I Am Dreams Of Earth

I Am Dreams Of Earth
© Surazeus
2023 02 28

On wings of Icarus I am dreams of Earth 
as spirit of atoms flashing through brains 
when I howl into void of nothingness 
to draw my horror from darkness of fear 
till it burns as light of terrible joy, 
so I laugh at absurdity of life. 

On waves of sorrow I am dreams of Earth 
sprouting as grass from core of the mind 
when I reach for light that burns inside time 
because I am new body of this land 
as wind incarnate in this clumsy frame 
flapping frail wings of passionate hope. 

On beams of starlight I am dreams of Earth 
bursting into being from terrible truth 
through weird ecstatic agony of faith 
to transform rotten slime of lucent rage 
into graceful fruit trees of timeless joy 
where ravens gather to talk about light. 

On hill of demons I am dreams of Earth 
as child of laughter struggling to survive 
indifferent hunger of the twirling globe 
that spirals lost in blank void of my heart 
though I float mindless in cold surging waves 
on breathless ballast of my broken wings. 

On bells of anguish I am dreams of Earth 
vibrating bright with buzz of molecules 
that spiral wild from diamond of black holes 
as brilliant emanation of god brain 
where memories of each soul who ever lived 
is stored in mythic tropes of naked lust. 

On boat of horror I am dreams of Earth 
fishing for leviathan of esteem 
to catch demonic whale of social games 
as potent symbol of indifferent nature 
who sends death to consume our fragile souls 
in harsh evolvement of relentless time. 

On sands of today I am dreams of Earth 
trapped in glowing hourglass of arrogance 
that paints faces of gods on mindless stars 
who soar on wings of desire to transcend 
this seething body that conjures the soul 
to explode in frail fireworks of this life. 

On wings of Orpheus I am dreams of Earth 
singing about catastrophe of love 
that tangles hearts of people with desire 
to generate new bodies from our genes 
so we rise from bleak abyss of despair 
on Phoenix wings of divine poetry. 

Dictator Of The Earth

Dictator Of The Earth
© Surazeus
2023 02 27

When I become Dictator of the Earth 
I will enforce this basic social law 
that states each person with spiritual mind 
may live their life in freedom as they will 
as long as they cause no destructive harm 
and treat each other with creative love. 

When I become Dictator of the Earth, 
after I boldly oppose and dethrone 
tyrants who oppress the helpless with greed, 
I will free the bodies and minds of people 
from blinding bondage of religious faith 
so they may perceive the world as it is. 

When I become Dictator of the Earth 
I will establish liberal institutes 
that educate minds of people with truth 
so they deprogram patriarchal state 
to dismantle hierarchy of the rich 
which would give each living soul wealth of hope. 

When I become Dictator of the Earth 
I will construct system of liberty 
that provides equal opportunity 
for each person to activate their dream 
and build private paradise of desire 
where they can dwell with the people they love. 

When I become Dictator of the Earth, 
after I fall from grace in court of fear 
because I oppose lust of nepotism 
that crowns the incompetent son with power, 
I will hire people who exercise skill 
based on talent through focus of hard work. 

When I become Dictator of the Earth 
I will fund world food-production machine 
through capital investment of bold wealth 
to distribute food with fairness of law 
through faith of socialist generosity 
so every person may eat all they need. 

When I become Dictator of the Earth, 
through revolution against monarchy, 
I will legislate strong democracy 
based on accurate count of popular votes 
that allows all citizens of their nations 
to choose the person they trust to rule well. 

When I become Dictator of the Earth 
I will rule without ruling by decree 
by letting people live without constraint 
so they confirm their soul with self-control 
which is their liberty within the law 
when people create rather than destroy. 

Perfect House Of Dreams

Perfect House Of Dreams
© Surazeus
2023 02 26

Through stark analysis of clocking birds, 
who strut on chessboards of conceptual fate, 
I find hydraulic fragments of lost time 
scattered on hills of sun-baked apathy, 
so I search for the perfect house of dreams 
where my children can play beside cool streams. 

The blind chickadee in the purple birch 
considers honest cactus in my yard, 
but chooses to define dream formulas 
adequate for how we measure our fate 
based on choices of chemical desire 
that model children who sing in the choir. 

Sweet ennui for how the open door breathes 
excites my misery for people who die 
in wars and famines that shatter our faith 
in grand narrative of our global play 
despite reluctance to channel new shows 
about children who sing in bitter snows. 

The mountain chickadee on my thumb knows 
secret name my mother gave me at birth 
so I sit at round table of false wealth 
to gamble for salvation with my heart 
though I always lose in the final round 
when children run to the flashy fairground. 

When we choose to go down the rabbit hole 
to find the queen who rules in Wonderland, 
we find ourselves stranded in the Dream Void, 
unable to remember the password 
we once used to access fake paradise 
because the perfect house of dreams is nice. 

The ghost of Sri Dewi in field of rice 
asks the yellow chickadee by the sea 
how to construct the perfect house of dreams 
where she can paint the history of the world 
in the weird book no one will ever read 
while the raven seer designs new world creed. 

Revelation Of Thrumming Rain

Revelation Of Thrumming Rain
© Surazeus
2023 02 25

Now through revelation of thrumming rain 
that drowns city streets in exquisite pain 
we see indifferent glory of black skies 
blaze white with joy in vision-glowing eyes, 
still under uneasy umbrellas bound 
as wingless angels to iconic ground. 

Yet in lush meadow bright with purple flowers, 
awake in eerie beauty of lost hours, 
young bashful goddess of creative faith 
lingers with sorrow of love from blind wraith 
of pungent energy that beams our hearts 
with hungry anguish of apples in carts. 

We eager fools of time as fragile souls, 
who worship Nature with conceptual roles, 
hide in apartment rooms of dreamless walls 
to translate hymns from dark demonic calls, 
yet dream of mountain winds in singing pines 
veiled by ancient spells of psychotic signs. 

So many people in gray cubicles, 
who weep or laugh while watching musicals, 
long for wild freedom of wooden rowboats 
on sun-glamored lakes of transcendent notes, 
but follow strict routine of daily turns 
to channel passion well, though chaos churns. 

Our constant struggle to live on our terms, 
while wearing masks of dead gods, but confirms 
fierce urge of nature through atomic gears 
fuels mindless drive to evade morbid fears 
by generating life before we die 
and dissipate to whispers in the sky. 

Because I carry lamp of careless hope 
that glows in full sunlight with wordless scope, 
I guide lost souls in maze of doorless fanes 
to escape empire where blind tyrant reigns, 
but men return to work in factories 
so they can pocket their own prison keys. 

When trees reveal the mind-expanding storm, 
incarnate from light in conceptual form, 
I build vast empire of temples in Heaven 
to shelter children of the laughing raven 
from horror of Death who beams in our bones 
with hazy spirals measured by star stones. 

