When I Transcend God

When I Transcend God
© Surazeus
2019 09 08

I am the glow of my genetic code
so I journey the landscape of my dreams
to overcome obstacles of desire
till I get comfortable inside my body
and learn to maneuver weird maze of lust,
attaining pleasure as I sink in death.

From ashes of desire I rise on wings
of aching passion to live my true soul
as I maneuver through wild teeming crowd
of human ambition to rule the hill
and decide who gets to eat fruit of life
so I plant my apple to grow new trees.

Once I outwit people trying to control
expressive will of my corporeal force,
I clear space in labyrinth of hungry souls
to maintain daily ritual of success
that sustains chemical process of life
so I grow into the true self I want.

From tangled wires of electric desire
which flashes through web of nerves in my body
I weave angelic wings of self-expression
to overcome duty my tribe demands
and perform the role I write for myself
when I transcend God to become more Human.

No Heaven Above The Clouds

No Heaven Above The Clouds
© Surazeus
2019 07 10

My grandfather Bob Seamount was a tenor
in the Christian group Kings Heralds Quartet,
singing hymns about Jesus as World King
as they drove car on the road church to church
across the North American continent
for the Seventh-day Adventist Church.

Descended through eleven generations
from the Puritan Poet Anne Bradstreet,
Bob Seamount found Spirit of Poetry
shining as flame of wisdom in his mind,
so he joined choir of angels to sing hymns
in his quest for Heaven above the clouds.

Assembling in the broadcast studio
for the Voice of Prophecy radio program,
Bob and his friends in Kings Heralds Quartet
sang about King Jesus coming again
as Adventist families around the country
gathered in living rooms to sing along.

Learning techniques for recording their songs,
Bob produced records of performances,
snipping and assembling magnetic tape
to generate wax disks people could buy
and listen on players in living rooms
to sing along with his heavenly choir.

Flying airplanes high above our spinning world,
Bob traveled far with Kings Heralds Quartet
to distant countries around planet Earth
in South America, Africa, Europe,
and Asia, singing in Adventist churches
like angels from the clouds on silver wings.

Angelic messenger on silver wings,
Bob flew around the Earth to distant lands
in airplanes he refurbished with his hands
to Adventist missions around the world,
converting people to worship as God
long-dead king willing to die for his tribe.

When I was nine in Summer of Seventy-Four,
Bob brought me to white hangar in the field
at the small airport just north of Keene, Texas
where I watched him rebuild small white airplane,
then he took me soaring high among clouds
where no angels on clouds play harps and sing.

When I was twelve in Spring of Seventy-Seven,
after Bob died from brain cancer in Florida,
I attended his funeral in large Keene Church
where thousands of people gathered to mourn
death of the great Kings Heralds Quartet Singer,
who flew up toward Heaven on silver wings.

When I was nineteen in Spring of Eighty-Three,
I attended class on philosophy
at the Adventist Walla Walla College
where the wise British professor declared,
"God does not exist, for things that exist
stand out in defined bounds of time and space."

Startled, I sat up and listened more closely
as he explained, "However, we can say
God subsists, standing under all existence
as substance that forms all material things,"
so I envisioned God as molecules
that evolve into brains with consciousness.

"Plato describes Idea of defined objects
as eternal form that persists in Heaven
which is mental realm of our language code,
so though all existing trees are destroyed
yet Idea of Tree persists in Heaven
where God the Craftsman creates everything."

Descended through thirteen generations
from the Puritan Poet Anne Bradstreet,
I also found Spirit of Poetry
shining as flame of wisdom in my mind,
so I write epic of philosophers
in my quest for Heaven above the clouds.

Wielding guitar in Summer of Ninety-Three,
I hitchhiked from Seattle to Miami,
traveling town to town like folk troubadours
to sing about adventures of mankind,
lost angel singing to ghosts of the dead,
since I found no Heaven above the clouds.

My Name In Water Voice

My Name In Water Voice
© Surazeus
2019 07 02

The immortal I in my gusting breath
expands fragile shell of my ego wide
as globe of this world that creates our souls
from flashing sparkle of sweet molecules
so I disappear in dream of myself
each day I reinvent who I might be.

The transient I I perceive in vast shine
of mirroring water flowing nowhere
reveals secret desires sprouting from pure light
forged in heart of darkness which my words mold
as mask that features my weird character
I carve as runes on vortex peak of hope.

The smoke-swirling I who perceives itself
as separate entity of hungry hope
explains through wild flames of eternal truth
ephemeral concept that conceals my brain
bound in fetters of existing desire
to replicate itself in child of love.

The timeless I unspooling spiral genes
calculates carcass of flesh that contains
pool of spirit shimmering galactic eyes
who watch each other evolve across space
of silent contemplation to relate
linkage of sentiment with threading words.

The conscious I who wakes inside my brain
cries out to empty sky where no God lives,
"I want to live through ecstasy of truth
and taste all pleasures of this aching flesh,"
discussing with embodiment of night
concept of light as atoms that vibrate.

The flashing I illuminating fear
with conscious anguish to survive despair
flares brighter than death when I strike two stones
to spark flames in ring of gems on dark shore
of singing river which will always flow
so I can hear my name in water voice.

The star-bright I awake on turning Earth
sings through blossoming of ripe fruit on trees
providing matter for my flesh to shine
when I consume sorrowful joy of light
in each bite of the apple that shines red
as dawn sun blazing over mist-wet hills.

The wordless I gazing at your strange eyes
wants to understand essence of your soul
so I watch your face as you tell me things
and listen for secret key of desire
that will open your heart so we may kiss
and become one soul before we will die.

Transcendental Bard Of Truth

Transcendental Bard Of Truth
© Surazeus
2019 05 29

When my body bursts into flames of faith
I dance in aching spirals of control
to conjure from flesh my chemical wraith
which beams electric passion of my soul.

Wrapping my spirit inside normal mask,
I walk with you all in our psychic maze
then drink immortal love from crystal flask
and chant weird prophecies in vision haze.

Through swirling mist on wild Atlantic shore
old bearded prophet with long snow-white hair
sings to First Mother in our mental core
whose heart embodies our spiritual flare.

Chanting Song of Myself with loving wit,
Walt Whitman spreads open welcoming arms
to embrace every soul with social knit
that binds our hearts with web of magic charms.

Walt leads us dancing on gold beach of sand
to kneel before ancient Mother of Night,
Marietta Alboni, Queen of Star Land,
who sings enchanting spell of Spirit Light.

Marietta, mother from wild swirling ocean,
sings heart-enchanting melody of love
so we envision flash of evolution
that radiates atoms from bright sun above.

Two hundred years ago from swirling waves,
our Transcendental Bard of Truth was born
to sing Leaves of Grass in love spell that saves
lost souls by leading us to bright-eyed morn.

We dance together in tall ring of stones
where sea waves echo his immortal name
then break from egg shells of our mental clones
to play our true selves in our social game.

Old snow-haired prophet sings in moon-lit gloom,
"I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
and what truth I assume you shall assume,
for we are atoms of the cosmic self."

We loaf together on broad wind-blown plain,
observing summer grass with naked eyes,
then twirl laughing to sing in sun-gold rain
and feel our souls swell vast as boundless skies.

Each atom sparkling in my flowing blood,
formed from soil, air, and water of this Earth
connects my heart to glowing stars of mud
which generates my soul through second birth.

At bright dawn of our American Dream
Walt Whitman played Apollo as his role,
now I sing of truth-seekers by Soul Stream
who quest for secret of our great White Whole.

Grumpy Cat Elegy

Grumpy Cat Elegy
© Surazeus
2019 05 17

Grumpy Cat is now the immortal moon
who frowns down at our world of aching hope
with indifferent disdain of secret love
and watches us build empires of control
with mocking sneer at how we all believe
we may be immortal as she is now.

Grumpy Cat sits mute on the window sill
to gaze at busy world with clear blue eyes
that see beyond fake mask of flashy style
we wear to prove we are cooler that death
who waits inside her heart for us to stride
proudly on stage of fame before she strikes.

Grumpy Cat lounges on Throne of Ungod,
presiding over our empire of wealth
with changeless frown that mocks our patriotism
when we march public streets with torch of fear
shouting, make America great again,
then whips her tail that shatters our false faith.

Grumpy Cat climbs tall pile of dollar bills,
one hundred million dollars of world fame
she earned gazing at us from the abyss
with frown of death that mocks our arrogance,
and pees on symbol of capitalist greed,
then wanders into nothingness of death.

Our War For Truth

Our War For Truth
© Surazeus
2019 04 20

I cannot tell you why the angels sing
because, though I hear their melodious tones
vibrating through flowing matrix of nature,
they do not sing to me with divine words.

Riding large square car on the long straight streets
of this city that sprawls in chess-board grid
between dry hills and glaring ocean waves,
I see lost angels as humans everywhere.

I wondered why God sent his son to die,
then realized God is metaphor for kings
who always crown their sons rulers of nations
so each leader should sacrifice himself.

We value the honest leader of men
who is willing to die to save our lives
but politicians seek power to control
how we live that will benefit their wealth.

Mayors and police detectives assert
laws that organize system of state power
which gives control to dominating men
who organize food-production machines.

We are pawns on vast chess board of state power,
dwelling with close family in our small home
while working in office, factory, or store
to buy and sell in marketplace of hunger.

We all gather in church on Easter Sunday
to praise son of the ruling dynasty
for willingness to sacrifice himself
so we live together in harmony.

What hidden dragon of unknown messiah,
still young today among the crowd in church,
will wake the divine spark within his soul
that urges him to play leader of men?

We despise the man driven blind by greed
to rule like dictator over our land,
attempting to exploit us for his gain,
for men like him always fall from vain pride.

We admire the man urged by honest love
to rule like wise savior over our land,
helping us become the best we can be,
for men like him always rise from selfless love.

Both kinds of men have ruled our sprawling land,
performing role in our national drama
of Satan the greedy accusing thief
or Jesus the selfless supporting friend.

The kind of person you support with vote
to play President of the United States
reveals true nature of your character,
angel or devil in our war for truth.

Cathedral of Our Lady

Cathedral of Our Lady
© Surazeus
2019 04 15

Flames may consume Cathedral of Our Lady
where Goddess of Reason and Liberty
long reigns over nations of free people,
guiding us with light of justice and truth
against cruel prejudice and tyranny,
but Liberty lives in the heart of Mankind.

