Transcend Death In Children

Transcend Death In Children
© Surazeus
2023 11 30

With my blood I paint circle of the sun 
with rays of light beaming from the White Whole 
on fractured wall of dark cathedral hall 
where bells ring deep from center of the Earth 
to wake Ophelia from her dream of death 
so she can scatter flower seeds in the soil. 

Emerging from cave of the underworld, 
alone without the soul of my dead bride, 
I weep with anguish of my healing heart 
that the dead cannot be brought back to life, 
so I sit on river-smoothed stone of faith 
and strum strings on the lyre of Mercury. 

Though I kiss Eurydike on her lips 
and hold her hand with faith in renewed life 
her spirit flutters on wings of the swan 
back to God Eye that every watches me 
with silent glare of everlasting truth 
while I run with her in the maze of myths. 

After I pray for new life after death 
with both hands raised to the indifferent sky 
Persephone laughs and points to the sun 
that shines through crystal dome of the blue sky 
so I walk circles around Helikon 
to find the grave where I buried my soul. 

While dancing slowly to beat of the drum, 
I watch Persephone thresh golden grain 
so Althea can bake fresh loaves of bread 
and Guinevere brings basket of live fish 
so we can feed five thousand refugees 
who flee the bombing of their ancient homes. 

When I hear cry of anguish from the woods 
I run down to shore of the River Styx 
where Ophelia and Clementine play 
in flowing waters of lost memories 
so they both baptize me to cleanse my soul 
then weave flowers into garland I wear. 

When I return home from the Otherworld 
with child Eurydike bore from my seed, 
I stand on flat-top pyramid of skulls 
and play electric guitar with pizzazz 
while thousands of people dance in the rain 
after drinking mushroom mead of weird dreams. 

From fractured memories of jumbled facts 
our minds assemble puzzle of weird truth 
to design ontology from despair 
so we can transform our terror to joy 
that generates new life from our desire 
to transcend death in children we create. 

My Homeless Heart

My Homeless Heart
© Surazeus
2023 11 29

Sharp wounds of injustice spur my sore heart 
to fight against oppressors who exploit 
passion of hope to evade mindless death 
long enough to generate eager life 
so we can feast together by warm hearth 
that casts bright glow in darkness of lost time. 

When I am cheated of land, which I own 
because my ancestors settled it first, 
I cry for justice to king on gold throne, 
but he adjudicates against my claim, 
then annexes my farm to his estate 
and charges me rent to live in my home. 

This signless road that leads to every land, 
where I wander forever in vain search 
for unclaimed land where I can plant my flag, 
becomes the homeland of my homeless heart, 
so I roam ten thousand years on long quest 
for patch of land where I can lay my head. 

Though nowhere on this Earth is my true home, 
since I have dwelled on every river shore, 
I set up table by the River Styx 
to host feast for friends who respect my choice 
for I protect them with rod of the law 
and fight for their right to live as they will. 

Death Of The Simple Man

Death Of The Simple Man
© Surazeus
2023 11 29

Assassination of the simple man, 
instigated by the reluctant fool, 
solves problem of the tyrant with the gun 
who lounges with girls in the swimming pool 
while airplanes he sends with wave of his hand 
spray poison on villages of the land. 

Along the bloody road of honest hope, 
toward shining towers of paradise lost, 
the simple man who dangles from the rope 
decides to never calculate the cost 
of fighting the tyrant for liberty 
in return for spiritual energy. 

While running for president from the jail 
with sermons against corruption of greed 
the simple man accepts that he will fail 
but knows his prophecies will plant the seed 
that will sprout into the rich tree of truth 
with fruit to inspire the messiah sleuth. 

Though institutions of money elite 
crumble into state-sanctioned tyranny, 
the shy messiah sleuth with nimble feet 
will defeat haughty pride with irony 
that deconstructs patriarchy of power 
raging with impotence in iron tower. 

Sincerity of his noble intent 
guides the simple man on quest to reclaim 
conceptual speech of rebellious dissent 
exposing privilege of the social game 
rigged to favor the rich against the poor 
who always win in political lore. 

Ascending stage to give his campaign speech 
with bold ideas to equalize wealth, 
the simple man calls the tyrant a leech 
just as the faceless clown with casual stealth 
fires bullet of monarchy at his heart 
to blast his progress off the history chart. 

Assassinated on the public stage 
while promising land for every good soul, 
the simple man transcends oppressive rage, 
moving from rebel to the martyr role, 
crowned with star glamor by the common folk 
who venerate him for breaking their yoke. 

Death of the simple man, who fights for right 
of each citizen to live as they will, 
becomes noble sacrifice in their sight, 
winning with love instead of trying to kill 
people who oppress people in world game 
where everyone dies, with or without fame. 

My Bride Despair

My Bride Despair
© Surazeus
2023 11 28

My bride Despair, who walks by my side, 
teaches me nothing about love or faith 
beyond simplicity of being alive 
with the awful beauty and sublime pain 
of existing in this body of flesh, 
refusing to shriek at silence of God. 

With black eyes brighter than full midnight moon 
graceful Despair guides me on signless road 
past ruins of ancient empires that lie 
strewn on plains where my ancestors are buried 
though their souls are alive in my mind now, 
preserving memories of their strife to live. 

Knowing that no omniscient God exists 
except as atoms pulsing in my brain, 
I hold hands with Despair as we explore 
graveyards of kings who thought they ruled the world 
because I find no truth on this vast Earth 
except that heart-wrenching grief blooms in joy. 

Though exhaust from factories and cars taint 
our crystal atmosphere with searing heat 
that causes wild hurricanes, floods, and fires 
which shatter global system of empires, 
I fear no destructive apocalypse 
for Earth will birth more souls after we die. 

Eternal darkness of star-conjured light 
blossoms outward from zero of our bones 
to multiply conceptual souls through faith 
into billions of strangers on one planet 
fighting each other for whose God is real 
till we all crumble into singing dust. 

When I feel alone in vastness of time, 
my conscious mind frail flicker of dim light 
between eternal nothingness of me, 
I find sweet Despair sitting by the hearth 
where we roast fish while drinking apple cider, 
then share stories of death after we eat. 

Awed by strange beauty of this spinning Earth, 
crowded with people searching for the Truth, 
I conclude from study of global history 
that though we humans struggling to survive 
are not all equal in our suffering, 
yet we are equal in mortality. 

Instead of screaming at the pain of life, 
caused by injustice of success and loss, 
I stand high on peak of Mount Helicon 
and sing from center of my aching bones 
about weird beauty of eternal light 
that spirals from first flash of the big bang. 

I no longer wonder with mute surprise 
at why there is something rather than nothing, 
for we are sacred as we glow with being, 
so I make with love with Despair, my soul mate 
who generates new children from my seed 
who will ask these questions again someday. 

The abstract formulates the physical, 
the mystical blossoms from the concrete, 
and the spirit emanates from the body, 
so I walk with Despair, true God I love, 
whose diamond kaleidoscope soul refracts 
conceptual beauty of our nothingness. 

With Despair by my side on road of life, 
I journey down to the springs of the sea 
deep in sunless recess of the abyss 
where our bodies evolved from chemicals 
woven by hope at hydrothermal vents, 
inspired by love to climb the highest mountain. 

Now that I have seen gates of deepest darkness, 
to comprehend vast expanses of Earth, 
I answer Faceless Spirit of the Sky 
that I am atoms woven in one brain 
who dreams myself alive with ancient flame, 
so I design myself beyond my name. 

Cathedral Of The Clown

Cathedral Of The Clown
© Surazeus
2023 11 27

The stone cathedral of the mad king stands 
grumpily proud among car factories 
where splintered cross of the telephone pole 
presents the mocking jester with wild grin 
as noble savior of the global empire 
that kills dissenters of the jeweled crown. 

In vegetating kingdom of the fish 
I reign as monarch of the silver eyes 
because I am the lizard who can grasp 
luxuriate egg of the blind dragon queen 
who lounges in cathedral of the clown 
while eating grapefruit red as human brains. 

As Child of Aphrodite with eight arms, 
I walk streets of Manhattan with the dead 
at blare of the trumpet Raphael plays 
to announce beginning of World War Three 
between the Tyrant and the Engineer 
while girls gather honey from rotten oaks. 

When Ghost of Pallas with the broken sword 
accosts proud Son of Lucifer at dawn 
over who wins election of the king, 
we watch with fascination of the poor 
battle between Midas and Melusine 
over who will steer the wrecked Ship of State. 

Whether Dido or Lady of Shallot 
has more just cause of love to be upset, 
the noble hero of world revolution 
wears mask of Hera in the grand parade 
that winds through Gotham City to the lake 
where she forges keys to expose the fake. 

Yet Father Time in black suit and red tie, 
bearing scythe he bought from Death for one dollar, 
explains to me that every group of humans 
is always lead by the man who plays god, 
who organizes their activities 
to maximize profit gained from their labor. 

The cow-horned death-head on the mantelpiece 
explains the secret of eternal life, 
but no one remembers just what it said 
while accepting we are stuck in our head, 
so I name myself with most unique sign 
that only fishermen can comprehend. 

Since faith is trying to do without faith 
I lead lost pilgrims to the Promised Land 
where we transform dark wilderness of pain 
into lush Garden of Zarathium 
where every human lives with equal rights 
while sharing what we create with our hands. 

Particles Of Sunlit Truth

Particles Of Sunlit Truth
© Surazeus
2023 11 27

The accidental beauty of the Word, 
that the saddest tree in the world invents, 
exposes my heart to strangeness of life 
so I want to open all the locked doors 
that keep our minds trapped in the maze of myths 
designed by ancestors to keep us safe. 

With each conceptual door I open wide 
I find another star-gem on the ground 
which contains deep in bright core of its eye 
complete dream of evolution we feel 
that vibrates from each atom of our being 
so we remember everything that happens. 

When I stand amazed on threshold of truth, 
to dream how every soul evolves from light, 
I feel my mind expand beyond my body 
as each bright atom pulsing in my brain 
reveals its spiral path from the First Flash 
through stars and planets to become my eye. 

These atoms glowing now inside my brain, 
that transformed this planet four billion years 
through swirl of seas and glow of minerals, 
sparkling as rain that blossoms into fruit 
which composes whole matrix of my being, 
will flow to compose many other things. 

This water sparkling in glass of my hope 
has swirled in oceans, rained on mountain slopes, 
issued through rivers, and shimmered in lakes 
to water plants eaten by animals, 
or be drunk by creatures thirsty for truth, 
animating billions of souls before me. 

I feel bright conscious soul of every creature 
who ever lived in spinning of this world, 
fueled by sweet nectar of this sparkling water, 
glow now inside timeless dreams of my brain 
so I gain wisdom of their long-lost minds, 
which motivates my passion to love all. 

