Tattooed On My Heart

Tattooed On My Heart
© Surazeus
2024 06 30

The flower I pick from garden of skulls 
might be the name I invent for your soul. 
Every human who ever lives on Earth 
bears the same name as one star in the sky, 
and I have found yours tattooed on my heart. 
I can walk around alone, or with you. 

The secret smudge in bottom of my heart 
contains original light of the sun 
that beamed to Earth billions of years ago 
and became embedded in the hard rock 
that millions of years of rain broke to soil 
transformed by tree roots to this orange I eat. 

In almost sixty years of mortal life 
I have walked thousands of roads on this Earth 
to find our loneliness in your sweet smile. 
The longest I way I go around the Earth 
is the most efficient way to find you 
waiting for me on the opposite side. 

Our daily routine of productive life 
restricts the pattern of our search for truth 
in circles we travel to Hell and back 
to our Safe Haven on the river shore. 
Though the end of the world always seems near 
we wake up every morning side by side. 

Divinely beautiful light of the sun 
glows inside juicy segments of the orange. 
I want to understand the mystery of love 
that lead me to other side of the Earth 
where I found perfect soul mate of my heart 
at random among billions of strange souls. 

I build the strength of my courageous faith 
on painful wounds your words rip in my heart 
because our souls are tangled now by fate 
our own hands weave from red thread of desire. 
I see your shadow in the faceless crowd 
reveal immortal beauty of your soul. 

Eternal love that binds our souls with trust 
unites opposing factions of our clans 
to fight against the fascist demon king 
whose rage attempts to break seal of our faith 
so he can conquer nations of the world 
through fear that cripples our angelic wings. 

Clear vision of reality eludes 
rational deduction through formulas, 
so we hold hands and walk the signless road 
while giving oranges of the divine light 
to refugees of war who wander lost 
still searching in vain for the Promised Land. 

Bodies Of The Disappeared

Bodies Of The Disappeared
© Surazeus
2024 06 30

Ten thousand bodies of the disappeared 
fall from the silver clouds of innocence 
in bitter rain of hope that drenches Earth 
in blood of independence which inspires 
new generation of children who spring 
from dragon teeth of their desire to live. 

Rising from strange land where their mothers sleep, 
they gather with books of bones in their hands 
on holy mountain of the burning bush 
to sing new hymn of ancient liberty 
that beams electric vibes of honesty 
which shatter iron walls of tyranny. 

Ten thousand faces of the disappeared 
appear again as children born from hope 
through bold Spirit of Liberty reborn 
in bodies energized by loyal faith 
in equal rights based on wise rule of law 
ensuring justice for each living soul. 

Appearing from fields of small country towns, 
they journey over rugged mountain pass 
on trail of tears to find the Promised Land 
where they assemble in library rooms 
to whisper secrets of the angel wing 
through revolution of the open hand. 

Ten thousand idols of the disappeared 
stand nameless in museum of the heart 
built from their bones in valley of the voice 
that never sings unwritten elegies 
presenting courage of their will to power 
that blooms in lonely sorrow of the flower. 

Wandering signless road of hungry fear, 
they carry individual stones of faith 
torn from dismantled walls of paradise 
to build new Eden in the wilderness 
where apple trees grow from their beating hearts 
that feed their children who play games of chase. 

Ten thousand spirits of the disappeared 
hum with new answer blowing in the wind 
that fills our bodies with courage of love 
to fight against cruel tyranny of greed 
and nourish strong democracy of trust 
uniting us with flag of liberty. 

Assembling in the star-lit ring of stones, 
they share sad tales of their struggles to live 
united in commitment of their minds 
to live in harmony of honest faith 
free from exploitation through desire 
to grow and share food from the fertile Earth. 

Shifting Tide Of Change

Shifting Tide Of Change
© Surazeus
2024 06 29

I feel shifting tide of change in the world 
as if some great spirit of hope is born 
from terrible suffering of countless hearts 
that weep from pain of unstoppable loss 
as bodies transform into strange new souls 
who transcend sorrow with passion of love. 

When strange wind from mystical mountain blows 
white blossoms of apple trees round our homes, 
eternal flame of our ancestral souls 
flickers with lithe agitation of faith 
that sparks ethereal song of timeless joy 
from deep inside dark cavern of my heart. 

Deep in abyss of ocean canyon cave 
weird light of ancient mother egg-eye glows 
with song of atoms flashing mind of god 
that spirals wild from first flash of the big bang 
to motivate each fierce beat of my heart 
so I breathe spirit of the universe. 

Our spinning globe is swirl of molecules 
that aggregate in live chemical forms 
from rings of six-electron carbon coils 
that weave neural network of dreaming brains 
when the universe of possible truths 
wakes in conscious awareness of I Am. 

Our planet had been spinning in the void 
four billion years before our souls evolved 
to build empires along lush river vales, 
and will keep spinning eight billion years more 
long after we all dissipate to dust, 
yet still we fight over who eats and breeds. 

Our nation transforms every eighty years 
through four-generation cycles of change, 
so though the way of live we long have known 
scatters our families far across the land 
we will build new social system of peace 
to organize life-affirming routines. 

When the rich grow strong oppressing the poor 
through institutions of body control, 
some Samson or Kaveh with sense of justice 
will rise as Hidden Dragon from the crowd 
to shatter privilege of money power, 
then enforce equal rights for everyone. 

When I sense tide of change swell in the world 
I build ark that unites nations of Earth 
big enough to include all living souls 
in global system of fair human rights 
with standard laws of liberty for all 
so we live as we will if we harm none. 

Weird Sense Of Self

Weird Sense Of Self
© Surazeus
2024 06 29

The trees have been speaking to us with love 
since we emerged together from the sea 
four hundred million years before today, 
and I have heard their thoughts as I have walked 
ten thousand times around the spinning globe 
since I first heard them call me in the cave. 

Though I am part of this surrounding space, 
that weaves my body in matrix of light 
when atoms flash in coils of molecules, 
I will never lose my weird sense of self 
in ever-flowing flux of sparkling souls 
that leave traces of dreams behind in words. 

So when I see your face in swirling mist, 
that reflects beautiful light of the moon 
glowing on lotus blooms in the dark lake, 
I stand transfixed by strangeness of your being 
with ache of longing swelling from my heart 
which sprouts as wings of love I use to fly. 

Yet when I wake in predawn gloom of hope, 
alone in woods behind the city bank, 
I wonder how I got lost in vast maze 
of asphalt streets crowded with rumbling cars 
that zoom among buildings of brick and glass 
where I wander, nameless ghost of the sea. 

Sitting at the frail wood discarded desk 
outside the deserted library hall, 
I type random letters in lines of verse 
without blank pages or ribbon of ink 
on old metal typewriter that was used 
by typists at some bankrupt company. 

The mad dictator in blue business suit, 
with face of Achilles he stole from Death, 
shoots robots walking down the avenue 
while shouting at angelic-looking clouds 
how the system of justice is unfair, 
repeating his speech for ten thousand years. 

The forest trees with golden serpent eyes 
walk toward the castle over rocky hills 
where the mad king, gripping sword of despair, 
curses three witches by the misty lake 
for fooling him with riddling prophecy 
that he will rule the world with noble laws. 

Rousted awake from my torn cardboard box 
by police flashing bright lights in my eyes, 
I mumble my name is Diogenes 
when Sergeant Alexander sneers at me 
that sleeping outside is against the law, 
so I wander nowhere in hungry rain. 

Win Against The Sea

Win Against The Sea
© Surazeus
2024 06 28

If I think about how birds love to fly, 
and flowers enjoy blooming in the rain, 
as if the ocean could drown my true voice, 
and the mountain erase my ghost with wind, 
I might understand why we choose to fight 
for freedom of all to live as we will. 

I want to sing with honest voice of hope, 
that echoes loud in streets of every city, 
proud panegyric for the humble man 
whose heart is guided with vision of love 
to steer our enormous ship of state well, 
safely past harsh iceberg of tyranny. 

In the city streets I hear cries of fear, 
and in safe homes grim murmurs of despair, 
because the social ways we share with faith 
in rules that govern how we interact 
are getting twisted by bullies and thieves 
who want to destroy our democracy. 

They would replace our strong democracy 
where everyone is equal in the law 
with harsh oppression of theocracy 
where everyone must obey their commands, 
but we confirm our souls with self-control 
with Liberty through fair justice for all. 

If I contemplate how ocean waves swirl, 
and bees pollinate flowers to make honey, 
because the Earth keeps spinning in the void 
before we came, and long after we go, 
I will celebrate courage based on love 
expressed by those who fight for Liberty. 

I listen to stories that sirens sing 
of those who fail to win against the sea, 
then crash on island of the lonely witch 
who enchants my heart with leisure of love, 
till shadow of my lost dreams visits me 
and gives me strength to escape paradise. 

Though I live in unreal world of my heart 
and dwell in home I crafted from lost faith, 
I build new boat from wisdom of the light 
and sail from Hell to find the Promised Land 
where I wrestle demon of tyranny 
as wingless angel fallen from the stars. 

The bones of my ancestors are now lost, 
buried in graveyards sea to shining sea 
as they journeyed westward ten thousand years 
to build new gardens in the wilderness, 
so I have become spirit of the land 
where I will die fighting for Liberty. 

Hidden Dragon Of Democracy

Hidden Dragon Of Democracy
© Surazeus
2024 06 28

Stumbling along the long-deserted trail 
to beg water from Thalia and Clio, 
I ask the Helicon sorority, 
"How long must we endure cruel tyranny 
of greedy King Midas whose grasping hands 
turn everything he touches into trash?" 

After escaping the ludicrous games 
fought between Midas and Tiresias 
in crowded Colosseum of Ambition, 
I kneel before silent statue of gold 
that sits where living Apollo once sang, 
and beg the blind god for honest insight. 

Like the new-born eagle of Claudian, 
I stare into eternal light of truth 
that gleams from god-eye of the mindless sun 
to understand progress of history 
so I can bear bright thunderbolt of Zeus 
on my quest to maintain democracy. 

Since I was the fierce thirteen-year-old boy 
studying history in Texas small-town school, 
I have feared the Republic of America 
like Rome would transform into world empire 
when ambitious imitation of Caesar 
declares himself dictator of our lives. 

Proclaiming himself messiah returned 
to reign on Earth as proud vicar of Christ, 
our haughty Caesar struts on stage of power 
with blustering arrogance of Mussolini 
to steal thorned crown from bloody head of Jesus, 
bleating loud as the sacrificial goat. 

If courageous spirit of brave Aeneas, 
who fights this power-mad Achillean Turnus 
to protect working people of America 
from greedy tyrant wearing mask of Midas, 
were to assassinate the haughty clown, 
what grim Augustus will grasp Sword of Justice? 

Grasping hands of Clio with desperate hope, 
I ask the weeping muse of history, 
"How can we turn away from fate of Rome, 
avoiding cancer of the empire state 
to preserve our justice through liberty 
that maintains this dynamic democracy?" 

