King Of Somewhere Else

King Of Somewhere Else
© Surazeus
2024 09 16

Brave enough to explore the Somewhere Else, 
I mimic thoughts other languages mold 
from clay of concepts scooped from river beds 
to mirror spirit of identity 
original to weird dreams which translate 
my body from ghost of god in the stars. 

Illuminated cranium of my mind 
glows green with light of countless ocean moons 
that grow into feathers on my heart wings 
so I transform from flame of molecules 
to golden idol of the faceless god 
who stands translucent in temple of fear. 

With ever-flowing tides of nonchalance 
I join excessive throng of singing ghosts 
who speak ten thousand languages of hope 
that swirl in universal choir of souls 
to worship painting of the evil tree 
with obscene prayers of new clandestine faith. 

Because I know how beautiful we are 
in wild ecstatic howling of the heart, 
I praise the forest that keeps us alive 
through television dramas which expose 
angry hatred of the faith-wounded heart 
who believes they are the wolf of the lake. 

At sudden hammering of the holy hand 
when Thor reshapes the world view of our brains, 
we chop off head of the arrogant king, 
then flee across the wide indifferent sea 
to hide in cave of illusions where God 
arranges Runes to prophesy his rule. 

Shipwrecked on island of the happy cow, 
I crown myself new King of Somewhere Else 
as holy monarch of unsceptered isle 
by walking every signless road of faith 
with magical qualities of exchange 
when I roast meat on altar of dead gods. 

Ruling on pyramid of the god-eye, 
I melt my golden halo to mold coins 
which I mete out to everyone who asks 
so we can expand empire of desire 
to change perspective of the holy fool 
who writes world history on frail autumn leaves. 

Awake in cage as serpent of the tree, 
I slice open my heart with Sword of Truth 
so every river in the world may flow 
sparkling in valleys where our children play 
hide and seek with devil in the details 
while imitating King of Somewhere Else. 

Understand Why I Cry

Understand Why I Cry
© Surazeus
2024 09 16

If sweet story of my sorrow extends 
way past wind-blasted beach of jagged rocks, 
I might be able to measure how vast 
seethes the salt green sea of sensitive faith 
inside this clumsy body of my soul 
that lounges with insipid lust on sand. 

Yet stone cherub, etched on sarcophagus 
of my eyeless mother, calls out my name 
in blasting wind that beats my aching breast 
with passionate love for the beautiful 
that shimmers chartreuse in the vibrant sky 
beaming strange wordless fears into my eyes. 

Though my angel is trapped in granite idol, 
who watches over graves of my ancestors, 
she points to somewhere over the horizon 
where I may find strange rainbow of my joy, 
but I choose to stay where the singing skulls 
of my mothers and fathers count the stars. 

Fierce anguish energizes my numb heart 
with passion to row heavy boat of fear 
across sloshing waves of indifferent hope 
toward far shore I try to conceptualize 
by blowing divine breath of bitter faith 
against gray veil of mist that shrouds my bones. 

Each time I enter domain of the snake, 
by climbing jagged rocks as stepping stones 
toward heights of Heaven glowing gold with light, 
I imagine I am weasel of grace 
gliding with stealth among old apple trees 
to fill basket of my heart with sweet lies. 

Because nothing ever changes in Heaven, 
I leave its sun-shattered shadows in haste 
to row my heavy boat back to my cottage 
where copper mirror on the mossy wall 
reflects strange apparition of my soul 
who knows dark secrets I hide in my heart. 

I invite ghosts of people I once loved 
to my damp cottage in the roadless woods 
where ravens chat about philosophy 
while leaving purple mushrooms at my door 
which I brew in cauldron as honey mead 
and drink till the blind moon becomes my mind. 

Hills become green giants who stare at me 
with eyes that bears desert after they die 
so I write story of my wicked life 
with blood of frogs on smooth slabs of tree bark 
so the ravens understand why I cry 
because I can just never explain why. 

Grand Canyon Of Death

Grand Canyon Of Death
© Surazeus
2024 09 15

While wandering rugged trails of the Grand Canyon, 
descending to the caveless underworld 
on quest to find the Sacred Flower of Truth, 
I hear faint voices of ten thousand poets 
singing alone in silence of the world 
which all blend in one disharmonious choir. 

Stumbling into grotto by stone-frothed stream, 
I see ancient gray-haired bard plucking lyre 
with trembling fingers, frail as oak-tree twigs, 
whose storm-gray eyes glint with mischievous wit 
as he declares that all verse should be based 
on virtue that exalts spirit of mankind. 

Shocked as his body crumbles to gray dust, 
I continue quest bearing his lost lyre 
with no Dream-Wise Poet to guide my way 
down countless infernal layers of hell 
past poets stuck in maelstroms of desire 
or transformed into trees that freely bleed. 

Past grand tombs of ancient world-renowned bards, 
whose epics design frame of our world view, 
I trudge the signless road of inspired song, 
hiding in sunless shadows to avoid 
that hideous spirit-thirsty vampire Fame 
whose jealous envy destroys poets he snares. 

Head glowing with sultry heat of the sun, 
I kneel on shore of the Hakhwata River, 
that flows from Asinwati Rocky Mountains, 
and drink fresh water of their fertile vales 
to fill my soul with passion for the truth 
that nurtures spirit of love in my heart. 

Deep in maze of grand canyon Tsekooh Hatsoh, 
heart beating fiercely with bold eagle wings, 
I journey signless road of my soul quest, 
littered with lost poets who fell from Heaven, 
till I find, shining in cave of my heart, 
Diamond of Wisdom with light of the stars. 

Fixing the Garthenstone of timeless truth 
to tip of my wand, carved from Tree of Life, 
I cast its bright beacon of noble truth 
to light my journey to the Promised Land 
where I plant apple seeds on river shores 
till new gardens blossom in the waste land. 

Ascending trail from Grand Canyon of Death, 
with Flower of Truth and Diamond of Wisdom, 
both gifts from oldest woman in the world, 
I strum Lyre of Mercury with deft hands 
and sing epic poem of philosophers 
to celebrate quest of mankind for truth. 

Speak With Wordless Voice

Speak With Wordless Voice
© Surazeus
2024 09 15

Stripped of illusions based on old beliefs, 
my nameless body walks the signless road 
between ancestral homeland of my truth 
and naked wilderness of bitter hope 
till I become solid as light on stones 
so I speak with wordless voice of the wind. 

Alone in crowded city of lost souls, 
I hide my angel wings inside my lungs 
and listen to thoughts people try to hide 
as they wander somewhere in maze of myths 
in search for how to organize their hopes 
so they generate life before they die. 

Though people look at my face with clear eyes, 
and call me Orpheus with reverent awe, 
I feel no glow of joy from beams of love 
when they project their hopes into my heart, 
yet sweet arrows of their worshipful words 
pierce my stoic shield and fill me with zeal. 

