Return To Lost Fatherland © Surazeus 2024 04 30 Floating in deep purple calm of the sea, after wild waves stirred by turbulent winds capsized fragile bark of his zealous soul, Faunus gazes entranced at golden eye that shimmers bright with silent gleam of faith, then thrashes arms to swim up from dark deep. Gasping for air of the infinite sky with desperate purpose to reach solid ground, Faunus swims over wind-frothed waves of hope with frantic intention to evade death, that grabs his legs with cold demonic hands, by leaping like the dolphin with each breath. Stumbling onto broad beach of shifting sand that glistens under cliffs of tangled vines while gasping with laborious breath of despair, Faunus pauses on shore of the misty isle where plovers skitter past turtles and crabs, and gazes back at the turbulent sea. Falling to his knees as he coughs seawater and pulls strands of seaweed tangling his hair, Faunus stares bleakly at the hungry sea and shudders with horror at memory of almost drowning from shipwreck of fear, amazed he survived stark passage in hell. Soaring up high on contemplative wings with gulls that glide above dark heavy world, Faunus recalls with sharp nostalgic pain garden of fruit trees with finches and deer, where he played chase with friends in evening dusk, then ate fruit while bards sang heroic tales. Vowing to return to lost Fatherland after years fighting harsh wars far from home, Faunus lurches to his feet with fierce grunt, then hobbles slowly across the waste land, trudging over the roadless plain of faith toward vision of fruit groves in paradise. Kneeling on roadless plain cracked by mute heat in dizzy bewilderment of frustration, Faunus chats with three skulls on jagged rock, Achilles, Odysseus, and Aeneas, who sing enchanting melodies of joy that encourage him to continue on. Stumbling into grove of bare apple trees to kneel by almost-empty pool of tears, Faunus stares numb at his wife Marica who hugs him tight and gives him juice to drink, then calls their son Latinus who stands shyly as wild bearded man grasps his hand and cries.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Tuesday, April 30, 2024
Return To Lost Fatherland
Our Bodies Blossom
Our Bodies Blossom © Surazeus 2024 04 30 When life stirs in fertile womb of the sea our bodies blossom with hope of the Earth as she delights in how our souls evolve four hundred million years from eager fish to wingless angels singing dreams of light in global choir that thrills her heart with love. Sipping tea at glass table with her husband at small cafe beside the river park, Kathy rests hand on her belly and smiles with glowing pleasure to feel in her womb new spirit blooming from light of the world, and hums while watching sparrows flit in trees. Each new body born from mother of life is reincarnation, again in flesh, of immortal soul programmed in our genes that first evolved near hydrothermal vents from rings of carbon coiled in strands of code, so we have been alive since dawn of time. Caressing soft petals of the red rose that emanates sweet scent of humble joy, Kathy relishes strawberry parfait while Ha-yoon plays dreamy Moonlight Sonata that beams enchanting aura on the street as cars with gold lights gracefully glide by. First Mother Egg of our immortal soul, who spawned all forms of life that thrive today, still dreams in every plant and animal through conscious vision of atomic cells that pulse with primal passion of desire to savor joy of existing in form. Pondering name she will bestow on her child who begins to dream now inside her womb, Kathy whispers Kassandra or Katrina, but leaps to her feet in startled surprise when man she escaped from six years before aims pistol at her heart and fires a shot. Curling down to shield her womb with both arms while spinning away to roll on the ground, Kathy closes her eyes to hide from Death who leaps in front to guard his pregnant bride so the bullet pierces his chest instead, while two men tackle the man with the gun. Holding hands with Death who lies on the bed to heal from the gunshot wound to his chest, Kathy tearfully smiles as he opens his eyes and shows new-born Kassandra to her father who smiles with joy his wife and child are safe, then hums as her eyes gaze into his soul.
Monday, April 29, 2024
Singing Angel Of Death
Singing Angel Of Death © Surazeus 2024 04 29 I follow the amethyst butterfly through ghastly forest of obsolete faith to grotesque candor of infernal cave where dreams of every soul who ever lives flicker long scenes on television screens that form ommateum of the spider queen. Macabre alarm of the orgulous spell clangs loudly through excessive halls of steel where faceless people run in frantic haste, endlessly lost in changing maze of myths, to find grand temple of the singing skull that morphs into egg of the weeping witch. Stuck in the cold white room of nothing else, mouth stuffed full of pages from ancient books that bleed ominous words from sponge-wet brains which transform into golem with pearl eyes flashing with bewildered visions of fear, I wait for the singing angel of death. Dark shadow of my traumatizing hope looms over corpse of my dismembered mind at whistling wonder of the falling bombs that shatter mirror-blanked ghosts of the dead who linger near explosive tombs of truth enwrapped in wretched laughter of insight. Instead of wailing with gnashing of teeth in broken-hearted horror as you die from body-crushing accident of trust, I will sing enchanting psalm of despair to soothe your journey to the otherworld as your soul vanishes after you die. Through devastating awkwardness of love based on brutal regret of honest speech I climb bizarre walls of paradise lost to wander moonlit ruins without books in dreadful temple of the laughing god while searching for soul of America. Yet still glass telephone on the wall rings with menacing calm of insistent hope, so I reach out my hand across the void with trepidatious calm of reckless faith which bonds our hearts with romantic rapport strong enough to save our souls when we drown. When I find the amethyst butterfly slowly fanning her wings of arrogance on my secret Book of Life by the rose, I sip sweet pungent wine of holy blood from grail I fashioned from skull of Orpheus who weeps for Ophelia in lake of eyes.
Wise Priestess Of Love
Wise Priestess Of Love © Surazeus 2024 04 29 I like to hear the wise priestess of love from Enhuduanna to Taylor Swift sing tales about quality of bold soul which men perform when they guard her with love that stirs heart of the feminine divine with compassion to generate new life. Amen sits on the flat-top pyramid beneath four-pillared shelter that Ptah built, and offers drink and food to wanderers who listen as she sings enchanting hymn that depicts in clear visionary verse creation of our world from words of light. Inanna climbs stairs of Eanna Temple with large pet lion striding at her side, then peers into diamond sphere polished smooth to observe people in maze of Uruk who weep for death of her husband Dumuzid who sacrificed himself to save her life. Enheduanna opens arms in prayer before her father Sargon in feast hall to praise him as wise leader in the flesh descended from Moon God Nanna to reign with wisdom over cities of Akkad united under scepter of his power. Ishtar strums Lyre in Temple of Asshur that shimmers with lamps under the full moon, and sings Creation of the Universe to thousands of people gathered at midnight who drink wine brewed with honey and mushrooms while Tammuz stands guard with Wand of Shamash. Saraswati sits on stone by clear river where swans glide in pools as pink lilies bloom, and strums strings of the Veena with deft fingers while her husband Abrahma chants the Vedas, then slays Vritra, snake demon of drought, so water of life flows in fields of wheat. Athena wields hammer in temple forge that glows on top rocky outcrop Cecropia, teaching her son Erichthonius how to forge sword and grail from gold meteor that fell blazing bright from the Milky Way, while her brother Apollo plays the lyre. Kwan Yin meditates on pink lotus bloom, wise daughter of Avalokitesvara, whose pure heart perceives true sounds of the world on Lake of Bliss in land of Sukhavati while chanting verses of the Lotus Sutra with mercy for ten thousand sentient beings. Minerva rides Pegasus from walled fort to tend olive groves on Esquiline Hill, but back home she finds her husband Neptune kissing Medusa in their temple home, so she plays boxwood flute with broken heart and sings men must be faithful to their wives. Sequana rides boat to Lutetia Island, then rides on white hart Cernunnos leads to apple grove where Esus son of Iovis roasts beef steak on altar of sacrifice, so she sits on throne in grand temple hall where they feast and watch tale of Lucifer. Britannia rides wagon of six white horses from castle of Sarum on hill of oaks to temple built on pillars of Stonehenge where she presides at Beltane Festival as Fairy Queen for Isle of Avalon to play harp and sing history of the Earth. Onatah ascends flat-top pyramid after reviewing fields of golden corn, then, wearing feather headdress and long robe, stands before her tribe in feasting hall and chants Creation of the Universe while Hawenneyu plays heart-haunting flute. Every woman in history of the Earth who gazes up at sparkling stars of heaven, and sees transcendent vision of our world, translates insight of her analysis to songs that inspire our befuddled hearts with sacred tales of compassionate love. I hear their voices ringing in the stars, and feel their spirits in wind of the sea filling my body with soul of the sky so words of their songs inspire me with faith to protect sapient woman I adore who generates new life from our shared love.
Sunday, April 28, 2024
Though You Vanish
Though You Vanish © Surazeus 2024 04 28 Walking alone in dark street veiled in mist, I dream I see silhouette of your soul, and I remember holding your hand as we strolled among trees blossoming white, but I fought in war to keep our land free, and when I returned at last you were gone. I call your name in grove of apple trees, and call your name along shore of the sea, but you are nothing but ghost in my eyes, and you are nowhere in the weeping wind, yet I will search for you with heart of hope till we embrace when I gaze in your eyes. I hear your voice in wind of mountain trees gleam bright as snow that sparkles in your eyes, and hear your voice in crash of ocean waves that carve our tale of love on jagged cliffs, yet who will read our tragic tale of loss shattered from despair of fearful mistrust. Walking toward you in dark street veiled in mist, guided by light of affectionate love that gleams with light of pure stars in your eyes, I chase rainbow silhouette of your soul though you vanish before I reach your heart, then wander lost where you have never been.
