Never Die Of Truth

Never Die Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 05 10

Because my heart will never die of truth, 
though my body and mind wither from time, 
I wander fields of wheat till I meet Ruth 
who teaches me psychic secret of chime. 
We hold hands as we stroll along the stream 
while troubles weave our hearts in loyal team. 

Before I wake up, stuck in Tree of Life 
while stealing apples from Lilith the Queen, 
I learn from Hephaestus how to forge knife 
of justice with my name in damascene. 
Though she casts me out of high garden walls 
I study secret of electric balls. 

In Desolation Canyon of Utah 
I build log cabin on Green River shore 
where I write love letters to Onatah 
who trades wagons of corn for iron ore. 
When I escape castles on noble quest 
I build democracy in the Wild West. 

Riding my bike in the small Texas town, 
I think about Brenda with eyes of gold 
who giggles when I flirt as clumsy clown 
then sing prophecies the Crow Witch inscrolled. 
I see mask of her face on golden moon 
when I ask Anne Bradstreet for sacred boon. 

Our great empire now collapses from lies 
since ideals of justice and liberty 
are twisted from tricks spread by foreign spies, 
which curses my tribesmen with poverty. 
We build from ruins of America 
new equal nation of Zarathia. 

I do my part while wandering road of fate, 
composing epic of philosophers 
to highlight heroes who investigate 
nature of life as truth geographers. 
Now I can vanish from dream of this world 
at thirteenth coming of the cosmic herald. 

We should not wait for brave Lyterius 
to save our nation from the tyrant thief 
since democracy is precarious, 
for justice requires sacrificial grief. 
I search for Ruth in prairie fields of wheat 
to calculate our wealth in the spreadsheet. 

Since our nation will never die of truth, 
we build new world view on verified facts 
adjudicated by messiah sleuth 
who notarizes all social contracts. 
As thirteenth descendant of the Crow Witch 
I chronicle truth with each hexastich. 

Obsessive Eyes Of History

Obsessive Eyes Of History
© Surazeus
2026 05 10

The random events of my mundane life 
occur so far outside standard template 
of socially accepted stereotypes, 
that I can only chronicle each phase 
without application of ordered stamps 
beyond frame of meaningful narrative. 

No conceptual meaning assigned by fate 
could be extracted from those bizarre scenes 
if I detail each particular fact 
against normal code of significance 
contrary to nuance of legal aim 
that motivates my actions to survive. 

Each maladjusted purpose I assert 
reverses message of psychic intent 
with imprecise explanation of hope 
beyond general drift of my argument, 
which is to say I could never attest 
to divine gist of consensual design. 

No story ever told in time-bound books, 
nor shows presented on the glowing screen, 
ever represents my experience 
in typical sequence of measured scenes 
that model paradigm of social tales 
contrived by fabulists of absurd myths. 

I will not compose memoir of my life, 
spinning meaningful narrative of fate 
from random assemblage of anecdotes 
that highlight examples of clumsiness 
when I interact with people in scenes 
scripted to humiliate me with farce. 

Each time I stumble into social scene, 
where fearful people wearing bitter masks 
direct burlesque of taunting disrespect 
that stars their caricature of my soul, 
I perform contrary to game they expect 
that exposes their hate through travesty. 

Thus I exit absurd drama they cast 
by vacating stage of their haughty pride 
and leave them to strut with false dignity 
before obsessive eyes of history 
that devours esteem of arrogant fools 
with terrible curse of soul-twisting fame. 

Long trapped in stories other people write, 
unwilling antagonist of their heroism, 
I leap from tower of religious faith 
to soar on urgent wings of Icarus 
till I fall singing in Ocean of Doom 
and rise reborn on island of my heart. 

Falling Star Of Fate

Falling Star Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 05 10

Too late to catch the falling star of fate, 
that blasts illusion of our noble state, 
I leap across abyss of timeless truth 
to wear changing mask of messiah sleuth 
and play Lyterius on the global stage 
to free Liberty from the golden cage. 

After I trace the falling star of fate, 
that exposes ghoul of long-concealed hate, 
I gather wounded people of the land 
so with strength of numbers we take our stand 
opposing tyrant in castle of greed 
whose idol of gold crumbles into seed. 

Because I map the falling star of fate, 
that cracks base of our continental plate, 
I search for fragments of our old world view 
to assemble weird puzzle from each clue 
in blueprint for new world order of laws 
that applies fair verdict to each crime cause. 

Shocked awake by the falling star of fate, 
that reveals location of my soulmate, 
I overcome all obstacles of chance 
so we can meet and share romantic dance 
in sacred temple of fertility 
to generate souls with civility. 

Twisting time from the falling star of fate, 
that inspires our new nation to be great, 
I stand on street corner in every town 
to play guitar and sing about the clown 
who decrees we worship idol of gold 
that portrays Justice without her blindfold. 