Tall pillars that enclose infinity
within sun-slanting walls of paradise
protect frail mankind from horror of death
when we gather in great hall to sing hymns
that venerate Holy Mother of Life
so Liberty lives in heart of Mankind.

Though fires of hate and fascism burn bright,
set by hands of men who try to control
bodies of women with hard laws of greed,
to destroy cathedral of honest love
where Mother creates new life with her faith,
yet Liberty lives in heart of Mankind.

Though flames consume Cathedral of Our Lady,
sparked by blind lust of men to control fate
who rage against finality of death,
our Goddess of Reason and Liberty
lives not in ancient temples of cold stone
for Liberty lives in heart of Mankind.

Book Of Wind

Book Of Wind
© Surazeus
2019 03 17

When I find the Book of Wind in my heart 
that teaches me language of the strange sea 
I will build emptiness from broken part 
that might assemble my soul from the tree 
which spirals from my naked mind at dawn 
when we sing secret legends on your lawn. 

So many people struggle to survive 
in wretched labyrinth of hostile desire 
that they must find clever ways to contrive 
pleasure from passion as lilies from mire 
though I will care for you no matter what 
even when the eyeless angel is caught. 

We gather after sunset on my yacht 
to dance in starlight and drink bitter wine 
since you vote for me to play the mascot 
that represents the prophet most divine 
who calculates how atoms pulse with light 
as I on tangled wings explore through flight. 

Entwined in memories of our secret kiss, 
I enshrine your soul in statue of gold, 
yet when I see my face in vast abyss 
of nothingness I wake from death, paroled 
to wander waste land of the laughing fool 
who builds empire with invisible tool. 

Within blooming Marigold of my brain, 
that spirals petals to mimic the sun, 
I remember name I designed from rain 
to articulate strange power of the gun 
when last angel in the world wears my face 
to replicate my soul through polymerase. 

No trace of anguish left from searing fear 
gashes horror of truth through my eyeball 
so I shift engine of my heart in gear 
to search for treasure in paradise wall 
of sacred scroll with secret of rebirth 
when gene coils record soul of Mother Earth. 

Descended from weird River God of Faith, 
I gesture secret spell with ring of hands 
which proves I am son of the Glowing Wraith 
who appoints me to cartograph strange lands 
so I compose cosmic map of our world 
that reveals where Dragon of Truth lies curled. 

On turning wagon wheels of sacred quest 
I travel swift beyond town-walled frontier 
to build lost paradise in secret nest 
where I wear laurels as your balladeer 
till I crown myself seer of the strange sea 
so I can write spells in the Book of Wind. 

Farmer Of Apple Trees

Farmer Of Apple Trees
© Surazeus
2019 03 17

We should be building roads and businesses 
to connect all of the Americas 
in one commercial system of exchange, 
like China connects Asia in one system, 
instead of building hard walls to enclose 
ourselves terrified in fortress of fear. 

The farmer looks up at her apple trees, 
feeling sunlight gleam through fragile leaves 
of yellow hope, then huddles warm in coat 
of faith that turning of the world will flush 
warm winds of Spring to melt frost from its limbs 
so apples will swell again in white blossoms. 

Opening jar of apple sauce, she canned 
with her mother in the kitchen last Summer, 
she spoons some on hot oatmeal with cool milk, 
and eats while watching news on television, 
then grins at how her old mother would mock 
speeches of politicians with fake words. 

He wants to change our free democracy 
fueled by vibrant urge of capitalism 
into the fascist corporate mafia state 
that allows businessmen to exploit people, 
crushing our system of high education 
so we slave for pittance in factories. 

That is why I want you to attend college, 
the farmer explains to her three young children 
who run outside to play along the river, 
leaping across smooth white stones in swift stream, 
then sit among apple trees and tell stories 
of superheroes they read in comic books. 

Using pruner, looper, and folding saw, 
the farmer prunes branches and twigs of trees 
as late Winter sun gleams from jagged hills, 
breath of her soul puffing in silver mist 
that gleams gold in frosty air of desire 
while she hums America The Beautiful. 

Dream Of The Wind Chime

Dream Of The Wind Chime
© Surazeus
2019 03 16

The birds know why we can never go home 
so we sit by the river and count cracked stones, 
then after dark we continue to roam 
where blind clowns make music with hollow bones, 
for they paint their faces white with dry mud 
and drink wine made of mushrooms, grapes, and blood. 

We hide our faces in shadows of fear 
and weave rays of moonlight in blinking eyes 
to stare three thousand years in flashing mere 
that mirrors arcane truth from empty skies 
so we confront our shadows in the night, 
hoping to discover name of our light. 

We flow through whisper of each singing tree 
to slip past monsters who can never talk 
that leads us down to comfort of wild sea 
where I transform into the joking hawk 
to hide my sorrow in shadowless cave 
while I sing algorithm of each wave. 

I stand stiff in halo of screaming light 
to ask happy birds where my home may hide 
but they become the glow cloud of far sight 
so lost pilgrims hire me as their trip guide, 
though every castle half-seen through dawn haze 
haunts us with horror of its endless maze. 

Behind locked doors the blind forget my name 
so I look for the people I once knew 
but they wear masks and play the court power game 
while I continue searching for the clue 
that might reveal how our world was first made 
and why fearful men fight the vain crusade. 

Down by the river I sit in tree shade 
to ask the birds where I can find my home 
but I become stone statue in the glade 
for I am nothing more than frail wave foam 
blow by indifferent wind of swirling time, 
startled awake by dream of the wind chime. 

Restore Garden Of Eden

Restore Garden Of Eden
© Surazeus
2019 03 16

Elegy for William Merwin 1927-2019. 

Once I decipher the language of water 
I will be able to see the blank future 
because every object of vital substance 
is composed of viscous atoms that flow 
in swirls of chemical articulation 
to explain process of cause and effect. 

When voices of people clutter my dreams 
I walk from city maze to silent hills 
where trees explain the grammar of moon rain 
that translates sorrow into pointed leaves 
which I plaster on my face as new mask 
that weaves rays of light into my sad heart. 

Each morning when I drive to work I wave 
at Glow Cloud composed of ancestral souls 
who reflect in eerie orange light lost dreams 
their brains recorded to remember why 
we explore river shores to find the tree 
where trunks transform rain to nutritious fruit. 

Though I thought the glowing clouds were my friends 
they cluster in black billows of harsh wind 
and hurl lightning bolts to smash fragile house 
where my family pursues creative projects 
so I forget their names and blaze new roads 
through gardens where their faces smile as trees. 

That fragile face of replicated souls 
who smiles in mirror of each shadowed house 
shows me path where birds navigate despair 
so I become my parents when they die 
to look at puzzling world as gloom of blood 
nourishes my heart from breast of Mother Earth. 

Tall mountain stands in shadow of my heart 
so I climb beams of moonlight to weave wings 
from laughter of my children when they play 
catch the God Butterfly in ruins of church 
since water flows through our bodies of flesh 
and I build bridge of love with echoing light. 

I feel the Earth turning beneath my feet 
in rhythm with ocean waves in my heart 
as I walk signless road in evening light 
to cross every bridge nameless people built 
hoping to connect distant tribes of humans 
so we approach strangers with open hands. 

Now that stars wake me from dreamless hill soil, 
I follow whispers of wind in fruit trees 
to stone walls that sing secret of my name 
so we lose nothing we once thought was real 
till we offer snow to darkness of hope 
while flower-birds burst from eggs of our eyes. 

Tomorrow belongs to me when I touch 
slither of silver water in cool stream 
that flows from crystal snow of mountain peak 
and winds through anguish of my silent heart 
to sparkle bright on boundless plain of flight 
where we tell each other what we might know. 

Bright faces of water become themselves 
without one word we had hoped to invent 
so we can share analysis of truth 
before we wander too far lost in woods 
where shadows hide ghosts of people we love 
though their bodies crumbled to swirling dust. 

Dust of words from ancient myths of dead heroes 
fall out of books that we forgot to read 
so blind spirit of truth who dwelled alone 
in locked library now walks quaint avenue 
to teach children art of talking to birds 
who give us wings before they become stars. 

At last you understand I am blind guide 
sent by Death disguised as tornado ghost 
from bleak waste land where names of the dead wait 
still as lizards on stones to lead you forth 
from ruins of your church to bright-lit hall 
where children explain the secrets of science. 

So we gather on island in vast sea 
to eat pineapples of forgotten myths 
and thus transform into gods without wings 
to plant seeds of fruit trees from paradise 
we saved when planes bombed Heaven into faith 
and restore Garden of Eden on Earth. 

Infinite Ladder Of Truth

Infinite Ladder Of Truth
© Surazeus
2019 03 15

When John falls out of the window of peace 
he balloons into blinking eye of truth 
in shooting star that blazes bright with love 
across the universe of singing stars 
so we dance laughing to the twanging tune 
of his guitar that vibrates cosmic faith. 

Leaping backward into the Tree of Life, 
long-bearded prophet from wild Avalon 
rides steel-factory unicorn in the sky 
where Lucy dances with the diamond eye 
since she knows what it is like to be dead 
each time she springs out of his divine head. 

Now I feel like I have never been born 
so I follow the wide highway to hell 
where I dance in Strawberry Fields forever 
tripping over the secret pot of gold 
where my Leprechaun father twists rainbows 
into car engines that spiral far out. 

I climb the infinite ladder of truth 
and look through magnifying glass of my brain 
to see the word Yes in each pulsing atom 
that flashes in the clear eye of the sun 
so I buy roses from the star-eyed nurse 
who sings weird prophecies on Penny Lane. 

I follow long-haired prophet of world peace 
through endless labyrinth of huge silver screens 
beyond the crumbling walls of paradise 
to dance alone in waste land of Utah, 
chanting prophecies of the wise Glow Cloud 
where all my ancestors haunt my mute dreams. 

I take mask of the prophet off my face 
and walk alone in drizzling midnight rain 
past thousands of houses where inner glow 
of televisions shimmer in blank eyes 
so I can talk with ravens in dark woods 
who lead me beyond our civilized maze. 

