Weirdness Of Eternal Now

Weirdness Of Eternal Now
© Surazeus
2026 06 09

Through tight control of intermittent thoughts 
we wind disparate memories in spheres 
of flashing strategies to burn god stones 
with tattered pages from ancestral books 
so prior tests we dare contrive from code 
enchant our hearts when sad nightingales sing. 

While sitting blindly in windowless house 
with numberless door of inequity, 
I roam the whole universe of strange lands 
though tethered to fragile skull of my soul 
since gushing mountain river piles logs high 
against enormous stone of innocence. 

Slouched by unkempt grave of the famous seer 
who harvested peaches from tangled trees, 
I mutter prayer of sorrow to his mask 
to checklist deeds I refuse to perform 
through mechanism of uncertain grief 
that covers me in random leaves of hope. 

No star-eyed visitors appear from mist, 
seeking redemption from gratified corpse 
to highlight uselessness of sentiment 
that could not resurrect my pardoned heart 
from graceless circumstance of fortitude, 
since love might manifest in dormant seeds. 

Could I return from underworld of faith 
with contract that impacts my credit score, 
I would sail leaking boat across dark sea 
to harrow blatant sense of urgency 
with greatness death displays at crack of dawn 
when everything I knew as true is wrong. 

Up jagged cliff of ambition I climb 
against assertive gusts of lonely wind 
to count bright sparkles on the silver sea 
by wishing goodness for each soul alive 
who walks alone the signless road of fate 
to prove people can govern themselves well. 

Inspired to extract my body from roots 
of ancient trees, I breathe faith to express 
despair we deny pierces hearts with truth 
despite our vow at picnic by the lake 
to savor weirdness of eternal now 
by drinking sorrow brewed in bitter herbs. 

I seek sublimity of perfect thoughts 
that swell at suddenness of your sharp eyes 
beaming subtle blast of rainbow bliss 
with cheerful jubilation gladly struck 
in harmony of love we blithely share 
with brokenhearted document of faith. 

Cartography Of Tropes

Cartography Of Tropes
© Surazeus
2026 06 09

Attempts to eradicate sentiment, 
that tangle my heart with vines of desire, 
prove more than difficult to implement 
when I am but one voice in the global choir 
that sings hymns about bright Heaven above 
through universal law of selfless love. 

Strange feelings shaped by artificial hope 
writhe in my heart with fierce draconic need 
to manage programmed rites that help me cope 
with social drama from religious creed 
designed to chain my heart with rigid rules 
which I dismantle with conceptual tools. 

Emotions based on vision of the real, 
my mind projects through frame of my world view, 
propel my progress on the Fortune Wheel 
when I attend my quest to code the true 
defined by ideal trope of my dream state 
that helps me choose condition of my fate. 

My naming secret specter of my soul, 
expressed well by character mask I wear, 
asserts specific space where I play role 
attentive to cause effect that I dare 
present as purpose of deeds I perform 
which models fluid response by the norm. 

Tending inner identity through code 
that weaves fragments of memories in verse, 
I shift thought gears to spool efficient node 
that binds my body to the universe 
as phantom sprouting from matrix of light, 
enhanced by radiant wisdom in dream flight. 

If I attempt to frame my psychic being 
through universal template of mankind 
I find my soul defined by angel wing 
that spreads wide scope of my expanding mind 
so bright compassion of my glowing heart 
flows out beyond grid limits of my chart. 

With courage of feelings, I navigate 
Slough of Despond to find the Promised Land, 
but Petrus stops me at the Pearly Gate, 
demanding I show passport with my hand 
that Jesus signed and stamped with Bloody Cross, 
so I build New Heaven as my own boss. 

Intense passion of feelings are no good 
for guiding my way in vast maze of myths, 
so I advance by faith through gloomy wood 
with Lamp of Lucifer to megaliths 
since I prefer cartography of tropes 
to journey safely on rough mountain slopes. 

Attempts To Question Fate

Attempts To Question Fate
© Surazeus
2026 06 08

Home on little island Neptunus bears 
in cool flowing waves of the Lydian Lake, 
I relax rejoicing in fruit-tree grove, 
safe in stone walls of secret paradise 
on vine-entangled shore of Sirmio 
where Catullus teaches me to chant songs. 

Fierce-eyed Cybele with long tangled hair, 
enthroned on river-smoothed Oracle Stone, 
shows how bodies, animated by souls, 
spring from scarlet egg of Chthonian womb, 
designed by passion of the swirling sea, 
then leaves my skull smiling in cold moonlight. 

Sweet Diana, mistress of secret glades, 
swift daughter of Jove, son of Jupiter, 
son of Jehovah, guide me with your star 
through mountain forests to your olive grove 
where you teach us to hunt the fleet-foot deer, 
for you protect boys and girls with your love. 

Alone on shadowy road of my life, 
from which no living soul ever returns, 
I remember dancing with Juturna 
in honey-thick fields of Elysium 
as I descend to cave of flashing jewels 
to fight Orcus and free slaves from despair. 

