Pulsing Brain Of Chemicals

Pulsing Brain Of Chemicals
© Surazeus
2026 06 25

Minerva does not care to explain why 
Nature is indifferent to human needs 
yet I understand its functional flow 
through baffling illusion of happiness 
for love remains after sufferings cease 
since pleasures are as transient as the wind. 

This material body that frames my soul 
provides conduit of sensual perception 
which helps my pulsing brain of chemicals 
compose virtual model of the real world 
so I possess linguistic key of thought 
to design knowledge from weird memories. 

Obscure purpose of this confusing life 
remains elusive as the nightingale 
so I perform futile actions of faith 
to improve complex state of our strange world 
through consultation of the oracle 
who translates my feelings to riddle-code. 

Through art of wordcraft I perceive the world 
that seethes with constant change of vibrant love 
when I assemble puzzle of small facts 
in sprawling mural of global affairs 
so I expand scope of my consciousness 
with fraught analysis of stoic fear. 

Unpredictable in how they behave 
against instructions of the stage director 
humans of Earth act with virtue of faith 
since they expect reward for good behavior 
with eternal life in perpetual Heaven 
though our souls vanish to nothing at death. 

Through liberation of the aching heart 
I focus attention of daily work 
on creating good as admirable goal 
since chemical forms constantly decay 
as we devour each other in thought wars 
engaged by social justice warriors. 

When I hang out in the sycamore tree 
to watch for messiah sleuth to pass by, 
I ponder reason for the broken wing 
through augmentation of the demon song 
that wakes my heart from numb embarrassment 
till I repair broken lyre of my heart. 

If I dream about the thing-in-itself 
as material object of ideal form, 
I sing old anthems of failed nation-states 
in grand museum of the long-dead god 
who slumbers by the river in moonlight 
till the Weeping Bard names the wounded heart. 

Lush Gardens Of Byzantium

Lush Gardens Of Byzantium
© Surazeus
2026 06 25

Safe in lush gardens of Byzantium 
where sunlight molds our bodies into souls, 
I name the secret children of the world 
to honor faceless ghosts of nevertime 
who play among the apple trees till dusk 
when they return to sleep in blackened stones. 

Trapped in epiphany of timeless truth, 
I walk into dark forest of my heart 
to gather memories kind people lost  
and store them in glass treasure house of fate 
so wanderers may choose which ones to buy 
when silver fish explain the trick of why. 

Gold sun glimmers sweetly through gentle trees 
to highlight reasons for the dead to dance 
though some prefer to scream into the void 
while others laugh with bitter joy at death 
to prove we know why television tubes 
provide base for Buddha to meditate. 

Relaxed on fractured stone of pulchritude, 
I analyze each diachronic change 
in argument structure of mental verbs 
composing process of determined hope 
based on weird coding patterns of concern 
through cognitive mechanisms of faith. 

Engaged in the transformation workshop, 
I focus fierce attention of my brain 
on staging solemn ritual of despair 
that mocks obsessive theory of concern 
devised to widen scope of consciousness 
since death circles back with formal technique. 

I never understand words people say 
when they express concepts of ocean waves 
that murmur softly over golden sand 
when all peaceful beings of the world unite 
as rainbow family in the national park 
where preachers and jesters compete for power. 

No one may judge my skill at flattery 
since I lounge languidly on wood-ship deck 
with passionate respect for mindless breeze 
that fills aching emptiness of my heart 
with factual statements about faceless gods 
who laugh embarrassed I do not believe. 

Thus I fill chalice of our global heart 
with pungent liquor of sweet petrichor 
which melts taut stiffness of my mental state 
enough to shelter lonely refugees 
who share fake memories stored in new books 
that lead our journey to where blind devils live. 

Misty Hills Of Albion

Misty Hills Of Albion
© Surazeus
2026 06 24

Striding misty hills of Oblivion, 
Alpin asks mountain stone why people die 
and vanish in silver clouds of his heart 
that form bright saltire, white as sparkling snow, 
across cerulean glimmer of the sky  
which widens his eyes at gold flash of dawn. 

Ascending misty hills of Albion, 
where purple thistles blossom in red rain, 
brave Alpin grips spear of courageous hope, 
heart glowing with duthchas for his homeland 
where silver rivers spiral to the sea 
with song of laughter flowing through his heart. 

Alert to weird glamor of Helicon 
that gleams from misty hills of Albion, 
fierce Alpin crouches on ledge of the ridge 
and gazes over valley where sheep graze, 
since spirit of Apollon in his heart 
guides his way safe through maze of hungry ghosts. 

Awake on misty hills of Albion, 
wise Alpin tells his young son, sly Cinaed, 
how Scythia, Mother of all Alban Scots, 
bore daughter from Saint Andrew Protocletus, 
brave Scotia who lead her people by ship 
to misty shores of winged Sgitheanach Isle. 

