Nameless Radiance Of The Wraith

Nameless Radiance Of The Wraith
© Surazeus
2019 02 28

When pain has emptied my heart of all truth
so naked in bleak dark I walk alone,
I become nameless radiance of the wraith
that writhes in ecstasy of psychic being,
hollow voice twisting silence into song
that wrings melodies from cries of despair.

When illusions of happy family life
shatter love into fragments of contempt,
cracked by indifference of logical fact,
I escape pure light of the silent home
and stare at the road that winds into stars
to fall into black hole of nothingness.

Nowhere to go now from white empty room,
I look for signs that lead to paradise
that preachers claim shimmers above blue sky,
but wander nameless road far outside town
to stand shivering in rain on muddy field,
heat of the blind sun burning me to ash.

Thousands of starving people from cold gloom,
crawling from shattered television tubes, 
zombie toward me to devour my sogged brain
as they whisper they will pray for my soul,
and reach frail hands to claw our throbbing hearts
that hang rotting from black limbs of dead trees.

I want to wake from nightmare of this vision,
but I am awake, alone in red rain
that soaks libraries of books so inked words
of ancient stories bleed into swift rivers
as putrid chemicals from factories
that spew toxic lust in Pool of Narcissus.

Shivering in featureless field outside town,
I look for my ancient friend, the gold moon,
which shatters into fragments of bright eyes
who stare from every drop of falling rain
to wash all memories of pleasure and pain
from my sponge-slick brain till my soul twists weird.

I occupy this empty space with empty heart,
ballooning flushed horror that throbs my head
with gushing flow of rivers through my veins
in swirling cycle of unspoken anguish
to flash my eyes clear with red sun of dawn
when sharp rays gleam on broad infinite glen.

Expanding outside confines of my skull
in billowing flush of intense desire,
I ache with sympathy for suffering souls
who wail on river shore where skeletons
wander together among dead black trees
to eat moist mushrooms of immortal truth.

This is no allegory for our times
of civil conflict between clashing truths
though we scream voiceless into silent void
strange analysis of current events
in psychic battle to control the world
through stories to praise who suffers the most.

Though corporate gangsters try to enslave us
with aching need to sustain soul-flashed body
with blood of angels, siphoned from cave lake,
we fight blind tyranny of institutes
through expression of individual will
to work together and share our earned wealth.

What fierce audacity of loving faith
expands to contain empty space of truth
when howling demons who animate us
spiral coiling from infinite black hole
to weave sunlight into body of flesh
which generates our conscious soul of lust.

Last apple in the world hangs from dead tree
that sprouts greed buds at kiss of morning light,
so I caress moist bark of twisted limbs,
then kiss gray stone that shimmers in swift stream,
because at last from abyss of despair
I crack from egg and become the White Whole.

Natural Expression Of Chemicals

Natural Expression Of Chemicals
© Surazeus
2019 02 28

When I sit outside the building at noon
to savor nature after eating lunch
I feel vibrations of life from the world
emanate through sweet glory of desire.

The moist soil of the Earth which supports me,
the cool air I breathe, the water from rain
splashing my eye, and the sun glowing warm,
they all sustain existence of my soul.

Though soil and air and water and sunlight
nurture my evolution into being
they are indifferent to my living weal,
nor care whether or not I reproduce.

I enforce success of creative will
by investigating nature of things
then organizing elements of nature
to maximize efficiency of life.

I enhance strict process of my success
by programming daily ritual of action
which generates more life-sustaining food
through expression of pleasure to consume.

Though the world of elements loves not me,
swirling my whole body into existence
through natural expression of chemicals,
I love this world that generated me.

If They Harm None

If They Harm None
© Surazeus
2019 02 28

How many times will white men and police
kill innocent people with darker skin,
or women who will not submit to lust,
before we demand justice of the law
punish them with equal severity
for everyone else who breaks social rules?

How can I appreciate beauty of art
and enjoy intense emotions of music
while innocent people are getting killed
because white men cannot control their anger
at feeling impotent in tides of life,
like everybody else who learns to cope?

We all appreciate intense desire
to program rituals for living life well
that maximizes return of investment
so we profit from creative endeavors,
but none of us go on killing rampage
to enforce our will when life is not perfect.

Men annoyed that life does not match their hopes
should exercise self-control within bounds
of social law to respect human lives,
and recognize everyone has the right
to pursue happiness of their desires
by doing what they want, if they harm none.

Sculpture Of The Horse

Sculpture Of The Horse
© Surazeus
2019 02 28

White marble smooth as slick ocean iceberg
carved in elegant curves of leaping flow
expresses anguish of hungry desire
in taut-muscled form of the wind-swift horse
that races in frozen motion of hope
far beyond silence of museum hall.

Epona touches sculpture of the horse,
sliding slender fingers along its curves
to taste taut tension of its seething force
contained in solid mineral shape of stone,
and savors beauty of its leaping flight
that shimmers white in vast museum hall.

Hidden in leaf veil of the apple tree,
Epona watches the white horse run swift
along the sparkling river in slant rays
of sunlight that illuminate taut force
of bundled energy uncoiling limbs
to leap over logs and skid in lush grass.

Rearing high, the white horse strikes its sharp hoofs
at hissing danger, whinnies quick alert,
and stamps the writhing snake to crush its skull,
then prances among flowers and butterflies,
arching its head with ears pricked and eyes wide,
while swishing long tail with arrogant pride.

Eager to win affection of the horse,
Epona stands still on lush river shore
and holds bright apple glowing in her hand,
catching her breath when the horse sidles near,
and keeps as still as the tree in the wind
as the horse sniffs the apple in her hand.

Standing every day on lush river shore,
Epona offers apple to swift horse,
till wind-swift leaper trots up to her side
with eager affection of trusting love,
so she caresses his mane and smooth skin,
then slides on his back and kisses his neck.

Holding tight with arms around his full chest,
Epona gasps for breath when he runs swift,
galloping fast as wind to high hill top,
then charging down the slope with eager flight,
and dodging around trees in playful game,
to stop at last by her tall apple tree.

Caressing the horse sculpture with bright eyes,
Epona smiles at memory of their play,
then stern museum guard glares and demands
that she not touch the art, so she withdraws
trembling hand and blushes in rays of light
that highlights its soul in museum hall.

Origami Shadows Of Desire

Origami Shadows Of Desire
© Surazeus
2019 02 28

Through origami shadows of desire
I unlock doors of possibility
on noble quest to build the perfect world
where we exchange equal energy flow
to sustain honest love that binds our hearts
and fuels our journey to share joys of life.

Yet no matter how many times I leap
alternate timelines of possible ways
to interact with you that will ensure
perfect happiness that harmonize flow
of psychic energy between our hearts
I unfold word-smeared paper-airplane script.

No matter how many times I jump worlds
of possible scenarios for our love
in restless quest across our multiverse
to stay on track that harmonizes ways
we interact in drama we design
I fall on paper wings of Icarus.

No matter how many times I slip past
moments where I say words that hurt your heart
to realign machinery of our love
by shifting gears of psychic attitude
so we connect in harmonious desire
I tumble on wind of anguished regret.

No matter how many times I adjust
dial of quirky attitude to program
conceptual expressions that charm your heart
with vision of my loyal loving trust
to balance our exchange of energy
I give and take hot charge of sparkling will.

On origami wings of trusting flight
I soar through mirror doors of dreaming eyes
to open looking glass of flashing hope
and navigate infinite maze of faith
through twisting corridors of signaled truth
to find you safe in haven of my heart.

As We Sleep Together

As We Sleep Together
© Surazeus
2019 02 27

Quiet sadness of twilight tingeing bones
blue with strangeness of waving guitar twangs
soothes transient ache of slow remembering
for each moment we are together close
as silence and death which binds are lone hearts
in spiral dance of empathy through whispers.

So close we are together on this globe,
yet the entire world bulges out between
our faces when we turn away to mute
clashing argument that entangles us
in convoluted contest about what
we could do to survive horror of death.

Exhausted by constant struggle against
threat of annihilation that hurls gloom
of silent despair, we sit under tree
of rotting apples full of wriggling worms
and listen to wind batter fragile leaves
when it explains why everything decays.

Heart beating fast as wind in clanking trees,
I sit still as stone throbbing river flow,
body still tense from memory of my actions
running through woods as I grip sharpened spear
to hunt deer forty winters of aggression,
now aching with weariness of my race.

Hunger drove me to kill swift animals
of lithe leaping beauty so I could roast
sweet flesh over crackling flames in twilight,
and feast to empower my body with heat
of pleasurable life, but now I look back
on winding path of my hunt with surprise.

I killed and ate so many animals,
which filled my body with aggressive force
to dominate landscape with my sharp will,
but now I wither and weaken from age,
instead of transforming into swift bird
so I can fly high among glowing clouds.

I cease strumming guitar to hear blue wind,
and float bodiless through immensity
of silent consciousness without my name,
for I disappear in dark nothingness
to become the last ray of light that glows
over distant mountain peak of lost joy.

I consumed wild spirits of animals
so they all wake inside my throbbing head,
aching to run swift along winding streams
and chase blustering wind to the sunless sea
where we become the dancing swirl of sand
whose laughter echoes into bleak moonlight.

I touch your emptiness with breath of hope
when I dip fragile hand, gashed by sharp rock,
in sparkling river so my singing blood
taints yellow sand with sorrow of my love
till I become shadow inside your eyes
when you return and touch me with soft words.

