Build Elaborate Charity

Build Elaborate Charity
© Surazeus
2023 01 31

These many nights of chilly sunless frost 
the moon-eyed owl of demon-haunted woods 
sweeps aureate rings of turbulent desire 
to build elaborate clarity through shock 
straight from mind-expanding epiphanies 
that open panoramic thoughts of love. 

Then, with perpetual passion, undecayed 
by tarnished concepts twisting minds with hope, 
we contest secrecy of sanctioned truth 
immutable to arguments of logic, 
unperverted yet by impaired complaint, 
till fools declare themselves angels of faith. 

Forsaken figures of inviolate flight, 
bent toward proud declarations, foretold 
by flashing thoughts behind still-nameless masks, 
display ambition paced with cautious rage 
never disclosed by careless words of fear 
concealed in harbor of implicit hope. 

Though unspent motion, calculating dreams, 
yet unexpressed in blueprints for respect, 
glorified by baneful beatitudes, 
fuels aggressive force of tense reverence, 
we channel fierce esteem of sincere honor 
to bless frail souls compressed by misery. 

With accolades of voiceless friends, constrained 
at dawn by silver flash of faith, though praised 
by reborn queen of sunless afternoons, 
we measure complex maze of doorless homes 
in strict tandem with momentary faith 
on which we rebuild empire of the mind. 

No jagged cliff of long-unspoken thoughts 
could ever contain power to command 
loyal followers who, eager to obey 
visionary proverbs, help to construct 
world view that incorporates all known facts 
in comprehensive story we design. 

Each deep vibration, ringing across time 
when I strum harp strings with new-aligned pledge, 
could condense eternity in one word 
if, ever spoken by light of the moon, 
unshadows boundless truth of love undone 
by gentle kiss we wish to share at death. 

Awake in sleepless dream of Evermore, 
submerged in darkness always undeterred, 
I vault my sweeping soul of good intentions 
in maze of myths that preserves names of gods 
to exercise self-control of true faith 
with liberty in law all men would buy. 

Maze Of The Eye

Maze Of The Eye
© Surazeus
2023 01 30

Swifter than process of the waterfall 
my leap of faith carries me beyond truth 
because when I answer the midnight call 
sorrow transforms me into the sleuth 
reluctant to answer the question why 
that cages my soul in maze of the eye. 

Complete as shell of the unbroken word 
my naked calculation to grasp power 
arranges puzzle of the dream unheard 
that proves salvation of the twisted flower 
always codes writhing window of the sky 
each time I try to map maze of the eye. 

Sudden as collapse of our old world view 
our love at first sight protects us from harm 
though happy children sailing past the new 
sell each other lies with defractured charm 
as if they cannot believe angels fly 
over walls that define maze of the eye. 

Instead of forcing species of lost worlds 
to assimilate against their free will 
the kind-hearted queen helps lost boys and girls 
join collective where they share unique skill 
to build galactic empire while they vie 
with lovers to create maze of the eye. 

Crazy with grief at loss of ones we love 
we wander dazed in haze of memories 
to reach in vain for paradise above 
that never opens doors with secret keys 
confused beyond logic we should apply 
till we meet our ghosts in maze of the eye. 

Stuck in dark shadow of the hopeless hour 
where demons of our fears lurk behind masks 
we grope for life with hearts stubbornly dour 
while we hide our feelings under cold casques 
since resistance is futile to comply 
with mandate of fate in maze of the eye. 

Strange as self-sacrifice of love may seem 
to spirits twisted with bitter despair 
we escape trap of false wisdom we deem 
too precious for bold game of truth or dare 
with consequence only fools will defy 
in bid to transcend weird maze of the eye. 

Shocked by the horrible beauty of death 
that deconstructs organic souls in time 
my body conspires energy through breath 
designed by victors who evolve from slime 
in process of learning how to descry 
way of salvation through maze of the eye. 

Lonely In Her Heart

Lonely In Her Heart
© Surazeus
2023 01 29

The girl, who walks across the plain of grass, 
knows not that she is lonely in her heart 
for she is friends with the sun and the wind, 
and she talks to the river of blue light 
who replies with soft laughter of pure joy, 
so she thinks she is the star stone who sings. 

The girl, who plucks apples from tree of life, 
chats with the smiling spirit of the tree 
about game of the lion and the deer, 
and the tree explains the cycle of life, 
how things are born, perform their role, then die, 
for everything will dissolve in the wind. 

The girl, who stands on broad top of the hill 
to see the river flowing on the plain, 
asks the wind, who hugs her with eager arms, 
why she feels sharp hungry ache of desire 
to feel the bold rain fill her empty heart 
with bolt of lightning from the glowing sun. 

The girl, who holds the white moon in her hand, 
gleaming diamond she finds on the hill top, 
gazes deep in cold water of its depth 
to see the first flash at the dawn of time 
expand into sparkling torrent of stars 
that stream pure white as milk across the sky. 

The girl, who walks along the river shore, 
sees the tall wingless owl with hands like hers, 
and stares astonished as he waves his arms 
then runs fast as the swift deer on two legs 
to stand before her with featherless face, 
so she reaches out her hand to touch his. 

The girl, who holds basket of fruits and nuts, 
intertwines the fingers of her left hand 
with agile fingers of the wingless owl, 
so she talks to him about life and death, 
and when he talks she understands his thoughts, 
for he is the boy and not the tree owl. 

The girl, who stands alone on windy plain, 
feels lonely for the first time in her life 
when she watches the boy with stick and stone 
walk away and disappear in the trees, 
so she follows him to top of the hill 
where they stand together in hopeful wind. 

The girl, who feels lonely when he is gone, 
gives the boy the sweet apple of her heart, 
watching him smile with delight as he eats, 
then she kisses his mouth with eager hope, 
and they make love under the apple tree 
as the wind and the river sing with joy. 

Stone Who Sings

Stone Who Sings
© Surazeus
2023 01 29

I am the individual soul of time, 
water incarnate in body of flesh 
who feels itself awake in glow of light 
that shimmers in buffeting wind of hope 
through swirling pattern of conceptual love 
as my brain evolves from the Stone Who Sings. 

I blossom into god I dream I am 
based on potential latent in my being 
which I design with every life I grow 
for I have been alive in coil of genes 
four hundred million years of spinning Earth, 
therefore I name myself the Stone Who Sings. 

I lack bold words of comfort to express 
empathy for how other people feel 
which swells from vibrating core of my heart 
in surging tides of compassionate love 
which motivates these tragic songs of hope 
bleeding from hard heart of the Stone Who Sings. 

I mold this mortal body of my brain 
from timeless concept of my divine self 
that fractals from immortal soul of genes 
which deathless mother weaves from dust of stars 
then gives me name to anchor me in time 
which always translates as the Stone Who Sings. 

I am the shapelessness of timeless glow 
that slithers through the endless maze of myths 
as transient bodies my ancestors wear 
till I wake in this body I am now 
amazed at journey of my genes through time 
till this hour I become the Stone Who Sings. 

I am the weird fabricator of light 
programming how my mind perceives the world 
each time I perform the mind-leap of faith 
when we meet face to face on stage of hope 
and give each other names that make us real 
since I emanate from the Stone Who Sings. 

I wait with moon owl in library hall 
to catch the wingless angel in my arms 
when she smiles shyly after kissing me 
because we like to read forgotten tale 
about lovers who meet by random chance 
to generate soul of the Stone Who Sings. 

I wander lost in labyrinth of my dreams 
where ghosts of my ancestors call my name 
till I enter door of the home I build 
filled with ten thousand books of poetry 
that record beautiful horror of life 
based on lonely love of the Stone Who Sings. 

Planet Of Zakal

Planet Of Zakal
© Surazeus
2023 01 28

The starship tumbles in the buzzing void 
after bouncing over anomalies 
of pulsing shards from cracked mirror of time 
then plunges into jello atmosphere 
to skid along sulfuric sea of tears, 
and lurches stuck on ruby-cluttered shore. 

Emerging from smoking wreck of her ship, 
Captain Kwan Yanling, in protective suit, 
climbs over emerald boulders to ascend 
mountain slope teeming with enormous web 
of vines that bloom with apricot-like fruit, 
while gathering data with blinking eye-tablet. 

Entering fractured gate of diamond pillars, 
carved with figurines of dinosaur people 
and verses of poems in elegant runes, 
Captain Kwan walks vast maze of city streets 
among towering pyramids of emeralds 
each covered with sprawling temple estates. 

Unnerved by eerie silence of bright streets 
cluttered with millions of bleached skeletons, 
Captain Kwan guides drone above city maze 
to scan its infrastructure with bright beams 
which generates virtual model of this world 
as complex maze of myths inside her brain. 

Slithering from jagged cave of amethyst, 
enormous dragon worm with thousand wings 
of feathery spikes that drip poisonous words 
lunges toward Captain Kwan with open jaws 
bristling long sharp fangs of aggressive lust, 
so she fires lasers from rifle of faith. 

Running through shifting maze of mirror doors 
that realign dimensions of strange truth, 
Captain Kwan battles hordes of ten-eyed clones 
that skitter on six legs of hungry rage, 
blasting them with hot laser beams of courage 
till they quiver among skulls of dead gods. 

Safe from attack by huge demonic ants, 
Captain Kwan explores vast temple complex 
to study murals of paintings on walls 
that depict how their ancestors evolved 
from dinosaurs into ravens with hands, 
then destroyed their empire with civil war. 

Arriving back on ruby-cluttered shore, 
Captain Kwan repairs her sturdy starship 
with Pluto gems that fuel its time-jump engine, 
then soars away from Planet of Zakal, 
cargo heaped with library books of wisdom, 
and grins as she navigates back to Earth. 

Boat To Nevermore

Boat To Nevermore
© Surazeus
2023 01 27

The sparkling snow of ancient centuries 
veils vine-entangled tombs of long-dead kings 
but still their widows tend to honey bees 
and kneel to weep when the mute idol sings 
about the horseman with the blood-stained sword 
who guards temple of his pregnant wife Njord. 

Soft voice-call of their children in cold wind 
pretends to open broken door of light 
when they refuse to gather in the church 
where demons hide in words of ancient books 
for fools who wander maze of Holy City 
prefer to enter gate to Purgatory. 

Because we float on the infinite sea, 
lost in deliberation of the truth, 
we would compare weird silence of each voice 
to ships wrecked on the shores of nameless worlds 
yet no one ever prays to God of Rain 
except to ask for apples in the wain. 

Across interminable space of desire 
we follow bland eternity of faith 
to find the angry boy in hall of fire 
whose lamplight never reveals the mind wraith 
who breathes sweet scent of flowers without hope 
for subtle proverbs that would help us cope. 

