Fairyland States Of Zarathia

Fairyland States Of Zarathia
© Surazeus
2026 06 13

As psychotic elite who rule the world 
from Fairyland States of Zarathia, 
we record spells of the heartless Mermaid 
from old riddles of her Three-Legged Crow 
to publish prophecies of faceless gods 
performed by Oberon on the Late Show. 

Working late in East Wing of the Black House 
in Fairyland States of Zarathia, 
Titania develops social programs 
designed to help mothers raise children well, 
but Midas bulldozes her office suite 
so he can build a Winter Palace Ballroom. 

Returning home on tattered wings of faith 
to Fairyland States of Zarathia, 
Icarus founds start-up tech company 
that ploys artificial intelligence 
to automate tedious business tasks 
which garners wealth for man in the glass mask. 

Nontoxic masculinity of faith 
through Fairyland States of Zarathia 
contrives mental recipes of fraught faith 
from bland conviction social rules require 
for sorting souls by color of their skin 
against creed of Heaven death nullifies. 

Campaigning to become next President 
of Fairyland States of Zarathia, 
Oberon journeys to the mountain cave 
where Saint Fillan convinces the wild wolf 
to plow fields of wheat in place of the ox 
because the farmer is the key to wealth. 

Marsh orchids blooming purple from lush hills 
in Fairyland States of Zarathia, 
give courage to lost refugees of war 
afflicted by gang of cruel oligarchs, 
so they smuggle ginger wine into Hell 
where they dance on corpse of the fallen tyrant. 

Driven from Hibernia by dream thieves 
to Fairyland States of Zarathia, 
we wander signless road of nowhere else 
because we never find the Promised Land, 
so we build amusement park Wonderland 
where wingless angels pretend they can fly. 

Unlocked gates of technological Heaven 
in Fairyland States of Zarathia 
expose collectible memories we share 
as mass delusion of national pride 
when we experience television shows 
to celebrate birthday of our lost empire. 

Winding Road Of Change

Winding Road Of Change
© Surazeus
2026 06 12

When I am ready for the leap of faith 
from crumbling tower of religious hope 
I spread wings I borrow from Icarus 
and wonder with amazement of mute awe 
why I am me and no one else alive, 
then lean against the balustrade and sigh. 

Solaria beams rays of holy light 
through web of branches in the Tree of Life 
to luminate deep cavern of my heart 
where wise demon of my genetic soul 
conducts analysis of social vibes 
so I navigate vast maze of myths well. 

Telluria molds genes of memories 
from tangled vines of innocent desire, 
transforming body of material flesh 
four hundred million years from fish to god 
that programs how my mind perceives the world 
so I generate life before I die. 

Venturia breathes whole ethereal soul 
through brave pneumatic gust of energy 
which animates my body of frail flesh 
with compassion of visionary hope 
that flashes conscious sense of secret self 
so I sense cosmic God wake in my brain. 

Thalassia swirls waves of timeless faith 
across courageous landscape of my heart 
which motivates ambitious quest for truth 
that drives my progress on the road of life 
to conserve stories of human exploits 
in chronicles of failure and success. 

Saturnus wakes my spirit from strange dream 
and guides my way on winding road of change 
to navigate confusing maze of ghosts 
so I find broken lyre of Mercurius 
that he designed six thousand years ago 
from turtle shell and strings of aching love. 

Apollon finds me tangled in despair 
so he frees my heart from lustful desire 
by teaching my voice to manipulate 
images of feeling with words of thought 
so I transcend greed with selfless concern 
when I articulate soul of mankind. 

As wingless angel born from womb of Earth, 
I crawl from sea along river of hope, 
climb generous Tree of Life to eat fruit, 
then follow river to Mountain of Truth 
where I map history of humanity 
as we strive to transcend despair with love. 

Who You Journey With

Who You Journey With
© Surazeus
2026 06 12

Who you journey with on rough road of life 
is far more important than where you go, 
so I keep you within scope of my eyes 
with attentive care to our circumstance 
to ensure your precious spirit is safe 
while I gather fresh fruit for you to eat. 

When Juturna finds creek of clear cold water 
trickling in thick woods between rugged hills, 
she follows sparkle of light into gloom 
till she finds spring that fountains from dark earth, 
so she proclaims to Janus with sweet voice 
that she has now found their forever home. 

Calling out to her mother, Rumina, 
older woman with long hair and green eyes, 
Juturna guides her to the fountain grove 
where they rest in shade of the broad fig tree 
as Janus plucks sweet fruit for them to eat, 
then brings them water in new turtle shells. 

Janus builds temple beside broad fig tree 
with oak for foundation of the firm floor, 
four silver firs as columns for roof beams, 
and cypress for walls and two sturdy doors, 
around stone hearth that preserves flame of light 
where Juturna and Rumina cook meals. 

When Juturna exclaims two cows are gone, 
Janus and their son Quirinus grab wands 
and track the cows to large bone-littered cave 
where the grim giant Cacus snarls in rage, 
so while Janus distracts him with sharp spear 
Quirinus leaps on his back with thick vine. 

