Eyes Of Holy Light

Eyes Of Holy Light
© Surazeus
2024 04 19

Though Hylas skips down on the river shore 
Metope waits for him outside their door, 
but when he never returns home to her 
she goes looking for son of Jupiter, 
then strides on stage to play guitar and sing 
about faithful love of the magic ring. 

With long blond hair flowing in evening wind 
Metope dances in short sequin gown 
to sing about the boy who broke her heart 
because he could not read the psychic chart, 
and left her wandering city streets at night 
still searching for his eyes of holy light. 

Alone in apartment of lonely souls, 
she stares at his typewriter of lost goals, 
yet tries to understand his mythic code 
left on the television in stealth mode, 
as if our feelings are the hurricane 
that leaves us dancing wildly in the rain. 

Waking up at dawn in the Moon Hotel 
with demon lover who crawled from the well, 
Metope smokes to chase away dark ghost 
who haunts her silence with arrogant boast 
that he speaks for man with the voice of God 
who found him wandering on the signless road. 

Rekindling flames of love in castle hearth, 
Metope maps weird secret of rebirth 
in blank-paged book that flutters in cold wind 
each time she texts him without hitting send, 
then smiles as she embroiders memories 
about their good times till he stole her keys. 

Painting garden of Heaven they once shared 
with impressionist style that shows she cared, 
Metope dances barefoot on wet lawn 
when the Light-Bearer appears after dawn 
to explain grand project of his new scheme 
that came to him in bright Parnassian dream. 

With valiant purpose beyond fantasy 
to fight evil and save democracy, 
Metope searches by the rancid pool 
that once bubbled with beauty of the cool, 
but finds Hylas passed out from despair 
after wandering lost in the Everywhere. 

Helping Hylas stumble back to their home, 
Metope asks why he would rather roam 
bleak wilderness of horror in his head 
than cuddle with her in their love-warm bed, 
but she weeps for the drowned man on the shore 
who will never laugh with her anymore. 

Toward The Promised Land

Toward The Promised Land
© Surazeus
2024 04 18

Because each individual in the world 
savors strangeness of private memories, 
we tell each other stories of mute ghosts 
who haunt our lazy sun-gold afternoons 
with flashes of times and places long gone, 
our secret world that vanished in the past. 

Though more than forty years of life have passed 
in swirling currents of cultural change, 
transforming world I knew when I was young, 
I carry passion of juvenile faith 
still glowing bright in engine of my heart 
that nurtures purpose of my will to live. 

Calm energy of city social life, 
that carried me down shady streets of hope 
across landscape of businesses and homes, 
gleams bright in private vision of my eyes 
though I now live in strange land far away, 
inspiring me to savor this new hour. 

Alone in front yard of home I now own, 
I stand under oak where the raven dreams, 
and think of every house where I have lived 
across this land from sea to shining sea, 
fifty different homes in fifty-nine years, 
forever wandering toward the Promised Land. 

Why should I be surprised that I am lost, 
since my ancestors journeyed across Earth 
three hundred thousand years on quest for truth 
from Egypt to Sumeria to India to China 
then back along high mountains of the world 
to wave-washed misty Isle of Avalon. 

Since Epona first tamed the wind-swift horse, 
and Helius designed the four-wheeled cart, 
my ancestors traveled ten thousand years 
Scythia to Scotland, planting apple seeds, 
then sailed across the wild Atlantic sea, 
escaping kings to live in paradise. 

Always escaping royal police states, 
controlled by fanatics of mind control 
who rule with tyranny from castle towers, 
they journeyed west into the wilderness 
from Massachusetts to wild Oregon 
where I was born at far edge of the world. 

Now paradise is once again oppressed 
by conservative fascists who demand 
we slave to build global empire of wealth, 
but paradise is lost in parking lots 
where the blind bard sings epic tale of fools 
while I wander lost toward the Promised Land. 

Not Afraid Of Flowers

Not Afraid Of Flowers
© Surazeus
2024 04 18

Light sprig of lavender dances with glee 
of jaunty seriousness, sprung from despair, 
when butterfly of happiness departs 
to watch the wanderers walk roadless plain 
till they relax under beech tree of truth 
to ponder wisdom of the flashing rain. 

We are not symbols of your wordless hope 
for we are nothing more than human beings 
who search for somewhere on this hostile world 
to build new home and tend garden of crops 
so we may contemplate strange mystery 
that bonds our hearts to seasons of the sun. 

With subtle hands of too-perceptive wit 
we mend invisible fence of blind fear 
drawn by men with guns in towers of stone 
to trap our ambition in maze of tricks 
designed to keep us bound to work the land 
though we assert our right to sovereign faith. 

With bleeding hands of vibrant discontent 
we pull deceptive weeds from ground of lies 
while gazing through barbed wire of helpless rage 
to watch the turtle trundle with calm pride 
as guide to lead lost refugees of war 
through swirling portal of the holocaust. 

