Dream Cave of Hecate

Dream Cave of Hecate
© Surazeus
2026 09 10

Though I wander crazy maze of lost hopes 
too many years from sea to shining sea, 
singing out of tune about wounded hearts 
that batter wings against cage of desire, 
I find strange demon of love in my heart 
that wakes me in dream cave of Hecate. 

Dark shadow of guilt in pit of despair 
twists my heart with agony of hope 
that spurs me to resist with eager heart 
calm acceptance of oppression from greed, 
so I writhe in wild Dionysian dance 
that wakes me in dream cave of Hecate. 

Driven mad by anguish of searing pain, 
inflicted by the gang of laughing thieves 
who tortured me with dreams of paradise, 
then stole accumulated wealth of work, 
I leap with joy and twirl beyond despair 
that wakes me in dream cave of Hecate. 

Cheated by the rich man with fake contract 
who funded my farm, but stole it in court, 
then chained to slave for him for twenty years, 
beaten by the wife who tricked me with love, 
I fly free when lightning strike breaks my fear 
that wakes me in dream cave of Hecate. 

Returning from harsh wilderness of pain 
after training in martial arts for revenge, 
I break through gate that protects my own farm 
and fight one hundred minions of his greed, 
then smile with demon of truth in my heart 
that wakes me in dream cave of Hecate. 

To reclaim garden my fathers designed, 
and tend Tree of Justice heavy with fruit, 
nourished by water well my own hands dug, 
then sit in chair of judgement I once built, 
I wrestle demon of rage in my heart 
that wakes me in dream cave of Hecate. 

Terror twists face of the haughty rich man 
who cheated me with legal tricks of greed, 
so, offering thanks for tending my rich farm 
while I sought truth in waste land of regret, 
I marry his proud daughter as my queen 
that wakes me in dream cave of Hecate. 

Twelve sons who spring from seed of my faith 
expand empire of our fruit-blooming farms, 
and hundred grandsons worship me as god, 
so with sweet joy of courage born of pain 
I meditate under tree of blind gods 
that wakes me in dream cave of Hecate. 

Persona Mask Of Strength

Persona Mask Of Strength
© Surazeus
2026 09 10

When he unfastens his soul from the world 
while snatching apples from telephone poles, 
then pretends to be the angel-winged bird 
that never migrates when the empire falls, 
Zachariah decides to prophesy 
how storms of truth sweep all tyrants away. 

When Kwan Yin alights on the rocky shore 
and shows him how the sun unwinds false time 
with psychic laughter that reprograms myths, 
Zachariah dips his hands in swirling waves 
and lifts the writhing dragon of his heart 
high enough for her to bless his huge eyes. 

When Death emerges from dawn-red sunbeams 
with flock of souls on wounded wings of faith, 
and visits preachers grasping book of myths 
to steal the polished masks of pride they wear, 
Zachariah recalls weird voice of Yah 
that vibrates through our bodies as tense songs. 

When airplanes crash in twin towers of wealth 
as thunderbolts Yah hurls to bring down pride, 
Fate wakes our spirits from dream of world peace 
and tells us we must understand true love, 
so Kwan Yin and Zachariah hold hands 
then fly as angels in the sun-bright sky. 

When random tornado of social change 
erases his farm from river vale of hope, 
and deconstructs the family home he built 
from memories of their struggles to survive, 
Zachariah dives in the shallow pool, 
then emerges when war storm dissipates. 

When Kwan Yin strolls along the boulevard, 
giving peaches to every passerby 
with gentle blessing of her generous love, 
Pluto blocks her way, envious of her grace, 
then stabs her in the heart with jealous rage, 
so she kisses Zachariah as she dies. 

When he removes persona mask of strength 
to breathe ethereal wisdom of fruit trees, 
while Kwan Yin paints new vision of world peace 
as portraits displayed in Museum of Fate, 
Zachariah rides white horse of concern 
to bring justice to victims of abuse. 

When he strums guitar by the Tree of Life, 
and sings about knowledge gods make us buy 
with suffering our bodies must endure, 
Zachariah sings that the Spark of God 
glows bright in heart of every conscious soul 
who ever lives in all the universe. 

Rapt By Psychic Light

Rapt By Psychic Light
© Surazeus
2026 09 10

Rapt by psychic light of our spinning Earth,  
I dream forever sorrow of mankind 
awake in darkness of the silent moon 
who always seems to know just how I feel 
when I project my spirit at her mask 
which I wear to play angel of high noon. 

Though we build safe illusions of our faith 
from bones of devils we defeat with love 
in homes that play as temples of our tales, 
time crushes all our dreams to swirls of dust 
when angels bomb our hopes with selfish greed 
while I am rapt by psychic light of fate. 

Though air I breathe from ancient wind of hope 
appears to animate with intense love 
my fragile body made of flesh on bones, 
my mind is rapt by psychic light of fear 
that motivates my quest to transcend rage, 
and map Hell with courage of Zephyrus. 

Stuck on the beach of soul-tormenting wind, 
where Ovidius records our tragedies, 
I gaze at oceans sloshing mountain slopes, 
heart rapt by psychic light of comedy, 
when Odysseus gives me used bag of wind 
which bold Aeolus gave him with sly wink. 

While I collect cracked skulls of long-dead gods 
from cave of illusions with diamond eyes, 
rapt by psychic light of national pride, 
I find Endymion sleeping in moonlight 
on rock of faith that Lucifer will use 
as cornerstone for new religious creed. 

Before the burning bush of wounded hearts, 
rapt by psychic light of angels with swords, 
I breastfeed daughter of star-fallen god 
whose laughter conjures storms of social change 
that sweep away oppressive gangs of thieves 
which frees world lands for brave democracy. 