If we wish to keep our world view intact 
we must analyze horror with plain fact 
that we are structures of atoms on fire 
with angelic flames of human desire, 
so we gather in Stonehenge on bleak plain 
to seek revelation of thrumming rain. 

Blank Of Everywhere

Blank Of Everywhere
© Surazeus
2023 02 24

Starting off in the blank of everywhere, 
I zero in on planet of my mind 
to build from random memories of my life 
coherent world view from grand narrative 
that centers my survival as my quest 
to help people I love survive and thrive. 

Deconstructing world view that codes my brain 
with memories of my ancestors in tropes, 
I redesign how I perceive the world 
so my paradigm includes in its scope 
every fact programmed in proverbs of truth 
which helps me predict effect of each cause. 

The blue crow of my mental liberty 
brings red mushroom from forest of sad ghosts 
so I brew them in brass cauldron of milk 
with honey, strawberries, grapes, and pecans, 
stirring sweet nectar with long silver spoon 
while Jupiter shimmers beside the Moon. 

The one-eyed man with Lantern of Lost Hope 
walks through psychosis of his pristine fear 
with ramshackle shuffle of rain-blurred streets 
to paint demonic faces on road signs 
with arrows that depict departure route 
to alien valley of the laughing skull. 

Though he holds fast to what his eye can see 
with red velvet curves of the driftwood fire, 
he wears old circus mask of the mad clown, 
designed with grimace of the dragon face, 
while strutting through the city park in rain 
to escape cold classroom where he must teach. 

Since no one has died in the doorless house 
since he has lived there with the mother ghost, 
the one-eyed man talks to the holy toad 
about warm hands when the winter wind blows 
while he hunts the nostalgia butterfly 
by pencilling dark passages through faith. 

If he decides to slice silence with hope 
before the ominous ghoul with no name 
changes address of his ancestral home, 
he would climb scaffold of forgotten lore 
to nail boards over windows of his eyes 
after losing his fake identity. 

Stuck in breathing room of the manuscript, 
stabbed deep in the heart by critical theory, 
he walks toward the angel beside the desk 
to smear blood on the chalkboard of new thought 
because the singing toad deigns to explain 
why we wander the blank of everywhere. 

Flowers Recite Riddles

Flowers Recite Riddles
© Surazeus
2023 02 22

Flowers recite riddles of lonely wind 
to moon-eyed fish at bottom of the pond 
who give pens to gods so they can compose 
fragments of the staircase as sweet surprise, 
though letters of the alphabet compete 
with roses blooming in soft silver snow. 

Flowers wait in bored rain for the white snake 
to prove her theory about the fishhook 
because time reveals sweet sorrow we steal 
despite her decision to play the role 
no one understands till the paraclete 
advocates for the perfect midnight show. 

Flowers consume fake gates of paradise 
to examine why thunder forms the base 
of empty nests woven from photographs 
scattered by bomb blasts when the devil laughs 
as if we need hunger to calculate 
vague outlines of our new global world view. 

Flowers seek revenge on the parking lots 
within parameters set by blind fates 
who refuse to apologize at dawn 
for the sun that disappears in the rune 
which spells mountain path we must navigate 
when searching for taut angle of the yew. 

Flowers leap deep unbridgeable abyss 
in time for ghosts to attend midnight mass 
as if the future at train stations waits 
for children without hope to lose their coats, 
so we decide to journey in the boat 
to find the Glow Cloud in the empty sky. 

Flowers fuel life in vast city maze 
since death tricks us with the afterlife ruse 
to relax in glum shade of the plum tree, 
resigned to believe tall tales of the crow 
because we worship the arrogant goat 
which kills anyone who dares question why. 

Flowers curl roots into sponge of my brain 
light as honey in hands of the kind crone 
who makes the sunset vanish without hope 
in temple paved with skulls of the mindscape 
too simple for how Sorrow plays the flute 
in strict tradition of the modern way. 

Flowers walk to end of the homeless street 
where old museums live inside my heart 
more generous than angels working in banks 
who pretend they do not obey the Sphinx, 
lost in oblivion through the desert route 
where the wealthy enjoy my shadow play. 

Sacred Mask Of Jupiter

Sacred Mask Of Jupiter
© Surazeus
2023 02 21

If I consider how stars know my name 
I would want to open the door of time 
and think about sad story of the clown 
who fell in love with his opposite clone, 
then write their romance as the social farce 
that illustrates conception of the Force. 

Alone in Museum of the blind seer, 
I analyze how the time-machine car 
maps endless maze of myths I navigate 
while I wear the hat and the long black coat 
in my quest to defy the social norm 
by escaping paradise of the farm. 

Not yet in love with the mysterious girl, 
who translates sorrow with heart-breaking skirl, 
I stop before the First National Bank 
to program time clock in the maple trunk, 
then ask the jester in the empty church 
when he will pass to my hand the truth torch. 

Each hour strange planet spins in starless void, 
ruled over by the meditating toad, 
another person dies in agony, 
their heart heavy with folklore argosy 
depicting social heroes we admire 
whose bodies rot in the martial quagmire. 

Though my soul was born in Marmara Sea 
when I first forged the alphabetic key, 
I have wandered too far from its wild shore 
in my journey to follow the God Star 
that leaves me stranded in bleak wilderness 
as honest son of Ozymandias. 

I feel no questions burning in my heart 
since my ancestors ruled the royal court 
with authority of the honest sword, 
so I gaze at my face in mirror shard 
that reflects spirit of the cosmic herald 
who returns from Heaven famous and laureled. 

Each time I walk into the secret room 
to investigate the scene of the crime, 
I quietly observe the nameless ghost 
who orchestrates game of the telecast 
in which I star as son of Lucifer 
who wears the sacred mask of Jupiter. 

Admiring elegant grace of the sculpture, 
which embodies spirit of our world culture, 
I mimic weird character I design 
with arrogant attitude of disdain 
because atoms bloom into conscious beings 
who gather around warm fires to share songs. 

Alice Plays Harp

Alice Plays Harp
© Surazeus
2023 02 20

Wearing red velvet gown and jeweled crown, 
Alice plays harp before gold castle gate 
where old king dances on grave of his mother 
who crawls from dreamless well of Melusine 
with demonic eyes that perceive the future 
while his planes drop bombs on small villages. 

Strumming taut strings, woven from fear of death, 
Alice plays harp before Frigga and Odin 
while they feast in Valhalla with their clan, 
celebrating victories in noble war 
to colonize wild jungles of the world 
that slave beneath banner of the White Wolf. 

Beaming sweetly with her angelic smile, 
Alice plays harp for Iron King of Hell 
to free damned souls from hell loops of their guilt 
and lead them marching in holy crusade 
to occupy groves of the Promised Land 
where apples rot uneaten on our graves. 

Chanting prophecies carved on ocean sand, 
Alice plays harp in glass cathedral nave 
while hanging in cage from the Tree of Life 
till the White Wolf appears in swirling mist 
to drive ghosts killed in gas chambers that fly 
with flock of doves across the shattered world. 

