So They Close Their Eyes

So They Close Their Eyes
© Surazeus
2024 02 29

The people dance in gold waves of the sea 
because they would like to embrace the moon 
but they stand breathless without memory 
and listen to beat of horse hoofs on sand 
excite their hearts with knowledge of the drum 
so they close their eyes and become the light. 

The people wearing tattered robes of faith 
pick olives from ten-thousand-year-old trees 
till men with guns descend on metal wings, 
demanding they cease choosing to rebel 
for their actions are political games 
so they close their eyes and become the trees. 

The people gathered around trucks of food 
shout at the bullets that turn into bees 
though they lie down and play dead in the wind 
when flames of faith eradicate their souls 
and rain that never falls deletes their names 
so they close their eyes and become the bombs. 

The people who want green wind to create 
their bodies from branches of olive trees 
sail boat of bones across the sea of sand 
to find the girl who dances on the moon 
but they never get to the Promised Land 
so they close their eyes and become the fish. 

The people who count lonely stars of frost 
ask wily shadow fish how to explore 
the signless road that leads to nowhere else 
as if they think the gods will grant their wish 
when they leave their skulls on the singing rocks 
so they close their eyes and become the cave. 

The people who build houses on the cliff 
where trail of blood by trembling lantern glows 
will shake one thousand tambourines of glass 
to welcome light of dawn as nuclear flash 
which imitates bright divine smile of God 
so they close their eyes and become the flame. 

The people who join hands to plant new crops 
ignore the girl who bears pitcher of wine 
though she stares at her face in water eye 
that shines at bottom of the dark abyss 
who gives her silver eyes of innocence 
so they close their eyes and become the well. 

The people who run from the falling bombs 
surround the girl who lies dead on the sand 
and pray to no one in the empty sky 
for salvation from the tyrant of truth 
who devours their souls trapped in dreams of fear 
so they close their eyes and become the Earth. 

Library Of Weird Memories

Library Of Weird Memories
© Surazeus
2024 02 29

Laughing at absurdity of this life, 
that we are beautiful spirits of hope 
and yet we tragically suffer and die, 
I leap vast abyss of false memories 
with angry wisdom of the soul betrayed 
by fragile weakness of this body shell. 

Howling with insanity of desire 
that we are bountiful bodies of needs 
and yet we magically reproduce souls, 
I leap fast stream of ancient memories 
with eager passion of the soul designed 
from brutal strength sparked by the will to live. 

Chuckling with urbanity of my role 
that we are mutable actors of faith 
and yet we fanatically play ourselves, 
I leap high stairway of weird memories 
with utter disregard for social rules 
forged by fearful men to control our minds. 

Yelling with idiocy of the mad king 
that we are variable patterns of genes 
and yet we amicably sing love songs, 
I leap broken wall of grim memories 
with grumpy courage of the simple fool 
who plays with crown of power like his toy. 

Mumbling with fatuity of the seer 
that we are noble creatures of the sky 
and yet we kill each other in world wars, 
I leap fractured mirror of memories 
with bold hypocrisy of the rich king 
who sacrifices his life for his people. 

Scowling with hilarity of the banker 
that money is but symbol of our needs 
and yet we cheat the innocent with scams, 
I leap shattered myths of sweet memories 
with gentle arrogance of greed deferred 
to craft new wagon with talented hands. 

Sneering with irony of the sad prophet 
that truth is what each brain perceives as real 
and yet we are blind with religious creeds, 
I leap library of weird memories 
with faith in puzzle of measurable facts 
from which I conjure virtual world of dreams. 

Cackling with futility of the singer 
that fame is fickle as two-edged sword 
and yet we crave attention of the crowd, 
I leap hypnotic flame of memories 
till voice of prophecy speaks through my mouth 
in riddling satires of the Jester Code. 

Nurture Our Free Will

Nurture Our Free Will
© Surazeus
2024 02 28

When I hear ghostly wail in evening rain 
that drenches houses in forest of oaks, 
I stand on front porch of my floating mind 
to watch grim demons fly across the sky 
as they seek traitors to God on his throne 
who glares with rage alone in hall of mirrors. 

So I spread wings of Icarus to soar 
along with demons over city maze 
and watch them searching shadows of despair 
where innocent people hide behind masks 
to guard their thoughts from government control 
as they attend dreams of their special lives. 

Landing on high peak of Mount Helicon, 
I watch as angels and demons combat 
when opposing forces of light and dark 
clash over whose view of government 
between democracy or tyranny 
prevails to organize our human lives. 

Face to face on the One-Eyed Pyramid, 
Christus and Satan, like Mazda and Iman, 
Fenrir and Odin, and Cronus and Zeus, 
fight through another Gotterdammerung 
in Titanomachy to control the world, 
clashing over whose view of Man is right. 

Satan commands that every human being 
submit conscious agency of free will 
to dictatorship of his divine law 
so they live as he wills without complaint, 
robots who obey His Authority 
when he exploits their labor for his wealth. 

Christus declares that every human being 
employs conscious agency of free will 
to exercise liberty through their choice 
so they live as they will, if they harm none, 
free agents who create themselves through love 
when they correct their mistakes to live well. 

Over the past contentious hundred years 
humans in every nation on the Earth 
have united to overthrow cruel kings 
who ruled their lives over ten thousand years, 
thus we declare our sacred right to vote 
for presidents who nurture our free will. 

Though fascist forces of cruel tyranny 
seem to rise again from graves of kings 
with fierce intention to enslave our souls, 
we fight to maintain world democracy 
with honest respect for all human beings 
as we build United Nations of Earth. 

Brightest In The Dark

Brightest In The Dark
© Surazeus
2024 02 27

Love we express shines brightest in the dark 
through trust we share as companions on quest 
to rescue people we love from despair, 
for united with purpose of strong care 
we channel passion from practice and rest 
that inspires our hearts with the sacred spark. 

If I could bend four elements of life 
to bloom from fertile soil tall fruitful trees, 
I would channel flaming fire of the sun 
to swirl with fluid water of the rain 
that fuse with ethereal air of the breeze, 
which conjures energy of love through strife. 

I observe how seeds from apples I eat, 
when buried in moist soil of loss through gain, 
sprout taller each day to reach for the sky 
with mingle of elements through my eye 
when heat of the sun and cool of the rain 
cause trees to blossom with nutritious treat. 

Though bombs of tyrants in towers of greed 
destroy our games of life in homes we built, 
blasting trees of gardens to twisted limbs, 
we gather in ruins to sing new hymns 
then search for lost memories buried in silt 
to regrow paradise with hopeful seed. 

Every time I feel the spirit of faith 
moving in my heart with voice of the light, 
I will stand tall by the indifferent sea 
to face fierce monster that dwells inside me 
with joy to transcend death in eager flight, 
and sing with passion of immortal wraith. 

Though I remain bound in my mortal shell, 
stuck on hard surface of this spinning globe, 
my spirit soars with birds on wings of hope 
far above my burned home on mountain slope, 
so I wrap my trembling body in robe 
of mad sorrow as I journey through Hell. 

Each wounded soul I find on signless road 
I comfort with strong arms and soothing tune, 
so we are not alone in wretched fears 
as we hold hands and wipe away our tears, 
then walk slowly forth by light of the moon 
to sea-side cave of the hypnotic toad. 

Though tyrants destroy our workshops and farms 
with grim plan to exterminate our souls, 
and erase our existence from this world, 
I wake from death-dream as the cosmic herald 
to assign our partners creative roles 
defeating tyranny with psychic charms. 

Every Human Life Has Worth

Every Human Life Has Worth
© Surazeus
2024 02 26

Though I would like to write of normal things 
and praise simple beauty of routine life, 
I cannot close my heart to sufferings 
millions of people experience through strife, 
so I will cry out to the empty sky 
and wonder that no God answers my Why. 

How birds flutter in trees and sing desire 
to generate new life before they die 
resembles people running to flee fire 
when bombs are fired to demolish their sky, 
yet I will shout outrage at the wild sea 
sacred law that all people should live free. 

What good is Heaven where no God of love 
reigns over Earth with laws of just deserts 
when tyrants claim right to rule from above 
in order to recruit mindless converts, 
though I scream tearfully in howling wind 
against which I break if I never bend. 

Since I refuse to prophesy their doom, 
and hide from duty to proclaim their crimes, 
cruel tyrants and their minions steal the broom 
employed by the wise seer to guide our times, 
till I howl laughing at indifferent moon 
since nothing changes from my honest tune. 

I turn my face away from genocide 
because my heart breaks with every dead child 
who cries for help as they drown in the tide 
even as the naked emperor smiled, 
but I turn back and face the bloodied king 
who howls with rage when I destroy his ring. 

I carry bodies bruised by cracked cement 
from heaps of rubble shattered by despair, 
surprised and shocked at horrible extent 
tyrants go to kill with martial fanfare, 
since I believe humans are good at heart 
though they keep tearing each other apart. 

Heart-wrenching agony, at brutal death 
so many humans suffer in cruel wars 
ten thousand years now, suffocates my breath 
as wingless angels battle dinosaurs, 
so I stumble dizzy against the door, 
because my voice is drowned by buzzing roar. 

I stand before Gate of Heaven at dawn 
where God reigns on gold throne of endless war, 
and douse my body with blood of the swan, 
then set myself on fire to mark the score 
while singing hymn to nurture peace on Earth 
to prove that every human life has worth. 

Star Of Their Own Show

Star Of Their Own Show
© Surazeus
2024 02 25

Every soul is the star of their own show, 
performing role that blossoms from their heart 
after they suffer psychic death from fear 
when they see their own face in the abyss, 
and return from the desert with their truth 
that guides them as they play messiah sleuth. 

Convinced I am blind prophet of the moon, 
I stand outside front door of my quaint home 
and stare at shadows of elusive souls 
who strut and fret their hours on stage of hope 
till sound and fury of our social angst 
gets translated into romantic songs. 

Stuck in religious maze of ancient lies, 
I turn away from the crucified god 
and go on quest told in every folk tale 
as happy fool who prances off the cliff, 
then fly on wings of Icarus to find 
paradise lost in islands of the west. 

In ancient temple on the lonely isle 
I find statue of that god who plays lyre 
whose spirit glows with energy of love 
that reflects the spirit I choose to live, 
so I find spirit of my own true soul 
deep in hollow ocean cave of my heart. 

Though I am the star in my own life show, 
I prefer nobody watch me perform 
because all I do each hour of the day 
is create virtual worlds that imitate 
our real world in map terrains and dream poems 
where I play alone in my paradise. 

Though sons of Jesus reign as presidents 
with goal to build world empire of free will, 
I sit in backyard of my humble home 
and mutter prophecies no one can hear 
because the tyrant grasping at the crown 
will fall into Hell from his own vain pride. 

