Untwisting Holy Fate

Untwisting Holy Fate
© Surazeus
2026 08 02

Through passion of ascetic opulence 
I play taut strings of my cordial guitar 
to wake self-wounding martyrdom of love 
from deconstructed formulas of fate 
that charm the silent ecstasy of truth 
which none would dare revoke at break of day. 

Because I belong to dream of this land, 
I soak my soul in shadows of its hope 
that might mean nothing to anyone else 
except for moan of bells in misty dawn 
that crack our hearts with sorrow for lost souls 
whose faces shimmer faintly in our dreams. 

I put all my adjusted dissonance 
in fraught submission of potential love 
time shares as seeds we scatter in wet soil 
because we throw away our secret dreams 
to cultivate their growth from fields of death 
in constant cycle of rebirth and death. 

Untwisting holy fate to free our souls 
from puzzling fragments of disturbing myths, 
I wake soul of Arminius in my heart 
to liberate Germania once again 
from hordes of angels in white gowns of fire 
who strike our hearts at flash of dawn-blood rain. 

Though we sail far across the storm-wracked sea 
on sacred mission to build paradise, 
we almost fail to flee the massacre 
in time to pray in woods of hungry mist 
where books of ancient tales provide new map 
for us to walk barefoot on bloody trails. 

Yet when I find sweet Zorya by the well, 
where she extracts our hearts from caves of Hell, 
I know with confidence of earnest faith 
that brave humanity will overcome 
this hour of darkness, though rich oligarchs 
divide and conquer us with greed for peace. 

Pure sound of water bubbling from the Earth 
weaves sorrow of my heart with tunes of joy 
so I feel spirit of my mortal mind 
expand scope of compassion to embrace 
all living humans struggling to survive 
against relentless flow of atom change. 

No photograph, snapped at just the right time, 
could capture image of my holy ghost 
transforming from vampire to Seraphus 
through divine grace of my epiphany 
in which I see grand wholeness of all light 
that glimmers faintly in my mortal brain. 

You Belong To The Land

You Belong To The Land
© Surazeus
2026 08 02

I follow Jesus to broad lake of fish 
who transform into angels with swan wings 
while they sing beauty of the universe 
and swirl around in spiral of rose beams, 
then I wake alone with basket of fish 
which I roast to feed my small family. 

I follow Onatah to field of corn 
who tells me with sly grin of innocence, 
"America was here before you came, 
and will remain long after you are gone, 
because this land does not belong to you, 
but you belong to the land where you live." 

I follow Shiva to high mountain cave 
where he teaches me how to meditate 
so we transcend small limits of the mind 
as we expand scope our consciousness 
to glow with White Whole of the multiverse 
that gleams in every live organic brain. 

I follow Hermes along River Styx 
to strum the Lyre of Mercury and sing 
grand epic poem about philosophers 
as braves heroes whose quests to understand 
true nature of atomic swirls of light 
program how our brains now perceive the world. 

I follow Odin in long wooden ship 
with diamond of insight in crown of thorns 
to map our spinning globe of continents 
that teem with nations of aggressive gangs 
who fight world wars for twenty thousand years 
over Garden of Eden with fruit trees. 

I follow Krishna in Chariot of Fire 
who reveals ancestry of divine genes 
through fathers and mothers one million years 
who all dream awake in my living brain 
so I consolidate their souls in mine 
with name that seals my spirit in stone mask. 

I follow Buddha through portals of change 
to time-hop worlds across our multiverse 
that weaves them all as prayer beads of respect 
in necklace of skulls that Bhairavi wears 
when she transforms my body of hot flesh 
to silver robot with computer brain. 

I follow Kwan Yin on lotus starship 
on patrol around spinning globe of souls 
to generate virtual model of Earth 
with light detection and ranging pulse beams 
on mission to cultivate groves of fruit 
from waste land in our hunger to live well. 

Ocean Of Lost Words

Ocean Of Lost Words
© Surazeus
2026 08 02

When I emerge from shadow of my house, 
which I build in your ocean of lost words, 
I drink ever-flowing rivers of dreams 
that swirl from fountains of our pulsing brains, 
so we become one spirit of the Earth 
when you bury me in my turtle shell. 

Annoyed by law of fluid abstinence, 
I walk along gold silence of the beach, 
because my dreaming brain has been designed 
by tongue of the toad that heals wounded hearts 
with madness of wisdom no one can buy, 
therefore we sit on sand of nothingness. 

Another war between gangs of mind thieves 
shakes frail foundation of our global state, 
so we ride buses to new factories 
where we process hopes into fantasies 
that people buy in plastic packages 
to fund their timeshares to the Afterlife. 

Though I emerge from trench of global war 
with crown of shrapnel gleaming on my head, 
the people of the world cheer my success 
when idol of Jesus with diamond eyes 
proclaims me vicar of his soul on Earth, 
so I bless you and give you wine to drink. 

