Chamber Of Lost Secrets

Chamber Of Lost Secrets
© Surazeus
2026 04 06

Stuck in chamber of lost secrets all day, 
I map confusing maze of ancient myths 
that chronicle history of human games 
we play in theater of the absurd 
over who reigns as God till we all die, 
then our children replay contest for power. 

Lost in chamber of lost secrets with you, 
I study masks of long-unworshipped gods 
to understand weird spirit of each age 
reflected in soul of some mortal man 
they chose to play deity of their tribe 
in holy mission to conquer the world. 

Blind in chamber of lost secrets from light 
that beams through unveiled face of cosmic mind, 
I name each god in old religious myth 
who founded dynasty of mortal kings 
to play messiah anointed by fate 
by killing all men who oppose their rule. 

Born in chamber of lost secrets with love 
that weaves neural net of my brain from dreams, 
I draft how my organic frame evolves 
fish to lizard to mouse to cat to monkey 
to ape to wingless angel striving to be god 
when I enforce my rule through Liberty. 

Woke in chamber of lost secrets with faith 
that men we elect to play god will reign 
with compassion for every living soul, 
I stand in rain by gates of paradise 
to play weird tunes on lyre of Mercury 
and sing with wild uncanny wail of love. 

Fired in chamber of lost secrets with lust 
to generate new life before I die, 
I fly in time-machine airplane of hope 
halfway around Earth on wings of desire 
to marry Goddess of the Holy Grail 
who reincarnates our souls in our children. 

Dazed in chamber of lost secrets from hope, 
I listen to Moon Girl play melodies 
of heart-enchanting grace on silver flute 
that lifts my soul from muck of agony 
so I fly high with wings of Icarus 
above vast maze of human history. 

Mute in chamber of lost secrets, I sing 
first flash of love that flares forth into worlds 
that teem with conscious beings of energy 
who bloom wise from quantum cosmology 
for our brief flash of life till we burn out 
and vanish into shadows of our words. 

Vibrate Voice Of God

Vibrate Voice Of God
© Surazeus
2026 04 06

Nebulous song of the black telephone 
asks me to commit unrelenting love 
through pretentious messages from dead gods 
which I must announce to humanity 
though my soul detaches from my stone brain 
and floats on brittle hum of ardency. 

Thrashed by wonder of unfamiliar death, 
who floats above me every sleepless night, 
I consider how famine mistransforms 
shadows of frantic minds to animals 
who wander without caution in moonlight 
to stare through windows at angelic humans. 

Because my mother weeps when she conceives 
my mortal body from draconic daze, 
she plays violin for gentle peacocks 
whose eyes design my heart calligraphy 
so I know how to vibrate voice of God 
through tangled verse of fabled honesty. 

With broom of listless ennui at world war 
I tend the broken bridge of loneliness, 
though I ignore the zither of my heart 
to exorcise angelic energy 
from millions of hearts possessed by despair 
who ask me to write battle hymn of faith. 

I will eat oranges of confusing taste 
rather then erase them from my sad joke 
that maps waterless rivers of regret 
where wingless angels stuck in empty churches 
fold wounded hearts in origami cranes 
while they deny their desire to escape. 

When I find his Green Car wrecked on the road 
halfway between New York and San Francisco, 
he introduces me to his best friend, 
the bear who has built every bridge on Earth, 
then teaches me how to defend myself 
when Fortune curses me with global fame. 

Thirsty for truth beyond theology, 
I steal lemons from Tree of Good and Evil, 
but refuse to sugar bitter despair 
while riding donkey of world revolution 
to drive mad King Herod from our White House 
and free Liberty from guilt-loop of Hell. 

As abject failure at the cursing game, 
I hurl book of riddles into the swamp, 
then renovate ten thousand rotten houses 
so every homeless person in the world 
may dwell in haven of attentive fear 
and join world choir to vibrate voice of God. 

Reluctant Prayer Of Hope

Reluctant Prayer Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 04 05

Each time she pauses by the broken door 
to listen for reluctant prayer of hope, 
another crow emerges from the book 
with clocks for eyes that unspool alphabets 
while tired construction workers drink hot beer, 
because she waits for her ship to come in. 

Fake photographs from family of ghosts, 
stuffed inside leather suitcase of wolf skin, 
escape from aching laughter of her heart 
to live as butterflies in shadowed rooms 
where children play board games of psychic war 
while ships of slaves sink in electric storms. 

Back when old kings ruled every crowded land 
from castles of aggressive greed for gold, 
her grandparents folded her in the box 
and sent her overseas on ship of state 
so she lives now in small Missouri town 
where she tries to ignore the weeping clown. 

Arranging books on brave library shelves 
in moral order of their truthfulness, 
she ponders how the television works 
transmitting images in crackling air 
like crystal ball of the grim sorcerer 
who builds model ships in bottles of faith. 

