Volunteer God Of Nowhere

Volunteer God Of Nowhere
© Surazeus
2026 05 17

No time traveler from the distant future 
would hesitate to play tactical games 
with people who claim they are always right 
against common sense of state tolerance 
though few survive surgery of the heart 
since I am volunteer god of nowhere. 

Attempting to prevent psychic abortions 
from synthetic analogs of free will, 
men who strive to control bodies of women 
bankrupt birth clinics all over the country 
so thousands of mothers die in childbirth 
when they fool volunteer god of nowhere. 

Taxable income of clever programmers 
procures mental oxygen of dream code 
for sale in the marketplace of ideas 
contrary to logistics of state health 
combined with growth of social luxury 
performed by volunteer god of nowhere. 

Leverage administered by frantic pundits, 
concerned about decay of family values, 
reformats world view of functional artwork 
to highlight glory of fake billionaires 
who challenge legislators to compute 
new script for volunteer god of nowhere. 

Compliant clerks in consequential banks 
discuss biblical prophecies that shape 
how citizens view political strife, 
now less adaptive to brave compromise 
except to exploit activists for labor 
who pray to volunteer god of nowhere. 

Crowned King of Nothing by state architects, 
with letters from dynamic embassies, 
government Jester stores digital dreams 
in legal journals of soul institutes 
to test our loyalty against Big Brother 
who envies volunteer god of nowhere. 

Moderate vision of objective facts, 
designed to imitate orthodox creeds, 
fails to focus attention of our fears 
on ethics forged by patriarchal goons 
to build empire of wealth on bones of slaves 
jilted by volunteer god of nowhere. 

Deserted houses along the cracked road 
invite hungry refugees from state wars 
to open movie theaters with foreign cash, 
dependent on oil of the desert genie 
who laughs at wishes we articulate, 
insured by volunteer god of nowhere. 

Underworld Of Happy Clowns

Underworld Of Happy Clowns
© Surazeus
2026 05 17

Stuck in dark underworld of happy clowns, 
Achilles buys soda from time machine 
that always asks him if he feels all right 
because blind ballerina never frowns 
though arrogant Ares is always mean 
about taxing us for using sunlight. 

Amid mounting evidence of regret, 
Achilles rides the happy dinosaur 
to temple of radiant uranium 
while he plays keyboard with fake alphabet 
so we remember long-forgotten lore 
by selling us land in Elysium. 

Stuck in happily-ever-after land, 
Achilles wears strange uniform of pride 
to prove negotiation skills are good 
when ships wreck on the wild Oregon strand 
through infinite laugh on the playground slide 
since foxes play chase in the misty wood. 

Latest fashion of potential success, 
Achilles ponders with fire of his mind, 
prevents sweet summer romance of despair 
to stop his thunderstorm of happiness 
from cracking stone walls Apollo designed 
with arguments for why God does not care. 

Stuck in refrigerator of brave faith, 
Achilles augurs no calamity 
through leagues of silent forest, canopied 
by steel beams welded into web of truth, 
to sell confusion based on vanity 
though he pretends to know the Nicene Creed. 

Voluminous brain vital for regrowth, 
Achilles claims Cleopatra conceals 
when bankers buy our foreclosed properties, 
shapes its own fate with inaudible oath 
based on cognizance of electric wheels 
that disavow empire atrocities. 

Stuck with bland ultimatum Death decrees, 
Achilles catches snowflakes with bruised hands 
to dance with glee at permanence of death, 
contrived by speedometer of glass bees 
so he can use his psychedelic glands 
to free Sibyl from cage of wordless breath. 

Vague outlines of clouds that imagine us, 
Achilles sketches in sand with cracked bones, 
express consistent energy of joy 
because we choose to ride Hadean bus 
from Oslo to Paris with rolling stones 
though my ghost still dwells in palace of Troy. 

Time Of Broken Clocks

Time Of Broken Clocks
© Surazeus
2026 05 17

If I am born in time of broken clocks 
in log cabin beside the sparkling river, 
my heart will crumble into flakes of rust 
each time I walk past ticking stone of fate 
that drinks the salty tears of fallen angels 
who stitch fractured watches on tattered wings. 

Though I drift lost in time of broken clocks 
in cathedral of shattered pendulums 
that toll no twisted hour of unspooled grief, 
I ride the graveyard carousel till dawn 
on weeping horse with crackling bones of glass 
till my hands become turtles in the pond. 

Before I laugh in time of broken clocks 
as midnight stitches paper masks from moons, 
composed from writhing clumps of bitter snow, 
I swim in ocean of unmoving hands 
that drown pulsing face of eternity 
with graphic weight of arbitrary words. 

After I cry in time of broken clocks, 
while stumbling dark halls of the floating castle, 
I find hourglass on legless desk of fear 
that coughs ashes where it once poured pure gold 
at sudden misalignment of six kites 
that veil blind cherub hovering over me. 

