Star Angel Who Fell

Star Angel Who Fell
© Surazeus
2018 11 30

Where the soft wind blows in the silver night
star angel who fell from the bleeding moon
walks slowly alone in the whispering woods
followed by the wolf with the human face.

The strings of the harp by the sparkling pool
vibrate with her voice though she has no tongue
so she reaches hand to touch my blind eyes
where the ancient light beams sun rays through me.

Holding in both hands silver leaves that fall,
she opens her mouth to release black bees
that buzz in wild swarm to form black storm clouds
which splatter ice rain that crackle my bones.

I leap for the horse that gallops away
to swish flashing tail in cold hurricane
but she grabs my head so I do not fall
backward without wings in aching abyss.

Her hands strong as roots of laughing oak tree
clutches my foul heart pulsing like pool frog
so when I turn back to look in her eyes
I see pure white light demolish the world.

I run backward fast to remember name
she gave me before I stepped through the door
then opens my chest to swallow the sky
because she cannot explain to me why.

I climb through the tree and see her become
the infinite truth I feel in my brain
so we always kiss in absolute rain
and transform to mist that gives us new eyes.

She falls in the sky beyond my frail hand
to map sharp contours of elegant land
because she creates this body of flesh
that glows with the light of spiraling stars.

Together we walk high ice rainbow bridge
and reach for our hands so we can stay safe
connecting our hearts across thousand years
and navigate charts that reveal our fears.

We share one bone mask that conceals our souls
because the Earth spins around the wild sun
that forges the light which glows in our eyes
so we can still dream the vibrant White Whole.

We wake in gold dawn to forget the dream
that blinded our eyes with the bleeding moon
so down by the pool we sit in sunlight
to draw smiling face of the hungry ghost.

She touches my face and then I know why
we play hide and seek with the singing ghost
who follows our steps through the whispering woods,
star angel who fell from absolute light.

No Ghost Is External

No Ghost Is External
© Surazeus
2018 11 30

No ghost is external to human minds
for our memories conjure those apparitions
of good people we love when they are absent
by projecting their presence in the air.

Translating our desire to see their face,
our brain designs idol of their lost spirit
to soothe aching sorrow of anguished heart
so we feel they are with us, still alive.

While drifting on my stream of consciousness,
I sense them near me in shadow of hope,
and for one flashing second I perceive
whole beauty of their soul in human form.

But when I snap awake they disappear,
and clear light of truth reveals nothing there,
yet still sweet scent of their soul lingers near,
so I know I have nothing more to fear.

New Fertile Land Of Onatah

New Fertile Land Of Onatah
© Surazeus
2018 11 29

When land of America falls in ruin,
because thieves took over the government,
I will plant corn and apple seeds in soil
to restore the bounty of this great land.

When I wandered lost in America,
despairing that great nation we once loved
is lost to the grifters of corporations,
Onatah, the Goddess of the Corn Land,
put ripe seeds of fruit trees and vegetables
in my hand, and pointed to the waste land
of industry where factories rust in rain,
and told me to plant seeds in cement cracks,
then new forest of singing trees will grow
to swallow ruins of civilization,
and restore garden of our loving hearts
where our children can play free by clean rivers.

Come, all poor people of the Evening Land,
and walk with me down to the river shore
where we can plant new garden of fruit trees
to build new fertile Land of Onatah
on crumbling ruins of America
where we live together in Liberty.

Voodoo Voice Of Eyeless Ghosts

Voodoo Voice Of Eyeless Ghosts
© Surazeus
2018 11 29

I was born on the bayou without legs
so I had to swim everywhere in swamps
like the frog that came to Earth from the moon
on the back of the owl with thirty eyes.

I worked in the circus for forty years,
reciting romantic poetry for crowds
of farmers and miners who could not read
till their children became bankers and doctors.

When bankrupt circus disbanded last decade
I found myself living in Greenwich Village,
teaching children of farmers how to sing
folk songs conjured on Highway Sixty One.

That young boy who came from the Iron Hills
sings with the voodoo voice of eyeless ghosts
so follow him to the beach of lost souls
where the tambourine clown translates the wind.

My owl with thirty eyes has now arrived
so I must return to the silent swamp
where I will sing the story of my life
preserved in weird monolith on the moon.

Your New Messiah Sleuth

Your New Messiah Sleuth
© Surazeus
2018 11 29

I feel quick flood waters rising from rain.
I wish it could wash away all my pain.
Everything we make in this world is vain.
Whatever we do we will lose or gain.
I stand on the signless highway of truth,
hoping to play your new messiah sleuth.

I see pink ribbon tattered in the mud.
Looking at the stone, I see streak of blood.
I wade to the house in the gushing flood.
I find the conman grooming retired stud.
I walk through the horrible maze of truth,
hoping to play your new messiah sleuth.

The conman tries to shoot me in the head.
I duck and fill his head with justice lead.
Just another rapist who now lies dead.
I free the young girl chained to his slave bed.
I think by the river of bitter truth,
hoping to play your new messiah sleuth.

I walk the city street, searching for lies.
I expose crime to eternal blue skies.
We measure what we can see with our eyes.
I dispel faith where the angel flies.
I reveal the intricate way of truth,
hoping to play your new messiah sleuth.

Eternal Beauty Of Hills

Eternal Beauty Of Hills
© Surazeus
2018 11 29

Strange intensity of imagination
conjures whole model of the universe
my brain designs based on my education
to reprogram weird effects of the curse.

Network indicator lights on computers
blink soft green-gold with each pulse of quick signals
like fireflies that flash in warm evening dusk
as they drift slow among trees in my backyard.

I love the way ranges of mountain peaks
wrinkle jagged on satellite images,
contours formed by constant flowing of water
that erodes hills into river-bright valleys.

My ancestors lived in every lush valley
Egypt to Norway and Scythia to Scotland
so I dream eternal beauty of hills
that shimmer under eternal blue sky.

Gather with me on the lush river shore,
bringing food to share at our potluck feast,
so we eat apples to the seed-thick core
and evolve to human from hungry beast.

The heroes of every myth ever told
are now characters our brains dream alive
whose successes and failures guide our way
through the waste land to create paradise.

Share the story of your life at our feast
so we can learn how you perceive the world
which helps us see the complex world more clear
and design accurate world view we all share.

We live together in every lush valley
in spacious lands around our spinning globe
so we dream eternal beauty of hills
that shimmer under eternal blue sky.

Visions Flashing In My Brain

Visions Flashing In My Brain
© Surazeus
2018 11 29

We walk forever among our tall trees
where mute wind whispers strange secrets we hide
till men with horrible faces of hunger
leap from shadows to grab us with hard hands
then roast us on hot fire to eat our flesh,
but we kill them and burn them to gray ash.

Terrible trauma of constant attacks
flashes through the eyes of parents who smile
to soothe children who cry out in the dark
because lost memories of horrible faces
haunt dreams of descendants thousands of years
till they go mad in asylum of fear.

With every generation down the ages
our brains store more clear memories of their lives
so I relive millions of them alive
in complex scenes of human interaction
which replay drama of hostile events
to demonstrate their actions to survive.

Where brains once conjured visions of the world
as we perceive it at hour of awareness
now brains envision concepts modeled whole
so clear we see them bright before our eyes
as if those imagined people are real
though they are idols our brains fantasize.

No wonder so many people went mad
when their brains conjured horrible events
to warn them of attacks that might occur
so harsh traumas their ancestors endured
flashed too clearly before their dreaming eyes
which caused them to break down in mute despair.

When I walk forever among tall trees
I see visions of traumatic events
my ancestors experienced in their lives
though they survived to breed new generation,
who accumulates memories of their dramas
so they keep warning me of coming dangers.

This alarm system of horror I feel
alerts me to watch out for dangerous men
who lurk in gloom of possible events
so I could panic and freak out in fear,
or note after inspection of my space
that I am safe as I move through this world.

I dream strange visions flashing in my brain
that blind my eyes to the real world I see,
but I move bold through that obscuring mist,
then write what I dream in enchanting verse
so I can prophesy what will occur
through analysis of cause and effect.

When we are talking face to face in sunlight,
words we speak convey visions of our minds
through enchanting medium of vibrant sounds,
so we see visions the other mind dreams
as if those places and people are real,
performing before scope of dreaming eyes.

People who cannot separate those dreams
of waking speech from sight of the real world
fall apart into blind insanity,
but we who can see beyond spoken visions
to perceive the real from the fantasy
breed children with better functioning brains.

Envisioning big picture of the world
with complex all-encompassing world view
that more accurately reflects what is real
allows us to better navigate life
based on stories of people whose decisions
caused comedy of life or tragedy of death.

We walk forever among our tall trees
where mute wind whispers strange secrets we dream
and express in rich art of telling stories
to share our experiences of perception
so together we survive brute attacks
and raise new children to comprehend truth.

I Lost My First Home

I Lost My First Home
© Surazeus
2018 11 29

States develop around access to water
when capitols bloom at the mouth of rivers
because access to inner continents
happens quickest on boats sailing up streams
through travel to distant lands on the sea.

