Still In Our Hearts

Still In Our Hearts
© Surazeus
2026 11 12

All our ancestors live still in our hearts 
as memories after the soul departs, 
so, though their bodies vanish from this plane, 
no more than temporary drops of rain, 
shadows of their absence, cast by sunrays, 
haunt us as voiceless ghosts in dreamy haze. 

Samael removes long swan-feather cape 
at sudden flash of sight-elusive shape, 
then turns startled at sharp heart-wrenching cry 
to see his young wife Lilith shrieking, "Why?" 
while clutching new-born baby to her breast, 
so he encourages her to get some rest. 

Tears streaming down her soft grief-stricken face, 
Lilith holds out their child wrapped in white lace, 
so he looks closer at their sparkling eyes, 
no longer gleaming with stars in dark skies, 
so he gasps in shock when he comprehends 
soul of their child has vanished in bleak winds. 

After they bury dead child in soft earth, 
he asks her if another try is worth 
attentive effort to regenerate 
new child of their love against cruel fate, 
but Lilith glares at bright indifferent cloud. 
then covers her head in torn mourning shroud. 

Gathering children, orphaned by harsh wars, 
who hide with hunger behind broken doors, 
Lilith assembles them at farm commune 
where Samael grants each child secret boon, 
teaching them to make things with crafting tools 
while they learn to live with strict social rules. 

White clouds gleam over woods of fruitful trees 
where Lilith harvests honey made by bees, 
then teaches girls to sew clothes and cook food 
and meditate to balance mental mood, 
while Samael teaches boys to carve wands 
so they patrol and guard communal bonds. 

Plotting to seize control of their child school 
and enslave children to work as his tool, 
Midas spreads lies about deeds she performs, 
that she kidnaps children at night from homes, 
roasting their bodies to consume their souls, 
then attacks her with mob of violent trolls. 

Wounded by spear thrust in his gasping chest, 
Samael clutches Lilith to his breast, 
whose heart is pierced by arrow of cruel hate, 
and weeps as she succumbs to unfair fate, 
then shouts for children to resist and fight 
against his tyranny, and for their right. 

Tower Of The Sun

Tower Of The Sun
© Surazeus
2026 11 12

Holding torch of sorrow in his hand, 
Doubting Thomas stares in formless gloom 
and wonders how he should observe this world 
without wallowing in suffering of fear 
or drowning in sentiment of false joy, 
but all he hears is song of ocean waves. 

After we lose our long limb-grasping tails 
and come down from the safety of fruit trees, 
we dance in surging tides of ocean waves 
where we begin to walk upright on legs 
of brave ambition, balanced with deep breath, 
to follow rivers winding among high hills. 

Eating mushrooms, white manna from the clouds, 
we follow herds of cows across vast plains, 
mind glowing with visions of what could be, 
then express audible hope in sharp sound 
that beams clear vision of my mind to yours 
in language that conveys thoughts I perceive. 

Imaginer of status that could be, 
I arrange objects with my crafting hands 
to organize stones in circle for hot fire 
as base foundation above field of mud, 
and construct shelter from pillars of hope, 
which I cover with cow skin of respect. 

Observing many shapes of fruitful trees, 
my brain designs Idea of the Tree 
as standard geometric pattern form 
which I then signify with breath-born word 
that causes other minds, who hear my speech, 
to imagine unseen tree I describe. 

Stacking stones on terraced levels of hope, 
I construct sky-high ziggurat of faith 
on which we tend herb gardens around homes 
where people from many river tribes dwell 
with gate that leads to temple of wise El, 
that we name Babel, Tower of the Sun. 

When drought dries up wheat in my hard-plowed field, 
I climb ziggurat to grand temple hall 
where I ask Inanna, queen of all farms, 
for coins to fund production of fresh wheat, 
so she invests in factory of my work, 
ensuring everyone has food to eat. 

When morning mist of sorrow dissipates, 
Doubting Thomas strolls by the singing sea 
and dreams evolution of humankind 
to dancing angel from beach-crawling ape, 
so he climbs long-deserted ziggurat 
to sing the primal hymn of love for life. 

Random Nodes Of Energy

Random Nodes Of Energy
© Surazeus
2026 11 11

Time of laughter in the absolute zone 
expands advantage of authentic faith 
strangers buy and sell in the market game 
through unbalanced passion of clarity 
designed to readjust the carnival 
where children calculate how long we live. 

Despite clear evidence of shocking love, 
gambled through deployment of innocence, 
angels appropriate cultural signs 
in desperate attempt to debug despair, 
based on deposit in the bank account 
of credits stolen from disabled clones. 

Curious to comprehend cosmetic creed 
through which the dead would integrate their souls 
injected with vaccine of selfless love, 
we analyze jewels of unjust laws 
to locate loyal spark of primal cause 
that flashes in heart of the twilight zone. 