The grandson of the prophet with no eyes 
sings complicated spells of psychic truth 
while hidden in dark basement of the soul 
to map the way home to paradise 
where Tree of Life fell rotten long ago 
though he keeps its last seed sealed in his brain. 

With each tornado born from ghost of truth 
my ancestor retreats into vast sky 
till mortal man becomes luminous cloud 
of divine wisdom that glows in my brain 
and haunts me while it guides me through the maze 
where skulls of gods swallow lost prophecies. 

I invent the past out of future dreams 
that fly fast at me on demonic wings 
of energetic passion for rebirth 
so I plant seeds of ten thousand fruit trees 
in the waste land where prophets discuss dreams 
and water their roots with my tears of hope. 

On each new anniversary of my death 
I hang out on the beach of singing skulls 
to chat with my once and future assassin 
complex concepts of fake philosophy 
that drips blood from my eyes in moonlight glow 
which I mold into this mask I wear now. 

I join his revolution number nine 
to dance on rainbows of nuclear missiles, 
then sail crystal boat on river of diamonds 
where laughing demons steal my dreamless eyes 
so I enter Grail Castle to explain 
secret of rebirth to the virgin queen. 

When John leaps from the coffin of world war 
he plays lyre of Mercury by the pond 
where Narcissus and Echo fall in love 
then slithers serpent-swift in tree of apples 
to offer ancient wisdom of the stars 
so I carve poems in Runes on skull of God. 

Through Maze Of Myths

Through Maze Of Myths
© Surazeus
2019 03 15

On the busy street in the sprawling city, 
where strange people are walking everywhere, 
I stop by the tree outside the book store 
and watch the urgent motion of desire. 

I wonder where they are going today, 
these random strangers with interesting faces 
whose names float invisible in the air, 
concealing thoughts that flash throughout their eyes. 

Haunted by Glow Cloud of infinite truth, 
I listen for thoughts they will never share 
as they vanish somewhere down signless streets 
so I will never see their face again. 

Even those people in my family, 
my children I have known since they were born 
many years ago, are strangers to me 
since I only guess what visions they dream. 

I turn around and gaze back down the road 
where my ancestors traveled to this moment 
for thousands of years around our vast globe, 
and feel their hungry hope urge me forth more. 

They traveled in wagons to the wild west 
more than one hundred years ago to find 
paradise far from nations rife with conflict 
and built homes in the rugged wilderness. 

So all those changes in society 
when nations of Europe fought two world wars 
my ancestors but heard of in the news, 
while preserving their medieval world views. 

I still see structure of society 
built on hierarchy of wisdom and strength, 
peasants working for nobles ruled by kings 
who manage food production from stone castles. 

This system of democracy we built 
to vote for presidents who rule like kings 
during four years to manage state affairs 
encouraged revolutions against kings. 

Common people working in factories 
united to overthrow royal kingdoms 
and established states on equality 
of every person to pursue their dreams. 

I learned to compose maps that represent 
landscape of the world where people build cities 
to process food so everyone can eat 
and thus work to earn fair wage for my labor. 

My eyes survey the structure of vast cities 
and watch how groups of people interact, 
then I strum guitar and sing of the hero 
who navigates their way through maze of myths. 

Beyond The Pleasure Principle

Beyond The Pleasure Principle
© Surazeus
2019 03 15

Live extrication of the monstrous heart 
that fuels aggressive tactics of my mind 
reveals agenda of fierce hunger force 
through aching compassion of blind desire. 

I drink coffee at the crowded cafe 
and plot revolution for more just laws, 
then watch historical dramas to see 
how people fought fascists for liberty. 

This fatal situation blaming light 
for glowing passion of conscious insight 
resolves itself through calculated risk 
because I faithfully perform my task. 

I must say what I think without regard 
so everyone knows delusions I make 
from broken wings of the red albatross 
which now haunts the arrogant mafia boss. 

I stop before the blank numberless door 
to every house ever built in the world 
and give new mask to father of the clan 
so he can understand the pain they feel. 

Another angry man with laughing gun 
kills people whose religious creed he fears 
will eradicate faith of his own truth 
which vanishes as illusion at dawn. 

I want to teach people the natural truth 
about life, not with bullets but with words, 
so everyone sees the same universe 
based on facts and not ideology. 

My heart transforms into demonic ghost 
that haunts my life trail as Glow Cloud of God 
who guides my way with moral code of scripture 
which I compose from my prophetic visions. 

We know why he wants to play the world king 
so we must oppose his chess game of power 
to equalize all people of the world 
though we copulate and kill to survive. 

I sit at the picnic table alone 
and talk to birds about our politics 
to design solutions that will rebuild 
conceptual model for society. 

So every person knows the sacred name 
our mother dreamed the hour before our birth 
we dance around the tree on river shore 
where first father fought the serpent of lies. 

Beyond the pleasure principle we play 
serious games of life and death with our thoughts 
while we stand silent, waiting for the bus 
to sit all day in the room without eyes. 

We Become Each Other Now

We Become Each Other Now
© Surazeus
2019 03 14

Whirled snow flakes invent new name for my hand 
that touches infinite gloom. Every time 
the vacuum cleaner cries out to the light 
three birds take my eyes to the naked cave 
where the oldest woman in the world paints 
keys that lock broken hearts. Nowhere else time 
spools threads from tangled brain. We think he knows 
how cows design milk from rainbows of faith. 

The cat with eight eyes in glass box of dreams 
rules the real world that does not yet exist 
outside my words. When I wake before dawn 
I realize my eyes are open wide hole 
big as the Grand Canyon. I step from van 
and run across desert hill where quick snakes 
explain algorithm of heat. The secret 
of being awake I give to the last bird. 

Vast eye of the glowing ruby collides 
with passionate hope to resolve slipstream 
of infinite truth. I speak formulas 
of quick contraction on chessboard of power 
however long it takes to film the truth. 
All the sleek planes at every airport 
in the world are asleep in mask of ice. 
I am the emperor of this broken mirror. 

Where is my flower-eyed harbinger of love 
who wants to help kill priests stealing quick souls 
of children? Looking down in fragile vase 
of glass skulls, she watches birds without wings 
flock to ancient tree of rotten fruit. Death 
calls me on the telephone. Laughing ghost 
of transparent faith glues my skeleton 
back together from numbers without light. 

I paint lattice that reveals inner life 
I store in attic where ghosts twist contempt 
to create tornadoes. I design names 
for each tornado born from spiral eyes. 
Black phantom leaps from walls of ruined church 
to eat light in nuclear reactor dome 
though we kiss. I stand here on this one spot 
of lightning sparks in all our universe. 

The emptiness of truth that is my ghost 
visits my mother and father in dreams 
they never remember. I paint on wall 
of every house I lived in fifty years 
faces of dictators who murdered millions 
of children we are not. Never the meek 
inherit the Earth. Hungry angels howl 
idea of apples through my wandering cloud. 

I am the chosen guide you once called for 
before you crushed the telephone with rocks 
of salvation. I look at bright-lit homes 
filled with lives of invisible non-persons 
who equate night with silence of lost words. 
All I follow is my own strange desire 
to know why. Stark edge of infinity 
beckons me to drink darkness of true love. 

From broken dreams of lost pathetic souls 
I assemble puzzle of inner life 
that reveals desires to rule the fake world 
of fragile hopes. This door might be the one 
that leads me to paradise I invent 
from your myths. I found them in dusty books, 
the masks you dropped on the highway to hell 
although they resemble your loyal friends. 

Strict anguish of contempt scratched on car door 
conceals secret formula for success 
we buy at the discount store. I drive far 
beyond broken walls of your paradise 
because I want to live in my own heaven 
though the gate is locked. I stop at red lights 
and think about the mask I wear today 
which mirrors obsessions you never speak. 

Memories of those times we sat in the park 
talking about meaning of nothing much 
keep popping up before my staring eyes. 
All road signs point to Glow Cloud in blank skies 
where emptiness of self is all I know. 
True happiness, packaged in factories 
by religious zombies, so long for sale, 
bleeds from my eyes when indifferent rain sings. 

The bullet of hate knocks his head backward 
and splatters fragments of his pulsing brains 
on our blank faces for a thousand years 
so we laugh. I peel faces of my parents 
from my fractured skull to reveal mute demon 
whose emptiness blooms from dinosaur eggs 
to become this persona I express 
when I play chess with Death on windy beach. 

She looks through glasses at my twisted heart 
to calculate love that bleeds from my mouth. 
I smear dreams of compassion on blank page 
of every book that no one ever reads 
in every dark library in the world 
where you wait. I always see your true face 
in the mirror where you have never looked 
for your soul. We become each other now. 

Red Octagon Sign

Red Octagon Sign
© Surazeus
2019 03 14

She stops before the red octagon sign 
where four letters in white reveal strange truth, 
shaping features she perceives in the world 
that look like curved river, tall tree, round sun, 
and human face, but wonders what it means, 
four pictures that map the way to the garden 
where she tends fruit trees by the winding river 
while the sun shines warm, giving life to all. 

Walking along cracked road into vast city 
where no one has lived for a hundred years, 
she gazes astonished at rusting cars, 
houses, apartments, office buildings, stores, 
churches, factories, shopping malls, and banks, 
and wonders about the people who built 
enormous structures from bright metal beams, 
then sits alone on river shore and weeps. 

Before she died last month among fruit trees, 
while we were sitting in glowing moonlight, 
my grandmother told me how she was born 
when this bright city was busy with life, 
filled with magical machines that allowed 
people far away to communicate, 
because wizards they called scientists found 
secrets of atoms that compose all bodies. 

In one hundred years they transformed the world 
from farmers with horses in wooden homes 
to computer operators with cars 
in sprawling cities built from steel and glass, 
and everyone held tablets in their hands 
that radiated beams of light through the air, 
who talked to each other across the land 
as they flew metal birds around the world. 

Instead of bringing peace and harmony 
between every nation around the world, 
these magic tablets they could use to talk 
caused fierce conflict between opposing groups, 
so people in gangs fought to control truth, 
competing to narrate how all things work, 
but they destroyed each other in great war, 
killing everyone over right to live. 

Walking into large store filled with cobwebs, 
she holds small eye phone gleaming in her hand 
where she sees her face reflected in glass, 
so she takes it back to garden of trees 
far outside town on the curved river shore, 
and places it on shrine inside her cave 
where it gleams dark and silent in moonlight 
while she brews juice and sings forgotten tunes. 

