River-Book Of Fate

River-Book Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 06 20

Attentive way I row boat of my heart 
along the random journey of my life 
exposes secret agenda of hope 
written in private river-book of fate 
in which I map psychic landscape of faith 
my ancestors explored in paradise. 

If I should pause from visions of my thoughts, 
that spiral through frantic analysis 
concerning trajectory of my life, 
I may hear splash of water on my boat, 
and feel warm glow of sunlight on my skin, 
and hear unseen birds chirping in tall trees. 

When I emerge from shelter of my mind 
to gaze at vastness of the silver sky, 
I almost sense some presence of pure light 
observing my existence with keen eye, 
but I realize with sly grin of respect 
that I project my own mind at blank sky. 

Though bards of yore in hills of Avalon 
sang how they sensed great spirit of the Earth 
radiates from all Nature as Divine Mind, 
I know that conscious scope of cosmic love 
emanates from neural net of my brain 
with arrogance that I beam Soul of God. 

My brain refracts eternal Soul of Light 
that pulses bright in atoms of the void, 
enhancing conscious sense of self I Am 
reflected clear when I quietly observe 
rivers flowing among hills of fruit trees, 
and feel my soul in matrix of its dream. 

With every choice of action I perform, 
based on analysis through measurement 
to discern process of cause and effect, 
I compose my whole river-book of fate 
through chronicle about random events 
which I narrate in straight coherent plot. 

Yet tangled threads of acts people perform 
in sprawling landscape of this cluttered world 
fall apart in chaotic mess of faith 
which fails to account for all variables 
refracted through too many points of view, 
so I hum in tune with the river flow. 

Since I cannot record every event 
that happens in our sprawling maze of myths, 
though I wear mask of countless ancient gods, 
I roast the fish I catch in stream of dreams 
to eat and drink beneath the silent moon, 
and wonder where I will go when I die. 

Class Struggle For Rights

Class Struggle For Rights
© Surazeus
2026 06 19

The key I forge from the last angel heart 
I turn to start the engine of my car, 
then drive acceleration of desire 
on signless road of adventurous hope 
to find elusive gate to Wonderland 
where those who enter find the Promised Land. 

Alone in motor vehicle of faith, 
I navigate weird landscape of lost myths 
past ruined temples where statues of gods 
loom faceless in dim twilight of the past, 
but I keep driving through their labyrinth 
where minotaur of tyranny still lurks. 

Safe in time-machine of curiosity, 
that shelters my psychic fragility 
from expectations of family and friends, 
I sing with brave bards on the radio 
grim songs about heart-break and keeping on 
while I keep driving far from city streets. 

Empowered by Icarian wings of hope, 
Daedalus built from bones of dinosaurs, 
I drive swift Chariot of Ezekiel 
on wheels of fortune through the wilderness 
that flash awake with social energy 
in search for Garden of Eden I bought. 

Far from intense games of social contests 
in tournaments of class struggle for rights, 
I search for garden of sublime delights 
inherent through philosophical quests 
to transcend brutal nothingness of death 
by riding rocket ship to dwell on Mars. 

Adjusting frame of psychic reference, 
I include garden with reflecting pool 
where toads evolve into angelic souls 
who dance with graceful elegance of faith 
in marble temple of the singing skull 
that prophesies how our new state will rise. 

Strange beauty of the flower with long roots, 
that sprouts from swamp muck of my aching heart, 
expands scope of my urgent consciousness 
to contemplate force of cause and effect 
essential to constant progress of change 
that defines our great empire state of mind. 

Against weird blinding light of innocence 
I close my eyes while driving by the cliff, 
to feel extensive height of windiness 
flash sense of awe from pulsing heart of fear 
so I at last perceive with faithful eyes 
mindless spirit that glows in every atom. 

Wordless Tongue Of Fate

Wordless Tongue Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 06 19

Ensconced in damp-soil hush of old oak woods, 
I hold assertive passion of my breath 
when red-tailed hawk lands on rail of my porch 
and stares at me with gold demonic eyes 
that wakes strange horror from peace in my heart 
so I remember my true secret name. 

Explaining why the sun designs our hearts, 
the red-tailed hawk flaps frail wings wet from rain 
and soars into vast blue of emptiness 
but leaves one feather floating in my hand, 
oiled softness shimmering with divinity 
of timeless strength that jolts my heart with love. 

Setting long taut feather of excessive faith 
on river-smoothed stone of my aching heart, 
I ponder mute integrity of death 
that fills my heart with gusts of naked wind 
more heavy than enormous rock of truth 
that teaches me how absence must be felt. 

Though sudden darkness of twilight rings clear 
with clash of light beams metallically fierce, 
I breathe deep brave ambition of the hawk 
to observe two gangs of men with sharp swords 
fight over who will claim the jeweled crown 
held high by young woman with storm-blue eyes. 