Nobody nominates as manager 
fallen angel who contrives oxygen 
from swirling waters of the purple sea, 
yet she decides, against all common sense, 
to operate on the cancer-ridden ghost 
who wants to code new paradigm for love. 

Objective oversight of poverty 
against procedure carved in pungent mud 
provides new opportunity for pride 
to strategize transmission through fake words 
excessive feelings of desperate desire 
we share as synthetic trick no one solves. 

Unbiased treasurer of sacred love 
vacuums expanding temple of glass masks 
as volunteer whom voters must elect 
in dire need to support library funds, 
verified by faceless god of the moon 
who appears as owl with camera eyes. 

Payable plan of private pottery 
proves we project our sense of consciousness 
at vast indifference of the universe 
and call reflection of our mortal face 
God we assume creates our souls from light 
though we are random nodes of energy. 

Procedure to process reality 
with fractured concept of soul sacrifice 
provides productive stadium of faith 
for satellite salvation of respect 
so I become severe ghost of my laugh, 
reborn from syllabus of ardent spells. 

Death Is Our Shepherd

Death Is Our Shepherd
© Surazeus
2026 11 11

Though apple tree, older than the moon, 
was struck by lightning and burned to thin cinders, 
long shadow of its leaf-wild canopy 
still shimmers on tear-wet grass of his lawn, 
so Nothus climbs ladder of secret tales 
to catch voices of angels in the wind. 

While chasing Choris in apple tree grove, 
Nothus stumbles blind into secret garden 
where statue of Saturnus with long horns 
almost appears alive in shifting rays 
of sunlight stippling concept of our being 
with urgent passion of the hungry heart. 

Blue wing of sorrow tilts his ocean heart 
when pregnant doe emerges from dark woods, 
so Nothus sings light-hearted melody 
about swift-foot Diana with star eyes 
who appears disguised as Choris from the mist 
and asks if he wants to learn how to fly. 

When Piper airplane glides across gold cloud 
with cow-deep hum of psychic chemistry, 
Nothus plucks geranium from his heart 
and gives it to sweet Choris with shy smile, 
but they run when they hear the airplane crash 
and burn with sorrow on sand by the sea. 

When fallen angel with swan-silver wings 
wakes from dark tide of sleep on gleaming sand, 
he rises from his body with soft sigh 
and beams into bright diamond on cliff wall 
in which our galaxy of countless stars 
swirls languidly across abyss of faith. 

To focus attention of his glass heart 
on unspoken needs of his pregnant bride, 
Nothus recounts his ancestral lives 
in fairy tales that make their children laugh 
as they drink hot chocolate and eat cookies 
around the pine tree with blinking lightbulbs. 

Death is our shepherd, and we are all sheep, 
too eager to slip through cracks in stone wall 
that shelters our frail souls in paradise, 
so we share Thanksgiving feast with friends 
when orange leaves shroud graves of our cozy homes 
with pages from chronicles of lost time. 

Strolling together up apple tree hill, 
to worship Cronus in old pine-log fane, 
Nothus and Choris pause on open porch 
to watch enormous swan with sun-gold wings 
land in the pool where blind Narcissus weeps, 
then share sweet kiss as fog veils our lost world. 

Hymn Of Bitter Faith

Hymn Of Bitter Faith
© Surazeus
2026 11 11

Weird beauty of this bright atomic world, 
that spins on undulating waves of hope 
two hundred fifty million years of change 
one time around our flashing galaxy, 
inspires me to sing hymn of bitter faith
when I wake Spirit of Love in my heart. 

As temporary node of pulsing genes, 
awake in complex brain of memories 
that my ancestors program through each life 
as we evolve from fish to singing god, 
I compose verse for hymn of bitter faith 
that guides me with Lamp of Diogenes. 

Plato defines eternal forms of things 
as changeless patterns in Realm of Ideas, 
defined by Origen and Augustine 
as Heaven where Craftsman God creates things, 
which I explain in hymn of bitter faith 
as linguistic psychology of our brains. 

Material objects that exist in form, 
bound by formal limits of time and space, 
stand out as temporary nodes of thought 
that we express in language of our minds, 
deconstructed by hymn of bitter faith 
that Esdras Liberianus sings in Rome. 

When Satan reigns as Emperor of Earth, 
oppressing common folk with tyranny, 
Spirit of Good Leader, who loves the People, 
incarnates as Jesus, anointed as Christus, 
to fight with truth through hymn of bitter faith, 
whose sons reign as kings for two thousand years. 

Though Jesus is dead, crumbled into dust, 
courageous Spirit of Christ, the Honest Leader, 
incarnates in descendants of his blood 
to reign as popes and kings in Gothinia, 
as chronicled in hymn of bitter faith, 
with mission to conquer the entire world. 

Uniting in one nation under Godin 
Zarathia, Gothinia, and Russia, 
I reign as Emperor of Anglonesia 
with Goddess of Liberty as my guide, 
through principle in hymn of bitter faith 
that humans live as they will, if they harm none. 