Searching through mist of historical change, 
I gaze from grove of Helicon to find 
new Hidden Dragon of Democracy, 
who bears the Holy Grail in his left hand 
and wields Excalibur in his right hand, 
to lead us in our fight for Liberty. 

Superhero Laughing Crow

Superhero Laughing Crow
© Surazeus
2024 06 27

Awful awareness of demonic leaf 
exploding Bibles in the House of God, 
based on that old pyramid scheme of grief 
perpetrated by world messiah fraud, 
expands my mind beyond all bounds of truth 
at second coming of the jester sleuth. 

Mixed up at who is good and who is bad 
through political games of tyranny, 
I play hero with mask of Galahad 
on holy quest to build democracy 
on ruins of cathedrals where mad kings 
wander market streets to hock magic rings. 

Disguised as Orpheus, the Argonaut, 
I announce my campaign for president, 
then use donations to buy luxury yacht 
so I can find new ways to circumvent 
conventions that prevent my rise to power 
to marry Rapunzel in her glass tower. 

Confused by strict rules of the multiverse 
that tangle timelines of my tale in knots, 
I marry Melusine who plays the nurse 
whose love songs reprogram brains of robots, 
yet always wake up as my other self, 
today the banker, tomorrow the elf. 

Narcissus looks away from shining pool 
to find his mirror soul mate in face of time 
whose voice echoes thoughts of both sage and fool 
to declare himself innocent of crime, 
so he storms the castle to steal the crown 
that falls from head of the crucified clown. 

Sailing up Phasis River with new guns, 
we search Fairyland for the Golden Fleece, 
but wander bleak waste land of bleeding suns 
till we get arrested by state police 
who help sly Bacchus rule the Promised Land 
where he plays pop concerts with his boy band. 

When the Author shoots himself in the head, 
then wears mask of Orpheus to the church, 
he plays psychopomp who deceives to dead 
to possess minds of poets in their search 
writing magic spells that reveal the soul 
which dreams God at center of the White Whole. 

As jester sleuth who understands the why 
in guiding principle that moves all things, 
I pilot airplane through the cloudy sky 
to find Prime Mover inside carbon rings 
as psychic code that programs how I know 
I am the superhero Laughing Crow. 

I Hear The Dead Live

I Hear The Dead Live
© Surazeus
2024 06 26

I hear the dead live in the timeless sky 
but, when I look up, all I see are clouds 
that form into their faces they once wore, 
so I walk on the Earth with orphan feet 
and cry in harmony with joyful rain 
that transforms me into swift bird of time. 

I hear the dead live on the signless road 
that leads far from the land where they were born, 
bodies buzzing with flight of honey bees, 
too eager for how telephone wires glow 
copper against the silver evening sky 
which fools me to think I am Heaven bound. 

I hear the dead live in the ocean wave, 
aware of sunrays in abyss of faith 
where carbon rings coil into eyes of love 
so hydrothermal vents mix chemicals 
to generate from tangled memories 
neural network that feels itself alive. 

I hear the dead live on the windy plain 
as horses racing on wings of desire 
beyond the far pavilions of our hearts 
that ring with laughter of lovers and friends 
who sing ballads that record quest for life 
which I still hear faint in the river breeze. 

I hear the dead live in the empty house 
my father built with calloused hands of hope 
till soldiers, paid by king in the stone tower, 
drive us away into the wilderness, 
so we attack gold walls of paradise 
to overthrow his monarchy of greed. 

I hear the dead live on the rugged trail 
that winds through jagged mountains of despair 
as they journey north to the Promised Land 
from jungle towns of gangsters dealing drugs 
across the waste land of the laughing snake 
to country farms where they tend cows and wheat. 

I hear the dead live in the open book 
that lies unread on dark library shelf 
in shining city on the hill of truth 
where wingless angels fight for mind control 
to rule temple of the many-faced god 
who smiles with rage on thirty silver coins. 

I hear the dead live on the river farm 
where Europa rides on white bull of pride 
while wielding Wand of Zambor on parade 
to rule vast Empire of Gothinia 
who leads our United Nations of Earth 
in world war against fascist tyranny. 

Museum Of Dead Gods

Museum Of Dead Gods
© Surazeus
2024 06 26

I must reserve the right to be forgotten 
because my public personality 
will live as idol of my secret soul 
long after my flesh rots into the ground 
so I will hang my false persona mask 
on blank wall in Museum of Dead Gods. 

Each work of art is its own explanation 
because the robot who looks just like me 
will walk around this spinning globe of dirt 
for seven billion years of lonely wind 
to recreate the signless road of truth 
that leads me to Museum of Dead Gods. 

Come meet me in weird world of autofiction 
where I will play chess with Death on the beach 
to prove we humans have the right to live 
on this planet of teeming chemicals 
which is neither hostile nor favorable 
to humans in Museum of Dead Gods. 

While I live well in the Garden of Eden, 
nestled in the lush Appalachian Hills, 
millions of people in the stark waste land 
live in misery of dire poverty, 
crawling from bomb-blasted temple of faith 
on display in Museum of Dead Gods. 

Engaged in process of cultural production, 
I build complete fictional universe 
where I play fabulously wealthy child star 
who stands on flat-top pyramid of fame 
to sing vision I channel through God-Eye 
that dreams you in Museum of Dead Gods. 

Constructing franchise of global religion, 
I monetize public fame of my soul 
across multiple platforms of desire 
to shine in social-media mirror mind 
as god incarnate in messiah sleuth 
who loves you in Museum of Dead Gods. 

Reigning as Zeus in cyberspatial Heaven, 
I care about people in my cultural sphere 
who perform under pressure of hope for fame 
to mine drama of your life for content 
as influencer brand by being yourself, 
bright idols in Museum of Dead Gods. 

Invisible in name of my persona, 
I lounge on porch of my suburban home 
on Nameless Road in stateless Nowhere Land 
to code every truth in dream spectacle 
through the corporate sensorium machine 
that plays God in Museum of Dead Gods. 

Church Of The Fisherman

Church Of The Fisherman
© Surazeus
2024 06 25

Although my heart is the lightbulb of faith 
we think we are but laughter of the sea 
so someone on the street corner decides 
to paint the face of the goddess of love 
with blood of pears on glass door of the bank 
because we overhear what the ghost says. 

The red car that cannot control the sky 
gives tattered paperback novels of crime 
to poor people always standing in line 
to ask for currants from the fisher king 
who hides, in air-conditioned office, time 
that falls in snowflakes from the mask of death. 

Worshipped by agents of the mystery cult, 
gray-stone idol of Janus rides the swan 
in solemn pageant on the boulevard 
where thousands of nameless princesses died 
while waiting for the turtle god to laugh 
as the handless king plays the mandolin. 

This music creeps by me on water flash 
with symbolic value of the sea change 
my heart undergoes with exploding words 
that helps me glimpse another better world 
not debased by doctrine of the mad fool 
who climbs telephone poles to steal our dreams. 

When I enter church of the fisherman 
I hear riddles in what the thunder says 
to translate murmur of the evening mist 
to maternal lamentation for how 
our souls vanish in ether of the mind 
beneath the burning tower of the saint. 

I will marry the Lady of the Rocks 
who gives plates of food to the homeless souls 
dwelling in subway tunnels underground 
where Persephone gives them telephones 
so they can call God in the afternoon 
when the drowned Phoenician sailor drives home. 

To find deserted cabin on the beach 
that shines white with ancestral theme of faith 
I follow darting sparrow from my tomb, 
intent on learning how the seasons change 
when cold wind chills the water-sparkling sand 
in empty darkness of the pulsing brain. 

Though whiteness grows more vivid on the wall 
where travelers write their true names with blood 
I cherish solitude of signless roads 
that lead forever onward to the past 
through revolutions when all monarchs fall 
with my hand pointing to the labyrinth. 

Chemical Passion Of Life

Chemical Passion Of Life
© Surazeus
2024 06 25

Vibrant with chemical passion of life, 
I feel electric spirit of our Earth 
buzz in body of every conscious soul 
that glows with bright energy of desire 
who dreams awake this timeless hour of hope 
in pulsing swirl of our atomic globe. 

Emerging from mud of the river shore, 
first mother of humanity stands tall 
to stretch her arms toward blue infinity 
as she breathes deep ethereal thought of love 
that swells her body with sparkles of fear, 
so she shrinks safe in alert shell of hope. 

Caressing her belly with calloused hand, 
first mother peers in mist of dawn-blue rain 
till fuzzy shadow of the apple tree 
glows suddenly divine with golden flame, 
so she walks slowly over rugged heath 
toward tree of truth that rustles in the wind. 

Face of her mother smiling from the sky 
becomes soft roundness of the shifting tree, 
eyes silver as the moon above sharp peaks, 
voice soft as soothing rustle of green leaves 
that whisper firm encouragement of hope 
to shelter in warm embrace of her breast. 

Embracing rough breast of the apple tree, 
first mother sobs with anguish of despair 
when warm ghost of her mother vanishes, 
then she grasps long branch with both hands curled tight 
and swings with agony of hopeless joy 
till she twirls up into the spiral sky. 

Nestled inside canopy of the tree, 
first mother of humanity breathes deep 
with angry inspiration of cold faith, 
then grasps green fruit that contains beams of light 
and eats bitter-sweet wisdom of the rain 
as the tree whispers music in her ears. 

One million years flash in dream of my mind 
since first mother of my electric soul 
climbed tree of life to eat fruit of desire, 
so I see empires rise and fall in tides 
of human tribes that swirl around the Earth 
in her memories that program how I see. 

Primal loneliness of the apple tree 
vibrates still in sweet music of my heart 
because I feel wild passion of her hope 
express compassion in her hymn of faith 
that she sang with ache of love in that tree 
whose wind-voice always wants to sing as me. 

Tower Of Fake Truth

Tower Of Fake Truth
© Surazeus
2024 06 24

I cannot tell the lights in the night sky 
apart from each other, planet or star 
or angel falling wingless through the void 
with endless scream of terror from despair 
at getting cast from paradise of faith 
so I have to create Heaven from Hell. 

I will never confess the pain I feel, 
nor reveal the most intimate details 
of agony that writhes inside my heart 
in futile attempt to explore the self 
that hides in shadows of weird images 
to misdirect attention of your heart. 

When starless night freezes steel cement streets 
with bemused horror of apocalypse, 
I lie in bed and listen to fast trains 
rattle rails all night in maze of brick towers, 
ignoring nuclear missiles in corn fields 
aimed at cities where our enemies plot. 

Walking desolate waste land of strip malls, 
amusement parks, and factories, I break 
green door to Theater of the Absurd 
where Robert Lowell dressed as Jupiter 
makes love with Sylvia Plath dressed as Sibyl 
who prophecies fall of our world empire. 

Lights of passing cars flash in sheets of rain 
that streak rainbow oil down cracked window glass 
while I eat cheeseburger with root beer float, 
and scribble lyrics of my dire folk song 
on torn envelope with evidence files 
for the murder mystery I cannot solve. 

