Luminous Phantom Of Faith

Luminous Phantom Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 09 02

I keep the secret of love in my heart 
though it swells and bleeds into apple seeds 
that I scatter along the muddy road 
while ducking under sorrow-laden boughs 
to savor succulent sanguinity 
too quickly lost in subtle jubilance. 

Excessive laughter of sorrow-winged joy 
teaches me about the impossible, 
yet I never hesitate to reach out 
with eagerness to exchange what we make 
with what we need in weird commercial game 
that functions to keep us busy till death. 

Because she understands language of waves 
Sycorax knows how to use the dream code 
of happiness to tame the Jormungander 
in giving her rides to the Promised Land 
where she paints murals of the multiverse 
on temple walls before the Feast of Friends. 

So when she finds corpse of the gray-haired poet 
rotting among the golden daffodils, 
Sycorax extracts his brain from his skull 
so she can study the Realm of Ideas 
that conjures visions of the Natural World 
as matrix that powers our battery hearts. 

Staring at computer screen for eighth hours, 
Sycorax imagines with fervent calm 
the Great American Novel she writes 
with blood of angels on the locked church door 
where her son lies in the coffin of glass 
since he died in the motorcycle crash. 

We feast on terror of fake happiness, 
Sycorax explains to the green giraffe 
on which she rides into Jerusalem 
as new messiah for the modern age 
to found one world religion of new faith 
that unites all nations in dance of ghosts. 

Driving cross-country in old white sedan 
to start her new job at Wonderland Park, 
Sycorax sings hymns of shy Emily 
whose face is luminous phantom of faith 
that guides her to the future of success 
not even God can see written in sand. 

When she arrives at destined hill of bones, 
where angels disguised as children with masks 
dance among flowers of discarded thoughts, 
Sycorax holds fractured skull of Wordsworth 
till she comprehends spirit of his verse 
that programs atheist wisdom from the curse. 

Always Friends With Ghosts

Always Friends With Ghosts
© Surazeus
2026 09 02

Because she will be always friends with ghosts 
by crossing bridge of angels before dark, 
she feeds swans of the past with anecdotes 
designed as proverbs in the holy book 
to guide lost people to the garden brook 
where they make new faces from broken boats. 

With laughter from cracked stones of hungry ghosts 
she opens pages that flap frantic wings 
which teach young children how to invent words 
they need to prove their minds are worth the light 
that blooms from lilacs in the cluttered yard 
where faceless angels carve their names in bones. 

If she decides her specialty is joy, 
that springs from shifting wells of raven blood, 
she may bring flowers to the funeral 
held for the old man no one seems to know 
who liked to build boats from demonic bones 
as if dew on our eyes may cleanse the heart. 

Her river glazed with light of centuries, 
she tells us how this world is wondrous weird 
so we exchange phone numbers by the lake, 
but lose touch with the ones we want to know 
by walking signless road beyond the wall 
that traps our bodies in false paradise. 

Still half awake three hours before red dawn, 
she stares with wonder at true nothingness 
with plan to give unspoken words away 
because they sprout their own butterfly wings 
and leave her stranded in the doorless room 
despite the way she earns her right to live. 

When fifteen women in the church at noon 
discuss how she reveals her writhing heart 
with anguish for brave seekers of the sea, 
she blesses tables heaped with empty plates 
while stealing apples from the box of lies 
from which flow sorrows of the hungry world. 

So when the last book still unwritten screams, 
she scatters lost words on the cracked sidewalk, 
then opens glass door to the multiverse 
where humble god of impotence designs 
strange paradigm for the whole world to use 
when framing thoughts with ancient languages. 

Yet she extracts from laughing radios 
completed puzzles that depict lost homes 
where families feast on zombie heart of faith 
to prove our right to live free from despair 
based on our friendship with the nameless ghosts 
who glow in television screens of hope. 

First Mother Wraith

First Mother Wraith
© Surazeus
2026 09 02

If we once gathered in September chill 
in stone huts set inside mist-shrouded hill 
to roast lamb on bright crackling flames of hope 
while children play chase on vine-tangled slope, 
then we may cherish memories of those years 
in distant lands with nothing but cold tears. 

Great glen that splits our land with shining lake 
conceals sweet memories we long to take 
when we sail wood ships over storm-wracked sea 
to build new garden in Land of the Free 
since men with guns drive us into dark gloom 
that shrouds our hearts with curse of bitter doom. 

Winds toss our frail ship on huge mindless waves 
which hurl us from wrecked ships to bone-filled caves 
where Death inspires our hearts with brave respect 
to seek weird truth in jewels eyes inspect 
with flash that guides us to the Promised Land 
where we build new empire with honest hand. 

When each new child is born from womb of fate 
I stand with cloth of cheese beside the gate 
as gift for hungry worker passing by 
whose grace will bless our child with star-clear eye 
to spread good fortune from my aching heart 
when I map Heaven on our history chart. 

