Ecstatic Beauty Of Fame

Ecstatic Beauty Of Fame
© Surazeus
2024 12 11

Fame seems to be the random accident 
of bright attention focused on some soul 
who unwittingly accesses weird key 
which unlocks sympathy of careful hope 
in jaded hearts of millions who observe 
reflection of their feelings in brave action. 

Yet center of our flowing stream of thought 
collapses and reforms expansive faith 
from general self-esteem when opposites 
connect in puzzle of bored merriment 
random concepts that compose the whole scene 
based on intuition we share with fate. 

I am the reason trees try to explain 
existence without meaning in new shape 
contrived by ocean waves that swirl in minds 
of children eager to paint on blank sky 
portrait of god which imitates the man 
who smiles when teaching them how to survive. 

This prayer I offer to indifferent seas 
frames humble subject of the nameless man 
who gathers oysters from shallow mudflats 
to cook sweet stew for lost war refugees 
who haunt untold stories of novelists 
exploring pain in words to earn world fame. 

These ruined buildings of our past we score 
with bloodless numbers streaked across our face 
usurp our reason to have faith in man 
who spends all day painting angel of death 
with amorphous shadow of arrogance 
too simple for lost souls to understand. 

Our glorious centuries collapse in jokes 
solemn priests recite at our funerals 
beside buildings that still burn with state greed 
archived in caves of rancid circumstance 
till history surprises us with strange fate 
incumbent on the hero getting born. 

True color of melancholy highlights 
ecstatic beauty of fame who decides 
with vampire-earnest lust who benefits 
from wealth of psychic energy transposed 
from hearts of worshippers to mortal gods 
who forget how to play the part they earned. 

Apple trees blossom in void of my heart 
when I join you on the swing in the park 
with vague amazement of unspoken prayer 
to relate tragic tale of my downfall 
from famous vampire to forgotten god 
as marble statue buried in fake dreams. 

Steorberht The Astronaut

Steorberht The Astronaut
© Surazeus
2024 12 11

No reason for dollars to fall with snow 
and shroud city streets in quiet despair 
yet the girl in the red dress walks alone, 
holding the balloon with soul of the wolf, 
and the old mad prophet jumps off the bridge, 
thinking he can fly high on angel wings. 

Each dollar bill that flutters to the street 
imagines itself the last butterfly, 
yet the woman who floats down from the sky 
under umbrella of social reform 
calls out to the girl who hides her wild wolf 
when the mad prophet sinks into the sea. 

The butterfly that lands on the car roof 
thinks everything yellow must be the sun, 
yet the girl with the camera in her purse 
hurries past the mad prophet with pearl eyes 
who asks if she wants to buy angel wings, 
so she hides in the novel on the bench. 

The mad prophet with stolen angel wings 
asks the woman with the gun in her mouth 
if she would like to dance on bridge of hope, 
yet the girl who transforms into the wolf 
explains to the policeman with six arms 
she found the camera in the burning church. 

Dollar bills delicate as flakes of ash 
swirl upward from the writhing flames of fire 
burning in Notre Dame cathedral spire, 
yet mad prophet climbs flying buttresses 
and sits with the gargoyles safe under stars 
to watch Death searching for the wild wolf girl. 

Still in love with Steorberht the astronaut, 
the wolf girl takes pictures of the church fire 
with the camera she stole from Lucifer, 
yet the woman who captures nameless ghosts 
smiles as she tends the mad prophet with love 
who shows her jewels he found in the sea. 

Enchanted by glow of her moon-black eyes, 
Steorberht kisses the wolf girl with sweet love, 
so she takes him in restored Notre Dame 
with pillars and walls gleaming white as milk, 
then sings heart-breaking hymn of honest fear 
when he places crown of hope on her head. 

Annoyed Steorberht has stolen the spotlight, 
mad prophet gives him arcane book of spells, 
yet the shy astronaut fails to go mad, 
instead he crowns wolf girl queen of the damned 
who sing hymns of despair in angel choir 
when falling dollar bills turn into snow. 

Home Of My Ancestors

Home Of My Ancestors
© Surazeus
2024 12 11

I see the world the same as no one else 
so I will scatter words upon the ground 
and tend them with the tears of lonely souls 
so they will blossom into trees of fruit 
that feed our spirits with ethereal dreams 
till bomb blasts wake us and we stumble lost. 

Just because my grandfather built this house, 
and several generations of our clan 
have lived here one hundred and twenty years, 
does not mean we should leave our hearts attached 
to rooms haunted by our sweet memories 
for our photos have fallen off the walls. 

Though we have never traveled far from home 
more than fifty miles any way at least, 
we can take this opportunity now 
to see the world beyond bounds of our hopes, 
exploring lands where no one welcomes us 
so we keep moving down the signless road. 

The treasures of our family memories, 
toys we played with when were little kids, 
books we read by the fire on winter nights, 
photos of our together happy times, 
presents we gave each other out of love, 
these priceless things mean nothing to us now. 

The world I see with eyes of bitter tears 
is different than the pretty world you see, 
so though we seem to exist on one plane 
we dwell far away on parallel worlds, 
divided by our faith in honest men 
who drive us away and steal all we made. 

Though people tell me some lost prophet said 
arc of the moral universe is long, 
but it bends towards justice, and this inspires 
my heart with hope that I can reacquire 
home of my ancestors stolen from us, 
yet I think this arc bends not fast enough. 

If no judge in any state court of law 
will rule deed of my home returned to me 
and thieves imprisoned for their heinous crime, 
then I will gather army of the lost 
to fight the tyrant on false judgment throne 
in revolution to right every wrong. 

When on the field of battle we charge forth 
and I am shot by bullet of despair, 
bury me by that house long burned to ash 
so I can claim that I have returned home, 
then eat apples that ripen from this tree 
which grows now from the sorrow of my heart. 

Accidents Of Natural Change

Accidents Of Natural Change
© Surazeus
2024 12 10

With the walking cane made of dragon bone 
I will traverse the mountain of the world 
to stand beside the ancient twisted tree 
and feel wild clouds burning sorrow from me, 
but back home by the hearth the cat lies curled 
as I explore dark lands of dreams alone. 

When I am on the signless road of hope 
somewhere far beyond the last city zone 
I will gaze into the bright pool at me feet 
and ask ghost of my father why cold sleet 
stings my heart with knowledge of the star stone 
that leads me ever higher up the slope. 

While we are accidents of natural change, 
evolving by chance from sparkles of light 
that float with careless passion in the sea, 
I push against the wind of what is free 
to test bound limitations of the right 
that leaves me laughing on the Texas range. 

Though darkness hovers over me with wings 
reflecting all that happens on the Earth, 
I choose to not participate in games 
men fight for power of celestial names, 
imagined puzzle of the fractured worth 
richer than wisdom of lost magic rings. 

Desire for pleasure hidden in wet soil 
still motivates my tending fields of flowers, 
concealing silent rage in songs of birds 
who steal fruit seeds arranged as haughty words 
so I decide to build ten thousand towers 
which imitate code from genetic coil. 

Time would leave me stranded on the peak 
of every mountain I have dared to climb 
since heart-broken witch on the radio 
waits for me on her palace patio, 
so I emerge from her pool with sweet lime 
that proves I am the one she wants to seek. 

The wood stork at the Homosassa Springs 
asks me if I remember scriptural truth 
regarding laws for how the king behaves, 
so I tour nightclubs in huge ocean caves, 
performing shows as sly messiah sleuth 
guarded by the concept of angel wings. 

Living in forest of ten thousand trees, 
I find the special mask of fate you wore 
beneath the giant fractured skull of god, 
which explains why I joined the justice squad, 
but now I work at the small-town book store 
recording wrong lyrics for rhapsodies. 

Born For The Spotlight

Born For The Spotlight
© Surazeus
2024 12 10

She keeps abandoning herself to sorrow 
to dance with joyful passion in the rain 
as she sings, "I was born for the spotlight," 
then curls into soft terror of tomorrow, 
swallows random pills to mitigate pain, 
and floats alone in namelessness of night. 

She applies pink lipstick to hide her misery, 
then bursts into the room with skillful rage 
of confidence in gray suit and red scarf 
to berate the harried staff for mistakes 
that could cost the company monthly profits, 
then struts off when the director shouts, "Cut!" 

She hides her star-bright eyes behind sunglasses 
while lurking in the crowded shopping mall, 
but someone recognizes her star aura, 
and soon excited fans corner the actress 
like pack of wild dogs the elegant vixen, 
so she panics and flees in thin high heels. 

She peers squinting in glare of the spotlight 
that shields her fragile soul from adoration, 
then steps forward with invisible crown 
and asseverates, "Yet do I fear your nature, 
much too full of the milk of human kindness," 
then steps back and tries to make herself air. 

She glares at his back when he turns away, 
and gasps with despair, "So you run again, 
escaping, as you sneer, the harridan, 
for I always seem to change with each day, 
another stranger wearing my old face," 
then turns, knowing he will not come embrace her. 

She cradles the little girl in her arms, 
staring shocked at her sweet innocent face 
smudged with ash and gashed by bomb-blasted brick, 
then sobs with despair as light of her soul 
dissipates into haze of helpless love, 
and keeps weeping after the scene is done. 

She reads lines of poetry from the book 
"Deathless Mother" that swirl in harmony 
with ocean waves curling around her feet, 
then grins wryly, "It appears I will never 
find the real me behind the masks I wear, 
for I have become every role I played." 

She keeps finding herself in dreams of horror, 
running through the maze of theater halls, 
as she sings, "I was born for the spotlight," 
then stares at her real unself in the mirror, 
framed posters of her movies on stained walls, 
and floats with us in namelessness of light. 

Function Of My Brain

Function Of My Brain
© Surazeus
2024 12 10

Geared contraption of flexible syntax 
traps fluid concepts in receptive words 
I advance to express amorphous flash 
of feelings based on sharp analysis 
my brain contrives by puzzling random facts 
in cosmic theory I assign to life. 

My genes gather atomic energy 
of flashing atoms to weave neural net 
of memory nodes in galactic-shaped brain 
which conjures virtual world of conscious mind 
aware of itself as immortal god 
contained in temporary mortal man. 

This conscious mind unique to my one brain 
is function fueled by flashing molecules 
which generates vision in whole world view 
organizing objects in framed landscape 
so I am subject that perceives my world 
of changing bodies within changeless scope. 

As long as chemicals of flowing change 
fuel conscious mind with sense of unique self, 
my body glows with animating soul, 
asserting right to live with clever strength, 
but when body functions deteriorate 
my consciousness to nothing dissipates. 

My conscious mind-soul vanishes at death 
because it is no more than glowing field 
which emanates from function of my brain, 
and, though I wish my soul could incarnate 
in other bodies to continue life, 
I must accept that I will disappear. 

