Prophecy Of The Waterfall

Prophecy Of The Waterfall
© Surazeus
2018 09 30

Far across the land on shadow-black wings
flies horror at the endless turn of change,
for by river of blood blind angel sings
about the woman who speaks of things strange
as voiceless sorrow where the waterfall
veils forgotten prophecy of the call.

Escaping cities for the mountain range,
the faithful followers of the fallen god
establish commune in the moated grange
since no one dares to prove their god some fraud
who builds mansions from money they donate
in vain attempt to escape mortal fate.

Because no supernatural god controls
electric pulses of atoms that soar
writhing in spirals between the ice-bound poles
we search changing labyrinth for secret door
that leads to universe outside the mind,
no more than delusion of lost mankind.

Though daily life swirls on highways and streets
to calculate salvation through rebirth,
I hide truth in code on the wind-torn sheets
how we alone are stewards for the Earth
so I sit singing by the waterfall
indifferent to the statue in the hall.

Church With No Doors

Church With No Doors
© Surazeus
2018 09 30

I came upon blind angel without wings
who was trudging lost on the wasteland road,
and she told me with words of howling flame
she was going to the church with no doors.

I tried to escape back to paradise
and hide behind the weeping walls of stone
but she caught me in the whirlwind of faith
and hurled me inside the church with no doors.

Now I wander endless labyrinth of lies,
searching for truth in the books with no words,
but I walk in circles forever nowhere,
hoping to escape the church with no doors.

So now I know without questioning why
that we are stardust drifting lost in space
and we scream at each other with no face,
wandering lonely in the church with no doors.

We are billion-year-old carbon who walk
trapped inside the skeleton of ambition
to become Super-God who soars in space,
trapped in basement of the church with no doors.

I find my way to the podium of truth
where I prophesy the rise of our empire
for I am the Messiah of Evolution
as we sing hymns in the church with no doors.

Equals In The Eyes Of Justice

Equals In The Eyes Of Justice
© Surazeus
2018 09 30

Secure inside stone walls of paradise,
I keep watch in tower of the glowing flame
to protect our fortress on safe hilltop
where my family tends fruit trees in the garden.

Feeling weak and beset by hostile forces,
the conservative hides inside strong castle
to protect himself and his family
from invaders who would destroy their world.

Once he has conquered all his enemies
and subdued fierce hostile forces to allies,
he can explore beyond his castle walls
and understand people different from him.

Feeling strong and connected to his friends,
the liberal travels far beyond his castle
to enrich himself and his family
through trading goods that create their new world.

Fearful of strangers from faraway lands,
the conservative retreats to his castle
where he stays vigilant of greedy thieves
and attacks anyone who comes too near.

Confident of strangers in lands he visits,
the liberal invites travelers to his castle
where he entertains them with generous love
and welcomes anyone who journeys near.

Conservatives hide in castles of safety
while liberals expand into market towns,
investing capital in companies,
but common people work to serve them both.

Conservatives believe white Christian males
only possess the right to rule the world,
but liberals believe everyone is equal
regardless of race, religion, or gender.

How can we balance safe security
of protection against hostile attack
with commercial interaction for gain
with people who create quality goods?

How can we maintain safe security
for every person who participates
in process of work to earn fair rewards
through equal opportunity to thrive?

Why should one group, defined by race and gender,
who legalize entitlement to power,
monopolize control of fertile land
to benefit while everyone else struggles?

How can we sustain fundamental base
of social values on strong principles
while expanding scope of bold operations
to connect all in global marketplace?

Now I can write this georgic about values
of conservatives secure in strong castles
and liberals building market enterprises
because I was born the white Christian male.

Although I was born the white Christian male
I believe everyone has equal value
and deserves equal treatment under law
no matter their color, beliefs, or gender.

We are all survivors in game of change,
isolated for many centuries,
evolving to match strange environments,
yet we are still one global family.

Secure in my castle of privilege,
protected by the fundamental sword
wielded by Guardian of the Holy Grail,
I can expand with liberal attitude.

Two thousand years we lived in castle walls
to protect our lives from aggressive hate,
but now we thrive and grow beyond those walls
to construct vast metropolitan maze.

Now that we conquered devil of despair
and vanquished the demon of fascist greed
we build democracy with basic rights
for everyone to live in equal love.

No longer must the white male rule all things
for every person in society
cooperates in our national commune
with equal opportunity to thrive.

We struggled for so long against fascism,
fighting to protect the weak against harm,
we fight each other to control the land
in choosing who will play the noble hero.

Now every person, alive in this world,
from every race and religion on Earth,
should live as equals in the eyes of Justice,
working together for the greater good.

Secure inside legal walls of our nation,
I keep watch in tower of the glowing flame
to protect our land, sea to shining sea,
where our world family lives in harmony.

Spells Of Obscure Formulas

Spells Of Obscure Formulas
© Surazeus
2018 09 29

Into maze of surreal illusions we dance
while chanting spells of obscure formulas
to obfuscate raw horror of despair
that fascist bullies through judicial coups
occupy offices of national power
to mute tone of our democratic voice
and silence righteousness of our tales
accusing tyrants of crimes against justice.

Throats raw from refusing to express rage
of righteous indignation at suppression
of our sacred and inalienable right
to choose how we live in game of production,
we howl eloquent spells of jolting verse
to zap from stale complacency of power
haughty men who wield sword of privilege
to threaten us all who defy their greed.

We cannot hide despair that twists our minds
when competing narratives about truth
tangle each other through contest of wills
in wrestling to define facts that are real
which benefit the teller of tall tales
who attempts to control how women feel
when hot blood surging through their open hearts
energizes rebellion against tyrants.

Masks of superheroes who save the world
we wear painted with surreal characters
to channel aggressive defense of justice
sustained by expression of liberty
when individuals cultivate strong skills
to counterbalance selfishness of greed
when arrogant bullies, weak from despair,
reassert control through harsh violence.

Fascists always threaten democracy
because democracy of common voices
debating programs that benefit all
threaten their monopoly of control
propped by privilege they award themselves
of fragile egoes fractured by desire
to dominate the world with their blind greed
so we resist them with aggressive love.

The principle of liberty prevails
against oppressive tyrants of blind greed
for they must exercise excessive force
to maintain control over our free minds
but we always rise strong against vain tyrants
by exercising our freedom to choose
and blaze our own trail through the bleak waste land
so we help each other wear masks of truth.

Rainbow Of Strange Peace

Rainbow Of Strange Peace
© Surazeus
2018 09 29

White moon now rises among swirling clouds
that scatter on me tears of long-dead souls
where rainbows bubble from the singing sea
to swallow me down through infinity.

On cabin porch above the misty sea
she cradles black-stone tea cup with both hands
and sips compassion of the ancient soul
that sparks her mind awake with warm desire.

Complete within itself the mirror face
that replicates itself through every soul
gazes back at me from the moon-lit sea
to pierce my heart with rainbow of strange peace.

Another month gone in slash of gray rain,
which illuminates stark colors of things
where streets seethe eerie vision of mute hope,
echoes memories I hide in naked verse.

Reaching into broken clock of my heart,
she untangles complicated obsessions
to weave rainbow of strange peace in my mind
so I understand people without words.

White moon watches me with indifferent eye
that bares uncensored memories I conceal
so when you look at mirror of my face
you see mask of your own design alive.

So when we meet each other on the beach
we shall exchange stories about the moon
which reveals secret cabin among vines
where only wind of abandoned love dwells.

She pours tea in cracked mirror of my heart
so I sip her faithful love for my soul
to return what I gave her long ago,
now grown into apple tree of her garden.

Comedy Of Social Power

Comedy Of Social Power
© Surazeus
2018 09 29

The leaders of our nations come and go,
rising up to power from the common crowd
to play god by judging rules of our game,
then stepping down to go away with pride,
secure their place in history is sure,
living men replaced by statues in halls.

Only when men try to cling to state power,
demanding obedience with arrogance,
does thunderbolt of Zeus strike from dark doom
and knock them tumbling to fall from high tower
when he sends Nemesis to enact law
of retribution against haughty pride.

The Doom of Pride is inescapable
for Adrestia always pursues the fool
who dares defy the law of politics
by refusing to vacate throne of power
so Nemesis will give them what is due,
distributing justice for their vile crimes.

Nemesis, broad-winged balancer of life,
dark-faced goddess born from fierce thunderstorm,
honest daughter of Justicia and Oceanus,
distribute fortune to those who deserve
reward or punishment for their behavior,
for none can escape your just retribution.

Men who are weak and afraid of the truth
will attack people with aggressive force,
threatening death if we do not submit,
so they hide their fragile ego with rage
but together we can defend our souls,
acting as the sword that Nemesis wields.

Strong men who are cautiously confident
observe the world with perceptive insight,
allowing people to do what they will
but stopping them if they try to cause harm,
protecting the weak from bullies of greed,
then keeping guard with quiet confidence.