Never awake in time of broken clocks, 
I climb staircase that melts upward in clouds 
of black water, comprised of eyeless gods, 
to cluttered meadow where electric birds 
with lanterns glowing in transparent ribs 
explain why every faceless human dies. 

Stuck alone outside time of broken clocks, 
I crawl across the windy plain of homes 
where violins grow roots through their floorboards 
to reassemble puzzle from our dreams 
into graceful church with four tall white steeples 
where no one ever sings hymns about death. 

Trapped by truth outside time of broken clocks, 
I map sizzling rivers that flow backwards 
through libraries where every book bleeds sand 
instead of pages wrapped around glass moons 
that hang suspected above bovine fields 
where eyeless statues play chess with my shadow. 

Since I will die in time of broken clocks, 
I polish mirrors in numberless houses 
that are filled with thunderstorms of desire 
brewing inside brains of innocent boys 
who aim guns at photographs on dead trees 
and shout to imitate sharp sounds of shots. 

Shape Of My Hungry Flesh

Shape Of My Hungry Flesh
© Surazeus
2026 05 17

If this world of water and wind and light 
is all for me, my shadow on its hills, 
then I will write my name across the sky, 
but keep it secret that I fall from clouds 
each day I rise up from soil of its hope 
and wander among ruins of the past. 

This great tree reaching toward the faceless sky, 
that drops ripe apples in my hungry hands, 
harps brightly humming in soft gusts of wind 
because its roots curl down to core of time, 
entwining bodies my ancestors left 
when their spirits beamed back up to the stars. 

My lamentation echoes between hills 
where I rest in heat of the glowing sun 
since fire is fundamental principle 
that animates all beings with conscious life 
for we appear from strife of opposites 
to spiral through cycles of birth and death. 

This animating flame of energy 
that flares forth from first flash of the big bang 
evolves into shape of my hungry flesh 
so I sing clear with loneliness of heat 
that urges me to roam around the world 
till I know curve of every sparkling stream. 

I record elements of day and night 
through unlocalized images of time 
which conjures thunderstorm of social change 
to flash assertive rain on towns of men 
who bury sorrow under roads of wealth 
when floods erase buildings from ancient land. 

I walk the signless road of everywhere 
to visit every city in the land 
that flourishes from sea to shining sea 
so I record name and deeds of each life 
to preserve their memories after they die 
and vanish into dust on rain-drenched hills. 

Now I am dreamer of all that is lost, 
obsessed with singing tale of every soul 
who rise as generations from the sea 
in endless waves of strife to gain world fame 
at piercing cry of hope that cracks the sky, 
then sink in silence of indifferent graves. 

Ephemeral flames of bodies glow at dawn 
when our brains fuse with stones of nameless roads 
till millions who strive to survive each day 
are merged in idol of one faceless god 
who represents our spirits in weird myths 
that gleam as shadows on tree-shrouded hills. 

First Mother Of Earth

First Mother Of Earth
© Surazeus
2026 05 16

Sitting in church on Sabbath afternoon, 
heart beating at reception of weird light 
that beams slantwise through window of all time, 
I see descend on flaming wings of faith 
First Mother of Earth with eyes of bright stars 
who fills my mind with visions of survival. 

When the pastor declares with Father Voice 
that good obedient wives with humble hearts 
should submit to will of their husbands with love, 
I stand up and reach out my aching arms 
to embrace First Mother of Earth with faith 
who animates my heart with ardent truth. 

Breathing celestial energy of faith, 
I turn away from male authority 
and exit stage of global patriarchy 
to walk the signless road of everywhere 
in brave quest to find the Garden of Eden 
where First Mother of Earth tends apple trees. 

Offering assistance of my strong hands 
to help First Mother of Earth tend fruit trees, 
I narrate my name and path of my life 
that seems so random in my clumsy hope, 
so she accepts me in Garden of Eden 
where I stand guard in Watch Tower Of Faith. 

When gang of thieves surround our paradise, 
demanding we submit to righteous rule 
of their male privilege with guns of hate, 
I open gates of heaven wide, and bow 
to welcome them to feast in Hall of Faith 
where First Mother of Earth offers them wine. 

While I play Lyre of Mercury and sing 
on stage before crowd of wild revelers, 
First Mother of Earth offers guests sweet wine, 
so they dance with joy at their victory 
till they all slump drunk and limp on the ground, 
so I hang them upside from the tree. 

Screaming in rage at clever trick we played, 
arrogant men demand we let them go, 
so I explain how First Mother of Earth 
has always ruled cycles of life and death, 
then slit their throats and fill grail with their blood 
which I pour on roots of the Knowledge Tree. 

Though men form gangs in terror of Kind Death, 
and take over national governments 
to legalize their spurious right to rule, 
First Mother of Earth, with power of Nature, 
sends the Grim Reaper to erase cruel thieves, 
so children may thrive in Garden of Eden. 

