Leather Satchel Of His Heart

Leather Satchel Of His Heart
© Surazeus
2026 05 24

Young boy fills leather satchel of his heart 
with forgotten tales his ancestors lived 
encased in seeds he gathers from the woods, 
then stands on mud shore of the timeless lake 
to gaze in liquid beauty of the sky 
that shows him face his progenitors wore. 

When sparrow in the elm tree by the lake 
sings sacred formula for thoughts of rain, 
young boy runs back to small hut by the stone 
where his grandmother sings with raspy voice, 
so he holds her hand as she smiles at him 
then vanishes in white smoke of the fire. 

White smoke becomes huge clouds above black hills 
that drench their jagged sorrows in cold rain 
which swirls in rivers over roots of trees 
where shadow of the young boy disappears 
till flash of lightning luminates his face 
that mimics demon mask of innocence. 

Three men, who shot old woman in her heart 
because she would not yield her bowl of gold, 
shriek terrified at sight of his red mask, 
so they fire rifles with bullets of rage 
at elusive demon that haunts their camp, 
but shoot each other in the gloom instead. 

Young boy fills leather satchel of his heart 
with memories of songs his grandmother sang 
encased in her bones he carves into flutes, 
then stares at wavering mask of his face 
that gleams in liquid beauty of the sky 
but ripples from tears that fall from his eyes. 

Twanging taut chord of his yew hunting bow, 
young boy recites songs his grandmother sang 
that recount adventures in mountain vales 
of Wolf Boy and Raven Girl who unite 
to protect the poor from greed of the rich 
and free the people from cruel tyranny. 

Young boy fills leather satchel of his heart 
with textbooks, rulers, pencils, and notepads, 
then walks small-town streets to the public school 
where he attends classes on liberal arts 
to study nature of the universe 
by utilizing tools of measurement. 

Songs of my grandmother glow in my heart 
ten thousand years of conscious energy 
that conjure virtual model of the world 
which I improve with weird secrets I learn 
so I can bequeath vision of the truth 
to children who spring from dream of my heart. 

Stream Of Silver Light

Stream Of Silver Light
© Surazeus
2026 05 24

The tall slender candle of mute desire 
gleams in virginal window of respect 
while Seraphus and Celestine sit prim 
at round glass table in their hotel room 
that overlooks silver Sequana River 
to eat lamb and wine in memory of Troy. 

Lounging on large white stone of secret faith 
inside small cave that gleams with emeralds 
where the River Seine springs from heart of Earth, 
Sequana eats grapes and listens to wrens 
that scurry along mossy rocks in roots, 
but frowns when Neptunus calls out her name. 

Trembling with awkward shyness of desire, 
Seraphus and Celestine, face to face 
by white lace curtains of pure innocence, 
reach out their hands with cautious hope of love 
to open windows of their hearts with care, 
then kiss to taste fruit from the Tree of Knowledge. 

Crouching in shadow of her jeweled cave 
where healing waters spring from heart of Earth, 
Sequana softly breathes celestial air 
to calm wild beating of her wingless heart 
as Neptunus searches thick forest of trees 
while he declares intent to mate with her. 

Beaming with pleasure after making love, 
Seraphus and Celestine eat breakfast, 
then she sits draped in long red gown of silk 
and plays enchanting tune on lyre-guitar 
while he paints her as Sequana the Nymph 
lounging in cave where the River Seine springs. 

Pushing ivy veil aside with brusque hand, 
Neptunus grins when he sees lithe river nymph, 
but she throws jagged stones at his chest 
and darts away when he grasps at her thighs, 
then ocean-tamer chases her through groves 
of trees that slap his chest to slow him down. 

Strolling along river park of the Seine, 
as clouds blaze gold across the evening sky, 
Seraphus and Celestine shyly blush 
as they hold hands beneath the weeping willow, 
and watch swans glide on stream of silver light, 
smiling when one flaps her angelic wings. 

When Neptunus, leaping on horse-swift legs, 
almost captures river nymph in his arms, 
lithe Sequana dodges and slips away, 
then grins with long gold hair and silver eyes 
as she transforms to stream of silver light 
and dances freely in the moonlit grove. 

Fake Words On The Ground

Fake Words On The Ground
© Surazeus
2026 05 23

Alert to shadow of death in tall trees, 
Celestine scatters fake words on the ground 
and pries thorns of happiness from her heart, 
then browses dresses in the chic boutique 
to purchase trend of upscale edginess 
tailored for the refined lady of faith. 

Exclusive demon lurking in tall grass 
decides to customize costume she wears 
with meticulous concern for cracked eyes, 
so Celestine dons brown jacket at dawn 
and sips coffee by the Venice canal 
where empty gondolas float in gold mist. 

Stopping in the middle of the glass bridge 
that spans the silent river of despair, 
Celestine wonders where she has come from 
and where she will go before the sun blinks 
with stunning insight of sorrow defied, 
or if she should entertain hope of death. 