When people perform memorable deeds 
in tune with intense flow of energy 
which cause effects of social solvency, 
their face implants its features in our minds 
to stamp its vibrant personality 
on mindless idol conjured by our brains. 

Some people create divine characters 
through consequential actions of desire, 
so, though their body dies and soul dissolves 
in that permanent vanishment of death, 
ghost of their being remains clear in our minds 
and gains immortal state in tales we share. 

When our body dies, our conscious mind dies, 
and our animating soul dissipates, 
but memory of our being set by our life 
remains as trope signified by our name, 
yet when the sun expands to swallow Earth 
all our myths of gods vanish into dust. 

Singing On The Porch

Singing On The Porch
© Surazeus
2024 12 10

Only the sun comes to listen at dawn, 
gleaming at me on porch of the old house, 
where I like to stand in cool drifting mist 
and sing about the beauty of this world 
written in the faces of people I know 
who never hear me sing about their light. 

People like to comfort their broken hearts 
by quoting that light gets in through the cracks, 
and so divine beauty fills up our world, 
yet I want to quibble with this nonsense, 
for all I hear when rain patters the roof 
is tears of souls who cannot mend themselves. 

Young woman who is mother to the lost 
bakes apple pies for wanderers passing by, 
who sit a while on porch of our old house 
and listen to me sing about the light, 
then wave their hands as they walk down the road 
to become ghosts who haunt long afternoons. 

Love is no abstraction of the wild bird 
that flutters wings with arrogant disdain 
at any who attempts to cage their flight, 
so I explore the world beneath the grass 
to hear the song of water in the soil 
which I sing again alone on the porch. 

The porch of this old house is my world stage 
for though I travel all around the world, 
singing on thousands of stages at night 
to ghostly faces half lit by brave stars, 
I remain alone on porch of my house 
with only birds and turtles hearing me. 

My mother tells me with bright cheerful voice 
light of the universe shines through my heart 
when I sing brightly to the lightless world, 
but I feel empty as the hungry sea 
so I eat apple pie on empty porch 
while birds sing to me about secret love. 

Wild boy who hides inside the willow tree 
runs away when I call his secret name, 
and though I walk all over our small town 
I never see him anywhere again, 
so I map the world where he might now be, 
my honey bee too shy to marry me. 

Returning to the porch of my old house, 
after four decades traveling the world, 
I stand alone in late afternoon light 
and sing till the young boy appears again, 
but he grows old when I reach out my hand 
to hold his cute doll in my trembling heart. 

Anthem Of Patriotic Faith

Anthem Of Patriotic Faith
© Surazeus
2024 12 09

The patriot and the nationalist both love 
land where they live with opposite intent 
of conceptual approach, one to respect 
social system designed to provide power 
for every person to fulfill their dreams, 
the other to exploit the poor for wealth. 

I want to love the people of my land 
who share ancestors of my tangled genes 
as common explorers from distant lands 
searching for new paradise free from greed 
of men who exploited our hope for wealth, 
but they want to drive newcomers away. 

Because we stole this new fertile land first 
and built empire to protect paradise, 
we band together with weapons of faith, 
but invaders drove us across the sea 
where we have lived free several centuries 
till our own leaders exploit us for wealth. 

I want to sing with heart-swelling respect 
admiring anthem of patriotic faith 
as we assert our right to dwell in peace, 
but fervor to conquer neighboring lands 
and assimilate their wealth in our game 
disregards sovereignty of our self-rule. 

We escaped oppression of monarchy, 
and have lived with justice and liberty 
as colleagues in our strong democracy, 
but rich men contrive to bend federal laws 
that favor their control of our weak lives 
with their corrupt oligarchy of greed. 

As patriot loyal with honest heart 
to democracy, based on liberty 
and equal justice for each citizen, 
I will fight to preserve our way of life 
against the tyrant and his gang of thieves 
who mutiny to steal our Ship of State. 

Old system of oppression wrecks itself 
on jagged sin of racist arrogance 
that cracks privilege of the wealthy elite 
to free marginalized communities 
with noble mission to construct with faith 
new system where all are equal in law. 

With heart inspired by principle of freedom, 
I perform role of the honest patriot 
instead of the deceptive nationalist 
as we unite against dictatorship, 
pledging allegiance to the flag, not man, 
when we rebuild our free democracy. 

Moral Clock Of Respect

Moral Clock Of Respect
© Surazeus
2024 12 09

I keep turning away from Mirror Mind 
with vain hope this crazy timeline may change 
if I adjust moral clock of respect 
to favor reign of Justice wielding truth, 
but time keeps flipping back off track of fate 
and leaves us stranded in this horror show. 

I want to compile in new global book 
prophecies every poet in black cloak 
has written with blood on museum walls 
dating when Minerva leads our crusade 
to hurl cruel tyrant from the judgment throne, 
and free women from shackles of male law. 

Two roads diverging in dark woods of war 
appear to lead our way to different fates, 
but I see one result at end of both 
where vile gangsters imprison Liberty 
so their false messiah with gun of rage 
oppresses people of America. 

From crowded maze of city streets I run 
to find bright meadow where butterflies dance 
carefree along shore of the River Styx 
so I could proclaim with wise confidence 
new age of fair justice applied to all, 
but loud clouds of tyranny blank my voice. 

No matter how I apply calm intent 
with fragile courage of the hopeful fool 
to readjust moral clock of respect, 
so Fortune favors bold sincerity 
aligning timeline on straight track of truth, 
hostile men strike to control how we think. 

Distorting truth of honest sentiment 
back-twisted by brute repetitive lies, 
fierce minions of the tyrant falsely frame 
good intentions of justice warriors 
to brazenly obstruct programs that aid 
normal people with support of the law. 

Though we confirm our souls with self-control, 
strengthened by liberty within the law, 
we stumble disconcerted by foul lies 
hazing objective goal our hearts aspire 
in plot to misdirect creative force 
of our attention to build new world view. 

I keep returning back to Mirror Mind 
with resilient faith that Justice prevails 
as we attend to clandestine programs 
designed to straighten with legal respect 
correct timeline where Justice reigns with faith 
to preserve state of our democracy. 

Aminah Sings Again

Aminah Sings Again
© Surazeus
2024 12 09

When I climb up in the sycamore tree, 
I wonder as I watch the people cheer  
if the rebel who overthrew the king 
will call me to share supper at his house 
where we will discuss, while eating roast lamb, 
how to build a social system that is fair. 

Women freed from prisons by cheering crowds 
wander lost in strange world of liberty 
after too many years locked in dark cells, 
eyes blurred with tears as they gaze at the sky 
blue with excessive beauty of despair, 
and breathe deep shocking energy of hope. 

Frail and hungry from years without good food, 
Aminah lingers near hard prison wall, 
afraid to venture from shadow of fear, 
but stares numb when three vibrant teenage girls 
embrace her fragile soul with caring arms, 
and call her mother as they drown in tears. 

Reaching hand out slowly from sunless cell 
where her withered heart still trembles in fear, 
Aminah whispers name of each small child 
who grew to women since she saw them last, 
but numb from sorrow in the bitter cage 
she finds no tears to weep, so she just smiles. 

Riding with her three daughters in small car, 
Aminah smiles with strange vision of joy 
to see sunlight gleam over distant hills, 
flickering in leaves of wind-happy trees, 
then flash on Queig River with tears of hope 
which swells great as thunder inside her heart. 

Sitting in fruit garden behind their home, 
dressed in clean thob embroidered with date palms, 
Aminah drinks water drawn from the well 
now draped with branches of tall jasmine trees, 
remembering how she planted their small seeds 
in soil of her heart when her girls were small. 

Gasping with delight of forgotten faith, 
Aminah holds her qanbus with eager hands, 
tunes and strums each thin string in harmony 
with ancient passion of her desert heart, 
then plays sweet heart-enchanting muwashshah 
while singing lament of her long lost love. 

When I climb up in the sycamore tree, 
I rejoice as I watch barn swallows swoop 
that Aminah sings again with bright joy, 
then I weep for all the years that she lost 
while her babies have grown into young women 
who dance around her now with ecstasy. 

Wow Factor Of Poetry

Wow Factor Of Poetry
© Surazeus
2024 12 09

If I calculate the Wow Factor times 
Positivity Array through straight light 
of hungry thoughts, I find this formula 
equals Negative Capability 
consistent with expansive state of faith 
by which I substantiate truth with lies. 

The Wow Factor is special quality 
highlighting unique feature that forms state 
of beauty essential to being of objects, 
which activates in our perceptive hearts 
admiration for its inherent charm 
exciting respect that this thing exists. 

The Positivity Array is verse 
presenting concepts in word sentences 
with data structure that stores ideal forms 
as collections of mental elements 
aligned in contiguous memory nodes 
framed as personality tropes in gods. 

Therefore Negative Capability 
is human ability to embrace 
uncertain mysteries of the universe 
with joyful acceptance of the Unknown 
through capacity to pursue ideals 
of sublime perfection in natural beauty. 

As human clothed in white rational robe 
of our grand celestial civilization, 
I am tempted with tense hope to prefer 
philosophical certainty of truth 
over wild fantastic beauty of fear 
through blaze of fierce creative energy. 

Attacked by monsters of hungry despair, 
embodied by carnivorous lawless men, 
I search for secure haven of calm peace 
enclosed with firm walls of philosophy, 
so I organize facts with measured reason 
to help me predict all future events. 

Safe in Penetralium of secure faith, 
I build strong foundation of my world view 
based on facts I will verify as true, 
then beyond walls of knowledge venture forth 
to investigate vast Mysterium 
with light of doubt guiding my curious search. 

Based on Negative Capability, 
I construct Positivity Array 
composed of sociological tropes 
to conjure virtual model of the world 
that shines with beauty of uncertainty 
sparkling with Wow Factor of Poetry. 

If The Ocean Wants

If The Ocean Wants
© Surazeus
2024 12 08

If the ocean wants to swallow my heart 
I can read the new nature magazine 
while I wait for it to process my thoughts 
so I know how to feel about the death 
innocent people suffer every day, 
then I can eat ice cream near the town park. 

The trees that line the mid-town avenue 
glitter with bright lights for the holiday 
when people enjoy subdued festive mood 
in tandem with exploding concept bombs 
contained by christmas packages entwined 
with ribbons tied into elaborate quips. 

No names are written on the present tags 
so anyone can choose the box they want 
which will always contain what they need most 
though the ocean has swallowed all our hearts 
when whales regurgitate on patios 
unwanted prophets of the pleistocene. 

The most important movie in the world 
is always showing at the theater 
still owned by the only Armenian 
who has ever lived in our fishing town, 
so everyone goes to see it again 
then walk away with their wings of desire. 