After every man in contest for power 
lies mangled and bleeding on thirsty grass, 
I imagine with courage of disgust 
that I claim that jeweled crown for myself, 
but I stay hidden in shadows of fate 
for men who wear the crown are always killed. 

Turning away from field of toxic greed, 
I walk inside the silver wind of faith 
to catch the countless drops of sparkling rain 
so I can taste eternal truth of love 
that nurtures trees to spring from soil of hope 
which bloom with apples of integrity. 

Boiling pan of water on crackling flames, 
I peel ripe apples to read oracle 
with plan to decode fortune of my heart, 
then brew sweet apple cider in moonlight, 
which shimmers warm on wordless tongue of fate 
when I sip sorrow of mute suffering. 

When red-tailed hawk returns at flash of dawn, 
sharp claws gripping pole of my cottage porch, 
she gazes in my eyes with ancient truth 
as if she knows strange secret of my heart, 
so I whisper true name of every ghost 
who tries to convince me I, too, can fly. 

True Greatness Of America

True Greatness Of America
© Surazeus
2026 06 19

We dance free in streets of America 
to celebrate our right to earn a wage 
and live with family in our own home 
and travel wherever we wish to roam 
on Juneteenth Abe abolished slavery 
so every soul may live in Liberty. 

Enchained and dragged across the raging sea 
in fragile boats of innocent despair 
real human beings were forced to slave in fields 
where they sang of freedom with broken hearts 
till Juneteenth Abe abolished slavery 
so every soul may live in Liberty. 

Though we are free to work the job we want 
and earn enough from labor of our hands 
to clothe and feed our family in safe homes 
we slave for the low wage employers play 
since Juneteenth Abe abolished slavery 
so every soul may live in Liberty. 

Rich men who lounge in tower offices 
force us to work long hours for little pay 
so we form unions of brave laborers 
and strike to call for safer Working Ways 
on Juneteenth Abe abolished slavery 
so every soul may live in Liberty. 

Economies of nations thriving well 
are built by farmers raising crops we eat 
and techs in factories assembling things 
and drivers stocking stores where people shop 
for Juneteenth Abe abolished slavery 
so every soul may live in Liberty. 

We now enjoy eight-hour-long working days 
with holidays to celebrate our rights 
and health insurance to work till old age 
and pensions that sustain our twilight years 
since Juneteenth Abe abolished slavery 
so every soul may live in Liberty. 

True greatness of America is built 
by people working with their hands of faith 
as long as we are free to live and play 
while caring for our families with love 
through Juneteenth Abe abolished slavery 
so every soul may live in Liberty. 

We gather in streets of America 
every summer on June Nineteenth to sing 
United with Love we shall overcome 
games rich men play to enslave us with fear 
on Juneteenth Abe abolished slavery 
so every soul may live in Liberty. 

New Child In Her Heart

New Child In Her Heart
© Surazeus
2026 06 18

Small round white pebbles, smoothed by endless flow 
of moon-white water, rippling silver light 
of wordless fear at some dark shadow near 
that looms featureless, reflect her gaunt face, 
hardened into strange mask of someone else 
at sudden flash of mindless ecstasy. 

Exhausted from aggressive fantasy 
to gather berries and eggs in dark woods, 
Stella reposes far from Astrophel 
under dark sycamore on the lush hill, 
and stares at cottages on pastoral farms 
wreathed in smoke from cooking fires at twilight. 

Green apples, still unripe in late spring heat, 
promise weird sweetness of electric juice 
to homeless wanderers on signless roads 
who pause to ponder beauty of farm fields 
bordered by wild hedge-rows of stoic faith, 
while searching for pure essence of the mind. 

Awake in pure mind of her hungry hope, 
yet numbed by ennui of afternoon breeze, 
sly Stella searches tangled woods of fate 
for gift with aspect more sublime than faith 
that weighs boundless burden of mystery 
on fragile raft of her wave-battered heart. 

Deciding to cherish her serene mood 
with breath that powers our corporeal frame, 
Stella hums in harmony with stream waves 
that morph in shapes of monsters with small eyes 
which vanish when she laughs with calm delight 
at beautiful absurdity we share. 

Since Moon shines still on her solitary walk, 
where misty mountain-winds teach her to live 
free from anxious ambition to gain wealth, 
Stella begins to worship florid Nature 
that molds our bodies from river-shore mud 
with indifferent passion to feel, yet know. 

Though genial spirits of our hungry flesh 
decay to blind dust in relentless change 
of harsh necessity to live, she designs 
new language from cries of storm-twisted ghosts, 
which Stella translates from pebbles of shock 
at swelling of the new child in her heart. 

Weird glow of nature, inherent in forms 
that her eyes perceive as colorful swirls, 
informs her mind with quietness of life 
that blooms from shocking vision of soul birth 
with insight at how seeds of ecstasy 
build dwelling place from memory of love. 