After strangling greedy Cacus to death, 
Quirinus explores dark cave with bright lamp 
where he finds large diamond that glitters clear 
as ice-white silver moon on winter nights, 
so they bear it back to their temple home  
where Janus sets it firm on altar stone. 

Gazing deep in crystal sphere of pure light, 
Juturna sings verse of oracle spells 
describing visions she sees with her mind 
how the first flash flares forth from the big bang 
so threads of sparkling light form spinning globe 
from which gods and humans spring into life. 

When pregnant Juturna goes into labor, 
Rumina attends process of childbirth, 
then washes the new-born girl clean with care, 
so while Juturna nurses her with love 
Janus bestows name Carmenta with pride 
and gazes in eyes of his reborn mother. 

Persistence Of Secret Love

Persistence Of Secret Love
© Surazeus
2026 06 11

I call out to dark shadow on the shore, 
thinking they must be somebody I know, 
but they have never existed in time, 
mind designed with fear-automated gears 
that wind our mouths with beams of earnest light, 
reckless with persistence of secret love. 

If I should offer pessimistic codes 
without bitterness through security 
for industrial passion of eager hearts 
with expeditious game of narratives, 
I may voice constant struggles to transcend 
thematic alarm of personal faith. 

Larger forces in our shared catastrophe 
render masters of sloganeering tricks 
responsible for scouring observations 
designed to model how we weigh our worth 
when we inhabit avatars of faith 
against diminishment of miracles. 

Aghast at framing device angels use 
to change trajectory of mutant ploys, 
I gaze in gleam of well water with goal 
to measure firmament of splendid souls 
who precede cosmic fixture of old fruit 
in harmony with psychic consequence. 

Thus I invert heavens with casual stance 
in potent reversal of separateness 
through isolation of our frantic hearts 
to find divine spirit of clarion faith 
in subterranean space of pulsing brains 
where we shelter in place from foul disease. 

Set on evading fraught taxonomy 
through calm bewilderment of honesty, 
I tally inventory of my dreams 
to comprehend rich treasures I possess 
while trudging dusty road of jagged thoughts 
as mordant observer of ardent faith. 

I taste cathedral stone of elegy 
amid debris of crumbling tapestries 
that shroud hope-wrecked cars in junkyard of faith 
to weep for poisoned land of brutal truth 
that foils green memory of warm sun 
calibrated with moral questions of fate. 

Safe on mixed-grass prairie of humble pride, 
I build new kingdom of wind in the heart 
that converts veritable floating ark 
of nameless creatures writhing in my heart 
so I broadcast signal of wordless songs 
that roots my body as idol of faith. 

Ruined Temple Of Diana

Ruined Temple Of Diana
© Surazeus
2026 06 11

Today I am so happy being alive 
that I forget to shout at the Blue Sky 
about the problems humans cause each other 
till I remember nobody is up there, 
so I walk around streets of Rome to visit 
Basilica of Santa Prudentiana. 

Disgusted with the life I used to lead, 
tricking people with scams to steal their money, 
I rename myself after Novatus, 
then journey to Lake Nemi that gleams blue 
to sit by ruined Temple of Diana 
and weep for the loss of beautiful souls. 

When eerie voice of sorrowful desire 
rings through dark forest of the eyeless wolf, 
I walk toward mysterious grove that glows 
with solemn anguish of the fallen angel 
who sings with aching wisdom of the stars 
about the man who sacrificed his soul. 

Willing to die for the people he loves, 
Prudentiana sings in gold moonlight, 
the honest leader who came from the stars 
nurtures every person with tender care 
so we develop talents into skills 
instead of enslaving us for his gain. 

When I see three men with sharp spears and chains 
grab Prudentiana with hands of lust, 
and drag her toward their wagon cage of slaves, 
I pick up shark rocks from the river shore, 
whistle as I toss them high in the air 
that whack them with my wand of liberty. 

After cracking skulls of slavers with rocks, 
I unlock wagon cage and set slaves free 
who fall to their bruised knees with gratitude 
and proclaim me savior sent down by Zeus, 
then beg me to play shepherd of their clan, 
so we journey forth to the Promised Land. 

Rebuilding ruined Temple of Diana 
with stones we haul from hill of granite cliffs, 
we reinstate rituals of daily life, 
tending gardens of herbs and herds of sheep, 
with Prudentiana, our clever leader, 
performing role of Domina Silvarum. 

Gathered at round table heaped with good food, 
we celebrate success of our new venture, 
former slaves working rich communal farm, 
as Lucina brings light and pitcher of juice, 
so I strum lyre of Mercury and sing 
that spirit of God lives in every heart. 

Ruthless Winners Like Me

Ruthless Winners Like Me
© Surazeus
2026 06 10

Time has no frantic pace I can discern 
that leaves all mortals in cold graves of faith, 
so I race headlong toward high peak of fame 
in desperate contest to achieve success 
above all other losers on this globe 
whose skulls crumble to dust beside my own. 

