Isolated From Strange Dream

Isolated From Strange Dream
© Surazeus
2026 05 03

Isolated from strange dream of the world, 
I assemble puzzle of random facts 
to design exhaustive ontology 
that frames complex events of history 
in grand narrative that explains it all 
which fixes my place as hero of truth. 

Isolated from strange dream of the sea, 
I build boat from steam-heated planks of wood 
and sail the seven seas of strange new lands 
to explore nature of our spinning globe 
where people dance on pyramids of power 
to control fields of wheat and hills of gold. 

Isolated from strange dream of the sun, 
I capture rays of light from long-dead stars 
with solar panels of assertive will 
which transform light to electricity 
that powers global empire of machines 
weaving computers into one God Mind. 

Isolated from strange dream of the land, 
I map confusing landscape of the heart 
to organize conflicting nation-states 
in peaceful United Nations of Earth 
though cruel gangsters disguised as presidents 
fight each other over who rules the world. 

Isolated from strange dream of the moon, 
I run with Artemis in misty woods 
with joyful laughter of wild carefree friends 
till Midas forces her to be his queen 
so we revolt against his tyranny 
and fight to establish democracy. 

Isolated from strange dream of the mind, 
I argue with Pythagoras all night 
that stars do not generate human souls 
which animate our bodies with desire, 
and prove that brains generate consciousness 
which dissipates to nothing when we die. 

Isolated from strange dream of the truth, 
I stand millions of years under Fruit Tree 
and wait for my soulmate to keep our tryst 
to nourish our home based on mutual trust 
because our children inherit the Earth 
when we build Heaven from waste land of Hell. 

Isolated from strange dream of the heart, 
I wear mask of my personality 
which I compose through every choice I make 
as I navigate landscape of despair 
on mission to create, and not destroy, 
as we connect and bind our souls with love. 

Weird Voice Of Light

Weird Voice Of Light
© Surazeus
2026 05 03

How may I balance happiness and sorrow 
to power progress of spiritual growth 
through dynamic system of inspiration 
which I derive from deposit of passion 
I channel through document of expression 
based on enterprise of mental encryption. 

Sparked by evanescence my heart may borrow 
from bright atomic flame of chemicals, 
I sublimate mindless force of aggression 
by weaving corporal concept of perception 
through tangled sentences of fractured words 
that mold matter into bodies of faith. 

Snagged on fractal structure of vibrant limbs 
during assertive flight beyond dark scope 
of wisdom that traps my soul in my brain, 
I dangle helplessly above abyss 
that yawns teeth-bristling jaws of painful death 
by grasping rope of truth with stubborn hope. 

Dark nothingness of death would like to swallow 
fragile flame of energy that ignites 
glow of consciousness nurturing my brain, 
so I become aware I am alive, 
awake in shock of arrogant dismay 
that my body conjures my consciousness. 

So many people tell me with false confidence 
that my spirit was forged by the God Mind 
to animate my temporary body 
with immortal soul of divinity, 
and I am fooled to believe this is real 
till I feel my spirit beam from my brain. 

Though molecules that animate my flesh 
first flashed from soul furnace of Father Sun, 
then evolved into this body of flesh 
by passionate desire of Mother Earth, 
my sense of conscious self inside my brain 
is my own unique personality. 

Through all the spiral of galactic light 
the past fourteen billion years of existence 
these atoms that compose shell of my soul 
have flared into this planet that designs 
organic forms to nurture divine mind 
so I think I am God as mortal human. 

We humans are leaves on the Tree of Life, 
grapes on the Vine of Faith, and tender flowers 
that sprout for brief seasons from Ground of Being, 
so I will sing loud with weird voice of light 
to channel vision of creative love 
till our children sing after we all die. 

Feel My Aching Body

Feel My Aching Body
© Surazeus
2026 05 03

Secret words weave clear thread of mystery 
from elemental passion of the heart 
to overcome weakness and win the race 
by leaping on quick wings of urgent breath 
in courageous bid to transcend taut bounds 
of physical endurance to survive. 

Though terror preserves my animal mind 
that animates assertion of my rights 
through structured layers of civilized rules, 
I confirm my soul with strict self-control 
by managing consequences of my acts 
to channel passion with logical verse. 

By gazing off into bright sunset flames 
when I slip fragile body into roots 
of hungry bushes on the steep hillside, 
I find I can deny reality 
shortened by sparkle of the rivulet 
that asks me how I feel with gauge of rain. 

I feel my aching body dissipate 
with each cold gust of alabaster wind 
so I become less solid that the stream 
that flows from fountain of my bleeding heart 
to flood deep valley of excited gods 
who cry for salvation to mocking clouds. 

Graceful girl I imagine I should be 
dances free with beautiful leap of faith 
as writhing shadow only in my head, 
so I ask the old woman who lies dead 
if her tangled hair weaves truth in rough hills 
because her skeleton now forms the land. 

