We Have Not Disappeared

We Have Not Disappeared
© Surazeus
2026 04 19

Though ocean waves erase our names from sand, 
and time dissolves our bodies into dust, 
our vibrant characters of baser hopes 
will live by fame in stories of old books 
far longer than great empires ever last, 
but even myths will dissipate in wind. 

I hear strange whistle from voice of the moon 
as distant echo in shadows of fate, 
so I help the blindfolded girl escape 
harsh judgement of villagers with stone hands 
shocked in rage that she dares defy their rules 
till we wander lost in waste land of fear. 

Clutching audible objects of true love 
that pulse with passion of seasonal hope, 
we break through shadow of wordless despair 
to fall in lush grass by the sparkling lake, 
amazed we managed to evade cruel death 
whose bitter rage growls softly after dusk. 

We lie beside soft whispered stream of hope 
where horses graze among old apple trees, 
and think about infinity through time 
that spirals forth in never-ending flow 
as vast gulf stretching everywhere we look, 
concerned we have not disappeared enough. 

Bright face in trickling eddies of starlight 
appears to watch us from abyss of faith, 
so we trade silent thoughts between our eyes 
which hang suspended from billowing clouds, 
but then weird light illuminates her face 
that gleams pure white as mask of bloodless ice. 

I sink in lightless gloom of misery 
and float on undulating waves of grass 
to dream I fly on horse of vanity 
away from roaring demon of my heart, 
then start awake in gold glow before dawn 
to see she transformed into a pond toad. 

Indulging happiness of lightning strikes, 
I search everywhere through indifferent woods 
to find dim shadow of her fragile soul 
for thirty years till memory of her face 
fades into flicker of leaves in sunlight 
as I stare at my own face in the pool. 

While eating bitter apple of my heart, 
I pause and stare at flicker of the lake 
and wonder how she vanished in the light, 
the blindfolded girl I rescued from death, 
then turn because I think I hear her voice 
as I transform into the eyeless crow. 

Universal Element Of Love

Universal Element Of Love
© Surazeus
2026 04 19

Through universal element of love 
mindless atoms swirl into galaxies 
that weave stars from aggressive fantasy, 
then nurture planets blooming ghosts of faith 
in spiral coil of genes which replicates 
new bodies that evolve from fish to god. 

Stuck in this body of frail mortal flesh, 
as long as chemicals of this lithe form 
function through interaction of bright sparks, 
I maintain forward motion through desire 
to find tree of knowledge with fruit of life 
which animates my conscious heart with love. 

Ninth Adam, son of Amen and Adad, 
breathes gusting air of hope to swell his soul, 
then stands on wobbling legs of frantic fear 
and stares at giant dragon with gold eyes 
that chews bodies of his tribe dripping blood, 
and howls with terrible rage of despair. 

Wrenching long brass wand with sharp jagged spikes, 
that cooled from lava flow at dawn of time, 
Ninth Adam rushes forward on fierce legs 
and batters face of the dragon with blows 
of brave aggression writhing from his heart 
till shrieking dragon stumbles to escape. 

Tracking bloody steps of the sharp-toothed beast, 
Ninth Adam finds in small cave by the lake 
wounded dragon cowering in stark fear, 
so he bashes its head with lightning strikes 
that crushes its skull into bloodied mush, 
till he lies exhausted under mute stars. 

Hauling wagon with dragon and its eggs, 
Ninth Adam enters gates of paradise 
where Inanna hosts rites of victory 
as Eloh roasts meat on high ziggurat 
that feeds five thousand people of the town 
who praise dragon-slayer with joyous hymns. 

Enrobed with leather cape from dragon skin, 
Ninth Adam presides on the judgment throne 
to reign as noble guard of paradise, 
while Ninshubur bears children of his seed, 
then trains his son Zababa to wield spear 
as hunter who slays dragons of the sea. 

"Through universal element of love, 
that fuels our bodies with star energy," 
Ninth Adam explains to his fierce-eyed son, 
"we fight evil dragons who eat our minds 
so we may generate bodies of flesh 
that preserve immortal soul of our hearts." 

When Pinocchio Wakes

When Pinocchio Wakes
© Surazeus
2026 04 19

When Pinocchio wakes from peaceful dreams 
of humming with cool breeze by sparkling lake, 
he stares up at the bearded face of God 
who sparks life in his heart with breath of love, 
then helps him stand and walk on clumsy feet 
so he ambulates through his own free will. 

Wandering in forest of tall pine trees 
that sway in dance from mountain winds of hope, 
Pinocchio caresses their rough bark 
with hands that sense mute spirit of their trunks, 
so he breathes deep and exhales vibrant tune, 
expressing visions of his mind in verse. 

Ascending mountain trail to gaping cave 
where faceless shadow of blind demon glows, 
Pinocchio touches large diamond gem, 
embedded in stone, resembling his eyes, 
where he sees first flash of the universe 
which animates his consciousness with love. 

