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. 

Rebirth Of America

Rebirth Of America
© Surazeus
2026 07 04

I was eleven, fifty years ago, 
on the two hundredth birthday of this nation, 
descended from Pilgrims and Puritans 
who sailed across wild seas in fragile boats 
to escape oppression of kings and priests 
and live through freedom and justice for all. 

Believing we had found Garden of Eden, 
new paradise in the lush wilderness, 
we built our city shining on the hill, 
founded firm on the noble principle 
that every person born on Earth is equal, 
free to live as they will, if they harm none. 

Through revolution against greedy king, 
we built new nation of farmers and craftsmen, 
expanding west from sea to shining sea 
through scope of our democratic republic 
based on liberty and justice for all, 
to welcome refugees from every land. 

Through civil war against plantation kings 
we freed people they enslaved from cruel chains, 
expanding civil rights for every soul 
in brave demonstrations against hate 
because every human born on this Earth 
should be equal in just eyes of the law. 

Twelve score and ten years ago our ancestors 
brought forth on this continent, we colonized, 
our new nation, conceived in Liberty, 
and dedicated to the proposition 
that all humans are born equal on Earth, 
who may live as they will, if they harm none. 

Now we are engaged, with startled surprise, 
in another civil war against hate, 
testing our resolve to maintain our rights 
to life and liberty for every soul, 
so we must dedicate, with firm resolve, 
our hearts to make sure this nation endures. 

We are resolved with honest faith of hope 
that this old nation we have long admired 
shall glow with new birth of freedom through love 
so this government, hijacked by tyranny, 
shall be restored with wisdom of our hearts 
of the people, by the people, and for the people. 

Now I lived sixty one years on this Earth, 
descended thirteen fertile generations 
four hundred years of constant social change 
from wise Puritan Poet Anne Bradstreet, 
so with Minerva, Goddess of Liberty, 
I celebrate rebirth of America. 

Beacon Of My Destiny

Beacon Of My Destiny
© Surazeus
2026 07 03

Blinded by beacon of my destiny, 
I walk the signless road to Wonderland, 
but stop somewhere in hills of Avalon 
to question why I need to find my soul, 
so I turn around and go somewhere else, 
and live quietly by the Lake of Dreams. 

Guided by beacon of my destiny, 
I follow winding River of Desire 
from undulating swirl of ocean waves, 
through endless woods of shadow-glowing ghosts, 
up rugged slopes where laughing winds dance wild, 
to stand on Peak of Wisdom without words. 

Disturbed by beacon of my destiny, 
I wake from strange dream of the city maze 
where countless people tell me secret tales 
so I can find the treasure of the crow 
who always watches how I live my life, 
then leaves my lost key on my tombless grave. 

Convinced by beacon of my destiny 
that I am savior of the world reborn, 
I work my whole life as mute janitor 
cleaning classrooms where high-school children learn 
clean white-washed history of America 
portrayed as good policeman of the world. 

Confused by beacon of my destiny, 
I walk the wrong way down fake road of life 
against ambitious current of the times 
in vain rebellion against games of power 
by leaving all possessions on the house 
where brave ghost of electricity weeps. 

Inspired by beacon of my destiny, 
I leave expected trail of normal life 
and wander lost in wilderness of lies 
where I meet children of forgotten spies 
who carve state secrets on trunks of dead trees 
and eat Honey of Faith from wounded hearts. 

Perplexed by beacon of my destiny, 
I campaign for role of World President 
by promising universal healthcare, 
free education to doctoral degrees, 
and Latin names that shine with dignity 
on door of home where every human lives. 

Deceived by beacon of my destiny, 
I journey down into valley of Hell, 
climb Mount Purgatory to Peak of Faith, 
then soar on Wings of Icarus to Heaven 
where I play Lyre of Mercury with jazz, 
lost in the fantasy that I am real. 

Wear Mask Of Faunus

Wear Mask Of Faunus
© Surazeus
2026 07 03

Because Death always walks my road with me 
beyond eccentric scope of my perception 
I choose to twist despair through charity 
with shocking sorrow of the revelation 
that God is shadow of our darkest fear 
we cast against fractured mirror of Heaven. 

Strange evils writhing in cave of my heart 
cry out with loathing of expert obsession 
at monstrous beauty of my mental chart 
crucial to state of amorous possession 
so with Pygmalion craft I mold her soul 
from seething chaos of stellar creation. 