From treeless glens where purple thistles thrive 
we journey through dark wilderness with drive 
for freedom far from gangs of castle thieves, 
yet linger lost in mountain vales where leaves 
still whisper names of souls we bury here 
among gold flowers by the glistening mere. 

Two hundred years swirl by in flashing clouds 
that soon erase all tales of ancient gods, 
so I wake in new world of phones and cars 
which reprograms constellations of stars 
till Scotia beams from visions of my dream 
whose face I see in shimmer of the stream. 

While strolling along moon-lit creek of faith, 
I see emerge from mist First Mother Wraith 
who guides my heart in lush Seattle woods 
and gives me symbols of ancestral goods 
so I see Scotland mirrored in landscape 
that molds old spirit in my mortal shape. 

Though hills of Scotland, shining in green rain, 
call me to fly home on quick wings of gain, 
I linger in lush Appalachian vales 
to play guitar and recite timeless tales 
depicting noble spirit of mankind 
that drives our hearts with love star god designed. 

Dreamless Lake Of Untime

Dreamless Lake Of Untime
© Surazeus
2026 09 01

Greta walks in dire laughter of untime 
to become mother of the trembling house 
where Walt and Wendell in the forest sing 
to wake soul of Kentucky from dark mud 
which spirals from strange beauty of her eyes 
because her face masks the infinite skies. 

Barefoot in the forest of singing ghosts, 
Greta writes verses of sorrowful hope 
with ants in cursive of electric clouds 
though she tries not to cry with ache of loss 
by telling no one how she misses them 
though they linger in window of untime. 

Rising huge from dreamless lake of untime 
because she carries darkness in her heart, 
Greta fears no monster that haunts the world 
when she is pregnant with honest despair 
whose soul absorbs her melancholy hope 
that cuts her eyes with undigested milk. 

Beyond extremity of lightless faith 
through swirling portal of unspoken words, 
Greta floats above the world-city maze 
where people see her spirit mask glow clear 
as whatever god they worship at home 
composed from our empty rooms of untime. 

Wandering in jagged mountains of untime, 
Greta maps secret valleys with deep caves 
that comprise land of Catalonia 
to find old monastery on steep hill 
where shy Minerva bathes in sparkling pool 
while suckling Phoebus at her breast with love. 

Born from the sacred womb of mindless Earth, 
brave Greta bears new-born son in her arms 
while walking rugged road of refugees 
to find secret garden of apple trees 
where clever Serpentus, with star-gold eyes, 
waits for his wife with passion of untime. 

Trapped in the television of untime 
with ghosts of actors from the Underworld, 
Greta hurries through film studio lots 
as shadow on the stage of every show 
to find Serpentus wearing business suit 
who edits scenes in one grand narrative. 

Shocked by the rise of fascist tyranny 
that threatens world liberal democracy, 
Greta raises high flag of Liberty 
and leads our brave toil for equality 
since fight for right overcomes fight for might 
in still unfolding story of untime. 

Death Remembers Our Ways

Death Remembers Our Ways
© Surazeus
2026 09 01

Whether or not death remembers our ways 
for treating plants and animals of Earth 
seems irrelevant to spooling of time 
which tangles karmic consequence of deeds 
that hungry souls perform in desperate bid 
to survive aggressive gusting of change. 

Despair for the world releases my mind 
from waking anguish of unspooling time, 
yet still I wander among humming trees 
to hear their opinions about respect 
which deceive my eyes of attentive hope 
with the peace of the wild things I can feel. 

While in the presence of clear water, I 
invent connections between twinkling stars 
to channel their light in my pulsing brain 
as omens that reveal how I should act 
to preserve grace of the world with my faith 
that means nothing to the recurring rain. 

Foolishly confident that I am free 
from imagined grace Earth bestows on me, 
I walk the signless road of everywhere 
and ask the faceless people I may meet 
if they can hear ancient song of the land, 
but they keep driving their chariot of fire. 

Though the complex wholeness of our weird world 
remains beyond the knowing of our minds, 
I follow clockwork of daily routines 
without explanation for life or death 
that recycles atoms of my frail body, 
assembled from dreams of discarded tales. 

So I continue to pretend I am real 
as flash of light on water of the lake 
that frames the fantasy of give and take 
programmed as institute of money games 
when we invest in new productive work 
expanding market of spiritual faith. 

Urged by adrenalin to transcend death, 
I hunt demonic monster of my fear 
in drive programmed by ancestral success 
to wrestle hunger that devours my heart 
till I transform from angel into human 
when I build Eden in the wilderness. 

Every god preserved in religious myth 
was once some mortal human with fierce mind 
whose deeds of victory against hungry death 
inspire our hearts to endure suffering 
so we too may become immortal souls 
preserved in tales long after we are dead. 

