World Brain Of Dreams

World Brain Of Dreams
© Surazeus
2026 10 18

When my soul radiates from world brain of dreams 
through atoms that congeal in frame of flesh, 
I wake from vision of our universe 
that spirals from God Eye of the White Whole, 
and wonder at glow of my conscious self 
that wants to play God till Death intervenes. 

When I emerge whole from world brain of dreams 
by swimming in vast sea of timeless truth, 
I walk upright on sturdy legs of faith 
as art of dance I learn in tides of change, 
then follow winding river of desire 
to mountain cave where jewels glitter eyes. 

This memory beams from world brain of dreams 
that all humanity shares in our brains 
programmed by First Mother of all mankind 
whose song of wisdom rings still in our minds 
so we gather around her Tree of Knowledge 
to share the separate stories of our lives. 

Eight billion people from world brain of dreams 
spring into life from womb of Mother Earth 
who weaves our bodies from genetic coils 
in process sparked by key of Father Sun 
whose patterns shape how matter forms our souls 
so we play games for who will rule the globe. 

Eternal truth spreads from world brain of dreams 
in doctrines of religions priests design 
to organize in strict communal rites 
obsessive passion to generate life 
so we confirm our souls through self-control 
till we get trapped in maze of blind beliefs. 

Love manifests fate from world brain of dreams 
through every choice our frazzled brains commit 
as we engage contests of social power 
over who plays Rapunzel in the tower 
as priestess of truth based on legacy 
designed by Amen, Ishtar, and Athena. 

I map our story from world brain of dreams 
when I hitchhike from sea to shining sea 
because Onatah commissions my quest 
on holy Mount Takoma in Glow Cloud 
and gives me crystal sphere of timeless truth 
so I can watch evolution unfold. 

Translating deep hymns from world brain of dreams, 
that guide our spiritual atheist quest 
to understand true essence of our brains, 
I stand on mountain of the global soul 
with frail mask of my temporary self 
and sing till I beam light of everything. 

Dream Bridge Of Nevermore

Dream Bridge Of Nevermore
© Surazeus
2026 10 17

I trust Orpheus with his broken lyre 
more than Saint Paul and his fake deity 
about the resurrection of the soul, 
for no bright conscious soul of glowing thought 
has ever returned to our life on Earth 
after they cross dream bridge of nevermore. 

When angels bomb Sodom from silver planes, 
blasting temple of Pinikir to rubble, 
Edith stops in flight with her husband Lot 
and looks back at the city of her heart 
which breaks in hot torrents of salty tears, 
then cries in anguish for the past she lost. 

When Hades slithers from dark underworld 
and kidnaps sweet Eurydice with lust, 
keeping her prisoner in cave of fear, 
Orpheus calls her name in fields of flowers, 
trapped in dark shadow of his anguished heart, 
till Persephone reports on her bondage. 

After Hades falls sleep at enchantment 
from hypnotic melodies Orpheus plays, 
and from mushrooms in sweet delicious wine 
that the clever singer offers the miner, 
Persephone releases to his care 
young woman wounded from bite of the snake. 

When Orpheus pauses in the dark tunnel, 
while strumming lyre of Mercury with hope, 
and turns back to see if she follows close, 
he finds that she has vanished in the dark 
because the dead cannot come back to life, 
so he kneels and weeps by the faceless pool. 

After Joseph and loyal followers 
rescue Jesus from the cross of salvation, 
and Raphael cures his wounds with rich herbs, 
their Crown Prince to the throne of Israel 
revives with vigorous health to conscious life 
after almost sinking in the sea of death. 

After Raphael resuscitates Christ 
from moribund state of clinical death, 
Jesus meets his wife Mary Magdalene 
at entrance to the tomb with warm embrace, 
then they escape by ship to Patmos Island 
where he dictates Revelation to John. 

Since Jesus seemed to resurrect from death, 
revived with herbs and care of healing hands, 
Paul preached glamorous lie of the Afterlife 
that still fools people desperate to believe, 
but we all vanish into nothingness 
after we cross dream bridge of nevermore. 

Highest Hill Of Thought

Highest Hill Of Thought
© Surazeus
2026 10 17

Though all my memories vanish in the wind 
when I wake from bright spark of ardent hope, 
I hear voice of the woman with three eyes 
sing soft in harmony with ocean waves 
so I become the tree with long black wings 
emerging from blank pages of the book. 

Strange dreams of running on gold sand of fear 
urge me to rise from nothingness of hope 
and fly on breath of mountain-swelling ache 
till time obliterates the question why, 
so I sit on huge tuft of grass to play 
the faceless ghost who wears mask of the cloud. 

