Last Day Of The Year

Last Day Of The Year
© Surazeus
2018 12 31

My heart explodes as sparkles in the sky
so I stand in the silver midnight mist
and dream the universe inside my eye,
amazed at how spiraling stars persist.

This series of unfortunate events
throwing me lost in maze of eyeless souls
reveals how time unfolds as precedents
since everyone must design their own roles.

I walk dark city streets with nameless pride
to gather eyeless spirits from blank minds
and make them dance on puppet strings to hide
marriage of truth that alteration finds.

I never will admit impediment
to code this web of absolute desire
which beams weird conscious mind from element
of clear translucent vibe through cosmic choir.

Still struggling to escape that mute quagmire
of naked angels howling for my blood,
I beat frail wings till burning breaths transpire
to lift my aching soul from soothing mud.

On straight concentric path of ancient ways
I spiral up from gravity of fear
to blast through walls of the heavenly maze
that I designed from wisdom of the sphere.

I carve my story on the temple wall,
explaining how I navigated far
through waste land outside our grand feasting hall
by following the secret of the star.

I wanted to escape the family game
and live from honest work of crafting hands
but people tried to smear my noble name
so I fought and killed to retain my lands.

Our world keeps spinning tight around the sun
while people live and die in fights for power
so gather with me on lush river shore
and dance around my ancient crystal tower.

We celebrate the last day of the year
by dancing wild around the ring of stones,
expressing gratitude our whirling sphere
transforms our spirits from old singing bones.

Cause Of Liberty

Cause Of Liberty
© Surazeus
2018 12 31

Though our political illusions crumble
into heart-rending shards of fearful doubt,
our faith in facts supports us when we stumble
down road of progress, lead by curious scout
to chart new way of life where every soul
is treated equal in game of the whole.

Though concept of our world we long held dear
collapses into fragments from conflict,
we clear away debris of yesteryear
and build new world view that will advocate
core principles of truth we value most
based on equality as our impost.

Earth continues spinning around the sun,
indifferent to the progress of our lives,
so we define the nature of our fun
where everyone succeeds and wins who strives
to interact on strict creative trust,
working as one for what is right and just.

Beneath illusion of America,
that we prop up on colonial oppression,
thrives eternal spirit of Onatah
which supports universal self-expression
so all who live here sea to shining sea
live united for cause of Liberty.

Revolutions Of New Gods

Revolutions Of New Gods
© Surazeus
2018 12 30

So fast approaching the end of the world
we pause and sit by the loud waterfall
to contemplate the motions of large crowds
swirling through endless maze of city streets
who flow around still silence of our truth
in shimmering flood of passion that dissolves.

While armies of men swarm across vast fields
to annihilate each other in blasts of flame
I tend small garden of vegetables and herbs
which I store in glass jars on frail wood shelves
then I sit by the window as snow falls
to eat and sing about sorrow of love.

We sweep the old order off the mute Earth
to smash hierarchy of unequal power
and cast grand idols of marble to dirt
so all classes are erased from our minds
which empowers all men and women to live
free according to desires of their will.

All empires are built on the backs of farmers
whose magic hands produce food from the soil
so we must give them everything they need
and guard their lives from invaders with guns
for if they fall into the blood-soaked land
we cannot bake bread from flesh of our god.

We overthrow the haughty sons of Christ
to free our fertile land from tyranny
then elect our brothers to manage projects
producing food so everyone may eat
but they erect themselves as gods on Earth,
becoming the tyrants we overthrew.

Our planet spins around the blazing sun
and water flows down mountains to the sea
as new generations rise from the Earth
and fight each other to control the land,
judging who will die for effects they cause
and who will feast on rich blood of the farmers.

My ancestors ruled in castles of stone
till their sons deserted their games for power
and migrated west to the wilderness
where they build new empire to rule the world
so I sit alone in my silent lab
and map history of political gangs.

Alone on misty slope of Mount Takoma
I stand beside the waterfall of time
and gaze across the history of mankind
to watch empires rise and fall like sea waves
that smash themselves to drops against hard rocks
in constant revolutions of new gods.

Quest Of The Deer Shaman

Quest Of The Deer Shaman
© Surazeus
2018 12 30

The universe wakes up inside my brain
and sings the pulse of atoms weaving stars,
so outward from hot core of the White Whole
we spiral into planets teeming life.

Yet so small and frail in body of flesh
I crouch under canopy of the tree
where my mother first taught me how to sing
heart-aching melodies of mute desire.

The rising sun gleams on broad sloping plain
covered with snow that flashes in my eyes
so I squint to more clearly see through glow
flock of deer drinking from the sparkling river.

Pieces of fire hardened into flint stones
fall from the sun and sizzle at my feet,
so I clash them together to spark fire
that flickers warm as I huddle in snow.

Draped in thick deer-fur cloak to keep me warm,
I adjust skull with antlers on my head,
then, notching arrow in bow of Yew wood,
I creep toward the deer who look up at me.

Stamping sharp hoof on snow, the herd buck snorts,
then charges to gore rival to his power
so I hold my breath and pull the bow taut
then shoot the arrow straight into his heart.

Dragging the dead buck up my snow-slick hill,
I heave his carcass on the altar stone,
then carve off his skin and roast him on flames
to feast on sweet meat as stars sparkle bright.

I feel the spirit of the noble buck
wake inside my mind with dreams of bright stars,
so I race around the stone and the tree
that shimmer bright in the silver moonlight.

I become the buck racing over hills,
leading flock of does to lush river shores,
then generate new life inside their hearts
so thousands of my children spring to life.

I lead them galloping among the stars,
bright children of the wind with shining eyes
who weave among the trees in fluttering groves
to chase the rainbow far beyond the clouds.

Curled on the ground at roots of my tall tree,
I wake from dream of running with the wind
and stand to find myself human again,
fragile creature watching the sun rise bright.

Flurries of snow swirl around me with flash
of timeless sunlight gleaming from far hills,
so I eat roasted deer meat and raspberries
I hid underground in pots of baked clay.

I lived my entire life on this small hill,
growing up with my mother till she died,
so, standing tall and grasping sturdy stick,
I march down the hill to the river shore.

I follow flowing stream of the clear water
that flickers sparks of light from the bright sun
and walk beyond the far bounds of the world
around the steep cliff of the distant hill.

I stand astonished on the edge of space
to see entire new valley of tall trees
on distant hills appear before my eyes,
so I continue on, following the river.

The universe wakes up inside my brain
and sings the sparkle of sunlight on rivers,
so outward from deep core of the White Whole
we evolve into humans with clear eyes.

Star Lake Of The Multiverse

Star Lake Of The Multiverse
© Surazeus
2018 12 29

After maintaining journey of my soul
on quest to understand the universe
I stand on ocean shore and watch the light
spiral wordless into my aching heart.

I walk past people who want to explain
how some supernatural being made it all
then swing on the playground in midnight stars
to think about brutality of wars.

All I want is to live on my own land
free from aggression of the wanderers
who interrupt plain ritual of my life
to eat and contemplate mystery of things.

They drag me away from my paradise
and force me to work on their building project
erecting palace for their sacred god
who lounges drinking wine while I sweat rage.

He sits on his high pyramid of power,
feasting on food grown from sweat of our hands
and judges who will live or die each day
if we disobey his sacred commands.

Grown strong from hauling huge stones twenty years,
I break chains and race up pyramid steps
and strangle their sacred god on his throne
then throw his body crumpled down in dust.

Expecting them to kill me for my crime,
I cringe when everyone in palace court
kneels before me, then bows to marble floor,
and hails me as priest-king who rules the world.

Bathed clean and dressed in his rich ritual clothes,
I parade up the steep pyramid steps
and preside at large table in the hall
where we drink wine and feast while the bards sing.

Jumping off the playground swing under stars,
I laugh about the farmer crowned the king
by rules of fate because he killed the king,
and walk alone on blank street into town.

I go nowhere on my quest for the truth,
for that divine consciousness of God lives
glowing inside the neurons of my brain,
so I play guitar on the street and sing.

I am not Trotsky, Jesus, or Lao Tzu,
bringing wisdom to crowds of humble men,
so I transform the table to the pool
and swim in star lake of the multiverse.

In every universe I am the same,
old nameless fool riding on the sun bull
and bearing sacred scripture of the light
I wrote that explains why I am not real.

Cycles Of Concord And Strife

Cycles Of Concord And Strife
© Surazeus
2018 12 29

Light shadows of morning hang in the room
on heavy flightless wings of numb despair
that depress my chest of stale silent air
so I stare at nothing in stagnant gloom.

Though there are a dozen things I should do
to advance my career of great success
I want to lie alone and decompress
from tense obsession to perform on cue.

Why does this aggressive voice in my head
judge me failure because I want to rest
instead of competing to be the best,
since wealth will mean nothing when I am dead?

I feel like I should rise and do my chores
to maintain process of my constant growth
but I would rather relax like the sloth,
ignoring urgent fear behind locked doors.

I need to lie alone in silent state
and let my brain process recent events,
calculating nature of its contents
so I can navigate way through my fate.

Each time I talk to people face to face
it seems they expect me to read some script
but life is not performed by manuscript
so I pretend I came from outer space.