"Though I feel trapped in container of flesh, 
attentive spirit of my conscious mind 
motivates forward motion through my will 
as I explore strange landscape of this world 
to discover origin of my being 
that pulses with atomic flash of light." 

Sitting still before bearded face of God 
by lake in cave of gems gleaming moonlight, 
Pinocchio asks, "Who am I, and how 
have I become alive with conscious hope? 
I feel bright jewel of immortal soul 
pulse with passion at the core of my being." 

Eyes blue as sapphires, stuck in cavern wall, 
gleam with joy as God looks in his eyes. 
"I am Geppetto, Craftsman who carves things 
from tree wood, like wagons, houses, and boats. 
I am frail mortal father of your soul 
for I sparked your life in womb of your mother." 

Reaching callused hand with attentive care, 
Geppetto caresses face of his son. 
"You are lithe mountain fox of joyful play, 
wounded by arrow of aggressive hate, 
so I extracted jewel of your heart 
to animate body of wood I made." 

Removing wood mask of his faceless soul, 
Geppetto reveals bright spirit of God. 
"If you wear person-skin you made too long 
you may forget true spirit of your heart, 
but your heart will always remember who 
you have been since first flash at dawn of time." 

Yellow Wood Of Hope

Yellow Wood Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 04 18

The crumbling stone bridge over the brown river, 
on which the statue of the poet stands, 
waits for my ghost to cross its wildered way, 
humming with gusts of arbitrary wind 
that scatters pages of verse from frail hands 
so our dreams dissolve into silent song. 

Delicate plum stone of my rotten heart, 
charred by sad flame of the arrogant lamp, 
contains original purpose of life 
designed by Raven Witch of Serpent Lake 
who brews honey wine in Cauldron of Faith 
while chanting hex of wisdom from the stars. 

Atomic light of pure love in my cells 
began to gleam before our world was born 
from frantic swirls of penitential lust 
that sparkles carbon molecules to bind 
aggressive force of hope with grim desire 
which aggregates proverbs in Book of Dreams. 

Startled awake by the wrinkle in time, 
that folds every universe of my mind 
in vibrant matrix through radio waves, 
I study flashing quarks in supple words 
preserved as letters writhing on white page 
that prove ten dimensions spiral through eggs. 

When I come to the road less traveled by, 
that has never appeared on any map 
drawn by Lone Wolf in monastery cave, 
I find pregnant woman by the blind oak 
who seems to know the secret of my name, 
so we walk in the yellow wood of hope. 

Alert in classroom full of changeling sprites, 
I teach how Mercator projection map 
provides the best navigation device 
for brave explorers who sail Seven Seas 
across ten dimensions of time and space 
to colonize the world with fantasies. 

My sensitive spirit of eager faith 
writhes with rancid bitterness of gloom 
when I transverse the endless realm of words 
with yearning to retrieve Diamond of Death 
by crossing threshold of the Otherworld 
that leaves me stranded in my first hometown. 

I drift in dreary reverie of fear 
to seek asylum in your weary heart 
where grief corrupts sagacious honesty 
through quaint cathexis in your faceless soul 
for which I leap to cross eternity 
as swirling shadow of atomic words. 

Absence Of Auspicious Love

Absence Of Auspicious Love
© Surazeus
2026 04 18

To buy dragon eggs at the grocery store, 
I carry magic box of blinking eyes, 
reluctant to transcend limits of thought 
as if I am the tragic money man 
who always stumbles on the muddy road 
though I stare at the ghost on the front porch. 

To dive in lake of pain before dawn light, 
I watch collapsing century resurge 
with monstrous tenderness of berry jam 
which teaches me importance of dream facts 
to avoid the trap of hiding regret 
for living blasphemously without pride. 

To ransack archives of personal taste, 
I dismiss surprises of history 
smeared with melancholy colors of hope 
which suit my vibrant life style on the town 
when I perform dramatic scenes to prove 
lessons of survival trick me with wealth. 

To relax in burning building of faith, 
I write strange thought formulas on chalk boards 
that describe how flowers explode from brains 
through social ideologies of power 
that divide us into factions of blind greed, 
impersonal as mountains that drink clouds. 

To analyze photographs of blurred ghosts, 
I stand beside the stop sign near the park 
and count how many chances I have missed 
in vain attempts to evade curse of fame 
that dogs my footsteps past the Promised Land 
till I attend inauguration balls. 

To formulate myself as almost real, 
I break into meaningless tomb of fear 
where skeleton of Jesus, cracked by fate, 
crumbles into gold dust of burned-out stars, 
so I stand trembling on the global stage 
and erase heroes from national myths. 

To join my neighbors at the barbecue, 
I untwist proverbs from roots of dead trees 
disguised as telephone lines of contempt 
that beam puzzling riddles to glowing screens 
reflecting faces in masks of dead gods 
whom we perform all day with reticence. 