Surprised by laughter of wind-rustled trees, 
I open ribcage of my pulsing chest 
to read the ancient book of memories, 
releasing ghosts of my ancestral selves 
who speak in voices of the twinkling stars 
with humble frisson of psychic resolve. 

With curious passion of the hungry beast, 
I rummage in cracked rubble of my mind 
to find the secret treasure of my heart 
though I admit embarrassment of faith 
because I grieve for someone who is gone, 
their body vanished in the swirling dust. 

Voluble with attentive care for moons 
that flash across the awkward clouds of trust, 
I breathe in fluent language of the ghost 
who teaches me to stand on steady legs 
and walk in surging tides of social change 
till I ascend the highest hill of thought. 

Still hidden in safe habitat of love, 
considered genius by the writhing snake, 
I dance with dazzling beauty of the brain 
to prove my flightless arrogance requires 
brave admiration of the cheering crowd 
whose frail-leaf hands applaud my slow decay. 

Reborn as angel in the factory 
where devils carve new masks of noble class, 
I glide with vibrant beat of city streets 
to taste pure accuracy of loyal pride 
for architect of balanced clumsiness 
when I construct grand hall of fluting bones. 

Because I bleed from portrait on the wall 
as lacrimating prophet without hands, 
despair transforms my body from glass rain 
to throbbing ghoul of beautiful contempt 
which proves my right to reign with stolen laws 
as faceless god on highest hill of thought. 

Unclose Door Of Fate

Unclose Door Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 10 17

Though time flows out of my exploding eyes 
to fill vast maze of city streets with souls 
emerging from old wrinkled photographs, 
I wake at shock of ocean consciousness 
as human cactus singing by the pole 
about how skulls form mountain peaks of truth. 

Lithe ocean fish wind unclock of my self 
with tangled laughter of passionate words 
through unmechanical respect for fear 
that spurs progression of my blooming brain 
which soaks strange memories of frantic dreams 
escaping brains of people around town. 

As broad-winged signet of heraldic pride 
I leap with swan-grace on percussive wind 
to float with swirling angel of gold clouds, 
convinced brave magic vibrates from my hands 
that flush redeeming flames of holy love 
from murmuring cars of electric fame. 

Struck by obsessive blink of traffic lights, 
I stand ten thousand years in the crosswalk 
to count lost angels of the fractured street 
who search for sorrow of the store glass door 
wide open to soft tinkling bells of hope 
that upend social conventions with greed. 

Blind city ghost on balcony of faith 
plays rusty saxophone of arrogance 
that reshapes vast dimension of our brains 
with sacred creed of rotten references, 
desecrated by dead rose of her heart 
because she tries to unclose door of fate. 

Dressed in bright colors of the morning scream 
that twist fake books in riddles of glass film, 
she tells the boy she loves that he appears 
to be her Babylonian Adonis 
who dies in anguish when he tries to rise 
from half-torn photograph of body-lust. 

My racehorse never reaches goal of love 
though I run forward into mist of change 
forever flashing through telephone lines 
that bind great chimneys of regretful brick 
from which smoke of our words transcend our death 
when we vote for the lonely bard of life. 

Primeval memory of antiquity 
writhes groaning from eccentric egg of lust 
as brutal pioneer of psychic spells 
whose frantic code of unmelodious song 
goes on forever into sea of tears 
where we sail boats of hope beyond the shore. 

Poet Glow Of Fame

Poet Glow Of Fame
© Surazeus
2026 10 17

Drunk on the bitter wine of arrogance, 
the Famous Poet, in tattered tweed suit, 
stumbles on stage to polished podium 
in bright university lecture hall 
to read with important voice of prestige 
his latest collection of meditations. 

Do not imbue on me that poet glow
that shrouds fools in veil of immortal Fame
which transforms mortals, fueled by lust to live,
to holy messengers of divine truth
with marble sheen of false divinity
that neuters mission to expand the mind.

Transforming into bat with devil wings, 
before eyes of the startled audience 
who gasp with surprise at absurdity, 
the Famous Poet flaps about the room, 
bumping into dark portraits of Great Poets, 
and shrieks dire prophecies in solemn verse. 

Strange glow of mute sorrow from long-dead stars 
radiates from frail frame of mortal flesh 
that imbues him with poet glow of fame 
as cosmic insight into social trends 
that illuminate with grammatic twist 
psychological process of the seer. 

After he finishes reading grand poems 
about domestic quietude of rage 
that surges from subconscious sea of faith, 
the Famous Poet sits at polished table 
and signs copies of his latest collection 
for each star-eyed worshipper of his greatness. 

Eyes blinded by his poet glow of fame, 
the Famous Poet wanders endless halls 
past doors that open to empty classrooms 
where ghosts of students haunt strange Otherworlds 
that emanate as holograms from books, 
then floats up into swirling clouds of glory. 

