Atoms Dreaming We Are Gods

Atoms Dreaming We Are Gods
© Surazeus
2026 09 05

I stroll along the road that goes nowhere 
because I am always in my core place, 
here at the center of my universe, 
able to perceive all things that exist 
within scope of my cosmic consciousness 
which glow with ghost light of our divine soul. 

When I leave my home and my family 
I travel east to find Primal Homeland 
where my ancestors first woke from Star Dream 
who traveled west one hundred thousand years 
to find where the sun goes under the world, 
yet that is how we find the world is round. 

When I go off to fight the holy war 
to defend the land where my ancestors lived, 
if I survive I try to go back home, 
but wander nowhere in the Anywhere, 
so I sit by the river of blind ghosts 
and sing about the home that never was. 

So I decide this place where I sit now 
has always been secret home of my heart, 
investing passion of indifferent hope 
to build new home in waste land of nowhere 
till this place is the home that always is, 
where my children are born and I will die. 

Over ten thousand years of spinning time 
after I construct new haven for my heart 
on lush shore of this ever-flowing stream, 
enormous city of steel-framed glass towers 
glitters with millions of bright human souls 
who all dream with one vision of my eyes. 

The story of their journey to the west, 
that my ancestors tell in silent wind, 
vibrates in dust of every road I walk 
so I recall their struggles and insights 
that program how my brain perceives the world 
as they survive and generate new life. 

Though ancient mountains where I search for truth 
are frosted by curse of ambitious pride 
that drives us to explore and colonize 
wild lands that bulge with sparkling minerals, 
I reassemble puzzle of world view 
that frames sublime truth with new narrative. 

I am so present in this time-bound space, 
enclosed by invisible walls of truth, 
that I become the paradise I speak 
when I compose Tellurian Testament 
in Astarian Scriptures of my own faith 
that we are atoms dreaming we are gods. 

Bend Our Wounded Bodies

Bend Our Wounded Bodies
© Surazeus
2026 09 05

I cannot bury thoughts in open ground 
except they sprout to angels without wings 
who plow deep soil and plant aggressive seeds 
with plan to claim this land as ancient home 
based on weird paradigm that graves may mark 
our territory where we live and die. 

Heart quickened with tellurian redolence, 
sweet scented by dream-rotten flesh of gods, 
I pour libation of mysterious wine 
in soil for skulls of prophets to imbibe 
that fuels intense expression of deep faith 
far-rooted from great mountains of contempt. 

Against now-sudden freakish snow of hope 
we bend our wounded bodies to contain 
enduring hope for time-unspooling truth, 
connived by thieves who wear official robes 
by claiming land our fathers tilled as theirs 
despite objection at injustice done. 

Contorted by fierce loneliness of faith, 
propped up by worthless prayers for liberty, 
we grasp contingent way for solving how 
dire vanishment at stark cadence of hate 
constrains alert expansion beyond pain 
when house door of our hope is locked by greed. 

Sweet berries may sustain our bitterness 
that buoyant urgency drives our vain quest, 
though we dare retain our false bravery 
with dreamless laughter of indifferent storms 
that thrash our straw homes into swirls of power, 
unbound by helpless acceptance of fate. 

Preserved by peaceful absences of fate 
that twist our mountain hearts in coils of rage, 
we search for cold wind in fear-jagged cave 
that hides unspeakable truth in bright names 
we share with sparkling ardency of change, 
still mirrored by dark river of our faith. 

On last day of the world near edge of truth 
we pluck fresh fruit of knowledge from the tree 
that transforms bodies of ancestral dreams 
to pulchritude of loyal innocence, 
because this land is formed from hidden graves 
where ghosts of people whisper how to live. 

Down stone-paved trails of jagged opulence 
we search for beauty blooming from cracked skulls 
to find soul of our world in faceless gods 
who loom in shining clouds above brave hills, 
revealing wounds that strength hearts with faith 
till we become dirt of the signless road. 

Matrix Of Star Souls

Matrix Of Star Souls
© Surazeus
2026 09 05

Though I stumble nowhere on road of life, 
randomly following my hungry gut, 
constantly mislead by my eager heart, 
wandering without any plan somewhere else, 
I find myself in paradise with you, 
together in our matrix of star souls. 

Confounded by the star map of my fate 
that sends me every which way I should go, 
which leaves me stranded in the Promised Land, 
I keep going past gates of Wonderland 
to find safe haven of our loving hearts 
where we thrive in our matrix of star souls. 

Sometimes I feel alone on spinning Earth, 
one tiny flash of selfish consciousness 
that glows in vastness of the universe, 
but I feel every conscious soul alive 
on every planet in our multiverse, 
all minds woven in matrix of star souls. 

We dream together in glow of vast space, 
zillions of souls shining in the White Whole, 
for we all emanate from one God Mind 
as atoms flashing with divine insight, 
temporary nodes of self-aware brains 
entangled in huge matrix of star souls. 