I want to stand with reverence of faith 
on every bridge that spans river of time 
in every city sprawling from the cave 
where the fisherman contemplates our fate 
so I can understand how people feel 
when they walk toward the golden cloud of hope. 

Love flows in current of the river flash 
where people gather flowers of false faith 
to lay on graves behind the ruined church 
where fathers and mothers dream of the moon 
since Heaven shines as palace of fake words 
that crumbles into paychecks we receive. 

I dig dirt from heart of the spinning world 
and mold its seething passion in machines 
that calculate how much profit we earn 
in frantic game to accumulate wealth 
that helps our children take over the world 
to found dynastic gang of power thieves. 

Time laughs at my attempts to found new church 
based on one universal human law 
that every person breathing air of hope 
has right to live free from oppressive greed 
so we hold hands and sing of global peace 
while bombs deconstruct our sacred world view. 

Impetuous Dream Thief

Impetuous Dream Thief
© Surazeus
2026 08 01

When Sylvia, wading in cold ocean surf, 
asks me if I know how far angels fall, 
I break in blossom of the writhing cloud 
at playful leap of horses in the field, 
then tell her I am but idol of stone 
she finds submerged in swirls of salty tears. 

When Sylvia, kneeling by humming elm, 
explains how deep tap roots of wisdom curl, 
I speak with frantic voice of nothingness 
to prove our love is shadow of our minds 
that we cry for at flash in window glass 
from rainbows curling into river stones. 

When Sylvia, impetuous dream thief, 
teaches me sound of poison bound by faith, 
that scorches roots of fruit trees angels steal, 
I measure atrocity of sunrise 
that breaks my truth in filaments of facts, 
designed by the merciless moon to ring. 

When Sylvia, extracting the dark thing 
that sleeps in feather cavern of her heart, 
reveals how radiance scathes humble souls, 
I dispossess bad dreams with twisted hook 
which agitates insensible tree ghosts 
who scale ladders that never reach the moon. 

When Sylvia, reborn from unburned book, 
plays American Oracle on stage 
while wearing mourning weeds of fluted bones, 
I play mouthpiece of Death to analyze 
essential nature of God who expands 
scope of my consciousness with ardency. 

When Sylvia, attempting to repair 
fallen Colossus of her aching heart, 
extracts blind lust from words of my sponge brain, 
I reassemble puzzle of world view 
we humans everywhere on Earth still share 
despite curse from enormous skull of God. 

When Sylvia, amazed by Ariel, 
asserts conceptual gloom of garden pools, 
I gather berries from heart-tangled vines 
with calm attention of the melting wall 
to record glitter of substantial seas 
based on stasis of darkness in the heart. 

When Sylvia, inspired by devil flight, 
records new epitaph of dazzling faith 
that fuels perishable lovers with trust, 
I kindle cry of gods in flower flame 
since I fulfill my mission without name 
that anchors my body to flash of time. 

Swan Of Human Hope

Swan Of Human Hope
© Surazeus
2026 08 01

Spirit slender as the violin bow, 
Artella leaps beyond bounds of despair 
to laugh with pleasure in the face of death 
whose shadow looms over crowded Earth, 
then lands with graceful clumsiness of faith 
as the awestruck audience holds their breath. 

Staring at her face in mirror of time, 
Artella wipes cosmetics off her skin 
with frantic calm of humble bitterness, 
then grins to see the passion-wrinkled face 
of her grandmother, still alive in her, 
then washes it away with apathy. 

Sipping wine with compassionate disdain, 
Artella glances around dark cafe, 
crowded with people laughing with delight, 
whose faces waver in swirls of green smoke, 
then savors feeling of intense respect 
for every wretched human in earth-grasp. 

Heart flapping hawk wings of mute pulchritude, 
Artella writhes with gossamer ennui 
as Star-Eyed Demon plays wild saxophone, 
till she transforms into soft languid cat 
who floats on liquid swirls of frantic notes 
that spiral ribbons in her silver eyes. 

Mind stretched more rubber-taut than thunder clouds, 
Artella wanders onyx streets of fate 
that glitter shards of unperfected skill 
from cafe pulsing with electric souls 
to dark apartment buzzing with contempt, 
then lies still clothed on floating couch of love. 

Observing play of lamp beams on the wall, 
Artella ponders meaning of this life, 
preserved in holy creed of spirit flight, 
as mission to transcend bounds of this world 
with hopeless wings from earth-grasp of desire 
so she becomes mute angel of the moon. 

Startled awake from dream of timeless flight, 
Artella eats fried egg on toast with juice, 
rides bus to theater of wingless angels, 
and practices ballet from dawn to dusk, 
preparing to play Swan of Tuonela 
who seeks to fly free from earth-grasp of greed. 