Thus the narrow peninsula of Europe
is fragmented with many smaller nations
while the broad expansive landscape of Russia
to the far east is controlled by one town,
and their main goal is the port of Crimea.

Will Europe unite into one great nation
while Russia fragments into smaller states,
or will they all unite to operate
business between national corporations
to standardize high quality of life?

I long to return to my ancient homeland
where Scythia once reigned as queen of our hearts
before we spread out in long wagon trains
to populate lands all the way to Scotland
from where I sailed on westward to America.

Sprouting from fertile landscape of Gothinia,
we built boats to sail along sparkling rivers
then sailed vast seas to colonize the world,
so everyone is mad we stole their land,
as we named the planet for Mother Gearthe.

I lost my first home ten centuries ago
and since have traveled west to Oregon
but now I want to return home to Scythia
and live again in peace by sparkling river
where we sang under the eternal blue sky.

I Sing The Beauty I Feel

I Sing The Beauty I Feel
© Surazeus
2018 11 28

I surprise myself every time I try
because after I did before I think,
that was amazing, how could I again,
and I stare into the blank emptiness,
then something flashes and I try again
though I think I never could just as well,
but then I do, and I am so amazed
that such beauty could again blossom so
to reflect clear intense complexity
of why that intrigues my most inner hope
since every new dream that blooms from my mind
models strange aspect of reality
I never thought could be illuminated,
yet there it shines now, so clear in the words
that flash like rain transforming into flowers,
so again I sing the beauty I feel.

Love Story Of Togetherness

Love Story Of Togetherness
© Surazeus
2018 11 28

I weave random path through maze of the world,
meeting strangers on my way somewhere else
who cannot see the path where I arrive
nor can they see where I am going to,
for I am just brief flash of hungry hope,
since that is how they all appear to me.

Nothing more certain than meaningless fate
connects strangers on their path through the world
who wind around each other in wild lust,
entangled by desires to share sweet pleasures,
which often generates children who live
complex lives of their own after we die.

How did you and I encounter each other
now here in all the spaces of the world,
choosing each other out of the vast crowd
of people who are all searching for love,
and why do we stay with each other so long
though we cannot fulfill all needs we share?

Are there patterns of behavior we follow
that define how people will interact
so our love story of togetherness
could be reduced to simple stereotype
dramatized on stage by actors who play
actions and speeches that define our souls?

I want to break through to the other side
of standard behavior to grow beyond
automatic responses of our bodies
so we transcend our basic characters
to become more than our frail human selves
and play enlightened angels of our hearts.

You laugh with delight at strange things I say
when I watch your face to read your emotions
so love we exchange through intense compassion
forces our spirits to expand great wings
as we evolve into our better selves
to succeed in creating paradise.

I float in comprehension of our world
on timeless breath of naked rectitude
so I feel love in every soul who lives
beaming out in tangled web of emotions
which connects all our hearts with vibrant strings
ringing sweet melody of one world mind.

I could connect to anybody else
but I choose to stay connected to you
for we play such strange dramas to express
immortal Spirit of Me we all share
who knows itself alive in every face
when we tell each other our secret tales.

Born From Traveling Pioneers

Born From Traveling Pioneers
© Surazeus
2018 11 28

Fractured fragments of nature scenes flash fast
through twisting telescope of dreaming eyes
when I drift half-awake on Greyhound bus
that travels from Miami to Seattle.

Yet somewhere in rolling hills of Missouri
I wake in carriage pulled by trotting horses
so I look out at timeless misty fields
to see all shopping malls and houses vanish.

Have I slipped outside standard stream of time,
I wonder, gazing at young woman dressed
in yellow gown with ribbons in her hair,
and loop back now two hundred years before?

My mind imagines how times were back then
when we rode horses for ten thousand years
on journey from Scythia to Oregon
where I was born from traveling pioneers.

How much has changed in two short centuries,
I ponder as I gaze at wagon train
that slowly rolls where cars now zoom on highway,
transforming from farms into space-age empire.

Once Barsanti envisioned piston engine,
while teaching physics at Italian college,
our civilization transformed beyond
wagons pulled by horses to speeding cars.

Ten thousand years horses pull four-wheel wagons,
but piston engines fueled by gasoline
motorize cars that zoom faster and sleeker
as we race each other for prize of power.

My great-grandfather first learned how to drive
motor car by pressing petals to spark
pistons spinning axles that turn four wheels
so we can zoom faster on endless roads.

Then for one moment, floating between eras,
I find myself on both carriage and bus
gliding over the same space on the world
which combines two centuries in flashing flow.

Back on the bus I wake from eerie dream,
and see again the shopping malls and houses
where people drive about their daily lives,
ten million motor cars on web of roads.

Can I control my own weird destiny
if I could drive my own car through vast maze
and navigate through labyrinth of lost myths
by choosing where I want to drive today?

Then somewhere in the Waste Land of the West
I see Tom Eliot wandering alone,
so I get off the bus and join his quest
to find the Holy Grail of sacred truth.

I am the nameless shadow at his side,
translating songs of thunder into poems
which I compose with blood on ancient scroll
then read epic poem in huge city squares.

Then leaving him behind in old stone church,
where he laments fall of civilization,
I continue backward on trail of time
to stand with Ishtar on high ziggurat.

One thousand empires through ten thousand years
rise and fall on foundations of stone halls
where gangsters crown themselves as royal masters
and design religions that worship founders.

Arriving in Seattle on the bus,
I walk to where the Angel came to me
and appointed me Messenger of God
and laugh because I found that I am God.

Your Reality Star

Your Reality Star
© Surazeus
2018 11 28

They are always watching me play my life,
the hungry nameless people without eyes,
so I hide my memories on the book shelf
and try to unmask the terrified spies.
I am nobody driving in my car,
hoping to play your reality star.

I walk backward up busy city road,
weaving nowhere in crowds of nameless people
to disappear through doors with heavy load
so I can hide in light of the church steeple.
I am nobody following my star,
hoping to play your reality star.

I am the star of television show
everyone watches after they eat dinner
so I smile and play in the sparkling snow
in contest where the failure is the winner.
I am nobody drinking in the bar,
hoping to play your reality star.

I fall in love with mirror of my soul,
nameless person who reflects back my fear,
so we make love and set as our sacred goal
to star together in the world premier.
I am nobody performing bizarre,
hoping to play your reality star.

Fruit Of My Apple Tree

Fruit Of My Apple Tree
© Surazeus
2018 11 28

Since no one is trying to kill me today
I plant small seeds in moist dirt of the Earth
and wait for them to sprout in sun and rain
while I catch plump fish on the river shore.

Nearby in the reeds I hear someone sing
sorrow of their heart for the one they love,
lamenting how they had to go away
and may never return again back home.

When I walk back to the tall apple tree,
my grandfather planted long years before,
I find tall man plucking all my ripe fruit
so I explain this apple tree is mine.

He aims sharp spear and pokes it in my chest
and declares my apple tree is now his,
and threatens if I do not go away
he will stab my heart and rip out my eyes.

I labored all my life to tend this tree,
so I deserve the fruits of my own work,
but he comes along and drives me away
and eats the fruit I tended with my hands.

I hide in secret cavern on hill top
and plot how to destroy intruding thief,
watching his routine during course of time
when the sun rises and sets in blue sky.

The poisonous snake slithers from my cave,
so I hold out my wand from strong oak branch
for the snake to coil around its firm length,
then after sunset I walk to my tree.

Climbing my apple tree in clear moonlight,
I wait hidden in canopy of leaves
for dawn to gleam down from my mountain cave
where only shadows wait for my success.

When the thief arrives at my apple tree,
and reaches out his hand to pluck my fruit,
I strike the wand so the snake bites his hand,
causing him to scream in terrible pain.

Writhing in anguish under my fruit tree,
the angry thief howls curses at my face,
but shivers and stiffens at strike of death
when his spirit escapes in mindless wind.

I must forever face some hostile threat
when monster or man from arrogant greed
attempts to take control of my fruit tree,
for I must kill them or they will kill me.

I would share the fruit of my apple tree,
giving it to anyone who will ask,
but I will fight any tyrant or thief
who tries to drive me away from my tree.

Walking to the river shore at sunrise,
I find the woman who sang in the reeds
and give her fresh apple from my fruit tree,
so we feast together in warm sunlight.

Leading her to my sacred tree of fruit,
I teach her how to tend its limbs and roots,
then we sing and work together each day,
tending hundreds of trees sprouting from Earth.

Embracing her bosom, I kiss her lips,
so I can plant my seed inside her womb,
but she thrusts blade of light into my heart,
so I fall and bleed on the weeping grass.

Clutching my face, she hisses in hot rage,
"You killed my love when he returned to me,
so now I kill you in bitter revenge,
and claim this apple tree as my reward."

American Eagle Flies On Straight

American Eagle Flies On Straight
© Surazeus
2018 11 28

Alone at my computer desk I work,
designing maps that model reality,
in development lab of company
contracted to support the military,
somewhere in empire of America,
and watch from afar men struggle for power.

Across ten thousand years of human history
the aggressive male leader of his gang
assigns role for each person to perform
when they fight other gangs to control land,
merging and dividing in constant war
till empires unite from competing nations.

