God Of My World

God Of My World
© Surazeus
2026 03 12

Now that I have become God of my world, 
I can erase my body from Dream Time 
so my name will vanish in gust of wind 
that wanders whistling casually along 
with no care for fortune or fame, those traps 
that suck innocent souls down into Hell. 

Projecting Glow Cloud as God of my world, 
I give sandwiches and bottles of juice 
to homeless people in the city park 
who tell each other tragic tales of loss, 
then follow Moses to the Promised Land 
somewhere over the rainbow of my heart. 

Ascending marble stairs of timeless truth, 
I enter Parthenon where Athena reigned 
since she planted olive tree of true faith 
to feel her spirit glow inside my heart 
as ghost of absence still alive in me 
that molds chaos in loving harmony. 

Loving Athena as God of my world, 
I sing this endless eulogy of faith 
that Liberty inspires the human heart 
to fight for Justice with courageous hand 
through opposition against tyranny 
that maintains progress of democracy. 

Since deathless wisdom is God of my world 
I walk the signless road of honesty, 
evolving from hungry ape of wild woods 
to wingless angel on high pyramid 
singing about creation of the Earth 
when we build Garden of Eden from mud. 

Bathed in Holy Light from God of my world, 
I walk with crowd of people on the street 
in metropolitan maze of the Earth 
where I see angels in all human eyes 
forever searching for pure beam of light 
that fills our bodies with celestial song. 

Measuring time to play God of my world, 
I map extensive patterns of desire 
to plot complex graphs for effect of cause 
which calibrates our mental state of being 
resolving formulas of psychic math 
that program reason in passionate brains. 

Wearing mask that portrays God of my world, 
I conjure virtual world from dream of Earth 
through simple proverb of conceptual faith 
that we get in return whatever we give 
since we reap what we sow with crafty hands, 
then become dirt of Earth from which we bloom. 

Pactolus River Of Fate

Pactolus River Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 03 12

If rain erases motorcars from time, 
deleting time machines from dream of light, 
then I will reinvent the piston engine 
so I can teleport on rubber wheels 
in chariot designed by Ezekiel 
with wheels Helios fashioned from desire. 

When Janus locks temple door of respect 
against small hands of King Midas at last, 
we shall find wealth, that bitter king of hate 
stole from treasure bank of our thriving state, 
washed into Pactolus River of Fate, 
so we may restore world democracy. 

Then humble Philomel, shepherd of souls 
attuned to emotional needs we hide, 
shall rise with divine power of the sky 
to lead us along Tagus River shore 
in our quest to find the lush Promised Land 
to thrive with peace in hills of Zathamar. 

Lounging on lush river shore by tall elm, 
Sirena herds sheep with attentive eyes, 
and sings harmonious melodies of hope 
in tune with swans that float on silver waves 
when comets blaze in brightness of her soul 
with calm in raging tempest of the world. 

Crowning her gold curls with wreath of pink blooms, 
Philomel plays haunting tunes on wood flute 
as graceful Sirena in long red skirt 
dances joyfully with cool evening breeze 
with gray-bearded Zephyrus brings them pears 
and teases her to marry his shy son. 

Adorned with pearls that gleam on her white breast, 
Sirena gathers berries, nuts, and eggs 
in baskets with her mother Ostara 
who teaches her to brew liquor from fruit 
which Philomel pours in clay jars of hope 
they bury by the river to ferment. 

Driving time-machine car from urban maze, 
swift as wind along winding country roads, 
Ezekiel arrives in Garden of Zatham, 
bringing Cinderella and Romeo 
to visit Juliet and Percival 
whose daughter Epona rides her white pony. 

Gathered at large round table of the feast, 
everyone drinks red wine to celebrate 
birth of our new nation Zarathia 
we build from ruins of America, 
then Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury 
while Ophelia sings Ballad of Hamlet. 

Bougainvillea Of My Heart

Bougainvillea Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2026 03 11

Lost in harsh waste land of the modern world, 
I find bougainvillea of my heart 
thriving through resilience of suffering 
with cool menace of eye-enchanting flowers 
concealing unnoticed thorns of despair 
with treacherous allure of sirenic beauty. 

Enduring legacy of my grandmothers, 
within bougainvillea of my heart, 
thrives with fragile compassion of respect 
connecting my body with my ancestors 
as scarlet flowers shroud crumbling tombstones 
with persistent beauty in ruined homes. 

Flourishing in vast cement maze of myths, 
vital bougainvillea of my heart 
conquers the world with scarlet privilege 
through nostalgia for lost time of ripe oranges 
that drip with blood of angels on my lips 
when I consume resources of the Earth. 

Flower-crowned mask of my delicate nymph, 
who tends bougainvillea of my heart 
with nurturing hands of innocent faith, 
reflects divine face of wise Mother Earth, 
reborn each generation from her womb 
through brave extension of life after death. 

