Mystery Of Musical Tunes

Mystery Of Musical Tunes
© Surazeus
2026 07 16

Though my brain oscillates with frantic hope 
that justice triumphs over tyranny, 
I wander blithely balanced just enough 
to eat hamburger at the Globe cafe 
and ponder mystery of musical tunes 
that cause the mind to hum in harmony. 

This hour of sudden weirdness, still unknown, 
becomes my destiny by lazy choice 
so I gaze far down hazy road of hope 
to see what strange opinions I should hold 
implicit in surroundings of bare hills 
which I map to analyze fantasy. 

Since I have no inherent legal right 
to be myself with mask of Lucifer, 
I decide to film events of my life 
as if my deeds are dramatic enough 
to compose grand epic of daily needs 
because time suits my passion to pretend. 

This disassembled puzzle of my soul 
might be composed of random sentences 
discarded by the wizard in gray suit 
who talks about the boring things of life 
without hook of the brutal question mark 
that snags blind demon from my hungry heart. 

Becoming more what I have never been, 
I eat last grain of curiosity 
to build new empire on productive farms 
because I gain from suffering I endure 
bright with sheen of forgotten memories 
that angels sell to devils in tool stores. 

Calm thunderstorm over the Texas plain 
reminds me that my spirit image fits 
well in social network of fancy games 
contrived by religious authorities 
based on deduction of justified theft 
in space cleared by arrival of desire. 

My brain projects virtual model of Earth 
on walls of the church where everyone prays 
for one king to rule nations of the world 
with secretions of the demonized heart 
healed by the humorous savior who knows 
how rapturous clouds appear in my skull. 

Since everyone knows truth becomes the hole 
in which our bodies writhe with pulsing words, 
we walk hand in hand on the garden path 
where blood-stained flowers bloom from corpse of God 
to climb the tower of water with pride 
since justice triumphs over tyranny. 

Backward My Dream Mind

Backward My Dream Mind
© Surazeus
2026 07 16

Backward my dream mind, vast as mountain vale, 
wild gushing waters of hope overtake, 
so on winged horse of innocent respect 
I travel abreast with Nature afar 
to comprehend strange music of her form 
that vibrates with psychic music of love. 

Forward with tattered pirate map of hope, 
remnants of friends in buried treasure chests, 
I search for in abandoned yards of dreams 
whose world of secrets I abandoned, lost 
by walking signless road of nowhere else 
till I find something lodged inside my heart. 

How many jagged mountains of desire 
I wonder wait for my mind to explore 
secret caves of cold fire, blue as dawn ice, 
where I would lay my body down to die 
still as sharp ache of hope that stabs my heart 
with eager passion to drink moon-bleak tears. 

Waves of the ocean reach for my soft heart 
with hunger to devour soul energy 
pulsing through blood veins with new strategies 
to outmaneuver thieves in business suits, 
because they sell cliffs to the gullible 
as suitable fields to cultivate crops. 

Another friend returns with stolen gems 
from naked underworld of honesty 
because he knows how to unpuzzle truth 
concealed in alabaster jar of oil 
rancid with secret desires of true love 
for beauty embodied in sculptured mask. 

My fake voice lingers in dim emptiness 
with shocking melody of bitterness 
sweetened by tumultuous ardency 
to sing with resonant silence of truth 
that cracks foundations of world empires 
so our faces become square as glass books. 

No wandering gypsy of the river woods 
dares curse my heart with unrequited love 
which I package with plastic dolls of fear 
for sale to discrete tyrants of concern 
though some prefer fake gratitude of fruit 
rotten with spices of arrogant faith. 

Marvelous thoughts trapped in fairy-tale books 
encourage me to question noble laws 
contrived to rig the social game of power 
in favor of the privileged elite 
who bury treasures outside paradise 
so I leave secrets hidden in the heart. 

White Horse In The Stone

White Horse In The Stone
© Surazeus
2026 07 15

The way we dance about the broken tree 
of knowledge, where three angels gamble souls 
against electric solitude of fate, 
reveals conceptual jaggedness of fear 
by which we prove our noble manliness 
with psychic levels of testosterone. 

Trapped in grim ritual of the shopping spree 
to buy masks and costumes for our new roles, 
I scrub our television screens of hate 
on holy mission from the Puppeteer 
who questions origin of happiness 
invented by the white horse in the stone. 

The way we gather at the flash of  dawn 
in ring of stones, that angels call Stonehenge, 
to sing electric hymn of shocking truth, 
inspires the eyeless aliens from Zar 
to teach us humans how to colonize 
the waste land with water pipes of desire. 

In every life I always play the pawn 
trained by Minerva to unpeel the orange 
as heartfelt gift to world messiah sleuth 
who rules United States of Zathamar 
through hidden network of innocent spies 
who sing about Orpheus in the choir. 

