how the king behaves, 
so I tour nightclubs in huge ocean caves, 
performing shows as sly messiah sleuth 
guarded by the concept of angel wings. 

Living in forest of ten thousand trees, 
I find the special mask of fate you wore 
beneath the giant fractured skull of god, 
which explains why I joined the justice squad, 
but now I work at the small-town book store 
recording wrong lyrics for rhapsodies. 

Born For The Spotlight

Born For The Spotlight
© Surazeus
2024 12 10

She keeps abandoning herself to sorrow 
to dance with joyful passion in the rain 
as she sings, "I was born for the spotlight," 
then curls into soft terror of tomorrow, 
swallows random pills to mitigate pain, 
and floats alone in namelessness of night. 

She applies pink lipstick to hide her misery, 
then bursts into the room with skillful rage 
of confidence in gray suit and red scarf 
to berate the harried staff for mistakes 
that could cost the company monthly profits, 
then struts off when the director shouts, "Cut!" 

She hides her star-bright eyes behind sunglasses 
while lurking in the crowded shopping mall, 
but someone recognizes her star aura, 
and soon excited fans corner the actress 
like pack of wild dogs the elegant vixen, 
so she panics and flees in thin high heels. 

She peers squinting in glare of the spotlight 
that shields her fragile soul from adoration, 
then steps forward with invisible crown 
and asseverates, "Yet do I fear your nature, 
much too full of the milk of human kindness," 
then steps back and tries to make herself air. 

She glares at his back when he turns away, 
and gasps with despair, "So you run again, 
escaping, as you sneer, the harridan, 
for I always seem to change with each day, 
another stranger wearing my old face," 
then turns, knowing he will not come embrace her. 

She cradles the little girl in her arms, 
staring shocked at her sweet innocent face 
smudged with ash and gashed by bomb-blasted brick, 
then sobs with despair as light of her soul 
dissipates into haze of helpless love, 
and keeps weeping after the scene is done. 

She reads lines of poetry from the book 
"Deathless Mother" that swirl in harmony 
with ocean waves curling around her feet, 
then grins wryly, "It appears I will never 
find the real me behind the masks I wear, 
for I have become every role I played." 

She keeps finding herself in dreams of horror, 
running through the maze of theater halls, 
as she sings, "I was born for the spotlight," 
then stares at her real unself in the mirror, 
framed posters of her movies on stained walls, 
and floats with us in namelessness of light. 

Function Of My Brain

Function Of My Brain
© Surazeus
2024 12 10

Geared contraption of flexible syntax 
traps fluid concepts in receptive words 
I advance to express amorphous flash 
of feelings based on sharp analysis 
my brain contrives by puzzling random facts 
in cosmic theory I assign to life. 

My genes gather atomic energy 
of flashing atoms to weave neural net 
of memory nodes in galactic-shaped brain 
which conjures virtual world of conscious mind 
aware of itself as immortal god 
contained in temporary mortal man. 

This conscious mind unique to my one brain 
is function fueled by flashing molecules 
which generates vision in whole world view 
organizing objects in framed landscape 
so I am subject that perceives my world 
of changing bodies within changeless scope. 

As long as chemicals of flowing change 
fuel conscious mind with sense of unique self, 
my body glows with animating soul, 
asserting right to live with clever strength, 
but when body functions deteriorate 
my consciousness to nothing dissipates. 

My conscious mind-soul vanishes at death 
because it is no more than glowing field 
which emanates from function of my brain, 
and, though I wish my soul could incarnate 
in other bodies to continue life, 
I must accept that I will disappear. 

When people perform memorable deeds 
in tune with intense flow of energy 
which cause effects of social solvency, 
their face implants its features in our minds 
to stamp its vibrant personality 
on mindless idol conjured by our brains. 

Some people create divine characters 
through consequential actions of desire, 
so, though their body dies and soul dissolves 
in that permanent vanishment of death, 
ghost of their being remains clear in our minds 
and gains immortal state in tales we share. 

When our body dies, our conscious mind dies, 
and our animating soul dissipates, 
but memory of our being set by our life 
remains as trope signified by our name, 
yet when the sun expands to swallow Earth 
all our myths of gods vanish into dust. 

