Crippled Hands Of Hope

Crippled Hands Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 05 02

I try to figure out the secret way 
to have the world, that vanishes in mist 
at flash of sunset over distant hills, 
preserved in frame of fragile words I chew 
to chronicle strange journey of my soul 
since hour I first begin to hear birds speak. 

Head tilted so I see beyond dark sky, 
I listen to sunlight explain dream flight 
through thought-vibration spiraling from fear 
that makes my brain itch, stark with eagerness 
to seek dark mountain cave where rain is born 
with thirst to drink honey before I die. 

Harsh pulse of love still urges I expand 
tone of my heart enough to conceal gloom 
through frequent repetition wind contrives 
when I tear roots of sorrow from my heart 
against sweet wretchedness of innocence 
designed to trap my brain in cage of truth. 

Yet deep in eastern sky of bleeding stars 
I hear the faceless men of everywhere 
jingle keys of duty when they explore 
permission to endure another day, 
though wealth they grasp with crippled hands of hope 
still tumbles worthless in trash bins of fate. 

Soon sizzling shadow sharing depth of light 
winds threads of anguish, born from molecules 
by shocking sounds of long-forgotten art, 
around my fragile body by the sea 
that shivers from excessive strike of wind 
when I predict the future no one wins. 

So much to wish for without memory 
leaks from cracked skull of my atrophied clone 
against triumphant applause police sell 
to prove our weightless brains assert free will 
which never counts commercial gain of fate, 
yet translates desperation back to wealth. 

Sorrow stuck in consular envelopes 
requires admission of my primal birth 
on secret island where no god is born, 
who strains to bend electric bow of power, 
though fanged with ambition to rule the world, 
forever wandering in waste land of truth. 

I am no arrow suspended in flight 
toward secret destination no one maps, 
yet I transform from happy naive fool 
to weathered wizard wise in ways of weird 
when I design Puzzle Technology 
to resurrect my father through my son. 

Power Of Snow Mother

Power Of Snow Mother
© Surazeus
2026 05 02

Helpless to understand why ravens cry, 
Cailleach forms mountains of jagged truth 
by strewing rocks and peat along the plain 
from wicker basket of hope on her back, 
then strikes the ground with her hammer-head staff 
that causes the ground to freeze hard as glass. 

Mounting the fleet-foot deer with seven horns, 
Cailleach races along rocky shore, 
long gold hair flowing in snow-sparkling wind, 
to find secret lair in jagged cave by the sea 
where she hides gold egg of the Raven God 
so men cannot find treasure of her heart. 

Clutching skull of Hamlet where serpent writhes, 
Cailleach floats on wind over broad hill, 
where jagged stones of fairy rings pierce Earth, 
to drink ice-cold water from lake of eyes 
where her herd of deer gather in moonlight, 
then asks dead prophet if he understands. 

While sitting on moss-covered hag-chair stone, 
Cailleach feeds worms and seeds to raven flock 
that flap broad wings to defend their snow witch 
when Angus and his wife, Queen Bride, appear 
on white horses with eyes of sunset flames, 
and offer gifts of apples as they kneel. 

Glaring at her daughter with frosty eyes, 
Cailleach grumbles when they beg with tears 
for her to release Earth from freezing winds 
so wheat may sprout and fruit trees blossom fruit, 
or hungry people of the misty isle 
may rebel against her long hiemal rule. 

Petting raven on her shoulder with care, 
Cailleach in white gown and long gold hair 
dances barefoot on meadow of pink flowers 
where primrose flutter in soft morning breeze, 
to kitchen hall where Bride brews apple cider 
for everyone to drink on Beltane night. 

Smirking with passionate joy of her heart, 
Cailleach strides toward crowded blacksmith hall 
where Sucellus hammers swords into plows 
so warriors returning from plundering towns 
may till wet fields to plant barley and wheat, 
eager to brew whiskey for winter nights. 

Hopeful to understand why ravens cry, 
Cailleach breasts-feeds Belenus, her son, 
who sprouts black wings he swipes from Icarus 
and soars above high mountain peaks of faith 
to blast invading army with sharp swords 
with power of Snow Mother in his heart. 

Fairy Wings Of Faith

Fairy Wings Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 05 02

When Alice on the old yellow brick road 
spots the green honeycreeper in the birch, 
she considers her social friendliness 
with knights and holy friars in misty woods 
to be adscititious when she arrives 
at museum of artful anecdotes. 

While staring at strange painting on the wall 
that depicts young woman by mountain lake 
roasting the serpent on altar of gems, 
she removes adscititious influences 
not inherent to significant form 
to experience pure aesthetic emotion. 

Stripped of extraneous components of truth, 
Alice considers why the dodo bird 
represents regal imperial ambition 
as key aspect of fate which constitutes 
essential nature of the divine mind 
eager to concoct new insight in faith. 