Kneeling together among wind-swept reeds,
we dip our hands in water of the world
and drink sweet sunlight to revive our hearts
with silent joy that we are still alive,
then I cuddle you in my warming arms,
to become moonlight as we sleep together.

Through Their Forgotten Eyes

Through Their Forgotten Eyes
© Surazeus
2019 02 27

Just as I almost come to comprehend 
vast complexity of our universe, 
dream bubble of my vision on its nature 
pops into sparkles of oblivion. 

Skipping carelessly among daffodils, 
with dreamy eyes in slanting rays of light, 
I chase apparitions of human faces 
that smile as petals on a wet black bough. 

Astonished at emptiness of our faith, 
I tumble into abyss of despair 
when I skip laughing off cliff of far sight, 
and crawl broken in slimed slough of despond. 

Grasping tufts of grass in my trembling hand, 
I ask the silent face of my dead father, 
whom I see in glow cloud of ancient wisdom, 
about true nature of our universe. 

I contain multitudes of long-dead people, 
invisible inside cave of my head, 
whose voices echo in wave-sloshing winds 
that swirl around me on bright mountain top. 

I stand on green island in wild blue sea 
on enormous globe spinning into clouds 
where blazing eye of light too bright to see 
silently watches me walk everywhere. 

Bright eye of light is always in the sky 
since I am emptiness of hungry hope 
so when my head spins dizzy in vast space 
I lie down on grass to become all things. 

They flock around me in cool gusting wind, 
all the poets and storytellers whose words 
glow black on pages in ten thousand books 
after their bodies all dissolved to dust. 

They watch me with eyes of infinite thought 
through dreams of twilight possibilities 
which merge all multiverses into world 
where I now wake with weird astonishment. 

Though I reach my hand out in swirling gloom, 
hoping to capture essence of each soul, 
and mold their spirit in mask of their face, 
they vanish away on butterfly wings. 

Their names are written in tangled tree roots 
that curl down into dark heart of our world, 
but only fruit of their expressions bloom 
from silent skeletons of their lost souls. 

So once again I rise up from frail Earth 
and stand on mountain top of aching hope, 
then breathe deep spirit of each whispering soul 
to see this world through their forgotten eyes. 

Red Flowers When We Die

Red Flowers When We Die
© Surazeus
2019 02 27

After walking for years on cement roads 
in astonishing sunlight of desire, 
I sit on yellow grass in city park 
and listen to trees explain why we are. 

On busy street in Samara I meet 
young woman whose eyes glow with sparkling stars 
so we hold hands and walk among red flowers 
to share songs of birds we hear in our dreams. 

Holding hands of trust in warm slanting rays, 
we explore familiar world with strange eyes 
to become each other more when we kiss 
and lie together in shadow of faith. 

Together forty years since hour we met, 
we become whole emptiness of lost fear, 
and glow with happiness of our true love 
that turns us into red flowers when we die. 

Our Lightning Wraith

Our Lightning Wraith
© Surazeus
2019 02 27

This world is not so lonely as it seems 
where we talk to masks of strangers we know 
to replay ancient myths in surreal dreams, 
amused when flowers bloom through crystal snow. 

I meet new people everywhere I walk 
in vast well-ordered maze of city games 
where strangers eat despair with mouthing talk 
that weaves weird tapestries from secret names. 

We give each other masks we carve from faith 
of ancient trees where honeybees brew love 
so we drink god-brain wine with lightning wraith 
who brings funny tales from Heaven above. 

I walk country roads in ten thousand towns 
to find wild party in old ring of stones 
where children sing with angels in white gowns 
and wizards prepare potions from our bones. 

Those dancing spirits vanish in dawn mist 
so I call out their names in anguished faith 
till clever riddle in our game of whist 
reveals true nature of our lightning wraith. 

I flash in cloud that glows above your world, 
revealing true way of power through vast maze 
though angels seek where the dragon lies curled 
somewhere beyond the veil of purple haze. 

I glimpse her pretty face in passing crowd, 
wise angel who will rule our world one day, 
whose brain now spirals bright from the storm cloud, 
so I kneel by the flashing sea to pray. 

Since I was born from broken egg of myth 
I become spirit of our nation-state, 
star queen emerging from our lightning wraith 
who will restore our truth destroyed by hate. 

Weird World Of Forgotten Dreams

Weird World Of Forgotten Dreams
© Surazeus
2019 02 27

While mapping weird world of forgotten dreams 
that people drop along the signless road, 
who search for Heaven along sparkling streams, 
I come face to face with the robot toad 
that sucks oil from throbbing heart of the Earth 
as we sing in ruined church of second birth. 

Wielding my word pen, mightier than the sword, 
I battle banking robot toad of greed 
manipulated by the Money Lord 
who rules fertile fields from gold tower of need, 
so I wander lost in waste land of hope, 
learning riddles of truth on how to cope. 

Riding white giraffe with Pegasus wings 
through streets of Gotham at the darkest hour, 
I gather thirteen elves with magic rings 
to assault the vampire in his gold tower, 
so we spiral swift in storm-flashing sky, 
battling over whose truth beams from World Eye. 

Star Girl with three eyes, riding Lion King, 
arrives from waste land of the Laughing Clown 
to give me new sword forged from angel wing, 
so I can rule shadows of the ghost town 
who whisper secrets of the hanging god 
whose promise of salvation is a fraud. 

Since I must join side of justice and truth 
in cosmic battle between love and hate, 
returned from Heaven as messiah sleuth 
I master chess game of our nation-state 
to battle Vampire God in tower of gold 
who steals back Crown of Prophecy he sold. 

Though still in exile after civil war 
over who pays tax to the Guild of Clowns, 
our Fairy Queen with book of ancient lore 
ascends pyramids in ten thousand towns 
to crown wise Liberty Queen of our Hearts 
which weaves vast web of souls on world-wide charts. 

Now that I mapped every river that flows 
from mountains of prophets to seas of kings, 
I can reveal where the crystal ball glows 
that prophesies when Queen Liberty sings 
to show how we evolve from fish to gods 
who fight for truth in social justice squads. 

I sit alone in mountain cave of dreams 
and map ideas in epic of desire 
where eyes of humans swim in time-bright streams 
to sing in harmony with sun-soul choir, 
designing program of the star-search goal 
to feel our minds vibrate with the White Whole. 

Surviving Our Civil War

Surviving Our Civil War
© Surazeus
2019 02 26

I remember nothing before this hour 
wrenched me gasping from gloom of aching hope, 
so I breathe deep fresh wind of silver skies 
to maintain balance on two trembling legs 
since broken angel wings dissolve to dust, 
then I stagger forward, driven by lust. 

How old is this spinning world of cracked light, 
I ask the jagged rock on the beach sand 
who tells me how waves surge in flooding tide 
in rhythm with the moon that knows my name, 
so I hide in hollow cave of my heart 
when alarm bells of anxiety clang. 

Barrage of cannon fire echoes through woods 
in rapid pocking of explosive fear 
to wind taut anguish of my hope for peace 
that urges coiled heartbeat of my desire 
designing program for successful work 
when I descend star mountain with God Spells. 

My brain envisions weird scenarios 
presenting what if everything goes wrong 
to cause destruction of my fragile soul, 
so I crouch hidden behind tall stone wall 
of peaceful heaven my father once built, 
too anxious to explore vast hostile world. 

What lurking monsters as fierce gangs of men 
hunt for me in wilderness of desire, 
I wonder as I peer at moving shadows 
that haunt silent woods beyond haven walls, 
but, gripping magic wand of wisdom, I 
venture through anxious gate of wariness. 

How bright did this alarm of mental scope 
shine in ancestors to wake them alert 
when danger threatened to destroy their lives 
so that its operations of awareness 
too keenly blare through meadows of my mind, 
causing me to see danger everywhere. 

When alarm of anxiety blares loud, 
I analyze environment of my state 
to review nature of my situation, 
and determine if that danger is real, 
then adjust stance and progress to ensure 
safe navigation of this hostile world. 

I wonder who I am today, so I 
stand on marge of the silver-sparkling pool 
and gaze at shimmering image of my face 
that masks with placid mien of careful faith 
seething emotions of intent desire 
to secure strict routine of self-protection. 

When opposing factions fight civil war 
in frantic strife of conflated despair 
to control our national narrative, 
I dodge snapped conflagration to avoid 
destruction of my soul integrity 
and build foundation on truth I can trust. 

Assembling new world view from shattered shards 
of truth, discarded by aggressive hordes 
of frightened men who shoot each other dead, 
I construct sprawling cathedral of myths 
that incorporates every god ever worshipped 
by humans searching for love in the dark. 

Gripping magic wand of wisdom, I race 
zinging bullets from howling guns of hate 
to escape clash of ideologies 
when religious warriors kill for their god, 
then wander bruised and battered somewhere lost 
on signless road through waste land of despair. 

Huddling among ruins of ancient church, 
bombed by nationalist aggression for control, 
I stare at statue of their savior god 
whose shattered visage gazes down with love 
at fields of Elysium blasted by war, 
and feel his loving spirit wake in me. 

Since our god died two thousand years ago, 
each man who gains control of social games 
declares himself anointed by that god 
to reign with divine right of noble good, 
but two such men who claim that divine right 
fight to the death to secure right to rule. 

