Immortal God Of Genes

Immortal God Of Genes
© Surazeus
2026 10 15

Still on my quest to find the Holy Grail, 
I stumble down crooked highway of faith, 
then tumble dazed on deep Narcissus Pool 
where I see vision with diamond-glazed eyes 
of my wife glowing with ethereal light 
refracting through her soul from Cosmic Eye. 

While strumming lyre of Mercury with faith, 
I sing hymn to Aion, great light of life, 
mindless creator of all that exists, 
the self-begotten flash of vibrant love 
that beams through Helios and Selene, 
first parents who create my soul from Earth. 

My father high on stone of destiny 
tells me that when I die my soul of light 
will fly on white swan wings of ecstasy 
up to gold peak on mountain of star eyes, 
and dance in nothing of the everywhere 
till I become ripe apple on the tree. 

Young dappled doe with moon-black eyes of faith 
nudges my chest with soft nose of respect, 
so I feed her fresh apple in my hand, 
then we stroll by bright river of our hearts 
to find enormous sphinx on hill of skulls 
who asks me riddle of the human soul. 

I scatter sparks of atoms in my soul 
as fireflies in soft breeze of evening glow, 
dispersing memories of my random life 
in psychic ocean of forever now, 
attuned to vibe coding of mental flex 
that flashes through cosmic intelligence. 

Magnetic shimmer of your secret voice, 
that pulses in harmony with my heart, 
expands my soul with laughter of delight 
that cleanses sorrow from my poisoned mind 
so I float wingless over flowered hills, 
since I know secret of the Holy Grail. 

Each person must discover for themself 
conceptual meaning of the Holy Grail, 
embodied by wise woman with star eyes 
who generates new life from seed of faith 
so our child reincarnates our two souls 
in body for immortal god of genes. 

When I was wondering lost in Wonderland, 
dazed by bright idols of so many gods 
that humans worship as great characters 
to imitate through performance of life, 
Orpheus grabs my shoulders with sly grin 
and teaches me weird mystery of rebirth. 

Now that I have the long-lost Holy Grail 
sitting by my computer on the bookshelf, 
its silver curve mirroring my God Soul, 
I resurrect my darlings from blank book 
by writing spells with raven quill of faith 
dipped in sparkling dragon blood of respect. 

Since I am temporary node of flesh 
in long-evolving vine of divine genes, 
awake with memories of timeless joy 
which my ancestors lived to program me, 
I strum the lyre of Mercury and sing 
till I disperse in swirl of nothingness. 

Immortal Soul Of Phoebus

Immortal Soul Of Phoebus
© Surazeus
2026 10 15

From each psychic node of the matrix beams 
integral vector of expressive thought, 
tangled in homeostatic words of faith, 
bound on its journey to become itself 
and maintain grounded equilibrium 
through inner peace despite pressures of change. 

Staring in abyss of his hollow heart, 
Phoebus wonders with sly smirk of disdain 
if he might be the serpent of his songs 
whose writhing passion, coiled to spring on wings 
of fierce ambition to breach gates of Heaven, 
motivates his mission to mock proud gods. 

When lonely Python of his hungry heart 
slithers from cave of illusions at dawn, 
emerging from wordless darkness of doubt, 
Phoebus strums strings on lyre of Mercury, 
hums softly to harmonize scratchy voice 
of cautious hope, then sings strange spell of truth. 

Gripping wood handle of the rusty hoe, 
Phoebus scratches furrows in stubborn soil 
to sow seeds of new hope with eager hands, 
then bears buckets of water from the river 
many hours every day with aching back 
to nurture sprouts that blossom from his heart. 

For ten thousand years, through life after life, 
immortal soul of Phoebus in his genes 
tends crops of wheat transforming soil to flour, 
to feed regeneration of his mind 
till he begins to understand the Why 
that fuels process of dream analysis. 

Ascended master of the holy light, 
that beams through wounded heart of innocence, 
Phoebus bears lyre of Mercury in hand 
while treading signless road of curious dawn, 
and sings hymn of creation in each town 
where farmers dance to rhythm of his heart. 

From endless centuries of labor blooms 
enlightened seer with cosmic eyes of stars 
whose verse projects grand vision of Earth Dream 
which frames our new world view with guiding law 
that renders superstitions obsolete 
while guiding play of life we all perform. 

Each prophet rising from lush fields of truth 
speaks with great voice of all humanity, 
depicting social system that sustains, 
through equal justice for each conscious soul, 
progress of the lone individual 
to live through liberty for all the world. 

Lady Of The Diamond Star

Lady Of The Diamond Star
© Surazeus
2026 10 15

When I find basalt tombs of sorcerers 
unshattered by proverbs of sacred books, 
I answer nothing to immortal nymphs 
who fly shrieking at me from qualming spring 
because I am the Who unprophesied by Death, 
nor is there any reason why I Am. 