I am surprised to find myself alive, 
sparked into being by passionate desire 
of my mother and father to incarnate 
immortal soul of genes in mortal flesh, 
so I strum lyre of Mercury and sing 
cosmic hymn that vibes matrix of star souls. 

Since Dream Thought first sparked awake our world soul 
in swirling glitter of our Mother Sea, 
I have evolved four hundred million years 
fish to lizard to mouse to cat to monkey 
to wingless angel seeking to be god, 
giving body to matrix of star souls. 

My mind contains multitudes of old souls 
for all my ancestors, alive in me, 
program how my time-dreaming brain perceives 
ideal concepts essential to real things 
so I sing mindless soul of God in me 
as one flame in matrix of star souls. 

While David strums harp of clandestine faith, 
and Orpheus plays lyre of innocence, 
I conjure ancestral ghosts from book tales 
that give them life in visions of our hearts, 
then let them all dissipate to star dust, 
angels who form our matrix of star souls. 

Specter Of The Desert Seer

Specter Of The Desert Seer
© Surazeus
2026 09 05

Entranced by specter of the desert seer
who walks unknown in cities of the world, 
I search for wisdom in eyes of the owl 
that brings to honest hands of Liberty 
bright Lamp of Truth and Book of Names and Deeds 
so she guides our quest to the Promised Land. 

Amused by specter of the desert seer 
who highlights crimes of people grasping power, 
I join his revolution to transform 
paradigm of our shared global world view 
to nurture needs of women nursing life 
so we thrive in lush garden of fruit trees. 

Inspired by specter of the desert seer 
who haunts vast crowded maze of city streets, 
I strum the long-lost lyre of Mercury 
to conjure demons of our aching hearts 
so we rebel against oppressive thieves 
and restore functions of our liberal state. 

Confused by specter of the desert seer 
who hums riddles on television screens, 
I wear electric mask of Jupiter 
and fight thieves who clutch wheel for Ship of State 
to sail past iceberg of their fascist greed 
and land in garden where Hesperus rules. 

Engaged by specter of the desert seer 
who channels flames of light in crystal eyes, 
I build piston engine Barsanti sketched 
to power chariot of Ezekiel 
as time machine for zooming fast through space 
so I can find Fields of Elysium. 

Annoyed by specter of the desert seer 
who teaches me to calculate my fate, 
I choose to exercise strict self-control 
based on brave Apollonian will to live, 
fueled by fierce Dionysian love for truth 
till I transform into God I create. 

Designed by specter of the desert seer 
who programs how my brain perceives the world, 
I navigate my way through many turns 
in winding journey through the wilderness 
beyond the waste land to the Promised Land 
where I build Heaven from ruins of Hell. 

Uncharmed by specter of the desert seer 
who casts illusions of religious faith, 
I wake from timeless cavern of my heart 
spirit of Telluria, Mother Earth, 
who molds my soul from eyes of Jupiter 
so wise Saturnus lives again in me. 

Polytropocity Of Wisdom

Polytropocity Of Wisdom
© Surazeus
2026 09 04

Since these are the days of exquisite sorrow, 
we walk together on the broken road 
without regret the center cannot hold 
when our world view begins to fall apart, 
though patched together by outdated creeds 
that venerate some long-dead king as god. 

Feasting with ghosts of the dead on high barrow, 
on oak throne Odin carved from dragon bone, 
I contemplate with knowing smirk of truth 
that now, at two hundred and fifty years, 
America has lasted just as long 
as Tokugawa Shogunate of Nippon. 

The sun that rises on their snow-capped mountains 
sets first from mountains of America, 
from Bokku to Nippon on rainbow wings, 
yet weaving distant lands with mutual vibe 
for seeking honor with the stoic grin, 
Amaterasu in lush Oregon. 

I wonder if we should lament collapse 
of our aggressive colonizer state 
founded by sailors from the British Isles 
who used sea map that Mercator designed 
to explore every land around the Earth 
and rule empire with Scepter of Zambor. 

Though shy Ieyasu, ruler of Mikawa, 
just wanted to be left alone to live 
in peaceful happiness with Tsukiyama, 
his sweet bride graceful as the Sika deer, 
she brings message from Takemikazuchi 
that he is destined to unite the state. 

Somewhere out in land of America 
some humble Ieyasu, or brave Liu Bang, 
who manages affairs of his small town, 
feels Hidden Dragon stirring in his heart 
with mission to unite our fractured state 
and rebuild what Midas has torn apart. 

Some complicated man of many turns, 
urged by polytropocity of wisdom, 
will surf the rising tide of revolution 
to lead the honest people of our land 
against oppressors who exploit our hearts, 
and found Zarathia on love for truth. 

Because I like to contradict myself, 
since I contain multitudes of great souls 
embodied by people across our land, 
I hear voice of America express 
desire for every person to live free 
with equal justice of world liberty. 

