Why We Are Alive

Why We Are Alive
© Surazeus
2026 05 08

In snow-filled library of Elysium, 
Sibylla gazes in black crystal ball 
that models white whole of our universe 
in spiral swirls of flashing galaxies, 
then gazes in my heart with sea-green eyes 
so I understand why we are alive. 

With laughing wind of sterile disregard 
I run down endless road to nowhere else 
through mirror that erases my true face, 
untouched by sorrow of my wounded heart 
that nurtures trees of fruit from brainless corpse 
because I question why we are alive. 

We schedule secret tryst in jeweled night 
beside dark river of restless desire 
that craves deep beauty of the hungry sea 
till flash of dawn bursts from my tearless eyes 
so I seek refuge in bright cave of thoughts 
which still calculate why we are alive. 

Bound by fierce empathy for nameless souls, 
who wander signless roads beyond stone walls, 
I walk with Death inside huge picture frame 
to sit by urgent fountain of concern 
and wonder if Blood Moon still misses me 
while wisdom conceals why we are alive. 

If laughter breaks free from mute book of lies 
with tangled threads of fractured memories, 
I may attend brave pilgrimage of love 
beyond all expectations of world fame 
to gaze in crystal ball of timeless truth 
that helps me resolve why we are alive. 

Sad water puppets in pastures of green 
explain how cows convert despair to milk 
though caught between eternity and now 
each time I feel attention of your gaze 
since we bear weight of careless hope within 
as passion that proves why we are alive. 

Though Phoenix of insistent innocence 
rises from smoking ruins of our state, 
we catch rain of Heaven in open hands 
to wash stark pain from melancholy minds 
so we pass through seasons of mental change 
that reframe code for why we are alive. 

While ocean waves breathe memories of my heart, 
and flowers transform sorrow to sweet joy, 
we hold each other close in warm embrace 
to weave our hearts with energy of love 
so when we walk in rain of bitter storms 
we remain warm from why we are alive. 

Hidden Land Of Havilah

Hidden Land Of Havilah
© Surazeus
2026 05 08

While wandering along asphalt highway 
somewhere between Seattle and Miami, 
I turn aside in unmapped wilderness 
to follow Pishon River of my heart 
till I find hidden land of Havilah 
where dead trees of Eden lurk in the mist. 

Sweet voice enchants my heart with ache of hope, 
so I follow mercurial wail of love 
to find young woman with eyes gold as stars 
dancing among lush pomegranate trees 
around clear pool from bubbling fountain spring, 
uncanny scene that inspires me with joy. 

All traces of corporate buildings and cars, 
connected by world wide web of dream machines, 
vanish in swirl of haze as I transcend 
liminal threshold of the multiverse 
to find myself as shadow of my mind 
awake in hidden land of Havilah. 

As I emerge from portal of despair, 
my progress is obstructed by horned demon, 
fierce Azazel, who challenges my right 
to walk the yellow brick road of success, 
so I claw brass wand, forged from ancient lava, 
from sands of time to fight his bitter hate. 

Shocked that I dare oppose his tyranny, 
grim Azazel attacks with snarling rage, 
but I dodge every strike of long sharp claws, 
and bash his arms and legs with wand of truth 
till he falls to his knees in wounded pride 
and pleads till I crush his soul with respect. 

Drinking water from sparkling Hippocrene, 
I breathe healing air of Havilah, 
but gasp surprised when crowd of cheering folk 
celebrate my victory against the devil, 
then star-eyed Astara with jeweled wand 
proclaims me their savior Lyterius. 

Crowned King in hidden land of Havilah 
by Astara who bears child of our souls, 
I reign well with justice in court of law, 
managing farms, ranches, and factories 
to produce and distribute food for all, 
and fund projects improving homes and roads. 

Waking up in modern America 
with memories of life in the ancient past, 
I wonder how civilizations change 
so generous spirit of communal life 
that flows from hidden land of Havilah 
may resurrect our nation from collapse. 