These faint fragments of cultural debris, 
that float about her on butterfly wings, 
she slots in expanding puzzle of truth 
as picture that shows nations of the world 
clashing in fierce religious wars for oil 
which fuels our piston-engine time machines. 

Ascending narrow stairs of innocence, 
she stands on peaked roof of brave Jupiter 
to survey sprawling maze of city streets 
where billions of people struggle to live 
in constant hunger for paradise lost 
as robots building cars and radios. 

Sharp cry for justice in the teeming crowd 
sparks revolution of the working class 
who program computers in cubicles 
that weave world wide web of god consciousness 
combining social media anecdotes 
in never-ending novel of success. 

Relaxed on front porch of her cottage home, 
free from bondage of marriage and religion, 
she writes novel about the abused girl 
who reclaims her life with struggle for truth 
to live as true self nascent in her heart 
while jets bomb homes in countries far away. 

Silent On Subjective Tricks

Silent On Subjective Tricks
© Surazeus
2026 04 05

They almost trick me into spilling why 
death comes to us as the white butterfly, 
but I keep silent on subjective tricks 
which I employ to map the River Styx 
where magic spells sprout from linguistic muck 
with energy I gather to fool Luck. 

Since no one dares to teach me how to fly, 
I gain employment as government spy 
assigned to analyze the crucifix 
despite abundant code angels unfix 
to guard the activist driving her truck 
who rescues the church pastor who got stuck. 

Atomic brains amend contract of thought 
with ambient destiny where cooks get caught 
through humble success of great discipline 
too dangerous for the loyalist to win 
though I drive streets of Seattle to find 
celestial key that opens Divine Mind. 

Ride with me in my fast airplane I bought 
to find the hidden oracle who taught 
my father how to architect Berlin 
when he grew up in Temple of Shaolin, 
dancing with principle that to be kind 
forges theology with creeds that bind. 

Startled awake on Bridge of Loneliness, 
I hang out to converse with Sisyphus 
about true nature of the Cosmic Christ 
who invades money temple in brave heist 
through mental coup against cruel tyranny, 
then crowns his son with feudal barony. 

When my sponge brain begins to phosphoresce 
with frantic visions of global distress, 
I visit the Pope as wise poltergeist, 
commissioned to design novel zeitgeist 
that secures equal rights through Liberty 
which lifts every soul out of poverty. 

Entranced when Minerva begins to croon 
screams of despair into uplifting tune, 
I wear mask of Lucifer as my face 
to prove our souls disappear without trace 
when our bodies decay at strike of death 
though we practice yoga with calming breath. 

Exclusive deal won through electric boon 
freaks me out when our empire falls too soon 
to account for god vibes in our headspace 
though Apollo is detecting the case 
to find out who released demonic wraith 
whose tender care teaches us selfless faith. 

Grand Event To Play

Grand Event To Play
© Surazeus
2026 04 05

Flowing on away into evening light 
that floats suspended in green glowing leaves, 
my memories dissolve to empty scenes 
of passion for the grand event to play 
in huge museum on the river shore, 
crowded with white statues of long-dead gods. 

I love graceful goddess who has no face 
because she understands the gift of life 
encasing light of stars in frame of flesh 
urged by desire to procreate its soul 
which glows inside weird tangle of my brain 
with scenes of their achievements to survive. 

When shy Psyche visits garden of pears 
to find the language of her aching heart 
she buried under hollow stone of hope, 
she finds me holding darkness in my hand 
so she gives it wings to escape my mouth, 
then takes my hand and smiles with knowingness. 

Water of Heaven flows out of my eyes 
so I drink laughter of the flashing stream 
where swirling portal to infinity 
reveals strange beauty of this spinning globe 
that nurtures my body with starry breath 
even as I dwindle to silent books. 

My hungry spirit of barbarity 
will vanish into clocks of factories 
contrived by wizards of the wingless horse 
to build ten million time machines of fate 
so I can drive from sea to shining sea 
just fast enough to almost escape death. 

Haunted by indifferent Nature of change, 
I cobble new narrative for my life 
by stringing random events in taut thread 
that twangs from magic touch of Orpheus 
to make sense from harsh events I endure 
that seems to give my journey some grand goal. 

Sweet dissonance of clashing purposes 
reveals ambitious strategies for growth 
contrary to oppression of the state 
that crushes honest people under plots 
designed to figure characters from tales 
who choose the lighthouse as clandestine fate. 

Unraveling years of our weightless curse 
expands dim consciousness of signal lights 
that flash through gloom of swirling alphabets 
toward which we sail on fractured view of truth 
with brave intention to restore from ruin 
abandoned temple of the laughing god. 

Angel Wings Of Hope

Angel Wings Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 04 05

On this rainy Sunday morning at dawn 
after first full moon of transcendent light 
spawned by radiance of the Spring Equinox, 
I hear subtle wind of nurturing care 
animated by angel wings of hope 
on which I fly above vast maze of myths. 