I keep finding my glasses on the ground 
so I put them on my face to perceive 
shadows of existence behind facade 
of each material object I must name 
to classify its form on list of ghosts 
who always hang around the empty church. 

Dictators who oppress the citizens 
who demand their right to read fairy tales 
will always fall when rebels storm the hall 
where they lived in luxury of despair 
while the people had to eat old canned fish 
that only tastes sapid with ketchup sauce. 

When I get lost among the tourist stalls 
lining narrow streets from the sandy beach 
I ask the eurasian golden oriole, 
who stares at me with kohl-lined eyes of Ptah, 
for the way to get to Sesame Street, 
then we skip together on the railroad tracks. 

Since the ocean wants to swallow my heart 
I throw everything I own in her waves, 
including all the family photographs 
that we kept organized in picture books 
after four generations of rebirth 
till I have stripped away all that I am. 

Great Speech Of Sophistry

Great Speech Of Sophistry
© Surazeus
2024 12 08

The past is the fiction of memory, 
the future is the fiction of desire, 
while the present moment of timelessness 
is the fiction of sensory perception, 
all of which I package in this neat spell 
I sing while strumming lyre of Mercury. 

I wander nowhere by the moaning sea 
till Fame appears from waves of ecstasy 
and offers two items, bidding me choose 
heart-warming Robe of Sorrow in the truth 
or head-shining Crown of Fame in the world, 
so I choose the robe, and keep on alone. 

Discontent with the mystery of existence, 
I struggle numb against skeptical winds 
to strain up towering mountain of faith 
in vain effort of breathless fantasy 
for unattainable beauty of truth 
that blinds my eyes with sunlight of true love. 

While still alive in fragile frame of flesh 
I rise from mortal hull of this vast world 
as singing ghost of cosmic unity 
to praise connected matrix of our minds 
which manifest divinity of atoms 
in these organic bodies with weird brains. 

As four-legged creature walking upright 
with stiff procedure of quaint discipline, 
I am but one small fly of buzzing song 
on maiden face of Earth whose stormy hand 
brushes entire cities into the sea 
with casual indifference of respect. 

Feeling immortally omniscient as God 
inside the fragile eggshell of my skull, 
I glow with confidence of conscious joy 
that I know secrets of divinity 
since I embody energy of stars 
in temporary dream-flame of my brain. 

All day I gaze out at this teeming world 
less organized or fair than my vast brain 
big enough to contain brave multitudes 
of souls who chase elusive butterfly 
of knowledge that leads us trapped in the maze 
of national religious ideologies. 

Stuck at dead-end of patriotic faith, 
lost in maze of the American Empire, 
Balder reaches out his hand from the stage 
to proclaim some great speech of sophistry, 
but falters from spasmodic ecstasy, 
and laughs at postmodern absurdity. 

Exiled From Their Heavens

Exiled From Their Heavens
© Surazeus
2024 12 08

Every day I eat with you I know why 
those couples on Etruscan tombs still smile 
even after we translate ancient texts 
that list the number of cows in their fields 
and how many trees of apples they own, 
so I give you honey to show my love. 

With bootless cries to deaf clouds in the sky, 
I wander barefoot on the signless road 
to catch the thieves who hit me on the head 
and stole my wagon with barrels of fruit, 
but gate of Heaven remains closed to me, 
disgraced by Fortune who mocks my weak state. 

From sullen Earth of sorrow I still rise 
with flash of dawnless hope in my cold heart 
to wait all day outside the crowded court 
where Justice judges cases till sunset, 
so I decide instead of cruel revenge 
I will harvest wheat from my broken heart. 

Lost in dark forest of terrible wealth, 
I twirl sling of David to hurl the rock 
of cruel sincerity, which kills the ghoul 
whose cavern is filled with jewels and bones, 
so I gather treasures of their lost hopes 
and sell them to housewives outside the gate. 

Grasping the serpent just below its jaws 
with sharp teeth gleaming with poisonous faith, 
I dance around clay tablet soaked with blood 
that details deed of family ownership 
how my grandfather bought land by the lake, 
now claimed by third son of the minister. 

In every prosperous age of every empire 
greedy men exercise official power 
to steal fertile land from hard-working farmers, 
or claim orchards of fruit trees as their own, 
leaving helpless men exiled from their heavens 
they had created with their honest hands. 

Though blind-folded to objectively rule 
in favor of the honest righteous man, 
Justice just as often fails to correct 
cases where the wealthy steal from the poor 
because our social system judges them 
more worthy to control the fertile land. 

When social systems function properly 
men motivated by Justice and right 
work as police and lawyers to right wrongs, 
but when the system favors the rich first 
we rise in revolution against greed 
and follow Liberty to fight the power. 

Restore World Democracy

Restore World Democracy
© Surazeus
2024 12 08

First I lay down gold flash of panel light 
to base foundation supporting each thought, 
then build progressive principle of flight 
with structures blossoming from psychic naught 
to create the White Whole from Zero Eye 
existing within framework of the Why. 

Awake before first glimmer of red dawn, 
aware I still exist in mortal form, 
I laugh every king began as the pawn 
who managed to survive fierce social storm 
through clever calculation of the truth, 
transforming from fool to messiah sleuth. 

Not quite important as the Holy Book 
recording tales of heroes fooling God, 
my Book of Jesters in love with the Cook 
detail their journey as the Justice Squad 
fighting against thief-kings of tyranny 
to maintain progress of democracy. 

Though I am Nobody mapping the world 
with time-animated atlas of faith, 
I proclaim coming of the cosmic herald 
who channels wisdom of the global wraith 
to enlighten humanity with hope 
that together we help each other cope. 

The loss of each good person I adore 
who stumbles and falls from the road of fate 
tears at my heart that they are here no more, 
lost before we attain the city gate, 
so I carve their names on the temple wall 
in cascade of souls down the waterfall. 

No charismatic savior of mankind, 
I record chronicle of world events 
to analyze religion Death designed 
converting saints from bitter malcontents 
who grasp for power with fake hand of gold 
as crown of wisdom has been bought and sold. 

Alone in Garden of Gethsemane, 
among lush apple trees on summer eve, 
I hear sweet songs of nightingales that key 
conceptual code of beauty when we grieve 
unchanging beauty on the Grecian urn 
while cities bombed in wars collapse and burn. 

From nothing of despair and honesty 
I build virtual world that imitates Earth 
through grandiose epic of philosophy 
for Academia to gain second birth 
from bankers who enslave humanity 
so we can restore world democracy. 

Tell Them I Met Jesus

Tell Them I Met Jesus
© Surazeus
2024 12 07

The white cat darts through shadows of my fears 
so I follow her leap through open gate 
draped with eglantine by the country lane 
where I stop startled at demonic growl 
which swells louder than a dragon would roar 
when a horseless carriage zooms past my house. 

Three horses on the gently sloping hill 
race with the car along the winding road 
till that swift time machine puffs into air 
and vanishes from windless fields of corn, 
so I ask the raven on the tree stump 
to explicate that chariot of fire. 

Leaning against the chestnut tree, I chew 
on stalk of wheat with curiosity 
while recalling how that chariot sped 
faster than the fastest horse I saw run, 
then I remember in the Holy Book 
some strange passage my grandfather had read. 

While robed in black at podium of the truth 
my grandfather, old revered minister, 
read passage from book of Ezekiel 
describing grand Chariot of the Lord 
with four yellow-jeweled wheels spinning flames 
around sapphire bowl flashing deity. 

At clear epiphany that time machine 
I saw speed faster than the fastest horse 
is chariot of fire Ezekiel described, 
I feel electric shock of timeless truth 
that Jesus God has come to Earth again 
and drove right past my house in Idaho. 

When I hear roar from the chariot of fire 
swell again with sapphire flash of divine truth, 
I stand in middle of the country road 
and force Jesus God to stop at my house, 
then feel my heart pound with reverent awe 
when a man in a pinstripe suit steps out. 

Puffing fat cigar as he strides toward me, 
the man peers at me under black fedora, 
then presses pistol at my chest and grins, 
asking me why I obstructed his drive, 
then his girlfriend in slender yellow dress 
asks Clyde if I have apples they can eat. 

After Bonnie and Clyde eat apple pies, 
and drink hot coffee with sugar and wine, 
they give me wad of hundred dollar bills 
then speed away into the golden hills, 
yet when police ask if I saw the pair 
I tell them I met Jesus and his Bride. 

Lush Hills Of Ireland

Lush Hills Of Ireland
© Surazeus
2024 12 07

Lush hills of Ireland shimmer in my dreams 
though I sailed away three centuries ago 
to escape the thief on the prancing horse 
who claimed the land of my fathers as his, 
and though I live four thousand miles west now 
I hear them call me to come home again. 

That misty island in the silver sea 
where my ancestors lived ten thousand years 
has never changed with spinning of the Earth 
though people come and go as swarms of bees 
so strangers claim lush land that long was mine 
where soil is made from my ancestral bones. 

I hear strange music in the silent night, 
heart-leaping luminance of Uillean pipes, 
soul-enchanting radiance of Celtic harps, 
and mind-winding flash of the bright banjo, 
bound by the bodhran drumming wild sea waves, 
eerie melodies in my helpless dreams. 

Wild music of lush flowery fairy glens, 
which sparkle bright with rainbows after showers, 
inspires my heart with energy of love 
to view this world, no matter where I dwell, 
as radiant paradise where magic sprites 
inhabit mortal bodies with star souls. 

Though I left Ireland centuries ago 
wild spirit of her river-flashing vales 
has never left the landscape of my heart, 
so I forever play in fairy land 
our Emerald Isle has mapped into my soul 
with wingless gambol in deep sunlit glades. 

Though I hear Ireland call me to her shores, 
sad spirit of nostalgia haunting me 
with visions of carefree joy in flowered glades, 
I know I cannot ever go backward, 
for I would wander stuck in Neverland 
through endless loop of stuttered misery. 

Instead of backward to that shining isle, 
sweet paradise of long-lost fantasy, 
I must move forward on the signless road 
of rugged fortitude I barely see 
appear before my feet in mirror mist 
with each brave step of faith in destiny. 

Lush hills of Ireland shimmer in my dreams, 
imbuing land where I live now with glamor 
of timeless beauty shining from my heart, 
so this land where I dwell now is my home, 
land where my children play with carefree hope 
in fate they map on their own signless road. 

White Wolf Clan

White Wolf Clan
© Surazeus
2024 12 07

Drinking from punctured bark of Yggdrasil 
blood of my ancestors in spirit juice, 
I crawl from bog of dark subconscious hopes 
to dance with lightning flashing from rain clouds 
and sing electric beauty of the soul 
wild with bright inspiration of true love. 

