Journey To Our Goals

Journey To Our Goals
© Surazeus
2026 08 15

Though shapes of words have lost their glistening 
from over-thoughts of motionless desire, 
my voice molds fluid disbelief from light 
in solid symbols of harmonious truths 
concealed in potent melodies of faith 
designed by skeptics to describe our souls. 

There comes no time when we should cease our walk 
through empty shadows of our endless minds 
because we love to feel assertive force 
of constant motion when our blood flows hot 
through pulsing clock of timeless memories 
that motivate our journey to our goals. 

Still far across this nameless wilderness 
of wind-swept hills, where rivers silverate 
oppressive sorrows that would trap our hearts, 
we strive to overcome dire obstacles 
with heart-enchanting songs of timeless truth 
that bleeds from golden sunset gleam of fear. 

Without attentive focus of our hearts 
on distant gleam of Heaven beyond time, 
we might now wander lost in Somewhere Land 
except for guidance of the cloud-bold hand 
that gestures omens of our providence 
forth ever at elliptic blare of winds. 

Strange empire of steel towers sprouts from graves 
where bones of our ancestors sing of faith 
in wake of our progressive journey west 
that rises tall from humble homes we build 
till sermon of our free democracy 
rings clear on duty-darkened mountainsides. 

Through ceaseless motion of transcendent strife 
our vision dominates old tyrant states 
with principles of liberty and justice 
for every person born from womb of hope 
till tyranny sprouts from our bitter hearts 
at shock of horror from our power trips. 

Hearts twisted back in devil-tangled fear 
at quick expansion of conceptual games 
that crowds vast chess board of our social state 
with players who disrupt course of success, 
we vainly raise harsh legal laws of fate 
in weak attempt to fortify our state. 

When Orpheus leads us from the Underworld 
with soul-stirring anthem of noble pride 
for deeds our ancestors accomplished well, 
we hold hands with our faceless energies 
in bid to rise from cave of primal rage 
so we dance free in forest of fruit trees. 

Ghosts Of River Stones

Ghosts Of River Stones
© Surazeus
2026 08 15

Because golden butterfly of my heart 
still inhabits timeless Arcadia, 
untouched by concerns of urbanity, 
I summon ghosts of river stones with song 
that swirls from abyss of my aching heart 
to form stars that dream my eternal self. 

Awake through epiphany of this hour, 
my mind invents mundane significance 
that never exists in atomic things 
so I assign weird names to things I see 
which helps us understand how we should feel 
as we stroll shyly among the fruit trees. 

This Nature we perceive as pure and good 
our brains invent from scattered memories 
that we assemble into grand world view 
so we can celebrate his vibrant being 
which generates our conscious sense of self 
as our bodies thrive in matrix of dream. 

We strip dreams of external reference 
so they will bend upon themselves in wings 
of weird songs we express with pulsing breath 
through brave intention to become our words 
when state of emptiness negates our will 
that fuels feedback loop of positive love. 

Thus we pursue alternative venues 
through clever maneuver of leaping laughter 
that hollows our exploding hearts of fear 
so we declare great things we dare achieve 
when we become moonlight in leafless trees 
that knows where we will lie down when we die. 

Awed on high mountain of pastoral peace, 
I gaze at vast metropolitan maze 
where countless towers, built of steel-framed glass, 
glimmer eerily with electric lights 
which emanate weird psychedelic glow 
as heaven our ancestors never envisioned. 

Inspired by beauty in this maze of towers, 
frantic seismograph of my eager heart 
transcribes in arcane riddles of respect 
conceptual gyre of psychic lunacy 
that oscillates between spirit and flesh 
to weave complex paradigm of new myths. 

Empyrean vision of my dreamless brain 
compiles all human myths of clever gods 
through sensual verity of psychic tones 
so I multiply myself with human masks 
that wakes every soul who has ever lived 
in temporary node of my god brain. 

Nothing More Than Moonlight

Nothing More Than Moonlight
© Surazeus
2026 08 15

To achieve fullness of being alive 
through tense serenity of nothingness, 
Godith hums wordless melody of angst 
in eerie tones of mist-enshrouded woods 
that wake ghosts of the dead from tombless graves 
while waulking woolen cloth with her bare feet. 

Engaged through spiritual apprenticeship 
in learning wordless songs of ancient stars, 
Godith gathers flowers from foggy glen 
where ravens name things that do not exist 
with sepulchral voice of aesthetic truth 
that seeks to purge the heart of artifice. 

This stone she holds in callused hand of faith 
is no revelation of hidden meaning 
beyond mind-expanding epiphany 
that glows with presence of the timeless hour 
when Godith wakes from suddenness of love 
with modern impulse to name everything. 

Through maximum expression of the self 
that contains multitudes of unnamed souls, 
and minimum conflation of the self 
dissolved in purity of aching song, 
Godith transcends both opposites to float 
along continuum of being awake. 