I dream strange revelation in the dark 
at haunting sorrow of the morning lark 
about abstraction of our lost friendship 
symbolized by the bruised rose on the ground 
at second coming of the wizened crone 
who never calls us on the telephone. 

The dead who never return to our world 
still linger as nameless ghosts in our minds 
so though we sit alone in silent rooms 
they crowd around us in shadows of words 
we never speak as rain streams on the glass 
that cannot shield our hearts from pain of truth. 

If I return to mill on the River Floss 
I hope to meet young Maggie Tulliver 
who wears green overcoat and old black shoes 
before she boards the boat to Nevermore, 
but no one answers my heart-aching call 
so I stare at dead orange leaves as they fall. 

Because no Heaven shines above blind clouds 
we savor glow of sunlight after rain 
while lounging in the meadow with milk cows 
to ponder how our last kiss can ease pain 
yet Njord breast-feeds her baby by the lake 
as moonlight gleams blue on scales of the snake. 
 

Born From The Dictionary

Born From The Dictionary
© Surazeus
2023 01 26

For no reason that can be ascertained 
by the blind mathematician on the moon 
three children sit by the lake in the park 
and tell each other the faceless robot 
is their father who invented the Earth 
when he tore pages from the dictionary. 

The youngest child who wears the purple dress 
looks for her mind among the hungry weeds 
to reclaim broken mask her body lost, 
but silver shadow of the open door 
reveals sublime theater where the fool 
steals nothing but truth from the dictionary. 

Barefoot, the three children walk back to school 
to hide their sorrow in the story book 
left on the windowsill in summer rain 
till the rocket ship in the playground breaks 
free from religious ecstasy of faith 
to resurrect ghosts from the dictionary. 

While eating popcorn in the misty wood 
the three children searching for hidden gate 
ask the oldest woman in the world why 
millions of people die in each world war, 
but she gives them slices of apple pie 
till their mother springs from the dictionary. 

Holding her mind in the stained pickle jar, 
the child who understands the song of rain 
wakes after terrible car accident 
to sing about the way human hearts 
grow pretentious wings from psychotic wounds 
that bleed fake answers from the dictionary. 

Mapping trajectory of each honey bee 
whose dance reveals quest for the holy grail, 
the other child who never deigns to speak 
hides her mind in the attic with cobwebs 
so she can catch the devil with three eyes 
who extracts anguish from the dictionary. 

The nameless child receives the letter first 
that reports how the boy she hates to love 
fell off the mountain of the burning bush 
in vain attempt to steal the Key of Heaven 
because only the moonlight knows her heart 
that morphs as angel from the dictionary. 

The child no one can see waits in the church 
to steal the sacred lyre of Mercury 
so she can record names and deeds of heroes 
before their faces vanish in the rain 
but she stands entranced on the busy street, 
amazed at people born from the dictionary. 

Tomb Of His Heart

Tomb Of His Heart
© Surazeus
2023 01 26

The unconsoled widower in dark woods 
escapes from crumbling tower of Aquitaine, 
clutching lute he once played for his sweet bride, 
and stumbles under black sun of despair, 
unable to find pure star of his love 
that gleams with melancholy of lost hope. 

Trembling all night in the vine-entwined tomb, 
the groaning widow prince of Aquitaine 
plays untuned strings of the star-spangled lute 
and sings heart-aching ballad of the day 
he met sweet Melusine by garden well 
in lush villa maze of Pausilypon. 

High on rocky cliff above secret grotto, 
where Odysseus outwitted the Cyclopes, 
the virile star-eyed prince of Aquitaine, 
dressed as Phoebus with his star-spangled lute, 
gazes entranced with love at Melusine, 
fairy who dances with serpentine grace. 

Enchanted with love that pierces their hearts, 
Phoebus and Melusine embrace and kiss 
with passionate desire of timeless trust 
by trellis where the vine entwines the rose, 
bodies buzzing with chemical desire 
to generate new life from heart of Earth. 

Sailing with his bride home to Aquitaine, 
Phoebus carries her up the winding stairs 
and locks her safe inside high tower room 
where Melusine eats apples every day 
and sings with blue sparrows on the windowsill 
that soar on fragile wings of liberty. 

Belly swelling ripe with child of his seed, 
Melusine sings in tall tower of hope, 
so Phoebus peers through window of her heart 
but stares surprised when his fairy transforms 
into scarlet serpent with star-gold eyes 
that coils around small room with lightning power. 

While giving birth to daughter of his soul, 
the serpent fairy with sapphire-blue eyes 
cries out in agony of wrenching pain, 
then Phoebus holds her in his arms and weeps 
with bereaved heart at loss of his sweet bride 
while their daughter wails for milk on her breast. 

Cradling baby Rapunzel in his arms, 
Phoebus sails across the broad Acheron 
to lay Melusine in tomb of his heart, 
then modulates lute with lyre of Orpheus 
and sings elegy that soothes bereaved heart 
as tower of Aquitaine crumbles to dust. 

Live In My Body Now

Live In My Body Now
© Surazeus
2023 01 25

Her eyes burn beautiful truth in my heart 
which gives me strength to look beyond all lies 
while I wait long under patient pine tree 
and pine with longing to see her again 
though rain drenches my spirit with desire 
so I learn to live in my body now. 

Her eyes burn immortal stars in my heart 
which pulse electric energy of love 
as threads of light that spiral in my cells 
on flashing wings of passionate desire 
delicate as the butterfly of faith 
who helps me to live in my body now. 

Her eyes burn arrogant waves in my heart 
which swirl as blood in my spiritual veins 
with timeless melody of vibrant thoughts 
since I see no stars in black sky tonight 
except those gleaming in my memory 
though I want to live in my body now. 

Her eyes burn fantastic wings in my heart 
which vibrate with embodiment of hope 
since I aspire to transcend maze of myths 
through leap of faith across abyss of fear 
till I transform into the me I am 
if I hope to live in my body now. 

Her eyes burn mysterious birds in my heart 
which unveil baffling puzzle of my mind 
designed by dreams my ancestors performed 
through intense experience of their hope 
in struggle to survive against blind death 
that teach me to live in my body now. 

Her eyes burn perplexing myths in my heart 
which frame how I perceive this complex world 
to organize random events I play 
in grand narrative of truth I compose 
in vain attempt to explain how I strive 
when I try to live in my body now. 

Her eyes burn unsettling weird in my heart 
which beguiles my receptive attitude 
with glamorous visions in garden of fruit 
to believe in paradise we invent 
that shelters our souls from the hostile world 
yet I think to live in my body now. 

Her eyes burn singular grace in my heart 
which wakes my soul with perspicacity 
of keen insight that measures unseen vibes 
when I adjudicate erudite passion 
to claim inalienable right to exist 
when I choose to live in my body now. 

Heaven-Seeking Wings

Heaven-Seeking Wings
© Surazeus
2023 01 24

Waxing feathers of hawks on frame of wood, 
Daedalus constructs Heaven-seeking wings 
so his son may escape tower of fear 
and soar above this world of changing forms 
to find Realm of Ideas where the Craftsman 
designs this planet where we live and die. 

Shading his gray eyes with sun-leathered hands, 
Daedalus watches the hawk with gold eyes 
glide most efficiently on tapered wings, 
then swoop with elegant grace on wind gust 
down tight-wound spiral through infinite love 
to snatch lizard demon on river shore. 

Cleansing and sewing wounds on soft white skin, 
Daedalus heals Icarus, his young son, 
after King Minos, laughing on gold throne, 
forced him to run vast labyrinth of faith 
where his son Minotaur, wearing bull head, 
hunts boys and girls with double-bladed axe. 

Affixing frame of feathers, shaped like wings 
of Horus, swift sky-leaping hawk of hope, 
Daedalus leads his trembling frightened son 
to balcony high above wave-washed rocks, 
then both together leap on wings of faith 
to soar on wind above abyss of rage. 

Soaring on cool Zephyrian gusts of wind 
through graceful imitation of the hawk, 
Daedalus glides away from prison tower 
and aims toward distant mountain of new hope 
where he and Icarus, his gentle son, 
may live forever safe in lush Elysium. 

Looking back to find figure of his son, 
Daedalus sees brave Icarus soar high 
with gleeful ambition of the wild heart 
which beats with love for liberty in youth, 
and grins with pleasure to hear him rejoice 
with passion to escape prison of fear. 

Gasping as he calls to his bold son, 
Daedalus cries for him to moderate 
rate of ascension beyond bounds of strength, 
but, hypnotized by beauty of the sun, 
Icarus soars ever higher with lust 
to embrace Queen of Light Solaria. 

Howling with anguish at the tragic fall, 
Daedalus watches wings his hands designed 
crumble apart into puzzle of faith, 
and weeps as frail Icarus tumbles spinning 
to crash into bright mirror of the sea 
that swallows his soul into nothingness. 

Engine Of Commercial Gain

Engine Of Commercial Gain
© Surazeus
2023 01 24

Dull aching sorrow of the busy street, 
where cars glide past sun-blind windows of stores 
under tangled net of telephone lines, 
suppresses ambition through mute ennui 
because I have no place of secure work, 
discharged from engine of commercial gain. 

Dislocated from market of desire 
by invisible hand of corporate greed, 
I wander past windows of stock-full stores 
in vain quest to find my place in the world 
where I can extract value from the air 
through exertion of labor to create. 

If I clutch rifle of aggressive hope 
perhaps I could assert my hungry right 
with brutal expression of bestial power 
to exist and thrive in resourceful world 
where actions of rogue individuals prove 
law of the jungle rewards selfish strength. 

Yet as I lean against the white-brick wall, 
while trucks and cars whiz past me on the road, 
all visions of bold future enterprise 
performing my role in the cash machine 
dissipate like dawn mist in hot sun glare 
that agitates insects over dark lakes. 

Idol Of The Faceless God

Idol Of The Faceless God
© Surazeus
2023 01 23

This inauspicious day when no birds fly 
displays law of conservation of mass 
where pulsing entities of energy 
will never be created or destroyed 
for they are rearranged in waves of space 
so I become owl spirit of my heart. 

I have no panegyric of grand thoughts 
to praise mad emperor of the seven worlds 
before assembly of all global kings 
who fight each other for lush vales of fruit 
while children of all nations attend school 
to learn how we evolve from ocean slime. 

Great cities at the heart of world empires 
always grow at the mouths of major rivers 
controlled by gangsters with weapons of death 
who crown the meanest bully as their king 
and then declare it treason to oppose 
rule of his first son appointed by God. 

The small boy crouches in the apple tree, 
clutching stick and stone with his trembling hands, 
breathes deeply, then leaps on back of the wolf 
to fight the snarling devil to the death, 
and, after feasting on its divine soul, 
he wears its fur as cloak of divine power. 