With quivering wings of brave Zephyrus 
I seek Rhamnusia in Temple of Fate 
to read sacred Book of Aquarius 
whose riddles reveal secret formulas 
that help me choose which road of deeds to walk 
when I help Orion defeat cruel Pluton. 

Lured by song of Laodamia for my ghost 
to possess wood statue of her dead spouse, 
I climb Mount Latmos with my broken lyre 
to pray Apollo repair its cracked shell, 
but I find Endymion in moonlight 
who asks me to consult his horoscope. 

When I ask innocent Harpocrates, 
who plays with toy lyre on lap of his mother, 
star-eyed Isis, who peels orange for her son, 
if he has seen his father, Horus Sky-Walker, 
that devious godling taps finger to his lips 
to silence my attempts to question Fate. 

While I drink deep from cool Hippocrene Stream, 
from climbing long trail up Mount Helicon, 
I hear someone call my name, Hecatus, 
so I turn around and look everywhere, 
but Artemis is hiding among trees, 
so I call her name to the empty sky. 

Mad King Of Bitter Hate

Mad King Of Bitter Hate
© Surazeus
2026 06 08

Last night under the fractured bloody moon 
I discovered I failed to verify 
my faith subscription to the resurrection 
so I find myself, when I wake at dawn, 
stranded in endless maze of asphalt streets 
that binds cities of Earth in cyberspace. 

I knock on glass door of the Happy Church 
to ask if they sell updated maps to the soul 
but the robot wearing a blue preacher suit 
tries to sell me shares to the Afterlife, 
so I steal tattered wings from Icarus 
and leap from steeple of the mocking owl. 

Gliding high over maze of city streets 
with message scroll I swipe from Earendel, 
I try to find statue of Lucifer 
who bears the shining Lamp of Liberty, 
but mob of factory workers tears it down 
to build new bowling alley with a bar. 

Landing in Garden of Eden with grace, 
I stroll rocky shore of the River Styx, 
cluttered with skulls that prophesy world doom, 
and search for the Tree of Knowledge and Lies, 
but find King Midas hacking at its trunk 
because he wants to build a huge ballroom. 

When I call Jesus on the telephone 
to report vandalism in paradise 
he sends Azrael with electric wings 
to wrestle the mad king of bitter hate, 
but Midas accuses him of being crooked 
then storms away to sulk by the Dead Sea. 

Grasping scepter Nebuchadnezzar dropped, 
Midas rides huge gold hippopotamus 
past bomb-blasted gates of Jerusalem, 
through crowds of angels jeering at his face, 
but he sneers and snatches gold Crown of Thorns 
to crown himself emperor of the world. 

Swift Hawk of Horus swoops down from Blue Sky 
and transforms into Lucifer Sky-Walker 
who wields law-sharpened sword Excalibur, 
to behead greedy demon of despair, 
but blade of justice crackles hologram 
that flickers, then returns to bloated hugeness. 

Soaring up to High Castle on Golgotha, 
I break through third wall of apocalypse 
to smash computer racks of corporate banks 
so eidolon of Satan dissipates, 
which dispels cloud of doom shrouding the world 
so people of Earth rejoice in the streets. 

Mirror Of Forgotten Masks

Mirror Of Forgotten Masks
© Surazeus
2026 06 07

Happy in mundane failure of my life 
to play grand role on stage of history, 
safe from glaring spotlight of random fame, 
I gaze in mirror of forgotten masks 
where faces of my ancestors combine 
whole shadow of my soul that glows awake. 

Calm in acceptance of my mundane life 
where I carve prophecies on river stones 
recording who gets cursed by random fame, 
I float in mirror of forgotten masks 
as eight billion humans with dreaming brains 
who enter contest over who plays god. 

Surprised by joy that fountains from my heart 
as surreal vision flashing through my brain 
detailing how to evade random fame, 
I leap through mirror of forgotten masks 
to navigate combat zone of thought mines 
that could explode at misstep of each choice. 

Entranced by beauty of my Mountain Muse 
who gives me crystal sphere of timeless truth 
that maps path I take beyond random fame, 
I swim in mirror of forgotten masks 
with time-animated globe of world history 
evolving from shy fish to singing god. 

Inspired by wisdom of my Honest Spouse 
who tends Garden of Eden with crafty hands 
so Tree of Knowledge blooms with random fame, 
I rise from mirror of forgotten masks 
to build castle of faith on hill of beasts 
where angels sing in choir of tragic loss. 

Nourished by healing fruit of the Dream Tree 
which sprouts from rotten corpse of Jupiter 
to translate selfless love from random fame, 
I bloom from mirror of forgotten masks 
to drive my car to work at flash of dawn 
where I map features of our cluttered world. 

Crazy with passion to understand why 
our bodies of genetic coils are formed 
from atoms swerving against random fame, 
I soar through mirror of forgotten masks 
on wings of Icarus designed by hope 
till I build Heaven in Hell where I fall. 