Writhing with elegant anguish of faith, 
Alice plays harp in cluttered maze of myths 
where dead gods of religions rise from tombs 
to haunt bright halls of power with desire 
as worshipping zombies pray for salvation 
who wander lost in streets of Wonderland. 

Weeping with joy for stark terror of life, 
Alice plays harp for army of mad angels 
who drive Merkabah tanks in holy war 
bombing schools as children play hide and seek 
so demons sing hymns to praise the weird freak 
though Death always beats him in games of chess. 

Switching on pure light of her inner soul, 
Alice plays harp in palace of Versailles 
where famous celebrities gaze in mirrors, 
entranced by terrible beauty of fame, 
though Orpheus sings heart-enchanting hope 
to lead them from dark labyrinth of wealth. 

Beaming glamorous vision of paradise, 
Alice plays harp in lush Elysian Fields 
to resurrect the faithful from the dead 
who haunt their children at computer screens 
till they rise against royal tyranny 
and fight for truth in global liberty. 

Radar Range Of My Heart

Radar Range Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2023 02 19

When you are here in presence of our faith 
my heart vibrates with calm serenity, 
but when you are in absence of our hope 
my heart buzzes with fraught anxiety, 
so hold my hand and stay close by my side, 
near enough so our eyes perceive our light. 

We sit together in one haven room, 
each doing our own thing in silent peace, 
for we balance each other in repose, 
tranquil in our shared creativity, 
so linger in radar range of my heart, 
near enough to warm my soul with your glow. 

Narcissus, before easel by the pool 
paints portrait of Echo with gentle strokes, 
to depict her reclining among flowers 
where she strums melodious strings of the lyre, 
so pose for me with your elegant grace 
while I preserve your beauty in lost art. 

Zipporah in cave of illusions weaves 
tapestry that presents grand odyssey 
when Moses frees people from slavery 
by leading them safe across the Waste Land, 
so walk with me home to the Promised Land 
near enough to teach our children the truth. 

Juliet on high balcony of hope 
searches empty garden of her dark heart 
till she finds Romeo by the moonlit pool 
gazing at strange beauty of his own face, 
so turn and call me with assertive faith 
quick enough to prove your sincerity. 

Mary Magdalene, sweet Mermaid of Mars, 
stands on sacred peak of Sainte-Baume Massif, 
waiting for Jesus, stuck on Patmos Island, 
to sail home on the fragile ship of faith, 
so gaze at my face mirrored by the moon 
long enough to feel my soul in your heart. 

Iduna gathers apples of the sun 
from Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil 
to sell in market by the pyramid 
while Phoebus strums lyre and sings epic tale, 
so give me fruit of your heart with desire 
often enough to bond our souls with love. 

Though we work on our own projects all day, 
we feel each other in Garden of Eden 
performing our roles in function of faith 
that operates gears of our social machine, 
so accept gift of love forged from despair 
pure enough so our bodies merge in genes. 

Concept Of False Time

Concept Of False Time
© Surazeus
2023 02 19

The house that wants to know the true way back 
to where the raven in the red oak sings 
decides to give away its fractured doors 
so children of the desert find the egg 
from which blind serpent of the universe 
unspools conceptual concept of false time. 

The flag on the house of the weeping king 
considers how stars calculate our fate 
because through fear of death our hearts respond 
with shocking revelation of the damned 
who gamble for salvation before dawn 
though we are trapped in concept of false time. 

The debonair window of vanity, 
too optimistic for religious faith, 
detaches hope from mediocrity 
insipid with brittle passion of hate 
to face daily reality of death, 
happy to evade concept of false time. 

The house in the valley of happy horses 
performs sudden act of rebellion 
recorded by the jester with four hands 
who foregrounds act of translation with faith 
while buffeted by harsh trials of life, 
eager to desert concept of false time. 

The tangible allurements we decline, 
while on the path of least resistance home, 
build tales that preserve terror we conceal 
since light of truth diminishes with fear 
from permanent fidelity to love 
deep in the swirling concept of false time. 

The river flowing through ten thousand doors 
of safe homes in global metropolis 
inspires us to release distinctive forms 
so we become the everything we dream 
while clearing banks along the sunlit stream 
that bursts vital from concept of false time. 

The eyeless ghost composed of tangled words 
breaks through limitations of the blank page 
to call for us with radical intent 
so we imprint our being on globe of dirt 
which proves our worth to exist without shame, 
disentangled from concept of false time. 

The old man howling on the stormy heath 
with vindictive ranting against despair 
challenges basic structure of belief 
with spontaneous impulse renewing soul 
so we reflect truth based on self-control 
as wind bends grass toward concept of false time. 

Secret Mission She Forgot

Secret Mission She Forgot
© Surazeus
2023 02 18

With courageous strength of euphoric hope 
from the little thief of her ferret heart, 
she bears painful anguish of bitter loss 
through stoic wisdom of the cliffside tree 
that helps her transcend misery of despair 
to fly on audacious wings of contempt. 

With timeless contemplation of the world 
while resting in shade of the maple tree, 
she ponders model of the world she sees 
to analyze flow of cause and effect 
that she perceives in sequence of events 
framed by grand narrative her mind designs. 

With brash confidence of one who faced death 
by struggling from river muck in the storm, 
face lashed by stinging rain of bitter hope, 
she strides along the sunlit road of faith 
toward walled city shining on distant hill 
to fulfill secret mission she forgot. 

With brazen puzzlement in dizzy fear 
of shapeless shadows shifting among trees, 
she looks around the forest of strange wind 
and wonders how she came to be now here 
in tedious nowhere of obtuse belief 
too convoluted for arduous thought. 

With inefficient passion still preferred, 
that represents determined hope to live, 
she nominates the raven on the rock 
as antiquated judge of noble deeds 
while staring at her stark face in the pool, 
opting to invite Death from cave of fear. 

With onerous goal of inflexible faith 
that benefits rational principles, 
she studies motivation of the stone 
to comprehend impetus of weird fate 
by which our nation purports to achieve 
perfect balance between self and the state. 

With superfluous labor of the fool, 
redundant through imprecise honesty, 
she measures anachronistic flow of time 
to streamline archaic process of growth 
more nonintuitive than burning trees 
relative for obsolete custom tricks. 

With shocking revelation of dawnlight, 
that streams with bureaucratic attitude, 
she wakes from daze of repetitious dance, 
enchanted by light on water of love, 
and runs toward walled city on the red hill 
that burns with flames of political war. 

Joyous Whimsy Of The Mad

Joyous Whimsy Of The Mad
© Surazeus
2023 02 17

The tree exploding from my ancient heart 
blooms television screens of laughing ghosts 
whose ice cream faces melt in summer heat 
when hippies dance in ruins of the empire 
to celebrate wild Dionysian rites 
with joyous whimsy of the faceless clown. 