Singing Doors Of Nevermore

Singing Doors Of Nevermore
© Surazeus
2026 06 18

Within cold shadow of eternity 
my brain glows with dreams of warm energy 
that wakes my heart with the sharp ache of truth 
so I explore dream-invisible path 
back home to singing doors of Nevermore 
where I make books of long-forgotten lore. 

Wise serpent of Meroveus inspires 
my wretched soul to climb cathedral spires 
where I spread wings of Icarus and fly 
to Wonderland where I can play the spy 
who slips through singing doors of Nevermore 
with eager passion to complete my chore. 

Assertive wolf of Charlemagne attends 
my secret mission to explore strange lands 
where my father once chased the rainbow ghost 
who wants to crown me Son of Zeus the Host 
so I guard singing doors of Nevermore 
with royal robe of Ermine Louis wore. 

Brave lion of Richard strides at my side 
when I discover where wild fairies hide 
who shelter me in lush Broceliande 
when I hide from bloody assassin hand, 
safe behind singing doors of Nevermore 
where I gain Apollo as life mentor. 

Swift horse of Henry portends motor cars 
so I develop eyes of flaming stars 
that help me analyze essential waves 
building empires from blind prophets in caves 
who open singing doors of Nevermore 
that shimmer with dreams on the timeless shore. 

Moon crow of Arthur haunts garden of fruit 
where Melusine plays the dragon-bone flute 
enchanting eyes of Cetus with sad tune 
who wants to grant each person their boon 
hidden by singing doors of Nevermore 
when grape vines spiral from psychotic spore. 

Weird secret code that Merlin diagrams 
revives cult of Serapis herding rams, 
so I invent religion of Ishtar 
while driving to work each dawn in my car, 
which opens singing doors of Nevermore 
to temple of truth inside the bookstore. 

I take mask from the ancient gallery 
that matches Jester Bard of Fillory 
to work as Custodian of the Wellspring 
from which springs spirit of my magic ring 
which unlocks singing doors of Nevermore 
so I rule Earth as honest Manticore. 

How To Grow Dream Wings

How To Grow Dream Wings
© Surazeus
2026 06 17

When he hears his child in her clean bedroom 
cry with voice that cracks the evening moon, 
Joseph lifts her up from the wood-barred crib 
and holds her in his arms with gentle care, 
humming wordless song to comfort her heart 
while he contemplates how to make her smile. 

Our hearts are permanent as twinkling stars 
that gleam in swirls of smoke from a warm hearth, 
so cling to me with comfort-seeking arms 
and I will teach you how to grow dream wings 
so you may fly beyond bounds of this world 
and find its secret treasures in your heart. 

Hearing her husband sing soft lullaby 
to their daughter when she wakes from nightmare, 
Kate gathers raindrops from cup of the rose 
and sprinkles eyes of angels on her cheeks, 
then as she cuddles with husband and child 
she snaps photos with eye-phone of her heart. 

Posting photos of their cute family 
on social media sites with glowing heart, 
Kate drinks juice by the frosted window pane 
then plays haunting tunes on the old piano, 
on which her grandmother used to play hymns, 
beaming that she preserves her legacy. 

Gazing in eyes of his daughter with pride, 
Joseph tells her with reassuring voice 
that he can see reflected in her eyes 
timeless light of the moon that preserves 
memories of her childhood in tender songs 
that hide in heart of the crow in the oak. 

Because we are all dying every day, 
Kate sings with maternal lullaby voice, 
we give each other love with caring faith 
for we are transient shadows of the wraith 
who gives our hearts wings of courageous hope 
so we can transform sorrows into joy. 

As you grow up and learn to walk and speak, 
Joseph explains as he kisses her cheek, 
we will show you beauty of this world 
for, though all creatures breathing air of hope 
will die and vanish into nothingness, 
while we still live we give each other love. 

How glad am I, Joseph hears Kate exclaim, 
that we are safe in great America 
where everyone is free to live and play, 
instead of in those lands across the sea 
where gangsters in harsh halls of government 
bomb homes of families who are just like us. 

Never About The Trees

Never About The Trees
© Surazeus
2026 06 17

Because it was never about the trees, 
except how telephone poles steal her voice 
and twist emotional tones into jokes, 
Nerthus decides to build home furniture, 
molding raw wood into tables and chairs 
which brings people together with calm love. 

Through hypothetical thoughts of desire 
with unshared solitude of calm regret, 
Nerthus measures vastness of her weird heart 
that wears mask on deserted stage of faith 
in tune with social discourse of the hour 
when she traverses time without her heart. 

Since she can never understand our words, 
despite embracing feelings she finds cold, 
Nerthus translates strange shadow of her mind 
to clarity of colors angels brew 
from blood of children killed in civil wars 
whose faces glow from flash of friendly bombs. 

Based on unknown proverb of naked truth, 
that doubles phantoms of our hungry souls 
through endless mirrors on pages of books, 
Nerthus calculates equivalent thoughts 
to match alien truths devised to untwist 
beauty born from concept of nothingness. 