With careful lines of elegant intent, 
Celestine divides fragments of lost time 
to measure wasted hours of earnest hope 
framed by parables of social respect 
in portraits that present uncanny scenes 
where nobody seems to know what they want. 

Staring at the clock in trunk of the oak, 
Celestine plans routine of lettered play, 
shattered by contempt for logical tricks, 
to puzzle formulas of bitter love, 
which proves her comfort zone is much too small 
to protect her heart from blind parasites. 

Now circumspect about her future path, 
Celestine neglects to seek twisted code, 
starved for new opportunities to tame 
fierce appetite for solving data traps 
through lurid analysis time presents 
as theories that explain why all brains die. 

If light hurts her eyes with bearable truth, 
Celestine waits by boulder of lost names 
for red raven to bring ribbon of ruth 
with furtive urgency of social power, 
designed to replicate our hearts of clay 
which guardian angels fold into false masks. 

Abated susurration of dead brains 
amplifies individual spells of faith 
that drip from wounded mouths of cautious clones 
despite knowledge that wave frequencies change 
relative to observer wearing mask 
with telescope embedded in her brain. 

Diamonds Of Eternal Stars

Diamonds Of Eternal Stars
© Surazeus
2026 05 23

The lonely traveler of everywhere 
wonders if his search for Rome will reveal 
foundations of truth built on bones of gods 
who still walk the streets in bodies of people 
because the Tiber still flows in their veins 
with grandeur resurrected from cracked stones. 

The fugitive from programmed time of chance 
maintains permanent residence with faith 
in ruins rebuilt into halls of glass 
that shimmer again on the Palatine 
where ghosts of warriors with ambitious plans 
participate in grand cathedral shows. 

The lonely traveler on endless roads 
admires quaint chapel with statue of Mary 
whose eyes are diamonds of eternal stars 
that gleam the nothing in our hungry hearts 
so we pray silently in candlelight 
with pious respect for beauty of death. 

Heroic dust of priests who ruled our minds 
will never assemble again into souls 
who climb high mountains of sincerity 
to tread golden stars of eternity 
with grim confidence in the afterlife 
where changeless ideas of things persist. 

Animal motivated by weird reason, 
I ride swift chariot on the battlefield 
and fire arrow of justice at the tyrant 
because Death haunts confidence of my path 
when I plow city towers to erase 
colonial empire of angelic pride. 

Secure within legalized walls of Heaven, 
Ziphion keeps watch in tower of desire 
to protect his family against invaders 
who brandish weapons of arrogant faith 
in holy righteousness of their lost cause 
because winners name the land for their father. 

Whatever her name and name of her son, 
the Mother and Child in temple of hope 
represent every family on Earth, 
so I forge key of faith from bones of god 
that opens every door of every home 
where we share songs from ancient books of flame. 

My heart filled with delight in the Great Being, 
though it glows indifferent to my success, 
seeks wisdom in the song of ocean waves 
which I translate to tangled sentences 
inadequate to portray the real world 
except as toy models of my childhood. 

Real Face Of God

Real Face Of God
© Surazeus
2026 05 23

If I could sing the sorrow of my heart 
without breaking innocence of the world, 
I would express harsh truth with shaking voice 
to render negative insouciant greed 
by which my fierce words transmit warranty 
against withdrawal violently reversed. 

No less versatile at weaving dream spells 
from fluttered fragments of weird memories, 
my heart procures precise reasons from fear 
to register our tangled fate with love 
irrelevant to thoughts of helpless rage 
concealed by frigid rules of false respect. 

If dire response to surgical concern 
requires social sacrifice through regret, 
then I would dare retrieve with sincere hope 
revenue of suffering supplied by scenes 
of brutal assault that impugn attempts 
by cruel aggressors to control my soul. 

No more aggressive than devilish greed 
from critical analysis of threats 
intended to injure secure desire, 
my heart devises secret strategy 
to turn acute observation of facts 
from mutant passion of potential faith. 

If I could optimize obvious path 
expanding radius of relevant pride 
with referenced records of financial growth, 
then I would dare pursue real happiness 
based on statistics no one understands, 
to play my game against accepted role. 

No further than the sudden end of time 
beyond conceptual theory of mute death 
could I extend insight of prophecy 
to see Real Face of God through telescope 
that renders only globes of spinning gas 
from which the star-eyed Seraphim are born. 

If time unspools synthetic creed of faith 
designed by mental therapist of death, 
I might survive this global war of truth 
fought between dream-blinded gangs of men 
who claim their god will resurrect their souls 
so they shall inherit Heaven on Earth. 

No longer treasured by world traveler 
who maps symbolic myth of noble deeds, 
fierce gods too long worshipped by gangs of thieves 
transform to idols of marble distrust 
that stand in museums of glorious lies 
so we see our own faces in their masks. 