Covered in mud and roots of the wild world, 
I walk into vast room of marble floors 
to hide from weird ghost in the mirror glass 
who gives her face to angels without wings 
with plan to garland horns of happy bulls 
since I know the world will not die when I die. 

No autocrat imprisoned in my heart 
will silence fountains of astonishment 
when lonely people of the world escape 
from dream-tangled roots of arrogant trees 
which replicate my spirit in dark seeds 
that plagiarize apples we ate last year. 

If I am seagull gliding through cold clouds 
till I become dark shadow of the moon, 
I may transform my eyes to twinkling stars 
so you can see the road of truth I blazed 
before I fall to Earth on wings of fire 
where I pretend I am flower of fame. 

Apple Hills Of Scythia

Apple Hills Of Scythia
© Surazeus
2026 05 03

Though apples fill my dreams with golden light, 
sweet scent of pungent juice sticky on skin, 
I have lost touch with blooming apple trees 
in this current life of wandering the land, 
so I want to plant them in my back yard 
to make cider and applesauce each summer. 

Since we discovered apples long ago, 
in high Tian Shan Mountains of Kazakhstan, 
land we named Scythia when we lived there then, 
we traveled far across the windy steppes 
in four-wheeled wagons Helios designed, 
planting seeds by streams all the way to Scotland. 

Awake under apple tree on the hill, 
I see red fruit gleaming in dawn sunlight 
that glitters in raindrops after wild rain, 
so I reach out my hand to grasp the sun, 
but shrink back when serpent among dark limbs 
hisses and bares sharp teeth of poisoned knowledge. 

My father Skyolder gives me magic wand 
I use to swat the serpent on its head, 
then knock apples that fall into my hands 
which I store in wolf-fur bags on my back, 
then dump them in baskets in backs of wagons 
that we pull to large kitchen by the river. 

My mother Scythia wearing long white gown 
teaches me to brew apples in sweet cider, 
cutting them into slices with slender blades, 
stirring them in cauldrons of boiling water 
with thick honey, berries, spices, and herbs, 
then storing cider in clay jars for winter. 

I long to return to Garden of Saka 
that flourished in apple hills of Scythia 
where Almaty City now thrives with life, 
for I hear in dreams of my aching heart 
voice of my mother calling me in woods 
where apples gleam bright on millions of trees. 

We ate apples from sacred Tree of Knowledge, 
we befriended horses with fruit of love, 
and we built wagons with wheels of the sun, 
then traveled far across Garden of Life 
more than five thousand years of eager hope 
to explore this world sea to shining sea. 

Now we know this huge world on which we dwell 
is round as the apple in Tree of Life, 
so I will plant apple trees everywhere, 
by every road in every town on Earth, 
so everyone may eat the Fruit of Knowledge 
that blooms from fertile spirit of the Earth. 

Crippled Hands Of Hope

Crippled Hands Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 05 02

I try to figure out the secret way 
to have the world, that vanishes in mist 
at flash of sunset over distant hills, 
preserved in frame of fragile words I chew 
to chronicle strange journey of my soul 
since hour I first begin to hear birds speak. 

Head tilted so I see beyond dark sky, 
I listen to sunlight explain dream flight 
through thought-vibration spiraling from fear 
that makes my brain itch, stark with eagerness 
to seek dark mountain cave where rain is born 
with thirst to drink honey before I die. 

Harsh pulse of love still urges I expand 
tone of my heart enough to conceal gloom 
through frequent repetition wind contrives 
when I tear roots of sorrow from my heart 
against sweet wretchedness of innocence 
designed to trap my brain in cage of truth. 

Yet deep in eastern sky of bleeding stars 
I hear the faceless men of everywhere 
jingle keys of duty when they explore 
permission to endure another day, 
though wealth they grasp with crippled hands of hope 
still tumbles worthless in trash bins of fate. 

Soon sizzling shadow sharing depth of light 
winds threads of anguish, born from molecules 
by shocking sounds of long-forgotten art, 
around my fragile body by the sea 
that shivers from excessive strike of wind 
when I predict the future no one wins. 

So much to wish for without memory 
leaks from cracked skull of my atrophied clone 
against triumphant applause police sell 
to prove our weightless brains assert free will 
which never counts commercial gain of fate, 
yet translates desperation back to wealth. 

Sorrow stuck in consular envelopes 
requires admission of my primal birth 
on secret island where no god is born, 
who strains to bend electric bow of power, 
though fanged with ambition to rule the world, 
forever wandering in waste land of truth. 

I am no arrow suspended in flight 
toward secret destination no one maps, 
yet I transform from happy naive fool 
to weathered wizard wise in ways of weird 
when I design Puzzle Technology 
to resurrect my father through my son. 