Since words of wisdom bleed from her torn tongue, 
against inverted pattern striped with eyes, 
Nerthus maps contemptuous canticles 
smeared across ghost-bare hills of tangled roots 
to prove her speech expresses how she feels 
with honest bitterness of unearned love. 

When she decides that yellow asters match 
veils of silent rapture drenched in mute rain, 
Nerthus conducts shy ceremonial game 
to hide unhealed wounds of maturity 
with solemn chorus only lake winds scream, 
too beautiful for chords that hurt our hearts. 

Her tales may seem vaguely mysterious 
since her beliefs are hidden in plain code, 
so Nerthus cracks oblivion with prayers 
unanswered after weirdly portent words 
reveal blank space between our pulsing hearts 
that no amount of trust can bridge till death. 

Since consequence of her belief in God 
means nothing to cold waves that wreck hard cliffs 
with gentle kisses of indifferent love, 
Nerthus gives her daughter small apple seed 
without explaining how to build new home 
from planks of wood that rot in hungry rain. 

Rising Sun Of Truth

Rising Sun Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 06 16

Though blinded by the rising sun of truth, 
that deconstructs weird religious world view 
preprogrammed in my brain as I grew up, 
I gaze with awe at beauty of the world 
that blazes brightly outside frame of words 
with glow that dissolves ideologies. 

Awakened by the rising sun of truth, 
that cracks mirror of my childhood beliefs, 
I gather fragments of social events 
to assemble new world ontology 
depicting progress of the human race 
as monkeys boasting they have angel wings. 

Heart entranced by the rising sun of truth, 
that luminates grove of shadowy ghosts, 
I enter cave beside the roaring sea 
where Polyphemus kept his herd of sheep 
to hear his skull explain in riddle-code 
how to take power in the Twilight Zone. 

Empowered by the rising sun of truth, 
that channels souls of ancient demigods 
through flashing neurons of my spongy brain, 
I strum the broken lyre of Mercury 
and howl conceptual hymns of ardency 
before locked gates of Heaven in hard rain. 

Soul transformed by the rising sun of truth, 
that rearranges puzzle of my mind, 
I organize my random memories 
in coherent narrative of my life 
where I journey on quest of the wise fool 
to comprehend the true nature of things. 

Still amazed by the rising sun of truth, 
that weaves my soul from flashing molecules, 
I climb high rugged trail of eager hope 
to grand castle on steep Harshena peak 
to find Thoosa bathing in her pool 
who hopes I will give her Apple of Eris. 

Not amused by the rising sun of truth, 
that melts thick wax of my Icarian wings, 
I visit Catullus in his humble home 
where zephyrs rustle leaves of apple trees 
as Aphrodite dances in silk gown 
while airplanes bomb cathedral of the clown. 

Analyzed by the rising sun of truth, 
that conjugates emotions of my heart 
through unauthorized ciphers of charades, 
I dismantle components of my brain 
designed to calculate customized worth, 
then document dynamic game of thrones. 

Stranger With Four Eyes

Stranger With Four Eyes
© Surazeus
2026 06 16

Strange laughter echoes in deserted streets 
where ghosts of children killed in civil wars 
play hide and seek with angels of the moon, 
which startles me awake from reverie 
concerning how to rebuild fantasy 
that we require to live our daily lives. 

Shocked by harsh candor of our unchurched bells 
that ring with frantic ecstasy of fear, 
my doppelganger hides his secret face 
with mask he steals from cracked statue of God 
which proves new zeitgeist messes with our minds 
by rearranging moral signs of fate. 

We need to hear sad whistle of the train 
that blows across broad prairie of mad wind 
as if the tame wolf of our legal hearts 
aches to escape cold walls of paradise 
and run with ravens along railroad tracks 
which always leads our hearts to Wonderland. 

Too fake our private stories of success 
for fools to understand straight messages, 
encoded with proud riddles of the banks 
that charge us hidden fees of fortitude, 
so we decide to flee the Promised Land 
by wearing white cloaks in the swirling snow. 

To mark our journey in dark pathless woods, 
I leave old photos of our family times 
along the way we wind in withered waste, 
but oldest woman in the world retrieves 
discarded memories with attentive hands 
and pastes them in her album of lost tales. 

When I find Sibyl with gold spider eyes 
lounging casually by the willow tree, 
I ask if I can have my memories back, 
but she laughs softly as the butterfly, 
then plays heart-wrenching tunes on violin 
that shatters our moon in fragments of faith. 

I wander blind deserted streets of hope 
and map each spot where I hear ghostly cry 
to mark where someone felt their heart crack wide 
from shock at crumbling of our old world view 
so I can analyze with careful code 
spatial adjustment of our social play. 

Thus when I meet the Stranger with four eyes 
at signless crossroads by the empty pool, 
I ask why every conscious creature dies, 
so she gives me ripe apple of her heart 
that writhes with golden serpent of desire, 
and then I understand so much I laugh. 

