Voices Of The Ancient Dead

Voices Of The Ancient Dead
© Surazeus
2024 03 31

Clear voices of the people in the past 
echo down the endless labyrinth of time 
through the lamentations and blasphemies 
their hearts repeat across ten thousand years 
in each small temple and grand citadel 
which I detect as whisper of their fears. 

Almost faded in breeze outside my door, 
heart-broken cries of sorrow from the past 
penetrate my spirit with sudden breath 
that wakes their dim dream of desperate hope 
in startled consciousness of my new mind 
so I hold their thoughts trembling in my hand. 

With growing awareness of bitter pain 
so many people of the constant past 
suffered in silence of confident faith 
I study seething passions of their hearts 
recorded in fragments of elegies 
they wrote in letters of stark sentences. 

Across perpetual waves of flowing time 
their thoughts encoded in visions of truth 
translate amorphous feelings of their minds 
in arcane thought-rhymes of parallel verse 
reflecting illogical sparkle of love 
that motivates our project to survive. 

Alone on sunlit Mount Takoma peak, 
which mirrors Parnassus and Helicon 
as holy space where Muses inspire seers, 
I hear these voices of people long dead 
who lived on Earth the past ten thousand years 
swirl around me in wild cacophony. 

Through alchemy of souls in diamond eyes, 
encased in sun-bright ice stone of our minds, 
I translate voices of the ancient dead 
to heart-enchanting spells of thrilling tales 
that might inspire with visions of success 
lonely souls who wander in the waste land. 

Thus brave spell-casters with poetic spark 
forge new word-riddles in prophetic poems 
as polished lens for kaleidoscope eyes 
to focus attention of curious minds 
on ever-shifting puzzle of the truth 
that conjures virtual model of the world. 

Clear voices of people on Earth today 
resonate through harmony of intent 
with voices of the people in the past 
as we join global choir of mortal souls 
to sing heart-aching elegy of faith 
that people of tomorrow understand. 

Blue Beauty Of Lilacs

Blue Beauty Of Lilacs
© Surazeus
2024 03 31

Though my words map strange journey of my fate, 
I grow into weird person I design 
who hides behind plain story of my soul 
so people see the myth and not the man 
who sits on quiet Sunday afternoons 
and dreams his family safe in walls of hope. 

Though false blue beauty of lilacs reflects 
deep color of our ancient homeland sky, 
I walk in misty woods of timeless hope 
to watch young orioles hop on eager wings 
in backyard of my home where lilacs bloom 
from graves of nameless kings who rule no land. 

Though elms shade streets of little crowded shops 
where laughing children buy marbles and kites, 
ghost of the prophet who foretells our doom 
walks slowly over distant hills of stone 
to find abandoned home where I was born, 
and smell blue lilacs blooming from my grave. 

Though wind blows hair of lovers by the lake 
who eat green grapes and cheddar cheese with bread 
on white sand of the beach where waves gleam clear, 
I watch them choose to share romantic love 
that overflows their hearts with awkward joy 
as they kiss in the yard where lilacs bloom. 

Though blue lilacs first in the dooryard bloom, 
I listen to song of the midnight star 
to celebrate ever-returning spring 
that urges souls with passion to express 
desire to rise from helpless ache of love 
since all we cherish will perish in war. 

Though harsh surrounding clouds weep in despair 
at unjust death of millions who deserve 
to pursue happiness of their pure hearts, 
I free my soul with painful offering 
at vision that each new-born child of time 
is miracle of life transformed from death. 

Though sacred Death walks ever by my side 
as I explore strange mystery of this world, 
I glow with passionate desire to live 
while we hold hands in cool transparent night 
to change our woe into pleasure of love 
as we create life to transcend our death. 

Though solitary thrush hidden in woods 
warbles ancient song of desire for life, 
we seek lost graves of people killed in wars 
to write their names in hundred thousand books 
that crowd blue shelves of vast library halls 
where lilacs bloom from sorrow of their words. 

Rolling Stone Of Truth

Rolling Stone Of Truth
© Surazeus
2024 03 31

Through dire prediction of the laughing crow 
I know how to drive the alphabet car 
when I race Pluto in the maze of myths 
to find Holy Grail for Persephone 
who stars in movie of Marie Curie 
still glowing with radiation of fame. 

Wandering around the music festival, 
past quaint shops of ice cream and abstract art, 
I try to text my wife on the eye-phone 
to meet at Dionysus Theater 
but I get trapped by the arrogant mime 
who tries to show me secret of true love. 

The weird way sunlight gleams in leafy oaks 
inspires ecstatic vision of rebirth 
when children of the crownless king are born 
with vibrant passion of life-spinning Earth 
that generates our bodies from desire, 
transforming us from chemicals of thought. 

Sitting at small round table made of glass, 
my family orders sandwiches and soup 
while the saddest jester in the whole world 
strums guitar and sings heart-breaking blues 
about the orphan boy from Tennessee 
who builds insurance empire from our loss. 

Aware of civil wars in distant lands 
where nations kill each other for wheat fields, 
I propose marriage to Persephone 
who sits alone beneath the willow tree 
to chat with swans about world politics, 
then tells me why the church is built on lies. 

If we hold hands with shy alacrity, 
blushing with bold hope to walk road of life 
across the waste land of hostility, 
Queen of the Underworld and I discuss 
clever strategies to overcome strife 
while raising autistic son Sisyphus. 

Laughing on the peak of Mount Helicon, 
Sisyphus sends the rolling stone of truth 
tumbling down toward the statue with clay feet 
that smashes pride of Ozymandias, 
who crowns himself King of America, 
and dissipates illusion of his power. 

If I swim fast enough in sea of dreams 
I might escape the Jonah whale of fate, 
yet I must prophesy in riddling code 
second coming of our messiah sleuth 
as hidden dragon rising from our hearts 
who founds world empire of the laughing crow. 

Believe In Americanity

Believe In Americanity
© Surazeus
2024 03 30

I believe in Americanity, 
sacred religion of democracy 
sung by mad troubadours of city streets 
who lounge in the grass on the river shore 
and ride with Death in the carriage of faith 
sea to shining sea in the Promised Land. 

I believe in Americanity, 
religion of free will in liberty 
sung by the witch in Massachusetts woods 
who teaches Lucifer how to chant spells 
while strumming old guitar of Mercury 
as her uncanny voice wails in moonlight. 

I believe in Americanity, 
weird religion of the spell-chanting snake 
sung by the First Mother of humanity 
who eats fruit of wisdom from Tree of Life 
then leads her children in waste land of fear 
to mystic carnival of Wonderland. 

I believe in Americanity, 
world religion of equal rights for all 
sung by sly jester from the iron hills 
who plays tambourine on the windy beach 
with crackling riddles of the radio voice 
to translate wisdom blowing in the wind. 

I believe in Americanity, 
world religion of Lucy in the sky 
sung by the Carpenter of Avalon 
who leads lost children to strawberry fields 
and teaches us to see our crazy world 
with flashing kaleidoscope eyes of God. 

I believe in Americanity, 
dream religion of the cool hippie seer 
sung by the wild dancing skeleton bear 
who bears staff of Moses to break the rock 
and floats above the television screen 
with hypnotic eyes of the buddha toad. 

I believe in Americanity, 
fake religion of the Quaker graveyard 
sung by the owl-eyed Boston sage of jokes 
who confesses madness of helpless love 
for Venus rising from the sea of ghosts 
who gives birth to the star-eyed spider queen. 

I believe in Americanity, 
pure religion from poetry of truth 
sung by the red-haired sorceress of love 
who conjures Ariel from substanceless blue 
to cast illusions of beautiful terror 
that wakes our hearts with dream of ecstasy. 

Mad Prophet Of Fame

Mad Prophet Of Fame
© Surazeus
2024 03 30

Gold sun that gleams in oaks of my backyard 
plays tricks on flashing circuits of my brain 
that sparks bright timeless hour of my childhood 
fifty one years ago when I was eight 
living in the small hilly Texas town 
haunted by blind ghost of the cowboy clown. 

That world of hippies and the Vietnam war 
that gleams around me in the cars and trees 
has vanished in daze of the purple haze 
to nothing more than television show 
children watch on Saturday afternoon 
that documents the prophet troubadour. 

Long after ghost of the prophet passed by 
along the railroad tracks outside of town, 
toting guitar forged by devils of Hell 
into machine that kills fascists and fools, 
I follow with my red guitar painted black 
to sing at dawn on Miami beach sand. 

Awake with spirit of the rolling stone 
that animates the mad prophet of fame, 
I stand on street corners in nameless towns 
on lonesome highways sea to shining sea 
and sing the sorrows of the aching heart 
that tumbles from sore hands of Sisyphus. 

When I arrive with lyre of Mercury 
to face three-headed demon of my fear, 
I tell the girl riding carriage of Death 
that I have come to rescue her from Hell, 
so she requests I sing uncanny spell 
that helps her follow Light of Liberty. 

Driving my long green Mercury sedan 
from maze of Manhattan through fields of wheat, 
high over Rocky Mountains past the moon, 
I glide along faded Oregon Trail 
to star in movies down in Hollywood 
with shy daughter of Marilyn Monroe. 

Performing folk songs in the circus tent 
with the blind midget and the bearded lady, 
I sing ancient tales of heroes and kings 
who sail for home lost on the wine-dark sea 
to folk in cowboy hats and gingham skirts 
who pray for salvation from nuclear bombs. 

Sitting on back porch in hill town of Athens, 
I play guitar and make up new folk songs 
about lost people of America 
while mad robin I named Achilles pecks 
at locked chamber door of Charles Baudelaire 
who drives white pickup to fish at the lake. 

Fracture Of The Sky

Fracture Of The Sky
© Surazeus
2024 03 30

Weird thunder that fractures the evening sky 
is not the thunder of my beating heart, 
so I catch fruit that falls from trembling trees 
and give them to sad strangers passing by 
on signless road to find the Promised Land 
where bones of their ancestors sing to them. 

The days we have left living on this Earth 
contract and expand our conscious respect 
because we measure distance to the sun 
who pierces our hearts with passion to live 
when other people attack us with hate 
so we are forced to kill them to survive. 

I read ancient history of humankind 
written in dust of the road where I walk, 
so I look up at clouds that shine with hope 
that I may find some way to live with pride 
by fighting against oppressors and thieves, 
inspired by principle of liberty. 

While standing over bodies of the dead, 
people who dwelled in village of my heart 
and played special roles in drama of life, 
I tell the fruit trees stories of their lives 
while I erase them from dream of this world 
when I bury them in heart of the Earth. 

Fierce love that surges from my broken heart 
flows through crack in world view of my faith 
so I make myself window to the world 
with bold belief that children lost in time 
will find their way back home to live with me 
with treasures of their dreams in open hands. 

We choose to live where the wild horses run 
with frolicking joy in groves of fruit trees 
that sprout from hills wet with tears of the sun, 
so we share joy of racing with the wind 
beyond false boundaries of nations kings carve 
with swords that divide families in cruel war. 