Hitchhiking to the Alleghany woods 
with innocent ambition to attend 
annual rainbow gathering of the tribes, 
Alice ignores the Tin Man in the van 
who offers her free ride to paradise, 
but calls her whore and speeds on down the road. 

Emerging from great forest of sad ghosts, 
Boedvar Bjarki, wearing long bear-skin cape, 
offers young hippie girl in flower dress 
berries he collected by sparkling stream, 
then plays guitar and sings Swedish folk songs 
while rainbow children dance around the fire. 

Entranced by swirling scent of jasmine blooms, 
Alice dances with slow sensuous concern, 
floating in bliss on fairy wings of faith 
from strange intoxicating thoughts of love 
that swell her heart till swan wings of desire 
sprout from unseen wounds of her abused heart. 

When the Tin Man, in jeans and scruffy beard, 
tries to dance with too intimately with Alice, 
Dorothy urges the Cowardly Lion 
to protect her friend from the predator, 
but the Jester King smashes the dream clock, 
causing all illusions to dissipate. 

When Boedvar asks Alice to marry him, 
she conjures Tiresias with Rod of Aaron 
who officiates their wedding ceremony 
under the full moon by the mountain lake, 
with Dorothy, Lucy Pevensie, Wendy, 
Caroline, and Chihiro as bridesmaids. 

Poisonous Snake Of Jealousy

Poisonous Snake Of Jealousy
© Surazeus
2026 05 02

When frantic trees bloom out from radios 
in self-controlled chaos of eager fear, 
Mars roars motorcycle in city maze 
to buy fresh bread at the small bakery 
where Ceres sells seashells and sangria 
while Phoebus plays guitar on the front porch. 

Cerulean waves of the Pacific Ocean 
sparkle on expanding beach of gold sand 
where Tristan and Isolde stroll hand in hand, 
brave hearts tangled in forbidden emotion 
while her husband attends church with Lilith 
to sing hymns of Emily Dickinson. 

Deciding Isolde is the girl for him, 
Mars challenges Tristan to armed combat, 
but the clever university scholar 
tricks him to buy his cryptocurrency, 
investment in future technology, 
then swipes motorcycle keys from his pocket. 

Wind blowing their hair with electric joy, 
Tristan and Isolde drive his motorcycle 
on winding mountain trail of singing pines 
to hike broad Valley of Yosemite 
where sun glimmers gold on grandiose cliffs 
that inspires the ghost of Albert Bierstadt. 

Hunting them down with shotgun of hot rage, 
Mars learns to paint with glowing light of truth 
to interpret landscape of the wild west 
with subtle expression of Luminism 
that highlights sublime beauty of great mountains 
where Tristan learns from Phoebus how to sing. 

Startled by copperhead snake in her garden, 
Isolde holds basket of cherries with care 
till Tiresias, strange old bearded man 
who runs the corner grocery store, appears 
to snatch poisonous snake of jealousy 
and transform it back into magic wand. 

Pouring fresh orange juice for Tiresias, 
Isolde sits at the rough-oak kitchen table 
and asks him to explain astrology, 
so he teaches her how to calculate 
cardinal process of cause and effect 
that pivots spiral of atomic change. 

Pushing open door of marital fate, 
Ceres appears from storm over the sea, 
grabs ear of Mars with affectionate snarl, 
and drags him to the small white country church 
where Tiresias officiates wedding 
attended by everyone who knows why. 

Ghosts Of Long-Past Myths

Ghosts Of Long-Past Myths
© Surazeus
2026 05 01

Ghosts of long-past myths haunt our world today 
as mortal embodiments in frail flesh 
of immortal characters from book tales 
who represent eternal energies 
that migrate through human bodies of hope 
through endless recurrence of formal tropes. 

God is Idea wrapped in human flesh 
of every mortal who attained high state 
as enlightened leader over their tribe, 
congealed from characters in history 
whose special personalities reflect 
conceptual force of social authority. 

Each mortal who attained state of godhood, 
El, Zeus, Jove, Jupiter, Brahman, Shangdi, 
Buddha, Odin, and many other gods 
named as creator of the universe, 
persist as glamorous idols of power 
recorded in ancient religious myths. 

Immortal energy of social leader 
migrates through frail bodies of mortal men 
who transcend limited scope of their mind 
through apotheosis of clear insight 
flashed by epiphany of wise attention 
to rule progress of their society. 

Close analysis of communal code 
through careful deconstruction of state power, 
that preserves patriarchal institutions, 
exposes blind regard of selfish genes 
to exert influence through reproduction 
that cripples dynastic bloodlines with greed. 

Hercules represents arrogant bully 
who threatens violence with club of hate 
to establish bold empirical rule 
through aggressive exploitation of men 
by asserting authority through threats, 
now symbolized by haughty figure of Satan. 

Jesus represents compassionate doctor 
who heals wounded bodies with wand of love 
to nurture innate talents in strong skills 
through disciplined education of men 
by guiding hearts through moral parables, 
now symbolized by humble figure of Christ. 