The way we weep with anguish of respect 
for people who die unfairly each day, 
because our souls dwell in no afterlife, 
exposes fraud of preachers who declare 
our wounded bodies will rise from the dead 
because our brains pulse with ancestral ghosts. 

Unnerved by riddles of the brain defect 
which fool me into thinking I must pray 
with plan to learn lessons from mental strife, 
I emerge dripping from swamp of despair 
to parade with jeweled crown on my head 
on global stage where I play Lord of Hosts. 

The way we type our thoughts in fractured verse 
in vain attempt to describe what is real, 
contrary to lies of religious creeds, 
expands scope of my conscious sense of self 
beyond strict bounds of righteous lethargy 
based on canon law of the vampire god. 

Inspired to wear bright mask of Lucifer, 
designed by my mother with glass and steel, 
I study potent vibrancy of seeds 
that bloom from footsteps of the daring elf 
whose kiss sparks my heart with dream energy 
which helps me code the formula for fraud. 

If I Am Someone Else

If I Am Someone Else
© Surazeus
2026 07 15

Shocked by thought-executing fires of hope 
that mold rotundity of Earth from words 
stolen by ravens from dark river shores, 
I charge subscription of strange elements 
that crack calm confidence in mindless truth 
with earnest plan to assert dominance. 

Careless regression from pastoral states 
of mind, contrived by articles of faith, 
contracts expansive scope of innocence 
smaller than the measuring spoon of time 
by which I scoop conceptual nonchalance 
with vague obsession of planless progress. 

Time seems to readjust intense display 
of prowess I project with neutral stance 
where I determine, through unseen design, 
to stand my ground against unnatural force 
that cracks foundation of our social state 
so we fend for ourselves in silent woods. 

Perhaps one thousand years of waterfalls 
have now eroded jagged mountain peaks 
down to wind-rounded hills of smooth regret, 
dispersing spirit of the heart on silver lake 
where ghosts of snowflakes swirl in summer haze 
till they become cranes of adjacent charm. 

Though I have journeyed on the rugged trail 
through seasonal blasts of hostile intent, 
when I reach the door where my best friend dwells 
I pause to savor with intense respect 
urgent passion to travel, now fulfilled, 
then turn around and travel home again. 

Exhausted by attempts to reach the moon 
on tattered wings of hope Icarus lost, 
I stretch description of my faceless soul 
inert on throbbing surface of broken rocks, 
cluttered in seething globe of timeless change, 
till I wonder if I am someone else. 

Disassembled brain of dream-powered gears, 
that oscillates between time-tangling poles, 
programs itself to change how it perceives 
reality through weird framework of tales 
derived from fractured memories of ghosts 
who vehemently deny they are dead. 

Though I once ran swift as the long-maned horse 
along winding stream of advanced degrees, 
in courageous plan to transcend frail frame 
of passion-filtered reverence, my soul 
expends excessive energy of faith 
to evade fate that laughs with tender love. 

National Zoo Of Fame

National Zoo Of Fame
© Surazeus
2026 07 14

After I escape from prison of hope, 
and litter streets of fear with greedy thugs, 
I shall fly the rocket to outer space 
and live in my gold palace on the moon 
far away from the business office complex 
where the Swan of Tuonela waits for me. 

My faith links the fantasy of escape 
with brutal reality of confinement 
because I am the mute ape in your zoo 
who longs to live free in suburbia, 
in the three-bedroom ranch house by the lake 
with white sedan I drive to work each day. 

Though the signless road of my bold ambition 
grows dimmer every day I drive toward Heaven, 
in swirling smog where I can hardly see, 
I fight the devil with the silver star 
who laughs with shotgun of law in his hand 
because he knows I will never be free. 

Trapped within the National Zoo of Fame, 
by the senator who owns the gold mine 
on our land where my father tended wheat, 
my fierce rebellious lion-heart of faith 
is monitored by state psychiatrists 
who study mystery of the human mind. 

Exhibited in cage of my persona, 
I dwell in domestic structure of marriage, 
restricted by the law of give and take 
as I perform identity I stole 
by wearing suit and tie with polished shoes 
when I sit at desk of authority. 

I stare in mirror of my memories 
to wonder where my childhood vanished to 
in faded photographs of broken schools 
filled with faceless people who pray in church 
for savior of the world to rescue them 
from junkyard garden of the rotten tree. 

The photo of my war against the state, 
where I pose with long rifle on my hip 
while riding naked on my shadow horse, 
hangs on the wall of your suburban church 
to prove the wicked come to sorry ends 
as bullet-riddled corpses on dirt roads. 

My tragic flaw is I will seize the day 
despite the consequences actions cause 
when I design network of water pipes 
to provide social service of respect 
to every house in the factory town 
displayed in your National Zoo of Fame. 