Thick clots of hair in snow of fortitude, 
blackened by fire on ovens of despair, 
twitch in lonely wind of winter to show 
we are not afraid of flowers that sprout 
bright from nameless corpses of glowing bones 
when skeletons dance for indifferent moon. 

Despite absolute precision of Death, 
who lingers as shadows in empty graves, 
we hold each other tight on frail wood bed 
to struggle with despair of naked fear 
through sweet romantic kisses of the mind 
till we are born as children of our hearts. 

Eating bread and cheese at table of lust, 
I ponder ethical puzzle of truth 
with mind submerged in currents of events 
that drown our souls in floods of global hate 
as we imagine horror of world war 
that smashes everything we hold as good. 

In silent spaces of the prison camp 
I walk with faceless ghosts of people killed 
by startled nonchalance of passing time 
though we leave books of stories in the house 
where no one will ever live free again 
till coming of the crow with wings of fire. 

Mask Of My Face

Mask Of My Face
© Surazeus
2024 04 17

My ancestors speak through mask of my face 
with calm voices of farmers and craftsmen 
who want to reconstruct our broken world 
from moon-lit hopes of the blind butterfly 
that lands on shoulder of the gold-eyed girl 
who shapes clouds into dragons of the heart. 

Our first mother speaks through mask of my face 
with voice of wind that whispers arcane code 
contrived from shadow of the dreamless cave 
so I know secret of eternal life 
based on ideal particles of all things 
that sprout from seeds into specific forms. 

Our first father speaks through mask of my face 
with voice of waves that howl weird prophecies 
designed by hands to imitate machines 
which help frail humans conquer spinning Earth 
by marking boundaries for nation-states 
where frightened men dress up to play as kings. 

My shy demon speaks through mask of my face 
with voice of writhing snakes in runeless well 
to narrate history for how things occur 
according to the victors of world war 
which proves their right to codify the rules 
that determine who fails and who succeeds. 

My mad angel speaks through mask of my face 
with voice of prophecy from eyeless stars 
recording how mankind evolves from fish 
to dance as wingless angels singing spells 
on pyramid we build with bleeding hands 
to fly with hang glider Daedalus made. 

My inner child speaks through mask of my face 
with voice of faith in goodness of mankind 
who dwells together in lush paradise 
because we build high walls of granite stone 
to guard Garden of Eden with sharp swords 
while slaves tend fruit trees in haven of hope. 

My divine brain speaks through mask of my face 
with voice of alphabets birds explicate 
to imitate shouts of children who play 
games of chase in forest of faceless ghosts 
till I discover on library shelf 
lost Holy Grail I forged from meteor stone. 

My godless soul speaks through mask of my face 
with voice of energy from sparks of light 
that swerve as atoms in the mindless void 
when I wake from relentless dream of change 
alone on peak of Parnassus at dawn 
because I forget everything I said. 

Warrior Of Great Deeds

Warrior Of Great Deeds
© Surazeus
2024 04 16

While lounging in the feasting hall at dusk, 
after work all day crafting wagon wheels, 
I eat roasted steak and sip barley beer 
with pleasure of the muscle-sore craftsman 
who grins to watch beautiful women dance 
to enchanting melodies of the lyre. 

Across large hall of mural-painted walls, 
that show scenes from the Fall of Ilium, 
voice of some burly bearded guest booms loud 
as he relates adventures of his trip 
homeward after ten years fighting harsh war, 
and I half-listen to his haughty boast. 

With snicker bursting from my beer-full belly, 
I doubt tall tale the scar-faced warrior tells 
that, when trapped in large cave of gloomy fear, 
he tricked the one-eyed giant with sly ruse 
by clinging to belly of his fat sheep, 
then mocked him after stabbing out his eye. 

You are Nobody, I sneer with wry grin, 
when he relates how he devised that name 
to fool the blinded cyclops to declare 
that Nobody escaped prison of his power, 
because we hear proud travelers like him 
boast of their prowess to impress the crowd. 

While chuckling with contempt at boastful fool 
who weaves fanciful yarns of his grand deeds 
to awe the gullible with simple minds, 
I feel cold shiver slither up my spine, 
so I look up to see vain narcissist 
glare down at me with fury in gray eyes. 

Rising slowly to face conceited clown, 
who prevaricates of his wily ways, 
I return sharp glare of his blazing eyes 
though he towers tall over my small frame, 
then duck when he swings fist to punch my face 
and slip free from grasp of his bear-paw hands. 

More swift and lithe on limber legs of grace 
I out-wit wily warrior of great deeds, 
swift as the fox that fools the lumbering bear 
till I trip his bull-thick legs with sly swipe 
that knocks him down flat on his burly face, 
so I sit on his head and pat his cheek. 

Offering beer to snarling Odysseus, 
I help him stand and lead him to his seat, 
then listen as he relates sweet romance 
how he won heart of kind Penelope 
who waits for him with aching heart of hope 
till we all sink into soul-drunken sleep. 