Energy Of Fervent Faith

Energy Of Fervent Faith
© Surazeus
2026 05 16

From book that records every human dream 
I extract energy of fervent faith 
to travel life of every conscious soul 
till I arrive at zero mark of time 
that flashes from the negative prelude 
so I know how you feel inside your heart. 

From ocean waves that sing electric light 
I gyrate energy of fervent faith 
to measure patterns left behind by change 
which undulate in bodies we become 
so we invent new questions to preserve 
truth that water sparkles our brains awake. 

From seeds of apple trees in pungent soil 
I blossom energy of fervent faith 
to reassemble mirror mind of God 
fractured by experience of painful death 
through tilted curvature of messy love 
since drops of rain reflect my divine soul. 

From lake of dreams on adjustable wings 
I spiral energy of fervent faith 
in vain attempt of pulsing fortitude 
to repair broken hour of misfired words 
though tangled bodies writhe with attitude 
that we shall live forever on this Earth. 

From iron core of spinning pulchritude 
I magnet energy of fervent faith 
through flashing coils of rainbow avatars 
to choose my own assertive destiny 
when star stone fractures crystal shell of time 
so I may resurrect from dragon eye. 

From radiant brain of my angelic ghost 
I typhoon energy of fervent faith 
to weave ten billion globes of conscious souls 
from whirling galaxy of goddess light 
who generates our bodies from her lust 
to wake in flashing diamond of her womb. 

From hurricane of political change 
I ordain energy of fervent faith 
when hungry people conjure paradise 
from ordinary routines of concern 
while clouds glide over hills of apple trees 
where we journey signless road of desire. 

From Garden of Gethsemane at dawn 
I plunder energy of fervent faith 
to prove my random way of life is right 
though I may wander clumsily nowhere 
so I sing vision of some perfect world 
that we could build from fragments of weird dreams. 

Dream Code Of Cleverness

Dream Code Of Cleverness
© Surazeus
2026 05 16

Though I still learn dream code of cleverness 
to understand sublime beauty of Earth 
that dreamers write in magic spells of truth, 
I know ideal Heaven of perfect peace, 
where every soul is equal in brave grace, 
can never be achieved in swirl of life. 

I carve on stone dream code of cleverness 
to outline patterns of social behavior 
that strengthen bonds of each community 
as bold foundation for strong institutions 
that support each generation of humans 
who spring from heads of our grand fantasy. 

While I program dream code of cleverness, 
that designs blueprint for new global state 
based on liberty and justice for all, 
I sense chaotic swirls of potent wills 
that clash in brutal contest to control 
essential elements of life on Earth. 

Stricken down by dream code of cleverness, 
I fall from grace in Tower of Paradise 
with tattered wings of Icarus in my heart 
to hollow space of Hell where I may reign 
as bold authority who speaks Good Law 
in brave rebellion against the Blue Sky. 

So I translate dream code of cleverness 
in solemn riddles of transcendent odes 
that honor ideal forms of human souls 
so lovers almost kiss in timeless youth, 
entranced by holy songs of nightingales 
with ache of hope for our paradise lost. 

Though God and Satan, as soul stereotypes 
of mortals, compete to rule crowded nations 
in contest between Nurturer and Oppressor, 
I tend my garden on the river shore 
with my Wise Companion in home we share 
where we raise children of our loyal love. 

Unraveling dream code of cleverness, 
I deconstruct systems of mind control 
inherent in language rich elites use 
to exploit common people as sad slaves, 
so we can reframe psychic privilege 
that narrates success of all who create. 

Reconstructing dream code of cleverness, 
I design new world view with sacred myths 
that highlight creative actions of builders 
in whole ontology that integrates 
all gods in ecumenical religion 
that supports United Nations of Earth. 

Crying Elm Of Sorrow

Crying Elm Of Sorrow
© Surazeus
2026 05 16

We see him under the crying elm of sorrow 
as if his body has transformed to stone, 
yet nobody understands what he says, 
so we cover him with eglantine vines 
that bloom with delicate petals of faith 
that remind our hearts of Ithilien. 

Horses under the crying elm of sorrow 
discuss philosophy with Socrates 
who teaches them to question what is real 
but they are too innocent to rebel 
when humans harness them to pull fruit wagons 
in our journey home to Ithilien. 

Emerging from the crying elm of sorrow, 
we gather on the lake shore every summer 
to dance by starlight among apple trees 
and share stories about our families, 
then part with tears to our home villages 
scattered through valleys of Ithilien. 

Strange ghosts under the crying elm of sorrow, 
far off in shadowed woods of yesteryear, 
speak with voices more enchanting than flutes 
which haunt our lonely afternoons at home 
while we tend lush gardens of vegetables 
that bloom by rivers of Ithilien. 