So while I strum the lyre of Mercury 
and sing strange riddles no one dares to read 
the timid flock of deer invade my yard 
and graze among oaks behind the white fence 
while glancing up at me with shining eyes 
as if I am Cernunnos in the flesh. 

When the tiny bells of Avalon ring 
to call me home across the stormy sea, 
I seek my solitude in mountain vale 
far away from social dramas of fame 
to sing strange beauty of this Earth I love 
because I am the star of my own show. 

Reign Through Self-Control

Reign Through Self-Control
© Surazeus
2024 02 25

When I stop at the red light of despair, 
and wait for the universe to approve 
of my intention to escape mute Death, 
I feel strange heartbeat of eternal hope 
contain aggressive passion to succeed 
as I accelerate through self-control. 

Engine rumbling beside me in the lane, 
Death grins at me with contemptuous disdain 
as challenge to race me against my fate, 
so when the light turns green with wicked gleam 
I gun my engine with fuel of desire 
to race Death past Heaven through self-control. 

Zooming swiftly through endless city maze, 
past thousands of temples that worship Greed, 
I race against Death for the final goal 
as I accumulate rich property 
by scamming people with deceitful lies 
so I will own the most through self-control. 

Adjusting progress of my race for wealth, 
I stop before cathedral of dead kings 
and run inside vast tomb of voiceless ghosts 
to steal the Holy Grail from Hand of God 
who howls with rage because I mock his fraud, 
then continue fierce race through self-control. 

Descending stairway from Heaven to Hell, 
with seraphic wings of transcendent flight 
that I stole from lame heart of Icarus, 
I race to achieve great worldly success 
to steal halo crown from bowed head of Christ 
in my mission to reign through self-control. 

Ascending thirteen steps of social power, 
I climb flat-top Pyramid of the One Eye 
to crown myself King of America, 
determined to destroy opposing gangs 
in holy crusade to conquer the world 
when I confirm my soul through self-control. 

Facing Death on Pyramid of the One Eye 
with Wand of Zambor and Excalibur, 
I battle shining angels of the Lord 
to claim my rightful place as King of Earth, 
but though I behead Death ten thousand times 
he challenges my reign through self-control. 

Whether I am your Christ or Anti-Christ 
in endless battle between Good and Evil, 
I prove my worth when I find in my heart 
eternal sunshine of the spotless mind 
that casts me down to writhe in angst of Hell, 
yet still I rise to fight through self-control. 

Unscale My Soul Eyes

Unscale My Soul Eyes
© Surazeus
2024 02 24

The old gray-haired witch sitting on her porch 
watches arrogant eagles drop truth bombs 
on women and children hiding in church 
who pray for help to gods in empty tombs 
till she turns and grins at me with dream keys 
designed by faith to unscale my soul eyes. 

Handing me ancient scroll that encodes love 
with tales of lovers who generate life, 
the young star-eyed witch of the apple grove 
deceives my memory with old photograph 
that shows us getting married in the maze 
where our blind children unscale my soul eyes. 

Eager to design cathedral of ghosts 
where loyal believers gather to pray, 
the mute wingless witch who treasures what lasts 
rescues me from rage of the happy toy 
with clever riddle of the mystic ruse 
that programs how I unscale my soul eyes. 

The wise handless witch sailing broken boat 
calls me across wide universe of forms 
with mission to explore strange hills of fate 
where peaceful people work on thriving farms 
with respect for the rebel with just cause 
who refuses to unscale my soul eyes. 

The lithe moon-wise witch typing case reports, 
who cultivates style of the renaissance, 
decides to manage market of food carts 
so she can sell trinkets of innocence 
to wealthy guests who attend temple shows 
where I preach lies to unscale my soul eyes. 

Training every man crowned as president, 
who blooms from bloodline of the Holy Grail, 
the lame sun-fooled witch bearing Wisdom Wand 
guides our ship of state to our destined goal 
supporting democratic enterprise 
through vision when I unscale my soul eyes. 

Accepting tax return of the blind seer 
who earned no profit selling prophecies, 
the sad bookless witch who tries to stop war 
searches maps for lands to decolonize 
till her quest is shown on the evening news 
as weird method to unscale my soul eyes. 

The kind heartless witch who cooks our home meals 
sews vast tapestry of our family myth 
depicting how Earth Angels play their roles 
in dream-production machine of the wraith 
because she chose me as her faithful muse 
to transcribe spells that unscale my soul eyes. 

Whisper Of My Bone

Whisper Of My Bone
© Surazeus
2024 02 24

To circumambulate mountains of words 
I hang my figurehead on door of thought 
to discuss psychology with anxious birds 
who gather on the empty house I bought 
so rose that blooms from paper of my mind 
teaches me the transient cloud is my friend. 

To eat yellow light of the human I 
that fills my hollow heart with dreams of love 
I catch blue sparks of rain with open eye 
when I perceive your soul that beauty wove 
so we collide with anguish of desire 
which generates our brains from solar fire. 

My eyes create new lightbeams from the sun 
so when I wake from spirit-healing dream 
my heart will know obvious oblivion 
that rewinds fate with time regained to seem 
we are much more than mortal chemicals 
because we feast and dance at festivals. 

Though I spent my childhood waiting for truth 
to map our world with idols of dead gods 
I now perform role of messiah sleuth, 
creating virtual worlds with psychic codes 
so we can distinguish reality 
from mentally programmed veracity. 

With each new word I sing I rearrange 
world view of my mind to unscale my eyes 
with ancient tones of music I deem strange 
enough to teach new brave cohort of spies 
to seek elusive truths deep in our brains 
which structure hopes in conceptual domains. 

When I drop thought bucket down well of fear 
to find new tale no human has yet lived, 
I discover our world is spinning sphere 
where every organic creature has grieved 
death of another creature they adored 
whose voice springs alive from the monochord. 

With constructive principle of word faith 
I mold primary chaos of heart thought 
to generate new body for my wraith 
with elegant form of impulse I wrought 
from conceptual mass to carve mask of I 
with my sharp tongue in mirror of the sky. 

To keep my balance on thin wall of stone 
I sing great detail from our global tale 
so when you wake from whisper of my bone 
you will know better how to never fail 
when you bond with your chosen soulmate 
who helps you unravel collective fate. 

Chemical Wholeness Of Life

Chemical Wholeness Of Life
© Surazeus
2024 02 23

While no God exists in the universe, 
some supernatural deity who dreams 
our minds awake with beams of energy, 
there glows weird chemical wholeness of life 
that forms fertile matrix of blooming Nature 
which nurtures humans in context of love. 

We exercise discipline of desire 
through proverbs in riddles of self-control 
to maintain balance of mental awareness 
within ever-changing context of life 
to sustain connection of our frail souls 
based on framework of its atomic wholeness. 

Because the universe of galaxies, 
where suns sustain fertile organic life, 
seems well organized in chemical forms, 
that function with mindless atomic rings, 
we project our own conscious sense of self 
at its vast swirl of clicking chemicals. 

I breathe deep spirit of the universe 
and feel divine consciousness of the Self 
vibrate beyond bounds of my mortal being 
to feel I am atoms from the First Flash 
aware of themselves as the Great God Mind 
incarnate in this temporary brain. 

How basic of my mortal human mind 
to fancy that it glows with the God Mind 
that I invent from horror of mute death 
with desperate hope that my brief life has meaning 
more than assemblage of flashing light beams, 
so I laugh and savor that glow of faith. 

I know I am no more than beams of light 
that spiraled from first flash of the big bang 
to swirl through flaming sphere of Helium 
that forge planets from swift molecules 
so I evolve from fish to newt to mouse 
to cat to ape to human who can talk. 

So as I stand on shore of the swirling sea, 
and gaze at stars huge as our nurturing sun, 
I sing with passion of my mortal brain 
to celebrate immortal beams of light 
that incarnate eight billion human beings 
who sing with me on spinning globe of love. 

While no God exists in the universe, 
that supernatural deity of love 
we humans invent is Idea of Human 
to project the best soul we can become, 
we humans manifest spirit of atoms 
as we evolve beyond our present selves. 

How To Encode Memories

How To Encode Memories
© Surazeus
2024 02 23

"The poetry we compose from our soul 
reveals the organized state of our mind." 
The old bearded man at round cafe table 
drinks coffee brewed from bitter alphabets. 
People driving cars by on narrow street 
listen to love songs on the radio. 

"All the poems written in free verse I read 
seem like abandoned rough drafts of despair." 
The old bearded man wearing leather jacket 
leans against red brick wall of the dive bar. 
People riding airplanes high in the sky 
think about the people they fly to see. 

"The words I speak stir sonic field of death, 
so I constrain them in strict lines of verse." 
The old bearded man swimming in the river 
laughs as fish slip through his curious fingers. 
People driving motorboats over waves 
search for the secret grove of singing ghosts. 

"The Psalms of David construct view of life 
with thought rhymes built on parallel concepts." 
The old bearded man on coffee house stage 
strums guitar and recites ballads of death. 
People trying on clothes in the shopping mall 
run screaming when the man shoots his girlfriend. 

"The fluid laziness of the prose poem 
fails to rein vibrant passion of the heart." 
The old bearded man rides the dappled mare 
galloping casually on grassy hill. 
People who construct cars in factories 
are echoes of silence hidden in music. 

"The poet creates from chaos of fear 
strange beauty of faith with elegant verse." 
The old bearded man pays his monthly bills 
when he logs in his online bank account. 
People with guns in tanks shoot civilians 
to exterminate the cruel terrorists. 

"The sonnet retains content in lithe form 
as it mutates to reflect each new age." 
The old bearded man under Tree of Life 
discusses philosophy with the Serpent. 
People flee bombs that deconstruct their lives, 
trapped by barbed wire at the border to Heaven. 

"Poets mature from free to metric verse 
as they frame lyrics with narrative drama." 
The old bearded man in the lecture hall 
teaches students how to encode memories. 
People watch movies on computer screens 
to build new world order from civil wars. 

Blood-Red Eyeball

Blood-Red Eyeball
© Surazeus
2024 02 22

The blood-red eyeball gleaming in the sky 
glares down at me with melancholy love 
that sends stark shivers to my aching heart 
at memory of strange moments in my life 
that vanished from this world long years ago 
and leaves me empty by the singing stream. 

The blood-red moon that always watches me 
reflects dim faces of people I loved 
who silently now stare beyond my face 
till I become invisible to time, 
and grope among sharp weeds by bitter rocks 
to find the name I lost in shadowed light. 

Lost in looped replay of events long past, 
in which I cringe at how heart-broken angst 
expressed outrage through words of bitter hope 
that drove the good people I love away, 
I huddle in cold numbness of despair 
and hide my face in blood-glow of the moon. 