Through gathering storm comes aggressive man
with weapon of death in his red right hand
to fight rivals for positions of power
so one will triumph when the other falls
and assimilate others in his gang
till he crowns himself king of all the land.

Every prophet, god, emperor, and king,
whose name is recorded in chronicles
of myths, legends, epics, and history books,
fights and kills other men to rule the land
in never-ending war to eat and breed
till his descendants dominate the world.

Yet another violent aggressive man,
terrified in his weakness from despair,
occupies the White House at this fraught hour
who wants to crown himself king of the world
though we elected him to four-year term,
but tyrants always fall from blinding pride.

So I sit back and watch his rise and fall
just like another television show
about aggressive man who fights for power
where he plays his doomed game of chess with Death
since story we will tell after he dies
narrates his tragic fate caused by his flaws.

So many little men with selfish minds
twisted by greed from fear since they are weak
assert their dominance with puffed up chest
by declaring prophets as journalists
liars who only want to bring them down,
but they always fall by their own despair.

Will he destroy our empire with his greed,
or will America recover well
to rise again from war stronger than ever
and assert principle of liberty
through equal justice for all living souls
who vote for one we want to rule four years?

America was here, founded on rule
of law enforced by democratic rites,
long before we were born to play its game,
and so America will still be here,
thriving on diversity of its people,
long after we all leave it to our children.

The American Eagle of Democracy
requires both her left wing and her right wing
to fly on straight through storms of constant change
so we maintain strict balance of development
with two parties that oppose dominance
so no tyrant can ever take control.

Every four years the Hidden Dragon wakes
to continue revolution of change
so we maintain process of constant growth
balancing conservative base of values
with progressive attention to improvement
so American Eagle flies on straight.

Nameless and alone in my nowhere lab,
I continue designing maps that show
progress of history in growth and decay
through the rise and fall of our tribal leaders
so we can navigate the current storm
and build better world for children to share.

Ten Million Beautiful Girls

Ten Million Beautiful Girls
© Surazeus
2018 11 27

Fragile as pale blue egg, my rancid heart
exhales foul fog over empty town streets
that wind far through aching memory of when
we walked together on vast windy beach.

My head is nothing more than empty jewel
projecting human memories at blank walls
to channel wordless howls of homeless ghosts
who long for life beyond unconsciousness.

Every girl who was murdered in the dark,
and fell terrified into bottomless well,
gathers around me in pale afternoon
where I sit alone on a bench in the park.

Tell my story, they beg me with huge eyes
of horror that swallows the happy sun
to spiral downward in thought hurricane,
but the devil always shoots memory spies.

I could write ten million tales of their deaths,
or I could write one and include them all,
for their losses are tragically the same,
free spirit murdered by aggressive greed.

Ten million beautiful girls were destroyed
by ten million angry boys who had failed
to control vibrant energy of hope
to possess her body they cannot own.

Her body belongs to herself alone,
so you must respect her choice to decide
whether or not she wants to share with you,
and leave her alone if she declares no.

I see their spirits dancing on the plain,
ten million beautiful girls I must love
for they were destroyed by hands of cruel boys
so they haunt my heart wherever I go.

When I walk on the windy beach at dawn
I look into the shadows of the light,
hoping to see beautiful girl alive
with vibrant hope to taste pleasure of love.

What strange angel of light rises from waves
to snatch word-expressing tongue from my mouth
and replace it with bold serpent of truth
so every word I sing strikes hearts of men?

I want to hold Truth Angel in my arms
and sire wise children from her fertile womb
so my songs live forever in winged books
that beam memories of loss in dreaming minds.

I am one spirit in ten million bodies,
singing our memories in enchanting poems
as ten million poets in countless towns
who preserve our stories in songs of life.

Old Church On the Hill

Old Church On the Hill
© Surazeus
2018 11 27

Old church on the hill crumbles in the rain,
releasing ghosts from words in ancient books
that dissolve into mud of endless time.

After its walls crumble away to dust,
stone statue of the Virgin Mary stands
alone in silent indifference of sunlight
that illuminates features of her face,
so I hold her stone hand with eager hope
and kiss her stone lips with faithful desire.

Flushed awake with blood from hot lightning strike,
Mary opens eyes, silver as the sky
after rain, and takes me in soft warm arms
to gasp with pleasure at my tender love.

Lounging together under apple trees,
we share silly stories about our childhoods,
then run laughing as our hair swirls in wind
to sit by the river sparkling with light
and watch the water flow forever past.

I caress her cheek, red as the ripe apple
she slips in my hand, and gaze in her eyes
vast as the cloudless sky, then kiss her lips
and whisper in her ear how much I love her.

Her belly swells from the spark of my love
so she sits under the tree on the hill
where I found her in ruins of the church
and sings about angels with wings of light
while I brew apples with cinnamon, mint,
and purple mushrooms in cauldron of brass.

Drinking apple ambrosia at sunset,
we dance together in silver moonlight
to dream creation of the universe
when the first flash flares forth into white whole
that contains enormous spirals of stars
which nourish life on planets just like ours.

Gripping branch of the apple tree at dawn,
Mary screams in pain as she pushes hard
to birth healthy baby that squirms and cries
when I wash her clean, then wrap her in cloth.

Humming ancient melody of the sea,
Mary suckles new-born child at her breast.

I build new church of stone on the high hill
where Mary and our child shelter from rain,
warm by the fire that glows in cooking hearth.

Sitting on gold throne in slanting sunrays,
Mary holds our baby girl on her lap
while thousands of people standing in line
kneel one by one and proclaim her the queen,
then give us offerings of love with their hands.

Strange fever strikes both mother and child
so they lie in bed, shivering in warm light,
then their spirits vanish in wordless wind,
and their bodies crumble to dust in rain.

Old church on the hill shimmers in the rain,
as I capture ghosts with words in new books
and carve statue of Mary holding Child
that stands ten thousand years in endless rain.

Emptiness Of My Heart

Emptiness Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2018 11 27

Out of the strange emptiness of my head
I howl beautiful concepts of fake faith
because one single odd phrase of dire thought
sparks flame of inspiration to burn bright
when I sing electric passion of love
that jolts our flesh with sweet intensity.

When I must sacrifice myself to save the group,
my loyal faith in wisdom of our leader
motivates me to act with selfless intent,
so I slip from hill fort in evening light
and glide through shadows of thick underbrush
and spy on large camp of attacking force.

Ever eager to obey our wise leader,
I think of ways to improve our conditions
and increase security of our wall
that protects us from fierce hostile attacks,
and suggest ideas up chain of command,
so we preserve health of our citizens.

Alone on tall watch tower in silver light
of the singing moon, I spot shadows moving
quick as fierce wolves to break through our defense,
and sound the alarm on the horn of war
when they swarm over our walls at midnight
and stab everyone to death with sharp spears.

Alone in harrowing light of blue dawn,
I wander desolate fort burned by wild fire,
and clutch at skulls of people I once loved,
then kneel before the wise leader who hangs
crucified on the cross, moaning in pain,
as one eye stares down at my stricken face.

How did I fail to protect my good clan,
I wail as I find all my brothers killed,
and all my sisters kidnapped by strong men
who are selling them as slaves in the castle
where the haughty king on high throne of gold
sneers with delight at defeating our tribe.

Huddled by the river, shivering in shock,
I stare at my face wavering in clear water,
then turn away and weep in mute despair
that everyone I loved is dead or gone
because I failed to be eager enough
to protect my clan from hostile attack.

After lying in dust for one thousand days,
I sit up and stare at white skeleton
of my wise leader hanging from the tree,
and wonder at emptiness of my heart
hollowed out by anguish of mute despair,
then sing with birds that flutter in pear trees.

Glory Of Our Nation

Glory Of Our Nation
© Surazeus
2018 11 27

The law is designed to provide one frame
of rules that define actions good and bad
based on facts of construction and destruction
so every person will behave the same
to ensure that growth outpaces decay
as our nation expands, healthy and strong,
and when any one person breaks the law
they will receive the same just punishment
that any other person will receive,
thus all are equal under the blind law.

Yet people are not treated equally,
because the people who control more wealth
or are members of the dominant clans
will receive punishments much less severe
that other members of society
who cannot exercise power to escape
just punishment everyone should receive,
so wealthy people escape punishment
while poor people are condemned and abused.

How often we see elected officials,
who are joined in one political party,
unite to condemn as deceptive traitors
members of the opposition party
who commit some crime against the state law,
or commit some mistake that causes harm,
and declare they should be locked up in prison,
yet when some member of their own big party
commits the same crime or costly mistake,
they declare that person is innocent
and accuse the accusers of their actions
of conducting cruel witch hunt to destroy
great career of their patriotic friend.

While every citizen of our great nation
should be treated equal under the law,
regardless of their gender, race, or class,
people in seats of political power
will wield the law to punish opposition
and enrich themselves at cost of the state.

People who abuse the law for their gain
should be held accountable for their crimes
and punished with death as traitors to justice,
for our democracy destroys all tyrants
who exploit people for their benefit,
since every member of society
should have same equal opportunity
to contribute to glory of our nation
as we interact in frame of one law.