As jester in mad world of broken souls 
I go on journey to the kingless nation, 
where I am both the stranger and the town, 
to peddle tickets to the fake salvation 
in holy war conducted by the priest 
who leads lost thieves to fight the revolution. 

When I arrive in valley of the dolls, 
who wear masks of beauty to veil confusion, 
I spark their souls awake with ardent chant 
so they can choose their lifestyle with decision 
that flows from passion of their secret hope 
to dance with grace at my assassination. 

Since there is more to water than our tears 
that drum on jagged cliffs from frantic ocean 
we roar with laughter at the puppeteers 
who fool us all to drink faith-poisoned potion 
so we cry out at brink of empty creed 
when God declares his laws with humble thunder. 

Brave Goddess of the Sun with star-bright eyes 
appears from cloud of swirling elocution 
to sing with ardent shock of spectacle 
that no divine mind drives constant motion 
of atoms swerving into tangled coils 
through chemicals of genes that flash our spirits. 

Though I am pilgrim on the signless road, 
who maps too many ways around weird Heaven, 
I sense Truth Demon pulsing through the land 
born as mercurial tune my heart has driven 
through honest witness to no miracles 
except generative power of Nature. 

Sharp rattle of the mountain waterfall 
shocks my urban-numb heart awake with passion 
so I wear mask of Faunus when I dance 
with graceful clumsiness of mortal human 
fueled alive with divine spirit of light 
that gleams with corrupt purity of wisdom. 

Holy Heart Of Zephyrus

Holy Heart Of Zephyrus
© Surazeus
2026 07 03

Small island of my heart amid black seas 
remains with memory of its singing streams 
as solid beauty with tower of light 
that serves as beacon of my destiny 
to sail across wild undulating waves, 
then return to its haven in the storm. 

Remote from turmoil of kingdoms that fight 
to rule the minds of men with fantasies, 
my island garden blooms in silver haze 
where I translate weird songs of nightingales 
to weave tales of gods from long-burned-out stars 
while I breathe sweet peace of my remote world. 

Still strange power of the infinite sea 
regulates tide pulse of blood in my veins 
with swelling passion of logical lust 
to generate new life before I die 
in body that preserves in timeless dreams 
immortal soul of replicating genes. 

My song articulates voice of the sea 
where I stand frail on jagged cliff of hope, 
embraced by holy heart of Zephyrus 
who teaches me to see light of the soul 
that gleams through constant gloom of world events 
so I find courage to play my own role. 

Each night I slumber, weary and undone, 
strange visions flash in network of my brain, 
incredible with hope of weird insight 
that we can build democracy of faith 
from shattered ruins of our principles, 
inspired to survive tides of social change. 

Shocked by fierce cloudy thrill of innocence, 
I push my fragile soul against despair 
with haunting presence of dead patriots 
which motivates my quest to rise from fear 
and stride where secret star-beams allocate 
new space for me to activate the truth. 

From rubble of our nation bombed by greed 
Pierrot and Columbine emerge with hope, 
though wounded by futility of faith, 
to dance in garden-grove with dreams decayed, 
which proves our principles of liberty 
and justice for all survive in our hearts. 

Though proud nations fall and false faiths decay, 
we join hands on the lawn of apple trees 
to nurture brave philosophy of truth 
that all humans share equal rights from birth 
which we assert with our communal heart 
to celebrate birth of democracy. 

Our Concept Of Divine God

Our Concept Of Divine God
© Surazeus
2026 07 03

As part of evolution of his soul 
from Fish to God who rules the market town, 
Dyaz stands before the gang of laughing thieves 
with wand he carved with anguish of despair, 
and breathes deep spirit of the blazing sun 
with poised attention of the serpent strike. 

You killed my father and stole our farmland, 
Dyaz calmy indicts the cruel king of thieves, 
then sold my mother, my sisters, and my wife 
as slaves and prostitutes to wealthy men, 
so I have come from cavern of despair 
to punish you for all your evil crimes. 

Crouched with intent control of Mountain Wolf, 
Dyaz twirls and somersaults and leaps and strikes 
in brutal battle against king of thieves 
and forty minions of his grasping greed, 
crippling and killing them all, one by one, 
while thousands of people of the town watch. 