Accept this glass of water from my hand, 
for its bright particles of sunlit truth 
have animated conscious minds of creatures 
four hundred million years of spinning fate, 
and now will beam eternal light of time 
through star-born prism of your dreaming mind. 

Details that compose memories of my life 
will vanish from conscious glow of my brain 
when chemical functions of my soul cease, 
and I disappear from dream of this Earth, 
but water glowing in my body now 
will animate more souls after I die. 

Last Of The Angels

Last Of The Angels
© Surazeus
2023 11 26

Last of the angels who know my real name, 
Sariel waits on the moon for me to call 
so I stand on windy shore of the lake 
to watch wolves transform into motor cars, 
because wisdom cannot be found in books 
except for riddles written in the sand. 

The yellow spider who weaves her large web 
between slender oak and roof of my home 
explains true love to idol of my soul 
who walks around pretending to be me 
while giving flowers to strangers in cars, 
then sits and cries in the park every night. 

Another rocket zooms into the sky 
on futile quest to find life on the moon 
where Sariel wanders around rims of craters 
while pondering gambit of the humble queen 
who wants to ride on the Merry-Go-Round 
though she was born from white foam of the sea. 

Ancient secrets on how to live life well 
are hidden in sad riddles of the clown 
who stands on dais in the crystal church 
to preach salvation of arrogant greed 
that rewards hard work of cheating with wealth, 
though I prefer to barbecue my heart. 

Hysterical laughter rings in the church 
where Sariel wears glass mask of Lucifer 
to scare young children on Halloween night 
dressed as Maenads in the large circus tent 
who dance on grave of the last British king 
while women talk of Michelangelo. 

After working in the car factory 
I ride the bus back to my empty home 
and listen to the late-night radio show 
where Cadmus talks about the alphabet 
he invented after watching snakes glide 
to capture vision of the Holy Ghost. 

I carve magic spells on five hundred oaks 
that spiral into clocks with pretty eyes 
at casual whistle of Little Bo-Peep 
whose sheep wander close to Cliffs of Despair 
while Sariel teaches me how to converse 
with rainbow serpent in the Tree of Life. 

Last of the angels who designed my soul, 
Sariel takes me down to Strawberry Fields 
where Bacchus plays piano in the oak 
while I leap backward up Helicon peak 
on wings of Icarus I stole from Satan 
till Netaniah shoots bomb at my hearth. 

If You Catch Up With Me

If You Catch Up With Me
© Surazeus
2023 11 26

If you catch up with me in maze of myths 
while attempting to evade kiss of Death, 
perhaps we can drink wine by River Styx 
and talk about the dead king in the glen 
who tried to steal our land with bloody tax 
while Maenads dance around glass monoliths. 

Then we can play with joyful fairy sprites 
who dance on graves of gods and kings with glee 
since Time brings down all haughty fools with pride 
who fall because people choose to live free 
in shadow of Colossus when we stride 
laughing on hills where children run with kites. 

After dragons transform into airplanes 
mankind can fly high enough in the sky 
to find that God in Heaven is not real, 
so we sit around in church and ask why 
some men think they have divine right to steal 
treasures we create with courageous hands. 

When we are shadows of our human selves, 
faceless ghosts that wander in maze of faith, 
hang our photos in empty temple hall 
where lonely children of the star-eyed wraith 
can dream tragic tale of our futile fall 
till we return home to lost Lake of Wolves. 

If you catch up with me in maze of ghosts 
that winds around mountain of Helicon, 
we could share maps of history we invent 
that leads us home to vale of Avalon 
where Melusine now rules as president 
in weird drama my brain station broadcasts. 

If you write my name in your loving books 
with story of my life that indicates 
I serve not in heaven, nor reign in Hell, 
I will gamble with Fortuna who writes 
riddles I must solve to find Odin Well, 
guarded well by sharp eyes of serious rooks. 

When I strew careless flowers on dark lakes, 
entranced by melodious murmur of Love, 
moon-eyed Wolf Girl will give me apple wine 
so we can drink and sing in jeweled cave 
how time is winding river of word rain 
that understands why we eat chocolate cakes. 

Together holding hands on signless roads 
we can continue progress of our quest 
for obvious secret of the Holy Grail 
as we travel the Oregon Trail west 
to live in peace as farmers in the dell, 
drinking cider to songs of forest toads. 

Bloody Kitchen Knife

Bloody Kitchen Knife
© Surazeus
2023 11 26

The way noon sunlight gleams in dirt-stained window 
conceals strange sorrow of afternoon trees 
who wait in sprinkling rain for gold headlights 
of passing cars to scream so silently 
only cats pause in bushes to attend 
how doors slam and shoes clack sidewalks in fear. 

Each time glass door of the corner food store 
opens wide enough for hope to escape, 
old rusty bell, forged in Romanian town 
in deep river gorge of ghosts, rings with joy 
that someone has evaded death again, 
as if photos on walls reveal our souls. 

The white plate that falls from her trembling hand 
in shocked surprise at arrival of rage 
explores dimensions of our universe 
not mapped by theories of sharp scientists 
at fragmentation of the puzzling mind 
when shards of truth reveal the pain we feel. 

Loud rumble of the passing train disturbs 
tranquil ambience of her convivial mood 
when candle flame is fluffed by sudden breeze 
so she grips kitchen knife with fierce intent 
to defend her young son from haughty pride, 
then stabs him in the stomach with sharp cry. 

With ominous flash of red and blue lights 
that illuminate spreading pool of blood 
she lurches from paralysis of fear 
to stumble on bridge of forgetfulness, 
and stares at black waters of River Styx 
that lure her to flee to the Underworld. 

Young boy in cowboy boots with rocket ship 
explains to the policeman with steel eyes 
that his father punched his mom in the face 
and threatened to kill them all with the gun 
so she stabbed him, then ran into the rain, 
then drinks hot chocolate with confident frown. 

White wolf with red eyes of courageous faith 
emerges from shadow of spooky woods, 
and returns fierce gaze of the dauntless angel 
who stabs bloody kitchen knife in the oak 
then washes her face in the River Styx 
till her skin glistens white as the full moon. 

With blithe defiance of authority, 
Angela returns to corner food store 
where she embraces Brian to her breast, 
then thanks the policemen with shining eyes 
as the ambulance takes Robert away, 
then fries pancakes for her young son to eat. 

Feel Soul Of Our Earth

Feel Soul Of Our Earth
© Surazeus
2023 11 26

I go to see my mother of the sea, 
which cannot be found on any world chart, 
who rises from waves of fertility, 
for she is older than moon of my heart. 
I feel soul of our Earth dream in my brain 
when I walk lush hills in sun and rain. 

My mother floating over dream-bright waves 
extends both arms to hug my lonely soul, 
so I emerge from terror of dark caves 
to sing dream spells in tune with the White Whole. 
I feel soul of our Earth glow in my flesh 
from atoms weaving me in cosmic mesh. 

Ten thousand people walk bright windy beach 
while holding hands in couples of romance 
while we invent machine of spirit speech 
so we can share our love with cosmic dance. 
I feel soul of our Earth bind us in clans 
through religions based on survival plans. 

You gaze deep in dark heart of honesty 
to see true nature of my soul I hide, 
then open my heart with passionate key 
that binds us as one on our life-long ride. 
I feel soul of our Earth inspire my mind 
to construct safe home our regard designed. 

They dance as shadows by the glowing sea, 
the nameless strangers I will love the most, 
so we roast fish at hearth of courtesy 
till they all vanish as the faceless ghost. 
I feel soul of our Earth that comes and goes 
quick as the seasons of showers and snows. 

I bake clay into bricks of blooming flower 
that spirals from my heart of hungry hope, 
then build high pyramid of social power 
where I teach curious children how to cope. 
I feel soul of our Earth in breathing being 
that soars above the world on psychic wing. 

Ten thousand years my empires rise and fall 
around towns of control on river shores, 
but with the bloody writing on the wall 
I linger alone in half-open doors. 
I feel soul of our Earth design our fate 
no matter how strong the heavenly gate. 

After work at the office cubicle 
I drive my car down to the windy sea 
to find again the cosmic particle 
that renews spark of creativity. 
I feel soul of our Earth revive the world 
with vision that inspires the cosmic herald. 

Concept Of The World-State

Concept Of The World-State
© Surazeus
2023 11 25

So far away among the silent woods 
I hear soft whisper of the lonely river 
translate excited laughter of wild birds 
because they think the haughty horse is clever 
for never wanting to follow old trails 
till the blind prophet delivers his letter. 

Alone in shadow of the empty church, 
I think about bright smile of my lost lover 
who walks across wet meadow to my porch, 
eager to show me secrets birds uncover 
among skulls of nameless warriors in vales 
shrouded in melancholy of rain patter. 

While I ponder progress of my false fate 
in stark relation to uncanny matter 
I hide weird trinkets in the cabinet 
that looms in late evening glow by the ladder 
connecting busy market streets of Hell 
with grandiose hall of huge mirrors in Heaven. 

Presenting myself as the candidate 
most qualified to guard the frontier border, 
I deconstruct concept of the world-state 
as basis for the coming New World Order 
in which I rule beside the Odin Well 
with wise counsel from the celestial raven. 

While feasting beside my mute grave of time 
on mental concept of elastic reason, 
I perceive glorious vision of the name 
that embodies rebellious soul of Phaethon 
who drives fast motor car in race with Death 
to prove he rules Earth as the stoic heathen. 

Recording tales of heroes in the tome 
that changes tenor with each passing season, 
I sit on judgment throne in pantheon dome 
to assess masks of loyalty and treason 
when I play God before the monolith 
to encourage spirits of my lost brethren. 

Laughing with courage in the face of doom 
after I drink sweet honey mushroom potion, 
I measure spirits hidden in the room 
who vote as one mind to approve the notion 
that we are characters in some lost myth, 
connected by riddles of synesthesia. 

Awed by the giant heart-vibrating storm 
that rumbles over mirror of the ocean, 
I sing with ecstasy beyond the norm 
about how atoms animate soul motion 
through flame of fate embodied by star wraith 
who helps me rule Empire of Anglonesia. 

Mute Grave Of Time

Mute Grave Of Time
© Surazeus
2023 11 25

After feasting on spaghetti and wine, 
that tastes like sad souls of innocent folk, 
I run mad over windy heath in mist 
to call out names of everyone I killed 
till they laugh at me as I fall in pool 
and float forever on tears of their joy. 

They haunt me on the signless road of faith 
where I drive wagon of their goods I stole 
to sell my soul to the king who wears crown 
he forged from skulls of the people I killed, 
so I sit in moonlight with chests of coins 
to count all the wealth I gamble from Death. 