I See The Light

I See The Light
© Surazeus
2018 11 27

What strange spirit hovers over our land,
lurid illusion our fevered minds project
as glow cloud of divine authority
that frightened people seriously insist
is conscious god who created all things,
and since they represent that god on Earth
we must obey their commands without question.

The preacher tells me I committed sin
when I smiled at the prettiest girl in church
who happens to be his niece, so I laugh,
and declare, "God is love, so we must love
each other with deep compassion of faith."
But he insists I stand before the church,
so I stand beside him on the raised stage
where he declares that I will burn in Hell
if I do not repent, then raises arms
and prays to Jesus to lead me to light,
demanding I apologize to all.

I see the light shining through the tall window,
the gold light of the sun that rises bright
every morning to illumine the world,
making trees, homes, and people visible
to my eyes, warm sphere that beams rays of love
threading through my heart that pulses with hope,
the light that gleams on the hair of the girl
with eyes sparkling as she gazes at me.
Though the sun gives life to our teeming world
yet it is indifferent to our small lives,
caring nothing for our frail consciousness.

"I see the light," I declare to the church,
and step down and kiss the girl on the lips,
laughing as everyone gasps in mute shock,
then stride down the aisle to the double doors
where I turn back and wave, shouting with glee,
"See you all in Hell, you blind hypocrites".

Stepping outside into the glowing sun,
I leave the stale dark atmosphere of church
and walk with jaunty step down white sidewalk
that glows bright with the gold light of the sun.
Feeling some great weight dissolve from my heart,
I breathe deep sweet wind of the morning glow
that wafts pungent scents from nearby restaurants,
so I walk to the grill on the street corner.
Sitting at glass table on cement sidewalk,
I order one large hamburger with fries,
and sparkly root beer in tall glass of ice.

Looking up at shadow across my table,
I stand up quickly at sight of the girl
I kissed, who then kisses me on the cheek,
and we sit down together at the table.
"My uncle started calling me a slut
in front of everyone I know in church,
some dirty whore condemned to burn in Hell,
even though I did nothing but let you
kiss me in front of the whole congregation,
so I left because I know I am good.
Are you going to buy me a burger too?"
I laugh and order another large meal.

Shaking her head slowly, she laughs at me,
touches my left arm with soft gentle fingers,
so I caress her cheek, and then we kiss.
I lean forward and whisper without care.
"I am beginning to doubt the whole story
because they claim some man of mortal flesh
who lived some two thousand years ago rose
from the dead and will resurrect each person
who declares they love him more than all others.
They sell the lie that he will resurrect
our bodies complete from dust of the Earth
but after biology class in high school
I see how ridiculous that whole tale is."

Drinking her root beer while I eat my burger,
she grins and pokes my forehead with her finger.
"I wondered how long you would see the light.
While the story that Jesus rose from death
appears ridiculous to us these days,
since we are educated about science,
I can see how poor farmers could be fooled
by priests who sell salvation to the poor
so they can live well while the farmers work.
Yet I admire the teachings he proclaimed,
to take care of the weak and the poor with money
because every person is valuable."

Licking my fingers as I eat French fries,
I think about the history of mankind.
"I think Jesus was the first ruling king
to declare that laws should rule our behavior
so we should follow rules and not the king.
I see the last two thousand years as war
between knights who transformed into police
fighting thieves and outlaws to enforce rules
that protect the weak and poor from their greed.
Men who enforce the law of divine justice
fight men who exploit people for their gain,
endless civil war between cops and thieves
to protect people who create good things
with skill of their hands against greedy people
who exploit skilled workers for their own gain.
The messiah who saves people from harm
has become the detective, sleuth of truth
who investigates circumstance of crimes
by assembling facts to reveal the culprit,
so we can protect people from great harm."

The prettiest girl in church with shining eyes
laughs and nods her head while devouring burger.
"From feudal kingdoms with controlling kings
we evolve into democratic states
where we elect descendants of our kings
to rule at strict discretion of our trust
who work with senators to compose laws
that guide behavior so we can create
good things and benefit from our own work,
rules enforced by people with guns that kill
instead of swords to control how we act.
We transformed from kingdom to police state,
vast empire of men with guns fighting wars
against oppressors, tyrants, thieves, and slavers,
so we maintain freedom for every person
who can do what they will, if they harm none."

Gazing with admiration in her eyes,
I ask, "Will you marry me and raise children
who will see the world with more honest eyes?
I have never loved anyone on Earth
as much as I have loved you these three years
since you first came when your uncle got hired
to preach the gospel at our humble church."
I gaze enchanted in her amused eyes.

Laughing as she wipes ketchup from her lips,
she grins, "I will think about marrying you,
but I think we should date for one year first
to make sure we are both compatible,
since we cannot base our relationship
on our mutual disdain for the vain people
who corrupt the church with pretentious pride.
You might love me if you get to know me,
so get to know me, and after one year
if you still love me I will marry you."

Holding hands, we walk on the river shore
and talk about everything under the sun,
then make out as the church burns to the ground,
consumed by flames sparked by electric wires.

Blue Cup With Yellow Stars

Blue Cup With Yellow Stars
© Surazeus
2018 11 27

Tara walks through every room in the house,
searching for the blue cup with yellow stars
in the bottom from which she likes to drink
fresh milk in the morning with buttered toast.

Her mother knitting by the fireside sighs,
"My dear, you never had some cup with stars.
I think you read about it in some story
about some young girl at some haunted house.
Come sit beside me and drink some sweet tea."
Tara stares at empty spot in the cupboard,
and touches bare circle in film of dust.

Hearing terrible scream of shock and pain,
Tara sees her mother flat on the floor
with both knitting needles stabbing her eyes
and blood gushing from her wide open mouth,
so she looks at the painting on the wall
showing large mansion nestled among hills,
and imagines herself on river shore
enjoying afternoon picnic with her boyfriend.
Her mother knitting by the fireside sighs,
"My dear, must you mumble to yourself so?
I wonder, what can Joshua see in you?"

Smiling flustered and caressing loose curls,
Tara breathes deeply scent of Autumn leaves
pungent after morning rain among trees,
and walks importantly to the book shelf
to scan titles of old books in gilded letters.
Joshua understands me like no one else,
and always seems to speak my secret thoughts,
as if he knows every desire I hide,
but you, mother, see only my blank face,
and not bottomless abyss of despair
that gapes from sharp-toothed jaws of my small heart
so you never say anything relevant.
"Dear mother, I appreciate your concern."
Joshua knows my soul like no one else can.

"If Joshua calls I will be in my room."
Tara tries to walk over burning coals
as her toes curl roots down into hard rocks,
fragile butterfly who seeks to escape
confusing maze of moonlit photographs,
by fluttering against taut expensive net
of unspoken words that mock her with hate,
then wills she step through thick invisible
to touch each book that feels like human skin.
"If Joshua calls I will be in my room."

Lying down on her bed, Tara stares puzzled
at dark wood ceiling, and tries to remember
how she walked up narrow stairs to her room.
He sits on the chair at her writing desk
and longs to kiss her lips with tender hope
so she savors feeling of his desire
and turns her head to reach out wanting arm
to beckon him, but no one in the chair
smiles through shadow of soft slanting sun beams.

Lemon cake on the picnic blanket glows
warm as sunlight on grass where ladybugs
contain infinite night under frail wings.
Joshua sits so close to her on the shore
of the river that knows this startling ache.
"Yesterday, refugees from civil wars,
caused by our government, arrived at wall
enclosing our country in hateful fear,
so we fired tear gas at women and children
who choked and wept in terror of great truth."
Tara wonders what happened to the cup
painted dark blue with twelve bright yellow stars.

The painting of the woman on the wall
folds itself into origami swan
who flies over field where refugees
run from blue smoke and kneel on river shore
to wash blind terror from their stinging eyes.

Tara gasps for breath, and clutches her throat,
and terrible pain stings her eyes, and stench
of burning smoke rasps her lungs with harsh hope
for faith fake as plastic Halloween mask.
When I was nine, ten years ago, I wore
mask of Hillary Clinton when I went
trick-or-treating with my friends after school.
Clutching hand of her mother, Tara runs
glistening sand of the river shore to flee
tear gas that burns her eyes with naked truth
through blinding of unbearable reality
to wash her face in the muddy Grand River.

Tara drinks milk from the little blue cup,
then pauses and counts all the yellow stars.
She tells everyone at the breakfast table,
"There are twelve stars in my little blue cup.
Each star represents one Zodiac sign.
I was born on cusp of Virgo and Libra
so Liberty holding the Scales of Justice
is the spirit that determines my fate."
Tara looks up at red eel on the ceiling
that writhes, dripping tears on her fragile face.

I can feel every little thing that happens
all over this house because I was born
dark Autumn night during wild thunderstorm
so my mother was stuck here in this house.
I am the breathing spirit of this house.
"Joshua, I want to live in this old house
when we are married, and raise our three children
in the same pretty yard where I grew up
so I can teach them secrets of the world."
Gazing at photo of Joshua, she smiles,
and stares at the strange features of his face
so long his soul dissolves into blank haze.