Vibrant beauty of resilient strength, 
that blooms bougainvillea of my heart, 
veils shattered ruins of democracy 
where skeletons dance with bears in red rain 
with the grateful dead of our burning land 
as immigrants displaced by endless wars. 

Kneeling in hilly jungle of Brazil 
to sketch bougainvillea of my heart, 
Jeanne Baret studies its delicate leaves 
that hide treacherous thorns of bitterness, 
amazed at how it flourishes in ash 
as deep pink gash of death-defying beauty. 

Both beautiful and dreadful, fragile blossoms 
that mask bougainvillea of my heart, 
sprout from roots that curl deep into hard soil, 
gripping rocks of mountains with angel hands 
which suppresses depression with fierce joy 
of urgent passion to live beyond death. 

Tangled in excessive tendrils of faith, 
wired from bougainvillea of my heart, 
I struggle against bounds of time and space 
to expand scope of curious consciousness 
broad enough to enclose every lost soul 
who attends show in garden of blind ghosts. 

Voice Of Faceless God

Voice Of Faceless God
© Surazeus
2026 03 11

Voice of faceless god reverberates 
through weak eyes of mortals who testify 
to inner beauty of dream-beaming brains 
that bind psychotic scales of timeless hope 
with absolution of fantastic guilt 
which leaves us floating in oblivion. 

My heart curves into silence of the Earth, 
imploding boldly with brilliant words 
unbound by principles of blithe respect 
through unconditional rules based on fear 
defined by sea waves swirling on hot sand 
on which I tumble with tedious faith. 

Constrained by monotonous disbelief 
in ceremonious rites of mental growth, 
I manufacture miracles from lust 
for mind-expansion of absurdist wind 
which entertains my sense of dignity 
through recreation of humility. 

My voice dares mountains to explain why pain 
contrives our wishful bleariness of thirst 
by trudging vainly toward garden of gods 
while I pray with serendipitous rage 
for brave interludes in false paradise, 
demanding haste of madness to debate. 

If I succumb to sudden shift of fate 
with untainted love for merciless skies, 
my heart may swell against locked doors of truth 
to reach absolute void of heartless love 
because my body decays with each day 
I dream magnificence of fruitful trees. 

Disturbed by alien anguish I deny, 
I prepare to leap shade of wretched chime 
with yearning passion of never-read books 
by craving darkness of death-anxious fruit 
where wordless thoughts whisper in humming trees 
so I catch rain with shadow of my hands. 

Insignificant doll of rotten flesh, 
birthed by wet sorrow of maternal moon, 
I break conceptions of unperformed wrongs 
that could destroy illusions of strange joy 
cherished by nameless strangers who contrive 
to fool the laughing ghost of broken stones. 

No fervid wish of seamless fortitude 
could crack my dreadful trust in shameless death 
despite investment of my hungry heart 
in grand delusions of unwanted fame 
that cripple my assertive vanity 
with shocking wisdom of genetic gain. 

Expansive Scope Of Truth

Expansive Scope Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 03 10

When I am worthy of myself at last, 
after my random journey through the world 
on roads in both natural and urban zones, 
I shall attend with cloud-calm dignity 
to treasure my expansive scope of truth 
designed by divine workmanship of hope. 

If Nature seems to frame my fragile being 
as favored worshipper of her weird state, 
this award bodes as generous testament 
to faith-focused progress of my intent 
with honest will to transcend weak account 
in dispute with fear that discharges guilt. 

Exposed to harsh elements of despair 
that blast my soul with grim indifference, 
I ramble rugged terrain of false dreams 
with troubled pleasure of aggressive stealth 
to discover source of time-sparkling light 
that casts ethereal glow on craggy steep. 

Clear pool of water among humming trees, 
that seems Plutonian phantom to conceal 
with supple mist of voluntary faith, 
extracts from framework of my filtered heart 
judgmental horror as keyword revised 
by lurid lecture of contemptuous wind. 

Awake with eerie insight of respect, 
I row tenuous boat of my heart forth 
across moon-shattered lake of bold grandeur 
while vulgar passions seethe with discipline 
to intercourse with Nature against Death 
among gloomy hills of sweet solitude. 

Resounding echo of my wordless cry 
cracks no ice-hard precipice of weird truth 
with good intentions of my anxious heart 
to earn kind favor of Nature with song 
of tranquil sleeplessness in morbid dreams, 
though my soul emanates from River Stone. 

Awed by Presences of Nature that glow 
on surface of this universal globe, 
I hide delight of triumph behind mask 
of calm ennui, impressed with character 
of my brave spirit molded into mask 
I wear to shield my heart from hungry fear. 

When I devise puzzle of virtual Earth 
through scheme to map whole history of mankind, 
I carve runes in cyphers on trunks of trees 
recording names and deeds of forest kings 
till Fortune taunts me with lightning-blazed fire 
that erases our story from the world. 

