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. 

Jitteriness Of The Deer

Jitteriness Of The Deer
© Surazeus
2026 08 27

In evening shadow of cautious regret 
Carla treads through elm grove to flowered glade, 
toward blue house beside the round silver pool, 
alert with jitteriness of the deer 
to danger lurking in darkening gloom, 
body buzzing with terror of grim death. 

Stomping boots with earnest possessiveness, 
Robert searches for his runaway wife 
who cost three horses and seven cows 
when he purchased her from the poor blacksmith, 
and shouts her name loud in darkening gloom, 
heart pounding with religious rage of pride. 

Trembling in chilly wind of fearful hope, 
Carla knocks lightly on the blue house door, 
but glances behind her in shadowed woods 
when she hears him shouting her name in rage, 
and gasps when old woman opens the door, 
whispering hoarsely to hide her soul from death. 

Running toward blue house by the silver pool, 
Robert grabs thin arm of the frightened girl 
who stares at him with black eyes of the deer 
which attempts to escape jaws of the wolf, 
and grins at the old woman with gray eyes 
to explain the little girl is his wife. 

Frowning with concern as the moon glows gold, 
Catherine insists he let the girl go, 
for she is far too young to be his wife, 
but Robert pushes her with growl of rage 
with force that causes her to tumble back 
so her frail head cracks on hard oak table. 

In purple dimness of the twilight zone, 
Carla gasps in shock of frightened despair, 
then cradles head of the old crone with care, 
whose frail body spasms at jolt of pain, 
vainly attempting to stop gush of blood 
that glistens with horror of mute moonlight. 

Twisting arm free from hard grip of his hand 
when he drags her away from the blue house, 
Carla runs through elms to the gushing stream, 
pauses by the stone to softly declare 
that she would rather die than marry him, 
then jumps in swift current of hopeless fear. 

Crawling on shore of Plutonian gloom, 
many miles downstream from her lost hometown, 
Carla huddles beside the apple tree, 
and cries with anguish of hopeless despair 
when she thinks about old woman who died, 
then eats apples at lonely flash of dawn. 

Map Meadows Of Elysium

Map Meadows Of Elysium
© Surazeus
2026 08 27

Across the frozen fields of ardent faith 
I hear uncanny hymns of wordless hope 
sung by lost angels of the Pleistocene 
that lure me with enchanting siren call 
to journey eastward to the rising sun 
which highlights fruit trees of the Promised Land. 

Trapped in glass temple of the eyeless wraith 
that whispers proverbs about how to cope, 
I offer apple to Queen Melusine 
who bids I take new God Mask from the wall, 
then teaches me to use the Judgment Gun 
when I guard Heaven with my red right hand. 

When son of Jesus reigns as King of Earth 
with angels in hierarchies of state power, 
I ask my father, Archivist of Fate, 
if I can join cult of the Seraphim 
to play role in his global government 
as secret agent of King Jupiter. 

Attending sacred ritual of rebirth 
that takes place in the high Rapunzel Tower, 
I journey Sacred Way to Pluto Gate 
with acolytes while chanting Orphic hymn 
to seek wisdom through psychic punishment 
so I rise reborn as Prince Lucifer. 

Arriving at the Telesterium, 
to join in Eleusinian Mysteries, 
I experience cycle of birth and death 
while wearing oak mask of Persephone 
when I drink nectar of spiritual light, 
then sing in small Anactoron of Truth. 

Presiding in new-built Astarium, 
where Ishtar dictates Book of Fantasies, 
I lead worshippers in rites of deep breath 
that primes our minds to beam epiphany 
when we learn rules for psychedelic flight 
from Icarus who plays messiah sleuth. 

I seek salvation of the Rolling Stone 
which Sisyphus orients to build Stonehenge 
since Oberon hosts festival of elves 
to rule Empire of Earth from Avalon 
for twenty thousand years of solitude 
till hunger builds the towers of Ilium. 