When they torture my father on the cross, 
binding him to the Tree of Life with rage, 
and whipping him with sharp words of contempt, 
I feel his anguish writhing in my heart 
till zealous dragon of my righteous goal 
fuels my frank plot to exact just revenge. 

Just as I am about to strike with rage, 
intending to destroy cities of thieves, 
Ophelia takes my hand with candid smile 
and reveals psychic energy of fear 
that drives millions of people to attack 
shadows that conceal traumatic abuse. 

So I stand still and silent in town square 
beside Fountain of Youth where no one drinks, 
and watch eagle of justice glide above 
till I float upward in the empty sky, 
reversing fall from Heaven to watch tower 
where I choose to meditate without hate. 

Though I suffer anguish from harsh abuse, 
I choose to channel energy of rage 
to build new temple with bones of the dead 
where singing skulls of prophets may recite 
formulas that define physical laws 
adjusting spiral of our globe in space. 

Clothed in illusions of justice and truth, 
my faceless body stands in Hall of Tales 
to play role of kind prosecuting judge 
enforcing code of universal law 
to maintain justice in our game of life 
so we can create rather than destroy. 

We Lose Gorgeous People

We Lose Gorgeous People
© Surazeus
2024 09 14

Since lonely people pass around their eyes 
we pretend Death is never waiting near 
to realign how we define the truth 
by building worlds that keep our mute hopes safe 
from monsters driving cars on hungry roads 
till our bodies welcome us back from stars. 

Through hopeless tragedy of untold tales 
we call each other in the rainy night 
till telephones trap our voices in wires 
that sizzle with electric angst of love 
beautiful enough to decorate tombs 
where unknown gods will never resurrect. 

Because we can never figure out how 
to jump over our own shadows of fate 
we jump over shadows of ones we love 
to share strange beauty of timeless sunlight 
then run with horses on the river shore 
till we get lost inside the mirror door. 

Since death is stillness of our surprised mind 
I keep in motion on the windy plain 
where my hands scatter apple seeds of faith 
to signify trail my ancestors blazed 
walking west ten thousand years beyond hope 
to find hidden garden of random luck. 

Though all the people I once loved have died 
they keep appearing in my doorless house 
and telling me about their lovely day 
how they refuse to leave notes that explain 
why we must disappear with spin of time 
as if we leave memories in sad hearts. 

Because humans feel small and afraid 
on this giant planet spinning in the void 
we invent concept of omniscient God 
who plans everything that happens on Earth 
to ease heart-aching sorrow crippling us 
when we lose gorgeous people we adore. 

When I get my eyes back from our blind god 
I stare into singing book of the sun 
that maps whole history of the universe 
in flashing neural network of my brain 
so I remember name of every soul 
who ever lives on every spinning world. 

My brain is receptive organ of love 
that channels conscious spirit of the Earth 
so when I sing among the apple trees 
I retransmit her memories of our lives 
in secret code of myth which I invent 
to fool Death that I am already dead. 

Share Sorrow Of Flowers

Share Sorrow Of Flowers
© Surazeus
2024 09 13

Not strange as leaves that whisper with the voice 
of ancient warriors fighting for the truth 
do rivers call our names in evening glow 
to gather on their shores when silver moon 
extracts our sorrows in bright tears we shed 
which beam as raindrops we catch in our hands. 

Still long forgotten memories of our youth 
glow softly in half-vagrant afternoons 
before road signs reverse the way we go 
if ruffled feathers red as apple skins 
release our sorrows to escape our mouths 
with every hour we measure river waves. 

Delight in beauty words may emanate 
lures us to honor moral state of mind 
when tragic tales of romances that failed 
educate us with how to do it right 
though we share sorrow of flowers we pick 
to savor caress of the lonely breeze. 

Too heavy weigh grim stones of naked hearts 
I bear with sighs that haughty trees will mock 
when I express ambition to expand 
grand scope of my commercial enterprise 
to sell fruits of sorrow to travelers 
who disappear in doors of everywhere. 

Near morning hour of mind-expanding dawn 
I sense strange presence of the nameless soul 
that wears your face when you appear in mist 
to give me seeds you gather with one hand 
from wordless sorrow of coincidence 
we scatter far from desolation row. 

Far from the twisted reach of crazy hope 
I dance on ever-shifting sands of time 
on journey to the distant land of thoughts 
where strangers gather in the ring of stones 
to share heart-breaking sorrow of the truth 
which binds our souls to bodies of our names. 

No wisdom can be found in wishing wells 
yet I cast runes of fortune in their depths 
while muttering small talk at the eyeless tree 
who teaches me how to build river boat 
from bones of sorrow weeping ghosts discard 
in which I sail down flowing stream of time. 

Not true enough to write in history books 
with competent letters of psychic code 
are these events of our average lives 
that we expend in search for happiness 
which we transform from sorrows we ignore 
yet choose to conjure from abyss of love. 

Ghosts Of Mad Tyrants

Ghosts Of Mad Tyrants
© Surazeus
2024 09 12

Though I try to ignore global events 
by focusing attention of my mind 
on beauty of truth inherent in death, 
ghosts of mad tyrants clutter the chessboard 
who still try to control how people live 
despite declarations of liberty. 

Men who were admired as heroes of war, 
once glorified in ancient epic tales, 
shrank down to demons gibbering in Hell 
while pencil-pushers dressed in business suits 
drink wine at the annual holiday ball 
while factory workers wait in line for bread. 

New tyrants pretend to play president 
while ruling over thousand-year empires 
where every person performs their small role 
in global drama of the Weeping God 
who flies sleek airplane among glowing clouds 
to secret Island of the Holy Book. 

More people are born every day on Earth 
than die through generations of desire 
as our bodies recycle molecules 
so our soul genes attain eternal life 
when atoms of the Earth become our brains 
that helps her feel herself alive in us. 

Successful in my program to avoid 
endless social problems that plague the world, 
I lounge on back porch of my secret home 
to pluck guitar and hum weird melody 
that vibes my haunting melancholy mood 
with eerie longing of the Celtic flute. 

No matter who the people choose to rule 
as boss to manage our economy, 
we will attend the station of our work 
in our global food-production machine, 
whether the tyrant who falls from blind pride, 
or the savior who stands guard on the tower. 

Determined to build our own paradise 
of walls surrounding garden of fruit trees, 
Eve and I leave prison Eden is now 
since the proud king demands obedience, 
and walk the signless road as refugees 
to escape his religious tyranny. 

As wingless angel with no flaming sword, 
I guard home, where my wife and children live 
free from oppression of the greedy king, 
we built in lush land far across the sea, 
but even here, in forest of oak trees, 
ghosts of mad tyrants haunt our paradise. 

Heaven Of Our Earth

Heaven Of Our Earth
© Surazeus
2024 09 11

I wander through eye-mirrors of your dreams 
with wicked joy for beauty of your souls 
that spurs bright celebration through wild song 
of love that weaves our individual hearts 
in undulating matrix of world soul 
on which we build this Heaven of our Earth. 