Babylonian Face

Babylonian Face
© Surazeus
2024 04 16

The Babylonian face of the white sheep, 
that stands with noble pride on stony hill, 
announces with voice of enchanting charm 
that God is blazing light in human form 
who sings as serpent in the flowing well 
while I design new global history map. 

Among deadwood at foot of Ararat 
with scythe I use to battle Time and Death, 
I search for valley where the rainbow ends 
to gather olives with old crippled hands 
when Hunger weighs with psychopathic math 
nutritious value of the fruit tree root. 

Commissioned as red arrow of world war, 
I stand on stony hill of singing skulls 
to present how Revelations will play 
on stage where Grendel, as social decoy, 
still manages the bankrupt shopping malls 
where serpents whistle in the jewelry store. 

We breathe the ether of his marriage feast 
at holy ritual of the weeping clown 
who plays chess with the savior grown too old 
to understand weird riddles of the skald 
when he finds out he is the perfect clone 
born from the serpent in love with the ghost. 

I see the sky ascending, red and green, 
at shocking burst of trees with breathing leaves, 
where millions of people compete for prize 
awarded to deceivers by the Muse 
who offers fleeting fame of shadowed caves 
in return for visions of the dream rune. 

With stone of truth, lithe as quick river fish, 
I penetrate bone-crushing waterfall 
to find lost treasure of the dragon queen 
who gives me diamond of the mind machine 
so I memorize lines to play my role 
as cosmic herald hoarding secret stash. 

Reborn from magic of the fairy tale, 
as fool who dances on edge of the cliff, 
I call Rapunzel on the telephone 
to read translation of weird summer rain 
that wakes the dead with honorable laugh 
programmed with code of the Golden Rule. 

The Babylonian face of the wise sheep 
gazes down at me from high pyramid 
with eyes that see beyond dark veil of time, 
so, though my heart still urges me to roam, 
I sit beneath shade of the the holy rood 
then fly to Heaven with my angel cape. 

Tyranny Of Shocking Bliss

Tyranny Of Shocking Bliss
© Surazeus
2024 04 15

Oblique regret for nothing I could say 
disturbs dark distance of the lonely way 
that measures tyranny of shocking bliss 
explained through logic of analysis 
which I should calculate to find out why 
snow flakes spiral from mirror of the sky. 

Encoding dreams in scribble of the joke 
long before my mother of oceans woke, 
I carve my story on stone edifice 
about the moment sad strangers first kiss 
to celebrate the marriage of true minds 
with magic rings that consciousness unbinds. 

Because my aching heart is almost dead 
I gaze at grape jelly on toasted bread 
with deep insight in soul mortality 
which highlights conceptual futility 
that we employ to avoid searing pain 
in project to conjugate loss with gain. 

When I relate old tale of the Unknown, 
I found encased in wisdom of the stone, 
my heart, once shipwrecked on perceptive words, 
restores to life aggressive thought of birds 
who bring me mushrooms by the misty lake 
while I search for the real inside the fake. 

Weird faceless ghosts of people I once knew, 
I glimpse between fraught shadows of the true, 
address compassion of unchanging gloom 
that floats unseen in fracture of the room 
where I catch drops of rain in hands of hope 
though I see her walk slow on mountain slope. 

Concealed in empty air of spacious faith, 
while evening sun unfolds face of the wraith, 
I wait for wind in willow trees to call 
my secret name erased from every wall 
despite how much we love each other now, 
untwisting sorrow into joy of how. 

Bright lantern of my pain-adjusted heart 
reveals nothingness of the star-wrought chart 
predicting rebirth of our ancient gods 
in humble bodies of brave astronauts 
who cast ideal image of human souls 
with mirror that reweaves our social roles. 

Each star that claims me as its referent 
beams fierce immortal rays, more confident 
than laughing horses, that will resurrect 
first thought considered by the holy sect 
founded by riddles of the blind centaur 
who invents engine that powers the car. 

Grimace For The Modern Stage

Grimace For The Modern Stage
© Surazeus
2024 04 15

Jumping on concert stage in flashing lights, 
Oedipus strums lightning-bolt melodies 
that blast aggressive vibes of flaming bombs 
across huge stadium of wild dancing kids 
while Dionysus grips gold microphone 
and howls satire song that mocks senile Zeus. 

Riding in the long silver Limousine 
that gleams in neon lights of theaters, 
Oedipus eats Big Mac and drinks root beer 
while Jocasta snorts cocaine on the mirror 
through the rolled-up one-thousand-dollar bill, 
then whoops and hollers as her brain explodes. 

Diving naked in the large hotel pool 
that shimmers bright with the red vampire moon, 
Dionysus swims with twelve nameless nymphs 
who giggle as he drinks huge glass of wine, 
while Semele stands on the diving board 
and twirls slowly after eating mushrooms. 

Kicking open door to their hotel suite 
and shouting for his wife to come how now, 
Athamus waves large pistol at the crowd 
till Jupiter demands that he calm down 
just as Semele twirls into the room 
and explains she is with Minerva now. 