Through luminous drift of false memory, 
Zephyrus comes to garden of dead trees 
to spark their souls awake with warming wind 
so apples bloom from fractured tears of snow, 
but, when I call his name with haunted voice, 
he weeps, heart rapt by psychic light of death. 

Rapt by psychic light of eternal love 
that gleams with timeless Lamp of Liberty, 
I teach Endymion how to map the world 
so we can know where we are in the dark 
when we reach out our hands of honest faith, 
transformed by knowledge that we all will die. 

Ungod Of Ten Billion Eyes

Ungod Of Ten Billion Eyes
© Surazeus
2026 09 09

I wonder how to explain with calm faith 
to my ancestors awake in my mind, 
who prayed so fervently up to the sky, 
that there was no one up there in the stars 
strumming harps in crystal halls on the clouds, 
nor did Ungod do anything to help. 

I feel intensity of their hard faith 
as they knelt by the river of dark tears 
among the rustling leaves on starry nights 
and gazed up at the sky with fervent hope, 
while moonlight glowed bright in their faithful eyes, 
and prayed for help to overcome their fears. 

I see in startling vision of my heart 
their three billion faces glowing moon-white 
as they knelt scattered in ten thousand towns 
over six thousand years since Adam prayed 
with Eve for wisdom to comprehend truth 
and understand strange nature of our world. 

For so many long restless centuries, 
while Earth spun slowly among shining stars, 
my ancestors gazed up at the sky 
and asked the Faceless Spirit of all things 
for help deciding how they should behave, 
then chose to create and to not destroy. 

Though they asked Ungod of ten billion eyes, 
whose spirit they felt glowing everywhere, 
endless questions about how to live life, 
they always found the answer in their hearts 
through application of logical code 
when they analyzed effects of each cause. 

Sharing wisdom they learned from bitter loss 
in proverbs that explain how actions cause 
effects to flow in consequence of change, 
they set foundation for our social law 
condensed in statement all agree is good 
that we do what we will, if we harm none. 

Though my ancestors prayed hard to the sky, 
seeking wisdom from Spirit of the Light, 
they always found deep inside their own hearts 
clear answers for how to perform their role 
so our actions create good things to grow 
as we help each other survive this life. 

Though I know now no conscious God of light 
glows from all atoms spinning in the void, 
I exercise logical function of prayer 
to analyze each moment of my quest 
so I generate life with my soulmate 
in our children who live after our death. 

Wings Of Perpetual Respect

Wings Of Perpetual Respect
© Surazeus
2026 09 09

When my first home transforms into the crow 
which flies on wings of perpetual respect 
across the blind sea of forgotten dreams 
that my ancestors left in empty rooms, 
I model each new family home I build 
to mimic stage of home my mother crafts. 

Lured by illusion of the Promised Land, 
that shimmers on horizon of false fate, 
I sail forever over restless seas 
where eyeless demons of primal desire 
lurk in the darkness of my hungry heart 
to block my progress toward lost paradise. 

As Lonely Jester with new Holy Book, 
which I preach to blind people building homes 
on river shores from sea to shining sea, 
I erase grand idols of long-dead gods 
to clear space for newcomers to lush vales 
who must rebuild homes their fathers designed. 

Each time the crow-winged ghost of my first home 
lands by the singing river of true faith, 
I gather words as flowers from lush fields 
to prove this world of bitter suffering 
remains more beautiful because of death 
that limits our time on this spinning globe. 

Trapped by nostalgia for the mundane past, 
that each person remembers differently 
as their own situation comedy, 
I search for secret treasures of your hearts 
that gleam with private memories of pain 
transformed to pleasure by bleak hour of song. 

Though angels deconstruct my childhood home 
to measure limits of my learning goals, 
defined by scattered puzzle of weird truth 
which I assemble with blueprint of myth, 
I build expanding palace to contain 
ghost of every ancestor in my genes. 

Because my temporary soul of light 
animates Zero Body with my name, 
I tell each stranger I randomly meet 
my name is Hyacinthus, new sun god 
born from terrific hills of Nevertime, 
but they ask if I have apples to sell. 

Reborn as Lucifer from Cave of Doom, 
I bear long-lost Lamp of Diogenes 
to prove my duties secure our world state 
against decay of arrogance and greed 
corrupting my childhood home with despair, 
therefore I burn it down and walk away. 

Long Road Of My Heart

Long Road Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2026 09 09

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Real Raven Boy

Real Raven Boy
© Surazeus
2026 09 08

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sibyl Visits War Zones

Sibyl Visits War Zones
© Surazeus
2026 09 08

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alive On The Nowhere Road

Alive On The Nowhere Road
© Surazeus
2026 09 08

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Matrix Of World Souls

Matrix Of World Souls
© Surazeus
2026 09 07

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Howling Wind of Woe

Howling Wind of Woe
© Surazeus
2026 09 07

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Illusion Of Unspoken Hope

Illusion Of Unspoken Hope
© Surazeus
2026 09 07

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Become The Faceless Sky

Become The Faceless Sky
© Surazeus
2026 09 07

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Broken Bridge Of Anywhere

Broken Bridge Of Anywhere
© Surazeus
2026 09 06

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ideal Persona I Would Play

Ideal Persona I Would Play
© Surazeus
2026 09 06

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spate Of Vulpine Protocols

Spate Of Vulpine Protocols
© Surazeus
2026 09 06

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dare Disturb The Universe

Dare Disturb The Universe
© Surazeus
2026 09 06

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Atoms Dreaming We Are Gods

Atoms Dreaming We Are Gods
© Surazeus
2026 09 05

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bend Our Wounded Bodies

Bend Our Wounded Bodies
© Surazeus
2026 09 05

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Matrix Of Star Souls

Matrix Of Star Souls
© Surazeus
2026 09 05

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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