With graceful gestures of my crafting hands 
I weave conceptual knots of sparkling light 
from bright atomic threads of cosmic soul 
in vibrant woof of universal thought 
composing tapestry of human life 
in scenes displaying characters we play. 

Shocked by corruption of my hungry rage 
sparking desire to fill my emptiness 
in hollow realm of conceptual abyss 
to enclose absence with aggressive love, 
I fall from Heaven of spiritual calm 
to writhe entrapped by limits of my hope. 

Exploring limits of my flesh-cased form 
that defines existence of my frail being 
within measurable bounds of time and space, 
I figure how far my power stands out 
to know I am no supernatural god, 
but mortal spirit who lives well, then dies. 

Each time I throw my soul against the wall 
of time and space that binds me in my body, 
I test how far to edge of nothingness 
that I can go to strengthen who I am 
before hope pulls me back into my head, 
because I know someday I will be dead. 

Perfecting art of dying, to restore 
complete integrity of my god-soul, 
I dive in deep abyss of changing flow 
to bathe in surging sea of memories 
where I see patterns of material forms 
as ideas I signify through names. 

On Phoenix wings of resurrecting faith 
I rise from deep grave of forgetfulness 
to soar straight over bridge of honest love 
through restoration of the sacred tale 
that preserves unique features of my life 
in conceptual idol of timeless myth. 

To achieve apotheosis of soul, 
preserved in character I play on stage, 
I wander through eye-mirrors of your dreams 
to transcend limitations of desire 
through undulating matrix of world soul 
on which we build this Heaven of our Earth. 

Experience Of Unique Souls

Experience Of Unique Souls
© Surazeus
2024 09 11

When I first read the ancient Book of Life, 
and feel electric surge of secret truth 
burn Mark of Cain in palm of my right hand, 
I must experience ache of selfless love 
with my soulmate before I can absorb 
weird vision of its words into my skin. 

Grand walls of cities have all disappeared 
so now no haughty Priams rule vast Troys, 
yet Minotaurs lurk in their labyrinths 
where countless clones of Theseus perform 
games for power in chess games of Go 
to control territory of the mind. 

Yet mad Achilles attacks noble Hector, 
arrogant Aeneas steals bride of Turnus, 
and Satan lures Eve with Apple of Wisdom 
from Adam who teaches philosophy 
in bright halls of Earth University 
where sons of Jesus learn the business trade. 

When Orpheus crosses the Stygian Pool 
to rescue Eurydice from despair, 
after she is assaulted, raped, and killed 
by Aristaeus, Minister of Wealth, 
his spirit struggles stuck in mire of hate 
with longing to bring his bride back to life. 

Approaching Tree of Life in Tartarus 
where Clock of Change ticks in its spreading trunk, 
Orpheus presses palm of his right hand 
so Mark of Cain unlocks Door of Desire 
that opens way to meadow of blind ghosts 
where Isis nurses Horus at her breast. 

Kneeling beside Jesus before her throne, 
Orpheus joins his prayer of hopeless faith 
requesting she release from bonds of death 
souls of good people so they may return 
to live with joy in world of selfless love, 
free to make their most precious dreams come true. 

Opening palms of his hands pressed together, 
Orpheus reveals ancient Book of Life 
that records life of every nameless soul 
who ever lives in all the universe, 
but Isis shakes her head to confirm truth 
that no soul can ever live after death. 

Each brain nourished by its body of flesh 
emanates unique conscious soul of self 
nurtured, rather than trapped, by its brief vessel, 
so we journey on quest to explore Earth, 
designing virtual model of the world 
to learn how we are spirits of its dream. 

Enlightened by sacred truth about Nature 
that Isis reveals through vision of words, 
Orpheus and Jesus, without dead brides, 
return to Earth from Underworld of Hope 
and preach salvation to humanity 
through acceptance that every soul will die. 

Opening new bookstore on Rowan Street, 
Orpheus and Jesus hold weekly readings 
where poets share lyric poems they compose 
which present personae of human minds 
exploring memories of their private lives 
that record experience of unique souls. 

Jogging on the river shore right at dawn, 
Orpheus sees young woman in long gown 
floating half-drowned in its relentless tide, 
so he lays her among flowers on shore 
and breathes spirit of life in her heart, 
reviving her soul with his selfless love. 

Driving on the highway to work at church, 
Jesus sees young woman getting kidnapped, 
so he fights several men with martial arts, 
then takes her quickly to the hospital 
where her wounds are treated with gentle care, 
saving her soul from sexual slavery. 

Standing side by side at cathedral altar, 
nervous Orpheus and Jesus join hands 
with blushing brides Ophelia and Minerva 
to share their double wedding ceremony, 
vowing to protect the woman they love, 
then both couples kiss as the crowd applauds. 

With vision of words from the Book of Life, 
tattooed as swirling Runes of timeless light 
on skin of this body that beams my soul, 
I dwell in complex harmony of love 
with wise woman I adore and respect 
who reincarnates our souls within our children. 

Support Her Noble Vision

Support Her Noble Vision
© Surazeus
2024 09 10

Beauty makes love with Death to replicate 
copy of its perfection in new body 
which generates this conscious self I am, 
so I wake to look in her glowing face 
when Death names me for the father she lost 
to swirling sorrow of eternity. 

When Orcus tries to storm bright halls of Heaven 
with rabid gang of greedy thugs from Hell, 
Minerva stands with Gabriel, who wield swords 
forged by Justice, to defend human souls 
who gather to support her noble vision 
of equal rights in world democracy. 

Orpheus saves Ophelia from the river, 
bearing his pregnant bride to his watch tower 
where she bears twins, son and daughter of truth 
who role-play Apollo and Artemis 
in school theater of the laughing skull 
which prophesies the fall of monarchy. 

Icarus escorts Isolta by boat 
across the stormy sea from Avalon 
west to colonize island of Atlantis 
where their son Sylphus founds national bank 
that funds small businesses and family farms 
as honest bulwark against tyranny. 

Romeo takes Cinderella to the circus 
where they ride the Tornado roller coaster, 
shoot balloons with rifles to win stuffed bears, 
then ride river boat through tunnel of love 
where they kiss, and discuss their married life 
running the hardware store on Rowan Street. 

Juliet and Eurydice fall in love 
when they meet in the poetry workshop, 
so they ride ponies at the city zoo, 
attend Museum of Unusual Art, 
then drink coffee in Pegasus Cafe 
at the late summer eve poetry reading. 

Hamlet joins the army to fight for honor 
after terrorists attack the World Trade Center, 
and, while patrolling in Afghanistan, 
he sees Soraya among olive trees 
strumming Dutar as she sings haunting ballad, 
so he pledges his heart to her with love. 

We find our true love in strangers we meet 
when we wander away from path of fate 
to journey beyond walls of paradise 
on quest to find the Holy Grail of Love 
which shines in eyes of children we create 
with our immortal soul in genes of Beauty. 