I want to live outside their empire games, 
but gangs of men band together to fight 
other gangs of men over fertile land 
so I have to join one gang or the other 
to keep myself alive till rule of law 
again prevails to maintain peaceful order. 

Once loyal to my nation, family tribes 
descended from our wise ancestral god, 
I switch adoring focus of my faith 
to rest on principle of liberty 
for every person to live as they will 
with equal justice under noble law. 

From monarchy in worship of one king, 
who reigns because his father reigned before, 
we change dynamic game of politics 
to fair republican democracy 
where we the people vote for human being 
who serves our vast food-production machine. 

Rising up from field of battle, I stand 
dizzy in slanting rays of clear sunlight 
to gaze at meadow of wind-rustling trees 
where the river flows still from distant hills, 
and see nothing in the sky except clouds, 
wild land beyond all nation-states of men. 

Instead of building new civilization, 
I want to live free on this fertile land 
like Adam, who tended trees of ripe fruit, 
but billions of people who survived war 
must live together on this spinning globe, 
so we build new society for all. 

Our planet spins from hot vibrating coils 
of atoms woven into minerals 
which generate creatures with conscious brains 
so we organize duties of our hands 
to produce food so everyone can eat, 
consuming sweet energy of our sun. 

I see the sun glow like a giant spider 
that weaves our world from strings of molecules, 
so I swim in the river of cool water 
to cleanse my soul of sorrow and despair, 
then stand singing under the apple tree 
as I become one mind with the White Whole. 

Empty Shells Of Hope

Empty Shells Of Hope
© Surazeus
2019 02 26

Immersive wisdom of our virtual world 
that shimmers in the neurons of our brains 
guides our journey through labyrinth of desires 
so we may navigate physical landscape 
of the possible our hands can achieve 
by surfing well waves of cause and effect. 

I want to construct economic system 
that assigns creative role for each person 
so we maximize production of food 
that provides sustenance for everybody 
to support their more creative endeavors 
transforming our world into paradise. 

Too many people die in brutal conflicts 
where groups compete for limited resources 
when everybody could cooperate 
so all experience pleasures of desire 
by sharing produce in grand feasting hall 
to feast and celebrate people we love. 

I wander waste land of our bombed-out cities, 
remembering how our culture used to be, 
people driving cars between work and home, 
then sharing food at parties with our friends, 
but now their laughter echoes in the wind 
that blusters through the empty shells of hope. 

How Can We Both Win

How Can We Both Win
© Surazeus
2019 02 25

When we rebel against authority
to assert equal rights through liberty,
we challenge right to rule of those who rule
and declare our bold right to rule ourselves.

We act on vision to assert our rights,
designing project to fulfill our needs,
but when our right to live contests your right
we clash in horrible destructive war.

Whoever wins endless contests for rights,
whether by brute strength or by clever wits,
the winners tell the story of the fight
to glorify the justice of their fate.

All gods are based on people who won wars
while devils are based on people who lost,
but all were people, neither good nor evil,
so how we can both win this present fight?

Quaint Right To Exist

Quaint Right To Exist
© Surazeus
2019 02 25

Strange darkness of the clear infinite truth
swallows all my intricate plans to win
social game of power and become the god
my tribe worships as representative
of that divine spirit which motivates
how we interpret quaint right to exist.

I hesitate to assert sacred right
to exist that emanates from my heart
because I sympathize with aching hope
for right to live that other people feel,
since through aggressive force of my desire
I may wound or kill some innocent soul.

Yet I will not allow aggressive force
of blind desire that conflicts with my hope
to destroy my spirit-conjuring body
so I will act with forceful right of proof
as bold insurance to protect myself
from harsh oppression of pugnacious greed.

To avoid oppression from someone else
who would subdue my will to their desire
I will assert my liberty to live
and destroy those who seek to destroy me
so I must rule in order to avoid
being ruled by those who care nothing for me.

What a strange paradox of right and wrong
that I must rule other people with wisdom
of compassion through equal justice for all
to prevent other people ruling me,
so I must play the ruler I dislike
to maintain harmony between all people.

Navigate New Moral Code

Navigate New Moral Code
© Surazeus
2019 02 25

Canorous thoughts of elegant contention 
resonate with strangers in empty room 
when I breeze through the door of self-expression 
to taste chocolate journey of cosmic doom 
where every person born from eye of light 
must exercise play of their vital right. 

We gather in classrooms of dreams to share 
secret horrors wrenched from tangled desires 
to convert happiness from numb despair 
so we can join fierce social justice choirs 
to sing about dramas where wrong and right 
encoded in text describe our faith flight. 

Strange rhythm of meter that leaps far sight 
distenures linked confession we entailed 
through legal junctures of blind oversight 
however much our power games are curtailed 
so I just stand alone in drenching rain 
to contemplate passion of life-bright pain. 

I thought to rescue her from bad mistakes 
and save her from destruction of her life 
but she must think I stalk her without breaks 
so I must leave her to endure her strife 
for we all exercise free will of choice 
to mold free-flowing thought with private voice. 

Far beyond last flash of sundown that rings 
completion of our progress to support 
programs of justice to heal broken wings, 
we gather to drink wine in warm rapport 
for revolution to rebuild from scratch 
social structure with plain poetic patch. 

United in communal mind for truth 
we oppose oppressors who enslave men 
when the noble warrior becomes the sleuth 
who transforms his sword to the verbal pen 
to establish rule of objective law 
against gangsters who exploit the bourgeois. 

When vain mafia thug tries to gain control 
over our nation based on rule of law 
we work to excise him from official role 
and restore free choice in America, 
and thus sustain play of democracy 
through process of justice and liberty. 

Ten thousand poets sea to shining sea 
compose new scripture with myths of great deeds 
which praise bold performance of honesty 
with words that conjure visions from truth seeds 
that present as heroes kind humble souls 
who assume archetypes of ancient roles. 

We sit together under willow tree 
and share strange stories of our random lives 
that resonate with music of the sea 
to calculate love of husbands and wives 
who share long journey on the winding road 
by which we navigate new moral code. 

The universe is structure made of atoms 
that converge and disperse in cycling function 
which generates spirits of conscious phantoms 
whose actions cause construction or destruction 
so we discuss perceptions of our eyes 
to express truth rather than fantasize. 

We gather on the mountain yard at dawn 
to chant songs we dream by the waterfall 
that conjure visions as our world spins on, 
then explore beyond high paradise wall 
to measure landscape of formed energy 
which animates our souls through synergy. 

Since first flash of the big bang that flares forth, 
and spirals into galaxies of worlds, 
beams bright in pulsing cells of dreaming brains, 
we sing flashing visions in dancing verse 
that express vital truths guiding our soul 
so we become one mind with the White Whole. 

Maid In The Shadows

Maid In The Shadows
© Surazeus
2019 02 24

The maid cleans all the sorrows from the house
and sweeps the dirt of angry words outside
to clean the hollow heart of broken dreams
and mops to erase steps of bitterness.

The maid sits by the window of her room
after helping ease the business of life
by playing supporting role on family stage,
and dreams about the river where she played.

The maid retreats into shadows of hope
and vanishes from sight of cameras
that cannot see her face in the sunlight
when she serves drink to the actors who laugh.

The maid cooks food for everyone to eat
and cleans the houses where everyone plays
by performing as pillars of society
to keep the empire from falling apart.

The maid sits under the broad apple tree,
eating ripe fruit and watching children play,
for she is the roots nourishing the world,
bleeding tears so fruit may bloom on the tree.

Suspicious Person Report

Suspicious Person Report
© Surazeus
2019 02 22

I want to report a suspicious person
I just saw lurking in my neighborhood,
walking up and down the street several times
as if he is scoping out our nice homes
with the vile intention of breaking in
after dark to steal money or rape girls.

Our neighborhood is good and middle class,
full of nice houses with at least three bedrooms,
owned by fathers who work at local banks
or work as managers at factories,
and earn enough to buy a fishing boat
and take their family to Florida beaches.

The children of our neighborhood are clean,
always wearing nice clothes they bought brand new,
and they ride bikes together to the park,
and always go to school where they learn well,
and they look out for each other each day,
and treat parents of friends with respect.

No, the suspicious person is not black,
for his skin is pale like he hides all day
in the basement where he lives with his parents
and plays war video games or watches porn,
so he is middle-aged, white, with brown hair,
and I said his skin is white and not black.

No, he is not wearing a large black hoodie,
rather he is wearing a red baseball cap
that says, Make America Great Again,
and he is wearing jeans and a ski jacket
as if he likes to snowboard in the mountains,
and works as a mechanic at a garage.

No, he does not look like a terrorist,
nor a Muslim come from the Middle East,
rather he looks more like a Midwest farmer,
and someone who attends church every week,
a Christian who prays and studies the Bible,
and quotes how wives should obey their husbands.

No, he does not look like a Mexican,
nor a refugee from South America
who took his family north thousands of miles
to escape gangsters making him sell drugs,
because fewer refugees cross the border,
and most of them are looking for good work.

Hundreds of people in the last ten years
who have killed thousands of people with guns
in violent shooting rampages from hate
are all white men who vote republican,
motivated by religion or politics,
angry young white men who feel insecure.

Because angry nationalist men, who believe
white Christians are better than everyone,
are killing innocent people with guns,
the white man stalking our good neighborhood
frightens me more than black neighbors and friends
who are just going to school or to work.

The people in my pleasant neighborhood
come from many countries around the world,
so we live together in harmony,
but that white man who thinks America
belongs to him alone is the terrorist,
so I report him as the suspicious person.