Arrogant men who want to control wealth
assemble armies of lost angry fools
then attack people, who long produced goods
through clever craftsmanship of their skilled hands,
and though they maintain control with tight grip
Nemesis will rise and strike them from power.

The leaders of our nations come and go,
gaining power through aggressive force of hate
or through generous extension of love,
but weak men who oppress will fall destroyed,
while strong men who support will rise secure,
in constant comedy of social power.

Cerulean Joy Of The Sky

Cerulean Joy Of The Sky
© Surazeus
2018 09 29

Cerulean joy of our infinite sky
extends tendrils of amorphous desire
threading intricate conceptions of truth
to connect our alien minds in one glow.

Sifting soil of this strange world in my hands,
I search for secret of expanding seeds
to dream swift blossoming of fertile life
that weaves our spirits deep in porous land.

How far above vast maze of city streets
beams indifferent sky of azure content,
ignoring passion of chemical lust
that drives humans to clash on quest for love.

This sweet life of money and sensual power
glitters bright in glamorous mask of fame
to hide dark empty hollow heart of fear
which breathes salt-tinged spirit of our wild sea.

Sweet simple daughter of the carpenter
who longs for glory on the silver screen
walks in black dress on the bright ocean beach
to meet her lover where the green waves sing.

Shaggy-haired Neptune, with star-flashing eyes,
strides from wild ocean waves with booming laugh
and takes her dancing in the bright green waves
where she drowns in the silence of lost hope.

Alone on ocean shore where thunder claps,
while longing for the sweet life of desire,
I find Salacia wearing long black dress,
the mother of mankind drowned on cold sand.

I want to kiss her pale green lips with love
and spark the resurrection of her soul
so she will dance with me again in wind,
tasting the moonlight that beams from our hearts.

But, when I kiss her, lightning strikes her heart
and fills her body with electric soul
of ancient goddess from lost nameless land
so from cold death she rises on fire wings.

Above me in wild gusting ocean wind,
Salacia hovers on broad wings of light,
and in her diamond eyes of spinning flames
I see expansion of our universe.

I see the first flash of the hot big bang
blaze outward from attention of her eyes
as goddess of creation molds my brain
with neurons flashing like galactic coils.

My body aches from weariness of lust
that drives me ever forward through the maze
of open doors where people without masks
copulate to generate humans souls.

Through sore ribs beaten by my dance with Death
I breathe wild ocean spirit of blue skies,
becoming every soul who ever lived
whose fleshless spirits waft on ocean waves.

When I step through cracked mirror of my eye,
I enter posh room in mansion of glass
where beautiful people drink wine and dance
till Death dissolves them to dust in the wind.

The mummy of the first pharaoh to rule
the ancient land his mother Amen built
tries to abduct and rape goddess of fire
but she incinerates him with her laugh.

His anguish swirls around me in wild wind,
blasting against windshield of my frail car
as I drive along winding ocean beach
through rainstorm stirred by the wrath of Neptune.

I see the mighty goddess of creation
hover over sprawling cities of mankind,
so I embrace the chaos of despair
till she spins into the woman I love.

Laughing with cerulean joy of the sky,
I hold my beaming lover in my arms
whose black eyes sparkle with lightning of truth
and black hair weaves thunderclouds in wild curls.

Strolling together on the ocean beach,
with strange silence of the indifferent wind,
we become the song of the swirling waves
that lives in the children of our two hearts.

When all the kings and clowns who fight for power
have vanished in relentless wind of time
we plant seeds in lush garden by our home
and tend blooming fruit trees with loving hands.

Rips Apart Her Frail Heart

Rips Apart Her Frail Heart
© Surazeus
2018 09 28

The way light floods the kitchen with strange hope
on Sunday afternoon, through blank white glow
of something half forgotten, cased with words
never spoken, though birds remain to sing,
buoys my struggle to swim the tide of change.

Framed by silver that flashes, restless wind
whispering nowhere through the house, outside time
of recorded change, however we choose
to conceal the anguish, though photograph
of her face never changes in the hall.

Another broken ladder that falls, faith
in nothing but the words we never speak,
though all we hope stays contained in the frame
crooked on the wall, if she wants to go
or stay, yet this puzzle we never play.

Concealed in the wall of silence, the ghost
of her absence, dim memory of white walls
smeared red, although we paint to hide those fears
reflected by cracked glass of naked eyes,
still haunted by hope she may yet return.

Laughter of the child, in some other room
maskless emotions of trust, broken tomb
where no one goes to relate her lost tale,
upset water flickering through tangled grass,
or when she sees me with startled desire.

Exquisite features sculpted by stiff hands
of compassion, cracked marble bust, glass door
leading nowhere else, serpent hissing more
than angels sing, to fly on broken wing
over walls of paradise, wretched sea.

Restless sea, waves whispering names we forgot
to record on sand, sea breeze in each room
playing chase among curtains that veil her face,
still gold sunlight on the round kitchen table,
secrets concealed in long-forgotten fable.

Blue window glass of shame, spiderweb threads
fragile as her heart that suffers in silence,
sunlight gleaming through wispy clouds, true love
crushed like flowers under car tires, albatross
on trembling wings with ancient tales of death.

Little wood model of the sailing ship
glides on sunlight that beams in kitchen space,
cursive letters hidden in her lost diary,
orange juice in clear glass, by her old frail hand
reposing secrets of books, half the world.

Why should she tell them what happened to her
that night at the party, since they would sneer,
and never believe she is innocent,
through the cracked mirror of desperate desire,
transformed by fire, nothing is permanent.

This puzzle piece showing apples must fit
somewhere in the grand scheme of the real world,
roots clawing down into soil of her heart,
apples sucking spirit from her mushed brain,
reborn as the blind angel of small lakes.

When I find her standing by forest pool
she explains to me without words how pain
from getting raped rips apart her frail heart,
broken shards of the crystal angel bright
as the indifferent sun in her gashed hands.

Last Man Standing

Last Man Standing
© Surazeus
2018 09 28

The green waters of the indifferent river
gush with anguish through patterns of my heart
so when I build the righteous edifice
of moral authority, based on flow
of nameless tears, I spread arms wide to preach.

You cannot win salvation from the lie
that our bodies will resurrect from death
since people who long for the afterlife
to ease the suffering of this current life
wander lost in the labyrinth of illusions,
failing to see paradise where they live.

Whether I was born to play king or pawn,
I walk away into the wilderness
to escape the labyrinth of social power
and build new paradise in the waste land
where thunder mocks us humans for our pride
in our civilization of machines.

When exhaust from our factories and cars
billows stinking in pristine atmosphere,
and causes climate of the Earth to warm,
the mountains of ice on the poles melt down
and ocean tides flood sprawling cityscapes
so we evolve into angels or die.

The three-eyed woman from the wilderness
walks every city street in flashing rain
to crack the crystal sky with prophecy
that the ghosts of the dead who howl in wind
haunt us in the smog which poisons the air
so we crown her new Miss America.

We assemble armies from the lost boys
and give them all the magic wand of death,
then send them in the wilderness of hope
where they shoot each other in brutal battle
of capture the flag for king of the hill
when the last man standing crowns himself god.

I deserve to reign as king of the land
because I am the strongest man alive
and anyone who dares to make me pay
for taking what I want from other people,
exploiting the weak for my bank account,
will be crushed by the fist of my police.

All social systems of authority
revolve around Messiah Superman
as the Chief Executive Officer
and president of the whole company
who plays God on the Pyramid of Power
to manage business of producing wealth.

Thieves steal money and things from homes and banks
so we lock the lazy cheaters in prison,
while corporate kings steal land and labor time
in billions of dollars from working people,
so they live in mansions and drive fast cars
when we elect them as our president.

The two-bit gangster thug who went bankrupt
colludes with mafia kings in foreign lands
to launder money through his businesses
while boasting he rapes women for his lust,
reducing all women to baby-factories
while passing laws so men control their bodies.

Rich men organize poor men into armies
then send them out to invade foreign lands
on missions to spread good democracy
while ransacking rich minerals and oil
while millions of families die in cruel war
that fill bank accounts of rich men with wealth.

They exploit rich resources of the Earth
to earn huge profits so they live like kings
because they believe their immortal god
will return to transform the broken world
into perfect paradise of fruit trees
where they will live for all eternity.

White Entitled Frat Bro Drunk

White Entitled Frat Bro Drunk
© Surazeus
2018 09 28

The white entitled frat bro drunk with power,
clinging to male privilege of his birth,
who exploits young women for his own pleasure,
attempts to project impression of strength,
but under hard mask of blustering bravado
his fragile ego weeps from fearful rage.

Alone the frat bro is weak and afraid
so to feel more strong he joins gang of bros
who target vulnerable girls at wild frat parties
by spiking their beer with mind-numbing drugs
then dragging them into the private room
where they gang-rape the scared paralyzed girls.

Because fathers of the frat bros are rich
they can earn degrees in business and law
then get hired at the most lucrative jobs
to run the capitalist empire of our greed,
exploiting the uneducated poor
who slave for low pay in their factories.

