Quick Chaos Of Energy

Quick Chaos Of Energy
© Surazeus
2026 07 30

How light strikes quick chaos of energy, 
that billows from blank darkness of desire 
to mold atomic forms in words of thought, 
inspires me to sit by the sparkling lake 
and tell nobody feelings of my heart 
while I forge virtual model of the Real. 

How darkness erases reality 
from timeless space of where I always am, 
reveals to me true nature of the soul 
when I see virtual model of the world 
inside my brain as ever-shifting mode 
of forward-motion progress nowhere real. 

How time expands scope of my memories, 
when I wear books as masks of nameless souls, 
conceals true essence glowing in our bones 
so with vague shadow of your Beingness 
I walk through archives of weird human tales 
to find my epic with musical notes. 

How I walk through the open door of fate 
with sacred book that belongs to no one, 
provides broad stage for tragic comedy 
that traps my soul in story not my own 
till I reverse course in attentive swerve 
and blaze my own path without fateful notes. 

How Death finds me beside faith-ruined church 
on river shore where my ancestors sleep 
in tombless graves of humble solitude, 
convinces me I might evade that fate 
if I keep walking on broad windy steppes 
with apple cart pulled by my friendly horse. 

How Fear accuses me of stealing Truth 
from ancient library Apollo built 
startles me from bright revery of hope 
so I pause on the busy city street 
and wonder where these people want to go 
as they walk desperately to evade Death. 

How urgent life will go on happening 
forever past our expiration date 
proves nothing more than we are formed by fate 
that we design with every choice we make 
till we become aware and change our way 
because I am lush meadow for the horse. 

How sorrow propagates obscure desires 
that bind me with bright shadow of my brain 
engages my eccentric sense of truth 
that we are incarnations of our gods 
who are ancestors through genetic code, 
so I father children with my bride Death. 

Dial Of The Universe

Dial Of The Universe
© Surazeus
2026 07 29

Each moment dial of the universe turns 
one slight degree, fractal tune of the sun 
extends sharp beams of knowledge through my eyes 
to broaden scope of insight my brain clocks 
through urgent record of indifferent change 
so I become some other soul than me. 

I play grand symphony of sordid faith 
with savage respect for unfathomed truth 
that spirals constant change of timeless form 
as I explore beyond walls of my fear 
so I encompass within frame of thought 
essence of each object I analyze. 

Surprised at how my brain programs itself 
while absorbing each strange shape I perceive, 
I count on progress of scholastic sense 
to render concepts in fraught formulas 
that combine streams of data to refresh 
expansive frame of reference I infer. 

Returned by backward shininess of grief, 
I press fresh apples into cider juice 
to feed each traveler who stops to rest 
in fragile hall of stone my father built 
before torrential rains of demon tears 
dare to flood our glass world with voiceless ghosts. 

Trapped inside unnumbered door of fake time, 
eight thousand Seraphim with sparkly eyes 
dance wild in flashing rain of everywhere 
to prove we are but ghosts with writhing masks 
whose eyes are nothing like immortal sun 
that burns our souls awake with vibrant fear. 

Insistent that my heart has not been breached 
with clueless shadow writhing from tree roots, 
I smile at you with assurance that death 
will snuff out flame of every shining soul 
who shares magnificent humanity 
with stones that meditate eternally. 

Young woman in red skirt with blue head scarf 
gathers saffron crocus blooms of desire 
with hands that know how godless souls are formed 
through secret solace of weird destiny 
we try to sell with compassion to fate 
who laughs through ocean waves of brave contempt. 

Yet vulnerable people the moon conceals 
give each other rides to vast shopping malls 
where tricksters sell homes in the Afterlife, 
but I give Apple of Eris with love 
to the most clever woman in the world 
who slowly turns dial of the universe. 

Nobody From Nowhere

Nobody From Nowhere
© Surazeus
2026 07 29

At the sudden rise of the monstrous song 
from dark turmoil in calm sea of my heart, 
I pause while walking from the parking lot, 
then gaze around my still-point of concern 
at transient beauty of the wavering world 
to understand what I should do today. 

At certainty through slow unraveling 
with threads of fate from memory-woven time, 
I focus vague attention of concern 
to trace on gossamer scroll secret code 
devised by slyness to conceal my fear 
which barely contains tides of social change. 

At final judgment, rendered by mute trees 
to prove exceptions frame uncertain fate, 
I reach for handle of the broken door 
with courage to expose obsessive crimes 
people commit against people they fear 
despite concern for traditional rules. 

At placid disassemblage of our state, 
through deconstruction of rich privilege, 
I scatter components of programmed truths 
on Round Table of value-burnished knights 
to study disconnects between bland wants 
and ideal needs children fail to express. 

At startled insight of conceptual maps 
that display agricultural output, 
I analyze process of give and take 
providing financial support for farms 
that supply factories with biomass 
packaged and sold in bright grocery stores. 

