Sword Heavy In My Hand

Sword Heavy In My Hand
© Surazeus
2026 02 02

When my just sword grows heavy in my hand 
from brave defense of world democracy, 
I must find the place to end my crusade 
in our noble fight against tyranny, 
so I will face the tyrant with calm faith 
and cast him down from tower of his greed. 

Thus I will sacrifice health of my soul 
to save brave people of Earth from his greed 
by rolling stone of justice up the hill 
so power of the people may roll down 
and smash idol of gold with feet of clay 
that leaves his head lost in waste land of truth. 

Just as spirit of Jesus comes again 
each generation as prophet of freedom, 
spirit of Satan erupts from foul hearts 
with fierce aggression to exploit our souls, 
endless battle between darkness and light 
since Mazda and Iman fought for the crown. 

Nebuchadnezzar with his iron fist, 
Ozymandias with his jeweled crown, 
and Herod with his eagle on the pole, 
possess bodies of morally weak men 
who enforce dictatorship of their greed, 
tearing through institutions with mad rage. 

When weird angelic son of Tantalus, 
shifting deep in dragon egg of our hearts, 
struggles to be born from chrysalis 
of social justice in depths of the well, 
we unleash black dog of our revolution 
and beat our plowshares into swords of fate. 

Weak men who rage against machine of death 
with fierce intention to control the state 
expend intense amounts of energy 
to sustain fragile structure of fake power, 
till they fall exhausted in cave of Hell 
so creative work may blossom in peace. 

All mad kings grasping at rainbows of wealth 
collapse from rotten anguish of despair 
while clever smiths who design work machines 
wave aprons high as flag of liberty 
to design system of social exchange 
that benefits every soul who works well. 

When bloody sword grows heavy in my hand, 
I beat firm function of its sharpened state 
in plowshare I employ to furrow fields, 
and tend wheat as loaf-ward of the warehouse 
disbursing loaves of bread to every soul 
so we may feast while Phoebus plays the lyre. 

Vanish In Wordless Wind

Vanish In Wordless Wind
© Surazeus
2026 02 02

If I stand on the edge of our lost world 
so I look forward and backward at once, 
I might perceive how process of the past 
guides where we go in the future through change 
with clear insight to analyze progress 
we achieve to build on what we conserve. 

Haunted by star-bright ghosts of famous souls 
who performed grand roles on stage of the world, 
I want to record tales of the nameless souls 
who wander nowhere in vast maze of myths 
while they live and die with no role to play 
till their names all vanish in wordless wind. 

Since Death can be adjusted without change 
through strict dynastic system of control 
I build citadels of conceptual truths 
that cannot be dissolved by silent fear 
so I waste not my life with frantic search 
by dancing on the river shore of fate. 

To hear strange voice of Earth in song of fire 
I exit maze of myths with crystal ball 
to stand frail on volcano cauldron rim 
and listen to churning rumble of rocks 
tumble over ocean of liquid metal 
that beams magnetic field from swirling streams. 

Material of the churning iron core, 
effusing through thin mantel of our globe, 
transforms from burning minerals of hope 
to plants that blossom fruit we humans eat 
while we sing hymns in choric harmony 
with seismic waves that pulse in joyful tunes. 

If giant ocean deep inside the Earth 
springs forth from fracture in mirror of time 
organic creatures who breathe oxygen 
may drown in seething waves of endless change 
yet fish will evolve again into humans 
who ache to fly with brave angelic wings. 

Awake from ancient dream of singing stones, 
I register with jovial delight 
I am indigenous to Avalon, 
that mist-veiled island floating in the sea 
where I lived for almost one million years, 
cultivating cherry trees on lake shores. 

With Helen I sail from Laconia 
to populate the world with Calibans 
who dance with drunken revelry of faith 
then program concept of the world wide web 
that weaves our brains in cosmic mind of god 
till meteors smash our globe to smithereens. 

Lost In Fog Of Delusions

Lost In Fog Of Delusions
© Surazeus
2026 02 01

This republic of ours I vow to keep 
by joining with my fellow human beings 
to maintain fair justice for every soul, 
declares the oak on Seventh Avenue 
where people tie yellow ribbons of faith 
to celebrate this time of all last things. 

Snow covers round table in the back yard 
where ghosts of animals who never speak 
gather to discuss how democracy 
should encourage our loyal brotherhood 
in fighting to defend the sacred right 
of every breathing person to live free. 

Based on heroic wealth of hall and bower, 
my project to redeem this angry world 
leads me to search for sword and pen of truth 
in stagnant water of our crowded land 
so mighty souls of Milton and Wordsworth 
may teach us brave freedom of the small voice. 

Their souls still shine in firmament of faith 
that shelters scattered peoples of our land 
where we now dwell in teeming maze of myths 
with selfish wisdom of majestic pride 
to mission to expand scope of our laws 
enforcing equal rights for every soul. 

