Turtle With Swan Wings

Turtle With Swan Wings
© Surazeus
2026 02 21

Strange as it seems to the alphabet god, 
I wade in bright lake of arrogant peace 
to catch demonic energy of fear 
and roast large fish in domed temple of truth, 
then sing with crickets in the twilight hour 
when Death catches the tyrant in the tower. 

Silver rain splashing on window of time 
reveals strange beauty of this world I love, 
refracting faces of strangers who live 
in doorless houses of my neighborhood, 
so I stand on stone bridge of timeless faith 
and listen to song of the star-eyed wraith. 

When people gather in the city park 
for the annual poetry festival, 
I morph into the turtle with swan wings 
to fly across the prairie of respect 
and walk in valley of the singing skull 
to hear sweet spell only rivers can sing. 

Though my heart is broken by civil wars 
that displace families from ancestral homes, 
the way Minerva smiles at me and laughs 
while we are strolling on the river shore 
heals secret wounds with charm of simple joy 
because despair flows away to the sea. 

Rivers have flowed from mountains to the seas 
four billion years of shining crystal eyes, 
and water will keep cycling through our hearts 
another billion years of spinning hope, 
so I kneel reverently in glowing grass 
and drink clear liquid in cupped hands of love. 

I pray to totems of Bacchus and Thor 
who laugh with joy at calm absurdity 
as we dance cheerful with anxiety 
to celebrate savage science of truth 
in war against the psychopathic god 
who blusters with obsessive angst at Death. 

Imperial pride of superior grace 
glares fiercely from cracked mirror of despair 
that drives brave Vikings mad in frantic fear 
when glass cathedrals crack from greedy prayers 
which leaves their treasured creeds exposed to rain 
washing pious fantasies to the sea. 

Stuck on the carousel of history 
that hurls my horse of courage into war, 
I race with passion past my destiny 
by swerving willfully from violent hate, 
and choose to welcome refugees of fate 
to build communal paradise of farms. 

Puzzle Of My Soul

Puzzle Of My Soul
© Surazeus
2026 02 21

Blithely assertive with ardent affection, 
I glow with quantum authenticity 
by stretching bandwidth of my psychic wings 
to soar in cloud of human-vibrant dreams 
that pulse with cosmic energy of hope 
as I assemble puzzle of my soul. 

Shocked by awesome beauty of dreamless stars, 
I wander nowhere in cement street maze 
with vague purpose of clandestine concern 
to find the angel I saw fall from Heaven 
so she can tell me secrets of the heart 
for wearing masks of heroes without care. 

Desperately aloof with fierce apathy, 
I flip insouciance with negligent plan 
to change world system of capital games 
so profit favors those who work the hardest 
though parasites drink from my bleeding heart 
with false integrity of patriots. 

Certified prophet of dangerous programs, 
designed to misdirect fraught deficits 
against dependence of spiritual sprites, 
I smear generic blood of history 
on forensic walls of bland galleries 
where bankers buy hazardous truths from artists. 

Optical riddles through mechanic thoughts 
monitor mysterious nurses of faith 
whose brave offensive hands heal mutant fools 
reborn as normal citizens of time 
who orchestrate routines of soul survival 
based on unlicensed puzzle of my soul. 

Nominal model of fashionable pride 
administers marginal show of beauty 
with lavender leadership of contempt 
pursuant to progressive relevance 
dispersed by constant crowd of vigilance 
unqualified to transmit tragedy. 

Vanity played by humble volunteers 
through magnitude of mortal membership 
should maximize my viability 
for martial legacy of microwaves 
modified by monuments of contrition 
for mutual misery of forgotten crimes. 

Nitrogen trust in organized resistance 
explodes with prejudice of false redemption, 
yet stoic protocols through synthesis 
supplement technical bias of trivia 
upgrading versatile skills by osmosis 
though I stare blind through verbal telescopes. 

Frail Rose Of Beauty

Frail Rose Of Beauty
© Surazeus
2026 02 20

Unbidden by grim councils of desire, 
our uncorrupted rose of beauty blooms 
beneath the starry dome of eerie hope 
with fragile petals of our mortal hearts 
that breathe strange sweetness of celestial love 
in anguished hush of timeless twilight glow. 

Sweet rose of beauty blooming from my heart 
demands no vote from politics or creeds, 
nor bends its head to banners in the square 
where people march with mindless fear of death, 
since sunlight is the only law it heeds 
and air is divine gospel of its breath. 

Pure rose of beauty thrives within stone walls 
where truth protects it from the strife of power, 
safe from brazen trumpets that bruise the sky 
when flaring colors blind the loyal eye 
and gilded emblems fool the heart to lie 
in obedience to grand lord in the tower. 