I carve magic spells in runes on god bones 
while Tantalus gives Ishtar sacred orange 
so Apollon stores books on archive shelves 
at wizard academy in Oregon 
where I learn arcane art of pulchritude 
when I map meadows of Elysium. 

Brave Urgency Of Hope

Brave Urgency Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 08 27

Inspired by gold-face shadow on pine hull, 
designed by dawn light gleaming through soft mist, 
Saphyrus ventures from ship of his heart 
to cautiously explore the waking world 
where breezes whisper in large silver leaves 
strange story of the way time unspools all. 

While constellations of the pre-dawn sky 
frame how his eyes perceive tree-bristling hills, 
Saphyrus stretches body of stiff limbs 
to activate brave urgency of hope 
for picking strawberries on the hill slope 
where sea winds prance on deer legs of desire. 

Urging the woman wearing deer-skin robe 
to shelter from fierce wind inside his heart, 
Saphyrus gives her strawberries to eat, 
and feels her eyes etch wisdom of calm faith 
on rough skin of his soul with tender hands 
that warm his trembling body as they kiss. 

When lightning, flashing across the gray sea, 
disperses clouds to unveil the bright sun, 
Saphyrus follows woman with green eyes 
down to the swirling waves of ardency 
where she floats on tormenting waves of time 
till he becomes the land that cradles her. 

Feeling as if his aching soul transforms 
to become this nameless woman he loves, 
Saphyrus chooses to walk by her side 
when they explore lush hills of rustling trees 
to fill leather bags with apples and eggs, 
then follows her up to silver moon ridge. 

Sitting before airigh of rugged stones 
at entrance to large hall inside high mound, 
Saphyrus feeds wood to the crackling flames 
as green-eyed deer woman with long black hair 
brews apple cider with honey and eggs 
that bubbles in brass cauldron of her heart. 

Slicing cheese that she makes from pungent milk 
where wooly sheep graze on thick tufts of grass, 
Saphyrus gazes at the distant loch 
that shimmers silver between rugged hills, 
and wonders if the ship on which he sailed 
from Ostia still lies on the pebbled beach. 

Hoisting sail on his ship of eager love 
that glides over the wine-dark sea of time, 
Saphyrus takes pregnant deer woman home 
from rugged hills of Caledonia 
to sunlit meadows of lush Latium 
where she breastfeeds their daughter in the garden. 

Wild Carmanian Waste

Wild Carmanian Waste
© Surazeus
2026 08 26

Mother of this great globe that teems with life, 
whose psychic energy through human brains 
strives to wake mortal souls with cautious sight 
of faith in what our minds perceive, reveal 
pure essence of atoms in frames of matter 
so I feel your divine mind in my soul. 

Since obstinate questionings about life, 
delivered by the faceless ghost of earnest hope 
embodied by the laughing messenger, 
drive me beyond walls of religious creeds, 
I render brave mission to comprehend 
engine that motivates my quest for truth. 

Twilight phantasms glowing in my dreams 
spark me to fine-tune taut lyre of my heart 
so breath of our First Mother plays quick tune 
of wisdom across matrix of my brain, 
expressed as solemn hymn of honesty 
which charms no other heart on Earth but mine. 

Since charmed eddies of autumnal winds form 
mound of forgetful leaves over my skull, 
which sings wordless prophecies about death, 
I sing in solitude of wind-blown trees 
surreal fantasies through weird melodies 
which gleam as lamp that guides my earnest steps. 

Nurtured by solemn visions of soul growth 
at fountain of divine philosophy 
that radiates in ambient air from lush Earth, 
I seek strange truths in undiscovered lands 
where city mazes of steel-framed glass towers 
mushroom from meadows where my fathers farmed. 

Far from the tangled wilderness of hope, 
where my ancestors built havens of peace, 
I cradle secure sense of solitude 
while roaming streets of rainbow-chasing crowds 
among glass towers of commercial wealth 
constructed on ruins of ancient temples. 