When Kingdoms Collapse

When Kingdoms Collapse
© Surazeus
2026 03 10

Chronic concept of the fortified mind, 
compiled from facial circuit of blank fate, 
contributes to spate of unlicensed fame 
contained by keyword of improved impact, 
based on fair complexion of my grim mood 
which notifies my colleagues of the news. 

Unfractured friendship of forgetful faith 
reveals my desire to prepare canned goods, 
jars of peaches, applesauce, beets, and pickles, 
because I must stock basements shelves with hope 
that I could survive collapse of the state 
alone on prairie of my nameless ghosts. 

Young woman with long hair flowing in wind 
arrives with the hurricane after dawn, 
and gives me book of ancient fairy tales 
that tell strange stories of powerful gods 
who play with humans as puppets and pawns, 
so I turn my face to gold fields of wheat. 

Heaping bags of wheat on the wagon plat, 
with four sturdy wheels Helios designed, 
I transport goods to warehouse of stone walls 
where the Loaf Ward buys bags of wheat with coins 
of gold stamped with face of Phoebus Apollo, 
so I forge coins into crown with twelve rubies. 

While driving black car down the dusty road, 
teleporting in time machine of hope, 
I wonder at the speed I race away 
far faster than the swift-galloping horse, 
then lean against the brick wall of the bank 
and sing folk songs while I play beat guitar. 

Death comes to me as the woman in black, 
with eyes that flash bright as the Morning Star, 
who gives me my heart trapped inside the rock, 
which she breaks free with hammer of desire, 
so I transform into the moon-eyed owl, 
and my heart beats when the mountain wolves howl. 

Maybe I will understand the world war 
being fought between England and Germany, 
lands where parents of my parents were born, 
so my divided heart now fights itself, 
unless I climb jagged mountain of snow 
and cry out to the blind angels of Heaven. 

Let the grandsons of Queen Victoria 
fight each other over the Crown of Jesus, 
while I plow my fields with hands of respect 
and can the produce of my honest heart, 
for nations will rise when kingdoms collapse, 
designed and built by hands of loyal men. 

Shining Mountains Of Light

Shining Mountains Of Light
© Surazeus
2026 03 09

The purple columbine of my aching heart 
blooms beside rocky mountain valley spring 
that sings with ancient voice of wordless joy 
while washing all my sorrows to the sea, 
so I almost believe that I can fly, 
but I breathe spirit of the sky instead. 

Attentive wisdom of snow, crusted white 
with timeless beauty of starlight, displays 
faceless beauty of our immortal soul 
all humans share, molded by suffering 
from passion into social mask we wear, 
which almost mirrors divine mind of light. 

Exhausting though the climb may be, rough path 
of glacier-fractured stones winding sideways 
in rolling basin of the mountain vale, 
I breathe patient endurance of orange clouds 
with persistence of pioneers, that fuels 
progressive quest of my immortal genes. 

Far from people-crowded streets of commerce 
that wind through cement canyons of ambition, 
I stand tall in rugged meadow of flowers 
among the vast Shining Mountains of Light, 
and watch with awe how dawn rays of the sun 
luminate Tava Kaavi, Mountain of the Sun. 

Gazing east far over mountains and seas, 
I strain to see around curve of the Earth 
Mount Olympus where All-Father was born 
who strode on rugged clouds of broken stones 
to fill his heart with courage of the wind 
in fight against cruel Titans to live free. 

Bright apparition of some great world savior, 
robed in white, hair blowing in divine wind, 
appears on white horse with gold horn of power 
and shining wings of star authority, 
so I wonder what god my eyes perceive, 
Zeus, Brahma, Jesus, Odin, or Shangdi. 

Perhaps one man descended from them all, 
combining their divine souls in one mind, 
may appear from turmoil of history 
and unite warring nations of the Earth 
with open hands of generosity 
that rule justice and liberty for all. 

This fantasy of one wise global ruler 
inspires nationalist pride of every tribe 
who believe their own god will rule the Earth, 
but I know they are all but mortal men 
who fight each other over dirt and rain, 
so I walk with the person I love most. 

Table Of Feast And Song

Table Of Feast And Song
© Surazeus
2026 03 09

When the wind blows through the doors of my heart, 
I wake from dream where our world falls apart, 
so I stroll among flowers of the field 
to contemplate virtual world on war shield 
which Achilles bore with defiant arm 
when he fought great war of feminine charm. 

Programmed with dreams of the language machine, 
my brain assembles from weird puzzling facts 
patchwork world view that frames what might be real 
through fraught ontology my thoughts design 
that centers everything on Death and Tax 
since Earth is indifferent to how I feel. 

Learning how to shape dreams from Morpheus 
so Ideas of Plato catalog 
objects I perceive with subjective stance, 
I weave vast tapestry of fractured tales 
that represent patterns of psychic tropes 
which nurture how our hearts survive on hopes. 