Kaaba Of Her Destiny

Kaaba Of Her Destiny
© Surazeus
2026 06 15

Walking toward the sea to find her lost words 
that rise in blazing glory of red dawn, 
Sepideh sings with strange enchanting voice 
about innocent birds that lose their wings 
so they find refuge in the cypress tree 
and nest in tangled tresses of her hair. 

Untangling tresses of her long black hair, 
Sepideh frees the wingless hearts of men 
who long to remain in trap of her heart, 
but she finds it sweeter to wander free 
across deserted Biyaban of hope, 
and make her bed on burning sand of faith. 

Far from the crowded cities of locked doors, 
where men with iron hands grasp at her heart, 
Sepideh finds in dark deserted cave 
Apron of Kaveh tattered in the dust, 
so she cleans Flag of Freedom with her tears, 
then bears it as she walks the signless road. 

Kneeling by bright pond in Biyaban, 
where gold sun frames her heart with wordless grace, 
Sepideh gazes in mirror of love 
past mask of her face in the Ayeneh 
where she perceives divine Light of Zurvan 
that luminates pure nature of mankind. 

While she follows flow of the Haraz River, 
that winds through oak woods to Mount Damavand, 
Sepideh smiles when morning Saba breeze 
brings scent of cloves to soothe her aching heart, 
bearing secret message of yearning love 
from faceless lover she may never meet. 

She finds no roses in the Biyaban, 
where no Majnun, possessed with bitter grief, 
flees from oppressive rules of social pride, 
nor hears forlorn song of the nightingale, 
yet boundless regions of the houseless waste 
expands scope of true love in her vast heart. 

Seeking star-eyed beauty of the Simurgh, 
which emanates from her love-wounded heart, 
Sepideh walks the roadless wilderness 
on treacherous journey of her aching soul, 
disoriented by shattering of her mask, 
so she dances wildly with Saba wind. 

Awake in Golestan, garden of fruit, 
reborn from horror of the Biyaban, 
Sepideh sings with mercurial voice 
while caressing rose petals of respect, 
then laughs as she drinks wine of starlit truth, 
safe in the Kaaba of her destiny.  

New Lamp Of Diogenes

New Lamp Of Diogenes
© Surazeus
2026 06 15

Though the world grows dark from cruel tyranny 
through oppression of greedy oligarchs 
who have seized power in grand halls of state, 
I shall walk forth on signless road of fate 
bearing the new Lamp of Diogenes 
so we can unite to fight against hate. 

With pompous heart of King Lear on the heath, 
commiserating with wretches of fate 
pelted by pitiless storm of despair, 
I raise my wounded soul up from the ground 
to bear the new Lamp of Diogenes 
and prove the Heavens are just to the wronged. 

Concerned about weird state of world affairs, 
corrupted by gangs of exploitive thieves, 
I take clear measure of humanity 
to analyze chess games of global power, 
then bear the new Lamp of Diogenes 
to find the honest leader we can trust. 

Through knowledge of suffering people endure 
I transform pity to attentive grace 
by looking in my heart of eager faith 
so I may know what vision to invent, 
beamed by the new Lamp of Diogenes, 
that luminates our way to paradise. 

When sunlight coils saturation of loss 
by folding feathered swirls of timeless truth, 
my heart shall annotate redacted code 
that could obliterate our spectacle 
tuned by the new Lamp of Diogenes 
so we surf endless waves of social change. 

Though I do not know name of every soul 
who lives in every land of spinning Earth, 
I know we share same dreams of love with hope 
for we are neighbors in opposing states, 
tricked by the new Lamp of Diogenes 
to believe we all can achieve world peace. 

Around bright campfire of our global faith 
we gather with lost refugees of fate 
when tyrants bomb our homes to steal our land, 
then feast and sing with faith in loyal trust 
forged by the new Lamp of Diogenes 
as light that guides our quest to nurture love. 

With lion heart of courage we shall walk 
with Sharbat Gula on long road of fear, 
enduring cruel vicissitudes of fate, 
for her green eyes of wisdom glow with faith, 
sparked by the new Lamp of Diogenes 
to dispel darkness of cruel tyranny. 

Ghost Of My Fractured Soul

Ghost Of My Fractured Soul
© Surazeus
2026 06 14

Bright ghosts of all the lives I could have lived 
swarm all around me in the maze of myths, 
so I assign each alternative self 
weird variant on the name Odysseus, 
for though they set out on their quest for home 
they each live and die in some foreign town. 

I hear their songs in silence of the day, 
so I record memories they throw away 
because they have all disappeared from time 
which leaves me now alone of all my selves 
erased from possibilities of fate 
while still alive in shadow of my home. 

Strange cry of sorrow tainted by pure joy 
rings out through endless forest of dead trees, 
so I climb every mountain in the world 
to find source of this cry of bitter hope, 
till I realize with laughter of soft rain 
that it comes out of my own aching heart. 