Amused by complex political games 
ambitious tyrants, driving blind by lust, 
play to gamble so they win random fame, 
I polish mirror of forgotten masks 
so people visiting the Oracle 
may see dire consequence of every choice. 

Mercurial Wail Of Solitude

Mercurial Wail Of Solitude
© Surazeus
2026 06 07

Our world may be mask for the eyeless god 
who veils immortal light of its vast face 
behind endless swirling of the storm cloud, 
yet my airplane in the sky leaves no trace 
as proof of life that glows outside my head, 
born as Winged Victory of Samothrace. 

This puzzling world pretends to be more real 
than Heaven I imagine in my mind 
so I sing with roar only oceans feel 
when blazing sun, no peaceful god designed, 
sinks deep in surging waves of timeless wheel 
with eerie tune that sailors strive to find. 

Struck by mercurial wail of solitude, 
I see sweet siren with long flowing hair 
lounge on large jagged island in sad mood 
while gazing past my face in sunset glare 
with casual horror of her pulchritude 
enchanting me with love because I care. 

Dark places of this world within my heart 
blaze bright with power of the holy word 
which I find written on my secret chart 
by potent wisdom that long rings unheard 
with aching privilege of faith to start 
assertive games that reclaim the preferred. 

Alert to readjustment of the bomb 
that never touches strangeness of dark hills, 
I search vast maze of rubble for my home 
with buoyed innocence of moon-splashed walls 
to calculate social power of doom 
as blind force of fate that obeys no rules. 

Through misty groves of academe I fly 
beyond enchanted place I know is fake 
to find where frivolous gods still ask why 
we cannot keep great treasures our hands make 
unless I agree to play the dream spy 
by searching for source of the magic lake. 

Till morning gleams with shifting mutant forms, 
which reframe our psychic identities, 
I meditate with peace of lightning storms 
to transcend religious serenities 
that deconstruct all our conceptual norms 
with divine right of mortal entities. 

When our huge Ship of State strikes the iceberg 
that swells through oligarchic tyranny, 
I swim to island of the laughing lark 
who welcomes me home to my barony 
where I study process of orange clockwork 
in vain attempt to plot weird irony. 

Bitter Faith Of Innocence

Bitter Faith Of Innocence
© Surazeus
2026 06 07

To remove mask of my identity 
as whatever gender and race I am 
in temporary drama of my life, 
is to expose inner gears of my brain 
through universal character I play 
by deconstructing social privilege. 

I may seem to be straight cisgender male 
through Europeans in America, 
motivated by Scythian ardency 
essential to soul of Gothinians, 
yet I relate with empathy of love 
to every person living on this globe. 

My nature, signified by social labels 
imposed by time and place of my soul birth, 
radiates psychic energy of faith 
signed by First Mother of humanity 
who lived two hundred thousand years ago 
in Okavango Delta of my heart. 

I feel pulse of her heart animate mine 
with passionate respect for sparkling rain 
that drenches endless grassland with clear song 
she channels through sweet voice of eager hope, 
so I express her vision in my verse 
that wakes her soul in every human heart. 

We are the children of her star-lit eyes 
who multiply from womb of Mother Eve 
to carry Stick of Truth and Stone of Faith 
while wearing Cape of Wisdom to keep warm 
as we explore expanse of spinning Earth, 
and share our tale in song around the fire. 

Dividing into countless warring tribes, 
all branching from First Mother of our souls, 
we reframe our social identity 
to differentiate our noble clan 
from all the others who invade our space 
as we fight over whose Father is God. 

Inspired by bitter faith of innocence, 
that spurs aggressive progress of my plan 
to expand United Nations of Earth 
which assimilates all races in one, 
I let First Mother of humanity 
possess my body with spirit of love. 

Every race and religion on this globe 
originates from First Mother we share, 
so my heart aches at blaze of civil war 
that sparks my passion to adjudicate 
new world religion binding every creed 
in song that honors One Mother of All. 

Name Of The Rose

Name Of The Rose
© Surazeus
2026 06 07

The bald-head man with glasses and mustache 
adjusts tweed jacket and laces work boots, 
then sweeps huge pile of old discarded books, 
heaped on rain-slick sidewalk, against brick wall 
next to glass door of some abandoned bank, 
lamenting how knowledge of the past gets lost. 

"I cannot decide what to name the Rose," 
he muses while staring with rain-blurred eyes 
at tattered covers of paperback novels 
that depict bitter women in torn dresses 
and angry men with guns and loosened ties, 
"since the girl from the village is my mother." 

When he was young student in art history 
forty years ago at the university, 
he traveled to Italy for the summer 
where he climbed the steep Stairway of the Dead 
to find lost book that Aristotle wrote 
hidden in gloomy Abbey of Saint Michael. 

One cover shows corpulent businessman, 
in blue suit and red tie, wearing a blond wing, 
whose face resembles the ravenous pig, 
so he remembers how Odysseus 
was wounded by sharp horn of a wild boar 
while hunting on slopes of Mount Porcorianus. 

