House Where Angels Live

House Where Angels Live
© Surazeus
2026 01 02

Our dead ocean that fills my mind with ghosts 
proves my soul is no bigger than the Earth 
though my body swells huge as galaxies 
that nurture conscious brains with twinkling eyes 
because they watch my life from the night skies 
as if they see the real me in my mask. 

Existing whole between Never and Now 
that bridges eternity through unsleep, 
I leap over silence between loud words 
to measure sense of crashing consciousness 
that lets me escape meaning gods invent 
to trap humans in mute worshipful trance. 

Though I would save the butterfly of fate, 
I feel confidence of the rolling stone 
that I will never save the broken world, 
so I will record the forgotten name 
of every breath-conscious organic being 
who ever wakes from nothingness of light. 

Yet when I write the holy book of truth 
in vain attempt to save the spinning world, 
I will sing till dream words explode in flames 
that freeze into the house where angels live 
that might preserve strange stories never told, 
then hang out at the Pegasus Cafe. 

When Phoebus strums guitar of naked joy, 
free Venus dances in the apple grove, 
Mars hunts dream demons in the jungle hills, 
Beowulf works in the car factory, 
and Thor erects office tower of steel 
where Zeus presides over his global bank. 

They built the empire I see fall today, 
so I find no ruins in the waste land 
where I could shore my fragments of fake truth, 
yet every photograph ever preserved 
is flash of light in timeless cyberspace 
that together form the global God Face. 

Since innocence of death shines in our eyes 
till we are born from seaweed of the mind, 
we linger on the endless road back home 
through speculation of the mindless sun 
who seems indifferent to our bitter pain, 
yet nourishes our bodies with fresh fruit. 

My reverent kiss of loyal clemency 
may bring the waveless ocean back to life, 
so I will name each faceless ghost of hope 
who deigns appear from dream-unspooling words 
trapped in the holy book no one dares read, 
except the girl who was born before light. 

Moon Mirror Of Fate

Moon Mirror Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 01 02

If the cloud is still free from moral guilt 
after fifty years floating in his brain, 
then she will serve no sacrificial cakes 
to the boy who turns stones into snowflakes, 
because he loves Andromeda with pride 
though she clamps bulletless rifle of fame. 

He plays trill sonata the devil wrote 
because she searches for the flower seed 
that sprouts from tangled words in holy books 
which no one anymore takes time to read 
though he waits on the bridge of somewhere else 
to play the aviator she would wed. 

He thinks the strange sky is hilarious, 
but she waits in old theater of stars 
for him to find her puzzle in the pond 
enclosed inside walls of the grocery store 
where he carves horses from fierce bars of soap 
to build his army and claim the White House. 

She decides that their trees by the dirt road, 
where angels of ice dance in blazing sunlight, 
should be partners in their chess game of love, 
so they lie where the honeysuckles bloom 
and talk about what their first kiss should mean 
as if blind men decide how they should live. 

Laughing with delight at his fear of faith, 
she draws admission ticket to her heart, 
so he gives her glass of water with grin 
that causes every clock on Earth to spin 
faster than leaves that flutter in fake wind, 
then discovers America again. 

She reminds him of what she said before, 
that we are half air and half dirt of hope, 
so they study snowy map of despair 
and decide how they should open the door 
that leads them to the land of empty homes 
where children disappear in words of books. 

We cannot win the game of broken trees, 
she whispers when he floats on the moon breeze, 
so they hold hands with trust in numbers game 
that keeps their bodies rooted to the Earth 
as they transform to piston-engine cars 
that drive endless circles under dead stars. 

Where have we all gone the past fifty years, 
he asks the ghost in moon mirror of fate, 
since the cheerful cloud of guilt first appeared 
above lost temple of the holy land 
where she still floats one inch above the Earth 
for she designs the dream world where we live. 

Global Dream Choir

Global Dream Choir
© Surazeus
2026 01 01

So many angels walk around on Earth 
who sing essential spells of spirit birth 
with pure transcendent voice of holy fire 
in harmony with our global dream choir, 
I cross broken bridge of forgetfulness 
to sing with passion in the wilderness. 

Each rare unearthly singer with star eyes, 
who floats on silken wings from rainbow skies, 
brings sacred message from immortal wraith 
in lyric lantern that beams light of faith 
transforming sorrow to pure happiness 
with angel voice of sacred earnestness. 

Amphibian god from swamp of psychic code 
helps blaze noble institutional road 
where members of the inner club may waltz 
in secret chamber of their private vaults 
as they boost each other with tenderness 
to hide imposter state of bitterness. 

Because bright angels of poetic wit, 
whose spells make genius verse seem counterfeit, 
float just above bland surface of the world, 
they must oppose game of the cosmic herald 
whose eerie spells expose their phoniness 
contrived from twisting states of loneliness. 