Horror Of Beautiful Love

Horror Of Beautiful Love
© Surazeus
2019 03 14

Most days when I wake before dawn I feel 
like Colonel Kurtz in Apocalypse Now, 
head stuffed with straw and bones fragile as glass 
as I hunch bleary-eyed in silent ruins 
of lofty cathedral where nought but wind 
whispers words of horror from mute abyss 
secrets of prophets and philosophers 
who search for God and find only themselves. 

I walk along old trail of broken hearts 
where skull of every person who has lived, 
since we first crawled up rivers from weird sea, 
watches me explore labyrinth of lost myths 
to create new character I will play 
on public stage of power littered with bones 
of kings who seek for immortality 
but vanish as their children play new roles. 

Whoever manages to steal from death 
Mask of God to play high authority, 
enforcing moral laws of right and wrong, 
loses their sense of self in role they play 
through vain bid to gain glory of great fame, 
so they vanish from history without name 
that defines private personality 
when they search for themselves and find fake God. 

I sail up river into Heart of Darkness 
on sacred quest to find the Holy Grail, 
and then assassinate my alter ego 
who crowns himself emperor of the Earth, 
but contemplate mystery of consciousness 
while I gaze at my face in flowing water 
as Narcissus tries to find his love Echo 
where she dances singing in gold starlight. 

This fractured body of my buzzing soul, 
once assembled by Doctor Frankenstein, 
I navigate through labyrinth of locked doors 
past pedestals where minotaurs stand guard 
with double-headed labyr axe of justice 
to climb ziggurat of star-singing goddess 
who brews mushroom wine that will blow my mind 
when I reincarnate from her vast womb. 

I climb thirteen steps of high pyramid 
and find giant diamond-eyed telescope 
where I gaze down in crowded maze of hope, 
watching people who make things with their hands 
they sell in markeplace of new ideas 
to earn fortune in the American Dream 
while I manipulate their puppet souls 
with promise of eternal life in Heaven. 

I rule this fertile globe of rock and water 
that spirals randomly through empty void 
by measuring landscape of its clashing force, 
then mapping contours of our psychic dreams 
to comprehend secret of flowing streams 
and compile encyclopedia of knowledge 
I gathered by encircling with my feet 
crystal structure forming eyeball of Earth. 

Rubbing my head with crafty hands of wit, 
I contemplate emptiness of frail forms 
because all objects of material shape 
are teeming clumps of energetic atoms 
that transform through states of chemical force, 
consuming each other in constant war 
to direct life through self-control of law, 
awed by the horror of beautiful love. 

People With No Mouths

People With No Mouths
© Surazeus
2019 03 13

In the village of people with no mouths 
they seek to express strange amorphous thoughts 
about contingency of second birth 
by exchanging seeds of flowers, herbs, and fruits. 

The little girl walking among bluebells, 
that sprout from blank eyes of their dead ancestors, 
discovers red mushroom that blooms from heart 
of her mother who sleeps from drinking rain. 

Plucking the red mushroom, soft as the moon 
glowing on clear pond among apple trees, 
the little girl consumes it with her eyes 
so the mushroom blooms from her ruby heart. 

When the girl sits in village ring of faces, 
the mushroom blooms from soft skin of her face 
and they stare astonished with blinking eyes 
when she opens red lips of her round mouth. 

The little girl opens her mouth and sings 
melody of wind rustling leaves of trees 
in harmony with water-trickling stream 
through bird words that flash visions in their eyes. 

When the little girl with red mushroom mouth 
kisses the face of each person, a mouth 
blooms from mute anguish of their aching heart, 
so they join strange song of water and wind. 

Leading the villagers, both young and old, 
in circles around landscape of their eyes, 
the little girl with red mushroom mouth signs 
each existing object with bird-tweet name. 

Holding hands in circle on round hill top, 
the villagers with red mushroom mouths sing 
with the voice of wind and sunlight on water 
as they transform into tall apple trees. 

So I Feel Every Bullet

So I Feel Every Bullet
© Surazeus
2019 03 13

The bones of people killed by men with guns 
rise up from mud of Earth and walk at dawn, 
crowding city streets with clack of their pain 
to wash our tears away in flashing rain 
so I feel every bullet blow my mind. 

The little girl lost in vast maze of fear 
appears before me with flowers in her hands 
then wild sea wind blows melodies of hope 
to whistle through frail cracked skull of her soul 
so I feel every bullet blow my mind. 

She reaches bone-sharp fingers in my breast 
to clutch tight wild beating wings of my heart 
and twists it from tendons of my rib cage 
then sets my soul free to soar among clouds 
so I feel every bullet blow my mind. 

I see them all around me on sea shore, 
bones of their sorrow glowing in moonlight, 
then I become breath of souls killed by guns 
who haunt my life in every open door 
so I feel every bullet blow my mind. 

Way Of Wholesome Masculinity

Way Of Wholesome Masculinity
© Surazeus
2019 03 13

My strong sense of responsibility 
for the life of children I generate 
blocks quick thrust of my desire to enjoy 
pleasure of passion for this mindless now, 
because I want to raise my children well 
by teaching them to navigate strange maze 
of reality, and guide them on way 
of truth to paradise of fruitful trees 
where strict routine of actions nurtures life, 
ensuring they survive after I die. 

If I pursue quick pleasure of desire 
then leave the woman pregnant with my child 
to survive this reckless world, if she can, 
my genes may dissipate from dream of time 
because I abandoned them to blind fate, 
but if I commit passion of my love 
to care for the woman I impregnate, 
sheltering her from hostile environment, 
and feeding her good food I hunt and gather, 
I can preserve lives of children we make. 

I think this way is natural for my mind, 
to plan long-term beyond moment of pleasure 
for preserving lives of my wife and children, 
because most of my male ancestors paused 
at moment of connection through hot lust 
to remember how men blinded by passion 
failed to preserve lives of their fragile children, 
and so decided to commit their hearts 
to guarding life of the woman they loved 
so their children grew up healthy and wise. 

Thus men who focused on moment of pleasure, 
then abandoned pregnant women to fate, 
failed to teach their children how to live well 
so their way of thinking vanished at death 
of each generation lost in the world, 
while men who focused on raising their children 
by caring for their wives with generous love 
taught their children how to investigate 
nature of this Earth to survive and thrive, 
so their offspring now populate the world. 

Though urge of chemical biology 
drives me with fierce desire to procreate 
with every woman I meet in the world, 
I exercise self-control of respect 
to honor first the wish of every woman 
to control her own reproductive rights 
and commit eager passion of my heart 
to care for one woman who shares my love 
when we both express our mutual affection 
to work together raising children well. 

Instead of impregnating every woman 
I can catch against desire of her heart, 
who would sacrifice or abort the child, 
unwanted because forced against her will, 
I respect private will of every woman 
to choose the man with whom she wants to breed, 
because she generates flesh from her flesh, 
thus I protect the right of every woman 
to live the way she chooses, and to bear 
the child she wants to raise with loving care. 

No woman should be forced against her will 
to bear the child of fierce aggressive man 
who cares nothing for her private desires, 
so every man should care for every woman 
to respect and honor her right to choose 
whether or not to bear child from her heart, 
then every child well born to loving parents, 
who work together to teach them good way 
to savor beautiful pleasures of life, 
will transcend flesh with divine consciousness. 

When force of genetic biology 
urges me to procreate in new children, 
so eternal spirit of foaming genes 
reincarnates again in flesh of bodies, 
I control urgent energy of lust 
to woo the woman who attracts my heart, 
so we together plan our matrimony 
with mutual agreement to replicate 
children of our love through expressed free will, 
and thus we build our family on respect. 

Through way of wholesome masculinity, 
based on respect for free will of each woman 
to exercise her reproductive rights 
through clear-eyed choice to share passion with me, 
I navigate confusing maze of life 
through hostile landscape of indifferent nature 
by committing faithful love of my heart 
to live hand in hand with my trusting mate 
so we raise children to love the White Whole 
who create with joy after we both die. 

Seething Fertility Of Nature

Seething Fertility Of Nature
© Surazeus
2019 03 12

Seething fertility of nature flows 
through chemical process of flashing blood 
that nurtures consciousness of dreaming brains 
in constant regeneration of form 
that blossoms as tendrils of bones and nerves 
from spiraling coil of genetic soul. 

The pregnant woman generates new body 
of sensitive flesh to conjugate soul 
of conscious awareness in flashing brain 
which incarnates flighty imagination 
bound within limits of chemical shape 
so immortal God wakes in mortal Human. 

While Mother Earth molds our bodies from slime 
with sloshing hunger from swift-swirling sea, 
and throws us panting for spiritual breath 
on cold indifferent shore in beams of light, 
we rise up tall on two feet and stretch arms 
of hope to fly high, urged by angst of love. 

Crouching low on river shore among trees, 
I scope landscape to spot fierce predators, 
then, gripping stick and stone, I run on wind 
to attack the wolf that ate half my clan, 
hurling stone to stun its head as I thrust 
sharp spear into its heart, and howl its voice. 

Draping wolf fur cape over my tense shoulders, 
and, gripping diamond that glitters sunlight, 
I raise metal wand I dug from foul muck, 
and lead my clan on winding river shore 
to curve of placid pool teeming with fish, 
so boys holding spears form ring to stand guard. 

Sitting on stone perched on high rounded hill, 
I hold wand and diamond under tall tree 
that hangs heavy with apples full of juice, 
while worshippers kneel and offer me gifts 
in return for apples from Tree of Life, 
then drink juice and dance under sparkling stars. 

Twelve girls pregnant with my children form ring 
around throne with monolith where I sit 
and judge disputes people bring to my court, 
then five men leap from large crowd and hurl spears 
to kill me and my brides, but I leap swift 
to break sharp spears and crush their fragile heads. 

Erecting ring of stones around fruit tree, 
I build paradise around garden haven 
surrounding tall tower of stone on high hill 
where I keep watch over large market town 
that thrives around sturdy walls of my castle, 
invisible god whose eye sees all things. 

I carve commandments on tablets of stone, 
establishing rules of social behavior 
which I enforce with harshest punishment 
to build strong walls of paradise that stands 
firm against hostile forces of cruel nature 
to protect society against death. 

