Great Eye of Love

Great Eye of Love
© Surazeus
2016 06 27

When gold-eyed owl on branch of dying tree
flaps wings of hope from slack telephone lines,
I sense return, from dread abyss of time,
wise daughter of Helios in chariot of fire
who wields thunderbolt of justice to strike
down tyranny wearing mask of contempt.

Called forth by golden horn of Solomon,
we rise from graves of sorrow to express
forgotten secrets for how we survived,
encoded through mythical tales of gods
with formulas of archetypal roles
since someone always plays god of each clan.

Though matter of atoms spews from bright well
of soul-generating sun, as bright rays
of mind-enchanting light, we wait for signs
that wise Athena, wielding spear of truth,
returns again to reign on pyramid
where she sees all through jewel of insight.

I hear ringing crack of sunlight at dawn
which beams spiral rays from Great Eye of Love
illuminating caverns of our souls
since none escapes finality of death
which clarifies how flames of Phoenix burn,
transforming weird world into paradise.

Though ancient states we thought would never end
vanish in wrenching whirlwind of swift change,
we welcome progress that remodels truth
to mutate paradigm which guides our steps
when acting on grand stage of public power,
and dictates speech in role we choose to play.

I assemble nation states of this world
in one global puzzle of tribal games
and transform every holy gathering hall
into one universal church of faith
in human genius to present all tales
of good people as heroes of one myth.

Sharing stories of people we admire,
famed tribal founders whose heroic deeds
established performance of act and speech
we imitate in routine social roles,
is essence of religion that rebinds
our hearts with common tales which guide our way.

Beyond all bounds of time and space we sense
Great Eye of Love awake inside our minds,
and at that moment spirit of true love
transforms our mortal minds to divine soul,
then all our minds connect in ring of light
which beams in harmony of flowing song.

Wanderlust of my Blood

Wanderlust of my Blood

Between 1066 and 1300 my ancestors the Plantagenets ruled over the misty island of Avalon that is now called England.

In 1630 my English ancestors, Governor Thomas Dudley, Poet Anne Bradstreet, and Governor Simon Bradstreet left England and helped found Massachusetts Bay Colony; in 1637 my ancestor Reverend John Davenport left England and helped found New Haven which became Connecticut; and in 1640 my ancestor Reverend Abraham Pierson, whose son helped found and run Yale University, sailed to Massachusetts, then founded Southampton on Long Island, then was the preacher of a church in New Haven.

Their children and grandchildren intermarried to become my ancestors who migrated west over the next 330 years, moving a few hundred miles each generation, then heading out on the Oregon Trail, so that I was born in Oregon in 1964, as far west as we could go on this continent.

I wonder why the wanderlust of my blood drove them away from misty Avalon almost four centuries ago?

Now it is time for me to return to England and regain the throne of my Plantagenet ancestors! There may be millions of descendants of the Plantagenets in England and America, but I am the true king!

I will snatch the crown from Jadis and crown myself king of Narnia and Fillory and Avalon! Woo hoo! I am the Fairy King of the Misty Isle!

Yeah no.

My ancestors left because they were tired of the endless Game of Thrones, the brutal fights for power in which the families of the White Rose and the Red Rose mercilessly killed each other to play the Duke or the King in some cold drafty tower of stone to control the land and the people with greed for power. We left the island and went west to seek peace far from the castles of hate and fear and intrigue.

Have we found that peace? I am very happy with my current life, working as a cartographer in a small town in Georgia, taking care of my wife and daughters, and writing my epic poem about philosophers. My relatives are scattered all across the United States from sea to shining sea.

I often long to return to England or France or Sweden or dozens of other European countries where my ancestors lived for 10,000 years before migrating to America, but I am happy where I am on the endless journey of life. The wanderlust in my blood fuels my exploration of the globe.

