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. 

New Child In Her Heart

New Child In Her Heart
© Surazeus
2026 06 18

Small round white pebbles, smoothed by endless flow 
of moon-white water, rippling silver light 
of wordless fear at some dark shadow near 
that looms featureless, reflect her gaunt face, 
hardened into strange mask of someone else 
at sudden flash of mindless ecstasy. 

Exhausted from aggressive fantasy 
to gather berries and eggs in dark woods, 
Stella reposes far from Astrophel 
under dark sycamore on the lush hill, 
and stares at cottages on pastoral farms 
wreathed in smoke from cooking fires at twilight. 

Green apples, still unripe in late spring heat, 
promise weird sweetness of electric juice 
to homeless wanderers on signless roads 
who pause to ponder beauty of farm fields 
bordered by wild hedge-rows of stoic faith, 
while searching for pure essence of the mind. 

Awake in pure mind of her hungry hope, 
yet numbed by ennui of afternoon breeze, 
sly Stella searches tangled woods of fate 
for gift with aspect more sublime than faith 
that weighs boundless burden of mystery 
on fragile raft of her wave-battered heart. 

Deciding to cherish her serene mood 
with breath that powers our corporeal frame, 
Stella hums in harmony with stream waves 
that morph in shapes of monsters with small eyes 
which vanish when she laughs with calm delight 
at beautiful absurdity we share. 

Since Moon shines still on her solitary walk, 
where misty mountain-winds teach her to live 
free from anxious ambition to gain wealth, 
Stella begins to worship florid Nature 
that molds our bodies from river-shore mud 
with indifferent passion to feel, yet know. 

Though genial spirits of our hungry flesh 
decay to blind dust in relentless change 
of harsh necessity to live, she designs 
new language from cries of storm-twisted ghosts, 
which Stella translates from pebbles of shock 
at swelling of the new child in her heart. 

Weird glow of nature, inherent in forms 
that her eyes perceive as colorful swirls, 
informs her mind with quietness of life 
that blooms from shocking vision of soul birth 
with insight at how seeds of ecstasy 
build dwelling place from memory of love. 

Singing Doors Of Nevermore

Singing Doors Of Nevermore
© Surazeus
2026 06 18

Within cold shadow of eternity 
my brain glows with dreams of warm energy 
that wakes my heart with the sharp ache of truth 
so I explore dream-invisible path 
back home to singing doors of Nevermore 
where I make books of long-forgotten lore. 

Wise serpent of Meroveus inspires 
my wretched soul to climb cathedral spires 
where I spread wings of Icarus and fly 
to Wonderland where I can play the spy 
who slips through singing doors of Nevermore 
with eager passion to complete my chore. 

Assertive wolf of Charlemagne attends 
my secret mission to explore strange lands 
where my father once chased the rainbow ghost 
who wants to crown me Son of Zeus the Host 
so I guard singing doors of Nevermore 
with royal robe of Ermine Louis wore. 

Brave lion of Richard strides at my side 
when I discover where wild fairies hide 
who shelter me in lush Broceliande 
when I hide from bloody assassin hand, 
safe behind singing doors of Nevermore 
where I gain Apollo as life mentor. 

Swift horse of Henry portends motor cars 
so I develop eyes of flaming stars 
that help me analyze essential waves 
building empires from blind prophets in caves 
who open singing doors of Nevermore 
that shimmer with dreams on the timeless shore. 

Moon crow of Arthur haunts garden of fruit 
where Melusine plays the dragon-bone flute 
enchanting eyes of Cetus with sad tune 
who wants to grant each person their boon 
hidden by singing doors of Nevermore 
when grape vines spiral from psychotic spore. 

Weird secret code that Merlin diagrams 
revives cult of Serapis herding rams, 
so I invent religion of Ishtar 
while driving to work each dawn in my car, 
which opens singing doors of Nevermore 
to temple of truth inside the bookstore. 

I take mask from the ancient gallery 
that matches Jester Bard of Fillory 
to work as Custodian of the Wellspring 
from which springs spirit of my magic ring 
which unlocks singing doors of Nevermore 
so I rule Earth as honest Manticore. 