Inhaling cold breath of the blood-red moon, 
who sneers at my ambition to survive 
cruel mockery of people I would trust, 
I stand on windy heath by singing stream, 
determined to knock on locked door of hope, 
and smile with real sweetness my heart contains. 

The blood-red beauty of my aching heart, 
pierced by sharp arrow of his mocking words, 
radiates from core of my feverish soul 
in rippling waves of anguish that contort 
my wretched frame of flesh, stung by cold rain 
that drains my sorrow in the starless void. 

Blinded by blood-red moon in cloud-black sky, 
I cannot find trustworthy tree of truth 
where we once tangled our bodies in tryst, 
when he would give me warm loaf of his love 
to nourish passion of my hungry soul, 
so I eat purple thistles of despair. 

The bright-eyed boy who plucked apples of faith 
during secret trysts under Tree of Trust, 
has become poisonous serpent of rage 
whose sharp words wound my heart with disbelief 
that he would curse me whom he claimed to love, 
then abandon me to wander dark nights. 

The blood-red eyeball of the mocking moon 
glows with bright indifference of arrogance 
to suck my soul in fevered flames of fear 
as I sink mute in darkness of the void 
that swallows me in nothingness of faith 
till I am nothing but moonlight on mud. 

Stop Global Genocide

Stop Global Genocide
© Surazeus
2024 02 22

Because mute shadow hanging in the tree 
grins down at me with subtle discontent 
with reference to bloody land of the free, 
I hurry home to pay the monthly rent, 
then read global news about genocide 
committed by the king blinded by pride. 

After the Lion of Judah is killed, 
Samson digs hands into carcass of hope 
to retrieve honey for the hungry guild 
who hangs the traitor from the legal rope 
in fruitless effort to stop genocide 
while clowns beat drums made of elephant hide. 

Mad king in glass tower on hill of skulls 
laughs when he shoots lasers at satellites 
so people around the world stare at gulls 
since phones no longer contact holy knights 
who still conduct religious genocide 
to honor the princess who never cried. 

Relaxed in hot spring by the mountain cave, 
I ponder beauty of eternal light 
that glitters sweet on each atomic wave 
which motivates my questionable flight 
because I attempt to stop genocide 
that diplomats and judges try to hide. 

With oracular voice of the Glow Cloud 
I speak strange prophecy from the Void Mind 
that jolts my body with thoughts of the crowd 
to honor Freedom Fighter now confined 
by World Tyrant who commits genocide 
when he assassinates our Psychic Guide. 

So I will lie in bed and read the news 
while the white cat of peace purrs on my breast 
in my investigation to find clues 
about success or failure of my quest 
to stop the men committing genocide 
though I wrestle with mindless ocean tide. 

We cannot call each other on the phone 
so we become beasts roaming in the wild 
till I kneel with awe before the Moon Crone 
who teaches me secret name of the child 
who will fight to stop global genocide 
in Garden of Eden through apartheid. 

Wandering in grove where cherry blossoms bloom, 
the cosmic herald contemplates his plan 
to help humanity evade its doom 
through unlearned lessons of the Fisherman 
who terminates their global genocide 
to honor heart-felt wish of his soul bride. 

Important Wizards Of Light

Important Wizards Of Light
© Surazeus
2024 02 21

We connect the people of every land 
with internet lines of the world wide web, 
and we power their homes with energy 
with electric lines of the power grid, 
so we are important Wizards of Light 
as power line operators of Earth. 

We erect poles across the lonely land 
on signless roads between ten thousand towns, 
mile after mile Waste Land to Wonderland, 
from crowded city maze to treeless plain, 
for we are important Wizards of Light 
who weave people of Earth in one world mind. 

After Zeus cracks our power poles with lightning 
that disconnects you from soul of the Earth, 
we drive white trucks in foul weather and fair 
to rise in bucket of the service crane, 
for we are important Wizards of Light 
who reconnect you with our nimble hands. 

We work in cold wind and glaring hot sun, 
we work in rain and beautiful sunlight, 
and we work in the darkest stormy night, 
rising toward Heaven on wings of desire, 
for we are important Wizards of Light 
who make sure that you will always have power. 

From the highest point of the power pole 
I can see vast web of connected lines 
that weave our souls in matrix of one mind 
so we can sympathize with everyone, 
for we are important Wizards of Light 
who keep your smart phones glowing day and night. 

Though people lived millennia in small towns, 
isolated in farms, temples, and shops, 
now we communicate with anyone 
who lives anywhere on our spinning globe, 
for we are important Wizards of Light 
who hold high Torch of Liberty with pride. 

Today we are gathered with broken hearts 
to remember Ray who was struck by lightning, 
and is now stringing lines Heaven to Earth 
so God might just answer some of our prayers, 
for we are important Wizards of Light 
sending our friend home on wings of respect. 

Though you barely see us as you drive by 
on your way to work, school, bar, church, or store, 
we keep you connected with sizzling wires 
so you can fulfill purpose of your fate, 
for we are important Wizards of Light 
who gaze down at you from high clouds of faith. 

Our World Is A Beautiful Place

Our World Is A Beautiful Place
© Surazeus
2024 02 21

Though children are dying in every land 
because men want to steal more living room 
for their children to prosper and succeed, 
I realize Nature is indifferent 
to whether any creature lives or dies 
because our world is a beautiful place. 

Though faithful believers in every land 
pray to their version of God in the Sky 
to bless their nation with prosperity, 
I realize no god floating on the clouds 
can hear or act upon their fervent prayers 
because our world is a beautiful place. 

Though clever men in every crowded land 
assert authority to rule our lives 
based on divine right bestowed by their God, 
I realize they perform their social role 
on authority of their strength to kill 
because our world is a beautiful place. 

Though kind shepherds in every fertile land 
defeat cruel tyrants and their gangs of thieves 
to serve Justice through liberty for all, 
I realize dynasties of their bold sons 
become tyrants who kill to rule by law 
because our world is a beautiful place. 

Though children born in tribes of every land 
respect each other on the school playground 
without prejudice against other kinds, 
I realize they adapt religious views 
that teach they must destroy others to live 
because our world is a beautiful place. 

Though solemn worshippers in every land 
adore the Holy Virgin and her Child 
who embodies perfect God of the stars, 
I realize they comply with empire goals 
to kill the families of their enemies 
because our world is a beautiful place. 

Though gentle saviors rise in every land 
to challenge rule of the vast police state 
and give people right to rule their own lives, 
I realize tyrants will assassinate 
messiah sleuths who dare expose their crimes 
because our world is a beautiful place. 

Though nationalist fascists in every land 
fight to conserve values their fathers contrived 
to exploit working people to gain wealth, 
I realize they will fall from height of pride 
before our United Nations of Earth 
because our world is a beautiful place. 

Voice Of The Stars

Voice Of The Stars
© Surazeus
2024 02 20

When I see the black raven flap upward 
into bare branches of the tall oak tree 
that glows orange from early evening sunrays, 
I wonder why I feel significance 
of timeless fate electrify my heart 
that role I play will somehow change the world. 

Though I feel the whole universe shift slightly 
with slow revolving of Earth through the void, 
time passes with no change I can discern 
beyond subtle sense of strangeness that jolts 
my fragile body with angst of desire 
to dream this hour beyond eternity. 

Instead of walking out door of my home 
and striding forth on road of destiny 
to play my role on public stage of fortune, 
I sit at desk of my conceptual faith 
to type constructive keys of magic spells 
that conjure virtual world from memory. 

In vision of this world my eyes project 
I see eight billion human beings perform 
special roles their race and gender require 
as they attempt to express their free will 
in social context of flexible fate 
that traps us in personas we create. 

When Death erases me from dream of Earth, 
stark glow of light from spells I conjugate 
will gleam as trace of existence I cast, 
then fade into process of nothingness 
that once created me from its desire 
to experience pleasure of beauty in love. 

Though centuries have passed in flash of hope 
since that raven ascended to my tree, 
I feel my soul, awake life after life, 
converging from many gestural minds 
into my one brain of inflective faith 
subject to revelation of weird truth. 

When raven with vivacious attitude 
abstracts its spirit to become my soul, 
its energetic passion to know truth 
motivates my quest to transcend my state 
as I grow beyond nature of my being 
to become universal mind of light. 

With strict exuberant eloquence of joy 
I flap black wings of ardent solitude 
to rise above mute coffin of my home 
and soar beyond blind limits of my being 
so I can stand on Parnassus and sing 
magic spell of love in voice of the stars. 

Ask The Cloud Man

Ask The Cloud Man
© Surazeus
2024 02 19

The boy walks through glass door of vibrant sound 
to ask the Cloud Man ancient question why, 
but stumbles over sorrows on the ground 
which causes him to fall upward and fly, 
so he glides looping over maze of myths 
to dance ballet across gold monoliths. 

The girl waits in the bullet-riddled car 
to ask the Cloud Man to take her back home, 
but jester in the tower of the star 
leaps to his death from the Pantheon dome 
so she can transform into butterfly 
that lands on bowed head of the weeping spy. 

The boy follows his father in the boat 
to ask the Cloud Man for his secret name, 
but the turtle god teaches him to float 
with currents of fate beyond global fame, 
till he ponders in peace on Long Wind Sand 
while staring at the pistol in his hand. 

The girl weaves tapestry of noble deeds 
to ask the Cloud Man for his favorite tale, 
but throws her artwork in the whistling reeds, 
convinced that she is always doomed to fail, 
till she watches the invisible breeze 
compose shadows and light of humming trees. 

The boy runs from the rumbling demon tank 
to ask the Cloud Man how to evade death, 
but ascends to the highest army rank 
by always solving social shibboleth, 
so he declares himself king of the world 
till second coming of the cosmic herald. 

The girl becomes Fairy Queen in Stonehenge 
to ask the Cloud Man how babies are made, 
but journeys south to find vale of the orange 
that heals her soul in time for her parade, 
so she climbs Pyramid of the One Eye 
with honest intention to at least try. 

The boy measures circle of the God Mind 
to ask the Cloud Man how he perceives time, 
but feels atomic sparkle love designed 
evolve as wingless angel from sea slime, 
till he invents the ideogram of thought 
which he carves on walls of the ziggurat. 

The girl creates my body from her heart 
to ask the Cloud Man if I will succeed, 
but works all day formatting the star chart 
so I can battle all tyrants of greed, 
and thus we save the world with each new spell 
that springs from fountain of the forest well. 

Words I Sing Glow

Words I Sing Glow
© Surazeus
2024 02 19

Though I am sure my head is big enough 
to contain the whole universe of stars, 
I watch gold glow of sunset rays on oaks 
that listen to weird stories in my head 
replay lives my dead ancestors performed 
while strolling past houses their neighbors built. 

