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. 

Winding Road Of Change

Winding Road Of Change
© Surazeus
2026 06 12

When I am ready for the leap of faith 
from crumbling tower of religious hope 
I spread wings I borrow from Icarus 
and wonder with amazement of mute awe 
why I am me and no one else alive, 
then lean against the balustrade and sigh. 

Solaria beams rays of holy light 
through web of branches in the Tree of Life 
to luminate deep cavern of my heart 
where wise demon of my genetic soul 
conducts analysis of social vibes 
so I navigate vast maze of myths well. 

Telluria molds genes of memories 
from tangled vines of innocent desire, 
transforming body of material flesh 
four hundred million years from fish to god 
that programs how my mind perceives the world 
so I generate life before I die. 

Venturia breathes whole ethereal soul 
through brave pneumatic gust of energy 
which animates my body of frail flesh 
with compassion of visionary hope 
that flashes conscious sense of secret self 
so I sense cosmic God wake in my brain. 

Thalassia swirls waves of timeless faith 
across courageous landscape of my heart 
which motivates ambitious quest for truth 
that drives my progress on the road of life 
to conserve stories of human exploits 
in chronicles of failure and success. 

Saturnus wakes my spirit from strange dream 
and guides my way on winding road of change 
to navigate confusing maze of ghosts 
so I find broken lyre of Mercurius 
that he designed six thousand years ago 
from turtle shell and strings of aching love. 

Apollon finds me tangled in despair 
so he frees my heart from lustful desire 
by teaching my voice to manipulate 
images of feeling with words of thought 
so I transcend greed with selfless concern 
when I articulate soul of mankind. 

As wingless angel born from womb of Earth, 
I crawl from sea along river of hope, 
climb generous Tree of Life to eat fruit, 
then follow river to Mountain of Truth 
where I map history of humanity 
as we strive to transcend despair with love. 

Who You Journey With

Who You Journey With
© Surazeus
2026 06 12

Who you journey with on rough road of life 
is far more important than where you go, 
so I keep you within scope of my eyes 
with attentive care to our circumstance 
to ensure your precious spirit is safe 
while I gather fresh fruit for you to eat. 

When Juturna finds creek of clear cold water 
trickling in thick woods between rugged hills, 
she follows sparkle of light into gloom 
till she finds spring that fountains from dark earth, 
so she proclaims to Janus with sweet voice 
that she has now found their forever home. 

Calling out to her mother, Rumina, 
older woman with long hair and green eyes, 
Juturna guides her to the fountain grove 
where they rest in shade of the broad fig tree 
as Janus plucks sweet fruit for them to eat, 
then brings them water in new turtle shells. 

Janus builds temple beside broad fig tree 
with oak for foundation of the firm floor, 
four silver firs as columns for roof beams, 
and cypress for walls and two sturdy doors, 
around stone hearth that preserves flame of light 
where Juturna and Rumina cook meals. 

When Juturna exclaims two cows are gone, 
Janus and their son Quirinus grab wands 
and track the cows to large bone-littered cave 
where the grim giant Cacus snarls in rage, 
so while Janus distracts him with sharp spear 
Quirinus leaps on his back with thick vine. 

After strangling greedy Cacus to death, 
Quirinus explores dark cave with bright lamp 
where he finds large diamond that glitters clear 
as ice-white silver moon on winter nights, 
so they bear it back to their temple home  
where Janus sets it firm on altar stone. 

Gazing deep in crystal sphere of pure light, 
Juturna sings verse of oracle spells 
describing visions she sees with her mind 
how the first flash flares forth from the big bang 
so threads of sparkling light form spinning globe 
from which gods and humans spring into life. 

When pregnant Juturna goes into labor, 
Rumina attends process of childbirth, 
then washes the new-born girl clean with care, 
so while Juturna nurses her with love 
Janus bestows name Carmenta with pride 
and gazes in eyes of his reborn mother. 