Why Time Is Fake

Why Time Is Fake
© Surazeus
2026 07 13

Camilla considers why time is fake 
while floating in glass boat on the star lake, 
though wingless angels on the muddy shore 
keep disappearing through numberless door 
at sudden crack of bells that realigns 
statues of dead gods in conceptual lines. 

Staring at her face in the mirror gleam, 
Camilla thinks about joining the team 
of wingless angels to hunt criminals 
who abuse good people like animals, 
but three clocks on the vast cathedral wall 
unweave matrix of time in sad rainfall. 

Packing six paper bags of groceries 
while angels spiral through her ovaries, 
Camilla plans her clandestine escape 
from prison of her home in the dreamscape 
by switching money to her bank account 
with secret agent of the castle count. 

Bright headlights of the speeding car expose 
uncertain beauty of her private rose 
with flashing magnet of hypnotic trance 
through thought paralysis of her stiff stance 
at shock of horror that her husband steers 
car of bitter rage at her wordless fears. 

Crushed against her car at sudden impact 
of blunt aggression beyond legal fact, 
Camilla gasps in anguish of mute pain 
that sears through tattered fabric of the vain 
with mangled ardency of canceled hope 
untwisting order of her mental scope. 

Stunned awake beyond conscious state of fear 
at blurred flash of the unreachable near, 
Camilla writhes in buzzing blast of shock 
that sucks her spirit into the faceless rock 
where she becomes small seed of nothingness 
as swollen bulge on bridge of faithfulness. 

From open eyes of vast infinity, 
Camilla soars through sharp futility 
as wordless blood from gaping mouth of love 
gurgles desperately to express concern 
for safety of her daughter in the car 
whose eyes are fractured by the lonely star. 

While Camilla floats in the ambulance 
to gamble with death in fraught game of chance, 
police arrest her husband as he snarls 
with rage against disobedient girls, 
but the nurse pronounces moment of death 
when young mother explains why time is fake. 

Golden Hurt Of Knowingness

Golden Hurt Of Knowingness
© Surazeus
2026 07 13

While strumming broken lyre of Mercury, 
inspired by golden hurt of knowingness, 
I sing about the woman with nine hearts 
who founds world empire of Olympia 
which unites fractured nations of the world 
through Anglonesia of our eager hope. 

Eager to dance on the mirror-mind moon, 
inspired by golden hurt of knowingness, 
I open wounded heart of charity 
with selfless play through generosity 
to fund the private dream of every soul 
who builds garden of fruit in the waste land. 

Awake with passion for the common man, 
inspired by golden hurt of knowingness, 
I build safe home along the signless road 
for every human alive on this Earth 
to dwell in paradise of equal rights 
that gleams as fantasy in sun-bright clouds. 

While searching for the Holy Grail of love, 
inspired by golden hurt of knowingness, 
I gather geospatial data sets 
about every aspect of human life 
to map complex depiction of our world 
through detailed analysis of desire. 

While soaring on broad wings of Icarus, 
inspired by golden hurt of knowingness, 
I hunt vast city maze of broken idols 
for evil men who abuse and exploit 
other human beings for their selfish gain 
to free slaves of money from chains of hope. 

Alert to clever scams of corporate kings, 
inspired by golden hurt of knowingness, 
I track deceptive calls from telephones 
to huge fraud factories in jungle zones 
where job-seekers trapped in forced labor camps 
call us with offers too good to be true. 

Avid for grand agenda of the woke, 
inspired by golden hurt of knowingness, 
I gather abused victims of the world 
who fight as social justice warriors 
to defeat Midas and his gang of thieves 
who try to enslave us with credit debt. 

While wearing honest mask of Lucifer, 
inspired by golden hurt of knowingness, 
I follow Goddess of Justice and Truth 
who leads our holy war for liberty 
for every person living on this globe 
that spins forever in the godless void. 

Wonder At Beauty Of Life

Wonder At Beauty Of Life
© Surazeus
2026 07 12

Every road in the world leads to my home 
so I visit every home in the world 
and give my loneliness in ribboned book 
to every person in the world I meet 
who gives me their own version of my name 
that binds our hearts with brutal sense of hope. 

Startled by shining angel on the slope 
who offers me jeweled crown of world fame, 
I veil my spirit with mask of retreat 
to hide in small cave by the mourning brook, 
alert in shadow where my soul lies curled 
as curious fox hidden in pungent loam. 

Suspended between flashing poles of time, 
brief blaze of insight in my urgent heart 
reflects my soul in mirror pool of fate 
through transitory bloom of mental scheme 
contrived to wake my spirit from despair 
and teach me to accept seasonal change. 

Assertive purpose to extend my range 
on route to anywhere humans may care 
converts attention of my wordless dream 
to seek new occupation where I wait 
with curious breath that weaves expansive chart 
which heals my wounded heart with every chime. 

