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remains unpublished through dire prophecy.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. 

Titans Versus Dinosaurs

Titans Versus Dinosaurs
© Surazeus
2025 12 09

The painful awkwardness of growing old 
never ceases to amuse me, he sneers, 
and snuffs out his half-smoked Cuban cigar 
on muscled thighs of the statue of David, 
then walks along the river with the ghost 
of his intellectual bride Persephone. 

Three men in leather jackets with black guns 
approach from shadow of the fractured door, 
demanding he give them his pulsing brain, 
but he recites divergent Latin spell 
that binds their bodies in one turtle shell, 
then spins them whistling in the river depths. 

Arriving at the Pegasus Cafe, 
hidden between the cathedral of skulls 
and the department store of demon masks, 
he hangs out with Milton, Dante, and Skald 
as they discuss with animated pride 
the latest trends in global poetries. 

King Midas and his gang of thugs arrive 
in fleet of huge black cars with flashing lights, 
and claps prophet of the apocalypse 
with golden chains of delicate despair, 
then locks him in mirrored hall of Versailles, 
demanding he sing praises of his reign. 

Mad poet of the boggy Scottish vales 
transforms into the weasel with quick heart, 
then slips away from prison of false wealth 
to soar on black wings of angelic fear 
above vast sprawling maze of city streets 
that covers the whole Earth with asphalt gods. 

Enormous monsters emerge from asphalt, 
irradiated by stark rays of rage, 
and stomp delicate cathedrals of glass 
to mash achievements of the human race, 
so he transforms from awkward mortal man 
into Archangel Michael with flaming sword. 

Zooming around in spiral loops of hope, 
Saint Michael battles asphalt behemoth 
in clash of Titans versus Dinosaurs 
till Hyperion defeats cruel Godzilla 
by disassembling puzzle of his dreams 
when he obtains key to decode his soul. 

I wish these scenes of grand heroic deeds 
were nothing more than boyish fantasy, 
he grins while riding merry-go-round horse 
as planes drop bombs on churches, schools, and homes, 
then lies down weary in ancestral tomb 
after wandering many years from the womb. 

Find Spirit Of Korth

Find Spirit Of Korth
© Surazeus
2025 12 09

Without systematic building of lies 
our eyes could almost see the perfect skies 
where angels dance in mirror of the brain 
because their tears are not refreshing rain 
despite contrivance of the circus clown 
who weeps to see the pretty mermaids frown. 

When lions prance on sidewalk of my heart 
to show me secret treasures off the chart, 
I draw the universe you wish to see 
since art my hands create must remain free 
for children to rebuild their bombed-out homes 
as chronicled in dust-caked history tomes. 

Though people like to other me with tags 
that box my wild demonic soul with rags, 
I follow flock of ravens to the north 
where Scottish fairies still worship the Korth 
who incarnates through every thirteenth witch 
which means I am example of her glitch. 

So I appear before the wandering tribe, 
as angel radiant with celestial vibe 
by wearing gold crown of the star-eyed god, 
recruiting them to join my justice squad 
on sacred mission to reframe the world 
as dramatic stage for the cosmic herald. 

But all my grand visions of paradise 
are gambled away by roll of the dice 
which leaves my spirit destitute of truth, 
yet I clutch cracked mask of messiah sleuth 
that I wore last year to the palace ball 
before my spectacular social fall. 

While climbing mountain trail of my failed quest 
to actualize through play my human best, 
I cling with false bravado to my scroll 
which details functions of my corporate role, 
till I find idol of Korth on the hill 
carved with her motto, Live through your free will. 

Searching for true heritage of my clan, 
I escape America while I can 
to explore sacred Isle of Avalon 
far from where I was born in Oregon 
till I find Spirit of Korth in my heart 
as humble girl with her apple pushcart. 

As thirteenth witch descended from cute Korth, 
I build new home beside the Firth of Forth 
so collapsing empire affects me not 
since I am just another landless Scot 
who wanders nowhere in the Evening Land 
with nothing but weird Dream Book in my hand. 

Opal Sea Of Ghosts

Opal Sea Of Ghosts
© Surazeus
2025 12 08

I love to sail the opal sea of ghosts 
along emerald Sunado Mountain Range 
where sly trickster raven Kwekwaxawe 
transforms from shadow of uncanny truth 
to unleash wanton wisdom of the heart 
that worms demonic spirit in my brain. 