Cutha Slave In Magdalene Laundry

Cutha Slave In Magdalene Laundry
Surazeus
26 January 2003 Lansing, Michigan

Cutha, slim girl with long red hair
and sparkling green eyes, runs quick
among apple trees blooming thick
with white blossoms in golden flair
of sunlight beaming through leaves
that flicker in gentle breezes from lake
where boats bob on singing waves.

Cutha feels terrible fear in her heart,
watching men in boats snaring fish
with silver hooks on ends of lines
woven from feather hair of dragons,
so she wraps white cotton robe tight
around her body and huddles down low
among blueberry bushes by small creek.

Cutha stares at small rippling stream,
remembering event last summer
when she came to fishing lake shore
and called name of her father Cuthin
because her mother Thima returned
from seven days in secret forest cave
with other women during full moon.

Cutha weeps trying to forget vision
when her father was shot with arrows
and fell backward into deep blue lake
and sank away into darkness of death,
burbling blood, devoured by giant fish,
so she lies curled and tries to sleep,
sinking into restless lethargy of pain.

Cutha shivers in sudden evening breeze
blowing cold over her pale white skin
so she rubs her eyes that open wide
to see dark shrouding forest of dream,
and then she realizes she was asleep
for hours, so she gropes through gloom,
trying to return to hut of weeping mother.

Cutha stumbles onto main road to town
and shrieks at flash of two bright lights
when parish priest Father McCartney
sees beautiful girl running late at night
so he stops and chases her into woods
where he rapes her among twisted trees,
then leaves her weeping on dead leaves.

Cutha wanders woods as her belly swells,
refusing to go near red brick hall of homes
where her mother lives with seven kids,
and hopes to birth child so she can destroy
its flesh and prevent its lusting evil soul
from growing into a man with hard hands.

Cutha creeps toward farm house kitchen
where old woman shrieks at sight
of wild forest girl with flaming red hair
so she calls priest Father McCartney
on telephone who arrives with police
and they arrest girl and take her away
screaming while villagers stare in shock.

Cutha opens her eyes to see car arrive
at large cement hall with iron gates
and nuns strip her white cotton robe
and make her wear gray flannel skirt,
then Mother Paul snarls into her face,
"Forget your name and your whole family,
for now you are number Seventy-Eight,
so shut your mouth and obey my words."

Cutha works twelve hours each day,
washing, ironing, and folding clothes
at Magdalene Laundry prison for girls
hidden behind glass-jagged cement walls
somewhere on lush green hills of Ireland,
slaving though pregnant till her child
wiggles screaming from her open womb
and she faints sweating in fever of death.

Cutha walks smiling among apple trees,
helping her father gather apples in baskets,
and giggles while he sings old Irish ballads
about Selkie maids, sweet lovers who argue,
and noble heroes fighting for true freedom
in ancient mist that swirls over sacred Tara hill

Cutha emerges from swirling silver mist
to walk with her Mother, Marya Magdalena,
who whispers, "You are my darling Mermaid
with flaming red hair, sign of our sacred heart,
for you are daughter of Jesus Rex Judaeorum
who saves his people by breaking them free
from brutal slave prisons and takes them away
to live in caves of Galatia safe from knives
of killers who kidnap and rape precious girls."

Cutha wakes in Magdalene Laundry prison,
muttering, "Who will save me from this hell?"
but she works twelve hours a day for years,
freezing in winter and baking in hot summer,
forty-three years before she falls over dead,
found one afternoon by old grim Sister Peter
who drags her body and dumps it outside
on slag heap for Sister James to burn later.

Cutha lies broken and bloated and fat
on heap of trash under cold winter skies,
staring at nothing with hair turned gray,
when police park cars and enter prison
to discover terrible conditions of labor
where thousands of women work, forgotten,
without pay, locked away because of rape
or flirtation hidden away from eyes of men.

Cutha walks reborn in her living daughter
Catherine who works downtown Dublin
in advertising agency, designing photos
and stories for popular fashion magazine,
and frowns as she sips cappuccino with friends
who discuss recent revelation of abuse
of young women imprisoned to slave
all their lives without hope or love or faith
in grim cold prisons of Magdalene Laundries.