Long tedious days crowd endless short years 
with daily contests to gather more wealth 
than competitors in shadowy woods 
who pray to faceless spirit in the clouds 
to grant them random luck of generous fate 
while I hoard food in cold castle of stone. 

Ignoring cries of homeless refugees, 
driven from rich lands by laws I decree 
that river-nourished woods are mine alone, 
granted divine right to gather and hunt 
for secret treasures of bountiful Earth, 
I lounge in tower with coffers of plunder. 

Though hungry hordes of rebellious fools 
clamor desperately at gates of my Heaven 
with revolutionary fervor of blind rage 
that I gain power through law over land 
to defeat them in chess game against death, 
I sip sweet wine and dine on roast beef steak. 

While they beat drums and pipe with Bacchic frenzy 
beneath electric horror of the moon, 
I strum gold strings of the elegant harp 
and chant harmonious hymns of reverence 
to praise Lord God whose frank benevolence 
has blessed me with wit to pilfer their wealth. 

Removed from teeming crowds of vagrant churls 
who cry for justice to the empty sky 
for infernal judgment against my power, 
I fund their passage on mercantile ships 
across stormy sea of indifference 
to slave on my farms in the colonies. 

Ruled by harsh law of the grim wilderness, 
that those who are stronger and wiser win 
in brutal battle of wits to control 
religious narrative of the whole state 
based on systemic privilege of wealth, 
this world honors ruthless winners like me. 

So though our nameless skulls sit side by side 
on lightless shelf in cathedral of faith, 
as if we are equals in realm of death, 
I stamped my name on grand buildings and laws 
in legal framework that enforces power 
of my descendants to exploit your own. 

Simple Life Of Solitude

Simple Life Of Solitude
© Surazeus
2026 06 10

I shall go out to field of tangled briars 
to build myself small hut from bones of birds, 
and there with brave attention of the wind 
begin grand process of devouring myself, 
so I may gaze with passion of the oak 
at image of my soul in Walden Pond. 

Lounging on front porch of the small wood cabin, 
which they erected beside Walden Pond, 
Henry Thoreau and his walking companion, 
William Channing, sip hot herbal tisanes 
that they brew from pine needles and mint, 
and chat about philosophy of life. 

Because the complex rituals of our lives 
are frittered away by involved details 
that lure our progress into labyrinths 
of trivial necessity through care, 
we must eradicate tangled obligations 
and simplify slate of our daily tasks. 

If one man who follows preordained paths, 
assigned by social duty of his state, 
cannot keep strict pace with his companions, 
perhaps he hears beat of another drummer, 
so let him step to music which he hears 
however boldly measured or far away. 

Thus I proceed with confidence of faith 
in clear direction of my secret dreams 
to live this simple life of solitude 
that I imagine while I ponder fate, 
for the great characteristic of wisdom 
is to abstain from doing desperate things. 

When I observe human society 
I see thousands hacking at branches of evil, 
while one who sees what he is looking for 
strikes at deep roots of selfish greed and hate 
that foments strife through jealousy and fear 
with action that obstructs destructive deeds. 

However mean and poor your life may seem, 
meet circumstance with passion of respect, 
and do not shun its most difficult events, 
for fault-finders find fear in paradise 
while thrill-seekers find elation in hell, 
for it is better to serve than to reign. 

When dawn gleams gold on sheen of Walden Pond, 
Henry and William eat sweet hasty-pudding 
of cornmeal, molasses, ginger, and milk, 
then set out down the signless road of hope 
on yet another vigorous walk-and-talk 
with goal to climb rugged Mount Monadnock. 

Weirdness Of Eternal Now

Weirdness Of Eternal Now
© Surazeus
2026 06 09

Through tight control of intermittent thoughts 
we wind disparate memories in spheres 
of flashing strategies to burn god stones 
with tattered pages from ancestral books 
so prior tests we dare contrive from code 
enchant our hearts when sad nightingales sing. 

While sitting blindly in windowless house 
with numberless door of inequity, 
I roam the whole universe of strange lands 
though tethered to fragile skull of my soul 
since gushing mountain river piles logs high 
against enormous stone of innocence. 

Slouched by unkempt grave of the famous seer 
who harvested peaches from tangled trees, 
I mutter prayer of sorrow to his mask 
to checklist deeds I refuse to perform 
through mechanism of uncertain grief 
that covers me in random leaves of hope. 

No star-eyed visitors appear from mist, 
seeking redemption from gratified corpse 
to highlight uselessness of sentiment 
that could not resurrect my pardoned heart 
from graceless circumstance of fortitude, 
since love might manifest in dormant seeds. 

Could I return from underworld of faith 
with contract that impacts my credit score, 
I would sail leaking boat across dark sea 
to harrow blatant sense of urgency 
with greatness death displays at crack of dawn 
when everything I knew as true is wrong. 