By morning all the shocking pendulums 
that stop me at conceptual gate of time 
process what happens in the blank abyss 
so when I stand before idol of God 
I direct traffic of fast motorcars 
so no one gets lost in the labyrinth. 

I would elect infinity of truth 
to go accomplish on the windy plain 
what only children understand is real 
till pixels allocate the new sublime 
for everyone to purchase at the shop 
when planes roar overhead with silver bombs. 

Forever passionate about world art 
that must depict the true state of affairs, 
we secretly report to the police 
dreadful thoughts horses try to hide from us 
though we are lost on field trip to acquire 
most expensive diamond my mother stole. 

Lounging on grassy hill by forest pool, 
Cernunnos wants to know where I have been, 
so I hide that I worship the White Owl 
who teaches me her liberal principles 
so I respect free will of every soul, 
and lie that I was gathering honeycombs. 

Yet bells of morning mispronounce my name 
because strange plans of hope now germinate 
from murky vision of invading keys, 
so with amoral urge to rule the world 
I foment revolutions against kings 
to break the chains of tyrants on our minds. 

Despite stark spoilage of the broken plan, 
I climb recessive rack of worried clouds 
to gaze into abyss of my whole heart 
while I fry fish on crackling flames of faith 
to feed five million refugees of war 
who tremble terrified of falling bombs. 

With lazy bones through spirit of the wolf 
I disappear in secret of my name 
so only seeds of dreams my brain broadcasts 
remain as traces of my flaming soul 
that flickers out in darkness of lost time 
though words I sing glow long after I die. 

Paint World Of Forms

Paint World Of Forms
© Surazeus
2024 02 18

Ripples from small rock he throws in the lake 
vibrate with song of birds in wind-swayed trees, 
yet flowers for the dead along the path 
explain how his conscious mind turns to dust 
when orange sunset glows among bare oak limbs 
to dissolve the world of forms into dreams. 

Pulling leather gloves over his soft hands, 
the boy digs narrow holes in soggy soil, 
hammers thick poles till they stand tall as trees, 
then winds barbed-wire around them in long coils, 
all while ravens in huge oaks by the lake 
discuss the world of forms that clutter dreams. 

Strolling among bare oaks on dusty road, 
he thinks they are listening to his thoughts, 
so he remembers when his mother laughs 
while digging cabbages, carrots, and beets 
to boil vegetable stew on iron stove 
which adjusts the world of forms to fit dreams. 

Strange quiet of the evening haunts the field 
where horses swish their tails in lonely breeze 
till sorrow hides in shadows of tall oaks 
that lingers vaguely over unmarked grave 
where no one of interest waits for the moon 
to conjure the world of forms from false dreams. 

Deep blueness of the lake reflects the sky 
where clouds become dark shadow of his heart 
despite how long the boy sits by the oak 
to watch how birds dive swift with clarity 
and spear the wriggling fish with ardent faith 
in visions the world of forms weaves from dreams. 

Smiling with beauty that dazzles his eyes, 
the blonde girl pours apple juice in the glass 
and gives it to him with elegant grace, 
so he reaches out to caress her cheeks 
but the deer she turns into flees away 
back to the world of forms clouding his dreams. 

The woman who became pillar of salt 
waits by the rippling lake for him to come, 
while grief of loss from death burns in her heart 
as ghost that searches for his startled face 
when idol of beauty crumbles to dust 
that shadows world of forms crushing his dreams. 

While the girl in pink gown with fairy wings 
dances ballet among sunset-gold trees, 
the boy in blue jeans with furry wolf ears 
plays violin to spark the summer storm 
till they embrace in drama of desire 
that would paint world of forms based on his dreams. 

I Try To Transform

I Try To Transform
© Surazeus
2024 02 18

As I construct vast labyrinth of dreams 
from which I plan to escape with weird words 
I try to transform from rat to the wolf 
but get stuck in between as human being 
who sings to translate anguish into joy 
while running from bombs of tyrants and kings. 

Yet when the stage curtain comes down to hide 
my clumsy performance from judging eyes 
I try to transform from clown to the king 
but get stuck as farmer ploughing the field 
where swords of soldiers rust in shattered skulls 
while slaving for whims of tyrants and kings. 

Still the troubadour on the signless road 
searching for garden of beautiful girls, 
I try to transform from fool to the priest 
but get stuck as pianist in empty church 
where idol of god stares blankly at me 
evading duty to tyrants and kings. 

Reluctant to leave Realm of Consciousness 
where angels hammer words from fluid thoughts, 
I try to transform from rake to the seer 
but get stuck as sad romance novelist 
depicting our tangled relationships 
that break oppression of tyrants and kings. 

To manage zoo of voiceless animals 
whose wordless songs rely on hopeful rhyme 
I try to transform from clerk to the artist 
but get stuck as grim sales executive 
tasked to scam simple people of their faith 
by secret orders of tyrants and kings. 

When Hector drives fast chariot of war 
to defend Heaven against Beelzebub, 
I try to transform from horse to the car 
but get stuck as mute temple janitor 
who mops up blood after the sacrifice 
for gluttonous feasts of tyrants and kings. 

Because the golden-billed saltator knows 
the price of dancing in the waterfall, 
I try to transform from king to the god 
who claims he created the universe 
from nothing with one word of truth he speaks, 
but get stuck in roles of tyrants and kings. 

Exploring maze of dreams Ariadne wove 
from light rays beaming from first flash of love, 
I try to transform from man to the angel 
who transcends material nature of being, 
but get stuck as me, and nobody else, 
recording foul crimes of tyrants and kings. 

Anti-Christ Preacher

Anti-Christ Preacher
© Surazeus
2024 02 18

To catch my breath from running signless road 
across bleak waste land of cultural affairs 
I pause before the house with many doors 
to chat philosophy with the sad maid 
who gives me sacred Holy Grail she found 
thrown in the trash by the proud son of Grendel. 

Tight wound in lithe coils of conceptual words, 
weird energy of angst sparks in my heart 
complex events played out in psychic court, 
social visions coded by tarot cards 
that reveal motivations of the rich 
who kneel with reverence before their teacher. 

Deep down in lake of sad monsters I dive 
to find their mother lounging on the couch 
while her children chase humans on the beach, 
so I face my fears in shadowy cave 
to save humanity from its own greed 
since Earth is inherited by the breeder. 

Wretched as our miserable lives must be, 
struggling against hostile forces of hope, 
I attempt to map our mental landscape 
to find where evil tyrants go to pray, 
because we build religion on the tomb 
where our prophet once taught us to be humble. 

Alone in vast metropolitan maze, 
where idols of gods go about their lives 
with the joyful laughter of honest thieves 
rich from worship of men fooled by their ruse, 
I swerve from stereotype to choose my fate 
determined by mindless atoms of Nature. 

Ascending high pyramid of blind seers, 
I gaze through diamond eye of inner sight 
to see how humans think they choose their fate 
because they use computers and drive cars 
in game to see who dies with the most cash 
as we attempt to transcend evolution. 

Entranced by vision of the mushroom ghost, 
I dance and chant around wild flames of truth, 
then crown myself emperor of soul faith 
to reign in feast temple as divine host, 
alive on Earth that spins from the first flash 
to grow from empires to United Nations. 

When laughing skull of Hamlet wakes my mind 
to view grand flow of human history, 
I see how the wealthy use trickery 
to control people with their social brand, 
till I claim right to the Perilous Seat 
and tour the world as the anti-christ preacher. 

Lost In The Story Maze

Lost In The Story Maze
© Surazeus
2024 02 17

I keep losing my name in the dry grass 
though I eat the body of God in mass 
while fog creeps in the silent city streets 
to hide the old man still counting receipts 
who alone can hear the heart-broken cry 
of the starving girl whose mother will die. 

Another black Ford trundles past the house 
where the drunk woman waits for her sad spouse 
to return home on the long midnight train 
that slithers serpentinely through blue rain 
while the white raven who knows the star code 
records my journey on the signless road. 

The saddest saxophone song on the world 
that calls for coming of the cosmic herald 
wraps rope of wisdom around my sore throat 
though I huddle cold in thin tattered coat 
while dreaming about mansion on the hill 
where the movie director steals my quill. 

The ghost horse in gray rain looks in my heart 
while I invent the world with new star chart 
to prove the tyrant on the throne of gold 
steals back fertile land he already sold 
when he urges us to storm the Bastille 
then therapize how we all really feel. 

After fighting thieves at the lone saloon 
that shelters travelers from the blood moon, 
two cowboys on horses with dragon wings 
ride into the sunset where Aisling sings 
which inspires the boys in the mountain camp 
to worship the girl who bears the dream lamp. 

Tough gangster in fedora and striped suit 
listens to the flapper girl play the flute 
then whips out his pistol with sneering grin 
to show his lover he will always win 
but silver bullet fired by the blind priest 
devolves his spirit to the snarling beast. 

The banker who invests his cash in stocks 
investigates the mine of shiny rocks 
with plan to build new railroad coast to coast 
though even the whores believe not his boast 
till his wife finds him passed out on the lawn 
since he wrestled the angel before dawn. 

I keep finding my name in unsold books 
that sit proudly on shelves of honest crooks 
who are loyal to their boss Lucifer 
long opposed to Governor Jupiter 
over who owns vale where the cattle graze 
till they all get lost in the story maze. 

So I Can Calculate

So I Can Calculate
© Surazeus
2024 02 17

Though thousands of birds fly across the sky 
as shadows of my hopes and fears I hide, 
I sit still in the ceaseless flow of time 
to measure degree of each minute change 
that occurs in matrix of the landscape 
so I can calculate future events. 

With gradual equilibrium of change, 
expressing progress from subtle desire, 
internal energy spirals through coils 
that swirl throughout my body as hot blood 
which embodies expanding wings of light 
so I can calculate where I should go. 

Unsure of just what ultimate results 
may ensue as consequence of my act, 
I rein aggressive passion of my will 
to charge with bold indifference to my death 
while I observe how actions cause effects 
so I can calculate how I will play. 

Observing nature of objects I see, 
with keen attention to shape of their force, 
to pinpoint origin of their intent, 
I analyze what motivates their act 
which projects path of energetic will 
so I can calculate where they will go. 

Arranging puzzle of facts I observe 
within framework of theory I design 
by adjusting concepts they imitate, 
I formulate patterns of kindred types 
to paint big picture the small parts reflect 
so I can calculate the truth from lies. 

When I sense essence of the universe 
that spirals from first flash of the big bang 
to compose planets of mixed chemicals, 
I envision how atoms interact 
to generate life from pool of phosphate 
so I can calculate our divine light. 

Watching animals flock across the land, 
birds across the sky, and fish in the sea, 
I feel creative energy of Earth 
manifest passion for positive love 
in each creature who dreams itself awake 
so I can calculate process of hope. 