Ghosts of every character in old myths 
possess living people with ancient souls 
of psychic energy they choose to play 
as we perform our temporary roles 
in drama of construction and destruction 
till children bury us and take their turn. 

New Empire Of The Free

New Empire Of The Free
© Surazeus
2026 05 01

Now that I dwell on Fractured Rainbow Lane 
far from the center of commercial gain, 
I spend all day contemplating design 
for excavating concepts from deep mine 
that sprout soul-beaming mushrooms in my brain 
before Saturnus is forced to resign. 

Stuck in Quail Hollow with Alphabet Wolf, 
I dream of my childhood with Beowulf 
who taught me how to soften wood with steam 
to build ships for his dragon-hunting team, 
then we sail on vacation to Zar Gulf 
to search for hungry shark of self-esteem. 

Each time she calls me on the telephone, 
Minerva asks to use my Rolling Stone 
to smash false idol of the tyrant king 
who arrests anyone who dares to sing, 
but when she decides to hire my Soul Clone 
I hide through Invisibility Ring. 

Appalled by interrogation techniques, 
librarians employ to extract from freaks 
misattributed morals of strange tales, 
I map tangled webs of religious trails 
that always lead me up to sky-bright peaks 
which might explain why Cronus always fails. 

Entranced by uncanny tune of the skylark 
that echoes hypnotic tones in the ark, 
I develop with care time-honored ruse 
to protect integrity of my wise Muse 
who fries burgers for picnic in the park 
while Artemis presents the evening news. 

Inspired by noble stance that Remus takes 
allowing everyone to fish hill lakes, 
I follow him to oppose Romulus 
who chains and forces honest Sisyphus 
to build Temple of Jupiter with rakes 
who will only obey brave Tantalus. 

Spirit of Roma still shines in my heart 
ages after her empire fell apart, 
so I build temple home on river shore 
to shelter my family forever more, 
yet they sell apples from the four-wheeled cart 
while I play lyre and sing forgotten lore. 

Our noble way of life has disappeared 
just like my father Tiresias feared, 
so we journey west across the wild sea 
to establish new empire of the free, 
but our old world view keeps getting more weird 
so I hang out in sprawling Knowledge Tree. 

Franchise Of Fake Happiness

Franchise Of Fake Happiness
© Surazeus
2026 05 01

Awash in time-swirling sea of light rays, 
I dwell woke in astrological haze, 
conditioned to respond to obstacles 
by measuring abstractive molecules 
through project to assimilate my soul 
with undulating matrix of the whole. 

Attenuated scope of consciousness, 
enclosed by ceremonial finesse, 
shields pulsing core of vibrant clemency 
with comprehensive spell of ardency 
concealed by convertible copyright 
through deformation of conceptual light. 

Amplified tone of mental furnishings 
deflects harassment of holistic zings, 
impressive with articulated jokes 
indexed by pride-inflated billing hoax 
which discombobulates my budget game 
against bottomless bureau of world fame. 

Allowed to bloom from hungry artifice 
through psychosomatic analysis, 
which denies my heart romantic access, 
I purchase franchise of fake happiness 
constrained by framework of the gourmet cry 
that cracks graphic interface of the sky. 

Archived extremity of social rules, 
based on invention of brokerage tools, 
my dreams refuse command to calculate 
certified challenge of classified fate 
against commitment of the chromosome 
to watch movies in the Pantheon dome. 

Attentive ambience in deserted church 
risks assessment of my exotic search 
for wisdom-woven expression of truth 
which I sell from pyramid-market booth 
to people wanting insurance that death 
will translate their souls to hurricane breath. 

Authorized by Ungod in the Glow Cloud 
to duplicate face of the burial shroud, 
I carve dynamic formulas of hope 
on Emerald Tablet to record weird trope 
designed to mirror special character 
framed by magnetic mask of Lucifer. 

Authentic feelings of my wounded heart 
provide dream-forged key for my fresh new start 
editing grand tales for strange magazine 
centered around reign of Empress Melusine 
whose serpentine sons rule nations of Earth 
through capital gains of spiritual worth. 

Accidental Angel Flight

Accidental Angel Flight
© Surazeus
2026 05 01

If in old lost times we accelerate 
rapid analysis twisted by fate, 
our accidental angel flight through Hell 
may reveal location of the Dream Well 
teeming with ghosts of blind subconscious dead 
who want to become alive in my head. 

Traitors never honestly realize 
plowed fields exonerate word-bleeding skies 
with marble statues of bullies wearing crowns 
who subjugate theology of towns 
by building monuments of social power 
from psychic energy of the sad flower. 

Disintegration of stale social norms 
expands from rugged boulders of named forms 
to prove we never understand why stars 
spark piston engines of time-machine cars 
because I drive too fast on diamond roads 
to find sacred temples of divine toads. 

