Azure Purity Of Being

Azure Purity Of Being
© Surazeus
2026 04 16

My heart has become the weird moon in the stream 
fused with infinity through secret words 
that shine as essence at the core of things 
which I perceive with telepathic vibe 
that dissolves barrier blocking my soul 
through impalpable serenity of being. 

Struck by hot blood of sunlight on my skin 
I stretch beyond horizon of my body 
to swirl with soil in water of my brain 
that leaves me standing as sky of the world 
transformed from light to trees and animals 
who blaze with azure purity of being. 

Despite joy-twisting despair that we die, 
I bloom with disconsolate shock of truth 
that we are so alive this vibrant hour 
as flames of energy in pulsing flesh 
which has evolved four hundred million years, 
immortal soul of genes reborn in me. 

I am the distant blueness of the sky 
which emanates from hard core of the Earth 
through swirling passion of beautiful fear 
that drives my progress to become myself 
till I am not the I I dream I am 
because I walk beside me as God Self. 

I become the I I find in the world 
whose spirit merges with my fragile soul 
through strange celestial breath of writhing words 
that thread my brain in fabric of all time 
when I meet mirror image of myself 
who changes into someone else I love. 

Growing old on winding road of my life, 
where I have wandered nowhere randomly, 
I pause and look back at my younger selves 
who separate in clones I am no more 
as shadows gleaming in each open door 
who will remain after I am long gone. 

Once I remove all the masks I have worn, 
which will always reveal another mask, 
I become no one, and yet everyone 
who has ever lived on this spinning globe, 
so when you search for me in songs I write 
you will find nothing but your own true self. 

Joining ancient choir of the human soul, 
I sing with tongue of the invisible 
in harmony with poets of the past 
whose dream-maps guide my clumsy way past fear 
so I rejoice in beauty of this world 
that shines with visible atoms of thought. 

Silver Swan Of Truth

Silver Swan Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 04 16

Dark similitude of her image glows 
as seraph hovering over me with wings 
of ancient wisdom mirrored by the moon 
when she appears as silver swan of truth 
that sprinkles snow of beauty on my head 
so I imagine I am Socrates. 

Her timeless eyes that gleam with countless stars 
unveil bright nothingness in everything 
yet flash through flowing waves of molecules 
in sweet harmonious music of the spheres 
which oscillate between opposing poles 
to weave our souls in matrix of God Mind. 

Inspired by Tree of Knowledge by the lake 
that dances in soft breeze one hundred years, 
I stand as second shadow to her soul 
just as the wise seer Theodore foretold 
who shows me how to see with dreamless eyes 
Realm of Ideas beyond the visible. 

With mind untrammeled by religious creeds 
I outfly nets of mutability 
based on dream map that Theodore designed 
by navigating shadows of this world 
that bind my soul to limits of my body 
though my brain explores weird infinity. 

I hitchhike far across the Evening Land 
with lyre of Mercury in my left hand, 
and on my journey beyond truth I knew 
I find out what I am in my world view, 
because we blaze in preternatural light 
till we all vanish in mute dreamless night. 

Since I am made of atoms shining bright 
with brave attentive force of selfless love, 
I am concept of God we humans made 
attempting wake wise inside my brain 
which gleams as prism in its neural net 
refracting God Mind in my transient self. 

Eight billion humans living on this Earth 
are every one one fragment of One God 
for we all spring from one maternal mind, 
First Mother who still dreams inside our brains 
since she stood startled by the Lake of Stars 
and sang clear visions of her loving heart. 

Though driven down the signless road of hope 
by bleak despair of hunger for weird truth, 
I rise from shadow of my single self 
to feel First Mother wake inside my mind 
so I expand scope of bright consciousness 
to sing with joy while knowing I will die. 

Vibrant Flash Of Faith

Vibrant Flash Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 04 15

If she knows why stars incarnate as flowers, 
she hides the secret as math formulas 
in the chemistry textbook of her heart, 
and only smiles while we dance to the music 
that radiates from the singing stone of truth 
which flashes mirror eyes of lonely souls. 

Since she remembers why the Javan Myna 
taught her how to fly when she was still young, 
she fries corned beef sandwich on sourdough bread 
with sauerkraut, Swiss cheese, and island dressing, 
which we enjoy with sharp Italian wine, 
after which we sit on the porch and ponder. 

Because she has nothing special to prove 
concerning strange color of innocence, 
she rides silver bike to the river shore, 
where nothing dramatic ever occurs, 
to paint secret faces of the Blue Sky 
as shimmer reflected in the road pool. 

Confident she contains crowds of blind ghosts 
who encode her secrets in photographs, 
she sails small river boat on gleaming waves 
where choir of fish sing cosmic melodies 
before the peacock with luminous wings 
that transforms into proud Queen of the Earth. 