Blinded By Epiphanies

Blinded By Epiphanies
© Surazeus
2026 05 07

I refuse to admit with steel-eyed pride 
my mind has been blown by epiphanies, 
so I walk down to where the sad bears hide 
to engage in psychic polyphonies 
for angels wearing masks with devil smirks 
who hide in kitchens where Apollo lurks. 

When I fall in love with the Femme Fatale 
who manipulates my heart with kind words, 
she invites me to join secret cabal 
dedicated to managing cow herds 
by writing reports with mystical code 
about transcendent hum of the God Toad. 

If I ignore the Damsel in Distress 
because I think her act could be some trap, 
my understanding of love might regress 
to primal state not found on any map, 
yet I will save her from the jaws of death 
despite how she defines the shibboleth. 

Intercepted by the Sassy Tomboy 
who challenges me to magic-wand fight, 
I avoid her kiss by acting too coy 
despite commitment to master Mind Flight 
by breathing deep celestial flare of trust 
that forges Heaven from conceptual dust. 

Inspired by resolve of the Mother Bear 
to protect her children from predators 
by teaching them how to ride the Night Mare, 
I misdirect aggressive creditors 
with glam fantasy of the Afterlife 
which causes them to clash in bitter strife. 

Attending shows with the Trophy Girlfriend 
to enhance social standing I perform, 
I strut to comply with the latest trend 
that hides my deviance from accepted norm 
to prove I am superior to all fools 
because I disdain use of fiscal tools. 

Attempting to woo heart of the Ice Queen, 
who hides trauma behind facade of strength, 
I work hard to invent power machine 
that channels her pain on healing wavelength 
to focus attention of her career 
on ruling world empire with the Blind Seer. 

With my heart blinded by epiphanies 
that flash before my eyes with deep insight, 
I compose tragicomic symphonies 
that no musician ever performs right, 
yet I realize another sacred truth 
which I chronicle for messiah sleuth. 

Establish Secure Home

Establish Secure Home
© Surazeus
2026 05 07

In service to strange country that I love 
I fix broke traffic lights on road of life 
to ensure moral signals of behavior 
function with fair assessment of our need 
to flow in harmony with every soul 
fixated on secret quest of their heart. 

I want to create, rather than destroy, 
structures of atoms that constitute this world, 
though everything grows and decays in its time 
as fragile objects of chemical gears 
composed of molecules that interact 
with constant motions of urgent desire. 

Intense vibration of attractive hope, 
that radiates from core of organic being, 
still pulses with first flash of the big bang 
that flares forth from primal spark of desire 
which motivates my progress to transcend 
bounds of my body through spiritual flight. 

Because neural network of my sponge brain 
conjures my conscious sense of self from dreams, 
composed of memories from ancestral lives, 
I must accept that I am limited 
to perform roles within physical frame 
that nurtures deathless light in mortal flesh. 

I study nature of this global world 
when I measure extension of existence 
to note how far I stand out within bounds 
of structured form, which contains my whole being 
providing instruments of arms and legs 
so I can move, and manipulate shapes. 

Thus I design proverbs of providence 
to express well through formulaic laws 
statements that describe essence of assertion 
inherent in state of physical objects 
through strict methods of scientific research 
which defines process of cause and effect. 

Hidden inside these solemn observations 
that assess status of relationships, 
bright vision of desire to replicate 
new bodies with immortal soul of genes 
motivates my emotion-funded project 
to establish secure home of love with you. 

If visions of the future we both share 
coincide with mutual assessments of fate, 
I choose to dedicate passion of love 
to care for health and safety of your soul 
through marriage of our individual minds 
in consensual program to procreate. 

Janus Guard Of Paradise

Janus Guard Of Paradise
© Surazeus
2026 05 06

When Janus is five years old he arrives 
at the great gold gates that guard paradise, 
and he is so entranced by graceful curls 
of liquid metal forged to mimic vines 
that he dwells sixty years before the gates, 
contemplating beauty of human souls. 