I keep it secret that the Three Maries 
based operations of the Holy Grail 
in eerie grotto of Sainte-Baume massif 
from which our Merovingian tribe of seers 
expanded reign of Magdalene and Christ 
who rule Gothinia past two thousand years. 

I wish I could see eyes of Radegund, 
bright with faith in beauty of this world, 
which manifests conceptual forms of truth, 
while I recite verse of my loyal heart 
from sharp whispers of her Sibylline voice 
that glows bright in dark days of Sirius. 

Someday I hope to follow Ocean Way 
sailed by the Three Maries to hills of Mars, 
piloted also over seamless waves 
by fluent dolphin who saved Arion, 
so I may find lyre Venantius strummed 
beneath shaken fruits of Elysium. 

Though few may understand dream of my heart, 
arranged in puzzles of socialized tropes, 
I sing grand Vision of Apocalypse 
through Revelation of the Laughing Snake 
whom brave Apollo tamed with melodies 
depicting Lady of the Diamond Star. 

Because I am no pair of ragged claws 
scuttling across the floors of silent seas, 
I wear wood mask of Christ Pantocrator 
to fool the devil of the modern world 
when I seize means of production with spells 
that conjure virtual model of One Earth. 

Now under Tree of Knowledge by the lake, 
where demons of greed lurk in wounded hearts, 
I carol praise for leader of the world 
who crowns Wise Woman with respectful wreath 
to restore faith of Radegund with hope 
that Son of Meroveus will rise again. 

White star of Sirius, that twinkles swift 
with flashing scintillation of weird truth, 
which guided brave Venantius up steep path 
to liberal palace of wise Magdalene, 
illuminates path where I walk today 
to grotto where soul of Mercury waits. 

Mercurial Song Of Grace

Mercurial Song Of Grace
© Surazeus
2026 10 14

As long as I can give you all my love, 
my heart will flow with energy of hope 
that springs from fountain of unending joy 
through admiration for all vibrant souls 
who spring from dream of Earth in human form 
for we are spirit of the stars alive. 

When I leave love notes in the hollow tree 
as field guide to haunted forest of love, 
we find they transform into honeycombs 
that drip with memories of secret hours 
we spend together by the citrus tree 
where crow of wisdom sings about our joy. 

Though leaves of time swirl red in chilly wind 
as harbinger of change in mountain air, 
I hear cry of the owl in misty woods 
who brings strange story from the distant vale 
that Death stalks Beauty of the human soul 
whose spirits vanish with flowers in snow. 

When I decode fortune of apple peels, 
that randomly reveal in curls of fear 
new axiom of our deconstructed truth, 
my mind perceives big picture of the world 
unfolding process from vast social change 
when I trace effects to their primal cause. 

Rewriting inner story of my heart, 
through brave steps of attentive ardency 
each day I transcend limits of my being, 
I find that I have courage of tall trees 
to be where my feet are on road of life, 
so I erect signs to guide the lost home. 

To implement with calm diplomacy 
firm state of universal peace on Earth, 
I invest fiducial standard of growth 
in manufacture of war machinery 
designed to organize angelic code 
through strict enforcement of fair global law. 

Awakened by mercurial song of grace 
that horses sing on river shores of love, 
I channel grief through laughter of dawn rain 
reflecting deep compassion of my heart, 
born from deep magic at the dawn of time, 
for every conscious being that lives on Earth. 

Emerging from dark well of innocence, 
with writhing runes of serpentine foresight, 
I join song of free horses on wild hills, 
then bring strange treasure to hard city streets 
as fruit that heals the wounded heart of souls 
who thrive with love that fountains from my heart. 

Find The Silver Moon

Find The Silver Moon
© Surazeus
2026 10 14

After I am done leaping in the air 
while wading in burning flowers of faith 
with the passion of the sun in my mouth, 
I will deconstruct the mystery of flesh 
to find the silver moon inside my brain 
that sends me singing forty million years. 

After I am done dashing against darkness 
with closed eyes of innocent arrogance 
in the sleepless curves of my dream-coiled body, 
I will resurrect the mystery of soul 
to find the frantic sea inside my heart 
that leaves me stranded on the beach of time. 

Or maybe I will watch the lonely leaf 
that falls as oneness of humanity 
with each new generation of bright souls 
that comes and goes in seasons of desire 
till we are swept away by tides of change 
through revolution of the laughing snake. 

I find no people on the spinning Earth 
except blind robots wearing masks of gods 
who fight each other for the Promised Land 
that burns from revolution of the fooled 
at shocking revelation of the truth 
brought by wounded hands of messiah sleuth. 

Before I begin to leap spinning worlds 
across pearl necklace of the multiverse 
to meet the doppelgangers of my being, 
I will reconstruct the mystery of mind 
in computer processor of my brain 
programmed to perform role of God on Earth. 

Before I begin to recalibrate 
piston engine of the time-machine car 
to explore the world, sea to shining sea, 
I will reincarnate lithe Mercury 
as son of Saturn strumming lyre of truth 
to sing satires about the haughty king. 

