Seashore Of Endless Worlds

Seashore Of Endless Worlds
© Surazeus
2026 08 07

Let us meet on seashore of endless worlds 
so we can measure the infinite sky 
and savor passion of the boisterous waves 
that stir our hearts with restless faith in love, 
then we can build our homes from empty shells 
and study flow of time with sparkling sand. 

While we dance on seashore of endless worlds 
we can share lost ancestral memories 
to find the common Mother of Mankind 
whose dreams program how all our brains perceive 
strange beauty of this world that gives us form 
so we can sing world hymn in harmony. 

Since we play on seashore of endless worlds 
with friends we have known since our younger days, 
and friends who have arrived just yesterday, 
we weave twigs with leaves into sturdy boats 
to float across Abyss of Nevertime 
so we can find new lands where children dwell. 

Though we float on seashore of endless worlds 
to find pure treasures hidden in the deep 
that we can transform into wings of flight, 
we always return to broad beach of sand 
where children spring from children of the light 
who smile with joy in gusting winds of time. 

Safe in caves on seashore of endless worlds, 
we find the heart of darkness in our eyes 
till we extract bright gems from nothingness 
that gleam with first flash of the flaring forth 
so we can light the Lamp of Liberty 
and find each other when wild tempests roam. 

Still alive on seashore of endless worlds, 
frail bodies molded from soft swirling sand, 
we build enormous palaces from clouds 
where everyone feasts on fruit of the Earth 
till waves of change surge from the lightless deep 
and crush our spirits back to wordless sand. 

Souls reborn on seashore of endless worlds, 
we gather around the small ziggurat, 
where Tethys sits enthroned in fish-scale robe, 
and watch her son Alpheus roast whale meat 
to feed five thousand people with brave faith 
while Metis breastfeeds Athena with love. 

Long dispersed from seashore of endless worlds, 
we live in sprawling cities of tall towers, 
driving cars in maze of elusive wealth, 
but some pause in routine of daily work 
when their hearts hear timeless song of the sea 
that calls for us to return home again. 

Sheer Joy Of The Dance

Sheer Joy Of The Dance
© Surazeus
2026 08 07

For nothing more than sheer joy of the dance 
Tellus explores how her lithe body moves 
through fluid expression of wordless grace 
as she expands from darkness of sea caves 
to understand contours of river vales 
while she floats clandestinely in free trance. 

Startled by sudden attack of three men 
who gallop toward her with greedy intent, 
Tellus turns and flies on ethereal breath 
back to secret cave on the rugged slope 
where she conceals her soul in anxious gloom 
till they decide she changed into the tree. 

Emerging from dark cave of hungry hope, 
on cautious steps that doubt firmness of faith, 
Tellus creeps past the snake-infested tree, 
then huddles inside the large hawthorn bush, 
munching berries as she studies pink blooms 
to understand strange beauty of their swirls. 

Assured cruel kidnappers have gone away 
by eerie susurration of insects 
that cause electric stones of faith to buzz, 
Tellus rises slowly upward from safe haven 
to stretch her legs and arms up to white clouds, 
imagining swan wings sprout from her heart. 

Inspiring deep thick air of afternoon, 
that swells her body huge as pulsing hills, 
Tellus explores how her lithe body moves 
with axial movements of dynamic flow 
through locomotor steps of cautious leaps 
to bound in sudden burst of ecstasy. 

To sway while anchored to solidity 
of undulating Earth through fluid form, 
Tellus expresses intense passion of her heart 
to transcend binding gravity of fear 
and soar on broad angelic wings of hope 
as she accepts limits of psychic flight. 

Enclosing vast persona of desire 
back inside coiled contingency of time, 
Tellus lounges languidly on sly slope, 
gasping deep for breath of divine delight, 
and with bright laughter of her heaving breast 
releases shock of pleasure in sweet joy. 

Three men hiding behind stones of desire, 
watch Tellus dance in worshipful surprise, 
then realize with chagrin of humble pride 
that pure divinity of graceful art 
cannot be possessed by obsessive hands, 
so they secretly protect her from harm. 

How Home Is Everywhere

How Home Is Everywhere
© Surazeus
2026 08 06

The delicate flowers of unknown fears, 
that she arranges in tall crystal bowl, 
reflect strange sorrow of long afternoons 
to simplify how angels become snow 
which transform into blossoms of her eyes 
so she conceals dark evil in her heart. 