Erased by history books she never reads, 
she cooks to feed her children with calm care 
and cleans their clothes so they can play their role, 
till she becomes the body of their house, 
enclosed inside polished box of her heart, 
which she takes with her when she walks away. 

Drunk from imbibing spiced Dragon Brain Wine, 
brewed from honey and psychedelic mushrooms, 
she flies broom of the oak tree among clouds 
to feed expansive emptiness of truth 
with swirling energy contained in fruit 
that weaves memories of gods in her brain. 

Inspired by flood of the apocalypse 
that smashes institutions of state power, 
she surfs tsunami waves of social change 
with grim elation of justice for all 
when she embraces vibrant flash of faith 
to help Nature cleanse our world of cruel hate. 

Unaware I requite her secret feelings, 
she scrapes raw skin of passionate desire 
against granite fortitude of my heart 
so we savor transient bliss of pure love 
that wakes our hearts with vibrant flash of faith 
before we grow old and decay to silence. 

Immodest Seraph Of Fate

Immodest Seraph Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 04 15

Because stars have names that describe their glow, 
I walk around the neighborhood of doors, 
curious about angels who occupy 
empty rooms where faceless people consider 
why secret smudge in the back of our souls 
obscures celestial light inside our brains. 

Though I realize the longest way back home 
is thirteen times around our spinning globe, 
I live with circus of the weeping clown 
on lost island where oranges are not bombs 
designed by immodest seraph of fate 
who charges me for parking in her garden. 

Nothing is spotless in house of desire 
except the screaming clock of happiness 
that teaches me to count eternity 
as blind apprentice stuck at the crossroads 
where sapphire of intensity gleams eyes 
of time-entangled gods in human flesh. 

When I break open fresh-baked loaf of bread, 
searing light of the condensed sun expands 
scope of memory flashing through my brain 
so I remember stumbling in dark rain 
because huge shadow of the angry man 
lurks behind gate of home my father built. 

Discolored scene of urgent lassitude 
defeats perverse order of faded prayers 
stalled by gracious flowers of fragile chimes 
that trap me outside my own space and time 
as if my face reveals continuum 
through dramatic suddenness of soft waves. 

Fear hesitates to antagonize honest souls 
who float suspended in sequestered state 
between survival and global success 
based on refreshing absence of desire 
to question how verbal systems of truth 
reframe old events with new moral laws. 

Disinterested in tactics of regret, 
I measure how the storm of social change 
transforms weariness of the hungry world 
to special promises through rivalry 
unique to our obsessive age of hope 
where people sell motives to stay alive. 

Mirage of paradise that blinds our eyes 
presents potential hazard to the heart, 
explained by immodest seraph of fate 
as fashion brokered by the searching soul 
based in arguments carved on cliffs of faith 
since we never meet at the broken door. 

Fragile Wings Of Thought

Fragile Wings Of Thought
© Surazeus
2026 04 14

Arrested by white lightning of the mind, 
I see strange demon outside looking in 
at how I translate flowers into juice 
that veils indifference Nature twists in trees 
which reassemble molecules of souls 
from wolfish passion to serenity. 

Love pulses subtly with portentous pride 
at mute confession no one dares express 
since darkness molds truth from attentive time 
aligned with psychic cause of liberty 
that we embody through obsessive play 
to build world empire from small colony. 

Concerned how rainbows pierce our aching hearts 
at fraction of the cost to produce dreams, 
I split expansive spectrum in huge books 
designed to photograph the blazing towers 
from which mad gods fall far on crippled wings 
who stare through windows at our cheerful feasts. 

Unbreakable soul of calm honesty 
decides to play no drama on world stage 
in vain attempt to parcel land in shards 
where children of dead gods design new games 
while running freely in cathedral hall 
beneath high arching heavens of regret. 

Our world keeps spinning in the silent void, 
sphere bound by writhing threads of energy 
that weave neural net of my dreaming brain 
with Ungod dwelling in Garden of Zarth 
which shimmers everywhere brave men explore 
because we celebrate core nothingness. 

If death preserves our fleeting memories 
in countless four-walled rooms of privacy 
against assertion of dramatic sun 
who sits in garden of accomplishments, 
we humbly walk with Death on signless road 
because our starlight bodies will decay. 

My new ethereal life of casual play 
presumes ontology designed by Fate 
who nurtures Garden of Hesperides 
to prove existing objects are more real 
than pretty concepts conjured in my mind 
which float away on fragile wings of thought. 

Shocked by how Hope mocks mortal fleetingness 
as gift of nothingness humans enjoy, 
I write new mental program in dream code 
to give each human power of the rain 
that falls in steady streams of liquid masks 
explaining why we give each other names. 

Tearing Roots Of Sorrow

Tearing Roots Of Sorrow
© Surazeus
2026 04 14

If Linda wants to sing of seeing time 
unfold our steadfast stars of frozen hope, 
then she may record riddles birds express 
to measure magnitude of selfish love 
since we are fragile flames of consciousness 
that flicker out before we understand. 

