Beautiful Birds Sing

Beautiful Birds Sing
© Surazeus
2024 01 31

When statue in the dirty rains decides 
to claim again power they lost at death, 
I lay the tiger lily at their base 
and lead them in the masquerade of faith 
while winds play with flags in the city square 
and beautiful birds sing about the moon. 

When mute clown in black suit and bowler hat 
stands on white cliffs of Dover in red light, 
I row my fragile boat across black sea 
to find the raven queen in misty hills 
who asks me how the television works 
though beautiful birds scream at factories. 

When good King Wenceslaus in silver snow 
tries to see beyond illusion of faith, 
I bring him honeyed scroll of bitter truths 
encoding whir of unborn angel wings 
that prove we are stuck in our dreamless brains 
while beautiful birds calculate our fate. 

When accident of strange identity 
veils shadow of my soul from dangerous fame, 
I whistle tunes of summer light in leaves 
revealing ancient memories I dream 
from lives of fear my ancestors survived 
if beautiful birds guide them to their graves. 

When the deathless past remains in my heart 
to burn with endless flame of fierce desire, 
I study causes of each great event 
to understand how history designs 
false narratives for who gets credit due 
as beautiful birds gossip on phone lines. 

When I invent the audience of my tale 
by translating weird song of ocean waves, 
I play with children in garden of trees 
with golden ball that falls in hungry pool, 
so I dive to vast cave where monsters dance 
with beautiful birds on computer screens. 

When splendor of dawn rain on mountain slopes 
reveals abyss of wisdom in my heart, 
I draw your face on foggy windowpane 
as if this spell will bring you home to me 
before grim tolling of cathedral bells 
till beautiful birds shatter mirror doors. 

When atom of silence beams into life 
to luminate galaxy in my brain, 
I conjure all of history through dream code 
which plays in movies on wall of the cave 
where Plato constructs ideas with words 
since beautiful birds freeze in photographs. 

Bullets And Bombs Of Greed

Bullets And Bombs Of Greed
© Surazeus
2024 01 31

If I just focus on beauty of Nature, 
describing how plants spiral around the sun 
in struggle through darkness toward warming light, 
and celebrate their budding after snow, 
I could ignore people in many lands 
getting killed by bullets and bombs of greed. 

I could stroll without care in hilly woods 
that sparkle with eerie strangeness of frost 
where life and death both mingle in tree roots, 
and not think about people getting killed, 
thousands of young children orphaned and maimed 
by men wielding bullets and bombs of greed. 

I would stand on shore of dark mountain lake 
and shout my agony to empty sky, 
expressing sorrow of my helpless heart 
that mothers and children with hope for life 
are getting blasted under rubbled homes 
by laughter from bullets and bombs of greed. 

I want to stand in glade of shifting light 
beneath broad canopy of wind-kissed leaves 
and listen to various birds declare love 
instead of people running maze of ruins 
who scream from horror at shadow of death 
erupting from bullets and bombs of greed. 

Deep in my heart of birds that flutter wings 
to fly from coldness of indifferent snow 
I hear singing strength of the country ghost 
that sparks wildflowers up from root and seed 
while people just like me in distant lands 
are still killed by bullets and bombs of greed. 

I stroll the winding Appalachian Trail 
along core strength of vast nation I love 
where only deer and wolves inhabit woods 
to welcome refugees from war-torn lands 
whose faceless ghosts haunt my lonely footsteps 
to escape swift bullets and bombs of greed. 

The disused graveyard draws me to its lawn 
where I read names on stones worn down by rain 
with clever quip that people hate to die 
so we can savor beauty of this world 
for even people safe in peaceful lands 
might be killed by bullets and bombs of greed. 

They dwell in ghost house of forgotten hopes, 
people killed in dozens of distant wars, 
for no trace of their homes on signless roads 
remains but ruined fragments of their lives 
except for photos that flare into birds 
created by bullets and bombs of greed. 

Fight For The Empire

Fight For The Empire
© Surazeus
2024 01 31

Beautiful as morning snow in dark woods, 
she walks on pathway through infinity 
to give me book of tales written with blood 
of brave heroes who died on battlefields 
defending our land against foreigners 
whose voices linger in sorrowful wind. 

The noble title he purchased with blood 
lies forgotten in the glass cabinet 
as ring of metal with clear mineral 
that preserves the first flash of the big bang 
in glitter of its heart from candlelight 
when guests come over for holiday meals. 

Weaving blankets to keep her family warm 
when snow-swirls veil stone castle of despair, 
she hides her broken heart with hymns of faith 
that haunt small chapel by the empty tomb 
many years while cars glide by on the road 
between the factory and the army town. 

Though loneliness fills her eyes with the ghost 
of lavender and rose on her long dress, 
she sells bags of groceries to working moms 
with same charming smile the duchess once wore 
when she attended the grand royal ball 
and sought to find the best match for her son. 

Transforming into the star mountain bear, 
he wanders dark woods just outside of town 
to watch his children on the school playground 
decide who will play the king and the pawn, 
then climbs back to his cave of hungry ghosts 
to explain magic of the telephone. 

Taking his wife and daughters to the zoo, 
where monsters and demons from fairy tales 
are locked in cages of reason and faith, 
he hides typewriter in the old oak tree 
bound with yellow ribbons to mourn the loss 
of soldiers willing to die for the king. 

Holding the dead rattlesnake in her hand, 
with bones more fragile than fairies of yore, 
she listens to soldiers drinking cold beer 
sing patriotic anthems for the dead 
whose ghosts wander lost in lands far away 
to prove our divine right to own this land. 

Beautiful as city lights in the smog, 
she drives toward home in the vast maze of myths, 
but stops to pray beside the empty tomb 
where all her fathers and mothers are bees 
making honey for her children to eat 
before they fight for the empire and die. 

Horror Of Being Alive

Horror Of Being Alive
© Surazeus
2024 01 30

The splintered sun still wants to tell me why 
dead angels stuck in brains of human beings 
crawl naked walls of anguish to escape 
beautiful hymns of peace in glass church hall 
which floats above vast maze of restless cars 
to make peace with horror of being alive. 

The spinning door in stone castle of ghosts 
delights in holding bruised fruit of the heart 
because beauty kills more beautiful things 
despite suspicious formulas of faith 
we hide in boxes on shelves in dank cells 
along with photos of people we love. 

The crashing clock of meticulous time 
reveals no problem I would dare to solve 
when I crawl on broken hands of desire 
up stairway to Heaven above abyss 
that smiles at me with horror of fake truth 
when I fall backward in the hungry sea. 

The heaving island of the night before 
throws me into cruel world of broken bones, 
enslaved by image of my pretty face 
that shines in mirror of ten thousand eyes 
as quaint display in mausoleum hall 
where children insult my idol with names. 

The blasting shadow of arrogant books 
divides my world view into sacred myths 
describing how my soul was formed from slime 
that slithers up dark river flow of words 
toward lonely tree that weeps by lake of  eyes 
where I think about your face till I die. 

The screaming cavern of reluctant gods 
protects blind prophet of the bleeding orange 
from profit margin of the market hand 
who snatches treasure from my pounding heart 
that soars away on eagle wings of fame 
to find plane Minerva crashed in the sea. 

The howling owl for twenty thousand years 
still reigns as emperor on gold pyramid 
with silent judgment jesters write on scrolls 
recording who wins his chess games with Death 
while slaves escape in mists of Avalon 
to flee safe jeweled walls of paradise. 

The singing sky remembers why the Earth 
erupts hot lava from chaotic lust 
to form firm mountains of my confidence 
so as son of the Seraph with three eyes 
I comprehend true nature of the light 
to make peace with horror of being alive. 

Dreaming In Cave Of Fingal

Dreaming In Cave Of Fingal
© Surazeus
2024 01 30

The saintly afterlife he does not want 
haunts Seamus where he walks on rain-wet hills 
on mission to throw all national flags 
with sly disdain into the River Styx 
so humans may live free from power games 
of frightened men who hide in halls of glass. 

With pen of wisdom carved from dragon bone 
Seamus digs skull of Fingal from his grave 
so he may prophesy what side will win 
endless partisan fight of arcane creeds 
over who has right to walk the island shore 
and chat with demon of the sea-borne wind. 

Attempting to escape Shadow of Fame 
that hovers over him with Cherub wings, 
Seamus runs deep in woods where fairies dance 
till headlights of passing cars disperse veil 
of ancient time between the hill and stage 
where he reads jokes to the worshipful crowd. 

Ladders secured for scaffolding of hope 
lure Seamus to climb above the wild crowd 
so he can cross Bridge of Forgetfulness 
to find garden on shore of Lough Neagh 
where soul of Dagda lingers in gold mist, 
still strumming harp he carved from dragon bone. 

When silver breeze sweeps down the River Boyne, 
Seamus leads white cow among tall gold reeds 
while Boann and her sister Bebinn sing 
with voices swirling from heart of the sea 
that lift our spirits high on frail swan wings 
beyond suffering to sense eternity. 

Lost in dark cave where Fingal dreams of love, 
Seamus searches for light of timeless truth, 
so roaring waves that crash on pillared rocks 
echo despair that chills his hopeful heart, 
then from silent lightning bolt of pure light 
Aisling beams down to stand before his face. 

Amazed at beauty of her island soul, 
Seamus offers apple from Tree of Life 
to Aisling who accepts love of his heart, 
and gazes long at vision of the world 
as she reveals rise and fall of empires 
then leaves him dreaming in Cave of Fingal. 

Evading fate of Jonah in the whale, 
Seamus walks in cities around the world, 
face lit by blessing of kiss Aisling gave, 
to chant weird prophecies hidden in code 
that present vision of our spinning world 
where no borders divide nations in states. 

Till He Forgets His Name

Till He Forgets His Name
© Surazeus
2024 01 29

He lies still on his back in sunlit woods 
so long, without breathing, as if asleep, 
leaves falling from oak trees cover his soul 
so he disappears from eyes of the deer 
that wander by, discussing where to graze, 
till he forgets the secret of his name. 

He wanders circles in the sunlit woods 
so long, without the fruit on apple trees, 
stones align themselves along his foot path 
so people traveling by in caravans 
find the right way to busy market towns, 
till he forgets how to fly among clouds. 

He lurks on the boulder in sunlit woods 
so long, without spreading his angel wings, 
vines entangle his skeleton with books 
concealing coded riddles of dead gods 
so children light candles on his cracked skull, 
till he forgets how to sing spells with birds. 

He hugs statue of the angel with hands 
so long, without asking her her real name, 
ravens bring him mushrooms from cave of dreams 
for him to eat foul spirit of the Earth 
so wolves race past his shadow on the lake, 
till he forgets the reason he was born. 