Up jagged cliff of ambition I climb 
against assertive gusts of lonely wind 
to count bright sparkles on the silver sea 
by wishing goodness for each soul alive 
who walks alone the signless road of fate 
to prove people can govern themselves well. 

Inspired to extract my body from roots 
of ancient trees, I breathe faith to express 
despair we deny pierces hearts with truth 
despite our vow at picnic by the lake 
to savor weirdness of eternal now 
by drinking sorrow brewed in bitter herbs. 

I seek sublimity of perfect thoughts 
that swell at suddenness of your sharp eyes 
beaming subtle blast of rainbow bliss 
with cheerful jubilation gladly struck 
in harmony of love we blithely share 
with brokenhearted document of faith. 

Cartography Of Tropes

Cartography Of Tropes
© Surazeus
2026 06 09

Attempts to eradicate sentiment, 
that tangle my heart with vines of desire, 
prove more than difficult to implement 
when I am but one voice in the global choir 
that sings hymns about bright Heaven above 
through universal law of selfless love. 

Strange feelings shaped by artificial hope 
writhe in my heart with fierce draconic need 
to manage programmed rites that help me cope 
with social drama from religious creed 
designed to chain my heart with rigid rules 
which I dismantle with conceptual tools. 

Emotions based on vision of the real, 
my mind projects through frame of my world view, 
propel my progress on the Fortune Wheel 
when I attend my quest to code the true 
defined by ideal trope of my dream state 
that helps me choose condition of my fate. 

My naming secret specter of my soul, 
expressed well by character mask I wear, 
asserts specific space where I play role 
attentive to cause effect that I dare 
present as purpose of deeds I perform 
which models fluid response by the norm. 

Tending inner identity through code 
that weaves fragments of memories in verse, 
I shift thought gears to spool efficient node 
that binds my body to the universe 
as phantom sprouting from matrix of light, 
enhanced by radiant wisdom in dream flight. 

If I attempt to frame my psychic being 
through universal template of mankind 
I find my soul defined by angel wing 
that spreads wide scope of my expanding mind 
so bright compassion of my glowing heart 
flows out beyond grid limits of my chart. 

With courage of feelings, I navigate 
Slough of Despond to find the Promised Land, 
but Petrus stops me at the Pearly Gate, 
demanding I show passport with my hand 
that Jesus signed and stamped with Bloody Cross, 
so I build New Heaven as my own boss. 

Intense passion of feelings are no good 
for guiding my way in vast maze of myths, 
so I advance by faith through gloomy wood 
with Lamp of Lucifer to megaliths 
since I prefer cartography of tropes 
to journey safely on rough mountain slopes. 

Attempts To Question Fate

Attempts To Question Fate
© Surazeus
2026 06 08

Home on little island Neptunus bears 
in cool flowing waves of the Lydian Lake, 
I relax rejoicing in fruit-tree grove, 
safe in stone walls of secret paradise 
on vine-entangled shore of Sirmio 
where Catullus teaches me to chant songs. 

Fierce-eyed Cybele with long tangled hair, 
enthroned on river-smoothed Oracle Stone, 
shows how bodies, animated by souls, 
spring from scarlet egg of Chthonian womb, 
designed by passion of the swirling sea, 
then leaves my skull smiling in cold moonlight. 

Sweet Diana, mistress of secret glades, 
swift daughter of Jove, son of Jupiter, 
son of Jehovah, guide me with your star 
through mountain forests to your olive grove 
where you teach us to hunt the fleet-foot deer, 
for you protect boys and girls with your love. 

Alone on shadowy road of my life, 
from which no living soul ever returns, 
I remember dancing with Juturna 
in honey-thick fields of Elysium 
as I descend to cave of flashing jewels 
to fight Orcus and free slaves from despair. 

With quivering wings of brave Zephyrus 
I seek Rhamnusia in Temple of Fate 
to read sacred Book of Aquarius 
whose riddles reveal secret formulas 
that help me choose which road of deeds to walk 
when I help Orion defeat cruel Pluton. 

Lured by song of Laodamia for my ghost 
to possess wood statue of her dead spouse, 
I climb Mount Latmos with my broken lyre 
to pray Apollo repair its cracked shell, 
but I find Endymion in moonlight 
who asks me to consult his horoscope. 

When I ask innocent Harpocrates, 
who plays with toy lyre on lap of his mother, 
star-eyed Isis, who peels orange for her son, 
if he has seen his father, Horus Sky-Walker, 
that devious godling taps finger to his lips 
to silence my attempts to question Fate. 

While I drink deep from cool Hippocrene Stream, 
from climbing long trail up Mount Helicon, 
I hear someone call my name, Hecatus, 
so I turn around and look everywhere, 
but Artemis is hiding among trees, 
so I call her name to the empty sky. 

Mad King Of Bitter Hate

Mad King Of Bitter Hate
© Surazeus
2026 06 08

Last night under the fractured bloody moon 
I discovered I failed to verify 
my faith subscription to the resurrection 
so I find myself, when I wake at dawn, 
stranded in endless maze of asphalt streets 
that binds cities of Earth in cyberspace. 