We are not birds who can fly above fear 
and see our troubles with observant eyes 
to analyze our lives with code of love 
while soft rain from the distant past reveals 
beauty of the world we see when we wake 
to understand how we can live with courage. 

Yet memories of our hours feasting with joy 
shine bright as stars in starless gloom of war 
so we can steer our way with cautious faith 
through storms of social upheaval toward peace 
that we create with generous hands of love, 
working to repair fracture of the sky. 

These Hands We Use

These Hands We Use
© Surazeus
2024 03 29

These hands we use to manipulate time 
are secret of our ability to speak 
because we grasp with curiosity 
objects of material our eyes perceive 
so we can study nature of their being, 
then communicate thoughts our minds envision. 

As long-fingered cat leaping in dark woods 
I climb up giant sprawling web of vines 
to escape snarling jaws of mad-eyed wolf, 
and glide through trees one hundred million years, 
grasping limbs to feast on pungent fruit, 
then swing on vines to fly high without wings. 

Gliding through trees Guilin to Africa, 
we transform from cat to long-handed monkey 
able to grasp sticks and stones with strong thumbs 
which allows us to manipulate things 
while humming passionate joy in our hearts 
as we gather in dream cave by the sea. 

With stubby tail I cannot swing in trees 
so I descend to swim in swirling waves 
where I snatch wriggling fish with clenching fist 
then roast it over crackling flames of light 
while standing on two legs of confidence 
to reach my hands for untouchable stars. 

Dancing upright with divine breath of hope, 
we leap on two legs in shallow sea waves 
with buoyant passion of attentive faith, 
remaining tall with balance of two arms 
we spread as wings to walk on river shores 
when we explore horizon of our eyes. 

Plucking mushrooms from cow dung on flat plains, 
we eat sweet manna that sprouts after rain 
which beams conceptual visions of thought forms 
in pulsing sphere of rainbows in our eyes 
which conjures virtual model of the world 
that we express with humming breath of sound. 

With soft vibrating tones of phonic thought 
we designate each object we perceive, 
whole quality that defines measured being, 
and action we perform with conscious force, 
by speaking sentence of conceptual words 
in language we express with humming tongue. 

Through action of grasping things with our hands 
we invent with divine breath of conscious faith 
language binding objects with phonic sounds 
to act as metaphors that carry thought 
mind to mind so we can communicate 
intelligent wisdom through poetry. 

Search For One Face

Search For One Face
© Surazeus
2024 03 29

When I cover odd mirror of my mind 
I mean to forget state of my soul 
to remember dead ancestors I feel 
alive in dreams when moonlight tends my life 
so I will echo progress of their lives 
for they diminish as I grow with love. 

Encased in symbol of artistic will 
that misdirects cruel attention of Death, 
my soul performs psychic role of its fate 
designed by genes that survive evolution 
when each ancestral pair regenerates 
new body that conjures my conscious mind. 

Awake in glow of sunlight on mute hills 
with immortal flame of life in my heart, 
I gaze at flat blank stone on river shore 
where tales of life all my ancestors wrote 
appear as gleaming runes of magic spells 
that describe laws of wisdom I express. 

Poised stern on flat top of the pyramid 
with vibrant pulse of rivers in my heart, 
I watch the many fragments of my soul 
perform their parts in ritual of desire 
as we extract food from flesh of the Earth 
that nourishes our bodies with starlight. 

Aroused with passion to generate life 
that flows through conduit of my fragile body, 
I seek the strangest person in the world 
who mirrors not obsessions of my fears 
so we merge opposing forces of hope, 
combining our features in new-born soul. 

Revealing mirror of immortal mind 
that reflects ghosts of my ancestral brains, 
I search for one face that combines their faces 
in mask I wear to perceive my true soul 
that throbs with passion of galactic stars 
to mold weird features of my character. 

This weird persona mask of self I wear, 
molded by fate from choices I express, 
radiates delusion of secret desire 
so people see illusion of my soul 
they want to see that veils authentic self 
who wanders lost on signless road of hope. 

I uncover odd mirror of my mind 
in vain attempt to see with piercing eyes 
real spirit born from surging sea of faith 
who animates this wild chemical form 
through which immortal soul of my genes lives 
this temporary flash of conscious joy. 

Theology Of Beautiful Lies

Theology Of Beautiful Lies
© Surazeus
2024 03 28

Stars always seem to know how I should feel 
as if their pulsing passion from prime thought 
beams through my brain cells in weird words of truth 
which animates my body with pure love 
to generate new life from flame of death 
that glows through darkness of eternity. 

While people dance with pulse of energy 
in crowded bar that swirls with divine breath 
preserved in grapes from sunlit drops above, 
I scribble profound thoughts in secret booth 
in book of riddles my first girlfriend bought 
to formulate new world view of the real. 

What dangers threaten our togetherness 
we overcome with loyalty of trust 
that binds our bodies with spirit of faith 
unraveled by blind Fate with seven eyes 
who weaves new wings for us to fly with hope 
toward Wonderland built by the River Styx. 

Disarmed by endless games of politics 
between prophets who teach mankind to cope 
with theology of beautiful lies, 
I accept harsh finality of death 
as temporary soul forged from stardust 
who wears theatric mask of Sisyphus. 

I push my rolling stone of liberty 
with manic courage of the half-blind fool 
up to ice-slick peak of Mount Helicon 
so when it tumbles toward Mount Ararat 
its justice will crush statue of King Midas 
whose fall creates Hell in waste land of Earth. 

When I discover secret of rebirth 
encoded in sacred book that will guide us 
on noble quest to live as democrat, 
I campaign to play Sage of Avalon 
by founding castle to run magic school 
where I teach laws of private property. 

So I join my friends in the quaint cafe 
to eat beef hamburgers and drink root beer 
then chat about poetics we employ 
to write dream spells of computer brain code 
that beam visions about the universe 
in minds of readers who worship the Truth. 

Trapped by my fate to play messiah sleuth 
in every version of our multiverse, 
I hitchhike with guitar on signless road 
to marry beautiful Helen of Troy 
on Oregon Trail as last pioneer 
destined to preside over Judgment Day. 

Hymn Of Sacred Love

Hymn Of Sacred Love
© Surazeus
2024 03 28

Birth of my winged heart from sea of eyes 
occurs each year on this auspicious day 
four hundred million years since dawn of time 
when first mother rises from lake of dreams 
to pluck ripe fruit from humming tree of life 
then teaches me to sing what I perceive. 

When I enter secret cave of illusions 
to search for ring that gives me angel wings, 
so I can fly above vast maze of myths, 
I see ghost of my soul gazing at me 
from infinite depths in Mirror of Truth 
who pulls me into labyrinth of my fears. 

With heaving breath from lust of Sisyphus 
I run toward light at far end of the tunnel 
while strumming lyre of Orpheus as I chant 
spells to lure my bride from depths of despair 
till we emerge from underworld of death 
and stand surprised in joy of morning light. 

When she steps over threshold of her tomb 
bearing box Pandora made from her skull, 
long-slumbering spirit of the apple tree 
stirs awake from diamond of the First Flash 
and swirls with eerie music of lost love 
to welcome her home from the wilderness. 

Gazing in my eyes with galactic mind 
from eyes black as the full moon in oak trees, 
she asks me if I know how everything 
replicates from first flash of the big bang, 
and if I feel in deepest dreams of faith 
soul of the Prime Mover who dreams it all. 

As we gaze up at the bright Milky Way 
that arches high around life-spinning Earth, 
I feel glow deep in each cell of my brain 
insistent pulse of light which animates 
expression of my will through conscious force 
as we progress on road of life we pave. 

Erecting signs with names of ancient souls 
at crossroads where many signless roads meet, 
I designate attention for our quest 
that guides how we choose our fate with free will 
by asserting our perception of hope 
along the sacred way to Wonderland. 

To celebrate the birthday of my wife 
we gather in Stonehenge in gold moonlight 
to hear the Fairy Queen of Avalon 
sing heart-enchanting hymn of sacred love 
while Mercury plays lyre of psychic vibes 
and Earth continues spinning in the void. 

Mortal Nameless I

Mortal Nameless I
© Surazeus
2024 03 27

This happiness that conjugates my brain 
with fractured pieces of the puzzling world 
expands perception of the silent rain 
beyond limiting bounds of the tangled word 
which threads my body with ancestral souls 
who teach me how to play their social roles. 

Since Earth is house of stories I design 
from light stretched round galactic wheel of fate, 
I journey deep in woods with hope to find 
mushrooms and eggs my mind can cogitate 
with laughing wisdom of amusing thought 
that mirrors universe my words have wrought. 

This sorrowness that deconstructs my view 
of how this universe flashes from light 
in beams of conscious love based on weird clue 
still tricks me with veil of Plutonian night 
to think I am immortal god who knows 
fractal concept which forges mind that glows. 

Since Earth is cave of visions I accept 
as startling prophecy reflecting time, 
I carve dream spells on emerald tablet kept 
safe deep in maze of myths that cannot rhyme 
with riddles children chant on city streets 
to tease brave warriors stuck on battle fleets. 

This ecstasy that transforms how I think 
bound in spatial zone of narrative code 
augments perceptive focus of each blink 
with pulsing vigor that denotes the road 
which leads me to core of our empire state 
where Death reigns as the god we correlate. 

Since Earth is book of legends I perform 
through project to reclassify all things, 
I analyze how atoms tone sea storm 
with psychic melody of faith that rings 
compacting spirals from galactic eye 
in which God dreams this mortal nameless I. 

This agony that reprograms my soul 
to play weird character of divine power 
reanimates my passion for this role, 
I wear as mask on stage in global tower 
from which I fall to fly on robust wings 
with graceful arrogance of humble kings. 

Since Earth is dream of spirits I reflect 
to mirror immortal soul of my genes 
through temporary person I project, 
I organize memories with time machines 
in rambling fable that deceives your eyes 
to think I am your God in empty skies. 

Ghost Of My Sorrow

Ghost Of My Sorrow
© Surazeus
2024 03 27

This morning in the dreary mist of dawn, 
while I design virtual model of Earth 
in maps with stories of the human race, 
suddenly I hear ruthless tapping sound 
as if someone raps at my locked front door, 
as if ghost of my sorrow haunts my heart. 

Stark silver glow of clouds above tall oaks 
erases shadows from my quiet home 
while I make model of life-spinning Earth 
that imitates unchanging state of peace 
as if Death stalks not people of the world, 
as if ghost of my sorrow seeks my hope. 

I ponder as I tend lush river shore 
if angel from heaven with scroll of truth, 
or demon from hell with wand of deception, 
seeks entrance to calm haven of my heart, 
as if Despair mocks my hope for world peace, 
as if ghost of my sorrow thirsts for faith. 