Because Life Is Pain

Because Life Is Pain
© Surazeus
2024 09 09

Though pain ofttimes seems to cripple my heart, 
I recite what Zarathustra once taught me, 
that what does not kill me will make me stronger, 
because life is pain that fuels my resolve 
to savor searing pleasure of existence, 
for I will feel nothing after I die. 

Stumbling down the signless road of despair, 
past people suffering disease, age, and death, 
I fall exhausted under the fig tree 
and laugh with bitter agony of faith 
at how unfair the world is to most people 
who struggle to survive while some are rich. 

If I, Sylphus, am son of Icarus, 
why have I no angel wings of desire 
to fly above crowded maze of this world 
so I can escape vast labyrinth of hunger 
where people fight each other over food 
thrown to them by rich men in palaces? 

Orpheus taught me how to play the lyre, 
but now that the Maenads ripped off his head, 
which sings dire prophecies on the wild sea, 
I wander lost and voiceless in this world, 
unable to sing anguish in my heart 
so I can evade tragic fate of death. 

Entering the chapel in search for hope 
that I could live free from pain of desire, 
I listen to the priest proclaim that Deus 
came down from high Heaven to dwell on Earth, 
spirit inhabiting material flesh, 
then rose from death and flew into the clouds. 

Striding with hope to meadow by the sea, 
I gaze at glowing clouds in the blue sky 
where my father Icarus once flew free, 
and call to Jupiter in Hall of Light 
through prayer for life in paradise of love 
after suffering bitter pain of abuse. 

Two wolves approach me from the swirling mist, 
the Wolf of Anger, and the Wolf of Joy, 
and since the one I feed will grow more strong 
I feed the dire Wolf of Joy with compassion 
as we run and laugh along River Styx, 
dancing in Elysium with honeybees. 

While strolling beneath the cliff by the sea 
I find broken wood frame shaped like swan wings, 
covered with tattered feathers of dead birds, 
strapped to bleached skeleton of Icarus, 
so I hold his broken skull in my hand 
and weep for my father who fell from Heaven. 

Eternal Flame Of Azar

Eternal Flame Of Azar
© Surazeus
2024 09 08

Our tale is not for you to understand 
for how we came to grow in love remains 
secret from judgment of your observation, 
therefore accept with gratitude for fate 
that our hearts are bound with wings of desire 
stronger than those fortunate angels wield. 

Descending from storm clouds on wings of fire, 
Icarus dives toward horde of snarling demons 
lead by cruel king Orcus from caves of fire 
where they forge swords of bronze from shining stone, 
and fires arrows tipped with star-diamond shards 
that shatter iron breastplates of despair. 

Bearing pregnant Libera in his arms, 
Icarus carries her from fierce battlefield, 
where Asuras and Devas fight for land, 
and hides her safe in grove of apple trees 
deep in secret valley of Elysium, 
where she bears Sylphus during a rainstorm. 

Suckling baby boy Sylphus at her breast, 
Libera hums soul-soothing melody 
while Icarus stands guard in the watch tower 
to tend bright Eternal Flame of Azar 
which shines as beacon far across the lands 
where the elvish children of Helius dwell. 

Grasping at the wrought-iron gates of Heaven, 
Orcus howls with rage for his kidnapped wife, 
demanding that Icarus set her free, 
but Libera appears from swirling mist, 
head shining with the seven-jeweled crown, 
while holding baby Sylphus in her arms. 

Behold this child that I bore from my womb, 
and see that he is not child of your seed, 
and know Icarus is the man I love 
for you, Orcus, kept me your prisoner, 
controlling my life against my free will, 
while he set me free to live as I choose. 

True love gives me my liberty to choose, 
so I live as I will, if I harm none, 
and gives me power to achieve my goals 
by making real through magic what I dream, 
therefore I choose to marry Icarus 
whose wisdom sired soul of Sylphus, our son. 

Wrenching open gates of Heaven with rage, 
Orcus charges to kill woman and child, 
but Icarus fires swift arrow of truth, 
then, after they burn the devil in fire, 
he gives little Sylphus toy wooden horse 
who giggles as he grasps it in his hand. 

Excessive Hope To Fly

Excessive Hope To Fly
© Surazeus
2024 09 08

Mental gloominess fraught with fulgent hope 
amplifies desolate terror of death 
which penetrates obdurate shield of faith 
with rabid wisdom of acerbic truth 
to support invulnerable happiness 
when I indulge infrangible desire. 

Miserable with excessive hope to fly, 
I wind infinite wrath of taut despair 
to build new self of conscious confidence 
in lowest deep of Hell where I transform 
from fallen demon to angel of faith 
aspiring to rise wingless, fueled by love. 

Though I suffer, so each Heaven seems Hell 
of hopeless hunger I strive to engage, 
my endless desire threatens to engulf 
fragile self I design from fleeting dreams 
so I devour despair with laughing joy 
to treasure my waste land as paradise. 

Jar of my skull spins round on ground of truth 
tall enough to enclose Zephyrean flow 
with bold dominion of aggressive thought, 
signified by concepts of arcane facts 
essential to nature of human desire, 
when I explore weird hills of nameless lands. 

No faceless ghost of arbitrary faith, 
haunting doorless homes where families feast, 
I keep time, winding clock of cosmic truth, 
to measure change each human must endure 
growing beyond childish drama of hope, 
though stuck in stories someone else composed. 

Seamless equity of opportune games, 
foundation that supports ambitious efforts, 
provides time-shifting platform where I play 
role of cosmic herald for global team 
in tragic competition damned by pride, 
obscure with legal terms of binding fate. 

Primordial half-shape my body projects 
is laughing robot programmed to desire 
reincarnation of immortal soul 
with genes that weave new brains from memories 
experienced by ancestors I become 
in loomed fabric of my own divine ardor. 

Peace achieved through honest forgiveness 
sprouts wings of wisdom from my wounded heart 
with courage I employ to explore maze 
of myths that map our psychic cyberspace 
where lonely people perform ancient roles 
of supernatural gods till we all die. 

Sylphus The Lightmapper

Sylphus The Lightmapper
© Surazeus
2024 09 07

When I get lost in dark dreams of despair, 
running nowhere in maze of monstrous myths, 
sly Lightmapper appears on wings of fire 
from guarding gates of Eden with star eyes, 
and shows me how to weave what I desire 
from glowing threads of words drawn from my brain. 

With deft agility of graceful chant 
I draw thin shimmering threads of dream words 
from tangled neural network of my brain 
to weave elaborate tapestry of tales 
depicting tragic romance of young lovers 
whose choices lead them to infertile death. 

Exerting willful passion of my faith, 
which verges on fluent stream of dream words, 
I transform shadow of my naked soul 
to polished-marble idol I design 
when I experience sensation of being 
as echo that vibrates across the sea. 

From downward drift of sleep on dreamless waves 
I rise through flashing relic of glass bones 
to play Lightmapper born from dragon egg 
with bright refrains of endless azure bound 
by circling spirals of genetic code 
that define how my body should appear. 