New Queen Of Liberty

New Queen Of Liberty
© Surazeus
2026 09 01

Hair red as dawn sunlight on treeless hill, 
Celta closes her eyes against gray gloom 
and whispers through rose-petal lips wyrd spell 
that conjures urgent vision of the stream 
swirling around her pale legs in moon rings 
dire wisdom of ravens on star-black wings. 

Curling slender fingers of freckled hands 
to spool kinetic flash of energy 
in taut dynamic coil of spiral bands, 
Celta chants pulsing words of empathy 
that shields her wounded heart with firm resolve 
to search for love where time-blind angels delve. 

Frail spirit inside ruins of stone walls, 
where her grandmother reigned as jeweled queen 
in grand castle destroyed by cannon balls, 
Celta strains attentive core of her mind 
to hear and comprehend fear-puzzled thoughts 
her ancestors hid in wave-battered boats. 

Entranced by inner beauty of her soul 
that emanates through gray glow of her eyes, 
Corbin emerges from sea-fetid swirl 
and offers red apple from dreamless maze, 
so Celta consumes sweet tears of the sun 
while pacing round stones of the weedy lawn. 

While Corbin kisses her with tender care 
and whispers oath to guard her sacred soul, 
Petrus entraps her with his greedy glare 
to proclaim she will perform regal role 
as bride of his hearth, then orders his men 
to arrest Corbin with strong legal chain. 

Caged in grand court hall of the greedy king, 
Corbin watches wedding of his Rose Queen, 
heart aching when Celta wears diamond ring, 
whose eyes gleam when she drinks gold grail of wine, 
then ascends stairs with him to tower room 
where she will execute his fateful doom. 

When Celta returns with white hands stained red, 
holding severed head of the tyrant high, 
the people cheer and celebrate her deed, 
proclaiming her new Queen of Liberty, 
then free Corbin who gives her jeweled crown 
that glitters when she reigns in blood-stained gown. 

Though Petrus destroyed castle of her home 
and controlled fertile land of her lost clan, 
Celta restores her state with Spell of Doom 
to rule her people with generous hand, 
assisted by brave Raven of her Heart, 
who protects her through code of their star chart. 

Logic Of Her Psychic Search

Logic Of Her Psychic Search
© Surazeus
2026 08 31

She wanders to the broken edge of time 
and lingers in soft swirl of ocean waves 
to ponder how absurd this life can seem, 
which might explain why angels try to rhyme 
while they invent new languages in caves 
so children can advance beside their team. 

She draws how voluminous billows swell 
from throbbing ruby of the hungry heart 
with plan to fold majestic sight of faith 
in clever books we read to key the bell 
that vibrates energy through the star chart 
designed by sightless bard for the dream wraith. 

She dances on uplifted wave of thought 
to find Endymion sleeping in moonlight, 
but deigns to kiss his mind awake with hope, 
so with one raven quill, she never bought, 
his name on water she attempts to write 
till he kisses her on the mountain slope. 

She smooths white marble idol of his soul 
with hands caressing curves of wordless ache 
to wake her shepherd-boy from fruitful dream, 
but he refuses to perform that role 
by walking on smooth surface of the lake 
to capture demon of his self-esteem. 

She feels him dance on flowing mirror sheen 
while he hangs from disk of the silk balloon 
which fools the fishermen in rocking boats 
to think he is wise angel with machine 
that opens portal to the fairy moon 
where he plays music taught by prancing goats. 

She follows voice of children in the dale 
to crystal gleaming pool in fairy glen 
on quest to find star child with seven eyes, 
but wanders lost on empire-building trail, 
misled by cheerful mockery of the wren 
that proves she may be mother of all spies. 

She mistranslates the ancient book of codes 
in bid to trick the tyrant blind with greed 
since people of the world despise his game, 
but he eludes fake justice of the toads 
by basing his reign on the sacred creed 
as if his blatant theft is blessed by fame. 

She channels anguish in her gentle laugh 
that guides her journey to the Promised Land 
where homeless refugees pray in her church 
designed by wizard with the serpent staff 
through social framework of her public brand 
that untwists logic of her psychic search. 

Exploding Stars Of Thought

Exploding Stars Of Thought
© Surazeus
2026 08 31

Entranced by great wink of eternity, 
still mesmerized by floods of spirit light, 
I try to translate from undinal spells 
weird song of Earth inflecting tones of love 
on scrolls of shimmer-passioned sentences 
that wake our conscious sense of wordless awe. 

Though I hear dark confessions of deep tides 
surge through our mortal veins of innocence, 
I seek to comprehend from water rings 
unspoken sorrows wounded hearts conceal, 
born from traumatic nuance of respect, 
as bodies floating flushed on streams of time. 