To try ingenuous mode with bitter guile, 
I measure changing contours of the world 
where priests lead believers in maze of lies 
because in the end every person dies, 
for every fake belief in holy books 
blinds me to absence of auspicious love. 

She Almost Wonders If

She Almost Wonders If
© Surazeus
2026 04 18

She almost wonders if time is not real 
based on how water flows through veins of steel 
till silver raven, from dim vale she fears, 
explains strange magic of machinery gears, 
so lame girl walks downside up to her room 
where faceless fairies flicker in sad gloom. 

She never questions why stars glitter gold 
because she savors water that seems cold 
while reading romance tales in canny books 
that were sewn from butterfly wings by cooks 
who hide crystal keys in loaves of hot bread 
which she can use to resurrect the dead. 

She always asks each ghost their secret name 
because she wants to learn their psychic game 
which gives her social tools to fool the fools 
who gather in workshops to design tools 
that devils use to manipulate minds 
except for her who loves to feed shy hinds. 

She ever wanders garden of fruit trees 
in search of new words she can use to tease 
grim angel standing guard by jeweled gate 
whose sky-blue eyes require she defy fate, 
but when she climbs through window of her heart 
he flies away without celestial chart. 

She often leans in window of high tower 
to watch her favorite horse consume star flower, 
and dreams of racing swift beyond far hills 
to eat fresh apples and drink from clear rills, 
but wakes from daydream in gray mirror frame 
to smile and pretend she was not born lame. 

She mostly paints fierce dragon on ice peak 
whose rage is tamed by lame girl who is meek 
since she is doomed to inherit the Earth 
according to chart of her royal birth, 
so she limps quietly down narrow hall 
past portraits of ancestors on the wall. 

She nearly steps through unlocked door of hope 
in frantic mission to expand her scope 
by slipping free from castle of despair, 
but pauses halfway down steep winding stair 
to ponder abstract numbers of blind faith 
that help her mind perceive the eyeless wraith. 

She rarely thinks about mute nothingness 
while waiting on Bridge of Forgetfulness, 
so when Rapunzel gains her liberty 
she strums taut strings on lyre of Mercury 
and sings heart-wrenching psalms of bitter love 
while busking in strange towns where she may rove. 

Organize Electric Beams

Organize Electric Beams
© Surazeus
2026 04 18

While stealing apples from the Tree of Life 
in Garden of Eden where angels play, 
I hear tall woman with long flowing hair 
explain that, though the singers may change, 
the music goes on for thousands of years, 
so I lie on my back and stare at clouds. 

If I should disappear from dream of time 
my heart will expand its delicate wings 
and sing in harmony with flowing streams, 
articulating words with tongue of ice 
which conjures visions from rumble of thoughts 
so we become the truth our minds invent. 

When I am amniote at dawn of time 
I crawl through shallow stream of trickling light, 
imbibing water of cerulean skies, 
across sapphires, rubies, and emeralds, 
transforming form by climbing tall fruit trees, 
so now I stand and talk about my hope. 

Attentive flash of primal energy, 
that motivates my quest to find fresh fruit, 
fills empty nothing of my hungry mind 
when missing feature draws me to new state 
in constant motion of the absolute 
to seek truth that is absent from my heart. 

Fierce longing to remember taste of rain 
draws me to flashing flicker of the flame 
which I contain in ring of glowing stones 
because I know they are the fallen stars 
that teach me how to label what I see 
with words that blaze enlightenment of faith. 

Knee-deep in muddy water of the lake, 
I move through swirling lichen of desire 
to catch elusive fish of secret truth 
while hunting demon of excessive wrath 
that strikes from tangled limbs of tempting fruit 
so I snatch the writhing snake by its neck. 

When savage thirst for ecstasy of love 
swells huge from pulsing passion of my heart, 
I open wide my mouth with tongue of ice 
to speak in words of honest sentiment, 
but nothing more than howling wind of hope 
soars from cage of my soul on wings of light. 

Designed by brutal nature of the bog, 
I rise from sloshing arrogance of fear 
to build enormous towers of steel and glass 
so I can organize electric beams 
in computer nodes of the world wide web 
as I evolve from fish to Cyber God. 

Celestial Stars Of Truth

Celestial Stars Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 04 17

Uncompromising laughter sinks the boat 
when flowers bloom from April blood of fear, 
so she stares deep in bullet of the heart 
to judge with fake authority of stones, 
but she will miss the way dead flowers droop, 
subjective thoughts of labor unfulfilled. 

Because no yellow cabs of honesty 
still gleam in silver fog of bored desire, 
Cassandra chews gum by the whisky bar 
and hides gun of despair in plastic purse, 
but smiles at every stranger in the rain 
who give her flowers that wilt before dawn. 

Inverse of shadow, ionized by faith, 
beams blatant silence at the bookstore lamp 
through photographic tricks, which magnify 
inert ambition fueling games of chance 
which no fool ever wins against the house 
that cracks and sinks into the hungry swamp. 