Singing On The Porch

Singing On The Porch
© Surazeus
2024 12 10

Only the sun comes to listen at dawn, 
gleaming at me on porch of the old house, 
where I like to stand in cool drifting mist 
and sing about the beauty of this world 
written in the faces of people I know 
who never hear me sing about their light. 

People like to comfort their broken hearts 
by quoting that light gets in through the cracks, 
and so divine beauty fills up our world, 
yet I want to quibble with this nonsense, 
for all I hear when rain patters the roof 
is tears of souls who cannot mend themselves. 

Young woman who is mother to the lost 
bakes apple pies for wanderers passing by, 
who sit a while on porch of our old house 
and listen to me sing about the light, 
then wave their hands as they walk down the road 
to become ghosts who haunt long afternoons. 

Love is no abstraction of the wild bird 
that flutters wings with arrogant disdain 
at any who attempts to cage their flight, 
so I explore the world beneath the grass 
to hear the song of water in the soil 
which I sing again alone on the porch. 

The porch of this old house is my world stage 
for though I travel all around the world, 
singing on thousands of stages at night 
to ghostly faces half lit by brave stars, 
I remain alone on porch of my house 
with only birds and turtles hearing me. 

My mother tells me with bright cheerful voice 
light of the universe shines through my heart 
when I sing brightly to the lightless world, 
but I feel empty as the hungry sea 
so I eat apple pie on empty porch 
while birds sing to me about secret love. 

Wild boy who hides inside the willow tree 
runs away when I call his secret name, 
and though I walk all over our small town 
I never see him anywhere again, 
so I map the world where he might now be, 
my honey bee too shy to marry me. 

Returning to the porch of my old house, 
after four decades traveling the world, 
I stand alone in late afternoon light 
and sing till the young boy appears again, 
but he grows old when I reach out my hand 
to hold his cute doll in my trembling heart. 

Anthem Of Patriotic Faith

Anthem Of Patriotic Faith
© Surazeus
2024 12 09

The patriot and the nationalist both love 
land where they live with opposite intent 
of conceptual approach, one to respect 
social system designed to provide power 
for every person to fulfill their dreams, 
the other to exploit the poor for wealth. 

I want to love the people of my land 
who share ancestors of my tangled genes 
as common explorers from distant lands 
searching for new paradise free from greed 
of men who exploited our hope for wealth, 
but they want to drive newcomers away. 

Because we stole this new fertile land first 
and built empire to protect paradise, 
we band together with weapons of faith, 
but invaders drove us across the sea 
where we have lived free several centuries 
till our own leaders exploit us for wealth. 

I want to sing with heart-swelling respect 
admiring anthem of patriotic faith 
as we assert our right to dwell in peace, 
but fervor to conquer neighboring lands 
and assimilate their wealth in our game 
disregards sovereignty of our self-rule. 

We escaped oppression of monarchy, 
and have lived with justice and liberty 
as colleagues in our strong democracy, 
but rich men contrive to bend federal laws 
that favor their control of our weak lives 
with their corrupt oligarchy of greed. 

As patriot loyal with honest heart 
to democracy, based on liberty 
and equal justice for each citizen, 
I will fight to preserve our way of life 
against the tyrant and his gang of thieves 
who mutiny to steal our Ship of State. 

Old system of oppression wrecks itself 
on jagged sin of racist arrogance 
that cracks privilege of the wealthy elite 
to free marginalized communities 
with noble mission to construct with faith 
new system where all are equal in law. 

With heart inspired by principle of freedom, 
I perform role of the honest patriot 
instead of the deceptive nationalist 
as we unite against dictatorship, 
pledging allegiance to the flag, not man, 
when we rebuild our free democracy. 

Moral Clock Of Respect

Moral Clock Of Respect
© Surazeus
2024 12 09

I keep turning away from Mirror Mind 
with vain hope this crazy timeline may change 
if I adjust moral clock of respect 
to favor reign of Justice wielding truth, 
but time keeps flipping back off track of fate 
and leaves us stranded in this horror show. 