Kneeling on lush Sligachan River shore, 
grim Alpin dips his face in freezing water, 
in which sweet daughter of Scathach once wept, 
and asks the Sithichean of wild fairy glens 
to bless his children with love for the world, 
whose glamor gleams from deep core of his heart. 

Entranced by sparkling passion of her eyes, 
which depict green island in the blue sea, 
shy Alpin plays harp Taliesin once owned 
and sings sweet song of his enduring love 
so cheeks of Eithne blush red as the rose, 
half hidden by long tresses of gold curls. 

Returning to the mystic Isle of Skye, 
where bones of my ancestors form huge hills, 
I wander misty hills of Albion 
to hear again weird tune of wind on rocks, 
lured home by fierce song of wild ocean waves 
that pulse with pride in blue blood of my veins. 

Too far from home in groves of apple trees, 
I linger lost in strange land of desire 
where ghosts of natives haunt my humble home, 
so I seek dolphin of lithe Arion 
to bear my soul across wild ocean waves 
back home to misty hills of Albion. 

Tune Of The Global Core

Tune Of The Global Core
© Surazeus
2026 06 24

Though I have never gone to Innisfree, 
nor climbed the misty slopes of Helicon, 
yet I sense water lapping on the shore 
where I hear songs of Muses in fruit groves 
that lure me from gray streets of crowded cities 
loud with ancient tune of the global core. 

Though I have never stood with crystal eye 
in grand hall of pedantic Babylon, 
nor chatted with the freckled fisherman 
who wanders in gray Connemara clothes, 
yet I have stood by fountain of Neptune 
and sung about the Well Witch Melusine. 

Though I have never sailed the seven seas 
nor climbed the Himalayas with brave faith, 
yet I have hitchhiked sea to shining sea 
and played guitar to shing hymn of the wraith, 
determined to transcend my mundane life 
in quest to wake soul of my deathless genes. 

Though I have never trudged hot caves of Hell 
nor pranced gold streets of Heaven with my love, 
yet I have mapped whole history of the world 
to chronicle how empires rise and fall, 
since reign of my ancestors wearing crowns 
vanished in the turmoil of brutal wars. 

Though I cannot foresee my life-end fate 
nor know how fame will treat my humble name, 
yet I will govern my life with my will 
when I seek from wise Calliope skill 
to chant my epic of philosophers 
depicting quests of men to know the truth. 

Though I have not suffered travail in life 
as much as my ancestor, James the Scot, 
or been imprisoned in white tower hall, 
yet like him I have seen face of the Muse 
glow bright with wisdom of celestial soul 
that gleams with passion in her secret eyes. 

Though I have never heard bright angels sing 
nor fought with devils to control my lust, 
yet I have heard tune of the global core 
vibrate in every human I have met, 
for we are children of Great Mother Earth 
who weaves our bodies from light of the sea. 

Though I have never fallen from the sky 
on waxed wings of feathers my father built, 
yet I have soared on silver airplane wings 
around slopes of Mount Takoma at dawn, 
and seen our ancient world is beautiful, 
round as the pear that blooms from Tree of Life. 

Hear The Satellite Sing

Hear The Satellite Sing
© Surazeus
2026 06 23

I can almost hear the satellite sing 
each time I walk the crowded city street 
where thousands of people with secret names 
flow in tides regulated by the moon 
because each brain, designed by hungry hope, 
is animated by one burned-out star. 

Every time I hear the satellite sing 
hymns of Orpheus to some long-dead god, 
I stop inside glass orthopedic frame 
to measure vastness of the spotless mind 
that blooms from serpent tooth of earnest faith, 
contrary to attentive cloud of fear. 

If I choose to hear the satellite sing 
while floating in bright pool of time-blind ghosts, 
my heart may sprout excessive wings of lust 
for dancing without care in field of dreams 
with brave defiance of my tragic fate 
that conjures the future from each past choice. 

Reluctant to hear the satellite sing 
about financial slavery of the poor, 
I walk up and down Bridge of Memories 
to find the weird moment in my childhood 
when I first saw her starless eyes of love 
black as the New Moon no one ever sees. 

Surprised I can hear the satellite sing 
time-fractured formulas of ardency, 
my wife designs new mask for me to wear 
when I drive our car to the Promised Land 
so she and our children play by the lake 
where faceless demons haunt the sunlit deep. 

Entranced when I hear the satellite sing 
fairy tale about the woman I love, 
I tell the world she is my Sky God Girl 
because her honest kiss makes my head swirl 
with tense obsession for the way trees dance 
since crows invent the language humans speak. 

I should never hear the satellite sing 
about lucidity my heart requires 
to overcome the weakness of my flesh 
till I become the hapless Superman 
who saves American from tyranny 
when I do nothing but sit on my porch. 