Beyond last private cove of romance plays 
my true soulmate waits in arrogant haze 
with secret book she stole from half-dead god 
that describes how to make Aaronic rod 
from writhing serpent energy of lust 
because marriage is based on mutual trust. 

Rapid expansion of our empire scope 
adjusts disbursement of religious hope 
only to those who belong to our tribe 
regardless of how they tune the world vibe 
by dancing wildly on the global stage 
based on rules Isaiah bleeds on the page. 

Startled by arrival of the blind king 
who rides the donkey while brave sirens sing, 
sweet Sibyl lectures on the pyramid 
as government office where truth is hid 
inside ripe apricot of mental code 
she gives to pilgrims bearing heavy load. 

Arrival on strange shores of nameless lands 
confuses angels who steal without hands 
because my mother hides secrets in tale 
about my father swallowed by the whale 
when he dared prophesy against the king 
who gave him invisibility ring. 

Humans learned to walk in the ocean tide 
by standing upright when the red moon cried 
so our hands are free to manipulate 
material objects bound by random fate 
because we choose by nature how to play 
joyful games of chase while blind devils pray. 

Evade Voice Of Death

Evade Voice Of Death
© Surazeus
2026 04 30

No problematic gestures we express 
may untwist alphabets of moral rules 
in frantic harmony with waterfalls 
that scream our secret names into the void 
where mindless robots play old social roles 
in vain attempt to evade voice of death. 

No eloquent stutter of campaign speech 
should misalign psychic programs of faith 
contrived by preachers of the Holy Word 
to ride the gravy train of false respect 
in boldest scam since cryptocurrency 
fools millions to invest in fantasies. 

No haunting song of plum-tree nightingales 
sparks sublime visions of celestial grace 
to swell from pulsing cortex of my heart 
beyond mercurial strangeness of dire shores 
where ghosts of my ancestors mutely lurk 
in dim plutonian shadows of my mind. 

No ardent monolog of anxious hope 
teems from my brain in tangled curse of fate 
to ponder actions I could boldly take 
with arms against wild sea of troubled times 
and by opposing tyranny of greed 
establish liberty as way to live. 

No thoughtless crime of arrogant assault 
by frightened minions of the bogus king 
will stall my gradual progress to construct 
new global system of social support 
designed to ensure fair justice for all 
who share vision of Heaven we attend. 

No unsolved puzzles fragmenting our state 
could scatter children of the fallen God 
across unmeasured landscape of desire 
without nostalgic journey beyond home 
to colonize far distant lands of fear 
where skull of Hamlet prophesies our fall. 

No complex project shy Cassandra draws 
with Rod of Aaron in hot desert sand 
could unframe fraught ontology of truth 
since no one cares to understand her code 
describing consequence of war we fight 
in campaign to elect new president. 

No fabulous accounts blind bankers tell 
to analyze how fiscal systems fail 
convince our fragile bodies to rebel 
till Phoebus proves gold mask that Midas wears 
was forged from bones of hungry dinosaurs 
in failed attempt to evade voice of death. 

First Mother Of Our Soul

First Mother Of Our Soul
© Surazeus
2026 04 30

Why am I me and no one else alive, 
trapped in the fragile nutshell of my head, 
entangled in strange memories of my mind 
from striving to survive till I am dead? 
Every human alive on Planet Earth 
has been born from First Mother of our soul. 

All humans of the world alive with hope 
share universal frame of reference 
that underlies state of religious tales 
with common themes of heroic success. 
Though I sometimes feel alone in my head 
I feel connected to each soul on Earth. 

I feel prime soul of Ishtar in my heart 
when she gathered us all in temple hall 
to nurture our spirits with feast of faith 
then sang creation of the universe. 
Her vision of how our world operates 
still programs how I perceive our life on Earth. 

Bright goddess who created stars of truth 
stands before congregation of the lost 
and tells us how our world was born from fire, 
then gives advice on how to live life well. 
Our souls are fragments of her primal soul 
as shards of her one puzzle mirror mind. 

Since Death will dissolve me in the end 
and scatter atoms of my body far 
as bright unconscious sparkles of starlight, 
I sing the conscious vision of my mind. 
For I am me alone in all the world, 
one temporary flame of conscious faith. 

I wonder why, out of eight billion souls 
alive this hour on globe of rain and dirt, 
I am conscious only of my own self, 
immortal mind in mortal shell of flesh. 
When Ishtar wakes in visions of my heart 
I play my role in fortune of my fate. 

Since each new choice I make defines my fate, 
I hesitate at crossroads of each change 
to analyze effects of active cause 
because I want to create, not destroy. 
I compose scripture that maps my life goal 
to create conscious souls before I die. 

Since no traveler has ever returned 
from the undiscovered country of death, 
I have no dread of what comes after life 
for I will cease to exist for all time. 
With courage I throw burdens to the wind 
to work great enterprises till I die. 