Seven days after Janus first arrives 
and stands in sun and rain both night and day, 
entranced by shimmer of the golden gates, 
Hebe leaves paradise with four-wheeled cart 
heaped with apples she harvested from trees, 
so she gives the boy six apples to eat. 

Three years after Janus begins to guard 
gates of paradise with curious eyes, 
Daedalus constructs small fane by the gates 
where Janus may seek shelter from harsh weather 
while writing name and purpose on clay slabs 
to record who comes and goes through gold gates. 

Twelve years of guarding gates of paradise 
with wand of wisdom Mercury gives him, 
Janus stands firm against invading thieves 
and fights aggressive hordes of screaming goons 
till he stands triumphant in howling wind 
so people inside paradise are safe. 

Twenty years after Janus first arrives, 
Juno appears with troupe of dancing girls 
who sing romantic hymns that Sappho wrote, 
then presents Juturna in saffron gown 
red as apples that bloom in fertile trees, 
with yellow veil held by crown of gold vines. 

Thirty-eight years after Janus starts quest 
to secure paradise with solemn care, 
he teaches daughter Cardea weird art 
of molding hinges for doors she creates, 
and trains brave son Junonius how to fight 
slavers and thieves with wand of Mercury. 

Forty-two years of guarding paradise 
with keen eyes that see into hearts of men, 
Janus presides over funeral of Zeus, 
then places crown of world authority 
on head of his most qualified son, Phoebus, 
whom everyone elects to become Zeus. 

Sixty years after Door Guard first arrives 
to secure paradise in peaceful age 
of prosperity with justice for all, 
Janus defends Garden of Apple Trees 
against Mars, angry he was not crowned king, 
who stabs him in the heart with sneer of rage. 

War-Shattered Eden

War-Shattered Eden
© Surazeus
2026 05 06

If trees keeping telling me the wind loves flight 
that sparks my brain alert to dangerous hope, 
then I may have to walk across the clouds 
and scatter apple seeds on asphalt roads 
to break monopoly of hungry greed 
that writes the rules for how we live each day. 

While children squabble over who remembers 
dream code that opens doors to vaults of wealth, 
I dig my hands in soft soil of the world 
to extract stones of faith with urgent calm, 
then build great castle on high hill of fear 
where I protect my family from despair. 

Amazed at strange glow of the sky at dawn, 
I hold blue conch shell of concerned alarm 
to watch for shadows of demons in woods 
that lurk behind portraits of long-dead gods 
till I see someone floating on the stream, 
and know we cannot return from the dead. 

Stark sunlight of the casual day dispels 
weird magic glow of memories before dawn, 
so I map houses along city streets 
to understand process of civic growth 
that helps me plan state of the urban zone 
that buzzes voices through the telephone. 

Grand temple of feast on the ziggurat 
becomes gold palace of the emperor, 
becomes stone castle of the hungry king, 
becomes city hall of the elected mayor, 
so I walk away from hard haven walls 
that prison me in fear of social change. 

Though I keep searching for the Promised Land 
that shimmers only in dreams of my head, 
I ask Blue Sky to show me no more dreams 
so I can see the real world as it is, 
but hundred million years of fantasy, 
my ancestors dreamed, frame how I see life. 

While walking with shadow of the Third Person 
across the waste land of war-shattered Eden, 
I find colossal statue of some god 
who ruled vast empire sea to shining sea, 
but wind of time erased his glorious name 
and scrubbed away all features of his face. 

I carve my own face on idol of God, 
then plant seeds in soft soil of the world, 
and tend new garden sprouting tender shoots 
that flourishes in waste land of the past 
so giant cities of the ancient world 
all vanish into orchards of fruit trees. 

Blue Bird Of Bitterness

Blue Bird Of Bitterness
© Surazeus
2026 05 05

Plodding along in vast maze of my life 
with passionate boredom of contrived faith, 
I sing with the blue bird of bitterness 
whose melodies calculate happiness 
which raises our ancestors from dark graves 
so we can live the good life we deserve. 