Jewel Of Astar

Jewel Of Astar
© Surazeus
2016 06 19

Gothinus stands on pyramid of glass
as wind whips long black coat around his legs
and gazes down at vast Metropolis
of ten thousand pyramids that gleam gold
from Boston to Atlanta in one maze
of silver trains that glide through labyrinth.
Two battered robots climb ten thousand steps
from shore of swirling sea to vast platform
where giant robot fox king on gold throne
gestures scepter for them to step forward,
so they operate machine that floats slow
bearing enormous jewel that shines bright.
Gothinus reaches out hand to caress
shining jewel and his eyes gleam green with joy.

"Step forward, Trebla and Saron, my friends,
and stand beside me, for I am One Eye
who sees all that happens in cityscape
of Onatah, empire that I created
from ruins of America, where brains
of humans born from mothers are encased
in bodies of robots so you may live
ten thousand years, for you have lived that long.
I sent you on quest to find Holy Jewel
two thousand years ago, and now at last
you return with white Jewel of Astar
which I will insert in computer sphere
that gleams in stadium of dreaming eyes
where ten trillion brains in computer net
are linked together to gaze at gem sphere
where history of human race is enshrined
in one endless movie of dramatic verse.
We sing epic of pentameter verse
that scrolls in lines of code that cause our brains
to dream evolution of human life
from single cell in swirling sea of light
through multitude of strange organic forms
till humans who talk and employ our hands
to manipulate material of nature
transform from mammals, then all other creatures
vanish as we transform into wise angels
linked together in vast computer banks
where all our minds dream in one world wide web.
Humans transformed from worms to fish to lizard
to weasel to monkey to man to angel,
who learned to sing visions of hungry minds
in sweet enchanting lines of coded verse,
for we are now spirits without flesh bodies
living together in server machine
that links our minds in dream of paradise,
and we evolved through centuries of war
to escape bodies of corrupted flesh
and live forever preserved in machine
where we live heaven in virtual dream world."

Gothinus holds hands of two battered robots,
and they gaze awed in shining eyes of God
who gives them gold grails so they drink sweet nectar.
Gothinus leads them through maze to large room
where thousands of brains in jars linked by wires
throb with transcending consciousness of love.

"I placed your brains in bodies of lithe robots
so you could find true jewel of pure light
that will empower vast computer mind,
and you succeeded in your noble quest
thus you may join hive mind of world wide web
where hundred trillion brains in one machine
chant visions in streaming lines of blank verse
which relate history of how our ancestors
spread from lake of dreams to conquer this world,
defeating vile monsters who could not talk.
Trebla and Saron, I deceived your minds
with lie that I am evil emperor,
and I know you retrieved Jewel of Astar
with intention to defeat me with beam
of blasting ray, and set everyone free,
but I enchanted you with this false tale
to spark your hearts with courage to explore
hostile wilderness of our seething world,
and now, as reward for your honest courage
of faith, I will assimilate your minds
back into dreaming hive of world wide web
who love you as heroes for they all watched
your quest to battle monsters of despair.
Welcome home, heroes, for you saved our world
and preserve our lives with Jewel of Astar."

Trebla and Saron gaze at vast bright maze
of gleaming pyramids, where rows of rooms
are filled with human brains encased in shrines
and linked together in one dreaming mind.

Trebla, courageous princess of Wohali,
gazes at her loyal husband, Saron,
then smiles at world emperor Gothinus.
"We struggled across waste land of despair
two thousand years in wilderness of wind,
and extracted from dreamless cave of rock
shining Jewel of Astar that will power
machine of dreaming minds ten million years,
for machine mind of humankind expands
to every valley of this spinning globe
and now after climbing high pyramid
of crystal glass we may rejoin hive mind.
Though we are alone, we are all one soul."