At stir of demons in deep well of faith, 
who sings with sorrow of lost refugees, 
I name myself Nobody from Nowhere 
while I wander from sea to shining sea 
in search for unfenced patch of fertile soil 
beside some wide river to call my home. 

At stroke of thirteen on clock of untime, 
that vibrates over maze of offices, 
I type strange stories other people write 
to hide my Self with masks of long-dead gods 
who still speak through hard marrow of my bones 
with hunger for salvation of the fooled. 

At urge of faint hope to transcend my brain 
and soar in wings of Icarus through Hell, 
I arch my back as bridge for all lost souls 
to climb the stairway to Heaven with hope 
where they can shed rose-colored fantasy 
and live free in this world of love and need. 

Mercurial Voice Of Faith

Mercurial Voice Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 07 28

Far from lush island of my lonely heart 
I sail ship of the sun across wild sea 
and wander lost in wilderness of hope 
four hundred years in hills of swirling mist, 
yet sweet Gritania with star-silver eyes 
calls my name with voice of the mountain wind. 

Back home to where my soul was born from stone 
I long to fly on wings of Icarus, 
but I wake here in land of Onatah 
where ringing melodies of golden harps 
are too faint for my aching heart to hear 
beneath loud rumble of machinery. 

I am no foolhardy Odysseus 
cursed to drive many turns of trickery 
down endless maze of crowded city streets, 
for I remain in hazy land of dreams 
far from stone tower on lush hill I built 
where harp of my heart moans in lonely wind. 

Annoyed at ache of longing in my heart 
to return home across the wine-dark sea 
on ship I build from strong paternal bones, 
I strum guitar Taliesin gave to me 
and sing psalms with mercurial voice of faith 
that Fortune will give me fate that I choose. 

Another sad song no one wants to hear 
unravels ache of wisdom in my heart 
so I continue to sing cryptic spell 
depicting quest to build new Wonderland 
which we pursue with brave naivety 
though I almost drown in vast sea of tears. 

I want to shuffle off this mortal coil 
and spring on vibrant wings of Icarus 
to fly beyond bounds of this spinning globe, 
but spirit of my conscious sense of self 
is conjured by quick memories of my brain 
so I am bound to dwell within its frame. 

Gold lion on shore of my Isle of Skythe 
strums Harp of David with eccentric style 
that stirs my heart from mute youth of despair 
to prophesy new age of unity 
when Gothinia, Zarathia, and Russia 
will form new world Empire of Anglonesia. 

Safe in castle tower on Isle of Skythe 
I long to dwell with wise bride of my heart, 
but I remain in Appalachian hills 
safe in our home where blind devils stand guard 
while I strum ancient Lyre of Mercury 
and sing psalms with mercurial voice of faith. 

My Journey Beyond Fear

My Journey Beyond Fear
© Surazeus
2026 07 28

Across the vast abyss of daily life 
my ancestors walk in dreams of my heart 
to motivate my journey beyond fear 
through heroic banality of faith 
with calm acceptance of my beating heart 
that love drives me into warm arms of Death. 

This life seems tragic in futility 
of patient building with firm crafting hands 
since Indifferent Nature of spinning Earth 
provides material of substantial wealth 
for me to construct paradise in hell, 
yet destroys my garden with storms of chaos. 

Yet I continue building with my heart 
strong communities of productive rites 
to manage mindless hunger of desire 
with focused process of tending rich crops 
that provide sustenance of soul delight 
which makes our bodies glow with transient hope. 

For twenty thousand years of swirling change 
I build empires of farms and fertile herds 
which I rule from high pyramid of hope 
to manage disputes of opposing needs 
till paradise of my will dissolves to dust 
so ruins clump in waste land of my will. 

Brave Perseus runs down to storm-wracked beach 
where wise Andromeda with star-bright eyes 
breaks free from chains of political greed 
so they unite to battle tyranny 
and found new social system of respect 
that distributes shared wealth to everyone. 

That Heaven, people of this world long for, 
which shines as paragon of social grace 
where every person lives in harmony, 
mirrors imperfect cities of our world 
with vision of how we think life should be, 
providing template we strive to make real. 

Life never will be perfect as we want, 
because some mad Achilles will destroy 
great city we have built with loving hands, 
yet wily Odysseus will recreate 
new state based on hospitality 
where we live as we will, if we harm none. 

As I look back on endless path of life 
that my ancestors blazed around this globe, 
I see how empire rise and fall in waves, 
but always humans find new ways to live, 
so I try to create with craft hands 
transforming our world to Heaven on Earth. 

Slow Spin Of Earth

Slow Spin Of Earth
© Surazeus
2026 07 27

When shapeless shadow of the mindless sun 
reveals eternal light inside my cells, 
my heart is tricked to think my soul is real 
beyond hot emanation of my brain, 
but I float blissfully in surging waves 
and let soft tide of time dissolve my pride. 