Broken Wings Of Faith

Broken Wings Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 05 23

If I could tell you the mysteries I saw 
while floating under water of the heart, 
and how far down the swift river of time 
I tumbled before I crawled back on land, 
then I would be the master of all truth 
who needs nothing more than insightful faith. 

Raguel wanders the country road of dust 
and pauses by the broken stone of trust 
when he sees oldest woman in the world 
in gray coat among flowers of bright red 
where she gathers berries from bush of fate 
which gives him strange feeling that he is late. 

Rebel angels wounded in brutal war 
crawl moaning from pain in valley of fear, 
so Raguel raises silver sword of faith 
to battle anguish of Gehinnom wraith 
who howls in rage at justice of time 
that scatters his soul at the porch-bell chime. 

Michael pauses during Weird Devil War 
to inquire with snarky sincerity 
what Raguel means when he talks about faith, 
but the Stoic Watcher stares into space 
and wonders if El even has a face, 
that wise old Father of Storm in the sky. 

Emerging from river of surreal dreams, 
Raguel stretches his body to the moon, 
wades on lush shore where scarlet poppies bloom, 
and dons white robe of his angelic rank, 
then lounges on platform of his sky ship 
while cherubim repair the silk balloon. 

Hanging from disk of his floating sky ship, 
powered by hot air in huge silk balloon, 
Raguel flies up from flat-top pyramid 
to patrol sprawling maze of city streets 
so people in gardens and markets look up 
and wave to Sky-Walker Angel in Heaven. 

When gang of thieves attack the caravan 
of wagons loaded with rich goods for trade, 
Raguel fires arrows of law from the sky, 
so they flee wrath of the angel in Heaven, 
and people on Earth praise the name of El 
who brings justice to honest citizens. 

Sharp arrow that Beelzebub fires in rage 
cuts rope from which hangs the Watcher in Heaven 
so Raguel falls on broken wings of faith 
and floats deep in the dark river of change, 
then wakes in my heart three thousand years later 
and prepares to enforce justice again. 

Frame Emptiness Of The Sky

Frame Emptiness Of The Sky
© Surazeus
2026 05 22

When Ziphion finds emptiness of the sky 
inside the window frame of glowing time, 
he reaches out one hand high as the cloud 
to touch the vastness of eternity, 
and finds ripe apple of secret desire 
solid in obsessive grip of his hand. 

While Ziphion eats apple of cognizance 
to taste awareness of eternal now, 
the silent hills walk toward his secret grove 
to give him stones that cannot display time 
till cracks in foundation of truth appear 
to reveal immense beauty of the wind. 

Yet Ziphion walks alleyways of the slum 
to give loaves of bread to frail wanderers 
who bless him with gratitude of the dead 
as they gather around the Wounded Tree 
where the Grandmother with gray hair explains 
that Gad sees everything from the high tower. 

Therefore Ziphion defends poor laborers 
from exploitation of the Elohim 
who gather as councilors in the hall 
to advise the humble Gad Emperor 
issue edicts that give them greater power 
to control how the people live and die. 

Till Ziphion wakes with vision of the truth 
that his father enslaves tribes they attack, 
the people groan under oppressive laws, 
and cry out for justice to the deaf hills, 
yet the wind still blows with indifference 
to cool their brows as they sweat in the fields. 

Though Ziphion feels Justice burn in his heart 
with righteous indignation of the fool, 
he raises sword of liberty with courage 
and fights his father, Lord Gad of the Sky, 
till he frees slaves from tyranny of greed 
and pays them for tending lush fields of wheat. 

After Ziphion overthrows the cruel tyrant, 
he wears crown he takes from head of his father 
and reigns over farms and ranches with wisdom, 
attending council on the ziggurat 
as member of the Holy Elohim 
where he attempts to legislate fair justice. 

Thus Ziphion cares for people of his land, 
nurturing talents to develop skills 
through strict education in schools of truth 
so every person who lives inside Heaven 
contributes passion of their eager hearts 
to frame emptiness of the sky with faith. 

Forest Of Ancestral Dream

Forest Of Ancestral Dream
© Surazeus
2026 05 22

After recording the latest events 
that map the swirl of human interaction 
in long Chronicle of Spinning Earth, 
Ziphion drives home to the red-brick house 
where Nerthus cooks spaghetti and peach pie 
to eat and think about fall of the empire. 

If words illuminate shadow of light, 
transformed by process of time from desire, 
then I will activate sentence of faith 
through mental mechanism to deduce 
deeper essence that animates the world 
so I perceive visible force of life. 

Ziphion composes jurisprudent verse 
as lyric for chorus of history 
to clarify current state of affairs 
through voices of the living and the dead 
in citational chain of precedents 
to shape parameters for moral law. 

Declaring edict for moral behavior, 
Nerthus expresses in songs of the tribe 
collective memory of civilization 
that Ziphion etches in tablets of stone 
erected on walls in Temple of Truth 
as map that guides us on the righteous path. 