Scroll Of Serpent Runes

Scroll Of Serpent Runes
© Surazeus
2026 04 29

If I must admit that I have no clue 
how my random quest has lead me to you, 
then I will insist with alacrity 
that our relationship is destiny. 
I have no map to navigate my life 
so I compose my script with sensual strife. 

If you require with acrobatic laugh 
that I buy ticket for the chronograph, 
then we shall time-jump multiversal worlds 
to string our souls in necklace of dream pearls. 
Though I apply to work at psychic firms 
they refuse to accept my puzzle terms. 

If Death comes dancing in her black lace gown 
to help me serve as mayor of world town, 
then I will program clairvoyant devise 
that should debug our fear with sacrifice. 
Despite our dedication to the law 
humans will rule with sharpness of the claw. 

If bird of paradise returns from Hell 
with Scroll of Serpent Runes from the Dream Well, 
then I design social system for all souls 
that rewards people who create new tools. 
We gather in grand stoa by the lake 
to share thought code for exposing the fake. 

If time expands the universe of light 
too far beyond gravity of insight, 
then I drive Spaceship Earth across the void 
to gather lost tribes who are Caucasoid. 
Thus I now identify as the horse 
who bore First Mother to cave of the Force. 

If I write epic tale of castle kings 
that begins and ends when the God Toad sings, 
then I will marry shy Apricot Girl 
whose loving heart blooms the way myrtles curl. 
We must construct strong social institutes 
that protect the weak from the stomp of boots. 

If time unspools accomplishments I claim 
by cursing my soul with fortune and fame, 
then I will dwell in mountains of Guilin 
because Death takes all, though we lose or win. 
Gold mist that gleams on twisted limbs of trees 
enhances solemn power of decrees. 

If star-maker goddess designs my soul 
from contradictions of my prophet role, 
then I will dance in secret ocean cove 
to prove that we are demons of true love. 
I wear the mask of Lucifer at dawn 
to celebrate rebirth of Avalon. 

Virtual Moon Of Faith

Virtual Moon Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 04 29

Foolproof security system of love, 
designed to be more secure by default, 
entangles her heart in frayed network wires 
when she calls her mother late every night 
to ask why she abandoned her when young, 
though annoyed strangers always end her calls. 

Wandering empty streets long after midnight, 
Yejin asks Bear Mother to explain how 
devils that fly upside down can find Heaven, 
since she wants to use color-coding system 
to organize lists of tasks she must do 
with effective method of mind control. 

Hired as guidance and control engineer 
by Asmodeus in castle of skulls, 
Yejin uses simulation software 
to design lunar terrain vehicle 
he sends to explore virtual moon of faith 
where ghosts of great warriors play baseball. 

Eccentric billionaire, rich from gem mines, 
Asmodeus runs startup company 
geared to leverage advanced techniques of hope 
through weird artificial intelligence 
with high-tech vision of the future state 
which nurtures innate talents into skills. 

Gathering delicate mushrooms of truth 
in misty forest of the mountain range, 
Yejin studies chemical properties 
inherent in fragile beauty of truth 
that provides essential ingredients 
for brewing perfume that rejuvenates. 

Surprised by sunrise that gleams indigo 
on far pavilions of observant hills, 
Asmodeus watches with adoration 
manic pixie girl dancing in the corn 
with plan to resurrect Jesus again 
from skull beside Hamlet and Orpheus. 

Restored to bodies of robotic flesh, 
those three prophets of existential dread 
follow clever Yejin with loyalty 
as she fights to free girls from slavery 
till she destroys the world patriarchy, 
then sits on temple roof and plays the flute. 

Awake with joy in his butterfly world, 
Yejin gazes long at Asmodeus 
to understand strange wonder of his heart 
as genius ruler of Plutonium, 
then places wreath of flowers on his head 
and giggles at how cute her devil looks. 

Cloak Of Invisible Faith

Cloak Of Invisible Faith
© Surazeus
2026 04 28

If I find truth before the end of time 
in song of sparrows in old maple trees, 
I might find some jagged mountain to climb 
where no official can charge me late fees, 
or else sail ship of state to Samarkand 
where Hatshepsut dances on shifting sand. 

Though I wear cloak of invisible faith 
Death always seems to find out where I live 
hanging out with Boudica in the laithe 
where I milk cows with eagerness to give 
book of secret techniques to the sad prince 
describing how to make jelly from quince. 

I move to the house my grandfather built 
near Pacific Ocean on Seamount Drive 
where I study math formulas of guilt 
that always spur lazy people to strive 
for great achievements in the Land of Oz 
though I play the rebel without a cause. 

I wander randomly on my vague quest 
to find that Woman is the Holy Grail, 
since my ancestors traveled so far west 
from Scythia along the Oregon Trail 
as the Roman Empire still lives in us 
for we are heirs of hungry Tantalus. 