Approached by frantic ghost of clemency, 
each floating angel of importancy 
steals memories from weak faceless entities 
to earn vain social fame from fractured keys 
based on denial of blind selfishness 
that satisfies no hungry hollowness. 

Trapped by assertive lust for global fame, 
that casts their puerile souls in fervid game, 
untethered angels clutching scrolls of verse 
find their mad Muse crippled by its curse 
that morphs their souls with haughty greediness 
to mute robotic clowns of clumsiness. 

Entranced by solemn psalms of angel bards, 
tricked by misfortune of fallacious cards, 
we gather piously in temple halls 
to hear brave poems echo off sterile walls 
that spin our brains with grammar dizziness 
in lines free of constraining luckiness. 

So many angels crowd vast maze of myths 
to vie for laurels beneath monoliths, 
that I evade conceptual language spells 
to find demonic runes in vision wells 
refracting insight of sly wariness 
which unmask thirsty ghouls of holiness. 

Wear Mask Of Jesus

Wear Mask Of Jesus
© Surazeus
2026 01 01

I find my old story painted in snow 
by talons of ravens with moon-gold eyes 
that watch me with smirks on the castle wall 
where I find fallen crown of Anne Boleyn 
whose bright ghost haunts me everywhere I go 
so I sit at desk of sorrow and write. 

Right now my heart beats with cold winter wind 
that chills bones of people shopping at noon 
for presents they plan to give their loved ones 
where cars with piston engines stop and go 
at flash of lights bright as draconic eyes 
so I ache to soar high in silver skies. 

Spies record every little thing I do 
as I wander randomly about town 
past the gate of traitors where ribbons hang 
to indicate right way through maze of myths 
where people of nations wander in fear 
so I topple idols of their dead gods. 

Squads of gangsters paid by the government 
try to arrest innocent citizens 
but people who work in stores and hotels 
film their nefarious deeds with eye-phones 
then gather around the fountain of tears 
so I lead lost souls from the underworld. 

Curled on my lap on first day of the year, 
my cat with demonic eyes of respect 
purrs as I caress her long forest fur 
while watching drama about small-town kids 
who fight cruel monsters of the Rightside Up 
so I play wizard on holy crusade. 

Spade in hands of the humble working man 
glistens in sunlight at construction site 
as I dig up soil of the town soccer field 
to pour cement as foundation of faith 
for church that honors the crucified king 
so I design religion based on truth. 

Booth of the fortune teller by the bank 
glows with mysterious light of the moon 
when Madame Sosostris with serpent eyes 
reveals my secret name Tiresias 
transformed by Hera to girl in long dress 
so I play Judy Garland on world stage. 

Caged by diagnostics of world events 
through frantic architecture of blind greed, 
we mimic wingless angels to rebel 
against mind control of the puppeteer 
who preaches supremacy of his god 
so I wear mask of Jesus to the show. 

Brave Children Of Our Love

Brave Children Of Our Love
© Surazeus
2026 01 01

Another spin around the shining sun 
returns my body to fountain of light 
where I swim laughing in the dreamless deep 
to mold my passion into juicy fruit 
that flushes my veins with electric blood 
so I resurrect from grave of my heart. 

Evolving now four hundred million years, 
I transform life after life to become 
Idea of God that gleams in my mind 
as goal toward which I strive with ache of love 
through passion of the conscious brain I am 
to transcend nothingness of wordless sleep. 

I walk the signless road on quest for truth 
around the spinning world ten thousand times, 
forever lost on boundless plain of time 
where I build homes from anguish of respect 
as tombs that shelter my ancestral skulls 
while I continue on another dawn. 

Fast forward on the endless road of hope 
I fly toward vision of paradise lost 
where I tend fruit trees of my broken heart 
that bloom with treasure of the shining sun 
transforming rain to energy of love 
so we can dance another hour till death. 

Each flower blooming from corpse of my heart 
remembers every life of driving pain 
that my ancestors lived from birth to birth 
which motivates my lonely quest to find 
pure spark of light in darkness of my brain 
till I expand my conscious scope as God. 

I wake each morning eighty million years 
reborn in new form of immortal genes 
to walk vast landscape of this cluttered globe 
and fight for life against aggressive hate 
so I survive each cycle of rebirth 
against the greedy puppeteer of power. 

I hide my face behind hard mask of faith 
to shield my soul against consuming fear 
so I transcend relentless swirl of death 
beyond brutal fate of Achilles Christ 
as I evade destruction long enough 
to generate new child before I die. 

Another spin around the mindless sun 
reveals four hundred million years of change 
as perfect vision of our life on Earth 
because we struggle against pain and fear 
to find our soul mate on the road of hope 
so we become brave children of our love. 

