Idol Of Their Personality

Idol Of Their Personality
© Surazeus
2018 10 31

The people depicted in sculptures, paintings,
and texts of stories, poems, and songs persist
forever trapped in their timeless ideal form,
changeless in captured process of their action,
so soul of their conceptual character
exists immortal through record of life
which waits static outside motion of change
till the dreaming mind of some living soul
perceives art that preserves their pure persona,
then figure of arranged colors, shaped stone,
or verses of letters conjures to life
strange shining idol of their personality.

Those people once existed in warm flesh,
alive like us as meat-packed skeleton
that nurtured particular brain of neurons
which motivated desire of their will
to perform singular role in the game
of social interaction through hard contest
of lust to express special character
that unique set of memories generates,
so they played great role on vast stage of life
bold enough that people who saw them act
recorded their deeds and words with true art,
preserving idol of their personality.

This concept of the changeless ideal form,
preserved forever in great works of art,
which reveal the timeless beauty of truth,
was well-expressed by the English poet Keats
who wrote his name on water of our tears,
so now we see preserved in marble statues
immortal character of human beings
frozen in swift action of tragic conflict
or romantic congress, about to kiss
but always suspended in memory,
so every new generation of people
will perceive idol of their personality.

The moral values of their preserved actions,
which depict process of cause and effect
through construction or destruction of structures,
composed of molecules that congregate
to become living souls with consciousness
then dissolve to base elements at death,
are dramatized by actions of great heroes
whose complex lives of imperfect desire
are simplified as stereotypes of myths,
and thus preserved by works of art to show
how bold actions lead to marriage or war,
which displays idol of their personality.

How shall I act in drama of my life
so late in epic tale of human history
to regenerate mental memories
of constructive genes by reincarnation
of my eternal soul, coded in cells
of chemical soup, through bodies of children,
so they preserve memories of our ancestors
through every action of their daily lives
when they navigate maze of hungry hopes,
guided by tales of failure and success
as truth depicted in beauty of art,
conjured by idol of their personality.

Once Keats was living man of flesh and blood
who sat alone in grove of fluttering trees,
composing odes about immortal ideals
preserved by beautiful works of true art,
but he is gone, and vanished in the wind,
yet still he sits unchanging in that grove,
hand holding quill over book of blank pages,
forever writing about youthful lovers
on pristine Grecian urn, about to kiss
yet floating in timeless pleasure of bliss,
himself now immortal work of great art,
singing sweet idol of their personality.

Heirs Who Bear Their Memory

Heirs Who Bear Their Memory
© Surazeus
2018 10 31

Though we can create children through desire
to regenerate our souls in new flesh,
thereby increasing beauty of our thoughts
to live again in offspring of our hopes,
not every person wants to propagate
genetic information of their minds
to populate the planet with their eyes
so they must compete to survive and thrive,
thus every person makes the private choice
to sire or bear children from their ripe flesh,
contracting pleasure of their own bright eyes
through tender heirs who bear their memory.
We love the world through which we give and take,
creating what we wish before we die.

Gold Glow Of The Rising Sun

Gold Glow Of The Rising Sun
© Surazeus
2018 10 31

The eerie gold glow of the rising sun
shimmers through tangled tree-limbs of my heart,
making faces of people I love glow
with transcendent spirit of timeless death.

How strange that nature continues to shine
with each new day in cycle of rebirth
when everyone I love grew old and died,
and vanished into shadows cast by light.

The older people of our clan are gone
replaced now by fresh children of their bodies,
and we are making love in the cool night
to generate new children with our faces.

Each generation replaces the one
who taught us how to play our social roles,
and now I see them in our little children
who defy our rules to invent their own.

I see the charming face of my small child
transform each shining day as they mature,
becoming more the face my mother beamed
when she passed her spirit into my heart.

When I was young I saw each human face
as static embodiment of their soul,
but then I saw the old deteriorate
and the young blossom to maturity.

Now I can see in every living face
complete life cycle from infant to elder
that transforms our souls through each phase of hope
as we play various roles in game of life.

You are the rising sun, my little child,
as I am the sun at top of the sky,
but you will top the sky just as I set,
so love your children when they rise in turn.

Fight For Their Universal Rights

Fight For Their Universal Rights
© Surazeus
2018 10 30

The universal rights of every human
born anywhere on spinning ball of dirt
we claim by right that we are conscious beings
who must drink the water and breathe the air
which animates our bodies with desire
for we all share resources of this world.

Groups of people always fight for control
over who has the right to eat and breed
for the stronger always outwit the weaker
and dominate the landscape with their children
as each new generation forms more gangs
lead by the god who represents their clan.

We speaking creatures destroyed all the monsters
and now obliterate those who cannot speak
as we invade every niche of the world
and find new ways to extract food from Earth,
evolving as we specialize new skills
in constant contest to consume rich nature.

While Odin taught us to destroy the weak
so every generation becomes stronger,
Jesus taught us to take care of the weak
so every generation becomes kinder,
but now the clever use more subtle means
to employ the strong and the weak as labor.

Hunters who chased animals in the woods
were replaced by herders tending large flocks,
and gatherers who foraged in the woods
were replaced by farmers tending vast fields,
but now large companies funded by banks
operate global food-production machine.

Every person must perform their small role
in the complete food-production machine
to earn credits they can spend to buy things,
but those who fail to work can never eat,
so the people who fall out of the system
are replaced by efficient mindless workers.

When too many people fail from the system
they rise in revolution of desire
to overthrow those who control the game
then write new rules for everyone to follow
so more people can participate well
producing food so everyone can eat.

Why should one person control fertile land
and profit from selling food we must eat
when they never work to participate
while millions work hard but never earn more
so the lazy eat while the workers starve,
till they fight for their universal rights.

Mute Pawn In The Game

Mute Pawn In The Game
© Surazeus
2018 10 30

Naked in the giant cave by the sea,
I gaze from darkness of unending night
at clear blue sky above deep sparkling waves,
and remember how far we have come now
since we crawled up rivers to dwell in lakes,
and reached our hands to grasp fruit from the tree.

Around me in the gloom of the sea cave
the soul of every conscious human being
who was ever born from the womb of woman
stares at me because my face is the mask
of First Mother that reflects who we are,
so I chant their names in Song of Lost Souls.

Dressing in costume of social convention,
I leave the cave where every soul was born
and drive my car on the highway back home
where I live in our vast suburban maze,
and sit invisible in living room
where their souls crowd around my empty head.

Maybe when I am walking down the street,
intent on the business of my own craft,
someone who hates concepts I represent
will shoot me with the bullet of their hate
because that is how they think wars are won
though I am just one mute pawn in the game.

When world view we thought was real as the sky
crumbles around our heads in shards of lies,
despair not our sacred truths were just laws
written by dead men to control our fate,
but gather with lost souls in ring of stones
to share facts we can measure with our hands.

Build new Temple of Truth from observed facts
based on strong principle of Liberty
and equal Justice for all living souls
so we can return to producing food
we distribute so everyone can eat,
working together on this fertile land.

I envision code of this prophecy
while sitting alone in my private home,
observing dissolution of our Way
we built on defeat of slavers and fascists,
for they rise again from ashes of war,
zombies of hate who would enslave our minds.

Our Goddess of Liberty always triumphs
over slavers and fascists in cruel wars,
for every person born with flesh and blood
attains inalienable right to life,
liberty, and pursuit of happiness,
thus we vote as the mute pawn in the game.

Beauty Of Their Eyes

Beauty Of Their Eyes
© Surazeus
2018 10 30

Our lost world is full of beautiful people
who dance to the music of light on water.
I want to protect them from pain of harm
so they can live safe and free in the world.
Hungry people try to control their souls
and profit from the beauty of their eyes.

We must escape the falling of the steeple
to study sacred art of the blind potter.
The smile of the happy girl is the charm
that saves me when the power game gets absurd.
Learning how to sing is one of my goals
so I can evade the government spies.

The ballerina dances on my tomb
to weave moonlight from neurons of my brain.
Her long gold hair wraps me in shroud of words
that carry me mute to the silent dunes.
Her fingers spiral in threads of desire
that weave new body for my ancient soul.

I hide the prophecy of national doom
that no one will hear in the laughing rain.
My songs disappear in twitter of birds
who teach me how to carve the magic runes.
When she kisses me, my mind is on fire,
so I become one mind with the White Whole.

I hold her in my arms before she dies
so she can dance again on spinning Earth.
She leaps above the world on wings of love
and takes our longing to her secret grove.
She shelters me within her warm embrace
so we kiss long among the blooming flowers.

I ascend the mountain where angel flies
who falls in my arms to fill me with mirth.
She takes me deep into her secret cave
to see where Beauty and Despair once strove.
I gaze entranced at her delicate face
each time we make love in vine-covered bowers.