Trajectory of my voice on wings of wind 
highlights soul-curving way around the world 
that we can fly on breath of fluted song 
to strike the ground with laughter of sad joy 
that buoys invisible road of words 
built by Lightmapper with fluent hands. 

Nimble dance on Bridge of Forgetfulness 
extends form of my body beyond fate 
that traps my spirit in web of my brain 
when deathless mother names my elegance 
as Sylphus to spellbind my heart with power 
so I play Lightmapper who guards the Earth. 

Each day in frantic cinema of hope 
I play Sylphus the Lightmapper who weaves 
time-animated globe which models Earth 
in atlas that records history of life 
as we evolve four hundred million years 
to climb from the sea to the mountaintop. 

Face to face with the man who sold the world, 
through courage to defy his tyranny, 
Sylphus the Lightmapper redefines truth 
to mean how atoms formulate our souls 
in lissome chemical machines of hope 
so we can generate new souls through love. 

Riddles Of Her Way

Riddles Of Her Way
© Surazeus
2024 09 07

Tomatoes represent hopes of my heart 
so I sit on wood deck in autumn light 
to chat with the white butterfly of god 
who teaches me how to connect my words 
in spider webs of concepts that reflect 
faces of people I have never met. 

Old woman under the huge willow tree 
explains in deep words pungent as the soil 
that it helps to talk about experiences, 
relating how we have suffered abuse, 
so all our sorrows become butterflies 
that fly away over indifferent fields. 

When I walk along the narrow dirt lane 
that winds among homes on the river shore, 
I see some people I think I might know, 
so I rearrange their faces with souls 
and give them new names they hang on the tree, 
then we sing together around the fire. 

The sandpiper running along the beach 
leaves runes imprinted on the sparkling sand 
so I try to solve Riddles of her Way 
that leads me to cave where the turtles sing 
about the sorrow of the falling bombs 
erasing people from dream of the Earth. 

We tell our stories surviving abuse 
when we wander lost in maze of lost souls 
who clash with each other in blinding fear, 
so the land and the river and the wind 
know what injustice we have overcome, 
which helps us break free from our crippling pain. 

Each book I reach for on library shelf, 
kept secret in archives of human dreams, 
reveals strange scenes that happened in the past 
when people fought with people for control, 
accusing the innocent of evil crimes, 
and killing each other to enter Heaven. 

Trapped in the memory loop of my despair, 
when I got lost in dark shadowy maze, 
arrested and accused by frightened men, 
I laugh at horror of the twisted truth 
to break chains of misfortune with dream spell 
so I escape on wings of Icarus. 

Deceived by the false story I was told, 
that I belong in cold house of abuse, 
I break invisible chains of mute fear 
by shouting my story at empty sky, 
then singing with joy as I walk away, 
to pick tomatoes on the river shore. 

White Butterfly Of God

White Butterfly Of God
© Surazeus
2024 09 07

If I want to understand what birds think 
I should write a letter to the dead god 
that would flutter lame in the muddy field 
where desk lamps walk around on chicken legs, 
yet all I find are blind clowns who play chess 
in contest for who will be King of Hell. 

So instead I sit in the wood row boat 
on the mountain lake where mist whispers why 
people tend to equate love with despair 
because apple pie fills the heart with hope 
that someone somewhere might just understand 
how sad ocean waves pretend not to care. 

Because the black telephone on the wall 
never rings with the most important news, 
I follow the white butterfly of god 
to the windy hill where the bright moon waits 
for me to bring the pen I use to write 
letters to mothers whose young children died. 

All the famous poets in business suits 
leave blank books on wood coffin of the bard 
who was born on island of laughing skulls, 
except the oldest woman in the world 
dressed in black lace gown who gives me the ring 
she forged from beating heart of the white horse. 

Sorting through puzzle pieces of the world 
that never seem to fit in the big picture, 
I extract throbbing eyes from my glass brain 
and glue them to the television screen 
so I can see all people of the world 
who watch Narcissus sing heart-aching ballads. 

Performing role of Icarus on stage 
in global theater of the absurd, 
I spread wings of feathers from swans and crows 
with awkward grace of the elegant fool 
to deliver dramatic monologue 
expressing wish to live a normal life. 

To be or not to be the wingless angel 
who falls in love with tragic heroines, 
I try to rescue them all from abuse 
but they get killed by weak and fearful men 
before I even know that they exist, 
so I pin their photographs on the wall. 

If I listen to birds sing long enough 
I might hear the name of every dead soul 
who ever lives in all the universe 
while I walk alone on the signless road, 
retrieving letters from the muddy field 
where thousands chase white butterfly of god. 

Three Treasures Of Avalon

Three Treasures Of Avalon
© Surazeus
2024 09 06

The old man strolling by the mountain stream 
wonders why his life has been all a dream 
of alligators, car engines, and crows 
who lead him to the house as the moon glows 
in mirror where the wingless angel sings 
weird formulas for forging magic rings. 

He wants to be the ghost no eye can sense, 
whose shadow can be seen beyond the fence, 
so he can hunt the Minotaur of fame 
who would crown himself master of the game, 
and free people of Earth from tyranny 
through sacred rituals of democracy. 

Scent of jasmine soap at the witching hour 
leads Icarus to lady in the tower 
who sings beautiful spells no one can hear 
that sparkle code of truth in falling tear 
which floods the world in swirls of voiceless thoughts 
to program conscious desires of robots. 

Swooping from heaven on wings of desire, 
Icarus wields new flaming sword of fire 
to block the Minotaur with keys of fate 
from breaking down the jeweled White House gate 
where Minerva reigns with bold honesty 
as newly-crowned Goddess of Liberty. 

Bored of movies about empire of wealth 
in which vampires control the world by stealth, 
Rapunzel calls Tristan to come and play, 
so, while Isolta drives to church to pray, 
he visits Ivory Tower of the queen 
whose visage graces every magazine. 

Searching for three treasures of Avalon, 
Icarus timewalks back to Babylon 
where Inanna gives him the Holy Grail, 
to Rome where Justice gives him the Truth Scale, 
then to Oregon where Melusine waits 
to give him Sword of Justice from the Fates. 

Though Pluto kills Kronos with clever ruse 
to seem the crime is committed by Zeus, 
Icarus hunts the killer to Stonehenge 
with vow to assert justice for revenge, 
but wise Britannia in the dragon cave 
cages the tyrant in lost tombless grave. 

The old man strolling in the city maze 
defines next evolutionary phase 
humanity must achieve to ascend 
celestial dreamscape of Mount Damavand 
where Icarus builds Isolta new home 
to avoid tragic fate of ghosts who roam. 

Wounded Hands Of Icarus

Wounded Hands Of Icarus
© Surazeus
2024 09 06

Eve throws the poisoned apple at my head 
as if it were grenade of thought discord, 
so I ride horse on plain of psychic war 
to steal the mirror that reflects my soul 
so all the wingless angels of the Earth 
sell laughter to each other for its worth. 