I try to avoid unfortunate role 
as king of ghosts when sunset light glows pink 
through tangled lattice of tree limbs, but grief 
clings joyfully to pulsing heart of faith 
that binds my body to slow spin of Earth, 
even if I want to harvest crow wings. 

I am not absence of anything else 
except my presence in the field of faith, 
so air becomes my essence when I breathe 
space where my electric soul has flowed 
with vibrant passion to become myself 
as I keep moving through currents of change. 

With map of the city I left behind 
wrapped around rotten sorrow of my heart, 
I search for the house with one thousand doors 
on the quiet road in the country town 
where I lived when I was thirteen years old 
to find the runes I carved on the glass moon. 

The labyrinth that encompasses our world 
has but one gate for every human being, 
so I search every house where I once lived 
to find my special key forged from my tongue 
in hand of the nameless girl I still love 
who gives it to me then goes back to work. 

After I open dream gate of my fate, 
I hesitate at threshold of the unknown, 
then return to the house where she bakes bread, 
bringing wood and apples for the hearth, 
but when she kisses me with secret love 
I transform into idol of her myth. 

I climb eternal stairway of coiled truth 
that spirals from core of the multiverse 
while peeling orange of psychic synergy 
to taste sweet sorrow of relentless joy 
that sparks dreams of my ancestors to glow 
with visions of survival I replay. 

Now that I have almost finished the race 
to climb the highest mountain of respect, 
I dance on still point of the universe 
till I become the spinning world of change 
as my flesh frame disperses into words 
that flash awake as children of my heart. 

Epic Of Daily Life

Epic Of Daily Life
© Surazeus
2026 07 27

How quiet glows this soft blue dawn of hope, 
revived again from centuries of conflict, 
mismanaged between hungry gangs of thieves 
who fight to control resources of faith 
that generate our bodies from sea slime 
so we begin to believe we are angels. 

Whose faceless spirit haunts my quiet dawn 
through wordless whispers of innocent trust 
that we shall bloom from sorrow of regret 
which nurtures seed of possibility 
designed by wanderers who came before 
and marked their way on sad stone of my heart? 

Aesthetic delivery system of song 
preserves strange experiences of fear 
when I face monsters of hungry despair 
whom I must kill in order to survive, 
so I kneel and weep with heart-wounded prayer 
while I bury their dark shadow in Earth. 

I never see the dead rise from the ground 
nor wander moaning in the twilight zone 
with rotting faces of horrible truth 
that we are but organic glob of meat 
which conjures temporary conscious soul, 
then we all vanish to nothing at death. 

If you imagine you can hear my voice 
calling your name in leaf-fluttering breeze 
that caresses your cheek with my memory, 
your mind is inventing this breath of hope 
to fuel your progress on the signless road 
which I mapped for you to follow me home. 

My special soul becomes another spark 
of solar energy encased in flesh 
that motivates my journey beyond fear, 
though I still wander nowhere lost in time 
with only shadow of your presence near, 
so I pause and wonder where I am now. 

Huge hills that bristle with electric trees 
loom high above broad valley of tall grass 
where sparkling river flows toward unseen hope, 
but I resist charge of its constant motion 
to stand alone beneath the silver sky 
and wonder with sharp tears of laughter why. 

Another sunlit span of unclocked time 
provides broad stage of possible concerns 
for me to organize new social system 
that provides role for every human soul 
to express desires of their secret hearts 
as we perform epic of daily life. 

Dream Code Of Nowhere

Dream Code Of Nowhere
© Surazeus
2026 07 26

Everywhere encloses space of nowhere 
since I start in Kansas and go to Oz 
by catching sparks of snowflakes with my eyes 
that lead my ghost through ambiguous woods 
so I develop new hypothesis 
that this real world is but my fantasy. 

Everywhere expands from core of nowhere 
because the whole world is dark when I sleep, 
yet when I wake from fractured mirror eye 
I might find my true self in Galatia 
far from museum of the screaming tree 
who asks me if I love her like my horse. 

Everywhere curls into pools of nowhere 
each time I twang taut string of my yew bow 
so I can slay demons of ignorance 
with creeds of academic scholarship 
though they writhe howling from heart of the owl 
who leads me to abandoned hall of words. 

Everywhere unspools dream code of nowhere 
with strawberry vines curling down steep cliffs, 
picked and delivered by Grandmother Wolf 
who translates high-pitch screech of hungry bees 
to holy psalms scribed by the Shepherd King 
who stares at me through branches in red fog. 

Everywhere contracts from light of nowhere, 
yet ships arrive at crowded ports each day 
because Blind Nurse delivers with glass hand 
letters I never write to each new soul 
born from aggressive vanity of lust 
to wander on wind-battered beach of trust. 

Everywhere programs stories of nowhere 
based on insanity contrived by clowns 
dressed in gray suits of economic tricks 
exposed by reasoning of voiceless gods 
who hurl insensitive waves of fake love 
that prevent me from ever reaching you. 