Reborn soul of William the Troubadour 
animates my heart with ambitious plan 
to seduce cold hearts of the arrogant 
with joyous whimsy of the fractured mind 
reflecting masks dead gods throw in the trash 
with fish heads eaten by grim alley cats. 

Without my sun-nurtured heart of lost faith 
I could not endure soul-stretching years 
of nations torn by political strife 
when gangsters disguised as good presidents 
fight clandestine wars over mines of gold 
with joyous whimsy of the hungry king. 

Because Orpheus loves the raven girl, 
he measures terrible beauty of life 
by smiling bright at every soul he meets 
when he learns how to walk without his wings 
with joyous whimsy spawned by fear of death 
which he encodes in children story books. 

With joyous whimsy of the god who breathes 
ethereal spirit of the cosmic wraith 
Orpheus plays guitar in sea-town rain 
to sing about the hardy Lystrosaurus 
that ruled the Earth for thirty million years 
since wingless angel wears face of the wolf. 

Though the robot with positronic brain 
imitates artistic style of Van Gogh 
its algorithms cannot replicate 
existential angst of the tortured artist 
whose paintings generate grand narrative 
defined by joyous whimsy of the mad. 

Radiant with joyous whimsy of the fool, 
Orpheus refuses to work all day 
in corporate office of the mafia gang 
for they exploit poor workers of the world, 
extracting wealth from labor of their hands, 
then sing God Save the King in church on Sunday. 

The first time his eyes see fierce countenance 
of black-eyed Electra with wavy hair 
his heart thumps thunderously with angst of love 
so he gives her magic ring of his heart 
then flies her home on wings of Icarus 
with joyous whimsy of the cosmic bard. 

Without My Burning Heart

Without My Burning Heart
© Surazeus
2023 02 16

Without my burning heart to guide my way, 
I would be lost in maze of Wonderland, 
so I will never kneel in gloom to pray 
to faceless terror of the bloody hand, 
as if I am the star that never falls 
to crack the mirror mask in doorless halls. 

Without my burning heart to light the world, 
no fruit trees blossom from vast parking lots 
where war orphans follow the cosmic herald 
who turns them into valiant Argonauts 
dauntless in their fight against tyranny 
to calculate strange code through irony. 

Without my burning heart to crack the eggs 
that nurture demon souls of deities, 
described by names and deeds in catalogs 
because Orion loves the Pleiades, 
our children program weird computer code 
to map the multiverse by psychic road. 

Without my burning heart to frame the truth 
with arcane doctrine of the hero code 
I accept my fate as messiah sleuth, 
though I refuse to sing the palinode 
disputing doctrine that the afterlife 
is lie designed to heal hearts torn by strife. 

Without my burning heart to trace the path 
my bold ancestors blaze around the globe, 
I could not grow into the polymath 
composing ballads to pulse of the strobe 
that blinds wingless angel in the glass church 
who budgets journey for the occult search. 

Without my burning heart to prove the notion 
that we are atoms swerving in the void, 
I could not find primal cause of all motion 
that spurs my dreams in psychic solenoid 
when we run laughing on the beach of faith 
to become one with the galactic wraith. 

Without my burning heart to choose the words 
that help me navigate vast maze of myths, 
I might not find you singing with lake birds 
safe withing ring of diamond monoliths 
which form ancient temples of dinosaurs 
now thriving as sad poets in bookstores. 

Without my burning heart to print the tale 
depicting tragic romance of young fools, 
I will build paradise in river vale 
with secret formulas of psychic tools 
so I can raise my family in safe home 
when I find the true grail and cease to roam. 

Ancient Heart Of Power

Ancient Heart Of Power
© Surazeus
2023 02 15

The raven girl in fenceless field of corn 
still gathers skulls of kings from dreamless graves, 
for she knows where messiah sleuth was born 
and learned from witches in dark gemless caves. 
The young boy born from ancient heart of power 
knows how to translate passion of the flower. 

The raven girl walks by the River Jordan 
with fruits of woe in basket of her heart, 
concealing key that opens secret garden 
to calculate our fate on starless chart. 
The prophet forging ancient heart of power 
protects his lonely bride in hidden tower. 

The raven girl on road that never bends 
strolls past the broken walls of ghostly towns 
while singing wordless hymn that never ends 
where milk cows chat with death on misty downs. 
The blind king clutching ancient heart of power 
runs wild and naked in the midnight shower. 

The raven girl in ruins of the church 
retrieves the arcane book of fairy tales, 
for she will never cease her sacred search 
to find the concept of the honest scales. 
The sad cook brewing ancient heart of power 
bakes agony from phantom of the flour. 

The raven girl awake in castle hall 
carves statue of Athena from my bones, 
so when I answer pain-extracting call 
I teach the art of song to demon stones. 
The wolf boy chasing ancient heart of power 
finds Fairy Queen in cool shade of her bower. 

The raven girl in chthonic vale of faith 
encodes our memories in global myth 
till weeping farmers worship sun-faced wraith 
whose soul vibrates from Martian monolith. 
The grim bard scoring ancient heart of power 
sits stranded in train station with the dour. 

The raven girl in gnomic dream of fear 
explores beyond stone walls of paradise 
to learn art of rulership from the seer 
who judges truth through throwing of the dice. 
The weird clown cheating ancient heart of power 
plays chess with death to signal sullen glower. 

The raven girl who marries me with love 
designs reincarnation of our souls 
as wise child who loves charting stars above 
while painting characters who play weird roles. 
The third son gambling ancient heart of power 
chooses to live as humble corn-field plower. 

Shining Light Of Faith

Shining Light Of Faith
© Surazeus 
2023 02 14

Follow shining light of faith to create
map of behavior that leads to heaven. 
I try to design my own secret fate 
by translating laughter of the moon raven. 
I rise each morning with light of the sun 
till I fall asleep in heart of the grave. 

Dancing slowly in beams of morning light, 
Juturna brings me glass of sparkling water. 
Growing from your heart like the aerophyte, 
I design beauty with hands of the potter. 
The moon gleams on rainwater in the pot 
that reflects love in shining light of faith. 

Search for shining light of faith to conceive 
new life from seed of spirit generation. 
I leap abyss of mystery to believe 
love can spark process between thought and action. 
I float at midnight on the ocean wave 
till I resurrect from heart of the grave. 

Drawing bucket of water from the well, 
Juturna fills tall jars in family wagons. 
Chanting Saturnian verses in dream spell, 
I teach our son Janus how to tame dragons. 
The moon glitters inside the leather bag 
that captures soul of the Zephyrian wraith. 

Measure shining light of faith to display 
round shape of Telluria from star-watch tower. 
Organic forms of atoms will decay 
to dust of time that nourishes the flower. 
We meditate together in sea cave 
to raise our children at heart of the grave. 

Humming melody of the temple muse, 
Juturna tends herbs and worts in lush garden. 
Extracting my brain from ocean dream ooze, 
I evolve so my body cannot harden. 
The moon spirals in minds of embryos 
as characters programmed by social myth. 