Saturday, April 27, 2024
Puzzle Of Who I
Puzzle Of Who I © Surazeus 2024 04 27 I sing myself as nothingness of light for what I shall assume of my weird being you shall assume as atoms of world breath for we are fragile flames of conscious life that glow together on this spinning sphere, reborn from spirits our parents design. With song I celebrate humanity who sprouts from passion of urgent desire to breathe sweet fragrance of immortal hope which emanates from bodies of warm flesh and intoxicates our shy tender hearts so we wander in trance on ocean shore. Somewhere safe houses we built with our words distill our memories into pungent wine which lures our footsteps with undisguised hope to embrace our idols on meadow grass at throbbing beat of our organic hearts so we roll entangled in soft moonlight. With earnest curiosity of faith I reckon contours of our complex Earth till I possess prime origin of truth which filters lies from tales of travelers about fierce procreant urge of the world that drives us to seek beginning of life. Still caught in vortex of conceptual words, based on inception of romantic fear causing me to explore beyond the sky, I soon discover more about this world than my old mother told me in weird tales where countless people dwell in city maze. Yet perfect equanimity of things conceals bold silence trapped behind my mask so I catalog attributes of me that would define the cleanliness I feel composed of particles that bind my soul with stealthy tread to solid fact of space. Each proof of truth I try to realize reflects complexity of timeless force which I express with hearty howl of hope that I am not this body I contain yet every part of my soul aches with love to feel pain and pleasure of being alive. I celebrate this weird self you perceive conceived by visions of ancestral ghosts whose voices crackle riddles in my brain that flashes bright as mirror of the sky while I, with humble arrogance of why, assemble puzzle of who I must be.
Ancient Soul Of Artemis
Ancient Soul Of Artemis © Surazeus 2024 04 27 The young deer that pauses on my front lawn and stares at me while I stare back at her may channel ancient soul of Artemis to visit me with some secret to say, but then she shyly turns and glides away without acknowledging wars of mankind. While gangsters masked as politicians fight over who will control grand halls of power I step outside the door to my front lawn and search for Artemis in glowing mist, but she is gone to wild forest of bliss where she knows beautiful truth of the flower. Gathered on the university lawn to protest endless wars of genocide, where people kill each other over land before the others kill them as they play, the children of snow cry to the Blue Sky to bring justice to the children of sand. The eagle in the blue sky of world power fights the hawk over who will rule the globe while the raven in the oak tree of faith brings mushrooms to mad prophet in the cave who dances with illusions of the mind while chanting arcane spells of thought control. Each morning when I wake before gold dawn I watch the cautious deer with moon-black eyes patrol the world with soul of Artemis whose bow of justice strikes down tyranny as we work to preserve democracy with equality and justice for all. In cavern of illusions by the sea I watch vision of human history that displays rise and fall of world empires where clever men present themselves as gods who organize institutions of power in our global food-production machine. I want to ride spirit of Artemis as she glides in the sky on wings of truth to fight greedy tyrants in halls of power, who take control of rich nations in coups, so people of each land may cast their vote to choose wise leaders they want with free will. Yet fierce Achilles, always mad with grief, kills noble Hector who protects his land, so mobs of thieves conquer productive states, enslaving honest people with blind greed, till the cosmic herald wields wand of wisdom to operate United Nations of Earth.
Friday, April 26, 2024
Sing On Every Globe
Sing On Every Globe © Surazeus 2024 04 26 Erased from dream of Earth with flash of fire which transforms my body to beams of light, I disappear from swirl of singing life as nameless mask that hangs on temple wall where no sad singer recounts tale I lived while leaves of trees whisper in evening breeze. Reborn in frail body of chemicals life after life four hundred million years, I wake again from timeless dream of hope in each newly designed organic form to stand on ocean shore of singing stars and remember true name of my first soul. With memories of each life from birth to birth, all my ancestors lived from dawn of time, I grow more wise in knowledge of the truth about how we regenerate our souls from immortal soul of life-weaving genes that mold our bodies from light of the sun. Each face I wear as new incarnate soul reflects eternal spirit of the sun who beams unconscious power of desire to nourish passion of my will to live as I evolve fish to lizard to mouse to cat to monkey to human to god. Now I turn mirror mask of my new face up toward eternal beauty of Blue Sky where I aspire to transcend mortal frame, yet I know with wry laughter of respect that my conscious soul of self-aware mind is chemical function of neural cells. My conscious soul is function of this brain nurtured by chemical flash of desire that surges vibrant waves of aching hope which motivates my progress beyond fear across the waste land of terrible truth to build garden of fruit trees by the lake. After First Mother rose from sea of dreams she generated children from her love who multiply into billions of souls now forming nation-states around the Earth forever fighting to control rich land in endless world wars of kill or be killed. I take no sides in regional conflicts for we are all children of Mother Earth, so I weep for every human being killed while rivers flow and fruits ripen on trees and stars twinkle on their own fruitful worlds where I will wake and sing on every globe.
Weird Beauty Of Life
Weird Beauty Of Life © Surazeus 2024 04 26 When I see world of ever-changing forms by light of that different necessity which reframes story of how we survive, I sing old tale of heroic deeds new to metal ears of those indifferent cars that pass by on their way to grave of dreams. Because I felt no comfort of warm light that ancient gods radiated on mankind, I never feel bleak absence of their being when they desert the world of nation-states that teem with greedy gangs of hungry men who declare their leader immortal god. I feel no dread of punishment in Hell, nor hope for rapture from volatile states to dwell in Heaven of conflictless peace where I would play gold lyre of Mercury to sing of noble souls who perform deeds of selfless sacrifice to save the weak. Alone on ship of state in moonlight glow, as Argonaut who seeks treasure of truth, I gaze at seething waves of timeless love modulated by calm atomic force of glaciers melting from high mountain peaks through dynamic motions of eager hope. Intense aggression of wild ocean swells, that carve their songs on jagged rocky shores, tutor my heart to perceive unity of natural forces nominating Earth with spiritual formulas of strange truth which vex my frail heart with respect for death. Entranced by vision of the faceless sun as spider with ommateum that sees my single soul in billions of live souls, I perceive facets of reality outside collective scope of wordless faith that all compose one god-eyed view of truth. To measure stippled outline of my mind refracting many images of truth, I walk one hundred times around the Earth to dance with glee on highest mountain peaks and swim with joy in deepest ocean vales till I become nameless ghost of the world. With evanescent reason of bold faith I map conceptual patterns of ideas that spiral into radiant galaxies where countless planets nurture conscious life who all sing in harmony as one choir hymns rejoicing in weird beauty of life.
Agony Of Truth I Sing
Agony Of Truth I Sing © Surazeus 2024 04 26 With agony of hope stuck in my throat I interpret riddles of silent rain that reveal sad strangeness of growing old far from bright valley of my spirit birth where birds still contest over space in trees with songs too beautiful for me to sing. Remaining with me over centuries of exploration beyond far hills of mist, their cheerful songs of territorial lust frame how my mind perceives social events contrived by proud mavens of thought control where I feed ideology through hope. If I have traveled far enough away from familiar venue of youth home life I may not feel as sharp the pain of loss when people of my family I respect pass from this world into blank nothingness so grief my mother felt would not be mine. When she was struck with agonizing grief, after her mother and my father died, my heart was blasted with heat of her pain so I had to walk way from despair and travel far from valley of my birth to find safe haven of protective faith. No more stuck in strict dutiful routine, performing rituals of survival day after day to evade anguish of death, I roam with freedom from accomplishment through indolent curiosity to research strange beauty of this world outside my mind. Wandering in ruins of abbey stone walls to gather berries and nuts for lone meal in grove of trees where birds discuss desire, I pursue self-communion with my soul through mighty heart of transcendental mood, till I mitigate misery of my mind. With pensive restlessness of silent faith, which I design from patterns of sunlight, I make deserted wood my lonesome home while wounds of sorrow festering in my heart are healed by beauty of birth and decay that fuel sweet aura through my solitude. Alone in oneness of Nature and Death, I no longer need to identify myself as white female of Scottish blood, for now in wildness of high rugged hills I am but human struggling to survive by savoring agony of truth I sing.
Thursday, April 25, 2024
Calm Of The Stoic Fool
Calm Of The Stoic Fool © Surazeus 2024 04 25 I respect with calm of the stoic fool agony of existence we endure for passion of this body we inhabit fuels our journey across waste land of fear on endless quest to find the Promised Land where we tend apple trees with cautious hands. Stumbling home to small village of his birth, Gubazes falls to his knees by the well and gulps sweet water from bucket of oak as friends and family gather around to express shock at sight of his bruised face till he lies gasping under apple tree. Running from loom where she weaves tapestry that depicts Jesus saving humankind, his mother embraces him as she weeps, then leads him to feasting hall by the hearth where he drinks juice she pours into his cup, and caresses his arm as he eats steak. Ten years ago when I left with my father, hauling wagons full of minerals we mined, we were ambushed in narrow mountain pass and though he fought with bravery he was killed, and I was sold to slave as janitor in court of Justinian in Byzantium. Escaping maze of golden mirrored halls, I fled into rugged mountain waste land where Thustra, wizard dwelling in deep hell, taught me how to forge metal into swords, so I labored in cavern of illusions transforming despair into beams of light. While searching deep in labyrinth of gems I found enormous egg of spottled stars, so I warmed its heart with flames of the Earth, and from its shell rose red dragon with eyes that blaze bright gold as sun that gives us life which leaped from my heart to destroy the world. Weeping bitter tears for child of my heart, whose life I nourished with blood of my soul, I notched in bow I carved from taut Yew bough arrow of justice tipped with gem of truth and fired it straight into heart of my dragon who fell wounded into my trembling arms. Placing both hands on shoulders of her son, Valeriana proclaims for all to hear, God has appointed you, my noble son, with power to unite our oppressed land, so I crown you new King of Lazica destined to lead our nation to victory.