Soft breezes of voluptuous mountain pines 
reveal strange boundless beauty of this Earth 
when silent flashing wings of silver gulls 
emerge from flaming fog of sudden hope 
to prove immortal spirit of my genes 
remembers every life of bodied lust. 

When snarling man disguised as feral wolf 
hurls bitter spear of rage at my soft heart, 
I somersault on rainbow bridge of faith 
to dodge aggressive grasp of hungry hands 
by leaping with black feathered cape of hope 
so I soar far beyond greed of his hate. 

Strange howl of aching wisdom in my heart, 
that surges harsh from visceral angst of faith, 
expands exotic consciousness of truth 
through fierce arousal of fluttering wings 
to seize somatic structure of my soul 
so I become true person of my brain. 

Ferocious beauty of the opal sea, 
refracting demons through my sapphire eyes, 
inspires my heart to solve anomaly 
contrasting discipline of holy works 
with frantic faith of psychic cryptograms 
that encode memories of ancestral lives. 

With graceful stroke of luck in random fate 
I row sleek riverboat with urgent flow 
past crystal mountain range of jagged peaks 
where raven spirit of immortal genes 
has flown my body twenty thousand years 
through mist-veiled valley of our singing skulls. 

Occult theology devised by monks 
reveals celestial beauty of the horse 
who watches me with star-black eyes of trust 
when I approach her sacred apple grove 
to offer succulent fruit of my heart 
with furtive playfulness of honest love. 

Soul nurtured by the opal sea of ghosts, 
I flap arm-wings of raven-feathered robe 
to dance around bright solar eye of truth 
in sacred pale of heavenly respect, 
then gesture hands to carve from Tree of Life 
sleek ship on which I sail vast tides of change. 

Heal My Exploding Heart

Heal My Exploding Heart
© Surazeus
2025 12 08

Sweet jasmine bush of my exploding heart 
veils happy skeleton of the dead god 
who lounges on tattered couch in the yard, 
beaming his face on television screens 
which pixelates our nation into tribes 
who get together to drink lemon wine. 

Yet joyful wolf of my exploding heart 
swims far across the opal sea of ghosts 
to teach our children how to build new homes 
from ruins of pomegranates and bombs 
so we prove existence of our souls 
who roam along wild rivers of the mind. 

If cracked fossil of my exploding heart 
is ever dug up from the temple floor, 
I might remember my ancestral soul 
embodied as the woman with four hands 
who managed vast orchards of lemon trees 
where I want to return from Neverland. 

Till scrawny tree of my exploding heart 
writhes gallantly from grave of Frankenstein, 
I map immensity of Earth with grid 
to trap new settlements with naming points 
so we can reinvent language of love 
that translates hunger into marriage vows. 

If I should wait till I am almost dead 
before I float toward cosmic light of truth, 
I might miss terrible masks of dead gods 
that glow red through foggy ruins of time 
to luminate our skin with tattooed codes 
that show us how to levitate our minds. 

Though crystal mask of my exploding heart 
conceals demonic energy of faith, 
I walk beside Goddess of Death each day 
to comprehend weird vastness of our world 
where humans congregate in anxious gangs 
that found religions to conquer the Earth. 

Relentless sea of my exploding heart 
provides clear legal precedents of faith 
for me to claim inheritance of lies 
which frame grand heritage of my lost tribe 
with noble narrative of our brave quest 
to federate world tribes with our world view. 

Festooned with garland of my victory, 
my face portrays immortal god of words 
as vibrant pulse of tuneful energy 
that radiates from each atom in the void 
to cluster conscious mass of divine light 
so your words may heal my exploding heart. 

Secret Gate Of Bones

Secret Gate Of Bones
© Surazeus
2025 12 07

White horse that always walks up to my door 
pretends to be the gold-red clouds of dawn 
that no human on Earth can ever see, 
so I encase my soul eternally 
in gleaming amber on trunk of the tree 
that wanders curious to the restless sea. 