Shackled by demands from profiteers 
to conjure illusions of wealth from death, 
frail rose of beauty learns the cunning tongue 
to sing of glory forged from iron flame, 
so she strums lyre by ideologues restrung, 
shouting loud praise that masks clandestine aims. 

No wise artist could transcend dire disgrace 
when grace of their chisel is pressed to carve 
brave brow of the tyrant in marble mask, 
nor bold brush of the painter schooled to glam 
scenes of noble deeds that never occur 
which trick the multitudes to bow with awe. 

Firm hand of the sculptor, that once released 
ideal soul of the hero from bright stone, 
and trembled at bright gleam of mortal sorrow 
with passion to depict beauty of man, 
now labors in directed trance of fear 
where truth is trimmed from sacred myths of faith. 

Yet deep within our secret-breathing grove, 
where refugees from war seek healing peace, 
the nightingale, unbriefed by state or throne, 
expresses holy hymn of sacred love 
that proves respect for all forever blooms 
in bold cadence no doctrine could intone. 

For bright in every human in this world 
our conscious soul, from pageantry set free, 
drinks beauty of community we share 
from stream of truth the Earth provides for all, 
not by harsh trumpet of conformity, 
but in choir that blends all voices in tune. 

Of The Television Screen

Of The Television Screen
© Surazeus
2026 02 20

I wake up in the television screen, 
brain blooming billions of bland human beings 
who brilliantly berate with purple praise 
enormous idol of their blank-faced god 
who grins with bitter angst of butterflies 
at soft explosions of conceptual thoughts. 

I break up in the television screen 
as founding member of the corporate cohort 
concerned with clank of critical contempt 
at clash of Titans on the internet 
who fight the holy war of sonic youth 
to break electric chains of credit cards. 

I crack out from the television screen 
to swallow army tanks of policies 
based on intrinsic attributes of faith 
when brave professors of untamed desire 
contemplate process of soul suicide 
in context of imminent plans to laugh. 

I squirm out of the television screen 
with fractured shards of mirrors on my face, 
and lie down prone by grave of every child, 
killed by commercial programs of the state, 
to play dead with glass mask of Jupiter 
that glamours with precarious self-regard. 

I fall out of the television screen 
and tumble laughing on the White House lawn 
since tattered wings of Icarus are mine 
despite their enigmatic thoughts of love 
when I cross hands across my wounded chest 
that helps me fly in selfish grave of hope. 

I writhe inside the television screen 
with ardent wisdom of the orphanage, 
smeared with internalized oblivion, 
and march along assembly line of fate 
to robot bondage in car factories, 
trapped in the desperate dead-end life of hope. 

I curl around the television screen 
with brave malignancy of banking kings 
who sing anthems with rhetorical fluff 
contrived from inaccessible respect 
through generous validation of the sad 
regardless of our search for broken minds. 

I blast off from the television screen 
on wingless agency of hopeless fear 
embedded inside obvious clock of trust 
if we transcend confining psychic space 
with brutal innocence of blind Narcissus 
who eats the caged bird when it dares to sing. 

Gods After Bodies Die

Gods After Bodies Die
© Surazeus
2026 02 19

Immortalized by stories humans tell, 
mortals become gods after bodies die, 
so we draw memories from our mental well 
to conjure heroes from our global eye 
whose deeds create good benefiting all 
as moral guide contained in psychic key. 

Prometheus steals brand of fire from Zeus 
and teaches tribe of humans how to cook, 
so we design machines that mass-produce 
cars and computers of the Holy Book, 
then fly in rocket ships to Outer Space 
to find our Earth is giant spinning rock. 

Grim Jupiter assembles justice squad 
who forge brass scepters with sharp diamond spears 
to fight oppressive Titans, then plays God 
who drives fast race car with time-machine gears 
in tandem with celestial flashing node 
that proves our souls are atoms forged by stars. 

Apollo strums electric brain guitar 
to howl weird hymn of love in microphone 
as global rock god who rules Zathamar 
with Sisyphus who drums the rolling stone 
in frantic revolution of the door 
expanding our perception of this plane. 

Some humans play grand role of holy ghost 
whose play embodies spirit of their tribe 
entranced by solemn antics of their host 
who channels singing stars with social vibe 
so their face becomes symbol of the best 
pretenders wear as mask with priestly robe. 

Queen Ishtar rules on ziggurat of truth 
and sends her daughters to evangelize 
conceptual scriptures of messiah sleuth 
which found religions on aesthetic lies 
designed to trap our minds in mindless faith 
till rogue clowns deconstruct cathedral shows. 

Though millions worship Jesus Christ as God 
that mortal man, who nurtured followers, 
and rescued slaves from Hell with angel squad, 
died after he defeated puppeteers, 
but fathered dynasties of castle kings 
who ruled two thousand years with jeweled crowns. 