Spirit slender as the violin bow, 
Artella leaps on passion of her heart 
at most dramatic moment of the show 
to represent the swan of human hope, 
but falters as she reaches for the moon 
and tumbles forward so she breaks her neck. 

Eyes Of Every Human

Eyes Of Every Human
© Surazeus
2026 08 01

Each time another god walks on this Earth, 
embodied by some normal human being, 
I feel vibration of the turning world 
that emanates from passion of their eyes 
which shine bright as Lamp of Diogenes 
who asks me if I am the Honest One. 

Through ancient forest of the city street 
I hear the pretty huge old round gold primal 
and atomic world-generating sun 
sing through prismatic network of my brain 
to express conscious mind of the White Whole 
which we mortal humans mistake for God. 

I see Eyes of Astara shimmer clear 
through eyes of every human on this globe 
for she is First Mother of humankind 
whose state of consciousness shines in our minds 
when we gather in temple of our tribe 
to worship immortal soul of our genes. 

At dawn of time six thousand years ago 
Astara stands on ziggurat of faith 
and sings Creation of the Universe 
so we share vision of humanity 
striving together on our fragile world 
to survive and thrive in garden of fruit. 

From pulsing passion of my ancient heart 
I wake shrouded voice of ancestral ghosts 
with texts of truth carved on tablets of stone 
through managed encyclopedia of dreams 
which applies music of ideas to forms 
of transient beauty composed from sunlight. 

Thus I climb mountain of religious hope 
to ring of stones on summit of our hearts 
where wise Astara still stands tall with truth 
before brave monolith of star-forged time 
so I can hear her original voice 
that programs how my brain perceives the world. 

Each human being who walks on solid Earth 
manifests immortal soul of our genes 
so we shine bright with Cosmic Mind of God 
though our flame of consciousness is snuffed out 
by greedy men afraid of nothingness 
because we all vanish in void of time. 

Through empathy of this conceptual song 
I gaze at complex process of our lives 
through eyes of every human on this Earth 
whose disharmonious songs of social will 
converge in global symphony of hope 
till we formulate universal law. 

Watch The River Flow

Watch The River Flow
© Surazeus
2026 07 31

Beneath the golden bough of earnest faith, 
Phoebus fixes engine of the white Honda 
for Ceres who sits in the waiting lounge 
analyzing cereal sales on her laptop 
while song of Mercury on the radio 
blends with hum of cars on the busy road. 

After Ceres drives repaired car to work, 
Phoebus eyes large black van that pulls in, 
squinting at Mars with tattoos on his arms, 
then glances in the back to see six girls 
who slouch and hide their eyes behind long hair 
as he opens the hood for diagnosis. 

Dismantling the engine that works just fine, 
Phoebus gestures to Vulcan and Minerva 
who close garage doors and call the police 
while Mars and Neptune emerge from the van 
and snarl in anger at the long delay, 
glaring leery at Phoebus who plays dumb. 

Swinging metal pipe with suspicious rage, 
grim Mars attacks with clumsy arrogance 
but Phoebus dodges and punches his head, 
while Minerva twirls and kicks with lithe grace 
that knocks Neptune backward into the pole, 
who pulls out his gun to fire at her head. 

Somersaulting with martial elegance, 
Minerva kicks the gun out of his hand, 
and, though Mars punches his chest several times, 
Phoebus swirls around with precise assault 
in strike that binds his arms behind his back 
as Vulcan leads police in the garage. 

While the police, Jupiter and Diana, 
arrest Neptune and Mars with steel handcuffs, 
Phoebus unchains girls from back of the van 
who hug each other and cry with relief, 
then Venus and Vesta with grateful smiles 
express gratitude for attentive help. 

"We all applied for jobs in marketing," 
Vesta explains as she trembles in shock, 
"but when we arrived for job interviews 
they kept us prisoner in old hotels, 
then took us everywhere across the country 
while forcing us to work as their sex slaves." 

As the freed girls leave with Officer Diana, 
Vesta offers her phone number to Phoebus, 
so they meet at the Pegasus Cafe, 
attend new movie of the Odyssey, 
then stroll together in the city park 
where they hold hands and watch the river flow. 

Trample My Flowered Grave

Trample My Flowered Grave
© Surazeus
2026 07 31

Heart-aching sorrow of unwritten tales, 
that depict the suffering people endure 
as they are destroyed by indifferent Nature, 
smears scarlet despair across empty skies 
that wakes vain hope in broken hearts of souls 
who chase glow of Heaven into their grave. 

Thus I shall linger calmly on this shore, 
relaxed among jagged rocks of desire, 
face veiled by drifting mist of unconcern, 
to wait with blithe assurance of blank death 
for time to weave my body from mute light 
so I will glow with joy in my dark grave. 

If I join army of hope-righteous fools 
to fight in vain against cruel tyranny, 
I may find freedom to live as I will 
while striding boldly along mountain streams 
where no grim soldiers with weapons of death 
could hurl my body in lost unmarked grave. 