When Orpheus opens door of his house 
he gasps surprised to see outside instead 
young woman in black dress with golden hair 
who plays the silver flute of his soul spine 
while ancient stars glitter in her blue eyes 
through melody that entrances lost spies. 

When Greta takes his hand with gentle smile 
they walk together on the river shore 
to enter town through secret gate of bones 
where she reveals through magnifying glass 
angels dancing on taut telephone lines 
who sprinkle apple blossoms on their heads. 

Though natural disasters destroy our homes 
we master stoic acceptance of fate 
by noting that we only lose with grace 
things we create with eager hands of hope 
for all illusions dissipate in words 
designed by compassion of haughty birds. 

My words give birth to children of the lake 
whose bones of ice and blood of flashing snow 
provide bold substance of framed confidence 
for them to play in forest of blind ghosts 
where angels string wires with small flashing lights 
around pine trees to mitigate despair. 

Two strangers face to face on stage of love 
recite sweet liturgy of sacred hours 
that hide world empire of the aching heart 
behind lace veil of ardent honesty, 
Kwan Yin and Jesus startled by desire 
to found new dynasty of generous gods. 

Through frozen doors of radiator hearts 
we stride with indignation of respect 
toward far horizon of conceptual towers 
where people sing hymns of our long-dead god, 
then give each other gifts on winter nights 
to invent meaning for communal lights. 

Because the moon has always been our home 
where angels dwell inside the crystal dome, 
we play sweet music with harps, drums, and flutes 
in transient melodies of feathered faith 
that weave nostalgic matrix from our hearts 
embodied by white horse outside our door. 

Potatoes In Wet Fields

Potatoes In Wet Fields
© Surazeus
2025 12 07

I walk in every city of the world, 
holding signs with names of their long-dead gods, 
so they arrest me with chains of fake laws 
and lock my soul in prison of their fears, 
but I transform to butterfly of faith 
and leave them weeping in their doorless rooms. 

Children spring from potatoes in wet fields 
and run circles around large army tanks 
till falling snow melts metal of mute rage 
in face-reflecting pools of history 
that trap our memories in photographs 
tossed about by wind from bomb-shattered homes. 

Wheels made of sticks bound with innocent lies 
roll over muddy plains of rotting wheat 
till endless stories dripping from our tongues 
pave signless roads with asphalt demon blood 
that shimmers with mirage of sacred truth 
which distracts us from our quest to find god. 

These sprawling cities that map maze of streets 
insist they are the self-portrait of god 
who always stares down from castle of clouds 
to see his soul embodied by us humans 
who play subconscious energies of lust 
he tries to subsume in sacrifice myths. 

Risen from dank grave of forgotten fate, 
I walk lush undulating hills of time 
with serpent-writhing spine of urgent faith 
to dance with taut proximity through rain 
that shatters treasure chest of my frail heart 
in gleaming fragments of my mirror brain. 

Yet plasma waves from bright crown of the sun 
eject assertive mass of psychic light 
to magnetize our bodies with god-souls 
so we feel divine spirit in our bones 
radiate electric words through gusts of breath 
to fill our flashing cells with holy eyes. 

She plants tomato seeds of humble faith 
in lust-rancid soil of my fertile heart, 
then beams with joy when they burst into bloom 
that leaves sweet odor in harvesting hands 
when we relax beneath the Knowledge Tree 
and share sweet kisses with our juice-smeared lips. 

Fluorescent angel flashing in green rain 
reveals weird beauty of our universe 
as we walk holding hands down empty street 
but stop surprised by the art gallery 
to see the full moon fill our hearts with joy, 
then run to make love in our doorless room. 

Clock Of Divine Will

Clock Of Divine Will
© Surazeus
2025 12 07

If I could rewind clock of divine will 
to unspool whole atomic brain of light, 
then I would choose to love you just the same 
as I perform role of my character 
programmed by actions my ancestors played 
as we evolve from fish to god with hope. 

I will fix broken clock of divine will 
with psychic tools of myth-constructed tropes 
by readjusting wheels of programmed thoughts 
as I shift gears to swerve away from track 
framed by strict rules my ancestors designed 
to ensure success of fertile rebirth. 

When I radiate from clock of divine will 
in spinning swirls of flashing rainbow beams, 
contained by solar mask through deities 
transforming mud to angels with vast wings, 
I wake from frantic nightmare of despair 
to dance with lithe expression of desire. 