Or maybe I will live with Anyone 
in the pretty how town of anywhere 
against common decency of lust 
to paint images of new global ghosts 
on rose windows in cathedral of tales 
where floating bells design Astarian Creed. 

I meet strange people in world maze of streets 
who all say they remember Sisyphus 
working as manager for Wonderland 
where Saraswati in the hotel lounge 
sings about new empire of Jupiter 
through revelation of the laughing snake. 

Fertile Globe Of Ranika

Fertile Globe Of Ranika
© Surazeus
2026 10 14

When I wake in the World between the Worlds, 
after finding ring my grandmother hid 
in dream-tangled roots of the apple tree, 
I wander among pools to other worlds, 
wondering which one I should visit today, 
till I hear strange siren song of my heart. 

Diving into pool where Narcissus drowned, 
I swim ten million lightyears across space 
to the other side of our galaxy 
where I wake on the world of my heart 
created by the wise witch Ranika 
who gives me book for me to write dream spells. 

Beside tall goddess with ten million eyes 
and glass wings that span mountains and seas, 
I climb Stairway to Heaven of her heart 
to stroll vast avenue of ziggurats 
where sprawling palaces of gleaming gems 
glitter with divine light of countless stars. 

Ascending diamond stairs of ardent faith, 
we enter palace of Hyperion, 
enormous god with countless twirling wings, 
who gives me crystal sphere with Eye of Truth 
that depicts animated history of life 
on every planet in the universe. 

Transforming into lion with twelve eyes, 
Hyperion sings attentive hymn of hope 
that conjures planet from dream of my brain, 
so I give Goddess Ranika my heart 
who holds my hand with beaming smile of love, 
then we teleport to garden of fruit. 

Sly serpent with electric eyes of fear 
attempts to hypnotize my aching heart 
with vision of myself as emperor 
who rules ten billion worlds of loyal souls, 
but I laugh at his lies of haughty greed, 
which banishes his hate in gentle breeze. 

When Ranika returns from Salithor, 
great city where her people farm and build, 
wise goddess of industrial workmanship 
gives me new raven quill and parchment scroll, 
so I compose in quick Saturnian verse 
epic poem about curious scientists. 

Returning to the World between the Worlds, 
through pool from fertile globe of Ranika, 
I resurrect as Narcissus with faith, 
so I follow heart-breaking song of love 
to find sweet Echo by her apple tree 
who blushes as we embrace with respect. 

My Journey Nowhere Else

My Journey Nowhere Else
© Surazeus
2026 10 13

Because the spring sun is the saddest ghost 
that lingers mute in autumn innocence, 
I write my name in dust of alleyways 
to trace path of my journey nowhere else 
on endless quest to find the beautiful 
that shimmers in the fractured hearts of strangers. 

Amazed at flash in swelling clouds of time 
that imitate vast wings of cherubim 
which hovers over city maze of fate, 
I choose to tell lonely strangers I meet 
I am incarnation of Mercury 
though no one can see the wings on my feet. 

Paused on shore of the god-reflecting lake, 
I look for the Road Not Taken that spans 
lush meadows and bleak deserts of my heart, 
but all I see is the High Road of Fate 
where Orpheus leads blind ghosts of the dead 
who may arrive in Heaven before me. 

Though Atossa has painted every wall 
white with blood of angels to camouflage 
sorrows of children wounded in harsh wars, 
she sings strange beauty of our spinning Earth 
to celebrate this transient life of joy 
which inspires compassion to bloom in me. 

Though I doubt conscious entity called God 
creates this universe with clear design, 
I love how people gather in their church 
to sing about strange beauty of this world, 
and share tales of their struggles to survive 
to support each other in quest for love. 

Escaping dirty streets of rain-drenched cities, 
crowded with people driven from lush vales 
by greedy barons in castles of hate, 
my ancestors sailed to America 
and built new homes in lush Missouri vales 
where they sang hymns by River of Star Eyes. 

Startled by ephemeral glow of desire 
that radiates from bodies of human souls, 
I plot birth of the new energy field 
that weaves many nations in one world state, 
united by respect for liberty 
that nurtures equal justice for all people. 

So when I call God on the telephone 
to ask about why people suffer pain, 
he chuckles and explains with rainbow beams 
that he is but some story character 
invented by kings to keep men afraid, 
then we meet by the lake of stars to fish. 

Flowers In Field Of Fate

Flowers In Field Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 10 13

The faceless ghost of the person I love 
haunts my heart as the absence of their being 
because my brain with lonely ache projects 
idol of their essence in empty air 
so I seem to feel their presence still near 
when their shade picks flowers in field of fate. 

The apparition of their gleaming face 
remains unmoving in old photographs 
recording features of their transient being 
at fleeting moment in that bygone hour 
that we carelessly thought would never cease 
when their shade picks flowers in field of fate. 

The laughing specter of their vibrant soul, 
masked by play of their joyful character, 
seems to dance forever in movie reels 
preserving sport of their mischievous tricks 
that makes my heart ache with nostalgic pride 
when their shade picks flowers in field of fate. 