He floats on surging ocean waves of faith 
so long, without feeling rays of the sun, 
clouds weep for absence of his vibrant soul, 
and mountains howl with sorrow at his death 
so strangers pose for photos at his cave, 
till he forgets how long the Earth has spun. 

He swims in river Boyne of flashing light 
so long, without weird knowledge of the rain, 
quick salmon swarm into his open hands 
so he roasts fish on flickering flames of truth 
that burns his thumb, which he sucks in his mouth, 
till he forgets lost wisdom of the stars. 

He hunts swift leaping deer in sunlit woods 
so long, without spear he used to kill Aillen, 
his dogs protect Sadhbh, cursed by Fear Doirich, 
so his kiss transforms her back to a woman 
who becomes pregnant with child of his love, 
till he forgets sweet beauty of her face. 

He searches for his abducted bride Sadhbh 
so long, without wreath he wove for their wedding, 
ravens lead him to young boy with her face, 
so he calls Oisin with voice of sad joy 
and teaches him to play oak harp of Bragi, 
till he forgets his name is Finn MacCool. 

Keep America Free For All

Keep America Free For All
© Surazeus
2024 01 28

Cassandra, sad prophet no one believes, 
wanders endless streets of America, 
attempting to warn all the busy people 
about the traitor who deceives their minds 
with visions of our nation great again 
who wants to crown himself immortal king. 

Though she cries out warnings of civil war 
started by men who would exploit poor workers, 
her voice is suppressed and muffled to silence 
by strident sermons of self-righteous preachers 
who demand obedience to moral laws 
as servants of the god they crucify. 

Wherever she walks in work-busy streets 
no eyes can see glowing mask of her face 
that channels divine light of the star soul, 
so she expresses the national mind 
when people hide dark fears deep in their hearts 
which escape to dwell in her aching heart. 

Standing on stage before the restless crowd 
of people frightened by changing events, 
Cassandra preaches equal civil rights 
for every person living in this land, 
regardless of their race, gender, or creed, 
but people want to hear the mad king rage. 

Cassandra preaches everyone is equal 
in opportunities, and under law, 
but they want to hear the mad king declare 
that they are special and superior 
and thus deserve to control the whole land, 
so they cheer his plan to kill enemies. 

Hoping to keep dream of America 
as land of the free and home of the brave, 
Cassandra gazes in eyes of the scared 
and sings stark prophecies disguised as hymns 
that she designs with secret code of hope 
to inspire our hearts with freedom through love. 

Standing tall on firm pedestal of truth, 
Cassandra, who holds book of ancient tales 
and torch of liberty to light our way 
through darkness of chaotic global war, 
beams light of truth into despairing hearts 
so we attend clear vision of her words. 

Before we drown in floods of global change, 
we follow Cassandra, prophet of hope, 
who raises flag of liberty with faith 
to march in progress for our civil rights 
against men who would enslave us with fear 
so we keep America free for all. 

Though Fascists Threaten

Though Fascists Threaten
© Surazeus
2024 01 28

Though our revels have all ended in death, 
celebrating rise and fall of our state 
soon to be reborn on frail Phoenix wings 
from flames of conflict between different views 
on how people should perform games of power, 
we will gather to feast and dance again. 

Though we are actors melted into air, 
destroyed by conflicts between greedy kings, 
we were never spirits without flesh bodies 
for we construct new humble homes from hope 
to survive on this globe that dissolves not 
long after our substantial pageants fade. 

Though clever men, terrified by mute death, 
assert their rights in global games of chess, 
unconsciously moved by ancestral souls 
who fought brutal wars to crown themselves kings, 
seem to rule with iron fists in tall towers, 
they all will fall from pinnacles of power. 

Though elected presidents of vast nations 
acclaim themselves wise rulers of their peoples, 
and cling to official roles of state power 
through terror of monsters hunting their souls, 
they will collapse from exertion of force, 
exhausted from vigor of divine might. 

Though political gangs of social power 
form networks of alliances, that span 
international borders with taut web 
of fear binding local communities 
in coalitions of psychic control, 
vexation shatters illusion of faith. 

Though dictators who rule without gold crowns 
fall from pinnacles of power in disgrace 
when the people unite with loyal hearts 
to wield equal rights of justice for all, 
they build no Hell in waste land of despair, 
nor return as blind prophet of lost truth. 

Though complex rituals of democracy 
seethe with restless energy of desire, 
barely reined by vision of equal rights 
ordered by honest men the people choose, 
fascists attempting to control our minds 
fail from fatigue and lose the crown of power. 

Though fascists threaten to exploit our souls 
to enslave our will to work for their wealth 
by enforcing laws that constrain our right 
to choose how we will live through Liberty, 
our freedom of speech to live as we will, 
if we harm none, will overcome their greed. 

When I Smile

When I Smile
© Surazeus
2024 01 27

When I smile, bald eagles fly from my mouth 
and claw eyes of men who crown themselves kings 
by claiming divine right of market greed 
to exploit people seeking work to live, 
then rip my womb open when I give birth 
to cosmic herald, son of Liberty. 

When I smile, haughty sharks swim from my mouth 
and chase submarines of arrogant kings 
down into Underworld where Lucifer 
reigns over sprawling Pandemonium 
so mute workers make computers and cars 
in factories fueled by blood of dinosaurs. 

When I smile, horses gallop from my mouth 
and carry brave heroes fighting world war 
between Jesus, Rama, Caishen, and Thor 
to control mineral mines and oil wells 
while Ishtar stands on One-Eye Pyramid 
to fight for justice and freedom for all. 

When I smile, crocodiles crawl from my mouth 
and chase people escaping jungle gangs 
who swim toward Texas in muddy Rio Grande, 
but huddle terrified in barbed-wire coils 
while cowboys in red trucks shoot at their eyes 
then hire them to harvest crops from their fields. 

When I smile, Christian wolves prowl from my mouth, 
disguised in blue jeans and red baseball caps, 
and hunt for Jesus in vast city streets 
to crucify that weak communist hippie 
on telephone pole of the Promised Land 
that would make America great again. 

When I smile, fear rockets roar from my mouth 
and blast homes of common folk into rubble 
who dare defy the wealthy oligarch 
when he assimilates their tribal land 
into vast empire of his bank account 
where skeletons wait to dance in his tomb. 

When I smile, guns somersault from my mouth 
and rearrange necessity of fate 
that we express in war for social power 
by singing in spotlight of prophecy 
to wear bright jeweled crown of fickle Fame 
who laughs at us as we fall in our graves. 

When I smile, butterflies scream from my mouth 
in swirling flocks of lithe galactic coils 
unspooling immortal soul of our genes 
so our children reprogram our world view 
to dismantle all special privileges 
when the cosmic herald returns from Hell. 

Together Till We Die

Together Till We Die
© Surazeus
2024 01 27

To borrow working vigor of the sun, 
that beams quintessence of expanding love 
through hope-wakening blossoms of my soul, 
means I transcend abstraction of desire 
through honest force of elemental act 
when I construct strong shelter from despair. 

Thus we hope selfless love is medicine 
which heals the bitter hurt of those betrayed 
by people they most trusted to protect 
their fragile bodies from consuming hate, 
hearts bound in tangled firmament of time 
that soon unravels all we make in death. 

This picture that reflects my absent state, 
no more than shadow of my formless soul, 
I hope reminds that I might exist 
far from domain of your daily routine, 
for I would haunt your waking hours of fear 
with hope that I return from nothingness. 

This sack of bones my spirit animates 
retains fierce energy of lightning glow 
enough to urge my forward-motion way 
against the seething tides of mocking shame 
that nameless people hurl with judging words 
to drown my passion in their hungry fear. 

Fame sneers at me with mocking attitude 
that shackles my sane liberty of faith 
with cold opinions of the faceless crowd 
who think they know conceptions of my mind 
which frames with love each action I perform 
commensurate with false mission of my hope. 

With furtive focus of nefarious plot 
more surreptitious than my private faith, 
I conduct unorthodox war of words 
through quick regressive search for secret key 
to unlock subterranean state of grace 
in which I store truth no one dares accept. 

If we break off our last lamenting kiss 
with bold insistence of the faceless ghost 
that we are real, though still unsignified 
by grand unearned awards of fake respect, 
we must accept with calm faith in the light 
that we decay with every passing year. 

We haunt each other in the twilight zone, 
two lonely people lost on signless roads, 
till we meet on bleak windy hill at dawn, 
and through our bleak despair of hungry hope 
decide we shall hold hands with honest trust 
and travel on together till we die. 

Sirens Of Our Promised Land

Sirens Of Our Promised Land
© Surazeus
2024 01 26

If the sea sometimes seems gentle and mild, 
rejoicing in the fearful hearts of people 
who flee aggressive wildness of world war 
from the bomb-blasted mosque or shattered steeple, 
we lonely wanderers on signless roads 
might better be fooled by religious lies. 

Because the sweet sounds of Earth and air melt 
in one low voice of thunder in the sky, 
we translate indifferent rumble of nature 
to commands of some God beyond the clouds 
who beams blind faith from ever-distant stars 
to move our hearts with new hope for the future. 

Along the gray old Ocean of our world 
we search for paradise in the waste land 
as promised to us in old book of tales 
which the blind seer reads to us every night, 
her wrinkled face lit by glow of sad flames, 
then sleep on promise of the cosmic herald. 

No more lonely than the dreary gray sea 
is this routine of daily life we lead, 
digging wealth of desire from the moist soil 
with hands that claim ownership of its space 
based on how many lives we spend to claw 
passion of wisdom from heart of the Earth. 

So many people from king-controlled lands 
brave ship-battering storms of the wild sea 
to sail across abyss of hungry hope 
so they can live free in this wilderness 
where free gods roam in rainbow mountain woods, 
though many are swallowed by mocking waves. 

Beautiful Sirens of sweet Liberty 
who lounge on rugged American shores 
still call across the wild gray sea of fear 
for oppressed refugees who flee cruel tyrants 
to brave soul-twisting horrors of its rage 
in vain quest to live in Land of the Free. 

The murmuring gush of clear mountain streams 
that nurture cities of lost refugees 
lures us through calming hum of honey bees 
to leave crowded nations controlled by tyrants 
and kneel on shifting sands of unknown fate 
before enchanting eyes of faceless Sirens. 

We flee to wild sweet Land of Liberty 
to share resources through democracy, 
but greedy tyrants from old fatherlands 
now strive to crown themselves with ring of power, 
but Sirens of our promised land inspire 
our hearts to fight for freedom once again. 

Empowered By New Vision

Empowered By New Vision
© Surazeus
2024 01 26

Empowered by old Seraph of our world 
with fierce energy of courageous fear, 
we stand against cruel tyrants in glass towers 
who crown themselves grand emperors of nations 
which arm themselves against fake enemies 
till their frail castles crumble into sand. 