Now that my revels on stage of whole Earth 
end with United Nations growing strong, 
I remove mask of Jesus Jupiter 
to melt in baseless fabric of my vision 
from timeless dream in hymn of bitter faith, 
then round my little life with peaceful sleep. 

Apple-Cart Girl

Apple-Cart Girl
© Surazeus
2026 11 11

Eyes sparkling with dawn sun on gold-leaved hills, 
apple-cart girl reaches small slender hand 
among yellow leaves where sly serpents hiss 
and plucks ripe apples from branches of hope, 
filling willow baskets with scarlet fruit 
that glisten bright as blood on full-moon nights. 

Heart aching with sorrow of bitter loss 
when her mother was killed ten years before 
resisting rich man of the market town 
who tried to make her his twenty-third wife, 
apple-cart girl pauses along signless road 
and gazes through tears at the river meadow. 

Broad meadow of low undulating hillocks 
slopes down toward blue Bodincus River shore 
where thousands of winter daffodils bloom 
with star-shaped petals yellow as the sun 
interspersed with magenta cyclamen, 
swarming with hummingbirds and butterflies. 

Ghost of her mother haunts her lonely steps 
as apple-cart girl arrives at the market 
where she rents stall beside the copper smith, 
then softly hums sweet playful melodies 
while people buy apples from Tree of Knowledge 
with bronze coins stamped with face of Saturnus. 

Gazing at bearded face of Saturnus, 
stamped on silver denarius that gleams bright, 
apple-cart girl thinks about her absent father 
who left one winter night when she was nine, 
then flips the coin to observe on the back 
her father crowned by Goddess Victory. 

After selling every apple of her heart, 
apple-cart girl pulls her rickety cart 
through thinning crowd in purple twilight glow, 
but stumbles when front wheel of her cart breaks, 
so she slumps in dry grass of misery 
and cries in shimmer of the rising moon. 

Young man bearing lyre stops before the girl 
and asks, "Junia Pomona, my dear friend, 
why are you weeping over a broken wheel?" 
Smiling as he gives her libum to eat, 
Phoebus repairs broken wheel of her cart, 
then walks beside her on the moonlit road. 

Pausing by meadow of gold daffodils, 
Pomona and Phoebus gaze at the river, 
then build four-pillared fane from fallen logs, 
and sit by glowing fire in ring of stones 
till he confesses his love, and they kiss 
while ghost of her mother beams with delight. 

Roadless Anywhere Of Why

Roadless Anywhere Of Why
© Surazeus
2026 11 10

Approaching crossroads of one thousand worlds, 
I search for truths concealed on blatant lies 
till I see faces that mirror my face 
with ideal shape of God in glowing cloud 
so I invent new language for my soul 
to sing about long journey of my heart. 

Alone in silence of the everywhere 
that vibrates from core of the jagged hill, 
I sing with wordless hum of timeless wind 
that transforms into trees who hear my voice 
so they call me with name of river waves 
that wakes me from strange dream of ardent hope. 

I find my voice in bottom of the sea 
then give my voice to desert waste of sand 
while I tread roadless anywhere of why 
with grace of shadows beamed from faceless clouds 
that wander free among tall trees of fruit 
till I find cave of silence in my heart. 

Awake in silver exactness of fate, 
with no preconceptions of who I am, 
unmisted by brave love of mountain peaks, 
I meditate on strangeness of my Self 
who knows true nature of my secret being 
though I am shapeless gloom of midnight thought. 

I search depths of the sea for my blank mind 
so I can place it back among the stars 
that fall as rain to fill my trembling hands 
with mute completeness of my urgent angst 
when I drown in bright pool of everything 
and rise reborn as ancient crone of faith. 

Unburdened by despair of fallen pride, 
I lounge by river of still-flowing light 
to watch the dead come down from clouds to drink 
till my heart shimmers empty of blind rage 
that leaves me floating on moon-silver air 
without black raven wings of bitterness. 

Time unspools threads of mountains into trees 
that transform into humans with wolf eyes 
who run through shadows of demonic woods 
to build stone walls on hilltop of concern 
where I keep watch in tower of respect 
till I become vast web of humming stars. 

I wander roadless anywhere of why 
to understand the vastness of our globe, 
forever forward toward the setting sun 
by racing chariot on the windy plain 
till I soar high on silver wings of joy 
and fly airplane among bright godless clouds. 

Hang Out On The River Shore

Hang Out On The River Shore
© Surazeus
2026 11 10

I never hang out on the river shore 
like my ancestors did millions of years, 
gathering fruit from trees full of fierce snakes, 
fishing from rivers full of crocodiles, 
and huddling in caves we dig from hillsides 
where we eat and sing around the bright fire. 

Though I spend all day at my office desk, 
mapping features with geospatial software 
that depict the infrastructure of towns, 
such as buildings where people live and work, 
and roads where people drive cars back and forth, 
I long to hang out on the river shore. 