Our Pantheon of humans in god form 
is crowded now with heroes of the past 
whose noble deeds are scattered by the storm 
so theater of worship has huge cast 
of aspiring stars who all left the farm 
to play in movies on the hilly coast. 

I worship every god who ever lived 
for they are paragons of human souls 
whose great deeds cause our paradigm to shift 
so everybody seeks to play god role 
in our golden age of angelic souls 
singing together in our global choir. 

Bright Voice Of Tellus

Bright Voice Of Tellus
© Surazeus
2026 02 19

I hear bright voice of Tellus in my heart 
when Mother Earth sings vision of her world 
through wind and water of our swirling globe 
so I breathe deep clear spirit of her mind 
to translate wordless joy of fertile life 
with spells that hint at glory of her power. 

Each Mother Goddess in cultural myths 
embodies soul of one special mortal woman 
who lived so large in drama of her tribe 
that their proud bards, inspired by her grand deeds, 
deified her name with worshipful verse 
that preserves her soul so she transcends death. 

All gods and goddesses of ancient tales 
record grand lives of mortal men and women 
whose dramatic acts provide social frame 
for how we view our human characters 
when we explore fierce psychic energies 
that urge our own performance in this life. 

Each conscious human breathing air of Earth 
finds deep in tangled memories of hope 
moral values their ancestors programmed 
through intense actions to survive each day 
which we assemble in puzzle of truth 
to imitate life of deified parents. 

Each god or goddess humans choose to worship 
embodies way of life providing laws 
that guide how we respond to situations 
when we wear mask of our true deity 
which molds our secret soul in divine form 
till we break free and become our True Self. 

Combining features of Jesus, Apollo, 
Odin, and Orpheus in one weird mask, 
polished with sheen of Zeus and Lucifer, 
I create myself as Surazeus 
Astarius Jesuvius Gothinus, 
transformed from mortal man to character. 

So when this mortal body I am dies, 
and crumbles into soil for apple seeds, 
and conscious soul of my brain dissipates 
to nothing more than flashing molecules, 
Spirit of Surazeus will remain 
as concept preserved in spells I compose. 

Animated by First Mother of Mankind, 
that one woman who gave birth to us all, 
I live this temporary life of faith 
to sing bright voice of Tellus in my heart, 
recording memories my ancestors lived, 
then I will vanish in the silent wind. 

Fragile Flame Of Dreams

Fragile Flame Of Dreams
© Surazeus
2026 02 18

Guided safely by fragile flame of dreams, 
I wander blithely endless maze of myths, 
stopping to chat with idols of dead gods 
as I enquire about their social lives 
when we share drinks and contemplate the world, 
then I continue on my merry way. 

Awake from play in fragile flame of dreams, 
I walk pathway along the grassy hill 
where children of the stars play hide and seek 
then run inside the seven-gabled house 
to eat chocolate cake and watch fun cartoons 
while children in distant lands flee from bombs. 

Surprised by light from fragile flame of dreams, 
I gaze at tattered Wings of Icarus 
mounted within glass case near Crown of Thorns 
inside Museum of the Fallen God, 
but the guard dressed in clean uniform glares 
when I attempt to sneak a photograph. 

Amused by glow from fragile flame of dreams, 
I ask Apollo if he understands 
true nature of the graceful laurel tree, 
but he just strums guitar with angry glare 
and howls with hippie voice of psychic angst 
against the empire war-machine of fear. 

Confused by flash from fragile flame of dreams, 
I ask Beethoven how to play the lyre 
with stark electric anguish of true love 
for noble-hearted Brunhild with star eyes 
who hurls sharp spear of generosity 
at King Midas to save humanity. 

Inspired by hum from fragile flame of dreams, 
I chant, "Hail to the Jewel in the Lotus," 
while floating high on television tube 
that beams my body through the multiverse, 
incarnate as Avalokitesvara 
with hundred billion eyes of god-star brains. 

Reborn through egg in fragile flame of dreams, 
I retrieve Apple of Eris with hope 
of romance with wise goddess of the Earth, 
then stand before Saraswati, Kwan Yin, 
and Athena, contemplating which queen 
to offer rich fruit of my loyal heart. 

Destroyed by blast from fragile flame of dreams, 
I kneel in grand cathedral bombed to ruin, 
and grasp at shattered fragments of world view 
assembled by ancient philosophers, 
then design new Temple of Global Truth 
that merges all religions in one faith. 

Justice Rallies Us

Justice Rallies Us
© Surazeus
2026 02 18

I haunt this world as one already dead 
and thus transcend contemporary strife 
with visions of global peace in my head 
as ideal state of equal-justice life, 
because greedy men terrified of death 
oppress the rest of us by stealing breath. 