Since Linda perceives what is difficult 
with easy effort of the fractured moon, 
she might exchange beauty of her dream world 
to formulate new code for what is real, 
for she is fierce sprite of the cityscape 
who centers herself till she disappears. 

Disinterested in obvious metaphors 
that hollow space for absence of the heart, 
spry Linda notes that wind heaves in wild trees 
with quiet warmness of enclosing walls 
shaped by sharp subtlety of full-moon rays 
that wrap black sky around her plastic face. 

Through incomplete sentences of desire 
that strike list of observations on walls, 
snarky Linda leads us to hall of masks 
where we stand with her before too-square frames 
that subject fluid personalities 
with clumsy variables of dream syntax. 

Teaching our eyes to see uncanny truth 
which emanates from unnatural fragments 
of puzzles formed from dreams everyone shares, 
curious Linda places broken quill 
in my trembling hand with intimate smile 
and urges me to write spells with my blood. 

Amazed at spare beauty of gentle song 
that she unearths from ancient monoliths 
by tearing roots of sorrow from our hearts, 
grim Linda tells us how all things we see 
are shapes Death molds from rotten flesh of lust 
for we see each other with eyes of death. 

I interrupt her chant of thoughtful prayers 
in tangled conversation with blind ghosts 
to insist that I see with eyes of life 
because I love every person on Earth 
whose statues camouflage their emptiness 
which echoes strange abandonment of words. 

Her clear-eyed gaze of silent intellect 
strips mask of haughty pride from off my face, 
so we eat apple pie on the back porch 
then sing with crickets in the river reeds 
enraged at vow of silence Linda keeps 
when she transcribes their happy loneliness. 

Mezuzah Of World Dream

Mezuzah Of World Dream
© Surazeus
2026 04 13

Because I am the door through which I pass 
when I transform from my parents to me, 
I stretch my body on conceptual grass 
with luxuriant ennui of the free, 
yet strangers write on tablet of my heart 
their stories that compose my moral chart. 

I stand on dim-lit stage in quaint cafe 
to read my confessions with poet voice 
in spells that trap my spirit in cliche, 
designed to imitate how gods rejoice, 
but I stare in starless void with silent thought, 
then pretend I am the naive robot. 

Though I study figures on Grecian Urn 
with passionate sense of dire urgency, 
I wonder when Fortune will give me turn 
to measure my spiritual vergency 
that indicates focal power of rain 
to refract the Divine Mind through my brain. 

I shall not weep at the clarion call 
that wakes my spirit from tomb of dead words, 
so I paint my dream with blood on church wall 
when angels translate prophecies of birds 
to tragic tale of Tristan and Isolde 
who found world empire on desolate wold. 

When Friedrich rolls away the cryptic stone, 
exposing bones of Jesus in dark tomb, 
I call my father on the telephone 
who tells me secret of maternal womb 
is bound by symbol of the Holy Grail 
from mountain wind that billows my ship sail. 

I sail the Seven Seas in Ship of State 
to colonize the fertile wilderness 
with secret map that helps me navigate 
Scylla and Charybdis from Inverness 
where Rapunzel in tower of star eyes 
trains our daughter to manage psychic spies. 

As I approach Temple of Poseidon, 
that glows on promontory by the sea, 
on my journey from Isle of Avalon, 
Haniel, Angel of Serenity, 
gives me glass tablet of world history 
so I write psalms about the Mystery. 

Haniel bears Mezuzah of World Dream 
while ascending ziggurat steps of faith, 
which she gives to wise Ishtar with esteem 
who sings hymn of the transcendent Star Wraith, 
composed of all our souls woven in light, 
who teaches humans art of spirit flight. 

Crown Of Infertile Pride

Crown Of Infertile Pride
© Surazeus
2026 04 13

If bloodless corpse of the drowned sailor crawls 
cackling from brackish sorrow of the sea, 
zombie followers of the vampire god 
proclaim him new messiah of their cause, 
and crown his fractured skull of rotten muck 
with powerless crown of infertile pride. 

Yet none will call for Ahab to return 
from graveyard of grim heroes time forgot, 
imbued with monstrous energy of hope, 
to play Poseidon and shake Earth again 
with regulating plan that realigns 
old world order in new alliances. 

Resurrected from harrowed brine of power, 
Leviathan raises high ten-horned head, 
dripping with oiled backwash of battleships, 
to roar assertive commands which should prove 
strength of authority enforces law 
against rising tides of rebellious states. 

Weakened by aggressive angst of despair 
at mockery of ministers with calm masks, 
King Midas lumbers clumsily to thwart 
clamorous voices that protest his lies 
while he wallows with sealion contempt 
in wounded pride of toxic vanity. 