While sitting in office with door and window, 
where people walk by sunrise to sunset, 
I imagine how my ancestors lived 
in small pillared homes on the river shore 
where they performed daily routines of life 
gathering food from bounty of the Earth. 

I want to carve wood from trees into planks 
so I can build the house that shelters us, 
and build the wagon that carries our goods, 
and build the boat that transports our frail souls 
to grand temple where tribes from every vale 
gather to feast at sacred festivals. 

I want to chronicle in epic tale 
normal people of prehistoric times 
who go about routines of daily life 
without fighting each other in harsh wars 
over whose mortal leader will play god 
to found dynasties of national rulers. 

Every god recorded in ancient tales, 
and deified in grand religious myths, 
were normal people struggling to survive 
who performed great deeds protecting their tribe, 
fighting against oppressors with strong courage 
so normal people may live in calm peace. 

Some days I want to leave the office calm, 
pause mapping features of our complex world, 
and hang out on the river shore again 
to feel breeze of timeless faith kiss my soul 
so I recall all my ancestral lives 
that program how my brain perceives this world. 

I want to fish, and gather eggs from nests, 
arrange stones in small circle to spark flames 
on which I roast lamb stew with herbs and spices, 
press apples into cider with cinnamon, 
to feast in endless twilight of the world, 
then sing my epic tale of human progress. 

Buy The Bankrupt Farm

Buy The Bankrupt Farm
© Surazeus
2026 11 10

As I decay through process of old age, 
Brian mumbles while driving to his office, 
the more hungry Death haunts my torpid footsteps 
the more strange urge to howl beautiful songs 
swells up from pulsing passion of my heart, 
yet I hunch mute in cubicle of fear. 

Hope for my children to attain success 
through programming template of education 
depends on financial support I provide 
through daily ritual of analysis 
that I perform in vast corporate machine 
investing in production of more food. 

Trapped in the endless round of give and take 
through which organic creatures thrive till death, 
our fragile atomic bodies require 
constant consumption of material forms 
to maintain function of the dreaming brain 
which emanates glow of our divine soul. 

I cannot find great wisdom of the saints, 
Brian smirks as he rides the elevator, 
in this cluttered world of material forms 
that change in constant swirls of energy, 
so I understand why vision of Heaven 
deceives us with hope of life beyond death. 

Instead of accepting that we are nodes 
for temporary shapes of molecules, 
arranged to maintain function of the brain, 
so many humans desperately believe 
that through faith we attain sweet afterlife 
as reward for suffering of this vain life. 

How pleasant to imagine paradise 
as broad lush hills watered by sparkling streams 
where we may wander all day in sweet bliss, 
consuming fruit from fertile Tree of Life 
while singing hymns of praise in endless choirs, 
this dream based on ancient history. 

Our vision of Heaven as garden of fruit 
preserves actual events of our lost past 
when we dwelled in thriving communities 
of homes with gardens of delicious food 
that bloom along rivers of peaceful joy, 
ruled by the River God everyone trusts. 

Compiling reports of profit and loss 
from grocery stores in towns across the land, 
Brian types letters on computer screen, 
then gazes out small window at the city, 
and wonders how much money he can save 
to buy the bankrupt farm his father lost. 

Raven Quill Of Faith

Raven Quill Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 11 09

Amazed at beauty of this messy world, 
I write my dreams with raven quill of faith 
so they sprout wings and fly in glowing clouds 
which leaves me wandering in the Brooding Wood 
where children of my body never born 
leap around me and mock me till I laugh. 

Annoyed at suffering people must endure, 
I code weird spells with raven quill of faith 
to reprogram how our brains perceive the world 
of complex forms, composed of molecules, 
through scientific framework that predicts 
effects resulting from proactive cause. 

Inspired by pleasure we experience, 
I weave new myths with raven quill of faith 
to name the humble people of our world, 
who perform daily rituals with calm hope, 
as heroes whose deeds support global state 
which nurtures every person with brave love. 

Confused by cruel lie of the afterlife, 
I design creed with raven quill of faith 
that describes with accurate formulas 
essential nature of atomic change 
transforming bodies of quick chemicals 
through vibrant radiance of our conscious minds. 

Entranced by mercurial music of fear, 
I compose tunes with raven quill of faith 
that spark Prime Ghost at heart of spinning Earth 
with potent passion of firm self-control 
which channels flash of electricity 
through spiral coil of genes inside my brain. 

Enriched by wisdom children sing in play, 
I draft star hall with raven quill of faith 
from architectural concept of the brain 
enwoven in clusters of galaxies 
that aggregate zillions of globes with life 
as God Soul glowing in organic brains. 

Alarmed by laughter of gods in glass banks, 
I sketch Star Queen with raven quill of faith 
whose soul embodies spirit of respect, 
bright shining with compassion of her heart, 
when we vote for her to rule as seer of trust 
global institution of thought control. 