Then I recall two days ago at noon 
some robin guarding empty nest of faith 
began to perch on back deck rail of rage 
to attack its reflection in bay window, 
as if to drive off rival of its love, 
as if ghost of my sorrow fights its fear. 

I wonder then with sly ironic sneer 
if that fierce robin tapping at my door 
would fly inside with wings of Icarus 
and perch on ghostly idol of Athena, 
as if it comes from grim Plutonian shore, 
as if ghost of my sorrow understands. 

Then I imagine how with wings of flame 
the robin tapping at my locked front door 
would speak with chthonian voice of bitter truth 
that man invents God to enforce his will, 
as if it sees through civil mask of pride, 
as if ghost of my sorrow knows our minds. 

I would the robin tapping at my door 
bring news that men with just hearts work for good 
to fight the thief who would crown himself king 
when we unite to guard democracy, 
as if to warn us our empire may fall, 
as if ghost of my sorrow calls for freedom. 

The robin perched on idol of Athena 
glares down at me from swirling mist of fear, 
so I soar high on wings of Icarus 
with message of Earendil for the world, 
as if I trust democracy prevails, 
as if ghost of my sorrow spurs my soul. 

Worship The Golden Car

Worship The Golden Car
© Surazeus
2024 03 26

Empty white bowl on table of the mind 
waits for rain of memories to redesign 
how gray clouds glow in the late evening sky 
with desperate passion of the insane crow 
that glares at me with lightning-fractured eye 
as he pecks at locked front door of my home. 

Toy rifle in hands of the running boy 
designates brave courage of the empire 
that conquers the world in the name of truth 
and sends fierce soldiers to fight to the death 
who return home to commodify joy 
they sell in stores to people of desire. 

Great city shining on the hill of skulls 
becomes center of social gravity 
that draws from country towns into its core 
broken-hearted people who escape schools 
eager to build towers of liberty 
where they bow and worship the Golden Car. 

White turtle crawling on the signless road 
might be supreme deity of the stars 
disguised as lowly animal men fear 
when they gather in Temple of the Toad 
but call each other on the telephone 
to purchase stock shares of the rolling stone. 

We attempt to organize with blind eyes 
new disassembled puzzle of the world 
according to strange ideology 
of national faith in theology 
that all we believe is programmed by spies 
who work secretly for the cosmic herald. 

Trudging down narrow trail of scattered phones, 
I search for oldest woman in the world 
somewhere deep in Grand Canyon of the heart 
who determines our fates with her star chart 
according to how the dragon lies curled 
when young couples apply for mortgage loans. 

I wake as incarnation of rune god 
named Odin who stands on ruins of time 
staring at millions of mute faceless souls 
driven mad by hunger for clever rhyme 
when they wander lost without social roles, 
abandoned to death by the justice squad. 

When cargo ship of state loaded with dreams, 
we sell each other in exchange for faith, 
collides with frail Bridge of Forgetfulness, 
our broken bodies fall in gushing streams 
that carry us to Sea of Happiness 
where we drown in eyeball of the God Wraith. 

Understand Soul Of Nature

Understand Soul Of Nature
© Surazeus
2024 03 26

Sometimes driven away from homes we built 
by greedy men who grasp at dirt and air, 
and sometimes choosing to escape the past 
from valleys that imprison us in fear, 
we always travel with fire in our minds 
and our hearts swollen with ambitious wind. 

Just for the sake of leaving what I lost 
I leave to search for knowledge of the world 
by redesigning fortune of my fate 
for treasure in abyss of the unknown 
with glad heart of the traveler who knows 
no land can forever be our safe home. 

Once I find my mind stuck in old routines, 
attacking shadow of my darkest fears 
I see in window of eternity, 
I turn around and walk the signless road 
with hunger in my heart for liberty 
to leave endless strangeness behind my way. 

Lured to land of strange sweetness with desire 
by music of the faun among dark trees, 
I leave the Sea of Darkness to ascend 
Mountain of Truth where dancing muses sing 
about miraculous beauty of life 
because our ultimate freedom is death. 

The child in me who once studied old maps 
to understand the nature of our world 
now travels on the endless road of hope 
to map the unknown places yet unseen 
where we befriended horses by the lake 
and shared apples in the afternoon sun. 

Though the world seems infinitely huge 
with countless river valleys among hills 
shrouded by forests where animals roam, 
I try to enclose its beautiful space 
with finite exploration of my feet 
drawn within encyclopedia of truth. 

Imaginary lands of ancient tales 
where gods and heroes performed tragic roles 
vanish in morning mist of the bright sun 
that reveals real world of organic beings 
who live and die in endless game of hope 
as we transform into children of love. 

If we ever return to homes we lost, 
traveling backward on roads of the past, 
we might meet ghosts of ancestors who wait 
to reveal confusing riddles of fate, 
so we continue forward to the future 
as we seek to understand soul of Nature. 

Shadow Of His Own Fear

Shadow Of His Own Fear
© Surazeus
2024 03 25

The male robin flies at the window pane 
to chase away fierce rival of his love 
by attacking shadow of his own fear. 
Strange image of my face that I perceive 
living in opposite world of the mirror 
enjoys fame and success that kills the Muse. 

The goose that flies across the lonely sky 
brings letters from lost family of my heart 
whose words swirl away as leaves in cold wind. 
Though cities of men are destroyed in war 
rivers still flow down mountains of the Earth 
as flowers bloom through ruins of our homes. 

Blossoms from cherry trees and apple trees 
scatter our tears across lush city lawns 
where children play chase while their parents chat. 
Cry of the raven in the mist-veiled oak 
startles my heart with sorrow of despair 
while I am fishing in dim evening dusk. 

The homeless who wander on signless roads 
with grief that blows as wind in ravaged trees 
search for their shadows in the Promised Land. 
Elusive happiness of gardens glows 
brief hour of late evening on unlocked doors 
till shadows of clouds erase the full moon. 

The hawk that slowly circles empty skies 
describes the river where I wander lost 
past spiderwebs that gleam with morning dew. 
Old woman weaving my fate on her loom 
entangles my thread with soul of the world 
so I feel sorrow from billions of hearts. 

On crowded planet with billions of souls 
I stand alone in shadow of the sun 
till I disappear in silence of hills. 
At some point in my journey round the world 
I will fall in deep pool of nothingness 
and float with leaves on slow current of time. 

Awake where river-country mountains loom, 
I pass through shadows of forgotten worlds, 
heart empty as clouds drifting in blind wind. 
Wounded by mute indifference of the world, 
I continue walking the wasteland road 
with nothing but grief as sweet fruit to eat. 

Floating with the gull between clouds and hills, 
I evade soul-killing sickness of fame 
to lounge by river of the endless song. 
When my body crumbles into the soil 
and my spirit dissipates in the wind 
I will become ripe fruit that sings to you now. 

Weird Religious Cult

Weird Religious Cult
© Surazeus
2024 03 24

The traveler who maps the signless road 
across the wilderness of windy hope 
lifts up their eyes to know the world is wide 
with beauty of the ideal scene through hype 
because they know no land is theirs to claim, 
even if they label it with their name. 

We are but fragile flame of spirit breath 
that sprouts from soil and eats conceptual bread, 
then disappears in restless winds of faith 
more sweet than tangy taste of marmalade 
that leaves us lost in confusion of right, 
mind blinded by strange darkness of the light. 

Full golden moon that gleams in web of limbs 
to sharpen focus of fear-drunken wits 
reveals strange face in solitary pool 
who offers frantic puzzle of the book 
with shocking obfuscation we deny 
despite our desperate need to invent why. 

Throughout confusing drama of my life 
I only meet strange spirits out of time 
who try to control my body and mind, 
but I find in my heart pure flame of love 
that guides me through vast city maze of doom 
while I type visions in my empty room. 

Engaged in rites of weird religious cult 
where prophets compete to ride the wild colt, 
I paint letters of psalms on temple walls 
describing demons who crawl from deep wells 
with sacred spells on scrolls of secret names 
that appoint who plays political games. 

Behind each moment of my waking hours 
memories of my ancestors cased in spores 
sprout into visions glowing in my brain 
that program how I perceive each new scene 
in which I replay actions of their fates 
to swerve aside and open different gates. 

My ghost appears before me in the door 
when I head out to drive gas engine car 
in search for Holy Grail in maze of myths 
in vain attempt to navigate lost paths 
which I decide to map when I get lost 
so the yet-born may know what truth must cost. 

The traveler who gives free books to the town 
explains contrary puzzle of the known 
so anyone who wants to earn world fame 
can prophesy how humans evade doom, 
yet in the morning we all go to work, 
assisting program of the Cosmic Clerk. 

Forge The New World

Forge The New World
© Surazeus
2024 03 24

My ghost is strolling down the avenue, 
cheerfully waving to the faceless souls 
who buy plastic toys in corporate stores, 
because he wants to fall in love with you, 
then pilfer all your capitalist goals 
and sell them to blind angels in glass doors. 

Instead of working to conquer the world 
I prefer to stay in my cluttered home, 
drinking mead and playing video games, 
but I have to go play the cosmic herald 
after years when I would aimlessly roam 
on roads that lead nowhere in picture frames. 

Alone on pyramid of the One Eye 
that sees into dark heart of endless time, 
I preach salvation of the search for truth 
expressed with rites of science in the key 
that opens formulas through psychic rhyme 
which measure nothingness of the god wraith. 

Yet still I sail in river boat of faith 
that we incarnate from maternal womb 
four hundred million years to find out why 
how atoms work inspires messiah sleuth 
to find skull of Orpheus in the tomb 
where he still prophesies the Divine I. 

My ghost is typing words of magic spells 
that conjure visions of life-spinning Earth 
in minds of people born long since I die 
to program language charging our brain cells 
for when we gather at the global hearth 
to share stories while eating apple pie. 

Young woman in pink dress plays wood guitar 
and sings about the foolish man she loves 
who fails to understand her secret heart, 
then she explores the world in lonely car 
that glides winding highways past mountain coves 
till she gets lost in the puzzling star chart. 

Aware of how much more it costs these days 
to raise young children for lives of success, 
she places ancient Lyre of Mercury 
with Excalibur somewhere in the maze 
while wearing mask of the sly sorceress 
that everyone expects from comedy. 

Eating roast beef and drinking honey wine, 
alone in castle on the shining hill, 
I ponder why we rebels must destroy 
social structure of the old world design 
before we forge the new world with free will, 
like Rome was built new on ruins of Troy. 

Anxiety Of Naked Truth

Anxiety Of Naked Truth
© Surazeus
2024 03 24

Intense anxiety of naked truth 
wells up in desert cloister of my heart 
with bulging magnitude of honest faith 
in wretched misery from unpuzzled part 
till my whole soul explodes in flower bloom 
that shimmers joyfully in misty gloom. 

While wandering aimlessly on signless road 
in search for apple tree where serpents hiss 
I find in paradise hypnotic toad 
whose eyes entrance my heart with hope of bliss 
so I eat mushroom of enchanting dreams 
that spiral me unpathed by rainbow streams. 