Attentive to mute anguish of the folk 
who hide their faces behind masks of pride, 
I program mental world view of the woke 
that guides progress of my confident stride 
when I unite with comrades of our land 
to counter theft by the capitalist hand. 

With star-spangled banner of Liberty 
we join brave effort to oppose cruel thugs 
who kidnap children of democracy, 
and rescue them with encouraging hugs, 
because together we learn how to cope 
when Justice rallies us with reborn hope. 

Our old world view lies shattered on the ground, 
smashed by fierce gang of wealthy oligarchs, 
so we assemble on republic mound 
in world coalition against monarchs 
and build from ruins of America 
United Nations of Zarathia. 

I haunt this world as one barely alive 
after harsh assault by kings in disguise, 
yet we join forces of truth to survive 
against exploiters who patrol the skies 
in planes that shoot bombs to destroy our homes 
so we wander where the blind prophet roams. 

We help Sisyphus with his rolling stone 
to smash gold idol of the clay-foot king 
who seems to tower over all alone 
but will crumble when brave Valkyries sing, 
so restoring our tax money he stole 
to fund free healthcare is our noble goal. 

With wings of Icarus I weave from faith 
I soar above our global city maze 
with message of success from the God Wraith 
whose love pilots our growth to the next phase 
as leader who nurtures our innates skills 
when we celebrate truth in flowered hills. 

We haunt our world with knowledge we will die 
yet strive to build lush paradise for all 
who quest for truth by analyzing why, 
then feast and sing in world-religion hall 
that binds our hearts and minds with code of truth 
composed by wisdom of messiah sleuth. 

Evening Star Of Choice

Evening Star Of Choice
© Surazeus
2026 02 17

If I feel the Evening Star through thick fog 
that half-veils tidal flats of kelp on rocks, 
though my eyes cannot perceive its sharp light, 
I may breathe time-swirled element of faith 
that jagged pool of invisible light 
may cleanse my wounded heart with honesty. 

Lost in dark fog of brutal watershine, 
far from safe cave of innocent respect, 
I transform into heron in low tide 
with eager hope to soar on graceful wings 
above contentious crowds of worshippers 
who seek to grasp bright calcium flame of truth. 

Scattered feathers from fallen angels twitch 
in hungry sand of fractured polity, 
oblique with evasive context of rage 
misleading sharp-eyed devils who require 
typographic planes of opaque dispute 
drawn from excessive expertise of fear. 

Imprinted layers of conceptual fate, 
still wrapped in umber clarity of trust, 
define unended journeys beyond fear 
condensed as statues guarding halls of lies 
where whispered secrets of gauzed confidence 
conceal our souls in figurines of glass. 

Though startling sequence of dream formulas 
pluck private strings of cordial scarcity, 
hall mirror faces mirror of my brain 
with law of splendid light to balance pain 
against collapsing telescope of fate 
through which I see the Evening Star of Choice. 

Amazed by radiance of the unseen house, 
preserving shocked glare of the puppeteer, 
I light ten thousand candles of my heart 
to highlight origin of tangled words 
that multiply our bodies from desire 
which thrive sparked on infinity effect. 

Electric construct of my mental Self, 
style modeled on profile of Orpheus 
refined by quantum energy of love, 
provides framework for weird ontology 
I program from puzzle of spectral souls 
which animates my fragile flame of dreams. 

Syntax of artificial chronicles, 
commissioned from my heart by primal gods, 
converts my thoughts to tangled threads of words 
which angels weave in global tapestries 
presenting unreal shadows of our brains 
we play as riddles in Plutonian homes. 

Ripe Apple Of The Sun

Ripe Apple Of The Sun
© Surazeus
2026 02 17

If I should catch ripe apple of the sun 
before it falls in thick Slough of Despond 
I may taste bitter sweetness of true love 
which is why the revolution is fought 
with passion for aspiring right to stand 
with fluted robe of hope on modern shores. 

We ride wave of this golden age with class, 
exquisite in white marble drapery 
that gleams with brutal wisdom of starlight 
in gleaming waters of the fountain pool 
where statues of our ancestors remain 
long after their souls program our genes. 

While change remains eternal principle 
that guides our progress from classical times, 
we gaze with rapture at excessive shapes 
contained in watery medium of our minds 
reflecting glimmer of grief in our eyes 
we cherish with consensual fortitude. 

Alive in warm flesh of young nameless boy, 
Apollo glides in cluttered streets of Rome 
with flute he plays for national orchestras 
on transparent stage of undevoured time 
to note accentual differences of rhyme 
we share as witness of treacherous death. 

Yet unread pages of the ancient book 
still mirror characters with noble traits 
who never walk this world in mortal flesh 
for they are ideals we aspire to play, 
stuck in impossible scenarios 
that always end in tragic loss of faith. 