Dressed in pants and cloak I sewed from wolf fur, 
with shells and bones from animals I ate, 
clumps of herbs woven with web of grape vines, 
and decked with feathers of ravens and swans, 
I wear wood mask carved to resemble face 
of my father, the fierce mountain wolf-man. 

Twirling magic wand of polished oak wood, 
fixed with sharp diamond gleaming at its tip, 
I dance wide spirals on high pyramid 
of stone blocks heaped above the river plain 
while hundreds of tribes in our White Wolf Clan 
gather for our midsummer festival. 

Young shaman warrior racing on the shore 
shouts challenge to my god authority, 
so crowd of tribesmen shaking shells of stones 
part wide path as he leaps up pyramid 
and swings magic wand hard to crush my skull, 
but I dodge blow and counter strike his chest. 

With blows that clang as loud as lightning strikes, 
in graceful leaps of wolf-aggressive force, 
which match harsh rumble of the crackling storm 
fierce as cold wind that whips our long hair wild 
with thrashing whirl of world-tree Yggdrasil, 
we battle for who reigns as Odin god. 

Swift crippling blow that breaks his sturdy leg 
disqualifies that young eager wolf-boy 
who writhes in agony as I stand tall, 
still strong through bold security of wit 
to reign another cycle as Wolf God, 
so I howl as the tribe cheers my success. 

Dawn gleams in eyes of beautiful young maids, 
decked in white linen gowns and wolf-fur cloaks, 
and crowned with coronets of flowered vines, 
as I meet each candidate who desires 
to reign as wise queen mother of our tribe, 
willing to bear children of our bound hearts. 

Entranced with sparkle of wit in clear eyes, 
I choose tall woman with long flowing hair 
by reaching out my hand which she accepts, 
then together we climb hill of the sun 
to stand beneath sheltering Yggdrasil 
and host summer feast of our White Wolf Clan. 

Dream Of Our World

Dream Of Our World
© Surazeus
2024 12 07

Every morning before the crack of dawn 
I must rise at the sunless hour of five 
to shower and prepare my mental mask 
in order to avoid with agile hope 
my mind getting stuck in the last dream loop 
designed by my subconscious state of faith. 

My mind gets stuck in dream loop of respect 
where I ascend on wingless breath of hope 
to enter values in network of roads 
so I calculate sociological force 
framed to advance psychological growth 
based on landscape of conceptual esteem. 

Each fractal structure which unravels space, 
outwinding admiration through wide bounds, 
contains specific features painting clear 
composite aspect of ancestral worth 
imbued with atmosphere of psychic glow 
which formulates how I perceive the world. 

The rugged mountains my forefathers climb, 
to explore celestial realm of desire 
supporting humble church of holy thought, 
retains unchanging meadow of insight 
where lessons learned from bright epiphanies 
program cautious approach I take to life. 

The neatly organized maze of town roads, 
cluttered with various buildings of resolve, 
where my foremothers search with tense respect 
for safe haven to study human history, 
extends objective signs of shifting paths 
for plotting pointless possibilities. 

Forever searching for the somewhere class, 
where faceless teachers encode secret tales 
with cryptic puzzles I still hope to solve, 
I journey forward on the changing road 
that loops round reasonable return of fact 
encased in symbols which negate the lie. 

Each endless cycle of the whirling clock 
designs new purpose for the same old quest 
to battle dragon in Illusion Cave 
and save humanity from hungry hope, 
then build paradise inside civil walls 
till our empire collapses in sad war. 

Yet when I wake from endless looping dream 
the real world woven by rays of sunlight 
remains the same landscape with city maze 
constraining frantic energy of fear 
in daily rituals through worshipful work 
we employ to maintain dream of our world. 

Fusion Of God Stars

Fusion Of God Stars
© Surazeus
2024 12 06

I feel slow flow of years cold in my veins 
with mind-expanding pleasure of ice pain 
complete with ardent sentences in vain 
that bloom as violets on smudged window panes, 
which catch words of my breath no one else hears, 
pristine as raindrops with arresting fears. 

My mind is jumbled as bleak field of stones 
contriving spells in runes on my arm bone 
that proves to thought police I am no clone 
though I construct temple of crystal cones, 
measured by eccentric spin of brain gears 
which operate contraption of social fears. 

Half-buried under howling desert sands, 
still clutching flag of my forgotten land, 
I rise at dawn to consider my brand 
with logo designed by demonic hands, 
which signifies quality of my cars 
powered by mental fusion of god stars. 

Confused by honest wisdom of mind tricks, 
employed by jester with the magic stick, 
I investigate my broad bailiwick 
to build pyramid from honey-baked bricks, 
then Ishtar crowns me Emperor of Mars 
through incarnation of wise avatars. 

Eager for rebirth from electric clocks, 
I gestate as dragon soul in glass rock 
to inventory god-souls kept in stock 
by workers wandering lost in office blocks, 
while their mothers linger in open doors 
for weary travelers on misty moors. 

Basing our self-worth on comments of friends, 
we study magazines for the hot trend 
that predicts how much money we will spend 
in compensation for small dividends, 
so I keep joining sweet angelic choirs 
to sing with robins on telephone wires. 

Persephone cares for workers in mines 
by flashing dreams of Heaven in each mind 
so they drink sweet illusions of the vine, 
then hides gleam of the sun with bamboo blinds, 
so we journey north with herd of kind bears 
who take us safe to forest of ripe pears. 

Mistranslating old American tunes 
with vibrant empathy of the sad moon, 
I join millions of ghosts in dream balloon 
to build quaint temples in moonlit lagoons, 
then teach brave humans how to face their fears 
till mutant fools have become palace seers. 

Heaviness Of Unknown Truth

Heaviness Of Unknown Truth
© Surazeus
2024 12 06

Waking up to the heart-arresting sound 
of gunshots when the walls of Jericho 
crumble from revolutionary horns, 
I hear only silence of quaint suburbs 
tinged with rapid cadence in cheerful chirp 
of the chestnut-sided warbler at dawn. 

Yet strange violin of your broken heart 
follows me at night down ten thousand streets 
where angels of beauty, whose voices ring 
in rain, have drowned in rivers of our hopes, 
weighed down by heaviness of unknown truth 
that calls us with soft melodies of fear. 

Till Phantom, strange cat with serpent-gold eyes, 
appears in smudged window of our shared fate, 
we wonder at view of the world we see 
from safe haven of frail security, 
for she assures us with her anxious purr 
that we will never see approach of Death. 

Dangerous softness of fate-summoned waves 
reveals strange hugeness of our broken world, 
cluttered with debris of lost memories 
restrained by silence of their nameless bones 
which our ancestors latticed into Earth 
with abrupt crashing of reluctant time. 

Solemn autopsy of numberless homes, 
conducted by our cold objective moon, 
exposes trauma twisted into words 
strewn among daisies on rotten church lawns 
too distant for grief from shadowy rain 
to remember why we visit our graves. 

Stuck in ceremony of frozen time, 
with faint resemblance of my maskless ghost 
hungry for hope, I choose to redefine 
true nature of our fraught relationship 
as geared toward honest laughter of the clock 
that echoes inside mirror of our eyes. 

Hostage to our passive-aggressive love, 
we ask stenographer of crooked rules 
to record apologies orphans cry, 
signified by crumbling cities of faith 
dismembered by ambitions of rich men 
to squander wealth from suffering of the dead. 

Though boundless sky of opportunity 
belongs to me with heart of my lost love, 
I claim no ownership of fertile land 
yet soil of compassion blooms by my hand 
when I produce food for tables of wealth 
which bear the heaviness of unknown truth. 

Understand Who I Am

Understand Who I Am
© Surazeus
2024 12 06

When I enter quick stream of consciousness 
shiver of absolute beauty expands 
my sense of self far beyond bounds of time 
so I become everything that has been 
and everything that will ever become, 
which helps me feel limits of who I am. 

Every vision about life that has flashed 
in every organic brain of I Am 
on every planet in the universe 
also flashes nodes of thought in my brain 
which share universal tropes of respect 
so all think the same thing at the same time. 

Yet I am special instance of the Mind, 
unique in patterns for my here and now, 
enclosed in program loop of hungry hope 
attempting to reiterate concepts, 
important keys to understanding why 
atoms congregate to animate me. 

So I stand with this face that is my own 
at my window in my house on my land 
which forms temporary empire of thought, 
and here envision virtual globe of Earth 
based on perceptions through analysis 
my memories compose in one world view. 

Floating on wings of superconsciousness, 
I attempt to avoid getting restrained 
by cause and effect in narrative flow 
by circling back around on loop of thought 
to repeat cycle of growth and decay 
that pulses waves of molecules through me. 

My sense of conscious self is limited 
with framework of my conceptual skull, 
for I am bounded in nutshell of mind 
and count myself king of infinite space 
because I dream complete flow of all time 
with flashing nodes of neurons in my brain. 

Though I am constrained by the here and now 
I fly on wings of whole imagining 
to visit every land on every world 
in every era of transforming change 
to live whole life of every conscious soul 
so I better understand who I am. 

I sail integral boat of my whole self 
down ever-flowing stream of consciousness 
to trace conceptual journey of my soul 
on map depicting landscape of my heart 
so I can navigate past obstacles 
to find Heaven where we dwell in our home. 

Vision Of The World

Vision Of The World
© Surazeus
2024 12 06

It takes a lot of mental energy 
to prop up a false vision of the world 
which people will invent from fantasies 
invested to prove their superior state 
that qualifies their divine right to rule 
with control over lives of other souls. 

When people invest passion of their hearts 
in fake ideology based on lies 
that highlights their importance in this life, 
they expend enormous effort of faith 
to erect idol that glorifies them, 
which always collapses from weight of truth. 

Religious institutions base their right 
to dictate how people perform their roles 
in preordained hierarchy of state power 
on belief that Founding Father of Faith 
is some immortal supernatural deity 
who created being of this universe. 

Priests claim right to dictate how we all live 
based on belief which common people accept 
that their deity will return to Earth 
and resurrect dead bodies from the soil, 
so they live rich from money people give 
based on false promise of the afterlife. 

They must assemble believers each week 
and preach grand vision of the afterlife 
where people who are good will earn reward 
of eternal life in pure paradise, 
but no one living ever sees this Heaven 
for we live well, then die, and turn to dust. 

So long as people believe their nice lie 
that unseen god will raise them from the dead 
religious institutions will seize power, 
but once people stop believing their lie 
their fake system collapses into myths 
that glow with beautiful poison of fear. 

True ideology we construct with facts 
that describe clear state of reality 
with accurate statements of what occurs 
in physical nature we verify 
needs no energy of excessive faith, 
for truth stands strong on measurability. 

It takes no force of mental energy 
to prop up a true vision of the world 
for what is real remains for us to know 
when we perceive its state with open mind 
as we analyze true nature of being 
and share our comprehension with calm reason. 