Moon Eye Of Juana Ines

Moon Eye Of Juana Ines
© Surazeus
2019 02 24

Silver sky reflected in the glass door
of the sprawling grocery store reveals why
the whole universe in my eye designs
writhing flame of signs that express my soul
through naked wonder of the pure White Light
the glows in every neuron if our brains.

Laughing people who play in mindless rains,
far off signless lanes where wild rivers sing,
find broken wing fluttering in the rose bush,
so they pull and push taut strings of my heart
to free my tattered chart from mouth of death
if I take deep breath and kiss them all now.

What faith I can learn from the river flow
about how seeds grow from soil of despair
since life is never fair for good or bad
who are happy or sad when pure sea waves
keep our voices in caves of hollow light
since eccentric flight of birds reveals why.

Tangled in moon eye of Juana Ines
as grape vines and raven wings, love proclaims
ethereal ring of names that binds our hearts
to unknown counterparts in distant lands
designed by crafty hands to reflect mask
though our souls bask in warmth of our world core.

I Still Care Blindly Forever

I Still Care Blindly Forever
© Surazeus
2019 02 23

The shadow in the door is not my heart
wingless on the floor of our memories,
though every story written on the chart
hides secret location of our lost keys,
because no matter how hard I try not to,
I still care blindly forever about you.

Whatever I told the deaf star last night
about our journey on the signless road,
you know our togetherness must be right
sanctified by meaningless bells that fade,
because no matter how hard I try not to,
I still care blindly forever about you.

Reversals of faces we wear reflect
binding expressions in mirroring thoughts
to backward track process of true respect,
reborn as world-exploring cosmonauts,
because no matter how hard I try not to,
I still care blindly forever about you.

Together in moonlight on ocean beach
we harmonize visions of world we dream
though perfect Heaven is far beyond reach
so we make love by slow apple-tree stream,
because no matter how hard I try not to,
I still care blindly forever about you.

World God Brain

World God Brain
© Surazeus
2019 02 23

Ten billion people walk vast city mazes,
gazing down at small bright screens of Eye Phones
to dream illusions through our virtual world
that beams internet of our World God Brain.

We flow with each other in stream of words,
sharing anecdotes of daily experience
to weave web of stories that bind our hearts
in religious soul of our World God Brain.

More than one hundred million years of life
we walked alone or joined communal groups
but now we watch each other play our lives
in global theater of our World God Brain.

Each individual human with bright mind
navigates private quest to explore Earth
and design world view that presents real truth
that we assemble in our World God Brain.

Shy Sea Girl

Shy Sea Girl
© Surazeus
2019 02 22

Large wave-smoothed stones white on shimmering sand
contain rain light of every swirling cloud
to reveal strange wonder of being alive
which hurts deep as garrulous waves of truth.

Tearing her mute soul from depths of the land,
she beats her heart in rhythm with moon tide
that howls hopeful wind through her hollow cave
to reflect her face she thought was wild wraith.

How complicated with dramas of hope
we humans play expressive mask to hide
passionate desire to mate in cool cave
when hot sun strips all lies to leave us bare.

Young woman in large cave of steep sea cliff
roasts fish on flames and hums gentle-wave tune,
then looks up at quick shadow on gold sand,
hoping to see him return from his hunt.

Concerned he has failed to return three days,
she follows his footsteps to river shore
but hides in bushes at shouting of men,
and sees him locked inside large wagon cage.

Leaping from determined shadow of truth,
she twirls metal rod she forged on hot flames
and knocks ten slave-traders on fragile heads
who fall unconscious from blow of her wisdom.

Following instructions of man she loves,
she inserts key in lock to open doors
and frees forty slaves who dance on lush grass
then bow in worship before shy sea girl.

Sitting on large stone inside hollow cave,
she sips grape juice and watches people work
who proclaim her the savior of mankind
as they clap their hands and sing in moonlight.

Archetype Of The Christ

Archetype Of The Christ
© Surazeus
2019 02 22

Jesus established his role as the Christ,
anointed by his tribe to lead them well,
to be the selfless leader who loves all
and guides each citizen as his good friend
to achieve best potential of their skills,
and set this archetype of the Good Leader
as role model for his sons and descendants
to follow as they are in turn crowned kings,
or preachers who lead church communities,
for Jesus is archetype of the Christ.

Presenting selfless nature of his rule
as leader willing to die for his people,
Jesus designed archetype of the Christ
for every pope, priest, king, and minister
to follow with his spirit in their heart
as they guide members of communities
on journeys to establish colonies
so they live by his political rules,
expanding from kingdoms to nation-states,
for Jesus is archetype of the Christ.

Through example of his actions and words,
Jesus invented role of the Messiah
who rises from the visions of his people
and speaks with words the feelings of their hearts,
then institutes the political program
on which they found vibrant inclusive state
that supports productive work of each person
who cooperates to build Kingdom of Christ
that seeks to control the world with his laws,
for Jesus is archetype of the Christ.

Though Jesus was no supernatural God
who soared among stars with omniscient power,
and was instead wise mortal man of love
who taught his people to cooperate
in selfless generosity of compassion,
he is immortal spirit of the Christ,
eternal Idea of the Loving Leader
who exploits not but supports every person,
as his descendants establish world empire,
for Jesus is archetype of the Christ.

Strange Visions They Revealed

Strange Visions They Revealed
© Surazeus
2019 02 21

We can stand alone in the corridor
of Duino Castle where the wild wind blows
and talk together about angel wings
we hide behind the mask of genteel faith,
or we can dive into the sea of myth
and become the monsters heroes adore.

When sharp sunrays of the eastern dawn crack
mirror masking my true immortal soul,
I stand alone with Apollo and Zeus
to watch humans play chess on broken world
for who plays Vicar of Christ in glass hall
by holding keys that open Gates of Heaven.

Moneta leads me up Stairway to Heaven
to see Mercurius lounging by the pool
who explains what hero role I will play
in his next movie to be filmed in Georgia
so I sign the deal with blood from my eyes
then chat with Lucifer about good wine.

So many hallways of potential lives
branch outward from this moment of swift time
so I stand alone on steep precipice
to calculate which way leads to success
but I wander lost in maze of locked doors
till I freeze into gold statue of pride.

Unspoken secret of delicious lust
generates child of truth with eyes I conceal
who sings in the rock and roll band that plays
on Saturday Night Live before their plane
slips through portal of spiraling Untime
across the multiverse of world-wide fame.

Each generation of actors, who rise
from slime of ambition to win the prize
of superstardom on the stage of hope,
competes for who will play the jester god
by leading lost souls from the underworld
when his band plays in stadium of lost souls.

Ten thousand wizards chanting mental spells
in tangled verses of surrealist poems
rise dripping anguish from deep water wells
to dance on shaman wings where Satan roams
and weave strips of film into epic tale
that explains how we evolve into gods.

So in Grand Canyon at the crack of dawn
I sit with famous poets, circus clowns
who recite angst-smeared verse with dignity,
and help them assemble puzzle of truth
that mirrors universe our brains perceive
in mandala of sand we smear to nothing.

We stand in circle of masks, holding hands,
Eliot, Rilke, Baudelaire, Ginsberg, Blake,
Homer, Dante, Spenser, Milton, Shakespeare,
Wordsworth, Byron, Shelley, Keats, Tennyson,
and ten thousand others in ring of stones,
to chant spells that swirl energy of love.

Our visions all congeal in single tune
that shimmers cosmic dome of crystal eyes
in flashing sphere of world view we design
to harmonize opposing concepts clear
as mirror that reflects our consciousness
which beams bright from divine Glow Cloud of Truth.

This elegy for all their souls I paint
on ancient stones that form foundation square
of Duino Castle which shines above clouds
where Olympus once glowed on jagged peaks
so wild ocean waves calculate new faith
for religion we invent from the wraith.

Athena leads me to the apple tree
where Minerva gives me sweet fruit to eat
then Ishtar gives me new guitar to play
so down signless roads sea to shining sea
I walk every town of faith-blinded souls
and sing strange visions they revealed to me.

Personality Of Naked Hope

Personality Of Naked Hope
© Surazeus
2019 02 21

Each personality of naked hope
who falls out of the book remembers why
we had to drive all night to the black lake
to look for eyes we never knew we had
although to look at him I think he might
know why we will all die before our time.

Quick torque of tight transcendent truth recoils
spiral engine of my faith-beating heart
so I can leap beyond your prison wall
and escape duties you assigned my role
before I was born based on high degree
of rich attainment my father acquired.

Strange concepts extend along filaments
of tangled words everyone speaks at once
to weave in tapestry of flashing film
endless epic of superhuman tales
that analyze how we evolved this way
as characters stored on shelves of the church.

If you want basic information, search
your dictionary-cluttered brain to find
strict formulas for psychedelic flight
when we all turn into white butterflies
and ascend glass escalator to Heaven
where I play chess with Death to save your souls.

Tops of trees translate whispered words of fear
into scathing jokes that truth-preachers tell
in shaman trance on stage of pyramid
to calculate how birds fly grid of clouds
so we can prophesy what candidate
will win the next election for World King.

Of all the hundred-trillion puzzling ways
to organize these words, so your blank brain
perceives flashing visions that explain how
our universe evolves from swirling thoughts,
this moment mirrors most myopically
intellectual insight from the White Whole.