Rain splushing loud against her fractured heart 
enhances lonely shock of bitter hope 
that she decides means nothing to the man 
who plays role of her father in the game 
untwisting moral laws of fortitude 
which encode uncollected jokes of kings. 

Critical flame consuming books of tales 
frames how the humble tramp in baggy pants 
gives scarlet lily to the girl who cooks 
meals of eggs, potatoes, and buttered toast 
for grim-faced warriors of the Burning Cross 
who wage holy crusade against straw men. 

Inspired by jagged cliffs, battered by waves 
of relentless change, she gathers cracked stones 
from bleeding walls of paradise to build 
cathedral of contemplation from words 
children discard with eurythmic contempt 
for rotten leaves of fashion magazines. 

Her eyes behind lace curtain of desire 
express unspoken passion to share hope, 
so he breathes deep celestial stars of truth, 
then soars on invisible wings of love, 
swooping over phone lines of faceless words, 
then lands in garden where she tends fresh herbs. 

Enchanted by smile of wisdom she beams, 
he listens to soft voice of her strange soul 
describe weird vision of peace between tribes, 
then gives her brass cauldron he forged from faith 
so she cooks stew enough to feed the world 
from fish he catches in the mountain stream. 

Reptile Sobek Soul

Reptile Sobek Soul
© Surazeus
2026 04 17

Ever-living fire of the star-soul mind 
gleams beautiful happiness in my brain, 
so I wear mask of Sobek I designed 
to dance with laughter in electric rain 
till mad Poseidon shakes the spinning world 
which spawns religion of the cosmic herald. 

Transcending limits of this transient flesh, 
I float in cavern of spiraling gems, 
woven by Apollonia through dream mesh 
so seven sisters wearing diadems 
appear before the crowd of worshippers 
and seek to marry loyal Jupiters. 

Disguised as Sobek, master of the sea, 
I challenge Seth to run for president 
in social campaign to crown Liberty 
who rallies spirit of the dissident 
while we play golf in hills of vanity 
by scamming loyalists for charity. 

Dancing to wild beat of the forest ghost, 
drunk on wine of truth that Bacchus brews, 
I sacrifice Black Lamb as temple host 
to feed eight billion people evening news 
contrived to validate the gods in power 
who worship Golden Calf in the glass tower. 

Long seaweed hair of emotional vibes 
writhe out from head of Tethys in dream web 
that weaves her spirit into wandering tribes 
who spread from Atlas Mountains of Maghreb 
in epic quest to find the Promised Land 
where Sobek rules all with his red right hand. 

With gentle gestures of conceptual spells, 
Tethys fills our hearts with ocean waves 
so we vibrate with energy of wells 
which radiates runes of wisdom from dank caves 
when Jesus and his wife, Empress Mermaid, 
enforce fair justice with the law-honed blade. 

Connected to white lilies of the field, 
that fluoresce beams from silver moon of faith, 
my raucous heart expands platinum shield 
that protects my people from the cosmic wraith 
who morphs me from Sobek to Lucifer 
so I bear light as humble troubadour. 

When I hear trickle of the waterfall 
that sparkles over jagged cliff of time, 
I find I have become Prince Parsifal 
betrothed to marry graceful Clementine, 
so I evolve from Reptile Sobek Soul 
with solemn vow to play new honest role. 

Azure Purity Of Being

Azure Purity Of Being
© Surazeus
2026 04 16

My heart has become the weird moon in the stream 
fused with infinity through secret words 
that shine as essence at the core of things 
which I perceive with telepathic vibe 
that dissolves barrier blocking my soul 
through impalpable serenity of being. 

Struck by hot blood of sunlight on my skin 
I stretch beyond horizon of my body 
to swirl with soil in water of my brain 
that leaves me standing as sky of the world 
transformed from light to trees and animals 
who blaze with azure purity of being. 

Despite joy-twisting despair that we die, 
I bloom with disconsolate shock of truth 
that we are so alive this vibrant hour 
as flames of energy in pulsing flesh 
which has evolved four hundred million years, 
immortal soul of genes reborn in me. 

I am the distant blueness of the sky 
which emanates from hard core of the Earth 
through swirling passion of beautiful fear 
that drives my progress to become myself 
till I am not the I I dream I am 
because I walk beside me as God Self. 

I become the I I find in the world 
whose spirit merges with my fragile soul 
through strange celestial breath of writhing words 
that thread my brain in fabric of all time 
when I meet mirror image of myself 
who changes into someone else I love. 

Growing old on winding road of my life, 
where I have wandered nowhere randomly, 
I pause and look back at my younger selves 
who separate in clones I am no more 
as shadows gleaming in each open door 
who will remain after I am long gone. 

Once I remove all the masks I have worn, 
which will always reveal another mask, 
I become no one, and yet everyone 
who has ever lived on this spinning globe, 
so when you search for me in songs I write 
you will find nothing but your own true self. 