Still stuck in ash-pit of Jehoshaphat, 
the self-deluded prince of bitterness 
lurches against coiled serpent of regret, 
shouting curses at prophets to deny 
crimes he commits against humanity 
with slavish corruption of cruel contempt. 

Fierce waves of retribution swell from Hell 
in surging formulations of strict law, 
designed by blind powers of the Blue Sky 
to expose supercilious disdain 
King Midas expresses with envious snarl, 
outraged his devil wings are clipped by truth. 

Evolved from sweet slime of our Mother Sea, 
we stand upright beneath the Tree of Knowledge 
to declare with voice of supremacy 
how we will bend bright rainbow of our will 
against harsh indifference of the wild sea 
that smashes our empire to shards of lies. 

Though we are no more humble penitents, 
we take off civilized shoes of concern 
and walk barefoot endless miles to attain 
wisdom from poisoned whirlpool of Shiloah 
that causes us to choke on principles 
twisting our hearts with shocked hypocrisy. 

Puzzle Of Disparate Truths

Puzzle Of Disparate Truths
© Surazeus
2026 04 12

Exquisite beauty of soft floating snow 
resurrects death in lush leaves on tall trees, 
assembling puzzle of disparate truths 
in mirror mask Nature wears to revive 
aching spirit of my heart with mute love 
so I long to walk with you in bright woods. 

Snow flakes supply sweet angel tears of light 
that nourish roots of fruit trees so they mold 
sunlight to cherries, apples, pears, and grapes 
which nurture human souls of transient flesh 
with clear immortal water from Blue Sky 
who blesses fields where wheat sprouts from our hearts. 

Annoyed that eggs she finds in underbrush 
crack in large basket she wove from tree twigs, 
Celta notes eggs gleam safe on tufts of grass 
so she tears handfuls from bounty of fate 
and pads its bottom with layer of softness 
that protects eggs she collects from getting cracked. 

Returning to kurgan mound by the lake, 
first built by grandfather of her grandfather, 
Celta slips behind thick veil of grape vines 
to enter chambered cairn where she dwells safe, 
hangs herbs above workbench of oak to dry, 
then boils eggs in copper pot in hot hearth. 

Hungry for fish roasted with herbs and oil, 
Celta carries pack with net and long pole 
to silver lake between pine-shrouded hills 
where she casts net to fill basket with fish, 
then digs mussels from slurping river muck 
as sparrows chirp in alders on the ridge. 

Stepping over stones to climb narrow trail, 
Celta pauses when she sees in large cave 
wild wolf man with long matted hair and beard 
who holds cracked turtle shell with two deer horns 
and sings strange anthem as he plucks gut strings 
in lamentation at heart-breaking loss. 

Reaching out his hand with gesture of trust, 
Wilkus offers her ride in river boat, 
so Celta sits on prow bench as he rows 
across bright lake lashed by sudden wind storm 
that causes her to fall against his chest 
and hold him tight as he strives for safe shore. 

Warm and dry together in chambered cairn, 
Wilkus and Celta consume roasted fish, 
drink spiced grape wine with relish of desire, 
share tragic tale of Tristan and Isolde, 
then kiss and make love on thick wolf-fur rug 
as butterfly flutters around their heads. 

Now Unspoken Mirroring

Now Unspoken Mirroring
© Surazeus
2026 04 12

Audacities of faithless innocence 
confuse transactions of honest exchange 
with enraptured lust from austerity 
that realigns resemblance we discharge 
through act of avoidance subtle as shouts 
caressing contours of absence we share. 

Elliptical words misexpress desire 
in tune with fierce emotional restraint 
that stalls deliverance of shocked release 
at passionate blast of erotic thoughts 
through warm compassion of the fallen heart 
seduced by hot metaphors of syntax. 

If I negotiate with casual fear 
to uncover judgement of wordless taste, 
against progression of the absolute, 
I might become subject to honesty, 
brutal with now unspoken mirroring 
that feels intimate at pause of the touch. 

Each turn of sudden sentences we share 
through struggle to convey new moral strands 
excludes our tendency to ramble far 
at penetration of the curious mind 
which intimates our fraught mortality 
at soft obstruction of respite from death. 

Siphoned by sorrow of bland nothingness, 
my shriveled heart sneers at bitter reproach 
contained by consoling voices of wind 
more provocative than sacred regret 
for essential disarray of fake psalms 
that smear sentiments of blood on dead grass. 

If essence of my self emerges clear 
from poisoned nimbus of untasted lips, 
I contemplate aggressive force of life 
that drives divergence of my fractured brain 
from viable range of accepted masks, 
forged by fantasy of family romance. 

Trapped in contemporary culture games, 
as model for psychic material 
contrived to mediate ranges of being, 
I extract facile conclusions from books 
torn by complex language of vanity 
with congenital need for solitude. 