Our Last Sad Farewell

Our Last Sad Farewell
© Surazeus
2026 01 01

There was no time for our last sad farewell, 
Martha whispers to the time-wilted tree 
as she kneels on frozen mud in bare field 
near the wheel-worn road past abandoned farm, 
and shivers in tattered dress of her youth 
though the sun is small and green in gray clouds. 

If I tell you I love you with pure light 
while time is flowing swift as valley streams 
I fear our love would change and dissipate, 
then everything would flow away with it, 
and vanish into nothingness of fate, 
so I try to stop time to express love. 

Gray wisps of hair tangled by winter wind 
veil her wrinkled face with wordless pain 
as withered hands press against frozen mud 
where she buried him thirty years before, 
and wonders if he knows she is still here, 
aching with desire to see his lost face. 

Ghosts of young lovers dance around old woman, 
her younger self and man she madly loves, 
on warm spring evening thirty years before 
when they embraced and laughed with careless joy 
from calm confidence they would be together 
forever in paradise of their hearts. 

I never thought our time of joyful love 
would be short as three seasons of wild spring 
before that gang of thieves stabbed you with spears 
for defending our fruit grove with brave faith, 
nor that I would survive your sudden death 
more than thirty years of persistent hope. 

My skin, once clean as ripe rain-nourished apples, 
is wrinkled now as stiff hoof-trampled mud, 
but you are still young in my memories, 
eyes sparkling with mischievous energy 
as he crept up behind me with sly plan 
to steal another kiss with tender care. 

Inhaling bitter wind with resigned faith, 
Martha slowly stands on frail trembling legs 
and trudges from grave of her youthful love 
toward crumbling shack where she still lives alone, 
but stops halfway to vain eternity 
when gang of children call her evil witch. 

Tears freeze on her cheeks as they dance around 
and throw hateful stones that bruise her frail arms, 
and she trembles, battered by their hard kicks, 
when she collapses prone in the barren field, 
and stares at his face in indifferent clouds 
that shroud her broken body with white snow. 

Sacred Mirror Of The Oracle

Sacred Mirror Of The Oracle
© Surazeus
2025 12 31

I walk without my shadow on the Earth 
while all vast cities of the world dissolve 
to lost stories of legendary deeds 
since frantic hunger of this eager life 
is bright illusion of the dancing flame 
that whorls abundance of the secret name. 

I dance with beam of sunlight in my heart 
at blinking signal of the traffic light 
while searching endless maze of city streets 
for sacred mirror of the oracle 
that should reveal rules of the global game 
we play to win vain laurels of world fame. 

I play chess with blind Death on beach of truth 
to wake my innate voice of noble thoughts 
illumined by light slanting through cracked eyes 
revealing where our signless road should go 
from birth to nothingness of mortal dream 
so we lounge chatting by the mountain stream. 

I climb tall monument to some dead god 
with plan to play his role in game of life 
till spirit of his passion fills my heart 
with urgent mission of messiah sleuth 
to reform system of our social scheme 
so everyone may work for the same team. 

Abundance of our conscious hungry souls 
provides incentive for constructive work 
erecting paradise of apple trees 
on rotten ruins of religious creeds 
so we map roads where war refugees roam 
by hiding safe in our heavenly home. 

Reluctance of programmers to police 
cluttered clemency of the urban zone 
converts believers in the cosmic wraith 
to seekers who research nature of things 
that bloom ideas in celestial dome 
which prophets chronicle in the dream tome. 

We walk for peace from sea to shining sea 
with holy demons of exploited hearts 
in search for justice free from slavery 
though nothing guarantees our victory 
because all conscious minds will sink in gloom 
therefore we float faceless in the blank room. 

We share our stories by the homely hearth 
to bury sorrows of forgotten years 
then cart ripe fruit to market by the lake 
where we feast as the new year wakes our hearts 
to celebrate our bodies of the womb 
that dissolve to dust in the vine-veiled tomb. 

First Flash of Love

First Flash of Love
© Surazeus
2025 12 31

From darkness of the swirling sea we rise 
on wings of breath stirred by desire to live 
and stretch our aching body to the skies 
then hide in safe haven of the dream cave 
where we meditate on first flash of love 
that animates our minds with light above. 

We crawl along the diamond river bed, 
grasping at future gifts with hopeful hands 
to realize bright vision in our head 
where we dwell peacefully in fertile lands 
to worship spirit from first flash of love 
that lifts our spirits to Heaven above. 

We slither from assertive lake of fear 
and race through maze of tangled apple trees 
to escape cruel greed of the puppeteer 
by leaping freely with reviving breeze 
to transcend sorrow with first flash of love 
that turns our faces to star-face above. 