Greedy taskmasters in towers of glass 
oppress our freedom to express dark fears 
that haunt our daily exercise of speech 
because we stumble toward paradise lost 
in fog of delusions our hearts discharge 
in frantic quest to find the Promised Land. 

What noble purpose to build paradise 
once challenged our bestial hearts to aspire 
with courage to transcend our tribal past 
and dwell in peaceful commune on lush land 
with fellow humans from diverse estates 
as we strive to create Heaven on Earth. 

Unchecked power of cruel self-proclaimed kings 
who grasp state power with familial wealth 
was rendered obsolete by brutal wars 
they fought to maintain fascist grip of greed 
so we elect with liberty-bound vote 
wise man whose program benefits us all. 

Though gang of thieves disguised as oligarchs 
threatens to seize control of federal gears 
so they can exploit labor of our hands, 
we join Minerva in her noble quest 
to keep our brave republic free from greed 
so we live as we will, if we harm none. 

Material Otherness of Nature

Material Otherness of Nature
© Surazeus
2026 02 01

Though grim shadow of mortality haunts 
harsh hills of prelapsarian Arcady 
full of lovesick shepherds and prancing sheep, 
I search for vision of transcendent truth 
through experience of Nature I record, 
suspicious of mystical sentiment. 

If shimmer of pure sentimental love 
for Nature distorts perception of life, 
I shall assert my clear identity, 
reflected in Narcissan pool of fate, 
and conduct solemn quest with open heart 
to comprehend essential soul of Earth. 

Alone on hilltop by the windswept tree, 
where I enclose the whole Earth in broad scope 
of my world view projected from its base, 
I seek God in clear absence of its power 
through which my consciousness expands to glow 
in tune with numinous phantom of love. 

Since humble shepherd with the raven quill 
advises I look at the land with love 
and not confuse my own flesh for its field, 
I feel its blank indifference to fate 
almost seem to mock effort of my will, 
but I laugh knowing Nature has no mind. 

Material Otherness of Nature glows 
with personality my mind projects 
so I see in vitality of fruitful trees 
compassion for fragile being of my soul 
which is not there in radiance of its growth, 
pathetic fallacy of fearful hope. 

When scolding moralist with magic wand 
cautions me to avoid idolatry 
that worships mindless Nature as its God, 
I cast aside delusions of false pride 
that local spirit of this land loves me, 
and treasure spinning Earth is glob of dirt. 

That vision of God on huge mossy rock, 
who seems to gaze at me with loving eyes, 
I realize through epiphany of faith 
embodies soul of my ancestral fathers 
whose guidance showed each new child how to live, 
mortals providing ideal form for God. 

Nature bristles with bright ancestral souls 
of all my fathers and mothers who lived 
millions of years in vales by sparkling streams 
with negative magnitude of mind power 
so God embodies spirits of their love 
awake in conscious dreaming of my brain. 

We Hear The Weeper

We Hear The Weeper
© Surazeus
2026 02 01

If every dream deferred were to explode 
with fear from sweet syrup of rotten meat, 
then Red Maria with hands of hawk wings 
will lead the hungry refugees of war 
across the Jordan River of despair 
and to crumbling church where devils sing. 

When Red Maria passes by my home 
to tell us how the new day has begun, 
we turn away from where war always burns 
to hide in silver mist from factories 
that shroud the lake of fish in silent rage 
where singing stones inform us of the score. 

If we should all arrive in Lombardy 
where rumors of mutual acquaintances 
reveal secret code of conspiracies, 
I shall prowl restless archives of my mind 
to find the gentle Monster of our state 
who wants to sing instead of scaring us. 

Hydra-headed bird of America 
lurches with wounded wing of arrogance 
across the windy prairie of the heart 
to ask if Red Maria could restore 
score for our cheerful tune of nourishment 
despite how milk-cart horses wait for wealth. 

We hear the Weeper in the doorless home, 
whose voice is querulous with shrill regret, 
express blind silhouette of wordless grief 
explicit with strange idiom of the street 
preserved in dictionaries no one reads, 
since we are all reluctant witnesses. 

Packed on the bus that bears dead souls to Hell, 
we race through forest of the howling wolf 
in vain attempt to escape bombs of rage 
by seeking ticket to the Promised Land 
without pretense of pleasure in fine art, 
hearts tangled in strings of the violin. 

We face our fate with courage of the fool 
while all the world weeps at harsh tyranny 
established by cruel kindness of the king 
who would pardon both assassin and thief 
by stabbing them with smile of unfair law 
that traps us in these strange times of despair. 

Over the trading world in fractured ship 
Odysseus sails beyond all legal bounds 
to grasp lost treasure with his diamond hand 
by selling coal to peasants in glass shacks 
who vote for Sun Thief as World President 
while clutching at their useless dreams deferred. 