In dark uncertain hour before bright dawn 
at weird enchantment of familiar sight 
I meet the eerie presence of my faith 
in faceless stranger whom I know too well 
who asks if wonder at beauty of life 
inspires my heart to transcend fear of death. 

Fulfilled beast of my heart considers math 
that calculates inherent worth of strife 
to forge my soul from wisdom in harsh hell 
when I first name the transcendental wraith 
who teaches conscious potency of right 
that fuels my mission to unking the pawn. 

Since each beginning is another end 
that sparks my ostentatious quest for power 
I program vulgar passion to transform 
weak frame of wisdom in my wounded heart 
to bravery of the wolf who knows the way 
through timeless moments in bloom of the rose. 

When I arrive at place of my repose 
beneath the apple tree where devils pray, 
I build new gate from wheels of my dream cart 
since I am voice of every evening storm 
that rings in highest room of the ghost tower 
composed of faith that crumbles into sand. 

Secret Agent Of My Heart

Secret Agent Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2026 07 12

Because the secret agent of my heart 
is activated into combat mode 
when greedy devils of the corporate bank 
kidnap my precious daughter from safe haven, 
I transform into fierce angel of vengeance 
to harrow Hell and free blind slaves of money. 

When I was young, with tender heart of hope, 
I launched my new-built river boat of faith, 
encouraged by star-eyed ghost of my mother, 
and sailed bright river between tree-lush shores 
toward glorious palace of gold glowing clouds 
that gleams beyond horizon of desire. 

Yet bright illusion of my fantasy 
that shimmers with pleasures I long to taste 
lures me to city teeming with strange treasures 
that trick my hands to take what I desire 
with appetite for unreachable beauty 
till debt traps me as slave of hungry greed. 

Too many voices of seductive truth 
that echo with passion in city streets 
present bright fantasies of facile wealth 
through advertisements of brave services 
which offer easy solutions of power 
till I dispel them with assertive spell. 

Toward shining palace of celestial clouds 
I sail far from safe homeland of my heart 
but wander lost in maze of puzzling doors 
locked tight against dark thunderstorm of fear 
on mission to find daughter of my heart 
trapped somewhere in lush paradise of faith. 

I wander circles among market stalls 
amid chaotic turmoil of desire 
where people seeking treasures of the heart 
flow swift in patterns of rapacity 
till I lie dizzy in the field of skulls 
and call name of my daughter to the wind. 

Hands bleeding with rapacious hope for truth, 
I claw precious minerals from the Earth 
to mold material wealth of energy 
in forms of beauty that blind eager eyes 
with grandiose visions of national pride 
as hall of stone that stands ten thousand years. 

When I breach secure walls of paradise 
to find my daughter dancing by the pool, 
feet bound by golden chains of charity, 
I fight to free her soul from slavery, 
but wealth controls her power to create 
life from aggressive ambition of fate. 

Memories Of Dead Gods

Memories Of Dead Gods
© Surazeus
2026 07 12

When dawn sun opens mirror of my brain 
I reassemble framework of my face 
with fragments torn from memories of dead gods 
so I when I face the world at flash of fame 
my honest simpleness may shield my heart 
from slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. 

I get my eyes from Cronus and Saturnus 
so I may see heart of each human being 
that glows with secret passion they would hide 
when we exchange conceptual energy 
through tangled formula of sentences 
encoding sentiment in psychic code. 

I get my ears from Phoebus and Apollo 
so I may hear bright music of the spheres 
that radiates from first flash of the god eye 
when I translate weird song of ocean waves 
to pop songs blaring on the radio 
when everyone plays Sunday on the beach. 

I get my arms from Bacchus and Hephaestus 
so I may craft wave-leaping ship of fate 
from wood of trees I cut from Helicon 
when I sail seven seas on treasure quest 
to colonize the world with castle queens 
who rule cities at mouths of flowing rivers. 

I get my heart from Jupiter and Jesus 
so I may rule empire of pyramids 
controlling fields of wheat and herds of cows 
when I ride white horse on the hill of skulls 
to fight crocodiles in the steaming swamp, 
depicted as Saint George who slays the dragon. 

I get my brain from Athena and Hermes 
so I may envision in lines of verse 
deeds wise heroes perform as humble men 
who seek to understand nature of things 
as they develop through philosophy 
foundation of our world civilization. 

I get my tongue from Hera and Poseidon 
so I may sing enchanting spells of sight 
depicting complex nature of the heart 
which animates each human to explore 
expansive landscape of our spinning globe 
that generates our souls in pulsing brains. 

Though my frail mortal body is composed 
of fragments from grand deities of time, 
I pause from endless journey of my soul 
on signless road in waste land of despair 
and laugh at weird absurdity of life, 
then keep on searching for the Promised Land. 