Molecular Matrix Of Minds

Molecular Matrix Of Minds
© Surazeus
2024 12 05

Optimal degree of angle I need 
to perceive weird fractal complexity 
weaving molecular matrix of minds 
spirals from zero through infinity 
beyond conceptual frame of innocence 
imposing narrative norms on desire. 

Or rather I want to drink glass of wine 
and consider smears of colorful thoughts 
on ever-expanding canvas of truth 
containing spirals of genetic code 
that define superior features of forms 
capable of surviving mute despair. 

Which means statue of David represents 
Olympian body of the Superman 
rendered strong by harsh obstacles of pain 
overcoming which encourages gain 
through courageous assessment of frail faith 
which traps our minds in survival routines. 

What does not kill me with bitter contempt 
makes me stronger with outrageous respect 
for horrible suffering humans endure 
when they climb from bombed rubble of their dreams 
to build new empire on ruins of faith 
by killing those who want to kill us first. 

Multiple possibilities of forms 
truth provides aggressive minds to design 
expands our consciousness of what could be 
more real than what we envision may not 
install dismembered frame of reference 
to replicate puzzles from new world views. 

Thrilling rides on galactic rainbow bridge 
lures children to abandon facile hope 
with shocking reminiscence fate secures 
for building homes where children can play free 
from televised fear of state tyranny 
imposed by oligarchs grasping for power. 

Nothing gained from honest expenditure 
plots new ways forward for fierce refugees 
contrived by gambled loss Fortune decrees 
to claim occupied land as their new home 
when they insult strangers on the town bus 
by shouting you are not Americans. 

Bones of my immigrant ancestors rot 
in farmless fields from sea to shining sea 
on trail of tears from ransacked Camelot 
to prove only winners claim to live free 
from laws restricting access to state rights 
bound by molecular matrix of minds. 

Captain My Starship

Captain My Starship
© Surazeus
2024 12 05

I want to captain my starship in space, 
exploring planets around countless suns, 
because life on Planet Earth is messed up, 
and nothing like the liberal fantasy 
displayed in sci-fi television shows 
where humans strive for universal peace. 

The science on those shows is nothing more 
than magic machines of human hope 
that defy physical laws of nature, 
so they present helpless muggles in space 
who struggle against mad Olympian gods 
that mess with human beings in games of power. 

Their Federation of Planets presents 
empires of Rome, Britain, and America 
as noble states of upright warriors 
dedicated to international peace 
where clones of Jesus are good errant knights 
enforcing police state of Avalon. 

How noble this sentiment seems to me 
as angel warrior of the castle king 
devoted to ideal of equal rights 
with stalwart resolution of bold faith 
through principle of Liberty for all, 
fulfilling missions to maintain the state. 

Pledging allegiance to the Stars and Stripes, 
that noble flag of federal unity, 
and constitution for the rights of man 
for which it stands as sign of cosmic justice, 
I swear wholehearted faith as Son of Odin 
to vibrant process of democracy. 

As captain of my ship on sea of fear, 
exploring various cultures of the Earth, 
I represent through wise integrity 
our strong republic for the common good 
in clear-eyed policeman who fights oppressors 
to protect civilians from greedy tyrants. 

When lawbreakers, who steal from working men, 
betray principles of democracy 
by forcing their rights above national laws, 
grasp the steering helm for our Ship of State, 
claiming divine right to rule us based on sly tricks, 
we must unite to fight their tyranny. 

Yet when the tyrant steers our Ship of State 
wrecked on titanic iceberg of his greed, 
we will sacrifice scapegoat of his hate, 
then rebuild vessel of ambitious hope 
to sail again among the stars of truth 
as we expand empire of consciousness. 

Play Hide And Seek

Play Hide And Seek
© Surazeus
2024 12 05

If I cleanse bitter sorrow off my face 
with herbal cream from flowers of the moon, 
I can hear your voices in outer space 
warn me of accepting the royal boon. 
Children play hide and seek in ruins of Hell 
on which we build cathedral with gold bell. 

If I accelerate my leap of faith 
straight off jagged Cliffs of Insanity, 
I can soar high to cavern of the wraith 
to learn creed of Astarianity. 
Children play hide and seek in empty church 
to mock the clown who fails his sacred search. 

If I walk city streets with my Sun Lion 
in glamorous parade of grand state power, 
I can reign in Star Palace on Mount Zion 
as Queen Ishtar in thirteen-level tower. 
Children play hide and seek in city park 
where the jester studies the pulsing quark. 

If angels marry devils without rings 
which endow power on bearer of fate, 
I can pretend I have Icarian wings 
when I fight against state parties of hate. 
Children play hide and seek in downtown mall 
then pause by fountain of youth at the call. 

If I watch television shows all day 
that depict rise and fall of haughty lords, 
I can record secret thoughts people pray 
with naive faith to gods with bloody swords. 
Children play hide and seek in ancient myths 
by teleporting to worlds through monoliths. 

If I translate weird songs of ocean waves 
to solemn hymns church congregations chant, 
I know princesses fall in love with knaves 
in scandals contrived from unpriestly rants. 
Children play hide and seek in story scrolls 
to wear costumes for anti-social roles. 

If I chat with Clock Girl in the oak trunk 
whose prophecies of doom no one believes, 
I can locate where Ship of State was sunk 
after mutiny by the King of Thieves. 
Children play hide and seek in holy books 
then eat healthy meals made by cosmic cooks. 

If I am born again from mummy pod 
on Phoenix wings of supernatural force, 
I can return to Earth with mask of God 
to map concept of our progressive course. 
Children play hide and seek in fairy tales 
while rebel prophets get swallowed by whales. 

My Mapless Quest

My Mapless Quest
© Surazeus
2024 12 05

How bright the sun gleams in my dreamless eyes. 
How swift the ravens measure boundless skies. 
I stroll the signless road of anywhere 
to find one person who accepts my care 
but stop alone in busy crowd and stare. 
My mind is confused by the truth of lies. 

I search for Wisdom in old fruitless trees. 
Her soul has vanished in the timeless breeze. 
I sit by the well in town center square 
to see serpentine runes gleam in the air 
from souls of angels shopping at the fair. 
Weird demons swim in the bottomless seas. 

My memories clutter my ghostless house. 
I share funny tales with my faceless spouse. 
I wish my soul did beam down from the star, 
but consciousness cannot survive so far 
so I compose riddles in new grimoire. 
I hear someone call me from the lighthouse. 

I almost hear flight of the wingless horse. 
I search smoky caves for the springless source. 
I ask each stranger in the crowded bar 
if they know the right way to Kandahar 
but I weep alone at my escritoire. 
My spell channels energy of the Force. 

I wander nowhere on my mapless quest. 
My heart beats wildly during planless rest. 
I search for fruit of life in the quaint store 
but the Devil tells me he has no more, 
so I listen to the waterfall roar. 
Ten thousand years I follow the sun west. 

I leave no family in my homeless past. 
I play no role in the new scriptless cast. 
No wizard shares with me lost human lore 
so I meet Mother Night on ocean shore 
who weeps I can only play wife or whore. 
Temple of Gods is erased by one blast. 

I try to wake up from the mindless daze. 
I search for your face in the doorless maze. 
I sense the spirit of God hover near, 
but who approaches me is not so clear, 
so I light candles of the chandelier. 
I must evolve to the next conscious phase. 

Nobody shares with me the globeless news. 
I have been deceived by their guileless ruse. 
I realize the Earth is one spinning sphere 
in vastness of space contained in one tear 
through vision that proves I am new World Seer. 
I design new world view from scattered clues. 

Woman With Seven Eyes

Woman With Seven Eyes
© Surazeus
2024 12 04

The woman with the alligator purse 
disappears into the steel telephone, 
so I stumble to see the psychic nurse 
who informs me my heart has turned to stone, 
so I beam light rays from my magic hands 
to build crystal stairway to starry lands. 

Climbing stairway of my innocent hope 
to search for the woman with seven eyes, 
I struggle up enormous crystal slope 
till I find her weird palace in the skies 
where angels teach demons how to write verse 
that programs dream code of the universe. 

The woman with the ax for her right hand 
washes dishes, hangs laundry on the line, 
and mops the kitchen and the bathroom floors, 
then watches the coup on the evening news 
when the president declares martial law, 
but lawmakers cancel it with their vote. 

Knocking on doors of houses around town, 
I hand glossy brochure to residents 
and ask them if they have heard the good news 
about the Owl God who can save our souls 
by teaching us to laugh at tragedy, 
but they all shake their heads and slam doors shut. 

The woman with the television brain 
descends from flaming clouds on plastic wings, 
bearing peach cobbler pie in giving hands, 
but when I eat I turn into the horse 
she trains as her mount in the circus show, 
till I escape to wild Kentucky hills. 

Gathering sphere of energy with my hands 
that sparkles with electric soul of love, 
I zap the demon of resentful rage 
who interviews me for her magazine 
to highlight my rebellious style of art 
that depicts women as colorful smears. 

The woman with the rifle in her heart 
invites me to the posh museum show 
where I distract wealthy fools with sly jokes 
while she steals the concept of their sad lives 
which leaves them poor so they work in the fields 
picking fruit with Honduran refugees. 

Watching television news of the coup, 
I wonder if loyal Americans 
would demonstrate against his power grab, 
but then I remember with snarky grin 
they voted for him when he said he would, 
so I eat peach pie and wait for the end. 

Aphrodite Blue-Eyed Star

Aphrodite Blue-Eyed Star
© Surazeus
2024 12 04

If I wriggle free from the mind machine, 
I might have time to walk to the drug store 
and slide the blank letter in the mailbox 
that I have written to gods in the clouds 
asking if they can give us peace on Earth, 
then go home to eat hot peach cobbler pie. 

Pausing by the willow tree in the park, 
I will sing you ballads from ancient Rome 
proving we are heir to their grand empire, 
since our republic is about to fall, 
and street gangsters disguised as oligarchs 
will soon dictate our national policies. 

Which explains with five simple diagrams 
why we cannot buy bananas anymore, 
but everything else we can buy at the store 
is manufactured in huge factories 
by wage slaves in jungles of southern lands 
where dictators are overthrown each year. 

The latest Aphrodite blue-eyed star 
with golden curls and jeweled crown of fame 
sings sardonic love songs about the fools 
who cheat on her and break her crystal heart, 
for her generic face shines on the moon 
reflecting anguish all teenage girls share. 

The simplest way to change national fate, 
the old homeless stockbroker growls at me, 
is to assassinate ghost of your fear 
who thinks he operates above the law, 
then attend football games on Saturdays 
to cheer Achilles when he scores touchdowns. 