America is run by rich frat bros
who compete to acquire the greatest wealth
in Darwinian game of get rich or die
by exploiting people for their own gain
while claiming this is how the world must work
through evolution where the best survive.

White Republican Christian men who claim
to follow the teachings of Jesus Christ,
who preached to treat the vulnerable and poor
with love and respect of the guardian,
instead exploit the vulnerable and poor
while hiding their fear with arrogant pride.

They institute their policies through law
that favor the rights of their privilege
to join together in large companies
which gives them strength to exploit the weak poor
by earning profits off their endless labor
since they believe the weak deserve to die.

The white entitled frat bro drunk with power
never pays the consequence of his crimes
when he assaults vulnerable girls for his pleasure
or steals from the poor through large companies,
for his bros have rigged our system of justice
to set them free while others pay the price.

The white entitled frat bro weak from fear
covers his shriveled soul of rotten lust
with the clean mask of polished privilege,
pretending to play the Good Christian Father
while abusing women for his own pleasure
and getting rich off labor of the poor.

When will they pay the price for all their crimes
and suffer the consequence for foul deeds
raping women and exploiting the poor,
these white entitled frat bros drunk with power
who now destroy our land of liberty
so they can enslave us all with greed?

Alone we are weak and afraid of them,
helpless against their legal institutions,
but united together, with bonds of love
for liberty of every individual
with right to make choices for their own bodies,
we can secure the freedom of our will.

To Live Without Fear

To Live Without Fear
© Surazeus
2018 09 27

I feel terrible grief well in my heart
while sitting on the bench in Autumn sun
in reverie about lives of my ancestors
when I relive the desperate fearful lives
of one hundred thousand women in me
whose memories flash awake inside my brain.

Each woman dreaming in ancestral tree
of my parents who generated me
remembers moment when she met the man
who sired next generation of my soul,
some clasping each other with eager love
and some scared as he forced her to submit.

One quarter women in my general tree
were assaulted or abducted by men
who raped them once and ran away forever
or kept them locked for years in hidden rooms
so women bore children against their will,
passing unspoken rage inside my genes.

The most aggressive men of every age
impregnated more women to sire children
so passionate lust of their blind desires
burns today in fierce tension of my body
as my brain plots to impregnate each woman
I can see as I go about my life.

I bridle intense lust with moral rules,
restraining force of animal desire
with civilized respect for human life,
so every time I see with hoping eyes
some fertile woman walking in the world
I vow to honor her integrity.

The body of each woman is her own
so I shall never violate her trust
by honoring her liberty to live
pursuing the happiness of her heart
and respecting her right to choose her love
if and when she wants to bear her own child.

Each woman has the right to choose her mate
and walk about the landscape of our world
without fear men will grab her with vile hands,
for men choose how they will act on desires
that surge from fierce biological drive
to treat women well with honest respect.

Some societies react to lust of men
by imprisoning women with strict rules
that suppress them while trying to protect them,
but we will react the opposite way
by giving women stronger legal rights
to live without fear of brutal assault.

All Eternity In One Hour

All Eternity In One Hour
© Surazeus
2018 09 27

When I sink into mute darkness of sleep
my conscious awareness of things blanks out
and I know nothing as I float in gloom.

The emptiness of nothing swallows me
so at the moment I awake from sleep
I emerge gasping from blank sea of death
and feel my heart pounding like the wild waves
as I try to remember my lost name.

As I remember who I was before,
recalling memories of my previous actions,
and noting wishes in the role I played,
I feel resurrected from nothingness,
refreshed so I can begin this new day
living better to overcome mistakes
and perform living rituals of my role
with greater precision of intent hope.

If I blank out in darkness when I sleep
as my brain turns off to restore itself
by processing memories into our soul
while organs of my body function well,
how can my consciousness survive my death
when my body stops functioning at all?

We think our animating soul of life
must remain some unified entity
that shimmers as it seeks another body
because our sense of consciousness glows bright
so we feel we will never cease to be
but my spirit is nothing but the flash
of imagination conjured by brain cells.

The neural network of our flashing brains
generates sense of consciousness we feel
so when our body functions with bright life
our brain can wake again with glow of self,
but when the body dies and falls apart
our consciousness vanishes into nothing
like frail flame of fire snuffed out by cold rain.

I want to stay awake ten thousand years
and dream the history of the universe
so when I eat the mushroom of the mist
I dream all eternity in one hour,
watching the First Flash in the blooming flower.

When I rise up from mute darkness of sleep
my conscious awareness of things blinks on
and I know myself as I float in light.

Your Most Loyal Friend

Your Most Loyal Friend
© Surazeus
2018 09 27

Since I first saw your eyes so full of joy,
shining with innocent love for the world,
I have wanted to hold you in my arms,
and journey the road of life by your side.

I approached you with my heart beating fast,
and told you how I want to be with you,
then waited, hoping you return my love,
and want to walk the road of life with me.

You tell me that you do not feel the same,
and do not wish to share your life with me,
so I withdraw and leave you now in peace
since I respect your wish as my command.

I value your existence in this world
so, if you ever need some help, call me,
and I will help you with selfless concern
since I would do anything to help you.

Your body is your own to live and love
as you pursue your dreams with liberty,
for every soul has free-will agency
so I will fight to protect you from harm.

To say I love you means I value you
and wish for you to live in happiness
for as we journey on this road of life
I will always be your most loyal friend.

Our Great Mother Of Life

Our Great Mother Of Life
© Surazeus
2018 09 27

Sparkling clouds of moisture in empty sky
pour drops of rain on the high mountain slopes
where it collects in streams that rive the land
and flow winding among hills to the plain,
then rivers spill into the sloshing sea
where hot sunrays draw moisture into clouds.

Tribes of men build cities at mouths of rivers
where the River God controls shipping traffic
when boats sail up and down their flowing current
to transport food and wares from town to town,
and thus the Bridge-Builder reigns on the Arch,
assisted by Messengers in long white robes.

The water quality engineer strides
metal walkway around the simmering pool
to monitor the daily operations
at the large city water-treatment plant,
calculating amount of water flow
that sustains human life in the vast city.

The documentary-maker in windbreaker
stands on hilltop overlooking port city
and talks into recording camera
about the relationship between humans
and hydrologic features of the landscape,
rivers, pools, lakes, straits, bays, oceans, and seas.

"All major civilizations in history
developed at the mouths of major rivers,
connected by boat traffic on the coastline,
when Egyptians colonized the whole world,
spreading eastward from Sumeria to China,
then along Siberia to the Americas."

I stare at my face in the shining pond,
and see my ancestors evolve from fish
when they crawled up fresh-water river streams
to dwell in shallow lakes millions of years
as hairy lizards transformed into mice
and climbed into trees where they grew strong hands.

Swinging along vast canopy of trees,
we developed eye-hand coordination
to catch vines as we jumped into the air,
and howled laughing as we swooped among limbs,
then huddled together, eating fresh fruit,
and made love as we sang to the gold moon.

Then those of us whose long tails disappeared
left the trees and followed the winding rivers
to swim in ocean waves and catch quick fish,
and in the surging tide we walked upright,
dancing from the waves to walk on the land,
and followed cows onto the vast grass plains.

Eating mushrooms that sprout in the dawn mist,
we danced in wonderland of pulsing light
to signify things with sounds of our mouths,
inventing language we speak with deep breath,
then followed the great river of the moon
down to the sea in middle of the world.

We brought branches of fire to roast cow meat
and saw the hot flames bake clay hard as rock,
so we molded river mud into bricks
and built the flat-top pyramid to sit
in safety when the great river floods fields,
dwelling in the House of Ptah forever.

Then gathered on the flat-top pyramid,
feasting on fish while the river flood flows,
we all hum together in harmony
as Mother Amen teaches us to sing,
so we hum as she sings beautiful hymn
about creation of the world from water.

Mother Amen stands on the pyramid
and spreads both arms wide like rays of the sun
to sing how Am, our Great Mother of Life,
creates our bodies from the river clay
and breathes the spirit of life in our hearts,
so we all rise and sing in harmony.

Before I Fall In The Sea

Before I Fall In The Sea
© Surazeus
2018 09 26

Small airplane glides across vast empty sky.
People once believed with strong sincere faith
devils of darkness and angels of light
were real powerful forces of wrong and right
who flocked around us in the sunlit air,
invisible to senses of our eyes.

Now we know the air that sustains our lives
is nothing more than elements of gas.
The real powerful forces of wrong and right
are urgent emotions of active will
inherent in the functions of our brains.
We choose to perform actions of our hands.

I want to fly small airplane in the sky
and show all the ancestors in my head
no crystal shell of stars encloses Earth,
nor does the Craftsman God, Plato defined,
sit inside Heaven as Realm of Ideas,
creating things that exist on our world.

I study nature of existing things
to comprehend structures of chemicals
that interact through number of electrons
evolving into plants and animals
by process of construction and destruction
as we grow and die in dramas of life.