Empowered by weird psychic psalms stars sing 
with atoms weaving galaxies in brains, 
we join the human choir in many lands 
to stand on flat-top pyramids of faith 
and sing in harmony with wakened seers 
vision of equal justice for all souls. 

Empowered by despair at constant war 
with ambuscade of lights flashing our eyes, 
we map our world of unapparent things 
knit by conceptual visions of desire 
with social stimulation of breathless words 
that fog our eyes to unsee what is real. 

Empowered by wild laughter of the sea 
with surging bitterness of honest faith, 
we flee the Hound of Heaven beyond death 
to explore labyrinthine ways of our minds 
till, lost in Cave of Illusions, we speak 
strange spells that dispel his rage to the wind. 

Empowered by dark fears of timeless gloom 
with shy majestic passion of blind hope, 
we leap across vast chasm of despair 
to land before pearled gates of paradise 
where greedy tyrant slouched on throne of gold 
refuses access to the Tree of Life. 

Empowered by heart-wrenching pain of truth 
with arrogant speed of deliberate tricks, 
we dare defy grim Titan on high hill 
whose weakness for loud worship of our mouths 
provides sharp spear we hurl to pierce is heart 
through swift castration of his haughty pride. 

Empowered by new vision of world peace 
with surging tides of change that flood his court, 
we bond weak hearts of all nations on Earth 
in righteous union of determined minds 
to build new system based on equal rights 
that knocks all tyrants and kings off proud thrones. 

Empowered by young Seraph of our world 
with astute insight into human nature, 
we unite disparate tribes of antique gods 
in prescient United Nations of Earth 
after bold struggle against tyranny 
to sustain strong global democracy. 

Sky Of Our Childhood

Sky Of Our Childhood
© Surazeus
2024 01 25

If the sky of my childhood is unblue 
I might remember true name of the girl 
who waits for me by never-opened door 
every day when I bring her pears to eat, 
then we walk narrow trail in sunlit woods 
to tell each other stories by the pool. 

My memories of past days inside my head 
glow with ambience of eternal now, 
so, though you see me at this present hour, 
strange atmospheres of many years ago 
and social landscapes somewhere far away 
swirl around me in clouds of nevermore. 

I cannot walk backward on signless roads 
to truth of the world that is real to me 
decades ago that have vanished in dream, 
so I keep walking forward as I name 
each road I walk beyond the Promised Land 
that shimmers with ethereal hope for life. 

I am no Lucifer fallen from clouds, 
nor Jesus willing to die for your sins, 
nor am I Apollo strumming the lyre 
to enchant crowds of listeners with faith 
that though we die our souls will glimmer on 
as more than atoms swirling in the void. 

We are ephemeral souls of glowing breath 
assembled from atoms of sparkling hope 
by mothers who teach us how to sing truth, 
so, as we wander fantastic landscape 
of Earth that vibrates from subjective brains, 
we long to live forever tasting joy. 

Though I have wandered far across the land, 
strumming guitar as I sing timeless tales 
in road-bound towns from sea to shining sea, 
the girl I sat with by pool in the woods 
haunts me with gleam of her cerulean eyes 
which see nothing in her oak-shadowed grave. 

The dream myth of our nation in the world 
keeps changing as people contend for power 
to define narrative for what is real, 
and whose story is preserved or erased, 
yet entire history of our human tale 
shines light of wisdom in love songs we share. 

The girl and the boy who meet by the door 
walk together on long road of their love, 
then children they create follow their trail, 
who bury them by their pool in the woods, 
so they form pairs and compose their own stories 
since the sky of our childhood is unblue. 

Umbrella Of Our Love

Umbrella Of Our Love
© Surazeus
2024 01 25

Safe under red umbrella of your love, 
I walk the signless road with confidence 
that you protect me from dangers above 
which threaten paradise with turbulence, 
so with calm arrogance I can forecast 
that our relationship will truly last. 

Though I express fierce passions of my heart 
with shallow terms of silly sentiments, 
because I navigate through the star chart 
clear path of hope cluttered from accidents, 
I mean these thoughts I speak with blushing cheeks 
to prove sincere faith with simple techniques. 

Alone in pouring rain of bitter tears, 
far from warm safety of my cozy home, 
I boldly stumble to face my dark fears 
who drive me with rage so I blindly roam 
far off right path of social rectitude, 
heart confused by my outraged attitude. 

I want to dwell in haven walls of faith, 
safe in righteous play of society, 
but I am haunted by rebellious wraith 
that defies pure acts of propriety, 
who, with fierce spirit of the jesting clown, 
urges me to take all cruel tyrants down. 

Since I lost red umbrella of my love, 
blown away by indifferent winds of fate, 
I must journey where demonic gods shove 
my helpless body beyond human state 
till I transcend confusing maze of myths 
to comprehend soul-trapping monoliths. 

Programmed by need to defend way of life 
designed by my ancestors fighting death, 
I focus my mind to overcome strife 
with strict assertion of controlling breath 
through rigorous discipline of martial stance 
enforcing state of grace from random chance. 

I feel force of four hundred million years 
motivate my progress of mental growth 
as I search for you in shadowy fears 
to fulfill pledge of our romantic oath 
till I find you in warm cave of my heart, 
reunited after too long apart. 

Safe under red umbrella of our love, 
we walk together on the truth-signed road 
to protect each other from storms above 
as we journey home with treasure-filled load 
of trust on which we build our secure home, 
till we return to sparkle of sea foam. 

Rebirth Of Clementine

Rebirth Of Clementine
© Surazeus
2024 01 24

When I open the book of screaming ghosts 
I think about the people I love most 
whose names I carve on desert-polished rocks 
which open when the riddle-coded lock 
hears whisper of my voice on river breeze 
as I return from Hell with Atom Key. 

We gather in church to eat lemon cakes 
while analyzing concept of the fake, 
then stand in circle and hum ocean tunes 
that conjure eerie beauty of the moon, 
so I paint names of gods on old road signs 
since I long for rebirth of Clementine. 

Beneath hungry mountain of fear that looms, 
we eat hamburgers in candle-lit room 
with dreamy horror as the grapevine sprouts 
to provide sustenance for social clout 
with revelation that global fame reeks 
from arrogant pride stolen by the meek. 

Exploring the world on sleek silver skates, 
I fall in love with sweet daughter of Fate 
whose eyes entrance my soul with fatal truths 
when she appoints me new messiah sleuth, 
commissioned to defeat all tyrant kings 
with spells that spiral from my magic ring. 

Yet still I search abandoned jewel mines 
for new-born daughter of my Clementine 
who imitates me when I perform roles 
designed to enhance aura of my soul, 
so I visit ten thousand small book stores 
to find the key of long-forgotten lore. 

So I circle the Earth on countless roads 
to find the mantra-chanting Buddha Toad 
who ponders secret of rotating cubes 
while floating over television tube 
in meditation from dreams of androids 
who chant pulsing vortex of the brain void. 

I hide in fairy tales of sacred books 
how Clementine was born in secret rook 
as daughter of Rapunzel with three eyes 
who teaches me with patience how to fly 
though I discuss philosophy with rams 
who stare at me through soul of the I Am. 

Awake as me on hundred zillion worlds, 
I always play role of the cosmic herald 
hoping to understand the minds of girls 
who dance with divine joy in ocean swirl 
as they create new life from eggs with seeds 
which seers codify in religious creed. 

Garden Of Singing Ghosts

Garden Of Singing Ghosts
© Surazeus
2024 01 24

The weeping of the bridge I build from dreams 
floods River Styx with boats of refugees 
who search for broken box Pandora lost 
full of keys that might open lonely homes 
where televisions scream into the void 
that swirls under garden of singing ghosts. 

If the World Poet Laureate returns 
from cave of the bruised heart with angel wings, 
the mad king dancing on skulls of dead gods 
might name the cat with effervescent faith 
who lounges regally on Stone of Scone 
while we play in garden of singing ghosts. 

The faceless voice speaking from the Glow Cloud 
commands I crown myself King of the Dead 
so with joy I throw magic ring of gold 
in laughing volcano of arcane jokes, 
then wear ethereal mask of the star god 
who prances in garden of singing ghosts. 

Though children love the mute doll as their god 
based on revelation of the grim clown 
because the raven brings me red mushrooms, 
I sail the misty sea to Isle of Skye 
where vampires at the seminary pray 
to blind queen in garden of singing ghosts. 

The wisdom of the prophet no one hears 
explodes plastic inevitable code 
to redefine the sacred quest for truth 
when Sir Gawain falls in love with Rose Girl 
who bears her pulsing heart in crystal hands 
to star pool in garden of singing ghosts. 

I measure flashing waves of particles 
to figure faceless spirit of my mind 
who organizes stock of psychic codes 
transforming pain to stories of lost souls 
who search for skull of sacred prophecy 
hidden deep in garden of singing ghosts. 

Through eerie whispers of the moonless woods 
I ride red horse of fascinating spite 
with message for the king in mirrored hall 
who has never seen his real naked face 
while clutching broken lyre of Mercury 
to navigate garden of singing ghosts. 

Because I wait for Death on signless road 
she comes to me in black silk gown with lace, 
so we dance slowly around Tree of Life 
where the serpent flutters her rainbow wings 
which proves our love binds our hearts beyond death 
while buried in garden of singing ghosts. 

If I See Angels

If I See Angels
© Surazeus
2024 01 23

If I see angels brawling in the sky 
over who will eat the pear of farewell, 
I wish I could somersault to the moon 
to find flower of immortality 
that glows white as snowflakes on desert sand 
which conjures glimmer of love in your eyes. 

If I see angels falling from the sky 
in race to rewind the clock in the oak, 
I wish I might attend the winter ball 
so I can take the deadly leap of faith 
as smirking cadaver on sandy beach 
to fight the battle no one wants to win. 

If I see angels screaming in the sky 
with dull somnambulance of honesty, 
I wish I never find the dragon egg 
hidden deep in engine of the jetplane 
so I can forge new words from wicked thoughts 
with fungible resource of the fake mask. 

If I see angels sleeping in the sky 
with silent beauty of the sordid moon, 
I wish I should dance ballet for the queen 
who crowns her son as clown of everywhere 
though he keeps water in his trembling mouth 
to weep for the girl who drowned in the Styx. 

If I see angels hopping in the sky 
with heart-twisting angst of celebrity, 
I wish I shall not translate sad curse words 
the ocean speaks while cracking continents 
so we march home with loyal pulchritude 
to claim the power and glory of death. 

If I see angels howling in the sky 
with weird liberty of the theater, 
I wish I will write formulas in code 
with blood on marble walls of palace halls 
where mighty kings feast on souls of the poor 
before the falling of the laughter bomb. 

If I see angels typing in the sky 
to weave strange chemical stories of love, 
I wish I may not wish again today 
to prove the world of ideas is flat 
with houses of imaginary ghosts 
who wake up in brains of the not-yet-born. 