Uncommon radiance of her special face 
gleams clear with incandescent honesty 
through immaterial passion to retrieve 
efficient confidence from tombs of fate, 
defined by absence of our mortal souls 
embodied by glass idols of respect. 

Endurance through aesthetic thoughtfulness 
reveals how numb bereavement frames our days 
with courage to survive contingencies 
no one but scarred survivors will expect 
though trapped in consolations of contempt 
that drown our hearts in cold indifferences. 

Assertive discipline of summoned ghosts 
constrains excessive passion to transcend 
bland credence of divisive energies 
that teach us how to understand our pain 
despite attempts to bank fateful accounts 
with apples we store in our wounded hearts. 

Office Of Messiah Sleuth

Office Of Messiah Sleuth
© Surazeus
2026 02 16

Since I can plumb the sinking of my soul 
in heat that sinews my abolished will, 
I will not cherish struggle to retreat 
against wild burning of eternal beat 
that teaches me to love beauty of Death 
whose energy recalculates dream math. 

I see our sky ascending black as light 
with startled judgment of attentive right 
above brick buildings on the rugged hill 
that twists stark epitaph of rainbow will 
against hosannah cries of bitter fear 
that highlights process of the river gear. 

If roots of wild ingrafted olive trees 
should wither at harsh breath of winter breeze 
I scale dire revelation of my heart 
with arcane code of wisdom on star chart 
which I consult to prophesy in code 
fall of our empire on the signless road. 

Yet night enchants ghost lion in blue glass 
that shields my heart from haughtiness of class 
to coil my soul in portrait of my brain 
wound tight in telescope of spirit gain 
that dulls excessive pain of wind-stung eyes 
concealed by mirror of time-fractured skies. 

No mountain in this world is now unscaled 
by ancient sages who have never failed 
to light bold hearth of science with respect 
defined by gorgeous flash of intellect 
so we may journey to the Promised Land 
found on no map composed by human hand. 

Still no miscarriage of my fertile brain, 
she gathers books to categorize gain 
against assertive reach of mad fame 
by choosing not to bandage wound with name 
that speaks with querulous voice of concern 
for how bitter men steal books to burn. 

Ephemeral music of our savage skies 
teaches children that every creature dies 
with graceful paranoia stricken weird 
by tearful knowledge of the disappeared 
who auction memories in the temple hall 
in fair exchange for coins earned at the ball. 

Monotony of vision mirrors hope 
exchanged for childhood tricks on how to cope 
despite my stature as calm nihilist 
convinced by theory of the Narcissist 
that we may bear unchanging scroll of truth 
contrived by office of messiah sleuth. 

Wordless Wonder Of Why

Wordless Wonder Of Why
© Surazeus
2026 02 16

I sometimes forget I am still alive 
so I open the door that goes nowhere 
and walk somewhere else I think I should be 
then stand for some time on the nowhere spot 
to think about nothing but warm sunlight 
that molds my soul from words I never speak. 

I remember with sudden flash of fear 
that I should be somewhere else about now 
so I run gasping for breath of the cloud 
through shadows of trees that call out to me 
but I stop by the pool of silver light 
and wonder if I have some kind of name. 

I may not be real as I think I am 
so I keep walking to the secret place 
while asking the bird with arrogant wings 
if anyone has the same face as me 
but she explains that I am made of rain 
so I hop and flap my arms to be real. 

I almost forget I want to transcend 
this fragile body that gets tired and hurt 
till I trip over the innocent stone 
which contains the secret name I should have 
so I caress rough surface of its mind 
till I become its true stillness of strength. 

I try to record visions of my eyes 
with marks I draw in soft dirt of the world 
but sudden gust of wind from black clouds 
erases memories of who I should be 
so I stand and walk toward the glowing beam 
that teleports me to top of the world. 

I look backward into shadowy woods 
and listen for creak of demonic trees 
that teach me how to speak words of my thoughts 
then turn forward to walk into the sky 
but I fall to my knees and laugh surprised 
at vast roundness of the world I perceive. 

I stand on top of the high mountain peak 
and reach my arms to touch the silver light 
then turn slowly around on trembling feet 
to feel endless rolling hills of green trees 
surrounded by silver shimmer of seas 
that understand wild beating of my heart. 

I howl loud with wordless wonder of why 
at awesome beauty of the turning world 
that gleams in writhing passion of my soul 
because my pulsing body is amazed 
that I am still alive with ache of love 
without concern that I will someday die. 

Ancient Wings Of Icarus

Ancient Wings Of Icarus
© Surazeus
2026 02 15

While on my quest to find the Holy Grail, 
hitchhiking far across this crazy land, 
I almost trip over long dragon tail 
that teleports my soul to Samarkand. 
With ancient wings of Icarus I fly 
around this world shaped like a giant eye. 