I twirl around and crack some silly joke
to break from chains of blind behavioral rules
that rearrange the walls of structured schools
then prance around in superhero cloak.

Strange laughter at the silliness of life
sparks wings of hope so I can rise from bed
and do what I love before I am dead
since living is cycles of concord and strife.

Phantoms In The Rain

Phantoms In The Rain
© Surazeus
2018 12 28

My specter calls to me across the grass
so I replace its face with gleaming glass
to capture rays of sunlight in my brain
that drinks the tears of phantoms in the rain.

I think I see myself in chthonic face
of nameless ghosts who haunt each distant place
but they are fragments of the faceless god
who laughs each time I declare him the fraud.

One day when I am looking at the sky
I realize God is phantom of my eye
for I project my shining soul at clouds
then speak my own concepts to frightened crowds.

I try to widen aching consciousness
through royal role that seems anonymous
but shadow of my eyeball stares at me
by haunting chess game of my liberty.

Strange solitude of Alastor my soul
beams out from vibrant matrix of White Whole
so when the sacred child is born at dawn
I crown him king though he still plays the pawn.

Mute specter of my ambition to play
long shadows road I blaze to moonlit bay
where spirit of First Mother rises bright
and sings to me from Glow Cloud of true light.

He points at bright Glow Cloud in empty sky
and asks if I can feel its Watching Eye
that sees and knows each new role I perform
and threatens disobedience with fierce storm.

Strange presence of the shining wraith swells full
in phantom wings that spiral from my skull
when I wake startled on wide ocean shore,
retaining my lost soul inside that door.

I journey far beyond their ruined walls
to sing new epic tale in empty halls
where dead gods savor dreams of human souls
who gamble to buy script of divine roles.

At last I see beyond my mirror face
nameless masks of dead gods on my bookcase
so I become each person I admire
to give their spirits voice in cosmic choir.

My specter calls to me across the years
so I design its heart with engine gears
which calculates weird sunlight in my brain
when I become all phantoms in the rain.

Though torn to puzzle pieces by mute wind,
my scattered soul First Mother finds to mend
conceptual person I invent from truth,
revealed to be your new messiah sleuth.

Expelled From Paradise

Expelled From Paradise
© Surazeus
2018 12 28

Free from straight bondage of hard city streets,
I leave high walls of Paradise expelled
to run unfettered over rolling hills
on wind-expressing wings through singing trees
to stand entranced on river shore and watch
beams of sunlight flashing eternal rhymes.

On never-ending quest around the world
I far explore beyond old crumbling walls
of Paradise, God built to house first mother,
and catalog weird forms of teeming nature
in special categories that describe
atomic structures organized with names.

We measure strange geography of space
so with straight ruler we triangulate
expanding matrix of our spinning sphere
that maps bleak waste land of dead gods
so we can better navigate vast maze
of human cities signified with names.

Within high walls of Paradise enstoned
we must obey strict policies of action
that well control behavior of each person
so we will create rather than destroy
in social justice of our self-control
through liberty in law by God enforced.

Forever leaving walls of Paradise,
each father of my bloodline journeyed forth
on foot or rolling wheels of wagons heaped
with tools for colonizing wilderness
of ambitious pride on fresh river shores
to expand living room of our great nation.

Once out beyond gold gates of Paradise,
guarded by flaming swords of grim police,
we cast our gaze on vast potential fields
and contemplate where next we might migrate
to living according to our own strict rules
rather than obey some remote monarch.

When lost in boundless wilderness of hope
we gather close around warm glowing flames
to chant guiding proverb of Lucifer,
better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven,
then follow bright indifferent star to find
lush river shore to build new Paradise.

How shall we follow personal desires
while sharing space in large communities
so every person may fulfill their wish
without conflicting in contest for goods
against our follow citizens through trust
by acting based on guidelines of respect?

Though we employ tools of cooperation
through accounts of right reason to produce
food that nourishes every hungry soul,
even those we build to liberate men,
we contest disconcerting tendency
to obey censorious moralities.

Bound within high stone walls of Paradise,
that protect us from marauders and thieves
who would enslave us to work for their wealth,
we must follow policies of the state,
and obey rules enforced by strict police,
so all may prosper in frame of one law.

Yet when I suffer painful punishment
because I consume the forbidden fruit,
that blossoms on the tree nature provides,
I may escape tight bondage of the state
to leave behind hard walls of Paradise,
forfeiting both protection and punishment.

Yet if I build my own strong Paradise
will I become as strict in rulership
as that arrogant king of God on Earth
whose laws restricted my free right to work,
so I pay no taxes but to myself,
strong enough to survive hostile attacks?

Whatever type of Paradise we choose,
self-reliant on our small river farm,
or dependent on large community,
we must obey rules of honest respect
to control creative force of our actions
so we cause good effects rather than bad.

What universal law shall we design
that sets parameters of forceful action
where every person chooses the right course
that through our interactions creates good
based on honest judgment of our free will
so we all live in harmony of love?

Expelled from Paradise of tyranny,
because I rebel against harsh oppression
of state authorities to exploit my labor,
I build Paradise of democracy
where I act in harmony of free will
with equal citizens who work together.

Leaving Paradise, we build Paradise
where we work together for good of all,
then gather in grand feasting hall each day
to eat and drink good food our hands produce,
and share stories about our cultural heroes
whose examples show us how to live well.

Marie Christine Of Gascony

Marie Christine Of Gascony
© Surazeus
2018 12 28

Ten billion faceless people wander lost
in wordless waste land of blank history books,
people who died in prisons or from wars,
bodies and minds destroyed by grief and fear.

Marie Christine de Pardaillan de Gondrin
wanders forlorn in Chateau de Bonnefont,
ignoring ghost of her mother Athenais
who dances in Versailles with the Sun King.

Mist sparkles over hills of Gascony
where Marie runs alone among quince trees
and kneels weeping by small indifferent stream
that captures sunlight in her falling tears.

Reaching pale hand among the fluttering leaves,
Marie plucks golden quince from tree of sorrow
and eats sweet juice of the Kydonian Apple,
then tosses core in grass where serpents glide.

When silent serpent bites her fragile heel,
Marie Christine shrieks like Eurydice,
then wanders singing to the Underworld
where her tears fill pool of the flying horse.

Where is Orpheus plucking lyre of Hermes,
who chants spells of love flowing from his heart
that would guide Marie Christine back to life
where her body rots among old quince trees?

I wander lost in hills of ancient history,
searching along shores of indifferent streams
to find Marie Christine of Gascony,
who dances laughing among fresh quince trees.

From whisper of her voice among quince trees,
that shimmers in sunlight on flowing streams,
I translate lonely sorrow of her heart
into songs mothers sing to their dead children.

Old Stories Of Wise Heroes

Old Stories Of Wise Heroes
© Surazeus
2018 12 27

The psychic energy of civilization
bubbles up from pool of Amen in Egypt,
flows outward to every stream of the world,
through Salem, Athens, Rome, Paris, and London,
then flows from Boston west to Oregon
where I drank from Fountain of the Flying Horse.

Soft echoes in the ancient wind I hear,
voices of poets who sang ten thousand years,
Homer, Virgil, Ovid, Spenser, Shakespeare,
and Milton, silenced by the motor car
that chugs vast highway networks of lost hope,
so I stand on the Bridge and sing again.

On slopes of Mount Takoma in bright wind
I join Blake, Wordsworth, Byron, Shelley, Keats,
Frost, and Mazer to sing on timeless quest
of mankind seeking clear truth about nature
that shimmers with pulsing atoms of light
which link our minds to dream of the White Whole.

We construct scaffold of songs on old myths
relating stories about our adventures
when we explore beyond perimeter
of social convention bound by strict rules
to rediscover knowledge about nature
our ancestors found on their quest for life.

Wearing masks of ancient philosophers,
I dramatize quests of curious people
to explore the secret nature of things
and build foundation for scientific tools
we employ to measure material forms
that analyze force of cause and effect.

Small colleges of explorers awake
from mythic darkness of cultural dreams
to describe patterns of nature through life
beyond the trick of resorting to gods
that embody forces as conscious beings
and explain growth as indifferent exchange.

Through measurement of tiny particles
we perceive bright atoms of pulsing light
connect through rings of spiraling electrons
that interact through chemical attraction
when molecules aggregate in thick forms
to compose physical bodies of things.

Patterns of social interaction flow
in complex structures of large social groups
when people join institutions to work
on missions of thought-bound communities
lead by the tribal leader idea of God
to preserve the nation in every person.

With every generation we rise higher
from humble Earth to soar among bright clouds
on haughty wings of arrogant desire
by singing spells of adventurous search
on endless quest of mankind to find truth
but they fall silent as the singers die.

I wake inside ancient temple of song
to read spells poets carved on moss-veiled stones
then, lifting Lyre of Hermes from stone altar,
I pluck vibrant strings of harmonious verse
and chant new spells based on legends long lost
to sing again old stories of wise heroes.

Merry Prankster Of America

Merry Prankster Of America
© Surazeus
2018 12 27

Orpheus, playful guide of wandering souls,
pluck twanging strings of your potent guitar
to gather pieces of my puzzling soul,
dismembered by blind monster of my fear,
and guide me to your Underworld of hope
to sew me back together with despair.