Heart inspired by the falling star of fate, 
that provides gold for the heavenly gate, 
I stand guard at threshold of global change 
to help angels of Ishtar rearrange 
psychic system of world society 
with tools that help manage anxiety. 

Concerned about the falling star of fate, 
that smolders in garden of my estate, 
I pull sword of justice from glowing stone 
with hammer of vision adjusting tone, 
so I lead revolution of the brave 
against hungry monster in the dream cave. 

Empowered by the falling star of fate, 
that helps my magnetic brain navigate 
traps to treasures in labyrinth of myth, 
I crown Ishtar beneath the monolith 
as priestess who records our names at birth 
to manage United Nations of Earth. 

Safe On The Serpent Way

Safe On The Serpent Way
© Surazeus
2026 05 10

In this open field of battle for truth 
between bleak wind and sorrow of the mind, 
I build marble temple from dragon bones 
where the clock, not yet invented by hope, 
unspools salvation from seductive hearts 
of those who long to walk the signless road. 

Soft whisper of some voice in shadowed woods 
explains quickening of life in dark rain 
that causes mindless reel of being to spin 
with sharp machinery of the hungry mind 
because past events of outrageous crimes 
occur again today that shocks our hearts. 

Knife-eyed scientists of truth, who research 
excessive opinions about state power, 
scan vast emptiness of heavenly realms 
with passion to observe how souls are born 
from flash of chemicals in pulsing brains 
that emanate with conscious sense of self. 

Harrowing strain of electric regrets 
reshapes crowded tenements of lost souls 
who give up searching for the Promised Land 
while gazing upward at arrogant clouds 
that deny right to work and live at will 
in any town along the restless river. 

So many voices of the recent past 
wait mute in cracked texts of long-unread books 
that highlight fraught problem of ownership 
fought between factions of corporate states, 
so I walk barefoot on long pilgrimage 
to find skulls of gods buried under roots. 

When Sisyphus stumbles to his crippled knees 
and rock of salvation begins to roll, 
I will imagine how happy he is 
to push the stone of wisdom up the hill, 
then stand in line with joy to wait my turn 
while I ponder how matter radiates essence. 

Since Tiresias gives me wand of respect 
and retires to watch television shows, 
I strut the busy streets of business shops 
till I see tall gold statue in the park, 
but when preachers demand I worship it 
I call out for help from Abednego. 

Running from masked agents with eyeless guns, 
I seek for Spirit of Lyterius 
to wake inside hollow cave of my heart 
and guide my way safe on the Serpent Way, 
till I find myself at the pyramid 
where lightning strikes gold idol of the king. 

Woke In Angelophanic Realm

Woke In Angelophanic Realm
© Surazeus
2026 05 09

Trapped in despondency of eager faith, 
I follow Zadkiel with purple wings 
along winding trail of hope-shattered stones 
to snow-frosted peaks of Strobilus Mountain 
where I find fountain of my sun-born soul 
that fills my mortal frame with divine light. 

Still chained to ragged cliff of anarchy, 
Prometheus calls my name in howling wind, 
so I open portal of my aching heart 
which lures his flame-stealing soul to attend 
phase of my project constructing world view 
that beams radiation of primordial god. 

Engaged with focus of attentive care 
in brave adventure of curious growth, 
which my ancestors practice through each life, 
I map weird vision of ontology 
that defines virtue of active respect 
based on constructive process of design. 

Through theft of fire from cave of ardent faith 
I build assertive walls of Ilium 
where we horse-traders evaluate pride, 
immune to blood of dragons in our hearts, 
based on clairvoyance of agnostic dread 
still pertinent to moments of insight. 

Interior vision from Spirit of Mundus, 
which postulates sacred garden of ghosts, 
provides supportive landscape for my heart 
to dwell woke in angelophanic realm 
where I translate encoded messages 
as cosmic revelation few perceive. 

Demonic shade, that emanates from me, 
guides me through mirror cave of mental math 
to mediate contract of my wounded heart 
with cosmic Seraph of immortal genes 
along the winding Serpent Path of faith 
where Numinous Phantom of my heart sings. 

When I receive weird truth that we choose fate, 
I recite sagacious riddles of insight 
while performing pageant of ecstasy 
through narrative exposition of deeds 
which portray my inner transformation 
based on the friendly silence of the moon. 

Freed from subterfuge of religious creed, 
I walk with Zadkiel on mountain trail 
to build devotional fane of respect 
for soul of my ancestors in my heart 
to glow as mirror that presents my face 
which masks ephemeral spirit of the Earth. 

Glass Idol Of God

Glass Idol Of God
© Surazeus
2026 05 09

Faint light of afternoon glows sultry green 
on pallid walls of silent living rooms 
where shadows of people whose names I knew 
fade into fuzzy memories few recall, 
preserved by songs in aching melodies 
that nobody ever sings anymore. 