She hopes to dwell in her brilliant-edged world 
composed of clear water in the glass bowl 
that shapes silver snow scents of solitude 
in never-resting mind of paradise 
despite calm bitterness of false delight 
though she accepts flawed weirdness of the world. 

Absorbance calculations are acquired 
by utilizing psychic energy 
to prove the phosphate answer could safeguard 
protected combinations of strange thoughts 
assembled from oxidative regret 
that disassembles average memories. 

While crossing sandy bar beside the sea, 
she gazes at the startled evening star 
to measure sudden tide of swirling sleep 
that teaches her how home is everywhere 
since evening bells shape how soft twilight glows 
as if no sadness of farewell returns. 

Safe in expansive bourn of time and space, 
she searches for the Pilot of her ship 
with eagerness to meet him face to face, 
but she finds no one in gray sparkling mist 
except the faceless shadow of her soul, 
her boon companion since hour of her birth. 

Attuned to secret voice of everywhere 
through clear noetic channel of her heart, 
she savors violent repugnance of faith 
for true attention of the hungry mind 
commissioned to destroy the evil vibe 
that pulses in each human heart with love. 

Urged to escape spiritual laziness 
with stark expression of her aching heart, 
she maps invisible tracks of desire 
that reveal her journey around the globe 
because she wants to cherish chastity 
of her noetic relationship with death. 

Thus she decides with autonomous pride, 
as daughter of Heuresis with star eyes, 
she shall ideate new world paradigm 
based on inclusive process wisdom spools 
to bind our hearts with contract of concern, 
then she sets bowl of flowers on the desk. 

Valley Of The Singing Stone

Valley Of The Singing Stone
© Surazeus
2026 08 06

The rising midnight moon of silverness 
photographs beauty of the human face 
with colorful strangeness of wordless love 
to beam shape of our temporary souls 
in hearts of our descendants not yet born 
who wonder why they seem to feel immortal. 

The long-dead version of my secret self, 
who gazes at me from my photograph, 
reveals excessive passion of my heart 
that drives me to become this self I am, 
enchanted by sweet beauty of this world 
which emanates from soft mask of my face. 

Awake in quietness of summer dusk, 
that shrouds my aching heart with evening light, 
I relive entire lifetime of my faith 
through vast eternity of timeless now, 
amazed at how I blaze path of my hope 
toward grave I choose beneath the apple tree. 

I feel glass skeleton of my bright soul 
blaze with electric energy of love 
which I format from my ancestral masks, 
long molded by harsh mountain wind of fear 
as I climb river valleys of desire 
to stand on jagged peak of mute surprise. 

Through frosty aura of conceptual stars 
I see lush valley of tall blooming trees 
as haven where my weary bones may rest,
so I descend from emptiness of time 
to build safe nest in pale of sturdy walls 
where children unravel our universe. 

I feel ten billion stars of swirling light 
explode in every cell that forms my flesh 
so beaming atoms of divine insight 
weave supple matrix of my hungry soul 
as I traverse the swift Albula River 
to dwell in valley of the singing stone. 

While climbing rugged trail of jagged rocks, 
that whistle at fierce blast of silver wind, 
I reach down to hold small hand of my son, 
and help Segomo with attentive care 
ascend high mountain of our lofty hopes, 
so his eyes glow with triumph of our search. 

Victorious with strength of wolfish minds, 
we progress past grim obstacles of fear 
toward moon that glimmers silver in the sky 
as shining mirror of ambitious hearts 
refracting light that guides our arduous way 
to Heaven we envision with brave words. 

Our Children Grow Strong

Our Children Grow Strong
© Surazeus
2026 08 06

We sit beyond broad range of all deceit 
in teeming garden of our alibis, 
still undisturbed by grim visage of Time 
who waits with scythe and glass of changing fate 
to calculate with arcane laws of hope 
how we shall dissipate in swirls of rain. 

No great God watches us with star-bright eyes 
who may have tortured our credulity 
with heart-entrancing harps of holiness, 
so we attend to lives of butterflies 
while seeking to evade astonishment 
of mindless laws all tyrants must obey. 