Loud clank of someone bumping metal bin 
and shriek of the black cat that leaps away 
alerts my hypervigilant concern, 
so I chase shadow of the devil through maze 
of dirty back alleys, boots splashing pools 
that gleam red as blood in glare of the moon. 

Tense on edge of the cement river dock, 
the devil in blue suit with silver tie 
faces me with grin of superior snark 
to mock me with the weakness of my heart 
that I care about human beings too much, 
so I fire bullet of justice at pride. 

Reduced to I that hides behind my face, 
I deconstruct world empire state of mind 
based on the grim colonial patriarchy 
my ancestors built with bones of their souls 
to protect paradise with walls of fear, 
while I keep watch in tower of fake truth. 

Spell Of The Golden Oriole

Spell Of The Golden Oriole
© Surazeus
2024 06 23

One tiny atom in my fingernail 
is not one whole universe in itself, 
so I sit on the back deck of my house 
and watch the deer herd of our neighborhood 
eat leaves from the apple tree of my heart 
while the golden oriole hears me think. 

Every star that twinkles in the night sky 
has already burned out millennia ago, 
so I close my eyes in the evening glow 
and listen to the golden oriole 
explain the formula for love-winged flight 
as power equals force times speed of thought. 

All civilizations of humans thrive 
with ancient heartbeat of the river flow, 
so I row my boat for thousands of miles 
while the pair of golden orioles sing 
in the green willow on the lonely shore 
where Death watches me from her harbor door. 

Mountain peaks with ten thousand years of ice 
gleam within the window frame of my home, 
so I construct another river boat 
from cedar wood that scents the morning breeze 
while the golden oriole on thin branch 
of the apple tree sings my elegy. 

Wherever I roam on the signless road 
my heart is my home for pilgrims of truth, 
so I build new house on the river shore 
when men chase me from house my father built, 
for even the lithe golden oriole 
has built a nest as a home for herself. 

We become dust as shadow of the Earth 
when we descend to the dark underworld, 
so I mold new body from river mud 
and breathe in its nostrils the breath of life, 
then teach my child to sing in harmony 
with love song of the golden oriole. 

Every temple that honors some dead god 
was built on the field of a humble farm, 
so I play tunes on lyre of Mercury 
while sitting on streets in a thousand towns 
to translate religious theology 
from the spell of the golden oriole. 

Happy are they with empirical eyes 
who can recognize the causes of things, 
so I measure the time-spiraling curves 
that atoms plot in matrix of the mind 
when I watch the golden oriole fly 
as ghost that brings me wisdom of the light. 

Jonah And The Whale

Jonah And The Whale
© Surazeus
2024 06 22

Sorrow is not easy to give away 
so I will buy bright water of the sun 
since nothing happens even though I pray 
to solve problems with laughter, not the gun, 
yet innocent children of the gray land 
shout at the robot with the bloody hand. 

She says it would be better to deceive 
than be deceived in the fierce game of life, 
for every day we have someone to grieve 
as we savor pleasure that grows from strife, 
despite how old the mountain seems to be 
that knows nothing but rhythm of the sea. 

Despair is free at every corner store 
where oldest woman in the world sells love 
to those who steal apples from tree of lore 
to bake pies on the hotel kitchen stove, 
since travelers seeking the Holy Grail 
pose for photos with Jonah and the Whale. 

Wisdom hidden in stories of the book 
cannot enlighten people blind with pride 
so I choose career as restaurant cook 
to prepare meals for the princess who cried 
when her horse escaped the rodeo pen 
to find favorite tree of the gold-winged wren. 

Friendship can be found in the photograph 
that dances nowhere in the summer wind 
with absolute assurance of her laugh 
long treasured by her best forever friend 
who stands alone on bridge of aching hearts, 
weeping still for the hour her train departs. 

No chimes of freedom ring across the land 
where ships collide with swirling clouds of hate 
in war that never affects Wonderland, 
so everyone decides to challenge Fate 
who laughs at frantic naivete 
when messiah sleuth maps the Golden Way. 

Through stoic passion for democracy 
nurtured by United Nations of Earth, 
I will fight for Justice and Liberty 
against tyranny where nothing has worth, 
willing to die to set my people free 
from harsh oppression of cruel monarchy. 

Justice equal for every conscious soul 
inspires my heart with patriotic faith 
to perform my Heaven-commissioned role 
with courage expressed by the cosmic wraith, 
for even the strongest tyrant will fall 
as nothing more than shadow on the wall. 

Voice Of God In The Cave

Voice Of God In The Cave
© Surazeus
2024 06 21

The ghost that sits in the green velvet chair, 
who prays to sunlight in the window glass, 
recites the riddle for one thousand names 
to honor souls of pilgrims who have died 
while circling the Kaaba in radiant heat 
on hajj to hear voice of God in the cave. 

After running back and forth seven times 
to find water well between rocky hills, 
I scuff hot sand with the heel of my foot 
till water fountain springs from heart of hope, 
so I kneel and drink spirit of the Earth 
that whispers with voice of God in the cave. 

I cradle in cupping palm of my hand 
the last apple seed from paradise lost 
to plant on shore by the river of tears 
so lush garden of tall fruit trees may sprout 
from desolate waste land of brutal heat, 
wind-blasted by voice of God in the cave. 

Donning clean white robe of angelic faith, 
I circle black house of the faceless mind 
who dreams awake in every human brain, 
then stand on mountain under empty sky 
to throw stones at the devil of my fear 
who tries to mute voice of God in the cave. 

Camping under silver eye of the moon, 
I sacrifice playful goat of desire, 
roast succulent meat on flames of insight, 
then feast on spirit of the two-horned ghoul 
while drinking water from Well of Zamzam 
so I can hear voice of God in the cave. 

Dull roar of thunder in blue cloudless sky 
hums in harmony with abundant flow 
of water swirling in heart of the globe 
when pilgrims chant prayers from scripture of sand 
in droning hiss of words from twinkling stars 
that replicate voice of God in the cave. 

As I meditate in shadow of thought 
I see flash of light open in the sky 
when Gabriel steps through portal of time 
and stands before me with ten thousand eyes 
so I transcribe his words in shifting sand 
while I translate voice of God in the cave. 

I gaze in gold flame of eternity 
that flickers in diamond god-eye of truth 
as bright beacon on pyramid of faith 
to interpret spells of the singing skull 
preserved in spiral of the desert wind 
that amplifies voice of God in the cave. 

Key To Lost Camelot

Key To Lost Camelot
© Surazeus
2024 06 21

Because I think I found the secret tree 
where lithe fairies dance on midsummer night 
I vow to return the energy key 
that angels use to open door of light 
so we can share peace through democracy, 
but angry humans still form gangs to fight. 

Once I find origin of the brain root 
that curls into globe from galactic stone 
I will give everyone on Earth free fruit, 
though we find ourselves stuck in the war zone 
without dream map showing alternate route 
that leads us to safe cave of the sad crone. 

Excited to discover mountain lake 
far from the crowded maze of city streets, 
we seek our fortune from the three-eyed snake 
who demands we present spirit receipts 
that prove our celestial souls are not fake, 
then shows us to the best theater seats. 

Trapped ten thousand years in the picture show, 
that presents how humanity transformed 
from hunting tribes wearing fur robes in snow 
to empire states ruled by tyrants deformed 
by greed for power, we ask the white crow 
to help our children stay better informed. 

Wearing black suit as grim prophet of doom, 
commissioned by Zeus to reveal the truth, 
I stand before students in the classroom 
to reveal nature of messiah sleuth 
who will resurrect from cathedral tomb 
to sell hero masks in the ticket booth. 

The Hidden Dragon, who will rule the world 
as Seer for United Nations of Earth, 
waits behind stage curtain while cosmic herald 
proclaims revolution of second birth, 
then appears in the spotlight yet unlaureled 
to calculate what everything is worth. 

First Mother, from whom all religions spread, 
on god-eye pyramid of Babylon, 
places jeweled crown on my humble head 
and sends me to rule Isle of Avalon, 
but I get lost in America instead 
where I dwell in mountains of Oregon. 

Still bearing Scepter of Zambor in hand, 
I bring secret key to lost Camelot, 
and guide wagon train to the Promised Land, 
where no one knows I am the Argonaut, 
to run amusement park of Wonderland 
surrounded by the treeless parking lot. 

Taut Harp Of Hope

Taut Harp Of Hope
© Surazeus
2024 06 20

How you might see, with dream-expanding eyes, 
forsaken ghost of mind complexity 
contained by silver light, or never know 
strange flashing scenes of sorrows undisclosed 
by mute death, yet step forth to claim with pride 
contentious passion through soul liberty. 

I think of ancient tales, unwritten code 
concealed by letters mothers never write 
to children searching for the weeping tree 
of timeless love, which the motionless sun 
embraces close with breathless energy 
of faith, to understand why we must die. 

Not quite obscure as Heaven I create 
from fairy tales, through eggs hidden in grass 
that nurture serpents with prophetic pledge 
of altered truth, my simple home preserves 
prayerless memories of slow afternoons 
while children chase their nameless ghosts of fear. 

Taut harp of hope, that supports river bridge 
of bold ambition, unpardoned by greed 
bestowed by laughter on our unbowed heads, 
aligns our spirits flush along choir strings 
connecting countless minds in city maze 
with soft electric flow, if we should cry. 

Awake in shadow, parceled by glass doors 
condensing fraught eternity with words 
invented by sad birds, my heart descends 
on curveless myth of tense divinity, 
undone by laughter children sell for faith, 
so we can hold hands with calm quietude. 

Unsettled anxiousness of placid trust 
confounds serene complacency we share 
for irksome interchange, bound cheerfulness 
confining sorrow mute in virtuous gloom, 
yet grim elation blesses hours we wait 
for shards of comfort to fall from the sky. 

Fragile contentment, cementing our hearts 
with tranquil shock of disadvantaged hope 
for evasive peace, blames my hungry bliss 
unsatisfied by failed attempts to fly 
home, since honesty wounds our naked hearts 
with bitterness concealed in ancient rocks. 

Each unspent motion, pacing us from home 
through explicit speech of our caravan, 
conserves faint progress, slowly sinking deep 
in wordless water of forgetful dream, 
because we share desire to savor life 
that slips away just as we understand. 

Voice In The Wilderness

Voice In The Wilderness
© Surazeus
2024 06 20

I am the small voice in the wilderness 
that ministers, judges, and senators 
cannot hear behind sweet angelic song 
they chant to cast spell of obedience 
on people searching for the Promised Land 
soaked with the blood of people they have killed. 

Weird prophecies I chant in riddling code 
foretell strange future no one wants to see 
so they gaze into bright computer screens 
to see messiah they believe has come 
enforce their way of life on everyone 
through cruel theocracy of thought control. 

Strange proclamation of the cosmic herald 
that highlights coming of messiah sleuth 
distorts vibe of our reality field 
so zombies worship evil vampire ghoul 
who wears mask of King Midas when he struts 
to play tyrant clown on the global stage. 