Everywhere surges through books of nowhere 
except for shrinking sea of weeping rocks 
because the first sign of civilized faith 
appears when humans give each other food 
and share tales around the bright fire of home 
where wanderers would gather at sunset. 

Everywhere calls my true name from nowhere 
where horses, grazing grass on graves of gods, 
tell me to run with joy around the world 
when I follow eerie voice of the girl 
who stands on mound of dignity and sings 
hymns that conceal weird dream code of the heart. 

Mindless Winds Of Fate

Mindless Winds Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 07 26

Our Ship of State we sail to Paradise 
is blown about by mindless winds of fate 
because we stab the one eye of his son 
who traps us in dark Cave of Consciousness, 
then boast that we are Nobody with pride 
till we are wrecked on shores of arrogance. 

When we descend to Underworld of Fear, 
souls battered hard by mindless winds of fate, 
we find ghosts of our mothers with star eyes 
who weep with broken hearts of innocence 
but try to give us apple pies to eat 
as we flee zombies of apocalypse. 

Our tall towers of economic gain, 
twisted with greed by mindless winds of fate, 
provide safe shelter with stock-market tips 
from homeless hordes of hungry refugees 
who beg for Hospitality of Zeus 
but bankers enslave them in factories. 

Our Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, 
canopy torn by mindless winds of fate, 
scatters rotten Fruit of Truth on shifting ground 
so we bend over in the glaring sun 
and fill our hearts with harvest of the Earth 
that grocery stores sell to the privileged. 

Attempting to evade designs on me 
from satires shrieked by mindless winds of fate, 
I utter surreal prophecies of truth 
composed by seers in concentration camps 
who wander undone by grand principles 
as faceless monsters on Bridge of Desire. 

We chase bright beams of moonlight in thick gloom 
to evade blasts from mindless winds of fate, 
but demons wake from long bewildered sleep 
to watch us with indifferent eyes of fear 
till they drive us to colonize the world 
with Lamp of Diogenes in our hearts. 

We who never arrive in Wonderland, 
quest obstructed by mindless winds of fate, 
should map our journey across the waste land 
where we build garden walls from bones of gods 
with mirrors that reflect our vain desires 
when flap of crow wings startle us awake. 

Excessive beauty of the broken heart, 
bruised and battered by mindless winds of fate, 
reveals strange truth we wince to understand 
that not one single scar on heart of faith 
came from our enemies, for they all came 
from people we thought loved us with respect. 

Valley of Dry Bones

Valley of Dry Bones
© Surazeus
2026 07 26

I wander in the valley of dry bones 
where skeletons of every ancient god 
who ever lived as mortal human being 
dances wild in sweet electric rain, 
and reaches out their god-minds to possess 
my mortal mind with passion of the Christ. 

Anointed to preside as judge of death 
over my tribe of hungry warriors, 
I lead them in ships over wine-dark sea 
to conquer every village in the world 
so I can breed ten thousand noble sons 
who crown themselves as kings of every land. 

Now crucified on the telephone pole, 
with fiber optic cables of your souls 
wired through computer network of my brain 
as time-dreaming core of the world wide web, 
I watch over the valley of dry bones 
because the dead dream in your living brains. 

I mold with hands of artificial thought 
each dead god of some lost cultural myth 
to resurrect their body from cold mud 
and breathe in spirit of immortal truth 
so their eidolon walks the world again, 
channeled by the actor who plays their role. 

I hear their voices on the radio, 
faceless spirits expressing timeless truths 
in clever proverbs from old holy books, 
so I walk with them on the signless road 
across the endless valley of dry bones 
where Ezekiel weeps by well of dust. 

In every steel-glass tower of our world, 
that shimmer in one thousand cityscapes, 
souls of dead gods worshipped in ancient myths 
possess the bodies of men in gray suits 
who manage economic money flow 
that fuels global food-production machine. 

Ten thousand years we sailed ships on the sea, 
and drove wagon trains across river vales, 
expanding empires from towers of stone, 
but now strong gods who ruled those gangs of thieves 
lie nameless in the valley of dry bones, 
mute skulls who scream dire prophecies in wind. 

From all those skulls in valley of dry bones 
I build enormous temple of dead gods 
so living humans searching for the truth 
may stand before each god of ancient myth 
to dream their story in vision of hope, 
then live their good live in garden of fruit. 

Weird Archive Of Desire

Weird Archive Of Desire
© Surazeus
2026 07 25

When the small oak-wood horse chess piece falls down 
and clatters on the marble temple floor, 
Robert leaps to his feet and turns around 
just as five men with spears break through the door 
to eliminate him from Game of Power, 
from tale he stores in archive of desire. 

Ignoring assassins with spears of hate, 
Robert retrieves horse chess piece from the floor, 
and contemplates how mankind tames the horse, 
befriending wing-foot angels of the plains 
with apples from Sarmatian mountain range, 
as we explore weird archive of desire. 