Raptured through finite consanguinity, 
despite these tendered themes of secret faith 
we dare exchange against insistence winds, 
our hearts retrieve from transient arrogance 
shared eagerness to generate new life 
from swollen ardency of each embrace. 

We long to feel exploding stars of thought 
kiss ceaseless waves of mental energy 
based on transmemberment of memories 
which motivates our journey beyond fear 
on lithe pediments of honest desire, 
till we emerge from waves of pleasant pain. 

Advanced by spectrum of marine concern, 
we pledge portentous passion to preside 
perilous connections between heaved hearts, 
inspired by mutability of trust 
refracting portions of our fractured selves 
in trembling idol of complete rebirth. 

Based boldly on inviable forethought, 
vast latitudes unleveled by exchange 
of logic-spanning staves defined by quills, 
our calm relationship of secret faith 
contracts new signature of fluid words 
despite assertions of contrary truths. 

Meticulous discharge of lonely laughs, 
infrangible bond that welds separate hearts 
of our private minds in trackless clarity, 
expands enclosing scope of welcoming 
to shelter wanderers with godless walls 
that justifies brave argosies of faith. 

Breath sealed by ghosts whose names my dreams record, 
my body swells with bitter streams of hope, 
now strong enough to cancel tyranny 
and build from frantic derelict of faith 
new world view of comprehensive insight 
by which I predict every consequence. 

Mercurial Melody Of Love

Mercurial Melody Of Love
© Surazeus
2026 08 30

Picking ripe berries from the laurel tree, 
that poison tears of angels with despair, 
young Lycidas whistles heart-aching tune 
in cautious winds of the mellowing year, 
then wades into the river of strange dreams 
and sings mercurial melody of love. 

Three muses gathered at the sacred well, 
that springs from stone where Jove lounges all day, 
recite brave songs that quick poets transcribe 
with blood of angels on parched demon skin, 
while Lycidas plays lyre of Mercury 
and stamps his feet in tune with river mud. 

Nursed together on the hill of pear trees, 
Lycidas, and his best friend Satyrus, 
herd flock of sheep beside the flowing stream 
to batten flock with fresh dews of the night 
where evening star gleams in the westering wheel, 
then plays slim oaten flute with aching heart. 

Tune of his oaten flute in desert caves, 
where wild thyme blooms from secret wound of hope, 
echoes soft in hazel copse where wrens sing 
to conjure from lush fairy mounds of fate 
ghosts of wise Druids who share secret codes 
recorded by old bards in wood-carved runes. 

Down Hebrus tides of endless water flow 
Lycidas wanders among fruited trees 
while lithe Satyrus dances with fierce grace 
to show him fane entangled with grape vines 
where skull of Orpheus, studded with gems, 
prophesies rise and fall of great empires. 

Beside the fountain Arethuse, that flows 
free from deep strangeness of our spinning Earth, 
Lycidas dances with bride of his heart, 
star-eyed Amaryllis in linen gown, 
who asks if he plays Herald of the Sea 
as son of Neptune in the horse-drawn cart. 

Disguised as prophet of the broken mask, 
Lycidas plays Alpheus with dread voice 
who visits bottom of the monstrous world 
in quest for valley where Bellerus dwells, 
yet finds his woeful shepherd friends distraught 
at news of his death in the Hebrus Stream. 

Recording deeds of heroes in strict verse 
that encodes tragic song of human hearts 
in Doric lay that few interpret well, 
Lycidas strides as Genius of the shore 
to teach young children art of poetry, 
expressing heart ache in transcendent spell. 

Flash Of Mental Equilibrium

Flash Of Mental Equilibrium
© Surazeus
2026 08 30

Behind the veil of laughter my soul wears 
bees gather sorrows to brew honey tears 
which poison angels with communal hope 
that apple trees will teach us how to cope 
with urgent passion of the need to know 
how seeds transform into the mental crow. 

Since language blinds our eyes to what is real, 
we disentangle concepts we should feel 
concealed in books that only gods can read 
in psychic riddles that compose our creed 
which guides our actions to destroy the world 
in preparation for the cosmic herald. 

I row wood boat across the mirror lake 
to find if Saturnus is yet awake, 
but black cat lurks where scarlet roses bloom 
in moonlit garden where I taste tart gloom 
thick with perfume of poppies in the air 
that proves my vow to always show I care. 

Together on wood patio after rain 
we build great kingdoms because life is vain, 
late-summer evening breeze of broken walls 
through extirpation of communist halls, 
so I row ferry into swirling mist 
to find fruit tree where Adam and Eve kissed. 

I wake up with no chance to start anew 
before the priest declares my crime is true, 
so I ride eagle of America 
to find crumbling temple in Attica 
where I children of my enterprising soul 
are eager to perform angelic role. 