The writhing wraith of heartbreaking anguish, 
wounded by random pranks of tragedy, 
conceals harsh suffering that they endured 
in mute sorrow they tried to hide from me, 
tainting their spirit as much as their joy, 
when their shade picks flowers in field of fate. 

The traces of their existence remain 
as poignant scent of their long-vanished essence 
that lingers through electric flash of hope 
in eerie crackles after drenching rain 
that fools my heart to think I feel them close 
when their shade picks flowers in field of fate. 

The woeful phantom of my cherished one, 
too long abstracted from subjective scope 
of my oblivious mind in truant plight, 
lurks ever near antenna of my heart 
so I hear whisper of their thoughts in dream 
when their shade picks flowers in field of fate. 

The sudden spook of their revenant soul, 
which my brain conjures from lost memories, 
fools me to hope their consciousness remains 
in whole coherent frame of their true self, 
yet I know they have vanished from this world 
when their shade picks flowers in field of fate. 

The mindless shadow of the soul I love 
remains as bright illusion in my brain 
so they seem to live in my memories, 
still active in clear dramatic replay, 
though I will never see their face again 
when their shade picks flowers in field of fate. 

While Talking To My Mother

While Talking To My Mother
© Surazeus
2026 10 13

While talking to my mother about truth, 
I reach hand to pluck fruit from Tree of Life  
when gold-eyed serpent with four rainbow wings 
tricks me to believe that Star Man in the Cloud 
will punish me if I eat fruit of knowledge 
so I eat it with heart-poisoning guilt. 

While talking to my mother about trust, 
she tells me she met my father for tryst 
in Tree of Knowledge by the demon pool 
so I run through bright flowers in the field 
to escape the man in the wolf-fur cloak 
who begs me to play bride at his cave hearth. 

While talking to my mother about hope, 
I struggle gasping to climb mountain slope, 
then stand on moon-high peak of howling wind 
to survey world of rivers between hills 
that spins through ocean of electric stars 
which swirl around me as cupids on wings. 

While talking to my mother about faith, 
I perceive vision of immortal wraith 
that rises from her transient frame of flesh 
as ancient goddess with ten million eyes 
who teaches me to generate new life 
from ambitious passion of the Wolf Man. 

While talking to my mother about love, 
I learn from her how to mold wheat in loaf 
which I bake in hot oven of my heart 
till I give birth to bread with blinking eyes 
who smiles when I hum hymn of holy breath 
that fills his body with spirit of life. 

While talking to my mother about fear, 
I watch my son construct and wield sharp spear 
from stick and stone he hones with honest courage, 
then wear fur cape to hunt monsters of rage 
which he kills with attentive strike of power 
when lightning strikes bright as the yarrow flower. 

While talking to my mother about fate, 
I choose to open wide the city gate 
so refugees from wars for fertile land, 
fought fiercely between gods on ziggurats, 
name me Zilpa with the Generous Hand 
when I host feast in Temple of the Wolf. 

While talking to my mother about death, 
I listen to her pray with her last breath 
that I might understand essence of life 
which I mold in bodies as mother-wife 
and raise my sons, Gad and Asher, to rule 
empire of wisdom with the sacred tool. 

Assertive Code Of Grace

Assertive Code Of Grace
© Surazeus
2026 10 12

Time fractured by assertive code of grace 
expands too far beyond calm afternoons 
to shroud lush dells in sanguine bitterness 
that widows would exchange for bowls of flour 
to fry blueberry pancakes at midnight 
for wanderers to feast without regret. 

When children of the new empire return 
from foreign lands with boxes of false dreams, 
we delegate our thinking to machines 
that throw our family photos in the trash 
after recording them in holy books 
depicting conflict between psychic queens. 

When agents of the empire shoot the moon, 
then knock at doors of loyal warriors, 
we hide our treasures behind broken doors 
to prove we worship with taxes of wheat 
the right god on the pyramid of skulls 
who pays us on holiday of his birth. 

No Christmas bells ring clear across the land 
where snow encases corpses of dead kings 
in dark deserted tombs of arrogance 
so we assemble on high mound of poles 
to dance around wild flames of innocence 
and sing of revolution against greed. 

Thirteen centuries later I extract 
skulls of great gods from fractured tombs of time 
so people of the land may see what fate 
bold time decrees with solemn certitude 
for every conscious being who walks the Earth, 
even those who proclaim themselves as gods. 

Bright angels with ten thousand star-gold eyes 
descend from glowing cloud of solitude 
to beam illusions of divine desire 
which animates my body with God Soul 
that claims state of immortality 
because I dream my Self since dawn of time. 

Alone beneath dome of the Pantheon 
I sit at Round Table of Liberty 
to reassemble world view of my brain 
that my ancestors design through each life, 
but I keep secret vision of my heart 
because I dwell in the real Heaven now. 