Greedy tyrants who clutch with manic fear 
at transient illusions of fiscal power, 
elusive as Hound of the Baskervilles, 
since Hugo was cursed for kidnapping women, 
attempt to burn the sweet innocent girl 
because she laughs at their frail vanity. 

Residing in lush Garden of Delight, 
the Girl from the Village with golden hair, 
tends delicate rosebud of her thorned bush 
while her train of nymphs wearing flower wreaths, 
named Chastity, Danger, Reason, and Shame, 
play with elegant grace in stone-rimmed pool. 

The Lover wearing clothes of Everyman 
gazes entranced in Fountain of Narcissus 
where reflection of Rosebud sparks true love 
to blossom with desire from aching heart, 
as if sharp arrow pierces him with hope, 
so his voice echoes with Name of the Rose. 

Adjusting tattered books on metal shelf, 
the balding hippie with glasses and boots 
sells them to passing strangers for one penny, 
then visits grave of his wife, Rose Marie, 
who died from cancer twenty years ago, 
and cries how beauty of this world is lost. 

Time Maps Our Dreams

Time Maps Our Dreams
© Surazeus
2026 06 06

She tells me I can never understand, 
so I carve her face on the crystal moon. 
Rose petals flutter from her callused hand 
at subtle fracture of the bone-flute tune. 
Time rearranges fragments of strange truth 
in pages of books she sells at her booth. 

She holds my hand with casual arrogance 
while we stroll by blue river of lost souls. 
Great warriors driven by brave innocence 
fight over water that washes their skulls. 
Time scatters bones of angels in cold stream 
which transform into cars in mundane dream. 

She laughs with courage of the howling wolf 
when I attempt to build cottage of stone. 
Our bodies writhe as we swim in the gulf 
so our hearts pulse with harmonious tone. 
Time allocates conceptual words of fate 
providing signs we use to navigate. 

Moonlight gleams in her eyes with arcane code 
that adjusts conceptual frame of my mind. 
While she translates proverbs of the God Toad 
I deconstruct world zeitgeist Zeus designed. 
Time animates psychic gears of my brain 
when she takes me dancing in summer rain. 

She knows the secret thoughts my brain conceals 
by flapping swan wings on cape of her pride. 
I retrieve from Death treasures Terror steals 
to build safe haven where she may abide. 
Time programs how my brain perceives the world 
that fools me to think I am the cosmic herald. 

She pauses on edge of the jagged cliff 
to show me where ships with tattooed sails sink. 
Wanting to impress her, I act too stiff, 
so she melts my heart with sly kiss and wink. 
Time maps our dreams on animated globe 
that highlights when she sings in silky robe. 

She whispers strange tales of gods in my ear 
so I write surreal plots in tangled verse. 
Trained by Apollo to play puppeteer, 
I chant epic poem of philosophers. 
Time weaves my songs in tapestry of truth 
that presents life of our messiah sleuth. 

She appears before me in flash of light 
on Mount Takoma where I meditate. 
She gives me Lyre of Mercury to fight 
world exploitation by tyrant of hate. 
Time transfers magic of Mount Helicon 
to hidden landscape of my Avalon. 

Emanation Of My Brain

Emanation Of My Brain
© Surazeus
2026 06 06

Innocent hope twists my heart with vain faith 
that humans love each other selflessly 
and work together with one set of rules 
to cherish bodies that nurture our souls 
for I am emanation of my brain 
that flashes with dreams of eternity. 

Someday people with respect for the truth 
will build Astarium, Temple of Truth, 
to honor courageous philosophers 
and brave scientists who investigate 
complex nature of our weird universe 
to formulate codes that explain its laws. 

Through rational derangement of my senses, 
with prodigious process of deconstruction 
that fragments memes of our global world view 
in morphing puzzle pieces of weird facts, 
I jailbreak Sibyl from her golden cage 
so she can teach me wisdom of the heart. 

When I draw back crystal dome of Blue Sky, 
I find lightless gloom of eternity 
where Ophelia floats on calm black waves 
till she blooms awake with white lily lips 
at blinding flash of countless flaming stars 
that sparkle in every cell of my soul. 

Twirling wild with frantic delirium 
on jagged stones where ocean waves ferment, 
I transform from the helpless boat of fate 
to roaring serpent with electric wings 
while strumming vibrant strings of the bone lyre 
till my body dissipates in storm wind. 

Ensconced in mystic horrors of weird truth, 
I reassemble fragments of my soul 
by clamping mask of Phoebus on my face 
so with eyes of the sea my heart perceives 
luminous phantom that devils call God 
reflected in vast mirror of my mind. 

Thus I bathe naked in languor of faith 
against national pride of blood-stained flags 
while riding Behemoth of revolution 
to free my people from huge prison boats 
so we swim lost in surging sea of change 
till Liberty guides us to Hall of Hope. 

Eternal Spinner of atomic souls 
transforms my body of chemical lust 
to ethereal phantom of conscious love 
who evolves Leviathan to Gabriel 
as writhing spirit of my hungry heart 
so I give Mary glass of milk to drink. 