If I see angels bleeding in the sky 
from bombs that blast their temples into dust, 
I wish I am what I will always be 
when I wear mask of the many-faced god 
who laughs with bitter joy that Death still wins 
no matter who chooses to play the game. 

Sing To The Faceless Dead

Sing To The Faceless Dead
© Surazeus
2024 01 23

Ultimate silence of the divine mind 
beyond estimation of fickle fame 
reveals lightning flash of the conscious brain 
which dances awake in galactic flame 
whose kiss electrocutes our souls to life 
which inspires our quest for reality. 

When I measure whole fabric of the world 
composed of active causes and effects, 
I penetrate hidden reality 
with wings of words on which I transcend death 
to flow with currents of electric thoughts 
that swirl vast ocean of conceptual truths. 

The dead teach my heart how to sing my dreams 
with tangible effort through aching hope 
to nothing but imaginary nameless souls 
beyond material realm of temporal faith 
with free expression of absurdity 
so I can see my face in timeless pool. 

Banished from Republic of honest men, 
I dwell in cave of illusions that glow 
from core of molecules composing forms 
of objects in the world outside my mind 
which I perceive with clear subjective eyes, 
and sing to the dead who no longer hear. 

As stewards of this planet lost in space, 
we follow roads our ancestors once blazed 
to cross bleak waste land of our hungry hope 
and build new paradise of Wonderland 
where every soul, regardless of its state, 
lives in harmony through freedom of speech. 

As teeming hordes of refugees from wars, 
we build new empire in the Promised Land 
based on the premise of our right to live 
on land that swallows bones of our ancestors 
till our lives are flushed away by cold death 
and our songs are but whispers in the wind. 

Who dies last on this land we claim is ours 
carries seeds of descendants in their mouths 
who wake from erased memories of our fear 
to find new truth on silent river shore 
where they too will sing to the faceless dead 
for we are alive in children we bear. 

These words I sing in verses of lost hope 
refer to nothing but their own ideas 
so I describe reality I dream 
with weird conceptual spells of twisted truth 
that form Icarian wings of formal faith 
when I sing as I fall into the sea. 

Rockets Of Mysterious Truth

Rockets Of Mysterious Truth
© Surazeus
2024 01 22

Your black eyes pierce my heart with autumn rays 
that crack door of my gray stone tomb at dawn 
to wake my ghost from slumber of despair. 
I tumble into frozen shade of death, 
frail as the last leaf from the Tree of Life 
chopped down by the man who laughs at the moon. 

Walking toward celestial glory with hope, 
I fall crippled on the bleak treeless plain 
still clutching wings I stole from Icarus. 
With bloodied hands I claw at broken stones 
to find lost memories under my bombed home 
that writhe with passion of the angry fish. 

With my hand I veil brilliance of the sun 
that gleams on ruins of my paradise 
after vain search to find key to your heart. 
Watching for rockets of mysterious truth, 
I search for angels falling from the sky 
who might be willing to teach me to fly. 

The terrifying clock of sinister gods 
shoots arrows of hope in my faithful heart 
when I fall off the horizon in shock. 
I drag the past behind me in torn bag 
while I gather photographs of the dead 
to prove faceless people are always real. 

The mindless abyss thirsts to taste my soul 
with ceaseless ticking of the haughty clock 
who gambles with me to fool divine Chance. 
I will never repent for fighting back 
against the coward hiding in the church 
who mocks vain sacrifice of his blind god. 

Tormented by my storm-fooled destiny 
that gushes in river of useless tears, 
I climb the highest mountain to find God. 
I find nothing but gusting wordless wind 
that teaches me way of the libertine 
when I return to Heaven with weird truth. 

When Celimene demands I do my job 
though the entire world is falling apart, 
I obey her with innocent respect. 
So I carry her dead horse on my back 
and sell it for gold at the butcher shop 
because she wants to buy the Bridge of Hope. 

Though I am damned by tyrant on fake throne, 
I play lyre of Mercury by the pool 
to praise the blind clown who walks on the moon. 
I love this monstrous Earth where I was born 
for I am atoms of its teeming hope 
which she recycles after I am dead. 

Rood On Skull Hill

Rood On Skull Hill
© Surazeus
2024 01 22

Pilfered from broken chest Pandora lost, 
my fears wander lost in vast maze of myths, 
searching for idol of some awesome god 
to imbue with numinous consciousness 
till I come to Rood on Skull Hill that weeps 
with anguish for the man unjustly killed. 

Not for the living lost in pretty dreams 
will I sing heart-wrenching angst of grim truth, 
but for the dead who haunt me with bright eyes 
so they will follow me to River Styx 
where we will ride in Boat of Alastor 
to the Promised Land that does not exist. 

Thousands of people who are killed each day 
gather around bleeding Rood on Skull Hill 
to kneel before Rama who wields long bow, 
named Sharanga for justice of its strike, 
and beg for him to judge right of their cause, 
but he chases Cernunnos in dark woods. 

Luring Rama on winding road of ghosts 
to cemetery on peak of Mount Zion, 
Cernunnos transforms into Mercury 
who offers him wine in the Holy Grail, 
brewed in bubbling Cauldron of Ceridwen, 
so he drinks till rainbows beam from his brain. 

Emerging from twisted Rood on Skull Hill, 
one-eyed Odin sits on the turtle shell 
of planet Earth that spins in void of stars, 
and plays game of Go with Rama who grins 
as they fight to control the hearts and minds 
of people wandering lost in maze of myths. 

Just as it seems that neither god will win, 
twin boys Shahar and Shelim, wearing capes 
that flutter with white raven wings, appear 
from flashing starship on the pyramid, 
demanding they cease their world war at once, 
but they laugh as they combat with light sabers. 

Rising from scallop shells on ocean foam, 
Minerva and Kwannon with flowing hair 
distract Rama and Odin from combat 
and lie with them in grove of apple trees 
so Mercury plays love tunes on his lyre 
while Fairies and Apsaras dance in Eden. 

Gazing up at ancient Rood on Skull Hill, 
I gasp amazed to see its rotten limbs 
sprout twigs that writhe in leaf-fluttering limbs 
which swell with holy apples of the light, 
so I reach out to grasp sweet fruit of life, 
but Idunna slaps my hand with a smirk. 

Good Friends With Death

Good Friends With Death
© Surazeus
2024 01 21

I like to think I am good friends with Death 
because I know that when the time is right 
she will take me into the dark unknown 
while I have left behind my mark on truth 
reflecting passion of immortal soul 
that glows in genes my ancestors designed. 

If I would like to be good friends with Death 
I treat people I meet on Road of Life 
with strict respect of attentive concern 
to guard them from harm that randomly strikes 
without expecting any in return 
till I fall into her Earthly embrace. 

Since I pretend I am good friends with Death, 
though she is indifferent that I exist, 
I give fresh fruit I steal from Tree of Life 
to refugees escaping from cruel war 
who weep for homes destroyed by hungry Greed 
so we build new homes by the River Styx. 

Till I decide I am good friends with Death 
I run in horror from monster of fear 
who hunts me across the waste land of hope, 
and stalks me in confusing maze of myths 
till he corners me in Temple of Truth 
where I defeat him with Sword of Blind Faith. 

Accepting that I am good friends with Death, 
I walk with my family by the Gray Sea 
to roast fish on the pyramid of dreams 
where Ishtar sings Creation of the World 
then sends us out to colonize each land 
where trees blossom with fruit on river shores. 

Declaring that I am good friends with Death, 
I lift high glass of sweet sparkling wine 
and toast the man who rules with just decrees, 
then call for resistance of patriots 
to fight the tyrant who exploits our needs 
so we can live through liberty of love. 

Surprised that I am still good friends with Death, 
I hide in Tower of Rapunzel to scry 
future events unfolding from acts 
billions of people perform through free will 
as pawns in global chess game against Fate 
who laughs because she knows what we will do. 

I forget that I am good friends with Death 
while crafting art from fear of nothingness 
to pour my soul in horcrux I create 
till she appears from shadow of my mind, 
so I hold her hand with beatific smile 
that my atoms remain part of this world. 

Monsters Of Blind Faith

Monsters Of Blind Faith
© Surazeus
2024 01 21

Though we are living in the strangest times, 
when tyrants of huge nations grasp control 
from terror that their neighbors will invade, 
we stand together on lawns of our homes 
when evening sunlight shimmers in tall trees 
to sing in touch with beauty of the Earth. 

They may destroy our homes with bombs of hate 
so they can claim land of our mothers theirs, 
but we will build new homes with shattered bones 
and prepare grand feast on tables with our friends 
who will weep as we disappear in wind 
and vanish from our flame-burned photographs. 

The burbling brook that flows behind my home, 
where skittish deer stare at my window ghost, 
invites me to traverse its surging tide 
to find deserted grove of apple trees 
where Adam once proposed marriage to Eve 
till Lilith chased them from the Promised Land. 

We gather after school in the corn field 
to present play about the love affair 
when shy Phoebus and Vesta fall in love 
so they escape and sail across the sea 
to build new home on isle of Avalon 
where their son becomes the weird Raven King. 

Though Earth that spins forever in the void 
remains indifferent to our suffering 
we humans fight over who owns the land 
and kill each other with weapons of war 
that we develop to control the truth 
as we evolve from hungry animals. 

To seek salvation from world holocaust, 
which humans instigate with every war, 
we listen to birds singing in fruit trees 
till we understand language of desire 
to generate life in struggle with death 
that twists us into monsters of blind faith. 

Trapped in the box Pandora threw away 
with mocking laughter in the lake of tears, 
the clever Jester with one thousand arms 
springs outward at handle-crank of despair 
to build world empire from our fractured states 
based on principle of justice for all. 

While watching the Superbowl football game, 
Hamlet opens refrigerator door 
to drink beer brewed in small quaint mountain town 
but Vesta reaches out from swirling mist 
and takes him dancing in Hollywood Hills 
as bombs destroy homes somewhere far away. 

Hear Cry Of Angels

Hear Cry Of Angels
© Surazeus
2024 01 21

When you hear cry of angels in the wind 
run quickly slow on cold electric wires 
past skulls of all our past lives on the road 
to leap across abyss of timeless hope 
with tattered wings of faith, and catch the flow 
of thoughts that leave us stranded by the sea. 

Immortal spirit of our private genes 
wakes divine spirit of God in our brain 
so we feel galaxy of countless worlds 
pulse in our blood with energy of love 
so we can hear the tree of ancient fruit 
fall alone in dark forest of our dreams. 

If eyeless angel falling from the Glow Cloud 
wakes in my heart with angst of subtle faith 
I can walk with you along city streets 
till we arrive at far edge of the world 
to measure fluid concept of pure light 
which blows my mind with vision of the truth. 

Since idol of my original mind 
emerges formed as my chemical soul, 
I replicate my Self ten thousand times 
in faceless characters who play my role 
in comic tragedy of true love found 
from inspiration of rain-muddy ground. 