Orpheus, wicked chanter of weird spells,
reveal to me vast matrix of our world
so I can see big picture of my fate
and gather scattered pieces of my soul
to reassemble puppet of my mind
so I can dance to music of the spheres.

Orpheus, antic trickster of blind fools,
assign me role to play in cosmic farce
so I can channel nebulous contempt
that spirals vibrant synergy of lust
to weave new body for my ancient soul
when I explore bleak Waste Land of our fears.

Orpheus, frisky jester of damned people,
reanimate my rotten stinking corpse
to resurrect my soul from grave of worms
so I can lead lost souls to Neverland
where we devour the brains of naive zealots
who worship Zombie Messiah from God.

Orpheus, merry prankster of America,
we gather in your tomb each Sunday morn
to drink your blood in wine from pungent grapes
and eat your flesh in bread from rancid wheat,
then follow you through Labyrinth of Hell,
forever searching for the Gate to Heaven.

Mirror Of Our One Soul

Mirror Of Our One Soul
© Surazeus
2018 12 26

The moon always returns from the dark sea
to fill my empty heart with light of truth
so I know why flowers will not even bloom
from rotten slime of my immortal heart.

I walk toward you across ten thousand miles
ever closer till our faces reflect
mirror of our one soul split in two souls
who give each other secret names through love.

We pass each other by ten thousand times
on countless roads that follow winding streams,
therefore we walk together, far apart,
refracted through revealing slant of light.

I contain multitudes of dreaming souls
whose pulsing brains sparked glow of sentient sight
that catalyzed awareness long enough
for them to generate new conscious soul.

All my ancestors converge in my brain
to generate its cognitive machine
so my whole sense of self combines all theirs
in vibrant advertence of eager hope.

All my descendants radiate from my brain
to multiply successful state of mind
so my memories program how they perceive
matrix of material morphing through forms.

All their epiphanies about true facts
describing process of cause and effect
flash bright scenes in my contemplative dreams
so I design world view from their insights.

I see their spirits mirrored in the moon
which beams their apparitions to my side
where they explain true nature of this world
while I record their dreams in secret code.

Alone on my front lawn just at midnight,
I see the moon shimmering silent whiteness,
glowing with joy though millions of souls suffer,
for we all see the same bright sphere of faith.

Since our first ancestor rose from the lake
to sit on the stone by the tree of fruit
and gazed forever at the shining moon,
the moon returns to watch us live and die.

Sound Of Our Soul

Sound Of Our Soul
© Surazeus
2018 12 26

In Latin the word Person means through-sound
so our persona is character mask
we invent to express sound of our soul,
inspired by spirit of ancestral hopes.

We reveal the nature of our persona
through visions conjured by words we express
to formulate desires pulsing our brains
which channels atoms into shapes of thought.

I want to create rather than destroy
structures of atoms that blossom to life
so we celebrate compassion with joy
by sharing fruit of our labor with friends.

We hold hands around ancient apple tree
and chant the sacred Hymn of Blossoming
when roots transform soil, rain, and light to fruit
so we consume the world inside each Malus.

Through sound of rain pattering on fields of grass,
sound of wind shimmering across lakes of waves,
sound of sunlight gleaming on leaves of trees,
we sing great body of electric love.

What mysteries of passionate love are woven
in genetic code of chemical lust
that spirals into plants and animals
from seething darkness of our spinning world?

When I gaze in shining eyes of your soul
I try to see beyond my selfish mirror
to hear the secret sound of your soul ring
aching melodies of hope to connect.

We dance together, laughing in cool rain,
and shout wordless joy at being alive now
in seething chemical waves of world life
as we express sound of our soul through song.

Great Sad Soul In The Woods

Great Sad Soul In The Woods
© Surazeus
2018 12 26

The great sad soul in the woods writes on water
names of every person I ever loved
whose faces flash across the swirling clouds
and vanish in cold wind of winter dawn,
so I follow their footsteps through waste land
on never-ending quest to find their Heaven
hidden in frail shadows of ancient myths
where they play new roles of their long-dead gods.

The great sad soul in the woods steals my face
from ancient gallery of archetypes
so he can play me on the stage of life
while I explore beyond perimeter
of known truth to discover the real truth
hidden by kings to maintain house of cards
and polish statues of their father kings
who rule the empire of the turning world.

The great sad soul in the woods hides the truth
of aching hearts who hunger to consume
alphabet soup of psychic arguments
which calculate strange social interactions
when men and women fight to copulate
for political control over who
plays god on pyramid of watching eyes
manipulated by Glow Cloud of God.

The great sad soul in the woods knows my name
I invented during weird vision quest
on naked mountain of the winged horse
who offers to bear me high above clouds
so I can see palace of marble pillars
shining gold in bright blaze of morning suns
and stand before my father on his throne
who gives me crown of gold with gems to wear.

The great sad soul in the woods maps my way
through tangled labyrinth of numberless doors
where desperate people struggle to survive
by selling their bodies to men with coins
who proclaim themselves sons of ancient gods,
because gods are the white children of Odin,
demons are the black children of Daimon,
and devils are the red children of Deva.

The great sad soul in the woods raises wand
of brass to flash diamond eye of desire
that demonstrates his power to control light
he beams in our eyes so we bow our heads
before his authority to speak truth
or he will crack our skulls with Wand of Wisdom,
so we pray for salvation from mind death
and follow his journey to rule the world.

The great sad soul in the woods writes our names
in Book of Souls to record every deed
we perform in service to his grand scheme
because the Glow Cloud shining in blue sky
bestows divine authority on him
to assign each person their role to play
in court of judgment where he rules as God
as we expand his empire of control.

The great sad soul in the woods sits in cave
of shadows flashing from eternal forms
to prophesy events our actions force
changing future of the world to reflect
vision of his mind about how things are
by reading progress of creative stars
that adjust fortune of each individual
who performs their role in the cosmic play.

The great sad soul in the woods laughs in waves
of shining sea souls swirling on the beach
of nameless worlds that spin through vast abyss
of hopeful agitation to express
sounds of desire through each persona mask
we wear to hide compassion of our lust
to reproduce ourselves with loving mates
who walk beside us on the road of fruit.

The great sad soul in the woods hides his face
behind mask of fractured mirrors to show
eternal love of sunlight blazing clear
to pierce our hearts with agony of love
that pulses constantly through every atom
we share in surging waves of human lust
to generate new bodies which house souls
our ancestors program into our brains.

Center Of It All

Center Of It All
© Surazeus
2018 12 25

Calm silence at the center of it all
spins spiral filaments of beaming light
to weave my heart in tune with cosmic song
through tapestry of visions on great wall
which generates my power of second sight
so I see matrix of our social throng.
We gather in the hall of ancient tales
to share adventures of our nameless trails.

While we are feasting on cold winter night
I feel disturbance in the cosmic force
as if our spirits writhe in agony
against hard casing masks that bend the light
so through slant beams I seek the pulsing source
mutating souls through vibrant alchemy.
We soar on apogee of hoping wings
that makes us gods who once played games as kings.

I stand before the tree of Saxon tribes
that spreads broad sheltering canopy of peace
and ask the old blind witch for ancient code
so I can join the college of tale scribes
and carve on slabs my epic masterpiece
describing our great quest to pave new road.
We climb dead mountain for the golden fleece
to dance in wild abandon for release.

I decorate the tree with severed heads
and apples stolen from orchard of God
so children can take the presents they need
till all our fantasies are torn to shreds
because our great king is exposed as fraud
who tries to sell us the fertile fruit seed.
We kneel before the manger in the shack
to help the exiled king win his crown back.

Back In The Universe

Back In The Universe
© Surazeus
2018 12 25

Though no one has yet heard of my weird name
I earned immortality of fame
by composing the longest epic poem
about curious philosophers who roam
landscape of the Earth, searching for the truth,
for they are the soul of our Messiah Sleuth.
I keep magic soul hidden in my name
so I care for true love rather than fame,
choosing to explore through narrative poem
lives of eager philosophers who roam
waste land of the Earth, arguing about truth,
for we are the soul of your Messiah Sleuth.
Whether or not you read my epic verse
I will dissolve back in the universe.

God With No Face

God With No Face
© Surazeus
2018 12 24

Lost inside the stories of other people
I forget the role I wanted to play
so when I step out on the stage of history
I am the fool who thinks he is the king.

I watch movies and television shows
about all the kings who once ruled the world,
how they all rise to shine among the stars
then crumble to the dust beneath our feet.

I sit on the couch in my nowhere home
and watch tragedy of their lives unfold,
glad I bear no responsibility
to play the clown who thinks he is the king.

All religions and political parties
are formed around the personality
of one person who played their archetype
so I become the true god with no face.

Songs Fade In Bleak Wind

Songs Fade In Bleak Wind
© Surazeus
2018 12 24

Long after cheerful songs fade in bleak wind
and we walk alone in cold blinding snow,
what joy can we find still deep in our hearts
that fuels our journey through the city maze?

People seek joy in cheerful company
so we gather around warm glowing hearths
to feast, share stories, and sing ancient hymns,
enclosed inside secure dome of false faith.