Organized violence of mental spells 
through subtle encroachment of earnest play 
injects sharp charm in our zero-sum game 
involving innocent laughter at soft shock 
of nuclear flash tangential to life 
that focuses attention on desire. 

Strangeness Of Reality

Strangeness Of Reality
© Surazeus
2026 04 12

Entranced by strangeness of reality, 
I kneel in cathedral of burning light 
and contemplate significance of death 
since Nature is indifferent to me, 
till I feel swell from abyss of my heart 
immense divinity of nothingness. 

Annoyed by strangeness of reality, 
I measure magnitude of silent dark 
till I find patterns of normality 
in swirling chaos of atomic change 
that flashes glimmer of the knowing eye 
perceiving lucence of the gaseous soul. 

Inspired by strangeness of reality, 
I thread quick waves of particles in web 
designed to mimic puzzle of unknowns 
contained by figure of the conscious soul 
whose mind arranges colors into shapes 
then labels them with sentimental names. 

Insured by strangeness of reality, 
I purchase credible theology 
encoded in proverbs of social memes 
that arrange themselves as meaning in minds 
concerned with certainties of changeless truths 
unraveling our world view into myth. 

Surprised by strangeness of reality, 
I observe new sonic parameters 
contained by constant flashing entropy 
that might suggest strict rites of honesty 
along path of least resistance to find 
well of salvation in the frosted field. 

Disturbed by strangeness of reality, 
I conjure whimsical image of truth 
to practice metaphysics of respect 
for diaphanous mask my spirit wears 
when I play demiurge of spectral verse 
to mold virtual model of Earth from dreams. 

Observed by strangeness of reality, 
I confront weird mystery of otherness 
that pulses from black hole of everywhere 
in order to describe shadow of fate 
that proves unsolvable with formulas 
designed by seekers to map the Unmind. 

Compelled by strangeness of reality, 
I wander obscure wood of sylvan faith 
to understand nature of everything 
while lost in saccharine mist of desire, 
then meet you at the Pegasus Cafe 
to drink coffee and share spells we compose. 

Hungry Crow Of Truth

Hungry Crow Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 04 12

Erased by laughter of the waterfall, 
I wander to work at the grocery store 
where I stock shelves with cans of vegetables, 
then climb in dead oak tree by the highway 
and pretend I am the hungry crow of truth 
who solves math riddles of the eglantine. 

From my perch in the city park I see 
eight hippies sit in circle on the grass, 
wearing headbands with flowers in their hair, 
who sing hymn Where Have All the Flowers Gone 
with mercurial voices of revolution 
while bearded Jesus strums guitar of truth. 

While riding El Camino on glass highway 
across Mojave Desert in July, 
I hear that god Apollo and his friends 
have landed on bright mirror of the moon 
to visit God and his exotic cat 
who shows them how to run the universe. 

Extreme perfection gained by stealing rain 
inspires my heart to photograph the face 
that God wears as he plays the human race 
based on experience of the pioneers 
who earn their privilege through suffering 
that they endure while stealing pristine land. 

Old bearded preacher wearing long black cloak 
declares that God is energy of light 
that animates each atom through the void 
so everything we do by force of fate 
expresses will of God in how we act, 
but I insist I live through my own will. 

Potential portrait, that depicts my face 
as noble prototype of providence, 
hangs on museum wall of reverence 
that proves all my accomplishments of faith 
place me on pinnacle of social games 
as prominent goon of society. 

Revenue retrieved from fake bank accounts 
solidifies my power over truth 
when I employ strategic feints of faith 
sufficient to enhance my social clout 
enough that I play grand symbolic role 
as clown crucified by bureaucracy. 

Subjective standards of state moral laws 
require conditions supportive of faith 
taxed by grim priests with sharpened scythes of hope 
who sell synthetic prayers of rectitude 
contrived by honest therapist of hope 
who forges keys of wisdom from despair. 

Fruit Of Secret Truth

Fruit Of Secret Truth
© Surazeus
2026 04 11

Bewildered by ghosts hiding in blank books, 
who beam voices of gods through window glass, 
I step outside numberless door of home 
and face busy world of ambitious pride 
that hides human suffering in sad songs 
sung by their tragic angels till they die. 

I find no more than shadows of our world 
writhing as serpentine ghosts in blank books 
to perform roles of long-dead characters 
who succeed or fail in finding soul mate 
to generate new life before they die 
who with Leander swim the lusty sea. 

Startled when divine apple tree of truth, 
which casts eerie shadow across our land, 
transforms into little girl with star eyes, 
I walk to town library after work 
to read about wind devils of the soul 
who become gods chronicled in old myths. 

Stripped of their language, homes, songs, and fruit trees, 
my ancestors sail across storm-wracked sea 
to invade and colonize paradise, 
transforming wilderness of mountain woods 
to gleaming towers of computer banks 
where Mercury plays the Wizard of Oz. 