I want to compile in new global book 
prophecies every poet in black cloak 
has written with blood on museum walls 
dating when Minerva leads our crusade 
to hurl cruel tyrant from the judgment throne, 
and free women from shackles of male law. 

Two roads diverging in dark woods of war 
appear to lead our way to different fates, 
but I see one result at end of both 
where vile gangsters imprison Liberty 
so their false messiah with gun of rage 
oppresses people of America. 

From crowded maze of city streets I run 
to find bright meadow where butterflies dance 
carefree along shore of the River Styx 
so I could proclaim with wise confidence 
new age of fair justice applied to all, 
but loud clouds of tyranny blank my voice. 

No matter how I apply calm intent 
with fragile courage of the hopeful fool 
to readjust moral clock of respect, 
so Fortune favors bold sincerity 
aligning timeline on straight track of truth, 
hostile men strike to control how we think. 

Distorting truth of honest sentiment 
back-twisted by brute repetitive lies, 
fierce minions of the tyrant falsely frame 
good intentions of justice warriors 
to brazenly obstruct programs that aid 
normal people with support of the law. 

Though we confirm our souls with self-control, 
strengthened by liberty within the law, 
we stumble disconcerted by foul lies 
hazing objective goal our hearts aspire 
in plot to misdirect creative force 
of our attention to build new world view. 

I keep returning back to Mirror Mind 
with resilient faith that Justice prevails 
as we attend to clandestine programs 
designed to straighten with legal respect 
correct timeline where Justice reigns with faith 
to preserve state of our democracy. 

Aminah Sings Again

Aminah Sings Again
© Surazeus
2024 12 09

When I climb up in the sycamore tree, 
I wonder as I watch the people cheer  
if the rebel who overthrew the king 
will call me to share supper at his house 
where we will discuss, while eating roast lamb, 
how to build a social system that is fair. 

Women freed from prisons by cheering crowds 
wander lost in strange world of liberty 
after too many years locked in dark cells, 
eyes blurred with tears as they gaze at the sky 
blue with excessive beauty of despair, 
and breathe deep shocking energy of hope. 

Frail and hungry from years without good food, 
Aminah lingers near hard prison wall, 
afraid to venture from shadow of fear, 
but stares numb when three vibrant teenage girls 
embrace her fragile soul with caring arms, 
and call her mother as they drown in tears. 

Reaching hand out slowly from sunless cell 
where her withered heart still trembles in fear, 
Aminah whispers name of each small child 
who grew to women since she saw them last, 
but numb from sorrow in the bitter cage 
she finds no tears to weep, so she just smiles. 

Riding with her three daughters in small car, 
Aminah smiles with strange vision of joy 
to see sunlight gleam over distant hills, 
flickering in leaves of wind-happy trees, 
then flash on Queig River with tears of hope 
which swells great as thunder inside her heart. 

Sitting in fruit garden behind their home, 
dressed in clean thob embroidered with date palms, 
Aminah drinks water drawn from the well 
now draped with branches of tall jasmine trees, 
remembering how she planted their small seeds 
in soil of her heart when her girls were small. 

Gasping with delight of forgotten faith, 
Aminah holds her qanbus with eager hands, 
tunes and strums each thin string in harmony 
with ancient passion of her desert heart, 
then plays sweet heart-enchanting muwashshah 
while singing lament of her long lost love. 

When I climb up in the sycamore tree, 
I rejoice as I watch barn swallows swoop 
that Aminah sings again with bright joy, 
then I weep for all the years that she lost 
while her babies have grown into young women 
who dance around her now with ecstasy. 

Wow Factor Of Poetry

Wow Factor Of Poetry
© Surazeus
2024 12 09

If I calculate the Wow Factor times 
Positivity Array through straight light 
of hungry thoughts, I find this formula 
equals Negative Capability 
consistent with expansive state of faith 
by which I substantiate truth with lies. 

The Wow Factor is special quality 
highlighting unique feature that forms state 
of beauty essential to being of objects, 
which activates in our perceptive hearts 
admiration for its inherent charm 
exciting respect that this thing exists. 

The Positivity Array is verse 
presenting concepts in word sentences 
with data structure that stores ideal forms 
as collections of mental elements 
aligned in contiguous memory nodes 
framed as personality tropes in gods. 

