Long Road Of My Heart

Long Road Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2026 09 09

Though long road of my heart leads me to you, 
forever winding around obstacles 
across bleak landscape of lonely desire, 
I will not stop in any paradise, 
nor linger in lush garden of sweet hope, 
till I arrive at door of your calm faith. 

With trembling hand of persistent intent, 
Daphne writes verses of stark sentiment 
with quill from angel feather of despair, 
inscribing blood of devils on wood tablet 
while bitter rain of sharp ice cuts her cheek, 
streaked with bright tears of spectral innocence. 

Clutching tablet of her romantic song 
with supreme voltage of enduring faith, 
Daphne struggles to ascend mountain trail 
past trees of vital witness to her crime 
transcending arrogance of loyal love 
with pregnant prayer to find haven of hope. 

Assertive progress of her slow ascent 
across unmeasured vector of her heart 
inspires each step of volatile concern 
despite excessive magnitude of failure 
through slight displacement of velocity 
projecting force of honest ardency. 

Since long road of my heart guides me to you 
with fragile light of passion in your eyes 
that clears space beyond tangled bitterness, 
I strive with potent energy of faith 
to churn acceleration toward my goal 
though mindless nature blocks my urgent way. 

Collapsing from exhaustion of respect 
at constant blast of cold indifference, 
Daphne stumbles into fraught reference 
of disconcerting wisdom to lie prone 
on muddy path of limitless regret, 
paralyzed by agony for success. 

When Phoebus emerges from cave of dreams 
after terrible thunderstorm dissolves 
to haughty breezes rustling laurel tees, 
he finds young woman with long tangled hair 
still clutching tablet of romantic verse, 
but stiff from desertion of her faint soul. 

Reading verses written with devil blood 
that express emotion of sweet desire 
to bind their hearts matrimonial vows, 
Phoebus cradles Daphne in trembling arms, 
hoping tears of love will resurrect her, 
then wreaths his brow with laurels of respect. 

Real Raven Boy

Real Raven Boy
© Surazeus
2026 09 08

Leaning over drawing board of her heart, 
Eunah concentrates focus of her eyes 
to draw conceptual framework of her mind 
in image of young woman with Star Soul 
who glides with fragile grace of wordless fear 
through swirling chaos of big city life. 

Presenting printout of her new webtoon 
to bearded boss behind cluttered oak desk, 
Eunah transforms into delicate finch 
that flutters wings of nervous hopefulness 
while he considers storyline with frown 
that twists her heart small as the fractured seed. 

Riding crowded bus over midnight bridge 
across glass abyss of purple despair, 
Eunah stares at endless rows of tall towers 
where thousands of small faceless windows gleam, 
and wonders about all those human beings 
who live and die beyond scope of her heart. 

Curling on the couch in blanket of faith 
while sipping hot chocolate from the black cup, 
Eunah mumbles with tense anxiety 
that now she has to draw whole episodes 
every week before the Friday night deadline, 
then beams at payment in her bank account. 

Observing swirl of people on the streets 
for inspiration for new episodes, 
Eunah calculates how assertive cause 
of individual will people express 
conspires with fate to compose taut events 
where they perform consequence of desire. 

Surprised by appearance of the weird boy 
prancing wild so tattered coat flaps as wings, 
Eunah conspires to capture spirit flare 
of his unique way with new character 
who sets heart of her anxious heroine 
at ease with carefree play of calm insight. 

Blushing at attention of loyal fans 
who love hot romance of her characters, 
Eunah reads new chapter of her webtoon 
in bookstore crowded with hushed listeners 
who gasp with pleasure when her Raven Boy 
sings psalm that shows he understands her heart. 

Signing books for hundreds of eager fans 
who rave about her vivid characters, 
Eunah looks up to see real raven boy 
in tattered coat who inspired her male lead, 
whose eyes perceive deep sorrow of her heart, 
so she smiles and asks for his secret name. 

Sibyl Visits War Zones

Sibyl Visits War Zones
© Surazeus
2026 09 08

Through reports in documentary voice 
by which I register brutal events 
when men battle men to control the land, 
I unspeak true lies about the regime 
rising from heart of darkness to enforce 
divine laws of their cloud-based thunder god. 

Airplanes that angels fly among the clouds 
obey command of God to bomb our homes 
with thunderbolt as missile forged from steel 
on mission to secure with law of fear 
global hegemon of our empire creed 
that we bring freedom to poor lands of slaves. 

When Sibyl wearing mask of providence 
confronts uncertain place in game of thrones, 
which prophets dare assert with riddled verse 
through inexhaustible faith in the truth, 
King Midas aims toy gun straight at her head 
and whispers pow, then snickers, blind with fear. 

While Sibyl walks in field of severed ears 
that hear commands of tyrants without curse, 
she chants with arduous intensity 
polished proverbs from ancient holy book 
that Tutankhamen wrote with trembling hand 
to sweep streets of the city maze with prayers. 