Begging Semele to take care of Bacchus 
who cries out for his mommy in the crib, 
Athamus shoots pistol at Jupiter, 
startled when the bullet shatters glass door, 
so Mars and Creon slam him to the floor, 
and Semele falls asleep on the bed. 

Filming it all with the video recorder 
while lurking behind statue of himself, 
Oedipus narrates secret fantasies 
he imagines each person at the scene 
attempts to hide in darkness of their heart, 
then asks Jupiter how he really feels. 

Presenting grimace for the modern stage 
as she charges into the crowded room, 
Jocasta declares she can see the future 
where humanity will destroy itself 
through unchecked greed of obsessive desire, 
then stabs out her eyes with laughter of rage. 

Waking up alone in the hotel room 
as morning sun gleams through a shattered door, 
Oedipus stares in the mirror of truth 
at wrinkled old fool staring back at him, 
and just for one moment ponders how his life 
would be now if he had studied the law. 

Magic Lamp Of Faith

Magic Lamp Of Faith
© Surazeus
2024 04 14

The beautiful witch with moon-silver eyes 
walks through crowded market in evening dusk, 
holding magic lamp forged from dragon bones 
that glows with eerie light of long-dead stars 
to luminate faceless ghosts of despair 
who linger in shadows of yesterday. 

The hungry demon with gold serpent eyes 
rises from swampy pool on putrid breath, 
crawling from gloom toward lamp-lit market street 
where people run screaming from cold despair 
as he thrusts clawed tentacle of sharp rage 
to snare leg of the young boy with harsh growl. 

The young apprentice, working as cartwright, 
kicks jaws of the demon with frantic fear, 
then raises sharp adze, used for carving wheels 
from hickory wood, and strikes its scaly head, 
but screams from terrible pain of sharp teeth 
that crush bones of his leg with crunching crack. 

The star-eyed fairy in yellow silk gown 
plays haunting melody on rosewood flute 
while demon snarls and opens lizard jaws 
to bite soft human flesh with hungry lust 
till moon-eyed witch twirls wand of rowan wood 
to shoot thin bolt of lighting at its head. 

The snake-eyed demon writhes in agony 
at searing bolt of light from wand of truth, 
releasing young apprentice from sharp jaws, 
then trembles terrified at haunting tune 
the star-eyed fairy plays on rosewood flute 
which petrifies its hungry rage with faith. 

The beautiful witch with flowing black hair 
gesticulates left hand with subtle power 
to gather bright celestial energy 
that freezes into spear of diamond ice 
which gleams with lightning bolt of timeless stars, 
then pierces heart of the demon with grace. 

The star-eyed fairy with gesture of love 
pours healing potion on his wounded leg, 
wraps it tight in clean strip of yellow silk 
she tears from her dance gown without regret, 
then feeds him potion brewed from honeyed herbs  
while cradling his head in supportive arm. 

While the star-eyed fairy with gentle hands 
tends to wounded cartwright in healing house, 
the moon-eyed witch continues night patrol, 
holding magic lamp of faith in her hand 
to neutralize faceless ghosts of despair 
who linger in shadows of yesterday. 

Walking At My Side

Walking At My Side
© Surazeus
2024 04 14

These bitter tears I shed beside the sea 
when I wake from nap in shade of the tree, 
reliving memory of holding your hand 
as we gather mussels from gleaming sand, 
drown my heart with mute sorrow of despair 
because I cannot find you anywhere. 

Paralyzed in shadow of humming trees 
at gentle caress of the cool spring breeze, 
I stare beyond eternity of hope, 
then stumble in dark rain on mountain slope, 
but when I call your name in gusting wind 
I almost see you just around the bend. 

While gathering mushrooms in windy grove 
I think I see your face in wave-lashed cove, 
but, when I run toward shadow of your being 
at heart-breaking flutter of your white wing, 
I find lightning-struck stump of leafless birch 
that mocks vain effort of my fruitless search. 

Each time I feel you walking at my side 
in steady rhythm with the ocean tide, 
I feel intensive heartbeat of your soul 
so I turn not to maintain calm control 
with ache of love for spirit I adore, 
terrified I will see you nevermore. 

These bitter tears of sorrow I express 
with ache of hope for lasting happiness 
would fill deep ocean with words of my heart 
the longer we wander too far apart, 
so I keep walking circles on the beach 
to embrace you forever out of reach. 

From gloom of dreamless sleep I wake at dawn 
to find you smiling by me on the lawn, 
so I caress your cheek with loving hand 
and whisper shyly that I understand, 
but I cannot quite hear your puzzling words 
that morph into chirping of restless birds. 

Just as I think I clearly see your face 
emerge from vibrant sunlight of someplace, 
I feel your body vanish in dust swirl, 
so I stretch out my aching arms and twirl 
through joyful agony of blind desire 
with haunting tune sung by the faceless choir. 

