Tall Tree Of Ignorance

Tall Tree Of Ignorance
© Surazeus
2026 11 04

My feelings are no mountains of the moon, 
yet rivers swell from earnest praise of stones 
who hide opinions of angelic clown 
too hungry for unbaked bread of surprise 
because all houses on the country road 
burn from strange laughter of sad pyramids. 

House of my body stretches wings of hope 
so I can fly above vast town of graves 
where mothers gripping bayonets of faith 
make talismans for children without eyes 
who steal jobs in the county government 
by getting tattoos of uncertain gods. 

Words burst from perfect eggs of solitude 
to track quick revolution of our globe 
around three suns of happy carnivals 
where elves hold weddings always at midnight 
for twenty centuries of rocking cradles 
despite how often halls of fate collapse. 

Though we hold hands with loyalty of fear 
to gather plums in rockets of contempt, 
we cross old covered bridges every dawn 
where leaves of spirits flutter in cold breeze, 
so we pause in mid-flurry of shocked truth 
to take cute selfie of our twisted souls. 

So when blonde girl in yellow dress of pride 
gives me old record-player made of glass, 
we sit together on broken stone wall, 
pretending we still live in paradise 
where everyone operates their own store 
along the river boulevard of fate. 

Still wearing dress her mother sewed from rage, 
she plays atonal melodies of faith 
on glass piano forged from meteor tears, 
awake with thrilling ecstasy of love 
that no one else but us can understand 
as secret we share in the crowded church. 

Soft steps of urgent innocence extend 
harsh laughter of the weeping telephone 
clutched by last angel of forever now 
whom darkness fleshes real from ocean sand 
as truth contained in letters never read 
by sad old woman in the rocking chair. 

My name means wind of elegant respect 
exposes joy in foul grave of my heart 
at sudden jazz of cars on highway bridge 
that glisten gold in anguish of night rain 
though we return to paradise we lost 
and hide behind tall Tree of Ignorance. 

Manage Randomness Of Fate

Manage Randomness Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 11 04

My heart remembers nothing of the pain 
wound tight by tree roots in my throbbing brain 
long after river stones of moral tricks 
crack into pageless books of blood-soaked bricks 
from which foundation of our holy state 
was built to manage randomness of fate. 

From crowded neighborhoods of faceless ghosts, 
enchanted by blind horse that always boasts 
about grandiose wars of wealth it has won, 
I compile statistics about the sun 
with plan to build from ritual pieties 
empire through religious anxieties. 

We cheer great victory of the humble man 
who campaigns for God with progressive plan 
to fund healthcare for every breathing soul 
whether or not they perform social role 
that contributes to success of the state 
for refugees locked outside jeweled gate. 

Retention of brave workers without hands, 
who sacrifice their health to uphold brands 
of corporate pirates trashing companies, 
inspires new mission to reforge mental keys 
that should unlock new opportunities 
for tailless monkeys who still live in trees. 

Our bodies wither from unspooling clocks 
that call with trumpets to war-monger hawks 
who land on wrist of Christ at whistle call 
when his voice shakes faith of the castle wall 
through resurrection of the never-dead 
whose wisdom springs as daughter from my head. 

Hephaestus hobbles in cathedral hall 
to fool Achilles in the shopping mall 
with joke that he has been elected king 
who should wield invisibility ring 
through power to raise spirits from the dead 
who are but memories in my addled head. 

I condescend to implicate myself 
through screaming statue on library shelf, 
yet choose to vindicate with random rule 
my use of sorrow as attention tool 
for tricking people to see me as god, 
but flee when they realize I am a fraud. 

Last emperor of my ancient dynasty, 
paralyzed through glam of my majesty, 
I wander homeless on the signless road 
to find secret marsh of the humming toad 
who teaches me code of eternal truth 
so I can play role of messiah sleuth. 

Arthurian Trance Of Faith

Arthurian Trance Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 11 04

I have never heard the nightingale sing, 
yet I have felt brush of the angel wing 
my mind designs as spirit of true love 
that beams at me from the warm sun above, 
so my heart projects conscious sense of thought 
at our Cosmos that mindless atoms wrought. 

Whether relaxed in garden of fruit trees, 
hair gently caressed by the caring breeze, 
or mapping our world on computer screen 
with urgent faith from soul of Melusine, 
I feel vibrant light of the cosmic glow 
radiate through my brain as atomic flow. 

My body pulses with matrix of light 
that forms our planet spinning in slow flight 
two hundred fifty million years one time 
around galactic ring in psychic chime, 
expanding scope of my one tiny brain 
from core of Earth to Laniakea plane. 

Though I am temporary node of being 
on tiny globe in supercluster ring, 
that flashes zillions of planets with life, 
where each mortal soul grows wiser through strife, 
I feel concept of God wake in my heart 
in quest I map on star-observant chart. 