I stand on street corner by the book store 
to strum the lyre of Mercury and sing 
about divine spirit in iron core 
that spins inside the Earth through pulsing ring 
while people toss me coins as they walk by 
since no one wants to understand the Why. 

We elect greedy thief as president 
who likes to mocks the haughty Hercules 
whose sons rule empire of the occident 
through dialectic of sly Socrates 
as sword he wields to expose fake beliefs 
though Jesus has his own weird leitmotifs. 

Since Child of Aphrodite in silk gown 
brews honeysuckle wine from wounded hearts, 
I call Ghost of Pallas to hide the crown 
beneath rotten apples in broken carts, 
yet busts of emperors on my book shelf 
teach me how to see the thing-in-itself. 

Apple trees produce fruit to reproduce, 
caring not whether we eat them or not, 
so I drink nourishing concept of juice 
while Ophelia waits for me on the yacht, 
yet I write truth I find in Riddle Verse 
because my angel is the Healing Nurse. 

Still-Changing Maze

Still-Changing Maze
© Surazeus
2026 04 28

Lost in still-changing maze of social myths, 
I carry memories of home in my heart 
which shines with ancestral star of my soul 
so I may journey straight toward my life goal 
though Truth keeps shifting frame of reference 
to readjust focus of my world view. 

Blind in still-changing maze of ancient truths, 
I sing electric radiance of my heart 
that echoes clear off high museum walls 
so I know where I am on path of time 
as we progress from warring nation-states 
to global union of factories and farms. 

Helpless in still-changing maze of desire, 
I whisper ephemeral web of hope 
as I crawl cobblestone road of concern 
with blood on my hands and dirt on my face 
from defending fruit garden of my home 
to protect my family from greedy thieves. 

Awake in still-changing maze of mad ghosts, 
I strum the lyre of Mercury with sass 
to deflate pompous tyrants with bad jokes 
when the clown wears plastic crown of the king 
and struts on battleship of cowardice 
to beat his chest with fierce gorilla shriek. 

Amused in still-changing maze of brave cowards, 
I join parade of angels withing wings 
who follow Lucifer with Torch of Truth 
to oppose tyranny of Jupiter 
who lives in quaint cottage across the lake 
where he strolls in woods to commune with Nature. 

Surprised in still-changing maze of wise fools, 
I carve dream runes on trunks of countless trees 
to chronicle whole history of the world 
while glowing clouds cast shadows on the world 
where fishermen hold flowers of respect 
and ask ballerinas to marry them. 

Dazed in still-changing maze of psychic faith, 
I perform role of social architect 
to design global political system 
based on justice and liberty for all, 
then fly Icarus kite in city park 
where wild children turn into butterflies. 

Glad in still-changing maze of sordid facts, 
I must extract aesthetic capital 
from harsh suffering common people endure 
by singing elegy to praise the dead 
who wander labyrinth of timeless dreams 
as wordless shadows trapped in tales of books. 

Circus Of Human History

Circus Of Human History
© Surazeus
2026 04 28

If I parcel territory of dreams 
to house the ghost of every character 
preserved in the text of ten billion tales, 
the vast maze of myths in which they reside 
would cover all the waste lands of the Earth 
where they repeat loop of their lives forever. 

Grateful for Death that will erase my soul 
from the circus of human history, 
I skip with carefree joy on signless road 
past amusement park of America 
to play instead in wistful Wonderland 
where Alice pours tea for the Broken Clock. 

When Lancelot spies from Tower of Pride 
dead Lady of Shallot in Boat of Faith, 
he hustles downstairs to the river shore, 
but finds Ophelia half-drowned instead, 
but when he wades in to rescue the princess 
Gabriel bears her away on swan wings. 

After he escapes from Tower of Hope 
with Broken Clock he stole from the White Queen, 
Icarus wanders in bright Ravenwood 
till he finds lost Lamp of Diogenes 
covered by orange leaves with riddles of faith, 
but Hamlet grabs it first and runs away. 

After working the night shift to make cars 
with artificial intelligence gadgets, 
Grendel drinks beer and watches morning news 
where Cassandra and Bacchus analyze 
labile state of the world economy, 
then walks his dog along the shady lane. 

Escaping her cruel stalker, Romeo, 
Juliet moves to small town in Oregon 
where she works for the county government 
mapping parcel outlines for the tax office, 
so she meets Hamlet at the library 
when they read poetry at the open mic. 

Cinderella visits the hospital 
where Romeo sulks with a broken arm, 
so they eat hamburgers and drink root beer 
while watching drama Alchemy of Souls, 
then plan to mountain climb in Austria 
and maybe marry in Niagara Falls. 

Crucified on the last telephone pole 
somewhere in desert of New Mexico, 
Achilles Christ cries out with anguished voice, 
"Superman, why hast thou forsaken me?" 
then transforms into psycho-robot owl 
who recites Bill of Rights at the White House. 