When Sibyl visits war zones of the world, 
with camera to document harsh crimes 
of Eden Angels armed with flaming swords, 
she tries to record with cute fairy tales 
suffering of the people in mountain towns 
who hold burnt photographs of faceless ghosts. 

Translucent language of the wounded heart 
expresses tales of witness in bookstores 
to raise awareness of fascists regimes 
that trample rights of people in the street 
with hope to catalyze action through faith 
that justice will prevail through code of fate. 

Amid smoking ruins of bombed-out towns, 
where children gather tattered photographs 
from mangled hands of zombies in the rubble, 
brave Sibyl documents harsh tyranny 
that captures barbarism of cruel men 
who dwell in mansions built from bones of farmers. 

Extracting stone of ennui from her brain, 
with hands stained gold from blood of fallen gods, 
fierce Sybil builds grand palace of concern 
to house scriptorium of the Jester Seer 
who throws fractured mask of authority 
before locked doors of cathedrals, and laughs. 

Alive On The Nowhere Road

Alive On The Nowhere Road
© Surazeus
2026 09 08

One day at a time on the Nowhere Road 
I follow my heart to the end of fear, 
but find myself back where I first began 
somewhere in the middle of the world maze 
where people without faces make new masks 
to hide immortal god-soul of their genes. 

I try to find one secret tale to tell 
that illustrates vanity of it all 
as cosmic myth that explains why we love 
though we suffer indignity of pain 
that crushes us to nothingness at death, 
but indifferent nature mocks my attempts. 

Because there is no conscious afterlife, 
nor resurrection of the soul from death, 
all cases of injustice we endure 
will never be righted in turn of time 
for all organic creatures of warm flesh 
with dreaming brains will crumble into dust. 

We are Achilles, Job, and Lear gone mad 
with grief at painful loss of those we love 
that leaves us wandering on the river shore, 
lashed by indifferent storms of mute despair, 
to howl with wordless agony at truth 
that fate kills us with equal randomness. 

The daily news of tragic suffering 
through unjust death the innocent endure 
becomes one endless Metamorphoses 
that Ovid sings of bodies changing shapes 
from vibrant humans to spiritless stones, 
or writhing trees, or birds that shriek at us. 

Once I read their tales of shocking death, 
that twists my heart with discathartic rage, 
their ghosts haunt me along my winding road, 
so I carve their names and faces in masks 
on every tree on mountain of their skulls 
till our swelling sun incinerates Earth. 

I hear voice of Isaiah, that rings clear 
from temple of truth on the hill of skulls, 
denounce crimes of the rich and powerful 
while I transcribe his prophecies in verse 
so records of injustice outlast kings 
whose bodies rot beside people they kill. 

Shocked I am alive on the Nowhere Road, 
I search for you in global maze of myths 
so I can perceive and know your true self 
that blooms frail as bright flower from the Earth 
to celebrate strange beauty of your being 
before we all vanish while others bloom. 

Matrix Of World Souls

Matrix Of World Souls
© Surazeus
2026 09 07

We are all nodes in matrix of world souls 
that flash with temporary consciousness 
to dream strange beauty of our multiverse 
that forms galactic tapestry of worlds 
where we transform from fish to singing god 
till we dissolve back to roots of our dreams. 

Alone in solitude of crowded Earth, 
I sit at window of perceptive faith 
to watch dark gloom of nothingness enshroud 
vast maze of buildings where blind angels sing 
and dance as beams of psychic energy, 
entangled in atomic lust of being. 

Emerging from dark shadow cave of fate, 
I pass unsanctified into this world 
as writhing demon of intense desire 
contained in bounds of mortal ardency 
so through initiation into truth 
my heart is purified by self-control. 

Though rage against cruel monsters of despair, 
who rampage over landscape of our hopes, 
drives me to fight for soul security, 
protecting my family from slavery, 
my heart shatters into children of faith 
who journey along rivers of desire. 

Though we are strangers in garden of skulls, 
we dance together in grand hall of mirrors 
with grace that binds our hearts with mutual love, 
so we build safe home inside haven walls 
to teach our children secret of long life 
that no one ever writes in holy books. 

One thousand years we build city of homes 
where children play in gardens of fruit trees, 
till men driven by greed to control wealth 
destroy this beauty they could never build, 
which leaves us homeless in Garden of Eden, 
yet we still love that paradise we lost. 

Though thieves of bitter jealousy destroy 
beautiful paradise our love creates, 
our children will spring from roots of our dreams 
as nodes that flash in matrix of world souls 
to build new nation of Zarathia 
from shattered ruins of America. 

When I attend clean kitchen of our home 
to prepare fresh spiritual sustenance, 
I see ghosts of all my mothers and fathers 
feasting on light of the universe 
that flash as galaxies inside their eyes 
since I am temporary node of thought. 