My holy book of long-forgotten lore 
floats in tangled red threads of destiny 
within glass box of false eternity 
that spirals with galactic agency, 
animated by angel wings of hope 
on which I tumble from celestial realm. 

Eternal flame of black sublimity 
flares forth from seed of potential concept 
to bloom from nothing into something real 
as sacred flower of psychic energy 
animated by angel wings of hope 
from which I become my true divine self. 

Traversing hill of skulls at crack of dawn, 
I feel eternal light of ardent faith 
pierce wordless armor of my aching heart 
to see Clementine and Ophelia swim, 
animated by angel wings of hope 
to fill straw baskets with flowers and eggs. 

Just as I approach ancient ring of stones, 
bright rainbow beam of my beautiful truth 
reveals Eostre, fecund Goddess of Life, 
holding on her lap young child of her heart, 
animated by angel wings of hope 
to write tales of human life in Dream Book. 

Though tyrants in steel towers of blind greed 
kill men who defend their gardens of fruit, 
Aquaria transforms spirit of love 
from fear to child with eyes of timeless faith, 
animated by angel wings of hope 
to build new nation from ruins of war. 

When gold moon rises high on Phoenix wings, 
born from fertile womb of World Mother Sea, 
she sends her flighty son, wild Pegasus, 
to carry me across the windy steppes, 
animated by angel wings of hope, 
from which I ride to explore spinning Earth. 

Cells in my body split to formulate 
new body from blueprint of psychic code, 
designed by immortal soul of my genes 
to walk in blooming forest of the dead, 
animated by angel wings of hope 
as wingless angel wearing mask of light. 

House Of Laughing Masks

House Of Laughing Masks
© Surazeus
2026 04 04



Though I fade into white wall of blank masks, 
I open drapes of sorrow to perceive 
casual performance of every-day life 
when people walk to the clean grocery store, 
then cook dinner and listen to weird songs 
on vinyl records that spiral the void. 

Another child exploring the wheat field 
disappears into shadow of the book 
that teleports them to far distant land 
where they invent new name that confines thought 
as jeweled crown secure on velvet cloth 
beams satiric laughter at the Glow Cloud. 

When I gaze in eye of the Palantir 
I watch people all over the world live 
lives of quiet desperation to prove 
we are ghosts in one television screen 
assured of salvation with the One Ring 
forged by Angel of Death from my soul bone. 

With white horse of my adventurous heart 
I stroll along the craggy seashore cliff 
on winding network of trails that invite 
my noble journey to end of the world 
where I will build the House of Laughing Masks 
to preserve record of my mundane life. 

Ten thousand retired schoolteachers with pens 
could not repair my house of memories 
fallen into disrepair through regret 
for not opposing tyrants in steel towers 
whose greed destroys institutions of state 
so empires collapse into companies. 

Marble idol of Jesus on the hill 
spreads arms of love to welcome every soul, 
then gives me book and pen with bold command 
that I rewrite whole history of the world 
to show his sons triumphant in conquest 
as they enforce law of his love with guns. 

With joy for life, despite dark fuel of fear 
which nurtures passion of respect for death, 
I saunter casually on spring-bright road 
past houses where strangers wear laughing masks 
to hide horror that men in seats of power 
bomb hospitals and schools to kill the flower. 

Leaving frantic hustle of city life, 
I stroll in pastoral painting of false hope 
to visit natural beauty of wooded hills 
where monstrous demon of human desire 
seethes under calm waters of mountain lakes 
so I return to House of Laughing Masks. 

Sudden Chime Of Flowers

Sudden Chime Of Flowers
© Surazeus
2026 04 04

I think spring wind that moves my garden gate 
with sudden chime of flowers in sunlight 
might be young daughter of the lyre-skilled seer 
whose bright uncanny chord of ardent faith 
makes fruit trees dance with joy in morning rain, 
so I sing with her spirit in my heart. 

Though I have slept alone for many years, 
secure in calm state of my solitude, 
warmth of love that blooms from giving heart 
no more than illusion of fading fate, 
sweet voice of her free spirit sparks my soul 
awake from silence of my loneliness. 

After searching for her on homeless plains, 
I step outside door of safe house I built 
from fragile memories of cheerful laughs, 
and find shrewd daughter of the lyre-skilled seer 
tending herbs and fruit trees on river shore 
where I wander mute as water-smoothed stones. 

I ask forgiveness from her shining eyes 
as her deft hands tend roots of healing herbs 
when she mixes fresh fruits and vegetables 
with magical secrets of alchemy 
to prepare healthy feast for wanderers 
who gather around table of her heart. 

Now that faint shadow of my nameless soul 
has split in two bright spirits on the grass, 
I breathe celestial aura of the moon 
and sing enchanting melody of love 
while graceful daughter of the lyre-skilled seer 
frolics before large crowd of travelers. 