Amused by haughty pride of greedy fools, 
I craft great law with raven quill of faith 
that guarantees equal justice for all 
so we live as we will, if we harm none, 
since we design our fate with every choice 
that we express through psychic verse of love. 

Triumph Of Calm Emptiness

Triumph Of Calm Emptiness
© Surazeus
2026 11 09

I float awake on river of the dawn 
with savage avarice of holy faith 
urging me to emulate lust of light 
that ravishes my soul with eerie tunes 
of water rippling with splendor of love 
that swells compassion from my aching heart. 

How often my astonished heart awakes 
from shocking tenderness of flashing waves 
when I emerge from absolute despair 
to watch bright laurel leaves of innocence 
mimic dominance of butterfly wings 
that lift me far above this heavy shore. 

Shocked by serene exaltation of wind 
that whispers ancient knowledge in tree leaves, 
I seek arcane meaning of pulsing fruit 
that helps me remember names of the dead 
whose faces shimmer on the morning moon 
at bleak dominion of enchanted snow. 

Asserting triumph of calm emptiness, 
embraced by beauty of the absolute, 
my heart ascends on wings of victory 
at voiceless sorrow of brave endurance 
since I abide in loneness of the all 
that wraps my nothingness in shapeless whole. 

Taut string of math-empowered particles, 
defined by strict relationship of thought 
to sensuous enchantment of bright rain, 
vibrates with solid waves of ardency 
through sacrament of misunderstood spells 
that bears us on river of divine love. 

With intimate attention to sound waves 
on which our souls of desire undulate, 
we abandon hope to intricate flow 
that deconstructs rhymed meter of regret 
so we identify with ache of love 
that marks each phase of passion we transcend. 

Enchanted by strange spell of melody 
that reassembles fragments of our dreams 
from phantasmagoria of intense love 
through spiritual integrity we share, 
our bodies pulse with corresponding truths 
that bloom inside vast hollow of the heart. 

We move with majestic uncertainty 
through sensual curtains of absurdity 
to spark ambition of brave energy 
so we transcend all mountains of desire 
when we attain perfection of respect 
to row boat of faith past oblivion. 

Veiled By Beautiful Lies

Veiled By Beautiful Lies
© Surazeus
2026 11 09

We follow strict routes of our daily lives 
with our wild minds veiled by beautiful lies, 
Tristan declares with flame-hot meteor voice, 
so we create our fate with every choice 
when we exercise force of our free will 
that always leads me to apple tree hill. 

Two men with guns follow his fading trail 
with earnest intention to never fail 
when they set out to capture faceless ghost 
who relives drama of Paradise Lost 
by limping wounded on the dusty plain 
after leaping from the fast-moving train. 

Gray shadow of his first featureless face 
gleams on television screen without trace 
since he becomes the new romantic horse 
who trains forty years to master the Force, 
then goes on mission to defeat the clown 
who steals gold version of the thorny crown. 

Turning the large glass television off, 
Tristan decides to ignore mocking scoff 
expressed by painted warrior on the wall, 
then floats outside at the wild raven call 
that shatters silence of the Texas heat 
radiating from fence-wired fields of wheat. 

Walking routes of his summer afternoon, 
Tristan passes red-brick church of the moon 
where thieves in suits calculate cash they scam 
from faithful believers in the I Am 
who hides in glow-clouds with nothing to say 
to wounded people who desperately pray. 

Building starship shaped like plastic pen cap, 
Tristan soars swiftly to escape the trap 
set by the power-obsessed god Voltar, 
while riding in the red Volkswagen car 
to swim with elves in the dam-informed lake 
where he suddenly becomes more awake. 

Observing quotidian nature of hope, 
through which we find simple methods to cope, 
Tristan draws weird image of the next phase 
our bodies may evolve to map the maze 
where he evades cruel demons in foul mood 
to live safely free in the Brooding Wood. 

Resurrected with soul of Lazarus, 
Tristan flies far on wings of Icarus 
so he can play grand role of Lucifer 
while wearing crystal mask of Jupiter 
when he journeys from ruins of Babylon 
to build world empire from lush Oregon. 

Anthology Of Dream Code

Anthology Of Dream Code
© Surazeus
2026 11 08

Whatever I inherit from the dead 
transforms into books no one wants to read, 
so I decide to walk the neighborhood 
which always puts me in a better mood 
to edit anthology of dream code 
dictated to me by the moon-eyed toad. 

Entranced by beauty of the river stone, 
that glimmers as heart of the princess clone, 
I scrub my wounded heart till it seems clean 
as polished steel gears of the time machine, 
but all my efforts seem to be in vain 
when pages of my books dissolve in rain. 

Transcendent zero woven from dream math 
reformulates fortune spilled by sweet wrath 
from secret agony of mindless faith 
designed by mirror wisdom of the wraith 
who still decides that I resemble both 
thief and giver, tricked to accept my oath. 