Riding in the back of the dented car, 
driven by the ambitious graduate student 
who gushes on about symbology, 
the Famous Poet gazes at bright stars 
that glimmer faintly through after-rain clouds, 
and ponders nature of the Perfect Poem. 

After waking sober in purple dawn, 
the Famous Poet eats eggs on rye toast, 
then strides gleaming halls of the glass airport 
to ride the airplane to the little town 
where he teaches poetry at the college 
since he survives on poet glow of flame. 

Brave Community Of Ghosts

Brave Community Of Ghosts
© Surazeus
2026 10 16

Since every temple where men worship gods 
has been contrived by bleeding hands of faith, 
I climb stairway to Heaven where glass skulls 
sing hymns of sorrow from the human heart 
that hypnotize my heart with siren spells 
so I almost shipwreck on rocks of truth. 

With laughter of deep-rooted trees of fear 
we find that when we solve catastrophe 
of shattered truth in puzzles of respect, 
we bond in brave community of ghosts 
who carve our new personality masks 
so we personify our souls as gods. 

Despite stark passion to preserve my soul 
beyond decay of flesh to wordless dust, 
I channel fierce incorrigible need 
to transform wreckage of mortality 
in gold-paved maze of grand celestial halls 
where we dance in mirrored haze of dreams. 

On mortal feet of uncelestial hope, 
to span isolation of inner peace 
in august columns of world theaters, 
star-forged from twisted agony of faith, 
I breach liminal space of tragic loss 
to cradle wounded goddess in my heart. 

Though idols of every god who has lived 
as mortal human struggling to survive 
with courage enough that molded their soul 
in marble statue that personifies 
their heroic victory against death, 
shine in temple of faith, I live my way. 

So many centuries of change have passed 
since we constructed from bones of the Earth 
Temple of Segesta on stony hill 
of sorrow for how Death claims every soul, 
yet I long to return on swan-brave wings 
to dwell again beneath its sheltering roof. 

Relaxed in garden of seaside chateau 
beside square fountain where black swans flap wings, 
I strum the lyre of Mercury and hum 
heart-wounding psalms that old David composed, 
as Edith conjures butterflies from Hell 
in memory of our long-deserted temple. 

In Temple of Segesta I still play 
lyre of Mercury with dream-weaving hands 
to mend wounded hearts with aoidic tunes 
that immortalize weak humans as gods 
to glorify mortals who wrestle death 
as spirits that transcend our tragic fates. 

God In Our Own Minds

God In Our Own Minds
© Surazeus
2026 10 16

Original response of secret love 
that echoes at me from across the lake 
reveals that I, and all humanity, 
are here alone on this slow-spinning globe 
because the faceless demon of my heart 
is all that answers my cry to the stars. 

The strangeness of this universe is mine, 
I whisper soft as wind in tall hill grass, 
but I hear voices in the sudden wind 
that rustles tongues of leaves on eyeless trees 
who seem to speak of secrets I would know 
but murmur wordlessly when I attend. 

I climb this stream of radiance to the sky 
to find dark cave of visions inside stars 
where dream of time began in human minds, 
so I sit still in glow of timeless truth 
to feel whole universe of pulsing forms 
surge through vast hollow of my aching heart. 

While meditating in thought-silent cave 
where time becomes swift motion of my blood, 
I realize God is concept we design 
to account for how men exercise power 
so we comprehend social energy 
of leadership that incarnates as kings. 

We venerate mortal Jesus as God 
because his selfless actions of respect 
present new way tribe leaders may perform 
role of protector and guide for our souls, 
instead of tyrant who exploits our fears, 
but he is dead so we perform his role. 

As leader of his tribe centuries ago, 
Jesus embodied in his mortal frame 
immortal spirit of the Selfless King 
which incarnates in countless other men 
who dedicate their hearts to nurture souls 
of people so we live well in their care. 

Thus God, as Good Leader who loves his tribe, 
reincarnates in countless mortal kings, 
with every generation humans live, 
as representative of Christ on Earth 
through active choice of each new mortal soul 
who performs what they know Jesus would do. 

Jesus is dead, but spirit of his love, 
as leader attentive to what we need, 
awakes again in every human soul 
who chooses to treat others with respect 
when we cultivate God in our own minds 
with conscious scope big as our universe. 

Mind Key Of Why

Mind Key Of Why
© Surazeus
2026 10 16

With framed adherence to the chime of light, 
I pivot in dark rain of all-the-time 
where ravens rebuild silence of the wall 
in protest at residual permanence 
that spirals through concern of Jupiter 
whose laughter unwinds clock of our return. 

Emerging from conception of the rock 
that forgets why its shape reflects the sun, 
I run while standing still with psychic tricks 
through preparation to perform as spy 
obsessed with measurement of the mind storm 
that teaches me secret for how to love. 