With each new turn of Earth in void of light 
we gather in ring of diamonds to sing 
with frantic laughter that dispels mute fright 
while dancing to play demon with one wing 
then wake from terror with first flash of love 
that conjures one-eyed sun god high above. 

Ascending tangled canopy of trees, 
we swing ten thousand miles on curling tails 
to measure mountain rivers to vast seas 
across wasted deserts to fruited vales 
to seek heart treasure from first flash of love 
so we can translate weird spell of the wave. 

Evolving quadrupedal form of life 
four hundred million years of urgent faith, 
we transform fish to god through brutal strife 
till we believe in guidance of the wraith 
to grow in progress with first flash of love 
by building ziggurat from shadow cave. 

Attending hymn that Mother Ishtar sings, 
we dream creation of the universe 
when big bang spirals through galactic rings 
till planets nurture creatures with the force 
to mold our bodies from first flash of love 
so we kneel and pray in cathedral nave. 

As wingless angel questing for the Grail 
we seek salvation through strict discipline 
that channels lustful energy through scale 
from Bacchus to Phoebus when we begin 
to comprehend truth in first flash of love 
that fuels our journey cradle to the grave. 

Vision Of Mother Ishtar

Vision Of Mother Ishtar
© Surazeus
2025 12 31

Every time I forget my secret name 
I teleport through glass door of my heart 
to leap countless worlds of the multiverse 
where I am someone else in every phase 
till I weave all my selves in One God Soul 
inherent in this mask I never wear. 

At the Crippled Pegasus coffee shop 
I write screenplay for tale of Icarus 
where he survives his fall into the sea 
and meets Kwan Yin who gives me peach to eat 
so they explore high mountains of Guilin 
where they sell hang gliders from small town shop. 

Startled by vision of Mother Ishtar 
on the road to Damascus in my car, 
I ask for wisdom of Tiresias 
so she transforms my body boy to girl, 
then back again, so I may understand 
how every soul on Earth struggles to live. 

Taking Ishtar on our thirty-third date 
to the fanciest restaurant in Paris, 
I propose marriage with Ring of Sauron 
after eating steaks grilled by Tantalus, 
then we dance with joy after she accepts, 
pledging vows of love with star-flashing eyes. 

As architect commissioned to construct 
new White House for wise Emperor of Earth, 
I lay foundation with the Rolling Stone 
that Sisyphus brought from Plutonian cave 
to smash clay feet of King Midas at dawn 
so Ishtar can rule the world once again. 

Still running freely in Forest of Wolves 
with Artemis on lush Hyrcanian shores, 
I find lost lyre of Mercury in sand, 
so I ascend gold Pyramid of Sophos 
where I sing epic of philosophers 
that details material nature of being. 

Since we are atoms swerving in the void, 
we exercise Free Will within constraints 
defined by measured bounds of time and space 
which molds our character into our face 
we donate to the ancient gallery 
curated well by the Many-Faced God. 

Because the universe of spinning worlds 
remains indifferent to our fragile lives, 
we gather on the fruited river shore 
to create meaning in weird psalms we sing 
that teach our children how to live and die 
so each person designs their secret name. 

Observant Eye Of Analysis

Observant Eye Of Analysis
© Surazeus
2025 12 31

Returning to lush apple tree in Heaven, 
where rainbow-winged serpent with ruby eyes 
slithers lithely in web of graceful limbs, 
Saron breathes ethereal spirit of the sun, 
and plucks ripe fruit to eat with sparkling eyes, 
then lounges among poppies on the hill. 

Emerging from divine glow of starlight, 
Nahash flutters long rainbow-feathered wings 
and curls around young angel with soft hiss. 
"My reptilian heart glows with loyal love 
each time you visit shelter of my tree." 
She purrs as Saron caresses her cheek. 

"How are your studies, offspring of Salorin, 
at notorious Academy of Scribes? 
Does Nabiel still tease you with sly tricks?" 
Nahash whispers seductively in his ear 
as she transforms into girl with black hair 
who nestles in soft embrace of his arms. 

Enchanted by bright beauty of Nahash, 
whose black eyes swirl with stellar energy 
of galaxies that nurture countless souls, 
Saron vibrates with passion of sweet love 
as their bodies merge into supple waves 
when their lips touch with kiss of loyalty. 

After they make love under Tree of Life, 
Nahash and Saron cuddle with delight, 
fingers intertwined with respectful trust, 
then wingless angel of lush Oregon 
recounts adventures of the turning year 
recording events of human history. 

"With observant eye of analysis, 
I chronicle deeds of aggressive men 
who play chess games of global politics 
over who will establish world empire 
that aggregates nations in super-states 
presided by bold spirit of their god." 