Annoyed that she must express ache of hope 
with human language in limiting words, 
Godith affirms force of assertive aim 
to name mindless things with word of insight 
that causes things to glow with cosmic mind 
so she creates her person with sly speech. 

As she approaches far vanishing point 
that separates immediate sense of self 
with timeless vibrancy of divine thought, 
Godith reduces singularity 
of our vast world to garden of her heart 
where things exist because she gives them names. 

Confined within conceptual walls of speech, 
where spirit of her brain frames with bold words 
elusive reference of ideal truth, 
Godith binds fluid memories of time 
with linear narrative for acts she plays 
as she performs her role in game of life. 

While gazing at moonlight shining through trees, 
Godith attempts to design metaphor 
relating peaceful glow of silent light 
to how her body feels with pulse of hope, 
but she decides with laughter of calm faith 
the moonlight is nothing more than moonlight. 

Star As The Suffering Man

Star As The Suffering Man
© Surazeus
2026 08 15

Despite strange joy of reawakening, 
through struggle to transcend egg of the mind, 
James stumbles half awake in mirrored hall 
where shadow of his non-existent ghost 
explains new formulas for gaining wealth, 
since we succeed despite our messy lives. 

Though Death stalks our steps from day of our birth, 
we ignore dark shadow of final doom, 
James mumbles at reflection of his soul, 
then drinks orange juice from skull of Nemesis 
whose letters keep arriving in the mail 
long after she climbed cliff of happiness. 

Or did she fall into wild sea of change, 
James ponders as he drinks coffee of hope, 
then stands in drizzle on the asphalt street 
to wait for the bus full of nameless ghosts 
who ride along Plutonian shore of fate 
to work all day in clanking factories. 

Perhaps they will make commercial of faith 
in which I star as the Suffering Man, 
James smirks while swallowing aspirin pills 
to numb terrible pain that threads his soul 
with humbling anguish of the devil laugh 
that strips his spirit of its proverb shield. 

Adjusting screws with sprocket of his heart, 
contrary to alignment check of faith, 
James assembles car engine of desire 
to build time machine that carries our souls 
faster across unmeasured space of fear 
so we can find elusive pots of gold. 

Strolling down Seventh Avenue at dusk 
past flashing neon signs that lure his heart 
to smokey bars where country angels dance, 
James notices the white horse of his fate 
floats huge beside him on wings of desire, 
so he decides to run for President. 

Proclaiming new agenda of his heart 
before huge crowd of people in the hall, 
James outlines steps of action he will take 
supporting businesses with tax incentives, 
then waves as thousands chant his name with pride, 
since we succeed despite our messy lives. 

After he loses on election night, 
rejected by the people of the land, 
James sits in wood chair by the mountain lake 
catching fish with Jesus Christ at his side 
as they plot revolution of the rich 
to enslave the people with credit debt. 

Dynasty Of Cloud-Born Gods

Dynasty Of Cloud-Born Gods
© Surazeus
2026 08 14

Tickled by how often people will claim 
they are descended from some royal chief, 
I hide my own bloodline from jeweled crowns 
to prove I am more farmer that court clown, 
for hungry people digging in thick dirt 
outnumber people lounging on gold clouds. 

Flight far of anguished hearts on raven wings 
expends fraught energy my soul would save 
for braving storms of spirit-wounding words 
against stone wall of paradise I build 
to guard my frail mind from oppressive greed 
when hordes of hungry wanderers steal fruit. 

Impulse to build strong castle of high walls 
drives me to carve huge stones from jagged cliffs 
and stack my sorrows straight in measured lines 
that block aggressive theft of sacred fruit 
so I fight thieves with sword I forge from fear 
to found brave dynasty of cloud-born gods. 

All humans, equal in hunger to eat 
nutritious fruit that sprouts from pungent soil, 
start game of power on similar ground, 
but some succeed in producing more fruit 
they sell for coins of metal stamped with pride 
to crown themselves brave kings with right to kill. 

All people alive today on spinning Earth 
descend from more successful clans who guard 
productive fields of crops and groves of trees 
through strict cooperation in their roles, 
well-organized by wisest of their group 
who manages their family institute. 

We are descendants of successful thieves 
who work together to construct high walls 
surrounding garden where they follow rules 
designed to manage individual will 
with shared needs of communal fortitude, 
or risk getting expelled from paradise. 

If you find royal kings in jeweled crowns 
high in lofty court of your family tree, 
remember they kill threats to their state power 
when they eradicate the hungry poor 
so their children populate empty farms 
to colonize Earth with superior ways. 

We are descendants of those wealthy gangs 
who build stone castles from bones of dead gods, 
then force the poor to worship reverently 
mortal man who founded their dynasty 
as God incarnate on Earth in his son 
so they claim right to rule our humble lives. 

Library Shelf Of My Heart

Library Shelf Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2026 08 14

When I follow John to Strawberry Fields 
forever on the signless road of faith, 
he shows me new tomb where Orpheus lies, 
so I turn on tape recorder of truth 
to record prophecies his skull decries 
which sound like whispers of the wind in leaves. 

