Memories Of Dead Gods

Memories Of Dead Gods
© Surazeus
2026 07 12

When dawn sun opens mirror of my brain 
I reassemble framework of my face 
with fragments torn from memories of dead gods 
so I when I face the world at flash of fame 
my honest simpleness may shield my heart 
from slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. 

I get my eyes from Cronus and Saturnus 
so I may see heart of each human being 
that glows with secret passion they would hide 
when we exchange conceptual energy 
through tangled formula of sentences 
encoding sentiment in psychic code. 

I get my ears from Phoebus and Apollo 
so I may hear bright music of the spheres 
that radiates from first flash of the god eye 
when I translate weird song of ocean waves 
to pop songs blaring on the radio 
when everyone plays Sunday on the beach. 

I get my arms from Bacchus and Hephaestus 
so I may craft wave-leaping ship of fate 
from wood of trees I cut from Helicon 
when I sail seven seas on treasure quest 
to colonize the world with castle queens 
who rule cities at mouths of flowing rivers. 

I get my heart from Jupiter and Jesus 
so I may rule empire of pyramids 
controlling fields of wheat and herds of cows 
when I ride white horse on the hill of skulls 
to fight crocodiles in the steaming swamp, 
depicted as Saint George who slays the dragon. 

I get my brain from Athena and Hermes 
so I may envision in lines of verse 
deeds wise heroes perform as humble men 
who seek to understand nature of things 
as they develop through philosophy 
foundation of our world civilization. 

I get my tongue from Hera and Poseidon 
so I may sing enchanting spells of sight 
depicting complex nature of the heart 
which animates each human to explore 
expansive landscape of our spinning globe 
that generates our souls in pulsing brains. 

Though my frail mortal body is composed 
of fragments from grand deities of time, 
I pause from endless journey of my soul 
on signless road in waste land of despair 
and laugh at weird absurdity of life, 
then keep on searching for the Promised Land. 

Angelic Wings Of Fortitude

Angelic Wings Of Fortitude
© Surazeus
2026 07 11

What I experience is irrelevant 
to beauty of truth that shines as the sun 
which energizes atoms to compose 
fragile bodies that nourish dreaming brains 
awake with passion to taste fruit of hope 
that blooms from twisted anguish of tree limbs. 

Disconnected from valley of my birth, 
I walk on grass of exile without words 
to understand excessive flash of stones 
which ask what secret name I answer to 
by cooking bread from dough of fearless faith 
though wind blows ashes from my trembling hand. 

Trapped in dank prison of rebellious hope 
by chains of fear men forge from bitter hate, 
I spread angelic wings of fortitude 
to soar above vast maze of doorless homes 
but weep for people stuck inside despair 
till I fall back inside my fragile head. 

To escape that plausible state of grace 
against hostile attack of wingless fame, 
I transform into tortoise with steel bones, 
empowered by majestic haughtiness 
that I can fly on angel wings of faith 
to dwell in realm of changeless paradigms. 

My conscious sense of selfhood is programmed 
by all my fierce ancestors who have lived 
four hundred million years of desperate faith, 
therefore by now my brain imagines state 
of psychic power to transcend its frame 
alive beyond bounds of this mortal flesh. 

Deluded I can live outside my brain 
as faceless soul of timeless energy, 
I prance on rainbow bridge of innocence 
to organize delusions of my power 
in mural that depicts my divine myth 
which crumbles to dust of lost centuries. 

My soul that shimmers with light of the sun 
is chemical function of my sponge brain 
which animates fragile body of bones 
as vehicle I drive to procreate 
new body for my genes before I die 
since I will dissipate to wordless wind. 

Though I imagine I can fly with grace 
beyond bounds of my skull on wings of light, 
I always swirl back in shell of my skull 
and wake from nothingness of dreamless sleep 
to laugh with joy that I am still alive, 
surprised at beauty of this cluttered world. 

Snow-White God Butterfly

Snow-White God Butterfly
© Surazeus
2026 07 11

If I cast my bread in waters of hope, 
after selling devils ten thousand cars, 
I could buy descendant of Pegasus 
to fly above vast maze of city streets 
where people chase bright rainbow of respect 
till they vanish in television shows. 

With sharp knife of assertive innocence, 
I slice bread loaf of economic gain 
so every person in the world can eat 
as if food is the answer to despair, 
because the snow-white god butterfly knows 
secret passion of my casino heart. 

Though all gods humans worshipped in the past 
are nameless gusts of wind in sun-gold trees, 
I feel them ever present in my home 
for they haunt those who think about them most, 
small lights of hope in darkness of the world 
that guide my way in tangled woods of change. 

Ghost of my mother in her living room 
sits in the rocking chair of timeless truth, 
and knits another sweater of concern 
from huge ball of traumatic memories 
which she gives to homeless people downtown 
who wear them when they huddle in snow fall. 