Awake inside this fragile frame of flesh 
that has evolved four hundred million years 
from fish to wingless angel who can sing, 
I dwell at peace with person I love most 
in home we construct with vision of faith 
so I can calculate my hour of death. 

Wild Sparkle Of Mirth

Wild Sparkle Of Mirth
© Surazeus
2024 02 16

Shivering trees on steep rocky hillslope 
explain to the little boy with sore feet 
how he can purchase from horned goat new hope 
for healing wisdom of the purple beet 
which he digs up from sorrow of the Earth 
to find again the wild sparkle of mirth. 

The woodpecker piercing core of his mind 
reveals to the little boy with three eyes 
how the girl with nine eyes is always kind 
so he walks to the vale where the crow cries 
with anguish of wisdom from swirling clouds 
to discuss nature of truth with milk cows. 

Alone on muddy pasture of his heart 
with spirit of the wolf, the little boy 
collects apples and mushrooms for his cart 
to purchase in town market ancient joy 
for his mother to taste before she dies, 
but he gets lost in woods of lonely flies. 

Advanced beyond shadow of the hillcrest 
with curious passion to observe Nowhere, 
the little boy, sent on his noble quest, 
stands surprised before the glittering stair 
that winds beyond infinity of faith, 
beckoned forth by eye-sparkle of the wraith. 

The world now cluttered with buildings and cars, 
resembling chessboard of churches and stores, 
recedes from silent horror of the stars 
that frees our mothers from their anxious doors, 
as the little boy climbs above it all, 
then wanders in to the gold heavenly hall. 

Standing before Zeus on his diamond throne, 
amused by pomposity of that god, 
the little boy with mobile telephone 
films thunder-hurling deity and squad 
which he posts on his social media site 
so his buddies can see that he was right. 

Asking for swift chariot that Phaethon drove, 
so he can tour the world as Superstar, 
the little boy cooks oatmeal on the stove, 
but races Hennessey Venom too far 
and finds himself carless in Neverland 
where he marries daughter of Peter Pan. 

Raising their nine daughters to play the Muse 
for lonely poets in vast city maze, 
the little boy, still young by magic ruse, 
thinks he will transition to the next phase 
when he dies, and ascend on wings to Heaven, 
but he rots to dirt in cave of the Raven. 

So Much Depends Upon

So Much Depends Upon
© Surazeus
2024 02 16

So much depends upon a wooden horse 
buried in rubble of the bombed-out house 
where voices of children echo in wind 
that clears black smoke away after sunset 
when flames have burned all their bodies to ash 
that settles on surface of clean new cars. 

So much depends upon a cracked guitar 
fallen behind the stage riddled with bullets 
where bodies that were dancing in the sun 
at the free-wheeling music festival 
now sleep without dreams in indifferent weeds 
that vibrate with songs no angels can sing. 

So much depends upon a tattered book 
half-burned by flames of arrogant disdain, 
lone survivor from library collection 
assembled by the scholar many years 
to preserve ancient folk songs of the desert 
that lament loss of family and home. 

So much depends upon a blurry photo 
sent by text message to all journalists 
that depicts young mother and her three children 
still alive somewhere in dark tunnel room 
along with demand for outrageous ransom, 
now pinned to the wall for two hundred days. 

So much depends upon an empty suitcase, 
abandoned on platform of the train station, 
that contains no clothes, books, or photographs 
preserving memories of some nameless people 
who fled the bright blast of exploding bombs 
which deconstructs rites of society. 

So much depends upon a new-washed dress 
flapping in a spring breeze on the clothes line 
beside charred ruins of the humble home 
where mother baked chicken and apple pie 
with hands that lie severed by the locked door 
which stands alone in sudden gust of rain. 

So much depends upon a baseball cap 
smeared with blood that tumbles on the sidewalk 
when crowd of panicking people escape 
spray of bullets fired by the young man 
angry at government conspiracies 
real only in delusion of his greatness. 

So much depends upon a mobile phone 
connecting billions of perceptive brains 
in global network of one human mind 
that argues over what is right and wrong 
to fight oppression of tyrants and kings 
so every soul lives by choice of free will. 

Voice Of Wind

Voice Of Wind
© Surazeus
2024 02 15

While Shiva meditates in mountain cave, 
and the Wife of Bath drinks wine by the lake, 
Bilal bin Rabah stands on the Kaaba 
and calls out with voice of wind on sand dunes 
for people of the world to pause their work 
and gaze at beauty of empty Blue Sky. 

While Rumi chants verses of the Masnavi, 
and Minerva hunts in Silva Ciminia, 
Saraswati strums veena tunes and chants 
marriage between Shatarupa and Manu 
to celebrate creation of Telluria 
where humans fight over Garden of Eden. 

While Lao Tzu composes the Tao Te Ching, 
and King Lear cradles Cordelia with tears, 
Onatah plants corn with courteous hands 
which sprout from ruins of factories and banks 
as children of rivals play games of chase 
to share apples in Shenandoah Valley. 

While Sobek guards ziggurat of world god, 
and Iduna bakes apple pies in winter, 
Anahita bears tall pitcher of water 
to fill cups of worshippers in the temple 
where monkeys type stories of tragic heroes 
who smoke cigarettes in the pouring rain. 

While Thespis wears horned mask of the wild goat, 
and Lakshmi counts gold coins from sale of hope, 
Perun plays chess with Odin for our souls 
in thousand-year war for the heart of Zorya 
who tends apple trees on the Black Sea shore 
that grow through rusty tanks still stuck in mud. 

While Manawat weaves tapestry of fate, 
and Brigid leads children gathering eggs, 
Jehovah pilots silk hot-air balloon, 
pillar of smoke by day and fire by night, 
to drop bombs on the groves of olive trees 
where genies illustrate prayer manuscripts. 

While Kwan Yin gives peach juice to thirsty souls, 
and Anansi builds radio satellites, 
Kaveh the blacksmith climbs Mount Damavand 
to lead world revolution against Greed 
when Zahak and King Midas steal the land 
where farmers grow wheat with honorable hands. 

While Jesus feeds five thousand with whale meat, 
and Buddha meditates by the fig tree, 
the Cosmic Herald, bearing Torch of Truth, 
appears as Hidden Dragon from world war 
to create United Nations of Earth 
based on Liberty and Justice for all. 

Return To Hyrcania Sea

Return To Hyrcania Sea
© Surazeus
2024 02 15

Though I was born in land of Oregon, 
eight thousand miles from homeland of my heart 
in Hyrcania, land of silver-eyed wolves, 
I hear spirit of Anahita call me 
with whisper of morning wind in oak leaves 
to return on wings of hope to her groves. 

Strumming guitar and singing tales of hope, 
I journey east from lush land of my birth 
to cross the mighty Mississippi River 
just after I turn thirty-one years old 
and travel to windy Miami Beach 
so I can return to Hyrcania Sea. 

This current game of national politics, 
fought between descendants from John of Gaunt 
over who rules the American Empire, 
dissipates in the flowing winds of change 
that sweep around the Earth ten thousand years 
which lingers as mist in Hyrcania Woods. 

As global tides of political change 
upend institutions of old world orders, 
I long to return to Hyrcania Sea 
where I can walk in quiet misty woods 
and sing heart-aching hymns of changeless love 
for Anahita, sweet bride of my heart. 

Bright-eyed Sura Anahita, my bride, 
bears clay jar with water from well of dreams, 
with lotus flower that blooms from her heart, 
as she enters temple I built from stone 
to fill our cups with fresh water of life 
that sparkles in rain on Hyrcania Sea. 

Wise daughter of two world-nourishing rivers, 
Saraswati and Brahma of the east, 
and Sarah and Abraham of the west, 
Anahita gives me gold jeweled grail 
full of grape juice that fountains from the Earth, 
and bids me drink soul of Hyrcania Sea. 

The sunlit waters of Hyrcania Sea, 
though eight thousand miles from land of my birth, 
nurtures ancient blood that flows in my veins 
and sparkles in faith of my dreaming eyes, 
so, though I never return in this life 
to Hyrcania Sea, she glows in my heart. 

Forever glowing as sea of my heart, 
Hyrcania Sea energizes my soul 
with passion to savor beauty of life, 
and value treasures of this fertile Earth, 
yet wherever I roam in America 
I dream I return to Hyrcania Sea. 

Endless Maze Of Hope

Endless Maze Of Hope
© Surazeus
2024 02 14

The battery-powered flame of my heart, 
which motivates my journey to the west, 
compels my body to perform its role 
in rigid lockstep with conceptual fate 
I was assigned by blind man in the tower, 
so I swerve to evade sharp blade of Death. 

Trapped in the wings Daedalus wove for me, 
I stumble off the tower of desire 
and fly on bitter attitude of faith 
to steal sacred fruit from the Tree of Life 
that sprouts from corpses of the war-time dead 
so I can meet my ancestors in Hell. 

In desert of my lonely fortitude 
I kneel before the Aloe vera plant 
to worship Goddess of the Holy Juice 
that fills my brain with pulsing rays of light 
which gives me strength to walk the signless road 
past highway overpass where clowns drink beer. 

Pine trees in mountains of New Mexico 
dream my shadow flitting between their thoughts 
so they whisper the secret of true love 
in gentle breeze that ruffles my long hair 
while I sit on large stone in sunlit grove 
and sing to the dead with rusty guitar. 

For I have heard the terror in the wall 
while crawling on the mountain of despair 
so many times I integrate its tune 
in sacred hymns I write on broken stone 
then race swift chariot on the plain of pride 
to shoot bold arrow of authority. 

Yet no one finds what they are looking for 
when we drive down south to Scarborough Fair 
despite the way the jester photographs 
faces of strangers on the city street 
which are displayed on blank museum walls 
depicting criminals with gentle smiles. 

The two best friends who chat on field of war 
give each other cameras with secret codes 
so they can photograph the faceless dead 
who disappear in stories of the Book 
because they want to share beautiful love 
in heart-breaking song of the nightingale. 

I lounge and eat sweet apple of delight 
till I remember the terrible news 
that millions of faceless people with eyes 
are trapped inside the endless maze of hope 
with no way to escape rockets of hate 
that erase their souls from dream time of Earth. 

Write My Name On Water

Write My Name On Water
© Surazeus
2024 02 14

While attempting to write my name on water 
I fall out of the fishing boat of faith 
and almost drown in swirling sea of truth, 
so I cry out to angels in the sky 
but the demon girl is the only one 
who reaches out her hand to rescue me. 

Dragging my corpse from the slough of despond, 
the demon girl with eyes of flaming love 
stabs raven quill into my trembling heart 
so terror of death flows out of my brain 
that sparks my soul awake from nothingness 
to sing with inspiration of her glare. 