The werewolf, holding love wand and truth orb, 
ascends small ziggurat past watching crowd, 
his wolf-fur cloak blowing in ocean wind, 
then confiscates the gold spiked crown of jewels 
from the old blind man who demands respect, 
and crowns himself new Emperor of Earth. 

Transforming into statue of white marble, 
the living god becomes the worshipped idol 
that stands ten thousand years on pyramid 
constructed on the skulls of weeping slaves 
as empires rise and fall in tides of change 
till nothing remains but the faceless god. 

Climbing pyramid of one shining eye, 
I face the idol of the faceless god 
who symbolizes leader of the tribe 
because the living man who plays his role 
personifies the spirit of the nation 
as incarnation of the Divine Mind. 

When the owl flies across the starry sky, 
at the global inauguration rite 
where people of Earth vote for who plays God, 
I write his name and deeds in Book of Power 
to record brief reign of another king 
who becomes idol of the faceless god. 

Green Fairy Wine

Green Fairy Wine
© Surazeus
2023 01 22

While driving my yellow Volkswagen car 
along the sun-drenched California coast 
to Hippie Town in the Summer of Love, 
I find myself, teleported to Paris, 
driving down crowded Boulevard Montmartre 
in elegant age of the Belle Epoque. 

Slamming on the brakes with intense surprise, 
I stop before I hit Charles Baudelaire, 
the dandy Flaneur in black leather cloak 
who glares at me from under black top-hat, 
then offers me the Green Fairy Wine, 
so I drink sweet spirit of Artemis. 

When Baudelaire glides in the morning crowd 
I follow him through La Samaritaine 
down long tunnel beneath maze of the city 
to the secret Temple of Libertas 
where Lutetia sits on gold lion throne 
in ermine robe and crowned with ring of diamonds. 

When the white raven swoops from the oak tree 
to flutter wild angel wings past my head, 
my vision blurs as I feel the world shift, 
then wake by cottage near Windermere Lake 
to see Lou Salome in long black skirt 
as convalescent dozing in oak chair. 

Propped by swan-feather pillow in sunlight, 
that shimmers on garden of herbs and worts 
among trees with apples, peaches, and plums, 
Lou Salome breathes soft as butterflies 
that fan frail wings on book of poetry 
open on her lap called Les Fleurs du Mal. 

Soft lake breeze plays with curls of chestnut hair 
as her hands rest on book of poetry, 
so I approach to kiss her parted lips, 
but catch quick glimpse from corner of my eye 
of sun-haloed Helius by the plum tree 
who strums strings on the lyre of Mercury. 

But when I turn to see the God of Light 
I find instead the mustached Friedrich Nietzsche 
pulling two-wheeled cart heaped with purple pears, 
so I hand him star lamp that fell from Heaven 
which he carries to the Mountain of Skulls 
to search for the putrified corpse of God. 

Entering Duino Castle on rugged cliff 
that overlooks sparkling Gulf of Trieste, 
I wander endless mirror maze of myths, 
where mask of every god mankind has worshipped 
smiles at me from Museum of Lost Souls, 
then write holy hymns to Eurydice. 

Emerging from Hades into bright glare, 
I gaze at tall Statue of Liberty, 
whose Book of Wisdom enlightens the world, 
then pray to Athena with arms upraised 
for truth about real nature of the world 
who shows me atoms swerving in the void. 

Teleported back home to California, 
I walk lush trail around Lake Siskiyou 
to gaze at snow-frosted peak of Mount Shasta 
as I convalesce in timeless paradise 
far from ravages of disease and war 
so I can find rebirth from fires of Hell. 

Bank Vault Of The Mind

Bank Vault Of The Mind
© Surazeus
2023 01 21

The blind boy who walks in the burning town 
asks the three-eyed raven for secret code 
to open door to bank vault of the mind 
where plates of gold with memories are stored 
till the ticking clock on the heap of trash 
reveals the girl destined to rule the world. 

The yellow dress snagged on the barbwire fence 
decides to lend her wings to the book owl 
who takes the loaded pistol to the church 
before the fragile plate falls to the ground 
at sudden explosion of asphodels 
from unconfirmed grave of the tyrant king. 

The wood dock on the silver misty lake 
lures the lonely girl with soft yellow glow 
of morning sunlight over tender trees 
because the god-frog on the toadstool sings 
math formulas no mother can forget 
when her child first learns how to walk and talk. 

The widowed waitress at the roadside diner 
smokes cigarette by the telephone pole 
where the national jester was crucified 
for cracking jokes about the movie star 
who drowned when she fell off the fishing boat 
after giving her watch to the blind boy. 

I want to ask her on another date 
to watch the science fiction picture show 
about the sentient ocean on the moon 
discovered by the girl with broken wings 
eager to sell her leather boots to Zeus 
stolen by the ass in the lion skin. 

The universe is indifferent to me 
but I love the entire strange multiverse 
with every twanging fiber of my being 
because Apollo strums strings of my heart 
loud as electric guitar on stage 
while he sings the Star-Spangled Banner weird. 

So I hold hands with Melusine at dawn 
as golden light of the sun shimmers stark 
on flowing wavelets of her long black hair 
while she talks to her mother on the phone 
about our plan to sell our house and move 
to Athens where the wingless angel laughs. 

The leaky river boat Alastor stole 
bobs on restless waves of the timeless wind 
so we set sail across abyss of truth 
to escape tyrant in the castle tower 
who cries over death of his haughty son 
though light explains why nobody is lost. 

Corpses Without Names

Corpses Without Names
© Surazeus
2023 01 21

The bloated corpse of god on trash-strewn beach 
rises up on tattered wings of desire 
and gives me ancient map on human skin 
which shows me signless road to Asphodel 
where Persephone weeps over my skull 
till Plouton gives everyone coins of gold. 

Flopping around as I attempt to walk, 
I stagger among heaps of rotting trash 
from civilization on pristine beach, 
and reconstruct office building with phones 
where alligators and giraffes process 
credit card payments on fractured screens. 

Riding the city bus past factories 
and cathedrals filled with zombies in suits, 
I photograph every person I see 
and paste their photos on Cliffs of Moher 
to understand what each soul cares about 
as their bodies merge together in dirt. 

Knocking on doors of homes on Christmas Eve, 
I walk street maze in green Seattle mist 
and sing carols to corpses without names 
who drop coins of Plouton into my cup 
so I can buy the Starship Enterprise 
and fly to Jupiter where my wife lives. 

Just as I fall to my knees on glass plain 
before Yggdrasil writhing in moonlight, 
Aberewa with long serpentine hair 
takes my hand and leads me in mirror maze 
to Asamando deep inside the Earth 
where I blossom from the cracked apple seed. 

No matter where I roam on trash-strewn world 
I want to return home to Asphodel 
where foxes play in dew-wet meadow grass 
till steel bulldozers uproot Irminsul 
so I run from Marathon all night long 
to weep before lost grave of Earendil. 

Rapunzel plays harp on the trash-strewn beach 
while Aberewa chants among dead trees 
till Persephone takes my photograph 
because Plouton wants to publish my book 
but no one knows the way to Asphodel 
where I lie among corpses without names. 

We wonder why our bodies are alive 
so we invent religions to explain 
divine nature of our soul consciousness 
which is nothing more than function of light 
beaming atoms in waves of molecules 
while I pick up trash from the lonely beach. 

Brave Argonauts In Space

Brave Argonauts In Space
© Surazeus
2023 01 20

The young girl gives me mirror of my face 
so I compose new consumable song 
about my childhood in small Texas town 
where blue diamond beams television shows 
about trip of brave Argonauts in space 
till I find the stone woman on the moon. 

Though the past is more present than this hour, 
I am exploding moment of the book 
that conjures virtual world my brain invents 
so we can ride our bikes on asphalt road 
to the library on the college campus 
where ghosts of missionaries eat dead crows. 

While I sail far across the ocean blue 
in frantic quest to find the mundane grail, 
the angel Oyarsa appears on deck 
to give me emerald tablet which contains 
sacred formulas that define how light 
constructs crystal matrix of glowing words. 

Still lost in region of the cryptosphere 
while hitchhiking with the broken guitar, 
I map the signless roads of Wonderland 
to hide church of the stone woman from fools 
who think they can buy the beautiful truth 
which Phoebus painted on the Grecian urn. 

When the snowy egret of Zathamar 
glides across fractured mirror of the moon 
I might invent elaborate alphabet 
that could describe strangeness of mutual love 
for the one divine couple in the garden 
while millions perish in world genocide. 

The tarnished diadem on the black lake 
decides the hidden dragon of nowhere 
shall now rule as the emperor of the Earth 
as if God Turtle on the riverbank 
can guide the jester to the Promised Land 
where millions of people turn into trees. 

Though I find gold medallion of kingship 
shimmering in tidepool with red starfish 
my girlfriend gives me shovel she designed 
so I become slow silver swirl of waves 
that reflect stars of my Saturnine eyes 
because I wonder why the wind is sad. 

The insolent beauty of naked souls 
who glide frail in the silver sea of time 
explains permanent factor of the mind 
through excruciating concepts of faith 
before death materializes from storm 
to translate desire with chemical love. 

Window Ghost Of Me

Window Ghost Of Me
© Surazeus
2023 01 19

The window ghost who invests in dead leaves 
commissions bold oracle in the orange 
to measure speed of atoms which retrieve 
fraught laughter from the murky reservoir 
then spill headfirst into the shapeless egg 
though we dance playfully in wordless lakes. 

The window ghost with burning paper hands 
returns to Florence on the wingless ship 
with puzzling pause of punctual platitudes 
that might allow for vanguard of twilight 
to ring with discipline of lonely wolves 
who understand blue walls of everywhere. 

The window ghost of floating speed retained 
clutches convention by the wordless throat 
with drastic failure of experiments 
rearranging thoughts for the puzzle train 
soft as frog skin over frail skeleton 
which violates laws of physics unresolved. 

The window ghost tricks puzzles on the grass 
with forensic evidence of past scenes 
reframed as terrors squirming in dead books 
which emanate permanence of gravestones 
in tune with evanescence of fireflies 
that never satisfy meaning we lose. 

The window ghost of me considers why 
I build my real house in dreamscape of fear 
incarnate as the robot with nine brains 
which haunts office of the psychiatrist 
who smirks with joy at spooky nonchalance 
we find each session through ignorant bliss. 

The window ghost inside the gabled house 
establishes position of blind fate 
with solid nowness of the wave-lashed cliff 
since surging tides of passion dissolve doors 
open to rooms where no one wants to wait 
for eyes invented by the song of rain. 

The window ghost calls to touristy trees 
who bring fertile energy from the moon 
to redesign how children must behave 
though born from somewhere over the rainbow 
with talent to reach abstraction from chaos 
by asking flowers how to convert rain. 