Embellished beauty, inherent in words 
never spoken against oppressive fear, 
teaches me to distrust bitter commands 
that attempt to mute music of the streets 
which reveals cracks in foundations of faith 
then causes our great empire to collapse. 

Sirens once lured sailors to crash bold ships 
on rocks of lust to taste forbidden fruit, 
but now sirens wail to warn of attacks 
when angels of heaven in silver planes 
drop bombs of greed on halls of liberty, 
so the wounded wail in ruins of faith. 

Exempt from greed that plagues weak hearts of men, 
we wander toward siren song of despair 
to gather round waterless fountain pool 
where faceless people in travel-worn shoes 
leave empty suitcases in piles of hope 
while family photographs swirl in hot wind. 

Our bodies mutate from statues of gold 
to hunger-wasted zombies of blind faith 
so we exchange hope-tattered dollar bills 
to buy illusions of brave apathy 
that clutter abandoned churches where ghosts 
sing solemn hymns to glass idol of God. 

Mother of Dignity, wearing black dress 
stained with blood of angels, points to Glow Cloud 
fractured into puzzle pieces of truth, 
and asks why we are baffled by despair 
embodied by old woman on the cow 
who gives the thirsty broken cups of dreams. 

Exquisite rant against dishonest men, 
who succumb to surprise of carefree death, 
provides glimpse into how gears of the brain 
analyze mutation of our world view 
so we see everything differently now, 
since life is one long television show. 

Though I lost mask of white ghost in my heart 
that haunts waterless wells in horseless fields, 
I almost feel reborn from flames of change 
that blast institutions of social games, 
yet jagged quartz that writhes in all my cells 
traps my spirit in glass idol of God. 

Ghost Of Shimmer-Thought

Ghost Of Shimmer-Thought
© Surazeus
2026 05 09

When I kneel at fern-wreathed curb of the well 
to see strange whiteness Robert once discerned, 
I see no godlike ghost of shimmer-thought 
behind mask of my simple mortal face, 
so I pretend with smirk of innocence 
that I perceive true essence of this world. 

Sun-dappled lilies of the valley bloom 
from graves where my ancestors rot to dust 
along lost roads of verdant urgency 
since patterns of transcendent ideal forms 
mold matter into transient beings of light 
which weaves meaning out of random events. 

While trudging endless road of prairie grass 
beside four-wheeled wagon of dreamy hopes, 
I seek glow of enchantment in bright hills 
that whisper secret tales in wordless wind, 
revealing secrets of this ancient land 
where grim demonic shadows of fear lurk. 

I sense weird spirit of faceless regard 
as meaning immanent in mindless things 
that I project with passion to express 
transcendent vision flashing in my eyes 
which dissipates in sudden gust of wind 
so I see river valley as it is. 

Vast cities in lands far across the sea 
teem with gangs of men fighting for control 
over whose god bestows their right to live 
with fierce ambition to claim providence 
for calm consumption of material wealth 
providing nourishment for psychic growth. 

No cities gleam on distant hills of hope 
beyond horizon of potential peace 
so I imagine divine providence 
beams rays of light on river vales of hope 
to highlight opportunities for growth 
where I may thrive far from castles of greed. 

This vision of new opportunity 
drove my ancestors in long wagon trains 
over rugged mountains of agony, 
across windy prairies of urgency, 
to build new homes on river shores of faith 
far from oppressive grasp of tyranny. 

Now tyrants reach their hands across the land 
to crush all opposition to their greed 
as spirit of Rome looms over lush vales 
to expand empire of social control, 
so I stand on wild beach of Oregon 
and laugh because our crowded world is round. 

Wings Of Tranquil Honesty

Wings Of Tranquil Honesty
© Surazeus
2026 05 09

Distantly arriving at nonsense now 
with the old book that wants to read itself, 
I ask nobody why we are alive, 
then drink apple juice on the broken rock, 
so I can take stock of the world today, 
Nature serene while humans fight for power. 

They seem to stand so still in peaceful calm, 
huge trees that gaze up at the empty sky 
where no giant man watches all I do, 
but their roots are tangled in hostile wars 
over who sucks atoms of material 
from corpses of organic animals. 

Their soft leaves of tender fragility, 
that flutter delicately in cool breeze, 
are engaged in struggle for dominance 
over who soaks in more bright rays of light 
that flush their hardened trunks with energy 
to scatter more seeds far across the land. 

They chirp so cheerfully in gentle trees, 
the birds that flutter wings of urgent hope 
where no guardian angels protect my soul, 
but their sweet songs express romantic hope 
to attract the most ardent monitors 
attentive to needs of their frantic faith. 