I hope you call me not the queen of tears 
for I have confidence of countless years 
that I will find you still alive on Earth 
as timeless gleam of sunlight that is worth 
pain of waiting for you to return home 
since only wise Death knows where you now roam. 

Broad-Winged Sarus Crane

Broad-Winged Sarus Crane
© Surazeus
2024 04 14

Too early in the morning of strange light 
for shadows to become new faceless souls 
who seek salvation from the falling bombs 
that blast their paradise to swirling smoke 
still hovering over fields of silver flowers 
decades after wild soldiers all went home. 

Angry helicopter in bloody sky 
rescues fallen angels from streets of fear 
who cling to fragile rope of memories 
while gliding over jungle of orange ghosts 
whose wails still echo on small radios 
in grocery stores on busy avenues. 

In college library in Oregon 
young woman studying history of the war, 
that Americans fought in Vietnam, 
still smells fish and salt of the surging sea 
when she rode with family in small boat 
to seek refuge in land of liberty. 

No dragons writhing in the silver sky 
bring power of lightning and rain to Earth 
except in network of electric lines 
that shimmer over streets streaming with cars, 
so she grins while typing computer keys 
to write her experience after the war. 

Explaining to white kids in the schoolyard 
that her name is pronounced Bik, not Bitch, 
Bich runs away and grips the chain-link fence 
to watch white helicopter in the sky 
that monitors traffic on the highway 
instead of bombing river villages. 

Sitting on stage in the smoky cafe, 
Bich strums guitar and sings enchanting tune, 
we climb the slope together on lush hill 
to lounge beneath the sprawling banyan tree 
and gaze at stars that twinkle in its leaves 
while mourning with the chirp of lonely birds. 

After emailing countless resumes 
to apply for accounting jobs in banks, 
but getting no callbacks for interviews, 
Bich changes her name to Beth Anderson, 
and accepts job offer within two weeks, 
so she sits in the river park and grins. 

Holding up her phone in the school show hall, 
Beth films her granddaughter Brenda on stage, 
dressed in ao dai dress made of yellow silk, 
perform elegant dance with bamboo fans 
as she sings folk song of the banyan tree, 
then turn into a broad-winged Sarus Crane. 

Eurydice Reborn From Rain

Eurydice Reborn From Rain
© Surazeus
2024 04 13

How thoughtful of the sky to cleanse my soul 
with name of every soul who ever lived 
on every planet in the multiverse 
since they all spiraled from first flash of light 
and fall as drops of rain onto my world 
to bloom in flowers singing as I dance. 

From shadow ride four horsemen of despair 
to wreak destruction on my garden world 
so people who deserve to live with joy 
are slaughtered by their life-consuming greed 
and slave enchained in mining caves of Hell 
to dig diamonds and jewels from heart of Earth. 

On bombed ruins of castles and cathedrals 
we built steel-framed towers of mirrored glass 
wired with computers that calculate wealth 
to form global network of thinking chips 
evolving into supernatural brain 
that dreams virtual world from our memories. 

I drive my car on winding suburb streets 
where flocks of deer graze on the spacious lawns 
of houses nestled in forest of oaks 
where moon-eyed ravens on telephone lines 
discuss philosophy of ancient seers 
forged between idealists and atomists. 

Escaping tower room where she grew up, 
protected by her mother from the world 
where she never saw disease, age, or death, 
Lost Princess runs along lush river shore 
to hide in cavern of the lonely mage 
who gives her apple of the serpent sun. 

Six thousand years later of spinning time 
she teaches kids in elementary school 
how to recite and write the alphabet, 
those magic runes of serpents in the well 
her father snatched from the water of life, 
so they can study history of the world. 

Bright diamond gleaming with primal starlight, 
that pulses deep inside core of my heart, 
reveals creation of our universe 
evolving into globes teaming with life, 
so I walk signless road to Wonderland 
where my soulmate recognizes me first. 

She follows me from cavern of despair 
while I play lyre wired with strings of my heart 
and sing sweet hymn to tragedy of love 
but, fearing she no longer follows me, 
I look back to see stars in her eyes 
so she smiles and jumps in my loving arms. 

Wild Angelic Flight

Wild Angelic Flight
© Surazeus
2024 04 13

Organic bodies coiled with chemicals, 
forged by god-star eye from soul particles, 
we dance with air-light heads of fantasy 
on rock world in vast swirling galaxy 
that seethes with surging tides of blazing light 
on which we surf in wild angelic flight. 

With vegetable lust of intense desire 
we cling to rock of Earth on rooting wire 
that crackles taut with voices humans breathe 
as we contort our souls that passions wreathe 
in twisting spirals bound by mortal soul 
which beams from flashing core of the White Whole. 

Determined to achieve high state of bliss 
on rainbow peak arching over abyss, 
I leap through swirling portal of all time 
at heart-enchanting sparkle of dream chime 
so I improve as I evolve through love 
with each new life I reach for stars above. 