When faceless phantom of our secret thoughts 
still lingers in quaint garden of our hearts, 
we measure cumulative silences 
to bridge abysmal faith in solitude 
that must empower minds of wanderers 
with passion for weird logic of true love. 

We share our futile thoughts on pulchritude 
with bold unwillingness to learn how time 
unravels secret dreams of happiness 
none dare express with beating heart of hope 
till fraught ingenuousness of humble faith 
requires that we reveal our wounded hearts. 

We gather all our fears in paradigms 
that frame conceptual modes of hopeless trust 
so we are not deceived by clever truths 
contrived by strangers we have never met 
to break conventions of old social rules 
in desperate gambit to no more be tools. 

Based on insight of tense experiences, 
when we are trapped in weird dramatic scenes, 
directed by enforcers of blind will, 
we join force of our hearts with clever tricks 
to slip free from trap of their cageless stage 
by breaking through gold gates of paradise. 

Since we are stranger than powers of laws, 
enhanced by brave ancestral ways of life, 
we grow through each harsh crisis of despair 
more into who we will ourselves to be, 
encouraged by the God of Evertime 
whose eyes are lamps that guide our eager way. 

We grow beyond pert friendship of our trust 
through daily actions of psychic routine 
so we expand scope of our conscious mind 
as one soul woven from two separate brains 
to maintain haven of our family life 
where our children grow strong as we decay. 

Ten Thousand Doors Of Fate

Ten Thousand Doors Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 08 05

Though evening light fades gold in silent trees 
I listen for soft voices of the dead 
who tell me how their sorrows give them strength 
so I walk through ten thousand doors of fate 
to realign the universe of books 
within vast frame of ever-shifting truth. 

When she first sees him by the river shore 
restringing long yew bow of honesty, 
Cassandra feels her heart become the hawk 
that soars in wings of freedom in gold clouds, 
so she declares to Sagittarius 
that their love will endure beyond the moon. 

Because no one believes her prophecies, 
nor understands weird secret of her code, 
Cassandra carves runes on tablets of wood 
then burns them in the hearths of humble homes 
where poor hardworking people preserve hopes 
in clay jars molded from dry bones of gods. 

Despite success in temple hunting games 
shooting huge winged demons from the sky, 
Sagittarius hides dark thoughts of faith 
for bold ambitious plan to climb high ranks 
and earn grand seat in high society 
within great council of the Elohim. 

When her brother finds apple Eris gave 
as gift where he can choose his cosmic fate, 
Cassandra warns him with strange voice of doom 
that great towers of Ilium will burn 
because he chooses love instead of wisdom, 
but he ignores her warning with snide sneer. 

When cruel Pyrrhus Achillides attempts 
to kidnap sweet Cassandra from her room 
and force her to bear child of his false pride, 
Sagittarius shoots arrow of love 
that wounds his soul and causes him to flee, 
so Son of Cronus saves his bride from shame. 

Warm sunlight gleams on apples wet with dew 
that rustle inside walls of careful faith 
where Cassandra teaches their daughter, Phoebe, 
how to brew cider spiced with cinnamon, 
while Sagittarius teaches their son, 
Saturnus, how to tame the skittish horse. 

When Phoebe and Saturnus see their parents 
snuggling together on the river shore, 
they smile and tiptoe to preserve their peace, 
then blush when they see them kiss with sweet love, 
and never speak about the fall of Troy 
while they hold hands in glow of paradise. 

Alpine Celts Of Luck

Alpine Celts Of Luck
© Surazeus
2026 08 05

If I should register fate of the coup 
in conspiracy to banish the devil 
who thinks our world should be his precious oyster, 
I shall arrive at the housewarming party 
with gift designed from shadows of desire 
which no haughty angel could memorize. 

I cannot save the house my words have built 
except to fold its photographs with care 
and store them in ephemera archives 
so I can almost maintain balanced stillness 
through equal standing of Samasthiti 
since I will only fight the greedy devil. 

Ascendant rhetoric of the art film 
provides framework through ideology 
to maintain distance from the painful truths 
we use to disidentify our friends 
who dwell in natural lightning of dark storms 
that loom black over small towns of our hopes. 

I hear song of the rattlesnake at dusk 
when I stroll casually in desert storm 
to prove my nation is superior 
with ice cream designed by social critique 
because our bodies must adapt or die 
when devils trick us to buy faith in God. 