Gasping for breath from tension of the fight, 
Dyaz stands alone among corpses of thieves, 
face and chest smeared with blood of their regret, 
triumphant in grim silence of the crowd, 
then raises wand of victory to the sky 
as they erupt in cheers to dance and sing. 

Sitting on throne in high ziggurat hall, 
Dyaz gazes dazed with victory of blind law 
at thousands of people with gleaming eyes, 
then kneels while Queen of Heaven Shawushka 
places jeweled crown of Town Guardianship 
on his head, heavy with responsibility. 

Grown old after ruling for forty years 
as Guardian of the City with just laws, 
Dyaz strides along the crowded market streets, 
tall man with long white beard in long white robe, 
who beams with smiles of joyful charity 
to see the people thriving with respect. 

Transformed from living man of mortal flesh, 
Dyaz becomes our concept of divine god 
through apotheosis of social faith 
so image of his person metamorphs 
to Idol of God as old bearded man 
whose face still glows in our world consciousness. 

When I break from innocence of childhood 
to navigate my own road to success, 
Dyaz wakes as spirit of God in my heart 
in his descendants, Zeus, Deus, Jove, and Jesus, 
to guide my journey to the Promised Land 
as I, also, evolve from Fish to God. 

Flaming Wings Of Fear

Flaming Wings Of Fear
© Surazeus
2026 07 02

Each evening at this time the gold sun glows 
bright rays of beautiful sadness through trees 
with bold assurance of belief that proves 
the typist knows why children never cry 
when angels fall on flaming wings of fear 
from bomb-blasted tower of arrogance. 

Walking in fairy woods of Zathamar, 
every evening when I get home from work, 
I browse electric books of moon-bright words 
to understand the sorrows people hide 
as serpents coiled in cavern of their hearts 
because they think of things that torment them. 

My friends keep vanishing in mist of time 
so when I call their names with ringing chime 
their ghosts hide in sibilant water flow 
with stolen grace of innocent despair 
that surges hot as sap in trunks of trees 
at supple clack from spinning wheels of fate. 

My father named me Sagittarius 
because he hoped with prayers for my success 
that courage of the archer strengthens me 
with bold ambition of spontaneous fun 
so I explore and colonize the world, 
trapped by stereotype of my horoscope. 

Long undulant curves of my flowered mask 
reveal intensity of hope I hide 
with brave emergency of sudden loss 
despite unfolding sadness I deny 
with fibrous innocence of tangled roots 
because we touch each other with desire. 

Strange wholeness of my body is not me, 
I never say in words you understand, 
so we share suffering in how we dance 
through disunited harmony of rage 
we channel into stories we invent 
with fractured concepts of honey disgust. 

Attempts to smooth lugubrious concern 
with frantic compound of anarchic peace, 
still capable of fixing flummoxed fear, 
discombobulates our brave ardency, 
bewildered by weird truth we must ignore, 
till second coming of the eyeless ghost. 

Bright halo that once shone above my head 
falls off one day and fractures on cement, 
so I sweep shards of innocence with broom 
on which my mother flew across the moon, 
then build new world from ruins of the past 
because the gold sun glows through happy trees. 

Fragments Of Weird Joy

Fragments Of Weird Joy
© Surazeus
2026 07 02

Through default mechanism of the brain 
she throws her favorite memories in the trash, 
then tears them into fragments of weird joy 
as she tapes them slant in random collage 
depicting boring childhood of her heart 
bruised by invisibility of faith. 

Sad in herb garden of the ancient house 
on the street where patriots designed 
new nation of equality for men 
to control land where people nurture dreams 
baked in bread we share with the homeless poor, 
she steals puzzle pieces from our world view. 

In bleak darkness before dawn of regret, 
she rubs her hands in bitter cold of hope, 
then rides the bus one hour in maze of streets 
to bake bread in the wordless factory 
while she ignores the second civil war 
fought by justice warriors in cyberspace. 

She wonders if her therapist enjoys 
swimming with sharks in deep ocean of tears 
that bleed from laughter of angelic brains 
who check the mail for letters from the ghost 
whose wounded heart transforms into the cat 
that lounges nonchalantly in her heart. 

When evening darkness singes edge of hope 
with subtle message of the Absolute 
that time corrodes our hearts with earnestness 
from filtered fumes of thoughts buried in mud, 
she stops by scarlet sign of innocence 
to question which direction she should take. 