Angelic Wings Of Fortitude

Angelic Wings Of Fortitude
© Surazeus
2026 07 11

What I experience is irrelevant 
to beauty of truth that shines as the sun 
which energizes atoms to compose 
fragile bodies that nourish dreaming brains 
awake with passion to taste fruit of hope 
that blooms from twisted anguish of tree limbs. 

Disconnected from valley of my birth, 
I walk on grass of exile without words 
to understand excessive flash of stones 
which ask what secret name I answer to 
by cooking bread from dough of fearless faith 
though wind blows ashes from my trembling hand. 

Trapped in dank prison of rebellious hope 
by chains of fear men forge from bitter hate, 
I spread angelic wings of fortitude 
to soar above vast maze of doorless homes 
but weep for people stuck inside despair 
till I fall back inside my fragile head. 

To escape that plausible state of grace 
against hostile attack of wingless fame, 
I transform into tortoise with steel bones, 
empowered by majestic haughtiness 
that I can fly on angel wings of faith 
to dwell in realm of changeless paradigms. 

My conscious sense of selfhood is programmed 
by all my fierce ancestors who have lived 
four hundred million years of desperate faith, 
therefore by now my brain imagines state 
of psychic power to transcend its frame 
alive beyond bounds of this mortal flesh. 

Deluded I can live outside my brain 
as faceless soul of timeless energy, 
I prance on rainbow bridge of innocence 
to organize delusions of my power 
in mural that depicts my divine myth 
which crumbles to dust of lost centuries. 

My soul that shimmers with light of the sun 
is chemical function of my sponge brain 
which animates fragile body of bones 
as vehicle I drive to procreate 
new body for my genes before I die 
since I will dissipate to wordless wind. 

Though I imagine I can fly with grace 
beyond bounds of my skull on wings of light, 
I always swirl back in shell of my skull 
and wake from nothingness of dreamless sleep 
to laugh with joy that I am still alive, 
surprised at beauty of this cluttered world. 

Snow-White God Butterfly

Snow-White God Butterfly
© Surazeus
2026 07 11

If I cast my bread in waters of hope, 
after selling devils ten thousand cars, 
I could buy descendant of Pegasus 
to fly above vast maze of city streets 
where people chase bright rainbow of respect 
till they vanish in television shows. 

With sharp knife of assertive innocence, 
I slice bread loaf of economic gain 
so every person in the world can eat 
as if food is the answer to despair, 
because the snow-white god butterfly knows 
secret passion of my casino heart. 

Though all gods humans worshipped in the past 
are nameless gusts of wind in sun-gold trees, 
I feel them ever present in my home 
for they haunt those who think about them most, 
small lights of hope in darkness of the world 
that guide my way in tangled woods of change. 

Ghost of my mother in her living room 
sits in the rocking chair of timeless truth, 
and knits another sweater of concern 
from huge ball of traumatic memories 
which she gives to homeless people downtown 
who wear them when they huddle in snow fall. 

Since the dream ghost of everyone decides 
to sell lamp of Diogenes to Thor, 
our bodies have become vessels of thought 
programmed to perform duties for the dream 
that hard work is rewarded with great wealth 
which we all share in our hypnotic trance. 

When Alfred the Great and Harald Fairhair 
play game of chess in Kronborg Castle court 
over who will wear the golden Crown of Thorns, 
Phoebus takes hand of Alof Gydhasdottir 
and sails with her to misty Isle of Skye 
where they fly his starship to Magrathea. 

Now that I know my whole ancestral tale, 
filled with men and women with starry eyes 
who attempted to build Heaven on Earth, 
I can relax on shore of River Styx 
and think of how to map world history 
that includes every soul who ever lived. 

After I work in the car factory, 
assembling engines from midnight till dawn, 
I hang out in meadow of dew-wet grass 
and listen to snow-white god butterfly 
describe how swerving atoms interact 
to conjure consciousness in dreaming brains. 

Fleeting Span Of Life

Fleeting Span Of Life
© Surazeus
2026 07 10

Though infinite flash days before my birth 
and infinite mire days I rot in Earth, 
I spend this fleeting span of life with you 
beside our lake of dreams that shimmers blue 
with dignity of love our bodies share 
as flames of energy that writhe in air. 

Though toil of hope our work-worn hands express 
proves vain as too-brief glow of happiness, 
we bind our hearts with contract to create 
calm hours of peace by star-lit lake of fate 
to savor pleasure of beauty that floats 
almost changeless as time-revealing boats. 

Though we have drifted far across the land 
on signless roads unmapped by human hand, 
we still are loath to linger in one place 
too long, since generosity of grace 
traps earnest travelers in paradise 
where hearts get twisted by corrupting vice. 

Though urgent passion to explore deep vales 
drives our souls forward into blasting gales, 
we like to dwell on sparkling river shore 
to bake sweet barley bread by open door, 
then drink tart wine in timeless twilight glow 
to watch wild sparrows fly with Zephyr flow. 