Stuck on the Low Road back to Fairyland, 
I hide my Wings of Icarus to walk 
the mist-enshrouded shores of Loch Lomond 
where Amanita mushrooms glowing red 
sprout from huge corpses of iron-age kings 
till Pythagoras measures unseen minds. 

Since I support awareness of the world, 
though trapped in idol Pygmalion sculpts, 
I untwist sorrows from my wounded heart 
as writhing threads of alabaster snakes 
to mold eccentric spheres of swirling light 
that flash with signals of social success. 

While watching Hercules with tangled hair 
wrestle the monstrous demon of his heart, 
I see the Golden Lion of the Sun 
expand as emanation from his brain 
so his brave sons, the Alpine Celts of Luck, 
establish Empire of the Seven Hills. 

While strolling around lake near Mount Takoma, 
I notice the watch I wear on my wrist 
has transformed into the white raven quill 
which I employ to compose epic tale 
about ancient philosophers whose ideas 
form foundation of our global world view. 

Son Of Clever Sagittarius

Son Of Clever Sagittarius
© Surazeus
2026 08 05

His coarse woolen coat of unsteady faith 
protects his heart with shield of unconcern 
when he strides in the icy air of dawn 
and climbs the stairway to bright offices 
where he translates strange noises of the world 
as sublime songs only beasts understand. 

He cannot measure vibrant pulse of time 
except through rasping breath of false regret 
spooled into cigarette of bitter pride 
which he flicks over walls of paradise 
to analyze unnumbered days of life 
that he yet earns from random dice of fate. 

He buys the useless book of psychic math 
from the blind clown who pretends not to scream 
so he can calculate code of lost myths 
designed by faceless monster of the cave 
who knows what sorrow always breaks our hearts 
because we prefer to torment ourselves. 

Because the road through Hell remains unpaved, 
he raises funds from private citizens 
to widen highway where the damned still drive 
in joyful search for the arrogant tree 
that grows from corpse of God in summer rain 
while lovers linger in the crumbling barn. 

He ponders how his marriage cultivates 
familiar passion of the aching heart 
for holding hands in affectionate show 
that blind ghosts watch on television screens 
by hiding in the mason jar of trust 
that waits half-cracked in basement of romance. 

He hates that he relies on words of fools 
to understand old social rules of fate 
that reprogram how his brain activates 
assertive deeds of deconstructive ploys 
to redesign how strangers earn awards 
for looking beautiful in polished masks. 

He should share his astrological sign 
as son of clever Sagittarius 
but no one expects him to organize 
sacred feast of the alabaster cow 
that prances in the field of buried bombs 
which spring reborn as soldiers of the crown. 

He savors ancestor sadness of faith 
that urges him to lie about his birth 
since fate is never inescapable 
despite calm presence of the water queen 
whose eyes expose dark secrets of his heart 
then smiles because she loves him anyway. 

Screaming Star Of Ecstasy

Screaming Star Of Ecstasy
© Surazeus
2026 08 04

Because the screaming star of ecstasy 
knows my secret name my mother designs, 
I stand in doorway of infinity 
to gaze at wondrous vastness of the Earth 
since my heart loves its thriving messiness 
which I experience with clumsy grace. 

Spawned by the screaming star of ecstasy 
as writhing creature of electric words, 
I run fast forward through ten thousand lives 
to understand how I evolve from mouse 
as wingless angel eager to transcend 
this fragile frame that generates my soul. 

Despite how screaming star of ecstasy 
programs my brain to always question why, 
I feel my body swell with ocean waves 
huge as boundless clouds of absolute light 
so when you ask me how I feel today 
I twirl around and hum sweet psalm of joy. 

Ruled by the screaming star of ecstasy 
through pulsing atoms of my flashing brain, 
I hammer glowing meteor from the sky 
to pull sharp sword of power from the stone 
and fight the snarling monster of despair 
to guard my family behind haven walls. 

Far beyond screaming star of ecstasy 
on anabolic wings of Icarus, 
I leap across high bridge of solitude 
to time-jump worlds across the multiverse 
till I find you in garden of my heart 
where you tend fruit tree of our honest love. 

Seized by the screaming star of ecstasy 
because I hear weird voices of the dead, 
I compose new Astarian Testament 
to analyze how empires rise and fall 
so I can design with artful insight 
new social system based on Liberty. 