Inspired that I hear the satellite sing 
about sincerity of my brave love 
for the charming Princess of Aquitaine, 
I dance with her among the hawthorn trees, 
shellacked with sleet of the ethereal storm, 
to eat our bread with butter and peach jam. 

Wanderers of Broken Doors

Wanderers of Broken Doors
© Surazeus
2026 06 23

Out on the signless road to somewhere else 
from crumbling ruins of America 
I walk with wanderers of broken doors 
to gather tales of sorrow from lost souls 
so we can build with programs of real hope 
new Freedom Nation of Zarathia. 

Ascending mountain of the modest Muse 
who teaches me to sing of liberty, 
I walk with wanderers of broken doors 
to celebrate our victory with joy 
building new state based on justice for all 
where everyone is equal in the law. 

Astonished by apricity of faith 
that glows through ephemeral state of mind, 
I walk with wanderers of broken doors 
with noble purpose to peregrinate 
across the waste land of America 
where ghosts of people unjustly killed dwell. 

Amazed at beauty of organic beings 
designed by swirling of bright ocean waves, 
I walk with wanderers of broken doors 
in trembling shimmer of the floating moon 
that knows the road of destiny I blaze 
because I choose to follow my own heart. 

Still weary-hearted as the faceless moon 
that seems to know my secret state of mind, 
I walk with wanderers of broken doors 
to map whole landscape of our spinning Earth 
till I can hold the whole world in my hands 
so I dream history of humanity. 

Gazing at stars that twinkle with God Eyes 
in eerie silence of the Twilight Zone, 
I walk with wanderers of broken doors 
to flee persecution of castle kings 
and found democracy in Wonderland 
because stars we see burned out long ago. 

Climbing the Stairway to Heaven at last 
that leads me to high Purgatory Peak, 
I walk with wanderers of broken doors 
with Beatrice as my guide to Paradise, 
though she turns out to be bright hologram 
who dwells in Egypt with Helen the Fair. 

Out in sunbaked fields of cotton and corn 
where we wait for our chariot to swing low, 
I walk with wanderers of broken doors 
to Freedom Nation of Zarathia 
with the Third Man who haunts our lonely quest 
when Orpheus strums Lyre of Mercury. 

Law Of Faceless Clouds

Law Of Faceless Clouds
© Surazeus
2026 06 22

With aching laughter of the joyful heart 
my soul refashions meaning of the world 
because I focus attention of thought 
at thick material forms of glowing light 
so I perceive through new words I invent 
essential nature of my pulsing brain. 

This strange self I perform on social stage 
seems to be somebody else I am not, 
because I hide true nature of my soul 
with mask that shields my too-sensitive heart 
against aggressive labels people ploy 
to bind my soul as puppet of their will. 

Sustained attention of the snipping eye, 
that tries to frame my body as its toy, 
expends conceptual wealth of bitter hope 
with fierce approach of faith to apprehend 
divine mystery of blood which animates 
flesh bodies against law of faceless clouds. 

Entangled with vision of satellites 
that speak with language of the fractured moon, 
I conjure from idyllic fields of fate 
grand future we attempt to recreate 
based on beautiful childhood memories 
which trap our minds in prison of the past. 

No exile from my homeland, now long lost 
in swirling mists of futile destiny, 
I sail the restless sea of everywhere 
with no one but myself in mindless wind, 
because I plan to build new nation-state 
instead of returning to my old home. 

I will bring no Muse with me on the boat 
that drifts without direction on deep tides 
through endless journey to the nowhere else 
across vast distances of timeless space 
to transplant culture of my heart in vale 
where skulls of my ancestors recite creeds. 

While tending crops in field of serpent teeth, 
I hone strange stories of heroic deeds 
that honor nameless people of the land 
whose weird songs manifest the sacred mind 
as humble prophets of the river flow 
who wield the hammer and sickle of faith. 

When I dance joyfully in apple grove 
my sorrows dissipate in evening mist 
that flash as stars which burned out long ago, 
yet twinkle still on fields of innocence, 
so with our skin as scroll of ancient law 
we found new state on liberty for all. 

Flowing Clockless Time

Flowing Clockless Time
© Surazeus
2026 06 22

With this strange sense of flowing clockless time 
we walk ten thousand times around the Earth 
to colonize every lush river valley 
with holy temple of the humble heart, 
inspired by laughter of the eyeless owl 
who seems to know the secrets of my soul. 

Yet shocked awake by sweet Tellurian chime 
that vibrates through bodies of sacred worth, 
I sail the seven seas on boneless galley 
to find the island not on my star chart 
where happy wolves could teach me how to howl 
with best minds of our world to play my role. 

Each time I hear my mother call my name, 
while I play in shimmer of Texas heat, 
I feel my consciousness expand its scope 
more vast than highest mountain in the world, 
and deeper than abyss of eyeless ghosts, 
but she is gone when I run in our home. 