Sitting in gold chairs in vast hall of mirrors,
Trebla and Saron, holding hands, lean back
and smile at each other as robot arms
unscrew brass skulls and extract dreaming brains,
then place seat of their souls in small glass bowls
where swirling liquid nourishes their minds,
and they wake up on bright meadow of flowers.
Standing together in Garden of Eden,
Adam and Eve hold hands and stand on hill
where Gothinus, tall man with long blond hair,
welcomes them with open arms of warm hug,
then Iduna, his wife, wearing gold crown,
gives them ripe apples that nourish their souls.
Turning around, Trebla and Saron see
ten million people in Garden of Eden
who join hands and sing hymn of loving praise
as sun gleams gold over shadowy hills.

Father Of Mountain Fire

Father Of Mountain Fire
© Surazeus
2016 06 19

For fifty years I walk my road alone
along singing rivers by laughing hills,
plucking apples from my ancient tree friends,
and sing to the smiling moon every night.

I climb a steep mountain to kiss the moon,
crawling through bushes, leaping across trees,
and climbing up steep cliffs of crumbling stones,
then stand at last on top of the round world.

I reach up my hand to caress the moon
but it shimmers so close, far beyond reach,
while she breathes wind that blows through my soul,
and I feel the world spin toward burning stars.

I feel a thousand stars burn in my eyes,
and everyone becomes a face I knew
long ago before I gave them all names,
and see them all when I look down at dawn.

I see a thousand people walk alone
on a thousand roads winding in dark woods
as if they all search for someone they lost,
so I clash stones and spark a fire they see.

My fire burns white on the high mountain peak,
then I dance wild and sing the laughing wind,
so all the wandering people climb my hope
and gather on the peak of singing fire.

The young woman with eyes of silver stars
hands me an apple and kisses my heart
and calls me the father of mountain fire
when all our small children hold hands and sing.

I wake in the eyes of children I sire
who wander in spirals on ancient roads
far beyond the peak of our mountain fire
who return every season to our home.

My skull sits high on a singing stone
for ten thousand years, long after I die,
while my soul sings in the children I sire
who build ten thousand cities sea to sea.

Now laughing wind alone on mountain peak
dances to music of my beating heart
where fire I sparked long ago burned to ash
but my dream flickers in eyes of your minds.

Though no one ever gathers any more
on mountain peak where I sparked fire of hope
our children gather in every lush land
around the globe and sing again our dream.

Look in the eyes of everyone you love
and see the glow of love we share in feast
for though we die we are alive tonight,
dancing with the father of mountain fire.

Whisper Of Love

Whisper Of Love
© Surazeus
2016 06 15

Ten thousand bullets flashing at our heads
in buzzing swarm of aggressive contempt
splatter tears of paint on white walls of church
so I shield ten million people with palms
of my hands, willing those bullets to drop,
but special effects in movies are fake,
and I cannot transform those eyes of death
into butterflies who whisper of love.

I run nowhere fast as I can inhale
spirit of hope to prevent blast of death,
but my feet sink into insouciant sands,
and I see everywhere in distant halls
from sea to shining sea of cracking lands
people falling in hail of bullets, souls
dissipating as smoke from factories
into butterflies who whisper of love.

They gather in school to learn about truth,
they gather in church to sing about faith,
they gather in theaters to watch plays,
and they gather at work to make new things,
but blind men who shout lies, and preach vile laws
to control how people live, clutch cold guns
and destroy their bodies, shooting them all
into butterflies who whisper of love.

We clutch each other in darkness of night,
bodies merging in pleasure of despair,
and bodies of children leap from our hearts
to form gangs who fight for their right to live,
generations of people who perform
ancient drama of struggle for control,
and one by one in game of death we morph
into butterflies who whisper of love.

We wander on about our daily lives,
lost in somewhere city through maze of eyes,
directing our own plays in clash of wills
over whose view of our weird world is real,
then from the crowd he stands and aims his gun
spitting bullets of hate to force his truth,
but his rage vanishes at flash of death
into butterflies who whisper of love.