Through tales of failure and success men play, 
Nerthus bridges with masks of characters 
vast distance between reality and illusion 
to expose delusion of paradise 
we design to conjure our Future World 
where all are equal in one global law. 

Awake in forest of ancestral dream 
where my ancestors lived ten million years, 
I hear peals of thunder over dark hills, 
so I construct tower of honest law 
to observe and measure vast world of forms, 
then sing spells that explain what could be real. 

Words showcase promise of Heaven on Earth, 
so Ziphion cites scripture of long-dead gods 
to vouch for noble spirit of Blind Justice 
which summons divine mind from hearts of men 
who forge bonds of communal authorship 
when we reclaim freedom to live and build. 

Our words hold worldmaking force of respect, 
Ziphion declares on pyramid of power, 
so we build mental models of our world 
where every human lives equally free 
to swim in waters of the divine soul 
and lie side by side in graves of the past. 

How Fleeting Life Is

How Fleeting Life Is
© Surazeus
2026 05 21

If nobody cares why the caged bird sings, 
Christine whispers to the telephone pole, 
then I shall never pick flowers again 
for how they wilt in the porcelain jar 
just makes me sad at how fleeting life is, 
for I want to free cloud-ghosts from their cage. 

Startled each time her old telephone pings, 
Christine gazes down into the black hole 
at aching whistle of the distant train 
to ask the ghost with the broken guitar 
for help solve the theological quiz 
that provides role for her to play on stage. 

Shocked by displacement of her naked soul 
at sudden extraction time executes 
by flashing whirl of hands on the glass clock, 
Christine decides to wear tattered swan wings 
when she dances gracefully in spotlight 
that erases her uniqueness from dream. 

Entranced by song of the gold oriole 
encoding riddles of deep attributes 
that ripple dark waves of the spooky loch, 
Christine enters vast cathedral and sings 
tragic tale of the Queen and the Cartwright 
who fall in love by the moon-misty stream. 

Transcribing code of sweet nightingale tunes 
that echo in forest of burning masks, 
Christine ponders weird mystery of the sea 
from which fertile organic life transforms 
till she contrives formula that describes 
how atoms beam conscious glow of the brain. 

Recording proverbs in snake-writhing runes 
that calculate process of mental tasks, 
Christine embodies Goddess Liberty 
who shelters our bodies safe from dream storms 
that forge fierce empires from down-to-earth tribes 
who put aside their differences to train. 

I prefer not to fight their futile war 
over who controls lush meadows of wheat 
and who adjudicates cases of crime, 
Christine declares in court of social law, 
then chooses to host wandering refugees 
who huddle at the feet of Liberty. 

Setting caged birds free through the open door, 
Christine rules Earth from the Perilous Seat 
while Percival designs world paradigm 
that honors brave wisdom of Onatah 
who gives every person their new house keys 
which powers growth of world democracy. 

Doors Of Weeping Ghosts

Doors Of Weeping Ghosts
© Surazeus
2026 05 21

Every house in every city on Earth 
is guarded well by doors of weeping ghosts 
that hum with wordless voices of the past, 
so I wonder if my brain consciousness 
is more artificial in how it dreams 
human memories as if they are my own. 

Though the Earth seems to swallow all our tales, 
and hide them in our doors of weeping ghosts, 
we slyly search for serpent in the grove 
to answer riddles born of intellect 
so we can find the secret key of lies 
that may release our memories from the rain. 

The wind that hums with hunger of the earth, 
trapped by despair in doors of weeping ghosts, 
never turns kind from mercy of the clouds, 
yet when it speaks the names of those we love 
we dare record them on old temple walls 
so our descendants may remember them. 

She smiles at me with sunrise over hills 
so I may unlock doors of weeping ghosts 
who hide in shadows that our bodies cast 
so we feel shiver of their hidden pain 
since suffering teaches us to understand 
cost of memories we dare not leave behind. 

While I strum broken lyre of Mercury 
that carves our thoughts on doors of weeping ghosts, 
I channel tales of tongueless characters 
who wander lost in pages of old books 
till my voice resurrects their souls from words 
and gives them life in hearts of listeners. 

Few would forget stark cries of anxious hope 
that still vibrate from doors of weeping ghosts 
each time we dare approach with reticence 
from calm respect for bitter rage at death 
to enter hollow hearts of fortitude 
and measure memories we sold long ago. 

Yet Arabella climbs the broken stairs 
with hope to open doors of weeping ghosts 
against authority of fearful men 
who wish to hide vile secrets they conceal, 
though cracks in walls of faith cannot dispel 
divine rays that expose vexatious truths. 

I number every home on signless road 
with rooms enclosed by doors of weeping ghosts 
to map our global maze of morbid myths 
that present tales of failure and success, 
though Death heaps all our bodies in one grave 
while Earth keeps spinning in the songless void. 