Since beauty of the quaint communal scene, 
where humans live safe from the thought machine, 
is truth we choose with goal of Liberty 
to share our globe in world democracy 
where every soul may thrive with equal rights, 
I channel Mithras to mediate fights. 

Our long greed-ravished Earth of fertileness, 
that blooms to wreck towers of greediness, 
waits mutely in Arthurian trance of faith 
for Sylvan historian of our God Wraith 
to chronicle our fight for Liberty 
that guides our way from dales of Arcady. 

My peaceful temple in lush mountain vale, 
where I guard secret of the Holy Grail, 
may be safe haven from national wars, 
but billions of people behind locked doors 
struggle to maintain healthy dignity 
through personal responsibility. 

To nurture individual human worth, 
enforced by United Nations of Earth, 
I sing in tune with Lyre of Mercury 
brave hymn that praises world democracy 
where every conscious soul on fruit-tree hill 
may thrive in legal framework of free will. 

Blue Wave Of Social Synergy

Blue Wave Of Social Synergy
© Surazeus
2026 11 03

With beating heart steeled by courage of faith 
that Justice always prevails over greed, 
I surf blue wave of social synergy 
in noble fight to stand with Liberty 
against cruel oligarchs of tyranny 
who always lose to brave democracy. 

Mercury dances with the cheering crowd 
with joy erupting from his fear-taut chest 
to breathe again with hope against despair 
after long years beneath dark cloud of greed 
when brave Minerva casts bright flame of truth 
dispelling demon that oppressed our land. 

When Serpentus, dragon with sapphire eyes, 
emerges from wild ocean waves of change, 
she glides on broad wings of attentive hope 
over sprawling metropolitan maze 
to hunt King Midas, clutching bags of gold, 
who flees stumbling in wilderness of greed. 

We gather by broad river of deep faith, 
cleansed by blue wave of social synergy 
that sweeps away cruel gang of fascist thugs 
to free brave people of our fertile land 
so we all dwell in whole community 
that maintains our vital democracy. 

Projection Of Conscious Souls

Projection Of Conscious Souls
© Surazeus
2026 11 03

While wading knee-deep in cold lake of eyes, 
Phoebus explains with earnest nonchalance 
that God is projection of conscious souls 
who see their spirit mirrored in the world, 
so they mistake shimmer of their own soul 
for supernatural mind that controls all. 

When beam of sunlight breaks through black rain cloud, 
Phoebus stands in bright shaft of holy glow 
and asks God in crystal starship of fate 
to rapture him to Heaven on gold clouds, 
but nothing transports him beyond this world, 
so he turns to us and grins as we laugh. 

Am is the first word mankind ever spoke, 
gazing at face of first mother with love, 
because she hums hymn of attentive care 
while feeding us milk of the spinning world, 
so we stand on the lake shore of our dream 
and chant Om with vibration of respect. 

Rain splatters on leaves of the apple tree 
where Am, first mother of humanity, 
cradles her child, she names Ba, at her breast, 
and teaches him to name each thing they see 
in cunning spell with playful melody 
while she gathers apples, berries, and eggs. 

Ascending small ziggurat ten feet high, 
Phoebus faces people camped on the beach, 
who feast on roast fish and hot apple cider, 
then strums haunting tune on the cow-horn lyre 
and sings hymn to Great Mother of the Sea 
who protects and feeds all lost wanderers. 

Dreams of memories, my ancestors lived 
centuries ago by long river of time 
before my current soul-body was born, 
program how my own brain perceives this world 
based on framework of language they designed 
that controls how I see things perform actions. 

Vision of their successful actions drive 
progress of my quest to become myself, 
authentic replicant of my ancestors 
till I swerve off expected path of duty 
to blaze new trail of my own psychic sense 
when I realize I am Phoebus reborn. 

When Phoebe, daughter of Phoebus, presents 
Cronus as man she loves and wants to marry, 
I feel spark of eternity expand 
from primal cause of passion in my heart 
to sing about harsh struggles of mankind 
as we strive to become God we respect. 

River Of Dream Time

River Of Dream Time
© Surazeus
2026 11 03

Extracting minerals from heart of the Earth 
with giant metal claw of hungry greed, 
Vulcan devours mountains of synergy 
to forge billions of cars from steel and glass 
with piston engine Barsanti designed 
that powers chariot of Ezekiel. 

Amazed by trans-human magnificence, 
that emanates from fertile seas of hope, 
and exerts lust through bulging mountain peaks, 
Diana runs with deer in shadowed woods 
to find ghost of Silvanus by the lake 
polluted by waste from car factories. 

Thrown into frame of Earth with hope for life 
by passion of my parents to preserve 
immortal soul of genes in my small body, 
I walk along the River of Dream Time 
while ancestors and descendants observe 
through this temporary node of my being. 