Therefore I refuse to play power game 
when lust for fame drives fake bards to compete 
for prize Phoebus hides on Helicon slope 
in bid to claim scepter of cosmic herald 
who bears sacred scroll for the Lord of Hosts, 
so I explore Eden where devils roam. 

Slanting my mind with flowing clockless time, 
that spirals atoms in material forms 
which I define with language of the eye, 
I mold conceptual thoughts of characters 
in glowing idols representing gods 
who once performed their fate as mortal fools. 

Dreaming that all lifeforms evolve from slime, 
sparked awake by lightning flash of love storms, 
I expand my career as social spy, 
disguised as tabernacle chorister, 
investigating claims that demon pods 
possess our minds and make us faithful tools. 

Regret diverts attention of my mind 
when larks arise at break of day and sing 
hymns at gate of Heaven that manifest 
sullen fear of our global war for wealth 
when I ride dragon of excessive faith 
to support United Nations of Earth. 

Translating mystery spell of humankind 
that shines at flash of dawn in Stonehenge ring 
on summer solstice of our global quest, 
I nurture progress of our mental health 
as spirit-beams from one immortal wraith, 
reborn from laughter of psychotic mirth. 

Polarities Of Psychic Truth

Polarities Of Psychic Truth
© Surazeus
2026 06 21

Moved by polarities of psychic truth 
that spiral reverberations of faith, 
I meditate on beauty of the tree 
still burning with conceptual souls of gods 
disguised as humans daring to live well 
outside frame of the fake Biblical tale. 

Since I am just another nameless boy 
recorded in epic tale of mad war, 
I make the effort of progressive plans 
to build the story that will last forever 
free for the homeless to claim housing rights 
in meadow where bees nest in solemn oaks. 

Admired for deftness of her manual skill 
wiring fake houses with electric brains, 
Zertur molds river mud of aching lust 
in human bodies so we generate 
fragments of wild children who play in fields 
while tending herd of sheep with raven hands. 

Risen from ocean waves of suddenness, 
she stitches frayed memories of my childhood 
in steady wings of careless honesty 
to beam fantastic illusion of power 
broadcast to all the world with subtle code 
that defies authority of fake news. 

If abandoned space station falls to Earth 
after ten thousand years of orbiting, 
the most beautiful woman in the world 
may become the monstrous ghost of love 
who never miscalculates psychic vibes 
necessary to expose frantic greed. 

Through tangled syntax of assertive calm 
I study nature of abandoned homes 
to map vibrations of spatial concern 
in portraits of institutional gods 
that hang in museums by factories 
against federal law of the scorpion. 

Unbroken by crash course of ardency 
in searching for gate of the afterlife, 
I secure sea-faring boat of my heart 
to fallen idol of the atheist 
that rises from entanglement of breath 
when I translate letters carved on cracked stones. 

Last task assigned to me by son of Zeus 
requires I barefoot on waste land of faith 
so I pretend reality of dream 
is no more intermittent than the moon 
who bears soul of my mother on fire wings 
to flower-puckered vales of Avalon. 

Way To Wonderland

Way To Wonderland
© Surazeus
2026 06 21

I want to read the real map of your heart 
so I can find the way to Wonderland 
where we may live and play among fruit trees, 
expanding Garden of Eden with hope 
to transform bitter waste land of the Earth 
from hell to paradise where all live free. 

Safe in delusions of Utopia 
that hide the one true way to Wonderland, 
I preach salvation of justice for all, 
though humans build secret societies 
on strict hierarchies of power through wealth 
where the strong abuse and exploit the weak. 

Asserting justice through the Holy Gun 
that legislates the way to Wonderland, 
we form official gangs of government 
to manage hostile contests of control 
between corporate kings in towers of glass 
that should benefit workers of the world. 

Diverted from my Journey to the West 
by signs that lead the way to Wonderland, 
I climb Sagarmatha to touch the moon 
and ask Tathagata Buddha for scrolls 
that detail formulas of mythic code 
expanding moral scope of consciousness. 

I search for hope on the horse with no name 
but stumble on the way to Wonderland 
where the fool on the hill in Nowhere Land 
declares that we are but dust in the wind, 
enlightened by purple haze in my brain 
to sell Bibles on Desolation Row. 

I sing my soul with Voice of Prophecy 
to reveal the weird way to Wonderland 
when Charon takes us to Elysium 
where the dead gather to watch the sun rise 
from the bottom of the sea without eyes 
that flash with endless television shows. 

I hold the pen as dangerous as the gun 
that paves the sacred way to Wonderland 
when I dig fairy mounds from soggy peat 
so star-eyed Sidhe of the Emerald Isle 
may feast at midnight on wine of the gods 
while Aisling plays flute of the bleeding heart. 

I travel far across America 
to find the hidden way to Wonderland 
where Rainbow Children of the Living Light 
gather in Forest of the Laughing Crow 
to lament the tragic death of Tammuz 
by feeding five thousand with loaf of bread. 