Their fragile wings of tranquil honesty, 
that swirl in controlled flights of fantasy, 
hurl their obsessive hearts in frenzied flight 
with agitated passion to proclaim 
voice-enforced shield of territorial bounds 
in struggles to control space of their dreams. 

When I walk out on porch of my quaint home 
at peaceful gleam of dawn that paints all rosy, 
I hear birds chirping in gently swayed trees, 
and feel strange calm of timeless innocence 
that soothes tense agitation of my heart 
from berserk fight for power humans play. 

Yet like humans they fight for dominance, 
contesting over who has right to live 
safe in fertile space of heavenly calm 
to generate and train children with love 
who produce food so everyone can eat 
then craft machines and tools with rich insight. 

To seek unperturbed respite of firm faith 
from overwrought obsession for control 
that drives humans to dominate our globe, 
I fight to defeat tyrants blind with greed, 
then shroud my heart in tranquil fantasy 
our state provides opportunities for all. 

Why We Are Alive

Why We Are Alive
© Surazeus
2026 05 08

In snow-filled library of Elysium, 
Sibylla gazes in black crystal ball 
that models white whole of our universe 
in spiral swirls of flashing galaxies, 
then gazes in my heart with sea-green eyes 
so I understand why we are alive. 

With laughing wind of sterile disregard 
I run down endless road to nowhere else 
through mirror that erases my true face, 
untouched by sorrow of my wounded heart 
that nurtures trees of fruit from brainless corpse 
because I question why we are alive. 

We schedule secret tryst in jeweled night 
beside dark river of restless desire 
that craves deep beauty of the hungry sea 
till flash of dawn bursts from my tearless eyes 
so I seek refuge in bright cave of thoughts 
which still calculate why we are alive. 

Bound by fierce empathy for nameless souls, 
who wander signless roads beyond stone walls, 
I walk with Death inside huge picture frame 
to sit by urgent fountain of concern 
and wonder if Blood Moon still misses me 
while wisdom conceals why we are alive. 

If laughter breaks free from mute book of lies 
with tangled threads of fractured memories, 
I may attend brave pilgrimage of love 
beyond all expectations of world fame 
to gaze in crystal ball of timeless truth 
that helps me resolve why we are alive. 

Sad water puppets in pastures of green 
explain how cows convert despair to milk 
though caught between eternity and now 
each time I feel attention of your gaze 
since we bear weight of careless hope within 
as passion that proves why we are alive. 

Though Phoenix of insistent innocence 
rises from smoking ruins of our state, 
we catch rain of Heaven in open hands 
to wash stark pain from melancholy minds 
so we pass through seasons of mental change 
that reframe code for why we are alive. 

While ocean waves breathe memories of my heart, 
and flowers transform sorrow to sweet joy, 
we hold each other close in warm embrace 
to weave our hearts with energy of love 
so when we walk in rain of bitter storms 
we remain warm from why we are alive. 

Hidden Land Of Havilah

Hidden Land Of Havilah
© Surazeus
2026 05 08

While wandering along asphalt highway 
somewhere between Seattle and Miami, 
I turn aside in unmapped wilderness 
to follow Pishon River of my heart 
till I find hidden land of Havilah 
where dead trees of Eden lurk in the mist. 

Sweet voice enchants my heart with ache of hope, 
so I follow mercurial wail of love 
to find young woman with eyes gold as stars 
dancing among lush pomegranate trees 
around clear pool from bubbling fountain spring, 
uncanny scene that inspires me with joy. 

All traces of corporate buildings and cars, 
connected by world wide web of dream machines, 
vanish in swirl of haze as I transcend 
liminal threshold of the multiverse 
to find myself as shadow of my mind 
awake in hidden land of Havilah. 

As I emerge from portal of despair, 
my progress is obstructed by horned demon, 
fierce Azazel, who challenges my right 
to walk the yellow brick road of success, 
so I claw brass wand, forged from ancient lava, 
from sands of time to fight his bitter hate. 

Shocked that I dare oppose his tyranny, 
grim Azazel attacks with snarling rage, 
but I dodge every strike of long sharp claws, 
and bash his arms and legs with wand of truth 
till he falls to his knees in wounded pride 
and pleads till I crush his soul with respect. 

Drinking water from sparkling Hippocrene, 
I breathe healing air of Havilah, 
but gasp surprised when crowd of cheering folk 
celebrate my victory against the devil, 
then star-eyed Astara with jeweled wand 
proclaims me their savior Lyterius. 

Crowned King in hidden land of Havilah 
by Astara who bears child of our souls, 
I reign well with justice in court of law, 
managing farms, ranches, and factories 
to produce and distribute food for all, 
and fund projects improving homes and roads. 