Defunded program of the psychic lab 
provides training for soul-painters who dab 
enough paint to depict our spinning globe, 
ruled by star woman in long scarlet robe 
who conquers Heaven with the howling mob, 
then appoints me as provincial nawab. 

When I transfer bright spirit of the star 
to possess computer of the quick car, 
my mother gets stuck in the kitchen door, 
so I find Cailleach on the misty moor 
who teaches me how to manage my fear 
when I enter Salem on the White Deer. 

After I explore Earth in crystal boat 
to trade magic ring for the prancing goat, 
I compose formula to calculate 
progressive way to design my own fate 
through each decision, whether wrong or right, 
that I make to enhance my divine light. 

Cleansing my soul in the waterfall 
that binds my body through electric ball, 
I encode secret of life in weird spell 
that conjures serpent runes from the brain well 
so I climb sunbaked peak of the skull hill 
where I insist on process of free will. 

Just as I think I understand the mind, 
that functions to reveal truth to the blind, 
I find myself unfound in Wonderland 
with Melusine who wears our wedding band 
which proves her right to rule our crowded land 
that flourishes from gesture of the hand. 

Always Voyage To Cythera

Always Voyage To Cythera
© Surazeus
2026 11 08

I wish I could find solace in how waves 
extract sharp thorn of sorrow from my heart 
yet leaves me bleeding on beach of despair 
so I wonder what words mean anymore 
as I spiral in vast abyss of stars 
what whisper thoughts of time-expanding hope. 

Grass consumes frail bodies of dead ghosts 
whose hands engrave their names on temple walls 
where vultures feast on the sacrificed god 
since Destiny is shaper of the Will 
through choices we express in devious words 
that trap us tangled in our fantasies. 

Complex creed of our socialized beliefs 
are bright illusions of our blinded eyes 
that guide our steps along the rocky shores 
of furious islands in fabulous seas 
where shipwrecked refugees build world empire 
on tale of the girl who steals fruit from snakes. 

Stuck as demon in the windowless realm 
of my imagination without walls, 
I wear gold mask of the sacrificed god 
to play his role in pageant of our state 
till snow-capped volcano explodes in flames 
that unravel secrets of dreamless brains. 

Thus I always voyage to Cythera 
where Sirens dance in sudden flash of rain 
so I can shelter in the temple hall 
since glass typewriter of Orpheus waits 
for me to chronicle current events 
through complex account of our search for truth. 

Across infinitude of stable air 
I dare explore realm of false parables 
with stubborn honesty woven from pain 
till I know myself as frail human being 
whose heart reflects in mirror of my eyes 
concept of God people project at me. 

White blood on tearless stones of honesty 
reveals source of torrential attitude 
that fuels my journey to the Promised Land 
where I rebuild grand temple of the god 
whose name is lost from books of history 
except as shadow on the grass at dawn. 

Groomed mightier than death from ecstasy, 
my heart is canonized by myth of love 
when I become the heavenless undone 
by grim assertion death requires I prove, 
so I float nameless in slow surging tide 
till wings of Icarus grow from my heart. 

Dizzy Absolute Of Why

Dizzy Absolute Of Why
© Surazeus
2026 11 08

In empty houses where nothing takes place, 
people wanting to play heroes in tales, 
carved on mountain cliffs with demonic claws, 
move back and forth in tandem with the clock 
that unwinds nuclear laughter of dead hearts 
who wait by roller-coaster of regret. 

In torn images from news magazines 
her finger traces shadows of dead gods 
disguised as angels wearing masks of glass 
who stare with contempt at the camera 
that fails to capture essence of the soul 
at bitter moment of forgotten lust. 

Exhausted on the church roof of false faith, 
he transforms into thriving swan of lust 
who chases chaste maid on the interstate 
till she opposes brute austerity 
and frees her body from his fractured eyes 
long into midnight of no tolling bells. 

No gods on swirling clouds of bold intent 
call down to fragile humans sick with hope, 
yet they assemble in the stone-walled church 
to pray with fervent faith to glowing clouds 
from which no savior on angelic wings 
beams from his crystal starship of concern. 

Ignoring grief that poisons her soft heart 
with fragments of surviving memories 
as frantic action that obscures with words 
pure face of light that God wears everywhere 
as soundless scream from buzzing limbs of trees, 
she stands in dizzy absolute of why. 

Unsettled horror of calm innocence 
provides new motivation from his heart 
to spin on wild arms at cliff edge of fate 
to prove he is survivor of strange love 
gone bravely beyond walls of paradise 
because he runs forever on the plain. 

Accepting that he is the traveler 
who knows all highways back to Neverland, 
he hides his soul on tattered map of fate 
to ask the stranger in each passing town 
if they remember mockery of the clown 
who now pretends to rule the world with love. 

Through motions of her body in cold air 
that vibrates canorous tune of despair, 
she walks with Phoenix grace of wordless hope 
to find the empty house of mountain light 
where ghosts of children call her secret name 
till she embraces Death with gentle kiss. 