Guiding me along the bright ocean beach, 
that ever shifts my sense of security, 
the demon girl with mane of tangled hair 
takes me to cave of illusions where ghosts 
dance around me as shadows on the wall 
who mock me with wild laughter of the damned. 

Some fifty thousand years later I wake 
as me today in body of their dream 
for I descend from daughter of their love 
whose spirit dominates how I perceive 
this clunky planet spinning in the void 
as she animates every song I sing. 

So when I walk down to the ocean shore 
and stare at shimmer of light on dark waves 
I feel her ancient energy of hope 
motivate how I play my social role 
as witch who slays fierce dragon of the deep 
and sings sacred hymns in the feasting hall. 

When fierce thunderstorm from the angry sea 
hurls incoherent rage at fragile souls, 
I invite them to shelter in my hall 
where each one steps before the altar stone 
with fish or creature I roast over flames 
so they can share communal feast of faith. 

I stand before the crowd on empty stage, 
face lit silver by spotlight of the moon, 
and sing creation of the universe 
that spirals from first flash of the big bang 
to generate our bodies in the sea 
so we rise from lake of dreams in starlight. 

Longing to return to her temple hall, 
I kneel in sand on shore of the Black Sea 
and write my name on water of lost time 
so songs of my heart weave into its waves 
and flow with Tellurian currents of love 
when I return to body of the Earth. 

Curse Of The White Raven

Curse Of The White Raven
© Surazeus
2024 02 13

Curse of the white raven in the rose bush 
turns on the television in the bar 
so holy warriors watch the soccer game 
to avoid talking about genocide 
through institutional neutrality 
while they consume strawberry root beer floats. 

Gold glow of sunset through winter-bare trees 
contrives strange memory of timeless love 
two people share while baking apple pie 
despite the unexploded bomb of truth 
that lies forgotten in the field of cows 
till second coming of the circus clown. 

The sad peacock in the gas station lot 
waits for the Queen of Heaven to buy chips 
because her daughter ran away from school 
though she likes to photograph the old men 
who play chess all afternoon in the park 
while the blind robot guards the holy book. 

The boy in the metal boat on Blood Lake 
thinks about the girl who dances ballet 
while holding the fishing rod in both hands, 
ready to slay Cetus to save her life 
while in the train station Death plays the flute 
that drives senators mad with lust for war. 

The Swedish girl in the straw cowboy hat 
walks jungle trail where purple flowers bloom 
to ask the chicken on the rusty car 
about ontology of double speak 
while sipping coffee ground from bones of gods 
who dance on pyramid of diamond eyes. 

As mute subjective spectator of objects 
I beam with passion for being in the world 
now here in nowhere of revolving time 
through stark authenticity of desire 
while I question if I am real, and here, 
because with my body I sense pure light. 

Walking across Bridge of Forgetfulness 
with the dead whose names are now silver fish 
that swim beyond infinity of wheels, 
I lie as if dead on library steps 
while the ballet dancer in bloody gown 
reads last poem of the man killed in the war. 

With intimacy of knowledge we drink wine 
while bombs fall onto houses somewhere else 
despite the white butterfly with God Mind 
appointing cosmic herald to preserve 
the sacred right to vote for every soul 
who stares at white raven in the rose bush. 

Brutal Wars Of Genocide

Brutal Wars Of Genocide
© Surazeus
2024 02 12

Each rain drop that flows down the window pane 
reflects timeless light rays from the first star 
that gleamed after first flash of the big bang, 
so I feel with each deep pulse of my heart 
relentless waves of psychic energy 
that ripple across the whole universe. 

Since I was born near sixty years ago 
millions of people all around the world 
have died in brutal wars of genocide 
while I hitchhiked across this strange new land 
and played songs about journey of the soul 
to build safe haven in chaotic Hell. 

My ancestors sailed across the wild sea, 
seeking Heaven four hundred years ago, 
to escape genocide of holy wars 
when kings in castles, claiming divine right 
bestowed by God, slaughtered innocent people 
who refused to bow before jeweled crowns. 

Still men who claim they are the Hand of God, 
commissioned to erect their nation-state 
on bones of people who oppose their power, 
attack their brothers to destroy their souls 
as they eradicate them from the Earth 
so children of their clan have room to play. 

Each apple blooming from the Tree of Life 
that sprouts from Garden of Eden with hope 
converts vast desert waste lands of despair 
into lush paradise where people dwell 
in peaceful harmony of honest faith, 
though only in vision I would make real. 

Millions of people in jungles and deserts, 
displaced by roving gangs of greedy men, 
crowd at barbed-wire fence of bitter despair 
in Jahannam, and by the River Styx, 
for they are pawns stuck on chess board of power, 
sacrificed by men in mansions of gold. 

No guardian angels in silver air planes 
descend from clouds of Heaven, sent by God, 
to rescue people trapped in maze of Hell, 
and fly them safely to the Promised Land 
where they could build new homes from secret dreams 
to raise their children killed by bombs of hate. 

Each body buried in indifferent Earth 
contains unique genetic signature 
that never again will grow as conscious life, 
so all their memories of beauty and love 
vanish in light rays from the eyeless star 
that watches us live and die without care. 

Gordon Flies To The Stars

Gordon Flies To The Stars
© Surazeus
2024 02 12

The old warrior, clutching his battle ax, 
its blade nicked and bent from many wild battles, 
stumbles dizzily over moss-slick stones 
to cross the silver sparkling fairy stream 
but sinks to boggy heath among tall thistles, 
and shivers with rage as he pants for breath. 

From painful infection piercing his chest 
the old warrior, shivering on river stones, 
shakes with body-wracking coughs of despair, 
then spits bloody mucus on shining muck, 
and wipes his nose with clumps of stinging moss, 
then heaves his body back on trembling legs. 

"I will not die," Gordon snarls in cold drizzle, 
"like some helpless cow fallen in the field, 
its stiff legs sticking up at smirking clouds, 
so I will seek out the most evil man 
who has escaped damning justice of God, 
and make myself instrument of revenge." 

Swinging his dented battle ax with rage, 
the old warrior howls with dire voice of God 
as he smashes through wood gate of the castle 
to spread germs to the crowd with every cough, 
then shouts, "Douglas, you cowardly old fool, 
come out and fight me, you foul murderer." 

Smashing barrels of cider with his ax, 
and chopping bags of wheat on broken carts, 
the old warrior laughs when Douglas appears, 
then snarls, "You kidnapped my daughter Margrait, 
raped her and beat till she almost died, 
then cast her out to wander fields of snow." 

Sobbing with rage as he glares at his rival, 
the old warrior crouches and grips his ax, 
"And when I found her huddled in dark cave 
her beautiful face was bloody and bruised, 
and she was pregnant with your demon child, 
then she jumped off the cliff into the sea." 

Lunging forward in wild feverish rage 
like hornless bull who fought too many battles, 
fierce Gordon swings his rusty battle ax, 
but Douglas steps aside and raises high 
long sword well-honed to gleam with rays of death 
and hacks the old bull who bleeds in cold mud. 

Heaving the hacked body of the old warrior 
on rotten wood ship with curved dragon prow, 
Douglas leads his clan in chant of the dead, 
then fires arrow with flame to pierce his shield, 
and red flames writhe over the silver sea 
as wings on which Gordon flies to the stars. 

White Butterfly Of Hope

White Butterfly Of Hope
© Surazeus
2024 02 11

I follow the white butterfly of hope 
through endless crowded maze of city streets 
to find the person I can understand 
so I can care for them with loving words 
and help them as we walk the road of life 
to build our secret paradise in Hell. 

The white butterfly leads me to the house 
that sits alone on hill of singing skulls 
among the dancing rainbow willow trees 
who twirl ballet around the lake of fire 
where seven ravens on the empty tomb 
talk about beauty of blooming fruit trees. 

When the white butterfly lands on the moon 
where the red rabbit drives the swift sports car 
I hesitate before the flashing door 
outside the lonely house on hill of skulls 
to write my fake name in the book of deeds 
that skitters away in the mirror maze. 

Yet the white butterfly returns to Earth 
to land on bowed head of the lonely girl 
who sits with her mother on the pink couch 
sipping tea with lemon from cave of ghosts 
till she runs outside to the wine-dark sea 
where she floats in waves with her mermaid tail. 

The white butterfly flutters from her hair 
when I grab her hand with gentle concern 
and take her to grove of shadowy light 
where we embrace and kiss with tender trust 
then give each other names as we make love 
to generate ten thousand spinning worlds. 

Awake in mind of the white butterfly, 
I see whole vision of our multiverse 
that spirals from first flash of the big bang 
into planets that forge from chemicals 
conscious creatures who walk their spinning globes 
and sing about strange beauty they perceive. 

The white butterfly gleams deep in black eyes 
of the woman who gazes in my soul 
as we become one spirit of the Earth 
through four hundred million years of rebirth 
in bodies of strangers that multiply 
to sing and dance in global choir of souls. 

Face to face under blooming Tree of Life, 
brought together by the white butterfly 
from opposite sides of the spinning Earth, 
we celebrate our life in paradise 
that we construct from signing skulls of Hell 
till we disappear through eternity. 

Blood Of The Fallen Angel

Blood Of The Fallen Angel
© Surazeus
2024 02 11

The leaf that falls alone into my hand 
contains secret song of the fallen angel 
who walks beside me on the broken road 
with the radio that plays old Broadway tunes 
till he lies down on lost library steps 
to meditate on truth ten thousand years. 

The glass that glitters on the windowsill 
contains sacred tears of the fallen angel 
who watches silly television shows 
about the Air Force pilot and the clown 
engaged in dire missions to save the world 
from tyrants who try to control our brains. 

The painting of the white horse in the church 
contains cruel riddles of the fallen angel 
who attends the annual conference of poets 
to trick them with new rules for writing verse 
that confuse factory workers without hope 
to praise the princess on the elephant. 

The antenna on the old rugged cross 
contains mental dreams of the fallen angel 
who prances in the crowd on Christmas Eve 
to celebrate fall of the global empire 
that frees the people to fight civil wars 
over whose Jesus Idol is more real. 

The bridge that spans abyss of watching eyes 
contains false memories of the fallen angel 
who invites us to his house by the sea 
where his grandmother bakes us apple pie 
while we watch world war on the evening news 
over who will rule New Jerusalem. 

The jeweled crown I forged from dragon bone 
contains star power of the fallen angel 
who declares himself President for Life 
while his Knights of the Round Table arrest 
rebels against fascist authority 
that God bestows on him with Hand of Fate. 

The Holy Grail on my computer desk 
contains royal blood of the fallen angel 
who incarnates every three hundred years 
to reign as messiah with Word of Truth 
while his sons build castles on river hills 
to colonize the world with mindless faith. 