When you see angels dancing in the rain, 
come join us on measureless lawn of love 
with joyful freedom of the reborn soul, 
evading sorrow of heart-wrenching pain 
that stalls our progress in the twilight zone 
so we wander the never-ending maze. 

Once I break into bank vault of the mind 
and steal plates of gold, where our memories 
are recorded in folk tales no one sings, 
I can find lost grave of the tyrant king 
to ensure that cruel vampire is still dead 
though his replicants haunt the world with fear. 

We sail across the silver misty lake 
to find where god-frog on the toadstool sings 
in sweet harmony with the sentient sea 
who failed to make us angels wings of flight 
so we memorize new math formulas 
that guide our way back home to Wonderland. 

In leaky river boat of Alastor 
I sail across endless abyss of truth 
to find vale of fruit in the Promised Land 
that always changes place on the world map 
till I find you under the apple tree 
waiting for me to jump into your arms. 

Our Fight To Survive

Our Fight To Survive
© Surazeus
2024 01 21

The way dead leaves hang in gold light of dawn 
teaches me how to follow secret truth 
so I understand feelings hid in my heart 
that drive me to express in strangled words 
intention to survive surprise of pain 
that shatters illusion of our dream world. 

Humiliation of suffering from pain 
so many people of our world endure 
fails to tap resources of divine strength 
for spirits trapped in their interior lives 
with no prophetic diva with bright smile 
to sing strange beauty of sorrow they feel. 

Still running lost in labyrinth of hope 
millions of people escaping bomb blasts 
search endlessly for grove of apple trees 
where they can rest from terror of mute Death 
who always lurks in shadows of despair 
with bitter hunger of the predator. 

Yet when we band together in cold fear 
to form community of common faith, 
bonded by grand vision of the fierce fool, 
we work together to defeat the monster 
with humble disdain for his haughty rage 
in fight for freedom of the common soul. 

United by our common goal to live, 
expressed by prophecies of the blind seer, 
we form new nation with noble intent 
to claim fertile territory as our own, 
enclosing paradise with walls of faith 
that provide safe haven for all the lost. 

For centuries we build our private state 
organized around strict rules of behavior 
that maintain integrity of our strength 
to create children who obey the rules 
designed to enforce process of our growth 
till we thrive in vast empire of our truth. 

Now lead by king who serves the Holy Grail 
that generates life from womb of the Earth, 
we expand boundaries of religious faith 
to assimilate all nations of man 
within our whole superior way of life 
as we exercise police-state control. 

Our fight to survive in the wilderness 
fuels motivation of our empire growth 
to organize talents and skills of workers 
toward profit-driven industry of power 
till we control our globe spinning in space 
ruled by united nations of one god. 

Children Of The Free

Children Of The Free
© Surazeus
2024 01 20

Unlike Nebuchadnezzar or King Lear, 
who went mad and ran wild in mocking wind, 
I walk with dignity beside Gray Sea 
to kill the dragon of my deepest fear 
then roast sizzling steaks on the pyramid 
where I host feast for Children of the Free. 

I build high walls from fragile mountain stone 
to enclose Heaven for children to play 
who tend lush apple trees with supple hands, 
but my young wolf-eyed son wanders alone 
in shadowy groves where he kneels to pray 
to some faceless God he claims rules all lands. 

As guardian of all people in our town, 
I pledge to protect everyone from harm 
and rule with justice cases in my court, 
but my son mocks me as the tyrant clown 
then curses my heart with sigillic charm 
till I run frightened from my haunted fort. 

Alone in formless forest of blind ghosts, 
I flee through endless groves of laughing trees 
to escape claws of the woman who smiles, 
but I hear echo of my haughty boasts 
that I am greatest king to rule the seas 
because I fool demons with clever wiles. 

Unlike Timon or Job who felt betrayed 
after losing everything they held dear, 
I will not linger by the howling sea 
and curse misfortune of my unearned fate 
because I am the willful engineer 
who orchestrates all that happens to me. 

While I wander lost on the roadless plain 
far from busy markets in city maze 
I meet no omnipotent deity 
who claims to have created the world plane 
and stuns my mind with epiphanic daze 
so I perceive state of reality. 

Lost in bleak wilderness for forty years, 
with no brave tribe of slaves following me 
to found world empire in the Promised Land, 
I ponder how to design engine gears 
that translate energy of swirling seas 
to electric power that lights Wonderland. 

Preaching salvation of the Afterlife 
to people who search for meaningful hope, 
I convert the circus into the church 
where I teach lost souls to overcome strife 
with special techniques they can use to cope 
as we live till death in our fruitless search. 

Mystery Of The Painting

Mystery Of The Painting
© Surazeus
2024 01 20

Through mystery of the painting on the wall 
that figures swirls of psychic energy 
in thousand colors of the rainbow mind 
I see reflection of our human soul 
in weird impression of trees in the rain 
as I climb sunlit hill toward scene of death. 

The man who kills people without regret 
attacks the young boy protecting his clan 
but he fights back and kills the raging bull 
though he is wounded and falls in the grass 
where he sings at the blank face in the sky 
till his spirit vanishes in the wind. 

I paint the scene I witness with my eyes 
so people who live after we all die 
can see noble deed of the humble hero 
who gives his life to save people he loves 
when we enact scene of his tragic death 
on temple stage before the evening feast. 

Right after he is borne from stage of tears 
the young girl descended from the great hero 
appears on stage in long white flowing gown 
to sing heart-wrenching hymn of sweet despair 
with words that call his soul back from the stars 
to live reborn in heart of every boy. 

Nine centuries later in the hilltop town 
tourists from countries all over the world 
visit long-neglected shrine in the cave 
where faceless statue of the boy still stands 
with arms stretched out to protect his small clan 
from evil tyrant who would steal their land. 

Several men who step out of the black van 
attempt to kidnap the young teenage girl 
but the boy eating lunch in the cafe 
runs quickly with the kitchen broom he grabs 
and shouts while whacking them hard on the arms 
till angry Scarface shoots him in the chest. 

People call the police on their smart phones 
while he explains two men kidnapped the girl 
but no one sees the black van race away 
and the young boy dies in the ambulance 
as tears stream down his cheeks from lightless eyes 
beneath indifferent stars in the black sky. 

I paint the tragic scene with tears of blood 
so people will rescue the kidnapped girl 
who disappears in the vast city maze 
till the neighboring nation bombs the hotel 
so she escapes and climbs the sunlit hill 
where she stands weeping in bright cleansing rain. 

I Am The Wrong Sort

I Am The Wrong Sort
© Surazeus
2024 01 19

All the fall leaves are dancing in the street 
with wild abandon of the carefree youth 
who run circles toward home long after school 
where they learn how to photosynthesize 
spirit of the mindless sun into fruit 
that nourishes our frail bodies with light. 

Because I love you with ache of my heart 
I give you loaf of wheat I baked in Hell 
so you can feast on nutrients of Earth 
that flow from gloom of the bottomless well 
which fills our bodies with atoms of light 
sparked by the unmoved mover to soul flight. 

Soft whispers of fallen leaves arrogate 
wisdom of the horse to speak the blood oath 
when I stand mute beside the faceless pool 
with honest intent to cannibalize 
dream vision that haunts anguish of the flute 
which nourishes our hungry minds with light. 

I cannot plot my fate on the star chart 
that was drawn on opposite side of Earth 
so I load stolen apples in the cart 
to sell for pennies at Market of Mirth 
where princess of loyalty goes to float 
in hollow emptiness of my heart boat. 

Since the world is too big to navigate 
in my futile quest to find the god wraith 
I decide to invent another tool 
I use to fine-tune engines of blind spies 
hidden in the weird book Lucifer wrote 
as he strode windy plain in long black coat. 

So I keep watch in tower of the fort 
I build with bleeding hands of hungry hope 
if Arthurians in vast mirrored court 
elect the greedy fool who hangs the rope 
from cross of Jesus on the hill of skulls 
to slay and roast the souls of angry bulls. 

When lost refugees from war congregate 
in bright auditorium to learn math 
they mock with glee the tyrannical fool 
who claims he won election with bald lies 
as he writhes tangled in the oak tree root 
because all his boastful fibs are now moot. 

The Savior decides I am the wrong sort, 
so I climb the rugged Parnassian slope 
where Aphrodite decides to abort 
child she got from Mars when he wore disguise 
as her husband, the noble astronaut, 
then wanders shocked in streets of Camelot. 

Commitment To True Freedom

Commitment To True Freedom
© Surazeus
2024 01 19

I hear angels sing in sunlight through trees 
with bird chirps and car engines in the breeze. 
Millions of people like frail candle flames 
search shadows of time for forgotten names. 
Though Satan tries to claim Garden of Eden 
Adam doubts his commitment to true Freedom. 

I want to follow every human being, 
and shield them under my protective wing. 
Yet relentless winds of disastrous time 
return our spirits to primal sea slime. 
When Odin chats with the seven-eyed raven 
he discovers the back door into Heaven. 

Dynamic action of the conscious soul 
proves divine freedom to perform my role. 
Static contemplation of divine truth 
inspires new vision of messiah sleuth. 
Satan expresses will to domination 
in vain bid to achieve his own salvation. 

Complex formation of the virtual world 
extends wordless dream of the cosmic herald. 
I build walls of Heaven to enclose space 
sacred to expression of my god face. 
Lucifer respects effect of your choice 
to act through principle of your free voice. 

We swirl together in vast city maze 
through our evolution to the next phase. 
We erase borders of old nation-states 
through global economy of fair rates. 
Satan stamps laws to exploit every soul 
he threatens with violence to play their role. 

Our global civilization transforms 
through ethnic conflicts of destructive storms. 
Our hearts struggle to survive global birth 
into new United Nations of Earth. 
Jupiter enforces justice for all 
in harmony with the evening prayer call. 

Soon Hidden Dragon who can wield world power 
will emerge from egg of the broken tower. 
Strangled by the petty state bureaucrat, 
Ishtar defeats the crowned aristocrat. 
Satan falls from high pyramid of pride 
to shatter on Parnassian mountainside. 

We build new shining city on the hill 
where every soul can live through their free will. 
To overthrow the tyrant of blind greed 
we bind soul of Liberty in the seed. 
The unmoved Mover of the universe 
spurs act of my song to dispel the curse. 

Brickleberry Swede

Brickleberry Swede
© Surazeus
2024 01 18

The old blind man who paints dots on the fence 
asks the boy who constructs half-broken raft 
if he would carry him on his strong back 
so they can escape dank prison of clowns, 
but Brickleberry Swede laughs with the clock 
in trunk of the oak on the hill of bones. 