Treasure shining light of faith to perform 
role of God archetype as Tribal Leader. 
Swerving from restrictive rules of the norm, 
I choose heart-aching romance as a breeder. 
Holding hands in eerie glow of the nave, 
we kiss to navigate heart of the grave. 

Breastfeeding our child with the secret name, 
Juturna rests under the Tree of Knowledge. 
Transcending struggle of the social game, 
I teach classes at Apollonia College. 
Standing with Juturna at the cliff edge, 
I give her love with shining light of faith. 

Lost In The World

Lost In The World
© Surazeus
2023 02 13

Though the traveler gets lost in the world 
they are still on the journey of their heart, 
so I keep walking toward where I am not 
till I decide this place where I am now 
is where I am ever destined to be, 
thus I find my true self when I get lost. 

I cannot lose myself in the vast world 
because I am always inside my head, 
so though I do not know where I am now, 
far from familiar places where I lived, 
I am always right where I want to be 
since I can go somewhere else when I want. 

The young woman lost in the wilderness 
sits on warm boulder by the flowing stream, 
and stares at strange trees growing on strange hills 
till they become familiar to her eyes, 
then she walks along the river of song 
to find out where it flows with sparkling hope. 

I remember the village of wood huts 
nestled in the valley beside the lake, 
but I cannot find the hearth of my heart 
because I forgot to mark with stone signs 
the path I followed when I left its pale, 
so I will keep looking till I find home. 

The raven in the oak tree by the river 
swoops down and snags the lizard in its beak, 
then hops along behind the wingless angel 
who gathers berries and nuts in the basket 
then sits by the oak as the sun sets red 
and sings heart-breaking song of loneliness. 

I wonder if other people like me 
exist somewhere in vastness of this world, 
or if I am the strange anomaly 
that should not exist in the scheme of life, 
for I have never been where I should be 
and I will never find home of my heart. 

The old woman who walks ten miles each day 
travels eight thousand miles across the world 
over fifty years toward the rising sun, 
stopping at last on the broad ocean shore 
where sunlight sparkles on the silver waves, 
lost forever in nowhere of the world. 

The lost traveler on journey of hope, 
alone with terrible beauty of life, 
who traveled from the sea where the sun sets, 
stares at the sea where the sun rises now, 
then lies down on the sand and watches clouds 
swirl into vast eye of infinity. 

Secret Room Of Faith

Secret Room Of Faith
© Surazeus
2023 02 12

The raven girl in the black lace dress grins 
as lightning flashes scarlet in rain clouds, 
then runs through forest of the howling ghost 
to face the demon rising over tomb 
from corpse of the pilgrim in long black cloak, 
and banishes him to Hell with magic spell. 

The pilgrim preacher in the humble church 
commands the worshippers to kneel and pray, 
then takes young girl to secret room of faith 
where he declares that she will bear his child 
who will reign on Earth as the chosen one 
according to sacred command of God. 

Attempting to escape grip of his hands, 
the young girl gasps when he pushes her down, 
then closes her eyes, paralyzed with fear, 
as he prays for holy spirit of love 
to fill her with divine seed of his soul 
so she can reincarnate son of God. 

Writhing free from greedy grasp of his hands, 
the young girl flees from secret room of faith 
to stumble into congregation hall 
where people of the town who pray to God 
stare shocked as she cries with distraught despair 
that the preacher tried to make her with child. 

Emerging from dark secret room of faith, 
the steel-eyed preacher of the pilgrim band 
declares with thunderous voice of divine law 
that the evil deceiver has possessed 
body and mind of the young pretty girl 
who tried to seduce with charming smile. 

Shouting loudly to drown out her small voice, 
the pilgrim preacher proclaims with fierce growl 
that Satan has possessed the pretty girl 
for she has chosen to become his witch, 
then commands they bind her tight to the pole 
though she screams and tries to escape their rage. 

Murdered by preacher of the pilgrim band, 
the raven girl rises from flames of truth 
to live four hundred years after her death 
as black-winged angel of the apple grove 
who haunts descendants of the village folk 
for failing to save her from unjust death. 

Exposing crime of the town founding father, 
that had been hidden from popular view 
more than four hundred years of history, 
the raven girl in the black lace dress reads 
report she wrote in the museum hall 
while the audience weeps at the tragic tale. 

Entering charred ruins of the ancient church, 
overgrown with vines in the misty woods, 
the raven girl encounters star-eyed ghost 
of her ancestor who escaped the preacher 
still lingering sad in secret room of faith 
as spirit hidden in the Book of Shadows. 

Leading townspeople in the protest march, 
the raven girl stands before tall bronze statue 
depicting founding father of their town, 
and twirls lasso that snags idol of power, 
so they tear it down off stone pedestal 
while chanting that true justice will prevail. 

Terrible Beauty Of Life

Terrible Beauty Of Life
© Surazeus
2023 02 11

The deathless mother of the spinning world 
uncoils bodies of her children from light 
illuminating garden of her heart, 
and breathes ethereal spirit of the stars 
that animates their minds with conscious love 
to savor terrible beauty of life. 

The spirit of blackness inside our brains 
expresses shadow of time on world lake 
in shifting flashes of astounded souls 
who sing with silence of eternal love 
ever blooming as fruit trees on the shore 
to reflect terrible beauty of life. 

The dark demon that sleeps inside my heart 
motivates my quest to explore the world 
in search for relics of the mindless god 
that vibrates atoms in matrix of souls 
through cry that inhabits my eager ache 
to express terrible beauty of life. 

The dream of tumbling planets blossoms bright 
with glowing halo of torn angel wings 
conceals my pilgrimage to sea-side town 
where barefoot children play with hungry waves 
on sunlit tidal flats of endless hope 
to reveal terrible beauty of life. 

The delicate schooner gliding on froth 
sails past vague shores of lush Elysium 
where ancient monstrous gods of primal lust 
lie under blue unchanging sheen of time, 
veiled by gold curtain of serpentine light, 
to challenge terrible beauty of life. 

The sleeping beauty of the ruined castle 
rises on malignant wings of desire 
to hold frail human heart in trembling hands 
that pulses taut with anguish of intent 
as shining instrument that creates souls 
to revive terrible beauty of life. 

The stark indifferent moon smiles at my mind 
with buzzing gaze of wordless ecstasy 
that borrows secret passion I employ 
constructing virtual world my brain designs 
with concept of vulnerable loneliness 
to restore terrible beauty of life. 

The shadow of love shrouds my heart in faith 
that fuels aggressive force my mind restrains 
so I can channel energy of love 
through throbbing therapy within the horse 
still searching the Promised Land for my grave 
to design terrible beauty of life. 

Preserving Dreams Of Love

Preserving Dreams Of Love
© Surazeus
2023 02 10

My feet guide me into the swirling crowd 
of strangers seeking solitude together, 
for I would treasure memories we share 
as if Death knows where I someday will be 
though I seek laughter in the sparkling rain 
with drops preserving dreams of love I lost. 