With sudden gust of wind that shakes our hearts 
our wild-winged son of fate, brave Icarus, 
swoops down from tall tree on taut sturdy rope, 
then seems to fly with eagle elegance 
above the awe-struck crowd of refugees 
who cheer transcendence of divinity. 

Though he transforms into the wingless crow 
who travels distant lands of sparkling snow, 
our curious son investigates star flight 
by searching for the highest peak of hope 
so he can soar beyond bounds of this world, 
though he may fall in bosom of the sea. 

Immense red glare of flames in timeless sky 
portends apocalypse of global wars, 
but clever daughter of the lyre-skilled seer 
tends fruit trees with attentive hands of faith, 
for empires stand on hard productive work 
of farmers and crafters with love for beauty. 

Museum Of The Heart

Museum Of The Heart
© Surazeus
2026 04 04

Each time I meet someone on long life road 
who stumbles, half bent under heavy load 
of sorrow they feel duty-bound to bear, 
I point their way to the heavenly stair 
that requires they leave all burdens behind 
so they are free to grow in their own mind. 

All these cute bromides the suffering share 
are broken toys abandoned on the stair 
because the drunk man, bruised by fight for pride, 
cannot find where the innocent must hide 
to open fragile wings in frantic flight 
and escape his rage in defective night. 

Relaxed on hill of our disastrous breeze, 
my mother gives me her forensic keys 
that function to open library doors 
which preserve melody of ocean shores 
recorded clear in my ancestral dreams 
because I follow ministerial streams. 

Yet all I remember from sitting in school 
is learning how to employ naive rule 
as mental mechanic repairing the brain 
which animates my mercurial gain 
when I navigate winding career path 
as cartographer through magic of math. 

I see reflected in each human face 
obsessive anguish of the angel race 
to investigate murder mystery 
at core of political history 
recording how kings kill to maintain peace 
yet protect only those who pay the lease. 

Dwelling safe in Museum of the Heart, 
which our ancestors built on our star chart, 
I compose new narrative for the world 
around eighth coming of the cosmic herald 
who builds world state that supports spirit birth 
comprising United Nations of Earth. 

When Salome dances before world king 
while she wears my spirit-enchanting ring, 
I may start to love her and lose my head, 
which she will bear home on platter of lead 
to shield my brain against radiant waves 
through prophecies of oracles in caves. 

When you and I meet on long road of life, 
united in goal to overcome strife, 
we build from ruins of America 
state of equal rights named Zarathia 
which binds the rebel with the orthodox 
through spiral riddle of psychotic clocks. 

First Mother Am

First Mother Am
© Surazeus
2026 04 04

I compete only against gears of silence, 
which Death employs to unravel my mind, 
by expressing through machinery of words 
complex contraption of conceptual truth 
designed by ancestors of my desire 
to conjure virtual model of the world. 

Millions of lonely explorers like me, 
who muddle through daily routines of hope, 
string frail words of concepts in brittle verse 
to weave veil of illusions in loose net 
with scheme to catch elusive fish of faith 
so we can eat roasted dreams of desire. 

Small groups of people huddled on the beach 
around the world from Africa to China 
gather each night for eighty thousand years 
to share tale of the man with gleaming spear 
who kills enormous dragon of the deep 
and roasts it on pyramid for our feast. 

Wearing dinosaur skull that crowns his head, 
brave storm god, who provides fresh food to eat, 
stands strong beside first mother of our tribe 
to guard her soul when she adjudicates 
disputes between contentious appellants, 
then pours juice in our cups for all to drink. 

Strange vision from our pre-civilized age 
glows bright before my disconcerted eyes, 
so I sing ballad of First Mother Am 
whose ghost reigns still on pyramid of power, 
her star-bright eye of knowledge watching us 
as immortal spirit we now call God. 

First Mother Am teaches her daughter Amen 
to host weary travelers on long roads 
with feast of bread and juice in temple hall 
where Yusa strums strings of her harp and sings 
heart-enchanting melodies that present 
men as heroes who protect everyone. 

Millions of poets alive now on Earth 
sing alone in their rooms around the world, 
for we remember aching song of hope 
First Mother Am sings in our pulsing hearts 
through voice of Ishtar on high pyramid 
that binds our souls in one global religion. 

We poets chanting verses of fierce faith 
are curious prophets of First Mother Am 
for we compete with stark silence of death 
as choir of angels singing tale of hope 
till we all vanish from dream of this Earth 
when voices echo faintly in the void. 

Swirls Of Conscious Dust

Swirls Of Conscious Dust
© Surazeus
2026 04 03

I see that we are swirls of conscious dust, 
congealed by passion to observe the stars 
so God can wake up in our dreaming brains, 
but when I ask the mountain by the sea 
how many human bodies form her soul, 
she weeps swee rain that drenches fields of wheat. 