Child Albert to the dark tower of Rapunzel
returns each day to climb the golden ladder
and sit with her at table by the window
to sip hot chocolate with ginger tea
and discuss secret of reincarnation
that she saw written on strange flashing stars.

Swift skipping music of red ocean waves
that flash through mirror windows of the soul
expands my futile consciousness to trust
complete encyclopedia through our feet
explored, since lightning-bright storm clouds reveal
stairway to Heaven that leads me to you.

Although I fall off invincible eye
of blazing sky where God still watches me,
I climb high mountain beyond city streets
and sit by waterfall of ancient truth
to hear every singing prophet express
conceptual angst of ennui for true love.

Each time I pause in labyrinth of world myths,
and wait for you to catch up to my point
in spinning process of evolving change,
you vanish through ten thousand mirror doors
to become me when I see my true self
clear in behavior of your private play.

Optical Illusion

Optical Illusion
© Surazeus
2019 02 21

Pale blue sky shimmers in small pool of water
by crumbling curb under bare black oak tree.

I stop and stare at optical illusion
that surface of the pool is open portal
to some alternate universe, but then
I laugh at absurdity of that thought.

My eyes see nothing more than waves of light
reflecting up from thin layer of water,
so this reality of natural physics
amazes me far more than fantasy
of multiverses that do not exist.

Why should I be surprised that different tribes
of humankind, whose ancestors survived
hostile environments by adapting features
of body and skin to accommodate
extremes of heat or cold, will kill each other
to control lands where water freely flows.

I cannot dive into that pool of water
to emerge in alternate universe
where people value vast variety
of physical features, so I must deal
with this reality by treating well
every person I meet on road of life,
and sympathize with their progressive hope
to dwell in harmony with everyone.

Waves of light vibrate rich colorful tunes
of primal music composed of blue sadness
to weave compassion in my beating heart
for each person who walks this world alive.

The color of our skin, from light to dark,
developed in extreme environments,
darker skin in desert lands of bright sun,
lighter skin in mountain lands of thick clouds,
both changing from red skin of jungle lands.

The color of our skin reflects light rays,
darker skin reflecting more rays of light,
lighter skin reflecting less rays of light,
so our skin is thin layer of protection
that shields our souls from solar radiation
beaming from life-giving heart of our sun.

Our skin color is optical illusion
that hides true nature of our human souls,
so we share stories of ancestral treks,
the children of the jungle with red skin,
the children of the desert with dark skin,
the children of the mountain with light skin,
to celebrate that we are all alive.

I see your face reflected in the pool
so different from mine in color and shape,
yet we are all children of Mother Amen
who taught us how to sing at dawn of time
so let us explore this rich world we share.

First Strange One

First Strange One
© Surazeus
2019 02 21

When all the mute animals die away
we talking apes might then diversify,
evolving into dozens of strange forms
to occupy niches nature provides.

The vast variety of special types
our bodies can explore through random change
will all appear from those who chance to breed
in every possible color and shape.

What quirky model of human design
might succeed in dominating the field,
outwitting all the others to control
fertile valleys on river shores of hope?

Soon talking animals evolved from humans
will adapt to inhabit every spot
in all the wilderness of our vast world
and worship the first strange one as their god.

Wheelwright Of Zimbir

Wheelwright Of Zimbir
© Surazeus
2019 02 20

Pausing from work assembling wagon wheels,
Utu sits under fig tree to relax
and nibbles sweet fruit as he gazes far
across wheat-gold plain to town of Zimbir.
Sweet timeless shimmer of warm sunbeams glows
immense contentment in his turning heart
that pulses with rhythm of flowing river
where boats glide slowly on gold waves of light.

"How perfect is this life that I designed
by programming routine of structured actions
where I perform roles in cycles of time
that match turn of the sun across the sky.
I wake at flash of dawn on distant hills,
eat bread and fruit to energize my soul,
then craft wood into wagons with round wheels
through calculated steps of cut and bind.
The bright sun spins across the rounded sky
so at each point of its position high
I schedule each strict action to perform
which helps maintain productive turn of change.
If anyone disrupts my process flow
I stumble from strict ritual of each scene
and lose efficiency for building wealth
till I restore clear structure of my rite.
As long as I manage segments of action
I can increase efficiency of cause
to produce wagons from material state
with crafting force of my creative hands.
Each wagon I construct from scented wood
provides machine for men to utilize
which helps to maximize productive work
so they can haul large loads to market stalls.
Eternal spirit of creative love
urges my hands to construct strong machines
so I savor each hour I can create
wheels that spin around like the shining sun."

Resuming work assembling wagon wheels,
Utu bends wood steamed soft in heated kiln,
then fixes twelve spokes around central hub,
and hammers gently to clamp felloes tight.

On Endless Road Of Life

On Endless Road Of Life
© Surazeus
2019 02 20

Through adjunctive bond of our broken hearts
we spiral wild on eagle wings through flow
of loving words which weave in web of faith
our stranger selves into loyal companions
so we hold hands on endless road of life.

Each thing we say that cracks jar of our love
exposes fears through sympathy of trust
so with each kiss we mend our fractured minds
to rebuild holy temple of calm faith
that shelters us on endless road of life.

Slow progress of our journeys to combine
opposing projects in scheme of desire
through revelation of sacred affection
weaves stronger bonds between our separate hearts
to merge our minds on endless road of life.

Though we work all day, tending apple trees
in Garden of Eden where Yahweh rules,
we pluck fruit forbidden for us to eat
and consume sweet juice in shadows of fear
to maintain strength on endless road of life.

When he discovers us breaking his law
by eating sweet fruit he keeps for himself
he berates us before his silent slaves
then drives us beyond gates of paradise
so we roam lost on endless road of life.

Climbing over stone wall of paradise,
I steal apples from sacred tree of life,
and plant them in moist soil on river shore
so we grow our own orchard of fruit trees
to earn more wealth on endless road of life.

Waking at midnight to roar of hot flames,
we find sons of Yahweh burning our trees,
then they crucify Adam on burned tree
and rape me till I bleed in smoking ash,
broken in pain on endless road of life.

Brought back to Eden, I regain my strength,
but wait till Yahweh sits on judgment throne,
then I trust spear of vengeance through his heart,
and place his crown of power on my own head
to reign as god on endless road of life.

Angel Of True Liberty

Angel Of True Liberty
© Surazeus
2019 02 19

Twisted among jagged rocks and thick hedge
of roseless bushes bristling with sharp thorns
I find fallen angel with broken wings,
so I carry her along railroad tracks,
past steel and brick factories belching smoke,
then through tangled fence of twisted barbed wire.

Kneeling on shore of black polluted river
that slurries between clusters of glass towers,
I lay fallen angel with broken wings
with gentle care on yellow matted weeds,
then wash blood and mud off her freckled face
with tears of sorrow flowing from my eyes.

Through rancid smog that hangs over swamp sludge,
six wizards in black robes, who bear dream wands
carved from bones of dragons in putrid caves,
stride splashing through roseless bushes of thorns
to form circle around our fallen angel,
then throw back their hoods and gaze at her face.

Edgar Allan Poe mends her broken wings
by waving twelve raven feathers in circles,
Charles Baudelaire restores light of her mind
by polishing her eyes with lemon juice,
and Paul Verlaine tends her feet bruised from stones
by rubbing leaves from black oaks on her soles.

Percy Bysshe Shelley sparks her beating heart
by breathing west wind through her soft red lips,
Stephane Mallarme heals scratches from thorns
by smearing on eternal snow of stars,
and Arthur Rimbaud bathes her tangled hair
with sea-salted words of delirium.

Lifting her up again in cradling arms,
I bear fallen angel, healed by their hands,
through city streets crowded with listless souls
who wander blind as they moan tuneless prayers,
to fountain before the government palace,
while six wizards form a protective circle.

Guillaume Apollinaire dips horse-hair brush
in blood of my heart to write on her breast
pentagram with circles of the Kabbalah,
and Rainer Maria Rilke plucks petals
from blood-red roses like butterfly wings
and places them sticking to her soft skin.

Red rose petals transform into silk gown,
so I slip the angel wings from her shoulders
when she rises in brisk breeze from the sea,
and hold her hand as we together climb
thirteen steps to top of the pyramid
where she stands before tall black obelisk.

Spreading both arms wide like wings of the swan,
Astarte lifts crystal ball toward black sky
and chants melodious words of ancient spells
till First Flash of the Big Bang flares forth hot
in blazing vision to reveal creation
when Egg Eye expands into the White Whole.

Eight wizards transform into star-white ravens
that fly seven times around her bright head
then spiral down into frame of my skull
to flash eidolic glamor through my brain,
weaving vast galaxies in neural network
which conjures virtual model of our world.

Spirit of Liberty, bearing sharp sword
and scales of justice, stands on temple porch
to inspire despondent hearts of lost souls
with vibrant vision of our new world order
where every person lives by their free will
with equal rights in aegis of the law.

Our fallen angel of true Liberty,
though beaten and abused by greedy tyrants,
rises reborn from ashes of world war
and leads the working people of the world
to create new system of social laws
so we thrive in harmony of respect.

Sacrificed For Liberty

Sacrificed For Liberty
© Surazeus
2019 02 19

Weird cosmic truth accelerates my heart
past warning signs on naked road of lust
but when I stop on river shore of fear
I swallow howling rain in hungry brain
pulsing with visions of beautiful Death,
that girl I love assigned to kill my soul.

