Unanswers That Explain Why

Unanswers That Explain Why
© Surazeus
2026 03 15

Each time I wander too close to the sun 
wild spirit of Icarus wakes in me 
so I run circles on the White House lawn 
with arms outspread as if I can fly free, 
then fall on my back under Great Blue Sky 
and ponder unanswers that explain why. 

Wheels of my bicycle flash in the sun 
when I heave deep breath up the steep-hill road 
then lounge by the fountain of secret pain 
near the Mizpah Gate to gossip with God, 
asking about delusions of my eye, 
and dismiss unanswers that explain why. 

Wearing pink dress and tattered shoes of hope, 
Christina crawls across the grassy field 
toward gray-wood house on the wind-battered slope 
where nothing blooms but the frail marigold, 
so I bear her soul in my arms and fly, 
and rewrite unanswers that explain why. 

Dropping quarter in the dorm pop machine, 
I buy ennui in cold can of root beer, 
then wear mask of Jesus for Halloween, 
because I am son of the Puppeteer, 
encouraging hopeless people to try 
and design unanswers that explain why. 

Inspired by victory of the faceless god, 
I build castle in Caledonia, 
then search with amusement in putrid sod 
for crowns of kings from Macedonia, 
because I choose to play the clever spy 
and bury unanswers that explain why. 

Hands strong with spirit of Odysseus, 
I forge sword from stone that blazed from the stars, 
since in Scotland I am indigenous 
to misty hills where fairies drive fast cars, 
so I map ruins where lonely girls cry 
and extract unanswers that explain why. 

Each hour cathedral bells of anguish toll, 
I build wood ship to sail where dragons lurk, 
yet in world theater I play my role 
with fierce compassion of satiric smirk, 
then chant formulas which may not apply, 
and tangle unanswers that explain why. 

Reborn as Icarus without brave wings, 
I ask shy Christina to be my bride, 
so she bakes hot apple pies while I sing 
folk songs about how lost people abide, 
then we kiss at sunset of the firefly, 
and record unanswers that explain why. 

Wounded Heart Of Innocence

Wounded Heart Of Innocence
© Surazeus
2026 03 15

I hear the raven in the apple tree 
tell me about the old woman who dies 
after baking ten thousand apple pies 
so children driven from their homes by bombs 
may eat the wounded heart of innocence, 
but all her pies rot in warehouse of greed. 

I hear the toad beside the forest pool 
tell me about the hungry man who dies 
after delivering mail to every house 
where ghosts of angels haunt bright living rooms 
to hide the wounded heart of innocence 
in stories on the television screen. 

I hear the alligator in the swamp 
tell me about the young student who dies 
after drinking beer in the crowded bar 
then wanders in haze of frantic memories 
to drown the wounded heart of innocence 
in turbid river of the singing skull. 

I hear the horse in the wire-enclosed field 
tell me about the racecar driver who dies 
while speeding on the winding mountain road 
and finds salvation with the humming toad 
to steal the wounded heart of innocence 
if he knows why the caged bird never sings. 

I hear the cow in old abandoned church 
tell me about the solemn priest who dies 
while drinking holy blood from rusty grail 
in restless search for virgin girl of faith 
to sell the wounded heart of innocence 
though she teaches her son to play guitar. 

I hear the dog in the misty graveyard 
tell me about the brave preacher who dies 
before he sees Jesus return from clouds 
in starship beaming our lost souls from Hell 
to buy the wounded heart of innocence 
while tearing pages from Bibles in rage. 

I hear the unicorn in the warehouse 
tell me about the mad artist who dies 
while painting emotions of brave despair 
in murals of folk heroes on brick walls 
to break the wounded heart of innocence 
reborn from farmers on justice crusade. 

I hear the demon in the tower vault 
tell me about the haughty god who dies 
while counting gold coins of his stolen wealth 
derived from labor of the working man 
to heal the wounded heart of innocence 
that slithers on marble museum wall. 

Energy Of Ardent Hope

Energy Of Ardent Hope
© Surazeus
2026 03 14

Honey and butter on toasted sourdough bread 
delight my heart with pleasure of sweet taste 
when I contemplate strange meaning of life 
at home with my family on Sabbath night, 
soul bathed in nurturing glimmer of light, 
revived by energy of ardent hope. 

No angel may hear me when I cry out 
with terror at beauty of life and death, 
but humans on Earth understand my song 
when I vanish in power of soul light 
that designs my mind with loving insight, 
transformed by energy of ardent hope. 

Unleashing wings of desire from my heart, 
I throw emptiness out of my bound arms 
to expand space of joy where I may breathe 
ethereal spirit of demonic might 
on which I pass fear with intimate flight, 
propelled by energy of ardent hope. 

Pure Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil 
rises from rotten desire of my heart 
to tremble with silence of timeless change 
that intimates beginning of my flight 
to sing with Orpheus in sheltering light, 
enshrined by energy of ardent hope. 