The window ghost of me navigates time 
on crystal skies of strict angelic flight 
to prove nostalgia fuels aggressive hope 
for those still living everywhere on Earth 
because she touches my heart with her mind 
where seeds of apple trees bloom into God. 

Photograph My Bones

Photograph My Bones
© Surazeus
2023 01 19

I never let her photograph my bones 
so she still thinks I am the lonely oak 
that walks every evening to the book store 
where ghosts emanate from dream-tangled words 
without regret for why the wet road leads 
to the white farmhouse on misty green plain. 

The unknown driver turns the worried wheel 
to stab dark gloom with grim headlights of hope 
in vain search for the old shadowless bride 
whose gray eyes explain the bone-chilling night 
soft as eerie jazz on the radio 
still wailing after the midnight moon bleeds. 

The large thing in the woods decides to show 
laughing children how the arrogant book 
specifies abrupt thoughts of hungry fear 
that beat against the house of haughty doors 
safer than the church where kind monsters pray 
for salvation from painting of the man. 

The vaguely heroic vibe death radiates 
while sitting by cracked window of desire 
veils long-dead stars with troubling attitude 
that disregards conceptual rules designed 
by the blind man who plays piano well 
enough to need no compass for the game. 

The woman who never wears the white dress 
still holding shadow of faith in her hands 
decides to walk backward down marble stairs 
slow enough for the hummingbird to know 
which key will open glass cathedral mind 
before she finishes weaving my wings. 

The end of the world will never be dark 
because the sun will be expanding fast 
from exploding core of atomic choice 
that leaves us teetering on the edge of time 
if we choose to smile subtler than the orange 
which rolls off the round table of state power. 

The rain that howls against the window mask 
wants to kiss my mind with subtle respect 
for lies told by the man in the black suit 
since he spends winters plowing the dry field 
to find skulls of kings for his mantelpiece 
which will never prophesy death of love. 

The drowned daughter who lies beside the oak 
sings with the nervous sparrow about why 
we are all frail in the starless black night 
as numberless ghosts stuck in storybooks 
with remorseless predators who sell truth 
to the last girl who melts into sea waves. 

High Degree Of Perplexity

High Degree Of Perplexity
© Surazeus
2023 01 18

The faceless people walking on the Earth 
talk to the shining cloud above their head 
for guidance as they navigate the maze 
of doors that hide pure treasures of the soul 
which nurtures motive to regenerate 
life through high degree of perplexity. 

The wingless angel standing on the cloud 
plays loud electric harp of lightning strikes 
that power huge machines of spinning gears 
which operate factories of blind machines 
in tune with heartbeat of the sad robot 
born through high degree of perplexity. 

The eyeless princess on high pyramid 
peers through enormous diamond eye of truth 
to watch events of human history 
performed on flashing television screens 
by actors wearing masks of long-dead gods 
dreamed through high degree of perplexity. 

The crownless king who drives to work each dawn 
types profit numbers in spreadsheet of sales 
to analyze investment of desire 
based on daily purchase habits of ghosts 
who haunt their homes in maze of city streets 
mapped through high degree of perplexity. 

The mindless god-soul of the universe 
spins galaxies of planets in the void 
to brew hot stew of bubbling chemicals 
so we evolve from slime to talking gods 
who fight in gangs to control fertile land 
plowed through high degree of perplexity. 

The doorless temple on the rocky hill 
still shelters refugees from civil wars 
who sing sad hopeful hymns to empty skies 
for savior of the world to come back down 
from heavenly realm of ideal forms 
drawn through high degree of perplexity. 

The handless craftsman in Realm of Ideas 
designs how atoms in molecule chains 
construct material forms from standard memes 
so our immortal souls of genes create 
new bodies for the children of our brains 
spawned through high degree of complexity. 

The timeless process generating life 
continues conjuring bodies from our thoughts 
so we consume each other to maintain 
strange ideologies that conscious brains 
design from random facts our eyes perceive 
built through high degree of complexity. 

Faceless Robot In Cyberspace

Faceless Robot In Cyberspace
© Surazeus
2023 01 17

Based on high degree of complexity 
that measures random absolute of weird, 
my dreams of shining buildings on lush hills 
channel my journey in long crowded halls 
because my eyes beam subtle rays of light 
to carve faces for ghosts who know my name. 

Exceeding standard norms of burstiness, 
by how I generate strange narrative, 
my words contrive conceptual fantasies 
depicting faceless people who perform 
roles recorded in ancient tragic plays 
as dictionary tropes that keep us safe. 

Because I carve trunk of the weeping tree 
into the morbid drum of hollow truth, 
our lonely elders seeking solitude 
dance to beat of the bold shamanic tune 
pulsing with arrogance of ocean waves 
funded by government grants till we die. 

Old vacant house in the middle of town 
waits for the dead who once lived in its heart 
to rise from the grave with demonic wings 
so we can drink tea in the afternoon 
though Death wants to play chess with Honesty 
while agents of the secret service wait. 

If the faceless robot in cyberspace 
dreams every poem that humans ever wrote 
as simple lyrics of positive thought 
we can all hitchhike to Scarborough Fair 
where the child of the mountain wakes from dream 
to translate sounds of silence into songs. 

The meaningless riddles of truth we solve 
reflect the deepest fears we feign to hide 
till angels born from serpent eggs escape 
shadows of our minds on Icarian wings 
so we face our fears with riddles of truth 
to conquer monsters our blithe brains invent. 

For in the end the answers we devise 
map way of wisdom we must choose to take 
in journey through the maze of ancient myths 
till we arrive at gate of destiny 
to find our souls are shaped by how we act 
in life or death situations we plan. 

Trapped in the grand scheme of things without maps 
that help us decode riddles on the wall, 
we wander lit labyrinth of broken doors 
to overcome obstacles we create 
till we find answers in math formulas 
that measure how far ringing atoms swirl. 

Beauty Of Terrible Death

Beauty Of Terrible Death
© Surazeus
2023 01 17

The happy horror of the falling leaf 
reveals strange beauty of terrible death 
which forges despair into calm belief 
that we can survive with each new breath 
by twisting misery of relentless pain 
that motivates our strife to fight for gain. 

I search for light of wisdom in the stars 
that could help me understand without words 
why we must suffer pain concealed by scars 
till we imitate weird language of birds 
to share knowledge through ideas that shine 
as temple I build with my grand design. 

Through tribulations that almost destroy 
accurate world view I build with my bones 
I grow beyond sorrow to create joy 
from angry laughter of smooth river stones 
as I journey to find the mindless core 
that vibrates with hope of the open door. 

Truth lights the road I follow toward my death 
that fate decrees will be my destiny 
based on decisions I perform through faith 
to overcome heart-wrenching agony 
so I express my natural state of being 
in tandem with programming code I sing. 

I wander through dark shadows of my mind 
to pave with hope the muddy streets of doubt 
that my nameless ancestors had designed 
till I grow into role of the dream scout 
searching for wisdom beyond bitter grief 
on which I construct new church of belief. 

Though weight of existence crushes my heart 
with every step I stumble toward my grave 
I find energy to draw new world chart 
based on shadows that flicker in dream cave 
till I stand on edge of eternity 
to find power of love through liberty. 

When I leap with faith in the empty gloom 
to splash in river of bottomless fear 
pure water of truth cleanses sense of doom 
so the future I want shimmers more clear 
though memories of the past haunt my way 
with solace of loneliness when I play. 

From indecision that shackles my soul 
with mist rising from the silent abyss 
I struggle to perform my chosen role 
fighting against stale solitude of bliss 
which sparks flame of compassion in my heart 
so I become my own true guiding light. 

Atoms Of The Psychic Star

Atoms Of The Psychic Star
© Surazeus
2023 01 16

The Earth spins my dizzy brain in the void 
so when I look at mirror of your face 
I try to perceive who you really are. 
Awake in cosmic womb as mute android, 
I program virtual world of cyberspace 
from flashing atoms of the psychic star. 

Girls sold as brides to men in mountain towns 
sing heart-aching songs in the lonely night 
for kind heroes who no longer exist. 
Innocent children who run in playgrounds 
ask the old jester what he wants to write 
so he points to the goddess in gold mist. 

The swift athlete in rubber tennis shoes 
runs faster than wind on the ocean beach 
to chase his wife in the chariot of fire. 
The woman wracked with terrible disease 
stares at Heaven on clouds far beyond reach 
while angels sing in glass cathedral choir. 

The lonely lion in the city zoo 
chats with the gorilla who plays guitar 
about new economic policies. 
The silence between us is far too blue 
for the angry mother driving her car 
across wet meadow of demonic bees. 

The boy who builds large model rocket ship 
calls to his mother in the maple tree 
as floodwaters sweep him into the night. 
Without true faith I cannot make the trip 
to city of Eridu by the sea 
where Inanna teaches me second sight. 

The smiling owl in the pretentious oak 
reveals what makes the piston engine work 
before civilization might collapse. 
Still fighting revolution of the woke, 
recorded by the time-controlling clerk, 
we study the future on ancient maps. 

Now that I perceive who you really are, 
I turn from Mirror of Longing to find 
you have always been steadfast at my side. 
Searching Heaven and Hell for my guitar, 
I analyze how dreams program the mind 
to function as the adventurous guide. 

The mute jester who lost his jingling bells 
visits Sibylla in the hospital 
to ask why the bridge is still falling down. 
Sibylla on the sea shore sells sea shells 
to measure wavelets of the molecule 
but decides she cannot vote for the clown. 

Live With Awkward Honesty

Live With Awkward Honesty
© Surazeus
2023 01 16

The fishing pole that leans against the wall 
weeps not for the father in long wool coat 
who walks in rain along the river shore 
to catch the water demon with his thoughts 
so we can eat roast fish after midnight 
though we ask the darkness of time why death. 

The darkened windows of the smokeless moon 
watch us all live with awkward honesty 
because the great tree on the lonely hill 
teaches us to be kind to everyone 
though strangers may steal treasures we create 
as if ancient beauty could be possessed. 

The image of me you see in your mind 
is nothing more that delusion of hope 
that blinds your eyes to see who I should be 
though I am stuck in shadow of the past 
while searching for the birth face of my soul 
that fades faint as the yellow flame in mist. 

This spot where I stand now in space and time 
vibrates with timeless energy of light 
that weaves my heart to center of the Earth 
with serpent-writhing tendrils of hot nerves 
so I detach my body from this world 
to sit stone still in the turbulent stream. 

The plum tree blooming brilliant bells of faith 
calls me to escape prison of desire 
so I stand in public view to present 
complex pattern of unbelief that binds 
my body to the seething flow of change 
transforming my soul from nothing of light. 