Calm beast of arrogance wakes in her heart 
when she walks home at night in starry gloom, 
evading shadows of wolves dressed as men 
concerned with safety of the princess bride 
who always searches for good place to hide 
from collapsing institutions of faith. 

The old bearded man in torn ragged clothes 
asks her if she can recognize his face, 
but she explains she has no secret name, 
then ponders how great wizards such as him 
get stuck in this modern world of machines 
because our songs bounce off cement sidewalks. 

With broken guitar she stole from Apollo 
she plays tunes in the pentatonic scale 
to tell the world with saddest song of love 
that she loves Zephyrus, the haughty clown 
who teaches her how to survive the streets 
through default mechanism of the brain. 

Angel Wings Of Faith

Angel Wings Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 07 01

When sunset glows on hills of Idaho 
as we drive car on winding mountain road, 
we hear lost melodies of Avalon 
radiate with sorrow in the twilight breeze 
that circulates from angel wings of faith 
celestial breath of wisdom in our hearts. 

We walk across waste land of despair 
with Third Man haunting our uncertain quest 
to find beyond the rugged hills of faith 
vast forest of pines in the wilderness 
blown soft by wind from angel wings of faith 
that cools our hearts with faint hope for new life. 

We feel our fragile shells of mortal flesh, 
composed of joy First Mother molds from clay, 
ache with fierce hunger to overcome pain 
in struggle to transcend despair with love, 
inspired by breath from angel wings of faith 
that lift our spirits to achieve our goal. 

When voices of dead gods we leave behind 
still echo faintly in clandestine woods, 
we hike through shadows of unspoken fear 
to find in fruit grove on high mountain slope, 
rustled by breeze from angel wings of faith, 
that sacred pale where holy light gleams bright. 

Long weighed down by harsh cares of modern life, 
accelerating faster with each year 
that we drive time machines on web of roads, 
we stretch our bodies to touch long-dead stars 
that glimmer weird from angel wings of faith, 
to feel our souls refreshed by timeless truth. 

We gather on the river shore at dusk 
among tall oaks that quiver in cool breeze 
to feast with friends and family we love, 
then sing heart-healing hymns of honest joy, 
enhanced by glow from angel wings of faith, 
in harmony with water of the Earth. 

Though our ancestors fled across the sea, 
cleared from the misty highlands of their hearts, 
to sail frail ships across storm-thrashing waves, 
their passion to endure thrives in our hearts 
in flames fanned strong by angel wings of faith, 
to dwell with love in Land of Liberty. 

When dawn light gleams on hills of Oregon, 
as we drive car on winding forest road, 
we hear sweet melodies of Albion 
radiate with rapture in the morning breeze 
to broadcast hope from angel wings of faith 
which activates rise of Zarathia. 

Forest of the Laughing Crow

Forest of the Laughing Crow
© Surazeus
2026 07 01

With dignity of his royal bloodline, 
Jacobus strolls with sacred map of truths 
alone in forest of the laughing crow 
with mission to find jewel of the heart 
that translates secret thoughts to honest words 
so he can understand how people feel. 

When he approaches castle on the hill, 
where beautiful woman with long gold hair 
sings in small window of the lofty tower, 
Jacobus asks old Petrus at the gate 
if he may enter paradise with faith 
and woo Johanna with the golden fruit. 

Amazed by ghost of electricity 
that glimmers as bone mask hiding her face, 
Jacobus climbs winding stairway to Heaven 
after opening ninety thousand doors 
in endless maze of mental fantasy 
till he finds Garden of Hesperides. 

He longs to taste sweet immortality 
that drips from delicate lips of her heart, 
but Johanna hides behind veil of faith 
by asking riddles about ways of love 
that only the Sphinx with star eyes would know, 
but he answers each one with clever verse. 

While gazing in bronze mirror of her heart 
to question how her choices make her fate, 
Johanna sees gold crown shine on her head 
that transforms into boy with raven quill 
who writes epic poem of philosophers, 
so she accepts Jacobus in her heart. 

White horse of wisdom with angelic wings 
glides gracefully in hills of swirling mist 
to bear Johanna safely to star cave 
where she wears Crown of Scotia on her head 
to reign as glorious Queen of Fairyland 
whose children journey far across the sea. 