Awake in dream as swirls of conscious dust, 
we see First Mother of our human race 
in face of every soul alive on Earth 
for we are mirrors of her primal mind 
reflecting her immortal genes in how 
we sing together in one global choir. 

Wind molds my soul from swirls of conscious dust 
when I float sparkling over mountain range 
as gleeful mist of potent energy 
conspiring with tall trees of humming fruit 
to nourish human bodies with strange joy 
that urges us to run on river shores. 

Radio waves spark my swirls of conscious dust 
with aching passion to sing psalm of faith 
depicting brave ontology through love 
for every human dancing without wings 
till we fall laughing from Glow Cloud of hope 
and float mute on convenient waves of time. 

Dynamic thoughts in swirls of conscious dust 
may claim to resurrect my mortal soul 
with psychic blueprint Pythagoras draws, 
but I know our organic frames of lust 
decay from glory of productive play 
and dissipate to currency of fate. 

Expressive games in swirls of conscious dust 
motivate gorgeous ghosts in pulsing flesh 
to build bold heritage through honest work 
firm on foundation of harmonious faith 
so tale code integrates logistic growth 
based on judicial innocence we share. 

Monument built from swirls of conscious dust 
preserves celestial light of mental debt 
enmeshed in mordant matrix sewn from words, 
riddles constructed from suffering scenes, 
yet we link hearts with laughter angels lease, 
subscribed to special shows of satellites. 

Ephemeral glow in swirls of conscious dust 
emanates bright from core of our brief being, 
fugacious with sense of divinity, 
so I will treasure transient scene of love 
we share in garden of our private play, 
embraced as skeletons ten million years. 

Poisonous Prayer Of Pride

Poisonous Prayer Of Pride
© Surazeus
2026 04 03

I never noticed time can see itself, 
Eve chuckles at absurdity of fate, 
then strolls with unsynced bells of worthless hope 
to stand on treeless hill of perfect size 
where angels scatter bones of gods in grass 
that transform into books no eye can read. 

Eve wears new mask carved from tamarisk wood 
to break hard shackles of theology 
by selling peace to mad king on the heath 
whose rainbow silhouette veils her stale heart 
with sterile shadow of unconquered love 
that reveals how precious her soul should be. 

Affixed communion with specious belief, 
that long-dead vampire god will resurrect 
our rotten bodies from root-tangled soil, 
inspires Eve every morning to transcend 
aching pain of her back and hips worn down 
by baking apple pies beside the bomb. 

Eve remembers six thousand years of thirst 
for fruit from Tree of Knowledge that seals 
fructuous heart of innocence with respect 
for pure Flame of Atar that manifests 
victorious beauty of the conqueror 
who overthrows all tyrants in the world. 

Her heart sprouts wheat of calm beneficence 
that resists thought decay of pestilence 
against dominion of the mortal man 
who claims divine right to exploit our hands 
that garnish treasures from the generous Earth 
which accounts for poisonous prayer of pride. 

With palsied hands that plea to abjure pain, 
Eve draws map of the world with blood of gods 
on arch of triumph in the capital 
where wounded warriors of the war for oil 
parade before polished Mirror of Death 
who twists their souls with arrogant dismay. 

Through emulation of the solemn rite, 
that she directs with skull of god in hand, 
Eve holds ripe apple to indifferent sun 
that bursts with timeless circumstance in code 
programmed by brains of children in cold rain 
who share their stolen grief with eyeless friends. 

Stuck in shadow between Never and Now, 
Eve steals electric Diamond of Lost Truth 
that beams celestial light of energy 
which proves we are but swirls of conscious dust 
that dissipate in soft relentless wind 
which swirls long hair around her weathered face. 

Saddest Song Of Love

Saddest Song Of Love
© Surazeus
2026 04 02

Though no one understands songs of her heart 
which seem like uncanny shrieks of night owls, 
she walks narrow trail among twisted beech, 
then gazes in green water of the creek 
to savor passion that glows in her heart 
that bloom as white bloodroot flowers from dirt. 

Opening envelope of thin wolf skin, 
she reads letter written by Lucifer 
with blood of angels on butterfly wings, 
then breathes shimmering emptiness of light 
that fills her heart with joy to be alive, 
so she sings enchanting song of respect. 

Stone by stone with gentle hands of thought 
she deconstructs illusion of the Self 
till she become dim shadow of her name 
that vanishes when the glass sun of time 
shatters on horizon of intellect, 
then dissipates in smoke from cottage hearths. 

Strange scent of wet leaves, pungent in night air, 
asserts aggressive pulse of wrangled hope 
that drives her to express in wordless tunes 
excessive wisdom of the hollow stone 
when she performs her saddest song of love 
that cracks foundation of theology. 

Shocked by the subtle shine of innocence 
on moon-ensilvered waters of the creek, 
she assembles new face of gracious trust 
from lithe prismatic waves of nothingness 
to wear as mask when she walks streets of town 
past strangers who all seem to know her name. 