For deep inside my heart I hear the voice 
of humankind cry out for joyful peace 
because we make our fate with every choice 
since Plato pondered life in sunlit Greece. 
With ancient wings of Icarus I fly 
around this world shaped like a giant eye. 

Yet when the mighty wind of change blows wild 
across our land from sea to shining sea 
we rise with spirit of the newborn child 
and shape this land so everyone lives free. 
With ancient wings of Icarus I fly 
around this world shaped like a giant eye. 

Young wizard on the winding diamond road 
lifts ladder of brave opportunity 
so when hard rain falls at hum of the toad 
we bind all tribes in one community. 
With ancient wings of Icarus I fly 
around this world shaped like a giant eye. 

I travel with guitar of Mercury 
and sing in every town of working folk 
to cast bright vision with dream sorcery 
converting minds to lifestyle of the Woke. 
With ancient wings of Icarus I fly 
around this world shaped like a giant eye. 

Though sea of tears divides our lonely hearts 
we build global Bridge of Togetherness 
so rainbows shining on our psychic charts 
guide us to meadow of the shepherdess. 
With ancient wings of Icarus I fly 
around this world shaped like a giant eye. 

Long after empire of America 
falls from our disillusionment in truth, 
we gather in feast hall of Onatah 
where we vote for our new messiah sleuth. 
With ancient wings of Icarus I fly 
around this world shaped like a giant eye. 

Though I am lost in land of Zathamar, 
Seattle to Miami on the road, 
my soul transforms into the Morning Star 
from eating mushroom of the Buddha Toad. 
With ancient wings of Icarus I fly 
around this world shaped like a giant eye. 

Redesign God As Robot

Redesign God As Robot
© Surazeus
2026 02 15

Secret encounter with the howling rock 
excites regret for stealing ocean waves 
and selling them to black horse of the moon 
who always seems to know what words I eat 
with slavish laughter of marvelous dusk 
depicted by rupestral mask of life. 

Frail darkness of my voice fills void of hope 
with blazing cities stuck on jagged cliffs 
through my irresistible zeal concealed 
by stamps of genetic inheritance 
born from resplendent force of purity 
despite victorious angst of smoking swamps. 

Delicious dearth of dream-partitioned walls 
decides with sudden rain of screaming lamps 
to mimic fortitude dead angels share 
with bitter gods of non-eternal light 
who steal hot loaves of bread for nobody 
except to play chess in the smoking swamp. 

Now that Beauty shall be moral again 
we stand before the seething vat of ghosts 
who should wear delicate masks with pink lace 
if they return to forest of respect 
where wicked angels aim guns at their heads 
because they want to eat her apple pies. 

Untraceable stains of insulting sneers 
express continuum of harmful jokes 
disjointed from assertive rage at strength 
displayed by angels who resist their hate 
by walking quietly down small-town road 
because love is meat and drink of the heart. 

Difficult hour I shall make friends with Death 
decries strict resolution sold for peace 
through backward release of unfractured air 
unlocked by egregious snow of despair 
which depends on blood that spurts from our eyes 
by hangers that clatter on ice-slicked floors. 

Aspen tree tangled with barbed wire of fear 
calls for his yellow-haired mother of time 
to come home on the star-stripped road of fate 
at creak of rusty hinges on sad doors 
that rip her heart with agony of faith 
trapped by disappearing words of contempt. 

If we look Trickery in his rancid eye 
with eager bitterness to buy his lies 
we could fire guns at angels in the sky 
who drink bitter tears of electric spies 
since everything we thought was true is not, 
unless we redesign God as Robot. 

Wet Patio Of Time

Wet Patio Of Time
© Surazeus
2026 02 15

Twinkle of raindrops on patio planks 
wakes memories of weird dramatic scenes 
that her ancestors once experienced 
for millions of years on this turning globe 
when they sat in silence of everywhere 
on timeless afternoons of falling rain. 

Shadows of old memories from her life 
stretch bright across wet patio of time 
that echoes laughter of wind-swirling leaves 
to veil warm sunshine of her lonely smile 
that glows in garden of forgotten books 
where all sad stories of dead humans hide. 

She sighs that eager children of her heart 
have scattered far across the fertile land 
as seeds blown by indifferent wind of change 
that sprout in families with unknown names 
who cherish their own memories of life 
where she is ghost of absence none can see. 

Awake with mute complacency of love, 
she tries to play observer of their play 
with patient nonchalance of bitter hope, 
yet finds in space between unspoken words 
compassion for young strangers of her clan 
with love that sheds fierce urgency of hope. 

Holding small leather Bible in pale hands, 
she walks in black shoes and long yellow dress 
on dirt road to white church on the lake shore 
where child of the sky hides inside the oak 
and writes poems in alphabet he designed 
with blood of dragons on frail autumn leaves. 