Soul-Code Of Divinity

Soul-Code Of Divinity
© Surazeus
2026 06 21

Not as happy as the man in the moon, 
yet stunned by beauty of the eglantine, 
I listen for the algebraic tune 
that vibrates through our chemical machine 
with ardent soul-code of divinity 
that weaves mortal brains from eternity. 

When my heart swells heavier than the moon, 
I clutch crystal stone of innocent faith 
and leap into deep flow of the world tune 
to expand dream scope of my conscious wraith 
so I become each soul alive on Earth 
transforming from egg of endless rebirth. 

Ascending spirit level of the heart 
when I untangle knots of psychic tricks, 
I fool the devil to give me his chart, 
then lead refugees to the River Styx 
where I stand my ground against tyranny 
by casting social spells at fantasy. 

I see no devils roaming lands of men 
except cruel mortals who try to control 
human bodies in games they never win 
till brave messiah frees the frightened soul 
with vision of justice and liberty 
for every person through democracy. 

Weird fairy tales swirl from my seething brain 
of social heroes wielding flag of truth 
who forge strong fellowship of faith to gain 
freedom through code of our messiah sleuth 
who gives conceptual nothing verbal shape 
that conjures virtual globe of our landscape. 

We leap with joy when we first spring from time 
through eager race to enter paradise, 
then dwell secure at height we choose to climb 
in garden we nurture, despite the price 
we pay when we deteriorate with age, 
then crumble to dust at the last life stage. 

I live my life with passion of the fool 
by striding boldly down the avenue 
where I play guitar before empty school 
when I wear mask of Poet Parvenu 
to overthrow illiterate elite 
with haunting laughter of the ocean beat. 

I hear voice of my mother call my name 
through swirling mist on shores of Loch Coruisk, 
so I sail to Skye, isle of fairy fame, 
to find her faceless ghost in moonlit dusk 
where she gives me the harp that David played 
so I sing to shimmer of her dim shade. 

Dreams Become Second Sight

Dreams Become Second Sight
© Surazeus
2026 06 21

Though my dreams never become second sight, 
I extract blind premise from nameless core 
which shadows my face with elegant code 
defining light that streams from statue eyes 
yet washes sulking sorrow from my heart, 
so I almost miss meeting with old spies. 

With tedious courage of the undrowned dead, 
who teach their children how to start the fire, 
I fear what hovers over me with wings 
because the color photograph I took 
that depicts the lake in the mountain woods 
appears on postcards all around the world. 

Teased by the star-eyed owl on broken wall, 
I dig my pulsing heart from gritty beach sand 
to clean my soot-rimmed eyes with arrogance 
that I know where this path of passion leads, 
yet I keep walking toward the broken ark 
to prove salvation can never be bought. 

Because I stop by the birch in the lane 
to measure heights of clouds above false roads, 
time jolts untuned assertion of respect 
for fetters of concern I pledge to show 
when chorus of mad frogs express grand awe 
for swirls of snow that reveal face of God. 

Since clocks of molecules in oranges hum 
with psychic tune of brash divinity 
that vibrates through all living things on Earth, 
I place my hand flat on surface of ice 
to understand true nature of the pond 
which deigns to reflect my true secret face. 

Surprised when my dreams become second sight 
at vision of Belinda in gray mist, 
I count stones lined along the river bank 
that hide our voices from authorities 
so we can see shapes of our secret selves 
preserved in statues on cathedral walls. 

I seek protection from Aegidius 
who prances on the mountain slope of fate 
with graceful goatness of naivete 
in search to find birth-cave of humble Zeus 
who teaches me to write the alphabet 
with quill of angel wings dipped in god blood. 

So once I climb this grandiose mountain peak 
I shall meet all my friends in gray Paris 
to write the greatest novel ever bled 
from broken hearts of cruel antagonists 
who seem to know the way to Samarkand 
where my heart functions as the clock of fate. 

Electric Words Of Faith

Electric Words Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 06 20

Behind sunflower of her secret heart 
she smiles at me with graceful elegance 
to prove our bodies are rays of the sun 
woven from weird memories of the Earth 
in brains that shimmer with clock of the moon 
to whom we pray with mountain honesty. 

When I hear sparrow hiding in her eyes, 
I give her bowl of milk-sweet happiness, 
so she invites me with respectful glance 
to kneel with her outside door of our home 
so we can pray to wise Grandmother Moon 
who wonders if we understand her pain. 

Grinning with sly ardency of concern, 
she opens leather purse of angel wings, 
and scatters scarlet petals of her heart 
that swirl around my fragile ideogram 
with laughing play of joyful impudence 
which spurs my heart to wake from lethargy. 

From sorrow of the world we rise at dawn 
and walk together on the river shore 
where we send sparrows of our fractured hearts 
to find the holy mushroom of respect 
so we may taste electric words of faith 
that mean nothing to anyone but us. 