I breathe wind rustling leaves of apple trees 
while strolling past greasy telephone poles 
strung with wires that connect thousands of cities 
through swift currents of electricity 
generated by copper coils of faith 
wound around huge magnetic core of iron. 

Standing by the river of snow-pure water, 
that winds from high mountain to swirling gulf, 
I scroll social media sites on my eye-phone 
through global network of cellular towers 
that connect us all sea to shining sea 
where birds haunt marshes near asphalt street mazes. 

My heart transforms into the moon-eyed crow 
who wakes fierce spirit of Cronus in me, 
so I sing heartache of the tree and bird 
who dwell on shores of brackish city lakes 
littered with trash from factories and stores 
where I park my car at the shopping mall. 

Since Vulcan built first coal-fired steam engine 
that powers factories, trains, ships, and cars 
two hundred years of industrial expansion, 
mankind has transformed our Garden of Eden 
into sprawling cities of Pandemonium 
connected in cyberspace through computers. 

While wandering vast metropolitan maze, 
I hear cry of Silvanus with my heart 
whose spirit lingers in the wilderness, 
so I hike wild hills around Mount Takoma 
where Diana appears with hunting bow 
to share with me ancient spell Nature sings. 

Strobilus Mountain Ghost

Strobilus Mountain Ghost
© Surazeus
2026 11 02

Reborn as the Strobilus Mountain ghost, 
I watch over vast world of human souls 
with emerald eyes of Mithras in my brain, 
commissioned by Anahita to guard 
Garothman House of Song in paradise 
where lovers dance among lush apple trees. 

When I cross Chinvat Bridge of the Requiter, 
my path widens in gold-paved road of faith 
where I pick apples from the Tree of Knowledge 
as Anahita guides my way to Heaven 
while tyrants in towers of steel and glass 
battle each other to control the Earth. 

Though I wander lost on the signless road 
across the endless waste land of desire, 
Ahura Mazda arrives on winged horse 
and gives me Truth Wand of Asha Vahishta 
with mission to lead army of the people 
in holy war against tyrants of greed. 

Fallen to my knees in exhausted hope 
on snow-blasted slope of Mount Strobilus, 
I gasp for breath of wisdom from blue sky, 
but, just as I fall in pit of despair, 
Sura Anahita embraces me 
and fills my heart with courage of respect. 

With help of Verethragna and Sura Osha, 
Anahita urges me to attend 
focus of my heart on people of Earth 
who languish under corporate tyranny, 
so I wake from dark slumber of despair 
as Sura Zeus, son of Astaria. 

Ascending double peak of Strobilus, 
I stand before the burning bush of truth, 
so Zurvan beams from spiral of the sun 
and asks why his twin sons still fight for power, 
Ahura Mazda, God of shining truth, 
and Ahura Mainyu, God of dark lies. 

Zurvan Akarana, God of Infinity, 
teaches his son, Chronus, how to recount 
progress of humanity to evolve 
from angry ape to angel of control, 
adjusting Zodiac Wheel with skillful hands 
in chronicle that reveals spirit of Aion. 

Awake as the Strobilus Mountain ghost, 
I pilot starship of psychic insight 
to patrol United Nations of Earth, 
arresting tyrants and their oligarchs 
to free humanity from their blind greed 
so we live through justice and liberty. 

Mindless Nature Zones

Mindless Nature Zones
© Surazeus
2026 11 02

Bright river flows between bush-tangled shores 
where sandhill cranes discuss theology 
concerning mirror vision of the self 
that we project in mindless nature zones, 
so I fish for salmon of earnest faith 
in how the sun gleams through reluctant clouds. 

Amazed by paradox of brilliant light 
enhanced by solid nothingness of gloom, 
I drive bus on brave road of anywhere 
so people holding books of fairy tales 
may find their grief in secret forest glades, 
encased in tangled roots of apple trees. 

Acquainted with sadness of drifting hills, 
our children wearing costumes of dead gods 
gaze through kaleidoscopes of sacred creeds 
to see angelic souls their neighbors hide 
behind time-weathered masks of bitter faith 
in suffering issued by seven-eyed fate. 

Contrived by formulas of quiddity 
to represent weird whatness of our souls, 
new social myths define our troubled age 
based on performative respect for law, 
so I assert right to my breathing-space 
beneath the timeless olive tree of love. 

Strange laughter from unopened books of faith 
preserves tales about the Healer of Minds 
who teaches us art of resilience 
to understand sorrows we leave behind 
since aging angels, that our parents are, 
guard our progress against rapacious lies. 

Old-fashioned riddles stuck in holy books 
slither from unnatural signs to engage 
unmeasured truths people long to believe, 
such as that souls which animate our bodies 
remain whole with our consciousness intact 
after our frames of flesh dissolve to dust. 