Raven In The Apple Tree

Raven In The Apple Tree
© Surazeus
2026 05 20 

Because the raven in the apple tree 
speaks ancient language of water on rocks 
that frame mysterious beauty of the world 
in tangled sentences of faithless words 
that mirror reverse image of my soul, 
I always walk backward through every door. 

Though I left homeland of Gothinia 
one hundred thousand years ago at dawn, 
I still feel frosty wind of snow-capped mountains 
swirl down across the endless steppes of sorrow 
which makes my heart ache with strange memories 
that leave me stranded on the Caspian shore. 

In eerie darkness of the endless night, 
as sparkling waves of hope swirl round my legs, 
I see bright angel descend from the moon 
in wind-blown dress of ambivalent wings 
to embrace my body with eager love 
that sparks soul of our child inside her heart. 

Yet star-eyed seraph hovering over me 
bestows on fragile mirror of my soul 
sacred name that signifies my dire fate 
which glows as lamp I bear in trembling hand 
to light my way across rough wilderness 
till tread of my feet blazes road of hope. 

Each road my feet blaze sea to shing sea 
becomes wheel-worn way across the land 
now paved with asphalt in the blistering sun 
where billions drive cars in circles of faith 
along passionate river of true love 
where we construct homes to shelter our hearts. 

When flock of swallows threads words of my heart 
across the endless steppes of shining wheat, 
I follow trail of wings through loneliness 
to find home of the sun beyond the sky 
with ache of longing in my homeless heart 
to eat sweet apples with you by the lake. 

While you dance gracefully in flowered field 
and laugh with ache of joy to be alive, 
I play uncanny melodies of love 
by twanging taut strings on turtle-shell lyre 
to sing of beauty in your smiling eyes 
that wake my heart from grave of bleak despair. 

Electra smiles bright as the morning sun 
as we embrace with hope by flowing stream 
to kiss in harmony with sparrow song 
that drenches our lithe bodies in sunlight 
so when we sink in nothingness of death 
we leave our children alive in the world. 

New Heaven On Earth

New Heaven On Earth
© Surazeus
2026 05 20

The strange star-eyed angel, nobody sees 
walking crowded streets of America, 
hands out slick pamphlets about Kingdom Come, 
to sell illusion of national pride 
to Vikings working in car factories 
who prefer to build New Heaven on Earth. 

Physical objects of material substance, 
delimited by bounds of time and space, 
arrange molecules based on ideal forms 
designated by words we conjugate 
in sentences that conjure virtual model 
we write to describe New Heaven on Earth. 

Prometheus climbs pyramid of eyes, 
where Ishtar rules all nations of the Earth, 
and casts flames of fire in cables of thought, 
weaving world wide web into internet 
that links billion computers in One Mind 
which dreams itself as New Heaven on Earth. 

Bound tight to tall mast of his sailing ship, 
Telemachus sings with Sirens of Hope 
who ask him to legislate equal rights 
for people of every gender and race 
who struggle to survive in game of wealth 
that we all play in New Heaven on Earth. 

When I ask Jesus when he will return 
to manage United Nations of Earth 
that ensures freedom and justice for all, 
he explains how his spirit incarnates 
in leaders who nurture skills of all people 
who help construct our New Heaven on Earth. 

Ishtar on shining ziggurat of Ur 
extends both arms in welcoming embrace 
as Rising Sun of Truth illuminates 
jeweled crown of her mind with countless eyes 
that link our minds with grand vision of love 
so we unite in New Heaven on Earth. 

Though greedy dictators around the world 
seize control over sprawling governments 
to exploit the people for their own gain, 
cruel tyrants always fall from mad despair, 
so we transform broken America 
in Zarathia as New Heaven on Earth. 

Cherub of Wisdom, shining eyes of truth, 
hovers over land of Zarathia 
with vision of hope that inspires our hearts 
to cast greedy thieves out of government 
so we can build from problems of the past 
democracy in New Heaven on Earth. 

World Tree Of Everywhere

World Tree Of Everywhere
© Surazeus
2026 05 19

Despite slow maladjustment of the mind, 
contrived by journal entries of dead trees, 
Niskus, son of Neptunus, steals fake coins 
from the mad king in cold castle of stone, 
and gives them to poor people by the river 
who buy televisions that never work. 

Leaving creepy basement of skeletons 
that crawl wailing from television screens, 
Niskus searches for the mysterious road 
that would lead him back home to Ruritania 
where travelers and thieves in tavern of ghosts 
discuss philosophy of Heraclitus. 

Because every vast city on the Earth 
has merged in one global metropolis, 
Niskus walks beyond walls of paradise 
to wander in savage jungles of beasts 
through stifling heat of arrogant dismay 
till he finds cave behind the waterfall. 

Resigned that he was born cursed child of fate, 
to avoid brutal tests of worthiness 
Niskus hesitates to search labyrinth  
of broken idols for the ancient relic 
that proves his journey is not for false heroes, 
stuck in bright mirror world of anywhere. 