Together by the fountain of dead gods, 
where statues of demons writhe with delight, 
we ponder mystery of the twilight breeze 
that brings news of the war across the sea, 
so she holds sand of time in her left hand, 
yet never needs to explain what I know. 

Urged by fear-fueled desire to transcend death, 
we weave eccentric frenzy in taut wings 
that lift our bodies on soft waves of hope 
which seems to heal aggressive pain with love 
though ancient woods decay with constant change 
while vapors weep our burdens to the ground. 

Alert to song of toads in moonless woods, 
we wonder if they will transform at dawn 
to hungry dragons draped in eglantine 
so we rejoice when swans of summer soar 
on graceful wings above our garden pool 
where we decide to understand the why. 

Shocked by contentious laughter of night rain, 
she tells me time unspools our naive minds, 
so we share food we gather in the woods 
as we invent new words for things we see 
because we want to sense divinity 
in tune of life that hums in everything. 

Play The Sacrificial Lamb

Play The Sacrificial Lamb
© Surazeus
2026 06 20

Perpetual patience of portentous pride 
teaches my heart endurance of despair 
since I will wait in shadow cave of hope 
ten thousand years to meet my love again 
whose sorrow causes summer snow to fall 
in swirls that alienate grave of my heart. 

Since I was born as pilgrim of the heart, 
I bear passionless grief of forlorn faith 
as aging ghost in dry month of lost books, 
searching for the giver of breath and bread 
whose soul dissolves into sway of the sea 
where Cetus rots in swarm of buzzing flies. 

Though I go down to my ship at dawn, 
with intention of the curious soul 
to set keel to breakers on the godless sea 
of bitter reckoning, I sit on stone 
of fractured memories to catch the rain 
so I can drink strange sorrow never mine. 

One thousand angels descend to my heart 
with gift of wisdom I choose to ignore, 
heart numb from pungent scent of petrichor, 
and ask if I believe I still exist, 
but I ask for tall ship with billowed sails 
and star to steer my heart to paradise. 

I pray to mighty gods in faceless clouds 
for just one summer in the evening land 
where I may sing with lover of my heart 
till she goes gentle into that good night 
and leaves me stranded on the misty isle 
where I lie etherized on hill of skulls. 

Though April seems to be the cruelest month, 
breeding lilacs out of faith-rotten hearts, 
I shall ignore desire that memory stirs 
in mellow season of sweet fruitfulness 
when mind of winter shields my fragile heart 
from wordless suffering of the wanderer. 

If I should go and catch the falling star 
that fractures world view we too long held dear, 
I may meet brave ghost of my ideal youth 
in moonlit grove on dark Plutonian shore 
where I reach out my withered hand to claim 
weird fruit of wisdom from the Golden Bough. 

If I should take your sins into my heart 
with plan to guide our state to paradise 
by building Heaven in chaos of Hell, 
then I will play the sacrificial lamb 
whose death may heal the wounded fisher king 
which you watch on the television show. 

Hollow Statues Of Gods

Hollow Statues Of Gods
© Surazeus
2026 06 20

I wonder as I wander city streets, 
where bright stars are not visible at night, 
what mortal spirit of human ambition 
could still possess hollow statues of gods 
with intense passion to participate 
in fierce games that win temporary fame. 

Each book I find on stale library shelf, 
that writhes with ghosts of faceless characters 
who wander vain adventures of despair, 
maps signless road on landscape of false faith 
where social heroes meet their tragic fates 
with howling anguish of the victimized. 

Yet books I grab transform to wingless owls 
that shriek loud ideological creeds 
reverberating through speakers on poles 
in harsh command for prisoners to march 
down starless tunnels of Platonic mines 
where they extract concepts with bleeding hands. 

If I request you call me Ishmael, 
because I cannot celebrate myself, 
then you should know I will not stop for Death 
though she chase me across the signless waste 
where I find Lolita, light of my life, 
living in the trailer park with our son. 

Because I may never meet the best minds 
of my generation, destroyed by faith 
in the afterlife that will never happen, 
I should argue these are the best of times 
which always comes after the worst of times, 
so I can dance graveward without my furies. 

If I decide to not be lonelier 
without the loneliness of company, 
I may spend half my days in wordless light 
through passion imperceptible as grief 
to reprogram my wakened memory 
without remorse for actions I perform. 

I cannot find my real self in this mess 
of puzzle pieces from unwritten poems 
scattered in fragments of psychotic vibes 
from holy scriptures of the idolized, 
till I melt their codes in brave fires of truth 
and translate them to hymns blind angels sing. 

With ghosts of all my younger selves I stand 
on shore of the wide world and ponder why 
our love and fame still sink to nothingness, 
so I dwell in ruined temple of truth 
as guard over hollow statues of gods 
who stare at me with hungry eyes of death. 