Well organized by our season in Hell, 
our frantic feelings of nonchalant hope 
lie wounded beneath windows of the church, 
beamed by sharp light of citric nothingness, 
so we search through fog of reality 
with dim lamp of our aching hearts as light. 

Each person sees complex state of this world 
as their own puzzle, simplified by fear, 
so we breathe spirit of ethereal love, 
then speak strange words invented by blind trees 
that helps us understand what others see 
as we walk along bright river of faith. 

Radiate Timeless Love

Radiate Timeless Love
© Surazeus
2026 11 02

Shoes worn by walk across the broken land, 
I stand before cracked mirror of my mind 
to reclaim lost time of unwinding hope 
as I keep moving toward the somewhere else 
on mission to become authentic self 
inherent in my genes before I die. 

My heart is rainless waste land of desire 
from which emerge ghosts of ancestral souls 
who guide my way on roadless land of truth 
till I find broken star on dusty plain 
which mirrors primal spirit of my soul 
so I begin to radiate timeless love. 

I hear no nightingale in fruitless woods, 
so I slice open sorrow of my heart 
that springs in fountain of conceptual tears 
which nurture honest roots of humble trees 
who breathe in fear to sing courageous love 
that swells in mystery of wind-fluttered leaves. 

When I grow tall as mountain on the plain, 
limbs stretched far longer than taut vineyard vines, 
I see around me pools of shining eyes 
in countless mirrors that reflect lost worlds 
which teem with life across our multiverse 
where I exist on every globe of hope. 

I shout with tuneless voice of nightingales 
in song that radiates out from flaming star 
which weaves chaotic atoms into globe 
with seas from which organic spirits flow 
as we evolve from fish to singing god 
who gazes at the stars and wonders why. 

I drift without goal in the faceless crowd 
which flows across the bridge of endless hope 
that arches over river of dead souls, 
and wonder where they all are rushing to, 
as if plum blossoms transform from snowflakes 
in endless swirl of people seeking love. 

I drink fruit cider from cup of my heart 
beneath sweet shimmer of the timeless moon, 
then gaze at your face glowing from its light 
till I fall slowly in sea of your eyes 
and spiral into coils of tangled genes 
that weave our bodies in new human soul. 

When we meet walking in the silver rain 
I hold umbrella over your bowed head 
so we merge our two paths in one shared road 
that leads us to safe garden of our love 
where we sing melodies in tune with fate 
for children who spring laughing from our hearts. 

Elusive Ghost Of Innocence

Elusive Ghost Of Innocence
© Surazeus
2026 11 01

Too subtle for acknowledgement, contrived 
by unpaged books of arrogant dismay 
expressed by humble workers of the world, 
his secret spells depict excessive truth 
buried under stones in gardens of faith 
that mean nothing to sweet waves of the sea. 

Still dancing in the crowded club at dawn, 
after the vampires and kings have gone home, 
she struts before blank face of god with pride 
that she votes for the jester to assume 
rule of nations with justice of the joke 
designed to deconstruct wealth privilege. 

Soul projected through stereopticon 
by moonbeams of antisocial regret, 
he hears the earth revolving fast as wind 
in crystal flux of languages designed 
with beautiful joy of oblivion 
that fools the wise to believe we may live. 

Counting scenes his brain remembers as dreams 
of lightning calculators, that expose 
grief of wounded hearts, trapped by belief 
in bright illusion of the afterlife, 
she claims elusive ghost of innocence 
that lingers where all rivers disappear. 

Exploring waste land of bleak galaxies, 
sunk in countless slumbers of hemispheres, 
ineffable with faces of brave people, 
he mimics how astronomers perform 
arcane rituals of psychic augury 
through revelation of the fractured mind. 

Freed from surveillance of blood-thirsty ghosts 
who win election as state governors, 
she conceals treasures pilfered from sad gods 
who dwell in Valley of Sincerity 
among mulberry bushes of fake joy, 
bearded penitents who circle the pool. 

Too many years ago to understand 
sputtering gaslights on the boulevard 
where hungry girls sell flowers of despair 
to haughty shepherds in suits and top hats, 
he floats through countless doors of empty homes 
to find the Good God who does not exist. 

When he asks Goldilocks to marry him, 
with jeweled ring he stole from Saruman, 
she tells him she prefers the forest bear, 
so he transforms into werewolf of rage 
to wins election as the city mayor 
while she works as nurse at the hospital. 

River of Star Eyes

River of Star Eyes
© Surazeus
2026 11 01

Seeking truth in strange laughter of the wind, 
we swim as one in river of star eyes 
while silvan pipes of supple susurrance 
rustles leaves of our hearts with quiescence 
so we transcend obdurance of despair 
with love that expands our celestial wings. 

Because the sea can almost hear my song 
unvoiced by blind amazement, intricate 
with quickened vacancy of primal thought, 
I ask the dead to tell me tragic tales 
trapped in their bodies with aggressive calm, 
but they encase their secrets in our skulls. 