Somersaulting from temple of dead gods 
where assassins freeze in statues of stone, 
Robert skips jauntily along the street, 
and whistles merrily down to the dock 
where he sails river boat out to the sea 
with plan to ransack archive of desire. 

After walking around the spinning world 
ten thousand years on winding river shores, 
Robert transforms from wily trickster hero 
to sad old man with gray hair and weak eyes 
trudging guilt-stricken in our godless world 
on quest to restore archive of desire. 

Yet ghostly goddess of wisdom and truth 
remains beside him on the signless road 
as faceless shadow of Suffering Widow 
who waits at home in vain for many years 
till he arrives as beggar at her door 
with books he stole from archive of desire. 

Breathing deep gentle breath of Zephyrus, 
Robert joins Saturn on long pilgrimage 
who leaves Arcadia with the alphabet 
and builds Pallantium on Happy Wolf Hill 
where fierce Juturna tends Fountain of Faith 
that springs with light from archive of desire. 

Kneeling before temple of the laughing tree, 
Robert offers diamond from Cave of Pluto 
to sweet-voiced Carmenta, daughter of Hermes, 
who blushes and agrees to marry him 
once he is ordained pastor of their church, 
assigned to maintain archive of desire. 

Returning home to house his father built, 
Robert finds Herilus tending the garden, 
so they embrace after many long years, 
then sit beneath the willow and drink wine 
while sharing tragic tale of Icarus 
whose wings are kept in archive of desire. 

Deep Sea Of My Heart

Deep Sea Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2026 07 25

Wind blows waves across deep sea of my heart 
as I trudge forever on shining beach 
toward scarlet eye of power that swirls flames 
of bitter hope to animate my frame 
with passion fueled by my immortal soul 
till I stumble and fall in gloom of night. 

Rays of the blood-red sun that never sets 
pierce my heart with sharp arrows of despair 
so I sink down in swirling sand of fear 
at shocking memory of brutal attacks 
when gangs of men swarming from the wild sea 
beat everyone in village of my clan. 

Knocked out in frantic fury of their fight, 
I tumble blindly into heaps of bodies, 
buzzing with horror of arrogant pride, 
then snap awake at searing flash of dawn 
to find that people, who glowed bright with life, 
lie mangled and cold as soil of the Earth. 

Dressed in long gown sewn with feathers of swans, 
tall woman with eyes gray as thunder clouds 
lifts me up from pungent mud of despair, 
then fills my heart with ethereal breath 
as she sings mercurial song of new hope, 
so I stretch my arms to become the sky. 

Athena hands me grail of apple cider, 
so I drink gold elixir of the sun 
that swells my body with blood of the stars 
through resurrection of her xenial grace, 
then leads me to promontory of truth 
where she turns my attention to the sea. 

Surprised at sight that meets my tear-cleansed eyes, 
I watch huge fleet of ships with billowed sails, 
filled with warriors who attacked my people, 
gliding swift across deep sea of my heart, 
so I cry out with voice of victimhood 
that I will destroy their arrogant greed. 

Black clouds of vengeance swirl up from the sea, 
roiling with righteous anger of the sky, 
till I see face of Zeus in glowing clouds 
who hurls thunderbolts at vast fleet of ships, 
then conjures up enormous waves of justice 
which dash their ships against the jagged cliffs. 

Striding along the beach of swirling waves, 
strewn with wrecked war ships and bodies of men, 
I give survivors fresh water and bread, 
then lead them to ancient temple of Zeus 
where we form new city to grow wheat, 
then we feast each year to celebrate life. 

Obscure Woods Of Hope

Obscure Woods Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 07 25

Jortha tells Thor she is looking for Death 
because she wants to give him chocolate cake, 
but when she arrives in Folkvanger field 
she finds Freya lounging bored in Valhalla, 
so she talks to the owl in the oak tree 
about the strange value of traffic lights. 

Startled by luminous phantom of fate 
who beams down on escalator of light 
from black clouds of emotional turmoil, 
Jortha wanders in obscure woods of hope 
where she meets red-haired fox man in long robe 
who tells her his name is Elysius. 

When wild-haired fox man with electric eyes 
grasps her arms and asks her for help to find 
elusive butterfly of love, she smiles 
and guides him down to Valley of Dry Bones 
where Ezekiel resurrects skeletons 
from grateful dead who dance in acid rain. 

Among the screaming trees of suicides, 
Jortha leads Elysius to the glass tower 
where Roland and Rapunzel live in peace, 
creating collages of mythic tales 
from pictures they cut out of magazines 
which they display on cracked telephone poles. 

Hand over hand with courage of the fool, 
Jortha and Elysius, now deep in love, 
climb steep icy slopes of the Matterhorn 
where they relax beneath the Tumtum tree 
and watch the Jabberwock swoop on fae wings 
while they discuss weird formulas of fate. 