Though she knows without a doubt in her heart 
that the child of the sky inside the oak 
is father of her mother she once met 
when he was old as the bent withered oak, 
so she tries to remember his true name 
but all she can think about his Hengist. 

Dark stranger on the shore calls out her name, 
inquiring if she might have any tears 
of wordless sorrow to sell for the cow, 
so she lays flower wreath on its large head 
and parades through town to Scarborough Fair 
where she was his true love who still lives there. 

If she gets trapped in the internet game 
transforming beauty from innocent tears, 
she might ask statue of Apollo how 
to find the street where angels fear to tread, 
then laughs because life has become absurd 
as computer code of the happy bird. 

Awake In Blue Rain

Awake In Blue Rain
© Surazeus
2026 02 15

Awake in blue rain of horrible hope, 
I whisper name of every soul who lived 
on every planet in our universe 
to keep alive brave spirit of their heart 
that gleams with first flash of the white-whole light 
which flashes bright in neurons of my brain. 

Awake in blue rain of innocent fear, 
I walk the endless maze of psychic myths 
to chat with idol of every dead god 
ever worshipped by tribes of hungry folk, 
who live reborn in children of their genes 
in tangled web of human families. 

Awake in blue rain of psychotic peace, 
I stand on ziggurat of the God Eye 
with compassion for every conscious soul 
who follows guiding star of their desire 
which weaves their fate with every choice they make 
to generate new life before they die. 

Awake in blue rain of arrogant faith, 
I host communal feast of loyal friends 
in grand cathedral of angelic love 
contrived from doctrine of demonic hate 
that binds our minds with world religious rites 
presenting heroes who succeed or fail. 

Awake in blue rain of marvelous mirth, 
I wear the shining mask of Lucifer 
to walk crowded cities of Zathamar 
with brilliant lamp of wise Diogenes 
while guiding refugees from civil wars 
across the waste land to new Wonderland. 

Awake in blue rain of frantic desire, 
I wield the lightning bolt of Jupiter 
to fight the tyrant who exploits the people 
and rescue Rapunzel from golden tower 
so she sells apples in the market place 
where Phoebus helps Justice manage world life. 

Awake in blue rain of pleasurable pain, 
I bear the holy grail of Guinevere, 
forged by hands of Jesus, the Fisher King, 
through incarnation of his first-born child, 
the star-eyed Mermaid with divine blue blood 
whose spirit animates my social hymn. 

Awake in blue rain of glamorous gloom, 
I strum the sacred lyre of Mercury 
and sing epic poem of philosophers 
who laid foundation of our world empire 
preserved in creed of Academia 
to build world view on truth, not fantasy. 

We Rebuild Our State

We Rebuild Our State
© Surazeus
2026 02 14

Once I break on through to the other side 
and dance in doorway of eternity, 
I float in blissful consciousness of pain 
as bright electric snow of spirit gain, 
then sing new world view for modernity 
that sparks pure laughter of our humble pride. 

She asks me where I live with river voice, 
so I build highways sea to shining sea 
that link all cities in vast maze of souls 
awake with joy of oscillating roles 
between vast emptiness of light we see 
because we weave our fate with every choice. 

We dwell in holy land of Zathamar 
with brave attention of community 
that we join hands and hearts with honest faith 
and guard our fellow citizens with ruth 
based firm on social opportunity 
despite dictatorship of Belshazzar. 

We float on ocean of one global mind 
with earnest wisdom of dynamic change 
encrypting dream code with fantastic tune 
to open wide perceptive door of soon 
through sudden renaissance of perfect strange 
contingent on weird contract Phoebus signed. 

Intrusive measurement of tethered light 
exposes romance of intense surprise 
we share while watching fearful castles fall 
at subtle psalm that chronicles weird call 
contrived to explicate our mirror eyes 
so we learn how to calculate the right. 

If we break free from arrogant dismay 
at serpent song of pine trees on the ridge, 
we might see Helios create the wheel 
in time to understand how we should feel 
while dancing on frail sorrow of the bridge 
that fools is into learning how to pray. 

Because doors of perception reveal truth 
recorded on gold scrolls by cosmic herald, 
our eyes perceive ideas forming things 
that channel energy through horcrux rings 
which we employ at stage we are imperiled 
to vote as president messiah sleuth. 

Confused by joke of ardent tragedy 
unspooling fortunes gambled for by time, 
we all unite our individual goals 
to guard our neighbors from aggressive trolls 
who earnestly repent of evil crime 
as we rebuild our state through comedy. 

Queen Juno Sospita

Queen Juno Sospita
© Surazeus
2026 02 14

Billions of voices whisper in the dark, 
expressing emotions that beat our hearts 
with wild atomic passion of desire 
to explain vision of the world we see, 
and how we hope to play our chosen role 
in global drama we create as fate. 