Moral Parasites Of Faith

Moral Parasites Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 02 01

If we are moral parasites of faith 
then life is programmed to generate life 
when self-replicating genes of molecules 
design new bodies to maintain concept 
of lithe organic hope while God evolves 
from fish to wingless angel born of angst. 

Hygeia gives me grail of honey wine 
that wakes immortal soul of divine genes 
bright in my brain as timeless energy 
composed of memories my ancestors lived 
which programs how my mind perceives the world, 
inventing quest for my soul to fulfill. 

Transparent flame of conscious energy 
contrives to cause my brain to visualize 
stone wall enclosing garden of fruit trees 
so I play architect of paradise 
constructing haven to protect my clan 
in cathedral of bones where angels pray. 

We worship Wise Fool, who woke from weird dream 
with conscious vision of our spinning world, 
as God who teaches secret of rebirth 
through conjugal relations which conceive 
new bodies for immortal soul of genes 
so children carry on our legacy. 

Love urges me to find soul mate of hope 
so we transform our dreams of paradise 
to children running in lush yard of trees 
where they play hide and seek to learn the game 
of social power, trapped by hierarchy 
by judging who can eat and breed new souls. 

Erased by mirror of conceptual thoughts, 
I project bright silhouette of my soul 
as faceless shadow encoded in verse 
which reprograms how brains perceive the world 
so strangers recite spells dispelling curse 
that opens space for selfless love to grow. 

Awake through divine fever of desire, 
though trapped in mortal shell of aching flesh, 
I journey on quest for the Holy Grail 
that drove my ancestors for centuries 
to expand from castle on hill of faith 
and build world empire to enheaven Earth. 

Arresting progress of my world conquest, 
shocked at aggressive stance of blinding fear, 
I survey wreck of history in old myths, 
preserved in fractured nations of the world, 
and wonder how we plan redesign 
social system to equalize all souls. 

Raised Fist Of Desire

Raised Fist Of Desire
© Surazeus
2026 01 31

Glass city clenches raised fist of desire 
with knuckles whitened by harsh winter light 
that signs its name in smoke along gray docks 
with brute authority of iron rules 
that click sharp as rosary beads in the head, 
each prayer grim bargain struck with appetite. 

Since power prefers mirror of respect 
instead of human face that hides intent, 
it studies angled posture of slow grins 
that pass for brave conviction on the stage 
where mortals portray gods with human grace 
before assassination of the heart. 

Power sits at home in slippers and robe, 
and sips hot tea while counting silver spoons 
passed down as heritage from merchant kings 
when fathers harden sons with silver coins 
as profits kept in ledgers by the hearth 
through blessings rationed thin on winter nights. 

History enters hall of haughty tycoons, 
dragging rusty anchor through living rooms, 
to offer glass of wine with palsied hand 
to faithful dogs who always bark on cue, 
while those who bite the feeding hand will bleed 
black tears of sorrow in the surging sea. 

Young heroes seeking glory in the game 
may trip on names and dates of broken vows 
when they attempt to wake from gold-filled vault 
blind ghost of Fortune who requires their hand 
in bargain with the Devil bought with hope 
to steal the pot of truth from leprechauns. 

Cracked radio recites weird measured calm 
of aching violins that makes wives cry, 
while sirens teach hard streets the sharper truth 
that strength and wiles will always win the day 
in second civil war to rule the world 
fought long between the Joker and the Thief. 

Shy savior who appears from swirling smoke 
feels power pulse from bruise beneath his skin 
as weather front that chooses who will freeze 
which leaves dark print of ash at tender touch, 
yet when he wields lost sword of just reward 
his bullhorn voice is silenced by cruel lies. 

Still when he stands on tower of lost faith, 
stripped of awe at grand principles of good, 
he feels brute power shiver with torn wings 
as moth caught in vast spider web of rage, 
strange truth that dies when he names it aloud, 
yet rises strong when he names it again. 

Fields Of Mute Bones

Fields Of Mute Bones
© Surazeus
2026 01 31

Young silent menace wanders mountain trails 
to find ghosts of her childhood by the lake 
where flowers transform our bodies of flesh 
to unseen beauty of assertive faith, 
yet search for secret identity fails 
through revelation of the falling rain. 

Awake in forest of anxieties 
without broken lamp of Diogenes, 
he gathers apples in basket of faith, 
yet ponders cost of his self-sacrifice 
to save the world from tyranny of greed 
when men destroy what they cannot possess. 

When she brings wet lavender to his home 
and gives him cinnamon of her desire, 
he gives her cheerful sparrow of his heart, 
so they sit by the pool of gold moonlight 
and smile shyly as they eat apple pie 
while they invent new language of their love. 

Her song of longing wakes him from strange dream 
so he gathers stones of the mountain trail 
to repair crumbling wall of paradise 
and fix the leaky roof of their small house 
to keep her warm and dry in winter rains 
that weave new rivers in fields of mute bones. 