Gospel Of The Holy Toad

Gospel Of The Holy Toad
© Surazeus
2026 06 06

Spurred by vision of human dignity, 
derived from gospel of the Holy Toad, 
I search boundless land of America 
for brave men bold enough with hearts of gold 
to fight cruel tyrant and his oligarchs 
so women are free to choose how they live. 

Creative power of the female soul, 
described by gospel of the Holy Toad, 
consists of generating life from hope 
and molding body of material flesh 
from ideal pattern of genetic code, 
so they should be free to choose how they live. 

Protecting women from abusive harm, 
through law in gospel of the Holy Toad, 
inspires men to build havens with strong walls 
so mothers raise their children with calm care, 
safe in surrounding walls of paradise 
where they play free in garden of fruit trees. 

Beneath golden glow of the bright Full Moon, 
in tune with gospel of the Holy Toad, 
free women dress in gowns of scarlet hue 
to dance in rings of stone on crowns of hills 
and sing with sweet mercurial voice of faith 
attentive hymns to Spirit of Rebirth. 

Where men once guarded women with true love, 
designed by gospel of the Holy Toad, 
they now imprison women with cruel greed, 
attempting to control with jealous rage 
their reproductive power to create 
new body for immortal soul of genes. 

Though men would nurture life of women well, 
inspired by gospel of the Holy Toad, 
with solemn oath in binding marriage vows 
to shelter and feed children of their wives, 
weak men now snarl with bestial rage from fear 
and kill precious women they should protect. 

Trapped by patriarchal creed of command, 
repealed by gospel of the Holy Toad, 
men strive for centuries to legalize 
social control over bodies of women 
to manage reproductive privilege 
they exercise to increase their offspring. 

New mission to restore feminine rights, 
proclaimed by gospel of the Holy Toad, 
propels new generation of good men 
to assert matriarchal rights to decide 
when and with whom women will procreate 
through passionate wisdom of divine love. 

Snow-Kissed Apple

Snow-Kissed Apple
© Surazeus
2026 06 06

Snow-kissed apple on the arching bough, 
teach me how hope inspires the heart to love, 
though disease and death haunt our lonely town 
and twist angelic bodies with harsh pain, 
so sweet juice of your truth, from sun and rain, 
may fill my wounded mind with energy. 

Strange glow of sunlight through web of tree limbs 
exposes eerie ache of wordless hope 
for faces that smile bright with cheerful mien 
on summer afternoons by sparkling stream 
where we play games among the market stalls 
while men in ring of stones discuss great things. 

Heart latched on swift angelic flight of dreams, 
I search for secret name carved on gray cliff 
which indicates what nameless soul I sense 
awake in tangled shadows of lost time 
so I may channel wisdom they perform 
with courage to challenge despair and win. 

Dazed by hard sunlight of relentless faith, 
I shelter under Arcus Gaviorum 
built by mind and hands of Vitruvius, 
and listen to the dainty sparrow chirp 
sharp thoughts of passion to rejuvenate 
spirit of Janus in full flush of spring. 

Snow-kissed apple beneath the great blue sky, 
revive my wounded heart with honesty 
that nothing matters in this frantic world 
but fellow travelers on road of life 
who spring with me from turbid lake valley 
where bones of our ancestors grow as trees. 

Thin wail of sharp mercurial regret 
sparks in my wounded heart strange memory 
when we assemble in tall ring of stones 
to sing in tribal choir of loyal faith 
with one communal voice of eager hope 
that we this hour glow bright with light of stars. 

With pulsing wolf-heart of hysteric rage 
I race through tangled forest of contempt 
to rescue from aggressive chains of greed 
my clan enslaved by gang of haughty thieves 
who mock me when I hurl courageous spear 
and leave me crippled on the raven hill. 

Snow-kissed apple hanging from the moon 
so high and far from trembling hand of thirst 
till sudden flutter of dark sparrow wings 
shakes fruit of heaven loose so it falls straight, 
fill me with light of stars and wind of hope 
so I may free my clan from slavery. 

Clear Light Of Atar

Clear Light Of Atar
© Surazeus
2026 06 06

My heart longs for the bright Hyrcanian Sea 
where morning sun gleams gold on silver waves 
so I run free with White Horse of the wind 
to free world people from cruel tyranny 
who dance with joy in groves of apple trees 
till death disperses souls in evening breeze. 

Blue breeze of the mystical radiant force, 
that emanates from aching heart of hope, 
blows through branches of pomegranate trees 
while Ahura Mazda gives Kingship Ring 
to honest Ardashir with generous heart 
on sacred Mountain of the Lion God. 

Bold sense of Justice glows still in my heart 
eighteen hundred years from that solemn hour 
brave Ardashir enforced rule of fair law 
through programs funding work of humble men, 
farmers raising crops from soil of Earth, 
and craftsmen constructing wagons and homes. 