Sparked awake by first blissful tone of love, 
which Orpheus teaches me to express 
with ringing melody I play on lyre, 
I ask Death to elucidate mortal plight 
as theme that consumes me with anguished fight, 
restored by energy of ardent hope. 

Alert to monstrous horror of desire 
that drives men to kill each other for power 
in mindless rage to gain immortal life, 
I seize divine strength to play slender lyre 
with passionate breath of pneumatic rite, 
contrived by energy of ardent hope. 

Message that creates itself from my voice 
when I declare with optimistic faith 
that we weave our fate with each choice we make, 
grows monstrous when exposed to cogent light 
that glow of our conscious mind is finite, 
unbroken by energy of ardent hope. 

Possessed by spirit Orpheus radiates, 
I sing redemption of passionate love 
that fills our hearts with mountain strength of faith 
to aid each other when our souls recite 
holy hymns we help playful sprite ghostwrite, 
designed by energy of ardent hope. 

Nameless Son Of Jove

Nameless Son Of Jove
© Surazeus
2026 03 14

Draped in ermine robe of authority 
with assignment to adjudicate laws 
designed to rein aggressive lust of men 
within bounds of respect for other men, 
I wield sulfurous bolt of thunderous Jove 
from Merciful Heaven to humble pride. 

Though wrath of Oberon attends my heart 
with plot to train each wild child of dark woods 
as loyal warrior of my scouting train, 
I channel passion to manage estate 
of rich productive farms with guardian gangs 
while lounging in the spangled starlight sheen. 

Though I am merry wanderer of the night, 
I jest on stage in temples of rich feast 
to play role of Oberon with fierce joy 
that sparks sweet laughter of relief from men 
who sweat in labor to tend fields of wheat 
which flushes resentment from their hard hearts. 

Dismissed with mocking jest of pungent fear, 
I twirl in whistling winds by flashing sea, 
lost in contagious fog of jealousy, 
but fall fatigued by stone-paved fountain pool 
full of crackling leaves instead of fresh spring, 
and weep for beauty drowned in tears of truth. 

Disturbed by crackling shifts of jolted time 
which readjusts world view of what is true, 
I realize wealthy mean in towers of glass 
conspire to enslave common citizens 
to labor in vast factories of regret, 
producing goods that profit bank accounts. 

Alone on yellow sands where Neptune dwelled, 
I watch fragile ships tossed by swelling waves, 
pregnant with products of slave factories, 
so I search in my heart for warrior soul 
of Jupiter or Zeus that strengthens me 
with courage to oppose cruel tyranny. 

Heart pierced by love-shaft blind Cupid discharged, 
I rise transformed from tomb of Oberon 
to lead lost boys disenfranchised by hate 
in noble army of brave warriors 
to follow Minerva on bold crusade 
dedicated to restore Liberty. 

While my peculiar quest for truth is bound 
with rational armor of my strict mind, 
I grasp electric bolt of honest hope 
as nameless son of Jove, son of Yahweh, 
to reign as king in nutshell of my heart 
which frees our world democracy to thrive. 

Language Devils Speak

Language Devils Speak
© Surazeus
2026 03 14

Dehydrated in sunlight of all time, 
I wander waste land of the urban zone, 
lured to paradise by angelic chime 
that rings from beating heart of the God Stone, 
so I climb to the highest mountain peak 
where I invent weird language devils speak. 

Amused by dancing skeletons of fate, 
I collect bones of huge dragons and gods, 
assemble them in Museum of the Great, 
and teach children how they grow from soul pods, 
which inspires new generation to seek 
books of legends in language devils speak. 

Revealed to be son of messiah sleuth, 
who once roused revolution of soul change, 
I set out on quest to find the real truth 
that leads me along the world mountain range 
till I transform into ring-powered freak 
and sing grand hymns in language devils speak. 

Assured I will reign next king of the world 
if I dethrone my father Jupiter, 
I accept sacred role as cosmic herald 
and play my part with mask of Lucifer 
since killers inherit Earth from the meek 
by propagating language devils speak. 

Awake from sorrow of the broken land 
where homes are shattered by religious bombs, 
I journey back to hills of Samarkand 
where I find apple queens in ruined tombs, 
so I kneel and weep by the timeless creek 
that whispers spells in language devils speak. 

Strengthened by support of the faceless dead 
who flock around me when I sing their tales, 
I birth Athena from expanding head, 
who rescues Jesus from cross of sharp nails, 
because they exude uncanny mystique 
when they perform star language devils speak. 

Startled by loud horns priests of Joshua blow 
to invade Garden of Eden with thieves, 
I defend lush Heaven of Jericho 
while the crippled widow of Hector grieves, 
so I preach that, though life on Earth is bleak, 
we will survive with language devils speak. 

Inspired by Isaiah to sing satires 
that spur tyrants to mend oppressive ways, 
I connect world minds with computer wires 
that help mankind evolve to our next phase 
which provides voice for the abused and weak 
who write fair laws with language devils speak. 