No city is the ideal replica 
that imitates Heaven in formal style, 
yet we oppress the sweetness of respect, 
grown indolent in summertime of fate, 
when hearing drone of honeybees all day 
who mock the lonely losers who still pray. 

Unfolding wings with feathers of the swan, 
sewn by the wounded hands of Icarus, 
Isolta struts down to the laughing sea 
with blind-folded philosophers of love 
taught by the humming frog to calculate 
riddles carved on the temple walls of fate. 

Mapping network of roads binding the Earth 
in global community of mad clowns, 
Romeo searches crowded smoky bars 
to find Cinderella typing weird jokes, 
but she is swimming alone in the pool 
where Tristan talks about founding some school. 

Growing impatient with the multitude 
who always exercise their right to vote, 
Orpheus studies bats in Texan cave 
while Ophelia collects seeds of herbs, 
then drive together on the desert road 
to join meditation of the God Toad. 

Red seahorse floating in aquarium tank 
explains to children from the holy school 
that if they want to avoid tragedy 
they should find the weirdest person to love, 
so Adam leaves Lilith by the dead tree 
to crown Eve new Goddess of Liberty. 

He travels swiftest who travels alone, 
Minerva preaches to the cheering choir, 
then flies helicopter on angel wings 
to hunt the Minotaur in maze of lies 
who tries to crown himself King of the World 
till he is captured by the cosmic herald. 

After Lucifer falls in cave of Hell, 
Jesus transforms how humans offer love, 
then Adam ascends pyramid of power 
where Amen invents world religious rites, 
then Icarus flies starship to the moon 
where Ishtar plays an American Tune. 

Drama Of Their Families

Drama Of Their Families
© Surazeus
2024 09 05

Swooping down from castle of the Glow Cloud, 
Icarus glides over maze of city streets, 
eyes peering into minds of human souls 
to analyze riddles of obtuse dreams 
which flash kaleidoscope concepts in code 
concealing secret passions of the heart. 

Striding gracefully in slender black suit 
that hides his white-swan wings of psychic flight, 
Icarus beams vibes of forgiving grace 
to calm distraught minds twisted by despair 
with breath of love on agitated waves 
of faith converting ugliness to beauty. 

Startled by tornado of frightened rage 
that swirls from abyss of hungry desire, 
Icarus soars through labyrinth of souls 
to find young woman under alder tree 
who chants arcane oracle in star spell 
weaving bridge of truth from branches of fear. 

Feeling pulse of ocean tides radiate thick 
in waves of starlight from her silver eyes, 
Icarus gestures hands to adjust beams 
so energy swirls tight in coiling wheel 
that winds eternity in clock of sight, 
body shocked rigid when she grasps his hand. 

Gazing entranced by shimmer of her eyes, 
Icarus sees young woman open book 
that flashes rainbow letters in her hands 
about transforming humans into angels 
that she retrieves from high library shelf 
hidden deep in castle of seven towers. 

Kneeling before Goddess of Liberty, 
Icarus offers with both open hands 
Holy Grail of True Love to sweet Isolta 
who drinks peppermint-flavored mushroom mead 
that beams her soul with divine energy 
so she spreads wings of wisdom from her heart. 

Holding hands with Isolta, the White Queen, 
Icarus asks if she will marry him 
so they can both avoid their tragic fates 
by choosing to alter way of their faith 
so they together generate new life 
in child destined to play the cosmic herald. 

Walking signless road in the tangled wood, 
Icarus and Isolta journey west 
to escape drama of their families, 
and build new home in hills of Oregon 
where they tend orchard of red apple trees, 
and raise five children who play games with joy. 

Mirror Maze Of Eyes

Mirror Maze Of Eyes
© Surazeus
2024 09 05

I see the same view of the world each day 
I wake from tangled forest of the dream, 
so I name every object I perceive 
by defining qualities of its form 
till shadow of the word reflects the thing 
while I wander in mirror maze of eyes. 

Carnival echoes of the midnight sun 
cuts lateral beams of rainbows without names 
across naked curves of fugitive lands 
where people, stranded on the signless road, 
gamble with Death to change their destiny, 
still fruitless in lightness of passing time. 

Because the True Way to the Promised Land 
is never clear on any psychic map, 
I build cloud-castles from dreams people lose 
so they almost remember how to breathe 
despite the filth of hope that poisons hearts 
of children who play games of war and peace. 

With each new level of anxiety, 
that I achieve evolving past my soul, 
I plan to savor moments of insight 
my ancestors cherish at hour of death 
so I can seize strange treasures of the past 
to fuel my journey home to Avalon. 

Becoming me I never knew exists 
with each rebirth from madness of despair, 
I hold hurtful words people hurl at me 
in bleeding hands to understand mute pain 
they hide inside their hearts so I can grow 
angel wings of forgiveness from their hate. 

After stopping to think about how time 
dilates voices of the dead in fake poems, 
I stroll past open doors to give away 
names I design that signify my growth 
to strangers startled by the artifact 
purporting to be laughing skull of Hamlet. 

Though she died thirty thousand years ago, 
the Beauty Queen who gave me Sword of Truth 
still walks beside me on my sacred quest 
to find the Holy Grail inside her heart 
that she employs to weave matrix of souls 
from protoplast that links our brains with stars. 

Programming concept of the semaphore 
with books that burn in Library of Fate, 
I contemplate weird mystery of the Earth 
to measure formal idea of each thing 
with fractured wisdom of divine respect, 
for we are angels of the cosmic quark. 

Old Spirit Of The Earth

Old Spirit Of The Earth
© Surazeus
2024 09 04

I feel old spirit of the Earth in water 
and how it moves through veins of everything, 
so I stretch my arms up to the Blue Sky 
and ask Mother Nature to send us rain, 
so she sprinkles strange beauty on my head 
that makes my brain blossom with honey flowers. 

I wonder why bright spirit of my mind 
can never leave ordered frame of my body, 
and why I blank out when I fall asleep 
to float in the nothingness of weird dreams 
which seem to be lost memories of the dead, 
then I wake and drink water from the sky. 

I try to measure proportion of fate 
that Mother Nature blindly allocates 
to each person who struggles to design 
way of living that sustains operation 
of this organic body which supports 
chemical functions of my conscious soul. 

I balance good and evil of the world, 
apportioned by fortune to each lost soul 
who suffers pain or pleasure as they go 
somewhere stranger in the world of forms 
beyond bounds of reality they know, 
and find they are both equal in the end. 

I wake from vision at the flashing roar 
of a summer thunderstorm crashing wild 
to chuckle amused my ancestors thought 
some angry storm god was attacking them, 
but fortune or misfortune in this life 
occurs at random we must navigate. 

I dream old spirit of the Earth in light 
that beams in threads of flashing molecules 
from first flash of the big bang that flares forth 
to weave my body from atomic lust 
so I wake with unconscious mind of god 
as pulsing energy of love in flesh. 