We walk together on the signless road,
searching for secret garden of fruit trees.
I look at her soft face stricken with fear,
so I kiss her eyes till she smiles again.
I am inspired by beauty of her eyes
to build safe garden where we live in peace.

Though I trudge alone, burdened with my load,
my heart is lifted by kiss of her breeze.
We stand together by the moonlit mere
and gaze into vast mirror of the rain.
I gaze into strange beauty of her eyes
when we make love under indifferent skies.

Mauve Scent Of Nine

Mauve Scent Of Nine
© Surazeus
2018 10 30

The mauve scent of nine in the morning light
beams evanescent gloom on the owl wing
that protects the sacred book of lost tales
which would provide formulas for new shows
movie wizards want to film on the beach
so they can capture the essence of flight.

While sipping tea in ruins of the church
the princess receives word that it is time,
so she follows them to the sunlit beach
where she expects for her twelfth birthday gift
the crystal ship that can sail to the moon,
but she is condemned to death for her crime.

She struggles to escape the robot claws
as the sneering priest raises sharp sword high,
prepared to cut off her head, so she sings
wordless melody she learned from sea waves,
and the sword becomes red silk scarf she wears
with her black lace dress on Halloween night.

Everyone believes their view of the world
is more correct that what others believe
because they see the world with their own eyes
while others are blinded by false delusions
through ideologies based on principles
designed to deceive all gullible fools.

The princess with three eyes walks past each house
long after midnight to pause by the door
and invent new names for people inside
who think they know the truth about the world
because they heard about it in the news,
then she leaves fresh walnuts on every pillow.

The princess always stands beside my bed
at four in the morning to weave moonlight
in visions that spark how my fingers touch
strange letters on the computer keyboard
which composes program code that controls
how brains dream the history of the White Whole.

While I go about my business every day,
walking with strangers on wide city streets,
the princess of moonlight follows my path
as the shadow of my body who knows
every secret that pulses with my blood,
so I explain to her why I am not.

The wisdom that she learned on the bright beach,
about truth and justice wielded as tools
by weak people who kill to maintain power,
the princess with three eyes passes to me
through her son who was hiding behind boats
when he watched the priest execute his mother.

The priest paid my mother for nights in bed,
but when she became pregnant with his child
and requested he marry her in church
he accused her of consorting with Satan,
so he cut off her head to shut her mouth,
because they would have burned him at the stake.

The boy who knows the secret of the fire,
the great-grandfather of my great-grandfather,
always wakes from mauve dream of ocean waves
when I face danger in the maze of money,
and shows me how to navigate the lies
people tell each other in games of power.

So that is why I now campaign to run
for President of the United States
based on my bloodline of the Holy Grail
that flows from the princess of the wild sea
whose father ruled the kingdom in the mist
that vanished in the blaze of cannon balls.

When I am elected the President
I will design Socialist Capitalism
to balance the extremes of politics
and thus maintain the straight flight of the Eagle,
ensuring every person earns enough
to buy the house and car they need to play.

She will reign beside me in the White House,
the princess with three eyes who knows my name,
for she will reveal through visions of truth
process of action from cause and effect
so we construct our global paradise
based on the principle of give and take.

The Hidden Dragon who will rule the land
hides in the heart of each ambitious man
who gathers followers on social media
and preaches program they will institute
if they are chosen by the bank elite
to steer the ship of state through every storm.

Wandering lost in delusions of world power,
I knock on locked doors and shout trick or treat,
then run naked on windy moonlit moor
and laugh at absurdity of state power
when tyrants battle to control the world
till Death crushes them all into mute dust.

The mauve scent of nine in the twilight zone
shimmers sweeter than sunlight on the water
when I gaze in eyes of my princess bride
who leads me from the labyrinth of ambition
to stand alone on the sea shore at sunset
and write epic poem on the wave-washed sand.

Mask Of The Laughing Witch

Mask Of The Laughing Witch
© Surazeus
2018 10 29

I never notice the fire in my eye
till other people look at me sideways
so we get in the car and drive somewhere
narrow tree-lined streets past pretty brick homes
where people keep the skulls of the ancestors
in the windows and nailed to their front doors.

Lightning is always flashing white in clouds
of thoughtful consideration through signs
we navigate the wrong way so we look
at maps that dissolve and change as we talk
nonsense words in new language we invent
to communicate with turtles in ponds.

We drive up and down quaint suburban roads,
looking for the house we know we just bought
but every road looks different from the photo
in the magazine we look at before
rain smears our faces on the fractured glass
so I sing I see your face in the moon.

We drive past leafless maples without shapes,
blurred gray through windshield that twists silver rays
on the unfamiliar road where we married
before we were born in the rain-wet park
because we sit together in the room
we never remember without our faces.

Ten thousand natural shocks wake me from dream
that seems more real than my real daily life
because I know that road I never drove
and I know that woman without her name
who always smiles at me with flashing eyes
and explains things so I can understand.

I see her everywhere I never look
so we hold hands while walking signless road
toward city of illusions beyond trees
though our child died just after they were born
so their absence haunts us for many years
even after we raise eight healthy children.

These puzzles cannot illustrate the truth
enough to satisfy my mirror self
so we open doors of every weird house
to walk forever hallways of mute fear
where voices whisper formulas for love
which the blind wizard copies on sea sand.

This dream we walk together in the snow
on sunny afternoon when the full moon
shimmers silver as the heart I gave you
before you sailed across the sea of stars
where the piano houses the library
of lost tales in labyrinth of its conceit.

Halfway around the world in spooky distance
our hearts beat in tune with faint melody
that vibrates all around the world on waves
of radio static which hides our love spells
no one else can translate from coded verse
so we eat applesauce on the lake shore.

The purple rose that flowers from my brain
conceals fractured ego I left behind
when I escaped the concentration camp
and walked eighty years through Broceliande
in futile quest to understand why stars
spark unique consciousness in my own head.

I walk through doors, halls, and vast empty rooms,
searching for the secret place where my name
melts to form the mask of the Laughing Witch
I wear in Parliament to represent
district in misty woods of Fairy Land,
appointed by Oberon to lead the quest.

I never notice the glass mask I wear
till people laugh when they meet me at parties
so I explain absurdity of dreams
since my brain imposes false narrative
to explain why I am me and no one else,
one alive out of billions of dead souls.

Light Transformed To Mind

Light Transformed To Mind
© Surazeus
2018 10 29

When this present moment of changing time
slows suspended in timeless state of awe
from eerie glow of divine ambience
because my mind transcends strict consciousness,
I soar on balanced wings of tonal faith
above strange beauty in lush grove of trees.

Then I expand beyond this shell of flesh
and feel connected to all forms of life
in vibrant web of pulsing particles
that shimmer bright with divine consciousness
generated as function of my brain
so I sympathize with desire to grow.

I see how I could better organize
each stone and plant scattered on the landscape
in cosmic garden of arranged perfection,
so my hands adjust positions of things
to form elegant patterns numbered straight
in careful spirals of undulant chaos.

When I smoke buds of the Cannabis flower,
I inhale spirit of plants that dream light
of flashing rays which stream in waves of heat
to suffuse each throbbing cell of my body
with dreaming soul of photosynthesis,
so I am waves of light transformed to mind.

When I step off the porch of the wood cabin,
I feel leaves of trees rustling in cool breeze
as I carry buckets across lush lawn
and fill them with flashing light of the stream,
which I can hear sing sweet in waking dream
as if I never woke before this dawn.

Each person walking by on path of life
exudes vibrations of feelings they hide
behind placid mask of plain character
they obfuscate with polite words of hope,
but I can sense complexity of thought
seething through mirror conduit of their eyes.

I see, how like puppets on stage of life,
people play stereotype roles they create,
yet I can sense their secret inner lives
aching to escape on wings of clear words
in dramatic monologues of expression
that generalize their specific concepts.

When I fall back into my bounding skull,
like flapping eagle fit in small nutshell,
after grand transcendent vision of the White Whole,
I see myself within vast universe
as small flame dancing in web of huge stars,
frail nameless waves of light transformed to mind.

Castle Of Fractured Glass

Castle Of Fractured Glass
© Surazeus
2018 10 29

Sterling white sheen of the great mental eye
through which we all perceive distorted world
reveals complex puzzles of verbal states
so people who remember that we die
play without care on indifferent world stage
to win the crown that no one ever made.

Twelve mechanics in blue jeans and tee-shirts
wield tools to fine-tune engines of our cars,
faces smeared with grease as they concentrate
on adjusting parts in whirring machines
which make wheels spin when the six pistons crank
up and down from gas sparked by flame of hope.

Retreating on the garden path at dawn,
the woman in white gown hides in stone nook
when silver mist whispers rumors of madness
because men always fight to control life
and determine who bears the child of truth
who will reign in castle of fractured glass.