The quill that quivers lost on the sea strand 
contains strange stories of the fallen angel 
who waits for turning of the wheel of stars 
to rise as Hidden Dragon of world power 
and design United Nations of Earth 
based on justice and liberty for all. 

Her Last Tear Gleams

Her Last Tear Gleams
© Surazeus
2024 02 10

Picking wild flowers in garden of Hera 
that bloom along the Chattahoochee stream, 
I think about the little girl named Hind 
whose voice cries out to me as if in dream 
for help when men shoot bullets at her car 
as her last tear gleams with the morning star. 

Baking hot apple pies on winter eve, 
sprinkled with cinnamon like snow on trees, 
I wonder how my broken heart will grieve 
death of young girl in desert of red bees 
who trembles in the bullet-riddled car 
as her last tear gleams with the evening star. 

Pondering how to restore abortion rights 
since women should control their body health, 
I lie awake with Hind on lonely nights 
who watches wolves hunt her soul with sly stealth, 
clutching her dead cousin in bloody car 
as her last tear gleams with indifferent star. 

Listening to Moonlight Sonata express 
heart-aching sorrow of love for the dead, 
I long to help the young girl in distress 
who waits stranded with paralyzing dread 
while laughing men shoot bullets at her car 
as her last tear gleams with blood of the star. 

Eating waffles with strawberries and syrup 
then reading comics on the sunlit porch, 
I feel anguish of the heaven-sent cherub 
who searches smoky streets with frantic torch 
to rescue Hind from bullet-riddled car 
as her last tear gleams with the obscured star. 

Attending service in the solemn church 
with prayers to the Faceless in empty sky, 
I ask God lounging on his lofty perch 
with anguish of confusing wisdom why 
sweet Hind had to die alone in that car 
as her last tear gleams with the ancient star. 

Cheering my team at the Super Bowl game 
as star-eyed singer of social dissent, 
I leverage attention of global fame 
to lament slaughter of the innocent 
through elegy for dead girl in the car 
as her last tear gleams with forgotten star. 

Praying for innocent people killed in war 
on either side of the national fence, 
I sell people food in my grocery store 
to discuss paradox of self-defense 
when Hind is shot escaping in the car 
as her last tear gleams with the righteous star. 

Grim Avenging Angel

Grim Avenging Angel
© Surazeus
2024 02 09

Grim avenging angel, assigned by Death 
to kill the killers of innocent folk, 
strolls among shopping crowds on city streets, 
past children who play chase in city park 
and lovers who laugh by the fountain pool, 
to find the evil man who cheats and lies. 

The shadow of his vengeance passes by 
quaint homes where families share evening meals 
to find the businessman who goes to church 
counting money he scams from trusting fools 
when he tricks them into investing cash, 
and zaps his heart with anguish of his crime. 

The demon wings of his justice expand 
to hover over sprawling city maze 
where people thrive in game of give and take 
to find the pastor of the megachurch 
who sells salvation to buy the jetplane, 
and strangles him with horror of his greed. 

The laser beams of his perceptive gaze 
pierce perfect patriotic mask of smiles 
the politician wears when he describes 
his program to cut taxes for all workers 
while plotting to enslave the poor for profit, 
and causes him to drown in sea of tears. 

Though people try to hide their selfish greed 
behind shining mask of civility, 
grim avenging angel with gentle eyes 
exposes their evil deeds to the world 
so everyone can see crimes they commit 
when they stand before throne of moral truth. 

When dictators of sprawling nation-states 
crown themselves as strong presidents for life, 
grim avenging angel with sword of faith 
flies through thick darkness of the howling storm, 
fueled by justice in hearts of common men, 
to strike them down from pinnacle of power. 

Though they seem to tower over our lands 
as enormous monsters of fascist greed 
with rigid authority of state power, 
they always shatter from excessive pride 
and fall from throne to land crippled in Hell 
where they lie broken in forgotten grave. 

Grim avenging angel, assigned by Death 
to destroy oppressors who exploit men, 
drives courage of resistance in our hearts, 
so, united with moral fortitude, 
we enforce justice of transglobal law 
when we live as we will if we harm none. 

Apollo With Sandwiches

Apollo With Sandwiches
© Surazeus
2024 02 09

Because of jagged sunrays on the moon 
the young boy in the empty school classroom 
transforms the math book of dream formulas 
into secret codebook of foreign spies 
so he can translate jokes of cardinals 
who gather on phonelines with stolen keys. 

Enchanted by eerie cry of the loon 
that glides over heavenly swamp of doom, 
the young boy photographs grand orchestras 
who play symphonies for war refugees 
instead of mapping swirls of particles 
which highlight ambiguous truth of lies. 

As if to prove his brain is made of rain 
reflecting faces that all look the same, 
the young boy, who paints over mortgages 
with faces of demons to mimic glass crows, 
searches for magic rings in arsenals 
so he can enforce love in the world maze. 

Deciding everything we do is vain 
because nobody wants to stake their claim, 
the young boy inventories shortages 
for flashing televisions and yew bows 
which he leaves unlabeled in terminals 
where singing trains take us to the next phase. 

Because he deconstructs concepts of power 
by dissecting language to roots of terror, 
the young boy cooks mouse stew with radishes 
to feed starving people in leaky boats 
who play ghosts in lonely orphanages 
with courage of fools to ignore the Fates. 

Despite the peacock in the crystal tower 
that wears mask of his face in the cracked mirror, 
the young boy invents complex languages 
so no one ever asks him for the truth 
that he is Apollo with sandwiches 
selling insurance to the lost in faith. 

Concerned his brain is now functioning slower 
so none but the star witch can see his error, 
the young boy records lives of hostages 
who worship the blonde daughter of the sleuth 
though she loves to write science articles 
about how atoms constitute the wraith. 

Admiring wisdom of the wheat-seed sower 
who longs to become the global explorer, 
the young boy critiques stage performances 
that reveal crimes of presidents and kings 
who retire to secret haciendas 
after stealing our precious angel wings. 

Bold Complacency Of Power

Bold Complacency Of Power
© Surazeus
2024 02 08

If not the subtle rattle of their guns, 
nor sneering mockery of sincere jokes, 
what wail of mourning in heavenly choirs, 
or shrill dementia of reverent hymns 
could wake from bold complacency of power 
wealthy men who drink wine in their glass towers? 

Alone with cattle on dark western plains, 
drinking sorrow in bars by endless roads, 
they stare at clouds that bleed on fractured screens, 
and grip their guns with the terror of thieves 
at impending invasion of wild hordes 
who swarm across bleak waste land of their faith. 

Without their anger to sustain their faith, 
or bitter resentment at what they lose 
to hordes of hungry thieves in fields of crops, 
what sign of their superiority 
could they cling to with ideology 
that proves their right to land their fathers stole? 

Still haunted by false memories of pride 
in noble greatness of their honest clan 
that glows as illusions through simple tales 
about how they once conquered evil goons, 
they gather in stadiums of sweaty fear 
to cheer their savior of forgotten times. 

What anthem for doomed youth who die in wars 
that praises deeds of valor in far lands 
when they fought for manifest destiny, 
could children of their sisters sing for them 
as they wander drunk in maze of locked doors 
to find the church where they were feted as heroes? 

Enslaved in clanking factories of wealth 
where they assemble machines of desire, 
they boast about their freedom to assemble 
and liberty to insult all they hate, 
delighted to be exploited for labor 
as they cheer victory of their sports team. 

What fetid weeds of patriotic pride 
bloom in rancid gardens of their rage 
when they call for the strong man with the gun 
to save their livelihood from immigrants 
though he would crush them with his fist of greed 
while scamming them of everything they own? 

Lone warriors for rites of democracy 
where people choose the ruler they would trust 
search for lost badge of courage in cold rain 
that flows as tears from children who escape 
shadow of death that haunts dark city streets 
at fall of the empire to greed and fear. 

Ever On Nowhere Road

Ever On Nowhere Road
© Surazeus
2024 02 08

Forever and ever on nowhere road 
we travel past swamp of the royal toad, 
four generations of my sprawling clan 
who eat fried corn cakes from one old cracked pan, 
and somewhere lonely on the treeless plain 
I water the horses and wait for rain. 

Perhaps the world will end in nowhere land 
while I wait with burning book in my hand 
for ghost of my lover to tell me why 
flames of salvation swirl from empty sky, 
so my clan sits at the table to feast 
on still-pulsing heart of the hungry beast. 

Beginning with words of the nowhere dream 
that floods our wheat fields from demonic stream, 
I instruct my children to clean the mirror 
so they can hide in the shadow of terror 
when snarling men with guns surround our home 
though we pray for the holy right to roam. 

Alone at table of our nowhere place, 
I pour glass of milk for the godless face 
that shines with terrible victory of truth 
since I sell apples at our market booth 
in retribution for sorrow of time 
that vanishes with soft ring of the chime. 

My hand may seem to block the nowhere sun 
with bold adjustment of the haughty gun, 
yet I embrace their corpses in deep graves 
while our blind grandmother sings Jesus saves, 
but I keep bullets I clawed from their hearts 
in case the arrogant angel departs. 

Though I still remember the nowhere sky 
that I was born under from the sad spy, 
I keep long stories of dead relatives 
hidden in the box which Pandora gives 
so I can talk to their ghosts in this room 
who struggle from our universal womb. 

Deep in swirling light of the nowhere sea 
I find true origin of the gene key 
which formulates motion of conscious faith 
to generate life from the atom wraith 
who teaches me language of the star soul 
that explains mind function of the White Whole. 

Forever and ever on nowhere road, 
designed by thought riddles of our brain code, 
I walk alone with my ancestral ghosts 
who teach me duty of good temple hosts, 
so I fight tyrants who oppress mankind 
with holy mission my mother assigned. 

Forgotten Bride Of Skye

Forgotten Bride Of Skye
© Surazeus
2024 02 07

Long years of waiting by the broken door 
erases my name from river of tears 
with tangled raspberry vines of desire 
that scent sea air with pungent attitude 
volatile as waves that discuss with rocks 
nature of love that binds strange hearts with trust. 

With fingerless claws of the hungry wolf 
I dig for words of potatoes from muck 
to tear from unreachable hell of fear 
my heart that howls louder than wind on crags 
jagged with laughter of pain I conceal 
while stumbling on the sideways slope of time. 

Frost-crystalled branches from obsessive oaks 
that stare at me with eyes of bitter faith 
jab my soft breast with incoherent rage 
when I trudge far across flat rain-wet heath 
to clutter frozen hearth with prayerful psalm 
that sparks flame of the sun with bloody hands. 

Baking potatoes in hot glowing coals 
of grim sarcastic proverbs ravens croak, 
I gasp for breath at sweet glow of flame heat 
that sears my tingling skin with ache of hope 
that jagged blades of ice deep in my bones 
may melt into tears of relief in Spring. 