No longer lost in wild Carmanian waste, 
where boat of my exploratory heart 
lies beached on shifting sands of certitude, 
I keep mute conference with my dream-hexed soul 
to translate spells of anguish blind ghosts howl 
so passing strangers stop to hear my song. 

That spectral soul as spirit of our times, 
whom I encounter at the desolate tomb 
of our cultural god, opens cyber wings, 
designed by Icarus, and teaches me 
secret of composing truth-riddled verse 
with Cassandra Code to guide the lost home. 

Mirrored Stillness Of The Soul

Mirrored Stillness Of The Soul
© Surazeus
2026 08 26

Despite the mirrored stillness of the soul 
that hides essential nature of my heart 
in sweet illusion of the mask I wear, 
my mind seethes with ambition to transcend 
physical limits of body and mind 
by weaving my memories in riddle verse. 

If bright coherence of the conscious soul 
still glows with integrated sense of self 
after functions of the body have ceased, 
as people are so desperate to believe, 
then why are they not all around us now 
whispering their dreams in words we can hear? 

Just as the frail flame on the candle wick 
puffs into delicate curls of mute smoke, 
so vibrant pulse of psychic energy 
will vanish into nothingness at death 
since chemical glow of the dreaming mind 
ceases to emanate clear consciousness. 

Just as water, shaped by shell of the bowl, 
disperses into incoherent swirls 
when whole frame is fractured into small shards, 
so intact process of the neural net 
will scatter into frazzled sparks of unthought, 
unable to preserve memories as dreams. 

This special feeling of my own uniqueness 
that binds chemical energy as me, 
conjured by ancestral memories of life 
programmed by genes to beam my sense of self, 
tricks me to think my conscious mind has lived 
before my birth as immortal God Self. 

My sense of self is programmed from my genes 
by conscious functions of attentive brains 
in my ancestors who created life 
through each new generation of my being 
that has evolved four hundred million years, 
so I feel as if I have lived forever. 

My brain is but one temporary node 
of consciousness awake in me this hour 
at this still point of my immortal genes 
designed by my ancestors to perceive 
process to generate bodies of children 
another hundred million years of life. 

I am coherent soul combining souls 
of all my ancestors in Sense of Self, 
so I would like to wake in my descendants, 
but they will form their own coherent souls 
in bodies animated by brave love 
bright in the mirrored stillness of the soul. 

Broken Things Of Time

Broken Things Of Time
© Surazeus
2026 08 26

If I wrap huge thoughts in small cage of wings 
to climb complex ladder of chorus tunes, 
I might feel swelling of my conscious mind 
with urgent passion to become the sky, 
but this body my ancestors designed 
constrains my quest to analyze the why. 

I never mourn the broken things of time 
since more than magic of conceptual faith 
preserves integrity of vibrant souls 
with web of words we weave from memories 
to maintain format of our worldview creed 
connecting us to every soul on Earth. 

My face glows in the window of my home 
as constellation formed from long-dead stars 
that flash awake in eyes of the moon owl 
who always watches me perform my life 
in vain attempt to earn credits of faith 
enough for admittance to paradise. 

Half-open doors of innocent desire 
lure me to restart play of my failed life 
with new beginning in some distant town 
where I seek treasure of the secret truth 
hidden in library of ancient tales 
recording lives of people without names. 

Though I try to carry joy in my hands, 
it flows away with liquid solvency 
while I sing quiet carol of my heart 
in silent darkness of the endless day 
where nameless people wander streets of fate 
by hiding pain of sorrow in their eyes. 

When Artemis returns from bright moon 
with seeds of trees she finds in every land, 
she asks me to plant them in town square parks 
where they bloom lush with soft angelic souls 
who whisper fairy tales as I pass by 
so I may understand why all souls die. 

When she explains long lineage of her grief 
in strange words her heart attempts to invent, 
she speaks with fondness of her bitter pain 
since she has danced with searing thorn of fear 
too many years to extricate it now, 
then grips my hand and sings in agony. 

I wonder, as I wander in oak woods 
with basket of persimmons on my arm,  
if my death will be silent as the lake 
that sings with shimmer of sad restless wind, 
but when they make short movie of my life 
I hope they show how much I ache to live. 