Weird Spirit Of Salorin

Weird Spirit Of Salorin
© Surazeus
2026 03 14

Sea breeze shimmers green-gold feathers of pride 
when Salorin, Poet of Zathamar, 
appears on stage in crystal temple hall, 
and strums seven strings with celestial chimes 
in harp from rib bone of Queen Zathamut, 
then sings epic tale of her life and death. 

I sense her gold eyes gleam inside my heart 
when I stand on street corner in Miami 
and feel weird spirit of Salorin wake 
brave courage to express her ancient song 
that vibrates eighty million years of light 
in waves that gleam on bright Florida coast. 

My callused fingers pluck six coiled bronze strings 
that vibrate through shell of spruce wood guitar 
to wake soul of Salorin in my heart 
so I sing grunge folk songs of human life 
beside small fountain in the market square 
while pedestrians and cars traffic past. 

Long curly brown hair of the Anglo Bard 
blows around my face as I play guitar, 
dressed in leather boots and green woolen coat 
caked with red dust of New Mexico hills, 
while I sing surreal ballads that depict 
rough journey of the brave Quester for Truth. 

Grand vision of life on our spinning globe, 
that flourished eighty million years ago, 
glows from projection of my humming verse 
that depicts evolved race of dinosaurs 
who built vast cities of enormous diamonds 
where they performed tales of Saurian gods. 

Diamond cities in land of Zathamar, 
where civilization of dinosaurs 
thrived for millions of years on Earth, 
have all been ground down to sands on the beach, 
tiny fragments that gleam with their great songs, 
and ring with chimes of their long-silenced voices. 

I see their ghosts in glitter of the sand 
when I lounge on Miami Beach at dawn 
after sleeping all night among tall reeds, 
and hear their voices of sharp ringing chimes 
in susurration of green ocean waves, 
so I channel their tales in my street songs. 

As Quester for Truth on the signless road 
that winds along rivers among tall hills 
across this ancient land of Zathamar, 
I ever walk toward Pyramid of Ishtar 
whose song of wisdom shines in every heart 
who thrives in United Nations of Earth. 

Brave Tritonian Faith

Brave Tritonian Faith
© Surazeus
2026 03 13

Long since grown from child of the wandering sea, 
where I once ventured vast unshadowed main, 
I lounge with nonchalance of purpled wings 
on wave-smooth stone to sun my streaming hair 
and study fragments from my ship of pearl 
that shimmers gold with lustrous coil of faith. 

From sunless crypt of aching solitude 
my father Triton wanders in wild gust 
of laughing wind, that gallops from stark peaks 
of jagged mountains, to kneel on cold sand 
and blow wild tune in chambered nautilus 
that rings forlorn on desolate beach of faith. 

Awake with howl of my unresting sea, 
that slithers silver waves around my feet, 
I stretch frail frame of flesh with ache of hope 
that broad sky-dancing wings of fortitude 
may sprout from beating passion of my heart, 
that fills my heart with brave Tritonian faith. 

Though Triton, ancient withered ocean god 
who sired my soul from fertile womb of light, 
lies sprawled on glistening sand of arrogance, 
unsouled by ruthless blast of grinding time, 
I feel spark of his ocean spirit gleam 
with weird immortal energy of faith. 

When I kneel and weep by round pool of light 
that glitters framed by empty shells of truth, 
I see face of my father Triton glow 
with animated urge of my own heart 
as if I wear mask of his bearded face, 
for I am reborn replicant of faith. 

Fair phantom of my pulsing heart appears 
through emanation of courageous fear 
with fierce intention to investigate 
source of power that compels my quest 
to transcend bounds of self-enclosing name 
and claim commission to preach deeds of faith. 

Now that my father Triton vanishes 
from dream time of my fate-perceptive eyes, 
I measure segments of transforming change 
that gears strict increments in scale of growth 
so dawn light swells from nothing of my heart 
to shape this world of forms from wordless faith. 

Inspired by scripture of footprints on sand, 
which I compose in magic runes of dream 
with wand I forged from sharp draconic bone, 
I run with carefree joy in wingless flight 
by breathing clear Zephyrean air of hope 
to fight despair with brave Tritonian faith. 

Spectrum Of Strange Truths

Spectrum Of Strange Truths
© Surazeus
2026 03 13

When my Muse reveals spectrum of strange truths 
arrayed as statues of demonic clowns, 
I fuse my mind with weird riddles to bind 
devious virtues through feverish respect 
from solemn turmoil of typewriter thoughts 
unspooling world view I always believed. 

Despite intermittent sequel of moves 
attending game of mirth against bleak death, 
I push against bounds of physical hope 
that limit expansion of ardent scope 
radiant with fractured words I never speak 
till I reach interval of intact breath. 