Outside walls of our sanctum cold winds blow,
howling harsh from high jagged mountain peaks
to strip all shreds of joy from our frail flesh
and leave our bones shining in dawn sunlight.

If you gaze in cracked hollow of my skull,
can you hear those cheerful tunes I once sang
while embracing all my family and friends,
still echoing in abandoned hall of stone?

The turning world has ground us all to dust,
and harsh blasting winds of a thousand years
have muted transient visions of our songs
so nothing but snow shines over our ruins.

Where is that world savior promised by faith,
but each arrogant king who wore gold crown
and sat enthroned in cathedral of stone
while we sang hymns to praise his holy father?

The great sun king who reigned as God on Earth
now lies dead along with everyone else,
no more divine than the poorest dumb peasant,
yet again we sing hymns to renew faith.

Instead of individual sons of Christ,
we praise the symbol of the divine leader
in archetype of the good selfless king
as opposed to the tyrant grasping power.

Alone I walk the winter-frozen streets
in the tangled cement maze of Seattle
far out west from London, Paris, and Rome
where my ancestors worshipped Christ as King.

Cold wind of basic reality strips
all false illusions of temporal power
so I stand alone on our spinning world,
only myself awake in swirling snow.

Yet deep within my aching heart I feel
swelling surge of passion to sing with joy,
so I sing the courage of human souls
making reasons to live from nothingness.

We gather with our whole family and friends
to sing new tunes we invent from lost hope
that we are alive, and our love remains
long after cheerful songs fade in bleak wind.

Black Obelisk Of Power

Black Obelisk Of Power
© Surazeus
2018 09 01

The black obelisk shimmers on the hill,
tall slender slab of stone against blue sky,
lone shadow of power on peak among rocks
where silent wind blows for thousands of years,
erect and mute in sunlight, rain, and snow,
ever indifferent to our games of power.

The man with long hair bound by ring of gold,
fixed with one large diamond that glitters bright,
stands back against the tall black obelisk
and grips sturdy wand of oak with both hands
while he adjusts the cape of lion fur,
then crouches ready to defend his life.

Hundreds of naked men with ragged hair,
gripping splintered dragon bones and sharp rocks,
crawl up the steep stony slope of the hill,
and howl with fury at the Lion Wizard
who wears the Eye of the Sun on his head,
then throw sharp rocks to crush his fragile skull.

Swinging the oak wand fast behind his back,
the Lion Wizard whacks each hurtling stone
to smack it back into their startled faces,
which knocks them back into the choking dust,
so the whole crowd backs away in surprise
when he swings the oak wand in whooshing arcs.

Standing tall beneath the black obelisk,
carved with the image of the mother queen
whose long hair spreads outward like bright sunrays,
the Lion Wizard thrusts wand at gold clouds
and chants long spell that makes them all feel drowsy,
so many men lie down and close their eyes.

Shaking his head to escape the droning trance,
the largest ape man shrieks and runs at the wizard,
throwing sharp rocks faster than he can bat,
then jumps up to push himself with bent legs
off back of the obelisk in high-flying leap
but the wizard whacks his head with hard blow.

Forcing the ape king down on bleeding knees,
the wizard pushes his face in the dust
and forces him to bow before his glory,
then presses foot to crush his head down low
while he chants spells and twirls wand in sunlight,
till the ape men bow and worship his power.

Sitting tall before the black obelisk,
that shimmers on the hill of jagged rocks,
the Lion Wizard reigns king of all tribes
who gather on the hill with gifts of food
to worship Sun God who came from blue sky
and teaches them the mystery of the words.

Bride Of His Court

Bride Of His Court
© Surazeus
2018 08 31

Gliding slowly from the small wicker hut
nestled among trees by the gushing river,
Chlothgarde stops by the waterfall pool
and gazes at her narrow freckled face.
"The narrow river shining through the woods
cradles my heart with trickle of its song
that transforms sunlight into secret joy
to whisper silence in my watching eyes.
Joyful passion of love fills up my heart
like gushing waterfall fills the deep pool
that shimmers in the shady grove of trees
where I feel water sparkles on my cheek."

Lifting up both arms toward clouds in the sky,
Chlothgarde sings with sweet enchanting voice.
"How can I not sing with joy of my heart
that the cute boy with eyes black as the sea
after thunderclouds flash lightning in rain
gave me the apple he plucked from the tree
when I could not reach it with my short arm?
Leading me by hand to the tower of stone,
he told me while holding me in his arms
that he wants to crown me bride of his court
for he will reign as king over our land,
so I will bear son who will reign as king.
Henrikus kissed me with passionate love
and bid me appear in his court at noon
so now I climb the winding trail of trees,
approaching the castle of shining walls,
where I will dwell in Heaven with my love.
Though I am daughter of the fisherman,
with hair gold as wheat blooming in broad fields,
Henrikus chooses me to marry him,
of all the girls who flock in marble court,
so I will help his cause with loyal heart."

Terrible pain pierces her beating heart,
causing Chlothgarde to gasp in surprise
as echo of her sweet voice fades in shadow.
Staring down at her chest, she sees sharp arrow
poking out of her heart between her breasts,
thin blade dripping with blood that gushes hot.
Choking in horror at heart-wrenching pain,
she falls to her knees and clutches the arrow
as blood bubbles from between parted lips.

Trembling as she sways dizzy in sunlight
that glimmers slanted through indifferent trees,
Chlothgarde looks startled at the tall man
who laughs as he holds long bow in his hand.
"You stupid daughter of the fisherman,
and offspring of the whore who stains our kitchen
letting cooks and grooms have their way with her,
nobody would let you marry my brother.
My brother will reign as king of our land,
so he must choose his bride from our bloodline,
the perfect girl from the right family,
to bear the boy who will reign as our king.
No woman but descendant of the Mermaid,
Saint Mary Magdalene, wife of King Jesus,
will qualify to reign as our pure queen,
so you can never wear the sacred crown.
If my brother had not fallen for you,
smitten by the sparkle of your blue eyes,
then you would be free to live as you wish,
but his desire to marry you doomed you."

Lifting muddy boot with a mocking sneer,
the haughty prince kicks her hard in the face,
causing her to fall stunned into the river,
as she gasps for breath, staring at the sky.
The swift current of the tumultuous river
snatches her with horrible freezing hands
and drag her far away from shining castle
where Henrikus stands on the parapet.
Reaching out her hand toward his tiny face,
Chlothgarde gasps for help with words of blood
that gush from her mouth in the splashing stream
just as his face disappears from the sky.

Seized by terrible anguish of despair,
Chlothgarde feels sobs of horror erupt
from heaving chest as she chokes on her blood,
and sinks into darkness of flashing rays.
Snagged by the branch of the old fallen tree,
her body trembles in the gushing stream
as water flows over her face and breast,
though her eyes stare up at indifferent sky.

Stumbling over roots of the fallen tree,
Henrikus leaps from shadow of the woods,
and jumps in the gushing stream with wild shout
to grasp her body and drag her to land.
Cradling her limp body in aching arms,
Henrikus blows air in her open mouth
till she gasps, spitting water and thick blood,
then opens blue eyes to stare at his face.
Unable to speak, she clutches his arms,
amazed to see his face twisted with grief,
and she smiles as he calls her name and weeps,
then touches his cheek, longing to kiss him.
Leaning close to her pale delicate face,
Henrikus kisses her lips smeared with blood,
and sobs in horror when he sees the light
of intelligent life flash from her eyes.
Rocking back and forth in anguish of sorrow,
Henrikus howls in rage at the blank sky,
then caresses her long shining gold hair,
but stops when he notices the sharp arrow.

Looking behind him at shudder of rage,
Henrikus sees his brother holding bow,
so he howls through tears blinding his black eyes,
"Why did you kill the sweet woman I love?"

"You know father would not approve of her,
and mother is returning to our land
with the bride they intend for you to marry,
so I had to eliminate this whore."

Leaping to his feet at surge of wild rage,
Henrikus yanks sharp sword from leather scabbard
and howls as he clutches his startled face,
then trusts the blade all the way in his heart.