Though I eat grass and howl hymns of despair 
at falling of my angels from red clouds, 
I stand again on two legs of bold hope 
to proclaim to their ghosts my divine right 
to rule the real world of riddles and jokes 
till key of life I clutch crumbles to sand. 

Because I steal their voices from the wind 
and crush words of their truth beneath my boots 
their stories gleaming from ten thousand stars 
blind my eyes to see dangers on the road 
so I fall into trap of arrogance 
that pulls me down into slough of despond. 

Still clutching golden crown of jewels I stole 
from head of my father as he fell down, 
surprised at bold ambition of my pride, 
I stand alone on jagged rocks of hope 
as mindless thunderstorm of Jupiter 
crackles with fierce indifference to my fate. 

Someday, many centuries after my death, 
you my read blind confession of my heart 
and comprehend fierce demon of my lust 
that urged my fight against stark destiny 
when hordes of hungry people swarmed my home 
to devour all I designed with my hands. 

Repressed obsession with vision of truth 
that drove my heart to fight cruel tyranny 
explodes with passion from core of my soul 
to motivate revolt against their power, 
forced to defend my land against their greed 
when I kill them before they can kill me. 

Constructing temple to honor my god, 
as spirit of my father in my heart, 
on unmarked graves of the people I killed, 
I feast all night on spaghetti and wine 
while their ghosts dance for me in red moonlight 
till I too sink into mute grave of time. 

Code Of The Mirror Eye

Code Of The Mirror Eye
© Surazeus
2023 11 25

While angels of the Empty sing on high, 
exposing evil thoughts our hearts would hide, 
I follow blue horse of the singing rain 
who guides me to lost grove of apple trees 
where Owl of Wisdom on black twisted branch 
wants to teach me code of the mirror eye. 

When two nations fight over the Blue Sky, 
claiming divine right of the falling star 
to fountain of the flying horse on the hill, 
I carry children from bomb-blasted homes 
to hide in garden of Zarathium 
where I teach them code of the mirror eye. 

Together in old church we question why 
the wealthy strong exploit the hungry weak 
in endless fight over whose God is real 
as if we are but puppets of His will 
till we revolt against their psychic bill 
with riddles from code of the mirror eye. 

Alone by fairy pool of faith I spy 
in windy Glen Brittle at flash of dawn 
silver-eyed goddess of the apple tree 
who teaches me secret of second birth, 
so I tour small towns of America 
to preach arcane code of the mirror eye. 

My grandfather teaches me how to fly 
metal-winged airplane that Icarus built 
so I explore the world beyond the world 
to find the Craftsman who molds dream Ideas, 
but all I see are atoms in the void 
that incarnate code of the mirror eye. 

Lost in bleak wilderness of the mad spy, 
who discovers Runes in the Odin Well, 
I follow eerie singing of the girl 
whose eyes channel mystery of Avalon 
to find Anne Bradstreet in dark misty woods 
translating star code of the mirror eye. 

Trembling with joy when star goddess is nigh, 
face glowing brighter than full midnight moon, 
I open my heart to spell of the Tenth Muse 
lately sprung from vale of America 
who fills me with holy spirit of love 
so I perceive code of the mirror eye. 

While angels of the White Whole sing on high, 
revealing noble thoughts our hearts express, 
I play forgotten lyre of Mercury 
while Anne recites lost tales of Avalon, 
so I build Eden in Zarathium 
based on sacred code of the mirror eye. 

Angels Sing On High

Angels Sing On High
© Surazeus
2023 11 24

The shadow that follows the laughing child 
explains how the blue horse runs on the plain 
with the ancient feather of the bright sky 
because soft glitter on crust of the snow 
translates roaring of the rain to this song 
the wolf decides cannot describe our death. 

On this windy Autumn day the blind owl 
ponders how the girl who lives in the tree 
plays the harp that sprouts from the river stone 
through which starlight refracts the nameless ghost 
who wants to teach our children how to pray 
as if words of our will can change the world. 

The eyeless man who lives in the glass sky 
gives me loaf of bread baked from hills of skulls 
so I search for the holy ghost in light 
that glitters on placid waves of the sea 
though I consider all their arguments 
for whether things I dream are real or not. 

Descended from Mercury and Ishtar, 
I walk the signless road of nevermore 
till I find the house where my wife has lived 
since I first saw her face in the star pool, 
so she gives me plate with roasted beef steak 
and we eat lunch while angels sing on high. 

If I return home to Zarathium 
after wandering the Earth ten thousand years 
I might discover clear pool in the vale 
where I invented concept of the name 
which I can utter with breath of the rain 
to refer to the person I love most. 

Alone by face pool in the sunlit vale 
I hear sharp chirps of birds in apple trees 
reverberate across vast sky of clouds 
who watch me perform with elegant grace 
difficult role that expresses my soul 
through mysterious code of the mirror eye. 

The black cat with moon-green eyes watches me 
read ancient books in library of the queen 
to discover key of the universe 
revealed by the binary code of truth 
as One and Zero, which compose all things 
manifest in spiraling atom rings. 

Yet I wait by the apple tree all day 
for the second coming of Melusine 
who kisses me with joy of selfless love 
so I caress her cheeks with tender care 
while floating safe in strong boat of her heart 
that glides on endless sea of everywhere. 

Black Milk Of Love

Black Milk Of Love
© Surazeus
2023 11 23

After I dig my grave in the blue sky 
I drink black milk of love to understand 
sweet horror seething from the underworld 
so I brush long hair of my dreaming brain 
to dance with you around the apple tree 
where my father hangs on the serpent wing. 

When I drop substance for shadow of truth 
in order to deceive phantom of hope 
I contemplate weird riddle of the heart 
that sprouts up from conundrum of desire 
so with mute troubled honesty of faith 
I measure nothing of my ancient fear. 

Through prosperous struggle to defend my dream 
I covet golden egg my demon lays 
so on fear-naked beach of lust I hold 
huge burning book open in eager hands 
to comprehend state rules I should express 
that guide me when I rule the underworld. 

Star letters of blind fairies strict as flames 
embody terrible flowers of love 
in stubborn deployment of intense games 
that carve the heart of darkness wicked ways 
every time the gold-crowned tyrant arrives 
on wingless horse to claim the death of time. 

To roll back riddle for the end of days 
I calculate all the ways I could die 
till the pretty princess with long flowing hair 
distracts me with her sparkling star-black eyes 
to build warm haven castle on the hill 
where she tends garden of her singing skulls. 

I stand in living room of our new home 
to stare at shadows of strangers that glow 
at speed of sound which cracks the clock of fear 
though I remember soaring among ghosts 
on silent scream of self-reflecting lore 
perplexed by lack of Heaven above clouds. 

Astonished by flaming wings dreamers wear, 
I glide my plane on silent wings of wonder 
far from high castle of my social power 
while searching for angels strumming gold harps 
who wave to me as I glide past at dawn 
till I perceive the real world as it is. 

As I return to spinning Earth I know 
I realize mankind stuck on solid ground 
invented Heaven to reflect our hearts 
as image of this city we designed 
to guard our secrets from the haughty god 
who only appears in mirrors we make. 

Lost World Of Zarathium

Lost World Of Zarathium
© Surazeus
2023 11 23

The casual way leaves fall into my hair 
reminds me of the childhood game I played 
where I made graves in tree-shaded backyard 
for every person I saw die in movies, 
then prayed to Saturna, the Raven Witch, 
to guide their souls safe to Zarathium. 

From swirling mist of twilight Autumn eve 
Saturna glides on black wings of despair, 
and, with long twisted oak-tree arms, applies 
weird fairy glamor to my aching heart 
so I feel soothing tinge of ancient love 
that flows from dream wells of Zarathium. 

Strange aching sorrow of eternal death 
strikes thin Mercury shiver of hope deep 
to freeze core of my bones with happy horror 
flashing illusions of my naked soul 
as beautiful mask in clear global mirror 
that reflects lost world of Zarathium. 

With gentle kiss of her soft blood-stained lips, 
Saturna raises winged horse from the dead 
so I rise from chilling slough of despond 
to walk beside her on the signless road 
along jagged ridge of bare golden hills 
that lead us to vale of Zarathium. 

Long dragon-clawed fingers from tangled vines 
grip my throat with sharp cackle of regret 
when Taliesin emerges from dark cave 
to hiss with serpent tongue in arcane code 
terrible secret of eternal life 
that bonds my heart close to Zarathium. 

Awake from strange dreams in my own backyard, 
I take guitar I stole from grave of Hermes 
and stand on busy street corners in towns 
to sing weird visions of lost fairy land 
to people driving past in motor cars 
as if I am still in Zarathium. 

Dipping raven-feather quill in snake blood, 
I write arcane riddles with Odin Runes 
to record my journey to Hell and back 
where Taliesin taught me how to sing spells 
that enchant people with dreams they forget 
so they will never find Zarathium. 

Each evening after I design dream maps 
to generate virtual world in terrain, 
I strum guitar of Mercury and sing 
prophecies no one will ever believe, 
then dance with Saturna, my Raven Witch, 
in hidden garden of Zarathium. 

Lightning Of Freedom

Lightning Of Freedom
© Surazeus
2023 11 23

I flash lightning of freedom for the world 
to see new way of living for each soul 
in global society where all people 
are equal in honest eyes of the law, 
for together we will stand with bold hearts 
brave against cruel tyranny of the strong. 

Through darkness of suffering and despair 
we run with beating hearts of anguished hope 
past leering shadows of arrogant pride 
to wade across deep rivers of blind hope 
till light of love guides our relentless steps 
safe to the Promised Land we once thought fake. 

While grasping the plow with gnarled hands of faith, 
I dig deep trenches in the bleeding Earth 
to unleash army of wild howling warriors 
who spring from teeth of the dragon to dance 
on graves of their ancestors without names 
who journeyed from the Promised Land of lies. 

The raven-winged witch of the apple tree 
howls loud as thunderstorm on jagged hills 
while snakes writhe singing on her jabbing arms 
till flash of lightning cracks our mirror world 
so wretched demons escape from the cave 
in revolution for freedom from slavery. 

While right-wing conservatives serving God 
fight for classed society to rule Earth 
where the strong rich can exploit the weak poor, 
left-wing liberals serving Humanity 
fight for classless society to guard 
equal rights of every soul to live free. 

When I see her star shining in the East, 
new gleam of light piercing darkness of fear, 
I feel vibration of her angel soul 
energize my heart with passion of faith 
to fight for justice reborn in our hearts 
so we can protect all people from harm. 

Though bombs destroy our ideologies 
with mocking laughter of the haughty king 
we rise from rubble of our hopes and dreams 
to walk with angel wings on broken Earth 
and construct new haven with honest hands 
till everything disperses into dust. 

Trudging nowhere in cold indifferent rain, 
I forget weird destiny of my heart 
to find the Promised Land of ancient myth 
and settle anywhere on river shore 
where my descendants rule with bloody fist 
with my skull in sacred temple of power. 

