Cloak Of Invisible Faith © Surazeus 2026 04 28 If I find truth before the end of time in song of sparrows in old maple trees, I might find some jagged mountain to climb where no official can charge me late fees, or else sail ship of state to Samarkand where Hatshepsut dances on shifting sand. Though I wear cloak of invisible faith Death always seems to find out where I live hanging out with Boudica in the laithe where I milk cows with eagerness to give book of secret techniques to the sad prince describing how to make jelly from quince. I move to the house my grandfather built near Pacific Ocean on Seamount Drive where I study math formulas of guilt that always spur lazy people to strive for great achievements in the Land of Oz though I play the rebel without a cause. I wander randomly on my vague quest to find that Woman is the Holy Grail, since my ancestors traveled so far west from Scythia along the Oregon Trail as the Roman Empire still lives in us for we are heirs of hungry Tantalus. I stand on street corner by the book store to strum the lyre of Mercury and sing about divine spirit in iron core that spins inside the Earth through pulsing ring while people toss me coins as they walk by since no one wants to understand the Why. We elect greedy thief as president who likes to mocks the haughty Hercules whose sons rule empire of the occident through dialectic of sly Socrates as sword he wields to expose fake beliefs though Jesus has his own weird leitmotifs. Since Child of Aphrodite in silk gown brews honeysuckle wine from wounded hearts, I call Ghost of Pallas to hide the crown beneath rotten apples in broken carts, yet busts of emperors on my book shelf teach me how to see the thing-in-itself. Apple trees produce fruit to reproduce, caring not whether we eat them or not, so I drink nourishing concept of juice while Ophelia waits for me on the yacht, yet I write truth I find in Riddle Verse because my angel is the Healing Nurse.
Tuesday, April 28, 2026
Cloak Of Invisible Faith
Still-Changing Maze
Still-Changing Maze © Surazeus 2026 04 28 Lost in still-changing maze of social myths, I carry memories of home in my heart which shines with ancestral star of my soul so I may journey straight toward my life goal though Truth keeps shifting frame of reference to readjust focus of my world view. Blind in still-changing maze of ancient truths, I sing electric radiance of my heart that echoes clear off high museum walls so I know where I am on path of time as we progress from warring nation-states to global union of factories and farms. Helpless in still-changing maze of desire, I whisper ephemeral web of hope as I crawl cobblestone road of concern with blood on my hands and dirt on my face from defending fruit garden of my home to protect my family from greedy thieves. Awake in still-changing maze of mad ghosts, I strum the lyre of Mercury with sass to deflate pompous tyrants with bad jokes when the clown wears plastic crown of the king and struts on battleship of cowardice to beat his chest with fierce gorilla shriek. Amused in still-changing maze of brave cowards, I join parade of angels withing wings who follow Lucifer with Torch of Truth to oppose tyranny of Jupiter who lives in quaint cottage across the lake where he strolls in woods to commune with Nature. Surprised in still-changing maze of wise fools, I carve dream runes on trunks of countless trees to chronicle whole history of the world while glowing clouds cast shadows on the world where fishermen hold flowers of respect and ask ballerinas to marry them. Dazed in still-changing maze of psychic faith, I perform role of social architect to design global political system based on justice and liberty for all, then fly Icarus kite in city park where wild children turn into butterflies. Glad in still-changing maze of sordid facts, I must extract aesthetic capital from harsh suffering common people endure by singing elegy to praise the dead who wander labyrinth of timeless dreams as wordless shadows trapped in tales of books.