Wearing discarded mask of Orpheus, 
I search through endless swirls of verbal fog 
to find my brain expanding from dream trance 
with solemn beauty of wise ocean whales 
who float with jeweled crowns and red silk robes, 
and discuss organic life on earth globes. 

With Lamp of Liberty and Book of Deeds, 
I walk crowded streets of America 
as prophet who returns from the waste land 
with sacred proverbs based on moral rules 
that define good and bad as acts we play 
to construct or destruct structures of atoms. 

I worship the Sun as Solaria 
that weaves our bodies from soul-beams of light, 
and worship the Earth as Telluria 
that generates our souls from singing waves, 
for I am temporary name-masked soul 
attentive to perform my chosen role. 

Wise Shepherd in lush field of sparkling wheat 
guides us with his staff of comforting light 
through the valley of the shadow of death 
to the lake that teems with delicious fish 
where he prepares table of feast and song 
so we dwell in house of wisdom he built. 

When the wind blows through the doors of my heart, 
I rebuild our lost world with new star chart 
to shelter every refugee from war 
who shares labor in the field and the store, 
while Aeneas reigns in tower of dreams 
to guard our tribe that dwells by flowing streams.  

If I Adjust Cycle

If I Adjust Cycle
© Surazeus
2026 03 08

If I adjust cycle of my emotions 
to match exploding stars of naked words, 
I might find Lost Princess with seven eyes 
singing in forest of eccentric clowns, 
yet when I turn on the glass radio 
ghosts from distant stars call my secret name. 

If I adjust temperature of my rage 
to counter pain of patient pertinence, 
I might wake on the moon in time to see 
God break every pattern of human faith, 
yet I anticipate the second coming 
while typing at my desk in the hot swamp. 

If I adjust ingenuous mode of reason 
to lock my brain with alternative truth, 
I might caress sensuous contours of time 
to surf tidal wave of continuum 
silhouetted by dramatic regret 
when I follow claw-prints in bloody snow. 

If I adjust celebration of wisdom 
in spite of artificial victory, 
I might taste resolve of the Gardener 
to rebuild Garden of Eden in Hades 
that matches permanent state of respect 
fractured by pendulum unwound by fate. 

If I adjust lassitude of each season 
that returns with ostensible perversion, 
I might reclaim discolored photograph 
that proves I committed those evil crimes 
based on defeated memory of chimes 
gracious with flowers of frantic endurance. 

If adjust flight of arrogant breath 
by swooping wingless over power lines, 
I might remember who gives me their mask 
by calling my name on the telephone, 
which I deny outside of time and space 
because I am spectator of the race. 

If I adjust standards of moral values 
to style our fight as matter of survival, 
I might sense absence of psychotic color 
by starting enterprise of stolen wealth 
with uncommon manners of noble clowns 
who fight each other for the secret key. 

If I adjust scale of false modesty 
to join holy cult of the Water Book, 
I might sidle past the house of dead gods 
to rendezvous with Death down by the river 
that flushes human bodies to the sea 
with indifferent auspice no one perceives. 

Ten Thousand Doors Of Time

Ten Thousand Doors Of Time
© Surazeus
2026 03 08

Strange beauty of inflections keys my mind 
with barbaric flash of the star-black eye 
that gazes from core of the universe 
to dream my soul awake with flashing words 
frail as icicle on limb of the tree 
that whistles casually in winter wind. 

Lucid shadow of my eternal soul 
traces indecipherable cause of hope 
through bodies of all my ancestral souls 
who speak with inescapable concepts 
about great circle of euphoric light 
that glitters sharply at far edge of time. 

Great river of my adaptive heart flows 
with brave insistence of electric snow 
that molds our bodies from evasive fear 
so we climb trees and swing vast canopies 
six thousand miles from sea to shining sea 
till we transform from monkeys into humans. 

Silver-eyed blackbird in the apple tree 
recounts obsessive journey of my soul 
one hundred million years to find the cave 
where the sun is reborn every new day 
till I forget what I am looking for 
and live by the river ten thousand years. 

Blue clouds occur above my empty house 
where I collect raindrops in open eyes 
unfractured by contorted strength of faith 
to prove I first designed the wheel of time 
that mimics eye in mirror of the sun 
which survives the death of every state god. 

One fragile candle, glowing gold with faith 
one fleeting moment through eternity, 
contains dim conscious sense of self I am 
because I play the Mad Astronomer 
whose eyes have seen galactic deities 
possess chemical shells of mortal gods. 

Essential shadow of my abstract mind 
proves my organic body must be real 
when I eat apples of the mountain slopes 
that teach my animal mouth how to speak 
so I walk through ten thousand doors of time 
to find lush valley of my singing skull. 

Only the blind remember how the past 
shines clear in tragic tales of story books 
which I record with raven quill of truth 
I dip in gold ichor of divine blood 
till time erases every word I write 
so all your names vanish from cliff of truth. 