World Queen under the crying elm of sorrow 
sings heart-aching melodies about loss 
to children who sit at her feet with eyes 
wide as the silver moon behind rain clouds 
who remember her voice when they grow old 
and wail for spirit of Ithilien. 

Phoebe walks toward the crying elm of sorrow 
with hesitant steps of perceptive grace 
to offer bowl of milk with kind intention 
to old bearded Wulfgar, wounded by war, 
who accepts her gift, and weeps as he drinks 
to think of souls lost in Ithilien. 

Stalled car beside the crying elm of sorrow, 
that Mercury once drove across the land 
to perform at concerts in every city 
before adoring crowds of hungry ghosts, 
now rusts in silent stillness of hot air 
and decays in woods of Ithilien. 

Dancing under the crying elm of sorrow, 
Draupadi glides with grace of secret love 
to express lamentation of her heart 
for all the people killed in civil wars 
whose names vanish in spring winds of tomorrow 
though they linger mute in Ithilien. 

Become The Eyeless Ghost

Become The Eyeless Ghost
© Surazeus
2026 05 16

Tangled in roots of the ancient pear tree, 
scroll of sorrow swells with hydraulic tears 
of nameless people in forest of shadows 
whose suffering has become the eyeless ghost 
that haunts the solemn courtrooms of old law, 
so I preserve the scroll in hall of glass. 

Each time I gaze at ghost of some dead soul, 
whose face is painted with colorful goop 
smeared on wood panel and hung on the wall, 
I see reflection of immortal soul 
encoded in the human genes we share, 
so I smile till their soul wakes in my heart. 

Arrhythmic beat of wounded angel wings 
asserts free will my heart preserves in code 
of static words that I repeat each day 
in rote routine as groove of legacy 
which scratches when I skip confining phase 
to weep with nostalgia for frantic dreams. 

Trapped by hope in dark evening of the mind, 
I chase fireflies twitching in sunset blood 
to hide from shadow slithering among trees 
till I find Apple Witch with golden eyes 
reading book of spells by the garden wall 
who gives me last martyred peach of her heart. 

Though I wander somewhere in her dark woods 
without purpose, except to understand 
why every living creature has to die, 
she calls my name no one else knows but her 
till I wake in circling aura of her heart 
where she makes me wear mask of her desire. 

Trees represent stillness of stoic grace 
we cannot keep with our time-anxious hearts, 
she explains to me with confusing words, 
so I sew leather skin of angry bulls 
into basketballs on courts of warfare 
that symbolize this civil war we fight. 

Magnified by strategies to gain fame, 
her mission readjusts focus of fate 
to avoid flaws in dilemma of truth 
that vague concepts trap our minds in grand creeds 
in which we dare indulge against regret 
with inconclusive utterance of faith. 

Thus I shall quaff moon ale from pewter stoup 
to taste sweet blood of angels with mad hearts 
who fall from Heaven every day or two 
then trudge to work at the cold factory 
to transform bones of dragons into tools 
we use to build empire of howling ghosts. 

Mission To Play Clockward

Mission To Play Clockward
© Surazeus
2026 05 15

Floating formless in alphabetized wind 
with stringent arrogance of morbid laughter, 
I map bluffed apertures of my fake mind 
to guard peach pie of my celestial daughter 
who assures me she knows how to perform 
unexpected code through cuneiform. 

Asking how our bodies are born seems gauche 
but Jesus always makes it seem so awkward 
because my character is still ebauche 
despite my holy mission to play clockward 
if my soulmate says I am sinister 
since I choose to become world minister. 

Without angel wings I am more adroit 
at building boats with glass hands of the  jester 
who defies oligarchs when they exploit 
objective ambition of the beast-master  
who trains his daughter to be dexterous 
though she thinks no state can be prosperous. 

With crystal eyes I know I cannot lose 
through fraught calculation of sincere passion 
disguised as fractal ballet of the rose 
which inspires me to go against the fashion 
and play Light-Bearer role of Lucifer 
who defies tyranny of Jupiter. 

Born to always play the wise scullion 
who never escapes crystal walls of Heaven, 
I organize our world rebellion 
with wise direction of the Silver Raven 
who teaches me the method used to save 
mankind from laughing demon in the cave. 

Too clever to win with the wizard card, 
that illustrates well the human condition, 
when I accept Minerva as my ward, 
I harmonize tumult of god ambition 
against better judgment of the Blind Queen 
who demands I design her time machine. 

Looking for another mirror to break 
through psychic anguish of the sordid circle, 
I wear glass mask of the angelic freak 
who prophesies American debacle 
erased from history by the famous scribe 
who buys insurance for our Dream Archive. 

Make me your lyre tuned to the ocean flood 
that tones each flushed season with solemn humor 
so I hover over your world and brood 
to escape celebrity of fame glamour 
that curses impetuous souls with fate 
to play the Fisherman instead of bait. 