Person Who Dreams
Person Who Dreams © Surazeus 2024 04 25 The person is walking along the street past houses nestled among wind-blown trees that could be in any city on Earth, for this person who breathes life in the flesh is every person who has ever lived, and every name ever spoken is theirs. The person looks at leaves fluttering on trees and feels eternal beauty of the sun that blooms in every tree that ever blooms in every meadow beside every lake filled by every river that ever flows where they walk along every road of hope. The person looks at white clouds in blue sky that gather water from oceans of faith which they scatter as rain on every hill where people gather in light of the moon to prepare meals from the bountiful woods then feast and share every tale ever dreamed. The person who stands on our spinning sphere is me who gazes at the world with eyes that beam rays of light into my brain cells which organize their colors into shapes based on ideas my thoughts categorize to conjure virtual model of the real world. The person who perceives the world of forms is you who ponders what is real or not by expressing concepts in sentient sounds that convey vision of that world you see which indicates to others how you feel so you accept the fruit I offer you. The person who dreams the world we perceive is us who tell each other how we feel by inventing language that distorts the truth to conform to state ideologies prophets design to control our rogue minds when we enforce our right to live and eat. The person is standing on the hill top and painting image with wet globs on wood that represents the world our eyes perceive where organic forms made of chemicals interact through romantic tragedies in games that determine who breeds with whom. The person who plays lyre of Mercury sings ballad about daughter of Apollo who falls in love with son of Lucifer so they run away to build paradise where they raise children in Garden of Eden who sell apples in the market of hope.
Wednesday, April 24, 2024
Woman With No Door
Woman With No Door © Surazeus 2024 04 24 While Ruth strolls slowly in gold field of wheat, caressing wispy stalks of hopeful light, Tiresias films her progress toward her goal to generate life from the timeless soul who gleams in coils of genes inside her mind based on prototype first mother designed. Three men in black robes with fear-sharpened blades follow young woman where she blithely glides with intent to control her sacred womb that generates bodies for the hungry tomb, but pause to watch her sing with cheerful birds transforming sorrow into charming words. White raven in tall oak on river shore calls to the lonely woman with no door who hears strange secret in his riddled code that reveals method of the signless road which she could follow to escape despair, but she decides she must not really care. More beautiful now than Helen of Troy, from casual regard for the clever ploy, Ruth stands with sad grace on heavenly walls overlooking empire of empty halls where mirrors reflect faces of the dead who return from Heaven with wings of lead. Though Ruth decides her strength resides in faith derived from prophecies of the blind wraith, who writhes like smoke from pages of old books, she manages daily routine of cooks preparing feasts in temple of the god who directs missions of his justice squad. Too young to know why men employ brute force to misdirect intention of the course, Ruth turns back from cliff edge of the abyss in vain search to find out why humans miss essential clues to how we choose to live in restless religion of take and give. When she abandons life on the wheat farm to dwell in city of rebellious charm, Ruth dances with hippies in river park where she falls in love with the long-haired lark who plays guitar before the National Guard though Fate deals to him the Hanging Man card. With child born from their sweet romantic tryst same hour as the Apollo rocket blast, Ruth wanders lost on Desolation Row to find out where all the mad jesters go, then finds job in the factory sewing clothes where she silently composes dream odes.
Fate Of Religious Ways
Fate Of Religious Ways © Surazeus 2024 04 24 Fractured windows of the abandoned house reveal in swirling snow of frosted eyes soft faceless voices of convenient wells, and shadows torn from books of lonely tales that fail to praise fate of religious ways as if our bodies stumble on the loose. Bright yellow flowers of the rain-wet field that spew conceptual poison of despair attract naive butterflies of honesty who dance in fragile hope of ecstasy above smooth shining roof of the fast car that takes us to empty church of the failed. Long rows of houses on curved suburb roads entomb our treacled fantasy of faith concerning venomous beasts of the book that teaches young wives how to bake the cake so homeless people pay to come and look with access to swamp temple of mad toads. Old woman with her long hair drawn out tight photographs bats crawling on blackened wall to disprove reproof of long-silent bells which still distort the hours with silent tolls when ghosts in empty cisterns climb the hill to play chess with the puppet of moonlight. More bodies dug from graves of swirling sand leave dry bones rattling on our kitchen shelves who whisper stories of arrogant hope because the price of freedom is too steep though rain waits on the streets of angry calves herded by the oak clown with curious mind. Falling towers in cities of mad kings who once controlled vast empires of dream slaves radiate soft glow of unreal consciousness confusing people who try to buy bliss based on decay of truth from smoking stoves since the sad jester protests social wrongs. Wind under the door from riddles of bones leads homeless refugees from land-grab wars to search for eyes of pearls in shallow seas where drowned men clutch with fear at greedy keys designed to open academic doors where robots study secrets of lost runes. Huddled in torn tent on the river shore, Tiresias asks the turtle with gold eyes if he can purchase stocks in companies that finance wars for building colonies, then rattles tin can of bones to call spies who dwell in abandoned house of the star.
Tuesday, April 23, 2024
Choir Of Singing Souls
Choir Of Singing Souls © Surazeus 2024 04 23 Since poets are gardeners and poems are seeds we scatter our dreams in dark soil of hope where some will bloom into songs we all share while others vanish in the silent void, yet still we generate poems from our hearts and fling them into wind of hapless fate. Since poems are pollen and poets are bees we visit hearts of fellow troubadours to cross-pollinate visions of our minds with rich conceptual patterns of ideas which fertilize our whole imaginations transforming memories into virtual worlds. When vision of the world our eyes perceive blooms bright as flowers in soil of our mind we weave weird sentences of thoughtful words to beam that vision in song of the truth so others may understand what we see and thus communicate in riddling spells. So breathe deep spirit of the dreamless sky and with intense passion of faithful love express that vision of life you perceive to join our global choir of singing souls to weave one grand religious epic tale reflecting light in mirror of our eyes.
Free In Paradise
Free In Paradise © Surazeus 2024 04 23 Strumming lyre of Mercury as he weeps, Orpheus sings in garden of tall trees where people fill baskets with ripe fruit while angels in long white robes with sharp swords patrol high granite walls of paradise to make sure nobody escapes from Heaven. Noting that guardian angels in watch towers seem enchanted by music of his voice, Orpheus nods at Helius and Phoebus who climb to top of the two tallest trees where he hid bows and arrows in the night, then aim sharp attention at drowsy guards. As they shoot arrows that soar silently and pierce hearts of guardian angels with stealth, Orpheus leaps on high stone of contempt and shouts with jaunty laughter to distract attention of Jehovah from his friends who gasps in shock as angels fall in death. Facing each other with tense arrogance, Orpheus and Jehovah leap to fight in hand to hand combat of graceful dance, punching and blocking with strict-gestured strikes, till Orpheus somersaults on hawk wings and cracks skull of Jehovah with his lyre. While Orpheus and Jehovah contest in brutal fight for power over Heaven, Helius and Phoebus leap to the ground to protect women and children in groves when angels swarm to arrest their rebellion, two noble men fighting fierce cherubim. Snatching thick branch he breaks from apple tree, Helius twirls to fight ten angels with grace till they thrust swords into his beating heart, and Phoebus hurls stones with noble intent to crush their skulls till one runs up behind and whacks off his head with swipe of his sword. Defeating Jehovah and angel guards through rebellion against his tyranny, Orpheus and people in paradise cheer for their victory against slavery, then secure Heaven by appointing guards who wield swords of dead angels to keep watch. Sitting on throne where Jehovah once reigned, Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury and sings hymns to valiant heroes, Helius and Phoebus, who sacrificed their lives for liberty, and fought with love to set our people free, while they feast and sing, free in paradise.
Monday, April 22, 2024
Real Is Now Strange
Real Is Now Strange © Surazeus 2024 04 22 No more than hubris of calm petulance explains bravado of shy insolence when humble shepherd of the misty vale considers revolution might prevail with shocking passion of fake selfishness that resurrects blank mind of happiness. With bold obtuseness of the holy fool he rides fierce donkey to enforce world rule by wielding nuclear missile like dream wand he fished from horror of polluted pond to transform into white angelic cat who purrs on state desk of the autocrat. What secret code programmed by blinking rune, read only by sad witch born from the moon, conceals apocalypse in riddled verse conveniently forgotten in the curse that blazes flame of laughter from sea stone which powers robot brain of the god clone. Too long in temple of the singing snake reigns hungry king who knows all laws are fake though he is mad soul again in the flesh of bitter tyrant, son of Gilgamesh, who plays guitar on star-lit stadium stage to channel global mind of fearful rage. Awake as avatar from vampire bat who runs gambling den in old laundromat, King Midas shuffles in grove of dead trees, and sprays insecticide to kill the bees who swarm from open mouth of Melusine in civil war to rule the mind machine. Each prophet rising from their nation-state speaks words of wisdom to reprogram fate that channels spirit of all citizens by polishing their heart as psychic lens through which we dream wise gods in empty skies who watch us live with kaleidoscope eyes. Eager to live while my body of light can function well with chemicals of sight, I balance energy and form through dance of graceful accident from random chance till I meet Death at last on my own terms, and vanish with indifference of blind worms. Dispersed across cruel wilderness of hope, we learn from dire mistakes techniques to cope with nature that seems hostile to our being while floating dizzy from demonic wing that carries us through storm of social change since world truth that once seemed real is now strange.