Howling Wind of Woe

Howling Wind of Woe
© Surazeus
2026 09 07

When sunset screams in silent ecstasy 
through frantic spirals of flashing rainbows 
that glitter eyes of the hypnotic toad 
whose song creates the multiverse of worlds, 
I breathe ghost of fertility and sing 
in harmony with howling wind of woe. 

I try to talk about my family vibe 
in pristine tale of pop psychology 
about my parental relationships 
that root my heart in doorless hall of time, 
but I hear cries of children in the rain 
entangling me with howling wind of woe. 

With threads of memories drawn from my brain 
as gleaming strings of tangled honesty, 
I sew new tapestry of ancient tales 
depicting Oedipus and Icarus 
as brave brothers watching the world cup game 
that channels rage with howling wind of woe. 

Through hawk eyes Prometheus steals for me 
I try to read silver calligraphy 
my ship writes on the seething waves of change, 
but time erases story of my heart 
when cold indifferent storm blows me back home 
where I dance weird with howling wind of woe. 

Eternal mask of our electric moon 
obscures intentions of my divine mind 
to resurrect the dead in words of songs 
though their bodies rot in mud of bomb blasts 
that wake blind angel in tomb of the church 
battered to shards by howling wind of woe. 

Investigating clues about the crime 
committed by the man with hands of gold, 
I find Idol of Helen with red hair 
buried under ruins of the White House 
where she blesses children killed by clean guns 
that imitate their howling wind of woe. 

When church bells scream in agony of prayer, 
casting curses of doom on thieves and liars, 
mute woman who knows why the caged bird sings 
stares at God Face in gleaming pool of fate 
that knows every secret she dares not hide, 
cast as torn books in howling wind of woe. 

Abandoned in the field of tangled wire 
where rainbow skeletons dance in red rain, 
white horse of wisdom teaches me new code 
for logging my soul in the world wide web 
for which I translate psychic formulas 
that measure words in howling wind of woe. 

Illusion Of Unspoken Hope

Illusion Of Unspoken Hope
© Surazeus
2026 09 07

Simple quietness of long afternoons 
expands moments to vast eternity 
with timeless floating of delicious light 
that gleams on walls and lawns of silent homes 
where people hide from chaos of desire 
to relish peaceful tales of fearful hope. 

Unruly laughter from proprieties 
of gleeful disdain for old social rules 
animates eager hearts with ardency 
of brave attention from heart of the soul 
who seeks salvation in pleasure of play 
that channels energy through graceful minds. 

When she appears from shadow of lost faith 
with hawk eyes that observe our changing fate, 
our spirits run with eager hope to learn 
strange secret of spirit framed by clouds 
that emanates from iron core of being 
so she laughs with delight at chill of death. 

If time unravels hope for paradise 
that fuels our progress against grim despair, 
we gesture with attentive hands of hope 
to weave taut tapestry of innocence 
depicting state of mind we wish to frame 
as narrative remembered in our name. 

Toward strange tomorrow with impassive voice 
we ever stride to realize in real time 
bright vision for the future state of things 
we wish to play on stage of our free will 
though we wind somewhere in vast maze of lies 
that still divert us from elusive goals. 

While resting on soft leather couch of fate, 
dark eyes penetrating shadows of fear, 
she ponders strange security of wealth 
that builds illusion of unspoken hope 
in brick-bound palace of sun-spacious rooms 
where ghosts of possibility haunt us. 

She comes with sunlight breaking through storm clouds 
that cast stark eerie glow of timeless truth 
on treeless mountains drenched with eager rain 
so sparkling laughter of her voice revives 
fear-poisoned hearts of lonely wanderers 
who gather close to hear her clarion song. 

Though all we built, lush gardens and strong homes, 
are shattered by disastrous storms of rage, 
swept clean off Earth in brutal waves of change 
by fierce indifferent Nature, her bright song 
swells wounded hearts with passion to survive, 
so we fly with black ravens in gold skies. 

Become The Faceless Sky

Become The Faceless Sky
© Surazeus
2026 09 07

Blank sky reflects face of eternity 
which my brain conjures from weird memory 
to project complex vision of itself 
at wholesome roundness of the universe 
which mirrors what I think about myself, 
so I see beauty shine in every soul. 

Young shepherd who guides sheep on narrow path 
through rock-strewn wasteland of hungry despair 
to grass-lush meadow on high mountain slope 
where sparkling river flows from glacier snow 
which mirrors face of stranger in my mind, 
I name each beautiful spirit I see. 

When giant one-eyed man in bear-fur cape 
attempts to steal sheep of my mountain flock, 
I set smooth river stone in leather strip, 
twirl courage high around my head with hope, 
then sling authority of legal right 
that cracks his skull and knocks him to the ground. 

Gripping sharp sword he forged from meteor stone, 
when he beat it in cave of shadow flames, 
I hack off his head to free our fertile land 
from oppressive greed of his grasping hand, 
then stand on flat-top pyramid of speech 
to show the world my victory over hate. 