When Jovian bloodline of the Holy Grail 
incarnates in sons of the crownless king 
who rules Christendom for two thousand years, 
we vote for him as honest president 
who wields nuclear sword of Excalibur 
to build new world order from fractured states. 

Since sons of Jesus rule America, 
child of Britannia, and grandchild of Roma, 
as spirit of Odin burns in their eyes, 
we rally around Flag of Liberty 
and fight to support strong democracy 
against tyranny of stale monarchy. 

Based on simple message which Jesus taught, 
that every soul is born with equal rights, 
we construct progress of society 
on foundation of universal truth 
that no human being is above the law, 
for we do what we will, if we harm none. 

When the false messiah wearing gold mask 
deceives kind people of the Promised Land 
with martial rhetoric of the spiteful king, 
the real messiah wielding wand of wisdom 
exposes greed of his hypocrisy 
with revelation of the honest word. 

I am the small voice in the wilderness 
with spirit of Cassandra in my heart, 
so I laugh to watch empires rise and fall 
when world war transforms stale ways of the past 
to cleanse our souls with universal love 
as we build United Nations of Earth. 

Mad Prophet Clown

Mad Prophet Clown
© Surazeus
2024 06 20

Mad prophet clown born in the cabbage patch 
grasps serpents from dream well where Odin drowns 
and twists them into modern alphabet 
that singers scream with electric guitars 
which shake steel-girdered walls of Jericho 
so angels can escape from paradise. 

Mad prophet clown who constructs from his tongue 
tower of anger to control the sky 
steals cell phone of God from the burning bush 
to rule lacustrine cities of despair 
which grow from loathing of the horrible, 
designed by angelic wings of the swan. 

Mad prophet clown on television screen 
gives us all New Idea of the Self 
based on ascending emptiness of light 
that flashes green as go, and red as stop, 
for us who race down the highway to Hell 
where Charon sleeps in the boat of lost souls. 

Mad prophet clown draws all-inclusive plans 
for arrogant children of Liberty 
who search bleak waste land for weird book of jokes 
which teach salvation of the ocean breeze 
though we wander stuck in the past we paint 
for private project of the patriarch. 

Mad prophet clown stuck in the nursing home 
gives seedless eyes to Bacchus on his mule 
to study logic of kaleidoscopes 
so we can build new monument to grace 
that throws our disappointment in the trash 
where it fractures into rainbow of tears. 

Mad prophet clown maps city of the mind 
where no buildings entomb our naked souls 
like London, Paris, or Byzantium 
that gleam under fog of cold winter noon, 
our unreal city where King Midas rules 
as fake messiah of the new world order. 

Mad prophet clown born in the violent sea 
assembles symbols of the broken world 
in global puzzle of the crazy king 
who shines as beacon for wise sentinels 
running to the past that never arrives 
which invents causality we evade. 

Mad prophet clown sitting in the rowboat 
sails across the open field of singing skulls 
beyond narrative possibilities 
based on our painful childhood memories, 
then rides steam train to Nantahala Gorge 
where Madame Sosostris rewrites our fate. 

Geography Of Our Hearts

Geography Of Our Hearts
© Surazeus
2024 06 19

Wrinkled like old rolled-up map of our world, 
my face savors harsh kiss of wind and rain 
to model geography of our hearts 
woven by roads where our ancestors walked, 
feet muddied by the endless miles of hope 
which leave us stranded in the strangest land. 

Whether we dwell in this house of our hearts 
just for one day, or for ten thousand years, 
we shall prepare food we find with our hands 
and share tales, tragic and comic, that show 
how people fail or succeed to make life, 
for the young bury the old in the yard. 

While I record long history of the world 
to preserve memories of my mind in tales 
depicting how every king always dies, 
you water plants in garden of our home 
till rivers overflow and flood my books 
so ghosts of heroes and villains are merged. 

Though bard of strange valley finds where we live 
far off the sign-marked roads of travelers, 
he codes our secret in weird fairy tale 
about weaver girl and carpenter boy 
who meet each full moon on the river bridge 
to share love letters about long-dead stars. 

Beneath the spreading chestnut tree of pride 
the brawny smith smites metal of the Earth 
with hammer of his heart to shape with flame 
sword of the warrior who defends the land, 
and plow of the farmer who seeds the land, 
so kings build empires with tools he designs. 

As shy Endymion, drowsing by the pool 
that waters fruit trees glowing in moonlight, 
I sense Diana, with long silver bow, 
gaze down at me with aching eyes of love, 
yet when I wake to hold her in my arms 
she hides in shadow of unspoken hope. 

If sly Hesperus, searching for her soul 
that gleams in sea cave ringing loud with waves, 
asserts ownership of her body-land, 
I block his cruel program of mind control 
to support principle of liberty 
for every conscious creature of our world. 

Gray-haired like Saturn on lush river shore, 
I claim no land except where I may rest 
this hour I pause on journey to the west 
with wife and children sheltered by my heart, 
who laugh with pleasure of our company 
for all roads of the world our feet have blazed. 

Bodies On Sugary Sand

Bodies On Sugary Sand
© Surazeus
2024 06 19

The listless rain that drinks words from my lips 
scatters my thoughts on barren hills of hope, 
which formulate concepts I lost in codes 
that breed bodies in shimmer of rain-blur 
where Eros drowns in tears he sheds for us, 
for motion generates life through our souls. 

I call out to regina of the clouds 
for her to shake her scepter at the sun 
because I dare not mock magnificence 
that she radiates from core of her womb 
in wild waves that caress rocks of my heart 
so love fountains from deep inside my soul. 

Though I believe that I have known them all 
as searing light of strict celestial spheres, 
which I measure with each swipe of my hand, 
I find new vistas on strange mountain slopes 
where I can sense the goddess of the world 
ahead as glow of light in shadowed woods. 

Since tree-strong pillars of temples still stand, 
I linger where their roofs once shadowed time 
to ask proud Sicheus if he knows the way 
past city walls to lakes of clarity, 
but honey bees with pollen of our hearts 
swirl from his mouth in whirlwinds of war. 

Where golden orioles in maple trees 
discuss cruel politics of human states 
I find wild Zagreus in mountain vale 
whose grin dispels my fear of brutal war 
when he gives me smooth amber that preserves 
first queen bee who reigned in the Tree of Life. 

When I follow suavity of the rock 
along green cliffs of arrogant despair, 
I trail my hand in clear blue ocean waves, 
not caring if I land on sandy beach, 
then lie in cool shade of the dripping cave 
where Nerea gives me honey wine to drink. 

Old rusty ship, crowded with refugees, 
capsizes in wild rocky waves of hope, 
and cries of grim despair drift on the breeze 
as faint echoes from voices of sweet nymphs 
who drag drowned bodies on sugary sand 
where no one prays over the nameless dead. 

Affection carves its traces in my mind 
as I give each drowned refugee new name, 
and write tale of their futile quest in sand, 
how they chased rainbows to the Promised Land 
where empty houses open doors of sorrow, 
and welcome ghosts to hearth of fellowship. 

Fruit Instead Of Tears

Fruit Instead Of Tears
© Surazeus
2024 06 18

These days of languid ennui hid in books, 
that I spend lounging in cathedral ruins, 
may nourish passion buried in my heart 
long enough for me to find bright in gloom 
noble cause for which I would fight and die, 
protecting people of our land from thieves. 

Sweet loneliness of water in my blood 
revives strange music of the silent moon 
that proves this world cares nothing for my life, 
so I ally my heart with Liberty 
to fight against aggressive tyranny 
of thieves who steal with promises of love. 

To stand against monstrous bully of greed, 
that writhes with hunger in foul hearts of men, 
I must dive deep in swirling lake of rage 
to wake berserker hidden in my heart 
so I have strength to fight for Liberty 
though I may die so my people will live. 

I speak to you with language of the wind 
so we can understand the hearts of trees 
who stand with us against oppressive hate 
for if we can endure the brutal pain 
we will gain strength of faith from naked rocks 
to give our children fruit instead of tears. 

Encased inside strange words I never speak, 
hot seeds of star-souls writhe in ecstasy 
through algorithm written by the sea 
that fills abysmal darkness with love songs 
which shine with bright affinity of trust 
to guide our way back to the Promised Land. 

Since plants and animals with fluid souls 
rotate through perpetual cycle of life 
with constant flowing of bright molecules 
in rhythm with rivers and winds of hope, 
the cosmic herald, bearing book of truth, 
appears when people of Earth need his light. 

Shining clear with wisdom of timeless truth, 
he strides on road of progress toward the right, 
enforcing equal justice for all souls 
to adjust our world view with magic wand, 
then vanishes in vast silence of change 
while we continue to sing to his tune. 

Though our existence is impermanent, 
we strive to create, rather than destroy, 
social system where every human being 
is free to live and love as they desire, 
performing deeds that need no fame to glow, 
for Earth transforms our souls into new souls. 

Goal I Set My Heart

Goal I Set My Heart
© Surazeus
2024 06 18

Though often racing down dead ends of hope 
that lead me lost in tangled fears of death, 
I always find again the proper road 
that leads me toward the goal I set my heart 
so I overcome obstacles of pain 
to lounge safe in apple grove by the lake. 

To lie at ease beneath broad canopy 
of frilly leaves that flutter in cool breeze, 
and watch young children of our tribe play free 
with voices ringing in still forest gloom, 
inspires my heart with love for everything 
that blooms from bounty of this fertile vale. 

When I was still young, with heart full of verve 
for vigorous passion to explore the world, 
I sailed to Colchis in swift Argo, far 
from cozy haven where my mother dwells, 
with gang of friends to capture herd of sheep 
in quest that now fills my afternoon dreams. 

Intense moments of danger, when we faced 
monsters in both forests and palaces, 
flash bright with fraught anxiety of hope 
that blinds my eyes to beauty of this hour, 
which often startles me awake with dream 
in sultry evening buzzed with cricket song. 

When darkness shrouds lake grove in eerie gloom, 
the gentle people of my tribe return 
to gather round the shining hearth I tend 
with baskets of food they plucked in the woods, 
and cook grand feast for everyone to eat, 
faces flush with joy in glow of the fire. 

After they finish eating feast of hope, 
just as the full moon rises in black sky 
to gleam over distant hills thick with trees, 
young woman with owl eyes asks me to sing 
tale relating adventures of my youth, 
so I pluck strings of my turtle-shell lyre. 

I told you how the swift Argo was built, 
and name of each hero who joined our crew, 
so now I will relate how we arrived 
on rocky shore of Lemnos where we found 
daughter of Dionysus bearing wand 
wound with vines of grapes that dazed us with joy. 

Enchanting their attentive hearts with song, 
I recount how the women killed the men 
for sleeping with girls they kidnapped in raids, 
finish with moral that men should respect 
women who trust them to guard them with love, 
then they sleep as I hum soft lullabies. 