When we understand how force of our hands
creates or destroys the bodies of things,
we can analyze effects of our actions
then develop good political programs
to organize actions of social roles
so we cooperate to build stronger nations.

Spreading broad wings I built from wood and feathers,
I leap off the tower and soar among clouds,
gliding with Icarus far above the world,
and gaze on green islands in the blue sea
where people watch me leap beyond the world
to touch Truth before I fall in the sea.

When I was ten, forty-four years ago,
living in small town in lush Texas hills,
I watched my grandfather rebuild airplanes
then fly them halfway around spinning Earth
to Christian missions in faraway lands.
Did he see Jesus high among the clouds?

Soaring above the desert of Nevada,
where they were detonating nuclear bombs,
on his way over the frozen North Pole
toward Adventist missions in Africa,
Bob flew through clouds of sparkling radiation
that detonated cancer in his brain.

After singing gospel music in churches
as one of the Kings Heralds Quartet singers,
Bob flew airplanes into the empty sky,
but never found the gateway into Heaven
to soar above crystal temple of God
who waved when he saw his Angel fly past.

God does not exist, for things that exist
stand out within the bounds of space and time,
coming into being of material form
then dissolving back to base particles,
so God is beyond bounds of space and time,
therefore God subsists as substance of being.

Since God is all the particles of atoms
that spiral from First Flash of the Big Bang
God has no consciousness in its base self
till atoms evolve in organic beings
who conceive of the best self we can be,
so we evolve into our Idea of God.

All mountains are based on Idea of Mountain,
all rivers are based on Idea of River,
all trees are based on Idea of Tree,
all humans are based on Idea of Human.
God is based on Idea of Tribal Leader,
the wise one who organizes our roles.

All the atoms of the universe form
enormous network of bright galaxies
shaped like network of neurons in our brains,
so is our universe one giant brain
and are we but dreams in the Brain of God,
fleeting flashes of cosmic consciousness?

Man is bridge between Ape and Superman
so I want to fly swift among the stars
far beyond fresh atmosphere of our world
to explore the boundless abyss of space.
Will our planet evolve into huge brain
of the world wide web recording our dreams?

I climb the highest mountain on the Earth
and stretch my arms till I become the sky,
then breathe in spirits of all living souls
and chant their names in endless song of life.
I want to leap beyond our spinning world
to touch Truth before I fall in the sea.

Behind The Noise Of Business

Behind The Noise Of Business
© Surazeus
2018 09 26

The honks of cars on busy city streets,
the twitter of birds in the river park,
the laughter of children in the school room,
the rumble of engines in factories.
Behind the noise of business I can hear
the silence in motionlessness of death.

How sweet to hear the sounds of daily life
activate the stark urgency of love.
Flowing forward on motion of small steps,
I navigate the busy streets of town
and push through the hopefulness of glass doors
on my quest for happiness in small stores.

I return from the waste land of despair,
riding in the swift black carriage with Death,
to walk the many-footed streets of town,
loafing at my ease against tree of fruit,
and watch strangers with weird faces I love
who pursue happiness in game of life.

When visions of life flash across my eyes
I strum guitar in harmony with life,
and with Orpheus chant the vibrant soul
that courses through the buildings of our town.
Whether I come to play the king or clown,
I wear ever-shifting mask of the skies.

Long I sit in silence on mountain slope,
listening to the terror in the soft breeze,
then, hacking at the cliff of silent rock,
I discover mine full of shining diamonds
that beam eternal love song through my voice
so I never cease chanting tale of life.

Long I wander in the waste land of fear,
howling with hurricane of hopeless horror,
then, striking at the stubborn rock of hate,
I release fountain of refreshing water
that flows forever from heart of the world
so I never cease chanting spells of love.

The clack of keyboards in the office hall,
the sparkle of light in electric wires,
the flash of data in thick cable lines,
the stream of stories on newspaper sites.
Inside the hum of knowledge I can hear
the silence in vast emptiness of death.

I love all those human beings I perceive
who express their perceptions of this world
for they are alive in dream of our globe
and their voices form one harmonious choir
that vibrates through labyrinth of city streets.
So what if they will all die one day soon?

Write To Record The Suffering

Write To Record The Suffering
© Surazeus
2018 09 26

When I sort through the whole clutter of history
I see so many bloody incidents
of hostile interaction through conflict
when humans fight to control land and water
that I wonder most of us live in peace.

The most aggressive people urged by greed
all kill each other off in brutal wars,
and soak the fields of victory with their blood,
which leaves peace-loving people still alive
though oppressed by harsh winners of those wars.

We develop systems of social action
organizing people to produce food
but when many people begin to starve
no matter how much they cooperate
the system is destroyed through brutal war.

We develop bigger and more efficient
systems of social action to produce
more food that feed much larger populations,
and thrive in peace while that new system works,
till more people populate the landscape.

We develop fair system of rewards
so people earn tokens to prove they work
in the form of metal coins stamped with face
of the man whose judgment we all accept
when he considers our cases of conflict.

We use money as system of reward
to prove who works to produce their fair share
but some people cheat and hoard all the coins,
refusing to pay workers enough coins
to buy what they need in the marketplace.

Our current system that had worked so well
for the past eighty years of massive growth
as we expanded from country of farms
to industrial juggernaut of factories
now crumbles from unfair inequities.

Several thousand people control the land
and most of the wealth glowing in our banks
while millions of people struggle to live,
earning just enough each month to pay bills,
as they teeter on the edge of poverty.

How can we redesign the social system
that encourages the growth of small farms
who need never worry about bankruptcy
while food is channeled to large factories
and processed to stock well large grocery stores?

Machines help us produce larger amounts
of food than ever before in all history
so everyone can have more leisure time,
yet most people work even more all day,
while many people never work at all.

How can we balance time at work and leisure
so people earn enough to pay their bills
while they have time to work on arts and crafts
in creative process of give and take
so we all maintain quality of life?

Business owners want to exploit our labor,
squeezing as much out of us as they can
to earn higher profits they hoard in banks
while they pay us just enough to survive
so they get richer on our daily work.

The nation with well-educated people
who perform their jobs with creative joy
and earn enough rewards from daily labor
will sustain thriving growth through inner strength
more than the nation with ignorant slaves
who seethe from anger of hungry despair.

Every morning I drive my car to work
and sit at clean desk in well-lighted lab,
using fast computer to create maps,
then drive home to my family in clean home
where I write stories about human life.

I am well-rewarded for daily work,
earning enough for our comfortable home,
with enough free time to create my art,
but millions of people struggle to live,
for I hear their cries on the Internet.

When I sort through the whole clutter of history
I see how insignificant I am,
one small nobody in the game of life,
so I write to record the suffering
humans endure in chronicle of truth.

Labyrinth Of Mirror Eyes

Labyrinth Of Mirror Eyes
© Surazeus
2018 09 26

The heart that aches with hunger for the truth
will devour obstacles of ignorance
and tunnel through the darkness of despair
to build vast labyrinth of mirror eyes
so when we come to cavern of lost souls
we can drink wine and party till we die.

The elephant drunk with lust of its greed
lumbers through ancient corridors of power,
smashing institutions with careless faith
which burns the old republic to the ground
where the poor search for trinkets in the ash
and the rich enslave them in factories.

When I hear people speak some string of sounds
my brain searches memories of past speech
to parse the noise into separate words,
then applies meaning where none may exist
so I will hear what my brain wants to hear
regardless of what people really say.

I stand in museum of ancient art
and hear in the echo of human hope
Muses singing tales about noble heroes
who battled monsters to protect their tribes
till we humans ourselves become the monsters
through the endless clash of civilizations.

That language paradigm which defines truth
and more clearly reflects reality
so speakers better predict new events
will prevail in the conflict of world views
till the best paradigms describing facts
merge in new effective global world view.

Come, let us sit together by the lake,
and gaze with perceptive eyes at the world
constructed of atoms which interact
through constant chemical process of change
to shimmer with energy of desire
that emanates from the divine White Whole.

Model Of The Universe

Model Of The Universe
© Surazeus
2018 09 25

I see the whole universe in my head,
having modeled it in small virtual world
that sparkles spinning in my brain neurons
by assembling vast structure of its truths
from everything I ever heard of life,
stories from bibles, movies, books, and songs.

I hope my model of the universe,
which I constructed in world view of truth
to better perceive real world outside me,
reflects that real world with accurate detail
since I designed its basic principles
to incorporate every new thing I learn.

Whatever fact I learn about the world
I can insert it in structure of truth
arranged in category of its nature
based on real physical laws that predict
process of cause and effect from our actions
so we can create rather than destroy.

I close my eyes to enter entranced state
and dream some aspect of our universe
so I can see operations of action
when various effects ripple from one cause
and thus I act through refusal to act
through intricate dance of social behavior.

What have I learned about the rise of empires
by dreaming all the empires of the past
which expand from central core to control
vast landscapes full of plants and animals
to better understand America,
my homeland now threatened by hostile forces.