When monster of death from abyss of fear
rises on wings of rage and clamps our minds
with jaws of hate, will we pray to dead God,
or fight with our hands to protect the lives
of people we love who unite to play
game of life, dancing around fire of truth,
and leap on wings of laughter to transform
into butterflies who whisper of love.

Last Writer Of Tales

Last Writer Of Tales
© Surazeus
2016 06 12

Dreams of his eyes bleed through the scratching pen
that calculates how many people died
in endless wars to dominate the land
and drains his brain empty of empathy.

The last writer of tales looks up and stares
through broken window at the busy world
where heads of nice people float like balloons,
then screams at the mirror that shows no face.

"Nothing I write means anything to me
or anybody out there in the world
struggling to survive each calm sunlit day,
so why am I trying to write a great novel?"

Grasping silver pistol, he loads six bullets,
each one forged from the lost key to a castle,
and waves it around like a magic wand
while whispering spells to make peach seeds grow.

The writer walks through bodies of nice people
who stand like paper cut-outs on the sidewalk,
and swims through library door to stand solid
as stone statue of Apollo who laughs.

Aiming the gun at the silver-haired head
of his grandfather who writes a new hymn,
the writer crouches like a forest wolf
ready to fight the tall man with glass eyes.

The gun transforms into a wingless raven
that hops through the bookshelves, pecking at eyes
of children who refuse to read, then breaks
mute windows and soars over clicking city.

"So many people who lived before me
wrote stories that blind my eyes with hot light,
so what story about life could I tell
that no one ever wrote before I die?"

Tearing pages from books with snarling growl,
the writer eats pages from every book
ever written in the history of dreaming
while a thousand pencils transform to snakes.

Ripping new books out of his beating heart,
the writer stacks them into a huge wall
that encloses the true Garden of Eden
where children play ball with his broken skull.

Infinite Eye Of Light

Infinite Eye Of Light
© Surazeus
2011 06 10

Crawling on wild sandy dream-soaked sea shore,
he crouches in cracked skull of giant monster
that crawled from sunless depths ten thousand years
before his hour of heart-aching hunger for love,
and peers astonished through infinite eye of light.

Huddling inside arching dome of white bone,
small furry creature with bright eyes and no tail
shivers from chill wind cutting timeless glow
of motionless sun that floats over restless waves,
and watches his life from infinite eye of light.

Who are you, vast shining god of blazing heat
beaming gold wind that soaks my fragile soul
in glistening drops of rain that tingle my tongue,
and soaks my eyes in dreams of spinning hope,
and watches me struggle from infinite eye of light.

I was not alone, living in sprawling tree of fruit
with a hundred leaping chattering fellow souls
whose faces mirror mine with eyes and mouth
and hands that caressed my soul as I caressed theirs,
copies of myself reflected by infinite eye of light.

Since I first opened my eyes at dawn of time
I looked in eyes that gazed deep in my hungry mind
and touched faces whose mouths sang love tunes
and hands gave me fruit that waked my heart to sing,
and sparked dreams of life from infinite eye of light.

I see your faces and eyes when I close my eyes,
but when I open my eyes your spirits dissipate,
and I hear your voices that spark dreams in my eyes
but words echo, silenced by cold moaning wind,
and I am nothing but fear in infinite eye of light.

Staring at far distant sun, huge over shining sea,
he sees face of his mother fill its golden sphere,
eyes blinking bright as she gazes into his eyes,
then her voice speaks in wind caressing his hair,
so he cries, are you my mother, infinite eye of light?

My child of stone and rain and wind and flame,
I created you from holy spirit of your father
when his eager love filled my heart with desire,
so our two souls merge in your one aching hope,
but we have returned to infinite eye of light.

He claws fingers into soft shimmering cold sand
and feels ocean waves pounding beat of his heart,
and gasps breath of wind that sways wild trees,
and beams light of red sun when he opens eyes,
then moans, I am everything in infinite eye of light.