I hear mad prophets on the radio 
excoriate the humble king of faith 
who sings with the blue bird of bitterness 
about search for truth in the wilderness 
that we undertake on quest of the fool 
to redesign the long-accepted rule. 

With caustic interference of regret 
the church lady tries to sell Book of Faith, 
yet sings with the blue bird of bitterness 
despite her brave mission of kindliness 
that mocks her straight-laced dignity of pride 
which fractures when she learns her preacher lied. 

Now heavy as Saturn in my old age, 
I leap with spirit of youth in my heart 
to sing with the blue bird of bitterness 
about eternity of nothingness 
that we will experience after we die, 
so before then I want to learn to fly. 

While meditating in warm summer eve, 
I wonder at pure whiteness of the lily 
guarded by the blue bird of bitterness 
according to dream code of cleverness 
by which I program ritual of my life 
to exercise self-control during strife. 

Though I am absent from you this fine spring 
and with your shadow play in carefree joy, 
my heart feels the blue bird of bitterness 
lead me across Bridge of Forgetfulness 
to find the glorious white horse of your heart 
frolicking freely round my apple cart. 

I may cavort with shadow of your soul 
for vermilion pleasure of our kiss, 
recorded by blue bird of bitterness 
in valley-haunting song of gracefulness, 
but I am devoted with ardent faith 
in helping you develop adroit skills. 

Though I was born in maze of Babylon 
in body of clay dazzled by starshine, 
developed by blue bird of bitterness 
from quiet wisdom of sweet loneliness, 
I will rebuild Garden of Avalon 
in machine-mangled woods of Oregon. 

Gold Sibylline Cage

Gold Sibylline Cage
© Surazeus
2026 05 05

I will fight no more wars of holy hope 
against aggressive growing of hill grass 
that always seems to know where I am at 
in faltered progress to the Promised Land 
where I am sure to find fortune and fame 
that traps me in the gold sibylline cage. 

When rain drenches Earth in casual tears, 
I hold umbrella with careful concern 
over head of the person I love most, 
who gazes at me with astonishment 
as if they never thought I could be kind, 
then we walk awkwardly in the dark streets. 

I keep thinking about her all the time 
no matter where I am in maze of doors 
because I hope she is happy and safe 
alone of all the people in the world, 
though I hope they are safe in general terms 
while we all wait for the apocalypse. 

What revelation should we all expect, 
I wonder with obsessive nonchalance, 
except the fact that humans always form 
systems of social rights and privileges 
based on strict hierarchies of wealth and race, 
all living under the God with no face. 

She laughs when I explain with tangled words 
my convoluted theory of state power 
based on control of psychic energy 
contained in conceptual symbols of hope 
that we are not tangles of hungry genes 
which replicate themselves to dominate. 

Eating fried beef sandwiches by the lake, 
that teems with strange demonic energy, 
we chat about costumes of the elite 
who decorate themselves outrageously 
with classy style of the suave urbane clown 
when they strut before cameras of fame. 

I ask if I could be more serious 
with refined sense of cultivated style, 
but she assures me with amorous smirk 
that she loves the bold jester of my heart 
who follows Isaiah and Juvenal 
to compose scathing satires of respect. 

Resigned to fateful role of satirist, 
whose brave mimetic gestures of defiance 
highlight complex nature of being human, 
I go on pilgrimage to Aquinum 
where I strum lyre of Mercury and sing 
in Temple of Hercules Liberator. 

Holy Water Of The Earth

Holy Water Of The Earth
© Surazeus
2026 05 04

If the sky speaks to me with tongues of snow 
to explain why awestruck trees imitate 
swan-winged Seraphim with ten thousand eyes, 
I will assert through subatomic thought 
compassion for every organic soul 
that strives to transcend terror of pure light. 