Lost innocence of lovers binds their hands 
with firm commitment to guard fertile lands 
where homeless immigrants escaping war 
get jobs stocking shelves in the grocery store 
because the cleaning lady runs the state, 
whose humble mop still calculates our fate. 

I read the ancient book of fairy tales 
that falls into my hands when terror fails 
to recommend song of the nightingale 
that sings in pastoral setting of the vale 
where honest farmer milks the sacred cow 
though his son plays King of the Golden Bough. 

Through flash of mental equilibrium 
I map lush meadows of Elysium 
to find small temple in weird Orphic cave 
where I join the global ruling enclave 
as shadow king in secret government 
which I rule with Astarian Testament. 

Waves Of Lake Ontario

Waves Of Lake Ontario
© Surazeus
2026 08 30

When sunlight gleams on Lake Ontario 
my lonesome heart ascends on eagle wings 
to glide through heavenly scenario 
where soul in every world religion sings. 
Clear waves of Lake Ontario reveal 
strange energy of selfless gifts that heal. 

We stroll together on shore of great lake 
that binds our nations with mutual respect 
so mirror of its truth unmasks the fake 
through urge for peace that keys how we connect. 
Deep waves of Lake Ontario expose 
brave courage in fate our choices compose. 

Though greedy tyrant wearing crown of thorns 
tries to rename great lake of our joined hearts, 
we gather to feast at lacustrine bourns 
where name of hope is writ on global charts. 
Rough waves of Lake Ontario express 
firm principle of liberty we bless. 

Two nations bound by one Great Lake of Truth 
assert shared mission to nurture world peace, 
administered by wise messiah sleuth 
through office of our Sibyl cantatrice. 
Calm waves of Lake Ontario proclaim 
equal civil rights in the social game. 

Eagle Of America

Eagle Of America
© Surazeus
2026 08 30

The people of our land cry out in shock 
when King Midas aims golden gun of greed 
and shoots down Eagle of America 
that twitches in agony when it lands 
in reflecting pool of the national mall 
where Abe cradles wounded bird in his hands. 

Trapped in small scope of what he thinks is real, 
King Midas struts in Grand Canyon of fear, 
hunting for Eagle of America 
to pilfer treasures of the Spider Queen 
who weaves cables into the world wide web 
so we merge private wills in one world view. 

When he takes control over Ship of State, 
King Midas steers it at the Siren Rocks 
to destroy Eagle of America 
whose flight lures him with illusion of wealth 
between Scylla and Charybdis of greed 
that leaves us stranded on the beach of sharks. 

Caught in vortex of changing history, 
King Midas climbs the fig tree of despair 
to steal from Eagle of America 
golden eggs of vanity we admire, 
but Minerva fires arrow of respect 
that causes wheat to grow from wounded hearts. 

Riding red dragon of treason to war, 
King Midas steals the jeweled crown of thorns 
to fend off Eagle of America 
till George the dragon-slayer with sharp ax 
casts the devil into deep pit of fire 
where he plays rounds on golf course of regret. 

Attempting to arrest fierce Juvenal, 
King Midas sends goons in the streets of Rome 
to deport Eagle of America, 
then appoints Goliath Minister of War 
to fight the Shepherd David when he leads 
grand revolution of the working class. 

Destroying Temple of the Holy Ghost, 
King Midas chases White Queen in her cave 
to kidnap Eagle of America, 
but angel in the dark door wakes from dream 
who sings with eerie voice of ocean waves 
to free our people from his tyranny. 

Attacking Liberty with Book of Deeds, 
King Midas tries to crown himself world king 
with feathers from Eagle of America, 
but wise Minerva wrestles ghost of fear 
and raises Lamp of Freedom high again 
so we build new world of Zarathia. 

Star-Wounded Mercury

Star-Wounded Mercury
© Surazeus
2026 08 29

Across crowded maze of our cityscape 
I hear cry of star-wounded Mercury 
radiate from world brain of our radio 
with eerie melody of aching hope 
for every soul alive to live in peace 
though they fight to control the narrative. 

To understand where, on the signless road, 
we are lead by star-wounded Mercury 
in progress of expansion from quaint farms 
to world empire with war planes that patrol 
bright heavens where star angels play gold harps, 
I map our journey to the Promised Land. 

With sword of justice in my red right hand, 
forged from fear by star-wounded Mercury, 
I rally farmers I vow to protect 
in holy war against invading hordes 
to guard enclosing walls of paradise 
where we raise our children in apple groves. 

Mentored by desert prophet with star eyes, 
who wears mask of star-wounded Mercury, 
I protect Rapunzel in the stone tower 
when she gives birth to my heir to my throne, 
so I found Bloodline of the Holy Grail 
to rule world empire built by Jupiter. 

Crowned with victory of my grand chess game, 
well managed by star-wounded Mercury, 
I organize ten thousand castle towers 
uniting nations in Gothinian state 
to colonize rich lands of minerals 
in corporate empire of the faceless god. 