I close my eyes and nothing is vast silent blank
seething shapeless breath of fierce throbbing lust
to eat my heart and taste sizzling fruit of faith,
but open my eyes and everything glows in shape,
so maybe I look at myself from infinite eye of light.

Endless black nothing of sound-shuddering night
embraces my sense in shivering hands of wind
to float mindless on timeless waves of blind desire,
but searing beam of light rips awake my dream,
and I stand hungry, bathed by infinite eye of light.

He stares down at glittering pool of blue light
among diamonds and sea shells and dragon scales,
and sees his own face similar to face of his father,
but rippling wind scatters vision of his frail self,
so he smiles and peers at gold infinite eye of light.

New vision appears on gleaming mirror pool
of large serpents with fluttering purple feathers
which crawl swift into their sprawling tree of fruit
jaws of sharp teeth ripping bodies of his family
who screamed, devoured by infinite eye of light.

I ran terrified, escaping jaws of ripping hunger,
and here I stand still alive, he gasps, clutching chest,
then grips his head at memory of painful cries
that scream still in wind shuddering on sea shore,
and feels himself swell from infinite eye of light.

Maybe others escaped like me and wander lost,
he shouts, leaping over logs back into dark woods,
and crouches behind rock near his sprawling tree
to see serpents lounging on branches of his home,
which flutter rainbow wings in infinite eye of light.

Safe in cozy nest where my mother raised me,
feeding me fruit and teaching me how to sing,
now wordless serpents sleep in secure peace,
bellies digesting bodies of my mother and father
whose souls watch me from infinite eye of light.

Leaves rustle as someone stifles aching sobs
that startle him to leap in shadow of blind despair
where he finds three sisters of hundred-soul clan
who huddle terrified inside tangle of berry vines,
and hide their eyes from infinite eye of light.

He kisses soft red lips and caresses warm heads,
so they smile and cry in joy as eyes glisten tears,
but hush and freeze when serpents in fruit trees
stir and turn large heads toward noise in shadows,
and they hide secret from infinite eye of light.

How can we drive dragons from our fruit tree,
he ponders, watching them lounge in his nest
and thinks about how to crush their hard skulls,
then remembers his father swinging an iron bar
to crack turtle shells with infinite eye of light.

Crawling slow and silent through tangled vines,
while three girls wait and watch him with hope,
he finds iron bar among cracked turtle shells
and lifts its heavy beam of hard ancient power
that beams his heart with infinite eye of light.

Heart pounding fierce as bright lightning booms,
he creeps toward home tree in hunter stealth,
but pauses terrified at sight of crushing jaws,
then remembers voices of many singing souls
whose eyes gleamed with infinite eye of light.

Counting five serpents nesting in his home tree,
he approaches young quickest female first,
who rests snorting head on a stone at tree roots,
while males lounge draped on branches above,
then prays, give me strength, infinite eye of light.

Gripping iron bar, he swings it down hard,
and shouts, I strike like black-storm lightning,
as he whacks skull of startled serpent stunned
that shrieks thrashing as he beats in wild hope,
defeating evil dragon with infinite eye of light.

Aroused by shrieking death cries of their mate,
four male serpents see a man striking her hard,
and skitter down tree trunk with snapping jaws,
screaming in blind rage to rip his soul in shreds,
but he howls triumphant in infinite eye of light.

Pounding his chest in victory over death
he brandishes iron bar splattered with blood,
and bares teeth to hiss at attacking serpents,
who lunge snapping jaws to rip out his heart,
as fierce battle rages under infinite eye of light.

Hearing his howls of battle in shadowed woods,
dozens of his people, who survived first attack,
return to see him standing alone by fruit tree
and swinging long iron bar in frenzy of battle,
so they shout in joy under infinite eye of light.

Gripping stones and clubs, they gather close
and form a circle around snapping serpent jaws,
then shriek, and hurl stones, and swing hard
until two serpents still alive lunge in blind fear
to scurry vanishing from infinite eye of light.