Essential quality of being alive 
spurs calm obsession of my hungry heart 
to seek salvation from fountain of light 
that sparkles holy water of the Earth 
which fills my body of delicate flesh 
with rapture of cool wisdom time reveals. 

My face in time-ensilvered mask of fate 
reveals expressive lust to procreate 
immortal soul of genes in mortal form 
that replicates conceptual personhood 
who likes to bake apple cinnamon muffins 
which fill my heart with beauty of the world. 

So when I need to understand the world 
I ask the Oracle of Delphi why 
I am conscious of my one self alone 
of every conscious creature who has lived 
on every planet in the universe, 
but she just gives me root beer shake to drink. 

Thus at sunset before the seventh day 
I enter tabernacle tent of faith 
to roast lamb on altar of sacrifice,
then feed world-wanderers with humble hearts 
who gather mushrooms in the morning mist 
to write their secret names in time-blown sand. 

Dipping my hand in gold-silt water stream, 
I savor sensuous flow of casual time 
with eagerness to measure how change occurs 
when seeds expand from confines of mute words 
to stretch angelic wings of flashing leaves 
then drop sweet fruit of faith in open hands. 

Fabulous beauty of light rays on water 
shocks my heart with illiterate respect, 
expensive thoughts confined by sentences 
ghosts buy from mermaids with transparent eyes, 
so I become vast emptiness of all 
when I drink holy water of the Earth. 

All things in Nature grow without intent, 
transforming from potential seed of thought 
to full-shaped body blooming rich with hope 
of hungry passion to compose the mind 
that conjures image of essential being, 
so I free Sibyl from her cage of fear. 

White Stone Of The Sun

White Stone Of The Sun
© Surazeus
2026 05 04

When I wash the dirt of ten thousand roads 
off my wounded feet with unholy water, 
my grandmother holds the knife of weird truth 
to carve fresh steaks from cave-demon flesh 
so my father can roast it on the altar 
with fire from the lightning strike he calls down. 

My mother gives me white stone of the sun 
and shows me how to walk where devils dance, 
so I invent new words from languages 
I hear birds use when they eat sheafs of wheat 
which hide me from men with soul-wounded spears 
because my face shines with celestial rage. 

Holding broken stick that fell from the sky, 
I draw oval shape in sand of the beach 
so everyone knows I indicate eggs, 
then they follow me to large cave of shadows 
where thousands of birds with white wings erupt 
in squawking rage as we take eggs to eat. 

While I squat on edge of steep sea-side cliff, 
explaining to stiff grass how bright wind knows 
weird secret of life concealed in soft sand, 
I stare at small rock for ten million years 
till it wobbles and falls into the sea 
where it transforms into leviathan. 

When I hold out my hand and spread my fingers 
to measure distance from high mountain peak 
to the silver moon that gleams behind clouds, 
I invent science of geometry, 
but then forget when I find strawberry vines 
so I fill large basket with blood-red fruit. 

My brother steals one strawberry and runs 
leaping and laughing along fallen log 
where honey bees swarm so he screams in pain 
as he transforms into galloping pig 
that offers itself as great sacrifice 
willing to die so we may eat and live. 

My sister draws marks in sand by the tree 
at breath-long intervals of feral fate 
which calibrates increments of small change, 
then explains to me strange concept of time 
which she invents with delicate concern, 
then shows me how to peel orange of her heart. 

On undulating waves of humming names 
I float through ocean of fortune to claim 
divine right to name all things that exist 
with template label that defines each form, 
then walk back to our small ziggurat home 
where I clack the turtle shell and chant spells. 

Isolated From Strange Dream

Isolated From Strange Dream
© Surazeus
2026 05 03

Isolated from strange dream of the world, 
I assemble puzzle of random facts 
to design exhaustive ontology 
that frames complex events of history 
in grand narrative that explains it all 
which fixes my place as hero of truth. 