Revived by harsh November rain at dawn, 
that tricks my cerebellum to record 
heart-aching songs for immortality 
no conscious being can win, I scale vast bulge 
of psychic blossoming with bold surprise, 
but hang above abyss of nothingness. 

Inspired by passion of my foolish youth 
to reach beyond bounds of my spurious brain, 
I catch hold tight to motion time extends 
with germinal regret of blind mistakes, 
entranced by languorous music of crickets 
dispersed by sudden flash of bitter rain. 

Despair delays ascension of my soul 
against primordial fragrance fate enrolls 
to trick our minds that we could live forever, 
yet I decide to hide, beneath the stone, 
heart wounded by expansive sense of time 
with bland unwillingness to escape death. 

We cannot live play of our lives again 
though we are driven by ancestral ache 
of slow decay in fractured bones of faith, 
so we assert our right to live this hour 
by pacing boundless space of everywhere 
with haughty courage of our bloodied feet. 

Gnarled branches of the orchard grab my heart 
at sudden flash of bullets from dawn sun, 
reborn as brave metallic bees that teach 
my body to enclose against attack 
when I lie numb on bulging globe of fate 
till soil transforms my soul to flowered breath. 

Since nothing matters in game of false fame, 
except expression of the lonely heart, 
I sit alone beneath moon-favored oak 
and sing about strange beauty of this world 
that swirls away in river of star eyes 
till I am nothing but the wind on water. 

Unwinding Clock Of Sorrow

Unwinding Clock Of Sorrow
© Surazeus
2026 11 01

Unwinding clock of sorrow back one hour 
to readjust attentive force of wisdom, 
Mercury flies homeward to the glass tower 
where he operates global finance system 
by which he funds our food-production farms 
through psychic function of conceptual charms. 

Unwinding clock of sorrow before dawn 
to spark immortal soul of genes awake, 
Mercury becomes stone on White House lawn 
that watches families sail boats on the lake 
with voiceless sapience of the Cosmic Eye 
that knows each process of atomic why. 

Unwinding clock of sorrow with burned hand 
that carves commandments on tablets of stone, 
Mercury performs with new corporate brand 
official functions of the stateless clone 
who pilots United Nations of Earth 
to prove each human has intrinsic worth. 

Unwinding clock of sorrow through moon howl 
to reunite beauty with true sublime, 
Mercury wears crystal mask of the owl 
that generates human souls from sea slime 
with bold agency of abundant grace 
to mold inner light in each special face. 

Unwinding clock of sorrow with Dream Word 
to endow power on our Cosmic Nurse, 
Mercury plots progress of the absurd 
that redesigns state of our multiverse 
so angels and devils merge in one shape 
as humans who explore our weird landscape. 

Unwinding clock of sorrow from brain threads 
that weave matrix of souls in global sheen, 
Mercury maps continent watersheds 
with glowing eyes of well-witch Melusine 
so every person in the world may drink 
water of life that gleams as vital link. 

Unwinding clock of sorrow in god hearts 
that calculate the way to paradise, 
Mercury draws new set of star charts 
that guides Jesus to make his sacrifice 
then reign as Savior in empire of need 
which traps monarchs in brutal wars of greed. 

Unwinding clock of sorrow from book tales 
that moralize how humans should behave, 
Mercury weighs our actions on thought scales 
based on illusions in the dreamless cave 
where Anahita bottles water-light 
that inspires me with oracular flight. 

Electric Brain Juice

Electric Brain Juice
© Surazeus
2026 11 01

Fear swallows all dissenters of the heart 
who dare defy finality of death 
that wastes our fragile bodies with despair, 
though we glow with ambition to endure 
by drinking electric brain juice of love 
we steal from Tree of Knowledge with respect. 

Gripping rifle of absolute faith 
in guardianship of angels in gold clouds, 
Orion runs in woods of hungry ghouls, 
then crouches behind large Salvation Stone 
to shoot at tanks invading his small town, 
just as bombs blast the church next to his home. 

At roar of silver angels in blue sky, 
that stretch their aluminum wings with pride, 
Orion aims rifle at Heart of God, 
but flash of shots from rifle of his courage 
attract the Eyes of Death with mocking grin 
who looms as shadow in Valley of Fear. 

When lieutenant of his platoon is shot 
by laughing bullet from tongue of the Devil, 
Orion tries to rally frightened soldiers, 
so they retreat to ruins of the church 
where he crouches beneath statue of Mary 
who holds the headless Savior in her arms. 

Staring at the marble statue of Jesus, 
whose head was shattered by bullet of faith, 
Orion declares to his huddled squad, 
this fertile land where our fathers have lived, 
since they arrived sixteen centuries ago, 
is sacred haven where our families thrive. 