The scarlet raven on my shoulder sings 
with pure voice mimicking the nightingale 
to prove the dire wolf glowing in my heart 
keeps me alive on journey to the west 
when I search cathedral ruins of dead gods 
for holy scripture that lives in my heart. 

Since I take the low road where the sun shines bright 
I hear birds of hope sing in grieving trees 
though I wander where the wildflowers spring 
for I hope to meet my true love by moonlight 
where we had parted in the shady glen 
as lovers on bonnie banks of Loch Lomond. 

Though every living thing on Earth will die 
and wither in the turning flow of time, 
we glow with mystery of the universe 
when we stand in the field where lilies bloom 
and let the timeless gleam of ancient stars 
penetrate our hearts with ache of true love. 

I wish to be as generous as Death 
who treats each living soul with gift of joy 
since we glow fragile as the lily bloom 
that sprouts in jagged rocks of the glen pool 
with kind attendance of the honey bees 
though thunderstorms crack illusion of faith. 

I may never see misty glens of Scotland 
in fleeting drama of my secret life 
yet spirit of your love blooms in my heart 
no matter where I roam in this wide world, 
so I send last ghost of my fractured soul 
to meet you on bonnie banks of Loch Lomond. 

Stories Mirrors Tell

Stories Mirrors Tell
© Surazeus
2026 06 14

I have read all the stories mirrors tell, 
pursued by gold-tongued furies of concern, 
unreal as angels in our grocery stores, 
startled by scattered brilliance of false faith 
that severs my heart from kite of the sun 
with suddenness of unwanted world fame. 

Waves of green memory engulf my heart 
with tattered pages of electric books 
that recount fight for crown of global power, 
though I sail far on argosy of hope 
in vain attempt to find the Promised Land 
that always vanishes as we approach. 

Though rational light of social insight 
disperses shadows of religious faith, 
I cling to fractured rainbow of one fact, 
that we are temporary flames of light 
undone by ecstasy of secret dreams 
which I decode in stories no one reads. 

Green odor of strange darkness in the tree 
uncovers coldness folded inside leaves, 
moon rays that rustle softly into words 
which weave strange web of silver-shimmer light 
that binds support pillars of belief 
to bridge vast emptiness between our hearts. 

Strange seeds of proverbs, secretly discerned, 
flicker forth from arched bough of ecstasy 
to veil my grave with pages of old books 
at supple rocking of infernal light 
that teaches darkness how to flow till dawn 
so I taste perfect sorrow of desire. 

Night flowers into stories angels steal 
by giving fruit to wounded refugees 
who crowd streets of clean cities with despair, 
forbidden to own land or labor well, 
as if our hearts are leeches to be crushed, 
so we clutch handfuls of hydraulic dust. 

Roots twine about my pulsing heart with faith 
that all we build will crumble into sand 
through fertile season of electric birds, 
so I leap over garden walls of hope 
that harden brave around astringencies 
when I adjust somnolent grace at dawn. 

Though we still process summer balances 
with frantic gaiety of elephants, 
I package fractured memories of fate 
in polished casement of Plutonian pride, 
which I intend to hide in state archives 
that should preserve decrees of solitude. 

Win The Apple Of Eris

Win The Apple Of Eris
© Surazeus
2026 06 14

Assembled angels on the Pantheon 
watch horses race across the roadless plain 
to win the Apple of Eris with speed 
that honors wind ghost of the primal seed 
from which all creatures of spinning Earth spring 
at spark of love when Daughters of Time sing. 

When people thank God for their victories 
in sports competitions to win Gold Keys, 
I laugh because they still believe the creed 
which Al-Ghazali taught in fevered screed 
that God controls where every atom goes 
so what occurs is Law that God bestows. 

If every act of force that I perform 
was decreed by God before I was born, 
then I am but dumb puppet of his Will, 
so I commit no sin, though I may kill, 
and thus cannot be punished for some crime 
that God makes me do in flow of space-time. 

Yet supernatural conscious God of Fate, 
who forces us to play his game as bait, 
is not as real as priests want me to think, 
since atoms randomly swerve at the brink 
which causes them to swirl in globes of life 
where brain-urged creatures clash in hungry strife. 

If flashing atoms always beam too straight 
through boundless void of space due to their weight, 
they never would collide in coils of light 
that form matter of the universe right, 
so Epicurus taught that atoms swerve 
in random deviations of the curve. 

If we could predict where each atom moves 
our actions would be locked in legal grooves, 
predetermined by divine will of God 
which would make us puppets committing fraud, 
so random swerves of atoms in the void 
breaks chain of necessity we avoid. 

Thus we assert soft force of our free will 
when we ascend to fruit grove on the hill 
where we tame horses with sweet fruit of trust, 
subsuming mindless energy of lust, 
so we can bridle passion of their flight 
in race to achieve the heavenly height. 