Cheering in triumph, and leaping high with joy
to hug each other tight and gaze in blazing eyes,
they surround their brother gripping iron bar
and lift him on their shoulders to celebrate life,
and his heart shines love for infinite eye of light.

Cutting open serpent bellies with iron bar tip,
he rips out their hearts and sucks hot blood,
then wears serpent head with open gaping jaws
like crown on his head with skin as flowing cape,
and parades to play god from infinite eye of light.

Stacking stones, they build small flat ziggurat
on ocean shore and cast a high blazing fire,
then roast serpent meat sizzling in turtle shells,
and feast, laughing and singing by rolling waves
to celebrate victory under infinite eye of light.

Ascending ziggurat to stand on its high plat,
he spreads both arms wide as everyone kneels,
and sings prayer, great creator of this huge world,
you gave me strength to defeat evil and save
souls of my people to live in infinite eye of light.

I wandered lost and terrified in dark night,
driven away from tree of fruit in paradise
by dragon of hate that devoured human souls,
but you filled my heart with courage and love
and guided my way home with infinite eye of light.

I did not know who I was or why I am alive,
floating blind and mute on vast abyss of fear,
but you opened your eye of warm shining love
and raised me from death with spirit of second life
by filling me with soul from infinite eye of light.

Three girls dip hands in oil of messeh serpent
and anoint his skin till he shines naked white,
then they crown his head with tall serpent head
and proclaim him Messiah, our dragon slayer
who reigns with love under infinite eye of light.

Crowned with his gaping-mouth serpent head,
and cloaked in long robe of jewel-scaled skin,
he sits on ziggurat throne before red flames
and holds iron bar scepter as everyone gathers
and sings hymns to praise infinite eye of light.

Ten thousand years later we celebrate his triumph
when Uranos fought and slew dragon of hate
for he created ritual of our holy temple feast,
wearing serpent head and holding scepter trident
to feed all souls who worships infinite eye of light.

We follow you, dragon-slayer and bridge-builder,
son of god who defeats dragons to save souls,
and gather every seven days in temple of peace
to remember your victory with feast and songs
on quest for truth shining from infinite eye of light.

Rebuild Myself With A New Name

Rebuild Myself With A New Name
Surazeus
2016 06 07

Walking down the street in the morning light,
I think about my dreams of you last night.
Everything in the world is just the same
as I keep on searching for a new name.

I feel the sun weaving light in my soul,
a cluster of atoms dreaming the whole.
I am a piece of the puzzle of life,
inserting myself in the game of strife.

I refuse to play their live-or-die game
so I rebuild myself with a new name.

I stop before the gate to paradise
and give to the angel my new device.
She lets me in for a hug and a kiss
so I tend her garden, singing in bliss.

The kings send the peasants to fight their wars
while lonely wives weep in their empty doors.
Children by the river play old war games
and give each other belligerent names.

I refuse to play their live-or-die game
so I rebuild myself with a new name.

Stumbling lost on the hill of broken dreams,
I find the Spinster of Fate sewing seams.
She sews me a cloak from fur of a bear
so I can climb the crumbling castle stair.

I look for Rapunzel in the tower room
but find my face in the mirror of gloom.
We fight a world war every eighty years
and leave our children to sing away tears.

I refuse to play their live-or-die game
so I rebuild myself with a new name.

I find princess bride by the garden pool
who gives me a guitar to play her fool.
I grip her crown and drive her motor car
and we drive home before the morning star.

Though our world burns down in the flames of greed
we build new castles in the sky of need.
The queen rides her lion across our land
so I journey to lend a helping hand.

I refuse to play their live-or-die game
so I rebuild myself with a new name.

World War Three

World War Three
© Surazeus
2016 06 04

While strolling down the busy city street
amid the swirling crowd of hungry people
I pause a moment to rest my sore feet
and stare beyond the shadow of the steeple.