Once I figure out secret code of gods, 
I look for John, whose wizard glasses gleam 
with television screens, to ask him why 
humans believe they are angels in flesh 
who have fallen from changeless realm of Heaven, 
and live stuck in these fragile mental forms. 

Since John is Christ in the sycamore tree, 
who waits for Homeless Prophet of Lost Faith 
to pass by on foot-worn Yellow Brick Road, 
I wander over to the grocery store 
where Walt and Allen study hieroglyphs 
carved in formulas of fate on glass doors. 

Wearing mask of Joker for Halloween, 
John gives me brand-new Cinderella dress, 
so we hold hands and knock on fear-locked doors, 
smeared with blood of the sacrificial lamb, 
then Cybele invites us in to eat 
cookies and ice cream from the Holy Grail. 

Before midnight bells toll for nameless ghosts, 
we catch the crosstown bus to Neverland 
where John learns how to shoot the blunderbuss 
before I bake four and twenty blackbirds 
in dainty dish King Richard never eats 
since he gives bread and honey to the poor. 

When John in white robe of the desert hermit 
asks me to imagine the world as one, 
no Heaven above us, no Hell below, 
I cook delicious meals of healthy hope 
at the elementary school of the brave 
who try to escape on the Ship of Fools. 

If we are not who we pretend to be, 
we can wear mask of who we want to play, 
so John writes names of the dead in his book 
he hides on library shelf of my heart 
while human empires rise and fall in waves 
of social revolutions against greed. 

When John wakes from weird dream on Penny Lane 
that he incarnates soul of Odysseus, 
he finds me selling poppies from gold tray 
because I feel as if I am in the play 
where Hamlet gives me letters of his love, 
so I gather flowers by the River Styx. 

World Money Empire

World Money Empire
© Surazeus
2026 08 14

Though clouds of revolutionary change 
glow gold above vast maze of city streets, 
we go about our business to maintain 
social structures founded on principles 
that all human beings are created equal 
while homeless angels wander streets at dawn. 

Network of water pipes beneath our streets 
gleam with blood from the holy lamb of faith 
to weave our bodies in communal dream 
where homeless angels by telephone poles 
prophesy fall of our World Money Empire 
as Greed and Death play chess games for our souls. 

Hephaestus extracts from caves of desire 
minerals for constructing time machines 
which we all drive on highway of ambition 
in race across the waste land of blind ghosts 
for who arrives at the Promised Land first 
where Faceless God on throne of judgment sleeps. 

Sitting at his right hand in castle court, 
Jesus nudges Jupiter with left hand 
so bearded deity splutters awake 
from weird dream where he rides the Horse of Troy 
in brave bid to unite nations of Earth 
in World Money Empire of social pride. 

Thus shall we deem the victors of world war 
secret agents of Old Man in the Cloud 
who laughs at fierce games of humanity 
over who controls fruitful Tree of Knowledge 
uprooted by brave investors to build 
shopping mall where clowns entertain our kids. 

Though Phoebus attempts to organize facts 
in coherent world view that can account 
for every effect from assertive cause, 
which allows us to predict clear results, 
he almost loses sight of his main goal 
through messages from opposed institutes. 

There never has been one center of power 
around which all humanity may work 
through common focus on shared social growth, 
which leaves good angels homeless in the streets 
where they sit on the marble steps of fate 
with all their possessions in paper bags. 

As President of our World Money Empire, 
Jehovah plays golf in Elysian Fields 
with Krishna, Shangdi, and Odin in game 
for who will control hungry human souls 
who labor to maintain their dignity 
till their bodies fertilize crops of wheat. 

Misty Hills Of Verturia

Misty Hills Of Verturia
© Surazeus
2026 08 13

Home to misty hills of Verturia 
my heart guides me through tangled woods of time 
where I build fortress of stone on the mound 
heaped over bones of my ancestral soul 
where I pluck gold crab apples from long limbs 
to ferment honey cider in clay jars. 

Wrapped in deer-skin gown of cozy warmth, 
Eithni sits on square stone of honest faith 
and stirs bubbling honey cider of truth 
in old dented cauldron of burnished brass 
that emanates sweet scent of pungent hope, 
safe in misty hills of Verturia. 

Lost in misty hills of Verturia, 
young Eardwulf, dressed in bear-fur cloak and hood, 
wanders tangled woods of crab apple trees 
to find cove where he left his small wood boat, 
then stumbles in small ring of standing stones 
where green-eyed woman stirs cauldron of juice. 

Without concern for what may not be real 
in vibrant swirl of floating moon-white mist, 
Eardwulf kneels on wet grass before her seat 
and offers bag of hazelnuts with smile 
of calm sincerity from humble hope, 
brave in misty hills of Verturia. 

Tense in misty hills of Verturia, 
Eithni squints through dim haze of pulsing smoke 
to analyze with cautious dread of pain 
parameters of safety he provides, 
then fills his wood cup with delicious juice, 
and roasts nuts in soft crackling flames of trust. 