Isolated from strange dream of the sea, 
I build boat from steam-heated planks of wood 
and sail the seven seas of strange new lands 
to explore nature of our spinning globe 
where people dance on pyramids of power 
to control fields of wheat and hills of gold. 

Isolated from strange dream of the sun, 
I capture rays of light from long-dead stars 
with solar panels of assertive will 
which transform light to electricity 
that powers global empire of machines 
weaving computers into one God Mind. 

Isolated from strange dream of the land, 
I map confusing landscape of the heart 
to organize conflicting nation-states 
in peaceful United Nations of Earth 
though cruel gangsters disguised as presidents 
fight each other over who rules the world. 

Isolated from strange dream of the moon, 
I run with Artemis in misty woods 
with joyful laughter of wild carefree friends 
till Midas forces her to be his queen 
so we revolt against his tyranny 
and fight to establish democracy. 

Isolated from strange dream of the mind, 
I argue with Pythagoras all night 
that stars do not generate human souls 
which animate our bodies with desire, 
and prove that brains generate consciousness 
which dissipates to nothing when we die. 

Isolated from strange dream of the truth, 
I stand millions of years under Fruit Tree 
and wait for my soulmate to keep our tryst 
to nourish our home based on mutual trust 
because our children inherit the Earth 
when we build Heaven from waste land of Hell. 

Isolated from strange dream of the heart, 
I wear mask of my personality 
which I compose through every choice I make 
as I navigate landscape of despair 
on mission to create, and not destroy, 
as we connect and bind our souls with love. 

Weird Voice Of Light

Weird Voice Of Light
© Surazeus
2026 05 03

How may I balance happiness and sorrow 
to power progress of spiritual growth 
through dynamic system of inspiration 
which I derive from deposit of passion 
I channel through document of expression 
based on enterprise of mental encryption. 

Sparked by evanescence my heart may borrow 
from bright atomic flame of chemicals, 
I sublimate mindless force of aggression 
by weaving corporal concept of perception 
through tangled sentences of fractured words 
that mold matter into bodies of faith. 

Snagged on fractal structure of vibrant limbs 
during assertive flight beyond dark scope 
of wisdom that traps my soul in my brain, 
I dangle helplessly above abyss 
that yawns teeth-bristling jaws of painful death 
by grasping rope of truth with stubborn hope. 

Dark nothingness of death would like to swallow 
fragile flame of energy that ignites 
glow of consciousness nurturing my brain, 
so I become aware I am alive, 
awake in shock of arrogant dismay 
that my body conjures my consciousness. 

So many people tell me with false confidence 
that my spirit was forged by the God Mind 
to animate my temporary body 
with immortal soul of divinity, 
and I am fooled to believe this is real 
till I feel my spirit beam from my brain. 

Though molecules that animate my flesh 
first flashed from soul furnace of Father Sun, 
then evolved into this body of flesh 
by passionate desire of Mother Earth, 
my sense of conscious self inside my brain 
is my own unique personality. 

Through all the spiral of galactic light 
the past fourteen billion years of existence 
these atoms that compose shell of my soul 
have flared into this planet that designs 
organic forms to nurture divine mind 
so I think I am God as mortal human. 

We humans are leaves on the Tree of Life, 
grapes on the Vine of Faith, and tender flowers 
that sprout for brief seasons from Ground of Being, 
so I will sing loud with weird voice of light 
to channel vision of creative love 
till our children sing after we all die. 

Feel My Aching Body

Feel My Aching Body
© Surazeus
2026 05 03

Secret words weave clear thread of mystery 
from elemental passion of the heart 
to overcome weakness and win the race 
by leaping on quick wings of urgent breath 
in courageous bid to transcend taut bounds 
of physical endurance to survive. 

Though terror preserves my animal mind 
that animates assertion of my rights 
through structured layers of civilized rules, 
I confirm my soul with strict self-control 
by managing consequences of my acts 
to channel passion with logical verse. 