Though world wars topple kings of fantasy, 
in game played by star-wounded Mercury, 
I orchestrate knights of the Holy Grail 
to fight over who wears gold crown of thorns 
in world conspiracy of wealthy banks 
through progress of liberal democracy. 

While wearing Talamasca of dream code, 
invented by star-wounded Mercury, 
I host religious rite of sacrifice 
in ziggurat temple where Ishtar reigns 
to crucify greedy King of the Wood 
who steals our treasure from the Golden Bough. 

Anointed to play Jesus on world stage, 
directed by star-wounded Mercury, 
I fight dark doppelganger of my soul 
till I assimilate in one whole mind 
spirits of Dionysus and Apollo 
so I become Lucifer who rules Earth. 

Listen With Calm Pride

Listen With Calm Pride
© Surazeus
2026 08 29

When he embraces clemency of death 
while wearing flannel suit and dark green tie, 
Scott ponders pewter-polished clouds of fate 
that teach his heart to listen with calm pride 
to obligations of the open door 
that leads him to the garden of dead gods. 

Though voices of children ring off the sea 
where war ships wait in harbor of respect, 
Scott asks the angel with time-bloodied wings 
if he can sail beyond edge of the world 
where ghosts of gods on gold horizon gleam 
with threat of sudden invasion by fear. 

While cows chew cud in fields of fractured skulls 
where fighter jets scream across cluttered skies, 
Scott measures distance to the mountain peak 
from cabin by the lake where angels wait 
for savior of the world to come again 
in starship from some distant galaxy. 

Since time may leave him stranded on the beach 
where two hawks circle in the mirror sky, 
Scott flies large paper kite with haiku verse 
about bed sheets that flutter in salt wind 
with gentle gracefulness of dragon wings, 
then asks Minerva for pear-ginger tea. 

If he waits in the airport by the sea 
for lonely teacher wearing crystal mask, 
Scott never calls her on the telephone 
to tell her what the owl would like to say, 
then strikes the match so he can start anew, 
and lights the candle on the windowsill. 

Open hands catching drops of restless rain 
to wash the dishes in the kitchen sink, 
Scott tends his sick wife in the afternoon 
when sparrows in dead trees steal cinnamon 
for the mother bear who still prays in church 
while clutching amulet of innocence. 

Inspired by beauty of wind-carved alcove 
from gold sandstone that frames cloud-mottled sky, 
Scott calculates psychotic vibe of faith 
that nurtures broken hearts of wanderers 
dislocated from homeland of their tribe 
when strangers adopt them across the sea. 

Though dreams of nothingness haunt morning hours 
from careless arrogance of wind-swirled sand, 
Scott stands on stage with microphone in hand 
and reads verse he wrote on the broken bridge 
through framework of domestic quietude 
that serves as social glue in times of war. 

Laughing River Of Respect

Laughing River Of Respect
© Surazeus
2026 08 29

Free on the laughing river of respect, 
Zephyrus sails to city of glass books 
where he presents tale of the fallen god 
that seems to inspire workers to rebel 
against overlords who enslave their souls 
in war that fades from memories of men. 

Though children from Star Woman in the cave 
rule island of plum trees three thousand years, 
Zephyrus organizes farming towns 
to manage food-production of rich land, 
ensuring every person breathing air 
receives enough food on their plate of hope. 

Wielding star-forged Sword of Gathering Clouds 
that gleams with diamonds from star eyes of gods, 
Zephyrus battles the eight-headed beast 
incarnate as dread pirates of the sea, 
and slays them all with lithe alacrity 
to free the people of his land from fear. 

Painting portraits of heroes from the past 
whose brave deeds save humanity from harm, 
Zephyrus depicts normal human men 
as gods who represent forces of nature 
incarnate in our fragile frames of flesh, 
whose spirits possess men with force of power. 

Ruling people of Earth with honest fairness, 
as river god who controls traffic flow, 
enforcing passage fees on merchant ships, 
Zephyrus reigns in watch-house on the bridge 
where he controls commercial sales of goods 
as guardian over garden of his clan. 

Kneeling by laughing river of respect 
before Star Woman in cave of her heart, 
Zephyrus declares loyalty of faith 
to cause of her grand vision to unite 
all nations of the Earth under one law 
that treats every human with equal grace. 

Chanting verses from Epic of Star Eyes, 
Zephyrus sings before angels in robes 
that sound of the bell ringing in the sky 
echoes the impermanence of all things, 
for flowers show how the prosperous decline 
and the proud fade as dust before the wind. 

Awake by laughing river of respect, 
Zephyrus ponders nature of our world 
where humans work in companies of faith 
through hierarchy of responsible power 
to maintain our food-production machine 
that keeps us alive till every soul dies. 