Waking up in modern America 
with memories of life in the ancient past, 
I wonder how civilizations change 
so generous spirit of communal life 
that flows from hidden land of Havilah 
may resurrect our nation from collapse. 

Blinded By Epiphanies

Blinded By Epiphanies
© Surazeus
2026 05 07

I refuse to admit with steel-eyed pride 
my mind has been blown by epiphanies, 
so I walk down to where the sad bears hide 
to engage in psychic polyphonies 
for angels wearing masks with devil smirks 
who hide in kitchens where Apollo lurks. 

When I fall in love with the Femme Fatale 
who manipulates my heart with kind words, 
she invites me to join secret cabal 
dedicated to managing cow herds 
by writing reports with mystical code 
about transcendent hum of the God Toad. 

If I ignore the Damsel in Distress 
because I think her act could be some trap, 
my understanding of love might regress 
to primal state not found on any map, 
yet I will save her from the jaws of death 
despite how she defines the shibboleth. 

Intercepted by the Sassy Tomboy 
who challenges me to magic-wand fight, 
I avoid her kiss by acting too coy 
despite commitment to master Mind Flight 
by breathing deep celestial flare of trust 
that forges Heaven from conceptual dust. 

Inspired by resolve of the Mother Bear 
to protect her children from predators 
by teaching them how to ride the Night Mare, 
I misdirect aggressive creditors 
with glam fantasy of the Afterlife 
which causes them to clash in bitter strife. 

Attending shows with the Trophy Girlfriend 
to enhance social standing I perform, 
I strut to comply with the latest trend 
that hides my deviance from accepted norm 
to prove I am superior to all fools 
because I disdain use of fiscal tools. 

Attempting to woo heart of the Ice Queen, 
who hides trauma behind facade of strength, 
I work hard to invent power machine 
that channels her pain on healing wavelength 
to focus attention of her career 
on ruling world empire with the Blind Seer. 

With my heart blinded by epiphanies 
that flash before my eyes with deep insight, 
I compose tragicomic symphonies 
that no musician ever performs right, 
yet I realize another sacred truth 
which I chronicle for messiah sleuth. 

Establish Secure Home

Establish Secure Home
© Surazeus
2026 05 07

In service to strange country that I love 
I fix broke traffic lights on road of life 
to ensure moral signals of behavior 
function with fair assessment of our need 
to flow in harmony with every soul 
fixated on secret quest of their heart. 

I want to create, rather than destroy, 
structures of atoms that constitute this world, 
though everything grows and decays in its time 
as fragile objects of chemical gears 
composed of molecules that interact 
with constant motions of urgent desire. 

Intense vibration of attractive hope, 
that radiates from core of organic being, 
still pulses with first flash of the big bang 
that flares forth from primal spark of desire 
which motivates my progress to transcend 
bounds of my body through spiritual flight. 

Because neural network of my sponge brain 
conjures my conscious sense of self from dreams, 
composed of memories from ancestral lives, 
I must accept that I am limited 
to perform roles within physical frame 
that nurtures deathless light in mortal flesh. 

I study nature of this global world 
when I measure extension of existence 
to note how far I stand out within bounds 
of structured form, which contains my whole being 
providing instruments of arms and legs 
so I can move, and manipulate shapes. 

Thus I design proverbs of providence 
to express well through formulaic laws 
statements that describe essence of assertion 
inherent in state of physical objects 
through strict methods of scientific research 
which defines process of cause and effect. 

Hidden inside these solemn observations 
that assess status of relationships, 
bright vision of desire to replicate 
new bodies with immortal soul of genes 
motivates my emotion-funded project 
to establish secure home of love with you. 

If visions of the future we both share 
coincide with mutual assessments of fate, 
I choose to dedicate passion of love 
to care for health and safety of your soul 
through marriage of our individual minds 
in consensual program to procreate. 

Janus Guard Of Paradise

Janus Guard Of Paradise
© Surazeus
2026 05 06

When Janus is five years old he arrives 
at the great gold gates that guard paradise, 
and he is so entranced by graceful curls 
of liquid metal forged to mimic vines 
that he dwells sixty years before the gates, 
contemplating beauty of human souls. 

Seven days after Janus first arrives 
and stands in sun and rain both night and day, 
entranced by shimmer of the golden gates, 
Hebe leaves paradise with four-wheeled cart 
heaped with apples she harvested from trees, 
so she gives the boy six apples to eat. 

Three years after Janus begins to guard 
gates of paradise with curious eyes, 
Daedalus constructs small fane by the gates 
where Janus may seek shelter from harsh weather 
while writing name and purpose on clay slabs 
to record who comes and goes through gold gates. 

Twelve years of guarding gates of paradise 
with wand of wisdom Mercury gives him, 
Janus stands firm against invading thieves 
and fights aggressive hordes of screaming goons 
till he stands triumphant in howling wind 
so people inside paradise are safe. 