When Midas moves in the White House again 
he will erect statue of golden pride 
just like the one Nebuchadnezzar built, 
bright as idol of Ozymandias, 
to glorify our new imperial age 
annexing Canada and Mexico. 

To be the atheist is not to switch 
religious channels on the network shows, 
but turn the television wholly off, 
then study woolly mammoths to discern 
migration habits of primitive tribes 
before we built empires on skulls of gods. 

Stuck inside functions of the mind machine, 
my egocentric sense of consciousness 
attempts to prove divinity of thought, 
but my small sponge-wet brain is nothing more 
than visionary parasite of faith 
who thinks it emanates the soul of God. 

Homes Where I Belong Not

Homes Where I Belong Not
© Surazeus
2024 12 04

Softly the day retains its gratitude 
that Death is floating blindly in warm light 
this winter morning of ardent respect 
we share for translating alien dreams 
for voices of the wind in falling leaves 
that reveals portrait of the world we love. 

With congregation on the astral plane, 
we tell each other what we value most, 
then sell our stories on the internet 
to strangers who want to play someone else, 
till we no longer recognize ourselves 
reflected in the pool where Echo mourns. 

To brood on wetness of the psychic zone, 
regardless of how it affects my grades, 
I float on my back on the ocean wave 
to feel bright angels of the abyss glow 
with eyes that see beyond eternity 
which helps me understand my aching heart. 

Mouth open to taste the infinite sky, 
I research history of the elegy 
elusive with code of manners decried 
at shocking rudeness of the good to die, 
and bleed their holiness on the church floor 
when Icarus stumbles trying to get up. 

Outwitted by Death with each game we play, 
I relax on the beach with glass of juice 
and contemplate the strangeness of pure light 
which our ancestors thought had consciousness, 
blind with obscene scene on the screen unseen 
based on the arbitrariness of truth. 

When the angel of truth stays at my house, 
she leaves her memories in the old shoe box 
after discarding my hopes in the fireplace, 
then pours milk in the glass, but stares alone 
out every window at secrets I hide, 
then abandons me to fake happiness. 

More fickle than sad savior of the world, 
I prophesy what no one wants to hear, 
naming land where I live Zarathia 
so I can say I am no immigrant, 
though I keep wandering sea to shining sea, 
leaving behind homes where I belong not. 

Still confident that my weird songs ring true, 
I skip with Louise on the signless road, 
eager to perform in the next small town 
our cute Shepherdess and Clown in Love play, 
but gunshots ring across the treeless plain, 
and she works in the factory today. 

Heaven We Want To Share

Heaven We Want To Share
© Surazeus
2024 12 04

Through assertion of my surconscious will 
to be now here within vast nowhere void 
I create the universe where I Am 
when I describe objective world I see 
which conjures virtual model of this Earth, 
framed clear within ontology of being. 

Ghosts are illusions that my brain invents 
when the danger alarm of cautious hope 
is activated by fearful desire 
to see the person I love whose bright soul 
has vanished from the dream time of our world 
which registers dark absence of their being. 

The shy grasshopper in the sunlit grass 
waits patiently obtuse for me to pass, 
so I stop and explain with careful words 
undulating structure of time when birds 
argue over who owns space of the world 
where mute humans wait for the cosmic herald. 

Saturnus, bearded madman on the street, 
preaches to office workers passing by 
that the end of the world everyone fears 
will never happen, for the Earth spins on 
ten billion years in void of anywhere, 
so we create Heaven we want to share. 

With bricks of golden mud baked in the sun 
I will build new ziggurat of world power 
on lush shore of the Mississippi River 
to serve as capital for my new empire 
uniting states of North America 
in union to preserve our Way of Life. 

Combining separate nations in one state, 
Canada, Zarathia, and Mexico, 
I expand security of strong faith 
with honest federation of our will 
to establish one universal law 
based on Justice and Liberty for all. 

Working together as one global state, 
we can run our food-production machine 
so every worker benefits with wealth 
equal to mental effort they apply 
to build foundation based on civil rights 
our United States of America. 

Waking from grand dream of prosperity 
shared by people of North America, 
I hear cry of its spirit in the sky 
as Wohalia soars over fertile lands, 
and sigh to see our still fragmented state 
where countless people struggle to survive. 

Return To My First Home

Return To My First Home
© Surazeus
2024 12 03

If we share the kitchen faucet to clean 
grime of politics from our fear-soured hearts, 
jagged sorrow of the barbarous horse 
returns can of tomato soup the clown 
stole from the oldest woman in the world 
who reveals name of the Library Girl. 

Yet pictures we paint with colors of hope, 
smeared from ennui of stale cigarette smoke, 
complicate matters we want to ignore 
concerning when the last train will arrive 
with refugees from London getting bombed 
by origami swans of the star bride. 

Three times the clock in the rowan tree trunk 
explodes with laughter of fake irony, 
how children replay the state power games 
their parents engage to control how words 
mean the opposite of shattered mirror states, 
arrogant enough to never know why. 

While searching boxes of lost memories 
stored in dusty attic of my failed state, 
I find the mostly famous photograph 
no one has ever seen on the big screen 
depicting victory of the Rainbow Ghost 
in the civil war that we never fought. 

For entertainment purposes, we fold 
pages from ancient manuscripts in masks 
hiding demonic nature of my face 
with alchemical formulas of change, 
subtracting presence of electric brains 
programmed as radars to sense the mind ghost. 

So when I welcome into my home 
I expect you to remove your shoes smeared 
with disappointments of the fallen god 
who slouches under rotten Tree of Life 
and complains with bitterness of false pride 
that no humans worship him anymore. 

Having no career in the field of lies 
I can eat the clock of demonic fruit 
composed of atoms bleeding from the sun 
so we can dance with abandon of joy 
in cluttered ruins of our empire state 
to build new temple for the laughing toad. 

The apple tree and the wind-winged horse 
are all that matter to me in the end, 
yet I cannot return to my first home 
in the mystic Almaty Mountain range 
where my first mother stands on the lake shore 
and forges my thoughts into diamond words. 

Destroy The Failed State

Destroy The Failed State
© Surazeus
2024 12 03

If I wonder about fish in the lake, 
designed by the sun god to sing spells, 
I would rather eat dark chocolate cake 
and count angels awakened by church bells 
to usher evening vespers with the snow 
and attend the grade school holiday show. 

The little girl wearing long white silk gown, 
adorned with halo and delicate wings, 
plays flute that haunts the little country town 
where demonic bell in the forest rings 
to enchant hard-working people with lies 
that their lives are ruined by foreign spies. 

While the boat-tailed grackle in the elm tree 
reveals psychic secret of fear negation, 
senators plot to oppose tyranny 
by implementing the Brutus Solution, 
but Pluto shields Midas from strike of truth 
which sets conditions for messiah sleuth. 

When my car runs out of gas on the road, 
I stand on its roof and shout at the sky, 
till Hermes appears as the laughing toad 
to play psychopomp for the hungry spy 
who decides between fishing at the lake 
or fighting for justice with the last stake. 

Through abnegation of our civil rights 
the thief, who crowns himself king of the world, 
conceals broken Ark from the Israelites, 
but falls defeated by the cosmic herald 
who offers him salvation by the book, 
erasing his existence from the brook. 

So after we stall his cruel tyranny, 
and lock demonic force in cave of fate, 
we calculate results through irony 
he is destined to destroy the failed state 
so we can build new nation from the flames, 
blessing everyone with angelic names. 

On peak of Mount Takoma I declare 
new global nation of Zarathia 
which welcomes refugees from everywhere 
where we live free without his mafia, 
based on Justice and Liberty for all 
who find employment in the shopping mall. 

Demonic energy of social change 
inspires our hearts with respect for the law 
that provides framework to manage the range 
of differences enhanced by Onatah, 
Corn Goddess who, as spirit of our land, 
provides equal reward with generous hand. 

Eternal Beacon Of Truth

Eternal Beacon Of Truth
© Surazeus
2024 12 03

When world view I composed for thirty years 
crumbles into fragments of clever myths, 
I walk out in the chilly winter night 
to see that the crescent moon still shines bright 
beyond all changes of societies, 
eternal beacon of truth I can trust. 

Four cultural traditions clutter Earth 
with detailed rituals guiding how we live, 
embodied by gods worshipped by their state 
as paragons of virtue they admire, 
encased in traditions of national myths 
based in four corners of our globe landscape. 

Fierce nationalists in each cultural state 
fight to enforce their specific world view 
imposed on others to subdue their ways, 
and integrate others under their own, 
but globalists oppose destructive hate 
and work so we share this planet with love. 

I wish we could all live in harmony, 
respecting traditions of fellow humans 
as tales that dramatize social success 
through vision of the mortal human being 
whose soul reflects divine mind of their tribe 
as god who represents their grand world view. 

Men who strive to control the minds of others 
expend psychic energy of contempt, 
inducing stress from arrogant despair, 
so they burn themselves out to impose fear, 
and thus their terrorist agenda fades 
because lies cost too much to legislate. 

Though tyrants are rising around the Earth, 
channeling fear their citizens express 
that their grand world view is irrelevant, 
failing to explain everything that happens, 
their harsh oppressive regimes will collapse 
expending excess effort to prop lies. 

True nature of the world always prevails 
if we but dwell in harmony with Nature, 
surfing gracefully with energy waves 
that flow through the cycle of birth and death 
as we relax from production of food 
to feast and dance in rites of soul rebirth. 

The truth needs no energy to support, 
for what is real remains measurable 
to our close attentive investigation, 
so celebrate all cultures of our world 
framing dramatic lives of fruitful states 
which blossom from the heart of Mother Earth. 

Emptiness Of The Universe

Emptiness Of The Universe
© Surazeus
2024 12 03

When I emerge as pulse of eager light 
from the emptiness of the universe, 
I will rise up from bottom of the sea 
on wings of desire formed from voiceless air 
as temporary shadow of my soul 
revealed by rays of the brain-flashing moon. 

Wings of my ancient voice might not repair 
the broken window of the timeless sky, 
but I will speak the visions of my eyes 
which crawl from grave where my mother now sleeps 
to calculate how far I have to go 
before I reappear from everywhere. 

Yet broken arrow of my angel heart 
still quivers stuck in trunk of Laurelin, 
so I climb steep hill of Ezellohar 
to capture golden tears of her despair 
from which I forge the engine of my car 
that purrs with grace of the curious lynx. 

While I run to escape gang of slave-traders 
across the rocky plain, large white-winged owl 
swoops down from heaven with star-blazing eyes 
and carries me away to mountain vale, 
where she gazes at me on limb of the pine, 
then flies away as I sing hymn of thanks. 

When I am born in frail body of flesh 
from the emptiness of the universe, 
I write my story in the holy book 
with words that weave my brain from threads of light 
so I become tapestry that presents 
tale of my life on stone cathedral wall. 