Persistence Of Secret Love

Persistence Of Secret Love
© Surazeus
2026 06 11

I call out to dark shadow on the shore, 
thinking they must be somebody I know, 
but they have never existed in time, 
mind designed with fear-automated gears 
that wind our mouths with beams of earnest light, 
reckless with persistence of secret love. 

If I should offer pessimistic codes 
without bitterness through security 
for industrial passion of eager hearts 
with expeditious game of narratives, 
I may voice constant struggles to transcend 
thematic alarm of personal faith. 

Larger forces in our shared catastrophe 
render masters of sloganeering tricks 
responsible for scouring observations 
designed to model how we weigh our worth 
when we inhabit avatars of faith 
against diminishment of miracles. 

Aghast at framing device angels use 
to change trajectory of mutant ploys, 
I gaze in gleam of well water with goal 
to measure firmament of splendid souls 
who precede cosmic fixture of old fruit 
in harmony with psychic consequence. 

Thus I invert heavens with casual stance 
in potent reversal of separateness 
through isolation of our frantic hearts 
to find divine spirit of clarion faith 
in subterranean space of pulsing brains 
where we shelter in place from foul disease. 

Set on evading fraught taxonomy 
through calm bewilderment of honesty, 
I tally inventory of my dreams 
to comprehend rich treasures I possess 
while trudging dusty road of jagged thoughts 
as mordant observer of ardent faith. 

I taste cathedral stone of elegy 
amid debris of crumbling tapestries 
that shroud hope-wrecked cars in junkyard of faith 
to weep for poisoned land of brutal truth 
that foils green memory of warm sun 
calibrated with moral questions of fate. 

Safe on mixed-grass prairie of humble pride, 
I build new kingdom of wind in the heart 
that converts veritable floating ark 
of nameless creatures writhing in my heart 
so I broadcast signal of wordless songs 
that roots my body as idol of faith. 

Ruined Temple Of Diana

Ruined Temple Of Diana
© Surazeus
2026 06 11

Today I am so happy being alive 
that I forget to shout at the Blue Sky 
about the problems humans cause each other 
till I remember nobody is up there, 
so I walk around streets of Rome to visit 
Basilica of Santa Prudentiana. 

Disgusted with the life I used to lead, 
tricking people with scams to steal their money, 
I rename myself after Novatus, 
then journey to Lake Nemi that gleams blue 
to sit by ruined Temple of Diana 
and weep for the loss of beautiful souls. 

When eerie voice of sorrowful desire 
rings through dark forest of the eyeless wolf, 
I walk toward mysterious grove that glows 
with solemn anguish of the fallen angel 
who sings with aching wisdom of the stars 
about the man who sacrificed his soul. 

Willing to die for the people he loves, 
Prudentiana sings in gold moonlight, 
the honest leader who came from the stars 
nurtures every person with tender care 
so we develop talents into skills 
instead of enslaving us for his gain. 

When I see three men with sharp spears and chains 
grab Prudentiana with hands of lust, 
and drag her toward their wagon cage of slaves, 
I pick up shark rocks from the river shore, 
whistle as I toss them high in the air 
that whack them with my wand of liberty. 

After cracking skulls of slavers with rocks, 
I unlock wagon cage and set slaves free 
who fall to their bruised knees with gratitude 
and proclaim me savior sent down by Zeus, 
then beg me to play shepherd of their clan, 
so we journey forth to the Promised Land. 

Rebuilding ruined Temple of Diana 
with stones we haul from hill of granite cliffs, 
we reinstate rituals of daily life, 
tending gardens of herbs and herds of sheep, 
with Prudentiana, our clever leader, 
performing role of Domina Silvarum. 

Gathered at round table heaped with good food, 
we celebrate success of our new venture, 
former slaves working rich communal farm, 
as Lucina brings light and pitcher of juice, 
so I strum lyre of Mercury and sing 
that spirit of God lives in every heart. 