Quaint Holiday Of Thanks

Quaint Holiday Of Thanks
© Surazeus
2023 11 23

Strange flowers blossom from heart of the Earth 
in wordless grove of shadow-tangled faith 
where wandering children gather to avoid 
rumble of car engines on asphalt roads 
that trap ancient demons in gears and pipes 
to energize global machine of wealth. 

Lamp-lit spray rises from thin copper pipes 
to mist faces of people in town square 
who slowly sidle around fountain pool 
while holding hands with strangers they adore 
to celebrate quaint holiday of thanks 
as pungent scents of food from restaurants spread. 

This timeless hour of calm laborless peace 
we share with companions of aching joy 
confines our sorrows to the unlocked box 
we hide behind expensive vase of trust 
so we can restore energy of love 
with hope enough to evade death today. 

Embraced with intimate knowledge of death, 
we linger by oak trees in the town square 
to hear the old man with long frazzled hair 
play famous folk songs on battered guitar 
that conjure memories of rebellious youth 
when we protested wars of genocide. 

Cool breeze from the ship-rippled river blow 
hair around our faces in Autumn glow 
with scent of pumpkin pie and apple cider 
in harmony with voices in the park 
who join the singer to recount sad tale 
of lost boys in some long-forgotten land. 

Bloodied faces of men, women, and children, 
pulled from gray rubble of bomb-blasted homes, 
gaze at us from large television screens 
as we feast at quaint holiday of thanks 
far from desert waste of the Holy Land 
where another prophet has just been born. 

I cannot cry out from my wilderness 
far from vast Lake of Stars in Scythian hills 
where my ancestors gathered around hearths 
to feast on bounty of the harvest moon 
and drink bitter wine of unspoken hope 
while singing about birth of the Star Girl. 

Sharp clang of hammers in bright Cave of Dreams 
reveals ambition of grim exiled king 
to fight brute tyrant in castle of gold 
for right to live free in this fertile land 
so we can gather families in fruit gardens 
to celebrate quaint holiday of thanks. 

Beach Of Loneliness

Beach Of Loneliness
© Surazeus
2023 11 22

On beach of loneliness where storm clouds smile 
I dream about orange leaves of joy that fall 
as harbinger of Death who walks with me 
to help me understand why things will fail 
in turning of the tide each shocking mile 
while I still contemplate how to live free. 

Down beach of loneliness toward fragile tent 
that flaps with anguish in contentious wind 
I linger by the grave of hungry ghosts 
where I once buried someone whose whole name 
has vanished in slow turning tide of hope 
till I almost forget how to live free. 

On beach of loneliness with snow-white wings 
of squawking angels who despise my fear 
I breathe intense despair of sad desire 
for how the silver moon in pale blue sky 
still understands what feelings I would hide 
as if I understand how to live free. 

From beach of loneliness on fearful hope 
cold melancholy rises from my heart 
as Aphrodite with black eyes of love 
and presses her compassion on my chest 
till we become one universal soul 
that teaches nobody how to live free. 

Across beach of loneliness on frail legs 
I stalk grim shadow of my nameless fear 
as rain pours from arrogant eyes of death 
to drench my heart with anguish of desire 
to taste sweet wisdom of the pungent fruit 
that inspires my heart with how to live free. 

On beach of loneliness with beating heart 
I strum rusty strings of broken guitar 
which I stole from lost tomb of Mercury 
and sing with spooky sorrow of the sky 
spellbinding psalm that honors storms of love 
for futile quest finding how to live free. 

Above beach of loneliness in gold glow 
Diana floats on flaming wings of love, 
imbuing hearts of people on the Earth 
with healing balm of acute empathy 
that resurrects our souls from grave of truth 
so we learn riddles on how to live free. 

To beach of loneliness I will return 
to escape strange chaos of global fame 
so I can sit still through adoring storm 
and find again the secret self I lost 
on restless journey to the Promised Land 
where I compose book on how to live free. 

Eye Of The Magic Ring

Eye Of The Magic Ring
© Surazeus
2023 11 22

The silver bullet of the vampire clown, 
forged by blind smith in garish cave of dreams, 
deprograms melon of the august king 
who rides Death Limousine in Devil Town 
to redefine conceptual code of seems 
which radiates from eye of the magic ring. 

When noble king on winged white horse is shot 
by smirking angel born in Sainte-Baume cave, 
collapsing in warm arms of Melusine, 
the grim detective searches Camelot 
for laughing skull of Hamlet who can save 
bombastic riddle of her time machine. 

Yet Moses, leading Children of the Crow 
through maze of barbed wire to the Holy Land, 
strikes the Stone of Scone with Wand of Zambor 
so, after Melusine performs her show 
by making faces disappear by hand, 
water flows from Fountain of the Flying Horse. 

My eyes are blinded by glamor of fame 
worn by the famous idol with no face 
who on stage of the flat-top pyramid 
performs as Priestess of Love whose star name 
illuminates bones of my secret place 
when I measure faith with its reference grid. 

After I steal jeweled Ring of Honesty 
from hand of young assassinated king 
to claim my bloodline right to rule the Earth, 
I dance with graceful lust of ecstasy 
in sacred ritual of the demon wing 
when Ishtar shows me secret of rebirth. 

For that is how I find the Holy Grail 
hidden safe in womb of the global queen 
who generates new bodies for my soul, 
so with their ambition I countervail 
currents that would disrupt the royal scene 
because I refuse to play that fake role. 

With each incarnation as castle king 
to embody immortal soul of genes 
I am Jesus Christus reborn to reign 
as temporary savior who can sing 
in movies projected on silver screens 
from Arthur to Albert through Charlemagne. 

They may assassinate King of the World 
with silver bullet of the vampire clown 
in vain attempt to maintain monarchy, 
but with first coming of the cosmic herald, 
who mints magic ring from the royal crown, 
we nurture progress of democracy. 

Patterns Of My Mind

Patterns Of My Mind
© Surazeus
2023 11 21

The chemical ghost of the minotaur 
who devours the pathological pie 
explains how electric wires thread thoughts 
as tangled grape vines on the screaming hill 
too fast for my eyes to perceive how time 
designs conceptual patterns of my mind. 

Without the star map of obscene allure 
unspoiled by romance of bewitched buffoons 
we would not have known flavor of the moon 
tinged by soft breeze of apples on the hill 
who seem to know how I prefer to feel 
sliced from fragmented patterns of my mind. 

We almost find strange secret of dream fruit 
defined by riddle of the hapless laugh 
not joyless as the shocking truth we hide 
except for abject poverty enjoyed 
by dreary jesters of the arcane church 
where grim priests study patterns of my mind. 

The broken water pipe of deep discourse 
gushes black blood of angels in fierce mud 
at midnight when blind ravens on phone lines 
play chess with honest butterfly of chaos 
to form opinion on the latest war 
between demons in patterns of my mind. 

Amazing sun glows gold on placid sea 
to mirror strange feelings my heart denies 
when pure love blossoms from anguish of pain 
too simple to calculate curve of roads 
that lead us past so many unlocked doors 
in maze that mimics patterns of my mind. 

It fascinates me how word wizards gain 
divine glamor from critical attention 
of psychic analysis so they grow 
into demigods through apotheosis 
of social veneration stamped in codes 
that compensate weird patterns of my mind. 

The chemical ghost of the unicorn 
which my heart projects into world of dreams 
lingers forlornly on dark misty moor 
to find the secret land of Albion 
where children of fairies program new myths 
that redefine old patterns of my mind. 

The young girl on the rocky island shore 
who dives for dragon eggs deep in the sea 
watches the merchant ship with tattooed sails 
glide forever lost in glow of the sun 
who wants me to fall in love with her eyes 
which alone perceive patterns of my mind. 

Puzzle Of The Mind Clock

Puzzle Of The Mind Clock
© Surazeus
2023 11 20

Strange as it may seem, wings of my wild heart 
are strengthened by correlation of pain 
with each conceptual wave of thought control 
that radiates from core of the World Egg, 
so I dream complex course of my weird life 
till I wake at dawn after stormy night. 

Whatever whispers of the midnight wind 
I think I hear from hollow of cold night 
confuse my heart with visions of despair 
shattered by calm peace of blue morning glow 
that disperses fear into butterflies 
so I know for sure I am not yet dead. 

Three times in freezing nothingness of gloom 
I hear soul-piercing shriek of the blind owl 
call my name through the howling of old trees 
who seem to understand how strange I feel 
at mocking laughter of the open book 
when its pages flap wildly in green wind. 

Kneeling before small heap of rotting pears, 
lungs filled with pungent scent of wordless rage, 
I long for wisdom of the broken rock 
to explain again clear fountain of hope 
that springs from bottomless abyss of love 
with rich expression of the broken tree. 

Strange as it may seem, the world falls apart 
with gleeful laughter of the childish rain 
who designs machines which run on petrol 
that bubbles from the alabaster keg 
through well of wealth owned by the lonely wife 
who writes love letter on the tattered kite. 

Whatever provides measurement to bend 
fabric of space through time composed of light 
that flashes from the ladder of elsewhere 
explains absurdity for those who know 
answers to these riddles clowns advertise 
as sacred wisdom embodied by bread. 

Three times in shocking whiteness of my room 
I hear the arcane verse of Robert Lowell 
read by suave robot in red silk chemise 
ten thousand years after Fate spins her wheel 
enough times to inspire the haughty cook 
who knows the right messenger he should send. 

Kneeling in Cave of Illusions with bears, 
hands clutching magic mushrooms on world stage, 
I analyze puzzle of the Mind Clock 
that dangles from Heaven on the gold rope 
I grip with desperation of the glove 
because through nonchalance I will live free. 

World Inside My Head

World Inside My Head
© Surazeus
2023 11 16

When I transform into the serious owl 
I fly down from the rotting Tree of Life 
to perch on bust of Pallas by the hearth 
and ponder wreckage of the ship of state 
that flounders on storm waves of troubled times 
as depicted on the shield of Achilles. 

Just as I feel world peace will bloom again 
the weeping woman by the Tree of Life 
pours unhappiness from her bitter heart 
after crawling from her bomb-blasted home 
to ponder magnificent cause of being 
as depicted by the statue of Mary. 

While we join processional of lost souls 
who search for mysterious Tree of Life 
we gather in ruins of glass cathedrals 
to address clouds with polite discontent 
on the weird state of things in world affairs 
as depicted on the large comics page. 

Though darkened ghosts of ancient comedy 
dance with abandon around Tree of Life, 
I am not less myself when I descend 
lonely stairs from Heaven where spacious homes 
are too expensive for me to afford 
as depicted on the late evening news. 