So I race motorboat across the lake 
and toss books of salvation in the deep 
where they transform to serpents with star eyes 
that form electric runes of cosmic spells 
which I chant to restore democracy 
on firm foundation of all human hearts. 

Illusions Of Superior Pride

Illusions Of Superior Pride
© Surazeus
2026 10 12

Inspired by calm of stone immortal gods 
that dwell in grand museums of lost faith, 
I walk the melting road of anywhere 
to play my own role in wild game of life 
with sculptured heart of greatness that provides 
urgent compassion for people I meet. 

Inspired by quicker wisdom of the Earth 
that surges through my fragile frame of flesh, 
I ask disputed shades of long-dead gods 
if they can teach me how to understand 
what people need to strengthen weaknesses 
so they rise from their sorrow with new hope. 

Inspired by treatises of hungry hope 
that drive us to evolve as we seek truth, 
I frame tall trees in my sunlit backyard 
with eerie atmosphere of one strange day 
that radiates from my childhood with strange truth 
when goddess of the rock appeared to me. 

Inspired by glimmer of your thoughtless eyes 
that watch me draw hope from harsh misery, 
I range through shadows of blind cherubim 
that hover over us in city maze 
with dreadful beauty of the winter wind 
that strips illusions of superior pride. 

Inspired by her apocalyptic tongue 
that writes new scripture for these shocking times, 
I doubt the cold success that Heaven beams 
through contemplation of our mortal lives 
framed by immortal process of soul growth 
so we restore our sabotaged free will. 

Inspired by leased certificates to lust 
that wound our hearts with libertarian faith, 
I raise my hands to mindless cloud of God 
and prophesy brave deeds through epic tales 
that mirror fractured fantasies we grasp 
as tides of change disrupt our way of life. 

Inspired by swagger of the haughty fool 
who crowns himself new king of nowhere else, 
I ride calm horse across the countryside 
with fierce compassion of neurotic love 
though our world view diminishes from hate 
that seizes hearts of souls abused by greed. 

Inspired by sensual passion of fruit trees 
that roar with horror when human tribes fight, 
I draft new litany of conquered lands 
which I observe from high Parthenon throne, 
to redesign world empire of true faith 
based on equal justice for everyone. 

Wild Laughter Of Untime

Wild Laughter Of Untime
© Surazeus
2026 10 12

Each hour I hear wild laughter of untime 
expressed in how leaves flutter in the wind 
I strive to become glowing light of Christ 
through gnostic insight into human hope 
so I wake from dark shadow of despair 
to bloom with knowledge of eternal truth. 

We gather with wild hearts of open love 
around huge barrel of thick apple juice 
so when we drink wild laughter of untime 
we glow with timeless light of singing suns, 
therefore today we live with selfless joy 
because tomorrow we dissolve to dust. 

Strange birds in morbid trees of urgent hope 
teach me to sing wild laughter of untime 
in spells that tangle memories of joy 
in arcane riddles which conceal weird truth 
that we learn to unravel when we touch 
conceptual essence of existing things. 

Since outside gates of Eden I remain 
with worthless treasures of my wounded heart, 
I mistranslate wild laughter of untime 
from ancient songs of Lesbos Island ghosts 
to plaintive elegies that millions hear 
blind angels sing clear on the radio. 

From mystery of the wood-smoke scented breeze 
that shelters me in solitude of faith 
I must extract wild laughter of untime 
while holding hands with silence of the moon 
that penetrates strange darkness of my fear 
with haunting absence of the soul I love. 

Strange creatures lurking in the shadowed woods 
whisper how they still know my secret name 
through disembodied laughter of untime 
that finds me at wood desk by glowing hearth 
composing fairy tales that symbolize 
tragic consequences of misplaced love. 

I never find God in the chapel hall 
nor in grand cathedral of singing choirs 
because wild laughter of untime radiates 
from pulsing passion of my transient heart 
so I float through the window of your eyes 
on wings of sorrow stolen from dead gods. 

Designed to fly by laughter of untime, 
weird intimations of my childhood self 
express strange revelation of my soul 
as incarnation of wild Mercury 
when I attempt to manage self-control 
that hurls me tumbling from the mindless clouds. 

Drama Of My Clumsy Life

Drama Of My Clumsy Life
© Surazeus
2026 10 11

Evicted from weird drama of my life, 
by eyeless angels dancing on my head, 
I wander land of lakes to learn of dread 
as cloud of breath that drifts against the wind 
on endless journey with my mental twin 
who wonders if I might be wolf or lamb. 

I write my destiny on ocean waves 
with fractured wing bone of the wounded god 
to translate buzz of honeybees to words 
that children shout while they play hide and seek 
in vast museum of the doubtful truth, 
embodied by old wagon of our faith. 

By chanting words that ravens teach my heart, 
I transform seven stones to seven loaves 
that angels sell to widows at the church 
who scream with laughter in the perfumed air 
which poisons minds of lonely wanderers 
who leave their sorrows by rain-worn tombstones. 