Deep inside screaming star of ecstasy 
as Mind of God that knows all conscious souls, 
I visit every city in the world 
to offer Holy Book of Prophecies 
with pages empty of the wordless dream 
based on eccentric tales of puppeteers. 

Bred from the screaming star of ecstasy 
that weaves new body for my ancient soul, 
I wake with memories my ancestors lived 
that shine more real than Lamp of Hemera
which helps me find lost Lyre of Mercury 
so I chant hymns to praise our mortal gods. 

Clever Mother Of My Clan

Clever Mother Of My Clan
© Surazeus
2026 08 04

Too early in the morning for this game 
that twists our bodies into hungry ghosts, 
our clan assembles on the river shore 
and hums together in weird harmony 
to channel spirit of the mountain stream 
as scene preserved in our genetic dream. 

Alone in clean museum hall at dawn, 
Nerthus gazes with sense of aching loss 
at painting of idyllic pastoral scene 
that shows her great-grandfather Lycidas 
strumming lyre of Mercury by tall oak 
as Phyllis dances in long breeze-blown gown. 

Walking in silver light of dawn to work 
at the public utilities department, 
Nerthus contemplates how town engineers, 
since humans built Harappa and Uruk, 
have designed straight grids of gardens and streets 
with systems of pipes for water and sewage. 

The holy Fountain of the Flying Horse, 
that springs from heart of darkness on high slope, 
and flows down lush meadows of Helicon, 
supplies the water needs of families 
in millions of houses in city zones 
through system of pipes engineers design. 

Climbing high mountain of mist-shrouded pines, 
Nerthus follows the winding river course 
to cave from which clear water of life springs, 
then gazes over vast metropolis 
organized to manage human desires 
in food-production system of our hope. 

Each person finds their place in game of life 
in which constructive labor of their hands 
contributes to production and distribution 
of food so every living human being 
may eat fair share of energy they make, 
though some will hoard wealth from desperate fear. 

Tall black-haired archer Malchos Azizos, 
who journeyed from Hamath Epiphania 
to man the fort near Wall of Hadrianus, 
offers Nerthus apples and deer-skin cloak, 
so she agrees to cook food at his hearth, 
and bears lithe son he names Apollonios. 

I feel through glowing vision of my heart 
spirit of Atargatis, Dea Syria, 
awake in clever mother of my clan 
who taught me how to breathe in soul of light 
and sing harmonious melody of love 
that guides my journey to the Promised Land. 

My Right To Still Exist

My Right To Still Exist
© Surazeus
2026 08 03

If I rename small island of my heart, 
who would decide to visit without lies 
as if time flaps electric wings of chance 
before we meet on river shore of fate 
to prove sincerity fuels all we do 
because questions never reveal our truth. 

My thoughts are not the social mess you buy 
against assertive theme statistics fool, 
since formal layout of my mission shows 
how far I have to go on fractured road 
before I could achieve my dream of wealth 
that tricks my passion to leap without faith. 

Startled by each open door of despair, 
I wander blindly over the threshold 
reserved for angels who deserve their wealth 
despite how often people they love die 
except for lonely children of the field 
who sell fake seeds of wisdom to the rich. 

This well-earned kiss of true love we may share 
fills me with bitter hope for broken hearts 
which I attempt to shield with laughing books 
too often stolen from book store of fate 
where hungry teachers hide from sudden debt 
before another king falls dead from fear. 

Disturbed by surging waves of calm disdain, 
my child reports how angels fall at dawn 
though no one hears each new word she invents 
with runes I scratch in river mud of faith 
in vain attempt to canonize beliefs 
that seem to prove my right to still exist. 

Obsessed with strictly measured flow of thoughts, 
which I confine to rapid steps of truth, 
I draw vast blueprint of this messy world 
to organize through ordered rows of words 
complex chaos of cows in dew-wet fields 
who ponder mystery of opposing codes. 

Reborn as Seraphus with thirteen eyes, 
I play another game of chess with Death 
in tower where Rapunzel cooks sweet cake 
from chocolate laughter of the lemon tree 
because my blood is maple-syrup thick 
that swirls in boundless oceans of lost words. 