Crowned by Ishtar new king to reign as judge, 
I sit on flat-top pyramid of speech 
and render judgement of authority 
with fair equality of social rules 
when I adjudicate conflicts to rein 
aggressive passion of the human will. 

To stabilize affairs of our shared state, 
ensuring legacy of my fair rule, 
I choose wise woman with insightful eyes 
who bears from holy spirit of my mind 
three sons with eyes that comprehend the truth, 
but they kill each other to take my crown. 

Setting jeweled crown on the judgment seat, 
I desert flat-top pyramid of speech 
and wander back to grass-lush mountain slope 
where wind in leaves of pines whisper my name, 
so I lie by sparkling river of time 
and gaze at blank face of eternity. 

When Ishtar finds me on the mountain slope, 
she reminds me that she crowned me as judge 
to maintain balance of social affairs, 
but I explain my time to reign has gone, 
so she holds my hand till glimmer of dawn, 
then leaves me to become the faceless sky. 

Broken Bridge Of Anywhere

Broken Bridge Of Anywhere
© Surazeus
2026 09 06

She wants to deconstruct unbroken mind 
to program spell linking cause to effect 
that curls her heart with plumes of innocence, 
so when she wears gold ring of loyalty 
no fool would doubt her brave sincerity 
she purchased at the secret magic shop. 

Therefore she hears wild spirits of the world 
mutter arcane spells of verity, 
providing framework for her lost world view, 
which still includes regret and guilt as signs 
that she is making progress toward rebirth 
by struggling to maintain integrity. 

By stretching her shadowless soul at dawn 
to enclose vibrant pulse of cherubim 
as shelter that protects her fragile brain, 
she channels shudder of the river flow 
through angst-flushed veins of passionate concern 
for health of strangers she will never meet. 

Assertive focus of her time-blazed eyes 
requires her body to float on gauze wings 
through sudden nothingness of nameless self 
that wakes as robot running over hills 
till she stops by the jagged stone of fear 
and asks the faceless angel why we die. 

When pine trees of elegant pride transform 
to telephone poles with electric wires, 
she counts every snowflake that never falls 
so she can welcome homeless travelers 
she meets on broken bridge of anywhere 
against cool judgement of palpable faith. 

We fall outside our minds to comprehend 
expansive boundlessness of nevertime, 
so she wants to speak the unhearable 
with courage to oppose the oligarch 
whose shadow looms in storm cloud of despair 
though she bears fragile lamp of liberty. 

Excited by new opportunity 
to travel in the waste land of our faith, 
she shoots bright pistol of her aching heart 
at mindless stars that scream infinitely 
before she finds her way in car of hope 
back to the garden of blind skeletons. 

She knows we are not who we play in life, 
so she strides gracefully along the bridge, 
wearing slender black skirt and frilly blouse 
to advertise them for sale at the store 
hidden in top room of the stone church tower 
where angels weep for every suffering soul. 

Ideal Persona I Would Play

Ideal Persona I Would Play
© Surazeus
2026 09 06

Bright in glass constellation of my heart, 
transcendent god, who has never been real 
beyond imagination of wild priests 
drunk on wine from mushrooms of ecstasy, 
reveals ideal persona I would play 
to maintain dignity of daily life. 

My heart pours torrents of expansive words, 
unmeasured by attentive spate of faith, 
which conjure strangers who steal hungry trees, 
to see enormous city towers gleam 
in evening clouds that loom above deep vales 
where surfaces of pools reveal our eyes. 

Adorned with jewels of fantastic truth, 
my heart attempts in vain to calculate 
ethereal breath of angels in fruit trees 
whose lust embodies serpents with gold eyes 
who tease me with delicious energy 
to think I may achieve eternal life. 

Weird thoughts of wisdom, I untwist from light, 
crawl through dim shadow of my aching flesh 
so I pretend I am First Man of Time 
commissioned by Cloud-Ghost to name all things 
that exist within bounds of time and space 
because they glow beyond mask of my face. 

As daughter of Tiresias, I guard 
Gates of Eden with spear Longinus carved 
to catch the dragon falling from rain clouds 
disguised as glorious angel with nine eyes 
who teaches me how to fly the airplane 
so I can make more accurate map of Earth. 

Though serpent of the apple tree retains 
extensive sets of books blind devils write, 
she dares reveal to me, calm mortal fool, 
collective wisdom of prophets and seers 
whose bones are letters of riddles we share 
while feasting on hamburgers by the lake. 

Long wick of my temporary heart glows 
with timeless grace of pure immortal flame 
which fills my heart with long-unspoken spells 
that fly as ravens from my open mouth 
when I campaign for President of Earth 
while seeking treasure in Elysian Fields. 