Map Of The Mythoverse
Map Of The Mythoverse © Surazeus 2024 04 22 Skipping through endless maze of mirror masks which constitute map of the Mythoverse, I bring hamburgers to temple of ghosts to chat with Odin, Zeus, and Jupiter who argue over who will rule the world after the global election is done. Crawling over contours of measured hills which formulate story of the Mindscape, I plant seeds from apples, peaches, and pears in rotten hearts of giant dinosaurs who sang in hymn of global dominance till Zeus hurled meteor of blazing light. Laughing in Theater of the Absurd built on fake stages of the Innerworld, I play arcane role of the cosmic herald who sends three angels over Middle-Earth with subtle message of apocalypse urging mankind to fight cruel monarchy. Digitizing features of the real world in the complex model of Virtual Earth, I replicate rivers, forests, and roads as psychic metaphors of human life depicting how we struggle to survive by wrestling demons of the underworld. Considering how stars regulate our fate that redesigns matrix of the Mindspace, I plot how atoms swerve in void of thought to weave vast undulating web of time that forms our thirteen-dimensional space where we perform rites to spur life from death. Strumming electric strings on lyre of Hermes that entangle concepts of the Dream Plane, I gesture hand with gold wand of Zambor to deconstruct my conceptual world view, then analyze base assumptions of truth so I can reprogram how I perceive. Soaring on thought-wings of Icarus to explore conscience of the Noosphere, I calculate web of relationships that bind my soul to eye of the White Whole when atoms beam consciousness of my brain so I imagine God as Ideal Man. Chanting epic poem of philosophers that composes the Imaginarium, I record progress of curious minds who build foundation of society by how they define the nature of things as divine atoms swerving in the void.
Sunday, April 21, 2024
Lost In Starless Void
Lost In Starless Void © Surazeus 2024 04 21 Sweet sorrow of our ever-spinning world, we share in tales we sing around bright fire when cold wind howls across the rugged plain, sparks joy of faith inside our lonely hearts so we look forward to rise of the sun that will dispel blind ghosts who haunt our way. Regretful passion of cold falling rain dissolves despair that paralyzed my heart, so at fierce blasting of wind in my face I wake from agony of searing pain to laugh with bright joy at the darkest hour when all I love seems lost in starless void. Excessive hope for beauty of rebirth, when I attempt to alter code of fate, obstructs my way to enter paradise, though I spread arms like eagle wings of will and leap across abyss of hungry fear so high I fall beyond reality. Aggressive strum of lyre strings in my mind allows wise serpent of rage to escape egg of solitude in sea of despair so I stand shaking with fear on the stone that gleams white as the dawn sun in my eyes when I shout curses at wild ocean waves. Benumbing tune of fractured mirror bursts naked with ambition from time-bruised hearts to drive young humble farmers mad with hope that with each democratic vote for truth they may taste pure fruit of eternity before they cry at dying of the light. Glorious dismay at laughter in glass hall confounds my journey to the Promised Land when I stop by high waterfall of blood to ask the crippled eagle why she cries, but she recites weird riddle of the horse that misdirects my attention with love. Resplendent ennui unlocks faceless doors each hour I marvel at the fabulous show angels and demons unite to present in theater where Death always triumphs because she has no room to call her own and he has way too many empty rooms. Fair emptiness of words our brains express contains all thoughts that every conscious soul who ever lives in the whole universe ponders while they gaze at gleaming sky and wonder at fantastic mystery we write about with proverbs in the book.
Wake In World of Atoms
Wake In World of Atoms © Surazeus 2024 04 21 With gesture of my hand to cast dream spell I draw pure water from the broken stone to lure serpent queen from the singing well with tune I play on flute of dragon bone, then wake in world of computers and cars where fate is not determined by the stars. Wild song of Dionysus lures my heart to follow signless road to paradise, which I map on ever-changing world chart, and dance with maenad who seems to be nice, then wake in world of hand-held telephones where people work to pay off student loans. While bearing sword of justice in right hand I ride with our king on holy crusade to drive evil infidels off our land and restore kingdom on Earth Jesus made, then wake in world of machine factories where republicans destroy monarchies. Weird vision of global apocalypse glows before my eyes to show fall of gods, so I guide pilgrims in fanatic ships to escape castles of tyrannic lords, then wake in world of companies and banks where angels operate airplanes and tanks. Official gangster in grand castle court, I wear gold crown with jewels of bright stars to claim myself vicar of God on Earth who reigns with wand of Jupiter and Mars, then wake in world of bold democracy where presidents guard social liberty. Confused by global scheme of nation-states, I climb Parnassus to observe the world of neighborhoods enclosed by pearly gates, and dream Ishtar appoints me cosmic herald, then wake in world of corporate entities where pop-stars sing of romantic disease. Religions of fierce faithful worshippers form around prophet-singers and their books presenting visions of suffering and cures designed by progress of atomic clocks, then wake in world of scientific facts where keys explain weird magic artifacts. Vast puzzle of our world depicts one truth in contradictory views of fractured faith through diamond eye held by messiah sleuth whose spells conjure illusion of God Wraith, then wake in world of atoms in the void where ideas bloom from the faceless voice.
Saturday, April 20, 2024
Journey Of Each Soul
Journey Of Each Soul © Surazeus 2024 04 20 When the sword of truth shatters mask of pride, exposing natural element of lust that motivates each individual soul to enforce unspoken will of desire, our primal lizard mind of hungry hope blooms into human love for the unself. With quiet contemplation of the world I linger in still forest of tall oaks as mute companion to ravens and deer to feel that timeless spirit of the Earth that gleams with soft uncanniness of truth in pastures where farmers and shepherds toil. Through daily routine of creative work farmers tend rich crops of nutritious food, herdsmen herd grazing flocks of sheep and cows, craftsmen construct wagons and boats of wood, and metalsmiths forge plates, cups, swords, and shields from raw material of the spinning Earth. To celebrate plain rustic way of life common men employ to sustain our souls I lounge beneath tallest oak in the world and with lithe style strum lyre of Mercury while singing tales of simple folk who seek romantic love to generate new life. Yet grander tales of warriors, kings, and gods, whose actions institute the nation-state in formal rituals through cause and effect, inspire my heart to recount epic themes recording rise and fall of world empires embodied in glorious deeds of great heroes. Prophets who lead lost tribes to paradise, priests who prepare feasts for solemn rites of faith, warriors who defeat monsters of deep caves or guard fruit garden of walled paradise from attacking gangs of enslaving thieves, and more great men are models of grand songs. More than pastoralists, warriors, and kings the cultural heroes who inspire me most are scientists who research state of being that compose with atoms nature and man through particles in seething coils of light organ bodies that nurture conscious minds. We curious seekers on grand quest for truth about the chemical nature of things record perceptions of observing minds through philosophic lyrics of our hearts that recount epic journey of each soul who transforms into god, then sinks in death.
My Real Personality
My Real Personality © Surazeus 2024 04 20 I like it when the breeze brushes my face with gentle caress of the universe that vibrates with pleasure of molecules beaming with atoms in cells of my soul, as if to tell me with music of light that we are flames of spirit in the void. I create my real personality from tales I find discarded on the ground by beautiful celebrities of fame who grow bored with stereotypes of the past when I carve mask of the many-faced god as pastiche of carpenter and mad king. The horse composed of wind in hills of trees recalls the time the moon burst from the stone so we could change the color of our eyes because we were raised by wolves of the rain who teach us how to sew feathers in wings so we can pretend to fly among clouds. When I kneel on the lonesome river shore I close my eyes to wash my face with tears so everything made real by rays of light may vanish in dark void of inner thoughts which helps me find out who I am again because I keep losing mask of my soul. From deep inside gloomy well of my heart intensive surge of passion to express soul-searing pain from loss of souls I love compels me with psychotic fortitude to stand in vast cathedral of cracked skulls and sing heart-wrenching hymn of honest rage. Loud echoes of my devastating voice reverberate through cold cavernous hall with searing agony enough to stun holy angels that bear blessings of hope so they fall crippled to the solid ground and never fly again among bright clouds. When disembodied eyes of ancient skies hover unblinking in the empty house of green walls seething with sap of fruit trees, I light wax candle of my naked soul to gleam through darkness of eternity each time lost soul on signless road sings softly. I turn around with shy alacrity and with assertive hand of holy faith caress face of the universe with love so she knows without words sweet joy I feel that she exists brief hour of conscious hope to savor strangeness of this world we share.
World Mermaid Queen
World Mermaid Queen © Surazeus 2024 04 20 Through lithe balance of energy in form I maintain progress of expressive life with self-control of passionate respect on quest to generate incarnate soul when egg of woman, sparked by seed of man, transforms chemicals into human soul. Through stringent logic Apollo designs I channel with conventions of thought words star spirit Dionysus represents that seethes in neurons of my dreaming brain to energize my body with my soul so I glow bright with pure celestial light. As fish I swim from hydrothermal vents that weave chemicals into carbon coils which spiral from first flash of the big bang so I evolve from light to organism who swims in liquid womb of Mother Earth, inspired by faith to fly toward Eye of Light. As lizard I crawl diamond-crusted stream from deep abyss of salt-congested sea to sparkling lake of moon-white lily blooms where I reach out achievement arm of hope to grasp ripe berries hanging on thick vines when I lie gasping air on sun-warm stone. As mouse I crawl dark tunnels of despair, avoiding hungry dragons with sharp jaws, till blazing meteor explodes with flames, then skitter over world of frozen ice that melts in swirling rivers of desire so I crawl tangled vines of sun-ripe fruit. As cat I race through forests in wild packs to hunt for food with ambitious regard, then climb tall fruit trees on high mountain peaks to escape fierce demons of snarling rage, and leap broad canopy around the world in swarms of lovers singing to the stars. As monkey I sing to child in my arms who follows close as we swing in broad trees, but without tail I fall to humble Earth to catch quick fish in seething ocean tides where I walk upright with observant breath, then follow cows across song-ringing plains. As human I build god-eyed ziggurat where Amen welcomes us to House of Song, then Ishtar trains priests to manage food farms in global baby-production machine while empires rise and fall ten thousand years till we form United Nations of Earth. As wingless angel I transcend my form to cultivate soul-energy of love, powered by atomic clock of space-time, while I evolve four hundred million years fish to lizard to mouse to cat to monkey to human who communicates with words. Marya Magdalena, World Mermaid Queen, generating life from Jesuvian seed, guides human tribe on signless road of faith to populate our spinning globe with clans so we teach our children to express thoughts that conjure virtual world of Earth we dream. We are mermaids designed by Mother Earth to transform bodies of conceptual style as we engender children from our love who perform social ritual to create visions of freedom and justice for all while Goddess Liberty reigns with fair laws. Awake with souls all my ancestors dreamed as they sought secret of the Holy Grail, I strum enchanting lyre of Mercury and sing conceptual hymns to human souls that plot our scheme to generate new life so we transcend Death who comes for us all.