Joining ancient choir of the human soul, 
I sing with tongue of the invisible 
in harmony with poets of the past 
whose dream-maps guide my clumsy way past fear 
so I rejoice in beauty of this world 
that shines with visible atoms of thought. 

Silver Swan Of Truth

Silver Swan Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 04 16

Dark similitude of her image glows 
as seraph hovering over me with wings 
of ancient wisdom mirrored by the moon 
when she appears as silver swan of truth 
that sprinkles snow of beauty on my head 
so I imagine I am Socrates. 

Her timeless eyes that gleam with countless stars 
unveil bright nothingness in everything 
yet flash through flowing waves of molecules 
in sweet harmonious music of the spheres 
which oscillate between opposing poles 
to weave our souls in matrix of God Mind. 

Inspired by Tree of Knowledge by the lake 
that dances in soft breeze one hundred years, 
I stand as second shadow to her soul 
just as the wise seer Theodore foretold 
who shows me how to see with dreamless eyes 
Realm of Ideas beyond the visible. 

With mind untrammeled by religious creeds 
I outfly nets of mutability 
based on dream map that Theodore designed 
by navigating shadows of this world 
that bind my soul to limits of my body 
though my brain explores weird infinity. 

I hitchhike far across the Evening Land 
with lyre of Mercury in my left hand, 
and on my journey beyond truth I knew 
I find out what I am in my world view, 
because we blaze in preternatural light 
till we all vanish in mute dreamless night. 

Since I am made of atoms shining bright 
with brave attentive force of selfless love, 
I am concept of God we humans made 
attempting wake wise inside my brain 
which gleams as prism in its neural net 
refracting God Mind in my transient self. 

Eight billion humans living on this Earth 
are every one one fragment of One God 
for we all spring from one maternal mind, 
First Mother who still dreams inside our brains 
since she stood startled by the Lake of Stars 
and sang clear visions of her loving heart. 

Though driven down the signless road of hope 
by bleak despair of hunger for weird truth, 
I rise from shadow of my single self 
to feel First Mother wake inside my mind 
so I expand scope of bright consciousness 
to sing with joy while knowing I will die. 

Vibrant Flash Of Faith

Vibrant Flash Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 04 15

If she knows why stars incarnate as flowers, 
she hides the secret as math formulas 
in the chemistry textbook of her heart, 
and only smiles while we dance to the music 
that radiates from the singing stone of truth 
which flashes mirror eyes of lonely souls. 

Since she remembers why the Javan Myna 
taught her how to fly when she was still young, 
she fries corned beef sandwich on sourdough bread 
with sauerkraut, Swiss cheese, and island dressing, 
which we enjoy with sharp Italian wine, 
after which we sit on the porch and ponder. 

Because she has nothing special to prove 
concerning strange color of innocence, 
she rides silver bike to the river shore, 
where nothing dramatic ever occurs, 
to paint secret faces of the Blue Sky 
as shimmer reflected in the road pool. 

Confident she contains crowds of blind ghosts 
who encode her secrets in photographs, 
she sails small river boat on gleaming waves 
where choir of fish sing cosmic melodies 
before the peacock with luminous wings 
that transforms into proud Queen of the Earth. 

Erased by history books she never reads, 
she cooks to feed her children with calm care 
and cleans their clothes so they can play their role, 
till she becomes the body of their house, 
enclosed inside polished box of her heart, 
which she takes with her when she walks away. 

Drunk from imbibing spiced Dragon Brain Wine, 
brewed from honey and psychedelic mushrooms, 
she flies broom of the oak tree among clouds 
to feed expansive emptiness of truth 
with swirling energy contained in fruit 
that weaves memories of gods in her brain. 

Inspired by flood of the apocalypse 
that smashes institutions of state power, 
she surfs tsunami waves of social change 
with grim elation of justice for all 
when she embraces vibrant flash of faith 
to help Nature cleanse our world of cruel hate. 

Unaware I requite her secret feelings, 
she scrapes raw skin of passionate desire 
against granite fortitude of my heart 
so we savor transient bliss of pure love 
that wakes our hearts with vibrant flash of faith 
before we grow old and decay to silence. 

Immodest Seraph Of Fate

Immodest Seraph Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 04 15

Because stars have names that describe their glow, 
I walk around the neighborhood of doors, 
curious about angels who occupy 
empty rooms where faceless people consider 
why secret smudge in the back of our souls 
obscures celestial light inside our brains. 

Though I realize the longest way back home 
is thirteen times around our spinning globe, 
I live with circus of the weeping clown 
on lost island where oranges are not bombs 
designed by immodest seraph of fate 
who charges me for parking in her garden. 

Nothing is spotless in house of desire 
except the screaming clock of happiness 
that teaches me to count eternity 
as blind apprentice stuck at the crossroads 
where sapphire of intensity gleams eyes 
of time-entangled gods in human flesh. 