Yet in soft moonlight of blue evening glow 
we gather around crackling flames of faith 
to share strange stories of our messy play 
when we adventure far from hearth of hope 
to find the treasure of our aching hearts 
in stones preserving dreams of love we find. 

You ask me how I know our love is real 
while we collect from naked trees of fear 
fresh apples formed from flash of sudden rain, 
and I reply with nonchalant despair 
that I feel bird wings flutter in my breast 
from pulse preserving dreams of love we hide. 

Dark wisdom bubbling from the fountain well 
could nourish children who play hide and seek 
in vast library where word ghosts abide 
though lovers lost in paradise return 
to daily drudge of hard back-breaking work 
with seeds preserving dreams of love we plant. 

I find you waiting by the cherry tree 
that curves lithe as sweet grace of wordless hope 
with white buds swelling on its fragile twigs, 
so we cup hands to catch soft flakes of light, 
then kiss with tender passion of desire 
for fruit preserving dreams of love we taste. 

My lunar heart of anguish redefined 
knows how to walk slick groove of honesty, 
so I smile bright at every soul I meet 
to feel our bodies woven in one flow 
of vibrant matrix taut with energy 
from stars preserving dreams of love we count. 

Through golden ratio of the galaxy 
light spirals into planets teeming souls 
who dance together in the pouring rain 
after working all day in fields of crops 
to cherish pleasure of this fleeting life 
as brains preserving dreams of love we sing. 

I find myself alone in crowd of people 
when I gaze entranced in your moon-black eyes 
so we move toward each other with desire 
to play romantic roles with perfect grace 
through fertile tale of passion we compose 
in books preserving dreams of love we share. 

Concept Of My Naked Brain

Concept Of My Naked Brain
© Surazeus
2023 02 09

Because I wake in darkness of the mind 
I invent insolent names for the rain 
while walking neverward on broken thoughts 
till mired in muddle of sweet loneliness 
I decide not to die in silent hope 
so I become mute flakes of falling snow. 

Soft dazzle of my shadow on red grass 
unclocks sudden consciousness of my brain 
too adequate for unsurrendered fate 
based on free will of my pretentious choice 
disdaining sound of clouds in timeless sky 
when summer sorrow stutters dream of waves. 

With promised pleasure midnight allocates 
for careless body that exudes regret 
that nothing comes from nothing in vast flow, 
reflecting multicolored thoughts of gods, 
I study how green sky distracts the sad 
by streaming hope on rays of honest fear. 

When I build absence from the wordless air 
to wave farewell with ornamental birds 
the strange new concept of the faceless name 
assembles lack of breath with zero luck 
submerged in shining passion of the eye 
pale blue as early morning sky that knows. 

Though seasons swirl in weary heresy 
behind closed blinds of fractured story stones 
we wear unspoken hopes in cloak of truth 
based on disastrous completeness of life 
to outlive myths our ancestors design 
with deviations from the changeless moon. 

Escaping empire of bland enmity 
that coddles hateful traitors to our cause, 
I build new ship of state from demon bones 
based on sidereal truthiness of love 
that shifts with fractal dust of hungry minds 
though we exchange coins to energize faith. 

From endless famine of the miracle 
that measures blood spilled in slaughter of faith 
I wake from vision of the doorless house 
waiting among ancient forgotten trees 
where I learn how to walk without my wings 
which I gave to oldest woman on Earth. 

I tear down grove of trees where I was born 
so I can build new paradise of fate 
in vain attempt to reclaim my lost self 
when I journey beyond the world I know 
which changes concept of my naked brain 
from angry young fool to the cosmic herald. 

Ancient Secret Of Happiness

Ancient Secret Of Happiness
© Surazeus
2023 02 08

She turns every sign backward with sly smirk 
to misdirect true way to paradise 
while visiting her lover by god tree 
that blossoms from foul rotten corpse of Zeus 
in ancient forest where blind demons lurk 
since terrible beauty of life is free. 

She walks the signless road to Avalon 
where ravens gossip on telephone lines 
about celebrities of the art world 
who dare defy world state authority 
by making beautiful art that presents 
different ways to define reality. 

She calls the blind bard on the telephone 
because she loves the way his songs confound 
businessmen who analyze profit scale 
based on the flower in hand of the child 
who knows ancient secret of happiness 
that motivates the latest holy war. 

She opens book of stories on the desk 
where magic runes contain souls of dead gods 
conjured up by eyes of readers who dream 
how we must fight back against tyranny 
then give each living soul inalienable right 
to pursue their happiness into Hell. 

She runs through milling crowd of refugees 
forever toward the man with hidden wings 
to welcome him home from the sixth world war 
while he wanders the bright museum maze, 
so they hold hands and chat with Willow Tree 
about ghost of the girl in the locked door. 

She hides idol of Zeus in fertile womb 
to raise him as her first-born son with rules 
constraining fierce aggression of his lust 
so he can reign on ziggurat of skulls 
over vast empire his father designs 
to organize skilled labor of our hands. 

She molds mud of the Earth into my body, 
and weaves sunlight into my dreaming brain, 
then conjures strike of lightning from Tiwaz 
which sparks awake my conscious state of being 
so I observe the world with curious eye 
to comprehend the true nature of things. 

She wears global mask of our deathless mother 
who remembers first flash of the big bang 
by teaching me how to sing magic spells 
so I can play role of messiah sleuth 
performing quest to find the Holy Grail 
at second coming of the cosmic herald. 

Weird Art Of Living Free

Weird Art Of Living Free
© Surazeus
2023 02 08

Because I am the compass of the sea, 
inviolate thought still buzzing in my brain, 
I leap the singing waves of Avalon 
to find myself more strange than anyone 
who tries to measure passion of the rain 
reflecting lonely treasure of the key. 

Not less myself than everyone who knows 
just how to play the new fantastic role 
that would deceive the brightest butterfly 
because I sail the crystal ship of why 
more apt to bungle mission of the goal 
in restless search to understand dawn snows. 

Yet still we gather on the destined shore 
to explore vast maze in Palace of Hoon 
where even bitter ghosts can still be heard 
to imitate strict program of the bird 
designed by trees to analyze the moon 
before my strangeness arrogates the core. 

Because my flowers of the bleeding hill 
must be reflected in glass eye of death 
I look beyond the tower of desire 
to study resurrection through the fire, 
expressing fear from hero of the myth 
who teaches fools to exercise their will. 

Because she is the genius of the sea, 
embodiment of sorrow in sweet form, 
I wear the gasping mask of mountain wind 
with tragic gesture of the honest friend, 
awake at flashing wisdom of the storm 
since we must learn weird art of living free. 

If dark voice of the sky speaks through my heart, 
expressing lonely beauty we prefer, 
then I play games in dream-emblazoned zones 
with magic sparkle of brain telephones 
though I am first-born son of Lucifer 
who maps world history on the mental chart. 