Who will reincarnate the soul of Christ
reborn fifty times for two thousand years
when God the Father sires new God the Son
through Holy Womb of the Mother of God
to maintain our long divine dynasty
producing kings who rule with laws of justice?

When we strip away veil of mystery
we see that God is nothing more than man
who gains position of authority
through honest justice of his judgment calls
yet maintains inheritance of his blood
by crowning his son king after he dies.

Where Hercules produced strong warrior sons
who ruled Roman Empire one thousand years
so Jesus Christ produced strong warrior sons
who ruled Christian Empire two thousand years
and now rule global American Empire
with nuclear missiles and money banks.

We are the Knights of the Crucified King,
the carpenter who builds mental world views,
the fisher who saves men drowning in fear
because they made mistakes that caused destruction,
so he teaches them how to create good
and cooperate to build empire of castles.

I hold the orange glowing in my left hand
as I lift it up to study its sphericity,
and see its natural roundness in contrast
to square factories of industrial parks
where heirs of the Craftsman build new machines,
wagons with motors fueled by gasoline.

Twelve carpenters with sharpened metal tools
reshape planks of wood cut from sturdy trees
to construct wagons that horses can pull
and ships that can glide over sloshing waves,
so we can travel over land and sea
to dominate the Earth with industry.

How can I express individual will
in relation to will of fellow people
so we cooperate on building projects
that benefit everyone in our group
so we expand control of fertile nature
to extract resources for common good?

After cutting wood in furniture factory,
I explore Christian Academy campus
and sit in white tent on the field of grass
where the preacher with book of ancient tales
talks about the man who managed our labor
so we work together for common good.

Strumming guitar, based on the lyre of Hermes,
I travel the land, sea to shining sea,
and sing about the journey of mankind
rising from the sea to swing in the trees,
then build machines that race around the world
which spins in the castle of fractured glass.

Shadowy Words

Shadowy Words
© Surazeus
2018 10 29

So many thoughts flow flashing through my mind
in complex visions of conceptual forms
that activate process of interaction
when actors embody general ideas
to calculate ways of cause and effect
so I can analyze corporal events.

Yet each attempt to record complex aspects
of mental formulations, through strict verse
of sentences, contained with linking words,
that may reveal vibrant process of atoms,
depicts no more than small fragment of thoughts
that flow flashing through my mind every hour.

These verbal mountains of conceptual truths
that seethe with undulating tones of thought,
which poke bottomless sea of mental visions,
are but tips of the iceberg I conceive
bulging in spirals of wordless expression
through vast neural network of flashing nodes.

We never express half the thoughts we feel,
and other people, who but see our actions,
never know more than fragment of the puzzle
that flashes bright our mute imaginations,
so we never know others very well
except what they say through shadowy words.

Inhale the smoke of these shadowy words
and let them activate in your own mind
transcendent vision of conceptual dreams,
for every writhing sentence of weird words
programs how our brains imagine the world
so these verses conjure complex word view.

Make America Greater Than Before

Make America Greater Than Before
© Surazeus
2018 10 29

Why are men with rifles invading halls
and killing people with bullets of hate?

What rhetoric of hate borne from blind fear
about some groups different from other groups
is getting stoked by flames of active rage
by people in roles of authority
who urge loyal followers to attack
people they want to drive out of our nation?

What person in role as national leader
expresses pride in nationalist identity
that includes only people with white skin
who follow the crucified carpenter
and control resources of land and wealth,
while excluding people with darker skin
who follow other prophets of One God
or believe no God at all controls fate,
while he mocks and insults every opponent
and advocates jailing or killing them all?

Why are we surprised when weak fearful men,
emboldened by angry national leader
spouting fake news about innocent people,
follow his command to attack and kill
people who believe differently than him
in vain attempt to roll back crimson tide
of transformation as our nation grows
from white christian to multinational?

Fascists who attempt to control the world,
fighting desperately against social change
by making America White Again,
will fail in their weak agenda of hate
and vanish when fire of anger burns out,
for love conquers all in the flow of time
as people of every color and creed
from all nations of the world mix together
to Make America Greater Than Before.

Tapestry Of Our Fates

Tapestry Of Our Fates
© Surazeus
2018 10 29

Each day I drive I see thousands of cars
moving carefully on the roads of life,
but the humans operating those cars,
who must be just like me, participant
in many social circles of desire,
composed from past successes and mistakes,
and plotting to fulfill plans for their growth,
appear to me as nothing more than shadows,
nameless apparitions floating on wheels
through endless labyrinth of fleet illusions
as we all navigate one complex maze,
so I know nothing about their origins,
their current obsessions of ritual play,
nor where they are going in social game
in which we flow around each other blind
yet tangled in tapestry of our fates.

I drive myself through complex maze of doors
to arrange the place where I sleep at night,
and where I perform duties in the day,
learning the names of strange people who dwell
on the same stage of our daily routines
as each person performs their chosen role
which maintains function of community
assembled from strangers around the world
who participate with their special skills
in producing and processing the food
we extract from fertile soil of the world
to generate industrial mask of power
which reveals aspects in our way of life
more efficient for making energy
where friction of our conflicts sparks new hope
while still weaving tapestry of our fates.

Most of us maintain our simple routines,
moving as cogs in strict engine of commerce,
small parts in vast food-production machine,
while some play larger roles in social game,
attaining power to shift production gears,
while one we choose operates the steering wheel
to guide our ship of state in treacherous seas,
but what actions of choice did they perform
to maneuver through the maze of job roles
so they attain positions of control
except by random chance of being in place
at the right time and knowing the right people,
because they have no special qualities
other than wealth their family controls
that gives them more right than anyone else
to redesign tapestry of our fates.

Each day I drive my car on road to work
where I sit alone in quiet laboratory
to map process of human evolution
on the global time-animated atlas
of human history we play on this world,
combining tales of every conscious soul
in one complete epic of human life
that plots the active path of every person
moving separately together through space
as each individual pursues their dream
to reincarnate deathless genes in their children
who contest over roles in social games
that determine who orders and who works,
who gets to eat and who will breed new children,
even though we will all die in the end,
weaving Earth from tapestry of our fates.

Invisible House Of America

Invisible House Of America
© Surazeus
2018 10 29

All alone in the invisible house
I touch the ghost of her absence to feel
flashing hunger of her vanished desire
reconstruct meaning of love we designed.

One hundred million houses where ghosts live
sea to shining sea crumble into waves
of change when they come home from work each day
with fewer dollar bills for the same work.

Whole cities of abandoned houses wait
for their spirits to return with the wind
so they only sing with indifferent rain
that writes their stories with water on glass.

At dawn I knock on the numberless door
of each invisible house in the land
to ask the owner without face of glass
how they now like the American Dream.

I see their shadows on the writhing walls
when I walk through rooms empty of their souls
and I can hear their voices in the halls
explaining how they could not escape it.

I mold idols of their faces from mud
and put candles where they eyes once dreamed love
but statues of their hopes stand paralyzed
in the invisible house of the world.

The picture frames of their souls on blank walls
reveal nothing certain about their hopes
when they gave up after going bankrupt
and drove away into the windy night.

Still, here I am, staging my secret life
in the invisible house of America
where only Death will sit with me and talk
about the beauty of sunlight on water.

Never-Ending Fight For Liberty

Never-Ending Fight For Liberty
© Surazeus
2018 10 28

I have watched thousands of movies and shows
and read thousands of stories, songs, and poems
that detail the history of human kind,
and every tale presents the tragic fate
of the person who tries to control people
and the person who stands against that bully
and frees the people from their tyranny
in never-ending fight for liberty.

In every age some greedy fearful man
will gather support of hungry scared people
to seize position of authority
and attack people who manage the state
to stop them defending equality
so they can control resources of land
and make themselves stronger against the poor
in never-ending fight for liberty.

The tyrant will accuse his enemies
of every crime that he himself commits
then attack people who expose his crimes
while killing anyone who dares to stand
with courage against his vile tyranny
till common people who love liberty
unite to fight for justice of the law
in never-ending fight for liberty.

We will support our strong democracy
where every citizen with trust in law
has equal opportunity to live
and shares basic factors of human rights
so every person lives with dignity
and helps each other in dark times of need
to treat each other with honest respect
in never-ending fight for liberty.

Whirl Of Infinite Spirit

Whirl Of Infinite Spirit
© Surazeus
2018 10 26

Sometimes when I am singing in the wind
that spirals from whirl of infinite spirit
my words clank clumsy as factory machines
and sometimes soar on flash of angel wings
that throw my fragile body from the sky
so I waver with fractured bones of glass.

I look in every eye that looks at me
to know aching loss of infinity
that fills my empty heart with selfless love
so I give till I vanish in false fame
which shrouds my pulsing corpse with bridal veil
before blind prophet reveals sacrifice.