Circus Of Human History
Circus Of Human History © Surazeus 2026 04 28 If I parcel territory of dreams to house the ghost of every character preserved in the text of ten billion tales, the vast maze of myths in which they reside would cover all the waste lands of the Earth where they repeat loop of their lives forever. Grateful for Death that will erase my soul from the circus of human history, I skip with carefree joy on signless road past amusement park of America to play instead in wistful Wonderland where Alice pours tea for the Broken Clock. When Lancelot spies from Tower of Pride dead Lady of Shallot in Boat of Faith, he hustles downstairs to the river shore, but finds Ophelia half-drowned instead, but when he wades in to rescue the princess Gabriel bears her away on swan wings. After he escapes from Tower of Hope with Broken Clock he stole from the White Queen, Icarus wanders in bright Ravenwood till he finds lost Lamp of Diogenes covered by orange leaves with riddles of faith, but Hamlet grabs it first and runs away. After working the night shift to make cars with artificial intelligence gadgets, Grendel drinks beer and watches morning news where Cassandra and Bacchus analyze labile state of the world economy, then walks his dog along the shady lane. Escaping her cruel stalker, Romeo, Juliet moves to small town in Oregon where she works for the county government mapping parcel outlines for the tax office, so she meets Hamlet at the library when they read poetry at the open mic. Cinderella visits the hospital where Romeo sulks with a broken arm, so they eat hamburgers and drink root beer while watching drama Alchemy of Souls, then plan to mountain climb in Austria and maybe marry in Niagara Falls. Crucified on the last telephone pole somewhere in desert of New Mexico, Achilles Christ cries out with anguished voice, "Superman, why hast thou forsaken me?" then transforms into psycho-robot owl who recites Bill of Rights at the White House.
Monday, April 27, 2026
Choir Of Lost Wanderers
Choir Of Lost Wanderers © Surazeus 2026 04 27 To raise my hand against the roaring ocean I search for sacred diamond of my heart that spirals from core of the universe so I can discern truth among the lies which guides my journey from land of my birth to visit every country on the Earth. My heart may never settle in one land or take root in rich soil beside some river, since my ancestors never stayed for long in any valley where their fruit trees bloom, for someone always drives them from their land so they wander on before they get stuck. Before roots bind us to this fertile land, so we are trapped in cage of paradise, we pack our memories in wagon of hope and journey onward down the signless road to spin four wheels of fortune with tall tales and find another vale to live a while. Forever immigrant on restless feet, fueled by incessant swirl of ocean waves, as landless refugee driven away by thieves who colonize farms my fathers built, and pilfer fruit from trees my mothers tended, I follow star of my heart far from Heaven. Though I never feel at home in my country, since every land where my ancestors dwell becomes cemetery where they bones cry, I plant fruit seeds on every river shore to build ten thousand towns in fertile vales, so my home becomes wherever I roam. My body sprouts from sorrow of the Earth, and my soul writhes from passion of the Sea, as I weave wings from feathers of fallen angels with mission to transcend bounds of my flesh, inspired by luminous phantom of love, so I explore the rich world till Death finds me. My raised hand strums waves of the roaring ocean that ring with vibrant music of lyre strings so I can translate her maternal song to verse in every language of the Earth in hopes that homeless people of the world may sing psalms in choir of lost wanderers. Now every country in the world is mine since I am home in every land I walk for all the world is abode of my soul, safe shelter where I nest with gracious strangers who feed my heart for tales I sing to them, then we bid farewell as I journey on.
Timeless Lyre Of Mercury
Timeless Lyre Of Mercury © Surazeus 2026 04 27 Since I have accomplished work of my life, composing epic of philosophers to glorify deeds of searchers for truth through tradition of Academia, then you may take my hand, beautiful Death, and carry me to lush Elysian Fields. There I shall lounge for all eternity on orchard shores beside the River Styx, and strum the timeless lyre of Mercury to sing enchanting verses of my heart that form Astarian Scriptures I compose with you beside me in dream of our tale. Beneath veils of purple Wisteria, that scent sweet air from bower of our home, we chat about strange stories of mankind while through sun-glowing flowers bee-wings drone that fertilize my heart with timeless truth through deep analysis of social games. When they arrive on boat that Charon rows across the ceaseless tide of life and death, I call names of the Lost Ones killed in wars though they were scattered far across waste lands, so they relax in temple of our hearts and drink elixir of old memories. Cold as bright moon-rainbow of aching truth, ghosts of the countless dead in ring of stones dance gracefully with timeless dream of faith while skeletons of bodies rot in soil to nurture roots of fruit trees up on Earth where children find treasures in shadowed woods. Feet bleeding from our quest to find the cave from which First Mother birthed the human race, we climb the winding rocky trail of hope to break fetters of slavery and despair on endless journey to the Promised Land with nothing but tools in our crafting hands. Though it seems goodness of the crowded world has withered from harsh traumatic abuse we suffer struggling to survive each day, we give each other fruit we steal from Hell and build new Heaven with courageous hands so our children inherit paradise. When I rot mutely in tomb of my heart, Death may call homeless people of the world to gather in my mausoleum hall and feast on fruit from the generous Earth while skull of Orpheus prophecies truth and I play lyre of Mercury with sass.