Because his homeland has become deep well 
that fountains sorrow from his wounded chest, 
he gives loaves of bread with honey and nuts 
to all his neighbors in dark anxious woods, 
then kneels before shrine of the faceless god 
carved from scented pine that gleams in ice rain. 

While he is sweating in fever of fear, 
she nourishes his wisdom-wounded heart 
with milk of stellar light drawn from the moon 
that writhes trapped in limbs of the hawthorn tree 
though she prays to the impossible sky 
for miracle from stones that question why. 

Stopping as she gathers herbs in dark woods, 
she observes the clock of infinite time 
that ticks in trunk of the elegant tree 
to measure transformation of her heart 
urged by pain to assume passionate love 
for every creature living in the world. 

Breathing ethereal spirit of the moon, 
she determines to remain honorable 
with plan to survive evil of this world, 
so she hugs him when he wakes from weird dream, 
and caresses his cheek with ghostly hand 
that dissipates into swirls of snowflakes. 

Find Tellurian Beryl

Find Tellurian Beryl
© Surazeus
2026 01 31

I will never tire of this spectacle 
of humans fighting each other for power 
for that is all we have done to each other 
through ten thousand years of the miracle 
we call strange passion of living in peril 
on sacred quest to find Tellurian Beryl. 

Dark energy of life that moves our souls 
in harmony with seasons of sea tides 
contrives no grand goal of hope, yet abides 
as blind lust driving us to play our roles 
in global theater of tragic fame 
that bleeds with wealth from idol without name. 

Thus I record with chronicles of fear 
senseless splendor of love we dare express 
stumbling across Bridge of Forgetfulness 
to win ruthless grace of the puppeteer 
who mocks our victories with hollow praise 
even as we transcend each psychic phase. 

I shall not think of those I love as dead 
though they are ghosts my song revives with care 
for grief of loss fuels energy we share 
till they are but faint shadows in my head 
who build snow demon on our sun-bright yard, 
safe in paradise where I still stand guard. 

No more do I feel terror of the grave 
for that small hole in surface of this world, 
where I rest after I play cosmic herald, 
converts my body to its spirit wave 
which beams my voice to radio of faith 
so you hear haunting song of my star wraith. 

Awake in higher consciousness from pain 
that spurs our mental growth from animal 
to god whose thoughts are philosophical, 
I grasp dire emptiness of social gain 
entrapped by fraud of mental suffering 
which I forge as horcrux in magic ring. 

Inured to agony of knowing fate 
that calculates how every soul will die, 
I search for Ungod in soul-empty sky 
till I know how to extract love from hate 
in progress that blooms from truth I believe 
to generate new life our hearts conceive. 

Startled awake from dream of crowded towns, 
I float in viridescent haze of tunes 
that fill my sky with hundred million moons 
bright as fire-lit forts on mist-shrouded downs 
where my angelic heart becomes more feral 
when I gaze deep in found Tellurian Beryl. 

Masked With Seraphic Light

Masked With Seraphic Light
© Surazeus
2026 01 31

Embrace my body when I die, great Earth, 
so I may live masked with seraphic light 
bestowed as grace by angel of my heart 
who congregates in one immortal Muse 
all female ancestors who weave my soul 
from their memories that program how I love. 

Ascension on effective wings of faith 
provides pure psychic energy of hope 
for me to dance on light quicksilver toes 
on winding path around harsh obstacles 
so I evade cruel Death in Slough of Despond 
when I transform on whirring edge of night. 

Blind Mother Sea creates from beams of light 
these heavy bodies of muscles on bones 
through which immortal spirit of our genes 
transcends immensity of pulsing byss 
along jeweled streams to sheltering lakes 
where we rise from water to walk on Earth. 

While hard Earth, carved in curves by wind and rain, 
supports our journey to the Promised Land, 
she shelters our frail bodies in her heart 
when temporary nodes of conscious souls 
wither and decay till we fade away 
and sleep while our children maintain our soul. 

Perennial flowers bloom from corpse of God 
whose chemical engine of chugging veins 
urges passionate response of tense hope 
as Isis searches every land on Earth 
to find his severed limbs of rotten flesh 
and sew fragments of Horus in one mind. 

Now wild Prometheus, restored to life 
by Doctor Frankenstein in castle tower, 
presides over corporate empire of wealth 
that binds sovereign nations with strands of greed 
in global state of fraught relationships 
as fractured federation based on faith. 

Yet Queen of Maytime, rising from despair, 
still burning bright with holy taunts of prayer, 
howls wild with mantra of the flower child 
to rule war-torn world as Lord of Misrule 
so Jesus joins with Buddha on high hill 
to flash the world awake with blinking eye. 