Trapped in maze ruled by clock of divine will, 
I hurry down shifting halls of Dream Thrall 
through endless iterations of one scene 
in vain attempt to leap abyss of faith 
and swerve away from preordained pathway 
as I blaze new trail in waste land of lust. 

As human bound by clock of divine will, 
my body incarnates spirit of Star God 
who lives forever in coil of my genes 
as I evolve four hundred million years 
to wake this hour in body of this brain 
and dream my progress to become myself. 

As spirit swirled by clock of divine will, 
my brain remembers every conscious life 
when my ancestors wake from frantic dream 
to pause by tree of knowledge and review 
our quest to generate life before death 
through sky-expanding consciousness of love. 

Evolved as god from clock of divine will, 
I map time-animated atlas on globe 
recording history of humanity 
in virtual model of our pulsing world 
which analyzes tales of human life 
to weave religion from opposing creeds. 

Surprised at timeless clock of divine will 
that preserves strict concepts of formal shapes 
in pure Heaven based on Realm of Ideas, 
I construct palace of humanized truth 
that invents meaning through absurdity 
so we feast and laugh together in church. 

Genetic Code Of Strife

Genetic Code Of Strife
© Surazeus
2025 12 07

Framed by obvious state of nothingness, 
turtles journey with relentless attention 
across never-changing landscape of dreams 
to find primal pond of their memories 
where they may meditate on the Moon God 
whose timeless face shines down at us from Heaven. 

Despite this extraordinary search 
for private paradise in the waste land, 
my turtle soul navigates global myths 
designed by people grasping for state power 
to misdirect my self-improvement journey 
away from achievement of divine status. 

I wake from endless dream of aching hope 
to analyze progress through maze of myths, 
and in Arcadia I am God reborn 
as mortal creature with conscious desire 
who strives to actualize that ideal state 
inherent through genetic code of strife. 

Whether I wear mask of Jesus or Zeus 
as frame of reference by which I progress 
to program how my brain perceives the world, 
I redesign conceptual character 
which I perform in theater of life 
to become Surazeus, my true self. 

Assigned as replicant of Jupiter 
by acute compassion of Artemis, 
I mold intense energy of my soul 
to morph from idol into demigod, 
urged by rebel streak of Lucifer 
to leap over high walls of paradise. 

These ancient energies of divine souls, 
that fuel aggressive focus of respect 
for strict investigation of my mind 
to comprehend true nature of all things, 
direct attention of clear scrutiny 
to build virtual globe of my new world view. 

Since people see statue of Jupiter 
embodied in my elder bearded face, 
incarnate from fountain idol of stone, 
they readjust performance of their role 
in harmony with unseen social rules 
to be wary of lightning in my eyes. 

Yet I just want to consume grilled beef steak 
with glass of tannic red wine from Bordeaux 
while Clara Cho in scarlet silk gown plays 
piano concerto composed by Brahms 
in glass-cube cafe by the star-gold river 
as you smile with pleasure at being alive. 

Obvious State Of Nothingness

Obvious State Of Nothingness
© Surazeus
2025 12 06

If silence is paper money of hope, 
worth less that words of desire people speak, 
then I will hold illusions in my hands 
and give them to strangers on sun-bright streets 
who leave their wishes hanging in fruit trees 
above the graves of long-unworshipped gods. 

Words I write on blank pages of dream books 
function as linguistic barometers 
that measure emotions of citizens 
who ignore harbingers of social change 
encoded as puzzles in magazines 
that scholars read in libraries at dawn. 

They would be wise to listen with deep care 
of honest attention through active faith 
that requires isolation of the heart 
to spark conceptual wattage of respect 
through search for solace in the doorless room 
far from the crowded church of holy hymns. 

Today I do not record words of pain 
that bomb-mangled children attempt to sing 
while lost in ancient forest of mad birds 
that share secret proverbs of hungry seas 
slashed by startled scimitar of the moon 
which gleams incarnadine in apple brains. 

Each strawberry I dig from crystal snow 
reveals radiant beauty of everywhere 
that mirrors unpublished records of crimes 
committed by people desperate for wealth 
while dancing dizzy on telephone lines 
as they consume ripe apples of the tomb. 