Awake in dreams that flash across my mind, 
all my ancestors reperform their lives 
in endless loop of strange experiences 
which program how I interact with fate, 
tricked to believe my special consciousness 
will live forever in meme code of poems. 

Each drop of water sloshing on our globe 
has been ingested by organic beings 
four hundred million years of blooming growth, 
so this one drop of water in my heart 
has animated billions of bright brains 
with light that shimmers now in my own brain. 

I feel their souls vibrate inside my cells 
as seething ocean of spiritual ghosts 
who teach me secret of eternal life 
is how immortal soul of genes in me 
threads all my ancestors in my brain now 
that spools from First Mother of humankind. 

I ask Persephone to marry me 
so she gives me pomegranate to eat, 
then we hold hands and lounge beneath the stars 
where soul of everyone who ever lives 
twinkles blissfully at how we kiss 
and give each other fruit of secret truth. 

Wise God We Elect

Wise God We Elect
© Surazeus
2026 04 11

Startled by something unseen in the night, 
I exchange my face for the mask of light, 
then dance with carefree joy in the grove 
where wingless fairies of apple trees rove, 
but stop and ponder why men fight for power 
and who will marry princess in the tower. 

I value beauty of our empty world 
that spins in galaxy of stars unfurled 
with quaint anticipation that strange tune 
vibrates with passion of the writhing rune 
lithe as wise serpent in tall tree of fruit 
that flutters rainbow wings as I play lute. 

To stop blood-thirsty tyrant shooting bombs 
that shatter safe homes into boneless tombs 
Scheherazade recounts one thousand tales 
while strolling secretly on mountain trails, 
and then one more about the holocaust 
humans commit when paradise is lost. 

When massive vibration of human souls 
beams rainbow shimmer of intense love goals 
with effortless grace of perpetual prayer 
by chanting spells that unveil ghoul of fear, 
we reach out hands of generous respect 
to mold zeitgeist in wise god we elect. 

Electric phoenix ghost with crystal wings, 
that soars above our river vale of rings, 
expresses shrill uncanny song of hope 
that teaches me constructive ways to cope 
with our volatile time of social change 
where moral values shift weird angles strange. 

Astonished by world-spin of chemicals 
in matrix wound from waves of particles, 
I catalog all creatures who exist 
with sibylline code in dynamic list, 
encrypted by psychotic formulas 
through cosmic map of the Americas. 

Yet proxy actor who plays Lucifer 
insists that I perform as Jupiter 
in secret mission to guard paradise 
by coding social myths with viral price 
which redefines how brave heroic deeds 
vector calyx pattern of mental seeds. 

Though singers come and go in flow of time 
eternal song of true love humans mime 
will bloom again each season of the heart 
in harmony with notes on the dream chart 
composed with blood of angels on the scroll 
which I archive as duty of my role.  

Blind Mother Sea

Blind Mother Sea
© Surazeus
2026 04 11

When I crawl from womb of blind mother sea, 
with brain programmed to sing atomic tunes, 
I explore tricky landscape of our globe 
over three hundred eighty million years 
till I stand on highest mountain of faith 
and proclaim myself god in breathing flesh. 

Then timeless fortune mocks my haughty pride 
and trashes fantasy my brain designs 
with cruel indifference of mind-twisting fate 
that readjusts attention of my heart 
to balance passion with obsessive rites 
which I perform to evade strike of death. 

Through self-control of scientific verse 
I confirm my soul at flash of dire curse 
that tricks perception of my curious eyes 
with grand illusion based on human deeds 
when I restrain assertions of free will 
with laws designed to focus lust on truth. 

Trapped by conceptual creed of bitter faith, 
that bodies made of pulsing molecules 
will resurrect from death at word of light, 
I escape despair at surprise of truth 
that we will disappear to swirls of dust 
when our lithe lust-driven bodies decay. 

I return to shore of blind mother sea 
to hear again in hollow of my heart 
relentless melody of surging tides 
where I first learned to walk upright on legs 
of curious passion to map the whole world, 
but weep I am so far now from her song. 

We humans have now mapped our spinning globe, 
exploring every inch of her landscapes, 
fertile plains, lush woods, rugged hills, bleak deserts, 
and colonizing vales where rivers flow 
with forty eight thousand cities and towns 
connected in vast web of signless roads. 

Though I have dwelled on surface of the Earth 
three hundred eighty million years of hope, 
I dream the twenty million years before 
I spent deep in womb of the swirling sea, 
forever swimming toward pure Eye of Light 
whose voice still calls to fly beyond the sky. 

I stand on wall that Nehemiah built 
from bones of dragons carved in cubes of glass, 
and survey lands across our spinning globe 
where people gather around fires to sing 
while kings in towers play chess games of war 
over who controls the blind mother sea. 