Weird Spirit Of The Stone

Weird Spirit Of The Stone
© Surazeus
2026 05 14

While crawling through thick tangled bush of hope, 
Samael breathes deep celestial air of faith 
when giant serpent with electric eyes 
slithers along river flow on short legs, 
and gasps surprised when she arches high 
to commune with weird spirit of the stone. 

Rainbow-colored feathers along her trunk 
flutter in sudden breeze along the river 
as two-horned dragon with electric eyes 
expresses weird heart-aching song of trust 
when she reaches short arm to grasp ripe fruit 
offered her by weird spirit of the stone. 

Amazed that he can see for the first time 
angular face on long thick coiling trunk, 
Samael gazes at dragon with two horns 
that sings mercurial melody of love 
in sweet eerie wail that reverberates 
with passion from weird spirit of the stone. 

Peering through leaves of the thick tangled bush, 
Samael sees large woman with curling hair 
who stands before serpent with crystal eyes 
and offers watermelon she devours, 
then caresses her neck as the snake purrs 
since she adores weird spirit of the stone. 

Seven men who grip brass spears in their hands, 
with diamond spearheads sharp enough to pierce 
and penetrate scaled skin with rainbow feathers, 
surround curly-haired woman and huge dragon 
with grim intention to enslave them both 
so they can claim weird spirit of the stone. 

Blowing cool breath of his worshipful heart, 
Samael plays mind-entrancing melodies 
on dark-green jade flute his grandfather made, 
diverting attention of dragon-hunters 
who stare at him in mute paralysis 
as he channels weird spirit of the stone. 

Twirling swift with sudden assertive grace, 
Samael strikes with sharp blade he forged from steel 
to behead seven hunters in quick play, 
then bows low before electric-eyed dragon 
and curly-haired woman with bag of fruit 
who embody weird spirit of the stone. 

Pregnant with baby from seed of his soul, 
Lilith dances slowly with elegance 
that emotes her serpentine curves 
with sinuous cadence of fluid motion 
while Tiamat coils with delicate grace, 
and Samael guards weird spirit of the stone. 

Woke In The Anxious Zone

Woke In The Anxious Zone
© Surazeus
2026 05 14

Woke in the anxious zone of my bruised heart, 
mind twisted by healing wisdom of rainbows, 
I gather ghosts of children killed by bombs 
so they can assemble puzzle of dreams 
from fragments of distempered photographs 
that conceal immortal soul of their genes. 

Woke in the anxious zone of dancing homes, 
doors flapping wild as wings of Icarus, 
I number every home on signless roads 
that all lead to ziggurat of Ishtar 
where she designs new masks for us to wear 
when we perform our role in game of life. 

Woke in the anxious zone of wordless books, 
soaked black with blood of people killed in wars, 
I organize in conceptual framework 
every trope based on character and scene 
that stereotypes our personalities 
in standard plotlines where everyone dies. 

Woke in the anxious zone of flashing bombs, 
unspooled by formulas of righteous prayer, 
I support United Nations of Earth 
based on justice and liberty for all 
through equal opportunity from birth 
for every soul to optimize their skills. 

Woke in the anxious zone of radio ghosts, 
brains buzzing voices of demonic faith, 
I chat with every person in the world 
to understand strange motives of their hands 
concerned with shaping thoughts in clever toys 
when sorrow challenges our right to love. 

Woke in the anxious zone of humming trees, 
designed to conjure fruit of sacred truth, 
I translate riddles of the Eyeless Snake 
who whispers code I forge in key of jokes 
so I can open box Pandora made 
where my heart flutters arrogant wings. 

Woke in the anxious zone of singing skulls, 
crystal egg of draconic fortitude, 
I join justice squad that Orpheus leads 
with Apollo and Hamlet to detect 
crimes committed by greedy oligarchs 
so we administer justice on Earth. 

Woke in the anxious zone of my glass eyes, 
that beam time-animated globe of Earth, 
I cartograph whole history of mankind 
to analyze rise and fall of great empires 
till we create Heaven that unites all 
in vain attempt to manage civil strife. 

Fields Of Singing Skulls

Fields Of Singing Skulls
© Surazeus
2026 05 13

I want to dance in fields of singing skulls 
who tell me about how the world could be 
so much better in how people may thrive 
with joyful passion of pleasure from pain 
even in the sorrow of freezing rain 
that makes the ugly Earth more beautiful. 

I stumble lost in fields of singing skulls 
who tell me about the glorious war 
when glamorous Satan with serpent eyes 
rebels against grim tyrant on gold throne 
yet strives to crown himself king of the world 
as architect of his own suffering. 

I exercise in fields of singing skulls 
to transcend limitations of this flesh 
so I can gaze in mirror of my mind 
and see the glorious god I could become 
if I strive hard to overcome weak faith 
though I may fall from heights of false success. 