At midnight when moonbeams illuminate 
shattered ruins of the tenth-century church, 
Orion studies structure of stone walls 
to understand architectural design 
on which mankind builds Cathedral of Faith 
now shattered by bombs of national greed. 

Inside the shattered wall of the church apse 
old bottle of wine gleams in gold moonlight, 
so Orion raises glass of wine to Heaven 
and prays for victory of his homeland 
against invading empire of the north, 
then sings heart-wrenching hymn of bitter faith. 

Drunk on ancient wine of fermented faith, 
brewed by some monk hundreds of years before, 
Orion consumes electric brain juice 
that fills his heart with courage of the doomed 
who always fight to guard the fertile land 
where their children play hide and seek with Death. 

Brave Wings Of Mercury

Brave Wings Of Mercury
© Surazeus
2026 10 31

If fear destroys every bridge in the world, 
I will soar on brave wings of Mercury 
to gather broken wands of wounded wizards 
so I can build new bridge of honesty 
from snow-encrusted bones of dinosaurs 
and cross abyss of loneliness to you. 

Though hate sucks all the oceans of the world, 
I will swim with brave wings of Mercury 
in paper boats of fragile ardency 
to find your Garden of Hesperides 
where you bloom delicate as the pink rose 
with courage of the raven by my grave. 

When sorrow kills every tree in the world, 
I will climb with brave wings of Mercury 
high mountain of obsessive fantasy 
to join ghosts of my ancestors at dawn 
in holy kitchen of the well-baked loaf 
that fills my body with spirit of hope. 

Till horror uproots flowers of my heart, 
I will dance with brave wings of Mercury 
across the waste land of the ruined church 
where mute seer, clutching jeweled crown of thorns, 
cries out in anguish of the fallen god, 
though bad luck protects us from tragedy. 

Because despair fractures the glass moon, 
I gaze in shards of truth with earnest hope 
to perceive complex nature of the brain 
that gathers fragments of random events 
to build huge puzzle from small anecdotes 
in world view nobody else understands. 

Since Death erases every conscious soul, 
I will rise on brave wings of Mercury 
to flow on beams of sunlight through the sky 
one hundred billion years of spinning worlds, 
four hundred times around our galaxy, 
till I evolve from fish to singing god. 

While horses burst from eggs of faceless ghosts, 
I will twirl on brave wings of Mercury 
through fraught study of eschatology 
based on strange revelation of the brain 
that conjures virtual model of the world 
because souls are functions of chemicals. 

As laughter crushes mountains of the world, 
I will swell on brave wings of Mercury 
when I attain the highest form of peace 
because I have no desire to be seen, 
nor validated by rewards of fame, 
for I am singing ghost of everywhere. 

Fractured Tombs Of Time

Fractured Tombs Of Time
© Surazeus
2026 10 31

When gods with faces our fathers once wore 
may resurrect from fractured tombs of time, 
I sing weird siren melody of faith 
that lures them to gather around the pool 
where Echo dances in long flowing gown 
till they transform into idols of stone. 

Assembling landscape of lost memories 
from photographs in fractured tombs of time, 
I stalk the barren fields of singing skulls 
to chase away blind ghouls of pestilence 
where crowds of hungry people in moonlight 
wail for the apple tree burned by despair. 

Almost home where rivers water wheat fields 
that flourish around fractured tombs of time, 
I watch the heron build her secret nest 
and listen to grasshoppers sing brave prayers, 
yet fate assures my wounded heart that time 
erases sorrow till my soul remains. 

Though fortune casts me from haven of hope 
so I wander past fractured tombs of time, 
I focus on road my ardent feet blaze 
as I walk forward through the endless maze 
to shining mystery on dark hill of bones 
where silence invents words for me to sing. 

When voices of dead poets wake my soul 
from dreamless sleep in fractured tombs of time, 
I reach my hand toward startled sun of faith 
to snatch fresh apple from the Tree of Truth 
in battle against tyrants who oppress 
common people struggling to survive. 

Eager to watch the new apocalypse 
reveal mad gods in fractured tombs of time, 
I drive lit strip mall in the twilight zone 
where people eat hamburgers in quaint bars 
and watch movies about our antiheroes, 
so I can understand heart of mankind. 

Reincarnated as Golem of Hope 
from secret lab in fractured tombs of time, 
I stuff bloody pages of epic poems 
from ancient books inside cave of my mouth 
which animates my clay body with love 
to play messiah of our modern world. 

Searching for invisible hand of God 
that reaches out from fractured tombs of time, 
I rattle tambourine of demon thought 
because the whole world is my lonely grave, 
then cast tablets of law on jagged rocks 
so runes slither awake as water snakes. 