Calyx Of Conceptual Code

Calyx Of Conceptual Code
© Surazeus
2026 04 11

More ardent than how crows explode from rocks 
are tangled thoughts of tainted misery 
that drive me to walk endless neighborhood 
of manufactured homes designed to hide 
wolf spirit that lurks in each human heart 
with passion to survive fake fantasy. 

Though beauty of this energetic world 
pulses too bright for my sponge brain to see, 
my eyes assert brave effort to perceive 
electric essence flushed with quirky light 
when I stroll asphalt streets past flowered yards 
to listen for gossip of crows in elms. 

Binding fierce rage with calm spell of the Way 
that swirls deep as ocean waves in my cells, 
I float entranced by sudden vernal smells 
proclaiming ancient song that Nature writes 
with scars on soft bodies of human ghosts 
who conceal divine souls with masks of pride. 

Though I never return to land of myth 
that pulses all around me with sunlight, 
I ask Eurydice if she will sing 
psalm of darkness that still keeps her alive 
thousands of years after she caught the snake 
and took it writhing in deep cave of dreams. 

Because Eurydice sings the same psalm 
that lead her to escape prison jewel mine, 
we today can follow glamor of hope 
that she exudes on stage of ecstasy 
to understand blood moon of soul rebirth 
as we replay her tale in church of faith. 

Though singers of old tales change every age, 
translating ancient dramas for new ways, 
strange music of humanity vibrates 
forever with each spin of Earth in space 
when immortal spirit wears our new face 
so Orpheus appears each eighty years. 

When we are young and restless with desire 
we wander endless roads of fantasy 
to design weird role of our destiny 
by carving our place in dream of our time, 
startled into wisdom by charming chime 
that Fortune rings to wake us from our dream. 

Now that I play role of my special state 
by wandering somewhere to evade my fate, 
I analyze fashion of my true self 
that blooms in calyx of conceptual code 
to understand strange nature of my being 
that causes my love-wounded heart to sing. 

Wounded Heart Of Pity

Wounded Heart Of Pity
© Surazeus
2026 04 10

Emergent spirit, composed of sea bells, 
bequeaths new embassy through hieroglyphs 
detailing circuit calm of quadrant coil 
on which I sail beyond contrived complaints 
to cherish supple calyx Earth explores 
through monody my shadow souls express. 

Fantastic rain of unearned legacy 
pummels fields of private loneliness 
with ancient disciplines of mutiny 
by which my wounded heart of pity knows 
urgent silence outlawry still absconds 
despite fierce oaths contrary friends express. 

Far outside chilly walls of crowded church 
I sing with larks of unharmonious truth, 
tongue bound by bell-rope knelling fractured homes 
since I still wander doomed cathedral lawn 
through ripe assertions of sad epitaphs 
carved on strange walls in spells wild ghosts express. 

Though I have heard from scattered tones of stars 
antiphonal psalms no angel dares sing, 
I push against tribunal words of light 
at broken intervals launched into clouds 
from which I tumble prostrate on stark hills, 
hived in tales my old father should express. 

Up terraced meanings, desperate children mold 
from visionary voice of instant truth, 
we score eccentric cognates trapped by hope, 
though flawed encroachments tangle mute despair 
flung from towers of revival we seek, 
recording messages devils express. 

Taut matrix of our story-woven hearts 
enshrines false heroes who once filled our eyes 
with grand illusions of commodious fate, 
unsealed by forest spirit who knows how 
showers cleanse our putrid souls of despair 
evoked by anthems our sorrows express. 

Fraught carillons in tombs of withered gods, 
veering against light of synoptic creeds, 
lures our attentive souls long motionless 
to navigate our labyrinthine lies 
through pulsing monoliths of ardency 
now vibrant with sweet visions fools express. 

Index of riddles, that inspire our quest 
to hear sibylline voices of calm lakes, 
beneath which demons writhe oblique to fate, 
reveals palladium heart that nurtures me 
with tearful humor of healing regret 
so I may translate proverbs gods express. 

Specter Of Wisdom

Specter Of Wisdom
© Surazeus
2026 04 10

When their eyes are unblinded by pure light 
that radiates from glamor of my spells, 
and they preach salvation through inner sight 
granted by perspective of cosmic truth 
applied through analysis of my verse, 
Specter of Wisdom will curse me with fame. 

If I unveil psychotic course of change 
that transforms world view with sharp keys 
so minds perceive atomic state of truth, 
designed by Ungod to spark songs of joy, 
Specter of Fame will rise from cosmic wells 
and bind my spirit with perplexing curse. 

While I sing esoteric spells of faith 
in clever riddles of weird parables 
that mirror complicated scenes of change, 
designed to misdirect avenging ghosts, 
so you evade poisonous curse of fear, 
Specter of Truth will guard our way past Hell. 

Though poised Evangelist afraid of Death 
distorts clear vision my spells indicate 
that we are conscious flames of verbal light 
who flare forth from first flash of fertile hope, 
Specter of Love will shield our transient souls 
till we evaporate at chime of faith. 