Atoms Of Perceptive Brain

Atoms Of Perceptive Brain
© Surazeus
2026 09 04

No state of mind prepares our consciousness 
for blank finality of nothingness 
that fractures sense of being at crack of death 
which scatters atoms of perceptive brain 
in sparkling cloud of inorganic breath 
that turns to mud in mindless flush of rain. 

If bright integrity of consciousness 
is coherent concept of somethingness 
maintaining wholeness in clear sense of self 
outside corporal bounds of pulsing flesh, 
then we would not blank out in dreamless sleep 
and wake at reboot of computing flash. 

Bright conscious glow of our perceptive mind 
is conjured by this brain that hope designed 
through metamorphosis of gene rebirth 
when bodies procreate in child of fate 
which better calculates what love is worth 
through urgent act of faith we navigate. 

First mortal being to exercise my mind 
through constant turning of quick zest, I find 
strange beauty glowing in this world of forms 
which I explore beyond confining walls 
by raging wild as god against brute storms 
that thrash my fragile soul of chemicals. 

Through every action to transcend blank death 
I learn new secrets sparked by divine breath 
to overcome harsh suffering of the soul, 
asserting bright attention of insight 
with actions contradicting assigned role 
against blank darkness of death with fierce light. 

I am Aeolus, human filled with air, 
huge spirit swollen with desire to care, 
so I run laughing on vast ocean beach 
past scattered wreckage of my storm-bashed boat 
to grasp ecstatic wisdom beyond reach 
till deep in sea of nothingness I float. 

When Sirens on the jagged rock of fate 
sing mind-enchanting song against cruel hate, 
my heart, lured with irresistible hope 
for eternal life after body death, 
drives brave machine of my spirit to cope 
with calm indifference of Nature through breath. 

Though we build empires of productive farms 
based on religious faith in soothing charms 
with vain hope to transcend death of the soul, 
through deathless institutions of grand states, 
things fall apart at cracking of the whole, 
and no ghost lingers at the pearly gates. 

See Past Mask Of Seems

See Past Mask Of Seems
© Surazeus
2026 09 04

Sibylla walks along river of dreams 
and chuckles at the strangeness of her thoughts 
that ponder power struggles between men 
over who controls who will get to eat, 
then asks brave Hamlet if he knows the truth 
that blinds our eyes to see past mask of seems. 

Gazing out across great river of dreams, 
Sibylla plucks apple from Tree of Life 
then gives it calmly to the weeping man 
and thanks Timoleon with beaming smile 
because he freed the slaves of Syracuse 
so they can live and thrive with equal rights. 

We should abolish every monarchy, 
Sibylla whispers in the morning breeze, 
and force every tyrant to farm wheat fields 
so we eat bread of brave humility, 
then design social programs that support 
development of talents into skills. 

Our friendship is broad field of quiet light 
where vibrant hours nurture our mental growth 
so we share love through spiritual support 
the way the shoreline embraces the sea 
that helps us manage chaos of desire 
when gentle hands create Heaven we share. 

I want to offer you encouragement, 
Sibylla speaks to crowd of citizens, 
for I love you in my bewildered way 
when I discover door inside my heart 
that leads me to bright meadow of our hopes 
where we share stories by the glowing moon. 

When Hamlet leaves Ophelia behind, 
where she floats singing on the River Styx, 
Orpheus lifts her out with gentle arms 
so they teach daughter of forbidden love 
how to analyze fraught global affairs 
and prophesy rise of democracy. 

Engaged with process of creative art 
that frames narrative of global success, 
Sibylla fabulates with fairy tales 
conceptual code through ambiguity 
that stages plays of individual will 
when people choose fate they try to avoid. 

Brave hymns we sing in shadow of despair 
embrace chaotic darkness of our hearts 
refracting psychic energy of gods 
so we break our minds free from social norms 
and build global state of Zarathia 
from shattered ruins of America. 

Vibrant Currency Of Fame

Vibrant Currency Of Fame
© Surazeus
2026 09 03

The river gushing from cave of illusions 
will never tell me what I want to hear, 
so I carve visions of my mind in stone 
because rain washes all our dreams away, 
then program robot of my spirit clone 
with secret memories I would forget. 

My future is the future of this land 
that throbs with anguish of the suffering soul, 
unjustly treated by the faceless state 
as honest criminal who does no wrong, 
so I confess to nothing in sweet song 
that hypnotizes believers with lies. 

Unique state of inaugurated mind 
encompasses all possible outcomes 
through secretive analysis of skulls 
which calculate how far we have to go 
to transcend mortal decay of the flesh 
with plan to laugh for the photographer. 

Unsurpassed scope of heavenly respect 
almost daunts bone-clacking seer of concern 
who scrambles nations of bold agencies 
to peel regretful fruit of rotten hearts 
with disorganized methods of soul theft 
through unabated waves of wretched faith. 