New Life Always Springs

New Life Always Springs
© Surazeus
2026 03 08

Vague splatter of misty rain on soft grass 
frames frantic despair of my heart with glow 
of mute sorrow at constant loss of life, 
yet new life always springs from mud of death 
with flourishing passion of timeless desire 
for us to dwell together in our space. 

Paused at flaming gates to leave paradise, 
I look back at shining temples of gold 
where people cheer song of the noble hero, 
then turn my face to emptiness of hope 
and walk in graveyard of the lonely world 
where billions of people killed in wars wait. 

I almost hear their voices in the wind, 
each one telling me of their tragic fate, 
till all their spirits swirl in hurricane 
of mocking laughter at God on his throne 
who glares enraged that his authority 
crumbles at relentless process of fate. 

Instead of arranging flowers on graves 
of innocent people mangled by bombs, 
I scatter apple seeds that sprout in trees 
so cemetery of our endless wars 
transforms into vast forest of fruit trees 
which nourish my body with love for life. 

Billions of trees blooming from our dead bodies 
transform material of our dreaming brains 
to stars that glitter in vast void of space 
with unrequited love for worlds of souls 
who live and die with endless swirl of change 
as we evolve from fish to singing god. 

On every planet in the universe 
one conscious creature pauses on their way, 
and gazes through infinity of space 
to see each other in mirror of love, 
our special faces becoming one face 
who sings our dreams in timeless song of light. 

Though I may weep for every conscious soul 
who ever lived and died on every world, 
collective radiance of their countless brains 
weaves my small brain in matrix of their truth 
so I dream complex patterns of their lives 
when I sleep under watch of the Moon Crow. 

When I meet Circe on the ocean shore 
and drink wine offered by her generous hand, 
I find my mortal body of desire 
transformed into immortal beam of light 
when she gives birth to me from seed of hope 
that drives me to live ten thousand years more. 

Lilacs Of Sordid Desire

Lilacs Of Sordid Desire
© Surazeus
2026 03 08

Attuned to song of river stones, I climb 
ladder of ideas with bravery 
to find wild fiddler on the mountain slope 
who causes lilacs of sordid desire 
to bloom from corpses of huge dinosaurs, 
so I photograph it all with my brain. 

Beneath veneer of civilized respect 
shy mountain wolf wakes in my wounded heart 
while I trudge alone on Sahara dunes, 
clutching rifle to my chest with vain prayer 
that whistles in the waste land of concern 
with holy shimmer of the godless sun. 

I gather gold coins from fallen empires 
to catalog their depictions in code 
of kings as gods who rule with wand of death 
by whacking people on the low-bowed head 
to teach them wisdom of subservience 
loyal to the angry man in the tower. 

Separate from likeness of the changing world, 
I remind myself that time spools my brain 
with memories that I weave in tapestries 
showing epic tales about tragic heroes 
who grasp lightning bolts with courageous hands 
to photograph everything that occurs. 

After I might have figured it all out, 
listening to thousands of people talk 
about mistakes they made, or their victimhood, 
I walk away from city of blind fools 
to sit on the hill where butterflies flit, 
and watch their buildings burn when thieves attack. 

While we sit face to face beside the lake 
at small round table of the quaint cafe, 
I measure distance between our brain worlds 
that gapes wide with magical mindfulness 
recorded through songs on the radio 
which I sing with aching voice of desire. 

When tangle of our bodies is undone 
by emotional memories we share, 
hearts aching with pleasure of vain regret, 
I work to keep everyone I love safe 
from sudden disintegration of truth 
that leaves us stranded without guiding myths. 

Pretty inwardness of angels we love 
radiates from religious paintings of saints 
martyred in spiritual climate of fear 
through mind-numbing fantasy of false pride 
that angels guide our nation to subdue 
unruly states who worship their own gods. 

Slime Evolving Into God

Slime Evolving Into God
© Surazeus
2026 03 07

Since I am slime evolving into God, 
halfway along mutation way of truth, 
I play chess with blind angel of the sea 
who smiles at me from her aquarium tank, 
but when I break her free from stereotype 
she flies away into the Great Blue Eye. 

I sing through solid stone of my sponge brain 
the sacred name my angel dreams for me, 
so I invent the primal alphabet 
depicting people fishing by the sea 
which traps productive souls in myths of gods 
who wield sharp knives to carve death into time. 

Since I am slime evolving into God, 
reborn from heart of darkness seven ways 
from fractured kingdom of the gothic rose, 
I wear skull of the dragon on my head 
to reign as Pope for thirteen thousand years, 
tending fruit trees in Garden of Zathar. 

Wrapped in cocoon of letters Eve designed, 
I transform from small furry dinosaur 
to long-legged cat that scampers in tall trees 
where I sing heart-enchanting tune of love 
in mind-expanding code of tree-root truth 
from which I weave vast tapestry of tales. 