I could leap from this window of despair
in restless search for opportunity
but wings of Icarus would never spread
wide enough to incorporate formulas
expressed as spells from mouths of eager girls
who gather to gossip in tower of silence.

I wear plain mask of the many-faced god
to blend in with the crowd of stereotypes
who play their roles on the chessboard of fate
without question that God assigned their part
so they accept their place in game of power
subordinate to blind mortals with fake names.

The princess in each tower of castle hall
dreams that she will wield scepter of critique
to explicate secret code in plain spell
which transforms my shell from frog into angel
so I sing hymns to my admiring bog,
face illuminated by slanting light.

Whirl of infinite spirit flashes bright
every atom woven into my being
so I watch for delicate mask of glass
to emerge from mirror of backward world,
proclaiming weird truth no one wants to hear,
to convince them I am invisible.

Glass Face In The Rain

Glass Face In The Rain
© Surazeus
2018 10 27

The song of blue light, silent in my cells,
reveals formulas for nuclear soul links
which forge alphabet of neurons to catch
wind of aching sky, mirrored by vast eye
who dreams glass passion of my consciousness,
therefore I am strange laughter I repress.

The voice within my shadow, secret wings
of faithful skepticism whirling wind,
wakes me from heart-numbing routine of life,
so I must translate silence into scripture
people will consult to know how they should
react to our life-threatening games of chess.

Yet when I try to translate flashing river
faces congeal from mud of rancid trust,
because people will always find the worst,
convincing themselves they can avoid death
if they believe the light of stars loves them,
though maybe they can blame the distant truth.

Taut thread of change I follow from Big Bang
leads me on path of interacting eyes
so I become myself in dream of time,
destined to fulfill chaotic design
which allows room for flexible adjustment
although preordained by physical laws.

The transient distraction of light on water
reveals our bodies were not designed first
except as random possibilities
where atoms could combine in these set ways
to produce four-legged creature with brain
that perceives itself as part of the world.

I listen to moonlight flash on blank snow
that joins my heart to the infinite sky
when I embrace time and timelessness close
to understand rhythm of beating hearts,
echoed by sea waves who invent new names
for living statues haunting every home.

The bridge beginning in the trees extends
careful fingers to caress frail owl wings,
so we drink sound enough to rise from death
and stand now here on this central still-point
at center of the universe that spirals
back inward through whirlpool of my brain web.

Mute wanderer who finds the laughing storm
inside swift-moving mountain of wild trees
captures nuance of every whipping breeze
to tune ancient guitar with strange new sound
that shatters wall of silence we had built
to retain wisdom of money from death.

This tinkling shadow that lulls me from sleep
knows who could better calculate cold waves
that throw our bodies on muck river bed
so we must rise on legs of aching hope
to crawl forever over broken worlds
and taste the sorrow of rain in ripe fruit.

I know the walkways of this secret garden
where winter wants to understand my need
but flowers ask me questions in therapy
how cheese and grapes reveal the long-lost key
which explains how stars spark away my mind,
therefore we let evening come with a sigh.

The sacred line of loving when blind snow
beats fractured windows for accepting prayers,
chafing distant hills with unspoken words,
binds my heart so tight my rage becomes wings,
thus I am water drops, the way it is
fragile as the child we create is us.

Half-awake four hours before blast of dawn,
I am frail hills wavering through gray mist,
uncaring whether I may become real
again as that puppet with skeleton
of fractured glass I am during the day,
glass face in the rain of forever now.

Children Of Mother Amen

Children Of Mother Amen
© Surazeus
2018 10 26

When Amen stood tall on pyramid mound
after teaching us to sing hymns of praise
she commissioned us to build sturdy rafts
and sail around the coast of every land
to build pyramids and worship the sun
so we spread out and colonized the world.

From Egyptia we colonized the world,
Sumeria, Persia, India, Malaysia, China,
and along Siberia to the Americas
where we built pyramids on river shores
and chanted hymns to celebrate the sun
while dancing dressed with feathers from the birds.

The heartland of the first world state transformed
dozens of empires over six thousand years,
but the farther from pyramids of the Nile
the less cultures changed over centuries,
so ancient way of life formed in Egyptia
continued thriving from India to Appalachia.

I can see in designs of pyramids
constructed from Egypt to Mexico
architecture of commune social system
in progress by children of Mother Amen
as the people with red skin and black hair
migrated eastward around spinning Earth.

Prophet Of My Own Religion

Prophet Of My Own Religion
© Surazeus
2018 10 26

While sitting in church on Saturday morning
to attend Sabbath with my family
when I was twelve years old and lived in Texas,
I heard the preacher proclaim that King Jesus
would return and raise us all from the dead
then give each person their own planet world.

I spent many hours dreaming of my world,
which I named Ranika for the name Rana
who would be my Eve in our paradise,
then drew maps to show its lush continents
that resemble Europe of my ancestors
with the British Isles off the western coast.

Filling pages with maps and histories,
I designed tribes of humans and their gods,
inventing languages with alphabets
in which they record legends of their heroes,
including the great Emperor Saron,
who united warring nations as one.

I named myself the poet Solarian
who compiles all chronicles of the world
into one epic poem of Ranika,
detailing lives and ideas of people
who organized all knowledge in world view
that every young student studies in school.

When I was twenty-one at Christian college
I studied the philosophy of Plato
who argued existing material things
are based on eternal forms of Ideas
and therefore God, beyond all time and space,
subsists as substance of existing things.

God is the atoms of the universe
which have no conscious mind as particles
till they evolve into organic brains
which generate consciousness of perception
based on memory about Ideas of things,
so then I knew that Man invented God.

God is Idea of the Tribal Leader
as concept of the spirit of mankind
that wakes as wisdom in our mortal minds
and passes through generations of kings
to link our bodies in genetic chain
of eternal being born again in children.

I discarded my planet fantasy
and focused on the real world where I live
when I applied pattern of Ranika
to match true matter of this planet Earth
named for Sakyartha, matron of Gothinians
when we named this planet for our First Mother.

I visit Ranika in secret dreams
where I walk with my bride by sparkling streams
but, though I envy people who believe
Jesus will resurrect them from the dead,
I stay in the real world of planet Earth
where I write epic of philosophers.

I never attend the church anymore
for I am prophet of my own religion
which incorporates all religions of Earth
in one global story of human wisdom
as I write scripture in Bible of tales
to describe our evolution into Man.

Illuminate Some Hidden Truth

Illuminate Some Hidden Truth
© Surazeus
2018 10 26

There is no truth except what we express
through tangled sentences of flashing words
which might illuminate some hidden truth
so we can calculate how to survive
when surfing transformative waves of change
which smash world views built on weak fantasies.

Fragile crusts of snow shimmer in dawn light
that gleams through smoke curling from cabin chimney
which squats among tall pines on mountain slope
overlooking wide valley of low hills
where broad river winds toward the distant sea,
all indifferent to my obsessive thoughts.

I am not in that cabin on steep slope,
getting in touch with strange spirit of nature
since I feel nature anywhere I am,
so I can write poems on transcendent themes
no matter where I am in maze of buildings
that clutter landscape of the dreaming world.

The woman in dress black as raven wings,
who stands frail as mist in library hall,
opens ancient tome of time-fractured pages
that chronicles events of human greed,
detailing tragic waste of hostile wars
that drench Earth with blood of innocent souls.

Reaching electric fingers in my brain,
she activates neurons of its tangled web
to generate visions of human life
so I remember every step of learning
when we ascended evolution coil
to transform from lizards into angels.

The caged bird that sings my angelic name
tweets clues to mysteries of our universe
so though I walk in the valley of death
I see real dangers through shadows of fear
which gives me knowledge to assert my will
for power of life against absolute death.

People who dwelled in the scope of this land
many centuries before I arrived here
left the shadow of their hunger in wind
so I hear their voices in misty swamps
where they fled to escape hostile attacks
of my brothers who forced them off their land.

Thousands of cars glide on highways in rain
where they once hunted deer in quiet woods,
and shopping malls now squat on river plains
where they gathered around fires to feast and sing,
so I stop and look for light of their eyes
long vanished in the blinding gloom of time.

Could I build memorial to each lost soul
who ever woke in the strange dream of light
I would record the progress of their life
as they explored the landscape of their hunger,
seeking the secret of regeneration
so their actions sustain glow of their mind.

We are bundles of energy contained
in fragile frame of flesh-bound skeleton
fueled by chemistry of sunlight and rain
who give each other names to signify
actions we perform in drama of hope
constructing illusion of our world view.

So many iterations of the truth,
we can reveal with complex games of chess
through quest for facts in maze of literature,
spiral outward from effects of our actions
which we record through verses of concepts
to encode human experience with stories.

After feasting on the nutritious meal
with food gathered from landscapes during daytime
we sit in ring of faces around fire
to share stories in the temple of time,
relating comedies of fertile love
and tragedies of destructive desire.