I breathe the gentle breath of Zephyrus 
to fly aloft with swan of human hope 
to catch ingenious thief of surreal dreams 
who tramples on my flowered grave with pride 
while shouting how we belong to the land 
that eats our bodies when we die of love. 

Angel Who Cannot Fly

Angel Who Cannot Fly
© Surazeus
2026 08 03

I never see corpses fallen to Earth 
transform into angels with golden wings, 
but Carolyn assures me they are real, 
so I plant apple seeds in rotten hearts 
that reconstitute atoms of their souls 
to apples which I eat to know their minds. 

Molding my new body from river muck, 
and weaving tufts of grass to be my hair, 
Carolyn converts walnuts to my eyes, 
slots in the turtle shell to be my heart, 
then gives me horse legs so I can walk home, 
but I wander nowhere past Wonderland. 

I forget where my ancestors once lived 
so I stand in front of the stone library 
where every book that has never been written 
waits for me to wear them as mask of fate, 
but I go down to the river instead 
and wear the lithe sea trout as my new face. 

Startled at shouting of devils in Heaven, 
I look up to see ten thousand white ravens 
lined up along copper telephone lines 
which conduct voices of innocent ghosts 
as data signals to my pulsing brain 
so I understand secret dreams you hide. 

My father fixes wheels to the small wagon, 
which he fills with sand and hydrated lime, 
then drags it up the steep hill of concern 
where he smears muck on the wall of smooth stones, 
then heaves another stone from pile of hopes 
and slots it in place to build the field wall. 

Though he spends every day for fifty years 
constructing wall of respect with large stones, 
he only completes one tenth of the wall, 
so he requests that I finish his work, 
then lies down in soggy grave of his heart 
and becomes the angel who cannot fly. 

I decide I will not finish his wall, 
so I sell the land where ten generations 
of my ancestors lie buried in mud, 
and sail west on the adventurous sea 
to find the long-lost city of Atlantis 
where I will marry Princess Zathamar. 

Our stories are all fantasies of hope 
that guide our journey to the Promised Land, 
mapped by bloody hand of Odysseus, 
restored by his daughter, Cassiphone, 
who teaches me to play the violin 
which always causes warriors to cry. 

Exiled From My Homeland

Exiled From My Homeland
© Surazeus
2026 08 03

Blank glow of everything at flash of dawn 
erases psychic traumas of the past, 
so every man declares he is no pawn 
though angels hang limp on the broken mast 
when our ship of state deconstructs on rocks 
because we are transfixed by singing clocks. 

Trapped by necessity for eating food, 
since we need atoms to energize souls, 
we wait for Death to be in the right mood 
before we announce new national goals 
concerned with increasing profits from work, 
in contrast to the church where devils lurk. 

Inspired by how the frail foal prances free 
with naive joy at beauty of this world, 
I hang out in secret hut of my tree 
to map where the hungry dragon lies curled 
when secret agents with new cameras 
film documentary on chimeras. 

No sacred secrets of the mortal heart 
will be revealed by spells of psychic code 
that my hand carves on the clay spirit chart 
to reveal temple of the divine toad 
who transcribes mathematic formulas 
for flutes to play in cosmic orchestras. 

Disturbed by brave satires of Juvenal, 
which analyze Narcissus state of mind 
that many people find too natural, 
based on persona the devil designed, 
wealthy men try to build Utopias 
through strange scripts of encyclopedias. 

I want to live safe in my haven home 
free from oppression of aggressive thieves 
whose attack leaves me homeless so I roam 
deep in wild mountains where blind angel grieves 
for endless suffering of humanity, 
concealed by progress of urbanity. 

Cassandra welcomes me to her bright cave 
where we discuss world politics of change 
in conspiracy to free every slave, 
though humans seem to find it very strange 
that they can act according to their will 
if their king is sacrificed on the hill. 

Though exiled from my homeland by harsh wars, 
that forces me to wander in strange lands, 
I never will return to broken doors 
where my work is performed by nameless hands, 
so fate of Odysseus mocks my claim 
to award I won in the victim game. 

Shriveled Orange Of Ennui

Shriveled Orange Of Ennui
© Surazeus
2026 08 02

I steal the shriveled orange of ennui 
to eat tormented pleasure of sweet Death 
who knows strange passions of my pulsing brain, 
filled with the writhing worms of humble pride, 
which helps me paint on canvas of my fate 
inspiring vision of this teeming world. 