Sunlight Of Forever Now

Sunlight Of Forever Now
© Surazeus
2026 11 08

I walk in sunlight of forever now, 
heart filled with ravens of excessive joy 
which helps me feel vibrations of desire 
from pulsing brains of humans seeking love 
with fierce ambition to regenerate 
fragile bodies of flesh before we die. 

I sing in sunlight of forever now 
with heart-piercing tune of mercurial voice 
that startles people awake from their trance 
induced by ideological hypnosis 
so they can see this real world as is, 
and not distorted through religious lens. 

I dance in sunlight of forever now 
with Dionysian passion of the heart 
to break free from constraints of social rules 
that trap our bodies in duties of state 
so we can flow with energy of love 
we channel through weird spells of faith we chant. 

I trace in sunlight of forever now 
with Apollonian logic of the mind 
to bind excessive chaos of regret 
with wealth-producing rituals of design 
so we create strict urban zone of good 
fueled by fierce passion of the suffering heart. 

I watch in sunlight of forever now 
progress of whole material forms that grow 
from seed of rich potential to transform 
through intense training of assertive faith 
from frightened children to brave warriors, 
seasoned by experience fighting for freedom. 

I swim in sunlight of forever now 
from resurrection of the apple tree 
that teaches me hard art of how to die 
by living with brave passion of respect 
through endless labyrinth of faceless gods 
who sprout from tree that grows from book of tales. 

I stretch in sunlight of forever now 
to fan new wings I bought from Icarus 
because I want to fly above world maze 
and map life-path of every living soul 
so I can understand what people want 
who seek to incarnate before they die. 

I play in sunlight of forever now 
another game of chess against grim Death 
who laughs at all my clueless vain attempts 
to save the suffering soul from guilt of Hell 
since we construct vast empires to our glory 
only to vanish in the Nothingness. 

Then The Prophet Comes

Then The Prophet Comes
© Surazeus
2026 11 08

Unlicensed by power of the Glow Cloud 
to prophesy rise of the Hidden Dragon, 
Phoebus declares himself Messiah Sleuth 
with insight in the nature of the mind 
to organize all people of the land 
in new empire of productive success. 

Yet people gathered in the city square 
cry out with anguish of the hungry soul 
for assurance from voice of the Glow Cloud 
that the lives they live have not been in vain, 
for all we build will crumble into dust 
and our souls dissipate in voiceless wind. 

Standing alone on the pyramid plat, 
too high above the people of the land 
to clearly hear the visions of their hopes, 
mad Midas screams in rage at little folk 
that they should worship him as Golden God, 
till they drag him down from his lofty perch. 

Lead by Minerva with Longinus Spear, 
brave people of the land with hungry hearts 
throw mad King Midas on the heap of trash 
where he writhes in anguish of his bitter pride, 
consumed by flames of greed in hot Sheol 
that erases his tyranny from Earth. 

The Spirit of the Good Leader, who loves 
ambition of the individual soul, 
and nurtures innate talents into skills, 
migrates from body to body of men 
chosen by wise Craftsman of the Blue Sky 
to embody leadership of the state. 

The Spirit of the Bad Leader, who hates 
self-reliance of the individual soul, 
and exploits strength of labor to gain wealth, 
migrates from body to body of men 
chosen by cruel Mimic of the Gold Cave 
to embody selfishness of the fool. 

Though individual prophets and tyrants, 
who appear in endless tides of events 
that undulate through history of mankind, 
vanish in the progress of life and death, 
new prophets and tyrants will always rise 
to replay fight of Christ and Anti-Christ. 

When the cruel tyrant claws his way up 
to reign with hate on Pyramid of Power, 
the people tremble in fear from his rage 
till spark of hope erupts from oppressed hearts 
and fires rebellion against tyranny, 
then the prophet comes to build democracy. 

Mango Trees Of Jigawa

Mango Trees Of Jigawa
© Surazeus
2026 11 07

To store dreams in magazine of her brain 
Anyanwu glides along the river shore, 
heart swelling with joy at the jaunty chirp 
of black-winged Ibadan malimbe birds 
that causes her to become one with light 
though men in helicopters shoot at ghosts. 

Watching soccer game on the flashing screen 
when girls of her nation win the world cup, 
Anyanwu cheers and dances with delight 
at courage of the human soul to fight 
for victory against decay of death 
by kicking ball of sorrow at the sky. 

I am Eyes of God in this mortal realm, 
Anyanwu sings while strumming long Garaya, 
who dreams this world alive so She may know 
complex emotions of the pulsing brain 
that powers passion of the mortal heart 
to savor pleasure of romance and fruit. 

Taking shelter from sudden thunder storm 
beneath canopy of Iroko trees, 
Anyanwu breathes sweet scent of rain in mud 
that radiates from broad fields of tangled vines, 
then gasps surprised to see the crocodile 
transform into tall man with slender arms. 