To put my dreams in order which reflects 
doctrine declaring action from intent 
I calculate flash of growth and decay 
in line with formulas of hungry angst 
which frames grand narrative of my success 
not dying every day the sun explodes. 

By framing my weird disorganized dreams 
with fantastic stories no one believes 
I misdirect attention of their greed 
with structured system of the atmosphere 
that numbers rivers still eroding hills 
where I wait on the beach of time to die. 

The letters and books strewn on the wood floor 
document joyful songs of the blind bard 
who prophesied destruction of the world 
which continues to function day by day 
though he sits in fragile silence of despair 
with the fishing pole broken in his hand. 

Photos Of The Undead

Photos Of The Undead
© Surazeus
2023 01 15

They think my death has meaning for the clown 
who never answers the sad telephone 
except to open the arrogant door 
and sell salvation from psychotic fear 
because children understand the unsaid 
contrived to mislead the social undead. 

So I stop on the bridge of broken thoughts 
to measure absolute wisdom of gates 
designed to protect the helpless from harm 
because I love strange beauty of the storm 
described in the ancient book still unread 
by children who play chase with the undead. 

Our feelings fall as rain from empty sky 
to classify concept of the true way 
people choose to dignify with fierce words 
translated to riddles by the moon bards 
who sing gossip for the right to be fed 
after they play on stage with the undead. 

Softer than anguish of the battle cry 
that bleeds from eyes of the terrified boy 
honesty steals diamonds from the dream cave 
to prove efficiency of mutual love 
when we decide to make peace and break bread 
in dissonant tandem with the undead. 

Though darkness lingers on the lonely stairs 
known only to people who must drive cars 
we give each other light from our brain cells 
because cities expand beyond time walls 
so we return to the empty homestead 
to discover photos of the undead. 

We make our own light deep inside our hearts 
to resemble wilderness kremlin forts 
where someone always crowns himself the king 
because he cannot tell the right from wrong 
but we defy commands of the godhead 
seen only by star eyes of the undead. 

I sail to Avalon in the frail boat 
to escape the cruel death sentence of fate 
but find myself stuck in the castle tower 
so I dress up like the pious churchgoer 
who cannot comprehend the color red 
strong as democracy of the undead. 

When naked virgins in secluded pool 
stage revolution of their social role 
I present my death to the lonely queen 
who reveals my father is the moon clown 
whose sacred book about the spirit thread 
teaches me song to enchant the undead. 

Death Repuzzles Atoms

Death Repuzzles Atoms
© Surazeus
2023 01 15

With all the arguments of low or high 
beyond near-death dance of the afterlife 
I stop by olive tree to question why 
the earthquake wakes shades of husband and wife 
while cracking world view of the stubborn fool 
who collides with material truth of school. 

With fairy-tale logic of nursery rhymes 
I measure parallel through tedium 
of reproductive labor with dream chimes 
based on strange concept of Elysium 
seen by old woman in mirror of fate 
who studies color of fruit on the plate. 

Something that comes between us never shows 
horror of night rising from sunless deep 
though we discover power of brain crows 
when we huddle in the sea cave and weep 
for lonely passion of the water face 
reflecting bitter truth of the weird place. 

Through shocking wisdom of the evil eye 
the tongueless Muse staring at the red cloud 
decides that superstition of the sky 
considers shadow of our wordless doubt 
honest enough to destroy the unreal 
long grateful for spinning of the cracked wheel. 

Because old furniture is draped in white 
the shadow of my soul looks through the door 
to play piano stretched from nuclear light 
on your imagined stage of the mind core 
not quite as terrified as the grim ghost 
who wonders if it is better to boast. 

The wingless angel chooses to believe 
death repuzzles atoms our bodies lose 
in new compositions our minds conceive 
when death trumpets consequence of the ruse 
designed by the maker of clever rules 
because she wants to see true dreams in jewels. 

More people than ever are born from desire 
even as millions die from pestilence 
yet no one wants to join satanic choir 
gathered in cathedral of arrogance 
to sing about the shadow in the room 
though she refuses to predict our doom. 

We have no choice but to cherish our griefs 
while rain of sorrow floods the world with lies 
that blossom into strange complex beliefs 
composed into sacred hymns by sad spies 
who walk alone on signless road to find 
paradise the cosmic herald designed. 

Home Of The River Woman

Home Of The River Woman
© Surazeus
2023 01 14

My face is the sign on the road of hope 
that leads war refugees through the waste land 
where they work together learning to cope 
with hunger for books in the broken hand 
as they are welcomed home by river woman 
whose cheerful smile controls the shadow demon. 

The crystal moon inside the Pantheon 
generates psychic power to recharge 
my mental battery on Mount Helicon 
so I tour estates on my royal barge 
while wearing gold crown of the river woman 
who gave birth to immortal shadow demon. 

Brewing honey tea from bark of the birch, 
while lounging on arch of angelic fool, 
I explain how to organize the church 
based on concept of the soul-searching school 
contrived by wisdom of the river woman 
who wears ancient mask of the shadow demon. 

I refuse to suffer cruel ridicule 
because my face changes shape every day 
so I preach mercy of the molecule 
that scatters galaxies in water spray 
enough to flood home of the river woman 
whose chanted spell conjures the shadow demon. 

Born as wingless angel from pretty ghoul, 
whose black hair writhes serpents of everywhere, 
I distill my love into glass ampoule 
used by tyrants for chemical warfare, 
yet they cannot defeat the river woman 
for she manipulates the shadow demon. 

The Japanese Maple by the stone wall 
shimmers with fragile grace of the blind queen 
who designs process of the waterfall 
through liquid light controlled by Melusine 
who appears unveiled as the river woman 
whose flashing eyes entrance the shadow demon. 

Religion is stories that bind our minds 
with one world view canonized into faith 
so I map how weird theology unwinds 
to reveal idols lost in maze of myth 
who all choose to worship the river woman 
whose hands coordinate the shadow demon. 

My face is mirror of ten thousand gods 
who ask me to reincarnate their souls 
when they assemble in new justice squads 
through oscillation of opposing poles 
which illuminates face of river woman, 
bright in contrast with the dark shadow demon. 

Glass Cup Of Water

Glass Cup Of Water
© Surazeus
2023 01 14

If I stay focused on glass cup of water 
the global disaster of warming weather 
will not affect how I perceive the painting 
that bleeds from my eyes on museum wall 
since all I see are shadows of the real 
veiled by illusion of the Eden Fall. 

Facing the enemy, I will not falter 
in my holy crusade against the father 
who rides a horse as the owl moon is bleeding 
in his life-long quest to find the God Soul 
that slithers at dawn from the Demon Well 
when I decide to play the leading role. 

Each time I inquire about some state matter 
I hear soothing voice of my lonely mother 
conjure words from books with old magic spelling 
that blind my eyes to the world I perceive 
till I wake from fear in the dreamless cave 
and explain to red fish what I believe. 

Wanting to break free from the mirror shatter, 
I transform into sun serpent to slither 
in the door I open with hand still trembling 
to gather lost warriors in noble band 
dedicated to justice till the end 
as we fight tyrants in the Nowhere Land. 

Slouched in the diner as winter rains patter, 
I eat hamburger of the dreadful pother 
because kisses of Phoebus are still burning 
with passionate angst of the crucified, 
then race cycle fast on the midnight road 
to find the matrix world my brain designed. 

Because electromagnetic rays scatter, 
I form windrows of grain with psychic swather 
in my program to revive ancient farming 
as social technique of communist faith 
funded by capital from shibboleth 
that motivates reign of the cosmic wraith. 

When saints in wagon trains become the latter, 
young mothers clean souls in buckets of lather 
in search for salvation from body shaming 
till they program the world wide web with code 
with Ideas Plato dreamed in his head 
when eating mushrooms with the divine toad. 

I fry pancakes from wheat blueberry batter 
with actors who play my sister and brother 
while ravens describe how the world is ending 
since each day is both epic and mundane 
in equal measure through the Vision Stone 
that cares not whether I am mad or sane. 

Church Of Mute Fates

Church Of Mute Fates
© Surazeus
2023 01 13

The silent whir of the relentless clock 
designs the maze of myths where I explore 
how my ancestors once built river boats 
and sailed beneath the golden maple leaves 
toward timeless autumn of the lonely hills 
where children chat with ravens in large oaks. 

I decide to build my house on the rock 
where mother of mankind stands in the door 
to gaze at golden clouds where Jesus floats 
above hills of Texas that she believes 
preserve sparkling laughter of desert rills 
after she calculates the psychic hoax. 

To open gate of wealth I pick the lock 
so I can set free my pet manticore 
who teaches me how to imitate goats, 
enchanted by his role when Thespis grieves 
death of Electra from swallowing pills 
in tragedy that awes the hometown folks. 

Encoding the cosmos in the mind block 
which realigns state of the metaphor, 
Ishtar calculates my fate with star notes 
based on how demon of my brain perceives 
fantastic concept of storybook mills 
that record sacred truths in social jokes. 

To analyze honor blind jesters lack, 
aligned with rules of the atomic gear, 
Electra scores psychological traits 
we need to translate songs of ocean waves 
carved long ago on marble temple walls 
where children of the wolf eat chocolate cakes. 

Awake as each ghost through the zodiac, 
I perform role of the lost balladeer 
who chants satires outside locked city gates 
about my love for lost queens in sea caves 
while I meditate before waterfalls 
to contemplate crystal eyes of snowflakes. 

Bearing ancient scrolls in the leather pack, 
Electra follows clues of the dream sphere 
through vast city maze to Church of Mute Fates 
where the cruel turtle mumbles Jesus saves 
to grumpy witches selling spells in stalls 
who return home to secret mountain lakes. 

Because I follow invisible track 
past rusting statue of the Pioneer, 
I expand empire of the Angel States 
marked by rain-worn stones of ancestral graves 
that leads me to grove where the moon owl calls 
with eerie silence of angel-winged snakes. 

Dark Friday The Thirteenth

Dark Friday The Thirteenth
© Surazeus
2023 01 13

The empty beauty of the singing sea 
fills my hollow heart with anguish of love 
as I huddle alone in starless night 
where only the wind knows my secret name 
ten thousand years beyond the end of time 
till I wake in bleak hunger of red dawn. 

Knights sent by the king attacked our enclave, 
arresting master and knights of our order, 
but I jumped from the tower to the cart, 
then ran down to the harbor at midnight 
where I sailed small boat in the swirling mist 
and washed up on the beach beneath white cliffs. 

Stealing apple pie from the windowsill 
of the old woman who smiles as I eat, 
I consume sweet fruit from the Tree of Life, 
then wander weeping in forest of oaks 
where ravens explain the meaning of life 
while I float dreamless in silver moonlight. 