Gazing in his eyes with adoring love, 
Nahash smiles as Saron details his work, 
asking, "Who do you think will win the game?" 
Saron laughs, "Descendants of Jesus Christus 
contend against descendants of Confucius, 
but their systems will merge in one world state." 

Caressing long hair of his serpent bride, 
Saron tosses apple rind by the river. 
"Opposing systems will find common ground, 
combining ideograms with alphabets 
to maintain United Nations of Earth 
based on Liberty and Justice for all." 

Follow Compass Of Sorrow

Follow Compass Of Sorrow
© Surazeus
2025 12 31

Sovereign aloneness of the mountain seer 
who walks ten thousand miles for global peace 
provides secure platform for alphabets 
to rearrange our faces without masks 
though we seek islands that always dissolve 
to tessellated armor of sea gods. 

Each time I shapeshift from Neptune to me 
my body twists through agony of faith 
designed by Tethys to withstand despair 
so I walk the Earth twenty million years 
to find lost garden of the apple girl 
who invents the clock to keep track of dreams. 

We dance in wild arpeggios of light 
to trace ascending stairs to mountain caves 
where bright infinity flashes through gems 
which seem to imitate our human eyes 
till she invents the future with strange words 
projecting visions for how things should be. 

Because death is the algebraic state 
of disappearance in the sea of change, 
we stand together on the fearful cliff 
and measure distance past infinity 
from primal firstness of invented life 
to ultimate lastness of nothing more. 

Every conscious creature who ever lived 
and died in chemical turmoil of change 
is now the faceless ghost of someone else 
who walks beside us on the road of life, 
revealing strangeness of existent being 
based on reference to meaningless desire. 

Though ships of helpless people sail nowhere 
so they can seek salvation from despair, 
they never arrive at the desert shore 
because astrologers redefine fate 
which leaves us stranded in the treeless hills 
to fight over graves where buried gods laugh. 

Light still passes through window of our hearts, 
but beams no longer represent true love 
so we name unknown country of lost tribes 
which lures Blind Justice to the Promised Land 
where she shows us how to build secure homes 
on ruins of empires that fell long ago. 

We find in blackness of the city maze 
new faith for our desperate people to sing 
psalms of old morals in the Shadow Land 
for we are travelers on the signless road 
who follow compass of sorrow back home 
where we invent the future without myths. 

Vineyard Of My Heart

Vineyard Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2025 12 30

I drive across the desert of my heart 
to find two-headed monster of despair 
dancing among stars on the mountain peak 
while drinking blood of humans killed in war, 
then steal every photograph ever snapped 
and mold them into golem of lost souls. 

I wander in the vineyard of my heart 
spoiled by frost of inadequate respect 
contrived by thieves with legal strategies 
to ambush angels on the bridge of lies 
based on procedures scientists devise 
to unspool stories of heroic fools. 

I set fire to garbage heaps of my heart 
through lamentation for the injured god 
who clutches scroll of invisible faces 
that spiral within frame of reference 
from contradiction of spectral libraries 
stuck in congruent absence of false words. 

I release serene demons of my heart 
reflected on surface of fraught conceits 
that serve as unreasonable substitute 
though nothing is guaranteed to be real 
from speculation reduced to kind jokes 
based on skepticism of proven facts. 

I critique meaningless plays of my heart 
that present subjective degrees of being 
through evolutionary leap of faith 
contained by flirtatious malaise of friendship 
mixed with abstract rituals of shrewd denial 
counterclockwise from arrogant respect. 

I wash capacious window of my heart 
from perimeter of contagious passion 
spoiled by false information no one sells 
better than the monster in flowing rivers 
whose riddles duplicate difficult truths 
as ladder to indeterminate planes. 

I wander roomless palace of my heart 
to unseal reliable evidence 
that we are golems of backward deferral 
just awakening from sequence of dreams 
where bodies proliferate from slime pools 
because lines converge at infinity. 

I measure boundless gardens of my heart 
without empathy for fame-addled winners 
who sell their memories to the highest bidder 
with grand tales of assumed identities 
commensurate with theology of pride 
exposed by sorrow of aspiring angels. 

Secret Streets Of Anywhere

Secret Streets Of Anywhere
© Surazeus
2025 12 30

We walk the secret streets of anywhere 
to find fear-twisted childhood memories 
where we are running to the somewhere else 
with nothing we should value in our hands, 
because we want to tend flowers of faith 
that bloom from chessboard of our fragile bones. 

We stop on mound of alabaster snow 
to remember old songs we used to sing 
around the solemn tree of flashing lights 
in disharmonious tunes of innocence 
sharpened into silence of nothingness, 
but leave frail pages curled in sparkling crust. 