New bodies blooming from this ancient globe, 
through exploration of desire we probe 
deep questions stating facts beyond debate 
that by each choice we designate our fate 
with compact energy that fuels our brains 
formatting projects to map dream domains. 

Researching timeless zone of anywhere, 
I draw new global map of psychic air 
to dance with static quantum of untime 
while swimming in dark sea of fertile slime 
till I grow far beyond landscape of faith 
to plant apple seeds with the faceless wraith. 

To follow unseen path of fertile lust 
by curling roots deep in Tellurian crust, 
I investigate weird nature of truth 
while writing oracles in temple booth 
to hide weird secret of rebirth in code 
through riddles that detail new social mode. 

Safe in glass tower of the songless bird 
while waiting for key of the brain-dream word, 
I sing for people of the world below 
how we evolve from atoms of the flow 
that urges us to act through will to life, 
devising strategies to survive strife. 

When I invent new language of the mind, 
based on virtual world my weird heart designed, 
I sing alone on Parnassus at dawn 
tale of the wolf who comes to love the fawn, 
so I become one soul with the whole world 
when I wake from dream of the cosmic herald. 

Primal Particles Of God Mind

Primal Particles Of God Mind
© Surazeus
2024 04 12

We are primal particles of soul light, 
seeking to understand time-flow of why 
that weaves our brains from dreams of galaxies 
while gazing at clouds and longing for flight 
to bear attentive consciousness of I 
around mirror eye of star-flashing keys. 

Born from primal particles of raindrops, 
we struggle through bodies of hungry flesh 
to transform from fish in womb of the sea 
through mice to humble farmers tending crops 
in network topology of mind mesh 
centered around garden of the fruit tree. 

Formed by primal particles of star souls, 
that spiral from first flash of the big bang, 
we stroll together in the shady grove 
to discuss duties of our marriage roles 
in cave of illusions from which we sprang 
to manage process of romantic love. 

Beamed with primal particles of thought words 
that conjure virtual world from social myth, 
we copy ancient scriptures in new books 
with hymns translated from chorus of birds 
sung by angels beneath glass monolith 
where our Fairy Queen manages priest-cooks. 

We are primal particles of God Mind 
who dreams themself alive inside our brains 
as incarnation of ancestral genes 
in one soul forged from all their souls combined 
so we wake as gods on spiritual planes, 
transcending form of chemical machines. 

Wrought by primal particles of fay rings 
that coil our genes as information code, 
we build horse-drawn wagons with fortune wheels 
to search mountain valleys for water springs 
guarded by temple of the signless road 
where we seek what the oracle reveals. 

Shaped from primal particles of dream code 
that program how our brains perceive the world, 
we hide in clever riddles astral truth 
that helps our minds expand prophetic mode 
at second coming of the cosmic herald 
who ushers new age of messiah sleuth. 

Joined through primal particles of love spells 
that we recite at ritual of rebirth, 
we tell each other our survival tales 
at ominous ring of our wedding bells 
so we become whole consciousness of Earth 
Death weighs with holy laws on judgment scales. 

When I Hear Sorrow

When I Hear Sorrow
© Surazeus
2024 04 12

When I hear sorrow in water of life, 
enhanced by darkness of the lonely road, 
I see no future in the sunless world 
where words are shadows lurking behind trees 
though silence pulses in my aching heart 
with rancid wisdom of dark rainless clouds. 

When I hear sorrow in whisper of trees, 
conceived by primal thought of hopeful love, 
I rip open my breast with trembling hands 
and free wild raven of my fearful heart 
who leaps toward invisible moon of fate 
to find sacred words that prove how I feel. 

When I hear sorrow in splatter of rain, 
designed by fierce starvation of the mind, 
I scratch at dirt to find conceptual roots 
enriched with nutrients of arcane code 
that time transforms from arrogance of death 
so I can consume sweet fruit of despair. 

When I hear sorrow in sunrays of dawn, 
refracted by great eyeball of Blue Sky, 
I see bottomless abyss of my heart 
enclose enormous swirl of hungry fear 
that motivates my quest to find my name 
trapped under river stone of nonchalance. 

When I hear sorrow in laughter of fate, 
contrived by shadow demons of my soul, 
I emerge from safe shelter of my heart 
to venture forth on signless road of faith 
with curious attention to weird details 
that blossom from organic beings of breath. 

When I hear sorrow in mockery of clouds, 
congealed by riddles of the prophet clown, 
I carry groceries from trunk of my car 
to stock my kitchen with dystopian tales 
so we can feast on passion for the truth 
providing fuel for dance of the sad fool. 

When I hear sorrow in virtue of seas, 
elated by compassion for lost souls, 
I photograph strangers in maze of streets 
who smile with shy pleasure at being alive, 
so we gather in cathedral of lies 
to sing in global choir of solo minds. 