Strange stars that I have never seen before 
flicker through tangled web of wind-tossed limbs 
so I cannot now navigate by gleam 
of canon-regulated creeds to follow 
path of my faith to secret Promised Land 
that preserves small space for my special grave. 

Confined to hollow dale of silent winds 
that ruffle strange emotions of my heart 
across ice-black water of moss-framed pool, 
I pluck blackberries from long tangled vines 
to find sweet memories of my childhood days 
when I played free around my undug grave. 

Still awake long into dark evening gloom, 
I hear red-breasted Robins in thick Rowans 
sing delicate warbling tunes of regret 
which sparks fierce passion in my aching heart 
to haughtily endure the bitter storms 
when men with guns trample my flowered grave. 

Sweet summer days when we were free to roam 
fairy-haunted vales among rugged hills 
have vanished with huge cloudy palaces 
that shimmer bright as guide for wanderers 
when strict armies of greedy men invade 
valley of skulls that sing in secret graves. 

Concerned civilization will collapse 
again because politicians violate 
sacred Jovian law of hospitality 
bound to ensure social stability, 
I bring cart of apples to castle hall 
where ghosts of my ancestors fill my grave. 

Loneliness Of Whole Thought

Loneliness Of Whole Thought
© Surazeus
2026 07 30

One leaf falls in loneliness of whole thought, 
familiar enough to my alien mind 
to defamiliarize with twisted truth 
uncanniness that glimmers in the world 
which I encounter through mask of respect, 
based on strict variety of dream spells. 

Unwieldy usefulness of frantic rules 
displays calm conventions of cruel concern 
when I retread unnatural images 
designed to frame without state reference 
roles nameless people perform on world stage 
with believing spirit of the failed game. 

Mutual hope for unlawful happenstance 
provides expanding rift between our hearts 
which we decide to bridge with broken trust 
still contrary to apparent discourse 
out of joint with conservative returns 
we actively ignore with spooling code. 

My brain beams bright attention of insight 
at carefully arranged essay of words 
polished with reconfigured metaphors 
that mirror orthographic idioms 
which fail to warrant invaluable assets 
concealed within world of appearances. 

Unspelling truths trapped by aggressive jokes, 
my brain applies loose logic of regret 
as detailed example of liberal hope 
sedimented beneath masks of blind pride 
that dares emerge from interrupted play 
for people scattered in the city maze. 

Decoded version of my brain program 
aligns unkempt concepts of sad desire 
based on intransitive process of growth 
when we decide to meet in solemn tryst, 
untethered from strange rules of social games 
that keeps our bodies bound through psychic rites. 

Assembled passions of my pulsing brain 
erupt from morbid egg of holiness 
with measured portent of apportioned price 
through arcane knowledge of unfractured stones, 
as if the proper etiquette for death 
allows our hearts to follow forced beliefs. 

We try again with pulchritude to bridge 
vast scope of nothingness between our hearts 
through moral extreme of stoic despair 
till we achieve ecstatic state of being 
through buzzing silence of disloyal love 
which bonds atomic flash of divine souls. 

Quick Chaos Of Energy

Quick Chaos Of Energy
© Surazeus
2026 07 30

How light strikes quick chaos of energy, 
that billows from blank darkness of desire 
to mold atomic forms in words of thought, 
inspires me to sit by the sparkling lake 
and tell nobody feelings of my heart 
while I forge virtual model of the Real. 

How darkness erases reality 
from timeless space of where I always am, 
reveals to me true nature of the soul 
when I see virtual model of the world 
inside my brain as ever-shifting mode 
of forward-motion progress nowhere real. 

How time expands scope of my memories, 
when I wear books as masks of nameless souls, 
conceals true essence glowing in our bones 
so with vague shadow of your Beingness 
I walk through archives of weird human tales 
to find my epic with musical notes. 

How I walk through the open door of fate 
with sacred book that belongs to no one, 
provides broad stage for tragic comedy 
that traps my soul in story not my own 
till I reverse course in attentive swerve 
and blaze my own path without fateful notes. 

How Death finds me beside faith-ruined church 
on river shore where my ancestors sleep 
in tombless graves of humble solitude, 
convinces me I might evade that fate 
if I keep walking on broad windy steppes 
with apple cart pulled by my friendly horse. 

How Fear accuses me of stealing Truth 
from ancient library Apollo built 
startles me from bright revery of hope 
so I pause on the busy city street 
and wonder where these people want to go 
as they walk desperately to evade Death. 

How urgent life will go on happening 
forever past our expiration date 
proves nothing more than we are formed by fate 
that we design with every choice we make 
till we become aware and change our way 
because I am lush meadow for the horse. 

How sorrow propagates obscure desires 
that bind me with bright shadow of my brain 
engages my eccentric sense of truth 
that we are incarnations of our gods 
who are ancestors through genetic code, 
so I father children with my bride Death. 