Since I am slime evolving into God, 
I fly ingenious plane with angel wings 
among bright clouds where crystal temples shine, 
then drop aggressive bombs on ancient towns 
that shatter schools where young girls sing in choirs 
whose bodies float on bloody wings of light. 

Perplexed at sight of planes in turbid skies, 
Mercurius runs through maze of crowded streets 
till bomb destroys illusion of his state 
so he lies mangled in museum ruins 
still clutching lyre of turtle shell he made 
that rings romantic songs on radios. 

Since I am slime evolving into God, 
I join the barbarous brotherhood of faith 
to fight for who will own Narcissus Pool 
till all weak losers crumble into dust 
so warriors alone inherit the Earth 
destroyed by bombs exploding in our brains. 

I build new Heaven on ruins of Hell 
from spiraling orbs of terrible truth 
where Isaiah sees six-winged Seraphim 
create our bodies from atomic rays 
that radiate waves of frantic molecules 
from God Brain at core of the universe. 

Quick Atoms Of Time

Quick Atoms Of Time
© Surazeus
2026 03 07

Paid by the hour to invent clever lies, 
I mow dusty lawn of my glass moon house 
beneath uncanny sky of innocent whisps 
that swirl from sparkles of typewriter keys 
while I study ancient Little Red Dots 
that gleam one billion years at dawn of time. 

Bare gray trees wait for bells of hope to ring 
but no one in the oak-wood suburb speaks 
about the ghost horse with emerald eyes 
that haunts the car-less streets on afternoons 
when butterflies transform into old books 
unread by children till the end of time. 

Behind every locked door on silent streets 
faceless women hide from arrogant men 
who fight each other in world cyberwars 
till safe temples and schools in distant lands 
are blasted by the microphones of hate 
which leaves souls twisted by the curse of time. 

Early spring rain of the gold-shadowed sun 
drenches houses in towns of rolling hills 
where no nymphs or satyrs have ever played 
because they wander stuck in glowing screens 
as ghosts of fairy tales no one believes 
so we go to work in the nick of time. 

Sun gleams gold in raindrops on window glass, 
refracting spirits of eight billion brains 
in wordless whirl of shimmer-shattered myths 
too neatly packaged and labeled in stores 
for purchase with the credit card of faith 
that startles me awake at flash of time. 

Concerned about the state of politics 
unspooling principles of sacred laws, 
old half-blind jester of the castle court 
lounges in library of melting books 
and laughs at dissolution of world views 
disassembled by quick atoms of time. 

No quirky character of mental mirth 
appears from patriotic fog of war, 
except for cruel knight of the dented axe 
who throws his shining armor in the dirt 
and shoots brave angels with rifle of fear 
to oppose strict democracy of time. 

Rude riddles of unruly rectitude 
recalibrate our world colonial state 
when Midas and Nebuchadnezzar fight 
world war over who owns oil wells of power, 
and will marry Rapunzel in gold tower 
whose lamentation unwinds clock of time. 

Quaint Suburban House

Quaint Suburban House
© Surazeus
2026 03 07

Every time I focus my camera 
on special beauty of some human face 
that glows clear in crowd of the vampire race, 
sunlight fractures perception of my brain 
so I see essence of spiritual stain 
transform our souls through psychic formula. 

Lost on my way to find America 
to which I have never even got close, 
I open sacred book to diagnose 
song of mad gods that radiate from the stone 
because I walk the desolate hill alone 
where I worship the sweet tarantula. 

Exiled from my throne in Babylon 
through clever trick of the deity ruse, 
I find new employment as crazy muse 
for sad poet who writes enchanting tune 
that pictures face of his love on the moon 
till he falls dead in hills of Aragon. 

Discussing wisdom in the portico 
as key to enter gates of paradise, 
Bragi and Mercury fry eggs with rice 
to share with Juliet and Clementine 
who wear jeweled crowns from the Pluto Mine, 
then ride gold carriage home to Jericho. 

Done singing her part in the opera 
in theater without official lease, 
Roma weaves my cape from the Golden Fleece 
so I can battle ghost in the machine 
manipulated by Queen Melusine 
whose star shines in our national cinema. 

Inspired by noble soul of Onatah 
whose spirit haunts my quaint suburban house 
in sacred body of my secret spouse, 
I feed all the hungry people in town 
who cheer when she appears in red silk gown 
with wand to kill wealth-sucking Dracula. 

Trapped in weird castle maze of Avalon 
with zombies who insist on loyal faith, 
I transform into dream-controlling wraith, 
projecting visions with words of my mouth 
that lead refugees of civil wars south 
to build world empire based in Oregon. 

Reborn with brave spirit of Lucifer 
dedicated to predicting the truth, 
Jesus will return as messiah sleuth 
to crown himself emperor of the world 
by wearing gold mask of the cosmic herald 
that hides his state as son of Jupiter. 