Bright spark of naked horror in my breast 
burns into roaring flame of howling hope 
so I revert to inner human beast 
to dream how my ancestors learn to cope 
with shocking hours of terrible insight 
when I am flooded with ecstatic light. 

Each mode of my ancestral chain of being 
explores strange world of objects to achieve 
salvation through regeneration ring 
when food and love programs them to believe 
we are born again through conceptual means, 
revived based on immortal soul of genes. 

Still wandering road of life on timeless quest 
I find two gods in grove of apple trees 
who each present their way of life as best 
based on opposing principles of trust, 
energy of passion that fuels the heart, 
and logic of control that binds with art. 

Dionysus lounging in leopard skin, 
imbibing wine that frees the mind from rules, 
entices me to release lust within 
and dance without restraint of social goals 
with promise of ecstatic joy for life, 
free from suffering and pain of mental strife. 

Apollo perching in chlamys and wreath, 
strumming gold lyre and chanting lyric spells, 
instructs me to channel thoughts with breath 
and study nature of rivers and hills 
with promise of wisdom to perceive truth 
through self-control of the messiah sleuth. 

As fool composed of complex energies, 
I wonder why they offer me false choice 
of one way or the other as life keys, 
for I decide to choose both with one voice, 
combining passion and logic as ring 
that bonds my heart with honest strength to sing. 

Iswara The Boatman

Iswara The Boatman
© Surazeus
2024 03 23

Young women wearing gold batik sarongs, 
who bear baskets of rich fruit on their heads, 
mundu, kemang, kepel, rukem, and, menteng, 
glide over lush meadow of tall lawngrass 
under elegant peak of Mount Merapi 
to grand feasting halls of Prambanan Compound. 

Balitung, son of Rudra, son of Shiva, 
strolls along lush shore of broad Opak River 
where families gliding in sampan boats wave, 
while holding hands with daughter of Jepang 
who beams shyly, new pregnant with his heir, 
then they sit in Bubrah Temple to feast. 

Envoys from towns all over Mataram, 
kingdom he expands across Java Island, 
kneel before King Balitung and his Queen, 
presenting offerings of craftsmen and farmers 
to celebrate time of prosperous peace 
due to wise oversight of his bold reign. 

Extending hand of generous respect, 
Balitung welcomes brother of his bride, 
Daksha, son of Jepang, son of Vishnu, 
who bows and steps close to the noble king, 
but thrusts sharp keris dagger in his heart, 
then proclaims himself King of Mataram. 

Shocked by assassination of her husband, 
Dewi Sri flees quickly from Bubrah Temple, 
past nobles feasting in Prambanan halls, 
to escape retribution of her brother 
for advising their father to choose Shiva 
instead of him to rule vast Mataram. 

Hiding in cliff cave on shore of the lake 
beneath high Kedung Kayang Waterfall, 
Dewi Sri meditates on lotus bloom, 
and prays to Goddess Sati for protection 
who casts veil over haven of her daughter 
so hunters never find the pregnant queen. 

Birthing son of murdered King Balitung, 
Dewi Sri cradles strong child in her arms, 
and, while he suckles milk with starry eyes 
in which she sees the swirling universe, 
she names him Iswara, Lord of the Land, 
then weeps and vows to keep him safe from harm. 

Old woman wearing gold batik sarong, 
who bears basket of rich fruit on her head, 
mundu, kemang, kepel, rukem, and, menteng, 
glides along lake shore to the hidden cave, 
and smiles to see her son Iswara work 
constructing sampan boat with crafty hands. 

Iswara the boatman, with eager heart, 
sails Opak River to Prambanan Compound 
where he joins crowd of humble worshippers 
gathered at feast of noble King Daksha 
who strides through the crowd parting in surprise 
to embrace the boy with welcoming tears. 

Presenting young son of King Balitung 
as heir to rule Kingdom of Mataram, 
Daksha gives him new name of Tulodong, 
then takes him to Bubrah Temple to feast 
where he meets the elegant princess Tara 
who offers him cup of papaya juice. 

Mountain Of My Heart

Mountain Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2024 03 23

When I shoulder huge mountain of the world 
to transcend limitations nature welds, 
I shall become great mountain of my heart 
insurmountable by closed gangs of thieves 
who declare themselves rulers of the land 
by crushing all those who oppose their will. 

Two men in shadow of the Golden Tower 
shake hands to cement secret business deal 
that gives them rights to build the railroad tracks 
which link their factories and grocery stores 
while marble statue of the goddess glows 
in sunlight stripping time of truth once real. 

Blind Orphan on the ship of leaking tears 
sails boldly toward glass planet of wild wolves 
to find in city of the weeping clown 
one-legged ballet dancer he adores 
who still performs sad tale of her rebirth 
after wild flood swept her out to the sea. 

Old priest who chants in the Orthodox Church 
finds Green-tailed Towhee chirping in his beard, 
so at round table on the river shore 
he grumbles with misery of rotten angst 
about cruel weirdness of life-spinning Earth 
that recycles our bodies through the dirt. 

Shouting absurd riddles at the oak tree 
where ravens play chess with arrogant pigs, 
old priest writes lyrics for grunge-metal song 
sparked by dream engine of his hungry brain 
to code prophetic vision of world war 
with words discarded in trash can of fear. 

Clay face of the Proud Duchess sliced in half 
reveals silver sleigh bells with turtle eyes 
that see King Lear serve tea on beach sand dunes 
to thirty mermaids singing each to each 
while sailors hold flowers outside the church 
where one-legged children of war play chase. 

Electric lilies spiral from phone lines 
to channel voices of the faceless dead 
who gossip about the slender blonde girl 
who walks the red brick road of Everywhere 
to apple grove where Bacchus rides the goat 
with plan to play piano of the mind. 

Curly-haired girl with twinkling silver eyes 
on Flying Book with paper-angel wings 
soars down from Heaven on bright rainbow beam 
to give me book of epic poem I write 
by dipping raven quill in dragon blood 
for souls who dance on mountain of my heart. 

Green Metal Desk

Green Metal Desk
© Surazeus
2024 03 23

The green metal desk of my office hours 
contrives my journey to the Promised Land 
while I type reports on computer screen 
which glows with passion of gold angel wings 
till I wake undrowned in the Lake of Dreams, 
then wear tweed jacket as I head for home. 

The slowly ticking clock of my false fears 
derives my hopes and dreams from fairy tales 
describing how the hero breaks the rules 
to ride the winged horse beyond the moon 
while riding town bus in misty dawn hours 
to analyze data for product sales. 

Strange foreign winter of my native land 
gambles with rain to reverse tragic fate 
of orphaned children whose dissevered limbs 
wait among pencils in office desk drawer 
for me to calculate profit and loss 
in accounting books angels wish to burn. 

Each time proud princess of the lotus bloom 
knocks on my office door just after noon 
she explains with frown of rich chocolate cake 
that I must file reports the proper way 
and pack them in accurately labeled boxes 
so ghosts of war-killed children can get home. 

Back at the long-neglected office desk, 
I almost forgot is mine based on the law, 
I search for code book of prophetic dreams 
to find out what the green Chevrolet means 
which I drive on country road out of town 
to mountains where no graves of children bloom. 

I know the home I rented is somewhere 
down tree-lined avenue with blank street signs 
because my family is still living there, 
which I can find if I follow road lines 
painted by grinning elves with dragon blood 
for limbless children in rubble of war. 

The one-legged girl, whose family was killed 
when bombs of justice demolished her home, 
wears pink tutu as she dances ballet 
on spotlit stage before the wealthy crowd 
who rattle their jewels to demonstrate 
support for children orphaned by the war. 

The green metal desk of my wordless faith 
supports conceptual project I design 
to create virtual world of spring-bright trees 
in video game that warriors use to train 
for noble fight to guard democracy 
against control-freaks of dictatorships. 

Camping In The Mountains

Camping In The Mountains
© Surazeus
2024 03 22

Rain drenches mountain chains of singing skulls 
so billions of naked humans sprout tall 
from teeth of dragons buried in moist soil 
as faceless ghosts dreamed by brain of the Earth 
to walk on boundless plain of signless roads 
till their frail bodies freeze in wordless wind. 

Across the windless plain of moaning trees 
the Guide and the Follower walk toward light 
to show the Jester how to play the lyre, 
but young girl shrivels in heat of the sun, 
so he carries her soul as withered rose 
toward glowing castle on mirror-glass hill. 

Tossing dead rose in fountain of star eyes, 
the Jester wears face of the howling wolf 
and prays to Phoebus floating on the moon 
who crumbles into swarm of buzzing bees 
that beam electric rays in bubbling pool 
so the Follower rises in new form. 

The Rose Girl with ten thousand glowing eyes 
reaches out ten thousand hands to the sky 
to touch each star that glitters beyond time 
which spiral into flashing words in brains 
emerging in long tangled vines of grapes 
that pulse with face-mask of each human soul. 

With ringing lyre encased inside his heart, 
the Jester screams with ecstasy of faith 
as he transforms from lizard on hot sand 
to writhing dragon with enormous wings 
hidden in cave of illusions by words 
that energize his soul with human hope. 

Contracting back in fragile human form, 
the Jester and the Rose Girl Follower 
climb gold stairway to Hall of Jupiter 
who welcomes his son Lucifer back home 
by placing crown of diamonds on his head, 
then places Lyre of Wisdom in his hand. 

Because his brother sacrificed his soul 
to save vile humanity from despair, 
the Jester returns from caverns of Hell 
with daughter of Persephone his bride 
to reign as World Emperor of Telluria 
that spins forever in the starless void. 

Rain drenches mountain slope of singing pines 
as Joshua sips coffee inside small tent 
while Rose scrambles eggs on the camping stove, 
then after breakfast he tunes old guitar 
and plays folk melodies as she sings lyrics 
to praise the sun that gives life to the Earth. 

Journey To The Moon

Journey To The Moon
© Surazeus
2024 03 22

While I am meditating in deep trance 
to wake immortal spirit of the stars 
with vibrant energy of conscious love, 
I find myself alone on desert plain 
before enormous ziggurat of skulls 
with diamonds gleaming as their demon eyes. 

Then from exploding heaps of spiteful sand 
I see grim Ozymandias appear 
with visage of huge statue Daniel saw, 
so I run to peak of Mount Helicon 
and hurl marble boulder of Sisyphus 
like bowling ball to crush his august pride. 

With heart of victorious alacrity 
I climb heavenly stairs of shining gold 
to plaza on the flat-top ziggurat 
where Ishtar gazes through tall telescope 
that projects her eye huge as Jupiter 
so she sees all that happens on the Earth. 

After placing laurel wreath on my head, 
the bright-eyed Queen of Heaven offers me 
choice of winged horses as my bold mount, 
Pegasus, Bucephalus, or Buraq, 
but while each one would bear me to my goal 
I choose instead Tianma that Kwan Yin trained. 