Old Song His Father Sang
Old Song His Father Sang © Surazeus 2026 04 27 Small pony gallops on the river shore with casual nonchalance of happy hope to find the celestial pear tree of truth and feast on transient beauty of this world while Phoebus plays worn lyre of Mercury and sings the same old song his father sang. "Regret should not rule how we live each day," Phoebus explains to the gold yarrow bloom, but sighs and leans against the tall pear tree as aching sorrow settles on his heart, heavy as river stone no man can move, longing to sing old song his father sang. Dozing half-asleep in warm late-spring sun, Phoebus feels presence of shimmering ghost whose long gold hair wraps his mind in soft web, so he reaches out his attentive hand to caress glamorous haze of her face and wakes to see her leaning over him. Clear face of Cassandra with dark gold eyes fills the whole sky with gleam of her skin, so Phoebus stretches and offers her pears, then strums strings of worn lyre with inspired hope and sings heart-enchanting melody of love while she eats fruit with juice-glistening lips. Embraced with passion of the turning world, Phoebus and Cassandra kiss with delight, weaving spirit threads of their pulsing minds through shimmering web of the universe, which expands scope of compassionate faith till they become one soul of nameless joy. Setting Cassandra on pony of trust, Phoebus leads them along the winding stream while she bears basket of pears on her lap, toward the large market town on the lake shore where she sells pears while he strums taut lyre strings to practice same old song his father sang. Glowing with pleasure of living their day, Phoebus takes hands of Cassandra in his so they dance together on the lake shore while everyone gathers in temple hall to feast and laugh, till they all hush with hope to hear Phoebus sing song his father sang. "We are frail flowers blooming from the Earth who scatter seeds of our souls in the soil so our children will bloom from womb of time, for, though our bodies may flourish, then wither, in seasons of change for thousands of years, we are born again in children of love."
Sunday, April 26, 2026
Green Law Of The Tree
Green Law Of The Tree © Surazeus 2026 04 26 Still inspired by old green law of the tree, I send my roots into darkness of fear to transform pain into apples of hope so I expand scope of my consciousness unhindered by bounds of the universe, that grants me passage through winter to spring. Though naked branches of my spirit tree shake in bitter winds of world social change, I welcome gulls who fly in from the sea with diamonds of wisdom from secret caves where Hecate brews wine from dragon blood that gives my eyes power to see beyond. I proudly ride head of Leviathan when she emerges from Ocean of Dreams to give my apparition mask of faith so I may walk on water of my heart to expose beauty through its ugliness when profound horror of time gives me life. Great Mother of Visions with hands of light quickens my heart with passion for truth so I honor Genetrix of the Earth who urges tides of love to swell my mind so I lounge in seductive revery with you in shadow of our solitude. Drinking milk disbursed by mother of stars, I twirl with abandon inside Stonehenge from careless laughter at absurdity till I see shining lady on the hill who scatters seeds from green law of the tree so we may colonize the world with farms. For good of the people who trust my word I serve their needs with magic mysteries to nurture hidden talents into skills so everyone contributes to our cause to enhance our food-production machine with power of ideas in the heart. Mothering Angels with eyes full of stars teach us how to sing visions of our eyes so we sharpen sticks and gather sharp stones, prepared to fight with courage of respect by waging war to secure global peace while bees brew honey for the world to eat. Though loneliness glimmers in hollow hearts of people who lose people they love most, bright anguish they pour in absence of faith sprouts back to life from green law of the tree which blossoms holy fruit for us to share so we transform our sorrow to rich joy.