I meditate in fields of singing skulls 
about the state of Limbo where I dwell 
in wretched circumstance of endless strife 
because I know with faith that I deserve 
to dwell in Paradise of peaceful grace 
forever inaccessible to me. 

I strut with pride in fields of singing skulls 
to climb great mountain of assertive will 
that purges weakness from my noble frame, 
proud my attempt to reach the height of fame 
proves I deserve rewards I cannot win 
that valorize my failure to achieve. 

I lounge with grace in fields of singing skulls 
to fetishize my longing as my goal 
since fruitful Heaven is beyond my reach 
therefore my journey to the Promised Land 
is all that matters to my wounded heart 
that beats torn wings against cage of despair. 

I drift forlorn in fields of singing skulls 
while I design grand world inside my head 
that matches splendor of my divine heart 
though efforts to attain this paradise 
are doomed to failure of my vague desire 
when I remake this world in my own image. 

I play guitar in fields of singing skulls 
to channel weird mercurial vibe of faith 
through haunting wail of untuned honesty 
in total acceptance of punishment 
inflicted on me by indifferent Nature 
who provides apples I can never reach. 

Righteous Way To Go

Righteous Way To Go
© Surazeus
2026 05 13

Stuck on the righteous way to go to Heaven 
that winds through every city in the world, 
I study statues of Satan and Hamlet 
to understand romantic state of mind 
that could fuel engine of my beating heart 
when I want to leap from Tower of Hope. 

Lying stunned on the righteous way to go 
after I fall from Heaven for nine days, 
I wake alone in Valley of Despond 
with tattered wings of Icarus I stole 
to find my crash created my own space 
where I can sing solemn psalms of despair. 

Lost on the righteous way to go back home 
where ghosts of my parents forget my name, 
I cast my bread upon waters of faith 
but the birds with angelic wings of light 
die from sorrow of poisoned promises 
and I get nothing but handfuls of rain. 

Mapping the righteous way to go to Hell 
where Hamlet and Orpheus share bad jokes, 
I design new ontology of truth 
to conjure virtual model of the Earth 
that represents the way things really are 
instead of how Plato thinks they should be. 

Eager to name the righteous way to go 
that leads to paradise of apple trees, 
I plant seeds in the wilderness of pain 
that sprout into Seraphim of my heart 
who stand guard on the marble walls of Troy 
where Cassandra waits for me to come home. 

Still waiting on the righteous way to go 
through airport security with my passport, 
I think about my bride Persephone 
who meets Mona Lisa and Melusine 
to paint statues at the Vigeland Park 
beneath tall monolith of writhing ghosts. 

Racing time on the righteous way to go 
with the Third Man on cold Antarctic plains, 
I find Hammer of Thor stuck in the ice, 
so I proclaim myself King of Greenland, 
and dare mad Nebuchadnezzar to fight me 
whose statue of gold falls in the waste land. 

Abandoning the righteous way to go 
where Percival lies drowned on the sea shore, 
I ask wise Urania to marry me, 
but she is in love with Prometheus 
who operates power plant near Lake Tahoe 
that leaves thousands of people in the dark. 

Psychic Energy Of Love

Psychic Energy Of Love
© Surazeus
2026 05 12

Primal Spirit, born from infernal swirls 
in seething chaos of celestial flames, 
our Last Universal Common Ancestor 
that first evolved in hot Hadean Eon, 
still glows with psychic energy of love 
in every cell of my atomized body. 

Every organic creature, born from Earth 
with immortal soul of genetic code, 
operates machinery for protein systems 
with shared chirality of amino acids 
through fuel of adenosine triphosphate 
as universal currency of cells. 

Breaking water bonds with hydrolysis, 
adenosine triphosphate executes 
sharp energy beams sufficient to drive 
biochemical processes of life 
which animates our physical machine 
through pulsing passion of emotive force. 

Physical experience of our God Soul 
buzzes deep inside every cell of my body 
to spark aggressive assertion of will 
through brave actions of creative design 
since I feel original Force of Life 
pulse in each action I choose to perform. 

Since Primal Spirit first began to dream 
four billion years ago in spin of time, 
her spiral coil of genes accumulates 
glow of experience in stereotype tropes 
which illuminates righteous path of action 
so I pursue Course of Honor to grow. 

Driven by primal energy of hope, 
that flares forth from first flash of the big bang, 
our planet forms from solar nebula 
to generate prokaryotic cell 
empowered by stable machine of acids 
as self-dividing vesicle of lust. 

Inspired by psychic energy of love, 
I play the lyre of Mercury and sing 
hymn of praise to the Supreme Being of Light 
that glows with nuclear power in the Sun, 
so I worship Sun-Spider Solaria 
who weaves our bodies from atomic threads. 

My brain, nurtured by this chemical frame 
of my temporary body, embodies 
immortal flare of psychic energy 
that we mortal humans have signified 
with the weird word God to symbolize 
mindless passion of our desire to live. 