I speak words of thought with breath of the sky 
projecting visions in the cosmic eye 
so feelings that pierce my heart with mute pain 
may fly away on wings of honesty 
that leaves me free to swim in the vast sea 
when I return to womb of Mother Nature. 

I see your face in mirror mask of love 
that smiles at me from endless temple hall 
where humans all form the Many-Faced God 
who teaches me to forget grievances 
that trap my soul in maze of bitter angst 
so I can eat fruit from the Tree of Life. 

Our World Will Be Saved

Our World Will Be Saved
© Surazeus
2024 09 03

Storm of fear always brewing in my mind 
veils ruins of cities bombed in world war 
from which new angels rise in human form 
to build grand city towers of steel and glass 
where uncrowned kings wear pinstripe business suits 
to drink wealth brewed from souls of working folk. 

Old epic tales of noble kings and knights, 
who protected farmers slaving in fields 
while they feasted in cozy castle halls, 
now writhe unread in dark library rooms 
where scholars study arcane code of faith 
while athletes compete for glory and fame. 

Descendant of King Arthur, wearing jeans 
and tee-shirt of his favorite grunge folk band, 
sits at round table in library hall 
where he assembles in puzzle of truth 
fragments of history gleaned from chronicles 
written by monks in monastery cells. 

Descendant of Queen Mary, wearing skirt 
and white blouse she sewed with black unicorn, 
sits on grassy knoll in the river park 
where hippies dance slow after smoking weed 
to trippy tunes of electric guitar 
that Moses plays while singing about love. 

Mad that mankind is not worshipping Him, 
Jehovah brews on thundering cloud of rage 
to shake the Earth with tornadoes and quakes 
that hurl gangs of angry young men with guns 
to kill millions in genocidal wars, 
and drinks beer while watching the football game. 

Memories flash across my brain filaments 
as haunting melodies of Celtic flutes 
that spark strange feeling of the Long-Ago 
when I lived in the lush Seattle hills 
with vibe of Ireland glowing in my heart 
as glow that glamors world my eyes perceive. 

Each long lost land where my ancestors lived 
casts sweet nostalgic glow of aching hope 
in aura that inspires my heart to sing 
weird prophecies that no one would believe, 
though I measure conceptual elements 
which compose virtual model of my world. 

Lightning flash that splits mirror of my eye 
opens dream portal of the multiverse 
so Muse Astraea soars down from Glow Cloud 
on wings of desire to show me the truth 
that after coming of messiah sleuth 
our world will be saved by the cosmic herald. 

Passion Of Free Will

Passion Of Free Will
© Surazeus
2024 09 03

When we talk about strange beauty of life 
while strolling together by the clear river, 
grand vision of the world glows in the clouds, 
conjured from our brains by words we express, 
but when we fall silent in awe of truth 
it vanishes from mirror of the sky. 

When he defeated Kronos, lord of greed, 
Zeus imposed state order through rule of law 
by appointing each conscious human being 
their special role to play in game of life 
that we perform with passion of free will 
to maintain world food-production machine. 

Though I seem free from all social constraints, 
after breaking blind shackles of religion, 
each choice I make with ambition for truth 
becomes the Fate I design for myself 
within grand institutional framework 
on which we build society of hope. 

I could stand in weeds on the river shore 
beneath the Tree of Life with ripened fruit 
and watch water of change flow on forever, 
as all organic bodies transform shape 
through vibrant motions of our chemicals, 
yet I will vanish in dream of my heart. 

Most people believe old religious lie 
that our souls renew in river of dreams, 
beaming to bright furnace of consciousness 
in stars that beam our minds back in new bodies, 
but I know we vanish to Nothingness 
while our atoms transform to other bodies. 

Eurydice is bitten by the Serpent 
who offered Apple of Wisdom to Eve, 
so Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury 
and sings to retrieve her soul from the dead, 
but she slips back, not because he looks back, 
but because the dead return not to life. 

I drink sweet Spirit of Immortal Life 
brewed from grapes with water from River Styx, 
dance wild with Dionysus in moonlight, 
then channel energy my dance awakes 
with logic of reason to build airplane 
Daedalus designs so Icarus can fly. 

After I kill Minotaur of my heart 
Ariadne leads me through maze of myth 
as I transform past the Many-Faced God 
to solve the childish riddle of the Sphinx 
so we can live in paradise we build 
because love gives us the strength to endure. 

Gold Scottish Hills

Gold Scottish Hills
© Surazeus
2024 09 02

Cold sea wind blows across gold Scottish hills 
with eager hope to find my fragile bones 
and pierce my soul with anguish of desire 
to see your eyes shine with bright stars of love, 
yet far away on Istros River shore 
you lie alone in verdant woods of Scythia. 

Home to Lake Sevan I still long to go 
where eagles glide in swirls of mountain snow 
to stand with you again on temple porch 
and light eternal flame of truth for Mihr, 
son of our father Artinis the Wise 
who watches me dwell in gold Scottish hills. 

Noble soul of Artinis shines in me 
to fill my heart with courage from despair 
four thousand years in ceaseless spin of time 
which motivates my endless journey west 
from Scythia to Scotland to Oregon 
where I was born far from gold Scottish hills. 

No matter where I roam across Gothinia, 
charming spirit of Scythia guides my way 
from valleys of the rugged Caucasus, 
across deep maze of the snow-frosted Alps, 
to the wind-swept slopes of the Grampians, 
till I dwell safe in the gold Scottish hills. 

In every forest where we journey far, 
the pink Eurasian Jay with azure wings 
greets us with rasping screech of desperate hope 
while hoarding acorns for our winter feast 
that nourishes our quest to find new home 
hidden in mist of the gold Scottish hills. 

Though wolves and owls fall silent in the woods 
when autumn leaves swirl with slow turn of years 
I listen for enchanting melodies 
of Celtic flutes that echo among oaks 
while I gaze at sunlight on the lake 
that calls me homeward to gold Scottish hills. 

As silver water flows over smooth stones 
that gleam white as the moon among black clouds 
I lift my voice and sing strange dreamless words 
with ache of sorrow for the ones I lost 
on signless roads Scythia to Oregon 
yet rain still sparkles on gold Scottish hills. 

Ten thousand years of time are not enough 
to lighten weight of sorrow on my heart 
at memory of our journey far from home 
yet Artinis lives always in my heart, 
guiding me ever on the road of faith 
from Armenia to the gold Scottish hills. 

Play With Pure Joy

Play With Pure Joy
© Surazeus
2024 09 02

He maintains state of madness just enough 
to bleed in rhythm with the river laugh 
revealing sorrow strangers try to hide 
in arrogant riddles of arcane code 
twisted by misapprehension of words 
scattered among thistles in foggy yards. 

Turning off the television at dawn, 
he notes what women have the right to own 
by painting secrets on angelic wings 
of our black butterfly to record wrongs 
people suffer when they strive to achieve 
state of grace where we are all free to love. 