Meditating in sunlight of the room 
to imagine how my spirit can change 
with twisted completion of the weird truth, 
I measure heavy surges of the light 
to prove apples are made from sun and rain 
as depicted in book of formulas. 

Still the curious owl with nothing to say, 
I remain hidden in the Tree of Life 
so I can see how people play their roles 
as movie stars on global stage of lies 
while I declaim elegy of the jester 
as depicted in gallery of dreams. 

Because I am the world inside my head, 
crowded with mute ghosts of the nameless dead, 
I consider the chicken with nine eyes 
who judges me with standards I designed 
so I can find freedom outside myself 
as depicted in the new story book. 

Rays of the sun loop all around the Earth 
to glow with starless faith in Tree of Life 
so we can believe blind astronomers 
who always know just how the moon will shine 
to show how time repeats our urgent lives 
as depicted in how atoms expand. 

Universal Face Of I Am

Universal Face Of I Am
© Surazeus
2023 11 15

When sorrow falls from the empty blue sky 
children climb up dark narrow stairs of faith 
where they see the old raven man express 
weird purity of moonlight on bleak snow 
as if we should jump from the highest point 
to find unburied treasure of the dead. 

If passion walks backward on the blind road 
children emerge from trunks of rotten trees 
to pretend they are bees that fly from eye 
of someone standing on the misty shore 
though no one wants to measure apple groves 
where dead people sit by the pool and chat. 

Since silence screams from blind eye of the moon 
children open and close ten thousand doors 
too soon to explicate unopened books 
yet count the strangers we want to be friends 
as if we could be ghosts on silver screens 
eager to perform stark ritual of death. 

Yet no one remembers strange melody 
sung by the sea waves when the rising sun 
creates the universe our eyes perceive 
in fractured mirror of our holy minds 
so we drive the car on long winding road 
that leads down from the door we never find. 

Why compulsive actions of bold effect 
cause misunderstandings between old friends 
no fool could explain to the smirking trees 
because ravens understand what ghosts say 
when they get stuck inside telephone lines 
that buzz soft with shocking epiphany. 

Too scrambled for people to understand 
what fools say when they stand on leafy roads 
and stare at puddles after silver rain, 
I open portal to the multiverse 
where I fall forever from the high tower 
on free-floating wings of the hungry seer. 

So tall island that hulks off rocky shore 
invites me to explore her secret cave 
where I see every movie ever filmed 
present whole history of the human race 
before we evolve into star-winged gods 
and fly awake from this planet we trash. 

Therefore old children in the feasting hall 
weep while watching the tragic play on stage 
depicting how the savior of their tribe 
feels divine spirit of consciousness glow 
clear as the fractured mirror of the moon 
where I see universal face of I Am. 

Riddle Of Old Fire

Riddle Of Old Fire
© Surazeus
2023 11 15

Alone in garden of sweet pungent fruit, 
I do not feel one with the world eyeball 
for I know only what my brain perceives, 
this cluttered world of changing forms that bloom 
whole within scope of my attentive faith, 
when I resolve weird riddle of old fire. 

When I breathe forth pure flame of hungry faith 
that lifts me far beyond grim reach of time, 
I speak the first word spoken by First Mother 
to remember rippling waves of the sea 
that cleanse my heart of illusions I dream 
after I hear soft riddle of old fire. 

After I realize I was born from flame, 
and will become bright flame of time again, 
I speak the lonely yet unspoken name 
dark mother of the sea whispers to me 
when she teaches me how to sing my dream 
encoded in strange riddle of old fire. 

With deep intensity of gasping breath 
I walk the rolling landscape of the world 
so my feet blaze the first road beyond time 
because I touch cold charity of Earth 
to stand on pinnacle of swirling clouds 
that fall as rain from riddle of old fire. 

Emerging from shadow of mountain mind 
to rise on flashing wings of thunderstorms, 
I leave bleak darkness of despair behind 
to climb high craggy ridge of blazing light 
where I can see round island of the world 
embody hope through riddle of old fire. 

Each morning I awake from dream of waves 
my eyes perceive the same mountain of trees 
that shimmer red with apples of the sun, 
so I dwell safe in memory of my world 
that blossoms into forms my brain designs 
based on conceptual riddle of old fire. 

So once again I climb shadow of time 
to scale each world of objects I perceive 
with faith that light will always gleam again 
through formless gloom of the terrible void 
that shakes at cracking laughter of the sky 
designed by sudden riddle of old fire. 

Alone on planet spinning in the void, 
one of billions in our huge galaxy, 
I see my body multiply and grow 
from First Mother into billions of souls 
who see my face in every living face 
generated by riddle of old fire. 

Temple Of The Woke

Temple Of The Woke
© Surazeus
2023 11 14

When the yellow spider of the egg pool 
weaves mirror of my face across the moon, 
I ride lame horse up winding mountain trail 
so I can translate riddles of the rain 
that confound seers of the academy 
who study process of epiphany. 

As moon girl by the well plays bird-bone flute 
with haunting melody of anguished hope 
I dig in deep cave for emerald of fate 
to prove existing things are bound by shape 
our thoughts cannot transform with alchemy 
though we journey with the grand company. 

Submerged to my eyes in ice-flowing stream 
with eager project to grow angel wing, 
I crown myself prophet in the glass dome 
where nameless children dance to sweet birdsong 
though old friends wear mask of the enemy 
in vain attempt to evade destiny. 

Each door I open with curious intent 
to explore our worlds through the multiverse 
reveals new secrets that could disenchant 
my heart with passion to advance on course 
straight enough to nullify blasphemy 
when I organize the lost colony. 

Bottomless heart flowing with joyful love 
that almost drowns the last confederate rake, 
I build simple ship to leap the wild wave 
on bold journey to temple of the woke 
where I spend dark hours writing elegy 
that twists sinister rules of artistry. 

With fatal choice of false desire I made 
that shakes foundation of the mountain hall 
I translate world history in psychic code 
which programs my brain to play humble role 
in world drama that leaves no legacy 
beyond basic functions of chemistry. 

Too complex for their simple minds to grasp, 
my proverbs, tangled in spells I construct 
from fractured gems, reflect eyes of the wisp 
who believes nothing beyond basic fact 
that matter incorporates chemically 
in forms that change through art of devilry. 

Arriving at temple of the wise goat, 
well hidden in lush grove of apple trees, 
I teach my children how to build the boat 
on which we sail with gusting ocean breeze 
to measure death through state of entropy 
as truth I preach with honest zealotry. 

Walk The Open Road

Walk The Open Road
© Surazeus
2023 11 14

No longer seeking salvation from God 
who dreams not in Heaven of Ideal Forms, 
I walk the Open Road of eager hope 
with passionate will to live this life now 
which maintains integrity of my soul 
while I connect with any soul I meet. 

Evading mind trap of morality 
that constricts my journey in maze of myths, 
I walk the Open Road of honest fear 
with cautious attention of watching eyes 
to avoid uncleanness that stains my soul 
which preserves wholeness of my naked being. 

Preserving integrity of my soul 
with special name that binds my heart with love, 
I walk the Open Road of cautious faith 
to keep my fragile body clean and whole 
as I encounter strangers to exchange 
productive vision of beautiful joy. 

Leaving behind confining home of faith 
that restricts persona I would express, 
I walk the Open Road of rancid lust 
to fight against disintegrating force 
that threatens to dismember me with rage, 
then dance on graves where my ancestors lie. 

Hesitant to sympathize with lost souls 
who suffer agony from pain of loss, 
I walk the Open Road of clever wiles 
to offer charity of selfless love 
through calm assistance of my helping hand 
which cannot save any person from death. 

Reluctant to lose my immortal self 
through gravity that connects all lost souls, 
I walk the Open Road of moral choice 
to analyze effects from cause of actions 
that construct or destruct structures of atoms, 
maintaining balance between life and death. 

Following compassion for all lost souls 
to sharp edge at Cliff of Insanity, 
I walk the Open Road of sympathy 
to bottomless abyss of nothingness, 
so I retreat from merging with your mind 
to maintain wholeness of my soul defined. 

Stuck in rut of Salvation unattained 
through extension of selfish charity, 
I walk the Open Road beyond the known 
to explore bleak wilderness of the heart 
where only wind and rain remember me, 
naming myself with aloneness of love. 

Jorogumo Spider Woman

Jorogumo Spider Woman
© Surazeus
2023 11 13

Sunrays gleam gold on the giant spider webs 
that shimmer between trees in the backyard 
as Professor Sjoberg swings the long rake 
to brush off more than twenty from his house, 
clearing them away with assertive swipes 
which establishes his domestic rights. 

After brewing coffee in predawn gloom, 
then stepping outside on back patio, 
Professor Sjoberg shivers in surprise 
to see tall beautiful Japanese woman 
wearing bright yellow and blue kimono, 
face half-veiled by long flowing moon-black hair. 

"Why did you destroy my delicate home," 
she asks with eerie soul-entrancing whisper 
that seems to vibrate from core of the Earth, 
then moves toward him with quick elegant grace 
to peer in his heart with millions of eyes, 
and reaches toward him with long slender arms. 

Startled at appearance from predawn glow 
of the spider woman with piercing eyes, 
Professor Sjoberg stills his beating heart 
through mindfulness of breathing to inhale 
calm stillness with intense serenity, 
then palms his hands and bows with humble hope. 

"Forgive me, Jorogumo, Spider Woman, 
for sweeping your home from porch of this house 
which shelters my fragile body from harm, 
for I must access my home through this door, 
so, if you would, please, construct your new home 
high in the corner away from my hearth." 

Gripping his arm with romantic love, 
Jorogumo attempts to hypnotize 
his heart, and requests with seductive voice, 
"I want to be your bride and marry you 
and dwell with you in shelter of your home 
so our children may grow healthy and wise." 

Entranced by fertile vigor of her eyes, 
as he embraces her with eager kiss, 
Professor Sjoberg whispers in her ear, 
"I give you loyal passion of my heart," 
then they make love in early morning glow, 
bodies writhing with harmony of love. 

Waking from strange dream to the clock alarm, 
Professor Sjoberg walks into the kitchen 
to join his wife and two daughters for breakfast, 
then, after kissing Joro on her cheek, 
he drives to the university hall 
where he teaches weird art of poetry. 

My Blind Mother

My Blind Mother
© Surazeus
2023 11 12

My blind mother, who walks on flowing stream, 
lost her eyes when she gambled with the sun 
in vain attempt to save my soul from pain, 
but I can only see her now in dream 
holding fabric of my being she had spun 
from sparkling compassion of morning rain. 

My blind mother, who holds in thirsty hands 
writhing dragon of moral honesty, 
explains how best to navigate despair 
when searching for treasure of unowned lands, 
contrived to enhance psychic modesty 
with desperate magic of the evening prayer. 