Mounting lithe horse with elegant swan wings, 
whose black eyes gleam with primal stars of love, 
I ride her swift expression of pure faith 
three times around life-spinning globe of Earth 
till she transcends this mortal plane of flesh 
and streaks on wings of lightning to the moon. 

Descending from ethereal swirls of light, 
Tianma, with purring wings that ripple time, 
lands on enormous marble ziggurat 
where wise Apollo on smooth throne of gold 
strums lyre of Mercury with supple hands 
and sings long epic poem that John Keats wrote. 

Entranced by vision of Hyperion, 
who reigned in crystal palace of star eyes 
one hundred million years of crafty peace, 
I gaze at sphere of Earth that shimmers bright, 
green and blue in nowhere void of hope, 
weeping for tragic lives of human souls. 

Awake from dream of meditating trance, 
I stretch and walk outside the silent hall 
to stroll in garden where cherry trees bloom 
fragile as children killed in brutal wars 
that rage in distant lands around the world, 
while I drink peach juice in the cool spring breeze. 

Before They Kill Us All

Before They Kill Us All
© Surazeus
2024 03 21

They want to exterminate our whole clan 
from vibrant passion of life-spinning Earth, 
and erase stories of our homeless tribe 
from the ancient book of mountains and seas, 
so we must defend our lives from their hate 
and kill them first before they kill us all. 

Hunted for centuries across strange lands 
far from the homeland our fathers designed, 
we escape their swords in the wilderness, 
yet long for lush valleys our mothers tilled, 
so we must live with compassionate hope 
and kill them first before they kill us all. 

Thick grapevines we planted with bleeding hands 
in fertile soil that gave our bodies life 
still grow entangled in our lonely hearts 
though we wander far from vales of lost homes, 
so we must plant more vines in foreign fields 
and kill them first before they kill us all. 

Beneath cool shade in groves of olive trees 
we gathered round tables of faith to feast, 
and by deep sea that ever calls our names 
we sang solemn psalms of trust in the Sky, 
so we must feast and sing in these strange lands 
and kill them first before they kill us all. 

We built new homes in cities far from home 
and raised our families in gardens of fruit, 
but they attacked us and drove us away 
to wander as strangers in these strange lands, 
so we must return to our first homeland 
and kill them first before they kill us all. 

Surrounding us in ghettos of despair, 
they trap us with high fences of barbed wire, 
then, sending us in trains to prison camps, 
they gas our souls in chambers of contempt, 
so we must go back to where we began 
and kill them first before they kill us all. 

Returning to space of our first homeland 
where bones of our ancestors form the hills, 
we drive squatters from homes our fathers built, 
and chase thieves from gardens our mothers tilled, 
so we must raise flag of our haven state 
and kill them first before they kill us all. 

Safe in Promised Land our First Father found, 
based on promise from Spirit of the Stars, 
we dwell surrounded by thousands of tribes 
who want to exterminate our whole clan, 
so we claim our space on life-spinning Earth 
and kill them first before they kill us all. 

Wisdom Of The Glowing Sun

Wisdom Of The Glowing Sun
© Surazeus
2024 03 21

When I open my heart to hope for joy 
I hear song of the river in the wind 
and whisper of the ocean in tree leaves 
as light transforms rain into juicy fruit 
that nourishes our bodies and our minds 
with ancient wisdom of the glowing sun. 

The flowing river glistens in moonlight 
that gleams in eyes of the owl in the oak 
who teaches me ancient song of the stars 
that flash for you and me as we make love 
with aching rhythm of the spinning Earth 
which gives us wisdom of the glowing sun. 

With every song that fountains from my heart 
I feel the surging ocean overflow 
to drench my deserts with tears of desire 
in harmony with how the caged bird sings, 
then dance with soft wind in the springing grass 
as I learn wisdom of the glowing sun. 

When I ask her to run away with me 
and live as my wife on our apple farm 
she grips my throat and growls with sneering smirk 
that we must be crooked with humble faith 
to live in this crooked world of despair, 
enduring wisdom of the glowing sun. 

The sweet-voiced stream that gives me drink of life 
bears me away on ceaseless tides of hope 
when I float lost on current of my fate 
far from paradise I built with my hands 
where strangers now enjoy fruit of my heart 
stolen from wisdom of the glowing sun. 

The unknown faceless bards of long ago 
who haunt my heart as ghosts of ancient truth 
now touch my lips with flame of sacred fire 
so I see beauty in gloom of my fear 
when I strum lyre and sing tale of the fool 
who still seeks wisdom of the glowing sun. 

In snow-white hair of clouds on shoulder hills 
moonlight reveals face of my mother clear 
when she gives me green emerald of the sea 
that glitters with first flash of the big bang 
and teaches me how to sing what I dream 
that encodes wisdom of the glowing sun. 

Oppressed for centuries by greedy kings, 
we break our hearts from chains of misery 
to journey far across the storm-wracked sea 
and build new paradise in haunted woods 
where I still roam with nowhere to call home 
past signs to wisdom of the glowing sun. 

If We Defy The Fates

If We Defy The Fates
© Surazeus
2024 03 20

Through sense of swirling ocean and old trees 
the cranky seer who knows the secret truth 
gives masks to every lonely soul he sees 
to bolster illusion of hollow faith 
because each falling fruit inaugurates 
grand revolution to defy the fates. 

Dark veil that hides our faces from blank skies 
tricks us to repudiate our blood oath 
with wanton opposition of wise spies 
who feel Death is grim tyrant of our troth, 
so we get lost in haze of fierce debates 
with anxious purpose to defy the fates. 

She strives with God of Everywhere for keys 
to open doors for shelter of our souls 
but, wandering lost on stairway to cold seas, 
we sing sad hymns for long-forgotten goals, 
still trusting how her daughter navigates 
rough ways we follow to defy the fates. 

Yet in dark gloom around heart-warming fires 
we share weird horror stories of deep wells 
from which crawl demons up fragile church spires 
who mock our fears at ringing of the bells 
because each tragic moral demonstrates 
consequence for those who defy the fates. 

Catastrophe of trust in Unseen Power 
asserting restless detriment of laws 
reveals Invisible Hand of the Tower 
who crushes opposition to his cause 
in fierce rebellion when he dominates 
choices we lose if we defy the fates. 

While godless winds from spinning iron core 
blow through the Shining City on the Hill 
we cheer to hear the Hidden Dragon roar 
in fight against tyranny for Free Will 
at victory our whole nation celebrates, 
though Death laughs at those who defy the fates. 

With glint of iron in his honest eyes 
good man who reluctantly plays Good Leader 
executes social programs that comprise 
support for vision of the Humble Worker 
who joins noble quest of state delegates 
voting for courage to defy the fates. 

Alone on drear and lonely tract of Hell 
I build accessible stairway to Heaven 
where every lost soul with harsh tale to tell 
may follow prudence of the moon-eyed raven 
till they find Wise Woman who generates 
dream code that helps us all defy the fates. 

Weird Miracle Of Why

Weird Miracle Of Why
© Surazeus
2024 03 20

Thirsty to taste sweet orange peel of the sky, 
I examine broken things of the world 
so I can breathe weird miracle of why 
that winds my heart with wings of atoms curled 
more taut than galaxies of dreaming brains 
because I lose myself in mindless rains. 

Obtaining memories from wild honeybees 
that modify how time designs my name, 
I wander woods of strange identities 
to swindle wisdom with the curious game 
I play through calm perplexity of faith 
that leads my way to sea of the blind wraith. 

Halfway between the mountain and the sea, 
lost in religious haze of singing birds, 
I illustrate how angels live so free 
through allegory of unpuzzled words 
that shape ground of this Earth on which I dwell 
as faceless ghost who haunts Rune-springing well. 

Intensely anxious that sly Death still knows 
each secret name my brain tries to invent 
in vain attempts to escape fate of snows, 
I decide to campaign for president 
since we have decided to behead kings 
who tremble in rage when Queen Ishtar sings. 

I love every human who lives on Earth 
whether any of them love me or not, 
because I value each soul with great worth 
since we are creatures that sunlight has wrought 
through process of evolution to dream 
awake in our minds by the flowing stream. 

Bright stars of childhood still gleam in our eyes 
which inspires our bodies to grow in play, 
though pain of failing organs twists the prize 
of joy we claim as we start to decay, 
because ambiguous stories of the dead 
intone manic melodies in my head. 

Each serpent slithering in meadow of fear 
guides me to emotional swing of hope 
that flings me to the silver moon so near 
I almost understand how I might cope 
with stringent passion of daily desire 
to transcend my role in the global choir. 

When life-affirming sap of Mother Earth 
shoots upward through my body into wings, 
I reach my spirit high toward soul rebirth 
to dance in mountain grove where Ishtar sings, 
for with clear temporary glow of life 
she fills my heart with joy as loving wife. 

Mansion Of My Strength

Mansion Of My Strength
© Surazeus
2024 03 19

Once we eradicate invasive tribes 
and bomb their religions to smithereens, 
we can build on ruins of their despair 
new paradise of grand national pride 
that shelters us from harm of bitter lies 
so we can eat the labor of their hands. 

Till we erase their libraries and schools, 
and burn books of their fake mythologies, 
we must subvert their gods to evil demons 
to portray our legends as victories 
of our wise seers over their witless fools 
that enhance our virtue over their vice. 

Here on this shining stretch of ocean beach, 
now cluttered with their factories and stores, 
I will erect grand mansion of my strength 
composed of marble blocks from empty halls 
to glorify my noble destiny 
bestowed by true God as my divine right. 

Where now these wooden shacks where farmers lived 
in dire poverty of godless despair, 
on this soft sand where wild children played, 
I will construct new spacious pool of faith 
with umbrellaed tables for honest feasts 
where my good family may relax in peace. 

You must accept with humble gratitude 
will of Heaven that determines your fate 
when angel wings, urged by divine decree, 
sweep your mendacious ghetto in the sea 
to cleanse this land of your viral disease 
so I can build paradise on your grave. 

Aggressive strength of assured confidence, 
supported by strength of national law, 
invigorates our drive to conquer Hell 
as we obliterate cruel terrorists 
who seek to drive us with unfair contempt 
from sacred space of our ancestral lands. 

Since God gave our forefathers this fair land 
thousands of years ago with starred contract, 
we dwell with vigor of bold fortitude 
through honest resilience against attacks, 
and, though we were scattered to foreign lands, 
this land remains ours by divine decree. 

Though we must kill to claim our paradise, 
to secure safe homeland by force of arms 
where our children may prosper with hard work, 
through courage of endurance we will grow 
to maintain progress from fertile faith, 
constructing Heaven from fiction of Hell. 

Infectious Anxiety Mode

Infectious Anxiety Mode
© Surazeus
2024 03 19

Because they try to set his hat on fire 
with laughing gasoline of naked truth, 
he will conjure disarticulate words 
to prove how worthless love can never be 
as if obscure excerpts of puzzle code 
would smear blood on the art magazine page. 