Therefore Negative Capability 
is human ability to embrace 
uncertain mysteries of the universe 
with joyful acceptance of the Unknown 
through capacity to pursue ideals 
of sublime perfection in natural beauty. 

As human clothed in white rational robe 
of our grand celestial civilization, 
I am tempted with tense hope to prefer 
philosophical certainty of truth 
over wild fantastic beauty of fear 
through blaze of fierce creative energy. 

Attacked by monsters of hungry despair, 
embodied by carnivorous lawless men, 
I search for secure haven of calm peace 
enclosed with firm walls of philosophy, 
so I organize facts with measured reason 
to help me predict all future events. 

Safe in Penetralium of secure faith, 
I build strong foundation of my world view 
based on facts I will verify as true, 
then beyond walls of knowledge venture forth 
to investigate vast Mysterium 
with light of doubt guiding my curious search. 

Based on Negative Capability, 
I construct Positivity Array 
composed of sociological tropes 
to conjure virtual model of the world 
that shines with beauty of uncertainty 
sparkling with Wow Factor of Poetry. 

If The Ocean Wants

If The Ocean Wants
© Surazeus
2024 12 08

If the ocean wants to swallow my heart 
I can read the new nature magazine 
while I wait for it to process my thoughts 
so I know how to feel about the death 
innocent people suffer every day, 
then I can eat ice cream near the town park. 

The trees that line the mid-town avenue 
glitter with bright lights for the holiday 
when people enjoy subdued festive mood 
in tandem with exploding concept bombs 
contained by christmas packages entwined 
with ribbons tied into elaborate quips. 

No names are written on the present tags 
so anyone can choose the box they want 
which will always contain what they need most 
though the ocean has swallowed all our hearts 
when whales regurgitate on patios 
unwanted prophets of the pleistocene. 

The most important movie in the world 
is always showing at the theater 
still owned by the only Armenian 
who has ever lived in our fishing town, 
so everyone goes to see it again 
then walk away with their wings of desire. 

I keep finding my glasses on the ground 
so I put them on my face to perceive 
shadows of existence behind facade 
of each material object I must name 
to classify its form on list of ghosts 
who always hang around the empty church. 

Dictators who oppress the citizens 
who demand their right to read fairy tales 
will always fall when rebels storm the hall 
where they lived in luxury of despair 
while the people had to eat old canned fish 
that only tastes sapid with ketchup sauce. 

When I get lost among the tourist stalls 
lining narrow streets from the sandy beach 
I ask the eurasian golden oriole, 
who stares at me with kohl-lined eyes of Ptah, 
for the way to get to Sesame Street, 
then we skip together on the railroad tracks. 

Since the ocean wants to swallow my heart 
I throw everything I own in her waves, 
including all the family photographs 
that we kept organized in picture books 
after four generations of rebirth 
till I have stripped away all that I am. 

Great Speech Of Sophistry

Great Speech Of Sophistry
© Surazeus
2024 12 08

The past is the fiction of memory, 
the future is the fiction of desire, 
while the present moment of timelessness 
is the fiction of sensory perception, 
all of which I package in this neat spell 
I sing while strumming lyre of Mercury. 

I wander nowhere by the moaning sea 
till Fame appears from waves of ecstasy 
and offers two items, bidding me choose 
heart-warming Robe of Sorrow in the truth 
or head-shining Crown of Fame in the world, 
so I choose the robe, and keep on alone. 

Discontent with the mystery of existence, 
I struggle numb against skeptical winds 
to strain up towering mountain of faith 
in vain effort of breathless fantasy 
for unattainable beauty of truth 
that blinds my eyes with sunlight of true love. 

While still alive in fragile frame of flesh 
I rise from mortal hull of this vast world 
as singing ghost of cosmic unity 
to praise connected matrix of our minds 
which manifest divinity of atoms 
in these organic bodies with weird brains. 

As four-legged creature walking upright 
with stiff procedure of quaint discipline, 
I am but one small fly of buzzing song 
on maiden face of Earth whose stormy hand 
brushes entire cities into the sea 
with casual indifference of respect. 