Power Of Snow Mother

Power Of Snow Mother
© Surazeus
2026 05 02

Helpless to understand why ravens cry, 
Cailleach forms mountains of jagged truth 
by strewing rocks and peat along the plain 
from wicker basket of hope on her back, 
then strikes the ground with her hammer-head staff 
that causes the ground to freeze hard as glass. 

Mounting the fleet-foot deer with seven horns, 
Cailleach races along rocky shore, 
long gold hair flowing in snow-sparkling wind, 
to find secret lair in jagged cave by the sea 
where she hides gold egg of the Raven God 
so men cannot find treasure of her heart. 

Clutching skull of Hamlet where serpent writhes, 
Cailleach floats on wind over broad hill, 
where jagged stones of fairy rings pierce Earth, 
to drink ice-cold water from lake of eyes 
where her herd of deer gather in moonlight, 
then asks dead prophet if he understands. 

While sitting on moss-covered hag-chair stone, 
Cailleach feeds worms and seeds to raven flock 
that flap broad wings to defend their snow witch 
when Angus and his wife, Queen Bride, appear 
on white horses with eyes of sunset flames, 
and offer gifts of apples as they kneel. 

Glaring at her daughter with frosty eyes, 
Cailleach grumbles when they beg with tears 
for her to release Earth from freezing winds 
so wheat may sprout and fruit trees blossom fruit, 
or hungry people of the misty isle 
may rebel against her long hiemal rule. 

Petting raven on her shoulder with care, 
Cailleach in white gown and long gold hair 
dances barefoot on meadow of pink flowers 
where primrose flutter in soft morning breeze, 
to kitchen hall where Bride brews apple cider 
for everyone to drink on Beltane night. 

Smirking with passionate joy of her heart, 
Cailleach strides toward crowded blacksmith hall 
where Sucellus hammers swords into plows 
so warriors returning from plundering towns 
may till wet fields to plant barley and wheat, 
eager to brew whiskey for winter nights. 

Hopeful to understand why ravens cry, 
Cailleach breasts-feeds Belenus, her son, 
who sprouts black wings he swipes from Icarus 
and soars above high mountain peaks of faith 
to blast invading army with sharp swords 
with power of Snow Mother in his heart. 

Fairy Wings Of Faith

Fairy Wings Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 05 02

When Alice on the old yellow brick road 
spots the green honeycreeper in the birch, 
she considers her social friendliness 
with knights and holy friars in misty woods 
to be adscititious when she arrives 
at museum of artful anecdotes. 

While staring at strange painting on the wall 
that depicts young woman by mountain lake 
roasting the serpent on altar of gems, 
she removes adscititious influences 
not inherent to significant form 
to experience pure aesthetic emotion. 

Stripped of extraneous components of truth, 
Alice considers why the dodo bird 
represents regal imperial ambition 
as key aspect of fate which constitutes 
essential nature of the divine mind 
eager to concoct new insight in faith. 

Hitchhiking to the Alleghany woods 
with innocent ambition to attend 
annual rainbow gathering of the tribes, 
Alice ignores the Tin Man in the van 
who offers her free ride to paradise, 
but calls her whore and speeds on down the road. 

Emerging from great forest of sad ghosts, 
Boedvar Bjarki, wearing long bear-skin cape, 
offers young hippie girl in flower dress 
berries he collected by sparkling stream, 
then plays guitar and sings Swedish folk songs 
while rainbow children dance around the fire. 

Entranced by swirling scent of jasmine blooms, 
Alice dances with slow sensuous concern, 
floating in bliss on fairy wings of faith 
from strange intoxicating thoughts of love 
that swell her heart till swan wings of desire 
sprout from unseen wounds of her abused heart. 

When the Tin Man, in jeans and scruffy beard, 
tries to dance with too intimately with Alice, 
Dorothy urges the Cowardly Lion 
to protect her friend from the predator, 
but the Jester King smashes the dream clock, 
causing all illusions to dissipate. 

When Boedvar asks Alice to marry him, 
she conjures Tiresias with Rod of Aaron 
who officiates their wedding ceremony 
under the full moon by the mountain lake, 
with Dorothy, Lucy Pevensie, Wendy, 
Caroline, and Chihiro as bridesmaids. 

Poisonous Snake Of Jealousy

Poisonous Snake Of Jealousy
© Surazeus
2026 05 02

When frantic trees bloom out from radios 
in self-controlled chaos of eager fear, 
Mars roars motorcycle in city maze 
to buy fresh bread at the small bakery 
where Ceres sells seashells and sangria 
while Phoebus plays guitar on the front porch. 

Cerulean waves of the Pacific Ocean 
sparkle on expanding beach of gold sand 
where Tristan and Isolde stroll hand in hand, 
brave hearts tangled in forbidden emotion 
while her husband attends church with Lilith 
to sing hymns of Emily Dickinson. 

Deciding Isolde is the girl for him, 
Mars challenges Tristan to armed combat, 
but the clever university scholar 
tricks him to buy his cryptocurrency, 
investment in future technology, 
then swipes motorcycle keys from his pocket. 