Whole in glass constellation of my brain, 
my soul accepts its temporary state 
as mortal body of hungry desires 
animated by immortal gene soul 
through chaos bound in limits of my being, 
so I want to tell you about my love. 

Spate Of Vulpine Protocols

Spate Of Vulpine Protocols
© Surazeus
2026 09 06

In tune with spate of vulpine protocols, 
designed to process economic growth 
through awful worship of transcendent gods, 
who cannot comprehend computer codes, 
we must interrogate how bitter faith 
sidelines assertive patterns without goals. 

Against false spate of vulpine protocols, 
defined by crackled creeds of chocolate cake, 
we disperse funds to arrogant households 
beholden to provisions of gold gates, 
too widely closed for horses to relate 
because we hear bees sing romantic jokes. 

Far after spate of vulpine protocols 
for welcoming lost refugees of wars, 
fought over right to breed on river shores, 
we share concerns on television shows 
for how soon immigrants may learn to pray 
while waiting in bleak offices of faith. 

Never should spate of vulpine protocols 
debate programs for social pertinence 
reversed from previous states of brokerage 
that trap certified catalogs for freaks 
to prove consensus of spliced chromosomes 
for how we calculate incompetence. 

Through active spate of vulpine protocols, 
contained in brave citations of false faith, 
we mold fresh avatars of enterprise 
from inconclusive studies engineers 
sell back to demons in the factory 
who manage fisheries of unborn souls. 

Time-fractured spate of vulpine protocols 
expands exotic documents for farms 
where clumsy ballerinas detain clowns 
with extreme prejudice for inquiry 
against invasion of blind astronauts 
who want to purchase mansions of dead gods. 

Illegal spate of vulpine protocols 
disturbs logistic progress of rebirth 
for model membership of loyalty 
in frazzled concepts of the multiverse 
where children contract magazines for games 
mechanics still refuse to play at dawn. 

Magical spate of vulpine protocols 
teach young professors how to deconstruct 
social privilege of the less powerful 
who refuse to obey state ordinance 
against observance of the holy day 
when we rebuild socialist paradise. 

Dare Disturb The Universe

Dare Disturb The Universe
© Surazeus
2026 09 06

Ghost of my brain lingers upon the pools 
that shimmer in the road of broken dreams 
where strangers without faces they could sell 
walk somewhere else with frantic urgency 
because time always seems about to end 
though days keep flowing in the flash of hope. 

Because I dare disturb the universe 
with questions about time to allocate 
another hour of study which attains 
strange secret about life no one dares share, 
I graph decision time cannot reverse, 
accounting for sweet music of the curse. 

No eyes can fix my ever-shifting soul 
with formulated phrase of arrogance 
so I presume to do what must be done 
in strict performance of the daily plan 
that highlights how we might survive the times 
with scent of perfume on the tragic stage. 

I am no demon with fire-tattered wings 
who slithers on the waste land of despair 
too deeply hidden in the silent sea, 
so I stretch tangled heart to empty skies 
and ponder crisis of the fallen god 
that cracks foundation of our ancient state. 

I never weep nor fast with hopeless prayer 
for no God transcends bounds of everywhere 
to hear plea of my words with active heart 
that could transform state of atomic swirls, 
yet I can calculate what will occur 
through prophetic analysis of fate. 

We are the living gods who play this hour 
in global drama staged by faceless force 
who flare our universe from pulsing sphere 
in overwhelming questions about why 
our fragile bodies vanish in the void 
that leaves injustice staining Earth with blood. 

Magic lantern of my observing brain 
throws striped patterns on walls of paradise 
so I seek words from cluttered memories 
that could express strange truth my eyes perceive 
when I swell movements to spark social change 
as cautious attendant licensed to guide. 

I see no mermaids singing on wild waves, 
nor hear their voices in wind on the beach, 
though they are humans who died long ago 
who leave their bodies writhing in the sea, 
so I stand firm on Earth of spinning change 
when my psychic bones form this mountain range. 

Atoms Dreaming We Are Gods

Atoms Dreaming We Are Gods
© Surazeus
2026 09 05

I stroll along the road that goes nowhere 
because I am always in my core place, 
here at the center of my universe, 
able to perceive all things that exist 
within scope of my cosmic consciousness 
which glow with ghost light of our divine soul. 

When I leave my home and my family 
I travel east to find Primal Homeland 
where my ancestors first woke from Star Dream 
who traveled west one hundred thousand years 
to find where the sun goes under the world, 
yet that is how we find the world is round. 

When I go off to fight the holy war 
to defend the land where my ancestors lived, 
if I survive I try to go back home, 
but wander nowhere in the Anywhere, 
so I sit by the river of blind ghosts 
and sing about the home that never was. 

So I decide this place where I sit now 
has always been secret home of my heart, 
investing passion of indifferent hope 
to build new home in waste land of nowhere 
till this place is the home that always is, 
where my children are born and I will die. 