By gazing off into bright sunset flames 
when I slip fragile body into roots 
of hungry bushes on the steep hillside, 
I find I can deny reality 
shortened by sparkle of the rivulet 
that asks me how I feel with gauge of rain. 

I feel my aching body dissipate 
with each cold gust of alabaster wind 
so I become less solid that the stream 
that flows from fountain of my bleeding heart 
to flood deep valley of excited gods 
who cry for salvation to mocking clouds. 

Graceful girl I imagine I should be 
dances free with beautiful leap of faith 
as writhing shadow only in my head, 
so I ask the old woman who lies dead 
if her tangled hair weaves truth in rough hills 
because her skeleton now forms the land. 

Covered in mud and roots of the wild world, 
I walk into vast room of marble floors 
to hide from weird ghost in the mirror glass 
who gives her face to angels without wings 
with plan to garland horns of happy bulls 
since I know the world will not die when I die. 

No autocrat imprisoned in my heart 
will silence fountains of astonishment 
when lonely people of the world escape 
from dream-tangled roots of arrogant trees 
which replicate my spirit in dark seeds 
that plagiarize apples we ate last year. 

If I am seagull gliding through cold clouds 
till I become dark shadow of the moon, 
I may transform my eyes to twinkling stars 
so you can see the road of truth I blazed 
before I fall to Earth on wings of fire 
where I pretend I am flower of fame. 

Apple Hills Of Scythia

Apple Hills Of Scythia
© Surazeus
2026 05 03

Though apples fill my dreams with golden light, 
sweet scent of pungent juice sticky on skin, 
I have lost touch with blooming apple trees 
in this current life of wandering the land, 
so I want to plant them in my back yard 
to make cider and applesauce each summer. 

Since we discovered apples long ago, 
in high Tian Shan Mountains of Kazakhstan, 
land we named Scythia when we lived there then, 
we traveled far across the windy steppes 
in four-wheeled wagons Helios designed, 
planting seeds by streams all the way to Scotland. 

Awake under apple tree on the hill, 
I see red fruit gleaming in dawn sunlight 
that glitters in raindrops after wild rain, 
so I reach out my hand to grasp the sun, 
but shrink back when serpent among dark limbs 
hisses and bares sharp teeth of poisoned knowledge. 

My father Skyolder gives me magic wand 
I use to swat the serpent on its head, 
then knock apples that fall into my hands 
which I store in wolf-fur bags on my back, 
then dump them in baskets in backs of wagons 
that we pull to large kitchen by the river. 

My mother Scythia wearing long white gown 
teaches me to brew apples in sweet cider, 
cutting them into slices with slender blades, 
stirring them in cauldrons of boiling water 
with thick honey, berries, spices, and herbs, 
then storing cider in clay jars for winter. 

I long to return to Garden of Saka 
that flourished in apple hills of Scythia 
where Almaty City now thrives with life, 
for I hear in dreams of my aching heart 
voice of my mother calling me in woods 
where apples gleam bright on millions of trees. 

We ate apples from sacred Tree of Knowledge, 
we befriended horses with fruit of love, 
and we built wagons with wheels of the sun, 
then traveled far across Garden of Life 
more than five thousand years of eager hope 
to explore this world sea to shining sea. 

Now we know this huge world on which we dwell 
is round as the apple in Tree of Life, 
so I will plant apple trees everywhere, 
by every road in every town on Earth, 
so everyone may eat the Fruit of Knowledge 
that blooms from fertile spirit of the Earth. 

Crippled Hands Of Hope

Crippled Hands Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 05 02

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Power Of Snow Mother

Power Of Snow Mother
© Surazeus
2026 05 02

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fairy Wings Of Faith

Fairy Wings Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 05 02

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Poisonous Snake Of Jealousy

Poisonous Snake Of Jealousy
© Surazeus
2026 05 02

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ghosts Of Long-Past Myths

Ghosts Of Long-Past Myths
© Surazeus
2026 05 01

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

New Empire Of The Free

New Empire Of The Free
© Surazeus
2026 05 01

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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