I knock on glass door of the Happy Church 
to ask if they sell updated maps to the soul 
but the robot wearing a blue preacher suit 
tries to sell me shares to the Afterlife, 
so I steal tattered wings from Icarus 
and leap from steeple of the mocking owl. 

Gliding high over maze of city streets 
with message scroll I swipe from Earendel, 
I try to find statue of Lucifer 
who bears the shining Lamp of Liberty, 
but mob of factory workers tears it down 
to build new bowling alley with a bar. 

Landing in Garden of Eden with grace, 
I stroll rocky shore of the River Styx, 
cluttered with skulls that prophesy world doom, 
and search for the Tree of Knowledge and Lies, 
but find King Midas hacking at its trunk 
because he wants to build a huge ballroom. 

When I call Jesus on the telephone 
to report vandalism in paradise 
he sends Azrael with electric wings 
to wrestle the mad king of bitter hate, 
but Midas accuses him of being crooked 
then storms away to sulk by the Dead Sea. 

Grasping scepter Nebuchadnezzar dropped, 
Midas rides huge gold hippopotamus 
past bomb-blasted gates of Jerusalem, 
through crowds of angels jeering at his face, 
but he sneers and snatches gold Crown of Thorns 
to crown himself emperor of the world. 

Swift Hawk of Horus swoops down from Blue Sky 
and transforms into Lucifer Sky-Walker 
who wields law-sharpened sword Excalibur, 
to behead greedy demon of despair, 
but blade of justice crackles hologram 
that flickers, then returns to bloated hugeness. 

Soaring up to High Castle on Golgotha, 
I break through third wall of apocalypse 
to smash computer racks of corporate banks 
so eidolon of Satan dissipates, 
which dispels cloud of doom shrouding the world 
so people of Earth rejoice in the streets. 

Mirror Of Forgotten Masks

Mirror Of Forgotten Masks
© Surazeus
2026 06 07

Happy in mundane failure of my life 
to play grand role on stage of history, 
safe from glaring spotlight of random fame, 
I gaze in mirror of forgotten masks 
where faces of my ancestors combine 
whole shadow of my soul that glows awake. 

Calm in acceptance of my mundane life 
where I carve prophecies on river stones 
recording who gets cursed by random fame, 
I float in mirror of forgotten masks 
as eight billion humans with dreaming brains 
who enter contest over who plays god. 

Surprised by joy that fountains from my heart 
as surreal vision flashing through my brain 
detailing how to evade random fame, 
I leap through mirror of forgotten masks 
to navigate combat zone of thought mines 
that could explode at misstep of each choice. 

Entranced by beauty of my Mountain Muse 
who gives me crystal sphere of timeless truth 
that maps path I take beyond random fame, 
I swim in mirror of forgotten masks 
with time-animated globe of world history 
evolving from shy fish to singing god. 

Inspired by wisdom of my Honest Spouse 
who tends Garden of Eden with crafty hands 
so Tree of Knowledge blooms with random fame, 
I rise from mirror of forgotten masks 
to build castle of faith on hill of beasts 
where angels sing in choir of tragic loss. 

Nourished by healing fruit of the Dream Tree 
which sprouts from rotten corpse of Jupiter 
to translate selfless love from random fame, 
I bloom from mirror of forgotten masks 
to drive my car to work at flash of dawn 
where I map features of our cluttered world. 

Crazy with passion to understand why 
our bodies of genetic coils are formed 
from atoms swerving against random fame, 
I soar through mirror of forgotten masks 
on wings of Icarus designed by hope 
till I build Heaven in Hell where I fall. 

Amused by complex political games 
ambitious tyrants, driving blind by lust, 
play to gamble so they win random fame, 
I polish mirror of forgotten masks 
so people visiting the Oracle 
may see dire consequence of every choice. 

Mercurial Wail Of Solitude

Mercurial Wail Of Solitude
© Surazeus
2026 06 07

Our world may be mask for the eyeless god 
who veils immortal light of its vast face 
behind endless swirling of the storm cloud, 
yet my airplane in the sky leaves no trace 
as proof of life that glows outside my head, 
born as Winged Victory of Samothrace. 

This puzzling world pretends to be more real 
than Heaven I imagine in my mind 
so I sing with roar only oceans feel 
when blazing sun, no peaceful god designed, 
sinks deep in surging waves of timeless wheel 
with eerie tune that sailors strive to find. 

Struck by mercurial wail of solitude, 
I see sweet siren with long flowing hair 
lounge on large jagged island in sad mood 
while gazing past my face in sunset glare 
with casual horror of her pulchritude 
enchanting me with love because I care. 

Dark places of this world within my heart 
blaze bright with power of the holy word 
which I find written on my secret chart 
by potent wisdom that long rings unheard 
with aching privilege of faith to start 
assertive games that reclaim the preferred. 