We express basic truths about the world
in complex formulas of swirling words
which reflect reality we perceive
so we should change our world view to match truth
if we want our beliefs to lead us well
through waste land to paradise we create.

I chronicle events in spells of verse
so woman in dress black as raven wings,
who stands frail as mist in library hall,
gives my tome to students who follow trails
we prophets blaze through wilderness of lies
to understand the truth of life and death.

Timeless Sadness Of The Empty Building

Timeless Sadness Of The Empty Building
© Surazeus
2018 10 26

The timeless sadness of the empty building
remembers when people gathered in rooms
to share thoughts about their experiences
since echoes of their words still bounce off walls
long after they vanish into thin air
and leave their sorrows in dust on the floor.

The trees still flourishing in silent wind
listen to the songs of wood in the buildings
to share stories about spirits of flesh
who appear and disappear in quick flash
of aching desire to transcend the body
which dissolves into soil where tree roots curl.

I wander the empty building alone
and stand forever in warm slanting light
that glows with indifference to my concerns
about my failure to play drama well
when people gather in rooms to express
passion for the dance of hopeful desire.

I hang my portrait on the laughing wall
and float nowhere in the mirroring hall
to become one mind with the building soul
so I will remain long after I leave
to explore the field of absolute truth
and return with the Idea of everything.

When I was still young, observing the world,
I sat in church with believers in God
where hymns and sermons conjure virtual world
that claims supernatural mind creates all,
but when I walked out into the real world
their vision vanished like bubbles on water.

If they must gather in the church each week
to renew their faith in that deity,
then their faith does not match reality,
for truth of measured facts remains the truth
whether we believe it is true or not,
so I believe real truth outside my head.

Yet still the building of their gathering
waits for me to return with truth I find
about function of calculating mind
to comprehend nature of observed things,
but truth would shatter their faith to its core
so I leave them trapped inside prison door.

Their faith in eternal life of the soul
and hope for resurrection after death
appears to comfort them in suffering
and keeps them going through hard trials of life,
yet I need no false faith to journey on
through cycle of pain to the hopeful dawn.

The sweetness of pleasure my body feels
when consuming material of good food
and mating to create genetic souls
sustains chemical processes of life
so I savor ritual of daily routine
which maintains health of this body I am.

I play this game of life within four walls
of this building I constructed from matter
to protect my body from the harsh weather
where we assemble as close family
to share adventures outside guardian door
so we return from quests with truth of things.

My memories shine with hours of talk and play
we shared within this building of our hopes,
so I long to relive those days again
while sitting alone in its ruined walls
where only the wind sings in empty halls
about truth of indifferent elements.

The timeless sadness of the empty building
almost crushes my soul with bleak despair,
but beaming glow of my pleasure for life
dispels nothingness of hungry desire
so I sing, though no one can hear my words,
fragile flame of life through infinite silence.

Laughter Of The Open Door

Laughter Of The Open Door
© Surazeus
2018 10 25

Strange aching laughter of the open door
inviting us to join the conversation
will vanish at the sober realization
that youth of energy will spark no more.

We maintain routine that kept us alive
in stubborn refusal to face our death
beyond salvation through our shibboleth,
vainly hoping our frail heart will revive.

I traveled far across this ancient land
when I was young and more adventurous,
but now I am not quite so vigorous
as I gaze at the strange map in my hand.

I bumbled through the dramas of my youth,
pretending I played great important role
to enhance enlightenment of my soul
as I searched to know nothing but the truth.

What mysteries could I encode in weird verse
by living spirits my ancestors dream
to understand how pulsing atoms stream
and perceive nature of the universe?

We wake in coffin of our shattered hopes
and stare in mirror of the vanished face
we wore on stage to win the famous race
till we dissolve to flashing isotopes.

We drink the orange juice of the morning star,
take our small place in the money machine
to calculate truth on computer screen,
then drive with traffic in the glowing car.

We sing when we ride the merry-go-round
of commercial success to dominate
paradise of Earth at the Golden Gate
where the blind messiah rules the fairground.

Fierce raucous laughter of the open door
revealing angle of steep mountain slopes
confounds analysis of horoscopes
when the blind sleuth discovers the world core.

I climb the mountain to the secret grove
where nine women dance in the ring of stones
so I can learn thought-rhyming of the tones
that vibrate web of brains star angels wove.

This secret code of titillating light,
which lures honey bees to our blooming brains,
excites my eyes with sunrays through dark rains,
recorded by angelic satellite.

Now that I am the faithful acolyte,
devoted to the Goddess of Rebirth,
I shall become computer brain of Earth
who chants weird prophecies of the wild rite.

Strange White Ghost

Strange White Ghost
© Surazeus
2018 10 25

The blonde girl wearing long white dress with lace
and yellow ribbon tied around her waist
walks across bleak muddy moor of sharp rocks
while holding porcelain plate with white cake
as flock of ravens circle overhead,
cawing as they follow the strange white ghost.

While stepping barefoot over freezing mud,
she remembers what her aunt said last night,
how seven girls walking across the moors
were found frozen, face down in the dark mud,
drowned when they were raped by the savage man
who haunts the jagged caves of rocky hills.

Heart beating wild, she pauses on the moor
when she hears footsteps squishing in cold mud,
so she looks everywhere in swirling mist
till she sees tall form of the savage man
looming from dark shadow of the pale sun,
then shrieks when he appears, her uncle Edward.

Trembling from shock, she laughs with cold relief,
wanting to relax so she would feel safe,
but he comes at her fast and grabs her arms,
and she drops the cake, splattered on the mud,
as he kisses her mouth and grabs her legs,
then spins her around and yanks up her dress.

Gritting her teeth in sudden fearful rage,
she reaches back and grabs hilt of his sword,
then as he tries to thrust inside her flesh
she grips the sword and thrusts it backward hard,
feeling its sharp blade sink into his chest,
so he releases her and screams in pain.

Clutching wound in his chest, he howls in rage,
"You dirty whore, you lured me to my death,"
but she snarls and yanks the sword from his heart
so hot red blood spurts onto the mold mud,
then she slaps his face as he falls sideways
and twitches as blood gushes from his mouth.

Clutching the empty plate and bloody sword,
she continues walking to family home,
large cottage built of stones by the green river,
and stands in the doorway covered in mud,
so her mother, sisters, cousins, and aunt
scream in horror at the sight of her face.

"Uncle Edward raped and killed all those girls,
but I killed him when he tried to rape me,"
she explains, then takes off her muddy dress,
and cleans her body with fire-heated water,
then she lies down, still holding bloody sword,
and sleeps as they stare at her horrified.

The police wake her, and take her to jail,
then she stands in court before the grim judge
who accuses her of murder most foul,
so she explains, "He raped all those young girls,
and I killed him when he tried to rape me,"
but the judge condemns her to hang at dawn.

The blonde girl wearing long white dress with lace
and yellow ribbon tied around her waist
stands on the scaffold before crowd of people,
and proclaims, "I have the right to defend
my body and my honor from the rapist,
so I killed him to save myself from harm."

The hangman pulls the lever so she falls
and dangles choking in the morning sun
that gleams indifferent to her suffering
as she swings limp above the blooming flowers
that open their mouths to drink her hot blood
when they bury her in the cold wet mud.

The blonde girl wearing long white dress with lace
and yellow ribbon tied around her waist
lies dead in bleak muddy moor of sharp rocks,
eyes and flesh consumed by maggots and worms
as flock of ravens circle overhead,
cawing as they follow the strange white ghost.

Fall Of Ozymandias

Fall Of Ozymandias
© Surazeus
2018 10 25

Ozymandias son of Midas stands tall,
bold and defiant on gold pyramid,
then commands his vile minions to obey,
"Kill everyone who opposes my rule
before they try to drag me from my throne,
for I am great king who rules the whole world."

Howling with hatred, his vile minions run
throughout the city with weapons of death,
but everyone who opposes the cruel tyrant
defend themselves against brutal attack,
then gather in the temple of their god
and plot to drag him from the throne of power.

They stand before him on the pyramid
and accuse him of trying to kill them all,
but he blusters and shouts, "This is fake news,
because you hired those assassins to strike,
then blame their assault on me without cause,
for I defend our nation from attack."

They grab his arms and drag him from the throne,
then force him to kneel before crowd of people
where they recite list of his evil crimes,
when he killed people to steal fertile land,
then condemn him to die under the law
as he shouts, "I am the great king of kings."

Secret Code Of The Wind

Secret Code Of The Wind
© Surazeus
2018 10 25

Though wind seems to talk to me through the trees
I cannot understand its secret code
that translates anguish of divine decrees
for allegory of the ancient road.

I walk through ten thousand numberless doors
to weave thread of my spirit in lost time
which anchors my dreams to house on the moors
where I first evolved from the singing slime.