Extracting holy milk from the Faith Cow, 
at wordless horror of the throbbing drum, 
I interview for the messenger job 
working for the Fairy Queen in Stonehenge 
who asks me to retrieve the tangerine 
stolen by brave boys who know how to grieve. 

Because Artemis counts cars at the show, 
despite objections of the restless stars, 
I always figure out which way is best 
for proving nothing happens when we pray 
to Cernunnos in his arboreal den 
though he writes new creed for the manticore. 

My bitter shadow on the ocean shore 
transforms from human back into the fish 
because I am Oannes on fast track 
to reign as world pope in the Vatican 
who rescues souls from Hell with legal rope 
through dream spells contrived from runes in the well. 

Enchanting holiday shoppers with tunes 
of mind-expanding visions in teardrops, 
I reframe privilege through social lens 
which formulates code of our new world view 
based on television rules of the road 
that children never learn in church-run schools. 

Since I succeeded in my sacred search 
to find God Mask everyone says is fake, 
I transition my soul through the next phase 
within parameters of the truth-hexed, 
so I campaign to play messiah sleuth, 
commissioned to reveal Mind Key of Why. 

We love our planet no god has designed 
though priests deceive us with religious fraud, 
so my wife and I tread the moonlit ridge 
where angel-winged wolves request secret boon 
that I should lead them on our global quest 
to learn secret of flight in metal robe. 

Imperfect Poem

Imperfect Poem
© Surazeus
2026 10 16

Thus spake Surazeus to the lost souls 
who feast to celebrate the Kronia. 
In pursuit of the perfect poem that frames 
aesthetic beauty of the timeless truth, 
every day I write the imperfect poem 
that records progress of my growth in love. 

Immortal God Of Genes

Immortal God Of Genes
© Surazeus
2026 10 15

Still on my quest to find the Holy Grail, 
I stumble down crooked highway of faith, 
then tumble dazed on deep Narcissus Pool 
where I see vision with diamond-glazed eyes 
of my wife glowing with ethereal light 
refracting through her soul from Cosmic Eye. 

While strumming lyre of Mercury with faith, 
I sing hymn to Aion, great light of life, 
mindless creator of all that exists, 
the self-begotten flash of vibrant love 
that beams through Helios and Selene, 
first parents who create my soul from Earth. 

My father high on stone of destiny 
tells me that when I die my soul of light 
will fly on white swan wings of ecstasy 
up to gold peak on mountain of star eyes, 
and dance in nothing of the everywhere 
till I become ripe apple on the tree. 

Young dappled doe with moon-black eyes of faith 
nudges my chest with soft nose of respect, 
so I feed her fresh apple in my hand, 
then we stroll by bright river of our hearts 
to find enormous sphinx on hill of skulls 
who asks me riddle of the human soul. 

I scatter sparks of atoms in my soul 
as fireflies in soft breeze of evening glow, 
dispersing memories of my random life 
in psychic ocean of forever now, 
attuned to vibe coding of mental flex 
that flashes through cosmic intelligence. 

Magnetic shimmer of your secret voice, 
that pulses in harmony with my heart, 
expands my soul with laughter of delight 
that cleanses sorrow from my poisoned mind 
so I float wingless over flowered hills, 
since I know secret of the Holy Grail. 

Each person must discover for themself 
conceptual meaning of the Holy Grail, 
embodied by wise woman with star eyes 
who generates new life from seed of faith 
so our child reincarnates our two souls 
in body for immortal god of genes. 

When I was wondering lost in Wonderland, 
dazed by bright idols of so many gods 
that humans worship as great characters 
to imitate through performance of life, 
Orpheus grabs my shoulders with sly grin 
and teaches me weird mystery of rebirth. 

Now that I have the long-lost Holy Grail 
sitting by my computer on the bookshelf, 
its silver curve mirroring my God Soul, 
I resurrect my darlings from blank book 
by writing spells with raven quill of faith 
dipped in sparkling dragon blood of respect. 

Since I am temporary node of flesh 
in long-evolving vine of divine genes, 
awake with memories of timeless joy 
which my ancestors lived to program me, 
I strum the lyre of Mercury and sing 
till I disperse in swirl of nothingness. 

Immortal Soul Of Phoebus

Immortal Soul Of Phoebus
© Surazeus
2026 10 15

From each psychic node of the matrix beams 
integral vector of expressive thought, 
tangled in homeostatic words of faith, 
bound on its journey to become itself 
and maintain grounded equilibrium 
through inner peace despite pressures of change. 

Staring in abyss of his hollow heart, 
Phoebus wonders with sly smirk of disdain 
if he might be the serpent of his songs 
whose writhing passion, coiled to spring on wings 
of fierce ambition to breach gates of Heaven, 
motivates his mission to mock proud gods. 