Though we would like to journey to the star 
that lures our careless hearts to reach too far, 
we will one day lie down on nursing grass 
and sing without regret as our souls pass, 
so, nameless Traveler, stop by this mound 
where we are buried in the hungry ground. 

Though you have far to go before bright sun 
sets blazing on wild hills where swift deer run, 
sit on this mound where our old bodies lie 
and listen to proud evening crickets cry 
mournful elegies for each conscious being 
who lived and died in shadow of the wing. 

Though I have vanished from long dream of Earth 
as if my divine spirit beamed no worth, 
my dreams recorded in riddles of verse 
radiate as light across the universe 
so yet-born children on this same lake shore 
will hear my voice sing long-forgotten lore. 

Though I stroll staffless down this endless road 
on mission to pay Hades what I owed, 
still hearty as I wither from old age, 
my children play lyre of Phoebus on the stage 
while slow Acheron bears my glowing soul 
to Elysium after I play my role. 

Integration Of God Eggs

Integration Of God Eggs
© Surazeus
2026 07 10

Still tracing blood in final truth of bone, 
cracked by assertive thoughts none dare express, 
I enter our remote tower in air 
where silver wisher of the humble Clerk 
recalls swift flight of hawks at dawn of fate 
which casts strange shadow on the broken gate. 

Unsure if spools of time may detox fear, 
when curious fish in tunnels of green seas 
teach me to wrestle fate in wordless gloom, 
I scatter remnants of my wicked dreams 
on sparkling sands of arrogant dismay 
to prove my heart intends to offer hope. 

Indifferent to souls of children that flit 
on sparrow wings of urgent confidence 
between vast strangeness of borderless hills, 
I wander down the forest path of hope 
and open wide my arms to embrace love, 
but you disapparate from barren fields. 

If we should meet again at starless flash 
safe within crumbling palaces of bone, 
we may exchange insightful tales of fate 
to resurrect blind demons from our hearts 
and banish them with laughter to the moon 
at sudden comprehension of torn wings. 

We wait together on the river shore 
to be seen by God in gold cloud of fate, 
but children scatter far across the hills 
which leaves us half-asleep in dreamless heat 
at shocking quickness of the dancing tree 
that hides our sorrow in shadow of eyes. 

Our debt to integration of god eggs 
remains unpaid from countless spins of fear, 
bedazzled by ambiguous ambience 
that we experience in unwindowed room 
where martyred ghosts of honeysuckle twist 
our minds with laughter beyond countless years. 

Each clue I leave on meadow of glass skulls 
blinds your electric eyes with clever code 
so you attempt to sell your wounded heart 
entwined with reason of innocent vines 
if we escape taut mesh of tangled lies 
contained by hideous roar of knelling words. 

Though still unwept by dangerous regret, 
sweet Stella gives me dignity of trust 
which I record in seventh testament 
at dazed solemnity of honest men 
whose shadows sterilize valleys of ghosts, 
fluent with forced fragility of faith. 

Misty Vales Of Caledonia

Misty Vales Of Caledonia
© Surazeus
2026 07 10

Through misty vales of Caledonia 
with lamp of Diogenes on my hand, 
I search for the dream ghost of everywhere 
who seems to know the secret of my name, 
because I hear her voice in tangled woods 
sing heart-enchanting melody of love. 

In shadowed woods of Caledonia 
with sharp spear of Longinus in my hand, 
I find Carline, daughter of Hecate, 
brewing cauldron of honey mushroom wine 
so I offer apples from Tree of Truth 
to star-eyed Nicnevan with long black hair. 

On jagged hills of Caledonia 
with blunt Hammer of Thor in my hand, 
I build stone towers as havens of faith 
where daughters of Scathach may dwell in peace 
to raise brave children of their aching hearts 
who map the world with hard feet of desire. 

From rugged shores of Caledonia 
with billowed sails of curiosity, 
I sail wood ship on flashing waves of hope 
along Black River of Goddess Danu 
who leads her people to the Promised Land 
to live safe from the swords of hungry greed. 

Up winding trails of Caledonia 
with Wand of Zambor to steady my gait, 
I climb fairy hill of Sith Chailleann 
where winds of wisdom swirling flakes of snow 
speak with voices my ancestors expressed 
about strange history of humanity. 

By sparkling lakes of Caledonia 
with eye-phone linking to the world wide web, 
I film deep waters of placid Loch Ness 
in hope to see lithe monster of God Mind 
that lurks in lightless abyss of my heart 
with arcane knowledge of all human fate. 

Down secret caves of Caledonia 
with flashlight that illuminates the mind, 
I find skulls of demonic dinosaurs, 
who roamed the world millions of years ago 
before we evolved to angels from mice, 
to record riddles of their prophecies. 