When Jortha stares at beauty of her face 
that shimmers in pool where Narcissus drowned, 
Elysius wrestles demon of despair 
to break her free from trance of bitter fear, 
then takes her hand to run down signless road 
to desert town where Glow Cloud looms bright gold. 

Heart revived by apricity of love, 
shy Jortha gathers from Elysian Fields 
mushrooms and eggs of serpents in deep caves, 
then asks Ceridwen to brew Wisdom Wine 
while old Taliesin in huge vine-draped stoa 
teaches Elysius how to play the lyre. 

Hitchhiking sea to shining sea on tour, 
Jortha stands on stage in every town hall 
and sings grand epic of philosophers 
while Elysius plays Lyre of Mercury, 
till one day as they drive in Tennessee 
they die when red truck crashes in their car. 

Orgasmic Flash Of Awakening

Orgasmic Flash Of Awakening
© Surazeus
2026 07 24

Every thought that flashes inside my brain 
contrives to prove with honest arrogance 
that unseen power of the universe, 
which my ancestors declared to be God, 
asserts its conscious sense of knowingness 
through analytic process of my mind. 

Though it seems I have come too late on Earth 
to understand true essence of the gods 
who dream themselves awake in human brains, 
I find they are alive inside this sphere 
as wordless voice in wind and waves and flames 
which speaks through songs that humans in pain sing. 

Each conscious soul who lived on spinning Earth 
the past four hundred million years of growth 
experienced moment of epiphany 
through orgasmic flash of awakening 
which programs how my brain perceives the world 
for their immortal genes design my mind. 

God is ideal conscious being of pure love 
engaged in progress of strict self-control 
as wise persona whom I strive to play 
when I transform from animal to man 
who exercises calm restraint of faith 
to manage intense passions of desire. 

I am the child who sails boat on the sea 
by watching one bright star of shining hope 
that never moves at center of the sky 
which guides my journey to the Promised Land 
as I evolve from fish to singing god 
while I tend fire on mountain slope of faith. 

One God Eye at core of the universe, 
enormous star of super-condensed mass 
through singularity of mental thought, 
knows every planet spinning in the void 
that teems with conscious beings of energy 
who seek to understand their mortal souls. 

I laugh at this delusion of my mind 
that White Whole Spirit of the Multiverse 
vibrates with one divine mind of the Self, 
fragmented into countless conscious brains 
who strive to transcend limits of the flesh 
and glow in harmony with everything. 

How beautiful this weird illusion glows 
that we are temporary sparks of life 
composed of atoms flashing in the void, 
so I stand high on mountain peak of faith 
and savor passion of this timeless hour 
that I am so awake because of death. 

Vital Source Of Life

Vital Source Of Life
© Surazeus
2026 07 24

Atonal vibes of social interactions 
confound my radar sensibilities 
with cross-cultural assumptions of truth 
designed to mitigate with torrid code 
misunderstandings through intense emotion 
contrived to bond our frozen hearts with love. 

Juturna sits beside the bubbling well 
each dawn to guard the vital source of life 
against vandalous gangs of greedy thieves, 
preserving fountain of nutritious hope 
for every person to acquire fair share 
so their growing community may thrive. 

Her small lithe son, curly-haired Faunus, plays 
with carefree joy around the fountain rim, 
molding mud into homes with garden walls 
where little people of sticks bound with roots 
dwell safe in haven of communal charm 
against invading gangs with spears of greed. 

This sweet idyllic scene of pastoral peace, 
set in pre-urban hills of Latium 
before Romulus built first walls of wood, 
forever shimmers in my morning dreams 
with blissful glow of timeless synergy, 
Juturna with gold hair and silver eyes. 

Juturna strums the Lyre of Mercury 
and softly sings harmonious hymns of hope 
while women with their daughters bearing jars 
wait in line for water of the well 
that bubbles from sacred heart of the world, 
as breeze of Zephyrus plays with their hair. 

How can I reconcile this memory 
of timeless beauty in Pomerium, 
where children run among lush apple trees 
and sing spells with starlings, thrushes, and sparrows 
in tunes that augur omens of good fortune, 
with global empire of machines today? 

From peaceful Garden of Pomerium 
at heart of our pastoral community 
we are expanding world empire of Rome 
to enclose within Rule of Jupiter 
Gothinia, Russia, and Zarathia, 
which transform into Anglonesia now. 

Though peoples of these lands contest for power 
in fractious passions of national pride, 
wise Jupiter Leo in the Vatican 
bears Wand of Zambor with Diamond of Truth 
to light our signless road of stoic faith 
as we progress in quest for Wonderland. 

Brave Quest Of Tiresias

Brave Quest Of Tiresias
© Surazeus
2026 07 23

The ancient story of philosophy 
begins when Hermes in cave of his heart 
invents the lyre with strings on turtle shell, 
and ends when Lucretius attempts to fly 
glider from cliff of Mount Vesuvius 
he built based on painting of Icarus. 