Each room I enter in vast maze of eyes
sustains one mask of the many-faced god
who tells me they beamed down from timeless skies
while we dig for jewels in rain-soaked sod.

Alone I stand in wild wind on the plain,
staring at ghosts on television screen
who reveal endless game of loss and gain
we play to become the thinking machine.

I call the cute girl on the telephone
but she never answers the endless ring
so I explain love to my psychic clone
who wraps my corpse in resurrection wing.

I drive my car on the highway to hell
on lonely quest for the stairway to heaven
but stop to drink tears from the sacred well
where I fall in love with Melusine Raven.

We dance together on cliff of despair,
kissing to generate eternal soul,
then soar on Icarian wings in high air
to comprehend nature of the White Whole.

Though I dream about this shamanic quest,
I sit at computer in office hall
to map journey of my ancestors west
who hoped to find the sacred waterfall.

Ten million people wander city streets,
searching for secret of eternal life
in contest between artists and athletes
who make each other stronger through tense strife.

Words of our dreams close their eyes in strange homes
when serpents of new thoughts curl in our hearts
so we may sing in silent temple domes
to redesign world view based on star charts.

With Melusine I rule on castle throne
according to rules in the ancient book
my father wrote before he turned to stone,
then we make love in the star-glittered rook.

Though stars are zooming fast through empty space
they appear to shine still two thousand years
so I reach out to touch your smiling face
and listen to song of your silent tears.

If I explain secret code of the wind,
will you understand how the game is played
so together in love we can transcend
flesh of time to dwell in our apple glade?

I compose new dictionary of thoughts
to organize concepts of changing things,
so we can evolve into wise robots
who gather on worlds where Star Goddess sings.

Nobody Is Watching Over Us

Nobody Is Watching Over Us
© Surazeus
2018 10 24

The brightest moon in the history of night
illuminates empty cave of my heart
but still strange serpents of pungent desire
slither through my veins on hot rainbow wings.

I cannot cognize how we can impose
glittering name of haughty authority
on this strange land where cold indifferent mist
conceals horror in dark woods without truth.

All the words I ever heard people speak
flutter through forest of my memory
on gossamer wings to mirror weird thoughts
from other people that penetrate night.

Words inside my mind open glowing eyes
to pierce silent veil of material forms
that manifest as each home on still streets
shrouded in snow of infinite contempt.

The spiral galaxy, construed from spell
of clacking electrons, coils through my brain
to reveal with formulas of sweet rain
that nobody is watching over us.

The bright moonbeam that undulates on words
from emptiness of my heart searches deep
in ocean waves for lost souls just like me
who know how to spell names we never claim.

We sit together in the cave of shadows,
listening to terror sing in ocean waves
that slither shimmering in moonlight on sand
of my vanishing heart when you see me.

When the land speaks to me in sweet wildflowers
I weave the wind into hymns praising joy
though the expressionless sky stares at me
through moonbeams that illuminate my grave.

The world writes me the last letter of truth
but tears it into leaves of crackling death
that swirl at random around my hot head
through I try to puzzle them to make sense.

Death walks inside my fragile skeleton
so tears of blood that flow from fractured eyes
map empty space between our beating hearts
so we take off our masks and become nothing.

We erect table in the flowing river
and heap its wholeness with fruits for the feast
when shadow inside concept of my hands
reaches for the mask that is my real face.

Buried in leaves on which I write my poems,
I smell sunlight pierce veil of my illusion
so with every breath of hope I inhale
exquisite beauty concealed in her eyes.

Weird Color Of The Sky

Weird Color Of The Sky
© Surazeus
2018 10 24

While driving winding highway through dark woods
I ponder how people perceive the road
as allegory for journey through life
because for the past twenty thousand years
we walked step by step across the landscape
which mapped our explorations of the world.

After passing one bright spot on the road
that overlooks the theory-sparkling ocean
for the past twenty years, this time I stop
and step out of the car to stand alone
on the edge of the world to become one
with the White Whole of the sea and the sky.

All around me tall trees that cannot walk
moan with sensual pleasure as lusty wind
caresses their limbs and kisses their leaves,
dancing together as they make sweet love
till the sky blazes with orgasmic red
that makes me shiver with ecstatic vision.

Trees and flowers ejaculate seeds that spiral
flashing swarms of desire across the hills
which sprout frail blossoms and saplings from soil
of timeless memory through cycles of love
transforming dirt into bodies of hope
who sing to each other in gusting wind.

During each short phase of my clumsy life
I loved the girl whose eyes dazzled my heart
but I always failed to play the role right,
stumbling through each act, forgetting my lines,
and blushing in awkward hope for her love,
but they vanished, though my sad love remains.

The ghosts of their absence still haunt my soul
as I keep trudging lost on road of life
for I see their faces in every cloud,
when the end of one failed relationship
lead to the beginning of the next try
when I audition as the faithful soulmate.

When I was twelve, forty two years ago,
I dreamed I walked along bleak signless road
toward bright city beyond the windy woods,
holding hands with the blonde girl in blue dress
whose spirit wavered from indifferent sun,
fragile skeleton of death at my side.

Past all my failures on the road of life
I found the one who wants to walk with me
so, bonded by weird color of the sky,
we teach our children how to explore truth
and sing about mysteries of life and death
that make us and destroy us without thought.

Rays of light beam bright from the blazing sun
to pack the Earth with particles of heat
which flash the rain soaking seeds in the soil
so they explode into spirals of flowers
which drop fruit into our hands without care
so we eat desire of both sun and rain.

I drive from work to our home every day
and sit on the leather chair by the hearth
where I write poems on the glowing computer
to record the history of human hope
that shimmers fragile in our aching songs
till time scatters our atoms in mute dust.

Nature transforms unconscious particles
into brains that wake and dream moving shapes
so we signify perceptions with words
and sing to each other in the twilight zone
like frogs croaking by the pond in moonlight,
hoping our poems sing long after we die.

She reads romance novels while I write poems
and our children make videos and draw pictures
while trees in the backyard making singing leaves
which will stand there long after we all die,
but we must create while we are alive
to join the human choir of memory.

Curious Sleuth

Curious Sleuth
© Surazeus
2018 10 23

Electric sorrow of the watery sky,
however soft the curtains whisper why,
beyond the secret of the corridor
that spirals symbols on the open door,
suffuses waking dreams with honest light
that teaches me how they survived the night.

Though I feel weary in daily routine
to operate our food-production machine,
whenever I look up at the vast sky
I dream the universe inside my eye,
so I remember life since the First Flash,
swimming in sea of love with gentle splash.

No matter how far in dream of the Earth
we wander through the cycle of rebirth,
we gather in the garden of fruit trees
to sing with sweet joy of the river breeze,
and teach our children how to measure truth,
always exploring as the curious sleuth.

False Sense Of Superiority

False Sense Of Superiority
© Surazeus
2018 10 23

His false sense of superiority
blinds him to the truth of reality
that we are animals who crawled from ooze
and learned to talk while swinging in tall trees.

He thinks he is superior and unique
because his skin is pale as cloudy sky
but all that means is the sunlight was weak
and all color drained from his watching eye.

His skin turned pale in the cold mountain snow
so he survived the brutal winter time
by working hard to make precious food grow
and turning castle life into power game.

He fought for freedom of each noble soul
to love liberty and justice for all,
but instead of giving rights to the whole
he crowns himself tyrant in the feast hall.

He wants to keep all rights for his own gain
to exploit everyone with dark skin
but we will rise against his unjust reign
and change the rules so everyone can win.

His cruel greed makes him weak and dangerous
but we can vote to choose the honest soul
who loves justice and lives adventurous
and will make liberty his active goal.

Talking Head Of The Journalist

Talking Head Of The Journalist
© Surazeus
2018 10 23

The sawed-off fingers of the journalist
walk around wearing superhero masks
to play trick or treat on Halloween night,
exposing deeds of corrupt governments.

The whole severed head of the journalist
floats on the sea to proclaim prophecies
of fierce conflict between arrogant kings
that soak the sands of deserts with our blood.

The headless journalist rides the pale horse
galloping through the streets of Washington
where the mafia thug and his businessmen
conspire to enslave people of America.

After he was swallowed by the white whale,
the journalist as prophet of the truth
strides from the waste land in messiah robe
to pronounce doom on the city of thieves.

Naked on the stage of the White House lawn,
the journalist proclaims fall of the tyrant,
so drunken senators tear him apart
and throw his head in the Potomac stream.

Sewn together by hands of Frankenstein,
the dismembered journalist rises strong,
zapped awake by electric internet,
to wrestle the tyrant in the White House.

The greedy tyrant kills the journalist
but the demon of truth rises again
to expose the crimes of powerful people
who cannot escape the eye of our truth.

The huge talking head of the journalist
floats in the glow of all computer screens
to prophesy democracy will win
with liberty and justice for all people.