Ruthless Winners Like Me

Ruthless Winners Like Me
© Surazeus
2026 06 10

Time has no frantic pace I can discern 
that leaves all mortals in cold graves of faith, 
so I race headlong toward high peak of fame 
in desperate contest to achieve success 
above all other losers on this globe 
whose skulls crumble to dust beside my own. 

Long tedious days crowd endless short years 
with daily contests to gather more wealth 
than competitors in shadowy woods 
who pray to faceless spirit in the clouds 
to grant them random luck of generous fate 
while I hoard food in cold castle of stone. 

Ignoring cries of homeless refugees, 
driven from rich lands by laws I decree 
that river-nourished woods are mine alone, 
granted divine right to gather and hunt 
for secret treasures of bountiful Earth, 
I lounge in tower with coffers of plunder. 

Though hungry hordes of rebellious fools 
clamor desperately at gates of my Heaven 
with revolutionary fervor of blind rage 
that I gain power through law over land 
to defeat them in chess game against death, 
I sip sweet wine and dine on roast beef steak. 

While they beat drums and pipe with Bacchic frenzy 
beneath electric horror of the moon, 
I strum gold strings of the elegant harp 
and chant harmonious hymns of reverence 
to praise Lord God whose frank benevolence 
has blessed me with wit to pilfer their wealth. 

Removed from teeming crowds of vagrant churls 
who cry for justice to the empty sky 
for infernal judgment against my power, 
I fund their passage on mercantile ships 
across stormy sea of indifference 
to slave on my farms in the colonies. 

Ruled by harsh law of the grim wilderness, 
that those who are stronger and wiser win 
in brutal battle of wits to control 
religious narrative of the whole state 
based on systemic privilege of wealth, 
this world honors ruthless winners like me. 

So though our nameless skulls sit side by side 
on lightless shelf in cathedral of faith, 
as if we are equals in realm of death, 
I stamped my name on grand buildings and laws 
in legal framework that enforces power 
of my descendants to exploit your own. 

Simple Life Of Solitude

Simple Life Of Solitude
© Surazeus
2026 06 10

I shall go out to field of tangled briars 
to build myself small hut from bones of birds, 
and there with brave attention of the wind 
begin grand process of devouring myself, 
so I may gaze with passion of the oak 
at image of my soul in Walden Pond. 

Lounging on front porch of the small wood cabin, 
which they erected beside Walden Pond, 
Henry Thoreau and his walking companion, 
William Channing, sip hot herbal tisanes 
that they brew from pine needles and mint, 
and chat about philosophy of life. 

Because the complex rituals of our lives 
are frittered away by involved details 
that lure our progress into labyrinths 
of trivial necessity through care, 
we must eradicate tangled obligations 
and simplify slate of our daily tasks. 

If one man who follows preordained paths, 
assigned by social duty of his state, 
cannot keep strict pace with his companions, 
perhaps he hears beat of another drummer, 
so let him step to music which he hears 
however boldly measured or far away. 

Thus I proceed with confidence of faith 
in clear direction of my secret dreams 
to live this simple life of solitude 
that I imagine while I ponder fate, 
for the great characteristic of wisdom 
is to abstain from doing desperate things. 

When I observe human society 
I see thousands hacking at branches of evil, 
while one who sees what he is looking for 
strikes at deep roots of selfish greed and hate 
that foments strife through jealousy and fear 
with action that obstructs destructive deeds. 

However mean and poor your life may seem, 
meet circumstance with passion of respect, 
and do not shun its most difficult events, 
for fault-finders find fear in paradise 
while thrill-seekers find elation in hell, 
for it is better to serve than to reign. 

When dawn gleams gold on sheen of Walden Pond, 
Henry and William eat sweet hasty-pudding 
of cornmeal, molasses, ginger, and milk, 
then set out down the signless road of hope 
on yet another vigorous walk-and-talk 
with goal to climb rugged Mount Monadnock. 

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.