Bright lights of fishing boats in swirling mist 
guide refugees of war to lonely town 
where Goddess of the Sea with blazing eyes 
still sings enchanting hymns in weird disguise 
to wake bold courage of the humble clown 
who preaches that we all should coexist. 

So we must now accept this shocking truth, 
that weak and fearful men join fascist gangs 
that fight to enslave the weak for their gain, 
but they spend psychic energy in vain 
for Justice always breaks their bitter plans 
through agency of the messiah sleuth. 

Watch That Can Turn Back Time

Watch That Can Turn Back Time
© Surazeus
2023 02 07

If I had the watch that can turn back time 
I would return to the magical hour 
when you and I, while traveling our own paths 
through maze of doorless opportunities, 
meet face to face with intriguing surprise 
that first reveals the destiny we share. 

Gazing with speechless joy of aching hope 
in eyes of the stranger we know so well, 
we see that we both follow the same star 
which was always leading us by our hearts 
to the same haven where we share one goal 
of generating life in reborn souls. 

If I had the watch that can turn back time 
I would go back to the first hour we met 
to relive the eerie wonder of love 
that still sparks our hearts with passionate hope 
instead of trying to change our destiny 
for I will never regret meeting you. 

Though we have journeyed on the road of life 
together as companions of firm faith 
for more than twenty years since we first met 
I would return to the first time we kissed 
so we can savor beyond end of time 
pleasure of love that binds us with one heart. 

If I had the watch that can turn back time 
I would replay the drama of our love 
forever dwelling on supportive stage 
on which we establish our thriving home 
which sustains dreams of children we create 
who blossom from foundation of our hearts. 

I wandered far throughout the fruited plains, 
across deserts, and over rugged mountains, 
in lonely journey from land of my birth 
to find the soul mate of my loving heart, 
while singing in rain under silver moon 
with faith that I will find you on our road. 

If I had the watch that can turn back time 
I would preserve the memories of our love 
sustained by routine of our daily lives 
that glows with fragile energy of faith 
for our brief story in vast stretch of time 
though we will vanish in eternity. 

Though death will erase us from dream of time 
so our names that define our hungry souls, 
and plot of our fertile romance, will fade 
to nothing in spiraling stream of time, 
we treasure fleeting beauty of our lives 
since we have no watch that can turn back time. 

Bright Light In Your Eyes

Bright Light In Your Eyes
© Surazeus
2023 02 06

The terrible beauty of life shines bright 
in orange glow of the sunset over hills 
where children play in woods ten thousand years 
in games of love to evade ache of sorrow 
which generates life from pain of despair 
though misfortune blights our dreams for the future. 

The old gray-haired woman in the wheelchair 
by the oak tree outside the nursing home 
remembers fifty years before when she 
fell in love with the gentle man 
who proposed to her on the river shore 
before the puzzle scatters on the floor. 

The little girl on the broad ocean beach 
finds the magic watch in sparkling white sand 
that turns back time when she unwinds the hour 
so she can correct mistakes of the past 
but she must pay the cost by aging faster, 
time fleeting as the snowflake and the flower. 

Smiling at the cat who purrs as she pets 
fluffy fur, the old woman explains how 
we must pay when we regain things we lose, 
for we must give equal to what we take, 
then wanders the dark hall of empty hope 
to rescue the hero from his cold cage. 

Bright light in your eyes, she whispers to ghost 
of her murdered husband, guides me through maze 
of confusing memories, because I fear 
I will forget your smile when you come home 
after work, buried under falling leaves 
when our souls are scattered by wind of time. 

Opening the hymn book in empty church 
of whispering shadows, the old gray-haired girl 
sings in harmony with the eyeless sparrow 
that perches on her hand with fragile wings 
of moonlight, but stops when the silver bell 
never rings with voice of the broken door. 

Gazing at her wrinkled face in the mirror, 
the oldest woman in the world suspects 
her magic watch was broken when she tried 
to save her husband from death many times, 
so she throws it into the flowing stream 
of time, then weeps under the willow tree. 

It seems just yesterday I was still young 
but when I woke at dawn today I found 
I am suddenly old, my aching soul 
fragile as the glass vase on the book shelf 
where photos of people I love display 
memories beaming from bright light in your eyes. 

When Death Comes

When Death Comes
© Surazeus
2023 02 05

When Death comes wearing eyes of the blind girl 
she sits at fractured window of the church 
and gazes at weird nothing of the world 
then tells me what is missing from its scope 
so I see strange beauty that is not there 
through ways of being that is not possible. 

When Death comes singing riddle of the waves 
she sits in hollow nowhere of her home 
to remember days fifty years before 
when she was young and full of vital fire 
for she still looks for awe in All of life 
because she sees Earth as sacred again. 

When Death comes riding horse of mountain wind 
she sits at kitchen table in her home 
to record her radical noticing 
with disconnected symbols of world myth 
which maps her exodus from maze of lies 
after social systems fail and break down. 

When Death comes searching for the Promised Land 
she sits in cemetery of dead gods 
to listen with her heart to songs of ghosts 
that emanate from tangled words of books 
so she can contemplate progress of life 
since we first rise from mirror lake of dreams. 

When Death comes wearing mask of the mad god 
she sits on giant river stone of faith 
and preaches to lost refugees of war 
way of salvation their minds must invent 
by breathing holy spirit of starlight 
that weaves atoms in neural nets of brains. 

When Death comes writing stories of our lives 
she sits in library of weeping books 
to breathe eternal darkness of the heart 
so we can distinguish voices of truth 
when gaining knowledge of the wilderness 
expressing consciousness the brain designs. 

When Death comes flapping wings of the lame angel 
she sits before mirror of timeless truth 
as statue carved from the sycamore tree 
that depicts Margarita on the front 
and fierce Mephistopheles on the back 
though she only sees herself in its glow. 

When Death comes chatting with skull of Orpheus 
she sits beneath the fruitful Tree of Knowledge 
till she transforms to her true serpent form 
as Melusine, First Mother of Mankind, 
whose long black hair and moon-pure eyes embrace 
fragile flame of my soul as we make love. 

Spy Balloon In The Sky

Spy Balloon In The Sky
© Surazeus
2023 02 04

The girl in the black dress walks down the street 
while dropping rose petals on cold cement 
to protest how vampires in business suits 
exploit zombies who work in factories 
building time machines for the king of fools 
to release the spy balloon in the sky. 

The singing crocodile in glass church 
preaches good news of the savior Sobek 
to explain resurrection of the soul 
when seeds sprout from mud to generate truth 
that hides beautiful horror of this life 
to confound the spy balloon in the sky. 

The girl wearing sunglasses in winter 
strides along the street like the runway model 
who never stumbles over our tombstones 
by solving crossword puzzles in the paper 
while ignoring stories of space invaders 
to observe the spy balloon in the sky. 