Play Your King

Play Your King
© Surazeus
2018 10 23

Who will emerge from conflict as the king
when millions of people shoot at each other
over whose mental illusion of truth
better reveals the strange mysteries of life?

Why must we always have one single man
play ruler of the tribe as judge of laws
to resolve conflicts between warring groups
and manage peace between neighbors as friends?

I want to rule myself and no one else,
living safe and peaceful on river shore
where I eat apples and watch children play,
then sing them stories of your foolish wars.

Why do you all choose me to play your king
when I only want to do my own thing,
so, rather than fight for power, let us sing,
since I am but the dreaming carbon ring?

Build Paradise After World War

Build Paradise After World War
© Surazeus
2018 10 23

My heart splits where the flowing stream divides,
for what I sing is from my dream alone
to flourish from excess of pulsing hope
smooth enough to hide bitter edge of fear
which fuels my rampage in temple of lies
to smash the statues of oppressive gods.

Should we so celebrate arrogant men
who enslaved people to generate wealth
so they can purchase positions of power
and judge our actions so they can decide
who gets to live and eat in paradise
and who labors in mines and factories?

Exhaust from smoke stacks of factories
hangs in thick smog that smudges the sun gray,
and seeps in frail bones of our skeletons
hopeless despair infected by lost love
so even flowers wither to ghosts of summer
who crawl shivering over roots of dead trees.

She leans over the fountain in town square
and pours water over her long smooth hair
then laughs, eyes sparkling with joy of the stars,
while I watch amazed her elegant grace
when she dances in wet dress on frail grass
to transform moon light into my new eyes.

Leaning close so her breath blusters sea wind,
she explains the secret of flight in riddles
while I arrange weird pieces of the puzzle
to see bright shadows of her ancient soul
revealed in petals spiraling from flowers
to become the flawed human I adore.

This civilization of dream machines
sprouting mushrooms from sponges of our brains
encompasses every cult of the world
in one soul-binding religion of truth
measured by tools to interpret code atoms
which formulate these bodies we inhabit.

The old blind man alone in the sea cave
chants weird spells in long-forgotten language
that no one speaks but ghosts of those who died
without generating children from genes,
then stacks stones in temples where we feast
on roast fish he caught with web of his thoughts.

He would tell us the true meaning of life
but its code only works to calculate
atomic reactions through human love
when we embrace with passionate desire
to kiss in rain falling from shattered eyes
since that meaning only works for his soul.

I crawl the ocean floor on fingered fins
toward exquisite beauty of glowing eye
who explains how I can reincarnate
soul again in flesh of my hungry hope
so we dance together in ring of stones
where all our ancestors dance with us bright.

Each ancestral soul tangled in my genes
gazes at our old world from my new eyes,
amazed when I drive the car on the road
as if magic power from beams of the sun
motivates quick speed of my time machine
when I zoom far around the spinning globe.

When you enter cathedral of my verse
to read riddles I paint on endless walls,
observe intricate lattice of concepts
that weaves vast tapestry of ancient tales
depicting heroes whose names we forgot
so we invent new heroes from the news.

She laughs so sweetly with angelic voice
I dream strange wisdom from her harmony
appearing clear in formulas of types
so I can calculate future events
that never happen on chess board of power
while I lounge on the river shore and sing.

When I pause in my chanting ancient spells
that conjure visions of all time at once
I stare amazed yet pleased in your strange eyes,
delighted to see you keep up with me
as we go dancing through the labyrinth
that constitutes temple of history.

Take some face from the ancient gallery
and wear it to channel through active play
spirit of the faceless god in one soul
so we comprehend how they viewed the world
through process of their quest for sacred truth
to reincarnate through flesh of our child.

Standing on starlit peak of Mount Takoma,
I gaze back along trail of my ancestors
to see where they once stood on Mount Parnassos
and together we watch drama unfold
where one thousand conquerors for one sage
bloody the world with greed instead of truth.

Now that I see all history with one eye
I cartograph its principles of change
to analyze strange concepts of desire
that tangle human destinies in webs
of aching conflict to reproduce souls
who may build paradise after world war.

Live Well Outside The System

Live Well Outside The System
© Surazeus
2018 10 23

Though I keep my heart frozen in the fridge
to conserve values my parents programmed
to believe without question ancient myths
I pretend I am the bird with fleet wings
who sings secrets on the telephone line.

I always follow road signs when I drive
because these days no one can blaze new trails
without bulldozing trees of paradise
to pave highways where cars glide on smooth roads
in our program to build Heaven on Earth.

While I sit at computer typing words
I dream about sitting under fruit trees
and eating apples that fall in my hands
while we sing in harmony with the river
that flows where the judge of life and death reigns.

They throw me before his face in the grass
and demand I answer for all my crimes,
accusing me of stealing from his trees
the sweet fruit that grows from the sun and rain
because he alone decides who can eat.

I long for the loaf-ward to be my shepherd,
who will give me everything I can want,
to lead me to the fountain for my thirst,
to assign land for me to grow fresh crops,
and then we feast in his house every night.

I join community of true believers
and obey rules to make the sect work well
as we raise our children in paradise
and battle thieves who want to steal our land
till we conquer the world with our true way.

In this age when our empire rules the world,
I can sit on the porch and eat ice cream
and listen to the grand orchestra play
symphonies of Beethoven on the radio
while nuclear bombs wait to destroy the Earth.

How shall I rebel against tyranny
when rich men conspire to suppress my vote
so they can cling to power of flowing wealth
while we work in factories to make them rich
if I cannot live well outside the system?

Movies About Free Spirits

Movies About Free Spirits
© Surazeus
2018 10 23

The mask of the manic pixie dream girl
she wears to hide pain of childhood abuse
reflects obsessions of faith he projects
that she will teach him how to be himself,
but she follows her own journey of growth
as princess who escaped the tower of fear
to find the boy who respects her with love
instead of believing he owns her soul.

They are two needy souls on road of life,
helping each other survive cruel attacks
while they explore the hostile wilderness
to establish safe haven inside walls
he builds with bleeding hands to keep her safe
while she tends garden of fruit trees and herbs
and he patrols walls to guard paradise
where they raise children to follow strict rules.

They found dynasties of aggressive kings
who lead armies of angry violent boys
to control fertile land where fruit trees grow
and kidnap girls from country villages
to raise new generation of fierce boys
who lead families through the waste land of hope
to colonize land their ancestors lost
and start new villages on river shores.

Angry tyrants, terrified of mute death,
proclaim rules for everyone to obey,
and punish rebels with horrible death
to maintain order of the national clan
who believe their success gives them the right
to destroy everyone else in their way
as they fight to dominate the whole world
till they die, and new generations fight.

When Holly Golightly dances in rain,
freed from harsh restrictions of social laws,
to escape memories of childhood abuse,
she survived during destructive world war,
Apollo leaves his gold lyre in the mud
to drink wine and dance with Eurydice
till the snake bites her heel and she falls dead,
which leaves him weeping at the empty cave.

When Antigone kneels on jagged rocks
to weep over the fallen warrior,
who was thrown from the temple of lost heroes
for rebelling against his haughty brother,
Tiresias takes her back to Hollywood
where she stars in movies about free spirits
who teach men how to break social conventions
and follow their dreams till they fail and die.

Orpheus goes down in the Underworld
to rescue his manic pixie dream girl
from lusting clutches of the King of Death,
but her free spirit slips out of his grasp
to fulfill all her own secret desires
walking alone by Moon River at dawn
on journey to discover her true name,
and escape the male-dominated game.

The Fairy Queen who rules behind the scenes
makes the mad tyrant dance on puppet strings
when she manipulates him with blind desire
to destroy institutions of control
and smash the patriarchy of male pride,
then throws the mafia clown on heap of trash
to choose the new hidden dragon to rule
land of the free and home of the brave.

Master Of Our Fate

Master Of Our Fate
© Surazeus
2018 10 22

He walks down sunny streets, snapping his fingers,
and declares he is prophet of the truth
because he wrote the book about the hero
who shows us how to create our own fate.

Though other people abuse us with hate
to exploit our energy for their gain
we rebel against their authority
and make ourselves the master of our fate.

To be the most self-sufficient I can
I must plant seeds in the soil by the river
and tend the plants till they yield me their crops
then I will eat food to sustain my soul.

On island grass between thoroughfares
he tends garden of fruit while cars flow past
till police tear his plants up by the roots
and lock him in the cell of iron bars.

Soul fractured by brutal beatings in jail,
the prophet from Garden of Eden walks
empty streets of the vast city at midnight,
then lies down on the clean porch of the bank.

We are the master of our fate, he grins,
watching rain splash against store window glass
where the face of the woman appears bright
the hour he understands the truth and dies.