When Eardwulf curls to sleep in chilly wind, 
Eithni holds blade of sharp obsidian 
pressed to his neck to check his danger state, 
but when he opens eyes, and stares at her, 
he grins and kisses her with tender care, 
calm in misty hills of Verturia. 

Lithe in misty hills of Verturia, 
Eithni clasps his head and thigh in delight 
as their bodies writhe in tense ecstasy, 
embraced with creative passion of love, 
then cuddle blushing with pleasure of trust 
as they teach each other their secret names. 

Weaving vines around ring of standing stones, 
Eardwulf constructs secure shelter of faith, 
so Eithni guides their hunt in wooded vale 
to kill wild boar and fill bags with herbs, 
then hum in harmony to eat and kiss, 
home in misty hills of Verturia. 

Whole Symmetry Of Accuracy

Whole Symmetry Of Accuracy
© Surazeus
2026 08 13

In arts of poetry and cartography 
I love whole symmetry of accuracy, 
so I arrange lithe words in sentences 
and adjust points and lines in feature sets 
to better represent reality 
in virtual model that mirrors our world. 

Through migrant ache of curiosity 
for mandatory training of the heart, 
my mind explores strange contours of our world 
with intense focus on each graceful curve 
defining bounds of each material form 
so I sense essence glowing from its core. 

Assertive passion of the humble heart, 
which motivates my mission to create 
time-animated atlas of world history, 
fuels steady progress of detailed exams 
to reassemble fractured dreams of truth 
in pulsing globe of conscious entities. 

Through strict arrangement of fraught elements 
containing concepts of personal growth, 
I channel pain to laughter of sweet song 
by rising up from crippling angst of fear 
to dance on frantic wings of grief-bought joy 
and thus transform rage to enlightenment. 

Once I expand scope of my consciousness 
beyond limits of the Underworld cave, 
I transform my soul from Orcus of Greed 
to Orpheus of Knowledge that mute death 
is final dissolution of the soul 
when its programming brain disintegrates. 

How passionately with ache of glowing eyes 
we temporary beings of hungry flesh 
strive to transcend our transient state of being, 
as if we clumps of atoms could evade 
finality of death, when we arrange 
tales of survival in religious creeds. 

When paternal seed sparks maternal egg, 
genetic code provides strict blueprint 
for hope to organize material sparks 
so pattern of our corporeal success 
shapes matter in body-evolving form 
as we strive to become the God we worship. 

As one artificial world generator 
of many who have designed our world view, 
I organize tales of heroic deeds 
in virtual model of our changing world 
to illustrate timeless character tropes 
who provide template for us to live well. 

Frankenstein Of Our Selves

Frankenstein Of Our Selves
© Surazeus
2026 08 13

I will never relate confusing tale 
of that many-faced man who is not real 
because his spirit lingers in all books 
as every character singers have formed 
from tangled mess of their old memories 
that wanders as Frankenstein of our Selves. 

No quixotic journey of the brave fool 
depicts his existential alienation 
through discombobulated experience, 
trapped in cultural entropy of faith, 
better than his gnostic quest to find 
one real self in clutter of his fake selves. 

While standing in spotlight of social games 
on stage in Theater of the Absurd, 
the many-faced man with the Wand of Hermes 
declaims Plural Being of the fractured mind 
which he assembles in puzzle of tales 
with masks scattered in vast Maze of Dead Gods. 

If he employs intellectual caprice 
to feel himself through his multiple selves, 
he might annihilate the private self 
to release the Cosmic Self of Ungod 
from varied fragments of the diamond egg 
which encloses our entire universe. 

To analogize transcendence of self, 
he detaches mythic mind from his frame 
of pulsing flesh that hungers for sweet fruit, 
trapped in our disenchanted world of truth, 
when he designs new mental surrogate 
to bear his soul to Heaven on Word Wings. 

Through prerogative of self-sacrifice, 
the many-faced man, without wit or wiles, 
liberates immortal soul of his genes 
from temporary body of his self 
to wake divine consciousness of Ungod 
in sponge brain of his arrogant respect. 

Opposing paradigms of mental states 
present outward explosion of one self 
that finds all other selves inside oneself, 
who inwardly dissolves the mortal self 
to pure dream language of the Never Self, 
though fraught with contradictions of not-self. 

Thus through expressions of the many-self, 
driven by paradox of our dream quest, 
the many-faced man still seeks to achieve 
puzzling serenity of Nothingness 
by expanding scope with fullness of Being 
till he becomes each self who ever lives. 

Gold Hypnotic Eyes

Gold Hypnotic Eyes
© Surazeus
2026 08 12

The way piano notes cause crows to laugh 
reveals old painting of the dreamy sky 
dripping tears in crippled hands of the girl 
who waits for someone to return from war, 
intense with shadow of half-open door 
that proves she secretly hopes for revenge. 