Tangled Dreams Of Fear
Tangled Dreams Of Fear © Surazeus 2026 04 26 When angel of my heart burns through the sky with absolute desire to know the truth, she weaves my mind from tangled dreams of fear to strengthen me with brave audacity so I may climb ambitious peak to touch primal light of the sun that knows my name. Through prism of each raindrop on soft leaves I see electric raven with gold eyes who asks me if I know name of each soul killed by men with greed past million years so I carve letters of their vanished minds in shifting sands of time on beach of fate. Time-flashing rays of light from crystal eye, which dreams at center of the swirling sun, weave my body with atoms of respect for I am spirit of the Earth in flesh who seeks to understand nature of light that glows as consciousness from my sponge brain. Deep in temple of Karnak at Luxor the star-eyed angel holds light in her hands that beams our souls to center of the Earth so we feel giant planet of our hearts dreaming through kaleidoscope of our eyes so we remember how our world was born. Electric angel with black velvet wings assembles shards of stories from old tales to align fragments of our memories in flowing puzzle of world history where name of every soul who ever lives gleams in tapestry on stone temple wall. Grasping my hands with sensitive concern, electric angel sings with haunting voice, "If I can prevent just one fragile heart from breaking into shards of aching sorrow, my temporary tenure on this Earth shall not be fruitless endeavor of faith." Though I cannot play God for anyone, though we are emanations of Earth Soul, I dare assert intention of respect to shine with luminous beauty of love while curled with you in privacy of trust so we generate life before we die. Unnoticed by microscopic device, composed with diesel fuel of diamond eyes, I give myself with anguish of desire to tantalizing faith in nothingness that sparks frail flame of my glowing soul though bitter storm looms black over our world.
Ghosts Trapped In Wells
Ghosts Trapped In Wells © Surazeus 2026 04 26 Associated works of trashed respect delude the brave to believe their strong souls need no wings to escape death. Ardent faith fails to frame fantasy with real thought codes as if sparrows are no longer realists who translate divine truth for troubadours. Fountains in city squares ask loyalists to find and map rebels on hidden roads. Mothers, who linger without tears in doors of vain hope, knit sweaters for the frail wraith weeping in the garden. Demons expect everyone to memorize their new roles. Mixed up with pieces of puzzles, unsolved by blind children who invent languages, my private words escape from fragile shells of subjective truth. I prefer to swim deep into blue silence of the Dream Sea to find your name tangled in cable wires. Therefore, fill my holy grail to the brim so I may drink blood from ghosts trapped in wells of serpentine runes. Death directs mute choirs of angels who perform as hostages. I like to study life forms that evolved fish to wingless angel, which designs Me. Exceptional skill in weaving stale words in vibrant tapestries of fairy tales traps the jester in quest to explain why. Yet the young policeman in the small town believes his mission to be just the same as the one Superman performs on stage. Since we are trapped in our commercial game of purchasing products from the grim clown, we will barbecue demons in the cage of honesty. Icarus learns to fly by jumping off the cliff of hungry whales who ask Jesus if he can make them birds. Reverse psychology will never work on flamboyant Bacchus in scarlet gown who cries in the kitchen. Electric clock that mutates above the castle fireplace sternly asks him why he abandoned Eve halfway up the mountain in freezing snow. While baking apple pies by shipping dock, Eve spies Bacchus who pretends not to lurk in the bookstore where he buys human face to fool the Furies. They attend the show starring the Ballerina and the Clown, yet no one in the audience wants to grieve.
Ego Of Sly Pettiness
Ego Of Sly Pettiness © Surazeus 2026 04 26 The strangest aspect about the Third Man, who lets cool rats play pool with his eyeballs, is how he paints planets on bowling balls, then stands outside gate of the factory and plays dissonate melodies of despair on broken guitar with five rusty strings. Embracing ego of sly pettiness through innate talent of the snarky jibe, the Third Man takes his face off in the glare of spotlights gleaming on the creaking stage, then shouts electric satire of despair in silent void above highways of cars. Empowered by negative interdicts, stones of contempt hurled with mocking insults, the Third Man tangles lines of sizzling words in tattered wings he found on jagged rocks by sea shore with eager Icarus fell, then pontificates on world theater stage. Stacking bricks of baked mud in pyramids on solid foundation of shifting sands, the Third Man builds cave in heart of the Earth where ghost of his ancestor with sharp stick fights monstrous dragon of the wounded soul, then barbecues burgers in the state park. Pretending he is not the seventh son who falls in love with fourth daughter of Death, the Third Man spreads honey on molded bread while bragging about every game he won till the butterfly girl in hippie skirt marries the banker who runs Babylon. Excited about joining the circus of clowns who tour country towns sea to shining sea, the Third Man milks the sad cow before dawn, then stands outside grocery stores to preach about the second coming of the king who will appear on the purple giraffe. Exhausted by attempts to fool the squares who live normal lives, working eight to five, the Third Man leans against greasy phone pole and watches cars zoom past for ninety hours till wise tortoise of the waste land arrives to teach him lessons in morality. The most boring thing about the Third Man, who sews secret messages inside shirts, is how he is an expert at spreadsheets and longs to work as the accountant clerk at the company that sells kitchen ware because his girlfriend who died loved to cook.