Daughter Of The Fisherman

Daughter Of The Fisherman
© Surazeus
2018 08 20

She finds her father down by the dark lake,
slumped against the dead tree of honey bees,
still clutching his fishing pole with both hands.
Touching his cold pale cheek, wet from wild rain,
she looks into his eyes and calls his name.
Muttering about the glowing cloud of fear,
he pushes open droopy eyes and slurs
words that splatter raindrops on slippery mud,
then reaches out his hand to grasp her arm
but drops it limply as he slides away.
Gasping as he flops in mud, she grabs hold
his arm to stop him sliding in the stream,
but he rolls over toward swift-gushing stream,
so she grabs tighter and digs heels in mud
to pull him back, but his heavier weight
drags him down the slippery slope into gush
of rain-flooded stream, which snags him with force
and swallows him down into roaring flow.
Screaming in horror as his heavy body
slips out of her tight-grasping hands, she slips
on slick mud and almost falls in the stream,
but she whips her arm back and grabs the tree,
then pulls herself back onto the bank,
where she howls in anguish at sudden loss.
Heaving with sobs at the terrible thought
that she may never see his face again,
she pulls herself up and peers through thick rain,
straining to see his face in swirling gray.
Blinking eyes through pouring rain, she sees form
of his body floating in wild turmoil
of gushing waves, so she leaps over logs
and dodges bushes as she runs for miles,
chasing his body as it floats downstream,
and gasps for breath as she leans against trees,
then runs again when spark of energy
flashes hot enough so she can run more.
Stumbling into meadow where sun gleams bright,
she runs right into crowd of thirty people
all sitting on soft grass with plates of food
who gasp startled to see disheveled girl
soaked with mud and plasted with sticks and leaves.
Stopping astonished at the sight of people
dressed in strange elegant clothes of all colors,
she shivers mute in her brown tattered gown
then sobs in wild frustration of despair.
Young bearded man wearing jewels on his head,
grasps her shoulders and wipes her smeared face clean,
then gives her glass of wine which she gulps down,
and asks her to say what makes her upset,
so she explains how her father slipped down
into the swift-gushing stream and was lost.
Grasping her hand, he takes her to the shore
where they search the river to see his face,
then dozens of men run at his command
to help find the man swallowed by the stream.
Gazing into blue sparkle of his eyes,
she breathes deep to calm beating of her heart
as she listens to soft tone of his voice
that soothes her so she feels solid again,
and harsh terrible panic flows away.
Assuring her they will find her pa soon,
he caresses her cheek with gentle hands,
and for long moment of warm gleaming light
he gazes in her eyes with wordless joy,
and she gazes back, wondering at strange glow
of aching hope flushing her with desire.
Just as she feels she will faint in his arms,
someone shouts, so they run along the shore
to find five courtiers in elegant dress
sloshing in the river to drag him out,
then lay his body limp on muddy grass.
Falling to her knees and clutching his face,
she calls out his name, but cries out with sorrow
when she realizes his spirit is gone,
and he will never smile at her again,
so she doubles over from aching anguish,
sobbing at the pain of her broken heart.
The bearded man with jewels on his head,
pulls her head to press against his warm breast,
then he hugs her tightly with loving arms
while caressing her hair with tender hands,
comforting her as she weeps in despair.

Aurnia In Mist Of Glen Coe

Aurnia In Mist Of Glen Coe
© Surazeus
2018 08 09

Starving and thin after trudging eight days
somewhere bright across the bleak windy heath,
Aurnia stumbles to her knees in thick grass
that twitches in wind by the narrow stream.
"My heart is stark blue as the shimmering stream
that flows down from the cold indifferent sky."
Lurching forward toward memory of the face,
she tumbles dizzy into nothingness.

Falling to her breast on the thick moist soil,
Aurnia stares through thick curls of long gold hair
and gasps for breath as her fingers claw stiff,
clutching at cold muck of the pulsing world.
"My soul dissolves into the stinking muck
and I become the sorrow of the world,
drowning in cold rain that forever falls
and pierces my bones with freezing desire."

Gold sun gleams forever on distant hills,
beaming rays that stab her eyes with despair
as Aurnia crawls slowly to the bright river.
Dipping frail white hand in cold flowing water,
she lifts it to her lips and sips the light.
Horror of nothingness pierces her heart
as refreshing water freezes her throat.
Closing her eyes she sinks into bright gloom.

Stirring awake at sharp twitter of birds,
Aurnia stretches her arms in languid pleasure,
then opens her eyes, startled at the glare
of sunlight, and stares around in mute shock.
"Why am I not in my safe tower bedroom?
How did I get here to this open field?
What happened to drive me out of my home?"
Pressing hand to forehead, she stares at grass.

Trembling at sudden shock of shivering fear,
Aurnia looks around at the windy heath,
and spies small raspberry bush by the river,
so she crawls on hands and knees on hard mud.
Plucking red berries from vines of sharp thorns,
she sucks at sour bitter taste with delight,
and feels sweet sunlight tingle on her skin
as she licks juice staining her fingertips.

Clutching gray rocks softened by tufts of moss,
Aurnia forms ring of stones on river shore,
then constructs fire frame from moss, twigs, and logs,
and strikes stones to spark flame glowing in mist.
"After my mother died, my lonely father
brought home new wife who locked me in my room,
and then she poured poison into his wine,
and he screamed in agony for three days."

Hunched over warm fire on vast windy heath,
Aurnia eats mushrooms that sprout on small stones,
then dips her finger in cold flowing water
to write her sorrow on heart of the world.
"She threw body of my father outside,
then pushed me out in the cold moonless night,
so now she lives in luxury of my tower
while I wander lost in waste land of fear."

Climbing steep rugged slope of Glen Coe hills,
in mist from white lake of the shining sky,
Aurnia finds cave where her grandmother lived
before her mother married the tower wizard.
"Now I am home in cavern of my heart
where my mothers have lived ten thousand years
since solid world emerged from swirling seas,
so here I will live till the end of time."

New Universal Tribe

New Universal Tribe
© Surazeus
2018 12 23

I walk into the blank maze of the world
never knowing what dreams I will observe
flashing across the mirror of our eyes
to reflect our obsessions masked as fears
that give us wings to fly above the fort
and see our strange world neatly mapped in myths.

So many people exist in our world,
shadowy reflections of our true selves,
fragments of our minds in bodies of strangers
who all sprouted from the same ancient mothers
alive in clear glow of our consciousness
which lights our way through labyrinth of desires.

I see half-neglected parts of myself
fully realized in strangers without names
who play the part in drama of our myth
I thought I was playing before they appeared
so we contest to see who plays the part
better in tragicomedy of hope.

Though I follow my own traces of light
through immense darkness of our empty world,
I see countless others in the mute gloom
following their own fiery traces through night
of silent sorrow to stand on the shore
and sing with laughter of the endless river.

We stand together on the river shore
and write our forgotten names on the water
so all our hopeful dreams blend in the stream
of unspoken anguish we share to hold
hands of strangers that connect us as one
to become the new universal tribe.

In each little community of people
that flourishes on every river shore
one person plays the universal role
of some special character they perform
in fundamental drama of desire
in countless variations of one play.

Ten thousand people in ten thousand towns
play one character in ten thousand plays,
contributing to mask of that god type
till all their individual names are lost
within one basic archetype of soul
that preserves their memories in mythic role.

I stand alone in teeming crowd of souls
and sing, determined to design my role
unique from all those others who play me
so I give my name to our archetype
by winding all its energies in wings
I beat to soar above the common tribe.

Chains Of The Sea

Chains Of The Sea
© Surazeus
2018 12 22

The chains of the sea cannot hold him down
from soaring on broad wings of Pegasus
for his weird spells outwit the crazy clown,
debating oracles in Ephesus.

The fish and the boar will show him the way
to scale the temple walls of Artemis
who looks through telescope at Milky Way
on pyramid of blinded Osiris.

When Elvis shakes his hips on stage of fame,
we follow winding path of Orpheus
where morbid Caliban directs the game
transforming broken heart of Morpheus.

He plays new game of chess by cheating Death
to win the mangled wings of Lucifer
so when he utters spell of Shibboleth
he shows us how to trick wise Jupiter.

Still drenched in hope from squall of ocean rain,
he dances home reborn as troubadour
to photograph our old abandoned fane
since in each angel writhes fierce dinosaur.

We praise Mithras on winter solstice eve
to celebrate his ancient Christmas feast
since nature cares not what faith we believe
for safe behind my mask lurks the weird beast.

He loads swift sleigh with treasures he once made
till fearful priest broke fingers of his hand
so he leads angels on the first crusade
to spread good cheer across the cold waste land.

He photographs the door of every home
while wandering lost in silent wilderness
since he now has no reason not to roam,
exploring secret truth of emptiness.

Promised Land Of Onatah

Promised Land Of Onatah
© Surazeus
2018 12 22

I get lost in paintings of eerie places
that reveal secrets of beautiful faces
when ghosts appear from mist of my desire
to transcend strange slant of light ever higher
beyond perimeter of social rules
in game of fame ruled by arrogant fools.

I should turn and face my reality
that I possess no personality
except ability to imitate
actions of others from mirroring slate
of empty heart that swallows all despair,
converting horror to joy of the air.

I am blind angel with the broken wing
you saw fall from Heaven and try to sing
with twisted fingers on your city streets
that echoes rhythm of car engine beats
by twanging strings of wild-shaman guitar
to conjure visions of your fateful star.

Crushed by the silence of uncaring truth,
I rise reborn as your messiah sleuth
who must explore beyond the ruined wall
that crumbles empire of religious hall
when vampires, disguised as good holy priests,
deceive you with lie of the afterlife.

We join together on our sacred quest
to travel beyond wild sea of the west,
enduring fierce storms of mountains and seas
while sailing to Atlantis in soft breeze
to find the Promised Land of Onatah
who welcomes us to weird America.

We wander lost in paintings of landscapes
to patrol city streets in flapping capes
and rescue lost souls from the maze of church
who join us on our endless futile search
for ancient wisdom of the Holy Grail
contained in symbols of the childish tale.