Feeling immortally omniscient as God 
inside the fragile eggshell of my skull, 
I glow with confidence of conscious joy 
that I know secrets of divinity 
since I embody energy of stars 
in temporary dream-flame of my brain. 

All day I gaze out at this teeming world 
less organized or fair than my vast brain 
big enough to contain brave multitudes 
of souls who chase elusive butterfly 
of knowledge that leads us trapped in the maze 
of national religious ideologies. 

Stuck at dead-end of patriotic faith, 
lost in maze of the American Empire, 
Balder reaches out his hand from the stage 
to proclaim some great speech of sophistry, 
but falters from spasmodic ecstasy, 
and laughs at postmodern absurdity. 

Exiled From Their Heavens

Exiled From Their Heavens
© Surazeus
2024 12 08

Every day I eat with you I know why 
those couples on Etruscan tombs still smile 
even after we translate ancient texts 
that list the number of cows in their fields 
and how many trees of apples they own, 
so I give you honey to show my love. 

With bootless cries to deaf clouds in the sky, 
I wander barefoot on the signless road 
to catch the thieves who hit me on the head 
and stole my wagon with barrels of fruit, 
but gate of Heaven remains closed to me, 
disgraced by Fortune who mocks my weak state. 

From sullen Earth of sorrow I still rise 
with flash of dawnless hope in my cold heart 
to wait all day outside the crowded court 
where Justice judges cases till sunset, 
so I decide instead of cruel revenge 
I will harvest wheat from my broken heart. 

Lost in dark forest of terrible wealth, 
I twirl sling of David to hurl the rock 
of cruel sincerity, which kills the ghoul 
whose cavern is filled with jewels and bones, 
so I gather treasures of their lost hopes 
and sell them to housewives outside the gate. 

Grasping the serpent just below its jaws 
with sharp teeth gleaming with poisonous faith, 
I dance around clay tablet soaked with blood 
that details deed of family ownership 
how my grandfather bought land by the lake, 
now claimed by third son of the minister. 

In every prosperous age of every empire 
greedy men exercise official power 
to steal fertile land from hard-working farmers, 
or claim orchards of fruit trees as their own, 
leaving helpless men exiled from their heavens 
they had created with their honest hands. 

Though blind-folded to objectively rule 
in favor of the honest righteous man, 
Justice just as often fails to correct 
cases where the wealthy steal from the poor 
because our social system judges them 
more worthy to control the fertile land. 

When social systems function properly 
men motivated by Justice and right 
work as police and lawyers to right wrongs, 
but when the system favors the rich first 
we rise in revolution against greed 
and follow Liberty to fight the power. 

Restore World Democracy

Restore World Democracy
© Surazeus
2024 12 08

First I lay down gold flash of panel light 
to base foundation supporting each thought, 
then build progressive principle of flight 
with structures blossoming from psychic naught 
to create the White Whole from Zero Eye 
existing within framework of the Why. 

Awake before first glimmer of red dawn, 
aware I still exist in mortal form, 
I laugh every king began as the pawn 
who managed to survive fierce social storm 
through clever calculation of the truth, 
transforming from fool to messiah sleuth. 

Not quite important as the Holy Book 
recording tales of heroes fooling God, 
my Book of Jesters in love with the Cook 
detail their journey as the Justice Squad 
fighting against thief-kings of tyranny 
to maintain progress of democracy. 

Though I am Nobody mapping the world 
with time-animated atlas of faith, 
I proclaim coming of the cosmic herald 
who channels wisdom of the global wraith 
to enlighten humanity with hope 
that together we help each other cope. 

The loss of each good person I adore 
who stumbles and falls from the road of fate 
tears at my heart that they are here no more, 
lost before we attain the city gate, 
so I carve their names on the temple wall 
in cascade of souls down the waterfall. 

No charismatic savior of mankind, 
I record chronicle of world events 
to analyze religion Death designed 
converting saints from bitter malcontents 
who grasp for power with fake hand of gold 
as crown of wisdom has been bought and sold. 