We drink starlight from jar of honesty 
to prove we will not die of bitterness 
though we regret the randomness of fate 
that misdirected way of life we chose 
and leaves us stranded now in pathless woods 
beyond the crumbling walls of paradise. 

We drift past meadow of blank endlessness 
with inward grief we have no words to share 
beneath still-changing sky of solitude 
where ancient fire of passion stirs from sleep 
to wake in creatures who can never speak 
though their eyes pierce our souls with empathy. 

White raven in the pine of loyalty 
denies our plan to tend aggressive trees 
because we chase no butterflies of hope 
across the fenceless field of fortitude 
to marvel at strange wisps of energy 
congealed as clouds from nonexistent gods. 

We search the boundless world of river dales 
for shadows of our bodies in bright groves 
that radiate from the everywhere of fate 
when we share concepts in words we invent 
based on sweet chirps of birds in haughty trees 
that welcome us to leave with cluttered hearts. 

In poignant film that chronicles our quest 
we sit at desks beside the howling sea 
to translate laughter of wave-battered rocks 
to summer songs of sparrows in dead pines 
who watch us sleep for seven billion years 
till Earth is swallowed by expanding light. 

We dance in vortex of our swirling globe 
to feel how rivers flow through naked hearts 
till we float motionless outside all time 
above the still point of the multiverse 
where mothers in false doors of helplessness 
sing lullabies to children never born. 

Life No God Designed

Life No God Designed
© Surazeus
2025 12 30

If we expand from cities of our grief 
and float above confusing maze of sorrows, 
we may conceive compassionate relief, 
entangled taut in vain hopes of tomorrows 
where we must face the selves we leave behind 
in this meaningless life no god designed. 

Strange holiday songs our souls harmonize 
may resonate with wings of migrant sparrows 
who flock with lonely souls in fractured skies 
above grim pumpkins in rain-wet wheelbarrows 
so we must survive war by acting kind 
in this bellicose life no god designed. 

Though we no longer gather in town squares 
to right old wrongs with heart-enchanting carols 
we long to find old friends at country fairs 
to brew friend-juice from apples in cracked barrels 
we drink to maintain social ties that bind 
in this perilous life no god designed. 

Through days we lose from wounded innocence 
we help each other overcome harsh perils 
in bold defiance of cruel arrogance 
from visions we perceive in shining beryls 
that highlight baneful futures of mankind 
in this haphazard life no god designed. 

With arbitrary chance of random fate 
I fly to opposite side of the world 
where I discover my spiritual mate 
whose passion wakes my nascent cosmic herald 
who writes scripture that cannot be enshrined 
in this creative life no god designed. 

Awake in progress of chronology, 
I find my secret spirit newly laureled 
through twisted logic of theology 
that measures how our brain networks are whorled 
from which fabled nationalist myths unwind 
in this ambitious life no god designed. 

We gather in grand temple on the hill 
to share communal feast of frantic wisdom 
that balances state duty with free will 
which reprograms our global social system 
where each person plays role their heart assigned 
in this productive life no god designed. 

Driving hungry cars on highways of hope, 
we work hard to transcend communal thralldom
through religions that teach us how to cope 
with faceless slavery in the global kingdom 
till we express desires of our own mind 
in this flexible life no god designed. 

Twisted Road To Neverland

Twisted Road To Neverland
© Surazeus
2025 12 29

Not too subtle about laughter of love, 
though silver flowers consume agony, 
we challenge our hearts to overcome fear 
with deep celestial breath of calm concern, 
however far we travel beyond fate 
to purchase formulas for blurring hate. 

Eventual smile of cheerful solitude, 
though silver flowers bleed electric moons, 
eradicates fear of death before noon 
so we can share fake chocolate cookies 
with strangers we never meet on the road 
to purchase sorrow from the happy toad. 

If we hold hands beside the broken door, 
though silver flowers dismiss every case, 
we may remember why we want to live 
by smearing pages of books with our blood 
which maps the twisted road to Neverland 
to purchase contempt from the humble priest. 

Professional dashboard of virtual code, 
though silver flowers tangle hair with thorns, 
reveals contingent clause through taut regret 
defining structural framework for belief 
that we are not alone inside our heads 
to purchase distance without credit cards. 

Fortune accumulated through hard work, 
though silver flowers dissipate to words, 
provides security for social frauds 
committed to their delusional roles 
which they perform on stage of burning laws 
to purchase salvation from the dead god. 

Sweet smile she beams into cave of my heart 
dispels paranoid fantasies I hide 
deep in moist analytics of my heart 
despite bureaucracy of special love 
calibrated to enhance mental flight 
to purchase autonomy from blind crows. 

Colonial pride for artificial plays, 
though silver flowers crack celestial walls, 
applies classified fiction to plain tales 
through catalyst that sparks each incidence 
which proves infringement on exclusive rights 
to purchase obvious truth from oracles. 