Saturday, April 25, 2026
Futile Hope For Liberty
Futile Hope For Liberty © Surazeus 2026 04 25 When the black-necked crane of her wounded heart flaps mordantly above pale bare-limbed woods, Yi Soo-ah leans back in red leather seat and sighs with rattle of fast iron wheels in train that winds along the river shore far away from house where her mother died. Late winter shadows of high mountain peaks shroud valley of plum trees in thoughtful hope at haunting melody of the jade flute because she is unaccustomed to grief that guides her way along the unseen track outside classifiable frame of faith. Walking alone along the winding road among plum trees that rustle secret truths, Yi Soo-ah pauses by the cement bridge and gazes shocked at the car-wounded deer that trembles halfway down steep slope of weeds till she kneels and cries for its innocence. Though we exist in world of fragile souls, our hearts swell strong with bravery of fear at flash of silver clouds over bare trees, Yi Soo-ah whispers to the flowing stream that shimmers over time-smoothed stones of fate, yet wonders if the sparrow understands. Small sparrow with chestnut crown and gold wings explains that all organic bodies die but atoms forming frames of psychic force fall in soil where roots transform them to plums, so Yi Soo-ah plucks purple fruit of hope and gasps with pleasure to consume Rain Soul. Startled at sudden clatter in the woods, Yi Soo-ah backs against the power pole when older gray-haired man in prison suit, face and arms streaked with blood of urgent fear, stumbles on the road and falls to his knees, heart clanging with terror of wordless truth. Pressing thick blood-stained book of poetry in careful distress of her trembling hands, the gray-haired prisoner stares in her eyes with ache of longing that she understands, then flees into grim shadow of the woods when platoon of soldiers with guns appear. Wincing at gunfire and scream of despair, Yi Soo-ah runs dusty road into town, slouches on bench outside small grocery store, and drinks cold soda as she shakes from shock, then cries quietly as she reads his poems about his futile hope for liberty.
Men Fight Brutal Wars
Men Fight Brutal Wars © Surazeus 2026 04 25 With confidence great as the ocean wave Sylphus glides among the star-singing trees to consume apples in ruby-bright cave, then chats philosophy with honey bees to understand why men fight brutal wars which leaves women weeping behind locked doors. Alert to butterflies that drop steel bombs, Sylphus shrinks houses to models in crates, then frolics in meadow with laughing lambs in clever plan to fool killer robots who march in crusade under the Red Cross, enforcing strict rule that Jesus is Boss. Startled by shriek of the innocent crow, Sylphus builds safe shelters for refugees who pray and give thanks to the golden cow while binding books in empty libraries to hide from loathing of corporate kings who want to enslave the princess who sings. Astride white horse on the wild carousel, Sylphus leads angels to stop World War Three when tyrants fight for the Alphabet Well where serpent runes nominate Liberty as empress who judges what love is worth to support United Nations of Earth. Stopping in the snowless woods before dusk, Sylphus searches for ghost of Lucifer who wears my secret face as shaman mask, and sings on darkest evening of the year about heroic soul of suffering that wakes in hearts of every human being. Amazed at beauty of the mountain lake, Sylphus plots revolution of the just because we are no more than cosmic dust commissioned to expose tales of the fake, then joins his brothers on the fishing boat who tease him for his many-colored coat. Assigned the most difficult task of all, Sylphus codes social system for the state organized around the posh shopping mall because each person chooses their own fate while stumbling awkwardly on road of life, learning lessons in overcoming strife. With arrogance brave as the skittish cat, Sylphus rules the world in Tower of Eyes by analyzing facts gathered by spies who build glass idols of Jehoshaphat then eat pizza and watch fantasy shows contrived by wizards of dream studios.