Chaos Of Ambivalence

Chaos Of Ambivalence
© Surazeus
2024 06 17

Alongside strangers on the road of life, 
together in comfortable solitude, 
I stretch my soul around the bulging world 
through multivalent forces of desire 
on shifting sand dunes of ambivalence 
to meet lonely nemesis of my heart. 

For every road I choose on quest of life 
I never walk ten thousand other roads 
where I will always meet success and doom, 
for where I fall on journey of my hope 
to ponder fortune of ambivalence 
makes no difference to the mindless sun. 

Hesitant to declare what fate I choose, 
I weigh options of grim indifference 
through performance my nature must express 
based on consequence from cause and effect 
because I protect my ambivalence 
when I interrogate the changing world. 

To inhabit contradictions of being, 
reflected in fluid mirror of love 
that flows from darkness of my psychic well, 
effaced by hand of mind-transforming wind, 
I unspool my faith through ambivalence 
which reconstitutes dream of my world view. 

With change my soul will crystallize in time 
by weaving memories of timeless hours 
in vibrant tapestry of wordless fear, 
revealed by dramatic scenes of intent 
that balance opposing ambivalence 
through state of simultaneous desires. 

Concealed by my intertwined double self, 
as creator and consumer of dreams, 
while forever searching Uncertainty 
for truth beyond knowledge I can perceive, 
I remain content with ambivalence 
that leads me into weird valley of ghosts. 

Because I cannot choose not to be me, 
assimilating truth with hungry eyes 
that devour darkness of sun-blazing love, 
I assert negation of why I am 
that buzzes my brain with ambivalence 
alive through shock of electric insight. 

To be or not to be is my true quest 
for, as I slog in quicksand of my heart 
through existential angst of honest faith, 
I dredge insight from murk of secret lust 
to answer chaos of ambivalence 
with quirky dance of wistful elegance. 

Specter Of Wealth

Specter Of Wealth
© Surazeus
2024 06 16

I cannot stay in this house anymore, 
the old woman shouts at crows on phonelines, 
then tears pages from the Bible, and flings 
their hopes and lies at the dumpster of trash, 
eyes blazing with holy vision of death 
while families pass to eat in restaurants. 

Old man in short jeans and tattered blue shirt 
explains to ash tree outside the art store, 
I am great Tithonus, grandson of Ilus 
who founded fabulous city of Troy, 
then fishes crushed takeout tray from the trash 
to eat spaghetti while the river gleams. 

We can get married now in the white church, 
and raise three kids while you work at the bank, 
Eurydice hisses behind cupped hand 
at the old man who refuses to share 
spaghetti that splatters on hot cement 
when she grabs his arm till he stalks away. 

Shaking the Dead End sign with her left hand, 
Eurydice growls at the passing truck, 
my stuff keeps disappearing through the years, 
so I cannot remember who you are, 
then stomps across the street at the red light, 
asking no one, so which side are you on. 

Rocking back and forth as he swings his arms 
outside dirt-smudged window of First State Bank, 
that during the pandemic went bankrupt, 
Tithonus mutters at specter of wealth, 
I cannot save you from choices you make 
so give poisoned apple back to the snake. 

Trembling at sudden sight from door of time 
of the six-winged seraph with golden eyes, 
Eurydice sneers at the glorious light 
that radiates from Eye of Eternity 
while tearing concert poster off brick wall 
that shows her doppelganger Taylor Swift. 

Picking flowers in front of city hall, 
while singing snatches of old Beatles songs, 
Eurydice climbs over metal rail, 
and scrambles down steep bank of muddy rocks 
to wade in passion of the swirling flow, 
floating past people at the river park. 

Bearing drowned body of Eurydice 
from Oconee River with caring arms, 
Tithonus lays her under willow tree 
and tries to breathe breath of life in her mouth, 
but stares mute as she crumbles back to dust, 
then he falls asleep in alley by the church. 

Familiar Spirit Of You

Familiar Spirit Of You
© Surazeus
2024 06 16

Faint ghost I sense is slight trick of my brain 
which longs for presence of your absent soul 
whose vibrant energy signature glows 
as record programmed in my memory 
so I feel you approach as radiant form 
just outside perceptive range of my eyes. 

When long afternoon stretches in slow ache 
of sultry languidness through heavy hours, 
my conscious attention fades in dull haze 
that opens vistas of forgotten days 
decades gone now in our vanished world view, 
so I feel your ghost haunt my drowsy dream. 

My heart glows soft with sweet sorrow of joy 
to sense your presence in my wistful world, 
so I turn toward gleam of your eidolon 
with sudden flashing smile of smitten hope 
to embrace you again with empty arms, 
yet you vanish when I open my eyes. 

Startled by specter of your vanished being 
that radiates familiar spirit of you, 
I groan with sorrow when my open eyes 
dispel your ghost back to the underworld, 
which followed thrumming of Orphean lyre 
and leaves me alone in thick summer heat. 

Attempting once again to lure from Hell 
faceless phantom of your death-scattered soul, 
I fix fierce gaze of my compulsive cause 
to lead your soul with song of our desire, 
but when I turn around to see your face 
you dissipate at cry of my distrust.  

Closing my eyes again to find your soul, 
I float in undulating waves of heat 
that stretches me across ten million years 
so I become every ancestral soul 
who longed with heartache of nostalgic pain 
for apparition of the soul we love. 

Countless moments of longing for the dead, 
my ancestors performed with aching hearts 
in timeless afternoons of lonely faith, 
all merge in one scene on eternal stage 
where I play role commissioned by my muse 
to conjure your wraith with tale of our love. 

Spooked by beautiful ghost of your lost soul, 
which radiated from your body shell 
through emanation forged by chemicals, 
I play lyre of Orpheus with sore hands 
for each melodious verse of my song 
keeps you alive in vision of my mind. 

Puzzles Of Timeless Thought

Puzzles Of Timeless Thought
© Surazeus
2024 06 15

Returning from underworld of my heart, 
I look at the upperworld of strange things 
without names that signify what they are 
from different angles of the curving light 
that turns me into the other I know, 
formed by geometry of timeless thought. 

Though sadness is the only boat I sail 
along frozen river of formless light 
where butterflies never move beyond fear, 
sense of displacement might soon separate 
my body from hour of conceptual death, 
measured by compassion of timeless thought. 

Snowflakes of random memories descend 
from faceless mirror of the silver sky 
to sparkle in hair of strangers I meet 
as they appear and disappear in dream 
of this real world where I shall wave and smile, 
discounted by reason of timeless thought. 

If I walk far enough on signless road, 
that always loops back to forgotten home, 
I will step outside great mask of my being 
to become all my ancestors who lived 
in houses they built, now vanished in dust, 
contrived by arrogance of timeless thought. 

Resilient purpose of my unplanned quest 
scatters nameless children in river vales 
who spring from my bones buried by the road 
that always leads them to the sea of words, 
because I choose to walk my secret way, 
aborted by despair of timeless thought. 

I never ask why roots sprout from my feet 
while I shroud ruins of cathedral halls 
where skeletons dance with crucified wings 
because I realize no gods live here 
in stone valley of hungry refugees, 
discarded by false hope of timeless thought. 

I tally every object I dream real 
in catalogs of fertile humanhood 
with rapturous wisdom of sad solitude 
that culminates in portrait of the mind 
more intimate than life stories we share, 
defined by mother tongue of timeless thought. 

I chart distant orb of the silver mask 
through which moon mother of the universe 
dreams our bodies awake in florid woods 
where we track footprints of our favorite ghosts 
in game of hide and seek we ever play, 
recorded by puzzles of timeless thought. 

Safe In My World View

Safe In My World View
© Surazeus
2024 06 14

The world view you are trying to present 
by pouring water in the fractured glass, 
that leaks fraught energy of sultry hope, 
accounts for nothing our brains comprehend 
through twisted logic of conceptual jazz 
that wails on hottest evening of the globe. 

Domestic problems of your daily life, 
composed of cutouts from old magazines, 
collage museum walls of modern art 
beyond sweet irony jokes could contrive 
to highlight idols lost in labyrinth 
who play as heroes of the avant-garde. 

Young boy and girl on ladder of the mind 
pretend to kiss in swirl of rainbow doors 
while no one watches from window of faith, 
so I crown Stella as my favorite saint 
who guides my soul to dark underworld source 
for fountains of vision where singers bathe. 

Since atoms form objective fact of things 
in random swirls of accidental shape, 
as temporary souls with conscious thought 
bound by frail flash of molecular links, 
I navigate with psychic astrolabe 
weird riddles of my World Upanishad. 

Assembled structure of this spinning sphere 
transforms in seething waves of constant change 
as we evolve from fish to mortal god 
so all we know will disappear from real 
through echoed mirrors of transcendent planes 
which I explore as verbal astronaut. 

So with snarky smirk of the Argonaut 
I give fruit of the serpent to Mad King 
who thinks his touch turns everything to gold, 
yet poison of his pride, he stole from God, 
will cause his ship of ambition to sink 
when I play Zeus to hurl just lightning bolt. 

Lounging on my porch, eating apricot 
that Kwan Yin gave me in her mountain grove, 
I ask the White Snake, princess of my heart, 
why nothing in this world is permanent, 
so she speaks to me as the ocean wave 
when she asks me to be the world lifeguard. 

I stand on Pyramid of the God-Eye 
and promise to all people of the Earth 
to make land of Camelot great again
if they will vote for me as their Sky God, 
then invite them to shelter by my hearth, 
safe in my world view of the Atom Game. 

Search For The Secret Code

Search For The Secret Code
© Surazeus
2024 06 14

When you say all good things come to an end 
I fear falling rocks just around the bend, 
so I park my car by side of the road 
and search trees on hills for the secret code 
that might reveal the truth of love I fear 
till with breath of the sky my mind is clear. 

Because you are no longer by my side 
I have no reason now to try and hide 
heart-flashing rainbows after bitter rain 
that declare I have nothing more to gain, 
so I drive my car alone on country road, 
searching golden clouds for the secret code. 

Each red brick building in the city maze 
must be sign I approach my next life phase, 
but every window gleaming with the sun 
might hide the beautiful face of the one 
who understands strange mystery of the road 
I drive in my search for the secret code. 

With melancholy tune of simple folk, 
I sing to express concept of the woke, 
which lights the golden way to happiness, 
I accept fact that more is always less 
which makes no sense out on the lonely road 
where birds express faith of the secret code. 

Since I want to believe in something more 
sparking warmth of love from the iron core, 
I sit under oak tree on windy hill 
to meditate on passion of the will 
that conjures luck from fortune of the road 
while I compose book of the secret code. 

Orange butterflies that flutter from the moon 
explain to me why nothing is too soon 
because the same sun always rises gold 
with warning signs that urge me to be bold 
while driving anywhere on signless road 
since I may never find the secret code. 

I translate ancient songs of ocean waves 
to spells I carve on stones of hidden graves 
because most people live and die unknown 
though each spirit may animate their clone, 
so I scatter apple seeds by the road 
for the yet-born to find my secret code. 