Since the dream ghost of everyone decides 
to sell lamp of Diogenes to Thor, 
our bodies have become vessels of thought 
programmed to perform duties for the dream 
that hard work is rewarded with great wealth 
which we all share in our hypnotic trance. 

When Alfred the Great and Harald Fairhair 
play game of chess in Kronborg Castle court 
over who will wear the golden Crown of Thorns, 
Phoebus takes hand of Alof Gydhasdottir 
and sails with her to misty Isle of Skye 
where they fly his starship to Magrathea. 

Now that I know my whole ancestral tale, 
filled with men and women with starry eyes 
who attempted to build Heaven on Earth, 
I can relax on shore of River Styx 
and think of how to map world history 
that includes every soul who ever lived. 

After I work in the car factory, 
assembling engines from midnight till dawn, 
I hang out in meadow of dew-wet grass 
and listen to snow-white god butterfly 
describe how swerving atoms interact 
to conjure consciousness in dreaming brains. 

Fleeting Span Of Life

Fleeting Span Of Life
© Surazeus
2026 07 10

Though infinite flash days before my birth 
and infinite mire days I rot in Earth, 
I spend this fleeting span of life with you 
beside our lake of dreams that shimmers blue 
with dignity of love our bodies share 
as flames of energy that writhe in air. 

Though toil of hope our work-worn hands express 
proves vain as too-brief glow of happiness, 
we bind our hearts with contract to create 
calm hours of peace by star-lit lake of fate 
to savor pleasure of beauty that floats 
almost changeless as time-revealing boats. 

Though we have drifted far across the land 
on signless roads unmapped by human hand, 
we still are loath to linger in one place 
too long, since generosity of grace 
traps earnest travelers in paradise 
where hearts get twisted by corrupting vice. 

Though urgent passion to explore deep vales 
drives our souls forward into blasting gales, 
we like to dwell on sparkling river shore 
to bake sweet barley bread by open door, 
then drink tart wine in timeless twilight glow 
to watch wild sparrows fly with Zephyr flow. 

Though we would like to journey to the star 
that lures our careless hearts to reach too far, 
we will one day lie down on nursing grass 
and sing without regret as our souls pass, 
so, nameless Traveler, stop by this mound 
where we are buried in the hungry ground. 

Though you have far to go before bright sun 
sets blazing on wild hills where swift deer run, 
sit on this mound where our old bodies lie 
and listen to proud evening crickets cry 
mournful elegies for each conscious being 
who lived and died in shadow of the wing. 

Though I have vanished from long dream of Earth 
as if my divine spirit beamed no worth, 
my dreams recorded in riddles of verse 
radiate as light across the universe 
so yet-born children on this same lake shore 
will hear my voice sing long-forgotten lore. 

Though I stroll staffless down this endless road 
on mission to pay Hades what I owed, 
still hearty as I wither from old age, 
my children play lyre of Phoebus on the stage 
while slow Acheron bears my glowing soul 
to Elysium after I play my role. 

Integration Of God Eggs

Integration Of God Eggs
© Surazeus
2026 07 10

Still tracing blood in final truth of bone, 
cracked by assertive thoughts none dare express, 
I enter our remote tower in air 
where silver wisher of the humble Clerk 
recalls swift flight of hawks at dawn of fate 
which casts strange shadow on the broken gate. 

Unsure if spools of time may detox fear, 
when curious fish in tunnels of green seas 
teach me to wrestle fate in wordless gloom, 
I scatter remnants of my wicked dreams 
on sparkling sands of arrogant dismay 
to prove my heart intends to offer hope. 

Indifferent to souls of children that flit 
on sparrow wings of urgent confidence 
between vast strangeness of borderless hills, 
I wander down the forest path of hope 
and open wide my arms to embrace love, 
but you disapparate from barren fields. 

If we should meet again at starless flash 
safe within crumbling palaces of bone, 
we may exchange insightful tales of fate 
to resurrect blind demons from our hearts 
and banish them with laughter to the moon 
at sudden comprehension of torn wings. 

We wait together on the river shore 
to be seen by God in gold cloud of fate, 
but children scatter far across the hills 
which leaves us half-asleep in dreamless heat 
at shocking quickness of the dancing tree 
that hides our sorrow in shadow of eyes. 

Our debt to integration of god eggs 
remains unpaid from countless spins of fear, 
bedazzled by ambiguous ambience 
that we experience in unwindowed room 
where martyred ghosts of honeysuckle twist 
our minds with laughter beyond countless years. 

Each clue I leave on meadow of glass skulls 
blinds your electric eyes with clever code 
so you attempt to sell your wounded heart 
entwined with reason of innocent vines 
if we escape taut mesh of tangled lies 
contained by hideous roar of knelling words. 

Though still unwept by dangerous regret, 
sweet Stella gives me dignity of trust 
which I record in seventh testament 
at dazed solemnity of honest men 
whose shadows sterilize valleys of ghosts, 
fluent with forced fragility of faith. 