My blind mother, who invented my name 
from tangled mystery of apple-tree roots, 
leads me by hand on signless road of faith 
which may at last leave me trapped by world fame 
through thought machine of global institutes 
designed to contain wildness of the wraith. 

My blind mother, who sings hymns in the church 
which celebrate resurrection of power, 
insulates my brain in robotic shell, 
so I search for God where grim gargoyles perch 
on spiraling dome of the cosmic flower 
that lures me with siren song to her well. 

My blind mother, who fishes for my heart 
that swims on serpent wings of arrogance 
in sunless sea, teaches me how to play 
game of chess based on negotiable chart 
which helps me analyze malevolence 
when I preside in court on judgment day. 

My blind mother, who performs role of queen 
in bold play that critiques structures of power 
based on social realist principles, 
descended from daughter of Melusine, 
sings alone in secret room of the tower 
about how souls are beams of particles. 

My blind mother, who changes blood to wine 
with bass vibration of her moon-core voice, 
decides to prophesy end of the world 
in cryptic harmony with our bloodline 
that legislates global freedom of choice 
in world game enforced by the cosmic herald. 

My blind mother, who opens her soul mask 
to weep flowers in pool of the green moon, 
becomes best friends with the giant white cat 
as they work together on sacred task 
discussing how children of the commune 
are formed by names born of their habitat. 

Absence Of God

Absence Of God
© Surazeus
2023 11 12

Because I can feel the absence of God 
more than its presence in warm beams of light, 
fierce will to live bleeds from deep wound of faith 
to motivate intention of desire 
which resurrects my soul from deep despair 
when I wake healed by energy of hope. 

Inspired to live by the absence of God, 
I follow angsty passion of my heart 
to seek through diversion of mute despair 
rapture of inspiration born from rage 
at meaninglessness chaining me to Earth 
as spirit of light writhing in weak flesh. 

Amazed by joy at the absence of God, 
I perceive through observation of fact 
divine refraction of the holy mind 
that bends elastic curve of cosmic time 
through flashing visions of my dreaming brain 
so I pulse with wild ecstasy of being. 

Confused by fear at the absence of God, 
I ponder process of cause and effect 
where pride transforms good angels into devils 
who fight each other to control rich land 
till humility, formed by pain of loss, 
transforms humans into angels of love. 

Hearing voices at the absence of God, 
I translate ancient song of ocean waves 
to language of statistics that encodes 
technical formulas through surreal dreams 
so I can analyze state of the mind 
based on epiphany of unbelief. 

Muttering prayers in the absence of God, 
when pandering to my audience of fools 
eager to believe in the afterlife, 
I laugh at that terrible fear of death 
that once paralyzed my ecstatic dance 
till I fell in the abyss of my heart. 

Lounging relaxed in the absence of God 
on leafy banks of the indifferent stream, 
I feel my body bloom from seed of light 
as I evolve four hundred million years 
fish to lizard to mouse to cat to ape 
to wingless angel singing by the sea. 

Feeling alive in the absence of God, 
that seems to symbolize all that exists, 
I sit in my quaint home in Spider Wood 
somewhere in landscape of America 
and sing with ache of love that fills my heart 
with atoms beaming from the Cosmic Eye. 

Something Dark And Eerie

Something Dark And Eerie
© Surazeus
2023 11 11

The young boy lingers on the windy shore, 
entranced by how sunlight flickers on waves, 
then studies the boat weathered by the sun 
that lies upside down on the sparkling sand, 
while something dark and eerie in his heart 
urges him to sail across the abyss. 

Waves slosh against fragile shell of the boat 
steered by the boy as wind billows it sail 
in gliding curve toward red blaze of the sun 
that watches him with eye of bright disdain, 
while something dark and eerie in the sea 
whispers riddles about why things exist. 

The sun that dreams forms of the world in light 
erases everything with formless night, 
but still he feels his heart beat with the waves 
that whisper ancient secrets of the sea, 
while something dark and eerie calls his name 
that he is sure makes him more real than fame. 

Soft glow of sunlight gleams over grim hills, 
revealing young woman in wind-blown gown 
who gathers fruits and berries in wet field, 
so he drags fragile boat on pebbled shore, 
while something dark and eerie in her eyes 
loves how he emerges from dawn-red waves. 

Before he can offer gift of his heart 
large burly muscled man on the white bull 
offers dawn girl ride to grand feasting hall 
where he gives her wine and pushes her down, 
while something dark and eerie in her throat 
cries out to the boy from the sea for help. 

Wielding club he carved from gnarly oak tree, 
young boy rising from wave-froth of the sea 
attacks the bull king as he rapes dawn girl, 
who grips his throat and almost strangles him, 
while something dark and eerie in her heart 
stabs bull king in the back with his own sword. 

Embracing him with passionate desire, 
dawn girl makes love with sea boy by the pool, 
then places gold crown of the dead bull king 
on his head to proclaim him thunder god, 
while something dark and eerie in their love 
inspires them to play lords of the world. 

Sea boy bears diamond scepter of state power 
and dawn girl holds jeweled orb of the world 
as they parade before large cheering crowds 
then sit on pyramid to rule their empire, 
while something dark and eerie in their hands 
sends armies far to colonize the Earth. 

Yet I Am Against

Yet I Am Against
© Surazeus
2023 11 10

The white sparrow in the sycamore tree 
eats the television tube of blue glass 
while pretending to confiscate the key 
that opens bleeding heart of the sea bass, 
yet I am against enslaving of humans 
so I dwell in Spider Wood with moon ravens. 

When the Outlaw who rides the lightning horse 
robs dreams from Hope Bank of the Billionaire, 
the Wizard teaches me to use the Force 
when I join Word Cult of Apollinaire, 
yet I am against racial genocide 
so I linger lost on the playground slide. 

If the Bearded Sage on the ocean shore 
becomes transparent eyeball of Star God, 
I will study Earth to its molten core 
then join quest of the global justice squad, 
yet I am against oppression of women 
so I translate the weird Sibylline omen. 

Related to Robert Lee and John Brown, 
I journey waste land to lush Oregon 
where I perform role of the psychic clown 
while longing to return to Avalon, 
yet I am against exploiting of workers 
so I join rebellion of thought berserkers. 

Coding secret name of my divine soul 
in puzzle of the Tetragrammaton, 
my brain beams with atoms of the White Whole, 
sparked by conceptual voice of oxygen, 
yet I am against charging fees for water 
so I work in temple of Magna Mater. 

After I retire from cartography 
I want to bike around the British Isles 
to complete my book on cryptography 
that will analyze all character styles, 
yet I am against claiming native land 
so I build new homes with my red right hand. 

These stories I compose with aching heart 
reflect my secret soul with honest mirror 
which inspires me to calculate star chart 
when I leave safe haven as world explorer, 
yet I am against enforcing state myth 
so I break prison gate of fearful faith. 

The three-eyed raven in the Christmas tree, 
discussing philosophy with the Jester, 
reveals ancient song of the Mother Sea 
whose spirit lives in my every ancestor, 
yet I am against tricking folk with lies 
that some omniscient god lives in the skies. 

Key Of Solomon

Key Of Solomon
© Surazeus
2023 11 10

Each time he enters the piano room, 
holding the last book printed with fake blood, 
the shadow of the woman he loves most 
rises up from numb sorrow of the dead 
to give him cup of hot chamomile tea, 
then they discuss the Key of Solomon. 

The blind devil he conjures from the Earth, 
that swirls as smoke from skull of Rehoboam, 
brings rockets forged by Hephaestus from fear, 
though blood flows from eyes of the haughty raven, 
then puts its heart in the fridge of desire 
which might preserve the Key of Solomon. 

When angel Sariel returns from the garden 
with basket of strawberries for his sister, 
he sits at round table of the Dream Puzzle 
and writes with letters that flow through the river 
to record passage in the underworld 
which calculates the Key of Solomon. 

After he joins cult of the malachim 
he works for the crownless king on the moor 
as messenger to the girl in the well 
who sings all day from hollow emptiness 
with passionate joy of demonic love 
while he translates the Key of Solomon. 

To train young angels to obey his will 
he kidnaps devils from cave of illusions 
and teaches them angelic alphabet 
so when he conjures them by secret name 
they perform missions he assigns for wine 
to integrate the Key of Solomon. 

Each day he drives chariot of Ezekiel 
far across the Bridge of Forgetfulness 
to work at life insurance company 
where he sells time shares to the Afterlife 
which he uses to build palace of ghosts 
who explicate the Key of Solomon. 

Arming his army of angels with rifles, 
Sariel sends them driving Merkabah tanks 
in war to attack Pandemonium 
where they shoot rockets at houses of ghosts 
to kill children of devils who rebel 
with guns forged from the Key of Solomon. 

Aminah lies in rubble of her home 
blasted by rockets of the laughing skull, 
so Sariel carries her in trembling arms 
to walk in waste land of the ruined town 
till her heart transforms into winged serpent 
that flies off with the Key of Solomon. 

Painting On The Wall

Painting On The Wall
© Surazeus
2023 11 10

As if to note the painting on the wall, 
that depicts the man with the golden gun 
protecting the good people of the land 
from aggressive fascists with liberty, 
is not enough to claim right of the law, 
we drink wine and process anxiety. 

Because everything the mute worker makes 
with their hands in the factory of faith 
can be sold to the people of the land, 
we share grand mission of the noble mind 
to provide liberty for every soul 
who walks the Earth with hands of hungry hope. 

The battle cry that rallies us from sleep 
leads us to gather in the common square 
where children of the forest play guitar 
and talk about pursuit of happiness 
before the crumbling of the wall of fear, 
replete with sweet smile of anxiety. 

Soon enough do the daughters of the tree 
arrive in town with the erudite key 
that opens doors of opportunity 
for those who believe they should own the sea 
because we know as true what we can see, 
acts of injustice in land of the free. 

Who would deceive the people of the land 
with sacred vision of justice and truth 
will buy the yacht of dancing skeletons 
in search for sentimental art that proves 
we are superior to all other nations 
because we possess more nuclear bombs. 

With the howling banshee of the leaf blower 
the famous painter on sabbatical 
erases spider webs around his home 
in bold assertion of his right to live 
safe on sacred land his ancestors stole, 
then drinks his cold beer in the twilight zone. 

No tribe is entitled to any land 
though their ancestors lived there centuries 
for we are transient occupants of time, 
fragile as leaves blown by the autumn wind, 
therefore the right to occupy this space 
is won by strength of bullets forged from words. 

I dwell forever in House of the Lord 
where he provides grand feast for all who vow 
obedience to social law he declares, 
because his rod that comforts can destroy, 
so I paint portrait of his haughty mien 
and hang it on the wall of liberty. 