My sons fight civil war for thought control 
over who will reign as god when I die, 
but they kill each other with bloody swords, 
and thousands of my people die from plagues, 
so I sit alone, last person alive, 
hungry and cold in prison tower of power. 

Descending tower of power in castle grounds, 
where gardens of fruit trees are tangled wild, 
I walk past skeletons rotting in mud, 
to stand on river shore in gleaming dawn 
where my ancestors founded paradise, 
and watch fish swimming in still-flowing stream. 

I spear large fish and roast it on hot flames, 
then sing heart-aching melody of love, 
alone in paradise reclaimed by nature, 
and listen to soft voices of dead souls 
who crowd around me in clear moon-lit night 
to sing their names forgotten in the wind. 

Flowing Wave Of Still Infinity

Flowing Wave Of Still Infinity
© Surazeus
2019 03 12

The most intense moments of deep awareness, 
when we become conscious of divine glow 
that shimmers from neurons of our dreaming brains, 
we spend alone among sun-silent trees, 
attempting to compose expressive song 
through flowing wave of still infinity. 

What spirit-flashing wind of aching hope 
swells conscious sense of self beyond the shell 
of fragile bone encasing sponge-wet brain 
so we become moist body of the world 
and feel all living things in tense compassion 
through flowing wave of still infinity? 

How can we capture in tumble of words, 
we utter soft from hollow breast of shock, 
where beating heart of lust to know the truth 
fuels frantic urge, this weird transcendent vision 
of whole complexity that awes our minds 
through flowing wave of still infinity? 

So strange this shimmering vision of the world 
that glows complete before our gazing eyes, 
visible only to our stark attention, 
simple in its vast comprehensive image, 
yet too complex to describe in linear speech 
through flowing wave of still infinity. 

Whenever I enter this conscious trance 
of clear perception, where I see as one 
countless processes weaving tapestry 
of vast reality, I float on waves 
of wordless ecstasy to become all 
through flowing wave of still infinity. 

Though bound inside limited shell of flesh, 
that my mother generated from slime, 
my conscious glow of divine comprehension 
expands large as the White Whole of all light 
so tangled genes of my name spiral wide 
through flowing wave of still infinity. 

I lose sense of my particular self 
as strange special details of my being vanish 
in swirling mind that spirals zillion suns 
so every atom of my body pulses 
quick in rancid harmony with all minds 
through flowing wave of still infinity. 

Awake through mirroring conceptual flash 
of atheist spiritualism, I laugh 
with surging waves of joy that spark my heart 
to gallop wild on timeless plain of faith, 
exploring our world dreamed by the White Whole 
through flowing wave of still infinity. 

Garden Of The Broken Gate

Garden Of The Broken Gate
© Surazeus
2019 03 12

This war that rages all around my head 
is nothing more than illusions of words 
billowing as smoke from mouths of the dead 
who follow each other in howling herds. 

We shoot each other with sarcastic jibes 
to prove that we are right and they are wrong 
then go about our boring daily lives 
to eat despair and suppress the weird song. 

We encode dreams to calculate fate 
so we can navigate vast maze of lies 
while dodging volleys of aggressive hate 
that splatter ideologies through eyes. 

This civil war we fight to define truth 
destroys delusions of our noble state 
so every soul becomes messiah sleuth 
as we contest right to investigate. 

We crucify god on telephone pole 
who reigned as our tyrant in the White House 
so we interview who will play king role 
to overthrow messiah of blind clowns. 

The triumvirate of three emperors 
who rule world empire of national pride 
vanishes in clear light of honest mirrors 
where the new queen of the world will abide. 

When Mother Amen on first pyramid 
reveals creation of our universe 
how we evolved from the first phoronid 
she heals our wounded hearts as psychic nurse. 

When illusion of empire falls apart 
we dance in ring of stones to celebrate 
then design and create new worldview chart 
that leads from garden of the broken gate. 

Seething Ghosts Of Energy

Seething Ghosts Of Energy
© Surazeus
2019 03 12

I preserve my sorrows in the cool fridge 
so I can eat them when my hungry soul 
aches for proverbial wisdom of friendship, 
then every word we speak in confidence 
I bury in the backyard of lost hopes 
to publish pithy phrases for respect. 

Instant grammar of the twisted concern 
for passionate embrace in silver light 
of the moon that laughs at our sacred love 
still calculates how many likes we earn 
for every poem we post on instagram 
in desperate hope our wisdom is no scam. 

The sweet illusion of my gentle self 
I paint on social media hides the mask 
I design from those humorous anecdotes 
I tell everyone at the dinner party 
to share our precious stories of survival 
as true citizen of America. 

From each migroaggression I create 
honest identity as the oppressed 
which I play on social stage of state power 
to earn credits of loyal love from strangers 
who apply admiration of respect 
which paints idol of my good character. 

With choir of social justice warriors 
I tweet coded phrases to earn salvation 
in the paradise of good reputation 
which flickers as shadow on the cave wall 
where we preserve delusions of grandeur 
while burning violators at the stake. 

We strip away sarcasm of intent 
to expose raw nerves of humiliation 
when angry mobs of vigilantes crowd 
court of public opinion to condemn 
those who dare to entertain nuanced views 
which explain strange complexity of life. 

We are engaged in a great civil war 
where, instead of wild gangs of angry boys 
shooting each other with guns of despair, 
fierce gangs of social justice warriors 
attack each other with sarcastic jibes 
and dox new victims to destroy their lives. 

What strange adrenaline rush of desire 
can energize our bodies with contempt 
to drink delusion of unquestioned right 
and howl at strangers, drunk with argument 
that proves they are evil and should be killed 
in brutal battle to define the state. 

People entrenched in ideology 
on both sides of the partisan divide 
shoot sarcastic jokes of hostile contempt 
to bomb opposing groups into submission 
by accusing souls on the other side 
of wishing to enforce rules of behavior. 

People always contest for power to write 
new narrative of truth that will define 
good and evil characters in our play 
of national history as struggle to live 
by presenting players on the public stage 
as god or devil in the war for truth. 

Whoever wins the struggle for control 
writes the story of who is right or wrong, 
though the wisest ones will sing the weird song 
about evolution from the White Whole 
that accounts for contest to reproduce, 
for we are seething ghosts of energy. 

The Earth generated our souls from slime 
so we consume each other to survive, 
evolving forms to match environment 
on constant progress to replicate soul 
as we dance laughing over deep abyss 
on bridge of ambition to become God. 

Act Of Prayer

Act Of Prayer
© Surazeus
2019 03 11

The act of prayer has no changing effect 
on physical state of the universe, 
for visions in the brain cannot beam rays 
to transform structure of existing matter, 
nor does intense energy of desire 
convince some supernatural deity 
to change the universe that it designed 
although such a cosmic-sized conscious mind 
does not exist outside the human mind, 
thus prayer is nought but expression of hope. 

Though prayer can focus intent of the mind 
on analyzing perceptions of things 
that helps us better visualize our hope, 
we must apply force of active design 
that will manipulate matter of things 
so gestures of hands will alter the state 
of chemical nature to reconstruct 
the shape of one thing into something else, 
thus prayer effects change in nature of things 
through physical force of our active hands. 

So though I pray for my success in life, 
which helps me express in vision of words 
how I want to change nature of the world 
to improve our system of food-production, 
I must implement strict program of change 
that activates transformation I want 
through stepping progress of cause and effect 
so we can create new world we imagine 
that nurtures existence of every soul, 
supporting growth of each person through love. 

Through act of prayer we can visualize how 
to improve system of society 
that benefits every existing person, 
then through act of our hands we implement 
vision of this better world we desire, 
and thus we work together to create 
fair social system that benefits all 
with equal opportunities for life, 
so join hands with me in circle of prayer 
to share our visions of this world we love. 

Till All Our Sorrows Flow

Till All Our Sorrows Flow
© Surazeus
2019 03 11

Wherever children call forgotten names 
of rain angels that dance on flashing lake, 
we will wake from memory of their childhood 
when we are way too old to understand 
coded riddles of the way fruit trees laugh 
with aching joy to still be alive now. 

We sit together on the lush lake shore 
and talk about everything we once thought 
till our heads are empty of lost obsessions 
so we observe new ripples of strange time 
flowing across the surface of our eyes 
till we dissolve in memories of our hopes. 

The lake knows the mystery of our desires, 
for hidden in its silent depths still lurk 
wild aching passions we long to express 
through uncontrolled dance of our flailing limbs 
to discover limits that bind our bodies 
though we leap high to become the bright wind. 

Insistent drum of rain on cottage roof 
supplies strict rhythm of expressive time 
so we sing slow in tune with aching rhyme 
through melancholy vibe of psychic truth 
that we may yet survive indifferent wind 
which crushes everything we built on hope. 

So curling up from dark abyss of fear, 
strange horror spirals outward from my heart 
in heart-enchanting melody of faith 
that though we vanish in black gloom of death 
we may taste pleasure while our hearts still throb 
in steady rhythm with the beating rain. 

Pale white in red glow of stark evening sun, 
their faces stare at me in silent awe 
when I cease singing words of aching hope, 
and thoughts I sang drip silent from frail leaves 
to splash and flow as tears down every cheek 
till all our sorrows flow lost down the river. 

Spirit House Of Hope

Spirit House Of Hope
© Surazeus
2019 03 11

I love how the river flows winding wide 
curves of elegant grace through rolling hills 
of trembling passion to the sloshing sea 
where I was molded by currents of hope 
that still weave flashing neurons of my brain 
in rhythm with pulsing waves of desire. 

Soft ripple of the river current flow 
caresses my face with loving compassion 
when I crawl grasping diamonds through swift stream 
from deep cold ocean where my mind was formed 
to slither in tranquil pool of fresh water 
where I float forever in sensual glow. 

While stretching sensually in warm sun glow, 
I sing vibration of my aching heart 
to generate new body for my soul, 
then he grasps my heart tight to fertilize 
eggs of my hope before they leave my womb 
so they transform into my replicants. 

My sister spews her eggs into still pool 
before he can fertilize them with seed 
so they swirl away in swift flushing flow 
while mine cluster tight around me and grow 
from wiggling tadpoles into four-legged lizards 
who crawl on river shore and eat insects. 