Rugged Hills Of Arcady

Rugged Hills Of Arcady
© Surazeus
2026 06 20

After I escape from cold cement maze 
where hordes of people speed in metal cars 
in contest over who gains cheese of wealth, 
I roam through rugged hills Of Arcady
and lounge with Orpheus by the River Styx 
where angels wearing masks of devils dance. 

I kneel in wet grass by the sparkling stream 
and dip my hand in sorrow of desire 
to fish for sublime truths and wholesome themes, 
but I perceive reflection of my soul 
masked by this temporary face of mine 
that hides strange ache of hope inside my heart. 

When I hear weeping of the broken heart 
that causes snow to fall in summer time, 
I see Adam and Eve wandering lost 
on signless road from gates of paradise 
who search forever for the Promised Land 
that shimmers beyond horizon of vain hope. 

Then I hear laughter of light-hearted souls 
where siblings Dorothy and William stroll 
along lush margin of the River Styx 
where they see endless rows of daffodils 
dancing merrily in the shining sun 
with passion to sense the divine in Nature. 

For every human city on our globe 
springs from first city of humanity, 
that garden in Eden where fruit trees bloom, 
till God enclosed them inside walls of stone 
and forces us to buy fruit of the Earth 
with metal coins forged in hot caves of Hell. 

Narcissus stares at his face in the pool, 
Saturnus slumbers numb on river shore, 
Orpheus wanders weeping for lost love, 
Icarus floats stunned on wild ocean waves, 
Lucifer bears cracked Lamp of Liberty, 
and I wonder if I am real or not. 

Beneath broad-leafed myrtle of innocence, 
I watch bright clouds swirl slowly in blue sky 
till Evening Star gleams brilliantly opaque, 
so I feel life of every soul on Earth 
that eddies with atomic flash of love 
far from the city stage on Helicon. 

My spirit, too long trapped in creeds of faith, 
entombed inside strict duty of the church, 
urged me to open door of fearful rage, 
so I now walk with hawk-winged heart of hope 
across the rugged hills of Arcady 
where star-eyed Death waits still to hear my song. 

River-Book Of Fate

River-Book Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 06 20

Attentive way I row boat of my heart 
along the random journey of my life 
exposes secret agenda of hope 
written in private river-book of fate 
in which I map psychic landscape of faith 
my ancestors explored in paradise. 

If I should pause from visions of my thoughts, 
that spiral through frantic analysis 
concerning trajectory of my life, 
I may hear splash of water on my boat, 
and feel warm glow of sunlight on my skin, 
and hear unseen birds chirping in tall trees. 

When I emerge from shelter of my mind 
to gaze at vastness of the silver sky, 
I almost sense some presence of pure light 
observing my existence with keen eye, 
but I realize with sly grin of respect 
that I project my own mind at blank sky. 

Though bards of yore in hills of Avalon 
sang how they sensed great spirit of the Earth 
radiates from all Nature as Divine Mind, 
I know that conscious scope of cosmic love 
emanates from neural net of my brain 
with arrogance that I beam Soul of God. 

My brain refracts eternal Soul of Light 
that pulses bright in atoms of the void, 
enhancing conscious sense of self I Am 
reflected clear when I quietly observe 
rivers flowing among hills of fruit trees, 
and feel my soul in matrix of its dream. 

With every choice of action I perform, 
based on analysis through measurement 
to discern process of cause and effect, 
I compose my whole river-book of fate 
through chronicle about random events 
which I narrate in straight coherent plot. 

Yet tangled threads of acts people perform 
in sprawling landscape of this cluttered world 
fall apart in chaotic mess of faith 
which fails to account for all variables 
refracted through too many points of view, 
so I hum in tune with the river flow. 

Since I cannot record every event 
that happens in our sprawling maze of myths, 
though I wear mask of countless ancient gods, 
I roast the fish I catch in stream of dreams 
to eat and drink beneath the silent moon, 
and wonder where I will go when I die. 

Class Struggle For Rights

Class Struggle For Rights
© Surazeus
2026 06 19

The key I forge from the last angel heart 
I turn to start the engine of my car, 
then drive acceleration of desire 
on signless road of adventurous hope 
to find elusive gate to Wonderland 
where those who enter find the Promised Land. 

Alone in motor vehicle of faith, 
I navigate weird landscape of lost myths 
past ruined temples where statues of gods 
loom faceless in dim twilight of the past, 
but I keep driving through their labyrinth 
where minotaur of tyranny still lurks. 

Safe in time-machine of curiosity, 
that shelters my psychic fragility 
from expectations of family and friends, 
I sing with brave bards on the radio 
grim songs about heart-break and keeping on 
while I keep driving far from city streets. 

Empowered by Icarian wings of hope, 
Daedalus built from bones of dinosaurs, 
I drive swift Chariot of Ezekiel 
on wheels of fortune through the wilderness 
that flash awake with social energy 
in search for Garden of Eden I bought. 