Alert to readjustment of the bomb 
that never touches strangeness of dark hills, 
I search vast maze of rubble for my home 
with buoyed innocence of moon-splashed walls 
to calculate social power of doom 
as blind force of fate that obeys no rules. 

Through misty groves of academe I fly 
beyond enchanted place I know is fake 
to find where frivolous gods still ask why 
we cannot keep great treasures our hands make 
unless I agree to play the dream spy 
by searching for source of the magic lake. 

Till morning gleams with shifting mutant forms, 
which reframe our psychic identities, 
I meditate with peace of lightning storms 
to transcend religious serenities 
that deconstruct all our conceptual norms 
with divine right of mortal entities. 

When our huge Ship of State strikes the iceberg 
that swells through oligarchic tyranny, 
I swim to island of the laughing lark 
who welcomes me home to my barony 
where I study process of orange clockwork 
in vain attempt to plot weird irony. 

Bitter Faith Of Innocence

Bitter Faith Of Innocence
© Surazeus
2026 06 07

To remove mask of my identity 
as whatever gender and race I am 
in temporary drama of my life, 
is to expose inner gears of my brain 
through universal character I play 
by deconstructing social privilege. 

I may seem to be straight cisgender male 
through Europeans in America, 
motivated by Scythian ardency 
essential to soul of Gothinians, 
yet I relate with empathy of love 
to every person living on this globe. 

My nature, signified by social labels 
imposed by time and place of my soul birth, 
radiates psychic energy of faith 
signed by First Mother of humanity 
who lived two hundred thousand years ago 
in Okavango Delta of my heart. 

I feel pulse of her heart animate mine 
with passionate respect for sparkling rain 
that drenches endless grassland with clear song 
she channels through sweet voice of eager hope, 
so I express her vision in my verse 
that wakes her soul in every human heart. 

We are the children of her star-lit eyes 
who multiply from womb of Mother Eve 
to carry Stick of Truth and Stone of Faith 
while wearing Cape of Wisdom to keep warm 
as we explore expanse of spinning Earth, 
and share our tale in song around the fire. 

Dividing into countless warring tribes, 
all branching from First Mother of our souls, 
we reframe our social identity 
to differentiate our noble clan 
from all the others who invade our space 
as we fight over whose Father is God. 

Inspired by bitter faith of innocence, 
that spurs aggressive progress of my plan 
to expand United Nations of Earth 
which assimilates all races in one, 
I let First Mother of humanity 
possess my body with spirit of love. 

Every race and religion on this globe 
originates from First Mother we share, 
so my heart aches at blaze of civil war 
that sparks my passion to adjudicate 
new world religion binding every creed 
in song that honors One Mother of All. 

Name Of The Rose

Name Of The Rose
© Surazeus
2026 06 07

The bald-head man with glasses and mustache 
adjusts tweed jacket and laces work boots, 
then sweeps huge pile of old discarded books, 
heaped on rain-slick sidewalk, against brick wall 
next to glass door of some abandoned bank, 
lamenting how knowledge of the past gets lost. 

"I cannot decide what to name the Rose," 
he muses while staring with rain-blurred eyes 
at tattered covers of paperback novels 
that depict bitter women in torn dresses 
and angry men with guns and loosened ties, 
"since the girl from the village is my mother." 

When he was young student in art history 
forty years ago at the university, 
he traveled to Italy for the summer 
where he climbed the steep Stairway of the Dead 
to find lost book that Aristotle wrote 
hidden in gloomy Abbey of Saint Michael. 

One cover shows corpulent businessman, 
in blue suit and red tie, wearing a blond wing, 
whose face resembles the ravenous pig, 
so he remembers how Odysseus 
was wounded by sharp horn of a wild boar 
while hunting on slopes of Mount Porcorianus. 

Greedy tyrants who clutch with manic fear 
at transient illusions of fiscal power, 
elusive as Hound of the Baskervilles, 
since Hugo was cursed for kidnapping women, 
attempt to burn the sweet innocent girl 
because she laughs at their frail vanity. 

Residing in lush Garden of Delight, 
the Girl from the Village with golden hair, 
tends delicate rosebud of her thorned bush 
while her train of nymphs wearing flower wreaths, 
named Chastity, Danger, Reason, and Shame, 
play with elegant grace in stone-rimmed pool. 

The Lover wearing clothes of Everyman 
gazes entranced in Fountain of Narcissus 
where reflection of Rosebud sparks true love 
to blossom with desire from aching heart, 
as if sharp arrow pierces him with hope, 
so his voice echoes with Name of the Rose. 

Adjusting tattered books on metal shelf, 
the balding hippie with glasses and boots 
sells them to passing strangers for one penny, 
then visits grave of his wife, Rose Marie, 
who died from cancer twenty years ago, 
and cries how beauty of this world is lost. 

Time Maps Our Dreams

Time Maps Our Dreams
© Surazeus
2026 06 06

She tells me I can never understand, 
so I carve her face on the crystal moon. 
Rose petals flutter from her callused hand 
at subtle fracture of the bone-flute tune. 
Time rearranges fragments of strange truth 
in pages of books she sells at her booth. 