Over ten thousand years of spinning time 
after I construct new haven for my heart 
on lush shore of this ever-flowing stream, 
enormous city of steel-framed glass towers 
glitters with millions of bright human souls 
who all dream with one vision of my eyes. 

The story of their journey to the west, 
that my ancestors tell in silent wind, 
vibrates in dust of every road I walk 
so I recall their struggles and insights 
that program how my brain perceives the world 
as they survive and generate new life. 

Though ancient mountains where I search for truth 
are frosted by curse of ambitious pride 
that drives us to explore and colonize 
wild lands that bulge with sparkling minerals, 
I reassemble puzzle of world view 
that frames sublime truth with new narrative. 

I am so present in this time-bound space, 
enclosed by invisible walls of truth, 
that I become the paradise I speak 
when I compose Tellurian Testament 
in Astarian Scriptures of my own faith 
that we are atoms dreaming we are gods. 

Bend Our Wounded Bodies

Bend Our Wounded Bodies
© Surazeus
2026 09 05

I cannot bury thoughts in open ground 
except they sprout to angels without wings 
who plow deep soil and plant aggressive seeds 
with plan to claim this land as ancient home 
based on weird paradigm that graves may mark 
our territory where we live and die. 

Heart quickened with tellurian redolence, 
sweet scented by dream-rotten flesh of gods, 
I pour libation of mysterious wine 
in soil for skulls of prophets to imbibe 
that fuels intense expression of deep faith 
far-rooted from great mountains of contempt. 

Against now-sudden freakish snow of hope 
we bend our wounded bodies to contain 
enduring hope for time-unspooling truth, 
connived by thieves who wear official robes 
by claiming land our fathers tilled as theirs 
despite objection at injustice done. 

Contorted by fierce loneliness of faith, 
propped up by worthless prayers for liberty, 
we grasp contingent way for solving how 
dire vanishment at stark cadence of hate 
constrains alert expansion beyond pain 
when house door of our hope is locked by greed. 

Sweet berries may sustain our bitterness 
that buoyant urgency drives our vain quest, 
though we dare retain our false bravery 
with dreamless laughter of indifferent storms 
that thrash our straw homes into swirls of power, 
unbound by helpless acceptance of fate. 

Preserved by peaceful absences of fate 
that twist our mountain hearts in coils of rage, 
we search for cold wind in fear-jagged cave 
that hides unspeakable truth in bright names 
we share with sparkling ardency of change, 
still mirrored by dark river of our faith. 

On last day of the world near edge of truth 
we pluck fresh fruit of knowledge from the tree 
that transforms bodies of ancestral dreams 
to pulchritude of loyal innocence, 
because this land is formed from hidden graves 
where ghosts of people whisper how to live. 

Down stone-paved trails of jagged opulence 
we search for beauty blooming from cracked skulls 
to find soul of our world in faceless gods 
who loom in shining clouds above brave hills, 
revealing wounds that strength hearts with faith 
till we become dirt of the signless road. 

Matrix Of Star Souls

Matrix Of Star Souls
© Surazeus
2026 09 05

Though I stumble nowhere on road of life, 
randomly following my hungry gut, 
constantly mislead by my eager heart, 
wandering without any plan somewhere else, 
I find myself in paradise with you, 
together in our matrix of star souls. 

Confounded by the star map of my fate 
that sends me every which way I should go, 
which leaves me stranded in the Promised Land, 
I keep going past gates of Wonderland 
to find safe haven of our loving hearts 
where we thrive in our matrix of star souls. 

Sometimes I feel alone on spinning Earth, 
one tiny flash of selfish consciousness 
that glows in vastness of the universe, 
but I feel every conscious soul alive 
on every planet in our multiverse, 
all minds woven in matrix of star souls. 

We dream together in glow of vast space, 
zillions of souls shining in the White Whole, 
for we all emanate from one God Mind 
as atoms flashing with divine insight, 
temporary nodes of self-aware brains 
entangled in huge matrix of star souls. 

I am surprised to find myself alive, 
sparked into being by passionate desire 
of my mother and father to incarnate 
immortal soul of genes in mortal flesh, 
so I strum lyre of Mercury and sing 
cosmic hymn that vibes matrix of star souls. 

Since Dream Thought first sparked awake our world soul 
in swirling glitter of our Mother Sea, 
I have evolved four hundred million years 
fish to lizard to mouse to cat to monkey 
to wingless angel seeking to be god, 
giving body to matrix of star souls. 

My mind contains multitudes of old souls 
for all my ancestors, alive in me, 
program how my time-dreaming brain perceives 
ideal concepts essential to real things 
so I sing mindless soul of God in me 
as one flame in matrix of star souls. 

While David strums harp of clandestine faith, 
and Orpheus plays lyre of innocence, 
I conjure ancestral ghosts from book tales 
that give them life in visions of our hearts, 
then let them all dissipate to star dust, 
angels who form our matrix of star souls. 