All brutal tyrants grasping reins of power, 
who try to kill all who oppose their rule, 
exhaust their souls from bitter rage of hate 
when Earth embraces them with gentle arms 
and snuffs out flames of war so trees of fruit 
may bloom from corpses of their rotten souls. 

Tathagata With Nine Eyes

Tathagata With Nine Eyes
© Surazeus
2026 01 30

When she travels back to land of her birth, 
small island ever floating in blue mist, 
she finds photos and relics of the past 
as treasures that vibrate with psychic signs 
containing spirits her ancestors beam 
that preserve their memories in mute form. 

When she opens old leather-covered book 
to read poems her great-grandmother composed 
concerning life of curious characters 
who lived in village by the mountain lake, 
dust of her long-vanished soul from the page 
causes her to sneeze as she starts to cry. 

Fragile photo with crumbling edges gleams 
with gray fading ghost of the slender girl 
wearing long batik skirt and white lace blouse 
whose body aged and vanished long ago, 
wrinkled and thin as long vine in moist heat, 
eyes black with beauty of the midnight moon. 

She rides Garuda halfway round the Earth 
to visit village by the muddy stream 
and walk in grove of old banana trees 
where her ancestors lived six thousand years, 
lush paradise now teeming with small cars 
that crowd narrow roads in vast city maze. 

She opens tin box hidden in the drawer 
to find small jewel her ancestor found 
eight hundred years ago one afternoon 
when he was hunting demons in dark woods 
on slope of Mount Semeru where swift birds 
lead him to cavern of One-World God. 

Enchanted by tune of the Gamelan 
that rings with voice of Nyai Roro Kidul 
in sun-gleaming temple of Achintya, 
she ponders oneness of all deities 
who emanate from supreme nothingness 
to manifest multiple states of mind. 

She feels glow deep in vastness of her heart 
emptiness of truth that beams energy 
composing all material forms of being, 
so she takes new selfie with her eye-phone 
and posts it on her social media site 
to preserve ancestral soul of her heart. 

Having worked her way up to state of love 
for every creature living on this Earth, 
she becomes Tathagata with nine eyes 
as she glides gracefully on glowing clouds 
when she returns home to Oconia 
where she eats Batavia soup with her family. 

World King By Accident

World King By Accident
© Surazeus
2026 01 30

Commencing slide into abyss of faith, 
we try to surf electric waves of truth, 
but tumble laughing with frantic delight, 
sprawled across fraught landscape of broken skulls 
because our faces are erased by light 
though we humans invent magical tools. 

Despite arduous task assigned by God 
to build social system from psychic mud, 
we skip with carefree joy of happy fools 
in haunted valleys of Elysian Fields 
to rescue children from church-funded schools 
in scenes depicted on Achillean shields. 

Digging trench to assemble water main 
which channels spirit energy of rain, 
Daedalus directs construction project 
to link our hearts across Antarctic waste 
according to plans of the Architect 
on which our social system will be based. 

Arrest of Midas and Herod at last 
will prove the second civil war is past 
when journalists reporting latest news 
find Isaiah mute on the White House lawn 
after he escapes with help of the Muse 
from gulag prison of the Golden Dawn. 

While twanging electric guitar on stage 
to sing lyrics that express youthful rage 
against machine of empire we oppose, 
Bacchus collapses from huge heart attack 
that blooms from his heart as angelic rose, 
recorded live on film with the laugh track. 

Mask of his face illuminated bright 
when Fame finds Mad Prophet with truth spotlight, 
Phoebus declares campaign for President 
when he preaches salvation by faith of works, 
then finds himself World King by accident, 
so he rules wisely without power perks. 

Electrocuted by conceptual wire 
of language code programmed for global choir, 
Jove plays police with authority voice 
with crucial help from lamp clown Lucifer 
who preaches truth by democratic choice, 
conceived through Liberty by Jupiter. 

Crowned God by Melusine and Guinevere, 
to nurture people as the Puppeteer, 
new World Messiah floats on pyramid 
as Big Brother watching all with One Eye 
to guide our growth beyond being Hominid 
till I fall head-first from Heavenless sky. 

Pencil Of Secret Codes

Pencil Of Secret Codes
© Surazeus
2026 01 29

Not clever enough to avoid the trap 
of telling sick jokes to the lizard king, 
cute ray of sunshine dressed in methane skirt 
nurses child of the devil with black milk 
while chewing the pencil of secret codes 
that crouch with moon toads in abandoned mines. 

Adjusting perspective through edgy truth, 
she deals with hilarious opposites 
that pivot around Still Point of all time 
within framework of cerebral concepts 
based on project to design new world view 
that deconstructs imperial rule with lies. 

Misdirect focus of attentive greed 
from propaganda project to brainwash 
fools willing to believe religious tales 
presenting miracles as measured facts 
which support grand state ideology 
so we can see essential truth of being. 