Friday, April 19, 2024
Star-Eyed Lucifer
Star-Eyed Lucifer © Surazeus 2024 04 19 George Gordon Byron 22 January 1788 – 19 April 1824 That sacred flame Prometheus stole from Zeus glows in stone heart of world-exploring seer who dares to challenge tyrant of cruel greed so he can save his people from despair when he descends to underworld of fear to slay demonic mother of our rage. Determined to fight tyranny of greed, and free land of Athena from grim kings, wry club-foot jester from dark castle tower rides proud Bucephalus in Attic hills with polished blade of truth Excalibur commissioned him by Lady of the Lake. Through noble sacrifice of his bold life in fighting dragon of world monarchy, Lord Byron channels soul of Beowulf in cleansing sacred halls of Avalon by fighting Jupiter with mocking jest when he plays witching lyre of Mercury. Descending narrow cave of Niflheim where demons dance with Dionysian glee, descendant of brave Beowulf proceeds through winding maze of myths to cave of Hell where shadows of illusions flash stone walls that blind our eyes to true reality. Where Asmodeus reigns with grail of blood, drained from thick veins of psychopathic gods, light-bearer Lucifer with wand of wisdom, that gleams with diamond eye of timeless truth, appears to challenge tyrant of despair in battle over soul of humankind. To fight for freedom of the common soul, both man and woman seeking to express duty of justice through force of free will, star-eyed Lucifer employs righteous voice to battle and defeat tyrant of greed, and cast him out through gates of paradise. Yet angry Jupiter with snarling sneer hurls bolts of lighting in dark thunderstorm with torrents of cold rain that drench frail Earth and chills courageous Lucifer with curse that strikes disease at heart of his pure faith so he lies sweating in fever of pride. Lord Byron wearing mask of Lucifer, who fought cruel dragon of world monarchy with soul of Beowulf glowing in his heart, lies wounded after killing tyranny as sacrifice to save humanity, borne to Heaven by wings of Sariel.
Controlled By Secret Code
Controlled By Secret Code © Surazeus 2024 04 19 Stuck in sorrow of unheard messages regarding missing vision of the eye, I journey across wind-blown passages with crushing sense of wonder about why we stand paralyzed at edge of despair from absence of thunder in misty air. Suspicious of desire to search for faith, unmindful of loss without anguished dread, I wait with voiceless sternness for the wraith fleet as mute emissary of the dead to bear key for door of forgotten home as sentry of Heaven who longs to roam. If I abandon bright place of belief to bring new book of myths as precious gift, your gate attendants who ask for relief would choose to ignore broken boats that drift lost on swirling currents of cruel regret that poisons discourse on the ethernet. From rugged hill of skulls and singing stones I see arrival of brave travelers who ask me how to carve love spells on bones which naiads play as flutes in conifers that sprout on mountain of the howling god who leads fanatics of his drunken squad. Yet smooth peak of Takoma reflects light that fills my Muse with visions of the world transformed by strange machine of the cartwright driven from Heaven by the cosmic herald who teaches our souls how to navigate vast virtual world our brains hallucinate. In the glass castle the man with no face explains mechanism of the dream clock controlled by secret code of the star voice that radiates from the billion-year-old rock which I roll to top of Parnassus peak so I can earn the right of pain to speak. When blond witch with the arrogant guitar gives magic typewriter to the blind bard, I crown her new Empress of Zathamar so she can pick lilacs in the dooryard, but she bakes cookies with the shy recluse who wears mask of my persistent Muse. Threatened by conceptual storm of my thoughts that crackle when I perform on world stage, I juggle nuclear bombs made by robots who program tragedy with bitter rage till all the players of world politics vanish as ghosts through weird poetic tricks.
Eyes Of Holy Light
Eyes Of Holy Light © Surazeus 2024 04 19 Though Hylas skips down on the river shore Metope waits for him outside their door, but when he never returns home to her she goes looking for son of Jupiter, then strides on stage to play guitar and sing about faithful love of the magic ring. With long blond hair flowing in evening wind Metope dances in short sequin gown to sing about the boy who broke her heart because he could not read the psychic chart, and left her wandering city streets at night still searching for his eyes of holy light. Alone in apartment of lonely souls, she stares at his typewriter of lost goals, yet tries to understand his mythic code left on the television in stealth mode, as if our feelings are the hurricane that leaves us dancing wildly in the rain. Waking up at dawn in the Moon Hotel with demon lover who crawled from the well, Metope smokes to chase away dark ghost who haunts her silence with arrogant boast that he speaks for man with the voice of God who found him wandering on the signless road. Rekindling flames of love in castle hearth, Metope maps weird secret of rebirth in blank-paged book that flutters in cold wind each time she texts him without hitting send, then smiles as she embroiders memories about their good times till he stole her keys. Painting garden of Heaven they once shared with impressionist style that shows she cared, Metope dances barefoot on wet lawn when the Light-Bearer appears after dawn to explain grand project of his new scheme that came to him in bright Parnassian dream. With valiant purpose beyond fantasy to fight evil and save democracy, Metope searches by the rancid pool that once bubbled with beauty of the cool, but finds Hylas passed out from despair after wandering lost in the Everywhere. Helping Hylas stumble back to their home, Metope asks why he would rather roam bleak wilderness of horror in his head than cuddle with her in their love-warm bed, but she weeps for the drowned man on the shore who will never laugh with her anymore.
Thursday, April 18, 2024
Toward The Promised Land
Toward The Promised Land © Surazeus 2024 04 18 Because each individual in the world savors strangeness of private memories, we tell each other stories of mute ghosts who haunt our lazy sun-gold afternoons with flashes of times and places long gone, our secret world that vanished in the past. Though more than forty years of life have passed in swirling currents of cultural change, transforming world I knew when I was young, I carry passion of juvenile faith still glowing bright in engine of my heart that nurtures purpose of my will to live. Calm energy of city social life, that carried me down shady streets of hope across landscape of businesses and homes, gleams bright in private vision of my eyes though I now live in strange land far away, inspiring me to savor this new hour. Alone in front yard of home I now own, I stand under oak where the raven dreams, and think of every house where I have lived across this land from sea to shining sea, fifty different homes in fifty-nine years, forever wandering toward the Promised Land. Why should I be surprised that I am lost, since my ancestors journeyed across Earth three hundred thousand years on quest for truth from Egypt to Sumeria to India to China then back along high mountains of the world to wave-washed misty Isle of Avalon. Since Epona first tamed the wind-swift horse, and Helius designed the four-wheeled cart, my ancestors traveled ten thousand years Scythia to Scotland, planting apple seeds, then sailed across the wild Atlantic sea, escaping kings to live in paradise. Always escaping royal police states, controlled by fanatics of mind control who rule with tyranny from castle towers, they journeyed west into the wilderness from Massachusetts to wild Oregon where I was born at far edge of the world. Now paradise is once again oppressed by conservative fascists who demand we slave to build global empire of wealth, but paradise is lost in parking lots where the blind bard sings epic tale of fools while I wander lost toward the Promised Land.
Not Afraid Of Flowers
Not Afraid Of Flowers © Surazeus 2024 04 18 Light sprig of lavender dances with glee of jaunty seriousness, sprung from despair, when butterfly of happiness departs to watch the wanderers walk roadless plain till they relax under beech tree of truth to ponder wisdom of the flashing rain. We are not symbols of your wordless hope for we are nothing more than human beings who search for somewhere on this hostile world to build new home and tend garden of crops so we may contemplate strange mystery that bonds our hearts to seasons of the sun. With subtle hands of too-perceptive wit we mend invisible fence of blind fear drawn by men with guns in towers of stone to trap our ambition in maze of tricks designed to keep us bound to work the land though we assert our right to sovereign faith. With bleeding hands of vibrant discontent we pull deceptive weeds from ground of lies while gazing through barbed wire of helpless rage to watch the turtle trundle with calm pride as guide to lead lost refugees of war through swirling portal of the holocaust. Thick clots of hair in snow of fortitude, blackened by fire on ovens of despair, twitch in lonely wind of winter to show we are not afraid of flowers that sprout bright from nameless corpses of glowing bones when skeletons dance for indifferent moon. Despite absolute precision of Death, who lingers as shadows in empty graves, we hold each other tight on frail wood bed to struggle with despair of naked fear through sweet romantic kisses of the mind till we are born as children of our hearts. Eating bread and cheese at table of lust, I ponder ethical puzzle of truth with mind submerged in currents of events that drown our souls in floods of global hate as we imagine horror of world war that smashes everything we hold as good. In silent spaces of the prison camp I walk with faceless ghosts of people killed by startled nonchalance of passing time though we leave books of stories in the house where no one will ever live free again till coming of the crow with wings of fire.