Wind blowing their hair with electric joy, 
Tristan and Isolde drive his motorcycle 
on winding mountain trail of singing pines 
to hike broad Valley of Yosemite 
where sun glimmers gold on grandiose cliffs 
that inspires the ghost of Albert Bierstadt. 

Hunting them down with shotgun of hot rage, 
Mars learns to paint with glowing light of truth 
to interpret landscape of the wild west 
with subtle expression of Luminism 
that highlights sublime beauty of great mountains 
where Tristan learns from Phoebus how to sing. 

Startled by copperhead snake in her garden, 
Isolde holds basket of cherries with care 
till Tiresias, strange old bearded man 
who runs the corner grocery store, appears 
to snatch poisonous snake of jealousy 
and transform it back into magic wand. 

Pouring fresh orange juice for Tiresias, 
Isolde sits at the rough-oak kitchen table 
and asks him to explain astrology, 
so he teaches her how to calculate 
cardinal process of cause and effect 
that pivots spiral of atomic change. 

Pushing open door of marital fate, 
Ceres appears from storm over the sea, 
grabs ear of Mars with affectionate snarl, 
and drags him to the small white country church 
where Tiresias officiates wedding 
attended by everyone who knows why. 

Ghosts Of Long-Past Myths

Ghosts Of Long-Past Myths
© Surazeus
2026 05 01

Ghosts of long-past myths haunt our world today 
as mortal embodiments in frail flesh 
of immortal characters from book tales 
who represent eternal energies 
that migrate through human bodies of hope 
through endless recurrence of formal tropes. 

God is Idea wrapped in human flesh 
of every mortal who attained high state 
as enlightened leader over their tribe, 
congealed from characters in history 
whose special personalities reflect 
conceptual force of social authority. 

Each mortal who attained state of godhood, 
El, Zeus, Jove, Jupiter, Brahman, Shangdi, 
Buddha, Odin, and many other gods 
named as creator of the universe, 
persist as glamorous idols of power 
recorded in ancient religious myths. 

Immortal energy of social leader 
migrates through frail bodies of mortal men 
who transcend limited scope of their mind 
through apotheosis of clear insight 
flashed by epiphany of wise attention 
to rule progress of their society. 

Close analysis of communal code 
through careful deconstruction of state power, 
that preserves patriarchal institutions, 
exposes blind regard of selfish genes 
to exert influence through reproduction 
that cripples dynastic bloodlines with greed. 

Hercules represents arrogant bully 
who threatens violence with club of hate 
to establish bold empirical rule 
through aggressive exploitation of men 
by asserting authority through threats, 
now symbolized by haughty figure of Satan. 

Jesus represents compassionate doctor 
who heals wounded bodies with wand of love 
to nurture innate talents in strong skills 
through disciplined education of men 
by guiding hearts through moral parables, 
now symbolized by humble figure of Christ. 

Ghosts of every character in old myths 
possess living people with ancient souls 
of psychic energy they choose to play 
as we perform our temporary roles 
in drama of construction and destruction 
till children bury us and take their turn. 

New Empire Of The Free

New Empire Of The Free
© Surazeus
2026 05 01

Now that I dwell on Fractured Rainbow Lane 
far from the center of commercial gain, 
I spend all day contemplating design 
for excavating concepts from deep mine 
that sprout soul-beaming mushrooms in my brain 
before Saturnus is forced to resign. 

Stuck in Quail Hollow with Alphabet Wolf, 
I dream of my childhood with Beowulf 
who taught me how to soften wood with steam 
to build ships for his dragon-hunting team, 
then we sail on vacation to Zar Gulf 
to search for hungry shark of self-esteem. 

Each time she calls me on the telephone, 
Minerva asks to use my Rolling Stone 
to smash false idol of the tyrant king 
who arrests anyone who dares to sing, 
but when she decides to hire my Soul Clone 
I hide through Invisibility Ring. 

Appalled by interrogation techniques, 
librarians employ to extract from freaks 
misattributed morals of strange tales, 
I map tangled webs of religious trails 
that always lead me up to sky-bright peaks 
which might explain why Cronus always fails. 

Entranced by uncanny tune of the skylark 
that echoes hypnotic tones in the ark, 
I develop with care time-honored ruse 
to protect integrity of my wise Muse 
who fries burgers for picnic in the park 
while Artemis presents the evening news. 

Inspired by noble stance that Remus takes 
allowing everyone to fish hill lakes, 
I follow him to oppose Romulus 
who chains and forces honest Sisyphus 
to build Temple of Jupiter with rakes 
who will only obey brave Tantalus. 

Spirit of Roma still shines in my heart 
ages after her empire fell apart, 
so I build temple home on river shore 
to shelter my family forever more, 
yet they sell apples from the four-wheeled cart 
while I play lyre and sing forgotten lore. 