Each time our world changes with subtle grace 
through duplication of existing states, 
I leap deceptive loom of glorious fear 
to weave convincing vision of events 
yet to unravel with undefiled force 
at sudden dreaming of explosive fate. 

Uncertain glory veiling mindless trust 
blossoms in flowers from corpse of our god 
corrupted by greed for global control 
where humming children gather by the pool 
to vote with laughter for the haughty fool 
as king of nothing because he lies well. 

Reluctant fallacy of social prayer, 
embodied by galactic ghost of time, 
vibrates with overtones of magic math 
enthralling searchers for evasive truth 
who seal humiliating deeds in jars 
buried in graveyards of outdated creeds. 

Gigantic cactus of conceptual law 
waits lonely in putrid grotto of stones 
tangled with hair of thirty thousand queens 
whose names Time erases with flood of tears 
when sluggish vampire king of loyalists 
charges rent for houses he never owns. 

New discoveries in scientific labs 
alter matrix of reality with jokes 
squeezed from crackling machines of twisted bones 
through convoluted atmosphere of words 
invented by doctors with fractured eyes 
who wander bright shores of Hibernia. 

Unsteady dance on twanging rope of faith 
tempts naive ballerina to transcend 
bottomless abyss of bright nothingness 
from church steeple to the honey-bee hive 
with lithe discipline of angelic soul 
because she likes to hum our river song. 

God Of My World

God Of My World
© Surazeus
2026 03 12

Now that I have become God of my world, 
I can erase my body from Dream Time 
so my name will vanish in gust of wind 
that wanders whistling casually along 
with no care for fortune or fame, those traps 
that suck innocent souls down into Hell. 

Projecting Glow Cloud as God of my world, 
I give sandwiches and bottles of juice 
to homeless people in the city park 
who tell each other tragic tales of loss, 
then follow Moses to the Promised Land 
somewhere over the rainbow of my heart. 

Ascending marble stairs of timeless truth, 
I enter Parthenon where Athena reigned 
since she planted olive tree of true faith 
to feel her spirit glow inside my heart 
as ghost of absence still alive in me 
that molds chaos in loving harmony. 

Loving Athena as God of my world, 
I sing this endless eulogy of faith 
that Liberty inspires the human heart 
to fight for Justice with courageous hand 
through opposition against tyranny 
that maintains progress of democracy. 

Since deathless wisdom is God of my world 
I walk the signless road of honesty, 
evolving from hungry ape of wild woods 
to wingless angel on high pyramid 
singing about creation of the Earth 
when we build Garden of Eden from mud. 

Bathed in Holy Light from God of my world, 
I walk with crowd of people on the street 
in metropolitan maze of the Earth 
where I see angels in all human eyes 
forever searching for pure beam of light 
that fills our bodies with celestial song. 

Measuring time to play God of my world, 
I map extensive patterns of desire 
to plot complex graphs for effect of cause 
which calibrates our mental state of being 
resolving formulas of psychic math 
that program reason in passionate brains. 

Wearing mask that portrays God of my world, 
I conjure virtual world from dream of Earth 
through simple proverb of conceptual faith 
that we get in return whatever we give 
since we reap what we sow with crafty hands, 
then become dirt of Earth from which we bloom. 

Pactolus River Of Fate

Pactolus River Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 03 12

If rain erases motorcars from time, 
deleting time machines from dream of light, 
then I will reinvent the piston engine 
so I can teleport on rubber wheels 
in chariot designed by Ezekiel 
with wheels Helios fashioned from desire. 

When Janus locks temple door of respect 
against small hands of King Midas at last, 
we shall find wealth, that bitter king of hate 
stole from treasure bank of our thriving state, 
washed into Pactolus River of Fate, 
so we may restore world democracy. 

Then humble Philomel, shepherd of souls 
attuned to emotional needs we hide, 
shall rise with divine power of the sky 
to lead us along Tagus River shore 
in our quest to find the lush Promised Land 
to thrive with peace in hills of Zathamar. 

Lounging on lush river shore by tall elm, 
Sirena herds sheep with attentive eyes, 
and sings harmonious melodies of hope 
in tune with swans that float on silver waves 
when comets blaze in brightness of her soul 
with calm in raging tempest of the world. 

Crowning her gold curls with wreath of pink blooms, 
Philomel plays haunting tunes on wood flute 
as graceful Sirena in long red skirt 
dances joyfully with cool evening breeze 
with gray-bearded Zephyrus brings them pears 
and teases her to marry his shy son. 

Adorned with pearls that gleam on her white breast, 
Sirena gathers berries, nuts, and eggs 
in baskets with her mother Ostara 
who teaches her to brew liquor from fruit 
which Philomel pours in clay jars of hope 
they bury by the river to ferment. 

Driving time-machine car from urban maze, 
swift as wind along winding country roads, 
Ezekiel arrives in Garden of Zatham, 
bringing Cinderella and Romeo 
to visit Juliet and Percival 
whose daughter Epona rides her white pony. 