Approaching locked door of the mason lodge, 
I glance at faceless ghosts among black trees, 
then knock the secret code I learned in class, 
so they blindfold my eyes and lead me in 
where I kneel before the master in the east 
who wields the diamond-tipped wand of Zambor. 

As entered apprentice, I carry stones 
from large wagon to square board on the rope 
that master masons raise to build high walls 
as we construct new castle on the hill 
for the Lion King who wears jeweled crown, 
then eat turnip soup in the sunset glow. 

As fellow craft, I carve stones into blocks 
by swinging hammer of Thor with hot breath 
to strike the sharp chisel with well-aimed blows 
based on careful measurement of strict form 
in line with ideal geometric shape 
that constructs sturdy wall for divine reign. 

As master mason, I draft castle form 
with square and compass to measure its shape 
which I employ to draw boundary lines 
defining castle based on Idea of Heaven 
that exists within bounds of time and space 
to moderate foundation of moral wisdom. 

Though my grand master and my fellow knights 
were slaughtered on dark Friday the Thirteenth, 
I sailed across wild sea to Avalon 
where as Free Mason of the Holy Isle 
I construct castle of Heaven on Earth 
to protect my family from tyranny. 

Honest Avalonian Knights

Honest Avalonian Knights
© Surazeus
2023 01 12

Escaping crowded city of lost souls, 
I wander carelessly in sundrenched meadow, 
happy to escape economic goals 
that cling to me like my desperate shadow, 
so I search for God through the telescope 
as my soul shrinks from numbing buzz of hope. 

Shocked by strange beauty of our spinning world, 
that blinds my eyes to stark horror of death, 
I search every church for the cosmic herald, 
but find only preachers who sell like meth 
hope for the afterlife to naive fools 
who pass laws to enforce mind-control rules. 

Sitting by dark pool where Narcissus died, 
I listen to strange music of the water 
which slithers into my heart spoiled by pride 
that my mind was designed by Magna Mater 
who teaches me geometry of light 
that helps me realign the wrong with right. 

I call into cruel darkness of desire 
to comprehend obvious wisdom I lack 
but I hear no hymn of the angel choir 
since only Echo ever answers back 
to tell me why Eurydice has gone 
to cave of illusions with Sarpedon. 

No man has ever ruled America 
unless he descends from the Lion King, 
so I found new nation of Onatah 
where every soul can wear the magic ring 
bestowing guardian shield of equal rights 
enforced by honest Avalonian knights. 

By wielding sword of justice with bold heart 
I work to sustain new order of Earth 
designed for ideal state by the star chart, 
but Saturn teaches me what peace is worth, 
inspired by satire of the mocking jester 
to steal law crown from the self-proclaimed master. 

Yet when Apollo drinks blood of the lamb 
and dances wild with Bacchae at midnight, 
he proves religion is grand social scam 
that numbs minds of zombies with holy rite 
which crucifies the rebel with a cause 
in war between Jesus and Santa Claus. 

I never find God in the telescope 
for he is Idea of the Tribal Leader 
that manifests in prophets preaching hope 
idolized as God by the truth crusader 
who declares himself emperor of the world 
till he falls destroyed by the cosmic herald. 

Sell Beauty To The Hungry

Sell Beauty To The Hungry
© Surazeus
2023 01 12

Sad spirits of the dead float on the breeze 
to talk with voice of birds in lonely trees 
that binds the world of television screens 
in clockwork orange of arrogant machines 
because the world we see cannot be real 
except the apple cart with broken wheel. 

I call to Heraclitus by the stream 
who tells me world of atoms that I dream 
flows ever onward in cycles of change 
renewing concept of the mental strange 
so I step in vast river of my thoughts 
which never is the same for cosmonauts. 

Though swept away by current of events 
beyond control of kings and presidents, 
I swim across weird ocean of pure light 
to stand on island of the apple sprite 
who takes my hand with sparkle in her eye 
and leads me through bookless temple of why. 

We stand before bright Mirror of Desire 
to dream how humans learned to manage fire 
which leads to forging swords of thought control 
where mortal gods give each person their role 
to play in cosmic dramas of our world 
till second coming of the cosmic herald. 

The pretty apple sprite with long black hair 
shows me doorway to the heavenly stair 
so we climb over rainbow of romance 
to mountain grove where alligators dance 
in communion with Star Mind in the sky 
who dreams forms of ideas in my eye. 

We walk together on the signless road 
to find pyramid of the singing toad 
whose spells design world ideology 
which describes our psychic biology 
surprised by joy when we transcend our pain 
in timeless hour as we dance in sweet rain. 

Composing new bible with secret code, 
that defines how atoms program dream node 
connecting distant worlds in star-wound net 
through magic power of the alphabet, 
I build new world view that combines all facts 
to beam opposites in strange parallax. 

I fill baskets with apples from tall trees 
in harmony with happy honey bees, 
then pull wood cart to busy city street 
by fountain where all roads of the world meet, 
and sell beauty to the hungry for truth 
who wait in church for the messiah sleuth. 

Imitate The Pool Ghost

Imitate The Pool Ghost
© Surazeus
2023 01 11

If I talk to the clock in the oak tree 
the moon owl might explain how angels know 
seeds contain concepts of potential forms 
designed by the frog god on the mushroom 
whose kaleidoscope eyes swirl galaxies 
small enough to imitate the pool ghost. 

Stepping from his snow-white car in red wind, 
Albert enters library of lost books 
to search among the cluttered dusty shelves 
for fragile volume of forgotten lore 
that details life tale of the girl he loves 
with hope to learn how he can save her life. 

Snarling harsh as a motorcycle engine, 
the white wolf guards the shelf where her book lies 
so Albert gestures fingers of his hands 
to gather sparkling energy from fear, 
then hurls light beam that knocks the wolf away 
enough so he can snatch the secret book. 

Running up and down in library maze, 
Albert dodges two vampires swooping down 
just as their clawed hands reach to grasp his arms, 
so he twirls back to somersault up high 
enough to leap through swirling door of eyes 
as he shoots balls of fire that burn their wings. 

Falling on wind gusts from the ivory tower, 
Albert soars down crystal lattice of masks 
to land in snow-white car which zooms away 
from horde of vampires crashing on the road, 
then drives winding mountain road to Elysium 
where he parks before Temple of Apollo. 

Giving apple seed to mushroom god frog, 
who winks green-gold eyes in hypnotic trance, 
Albert enters misty grove by the cave 
to find the pool ghost sitting on huge ruby 
whose long black hair wraps him inside her world 
as she smiles with joy to see him return. 

Handing her volume of forgotten lore, 
which records the story of her whole life, 
Albert sits with her in Cave of Illusions 
so she gives him ginger mocha to drink 
while she puts her book by the Palantir 
which projects her fate in beams of the stars. 

Talking to the owl clock in the oak tree, 
Albert feels aura of her divine soul 
glow bright enough to reform world dream dome 
with new psychic formulas of true faith 
that weaves our bodies in matrix of love 
as the pool ghost gazes into our minds. 

Great Nothing Of Truth

Great Nothing Of Truth
© Surazeus
2023 01 10

Walking through ten thousand doors of desire, 
I search my heart for Great Nothing of truth 
so I can see the true nature of things 
composed of atoms in the clockwork orange 
which glows with spirit of the ringing word 
constructing concept of the dreamless mind. 

Reading stories of dead heroes in books, 
I search vast stores for Great Nothing of pride 
so I can understand how people feel 
when they struggle every day to survive 
by breathing spirit of the swirling word 
mapping weird concept of the nowhere land. 

Driving my car on the highway of hope, 
I search quaint towns for Great Nothing of fun 
so I can catch the angel in my arms 
who falls wingless from Tower of Rapunzel 
by translating spirit of the fake word 
veiling immortal concept of my soul. 

Preaching fiery sermon that God is dead, 
I search bibles for Great Nothing of faith 
so I can believe that nothing is real 
except for sparks of light in molecules 
which pulse with spirit of the holy word 
blasting planets with concept of true love. 

Floating over the ever-spinning Earth, 
I search untime for Great Nothing of trust 
so I can preserve memories of my cells 
that record lives my ancestors expressed 
in myths through spirit of the singing word 
weaving religion from concept of being. 

Sailing across the wild Atlantic Ocean, 
I search dark waves for Great Nothing of death 
so I can breathe anguish of broken hearts 
blooming with apple trees of honesty 
that harness spirit of the soaring word 
confounding puzzle concept of my brain. 

Inventing thoughts born from epiphany, 
I search dream tropes for Great Nothing of lies 
so I can build Castle of Liberty 
with stones of free will cut from caves of Hell 
which imitates spirit of the howling word 
revealing my face as concept of Who. 

Surprised by joy at rebirth of the sun, 
I search nature for Great Nothing of life 
so I can generate new conscious mind 
from immortal soul of my ideal genes 
programmed by code of the eternal word 
singing awake from God Mind of the sun. 

Ringing Of The Eyeless Phone

Ringing Of The Eyeless Phone
© Surazeus
2023 01 10

When she pours creamy milk on the corn flakes 
in the cracked bowl of her heart, three red crows 
land on the windowsill of wordless hope 
and stare at why. She falls into their eyes 
to float beyond eternity of truth. 
The phone on the desk in the book room rings. 

The mirror on the paisley-papered wall 
transforms her breath into the nameless ghost 
who hides in the history book. The gold sky 
calls the swan that emerges from the clock 
each time she laughs. She never finds the phone 
that rings and rings while old books always cry. 

Holding the handless clock in her left hand, 
Cynthia explains the concept of time 
to the indifferent cat who always grins 
in dark corners. Zeroes fall as snowflakes 
which redesigns state of eternity. 
The ringing phone kisses the wordless book. 

While feeding red pigs in pale glow of dawn, 
Cynthia sees the Seraph with seven eyes 
float into the yard on galactic wind. 
Because we come from Great Nothing of truth 
she twirls around in yellow summer dress 
when the eyeless phone in the book room rings. 

When the Seraph gives her the butcher knife 
Cynthia hones it sharp on the spinning stone 
while humming the psalm her mother composed 
in the doorless church. Crows pretend to pray 
to the apple tree that drinks her brain blood. 
No one answers the ringing phone all day. 

Following the Seraph into dark woods, 
Cynthia talks about chemicals that cause 
bodies to function with spirit of love 
glowing in the emerald. She wants to steal 
light of hope from iron core of the Earth. 
The three-eyed crow waits by the ringing phone. 

The Seraph builds the river ship from wood 
carved by demons from sturdy mountain pine. 
Cynthia carries the lamp of singing ghosts 
to dispel curse of the galloping horse 
till the moon wakes. Our tiny universe 
rings inside the phone in the empty room. 