Misty Vales Of Caledonia

Misty Vales Of Caledonia
© Surazeus
2026 07 10

Through misty vales of Caledonia 
with lamp of Diogenes on my hand, 
I search for the dream ghost of everywhere 
who seems to know the secret of my name, 
because I hear her voice in tangled woods 
sing heart-enchanting melody of love. 

In shadowed woods of Caledonia 
with sharp spear of Longinus in my hand, 
I find Carline, daughter of Hecate, 
brewing cauldron of honey mushroom wine 
so I offer apples from Tree of Truth 
to star-eyed Nicnevan with long black hair. 

On jagged hills of Caledonia 
with blunt Hammer of Thor in my hand, 
I build stone towers as havens of faith 
where daughters of Scathach may dwell in peace 
to raise brave children of their aching hearts 
who map the world with hard feet of desire. 

From rugged shores of Caledonia 
with billowed sails of curiosity, 
I sail wood ship on flashing waves of hope 
along Black River of Goddess Danu 
who leads her people to the Promised Land 
to live safe from the swords of hungry greed. 

Up winding trails of Caledonia 
with Wand of Zambor to steady my gait, 
I climb fairy hill of Sith Chailleann 
where winds of wisdom swirling flakes of snow 
speak with voices my ancestors expressed 
about strange history of humanity. 

By sparkling lakes of Caledonia 
with eye-phone linking to the world wide web, 
I film deep waters of placid Loch Ness 
in hope to see lithe monster of God Mind 
that lurks in lightless abyss of my heart 
with arcane knowledge of all human fate. 

Down secret caves of Caledonia 
with flashlight that illuminates the mind, 
I find skulls of demonic dinosaurs, 
who roamed the world millions of years ago 
before we evolved to angels from mice, 
to record riddles of their prophecies. 

Across lush fields of Caledonia 
with horse of courage swift as morning wind, 
I confront the dream ghost of everywhere 
who shows me how history will unfold 
through revelation of messiah sleuth 
whose spirit wakes in hearts of all mankind. 

Official Mask Of Fate

Official Mask Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 07 09

Stuck in the painting of my faceless ghost, 
that hangs on sun-bleached wall of bloodless wind 
in empty house somewhere on signless road 
where no one ever goes to find their heart, 
I pretend I am cold light of the moon 
as I float deep in water of my mind. 

Awake in timeless silence of undeath, 
I love to feel soft undulating waves 
that people speak caress my tingling skin 
so I almost remember secret name 
my mother dreamed one hour before my birth 
which gleams as sunlight in web of tree limbs. 

While sitting in my house on somewhere street, 
with wife and children in their private rooms, 
I hear ten million voices whisper poems 
that pulse with energy of my heartbeat 
in global choir of angels who express 
ache of sorrow to design happiness. 

Your secret hopes and fears echo in words 
you write in posts on social media sites 
that shimmer in great cloud of divine lights 
translating human thoughts from tweets of birds 
that blend in raucous harmony of hope 
with desperate need to help each other cope. 

Though I gaze in pool where Narcissus drowned, 
I see your faces blend in my one face 
for we are angels of one human race 
born from First Mother whose whole heart is crowned 
with jeweled ring of wisdom we all share 
in coil of genes that weaves our souls with care. 

Though I hear all your voices echo clear 
in woods where Echo plays the violin, 
that radiates vibes of mental medicine, 
I sing in syncopated rhyme of cheer 
that cracks enormous egg of dragon brain 
which nourishes my heart to soothe its pain. 

Bloomed in the painting of my faceless ghost 
which I wear as official mask of fate, 
I attend the Global Conference of Seers 
at University of Zarathia 
to present panel on star prophecies 
composed by Sibyl in the Vatican. 

All weird illusions of my special role 
dissipate to mist on shore of the lake 
where words of every poem that humans write 
sparkle as water of silent respect 
on which I row my boat of fantasy 
to photograph proud monster of the deep. 

Justice For Every Soul

Justice For Every Soul
© Surazeus
2026 07 08

You are happy to find the broken moon 
in pool of rain outside abandoned house 
where your grandmother grills demonic fish 
with miso soup and noodles of frog brains, 
so you pretend to own your happiness 
when you stand on the porch and wonder why. 

On the way back to the last town on Earth, 
where children live in television screens, 
we stop at diner by the factory, 
where your grandfather made Volkswagen cars, 
and eat hamburgers from dinosaur meat 
while watching soccer on the frazzled wall. 

You are not scared of spiders in your eyes 
for they refract conceptual dreams of gods 
to prove we still know how to make the fire 
from ancient books of lies that preachers sell 
because you talk to pigs about the law 
that requires we donate more than we steal. 