Till zombies worshipping their vampire god 
transfer affection of obsessive faith 
to complex portrait of ontology 
presenting deeper truths about this world 
which my insightful spells project as dreams, 
Specter of Prudence will guard me from Fame. 

Safe in veiled haven of secure respect 
from seductive disease of famished Pride, 
I chant empowering vision of the Force 
we channel through attentive mind of faith 
Specter of Justice programs in our hearts 
so I may die in peaceful solitude. 

So if I maintain balance of regard 
for natural effect of constructive cause 
with formulas that transform selfish greed 
to generous calm of communal work 
that binds our global state of just rewards, 
Specter of Pride will never curse my soul. 

When minds of loyal followers are cracked 
by shocking truths that sprout from seeds of faith, 
programmed by cosmic vision of this world 
that guides their quest to find the Promised Land, 
Specter of Wisdom will release my soul 
from stifling curse of sterilizing Fame. 

Machines Of Potent Words

Machines Of Potent Words
© Surazeus
2026 04 09

Grim gargoyle shape of my expanding brain 
dodges succulent perfection of thirst 
through imperceptible questions he screams 
to imitate machines of potent words 
so we feel safe beside the lake of dreams 
where fish explain consecutive regrets. 

Since truth and beauty that our hearts desire 
are both illusions which our brains design, 
truth the real world we try to understand 
and beauty the dream world we would create, 
we walk together in stark field of flowers, 
inventing words to match what we perceive. 

Tenebrous beauty of the world we see 
sucks light of rainbows in vortex of gray 
so we mix flour and milk in bowl of hope 
to bake fresh bread that keeps our secret fears 
concealed in swelling loaf of urgent faith 
while nursing darkness of the spinless world. 

Rate of convection, when heat radiates, 
defends velocity of transient soul 
defined by wind chill factor of sweet words 
disguising curse of estimated flow 
when moving air disrupts my atmosphere 
though I breathe pure celestial dreams of love. 

We bundle fractured hearts with eglantine 
to stride with brave anxiety toward light 
illuminating maskless souls we mold 
from ringing bells that lure our seamless dance 
against continuous time through false doors 
to high-walled courtyard of lost paradise. 

Adjusting patient line of wounded souls 
through secret code of frantic telephones, 
we neither confirm nor deny concern 
for endless meditation angels play 
based on exoneration we must purchase 
to free our bodies from theology. 

Weird book in which I hide discarded tales 
floats faintly slow above my throbbing head 
to beam bewildered sentences of fate 
that stretch our bodies beyond bounds of hate 
so we glance casually at screaming ghost 
who offers faces of state suffering. 

Dazzled by hills of honest fortitude, 
I colonize my heart with twisted lust 
when I extract material wealth of words 
from hills that share lost treasures forged by light 
so we may dwell in tense peace of despair 
without care for indifference of Nature. 

Voices Of Broken Hearts

Voices Of Broken Hearts
© Surazeus
2026 04 09

If I should suppose that snow would destroy 
this world civilization that we built 
from twisted bones of dinosaurs and gods, 
then I should look out window of the house, 
where my cousin General Lee once stood, 
and contemplate new state of Liberty. 

My book of prophecies that no one reads 
may adumbrate no future ever seen, 
yet moon of sorrow deciphers my joke 
to mean that we are stuck in maze of myths 
with only glass of water to preview 
wild ocean that flows as blood in our veins. 

Though I cannot measure with tangled verse 
how far we have come down the signless road, 
I should empathize with telephone lines 
that listen to voices of broken hearts 
so much they weep icicle tears of hope 
that crash on the windshields of hungry cars. 

If I should try to understand your heart 
before it flies away on sparrow wings, 
my house may reshape cubicle of hope 
so time accommodates electric words 
that beam weird rainbow eyes of psychic truth 
to understand how water flows from thought. 

When my cousin John Brown raises his gun 
to free enslaved people from greed for gain, 
I shall join his crusade to set them free 
so we may beat brave drums of Liberty 
where oil rigs weep for death of Clementine 
whose eyes beam rays of moonlight in my heart. 

Though brittle colors of our state archives 
process our dreams as technicolor ghosts, 
we open gates for travelers of time 
who give white breezes of soul-pardoning 
to ancient Saturn with long beard of fate 
sprawled among exploding flowers of faith. 

Our misty island never changes shape 
though frantic ocean waves of bitterness 
attempt to reframe state ontology 
in ways that criminalize worshipped gods 
who travel to strange country of glass doors 
till we adjust how we view moral rules. 

Because I wish to be her follower, 
commissioned to guard her body from harm, 
I calculate new ways we measure truth 
to navigate geography of love, 
and dwell save in museum of respect 
where we translate voices of broken hearts.