Gathered at large round table of the feast, 
everyone drinks red wine to celebrate 
birth of our new nation Zarathia 
we build from ruins of America, 
then Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury 
while Ophelia sings Ballad of Hamlet. 

Bougainvillea Of My Heart

Bougainvillea Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2026 03 11

Lost in harsh waste land of the modern world, 
I find bougainvillea of my heart 
thriving through resilience of suffering 
with cool menace of eye-enchanting flowers 
concealing unnoticed thorns of despair 
with treacherous allure of sirenic beauty. 

Enduring legacy of my grandmothers, 
within bougainvillea of my heart, 
thrives with fragile compassion of respect 
connecting my body with my ancestors 
as scarlet flowers shroud crumbling tombstones 
with persistent beauty in ruined homes. 

Flourishing in vast cement maze of myths, 
vital bougainvillea of my heart 
conquers the world with scarlet privilege 
through nostalgia for lost time of ripe oranges 
that drip with blood of angels on my lips 
when I consume resources of the Earth. 

Flower-crowned mask of my delicate nymph, 
who tends bougainvillea of my heart 
with nurturing hands of innocent faith, 
reflects divine face of wise Mother Earth, 
reborn each generation from her womb 
through brave extension of life after death. 

Vibrant beauty of resilient strength, 
that blooms bougainvillea of my heart, 
veils shattered ruins of democracy 
where skeletons dance with bears in red rain 
with the grateful dead of our burning land 
as immigrants displaced by endless wars. 

Kneeling in hilly jungle of Brazil 
to sketch bougainvillea of my heart, 
Jeanne Baret studies its delicate leaves 
that hide treacherous thorns of bitterness, 
amazed at how it flourishes in ash 
as deep pink gash of death-defying beauty. 

Both beautiful and dreadful, fragile blossoms 
that mask bougainvillea of my heart, 
sprout from roots that curl deep into hard soil, 
gripping rocks of mountains with angel hands 
which suppresses depression with fierce joy 
of urgent passion to live beyond death. 

Tangled in excessive tendrils of faith, 
wired from bougainvillea of my heart, 
I struggle against bounds of time and space 
to expand scope of curious consciousness 
broad enough to enclose every lost soul 
who attends show in garden of blind ghosts. 

Voice Of Faceless God

Voice Of Faceless God
© Surazeus
2026 03 11

Voice of faceless god reverberates 
through weak eyes of mortals who testify 
to inner beauty of dream-beaming brains 
that bind psychotic scales of timeless hope 
with absolution of fantastic guilt 
which leaves us floating in oblivion. 

My heart curves into silence of the Earth, 
imploding boldly with brilliant words 
unbound by principles of blithe respect 
through unconditional rules based on fear 
defined by sea waves swirling on hot sand 
on which I tumble with tedious faith. 

Constrained by monotonous disbelief 
in ceremonious rites of mental growth, 
I manufacture miracles from lust 
for mind-expansion of absurdist wind 
which entertains my sense of dignity 
through recreation of humility. 

My voice dares mountains to explain why pain 
contrives our wishful bleariness of thirst 
by trudging vainly toward garden of gods 
while I pray with serendipitous rage 
for brave interludes in false paradise, 
demanding haste of madness to debate. 

If I succumb to sudden shift of fate 
with untainted love for merciless skies, 
my heart may swell against locked doors of truth 
to reach absolute void of heartless love 
because my body decays with each day 
I dream magnificence of fruitful trees. 

Disturbed by alien anguish I deny, 
I prepare to leap shade of wretched chime 
with yearning passion of never-read books 
by craving darkness of death-anxious fruit 
where wordless thoughts whisper in humming trees 
so I catch rain with shadow of my hands. 

Insignificant doll of rotten flesh, 
birthed by wet sorrow of maternal moon, 
I break conceptions of unperformed wrongs 
that could destroy illusions of strange joy 
cherished by nameless strangers who contrive 
to fool the laughing ghost of broken stones. 

No fervid wish of seamless fortitude 
could crack my dreadful trust in shameless death 
despite investment of my hungry heart 
in grand delusions of unwanted fame 
that cripple my assertive vanity 
with shocking wisdom of genetic gain. 

Expansive Scope Of Truth

Expansive Scope Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 03 10

When I am worthy of myself at last, 
after my random journey through the world 
on roads in both natural and urban zones, 
I shall attend with cloud-calm dignity 
to treasure my expansive scope of truth 
designed by divine workmanship of hope. 

If Nature seems to frame my fragile being 
as favored worshipper of her weird state, 
this award bodes as generous testament 
to faith-focused progress of my intent 
with honest will to transcend weak account 
in dispute with fear that discharges guilt. 

Exposed to harsh elements of despair 
that blast my soul with grim indifference, 
I ramble rugged terrain of false dreams 
with troubled pleasure of aggressive stealth 
to discover source of time-sparkling light 
that casts ethereal glow on craggy steep. 