Choir Of Lost Wanderers

Choir Of Lost Wanderers
© Surazeus
2026 04 27

To raise my hand against the roaring ocean 
I search for sacred diamond of my heart 
that spirals from core of the universe 
so I can discern truth among the lies 
which guides my journey from land of my birth 
to visit every country on the Earth. 

My heart may never settle in one land 
or take root in rich soil beside some river, 
since my ancestors never stayed for long 
in any valley where their fruit trees bloom, 
for someone always drives them from their land 
so they wander on before they get stuck. 

Before roots bind us to this fertile land, 
so we are trapped in cage of paradise, 
we pack our memories in wagon of hope 
and journey onward down the signless road 
to spin four wheels of fortune with tall tales 
and find another vale to live a while. 

Forever immigrant on restless feet, 
fueled by incessant swirl of ocean waves, 
as landless refugee driven away 
by thieves who colonize farms my fathers built,  
and pilfer fruit from trees my mothers tended, 
I follow star of my heart far from Heaven. 

Though I never feel at home in my country, 
since every land where my ancestors dwell 
becomes cemetery where they bones cry, 
I plant fruit seeds on every river shore 
to build ten thousand towns in fertile vales, 
so my home becomes wherever I roam. 

My body sprouts from sorrow of the Earth, 
and my soul writhes from passion of the Sea, 
as I weave wings from feathers of fallen angels 
with mission to transcend bounds of my flesh, 
inspired by luminous phantom of love, 
so I explore the rich world till Death finds me. 

My raised hand strums waves of the roaring ocean 
that ring with vibrant music of lyre strings 
so I can translate her maternal song 
to verse in every language of the Earth 
in hopes that homeless people of the world 
may sing psalms in choir of lost wanderers. 

Now every country in the world is mine 
since I am home in every land I walk 
for all the world is abode of my soul, 
safe shelter where I nest with gracious strangers 
who feed my heart for tales I sing to them, 
then we bid farewell as I journey on. 

Timeless Lyre Of Mercury

Timeless Lyre Of Mercury
© Surazeus
2026 04 27

Since I have accomplished work of my life, 
composing epic of philosophers 
to glorify deeds of searchers for truth 
through tradition of Academia, 
then you may take my hand, beautiful Death, 
and carry me to lush Elysian Fields. 

There I shall lounge for all eternity 
on orchard shores beside the River Styx, 
and strum the timeless lyre of Mercury 
to sing enchanting verses of my heart 
that form Astarian Scriptures I compose 
with you beside me in dream of our tale. 

Beneath veils of purple Wisteria, 
that scent sweet air from bower of our home, 
we chat about strange stories of mankind 
while through sun-glowing flowers bee-wings drone 
that fertilize my heart with timeless truth 
through deep analysis of social games. 

When they arrive on boat that Charon rows 
across the ceaseless tide of life and death, 
I call names of the Lost Ones killed in wars 
though they were scattered far across waste lands, 
so they relax in temple of our hearts 
and drink elixir of old memories. 

Cold as bright moon-rainbow of aching truth, 
ghosts of the countless dead in ring of stones 
dance gracefully with timeless dream of faith 
while skeletons of bodies rot in soil 
to nurture roots of fruit trees up on Earth 
where children find treasures in shadowed woods. 

Feet bleeding from our quest to find the cave 
from which First Mother birthed the human race, 
we climb the winding rocky trail of hope 
to break fetters of slavery and despair 
on endless journey to the Promised Land 
with nothing but tools in our crafting hands. 

Though it seems goodness of the crowded world 
has withered from harsh traumatic abuse 
we suffer struggling to survive each day, 
we give each other fruit we steal from Hell 
and build new Heaven with courageous hands 
so our children inherit paradise. 

When I rot mutely in tomb of my heart, 
Death may call homeless people of the world 
to gather in my mausoleum hall 
and feast on fruit from the generous Earth 
while skull of Orpheus prophecies truth 
and I play lyre of Mercury with sass. 

Old Song His Father Sang

Old Song His Father Sang
© Surazeus
2026 04 27

Small pony gallops on the river shore 
with casual nonchalance of happy hope 
to find the celestial pear tree of truth 
and feast on transient beauty of this world 
while Phoebus plays worn lyre of Mercury 
and sings the same old song his father sang. 

"Regret should not rule how we live each day," 
Phoebus explains to the gold yarrow bloom, 
but sighs and leans against the tall pear tree 
as aching sorrow settles on his heart, 
heavy as river stone no man can move, 
longing to sing old song his father sang. 

Dozing half-asleep in warm late-spring sun, 
Phoebus feels presence of shimmering ghost 
whose long gold hair wraps his mind in soft web, 
so he reaches out his attentive hand 
to caress glamorous haze of her face 
and wakes to see her leaning over him. 

Clear face of Cassandra with dark gold eyes 
fills the whole sky with gleam of her skin, 
so Phoebus stretches and offers her pears, 
then strums strings of worn lyre with inspired hope 
and sings heart-enchanting melody of love 
while she eats fruit with juice-glistening lips. 