Regret may not soon hesitate to charge 
for promised coverage of the howling time 
because we must share stories of our lives 
while huddling round the campfire at midnight 
with solemn remembrance of those who died 
yet walk among us as absence of faith. 

We could archive our dreams in lonely books 
stored on third floor of the library hall 
because experience of the songless vibe 
is more sublime than timeless waterfalls 
till we decide with concern to attend 
last conference about history of world art. 

Enthusiastic crowd of sunset ghosts 
cheer leaping dance of the most serious clown 
who prophesies when the empire will fall 
as if they just collapse when we decide 
the time has come to change how we perceive 
mechanical world of atomic light. 

So we decide to become Futurists 
who choose infectious anxiety mode 
for measuring our mental capacity 
to multiply our bodies from coiled genes 
as we mutate from fish to wingless angel 
when we transgress borders of moral rights. 

Inert from paradoxical desire 
while marking pastoral zone of exchange, 
we network at art museums of pride 
with posh pose of necrotic attitude 
long absent from contagious stage of fear 
with disregard for loose propriety. 

While I survey our critical domain 
with objective focus of harsh insight, 
my brain stuck in metastasis of hope, 
I trick my heart to reproduce weird joy 
through frigid ecstasy that powers time 
when I exploit glam likeness of the world. 

With each redundant gesture of pure art, 
converting psychic trash to social cash, 
I saturate my brain with dreams of love 
through generalities of ideal truths, 
till I derive new world order from lies 
on which our victory may capitalize. 

My Own Direction Home

My Own Direction Home
© Surazeus
2024 03 18

Safely ensconced as the complete unknown 
in cardboard box of my alleyway haven, 
I ask Sisyphus why his rolling stone 
smashes only idols of the gold raven 
who brings me god mask from the ancient tome 
that helps me map my own direction home. 

Dancing with demons on Mount Helicon 
who guide me to the Fairy Queen in Stonehenge, 
I show her map I drew of Avalon 
so she rewards me with the holy orange 
which inspires me to build the Pantheon dome 
since I forget my own direction home. 

Chanting magic spells with mad Baudelaire 
who teaches me how to storm the Bastille, 
I steal jeweled crown of Apollinaire 
to prove I am the lost King of Castile, 
so on American highways I roam 
to navigate my own direction home. 

Claiming Siege Perilous of Percival 
with Wand of Zambor as World President, 
I encode secret of the Holy Grail 
as wizard who performs the sacrament 
through which I rule Earth from temple of Rome 
after paving my own direction home. 

Through reason of Apollo I explain 
how Earth beams from first flash of the big bang 
while strumming guitar on the street in rain 
to reorganize my loyal street gang 
who helps me when I play the empire game 
as fool lost on my own direction home. 

Through passion of Dionysus I leap 
on wings of Icarus above the world 
to Elysium where sons of Jesus weep 
at second coming of the Cosmic Herald 
who devises code of my royal name 
which signifies my own direction home. 

Hitchhiking to Eden with Sisyphus 
to drag King Midas off the global throne, 
we sit on head of Ozymandias 
to plot salvation of the rolling stone 
when lawyers arrive to deny my claim 
to redesign my own direction home. 

Wandering signless roads of America 
as the unknown with no direction home, 
I get lost in wild hills of Attica 
to find myself at home wherever I roam, 
hiding in Cave of Dreams to evade Fame 
who tries to block my own direction home. 

Injustice Of Their Greed

Injustice Of Their Greed
© Surazeus
2024 03 18

Along the apple-sweetened Anio shore 
Chloris runs on frail legs like wounded deer 
to escape gang of boys who call her whore 
as she finds motivation through stark fear 
to hide in small cave where the fox once dwelled, 
then weeps to know the truth that death has smelled. 

Heart bitter at injustice of their greed 
that crushes her beneath their mocking boots, 
Chloris scratches foul soil to find the seed 
that conjures magic of apple tree roots 
which consume corpses of boys she will kill 
when they lose control of their souls they spill. 

Sharp blade of metal she digs from wet dirt 
gleams in moonlight with thirst for evil blood, 
so Chloris glides with stealth despite her hurt, 
faced smeared with demonic power of mud, 
and finds each boy who dishonored her heart 
to exact revenge of his fatal chart. 

As ghost of sorrow, wandering misty groves, 
abused and discarded by gang of thieves, 
Chloris becomes mute absence as she roves 
stale valleys of tangled weeds where she grieves 
loss of innocence she treasured with faith 
in honest love that haunts her as cruel wraith. 

Concealed by oak leaves fluttering in the breeze, 
as she lingers in shadows of despair, 
Chloris sees her mother weep on her knees 
before funeral pyre that distorts hot air 
with flames consuming body of her soul, 
while Sextus scatters roses from brass bowl. 

Confused that they are weeping for her death, 
over corpse of some strange girl on the bier, 
Chloris hesitates and inhales deep breath 
to cherish love symbolized by each tear 
that people weep at memory of her name, 
remembering how she played the singing game. 

Deciding it is better they believe 
that she is dead, and nothing more than ghost 
whose absence they will too soon cease to grieve, 
Chloris retreats from alerting the host 
that she is still alive, then turns away 
to find her own new solitary way. 

Along the apple-sweetened Anio shore 
Chloris skips with wild joy that she is free 
to never suffer pursuit anymore, 
then kisses skull of Pluto by the sea 
where she lounges all day, eating fried fish, 
and reading weird tales that fulfill her wish. 

Attention Of His Faith

Attention Of His Faith
© Surazeus
2024 03 17

With each crow that launches toward sun-red clouds 
young Cronus plucks another juicy plum 
from black twisted branches of ancient trees 
while glancing back over his shoulder to spot 
if old gray-bearded Uranus might wake 
from snoring by door of his old wood shack. 

Relaxing with blithe confidence of stealth, 
young Cronus climbs up in the tallest tree 
to reach three largest plums with eager hands, 
then starts with shock that makes his heart beat wild 
when harsh voice of old Uranus declares 
that he will soon die for his crime of theft. 

Staring down surprised in fierce sea-blue eyes, 
Cronus stutters and tumbles from the tree, 
annoyed that his plums scatter in the grass, 
then leaps to his feet and crouches to fight, 
like the wolf crouches when facing the bear 
that catches him sniffing about his lair. 

Snatching broken branch that lies in the grass, 
young Cronus twirls and waves it with bold stance, 
as if to show that he cannot be cowed, 
when Uranus howls and charges with rage, 
like the bull defending its fertile herd, 
and punches raven boy hard in the head. 

Stunned and dizzy as he rolls in wet grass, 
young Cronus clutches his bruised head in shock, 
but breathes deep and centers spark of his strength 
at flaming core of passion in his breast, 
so he asserts attention of his faith 
to leap and kick Uranus in his chest. 

Alert with tense control of his taut limbs, 
young Cronus analyzes with sharp eye 
just how sky-father moves when he attacks, 
and notes exposure of his vital state 
when he swings skull-crushing fist in hot rage, 
then snatches sickle with intense purport. 

Ducking hard blow of his skull-crushing fist, 
young Cronus somersaults inside his guard, 
then, clutching genitals of his old father, 
castrates his sire with swift stroke of ambition 
through brave objective to assert free will 
in choosing how he wishes to perform. 

Hurling organ for generating life 
into deep swirling sea of wordless hope, 
young Cronus gasps when from its foaming seed 
beautiful Rhea emerges with grace, 
so they embrace and make love by the sea, 
then kiss and blush as they consume ripe plums. 

Born Merely Clown

Born Merely Clown
© Surazeus
2024 03 17

Awake in glow of vast lenticular, 
I backward flow on stream of faceless words 
to ungrasp thought for each particular 
that flutters joyful anguish of wild birds 
who swoop with full exquisite themes of love 
to fall stone-dreamed in shadow of the cove. 

Stark silent wisdom stones express in song 
urge little children flapping wingless arms 
to unsurprise wreathed tree that sells time wrong 
through endless councils legislating charms 
which Ocean suns with total amplitude 
based on unnow that measures poisoned food. 

More recent memories blooming dolls of grief 
consider shadows where blind children play 
games of chase with specters of disbelief 
performed by grim immortal mime of clay 
who molds snowflakes in idols of dead gods 
since sons of Jesus rule with iron rods. 

Born merely clown from mother of what if, 
I jump vast ocean bridges cracked by faith 
to measure span of life by looming cliff 
that knows why children steal books from the wraith 
though he sells silence in glass jars of hope 
with manuals that teach fools tricks how to cope. 

Each purchased fragment split from false untime 
contracts green silence with cold kiss of death 
out-morning warmth of calculated rhyme 
that tricks her son to wear clay face of breath 
with each new cloud far-dancing on blood hill 
unborn through flowers of conceptual will. 

Five faces painting gloom on boundless walls 
consider love more thick than seldom seen 
far deeper than white sea of serpent calls 
who sanely grasps frail moon in time machine 
as if we little unforgive forged pride 
less secret than cruel deeds we try to hide. 

Not thicker than forget of cannon speech, 
we laugh enormous clever no one hears 
to unregret frail corpses from foul beach, 
incensed by talking fists of huger fears 
too vivid for our children to dismiss 
with sometimes pleasure of the stolen kiss. 

Yet utter ripeness stuck between far downs 
expands unspeaking girls with honest tricks 
who search for named boys in pretty how towns 
with floating bells that holy book depicts 
as guessed uncertainties children obtain 
when they sleep dreams of starving bitter pain. 

Fight Their Own Wars

Fight Their Own Wars
© Surazeus
2024 03 16

Soft sunlight on thick windows of new cars 
considers principles of empire power 
condensed from prophecies of errant stars 
captured by blind Rapunzel in the tower 
who hears our thoughts in twitter of free birds 
when they escape false concepts of our words. 

The rivalry of mental principles 
between reason and control of Apollo, 
and passion and chaos of Dionysus, 
provides emotional balance of faith 
for me to navigate drama of life 
with energy that fuels perceptive logic. 

Though my mother and my father grow old 
since they were born in the second world war, 
our lives are beautiful as marigold 
that blossoms outside the empty church door, 
so I stroll in town with the busy crowd 
to contemplate magic of the Glow Cloud. 

Galahad sits in the Siege Perilous 
after Jesus founded the Royal Bloodline 
that rules through power of the Holy Grail, 
so Percival assembles the Earth Puzzle 
while they discuss how to conquer the world 
at the Round Table of the War Machine. 

People at round tables outside cafes 
eat ice cream and talk about politics 
while blind prophet with lyre of Hermes plays 
coded satires that mock deceptive tricks 
bankers play to keep the people enthralled 
with tales of wealth sung by the radio skald. 

Beethoven climbs stairs of the music hall 
to find Cinderella mopping the floor, 
so he gives her roses and jeweled ring, 
but she wants to fly to Paris and sing 
opera shows at Le Palais Garnier, 
because she hopes to marry sad Pierrot. 