Yet purple bergamot blossoms of truth 
unfold proportion of vivid desire 
designed to connect precious gratitude 
with ghosts of demons trapped in trunks of elms 
that swirl around her in celestial mist 
while she glides gracefully beyond her grave. 

Inevitable state of longsuffering good 
twangs harp strings sharp with subtle hollowness 
when star-eyed Seraph appears from her heart, 
so she remembers how we strive for good 
at cost of carelessness through flash of dawn 
based on reason of zestful agency. 

Curious about clones of her lost self 
that appear as silhouettes on grassy hill, 
she strolls columned cathedral of bright woods, 
suffused with slanting rays of divine light, 
and sings with harsh voice of sincerity 
that causes ghosts to shiver with desire. 

Giving Tree Of Hope

Giving Tree Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 04 02

When the giving tree of hope is destroyed 
by the tyrant and his gang of mad thieves, 
Belenus escapes walls of paradise 
with the last apple seed of divine truth 
and wanders forlorn on Plutonian shore 
where toads ask him if he can save the world. 

Because the giving tree of hope is burned 
by bombs that angels drop on paradise, 
Belenus hides in dark cave of blind ghosts 
who ask for the hottest stock market tips 
while roots of trees break towers into dust 
through oxidation that consumes steel frames. 

Watching the giving tree of hope chopped down 
by the Most Honest President on Earth, 
Belenus hacks into computer banks 
to transfer money to the bank accounts 
of poor hardworking people of the world 
who buy pickup trucks and shoot angels with guns. 

Slouched in despair at giving tree of hope 
where frisky children play with prancing goats, 
Belenus reads satires of Juvenal 
that condemn rampant corruption and vice 
of villainaires who rule in Washington 
by exploiting people for private gain. 

Shocked that the giving tree of hope now rots 
and blooms with poisoned fruit of arrogance, 
Belenus joins Minerva and her squad 
of justice warriors fighting for the right 
of every person in this fertile land 
to live free as they will, if they harm none. 

If the giving tree of hope vanishes 
from Garden of Eden in world war three, 
Belenus plants ten thousand apple seeds 
in parking lots of shiny shopping malls 
so new global forest of righteousness 
blooms from ruins of world civilization. 

Concerned that the new giving tree of hope 
struggles to be reborn from Bethlehem, 
Belenus tames with spells of alchemy 
ten-headed dragon rising from the sea 
so he crowns himself Emperor of Earth 
who rules with magic wand of equity. 

Tending the healthy giving tree of hope 
that blooms from corpses of tyrants and thieves, 
Belenus hosts grand feast of equal rights 
for all the people of the Earth to join 
while Orpheus plays the lyre of Mercury 
and Minerva sings about Kingdom Come. 

Alive In Abya Yala

Alive In Abya Yala
© Surazeus
2026 04 01

I think I took a wrong turn in the mall 
because I am not in America 
any more, where Liberty for every soul 
is the sacred law by which we all live, 
illusion of greatness that vanishes 
and leaves me alive in Abya Yala. 

Inspired by the man bleeding on the tree, 
who grasps writhing snakes of hate in the well 
and transforms them into Runes of Respect, 
I leave cathedral of the vampire god 
and stumble in meadow of maple trees 
that flash me alive in Abya Yala. 

Alone on mountain of the Rainbow Snake, 
who reveals woman with stalk of gold corn, 
I watch butterflies turn into jet planes 
that bomb the ziggurat where Ishtar reigns, 
so I flee into waste land of the west 
where I howl alive in Abya Yala. 

Stripped of my wolf-fur cloak and magic wand 
by one-eyed wizard of dark Raven Wood, 
I drive my car from sea to shining sea 
home to where I was born in Oregon 
where Multnomah cleanses my heart of fear 
so I dance alive in Abya Yala. 

Broken wings of Icarus in my heart 
flap helplessly in hurricane of change 
when I fall from Heaven of Righteousness 
and wander Turtle Island without hands 
to help Onatah tend Garden of Corn, 
soul reborn alive in Abya Yala. 

When illusion of Great America 
collapses into shards of shiny lies 
because demon of greed escapes from its cage, 
I join free people of Zarathia 
to build new nation based on equal rights 
that fires us alive in Abya Yala. 

I want to return home to Avalon, 
then on to Lake of Dreams in Scythia, 
to build strong United Nations of Earth 
that renders equal justice for all souls 
who share this lush globe spinning in the void 
that beams us alive in Abya Yala. 

After the American Empire falls 
from crushing weight of xenophobic hate, 
we will build new nation for everyone 
who shares love for truth of wise Onatah 
who directs choir of equal citizens 
so we sing alive in Abya Yala. 