From fragile bones of ancestors I lost
I construct bridge across abyss of faith
to evolve from this rotting corpse of hope
into Superman who overcomes pain,
clawing from thick mud of drowning ambition
to stand laughing on hill drenched in sun beams.

Face to face with the huntress of my heart,
I wear new mask of the Many-Faced God
to reveal raw nerves of anxiety
jolting my brain with visions of the future
so I can calculate next move to make
that would propel me to eternal fame.

Though I keep losing credit in this game
of national success, I tangle time
reversed through half-open door of weird glow
to leap into another flashing node
that links my brain to the whole multiverse
where I always become the soul I am.

I fight to protect the people I love,
the woman who trusts me to treat her well
with honest respect of romantic desire,
and the children who follow my footsteps
as long as I am alive to map way
of salvation in world of hostile greed.

Broken on the signless road nowhere, I
stare at blank sky to wonder why the priest
convinced me supernatural god controls
everything that occurs in world of forms
which caused me to hope for what is not real
since people enforce their will to grasp power.

People kill other people with their hands
because no supernatural god controls
elements of our world that seethe in waves
of chemical interaction to change
forms of breathing spirits through constant growth
so I must fight to keep people alive.

Asserting force of will to rise again,
I urge erection of my wounded body
so I stand on desolate road of despair,
and face gang of bullies with strong brass wand
I swing to kill them before they kill me
because I want to live in harmony.

Twirling magic wand, I assert my will
to power against Death with aggressive spell
that beams halo of my vision through words
so I teach them wisdom as I strike heads
who bow before me and proclaim me god
when I defend my life against their hate.

Leading defeated wizards into town,
I enter temple where the haughty priest
teaches peasants that if they pay him well
he will assure their place in paradise,
so I expose his lie in grand stone hall
then strike his soul dead with my wand of wisdom.

I sit on cathedra, stone chair of judgment,
and adjudicate cases through strict law
to ensure fair justice is performed well,
till gang of priests declare I must vacate
holy see of god, so I twirl my wand
and battle twelve priests for the throne of power.

Now I am Death who rules the world of mortals,
holding high scepter of wisdom and truth
that drips with blood from heads of haughty fools
who dared to try and throw me from state power,
but I reign strong by will of unseen god
who asserts divine will through my enforcement.

While presiding in cathedral of faith,
bearing brass scepter of authority,
I remember how I once wandered lost
in waste land of fear till I found this wand
by which I assert divine will of truth
to direct each role in grand play of life.

Stepping before me in beams of sunlight
in form of the beautiful girl I love,
Death declares I am the oppressive tyrant
so she hurls sharp spear that pierces my heart,
then kisses me as I die in her arms
when I am sacrificed for Liberty.

Strange Laughter Of Trees

Strange Laughter Of Trees
© Surazeus
2019 02 19

Strange laughter of trees explodes from my brain
since rotting corpses of people we love
chew dirt as they tunnel through heart of darkness,
tasting our sorrows we drop on weird Earth,
which teaches us the meaning of true love.

Nobody plays role of sacrifice king
because we sit at home on the soft couch
after work and watch television shows
about our ancestors fighting world wars
when gods battle over who rules the world.

Clear silhouette of my soul on the door
which opens into dark maze of my heart
calls you to explore corridors of hope
where all our idols lie fallen in church,
fragmented by calculations of math.

So many people still cannot see truth
about the resurrected god of love
who got stuck in the swamp of yesterday
when he went hunting for his adversary
to free our brothers enslaved by blind faith.

I wish to readjust the flowing stream
so mindless water of the mountain dream
reveals the singing skull of my grandfather
who was last seen climbing the tree of fruit
where the serpent of wisdom watches us.

We must love our indifferent universe
because the universe does not love us,
creating us from angst of chemicals
when carbon rings weave matrix of strange lights
in sponge-wet brain of pulsing galaxies.

Somewhere in all these messy thoughts of lust
I hope to figure out what words to say
that will express my feelings for the girl
who always smiles at me with flashing eyes
when we pass each other in the library.

I want to perform my first role just right
so I win respectful love of her heart
with loyal expression of my true mind
so we build strong relationship of trust
on firm foundation of honest desire.

Paralyzed with fear I will misdirect
performance of romantic attitude,
I sit at desk by window of gold light
and vanish into blank meaningless words
in the book that cares nothing for my hope.

Gripping cold handle of the metal bucket,
after I filled it with milk from three cows,
I walk across the muddy yard at dawn
and pause at glow of sunlight on the tree
where I see vision of her flashing eyes.

Breathing deep to still beating of my heart,
I approach her outside library hall,
but almost vanish in flash of sunlight
when she looks at me and smiles with delight,
so I tell her my name and shake her hand.

"I stopped believing in God years ago,
but I believe we humans now alive
express divine consciousness of the Earth,
so we are the sun awake in our brains,
therefore I value this life we enjoy."

Blushing at the surprised look in her eyes,
I explain, "I want to be honest with you
so you know what I believe about life
because relationships should all be built
on clear expression of our secret thoughts."

Placing golden apple in my right hand,
she smiles and sits under the willow tree,
"I believe God created this whole world
because things this complex and beautiful
could not have appeared at random from chaos."

I sit beside her under willow tree,
"Carbon molecules with six electrons
link all other molecules in tight rings
to form electric pulse of energy
which animates organic beings with life."

I float in sparkling river of her eyes,
"I am tempted to believe in your God
so we can be together every day
because your charming personality
enchants my heart with loyal faith of love."

Reaching out her hand, she touches my cheek,
"We are so far apart in our beliefs
but we can journey toward each other
and find common ground to unite our hearts
for I want to be with you every day."

I hold her hand as we sit on soft grass,
"Plato taught that all real material trees
are based on design for Idea of Treeness,
so I think God is idea we designed
of highest goodness humans can attain."

Tilting her head, she grins at me amused,
"I agree because God created us
in image of his divine consciousness,
so we try to create and not destroy
each time we interact with other people."

Sweet laughter of her heart blooms from my brain
when we talk under the tree every day,
sharing stories of our lives, good and bad,
so our hearts become tangled up in love
as we hold hands and walk the road of life.

So I Choose Joy

So I Choose Joy
© Surazeus
2019 02 19

I sit on wood bench outside the stone bank
and watch people walk to their offices,
nameless souls of atomic flame in flesh,
whose minds glow with as much passionate hope
as mine to savor pleasures of this life
in struggle to earn success before death
dissolves our bodies back to molecules.

I wish I could meet every human being
and live a whole rich lifetime just with them,
exploring mysteries of our universe
so we could savor pleasures of friendship
before death erases us both from Earth.

I see their faces like grapes on long vine
of ancestral bloodlines in family trees
all sprouting from one original root
as we migrated all around the globe.

Who is that common mother we all share,
sitting on dirt mound under the fruit tree
and teaching us to sing in tune with rivers?

Though we are all fragments of one first soul,
we compete through endless contest for power
to become the new source of future souls
by eliminating rivals for fame
while wearing mask of friendship and respect
to outwit everyone in game of life
till death laughs at us from abyss of time.

I release tense desire to conquer time
and savor pleasures of just being alive
because I may die now without offspring
or my descendants will conquer the world,
but either way I will be dead tomorrow
so I choose joy over ambitious sorrow.

Jumping up from the wood bench by the bank,
I twirl around and improvise new song
mocking aggressive lust to rule the world
while people clap and throw me dollar bills.

Flowered Hills Of Selador

Flowered Hills Of Selador
© Surazeus
2019 02 18

When night peeked out like cinders from the stove
and icy winds blew down from mountain caves
we huddled close behind the cellar door
and kissed with starlight glowing at our core.

Though far away I roam the endless world
on signless roads where winds forever blow,
I dream about the lush vales of our home,
and long to stride flowered hills of Selador.

Harsh whistle of the train cracks frigid air
and crowds of people flow through city streets
where strangers speak in ridding tongues of hope
loud as wind blowing leaves of apple trees.

Though many lovers pass my cellar door
and leave their memories wrinkled on the floor,
you are the only woman I adore,
sweet bride I left behind in Selador.

We were to meet on bridge of River Lor
to talk about the house we planned to buy
and I was gazing at the golden sky,
remembering true love glowing in your eye.

I saw you coming toward me on the bridge
so brightly smiling with endearing love
when thieves escaping fired back at police
and bullet pierced your heart to splatter gore.

I kneeled and held you in my arms to cry
while you lay staring at the bleeding sky
and though I kissed your lips a thousand times
your precious soul was gone forevermore.

I wander far across wild spinning world
but everywhere I go I feel you near,
though you lie buried mute in Selador,
yet weep alone behind locked cellar door.

No land I roam will ever be my home
for what is home without your smiling eyes
and laughter of your voice that rang so clear
when we lay kissing by the cellar door?

Now that I traveled all around the world
I stand forlorn on bridge of River Lor
for I returned to lie down in your heart
and die on flowered hills of Selador.

My Chair Is The Poem

My Chair Is The Poem
© Surazeus
2019 02 18

My chair walks alone on the desert road,
trotting like a wolf in the swirling dust,
back straight in the air like its bushy tail,
then pauses and pricks up its pointy ears.

My chair leaps up stairs of the pyramid,
galloping swift as wind from the wild sea,
and moves lithely through crowd of worshippers
in time for Ishtar to sit on its faith.