I enter Temple of the Broken Stone
to find the Princess of the Twilight Zone
who deciphers riddles of the White Whole
I hide in lyrics with the arcane goal
to help Orpheus bring you back from Death
and wake your spirit with amorous breath.

While picking flowers in the field of dreams
Ophelia meets the Angel of the Streams
who teaches her the secret of rebirth
so human beings can populate the Earth
though never will control our destiny
accused by fairies of latrociny.

Though we continue our vain quest for faith
we welcome guidance from the howling wraith
who comes again as young girl dressed in white
and shows me how to spark bold torch of light
to find the Promised Land of Onatah
and build from whispers new basilica.

The castle we constructed from our fears
that kept us safe for countless aching years
becomes the death trap behind prison walls
that transforms paradise to banking halls
where human souls are bought and sold for coins
fought over by sons who spring from our loins.

Still here lost in paintings of eerie places,
I hide my secret dreams on your bookcases,
hoping to conceal the key to great power
embodied in the beauty of my tower
I build on fractured skulls of divine kings
when I descend to Earth on fragile wings.

Now I rule Promised Land of Onatah
based on concepts from esoterica
that every person acts from their free will
within just law of honest self-control
to give and take in measure of success,
conserving our souls as we make progress.

Sweet Melancholy Wind

Sweet Melancholy Wind
© Surazeus
2018 12 22

Sweet melancholy wind of winter light
that blows from secret region of my mind
bears my frail soul above the teeming world,
seeking to change despair to aching joy.

Pale Death, who comes from swirling mist of time
in body of young girl with long gold hair,
your silver eyes blaze pleasure through my soul,
inspiring my numb heart to wake from pain.

Your warm embrace of my frail skeleton
imbues my aching flesh with strange new life
so I may rise at blazing flash of dawn
to gather apples fallen on cold ground.

Mute Death, who waits for me beneath low cliff,
I bring you apples from old Tree of Life
so we may feast together in cold wind,
devouring sunlight with our kissing lips.

I build small shelter from cold gusting wind
and spark warm fire by clashing jagged rocks
so we may hold each other close and warm
when melancholy wind howls from black sky.

Sad Death, whose silver eyes rain bitter tears,
you tremble from strange vision of despair,
and cry with anguish in dark starless night,
while I embrace you to my throbbing heart.

Bright sun gleams gold on field of gleaming snow,
and gushing river sings clash of ice chunks,
so I race swift through trees to kill wild boar,
then roast it over flames for us to feast.

Cute Death, whose blazing eyes gaze up at me,
your joyful laughter charms my aching heart
as we convert cries of fear to sweet song,
and dance together by old Tree of Life.

We walk together through thick tangled trees
to gather nuts and mushrooms from wet grass
then feast together laughing by the cliff
that blazes warm with rays of evening light.

Pale Death, who holds my trembling hand with faith,
you walk beside me on cold river shore,
soft belly swelling ripe with growing child,
sparked by hot passion of our eager kiss.

Sweet melancholy wind of summer light
that blows from secret region of my mind
bears our frail souls above the teeming world
so we transform despair to aching joy.

Wild Death, who grips my shoulders with fierce hands,
you birth our wailing child of hungry hope
that suckles at your plump breast of sweet milk,
while you smile at me with joy for new life.

Where Writers Wrestle Angels

Where Writers Wrestle Angels
© Surazeus
2018 12 21

Strange aching urge to sing soft haunting spells
swells from hollow cave of my empty heart
to echo booming with thunder in rain
that drenches silent hills of my despair.

Once I wake from longest night of the year
I walk with shadows of lost nameless ghosts
in house that views me with skeptical hope
voiced in creaks of doors that never stay closed.

The ghosts of word wizards entombed in books
I read in graduate seminars on verse
encourage me to package eerie thoughts
in stoic metaphors who comprehends.

Nibbling dry toast with butter and peach jam,
I whisper, this is body of the Earth,
so I eat it to remember wheat fields
where farmers drive machines in wordless wind.

How strange we humans think we can contain
surging currents of emotions in verse
that tangles concepts of meaningless dreams
for right action we hope to calculate.

How can I explain through nebulous plot
of action and reaction hopeless fear
characters suppress in novel we play
through fractures in mirror of flashing eyes?

I want to fade from memory of their eyes
and disappear from that community
of writers, poets, editors, and agents
who compete for ephemeral glow of fame.

Sipping wine from grapes grown in hills of France,
I whisper, this is sweet blood of the Earth,
so I drink it to remember vast vineyards
where writers wrestle angels for the truth.

I photograph oval pool by my house
that shimmers among slender trunks of trees
who scatter pages of poems as dead leaves
on mud soaked by rain seeping in my heart.

In the next short novel I plan to write
I will present teenage girl in high school
who shoots her principal for raping her
and spends the rest of her life locked in prison.

Why do the weaker people of the world
always suffer injustice at the hands
of men who attempt to control our bodies
for their ambitions to conquer that world?

Mist sparkles on my hands in morning light
as I walk squishy mud of my mute heart
to stand still among trees who always sing
quiet as wind rippling on mirror lake.

I stand beside still tree that stays for me
rooted in ancient mind of turning world
to seal in wood voices of souls I loved
till I become specter of urge to sing.

I channel ancient song of rain on soil
and wind in trees that curls around my heart
so I become infinite memory of light
glowing through clouds to rebirth my own mind.

With the dying and reborn sun, I feel death
swallow all my sorrows from the past year
that soak into mud for tree roots to drink
till I breathe free in cold refreshing wind.

My past is dead but I am still alive
so with this solstice I will rise reborn
to perform my role in strange game of life
by wrestling with angels to write new truth.

Perfection Of The Nothing

Perfection Of The Nothing
© Surazeus
2018 12 20

Perfection of the nothing we create
transforms chaotic mess of gushing dirt
to trellis of exquisite artifacts
that touch voltaic arc of flashing nerves
so when we gaze down through lens of the heart
we ticket method of true love to swim
strict ocean in vain hollow of my head
dilating vigor through your horoscope.

Still weeping over loss of sweet Isolde
to glorious fame of television screens,
blind Tristan scissors secret words of truth
from blood-stained newspaper with articles
that show young prince of fractured grail, with eyes
black as midnight moon, ride the hobby horse
to show how kings and clowns are just alike
when they call for Death on the telephone.

The swan who glides on fragrant pond of eyes
spreads crystal wings with feathers sharp as swords
and never sings till day she plans to die
then maps weird Earth on diamond of my eye
so I design new puzzle of true words
who taste my bleeding heart on empty stage
to give my horror shape of her sweet face
since I build palace from milk of her breast.

While I dig grave to bury my frail faith
red-skinned woman with hair black as storm clouds
appears from mist to sing enchanting tune
which glamors shimmering glow around my soul
so I kiss Death with eager lust for life
who bears two daughters from blood of my heart
then morphs my pulsing heart into car engine
throbbing with green grass of triumphant meadows.

Harsh eerie music from the oboe swirls
expansive knowledge of infinite things
embodied in young girl with flowing curls
whose heart beneath frail frost of frozen pool
struggles to break from pages of the book
that maps way to shore of oblivion
where white sand harbors hard-souled man of faith
to wallow blind in happiness of pain.

My mystic diadem from ancient skies
reveals soft decadence of gilded grails
where wounded knight at the crossroads reveals
true symbol of desire in sparkling waves
where young girls on edge of the sea weave light
in frail transparent wings for me to wear
when I attend dream dance in ring of stones
while watching angels comb their sea-wild hair.

By twisting backward syntax of curved shade
the fountain wizard wearing monocle
explains how yellow sizzles arcane flux
to flash clear accent of surreal reflection
deeper than strange words of nebulous love
that marks frenetic endgame of cracked eyes
complicit through broad range of synergy
in cracking foundation for hall of stone.

Expansion of the nothing we design
conceals behind this mask of polished eyes
sharp serpent tooth inherited from faith
I use to write these riddles in the dark
till I escape from pretty house of lies
where thousands of people I trust are spies
appointed by the nameless wraith in me
who energizes how I map the world.

Prophet Of Your Zombie God

Prophet Of Your Zombie God
© Surazeus
2018 12 20

Quaint algorithm of the falling door
reveals conceptual riddles we adore
to build cathedrals on their broken bones
when skulls of prophets mirror crystal stones.

Down ancient roads we stumble toward our goal
escaping arrogance of thought control
before the latest tyrant steals our eyes
and charges us tax for light from free skies.

This rain that flashes secret memories
reveals how we win back lost liberties
to exercise bold freedom speaking truth
detected by perception of the sleuth.

Strange jagged landscape of my waking dream
presents aggressive progress of the stream
that shapes the contours of our aching faith
at second coming of the chanting wraith.

Along smooth curving road we glide on wind
to trace new navigation of the mind
since I was born at fountain of the horse
who teaches me to play the honor course.

Wherever on this Earth I soon may roam
I hope to understand the trick of home
where lovers lounge by frame of glowing hearth
to share lost stories of the turning Earth.

I climb high mountain to your waterfall
and build from dragon bones the feasting hall
where lost souls gather by the singing stage
to see our angel locked in golden cage.

Deep in these riddles calculating truth
you might discover secret of the sleuth
whose second coming was so long foretold
we never thought true justice would be sold.