Her Smile Sparks My Heart
Her Smile Sparks My Heart © Surazeus 2026 04 25 Because her smile sparks my heart to expand scope of conscious truth to include the world in brave attention of generous love, I dedicate my life to guard her life, protecting her body and soul from harm so she generates life before she dies. This noble principle of honest hope has been my goal for countless lives on Earth as I incarnate in new flames of flesh four hundred million years from fish to god in solemn project to nurture life so we continue to thrive till the end. In each new life, we spring from womb of hope, we face new obstacles on road of change that threatens to annihilate our souls and crush our genes to squirming worms in mud, so we breathe deep celestial soul of love as we transform to bright angel of joy. Strange sense of strong immortality vibrates in neural network of my brain that fools me to believe I may transcend this temporary frame of fragile flesh, but conscious sense of self I feel as me will vanish when this body rots to dust. Illusion that my soul lives after death, as self-contained sense of my conscious self, deceives my heart with blinding pride that I will resurrect from rotten corpse of faith because adults with desperate eyes of fear convinced me Jesus will raise us from death. While walking signless road in the waste land halfway across the Rocky Mountain range, returning east on road of desperate hope which my ancestors walked centuries ago to find the Promised Land out in the west, I realize we are nothing when we die. My conscious soul is function of my brain, powered by chemicals of primal light that flares forth from first flash of the big bang, my temporary sense of self sparked bright by immortal atoms of divine thought, so I will disappear after I die. Immortal soul of genes will generate new body from its code when we embrace to spark new life from energy of love, so though we die and disappear in wind our children will preserve immortal genes, at least till the sun burns Earth into ash.
Star Stone Of Inspiration
Star Stone Of Inspiration © Surazeus 2026 04 25 With no surprising ending to our song we wander blissfully along the ocean to gather sharp fragments of the star stone that streaked in shock across the shining heavens because celestial flames of divine love flicker inside their cores with soul salvation. Sweet graceful woman of our ocean tribe gazes in prophecy stone of perception where she dreams successful growth of our way transforming into empires of her vision, so we follow her dance on shifting sands when she mutates into the snow-white raven. Exhausted from our journey on stone paths, we rest beneath the Crying Elm of Sorrow which spreads broad canopy of gentle care, one of Four Trees of Earth that give us shelter from howling storm, that shatters crystal skies, swirling from bitter hatred of Rain Dragon. When lightning shatters Crying Elm to shards and blasts our paradise into cruel desert, we wander weeping in ruins of sand, hearts bleak with hungry fear of desperation, till raven woman of our ocean tribe raises high her Star Stone of Inspiration. Masking fear of death with bold bravery to hide arrogance of her trepidation, Pearl Raven Princess holding bright star stone guides our journey to recreate our future by changing our fate with each choice we make to focus our attention on creation. Grove of peach trees, heavy with ripe sun fruit, that blooms on lush shore of the singing river provides generous bounty as reward for strict discipline of our loving labor, so we build high stone walls of paradise to form from ruins of hell our new Heaven. Ten thousand years we cultivate peach trees that grow tall from Star Stone of Inspiration, transforming from village of humble homes, where workers thrive with calm communication, to vast metropolitan maze of streets where we drive cars in race of corporations. Programmed by ancient struggles to survive, based on experience of all my ancestors, I strive to create rather than destroy social system that drives civilization in global baby-production machine that guides us with Star Stone of Inspiration.
Friday, April 24, 2026
Mirror Eye Of God
Mirror Eye Of God © Surazeus 2026 04 24 When I gaze deep in mirror eye of God I see every soul who has ever lived on every planet in the universe since first flash flared forth into the White Whole for we are atoms shining in the void as we awake in neural nets of brains. While I gaze long in mirror eye of God I relive life of every conscious soul who struggles to overcome weaknesses and transcend limits of our mortal flesh to comprehend vastness of time and space for one short hour of timeless ecstasy. Floating faceless in mirror eye of God that gazes down at me on ball of dirt, I feel immensity of vibrant hope radiate from spiraling core of our world through emanation of unconscious light that sparks my soul awake inside my brain. Dancing wildly in mirror eye of God that gazes at the world through my small eyes, I sing soul-haunting melody of faith with joy that I am so alive this fleeting hour for my short span of shining consciousness though time will snuff my soul to nothingness. So I wear mask with mirror eye of God refracting psychic energy of love through flashing prism of my neural brain when I see you with kaleidoscope eyes integral part of our strange otherness as we embrace and kiss to know the truth. Now I dream you with mirror eye of God to frame our random wanderings in tale composed to spark romantic honesty that binds our bodies in tangle of love so we generate life before we die to live another million years in joy. Together bound by mirror eye of God, two souls from opposite sides of the world, we journey far across waste land of desire to build our own private Heaven in Hell so we tend garden of our paradise where our children play free in Wonderland. Souls reflected through mirror eye of God, nameless strangers giving each other names, we play our roles in drama of the world creating art that conjures from our dreams virtual model of strange reality before time erases us from our Earth.