Time unwinds laughter you hide in fake books 
because you watch the science fiction show 
about the captain and his ship of fools 
who must contend with demigods and ghouls 
when darkness of autumn evening descends 
on city of ten thousand screaming trains. 

You stare at face of your first teddy bear 
and ask him why he wants to climb the pole 
where savior of the world hangs crucified 
as if he whispers secrets of your heart 
that unwrite centuries of holy writ 
despite how you cook omelets at dawn. 

You sit three thousand years in attic room, 
peeling oranges for refugees of war 
who appear and disappear in your ken 
till singers gather on the castle lawn 
in calm rebellion of the broken heart 
because you want justice for every soul. 

You hear about your father on the news 
shot dead by agents of the government 
while he was driving to work building homes, 
and when you hear his voice on video 
cry for help as he bleeds on the hot road 
you transform into white horse in the egg. 

You walk alone on ocean shore of fate 
and ask the mindless wind why men must hate 
people who just want to live their own way, 
then you turn around and point at my mask, 
but I have become you inside your head 
so you map world where angels fear to tread. 

Endless Road Of Certainty

Endless Road Of Certainty
© Surazeus
2026 07 08

Too many ways to fall from the blank sky 
interrupt my game of fun chess with Death 
on the beach where children play hide and seek 
to understand how televisions work 
when unseen signals vibrate through the air 
in psychic waves of interactive dreams. 

Too fast for fierce human eyes to detect, 
ghosts flit around our bodies of frail flesh 
on wings of words derived from psychic trash 
and weave with riddle code of honesty 
addictive webs of enervating thoughts 
constraining choices of fate we compose. 

Too far down endless road of certainty 
I wander far beyond necessity 
with ardent faith in what was never real 
till I stand stunned on high edge of the world 
to stare at silver flux of secrecy 
discerned by thoughtless minds of decency. 

Too late for me to address you by name, 
I look for you in every empty room 
because I want to understand your heart 
and what strange passion of hidden desire 
motivates you attempt to stall death 
though we all will die and return to dust. 

Too soon for Jesus to return again 
from Heaven that persists inside our brains 
as Realm of Ideas that never change, 
eternal forms of objects I perceive 
provide blueprint for atoms to compose 
seething bodies from hot energy waves. 

Too close to source of psychic vibrancy, 
I twirl in graceful glide of urgency 
to generate new life before I die 
since I have been reborn since dawn of time 
from coil of genes in writhing mental vine 
which makes me feel immortal as the stars. 

Too slow for fate to allocate my rights 
with flexible modes of contingency, 
Death waits for me far down the signless road 
so I stroll calmly along winding streams 
and scatter fruit seeds of fertility 
across the waste land of my solitude. 

Too few alternatives for rising up 
from thick rotundity of our vast world, 
I feel all-shaking thunder of desire 
swell molds of nature with intense concern 
to flush my heart with gratefulness at life 
when storms forge courage in my cautious heart. 

Safe In The Sad Forever

Safe In The Sad Forever
© Surazeus
2026 07 07

Safe in the sad forever of my heart, 
I take solace with arrogant respect 
that all living creatures move toward their end, 
because at final rush of victory 
beneath brilliant cross of flashing sunrays 
we know strange beauty of eternity. 

Safe in the sad forever of God Brain, 
I ride electric horse with rainbow wings 
in swirling chaos of perceptive plans 
to take my children to the river park 
where they play tag with fairies and kobolds 
that teach them secrets of eternal life. 

Safe in the sad forever of huge books, 
I play mad wizard to categorize 
the fantasy-industrial complex 
composed of spiritual cults that preserve 
arcane secrets of invisible seers 
who keep wise Sibyl locked in golden cage. 

Safe in the sad forever of fruit trees, 
I chat about philosophy of truth 
with rainbow serpent of the sorcerer 
who teaches me how to reanimate 
bodies of the dead with potion of faith 
brewed from honey and mushrooms with love. 

Safe in the sad forever of vast woods, 
I measure winding flow of mountain streams 
through brave analysis of legal rights 
concerning who asserts their privilege 
to play the broken lyre of Mercury 
preserved in museum of singing skulls. 

Safe in the sad forever of deep lakes, 
I program zeitgeist of the modern world 
in fractured narrative of fairytales 
describing placid life of cubicles 
as high achievement of the human race 
since evolving four hundred million years. 

Safe in the sad forever of glass church, 
I bend slant rays of alabaster keys 
to catch swift falcon of the history gyre 
who shows me how to bind the center core 
which holds all nations of the world by law 
united through bold rights of liberty. 

Safe in the sad forever of gold clouds, 
I write code for world spirit of the Earth 
at second coming of messiah sleuth 
who plays the broken lyre inside my heart 
with vexed assessment of lost centuries 
when I slouch toward Oregon to be born. 

Among The First To Wake

Among The First To Wake
© Surazeus
2026 07 07

Among the first to wake in dream of Earth, 
Enitha glides along lush river shore 
among pink primrose blooming softly sweet 
from gentle caress of her tender feet 
that leads her path to silent misty moor 
where luminous phantom gleams in her eyes. 