Twenty years after Janus first arrives, 
Juno appears with troupe of dancing girls 
who sing romantic hymns that Sappho wrote, 
then presents Juturna in saffron gown 
red as apples that bloom in fertile trees, 
with yellow veil held by crown of gold vines. 

Thirty-eight years after Janus starts quest 
to secure paradise with solemn care, 
he teaches daughter Cardea weird art 
of molding hinges for doors she creates, 
and trains brave son Junonius how to fight 
slavers and thieves with wand of Mercury. 

Forty-two years of guarding paradise 
with keen eyes that see into hearts of men, 
Janus presides over funeral of Zeus, 
then places crown of world authority 
on head of his most qualified son, Phoebus, 
whom everyone elects to become Zeus. 

Sixty years after Door Guard first arrives 
to secure paradise in peaceful age 
of prosperity with justice for all, 
Janus defends Garden of Apple Trees 
against Mars, angry he was not crowned king, 
who stabs him in the heart with sneer of rage. 

War-Shattered Eden

War-Shattered Eden
© Surazeus
2026 05 06

If trees keeping telling me the wind loves flight 
that sparks my brain alert to dangerous hope, 
then I may have to walk across the clouds 
and scatter apple seeds on asphalt roads 
to break monopoly of hungry greed 
that writes the rules for how we live each day. 

While children squabble over who remembers 
dream code that opens doors to vaults of wealth, 
I dig my hands in soft soil of the world 
to extract stones of faith with urgent calm, 
then build great castle on high hill of fear 
where I protect my family from despair. 

Amazed at strange glow of the sky at dawn, 
I hold blue conch shell of concerned alarm 
to watch for shadows of demons in woods 
that lurk behind portraits of long-dead gods 
till I see someone floating on the stream, 
and know we cannot return from the dead. 

Stark sunlight of the casual day dispels 
weird magic glow of memories before dawn, 
so I map houses along city streets 
to understand process of civic growth 
that helps me plan state of the urban zone 
that buzzes voices through the telephone. 

Grand temple of feast on the ziggurat 
becomes gold palace of the emperor, 
becomes stone castle of the hungry king, 
becomes city hall of the elected mayor, 
so I walk away from hard haven walls 
that prison me in fear of social change. 

Though I keep searching for the Promised Land 
that shimmers only in dreams of my head, 
I ask Blue Sky to show me no more dreams 
so I can see the real world as it is, 
but hundred million years of fantasy, 
my ancestors dreamed, frame how I see life. 

While walking with shadow of the Third Person 
across the waste land of war-shattered Eden, 
I find colossal statue of some god 
who ruled vast empire sea to shining sea, 
but wind of time erased his glorious name 
and scrubbed away all features of his face. 

I carve my own face on idol of God, 
then plant seeds in soft soil of the world, 
and tend new garden sprouting tender shoots 
that flourishes in waste land of the past 
so giant cities of the ancient world 
all vanish into orchards of fruit trees. 

Blue Bird Of Bitterness

Blue Bird Of Bitterness
© Surazeus
2026 05 05

Plodding along in vast maze of my life 
with passionate boredom of contrived faith, 
I sing with the blue bird of bitterness 
whose melodies calculate happiness 
which raises our ancestors from dark graves 
so we can live the good life we deserve. 

I hear mad prophets on the radio 
excoriate the humble king of faith 
who sings with the blue bird of bitterness 
about search for truth in the wilderness 
that we undertake on quest of the fool 
to redesign the long-accepted rule. 

With caustic interference of regret 
the church lady tries to sell Book of Faith, 
yet sings with the blue bird of bitterness 
despite her brave mission of kindliness 
that mocks her straight-laced dignity of pride 
which fractures when she learns her preacher lied. 

Now heavy as Saturn in my old age, 
I leap with spirit of youth in my heart 
to sing with the blue bird of bitterness 
about eternity of nothingness 
that we will experience after we die, 
so before then I want to learn to fly. 

While meditating in warm summer eve, 
I wonder at pure whiteness of the lily 
guarded by the blue bird of bitterness 
according to dream code of cleverness 
by which I program ritual of my life 
to exercise self-control during strife. 

Though I am absent from you this fine spring 
and with your shadow play in carefree joy, 
my heart feels the blue bird of bitterness 
lead me across Bridge of Forgetfulness 
to find the glorious white horse of your heart 
frolicking freely round my apple cart. 

I may cavort with shadow of your soul 
for vermilion pleasure of our kiss, 
recorded by blue bird of bitterness 
in valley-haunting song of gracefulness, 
but I am devoted with ardent faith 
in helping you develop adroit skills. 

Though I was born in maze of Babylon 
in body of clay dazzled by starshine, 
developed by blue bird of bitterness 
from quiet wisdom of sweet loneliness, 
I will rebuild Garden of Avalon 
in machine-mangled woods of Oregon. 