Specter Of The Desert Seer

Specter Of The Desert Seer
© Surazeus
2026 09 05

Entranced by specter of the desert seer
who walks unknown in cities of the world, 
I search for wisdom in eyes of the owl 
that brings to honest hands of Liberty 
bright Lamp of Truth and Book of Names and Deeds 
so she guides our quest to the Promised Land. 

Amused by specter of the desert seer 
who highlights crimes of people grasping power, 
I join his revolution to transform 
paradigm of our shared global world view 
to nurture needs of women nursing life 
so we thrive in lush garden of fruit trees. 

Inspired by specter of the desert seer 
who haunts vast crowded maze of city streets, 
I strum the long-lost lyre of Mercury 
to conjure demons of our aching hearts 
so we rebel against oppressive thieves 
and restore functions of our liberal state. 

Confused by specter of the desert seer 
who hums riddles on television screens, 
I wear electric mask of Jupiter 
and fight thieves who clutch wheel for Ship of State 
to sail past iceberg of their fascist greed 
and land in garden where Hesperus rules. 

Engaged by specter of the desert seer 
who channels flames of light in crystal eyes, 
I build piston engine Barsanti sketched 
to power chariot of Ezekiel 
as time machine for zooming fast through space 
so I can find Fields of Elysium. 

Annoyed by specter of the desert seer 
who teaches me to calculate my fate, 
I choose to exercise strict self-control 
based on brave Apollonian will to live, 
fueled by fierce Dionysian love for truth 
till I transform into God I create. 

Designed by specter of the desert seer 
who programs how my brain perceives the world, 
I navigate my way through many turns 
in winding journey through the wilderness 
beyond the waste land to the Promised Land 
where I build Heaven from ruins of Hell. 

Uncharmed by specter of the desert seer 
who casts illusions of religious faith, 
I wake from timeless cavern of my heart 
spirit of Telluria, Mother Earth, 
who molds my soul from eyes of Jupiter 
so wise Saturnus lives again in me. 

Polytropocity Of Wisdom

Polytropocity Of Wisdom
© Surazeus
2026 09 04

Since these are the days of exquisite sorrow, 
we walk together on the broken road 
without regret the center cannot hold 
when our world view begins to fall apart, 
though patched together by outdated creeds 
that venerate some long-dead king as god. 

Feasting with ghosts of the dead on high barrow, 
on oak throne Odin carved from dragon bone, 
I contemplate with knowing smirk of truth 
that now, at two hundred and fifty years, 
America has lasted just as long 
as Tokugawa Shogunate of Nippon. 

The sun that rises on their snow-capped mountains 
sets first from mountains of America, 
from Bokku to Nippon on rainbow wings, 
yet weaving distant lands with mutual vibe 
for seeking honor with the stoic grin, 
Amaterasu in lush Oregon. 

I wonder if we should lament collapse 
of our aggressive colonizer state 
founded by sailors from the British Isles 
who used sea map that Mercator designed 
to explore every land around the Earth 
and rule empire with Scepter of Zambor. 

Though shy Ieyasu, ruler of Mikawa, 
just wanted to be left alone to live 
in peaceful happiness with Tsukiyama, 
his sweet bride graceful as the Sika deer, 
she brings message from Takemikazuchi 
that he is destined to unite the state. 

Somewhere out in land of America 
some humble Ieyasu, or brave Liu Bang, 
who manages affairs of his small town, 
feels Hidden Dragon stirring in his heart 
with mission to unite our fractured state 
and rebuild what Midas has torn apart. 

Some complicated man of many turns, 
urged by polytropocity of wisdom, 
will surf the rising tide of revolution 
to lead the honest people of our land 
against oppressors who exploit our hearts, 
and found Zarathia on love for truth. 

Because I like to contradict myself, 
since I contain multitudes of great souls 
embodied by people across our land, 
I hear voice of America express 
desire for every person to live free 
with equal justice of world liberty. 

Atoms Of Perceptive Brain

Atoms Of Perceptive Brain
© Surazeus
2026 09 04

No state of mind prepares our consciousness 
for blank finality of nothingness 
that fractures sense of being at crack of death 
which scatters atoms of perceptive brain 
in sparkling cloud of inorganic breath 
that turns to mud in mindless flush of rain. 

If bright integrity of consciousness 
is coherent concept of somethingness 
maintaining wholeness in clear sense of self 
outside corporal bounds of pulsing flesh, 
then we would not blank out in dreamless sleep 
and wake at reboot of computing flash. 

Bright conscious glow of our perceptive mind 
is conjured by this brain that hope designed 
through metamorphosis of gene rebirth 
when bodies procreate in child of fate 
which better calculates what love is worth 
through urgent act of faith we navigate. 

First mortal being to exercise my mind 
through constant turning of quick zest, I find 
strange beauty glowing in this world of forms 
which I explore beyond confining walls 
by raging wild as god against brute storms 
that thrash my fragile soul of chemicals. 