Like trees empires grow from strong castle walls,
expanding outward in network of cities,
to develop food-production machine
where managers organize the hand-workers
so everyone who participates eats
by incorporating all in one nation.

When rich people rig the game of employment
so they gain greater wealth through land-control
by exploiting the labor of the people
who gain nothing no matter how hard they work,
the empire will weaken and fall apart
when losers rise up in bold revolution.

When the managers of factories and land
reward workers with enough to live well
they will keep on working day after day,
but when they start to lose their homes and cars,
and they begin to starve for food and fun,
they will rise and overthrow the wealth-grabbers.

Based on this model of the universe
when I analyze the progress state
of America, now grown to world empire,
I see the rich attempt to break the poor
and reduce them to dumb factory slaves,
but this America will fall apart.

The empire of America that grows
stronger than all other empires before
will thrive when all its people who can work
are educated well about true nature
and work hard because they gain wealth from labor
and live on rich rewards of their own hands.

Surfing Waves Of Time

Surfing Waves Of Time
© Surazeus
2018 09 25

I am Superman, surfing waves of time,
sliding along sunbeams from the huge sun
that spiral into rainbows around Earth,
till I evolve into my human brain.

When I focus on interactive motions
one clump of atoms calculates through space
I hope to understand effect of cause
so my actions will cause effects I want.

I envision how this world could be better
then manipulate matter with my hands
to transform it from one shape to another
so I can ease labor producing food.

I am the craftsman of the universe,
reforming matter to make what I want
according to design my mind envisions
so I become the engineer of truth.

Time is constant interaction of atoms,
so I surf swift surging waves of exchange
with supernatural power to change the world,
till the world crushes me to death with time.

Cake In Her Amsterdam Salon

Cake In Her Amsterdam Salon
© Surazeus
2018 09 25

The force of unspoken words, jolting white
through frail glass of our self-protective masks,
shimmers beautiful rainbows of fake smiles
to replicate strange beauty of pale clouds.

The lamp that casts eerie light on blank book
reveals secret code in curved characters,
suspicious through weight of unspoken thoughts,
however high the bird decides to fly.

She plunges fork in flesh of lemon cake
to ignore how she displaces despair
through stoic attention to small details
in strict contemplation of true success.

The elders with their pockets full of cash
frown on tasteless displays of flashy wealth,
austere ministers of business finance
expended according to divine will.

After endless meetings in clean hotels
to analyze cost-effective programs
that promise excess return of investment,
they approve plans to restore the waste land.

The cat that leaps away from thick tires of cars,
the angel caught in electric wires writhes,
the quick girl escapes roving gang of boys,
when fragile innocence dares to survive.

We make our own way through the hostile world,
each spirit who seeks true security
in simple narrative of private life
where we play the agent of our survival.

Why should I blame myself for their attack
when they are the one who should exercise
self-control over their selfish desires
and refuse to oppress me with their lust?

When they attack me with hostile aggression
they are guilty of breaking basic laws
of decent behavior toward other people
so they should be arrested for their crime.

Though they are responsible for attack,
I will be the agent of my safe progress
through confusing labyrinth of selfish lust
to preserve my body and mind from greed.

The shattered mirror of my mind reflects
more complex world than my world view contained
so I reprogram how I perceive life
to adjust for information influx.

I redesign paradigm of the world
with much more flexible parameters
so I can analyze new perceived facts
and insert them in grand structure of truth.

My new paradigm accounts for all things,
basing beliefs on founding principles
that can explain every phenomenon
so I can predict anything that happens.

I compose new concepts in the blank book
illuminated by the lamp of hope,
giving shape to strange transcendental thoughts
in my secret code of poetic verse.

When you look in the mirror of my face
you see reflected your own secret face
so we transform each other when we talk,
expanding our world views to match each other.

When she offers me slice of lemon cake
I accept the frail plate with polite nod
then relate humorous anecdote of life
so everyone chuckles in the salon.

Erase The Trail Of Tears

Erase The Trail Of Tears
© Surazeus
2018 09 24

They can never erase the Trail of Tears
though they try to erase words from books
for bloody footprints of their suffering
are stained forever in the angry soil
across the torn breast of America.

No matter what events they try to hide
as evidence of their blind lust for land
every student will learn the truth some day
and they will know their elders tried to lie
but have failed to erase the Trail of Tears.

Behind the loud rumble of factories,
woven within popular melodies,
and under pious prayers in their glass church,
the cries of people dying on Trail of Tears
still resonate with the timbre of truth.

Stand with me in the late sultry moonlight
and listen to soft whispers of the wind
that preserve the souls of all who lived here
and we can hear their cries on Trail of Tears
so we will record what they say in song.

Moonlight Follows Me

Moonlight Follows Me
© Surazeus
2018 09 24

The moonlight follows me across the room,
and waits with eyes as huge as blazing stars
to see what I will do about the gloom
that fountains from the wounds in silent hearts.

I hold the darkness of the universe
in open hand to study filaments
of eternal light that weave through my soul
though no one ever notices its pulse.

The light of the sun streams through frosty space
to illuminate the mask on my face
where millions of souls hidden in my mind
watch constant motion of each molecule.

The lone tree in the meadow of grave stones
sheds memories of the dead in restless wind
so I sew the leaves into silent books
kept in libraries no one ever reads.

The genetic code that defines my soul
will be preserved inside my hollow bones
one hundred million years after I die
so I stand now here and gaze in your eye.

Though I stand nowhere in flash of your eye
the moonlight explains how love will grow strong
which each scene in comedy of our life
together guarding walls of paradise.

Invisible walls of paradise hide
moonlight in nooks where people stuff small notes
in wailing wall to preserve memories
scattered across streets of their secret town.

I am happy now in this nameless place
where no ancient ruins of churches stand
silent in rain which writes our names on lakes
in letters only blind angels can read.

People are always giving God the face
of their father after his broken body
disintegrates to dust in the small hole
so God can cover the vast empty sky.

She tries to convince me that the bright soul
which animates fragile bodies of people
beams up into the sky on blazing wings
to weave vast web of shimmering filaments.

My mother frowns puzzled when I protest
and insist our souls flow up roots of trees
so our bodies become apples that hang
full of rainwater for us to consume.

She tries to put mask that her father wore
over my face so I will sing like him
but I walk the waste land of broken masks
and return to Heaven without a face.

Why do I sing more than anyone else
as if ten thousand angels of dead souls
sparkle in every cell of my wet soul
when sunlight gleams on water of the lake?

At sunset in the twilight of the world
I sit in the garden by burbling pool
and sing heart-aching melodies of hope,
so everyone gathers to sing along.

How bright the moon gleams on Aquitaine
where the young woman everyone adores
sings enchanting melody of desire
to wake the serpent of the water well.

Though lost long ago in pale mists of time
the songs of William the Troubadour ring
across the centuries of nameless lands
to vibrate again through my open heart.

Though I sing the mysteries of time and space
in language I think could be understood,
I feel I sit alone in cave of shadows
to sing in harmony with ocean waves.

The moonlight follows me across the world
and watches over my soul while I sleep
swirling with ocean waves in silent dreams
where I sit forever in grotto cave.

I sit in my backyard at twilight hour
and remember the woman in the cave
who invented language to imitate
the endless soul-charming song of the sea.

I am the new moonlight that follows you
through labyrinth of your forgotten desires
and waits mute in the window of your words
for you to find the voice you lost and sing.

Assassination Of God

Assassination Of God
© Surazeus
2018 09 23

Ocean waves swirl cold around my bare feet,
indifferent to the sorrows of my heart,
yet I think I hear laughter in their splash
as my tears are washed away in the rain.

I hold small diamond goddess in my hand,
afraid its fragile heart will become cracked,
then flash of lightning illuminates eyes
that stare at me from the bottomless sea.

Shivering in the cold wind, I stand and wait
for someone to attack me from the dark,
but only the wind grabs at me with hands
of hungry horror in the hollow night.

The ocean rises up from dark abyss
and swallows me down into my own dreams
where swirls of sparkling light strike at my eyes
so I float nameless in calm sea of minds.

Men on horses captured me from my village
and forced me to work in garden of herbs
where hundreds of people who never speak
bow their heads low before the men with whips.

They told us El who created the world
watches us from top of the ziggurat
where he rules the world on large throne of gold,
so we must obey or we will be burned.

One day I was given basket of grapes
and told to take it to Temple of El,
so I climbed broad stairs to top of the world,
gazing amazed that I could see so far.

I entered palace garden through gold doors
and saw El lounging on couch by the pool,
gaunt old man with eyes black as the night sea,
so I lay basket of grapes on his table.

Grabbing my arm, he pulled me on his lap,
and kissed me while I put grapes in his mouth,
then filled me with the spirit of his mind,
gripping me tight when I tried to escape.

Snatching sacrificial knife from his belt,
I slashed his throat to escape his vile grip,
and stared astonished as I watched god die,
that immortal god they said watched us all.