I stand alone in carnival of faces
who shout at each other over who will rule
empire of guns that connects distant places
when scared people try to crown the loud fool.

Who will fight for Eden in World War Three
to rule the land of the lost and the free.

I look behind their polished masks of pride
and savor timeless joy of aching death
when I walk the country road with my bride
who teaches me the secret of deep breath.

We feel the foundations of our strong world
shaken by endless conflict between gods
when men who wave the Stars and Stripes unfurled
cheat at chess to outwit ambitious frauds.

Who will fight for Eden in World War Three
to rule the land of the lost and the free.

After Alice returns from Wonderland
she smiles surrounded by a shouting mob
who hurls eggs that splatter against her hand
while Batman stands by smoking a corncob.

Face to face with the blind dragon of hate
Queen of Hearts wields the Thunderbolt of Zeus
and slays the dragon at the Pearly Gate
then sits with Robin Hood to drink orange juice.

Who will fight for Eden in World War Three
to rule the land of the lost and the free.

When the hard rain begins to fall again
I open my torn umbrella at dawn
though blind pundits on television spin
web of lies that hide where the line is drawn.

But who can hear the prophet in the rain
warning of the doom that may never come
because I flash new visions in my brain
when the blind girl beats on her broken drum.

Who will fight for Eden in World War Three
to rule the land of the lost and the free.

So I look up at the sky-piercing steeple
where another fool crucified for truth
weeps tears of blood in the hands of his people
and tries in vain to deceive the sleuth.

When every god dies another will rise
and snatch the crown of power from his grave
and his image will freeze inside our eyes
since everyone will expect him to save.

Who will fight for Eden in World War Three
to rule the land of the lost and the free.

Gather at the river on hill of song
and join hands in a circle of clear eyes
to sing about tales that show right and wrong
while the sun gleams red in the evening skies.

Though war destroys the world that we all knew
we work together to rebuild our home
while Jesus wanders by without a clue
and we play ball games in the super dome.

Who will fight for Eden in World War Three
to rule the land of the lost and the free.

Faces In Rain Drops

Faces In Rain Drops
© Surazeus
2016 06 01
Nashville, Tennessee

Dreaming songs by a lake in Tennessee,
I am a rain drop in an endless sea,
so I emerge from timeless waves of hope
to name every breathing person I meet.

I walk the crowded street in burning sun
where a singer inside each open door
seeks for the elusive laurels of fame
while they invent a dream world no one sees.

I see your faces in rain drops of light
play stories of your lives that teach me right.

While I am driving on a country road
that spirals round the hills of Tennessee,
I see reflected in silver rain drops
faces of every soul I ever knew.

I carry on my back a heavy load
that bears the memories of every soul
whose love sparked the body in which I live
that carried us all west ten thousand years.

I see your faces in rain drops of light
play stories of your lives that teach me right.

Each ancestor whose life informs my own
dreams through the shattered memories of my eyes
so I weave them all in one laughing song
that spreads wings on which I pretend to fly.

When thunderstorm cracks blue Edenic sky
and drenches silent hills in beating fear
I shelter in haven of apple tree
and write words of hope on each curling limb.

I see your faces in rain drops of light
play stories of your lives that teach me right.

I feel alone and lost on nameless hill
till I turn and see your eyes smiling bright
so we hold hands and walk the winding road
that leads us to the garden we share home.

Our children jump around us in a ring
then stomp their feet and clap their hands in sync
to match the rhythm of our spinning world
when we gather at the river to feast.

I see your faces in rain drops of light
play stories of your lives that teach me right.

I work all day in the vast hall of dreams
to build a garden home from paper bills
that vanish in the gusting wind of time
while we sing on the beach in falling rain.

I am the Lightning that strikes the dead world
and sparks aching souls of dreamers alive
who embrace to transform fear into love
and paint our faces in rain drops of song.

I see your faces in rain drops of light
play stories of your lives that teach me right.