Sea Of Timeless Truth

Sea Of Timeless Truth
© Surazeus
2026 10 31

Almost drowning in sea of timeless truth, 
I breathe celestial sorrow of mankind 
which swells my heart with spirit of respect 
so I sail onward through the seven seas 
to find the secret island of your heart 
where you supplicate tree of fruit for love. 

Still sailing across sea of timeless truth 
in swollen ship of my love-wounded heart, 
I navigate by stars of your black eyes 
that guide me to the island of mad gods 
who howl with laughter at absurdity 
that constitutes brave beauty of this life. 

To measure thought on sea of timeless truth 
based on pure symbol of the Antichrist, 
I dare unravel paradox of fate 
that we are born with basic character 
that dooms us to choose how we live each day 
so prophets predict effect from its cause. 

Gliding high over sea of timeless truth 
on frantic wings of mortal ardency, 
I translate song of strange immortal bird 
that still sings perilous beauty of love 
since ancient days of emperors and clowns 
that charm me to search forlorn fairylands. 

Reborn as god from sea of timeless truth, 
I shroud dim specter of my transient soul 
in ectoplasmic shroud of fragile flesh 
that converts thought-form of my aching heart 
to normal person cased with marble mask 
as I escape cold idol to live warm. 

Diving deep down in sea of timeless truth, 
I search for long-lost idol of my god 
designed to manage energy of lust 
that drives meat bodies to regenerate 
children from obsessive hope to live 
beyond the final nothingness of death. 

Borne by wild winds on sea of timeless truth 
against mute will of our love-wounded hearts, 
I wander endless beach of shining sand 
to share small cup of honey-flavored tea 
with roaring demon of the godless deep 
who sips, then offers me her gratitude. 

Awake at last on sea of timeless truth 
at far edge of the nowhere of our faith, 
I must refuse to confirm or deny 
that I exist as clump of molecules 
in temporary node of consciousness 
though I sing about beauty of your soul. 

Holy Bridge Of Evermore

Holy Bridge Of Evermore
© Surazeus
2026 10 31

Stuck on the holy bridge of evermore, 
still seeking sacred truth of pungent fruit, 
I watch eight billion people on our globe 
search for their paradise in crowded hell, 
though half asleep in sorrow of desire 
while longing to join the heavenly choir. 

Blind on the holy bridge of evermore, 
yet driven by fierce motor of my heart, 
I map the endless maze of transient fame 
where some among the billions are transformed 
to mindless idols of adoring fans 
who laugh at vanity of life-style plans. 

Deaf on the holy bridge of evermore, 
head throbbing with illogical respect, 
I translate ancient song of ocean waves 
to human language no one understands, 
so we disguise ourselves as long-dead gods 
to trick-or-treat on misty houseless roads. 

Trapped on the holy bridge of evermore, 
with hawk wings in the golden cage of fame, 
I unspool timeless clock of psychic code 
to program how my brain perceives this Earth, 
because you see my mask, not the real me, 
commissioned to play role of Liberty. 

Lodged on the holy bridge of evermore, 
as guest of Cronus in dark mountain cave, 
I incarnate as Orion with bow, 
that humble policeman in your small town 
dedicated to serve everyone well 
despite death tolling of the midnight bell. 

Stalled on the holy bridge of evermore, 
in car with engine Barsanti designed, 
I drive three thousand miles of asphalt roads 
Miami to Seattle with the wind, 
so I can find the land where I was born 
before angels blow apocalypse horn. 

Crowned on the holy bridge of evermore, 
by wise Athena with her eyes of steel, 
I reinvent new reason for my life 
based on the moral codes of prophet kings 
who built foundation of our global state 
and left me to monitor its jeweled gate. 

Bored on the holy bridge of evermore, 
with all eternity of one brief life, 
I play the lyre of Mercury and sing 
about religious wars that humans fight 
over who has the right to breed and eat, 
and who will sit on the Perilous Seat. 

Witching Hour Of Faith

Witching Hour Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 10 30

At witching hour of faith, when graveyards yawn 
ghosts of our ancestors in bitter mist 
of cruel desire to claim gem of the moon, 
Basemath drinks hot cider of god blood 
to smear contagious words of hypocrites 
on cracked foundation stone of ruined fane. 

Bearing bag of skulls from dead haughty kings, 
that clatter with strange voices in dark woods, 
Basemath watches for mischievous sprites 
who bring ingredients into stone-wall fane 
where three witches boil juice of secret truth 
which they trick weary travelers to drink. 

Aware she treads parallel course of faith 
against suggestive council of the oak, 
Basemath wears mask of heavenly show 
when the slick-suited man with specious eyes 
pours pestilence of doubts into her ears 
that good she wills to do corrupts her heart. 

Reluctant to present her soul as good 
when she performs deeds that foster good will 
among poor people seeking food to eat, 
Basemath provides jars of fresh juice 
and baked bread in food booth by the gate 
where hungry people praise their benefactor. 