She surfs event horizon of star waves 
with graceful anguish of lonely respect 
through slow revolving door of formal change 
programming how we understand the real 
based on aggressive twinkle of brain stars 
that twitch in cosmic wind of endless change. 

Raindrops paint dry dirt with radiant eyes 
that dazzle hearts of young vivacious ghosts 
who count how many crows fly outside time 
forever west to find where the sun hides 
with sharp intention of untampered books 
to build palace of notes from broken bones. 

Immaterial orchids by garden pool 
explain confusion about soul rebirth 
involving various objects without names 
that we assemble inside walls of stone 
with plan to purchase from ghost in the cave 
house of the haunting melody we play. 

Amorphous desire of rational fate 
urges me to invent new simple words 
that lurk on edge of aesthetic regret 
through intellectual game of puzzling charge 
based on sensational spark of dawn light 
that misleads progress of our retrospect. 

Social collision between private kings 
and public jesters over whose world view 
will better assimilate in one myth 
psychic trauma every human endures 
transforms countless warring states of the Earth 
in global drama no one wants to play. 

Curse Of Global Fame

Curse Of Global Fame
© Surazeus
2026 01 29

This collapse of our old world view is no loss 
because blind butterflies carry gold stones 
to build colossal web of fragile words 
from shining filaments of memories 
which maps how glass bees pollenate our brains 
with frantic visions of escaping cars. 

When first my pencil beautifies the world 
with breathing figures sprung from rancid eggs, 
I purchase prospects to give soul delight 
with new creation blooming from fake sight 
that spurs my deathless passion to transcend 
hard obstacles that block my noble path. 

Trapped deep in maze of my seraphic theme, 
I hide in vain from curse of global fame 
to survey blissful wonders of the sky 
we share with every living soul on Earth 
which should elate our brains with wishful keys 
that opens gate to splendid hall of fears. 

Celestial Salem settled long on Earth 
decays from endless centuries of change, 
no longer calm from lost serenity 
despite how high my Muse ascends to Heaven  
with balmy wings now crippled by contest 
to mold weird vision in tablets of fire. 

Blinded by radiance of her bitter eyes, 
Damon guards Aurora with hard work, 
adjusting parts of engines with steel tools 
in brick garage near highway of brave wealth 
that shimmers on ethereal plain of hope 
beside the warehouse full of romance books. 

I fix my ardent view on moon-haze goal 
to map whole history of our spinning world 
with tale of each lost soul on signless road 
composing chronicle of long-dead gods 
who spread seraphic pinions with intent 
to savor anguish of this comic hour. 

Majestic grandeur of thundering flash, 
that luminates abyss between our worlds, 
expands from passion of my mountain wing 
when Zephyr dances in bomb-shattered church 
to gather pages torn from book of dreams 
and weave them in new global myth of fame. 

We bear in trembling hands of honesty 
fragments of our lost world view with care 
with arduous task of intricate concern 
to assemble new puzzle of world truth 
which assimilates all religions in creed 
that factors all obsessions in one myth. 

Crippled By Attentive Lies

Crippled By Attentive Lies
© Surazeus
2026 01 28

Whatever the wind carries my heart will lose 
because its pain-carved riverbed contains 
memories of my youth scattered on dry plains 
in strange country with language devils speak 
through riddles about my fugitive past 
since time omits my being from beams of light. 

Fake mask I wear through solidarity 
with faceless strangers I meet on long roads 
reveals no anger twisting my hard heart 
with fierce solidity of transient truth 
too terrible for children to recall 
based on ambiguous stories of the fall. 

Guilt-laced cape draped with calm alacrity 
exiles my soul to vale of absent grief 
shaped thick from shadows no one dares retrieve 
though I walk crippled by attentive lies 
in place unreconciled by correct laws 
beneath renegade star of fate I sell. 

Shape of my shadow, heavy on frail Earth, 
regrets how guiding constellations prove 
altered course is not incorrect way home 
though I maintain calm dignity of fear 
based on crumbling grace of abandonment 
against belief people cling to with hate. 

Penance purchased in marketplace of rage 
contrives reward for deeds of wretched hope 
despite concern innocent friends express 
in proverbs tangled by electric words 
that teach us how to survive lies we choose 
if we should cover our tracks with sly laugh. 

Because I think of how apples may fall 
at bitter crack of brave barbarity, 
I play my own ghost in bright morning glow 
by treading iced path up high rugged hill 
where I survey lush valleys of wheat farms 
while flakes of snow swirl cutely from gray clouds. 

Gestures of my fingers weaving weird words 
manipulate auras beaming from brains 
fractured by paradigm shift where old truths 
reframe spooky perception by new faith 
presenting morals for how we behave 
as rules enforced by the world justice squad. 