If he ever returns to my small hearth 
from sailing west across the storm-wracked sea 
with treasures of gold from the Promised Land, 
he may find my body frozen as stone, 
and covered with red mushrooms of despair, 
then he could weep for me with bitter joy. 

Huddled under foul-smelling wolf-fur cloak, 
shivering as I cough gray clouds from my breast, 
I stare ten thousand years at flickering flames 
to watch young fairies with gossamer wings 
dance on my unmarked grave with gruesome glee 
as they tear my body into frail snakes. 

Dismembered into snakes with bloody eyes, 
I writhe with tingling buzz of ecstasy 
in fierce angelic spasms of despair 
that wind my separate bodies in tense clump, 
till bright Orpheus appears from sun beam 
which fills my pulsing brain with lightning words. 

Awake at gleam of dawn over blue hills, 
I sit up by cold embers in stone hearth, 
and feel my body whole again with light, 
so I eat apple from the storage bin 
and lean against the broken door to smirk 
since I am his forgotten bride of Skye. 

One With The Star Mind

One With The Star Mind
© Surazeus
2024 02 06

Behind swirl of snow around the small town 
where trees hover over homes by the lake, 
fierce energy of the divine world soul 
moves in breath of life as vast conscious force 
that casts our minds as shadows on the ground 
so we transcend Nature as the Star Mind. 

When sleepless passion pulses in my breast 
with silent wisdom of fierce mountain winds, 
I search for beauty glowing in your heart 
behind mundane mask of your human face 
so I can perceive divine soul of love 
that flows from deep fountain of the Star Mind. 

As force of Nature seething through my soul 
with prelapsarian consciousness of love 
my individual will of choice for life 
flows in complete accord with world of forms 
so I escape limitations of thought 
to soar on holy wings of the Star Mind. 

Through fusion of word and action from thought 
my body channels spirit of the sky 
with glowing beauty of the mirrored world 
reflecting truth that springs from my heart void 
to flood the endless maze of city streets 
with heart-healing anthems of the Star Mind. 

When Garden of Eden blooms from my heart 
as atoms swirling through organic forms, 
immortal soul of my ancestral genes 
wakes in my brain as God who sees itself 
in glowing mask of human face I wear 
so till I die I refract the Star Mind. 

Fearing I retreat in my lonely self 
as individual consciousness of God 
imbued with sparkling wisdom from mute rain, 
I wander crowded cities of the world 
to feel eight billion pairs of divine eyes 
connecting us as One with the Star Mind. 

Unchecked idealism of the perfect world 
that shimmers behind ever-changing forms 
would trap me in vast doorless maze of myths, 
so I will puzzle from material flash 
reliance through creation of the self 
sprinkled with zillion eyes of the Star Mind. 

So I would breathe that mighty wind of truth 
that beams from all organic life on Earth 
through pulsing matrix of atomic souls 
when ancient presence of eternal light 
fuels my body with conscious love for life 
till I sink back in sea of the Star Mind. 

Star Woman Who Lives

Star Woman Who Lives
© Surazeus
2024 02 05

Star woman who lives in the apple tree 
shows me how faithful people can live free, 
but when I get to their church before dawn 
I stand dazed and confused on the wet lawn 
because her vision flutters on white wings 
of butterflies transcending rainbow rings. 

Star woman who dances on golden clouds 
shows me how to organize ghosts in crowds 
but when I open book of ancient tales 
they swirl around me slow as ocean whales 
because she weaves my eyes in diamond brain 
that refracts laughter of children in rain. 

Star woman who leaps abyss of despair 
shows me how to build the heavenly stair 
but when I arrive at the pearly gates 
my entrance is blocked by the mocking Fates 
because I carry bag of bleeding scrolls 
I wrote to criticize cruel fascist trolls. 

Star woman who tends roses on the moon 
shows me how to write the dragon-bone rune 
but when I buy gas at the soda mart 
my fortune is programmed by the star chart 
because she wants to crown me cosmic herald 
though I can foresee weird fate of the world. 

Star woman who floats over sea of eyes 
shows me how to train conceptual spies 
but when I ride the subway down to Hell 
I crawl from shadow of the forest well 
because I want to marry Melusine 
who runs world baby-production machine. 

Star woman who designs world brain of dreams 
shows me how to navigate mountain streams 
but when I walk in cave where Plato cooks 
I meet nameless characters of lost books 
because our bodies are chemical flames 
we must maintain through political games. 

Star woman who beams from computer screen 
shows me how to unwind my spirit gene 
but when I figure out my origin 
I sing as grandson of the Puritan 
because she wakes in my immortal mind 
as Word Witch pious angels have enshrined. 

Star woman who reigns on star pyramid 
shows me how to measure the cosmic grid 
but when I find first flash of the big bang 
I encode wisdom in riddles with slang 
because she molds my body with free will 
when we make love on the muse-haunted hill. 

Tortured Poets Department

Tortured Poets Department
© Surazeus
2024 02 05

Brooding at oak desk in old haunted house 
where ghosts of the dead whisper bleak despair, 
I dip raven-feather quill in red ink 
from angel blood, and trace my wounds in words 
that highlight sufferings of the human soul, 
at work in the Tortured Poets Department. 

Lingering among tombstones in the graveyard 
so weathered by rain the names of the dead 
have been erased from human memory, 
I invent miserable lives for their ghosts 
who wander as zombies in fairy tales 
written by the Tortured Poets Department. 

Lying alone in new silk gown of hope 
on my soft bed that floats among bright clouds, 
I long for you to break through castle walls 
and fill me with pure spirit of your love, 
though you have fallen from my tower window 
to invade the Tortured Poets Department. 

Drinking absinthe brewed from demon blood 
at cracked table in the smoky cafe, 
I sing heart-aching love hymn to my Muse 
disguised as wrinkle-faced whore in red dress 
who beams as she dances before the crowd 
off work from the Tortured Poets Department. 

Gazing at thunderclouds over the bay 
from window in high Duino Castle tower, 
I shiver at embrace of divine terror, 
then cry out to angels who cannot hear 
my wordless elegy shatter false faith, 
alone in the Tortured Poets Department. 

Musing on beauty of my lost Lenore 
whose body rots entombed by the wild sea, 
I glare at black Raven of Nevermore 
who mocks my angst above my chamber door 
by repeating verses of poems I wrote, 
exiled from the Tortured Poets Department. 

Stepping from Carriage of Eternity 
after my dinner date with Death in Hades, 
I twirl with joy in orchard of peach trees, 
and sing with God Toad in the lonely swamp 
with my feelings of pain in Tomb of Time, 
still stuck in the Tortured Poets Department. 

Strumming guitar in rain by city gate 
to sing about the Calculator Man, 
I prophesy thirteenth coming of Ishtar 
sent by Sun Spider to unite the Earth, 
till she promotes me when I graduate 
at last from the Tortured Poets Department. 

Keep Each Other Alive

Keep Each Other Alive
© Surazeus
2024 02 04

Falling into eye of the sacred blue 
from where I stand with dizzy fortitude, 
I wonder how games of politics change 
while humans keep growing crops from the soil, 
and children play chase on the river shore 
while feeling spin of the world iron core. 

When sunlit rain fills my heart with lost words 
that sparkle from core of the gleaming sun, 
I gaze in eyes of people on the Earth 
to sense the supersoul of truth we share, 
but I feel silence of vast loneliness 
in eerie melody human minds hum. 

Each apple fallen from the Tree of Life 
could feed one human soul ten thousand years, 
but some claim ownership of apple trees 
while others must work to afford the cost, 
yet Nature who makes us destroys us too 
so we become soil where apple trees grow. 

The Earth around me everywhere I walk 
is formed of dust from bodies of the dead, 
so I listen to whisper of the wind 
to hear their voices tell forgotten tales, 
yet when I write their names in Book of Life 
their humanness vanishes in strange myths. 

Though I still follow scent of phantom hope 
forever in vast winding maze of myths, 
I try to fathom mystery of the brain 
that designs virtual model of the Earth, 
so I am nameless soul you see in dream 
who plays tunes of faith on flute of your bones. 

Floating over mushroom of ancient dreams 
in swamp of toads who sing with voice of God, 
I spread scope of my conscious mind to span 
complete history of human life on Earth, 
so I can comprehend cause of our truth 
and thus predict how we will grow from here. 

In waste land soaked with awakening tears 
that fall from laughter of the faceless sun, 
I reach my hand across abyss of fear 
to touch your face with caress of true love, 
astonished that this stranger I perceive 
reflects the timeless spirit of our world. 

Though we clash over whose conceptual truth 
better depicts real universe we sense, 
we program new world view we both can share 
that matches cause and effect we engage, 
which helps us navigate this hostile land 
as we keep each other alive through love. 

This Home I Built

This Home I Built
© Surazeus
2024 02 04

This home I built with hands of honest faith 
by carving bones of passion from hard Earth 
once safely sheltered children of my heart, 
protecting my family from hostile greed 
of monsters in shapes of men hunting us, 
yet now it crumbles to dust in my hands. 

Though angry tyrant in castle of fear 
shoots bombs to destroy thousands of my homes, 
as long as my heart pumps hot frothing blood 
of passion beamed from mute eye of the sun, 
I will find energy of timeless hope 
to build new home from vision of my faith. 

I will clutter every valley of Earth 
with homes I carve from bones of my despair, 
erecting monument of honest hope 
from dusty nothing of this spinning globe, 
so when he bombs it back to ruins of faith 
I will go build another home in Hell. 

Though we are cast from Heaven of our home 
and wander lost on signless roads of fear, 
forever searching for the Promised Land 
envisioned by our ancestors in dream 
many long centuries before we are born, 
still we will build another home from faith. 

Unsheltered by safe home my heart designed, 
we wander lost on roadless plain of fear 
but we can express no adequate words 
against cataracts of indifferent wind 
that strikes flat rotundity of our faith 
so we cannot tax elements with hate. 

Though wild howling winds batter our frail souls 
with soul-cleaving thunderbolts of cruel rage, 
they have no conscious minds inspired by hate, 
so their pernicious blasts that crush our hearts 
crack not my loyal trust that Nature cares 
while humans hurl vicious hate at our souls. 

While Nature batters our frail souls with rage 
I know she swirls indifferent to our lives, 
yet humans, our frail brothers of the sea, 
who share with us divinely-designed form 
of four-limbed bodies with word-speaking minds, 
assert fierce mission to destroy our lives. 

When earthquakes, floods, or thunderstorms destroy 
this home I build with hands of honest faith, 
people around the world help me rebuild 
with generous donations of food and prayers, 
but when humans destroy our homes with bombs 
the world ignores our cries of bitter hope.