Gliding down stairs of the high ziggurat,
I walk down the long market avenue,
and show guards the gold disk with face of El
so they allow me to leave paradise.

Where will I go now, I ask the bright stars
that watch me floating in the ocean tide,
but they twinkle silent indifference
as I savor this strange feeling of freedom.

My Journey To Paradise

My Journey To Paradise
© Surazeus
2018 09 24

Born from the ancient womb of Mother Earth,
I sing vibration of our molecules
that flare forth from first flash of the big bang
evolving into beings with conscious minds.

I hide inside the door between all worlds
to weave my spirit in fabric of time
and mold virtual model of planet Earth
from muddy words I dredge from lake of dreams.

Rising from lake of dreams at dawn of time,
I snatch the serpent in the Tree of Life,
then pluck long branch, heavy with fruit of love,
and walk whistling down to the surging sea.

Kneeling on shining beach at dawn of time,
I listen to the song that sea waves sing,
then grasp sharp stick fallen from Tree of Life
and carve in sand ideas of things I see.

Crawling hunched over, low on hands and knees,
I slip into the sloshing ocean tide
and learn to walk upright in surging waves
while leaping buoyant with quick energy.

Gathering rocks in small ring on ocean shore,
I clash two flint stones to produce fire sparks
that ignite into flames glowing bright orange
as the sun sets in twilight zone of hope.

Face illuminated by the gold moon,
my mother smiles at me across warm flames
and explains, my mother made me from fire
and air, so I made you from dirt and rain.

Every moment of perception and thought
my parents experienced from birth to death,
and all their parents back four million years,
shimmers bright in the neurons of my brain.

I am the sum total of all their dreams,
combining all my ancestors in me,
so I transcend the limits of my self
and reincarnate in children through love.

The Earth keeps spinning around the bright sun
fourteen billion years before I was born
and will keep spinning billions of years more
long after I disintegrate to dust.

Yet these atoms that constitute my brain
flashed into spiraling strings of clear light
from the big bang to flare forth into Earth
and become this person who sings to stars.

In every pulsing neuron of my brain
strong psychic energy of the Big Bang
glows with ancient memory of the First Flash
connecting me to soul of the White Whole.

Touching objects with my exploring hands,
I utter sounds to signify with words
essential nature of their cosmic being,
and sing electric spirit of the world.

I see separate objects all shaped the same
so I express idea of standard form
in logical word to establish language
which generates virtual model of Earth.

Strumming strings on lyre of Mercurius,
I chant words in soft undulating verse
to weave tapestry of vision that shows
actions of heroes through struggle for life.

Leaving surrounding walls of paradise,
which my father built to protect our souls,
I explore the waste land of evil monsters
and wrestle with horror of my despair.

When gang of men attack me on the plain,
I drape the lion-skin cape on my shoulders,
then grasp stick and stone, and stand on high mound,
fighting quick to reign as king of the hill.

I build high pyramid from skulls of men
where I gaze through diamond eye of foresight
to manage empire of farm villages
and organize food-production machine.

My sons have reigned as kings ten thousand years
so I shine in glow cloud as God above,
first father you worship as wise deity,
incarnate today as the homeless prophet.

We are all fragments from the mind of God
who sees itself through our truth-seeking eyes
too long blinded by ideology,
so let us gaze at each other and sing.

Born from electric passion of the sun,
I dance spirals on our huge spinning world
while holding hands with you in shining rain
as we sing the joyful laughter of truth.

Since we left the walls from Garden of Eden
in Sumeria, ten thousand years ago,
we built cities on every river shore
and sang alone under the silent stars.

Now we connect our minds with world wide web
that weaves our souls in vibrant tapestry,
which dissolves borders of old nation-states
so we form United Nations of Earth.

We have evolved from farming villages
past kingdoms, empires, and nationalist states,
into global family of human souls
who work together on our vibrant world.

Born from the ancient mind of Mother Earth,
I contemplate complex mysteries of life,
how we are replicating coils of genes
who reincarnate in children of flesh.

I walk beside the ghosts of long-dead singers
to sing in harmony with ancient songs
in numberless choir of enchanting minds
who beam concepts into vision of truth.

Yet after all we create with our hands,
and these songs of life we record in words,
time will erase us from this spinning globe
and our atoms swirl in fierce wordless storm.

This hour I walk our world fifty-four years,
halfway through my journey to paradise,
singing to guide lost souls from the waste land
and build their own gardens on river shores.

Impossible Map Past Death

Impossible Map Past Death
© Surazeus
2018 09 23

The young girl on the bright city street
covers her mouth to conceal her desire.
Smog of her heart clouds the strange cityscape
where silent crickets wait at the night door.
She cannot see her hands in morning light
to touch the roots of trees that hide the rain.

She holds my hand while we walk through the park
and whispers she is spirit in the wolf.
I kiss her neck and smell her flowing hair
while she lies still and becomes the moonlight.
She grinds bones of her ancestors to salt
to sprinkle on the steak she grills for us.

Our two frail daughters transform into boys
who divide themselves into morning clouds.
From skull of their grandfather they carve masks
to play roles of characters they design.
The owl in the doorway gives key of light
that heals the wound it caused through alchemy.

Taking off her glasses on downhill road,
she searches for truth beyond perfect vision.
I want to make worlds from the wounds we hide,
she explains to the owl no one can see.
She heaps forgotten memories as stones
to mark the way back to the river tree.

She holds egg of the hawk in her right hand
and geode of crystal in her left hand.
She cracks them both open to find my soul
which pours over my face from broken dreams.
She forges her heart into the sharp axe
and chops down trees to build our secret home.

She holds my hand with pungent urgency
so I draw impossible map for her.
She will never be the ghost of my heart
for she is always somewhere in our house.
She is the idea of the swan whose wings
translate sorrow into the soothing tune.

From absolute beginning of the circle
we become one skeleton in pale fog.
We are flames of desire covered in mud
to open eyes inside words we might speak.
While we are alone together in peace,
ghosts of our ancestors float on the lake.

After digging in the garden since dawn,
I wash dirt from my eyes in creek of joy.
My face dissolves into the flowing river
so I wake up somebody else today.
Her eyes are large enough to hold the lake
so I look in her eyes to be the sky.

We work together as productive team
so long I forgot I exist as you.
I give you my name so when they call me
you become the person they want to love.
She points to the owl in the broken house
so I fix the roof to keep out the rain.

My heart full of emptiness flows away
to fill the ocean with sorrows I lost.
The way sunlight gleams on water reveals
how much she loves me in silent contentment.
I do not need her to love me at all,
so I become the spirit she does love.

Her hair becomes vines heavy with gold grapes
that curl into hollow hope of my eyes.
Her mouth becomes pollen of apple blooms
that drip honey blood into my dry heart.
Her eyes become apples congealing rain
that spark thunderstorms inside my vast chest.

She places her warm hand on my worn cheek,
and smiles to break the habits of our days.
Though we have lived together many years
we are strangers close to the aching heart.
We stand together in the windy meadow
and invent words to describe our old love.

Turning back to me on the river shore
she makes strange face so I laugh with new love.
We float together buoyant on the stream
and become the clouds that reveal our names.
Together we stare in the face of death
but death fails to see us with empty eyes.

Far away she walks on the shimmering ridge,
shadow of sorrow against empty sky.
In darkness of night I see her bright face
but she vanishes when sun shapes the world.
In silence of morning I hear her voice
in breezes that whisper in apple trees.

I chase her shadow to the empty sky
and find her unmoving beneath high cliff.
I breathe words in her mouth to wake her mind
but her eyes stare blank, far beyond my face.
I hold her in my arms as she dissolves
to dust that sparkles on indifferent lake.

I design impossible map past death
so she can find her way back to her body.
The skull that smiles beneath her vanished face
talks to me in the wind so I know why.
Her ghost walks beside on signless road,
singing her despair into resigned faith.

Process Of Liberty

Process Of Liberty
© Surazeus
2018 09 22

This hour of light in all eternity
I contemplate process of liberty
where men assert their will to dominate
waste land with paradise of walls and gate
to organize wild plants in neat trimmed rows
and gather every evening by the lake
where phasing moon among changeless stars glows
while we feast on good food our mothers make.

That way of life we lived ten thousand years
vanished so long ago with bitter tears
we wander without hope in strange new lands
to build vast cities with strong blistered hands,
for nothing will suppress our eagerness
to manage grand food-production machine
that cultivates wheat in harsh wilderness
than hunger that leaves our best heroes lean.

How long will humans thrive on planet Earth,
extracting minerals to transform their worth
from nuggets to machines that ease our toil,
energized by atoms through spinning coil
of ancient spirit that remembers how
we clash stones to spark fire of vision quest
while ancient mother, under apple bough,
chants hymns of heroes at the sacred fest.