Amused by anguish of electric eyes 
that glows with optimistic view of change, 
I find my memories carried by the wind, 
scattered as feathers on dry river shore 
because I meditate ten million years 
on how nothing is solved with honest tears. 

Build Empire Of Liberty

Build Empire Of Liberty
© Surazeus
2026 01 28

Through adulation of exploding stars 
we celebrate national independence 
from fascist gangsters wearing crowns of gold 
to fight for justice and freedom for all 
in name of democratic principles 
on which we build empire of liberty. 

Awake as angels in our holy mountains, 
we dig our ancient names from soil of faith 
to build enormous statue from our fear 
that honors heroes who perform great deeds 
to free every people from slavery, 
inspired by ancient songs of troubadours. 

Affirmative in action of the mind, 
we join with refugees from many nations 
to form world state with liberty for all 
based on names of heroes on the black wall 
digested by malice of billionaires 
who fear romantic songs of the wild people. 

Harmonious America unites 
tribes from every nation of the world 
in fierce contentious system of respect 
beneath universal sky of the Ungod 
whose spirit glows the more we love each other 
as we unite to fight cruel men with guns. 

We sing our elegies and jubilees 
with humble hope to build safe paradise 
for every person living on this globe 
who work together sea to shining sea 
to nurture new world born from all our hearts 
with courage to face murderers with guns. 

Each day the world ends in apocalypse 
we clear away crimes evil men commit 
to build new world from our wagons and boats 
that we employ to find the Promised Land 
where Liberty stands in Temple of Truth 
to guide our way with fragile light of hope. 

Though I fall wingless in the ring of fire 
and walk the signless road of everywhere, 
your love weaves new wings on my wounded heart 
so I rise as Lucifer who bears light 
to lead lost souls to Heaven we create 
from prophet-singing skulls of our ancestors. 

When I retrieve the Golden Fleece of faith 
from lawless land of gangsters in gold castles 
I stand on pyramid of the one eye 
and give my testimony to the world 
that we fight thieves and slavers with courage 
though they shoot hundred million of us dead. 

Way Too Far Away

Way Too Far Away
© Surazeus
2026 01 27

Even though you seem way too far away, 
remote as cold stars of unmeasured time, 
my heart returns from void of snowy fields 
so I can reach across abyss of fear 
and give you treasure I found in the woods, 
which must not be the shadow of my name. 

Therefore I shall outline multiple paths 
to gain majority of voiceless thoughts 
across rugged terrain of secret hopes 
where forsythia spills over river banks 
in disabled meadow of broken doors 
where curious children invent new myths. 

Durable books contain our enterprise 
to climb inflated hills of heritage, 
impressive with knowledge of integers 
introduced by jewels in faceless ponds 
where mutual friends ponder new mystery 
concerning novel ownership of faith. 

Petulant lovers exchange moral jokes 
based on productive game of give and take 
fueled by fierce opposition to loss 
despite arrogant state of curious doubt 
that strengthens our fraught relationship well 
enough to notice our hard-earned success. 

Avoiding pitfalls every teacher maps 
through pledge to investigate observed facts 
with measured analysis based on fear, 
we consolidate unspoken concerns 
in clever proverbs old people recite 
when they remember lessons learned from pain. 

Through strife to become more consciously real 
as organic being of chemical lust 
I transcend bitter angst of suffering 
which liberates my soul from prison camp 
where my mind stays trapped after eighty years 
though my body lounges in paradise. 

Paradox of still shapes that never move 
through shards of time devised by ticking clocks 
reveals illusion of motion I rule 
as spiral swirl computing finite curve 
that arcs conceptual change of constant war 
toward perfect impersonation of God. 

Beyond the utmost bound of divine words 
I follow knowledge on the Golden Path 
through dream-tangled woods of pulsing masks 
to catch electric star of blood-hot faith 
that leaves me stranded in yard of your heart 
so we can be together for all time. 

Black Milk Of Daybreak

Black Milk Of Daybreak
© Surazeus
2026 01 27

Once again we drink black milk of daybreak 
while digging graves for our teachers and nurses 
who tend festering wounds in doorless rooms 
where the blind man writes with tooth of the snake 
riddles on walls of museums and churches 
that bleed words of truth in eyes of the ground. 

Each morning we drink black milk of daybreak 
to make room for more graves in empty clouds 
where faceless ghosts of people with lost names 
hide stories of harsh suffering they endure 
deep in blinking hearts of red traffic lights 
that signal our duty to oppose hate. 

Each lunchtime we drink black milk of daybreak 
while flames of world war consume garden trees 
where Sulamith plays with serpent of truth 
who recites riddles from book of fake lies 
that prophesy fall of America 
and rise of Zarathia to rule Earth. 

Each evening we drink black milk of daybreak 
while Albert plays electric violin 
to raise soul of Odysseus from the dead 
who catches capital bullets of rage 
with psychic aperture of his blue eye 
since he lives in the house with countless graves. 