Remember, even on the darkest days 
our open hearts will radiate loving rays 
as lamps of truth that glow for you to find 
when you search for world in dreams of your mind 
that shimmers somewhere on the open road 
with fruit gardens built from our secret code. 

I Want To Declare

I Want To Declare
© Surazeus
2024 06 13

I want to declare the joy of my heart, 
but I forgot it on the apple cart 
that crumbles broken on the river shore 
along with old books of forgotten lore 
that keep no secrets I can buy in church, 
so I leave home on my desperate search. 

I want to declare the sorrow of rain 
that splashes in strange ocean of my brain 
when I stand casually on the steep cliff 
to translate stories of the hieroglyph 
that I once painted on the temple wall 
depicting god as grim majestic doll. 

I want to declare the angst of new faith 
that dispels haunting shadow of the wraith, 
so I live freely on this spinning globe, 
dressed in regal pride of my humble robe 
when I return to the vast city maze 
as prophet who rules the next social phase. 

I want to declare the grief of sunlight 
that gleams on grass at Eleusinian rite 
when sweet Persephone gives me her fruit 
while I play haunting tune on wolf-bone flute 
to prove why there is no life after death 
since all we can do is savor each breath. 

I want to declare the thrill of despair 
when I write hymn for each unanswered prayer 
programming how my brain perceives the real 
as if, when I dance long enough, I feel 
passion of hope electrify my soul 
with urgency to play the prophet role. 

I want to declare the mirth of respect, 
earned well when I define what to expect 
the hour my ship with tattooed sails comes in, 
laden with treasures I will need to win 
campaign to rule castle of singing skulls 
when I go mad and chat with hungry gulls. 

I want to declare the bliss of belief 
that fractures truth into puzzle of grief 
which I confuse for credibility, 
foolish enough to trust authority 
who runs the global religion cartel 
by selling lies to save our souls from Hell. 

I want to declare the true love we share 
when we journey home to Scarborough Fair 
by driving loan sharks from the temple bank 
when Odin tries to block the army tank 
in revolution that starts world war three 
in home of the brave and land of the free. 

New Temple Of Pegasus

New Temple Of Pegasus
© Surazeus
2024 06 13

When words collapse in shadows of my thoughts 
I search for Sibylla in golden cage 
who asks me to help save Jerusalem 
by building new Temple of Pegasus, 
but as we ride across the Rainbow Bridge 
her crystal tower crumbles into sand. 

As secret grandson of Remus the Shy, 
I am the werewolf everybody loves, 
so I sit with Juturna by her well 
and sing clever tales in Saturnian verse 
while women stand in line with water jars 
and gossip about the boy on the bridge. 

Silent in darkness of truth before dawn, 
I touch the stillness I can never touch 
till ghosts of all the mothers of my mothers, 
back thirty thousand years, teach me to sing 
with honest voice of the bottomless sea 
that shimmers as the blood cells in my veins. 

While people of today work at their jobs, 
plotting revolution in how they spend 
money on treasures found in ancient caves, 
I study the silver spoon in my hand 
which I received from sweet Armenian queen 
who calls my name for seven hundred years. 

In uncracked mirror shining on the wall 
I see face of Thamar gaze back at me, 
so I go swimming in the Caspian Sea 
where my ancestors lived in wagon trains 
forty thousand years of the last ice age, 
forever searching for the Promised Land. 

Adventists gather in the river park 
in Oregon in nineteen sixty-eight 
to sing hymns of worship to the Dream Ghost 
who sits on throne of light in apple grove 
and gives me quill to compose chronicle 
that details how he builds world empire state. 

Ancient empires that collapsed long ago 
still glow in hearts of their lost citizens 
who build on ruins of sweet memories 
global empire based on their fruitful faith 
when the cosmic herald maps their journey home 
to base new temple on the hill of skulls. 

The Scepter of Zambor, which I still hide 
behind the old guitar I used to play, 
vibrates with wordless energy of hope 
to defend this land where I make my home 
against invading hordes of angry men 
lead by the monarch hiding in my heart. 

Killing People For Truth

Killing People For Truth
© Surazeus
2024 06 12

Though my refrigerator does not know 
when the white-crowned sparrow of liberty 
will fly over Miluo River at dawn 
where weeping women throw handfuls of rice 
to honor Qu Yuan after he drowned, 
I will drink grape juice from valley of ghosts. 

If I vacation on the dark seashore 
this summer while wars are still going on, 
I might bring watermelons from sad fields 
where horses dream about the joyful wind  
before I decide on my next crusade 
to change how people perceive what is real. 

Since nobody else wants to compromise 
over who gets to eat fruit of the tree, 
I will climb up the last telephone pole 
to eat sourdough bread with strawberry jam 
while people talk about philosophy 
that provides guidelines for whom they may kill. 

Not scared about futility of life, 
I walk around the crowded theater 
to steal secret thoughts from minds of the blind 
who believe what the preacher says is real 
though nothing they say matches world I see 
which I assemble in puzzle of tales. 

Because the secretive river-gouged vales 
of the Grand Canyon plumb depths of my heart 
when I see it from the airplane of faith, 
I rend rocks into fissures with lament 
for fragile beauty of the lonely girl 
who vanished in clouds of the Upperworld. 

More enigmatic than the humming lute 
that wants to explain star intelligence, 
the moon-eyed owl on wall of paradise 
watches me perform role of the mad king 
who dances wildly on the windy plain 
to wake spirit of the stone in his heart. 

While our memories of the unseen past 
are preserved in paintings and photographs, 
we decide the end justifies the means, 
trapped by death wish of the apocalypse 
that never happens in two thousand years 
despite caws of crows on telephone lines. 

The same old stories in the news each day 
describe people killing people for truth, 
or nature killing with indifference, 
so I talk to the deer in my backyard 
about language the sea still teaches me 
when I choose not to invent reasons why. 

Hymn Of World Peace

Hymn Of World Peace
© Surazeus
2024 06 12

High on ruin-cluttered Palatine Hill, 
where Temple of Apollo once shown bright 
with sacrificial fires in moon-lit night, 
now cattle of Evander graze again 
as if wise son of Pythia never stood 
in columned hall to prophesy our fate. 

While strolling lawn of the National Mall, 
gazing at white dome of the Capitol, 
I see through mists of time centuries ago 
when honest leaders of Monacan tribes 
gathered in council on high flowered hill, 
discussing how to help their people thrive. 

Though senators and representatives, 
elected by people of fifty states, 
gather in sacred chambers of the law, 
they cannot hear the ancient prophesies 
that wise Apollo speaks through Pythia, 
deafened by sweet hiss of the Eden Snake. 

Though I have wandered far across this land 
on nameless roads from sea to shining sea, 
forever searching for the Promised Land, 
which my ancestors wagoned west to find, 
I keep the Holy Grail hidden in my heart 
that gleams in god-eye on the pyramid. 

Since sons of Jesus and Odin still reign 
as Plantagenet Presidents of America 
through Lion King William the Conqueror, 
son of Ragnar Lothbrok and Charlemagne, 
old empire of Romulus in new form 
shines bright from heartland of Gothinia. 

Commissioned by Minerva Liberty, 
who stands guard on top the Capitol dome 
to ensure all live free from slavery, 
cosmic herald walks across fruited plains 
to proclaim coming of messiah sleuth 
who maintains power of democracy. 

While wandering lost in Appalachian hills, 
far from Mount Takoma by Salish Sea 
where Ishtar gave me Quill of Prophecy, 
I hear enchanting voice of Onatah 
whose song beams bright before my hopeful eyes 
vision for United Nations of Earth. 

People walking to work in busy streets 
in every crowded city in the world 
stare annoyed at the old bearded madman 
who bangs rusty strings on broken guitar 
and howls in language no one understands 
hymn of world peace in cold indifferent rain. 

Safe Home I Build

Safe Home I Build
© Surazeus
2024 06 11

When Hector, fleet-footed hero of Troy, 
had the choice to hide behind high stone walls 
to protect his family and tribe from harm, 
he chose instead to fight bully of Greece 
and die with personal glory of pride, 
earning fame of triumph at hour of death. 

When Aeneas wore his armor and helmet, 
grasping sharp sword to fight invading horde, 
he chose instead to save his family 
by guiding them away from burning towers 
to sail across the Neptune-storming sea 
and build new home on lush Tiberian hills. 

When Turnus, bold-hearted hero of Latium, 
found out Lavinia, his childhood sweetheart, 
was promised as bride to the pirate thief, 
he chose to fight the invaders from Troy 
and die with personal glory of pride, 
earning fame of triumph at hour of death. 

Though Adam fled stone walls of Paradise 
when Eloh drove him out with flaming sword, 
instigated by Lilith, his new queen, 
he chose to explore the lush river shore 
and build new garden in the wilderness 
far outside empire where his father ruled. 

I feel ambitious spirit in my heart, 
programmed in my genes by victorious quests 
of my ancestors to crown themselves kings, 
urge me to campaign with justice for truth 
in bid to control functions of the state, 
yet I choose to stay home and draw world map. 

Instead of organizing noble gangs 
of brave warriors to oppose tyranny 
by killing bullies, enslavers, and thieves, 
to crown myself arbiter of good laws 
that manage empire of commercial peace, 
I choose to chronicle events of fate. 

Aeneas chose to build empire of law 
that maintains organized society 
where public citizens who create goods 
earn right to share communal wealth of love 
for glory of the nation they protect 
instead of personal glory at death. 

Alone on highway under silver clouds 
deep in the rocky Rainbow Mountain range, 
I travel east to find lost Roman home 
on the same road my fathers traveled west, 
because there is no Promised Land on Earth 
other than safe home I build for my family. 

Sing To Unlearn Time

Sing To Unlearn Time
© Surazeus
2024 06 10

Each day I wake I sing to unlearn time 
that blooms as flowers from my rotting corpse, 
so I drive my car on the country road 
that winds among fields of sun-golden wheat 
where ghosts of farmers wave as I drive by 
on my way to Heaven beyond the stars. 

I lie by the hearth of warm crackling flames 
and listen to sparrows in maple trees 
imitate love songs on the radio 
which always make tears flow out of my eyes 
to water fields where wheat sways in the wind 
that leads me down to the river of stars. 

Though my heart trembles with leaves in the trees 
I search everywhere and ask everyone 
where my beloved would go without me, 
but no one understands code words I slur, 
so I climb high mountains and swim deep seas, 
and fly to find them somewhere in the stars. 

Three graces in the temple by the sea 
spin sinews of my body from dark light 
so I become fraught landscape of my mind 
by dancing with illusion of the truth 
while holding thread of my existing soul 
till I become our planet among stars. 

Though I was born with happiness of faith 
that we are specks of dust in wind of time, 
I reach out to touch the eye-swirling moon, 
but all I grasp is ripe fruit in the tree 
that remains as evidence of my crime 
while I sort through words that fall from the stars. 