Stock characters of abandoned religions 
hang out as ghosts in changing maze of myths 
so I try to revive them with new visions 
where they perform roles of militant faiths 
who fight world war over whose god is real 
till Janus and I make another deal. 

Complex narrative of victory we tell 
presents flawed human characters who play 
roles of Christ and Anti-Christ in world war 
till Zarathus crowns himself King of Earth, 
so we all go back to our daily lives, 
raising children who will fight their own wars. 

Perfection Of Afternoon Light

Perfection Of Afternoon Light
© Surazeus
2024 03 16

The bumblebee that hovers by my window 
explains perfection of afternoon light 
that sculpts simple beauty of trees and homes, 
and faces of people strolling the street 
as they discuss philosophy of life 
since the serpent lives in the apple tree. 

The serpent that lives in the apple tree 
lays down brambles and jagged shards of glass 
to obstruct my quest searching for true love 
so I transform pain of my heart to song 
that shines in darkness as lamp of new hope 
since the horse gallops on the windy hill. 

The horse that gallops on the windy hill 
reveals the long curling vine of desire 
that blooms with juicy purple grapes of faith 
which zing my brain with visions of delight 
so we dance laughing on the river shore 
since the eagle watches from the tall pine. 

The eagle that watches from the tall pine 
programs computers to obey commands 
which bind eight billion humans in one mind 
as we evolve into global God Brain 
who dreams evolution to wingless angel 
since the lizard lurks in fountain of youth. 

The lizard that lurks in fountain of youth 
defines the heart that explodes as the bomb 
fired by the tyrant in the golden tower 
who tracks our footprints on the sandy dunes 
to conquer paradise of olive trees 
since the camel rules as the wasteland ghost. 

The camel that rules as the wasteland ghost 
operates on cancerous king of the world 
who lies etherized on table of war 
after getting shot by the bold assassin 
who insists that the election was stolen 
since the dragon rises from the oiled sea. 

The dragon that rises from the oiled sea 
performs the rites of spring in Stonehenge ring 
where elves and angels gather to elect 
new Faery Queen to rule the Western World 
from Cave of Dreams on Isle of Avalon 
since the raven controls the television. 

The raven that controls the television 
retrieves Runes from deep Well of Melusine 
so humans have technology of words 
to capture memories of our previous lives 
which our ancestors lived with aching hearts 
since the bumblebee hovers by my window. 

Never Wait For Death

Never Wait For Death
© Surazeus
2024 03 15

Silver evening sky watches me through oaks 
with cruel demonic face of happiness 
that looms over frail homes on lonely hills 
where cars glide slow on narrow country roads 
with headlights that illuminate grim ghouls 
who haunt the wordless shadows of desire. 

Though precious treasure of my aching heart 
may seem lost now on raven wings of fear, 
I know she will return from swirling gloom 
with knowledge about people I hold dear 
whose idols never wait for Death to come 
in regular rhythm with ocean waves. 

Frail river boat may rock against mud shore 
with creaking moan of ghosts who search alone 
for names their mothers hide with serpent eggs, 
but I will wait for Death in black lace gown 
to take me to the castle for the feast 
where the prince pokes my chest with his sharp sword. 

Strange stillness of the black oak trees at dusk 
reflects stark terror of my empty mind 
so I grip twisted wand of trembling faith 
to face the smiling monster of my fear 
who lurks beside the moonlit singing stream 
while reading ancient book of epic poems. 

Rain clouds glow silver in the evening sky 
as if to mock wild beating of my heart 
while I stare in gold window of her hope 
where she brews apple cider in stone hearth 
that bubbles as she pours thick honey in, 
and adds sliced red mushrooms with eyes of newt. 

Inviting me inside with beaming grin, 
she dips large jeweled grail in bubbling juice 
and offers me sweet honey mead of love, 
so I drink deep illusion of the mind 
that flashes visions of ten million years 
as I dream how light swirls into the Earth. 

Light fades into black nothingness of truth 
that veils frail shell of my soul in red mist 
in tune with shrieks of foxes on bleak moors, 
because the moon owl on the hearth explains 
how man and woman generate new life 
as I fall into abyss of her eyes. 

I never wait for Death to find my home 
so when I wake beside the girl I love 
I kiss her face from compassion of trust 
with vow to feed her and guard her with care 
as she swells pregnant with child of my soul 
who wears demonic face of happiness. 

King Of The Pack

King Of The Pack
© Surazeus
2024 03 15

I do not want those fawning worshippers, 
he proclaims while striding down mirrored halls, 
who flock around the beautiful masked stars, 
for they are vampires hungry for your power 
who misdirect their jealous energy, 
and would turn quick to stab you in the back. 

Halls of Fame are crowded with Jupiters, 
he sneers while tapping photos on the wall, 
who cruise around Gotham in fancy cars, 
and fight for who will rule the Ivory Tower 
to evade fate of double jeopardy 
in vicious contest for King of the Pack. 

Obsessed with glamor of the worshipped poet, 
endowed with recognition of the crowd 
as brilliant genius with clever insight 
expressed through spells of convoluted verse, 
these nascent Apollos seek only fame, 
forgetting we endure Hell to reach Heaven. 

Programmed by investors to play the prophet 
as the tortured poet in tattered shroud 
who wears fake wings of Icarus in flight, 
nameless poets, ignorant of the curse 
bestowed by Orpheus on the Word Game, 
chase rainbow of glory cast by the Raven. 

After descending to foul gloom of Hell 
to rescue my Muse, bitten by the snake 
of hunger for fame and glory of the seer, 
I lead her back home to the World of Light 
only to lose her from silent despair, 
my heart glowing with strange Wisdom of Death. 

Kneeling in dark woods by Rune-teeming well, 
I gaze at mask of my face that seems fake 
to discern ideal truth in spinning sphere 
that formulates morals for wrong and right, 
till I perceive the Real behind is glare, 
so I regain my Muse with conscious breath. 

Performing role as Priest to save the world 
from glamorous illusions of false wealth, 
I sing uncanny spells with eerie voice 
while bearing lamp that guides my way with love 
till crowds of lost souls follow my footsteps 
and gather in haven I build with words. 

Returning from Hell as the Cosmic Herald 
with hard-won secret code for mental health, 
I sing new paradigm that presents choice 
as creative way to share treasure trove, 
concealed with riddles on globalized maps, 
so we can sing in harmony with birds. 

Prim Reclining Goddess

Prim Reclining Goddess
© Surazeus
2024 03 14

Heritage of the walking table claims 
prim reclining goddess on railroad tracks 
loves Teiresias of the hooting owl 
with visual passion of Olympic games 
distorting visions of computer hacks 
who program dreams with poems of Robert Lowell. 

Close reading of blank books that swim alone 
exposes pride that Julius Caesar twists 
concept of Heaven that glamors his brain 
to sing in harmony with rolling stone 
that Sisyphus paints red with martial fists 
because Teiresias loves to dance in rain. 

Because the Boston Brahmin rides black horse 
along telephone lines of naked voice 
though wise zombies study philosophy, 
Teiresias sails small boat down winding course 
from Mount Parnassus based on private choice 
to prove Death plays chess through theology. 

Unhappy circumstances of his life 
concealed in puzzling poems he never writes 
with rigorous examination of faith, 
Teiresias wears mask of his gorgeous wife 
to fool Robert Lowell who always fights 
against imperial reign of the god wraith. 

While driving Tudor Ford on asphalt road 
past the old South Boston Aquarium 
through bleak Sahara of swirling snowflakes, 
Teiresias visits Temple of the Toad 
who leads the dead to lush Elysium 
with honest hope to meet satanic snakes. 

Opposed to factories built in cotton fields 
where dancing skeletons worship the Bear, 
Teiresias lassoes idol of dead king 
who still laments bloody sword his son wields 
in battle to defend Apollinaire 
who searches in vain for his lost left wing. 

Traumatized by love of the eyeless ghost 
who dances with him gracefully through time, 
Teiresias tries to confess with proud mien 
eternal flame of love that burns his boast 
with promise to cleanse his soul of all crime 
then vanish in shadow of Melusine. 

With fierce ambition of his fleeting youth 
that weighs his heart with cruel elusive flame 
beaming too brightly from the stark abyss, 
Teiresias appoints me messiah sleuth 
under spar spire of the church with no name 
because Ishtar enchants me with her kiss. 

Remake Our Nation

Remake Our Nation
© Surazeus
2024 03 14

Clearly not fast enough to overcome 
disastrous dissolution of Dream World 
that we assumed describes reality 
which crumbles into narrative of power 
expressed by violent people in despair, 
I remake our nation in my own image. 

Clearly not wise enough to comprehend 
nine levels of chess in game of world power 
that swirls around me in global events 
unfolding from conflicts of interest 
between opposing cults of social rights, 
I remake our nation in my own image. 

Clearly not cool enough to arrogate 
glamor of divine right to exercise 
power of authority with gold wand 
which I wield in battle for mind control 
to fight demonic energy of hate, 
I remake our nation in my own image. 

Clearly not strong enough to confiscate 
wealth stolen by the traitor through his scams 
designed to fool his frightened worshippers 
with delusion that he is their messiah 
who will save their souls from humiliation, 
I remake our nation in my own image. 

Clearly not sharp enough to navigate 
narrow channel of balanced accuracy 
while steering Ship of State with strict insight 
between opposing ideologies 
based on analysis of equal rights, 
I remake our nation in my own image. 

Clearly not fool enough to analyze 
complex hypothesis of measurement 
based on comparison of legal rights 
opposing nations claim in brutal fight 
that land they occupy was always theirs, 
I remake our nation in my own image. 

Clearly not dumb enough to conjugate 
assumptions based on vague ancestral rights 
enforced through bullet-pointed words of pride 
to kill or be killed in cruel genocide 
that shatters frail skulls of the innocent, 
I remake our nation in my own image. 

Clearly not slow enough to interfere 
with postulated theory forged from death 
that faceless God in glowing cloud of fear 
directs stage drama of global events 
to reduce excess human population, 
I remake our nation in my own image. 

Salvation From The Rain

Salvation From The Rain
© Surazeus
2024 03 14

Through artistic measurement of Mankind 
blind seers who rearrange our naked souls 
present our fragile hope of hostile joy 
in frame of reference bound by ancient laws 
that men on mounds of skulls declare as rule 
by which we seek salvation from the rain. 

To preserve geography of our flesh 
that curves beyond our understanding minds 
we choose how we would see the changing world 
as vital resource we extract with hands 
that could sustain compassion of our souls 
when we achieve salvation from the rain. 

Old woman stepping from wood portrait frame 
leaves bombed museum with her dreams intact 
while clutching suitcase of torn photographs 
to walk past war tanks, mangled on the road, 
where skeletons dance with rainbows of despair, 
to discover salvation from the rain. 