I am not prophet of your zombie god
whose lie of resurrection is the fraud
which blinds the eyes of people to the facts
that heaven is no more that forest tracks.

So follow pleasure of your agony
to go beyond deceptive alchemy
and learn the secret of the molecule
that pulses at the core of our brain jewel.

At sunset near bright river of lost souls
we sing about the spiral of black holes
that weave vast hologram of life on Earth
so we make love to generate rebirth.

By fountain of the flying horse I wake
to comprehend the One-Faced God is fake
because we are the fragments of one soul
who shimmers in the web of our White Whole.

Ghost Of Her Desire

Ghost Of Her Desire
© Surazeus
2018 12 20

The gaunt face that screams from the silent wall
vanishes in puff of dust when I
laugh from horror at hunger of our hearts
that drive us to hallucinate the world.

Strange clamor of mute voices in the hall
clump concepts of analysis to show
why we know nothing beyond blurry scope
of rain-smeared windows fractured by the truth.

The blind man who stands stiff in pouring rain
sings riddles of forgotten truths we hide
inside serpent egg that glows in his hand
so he remembers your face in the glass.

Backward still in the house of broken chairs
the girl who loves me pastes my secret face
on every photograph of her she has
so I become the ghost of her desire.

You read ten thousand books of poetry
to understand the mystery she designs,
then weave conceptual riddles in new songs
that calculate the cost of love concealed.

The gaunt face that screams from the ancient tree
congeals in apple that falls in my hand
because spinning Earth hurls us at the sky
on rapid spiral through infinity.

On narrow country road between lush hills
far out in the meadows of Avalon
I face the giant bully I despise
and knock his statue in deep stream of tears.

Wandering mute in the house of broken chairs,
the girl who keeps my face inside her eye
paints shadow of my soul on singing tree
so I become the ghost of her desire.

When I leave behind the lush river shore,
I travel forward through waste land of fear
to find cave of shadows where spirits play
hide and seek with the maker of soul light.

I bury corpse of your god-king in dust
so the apple tree grows tall from his heart
rotten with lust of his ten thousand sons
who devour the souls of innocent children.

I could not rescue them from his blind greed
to control the destiny of our souls,
but I can protect children alive now,
teaching them to fight for democracy.

Dancing free in the house of broken chairs,
the girl who carves statue to catch my soul
kisses me alive from my angry state
so I become the ghost of her desire.

Fruit To Feed Every Person

Fruit To Feed Every Person
© Surazeus
2018 12 20

When groups of warriors and merchants sailed boats
from Greek citadels on rough coast of Hellas,
they traveled west across Mid-Terra Sea
and out on world-encircling Ocean stream
to colonize shores of Galtican Sea
where they became Vikings with flowing hair.

When groups of warriors and merchants hauled carts
from Sumerian pyramids on river shores,
they traveled east across vast wind-swept steppes
to colonize plateaus of India and China,
then crossed Siberia to Alaska hills
where they became Indians with flowing hair.

We all began on ziggurat of Amen,
First Mother on the artificial mountain
who taught us how to hum and sing our thoughts
while holding hands in temple of the hearth,
then sent us out to colonize the world
and worship Amunet in every land.

I feel you in bright flicker of my soul,
sweet Amen, Mother of Humanity,
who dreams clear vision of our universe
in brain of every talking human being,
so motivate me with your loving wit
to learn weird mysteries of our spinning world.

Back to the primal temple of our species
I want to go, climb Pyramid of Khufu
where wise Sophia designed language system,
then gather with ten thousand eager minds
to drink mushroom nectar which flashes brains
that dream evolution of the White Whole.

We gather on high pyramid to dance
with spirit of Amunet in our hearts
for she is primal woman of our souls
who generated bodies from her eggs
so we incarnate sun rays and rain drops
to dream the history of our universe.

Parts of our world are torn by civil strife
where tyrants attempt to control the people,
but we fight back against their tyranny
and unite to support democracy
so every person lives in liberty,
peaceful in United Nations of Earth.

When borders of all nation-states dissolve
and separate tribes mix into one world clan,
we discard xenophobic loyalties
and join with common tribe of human souls
to celebrate our victory against hunger
when we produce fruit to feed every person.

Gathered In The Feasting Hall

Gathered In The Feasting Hall
© Surazeus
2018 12 20

That broken bowl I dropped on the hard floor
is not some metaphor about my heart
shattered by your disregard for my needs,
though I meld it back together with gold
to secure the hollow space of its hope
that you will give before I have to ask.

I give so much energy from my heart
to motivate every person I love,
so they will maintain their role in the game,
that my hollow heart is empty enough
to receive more love than you ever give,
thus my joy is deeper when you give some.

The deep capacity of loving hearts
grows ever greater as we give more love,
therefore give more love to receive more love
and we will surge with gushing streams of love
that could heal so many frail wounded souls
who wander lost in vast indifferent world.

What future opportunities to work
lure me into halls of huge companies
where shadows of deceiving faith still lurk
among large cold calculating machines
that compute increased return of investment
so we know how much to give or to take.

When our land is frozen by winter cold
and trees turn gray in the bleak wilderness,
we gather in warm halls to share the feast
and give each other gifts of useful things
we create with our hands from soil of Earth
so our civilization thrives through wealth.

I spend allotted time each day to work,
crafting material of Earth into things,
food to sustain life or machines to help
process of production and distribution,
then receive money as token of work
so I can buy things other people make.

When I fail to produce required amount
so reward of wealth is not given me,
I fall from the system of food production
and wander homeless in vast city maze,
hands empty of anything I can give,
and my belly hungry for food to live.

Will I become blind vampire of desire
and suck life-blood from those innocent souls
who still participate in social games
by conning them to give without receipt,
so I gain more while never giving back,
and then discard them on the heap of hunger?

After we overthrow dictator kings
and noble minions who live off our blood
to gain freedom from their feudal estates,
we transform kingdoms to democracies
where every person works together well
to maintain good system of equal rights.

We strike from work at dangerous factories
to demand safe conditions and more pay,
hearts united in solidarity of trust
to equalize rewards of give and take
so we earn enough to support our families
and give our children better education.

No longer will one man control our fates
because he claims some divine right to rule,
for we will work together in our cause
producing food so everyone may eat
and play together on the river shore
where we hold hands at sunset and sing hymns.

Gathered in the feasting hall at midwinter,
when productive nature is frozen stiff,
we celebrate rich harvest of our work,
giving and receiving gifts of our hearts,
then I will repair that frail broken bowl
so we can toast life and success for all.

Poetry Can Be About Anything

Poetry Can Be About Anything
© Surazeus
2018 12 20

Our poetry can be about anything
we want to say concerning state of life
through essence of its complicated facts
distilled to crystal expressions of hope.

Linear progress of narrative events
frame concentric analysis of lyrics
through dialectic of dramatic clash
to present characters of human hope.

I walk the crowded maze of numbered streets
on endless circles through ritual progress
to give and take in commercial exchange
which sustains our food-production machine.

I stand at core of our city in mist
and contemplate whether I should adore
the Many-Faced God or the No-Faced God
who animate the spirit of my heart.

Mission To Conquer The World

Mission To Conquer The World
© Surazeus
2018 12 20

After watching thousands of classic films
that recreate fragments of human history,
I realize I now live in paradise
built on harsh suffering of billions of souls
who struggled through chaos of bloody wars
to develop advanced technology
that supports more equal society
sponsoring creative talents of each person.

What brutal suffering people in the past
endured against hostile forces of power,
whether natural disasters and disease,
or oppression from strong nobility
who assumed their right appointed by God
to exploit the labor of common men,
which means the sons of Jesus crowned as kings
enslaved the sons of Odin across Europe.

I speak these accusations against kings
and their gangs of nobles oppressing people
by right of my divine authority
I claim as descendant from wise Meroveus
because I am son of Jesus and Odin,
long since united to conquer the world
through bold mission of Christians to enforce
all tribes of Earth to worship Christ as God.

Though Jesus is not supernatural God,
we venerate him as God of the Earth
because bold children sprouting from his seed
through womb of Mary Magdalene the Mermaid
wield Scepter of Zambor to reign as Christ,
crowning themselves kings over fertile lands
through political party of this religion
by right of the Holy Grail blood they claim.

Through Meroveus the sons of Jesus reign,
Constantine, Arthur, Muhammad, Charlemagne,
and all the bloodlines sprouting from their seeds,
thus through William the Conqueror of Avalon
the Presidents of the United States
of America perpetuate his rule
as immortal spirit of God the Father
who reigns in mortal bodies of his sons.

Though mortal rulers, descended from Jesus,
rise to reign with every new generation,
then fall to make way for new sons of Christ,
the immortal soul of Jesus the Savior
reigns reborn through mortal sons of his blood,
regardless of whether they are good or bad,
noble leaders or oppressive dictators,
for always they maintain the rule of Jesus.

From Jesus to Victoria, Queen of Europe,
who ruled empire from Siberia to Alaska,
the sons of Jesus conquered half the world,
till fierce revolutions through two world wars
fueled movements of commoners against nobles
to overthrow the monarchs of his blood
which killed billions of simple human beings
and soaked the Earth with blood of their lost souls.