Across lush fields of Caledonia 
with horse of courage swift as morning wind, 
I confront the dream ghost of everywhere 
who shows me how history will unfold 
through revelation of messiah sleuth 
whose spirit wakes in hearts of all mankind. 

Official Mask Of Fate

Official Mask Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 07 09

Stuck in the painting of my faceless ghost, 
that hangs on sun-bleached wall of bloodless wind 
in empty house somewhere on signless road 
where no one ever goes to find their heart, 
I pretend I am cold light of the moon 
as I float deep in water of my mind. 

Awake in timeless silence of undeath, 
I love to feel soft undulating waves 
that people speak caress my tingling skin 
so I almost remember secret name 
my mother dreamed one hour before my birth 
which gleams as sunlight in web of tree limbs. 

While sitting in my house on somewhere street, 
with wife and children in their private rooms, 
I hear ten million voices whisper poems 
that pulse with energy of my heartbeat 
in global choir of angels who express 
ache of sorrow to design happiness. 

Your secret hopes and fears echo in words 
you write in posts on social media sites 
that shimmer in great cloud of divine lights 
translating human thoughts from tweets of birds 
that blend in raucous harmony of hope 
with desperate need to help each other cope. 

Though I gaze in pool where Narcissus drowned, 
I see your faces blend in my one face 
for we are angels of one human race 
born from First Mother whose whole heart is crowned 
with jeweled ring of wisdom we all share 
in coil of genes that weaves our souls with care. 

Though I hear all your voices echo clear 
in woods where Echo plays the violin, 
that radiates vibes of mental medicine, 
I sing in syncopated rhyme of cheer 
that cracks enormous egg of dragon brain 
which nourishes my heart to soothe its pain. 

Bloomed in the painting of my faceless ghost 
which I wear as official mask of fate, 
I attend the Global Conference of Seers 
at University of Zarathia 
to present panel on star prophecies 
composed by Sibyl in the Vatican. 

All weird illusions of my special role 
dissipate to mist on shore of the lake 
where words of every poem that humans write 
sparkle as water of silent respect 
on which I row my boat of fantasy 
to photograph proud monster of the deep. 

Justice For Every Soul

Justice For Every Soul
© Surazeus
2026 07 08

You are happy to find the broken moon 
in pool of rain outside abandoned house 
where your grandmother grills demonic fish 
with miso soup and noodles of frog brains, 
so you pretend to own your happiness 
when you stand on the porch and wonder why. 

On the way back to the last town on Earth, 
where children live in television screens, 
we stop at diner by the factory, 
where your grandfather made Volkswagen cars, 
and eat hamburgers from dinosaur meat 
while watching soccer on the frazzled wall. 

You are not scared of spiders in your eyes 
for they refract conceptual dreams of gods 
to prove we still know how to make the fire 
from ancient books of lies that preachers sell 
because you talk to pigs about the law 
that requires we donate more than we steal. 

Time unwinds laughter you hide in fake books 
because you watch the science fiction show 
about the captain and his ship of fools 
who must contend with demigods and ghouls 
when darkness of autumn evening descends 
on city of ten thousand screaming trains. 

You stare at face of your first teddy bear 
and ask him why he wants to climb the pole 
where savior of the world hangs crucified 
as if he whispers secrets of your heart 
that unwrite centuries of holy writ 
despite how you cook omelets at dawn. 

You sit three thousand years in attic room, 
peeling oranges for refugees of war 
who appear and disappear in your ken 
till singers gather on the castle lawn 
in calm rebellion of the broken heart 
because you want justice for every soul. 

You hear about your father on the news 
shot dead by agents of the government 
while he was driving to work building homes, 
and when you hear his voice on video 
cry for help as he bleeds on the hot road 
you transform into white horse in the egg. 

You walk alone on ocean shore of fate 
and ask the mindless wind why men must hate 
people who just want to live their own way, 
then you turn around and point at my mask, 
but I have become you inside your head 
so you map world where angels fear to tread. 

Endless Road Of Certainty

Endless Road Of Certainty
© Surazeus
2026 07 08

Too many ways to fall from the blank sky 
interrupt my game of fun chess with Death 
on the beach where children play hide and seek 
to understand how televisions work 
when unseen signals vibrate through the air 
in psychic waves of interactive dreams. 

Too fast for fierce human eyes to detect, 
ghosts flit around our bodies of frail flesh 
on wings of words derived from psychic trash 
and weave with riddle code of honesty 
addictive webs of enervating thoughts 
constraining choices of fate we compose. 

Too far down endless road of certainty 
I wander far beyond necessity 
with ardent faith in what was never real 
till I stand stunned on high edge of the world 
to stare at silver flux of secrecy 
discerned by thoughtless minds of decency. 

Too late for me to address you by name, 
I look for you in every empty room 
because I want to understand your heart 
and what strange passion of hidden desire 
motivates you attempt to stall death 
though we all will die and return to dust. 