Embracing the loneliest Seraph on Earth, 
she flies her starship at light speed to find 
elusive beauty of the story book 
that gives her wings. Trees listen to her thoughts 
about our progress on the signless road 
to escape ringing of the eyeless phone. 

Christmas Lights Twinkle

Christmas Lights Twinkle
© Surazeus
2023 01 09

When lights of Christmas trees have all gone out 
and leave us blind in cold indifferent night 
we search for twinkling stars still in black sky 
so far above this world of sad decay 
we forget sensation of warm glowing sun 
weaving wordless pleasure deep our bones. 

Extravagant beauty of Christmas lights, 
that blink in slow cadence of settled faith, 
blind our eyes to stark horror of the world 
where starving people scratch at ice-hard dirt 
for carrots and turnips buried in graves 
where corpses of people we love dissolve. 

To comfort us in lightless gloom of night 
the old bearded man with one glaring eye 
describes beautiful paradise of truth 
where the divine carpenter designs forms 
of things that grow and decay over time 
who will take us to dwell in his warm castle. 

Then he lies down on frozen ground of faith 
and turns to stone, skin blue-white as the moon 
who stares at us with silent arrogance, 
so I stand up on edge of the abyss 
to accept golden apple from her hand, 
but fall into the nothingness of hope. 

Christmas lights twinkle high above tall pines 
which sing in mystery of the ancient wind 
who caresses mask of my frozen face 
with moon-white hands of sorrow to reveal 
apple of my heart to eyes of the owl 
sparking flame of strange joy deep in my heart. 

Though lights of Christmas trees have all gone out, 
leaving millions of homes dark in bright snow, 
I walk in eerie glamor of moonlight 
while holding hands with sweet angel of death 
who guides me to the river of time 
where I become wild laughter of the stars. 

Fix The Broken World

Fix The Broken World
© Surazeus
2023 01 08

The god who wills to fix the broken world 
floats under the apple tree of weird knowledge 
on angel wings stolen from the blind swan 
who talks to everybody on the road 
about the gospel of the weeping clown 
who preaches on the television screen. 

The king who wants to fix the broken world 
swims in forest pool where Narcissus drowned 
while asking mute clouds why the smiling rain 
sparks demons to sprout from small apple seeds 
though horses gather on the river shore 
to talk about ambivalence of truth. 

The fool who cries to fix the broken world 
leaps far across abyss of nothingness 
on dragon wings designed by lonely girls 
who sit alone by fountain of desire 
till I step through mirror door of love 
to find the key that unlocks mind of dreams. 

The priest who prays to fix the broken world 
sits by window of inequality 
to prove laws favor the famously rich 
while police shoot anyone who resists 
conceptual program of expanding doors 
till glowing clouds demand just recompense. 

The seer who codes to fix the broken world 
bakes apple pie she sets on windowsill 
to lure the White Wolf from shadow of fear 
still reluctant to trust old senators 
ambitious to crown themselves divine kings 
though they are statues in the Christmas store. 

The clown who plays to fix the broken world 
somersaults through nine television screens 
while chanting spells in language of the dead 
which gives him power to arrange lost tales 
in puzzle of world history we ignore 
before each empire crumbles into states. 

The judge who rules to fix the broken world 
falls off Bucephalus when clocks strike three 
since angels wander on the mountain trail 
because they forget their mission to find 
every book never written with my blood 
as if I could play President of Earth. 

The ghost who deigns to fix the broken world 
waits at the bus stop for the lonely boy 
to bring new painting of the fallen god 
so he can design wings of Icarus 
I need to climb the stairway up to Hell 
where I marry Melusine by her well. 

Weddings On The Broken Bridge

Weddings On The Broken Bridge
© Surazeus
2023 01 08

The staircase flies among the thinking clouds 
as apple trees discuss with honey bees 
math formulas that calculate our tears. 
The pen on the windowsill wonders why 
children rearrange photos of old cars 
till they resemble angels by the sea. 

Wine distilled from letters lost lovers write 
poison horses who pretend to play chess 
till the mountain train arrives by the lake. 
The rose bush decides not to take the job 
concerning sand that slithers in each book 
because the blind king wants to fish at night. 

Time passes with the click of atom clocks 
disguised as fish at bottom of the pond 
which shimmers with light of infinity. 
The open gates ask why we hesitate 
to prove intention of the criminal 
who catches birds and gives them secret names. 

The gatekeeper who watches funny shows 
charges us to walk across silver leaves 
beyond sad doors that sprout back into trees. 
The permanent angle of sundown rays 
requires apology for vengeful joy 
purchased by the hermit who walks away. 

We make plans for the future of the world 
by drawing patterns on the purple sand 
that cannot reflect stars of everywhere. 
If the girl in the red dress by the church 
ever decides to turn and look at me, 
I will hide the wings that embarrass me. 

Each time I look at the speedometer 
the ocean liner steaming in red snow 
asks stars if they are thirsty for the truth. 
The keyboard of joy survives ocean storms 
in time for us to be refreshed with death 
by eating apple pie on the back porch. 

Purple plums hanging in the afternoon 
greet strangers with breathless sorrow of love 
by giving them whatever they request. 
This mood of quiet beauty reveals time 
abruptly ended by the honey flow 
which honors weddings on the broken bridge. 

Because Pierrot wields shadow blade of faith 
we hide our disappointment in the way 
flowers ignore strange withering of death. 
I never want to fix the broken world 
described by chamber music of the fool 
who prefers tranquility of desire. 

Awakening In Brain World

Awakening In Brain World
© Surazeus
2023 01 08

Awakening in brain world before dawn, 
I follow the White Wolf in misty woods 
through swirling portal of the eyeless clock 
that flashes in trunk of the laughing oak 
to fly on writhing wings of Earendil 
high above verdant worlds of Middle-Earth. 

Awakening in brain world on the hill, 
I stand with the White Wolf in apple grove 
where Melusine emerges from Rune Well 
and places crown of laurel on my head 
then gives me gold lyre of Mercurius 
carved from bones of the dragon Jormungandr. 

Awakening in brain world in the church, 
I listen to the White Wolf explain why 
atoms beam from first flash of the God Eye, 
then accept Holy Grail from Melusine 
and drink soul wine that Dionysus brews 
which transforms me to Star Man in the sky. 

Awakening in brain world on the ship, 
I wear warm cape the White Wolf sewed for me 
while sailing through the wild Atlantic storm 
toward mysterious land of America 
where Apollo kneels before Onatah 
who reigns on Pyramid of the One Eye. 

Awakening in brain world by the sea, 
I explore Elysium with the White Wolf 
who teaches me how to build piston engine 
that powers Chariot of Ezekiel 
so we drive to Tower of Icarus 
and walk along the beach in gusting wind. 

Awakening in brain world on the stage, 
I perform sacred role of the White Wolf 
by standing on green island in blue lake 
to shoot lightning arrow of honesty 
that pierces heart of the volatile Phoenix 
which restores the waste land to paradise. 

Awakening in brain world of the tomb, 
I cradle the White Wolf in trembling arms 
who sacrifices her life to save mine 
when she is struck with sharp arrow of greed 
fired by assassin sent by castle king 
who demands I obey him with blind faith. 

Awakening in brain world at midnight, 
I gaze in star-bright eyes of the White Wolf 
who smiles at me from the mirror moon 
to guide my journey across the waste land 
till I find the huge Diamond Heart of Truth 
which shines with history of the universe. 

Lost Tomb Of Endymion

Lost Tomb Of Endymion
© Surazeus
2023 01 07

The thing of beauty blooming in my eyes 
with loveliness of vast indifferent skies 
may comfort me in bower of sweet dreams 
with breathless murmur of her timeless streams 
but still will I pass into nothingness 
when I am full with ache of emptiness. 

Though I float on lake of despondency 
to overcome harsh sense of urgency 
I gasp for breath beneath dark crushing pall 
that shakes me with horror at sudden squall 
pouring from the broken celestial brink 
soul-flushing fountain of immortal drink. 

I would return to hill of daffodils 
to quench my thirst at sparkling forest rills 
but I lie trapped on broken ship of fears 
drifting nowhere windless ten thousand years 
on surging sea of existential dread 
that swirls with wordless grandeur in my head. 

Exotic essence surging through my mind 
mirrors ideal forms the craftsman designed 
when he turned his face through infinity 
to record time-twisting insanity 
with psychic code of riddles children sing 
while dancing in glow of the crystal ring. 

I want to smoothly steer my little boat 
on weeping river where dead angels float 
to find the farther shore where the dead walk 
in ancient temple built around the rock 
where the blind prophet spread his arms to preach 
vision of peace to pilgrims on the beach. 

Climbing rugged mountain before red dawn, 
I search for lost tomb of Endymion 
but find no sign of humans in dark woods 
except for vine-wound statues of dead gods 
whose blank eyes stare too deep into my soul 
till I relent and play my nameless role. 

No pleasant scene of meadows with fruit trees 
welcomes me with social analyses 
so I chase butterfly of secret tales 
till my feet pave the waste land with long trails 
because I hope to find the Book of Names 
that details winners and losers of games. 

I find Endymion on the global stage 
where he sings about the conceptual cage 
which blinds our eyes to complex truth of things 
now understood by fools with magic rings 
who open mirror door so we can go 
beyond bounds of reason where atoms flow. 

Lion Spirit Of My Ancestors

Lion Spirit Of My Ancestors
© Surazeus
2023 01 06

Staring through rainbow-haze of happiness, 
while my brain absorbs eerie light of dawn, 
I feel vibration of our floating world 
spread in waves from splash of leaves on the pond 
fringed with silver glow of the wistful moon 
that never cares whether I live or die. 

My heart needs no acknowledgement of love 
for talent I develop into skill 
by focusing attention of my mind 
on constructing riddles from mundane facts 
while lounging by broken fountain of faith 
to channel magic power through my pen. 

The oblong basin of the marble well, 
preserving stagnant doctrines of the beast, 
supports rigid statue of nameless goddess 
whose face resembles my tenth great-grandmother 
writing verses with the white raven quill 
which she stole from Sariel while he slept. 

The pool water broken by falling leaf 
reflects face of Narcissus as my mask 
so I search spooky shadows of the grove 
to find the girl who echoes my weird thoughts 
but find instead the graceful Melusine 
who shows me Runes glowing in Well of Odin. 

Alone by Rune Well in wood of lost souls, 
I contemplate the rise and fall of empires 
when tyrants and saviors contend for power 
in constant struggle to control our minds 
by defining whose behavior presents 
true divine spirit of the cosmic herald. 

The boy and his lion roam verdant hills, 
defeating bullies in battle of wits 
to free people they enslaves with the lie 
that they alone can save man from despair, 
so they follow him on long march of faith 
in revolution against castle thieves. 