My Pursuit Of Happiness

My Pursuit Of Happiness
© Surazeus
2023 11 09

Still lost in my pursuit of happiness, 
now deep in endless maze of ancient myths, 
I lounge at table of the nameless ghost 
at the grungy cafe down by the sea 
where boat of Odysseus lies on the sand, 
overturned by the hopeless avant-garde. 

Back home from my pursuit of happiness, 
somewhere on highway of the weeping clown, 
I redact official statements in books 
published by the grandmaster of fake truth 
with black marker to erase diatribes 
loud as frogs roasted by the avant-garde. 

With you in my pursuit of happiness, 
trapped by barb-wired walls in Garden of Eden, 
I swipe apples from wily serpent queen 
who visits Museum of Modern Art 
to buy back her painting the Nazis stole, 
once smeared with foul mud by the avant-garde. 

To begin my pursuit of happiness, 
from old cathedral ruined by bombs of war, 
I start my journey of ten thousand steps 
to find my soul mate on the river shore 
dancing to flute music of the goat god 
who gives me weapon of the avant-garde. 

Regretting my pursuit of happiness, 
that leaves me stranded in car factories, 
I design new Bridge of Forgetfulness 
for children murdered in the genocide 
to climb the Stairway to Heaven from Hell 
now ruled over by the proud avant-garde. 

Though stuck in my pursuit of happiness, 
lounging as I gaze at the blade of grass, 
I study weird enigma of my Unself, 
perceived by people as Idol of Me, 
that pulses with demonic energy 
when I perform role of the avant-garde. 

Changing through my pursuit of happiness, 
when I vanish in stories of the book, 
I remain Eternal Self I design 
through poetic expression of free will, 
grand destiny that Fate knows I will choose 
as bold rebel against the avant-garde. 

Now woke in my pursuit of happiness, 
based on the rule book of Apollinaire, 
I dig my grave in Garden of the Moon 
to prove I am the soul of Zathamar 
where children of all nations can run free, 
till they are brainwashed by the avant-garde. 

House Of Water

House Of Water
© Surazeus
2023 11 09

When I return home to the house of water 
that I built in the middle of the ocean, 
my prayers transform bombs falling from the sky 
into eggs that generate dragon children 
who will rise from the burning bush of fear 
to build paradise on the skulls of hate. 

I will hang photos in the house of water 
that show every human being ever born 
who woke from dream time of the glowing sun 
to give each other secret name of love 
till Death erased their bodies from the air 
so dust of their minds forms the Earth I touch. 

My heart is throbbing in the house of water 
with psychic passion of the octopus 
who teaches me how to read light of stars 
that light the golden path of fate I walk 
to find paradise beyond the waste land 
where I dig the grave of my dreamless soul. 

Awake with shadows in the house of water, 
I walk outside the door of hopeless faith 
to grove of fruit trees by the singing river 
where I remember my ancestral lives 
evolving from fish into wingless angel 
who alone has survived each holocaust. 

Still searching for truth in the house of water 
that multiplies from middle of the ocean, 
I listen to faceless people I meet 
who tell me how they managed to survive 
destruction of the paradise they built 
by blind men who try to control the rain. 

Haunted by sad ghosts in the house of water 
whose souls were murdered in the genocide, 
I place their beating hearts on windowpanes 
so they can sprout strong wings of reborn hope 
and fly from paradise destroyed by bombs 
with feathers tangled in the barbwire fence. 

Since I live with Death in the house of water, 
who teaches our wild children how to sing, 
I can walk crowded streets of the dream maze 
and give special masks to the nameless ghosts 
so they can live in peace on Planet Earth, 
till I wake mute in ruins of Paradise. 

After I escape from the house of water 
that I built in the middle of the ocean 
I will plant the bombs that fall from the sky 
in the wind-swept dunes of paradise lost 
so they will blossom into apple trees 
that feed descendants of our nameless ghosts. 

I Contemplate The Mystery

I Contemplate The Mystery
© Surazeus
2023 11 08

When I walk to the edge of Spider Wood 
where the Raven Witch dances in moonlight, 
I feel my sorrows dissipate in breeze 
that swirls from darkest shadow of the world 
so I begin to float over the trees 
while I contemplate the mystery of flight. 

Though I wait at the edge of Spider Wood 
where the Raven Witch bakes spiced pumpkin pie, 
I watch ants build empire of pyramids 
that covers the globe with their busyness 
so I build new Bridge of Forgetfulness 
where I contemplate the mystery of why. 

If I sing at the edge of Spider Wood 
where the Raven Witch carves runes on house doors, 
I could record whole history of the Earth 
in sweet ballads of romantic despair 
so I write tingling spells on swirling mist 
as I contemplate the mystery of love. 

When I run from the edge of Spider Wood 
where the Raven Witch puts me in her heart, 
I approach the weird antique cabinet 
that lurks inside the empty house we bought 
where ghosts of all the people I love hide 
since I contemplate the mystery of death. 

While I dream near the edge of Spider Wood 
where the Raven Witch glares at me with eyes 
that open wide infinity of truth, 
I swerve straight with expression of free will 
to drink from cave spring of the Flying Horse 
till I contemplate the mystery of Her. 

Till I fly through the edge of Spider Wood 
where the Raven Witch mocks my humble pride, 
I untwist motives of arcane intent 
to sing ancestral spell of grim insight 
when I relax in Pegasus Cafe 
while I contemplate the mystery of truth. 

Because I map the edge of Spider Wood 
where the Raven Witch transforms her star soul 
into green glowing skeleton of glass, 
I hold her hand as we walk signless road 
toward new City of Opportunity 
if I contemplate the mystery of fate. 

We journey to the edge of Spider Wood 
where the Raven Witch gives me diamond heart 
that hatches from the cosmic god-eyed egg 
which spirals into galaxies of worlds 
where we make love with consciousness of faith 
so I contemplate the mystery of life. 

Shadow Of The Mind

Shadow Of The Mind
© Surazeus
2023 11 07

When I consider shadow of the mind 
that casts its memories on the broken stone, 
I measure distance to the haughty cliff 
where children of my sorrow wait for why 
time realigns our journey to the sky 
which might reveal stories we leave behind. 

How far into strange shadow of the mind 
I walk the signless road to everywhere 
depends on sacred treasures of the dead 
I might find on lost island of the ghost 
who leaves secret signs for me on the coast 
though I keep hidden what star light designed. 

If I hide in false shadow of the mind 
to eat roasted beef spiced with garum sauce, 
I could observe the horse with angel wings 
that transforms into swift airplane of my heart 
so I can find Heaven using star chart 
kept safe by humble daughter of the hind. 

To climb high hills toward shadow of the mind 
with sense of loss that motivates my quest 
I will let go all sacred things I bought 
with sacrifice my lonely heart contrives 
while I harvest honey from bookish hives 
though bitter joy unravels truth I bind. 

After we kiss in shadow of the mind 
she tells me with bright shining smile of love 
that cold indifferent stars define our fate 
unless we hold hands as we climb the trail 
winding up Moon Mountain where angels wail 
to fulfill the marriage contract we signed. 

With anxious flash in shadow of the mind 
we savor lightless sunrise beyond death 
still fraught with laughter of the swirling sea 
since we believe weird doctrines clouds express 
that transient humans can never possess 
old land indifferent to hopes of mankind. 

Awake beyond grim shadow of the mind, 
we count infinities of human souls 
who share sweet melons by the River Styx 
in summer party of the nameless mask 
as reward when I finish hardest task 
only eyeless vampire could have assigned. 

Since nothing born from shadow of the mind 
can last forever with slow spin of time, 
I seek fane of Zephyrus in dark cave 
where young girl bears the Holy Grail of love 
delicately shaped as the yellow foxglove, 
therefore I love her because she is kind. 

Global State Of Anglonesia

Global State Of Anglonesia
© Surazeus
2023 11 07

Lost in vast wilderness of America 
on my sacred quest for the Holy Grail, 
stumbling in the waste land of heresy, 
I see shining above the Golden Dome 
of Hagia Sophia in Byzantium 
Maria Magdalena, Empress of Life. 

When I climb Stairway to Heaven, I find 
Jesus and his descendants crowned with light, 
Meroveus, Constantinus, Arthurus, 
Carolus Magnus, Willelmus Normandius, 
each one new Messsiah of Anglonesia 
who seeks to rule over all Telluria. 

Gathered in temple of Mother Sophia, 
wise granddaughter of Maria Magdalena, 
Jesus and his descendants, crowned as kings, 
sing hymns about David, Joshua, and Adam, 
then drink wine and feast on roasted beef steak 
while Phoebus strums lyre of Mercurius. 

Young children in costumes perform the play 
recounting origin of their great clan, 
Jesus crucified by petty King Herodus 
as Maria escapes to Massilia by boat 
to hide in holy cave of Santa Bauma 
with their kids, Tamar, Jesus, and Josephus. 

Gold Lion Dragon of the Holy Grail 
rises on wings of flame from Cave of Dreams 
to conquer wild tribes of Gothinia 
and found world empire on skull of Odinus 
that rings the north, America to Russia, 
linked by Isle of Avalon at its core. 

From Mount Olympus rises ghost of Zeus 
on Phoenix wings from ashes of world war 
who binds kingdoms into United Nations 
with spirit of Otania at its core 
to found one global state of Anglonesia 
ruled by the Dream Book Zoroaster wrote. 

Strange vision of the future world empire, 
that emerges like Cetus from sea waves, 
dissipates at cold rosy flash of dawn 
when the sun gleams over Rainbow Mountains 
with shadow-piercing rays of the Red Cross, 
so I laugh at how mortal men play God. 

Illusion of that world empire is gone, 
leaving me alone on the river shore 
where I watch spider of Robert the Bruce 
weave star-gleaming web of indifferent Nature 
between Tree of Knowledge and Tree of Life, 
so I lounge and eat apples by my tomb. 

All The Light I Can See

All The Light I Can See
© Surazeus
2023 11 06

All the light I can see burns through my heart 
with subtle ting of bells only I hear 
so I inspire ethereal wind of hope 
with wordless melody of flowing stream 
refracting weird energy of the sky 
congealed in Star Stone of eternity. 

Through incantation of harmonious hum 
I spell conceptual vision my eyes dream 
with words that tangle thoughts of social power 
in pulsing web of hopes our brains suppress 
that fuels star-spinning wheel of random fate 
when I choose to protect people I love. 

When soul-sucking wraiths of arrogant pride 
swirl around me with cold vampiric lust 
to consume energy of the Star Stone 
which emanates from hot core of my being, 
I chant harmonic spell of synergy 
that swirls taut hurricane spirit of love. 

Congruent flux of tranquil chaos spins 
tightly controlled surges of conceptual force 
when I extend sheer will of fruitful love 
to channel ceaseless waves of vibrant light 
through ocean tides of transforming intent 
that bloom beautiful memories in our eyes. 