Too soon for Jesus to return again 
from Heaven that persists inside our brains 
as Realm of Ideas that never change, 
eternal forms of objects I perceive 
provide blueprint for atoms to compose 
seething bodies from hot energy waves. 

Too close to source of psychic vibrancy, 
I twirl in graceful glide of urgency 
to generate new life before I die 
since I have been reborn since dawn of time 
from coil of genes in writhing mental vine 
which makes me feel immortal as the stars. 

Too slow for fate to allocate my rights 
with flexible modes of contingency, 
Death waits for me far down the signless road 
so I stroll calmly along winding streams 
and scatter fruit seeds of fertility 
across the waste land of my solitude. 

Too few alternatives for rising up 
from thick rotundity of our vast world, 
I feel all-shaking thunder of desire 
swell molds of nature with intense concern 
to flush my heart with gratefulness at life 
when storms forge courage in my cautious heart. 

Safe In The Sad Forever

Safe In The Sad Forever
© Surazeus
2026 07 07

Safe in the sad forever of my heart, 
I take solace with arrogant respect 
that all living creatures move toward their end, 
because at final rush of victory 
beneath brilliant cross of flashing sunrays 
we know strange beauty of eternity. 

Safe in the sad forever of God Brain, 
I ride electric horse with rainbow wings 
in swirling chaos of perceptive plans 
to take my children to the river park 
where they play tag with fairies and kobolds 
that teach them secrets of eternal life. 

Safe in the sad forever of huge books, 
I play mad wizard to categorize 
the fantasy-industrial complex 
composed of spiritual cults that preserve 
arcane secrets of invisible seers 
who keep wise Sibyl locked in golden cage. 

Safe in the sad forever of fruit trees, 
I chat about philosophy of truth 
with rainbow serpent of the sorcerer 
who teaches me how to reanimate 
bodies of the dead with potion of faith 
brewed from honey and mushrooms with love. 

Safe in the sad forever of vast woods, 
I measure winding flow of mountain streams 
through brave analysis of legal rights 
concerning who asserts their privilege 
to play the broken lyre of Mercury 
preserved in museum of singing skulls. 

Safe in the sad forever of deep lakes, 
I program zeitgeist of the modern world 
in fractured narrative of fairytales 
describing placid life of cubicles 
as high achievement of the human race 
since evolving four hundred million years. 

Safe in the sad forever of glass church, 
I bend slant rays of alabaster keys 
to catch swift falcon of the history gyre 
who shows me how to bind the center core 
which holds all nations of the world by law 
united through bold rights of liberty. 

Safe in the sad forever of gold clouds, 
I write code for world spirit of the Earth 
at second coming of messiah sleuth 
who plays the broken lyre inside my heart 
with vexed assessment of lost centuries 
when I slouch toward Oregon to be born. 

Among The First To Wake

Among The First To Wake
© Surazeus
2026 07 07

Among the first to wake in dream of Earth, 
Enitha glides along lush river shore 
among pink primrose blooming softly sweet 
from gentle caress of her tender feet 
that leads her path to silent misty moor 
where luminous phantom gleams in her eyes. 

Strange butterfly of sorrow with gold eyes 
lands on large apple in broad tangled tree 
so shy Enitha reaches out her hand 
just as bright lightning flashes in black cloud 
so she breathes sudden gust of crackling wind 
when luminous phantom scatters black rain. 

When giant spider, larger than her hand, 
crawls up trunk of the broken apple tree, 
Enitha holds her trembling body still 
to watch how long legs weave thin silver web 
that shimmers with each gust of subtle wind 
as luminous phantom gleams in raindrops. 

Small herd of deer with large black eyes of faith, 
yet tense with skittish innocence of fear, 
assemble on shore of the sparkling stream 
to drink with cautious terror of desire 
but flee in shadow of the ancient woods 
when luminous phantom opens her eyes. 

Among the first to wake from dream of time, 
Enitha gazes long at sparkling stars 
that flicker in soft undulating waves 
with swirl of clouds lit gold by sudden moon 
that rises dripping from deep mountain lake 
since luminous phantom knows her true name. 

Elegant horse with long shimmering mane 
grazes on low hill slope among tall grass, 
so lithe Enitha hides in tall oak tree, 
afraid that graceful creature with black eyes 
may race away into the rainbow sky 
when luminous phantom offers her fruit. 

Stretching her arms after sitting five hours 
drawing panels for her graphic webtoon 
that features Enitha at dawn of time, 
Sakura wanders in slippers and pink robe 
to the kitchen where she drinks apple juice, 
yet luminous phantom floats in her mind. 

Watching cars glide on busy road below, 
Sakura ponders how her cute fantasy tale 
should progress that displays her character 
as fragile girl with cautious innocence 
who grows strong when she faces obstacles 
so luminous phantom blooms in her heart.