Happy in sprawling library of ghosts, 
deep in mystical forest of proud bears, 
Niskus decides to play reluctant hero 
commissioned to rescue Princess of Pears 
because she is the secret heir of Hera, 
destined to fight all evil overlords. 

When he finds necklace of seven sapphires, 
that seem to twinkle eyes of the Blind Maiden, 
Niskus chants magic spells from Book of Dreams 
to release trapped soul from jewels of hope, 
so Litavis appears before his eyes 
who demands he solve riddle of the pear. 

Wearing Cape of Invisibility 
to help her escape marriage to his father, 
Niskus takes her to mountain of cracked skulls 
where they join secret school of alchemy 
to learn lost magic of the emerald 
so Litavis gives birth to our new world. 

Once they both find World Tree of Everywhere, 
that blooms from rotting corpse of Neptunus, 
Niskus and Litavis construct quaint cottage 
from gingerbread, gumdrops, and candy canes, 
then raise three children in Garden of Eden 
who carry on their family legacy. 

Treasury Of Broken Dreams

Treasury Of Broken Dreams
© Surazeus
2026 05 18

Though travelers with magic telescopes 
may ransack treasury of broken dreams, 
we will all gather for Thanksgiving feast 
to feed ancestors in the Underworld 
who watch our lives in television shows, 
then weep when Albert plays the violin. 

If stock traders who want strawberry pies 
still pilfer treasury of broken dreams, 
their teenagers may threaten suicide, 
then hitchhike to the Allegheny Forest 
with hope to join the Rainbow Gathering 
where bankers exercise fake privilege. 

Yet brave physicians in the marathon, 
who find no treasury of broken dreams, 
decide to maximize their lottery 
pursuant to new federal regulations 
pertaining to unauthorized regret 
that has no place on the luxury yacht. 

Though pioneers study the molecule, 
which unspools treasury of broken dreams 
with nominal profits we monitor, 
memory modulates how Nirvana frames 
daily routine of laborious survival 
that we engage with frantic narrative. 

Honest puppeteers on gold pyramids, 
who hoard our treasury of broken dreams, 
strictly stick to religious protocol 
when they record satellite images 
essential to our stellar syllabus 
designed to synthesize disparate creeds. 

Persistent ministers with social cause, 
who conceal treasury of broken dreams, 
deny ownership of symbolic jokes 
outlined on our quarterly questionnaire 
that models pinnacle of mutant minds 
which employ objective analysis. 

Surprised musicians without gasoline 
consider treasury of broken dreams 
reliable source of illegal thoughts 
which none dare think of on their honeymoons 
despite expansion of mental control 
that dismisses the brutal holocaust. 

Sharp-eyed guardians in tower of the watch 
calculate treasury of broken dreams 
with intent to fund national health care 
and free education for all to learn 
creative skills of weird ambivalence 
because Jesus now drives the ambulance. 

Shepherd Who Nurtures Sheep

Shepherd Who Nurtures Sheep
© Surazeus
2026 05 18

Because his heart begins to atrophy 
at how his body writhes with bitter hope, 
Thyrsis considers why sheep love to play 
in meadow near the oven factory, 
then plays heart-wrenching tune of futile love 
that will never be heard on the radio. 

If his sheep ever die out from disease, 
Thyrsis decides he will never go work 
in vast hall of the oven factory 
where his father worked for thirty-eight years 
till he died on his way to work one dawn, 
stricken by the corona virus plague. 

Aching to transcend sufferings of this world, 
and experience sublime beauty of nature, 
as recorded in ancient pastoral poems, 
Thyrsis explains to Daniel on the phone 
that his name is no longer Thomas Jones, 
then sighs as he glares at jets in the clouds. 

Strumming guitar while watching his sheep graze, 
Thyrsis improvises song about Daphnis 
who grows in love with graceful Xenea 
till her mean older sister, Aphrodite, 
aims gun at his head to drive him away, 
so he jumps off the Tallahatchie Bridge. 

Parking white Honda on the country road, 
Chloe hobbles through meadow of tall weeds 
to bring bags of hamburgers and root beer, 
then grumbles how she wishes he would work 
again teaching English at the high school, 
then nestles in his arms when Thyrsis grins. 

Instead of explaining to her again 
how he wants to get in touch with the Earth, 
and savor calm of timeless afternoons 
as bees gather pollen to brew sweet honey, 
Thyrsis hums enchanting tune he composed 
while contemplating how all empires fall. 

We build global economies of goods 
based on extracting from soil of the Earth 
precious minerals and nutritious crops, 
so someone must operate farms and ranches 
to sustain firm foundation of exchange, 
or it will all collapse from weight of greed. 

The shepherd who nurtures sheep in the field 
still remains one of the oldest professions 
that men have worked since dawn of history, 
so I will carry on noble legacy 
attended by the savior of mankind 
though civilizations on Earth collapse. 