Names Of His Lost Tribe

Names Of His Lost Tribe
© Surazeus
2026 04 01 

Trapped by obsession with integrity, 
Alanus walks to the new grocery store 
and contemplates how to save his lost tribe, 
but they are photos on the cereal box, 
so he scatters cornflakes on tombless graves, 
and prays to the sparrow in the elm tree. 

Reluctant to accept his bitter fate, 
Alanus paints mural on the brick wall 
that depicts migration of his lost tribe 
with bright colors in cartoon characters 
which tourists photograph with beaming smiles 
to post up on their social media sites. 

Annoyed by laughter of the traffic light, 
Alanus forges new Anywhere Key 
from dark matter in bones of his lost tribe 
with lightning flash of mute anxiety 
so he can teleport to every house 
where ghosts of his ancestors linger blind. 

Startled by appearance of gold Dream Stone, 
Alanus breaks it open with soft spell 
so he can read the names of his lost tribe 
who drive horse-drawn wagons of curious hope 
across the wind-swept steppes of Scythia 
where they build tree-house networks in tall trees. 

Amused by sparkle of electric snow, 
Alanus leaves car factory at dawn 
with fragments from the skulls of his lost tribe 
to lounge on back porch of his shabby home 
and grill hamburgers while his children play 
under strangeness of blue Missouri skies. 

Concerned about the state of politics, 
Alanus builds fortress on ancient mound 
to host council meeting of his lost tribe 
who plan new movement of the working class 
to seize means of production from vampires 
and build new schools for their children to learn. 

Shocked by acceleration of world war, 
Alanus hikes in rugged mountain vales 
with hungry survivors of his lost tribe 
who build new nation in the wilderness 
centered around Temple of the Soul Flame 
which their First Father stole from Hearth of Hell. 

Eager to translate song of honeybees, 
Alanus enters temple of blank books 
that record tales from the lives of his lost tribe 
which play as shows on television screens 
in stores of old deserted shopping malls 
where children of the fallen empire play. 

Vote On Election Day

Vote On Election Day
© Surazeus
2026 03 31

When I find secret land of Xanadu 
hidden in misty mountain vale of peace 
I will sing to the blue moon of respect 
so screaming voices on the radio 
vanish into silent ache of faith 
because I like to flirt with Death at dawn. 

Because he is still waiting for Godot, 
the old man, who sits all day on the bench 
in front of city hall, steals my fake name, 
so I write it down in book of lost tales 
when I visit museum of dead gods 
whose skeletons dance around the North Pole. 

When Godot arrives at the restaurant, 
he introduces me to his new bride 
named Saengdao, which means Starlight, he explains, 
but she takes me sailing on her glass yacht 
to Kharg Island in the Gulf of Hormuz 
where she films her new folk-rap video. 

When I try to vote on election day 
the old man questions whether I exist, 
so I disappear in a puff of smoke, 
then drift without wings, humming lullabies 
about death, over Yosemite Park 
where Shakambari tends vegetable gardens. 

Inscrutable spell of her recipe 
for magic potion that heals harsh headaches 
combines mental spice of spiraling words 
with apricot cider of providence 
which questions privilege of ownership 
exposed by counter-oracles of truth. 

While photographing young couples in love 
who stroll the river walk in evening light, 
Phrixus leans against the brass balustrade 
and stares with sorrow at the silver sheen 
that flickers with elusive Runes of fate, 
then mounts gold ram and flies into the clouds. 

Engaged with program to destabilize 
global patriarchy through language keys, 
Phrixus meets Godot in the crumbling church 
where they discuss projects of bitter wealth 
based on artificial intelligence 
which hallucinates that Jesus returns. 

Logic of random landscapes motivates 
moral mission to organize networks 
of neutral monsters with house mortgages 
who load trucks with boxes of stolen dreams 
through humble technique of successful ploy 
upgrading unique spectrum of toy brains. 

When he buys carrots of syntactic virus 
from Shakambari by the broken gate, 
Godot suddenly understands the joke 
about the raven and the writing desk 
Phrixus told him at the amusement park 
while they were eating hotdogs of despair. 

Children With Sparkling Eyes

Children With Sparkling Eyes
© Surazeus
2026 03 31

The next time we get together to cry 
about how flowers wither in hot sun, 
Tellus will bring glass jar of demon tears 
to nurture souls of angels in small seeds 
who grow into children with sparkling eyes 
before bullets splatter their souls on grass. 

Careful analysis of water flow, 
within context of material exchange, 
proves why excessive passion of desire 
cracks concrete channels of clandestine code 
that redesigns children with sparkling eyes 
who play hide and seek in ruins of church. 

Reverse psychology of social laws 
never works to change behavior with fear, 
relabeled as incentive to mature 
against relentless tides of profit gains 
that tricks hearts of children with sparkling eyes 
to believe in lie of the Afterlife. 

Elected by the people of her state 
to establish affordable health care, 
Tellus drives to work across Bridge of Faith 
till assassins give her apples to eat 
so she can feed children with sparkling eyes 
who play in rubble of their bombed-out homes. 