Strange butterfly of sorrow with gold eyes 
lands on large apple in broad tangled tree 
so shy Enitha reaches out her hand 
just as bright lightning flashes in black cloud 
so she breathes sudden gust of crackling wind 
when luminous phantom scatters black rain. 

When giant spider, larger than her hand, 
crawls up trunk of the broken apple tree, 
Enitha holds her trembling body still 
to watch how long legs weave thin silver web 
that shimmers with each gust of subtle wind 
as luminous phantom gleams in raindrops. 

Small herd of deer with large black eyes of faith, 
yet tense with skittish innocence of fear, 
assemble on shore of the sparkling stream 
to drink with cautious terror of desire 
but flee in shadow of the ancient woods 
when luminous phantom opens her eyes. 

Among the first to wake from dream of time, 
Enitha gazes long at sparkling stars 
that flicker in soft undulating waves 
with swirl of clouds lit gold by sudden moon 
that rises dripping from deep mountain lake 
since luminous phantom knows her true name. 

Elegant horse with long shimmering mane 
grazes on low hill slope among tall grass, 
so lithe Enitha hides in tall oak tree, 
afraid that graceful creature with black eyes 
may race away into the rainbow sky 
when luminous phantom offers her fruit. 

Stretching her arms after sitting five hours 
drawing panels for her graphic webtoon 
that features Enitha at dawn of time, 
Sakura wanders in slippers and pink robe 
to the kitchen where she drinks apple juice, 
yet luminous phantom floats in her mind. 

Watching cars glide on busy road below, 
Sakura ponders how her cute fantasy tale 
should progress that displays her character 
as fragile girl with cautious innocence 
who grows strong when she faces obstacles 
so luminous phantom blooms in her heart. 

Beams Of Psychometric Light

Beams Of Psychometric Light
© Surazeus
2026 07 06

Framed with perspective of my curious heart 
to comprehend through formulas of thought 
atomic nature of our universe, 
Earth shines with beauty of its messiness 
that undulates in teeming mass of coils 
which spring as beams of psychometric light. 

Sun Spider Goddess, bright Solaria, 
weaves our planet from beams of flashing light 
which nurtures our organic body form 
animated by spirit in our brain 
that conjures virtual model of the world 
designed by ideas of words we speak. 

Earth Angel Goddess, brave Telluria, 
molds our body from assertive lust 
so we evolve four hundred million years 
from fish to newt to mouse to cat to ape 
to wingless angel striving to be God 
in quest to gain enlightenment through love. 

I feel bright energy of timeless light 
from countless stars across the universe 
pulse vigorously in every crystal cell 
that constitutes contraption of my being 
as spiritual machine of divine soul 
that wakes cosmic mind in my mortal brain. 

Ascending rugged foothills of respect 
near majesty of Mount Takoma peak, 
I gaze at crescent moon of innocence 
that gleams in sparkling mirror of the pool 
where timeless song of truth vibrates as song 
that tunes strings of my heart with stoic faith. 

Clear mountain wind fills hearts of travelers 
with haunting rapture of brave Seraphim 
whose hearts observe sublime beauty of Earth 
which emanates from every fragile soul 
that glimmers through organic form of thought 
woven from beams of psychometric light. 

Though every creature of organic form, 
that glows this hour on spinning Earth of light, 
will vanish into swirls of mindless dust, 
we shine alive as flame of ardent faith 
with tender dignity of star-eyed hope, 
endowed with secret name of psychic code. 

Since I will one day disappear at death 
and vanish beyond nothingness of time, 
I strum the holy Lyre of Mercury 
in way Orpheus taught me to perform, 
and sing grand epic of philosophers 
about our human quest to know the truth. 

Mountain of Dancing Trees

Mountain of Dancing Trees
© Surazeus
2026 07 06

Through stories we tell about life on Earth 
we program our children with moral code 
how to perceive beauty in changing forms 
if we have found enlightenment of truth 
through ideology that blinds our eyes 
to see gods on mountain of dancing trees. 

Reversing point of view with mirror eyes 
through oscillation of opposing thoughts, 
we measure angles of disparate truths 
since verity depends on vantage point 
so experience points to more complex whole 
that we map on mountain of dancing trees. 

Too many facets of one diamond gem 
refract apparent opposites in view 
so different angles of one whole event 
appear to contradict analysis, 
therefore I puzzle fragments in one truth 
when I play on mountain of dancing trees. 

Each concept I retrieve from pool of facts 
provides one disunited piece of life 
which I collage in mural of grand truth 
connecting unrelated data points 
in fluctuating web of certainties 
that blossoms on mountain of dancing trees. 