My chair opens the front door of my house
and, after getting a drink of cold water,
sits by the warm hearth and purrs like a cat,
waiting for me to arrive home from work.

My chair sits in the boat on the still lake
and casts fishing line into sparkling depths,
then whistles random melody of patience
while watching sunlight flicker on the water.

My chair prances like a lamb on lush hill,
chasing butterflies among daffodils,
then lies down with the lion by the lake
to watch twelve children laughing as they swim.

My chair grows from small seed into tall tree
which I chop down with the sharp-bladed axe,
then saw into planks and four rounded legs,
and assemble with nails I hammer straight.

My chair sits by the window all night long
and watches the moon shine among tall trees
then carves secret runes on the bedroom wall
to calculate physical laws of weight.

My chair waltzes with the door in stone temple,
twirling together to violin tunes
that spiral rainbow threads of ecstasy
weaving the moon into its aching heart.

My chair of gold and gems in castle court
decrees new laws for mankind to obey
that enforce grand rules of equality
so nations live through liberty of trust.

My chair trots regally down avenue
like horse to lead parade of warriors
who celebrate our victory in world war,
defending humankind from tyranny.

My chair holds video camera with firm hands
to film dramatic scene of noble action
while directing the historical movie
that celebrates fierce tragic characters.

My chair is the poem that knows your true name
and paints clear vision of your secret soul
revealed by mask of the many-face god
you wear on your quest for enlightenment.

As We Feast On Truth

As We Feast On Truth
© Surazeus
2019 02 18

Though I leap seven feet out of my head
each time the angel shouts my name at dawn
I always remain this self I designed
to channel energy of conscious hope
through transformation of material thought
when I glide through thick matrix of this world.

When someone blocks expression of my will
because they want to use the same resource
I need to create project of my hope
I will try to compromise so we share,
or defer out of generous respect,
unless their will destroys me for their gain.

If fulfillment of their desire destroys
my body or everything I create
then I will fight back to preserve my life,
defending myself from utter destruction,
but only to preserve my life from harm
so I will only fight to stay alive.

If they persist in attacking my life,
attempting to destroy me and my things,
then I will destroy them to make them stop,
but if they back away and let me live
then I will let them live in self-defense
since we can live in harmony of will.

We both can use this space of fertile soil,
working together with bound energy
to produce twice the food to feed our clans,
so united in purpose of our wills
we succeed better than working opposed,
creating more rather than destroying all.

Though when the populations of our clans
increase beyond capacity of land
to produce enough crops to feed us all,
then we must send our people out in groups
with wagons full of tools and planting seeds
to start new colonies on river shores.

So thus increasing need to feed our clans
drives exploration of our hungry mouths
to spread out from our fertile mother land
and colonize the world with thriving farms
till we dominate the globe with vast empires
which fight world wars over who lives and dies.

Though I wander alone through maze of empires
that straddle continents in tangled webs
of roads connecting homes and factories,
I walk with angel of my better nature
to design more efficient social networks
that support larger colonies of souls.

To rule constant revolution of change
when new generations of hungry mouths
overthrow the old guard to take control
so everyone earns reward for their work,
and break their monopoly over food,
we elect new rulers every four years.

They fight to gain control over the food
then keep it only for their families
so they eat and thrive while many more starve
by enforcing rules over who can work
and who loses the economic game,
when rebels become tyrants blind with greed.

Those people who set rules for who can eat
based on race or religion they control
we overthrow from offices of power
then set new rules that everyone can eat
who respects right of every conscious soul
to exist and work for the good of all.

We share this spinning world of fertile soil
yet compete over who will eat or die,
so we develop more efficient system
that ensures everyone alive can eat
for we all contribute in our own way
to operate our food-production machine.

How can we transform political systems
to merge all nations in united whole
providing equal rights for every soul
who work together on our spinning globe
by overthrowing tyrants of crime gangs
so we live together in harmony?

So when the angel shouts my name with love
I rise from lake of dreams at dawn of time
and pluck nutritious fruit from tree of life
to share it with the children of my blood
who gather in the ring of guarding stones
to share our stories as we feast on truth.

Blooming Book Of The Rose

Blooming Book Of The Rose
© Surazeus
2019 02 17

Wandering halls of Duino Castle at night,
with angel of wind shimmering in moonlight,
Rainer leans on stone wall to sniff red rose,
and watches silver waves swirling in song.

The rose blooms open countless eyes of love
that gaze into dark hearts of every soul
so spirit of desire rests inside us
through numberless revelations of truth.

I open wide blooming book of the rose
to read happiness and sorrow of hope
on every petaled page of magic thoughts
encoding our dreams on butterfly wings.

This perfect rose that opens countless eyes
and frames unspoken sorrows of our hearts
conceals these tender moments we have shared
though we depart with longing for one kiss.

Sweet scent of summer emanates from eyelids
of trembling petals blooming from the rose
that hides so deep inside its winging heart
our separate souls become one dreaming eye.

Each new-revealed page in book of our hearts
blooms with weird revelation of our rose
so everyone can see our sacred love
when we write vows on wings of butterflies.

This rose that records our eternal love
cannot be replaced in garden of hope
for of these countless roses that now bloom
but one frail rose encodes our secret tale.

This rose that blooms from our two beating hearts,
so still through purity of perfect spiral,
conceals in contradiction of respect
pleasant joy under sleepless lids of lust.

Eternal consciousness of pure desire
reveals our eyes under delicate petals
that bloom from passion of our faithful hearts
where nobody can sleep from songs of love.

Pure rose of contradictions balances well
between passionate pleasure of sweet love
and mute indifferent slumber of rebirth
when we awake with rose petals as wings.

This blooming rose of our two loving hearts
possesses countless pages of sweet joy
we may never read, framed by words we speak,
but we will savor them till hour of death.

Each hour of time that passes by in flow
of sparkling river gushing through our hearts
carries one more petal of tender pleasure
till blooming rose of our hearts fades at sunset.

The more pure our love glows with blooming rose
the more our perfect moments fade away
so fragrant rose of our caressing eyes
will vanish with our souls in timeless sleep.

Rainer caresses petals of the rose,
then caresses eyelids of the mute angel
who smiles at tender touch of his frail hand
as she becomes light beaming through his eyes.

Singing Angel Of My Heart

Singing Angel Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2019 02 17

The alligator in cool rippling pond
knows music of the sunlight on clear water
however far the sea breeze might conspire
to wake the singing angel of my heart.

Though I would never rob cash from the bank
when I harvest apples from Tree of Life
the mayor who struts like proud tyrant god
accuses me of stealing from his fraud.

I slowly glide my alligator boat
through Mississippi mangrove swamp at dawn
to hide from deputy and gang of thieves
who hunt me in the shadows of despair.

The mayor wants the land my family owns
since someone thinks oil bubbles underneath,
so he accuses me of social crime
to claim my property when I am killed.

Gold sunlight glitters through the silent leaves
of ancient swamp indifferent to my plight
so I become reflection on green waves
when luring posse to my secret grove.

I turn around and wait in beams of light
till silver boat of hunters enters grove
then I hack taut rope with sharpened axe blade,
releasing spring that knocks their boat aside.

The deputy and gang of thieves with guns
fall screaming in the green swamp of despair
and thrash till alligators eat each one,
dragging them all down into silent gloom.

Pulling cart heaped with apples from my tree,
I stand before city hall in sunlight
and prove my innocence of stealing cash,
explaining how the mayor wants me dead.

I lead detective, lawyers, and police
paddling through Mississippi mangrove swamp
to grove where the deputy lies on shore,
half-eaten by alligator of justice.

In leather bag still strapped around his waist
they find the money stolen from the bank
and letter from the mayor in his pocket
stating cash is reward for killing Achille.

I am Achille, I declare to them all,
and the mayor framed me to steal my land,
but I tend apple trees on fertile fields
and play my banjo in the local band.

I wake the singing angel of my heart
while they arrest the mayor for corruption,
and play my banjo at Red Moon Cafe
while alligators dance in rippling pond.

Ghost Of Her Face

Ghost Of Her Face
© Surazeus
2019 02 17

Blind turtle that crawls from the pastel sea
bears our crowded continents on its shell
when shadows of strangers in swirling mist
kiss each other before silence of death
reveals contrary concepts in full hearts
who follow secret clues on tangled charts.

How long in gleams of indifferent sunlight
I study secret codes on turtle shell
to understand human relationships
that tangle hopes and dreams in drama curse
through woven fabric of the four-poled house
where we sit on top of the pyramid.

Smears of pastel colors on cotton cloth
reveal shadows of souls who know my name
though I erased all references to me
from temple walls before indifferent dawn
finds me alone by placid waterfall
meditating on hot tensions of lust.

My father appoints me Yahweh of Teman
so I seat my pregnant bride Asherah
on wagon throne, then walk white desert sand
to reign on pyramid while dragons play
where water fountains from heart of the world
to justify my rule in groves of fruit trees.

What strange memory flashes into my eyes
when I stand on sea shore and watch blue waves
spiral from deep heart of our turning world
since my mother Asherah with green eyes
abandoned me by wind-ruffled orange tree
to flee with Dagon to the Promised Land.

So when I meet the lion on the beach,
wild beast with muscular legs and fierce eyes,
pacing tight circles around the world core,
I become the monster of hungry hope
to sweep gaze of my vision on vast world,
eager to taste horror and consume truth.