I do what I will if I harm no one
for atoms of structures beam from the sun
to spiral flashing bright in carbon rings
which transform into angels without wings
so when we gather on lush river shore
as mother sun sets glowing through tall trees
we design labyrinth with the secret door
that might be opened with ten thousand keys.

Children Of The Dead God

Children Of The Dead God
© Surazeus
2018 09 22

The concepts of my poems are all addressed
to people who will never read their dreams.
The people I have known, who are oppressed
by hope to walk with Jesus by the streams
of Heaven through eternity, I call
to look away from glowing cloud of lies
that Jesus will resurrect us from death
and will transform the Earth to paradise,
then claim right to rule people of the world.
Open your eyes and realize that Jesus,
instead of great powerful god of light
was but one mortal man who ruled by right
that he was descended father to son
from dynasty of Adam since the fall
from Garden of Eden through the bright reign
of Solomon and David on gold thrones,
and on to Jesus hoping to regain
the lost scepter through election campaign
of healing people to reclaim his throne,
and know that Jesus was but mortal man
whose children continued their ancient rule
two thousand years in kingdoms of Europe,
and now across lands of America.
To millions of people deceived by lies
of religious authorities that Jesus
is supernatural god who will return
to resurrect them rotting from the grave,
I address my call to reform the church
that blinds them with lie of the resurrection,
and see that Jesus was mortal like us,
and his children crowned themselves as great kings
who claimed right to rule people with his spirit,
so we can follow example of life
he presented to love our fellow man
with generous compassion for their dreams
by living here and now with charity
instead of waiting for that paradise
priests sell in the greatest scam of all time.
When I was seventeen I felt the call
to be the prophet of Jesus our Father,
but when I saw there is no God in Heaven,
only atoms forming chemical structures,
I went on quest to find the Holy Grail
and found that Jesus married wise Mermaid,
the goddess based on Mary Magdalene,
the Woman who creates our mortal life,
and Jesus was node of one dynasty
of kings that began with Adam in Eden
and flows through David down to Jesus Christ,
whose descendants ruled kingdoms of Europe
founded by Meroveus, the Fisher King,
through Constantine, Arthur, and Charlemagne,
down to Victoria and her vast empire
now overthrown in two brutal world wars.
The dynasty of kings from Jesus Christ
sprouts another branch from the House of David
through Henry Plantagenet, King of England,
for all Presidents of the United States
spring from the families of the rival roses
who sprout from the children of John of Gaunt,
and thus continue dynasty of Christ
on this vast continent of America
that sustains the ancient bloodline of Adam,
having expanded the Garden of Eden
from that small village in Sumeria
to envelop half the lands of the world,
Russia, Europe, America, and more.
Naming myself Surazeus Astarius,
I will unite all these lands in world empire
and name it Anglonesia, Land of Angels,
where we gather in the Temple of Light
to celebrate our family unity
through communion of feasts and sharing stories,
since every father and mother with children
constitute the pure Holy Family
who reproduce the bloodline of the Grail,
for the Grail is service to mankind,
representing selfish love of our hearts
toward all diverse tribes of humanity
united in our love for this one world
that spins forever in the vast abyss.
We are all the sons and daughters of Jesus
for, though Jesus and his wife Magdalene
have been dead for over two thousand years,
their spirits live in the genes of our bodies
since their children generated our souls,
so when we walk together in this life,
holding hands as we lounge by this lake now,
in this garden of trees where apples bloom,
we are walking with Jesus in our Heaven.
As prophet of Jesus and Magdalene,
I call upon the Christians of the world
to see Jesus Christ as our Founding Father
who teaches us to live in Paradise Now,
and not as immortal god of the stars
for he will not resurrect us from death,
rather he gives us new life through our love
when we generate children from our flesh
and teach them to work together with trust.
That is the concept I wish to express
in these poems I write to people I knew,
though they will never read these dreams I sing,
that Jesus is dead, but we are alive
for we are the children of the dead god.

Strange Night That Bore Me

Strange Night That Bore Me
© Surazeus
2018 09 21

When I return to the strange night that bore me
from wild darkness of the infinite sea,
I dream of sitting in the room of desks
and traveling to far worlds inside my head.

My bored heart always flies farther away
to become the stranger I hope to meet
out on the road where fish walk on the wind
and tell me why the sunlight knows my name.

I do not yet even know my real name
so I stare at the blazing sun in awe
and feel her watching me with silent gaze
of indifferent love for how I breathe thought.

I exist within bounds of broken bark
and spread thirty arms to grasp wordless voice
while digging roots down to heart of the world
to feel how fast our globe spins into death.

Now that we are laughing bones in the church,
long abandoned on the desolate plain
by the noble god that was never real,
we drink the water of the weeping world.

They promised us that we would rise from death
and live in pleasure through eternity
in paradise of fountains and fruit trees
but our bodies rot now, devoured by flies.

I walk around the shipwreck on the beach,
bound inside frail body of splintered bones,
with nowhere to bury my rotting brain,
so I laugh as I drink the endless rain.

Since wounded souls never go home to die
I float beyond glass walls of paradise,
preferring hymns of flowers in restless wind
instead of litanies for the dead god.

The night talks to me wherever I go
to explain how trees burst out of my heart
so I gather herbs and sit by the pool,
hoping to leave my shadow in its glow.

My bones will carry me down to the sea
after stones explain the secret of light
which I vault at empty sky of vain hope
since lightning flickers from my open palm.

Then birds come with swirls of the summer breeze
to give me water when I will not move,
though they carry the lost pieces of me
to place me by the pond where I was born.

Who could assemble fragments of my soul
but the ocean who explains how we love,
although everything I gathered from grass
hides in shades of red which protects my thoughts.

I coax ghosts of my people from old trees
and ask them to tell me how I was born
so I remember the first flash of dawn
that transformed darkness into glowing things.

When I first glimpse creation of the world
dim glow of savage truth from aching love
refracts my mind from water of strange dark
to brim with multitudes of faceless souls.

I must have always existed like this
if I am so persistent to breathe color
since laughter aches so deep in my wild heart
I cease to feel behind this hardened mask.

Now that I return to night of my birth
drifting in half dream of lost memory
I snap awake at sharp voice of my mother
who vanishes into sunlight on water.

Though I always walk away from fruit grove
to follow cold river far from my birth,
just as I think I find some strange new land
I wake again in meadow of my birth.

The first flash of sunlight slices my soul
to slant sideways into alternate world
where someone ahead of me in strange glow
calls me silver tide of the ocean moon.

Thrown up by wild tide onto solid hope,
I watch stars become faces of my people
who talk to each other by the campfire
yet I lie alone by sea of the world.

So I climb again toward the glowing light
to escape family of the howling ocean
and walk laughing as I cry among trees
who give me apples which hide my real name.

Mist swirls over distant hills of my fear
so I sit on wave-smoothed slab of black stone
to taste water of the soul-shimmering sea
who tells me I should know why I am lost.

I worked for forty seasons in wheat fields,
harvesting bundles of grain for warehouse
where women in white smocks baked loaves of bread
so I could eat bread and honey each day.

Since I am too old now to harvest wheat
the gate guardian pushed me outside the walls,
so they expect me to lie down on sand
of the ocean and become silent waves.

So here I am, sitting on ocean rocks,
waiting for nothing to consume my soul
and change me into light streaming through clouds
that returns me to the strange night that bore me.

God We Idealize

God We Idealize
© Surazeus
2018 09 21

I am the rain congealed in dreaming mind
who sparkles with the light of pulsing stars
that beams spirals of atoms in warm flames
solidified in forms of hungry beings.

From the timeless One of Infinite Whole
we emanate from First Flash of Big Bang
when chemical body generates mind
who wakes in human brains and becomes God.

Changeless Idea provides pattern form
that multiplies all things from first Monad
to mold material in existing bodies
bound within the limits of space and time.

I am the Noumenon of Nameless God
that glows in neurons of my dreaming brain
so I become conscious of my strange self
as autonomous will of lusting faith.

My father is the sun in empty sky,
my mother is the wave in swirling sea,
my brother is the peak of mountain range,
my sister is the breath of flowing wind.

Yet all are formed from pulsing molecules
that interact through lust of chemicals
when atoms link to spiral in taut coils
based on number of electrons in rings.

When strings of energy from First Flash beam
outward from Big Bang of the great White Whole
they spiral into particles of light
that link in bound webs of blinking triangles.

Vast shimmering waves of particles swirl thick
in sea of matter shaped in sphere of Earth
where frail organic creatures with weird brains
evolve into the God we idealize.

Widening Gyre Of Change

Widening Gyre Of Change
© Surazeus
2018 09 20

From glass of milk on soul-astounding plain
where bees play violins in laughing rain
I swim across the deep abyss of hope
and stumble somewhere up high mountain slope
to find the temple where the blind man sings
because the devil tore his angel wings.

The sad philosopher by turtle pond
in long fur coat, with broken wizard wand
and tattered novel, gazes down long street
of misty Paris where the river beat
awakes my heart to rhythm of strange verse,
to become estranged from our universe.