Brick buildings on the hazy boulevard 
conceal small broken hearts of honest men 
who write their stories with blood on the wall 
through formulas of disentangled codes 
which calculate despair of open roads 
no matter obstacles of irony. 

She finds abandoned shopping cart of hope 
in field of grass behind the lonely school 
where sad grasshoppers modulate the day 
with angst of heart-enchanting melodies 
that should provide blueprint for psychic keys 
which she could use to open brave church doors. 

When stoic toad with gold hypnotic eyes 
chants Psalm of the Shepherd in evening glow, 
three school girls skip on the yellow brick road 
with plan to wake dead gods of arrogance 
from tangled roots of trees on river shore 
where dolphin brings shy Arion from the deep. 

I call to wise Inanna on high hill 
with wounded heart of stark sincerity 
in fraught request for honest rulership 
since gangs of angry thieves corrupt our state 
against the sacred law of falling leaves 
which tangle naive hearts with chosen fate. 

Far out in waste land of calm nonchalance 
dark shadow of some nameless wanderer 
slants sideways through expansive grid of hope 
that portends revolutionary change 
through sudden readjustment of our values 
that we must seal with sacrificial blood. 

Devotions of his ice-heart streaked by dawn 
should sanctify attention still denied 
by star-eyed pilgrims in the thrumming dark, 
but he decides to fortify his mind 
against bright menace of the silent tree 
that stands guard in abandoned castle court. 

Entranced by gold hypnotic eyes of truth, 
that spiral with one trillion galaxies, 
bold Arion stands on stage in castle court 
and strums oak harp of David with deft hands, 
then sings grand epic of his killing spree 
that makes him writhe in guilty agony. 

Wand Of The Weeping Clown

Wand Of The Weeping Clown
© Surazeus
2026 08 12

Regret cannot stop how snowflakes descend 
on delicate wings of unspoken words, 
though death consumes old silence of our souls, 
so we transform our pain to dreams of truth 
confirming how we analyze each choice 
which redesigns tone of our social voice. 

No more shall we expend false energy 
to measure psychic mirror of the sea 
which frames how we perceive our social needs 
to share tales of our private suffering 
with tender words of mental reckoning 
contrived to manage how we choose our death. 

Thus I shall join grand convoy of the lost 
in journey on lone highway of the ghost 
who wanders somewhere we have never been 
to show the way beyond fake paradise 
as if we hunger for dramatic truths 
to reprogram our minds with innocence. 

If I pause outside window of my room, 
while arranging snake eggs in Book of Doom, 
I may glance through lace curtains of my heart 
to see the Fairy Queen in silk nightgown 
who offers me wand of the Weeping Clown 
so I decide to play cartographer. 

Another king is set to come and go 
in naked anguish of electric snow, 
so I sign with name of my inner child 
new executive orders which assert 
children must learn how to build house of bones 
so we can draw map of the changing world. 

When Jesus finds me lounging in the cave 
where shadows of things flicker on the wall, 
he appoints me to perform solemn role 
heading new-formed Department of the Soul, 
so I search for lost people of the world 
and give them identification cards. 

Now that each soul is legal to exist 
as hungry spirit in land of the free, 
we can return to the business at hand 
of building wagons with crystalized wheels 
so we can fly on wings of Icarus 
above ever-changing maze of dead gods. 

No longer disenfranchised by concern, 
expressed by mechanics and librarians, 
we follow Humble Prophet of the Cow 
who bears reforged wand of the Weeping Clown 
to open new residential account 
at the water business office of faith. 

Queen Of Her Own Life

Queen Of Her Own Life
© Surazeus
2026 08 12

My heart swells with stark sensation of respect 
when Earth spirals through bright cloud of stardust 
beneath constellation of the Brave Boy 
who rescues from Cruel Serpent of the sea 
Graceful Girl sacrificed by Greedy King, 
and crowns womankind queen of her own life. 

When fierce winds lash waves against rocky coast, 
Perseus steers motor lifeboat with calm skill 
through swells of tempestuous anxiety 
to find sailboat capsized in churning fear, 
and rescues seven people from abyss 
who huddle for warmth as he turns toward land. 

Wrapped in warm towel and clean cotton robe, 
Andrea sips hot tea by glowing hearth 
in sturdy stone cottage by roaring sea, 
safe from time-wracking gale that pummels hard 
her vulnerable sense of security 
as she breathes deep to calm her frantic heart. 

Sitting with guitar in the leather armchair, 
Perseus plays heart-enchanting melody 
Asturias, composed by Isaac Albeniz, 
that transports spirits of the rescued crew 
to sun-enraptured hills of sweet duende 
where children play games in groves of orange trees. 

At dawn when gold sun gleams through placid waves, 
Perseus and Andrea together stroll 
broad shore of gleaming sand between high cliffs 
of jagged rocks and boundless sea of light, 
smiling shyly as they share childhood tales 
and laugh with delight at clever insights. 