Still wearing mask of calm demonic pride, 
I travel between galaxies of gods 
with flashing eyes now big enough to see 
golden path of success through cautious squint 
that brings our bodies back to scrambled game 
till sharp tongues bleed through walls of eager glass. 

If rainbows dare respect my will to win 
I may assert through serpentine attention 
encrusted sorrows heroes throw in swamps 
against deliberate progress we admire 
that patches surreal truths in tuneless seeds 
which sprout when buried in obscure disdain. 

Since I am not smooth cobblestones in rain 
that sings of fateful sorrows ghosts disdain, 
I stride with vibrant currency of fame 
which angels sell to those who discard truth 
to wear fear-polished mask of fervent prayer 
by building houses on the river shore. 

When white horse of Godiva wanders home 
to find out why her daughters cry with shame, 
our ghosts assemble in the city square 
to play role in our tense democracy 
that scatters children out the open door 
to build new empire of aggressive fame. 

Souls Of Hungry Seraphim

Souls Of Hungry Seraphim
© Surazeus
2026 09 03

Too deep the sorrow of brute wakefulness 
that scatters souls of hungry seraphim 
frail as crackled leaves across parking lots 
where demons give each other stolen eyes 
to make up excuses for scamming gods 
who insist on their hard-won happiness. 

Strange idea of the true way to live 
blinds generations of eager wanderers 
who clean the spotless windows of their hearts 
in numberless houses where no one lives, 
apprenticed to the changeless flow of time 
unspooling clocks that scream too silently. 

If books unfold themselves with angel wings 
against sapphire intensity of hope, 
we share ripe peaches in the afternoon 
while Satan vacuums empty offices 
because no one meets him at the crossroads 
with newspapers from secret centuries. 

The greatest tales of history ever told 
seem to have happened far too long ago 
for children to remember why they need 
bread to eat with honey of demon tears 
that soothes the wounded hearts of honesty 
with inconvenience of forgotten dreams. 

Since we get nothing from old memories 
except mute madness of the speeding car, 
we look for kind gnomes in suburban yards 
who ask us if we vote for president 
before the second coming of the toad 
whose eyes gleam bright as headlights in the fog. 

She tells him with soft voice of fluttered leaves 
that she prefers to fill her heart with love 
instead of waiting for his love to fill 
the empty places of her hopefulness, 
so he calls her the beautiful and brave 
with open eyes in museum of her heart. 

Since I was born with the weakness to fall, 
she sings while twirling in clear sparkling rain 
where flower petals flutter in the breeze, 
I was also born with the strength to rise, 
so he holds wingless anguish of her heart 
till she grows wings and flies into the clouds. 

The human heart is stronger than the stone 
smoothed by ten million years of river tears 
because it shatters from betrayal each day, 
yet throbs again with dawn flash of the sun, 
so we hold hands to bind our weakened hearts 
with strength of eager loneliness we share. 

Temporary Gods Of Flesh

Temporary Gods Of Flesh
© Surazeus
2026 09 03

Three ways blind angels know our death is soon 
tricks me to wander thoughtlessly alone, 
but since I see your face in the bright moon 
I leave last pear of my heart on your stone 
that never rolls up or down at my word, 
therefore I conclude that life is absurd. 

The ancient bearded bard with broken harp 
still lingers manic in the happy field 
while cradling with care gold comatose carp 
that leads me to buried Achillean shield 
depicting how citizens of the world 
pray for third coming of the cosmic herald. 

Medusa calls me on the telephone 
so I attend her late-night singing show 
where she plays mirror of the psychic clone 
whose proverbs teach the spirit how to grow 
till cute Cheonyeo Gwishin with purple eyes 
recruits me to join her squadron of spies. 

She wants to ask me why she is not here, 
but words that drip from moist clam of her mouth 
transform to lizards lured by bitter fear 
that mutate problem of evil to faith 
since we are temporary gods of flesh 
with brains that store their memories in dream cache. 

Medusa asks me if I want to kiss 
so we embrace with passion of the snake 
that tricks Eve into wanting homelife bliss, 
though social role she plays is never fake, 
despite how industry consumes tall trees 
as paper money we use to pay fees. 

Since we compete in endless psychic game 
by chanting spells in church of prophet bards, 
we find our souls trapped by oppressive fame 
as social heroes who must hire tough guards 
since farmers are foundation of the state 
whose struggles define our national fate. 

As fugitives from language of the heart, 
we tangle bodies in ballet of hope 
through algorithm hidden on the chart 
favored by survivors who learn to cope 
with exploitation our spirits endure, 
till Jesus arrives on snake-horned markhor. 

One hundred thousand poets recite spells, 
while gathered round fountain of the town square, 
which conjure demons from aesthetic wells 
to win song contest at Scarborough Fair 
over whose poetic vision best depicts 
real world we perceive on the River Styx. 

Luminous Phantom Of Faith

Luminous Phantom Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 09 02

I keep the secret of love in my heart 
though it swells and bleeds into apple seeds 
that I scatter along the muddy road 
while ducking under sorrow-laden boughs 
to savor succulent sanguinity 
too quickly lost in subtle jubilance. 