Exhausted from spinning threads of dire fate 
from tangled destinies of villagers, 
I step outside in darkness of the night 
to see the red-eyed fox of certitude 
protecting my garden from hungry rats 
that gnaw at electric wires of respect. 

Because she knows the bottom of dark time, 
where roots of fruit trees curl in search for tears, 
brave Sylvia gives me voice of nothingness 
by which I dispel huge shadow of love 
that gallops with impetuous honesty 
since we suffer atrocity of dawns. 

Heart bathed in scathing radiance of the moon, 
I swell as fraught inhabitance of love, 
though terrified by innocence of hope 
that hovers low with vast malignity 
above my garden tangled with dream thoughts 
which petrifies my will through solitude. 

Still bearing Lamp of Reason in my hand, 
I search for cemetery of great gods 
whose spirits rot in brains of living souls 
who howl with desultory prayers of faith 
as stasis in blue darkness of my heart 
till I become swift arrow of desire. 

Reborn as Ariel from hard words of fear, 
soul incubated quick by swirls of blood, 
I rewrite drama of my clumsy life 
with brave conviction of substanceless faith 
because my angel wings were never real, 
illusions beaming from my spiral eyes. 

Crazy Angel Of Despair

Crazy Angel Of Despair
© Surazeus
2026 10 11

The wise leader gives his all for the people, 
focusing attention of his compassion 
to design complex economic programs 
that nurture craft skills of the talented 
so every person performs their small part 
maintaining the food-production machine. 

Pulling cart with crates of apples and books, 
I walk the dusty Massachusetts road 
to find one-door house in shadowy woods 
where the wizard of words and his blind cat 
ponder the meaning of our universe 
that shimmers with the holy light of stars. 

Attempting to adjust steps of my quest, 
I steer myself away from holy light 
to gather firewood in the misty woods 
so the old man in the huge one-door house 
may boil tomato soup with ginger roots 
to warm our bodies on cold winter nights. 

While gliding camouflaged among oak trees 
to snatch one milk cow from enormous herd, 
I stop when billowing shadow of greed 
rises up from Earth with demonic wings, 
so I hide from soul-searing eyes of Geryon 
who roars at Heracles in lion-fur cape. 

After I run back to the one-door house, 
I play wild heart-enchanting melodies 
on glass piano by the gleaming pond 
where Narcissus stares at mask of his face 
till Echo tosses cracked stone of her heart 
so he looks into dark pools of her eyes. 

Shocked at mercurial song of moon-white winds, 
I run outside and gaze at blazing clouds 
to see the crazy angel of despair 
wrestle jet planes that scream across the sky, 
then hurl their bombs of greed to outer space 
where they destroy worlds in ten billion years. 

Through silent grieving for the long-dead soul, 
whose absence haunts me as ghost of their love, 
I wander waste land of America 
beneath proud mirror of the mindless sun 
who shows me end of all organic souls 
that dissipate at death to wordless dust. 

As wordless dust in cold relentless wind 
that blows through endless maze of city streets, 
I translate timeless song of ocean waves 
to jaunty jingles on the radio 
that urge hard-working people to buy goods 
which heals the crazy angel of despair. 

Dress His Daughter Wore

Dress His Daughter Wore
© Surazeus
2026 10 11

Too many children have been killed in wars 
when men wielding angry weapons of death 
assert right to control bodies and minds 
of brave people who refuse to obey 
commands of loyalty to haughty man 
who insists he is God in mortal flesh. 

The eerie way mercurial sunlight gleams 
on silver waves of our Pannonian Sea, 
wakes in my heart obsessive quest to find 
hidden island of my innocent faith 
where children of my heart play in the mist 
as nameless ghosts who vanish when I call. 

Ten billion angels on bright swirling clouds 
open holy book of myths with shining words, 
then raise their faces to the glorious sun, 
and sing ecstatic hymn of mindless faith 
to praise divine nothingness of pure light 
that pulses through each atom of our souls. 

When spectral shadows of our transient souls 
gleam soft as flames of candles in dark gloom, 
we ask each other why our spirits swirl 
on clock-expanding spiral beyond fear 
through psychic force of love-composing songs 
that weave our bodies in matrix of time. 

Elijah crouches low in river boat 
when two black-winged whooping cranes of desire 
swoop slowly past the broken willow trunk 
as orange flames of the evening sunset flash 
with fierce compassion on bleak river waves, 
so he grips book of dreams with steady hand. 

Striding through invisible waves of light 
into bright cavernous cathedral hall, 
past angels singing praise to God on Earth, 
Elijah stands behind man in white robe 
who turns around and welcomes him with hope, 
smiling with joy of selfless love for all. 

Showing torn blood-stained dress his daughter wore 
to Archangel Michael, grandson of Jesus, 
Elijah relates tale for all to hear 
how Michael lead angels with shining swords 
to slaughter people of his mountain clan 
because they deny that Jesus is God. 

Stepping forward with sudden thrust of hate, 
Elijah tries to assassinate Michael 
by stabbing him with his own holy blade, 
but Michael twirls wand with emerald sphere 
to fracture his skull with hard blow of prayer, 
then smirks as angels drag his body out. 