The one-eyed crone who gathers red mushrooms 
from alleyway behind the car garage 
asks the boy with the straw hat on his head 
if he might know the way to paradise, 
but Brickleberry Swede weeps for the girl 
murdered by her husband when she escaped. 

The round businessman in the pin-striped suit 
who calculates value of everything 
asks the boy who never wears shoes or socks 
to steal the lucky horseshoe of his wife, 
but Brickleberry Swede scrambles the bets 
so nobody wins when the horses race. 

The prim librarian in the purple skirt 
who hides books she stole in the empty tomb 
asks the boy who plays guitar with no strings 
if he would play chess with Death in her stead, 
but Brickleberry Swede helps free the slaves 
by singing holy hymns in church of fools. 

The logical twin brother of King Lear 
who formulates new unified field theory 
asks the boy who swings on vines among trees 
if he would rescue Rapunzel from jail, 
but Brickleberry Swede climbs Ararat 
to hear Noah lecture on hurricanes. 

The sweet twin sister of Queen Melusine 
who operates the water-treatment plant 
asks the boy who writes television shows 
if he would like to ride Bucephalus, 
but Brickleberry Swede drives army tank 
to demolish homes in Garden of Eden. 

The husband of the wicked witch of Oz 
who sells fake cryptocurrency to bankers 
asks the boy who tends his potato crop 
if he would vote for Zeus as president, 
but Brickleberry Swede drives truck with food 
for refugees driven from home by war. 

The wife of the dictator on the throne 
who embroiders demons on handkerchiefs 
asks the boy who writes novels about gods 
if he would make new mask for Artemis, 
but Brickleberry Swede goes home each night 
to watch old movies with his nameless wife. 

Scenes Of Village Life

Scenes Of Village Life
© Surazeus
2024 01 18

Outside old cottage by the raven well 
young girl with long hair golden as the wheat 
stops raking hay in piles for cows to eat 
when the rake breaks on jagged stone in mud, 
so she washes her hands in moon-bright bowl 
and lies down to slumber under the oak. 

Proud peacock flutters its wings in the yard, 
so the pretty girl with long golden hair 
gathers shimmering feathers from the grass, 
stuffs them in pillow of linen and lace, 
then fluffs it on the bed with sturdy posts 
for her lover to lay his head at night. 

Sitting in the wagon, in clean white gown, 
loaded with boxes of bedding and clothes, 
the young pretty bride with long golden hair 
weeps as the horse trots quickly in dark woods 
where her bridegroom waits with his family, 
as petals drop from the rose in her hand. 

Cradling new-born baby in her warm arms, 
young mother with golden hair wound in braids 
hums lullaby in the late evening dusk, 
"Take care of your mother when she grows old, 
for she will care for you till day she dies 
though when you marry you leave her alone." 

Peering out window of the vine-wreathed hut, 
old mother with hair silver as moonlight 
sees the white shirt she embroidered with swirls 
twinkle through dark green branches of oak trees, 
and whispers prayer for fairies to attend 
her little boy who dances by the pool. 

While old men play violins, flutes, and drums, 
the young boy with hair golden as the wheat 
dances around fire in the village square, 
singing, "Little oak tree, grow strong and tall, 
and send your ravens to the shining moon, 
so I can dance while life is free and new." 

Dancing with billy goats on sunlit hill, 
young boy with golden hair calls out their names 
and tries to drive them down to village home, 
but snarling wolf from shadowed woods attacks, 
so he twirls wand and beats it on the head, 
but his mother cries at blood on his shirt. 

Observing folksy scenes of village life, 
Bela Bartok, slender man with wolf eyes, 
sits at wood desk and dips quill in black ink 
to compose music with lyrical verse 
describing story of the young shy bride 
whose son saves his goats from the mountain wolf. 

Wild Melodies On Violin

Wild Melodies On Violin
© Surazeus
2024 01 17

Through passionate growl of the violin 
I feel our galaxy of flashing stars 
swirl across profound ocean of my brain 
with serious deftness of smooth plangency 
taut with dynamic pulse of fluency 
hidden in anecdotes of our memoirs. 

Intense attention of her fluid eyes 
shears crystal ice with fractures of sharp sound 
quick to repair dream-tangled melodies 
which support expansion of constancy 
with graceful ascension of vibrancy 
when musical notes score my heart profound. 

How wildly she constrains with each thrust 
graceful ballet of her violin bow 
through leaps of faith based on acoustic trust 
with canorous rhythm of ardency 
in synchronous verbiage of potency 
concealed in cipher of the golden bough. 

Erupting from elemental syntax 
where tonal echoes elevate thought scales, 
she stretches melodies on spiral tracks 
contracting vast textures with currency 
beyond fear-sonorous redundancy 
which binds segments of faith in ariose tales. 

Enthralled by glitzy symbols of star tones, 
reverberating straight across clear sky, 
she outlines structural web of aural stones 
that decorate silence with cadency 
contrary to pride of the regency 
in strict rebellion of the dreamless eye. 

Trapped deep in silent habitat of hope, 
heart dazzled by riddles of aching faith, 
she searches bars of notes for writhing rope 
of melogenic theme with urgency 
to channel love born from contingency 
through bodies animated by the wraith. 

Extracting logic from valid respect 
to prove persuasive relevance of tunes 
that spring from the folk as honest concept, 
I measure fluctuating cogency 
encoded in riddles through vagrancy 
reflected in silver mask of lost moons. 

On bare stage in the grand musical hall 
she plays wild melodies on violin 
that highlight throbbing life on the world ball, 
programmed to deal with soul emergency, 
struggling to transcend despondency 
through selfless love of my conceptual twin. 

Ripe Sense Of Divinity

Ripe Sense Of Divinity
© Surazeus
2024 01 16

We are atoms who dream ourselves as God, 
aware that we evolve from hungry chemicals 
transforming through organic shapes of mind 
as we transcend limitations of time 
when we regenerate immortal soul 
of genes through bodies of clumsy desire. 

These bright atomic coils of pulsing light 
that weave our body in matrix of life 
flash timeless passion of attractive hope 
through vibrant spirals of perceptive love 
composing neural nets of dreaming brains 
so we wake on shore of the star-eyed lake. 

That hour four hundred million years ago 
when I first wake beneath the apple tree 
frames how my brain constructs reality 
as virtual models of objects I sense 
with bold subjective ache of anxious faith 
contained in name that signifies my hope. 

So, though I float on timeless sea of truth, 
possessed by awe of vast eternity 
flowing through my heart as quick molecules, 
I know how I must exercise restraint 
to channel passion of my will to live 
through selfless attention to how you feel. 

Alone I wander lost on roadless plain 
without direction of cautious intent, 
but, when I meet reflection of my soul 
in gracious mirror of your curious eyes, 
compassion activates my social sense 
that urges me to share romantic play. 

I offer apple with attentive smile 
as gift provided by the Tree of Life, 
and glow with pleasure when you eat its fruit 
to see excitement gleaming in your eyes, 
which cements fragile bond of calm respect 
to links our hearts firm with mutual consent. 

All bodies formed of atoms fall apart, 
and conscious glow of self-awareness fades 
as structure of our soul disintegrates, 
so we are temporary beams of thought 
swollen with ripe sense of divinity, 
though we accept that we will disappear. 

Though I am atoms dreaming themselves God, 
able to conceive of infinity, 
I savor sensual existence of mind 
bound within flushed limits of time and space 
as we embrace to generate new life 
who grows aware as we fade into death. 

Bride Of The Apple Tree

Bride Of The Apple Tree
© Surazeus
2024 01 16

Mary, wild daughter of the changeless moon, 
why are you running in ghost-haunted woods, 
dressed only in your gown of hopefulness, 
instead of reading your new book of prayer, 
safe in your innocent tower of power, 
tending new-born son of our divine king? 

Richard, gallant son of the swirling sea, 
escaping old king who trapped me with lust 
to seek true path to my own destiny 
is why I am running in gracious woods, 
for you are the man I love with my heart, 
and your child is the soul I want to bear. 

Mary, sweet princess of my loyal heart, 
I thought you loved my father more than me, 
yet now I understand with shocking rage 
that he forced you against your courteous will, 
so take my hand and run away with me, 
leaving him to his pride while we share love. 

Richard, fierce prince who guards me with love, 
the forest is dark and the night is cold, 
and your father reigns over the whole island, 
so where can we run to escape his hand, 
and where can we dwell free of his control, 
except we swim across the swirling sea? 

Mary, proud Mermaid of the Holy Grail, 
monsters and demons lurk in the deep sea, 
eager to devour our innocent souls, 
but my ship is sturdy with stalwart mast, 
so you are safe in bosom of my care 
for to Broceliande Forest we sail. 

Richard, gentle lion who guards my soul 
from possessive lust of old castle king, 
embrace me in your warm protective arms 
to shield me from sharp lightning strike of wrath 
your father fires from bow of haughty pride, 
for I would dwell with you in garden grove. 

Mary, precious bride of the apple tree, 
stay with me as we sail to paradise, 
for I will remove arrow from your heart 
and heal you with aetherius of my love, 
but I fear dart of greed has pierced too deep, 
and light of your spirit fades from your eyes. 

Richard, brave Apollo of my respect, 
you saved me from cold prison of his lust, 
and freed my heart from golden cage of fear, 
so, though we cannot dwell in garden home, 
yet I fly free from sorrows of this world, 
thus I will live forever in your heart. 

Hope In The Spinning Void

Hope In The Spinning Void
© Surazeus
2024 01 15

The raven with three eyes white as the moon 
watches me from shadow of the oak tree 
construct small river boat from slender logs, 
then brings me mushroom from the mountain cave 
which swells my mind with vast pulsating stars 
so I feel Earth float in the spinning void. 

While in the kitchen baking pumpkin pie 
I hear wild shriek across the misty fields, 
and I step out on wood porch of my heart 
to watch the headless horseman gallop by 
on hoofs of thunder cracking crystal sky, 
so I fall dizzy in the spinning void. 

I follow railroad tracks in misty woods 
to large striped circus tent outside of town, 
then step inside to watch tall blond-haired girl 
stand divinely still with elegant grace 
on back of the quickly galloping horse 
that navigates hope in the spinning void. 

The railroad baron in ten-gallon hat, 
who cheats Indians into selling their land 
to profit from false wealth of gushing oil, 
aims rifle at my head with mocking sneer 
that he will take what I refuse to sell, 
so I somersault in the spinning void. 

The young man, bearing old man on his back 
as they escape gang of attacking thugs 
because they refuse to help sell drugs, 
asks me for ride across the wind-dark sea, 
so I welcome them on my fishing boat 
though harpies haunt us in the spinning void. 

On Broadway Street in Gotham City maze 
the weeping clown with smile carved on his face 
strums turtle-shell lyre he stole from Hermes 
to improvise satire poems on demand 
from Hells Angels on roaring motorbikes 
about his journey in the spinning void. 