Clipboard in hand as wind blows her charged hair, 
Tellus organizes fairies and ghosts 
to stack bricks of bombed buildings on wood carts 
so they can rebuild empire of dead gods 
reborn as our children with sparkling eyes 
who pretend they are puppets without strings. 

Amazed at beauty of our broken world 
that functions on laughter of hungry hope, 
Tellus writes complex formulas of fate 
on chalkboard in crowded college classroom 
to educate children with sparkling eyes 
on using magic to build paradise. 

When Neptune wakes from dream in fountain pool, 
startling tourists in the large Florence square, 
Tellus gives him jeans and white shirt to wear 
as they stroll holding hands in evening glow 
to photograph children with sparkling eyes 
who are old gods reborn in human flesh. 

Concerned about current state of the world, 
when dictators disguised as presidents 
contest over whose God will rule the Earth, 
Tellus meditates with Shiva in cave 
visited by children with sparkling eyes 
through revolution of the working class. 

Vast Vacancy Of Being

Vast Vacancy Of Being
© Surazeus
2026 03 30

All my relatives swirl into my heart 
so we all become one galactic mind 
that blooms from vibrant flame of the first cause, 
hearts bound in communal rite of our tribe 
as we breathe in vast vacancy of being 
that swells scope of our souls big as the Earth. 

Compact conception contained in core seed 
designs firm structure of our social state 
arranged so every person of our tribe 
contributes skilled performance of their heart 
that radiates from vast vacancy of being 
as cordial fruit we share each evening feast. 

We harvest fruitful wisdom of this Earth 
with brave assertion of our right to live, 
vain fact ignored by calm indifference 
that encodes how heartless Nature replies 
with riddles from vast vacancy of being 
despite our solemn oath to tend her needs. 

Ordained as messenger by Eye of Fate, 
I open channels between Earth and Sky 
so we comprehend with attentive heart 
what light communicates through cleansing rain 
that springs fresh from vast vacancy of being 
to water growing souls in groves of trees. 

When I uncover lost star catalog, 
by erasing theological creed 
written with blood angels on old scroll, 
I study stellar cartograph of fate 
to navigate vast vacancy of being 
that guides my way home to Elysium. 

I hear voice of my primal Motherland 
call me with heart-enchanting song of faith 
to cross greed-ravaged waste land of this world 
and find lush Promised Land of fruitful trees 
that blossom from vast vacancy of being 
as bountiful garden of generous death. 

No idol of dead god as scarecrow hears 
fervent prayers of desperate refugees 
who scatter from our homeland in lost tribes 
when tyrants attack garden of our wealth 
to find truth in vast vacancy of being 
from which we build new empire from old ruins. 

We thrived ten thousand years of fertile peace 
in secret valley of our singing skulls 
till refugees invade garden of trees 
and drive our people far across the world 
so we float in vast vacancy of being, 
transforming into children of lost faith. 

Hole Of Finite Thought

Hole Of Finite Thought
© Surazeus
2026 03 30

Because death collapses time in my head 
with sudden nothingness of the bright soul, 
I ponder what the living do each day 
to ignore the fact that we all will die, 
then I fish on shore of the singing lake 
and eat its roasted meat under weird stars. 

Framed in my unfurling future, I feel 
exaggerated vastness stretching time 
long enough to catch me before I fall, 
thwarted by excessive passion to live 
when I evade cruel death by accident 
in close proximity to sudden hope. 

Morning light of each new day after death 
arrives with bright elusive flash of faith 
that blinds my mind with truth beyond all words 
at sharpened thrill of opened aperture 
that strikes me with expected solitude 
so I float far alone on waves of where. 

Undetermined moment of someday soon, 
when I will cease to be awake with buzz 
of frantic energy to taste sweet fire, 
tethers tight my heart to silence of wind, 
hidden in scroll of lost voices by quill 
plucked from demonic wing of innocence. 

Brave enough with fractured luck of respect, 
I confront absence of my nameless self 
by calling phone number of my dead clone 
who answers with strange voice of ocean waves, 
but I become mad raven with three eyes 
that hangs out on the sad telephone line. 

So I avoid speaking in my own voice 
with assiduous intent to detach 
my body from lush fields of sparkling lakes 
where birds tweet love songs in flower-flame trees, 
because my being is hole of finite thought 
around which nothing radiates in blind gloom. 

Despite personal investment of hope, 
I stand in spotlight on stage of despair 
and drink milk of angels from burning clouds 
that pour from my eyes in fountains of tears 
which nourishes eight billion hungry souls 
while I float on surging sea of desire. 

My happiness fills shadow of my heart 
with sudden nothingness of silent death 
that blows bright rainbow darkness of my eyes 
open wide enough to become each star 
that twinkles in vast galaxies of souls 
while beneath every city my heart beats.