When I record the bitter consequence 
that results from actions my hands commit, 
strangers snatch words of sorrow from my mouth 
so I invent new language to express 
mysterious happiness searing my heart 
with eerie music from forgotten stars. 

I swim in suffering of forbidden lakes 
to catch fish of centuries as they pass 
while you spark warm fire inside ring of stones 
so we can roast rich wisdom of sad ghosts 
who hide our stories in unbroken stones 
that wait billions of years by sea of stars. 

With rhythm of triangulated thought 
I count birds on statues of long-dead gods 
to understand the secret of true love 
stolen by crows on telephone lines, 
determined to assert their right to live 
as souls generated by eyeless stars. 

One Who Makes Us Free

One Who Makes Us Free
© Surazeus
2024 06 10

Back to land of Remora I would go 
by slipping through door of the multiverse 
to live in timeline of our spinning globe 
where Remus, not Romulus, wins the race 
to determine who rules the Seven Hills 
where aged Ilia mourns in Pythian cage. 

In campaign to make America great 
wisdom is outwitted by greed for wealth, 
the one who speaks truth to power is spurned 
while the brute bully of rage is adored, 
and equal justice of objective law 
is wounded when the rich exploit the poor. 

When brothers from bloodline of Charlemagne 
compete to wear bright Crown of Liberty, 
the honest christ willing to sacrifice 
his life to make life good for every person 
is too often defeated by the traitor 
determined to found empire on his power. 

The noble institute of the good state 
that functions to benefit all the people 
requires no tyrant wearing mask of pride 
to maintain operations of fiscal growth, 
for the empire built on idol of power 
collapses in chaos of warring gangs. 

After Amulius kills Numitor 
to crown himself king of Albania, 
he forces his niece, Rhea Sylvia, 
to tend the sacred flame as vestal virgin 
to ensure she bears no threats to his power, 
but she escapes cold temple of his greed. 

Changing her name to Ilia, for Ilium, 
she seeks Venus in sacred grove of Mars, 
and asks for sanctuary from his power, 
so Goddess of Love leads her to safe cave 
where Alban princess, and her wolf-eyed son, 
raise twins sons who build Empire of Rome. 

As heir to ancient republic of Rome, 
that functions through votes of democracy, 
America hosts election campaign 
every four years for christ and anti-christ 
to balance forces of darkness and light 
that maintains cycle of perpetual growth. 

Conserving values of strong families, 
we progress with currents of social change 
to ensure equal rights for every person 
who works in teams to create, not destroy, 
so we vote for the one who makes us free 
against the one who would exploit our fears. 

Forth Into The Future

Forth Into The Future
© Surazeus
2024 06 09

While driving along winding mountain road 
at midnight, headlights flashing pines bright gold, 
Kate brakes when white coffin for a small child 
appears in middle of her way, then steps 
from left-open door with cautious concern, 
alert to danger from shadows of fear. 

Memories of her new-born daughter, who died 
from heart disease before three months had passed, 
lying pale and lifeless in coffin bed 
as she was lowered in the flowered grave, 
flash across her eyes as she slowly leans 
down to touch coffin glowing in car beams. 

Trembling as she slowly opens its lid, 
painted with pastoral scene of young maid 
dancing as her shepherd lover plays flute 
under tall willow by clear sparkling stream, 
Kate pauses at expectation that strikes 
her heart with bitter hope to see her child. 

Beneath the lid she lifts with eager hand 
Kate sees bright red apple on white silk cloth, 
like the one Eve accepted from the Serpent, 
but, as one tear drops from her silver eye, 
that treacly fruit of temptation transforms 
into galaxy of atom-quick suns. 

Stepping backward, startled by sparkling hum 
of spinning disk, Kate gasps when it evolves 
into blue-eyed bushy-tailed fox that leaps 
with spritely zeal of exuberant joy 
three times around her on the mountain road, 
then stops and gazes deep into her soul. 

Deep in its vast cathedral abyss eyes, 
beyond bottomless potential for love, 
Kate dreams creation of the universe 
when the first flash of the big bang flares forth 
into neural network of galaxies 
with stars that nurture planets blooming life. 

After feeling her spirit expand huge 
as entire universe of the White Whole, 
that radiates from black hole of the God-Eye, 
Kate snaps awake inside her body shell, 
small flame of light that glows brief conscious hour 
through boundless shimmer of eternity. 

Amid intense glitter of icy fear, 
Kate feels warm flame of love flash into wings 
when spritely fox transforms into young girl 
with blue eyes and bouncing curls of red hair 
who smiles with joy, then whispers her true name 
as she turns and runs forth into the future. 

Idol Of Your Soul

Idol Of Your Soul
© Surazeus
2024 06 08

Delectable contours of sensuous water 
define languorous shape my body seeks 
in placid densities of lacteal faith 
to transverse silence of sinuous grace 
with luminescent sorrow of desire, 
so I knock on your door and call your name. 

Interior flame of mental equity 
slithers with opal sheen of lustrous love 
deep in mercurial current of my heart 
with furtive expectation to acquire 
pure whiteness beaming from insurgent lust, 
so I open your door and whisper why. 

Upwelling surge of traceless arrogance 
buoys lascivious passion of my heart 
when I express amphibious agency 
to taste nutritious essence of wet earth 
based on transparent aura binding me, 
so I close your door and become the moon. 

Cadenced enchantment of my nubile mind 
expands from core of iridescent heart 
woven with silk matrices of respect 
through tepid pleasure piercing deathly gloom 
from unctuous love that reverberates, 
so I wrap shadow of your absent soul. 

Tactile concept spouting crystalline thought 
congeals reverberant atoms of hope 
in pulsing honeycomb that forms my soul 
as curious context of anointed goal 
migrating beyond boundaries names seal, 
so I play memories of us in my eyes. 

Framed fermentation of unsullied faith 
distills galactic light of singing souls 
from flustered grace binding feracious flesh 
that folds sensitive lubricity tight 
with thick atomic substance of god-light, 
so I reach out to touch mask of your face. 

Instilled with fragrant pungency of love 
that softens fierce anxiety I rein 
with fragile luster splayed in pulsing flow, 
my soul insists on feeling flustered fear 
that floats just under surface of dark lake, 
so I mold idol of your soul from words. 

Frantic as fragile butterfly of trust 
that clamors wordless howl of honesty, 
I pick ripe fruit from old black twisted tree, 
then pause and gaze at shimmer on the hill 
with hope to see flame of your soul return, 
so I wait by our window with lit lamp. 

Butterfly Woman Of Hope

Butterfly Woman Of Hope
© Surazeus
2024 06 08

With visceral agony of tangled words 
the woman in the television screen 
smokes thirty thousand cigarettes each day, 
but her baby never comes back to life, 
so she heats another bottle of milk 
and feeds it to the ghost who knows her name. 

After cold rain drenches the wind-blown hills, 
she steps on wood porch of her mobile home 
where children in swimming suits play in mud 
and laugh in the trash-cluttered trailer park 
where their parents in jean-shorts and tee-shirts 
barbecue hot dogs on smoke-rusty grills. 

Bright rainbow arching across the blue sky 
suffuses her senses with wordless thoughts, 
refreshing her soul with beautiful truth 
that pierces her heart with hope for the world 
which teems with nations of angry young men 
eager to kill for their Grand Fatherland. 

When the black butterfly of lunar light 
lands on back of her scarred hand in gold glow, 
the woman with short-cropped hair and red eyes 
swallows its spirit, so wings of desire 
writhe from her shoulders in heart-searing pain 
till she spreads them wide and floats off the ground. 

Gliding above trailer park of despair, 
butterfly woman of hope breathes in light 
that swells her heart with agony of love 
as she swoops and swirls among moon-white clouds 
above vast city maze of gleaming lights 
where millions of people never see Her. 

Spreading fingers of her hands, she extends 
millions of digits into beaming rays 
that shoot fervent needles of pious zeal 
to zap every evil man in the world 
who abuses the weak, women and children, 
in heart-blinding greed to control their lives. 

Landing on pyramid of the god-eye, 
butterfly woman of fanatic faith 
casts net of justice to capture the tyrant 
who dares to crown himself King of the Earth, 
and hurls King Midas in fire pit of Hell 
where he transforms into small croaking toad. 

With soul-shuddering horror of grim truth 
the woman in the television screen 
snaps awake from terrifying fugue state, 
alone in muddy field by the highway, 
hands and tattered dress covered with blood, 
so she laughs in flash of heart-cleansing rain. 

Wise As Onatah

Wise As Onatah
© Surazeus
2024 06 07

Casual as Lucifer strolling in Heaven, 
dressed in black pin-stripe suit from Italy, 
I transform into telescope-eyed raven 
to confound my opponents wittily 
in tense political chess game of power 
over who marries Princess in the Tower. 

Graceful as Mithra leaping on the bull, 
caped as crusader against tyranny, 
I wield Hermean wand and Orphean skull 
in fight to maintain world democracy 
against King Midas with the tiny hands 
who stomps around screaming selfish demands. 

Mad as Achilles sulking in his tent, 
embarrassed he had to yield to the king, 
I endure winter of our discontent 
while sewing feathers on Icarian wing 
so I can fly over global maze of myths 
to map network of fate-entangling paths. 

Sad as Odysseus stuck in fruit garden, 
trapped by doctrine for freedom of expression, 
I steal key of wealth from the corrupt warden 
to escape isle of romantic obsession, 
then sail across the wild Atlantic Ocean 
to the Holy Land where I drink love potion. 

Bold as Jesus in the crystal starship, 
crowned with Ring of Invisibility, 
I return to Earth to drive Sunset Strip 
and dance in nightclub of sterility, 
then walk in desert of the one-eyed snake 
where Death gives me slice of chocolate cake. 

Noble as Arthur with Excalibur, 
commissioned to lead new holy crusade, 
I shoot rockets I bought from Jupiter 
to bomb paradise lost in genocide 
so I can build Wonderland Park in Hell 
with magic runes Odin found in the well. 

Proud as Caesar leading army of ghosts, 
masked with the golden face of Hercules, 
I conquer Washington as Lord of Hosts 
on Hidden Dragon to rule lands and seas 
with nuclear sword of the atom bomb 
for all cruel tyrants end up in the tomb. 

Wise as Onatah planting fields of corn, 
endowed with divine beauty of the truth, 
I appear and blow the wall-toppling horn 
to announce coming of messiah sleuth 
prophesied by jokes of the cosmic herald 
who rules united nations of the world. 

Dreaming Eye-Machine

Dreaming Eye-Machine
© Surazeus
2024 06 06

Though famous humans, who were loved as gods, 
have disappeared from hymns that people sing, 
their ghosts haunt stories we refuse to tell 
since they would traumatize our hearts again, 
so I stand outside locked door of the church 
and gaze at the moon that has never changed. 

Terrifying moments of shocking fear, 
when our ancestors barely evaded death, 
flash as visions in my mind all day long 
to energize secret morals that guide 
how I perform my role on stage of life 
each moment I wake in the farewell light. 