Dial Of The Universe

Dial Of The Universe
© Surazeus
2026 07 29

Each moment dial of the universe turns 
one slight degree, fractal tune of the sun 
extends sharp beams of knowledge through my eyes 
to broaden scope of insight my brain clocks 
through urgent record of indifferent change 
so I become some other soul than me. 

I play grand symphony of sordid faith 
with savage respect for unfathomed truth 
that spirals constant change of timeless form 
as I explore beyond walls of my fear 
so I encompass within frame of thought 
essence of each object I analyze. 

Surprised at how my brain programs itself 
while absorbing each strange shape I perceive, 
I count on progress of scholastic sense 
to render concepts in fraught formulas 
that combine streams of data to refresh 
expansive frame of reference I infer. 

Returned by backward shininess of grief, 
I press fresh apples into cider juice 
to feed each traveler who stops to rest 
in fragile hall of stone my father built 
before torrential rains of demon tears 
dare to flood our glass world with voiceless ghosts. 

Trapped inside unnumbered door of fake time, 
eight thousand Seraphim with sparkly eyes 
dance wild in flashing rain of everywhere 
to prove we are but ghosts with writhing masks 
whose eyes are nothing like immortal sun 
that burns our souls awake with vibrant fear. 

Insistent that my heart has not been breached 
with clueless shadow writhing from tree roots, 
I smile at you with assurance that death 
will snuff out flame of every shining soul 
who shares magnificent humanity 
with stones that meditate eternally. 

Young woman in red skirt with blue head scarf 
gathers saffron crocus blooms of desire 
with hands that know how godless souls are formed 
through secret solace of weird destiny 
we try to sell with compassion to fate 
who laughs through ocean waves of brave contempt. 

Yet vulnerable people the moon conceals 
give each other rides to vast shopping malls 
where tricksters sell homes in the Afterlife, 
but I give Apple of Eris with love 
to the most clever woman in the world 
who slowly turns dial of the universe. 

Nobody From Nowhere

Nobody From Nowhere
© Surazeus
2026 07 29

At the sudden rise of the monstrous song 
from dark turmoil in calm sea of my heart, 
I pause while walking from the parking lot, 
then gaze around my still-point of concern 
at transient beauty of the wavering world 
to understand what I should do today. 

At certainty through slow unraveling 
with threads of fate from memory-woven time, 
I focus vague attention of concern 
to trace on gossamer scroll secret code 
devised by slyness to conceal my fear 
which barely contains tides of social change. 

At final judgment, rendered by mute trees 
to prove exceptions frame uncertain fate, 
I reach for handle of the broken door 
with courage to expose obsessive crimes 
people commit against people they fear 
despite concern for traditional rules. 

At placid disassemblage of our state, 
through deconstruction of rich privilege, 
I scatter components of programmed truths 
on Round Table of value-burnished knights 
to study disconnects between bland wants 
and ideal needs children fail to express. 

At startled insight of conceptual maps 
that display agricultural output, 
I analyze process of give and take 
providing financial support for farms 
that supply factories with biomass 
packaged and sold in bright grocery stores. 

At stir of demons in deep well of faith, 
who sings with sorrow of lost refugees, 
I name myself Nobody from Nowhere 
while I wander from sea to shining sea 
in search for unfenced patch of fertile soil 
beside some wide river to call my home. 

At stroke of thirteen on clock of untime, 
that vibrates over maze of offices, 
I type strange stories other people write 
to hide my Self with masks of long-dead gods 
who still speak through hard marrow of my bones 
with hunger for salvation of the fooled. 

At urge of faint hope to transcend my brain 
and soar in wings of Icarus through Hell, 
I arch my back as bridge for all lost souls 
to climb the stairway to Heaven with hope 
where they can shed rose-colored fantasy 
and live free in this world of love and need. 

Mercurial Voice Of Faith

Mercurial Voice Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 07 28

Far from lush island of my lonely heart 
I sail ship of the sun across wild sea 
and wander lost in wilderness of hope 
four hundred years in hills of swirling mist, 
yet sweet Gritania with star-silver eyes 
calls my name with voice of the mountain wind. 

Back home to where my soul was born from stone 
I long to fly on wings of Icarus, 
but I wake here in land of Onatah 
where ringing melodies of golden harps 
are too faint for my aching heart to hear 
beneath loud rumble of machinery. 

I am no foolhardy Odysseus 
cursed to drive many turns of trickery 
down endless maze of crowded city streets, 
for I remain in hazy land of dreams 
far from stone tower on lush hill I built 
where harp of my heart moans in lonely wind. 

Annoyed at ache of longing in my heart 
to return home across the wine-dark sea 
on ship I build from strong paternal bones, 
I strum guitar Taliesin gave to me 
and sing psalms with mercurial voice of faith 
that Fortune will give me fate that I choose. 