Alone in Garden of Gethsemane, 
among lush apple trees on summer eve, 
I hear sweet songs of nightingales that key 
conceptual code of beauty when we grieve 
unchanging beauty on the Grecian urn 
while cities bombed in wars collapse and burn. 

From nothing of despair and honesty 
I build virtual world that imitates Earth 
through grandiose epic of philosophy 
for Academia to gain second birth 
from bankers who enslave humanity 
so we can restore world democracy. 

Tell Them I Met Jesus

Tell Them I Met Jesus
© Surazeus
2024 12 07

The white cat darts through shadows of my fears 
so I follow her leap through open gate 
draped with eglantine by the country lane 
where I stop startled at demonic growl 
which swells louder than a dragon would roar 
when a horseless carriage zooms past my house. 

Three horses on the gently sloping hill 
race with the car along the winding road 
till that swift time machine puffs into air 
and vanishes from windless fields of corn, 
so I ask the raven on the tree stump 
to explicate that chariot of fire. 

Leaning against the chestnut tree, I chew 
on stalk of wheat with curiosity 
while recalling how that chariot sped 
faster than the fastest horse I saw run, 
then I remember in the Holy Book 
some strange passage my grandfather had read. 

While robed in black at podium of the truth 
my grandfather, old revered minister, 
read passage from book of Ezekiel 
describing grand Chariot of the Lord 
with four yellow-jeweled wheels spinning flames 
around sapphire bowl flashing deity. 

At clear epiphany that time machine 
I saw speed faster than the fastest horse 
is chariot of fire Ezekiel described, 
I feel electric shock of timeless truth 
that Jesus God has come to Earth again 
and drove right past my house in Idaho. 

When I hear roar from the chariot of fire 
swell again with sapphire flash of divine truth, 
I stand in middle of the country road 
and force Jesus God to stop at my house, 
then feel my heart pound with reverent awe 
when a man in a pinstripe suit steps out. 

Puffing fat cigar as he strides toward me, 
the man peers at me under black fedora, 
then presses pistol at my chest and grins, 
asking me why I obstructed his drive, 
then his girlfriend in slender yellow dress 
asks Clyde if I have apples they can eat. 

After Bonnie and Clyde eat apple pies, 
and drink hot coffee with sugar and wine, 
they give me wad of hundred dollar bills 
then speed away into the golden hills, 
yet when police ask if I saw the pair 
I tell them I met Jesus and his Bride. 

Lush Hills Of Ireland

Lush Hills Of Ireland
© Surazeus
2024 12 07

Lush hills of Ireland shimmer in my dreams 
though I sailed away three centuries ago 
to escape the thief on the prancing horse 
who claimed the land of my fathers as his, 
and though I live four thousand miles west now 
I hear them call me to come home again. 

That misty island in the silver sea 
where my ancestors lived ten thousand years 
has never changed with spinning of the Earth 
though people come and go as swarms of bees 
so strangers claim lush land that long was mine 
where soil is made from my ancestral bones. 

I hear strange music in the silent night, 
heart-leaping luminance of Uillean pipes, 
soul-enchanting radiance of Celtic harps, 
and mind-winding flash of the bright banjo, 
bound by the bodhran drumming wild sea waves, 
eerie melodies in my helpless dreams. 

Wild music of lush flowery fairy glens, 
which sparkle bright with rainbows after showers, 
inspires my heart with energy of love 
to view this world, no matter where I dwell, 
as radiant paradise where magic sprites 
inhabit mortal bodies with star souls. 

Though I left Ireland centuries ago 
wild spirit of her river-flashing vales 
has never left the landscape of my heart, 
so I forever play in fairy land 
our Emerald Isle has mapped into my soul 
with wingless gambol in deep sunlit glades. 

Though I hear Ireland call me to her shores, 
sad spirit of nostalgia haunting me 
with visions of carefree joy in flowered glades, 
I know I cannot ever go backward, 
for I would wander stuck in Neverland 
through endless loop of stuttered misery. 

Instead of backward to that shining isle, 
sweet paradise of long-lost fantasy, 
I must move forward on the signless road 
of rugged fortitude I barely see 
appear before my feet in mirror mist 
with each brave step of faith in destiny. 