When I break open fresh-baked loaf of bread, 
searing light of the condensed sun expands 
scope of memory flashing through my brain 
so I remember stumbling in dark rain 
because huge shadow of the angry man 
lurks behind gate of home my father built. 

Discolored scene of urgent lassitude 
defeats perverse order of faded prayers 
stalled by gracious flowers of fragile chimes 
that trap me outside my own space and time 
as if my face reveals continuum 
through dramatic suddenness of soft waves. 

Fear hesitates to antagonize honest souls 
who float suspended in sequestered state 
between survival and global success 
based on refreshing absence of desire 
to question how verbal systems of truth 
reframe old events with new moral laws. 

Disinterested in tactics of regret, 
I measure how the storm of social change 
transforms weariness of the hungry world 
to special promises through rivalry 
unique to our obsessive age of hope 
where people sell motives to stay alive. 

Mirage of paradise that blinds our eyes 
presents potential hazard to the heart, 
explained by immodest seraph of fate 
as fashion brokered by the searching soul 
based in arguments carved on cliffs of faith 
since we never meet at the broken door. 

Fragile Wings Of Thought

Fragile Wings Of Thought
© Surazeus
2026 04 14

Arrested by white lightning of the mind, 
I see strange demon outside looking in 
at how I translate flowers into juice 
that veils indifference Nature twists in trees 
which reassemble molecules of souls 
from wolfish passion to serenity. 

Love pulses subtly with portentous pride 
at mute confession no one dares express 
since darkness molds truth from attentive time 
aligned with psychic cause of liberty 
that we embody through obsessive play 
to build world empire from small colony. 

Concerned how rainbows pierce our aching hearts 
at fraction of the cost to produce dreams, 
I split expansive spectrum in huge books 
designed to photograph the blazing towers 
from which mad gods fall far on crippled wings 
who stare through windows at our cheerful feasts. 

Unbreakable soul of calm honesty 
decides to play no drama on world stage 
in vain attempt to parcel land in shards 
where children of dead gods design new games 
while running freely in cathedral hall 
beneath high arching heavens of regret. 

Our world keeps spinning in the silent void, 
sphere bound by writhing threads of energy 
that weave neural net of my dreaming brain 
with Ungod dwelling in Garden of Zarth 
which shimmers everywhere brave men explore 
because we celebrate core nothingness. 

If death preserves our fleeting memories 
in countless four-walled rooms of privacy 
against assertion of dramatic sun 
who sits in garden of accomplishments, 
we humbly walk with Death on signless road 
because our starlight bodies will decay. 

My new ethereal life of casual play 
presumes ontology designed by Fate 
who nurtures Garden of Hesperides 
to prove existing objects are more real 
than pretty concepts conjured in my mind 
which float away on fragile wings of thought. 

Shocked by how Hope mocks mortal fleetingness 
as gift of nothingness humans enjoy, 
I write new mental program in dream code 
to give each human power of the rain 
that falls in steady streams of liquid masks 
explaining why we give each other names. 

Tearing Roots Of Sorrow

Tearing Roots Of Sorrow
© Surazeus
2026 04 14

If Linda wants to sing of seeing time 
unfold our steadfast stars of frozen hope, 
then she may record riddles birds express 
to measure magnitude of selfish love 
since we are fragile flames of consciousness 
that flicker out before we understand. 

Since Linda perceives what is difficult 
with easy effort of the fractured moon, 
she might exchange beauty of her dream world 
to formulate new code for what is real, 
for she is fierce sprite of the cityscape 
who centers herself till she disappears. 

Disinterested in obvious metaphors 
that hollow space for absence of the heart, 
spry Linda notes that wind heaves in wild trees 
with quiet warmness of enclosing walls 
shaped by sharp subtlety of full-moon rays 
that wrap black sky around her plastic face. 

Through incomplete sentences of desire 
that strike list of observations on walls, 
snarky Linda leads us to hall of masks 
where we stand with her before too-square frames 
that subject fluid personalities 
with clumsy variables of dream syntax. 

Teaching our eyes to see uncanny truth 
which emanates from unnatural fragments 
of puzzles formed from dreams everyone shares, 
curious Linda places broken quill 
in my trembling hand with intimate smile 
and urges me to write spells with my blood. 

Amazed at spare beauty of gentle song 
that she unearths from ancient monoliths 
by tearing roots of sorrow from our hearts, 
grim Linda tells us how all things we see 
are shapes Death molds from rotten flesh of lust 
for we see each other with eyes of death. 

I interrupt her chant of thoughtful prayers 
in tangled conversation with blind ghosts 
to insist that I see with eyes of life 
because I love every person on Earth 
whose statues camouflage their emptiness 
which echoes strange abandonment of words. 

Her clear-eyed gaze of silent intellect 
strips mask of haughty pride from off my face, 
so we eat apple pie on the back porch 
then sing with crickets in the river reeds 
enraged at vow of silence Linda keeps 
when she transcribes their happy loneliness. 