How To Grow Dream Wings

How To Grow Dream Wings
© Surazeus
2026 06 17

When he hears his child in her clean bedroom 
cry with voice that cracks the evening moon, 
Joseph lifts her up from the wood-barred crib 
and holds her in his arms with gentle care, 
humming wordless song to comfort her heart 
while he contemplates how to make her smile. 

Our hearts are permanent as twinkling stars 
that gleam in swirls of smoke from a warm hearth, 
so cling to me with comfort-seeking arms 
and I will teach you how to grow dream wings 
so you may fly beyond bounds of this world 
and find its secret treasures in your heart. 

Hearing her husband sing soft lullaby 
to their daughter when she wakes from nightmare, 
Kate gathers raindrops from cup of the rose 
and sprinkles eyes of angels on her cheeks, 
then as she cuddles with husband and child 
she snaps photos with eye-phone of her heart. 

Posting photos of their cute family 
on social media sites with glowing heart, 
Kate drinks juice by the frosted window pane 
then plays haunting tunes on the old piano, 
on which her grandmother used to play hymns, 
beaming that she preserves her legacy. 

Gazing in eyes of his daughter with pride, 
Joseph tells her with reassuring voice 
that he can see reflected in her eyes 
timeless light of the moon that preserves 
memories of her childhood in tender songs 
that hide in heart of the crow in the oak. 

Because we are all dying every day, 
Kate sings with maternal lullaby voice, 
we give each other love with caring faith 
for we are transient shadows of the wraith 
who gives our hearts wings of courageous hope 
so we can transform sorrows into joy. 

As you grow up and learn to walk and speak, 
Joseph explains as he kisses her cheek, 
we will show you beauty of this world 
for, though all creatures breathing air of hope 
will die and vanish into nothingness, 
while we still live we give each other love. 

How glad am I, Joseph hears Kate exclaim, 
that we are safe in great America 
where everyone is free to live and play, 
instead of in those lands across the sea 
where gangsters in harsh halls of government 
bomb homes of families who are just like us. 

Never About The Trees

Never About The Trees
© Surazeus
2026 06 17

Because it was never about the trees, 
except how telephone poles steal her voice 
and twist emotional tones into jokes, 
Nerthus decides to build home furniture, 
molding raw wood into tables and chairs 
which brings people together with calm love. 

Through hypothetical thoughts of desire 
with unshared solitude of calm regret, 
Nerthus measures vastness of her weird heart 
that wears mask on deserted stage of faith 
in tune with social discourse of the hour 
when she traverses time without her heart. 

Since she can never understand our words, 
despite embracing feelings she finds cold, 
Nerthus translates strange shadow of her mind 
to clarity of colors angels brew 
from blood of children killed in civil wars 
whose faces glow from flash of friendly bombs. 

Based on unknown proverb of naked truth, 
that doubles phantoms of our hungry souls 
through endless mirrors on pages of books, 
Nerthus calculates equivalent thoughts 
to match alien truths devised to untwist 
beauty born from concept of nothingness. 

Since words of wisdom bleed from her torn tongue, 
against inverted pattern striped with eyes, 
Nerthus maps contemptuous canticles 
smeared across ghost-bare hills of tangled roots 
to prove her speech expresses how she feels 
with honest bitterness of unearned love. 

When she decides that yellow asters match 
veils of silent rapture drenched in mute rain, 
Nerthus conducts shy ceremonial game 
to hide unhealed wounds of maturity 
with solemn chorus only lake winds scream, 
too beautiful for chords that hurt our hearts. 

Her tales may seem vaguely mysterious 
since her beliefs are hidden in plain code, 
so Nerthus cracks oblivion with prayers 
unanswered after weirdly portent words 
reveal blank space between our pulsing hearts 
that no amount of trust can bridge till death. 

Since consequence of her belief in God 
means nothing to cold waves that wreck hard cliffs 
with gentle kisses of indifferent love, 
Nerthus gives her daughter small apple seed 
without explaining how to build new home 
from planks of wood that rot in hungry rain. 