"We transform the ancestor of our tribe
into luminous cloud of divine God
so we forget all gods were once human beings."
Joshua shows her painting of Zeus and Jesus
sitting together at Paris cafe table
to play chess over the souls of mankind.
Tara touches his beard with gentle hand.
"I just realized how much you look like Jesus."

Looking behind every book on the shelves
for blue cup with yellow stars, Tara jumps,
startled when her mother calls out her name.
"Father of Joshua is calling for you."
Blood seeps from leather cover of the book
to flood the world with anguish of desire.
Tara holds the telephone to her ear.
"Joshua was attacked at the city park
where gay men gather in the evening dusk
and died on the way to the hospital."

Cloaked in thick wool coat against freezing wind
that swirls snow flakes around her long gold curls,
Tara stands in the city park at spot
where Joshua was beaten by seven men.
Blue and yellow shards gleam by the tree root,
so she kneels and finds the blue cup with stars
shattered in fragments sharp as teeth of wolves.

Death Caught Them Surprised

Death Caught Them Surprised
© Surazeus
2018 11 26

Kathy walks slowly toward the ancient house
that seems to swallow light into its core
and steps forever through half-open door
into winding labyrinth of watching eyes.

She feels her body become swirl of mist
who remembers name of every lost soul
belonging to whispers in pulsing walls
so strange cheerfulness urges her to sing.

Kathy sits at round table by the hearth
and paints new photographs of nameless ghosts
who shimmer slow along her tingling arm
to remember why death caught them surprised.

She peels her face off to expose her soul
then wears another face kept on the wall
so she becomes new reborn person who
spirals galaxies above floating table.

Kathy lights candle with flame on her tongue
then puts it on the mantle where it laughs
because the cat explains how time conspires
to devour the body of hungry flesh.

She walks to the kitchen where nine snake eggs
bob beside the cracked window of gold light
then puts each one in pan of boiling water
so she can crack shells and eat the sunlight.

Kathy reaches to pet the snarling wolf
who smiles and leads her to the room where books
flutter around on bright butterfly wings
while the man with no face recites fake spells.

She strums thirty strings on the giant harp
so each note thrums in head of nameless person
who forgets where they go in city street
to become ravens on telephone lines.

Kathy gasps when the faceless man leaps forth
and grips her arm when she tries to escape
but her arm transforms into writhing snake
that bites his faceless face with mocking smile.

She sips tea from the frail porcelain cup
and chats about poems with the faceless man,
together sitting on embroidered couch
when sunrays flash through their transparent souls.

Kathy explains to the shadow of fear
how her father became the smiling cat
who locks her extra face in her bedroom
when she assembles puzzle of world map.

She walks backward to escape the old house
that seems to beam shadows from unlocked doors
and steps forever among singing flowers
which transform her face into changing clouds.

Convert To The Way

Convert To The Way
© Surazeus
2018 11 26

I do not believe supernatural God
designed and created our universe
nor created man in his divine image,
for we evolved from sperm deep in the sea,
where carbon rings formed taut genetic coils,
transforming to fish to lizard to mouse
to monkey to man who speaks conscious thoughts
and create things with matter-crafting hands.

Humans who are wise create social groups
with strong hierarchy of authority
where one person elected by the group
develops roles for each person to play
so they all work together in strong gangs
united in food-production machine
and defend the land they share as one nation
so everyone can eat with healthy heart.

More efficient groups where individuals
cooperate so everyone thrives with wealth
assimilate smaller groups in religion
that worships the founder as noble god
who taught them to welcome every lost soul
so people from various tribes work together
in multi-ethnic tribe of diverse talents
where everyone can convert to the Way.

The crucified god taught that every person
who understands and corrects their mistakes
so their acts create rather than destroy
can be redeemed and join society
to contribute the talents of their skills
improving infrastructure of our work
so we create more food for all to eat
by welcoming immigrants to our land.

Yet people who claim to follow that god
who taught them to care for every lost soul
want to build higher walls of selfish greed
to block more immigrants in caravans
from invading fertile land we control
instead of teaching them our way of life
when we spread out to control every land
and unite them all in empire of justice.

I believe we evolve each generation
when the wiser and stronger breed more children
while the dumber and weaker go extinct
yet I follow the teachings of that man
wanting to show compassion to the weak
while his followers want to kill them all
because they claim he is creator god
and they should rule the whole world in his name.

People who are members of larger groups
will attack weak people in smaller groups
to destroy or assimilate their souls
for groups with more efficient way of life
that sustains larger numbers of their members
will survive and grow stronger over time
to form religions of united empires
who clash in world wars to control the Earth.

Will I live or die in chess game of power,
used as the pawn or ruling as the king,
through constant contest to control the food
that transforms dirt into nutritious fruit,
performing my job to earn money credits,
or wandering hungry in the wilderness,
when I prophesy how our way of life
transforms through evolution of desire.

Parnassian Comedy

Parnassian Comedy
© Surazeus
2018 11 26

Midway through the strange journey of my life
I find myself in obscure nameless woods
shrouded in silent mist of mute despair.

I wonder at the beauty of the woods,
savage trees sprouting from stern rugged slopes,
which eases my fear to be so alone.

Gazing back at crowded cities of men,
I wonder how I came to wander far
from highways of cars speeding somewhere else.

Still in peaceful quiet at mountain foot,
I gaze up at jagged peak in clear sky
where Venus glimmers gold just after dawn.

Goddess of Love, whose warm spark of desire
urges all creatures to procreate life,
always guides my way to haven of peace.

When our First Mother rose from Lake of Dreams,
she sang for us the history of the world,
and gave us fruit to cultivate in gardens.

Reaching out my hand with hungry desire,
I pluck ripe apple from her Tree of Life,
then follow sparkling river as I eat.

I meet no ancient poets in the woods,
no Homer, Virgil, Dante, nor Shakespeare,
who could lead me to peak of Mount Parnassus.

Following the ancient path poets blazed,
I arrive at the large wrought iron gate
that hangs half open into factory camp.

Rows of giant brick factories with tall smokestacks
stand empty inside enormous compound
with abandoned trucks in eerie gray smog.

Above the rusty gate I read large sign
with thick letters that read, "Work makes you free,
so abandon hope all who enter here."

Turning away from foul factory compound,
I climb mountain trail into silent woods
to leave harsh civilization of men.

Kneeling at clear spring of the flying horse,
I drink the sparkling waters of the Earth
which animates soul of my consciousness.

Refreshed with sacred liquid of the sky,
I continue climbing trail through the woods,
listening to birds chirp as they flutter wings.

Ascending Mount Parnassus in soft breeze,
I arrive at large grotto near its peak
where ancient lyre of gold lies on large stone.

Lifting gold lyre that shimmers in sunlight,
I strum thirteen silver strings which vibrate
eerie tones that strike my heart with desire.

I wonder if this lyre, bright in my hands,
was fashioned by clever Hermes himself,
then strummed by both Apollon and Orpheus.

I look around grotto, timeless and still,
and wonder if Apollon and nine muses
once chanted songs in this strange eerie grove.

I wonder if Dante also came here
and found angels in great circle of light,
dancing and singing in sweet harmony.

Now no one but me, mute Surazeus,
stands alive in this changeless mountain grove,
hearing nothing but wind whisper lost words.

None of those famous poet are alive now,
except as idols figured in my brain
based on words dead people wrote about them.

In bodies of flesh fueled by vibrant blood
they once walked surface of this spinning world,
but now are naught but idols in my brain.

Their names are seeds from which their idols spring
so when our eyes view letters of their names
their apparitions flash before our sight.

Once living beings with conscious souls in brains,
now they are mindless ghosts my own brain dreams
so they seem alive, puppets in my drama.

Now at this hour of time on spinning Earth
I am embodiment of all their souls
because their ghosts still play inside my mind.

Strumming lyre those wise poets left behind,
I recite tales about philosophers
to explore how they designed our world view.

Eternal sphere of light begins to shine,
so in weird tangled structure of my brain
I perceive shape of the whole universe.

When I square the circle of the White Whole
that bloomed from the First Flash of the Big Bang
I feel spiral matrix of carbon rings.

Gazing at my face in the shining pond,
I wonder at beauty of human souls,
but almost fall into my own reflection.

The woman with long hair and flashing eyes
emerges from shadow of the Dream Cave
and sings in harmony with my long epic.

Gazing at each other with trusting love,
we walk together on shore of the lake
where stars shimmer in bottomless depths.

Now Venus walks beside me on the Earth,
so we create two children from our love
who walk beside us on our trail of life.

The world, the sun, the galaxy, the universe,
are wheels spinning around the One White Whole
which generates our spirits from its love.

Angel Of Light I Am Now

Angel Of Light I Am Now
© Surazeus
2018 11 25

Strange transformation of my naked soul
from laughing horse to monkey with the gun
mirrors rectitude of angel who knows
why Death cannot see our faces at dawn.

I sail the old wood boat across the sea
to find the sacred land of liberty
since tyrants now control my native land
and steal everything I make with my hands.

Since engine of my car broke down last month
I have spent my time sitting in the ditch
talking to cracked skulls of medieval kings
who explain how to play chess for the prize.

After hitchhiking from edge of the world
I cross the Mississippi River bridge
for the first time when I am thirty one
so I can return to land of my tribe.