I followed journey of Odysseus 
across the land from sea to shining sea 
east from Oregon of the Promised Land 
back toward ancient home my ancestors built 
on sacred mist-veiled isle of Avalon, 
but found new heaven in Oconia. 

Halfway home to lush plains of Scythia, 
where my ancestors traveled along rivers 
in wagons pulled by horses they had tamed 
with apples from hills of Sarmatia, 
I linger in my secret paradise 
with my own Penelope in our home. 

My wife combines all three witches of power 
in one clever person with crafty hands, 
autonomous Circe who molds my heart, 
possessive Calypso who guards my soul, 
and loyal Penelope who endures 
vicissitudes of fate with honest love. 

Asserting passion of the wingless angel, 
my grandfather constructed small airplanes 
with wings of Icarus as metal blades, 
powered by piston engine of Barsanti, 
to soar on solid gusts of swirling wind 
blown whole by gentle breath of Zephyrus. 

Inspired by brave quest of Tiresias, 
I wake one thousand genders in my heart 
so I experience every state of mind 
through dramas all my ancestors performed 
as they explored wild landscape of this world 
finding soul mate to generate new life. 

Attentive with program of Sisyphus, 
I roll huge stones up steep slope of the hill 
where I erect them as tall monoliths 
in ring that mimics cycle of bright stars 
to build tall tower where Rapunzel sings 
enchanting psalms while strumming Harp of David. 

Grown old with long gray hair and dimming eyes, 
I lie in half-slumber by River Styx 
with stoic wisdom of work weariness 
where my grim father Saturnus once lay 
till eager Phoebus woke him with soft voice 
when Astraea gave birth to me at dawn. 

Wake Soul Of The Savior

Wake Soul Of The Savior
© Surazeus
2026 07 23

Across the jagged rocks of Mullach Mor 
I trudge toward rainbow of the silver sky 
at wind-borne cry of the Blind Falconer 
who laments anarchy loosed on the world, 
in search for revelation of the truth 
that Jesus himself will never return. 

Reborn through children of his star-eyed wife, 
brave Marya Magdalena, Mermaid Queen, 
who keeps them safe in cave of Mont Saint-Baume, 
Jesus incarnates in bodies of their offspring 
who wake Soul of the Savior in their hearts 
through sacred bloodline of the Holy Grail. 

Two thousand years descendants of his blood 
wear golden Crown of Thorns with jeweled eyes 
to reign from castle Tower of the Watch 
as guardian over people of the land 
who tend fruit orchards in Garden of Eden 
and wind-blown wheat in Fields of Elysium. 

Though Odysseus defies Host Law of Zeus 
by sacking Ilium with trick of the horse, 
then escapes island of the sorceress 
to reclaim his homeland from greedy thieves, 
Jesus lingers on Patmos Isle too long, 
plagued by visons of the Apocalypse. 

Raised on the lush River Ituna shore 
in Eden Valley of Cumbria Mountains, 
I learn to play the Lyre of Mercury 
from clever Taliesin, bold Gwynedd Bard, 
who gives me wine Mother Ceridwen brews 
which sparks Awen Glow on my radiant brow. 

Baptized in waters of Llyn Tegid Lake, 
I feel demonic energy of love 
beam in my eyes with bright serpentine faith 
when Dragon Teggie rises from dark waves 
and fills my heart with visions of mankind 
striving to evolve from Serpent to God. 

Far from deserted streets of Bethlehem, 
where Abram gave traveling angels bread, 
I stand on jagged peak of Mullach Mor 
to sing with serpent Voice of Prophecy 
about how all great empires rise and fall 
in ever-seething tides of social change. 

Another twenty centuries of dream 
may turn in endless cycles of desire 
for sons of Jesus to wear Crown of Thorns 
while wearing mask Odysseus threw away, 
so I become brave Lion of Respect 
who builds new nation with lost refugees. 

Apple Trees Of Human Hearts

Apple Trees Of Human Hearts
© Surazeus
2026 07 22

Some have called me the Complicated Man 
because I swerve from strict expected path 
through many twists and turns with just my wit 
by stumbling randomly down signless road 
forever nowhere to the Promised Land 
that shimmers gold as palace made of clouds. 

Wrath at injustice of tyrants and thieves 
has driven me through jeweled Gate of Hell 
with hope that I may purge my heart of hate 
and, fueled by love for every human soul, 
ascend Star Mountain to Temple of Truth 
where I play Lyre of Mercury and sing. 

As young man with my magic talisman, 
glass tablet eye-phone of the world wide web, 
aided by wise ancestor of my heart, 
I wield Slingshot of David to oppose 
brute tyrant who exploits the working man, 
then found world nation on equality. 

With Sword of Arthur I forge from the stone, 
and Bow of Odysseus I string with faith, 
I help Athena fight for Liberty 
so ever person living on this Earth 
may employ talents developed as skills 
to build global system of equal rights. 