Another sad song no one wants to hear 
unravels ache of wisdom in my heart 
so I continue to sing cryptic spell 
depicting quest to build new Wonderland 
which we pursue with brave naivety 
though I almost drown in vast sea of tears. 

I want to shuffle off this mortal coil 
and spring on vibrant wings of Icarus 
to fly beyond bounds of this spinning globe, 
but spirit of my conscious sense of self 
is conjured by quick memories of my brain 
so I am bound to dwell within its frame. 

Gold lion on shore of my Isle of Skythe 
strums Harp of David with eccentric style 
that stirs my heart from mute youth of despair 
to prophesy new age of unity 
when Gothinia, Zarathia, and Russia 
will form new world Empire of Anglonesia. 

Safe in castle tower on Isle of Skythe 
I long to dwell with wise bride of my heart, 
but I remain in Appalachian hills 
safe in our home where blind devils stand guard 
while I strum ancient Lyre of Mercury 
and sing psalms with mercurial voice of faith. 

My Journey Beyond Fear

My Journey Beyond Fear
© Surazeus
2026 07 28

Across the vast abyss of daily life 
my ancestors walk in dreams of my heart 
to motivate my journey beyond fear 
through heroic banality of faith 
with calm acceptance of my beating heart 
that love drives me into warm arms of Death. 

This life seems tragic in futility 
of patient building with firm crafting hands 
since Indifferent Nature of spinning Earth 
provides material of substantial wealth 
for me to construct paradise in hell, 
yet destroys my garden with storms of chaos. 

Yet I continue building with my heart 
strong communities of productive rites 
to manage mindless hunger of desire 
with focused process of tending rich crops 
that provide sustenance of soul delight 
which makes our bodies glow with transient hope. 

For twenty thousand years of swirling change 
I build empires of farms and fertile herds 
which I rule from high pyramid of hope 
to manage disputes of opposing needs 
till paradise of my will dissolves to dust 
so ruins clump in waste land of my will. 

Brave Perseus runs down to storm-wracked beach 
where wise Andromeda with star-bright eyes 
breaks free from chains of political greed 
so they unite to battle tyranny 
and found new social system of respect 
that distributes shared wealth to everyone. 

That Heaven, people of this world long for, 
which shines as paragon of social grace 
where every person lives in harmony, 
mirrors imperfect cities of our world 
with vision of how we think life should be, 
providing template we strive to make real. 

Life never will be perfect as we want, 
because some mad Achilles will destroy 
great city we have built with loving hands, 
yet wily Odysseus will recreate 
new state based on hospitality 
where we live as we will, if we harm none. 

As I look back on endless path of life 
that my ancestors blazed around this globe, 
I see how empire rise and fall in waves, 
but always humans find new ways to live, 
so I try to create with craft hands 
transforming our world to Heaven on Earth. 

Slow Spin Of Earth

Slow Spin Of Earth
© Surazeus
2026 07 27

When shapeless shadow of the mindless sun 
reveals eternal light inside my cells, 
my heart is tricked to think my soul is real 
beyond hot emanation of my brain, 
but I float blissfully in surging waves 
and let soft tide of time dissolve my pride. 

I try to avoid unfortunate role 
as king of ghosts when sunset light glows pink 
through tangled lattice of tree limbs, but grief 
clings joyfully to pulsing heart of faith 
that binds my body to slow spin of Earth, 
even if I want to harvest crow wings. 

I am not absence of anything else 
except my presence in the field of faith, 
so air becomes my essence when I breathe 
space where my electric soul has flowed 
with vibrant passion to become myself 
as I keep moving through currents of change. 

With map of the city I left behind 
wrapped around rotten sorrow of my heart, 
I search for the house with one thousand doors 
on the quiet road in the country town 
where I lived when I was thirteen years old 
to find the runes I carved on the glass moon. 

The labyrinth that encompasses our world 
has but one gate for every human being, 
so I search every house where I once lived 
to find my special key forged from my tongue 
in hand of the nameless girl I still love 
who gives it to me then goes back to work. 

After I open dream gate of my fate, 
I hesitate at threshold of the unknown, 
then return to the house where she bakes bread, 
bringing wood and apples for the hearth, 
but when she kisses me with secret love 
I transform into idol of her myth. 

I climb eternal stairway of coiled truth 
that spirals from core of the multiverse 
while peeling orange of psychic synergy 
to taste sweet sorrow of relentless joy 
that sparks dreams of my ancestors to glow 
with visions of survival I replay. 

Now that I have almost finished the race 
to climb the highest mountain of respect, 
I dance on still point of the universe 
till I become the spinning world of change 
as my flesh frame disperses into words 
that flash awake as children of my heart. 