Atonement drawn from fractured stone of faith 
programs instincts of alert cautiousness 
that fuels progressive thrum of thought cadence 
while scanning dark expanse of hammered breath, 
obscured by grim summation of true love 
shared by parents and children without fear. 

Inspired by social duties to exchange 
value for products from fresh rivulets, 
I polish metal wings of patient flight 
when I attend to tales blind ghosts relate, 
though sorrow erupts from sealed heart of love 
which refracts words from immortalized stars. 

Whatever side of history we choose 
in brutal war of state ontologies, 
I maintain stance for global liberty 
based on strict endlessness of social change 
in play nourished by brave naivete 
which we perform in orchard of dead gods. 

Unhurried Horror Of Hope

Unhurried Horror Of Hope
© Surazeus
2025 12 06

Perhaps I shall receive moment of grace 
that reconciles assertiveness of faith 
with tragic nature of our universe 
where people striving to create with love 
suffer from disaster, disease, and war, 
bodies torn from minds shattered by despair. 

When I align instruments of dream sense 
in good order through discipline of thought 
to arrange weird concepts of mental dance, 
I lie on high oriel of desire 
beneath obstructing walls of paradise 
to sleep with murdered ghosts of my regret. 

Despite myopic focus of my mind 
on sensuous craquelures of innocence 
that fracture classic landscapes of my heart, 
I choose to perform florescence of faith 
beneath gloom-swirling nimbus of concern 
from which sprouts haughtiness of cautious hope. 

Based on vital reputation of trust, 
constrained by civil privacy of fear, 
I excuse schizophrenic ardency 
with revelation of sordid mind-chase 
that might replace honor of appetites 
disremembered by visitors who vote. 

Soft hints of potent threats from promised pride 
routinely uplift bruised hearts from despair, 
brilliant with unhurried horror of hope, 
to found global democracy on trust, 
except for those blinded by images 
of cardboard ghosts in birdhouse by the church. 

Yet scarlet flower petal in black hair 
of my shy bride reveals her character 
of precious attention to chiming prayers 
that soothe aching hearts on cold winter nights 
with ample whispers of unspoken love 
encoded in songs on the radio. 

Still trapped in narrow street of broken doors, 
down which unwintered winds of magic eyes 
could channel progress of still-changing times, 
we walk beside ancient river of skulls 
to navigate expansive chart of creeds 
in frantic passage beyond holy halls. 

Wearing black cloak in library of dreams, 
Breanna gazes in large crystal ball 
to watch first flash of the big bang flare forth 
in swirls of galaxies where planets bloom 
with organic creatures who strive to grow 
as wingless angels who sing memories. 

Expansion Certified By Gods

Expansion Certified By Gods
© Surazeus
2025 12 06

Fences erected between lonely homes, 
with good intentions of loyal respect, 
always begin to decay in mute rain 
with steady surprise of aggressive joy 
that erodes social bonds of kind exchange 
through gentle words that fray with grim contempt. 

Still faceless shadows of strangers appear 
through leafless trees of hibernal desire 
where stories we share in putrescent hope 
molder sweet as mushrooms after cold rain 
despite how our relationships degrade 
from withering words of spoiled innocence. 

Assertive atrophy of eager faith 
festers unresolved in pictureless rooms 
though agents of change may deteriorate 
against strict rules that angels arrogate 
because lost treasures grow to mortify 
arrested progress beyond crumbling walls. 

Discolored frames of reference dwindle slow 
at lessened constraints of unspoken trust 
which pollutes pages of contractual codes 
till truth disintegrates from legal fines 
because our thoughts imply what we fear most 
based on destructive attitudes we buy. 

Yet Pindar sings no athlete-praising ode 
while standing outside clean department stores 
to strum guitar that Mercury designed 
before he drowned with mermaids in the sea 
for none now worship heroes who perform 
great deeds that prop power of empire states. 

Before my heart may shrivel with regret 
from anguish-riddled blooms of widened faith, 
my fractured brain still magnifies despair 
beyond expansion certified by gods 
to gear extensions germinating love 
between lovers in burgeoning respect. 