Clear pool of water among humming trees, 
that seems Plutonian phantom to conceal 
with supple mist of voluntary faith, 
extracts from framework of my filtered heart 
judgmental horror as keyword revised 
by lurid lecture of contemptuous wind. 

Awake with eerie insight of respect, 
I row tenuous boat of my heart forth 
across moon-shattered lake of bold grandeur 
while vulgar passions seethe with discipline 
to intercourse with Nature against Death 
among gloomy hills of sweet solitude. 

Resounding echo of my wordless cry 
cracks no ice-hard precipice of weird truth 
with good intentions of my anxious heart 
to earn kind favor of Nature with song 
of tranquil sleeplessness in morbid dreams, 
though my soul emanates from River Stone. 

Awed by Presences of Nature that glow 
on surface of this universal globe, 
I hide delight of triumph behind mask 
of calm ennui, impressed with character 
of my brave spirit molded into mask 
I wear to shield my heart from hungry fear. 

When I devise puzzle of virtual Earth 
through scheme to map whole history of mankind, 
I carve runes in cyphers on trunks of trees 
recording names and deeds of forest kings 
till Fortune taunts me with lightning-blazed fire 
that erases our story from the world. 

When Kingdoms Collapse

When Kingdoms Collapse
© Surazeus
2026 03 10

Chronic concept of the fortified mind, 
compiled from facial circuit of blank fate, 
contributes to spate of unlicensed fame 
contained by keyword of improved impact, 
based on fair complexion of my grim mood 
which notifies my colleagues of the news. 

Unfractured friendship of forgetful faith 
reveals my desire to prepare canned goods, 
jars of peaches, applesauce, beets, and pickles, 
because I must stock basements shelves with hope 
that I could survive collapse of the state 
alone on prairie of my nameless ghosts. 

Young woman with long hair flowing in wind 
arrives with the hurricane after dawn, 
and gives me book of ancient fairy tales 
that tell strange stories of powerful gods 
who play with humans as puppets and pawns, 
so I turn my face to gold fields of wheat. 

Heaping bags of wheat on the wagon plat, 
with four sturdy wheels Helios designed, 
I transport goods to warehouse of stone walls 
where the Loaf Ward buys bags of wheat with coins 
of gold stamped with face of Phoebus Apollo, 
so I forge coins into crown with twelve rubies. 

While driving black car down the dusty road, 
teleporting in time machine of hope, 
I wonder at the speed I race away 
far faster than the swift-galloping horse, 
then lean against the brick wall of the bank 
and sing folk songs while I play beat guitar. 

Death comes to me as the woman in black, 
with eyes that flash bright as the Morning Star, 
who gives me my heart trapped inside the rock, 
which she breaks free with hammer of desire, 
so I transform into the moon-eyed owl, 
and my heart beats when the mountain wolves howl. 

Maybe I will understand the world war 
being fought between England and Germany, 
lands where parents of my parents were born, 
so my divided heart now fights itself, 
unless I climb jagged mountain of snow 
and cry out to the blind angels of Heaven. 

Let the grandsons of Queen Victoria 
fight each other over the Crown of Jesus, 
while I plow my fields with hands of respect 
and can the produce of my honest heart, 
for nations will rise when kingdoms collapse, 
designed and built by hands of loyal men. 

Shining Mountains Of Light

Shining Mountains Of Light
© Surazeus
2026 03 09

The purple columbine of my aching heart 
blooms beside rocky mountain valley spring 
that sings with ancient voice of wordless joy 
while washing all my sorrows to the sea, 
so I almost believe that I can fly, 
but I breathe spirit of the sky instead. 

Attentive wisdom of snow, crusted white 
with timeless beauty of starlight, displays 
faceless beauty of our immortal soul 
all humans share, molded by suffering 
from passion into social mask we wear, 
which almost mirrors divine mind of light. 

Exhausting though the climb may be, rough path 
of glacier-fractured stones winding sideways 
in rolling basin of the mountain vale, 
I breathe patient endurance of orange clouds 
with persistence of pioneers, that fuels 
progressive quest of my immortal genes. 

Far from people-crowded streets of commerce 
that wind through cement canyons of ambition, 
I stand tall in rugged meadow of flowers 
among the vast Shining Mountains of Light, 
and watch with awe how dawn rays of the sun 
luminate Tava Kaavi, Mountain of the Sun. 

Gazing east far over mountains and seas, 
I strain to see around curve of the Earth 
Mount Olympus where All-Father was born 
who strode on rugged clouds of broken stones 
to fill his heart with courage of the wind 
in fight against cruel Titans to live free. 

Bright apparition of some great world savior, 
robed in white, hair blowing in divine wind, 
appears on white horse with gold horn of power 
and shining wings of star authority, 
so I wonder what god my eyes perceive, 
Zeus, Brahma, Jesus, Odin, or Shangdi. 