Embodiment of gear-wound paradox 
in complex personas our brains design, 
I explore purple mountain majesties 
to understand courage of bravery 
when people with much help people with naught 
to dwell safe on mountain of dancing trees. 

Quiet mathematics of selfless love 
calculates investment without return 
when people help each other generate 
food and goods from minerals of the Earth 
that fuels function of social enterprise 
we settle on mountain of dancing trees. 

Toward inaudible light of pulsing hearts 
we live in language of our hungry tongues 
by breathing wind of hope on river flow 
for inspiration of the garden faith 
which nurtures us with brightness of the star 
that shimmers on mountain of dancing trees. 

Brewing juice on altar of Hygia, 
I listen to young maids of Caryae sing 
hymns at the festival of Artemis 
where thousands of worshippers in white robes 
honor grace of women who create life 
in temple on mountain of dancing trees. 

Mind Machinery Of Heaven

Mind Machinery Of Heaven
© Surazeus
2026 07 05

When mind machinery of Heaven programs 
my brain to perceive world of seething forms, 
cluttered with people searching for their souls, 
I wander trapped by hush of evening skies 
where dead star tries to teach me how to shine, 
but I steal the last apple from the snake. 

When I hear the wind whisper secret names 
I laugh as the river answers with jokes, 
though gloom spills across rooftops of despair, 
tangled in telephone wires of regret, 
and into mouths of strangers without books 
who wait for bus to Hell that never comes. 

When weird river of eternity sings 
about the suffering of war refugees, 
I watch one reckless star of fate break free 
from machinery of heaven to convert 
my heart to faith in blind witch of true love 
because light survives its own loneliness. 

When Evening that wears gown of silver mist 
hangs black pomegranate of urgent faith 
above the crowded graveyard of dead gods, 
new star of wisdom opens wounded heart 
as fountain flowing with honey and milk 
that could heal spirits of the traumatized. 

When Tree of Knowledge drops another branch, 
that represents how close relationships 
could be severed by words of bitter fear, 
I attribute fracture of honest hearts 
to wordless mathematics of regret 
which realigns our quest for paradise. 

When turbulent concern of ardent hope 
unspools established legacy of trust, 
I wander lost in cluttered field of lies 
with lamp some old philosopher gave me 
that casts uncanny rays of false insight 
on faces twisted with uncertainty. 

When I hide in cathedral of glass masks, 
where light rays slant against logical sense, 
I gather fragments of discarded tales 
and puzzle them in vast collage of truths 
which almost forms coherent view of life 
till wind blows leaves of grass in lake of dreams. 

When horse of sorrow on the signless road 
reveals weird secret of building dream worlds, 
I populate Garden of Eden with ghosts 
of innocent people killed in cruel wars 
so I can pretend they live happily 
in perfect Heaven of my fantasy. 

Star Vision Of Kaskalkur

Star Vision Of Kaskalkur
© Surazeus
2026 07 05

Stuck in dream machine of psychotic words 
that conjure visions in my clacking brain, 
I stroll the busy streets of Everytown 
to ask River Witch in Cave of Despair 
why she remembers when my soul was born, 
but Kaskalkur just chuckles with sly grin. 

With eyes that flash bright television screens, 
she gives me glass of water with sweet sneer 
that she drew from dark underwater stream 
which fills my heart with weird demonic light 
that makes it swell huge as lead zeppelin, 
so I ask Kaskalkur to marry me. 

Through complex network of underworld streams, 
fueled by dark water of her big cow eyes, 
I soar on sun-blackened albatross wings 
to wake demonic energy of love 
from spinning iron core of Mother Earth 
who throws my fragile body in the world. 

When Kaskalkur gets on the morning bus 
to work at library of long-lost books, 
she finds herself surrounded on all sides 
by grim-faced Myrmidons wearing red caps 
who praise Agamemnon as noble king 
though he hides his palsied face with gold mask. 

Inspired by star vision of Kaskalkur, 
which presents history of humanity 
as mothers tending gardens of fruit trees, 
I analyze strange economic trends, 
combined through geospatial datasets, 
to understand hunger of human hearts. 

Because my mother at hour of my birth 
named me Apaliunas, star-eyed hunter, 
I trap demonic spirits of the heart 
and transform them to honest laborers 
who build the shining walls of Ilium 
as duty to protect wise Kaskalkur. 

In Washington did Jupiter decree 
construction of Olympus from god bones 
where Alph, the oil-polluted river, runs 
down through caverns measureless to man 
where Kaskalkur enslaves tyrants and kings 
who abused right of their authority. 

Ancestral voices prophesy new war 
so I climb Mount Abora with my ghost 
where Kaskalkur plays dulcimer of hope 
for patriotic hearts to rise from fear 
and cast King Midas from the throne of gold 
when dome of power crumbles into lies. 

Our Utopian Fantasy

Our Utopian Fantasy
© Surazeus
2026 07 05

Heaven is our Utopian fantasy 
that represents communal town of peace 
where noble principles of honest work 
bind hearts of every person with brave trust 
for all are equal in their privilege 
where no king need enforce justice through law. 