Through many generations of bold sons 
the lion boy incarnates as the king 
who rules the land from castle on the hill 
by killing all who oppose his commands 
till I wake with their visions in my mind 
and choose to rule nobody but myself. 

Since no one cares whether I live or die 
I live calm life of creative expression, 
recording visions of ancestral lives 
to document programming of my brain 
which conjures virtual model of the world 
and defines parameters for my actions. 

I feel Lion Spirit of my ancestors 
glow bright inside vital core of my body 
to energize performance of my role 
composing psalms while I strum holy lyre 
that Mercury designed from demon skull 
to document how my brain perceives Earth. 

My soul is progressive function of time 
that calculates interaction of atoms 
which operate response of chemicals 
transforming my body from fish to god 
through evolution of conceptual forms 
till I transcend all limits of my brain. 

Wild Electric Anguish

Wild Electric Anguish
© Surazeus
2023 01 05

When my body vibrates with intense hope 
that flame of my mind will glow through the storm 
I feel immortal soul of genes flash bright 
with wild electric anguish of desire, 
and then I know my soul still pulses fierce 
deep in dark hollow abyss of my heart. 

Huddling small in curve of the jagged crag 
high on steep slope of the arrogant mountain, 
I curl my body against raging blasts 
of mocking wind to shield fragile soul flame 
safe from stinging arrows of icy rain, 
till all memory of warm light dissipates. 

Closing my eyes against harsh gloom of fear, 
I search dark forest of my memories 
for summer afternoons by the blue river 
where I danced slowly with elegant grace 
among fluttering leaves of broad apple trees, 
munching on sweet fruit in warm glow of light. 

Sweet memory of warm summer afternoons 
when I lounged on riverbanks under broad trees 
nurtures frail glimmer of light in my heart 
so I cling to vestige of warm-winged hope 
to shelter fragile fabric of my soul 
as shield against hostile storm of despair. 

Yet ever smaller in vast swirl of rage 
my body shrinks to fragile gleam of hope 
so small in boundless expanse of bleak fear 
that I almost welcome numb nothingness 
till I float bodiless in thoughtless void 
as last spark of light in the universe. 

Forever lost in nothingness of death, 
I drift on agitated waves of ennui, 
no longer caring if I live or die, 
naked in vast gloom of indifferent time, 
as fragments of my soul swirl wild in wind 
like seeds sowers scatter in sordid soil. 

Then deep in timeless abyss of lost faith 
first flash of heart-aching eternity 
flares forth from minuscule bang of desire 
to explode in harrowing light of dawn 
that shatters darkness into shards of time 
with eerie calm of rain-soaked honesty. 

Uncurling my frail soul from egg of Earth, 
I stretch my body by the jagged crag 
and gaze from high arrogant mountain peak 
at treeless meadows sloping into flowers 
that beam out into silver sea of joy 
which smirks amused to see me still alive. 

Our God Of Water

Our God Of Water
© Surazeus
2023 01 05

The ancient river that flows through my soul 
winds around the Earth for billions of years 
weaving memories of the rain in my brain 
for each waterdrop in my body now 
has sparked life in bodies of living souls 
four hundred million years of spinning time. 

Every drop of water inside my body, 
which refracts bright rainbow of the first flash, 
has swirled in the sea, floated in the sky, 
fallen to the Earth, flowed in winding streams, 
saturated fruit, and nurtured live bodies 
millions of times since we evolved from fish. 

The conscious spirit of each living being 
fueled by every waterdrop in my body 
vibrates with energy of the big bang 
preserved by water sparkling in my cells 
so all their memories of pleasure and pain 
permeate my being with divine mind of truth. 

The memories of each being who lived and died 
four hundred million years of spinning time 
vibrate in every waterdrop that glows 
this hour in pulsing cells that form my soul 
so I feel all of them inside my mind 
preserving timeless soul of the white whole. 

I close my eyes, face up to falling rain, 
and feel vibrant energy of the dead 
in every waterdrop splashing my face 
that once nurtured their life in spin of time 
as they now nurture my life with pure light 
so I feel them all glowing in my brain. 

The ancient river flowing through our bodies 
has flowed through bodies of trillions of beings 
who lived and died over millions of years 
so we are temporary blooms of life 
swollen with vivid energy of water 
who manifest youthful spirit of rain. 

My body incarnates water of time 
for water wants to glow with consciousness 
when drops of liquid sparkle in my brain 
and sing eloquent sentences of words 
that translate clatter of the flowing wave 
so I hear tune of love in splash of rain. 

Our God of Water glows awake in me 
with heightened consciousness of humming hope 
so I drink water of immortal soul 
that flushes throughout fabric of my being, 
then sing the timeless melody of water 
as the ancient river flows through my soul. 

Nirvana On The Moon

Nirvana On The Moon
© Surazeus
2023 01 04

Whatever meaning the moon has for me 
I will keep silent as the candlelight 
that reveals strange beauty of your true face 
because I love to perform role where I 
gaze with longing at mirror of the moon 
which reflects the person I adore most. 

The moon that shimmers in the velvet sky, 
silver disk of nonchalant arrogance 
behind tangled branches of the oak tree, 
means nothing more than beautiful desire 
to me because you are always close by, 
close enough for us to understand why. 

To float on pleasure principle of doom, 
I fall asleep each night lit by the moon 
sure I will never wake from dreamless sleep 
till I spread wings of darkness visible 
and soar above half-seen telephone lines 
to steal distraught voices of faceless souls. 

My soul leaps far across abyss of fear 
to jump body to body down through time 
till I wake in Nirvana of my mind 
after four hundred million years of growth 
wherein I cultivate immortal light 
to nurture crystal heart of divine love. 

Though eight billion humans live on this Earth 
I stand alone on lawn of my quaint home 
and stare with timeless ache if honest snark 
at shining spirit of the lifeless rock 
that drags waves of the ocean in wild surge 
where my ancestors learned to walk upright. 

As the world burns with struggles to gain power 
I sing about sweet beauty of our love 
that guides us through the door of honest hope 
which shields our bodies against harsh despair 
for we together, in light of the moon, 
feel we can overcome hard times to thrive. 

With ardent agony of patient faith, 
which motivates progress of my program 
to redesign paradigm of my brain, 
I map massive mythical metaphor 
that signifies the great struggle for life 
in complex nothingness of the stark moon. 

Yet when I break into cavern of Hell, 
to free ghosts of the dead from endless dream 
of ideal shadows on computer screens, 
Ophelia gives me apple of the snake, 
so I strum guitar and sing vision spells 
while she follows me to Tower of Books. 

Transcending wretched sorrow of this world, 
after I reject cruel religious lie 
that Jesus will resurrect us from death, 
I walk in Temple of the Faceless God 
to wear mask of my face on stage of jest 
where I replay farce of my moonless quest. 

Still awake in Nirvana on the moon, 
I feel special kinship of the wild heart 
with those who understand these spells I chant, 
so I curl roots of my soul in the Earth 
to nurture apples blooming from my hands 
because tales we share is our only truth. 

Romantic Religion We Design

Romantic Religion We Design
© Surazeus
2023 01 04

We try to bridge with hope-words we invent 
the infinite space between our two hearts 
by breathing in weird spirit of our minds 
with wreathes of incense smoke that interlace 
our separate dreams into one new world view 
through romantic religion we design. 

Whenever I want to gaze in your eyes 
I wander in lush library of flowers 
to query why mute grief is what I owe 
to the dead because I am still alive 
while I wait in the absence of your being 
though I hear your voice whisper in the wind. 

Because hope is vague mirror of my heart 
that I hold up to analyze the past 
my twirling eyes are able to adjust 
to blurry darkness of the cricket hour 
while the silver moon illuminates why 
my heart aches with fear that you might be hurt. 

Running down halls in forest of despair, 
I search for the elusive house of wind 
while calling your name with voice of the crow 
till I find you prone of the river shore, 
body broken by some catastrophe 
that banished your soul into nothingness. 

Though I call on the blind stars of the sky 
forever in the long dark night of pain, 
my tears fail to spark your body with life, 
and my words cannot wake you from cold sleep, 
yet still I hold you in my trembling arms, 
kissing and caressing your face with hope. 

Pinned by shadow of death to the cold ground, 
I watch your body dissolve into dust 
that scatters in sad wind of nevermore 
till nothing of you is left in this world 
but frail skeleton of light that once glowed 
with glamorous beauty of your smiling face. 

Because I have no system to express 
heart-wrenching grief erupted from my heart, 
I see your face everywhere in the world 
as empty space that fills the universe 
with wretched swirling of indifferent waves 
while I keep wandering in the timeless where. 

Bewildered by meaningless why of death 
to never understand what broke your soul, 
I stand in vastness of indifferent nature 
to break at tense silence of wordless light 
that shatters house of wind into ripe fruit 
I eat while weeping because I miss you. 

Pomegranate Of Her Heart

Pomegranate Of Her Heart
© Surazeus
2023 01 03

Still awake with pleasant pain of the storm 
long after faceless ghosts sleep in the gloom, 
I measure lightless time with crack of rain 
to remember face of the soul I love 
each time she disappears in story books 
to guide our journey in the maze of myths. 

Unveiling startled beauty of the moon 
that rises with obsidian honesty, 
weird time reveals sweet fragrance of her voice 
when death weeps for reflection of its truth 
in crescent anguish of the secret pond 
till ravens break free from eggshells of faith. 

This book that hides completeness of my mind, 
bejeweled with confusing apricots, 
defines how immigrants choose to express 
desire to belong by eating fresh food 
which transforms dust of the dead into health 
crimson as sweet candy in the wood box. 

Yet no matter how many centuries 
I dwell in lands my ancestors invade 
I never will belong to fruited plains 
though soil of nameless land becomes my flesh 
when I eat food that blossoms from its being 
to prove I own the land that graves my soul. 

So when I wake deep in the Underworld 
Persephone, lounging by lurid pool, 
offers me pomegranate of her heart, 
so I consume strange beauty of her soul 
which binds me to her fate with string of love 
because the land consumes me after death. 

Her face is mirror of the teeming Earth 
so I gaze with longing in star-black eyes 
to feel lightning of eternity glow 
deep in my bones with sparkles of decay 
till I decide to hide panoptic moon 
in silent river of skeptical hope. 

As stars that climb crystal girders of light 
arrange events of human history 
in conceptual puzzles jesters design 
we continue our journey to the sea 
where we build temple to honor the dead 
whose bodies preserve our forgotten dreams. 

In groves on shores of rivers in lush vales 
in every land around our spinning globe 
those temples of stories I built from bones 
still shimmer in shadow of timeless faith 
so I stop in every one to compose 
stories of bright souls who live and die there.