Mezuzah Of World Dream

Mezuzah Of World Dream
© Surazeus
2026 04 13

Because I am the door through which I pass 
when I transform from my parents to me, 
I stretch my body on conceptual grass 
with luxuriant ennui of the free, 
yet strangers write on tablet of my heart 
their stories that compose my moral chart. 

I stand on dim-lit stage in quaint cafe 
to read my confessions with poet voice 
in spells that trap my spirit in cliche, 
designed to imitate how gods rejoice, 
but I stare in starless void with silent thought, 
then pretend I am the naive robot. 

Though I study figures on Grecian Urn 
with passionate sense of dire urgency, 
I wonder when Fortune will give me turn 
to measure my spiritual vergency 
that indicates focal power of rain 
to refract the Divine Mind through my brain. 

I shall not weep at the clarion call 
that wakes my spirit from tomb of dead words, 
so I paint my dream with blood on church wall 
when angels translate prophecies of birds 
to tragic tale of Tristan and Isolde 
who found world empire on desolate wold. 

When Friedrich rolls away the cryptic stone, 
exposing bones of Jesus in dark tomb, 
I call my father on the telephone 
who tells me secret of maternal womb 
is bound by symbol of the Holy Grail 
from mountain wind that billows my ship sail. 

I sail the Seven Seas in Ship of State 
to colonize the fertile wilderness 
with secret map that helps me navigate 
Scylla and Charybdis from Inverness 
where Rapunzel in tower of star eyes 
trains our daughter to manage psychic spies. 

As I approach Temple of Poseidon, 
that glows on promontory by the sea, 
on my journey from Isle of Avalon, 
Haniel, Angel of Serenity, 
gives me glass tablet of world history 
so I write psalms about the Mystery. 

Haniel bears Mezuzah of World Dream 
while ascending ziggurat steps of faith, 
which she gives to wise Ishtar with esteem 
who sings hymn of the transcendent Star Wraith, 
composed of all our souls woven in light, 
who teaches humans art of spirit flight. 

Crown Of Infertile Pride

Crown Of Infertile Pride
© Surazeus
2026 04 13

If bloodless corpse of the drowned sailor crawls 
cackling from brackish sorrow of the sea, 
zombie followers of the vampire god 
proclaim him new messiah of their cause, 
and crown his fractured skull of rotten muck 
with powerless crown of infertile pride. 

Yet none will call for Ahab to return 
from graveyard of grim heroes time forgot, 
imbued with monstrous energy of hope, 
to play Poseidon and shake Earth again 
with regulating plan that realigns 
old world order in new alliances. 

Resurrected from harrowed brine of power, 
Leviathan raises high ten-horned head, 
dripping with oiled backwash of battleships, 
to roar assertive commands which should prove 
strength of authority enforces law 
against rising tides of rebellious states. 

Weakened by aggressive angst of despair 
at mockery of ministers with calm masks, 
King Midas lumbers clumsily to thwart 
clamorous voices that protest his lies 
while he wallows with sealion contempt 
in wounded pride of toxic vanity. 

Still stuck in ash-pit of Jehoshaphat, 
the self-deluded prince of bitterness 
lurches against coiled serpent of regret, 
shouting curses at prophets to deny 
crimes he commits against humanity 
with slavish corruption of cruel contempt. 

Fierce waves of retribution swell from Hell 
in surging formulations of strict law, 
designed by blind powers of the Blue Sky 
to expose supercilious disdain 
King Midas expresses with envious snarl, 
outraged his devil wings are clipped by truth. 

Evolved from sweet slime of our Mother Sea, 
we stand upright beneath the Tree of Knowledge 
to declare with voice of supremacy 
how we will bend bright rainbow of our will 
against harsh indifference of the wild sea 
that smashes our empire to shards of lies. 

Though we are no more humble penitents, 
we take off civilized shoes of concern 
and walk barefoot endless miles to attain 
wisdom from poisoned whirlpool of Shiloah 
that causes us to choke on principles 
twisting our hearts with shocked hypocrisy. 

Puzzle Of Disparate Truths

Puzzle Of Disparate Truths
© Surazeus
2026 04 12

Exquisite beauty of soft floating snow 
resurrects death in lush leaves on tall trees, 
assembling puzzle of disparate truths 
in mirror mask Nature wears to revive 
aching spirit of my heart with mute love 
so I long to walk with you in bright woods. 

Snow flakes supply sweet angel tears of light 
that nourish roots of fruit trees so they mold 
sunlight to cherries, apples, pears, and grapes 
which nurture human souls of transient flesh 
with clear immortal water from Blue Sky 
who blesses fields where wheat sprouts from our hearts. 

Annoyed that eggs she finds in underbrush 
crack in large basket she wove from tree twigs, 
Celta notes eggs gleam safe on tufts of grass 
so she tears handfuls from bounty of fate 
and pads its bottom with layer of softness 
that protects eggs she collects from getting cracked. 