Far from intense games of social contests 
in tournaments of class struggle for rights, 
I search for garden of sublime delights 
inherent through philosophical quests 
to transcend brutal nothingness of death 
by riding rocket ship to dwell on Mars. 

Adjusting frame of psychic reference, 
I include garden with reflecting pool 
where toads evolve into angelic souls 
who dance with graceful elegance of faith 
in marble temple of the singing skull 
that prophesies how our new state will rise. 

Strange beauty of the flower with long roots, 
that sprouts from swamp muck of my aching heart, 
expands scope of my urgent consciousness 
to contemplate force of cause and effect 
essential to constant progress of change 
that defines our great empire state of mind. 

Against weird blinding light of innocence 
I close my eyes while driving by the cliff, 
to feel extensive height of windiness 
flash sense of awe from pulsing heart of fear 
so I at last perceive with faithful eyes 
mindless spirit that glows in every atom. 

Wordless Tongue Of Fate

Wordless Tongue Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 06 19

Ensconced in damp-soil hush of old oak woods, 
I hold assertive passion of my breath 
when red-tailed hawk lands on rail of my porch 
and stares at me with gold demonic eyes 
that wakes strange horror from peace in my heart 
so I remember my true secret name. 

Explaining why the sun designs our hearts, 
the red-tailed hawk flaps frail wings wet from rain 
and soars into vast blue of emptiness 
but leaves one feather floating in my hand, 
oiled softness shimmering with divinity 
of timeless strength that jolts my heart with love. 

Setting long taut feather of excessive faith 
on river-smoothed stone of my aching heart, 
I ponder mute integrity of death 
that fills my heart with gusts of naked wind 
more heavy than enormous rock of truth 
that teaches me how absence must be felt. 

Though sudden darkness of twilight rings clear 
with clash of light beams metallically fierce, 
I breathe deep brave ambition of the hawk 
to observe two gangs of men with sharp swords 
fight over who will claim the jeweled crown 
held high by young woman with storm-blue eyes. 

After every man in contest for power 
lies mangled and bleeding on thirsty grass, 
I imagine with courage of disgust 
that I claim that jeweled crown for myself, 
but I stay hidden in shadows of fate 
for men who wear the crown are always killed. 

Turning away from field of toxic greed, 
I walk inside the silver wind of faith 
to catch the countless drops of sparkling rain 
so I can taste eternal truth of love 
that nurtures trees to spring from soil of hope 
which bloom with apples of integrity. 

Boiling pan of water on crackling flames, 
I peel ripe apples to read oracle 
with plan to decode fortune of my heart, 
then brew sweet apple cider in moonlight, 
which shimmers warm on wordless tongue of fate 
when I sip sorrow of mute suffering. 

When red-tailed hawk returns at flash of dawn, 
sharp claws gripping pole of my cottage porch, 
she gazes in my eyes with ancient truth 
as if she knows strange secret of my heart, 
so I whisper true name of every ghost 
who tries to convince me I, too, can fly. 

True Greatness Of America

True Greatness Of America
© Surazeus
2026 06 19

We dance free in streets of America 
to celebrate our right to earn a wage 
and live with family in our own home 
and travel wherever we wish to roam 
on Juneteenth Abe abolished slavery 
so every soul may live in Liberty. 

Enchained and dragged across the raging sea 
in fragile boats of innocent despair 
real human beings were forced to slave in fields 
where they sang of freedom with broken hearts 
till Juneteenth Abe abolished slavery 
so every soul may live in Liberty. 

Though we are free to work the job we want 
and earn enough from labor of our hands 
to clothe and feed our family in safe homes 
we slave for the low wage employers play 
since Juneteenth Abe abolished slavery 
so every soul may live in Liberty. 

Rich men who lounge in tower offices 
force us to work long hours for little pay 
so we form unions of brave laborers 
and strike to call for safer Working Ways 
on Juneteenth Abe abolished slavery 
so every soul may live in Liberty. 

Economies of nations thriving well 
are built by farmers raising crops we eat 
and techs in factories assembling things 
and drivers stocking stores where people shop 
for Juneteenth Abe abolished slavery 
so every soul may live in Liberty. 

We now enjoy eight-hour-long working days 
with holidays to celebrate our rights 
and health insurance to work till old age 
and pensions that sustain our twilight years 
since Juneteenth Abe abolished slavery 
so every soul may live in Liberty. 

True greatness of America is built 
by people working with their hands of faith 
as long as we are free to live and play 
while caring for our families with love 
through Juneteenth Abe abolished slavery 
so every soul may live in Liberty. 

We gather in streets of America 
every summer on June Nineteenth to sing 
United with Love we shall overcome 
games rich men play to enslave us with fear 
on Juneteenth Abe abolished slavery 
so every soul may live in Liberty.