Become Ideal God Self

Become Ideal God Self
© Surazeus
2026 08 25

Midway through journey of my eager life 
I find myself in dark wood of the mind 
to study apparitions on black bough 
of faceless ghosts who ask me to record 
tale of unjust exile from paradise, 
so we lounge by white chickens and tell jokes. 

Life occurs when pattern key of the sperm 
unlocks material process of the egg, 
so immortal soul of genes unspools coils 
that assemble atoms in chemicals 
to weave neural network of the brain 
which animates organic frame of flesh. 

Consciousness glows when dream-recording brain 
configures program through analysis 
to gather and consume chemical mass 
that reconstructs the frame of glowing flesh 
which ambulates on landscape of the mind 
to generate new life before we die. 

Death happens when component atom nodes, 
that compose chemical organic beings, 
deconstruct material frame of the self 
so its conscious soul vanishes to sparks 
of atoms that dissipate in mute wind 
and swirl about in random gusts of fate. 

Some atoms stay stuck in clumps of mute rocks 
billions of years as the Earth spins in space, 
while others in dirt are sucked by tree roots, 
transformed to fruit that organic beings eat, 
so atoms that once formed my dreaming brain 
now become flashes in your dreaming brain. 

Every atom belonging to my soul 
belongs to every soul who ever lives, 
for we are clumps of atoms Earth creates 
so she can wake in visions of our brains 
as we strive to become ideal God Self 
which our ancestors make to guide our way. 

Thus when I hear your voice call out my name, 
that we invent to signify each self, 
I smile and open arms of welcoming 
to share my meal in shelter of my heart, 
then we tell each other tales about life 
so we expand scope of our conscious sense. 

Our parents show us how to walk the world 
and name each object and action we sense 
till they vanish into the wind we breathe, 
then we show our own children how to walk 
the world and name its essence in new song 
till we vanish into the wind they breathe. 

Abstract Space Of My Mind

Abstract Space Of My Mind
© Surazeus
2026 08 25

Alone in the abstract space of my mind, 
where reason flaps white raven wings of faith, 
I translate sorrow of ancestral dreams 
to heart-enchanting hymn of honest hope 
that shines with ancient wisdom of the sky 
as lamp that leads me to the Promised Land. 

By forging keys of reason from my pain 
I prove to fallen angels in the rain 
that I am abstract concept of my being, 
primed to ascend on breath-approving wing 
through fraught contingency of spinning space 
as pristine idol with strange divine face. 

Growth through epistemic humility 
provides oblique viewpoint for me to fly 
against the mindless tides of social change 
when I mold dreams of brave uncertainty 
to fit stylistic canon of our state 
while lounging in chalet of mortal fate. 

Through fragments of the humble anecdote, 
based firmly on allusive bricolage, 
my hand arranges puzzle shards of truth 
within aesthetic quadrant of our creed 
that weaves each unrelated reference 
in tensile matrix of our world-shared dreams. 

With programmatic openness of fear, 
concealed in symbols of unabstract art, 
I fashion gossip into ballad code 
to manufacture products from lake muck 
that soothes our wounded hearts with cute bromides 
developed by the archivist of dreams. 

Because we sail the spirit-coiling sea 
across infinite waves of starlit souls, 
we call to lighthouse keeper of our faith 
whose eyes illuminate surface of souls 
so we rise up from abyss of despair 
as swan-winged whales of innocent desire. 

While temporary glimmers of our souls 
pulse under thin skin of our mortal pride, 
great dragon of our hearts expands wild wings 
so we become the self we choose to play 
despite attempts of bitter Thought Police 
to interpret false meaning from our psalm. 

Absorbed by landscape of the mindless vale 
to flow with beauty of the sparkling stream, 
I feel strong tidal pull of social vibes 
reverse abstraction of my dreaming mind, 
so we hold hands and walk the river trail 
to chat about the earnest tones of birds.