How far across the spinning globe I fly 
on horse of wisdom to discover why 
our bodies spring from laughter of the sea 
as we investigate how to live free 
when we assert free will by conscious choice, 
then chronicle events with honest voice. 

Incarnation Of Saint Michael

Incarnation Of Saint Michael
© Surazeus
2026 06 14

The narrow dusty road across bleak plain, 
that takes me past wind-weathered hills of hope, 
seems to extend forever to the sky, 
but I know somewhere far beyond despair 
stands shining temple of wise Jupiter 
who hosts grand banquets for lost travelers. 

But by the time I arrive at his hall 
ten thousand years of reckless social change 
have transformed villages of hungry farmers 
to vast metropolitan maze of streets 
so piston-engine cars glide past glass towers 
where Jupiter reigns as bank president. 

The silver airplane Daedalus designed, 
which Icarus pilots with focused faith, 
zooms swiftly far in high celestial realm 
so wingless angels manage world affairs 
in global council of state ministers 
where Jupiter presides with wise insight. 

Peter chuckles at vision of the world 
that Michael proffers with clever grin 
where mythic spirits of conceptual gods 
provide vigor of ideal characters 
as psychic force of social energy 
which incarnate in normal mortal men. 

Consider how mythic tag of our name 
acts as key to initiate psychic force 
of social role performed in state of grace 
by that original person whose mind 
may exercise broad visionary scope 
through our contemporary mental form. 

That first Michael, human who bore my name, 
now sanctified as archangel whose soul 
exerted deeds of duty to assert 
central authority of Jupiter, 
whose name signifies Jehovah Pater, 
has become glamorous ideal of the hero. 

By assigning name of that great archangel, 
Michael who slays dragon of the cruel tyrant, 
whose devilish spirit possesses men 
each generation with ambition to rule 
with greed, exploiting human slaves for wealth, 
my mother hopes I will act with his spirit. 

Therefore, it is my duty in this life, 
as mortal incarnation of Saint Michael, 
to save America from tyranny, 
but how I shall perform this sacred role 
has yet to manifest, so I employ 
patience to act well when the time is right. 

Waves Of Vanishing Desire

Waves Of Vanishing Desire
© Surazeus
2026 06 13

When Phoebus follows river of his eyes 
that flow through broken window of his heart, 
he finds his body in the ocean house 
that floats on airplane wings of dragon eggs 
which nurture horse with honeysuckle wings 
who teaches him how to dig his own grave. 

Weary on waves of vanishing desire, 
Phoebus builds another bridge from sparrow bones 
that gives him strength of harpy butterflies 
to endure endless days of everywhere 
because the past returns in loops of laughter 
where river of his eyes flows to the sea. 

Heart bruised by shadows of the faceless dead, 
Phoebus lies on grass while the clock rewires 
how his sponge brain perceives eternal light 
that glows from skin of Columbine when she strips 
mask of her happiness to bare her soul 
studded with milk-white stars of unmarred faith. 

Concluding with sly grin of knowingness, 
Columbine asks the charlatan to prove 
she has no right to live in paradise, 
but he sells Bibles to the gullible 
who cheer when Harlequin erases words 
to steal the falling star of honesty. 

Amused at clashing cymbals of respect, 
Columbine rescues the blind hanging man 
who sells her memories of their love trysts 
to kind sorcerers from Bohemia 
who ask Phoebus to reign as their new king 
while he rocks his daughter in gentle arms. 

When Harlequin returns from Kingdom Come 
and asks bold Columbine to marry him, 
Phoebus interferes with their fake romance, 
intending to repair the garden path 
where Melancholy dances with Disdain 
as if they are new deities we love. 

Clotilde points to angels in the sky 
whose bodies fall as snowflakes on the Earth, 
so Phoebus makes small snowman on his lawn 
with twisted tree branches as devil horns 
while children gather coins from lake-shore mud 
stamped with cute scene of Bacchus and his pards. 

While she plays tambourine with broken heart 
beneath the weeping bells of Notre Dame, 
Phoebus gives Columbine peach juice to drink 
so she teaches Clotilde how to paint 
faces of ghosts who descend from the sky 
with metallic wings of terrified birds. 

Moment Of Lost Time

Moment Of Lost Time
© Surazeus
2026 06 13

Now that I am halfway through my life tale, 
I want to walk with you on the dirt path 
around the lake where summer breezes blow, 
and take photographs of your graceful soul 
to preserve this moment of our lost time 
so our image will remain though we die. 

Concerned about the price of tangerines 
that gleam with waterdrops on the store shelf, 
we weigh advantages of eating fruit 
in contrast to expending hours of hope 
researching variant types of meadow birds 
who seem to know our final resting place. 

Distraught by stories in the daily news 
about women and children who escape 
bombs that deconstruct their family homes, 
we turn the television off at sunset 
and stroll about the quiet neighborhood, 
waving to every person who drives by. 