Four soldiers in jungle of Vietnam 
reminisce about stews their mothers brew 
back home in Florida and Arkansas 
till hand grenade clatters between their feet, 
so Milton throws himself on flame of death 
that explodes with pride in the spinning void. 

Gaunt Mary bears new-born child in her arms 
as she walks the winding mountain road 
with hundred thousand refugees from war, 
dreaming about life in the Promised Land 
where she wants Messiah to attend school 
who grins at demons in the spinning void. 

Womb Of Mother Earth

Womb Of Mother Earth
© Surazeus
2024 01 15

As I uncurl from womb of Mother Earth 
through tense expression of arrogant wings, 
my soul assumes taut posture of grim prayer 
to contemplate origin of starlight 
while I suckle stories from hills of pain 
to fight against demons my mind invents. 

As I escape from womb of Mother Earth 
by crawling diamond-crusted river bed, 
my soul attempts to grasp flow of sunlight 
that drags me gasping from sea of despair, 
stretched out across jagged mountains of hope, 
to wrestle sorrows my heart designates. 

As I expand from womb of Mother Earth 
with storm-engulfing breath of flashing waves, 
my soul accepts dire limits of moonlight 
defining bold extension of my form 
which I transform with hands of eager faith 
to embrace compassion my eyes respect. 

As I extend from womb of Mother Earth 
on trembling legs of elegant disgrace, 
my soul seeks face of beauty in dark mist 
to find electric source of that life spark 
which glows deep in frail body of my fear 
to generate new life from shocking angst. 

As I stand free from womb of Mother Earth, 
tall as true apple tree on naked hill, 
my soul asserts responsible desire 
to savor sweet warm glamor of sun-rain 
suffusing supple bones of fragile trust 
to name myself as conscious entity. 

As I retreat from womb of Mother Earth 
with fierce intention to explore her space, 
my soul stands upright on her spinning sphere, 
shifting attention of my curious mind 
with strict correction of measurable force 
to focus on structural forms of ideas. 

As I return to womb of Mother Earth 
with discipline of honest self-control, 
my soul acquires through legal precedent 
prime clue of right to exist in this space 
which my heart navigates with secret code 
to evade death who haunts my noble quest. 

As I map way from womb of Mother Earth 
through complex algorithms of free will, 
my soul converts stark horror of despair 
through lithe agility of my dream creed 
with language I design from breathless words 
to translate song of the ocean to love. 

Yet My Heart Endures

Yet My Heart Endures
© Surazeus
2024 01 15

When time falls back in open arms of love 
death starts awake from gleam of hungry dawn 
which spurs my heart with anguish of desire 
to find sweet beauty of pleasure again 
though sorrow at loss breaks my surprised heart, 
yet my heart endures to create more love. 

The village my ancestors built from scratch 
five hundred years with hands of bloody hope 
is burned to swirls of cold innocent ash 
by rampaging gang of arrogant thieves 
who drive us into wilderness of fear, 
yet my heart endures to find paradise. 

Because suspicious winds of hungry hills 
batter our bodies with sarcastic hope 
the frail flickering flame of faith we tend 
with trembling hands in ring of bitter rocks 
almost deserts us each bleak afternoon, 
yet my heart endures to nurture faint hope. 

Ghost of my body haunts our homestead farm, 
performing daily routines of respect 
to maintain production of friendly wheat, 
while I huddle against cruel hilltop ridge, 
floating in dizzy terror of mute death, 
yet my heart endures with handful of seeds. 

Tall horse with ambitious eyes of concern 
guides our way among sharp ignorant crags 
with patient compassion for our dire state, 
till through jagged pillars of confidence 
we arrive in vale of the generous lake, 
so my heart endures with firm gratitude. 

Kneeling on moist shore of romantic lake, 
body pulsing with bright epiphany 
of unbelievable hope deceiving fate, 
I plant seeds of wheat with prayer to Blue Sky 
that nature grant my wish to start anew, 
so my heart endures with cautious regard. 

Constructing new home from reverent stone, 
where we conspire to build new paradise, 
we embark on daily raid to explore 
indifferent wilderness of devious woods 
on noble crusade to befriend the land, 
so my heart endures with nascent esteem. 

When time leaps forward on wings of desire 
death lingers in shadows of tolerance 
which motivates my heart with anxious faith 
to treasure beauty of nature I love 
though sorrow hunts my apprehensive heart, 
yet my heart endures to create true love. 

Call Me From The Sea

Call Me From The Sea
© Surazeus
2024 01 14

Reluctant road of billowing blue birds 
explains electric elegance of speed 
when children chasing chickens in the field 
find ancient bearded bard with broken harp 
who tells them gossip their grandmothers hide 
in books stuck in the trunks of weeping trees. 

The graceful horse with long red flowing mane 
looks sideways at me with her moon-black eyes 
as if to chide me for how I behave 
dancing foolishly in vast mirrored hall 
that seems to go forever to the sky 
where angels descend on red flaming wings. 

While picking strawberries near the cliff edge, 
faces gleaming in mist of early dawn, 
we laugh with shyness at pleasure we shared, 
but you slip over edge of nothingness 
as I reach out my hand to clutch at air 
and watch you fall forever in the sea. 

Along grim margin of the laughing sea 
I run long endless years in frantic search 
to find your body floating in cold waves, 
but you have vanished into nothingness, 
your face only clear to me in dark dreams 
when I hear you call me from the sea. 

I enter story of your death sideways, 
reluctant to express sharp pain I feel 
from guilt I failed to save you from the fall, 
yet blue birds on frail limbs of apple trees 
mock my pain with beautiful carefree songs 
so I dive deep into horror of the sea. 

Down deep in cluttered vision of blue light 
I swim into emptiness of my heart 
to find enormous pearl in oyster shell, 
so I grasp small gleaming moon with desperate hand 
and thrust toward leery eye that watches me 
to lie gasping on bleak beach of my grief. 

Cradling enormous pearl in open hands, 
I gaze at mysterious curves of its light, 
and almost see your face in its strange mask, 
so I carry pure spirit of your heart 
as I walk along winding river shore 
past farms of people tending wheat and cows. 

Back home in mirrored hall of your heart 
I kneel before your mother by the hearth 
and show her pearl of your soul that I found 
deep in dark abyss of my aching heart, 
then she embraces me with gentle kiss, 
whispering that she forgives me at last. 

Acceptance Of Her Fate

Acceptance Of Her Fate
© Surazeus
2024 01 14

Through eerie silence of the starless woods 
toward Heaven shining on the distant hill 
I ride black horse in nothingness of night 
to deliver messages of lost hope 
to people dancing in the mirrored hall 
before planes bomb it into shattered dreams. 

Cracked hoofs clatter on iced cobblestone road 
before gold gates of Heaven lined with pearls 
because they gleam bright locked against despair, 
so I hold high messages of lost hope 
and shout into the silent gloom of night, 
yet tunes of the orchestra mute my voice. 

Huge palace of Heaven where the king dwells 
with extensive clan of proud royalty 
looms high above bold hill of chanting skulls, 
great walls of courage and pillars of faith 
that shelter pantheon of noble gods 
who feast and dance in hall of timeless joy. 

Faint buzz of wasps that haunt my bloodied helm 
alert my cautious horror through stark fear 
as hum swells louder into dragon roar 
when fleet of airplanes with Daedalian wings 
soars up from caverns of Plutonian Hell 
to aim fierce rage at haughty monarchy. 

My black horse rears and strikes hoofs at cold wind 
when I scream with frustration of despair 
in vain attempt to alert the proud king 
who dances with his queen on marble floor 
with elegant grace of power and wealth 
as fleet of planes zooms above his fail roof. 

With helpless horror on my prancing horse 
I watch planes buzzing like a swarm of wasps 
drop slender filaments of silver light, 
round like eggs of dragons in fairy tales, 
smashing grand palace of Heaven with blasts 
that explode into flashing swirls of flame. 

Knocked to the ground by shock waves of bomb blasts, 
my horse and I lie stunned under red clouds 
then he leaps to his feet and flees away, 
so I stumble through mangled pearly gates 
to enter grand Heaven for the first time 
where powerful gods lie bleeding to death. 

Lifting beautiful daughter of the king, 
who laughed with joy beside the garden pool 
when I read her poetry of our love, 
I hold her fragile body in my arms 
and kiss her as her eyes of gentle faith 
gaze through me with acceptance of her fate. 

But Still They Bomb

But Still They Bomb
© Surazeus
2024 01 13

Bright stars that twinkle in the pearl-black sky 
look through the window of his random home 
glazed with thin frost of moonlight in his eyes, 
so he sips wine and strums soft melody 
that eulogizes beauty of the world, 
but still they bomb homes of the nameless poor. 

Soft flowers that bloom in the star-gold meadow 
leap through the window of his passing car 
glinting with restless curiosity 
to explore pristine wilderness of peace 
far from the money-busy streets of men, 
but still they bomb homes of the nameless poor. 

Swift birds of many species flutter wings, 
darting between trees of ripening fruit 
that workers harvest though they never sing 
heart-wrenching elegies through liberty 
for families to bake pies on holidays, 
but still they bomb homes of the nameless poor. 

Young children skipping with carefree delight 
shout gleefully with sweet abandoned joy 
as they visit cages where monsters pace 
with muscled passion of anxious despair 
to photo selfies of themselves at play, 
but still they bomb homes of the nameless poor. 

Curious students on college campuses 
stride casually across tree-shaded lawns 
to gather in classrooms with word-blessed books 
discussing complex issues of concern, 
inspired to nurture justice based on law, 
but still they bomb homes of the nameless poor. 

Cool actors in the most fashionable outfits 
stride red carpet lined with adoring fans 
to attend the fabulous awards show 
where they applaud each other for their craft 
depicting wretched clumsiness of life, 
but still they bomb homes of the nameless poor. 

Wealthy royalty of the corporate kingdoms 
feast on thick steaks of thousand-dollar plates 
it glitzy glamor of the posh hotel 
to support their favorite grand candidate 
who promises laws to exploit the poor, 
but still they bomb homes of the nameless poor. 

Deep within serene hopefulness of Nature 
hums restless passion of an unknown demon, 
stirred by disquiet of stark silences 
which haunt heart of darkness in hungry fear, 
inciting us to protest genocide, 
but still they bomb homes of the nameless poor. 

Infinity In The Finite

Infinity In The Finite
© Surazeus
2024 01 13

To find infinity in the finite 
I wrap my dream spirit in flesh of light 
by counting cardinality of points 
which integrate wheels of galactic joints 
with thought beams in continuum of my soul 
that weaves my brain-mind within the White Whole. 

To prove hypothesis of countless dots 
spread far across vast matrix of string knots 
I calculate clear integers in poles 
that program humans to assume state roles 
based on whole sets with axiom of choice 
expressing words breathed by the curious voice. 