Puzzle Shards Of Truth

Puzzle Shards Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 08 29

To reassemble puzzle shards of truth 
that depicts virtual model of real Earth, 
Seraphus gathers masks of mortal gods 
who crowned themselves as great leaders of men 
to hang in Museum of Manic Heroes 
which highlights vanity of social power. 

When howling winds of social hurricanes, 
that represent changes in our shared zeitgeist, 
sweep through vast Museum of Manic Heroes, 
puzzle shards of truth in global world view 
swirl into spirals of chaotic fear 
that scatter principles all humans share. 

Separate world views, which religions create 
on grand foundation of heroic deeds 
performed by prophet of their cultural vibe, 
are deconstructed by woke warriors 
who fight to dismantle power hierarchies 
that favor privilege of wealthy clans. 

Wielding the sword Excalibur with hope, 
Seraphus defends with courage of faith 
Goddess of Liberty in human form 
who bears Lamp of Freedom and Book of Truth 
so she can guide lost refugees of war 
through storm to Museum of Manic Heroes. 

When farmers all across the countryside, 
bitter that politicians neglect their needs, 
follow King Midas to the Promised Land, 
they find themselves trapped in vast maze of debt, 
scammed by the greedy thief who steals their wealth 
and leaves them stranded in the wilderness. 

Aware that farmers who produce our food, 
which angels stock in stores across the land, 
were scammed of agency to live with pride 
by greedy king who wears mask of the Christ, 
Seraphus finds them in the wilderness 
and promises to help secure their farms. 

To reassemble puzzle shards of truth 
in new world view based on support of farms, 
Seraphus constructs world ontology 
for every nation on our spinning globe 
to focus fiscal programs of support 
on mothers raising children to grow food. 

On crumbling ruins of America, 
social system built on wealth privilege, 
Seraphus leads our project to construct 
new government focused on funding farms 
that nurtures families with faith in truth 
in thriving state we name Zarathia. 

Empty Books Of Tales

Empty Books Of Tales
© Surazeus
2026 08 28

Ghosts of our ancestors fold their tattered masks 
as origami puzzles of engagement 
to hide essential code of fantasies 
in empty books of tales that angels steal 
through clever plan to encrypt frequencies 
programmed to trick my heart with guarantees. 

Sylvanus stares at how the river flows 
in graceful curves around large stone of faith, 
concerned about excessive intervals 
that index legal statutes without keys 
translating illogical anecdotes 
to riddles of magnetic fortitude. 

No prominent inspector from the tower 
arrives at fountain in center of town 
soon enough to prescribe fake principles 
that manage moral behavior with jokes 
that reference our rational radiance, 
pursuant to unrecognized perspectives. 

Symbolic supplements stored in glass books, 
that define temporal syllabus of faith, 
upgrade mental functions of measurement 
through ultimate testament his heart screams 
against transmission of funds to the sky 
from virtual vanity his mind extracts. 

His brain of advantageous variants, 
contracted by the faceless gods of idols, 
rewinds warrantless clock of revenue 
through socialist drama radios broadcast 
to prove religion no more relevant 
that stories children draw in picture books. 

No sacrifice in stadium of state pride 
proves needless to the specialized reporter 
whose strategy to satellite salvation 
beams through visual virus of vanity 
libertine loyalty jesters revere 
enough to maximize potential gain. 

Honest leverage that saviors apply, 
while singing frantic hymns of motor cars, 
frame social ministry devils require 
through mutant melodies of manic love, 
quick enough to abdicate marketing 
contrived by believers in mysteries. 

Time-shifting paradigm of fairy tales 
provides permission for the populous 
to buy and sell their souls in grim exchange 
according to their noble heritage 
despite hurricane of the holocaust 
that we perform in theater of faith. 

Walk This Tender Earth

Walk This Tender Earth
© Surazeus
2026 08 28

We walk this tender Earth on haughty feet, 
fueled by the burning passion of bright rain, 
with mission to transcend bounds of this time 
through smoldering wisdom of the blazing clouds 
which seem to urge our journey against death, 
till we sit breathless by the gushing stream. 

We bury shame of failure in the grave, 
entangled with long roots of hungry trees, 
to find wealth we extracted with our hands 
stained red with blood of wanderers who grasp 
at fleeting shadow of security, 
amazed at beauty of the fractured sky. 

I weep at forests of tall graceful pines 
hacked into boards of office furniture 
that grew on mountains shoveled in hot stoves 
and forged in rumbling engines of fast cars 
that swarm vast web of asphalt highways fast 
against the silent loneliness of time. 

Along the road where my ancestors walked 
to build new paradise of liberty 
I travel east against their westward tide 
to find my neighbors locked in prison camps 
where angels of pure light in rotting flesh 
sing with the specter of the desert seer. 