Embraced with passion of the turning world, 
Phoebus and Cassandra kiss with delight, 
weaving spirit threads of their pulsing minds 
through shimmering web of the universe, 
which expands scope of compassionate faith 
till they become one soul of nameless joy. 

Setting Cassandra on pony of trust, 
Phoebus leads them along the winding stream 
while she bears basket of pears on her lap, 
toward the large market town on the lake shore 
where she sells pears while he strums taut lyre strings 
to practice same old song his father sang. 

Glowing with pleasure of living their day, 
Phoebus takes hands of Cassandra in his 
so they dance together on the lake shore 
while everyone gathers in temple hall 
to feast and laugh, till they all hush with hope 
to hear Phoebus sing song his father sang. 

"We are frail flowers blooming from the Earth 
who scatter seeds of our souls in the soil 
so our children will bloom from womb of time, 
for, though our bodies may flourish, then wither, 
in seasons of change for thousands of years, 
we are born again in children of love." 

Green Law Of The Tree

Green Law Of The Tree
© Surazeus
2026 04 26

Still inspired by old green law of the tree, 
I send my roots into darkness of fear 
to transform pain into apples of hope 
so I expand scope of my consciousness 
unhindered by bounds of the universe, 
that grants me passage through winter to spring. 

Though naked branches of my spirit tree 
shake in bitter winds of world social change, 
I welcome gulls who fly in from the sea 
with diamonds of wisdom from secret caves 
where Hecate brews wine from dragon blood 
that gives my eyes power to see beyond. 

I proudly ride head of Leviathan 
when she emerges from Ocean of Dreams 
to give my apparition mask of faith 
so I may walk on water of my heart 
to expose beauty through its ugliness 
when profound horror of time gives me life. 

Great Mother of Visions with hands of light 
quickens my heart with passion for truth 
so I honor Genetrix of the Earth 
who urges tides of love to swell my mind 
so I lounge in seductive revery 
with you in shadow of our solitude. 

Drinking milk disbursed by mother of stars, 
I twirl with abandon inside Stonehenge 
from careless laughter at absurdity 
till I see shining lady on the hill 
who scatters seeds from green law of the tree 
so we may colonize the world with farms. 

For good of the people who trust my word 
I serve their needs with magic mysteries 
to nurture hidden talents into skills 
so everyone contributes to our cause 
to enhance our food-production machine 
with power of ideas in the heart. 

Mothering Angels with eyes full of stars 
teach us how to sing visions of our eyes 
so we sharpen sticks and gather sharp stones, 
prepared to fight with courage of respect 
by waging war to secure global peace 
while bees brew honey for the world to eat. 

Though loneliness glimmers in hollow hearts 
of people who lose people they love most, 
bright anguish they pour in absence of faith 
sprouts back to life from green law of the tree 
which blossoms holy fruit for us to share 
so we transform our sorrow to rich joy. 

Tangled Dreams Of Fear

Tangled Dreams Of Fear
© Surazeus
2026 04 26

When angel of my heart burns through the sky 
with absolute desire to know the truth, 
she weaves my mind from tangled dreams of fear 
to strengthen me with brave audacity 
so I may climb ambitious peak to touch 
primal light of the sun that knows my name. 

Through prism of each raindrop on soft leaves 
I see electric raven with gold eyes 
who asks me if I know name of each soul 
killed by men with greed past million years 
so I carve letters of their vanished minds 
in shifting sands of time on beach of fate. 

Time-flashing rays of light from crystal eye, 
which dreams at center of the swirling sun, 
weave my body with atoms of respect 
for I am spirit of the Earth in flesh 
who seeks to understand nature of light 
that glows as consciousness from my sponge brain. 

Deep in temple of Karnak at Luxor 
the star-eyed angel holds light in her hands 
that beams our souls to center of the Earth 
so we feel giant planet of our hearts 
dreaming through kaleidoscope of our eyes 
so we remember how our world was born. 

Electric angel with black velvet wings 
assembles shards of stories from old tales 
to align fragments of our memories 
in flowing puzzle of world history 
where name of every soul who ever lives 
gleams in tapestry on stone temple wall. 

Grasping my hands with sensitive concern, 
electric angel sings with haunting voice, 
"If I can prevent just one fragile heart 
from breaking into shards of aching sorrow, 
my temporary tenure on this Earth 
shall not be fruitless endeavor of faith." 

Though I cannot play God for anyone, 
though we are emanations of Earth Soul, 
I dare assert intention of respect 
to shine with luminous beauty of love 
while curled with you in privacy of trust 
so we generate life before we die. 

Unnoticed by microscopic device, 
composed with diesel fuel of diamond eyes, 
I give myself with anguish of desire 
to tantalizing faith in nothingness 
that sparks frail flame of my glowing soul 
though bitter storm looms black over our world.