She holds my hand with casual arrogance 
while we stroll by blue river of lost souls. 
Great warriors driven by brave innocence 
fight over water that washes their skulls. 
Time scatters bones of angels in cold stream 
which transform into cars in mundane dream. 

She laughs with courage of the howling wolf 
when I attempt to build cottage of stone. 
Our bodies writhe as we swim in the gulf 
so our hearts pulse with harmonious tone. 
Time allocates conceptual words of fate 
providing signs we use to navigate. 

Moonlight gleams in her eyes with arcane code 
that adjusts conceptual frame of my mind. 
While she translates proverbs of the God Toad 
I deconstruct world zeitgeist Zeus designed. 
Time animates psychic gears of my brain 
when she takes me dancing in summer rain. 

She knows the secret thoughts my brain conceals 
by flapping swan wings on cape of her pride. 
I retrieve from Death treasures Terror steals 
to build safe haven where she may abide. 
Time programs how my brain perceives the world 
that fools me to think I am the cosmic herald. 

She pauses on edge of the jagged cliff 
to show me where ships with tattooed sails sink. 
Wanting to impress her, I act too stiff, 
so she melts my heart with sly kiss and wink. 
Time maps our dreams on animated globe 
that highlights when she sings in silky robe. 

She whispers strange tales of gods in my ear 
so I write surreal plots in tangled verse. 
Trained by Apollo to play puppeteer, 
I chant epic poem of philosophers. 
Time weaves my songs in tapestry of truth 
that presents life of our messiah sleuth. 

She appears before me in flash of light 
on Mount Takoma where I meditate. 
She gives me Lyre of Mercury to fight 
world exploitation by tyrant of hate. 
Time transfers magic of Mount Helicon 
to hidden landscape of my Avalon. 

Emanation Of My Brain

Emanation Of My Brain
© Surazeus
2026 06 06

Innocent hope twists my heart with vain faith 
that humans love each other selflessly 
and work together with one set of rules 
to cherish bodies that nurture our souls 
for I am emanation of my brain 
that flashes with dreams of eternity. 

Someday people with respect for the truth 
will build Astarium, Temple of Truth, 
to honor courageous philosophers 
and brave scientists who investigate 
complex nature of our weird universe 
to formulate codes that explain its laws. 

Through rational derangement of my senses, 
with prodigious process of deconstruction 
that fragments memes of our global world view 
in morphing puzzle pieces of weird facts, 
I jailbreak Sibyl from her golden cage 
so she can teach me wisdom of the heart. 

When I draw back crystal dome of Blue Sky, 
I find lightless gloom of eternity 
where Ophelia floats on calm black waves 
till she blooms awake with white lily lips 
at blinding flash of countless flaming stars 
that sparkle in every cell of my soul. 

Twirling wild with frantic delirium 
on jagged stones where ocean waves ferment, 
I transform from the helpless boat of fate 
to roaring serpent with electric wings 
while strumming vibrant strings of the bone lyre 
till my body dissipates in storm wind. 

Ensconced in mystic horrors of weird truth, 
I reassemble fragments of my soul 
by clamping mask of Phoebus on my face 
so with eyes of the sea my heart perceives 
luminous phantom that devils call God 
reflected in vast mirror of my mind. 

Thus I bathe naked in languor of faith 
against national pride of blood-stained flags 
while riding Behemoth of revolution 
to free my people from huge prison boats 
so we swim lost in surging sea of change 
till Liberty guides us to Hall of Hope. 

Eternal Spinner of atomic souls 
transforms my body of chemical lust 
to ethereal phantom of conscious love 
who evolves Leviathan to Gabriel 
as writhing spirit of my hungry heart 
so I give Mary glass of milk to drink. 

Gospel Of The Holy Toad

Gospel Of The Holy Toad
© Surazeus
2026 06 06

Spurred by vision of human dignity, 
derived from gospel of the Holy Toad, 
I search boundless land of America 
for brave men bold enough with hearts of gold 
to fight cruel tyrant and his oligarchs 
so women are free to choose how they live. 

Creative power of the female soul, 
described by gospel of the Holy Toad, 
consists of generating life from hope 
and molding body of material flesh 
from ideal pattern of genetic code, 
so they should be free to choose how they live. 

Protecting women from abusive harm, 
through law in gospel of the Holy Toad, 
inspires men to build havens with strong walls 
so mothers raise their children with calm care, 
safe in surrounding walls of paradise 
where they play free in garden of fruit trees. 

Beneath golden glow of the bright Full Moon, 
in tune with gospel of the Holy Toad, 
free women dress in gowns of scarlet hue 
to dance in rings of stone on crowns of hills 
and sing with sweet mercurial voice of faith 
attentive hymns to Spirit of Rebirth. 