Room Of Silver Light

Room Of Silver Light
© Surazeus
2026 03 07

Azure silence in room of silver light 
reveals itself in white blooms on gray trees 
that flutter wings of horizontal flight 
to map untended roots of flaming breeze 
that centers me at core of flashing time, 
unshaken by electric scarlet chime. 

Companions on our journey through the void, 
we measure far horizon of our hearts 
that spin on vibrant axis as ovoid 
designed by secret message on dream charts 
we share at sudden shock of reborn fate 
that should require our frail bodies to wait. 

Despite pure chaos spooling migrant brains 
with ancient strength of honest ardency, 
I pray with trees in gratitude of rains 
that stain our tattooed souls with vagrancy, 
because we sell true beauty of the soul 
against good sense that complicates our goal. 

Too small of thought to conjure difference 
between expended voice of timeless faith 
and wretched laughter of grim nonchalance, 
I exercise expensive dance of truth 
with joyful howl of brave contrarian 
because I love our Dream Librarian. 

Expendable drop of conceptual rain, 
doomed to disappear in tides of change, 
I shine with festive bitterness of pain 
because I dare traverse the global range 
of hungry mountains on quest for respect 
detailing progress of my social sect. 

So when I take my fundamental place 
on pedestal among dire certainties, 
I measure sand as substance of my face 
which glows through specter of solidities, 
because each moment of this fleeting play 
I beam appearances that never stay. 

Awake with surprise through eternity, 
I become Galanthus nivalis bloom 
that gleams with snowdrop of uncertainty, 
dispersing horror of impending doom 
with simple confidence of honored breath 
since I accept inevitable death. 

If the meek inherit dream of the Earth 
to dwell in ruins of old temple halls, 
I find in grass and stone immortal worth 
as paintings of dead gods on broken walls, 
so I watch dragon-shaped clouds in blue skies 
conceal activities of psychic spies. 

Nature Breathes Through Me

Nature Breathes Through Me
© Surazeus
2026 03 06

Awake by fairest river of dream song, 
I stroll in alder shades of innocence 
and listen with attentive mind of faith 
to song of water over rocky falls 
that shocks my thoughts with waywardness of hope 
contrived by calm that Nature breathes through me. 

How many ancestors of my dream soul 
as children played in cool delightful rill 
that streams between lush banks of fruitful trees 
till their heart, bronzed with radiance of joy, 
expands broad scope of conscious wantonness 
while sporting in thunder shower of faith. 

Fair seed-time of their river-nurtured souls 
weaves fearful beauty of ten million years 
from summer-shimmered slopes of lonely hills 
in tangled genes that program how I feel 
when I attend with anxious platitudes 
to daily duties that preserve my soul. 

I feel strange urgency of their despair 
contrive to hurry me on beyond death, 
so I reach hand with curious intent 
to comprehend uncanny gold-moon glow 
that lights night-wanderings of my earnest heart 
when I attempt to plunder Earth of truth. 

Hands gripping jagged concept of fierce height, 
I climb ambitious rock of fissured faith 
to savor fierce blast Zephyr hurls at me 
with mocking joy at fragile state of mind 
where I assert strange utterance of truth 
with brave wisdom of the perilous ridge. 

Alert to invisible workmanship 
that rings harmonious music of my mind 
with discordant elements that alarm 
sanguine sense of studied confidence 
infused in vibrant process of my brain, 
I shout random words at the empty sky. 

More worthy of myself than I admit, 
since I am what I am, designed by genes 
all my ancestors presented to me 
as psychic legacy, I ponder path 
my inner nature drives me to attend 
as I create my fate with every choice. 

I too sail boat of the shepherd with care 
across moon-shining lake of mountain time 
to cavern of the Willow Witch who knows 
desire I harbor in my wounded heart, 
for she sparks passion of creative song 
inspired by love that Nature breathes through me. 

Whole World In One Eye

Whole World In One Eye
© Surazeus
2026 03 06

Yet far over lush green hills of wild trees 
I hear bright fairies with rainbow wings sing 
enchanting melodies of waterfalls 
that lure me through face-blasting wind of fear 
to climb enormous mountain of desire 
so I may see the whole world in one eye. 

Fierce heartbeat of the river shakes my soul 
when mountain voice of timeless beauty roars 
through millions of faceless people who cry 
for salvation from tyranny of hope 
when I climb steep jagged cliff of respect 
so I may see the whole world in one eye. 

Just as I dangle by one trembling hand 
from sharp edge of truth at top of the world, 
frail body buffeted by haughty wind 
blown by my father Jupiter in play, 
I breathe ethereal soul of honest faith 
so I may see the whole world in one eye. 