Lush hills of Ireland shimmer in my dreams, 
imbuing land where I live now with glamor 
of timeless beauty shining from my heart, 
so this land where I dwell now is my home, 
land where my children play with carefree hope 
in fate they map on their own signless road. 

White Wolf Clan

White Wolf Clan
© Surazeus
2024 12 07

Drinking from punctured bark of Yggdrasil 
blood of my ancestors in spirit juice, 
I crawl from bog of dark subconscious hopes 
to dance with lightning flashing from rain clouds 
and sing electric beauty of the soul 
wild with bright inspiration of true love. 

Dressed in pants and cloak I sewed from wolf fur, 
with shells and bones from animals I ate, 
clumps of herbs woven with web of grape vines, 
and decked with feathers of ravens and swans, 
I wear wood mask carved to resemble face 
of my father, the fierce mountain wolf-man. 

Twirling magic wand of polished oak wood, 
fixed with sharp diamond gleaming at its tip, 
I dance wide spirals on high pyramid 
of stone blocks heaped above the river plain 
while hundreds of tribes in our White Wolf Clan 
gather for our midsummer festival. 

Young shaman warrior racing on the shore 
shouts challenge to my god authority, 
so crowd of tribesmen shaking shells of stones 
part wide path as he leaps up pyramid 
and swings magic wand hard to crush my skull, 
but I dodge blow and counter strike his chest. 

With blows that clang as loud as lightning strikes, 
in graceful leaps of wolf-aggressive force, 
which match harsh rumble of the crackling storm 
fierce as cold wind that whips our long hair wild 
with thrashing whirl of world-tree Yggdrasil, 
we battle for who reigns as Odin god. 

Swift crippling blow that breaks his sturdy leg 
disqualifies that young eager wolf-boy 
who writhes in agony as I stand tall, 
still strong through bold security of wit 
to reign another cycle as Wolf God, 
so I howl as the tribe cheers my success. 

Dawn gleams in eyes of beautiful young maids, 
decked in white linen gowns and wolf-fur cloaks, 
and crowned with coronets of flowered vines, 
as I meet each candidate who desires 
to reign as wise queen mother of our tribe, 
willing to bear children of our bound hearts. 

Entranced with sparkle of wit in clear eyes, 
I choose tall woman with long flowing hair 
by reaching out my hand which she accepts, 
then together we climb hill of the sun 
to stand beneath sheltering Yggdrasil 
and host summer feast of our White Wolf Clan. 

Dream Of Our World

Dream Of Our World
© Surazeus
2024 12 07

Every morning before the crack of dawn 
I must rise at the sunless hour of five 
to shower and prepare my mental mask 
in order to avoid with agile hope 
my mind getting stuck in the last dream loop 
designed by my subconscious state of faith. 

My mind gets stuck in dream loop of respect 
where I ascend on wingless breath of hope 
to enter values in network of roads 
so I calculate sociological force 
framed to advance psychological growth 
based on landscape of conceptual esteem. 

Each fractal structure which unravels space, 
outwinding admiration through wide bounds, 
contains specific features painting clear 
composite aspect of ancestral worth 
imbued with atmosphere of psychic glow 
which formulates how I perceive the world. 

The rugged mountains my forefathers climb, 
to explore celestial realm of desire 
supporting humble church of holy thought, 
retains unchanging meadow of insight 
where lessons learned from bright epiphanies 
program cautious approach I take to life. 

The neatly organized maze of town roads, 
cluttered with various buildings of resolve, 
where my foremothers search with tense respect 
for safe haven to study human history, 
extends objective signs of shifting paths 
for plotting pointless possibilities. 

Forever searching for the somewhere class, 
where faceless teachers encode secret tales 
with cryptic puzzles I still hope to solve, 
I journey forward on the changing road 
that loops round reasonable return of fact 
encased in symbols which negate the lie. 

Each endless cycle of the whirling clock 
designs new purpose for the same old quest 
to battle dragon in Illusion Cave 
and save humanity from hungry hope, 
then build paradise inside civil walls 
till our empire collapses in sad war. 