On bonnie shores of Loch Lomond at dawn, 
Jacobus and Johanna teach their son 
how to investigate nature of things 
with ardent observation of the eye 
that measures strengths and weaknesses of forms 
described by parables our brains compose. 

You are my shining compass with bright eyes, 
Johanna sings to boy with beaming smile 
who tries to comfort her loss-anguished heart 
as they kneel by Jacobus on the grass, 
assassinated by cruel greed for power, 
as apple tree blooms from his bleeding heart. 

Tyrant In Gold Tower

Tyrant In Gold Tower
© Surazeus
2026 06 30

Wolves in vast meadow of the star-eyed flower, 
who understand assignment of the heart, 
erase from dream the tyrant in gold tower 
who steals ripe apples from the broken cart. 
Exponent of creation from the Earth, 
love teaches us what sorrow should be worth. 

From river bed I gather chrysoprase 
that gleam with vibrant hue of nickel flakes 
so I may transcend level of each phase 
through hidden tunnels of electric lakes. 
If faith is peerless bridge of eagerness, 
I play my scene as humble Sisyphus. 

On vacillating feet of holy pride 
I leap on wings of Icarus to teach 
brave children how to find what angels hide 
in necessary caverns beyond reach. 
Why modesty reverses magnitude 
I calculate through haughty fortitude. 

More bountiful with each exploding dawn, 
my heart expands scope of its confidence 
to rise from grave of laughter on bombed lawn 
and eat rose petals with fierce nonchalance. 
Weird flames of sunrise burn mask of despair 
so I stand laughing on time-twisted stair. 

Minerva asks calm Death for secret code 
by which she calls my heart of grinding gears 
that traps lithe Spirit of the signless road 
with fame of dust designed by puppeteers. 
Encased in pulsing shell of thinking clay, 
Apollo asks me to come out and play. 

Through hungry Will of cosmic energy 
I act in line with channel of my brain 
to prove peace is no fiction of the free 
despite how far I ballet in bleak rain. 
Through observation manifold of fate 
I question how my choices transform hate. 

Escaping backward to sea shore of hope, 
I dare confront her glittering embrace 
when Death disguised as Love helps me to cope 
with blinding beauty of her glamorous face. 
Immersed in constant flux of mental growth, 
I resurrect my passion through weird oath. 

Without instruction of divine concern, 
Fame dotes on those whose hearts play calm with ease, 
yet I gain happiness each time I learn 
thought formulas that beam atomic keys. 
Death blows my wounded heart with vanity 
that heals with wisdom through vitality. 

Bullets Of Brave Pride

Bullets Of Brave Pride
© Surazeus
2026 06 30

Jeff lingers outside crowded country bar, 
watching semi-trucks zoom on the highway, 
because his friends mocked him with joshing sneers 
when he insisted they call him Godefridus 
for his namesake who conquered Jerusalem 
as Advocate of the Holy Sepulcher. 

We modern Americans have lost touch 
with our roots in Rome and Jerusalem 
as heirs to ancient traditions of honor 
that Sons of Jesus established with power, 
assigned by Jupiter in Halls of Heaven 
to unite the world in Kingdom of Christ. 

Driving motorcycle down the highway 
past endless fields of golden shining corn, 
that gleam on light of the metallic moon, 
Jeff ponders what bold action he could take 
to help expand global Kingdom of Christ 
by eliminating all false religions. 

No longer can I ride the great white horse, 
dressed in shining armor of righteousness, 
to fight infidels in holy crusade 
by wielding sharp-honed sword named Durendal 
that brave Orlando wielded to defend 
Kingdom of Christ from evil Saracens. 

With fury of Orlando I assert 
divine right to enforce grand reign of Jesus 
for he is noble Emperor of Earth 
who rules as his descendants in the flesh 
since they bear Holy Grail of his bloodline, 
Arthur, Charlemagne, and William the Mighty. 

Loading rifle with bullets of brave pride, 
Jeff drives motorcycle in city streets 
to stand before the Mosque of Gotham City 
where he shouts God is Great and shoots at devils 
disguised as humans who scream in surprise 
as they flee before holy wraith of Jesus. 

Aiming pistol at head of the cruel shooter, 
Sergeant Gottfried demands he drop the gun, 
but shoots when Jeff aims rifle at his chest, 
which knocks hostile murderer on the ground 
who shouts that he is doing work of God 
as he sinks into mindless gloom of death. 