Yellow Snake Of Truth

Yellow Snake Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 05 12

Dredged up from the past, strange memories, 
strangers recorded in ambiguous riddles, 
crawl wounded on hot highway of ambition, 
and latch their bodies with obsessive lust 
to pulsing antivirus of my brain 
where they plant seeds that reprogram my mind. 

Floating in colonial skyscape of hope, 
dispersed across vastness of timeless thought, 
I wear silver mask of the wise Ungod 
to play Music of the Spheres on bone lyre 
that shakes Poisoned Apple loose from my brain 
so I become the Yellow Snake of Truth. 

Brewing gloom in white hot Cauldron of Faith, 
with tears of angels, and mushrooms that sprout 
from corpses of gods men worship no more, 
I wear Mask of Folly carved from glass skull 
of the newest devil to walk the Earth 
who claws diamonds from ghost mountains of fear. 

When the Maimed King, still slouching on gold throne 
of obsolete power, clutches Holy Grail 
he stole from cracked Tomb of the Unknown savior, 
I sweep back Curtain of Uncertainty 
to reveal Faith Beggars wearing gray suits 
who preach about salvation of the vampire. 

Renamed Pilgrim of the Apocalypse, 
I react with wild laughter of King Lear 
against mechanical sterility 
of our world industrial society, 
then design weird blueprint to resurrect 
Zarathia from ruins of America. 

I bow with reverence of honest respect 
before Supreme Being of the One-Eyed Sun 
whose radiant light of life illuminates 
our spinning Earth with atoms of desire, 
since, unmoved by Eight Winds of Providence, 
he floats serenely on Lotus of Love. 

As latest descendant of Melkhizath, 
whose spirit animates my heart with faith, 
I contemplate Wyrd of our universe, 
which is the only version that exists 
out of all the possible variations 
mirrored by fractals of the multiverse. 

Still echoing softly in Cage of Voices, 
prophecies of the Sibyl with gold eyes 
shatter illusions of national pride 
because Spirit of Odin, bold Lightning-Caster, 
is worshipped by people of America, 
terrified of the Yellow Snake of Truth. 

Wounded Heart Of Everyone

Wounded Heart Of Everyone
© Surazeus
2026 05 11

The saddest soul in the world eats the stone 
soft as the wounded heart of everyone 
so no one else feels anguish of despair. 
Children swim in the river of weird words 
to understand why happiness of light 
gleams on surface of the burgeoning sea. 

Fragments of the broken mirror gleam blue 
in white dust of the driveway. Hungry trees 
explain to the girl in the yellow dress 
why wind gets trapped in words of holy books 
no one ever reads. Pipes where water flows 
slither under yards of fallen road signs. 

Each time he finds another jeweled crown 
abandoned in the field of rubber tires 
behind the car garage, he asks the crow 
for name of the faceless ghost in his heart. 
People driving cars wear innocent masks 
since rain sounds like clack of typewriter keys. 

Ghosts are not real, yet they are memories 
of people we would like to see again, 
the girl in the yellow dress tells the boy 
in tattered jeans. They walk along the fence 
and pretend to play piano on wires 
of awkward flirtation till they depart. 

When her aunt calls her Catherine again 
the girl in the yellow dress shakes her head. 
I am the incarnation of Isolde, 
but this time Tristan and I will not die 
of broken-hearted sorrow, for we choose 
the life we wish to live against cruel fate. 

When the boy sees the crow on the mailbox 
where he puts letters he can never write 
to his mother, he feels strange sense of fear, 
so he runs into night of broken lamps 
and hides behind the car-repair garage 
where his grandfather used to drink cold beer. 

Late each afternoon, before school is out, 
Tristan and Isolde meet at the garage 
where they eat hotdogs and drink seven-up 
while Light My Fire plays on the radio. 
Because no airplanes in the clear blue sky 
are dropping bombs, they both decide to kiss. 

She plays violin while he plays the flute 
as strangers making music in the night, 
till psychic energy swells huge as clouds 
that crack at sweet electric flash of love 
so silver rain drenches the world in hope. 
They never agree to marry or not. 

Mauve Mask Of Morning

Mauve Mask Of Morning
© Surazeus
2026 05 11

To wear mauve mask of morning without fear, 
concerned about wordless pain people hide, 
I sit before glowing computer screen 
and map whole history of humanity 
with points, lines, and polygons that depict 
static image of our now-changing world. 

I feel mauve mask of morning hide my face 
while I search among jagged stones of hope 
for deep well of immortal energy 
so I can bring cup of juice in my heart 
to Mother Gaya in four-pillared fane 
where she weeps over death of the blind moon. 

Without mauve mask of morning to reflect 
spirit of water that nurtures my faith, 
I play in backyard of my empty home, 
happy as the child with apple of light 
that mimics how the sun designs our minds 
with aching gratitude for mystery. 