Our noble way of life has disappeared 
just like my father Tiresias feared, 
so we journey west across the wild sea 
to establish new empire of the free, 
but our old world view keeps getting more weird 
so I hang out in sprawling Knowledge Tree. 

Franchise Of Fake Happiness

Franchise Of Fake Happiness
© Surazeus
2026 05 01

Awash in time-swirling sea of light rays, 
I dwell woke in astrological haze, 
conditioned to respond to obstacles 
by measuring abstractive molecules 
through project to assimilate my soul 
with undulating matrix of the whole. 

Attenuated scope of consciousness, 
enclosed by ceremonial finesse, 
shields pulsing core of vibrant clemency 
with comprehensive spell of ardency 
concealed by convertible copyright 
through deformation of conceptual light. 

Amplified tone of mental furnishings 
deflects harassment of holistic zings, 
impressive with articulated jokes 
indexed by pride-inflated billing hoax 
which discombobulates my budget game 
against bottomless bureau of world fame. 

Allowed to bloom from hungry artifice 
through psychosomatic analysis, 
which denies my heart romantic access, 
I purchase franchise of fake happiness 
constrained by framework of the gourmet cry 
that cracks graphic interface of the sky. 

Archived extremity of social rules, 
based on invention of brokerage tools, 
my dreams refuse command to calculate 
certified challenge of classified fate 
against commitment of the chromosome 
to watch movies in the Pantheon dome. 

Attentive ambience in deserted church 
risks assessment of my exotic search 
for wisdom-woven expression of truth 
which I sell from pyramid-market booth 
to people wanting insurance that death 
will translate their souls to hurricane breath. 

Authorized by Ungod in the Glow Cloud 
to duplicate face of the burial shroud, 
I carve dynamic formulas of hope 
on Emerald Tablet to record weird trope 
designed to mirror special character 
framed by magnetic mask of Lucifer. 

Authentic feelings of my wounded heart 
provide dream-forged key for my fresh new start 
editing grand tales for strange magazine 
centered around reign of Empress Melusine 
whose serpentine sons rule nations of Earth 
through capital gains of spiritual worth. 

Accidental Angel Flight

Accidental Angel Flight
© Surazeus
2026 05 01

If in old lost times we accelerate 
rapid analysis twisted by fate, 
our accidental angel flight through Hell 
may reveal location of the Dream Well 
teeming with ghosts of blind subconscious dead 
who want to become alive in my head. 

Traitors never honestly realize 
plowed fields exonerate word-bleeding skies 
with marble statues of bullies wearing crowns 
who subjugate theology of towns 
by building monuments of social power 
from psychic energy of the sad flower. 

Disintegration of stale social norms 
expands from rugged boulders of named forms 
to prove we never understand why stars 
spark piston engines of time-machine cars 
because I drive too fast on diamond roads 
to find sacred temples of divine toads. 

Beyond last private cove of romance plays 
my true soulmate waits in arrogant haze 
with secret book she stole from half-dead god 
that describes how to make Aaronic rod 
from writhing serpent energy of lust 
because marriage is based on mutual trust. 

Rapid expansion of our empire scope 
adjusts disbursement of religious hope 
only to those who belong to our tribe 
regardless of how they tune the world vibe 
by dancing wildly on the global stage 
based on rules Isaiah bleeds on the page. 

Startled by arrival of the blind king 
who rides the donkey while brave sirens sing, 
sweet Sibyl lectures on the pyramid 
as government office where truth is hid 
inside ripe apricot of mental code 
she gives to pilgrims bearing heavy load. 

Arrival on strange shores of nameless lands 
confuses angels who steal without hands 
because my mother hides secrets in tale 
about my father swallowed by the whale 
when he dared prophesy against the king 
who gave him invisibility ring. 

Humans learned to walk in the ocean tide 
by standing upright when the red moon cried 
so our hands are free to manipulate 
material objects bound by random fate 
because we choose by nature how to play 
joyful games of chase while blind devils pray. 

Evade Voice Of Death

Evade Voice Of Death
© Surazeus
2026 04 30

No problematic gestures we express 
may untwist alphabets of moral rules 
in frantic harmony with waterfalls 
that scream our secret names into the void 
where mindless robots play old social roles 
in vain attempt to evade voice of death. 

No eloquent stutter of campaign speech 
should misalign psychic programs of faith 
contrived by preachers of the Holy Word 
to ride the gravy train of false respect 
in boldest scam since cryptocurrency 
fools millions to invest in fantasies. 

No haunting song of plum-tree nightingales 
sparks sublime visions of celestial grace 
to swell from pulsing cortex of my heart 
beyond mercurial strangeness of dire shores 
where ghosts of my ancestors mutely lurk 
in dim plutonian shadows of my mind. 