Rising Sun Of Truth

Rising Sun Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 06 16

Though blinded by the rising sun of truth, 
that deconstructs weird religious world view 
preprogrammed in my brain as I grew up, 
I gaze with awe at beauty of the world 
that blazes brightly outside frame of words 
with glow that dissolves ideologies. 

Awakened by the rising sun of truth, 
that cracks mirror of my childhood beliefs, 
I gather fragments of social events 
to assemble new world ontology 
depicting progress of the human race 
as monkeys boasting they have angel wings. 

Heart entranced by the rising sun of truth, 
that luminates grove of shadowy ghosts, 
I enter cave beside the roaring sea 
where Polyphemus kept his herd of sheep 
to hear his skull explain in riddle-code 
how to take power in the Twilight Zone. 

Empowered by the rising sun of truth, 
that channels souls of ancient demigods 
through flashing neurons of my spongy brain, 
I strum the broken lyre of Mercury 
and howl conceptual hymns of ardency 
before locked gates of Heaven in hard rain. 

Soul transformed by the rising sun of truth, 
that rearranges puzzle of my mind, 
I organize my random memories 
in coherent narrative of my life 
where I journey on quest of the wise fool 
to comprehend the true nature of things. 

Still amazed by the rising sun of truth, 
that weaves my soul from flashing molecules, 
I climb high rugged trail of eager hope 
to grand castle on steep Harshena peak 
to find Thoosa bathing in her pool 
who hopes I will give her Apple of Eris. 

Not amused by the rising sun of truth, 
that melts thick wax of my Icarian wings, 
I visit Catullus in his humble home 
where zephyrs rustle leaves of apple trees 
as Aphrodite dances in silk gown 
while airplanes bomb cathedral of the clown. 

Analyzed by the rising sun of truth, 
that conjugates emotions of my heart 
through unauthorized ciphers of charades, 
I dismantle components of my brain 
designed to calculate customized worth, 
then document dynamic game of thrones. 

Stranger With Four Eyes

Stranger With Four Eyes
© Surazeus
2026 06 16

Strange laughter echoes in deserted streets 
where ghosts of children killed in civil wars 
play hide and seek with angels of the moon, 
which startles me awake from reverie 
concerning how to rebuild fantasy 
that we require to live our daily lives. 

Shocked by harsh candor of our unchurched bells 
that ring with frantic ecstasy of fear, 
my doppelganger hides his secret face 
with mask he steals from cracked statue of God 
which proves new zeitgeist messes with our minds 
by rearranging moral signs of fate. 

We need to hear sad whistle of the train 
that blows across broad prairie of mad wind 
as if the tame wolf of our legal hearts 
aches to escape cold walls of paradise 
and run with ravens along railroad tracks 
which always leads our hearts to Wonderland. 

Too fake our private stories of success 
for fools to understand straight messages, 
encoded with proud riddles of the banks 
that charge us hidden fees of fortitude, 
so we decide to flee the Promised Land 
by wearing white cloaks in the swirling snow. 

To mark our journey in dark pathless woods, 
I leave old photos of our family times 
along the way we wind in withered waste, 
but oldest woman in the world retrieves 
discarded memories with attentive hands 
and pastes them in her album of lost tales. 

When I find Sibyl with gold spider eyes 
lounging casually by the willow tree, 
I ask if I can have my memories back, 
but she laughs softly as the butterfly, 
then plays heart-wrenching tunes on violin 
that shatters our moon in fragments of faith. 

I wander blind deserted streets of hope 
and map each spot where I hear ghostly cry 
to mark where someone felt their heart crack wide 
from shock at crumbling of our old world view 
so I can analyze with careful code 
spatial adjustment of our social play. 

Thus when I meet the Stranger with four eyes 
at signless crossroads by the empty pool, 
I ask why every conscious creature dies, 
so she gives me ripe apple of her heart 
that writhes with golden serpent of desire, 
and then I understand so much I laugh. 