Wednesday, April 17, 2024
Mask Of My Face
Mask Of My Face © Surazeus 2024 04 17 My ancestors speak through mask of my face with calm voices of farmers and craftsmen who want to reconstruct our broken world from moon-lit hopes of the blind butterfly that lands on shoulder of the gold-eyed girl who shapes clouds into dragons of the heart. Our first mother speaks through mask of my face with voice of wind that whispers arcane code contrived from shadow of the dreamless cave so I know secret of eternal life based on ideal particles of all things that sprout from seeds into specific forms. Our first father speaks through mask of my face with voice of waves that howl weird prophecies designed by hands to imitate machines which help frail humans conquer spinning Earth by marking boundaries for nation-states where frightened men dress up to play as kings. My shy demon speaks through mask of my face with voice of writhing snakes in runeless well to narrate history for how things occur according to the victors of world war which proves their right to codify the rules that determine who fails and who succeeds. My mad angel speaks through mask of my face with voice of prophecy from eyeless stars recording how mankind evolves from fish to dance as wingless angels singing spells on pyramid we build with bleeding hands to fly with hang glider Daedalus made. My inner child speaks through mask of my face with voice of faith in goodness of mankind who dwells together in lush paradise because we build high walls of granite stone to guard Garden of Eden with sharp swords while slaves tend fruit trees in haven of hope. My divine brain speaks through mask of my face with voice of alphabets birds explicate to imitate shouts of children who play games of chase in forest of faceless ghosts till I discover on library shelf lost Holy Grail I forged from meteor stone. My godless soul speaks through mask of my face with voice of energy from sparks of light that swerve as atoms in the mindless void when I wake from relentless dream of change alone on peak of Parnassus at dawn because I forget everything I said.
Tuesday, April 16, 2024
Warrior Of Great Deeds
Warrior Of Great Deeds © Surazeus 2024 04 16 While lounging in the feasting hall at dusk, after work all day crafting wagon wheels, I eat roasted steak and sip barley beer with pleasure of the muscle-sore craftsman who grins to watch beautiful women dance to enchanting melodies of the lyre. Across large hall of mural-painted walls, that show scenes from the Fall of Ilium, voice of some burly bearded guest booms loud as he relates adventures of his trip homeward after ten years fighting harsh war, and I half-listen to his haughty boast. With snicker bursting from my beer-full belly, I doubt tall tale the scar-faced warrior tells that, when trapped in large cave of gloomy fear, he tricked the one-eyed giant with sly ruse by clinging to belly of his fat sheep, then mocked him after stabbing out his eye. You are Nobody, I sneer with wry grin, when he relates how he devised that name to fool the blinded cyclops to declare that Nobody escaped prison of his power, because we hear proud travelers like him boast of their prowess to impress the crowd. While chuckling with contempt at boastful fool who weaves fanciful yarns of his grand deeds to awe the gullible with simple minds, I feel cold shiver slither up my spine, so I look up to see vain narcissist glare down at me with fury in gray eyes. Rising slowly to face conceited clown, who prevaricates of his wily ways, I return sharp glare of his blazing eyes though he towers tall over my small frame, then duck when he swings fist to punch my face and slip free from grasp of his bear-paw hands. More swift and lithe on limber legs of grace I out-wit wily warrior of great deeds, swift as the fox that fools the lumbering bear till I trip his bull-thick legs with sly swipe that knocks him down flat on his burly face, so I sit on his head and pat his cheek. Offering beer to snarling Odysseus, I help him stand and lead him to his seat, then listen as he relates sweet romance how he won heart of kind Penelope who waits for him with aching heart of hope till we all sink into soul-drunken sleep.
Babylonian Face
Babylonian Face © Surazeus 2024 04 16 The Babylonian face of the white sheep, that stands with noble pride on stony hill, announces with voice of enchanting charm that God is blazing light in human form who sings as serpent in the flowing well while I design new global history map. Among deadwood at foot of Ararat with scythe I use to battle Time and Death, I search for valley where the rainbow ends to gather olives with old crippled hands when Hunger weighs with psychopathic math nutritious value of the fruit tree root. Commissioned as red arrow of world war, I stand on stony hill of singing skulls to present how Revelations will play on stage where Grendel, as social decoy, still manages the bankrupt shopping malls where serpents whistle in the jewelry store. We breathe the ether of his marriage feast at holy ritual of the weeping clown who plays chess with the savior grown too old to understand weird riddles of the skald when he finds out he is the perfect clone born from the serpent in love with the ghost. I see the sky ascending, red and green, at shocking burst of trees with breathing leaves, where millions of people compete for prize awarded to deceivers by the Muse who offers fleeting fame of shadowed caves in return for visions of the dream rune. With stone of truth, lithe as quick river fish, I penetrate bone-crushing waterfall to find lost treasure of the dragon queen who gives me diamond of the mind machine so I memorize lines to play my role as cosmic herald hoarding secret stash. Reborn from magic of the fairy tale, as fool who dances on edge of the cliff, I call Rapunzel on the telephone to read translation of weird summer rain that wakes the dead with honorable laugh programmed with code of the Golden Rule. The Babylonian face of the wise sheep gazes down at me from high pyramid with eyes that see beyond dark veil of time, so, though my heart still urges me to roam, I sit beneath shade of the the holy rood then fly to Heaven with my angel cape.
Monday, April 15, 2024
Tyranny Of Shocking Bliss
Tyranny Of Shocking Bliss © Surazeus 2024 04 15 Oblique regret for nothing I could say disturbs dark distance of the lonely way that measures tyranny of shocking bliss explained through logic of analysis which I should calculate to find out why snow flakes spiral from mirror of the sky. Encoding dreams in scribble of the joke long before my mother of oceans woke, I carve my story on stone edifice about the moment sad strangers first kiss to celebrate the marriage of true minds with magic rings that consciousness unbinds. Because my aching heart is almost dead I gaze at grape jelly on toasted bread with deep insight in soul mortality which highlights conceptual futility that we employ to avoid searing pain in project to conjugate loss with gain. When I relate old tale of the Unknown, I found encased in wisdom of the stone, my heart, once shipwrecked on perceptive words, restores to life aggressive thought of birds who bring me mushrooms by the misty lake while I search for the real inside the fake. Weird faceless ghosts of people I once knew, I glimpse between fraught shadows of the true, address compassion of unchanging gloom that floats unseen in fracture of the room where I catch drops of rain in hands of hope though I see her walk slow on mountain slope. Concealed in empty air of spacious faith, while evening sun unfolds face of the wraith, I wait for wind in willow trees to call my secret name erased from every wall despite how much we love each other now, untwisting sorrow into joy of how. Bright lantern of my pain-adjusted heart reveals nothingness of the star-wrought chart predicting rebirth of our ancient gods in humble bodies of brave astronauts who cast ideal image of human souls with mirror that reweaves our social roles. Each star that claims me as its referent beams fierce immortal rays, more confident than laughing horses, that will resurrect first thought considered by the holy sect founded by riddles of the blind centaur who invents engine that powers the car.
Grimace For The Modern Stage
Grimace For The Modern Stage © Surazeus 2024 04 15 Jumping on concert stage in flashing lights, Oedipus strums lightning-bolt melodies that blast aggressive vibes of flaming bombs across huge stadium of wild dancing kids while Dionysus grips gold microphone and howls satire song that mocks senile Zeus. Riding in the long silver Limousine that gleams in neon lights of theaters, Oedipus eats Big Mac and drinks root beer while Jocasta snorts cocaine on the mirror through the rolled-up one-thousand-dollar bill, then whoops and hollers as her brain explodes. Diving naked in the large hotel pool that shimmers bright with the red vampire moon, Dionysus swims with twelve nameless nymphs who giggle as he drinks huge glass of wine, while Semele stands on the diving board and twirls slowly after eating mushrooms. Kicking open door to their hotel suite and shouting for his wife to come how now, Athamus waves large pistol at the crowd till Jupiter demands that he calm down just as Semele twirls into the room and explains she is with Minerva now. Begging Semele to take care of Bacchus who cries out for his mommy in the crib, Athamus shoots pistol at Jupiter, startled when the bullet shatters glass door, so Mars and Creon slam him to the floor, and Semele falls asleep on the bed. Filming it all with the video recorder while lurking behind statue of himself, Oedipus narrates secret fantasies he imagines each person at the scene attempts to hide in darkness of their heart, then asks Jupiter how he really feels. Presenting grimace for the modern stage as she charges into the crowded room, Jocasta declares she can see the future where humanity will destroy itself through unchecked greed of obsessive desire, then stabs out her eyes with laughter of rage. Waking up alone in the hotel room as morning sun gleams through a shattered door, Oedipus stares in the mirror of truth at wrinkled old fool staring back at him, and just for one moment ponders how his life would be now if he had studied the law.
Sunday, April 14, 2024
Magic Lamp Of Faith
Magic Lamp Of Faith © Surazeus 2024 04 14 The beautiful witch with moon-silver eyes walks through crowded market in evening dusk, holding magic lamp forged from dragon bones that glows with eerie light of long-dead stars to luminate faceless ghosts of despair who linger in shadows of yesterday. The hungry demon with gold serpent eyes rises from swampy pool on putrid breath, crawling from gloom toward lamp-lit market street where people run screaming from cold despair as he thrusts clawed tentacle of sharp rage to snare leg of the young boy with harsh growl. The young apprentice, working as cartwright, kicks jaws of the demon with frantic fear, then raises sharp adze, used for carving wheels from hickory wood, and strikes its scaly head, but screams from terrible pain of sharp teeth that crush bones of his leg with crunching crack. The star-eyed fairy in yellow silk gown plays haunting melody on rosewood flute while demon snarls and opens lizard jaws to bite soft human flesh with hungry lust till moon-eyed witch twirls wand of rowan wood to shoot thin bolt of lighting at its head. The snake-eyed demon writhes in agony at searing bolt of light from wand of truth, releasing young apprentice from sharp jaws, then trembles terrified at haunting tune the star-eyed fairy plays on rosewood flute which petrifies its hungry rage with faith. The beautiful witch with flowing black hair gesticulates left hand with subtle power to gather bright celestial energy that freezes into spear of diamond ice which gleams with lightning bolt of timeless stars, then pierces heart of the demon with grace. The star-eyed fairy with gesture of love pours healing potion on his wounded leg, wraps it tight in clean strip of yellow silk she tears from her dance gown without regret, then feeds him potion brewed from honeyed herbs while cradling his head in supportive arm. While the star-eyed fairy with gentle hands tends to wounded cartwright in healing house, the moon-eyed witch continues night patrol, holding magic lamp of faith in her hand to neutralize faceless ghosts of despair who linger in shadows of yesterday.