I build new home in every town I visit
along the nameless highway of lost souls,
and live there for three years till apple tree
splits open to reveal the Eye of Truth.

Because I am no blind Samson of faith
I must always move on at turn of time
to continue my never-ending quest
to map the history of the universe.

Which weird mask from the ancient gallery
of dead gods should I wear to the grand ball
where I plan to dance with the princess bride
who sings with birds in the tower of false hope?

I cannot decide between social heroes,
Apollo who sings sweet spells in Elysium,
or Jesus who wails laments on Golgotha,
so instead I decide to play Orpheus.

So I descend into dark Underworld
where Plato watches shadows on the wall
and rescue Ophelia from stream of tears,
lifting her from Alph River in my arms.

From sunless caverns measureless to man
I return to the world of aching hope
and lay Snow White among tall apple trees
then kiss her to revive her humming soul.

We dance together in the ring of stones
where dawn sun gleams through swirling mist of love
so we remember when the world was born
in flash that still vibrates in mental atoms.

Tearing alligator skin off my soul,
I release angel of light I am now
to dwell by fountain of the flying horse
and chant riddles which reveal sacred truth.

Advance Of Cultural Storm

Advance Of Cultural Storm
© Surazeus
2018 11 25

Were I to strum on this Aeolian lute
sweet music from lost moon-bright waterfall
long overspread with phantom light of hope
could I foretell advance of cultural storm
that threatens to shatter our old world view
from swelling gusts of angry words expressed?

Drenched in slant night-shower of shocking events,
when tyrants rewrite political rules
to favor their power over docile minds
of obedient men who worship strong rulers,
I rise from pang of drear grief in dark void
to stand with bold defiance against oppression.

Fountains of passion gush from my harsh heart
to fuel genial spirits before they fail
when I act on vain endeavor of justice
to battle against cruel arrogant man
who enforces laws to control our minds
and twist our actions to his benefit.

When no luminous cloud of potent choice
issues from my aching soul to defy
injustice of selfish men who steal facts
to present their lies as faith we accept
I must assert my beauty-making power
with luminous voice of transcendent truth.

We join together voices of our hopes
to influence strong music of pure hearts
showering faces of helpless souls with trust
charmed by melodies of echoing suffusion
so we remember joy of justice built
on noble principles of honest love.

When faced with obstruction of hostile fear
we wake from bottomless hearts of despair
our shaping spirit of imagination
to build through abstruse research patient power
asserting basic principles we value
that every person deserves equal justice.

What light of truth can we find in our hearts
to light dark dream of harsh reality
so we can cultivate courage to fight
injustice of tyrants who commit crimes
that benefit their wealth while they accuse
innocent people of crimes they commit?

Trampled by rushing crowds of mindless fools
who accept lies of tyrants as gospel truth,
we support each other in groaning cold
to sing hymns that celebrate inner strength
blossoming timorous buds in tragic winter
so we survive brutal attack of hate.

Still fragile child wandering lonesome wild hills,
far from comfortable home of mute obedience,
I become mountain-born storm leap of faith
to fight against soul-crushing labor rules
on healing wings of social revolution
asserting rights of every individual.

Every year some tyrant tries to control
how we perceive strict chaos of this world
and bend our beliefs to increase his wealth
but we design our own more true world view
to act on our will based on measured facts
so we create not destroy as we live.

God Awake Inside His Brain

God Awake Inside His Brain
© Surazeus
2018 11 24

The man with no face by the burning tree
who teaches me how to prophesy truth
gives me the key to the tower in the lake
where the blind girl pretends to wait for me.

The serpent in the tree who loves my eyes
gives me the poisonous apple of love
so I replace it with my beating heart
which chugs like pistons in the airplane engine.

When Tiresias returns from the Waste Land
he kneels at dawn in the Anglican Church
to pray to the man hanging on the cross
who transforms into the Lion of Laughter.

When Phoebus in a station of the metro
points to the apparition of these faces
resembling petals on a wet black bough
he prophesies the falling of the tower.

When Orpheus on the Mountain of Doom
forges the One Ring from spiral of stars
he shows me how to control elements
that sparkle as the essence of all things.

When Zarathustra builds the bridge of faith
across the abyss that looks in our eyes
he reveals to lost souls how to evolve
from the ape to the Superman of wisdom.

When Meroveus grips the Wand of Wisdom
which flashes clear Diamond of the White Whole
he leads me safe through the labyrinth of lies
back home to secret Garden of Elysium.

When Jacobus gives me the Holy Grail
before his arrest on Friday the Thirteenth
he reveals secret of its magic power,
how She creates new life with my Soul Seed.

Standing in mist on the Oregon beach,
I look backward on winding trail of life
where my ancestors for ten thousand years
journeyed west with the sun around the globe.

On the windy shore of the Euxine Sea
I kneel before face of First Mother Scythia
and ask for guidance in how to survive
so she puts Wand of Wisdom in my hand.

Pointing west from mountains where apples bloom,
Scythia commands that I follow the sun
and find out where it goes after it sets,
so I walk ten thousand years west to Scotland.

Gazing in clear lake in the mountain vale
where mist flashes over fields of lush grass,
I see face of Scythia in my own face,
our eyes clear as the Eternal Blue Sky.

Standing in mist on the Oregon beach,
I explain to Scythia inside my heart
that the Earth is as round as the ripe apple
which shimmers red as the sun beyond clouds.

I eat the apple and listen to waves
sing eternal evolution of Earth
which spirals around our swift-spinning sun,
one small flame in the galactic White Whole.

The girl with three eyes rises from the sea,
eyes flashing bright as the moon when she smiles,
and holds my hand as we stand on the beach
where horses gallop fast as the west wind.

The man with no face by the burning tree
leads me to top of the tower in the lake
and sings, "He who discovers his own self,
discovers God awake inside his brain."

Ten Thousand Empty Rooms

Ten Thousand Empty Rooms
© Surazeus
2018 11 24

Cracking mirror in the hall of white shadow,
last child of the clan that once ruled the world
shouts at the stone walls he cannot escape,
then runs to evade horror of the silence.

Roots of ancient trees crawl through mirror eyes
to clutch his heart with anguish of desire,
since all mysterious roads lead to the tower
where the blind woman sings to the deaf wind.

Tearing pages from one thousand old books
where deeds of his fathers are chronicled,
the nameless boy who cannot read the spells
feeds flames to warm ten thousand empty rooms.

Watching snow swirl around stone castle walls,
the young boy watches in the empty tower
for his father to return with the army,
then walks among dry skeletons who sing.

Kneeling at the fountain in the courtyard,
the boy stares at idol of his own face
reflected by the sun that never rises,
then drinks the sorrow of defeated pride.

Staring at the gold throne where the king sat,
the boy whispers in the castle of shadows,
"You promised to win the war and return,
but everyone died, so I am alone."

Wandering the castle of ten thousand rooms,
the nameless boy talks to the smiling skulls
about when they played games down by the river
at the feast of the harvest in gold sunset.

Digging into moist soil with his small hands,
the boy plants herbs and worts with seeds he found,
and whistles tunes he heard the angels sing
as birds flutter wings in white apple trees.

Conjugate Our Universal Mind

Conjugate Our Universal Mind
© Surazeus
2018 11 23

Of all the people who have lived on Earth
in all the history of civilization,
since we sprouted from sea of evolution,
why am I conscious of being this one person
I am, now here in this body of flesh,
as if I were alive billions of years?

More than one hundred billion human beings
have lived and died on spinning ball of dirt
over past fifty thousand years since man
evolved with full function of thinking brains,
so how am I conscious of me alone
though most of those souls still live in my genes?

How sweet is sensation of being alive
to contemplate randomness of my existence,
frail nobody in long history of man
when mortals made themselves gods on high thrones
and carved their names on idols of their forms
and now exist as stories we still tell.

I feel vibrations of your souls in air
as our brains beam radio waves of weird dreams
to weave taut fabric of our psychic souls
in shimmering web of hyperconscious spirits
which animates my fingers to type spells
that conjugate our universal mind.

Their Fight With Death

Their Fight With Death
© Surazeus
2018 11 23

I walk the lonely streets in evening dusk,
no more than silent companion of Death,
who explains in the brown of falling leaves
and glow of streetlights in pools on black road
why my heart is empty as the black hole
that sucks all rays of light into its sphere.

Alone outside warm homes where people feast,
I listen to loud nothing in stark wind
and see the whole universe in rain drops
that glisten on bare limbs above my head,
then stare into the bottomless abyss
who smiles back and assures me light will flash.

All social rituals of the state-power game
exile me from the court of noble souls
where the successful exchange business cards
to operate vast financial spider web
where I flap my butterfly wings of song
to gyrate hurricane of revolution.

The angel who descends on wings of fire
to bring message of peace to all mankind
is shot dead by the hunter in red hat
who bakes it in the oven of religion
so his family can feast on turkey meat
and give thanks they could conquer this whole land.

Because I cannot stop for Death at dawn
while planting apple trees on my front lawn
Death stops for me on the lonely highway
so I step inside her carriage to pray,
not for the fraud of immortality,
but sacred right of private liberty.