Electric God Rays

Electric God Rays
© Surazeus
2026 10 11

When I was a young boy in Fort Worth, Texas 
we always ate Roman Meal Bread for lunch, 
with slice of Nuteena fried in the pan, 
so I would picture myself as Apollo 
strumming the golden lyre of Mercury 
while soldiers maintained peace of our empire. 

While I was attending the first grade 
at Morningside Elementary School, 
we rode the bus to the bread factory 
on Summit Avenue in Fort Worth, Texas 
that Ninnie Baird founded in her back yard, 
and watched them bake bread on conveyor belts. 

Sitting at the wood table in the kitchen 
every morning before going to school, 
I smoothed peanut butter on slice of bread, 
then gooped strawberry jam with gentle care, 
which I placed in the small brown paper sack 
with the monkey tail of my last name Craig. 

I remember riding our red Volkswagen 
through the debris-littered streets of Forth Worth 
one rain-wet morning of electric sun 
after hippies demonstrated all night 
against the brutal war in Vietnam, 
and staring at a mattress that was burned. 

In early morning hours before dawn 
when my mother drove us to the daycare, 
I heard some guy on the radio sing 
Bye, bye, Miss American Pie, I drove 
my chevy to the levy but the levy 
was dry, them good old American boys. 

That song still echoes in my heart today 
and vibrates in every song I compose 
which rings in waves of subtle prophecy 
to shake foundation of cruel tyranny 
so we can rebuild our democracy 
after long autumn of the patriarch. 

I fail learning to sing with the Quaint Voice 
prized by School of Domestic Quietude 
where poets contemplate their fraught childhoods 
as if we are frazzled psychiatric patients 
with sponge brains zapped by electric god rays 
as incarnation of Phoebus on Earth. 

I can no longer find in grocery stores 
orange bags with Roman Meal Bread for lunch, 
so I strum lyre of Mercury and sing 
about the fall of empires when cruel tyrants 
seize control over the mans of production 
till we follow Liberty up from Hell. 

Mute Cloud Woman

Mute Cloud Woman
© Surazeus
2026 10 10

When cloud woman on silk demonic wings 
explains how child of the mountain transcends 
glass box of sorrows hidden in the stone, 
I gather flowing water of the moon 
that flutters on frail wings to where I wait 
in glowing aura of the willow tree. 

Entranced by sadness of green ocean waves 
that seem to know what I intend to do 
before I wake from fractured stone of fate, 
shy cloud woman steals from electric snake 
last apple of love, then brings it to me 
in glowing aura of the willow tree. 

Trapped by skin of the wolf with angel wings 
that should conceal true nature of my heart, 
I run in spirals of expanding faith 
through maze of meadows to the misty glen 
to help faceless people build garden homes 
in glowing aura of the willow tree. 

Assembling relics of lost memories 
as photographs of people by the house, 
and undelivered letters in the drawer, 
heart-broken cloud woman compiles new book 
about her brother who wanders the world 
in glowing aura of the willow tree. 

While children run along the orchard hedge 
to count ducks floating on the silver pond, 
and women churn butter by the stone wall, 
mute cloud woman sings about the moon owl 
who watches her with eyes of ancient stars 
in glowing aura of the willow tree. 

Born from strange gleam of the viridian sea, 
with eyes of emeralds that perceive the heart 
of every conscious creature in the world, 
cloud woman climbs stairs to the Parthenon 
where Athena sends me to find her scroll 
in glowing aura of the willow tree. 

On ruins of the city bombed to rubble 
we build new temple of the laughing god 
who teaches us to love this transient life 
for every soul has no more than one chance 
to shine with beauty of expressive love 
in glowing aura of the willow tree. 

I deconstruct the person I have been 
when I dismantle memories of pain 
by beaming all my sorrows in the mask 
that hangs in hall of the many-faced god 
who wakes reborn as me with crafting hands 
in glowing aura of the willow tree. 

Castle Of God Skulls

Castle Of God Skulls
© Surazeus
2026 10 10

Yet steely spring-dawn sun of innocence 
that sparks my soul awake with ardent joy 
fuels my aggressive strife to conquer hate 
by harnessing with passion of the lake 
pain-devil dancing in cave of my heart 
with shocking laughter of the rolling stone. 

When dawn strikes my heart with ardent joy 
I rise from coffin of my dream-stained bed 
and saunter lustily along the stream 
that laughs at giant stones of arrogance 
which teaches me to navigate my rage 
and build enormous castle of god skulls. 

So faceless demons chase me in the mist 
with mocking laughter of the blind sky god 
till I rip wand of rage from muck of Earth 
and fight dark shadows of terrible truth 
whose sharp teeth gouge weird faith into my heart 
because I gnaw at seeds of bitter love. 

Intense assertion of my right to live 
details contract I sign with Death at dawn 
to question why organic creatures die 
in frantic battle to survive stark pain 
though I glimpse beauty of the timeless glow 
which radiates from my holy heart as love. 