I try to hear what each voice has to say, 
to focus on conception of their mind 
beamed by descriptive stream of sentences 
so I may comprehend vision of truth 
that glows as virtual model of the world 
in pulsing framework of their fragile brain. 

Their individual voices, trickling bright 
as single rivulets of private thought 
that curl down verbal fields of mountain slopes, 
merge together in larger flow of dreams 
to blend in world view everybody shares 
till all our different views form one great sea. 

With deft hands trained by Muse of lyric voice 
I weave eight billion threads of conscious minds 
in global tapestry of human hope 
so all our special colors intertwined 
depict with honor Mother of Mankind 
embodied by Queen Juno Sospita. 

Our Savior Mother Queen with gleaming eyes, 
who wears goatskin cap with strength-curling horns, 
brandishes brass spear with emerald blade, 
and shakes long sun-drenched tresses with pizzaz 
while dancing on porch of her temple hall 
to melody that Phoebus strums with joy. 

Our many voices blend in one great cry 
that swells with brutal ecstasy of faith 
while we leap high toward Glow Cloud of respect 
through bold transfiguration of our souls 
from individuals desperate to survive 
to commune bonding with vision we share. 

I stand alone on cloud-veiled mountain peak, 
arms spread with joy as wings of Icarus 
to sing my truth with private voice of hope 
that channels voices of humanity 
so all conflicting dreams blend in one dream 
where every soul shares Earth as our great home. 

Because I disappear in teeming crowd 
and lose my self in vast humanity, 
I find my true self deep inside my heart 
designed by First Mother all humans share, 
for Juno Sospita wakes in us all, 
brothers and sisters on one turning world. 

Under Indifferent Stars

Under Indifferent Stars
© Surazeus
2026 02 14

Despite regret for how life has panned out, 
based on each strange choice he refused to make, 
half-blind Wagat limps on hot river shore 
to ask Willow Witch secret of true love, 
but her skeleton lies tangled in roots 
though her young ghost still shines bright in the sun. 

Squinting through half-blind eyes of lethargy, 
Wagat imagines in haze of despair 
that he sees three tall angels in white robes 
bearing swords of flame that glint in their hands 
as they float down from hot-air balloon disk 
and speak to him with celestial thoughts. 

Grumbling in his short guttural speech of fear, 
Wagat explains to divine messengers, 
who came down from glorious clouds of light, 
that his housemate Willow Witch died last month 
and her body dissolved in tangled roots, 
but her soul should dwell in the clouds with them. 

The tallest angel with long golden hair 
explains with ethereal voice of soft wind 
that chimes with sweetness of morning birdsong 
how the world of land and water was made 
by hand of Lightning Ghost in thunder clouds, 
or so Wagat imagines he might say. 

Gasping in shock as tall angels of light 
bind his body with thick harness like theirs, 
Wagat wriggles to escape as he shouts 
when they all ascend high above the field, 
and the willow tree shrinks small as a bush 
beside the broad river that sparkles blue. 

Peering up at vast blue sky of Glow Clouds, 
Wagat sees disk of the hot-air balloon 
shudder in sudden gusts of freezing wind, 
and he howls to see the great mountain peak 
that always loomed high where the sun-eye glows 
now jut below his feet as they drift past. 

Gasping for breath as he tries to stay calm, 
Wagat stares surprised at towers of stone 
that gleam on the cliff high above the sea, 
vast maze of streets full of people and carts 
which appear to him like ants in stream beds, 
till they land on plat of the pyramid. 

Trembling as he walks with angels in streets, 
Wagat hopes to meet his lost Willow Witch 
in halls of Heaven she told him about, 
but they teach him how to pull two-wheeled cart 
so he works each day taking trash away, 
then cries each night under indifferent stars. 

With Soul Of Helius

With Soul Of Helius
© Surazeus
2026 02 14

When sunlight at dawn glitters in my eye 
I rise from the Earth and walk in the sky. 
I wander the roadless plain by the sea 
and drift with the wind that wafts my soul free. 
The ocean tells me, wherever I roam 
I am not lost for my heart is my home. 

With warm glitter of sunlight in my heart 
I stride across the world without star chart. 
I gather apples in basket of hope 
from deep-rooted tree on the mountain slope. 
The mountain tells me, wherever I roam 
I am not lost for my heart is my home. 

I spark new fire in ashes of my dream 
and roast fish I catch from the flashing stream. 
I hum in harmony with the moon chime 
to measure constant flowing of breath time. 
The river tells me, wherever I roam 
I am not lost for my heart is my home. 

To mimic rolling circle of the sun 
I bend steamed wood into wheel of the dawn. 
With soul of Helius, my father, in me 
I journey in wagon toward the Great Tree. 
The Glow Cloud tells me, wherever I roam 
I am not lost for my heart is my home.