Excessive laughter of sorrow-winged joy 
teaches me about the impossible, 
yet I never hesitate to reach out 
with eagerness to exchange what we make 
with what we need in weird commercial game 
that functions to keep us busy till death. 

Because she understands language of waves 
Sycorax knows how to use the dream code 
of happiness to tame the Jormungander 
in giving her rides to the Promised Land 
where she paints murals of the multiverse 
on temple walls before the Feast of Friends. 

So when she finds corpse of the gray-haired poet 
rotting among the golden daffodils, 
Sycorax extracts his brain from his skull 
so she can study the Realm of Ideas 
that conjures visions of the Natural World 
as matrix that powers our battery hearts. 

Staring at computer screen for eighth hours, 
Sycorax imagines with fervent calm 
the Great American Novel she writes 
with blood of angels on the locked church door 
where her son lies in the coffin of glass 
since he died in the motorcycle crash. 

We feast on terror of fake happiness, 
Sycorax explains to the green giraffe 
on which she rides into Jerusalem 
as new messiah for the modern age 
to found one world religion of new faith 
that unites all nations in dance of ghosts. 

Driving cross-country in old white sedan 
to start her new job at Wonderland Park, 
Sycorax sings hymns of shy Emily 
whose face is luminous phantom of faith 
that guides her to the future of success 
not even God can see written in sand. 

When she arrives at destined hill of bones, 
where angels disguised as children with masks 
dance among flowers of discarded thoughts, 
Sycorax holds fractured skull of Wordsworth 
till she comprehends spirit of his verse 
that programs atheist wisdom from the curse. 

Always Friends With Ghosts

Always Friends With Ghosts
© Surazeus
2026 09 02

Because she will be always friends with ghosts 
by crossing bridge of angels before dark, 
she feeds swans of the past with anecdotes 
designed as proverbs in the holy book 
to guide lost people to the garden brook 
where they make new faces from broken boats. 

With laughter from cracked stones of hungry ghosts 
she opens pages that flap frantic wings 
which teach young children how to invent words 
they need to prove their minds are worth the light 
that blooms from lilacs in the cluttered yard 
where faceless angels carve their names in bones. 

If she decides her specialty is joy, 
that springs from shifting wells of raven blood, 
she may bring flowers to the funeral 
held for the old man no one seems to know 
who liked to build boats from demonic bones 
as if dew on our eyes may cleanse the heart. 

Her river glazed with light of centuries, 
she tells us how this world is wondrous weird 
so we exchange phone numbers by the lake, 
but lose touch with the ones we want to know 
by walking signless road beyond the wall 
that traps our bodies in false paradise. 

Still half awake three hours before red dawn, 
she stares with wonder at true nothingness 
with plan to give unspoken words away 
because they sprout their own butterfly wings 
and leave her stranded in the doorless room 
despite the way she earns her right to live. 

When fifteen women in the church at noon 
discuss how she reveals her writhing heart 
with anguish for brave seekers of the sea, 
she blesses tables heaped with empty plates 
while stealing apples from the box of lies 
from which flow sorrows of the hungry world. 

So when the last book still unwritten screams, 
she scatters lost words on the cracked sidewalk, 
then opens glass door to the multiverse 
where humble god of impotence designs 
strange paradigm for the whole world to use 
when framing thoughts with ancient languages. 

Yet she extracts from laughing radios 
completed puzzles that depict lost homes 
where families feast on zombie heart of faith 
to prove our right to live free from despair 
based on our friendship with the nameless ghosts 
who glow in television screens of hope. 

First Mother Wraith

First Mother Wraith
© Surazeus
2026 09 02

If we once gathered in September chill 
in stone huts set inside mist-shrouded hill 
to roast lamb on bright crackling flames of hope 
while children play chase on vine-tangled slope, 
then we may cherish memories of those years 
in distant lands with nothing but cold tears. 

Great glen that splits our land with shining lake 
conceals sweet memories we long to take 
when we sail wood ships over storm-wracked sea 
to build new garden in Land of the Free 
since men with guns drive us into dark gloom 
that shrouds our hearts with curse of bitter doom. 

Winds toss our frail ship on huge mindless waves 
which hurl us from wrecked ships to bone-filled caves 
where Death inspires our hearts with brave respect 
to seek weird truth in jewels eyes inspect 
with flash that guides us to the Promised Land 
where we build new empire with honest hand. 

When each new child is born from womb of fate 
I stand with cloth of cheese beside the gate 
as gift for hungry worker passing by 
whose grace will bless our child with star-clear eye 
to spread good fortune from my aching heart 
when I map Heaven on our history chart. 

From treeless glens where purple thistles thrive 
we journey through dark wilderness with drive 
for freedom far from gangs of castle thieves, 
yet linger lost in mountain vales where leaves 
still whisper names of souls we bury here 
among gold flowers by the glistening mere. 