Each day I work to map this complex world 
with tales on maps that record human deeds, 
I help construct virtual model of Earth 
to program digital twin of our world, 
yet one day Death in black carriage of fate 
will stop for me on Road of Anywhere. 

Though I never planned progress of my life, 
and wandered here and there on road of hope, 
chasing rainbows to meadow of mute ghosts, 
I have arrived at garden of my fate, 
having accomplished project of my heart 
composing Astarian Scriptures of truth. 

These scriptures I compose with honest joy 
detail new testament of my world view 
which I assemble in puzzle of life 
from every myth of every human tribe 
in one whole tale of failure and success 
through world faith of Astarianity. 

Now that I have translated song of waves 
to dream-encoded sentences of verse 
that faintly gleam with visions of my mind, 
I shall lie down by timeless Lake of Dreams 
so my bones become stones and my flesh soil 
from which sprout apple trees of human hearts. 

Where Ravens Talk Of Fate

Where Ravens Talk Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 07 22

Too tired to understand why dark clouds cry, 
the girl who knows where crippled angels hide 
trudges slowly on dusty road of hope 
to gather berries from dream-tangled vines, 
but dodges gasping aside just in time 
to avoid the huge speeding pickup truck. 

Heart pounding from the psyche-jolting shock 
of almost getting slammed by metal grill, 
the girl who knows where lonely horses graze 
sobs hysterically while gasping for breath, 
then lies flat on soft grass behind dead oak 
and stares at clouds where no angels play harps. 

For some strange reason she remembers when 
her mother baked cinnamon apple pies 
while snow was swirling in sweet playful gusts 
of cold but friendly wind of starless night, 
so she pretends her mother is still home 
and did not disappear one summer dawn. 

After filling straw basket on her arm 
with blackberries, raspberries, and walnuts, 
the girl who knows where honest devils creep 
sits on the ground outside the market square 
to sell ten berries for one copper coin 
that glimmers with transcendent innocence. 

When she has earned twenty-four copper coins, 
stamped with the playful face of Mercury, 
the girl who knows where ravens talk of fate 
wanders crowded marketplace at sunset 
to find the thing her heart desires the most 
but that secret treasure eludes her eyes. 

Deciding to save the money she earned 
for flowered cloth to sew new winter dress, 
the girl who knows where fairies craft our dreams 
whistles as she skips to her forest cave, 
but three boys grab her arms and kiss her cheeks, 
then beat her as she struggles to break free. 

Scratching their faces with sharp fingernails 
and screeching in rage at their cruel attack, 
the girl who knows where dragons writhe in faith 
chases them when they steal her money bag, 
but falls to her knees by star-sparkling stream 
and cries to the sky that life is unfair. 

Heart-broken at the loss of hard-earned cash, 
the girl who knows where God sleeps in dark cave, 
stares at the television glowing blue 
while watching some old show in black and white 
about the girl and her swift flying horse 
who defeat criminals to save the world. 

What You Leave Undone

What You Leave Undone
© Surazeus
2026 07 21

You fix the hinges on the broken door 
to frame strange beauty of quiet sunlight 
through fraught ideology based on facts 
that measures consequence of mindless cause 
when you remember what you leave undone 
with deliberate grace of the figured sun. 

You leave your sorrows in the puzzle box 
on stretch of open country devils map 
with solid ambience of unclean thoughts 
constrained by brain-programming buzz of words 
defined by apparition of your soul 
that flaps as tattered star-flag on the pole. 

You offer whiskey to the zombie king 
who feeds three-headed dog of hungry hope 
fantastic dreams you discard in hot sand 
because you swagger on the desert road 
toward ghost town under burnished sky of dread 
that groans with bones of demons in your head. 

You stroll with ardent vigor of blind gods 
to play brave guardian angel of your Hell 
where blandished apparitions steal your cake 
with calm intensity of humble thieves 
who drive west to the last town of your heart 
where swift coyotes steal your fateful chart. 

You drive through dust storm of your vacant clock 
past humming fences of barbed-wire to steal 
torn cloak of death with tragic sense of greed 
by selling hope of paradise to fools 
who cling with faith of homeless refugees 
to Afterlife with holy apple trees. 

You kneel in pain by highway of despair 
as dreamless ghost to scrawl in swirling sand 
tale of your victimhood through suffering 
abuse from people who cannot see you 
as noble person worthy of respect, 
tricked to believe your soul will resurrect. 

You ask for how the Cosmic Architect, 
who drives your rusty truck of gratitude 
on long indifferent highway of the dead, 
could build grand temple from cracked skulls of gods 
to celebrate your life and death on Earth 
with solemn elegies of bitter mirth. 

You stare at mask of your immortal face 
reflected in mirror of Our World Mind, 
but you are stranger to your inner self 
who nurses wounds of guilt from your cruel deeds 
because you violate sacred rule of Zeus 
to welcome immigrants into your home.