Approaching them with angry stride of hope, 
Daniel, the banker who would marry her 
with encouragement from her father, shouts 
for her to show some common decency, 
then grabs her arm with possessive disgust, 
so Perseus pushes attacker away. 

Declaring she will never marry him 
because he attempts to control her life, 
Andrea takes hand of Perseus in her hand, 
and strides back to stone cottage on the hill 
where they eat breakfast with her family, 
then exchange phone numbers inside the door. 

Meeting for their first date at the bookstore, 
Andrea and Perseus discuss history 
of architecture, weapons, clothes, and food 
to compare the bronze age culture of Greece 
with features of the Viking age in Norway, 
and hold hands as they stroll by wine-dark sea. 

Dumb Earth Of Faith

Dumb Earth Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 08 11

I set my new grave in dumb earth of faith 
to translate shrieks from heaven of the heart 
so shambling wanderers on signless roads 
may know with certainty where they can go 
in verdant valley of our singing skulls 
when wise Cassandra prophecies our fate. 

Though ecstasy of wisdom burns my mind 
with soul-transforming flame of secret love, 
I dance in flawed light of reluctant grief 
at mounting beat of my breath-fueled heart 
to find mysterious truth in silver eyes 
that see beyond mask of my mutant face. 

Since trees extend dark shadows of their truth 
across soft patch of grass I call my home, 
I listen for faint sounds of youth to spark 
assertive flow of water through my soul 
so we can measure subtle change of time 
in light that waits on skin of my mute mind. 

I feel pulse of this hill with gate of stones 
where strangers bring sea waves in trembling hands 
to ask how deserts smother paradise 
though beauty must endure the wounded mouth 
that seals our dreadful book of honest lies 
as if we share no tales of suffering. 

This nothing we remember when we wake 
at shock of broken wagons by the road 
frames flower meadows with grotesque beliefs 
till eerie voice of bells uncooled by fate 
attempts to separate our plangent hearts 
though we clasp hands with eager fortitude. 

If I possess no secret code of truth 
despite intended loss no fool denies, 
I may remember hour we meet with death, 
enlightened by black thunder clouds of time, 
yet we share juice of fruit from Tree of Life, 
then journey on with lamp of solitude. 

Still insolent with ardent creed of love, 
I dare endure dire threats from hungry men 
who never share fruits of our generous globe 
that shudders in its slow relentless spin 
though we perform absurd play of false pride 
when cocks crow with alarm of global war. 

As Lucifer elected by the crowd 
I bear lamp of integrity with courage 
that lights our rugged road of tragedy 
when we escape cracked walls of paradise 
to build home village in bleak wilderness 
where we set our graves in dumb earth of faith. 

Haven Of Protective Pale

Haven Of Protective Pale
© Surazeus
2026 08 11

Enclosed in haven of protective pale, 
that surrounds her home with forcefield of love, 
Juturna ponders all possible fates 
that might result from each action she takes, 
then chooses one grand deed she can perform 
to send dead souls back to their greedy graves. 

Though bodies of our souls mingle with dirt 
that glows with ancient light of long-dead stars, 
they call her name with faint voice of the breeze 
that translates words of her secretive thoughts 
to butterflies that flit among fruit trees 
with timeless messages from silent hills. 

When she expresses hopeful thought of life 
with soft uncanny voice of her mute heart, 
Juturna feels strange sorrow take new shape 
that walks beside her on the garden path 
where she still wanders listlessly, attuned 
to ache of wisdom in each flower bloom. 

When old Neptunus, with his cracked horse skull, 
appears from shadow of relentless hope, 
Juturna twirls on graceful steps of fear 
with plan to evade hard grasp of his hand, 
but he pins her against the garden wall, 
demanding that she bear child of his soul. 

If gleaming moon of sharp anxiety 
stays hidden behind veil of innocence, 
Juturna vows with trembling voice of rage 
to cast dire spell of poisonous despair 
that strikes his heart with limp sterility, 
then pokes his leg with stick of verity. 

Averse to harsh potency of her curse, 
Neptunus hesitates at sense of doom 
that misdirects attention of his hope 
sideways enough for well-witch to strike hard 
and wrestle old sea-god facedown in dirt 
where she binds his hands with vine of the law. 

Arriving with three goats he bought from Faunus, 
Saturnus grins amused when he observes 
how his clever daughter subdues cruel thief 
who slouches bound to trunk of the tall oak, 
so he shoves old horse-tamer out the gate, 
then roasts steaks for his grandchildren to eat. 

Alert in haven of protective pale, 
Juturna guards three children of her heart 
who play hide and seek with bearded grandfather, 
climbing on his back as Saturnus spins 
and howls with demon voice of ocean waves, 
then they sleep as she keeps watch in moonlight. 

Weird Riddles Of The Truth

Weird Riddles Of The Truth
© Surazeus
2026 08 11

Astonished by strange beauty of the world 
that teems with conscious creatures of desire, 
I follow winding stream of flowing water 
from ocean beach with swirling waves of change 
to mountain cave where demons haunt my heart 
to decipher weird riddles of the truth. 