Bright spirit of my soul composed of words 
can only spring to life in human form 
if you read story that describes my quest 
to evade tragic consequence of greed 
so I can generate life with my mate 
to incarnate immortal soul of genes. 

Driving with traffic on the busy road, 
I concentrate on journey of my heart, 
then park beside the hall built of red bricks 
where I work as librarian of the world, 
preserving books that record tales of heroes 
who lived and died with spinning of the Earth. 

This temporary body of my genes 
embodies light of stars in human form 
from the emptiness of the universe 
who becomes aware of itself through me 
as I lie on my back among the flowers 
that bloom beside the river of my soul. 

Gods Of Ancient Myths

Gods Of Ancient Myths
© Surazeus
2024 12 02

If the shallow pool in gray road, that glints 
with ghosts of dead gods humans used to worship, 
is mirror to some other universe, 
then I would like to enter Book of Dreams 
to meet the living humans with bright souls 
whose faces mask the gods of ancient myths. 

They were all living human beings once, gods 
worshipped as divine beings of perfect light 
by nameless millions of their followers, 
people who felt hunger, happiness, fear, 
pleasure, despair, sorrow, and honest love, 
as they lived vision of their hearts, then died. 

Why normal individual human beings 
come to personify soul of their nation 
by great actions they performed in dire straits 
to guide their people in distressing times 
so they imitate their national hero, 
fascinates me with mystery of the heart. 

These average mortal creatures of the flesh, 
faced with terrible crisis of their state, 
descended to underworld of the mind, 
fought demons of despair to earn the prize 
of divine wisdom glowing in their eyes, 
then taught their people how to overcome. 

Now their star names and awe-inspiring deeds 
remain as idols of their long-dead souls, 
preserving memory of their acts in myths 
that dramatize how they attained success 
to transcend sorrow of the mortal mind, 
and so inspire us to perform our best. 

Instead of knocking idols on the ground, 
to bury gods in dust of failed world views, 
I erect their spirits in temple hall 
as paragons of human characters 
whose faces reflect desires of our hearts 
to attain equal fame saving our world. 

Religious temple of my open heart 
highlights their noble deeds of selfless love 
with admiration for each human soul 
whose expansive vision guides how we live 
so we will create, rather than destroy, 
and treat each other with honest respect. 

Since Amen founded first religious rites 
with generous feast in house of one world faith, 
we humans gather in temple of truth 
to watch dramatic tales of noble souls 
that present deeds of our national heroes 
which guide romantic journey of our hearts. 

Flow Of Profit And Loss

Flow Of Profit And Loss
© Surazeus
2024 12 02

Soft emptiness of light inside my eye 
wakes me with blithe uncanny sense of hope 
that splinters world view of ten billion souls 
in one outrageous creed of honest stillness, 
venomous with newly invented words 
children speak to deceive oppressive gods. 

The old woman who walks through walls of fate 
hires me to work as her psychotic spy, 
so I give empty books to lonely souls 
who fill their pages with visions of love 
condensing tears in pearls of sacred tales 
that preserve our pain long after we die. 

Abandoned on steps of the empty church, 
new savior of the world loves to skip rope 
and recite aggressive rhymes of contempt 
aimed at bloated egos of haughty men 
who strut about on stage of global power, 
unaware that pride always destroys tyrants. 

Yet manic pixie Library Girl knows 
how to tune my brain with transcendent vibes 
that crack foundation of our world empire 
so ghosts of long-dead gods impersonate 
normal humans who work at office jobs 
to calculate flow of profit and loss. 

Less subtle than exploding plastic masks, 
which I wear to the world movie awards, 
my face contrives to imitate your savior 
so you will trust me with your secret code 
which I can use to open bank accounts 
to buy and restore ancient Scottish castles. 

When the flock of deer approach your front door, 
they will ask if you have heard the good news 
of their divine lord and savior Cernunnos 
whose face appears on television screens 
glowing with halo of nuclear blasts 
that erase your empire from dream of time. 

We ride our bikes along the river walk 
when the gold sun of eternity sets 
blazing with untimely beauty of death, 
then stop for ice cream at the coffee shop 
where the most famous poets in the world 
write poems on napkins they burn in the hearth. 

While riding dolphin from the Holy Land, 
Arion composes opera libretto 
based on tragic life of Princess Diana 
whose face appears gold on the moon each night 
to guide my journey to the Promised Land 
where I bury skulls of tyrants in the Garden. 

Dance With The Grateful Dead

Dance With The Grateful Dead
© Surazeus
2024 12 02

Floating into blue sky of broken clouds, 
high over endless maze of city streets, 
I see beneath nice clean suits of bank clerks 
the wild-eyed beatniks, hippies, and soul freaks 
who follow Moses to the Promised Land 
where he helps them dance with the grateful dead. 

Living safe in my suburban-zoo home 
after hitchhiking sea to shining sea, 
I feel the revolutionary beat of truth 
pulse in deep passion of my self-control, 
so I howl with wolves to the bloody moon 
while we keep dancing with the grateful dead. 

Young Malcolm, who exed out his slave last name, 
rolls utopian joints in Harlem jazz clubs 
where moon-eyed shamans of New Orleans swamps 
play wailing elegies on saxophones 
that lift our spirits over city towers 
so lost souls can dance with the grateful dead. 

Bearded dharma lion and Buddhist Jew 
meditates on the television screen, 
eyes flashing with visions of holy light 
that guide the best minds of our generation 
to climb the mountain of the fallen idol 
and teach us to dance with the grateful dead. 

Strolling with Eve on Desolation Row 
to translate wisdom blowing in the wind, 
the star-eyed tambourine man with six wings 
guides lost souls through the smoke rings of his mind 
to knock on the gates of Heaven for truth, 
then leaves us to dance with the grateful dead. 

Writing prophecies on the subway walls, 
the lonely prophet of the Neon God 
translates the sounds of silence to dream spells 
he sings in the cafe on Bleecker Street 
while beatniks snap their fingers with the groove 
and stoned hippies dance with the grateful dead. 

Driving Volkswagen buses with rainbows 
across the waste land from Manhattan maze, 
hippies head west for the Summer of Love 
to trip in glowing hills of San Francisco 
with flowers from tombs of gods in their hair 
while they dance on fire with the grateful dead. 

Beat down by the hard grind of daily life, 
assembling cars in chugging factories, 
the wingless angels of America 
fall from the flower-perfect hills of Heaven 
to build world empire of the holy bomb, 
then dance forever with the grateful dead. 

If We Harm None

If We Harm None
© Surazeus
2024 12 02

Pared to the essence of what must be said, 
my grandiose speech to persuade the world 
my vision will guide them to paradise 
splinters into riddles and weird proverbs 
that confound the wise and enlighten fools 
with delusions that we are great again. 

Instead of attempting to save the world, 
I drive out to calm mountains of the mind 
to sit by sparkling lake of innocence 
and fish for memories of the good old days 
when truth was truth, bald liars were despised, 
and criminals were not allowed to rule. 

If I hide away in the wilderness, 
tempted by honor to avoid the game 
of power fought between mad greedy thieves, 
I hope the ship of state will right itself 
to avoid hitting the titanic iceberg 
of tyranny that glitters in our way. 

I wonder, as I gaze at sparkling lake, 
if this civil war will be like the last 
when gangs of boys with guns plunder towns, 
and shoot each other for the state of mind 
based on different definitions of freedom, 
till one side randomly defeats the other. 

One side defines freedom as sacred right 
of each person to live free as they will 
to pursue happiness, if we harm none, 
while the other side, driven by blind greed, 
defines freedom as the right to exploit 
working people to accumulate wealth. 

In every crisis our country has faced 
every eighty years for five cycles now, 
forces of democracy, based on right 
of justice and liberty for all, win 
against forces of tyranny that grasp 
to control our bodies and minds as slaves. 

I want to stand in hall of truth and preach 
that justice of fair laws always prevails 
to maintain dignity of working people 
who earn rich wage for labor they expend, 
against aggressive tactics of the rich 
to exploit workers for their private gain. 

This civil war to control rights of people 
to pursue happiness free from despair 
will soon occur no matter what I say, 
so I will curse tyrants who always lose, 
and work for democracy of fair laws 
which will always prevail to nurture growth. 

Game Of Mental Stealth

Game Of Mental Stealth
© Surazeus
2024 12 01

Leisurely laughter of the unconcerned 
explodes dire misconceptions of the weak 
whose performance in game of mental stealth 
fails to convince majority of clowns 
who analyze how disease twists the mind 
to recognize the weird joke Death designed. 

We pass each other on the busy street, 
convinced we are abnormal sons of God, 
since our children slide into pool of fate 
while Dishonesty looks the other way, 
but who storms the Gates of Heaven this time 
at subtle instigation of the chime. 

Riddles solving revolutions are burned 
when the Devil tries to find out who leaked 
state secrets to the defunct Board of Wealth 
to spite the tyrant who steals jeweled crowns 
while forging deeds of ownership for land 
claimed by the leader of the marching band. 

I visit tomb of Nameless God on Crete 
with application to join Justice Squad, 
assigned by Zeus to guard the Pearly Gate 
where Daughters of the Disappeared still pray 
to Maat for justice in the psychic game 
since every dead dictator is the same. 

Each stanza composes once puzzle piece 
secret analysts assemble to seek 
obvious location of the Holy Grail, 
yet children prefer to quietly paint 
prophetic murals on walls of the bank 
destroyed each summer by the godly tank. 

Yet Nostradamus in Tower of Eyes 
hires me as young apprentice to record 
obscene prophecies of future events 
when the tyrant tries to crown himself king 
which causes people of the land to laugh 
each time he falls off the Golden Giraffe. 

I think we will never achieve world peace, 
yet still we try to paddle up the creek 
when our government is put up for sale 
by Midas whose evil ways are now quaint, 
since we have seen worse happen than we think 
when his greed causes Ship of State to sink. 

This game of prophecy played by blind spies 
is competition of the rich and bored 
which I am winning against presidents 
who must kneel and kiss my godfather ring, 
till Americans decide they had enough, 
since no one dares call out his haughty bluff. 

Flow Of Engine Ghosts

Flow Of Engine Ghosts
© Surazeus
2024 12 01

Though flowers blossom out of ancient books, 
their ghosts become lovable characters 
on late afternoon television shows 
that young children like to watch after school, 
so I drive my car to the grocery store 
where it transforms into the lonely horse. 

When flowers of evil bloom from my corpse 
that floats forever on the River Styx, 
mothers take children to the city park 
where they develop new technologies 
for controlling the flow of engine ghosts 
who escape the circus after midnight. 