Of all the goddesses who lived on Earth, 
mortal women whose personalities 
radiate through eidolon of their bright souls 
in characters preserved in ancient myths, 
I remember sweet Pinikir the most, 
goddess of the night who knows names of stars. 

Lost in the ancient swirling dust of time, 
wise women who once ruled their garden states, 
Nanaya, Ishara, Allani, Ishtar, 
Hutena, Hutellura, Ashtart, Isis, 
Ninatta, Kulitta, Manzat, and Hat-Hor, 
haunt my weird dreams with star-glow of their souls. 

Each goddess chronicled in ancient myths 
was once some living woman in the flesh 
who managed communal estate of farmers 
from temple perched on high-built ziggurat 
where she administered economy 
to operate food-production machine. 

Since Garden of Eden in lush Sumer 
humans have built cities with sunbaked bricks, 
Ur, Uruk, Eridu, Nippur, Lagash, 
where hierarchies of power develop 
so Goddess of Wisdom administrates 
warriors to protect workers who create. 

I see Gilgamesh, standing on high hill 
in shadow of El, first ruler of one state, 
work to defend rulership of Ishtar 
as guard of the garden where fruit trees bloom, 
but every city men have built from brick 
has vanished into swirling dust of time. 

No city humans build with bleeding hands 
will ever match our boldest fantasy 
as Utopian Heaven of equal rights, 
yet we keep striving to perfect our ways 
through institutions of fair government 
to maintain justice and freedom for all. 

Bright Heaven of communal polity 
that we imagine as Utopia, 
where every person enjoys equal rights, 
presents pure state of civil enterprise 
as blueprint for messy cities of Earth 
to model functions of good government. 

Frothing Fantasy Of Faith

Frothing Fantasy Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 07 05

Assertive passion to survive and thrive 
drives us down winding road of starry goals 
so through the cluttered years of middle age 
we strive with frantic passion to succeed 
when we build frothing fantasy of faith 
based on fiction of our Heaven on Earth. 

Reborn as Apollonian ironist, 
sparked by collision of opposing forces 
between structured beauty of ordered faith 
and chaos of nihilistic despair, 
I balance oscillating energies 
to channel terror through religious hymns. 

Striving to contain mental urgencies 
with drive for structured beauty of calm order, 
I recognize that my ultimate truths 
are founded on unstable fantasies, 
so I craft beautiful fictions of truth 
that I find necessary to live well. 

Contriving concept of philosophy 
through linguistic psychology of ideas 
that material objects of atomic force 
are molded by ideal concepts of thought, 
I drive my car along highway of hope 
to cartograph the world in map of truth. 

Between wild dance of Dionysian passion 
and ordered march of Apollonian research, 
I bind eternal spirit of my genes 
with fragile grace of this body I train 
to maintain constant vibrancy of change 
which generates my artificial world. 

With Apollonian irony of faith 
I channel my existential detachment 
into creation of deliberate form 
through ceaseless endurance of discipline 
till I master craft of molding weird dreams 
in structured Gothinettes of prophecy. 

When I climb mountain peak of global insight, 
I gaze back down my road of evolution 
from fish to newt to mouse to cat to monkey 
to ape to wingless angel singing spells 
that conjure frothing fantasy of faith 
as wine I drink while strumming Lyre of Phoebus. 

How strange to feel myself alive this hour, 
one grape-node on long vine of ancestry 
as body replicating code of genes 
that urges me to generate new child 
so immortal soul of atomic mind 
lives again in our quest to become god. 

Emerald Eyes Of Truth

Emerald Eyes Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 07 04

After running out of weird things to say 
the old woman with hair birds use for nests 
sits under willow tree of normalcy 
and contemplates how angels procreate 
by weaving rays of light between their hearts, 
then sings to turtles in the sparkling pond. 

Granddaughter of Mercurius Artaius, 
the old woman with skin of scallop shells 
sews bearskin robe for her daughter Andarta 
who carves steamed planks to build new river boat 
while whistling tunes she hears birds sing at dawn, 
then mumbles about aches of her old age. 

After gathering mushrooms, eggs, and herbs, 
the old woman with emerald eyes of truth 
brews honey wine in cauldron on hot flames 
which she pours in each grail that people bear 
when they stand in line and give her gold coins 
stamped with face of Artaius King of Bears. 

Strumming strings on lyre of Mercurius, 
the old woman with bat wings in her heart 
declares to dancing crowd with ancient voice 
that she is daughter of wise Cybele 
who dwells in cavern of the star-eyed ghost 
from which she rules tribes of Vocontia. 

Shielding her daughter Andarta from harm, 
the old woman with granite breast of faith 
defies fierce gang of boys with sharpened spears 
who shout that Jupiter on throne of gold 
sent them to assassinate Dea Augusta 
because she dares claim goddess state of mind. 