Perhaps one man descended from them all, 
combining their divine souls in one mind, 
may appear from turmoil of history 
and unite warring nations of the Earth 
with open hands of generosity 
that rule justice and liberty for all. 

This fantasy of one wise global ruler 
inspires nationalist pride of every tribe 
who believe their own god will rule the Earth, 
but I know they are all but mortal men 
who fight each other over dirt and rain, 
so I walk with the person I love most. 

Table Of Feast And Song

Table Of Feast And Song
© Surazeus
2026 03 09

When the wind blows through the doors of my heart, 
I wake from dream where our world falls apart, 
so I stroll among flowers of the field 
to contemplate virtual world on war shield 
which Achilles bore with defiant arm 
when he fought great war of feminine charm. 

Programmed with dreams of the language machine, 
my brain assembles from weird puzzling facts 
patchwork world view that frames what might be real 
through fraught ontology my thoughts design 
that centers everything on Death and Tax 
since Earth is indifferent to how I feel. 

Learning how to shape dreams from Morpheus 
so Ideas of Plato catalog 
objects I perceive with subjective stance, 
I weave vast tapestry of fractured tales 
that represent patterns of psychic tropes 
which nurture how our hearts survive on hopes. 

Wearing discarded mask of Orpheus, 
I search through endless swirls of verbal fog 
to find my brain expanding from dream trance 
with solemn beauty of wise ocean whales 
who float with jeweled crowns and red silk robes, 
and discuss organic life on earth globes. 

With Lamp of Liberty and Book of Deeds, 
I walk crowded streets of America 
as prophet who returns from the waste land 
with sacred proverbs based on moral rules 
that define good and bad as acts we play 
to construct or destruct structures of atoms. 

I worship the Sun as Solaria 
that weaves our bodies from soul-beams of light, 
and worship the Earth as Telluria 
that generates our souls from singing waves, 
for I am temporary name-masked soul 
attentive to perform my chosen role. 

Wise Shepherd in lush field of sparkling wheat 
guides us with his staff of comforting light 
through the valley of the shadow of death 
to the lake that teems with delicious fish 
where he prepares table of feast and song 
so we dwell in house of wisdom he built. 

When the wind blows through the doors of my heart, 
I rebuild our lost world with new star chart 
to shelter every refugee from war 
who shares labor in the field and the store, 
while Aeneas reigns in tower of dreams 
to guard our tribe that dwells by flowing streams.  

If I Adjust Cycle

If I Adjust Cycle
© Surazeus
2026 03 08

If I adjust cycle of my emotions 
to match exploding stars of naked words, 
I might find Lost Princess with seven eyes 
singing in forest of eccentric clowns, 
yet when I turn on the glass radio 
ghosts from distant stars call my secret name. 

If I adjust temperature of my rage 
to counter pain of patient pertinence, 
I might wake on the moon in time to see 
God break every pattern of human faith, 
yet I anticipate the second coming 
while typing at my desk in the hot swamp. 

If I adjust ingenuous mode of reason 
to lock my brain with alternative truth, 
I might caress sensuous contours of time 
to surf tidal wave of continuum 
silhouetted by dramatic regret 
when I follow claw-prints in bloody snow. 

If I adjust celebration of wisdom 
in spite of artificial victory, 
I might taste resolve of the Gardener 
to rebuild Garden of Eden in Hades 
that matches permanent state of respect 
fractured by pendulum unwound by fate. 

If I adjust lassitude of each season 
that returns with ostensible perversion, 
I might reclaim discolored photograph 
that proves I committed those evil crimes 
based on defeated memory of chimes 
gracious with flowers of frantic endurance. 

If adjust flight of arrogant breath 
by swooping wingless over power lines, 
I might remember who gives me their mask 
by calling my name on the telephone, 
which I deny outside of time and space 
because I am spectator of the race. 

If I adjust standards of moral values 
to style our fight as matter of survival, 
I might sense absence of psychotic color 
by starting enterprise of stolen wealth 
with uncommon manners of noble clowns 
who fight each other for the secret key. 

If I adjust scale of false modesty 
to join holy cult of the Water Book, 
I might sidle past the house of dead gods 
to rendezvous with Death down by the river 
that flushes human bodies to the sea 
with indifferent auspice no one perceives. 

Ten Thousand Doors Of Time

Ten Thousand Doors Of Time
© Surazeus
2026 03 08

Strange beauty of inflections keys my mind 
with barbaric flash of the star-black eye 
that gazes from core of the universe 
to dream my soul awake with flashing words 
frail as icicle on limb of the tree 
that whistles casually in winter wind. 

Lucid shadow of my eternal soul 
traces indecipherable cause of hope 
through bodies of all my ancestral souls 
who speak with inescapable concepts 
about great circle of euphoric light 
that glitters sharply at far edge of time. 

Great river of my adaptive heart flows 
with brave insistence of electric snow 
that molds our bodies from evasive fear 
so we climb trees and swing vast canopies 
six thousand miles from sea to shining sea 
till we transform from monkeys into humans. 