I sit on the small front porch of my house
thirty years after I wandered in rain
and remember when I began my quest
to find the secret of the Holy Grail
when I traveled with guitar from Seattle
east across the continent of lost souls.

From Jesus Christ down to George Washington,
and every Plantagenet President
elected to reign in the White House office,
the Crown of David in their bloodline flows
to generate kings who rule Christendom
two thousand years through political games.

This overarching narrative of power
frames all competitions to control land
through hearts and minds of people who unite
to form one nation under Father God
whose descendants claim divine right to rule,
deconstructed as Nationalist Patriarchy.

Should I campaign to rule as President,
run supported by Christianity
as white nationalist political party
that operates on one simple principle
that descendants of Jesus and his wife
alone may rule the nations of the Earth?

When Galileo gazed through telescope
to see stars are not fixed eternal nodes
but distant swirling spheres of glowing gas
like our sun, he shattered our old world view
based on concepts made by Plato and Paul
that Jesus is God born as Human Idea.

When cathedral of faith in the dead god
collapses into violence of world wars
we will build new cathedral to science
so we can investigate truth of nature
and find Ideal forms through characters
where gods of myths represent human traits.

Christianity is political party
that sons of Jesus alone can rule nations,
but we overthrow kings as selfish tyrants
and elect honest people with grand vision
to execute programs on equal justice
for all races become one global family.

Whatever games of power that people play
our Eternal Blue Sky shimmers with light
that illuminates our faces as masks
with indifferent beams of life-sparking force
so we play archetype roles through our lives
whether king or pawn in chess game of death.

I walk the nameless streets in evening dusk
to contemplate stories of human life
about people who grasp for temporal power
and laugh because they all crumble to dust
that swirls around me in the evening breeze
so I sing elegy of their fight with Death.

Starring Role

Starring Role
© Surazeus
2018 11 23

Many different groups of people compete
to impose their narrative of success
on all other groups struggling to survive
with the grand story that assimilates
all other subplots in their major plot.

I proclaim that my wise supremacy
to dominate the Earth with my world view
over time is manifest destiny
that I am better than everyone else
so worship me or I will crush you all.

I am the greatest king in history
to rule every nation of human beings
because my vision for global success
details more complex solutions to balance
equal justice for each bold citizen.

My value structure combines all desires
of every competing group in one game
based on rights of each individual
to control performance of their own body
when they join group to fulfill their agenda.

I walk outside the house on country road
and stand on yellow grass and crackling leaves
to smell pungent scent of late-autumn rain
and wood fires crackling in the brick fireplace
of houses hidden among bare brown trees.

I deconstructed our social power structures
to analyze wants of competing groups
in search for national narrative of love
where people from tribes all over the Earth
live together in peaceful harmony.

Tautly twisted rhythm of music beats
we chant on stage in the dark smoky bar
at the slam poetry open-mic event
when pretentious prophets proclaim fake news
to foster revolution of expression.

Though we are complex variety of types,
every race, gender, religion, and job,
we sing together truth in harmony
that every person has the right to live
starring role in their private drama show.

Secret Door To Paradise

Secret Door To Paradise
© Surazeus
2018 11 22

I know how better to live in old times
several centuries ago because my mind
programmed by memories my ancestors lived
more clearly represent their long-lost way of life
since with each generation back I go
more people were alive to make me now.

The number of people who formed my flesh
doubles each generation back in time
so farther back along my chain of being
the more experience surviving this world
my mind retains in genes their bodies wove
combined from every variant of action.

One me-self was from two people designed
so I was four people in my grandparents,
eight in their parents, sixteen in their parents,
and so on doubling every twenty years,
so just over three hundred years ago
ten thousand people alive made my soul.

Just six hundred years ago in time flow
of our world spinning around the bright sun
more than one million people on this Earth
contributed to my genetic code
so almost everyone alive that era
lives forever in the dreams of my brain.

So fourteen hundred years after Christ reigned
one out of every seventy eight people
alive across the whole landscape of Europe
generated bloodlines flowing in my veins,
thus world view of all their lone brains combined
now generate how my brain perceives the world.

I am alive today because ancestors
survived long enough to generate life
so world view my brain conjures represents
wisdom they learned about cause and effect
which helps me navigate maze of this world
when I design creative way of life.

I perform ritual of repeated actions
that generate energy through desire
when I labor with my hands to create
as part of the food-production machine
so I earn reward with credit as cash
through paychecks wired into my bank account.

Through my quest for the Holy Grail of love
I found the secret door to paradise
where I work making maps and writing poems
to pay for home where my wife and kids live
for this brief time in shining Camelot
till time crushes my Heaven into dust.

Caravans Of Refugees

Caravans Of Refugees
© Surazeus
2018 11 22

My ancestors sailed to America
in caravans of refugees from wars
about who better interprets the Bible
four hundred years ago in Sixteen Thirty
and swarmed across this spacious fertile land
building cities from sea to shining sea.

As we all gather with our families
around generous tables of fellowship
to share rich bounty of good food we grow
we must remember our immigrant roots
for everybody in this spacious land
came here in caravans of refugees.

Now when we see on television news
that more large caravans of refugees
flee violence of drug gangs in their lands
because rich kids in our country buy drugs
should we like Jesus welcome them with love
or lock their children in huge prison camps?

Is this land only for white Europeans
or people from every nation on Earth,
out of many tribes one global society
which sets the template for United Nations
when all the world becomes one family
that unites caravans of refugees?

Let us join our hands in circle of friends,
children from caravans of refugees,
to feast together on Thanksgiving Day,
and celebrate that we are still alive
by sharing food we grow with everyone
as our world spins forever in the void.

Lift glasses of drink at table of friends,
put aside all differences of belief,
and bless each other with true happiness,
for we together share this spinning globe,
working to find new ways to live in peace,
and welcome caravans of refugees.

We can assimilate in one world tribe
people from caravans of refugees
in efficient food-production machine
so everybody in our world can eat
at one global table of gracious wealth,
united in our purpose to live well.

This vision of the future guides our way
where all countries are united in peace
under one United Nations of Earth
so people live wherever they desire
and no more wander lost across the land
homeless in caravans of refugees.

Feast On Shadows

Feast On Shadows
© Surazeus
2018 11 21

Light from the setting sun pierces my eye
with memory of when the sun first swirled swift
to forge bright atoms of my pulsing brain
in spirit-molding furnace of its heart.

I look around the crowded living room
to stare at curious faces of my family,
and feel how strange it is they are alive,
yet sit quiet as they chat with each other.

Since we arrived four hundred years ago,
we gather every autumn at large table
to share grand feast that celebrates our wealth,
thriving in this land we stole from wild tribes.

I shudder wretched at accusing glare
of their silent eyes staring at my face
from eerie shadows of the ancient past
while I eat delicious cranberry sauce.

Leaping up from my chair with polished shoes
I step on the table with plates of food
and strut like the turkey, flapping my arms,
as I squawk, "Land thieves commit genocide."

Two uncles and my father grab my arms
and drag me off the table with strong hands,
and my feet jerk the table cloth to cause
thirty glasses of wine to spill red blood.

"We killed the people who lived on this land
long before we came and drove them away,"
I shout with serious conviction of truth,
"because you shot them all to take this land."

Dragging me through the kitchen down steep stairs,
they lock me in the cellar by myself,
so I stare out small window at half moon
and sing, "This land belongs to them, not us."

I never step on the table to prance
like the turkey demanding equal rights,
since I still sit quietly in my chair
and stare at people hiding behind masks.

Eating turkey, sweet yams, and pumpkin pie,
I imagine my Puritan ancestors
near dark woods on rough Massachusetts shore,
chanting prayers at long tables in red mist.

Driven from misty Isle of Avalon
by church leaders who condemn our beliefs,
long after all the care-free fairies died,
we invade rugged woods where wild tribes live.

Lying flat in the boat with large flapping sails,
I gaze up at infinite emptiness
and sail to meet the spirits of the dead
who feast on shadows of the beaming light.

Mute Poets Of America

Mute Poets Of America
© Surazeus
2018 11 21

I hear your singing in grim silent night,
ten million poets longing for the light
that might illuminate our secret souls
revealing nature of our common goals
to find someone to share the game of life
and aid each other to survive the strife.

We find each other in the silent gloom
by how we search the silent misty streets
and gather all bedraggled in warm room
to escape chill rain and share rhythmic beats
expressing concepts of our aching hearts
so we draw new soul-navigation charts.

Mute poets of America, rise tall,
and paint your thoughts with blood on ancient wall
to capture our dramatic social games
in standard characters with divine names
that will record our struggle to sing truth
about our kind-hearted messiah sleuth.

We kneel together in the garden mud
to plant in heart of Earth our conscious seed
so bodies of our children sprout from blood
spilled by saviors in wars to control need
before we fall devoured by silent death
who animates our minds with mortal breath.

Ethnopoetics Of Lost Souls

Ethnopoetics Of Lost Souls
© Surazeus
2018 11 21

I cry the ancient voice of silent souls
who feel strange swirl of visions in their minds
but fail to frame those thoughts in binding verse
which could translate perceptions of their brains
so other minds see clearly what they see
when we sing together in hall of dreams.