Walking At My Side
Walking At My Side © Surazeus 2024 04 14 These bitter tears I shed beside the sea when I wake from nap in shade of the tree, reliving memory of holding your hand as we gather mussels from gleaming sand, drown my heart with mute sorrow of despair because I cannot find you anywhere. Paralyzed in shadow of humming trees at gentle caress of the cool spring breeze, I stare beyond eternity of hope, then stumble in dark rain on mountain slope, but when I call your name in gusting wind I almost see you just around the bend. While gathering mushrooms in windy grove I think I see your face in wave-lashed cove, but, when I run toward shadow of your being at heart-breaking flutter of your white wing, I find lightning-struck stump of leafless birch that mocks vain effort of my fruitless search. Each time I feel you walking at my side in steady rhythm with the ocean tide, I feel intensive heartbeat of your soul so I turn not to maintain calm control with ache of love for spirit I adore, terrified I will see you nevermore. These bitter tears of sorrow I express with ache of hope for lasting happiness would fill deep ocean with words of my heart the longer we wander too far apart, so I keep walking circles on the beach to embrace you forever out of reach. From gloom of dreamless sleep I wake at dawn to find you smiling by me on the lawn, so I caress your cheek with loving hand and whisper shyly that I understand, but I cannot quite hear your puzzling words that morph into chirping of restless birds. Just as I think I clearly see your face emerge from vibrant sunlight of someplace, I feel your body vanish in dust swirl, so I stretch out my aching arms and twirl through joyful agony of blind desire with haunting tune sung by the faceless choir. I hope you call me not the queen of tears for I have confidence of countless years that I will find you still alive on Earth as timeless gleam of sunlight that is worth pain of waiting for you to return home since only wise Death knows where you now roam.
Broad-Winged Sarus Crane
Broad-Winged Sarus Crane © Surazeus 2024 04 14 Too early in the morning of strange light for shadows to become new faceless souls who seek salvation from the falling bombs that blast their paradise to swirling smoke still hovering over fields of silver flowers decades after wild soldiers all went home. Angry helicopter in bloody sky rescues fallen angels from streets of fear who cling to fragile rope of memories while gliding over jungle of orange ghosts whose wails still echo on small radios in grocery stores on busy avenues. In college library in Oregon young woman studying history of the war, that Americans fought in Vietnam, still smells fish and salt of the surging sea when she rode with family in small boat to seek refuge in land of liberty. No dragons writhing in the silver sky bring power of lightning and rain to Earth except in network of electric lines that shimmer over streets streaming with cars, so she grins while typing computer keys to write her experience after the war. Explaining to white kids in the schoolyard that her name is pronounced Bik, not Bitch, Bich runs away and grips the chain-link fence to watch white helicopter in the sky that monitors traffic on the highway instead of bombing river villages. Sitting on stage in the smoky cafe, Bich strums guitar and sings enchanting tune, we climb the slope together on lush hill to lounge beneath the sprawling banyan tree and gaze at stars that twinkle in its leaves while mourning with the chirp of lonely birds. After emailing countless resumes to apply for accounting jobs in banks, but getting no callbacks for interviews, Bich changes her name to Beth Anderson, and accepts job offer within two weeks, so she sits in the river park and grins. Holding up her phone in the school show hall, Beth films her granddaughter Brenda on stage, dressed in ao dai dress made of yellow silk, perform elegant dance with bamboo fans as she sings folk song of the banyan tree, then turn into a broad-winged Sarus Crane.
Saturday, April 13, 2024
Eurydice Reborn From Rain
Eurydice Reborn From Rain © Surazeus 2024 04 13 How thoughtful of the sky to cleanse my soul with name of every soul who ever lived on every planet in the multiverse since they all spiraled from first flash of light and fall as drops of rain onto my world to bloom in flowers singing as I dance. From shadow ride four horsemen of despair to wreak destruction on my garden world so people who deserve to live with joy are slaughtered by their life-consuming greed and slave enchained in mining caves of Hell to dig diamonds and jewels from heart of Earth. On bombed ruins of castles and cathedrals we built steel-framed towers of mirrored glass wired with computers that calculate wealth to form global network of thinking chips evolving into supernatural brain that dreams virtual world from our memories. I drive my car on winding suburb streets where flocks of deer graze on the spacious lawns of houses nestled in forest of oaks where moon-eyed ravens on telephone lines discuss philosophy of ancient seers forged between idealists and atomists. Escaping tower room where she grew up, protected by her mother from the world where she never saw disease, age, or death, Lost Princess runs along lush river shore to hide in cavern of the lonely mage who gives her apple of the serpent sun. Six thousand years later of spinning time she teaches kids in elementary school how to recite and write the alphabet, those magic runes of serpents in the well her father snatched from the water of life, so they can study history of the world. Bright diamond gleaming with primal starlight, that pulses deep inside core of my heart, reveals creation of our universe evolving into globes teaming with life, so I walk signless road to Wonderland where my soulmate recognizes me first. She follows me from cavern of despair while I play lyre wired with strings of my heart and sing sweet hymn to tragedy of love but, fearing she no longer follows me, I look back to see stars in her eyes so she smiles and jumps in my loving arms.
Wild Angelic Flight
Wild Angelic Flight © Surazeus 2024 04 13 Organic bodies coiled with chemicals, forged by god-star eye from soul particles, we dance with air-light heads of fantasy on rock world in vast swirling galaxy that seethes with surging tides of blazing light on which we surf in wild angelic flight. With vegetable lust of intense desire we cling to rock of Earth on rooting wire that crackles taut with voices humans breathe as we contort our souls that passions wreathe in twisting spirals bound by mortal soul which beams from flashing core of the White Whole. Determined to achieve high state of bliss on rainbow peak arching over abyss, I leap through swirling portal of all time at heart-enchanting sparkle of dream chime so I improve as I evolve through love with each new life I reach for stars above. New bodies blooming from this ancient globe, through exploration of desire we probe deep questions stating facts beyond debate that by each choice we designate our fate with compact energy that fuels our brains formatting projects to map dream domains. Researching timeless zone of anywhere, I draw new global map of psychic air to dance with static quantum of untime while swimming in dark sea of fertile slime till I grow far beyond landscape of faith to plant apple seeds with the faceless wraith. To follow unseen path of fertile lust by curling roots deep in Tellurian crust, I investigate weird nature of truth while writing oracles in temple booth to hide weird secret of rebirth in code through riddles that detail new social mode. Safe in glass tower of the songless bird while waiting for key of the brain-dream word, I sing for people of the world below how we evolve from atoms of the flow that urges us to act through will to life, devising strategies to survive strife. When I invent new language of the mind, based on virtual world my weird heart designed, I sing alone on Parnassus at dawn tale of the wolf who comes to love the fawn, so I become one soul with the whole world when I wake from dream of the cosmic herald.
Friday, April 12, 2024
Primal Particles Of God Mind
Primal Particles Of God Mind © Surazeus 2024 04 12 We are primal particles of soul light, seeking to understand time-flow of why that weaves our brains from dreams of galaxies while gazing at clouds and longing for flight to bear attentive consciousness of I around mirror eye of star-flashing keys. Born from primal particles of raindrops, we struggle through bodies of hungry flesh to transform from fish in womb of the sea through mice to humble farmers tending crops in network topology of mind mesh centered around garden of the fruit tree. Formed by primal particles of star souls, that spiral from first flash of the big bang, we stroll together in the shady grove to discuss duties of our marriage roles in cave of illusions from which we sprang to manage process of romantic love. Beamed with primal particles of thought words that conjure virtual world from social myth, we copy ancient scriptures in new books with hymns translated from chorus of birds sung by angels beneath glass monolith where our Fairy Queen manages priest-cooks. We are primal particles of God Mind who dreams themself alive inside our brains as incarnation of ancestral genes in one soul forged from all their souls combined so we wake as gods on spiritual planes, transcending form of chemical machines. Wrought by primal particles of fay rings that coil our genes as information code, we build horse-drawn wagons with fortune wheels to search mountain valleys for water springs guarded by temple of the signless road where we seek what the oracle reveals. Shaped from primal particles of dream code that program how our brains perceive the world, we hide in clever riddles astral truth that helps our minds expand prophetic mode at second coming of the cosmic herald who ushers new age of messiah sleuth. Joined through primal particles of love spells that we recite at ritual of rebirth, we tell each other our survival tales at ominous ring of our wedding bells so we become whole consciousness of Earth Death weighs with holy laws on judgment scales.