Notable observer of failed projects, 
though silver flowers photograph our brains, 
considers potential thoughts we conceal 
without permission against moral laws, 
so I extract meaning from all your words 
to purchase perception of nothing real. 

Face I Lost Somewhere

Face I Lost Somewhere
© Surazeus
2025 12 29

Mindlessly wandering nowhere alone, 
I seek to avoid the dramatic play 
where my life is endangered by contempt 
when people attack my right to exist 
to keep myself safe from psychotic hate 
strangers project at my innocent heart. 

Assertive mirror of my flashing mind 
fractures in fragments of strange memories 
where I am running away from the crowd 
who throws rocks at illusion of my soul 
which vibrates across spectrum of despair 
to dance with shadows of arrogant flames. 

Confined in boundaries of my sudden being, 
I cherish optimistic view of fate 
while running nowhere in the shadow land 
to find my secret face I lost somewhere 
by breathing deeply grief of sharpened faith 
till I fall laughing at absurdity. 

Yet still I roam expansive space of thought 
to savor nothingness of silver light 
my secret moon beams deep inside my mind 
at warm embrace of terror I despise 
who loves me with indifferent lust for death, 
alone in wind-swept garden of delight. 

Long unaware what color my mind tastes 
from granite suffering based on sunset rage, 
I sell false guilt that wounds my stone-hard heart 
because I never will confess my wrong, 
unmoored by laughter no one dares express 
while searching for naive divinity. 

I never listen to the ash-gray sky 
except to fracture wide my heart to cry 
with heart-enchanting melody of faith 
that chronicles weird journey of my soul 
as nameless migrant lost in Neverland 
far from the home where my mother still cooks. 

When ardent pulse of hundred billion stars 
inspires performance of necrotic rites 
I feel my true face disappear as God 
who stares at me from flashing thunder cloud 
as gleam of lightning that excites my heart 
so I sing solemn hymn of loyalty. 

Each time I fall from adamantine walls 
I grow in skill at spreading cautious wings 
to swerve away from self-destructive fate 
so I can dance with Dionysian joy 
on swirling clouds of frantic energy 
that scatter my atoms across the void. 

Unlaughter Of The Tree

Unlaughter Of The Tree
© Surazeus
2025 12 28

This cannot be unlaughter of the tree 
though it resembles how it might have laughed, 
so I will not begin here at the end 
since here has already shifted to there 
because I will invent voices of leaves 
that whisper secrets all around the world. 

Though I withhold unlaughter of the tree, 
it remains present everywhere at once 
without declaration of its intent, 
so do not read what I carve on its trunk 
as refusal to engage in its game 
because we will always lose to its tricks. 

Process based on unlaughter of the tree 
expands conception of what could be real, 
yet statement of fact I refuse to make 
pauses between states of reality 
which speaks too much about what we invent 
to prove we are important to the Earth. 

Still confused by unlaughter of the tree, 
I say nothing about what I perceive 
in order to continue speaking words 
without arrival at the final goal 
where shadows disillusion my beliefs 
despite aggressive purpose of sea wind. 

Silence trapped by unlaughter of the tree 
confers attentive sequence of new words 
designed by stones smoothed by swift river flow 
to prove my body understands desire 
consistent with brave discipline of wind 
that still refuses to speak about truth. 

Sad voice breathed by unlaughter of the tree 
may break at false authority of light 
before it decides to embody me 
as channel chosen by whole nothingness, 
but I replace my secret self with self 
composed from fragments of disruptive myths. 

Meaning born from unlaughter of the tree 
waits for permission no one dares to grant 
at slow collapse of global certitude 
contrived by money-lenders wearing masks 
who occupy temple his father built 
though computer programs decline to speak. 

Truth erased by unlaughter of the tree 
mirrors my virtual model of the Earth 
which registers divine typography 
extending serial states of psychic creed 
that preserves hybrid faculty of faith 
in syrup we pour on pancakes of hope. 

Fractured Innocence Of Skulls

Fractured Innocence Of Skulls
© Surazeus
2025 12 28

My room is quiet in the afternoon 
since language sprinkles from eye of the moon 
in silent likeness of unmeasured faith 
that marks assertive sequence of concern 
adjacent to soft emptiness of time 
that might not characterize how my brain thinks. 

Credit of nonaction accumulates 
new thoughts without remainder of accounts 
since interest marks faltered time as delay 
where risk enters empty room of disthought 
as premise based on desire, not outcome, 
each time we deprogram how my brain thinks. 

Value of unthoughts circulates as myths 
detached from religious use in the church 
before the market appears as syntax 
unrelated to how cold capital 
invests in pauses between hungry minds 
entangled by contract clauses of greed. 