When lonely Python of his hungry heart 
slithers from cave of illusions at dawn, 
emerging from wordless darkness of doubt, 
Phoebus strums strings on lyre of Mercury, 
hums softly to harmonize scratchy voice 
of cautious hope, then sings strange spell of truth. 

Gripping wood handle of the rusty hoe, 
Phoebus scratches furrows in stubborn soil 
to sow seeds of new hope with eager hands, 
then bears buckets of water from the river 
many hours every day with aching back 
to nurture sprouts that blossom from his heart. 

For ten thousand years, through life after life, 
immortal soul of Phoebus in his genes 
tends crops of wheat transforming soil to flour, 
to feed regeneration of his mind 
till he begins to understand the Why 
that fuels process of dream analysis. 

Ascended master of the holy light, 
that beams through wounded heart of innocence, 
Phoebus bears lyre of Mercury in hand 
while treading signless road of curious dawn, 
and sings hymn of creation in each town 
where farmers dance to rhythm of his heart. 

From endless centuries of labor blooms 
enlightened seer with cosmic eyes of stars 
whose verse projects grand vision of Earth Dream 
which frames our new world view with guiding law 
that renders superstitions obsolete 
while guiding play of life we all perform. 

Each prophet rising from lush fields of truth 
speaks with great voice of all humanity, 
depicting social system that sustains, 
through equal justice for each conscious soul, 
progress of the lone individual 
to live through liberty for all the world. 

Lady Of The Diamond Star

Lady Of The Diamond Star
© Surazeus
2026 10 15

When I find basalt tombs of sorcerers 
unshattered by proverbs of sacred books, 
I answer nothing to immortal nymphs 
who fly shrieking at me from qualming spring 
because I am the Who unprophesied by Death, 
nor is there any reason why I Am. 

I keep it secret that the Three Maries 
based operations of the Holy Grail 
in eerie grotto of Sainte-Baume massif 
from which our Merovingian tribe of seers 
expanded reign of Magdalene and Christ 
who rule Gothinia past two thousand years. 

I wish I could see eyes of Radegund, 
bright with faith in beauty of this world, 
which manifests conceptual forms of truth, 
while I recite verse of my loyal heart 
from sharp whispers of her Sibylline voice 
that glows bright in dark days of Sirius. 

Someday I hope to follow Ocean Way 
sailed by the Three Maries to hills of Mars, 
piloted also over seamless waves 
by fluent dolphin who saved Arion, 
so I may find lyre Venantius strummed 
beneath shaken fruits of Elysium. 

Though few may understand dream of my heart, 
arranged in puzzles of socialized tropes, 
I sing grand Vision of Apocalypse 
through Revelation of the Laughing Snake 
whom brave Apollo tamed with melodies 
depicting Lady of the Diamond Star. 

Because I am no pair of ragged claws 
scuttling across the floors of silent seas, 
I wear wood mask of Christ Pantocrator 
to fool the devil of the modern world 
when I seize means of production with spells 
that conjure virtual model of One Earth. 

Now under Tree of Knowledge by the lake, 
where demons of greed lurk in wounded hearts, 
I carol praise for leader of the world 
who crowns Wise Woman with respectful wreath 
to restore faith of Radegund with hope 
that Son of Meroveus will rise again. 

White star of Sirius, that twinkles swift 
with flashing scintillation of weird truth, 
which guided brave Venantius up steep path 
to liberal palace of wise Magdalene, 
illuminates path where I walk today 
to grotto where soul of Mercury waits. 

Mercurial Song Of Grace

Mercurial Song Of Grace
© Surazeus
2026 10 14

As long as I can give you all my love, 
my heart will flow with energy of hope 
that springs from fountain of unending joy 
through admiration for all vibrant souls 
who spring from dream of Earth in human form 
for we are spirit of the stars alive. 

When I leave love notes in the hollow tree 
as field guide to haunted forest of love, 
we find they transform into honeycombs 
that drip with memories of secret hours 
we spend together by the citrus tree 
where crow of wisdom sings about our joy. 

Though leaves of time swirl red in chilly wind 
as harbinger of change in mountain air, 
I hear cry of the owl in misty woods 
who brings strange story from the distant vale 
that Death stalks Beauty of the human soul 
whose spirits vanish with flowers in snow. 

When I decode fortune of apple peels, 
that randomly reveal in curls of fear 
new axiom of our deconstructed truth, 
my mind perceives big picture of the world 
unfolding process from vast social change 
when I trace effects to their primal cause. 

Rewriting inner story of my heart, 
through brave steps of attentive ardency 
each day I transcend limits of my being, 
I find that I have courage of tall trees 
to be where my feet are on road of life, 
so I erect signs to guide the lost home. 