In every group of people one will speak
wordless thoughts all the others feel inside
to give them wings so they can fly together
through hostile wilderness from slough of despond
till they find shelter under the red rock
where they challenge supremacy of death.

When shaman is our prophet of desire,
foretelling effects our actions may cause,
they lead us dancing on long pilgrimage
as pied piper who plays enchanting tune
which lures us from our responsible duties
to dance around Bacchus on broken stone.

The frantic gibberings of shamans and clowns
express ethnopoetics through strange spells
to calculate virtue from victimhood
retained by pride of the crucified god
who teaches me how to play chess with death
so we can save our fellow citizens.

Lost in imagination of dream hope,
the charming witch of Belle Reve recounts how
each social savior lost chess game with Death
and fell from grace of wealth by gambling truth
to win eternal life through lottery
that no one can afford to play these days.

So when the Tree Man comes on twelve-horned buck
with silver harp that twangs enchanting tunes,
parading through vast maze of city streets,
will office workers leave stale cubicles
to follow Forest God in ring of stones
where we drink mushroom wine and dream all time.

The man who transforms into spotted owl
returns from Irminsul on whirling wings
to fly over battlefields of world war
and chant rune spells carved on tall Yggdrasil
recording history of how men contest
right to rule over fellow human beings.

Whatever truth is found in these dream songs,
composed by bearded wizard with three eyes,
can still be found in Mississippi River
where he jumped off high Minnesota Bridge
to wrestle river serpent for our souls
though he still leads us to the Promised Land.

When prophets of all national religions
gather in Colosseum on the Moon
to translate spells from ray-shimmering winds
they discuss ethnopoetics of lost souls
then print arcane songs in anthologies
that preserve visions of swift-flowing water.

What false ideologies of racial power
wait concealed hot inside strange sentences
to explode when triggered by mocking slurs
that detonate buried tensions of fear
tangled through our hearts in taut web of hopes
when we assume principles of respect?

We sit together in ruins of the church
where moonlight soaks into our beating hearts
which nourishes emotions to sprout wings
so we can fly with Icarus to Heaven
till reality zaps aspiring flight
and we fall laughing to indifferent Earth.

Now wearing white robe of the mute shaman,
I sing strange prophecies in numbered lines
to order swirling chaos of weird truth
that mirrors sunshine of the spotless mind
so we can see through telescope of faith
absolute perfection of the White Whole.

Reason I Still Try

Reason I Still Try
© Surazeus
2018 11 21

When time unravels sparkling strings of light
I rise from solitude of humming death
and dance among sun-glowing hollyhocks
though I am late for my entrance on stage
to play Ophelia for crowd of angels
who want to know real reason I still try.

I show them how the useless sky shines bright
because the sun has no alternative
but glimmer rays of photons through our brains
to generate strange consciousness of fate
so when you see me on the signless road
I will explain strange reason I still try.

On stage before the world of naked minds
I might express strange passion for fake truth
concealed inside the eggs of laughing snakes
who always know the way through maze of lies
so we must follow after if we can
to calculate new reason I still try.

Too deep into our twisting maze of fears
we walk together holding hands to taste
spring rain that shimmers in your long straight hair
so you encourage me with every smile
when we awake on beach of windy hope
and never speak the reason I still try.

Alone together in frail boat of faith
we glide on shining sea of silver light,
escaping gang of killers with sharp blades
sent by the man in high castle of stone
who tries to hide his murder of our mother
since mist now knows the reason I still try.

I never want to wear that crown again
since greedy men in large family I loved
now hunt me down in wilderness of fear
to hack off my head with violent attack
and claim that ring of jewels for their own
so I forget the reason I still try.

Now you and I alone on lake of eyes
glide far invisible through swirling mist
to live in mountain cave beyond their reach
forever safe off bloody stage of power
responsible to no one but ourselves
because we choose the reason I still try.

We cultivate in fresh soil by clear stream
apple trees and herbs to sustain our lives
and sing together in cool silver mist
where happy children of our love can play
picking bright flowers on river shore of trust
when we remember reason I still try.

Dark Flash Of Purity

Dark Flash Of Purity
© Surazeus
2018 11 20

If we get lost in spinning astral planes
where alpine mountains frosted with our dreams
reveal strange maze where prophets go to die
we might arrive on ships with tattooed sails
that bring strange news from island of the rain
unless we know the reason why they left.

I leap from world to world through twirling doors
to find the meadow where you wait for me
because your hands reweave the splashing rain
to bring our sundered hearts back to the room
where we sing hymns to brush away the doom
which spreads our souls across vast continents.

These winds that whisper in my window eye
know all the names I left on signless roads
attempting to escape the game I lost
so I can play most noble role I am
in new play I composed on midnight train
to change our fate with subtle art of truth.

Strange accent of my secret melody
we knew as true one thousand years before
so we released our thoughts on nameless wind
to find dim cavern where our souls were born
though we too far apart now wander mute
because we never knew the name we share.

Sweet ocean sings your new names in my ear
so though I sit alone on broken pier
I feel soft haze of spirits from your eyes
drift slow around my mind in moonlit rain
till I become that brilliant haze of dawn
you beam to wake me from my trance of death.

Assembling shards of drama we once played,
we might investigate this truth you keep
locked deep inside your broken heart to show
your river rises with each flash of rain
revealing old ways our parents forgot
now twinkling mute, deep in lost memories.

Soft southern breezes from blind lake of dreams
still ruffle feathers of her broken wings
when blushing bride of innocent desire
waits for my kiss on river shore at dawn
so I leap several astral planes to fall
now wingless from frail clouds of honest faith.

Transcendent radiance of our dreamless eyes
so close to shining ice of mirror truth
weaves melody of flutes in minor strain
which shows us how to dance in careless rain
so we create new world we want to share
too far away across eternal sea.

We mix soft flow of separate aching souls
forever in dark flash of purity
so we sing tunes of strange epiphany
that make us weep with ache of honest love
though with excruciating ploy we leap
together holding hands in laughing lake.

Though windy skies now darken rustled lake
and flashing blooms reveal our serenade
to soothe our lonesome hearts where clouds unfurl
fantastic visions from the awful white
we stay together in wild flashing wind
bound tight with trust of wordless eyes we play.

No lucky star now guides our endless way
for we contrive what fate we wish to live
by binding hopes we share with memories
connecting lonely hearts through distant light
when knowing sun soon gleams on sloping hill
to plant haphazard confidence in love.

My new demeanor of your misty night
molds weird soul mask to hide our trusting pain
with glowing silhouette of beacon lights
which guide our journey through relentless rain
on shining concourse of the ocean tide
so we spark faith on damp periphery.

Fertile Heart Of America

Fertile Heart Of America
© Surazeus
2018 11 20

The love that slithers down my tingling spine
revives aching lust I buried in mud
to sprout telephone poles along blind roads
where caravans of refugees from war
against justice wander to Promised land
where they flip burgers at McDonalds grill.

The king who wants to know the reason why
he can saw off fingers of journalists
who criticize his theft of dollar bills
throws new rakes to people whose homes burned down
because the wildfire devoured piles of cash
scattered afar in California woods.

Those evil politicians come and go
on Wheel of Fortune that endlessly spins
between extremes of wealth and poverty
when people compete for baubles of fame
that glorify their faces with false masks
trampled in mud when new heroes arise.

Yet still I follow Lady Liberty
on endless revolution to ensure
universal human rights are upheld
by honest governments who support truth
on the right side of history to maintain
arc of justice we construct from our skulls.

All the clowns who stand on stage to decry
injustice of the capitalist system,
that crushes the spirits of honest people,
proclaim the fall of the empire of wealth,
then, after the slam poetry event,
they drink beer as they stagger down the street.

White clouds in blue sky beam rays of gold light
to reveal shadow of despair that lurks
behind locked doors of hundred million homes
where their brains stew in toxic chemicals
of fake news designed to spur their outrage
so they will send money to senators.

Grasping bare bodkin of Hamlet, I slash
open my heart so money gushes out
in fountain of desire that drowns the world
with visions of power to control the land
and program the hearts and minds of the people
to believe whatever I say is true.

I smoke weed in the skull of Lucifer
and breathe out visions of bloody world war
when nations of angry men grasping guns
shoot each other over Garden of Eden
where the Serpent laughs at our vanity
and drinks our blood that soaks the silent Earth.

We are bold robots of America,
marching as to war for the most just cause
that we need oil bleeding from holy sand
to power electric grid which generates
glow of cyberspace from billions of servers
to connect our brains in the world wide web.

Who is the spider of the world wide web,
enchanting wizard whose weird magic spells
connect our minds to perceive one world view
woven from words that sparkle from our tongues
yet blind our eyes with glamour of desire
for ideology to explain it all?

The blind prophet with one hundred eyes stands
in the middle of the highway at sunset,
but people drive home from working all day
so they cannot see his shadow of hope
that beams sunlight slant on indifferent trees
when they go home to pay their monthly bills.

The love that flashes on computer screens
dispels false vision of our spinning world
so we can see the tyrant on the throne,
who thinks he is the messiah returned,
when we gather at the river that flows
through the fertile heart of America.