Returning to kurgan mound by the lake, 
first built by grandfather of her grandfather, 
Celta slips behind thick veil of grape vines 
to enter chambered cairn where she dwells safe, 
hangs herbs above workbench of oak to dry, 
then boils eggs in copper pot in hot hearth. 

Hungry for fish roasted with herbs and oil, 
Celta carries pack with net and long pole 
to silver lake between pine-shrouded hills 
where she casts net to fill basket with fish, 
then digs mussels from slurping river muck 
as sparrows chirp in alders on the ridge. 

Stepping over stones to climb narrow trail, 
Celta pauses when she sees in large cave 
wild wolf man with long matted hair and beard 
who holds cracked turtle shell with two deer horns 
and sings strange anthem as he plucks gut strings 
in lamentation at heart-breaking loss. 

Reaching out his hand with gesture of trust, 
Wilkus offers her ride in river boat, 
so Celta sits on prow bench as he rows 
across bright lake lashed by sudden wind storm 
that causes her to fall against his chest 
and hold him tight as he strives for safe shore. 

Warm and dry together in chambered cairn, 
Wilkus and Celta consume roasted fish, 
drink spiced grape wine with relish of desire, 
share tragic tale of Tristan and Isolde, 
then kiss and make love on thick wolf-fur rug 
as butterfly flutters around their heads. 

Now Unspoken Mirroring

Now Unspoken Mirroring
© Surazeus
2026 04 12

Audacities of faithless innocence 
confuse transactions of honest exchange 
with enraptured lust from austerity 
that realigns resemblance we discharge 
through act of avoidance subtle as shouts 
caressing contours of absence we share. 

Elliptical words misexpress desire 
in tune with fierce emotional restraint 
that stalls deliverance of shocked release 
at passionate blast of erotic thoughts 
through warm compassion of the fallen heart 
seduced by hot metaphors of syntax. 

If I negotiate with casual fear 
to uncover judgement of wordless taste, 
against progression of the absolute, 
I might become subject to honesty, 
brutal with now unspoken mirroring 
that feels intimate at pause of the touch. 

Each turn of sudden sentences we share 
through struggle to convey new moral strands 
excludes our tendency to ramble far 
at penetration of the curious mind 
which intimates our fraught mortality 
at soft obstruction of respite from death. 

Siphoned by sorrow of bland nothingness, 
my shriveled heart sneers at bitter reproach 
contained by consoling voices of wind 
more provocative than sacred regret 
for essential disarray of fake psalms 
that smear sentiments of blood on dead grass. 

If essence of my self emerges clear 
from poisoned nimbus of untasted lips, 
I contemplate aggressive force of life 
that drives divergence of my fractured brain 
from viable range of accepted masks, 
forged by fantasy of family romance. 

Trapped in contemporary culture games, 
as model for psychic material 
contrived to mediate ranges of being, 
I extract facile conclusions from books 
torn by complex language of vanity 
with congenital need for solitude. 

Organized violence of mental spells 
through subtle encroachment of earnest play 
injects sharp charm in our zero-sum game 
involving innocent laughter at soft shock 
of nuclear flash tangential to life 
that focuses attention on desire. 

Strangeness Of Reality

Strangeness Of Reality
© Surazeus
2026 04 12

Entranced by strangeness of reality, 
I kneel in cathedral of burning light 
and contemplate significance of death 
since Nature is indifferent to me, 
till I feel swell from abyss of my heart 
immense divinity of nothingness. 

Annoyed by strangeness of reality, 
I measure magnitude of silent dark 
till I find patterns of normality 
in swirling chaos of atomic change 
that flashes glimmer of the knowing eye 
perceiving lucence of the gaseous soul. 

Inspired by strangeness of reality, 
I thread quick waves of particles in web 
designed to mimic puzzle of unknowns 
contained by figure of the conscious soul 
whose mind arranges colors into shapes 
then labels them with sentimental names. 

Insured by strangeness of reality, 
I purchase credible theology 
encoded in proverbs of social memes 
that arrange themselves as meaning in minds 
concerned with certainties of changeless truths 
unraveling our world view into myth. 

Surprised by strangeness of reality, 
I observe new sonic parameters 
contained by constant flashing entropy 
that might suggest strict rites of honesty 
along path of least resistance to find 
well of salvation in the frosted field. 

Disturbed by strangeness of reality, 
I conjure whimsical image of truth 
to practice metaphysics of respect 
for diaphanous mask my spirit wears 
when I play demiurge of spectral verse 
to mold virtual model of Earth from dreams. 

Observed by strangeness of reality, 
I confront weird mystery of otherness 
that pulses from black hole of everywhere 
in order to describe shadow of fate 
that proves unsolvable with formulas 
designed by seekers to map the Unmind. 

Compelled by strangeness of reality, 
I wander obscure wood of sylvan faith 
to understand nature of everything 
while lost in saccharine mist of desire, 
then meet you at the Pegasus Cafe 
to drink coffee and share spells we compose.