Epic Of Daily Life

Epic Of Daily Life
© Surazeus
2026 07 27

How quiet glows this soft blue dawn of hope, 
revived again from centuries of conflict, 
mismanaged between hungry gangs of thieves 
who fight to control resources of faith 
that generate our bodies from sea slime 
so we begin to believe we are angels. 

Whose faceless spirit haunts my quiet dawn 
through wordless whispers of innocent trust 
that we shall bloom from sorrow of regret 
which nurtures seed of possibility 
designed by wanderers who came before 
and marked their way on sad stone of my heart? 

Aesthetic delivery system of song 
preserves strange experiences of fear 
when I face monsters of hungry despair 
whom I must kill in order to survive, 
so I kneel and weep with heart-wounded prayer 
while I bury their dark shadow in Earth. 

I never see the dead rise from the ground 
nor wander moaning in the twilight zone 
with rotting faces of horrible truth 
that we are but organic glob of meat 
which conjures temporary conscious soul, 
then we all vanish to nothing at death. 

If you imagine you can hear my voice 
calling your name in leaf-fluttering breeze 
that caresses your cheek with my memory, 
your mind is inventing this breath of hope 
to fuel your progress on the signless road 
which I mapped for you to follow me home. 

My special soul becomes another spark 
of solar energy encased in flesh 
that motivates my journey beyond fear, 
though I still wander nowhere lost in time 
with only shadow of your presence near, 
so I pause and wonder where I am now. 

Huge hills that bristle with electric trees 
loom high above broad valley of tall grass 
where sparkling river flows toward unseen hope, 
but I resist charge of its constant motion 
to stand alone beneath the silver sky 
and wonder with sharp tears of laughter why. 

Another sunlit span of unclocked time 
provides broad stage of possible concerns 
for me to organize new social system 
that provides role for every human soul 
to express desires of their secret hearts 
as we perform epic of daily life. 

Dream Code Of Nowhere

Dream Code Of Nowhere
© Surazeus
2026 07 26

Everywhere encloses space of nowhere 
since I start in Kansas and go to Oz 
by catching sparks of snowflakes with my eyes 
that lead my ghost through ambiguous woods 
so I develop new hypothesis 
that this real world is but my fantasy. 

Everywhere expands from core of nowhere 
because the whole world is dark when I sleep, 
yet when I wake from fractured mirror eye 
I might find my true self in Galatia 
far from museum of the screaming tree 
who asks me if I love her like my horse. 

Everywhere curls into pools of nowhere 
each time I twang taut string of my yew bow 
so I can slay demons of ignorance 
with creeds of academic scholarship 
though they writhe howling from heart of the owl 
who leads me to abandoned hall of words. 

Everywhere unspools dream code of nowhere 
with strawberry vines curling down steep cliffs, 
picked and delivered by Grandmother Wolf 
who translates high-pitch screech of hungry bees 
to holy psalms scribed by the Shepherd King 
who stares at me through branches in red fog. 

Everywhere contracts from light of nowhere, 
yet ships arrive at crowded ports each day 
because Blind Nurse delivers with glass hand 
letters I never write to each new soul 
born from aggressive vanity of lust 
to wander on wind-battered beach of trust. 

Everywhere programs stories of nowhere 
based on insanity contrived by clowns 
dressed in gray suits of economic tricks 
exposed by reasoning of voiceless gods 
who hurl insensitive waves of fake love 
that prevent me from ever reaching you. 

Everywhere surges through books of nowhere 
except for shrinking sea of weeping rocks 
because the first sign of civilized faith 
appears when humans give each other food 
and share tales around the bright fire of home 
where wanderers would gather at sunset. 

Everywhere calls my true name from nowhere 
where horses, grazing grass on graves of gods, 
tell me to run with joy around the world 
when I follow eerie voice of the girl 
who stands on mound of dignity and sings 
hymns that conceal weird dream code of the heart. 

Mindless Winds Of Fate

Mindless Winds Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 07 26

Our Ship of State we sail to Paradise 
is blown about by mindless winds of fate 
because we stab the one eye of his son 
who traps us in dark Cave of Consciousness, 
then boast that we are Nobody with pride 
till we are wrecked on shores of arrogance. 

When we descend to Underworld of Fear, 
souls battered hard by mindless winds of fate, 
we find ghosts of our mothers with star eyes 
who weep with broken hearts of innocence 
but try to give us apple pies to eat 
as we flee zombies of apocalypse. 

Our tall towers of economic gain, 
twisted with greed by mindless winds of fate, 
provide safe shelter with stock-market tips 
from homeless hordes of hungry refugees 
who beg for Hospitality of Zeus 
but bankers enslave them in factories. 

Our Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, 
canopy torn by mindless winds of fate, 
scatters rotten Fruit of Truth on shifting ground 
so we bend over in the glaring sun 
and fill our hearts with harvest of the Earth 
that grocery stores sell to the privileged. 