The shy hawk on the Tree of Lost Knowledge 
extrapolates wisdom from rotten corpse 
who waits among flowers with pungent scents 
that hypnotize the lonely wolf with hopes 
still unfulfilled when the crystal moon cracks 
to expose the spy balloon in the sky. 

The girl with three eyes that perceive hard core 
spinning forever deep inside the Earth 
with passion of the iron butterfly 
validates my sacred right to exist 
while she plays violin in the dream cave 
to assess the spy balloon in the sky. 

The honest horse who steals apples from snakes 
guides the lonely jester on signless roads 
that criss-cross nation of the angry boys 
who shoot guns of fear at shadows of truth 
which haunt their dark nights with horror of death 
to evade the spy balloon in the sky. 

The girl with serpent wings of burning words 
deconstructs story of the evil tyrant 
despised by the bourgeois who play piano 
for attacking nations of his own race 
instead of colonizing savage tribes 
to revise the spy balloon in the sky. 

The lonely demon in the video store 
smiles brightly at each person who walks in 
then watches Orlando after midnight 
play chess with Death in library of ghosts 
who plot revolution of the mad king 
to retrieve the spy balloon in the sky. 

Embrace Theology Of Love

Embrace Theology Of Love
© Surazeus
2023 02 03

When I feel ache in the dying of things 
that combusts through my mind with ecstasy, 
I savor the strange loveliness of things 
that hypnotize my heart with fantasy 
so on the shore of Mar-nan-otha Pool 
I search for Tree Muse who enchants my soul. 

Though I am mad with bitterness of hope 
in walking slow circles around the oak, 
I shout to the Glow Cloud that I will cope 
when I break free from the sorrowful yoke, 
but I stare at leaves fluttering in the breeze 
while I fumble confused with rusty keys. 

Yet still I tumble in dream of the leaf 
on wingless sorrow of the eglantine, 
half-mad with honest pain of wordless grief 
in weeping for sad death of Melusine 
who taught me how to read Runes in the well 
that mirror anguish of the tolling bell. 

Encumbered with ruins of ancient faith, 
when I fall into chaos of the sea, 
I struggle gasping against the star wraith, 
fraught with unquenchable fire of the free, 
till I rise resurrected from my rage 
to portray Lucifer on the world stage. 

Though I embrace theology of love 
that all things perish in the wind of time 
through inevitable hunger for life, 
I continue to breathe death as I climb 
enormous mountain of my emptiness 
that births graceful courage of happiness. 

Each autumn I pluck ripe plums of desire, 
addicted to dreams stuck in the machine 
to channel stoic passion of the choir 
that sings in wilderness of the unclean 
where we hear riddles of the hurricane 
which ponders quaint quintessence of the vain. 

Ephemeral beauty of the naked song 
gives my soul freedom to contemplate why 
I must search for myself in the wild throng 
that dares to challenge power of the sky 
through revolution of the taboo thought 
when I choose to secretly twist the plot. 

Gazing in vast heart of the black sapphire 
with arrogant pride in how I know truth, 
I expose their greed through subtle satire 
that highlights grace of the messiah sleuth 
through virile benevolence of his heart 
when he records our fate with the star chart. 

Resurrection Of Orpheus

Resurrection Of Orpheus
© Surazeus
2023 02 02

Nine women collecting herbs in rain-wet woods 
find the singer dead beside the pool 
still clutching his broken lyre to his chest, 
so they cover rotting body with flowers, 
then sing till he disappears in moonlight 
and they hear his melody in the wind. 

Eight thousand years after his painful death 
construction workers, digging up the Earth 
to build new office building of blue glass, 
find his skeleton vibrating in mud, 
so someone calls the archaeologist 
who photographs the laughing skull of God. 

Lightning strikes the skeleton of glass 
that resurrects the singer back to life, 
so workers and the archaeologist 
back away shocked as they gasp in surprise 
when the ancient singer rises from mud 
and walks forward into the maze of myths. 

While walking slowly on the signless road, 
the singer strums the gold lyre in his hands, 
and sings heart-aching melody of truth, 
so thousands of people, in every town 
he passes through on ghastly wings of light, 
join enormous crowd of his followers. 

Leading millions of people in huge crowd 
across the land from sea to shining sea, 
the ancient singer strumming the gold lyre 
keeps walking like relentless robot clown 
as he sings ballad of each human soul 
who ever lives in history of the Earth. 

Terrified of his weird psychotic power, 
the governments of nations in his way 
send armies of tanks and planes to shoot missiles 
that explode in fireballs of fragile egos, 
but still the ancient singer with gold lyre 
marches onward against authority. 

Arriving at gate to the Garden of Eden, 
where God lounges on soft couch eating grapes 
and watching beautiful Apsaras dance, 
the ancient singer with eight billion faces 
sings in cold torrents of arrogant rain 
while plucked lyre strings shoot lasers at the gate. 

Eight billion people storm the gates of Heaven 
to dance among fruit trees of paradise, 
feasting on wisdom from the Tree of Life, 
while the ancient singer with the gold lyre 
dissolves into seeds scattered in the wind 
that sprout apple trees from vast parking lots. 

Dragged Down By Sorrow

Dragged Down By Sorrow
© Surazeus
2023 02 01

Dragged down by sorrow of the silent door, 
I call name of the soul I love the most 
who gives me apple of the lonely sun 
then disappears in shadow of the road 
in search for valley of the walking wall 
where flowers dance in sparkle of the rain. 

Dragged down by sorrow of the weeping bell, 
I search in gravel of the forlorn road 
for secret treasure of the singing tree 
who waits forever on the river shore 
for weary traveler with the morose book 
from too far away on the dreary plain. 

Dragged down by sorrow of the ringing rain, 
I hide in cavern of the faceless ghost 
uncomforted by light of the blind moon 
that shimmers hazy shape of our frail bones 
though we build shelter from lost memories 
which swirl away as smoke in gusting wind. 

Dragged down by sorrow of the laughing skull, 
I kneel in temple of the weeping bride 
with gift of my broken heart in my hands 
when I pray to deathless mother of time 
who molds our bodies from waves of the sea 
and teaches us how to sing words of truth. 

Dragged down by sorrow of the mocking clock, 
I walk treed avenues of playful rain 
to find the secret voice of mortal minds 
that radiates bright from void of silent hope 
because we struggle against fear of death 
which will erase us all from dream of time. 

Dragged down by sorrow of the gentle wolf, 
I run forever through the maze of myths 
with book I stole to calculate the way 
isolation completes stillness of faith 
when I sense sudden storm of pungent rain 
that shapes my thoughts with energy of love. 

Dragged down by sorrow of the angry owl, 
I steal new wings from Icarus so I 
can fly above this ever-changing world 
to find the changeless paradise of Heaven 
in Realm of Ideas where I create 
virtual world from concept of mutual love. 

Dragged down by sorrow of the smiling ghost, 
I visit mother of humanity 
who lounges in round temple of the snake 
where Apollo prophesies with blood runes 
reincarnation of the cosmic herald 
when keepers of the sword and grail unite.