Two hundred years swirl by in flashing clouds 
that soon erase all tales of ancient gods, 
so I wake in new world of phones and cars 
which reprograms constellations of stars 
till Scotia beams from visions of my dream 
whose face I see in shimmer of the stream. 

While strolling along moon-lit creek of faith, 
I see emerge from mist First Mother Wraith 
who guides my heart in lush Seattle woods 
and gives me symbols of ancestral goods 
so I see Scotland mirrored in landscape 
that molds old spirit in my mortal shape. 

Though hills of Scotland, shining in green rain, 
call me to fly home on quick wings of gain, 
I linger in lush Appalachian vales 
to play guitar and recite timeless tales 
depicting noble spirit of mankind 
that drives our hearts with love star god designed. 

Dreamless Lake Of Untime

Dreamless Lake Of Untime
© Surazeus
2026 09 01

Greta walks in dire laughter of untime 
to become mother of the trembling house 
where Walt and Wendell in the forest sing 
to wake soul of Kentucky from dark mud 
which spirals from strange beauty of her eyes 
because her face masks the infinite skies. 

Barefoot in the forest of singing ghosts, 
Greta writes verses of sorrowful hope 
with ants in cursive of electric clouds 
though she tries not to cry with ache of loss 
by telling no one how she misses them 
though they linger in window of untime. 

Rising huge from dreamless lake of untime 
because she carries darkness in her heart, 
Greta fears no monster that haunts the world 
when she is pregnant with honest despair 
whose soul absorbs her melancholy hope 
that cuts her eyes with undigested milk. 

Beyond extremity of lightless faith 
through swirling portal of unspoken words, 
Greta floats above the world-city maze 
where people see her spirit mask glow clear 
as whatever god they worship at home 
composed from our empty rooms of untime. 

Wandering in jagged mountains of untime, 
Greta maps secret valleys with deep caves 
that comprise land of Catalonia 
to find old monastery on steep hill 
where shy Minerva bathes in sparkling pool 
while suckling Phoebus at her breast with love. 

Born from the sacred womb of mindless Earth, 
brave Greta bears new-born son in her arms 
while walking rugged road of refugees 
to find secret garden of apple trees 
where clever Serpentus, with star-gold eyes, 
waits for his wife with passion of untime. 

Trapped in the television of untime 
with ghosts of actors from the Underworld, 
Greta hurries through film studio lots 
as shadow on the stage of every show 
to find Serpentus wearing business suit 
who edits scenes in one grand narrative. 

Shocked by the rise of fascist tyranny 
that threatens world liberal democracy, 
Greta raises high flag of Liberty 
and leads our brave toil for equality 
since fight for right overcomes fight for might 
in still unfolding story of untime. 

Death Remembers Our Ways

Death Remembers Our Ways
© Surazeus
2026 09 01

Whether or not death remembers our ways 
for treating plants and animals of Earth 
seems irrelevant to spooling of time 
which tangles karmic consequence of deeds 
that hungry souls perform in desperate bid 
to survive aggressive gusting of change. 

Despair for the world releases my mind 
from waking anguish of unspooling time, 
yet still I wander among humming trees 
to hear their opinions about respect 
which deceive my eyes of attentive hope 
with the peace of the wild things I can feel. 

While in the presence of clear water, I 
invent connections between twinkling stars 
to channel their light in my pulsing brain 
as omens that reveal how I should act 
to preserve grace of the world with my faith 
that means nothing to the recurring rain. 

Foolishly confident that I am free 
from imagined grace Earth bestows on me, 
I walk the signless road of everywhere 
and ask the faceless people I may meet 
if they can hear ancient song of the land, 
but they keep driving their chariot of fire. 

Though the complex wholeness of our weird world 
remains beyond the knowing of our minds, 
I follow clockwork of daily routines 
without explanation for life or death 
that recycles atoms of my frail body, 
assembled from dreams of discarded tales. 

So I continue to pretend I am real 
as flash of light on water of the lake 
that frames the fantasy of give and take 
programmed as institute of money games 
when we invest in new productive work 
expanding market of spiritual faith. 

Urged by adrenalin to transcend death, 
I hunt demonic monster of my fear 
in drive programmed by ancestral success 
to wrestle hunger that devours my heart 
till I transform from angel into human 
when I build Eden in the wilderness. 

Every god preserved in religious myth 
was once some mortal human with fierce mind 
whose deeds of victory against hungry death 
inspire our hearts to endure suffering 
so we too may become immortal souls 
preserved in tales long after we are dead. 

New Queen Of Liberty

New Queen Of Liberty
© Surazeus
2026 09 01

Hair red as dawn sunlight on treeless hill, 
Celta closes her eyes against gray gloom 
and whispers through rose-petal lips wyrd spell 
that conjures urgent vision of the stream 
swirling around her pale legs in moon rings 
dire wisdom of ravens on star-black wings. 