With noble anthem of the broken heart 
I celebrate counterfeit victories 
achieved by soldiers of the bleeding cross 
when Twin Towers of global enterprise 
collapse in burning flames of honesty 
at second coming of the eyeless ghost. 

The universe expands beyond my mind 
where atoms spin wild spirals of desire 
so I feel surging tides of ocean souls 
flush through taut veins of melancholy joy 
when I rise from womb of our Mother Earth 
to dream through every soul who ever lives. 

Pure love for life as energy of song 
abides in writhing bones of my god soul 
with lithe affection for all conscious souls 
who glow with me in multiverse of fate 
that we create with every choice we make, 
constructing new world view from fertile myths. 

Born from the rain-wet woods of Oregon, 
that mold my soul from jagged mountain clay, 
I walk the endless road of holy song 
to praise immortal souls of flashing stars 
who dream their gods awake inside my brain 
while I sing in the crowded city maze. 

Old Souls Of Stars

Old Souls Of Stars
© Surazeus
2026 08 28

We are frail mortal dust that dreams of light, 
small fragments fallen from soul-beaming fire, 
old souls of stars that burned before the world, 
whose furnace forged our thoughts in molten time, 
and scatters us as seeds across cold void 
to wake in flesh and wonder what we are. 

We glow within vast crucible of suns 
when hydrogen sings hymns of violent birth, 
compressed to diamond hardness in their hearts, 
and burst in supernova bloom of death, 
propelling our bright atoms through vast night 
to drift ten billion years toward this green Earth. 

Now locked in bone we bear that primal blaze, 
clear glimmer of celestial memory 
that flickers when we gaze at midnight sky 
and feel strange kinship with those distant lamps, 
for every eye that peers in star-strewn dark 
recalls the home from which its light was beamed. 

The iron in our blood was stellar ash, 
the calcium that props our active frame 
was cooked in dying giants long ago, 
so when our hearts beat fast with love or fear, 
the rhythm pulses from that ancient drum 
that first began to throb in central suns. 

We think we walk alone on lonely ground, 
yet constellations wheel within our veins, 
their mythic figures mapped in neural fire, 
and when we love with grief from dream of gods 
we reenact grand drama of huge spheres 
where light yearns still for light across the gulf. 

So though we dissipate to ash at death, 
extinguished when the body cools to clay, 
our atoms lit in starlight cannot fade, 
but swirl again to join their parent glow, 
returning through the dark on silver wings 
to shine once more where new suns take their form. 

We are the universe that learns to see, 
the cosmos waking from its dreamless sleep, 
with eyes that open on the edge of time 
to watch itself unfold in bloom through thought, 
and in each soul that suffers, sings, and strives 
our star recalls its journey and burns on. 

As temporary souls of ancient stars 
we swirl in Earth to learn the shape of flesh, 
taste the bitter-sweet salt of human tears, 
and turn our timeless light to words in song 
so all who hear may lift their gaze above 
and know themselves as children of the stars. 

Solarium Of My Honest Heart

Solarium Of My Honest Heart
© Surazeus
2026 08 28

Each time I look back on road of my life 
to analyze progress of my secret plan 
to generate new life before I die, 
the future unspools world view of my heart 
so I become enemy of my soul, 
distracted by strange beauty of the sky. 

Stretching my body to waken from dream 
electric soul of stars, which animates 
aggressive caution of my hungry mind, 
I write tale of my laughter on the sky 
so I can drink ancient truth in the rain 
that teaches me the way my heart should go. 

Awake this hour in silence of cool dawn, 
I ponder why all humans live and die, 
yet try to play some mythic role of pride 
in psychic drama of our nation-state 
composed of children from One Mother Soul 
whose vision of the world programs our minds. 

I like to lounge beneath my apple tree 
and chat about true nature of the world 
with star-eyed serpent in long tangled limbs 
whose rainbow-feathered wings expand with breath 
to broaden scope of my brief consciousness 
so I almost become God I imagine. 

Each time some hungry animal or man 
attempts to eat my body for its meal, 
or enslave my soul to fulfill their will, 
I fight to maintain life and liberty, 
asserting my inalienable right 
to exist in weird drama of my faith. 

Our souls are conjured by dream of our brains 
as long as bodies function chemically, 
so I stretch tension of my body taut 
with lithe attention to limits of force, 
based on analysis of consequence 
I measure from results of active cause. 

I fashion oak limb into magic wand, 
tipped with sharp diamond from cave of desire, 
so, when they attack to control my soul, 
I fight with martial dance of graceful hope 
to guard Solarium of my honest heart 
where fruit trees blossom with sweet food of love. 

When I look forward on my road of life 
I cannot see the future I will live 
except through fractal lens of earnest love 
constructing paradise my heart designs 
through every choice of fate I activate, 
so I give you fruit to eat in my heaven.