Descending from Heaven on wings of fire, 
Azrael, with seventy thousand eyes, 
bears soul of Jeff down to caverns of Hell 
so he kneels trembling before iron throne 
where Persephone makes him lowly slave 
of Farah, whom he killed, for eternity. 

Clarity Of My Open Heart

Clarity Of My Open Heart
© Surazeus
2026 06 30

If I decide to enter clarity 
of my open heart with fruit of the Earth, 
I may attend the vineyard of my dreams 
to harvest wisdom from experience 
so I alone will benefit from code 
that programs how my brain perceives the world. 

I leave my insight wrapped in riddle-code 
as gifts that preserve treasure of strange truth 
along the winding road of anywhere 
for anyone to open if they dare 
release from polished box Pandora made 
arcane concepts that reprogram the brain. 

Though bright-eyed angels in silver-winged planes 
bomb golden-mirrored palaces of Europe 
to heaps of broken images with faith 
in divinity of atomic light, 
I hold key to Heaven in trembling hand 
where I stand in ruins of paradise. 

I strike with boldness of courageous hope 
to snatch from head of Jesus Crown of Thorns 
which I wear to proclaim myself with pride 
Emperor of Earth with Wand of Zambor 
which he forged from bent Thunderbolt of Zeus 
when I found nation of Zarathia. 

When frail poet Keatius in black cloak 
finds me slumbering on the river shore, 
his cry of anguish wakes me from strange dream, 
so I rise up from chthonic ground of gloom 
and lead him to grove where Sellaeus strums 
Lyre of Mercury and sings with sharp voice. 

Thus I, Saturnus, Wielder of Anor, 
proclaim them legislators of the world, 
assigned to chronicle in sublime verse 
noble quests of us ancient fallen gods 
to reassert long-lost authority 
that we claim through weird wisdom of our words. 

Freed from harsh chains of brutal punishment, 
Prometheus wanders waste lands of the Earth 
with Adam and Hyperion by his side, 
as restless children of cruel Frankenstein, 
till we seize control through socialist coup 
both Vatican and White House to rule Earth. 

When Percivalus and Ioannes find 
corpse of my power, tangled in torn wings, 
rotting in library of unread books, 
they burn me on bonfire of vanities 
to secure justice and freedom for all 
who walk the signless road to Wonderland. 

Fallen Star Of Truth

Fallen Star Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 06 29

I promise not to sit with anyone else 
but you under the apple tree of trust, 
and walk lane of lovers in evening glow 
with no one else but you till you return 
from your investigation as dream sleuth 
for secret in the fallen star of truth. 

Ascending rugged slope with Spear of Strength, 
Godin breaks through golden doors of desire 
and battles Jupiter in pillared hall 
so blades of bold authority clash loud 
to control Mount Olympus as world god, 
endowed with right by fallen star of truth. 

While Gugnir, Spear of Strength, drips divine blood, 
Godin steps over corpse of Jupiter 
and clutches Hera with lascivious lust, 
but finds old woman withered dry with age, 
so he exiles her to garden of fruit 
where she retires by fallen star of truth. 

Leading Sleipnir, his white eight-legged horse, 
into Olympian palace of world power, 
Godin escorts Evilla, his sweet bride, 
and crowns her Mother Empress of the Earth 
with ring of gold studded with thirteen gems 
to reign as Queen of Heaven with star eyes. 

Strolling together in cool evening dusk 
along lane of lovers where roses bloom, 
Godin and Evilla sit by the pool 
under the apple tree of holy faith, 
which Lilith planted in Eden at dawn, 
and kiss with passion of creative love. 

Blending good and evil in one strong soul, 
Godin and Evilla raise seven children 
who play hide and seek in the maze of myths 
where they paint marble idols of dead gods 
with psychotic runes of false destiny 
that encode spells from fallen star of truth. 

After Godin overthrows Jupiter, 
who overthrew Zeus, who overthrew Cronus, 
who overthrew Uranus, new young god 
will soon emerge from heart of human hope 
to crown himself as Emperor of Earth 
with wand of faith from fallen star of truth. 

Awake midway in journey of my life, 
I find myself in obscure wood of faith, 
so I blaze straightforward path of respect 
across grim waste land of America 
where I plant apple seeds from Tree of Life 
that blossoms tall from fallen star of truth.