From stories that present their tragic loss 
I learn lessons that show cause and effect 
so I can avoid those mistakes they made 
as I navigate endless maze of myths 
where we all wander lost in fog of fears 
till I find weird secret of happiness. 

The gods of ancient heavens have all died, 
and fallen to the Earth on tattered wings, 
so I measure new curve of who I am 
that turns into the almost of my soul 
which I hide with mask I carve from the skull 
my first mother wore by the singing sea. 

I see all their lost faces in my face 
when I gaze in bright mirror of the moon 
that sends white raven of the midnight snow 
to give me mushroom from cavern of dreams 
which wakes every ancestor in my brain 
so I integrate them in One I Eye. 

The doorless room that frames my eager mind 
encloses spirals through infinity 
deep inside coils of countless dreaming eyes 
so I see what is real outside my head 
beyond illusion of these words I speak 
to buzz abundant spells of honesty. 

Astute conception blooming from my cells 
casts beams of sunlight into fluid waves 
so fish that change direction with one mind 
reflect how people in communities 
perform with zeitgeist of the puppeteer 
who paints reality as it appears. 

Now awake as the dreaming eye-machine, 
I assemble puzzle of words that weave 
fractal dimensions of eternity 
from fragments of frightening memories 
in global tapestry of psychic tropes 
which formulate how we describe the truth. 

Glamorous Idol Of God

Glamorous Idol Of God
© Surazeus
2024 06 05

The crowd of pilgrims in tattered white robes, 
who gave up all worldly goods and desires 
to join cult of the prophet in Dream Cave, 
walk circles around the dry well of skulls 
in dusty valley of ravens and snakes, 
and chant solemn hymns of faith in hot wind. 

Hot wind swirls down from rugged treeless hill, 
where lizards contemplate meaning of life, 
and blows black hat off head of one-eyed man 
who rides white horse among old temple ruins 
while watching shadows of ghosts in the woods 
whose eyes glitter gold as eye of the snake. 

Dismounting white horse before mountain cave 
where pilgrims kneel and pray in sultry heat, 
the one-eyed man carries large leather bag 
in cool shadow where the dream prophet sits 
and meditates like the toad on red mushroom 
with eyes that see beyond bright veil of stars. 

Opening leather bag, the one-eyed man 
presents the scroll, the dagger, and the grail, 
that he acquired from the old castle king 
who sits chained to his jeweled throne of power, 
so the prophet tosses purse of gold coins 
stamped with face of the dead fairy queen. 

After peeling orange with the dagger blade, 
the prophet squeezes sweet juice in the grail, 
then sips light of the sun that sparks his mind 
while he unrolls scroll with attentive care 
to read prophecies in Saturnian verse 
that Saturnus composed with dragon blood. 

Convinced the scroll contains in secret code 
location where gold and jewels are hid, 
which he could use to crown himself world king, 
the one-eyed man hurls with aggressive grunt 
sharp spear to kill the prophet, whose quick hand 
snatches the spear that quivers in the air. 

Gasping in panic to escape dark cave, 
the one-eyed man runs to his grazing horse, 
but the prophet leaps like elegant wolf 
to catch the thief who transforms into bat 
that flutters till he slices of its wings 
and throws it in abyss of nothingness. 

Chanting ancient spell of Saturnian verse, 
dream prophet expresses energy beams 
that reprogram how people of the world 
perceive play of historical events 
so glamorous idol of his spirit glows 
as god thousands of years after he dies. 

When All Our Truths

When All Our Truths
© Surazeus
2024 06 05

When all our boats have sunk into the sea 
and all our heroes work in factories, 
we rise in revolution of the gun 
to steal great glory of the eyeless sun 
so we lock our homes with computer keys 
and worship goddess of the honey bee. 

When all our planes have fallen from the sky 
and all our homes are blasted by your bombs, 
we gather in valley of broken bones 
to carve our names on law-forbidden stones 
so children pray for us in empty tombs, 
inventing religion to answer why. 

When all our holy books of truth are burned 
and all our gods are idols carved from stone, 
we sell our stories to the greedy king 
who feasts on our fruit while he makes us sing 
till I wake on Mount Takoma alone, 
coding riddles from secrets I have learned. 

When all our churches crumble into sand 
and all our doctrines are exposed as lies, 
we climb the Stairway to Heaven nowhere 
that leaves us hanging in the windy air, 
so, on leap of faith where Icarus flies, 
I soar high enough to map our strange land. 

When all our cars run out of gasoline 
and all our children rise up from the Earth, 
we climb high Pyramid of the God Eye, 
so, when I graduate from school as spy 
and find the lost Holy Grail of rebirth, 
I will marry daughter of Melusine. 

When all our horses gallop fruited plains 
and all our parents gamble with our fate, 
we name our new country for Onatah 
after fall of Empire America, 
so we enforce laws with justice we rate 
as equal for all when Liberty reigns. 

When all our bridges collapse from the weight 
of injustice for the rich and the poor, 
we fight civil war for freedom to live 
in commercial game based on take and give, 
reversing status of the psychic score 
to escape the trap triggered by the bait. 

When all our truths have fractured into shards 
and all our photos burned to swirling ash, 
we build new nation based on equal rights 
that binds all world races with holy rites 
to stock museums with cultural trash 
redefined as treasures by street-wise bards. 

Eradicate Every Monarchy

Eradicate Every Monarchy
© Surazeus
2024 06 04

If we choose to live our time in the sun 
by skipping sidewalk of absurdity 
the crazy spirit of the laughing gun 
may highlight absence of diversity 
so we hide our soul in the language game 
that redefines true meaning of our name. 

Yet when I voyage home to Cythera, 
free as the bird that dances in the sky, 
I hide my anguish through the cinema 
where I play role of the amorous spy 
to feast with crows on the myrtle-green isle 
so I can evolve from the crocodile. 

I see my image on the gallows tree 
so I decide to love this corpse of flesh 
that nurtures conscious state of my mind key 
since I incarnate soul of Gilgamesh 
in love with Venus and her curly hair 
as she descends the marble ballroom stair. 

I draw the ancient Sphinx on my world map 
because she pierces my stone heart with dread 
that helps my soul escape religious trap 
when I sail Lethe River with the dead 
through weird dimensions of eternity 
since I teach at no university. 

If we choose to play lost hour by the sea 
beyond bounds of the fractured window frame, 
the calm indifference of insanity 
designs my body in abyss of fame 
so I embrace dark shadow of my heart 
when I sell fruit from my rickety cart. 

Our empire coffined in its sacred myth 
provides foundation for our rise to power 
so I carve your face on the monolith 
that floats among stars with the honey flower 
despite our progress through democracy 
to eradicate every monarchy. 

Assembling puzzle of my new world view 
from fragments of broken theologies, 
I build new church from psychic residue 
that blooms in waste land as bureaucracies 
by which blind bankers corporatize the Earth 
when Death calculates what our love is worth. 

Surrounding castle of the sleeping queen 
with tangled hedge of the sweet briar rose, 
I redefine what words are thought to mean 
by imitating riddles of mad crows 
when I take off the mask of god I wear 
to reveal I am Artemis the Bear. 

Stupidus The Clown

Stupidus The Clown
© Surazeus
2024 06 04

I might disappear in the morning rain 
while walking through the forest of dead gods 
to play lyre and recite heroic tales 
in bright-lit feasting hall of the rich lord 
who gives loaves of bread to those who create 
hymns that praise the noble deeds he performs. 

Faceless mask on the television screen 
reveals the secret soul I try to hide 
while shielding my heart from arrows of hate 
hurled by harsh critics jealous of my skill 
when the playful dog of the curious girl 
pulls back curtain where I play puppeteer. 

While wearing mask of Stupidus the Clown, 
I stand before the brightly painted door 
and cry out to blithe people passing by 
prophecies about how all empires fall, 
so come inside Theater of the Absurd 
and watch our play of Zathamar the Weird. 

When lights on the ceiling and walls are dimmed 
flushed faces of the wealthy gaze with hope 
to watch performers wearing masks of gods 
perform the tale of how our nation-state 
blooms from wild woods of opportunity 
which justifies our right to rule this land. 

Then after all the clowns have pranced and sang 
with joyful bawdiness for fruitful love, 
from swirling curtain of solemnity 
steps Naevius with Campanian arrogance 
who chants, while Mercurius strums his lyre, 
epic poem that records the Punic War. 

With graceful rhythm of Saturnian verse, 
sung by the Fauns and Seers of ancient times 
who dwelled with Muses in the lofty crags, 
bold Naevius recounts how Roman warriors 
fought and defeated Carthaginian thieves 
to rule wine-dark waves of Middle-Earth Sea. 

Long after Roma and Britannia ruled 
empire they expanded around the globe, 
Zarathia now rules both sea and sky 
with aircraft carriers that launch warplanes 
to enforce Liberty with rule of law 
through our republican democracy. 

While sons of Jesus through Meroveus 
wield Scepter of Zambor in the White House, 
Stupidus the Clown hides in mountain cave 
to write prophecies on frail autumn leaves 
that blow away in hurricane of greed 
so I disappear in the morning rain. 

Words From All The Dead

Words From All The Dead
© Surazeus
2024 06 04

Flat on his back under the star-gold sky, 
the faceless soul inside my aching heart 
just feels the Earth spin slowly in the void 
while breathing gravity of naked stone 
that pulls him down toward center of the globe 
till he disintegrates to formless words. 

People are killing people in cruel wars 
in dozens of countries around the Earth, 
shooting bullets and bombs from metal tubes 
to blast bodies of strangers into words 
that dissipate in silence of mute wind 
so roots of trees and flowers drink their blood. 

People have been killing people in wars 
more than ten thousand years of history 
so mortal men who build empires on skulls 
declare themselves gods with power of death 
bestowed on them by the sun in the sky 
that bards record in legends built of words. 

My heart aches, for that killing never ends, 
and never will for ten thousand years more, 
so today I want to feast with my friends 
while deconstructing victorious lore, 
then I will scatter words from all the dead 
so children will sprout from their dragon teeth. 

Rising up from heaviness of despair, 
the faceless soul inside my pounding heart 
walks solemnly in woods of ancient myths 
where ghost of every person killed in war 
waits for me to record their tale in verse, 
so I sing to dispel mercurial curse. 

Climbing ten thousand years on winding trail 
to Parnassian grove on Takoma Mountain, 
I measure this land, sea to shining sea, 
to draw each road, paved by bones of the dead, 
my fathers blazed to find the Promised Land, 
while I map life of every human soul. 

Assembling each conceptual data point 
in puzzle to compose our new world view, 
I arrange thoughts in lines of magic spells 
that weave complex tapestry of our tale 
to form oneiric matrix of the mind 
from atoms that pulse in words I express. 

Removing mask of the bard from my face, 
after casting protective shield of light 
through spirit enchantment of holy spells, 
I return from Heaven Realm of Ideas 
to wake as mortal lump of fragile flesh 
till I disintegrate to singing dust.