Silver-eyed blackbird in the apple tree 
recounts obsessive journey of my soul 
one hundred million years to find the cave 
where the sun is reborn every new day 
till I forget what I am looking for 
and live by the river ten thousand years. 

Blue clouds occur above my empty house 
where I collect raindrops in open eyes 
unfractured by contorted strength of faith 
to prove I first designed the wheel of time 
that mimics eye in mirror of the sun 
which survives the death of every state god. 

One fragile candle, glowing gold with faith 
one fleeting moment through eternity, 
contains dim conscious sense of self I am 
because I play the Mad Astronomer 
whose eyes have seen galactic deities 
possess chemical shells of mortal gods. 

Essential shadow of my abstract mind 
proves my organic body must be real 
when I eat apples of the mountain slopes 
that teach my animal mouth how to speak 
so I walk through ten thousand doors of time 
to find lush valley of my singing skull. 

Only the blind remember how the past 
shines clear in tragic tales of story books 
which I record with raven quill of truth 
I dip in gold ichor of divine blood 
till time erases every word I write 
so all your names vanish from cliff of truth. 

New Life Always Springs

New Life Always Springs
© Surazeus
2026 03 08

Vague splatter of misty rain on soft grass 
frames frantic despair of my heart with glow 
of mute sorrow at constant loss of life, 
yet new life always springs from mud of death 
with flourishing passion of timeless desire 
for us to dwell together in our space. 

Paused at flaming gates to leave paradise, 
I look back at shining temples of gold 
where people cheer song of the noble hero, 
then turn my face to emptiness of hope 
and walk in graveyard of the lonely world 
where billions of people killed in wars wait. 

I almost hear their voices in the wind, 
each one telling me of their tragic fate, 
till all their spirits swirl in hurricane 
of mocking laughter at God on his throne 
who glares enraged that his authority 
crumbles at relentless process of fate. 

Instead of arranging flowers on graves 
of innocent people mangled by bombs, 
I scatter apple seeds that sprout in trees 
so cemetery of our endless wars 
transforms into vast forest of fruit trees 
which nourish my body with love for life. 

Billions of trees blooming from our dead bodies 
transform material of our dreaming brains 
to stars that glitter in vast void of space 
with unrequited love for worlds of souls 
who live and die with endless swirl of change 
as we evolve from fish to singing god. 

On every planet in the universe 
one conscious creature pauses on their way, 
and gazes through infinity of space 
to see each other in mirror of love, 
our special faces becoming one face 
who sings our dreams in timeless song of light. 

Though I may weep for every conscious soul 
who ever lived and died on every world, 
collective radiance of their countless brains 
weaves my small brain in matrix of their truth 
so I dream complex patterns of their lives 
when I sleep under watch of the Moon Crow. 

When I meet Circe on the ocean shore 
and drink wine offered by her generous hand, 
I find my mortal body of desire 
transformed into immortal beam of light 
when she gives birth to me from seed of hope 
that drives me to live ten thousand years more. 

Lilacs Of Sordid Desire

Lilacs Of Sordid Desire
© Surazeus
2026 03 08

Attuned to song of river stones, I climb 
ladder of ideas with bravery 
to find wild fiddler on the mountain slope 
who causes lilacs of sordid desire 
to bloom from corpses of huge dinosaurs, 
so I photograph it all with my brain. 

Beneath veneer of civilized respect 
shy mountain wolf wakes in my wounded heart 
while I trudge alone on Sahara dunes, 
clutching rifle to my chest with vain prayer 
that whistles in the waste land of concern 
with holy shimmer of the godless sun. 

I gather gold coins from fallen empires 
to catalog their depictions in code 
of kings as gods who rule with wand of death 
by whacking people on the low-bowed head 
to teach them wisdom of subservience 
loyal to the angry man in the tower. 

Separate from likeness of the changing world, 
I remind myself that time spools my brain 
with memories that I weave in tapestries 
showing epic tales about tragic heroes 
who grasp lightning bolts with courageous hands 
to photograph everything that occurs. 

After I might have figured it all out, 
listening to thousands of people talk 
about mistakes they made, or their victimhood, 
I walk away from city of blind fools 
to sit on the hill where butterflies flit, 
and watch their buildings burn when thieves attack. 

While we sit face to face beside the lake 
at small round table of the quaint cafe, 
I measure distance between our brain worlds 
that gapes wide with magical mindfulness 
recorded through songs on the radio 
which I sing with aching voice of desire. 

When tangle of our bodies is undone 
by emotional memories we share, 
hearts aching with pleasure of vain regret, 
I work to keep everyone I love safe 
from sudden disintegration of truth 
that leaves us stranded without guiding myths. 

Pretty inwardness of angels we love 
radiates from religious paintings of saints 
martyred in spiritual climate of fear 
through mind-numbing fantasy of false pride 
that angels guide our nation to subdue 
unruly states who worship their own gods.