To implement with calm diplomacy 
firm state of universal peace on Earth, 
I invest fiducial standard of growth 
in manufacture of war machinery 
designed to organize angelic code 
through strict enforcement of fair global law. 

Awakened by mercurial song of grace 
that horses sing on river shores of love, 
I channel grief through laughter of dawn rain 
reflecting deep compassion of my heart, 
born from deep magic at the dawn of time, 
for every conscious being that lives on Earth. 

Emerging from dark well of innocence, 
with writhing runes of serpentine foresight, 
I join song of free horses on wild hills, 
then bring strange treasure to hard city streets 
as fruit that heals the wounded heart of souls 
who thrive with love that fountains from my heart. 

Find The Silver Moon

Find The Silver Moon
© Surazeus
2026 10 14

After I am done leaping in the air 
while wading in burning flowers of faith 
with the passion of the sun in my mouth, 
I will deconstruct the mystery of flesh 
to find the silver moon inside my brain 
that sends me singing forty million years. 

After I am done dashing against darkness 
with closed eyes of innocent arrogance 
in the sleepless curves of my dream-coiled body, 
I will resurrect the mystery of soul 
to find the frantic sea inside my heart 
that leaves me stranded on the beach of time. 

Or maybe I will watch the lonely leaf 
that falls as oneness of humanity 
with each new generation of bright souls 
that comes and goes in seasons of desire 
till we are swept away by tides of change 
through revolution of the laughing snake. 

I find no people on the spinning Earth 
except blind robots wearing masks of gods 
who fight each other for the Promised Land 
that burns from revolution of the fooled 
at shocking revelation of the truth 
brought by wounded hands of messiah sleuth. 

Before I begin to leap spinning worlds 
across pearl necklace of the multiverse 
to meet the doppelgangers of my being, 
I will reconstruct the mystery of mind 
in computer processor of my brain 
programmed to perform role of God on Earth. 

Before I begin to recalibrate 
piston engine of the time-machine car 
to explore the world, sea to shining sea, 
I will reincarnate lithe Mercury 
as son of Saturn strumming lyre of truth 
to sing satires about the haughty king. 

Or maybe I will live with Anyone 
in the pretty how town of anywhere 
against common decency of lust 
to paint images of new global ghosts 
on rose windows in cathedral of tales 
where floating bells design Astarian Creed. 

I meet strange people in world maze of streets 
who all say they remember Sisyphus 
working as manager for Wonderland 
where Saraswati in the hotel lounge 
sings about new empire of Jupiter 
through revelation of the laughing snake. 

Fertile Globe Of Ranika

Fertile Globe Of Ranika
© Surazeus
2026 10 14

When I wake in the World between the Worlds, 
after finding ring my grandmother hid 
in dream-tangled roots of the apple tree, 
I wander among pools to other worlds, 
wondering which one I should visit today, 
till I hear strange siren song of my heart. 

Diving into pool where Narcissus drowned, 
I swim ten million lightyears across space 
to the other side of our galaxy 
where I wake on the world of my heart 
created by the wise witch Ranika 
who gives me book for me to write dream spells. 

Beside tall goddess with ten million eyes 
and glass wings that span mountains and seas, 
I climb Stairway to Heaven of her heart 
to stroll vast avenue of ziggurats 
where sprawling palaces of gleaming gems 
glitter with divine light of countless stars. 

Ascending diamond stairs of ardent faith, 
we enter palace of Hyperion, 
enormous god with countless twirling wings, 
who gives me crystal sphere with Eye of Truth 
that depicts animated history of life 
on every planet in the universe. 

Transforming into lion with twelve eyes, 
Hyperion sings attentive hymn of hope 
that conjures planet from dream of my brain, 
so I give Goddess Ranika my heart 
who holds my hand with beaming smile of love, 
then we teleport to garden of fruit. 

Sly serpent with electric eyes of fear 
attempts to hypnotize my aching heart 
with vision of myself as emperor 
who rules ten billion worlds of loyal souls, 
but I laugh at his lies of haughty greed, 
which banishes his hate in gentle breeze. 

When Ranika returns from Salithor, 
great city where her people farm and build, 
wise goddess of industrial workmanship 
gives me new raven quill and parchment scroll, 
so I compose in quick Saturnian verse 
epic poem about curious scientists. 

Returning to the World between the Worlds, 
through pool from fertile globe of Ranika, 
I resurrect as Narcissus with faith, 
so I follow heart-breaking song of love 
to find sweet Echo by her apple tree 
who blushes as we embrace with respect. 

My Journey Nowhere Else

My Journey Nowhere Else
© Surazeus
2026 10 13

Because the spring sun is the saddest ghost 
that lingers mute in autumn innocence, 
I write my name in dust of alleyways 
to trace path of my journey nowhere else 
on endless quest to find the beautiful 
that shimmers in the fractured hearts of strangers. 