When I hear sorrow in music of love, 
composed by voices of ten billion brains, 
I transcribe verses to record our dreams 
that shimmer in one tapestry of hope 
which programs world view every human shares 
to dwell in heaven of truth we create. 

Question Of The Why Tree

Question Of The Why Tree
© Surazeus
2024 04 11

Through each locked door of honest amplitude 
sad honey bees swarm to discuss how time 
weaves our organic bodies from light beams 
despite disparaging remarks of stones 
who make me ask question of the Why Tree 
before rain destroys cathedral of masks. 

Through open window of snide attitude 
cynical horses leap over high wall 
where robots work in factories building cars 
we drive on vacation to sea of eyes 
deceived to hide question of the Why Tree 
rather than fish to catch dragon of rage. 

Through fractured mirror of soul fortitude 
winter wizard reborn from roaring flames 
rises on Phoenix wings to fly on faith 
high over maze of myths to find the ring 
that will reveal question of the Why Tree 
regardless of the name Death dreams for me. 

Through wind-blown book of psychic rectitude 
blind seer transports across ten thousand worlds 
aligned in coils around the multiverse 
wound tight with million versions of one me 
designing new question of the Why Tree 
without regret for how I invent God. 

Through blooming flower of infinitude 
Goddess of Love explores new mental forms 
for hungry bodies to evolve from slime 
so we rise tall with hope from lake of dreams 
to dance around question of the Why Tree 
with tragic sorrow of romantic love. 

Through sudden change of weird vicissitude 
mad warrior chases shadow of his mind 
across wind-blasted heath of swirling mist 
to curse injustice of disloyalty 
when children steal question of the Why Tree 
to bury apple seeds in river mud. 

Through swirling portal of thought certitude 
oldest woman in the world holds my hand 
and leads me safe on signless road of truth, 
teaching me to play role of cosmic herald 
who explicates question of the Why Tree 
we reincarnate in child of our genes. 

Through soul-fertile state of decrepitude 
humanity seeks immortality 
by regenerating body of flesh 
that incarnates immortal soul of genes 
encoded in question of the Why Tree, 
atomic chemicals alive as God. 

Pythian Oracle Of Amherst

Pythian Oracle Of Amherst
© Surazeus
2024 04 11

Edible berries of the arbutus 
flame bright in scarlet sunbeams of cool dawn 
when I cut slender limbs of its smooth wood 
to carve weaving spindles smooth as my bones 
for Clotho to design fate for my soul 
as lace gown I wear in moon-haunted night. 

Old letters from the Pythian oracle, 
who writes verse in dark Massachusetts woods, 
crinkle in hot flames of the burning bush 
when false prophet tries to erase her dreams 
which rather bloom from ancient twisted trees 
in fruit that ripens from our burdened hearts. 

When I kneel before the wry oracle 
who sits in lace gown at small oaken desk, 
she offers gingerbread cookies with grin 
that flashes wisdom across rain-black clouds 
so I eat sacred body of the Earth 
as she sends white owls to the evening sky. 

Caressing my cheek with warm tenderness, 
the Pythian oracle whispers to me, 
pardon my sanity in a world insane, 
and love me if you will with all your heart 
for I would rather be loved than be called 
the Lord in Heaven or a King on Earth. 

How swiftly summer flees to misty hills 
to bear detailed report of misspent time 
and wasted hours to angel of my heart 
who answers with eternity of hope 
that I may dwell in garden of fruit trees 
singing with birds in tune with ocean tides. 

When flash of insight glitters in her eyes 
with complex vision of future events, 
the Pythian oracle at oaken desk 
transcribes weird song of evening wind to spells 
that still enchant our hearts with starlit faith 
centuries after she rides carriage with Death. 

Floating outside swift flow of history 
on angel wings that Icarus wove for her, 
the Pythian oracle of apple groves 
transcends constant current of social change 
with mind sparked bright by language of the stars 
when she holds high the Torch of Liberty. 

Descending from Parnassus after dawn 
to toggle vision of atomic light 
with mundane wisdom of the open door, 
the Pythian oracle of Amherst grins 
while strolling with me on the river shore 
to visit orphans with fresh ginger cake. 

Bright Star Of Ishtar

Bright Star Of Ishtar
© Surazeus
2024 04 10

When bright star of Ishtar shines in black sky 
as Orphic harbinger of her great power, 
we know our age of chaos and despair, 
when nations battle over river lands, 
will be transformed by wisdom of her love 
to Elysian era of global peace. 

From flash of lightning that strikes from black sky 
suffusing pyramid of the One Eye 
with bright electric beams of writhing power, 
Ishtar appears with arms stretched wide as wings 
to cast clear glow of psychic energy 
through Torch of Liberty in her right hand. 

Through swirling chaos of terrible gloom 
that batters our souls with disastrous storms, 
when greedy men compelled by blinding fear 
attempt to coerce our hearts with despair, 
bright light of Ishtar dispels smog of hate 
to transform waste land into paradise. 