Gold Sibylline Cage

Gold Sibylline Cage
© Surazeus
2026 05 05

I will fight no more wars of holy hope 
against aggressive growing of hill grass 
that always seems to know where I am at 
in faltered progress to the Promised Land 
where I am sure to find fortune and fame 
that traps me in the gold sibylline cage. 

When rain drenches Earth in casual tears, 
I hold umbrella with careful concern 
over head of the person I love most, 
who gazes at me with astonishment 
as if they never thought I could be kind, 
then we walk awkwardly in the dark streets. 

I keep thinking about her all the time 
no matter where I am in maze of doors 
because I hope she is happy and safe 
alone of all the people in the world, 
though I hope they are safe in general terms 
while we all wait for the apocalypse. 

What revelation should we all expect, 
I wonder with obsessive nonchalance, 
except the fact that humans always form 
systems of social rights and privileges 
based on strict hierarchies of wealth and race, 
all living under the God with no face. 

She laughs when I explain with tangled words 
my convoluted theory of state power 
based on control of psychic energy 
contained in conceptual symbols of hope 
that we are not tangles of hungry genes 
which replicate themselves to dominate. 

Eating fried beef sandwiches by the lake, 
that teems with strange demonic energy, 
we chat about costumes of the elite 
who decorate themselves outrageously 
with classy style of the suave urbane clown 
when they strut before cameras of fame. 

I ask if I could be more serious 
with refined sense of cultivated style, 
but she assures me with amorous smirk 
that she loves the bold jester of my heart 
who follows Isaiah and Juvenal 
to compose scathing satires of respect. 

Resigned to fateful role of satirist, 
whose brave mimetic gestures of defiance 
highlight complex nature of being human, 
I go on pilgrimage to Aquinum 
where I strum lyre of Mercury and sing 
in Temple of Hercules Liberator. 

Holy Water Of The Earth

Holy Water Of The Earth
© Surazeus
2026 05 04

If the sky speaks to me with tongues of snow 
to explain why awestruck trees imitate 
swan-winged Seraphim with ten thousand eyes, 
I will assert through subatomic thought 
compassion for every organic soul 
that strives to transcend terror of pure light. 

Essential quality of being alive 
spurs calm obsession of my hungry heart 
to seek salvation from fountain of light 
that sparkles holy water of the Earth 
which fills my body of delicate flesh 
with rapture of cool wisdom time reveals. 

My face in time-ensilvered mask of fate 
reveals expressive lust to procreate 
immortal soul of genes in mortal form 
that replicates conceptual personhood 
who likes to bake apple cinnamon muffins 
which fill my heart with beauty of the world. 

So when I need to understand the world 
I ask the Oracle of Delphi why 
I am conscious of my one self alone 
of every conscious creature who has lived 
on every planet in the universe, 
but she just gives me root beer shake to drink. 

Thus at sunset before the seventh day 
I enter tabernacle tent of faith 
to roast lamb on altar of sacrifice,
then feed world-wanderers with humble hearts 
who gather mushrooms in the morning mist 
to write their secret names in time-blown sand. 

Dipping my hand in gold-silt water stream, 
I savor sensuous flow of casual time 
with eagerness to measure how change occurs 
when seeds expand from confines of mute words 
to stretch angelic wings of flashing leaves 
then drop sweet fruit of faith in open hands. 

Fabulous beauty of light rays on water 
shocks my heart with illiterate respect, 
expensive thoughts confined by sentences 
ghosts buy from mermaids with transparent eyes, 
so I become vast emptiness of all 
when I drink holy water of the Earth. 

All things in Nature grow without intent, 
transforming from potential seed of thought 
to full-shaped body blooming rich with hope 
of hungry passion to compose the mind 
that conjures image of essential being, 
so I free Sibyl from her cage of fear. 

White Stone Of The Sun

White Stone Of The Sun
© Surazeus
2026 05 04

When I wash the dirt of ten thousand roads 
off my wounded feet with unholy water, 
my grandmother holds the knife of weird truth 
to carve fresh steaks from cave-demon flesh 
so my father can roast it on the altar 
with fire from the lightning strike he calls down. 

My mother gives me white stone of the sun 
and shows me how to walk where devils dance, 
so I invent new words from languages 
I hear birds use when they eat sheafs of wheat 
which hide me from men with soul-wounded spears 
because my face shines with celestial rage. 

Holding broken stick that fell from the sky, 
I draw oval shape in sand of the beach 
so everyone knows I indicate eggs, 
then they follow me to large cave of shadows 
where thousands of birds with white wings erupt 
in squawking rage as we take eggs to eat. 