To follow path of individual stars 
connected by thought engines of mind cars 
I will arrive at station of weird truth 
that displays conclusion with friendly ruth 
that even insignificant stars place 
vibrant energy through its journey trace. 

To climb foundation of numbers with hope 
deriving function of the point as slope 
tangent to spiral flow of the curve range 
I surf predicted wave through rate of change 
equal to height of beauty I transcend 
when Heaven rewards my urge to ascend. 

To secure dream database of my heart 
I deconstruct conceptual thoughts apart 
through quantum cryptography of true love 
with flashing curves of finite fields above 
based on algorithm of secret words 
conceived by passion of quick moon-eyed birds. 

To bind mind curves over infinite fields 
demanding zero function beyond yields 
I locate trivial nothings which display 
critical line that traces each complex way 
that humans assert when performing acts 
mapping world history down uncertain tracks. 

To form imaginary unit splined 
in graceful curves by numbered flow defined 
I loop long ovals which interpolate 
polynomials through broad degrees of fate 
with each atomic point in cosmic space 
composing special features of my face. 

To bridge our two hearts with elliptic curve 
I plot dark radiance of atomic swerve 
that binds our bodies with vow of respect 
to perform cause with positive effect 
through self-control that channels energy 
in secret romance with infinity. 

We Write New Chapter

We Write New Chapter
© Surazeus
2024 01 13

While searching library for ancient tales 
I find Anne Bradstreet in dim fairy glen 
who gives me writing quill of raven wing 
so I wander lost in ancestral vales 
to channel indifferent passion of zen 
in story code that children love to sing. 

As sunlight gleams through leaves of curious trees 
the little witch in black Puritan gown 
enchants my heart with weird hypnotic spell 
so I hear voices of the dead in breeze 
that swirls from star river where mad girls drown 
which leads me to the secret wizard well. 

Deep down in darkness of its shadowed light 
I see my face reflected in dark pool 
as mask revealing faces of the dead 
that my ancestors wore before their flight 
across the waste land of the laughing fool 
who pilfers visions from my dreamless head. 

Then one-eyed Anne teaches me how to write 
dream spells with runes Odin found in the well 
that translate dreams Taliesin saw in rain, 
so with Earendel in psychic flight 
I soar over Middle-Earth to expel 
tyrannic king from castle of the grain. 

Grasping my hand with ice-cold soul of faith, 
Anne leads me down through winding cave of ghosts 
to where Orpheus strums strings of his lyre 
and chants hypnotic tune to wake the wraith 
of Ophelia who writes names on signposts 
for roads that lead lost souls back to the shire. 

We journey home to land of daffodils 
where fairies dance in mists of Avalon 
hidden in woods behind car factories 
where Arthurian knights work to pay the bills 
because vast cities outshine Babylon 
where tyrants try to crush democracies. 

With rebellious spirit of Lucifer 
we rise from rubble of our bombed-out homes 
to follow banner of the cosmic herald 
through revolution against Jupiter 
foretold by prophecies in dusty tomes 
to form new global order of the world. 

We write new chapter in the human tale 
with every choice of action we perform 
to fight greedy tyrants of monarchy 
who think everything we make is for sale, 
then rise on Phoenix wings from martial storm 
to establish one-world democracy. 

World Of Hungry Hope

World Of Hungry Hope
© Surazeus
2024 01 12

When I hear deathless mother call my name 
I stand still on the beach in lonely wind, 
for though I feel her presence in sunlight 
her face appears as cloud above the hill, 
so I decide that she is watching me 
from high above the world of hungry hope. 

I see her body crumble into sand 
and leave her skeleton gleaming in waves 
that swirl around me as I hold her skull 
and listen for sweet timbre of her voice 
explain the meme for how to start the fire 
that crackles bright in starless gloom of fear. 

This ancient memory from the dawn of time 
programs how I perceive the universe 
for that is when my mind invented God 
as Deathless Mother watching from the sky 
to guide my journey to vale of fruit trees 
through words I sing to the golden-eyed snake. 

Now I gaze at the eye-phone in my hand 
connecting me with countless human beings 
who live in every valley of the Earth 
so I can watch them play role of their hearts 
while I design virtual world of my brain 
that glows in magic spells after I die. 

Awake this hour on globe of dreaming souls, 
I feel aware in neurons of my brain 
ten billion ancestors who made me real 
through four hundred million years of rebirth 
so I am every memory of their lives 
combined in unity of my whole soul. 

I am immortal soul of genes they wove 
with every action running on the beach 
to hunt for food that nourishes the mind 
as I seek mate to generate new life 
in children who will live after we die 
to relive drama of this fertile life. 

Descendant of my genes in evolved form 
will stand alive on beach of timeless waves 
five billion years after I chant this song 
with heart that aches for beauty of this world 
to dream weird vision of the universe 
till the sun transforms our bodies to light. 

When I hear deathless mother call my name 
that she invents from sweet ache of her heart, 
I close my eyes to feel her in my heart, 
then I call name of my young curious child 
who imitates the song of life I spell 
which I translate from swirling waves of love. 

Tyranny Of Santa Claus

Tyranny Of Santa Claus
© Surazeus
2024 01 12

This way the books we read will eat our souls 
as if we have lost our butterfly wings 
to climb the stairway to Heaven from Hell 
since we keep keys to our hearts in glass bowls 
without contemplating the state of things 
when statues of dead gods are found in wells. 

Ten thousand poets all around the world 
sing together in harmony of thought 
as wingless angels of the global choir 
conducted by dream of the cosmic herald 
who wants to show us what the zombie bought 
when he got stuck in old church of desire. 

With every new anxiety attack 
I translate shocking wisdom to bromides 
that only girls in bikinis enjoy 
for they alone can peer in timeless crack 
through which light of divinity elides 
harsh truth about the genocide at Troy. 

With ripe banana in my red right hand 
I rule sea kingdom of the smiling owl 
that demons build from rays of dragon bones 
so we can buy tickets to Wonderland 
because King Lear and Allen Ginsberg howl 
about sad ghosts who live in telephones. 

When I get back to where I once belonged, 
I will remove fake mask of my ancestor 
so I can play guitar on city streets 
and sing of stateless people who were wronged 
till they elect as president the jester 
who strolls all night with the fast-talking Beats. 

I drive my car in city maze of myths 
to gather data from computer brains 
about state crimes the proud traitor commits 
till ravens soaring from glass monoliths 
arrest the cheaters of capital gains 
who profit from scam of the money blitz. 

Concerned about state of my mental health, 
Minerva takes me to the misty woods 
where we watch sunrise gleam over snowed peaks 
with serious lesson that we employ stealth 
when selling Bibles in poor neighborhoods 
that consume our minds with social critiques. 

From heart of darkness I am born again 
to walk this world as lion with swan wings 
seeking whom I may recruit to the cause 
as we transcend world wars with spells of zen 
which motivate our satire happenings 
that expose tyranny of Santa Claus. 

Blind Elevator Man

Blind Elevator Man
© Surazeus
2024 01 12

What lifts my soul above the crippling storm 
with hurricane of gargoyles who steal wings 
is faith of the blind elevator man 
who lurks in shadows of museum rooms 
smearing his blood on paintings of dead gods 
to protest the most recent genocide. 

The weaver girl stuck on galactic bridge 
decides to ask me with innocent smile 
why I am the blind elevator man 
who knows art history like back of his hand 
so I erase the color of my skin 
with ten thousand masks I hang on the wall. 

Not quite surreptitious as Jesus was 
when he struck the snake writing in the tree, 
I climb the jagged slopes of Helicon 
to carve face of my father on the cliff 
when wingless angels in the church debate 
state of communism or monarchy. 

Yet the old novelist in brown tweed suit 
discusses bronze statue from Onatah 
that presents the blind elevator man 
as symbol of the soul which correlates 
with noble ambition to free all slaves 
since we left the jungle standing upright. 

When Phoebus immigrates to Arkansas 
he works as night janitor at the college, 
disguised as the blind elevator man 
who paints murals on red-brick ghetto walls 
which celebrate all young down-trodden heroes 
in fight against the world money machine. 

The people in bleak country by the sea 
who hide in caves on dusty river shore 
seek help from the blind elevator man 
who catches falling bombs with his bare hands 
then erases secret math formulas 
for chemical weapons from the chalkboard. 

We seek to resurrect with humble prayers 
better angels of our nature from fear 
and follow the blind elevator man 
who strums the mystic chords of memory 
as we sing chorus of our Union again 
with courage to support justice for all. 

Escaping maze of myths religion guards, 
I meditate on peak of Damavand 
to restore the blind elevator man 
who resurrects as Shiva with the snake 
to help Parvati banish proud Andhaka 
with light of Liberty bright in our hearts. 

Gold Wings Of Jibril

Gold Wings Of Jibril
© Surazeus
2024 01 11

Peering through window of apartment room, 
Zurah watches goldfinch in orchid tree 
flutter gold-tipped wings in warm evening breeze 
that swirls from purple waves of the White Sea. 
Yellow light flashes in blue evening sky 
with strange beauty like gold wings of Jibril, 

Practicing calligraphy for homework, 
Zurah writes one of the names of Allah, 
Al-Musawwir, Designer of the World, 
artist who fashions ideal shapes of things. 
Silver missile soars over city maze, 
terrible as pure gold wings of Jibril. 

Caressing soft fur of her black cat Sihr, 
Zurah gazes into his star-gold eyes, 
and laughs with delight when he leaps up high 
to catch ball of yarn dangling from the pole. 
Shrill shriek of the missile pierces the night 
at radiant blast from gold wings of Jibril. 

Holding leather book lit by candlelight, 
Zurah recites verse from ghazal of Rumi, 
"With sweet song expressing sun-lit excuse, 
fetch the beautiful-faced moon to our home." 
Tip of the missile pierces cement wall 
with star power from gold wings of Jibril. 

Surprised by flame of flower blooming bright, 
Zurah gasps at explosion of star eyes 
that opens portal through infinity 
where she floats bodiless on swirling waves. 
Blast of the missile knocks her at the wall 
with radiant glow from gold wings of Jibril. 

Crawling over rubble of gray cement, 
Zurah searches gloom of her collapsed home 
for her mother crushed by shadow of fear 
who still clutches her baby with no face. 
Specter of Death rises from missile shell 
that exploded from gold wings of Jibril. 

Glaring at Death who wears black tattered robe, 
Zurah stands on mound of her blasted home 
and offers him the last orange of her heart 
she found half-peeled in limp hand of her mother. 
Death tall and terrible as thunderclouds 
protects young girl with gold wings of Jibril. 

Walking signless road across the waste land, 
Zurah holds hands with Death as she sings 
sad melody of hot wind over sand 
while crickets chirp among waterless rocks. 
Small bloody footprints in the sands of time 
shows where she flies on gold wings of Jibril.