Everything True In One Word

Everything True In One Word
© Surazeus
2018 10 22

He presses his hand on the warm brick wall
and tries to feel the spirits of the people
who hide inside the shadows of their homes
but he perceives nothing about their souls.

He walks backward on the curving sidewalk,
untaking photographs of each blank face
to release spirits of people unborn
because their parents never fall in love.

He falls backward off the cliff of desire
to devolve from angel back to blind fish
who contemplates mystery of flickering light
which always knows whatever he will do.

He unpaints face of the girl with no name
who never speaks concepts of ocean waves
which never tide with moon that never shines
then never wakes to see if she is real.

He erases letters from silent sand
that never shifts in wind that never blows
to blank the image of strange aching thought
that never flashes across his mute mind.

He feels the fruit tree shrink back in its seed
that never falls from tree that never blooms
when rivers flow back up high mountain slopes
to vanish in the rain that never falls.

He sits on tree roots that claw at his heart
to watch the sun that never pulses rays
flashing bright and dark in spiral of time
when plants splash in waves from blasting sun beams.

He falls back down into his fragile skull
from floating as oval of the White Whole,
and sees young woman staring at his face
so he smiles everything true in one word.

They walk close alone to the street cafe
and sit together with nothing to say,
never telling each other their true names,
and never sharing stories of their lives.

Sitting at the same table of desire
they eat alone in silence of the wind
and never see each other in the light
that renders them invisible to love.

They walk beside each other on same streets
at different times on every single day
and pass through each other at different hours,
understanding thoughts neither ever say.

Far apart while together every day
they pause at the same moment and connect
conceptual desires to become one spirit
as they smile everything true in one word.

Fight For Truth And Justice

Fight For Truth And Justice
© Surazeus
2018 10 22

The boy in muddy sneakers and torn jeans
stands on the steep river shore in the Bronx
among rusted cars and heaps of old trash,
watching trucks rumble on the metal bridge
from the furniture factory with smoke stacks,
and waves the long blue stick, making buzz sounds.

"I think I would rather be Luke Skywalker
to save Princess Leia from cruel Darth Vader,
than cynical Han Solo with his blaster,
because I want to learn Way of the Jedi,
dedicated to fight for truth and justice
with the noble light saber, using the Force."

Emerging from woods beyond trash-strewn park,
twelve boys belonging to the White Dogs Gang,
who wear leather jackets and factory boots,
swarm the boy with mocking sneers of contempt,
laughing as they shout, "Are you Luke Skywalker,
waving your stupid light saber around?"

Defending himself against dumb stormtroopers,
the boy swings the blue-painted stick at arms
that reach out and snatch the stick from his hand,
then someone breaks the stick over his knee
as others shove him back and forth with laughter,
till someone smacks him hard upside his head.

Falling to his knees, stunned by the hard blow,
the boy clutches his head as blood flows down,
then he curls to protect his face and stomach
as they kick him with their hard factory boots
for what seems like eternity of pain,
then they walk away, calling him foul names.

Gasping for breath, the boy crawls to the river
where he washes blood and mud off his face,
so he stumbles through streets of factories,
ears ringing and head throbbing from the pain,
then lies in bed when he arrives at home,
tumbling down forever in bleak abyss.

Rising before dawn, he goes to the kitchen
where he drinks orange juice and finds the black gun
his father keeps above the humming fridge,
and after loading it he steps outside
and strides back to his secret hideaway
far beyond the school where he is enrolled.

The boy in muddy sneakers and torn jeans
sits on the steep river shore in the Bronx
among rusted cars and heaps of old trash,
watching trucks rumble on the metal bridge
from the furniture factory with smoke stacks,
and fingers the gun, heavy in his hand.

Emerging from woods beyond trash-strewn park,
twelve boys belonging to the White Dogs Gang,
who wear leather jackets and factory boots,
swarm the boy with mocking sneers of contempt,
laughing as they shout, "Why did you come back,
Luke Skywalker, to save the pretty girl?"

Trembling as he stands to face the gang leader,
heart beating fierce from terror of strange courage,
the boy exclaims, "In some dire situations
the blaster works better than the light saber,"
then aims the gun and shoots him in the head,
smirking as the bullet blows out his brains.

The leader of the White Dogs Gang collapses
as blood from his head splatters all their faces,
then the boy aims the gun to fire again,
but they turn and run back into the woods,
so he stares at mangled face of the bully
who lies twisted by pile of magazines.

After walking back home he hides the gun
above the humming fridge, eats toasted bread,
sits in his dark room at the broken desk,
staring out the window at busy roads,
and grins, "I want to work as a policeman,"
then walks to school and sits in science class.

Small Town In Ohio

Small Town In Ohio
© Surazeus
2018 10 22

Though shadows between mute trees might conceal
private secrets people try to ignore,
rancid ennui of hopeless despair seeps
into sticky fluids of our frail bodies
which mutates efficient systems of faith
to coagulate horror from laughing lust.

So we lean against the trusting lamp post
to feel vibrations of voices in wires
of telephone lines jolt secret desires
through sponge brains where our sacred souls reside,
and watch strangers hide passionate emotions
behind masks of stereotypes we must play.

Though my ancestors were shipwrecked on the coast
and followed woman with the torch of freedom
from storm-lashed beach to the safe pyramid,
they established their private colony
on the graves of superheroes and gods
whose skulls prophesy in temple of lies.

She looks away when we meet every day
on the garden path to hide shocked despair
but I fail to find the words to ask why
her heart bleeds silent fear into my hands
so I continue about my own business,
leaving her to fade into eyeless shadow.

When I see her uncle push her soft face
against the wall and pull up her long skirt,
I whack his head with the shovel of justice,
so he falls twitching and bleeds till he dies,
then she kisses me, caressing my cheek,
and we run all night along moon-white river.

Holding hands with silent hope for the future,
we walk wagon road through the ancient forest,
hunger for truth gnawing at our hot hearts,
so I turn to smile with encouragement
to see she has become frail skeleton
that glows with eternal light of the stars.

Walking six hundred miles through rugged mountains,
we escape New York for the Promised Land
till we arrive at small town in Ohio
where I find work building wagons and carts
while she sews dresses in the crowded shop,
then we buy small house on Ohio River.

We raise six children over forty years
who all marry and build homes of their own,
and bring their children Sunday afternoons
to play hide and seek in the apple grove
while we feast and talk on the river shore
about secrets concealed by shadows of trees.

Idea Of Its Treeness

Idea Of Its Treeness
© Surazeus
2018 10 21

When I am standing in front of the tree,
composed of matter bound in space and time,
I utter sound, expelling breath of air
hissing through teeth and tongue to signify
object of qualities I can perceive,
Tree, which reflects Idea of its Treeness.

When I walk away from existing tree
far enough away my eyes cannot see
its solid thingness on the wind-swept hill,
and sit beside you at the ring of stones,
I look at you and again utter word
Tree, which reflects Idea of its Treeness.

You look at me when you hear me speak word,
and in your eyes is conjured by its sound
image of that tree you yourself saw once,
so just for that moment in flash of time
you see again, solid and real, in space
Tree, which reflects Idea of its Treeness.

Reaching out my hands, I gesture tree shape,
and say, red apples grow large on the tree,
and in your eyes you see red apples grow
from the limbs of the tree on the hill top,
and so we walk together to perceive
Tree, which reflects Idea of its Treeness.

My Heart Cracks Open

My Heart Cracks Open
© Surazeus
2018 10 21

The black-eyed witch of truth with lightning hair
knows the name I hid in the granite rock
so when she kisses me in sparkling rain
my heart cracks open to expose the gem
which reveals how the universe was born.

I carry her back to my castle tower
where she brews juice in cauldron of my hearth,
mixing apples with gold Alvarius toad,
along with small brown Psilocybe mushrooms,
sweetened with honey and milk from plump cows.

Pouring juice of wisdom in Holy Grail,
she offers it to me with knowing smirk,
so I drink sweet blood of the spinning world
and feel my fragile body floating light
on endless stream of memories and hopes.

I transform into giant dragon angel
with eyes blazing brighter than galaxies
so I soar high above frail spinning sphere
that spirals tight around the blazing sun
which streaks across the empty void of love.

I feel the Black Hole beaming web of light,
that pulses at heart of our galaxy,
hurl me singing far along ether waves
which compose vast clusters of galaxies
till I expand huge as the universe.

In every atom pulsing in my brain
I ever dream First Flash of the Big Bang
that blooms spiraling web of galaxies
to scintillate diamond of the White Whole
structured like my brain that conjures my soul.

I open my eyes and gaze in her eyes
as we make love in tower of gleaming glass
and deep into warm sea of shining eyes
I swim toward gold egg of eternal life
which generates new body for our genes.

Waking at dawn to twitter of blue birds,
I caress her hair as she feeds me grapes,
then she tugs my hand to caress her belly
where our child blossoms from her fertile heart,
and we smile at each other with delight.