Through every action to transcend blank death 
I learn new secrets sparked by divine breath 
to overcome harsh suffering of the soul, 
asserting bright attention of insight 
with actions contradicting assigned role 
against blank darkness of death with fierce light. 

I am Aeolus, human filled with air, 
huge spirit swollen with desire to care, 
so I run laughing on vast ocean beach 
past scattered wreckage of my storm-bashed boat 
to grasp ecstatic wisdom beyond reach 
till deep in sea of nothingness I float. 

When Sirens on the jagged rock of fate 
sing mind-enchanting song against cruel hate, 
my heart, lured with irresistible hope 
for eternal life after body death, 
drives brave machine of my spirit to cope 
with calm indifference of Nature through breath. 

Though we build empires of productive farms 
based on religious faith in soothing charms 
with vain hope to transcend death of the soul, 
through deathless institutions of grand states, 
things fall apart at cracking of the whole, 
and no ghost lingers at the pearly gates. 

See Past Mask Of Seems

See Past Mask Of Seems
© Surazeus
2026 09 04

Sibylla walks along river of dreams 
and chuckles at the strangeness of her thoughts 
that ponder power struggles between men 
over who controls who will get to eat, 
then asks brave Hamlet if he knows the truth 
that blinds our eyes to see past mask of seems. 

Gazing out across great river of dreams, 
Sibylla plucks apple from Tree of Life 
then gives it calmly to the weeping man 
and thanks Timoleon with beaming smile 
because he freed the slaves of Syracuse 
so they can live and thrive with equal rights. 

We should abolish every monarchy, 
Sibylla whispers in the morning breeze, 
and force every tyrant to farm wheat fields 
so we eat bread of brave humility, 
then design social programs that support 
development of talents into skills. 

Our friendship is broad field of quiet light 
where vibrant hours nurture our mental growth 
so we share love through spiritual support 
the way the shoreline embraces the sea 
that helps us manage chaos of desire 
when gentle hands create Heaven we share. 

I want to offer you encouragement, 
Sibylla speaks to crowd of citizens, 
for I love you in my bewildered way 
when I discover door inside my heart 
that leads me to bright meadow of our hopes 
where we share stories by the glowing moon. 

When Hamlet leaves Ophelia behind, 
where she floats singing on the River Styx, 
Orpheus lifts her out with gentle arms 
so they teach daughter of forbidden love 
how to analyze fraught global affairs 
and prophesy rise of democracy. 

Engaged with process of creative art 
that frames narrative of global success, 
Sibylla fabulates with fairy tales 
conceptual code through ambiguity 
that stages plays of individual will 
when people choose fate they try to avoid. 

Brave hymns we sing in shadow of despair 
embrace chaotic darkness of our hearts 
refracting psychic energy of gods 
so we break our minds free from social norms 
and build global state of Zarathia 
from shattered ruins of America. 

Vibrant Currency Of Fame

Vibrant Currency Of Fame
© Surazeus
2026 09 03

The river gushing from cave of illusions 
will never tell me what I want to hear, 
so I carve visions of my mind in stone 
because rain washes all our dreams away, 
then program robot of my spirit clone 
with secret memories I would forget. 

My future is the future of this land 
that throbs with anguish of the suffering soul, 
unjustly treated by the faceless state 
as honest criminal who does no wrong, 
so I confess to nothing in sweet song 
that hypnotizes believers with lies. 

Unique state of inaugurated mind 
encompasses all possible outcomes 
through secretive analysis of skulls 
which calculate how far we have to go 
to transcend mortal decay of the flesh 
with plan to laugh for the photographer. 

Unsurpassed scope of heavenly respect 
almost daunts bone-clacking seer of concern 
who scrambles nations of bold agencies 
to peel regretful fruit of rotten hearts 
with disorganized methods of soul theft 
through unabated waves of wretched faith. 

Still wearing mask of calm demonic pride, 
I travel between galaxies of gods 
with flashing eyes now big enough to see 
golden path of success through cautious squint 
that brings our bodies back to scrambled game 
till sharp tongues bleed through walls of eager glass. 

If rainbows dare respect my will to win 
I may assert through serpentine attention 
encrusted sorrows heroes throw in swamps 
against deliberate progress we admire 
that patches surreal truths in tuneless seeds 
which sprout when buried in obscure disdain. 

Since I am not smooth cobblestones in rain 
that sings of fateful sorrows ghosts disdain, 
I stride with vibrant currency of fame 
which angels sell to those who discard truth 
to wear fear-polished mask of fervent prayer 
by building houses on the river shore. 

When white horse of Godiva wanders home 
to find out why her daughters cry with shame, 
our ghosts assemble in the city square 
to play role in our tense democracy 
that scatters children out the open door 
to build new empire of aggressive fame.