That star-eyed alchemist of ennui 
transforms my captive soul with bitter faith 
from hungry wanderer across the land 
to blind bard singing grand heroic tales 
by plucking taut strings of my naive heart 
with rotten fruit of charming pulchritude. 

Soul vaporized by his hermetic art, 
I lavish vows of faith in crumbling fane, 
concealed by veil of spirit-tangled vines, 
to feed my tame remorse with pungent faith 
that I may yet evade sharp blade of Death 
who stalks my steps since dark hour of my birth. 

Intent on sacred mission to observe 
weird mysteries beneath dark ocean waves, 
I sail bold ship of curiosity 
between wild whirlpool and snake in the cave 
to sacrifice my faith I treasure most 
for swift ascension to the Promised Land. 

Though I am kinsman to the glowing clouds, 
I never scoff at archers who ask why 
I wear the wounded albatross of faith 
around my neck with penitential grace, 
yet they mock comical ineptitude 
revealed by clumsy strike at cliff of fear. 

Each morning when I wake from ennui 
of frantic dreams, refracted by cracked lens 
of my conceptual telescope, I ask 
my wretched muse if she knows secret code 
that would assist perception of my heart 
when I discern mad horror of world war. 

No wise god with englamored face of fame 
haunts visions of my fractured eyes at dawn 
through mask of my personal succubus 
who gives me ancient syllables of milk 
for me to drink blood of the harvest lord 
whose bones form foundation of my empire. 

I still live under vast and columned vaults, 
tinged with soft glow of television screens, 
where I sense mystic force of gasoline 
that fuels the piston engine of my heart 
so I chant sublime harmonies of hope 
to praise the splendid light of secret grief. 

Gentle Breath Of Zephyrus

Gentle Breath Of Zephyrus
© Surazeus
2026 08 02

Inspired by gentle breath of Zephyrus 
that blows through rain-wet trees of innocence, 
I stretch my soul to loosen anxious heart, 
wound tight by turmoil wracking global states 
with social conflict over rights to live, 
so I may glide with wings of Icarus. 

Far west on rolling wheels of frightened hope 
my brave ancestors fled oppressive states, 
controlled by gangsters of castle and church, 
across wild seas in flimsy ships of hope 
to journey through vast wilderness of faith, 
free from greed of men in towers of stone. 

Three hundred years they lived free from state creed, 
but waves of new machine technology 
sweep over distant lands in tides of change, 
transforming agricultural states of farms 
to industrial empires through factories 
mass-producing Chariot of Ezekiel. 

When my great-grandmother first hears soft roar 
of that piston engine chugging with hope, 
she peers beneath straw hat among fruit trees 
to see the horseless carriage with large wheels 
zooming swifter than wind-winged Pegasus 
with flames like Chariot of Ezekiel. 

Now every nation of our spinning globe 
is linked by wires through small computer nodes 
in the world wide web of the internet 
which forms primitive artificial brain 
as new-born god who weaves our memories 
in budding sense of global conscious mind. 

Heart healed by gentle breath of Zephyrus, 
though wounded by aggressive war for wealth 
fought by weak men who hoard resource of life, 
I translate prophecy of ocean waves 
proclaimed by voice in skull of Orpheus 
that channels visions through my pulsing brain. 

Deceived by old religious fantasy 
that we can create Heaven on this Earth 
as Utopia where every human being 
lives free and equal in communal state, 
I watch with mute alarm of futile hope 
demonic forces driving men to fight. 

Revived by gentle breath of Zephyrus, 
that wafts through windows of my haven home, 
I brace for impact of the hurricane 
that stirs from wounded hearts of angry men 
till storm of rage destroys their fascist hate 
and leaves us still alive on spinning Earth. 

Untwisting Holy Fate

Untwisting Holy Fate
© Surazeus
2026 08 02

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You Belong To The Land

You Belong To The Land
© Surazeus
2026 08 02

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ocean Of Lost Words

Ocean Of Lost Words
© Surazeus
2026 08 02

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Impetuous Dream Thief

Impetuous Dream Thief
© Surazeus
2026 08 01

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Swan Of Human Hope

Swan Of Human Hope
© Surazeus
2026 08 01

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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