Each midnight we drink black milk of daybreak 
since Margarete with the long golden hair 
wanders in the house of the rising sun 
to transform nuclear missiles of despair 
into blackberry vines of innocence 
so she can bake pies from our wounded hearts. 

We decide to drink black milk of daybreak 
because the bridge of happiness we built 
collapses in swift River Styx of change 
through urgent pride of honest arrogance 
to assert principles of thought control 
hidden by polished mask of Jupiter. 

No one wants to drink black milk of daybreak 
during the century of global wars 
when angels in airplanes bomb paradise 
as spies infiltrate foreign governments 
till time assimilates nations of gangs 
in peaceful United Nations of Earth. 

I refuse to drink black milk of daybreak 
after digging graves for millions of souls 
who haunt me on long restless afternoons 
so I record their names and tragic lives 
in sacred chronicle of the blind crow 
while I float in house of eight billion doors. 

Most Lonely Telephone

Most Lonely Telephone
© Surazeus
2026 01 26

If I ever forget why children cry 
I will become the most lonely telephone 
that never rings across the countryside 
where I hang out on trunk of the old elm, 
ignoring angels falling from the sky 
in terrible war against silver planes. 

When she finds the gold-spotted serpent egg, 
Tellus slips it in straw basket of grass, 
then runs graceful as lithe deer in the woods 
to small cave by the gleaming pool of gems 
where she fries it in the skillet to eat, 
then leans against old elm to count the crows. 

Young slender man in brown suit and red tie 
steps from the motorcar in polished shoes, 
and asks the girl with flowers in her hair 
where he can find the waterfall of wrens, 
so she leads him through shadows of old elms 
while chattering about how angels cry. 

Three grim men in black suits with machine guns 
burst into the grove by the waterfall 
where Belenus stares in shock of surprise, 
but Tellus twirls around and kicks the guns, 
and fights all three goons in martial combat, 
whacking them on their heads with willow wand. 

After they run away into the woods, 
Tellus sits on the grass and spreads her skirt, 
then offers him sandwich of beef and cheese, 
so he devours her lunch with eager joy, 
then recites poetry while they drink wine, 
and she dances gleefully at sunset. 

Embraced in twinkle of eternal stars, 
Belenus and Tellus make love with relish 
of passionate bliss with blooming of flowers 
that tremble when bees drink nectar of faith 
to pollinate their pistils from their stamens 
till sunburst scatters dew to soak lush hills. 

When their son Lugus reaches eighteen years 
he joins the royal rifle regiment 
sent overseas to hills of Hindustan 
where he climbs rugged trail to mountain cave 
and falls in love with graceful Parvati 
who plays haunting melodies on the flute. 

While Lugus is building new four-wheeled wagon 
and Parvati is frying Paratha bread, 
grand silver airplane of imperial power 
drops righteous bomb that blasts their mountain hut 
and rips their bodies so they lie on grass 
trembling in pain as they embrace and kiss. 

Evasive Algebra Of Faith

Evasive Algebra Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 01 26

I have never wondered when I will die 
because Death will unalive my hot soul 
so suddenly my conscious sense of self 
will puff out into lightless nothingness 
as I fall endlessly in sea of gloom 
and dissipate into light of the moon. 

While still aware of pulsing pulchritude 
that gushes hotly through my quivering flesh, 
I grasp at beauty of clear nothingness 
by letting go deep breath of agony 
so I release grip on meaning of life 
which I designed to balance me afloat. 

My heart beats wild with time-ascending wings 
to gallop swiftly along river shores 
beyond horizon of the flaming dawn 
with eager passion to fly among clouds, 
but stumble into evening glow of fear 
and lie unbodied by the singing tree. 

Calm stillness cloaking me with cricket chirps 
enshrouds my naked soul in twilight gloom 
of blue dispersal fading into thoughts 
concerning how roots curl into my flesh 
and suck my body dry of bitter tears 
so I spring laughing into flash of day. 

Implied assertion of extreme regret 
explains foundation formed from graphic seeds 
yet neutral to contrived accomplishments 
which caravans of blind angels broadcast 
through bulletins of wedding catalogs 
that strikes with valid voltage of respect. 

Alone surviving on wisdom of truths, 
claimed as welfare by winners of rigged games, 
I sample unique response of grim gods 
restricted by signals of scheduled tricks 
encoding sensors of routine upgrades 
contrary to testament of the seer. 

Segments of nature model innocence 
by which we network merchant companies 
retrieving options of unlicensed games 
through hybrid justice still unjustified 
in context of agreements no one signs 
with boolean bankruptcy of avatars. 

Because I know exactly when I die, 
based on evasive algebra of faith, 
I play appellant in court of brave lies 
enforced by discipline of holy jokes 
encrypted as dependence on vain trust 
since I cannot duplicate my dream brain.