Enmeshed in foul contradictory rumors 
that taint her reputation with false greed, 
Basemath hurries down dark alleyway, 
but men abduct her from way of her heart 
and lock her in prison with other girls 
who plead for freedom from harsh slavery. 

Mind full of scorpions from anguished fear 
that jocund comfort has deserted her, 
Basemath summons from cave of her heart 
vile spirit of Hecate with dreadful spell 
to energize her fight for liberty 
when she details plan for their bold escape. 

Luring young guard into cell of desire 
with honeyed promises of secret pleasure, 
Basemath strangles him and wears his suit, 
then leads enslaved girls from cell of despair, 
by moonlit gliding toward riverside cave 
where they hide from soldiers hunting their souls. 

Free to frolic in dream light of the moon 
from radiant presence of wise Hecate, 
Basemath federates freed slaves with plan 
to farm fertile land with fruit trees and herbs, 
establishing self-sufficient commune 
so they thrive with liberty of free will. 

Book Of Psychic Codes

Book Of Psychic Codes
© Surazeus
2026 10 30

My ghost remains in homes where I once lived, 
scattered in towns across the continent, 
so they send signals through the ethernet 
that shimmer through the walls of everywhere 
to trick my meat-brain of hungry hope 
into accessing book of psychic codes. 

My ghost assembles fragments of my dreams 
into this meat-puppet that emanates 
radio waves of my temporary soul 
which conjures gust of wind outside my door, 
embodied by the soulmate of my heart 
who declares that she has become my Muse. 

My ghost strolls with me in the neighborhood 
while beaming images of you in wind 
so, when I glimpse blue glitter of the sea 
between the houses where strangers watch me, 
I see in water of its timeless flow 
source of language that fountains from our mouths. 

My ghost leads me to tree of tangerines 
that gleam bright as the sun on twisted limbs, 
so I breathe scent of flowers in the wind 
that fuels intense ardor of wanderlust 
to plot the mathematic flash of faith, 
yet I remain in room of countless doors. 

Ghost of my body emanates from me, 
posed idol-still on broken wall of fate, 
so I arrange smooth river stones in rings 
to mark its hollowness as sacred space 
where I stand safe on spinning globe of thought, 
pretending I still have my angel wings. 

Ghost of my brain vibrates with psychic waves 
when I open door to the fairy house 
where crystal eggs of angels glitter gold 
through which I teleport to distant worlds 
which all reflect state of this current world 
as mirror that presents alternatives. 

Ghost of my pulsing heart designs new face 
for me to wear when I leave fairy house, 
perched on the jagged cliff beside the sea, 
and visit market town with bag of coins 
so I can purchase book of psychic codes 
from lonely woman by the empty well. 

Ghost of my bones inherits song of waves 
so I assert attention of my heart 
to channel voices from the Otherworld 
who ask for secret of the Holy Grail, 
which I explain refers to how our genes 
incarnate in our children as new souls. 

Television Tube Of Truth

Television Tube Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 10 30

When sparrows spring from sudden songs of hope, 
I hold ever-flowing hourglass of fate 
with supple laughter of our arrogance 
that happiness of flashing synergy 
could be more than frail bubble on the stream 
that vanishes with mist on web of dawn. 

Grand symphony of my eccentric heart 
swells with vibrant shadow from my grave 
as sunlit clouds that crack with thunder song 
to drench our city in spiritual rain 
with noisy burden of my wordless voice 
that radiates waves of songs on radios. 

Our spirits rise from swirling sea of dreams 
through bleached evaporation of desire 
to form enormous clouds of mindless gods 
that soak the waste land of the roadless west 
in screaming riddles of electric ghosts 
who transform into humans without hope. 

Dry Earth soaks our spirits into its heart 
so we bloom tall in trees of humming faith 
that morph our bodies into juicy fruit 
consumed by insatiable hope of Death 
who dances when I dare play violin 
for gods in abandoned aquarium. 

Ghosts of my Puritan ancestors glow 
as gold candles in pumpkin heads of gods 
when children dressed as cowboys and vampires 
loot strange treasures from mansions of the rich 
which they return to history museums 
to honor our savage civility. 

Trapped in the television tube of truth 
with masks of characters from fairy tales, 
I captain our sleek starship among stars 
to visit strange new worlds where devils trick 
humble farmers to support haughty kings 
till cities are destroyed by nuclear bombs. 

Emerging from vales of the jagged Alps, 
where lizard men dwell in bright jeweled caves, 
I build empire with Wand of Jupiter 
based on nutritious passion of wheat bread 
so I can find lost grave of Icarus 
and rebuild sky-ship of his broken heart. 

While growing old with sorrow of lost time, 
I carve weird riddles on black obelisk 
with serpent runes of star-engendered love 
that flash on television tubes of truth 
to hypnotize new children of dead gods 
who wrestle hovering cherubim of faith.