Failure to augment decline of world fate 
through proliferation of devout creeds 
escalates bellicose struggles for rights 
through bumbling scrimmage of assertive play 
which amplifies decrease of peaceful work 
that stymies evolution against death. 

To savor beauty of stark wintry days 
while meandering through mirrorless maze, 
I dwell on hyperborean aspect 
of relentless change reconstructing truths 
so we together comprehend with faith 
new world order our cynicism molds. 

Promise Of Halcyon Concern

Promise Of Halcyon Concern
© Surazeus
2025 12 06

Concealed by sharp susurrus of my heart, 
she glides through iridescent memories 
with peregrine desire for plangent truth 
till cynosure of love reveals clear way 
she may arrive with mellifluous thoughts 
in safe Elysian garden of our trust. 

Lured by promise of Halcyon concern, 
we strangers share with amaranthine trust, 
she gazes through penumbra of my soul 
across restless lacuna of our hearts, 
but hesitates with diaphanous fear 
that evanescent love between us fades. 

Though hope our faces silently express 
flits past our bodies on ephemeral wings 
with hesitant lust of effulgent pride, 
we find inside ineffable respect 
numinous desire that weaves lonely hearts 
in new-composed soul through sonorous vows. 

Based on cautious assertion of desire 
brewed into panacea by soft words, 
we two progress with seraphic impulse 
through aspiration of yearning review, 
unsettled by disquietude of lust, 
to share sempiternal kiss of true love. 

Effulgent with shared pleasure of hot skin, 
as we caress each other with respect 
for lucent wisdom of extracted fate, 
we merge aggressive souls in pulchritude, 
enhanced by zephyr of ethereal breath, 
so we expand with aureate amplitude. 

Progressive passion of ardent concepts, 
through which we analyze romantic growth, 
fuels anxious apprehension of distress 
till we submerge our separate energies 
in seething tide of scrutinized remorse 
through penitence of cosmic ecstasy. 

Transition across prime liminal stage 
of bodies buzzing with enraptured joy 
reprograms how our minds perceive the world 
with proven frame of social reference 
that bonds our hearts with matrimonial faith 
so we base exuberant play on love. 

With fervent discipline of blissful trust, 
constrained by euphoric caution of hope, 
we blaze new roads in trackless wilderness 
to build empire of communal exchange 
so we raise our children to imitate 
rules designed to ensure fertility. 

Count Each Snowflake

Count Each Snowflake
© Surazeus
2025 12 05

Since cold silence almost crushes his heart, 
he nearly forgets to sing about death 
as he trudges aimlessly in dark woods 
with secret purpose to count each snowflake 
that shrouds the pulsing world in bitter faith 
so no one remembers warmth of sunlight. 

Expansive sweetness of beautiful light 
explodes from languid happiness of dust 
in golden fruit that ripens to excess 
with loud assertion of conceptual rights 
that he dares claim with nonchalance of fear 
because everyone ignores he is real. 

Almost concerned that love connects dead hearts, 
he reaches out his hand with trembling hope 
to understand why people everywhere 
seem charged with competitive energy 
in fight for power to control the world 
though it all crumbles to sand in the end. 

He slouches by brick wall of the locked bank 
and stares at lights that blink on trunks of trees 
while busy people walking somewhere fast 
pretend his body is no more than mud 
that throbs with feelings of hunger and rage 
by delicate murmuration of fate. 

Inverted sparkplug of his chugging brain 
smears turpentine letters on copper scrolls 
which flares dialectic polarity 
based high on motion of primitive thoughts 
appointed by the clown of solitude 
to grant obscene wishes of refugees. 

He shall not panic at relentless crash 
of whistling stones that hop with legs of frogs 
against aggressive governments through tax 
designed to wrench triumphal latency 
in durable sequence of puzzling songs 
which map demographics of shattered states. 

No traveler remembers their false name 
they write with blood of angels in blank books 
till winter rain dissolves morality 
while goddess of beauty ascends stone stairs 
to sing with strange flames of the last sunset 
that shocks country people with travesty. 

So he rides winged monkey bound for Oz 
to reign as emperor of nowhere else 
with artificial brain of rancid dreams 
programmed by cats that evolve into apes 
on our way to become weird human beings 
who like to count each snowflake of the mind.