Amazed at flash in swelling clouds of time 
that imitate vast wings of cherubim 
which hovers over city maze of fate, 
I choose to tell lonely strangers I meet 
I am incarnation of Mercury 
though no one can see the wings on my feet. 

Paused on shore of the god-reflecting lake, 
I look for the Road Not Taken that spans 
lush meadows and bleak deserts of my heart, 
but all I see is the High Road of Fate 
where Orpheus leads blind ghosts of the dead 
who may arrive in Heaven before me. 

Though Atossa has painted every wall 
white with blood of angels to camouflage 
sorrows of children wounded in harsh wars, 
she sings strange beauty of our spinning Earth 
to celebrate this transient life of joy 
which inspires compassion to bloom in me. 

Though I doubt conscious entity called God 
creates this universe with clear design, 
I love how people gather in their church 
to sing about strange beauty of this world, 
and share tales of their struggles to survive 
to support each other in quest for love. 

Escaping dirty streets of rain-drenched cities, 
crowded with people driven from lush vales 
by greedy barons in castles of hate, 
my ancestors sailed to America 
and built new homes in lush Missouri vales 
where they sang hymns by River of Star Eyes. 

Startled by ephemeral glow of desire 
that radiates from bodies of human souls, 
I plot birth of the new energy field 
that weaves many nations in one world state, 
united by respect for liberty 
that nurtures equal justice for all people. 

So when I call God on the telephone 
to ask about why people suffer pain, 
he chuckles and explains with rainbow beams 
that he is but some story character 
invented by kings to keep men afraid, 
then we meet by the lake of stars to fish. 

Flowers In Field Of Fate

Flowers In Field Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 10 13

The faceless ghost of the person I love 
haunts my heart as the absence of their being 
because my brain with lonely ache projects 
idol of their essence in empty air 
so I seem to feel their presence still near 
when their shade picks flowers in field of fate. 

The apparition of their gleaming face 
remains unmoving in old photographs 
recording features of their transient being 
at fleeting moment in that bygone hour 
that we carelessly thought would never cease 
when their shade picks flowers in field of fate. 

The laughing specter of their vibrant soul, 
masked by play of their joyful character, 
seems to dance forever in movie reels 
preserving sport of their mischievous tricks 
that makes my heart ache with nostalgic pride 
when their shade picks flowers in field of fate. 

The writhing wraith of heartbreaking anguish, 
wounded by random pranks of tragedy, 
conceals harsh suffering that they endured 
in mute sorrow they tried to hide from me, 
tainting their spirit as much as their joy, 
when their shade picks flowers in field of fate. 

The traces of their existence remain 
as poignant scent of their long-vanished essence 
that lingers through electric flash of hope 
in eerie crackles after drenching rain 
that fools my heart to think I feel them close 
when their shade picks flowers in field of fate. 

The woeful phantom of my cherished one, 
too long abstracted from subjective scope 
of my oblivious mind in truant plight, 
lurks ever near antenna of my heart 
so I hear whisper of their thoughts in dream 
when their shade picks flowers in field of fate. 

The sudden spook of their revenant soul, 
which my brain conjures from lost memories, 
fools me to hope their consciousness remains 
in whole coherent frame of their true self, 
yet I know they have vanished from this world 
when their shade picks flowers in field of fate. 

The mindless shadow of the soul I love 
remains as bright illusion in my brain 
so they seem to live in my memories, 
still active in clear dramatic replay, 
though I will never see their face again 
when their shade picks flowers in field of fate. 

While Talking To My Mother

While Talking To My Mother
© Surazeus
2026 10 13

While talking to my mother about truth, 
I reach hand to pluck fruit from Tree of Life  
when gold-eyed serpent with four rainbow wings 
tricks me to believe that Star Man in the Cloud 
will punish me if I eat fruit of knowledge 
so I eat it with heart-poisoning guilt. 

While talking to my mother about trust, 
she tells me she met my father for tryst 
in Tree of Knowledge by the demon pool 
so I run through bright flowers in the field 
to escape the man in the wolf-fur cloak 
who begs me to play bride at his cave hearth. 

While talking to my mother about hope, 
I struggle gasping to climb mountain slope, 
then stand on moon-high peak of howling wind 
to survey world of rivers between hills 
that spins through ocean of electric stars 
which swirl around me as cupids on wings. 

While talking to my mother about faith, 
I perceive vision of immortal wraith 
that rises from her transient frame of flesh 
as ancient goddess with ten million eyes 
who teaches me to generate new life 
from ambitious passion of the Wolf Man. 