Where men once guarded women with true love, 
designed by gospel of the Holy Toad, 
they now imprison women with cruel greed, 
attempting to control with jealous rage 
their reproductive power to create 
new body for immortal soul of genes. 

Though men would nurture life of women well, 
inspired by gospel of the Holy Toad, 
with solemn oath in binding marriage vows 
to shelter and feed children of their wives, 
weak men now snarl with bestial rage from fear 
and kill precious women they should protect. 

Trapped by patriarchal creed of command, 
repealed by gospel of the Holy Toad, 
men strive for centuries to legalize 
social control over bodies of women 
to manage reproductive privilege 
they exercise to increase their offspring. 

New mission to restore feminine rights, 
proclaimed by gospel of the Holy Toad, 
propels new generation of good men 
to assert matriarchal rights to decide 
when and with whom women will procreate 
through passionate wisdom of divine love. 

Snow-Kissed Apple

Snow-Kissed Apple
© Surazeus
2026 06 06

Snow-kissed apple on the arching bough, 
teach me how hope inspires the heart to love, 
though disease and death haunt our lonely town 
and twist angelic bodies with harsh pain, 
so sweet juice of your truth, from sun and rain, 
may fill my wounded mind with energy. 

Strange glow of sunlight through web of tree limbs 
exposes eerie ache of wordless hope 
for faces that smile bright with cheerful mien 
on summer afternoons by sparkling stream 
where we play games among the market stalls 
while men in ring of stones discuss great things. 

Heart latched on swift angelic flight of dreams, 
I search for secret name carved on gray cliff 
which indicates what nameless soul I sense 
awake in tangled shadows of lost time 
so I may channel wisdom they perform 
with courage to challenge despair and win. 

Dazed by hard sunlight of relentless faith, 
I shelter under Arcus Gaviorum 
built by mind and hands of Vitruvius, 
and listen to the dainty sparrow chirp 
sharp thoughts of passion to rejuvenate 
spirit of Janus in full flush of spring. 

Snow-kissed apple beneath the great blue sky, 
revive my wounded heart with honesty 
that nothing matters in this frantic world 
but fellow travelers on road of life 
who spring with me from turbid lake valley 
where bones of our ancestors grow as trees. 

Thin wail of sharp mercurial regret 
sparks in my wounded heart strange memory 
when we assemble in tall ring of stones 
to sing in tribal choir of loyal faith 
with one communal voice of eager hope 
that we this hour glow bright with light of stars. 

With pulsing wolf-heart of hysteric rage 
I race through tangled forest of contempt 
to rescue from aggressive chains of greed 
my clan enslaved by gang of haughty thieves 
who mock me when I hurl courageous spear 
and leave me crippled on the raven hill. 

Snow-kissed apple hanging from the moon 
so high and far from trembling hand of thirst 
till sudden flutter of dark sparrow wings 
shakes fruit of heaven loose so it falls straight, 
fill me with light of stars and wind of hope 
so I may free my clan from slavery. 

Clear Light Of Atar

Clear Light Of Atar
© Surazeus
2026 06 06

My heart longs for the bright Hyrcanian Sea 
where morning sun gleams gold on silver waves 
so I run free with White Horse of the wind 
to free world people from cruel tyranny 
who dance with joy in groves of apple trees 
till death disperses souls in evening breeze. 

Blue breeze of the mystical radiant force, 
that emanates from aching heart of hope, 
blows through branches of pomegranate trees 
while Ahura Mazda gives Kingship Ring 
to honest Ardashir with generous heart 
on sacred Mountain of the Lion God. 

Bold sense of Justice glows still in my heart 
eighteen hundred years from that solemn hour 
brave Ardashir enforced rule of fair law 
through programs funding work of humble men, 
farmers raising crops from soil of Earth, 
and craftsmen constructing wagons and homes. 

Lush pomegranate tree grows from my heart 
on sandy shore of our Hyrcanian Sea 
where spirit of First Mother lingers still 
in swirls of silver wind that bear starlight 
as holy flames of truth from cave of dreams 
which animate my body with desire. 

Strong thread of wisdom, forged from light of truth 
by gentle hand of Anahita, weaves 
my secret heart in tapestry of faith 
to noble goal of justice for all souls 
brave Ardashir attends with righteous eye 
to bind contentious tribes with common goal. 

With brave Sassanian spirit in my heart, 
which urges me to create health from pain, 
I maintain psychic balance of firm faith 
between conservative respect for safety 
and progressive vision for social growth 
that nurtures dream of each person to live. 

Though we seem to wander far off our road 
in desolate gloom of the bleak wilderness, 
Clear Light of Atar, which flares from our hearts 
at clarion spell that Zoroaster sings, 
dispels grim darkness of bitter despair 
so we see Golden Path of Righteousness. 

Awake with soul of Zurvan in my heart, 
trained by Nairyosangha, his Messenger, 
I aid Arshtat, Goddess of Truth and Justice, 
to maintain order in our whole world empire 
that unites nations of Earth in one faith 
which values women and choices they make.