Volunteer God Of Nowhere

Volunteer God Of Nowhere
© Surazeus
2026 05 17

No time traveler from the distant future 
would hesitate to play tactical games 
with people who claim they are always right 
against common sense of state tolerance 
though few survive surgery of the heart 
since I am volunteer god of nowhere. 

Attempting to prevent psychic abortions 
from synthetic analogs of free will, 
men who strive to control bodies of women 
bankrupt birth clinics all over the country 
so thousands of mothers die in childbirth 
when they fool volunteer god of nowhere. 

Taxable income of clever programmers 
procures mental oxygen of dream code 
for sale in the marketplace of ideas 
contrary to logistics of state health 
combined with growth of social luxury 
performed by volunteer god of nowhere. 

Leverage administered by frantic pundits, 
concerned about decay of family values, 
reformats world view of functional artwork 
to highlight glory of fake billionaires 
who challenge legislators to compute 
new script for volunteer god of nowhere. 

Compliant clerks in consequential banks 
discuss biblical prophecies that shape 
how citizens view political strife, 
now less adaptive to brave compromise 
except to exploit activists for labor 
who pray to volunteer god of nowhere. 

Crowned King of Nothing by state architects, 
with letters from dynamic embassies, 
government Jester stores digital dreams 
in legal journals of soul institutes 
to test our loyalty against Big Brother 
who envies volunteer god of nowhere. 

Moderate vision of objective facts, 
designed to imitate orthodox creeds, 
fails to focus attention of our fears 
on ethics forged by patriarchal goons 
to build empire of wealth on bones of slaves 
jilted by volunteer god of nowhere. 

Deserted houses along the cracked road 
invite hungry refugees from state wars 
to open movie theaters with foreign cash, 
dependent on oil of the desert genie 
who laughs at wishes we articulate, 
insured by volunteer god of nowhere. 

Underworld Of Happy Clowns

Underworld Of Happy Clowns
© Surazeus
2026 05 17

Stuck in dark underworld of happy clowns, 
Achilles buys soda from time machine 
that always asks him if he feels all right 
because blind ballerina never frowns 
though arrogant Ares is always mean 
about taxing us for using sunlight. 

Amid mounting evidence of regret, 
Achilles rides the happy dinosaur 
to temple of radiant uranium 
while he plays keyboard with fake alphabet 
so we remember long-forgotten lore 
by selling us land in Elysium. 

Stuck in happily-ever-after land, 
Achilles wears strange uniform of pride 
to prove negotiation skills are good 
when ships wreck on the wild Oregon strand 
through infinite laugh on the playground slide 
since foxes play chase in the misty wood. 

Latest fashion of potential success, 
Achilles ponders with fire of his mind, 
prevents sweet summer romance of despair 
to stop his thunderstorm of happiness 
from cracking stone walls Apollo designed 
with arguments for why God does not care. 

Stuck in refrigerator of brave faith, 
Achilles augurs no calamity 
through leagues of silent forest, canopied 
by steel beams welded into web of truth, 
to sell confusion based on vanity 
though he pretends to know the Nicene Creed. 

Voluminous brain vital for regrowth, 
Achilles claims Cleopatra conceals 
when bankers buy our foreclosed properties, 
shapes its own fate with inaudible oath 
based on cognizance of electric wheels 
that disavow empire atrocities. 

Stuck with bland ultimatum Death decrees, 
Achilles catches snowflakes with bruised hands 
to dance with glee at permanence of death, 
contrived by speedometer of glass bees 
so he can use his psychedelic glands 
to free Sibyl from cage of wordless breath. 

Vague outlines of clouds that imagine us, 
Achilles sketches in sand with cracked bones, 
express consistent energy of joy 
because we choose to ride Hadean bus 
from Oslo to Paris with rolling stones 
though my ghost still dwells in palace of Troy. 

Time Of Broken Clocks

Time Of Broken Clocks
© Surazeus
2026 05 17

If I am born in time of broken clocks 
in log cabin beside the sparkling river, 
my heart will crumble into flakes of rust 
each time I walk past ticking stone of fate 
that drinks the salty tears of fallen angels 
who stitch fractured watches on tattered wings. 

Though I drift lost in time of broken clocks 
in cathedral of shattered pendulums 
that toll no twisted hour of unspooled grief, 
I ride the graveyard carousel till dawn 
on weeping horse with crackling bones of glass 
till my hands become turtles in the pond. 

Before I laugh in time of broken clocks 
as midnight stitches paper masks from moons, 
composed from writhing clumps of bitter snow, 
I swim in ocean of unmoving hands 
that drown pulsing face of eternity 
with graphic weight of arbitrary words. 

After I cry in time of broken clocks, 
while stumbling dark halls of the floating castle, 
I find hourglass on legless desk of fear 
that coughs ashes where it once poured pure gold 
at sudden misalignment of six kites 
that veil blind cherub hovering over me. 