Yet when I wake from endless looping dream 
the real world woven by rays of sunlight 
remains the same landscape with city maze 
constraining frantic energy of fear 
in daily rituals through worshipful work 
we employ to maintain dream of our world. 

Fusion Of God Stars

Fusion Of God Stars
© Surazeus
2024 12 06

I feel slow flow of years cold in my veins 
with mind-expanding pleasure of ice pain 
complete with ardent sentences in vain 
that bloom as violets on smudged window panes, 
which catch words of my breath no one else hears, 
pristine as raindrops with arresting fears. 

My mind is jumbled as bleak field of stones 
contriving spells in runes on my arm bone 
that proves to thought police I am no clone 
though I construct temple of crystal cones, 
measured by eccentric spin of brain gears 
which operate contraption of social fears. 

Half-buried under howling desert sands, 
still clutching flag of my forgotten land, 
I rise at dawn to consider my brand 
with logo designed by demonic hands, 
which signifies quality of my cars 
powered by mental fusion of god stars. 

Confused by honest wisdom of mind tricks, 
employed by jester with the magic stick, 
I investigate my broad bailiwick 
to build pyramid from honey-baked bricks, 
then Ishtar crowns me Emperor of Mars 
through incarnation of wise avatars. 

Eager for rebirth from electric clocks, 
I gestate as dragon soul in glass rock 
to inventory god-souls kept in stock 
by workers wandering lost in office blocks, 
while their mothers linger in open doors 
for weary travelers on misty moors. 

Basing our self-worth on comments of friends, 
we study magazines for the hot trend 
that predicts how much money we will spend 
in compensation for small dividends, 
so I keep joining sweet angelic choirs 
to sing with robins on telephone wires. 

Persephone cares for workers in mines 
by flashing dreams of Heaven in each mind 
so they drink sweet illusions of the vine, 
then hides gleam of the sun with bamboo blinds, 
so we journey north with herd of kind bears 
who take us safe to forest of ripe pears. 

Mistranslating old American tunes 
with vibrant empathy of the sad moon, 
I join millions of ghosts in dream balloon 
to build quaint temples in moonlit lagoons, 
then teach brave humans how to face their fears 
till mutant fools have become palace seers. 

Heaviness Of Unknown Truth

Heaviness Of Unknown Truth
© Surazeus
2024 12 06

Waking up to the heart-arresting sound 
of gunshots when the walls of Jericho 
crumble from revolutionary horns, 
I hear only silence of quaint suburbs 
tinged with rapid cadence in cheerful chirp 
of the chestnut-sided warbler at dawn. 

Yet strange violin of your broken heart 
follows me at night down ten thousand streets 
where angels of beauty, whose voices ring 
in rain, have drowned in rivers of our hopes, 
weighed down by heaviness of unknown truth 
that calls us with soft melodies of fear. 

Till Phantom, strange cat with serpent-gold eyes, 
appears in smudged window of our shared fate, 
we wonder at view of the world we see 
from safe haven of frail security, 
for she assures us with her anxious purr 
that we will never see approach of Death. 

Dangerous softness of fate-summoned waves 
reveals strange hugeness of our broken world, 
cluttered with debris of lost memories 
restrained by silence of their nameless bones 
which our ancestors latticed into Earth 
with abrupt crashing of reluctant time. 

Solemn autopsy of numberless homes, 
conducted by our cold objective moon, 
exposes trauma twisted into words 
strewn among daisies on rotten church lawns 
too distant for grief from shadowy rain 
to remember why we visit our graves. 

Stuck in ceremony of frozen time, 
with faint resemblance of my maskless ghost 
hungry for hope, I choose to redefine 
true nature of our fraught relationship 
as geared toward honest laughter of the clock 
that echoes inside mirror of our eyes. 

Hostage to our passive-aggressive love, 
we ask stenographer of crooked rules 
to record apologies orphans cry, 
signified by crumbling cities of faith 
dismembered by ambitions of rich men 
to squander wealth from suffering of the dead. 

Though boundless sky of opportunity 
belongs to me with heart of my lost love, 
I claim no ownership of fertile land 
yet soil of compassion blooms by my hand 
when I produce food for tables of wealth 
which bear the heaviness of unknown truth.