No ardent monolog of anxious hope 
teems from my brain in tangled curse of fate 
to ponder actions I could boldly take 
with arms against wild sea of troubled times 
and by opposing tyranny of greed 
establish liberty as way to live. 

No thoughtless crime of arrogant assault 
by frightened minions of the bogus king 
will stall my gradual progress to construct 
new global system of social support 
designed to ensure fair justice for all 
who share vision of Heaven we attend. 

No unsolved puzzles fragmenting our state 
could scatter children of the fallen God 
across unmeasured landscape of desire 
without nostalgic journey beyond home 
to colonize far distant lands of fear 
where skull of Hamlet prophesies our fall. 

No complex project shy Cassandra draws 
with Rod of Aaron in hot desert sand 
could unframe fraught ontology of truth 
since no one cares to understand her code 
describing consequence of war we fight 
in campaign to elect new president. 

No fabulous accounts blind bankers tell 
to analyze how fiscal systems fail 
convince our fragile bodies to rebel 
till Phoebus proves gold mask that Midas wears 
was forged from bones of hungry dinosaurs 
in failed attempt to evade voice of death. 

First Mother Of Our Soul

First Mother Of Our Soul
© Surazeus
2026 04 30

Why am I me and no one else alive, 
trapped in the fragile nutshell of my head, 
entangled in strange memories of my mind 
from striving to survive till I am dead? 
Every human alive on Planet Earth 
has been born from First Mother of our soul. 

All humans of the world alive with hope 
share universal frame of reference 
that underlies state of religious tales 
with common themes of heroic success. 
Though I sometimes feel alone in my head 
I feel connected to each soul on Earth. 

I feel prime soul of Ishtar in my heart 
when she gathered us all in temple hall 
to nurture our spirits with feast of faith 
then sang creation of the universe. 
Her vision of how our world operates 
still programs how I perceive our life on Earth. 

Bright goddess who created stars of truth 
stands before congregation of the lost 
and tells us how our world was born from fire, 
then gives advice on how to live life well. 
Our souls are fragments of her primal soul 
as shards of her one puzzle mirror mind. 

Since Death will dissolve me in the end 
and scatter atoms of my body far 
as bright unconscious sparkles of starlight, 
I sing the conscious vision of my mind. 
For I am me alone in all the world, 
one temporary flame of conscious faith. 

I wonder why, out of eight billion souls 
alive this hour on globe of rain and dirt, 
I am conscious only of my own self, 
immortal mind in mortal shell of flesh. 
When Ishtar wakes in visions of my heart 
I play my role in fortune of my fate. 

Since each new choice I make defines my fate, 
I hesitate at crossroads of each change 
to analyze effects of active cause 
because I want to create, not destroy. 
I compose scripture that maps my life goal 
to create conscious souls before I die. 

Since no traveler has ever returned 
from the undiscovered country of death, 
I have no dread of what comes after life 
for I will cease to exist for all time. 
With courage I throw burdens to the wind 
to work great enterprises till I die. 

Scroll Of Serpent Runes

Scroll Of Serpent Runes
© Surazeus
2026 04 29

If I must admit that I have no clue 
how my random quest has lead me to you, 
then I will insist with alacrity 
that our relationship is destiny. 
I have no map to navigate my life 
so I compose my script with sensual strife. 

If you require with acrobatic laugh 
that I buy ticket for the chronograph, 
then we shall time-jump multiversal worlds 
to string our souls in necklace of dream pearls. 
Though I apply to work at psychic firms 
they refuse to accept my puzzle terms. 

If Death comes dancing in her black lace gown 
to help me serve as mayor of world town, 
then I will program clairvoyant devise 
that should debug our fear with sacrifice. 
Despite our dedication to the law 
humans will rule with sharpness of the claw. 

If bird of paradise returns from Hell 
with Scroll of Serpent Runes from the Dream Well, 
then I design social system for all souls 
that rewards people who create new tools. 
We gather in grand stoa by the lake 
to share thought code for exposing the fake. 

If time expands the universe of light 
too far beyond gravity of insight, 
then I drive Spaceship Earth across the void 
to gather lost tribes who are Caucasoid. 
Thus I now identify as the horse 
who bore First Mother to cave of the Force. 

If I write epic tale of castle kings 
that begins and ends when the God Toad sings, 
then I will marry shy Apricot Girl 
whose loving heart blooms the way myrtles curl. 
We must construct strong social institutes 
that protect the weak from the stomp of boots. 

If time unspools accomplishments I claim 
by cursing my soul with fortune and fame, 
then I will dwell in mountains of Guilin 
because Death takes all, though we lose or win. 
Gold mist that gleams on twisted limbs of trees 
enhances solemn power of decrees. 

If star-maker goddess designs my soul 
from contradictions of my prophet role, 
then I will dance in secret ocean cove 
to prove that we are demons of true love. 
I wear the mask of Lucifer at dawn 
to celebrate rebirth of Avalon. 