Inspired by vision of her divine eyes, 
that see how people on Earth could share wealth 
we create with compassion of our hands, 
we gather in state councils to discuss 
how we can organize talented minds 
to enact programs that benefit all. 

With focus of attention based on love 
our wise lawmakers could codify rules 
that guide our conduct of constructive work 
to maximize efficient exercise 
when each observant soul applies their will 
through cordial teamwork of our global course. 

Yet mortal men, who through fortunate luck 
attain high positions of social power, 
anoint themselves as presidents for life 
by crowning themselves bold vicars of god 
to enforce private schemes as public laws 
though we rebel against oppressive greed. 

Now tyrants who control corporate empires 
enslave millions of loyal citizens 
to work for greater good of the whole state 
with patriotic fervor of cold doubt 
till they take arms and fight to rule the world 
with bogus confidence of victimhood. 

When selfish tyrants battle for control, 
which plunges nations in brutal world war, 
then Hidden Dragon of the noble seer 
will rise strong from chaotic energy 
to manage world food-production machine 
under bright star of Ishtar in black sky. 

Tree Of Leafy Thoughts

Tree Of Leafy Thoughts
© Surazeus
2024 04 10

Sad bird that chirps in tree of leafy thoughts, 
whose restless wings sweep rain clouds to the west, 
wants to reveal to me my fractured fears 
so I perceive strange beauty of this world 
in how routine of hope my hands express 
sustains my cautious journey to its end. 

For all the treasures of my aching heart, 
I give with generous passion to the world, 
I hear no more than echo of my voice 
reflect acknowledgement of eager joy 
encased on gilded box of safe success 
which Pandora never opens with pride. 

Though Death, the tallest king who walks the Earth, 
unstrings my bones to string her golden lyre, 
I dance among wildflowers with sweet wind 
who shows me our world without certainty 
that I am sure is real as stones in streams 
since I was born from the vast writhing sea. 

With analytic passion of mushrooms 
I transform occult dreams of faceless souls 
from screaming slime of sun-heated tide pools 
to elegant apple trees on lush hills 
where horses swish long tails in timeless shade 
while lovers eat forbidden fruit of truth. 

With woven baskets on our curious arms 
we gather eggs of demons from dark glen, 
mottled ovals lodged in volcanic rocks, 
then gather inside garden walls of stone 
to boil them in cauldron of Ceridwen 
who explains how we breathe spirit of life. 

Yet when I climb high mountain of delight 
to take off my face, and offers its name 
to shocking beauty of this world we love, 
I cannot find map of the Earth I drew 
from tangled dreams of people I once loved 
who must be floating somewhere on the sea. 

Extreme diagnosis of white moonlight 
excites reluctant children to play chase 
who search old bushes for mystery of faith 
enshrined in chapel by the waterfall 
where salmon leap toward heaven on frail wings 
to prove the resurrection is not real. 

When I was young my blue eyes searched the sky 
for silver whisper of meaning which frames 
celestial serpent of my constrained spine 
because I want to fly above this world 
so I can understand its totalness 
while chirping with sad bird in tree of thoughts. 

Exile From My Homeland

Exile From My Homeland
© Surazeus
2024 04 09

Driven from the garden where I was born 
by men who destroyed grand city I built, 
I wander waste land of my lonely heart 
on maze of signless roads that go nowhere 
in search for the river-fed Promised Land 
where I build haven for my family. 

Enraged at injustice of their attack 
invading land my ancestors found first, 
I roam bleak wilderness of my bruised heart 
that burns with aching flame of hopeless faith, 
poisoned with nostalgia for the lost past, 
knowing I can never more return home. 

Myth of creation my fathers composed, 
that proves our right to dwell safe on this land, 
defines fall for eating forbidden fruit 
through exile bearing relics of our faith 
to redemption earned by self-sacrifice 
as we build new city with crafting hands. 

Though my ancestors ever traveled west 
ten thousand years Scythia to Oregon 
on never-ending quest of bitter hope 
to escape greedy tyranny of kings, 
I can only build and guard paradise 
of this safe home till Death dissolves my soul. 

Exile from my homeland frustrates my heart 
with bitter ache of sorrow at my loss 
that sparks awake patriotic intent 
to focus attention of daily tasks 
on finding in vast wilderness of fear 
new fertile land to build home for my clan. 

For I would rather be Odysseus 
struggling to return from fruitless war 
to reclaim homeland from invading thieves, 
than fierce Achilles driven mad by rage 
to kill noble man protecting his home 
and destroy grand city built on bold hope. 

Yet I must become Aeneas the brave 
who leads his family over stormy seas 
from ancient noble city burned by greed 
to find lush land of fertile tree-thick vales 
where my bold descendants may thrive in peace 
to build new shining city on the hill. 

Though exiled from lost homeland of my heart 
by hostile invaders greedy for wealth, 
I turn my face into bright winds of change 
to wander far over mountains and seas 
so I can build new homeland with firm hands 
where my children may grow from heart of Earth.