Tumult Of Distracting Lust
Tumult Of Distracting Lust © Surazeus 2026 04 24 Clear concision of our unmeasured thought contains assertive chaos of desire that frames immaculate anxiety of strange vistas beyond imagining, succinct as subtle decibels that beam beauty through realm of possibilities. Diligent with disordered discipline, we order tumult of distracting lust which enflames boundless plains of purity where comets outline golden way of hope we follow with shameless analysis to admire abundance of honeyed spoils. Drenched with refraction of devout respect, that shimmers with fractals of vanities, we speak of pleasant hours from honesty through circumspection of unconscious art because we extract unknown quantities of precise wisdom based on chemistry. Disentangled from brave lucidity, according to assessments of impacts implied by habitual riddles of love, we wound each other with confounding codes achieved through reversal of nothingness that means some other thing we cannot solve. Precarious on brink of stated facts, we dare administer horror of joy tainted with indifference nature plays, genteel with graceful sadness of contempt considered logical through turbulence, polite with seething energy of hope. I turn away and gaze beyond my face, transfixed by stony stare of faceless ghosts, to watch historical events unfold with tumbling randomness of bitter fate through blazing star-eye of the universe as sweepstakes winner of the Afterlife. Cloaked with humility of well-earned pride, as brave epitome of butterflies, I sing enchanting hymn to long-dead gods with charmed cadence of storm-stirred ocean waves to break free from marble idol of Me with calm assertion of the wingless hawk. Lovers entranced by glamor-mask we wear, intimate with gentle laughter of faith, we strip away illusions we had made to find real essence of our Otherness we share by kissing in light of the moon, then tending herb garden just after dawn.
Thursday, April 23, 2026
Still Married To My Muse
Still Married To My Muse © Surazeus 2026 04 23 Though forced to seek anew some fresher stamp presenting noble subject of my camp, I grant myself still married to my Muse who tempts me to adjudicate the news by daring to record destructive deeds through paintings that encode our psychic needs. My special nature, glorified by fate, traps me in curse to guard the jeweled gate against incursion proffered by lame thieves who limp from tomb where humble widow grieves from failed attempt to steal her loving eyes through vain expression hollow prayers devise. Since I alone in our vast universe am no one else but me, I purchase curse contrived to spoil alert equality against brave blessings from banality that we exchange by selling fantasies immured in confines of false dignities. Tongue-tied by praise of loyal characters, more precious to death than stale aquifers, I wield with bravery golden quill of truth to prove myself wise as unlettered sleuth when strangers clutching books of frantic tales ask me to solve problems cruel faith entails. In polished form of my soul-searing pen I measure tangled chaos love would win since urgent spirit animates my chord with solemn hymn no angel can afford, yet mortal pride of my too precious boast strands my broken heart on the storm-lashed coast. Full sail in ship of state my conscious steers, I will explore strange lands with my compeers who kneel astonished by clear mountain lake that their intelligence considers fake, enfeebled by familiar ghost of time who crowns as Emperor of Earth the mime. Clear charter of your worth excites my hope that Jupiter will teach me how to cope with undeserving richness of true love which flatters me with royal light above though I determine death erases all while we dance laughing in the waterfall. No better judgement could I render right than how we are acquainted with the night to prove we are as virtuous through faith as time-untwisting laughter of the wraith who recognizes power of my Muse whose weird spell may bomb of my heart defuse.