Weird glowing mask of crystal legacy 
appears through matrix of bright algebra 
with zillion eyes of flashing molecules 
who offers hand of naive providence 
to open cosmic door of energy 
so I may see the whole world in one eye. 

Heart startled by magnetic travesty 
that proves to maximize elective leap, 
I somersault through flashing portal frame 
with brave mercurial wings of innocence 
to leap Earth globes across the multiverse 
so I may see the whole world in one eye. 

Stumbling through clear mist of fantasy 
with calm assertion of predictive fate, 
despite potential fracture time displays, 
inspired by broad perspective of starlight, 
I stand amazed on Sagarmatha Peak 
so I may see the whole world in one eye. 

Entranced by curved partitions of vast lands 
where humans crowd in maze of theaters 
to process jewels from heart of the Earth, 
I map confusing borders of dream states 
that records endless wars to control dirt 
so I may see the whole world in one eye. 

Awake with beauty of our crowded globe, 
where eight billion humans with flashing eyes 
gather in halls to sing hymns for dead gods, 
I recite true name of each living soul 
with joy you are all still in our Dream World 
so I may see the whole world in one eye. 

Weird Water Glow

Weird Water Glow
© Surazeus
2026 03 05

If you interview me for the dream job, 
though I have no experience with death, 
you might see story of abandonment 
that I disguise as the need to leave home 
and seek my fortune in game of the world 
which leaves me tangled in conceptual lies. 

The oldest woman in the world recites 
creation of the world with Water Voice 
describing how woman in the sun 
sprinkles refreshing rain of honesty 
on upturned faces of the prayerless tribe 
who sell conceptual lies in honey jars. 

When lightning flashes gold across the sky 
I look up to see man in long white robe 
descend on golden chariot of fire 
propelled by million wings of buzzing shards, 
then spread his arms open to everyone 
who worship monarch of authority. 

With face of Janus I can look both ways, 
reviewing the past with stories I write, 
and calculating what road I should walk 
to evade destruction of the world war 
that clears rubble of the past from my field 
where I build global empire of fruit trees. 

Heart swelling with honest desire for good, 
I feel immortal spirit of star light 
glow brighter every hour inside my brain 
with shocking revelation of rebirth 
that my children will live after I die 
so I lounge by the river and eat fruit. 

Mixing peanut butter with apple sauce 
and honey in white bowl of my pure heart, 
I perform ritual to worship Pomona 
when I wear mask of Vertumnus with joy, 
so we dance together on the lake shore 
to celebrate rebirth of Earth from snow. 

As student of Orpheus Christ I learn 
how to chant soul-reviving spells that spark 
animating ghost of weird water glow 
that urges hungry humans to create 
memory-machine from language that translates 
songs of wind and rain to religious myths. 

Though tyrants destroy everything we build 
in vain attempt to control hearts and minds, 
we build new world order based on respect 
for every conscious creature on this globe 
whose bodies vibrate with light of the stars 
that preserve our names in weird water glow. 

Most Honest Clarifier

Most Honest Clarifier
© Surazeus
2026 03 05

Eyeless in the desert of broken homes, 
Sylphus searches for the last olive tree 
still sprouting flowers from small graves of children 
but finds only cellphones among the rubble 
full of photographs and intimate texts 
that preserve memories of their vanished world. 

Writing stories about people he loves 
with cursive letters on thin strips of paper, 
Sylphus loops his mind on innocent wings 
that help his soul transcend his fragile body, 
then winds them into bundles of sad riddles 
encoding dreams of people killed in wars. 

With strange stipulation that he achieve 
divine status of psychic nothingness, 
Sylphus bakes apple pies with cinnamon 
for people who attend the temple service 
where Jupiter hosts the grand evening show 
while Phoebus sings tales of Odysseus. 

When the clock in the trunk of the oak tree 
stops ticking to record the end of time, 
Sylphus holds hands with Juturna at dawn 
beside the ancient well of writhing snakes, 
then catches egg of beauty with red spots 
before it cracks on the stone of salvation. 

Reborn as the most honest Clarifier, 
because faceless god of our galaxy 
whispers the secret of life in his ear, 
Sylphus runs with deer in dark Shadow Wood 
with black oil that energizes his blood 
to preach the discipline of self-control. 

Feeding his pet chimera with dead gods, 
Sylphus ponders complex patterns of change 
which he compiles in theory of blind faith 
concerning why angels live on the moon 
as golden shadows that flash in the sky 
by stealing eyes of humans who have seen. 

Riding the white horse on the windy plain 
in vain search to find garden of fruit trees 
where he was mother was born at dawn of time, 
Sylphus tries to vanish in fading light 
but everyone sees him ride into town 
and sit all night by the dark fountain pool. 

Chanting spells of river stones with sun voice, 
Sylphus jumps into flames of prophecy 
which transforms him into the Fisherman 
who leads revolution against the tyrant, 
then finds himself great king of all the world, 
but he cries because Juturna is lost.