Entranced by strangeness of glittering clouds 
that transform into various forms of thought, 
I watch young woman on lush river shore 
who fills straw baskets with flowers and fruit 
and sings about strange mystery of the world 
to decipher weird riddles of the truth. 

Pleased such a wonderful person exists 
in this world of men who fight for control, 
I recount my journey to paradise 
through valleys of monsters in greedy gangs 
while I grasp my wand of honor through love 
to decipher weird riddles of the truth. 

Encouraged by her generosity 
for giving fruit to hungry travelers, 
I strip off old clothes of my social state, 
bathe in Lethe River to cleanse my soul, 
and kneel before Flora with humble heart 
to decipher weird riddles of the truth. 

Wounded by my journey to paradise 
in descent through dark valley of despair, 
I feel my arrogant soul purged of pride 
through experience climbing mountain of hope 
when I share proverbs of lessons I learn 
to decipher weird riddles of the truth. 

Amused by how I have grown boy to man 
through intense progress of maturity, 
I ask Flora for guidance of her love, 
so she leads me on narrow path of faith 
through forest of shadows to field of light 
to decipher weird riddles of the truth. 

Inspired by vision of her prudent words 
depicting haven of protective pale, 
I stack stones in surrounding walls of faith, 
then tend flame of hope in tower of trust 
while she tends rich herbs and fruit trees of love 
to decipher weird riddles of the truth. 

Attentive to needs of her humble heart 
which generates life from seed of my love, 
I dwell with Flora in our paradise, 
teaching our children knowledge about life 
so they may live well after we both die 
to decipher weird riddles of the truth. 

New God Of Fire

New God Of Fire
© Surazeus
2026 08 10

If light illuminates all wounded hearts 
with equal spectrum of chromatic chords, 
we might through graphic vividness of faith 
perceive prismatic ambience of love 
that hope refracts in rainbow wings since time 
vibrates in pulsing knots of molecules. 

Distinctive pact of writhing photographs 
denies contract between abysmal parts 
through frantic oscillation of shared hopes 
that hungry souls fail to express in words 
forged by sharp water smoothing stones of fate 
so we wake trapped in mask we never made. 

Sebastian stands with rigid arrogance 
against heart-breaking facts of curious fear 
to prove despair could never bend his will 
against stark principles his father built 
to form foundation of his honest state 
contrived by thieves from blueprints of regret. 

Yet he decides to aim with hawk-eyed hope 
long rifle loaded with small sphere of fate 
straight at steel mask of eyeless tyranny 
in strict defiance that could crack his mind 
through fragile courage of the desperate fool 
to save his clan from chains of slavery. 

With sneer of haughty pride for conjurers, 
bold Beleth mocks young boy with long thin rod 
set to his shoulder with clumsy concern, 
then pounds his chest and roars to scare the fool, 
but brave Sebastian grins and pulls the trigger 
that blasts flame of fire with sizzle of smoke. 

Large crowd of devils in black leather capes, 
and wielding tridents forged in caves of Hell, 
laugh with uproarious contempt at faint flash, 
but Purson shrieks in shock when he observes 
whole head of Beleth explode in blood blast 
that splatters bloody brains across the ground. 

Stunned in silence to see their mighty king, 
whose monstrous rage subdued them all with fear, 
long terrified at his harsh punishments, 
stand huge and headless, motionless too long, 
then fall straight back to whump on mindless dust, 
and quiver as blood gushes from his skull. 

Sebastian holds long rifle with both hands 
while standing tall on stone of Great God Voice, 
and grins when devils who were wont to howl 
fall to their knees in terror of his power, 
then pledge allegiance to new God of Fire 
as they gaze with awe at glory of his face. 

Stars Unfold Their Dreams

Stars Unfold Their Dreams
© Surazeus
2026 08 10

When stars unfold their dreams into my heart 
through cosmic cycles of resurgent faith, 
I sing electric phrase of wrinkled time 
to mark incessant turning of each day 
through gentle ebbs of slow-subsiding tides 
that float ship of my heart to paradise. 

Though waves unfold their words into my mind 
through rumbling swells of time-unslanted hills, 
I catch spring sunlight in frail leaves of faith 
to taste concocted brew of sugared thoughts 
which nourish transformation of my soul 
from seaweed-tangled stones of fortitude. 

Since wind unfolds its voice into my mouth 
through wordless gusts of flashing rainbow eyes, 
I linger downwind from the curious ghost 
embodied by the big-eyed deer of trust 
who gazes straight through shadow of my fear 
based on new revelation of my heart. 

Where dust unfolds its spark into my eyes 
through exiled willfulness of careless love, 
I sail on waves of wonder that spring wild 
from frothing fountain of my aching heart 
against harsh tyranny of selfish greed 
to fertilize vast fields of glowing grain. 