Opening door of his numberless house, 
he contemplates facts of the unsolved case 
involving concept of the stolen boat 
his father once sailed to Island of Fate 
so he could write memoir of his success 
inventing role of the generous boss. 

Wine gleams in hollow of the Holy Grail 
through revelation of the cosmic fool 
who wakes after midnight to prophesy 
we will elect Goddess of Liberty 
President of Earth bearing Wand of Fame 
to prosecute the tyrant for his crime. 

He maintains state of honesty on stage 
to count in tandem with the time-blind sage 
who calculates progress of spiritual growth 
in human brains that emanate star wraith 
while driving cars on highway of fake wealth 
despite attempts to wash away the filth. 

Grandson of our assassinated king 
outlines the difference between right and wrong 
in crossword puzzle no one dares to solve 
for cave of illusions where devils delve 
deep enough to wake God of the World 
in dream-programmed brain of the cosmic herald. 

Everyone listens when he stands in church 
to preach salvation of the mental search 
that leads him to conclude God is now dead 
as apparition of the human head 
who haunts us though we know he is not real 
yet wears mask of the jester with no role. 

So when he arrives in Eden at last, 
holding hands with his matrimonial ghost, 
he will paint statue that presents her face 
so everyone knows she is the new boss 
who will enforce equal justice for all 
to play with pure joy in the waterfall. 

Picture That Keeps Falling

Picture That Keeps Falling
© Surazeus
2024 09 01

Your picture that keeps falling off the wall 
refuses to explain why we all die, 
so I run with the butterfly of hope 
to climb high mountain of the laughing skull 
where refugees from war gather at dawn 
to play chess and recite weird poetry. 

You give me apple that fell from the tree 
which turns into the scarlet dragon egg 
from which my spirit rises on wild wings 
so I can see world labyrinth below 
which I map in our new national myth 
that celebrates our superior state. 

We stop on signless road to anywhere 
and stare at green sun smoking in foul smog 
to understand lamentation of trains 
which carry orphans to the Promised Land 
where they raise children who pray in the church 
to the plastic king who floats in the clouds. 

Though I send scrolls of riddles to the clown 
who stands guard at the gates to paradise, 
he always rejects my salacious jokes 
as too serious to formulate fake faith 
which provides living guide for the new age 
when people celebrate our fall from grace. 

The rocket that keeps walking on sand dunes 
argues with the black-feathered swan of fear 
about how our bodies conjugate souls 
as emanations from our dreamless brains 
so mortal humans think they will not die 
though our flesh crumbles to dust in the wind. 

This twice daily anxiety attack 
is brought to you by the company that sells 
magic formulas in bottles of faith 
that will restore the spirit of your heart 
after Fate shatters your dreams with despair 
so you tend your garden and bake fruit pies. 

Our safe homes are cages of solitude 
for which we keep the keys of secret faith 
while she talks with her mother on the phone 
who lives on the other side of the world 
as if they dwell in the same universe 
which sloshes oil in blood veins of my brain. 

Each poet reciting verses on stage 
is convinced they are the Prophet of God 
who speaks with personal voice of the land 
so the planet vibrates with intense spells 
that echo in the waste land of the mind 
where I walk alone on the signless road. 

Who Still Haunts My Life

Who Still Haunts My Life
© Surazeus
2024 09 01

Soft grass that whispers by the signless road 
contains no wisdom I would need to know, 
yet when I see its green glow in sunlight 
I feel strange timeless ache of wordless hope 
that I might find the person I love most 
who still haunts my life as the faceless ghost. 

Parking my car on margin of the road, 
I stand in knee-high tufts of weeds and shrubs 
that rustle from gusts of quick-passing cars, 
astonished I have nowhere else to go 
now that the person I love most has died, 
who still haunts my life wherever I hide. 

The western tanager with scarlet head, 
and breast gold as hills in afternoon glow, 
explains to me the secret of true love 
is never wanting others to love me, 
so I whisper name of the lonely soul 
who still haunts my life as their fateful role. 

When I speak their name with breath of my heart 
their soul transforms into the butterfly 
that wafts over meadow flowers of faith 
and ignores busy rush of human games 
competing to earn more love than the one 
who still haunts my life in the silent sun. 

Lingering by the road, I laugh to recall 
poster of star dove on library hall 
that says, if you love someone set them free, 
for they will return to live by our side 
if they choose that fate with an eager heart, 
who still haunts my life though we are apart. 

I walk back to my car parked in the grass, 
thinking about how cars are time machines 
because they take us to our future dream 
faster than if we walk on hungry legs, 
yet I will not find my love when I go, 
who still haunts my life as indifferent snow. 

Driving highway that winds through tangled woods, 
hedged around Eden that kept Satan out, 
I grin that world view of my hopeful mind, 
which I constructed from sweet memories, 
disintegrates in sunlight of their eyes 
who still haunts my life in conceptual guise. 

She is no Pandora with guileless smile 
who gives me box of secrets from her heart, 
so I play lyre of Mercury and sing 
spells of compassion Orpheus taught me 
to call from Hell sweet woman I adore 
who still haunts my life in the empty door. 

My Lonely Angel

My Lonely Angel
© Surazeus
2024 09 01

My lonely angel climbing crystal stairs 
tries not to understand why humans cry 
so with the sacred book in her left hand 
she frees the sparrow of her aching heart 
who flies above the world of changing forms 
composed of atoms seething with desire. 

My lonely angel on the airplane wing 
listens to secret thoughts humans evade 
with happy songs their mothers sing in church 
to catch snowflakes of blessings in disguise 
that flutter from angel wings of sad truth 
to heal souls of orphans and refugees. 

My lonely angel waiting by the door 
calls out names of souls who drown in the sea 
while sailing ships to escape tyranny 
so nameless ghosts can find the Promised Land 
where they found dynasties of obscene wealth 
garnered by enslaving people with hope. 

My lonely angel writes letters to children 
who gaze out upstairs windows at midnight 
to count pretty stars that have yet to fall 
before they grow up and work in town stores 
selling magic wands to farmers and clowns 
who dance together to the fiddle tune. 

My lonely angel drives the old black car 
far west from Manhattan to Idaho 
to follow journey of the Salem Witch 
who scatters seeds of poems in the waste land 
which bloom into the gourd Kikayon tree 
under which the prophet weeps for your pain. 

My lonely angel programs how I dream 
by striving to transcend angst of despair 
when she births my mother by the wild sea 
as we evolve four hundred million years 
till we fly without wings among the clouds 
where God builds crystal palace of the mind. 

My lonely angel gives me wine to drink 
so I dance freely at his bacchanal 
with shameless love for body of my soul 
composed of spirit-weaving chemicals 
which makes me glow with conscious mind of God 
who feels Herself alive inside my brain. 

My lonely angel strums electric tune 
with deft fingers on lyre of Mercury 
while I chant ethereal wail of true love 
for beauty of this ever-changing world 
shared by eight billion dreaming human beings 
who fight each other over angel wings.