Lush pomegranate tree grows from my heart 
on sandy shore of our Hyrcanian Sea 
where spirit of First Mother lingers still 
in swirls of silver wind that bear starlight 
as holy flames of truth from cave of dreams 
which animate my body with desire. 

Strong thread of wisdom, forged from light of truth 
by gentle hand of Anahita, weaves 
my secret heart in tapestry of faith 
to noble goal of justice for all souls 
brave Ardashir attends with righteous eye 
to bind contentious tribes with common goal. 

With brave Sassanian spirit in my heart, 
which urges me to create health from pain, 
I maintain psychic balance of firm faith 
between conservative respect for safety 
and progressive vision for social growth 
that nurtures dream of each person to live. 

Though we seem to wander far off our road 
in desolate gloom of the bleak wilderness, 
Clear Light of Atar, which flares from our hearts 
at clarion spell that Zoroaster sings, 
dispels grim darkness of bitter despair 
so we see Golden Path of Righteousness. 

Awake with soul of Zurvan in my heart, 
trained by Nairyosangha, his Messenger, 
I aid Arshtat, Goddess of Truth and Justice, 
to maintain order in our whole world empire 
that unites nations of Earth in one faith 
which values women and choices they make. 

Accident Of Lonesome Wind

Accident Of Lonesome Wind
© Surazeus
2026 06 05

Each time I walk to the center of time 
to leave mask of my soul on wall of fate, 
I find ghost of my body by the door 
that leads to library of secret tales, 
so when I laugh with joy at song of death 
all the houses in the world float away. 

I hang upside down from branch of the oak 
to ponder how we always seem to know 
how to build sturdy shelter from the storm 
that rearranges furniture of lies 
through revolution of the dancing book 
that strands our bodies in the empty room. 

Awaiting accident of lonesome wind 
that strikes our numb hearts with attentive pride, 
we give each other bags of secret light 
which amplifies with bells cry of the heart 
for independence of courageous faith 
reversed by blank reflection of the eye. 

No time to march on mission of concern 
bequeaths calm passion of our aching hearts 
to resurrect weird stories about gods 
contending through assertive synergies 
that possess bodies with no obvious goals 
to claim salvation from the fractured moon. 

Yet in context of moral amplitude, 
we build from tangled roots of screaming trees 
sleek boats with alabaster curves of fate 
that we sail over seas of sudden growth 
with plan to judge contentious games of wealth 
adverse to solemn circumstance of love. 

Contained by subtle scope of spooling words 
that snap snowflakes in swirling spray of fear, 
my seething soul attempts to leap on wings 
of fluid light rays after time dissolves 
to flexible tension less technical 
than cursed abundance of authorized thought. 

Convenient methods for defensive stance, 
based on deployment to digital dunes 
diffuse with casual deviance of needs, 
determine conscious deficit of fate 
that might be feasible to humble minds, 
except we gravitate through surging waves. 

Magnetic minds consider integers 
designed by syntax-twisting narrators 
unique to each unclassified detective 
who guarantees genetic happiness 
described by endless glossary of themes 
presented by ghost of the guardian. 

Time-Crooked Harp

Time-Crooked Harp
© Surazeus
2026 06 05

Confused by turpentine of psychic thoughts 
that mangle phonelines without alphabets, 
Phoebus extricates from pages of books 
conceptual phantoms of princes and priests 
who leech off farmers tending fields of wheat, 
then plays haunting tunes on time-crooked harp. 

Excited by oxygen of dream codes 
that divert attention of business clerks, 
Gandalf guards broken gate to paradise 
by stealing apples from the Tree of Life 
and selling them to pilgrims in black robes 
who seek salvation from the laughing skull. 

Disturbed by acetone of ardent faith 
that Angry Storm Man watches over us, 
Lucifer patrols maze of city streets 
with lamp of truth dispelling gloom of hope 
in garden of weeping idols to find 
last happy child of the apocalypse. 

Inspired by nitrogen of angel blood 
designed as ink for mad philosophers, 
Faunus chases shadow of his dead wife 
deep in Abbatia Sancti Michaelis 
where Sibyl lounging on gold velvet couch 
reveals prophecy of the Scarlet Horse. 

Unsettled by helium of holy light 
that beams from nuclear reactor of power, 
Belenus climbs steep Stairway of the Dead 
to marble Portal of the Zodiac 
where refugees of war beg for peach pies 
baked by the woman with ten thousand eyes. 

Delighted by krypton of stellar tones 
that radiate from galactic spheres of souls, 
Orion calculates romantic scale 
expanding scope of dream analysis 
we need to comprehend divinity 
inherent in programming of our brains. 

Troubled by chlorine of religious creeds 
that reframe moral values of cult clowns, 
Sagittarius masks his rebellious heart 
with stolid posture of obedience 
till he escapes glass walls of paradise 
and wanders lost to find Elysium. 

Electrified by neon of true love 
that emanates from every human heart, 
Percival strums gold lyre of Mercury 
and sings epic tale of the Measurer 
who maps whole history of humanity 
by weaving names in tapestry of fate. 