Waiting for the brutal world war to end, 
her daughter sits by cracked window of time 
and sews world map on pillow of her hope 
that shows how roads and rivers interact 
to nourish cities bombed to dusty ruins 
which could provide salvation from the rain. 

While reading empty book of history, 
which presents maps that show how haughty kings 
killed people to claim moral victory, 
she ponders how our lives could intersect 
so we can weave new life from harsh defeat 
to utilize salvation from the rain. 

Assembling diorama of her lost life, 
the little girl in dirt-stained yellow dress 
fills miniature house with new furniture 
where dolls can play cute drama of her heart, 
on cluttered yard beside her bombed-out house, 
if she procures salvation from the rain. 

Attentive to flight of the martial hawk, 
that watches humans battle over land, 
the young girl bears the cold sea in her hands 
to scatter waterdrops on stark white hills 
for olive trees to sprout from fractured skulls, 
to encourage salvation from the rain. 

Eager to hear stones of the Earth speak truth, 
I stand before abandoned castle shells 
to dream lost memories my ancestors lived 
that explain why I built it with my hands 
in hostile wilderness of monstrous men, 
then discover salvation from the rain. 

Pretty Queen Of Tears

Pretty Queen Of Tears
© Surazeus
2024 03 13

The white horse only guides me by surprise 
as captive of Apollo, god of songs, 
who calls me with strange voice of motor cars 
programmed by Theseus to wake the dead, 
electric shock therapy of cruel jokes 
that crack invisible mirrors with faith. 

When I was troubled by gold evening light 
that stretches boundaries of my ardent mind, 
you molded my body from ocean slime 
with tangled knots no sailor can untie, 
though I climb the tallest tree in the world 
to understand why monkeys love to sing. 

Stealing words of detective story plots 
to bribe my sad collaborating Muse, 
I tell fictional version of my life 
in memoir full of lies that no one reads 
about how snakes in apple trees can trick 
fools into believing God loves their names. 

My eyes will never see what my hands do 
because I type words on blank page of truth 
to confess with verbal rawness of faith 
deception I perform to scam the rich 
by fooling them to believe the black rose 
contains the secret of eternal life. 

Because I love the pretty Queen of Tears, 
who opens windows on hot summer nights, 
I dance ballet on the razor-sharp edge 
of honest passion between naked souls 
who pass each other in the sultry dusk 
with brutal swagger of the hungry dead. 

Though History wants to live with what is here, 
clutching my heart with gentle dragon claws, 
I choose to accept that all humans die 
with unfinished drama of our desire 
luring us way too deep in maze of myths 
for us to escape trap of great events. 

Cows wait patiently in the field of dreams 
where I grip high-voltage wire of ambition 
with laughable plan to crown myself king 
while hunting predatory clowns with stealth 
who wear my terrifying innocence 
as angelic mask to hide their scarred face. 

Midway through journey of my futile quest 
to find the Holy Grail inside my heart, 
I drop dead in the middle of my show, 
still gripping mask of my negative self 
that melts in screaming alphabets of faith 
because I wake not in the Afterlife. 

Poison Of Fame

Poison Of Fame
© Surazeus
2024 03 13

Fame is the deadly poison of false pride 
that destroys and kills the poetic spirit, 
so better to remain obscure and nameless 
to more enchantingly sing in the silence 
with loving lamentation of the heart 
for death of beauty in the changing world. 

The faceless singer in the swirling mist, 
who walks forever on the signless road, 
finds weird transcendent beauty of the mind 
in hostile wilderness of savage beasts, 
so when he arrives in the country town 
he sings with joy to praise passion of life. 

When people lost in darkness of desire 
hear sweet enchanting voice of his weird song, 
then gather close to bask in glow of hope, 
the singer feels warm radiance of his soul 
sucked out by hunger of the crowd for faith, 
so he flees back to safe obscurity. 

Hearts sparked by Dionysian lust for hope, 
the anxious crowd, lost in dark gloom of fear, 
follows blinding glow of the frightened singer 
to find him hiding in cave of illusions, 
so they cry out for vision of salvation, 
hungry to devour his enchanting power. 

Emerging from gloom of demonic cave, 
with diamond gleaming brighter than the moon, 
the singer stands before the frightened crowd 
and sings to translate anguish of despair 
to hopeful faith that with their grasping hands 
they can create wealth from darkness of fear. 

Inspired by vision of better tomorrows, 
the crowd offers cup of fame to the singer, 
so, though he hesitates with bitter knowledge 
that fame is poison that would kill his spirit, 
he reaches out to accept their deadly gift 
offered from ignorance of worshipful awe. 

Drinking poison of fame with prayer of faith, 
the singer gasps and feels his soul transformed 
from mortal body to immortal god 
through wrenching apotheosis of love, 
so his body wilts in cave of illusions 
while his soul dissipates to wordless wind. 

Erecting statue that depicts the singer, 
his bold fanatic worshippers sing praise 
and bow before idol of his weird beauty 
to celebrate the heart-enchanting power 
his visions conjured in their hopeful minds, 
while they repeat the songs his heart once sang. 

Story Most Worthy To Sing

Story Most Worth To Sing
© Surazeus
2024 03 12

My self-reflection on my mirror brain 
tricks Ungod into thinking I am her, 
so she veils me in sorrow-fog of faith 
that leads me astray on the signless road 
my mother blazed with hill-exploring feet 
till I wander in her lush apple grove. 

Pushing through thick canopy of green leaves, 
I stumble into clearing by deep cave 
where she bathes naked in the sparkling pool, 
my eyes blinded by pure beauty of truth, 
so I understand why this world exists, 
awed by perfection of her moon-bright eyes. 

My conscious fear of Death inside my heart 
tricks Ungod into giving me ripe fruit, 
brewed sweet in mushroom wine that blows my mind 
as I dance laughing in star-flashing rain 
when she embraces me in eager arms 
and draws immortal spirit from my brain. 

Filling baskets in wagons with ripe apples, 
I wipe sweat from my frustrated forehead 
while she lounges in cool refreshing pool, 
belly swelling huge with child of my heart, 
so I smile and wave at girl I adore 
who beams while Erato plays ringing lyre. 

My haughty pride in fertile fatherhood 
tricks Ungod into crowning my bowed head 
with laurel wreath as I present our child 
to the cheering crowd of satyrs and nymphs 
who dance all night to celebrate rebirth 
of Kritheis from soul of the river ghost. 

Teaching young boy to strum strings of the lyre, 
I teach my son how to compose sweet hymns 
with clear harmonious tones of lofty faith 
that praise noble deeds of heroic gods 
who protect mankind from demons of fear 
when Zeus battles Kronos to rule the Earth. 

My meditation on path of my life 
tricks Ungod into giving me star map 
by which I navigate vast maze of myths 
to find the story most worthy to sing 
that presents tragic fall of the great city 
and prosperity of the country town. 

Limping wounded on the wild ocean shore, 
I cry out to Zeus in the empty sky 
for strong courage to fight the gang of thieves 
who drove my family from our paradise, 
but lie on sand as my wife and son weep, 
then sink in gloom as my son sings lament. 

Quakes Of Hopeless Faith

Quakes Of Hopeless Faith
© Surazeus
2024 03 12

These memories I recollect with the rain 
that types my sorrows on the listening lawn 
include the way my playful children laugh 
with heart-aching cheer of those who still hope, 
while faceless monsters of the hungry world 
haunt sun-beamed shadows as weird nameless things. 

I hide no memories of wings in my spine 
with tense attention to the way Death waits, 
but I breathe courage of the wordless rain 
to fasten my soul with hope to the world 
because I keep falling back to the sky 
in shocked reversal of grave discontent. 

The book still on the table of my heart 
attempts to escape my labyrinth of dreams 
to find warm glowing hearth in gloomy woods 
where cherubim disguised as stormy clouds 
hover vast over meadow of blind faith 
with bleak compassion of afternoon rain. 

The bomb explains my father is the light 
that cracks blank mirror of the restless sea 
so I decide that I will never drown 
except to send my spirit to the moon 
when grim age cripples my eager intent 
though I memorize names of birds and flowers. 

White petals from tattered dresses of girls 
pave bomb-buckled streets with grand victory 
as secrets children hide in star-burned books 
where photos of families killed in the war 
shrivel to oak leaves on indifferent hills 
though tanks crush golden walls of paradise. 

The nun on fire with passion of the sun 
runs silently toward mirror of the mind 
across low treeless hills of gleaming snow 
to catch blind angel falling from the sky, 
whose cry cracks Earth with quake of hopeless faith, 
then sits alone with nothing in her hands. 

Ten thousand people from factories and farms 
gather around tomb of the Unknown Goddess 
to sing reverent hymns for Pallas Athena 
whose shield displays virtual world of our dreams 
while angels fly silver planes over clouds 
to bomb the crystal palace where Zeus hides. 

After building Temple for wise Apollo, 
Triphonius wanders maze of Gotham City 
as ghost in memories of my predawn dreams 
who gives me the golden Cup of the Sun 
when I return home from the brutal war 
to wonder why our noble flag still burns. 

Join The Justice Squad

Join The Justice Squad
© Surazeus
2024 03 11

She mails letters from Desolation Row 
so I can know what happens to the ghosts 
who struggle every day to play the show 
with spirit-twisting passion of proud boasts, 
yet I refuse to say where I have been, 
still hoping to explain what I have seen. 

She photographs torn bodies of the dead 
half buried in rubble of bombed-out homes 
so I can build tombs for them in my head 
while recording their tales in dusty tomes 
that groan unread in dim library halls 
as their children play chase in waterfalls. 

She visits trailer-home parks outside town 
to document bitter lives of the poor 
who prefer the preacher become their clown 
to make them laugh that they can earn no more, 
unable to work sick in factories 
because they had to sell their psychic keys. 

She films the homeless singer by the bank 
who sings about the Calculator Man 
who bravely faced down the tyranny tank 
in world revolution that angels ban 
by burning down Statue of Liberty 
whose Book of Deeds crumbles into the sea. 

She photoshops her magazine face 
in picture with her children in her arms 
to prove she will always be Princess Grace 
fit to rule the kingdom of failing farms, 
till Humpty Dumpty tumbles off the throne 
at second coming of the three-eyed crone. 

She stands before the academic crowd 
to talk about Power of Poetry 
sanctioned by the Faceless God in the cloud 
whose perfect world includes dire poverty 
for crippled children orphaned by the king 
who claims all land as his with Magic Ring. 

She gathers flowers on the river shore 
to sing with joy that heals her broken heart 
while Hamlet sells food in the grocery store, 
hoping to evade fate of his star chart, 
till his father falls from Tower of Truth, 
which leaves him crowned as new messiah sleuth. 

She dances with the Jester by her grave 
after casting off strict religious chains, 
then forges Excalibur in the cave, 
used as propeller for the new airplane 
she flies above shining clouds to find God, 
but returns home to join the Justice Squad.