I find mauve mask of morning in wet grass, 
so I sit in museum all day long 
sketching imitations of famous works 
to see if I can wake genius of art 
who gazes at me from blank eyes of ghosts 
trapped inside frame of conceptual regret. 

To build mauve mask of morning from sharp shards 
of rose windows shattered by happy bombs, 
I rearrange truths of reality 
so everything I thought was true as wind 
supplies oxygen when I breathe it in, 
learning nature of soul carnality. 

Behind mauve mask of morning Soul of God 
wakes in vast neural network of my brain 
so conscious sense of self I feel as me, 
programmed by dreams that my ancestors lived, 
fools me to feel immortal in frail flesh, 
so I run laughing in lush field of flowers. 

Shielded by mauve mask of morning with pride, 
I stand on global stage of hungry fame 
and sing transcendent spells of ecstasy 
that flash through my brain as epiphany, 
then vanish from dream of the turning world 
after I play my part programming truth. 

Inspired by mauve mask of morning from faith, 
I follow Death on signless road of fate 
with urgent passion, fueled by ardent pain, 
to build from bones of gods sheltering fane 
where I observe political events 
as trickster who plays the opposite game. 

Never Die Of Truth

Never Die Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 05 10

Because my heart will never die of truth, 
though my body and mind wither from time, 
I wander fields of wheat till I meet Ruth 
who teaches me psychic secret of chime. 
We hold hands as we stroll along the stream 
while troubles weave our hearts in loyal team. 

Before I wake up, stuck in Tree of Life 
while stealing apples from Lilith the Queen, 
I learn from Hephaestus how to forge knife 
of justice with my name in damascene. 
Though she casts me out of high garden walls 
I study secret of electric balls. 

In Desolation Canyon of Utah 
I build log cabin on Green River shore 
where I write love letters to Onatah 
who trades wagons of corn for iron ore. 
When I escape castles on noble quest 
I build democracy in the Wild West. 

Riding my bike in the small Texas town, 
I think about Brenda with eyes of gold 
who giggles when I flirt as clumsy clown 
then sing prophecies the Crow Witch inscrolled. 
I see mask of her face on golden moon 
when I ask Anne Bradstreet for sacred boon. 

Our great empire now collapses from lies 
since ideals of justice and liberty 
are twisted from tricks spread by foreign spies, 
which curses my tribesmen with poverty. 
We build from ruins of America 
new equal nation of Zarathia. 

I do my part while wandering road of fate, 
composing epic of philosophers 
to highlight heroes who investigate 
nature of life as truth geographers. 
Now I can vanish from dream of this world 
at thirteenth coming of the cosmic herald. 

We should not wait for brave Lyterius 
to save our nation from the tyrant thief 
since democracy is precarious, 
for justice requires sacrificial grief. 
I search for Ruth in prairie fields of wheat 
to calculate our wealth in the spreadsheet. 

Since our nation will never die of truth, 
we build new world view on verified facts 
adjudicated by messiah sleuth 
who notarizes all social contracts. 
As thirteenth descendant of the Crow Witch 
I chronicle truth with each hexastich. 

Obsessive Eyes Of History

Obsessive Eyes Of History
© Surazeus
2026 05 10

The random events of my mundane life 
occur so far outside standard template 
of socially accepted stereotypes, 
that I can only chronicle each phase 
without application of ordered stamps 
beyond frame of meaningful narrative. 

No conceptual meaning assigned by fate 
could be extracted from those bizarre scenes 
if I detail each particular fact 
against normal code of significance 
contrary to nuance of legal aim 
that motivates my actions to survive. 

Each maladjusted purpose I assert 
reverses message of psychic intent 
with imprecise explanation of hope 
beyond general drift of my argument, 
which is to say I could never attest 
to divine gist of consensual design. 

No story ever told in time-bound books, 
nor shows presented on the glowing screen, 
ever represents my experience 
in typical sequence of measured scenes 
that model paradigm of social tales 
contrived by fabulists of absurd myths. 

I will not compose memoir of my life, 
spinning meaningful narrative of fate 
from random assemblage of anecdotes 
that highlight examples of clumsiness 
when I interact with people in scenes 
scripted to humiliate me with farce. 

Each time I stumble into social scene, 
where fearful people wearing bitter masks 
direct burlesque of taunting disrespect 
that stars their caricature of my soul, 
I perform contrary to game they expect 
that exposes their hate through travesty. 

Thus I exit absurd drama they cast 
by vacating stage of their haughty pride 
and leave them to strut with false dignity 
before obsessive eyes of history 
that devours esteem of arrogant fools 
with terrible curse of soul-twisting fame. 

Long trapped in stories other people write, 
unwilling antagonist of their heroism, 
I leap from tower of religious faith 
to soar on urgent wings of Icarus 
till I fall singing in Ocean of Doom 
and rise reborn on island of my heart.