Kaaba Of Her Destiny

Kaaba Of Her Destiny
© Surazeus
2026 06 15

Walking toward the sea to find her lost words 
that rise in blazing glory of red dawn, 
Sepideh sings with strange enchanting voice 
about innocent birds that lose their wings 
so they find refuge in the cypress tree 
and nest in tangled tresses of her hair. 

Untangling tresses of her long black hair, 
Sepideh frees the wingless hearts of men 
who long to remain in trap of her heart, 
but she finds it sweeter to wander free 
across deserted Biyaban of hope, 
and make her bed on burning sand of faith. 

Far from the crowded cities of locked doors, 
where men with iron hands grasp at her heart, 
Sepideh finds in dark deserted cave 
Apron of Kaveh tattered in the dust, 
so she cleans Flag of Freedom with her tears, 
then bears it as she walks the signless road. 

Kneeling by bright pond in Biyaban, 
where gold sun frames her heart with wordless grace, 
Sepideh gazes in mirror of love 
past mask of her face in the Ayeneh 
where she perceives divine Light of Zurvan 
that luminates pure nature of mankind. 

While she follows flow of the Haraz River, 
that winds through oak woods to Mount Damavand, 
Sepideh smiles when morning Saba breeze 
brings scent of cloves to soothe her aching heart, 
bearing secret message of yearning love 
from faceless lover she may never meet. 

She finds no roses in the Biyaban, 
where no Majnun, possessed with bitter grief, 
flees from oppressive rules of social pride, 
nor hears forlorn song of the nightingale, 
yet boundless regions of the houseless waste 
expands scope of true love in her vast heart. 

Seeking star-eyed beauty of the Simurgh, 
which emanates from her love-wounded heart, 
Sepideh walks the roadless wilderness 
on treacherous journey of her aching soul, 
disoriented by shattering of her mask, 
so she dances wildly with Saba wind. 

Awake in Golestan, garden of fruit, 
reborn from horror of the Biyaban, 
Sepideh sings with mercurial voice 
while caressing rose petals of respect, 
then laughs as she drinks wine of starlit truth, 
safe in the Kaaba of her destiny.  

New Lamp Of Diogenes

New Lamp Of Diogenes
© Surazeus
2026 06 15

Though the world grows dark from cruel tyranny 
through oppression of greedy oligarchs 
who have seized power in grand halls of state, 
I shall walk forth on signless road of fate 
bearing the new Lamp of Diogenes 
so we can unite to fight against hate. 

With pompous heart of King Lear on the heath, 
commiserating with wretches of fate 
pelted by pitiless storm of despair, 
I raise my wounded soul up from the ground 
to bear the new Lamp of Diogenes 
and prove the Heavens are just to the wronged. 

Concerned about weird state of world affairs, 
corrupted by gangs of exploitive thieves, 
I take clear measure of humanity 
to analyze chess games of global power, 
then bear the new Lamp of Diogenes 
to find the honest leader we can trust. 

Through knowledge of suffering people endure 
I transform pity to attentive grace 
by looking in my heart of eager faith 
so I may know what vision to invent, 
beamed by the new Lamp of Diogenes, 
that luminates our way to paradise. 

When sunlight coils saturation of loss 
by folding feathered swirls of timeless truth, 
my heart shall annotate redacted code 
that could obliterate our spectacle 
tuned by the new Lamp of Diogenes 
so we surf endless waves of social change. 

Though I do not know name of every soul 
who lives in every land of spinning Earth, 
I know we share same dreams of love with hope 
for we are neighbors in opposing states, 
tricked by the new Lamp of Diogenes 
to believe we all can achieve world peace. 

Around bright campfire of our global faith 
we gather with lost refugees of fate 
when tyrants bomb our homes to steal our land, 
then feast and sing with faith in loyal trust 
forged by the new Lamp of Diogenes 
as light that guides our quest to nurture love. 

With lion heart of courage we shall walk 
with Sharbat Gula on long road of fear, 
enduring cruel vicissitudes of fate, 
for her green eyes of wisdom glow with faith, 
sparked by the new Lamp of Diogenes 
to dispel darkness of cruel tyranny.