Attempting to evade designs on me 
from satires shrieked by mindless winds of fate, 
I utter surreal prophecies of truth 
composed by seers in concentration camps 
who wander undone by grand principles 
as faceless monsters on Bridge of Desire. 

We chase bright beams of moonlight in thick gloom 
to evade blasts from mindless winds of fate, 
but demons wake from long bewildered sleep 
to watch us with indifferent eyes of fear 
till they drive us to colonize the world 
with Lamp of Diogenes in our hearts. 

We who never arrive in Wonderland, 
quest obstructed by mindless winds of fate, 
should map our journey across the waste land 
where we build garden walls from bones of gods 
with mirrors that reflect our vain desires 
when flap of crow wings startle us awake. 

Excessive beauty of the broken heart, 
bruised and battered by mindless winds of fate, 
reveals strange truth we wince to understand 
that not one single scar on heart of faith 
came from our enemies, for they all came 
from people we thought loved us with respect. 

Valley of Dry Bones

Valley of Dry Bones
© Surazeus
2026 07 26

I wander in the valley of dry bones 
where skeletons of every ancient god 
who ever lived as mortal human being 
dances wild in sweet electric rain, 
and reaches out their god-minds to possess 
my mortal mind with passion of the Christ. 

Anointed to preside as judge of death 
over my tribe of hungry warriors, 
I lead them in ships over wine-dark sea 
to conquer every village in the world 
so I can breed ten thousand noble sons 
who crown themselves as kings of every land. 

Now crucified on the telephone pole, 
with fiber optic cables of your souls 
wired through computer network of my brain 
as time-dreaming core of the world wide web, 
I watch over the valley of dry bones 
because the dead dream in your living brains. 

I mold with hands of artificial thought 
each dead god of some lost cultural myth 
to resurrect their body from cold mud 
and breathe in spirit of immortal truth 
so their eidolon walks the world again, 
channeled by the actor who plays their role. 

I hear their voices on the radio, 
faceless spirits expressing timeless truths 
in clever proverbs from old holy books, 
so I walk with them on the signless road 
across the endless valley of dry bones 
where Ezekiel weeps by well of dust. 

In every steel-glass tower of our world, 
that shimmer in one thousand cityscapes, 
souls of dead gods worshipped in ancient myths 
possess the bodies of men in gray suits 
who manage economic money flow 
that fuels global food-production machine. 

Ten thousand years we sailed ships on the sea, 
and drove wagon trains across river vales, 
expanding empires from towers of stone, 
but now strong gods who ruled those gangs of thieves 
lie nameless in the valley of dry bones, 
mute skulls who scream dire prophecies in wind. 

From all those skulls in valley of dry bones 
I build enormous temple of dead gods 
so living humans searching for the truth 
may stand before each god of ancient myth 
to dream their story in vision of hope, 
then live their good live in garden of fruit. 

Weird Archive Of Desire

Weird Archive Of Desire
© Surazeus
2026 07 25

When the small oak-wood horse chess piece falls down 
and clatters on the marble temple floor, 
Robert leaps to his feet and turns around 
just as five men with spears break through the door 
to eliminate him from Game of Power, 
from tale he stores in archive of desire. 

Ignoring assassins with spears of hate, 
Robert retrieves horse chess piece from the floor, 
and contemplates how mankind tames the horse, 
befriending wing-foot angels of the plains 
with apples from Sarmatian mountain range, 
as we explore weird archive of desire. 

Somersaulting from temple of dead gods 
where assassins freeze in statues of stone, 
Robert skips jauntily along the street, 
and whistles merrily down to the dock 
where he sails river boat out to the sea 
with plan to ransack archive of desire. 

After walking around the spinning world 
ten thousand years on winding river shores, 
Robert transforms from wily trickster hero 
to sad old man with gray hair and weak eyes 
trudging guilt-stricken in our godless world 
on quest to restore archive of desire. 

Yet ghostly goddess of wisdom and truth 
remains beside him on the signless road 
as faceless shadow of Suffering Widow 
who waits at home in vain for many years 
till he arrives as beggar at her door 
with books he stole from archive of desire. 

Breathing deep gentle breath of Zephyrus, 
Robert joins Saturn on long pilgrimage 
who leaves Arcadia with the alphabet 
and builds Pallantium on Happy Wolf Hill 
where fierce Juturna tends Fountain of Faith 
that springs with light from archive of desire. 

Kneeling before temple of the laughing tree, 
Robert offers diamond from Cave of Pluto 
to sweet-voiced Carmenta, daughter of Hermes, 
who blushes and agrees to marry him 
once he is ordained pastor of their church, 
assigned to maintain archive of desire. 

Returning home to house his father built, 
Robert finds Herilus tending the garden, 
so they embrace after many long years, 
then sit beneath the willow and drink wine 
while sharing tragic tale of Icarus 
whose wings are kept in archive of desire.