Faceless Ghost Of Hope

Faceless Ghost Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 06 05

Descended from lost exiled wanderers, 
driven away by politics of power 
over who controls bodies of the state, 
I feel their passion to explore the world 
that drove my ancestors ten thousand years 
forever westward to the Promised Land. 

Since I left Garden of Habaeleon, 
driving long train of horse-drawn wagons west, 
to build haven of mounds in apple groves 
now paved over on Isle of Avalon, 
I traveled ever on to Oregon 
to find Dawn Land at the end of the world. 

Where shall I go now with my restless heart, 
I wonder as I stand on ocean beach 
and listen to weird song of ceaseless waves 
that urge my heart to animate my mind 
with vision of Heaven we build on Earth 
in stone castles that have crumbled to sand. 

This globe that was so empty long ago, 
endless valleys of rivers and vast woods, 
now teems with more than eight billion humans 
in five thousand cities and countless towns, 
each person striving to gain happiness 
in fractured nation-states where gangsters rule. 

I hear voice of the prophet in the wind 
who speaks with authority of the sky, 
where many believe some god rules our lives, 
explain how we can unify the world 
in one religious vision of fair justice 
for every person breathing air of hope. 

This voice I hear I know is nothing more 
than echo of the faceless ghost of hope 
programmed by visions of Heaven on Earth 
where One World God rules all humanity 
which my ancestors conjured in their hearts 
as they struggled to survive times of unrest. 

New age of empires controlled by bank kings 
threatens frail system of democracies 
when greedy tyrants grasping crown of thorns 
hijack institutions of government 
to enrich themselves by exploiting us, 
as mortal men perform role of Storm God. 

Exiled by power games of thought control, 
my ancestors bore Light of Lucifer 
to found new colonies in the waste land, 
but now I must join squad of Liberty 
who leads our fight against grim Jupiter 
to support United Nations of Earth. 

Calmness Of Red Koi

Calmness Of Red Koi
© Surazeus
2026 06 04

Purple irises sway among large stones 
white as dragon skulls in green shallow creek 
that glistens dark among maple and pines. 
Kyoko in furisode kimono 
with white and yellow blossoms on dark red 
kneels gracefully on large flat white stone. 

Seven hariwake koi slowly glide 
circles in dark green pool among white stones, 
scales shimmering with platinum vibrancy. 
Kyoko holds slender hosofude brush 
with patient stillness of the wind-bent pine 
to paint koi spirit on mulberry paper. 

Metallic scales of the koi with red tail 
gleams silver among heart-shaped lotus leaves 
to mirror timeless glow of the Sky Eye. 
Kyoko contemplates calmness of red koi 
while people murmur praise for sincere curves 
that reveal beauty in painting and haiku. 

Young girl holds apricot in mud-smeared hand, 
but cries as her drunk father snarls in rage 
and hits her mother with his one good arm. 
Kyoko shields her bruised mother, Sakura, 
and shouts with fearful courage at Chuzo 
that he should find his lost arm in the sea. 

Metallic roofs of cars gleam in hot sun 
as they whiz roaring on gray narrow road, 
honking as they race to control the wind. 
Kyoko in torn jeans and long purple hair 
stands on white cement bridge that arches high 
above the frantic traffic flow of glass. 

Though I was expelled from public high school 
because I punched math teacher in his face 
for groping me, I will mold my own future. 
Kyoko wearing black skirt suit with white blouse 
sits prim before glowing computer screen 
and quickly types handwritten documents. 

I was trapped in my painful memories, 
stuck blind in the past, but I turned around 
and walk on my own feet to claim my life. 
Kyoko stands on white stone in dark green creek 
and stares at white koi swimming in small pool 
while tears splash sun-white mirror of her heart. 

Purple irises bloom beside green creek 
with graceful elegance of fragile faith 
while bees hover with pollen-dusted legs. 
Kyoko bows to Sora in brown tweed coat, 
pours bancha tea in white porcelain cup, 
then gives him onamori amulet. 

Ancient Child Of Sight

Ancient Child Of Sight
© Surazeus
2026 06 04

Though ringing shadow of my faulty mind 
transforms from star to stone of silent truths, 
I hurl spear of my unblessed heart to pierce 
reluctant mirror mask that frames this world 
with tangled formulas contrived by time 
that plot how atoms weave our dreaming brains. 

Go wild with passion of the laughing crow, 
my father shouts at me with wounded heart, 
so I flap tattered wings of desperate faith 
to understand who molds me from earth clay 
till I become new heaven-ravaged bloom 
that flowers toward infinity of light. 

With shield shaped round as full moon of despair, 
I step across hot stones of silent rage 
since light erases shadow of my soul, 
though I must celebrate aggressive thirst 
when moonlight gleams from silver bones of fate 
that cannot save my soul from nothingness. 

Heart bound by gloom of silence before dawn, 
I reach pale hands to bale dark emptiness 
with flower-fragile words of timeless truth 
that flow with fluid nonchalance of water 
at strict trajectory of hammer words 
which I swing straight at adamantine fear. 