Virtual Moon Of Faith

Virtual Moon Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 04 29

Foolproof security system of love, 
designed to be more secure by default, 
entangles her heart in frayed network wires 
when she calls her mother late every night 
to ask why she abandoned her when young, 
though annoyed strangers always end her calls. 

Wandering empty streets long after midnight, 
Yejin asks Bear Mother to explain how 
devils that fly upside down can find Heaven, 
since she wants to use color-coding system 
to organize lists of tasks she must do 
with effective method of mind control. 

Hired as guidance and control engineer 
by Asmodeus in castle of skulls, 
Yejin uses simulation software 
to design lunar terrain vehicle 
he sends to explore virtual moon of faith 
where ghosts of great warriors play baseball. 

Eccentric billionaire, rich from gem mines, 
Asmodeus runs startup company 
geared to leverage advanced techniques of hope 
through weird artificial intelligence 
with high-tech vision of the future state 
which nurtures innate talents into skills. 

Gathering delicate mushrooms of truth 
in misty forest of the mountain range, 
Yejin studies chemical properties 
inherent in fragile beauty of truth 
that provides essential ingredients 
for brewing perfume that rejuvenates. 

Surprised by sunrise that gleams indigo 
on far pavilions of observant hills, 
Asmodeus watches with adoration 
manic pixie girl dancing in the corn 
with plan to resurrect Jesus again 
from skull beside Hamlet and Orpheus. 

Restored to bodies of robotic flesh, 
those three prophets of existential dread 
follow clever Yejin with loyalty 
as she fights to free girls from slavery 
till she destroys the world patriarchy, 
then sits on temple roof and plays the flute. 

Awake with joy in his butterfly world, 
Yejin gazes long at Asmodeus 
to understand strange wonder of his heart 
as genius ruler of Plutonium, 
then places wreath of flowers on his head 
and giggles at how cute her devil looks. 

Cloak Of Invisible Faith

Cloak Of Invisible Faith
© Surazeus
2026 04 28

If I find truth before the end of time 
in song of sparrows in old maple trees, 
I might find some jagged mountain to climb 
where no official can charge me late fees, 
or else sail ship of state to Samarkand 
where Hatshepsut dances on shifting sand. 

Though I wear cloak of invisible faith 
Death always seems to find out where I live 
hanging out with Boudica in the laithe 
where I milk cows with eagerness to give 
book of secret techniques to the sad prince 
describing how to make jelly from quince. 

I move to the house my grandfather built 
near Pacific Ocean on Seamount Drive 
where I study math formulas of guilt 
that always spur lazy people to strive 
for great achievements in the Land of Oz 
though I play the rebel without a cause. 

I wander randomly on my vague quest 
to find that Woman is the Holy Grail, 
since my ancestors traveled so far west 
from Scythia along the Oregon Trail 
as the Roman Empire still lives in us 
for we are heirs of hungry Tantalus. 

I stand on street corner by the book store 
to strum the lyre of Mercury and sing 
about divine spirit in iron core 
that spins inside the Earth through pulsing ring 
while people toss me coins as they walk by 
since no one wants to understand the Why. 

We elect greedy thief as president 
who likes to mocks the haughty Hercules 
whose sons rule empire of the occident 
through dialectic of sly Socrates 
as sword he wields to expose fake beliefs 
though Jesus has his own weird leitmotifs. 

Since Child of Aphrodite in silk gown 
brews honeysuckle wine from wounded hearts, 
I call Ghost of Pallas to hide the crown 
beneath rotten apples in broken carts, 
yet busts of emperors on my book shelf 
teach me how to see the thing-in-itself. 

Apple trees produce fruit to reproduce, 
caring not whether we eat them or not, 
so I drink nourishing concept of juice 
while Ophelia waits for me on the yacht, 
yet I write truth I find in Riddle Verse 
because my angel is the Healing Nurse. 

Still-Changing Maze

Still-Changing Maze
© Surazeus
2026 04 28

Lost in still-changing maze of social myths, 
I carry memories of home in my heart 
which shines with ancestral star of my soul 
so I may journey straight toward my life goal 
though Truth keeps shifting frame of reference 
to readjust focus of my world view. 

Blind in still-changing maze of ancient truths, 
I sing electric radiance of my heart 
that echoes clear off high museum walls 
so I know where I am on path of time 
as we progress from warring nation-states 
to global union of factories and farms. 

Helpless in still-changing maze of desire, 
I whisper ephemeral web of hope 
as I crawl cobblestone road of concern 
with blood on my hands and dirt on my face 
from defending fruit garden of my home 
to protect my family from greedy thieves. 

Awake in still-changing maze of mad ghosts, 
I strum the lyre of Mercury with sass 
to deflate pompous tyrants with bad jokes 
when the clown wears plastic crown of the king 
and struts on battleship of cowardice 
to beat his chest with fierce gorilla shriek. 