We are autonomous subjects of I,
estranged from gaze of the maternal eye
through abject distance from her loving arms,
enchanted by her invisible charms
to create our own self from mask she lost
while accounting for weird prophetic cost.

Rejecting what is alien to the soul
we become more separate part of the whole
while she hovers above us in the sky
to break through fragile borders of the I
and teach us the mystery of second birth
because we are god-consciousness of Earth.

I wear the mask of myself I create
from face of my mother I contemplate
before I was born from this flash of rain
that weaves from laughter of atomic skein
eternal robot of the shining mind
programmed from pattern my father designed.

I run through fairyland to magic ring
when I hear the twelve pretty muses sing,
and find inside circle of ringing stones
Byron and Keats beating huge skulls with bones
while Shelley and Orpheus chant weird spell
that causes me to writhe from the deep well.

I join their joyful dance of prancing song,
not caring whether they think I belong,
and leap floating stones over deep abyss
to transform pain into confident bliss
through weird expression of conceptual verse
that conjures dream of the whole universe.

The river goddess smiles at me with love
to prophesy how far I rise above
the clamoring crowd to quiet grove of trees
where I bare my naked heart to the breeze
and chant the vision of truth I perceive
by leaping far beyond illusions they believe.

How well we organize our random thoughts
in classic rhythm of programmed robots
who record all knowledge of man in memes
which play like puppets in forgotten dreams
to guide our way to wisdom of the cave
where shadows hide the secret we must save.

Though once again things seem to fall apart
and fly away from center of the heart
through turning of the cosmic ticking gyre
we build cathedral with antenna spire
where Spirit of the World in human form
enchants our minds to fight the fascist storm.

Each generation one man rises tall
to cast his shadow on the ancient wall
and guide vast nation with the rule of law
to supersede raw violence of the claw
and as messiah of the chosen tribe
dictates new story for the history scribe.

We ride now on the widening gyre of change
each eighty years transforming beyond range
of what we were before to become more
than angry workers slouching through the door
to vote for messiah every four years
who comes again to soothe our hungry tears.

I was not born in Bethlehem this time
yet here I design new world paradigm
from twenty centuries of dreamless sleep
based on the proverb we sow what we reap
in building empire of the world wide web
connecting billions of minds in thought ebb.

On current of this river from the cave
where shadows pulse with every restless wave
that surges from the ocean of our souls
we all design our autonomous roles
we will play in Theater of the Absurd,
invited by puzzle of the ghost word.

Somewhere in sands of the desert I go,
shaped like the lion man who rules the snow,
with gaze connected to computer circuits,
observant as the wizard of the circus
that beams warm sunlight from indifferent sky
because I will continue asking why.

We live on fragile spinning globe of souls,
so I feast on apples and play with foals
to escape thought-control of the grand king,
then hide riddles in secret spells I sing
that helps us ride the widening gyre of change
where I rule the world from the mountain range.

Attempting To Play God

Attempting To Play God
© Surazeus
2018 09 20

These weird thoughts have floated around my head
for many years on strange shadowy wings
before I captured them in verbal form,
sewing them in howling monster of truth
like Frankenstein attempting to play God.

While crawling deeper through my memories
I find vast caverns of deep shining pools
where visions of my childhood afternoons
shimmer around me in veil of desire
to sing the beauty of sweet love I lost.

Entranced by structure of the glowing diamond,
I gaze at vision of infinity
when bright rays of light from spiraling suns
weave conscious spirit in my flashing brain
so I remember before I was born.

Each atom sparkling in my body cells
first spiraled from bright flash of the big bang
so every era of its journey far
pulsing forever in the singing star
energizes conscious dream of my brain.

I want to walk with you in singing rain,
I mumble while curled in strange fever dream
alone on desolate moor of swirling mist
where three transparent angels flow fire wings
to weave new body for my aching soul.

I floated in the sea ten million years
then crawled up shining river of desire
to rise from flashing lake and stretch my arms
toward twinkling stars who give me ancient name
while I pluck fruit from tree of life to feast.

I touch my face with hands of wispy smoke
and feel my bones recite frail brittle glass
of aching hope for nothing made from rain
that slides down curving angle of my face
so I become clown of the human race.

Ten thousand leaves still dancing on green wind
assemble form of spirit I inhabit
so I play puppet of the unseen god
that people tell me exist in the clouds
though nothing but wind replies to my call.

Soft sand of the beach beneath my bare feet
shoot sparks of sensation up to my hands
and glittering ocean waves flash in my eyes
excited rays of transcendental faith
so I feel souls of everyone who lived.

They walk beside me on the ocean beach
and tell me their tales in the singing waves
but then I sit on the slimed rock and cry
because their bodies rotted into muck
to leave white skeletons smiling at me.

I hold the skulls of my mother and father
in each hand as I feel the ocean breeze
whisper through their hollow eyes the lost truth
I can never quite express in tongue sounds
that buffet from my mouth when I howl thoughts.

They were all around me since I was born,
the people of my tribe with flashing eyes,
leaping and laughing and talking together
as we walked along the beach to find food,
and sat around the fire in twilight glow.

Now they are all gone, vanished in the wind,
yet I seem to still be alive in flesh
that covers my own hidden skeleton,
so I imitate their leaps and their laughs,
but stand staring forever at the sun.

Who am I, I ask the vast singing sea,
and the sea tells me I am its lost child,
so I float in the waves under vast sky
curved like the eye of my mother whose voice
I hear in wind so I look everywhere.

Everyone who ever lived before me
lives again in eyes of my beating heart
so I leap in the surging waves of light
and dance upright along edge of the world
ever forward toward some distant desire.

Strange shadowy wings flutter above me
so I look upward to see the large demon
my father mimicked, dancing around camp,
so I gasp in horror and swim toward shore
then run along sand as it swoops at me.

Sharp claws flash as it glides swift on broad wings
so I dive and roll as it shrieks at me
and its claw rips my back as it soars high
and curves around to dive at me again,
so I grasp long stick and stone from the sand.

Standing firm with stick pointed at its chest,
I howl in fierce wind as the demon swoops
and shrieks so loud it terrifies my heart
but I thrust the stick that pierces its heart,
causing it to tumble flapping on sand.

Leaping on its chest, I howl in wild rage,
then raise the rock and smash its writhing head
till its skull shatters and blood spurts out red,
and I beat my chest in bold victory,
then curl on warm sand to cry at the shock.

Roasting the large bird over crackling fire,
I hum strange melodies of satisfaction,
then as the stars sparkle over the sea
I feast on roasted meat of the fierce demon
while the waves preserve ancient memories.

Soft Laughter Of The River

Soft Laughter Of The River
© Surazeus
2018 09 20

Because we love soft laughter of the river
we walk along its shore of hope to linger
where we can ever hear its soothing voice
which reminds us we always have the choice
to lie down in silent shadow and die
to escape pain of hunger in the sky,
or rise up to walk among apple trees
and savor beauty of the whispering breeze.

Each time I reach for ripe fruit in the tree
the rainbow-wing serpent hisses at me,
so I linger in shadow of despair
while sweet butterflies flutter in my hair,
and think about my mother by the pool
where she took me every day to swim cool
till the terrible serpent bit her hand
and her body dissolved into mute land.

Emerging from warm shadow of her soul,
I feel my own self becoming more whole,
as I realize she formed me in her womb
and left me alone in the silent gloom
to blaze my own trail on the river shore
while I discover my true spirit core
that shimmers like the sun inside my head
to glow with awe at life till I fall dead.

My mother is dead and I am alone
so I stand still and breathe on the large stone,
then gripping wand I creep toward apple tree,
freezing when the serpent hisses at me,
then swing hard and fast to crush its small head
and beat it with fury till it writhes dead,
then gasp for breath, startled at my fierce rage,
wondering at the wisdom of the blind sage.

Climbing into the apple tree, I rest
while eating delicious fruit with zest
that beams sun-sparkling water in my brain
which I taste in the sudden drenching rain
that shimmers across the meadow of flowers
and birds flutter chirping in fruit tree bowers,
so my heart beats with rhythm of each wing
when fierce flash of joy causes me to sing.

Because I love soft laughter of the river
I walk beside dim shadow of my mother
till I feel her spirit wake more in me
each day I linger in my apple tree
and sing about strange wonder of the Earth
while aching for spark of life to give birth
to young child who will live beyond my death,
so I stop and take another deep breath.

How do we spark new life, I contemplate
unspoken mysteries of our vital fate,
then wander far along the river shore,
exploring way beyond my known-world core,
till I find young man measuring the land
so I place ripe apple in his strong hand
while he gazes at me with hoping eyes,
and we eat together under clear skies.

I lead him to my grove of apple trees
where we make love in the cool river breeze,
but when I wake from nap he is long gone
so I sing about him at dusk and dawn
while his spirit swells ripe inside my soul,
and I lie in warm sun feeling Earth-Whole,
because I love soft laughter of the river
that helps me dream how to be a good mother.