When I Hear Sorrow
When I Hear Sorrow © Surazeus 2024 04 12 When I hear sorrow in water of life, enhanced by darkness of the lonely road, I see no future in the sunless world where words are shadows lurking behind trees though silence pulses in my aching heart with rancid wisdom of dark rainless clouds. When I hear sorrow in whisper of trees, conceived by primal thought of hopeful love, I rip open my breast with trembling hands and free wild raven of my fearful heart who leaps toward invisible moon of fate to find sacred words that prove how I feel. When I hear sorrow in splatter of rain, designed by fierce starvation of the mind, I scratch at dirt to find conceptual roots enriched with nutrients of arcane code that time transforms from arrogance of death so I can consume sweet fruit of despair. When I hear sorrow in sunrays of dawn, refracted by great eyeball of Blue Sky, I see bottomless abyss of my heart enclose enormous swirl of hungry fear that motivates my quest to find my name trapped under river stone of nonchalance. When I hear sorrow in laughter of fate, contrived by shadow demons of my soul, I emerge from safe shelter of my heart to venture forth on signless road of faith with curious attention to weird details that blossom from organic beings of breath. When I hear sorrow in mockery of clouds, congealed by riddles of the prophet clown, I carry groceries from trunk of my car to stock my kitchen with dystopian tales so we can feast on passion for the truth providing fuel for dance of the sad fool. When I hear sorrow in virtue of seas, elated by compassion for lost souls, I photograph strangers in maze of streets who smile with shy pleasure at being alive, so we gather in cathedral of lies to sing in global choir of solo minds. When I hear sorrow in music of love, composed by voices of ten billion brains, I transcribe verses to record our dreams that shimmer in one tapestry of hope which programs world view every human shares to dwell in heaven of truth we create.
Thursday, April 11, 2024
Question Of The Why Tree
Question Of The Why Tree © Surazeus 2024 04 11 Through each locked door of honest amplitude sad honey bees swarm to discuss how time weaves our organic bodies from light beams despite disparaging remarks of stones who make me ask question of the Why Tree before rain destroys cathedral of masks. Through open window of snide attitude cynical horses leap over high wall where robots work in factories building cars we drive on vacation to sea of eyes deceived to hide question of the Why Tree rather than fish to catch dragon of rage. Through fractured mirror of soul fortitude winter wizard reborn from roaring flames rises on Phoenix wings to fly on faith high over maze of myths to find the ring that will reveal question of the Why Tree regardless of the name Death dreams for me. Through wind-blown book of psychic rectitude blind seer transports across ten thousand worlds aligned in coils around the multiverse wound tight with million versions of one me designing new question of the Why Tree without regret for how I invent God. Through blooming flower of infinitude Goddess of Love explores new mental forms for hungry bodies to evolve from slime so we rise tall with hope from lake of dreams to dance around question of the Why Tree with tragic sorrow of romantic love. Through sudden change of weird vicissitude mad warrior chases shadow of his mind across wind-blasted heath of swirling mist to curse injustice of disloyalty when children steal question of the Why Tree to bury apple seeds in river mud. Through swirling portal of thought certitude oldest woman in the world holds my hand and leads me safe on signless road of truth, teaching me to play role of cosmic herald who explicates question of the Why Tree we reincarnate in child of our genes. Through soul-fertile state of decrepitude humanity seeks immortality by regenerating body of flesh that incarnates immortal soul of genes encoded in question of the Why Tree, atomic chemicals alive as God.
Pythian Oracle Of Amherst
Pythian Oracle Of Amherst © Surazeus 2024 04 11 Edible berries of the arbutus flame bright in scarlet sunbeams of cool dawn when I cut slender limbs of its smooth wood to carve weaving spindles smooth as my bones for Clotho to design fate for my soul as lace gown I wear in moon-haunted night. Old letters from the Pythian oracle, who writes verse in dark Massachusetts woods, crinkle in hot flames of the burning bush when false prophet tries to erase her dreams which rather bloom from ancient twisted trees in fruit that ripens from our burdened hearts. When I kneel before the wry oracle who sits in lace gown at small oaken desk, she offers gingerbread cookies with grin that flashes wisdom across rain-black clouds so I eat sacred body of the Earth as she sends white owls to the evening sky. Caressing my cheek with warm tenderness, the Pythian oracle whispers to me, pardon my sanity in a world insane, and love me if you will with all your heart for I would rather be loved than be called the Lord in Heaven or a King on Earth. How swiftly summer flees to misty hills to bear detailed report of misspent time and wasted hours to angel of my heart who answers with eternity of hope that I may dwell in garden of fruit trees singing with birds in tune with ocean tides. When flash of insight glitters in her eyes with complex vision of future events, the Pythian oracle at oaken desk transcribes weird song of evening wind to spells that still enchant our hearts with starlit faith centuries after she rides carriage with Death. Floating outside swift flow of history on angel wings that Icarus wove for her, the Pythian oracle of apple groves transcends constant current of social change with mind sparked bright by language of the stars when she holds high the Torch of Liberty. Descending from Parnassus after dawn to toggle vision of atomic light with mundane wisdom of the open door, the Pythian oracle of Amherst grins while strolling with me on the river shore to visit orphans with fresh ginger cake.
Wednesday, April 10, 2024
Bright Star Of Ishtar
Bright Star Of Ishtar © Surazeus 2024 04 10 When bright star of Ishtar shines in black sky as Orphic harbinger of her great power, we know our age of chaos and despair, when nations battle over river lands, will be transformed by wisdom of her love to Elysian era of global peace. From flash of lightning that strikes from black sky suffusing pyramid of the One Eye with bright electric beams of writhing power, Ishtar appears with arms stretched wide as wings to cast clear glow of psychic energy through Torch of Liberty in her right hand. Through swirling chaos of terrible gloom that batters our souls with disastrous storms, when greedy men compelled by blinding fear attempt to coerce our hearts with despair, bright light of Ishtar dispels smog of hate to transform waste land into paradise. Inspired by vision of her divine eyes, that see how people on Earth could share wealth we create with compassion of our hands, we gather in state councils to discuss how we can organize talented minds to enact programs that benefit all. With focus of attention based on love our wise lawmakers could codify rules that guide our conduct of constructive work to maximize efficient exercise when each observant soul applies their will through cordial teamwork of our global course. Yet mortal men, who through fortunate luck attain high positions of social power, anoint themselves as presidents for life by crowning themselves bold vicars of god to enforce private schemes as public laws though we rebel against oppressive greed. Now tyrants who control corporate empires enslave millions of loyal citizens to work for greater good of the whole state with patriotic fervor of cold doubt till they take arms and fight to rule the world with bogus confidence of victimhood. When selfish tyrants battle for control, which plunges nations in brutal world war, then Hidden Dragon of the noble seer will rise strong from chaotic energy to manage world food-production machine under bright star of Ishtar in black sky.
Tree Of Leafy Thoughts
Tree Of Leafy Thoughts © Surazeus 2024 04 10 Sad bird that chirps in tree of leafy thoughts, whose restless wings sweep rain clouds to the west, wants to reveal to me my fractured fears so I perceive strange beauty of this world in how routine of hope my hands express sustains my cautious journey to its end. For all the treasures of my aching heart, I give with generous passion to the world, I hear no more than echo of my voice reflect acknowledgement of eager joy encased on gilded box of safe success which Pandora never opens with pride. Though Death, the tallest king who walks the Earth, unstrings my bones to string her golden lyre, I dance among wildflowers with sweet wind who shows me our world without certainty that I am sure is real as stones in streams since I was born from the vast writhing sea. With analytic passion of mushrooms I transform occult dreams of faceless souls from screaming slime of sun-heated tide pools to elegant apple trees on lush hills where horses swish long tails in timeless shade while lovers eat forbidden fruit of truth. With woven baskets on our curious arms we gather eggs of demons from dark glen, mottled ovals lodged in volcanic rocks, then gather inside garden walls of stone to boil them in cauldron of Ceridwen who explains how we breathe spirit of life. Yet when I climb high mountain of delight to take off my face, and offers its name to shocking beauty of this world we love, I cannot find map of the Earth I drew from tangled dreams of people I once loved who must be floating somewhere on the sea. Extreme diagnosis of white moonlight excites reluctant children to play chase who search old bushes for mystery of faith enshrined in chapel by the waterfall where salmon leap toward heaven on frail wings to prove the resurrection is not real. When I was young my blue eyes searched the sky for silver whisper of meaning which frames celestial serpent of my constrained spine because I want to fly above this world so I can understand its totalness while chirping with sad bird in tree of thoughts.
Exile From My Homeland
Exile From My Homeland © Surazeus 2024 04 09 Driven from the garden where I was born by men who destroyed grand city I built, I wander waste land of my lonely heart on maze of signless roads that go nowhere in search for the river-fed Promised Land where I build haven for my family. Enraged at injustice of their attack invading land my ancestors found first, I roam bleak wilderness of my bruised heart that burns with aching flame of hopeless faith, poisoned with nostalgia for the lost past, knowing I can never more return home. Myth of creation my fathers composed, that proves our right to dwell safe on this land, defines fall for eating forbidden fruit through exile bearing relics of our faith to redemption earned by self-sacrifice as we build new city with crafting hands. Though my ancestors ever traveled west ten thousand years Scythia to Oregon on never-ending quest of bitter hope to escape greedy tyranny of kings, I can only build and guard paradise of this safe home till Death dissolves my soul. Exile from my homeland frustrates my heart with bitter ache of sorrow at my loss that sparks awake patriotic intent to focus attention of daily tasks on finding in vast wilderness of fear new fertile land to build home for my clan. For I would rather be Odysseus struggling to return from fruitless war to reclaim homeland from invading thieves, than fierce Achilles driven mad by rage to kill noble man protecting his home and destroy grand city built on bold hope. Yet I must become Aeneas the brave who leads his family over stormy seas from ancient noble city burned by greed to find lush land of fertile tree-thick vales where my bold descendants may thrive in peace to build new shining city on the hill. Though exiled from lost homeland of my heart by hostile invaders greedy for wealth, I turn my face into bright winds of change to wander far over mountains and seas so I can build new homeland with firm hands where my children may grow from heart of Earth.
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