I mold thick river clay into square bricks,
bake them hard in oven of writhing flames,
then haul them on wagon up crumbling hill
to build pyramid foundation of empire
on which my sons can reign as Yahweh God
who wields scepter to crush skulls of cruel slavers.

Asherah walks among fruit trees at dawn
to show me where the turtle crawls alone,
and explains our world is shaped like its shell
with rivers flowing between mountain peaks,
then she vanishes in sunlight through leaves,
and I cry alone with ghost of her face.

City Of Dreadful Light

City Of Dreadful Light
© Surazeus
2019 02 16

Our world rolls sparkling in vast spectral void,
assembling our bodies from urgent hope,
swirling us in waves of arrogant pride,
then grinding us back down to silent dust.

I wander in city of dreadful light
past crowds of people wearing masks of glass
that shimmer with visions from world wide web
connecting all our brains in global mind.

With billions of people in cars of glass
I flow on in ceaseless river of time
as Earth rolls on forever like mill stone
indifferent to the passions of our lust.

We rise from sloshing waves of restless sea
like Aphrodite reaching for fresh fruit
to scatter seeds of dreams in spells of verse
which generates our conscious universe.

We walk together on indifferent road
to savor world with no purpose or will
that shimmers in strange beauty of pure light
illuminating hills and lakes with lust.

At center of the city of despair
where thousands of hungry people stand mute
I approach burning bush of divine light
that talks to me about the cosmic soul.

This Earth is fragile diamond of wired souls
whose eyes exchange flashes of lightning threads
that weave our brains in spider web of songs
vibrating sonic words from magnet minds.

I leap through multidimensions of truth
to chase rainbow angel of divine wrath
who shows me how to calculate contempt
and fix the piston engine of my brain.

Escaping blank city of dreadful light,
I sit in lush meadow of singing birds
and laugh when people worship zombie god
who rises from death and devours their souls.

What weird moments of inventive insight
shimmer in folk memory of our lost songs
that hide in riddles origins of memes
which code details about technology.

When Helius invented the turning wheel,
to mirror spinning of our mindless world,
he lifted mankind from surface of Earth
so we ride time-machine wagon of hope.

These fragments of our common memories
we assemble puzzle of whole world view
to value gods as humans who revealed
strange secrets of technology through love.

Our world rolls round forever like mill stone
that swirls in spirals around blazing sun
with no purpose or conscious will of life
till Earth wakes up in dreaming human minds.

This world whirls not to suit our petty whims,
indifferent to our social games for power,
so we gather in church to sing weird hymns
about the child who gives Death the fresh flower.

Sweet Mother Earth generates conscious minds
so we are the vast universe of stars
becoming aware of itself alive
when we sit on the river shore and kiss.

The ever-turning world may grind us down
but we keep springing back to joyful life
when lovers raise the children of their souls,
teaching them to create and not destroy.

We explore our city of dreadful light
to celebrate seasons of turning time
when indifferent Earth gives our bodies life
then consumes our conscious minds in pure light.

Sheep On Lush Hills

Sheep On Lush Hills
© Surazeus
2019 02 16

When dawn light gleams rose over misty hills,
Phoibos Polyarnos, blessed with plump sheep
he tends in cloudy flocks on lush flowered hills,
sits under tall Melia, Manna Ash Tree,
and strums lyre strings that vibrate in cool breeze
as he sings about Ouranos and Gaia.

Stopping with heart-aching sigh, Phoibos stares
at many sheep that graze on dew-wet grass,
and feels nostalgia pierce his beating heart
with longing for those days so long ago
when his mother and her sisters, wild nymphs
with long hair, would dance circles in dawn breeze.

While he would play lyre beneath Melian Ash,
the laughing nymphs, with eyes blue as dawn sky,
would brew honey-sap from trunks of the Ash
with gold honey and apples in brass cauldron
that simmered over crackling flames as scent
of ambrosia wafted on river breezes.

Then Melian nymphs would call their leaping children
who gathered around pot of bubbling juice
and dipped lion-paw seashells with small fingers
to scoop sweet ambrosia, then sit with flowers
among milling sheep and sip honey cider
that sparkled smooth sweetness on tingling tongues.

"The sweet Melian nymphs all died of old age
and now fertilize grass where plump sheep graze,
the girls all married good farmers or craftsmen,
and the boys all joined army of our king
but died fighting wars in lands far away,
so now I alone tend sheep on lush hills."

White blossoms of the Melian Ash Tree float
on river breeze to cover his long hair,
like snow flakes swirling from bleak silver clouds,
so Phoibos Polyarnos plucks lyre strings
and sings of his mother dancing in mist
while flocks of sheep float like clouds over hills.

Story Hill Of Amen

Story Hill Of Amen
© Surazeus
2019 02 15

You nameless people I see everywhere,
walking around in world of dirt and air
or smiling from photos on social media,
contain whole history of our universe
recorded in pure animated flame
of conscious hope that glows in your cells.

I love you all, the way your faces glow
with bright consciousness of expressive love
which shimmers in halo of silent words
to light bright torch in hand of Liberty
ripping apart darkness of mute despair
so I can blaze new way to paradise.

Though I cannot stand on stage to perform
authoritarian role of the wise fool,
I sit alone in solitude of bookstores
to watch you live on social media sites,
reciting your stories in crowded rooms
to cheering audience of adoring friends.

Like flocks of birds swirl flashing in vast sky
to settle flapping wings in webs of trees
and twitter concepts of perceptive faith,
you nameless strangers of society
discuss events on social media sites
to program new world view of cosmic truth.

Each person moving in vast maze of Earth
springs from ancestors who traveled each life
far over landscape of lost memories
along gushing rivers to distant lands
on countless pathways around spinning world,
but all first sprang from Story Hill of Amen.

Ten thousand years ago on river shore
First Mother Amen stood on hill of words
beneath broad fruit tree of our aching hearts
and taught us how to sing the sacred hymn
that beams clear vision of our dreaming eyes
so we can agree on true view of life.

We all spread outward from her mother womb
in tangled grape vines of family bloodlines
to populate lush river vales with towns
where we all gather in town square at night
to share strange stories of our daily lives
like Amen taught us at the dawn of time.

Painted in complex map of your smiling face
through colorful features of skin and eyes
I perceive long journeys of your ancestors
where they dwelled in jungles, deserts, or mountains,
when they walked over dunes of sand or snow,
concealed by this mask of your secret name.

I want to sit with you in ring of stones
where song fire glows under the silver moon
and listen to your song of haunting words
that reveal your journey around the world
to understand why you are still alive,
then make love to live again in our children.

We spring from rich journeys of our ancestors
so our children will spring from our own journeys
and gather once again on hill of stories
where First Mother Amen stands tall forever
smiling as she teaches us how to sing
so our human song shines bright as the stars.

Tear Down Walls Of Fearful Hate

Tear Down Walls Of Fearful Hate
© Surazeus
2019 02 15

Each time I write one poem I dream awake
strange experience of one long-dead ancestor
who struggled nameless through waste land of fear
to map our landscape of hopeful desire
and survived death to become lesson learned
which I encode in archetypal tale
about bold courage of the human spirit
to transcend our mindless animal nature
and evolve through stages of psychic growth
to become idea of God we aspire to.

Walking in ancient gallery of souls
where characters of the many-faced god
wait dreamless on vast shelf of history,
enclosed in books that tell their deeds and songs,
I take one face of my ancestors down
and wear it to dream again how they lived
while navigating matrix of desire
to consume food and avoid being consumed
as they sought their mirror image to mate
and reincarnate to generate me.

We navigate our way through maze of hope
by wearing faces our ancestors made
to see how they survived hostile attacks
long enough to regenerate their body
in children who continue down the road
of exploration to evolve each life
from fish to mouse to ape to man to god
in constant transformation of fierce atoms
who seek to become divine consciousness
as we wake at this hour of startled love.

Combining millions of ancestors, I
contain multitudes of aggressive souls
who all contend inside my tangled mind
to become one person I name myself
when I walk alone on wild ocean shore
to contemplate mystery of how I am
me alone of all the people who lived
till I contain solitude of my truth
to identify who I want to be
then name myself to define who I am.

Once I combine their energies of hope
in one coherent program of desire,
after cautious analysis of lust
to replicate in children of my faith,
I proceed to explore beyond stone walls
of paradise to find rich Tree of Life
dropping apples free in my open hands,
then gaze at my face in pool of my soul
till I hear voice of one I want to love
echo my passion to walk by your side.

When my ancestors huddled terrified
in dark cave of faith, to avoid cruel monsters,
they constructed walls of stone from dark Earth
to protect themselves in lost paradise,
but now I explore beyond ruined walls
of world-view paradigm their fear designed
because bold heroes of ancient myths fought
and destroyed all those monsters of despair,
clearing landscape of hope for us to live
safe outside those dividing walls of hate.

We cannot tear down all the walls of hope
that protect us from attacks of exploiters
yet imprison us in weakness of fear,
so we must unite for democracy
to fight against tyrants blinded by greed
who exploit work of people for their profit
and free the hungry people of the world
to work together for their own success
so we thrive in harmony of desire,
sharing this planet that gives us all life.

Yet we must tear down walls of fearful hate
that tyrants build to imprison our bodies
when they enforce rules to control our minds,
in constant vigilance against their games
to trap us in cycles of destructive wars,
and fool us to relinquish liberty
for false security of paradise,
so wake up from your mute complacency
and rebel against tyranny of fear
to fight for liberty of honest truth.