Amused in still-changing maze of brave cowards, 
I join parade of angels withing wings 
who follow Lucifer with Torch of Truth 
to oppose tyranny of Jupiter 
who lives in quaint cottage across the lake 
where he strolls in woods to commune with Nature. 

Surprised in still-changing maze of wise fools, 
I carve dream runes on trunks of countless trees 
to chronicle whole history of the world 
while glowing clouds cast shadows on the world 
where fishermen hold flowers of respect 
and ask ballerinas to marry them. 

Dazed in still-changing maze of psychic faith, 
I perform role of social architect 
to design global political system 
based on justice and liberty for all, 
then fly Icarus kite in city park 
where wild children turn into butterflies. 

Glad in still-changing maze of sordid facts, 
I must extract aesthetic capital 
from harsh suffering common people endure 
by singing elegy to praise the dead 
who wander labyrinth of timeless dreams 
as wordless shadows trapped in tales of books. 

Circus Of Human History

Circus Of Human History
© Surazeus
2026 04 28

If I parcel territory of dreams 
to house the ghost of every character 
preserved in the text of ten billion tales, 
the vast maze of myths in which they reside 
would cover all the waste lands of the Earth 
where they repeat loop of their lives forever. 

Grateful for Death that will erase my soul 
from the circus of human history, 
I skip with carefree joy on signless road 
past amusement park of America 
to play instead in wistful Wonderland 
where Alice pours tea for the Broken Clock. 

When Lancelot spies from Tower of Pride 
dead Lady of Shallot in Boat of Faith, 
he hustles downstairs to the river shore, 
but finds Ophelia half-drowned instead, 
but when he wades in to rescue the princess 
Gabriel bears her away on swan wings. 

After he escapes from Tower of Hope 
with Broken Clock he stole from the White Queen, 
Icarus wanders in bright Ravenwood 
till he finds lost Lamp of Diogenes 
covered by orange leaves with riddles of faith, 
but Hamlet grabs it first and runs away. 

After working the night shift to make cars 
with artificial intelligence gadgets, 
Grendel drinks beer and watches morning news 
where Cassandra and Bacchus analyze 
labile state of the world economy, 
then walks his dog along the shady lane. 

Escaping her cruel stalker, Romeo, 
Juliet moves to small town in Oregon 
where she works for the county government 
mapping parcel outlines for the tax office, 
so she meets Hamlet at the library 
when they read poetry at the open mic. 

Cinderella visits the hospital 
where Romeo sulks with a broken arm, 
so they eat hamburgers and drink root beer 
while watching drama Alchemy of Souls, 
then plan to mountain climb in Austria 
and maybe marry in Niagara Falls. 

Crucified on the last telephone pole 
somewhere in desert of New Mexico, 
Achilles Christ cries out with anguished voice, 
"Superman, why hast thou forsaken me?" 
then transforms into psycho-robot owl 
who recites Bill of Rights at the White House. 

Choir Of Lost Wanderers

Choir Of Lost Wanderers
© Surazeus
2026 04 27

To raise my hand against the roaring ocean 
I search for sacred diamond of my heart 
that spirals from core of the universe 
so I can discern truth among the lies 
which guides my journey from land of my birth 
to visit every country on the Earth. 

My heart may never settle in one land 
or take root in rich soil beside some river, 
since my ancestors never stayed for long 
in any valley where their fruit trees bloom, 
for someone always drives them from their land 
so they wander on before they get stuck. 

Before roots bind us to this fertile land, 
so we are trapped in cage of paradise, 
we pack our memories in wagon of hope 
and journey onward down the signless road 
to spin four wheels of fortune with tall tales 
and find another vale to live a while. 

Forever immigrant on restless feet, 
fueled by incessant swirl of ocean waves, 
as landless refugee driven away 
by thieves who colonize farms my fathers built,  
and pilfer fruit from trees my mothers tended, 
I follow star of my heart far from Heaven. 

Though I never feel at home in my country, 
since every land where my ancestors dwell 
becomes cemetery where they bones cry, 
I plant fruit seeds on every river shore 
to build ten thousand towns in fertile vales, 
so my home becomes wherever I roam. 

My body sprouts from sorrow of the Earth, 
and my soul writhes from passion of the Sea, 
as I weave wings from feathers of fallen angels 
with mission to transcend bounds of my flesh, 
inspired by luminous phantom of love, 
so I explore the rich world till Death finds me. 

My raised hand strums waves of the roaring ocean 
that ring with vibrant music of lyre strings 
so I can translate her maternal song 
to verse in every language of the Earth 
in hopes that homeless people of the world 
may sing psalms in choir of lost wanderers. 

Now every country in the world is mine 
since I am home in every land I walk 
for all the world is abode of my soul, 
safe shelter where I nest with gracious strangers 
who feed my heart for tales I sing to them, 
then we bid farewell as I journey on.