Astonished at grace of his lithe advance 
when he offers mango of his bruised heart, 
Anyanwu accepts gift of humble hope, 
so she decides to walk the signless road 
with him through steamy marsh of the God Toad 
whose song excites her heart with love for life. 

Returning to work at the hospital, 
dressed in white uniform of the staff nurse, 
Anyanwu tends patients wounded by war 
when men fight men over whose god is real, 
then wears ivory masked gilded with gold 
while she plays violin on bomb-blasted tank. 

Glowing warm with cosmic light of the sun, 
that distributes life to organic bodies, 
Anyanwu dances on the river stone 
free among mango trees of Jigawa 
which capture solar rays in golden fruit 
that nurture minds of mortals with pure love. 

Suckling new-born son of her fertile heart, 
whose eyes gleam black with unlight of the moon, 
Anyanwu sees reflected in his soul 
all her ancestors born again in flesh, 
so she sings tale of the trickster god Gizo 
who appears as spider with star-god eyes. 

Lost In Nowhere Land

Lost In Nowhere Land
© Surazeus
2026 11 07

Lost in nowhere land of excessive faith, 
Godwulf mops classroom floors of the high school 
at midnight when vampires and ghosts haunt hearts 
of teenagers seeking to understand 
intense desire to regenerate bodies 
from tangled memories of divine genes. 

Lost in nowhere land of expensive hope, 
Godwulf wanders past crowded biker bars 
to buy sub sandwich with tuna and cheese, 
then sits on park bench by deserted church 
with stones that flash from garish neon signs 
while he thinks about how wagons are made. 

Lost in nowhere land of progressive trust, 
Godwulf hears loud angry voice of some man 
insulting his wife with contemptuous snark, 
but when he beats her on the head with rage 
something swells from passion of his heart 
so he knocks her abuser to the ground. 

Lost in nowhere land of abundant courage, 
Godwulf fights the man abusing his wife 
till police arrive with guns in their hands 
so he tells them he is the caped crusader 
protecting women from abusive men, 
but young policeman shoots him in the back. 

Lost in nowhere land of artistic vibe, 
Godwulf lies on his back on wet cement 
and stares through branches of the maple tree 
to contemplate architecture of stars 
that weave life on planets from threads of light 
in organic creatures with throbbing brains. 

Lost in nowhere land of corporate clowns, 
Godwulf leaves hospital after three months 
recovering from the bullet in his back, 
but finds that he is no longer employed, 
so he applies to work as the janitor 
at the bank that forecloses mortgages. 

Lost in nowhere land of explicit love, 
Godwulf sits all day on the polished bench 
before city hall with eagle on top 
of its dome which spreads golden wings of pride, 
and panhandles for money to buy food, 
then sleeps behind the library at night. 

Lost in nowhere land of mercurial fame, 
Godwulf goes to the Pegasus Cafe 
every Wednesday night to read poetry 
with fragments of ancestral memories 
about the fractured paradigm of life, 
then wanders mute along the river shore 
till he transforms into turtle of truth. 

Born In Hyrcanian Hills

Born In Hyrcanian Hills
© Surazeus
2026 11 07

With supple laughter of the diamond hawk 
Arcadius opens golden doors of fate 
to gaze upon vast city of his hope 
that teems with people who see him as god 
who walks in human form on fragile Earth, 
but weeps behind the golden mask he wears. 

For that is how I imagine he feels, 
Petrus explains to the wolf by his side 
as they stroll mountain meadow to acquire 
diamonds from dark mine of the Underworld 
where thousands of people enslaved with chains 
extract stars from heart of darkness with rage. 

If we keep time-leaping long centuries 
between established points in the timeline, 
Arcadius complains to the faceless clown, 
I might miss how great empires are designed 
on strict hierarchical structure of power 
based on mortal man who plays role of god. 

Driving his pickup truck back to the farm, 
with sacks of feed for horses in the field, 
Petrus sings along with the country song 
about how love is burning ring of fire 
that fuels our passion to transcend dark hour 
with Dionysian dance in pouring rain. 

Aiming rifle at the tall man in black 
who robs state banks that foreclose on our farms 
and leaves hardworking farmers destitute, 
Arcadius questions purpose of the law 
designed to help the rich exploit the poor 
against the principles that Jesus taught. 

Concerned about high price of gasoline 
that fuels his tractor for harvesting grain, 
Petrus decides to run as governor 
against son of the banker in gray suit 
who buys foreclosed farmland at auction cheap, 
but gets drunk while fishing after he loses. 

Stopping his car on highway by the lake, 
Arcadius sees some man fall from his boat, 
so he swims to the middle of the dark lake 
and drags Petrus back to the pebbled beach 
where he tries to transform into the wolf 
whose spirit was born in Hyrcanian Hills. 

Though I had been crowned the first emperor 
to rule eastern Rome from Byzantium, 
Arcadius smiles for broadcast cameras, 
today I am honored with all my heart 
that the great people of Zarathia 
have chosen me to reign as President.