Never awake in time of broken clocks, 
I climb staircase that melts upward in clouds 
of black water, comprised of eyeless gods, 
to cluttered meadow where electric birds 
with lanterns glowing in transparent ribs 
explain why every faceless human dies. 

Stuck alone outside time of broken clocks, 
I crawl across the windy plain of homes 
where violins grow roots through their floorboards 
to reassemble puzzle from our dreams 
into graceful church with four tall white steeples 
where no one ever sings hymns about death. 

Trapped by truth outside time of broken clocks, 
I map sizzling rivers that flow backwards 
through libraries where every book bleeds sand 
instead of pages wrapped around glass moons 
that hang suspected above bovine fields 
where eyeless statues play chess with my shadow. 

Since I will die in time of broken clocks, 
I polish mirrors in numberless houses 
that are filled with thunderstorms of desire 
brewing inside brains of innocent boys 
who aim guns at photographs on dead trees 
and shout to imitate sharp sounds of shots. 

Shape Of My Hungry Flesh

Shape Of My Hungry Flesh
© Surazeus
2026 05 17

If this world of water and wind and light 
is all for me, my shadow on its hills, 
then I will write my name across the sky, 
but keep it secret that I fall from clouds 
each day I rise up from soil of its hope 
and wander among ruins of the past. 

This great tree reaching toward the faceless sky, 
that drops ripe apples in my hungry hands, 
harps brightly humming in soft gusts of wind 
because its roots curl down to core of time, 
entwining bodies my ancestors left 
when their spirits beamed back up to the stars. 

My lamentation echoes between hills 
where I rest in heat of the glowing sun 
since fire is fundamental principle 
that animates all beings with conscious life 
for we appear from strife of opposites 
to spiral through cycles of birth and death. 

This animating flame of energy 
that flares forth from first flash of the big bang 
evolves into shape of my hungry flesh 
so I sing clear with loneliness of heat 
that urges me to roam around the world 
till I know curve of every sparkling stream. 

I record elements of day and night 
through unlocalized images of time 
which conjures thunderstorm of social change 
to flash assertive rain on towns of men 
who bury sorrow under roads of wealth 
when floods erase buildings from ancient land. 

I walk the signless road of everywhere 
to visit every city in the land 
that flourishes from sea to shining sea 
so I record name and deeds of each life 
to preserve their memories after they die 
and vanish into dust on rain-drenched hills. 

Now I am dreamer of all that is lost, 
obsessed with singing tale of every soul 
who rise as generations from the sea 
in endless waves of strife to gain world fame 
at piercing cry of hope that cracks the sky, 
then sink in silence of indifferent graves. 

Ephemeral flames of bodies glow at dawn 
when our brains fuse with stones of nameless roads 
till millions who strive to survive each day 
are merged in idol of one faceless god 
who represents our spirits in weird myths 
that gleam as shadows on tree-shrouded hills. 

First Mother Of Earth

First Mother Of Earth
© Surazeus
2026 05 16

Sitting in church on Sabbath afternoon, 
heart beating at reception of weird light 
that beams slantwise through window of all time, 
I see descend on flaming wings of faith 
First Mother of Earth with eyes of bright stars 
who fills my mind with visions of survival. 

When the pastor declares with Father Voice 
that good obedient wives with humble hearts 
should submit to will of their husbands with love, 
I stand up and reach out my aching arms 
to embrace First Mother of Earth with faith 
who animates my heart with ardent truth. 

Breathing celestial energy of faith, 
I turn away from male authority 
and exit stage of global patriarchy 
to walk the signless road of everywhere 
in brave quest to find the Garden of Eden 
where First Mother of Earth tends apple trees. 

Offering assistance of my strong hands 
to help First Mother of Earth tend fruit trees, 
I narrate my name and path of my life 
that seems so random in my clumsy hope, 
so she accepts me in Garden of Eden 
where I stand guard in Watch Tower Of Faith. 

When gang of thieves surround our paradise, 
demanding we submit to righteous rule 
of their male privilege with guns of hate, 
I open gates of heaven wide, and bow 
to welcome them to feast in Hall of Faith 
where First Mother of Earth offers them wine. 

While I play Lyre of Mercury and sing 
on stage before crowd of wild revelers, 
First Mother of Earth offers guests sweet wine, 
so they dance with joy at their victory 
till they all slump drunk and limp on the ground, 
so I hang them upside from the tree. 

Screaming in rage at clever trick we played, 
arrogant men demand we let them go, 
so I explain how First Mother of Earth 
has always ruled cycles of life and death, 
then slit their throats and fill grail with their blood 
which I pour on roots of the Knowledge Tree. 

Though men form gangs in terror of Kind Death, 
and take over national governments 
to legalize their spurious right to rule, 
First Mother of Earth, with power of Nature, 
sends the Grim Reaper to erase cruel thieves, 
so children may thrive in Garden of Eden.