When giant spider with blood-sucking fangs 
leaps from stalk to consume our throbbing souls, 
we climb high tree and skitter on long limbs 
where wind brushes our feather-scales to fur, 
so we leap limb to limb with grasping hands, 
then cuddle making love where apples bloom. 

Plucking ripe apple with large grasping hands, 
I leap from tree and slide into sea waves 
where I walk upright in high-surging tide, 
dancing on long legs to keep my head up high, 
then walk on shore while grasping stick and stone 
to huddle on vast plain where milk cows graze. 

Eating mushrooms that flash dreams in my eyes, 
I sing flowing words of heart-aching tunes 
to symbolize connection between sounds 
and objects with qualities that perform 
actions animated by urgent desire 
to hunt with my family on river shore. 

Clumping thick clay that bakes hard in sunlight, 
I stack bricks to pave hill with pyramid 
where we sit safe in spirit house of hope 
to feast on bread and sing tales of our eyes 
when Mother Amen names each human soul 
as we explore our world with grasping hands. 

Shadows Of Their Souls

Shadows Of Their Souls
© Surazeus
2019 03 10

From visible darkness my mushroom brain, 
sprouting outward on writhing wings of lust, 
converts rotten muck into tangled web 
of neurons flashing with pure divine soul 
to wake in superconscious dream as God 
who walks along mountain river of truth. 

Descending from indifferent mountain cave, 
where I saw contests for power between men 
as shadowy illusions cast by bright fire 
of ambitious hope, I enter arched gate 
of ancient citadel my fathers built, 
to stand silent in the grand council hall. 

Standing before my brother, who now reigns 
as king of our empire, I raise gold wand 
and declare, "I follow my own mandate, 
and condemn our father and you for crime 
of enslaving people against their will 
and forcing them to labor for your wealth." 

My brother gestures for guards to attack, 
but I twirl swift on rainbow wings of faith 
and swing gold wand I forged from mountain heart 
to smash all arrows and swords aimed at me, 
then stand triumphant in astonished court, 
frowning when my brother falls to his knees. 

I hesitate on verge of victory, 
worried I will become corrupted by power, 
acting from blind fear with cruel tyranny, 
but if I walk away from throne of judgment 
someone else much worse will assume the seat, 
so I sit to enforce true liberty. 

Sitting on throne of judgment to rule well, 
I declare all men and women now free 
from ownership by other human beings, 
and every soul shall be paid for their labor, 
then lift high holy grail of divine truth 
and drink blood of the Earth to seal new law. 

I walk about our kingdom every day, 
enforcing laws of justice for all people 
to ensure every soul with conscious mind 
lives free to pursue their own happiness 
within structure of our society 
so each does what they want, if they harm none. 

I marry the woman who tends fruit trees 
and teach our seven sons my noble laws, 
but they contest over who will reign next 
while I sit in high mountain cave, 
watching shadows of their souls on the wall, 
and listen to song of the waterfall. 

Core Of My Being

Core Of My Being
© Surazeus
2019 03 10

If I strip away all identity 
in search for essential core of my being 
till I stand naked on the river shore 
I find nothing more than brain full of dreams 
that invents stories to explain its state 
describing how my soul transformed from nothing. 

The white male Christian European mask, 
which reflects essential core of my being, 
describes through race and creed and landscape name 
long rugged path that winds around the world 
my ancestors blazed for ten thousand years 
to regenerate themselves through my birth. 

All humans everywhere around the world 
no matter nationality or creed 
began our quest on Pyramid of Amen 
where First Mother stood with arms outstretched wide 
to sing creation of the universe 
and gave us vision to explore the world. 

We all spread outward from her pyramid 
to found hundreds of nations from four races 
in every valley of our spinning world 
where colors and shapes of bodies and eyes 
were molded by the landscape where we dwelled 
though her first song still vibrates in our minds. 

The differences of appearance we wear 
reflect the paths our ancestors explored 
so how we look reveals the special way 
they journeyed across landscape of our world 
and shows the map of how we all survived 
when we celebrate human soul we share. 

I want to know the details of your story 
encoded in the color of your skin 
and recorded in legends of your creed 
for your experience, though different from mine, 
reveals essential core of being we share 
in curious eagerness to know the truth. 

World-Wide Ring Of Phones

World-Wide Ring Of Phones
© Surazeus
2019 03 10

Crackling whisper of sand in restless wind 
calculates passion of love we all feel 
to replicate our bodies through wild spring 
of soul-transforming rain on turning globe 
where angels sprout from mud in human form 
so we gather around bright fire to sing. 

Ring of ancient voices on tree-stirred wind 
expands our consciousness beyond the skull 
that guards galactic tangle of brain wires 
which conjures model of vast universe 
in flickering flash of vision bound by words 
so we sing to each other at the fire. 

Though we alone are here alive in wind, 
the flashing spell of words our tongues propel 
conjures visions of people now long dead 
so we sense their ghosts our own brains invent 
glide around us as scented moon-gray smoke 
so we sing to the ghosts around our fire. 

The ghosts of dead people our words designed 
vanish at flash of the sun rising red 
over hills of anguish where we must hunt 
on quest for food that will sustain our souls 
when we return to sacred ring of stones 
so we share stories around fire of truth. 

Thousands of years later, I have returned 
to ring of stones where my ancestors sat 
for countless generations every night 
to share stories that create my world view 
which preserves their tales in dreams of my brain 
so I sit alone around fire of truth. 

Now we hold fragments of eternal flame 
glowing encased in tablets of smart phones 
that connect our minds in the world wide web 
though we walk alone in vast maze of time, 
still exploring mysteries of our lush world 
so we share tales in world-wide ring of phones. 

New Arcane Scripture

New Arcane Scripture
© Surazeus
2019 03 09

Whatever gang gains power in Washington
and erects new strict ideology
to worship law or personality,
I will follow my own private religion
where I live by physical laws of nature
based on visions I express in new scripture.

I celebrate myself and sing myself,
just like the Gotham Prophet once proclaimed,
and though I am mocked I am not ashamed
to sing calculations of magic spells
for I am the talking organic creature
who codes creation in new arcane scripture.

Though money gangsters ruling Earth from banks
oppress me with more strict rules of behavior
I will resist and become the great savior
who leads vast armies in jetplanes and tanks
till my heroism is stained in portraiture
because I compose wisdom in new scripture.

Political leaders may rise and fall
in constant turmoil of aggressive power,
but like the bee brews honey from the flower
I become process of the waterfall
through chemistry of the solar filature
and describe the White Whole in sacred scripture.

Yellow Wood Of Hope

Yellow Wood Of Hope
© Surazeus
2019 03 09

The white kitten in the cupboard with eyes 
green as surging ocean of the bright moon 
explains mysterious passion of true love 
that strikes my heart when I gaze in your soul. 

Awakened voices of the young who see 
conceptual forms of strange eternity 
emerge from mist of how it used to be 
and sing about Utopia they desire. 

The glorious bards of America seem 
to cheer our lofty land with hopeful people 
who transform misery into naked song 
when hiding horror behind mask of death. 

Then pausing in the snowy woods at dusk, 
the steel-eyed bard dreams visions of sunlight 
pierching shadows of trees to reveal faith 
that justice will prevail through raging war. 

The roads of time-bound consequence diverge 
multiple times in yellow wood of hope 
so all other possible worlds of fate 
vanish in mist of each new choice we make. 

Through absence of the vast absolute mind 
we wake bound tight in frail atomic form 
of brain-animated body to dream 
infinite scope of love flashing our eyes. 

So mindless deity of aching love 
restrains itself in taut genetic coils 
to generate this moist body that nurtures 
flicker of consciousness we dream as soul. 

Thus every ache of suffering sparks awake 
brighter this consciousness of how we feel 
so we become more ourselves every day 
and sing with surging ocean of our hearts. 

To Live As Long As I Can

To Live As Long As I Can
© Surazeus
2019 03 09

Strict arbitrary glow of sunlight gold 
on changing faces of our fragile souls 
reveals strange truth of shadow in the door 
who gives us name that means nothing to us. 

More pure revelation of tinged concept 
opening curtain slats to disturb rays 
of sunlight on indifferent grass of time 
I accept but invent my own new name. 

Pursuit of the rainbow that cracks my eyes 
leads my footsteps wound through whispering woods 
to the first tree that ever curled from Earth 
so I may comprehend sound of your voice. 

All other things we need to do to live, 
maintaining animation of this body, 
I do with strict routine of hope to spend 
quality time with you in our backyard. 

I once lived for the afterlife alone, 
enduring painful events of this life 
in suspended animation of fear, 
crawling through misery for paradise lost. 

Now that I know there is no afterlife, 
I savor every moment of each day 
I find myself still alive with sharp ache 
of desire to live as long as I can. 

Waking startled at this hour of still light, 
that floats amused in air around my home, 
I trembled amazed in paradise found 
within vision-throbbing glow of my brain. 

We talk a while to convey recent thoughts 
in constant calculations of our hopes 
to flash faith in each other as bright lamp 
that guides us united on quest to love. 

Eye Of The Glowing Ruby

Eye Of The Glowing Ruby
© Surazeus
2019 03 08

Where Tara sees red star fall from the moon 
she puts on swan wings, her blind mother wove 
from laughter of children drowned in the sea, 
and flies along curving glow of the river 
to find dark ruby lodged in thick oak roots. 

Somersaulting between jaws of the dragon, 
Tara snatches ruby from its blood eye 
then transforms into otter to escape, 
and hides in apple tree on the cliff ledge 
where butterflies discuss philosophy. 

Peering into eye of the glowing ruby, 
Tara dreams first flash of the bright big bang 
which flares forth wide into spiraling torus 
of eyeless mother-stars who birth new worlds 
where people rise from lake of eyes and sing. 

Pulsing at core of the spiraling torus, 
huge round star-spider with billions of eyes 
spins web of galaxies from tangled skein 
of flashing neurons in her throbbing brain, 
so Tara sings in rhythm with sea waves. 

Swimming along gushing flow of the river, 
Tara climbs over diamond sand to cave 
where humming shadows writhe on jagged walls, 
then tucks her wings and otter cape away, 
and sits with eight sisters by the crackling fire. 