Till Death unfolds my body from its form 
through haughty abstinence of noble pride, 
I follow paths of glory to the grave 
while I express orations for the state, 
providing calm assurance of weird lust 
for mutual recreation of the mind. 

When Time unfolds its promise of my doom 
through flowing shadows of the empty room, 
I slot new fuse in circuit of my mind 
to conjure virtual model of the Earth 
as map by which I navigate strange moods 
in transient project to build paradise. 

Though Fate unfolds my choices on bright stage 
through blinding glamor of the telescope, 
I wear broad wings of fame I forge from fear 
to glide with Icarus beyond high walls 
so we can survey endless maze of myths 
where idols of dead gods block large church doors. 

Since Fame unfolds my private state of mind 
through binding arrogance of humble faith, 
I strum the Lyre of Mercury and sing 
tale of the normal person who observes 
nature of the world with critical eyes 
so I record weird riddles of the truth. 

White Butterfly Of Death

White Butterfly Of Death
© Surazeus
2026 08 10

Shocked by the sudden certainty of death 
that swoops at my heart on butterfly wings, 
I curl into eccentric thought of shells 
enclosing vibrant heart of vanity 
to shelter in small haven of regret 
against relentless tides of daily change. 

Joanna strides across cracked desert plain 
toward glowing shimmer of attentive care 
while gasping deep for divine breath of hope, 
but laughs with bitter joy of wretched faith 
at how time unspools passionate concern 
for stable system of social exchange. 

Gazing mute out high window of her heart, 
while trapped in tower of her bird-winged mind, 
Joanna watches men on horses fight 
for who controls women and trees of fruit, 
then prays to marble statue with long hair 
that shows Rapunzel with her first-born son. 

Driving to work at the federal bank 
where she manages special business loans, 
Joanna sees on horse of glowing clouds 
Richard the Lion-Heart with sword of truth 
ride swift into battle to save the world 
as wipers clear raindrops from the windshield. 

Lounging in garden of herbs and fruit trees 
at Zisa Castle where she reigns as queen, 
Joanna plays sweet melodies of hope 
on harp of polished oak, and sings with voice 
of her great-grandfather, William Troubadour, 
whose ghost haunts river woods of Aquitaine. 

While Queen of Sicily for thirteen years, 
Joanna tends garden of her aching heart, 
secure in heaven of electric crows 
that soar on wings of longing to the stars, 
till Tancred pushes her against the wall 
and tries to kiss her, so she stabs his leg. 

Attending meeting at the federal bank, 
Joanna reviews application for loan 
submitted by Thomas to build new mall, 
but when he gropes her thigh with leering grin 
she calls police who ask her why she wears 
tight black skirt with provocative intent. 

Safe at Fontevraud Abbey in Anjou, 
where she flees turmoil of rebellious rage 
that sweeps across lush County of Toulouse, 
Joanna lies pregnant with desperate fear, 
gazing at the white butterfly of death 
that lands on her hand red with blood of faith. 

Rain Blooms Into Flowers

Rain Blooms Into Flowers
© Surazeus
2026 08 09

"The most beautiful kiss we ever share 
is the one when the rain blooms into flowers, 
and the sparrows translate our wordless thoughts 
to uncanny song of the wind in trees, 
and the clouds become palaces of trust 
where we are safe from sorrows of the world." 

Pouring water from the clay jar of hope 
into the brass cauldron of mute desire, 
Furina boils stew of barley and lamb, 
flavored with honey and coriander, 
then places clay bowl on table of oak 
for Quirinus to eat as the sun sets. 

When effervescent glow of evening light 
glows lavender in the grove of fig trees, 
highlighting slopes of Mount Janiculum, 
Furina walks dirt path to Satricum 
to visit Matuta in leather skirt 
who tends rich herbs in lush garden of faith. 

Gasping with joy and spreading her arms wide, 
Matuta welcomes her fourth daughter home, 
who gives her melon she found by the lake, 
then whistles to small boy in the huge oak 
who kisses his crow, then jumps to the ground, 
and runs laughing in warm arms of his mother. 

Cradling Janus fast asleep on her lap, 
Furina chats with her mother Matuta 
about where she can find new pepper seeds 
because the hungry rabbits near her home 
eat the parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme, 
but they dislike the taste of pepper leaves. 

Climbing hill of Vagitanus at dawn, 
Furina and her clever curious boy 
search for pepper plants in volcano tuff, 
but as they leave with basket of thick herbs 
old half-blind seer of Goddess Cybele 
emerges from shadow and grips her arm. 

"As incarnation of Attis the Wise, 
I reign as priest in Phrygianum Temple, 
so I speak with grave voice of Cybele 
when I declare descendant of your son 
will wield sacred Lyre of Mercurius 
when he sings Astarian Testament." 

Shocked by sharp hissing of the old blind man, 
Furina wrenches arm free of his grip, 
then hurries home to Mount Janiculum 
where she trembles as she plants pepper herbs, 
then stands and gazes at the golden moon 
that fills her heart with light of timeless stars.