While talking to my mother about love, 
I learn from her how to mold wheat in loaf 
which I bake in hot oven of my heart 
till I give birth to bread with blinking eyes 
who smiles when I hum hymn of holy breath 
that fills his body with spirit of life. 

While talking to my mother about fear, 
I watch my son construct and wield sharp spear 
from stick and stone he hones with honest courage, 
then wear fur cape to hunt monsters of rage 
which he kills with attentive strike of power 
when lightning strikes bright as the yarrow flower. 

While talking to my mother about fate, 
I choose to open wide the city gate 
so refugees from wars for fertile land, 
fought fiercely between gods on ziggurats, 
name me Zilpa with the Generous Hand 
when I host feast in Temple of the Wolf. 

While talking to my mother about death, 
I listen to her pray with her last breath 
that I might understand essence of life 
which I mold in bodies as mother-wife 
and raise my sons, Gad and Asher, to rule 
empire of wisdom with the sacred tool. 

Assertive Code Of Grace

Assertive Code Of Grace
© Surazeus
2026 10 12

Time fractured by assertive code of grace 
expands too far beyond calm afternoons 
to shroud lush dells in sanguine bitterness 
that widows would exchange for bowls of flour 
to fry blueberry pancakes at midnight 
for wanderers to feast without regret. 

When children of the new empire return 
from foreign lands with boxes of false dreams, 
we delegate our thinking to machines 
that throw our family photos in the trash 
after recording them in holy books 
depicting conflict between psychic queens. 

When agents of the empire shoot the moon, 
then knock at doors of loyal warriors, 
we hide our treasures behind broken doors 
to prove we worship with taxes of wheat 
the right god on the pyramid of skulls 
who pays us on holiday of his birth. 

No Christmas bells ring clear across the land 
where snow encases corpses of dead kings 
in dark deserted tombs of arrogance 
so we assemble on high mound of poles 
to dance around wild flames of innocence 
and sing of revolution against greed. 

Thirteen centuries later I extract 
skulls of great gods from fractured tombs of time 
so people of the land may see what fate 
bold time decrees with solemn certitude 
for every conscious being who walks the Earth, 
even those who proclaim themselves as gods. 

Bright angels with ten thousand star-gold eyes 
descend from glowing cloud of solitude 
to beam illusions of divine desire 
which animates my body with God Soul 
that claims state of immortality 
because I dream my Self since dawn of time. 

Alone beneath dome of the Pantheon 
I sit at Round Table of Liberty 
to reassemble world view of my brain 
that my ancestors design through each life, 
but I keep secret vision of my heart 
because I dwell in the real Heaven now. 

So I race motorboat across the lake 
and toss books of salvation in the deep 
where they transform to serpents with star eyes 
that form electric runes of cosmic spells 
which I chant to restore democracy 
on firm foundation of all human hearts. 

Illusions Of Superior Pride

Illusions Of Superior Pride
© Surazeus
2026 10 12

Inspired by calm of stone immortal gods 
that dwell in grand museums of lost faith, 
I walk the melting road of anywhere 
to play my own role in wild game of life 
with sculptured heart of greatness that provides 
urgent compassion for people I meet. 

Inspired by quicker wisdom of the Earth 
that surges through my fragile frame of flesh, 
I ask disputed shades of long-dead gods 
if they can teach me how to understand 
what people need to strengthen weaknesses 
so they rise from their sorrow with new hope. 

Inspired by treatises of hungry hope 
that drive us to evolve as we seek truth, 
I frame tall trees in my sunlit backyard 
with eerie atmosphere of one strange day 
that radiates from my childhood with strange truth 
when goddess of the rock appeared to me. 

Inspired by glimmer of your thoughtless eyes 
that watch me draw hope from harsh misery, 
I range through shadows of blind cherubim 
that hover over us in city maze 
with dreadful beauty of the winter wind 
that strips illusions of superior pride. 

Inspired by her apocalyptic tongue 
that writes new scripture for these shocking times, 
I doubt the cold success that Heaven beams 
through contemplation of our mortal lives 
framed by immortal process of soul growth 
so we restore our sabotaged free will. 

Inspired by leased certificates to lust 
that wound our hearts with libertarian faith, 
I raise my hands to mindless cloud of God 
and prophesy brave deeds through epic tales 
that mirror fractured fantasies we grasp 
as tides of change disrupt our way of life. 

Inspired by swagger of the haughty fool 
who crowns himself new king of nowhere else, 
I ride calm horse across the countryside 
with fierce compassion of neurotic love 
though our world view diminishes from hate 
that seizes hearts of souls abused by greed. 

Inspired by sensual passion of fruit trees 
that roar with horror when human tribes fight, 
I draft new litany of conquered lands 
which I observe from high Parthenon throne, 
to redesign world empire of true faith 
based on equal justice for everyone.