Through misdirection of the social joke, 
which challenges the right of criminals 
to take over jobs in the government, 
I pull masks off devils to expose crimes 
they commit while in offices of power 
twisting the state for their own purposes. 

Yet none dare challenge with shy bravery 
the traitor who crowns himself new world king, 
allowing him to trample sacred code 
designed to check monopoly on power 
when thieves grasp keys to the state treasury 
and throw our bill of rights into the fire. 

Ignore clear evidence of their intent 
to establish fascist theocracy 
while attending service in the glass church 
where you pray with feverish intensity 
for second coming of the world messiah 
whose hands drip with blood of the innocent. 

When Buddha emerges with glow of light 
from the time-fractured television tube, 
Jesus wielding Excalibur attacks 
rival deity for the hearts of men 
who race trucks on the highway of contempt 
in holy crusade against Liberty. 

Though roses blossom from the holy book 
that drips with the blood of martyrs and fools, 
I play the happy clown who always weeps 
to find rusting Statue of Liberty 
half buried in the beach of laughing skulls, 
then go home to eat burritos for lunch. 

These harrowing visions of global war 
are nothing but delusions of the mad 
who shake your windows and rattle your walls 
while war refugees dance in waterfalls 
to rebuild the nations destroyed by war 
where Jesus sells faith at the grocery store. 

We Study Ancient Cultures

We Study Ancient Cultures
© Surazeus
2024 12 01

To find the origin of how I think, 
how my brain perceives the objective world, 
I fly from Georgia to Sumeria 
and dig deep into swirling sands of time, 
unearthing clay tablets ancient scribes wrote 
that describe the long-lost world where they lived. 

I want to recreate that ancient world 
in virtual model with computer code 
programmed to replicate the way things were 
with avatars that perform daily roles 
tending herds, farming crops, constructing homes, 
and commune temples where they feast and sing. 

I would like to replicate every stage 
in transformation of the human race 
with detailed scenes of interactive modes 
that show how civilization evolved 
from small tribes of hunters and gatherers 
to global empire of corporate banks. 

Our current stage of fractured nation-states, 
contending to enforce their strict world view, 
dismembers our separate communities 
enclosed in framework of opposing rules 
so rivals clash on basic principles 
that define nature of society. 

Most common features of communities 
that function in every country on Earth 
are structured hierarchy of social roles 
bound by common language in founding tales 
describing successful progress of the quest 
fulfilled by founding prophet of that state. 

When altercating world views compromise 
to merge their values in new set of laws 
stating do as you will, if you harm none, 
that recognizes gods as equal tropes, 
opposing nations ally to expand 
strength of their union based on bold respect. 

I wish we did not have to fight world wars 
to increase temperature of national pride 
that melts sharp differences in harsh conflict, 
so we can marry members of our tribes 
to generate efficient hybrid state 
through alchemical mutation of love. 

To understand our complex world today 
we study ancient cultures lost in time 
which shows our creeds that seem so different 
share basic features that could help connect 
our hearts in United Nations of Earth 
where Justice and Liberty rule our hearts. 

Wild Angel Of Fate

Wild Angel Of Fate
© Surazeus
2024 12 01

I should not barter wisdom with the dead 
but I want to know the right road to take 
to escape slaving for my daily bread, 
to wrestle with fear for one slice of cake, 
or then I shall walk down the empty road 
to meditate with the hypnotic toad. 

Reluctant angel of the fallen state 
misleads my journey to the Promised Land 
by selling tickets to the Pearly Gate 
which I cannot open with fleshy hand, 
so I build log cabin on the river shore 
and hang holly wreath on red-painted door. 

Extending arms to embrace empty sky, 
I soar into bright clouds on devil wings 
to find palace of God and ask him why 
Death translates pain to pleasure when she sings, 
but he hurls me wingless back down to Earth 
where I calculate what made things are worth. 

Dressed in my dapper suit at gleam of dawn, 
I ride the trolley up the hill to work 
where I pretend I am not obedient pawn 
programmed to patrol streets where angels lurk, 
all to maintain rules by order of law 
where ravens on taut telephone lines caw. 

When I corner the thief by the locked door, 
who steals stale bread for his children to eat, 
he mocks the world order of bank and store 
that exploits the farmer destroyed by sleet, 
for gangsters rule each level of the state, 
enforcing power to control our fate. 

Rich gangsters in state offices of power 
are just as ruthless as thugs in the street, 
for each one asserts right to tax the flower 
by using threat of suffering to defeat 
rival gangs controlling brief lives of men 
in harsh money war that no one can win. 

Pretending I got lost in alleyways, 
I let the desperate bread-winner escape, 
but, as I wander crowded city maze, 
begin to wonder who rules the mindscape, 
and who creates things with their humble hands, 
the carpenter, or the king with demands. 

Sticking to my job for the city bank, 
I investigate status of cash loans, 
eager to climb the bureaucratic rank 
by wearing shaman mask and clacking bones, 
so with power I can improve the state 
by gambling with the wild angel of fate. 

When I Find Eternity

When I Find Eternity
© Surazeus
2024 11 30

When I find eternity in white stone 
that glimmers on pebble beach by the lake, 
I stop walking somewhere else to sit still 
as the scraggly pine on thin spit of land 
that curves into strange greenness of water 
till white glow of the horizon is me. 

Each ripple of the silver-green lake lurks 
close enough to faint shadow of my soul 
that cry of sorrow stuck in my throat wails 
soft as the hawk floating above flat water 
to prove my existence is hard as stones 
that tingle with kiss of indifferent waves. 

Almost erased to glimmer of sunlight 
on flat lake stretching far across the sky, 
I hum sudden vibration in my chest 
that startles me with fear of something near, 
yet only trees on pebbled beach reply 
with silent innocence of my despair. 

Stones on the pebbled beach melt in my flesh 
till I become clump of soft clanking stones 
when I extend sharp beam of energy 
to stretch my arms and legs with ardency 
through urgent desperation to reclaim 
pain searing my body as mine alone. 

When I find eternity in dead tree 
that stretches twisted fingers at gray clouds, 
I hide in shadow of short lonely pine  
while soldiers in trucks rumble on the road 
to invade the city of bombed-out ruins 
where children carry skulls of long-dead gods. 

Poised with stiff stillness of the patient tree, 
I spear wriggling fish in flat silver lake, 
then roast it over flames of honesty 
to eat with zest in the desolate waste 
far from haze of bullets blasting soft flesh 
in war against cruel tyrant of despair. 

Caressing twisted fingers of bare trees, 
I recite verses from lost holy books 
to remember names of people I knew 
who have since vanished from dream of the world 
so they will reappear as leaves in spring 
to tell me how happy they want to be. 

When eternity finds me on the beach, 
she will smile and protect my soul from harm, 
so, many years after soldiers have died 
and bankers get rich selling broken land, 
she will find me meditating all day 
to contemplate the strange greenness of water. 

Hall Of Your Skulls

Hall Of Your Skulls
© Surazeus
2024 11 30

When I wake in cold barren hall of stone, 
I find my body is soil of the land 
tangled thick with herbs, vines, bushes, and trees, 
then drink from quick-flowing stream of my spine, 
my eyes as turtles, and my hands as birds, 
wrecked disarrangement of the gardener. 

When I stand up trembling in hall of glass, 
I breathe cracked granite cliff of mountain wind, 
bones rumbling in earthquake of my hot breath, 
heavy with boulders tossed by ocean waves 
which batter my body with arrogance, 
impossible disbursement of thick words. 

When I crawl heaps of books in hall of wood, 
I flutter wings of expanding desire, 
reshifting landscapes of cluttered-street towns 
that crumble from relentless hurricanes 
of wretched laughter at absurdity 
contrived by angels trying to build worlds. 

When I expand my soul in hall of masks, 
I replicate endless copies of self 
sewn from vibrating threads of psychic spells 
taut with intention to contaminate 
pure silt-shifting lake that swallows my dreams, 
yet reflects souls of people I invent. 

When I expel gloom from hall of contempt, 
I stretch old mangled body of dry hills 
along rugged coast of the sparkling sea 
where drowning mermaids sing forgotten names 
to resurrect confederacy of fools 
interned in valley of our laughing skulls. 

When I drift numb in hall of innocence, 
I become pregnant with billions of souls 
who crawl in tunnels of my milk-thick breasts 
then dance with ecstasy of aching hearts 
in gleaming moonlight of my watching eye 
till their bodies sink back into my pores. 

When I carve names in hall of marble walls, 
I wear mask of each human who has lived 
to experience each life ten million years 
who chase the sun to the end of the world 
as their bodies merge in children of hope 
and multiply again into one me. 

When I fall asleep in hall of your skulls, 
I dream creation of the universe 
when the first flash flares forth from the big bang 
to weave our lonely planet from star light 
so you and I can meet this fateful hour 
to sing together with love in our tower. 

Strangeness Of Familiar Light

Strangeness Of Familiar Light
© Surazeus
2024 11 30

I no longer hear sweet saints in the church 
singing hymns about that fantasy land 
they hope exists beyond this messy world 
where no one ever suffers pain or dies. 
I stand on street corners and play guitar 
about the mortal beauty of our souls. 

With slight adjustment of my attitude 
I now see this horrible messy world 
as beautiful as that fantasy land, 
and flawed mortal humans are now my saints. 
I wade out in the swirling ocean waves 
and float in strangeness of familiar light. 

Gathered around wood table in the park, 
we smear mayonnaise and mustard on buns 
with pickles, tomatoes, and lettuce leaves 
for hamburgers grilled over crackling flames. 
This family fellowship in the lake park 
on Sabbath afternoon is my paradise. 

Bright angels singing solemn hymns of love 
welcome every child ever born on Earth 
for we are all incarnations in flesh 
of that divine soul that glows in the sun. 
I see my mother in eyes of my child 
who grows to evolve beyond both of us. 

Farmers produce food from the soil of Earth, 
workers package food for the grocery stores, 
truckers deliver food to each small town, 
and mothers cook food for children to eat. 
We are angels loyal to paradise 
in our global food-production machine. 

After sharing our rich Thanksgiving feast, 
we sip wine as Phoebe plays haunting tunes 
on guitar deft as crows in freezing trees 
that leave us reluctant to say farewell. 
When I climb the mountain trail beyond clouds 
I see only the world I want to see. 

When snow begins to shroud crop fields in white, 
and birds desert the leafless trees of hope, 
we write to people who live far away 
so we all know the others are alive. 
I like the meaningless world where we live
and tell each other stories of our faith. 

Assembled in cathedral of sunlight, 
we hear wingless angels in love-clean robes 
sing hymns to rebirth of the broken heart, 
while planes drop bombs on homes in distant lands. 
I carve names of the dead on mountain cliffs 
with runes that writhe with grace of apple snakes.