The oldest woman in the world, with hair 
gray as spider webs on high cavern roof, 
demands she give her ruby of the moon, 
so Tara swallows it into her heart 
but agony of lost love sears her soul. 

Transformed into wingless serpent of fear, 
Tara slithers into heart of the globe 
where she wears skull of every soul who lived 
in history of the world that spins in void, 
and dreams entire flow of their life to death. 

Waking in gray dawn, Tara births young boy 
with silver eyes who reaches out his hand 
to touch her face, and she remembers why 
seeds bloom into trees where ripe apples hang, 
and sings creation of the universe. 

Torus Of Everything That Exists

Torus Of Everything That Exists
© Surazeus
2019 03 08

Birds remember to fly back to my heart 
though the world we always knew falls apart 
in fragments of world views that oppose truth 
while puzzle of faith by the wordless sleuth 
is analyzed for sunlight on the stream 
because of when I kiss you in my dream. 

Gold candles flicker in the house of gloom 
while storm-winds prophesy our cosmic doom 
but though I gaze in glow of candle flames 
I see no God in flash of conscious names 
that we assign ourselves with masks we wear 
to label mortal shapes born from the star. 

Our indifferent universe loves my soul 
because she weaves my brain from the White Whole 
so hologram model of everything 
about which ten thousand shining girls sing 
reflects in tangled neurons of mind dreams 
shape of worlds that flash in galactic streams. 

I think I see one star fall in the sea 
but all I find on the shore is gem key 
that glows with memories of ancestral eyes 
who long dreamed of dancing above the skies 
but when I search for Heaven in swift plane 
I find nothing more real than clouds and rain. 

The absolute completeness of hot light 
generates my mind from dark form of night 
so I become the final end of lust 
that foams into flesh, then dissolves to dust, 
when I wake in bliss as Knower and Known 
to carve my Idea Soul into white stone. 

Meditating in core of the white sun, 
I am Everything that beams from the One 
so I face myself in mirror of All 
then sing hymns with you in cathedral hall 
to spiral from coiled genes of ancient soul 
at first flash flaring forth from the White Whole. 

The torus of everything that exists 
spirals from the vast White Whole that persists 
through beaming eternal Ideas of things 
into the love-conscious mother who sings 
visions about the pure essence of light 
that pulses in each atom of our heart. 

While standing on sea shore in black dawn 
I think I see eyes of stars looking down, 
but no conscious God in vast empty sky 
is watching me to answer questions why, 
so I glide singing with the cosmic flow 
since I am nothing more real than brain glow. 

Peaceful Waves Of My Brain

Peaceful Waves Of My Brain
© Surazeus
2019 03 07

Sweet memory of floating in the bright sea 
more than seven hundred million years ago 
still shimmers in peaceful waves of my brain. 

Through enchanting spell of song in word key 
we calculate weird process of time flow 
to blossom from seed in laughter of rain. 

Ascending mountain where fresh wind blows free, 
I drink from fountain of the singing crow 
and bake bread for everyone from sun grain. 

Plucking rain-ripe apple from the broad tree, 
that whispers secrets by the warm chateau, 
I flash seed to permeate vast world domain. 

Our Love Is Creative Force

Our Love Is Creative Force
© Surazeus
2019 03 07

Our love is creative force that we perform 
with generous expression of rich concern 
to cause actions that construct, not destruct, 
organic structures of bodies and minds 
through close analysis of needs and wants 
to assess how much we can give and take. 

Observing chemical nature of life, 
I perceive what causes expensive growth 
and urge my actions to generate life 
by channeling material to nurture hope 
so our bodies consume nutritious food 
that sparks flush of desire in blooming change. 

What actions that cause destruction of forms 
I avoid with strict self-control to rein 
aggressive suggestion of selfish greed 
and swerve from motion that would but destroy 
so I preserve structures of living bodies 
to maintain life till inevitable death. 

Since all organic creatures will decay 
and structures of bodies and minds dissolve 
in constant transformation of fierce change, 
I restrict my actions so I cause growth 
and restrain inevitable fall toward death, 
and thus express love for all to live well. 

Truth I Perceive Now

Truth I Perceive Now
© Surazeus
2019 03 07

Though I speak words, they are not carved in stone, 
so concepts I express flow through my mind 
in constant shifting shadows of discernment 
as I analyze fragments of perceptions 
to consider where each small piece of data 
fits in the overall puzzle of life 
while I design ever-changing world view 
that helps me comprehend nature of being 
so I can better navigate vast maze 
of human interactions to avoid 
collisions of desire when I express 
vision of my free will to live in peace. 

I want force of my actions to create 
goodness of sweet pleasure and happiness 
so effect of results from active cause 
of my emotional desire, from urge 
to consume food and procreate strong children, 
generates benevolent consequence 
through good will conjured from more ideal vision 
glowing in my mind that our social structure 
supports productive lifestyle of more people 
who cooperate through mutual love for truth, 
since those who perceive real truth of the world 
can better sustain strong health of their body. 

Today I express concepts I perceive 
based on facts I analyze and align 
within structure of how things operate, 
but tomorrow more new facts I perceive 
may necessitate re-evaluation 
so I may adjust pattern of belief 
to better focus attention on truth 
helping me better comprehend reality 
as I build ideology on facts 
rather than twist facts to support false views 
distorted by incomplete ideology, 
because I want to comprehend real truth. 

Facts are basic truths our senses perceive, 
but how we describe nature of those facts 
with sentences of words reveals world view 
based on specific principles of ideas, 
so how we align facts in patterned pictures 
expresses architecture of belief 
that formulates structure of how we see 
process of cause and effect that displays 
secret agenda of our base desires 
to seek nurturing pleasure of our success, 
so we see what true facts we want to see, 
filtering out facts that oppose our will. 

This world is one gigantic mass of facts, 
but I focus on facts I need to know 
to construct puzzle of vast ideology 
that guides how I act as I navigate 
landscape of this world to find food to eat, 
working with my mate to produce good children 
within protective walls of garden haven 
where we feast and sing to share our perceptions, 
and teach them how to perceive this strange world 
and design their own dynamic world view 
that helps them to survive, thrive, and procreate, 
so my words express truth I perceive now. 

Restore Process Of Democracy

Restore Process Of Democracy
© Surazeus
2019 03 07

Soft flowing curves of the porcelain lamp, 
painted sunset brown as frail autumn leaves, 
reminds me of her considerate smile 
when she looks up from her chair by the window 
while reading yet another romance novel, 
and looks at me with eyes green as pine trees 
in high mountains before winter snow falls, 
then reminds me of what we need to do. 

I rise from my chair in half-shadowed room 
and move from sharp gold glow of the desk lamp, 
which illuminates the bones of her face, 
becoming the mystery of silent gloom, 
and plot new revolution for our camp 
when we expand knowledge of arcane space, 
to call about the thing we need to do, 
while I shine in radiant concept of blue. 

We walk together on long signless road 
to navigate strange unspoken desires 
beyond ruined walls of paradise lost, 
so by the river I set down my load 
to erase past mistakes in wordless fires 
since we calculate what it all must cost, 
although we kiss in mist of waterfalls 
and leave unanswered new telephone calls. 

Relaxing in the downtown cafe, mute 
as purring kittens in sun on the floor, 
we drink coffee and talk about the truth 
that no one can see, while the silver flute 
explains concept of invisible door 
which hides the trail followed by the blind sleuth 
who investigates the thing we have done 
that cannot be solved by the laughing gun. 

Still holding hands after contentious fight, 
we run through alley of the singing skulls 
with bags full of star-lit diamonds we stole 
from their elegant angel of far-sight 
whose prophecy was ignored by cruel fools 
who cannot understand our ancient goal 
to restore process of democracy 
that defends true justice of liberty. 

Now that we trash class inequality 
to ensure each person has basic rights 
to life, liberty, and wild happiness, 
we analyze flash of causality 
to perceive nature of atomic lights 
that nurture expression of craftiness
where every person does their private thing 
under protection of the divine wing. 

We construct from cracked bones of dinosaurs 
new empire of equal rights for all souls 
who work together in bright factory maze 
to make products for sale in shiny stores 
while wise people design new social roles 
as we transcend each revolution phase 
to create United Nations of Earth 
where every conscious soul enjoys rebirth. 

At the end of the day we all return 
home to the lamp-illuminated stage 
where we express weird drama of our hearts 
to celebrate our victory against death 
by constraining chaos into strict order 
which generates health of our dreaming minds 
as we feel Earth spinning into the void 
where we are one with the cosmic White Whole. 

Mask Of Who I Am Now

Mask Of Who I Am Now
© Surazeus
2019 03 07

The house of the moon where I keep my soul 
shines invisible to the eye of greed 
for its walls are fragile pages of light 
where I write down all the dreams I forgot 
in words that slip through my fingers like rain 
before I can taste memories of your love. 

It seems I am always walking through doors 
to find the mystery of your secret name 
you never tell me except through your song 
that shimmers on the naked air of hope 
so when I think I understand real you 
you shapeshift into sweet stranger I love. 

I think about the way the river flows 
through sparkles of sunlight in silent wind 
to lead me wandering among heat-dry hills 
whose timeless ecstasy of lurid stillness 
reveals cute mask you wear to lure me home 
so I stay here alone on the lake shore. 

Although if you crack open my frail bones 
you can read the history of my desire 
to replicate new body from my soul 
so I can spring beyond my broken self 
on coiled genetic wings of strict ambition 
and fly among the clouds that rain on you. 

The house of the moon we together build 
from story pages we tear from old books 
protects our passion-scarred hearts from lost faith 
long shrouding our minds in veil of despair 
since rain flushes aching tears of mute sorrow 
in thirsty soil that drinks our loyal love. 

If you wake to see me walking through doors 
of abandoned churches to measure walls 
of ruined faith that crumble with turned time 
you can invent new name for me to wear 
that hour we roll together in wet grass 
and kiss in passionate pleasure of lust. 

When you explain the way the river flows 
in streams of thought-sparkling words from our hearts 
to flash weird visions of what is not real 
too real before our illusion-smeared eyes 
we hold hands and laugh to become light beams 
of joy weaving waves of pleasure in dance. 

As blind angels crack open my frail bones 
each photograph of one dead person flies 
on butterfly wings to weave threads of words 
in time-shifting tapestry of lost tales 
so each ancestor who designed my soul 
wears my face as mask of who I am now. 