I map lost land where moon-fish slither swift 
among stiff reeds of whistling innocence 
at shock of night-eyes open in my hands 
since I am born as ancient child of sight 
trapped in fractal shell of Plutonian ice 
till I reach home in swirls of wordless snow. 

Strange feeling pierces heart of mirror ice 
at gust of wordless wind that blows and blows 
across vast shapeless field of tangled wires 
where frightened gods transform to twisted trees 
with stone feet rooted deep in jagged soil 
against brave ardor of fantastic speech. 

Gasping for ethereal breath at dawn, 
I claw hard clumps of clay out of my heart 
to capture fleeting flash of endless days 
in flame-baked jar in which I capture rain 
as water I transform to bitter wine 
by crushing grapes with calculator hands. 

No heart more wounded by shadow of fate 
than mine expands from fractured seed of faith 
at sudden tone of fraught analysis 
that sings with hoarse assertion time uncoils 
while I row coffin boat across cold lake 
to where my father hangs from tree of lies. 

Ethical Fortune Of Failure

Ethical Fortune Of Failure
© Surazeus
2026 06 03

Short ordinariness straight beyond fusion 
functions well to stretch elastic contraption 
adjacent to abandoned pale of peonies 
against aggressive balance that collides 
with decommissioned clarity of resolve 
each time desire delays collaged success. 

Clara chuckles with customized concern 
at coded riddle of complex compliance 
that she contrives from tangled countenance 
devised with ethical fortune of failure 
out of fashion with gospel guiltiness 
disguised as glorious character she plays. 

Empty except for fraught franchise of fame, 
based on unexplained expense of regret 
forecast by maudlin devil who steals freedom 
from business-minded buyers of past sins, 
her heart expands chambers of mimed cassettes 
enough to enclose curious councilors. 

Compared to concrete evidence of circuits, 
compiled by desperate brokers with intent 
to sell insurance based on hardcore humor, 
her sense of justice displays civil charge 
through well-equipped degrees of separation, 
less inconclusive that digesting death. 

Exposed by glorious garage gate of fate, 
Clara ponders how to explain forgiveness 
she purchased with thirty pieces of silver 
that all become full moons of bitter nights 
flashing with foreign assets of fake books 
awarded for deconstructing the state. 

Acquired blueprints for temple of acceptance 
reveal busy methods of management 
which traffic engineers of soul awareness 
consider vital to adjusting flow rate 
within budget of all our broken hearts 
reviewed by browsers who would never buy. 

Confirmed by custom-made conservatives, 
professional devils pilfer state coffers 
under cover of discountable projects 
that fuels complex program of deference 
in celebration of our empire state 
that Clara redesigns to nurture women. 

Acknowledged license to judge market art 
through problematic outlook pending payment 
for private program of progressive puzzles, 
stultifies unproductive corporate meetings 
in which the one-eyed giant proclaims laws 
designed to wake soul of God in our brains. 

Tricks Of Standard Words

Tricks Of Standard Words
© Surazeus
2026 06 03

If darkness bursts in cavern of my heart, 
expelling me from world of swirling eyes, 
I crawl through grass of moonlit ardency 
to find elusive absence of your face 
so I float up on wild ethereal breath 
to touch what cannot exist outside words. 

That stranger with fear-startled eyes of hope, 
reflected in vast pool of sky-flashed thought, 
must not be me because I am not real, 
though ache of anguish twists my hungry heart 
with stubborn laughter of our island world 
enclosed by wall of hills that hide my words. 

Bright sheen of thoughtless waves big as my eyes 
decide to swallow vastness of my mind, 
yet I hold still in gusts of angry wind 
that push my frame of self against contempt 
at sudden spark of wings untwisting hope 
that writhes in heart Orion seals in words. 

Since flock of ravens, white as silent snow, 
pass through expansive cavern of my heart 
at brute attention to details of peace, 
I feel my body stripped of name and rank 
so I am no one stranded on lake shore, 
tormented by false pride of naked words. 

Rain showers trapped by laughter of black clouds 
assail time-fractured frame of my mute mind 
with expectations I should conquer fate, 
inspired by courage of progressive plans 
to manage profit of expanding gain 
contrived by puzzling tricks of standard words. 

We enter cave of dreams to search for gods, 
but find dim shadows of assertive birds 
that teach us how organic beings disperse 
by leaping swift with carousel expense, 
undone by fleeting concept of bold faith 
that spools reflections of our minds in words. 

Edge of my soul that brushes shore of time 
recedes in swirls of storm clouds after dawn 
to prove my journey far from cave of faith 
requires attentive caution of regret 
that spurs evasive action to transcend 
frame of my body, safe in ship of words. 

If I should hesitate with cautious faith 
while nearing portal beyond mindless stars, 
my wounded heart may grow too fond of fate 
at slow descent to desolate vale of thoughts 
where I ponder disorder of cracked stones 
from which spring howling angels of dream words.