Curling slender fingers of freckled hands 
to spool kinetic flash of energy 
in taut dynamic coil of spiral bands, 
Celta chants pulsing words of empathy 
that shields her wounded heart with firm resolve 
to search for love where time-blind angels delve. 

Frail spirit inside ruins of stone walls, 
where her grandmother reigned as jeweled queen 
in grand castle destroyed by cannon balls, 
Celta strains attentive core of her mind 
to hear and comprehend fear-puzzled thoughts 
her ancestors hid in wave-battered boats. 

Entranced by inner beauty of her soul 
that emanates through gray glow of her eyes, 
Corbin emerges from sea-fetid swirl 
and offers red apple from dreamless maze, 
so Celta consumes sweet tears of the sun 
while pacing round stones of the weedy lawn. 

While Corbin kisses her with tender care 
and whispers oath to guard her sacred soul, 
Petrus entraps her with his greedy glare 
to proclaim she will perform regal role 
as bride of his hearth, then orders his men 
to arrest Corbin with strong legal chain. 

Caged in grand court hall of the greedy king, 
Corbin watches wedding of his Rose Queen, 
heart aching when Celta wears diamond ring, 
whose eyes gleam when she drinks gold grail of wine, 
then ascends stairs with him to tower room 
where she will execute his fateful doom. 

When Celta returns with white hands stained red, 
holding severed head of the tyrant high, 
the people cheer and celebrate her deed, 
proclaiming her new Queen of Liberty, 
then free Corbin who gives her jeweled crown 
that glitters when she reigns in blood-stained gown. 

Though Petrus destroyed castle of her home 
and controlled fertile land of her lost clan, 
Celta restores her state with Spell of Doom 
to rule her people with generous hand, 
assisted by brave Raven of her Heart, 
who protects her through code of their star chart. 

Logic Of Her Psychic Search

Logic Of Her Psychic Search
© Surazeus
2026 08 31

She wanders to the broken edge of time 
and lingers in soft swirl of ocean waves 
to ponder how absurd this life can seem, 
which might explain why angels try to rhyme 
while they invent new languages in caves 
so children can advance beside their team. 

She draws how voluminous billows swell 
from throbbing ruby of the hungry heart 
with plan to fold majestic sight of faith 
in clever books we read to key the bell 
that vibrates energy through the star chart 
designed by sightless bard for the dream wraith. 

She dances on uplifted wave of thought 
to find Endymion sleeping in moonlight, 
but deigns to kiss his mind awake with hope, 
so with one raven quill, she never bought, 
his name on water she attempts to write 
till he kisses her on the mountain slope. 

She smooths white marble idol of his soul 
with hands caressing curves of wordless ache 
to wake her shepherd-boy from fruitful dream, 
but he refuses to perform that role 
by walking on smooth surface of the lake 
to capture demon of his self-esteem. 

She feels him dance on flowing mirror sheen 
while he hangs from disk of the silk balloon 
which fools the fishermen in rocking boats 
to think he is wise angel with machine 
that opens portal to the fairy moon 
where he plays music taught by prancing goats. 

She follows voice of children in the dale 
to crystal gleaming pool in fairy glen 
on quest to find star child with seven eyes, 
but wanders lost on empire-building trail, 
misled by cheerful mockery of the wren 
that proves she may be mother of all spies. 

She mistranslates the ancient book of codes 
in bid to trick the tyrant blind with greed 
since people of the world despise his game, 
but he eludes fake justice of the toads 
by basing his reign on the sacred creed 
as if his blatant theft is blessed by fame. 

She channels anguish in her gentle laugh 
that guides her journey to the Promised Land 
where homeless refugees pray in her church 
designed by wizard with the serpent staff 
through social framework of her public brand 
that untwists logic of her psychic search. 

Exploding Stars Of Thought

Exploding Stars Of Thought
© Surazeus
2026 08 31

Entranced by great wink of eternity, 
still mesmerized by floods of spirit light, 
I try to translate from undinal spells 
weird song of Earth inflecting tones of love 
on scrolls of shimmer-passioned sentences 
that wake our conscious sense of wordless awe. 

Though I hear dark confessions of deep tides 
surge through our mortal veins of innocence, 
I seek to comprehend from water rings 
unspoken sorrows wounded hearts conceal, 
born from traumatic nuance of respect, 
as bodies floating flushed on streams of time. 

Raptured through finite consanguinity, 
despite these tendered themes of secret faith 
we dare exchange against insistence winds, 
our hearts retrieve from transient arrogance 
shared eagerness to generate new life 
from swollen ardency of each embrace. 

We long to feel exploding stars of thought 
kiss ceaseless waves of mental energy 
based on transmemberment of memories 
which motivates our journey beyond fear 
on lithe pediments of honest desire, 
till we emerge from waves of pleasant pain. 