All the light I cannot see oscillates 
between extreme poles of opposite truths 
to beam curving ribbons of lemniscate 
in taut geometry of spinning time 
that weaves my soul in matrix of star souls 
radiating from God Eye of our universe. 

On wind-plumed wings of curiosity 
I ride time-leaping horse of eager hope 
on hill-curving hippopede of desire 
around wide oval symmetry of faith 
to drink beauty from fresh Hippocrene Spring 
till our aching hearts bloom from one Star Stone. 

From flashing egg of timeless hope for love 
our universe expands to double-covered sphere 
through morphic torus of infinity 
where countless planets spinning in the void 
generate conscious beings who wake from light 
to join symphony of our multiverse. 

Serene axis of revolution binds 
cohesive rings in fluctuating swirls 
as beams that coordinate countless souls 
to live in harmony of honest trust 
which integrates aggression in bold peace 
to harmonize opposing wills in death. 

Bullet Of False Pride

Bullet Of False Pride
© Surazeus
2023 11 05

When ancient bard, last seen on misty heath 
singing tales of martial heroes, is seen 
busking with guitar on corners of streets 
in cities crowded with computer towers, 
our hearts are chilled by ancient memories 
seeping through mask of vain urbanity. 

Though he stands now by oiled telephone pole 
and sings of Fingal, king of mountain storms, 
while strumming rusty strings of worn guitar 
with crippled fingers of romantic faith, 
the ancient bard once haunted misty hills 
where skull of Ossian floats in windy cave. 

Face smeared with dirt from never taking showers, 
the ancient bard wraps tattered nylon jacket 
tight around shoulders gaunt from bitter wind 
that blows his leaf-fragile soul over field 
of rusty cars and broken frigerators 
past barbwire fence to torn tent where he sleeps. 

Through bleary eyes he watches freighter ships 
chug slowly past his tent in Spider Wood, 
and, while he drinks last drops of beer, explains 
to mannequin still wearing business suit 
that he signed up to fight the terrorists 
in stark rugged hills of Afghanistan. 

Gripping assault rifle close to his chest, 
young sergeant, born and raised in Arkansas, 
leaps from the humvee on bare mountain road 
and runs with unit to surround the house 
where evil Taliban commander lives, 
then kicks in the door and shoots at the ghost. 

Young girl in purple hijab gasps surprised 
when bullets of his righteous pride in truth 
pierces soul of her heart through fresh-baked bread 
so she falls back against the blood-smeared wall, 
and in her eyes he sees his long-sought bride 
who would have raised three children at his side. 

I would have preferred to marry that girl, 
to sit with her in garden of fig trees 
and play melodies on strings of the lute 
while she sings heart-enchanting psalms of love, 
then laugh with joy as we drink wine to kiss, 
but I killed her with bullet of false pride. 

The insurance salesman in gray business suit 
who hurries past to make another sale 
ignores the ancient bard with burning eyes 
who sings with aching heart of bitter loss 
about death of Malvina by the sea 
whose bloody hand caresses his chilled cheek. 

Shadow Of Our Darkest Fears

Shadow Of Our Darkest Fears
© Surazeus
2023 11 04

Cry of the moon-eyed raven at midnight 
conceals my secret home in Spider Wood 
where nameless clowns on television screen 
perform tragic tale of the princess bride 
who searches for ghost of the man she loves 
who wanders voiceless on the misty moors. 

We give each other treasure we love most 
to prove we know the secret way back home, 
but we stand empty by the river shore, 
unable to accept surprise of death, 
as if the turtle crawling toward the sea 
can show us where our broken hearts are hid. 

The man who wants to steal her lonely heart 
scatters pieces of her puzzle on the ground 
in vain attempt to trick her with sly ploy, 
but she will never accept his fake love 
for he wants her to prove his name is blessed 
so she must hide faceless in Spider Wood. 

When gang of hungry men with gleaming swords 
hunt her soul in shadows of Spider Wood, 
she leaps into the sky on glowing wings 
and soars beyond vain grasping of his hands 
so he can only see mask of her face 
that shines with grace in mirror of the moon. 

We channel shadow of our darkest fears 
through clever metaphors of aching hope, 
projecting passions we want to deny 
in characters who perform roles we write 
with bloody ink that flows from wounded heart 
that misdirects attention from our pain. 

The raven witch who wanders Spider Wood, 
with basket of serpent eggs on her arm, 
must focus attention of her sad heart 
on gathering treasures of nutritious truth 
from ancient trees writhing in murky swamp 
so painful sorrow of his loss may fade. 

Standing knee-deep in moon-cold river flow 
that streams from mountain cave of singing skulls, 
the raven witch gazes in sparkling eyes 
of Death whose face smiles in trunk of the oak 
so she can understand spell of his words 
that guides her journey into Spider Wood. 

Stripping off elegant gown of the court, 
the raven witch dances in Spider Wood 
with wild abandon of the aching soul 
who loses everything to greed of fate 
which stirs strange primal spark of fantasy 
that he appears in swirling moon-gold mist. 

Racing To Flee Death

Racing To Flee Death
© Surazeus
2023 11 04

Though bards cannot bend Nature to their will, 
nor any longer prophesy events 
that ripple from cause of the curse-bound stone 
hurled by taut sling-shot of effective verse, 
we stand on street corners of hope and sing 
heart-aching elegies for nameless ghosts. 

Though I now stand on high Cliff of Despair 
I will not leap from heady mountain height 
to plunge in roaring tide of endless night, 
for urgent passion to translate star song 
in cluttered puzzle of dream-riddled spells 
inspires my heart to rise from flames of war. 

Bound to the past by spells of long-dead bards, 
I carve from skull of the jester new mask 
presenting pure persona I perform 
to join great fellowship of the Dream Ring 
since fame is bought from fate by sacrifice 
which erases my name from history. 

I cannot sublimate with wordless death 
compassionate drive to transcend my idol 
as spectator at my own funeral 
where no one laments silencing of song 
that rings in harmony with engine buzz 
of cars and airplanes racing to flee death. 

The wild-eyed prophet lost in the waste land 
leads countless bards from grand amusement park 
of mortal fear to find the Promised Land 
of immortal fame as the Greatest Bard, 
but leads them lost in dead-end labyrinth 
where they scratch at sterile soil with numb hands. 

Instead of noble warriors or love-wise kings 
who organize nations of working craftsmen 
with vision of productive management, 
blind bards of sterile ideologies 
sing about mute ghost they see in the pool 
to celebrate their fake identity. 

No bard will ever gain more than they lose 
when they gamble with Death for endless fame 
for they will shine their brightest in dark gloom 
with rage against reality of death 
that erases all our songs from world dream, 
so we must sing with joy until we die. 

Dropping lyre of Mercury in snow, 
I hold sweet Hyacinth Girl in my arms 
as we ride sled down mountain slope of love 
with wicked freedom of two love-bound fools 
who join our hearts on signless road of trust 
to generate new life until we die. 

Magic Spells Of Poetry

Magic Spells Of Poetry
© Surazeus
2023 11 03

Your ghosts, that haunt me in dim evening gloom 
as moonlight gleaming in gossamer webs 
which bind my ancient heart in Spider Wood, 
possess large spiders that float between oaks 
and gaze at me with billion stellar eyes, 
immortal universe in heart of Earth. 

Though bodies my ancestors once possessed 
with urgent spirit of ambitious quest 
lie buried deep in moldering mounds of faith 
along the endless road they blazed from death 
their souls still animate my dreaming brain 
with passion to explore mind mirror of rain. 

If I could trace their journey back to lake 
where they first woke from dream of eyeless stars 
I might remember how my soul arrived 
at this strange hour in swirling of the Earth 
because, when I sit on the rain-smooth stone, 
I feel sad watching Time River flow past. 

Walking away from garden home they knew 
since they first learned to sing with flighty birds, 
they walked across the waste land of despair 
to find new valley blooming apple trees 
where they fell in love with the soul they met 
dancing in grove of trees at cool twilight. 

Holding hands in shadow of Spider Wood, 
young lovers pledge eternal troth of love, 
then kiss to generate from ache of hope 
new lithe bodies for children to translate 
immortal soul of genes beyond their death 
in ever-flowing stream of new-born souls. 

Since we were formed in hydrothermal vents 
and crawled on diamonds in fresh-water streams 
to rise from lake of dreams at dawn of time 
and climb enormous tangled web of trees, 
I have transformed from fish to wingless angel 
who stands by the sea to sing ache of love. 

Ten million people sea to shining sea, 
alone in secret homes by signless roads, 
sing together in global choir of angels 
harmonious hymn of melancholy hope 
that visions of our minds we code in spells 
will preserve our souls long after we die. 

But all these vibrant visions in our brains, 
that flash with memories of our timeless hours 
when lovers share pleasure with ache of love, 
will dissipate to nothing when we die, 
even magic spells of poetry we write 
soon vanish with indifferent flash of rain. 

Blood Of Our Sacrifice

Blood Of Our Sacrifice
© Surazeus
2023 11 03

Now quiet after blasting of the bombs, 
when eerie twilight lingers in smoke clouds 
over ruptured rubble of apartment blocks 
where nameless ghosts of wounded people lie 
moaning with pain in dark hospital halls, 
ruins of the once thriving city dreams. 

With unreal language in false prayers of faith 
will I lament death of innocent souls 
when fearful tyrants of two nations fight 
through brutal attacks of arrogant pride 
that destroy the people they would protect, 
hiding weakness from positions of strength. 

So many noble people with strong skills 
of creative craftsmanship based on love 
in both nations take up arms to protect 
their right to live on ancient fathered land 
and kill each other with anguish of fear 
that leaves them buried nameless in mass graves. 

Religious temples, hospitals, and schools, 
filled with frightened people hiding in gloom 
to escape rockets of nationalist hate, 
are blasted into heaps of moldering rubble, 
becoming tombs where those innocent souls 
lie crushed and burned into heaps of mute ash. 

If you ask me which city of lost souls 
I here describe with language of grim facts 
I will point to sprawling map of our world 
to show you thousands of cities and towns 
destroyed by armies of invading hordes 
that soak the Earth with blood ten thousand years. 

Hundreds of cities getting bombed today 
are just the latest casualties of war 
that rumbles around our fragile spinning globe 
in restless storms of fierce traumatized men 
manipulated by tyrants in towers 
who send them into battle to steal land. 

Safe in my home in land of Onatah, 
protected by army of boys with guns, 
I can do nothing but sing this lament 
with melancholy anguish of the fool 
for billions of people around the Earth 
killed in holy wars by proud Sons of God. 

My heart now pregnant with celestial fire, 
I sing heart-breaking elegy of faith 
that will not justify strict laws of Jove 
who sits on throne of swords in hall of skulls, 
and laughs with glee to see dumb humans fight 
so he can drink blood of our sacrifice.