The house of the moon where I dream reborn 
from spiral tendrils of alphabet vines 
reveals on mirror walls every strange face 
my ancestors wore on journey to find 
fountain of youth where they met their soul mate 
who weave new body for me to wear now. 

Because we never cease walking through doors 
to explore beyond pale of our safe haven 
we write encyclopedia to preserve 
world encircled by feet of curious children 
when I drape my shoulders in wolf-skin cape 
then hold wand and gem as I view the Earth. 

Now I will map the way the river flows 
to calculate strict process of erosion 
when eager wind sculpts mountains from soul dust 
exposing skulls of dragons who once roamed 
landscape of this wild globe when we first crawled 
hungry along rivers to find fresh fruit. 

So my lover cracks open my frail bones 
to dip its sharpened point in my heart blood 
and write these formulas of spelling verse 
on tablets of stone in new prophecy 
that describes how the messiah sleuth dreams 
way to redesign our society. 

True Objective Of The Patriot

True Objective Of The Patriot
© Surazeus
2019 03 07

When I was a soldier in the world war, 
fighting Germans to free occupied Europe, 
I saw destruction on a massive scale 
caused by the arrogance of selfish greed 
to control the lives of working people 
and profit from the labor of their hands. 

Returning home to vast America, 
I continued the good fight to protect 
our people from chains of fascist control 
so we can profit from our own hard work, 
but now the greedy mafia businessman 
occupies sacred office of our White House. 

The mafia thug who occupies our White House 
wants to crown himself president of life, 
because no moral code of noble values 
restrains aggression of his thievery, 
so we must protect our democracy 
and prosecute him for his venal crimes. 

Protecting true justice and liberty 
from criminals disguised as businessmen, 
remains the true objective of the patriot 
who stands vigil against the corrupt gangsters 
to stop their exploitation of the people, 
and guard free expression of sacred rights. 

Signless Road Of Life

Signless Road Of Life
© Surazeus
2019 03 07

Shining essence of your eyes wakes my heart 
with each wing flap of divine eloquence 
unfurling petals of perception wide 
as boundless sky from naked hope for love. 

So every day I walk out the front door 
to perform daily rites of fruitful labor, 
I trust you will be here when I return, 
loyal to our program of mutual growth. 

Companions on the signless road of life, 
we share bread we extract from fertile Earth, 
and teach our children how to sing the truth 
so we replicate our souls beyond death. 

We rose from lake of dreams at dawn of time 
to eat sweet fruit blooming from tree of life, 
so we will stand on mountain of insight 
at sunset of life when the sun expands. 

Dead God We Worship

Dead God We Worship
© Surazeus
2019 03 06

Dead gods follow me on the signless road, 
howling for me to bring them back to life 
by writing poems that glorify their lives, 
but I sit mute under the apple tree 
inside ruined walls of Heaven, and sigh 
as I watch sunlight flicker on the lake. 

We founded nations, empires, and religions, 
they declare in wind that howls through old trees, 
so we want you to preserve memories 
of our deeds and speeches in noble verse 
to preserve our souls from oblivion, 
but I shiver in chill of their lost souls. 

Picking up wave-smoothed pebbles from the beach, 
I see faces of those ten thousand gods 
uncarved from essence of eternity 
smiling at me from their indifferent roundness, 
so I blow my breath on sphere of cold stone 
and toss each god back into lake of time. 

Once I have thrown all gods back in the lake, 
I listen to soft voices in wild wind 
of the nameless people who lived through time 
and struggled to survive in times of war 
when gods of their religions fought each other 
to control the souls of mortals like me. 

Wandering alone in bleak ruins of Eden, 
where the first God ruled orchard of fruit trees, 
I find the skulls of gods and men alike 
cracked and mute among flowers where buzzing bees 
gather pollen to brew honey in trees, 
so I sing with sad birds in sunset glow. 

Gathering apples in baskets on large wagon, 
that grow from rotting bodies of dead gods, 
I sing about the gentle girl I love, 
then haul my wagon to the castle gate 
where people buy them for small silver coins, 
stamped with the face of the dead god we worship. 

Honest Light Of Liberty

Honest Light Of Liberty
© Surazeus
2019 03 06

For thirty years I worked hard every day 
and earned enough money to buy my home 
where my children play safe in the backyard 
and my wife tends garden of vegetables. 

For more than two hundred and forty years 
our democratic republic has thrived, 
which makes America the greatest nation 
that exists in the history of the world. 

Now the mafia mogul in the White House, 
who abuses his position of power 
enriching private gain at state expense, 
acts like his business is above the law. 

The criminal who squats in our White House 
calls the election illegitimate 
and refuses to concede that he lost, 
crowning himself the dictator and tyrant. 

Our nation breaks apart in civil war 
so now we flee with countless refugees 
who wander lost on highways without cars 
while gangs of his thugs burn our houses down. 

We must fight to restore democracy, 
and overthrow the dictator of greed 
to re-establish trust in liberty, 
and make our America great again. 

We lost everything we built with our hands 
when the dictator destroyed our great country, 
but the spirit of liberty and truth 
will rise again like Phoenix from the fire. 

Though he destroyed America with greed, 
we will create our new America 
with justice and equality for all, 
guided by honest light of Liberty. 

Soul Of Brooklyn Cement Town

Soul Of Brooklyn Cement Town
© Surazeus
2019 03 06

My heart beats like the bouncing basketball 
as I walk the streets of Brooklyn at noon. 
Kids painting murals on the red brick wall 
show the basketball star dunking the moon. 
Red and blue lights of the police car flash, 
so hands in the air I say, "Got no cash." 

Snapping fingers to the radio rap beat, 
I stroll through gold trees of Prospect Park Lake. 
Light as feathers, I dance on angel feet, 
laughing because everyone is so fake. 
Red and blue lights of the police car flash, 
so I slip through shadows of fear and dash. 

Strolling under Soldiers and Sailors Arch, 
I scope the Grand Army Plaza for spies. 
Smoking rainbow, I explain to the larch, 
"We are angels and devils in disguise." 
Red and blue lights of the police car flash, 
so I whistle, wearing my boy scout sash. 

I feel intense buzz of electric death 
vibrate from soul of Brooklyn cement town. 
I pause among trees to take a deep breath, 
and hope no one sees me as the lost clown. 
Red and blue lights of the police car flash, 
so I write poems, then throw them in the trash. 

I leap laughing through Bailey Fountain spray, 
and drink with Nereus in the shining pool. 
Though Phoebus and Minerva watch me play, 
I ignore anyone who calls me fool. 
Red and blue lights of the police car flash, 
so I somersault to avoid the clash. 

I sing to Wisdom and Felicity 
as police aim guns at my throbbing head. 
I shout, "Long live Justice and Liberty," 
then leap free as the police shoot me dead. 
Red and blue lights of the police car flash, 
so I fall far from Heaven with a splash. 

Salty Tears Of Dead Angels

Salty Tears Of Dead Angels
© Surazeus
2019 03 05

Kneeling before the lost Fountain of Youth, 
I drink salty tears of dead angels stained 
red with blood of strawberries. Butterflies 
steal forgotten memories we tried to hide 
in books we stole from deserted libraries 
without windows. I cannot see your soul 
though I stare in cracked mirror long enough 
to experience the complete life and death 
of every conscious creature ever born. 
I wander rooms of your houses forlorn. 

Receding infinitely backward, small 
as gleaming fragments of bomb-shattered windows, 
I disappear into mirror of faces 
to be you. Step into my fragile boat, 
I carved from laughing oak trees, and relax 
while we escape armies of men with guns 
who hate us. We sold them apples last year 
but now they burn our orchard in revenge 
for losing the last game of chess with death. 
I stand invisible within your breath. 

Always slipping away between grim shadows 
of blind rage, fueled by greed for fertile land, 
we wander signless roads to distant towns 
as refugees from another world war 
to visit the museum of fine art. 
Each classic painting of the long-dead god 
was smeared with blood from refugees shot dead 
by nationalist heroes. Now they are statues 
erected in gold above our crushed skulls. 
Now we can list more achievable goals. 

Each apple seed that shimmers in my hand 
contains photographs of all nameless people 
killed in wars the past hundred thousand years 
since God came to Earth. He stands on high hill 
of divine authority to command 
thoughtless obedience to his cult of power. 
We hide in the cave where shadows reveal 
changeless pattern of nothing that is real 
except this mask we wear to hide despair. 
I secretly rule the world from my lair. 

When every poet who has lived before me 
gathers in the Grand Canyon just at dawn, 
I hide in beams of sunlight to become 
sponge of my brain that soaks their dreams like rain 
of laughing nonsense. Each puzzling concept 
cut from their tongues I assemble in sphere 
of flickering tubes to reconstruct cathedral 
where hungry people gather to eat mushrooms 
and dream creation of our universe. 
I hide love blessings in prophetic curse. 

Naked at midnight, I walk busy highway 
to weave hallucinations through fake songs 
in throbbing brains of honest worshippers 
who seek eternal life. I open gate 
to Heaven where I play harp of taut nerves 
woven from neurons of our rotting brains 
to tease them with the resurrection lie. 
On empty highways ten billion cars rust 
in rain that nourishes new apple trees. 
The Grand Canyon is filled with your house keys. 

Collision Of Passionate Hope

Collision Of Passionate Hope
© Surazeus
2019 03 05

When our eyes, in airplane propeller twist, 
flash contentious words of opposing views, 
we fly past each other to comprehend 
nothing we say in exchange of desires, 
so we loop back around to realign 
connections of our minds reflecting hope. 

Contorted landscape of our obscured dreams 
unfolds surprises when we try to talk, 
exploring secrets we fail to express 
that loom cliff-high from mist of angry words, 
so we keep dodging away to avoid 
cracking collision of passionate hope. 

So when I crash in jungle of your rage, 
I climb obstructing cliff of mute despair, 
scaling endless obfuscating requests 
to surmount resistance of your hard heart, 
navigate confused maze of tangled truths, 
and thus penetrate concealed cave of hope. 

Once we untangle misunderstood thoughts, 
and weave new tapestry of common faith, 
that displays compromise of clashed desires 
in clear cooperating program of action, 
then we can dance in strict ballet of love 
to achieve performance of fertile hope.