Clutching her breast that gushes blood of fear, 
the old woman with rune-enchanting hands 
lies wounded in arms of daughter Andarta 
while her son, incarnation of Artaius, 
battles and kills assassins with sharp sword 
forged by his father Mulciber from steel. 

Crowning her daughter the new Cybele, 
the old woman with blood of ocean waves 
sinks into flashing gloom of nothingness 
while new-crowned Cybele Andarta grips 
scepter of power with bright emerald eye 
and leads warriors to defend their land. 

After killing the kidnappers and thieves, 
the young woman with emerald eyes of truth 
asserts her right to reign as Cybele 
in mountain cavern of the star-eyed ghost 
managed by her new husband Lucifer 
as warden who administers jewel mines. 

Celestial Math Of Faith

Celestial Math Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 07 04

Awed by weird song of crickets in the night, 
Belenus gazes high at sparkling stars 
to calculate celestial math of faith 
by which he chronicles the rise and fall 
of ancient nations based on flash of rain 
where gold moon gleams in ruins of the church. 

Descended from Icarus the Sky-Walker, 
Belenus clings to jagged cliff of faith 
and shouts at Zephyrus with arms of air 
for help to ascend steep terrible heights 
so he can walk lush hills of paradise 
to meet his mother in Elysium. 

Amazed at fields of wheat blown by sea wind, 
Belenus walks with his college best friend, 
Zephyrus with long hair of tangled curls, 
and tells him names of every family clan 
that lives in each tall castle on high hill 
where flowers bloom along the River Styx. 

Startled by appearance of the swift hawk, 
Belenus holds his breath with graceful calm 
when she lands on his arm and flaps her wings, 
because her eyes reflect the timeless stars, 
then gasps when she leaps toward the glowing clouds, 
wild angel with celestial math of faith. 

Alert when Martes and his gang appear, 
Belenus joins Zephyrus by large stone 
where they crouch ready with intent to fight 
in brave defense of land where fruit trees bloom, 
still loyal to bold brotherhood of friends, 
till Seraphina commands they desist. 

Inspired by flashing silver of her eyes, 
Belenus beams at angel in white robe 
who guides them through fields of Elysium 
to garden where his mother tends pear trees, 
who flies into his arms with shocked delight, 
then offers them fresh wine by sparkling pool. 

Surprised by joy of fireworks in the sky, 
Belenus with his mother and best friend 
join feast to celebrate with song and dance 
birth of their state eight hundred years long ago 
when wise Elysus lead his wandering tribe 
across the waste land to lush hills of lakes. 

Impressed at founding tale of their great state, 
Belenus tells Zephyrus with proud voice 
how brave Elysus, bearing wand of truth, 
fought cruel Erebus on the river shore, 
then founded Garden of Elysium 
based soundly on celestial math of faith. 

Institute Of Proper Truth

Institute Of Proper Truth
© Surazeus
2026 07 04

Now that I have returned from Hell, and work 
as scribe for Institute of Proper Truth, 
I see strange beauty in the grim parade 
of dead men singing in the blazing sun 
who march majestically to Kingdom Come 
with dreary loyalty to long-dead kings. 

Far beyond present swirl of circumstance 
I see great wrongs committed by cruel thieves 
who pilfer national treasures from our hearts 
against grand principles of honesty 
on which our old republic wobbles weak, 
which we must clear away to build anew. 

I hear no fierce cadence of marching feet 
in sprawling suburbs sea to shining sea 
where frightened men in rusty trucks of hope 
buy phony timeshares to the Afterlife, 
then sell their hard-won rights and liberties 
to gain fleeting sense of security. 

I know grim sorrows of my fellow men, 
hearts gripped by plan to build brave walls of stone 
on fruit-tree mounds around the bubbling well 
so we may keep our precious families safe 
within safe-haven pale of paradise 
that we have built on hard paternal skulls. 

Now that I sneak lost in Heaven, and work 
as spy for Institute of Proper Truth, 
I hear mercurial wail of lonely souls 
in ancient songs across America 
expressing joys and sorrows of their hearts 
with faith our old democracy will last. 

Outside cracked window of my small-town home 
I hear no boom of bombs bursting in air 
on this side of the wild Atlantic Ocean, 
yet flowers bloom from sun-parched soil of fate 
in hills along the green Oconee River 
far from the misty hills of Avalon. 

While I hear snap of striped flags in the breeze 
that ruffles ocean waves with sparkling foam, 
I smell sweet scent of meat on crackling grills 
and laughter of young children who play chase, 
so I strum new guitar and sing weird tune 
that echoes cars on highways to the moon. 

With laughter of the normal citizen 
we celebrate birth of democracy, 
yet lament threat of fascist tyranny 
on this hour two hundred and fifty years 
since we declared independence from greed. 
so I share watermelons with you all.