To solve the complex mysteries of love 
I strip my mind bare of intense desire 
to generate new life before I die, 
then float in psychic water of the world 
where faces of the dead gleam in dark waves 
before I wrench my body free from greed. 

I wonder where across landscape of fear 
I could progress against hard social tides 
that sweep our bodies into grand events 
when brutal gods of power fight for right 
to rule how we perceive with frazzled minds 
amazing story of courageous deeds. 

Reborn as wing-foot messenger of hope, 
I fly above vast maze of city streets 
where millions of bright angels sing wild hymn 
to glorify one man above them all 
who guides their journey to the Promised Land 
but vanish as illusion of despair. 

Unlicensed feelings of my mirror mind 
reflect strange legends of the evening news 
that detail endless tales of absurd death 
which humans suffer in their quest for love 
because everyone who lives will soon die, 
and everyone who meets will part at last. 

Tears Of Fallen Angels

Tears Of Fallen Angels
© Surazeus
2026 10 10

I drink luminous juice of cosmic fruit 
that boosts my mortal soul up to godhood 
which vibrates from frail network of my brain 
till my bones dissipate in swirling waves, 
then I rise dripping from pool of despair, 
soul baptized clean by tears of fallen angels. 

Drenched in electric shadow of desire 
that crackles through frame of my fragile soul, 
I stand amazed before wraith of star words 
who teaches me to sing hymns of respect 
for all the people falling from the sky 
who writhe in sorrow on the broken Earth. 

Enraptured from this mortal frame of flesh 
by sweet angelic voices of the choir, 
which weaves wings on my wounded heart of faith, 
I float up in cathedral of blue ice 
that gleams with starlight of divine insight 
till mute atomic god wakes in my brain. 

So I become bright angel of star eyes 
born from smooth river stone of endless time 
till I wake in my body down on Earth 
where I trudge aching in cold field of mud 
to harvest cabbages in drizzling rain 
for baskets on the splintered cart of hope. 

When God in crystal palace of the clouds 
speaks on the radio with human voice, 
assuring us we will endure this war 
while angels fly on silver wings of faith 
and drop bombs on our humble river homes, 
we clasp our hands and weep in bitter prayer. 

Great city built of stone with bleeding hands 
glistens in ruins from bright exploding bombs, 
so we search rubble of our lost world view 
to find the jeweled crown of divine right 
crumpled under heaps of rage-blasted stone, 
yet I pray to the stern face in gold clouds. 

Dismantled wisdom of aggressive greed 
exposes treasure of our offerings, 
that we paid for the afterlife in Heaven, 
was stored in coffers by grim men in robes 
who buy airplanes and islands in the sea 
where they feast on our noble sacrifice. 

What fragments of lost faith I hope to find 
lie scattered on the broken street of faith, 
so I gather photographs of the dead 
and paste them in world book of memories 
where children read their names with solemn voice 
that frees their ghosts from dreadful tragedy. 

Egg Of The Serpent God

Egg Of The Serpent God
© Surazeus
2026 10 10

Spirit born from egg of the serpent god 
with ten thousand eyes of galactic minds, 
I walk city streets of America 
with ambitious hope of the fallen angel 
to comprehend gears of the human brain 
through dizzy laughter of the black moon ghost. 

Strange ennui of existential sorrow 
grips my heart with anguish of desire 
when I walk past glass doors of shopping stores 
filled with cute trinkets of human concern 
about disease, famine, and holy war 
that obliterate countless souls each year. 

Expanding scope of conscious insight swells 
my self-awareness huge as dinosaurs 
that wandered Earth as gods with tiny brains 
one hundred eighty million years of faith, 
evolving into gray ghosts in spaceships 
who haunt dire memories of our midnight skies. 

When our dark shadows detach from our bodies 
and form glowing spheres of glass that float lightly 
over sea of ink which gods use to write 
emotional contracts between blind lovers, 
I explain why clocks are ticking backwards 
to the old witch wearing red face of Geryon. 

Till the baseball player demands with voice 
of bus engines rumbling on the highway 
that I explain arcane code of weird proverbs 
that bleed from my eyes when I play guitar, 
I wait for Artemis in the train station 
to prove I am brave assassin of faith. 

I keep attempting to assemble right 
immense puzzle of human history, 
but all the pieces depicting great heroes 
and evil tyrants fighting over truth 
scatter from gusts of indifferent wind 
when Boreas chases Phoebe all night. 

After carefully planning twenty years 
plot to assassinate the greedy king, 
Selene finds the most beautiful boy 
standing in her way in the hotel door, 
so she calls Hyperion on the cell phone 
which causes glass cathedral to explode. 

While Apollo in the Museum of Masks 
designs the chemistry textbook with herbs 
and seashells instead of math formulas, 
I gather skulls of children killed by bombs 
and place them on shelves in the grocery store, 
packaged for sale as cookies the rich buy.