Watching two separate television series,
titled as Victoria and Penny Dreadful,
I see two sides of the same glorious era
when sons of Christ fought over who would reign
as Emperor over lands of Christendom
while opposed to Vicar of Christ in Rome,
glamorous Fairy Queen who rules Hall of Mirrors
and wizards who fight cruel vampires of lust.

Though the monarchies of the Holy Grail
crumbled from the onslaught of two world wars,
the sons of Jesus as state presidents
still rule the new democracies of Europe,
controlling Russia and America
as blood-bound Brother Knights of the Red Cross,
uniting after endless civil war
to fight sons of Confucius for the world.

Alone somewhere in vast Empire of Christ,
but one of billions descended from Jesus,
I ponder my place in this ancient game
the sons of Christ play to conquer the world,
on whether I should support or oppose
this obdurate mission to assimilate
all nations of Earth in one social play
where sons of Jesus alone rule the state.

Then as I watch clear rain falling on trees
and contemplate two thousand years of history
this headstrong mission to conquer the world,
I laugh to think I have some role to play
as one lone individual on huge Earth,
for titanic clash of civilizations
will occur no matter how I perform,
so I will chronicle what I perceive.

So many people in vast flow of time
lived and died in constant wars for control,
therefore the man crucified on the cross
represents every single human soul
who suffered in the clash of kings for power
since Jesus survived and rallied his sons
to begin mission to conquer the world,
thus I will write their names on flowing water.

Petals Red From Fear

Petals Red From Fear
© Surazeus
2018 12 19

Extravagant darkness of human hearts
swirls in rivers of blood through every vein
that tangles my soul in flesh of this world
so I can savor agony of pleasure.

She grabs my hand with laughter in her eyes
so we skip playful on the river shore
then sit together close in sparkling rays
to kiss soft as flowers scenting her hair.

She taught me how to sing before she died
so though I walk alone the river shore
ghost of her memory swirls around my hair
as I sing melodies she sang for me.

While we are kissing among soft white flowers
she coughs blood that splatters on trembling hands
and stains delicate petals red from fear
that blinds my eyes when I lie in the sun.

Sweet agony of each wild haunting note
I sing on fluttering wings of flashing wind
swells outward wide from blind core of my being
so I become gaunt trees weeping in rain.

I embrace her breast as she lies back down
and trembles freezing in hot sun rays,
then caress her cheeks as her silver eyes
stare thousands of loving words in my heart.

Old people tell me high up in the sky
immortal soul of love controls all things,
so I howl raging prayer at its blank face
that it would kill so sweet a soul as hers.

Then I laugh when, after months of despair,
I realize that no supernatural deity
controls whatever happens on this world,
so I hold her skull in bright morning light.

Yuletide In Norway

Yuletide In Norway
© Surazeus
2018 12 19

The girl with blonde hair hangs on the pine tree
red apples and green pears that glitter bright
in flames of candles flickering on the table
where wood bowls are heaped with walnuts and berries.

Cracking eggs on edge of the large wood bowl,
she mixes them into honey and milk,
then sets it to simmer by the warm fire
that shimmers inside the large hearth of stone.

Seven butterflies flutter around flowers
that still bloom inside large wood feasting hall,
though snow flakes flutter on its high peaked roof
and cold winds blow up from the sparkling bay.

The girl with blonde hair sits by the old woman
who carves wood blocks into plates, bowls, and cups,
and asks her how they first came to this land,
while sewing pillow cases from white sheets.

"My father was the ninth son of the thane
who united three bays under his rule,
so he loaded his ship with seeds and stock,
and we sailed through mist to find new free land."

"When my parents and I sailed in this bay,
he built small wood hall between two large rocks
then turned his boat upside down on its frame
to roof our heads against the falling snow."

"My mother died while birthing my dead brother
so my father and I lived years alone,
till one summer I climbed the mountain slopes
and met your father by the waterfall."

"My grandfather came with fleet of twelve ships,
so your father sailed with him west to England
where he was killed in battle against Christians,
so I was alone here when you were born."

The girl with blonde hair jumps up to her feet
when someone knocks on the door, then she runs
and swings it open to kiss the tall boy
who steps inside, bearing pig on his shoulder.

The girl and boy roast fat pig on the fire,
and laugh together as they feast and drink,
then kiss blushing in flicker of bright flames,
and sing melodies as snow shrouds the world.

Shadow Of Your Blind Hope

Shadow Of Your Blind Hope
© Surazeus
2018 12 19

The fading shadow of the silent night
still melting down the blank wall of my heart
reveals the face of the stranger I love
who trusts me to handle their heart with care.

The aching flash of sunlight on windshields
of passing cars pierces my heart with hope
that I might soon find my destined soul mate
though I wander homeless on rain-wet streets.

I always circle back to city park
where I first sat after losing my home
when my husband died from cancer last year
and hospital bills drained my bank account.

The pretty world that we together built
collapses on its glamorous fantasy
of employment and friendship with purpose
beyond hunger that consumes my numb heart.

I wander lost in concentric routine
from the park where I sleep under the bushes
to the dumpster behind the fast food joint
where they always leave eggs for me to eat.

My sweet mother taught me to value family
so I sit in front of the shopping mall
and watch families purchase each other gifts
as I dream of my children never born.

Ground up by relentless gears of commerce,
I wander broken on stage of your play,
disrupting perfect beauty of your drama
where you hope for eternal life in Heaven.

You worship symbol of the long-dead king
who taught you to care for the poor and sick,
while you ignore millions of homeless people
who decay in shadow of your blind hope.

College Of Blind Sleuths

College Of Blind Sleuths
© Surazeus
2018 12 18

Since mist is listening to my aching heart
then we shall meet at midnight by the pole
where laughing children still play hide and seek
so when you hear the owl hoot in the dark
you will receive my message from the stars
that shimmers in the hush of passing cars.

Soft pulse of atoms in my flashing blood
conceals sweet agony I feel for you
though we must package in the pretty box
our secret feelings for the faceless love
who cannot comprehend the pattern why
I still am falling from your empty sky.

With broken wings tucked under long black coat
I walk the waste land where the thunder looms
but never says the reason for the crash
when fractured mirror of my honest heart
reveals the puzzle of your muffled dreams
that float away with leaves on careless streams.

You open every door to find my face
but strange elusive sorrow of the clouds
accepts defeat before the present comes
on sailing ship across the restless sea
though every angel in the glass hall sings
however far I go to find new wings.

Beside piano of my crystal mask
I wait for summer rain to make it known
that every child with heart of broken stone
will find the river in the singing trees
yet still I hesitate in silent door
to find the spiral of the solar core.

Beyond the window of your fragile eyes
I know the lost code of your hungry heart
so when I bring the apple of the moon
you can at last remember my true name
although we allocate the ocean tune
to arbitrate the treasure of false fame.

With floating bells of every town repealed
she will explain how justice was concealed
since all the children without eyes return
on fractured boats to navigate the stream
which fountains from the fissure of my soul
when I embody flash of the White Whole.

Thus from the abyss of the blissful sea
we rise at dawn to eat the fruit of life
which wakens knowledge in our tangled brains
to conjure model of the teeming world
so we can navigate the game of myths
decoded by the college of blind sleuths.

Straight through the corridor of fragile masks
I follow whisper of the holy ghost
who teaches how to form new life from seed
of fallen angels crawling from the mud
since we are strange embodied swirls of light
who long to soar on wings of second sight.

Wild laughing wind from jagged peak of ice
hard buffets spirit of the wandering fool
who peers for guidance in the glittering jewel
where vision of creation flashes clear
each time he gazes in its sparkling heart
to understand her navigation chart.

From cities of machines in steel-glass towers
the blind inspector climbs high rugged slope
beyond perimeter of social laws
to find the entrance to the underworld
where cave of shadows flickers ancient dreams
since we evolved in gushing mountain streams.

Down secret cavern of the sparkling lake,
the curious sleuth with old stringless guitar
descends from crowded stage of national fame
to search for blinded Muse of ancient spells
who mumbles riddles in the sunless dark
how we are spirits of the spinning quark.

Strange madness of the city street explains
rude algorithm through the skeleton
who dances on the shadow of my grave
so I will know the road of fate to blaze
by singing omens when I paint road signs
that show the way beyond the Gates of Heaven.

I kneel beside the fallen Muse at dawn
who gazes in my soul with sky-blue eyes
beneath the Eden Tree of Life where Death
breathes ancient spirit of her melodies,
who places hand on anguish of my heart
to bind new spell so we may never part.

She walks beside me in the timeless light
on signless road far outside paradise,
yet when I gaze in hollow of her mind
I see huge galaxies spiral through space
that reveals structure weaving our White Whole
which proves we are tendrils of one weird soul.

We walk together in soft sparkling mist
ten thousand years from sea to shining sea
to build new homes on every river shore
where children of our spirits sing each day,
connecting every town on Mother Earth
in vibrant process of spirit rebirth.

Thus from the chaos of the singing sea
we rise at dawn to eat the fruit of life
which wakens wisdom in our woven brains
to conjure model of the teeming world
so we can navigate the game of myths
decoded by the college of blind sleuths.