Advanced by spectrum of marine concern, 
we pledge portentous passion to preside 
perilous connections between heaved hearts, 
inspired by mutability of trust 
refracting portions of our fractured selves 
in trembling idol of complete rebirth. 

Based boldly on inviable forethought, 
vast latitudes unleveled by exchange 
of logic-spanning staves defined by quills, 
our calm relationship of secret faith 
contracts new signature of fluid words 
despite assertions of contrary truths. 

Meticulous discharge of lonely laughs, 
infrangible bond that welds separate hearts 
of our private minds in trackless clarity, 
expands enclosing scope of welcoming 
to shelter wanderers with godless walls 
that justifies brave argosies of faith. 

Breath sealed by ghosts whose names my dreams record, 
my body swells with bitter streams of hope, 
now strong enough to cancel tyranny 
and build from frantic derelict of faith 
new world view of comprehensive insight 
by which I predict every consequence. 

Mercurial Melody Of Love

Mercurial Melody Of Love
© Surazeus
2026 08 30

Picking ripe berries from the laurel tree, 
that poison tears of angels with despair, 
young Lycidas whistles heart-aching tune 
in cautious winds of the mellowing year, 
then wades into the river of strange dreams 
and sings mercurial melody of love. 

Three muses gathered at the sacred well, 
that springs from stone where Jove lounges all day, 
recite brave songs that quick poets transcribe 
with blood of angels on parched demon skin, 
while Lycidas plays lyre of Mercury 
and stamps his feet in tune with river mud. 

Nursed together on the hill of pear trees, 
Lycidas, and his best friend Satyrus, 
herd flock of sheep beside the flowing stream 
to batten flock with fresh dews of the night 
where evening star gleams in the westering wheel, 
then plays slim oaten flute with aching heart. 

Tune of his oaten flute in desert caves, 
where wild thyme blooms from secret wound of hope, 
echoes soft in hazel copse where wrens sing 
to conjure from lush fairy mounds of fate 
ghosts of wise Druids who share secret codes 
recorded by old bards in wood-carved runes. 

Down Hebrus tides of endless water flow 
Lycidas wanders among fruited trees 
while lithe Satyrus dances with fierce grace 
to show him fane entangled with grape vines 
where skull of Orpheus, studded with gems, 
prophesies rise and fall of great empires. 

Beside the fountain Arethuse, that flows 
free from deep strangeness of our spinning Earth, 
Lycidas dances with bride of his heart, 
star-eyed Amaryllis in linen gown, 
who asks if he plays Herald of the Sea 
as son of Neptune in the horse-drawn cart. 

Disguised as prophet of the broken mask, 
Lycidas plays Alpheus with dread voice 
who visits bottom of the monstrous world 
in quest for valley where Bellerus dwells, 
yet finds his woeful shepherd friends distraught 
at news of his death in the Hebrus Stream. 

Recording deeds of heroes in strict verse 
that encodes tragic song of human hearts 
in Doric lay that few interpret well, 
Lycidas strides as Genius of the shore 
to teach young children art of poetry, 
expressing heart ache in transcendent spell. 

Flash Of Mental Equilibrium

Flash Of Mental Equilibrium
© Surazeus
2026 08 30

Behind the veil of laughter my soul wears 
bees gather sorrows to brew honey tears 
which poison angels with communal hope 
that apple trees will teach us how to cope 
with urgent passion of the need to know 
how seeds transform into the mental crow. 

Since language blinds our eyes to what is real, 
we disentangle concepts we should feel 
concealed in books that only gods can read 
in psychic riddles that compose our creed 
which guides our actions to destroy the world 
in preparation for the cosmic herald. 

I row wood boat across the mirror lake 
to find if Saturnus is yet awake, 
but black cat lurks where scarlet roses bloom 
in moonlit garden where I taste tart gloom 
thick with perfume of poppies in the air 
that proves my vow to always show I care. 

Together on wood patio after rain 
we build great kingdoms because life is vain, 
late-summer evening breeze of broken walls 
through extirpation of communist halls, 
so I row ferry into swirling mist 
to find fruit tree where Adam and Eve kissed. 

I wake up with no chance to start anew 
before the priest declares my crime is true, 
so I ride eagle of America 
to find crumbling temple in Attica 
where I children of my enterprising soul 
are eager to perform angelic role. 

Lost innocence of lovers binds their hands 
with firm commitment to guard fertile lands 
where homeless immigrants escaping war 
get jobs stocking shelves in the grocery store 
because the cleaning lady runs the state, 
whose humble mop still calculates our fate. 

I read the ancient book of fairy tales 
that falls into my hands when terror fails 
to recommend song of the nightingale 
that sings in pastoral setting of the vale 
where honest farmer milks the sacred cow 
though his son plays King of the Golden Bough. 

Through flash of mental equilibrium 
I map lush meadows of Elysium 
to find small temple in weird Orphic cave 
where I join the global ruling enclave 
as shadow king in secret government 
which I rule with Astarian Testament.