My favorite mural in town of Pompeii, 
painted on thermopolium cafe, 
shows graceful Nereid with curly hair 
riding blue Hippocampus with fish tail 
while strumming golden lyre of Mercury, 
for you are incarnation of her soul. 

Agathodaemon slithering in my heart, 
with jeweled eyes that know the universe, 
flutters rainbow feathers along its spine 
as she protects sacred space of our home 
where we dwell safe from mobs of hungry souls 
who clamor for salvation from stone gods. 

To open crystal portal door of faith 
and slip back in time to when we first meet 
so we can avoid our too-tragic fate, 
we sit together on the river shore 
and talk about philosophy of being 
as if we are still Phoebus and Carmenta. 

Wearing masks of the Singer and the Sibyl, 
we perform play we wrote about their lives 
on the outdoor stage in the city park 
where people gather every Sabbath day 
to celebrate birth of Zarathia 
we build from ruins of America. 

Once romantic play of our lives is done, 
and all the ravens in the writhing oaks 
have flown beyond fake walls of paradise, 
we board small boat of skulls that Charon rows 
to glide across the oil-black River Styx 
and live forever in Elysium. 

Quest To Find Meaning

Quest To Find Meaning
© Surazeus
2026 06 13

I have wandered river landscape of Earth 
two hundred million years of spinning time 
on endless quest to find meaning of life, 
and each moment I almost understand 
I generate new body with my mate 
so I continue journey to the stars. 

Just on the other side of the bright hill 
where nothingness of death looms over me, 
I find another world of wooded vales 
where tribes of people live on river shores 
so I keep climbing endless hills of hope 
till I discover that our world is round. 

I keep on walking to the end of time 
while singing to beam visions of my eyes 
which helps me organize my memories 
in coherent tales of cause and effect 
so I can map the endless road of faith 
where other people walk before I come. 

I follow the rising sun every dawn 
forever toward the endless sea of light, 
but then turn away toward the setting sun 
because I keep walking circles of fate, 
one hundred thousand years till I arrive 
at the edge of the world in Oregon. 

With you at my side on the ocean shore 
I listen to the endless song of waves 
which I cannot translate to human words, 
and explain to you the meaning of life 
which I discover in my vain attempt 
to evade death and live another day. 

If I can find the wings of Icarus 
and fly above this world of hills and lakes, 
I would ascend to world of swirling clouds 
to find grand crystal palace of the gods 
who live forever in dreams of our minds 
as our ancestors who watch over us. 

Stuck in this soft body of hungry flesh 
as temporary node of deathless genes, 
my spirit writhes with passion to transcend 
confining limits of this transient life 
to savor psychic glow of ecstasy 
that expands my mind through epiphany. 

There is no meaning to this sudden life, 
so we invent religions based on myths 
of people whose grand deeds of public life 
are framed with tragic consequence of fate 
because they try to assert thought control 
instead of flowing with the tides of change. 

Fairyland States Of Zarathia

Fairyland States Of Zarathia
© Surazeus
2026 06 13

As psychotic elite who rule the world 
from Fairyland States of Zarathia, 
we record spells of the heartless Mermaid 
from old riddles of her Three-Legged Crow 
to publish prophecies of faceless gods 
performed by Oberon on the Late Show. 

Working late in East Wing of the Black House 
in Fairyland States of Zarathia, 
Titania develops social programs 
designed to help mothers raise children well, 
but Midas bulldozes her office suite 
so he can build a Winter Palace Ballroom. 

Returning home on tattered wings of faith 
to Fairyland States of Zarathia, 
Icarus founds start-up tech company 
that ploys artificial intelligence 
to automate tedious business tasks 
which garners wealth for man in the glass mask. 

Nontoxic masculinity of faith 
through Fairyland States of Zarathia 
contrives mental recipes of fraught faith 
from bland conviction social rules require 
for sorting souls by color of their skin 
against creed of Heaven death nullifies. 

Campaigning to become next President 
of Fairyland States of Zarathia, 
Oberon journeys to the mountain cave 
where Saint Fillan convinces the wild wolf 
to plow fields of wheat in place of the ox 
because the farmer is the key to wealth. 

Marsh orchids blooming purple from lush hills 
in Fairyland States of Zarathia, 
give courage to lost refugees of war 
afflicted by gang of cruel oligarchs, 
so they smuggle ginger wine into Hell 
where they dance on corpse of the fallen tyrant. 

Driven from Hibernia by dream thieves 
to Fairyland States of Zarathia, 
we wander signless road of nowhere else 
because we never find the Promised Land, 
so we build amusement park Wonderland 
where wingless angels pretend they can fly. 

Unlocked gates of technological Heaven 
in Fairyland States of Zarathia 
expose collectible memories we share 
as mass delusion of national pride 
when we experience television shows 
to celebrate birthday of our lost empire.