While I squat on edge of steep sea-side cliff, 
explaining to stiff grass how bright wind knows 
weird secret of life concealed in soft sand, 
I stare at small rock for ten million years 
till it wobbles and falls into the sea 
where it transforms into leviathan. 

When I hold out my hand and spread my fingers 
to measure distance from high mountain peak 
to the silver moon that gleams behind clouds, 
I invent science of geometry, 
but then forget when I find strawberry vines 
so I fill large basket with blood-red fruit. 

My brother steals one strawberry and runs 
leaping and laughing along fallen log 
where honey bees swarm so he screams in pain 
as he transforms into galloping pig 
that offers itself as great sacrifice 
willing to die so we may eat and live. 

My sister draws marks in sand by the tree 
at breath-long intervals of feral fate 
which calibrates increments of small change, 
then explains to me strange concept of time 
which she invents with delicate concern, 
then shows me how to peel orange of her heart. 

On undulating waves of humming names 
I float through ocean of fortune to claim 
divine right to name all things that exist 
with template label that defines each form, 
then walk back to our small ziggurat home 
where I clack the turtle shell and chant spells. 

Isolated From Strange Dream

Isolated From Strange Dream
© Surazeus
2026 05 03

Isolated from strange dream of the world, 
I assemble puzzle of random facts 
to design exhaustive ontology 
that frames complex events of history 
in grand narrative that explains it all 
which fixes my place as hero of truth. 

Isolated from strange dream of the sea, 
I build boat from steam-heated planks of wood 
and sail the seven seas of strange new lands 
to explore nature of our spinning globe 
where people dance on pyramids of power 
to control fields of wheat and hills of gold. 

Isolated from strange dream of the sun, 
I capture rays of light from long-dead stars 
with solar panels of assertive will 
which transform light to electricity 
that powers global empire of machines 
weaving computers into one God Mind. 

Isolated from strange dream of the land, 
I map confusing landscape of the heart 
to organize conflicting nation-states 
in peaceful United Nations of Earth 
though cruel gangsters disguised as presidents 
fight each other over who rules the world. 

Isolated from strange dream of the moon, 
I run with Artemis in misty woods 
with joyful laughter of wild carefree friends 
till Midas forces her to be his queen 
so we revolt against his tyranny 
and fight to establish democracy. 

Isolated from strange dream of the mind, 
I argue with Pythagoras all night 
that stars do not generate human souls 
which animate our bodies with desire, 
and prove that brains generate consciousness 
which dissipates to nothing when we die. 

Isolated from strange dream of the truth, 
I stand millions of years under Fruit Tree 
and wait for my soulmate to keep our tryst 
to nourish our home based on mutual trust 
because our children inherit the Earth 
when we build Heaven from waste land of Hell. 

Isolated from strange dream of the heart, 
I wear mask of my personality 
which I compose through every choice I make 
as I navigate landscape of despair 
on mission to create, and not destroy, 
as we connect and bind our souls with love. 

Weird Voice Of Light

Weird Voice Of Light
© Surazeus
2026 05 03

How may I balance happiness and sorrow 
to power progress of spiritual growth 
through dynamic system of inspiration 
which I derive from deposit of passion 
I channel through document of expression 
based on enterprise of mental encryption. 

Sparked by evanescence my heart may borrow 
from bright atomic flame of chemicals, 
I sublimate mindless force of aggression 
by weaving corporal concept of perception 
through tangled sentences of fractured words 
that mold matter into bodies of faith. 

Snagged on fractal structure of vibrant limbs 
during assertive flight beyond dark scope 
of wisdom that traps my soul in my brain, 
I dangle helplessly above abyss 
that yawns teeth-bristling jaws of painful death 
by grasping rope of truth with stubborn hope. 

Dark nothingness of death would like to swallow 
fragile flame of energy that ignites 
glow of consciousness nurturing my brain, 
so I become aware I am alive, 
awake in shock of arrogant dismay 
that my body conjures my consciousness. 

So many people tell me with false confidence 
that my spirit was forged by the God Mind 
to animate my temporary body 
with immortal soul of divinity, 
and I am fooled to believe this is real 
till I feel my spirit beam from my brain. 

Though molecules that animate my flesh 
first flashed from soul furnace of Father Sun, 
then evolved into this body of flesh 
by passionate desire of Mother Earth, 
my sense of conscious self inside my brain 
is my own unique personality. 

Through all the spiral of galactic light 
the past fourteen billion years of existence 
these atoms that compose shell of my soul 
have flared into this planet that designs 
organic forms to nurture divine mind 
so I think I am God as mortal human. 

We humans are leaves on the Tree of Life, 
grapes on the Vine of Faith, and tender flowers 
that sprout for brief seasons from Ground of Being, 
so I will sing loud with weird voice of light 
to channel vision of creative love 
till our children sing after we all die.