Preserving Green Space
Preserving Green Space © Surazeus 2026 04 23 Though hope creates sustainability from important design problem of faith, Carla walks quickly along city street past store fronts selling illusions of truth, ignoring crescent moon in the blue sky, intent on getting back to work on time. Scalable system for nationwide growth inspires Carla with passionate respect to outline methods for analysis which monitors biodiversity based on ascension of rickety stairs through frantic doors of cracked anxiety. Complex projects for preserving green space between old factories and shopping malls align with current operational modes which Carla plots for future management, designed to maximize living expense based on calculations of hunger strikes. Arranging data collected from fields about technical challenges of use, Carla tabulates random facts of fear which might untangle communal concerns for psychic erosion of social trust managed by flexible platforms of faith. Global datasets of spatialized scope, supplied by government warehouse of truth, provides Carla with conceptual regrets to shore against ruins of mental zones, constrained by progress of urban decay, where gangs of lost children prefer to play. Developing bold strategies to arrest regressive destruction of classic frames, Carla sketches ideal patterns of change that depict uncontrollable time flips with attentive focus on channeling forces of passion through productive law. Staring out office window of her heart at people walking up and down the street, Carla longs for ancient systems of life on communal farms along river shores where people first formed brave communities to help each other survive against death. Clutching bag full of documents and fears, Carla rides on the crowded city bus through the endless maze of buildings and parks, then drinks chamomile tea on futon couch and pets her kitten with alien eyes while she sketches fairies dancing in moonlight.
Wednesday, April 22, 2026
Rubber Wheels Of Flight
Rubber Wheels Of Flight © Surazeus 2026 04 22 Star angels seem to follow me around while I am driving on the busy road, adjusting speed of passionate desire to keep from hitting souls of other cars because we race endless circles of hope to catch the rainbow falling from the sky. My fingers dance on keyboard of weird spells to weave illusions that reflect the world of pulsing objects, formed of chemicals, that fool me into thinking I am God till Death erases my soul from the world, and all my atoms become other things. I watch the red light till it flashes green, then I assert my vain right to exist as metal shell on rubber wheels of flight, bright angel transformed to frail human being assigned strange name that honors long-dead god who drives with millions on vast maze of roads. Parking my car in garage of false fame, I walk with crowd of gods in human form to work all day in office of insight where I map multiverse of proxy worlds as half-aspects of one vast universe composing puzzle programmed from my dreams. Severe thought static, translating dream songs from tangled cantos of unique syntax trademarked by serpent of the well, expands scope of my conscious attention to facts encoded in moral tales of concern that invoke syndrome of unscheduled truth. Unlicensed lecture, expressed by shy god, shows me how to manage with legal jokes tense energy of our Daemonium who performs role with correspondent wit of Sign Giver who speaks with Inner Voice to guide my journey to the Promised Land. Excerpt of famished framework, glorified by solemn angel born from river stone, who appears to me as gleam of pure light, reveals entrapment trick they play on me till I escape high walls of paradise with one last apple full of fertile seeds. Through featured tropes of graphic interface I dare conceal strange program of my heart by which I forecast state of world affairs through clumsy assessment of bankrupt laws that helps me solve weird problem of my soul too beautiful for brokerage of death.
Wise Spirit Of Anahita
Wise Spirit Of Anahita © Surazeus 2026 04 22 Awake in gloaming of our endless day, with fierce impatience of the fractured moon, I measure wholeness of conceptual fields where hungry people tend vineyards of faith, and wait for Anahita to arrive with jar of water from her sacred pool. Her long black hair flowing in evening wind, Anahita walks among refugees from civil wars that destroyed family homes, and pours fresh water in cracked bowls of hope so they may drink sweet spirit of the Earth that resurrects their hearts from bleak despair. Assassins cloaked in blue suits of contempt surround brave goddess of water and health with evil intent to clamp her in chains and force her to kneel before Angra Mainyu in humble submission to his desire, but she defies his daevas with strong will. While Anahita fights daevas with courage, Ahura Mazda arrives on white horse, leading army of brave warriors with spears, they made from pines of Hara Berezaiti, who defend people of Assyria and protect wise Anahita from harm. Awake with wise spirit of Anahita, whose courage animates my heart with love, I fight destructive force of lies and hate, embodied by cruel tyrant in gold tower who tries to enslave people of the world as mindless workers in his factories. Her eyes gleaming bright yellow as topaz, Anahita stands on high ziggurat, wearing crown of Ishtar with humble pride and bearing wand of Inanna with love, to organize free peoples of the world law-bound in United Nations of Earth. Though Midas wrecks institutions of peace, and Pluto grasps at false rainbow of wealth, we join brave goddess of wisdom and truth to build Zarathia through Liberty from ruins of rapacious nation-states, ensuring justice and freedom for all. Though tyrants attempt with aggressive hate to destroy wise spirit of Anahita, collective energy of psychic power, that beams from heart of every soul on Earth, weaves matrix of our faith in shield of hope to support fertile goddess of our love.
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