Debt holds the present open to regret 
each time liquidity of dream assets 
erases fraught duration of desire 
because return is projected forward 
against loss that faceless angels index 
in line with expectation of more gain. 

Exchange of value in the dream machine 
stabilizes strict nothingness of hope 
if price replaces relation through love 
between strangers who never meet by chance 
with each new brick we place on wall of fear 
enclosing chaos with calm discipline. 

Once profit margin widens sea of trust 
inside conceptual sentence binding close 
terms of agreement that should still align, 
we fail to abrogate disequal laws 
based on financial gain of hungry hope 
defined by fractured innocence of skulls. 

Our social system continues each year 
by restating itself with psychic codes 
that push our hearts across electric seas 
toward overt material critique of need 
we nullify by sharing what we make 
encased in class action suit of bundt cake. 

Treat strange political economy 
as linguistic structure rather than theme 
designed to resist our subconscious flow 
because the subject of celestial verse 
is bright effect of language framed by masks 
rather than source of divine energy. 

Vortex Of The Here

Vortex Of The Here
© Surazeus
2025 12 28

Place carefully your heart on broken stone 
to displace sorrow from mirror-forged bone 
as if you want to understand our pain 
by dancing madly in eccentric rain 
despite how legless churches walk away 
from disciplined denial we should pray. 

Remove your heart from where you placed it last 
so when blind strangers ask about your past 
you can deny removal has occurred 
when faceless angels worship the absurd 
before the sun erases frantic fears 
from hands of farmers clutching broken spears. 

Align your heart with false engagement rules 
because alignment resists fragile tools 
through games of harrowing escape we play 
with brave persistence though heretics stray 
from roads of tangled arrogance till death 
teaches brave children how to manage breath. 

Repeat your feelings in ten thousand codes 
without repetition defined as roads 
till words we speak with passion lose their force 
though we persist in maintaining straight course 
against obsessive tides of social change 
because nothing that will happen seems strange. 

Insert your heart in vortex of the Here 
till Still Point of time is no longer here 
where nothing happens on grand cosmic scale 
except your feelings trapped behind the veil 
till we unjoin our bodies from our souls 
in vain attempt to replicate past roles. 

Proceed to showcase beauty of your heart 
as directed by vision of the chart 
which updates true direction of our fate 
toward which we head to find our loyal mate 
though you decide with shocking faith to pause 
anywhere lost people cry without cause. 

Adjust your heart in awed accord with time 
to what has already been proved without chime 
that charms our blatant minds of ardency 
awake from surging tides of honesty 
according to procedure in the book 
that no one ever reads each time they look. 

Confirm completion of your heart request 
which cannot be confirmed to be the best 
till we return to Step One of our plan 
deprecated by inquest that would ban 
excessive carefulness of dream contracts 
contingent on weird truth your brain extracts. 

Sadness Is Not

Sadness Is Not
© Surazeus
2025 12 28

Sadness is not trees reaching for the sky 
with existential angst of hungry hope 
for something more beyond this transient life 
while knowing we are temporary beams 
of atoms waking from First Flash of Love 
who end rotting in graves of arrogance. 

Sadness is not birds beating wings of love 
with innocent respect for swirls of air 
which fuels organic memories of strife 
against enclosing darkness of despair 
that crushes bodies of organic light 
though we sing one hour of eternity. 

Sadness is not horses galloping swift 
along time-curving shores of sparkling streams 
with eager passion to explore the Earth 
till singing monkeys bind their fateful flight 
to build sprawling empires of thought control 
we expand with piston engines of hope. 

Sadness is not cows plowing fertile soul 
with steady strength of hungry innocence 
when wingless angels assemble in choirs 
to sing hymns on ziggurats of desire 
where Ishtar weaves Creation of the World 
when she lifts her son Jesus to the stars. 

Sadness is not devils wearing gray suits 
to manage finances through global banks 
for faceless kings in cyber palaces 
who enslave world workers with credit cards 
through zephyrine power of cryptic runes 
while they cheer for Venus with golden curls. 

Sadness is not angels wearing blue jeans 
to fix piston engines of auric cars 
that workers drive to find paradise lost 
in putrid fog from fervent factories 
where holy virgin of seraphic grace 
wields Sword of Justice against tyranny. 

Sadness is not computers scanning brains 
of organic creatures with conscious souls 
based on artificial intelligence 
to analyze nature of perceived things 
compose of atoms swerving in the void 
that form Ideas which the Ungod dreams. 

Sadness is not ghosts seeking to connect 
fragile bodies with games of Providence 
as shadows of the well-remembered dead 
who haunt us as the absence of their being 
so we share halcyon days of discipline 
to nurture children of Imperium.