New-Crowned Queen

New-Crowned Queen
© Surazeus
2024 09 30

Responsible for how dark clouds make rain, 
Iris dances with elegant surprise 
at how hearts, broken by excessive faith, 
reveal unpolished gems of jagged hope 
that love we give without expecting gain 
will heal people we love with joy for life. 

Returning home in sturdy fishing boat, 
Thaumas sees his daughter twirling in joy, 
long hair that beams with rainbows in the sky 
flashing with graceful beauty of desire, 
so he raises both hands up to Uranus 
and offers prayer of gratitude to fate. 

While hauling net of fish along the sand 
for his wife Electra to roast for lunch, 
Thaumas cries at sudden violent attack 
when Boreas swings club to whack his head, 
which knocks to his knees as red blows flows, 
then tries to retrieve fish the cruel man steals. 

When Iris and Electra run to help, 
throwing rocks at the thief with angry shouts, 
Boreas grabs lithe rainbow goddess tight 
with hairy arms, and drags her to his boat, 
leaving the fish to kidnap her instead, 
and rows quickly out over surging waves. 

Hearing shrieks of Iris calling for help, 
Zephyrus looks down from ledge of the cliff 
where he gathers bird eggs, and sees young girl 
struggling wildly to escape fierce assault, 
so he casts bear-fur cloak to catch the wind 
and grasps corners tight as he leaps in space. 

Gliding down with wind-billowed bear-fur cloak, 
Zephyrus aims to land on wave-rocked boat 
where he twirls brass rod he dug from dark soil 
to bash head of Boreas with hard strike, 
pushes stunned thief and rapist overboard, 
then rows young frightened princess safe to shore. 

Embracing her parents, who weep for joy 
that she is safe in their warm arms again, 
Iris invites Sky-Walker to their cave 
where he sits blushing as they dote on him, 
offering him feast of roasted fish and wine, 
then gazes at cute girl with rainbow eyes. 

Iris and Zephyrus stand face to face, 
holding hands while Electra crowns their heads 
with iris-woven wreaths to bind their souls, 
then, after singing hymn of love, they kiss, 
and lounge together on small pyramid 
while people bring gifts to the new-crowned queen. 

Avoiding The Rapture

Avoiding The Rapture
© Surazeus
2024 09 30

Avoiding the rapture of eyeless saints, 
who always float above the rest of us, 
I trudge across the muddy field of time 
to dance at the prom on Saturday night, 
where future soldiers, salesmen, and bank clerks 
fight over who marries the Virgin Queen. 

Avoiding the rapture of demigods, 
who drive semi-trucks on highways through Hell 
to deliver goods made by factory slaves, 
I hitchhike great land of America 
in my noble quest for the Promised Land 
because I hope to marry the World Queen. 

Avoiding the rapture of wingless angels, 
who play chess with devils for human souls, 
I assert liberty of my free will 
to choose how I will calculate my fate 
by how I navigate the House of Horror 
till I find secret room of the Moon Queen. 

Avoiding the rapture of faithful fools, 
who sing Christmas carols on city streets 
while waiting for Jesus to never come, 
I play piano in the concert hall 
with holy anguish of the broken seer, 
to woo dangerous heart of the Ice Queen. 

Avoiding the rapture of the end times, 
prophesied in Revelation of John, 
I steal wings of Icarus from Apollo 
so I can fly high on wings of desire 
above the endless global maze of myths, 
forever searching for the Beauty Queen. 

Avoiding the rapture of pious clowns, 
who scam citizens with frightening lies 
about immigrants invading their Eden, 
I steal fresh apples from the Tree of Life 
and give its Divine Knowledge to the People, 
because I love the American Queen. 

Avoiding the rapture of rebel gangs, 
who cheer for the tyrant to steal our throne, 
I work in the fields picking corn and pears 
so my children can attend the stage college 
in bid to live the American Dream 
as lottery controlled by the Drama Queen. 

Avoiding the rapture of Christian folk, 
who cannot rise to Heaven without wings 
they buy from pastor of the megachurch, 
I play the lyre of Mercury and sing 
hymns that teach atheist spiritualism 
in temple sponsored by the Ocean Queen. 

Aged Pile Of Truth

Aged Pile Of Truth
© Surazeus
2024 09 30

When falsehood roots in the aged pile of truth 
with hungry despair of the bitter weed, 
I pull out objective hoe of research, 
which I honed sharp on stone of honesty, 
and dig out lies with attentive concern 
so wheat of wisdom may blossom rich fruit. 

Appearing on Earth as messiah sleuth, 
World Savior arrives in grave hour of need 
to walk among the people outside church 
by travelling town to town in jalopy 
to sell scriptures that help the curious learn 
nature of atoms while he strums the lute. 

Though dark serpents instead of angel wings 
grow out of my shoulders to assert will 
to power over imaginative minds, 
which feed on energy of hopeful brains, 
I will confirm my soul with self-control, 
my liberty in framework of the law. 

Through storms of falsehood Truth forever sings 
to shine her guiding light on fractured hill 
so people feel strong energy which binds 
our bodies to this world in cleansing rains 
for each person to design our own role 
which we perform with sense of reverent awe. 

Lounging at table in my quiet home, 
dark because electric power is lost, 
I contemplate relationships we build 
through interaction with strangers we meet 
with purpose to create, and not destroy, 
structures of safety where we dwell in faith. 

When I was younger I left home to roam 
signless road across waste land of the ghost 
with intention to join ancient Bard Guild 
to sing how empires built on cows and wheat 
have organized mankind since rule of Troy 
whose ruins are still haunted by the wraith. 

When falsehood roots in the aged pile of truth, 
infesting society with mirage 
that Evil Tyrant, who attacks to wreck 
power structure which prevents his cruel reign, 
is Good Savior who protects us from harm, 
we help Liberty oppose his onslaught. 

At second coming of messiah sleuth 
we stand together to withstand barrage 
of lies Evil Tyrant shoots without respect 
till torrent of his hate can fully drain, 
thus we dispel his curse with loving charm 
and clean disgusting mess of his foul rot. 

Act Without Acting

Act Without Acting
© Surazeus
2024 09 29

Prancing with goats around the fountain pool, 
when over lush meadows buzzing bees swarm, 
Faunus waves long stalk of wheat toward the sky 
and calls me with wild welcome laugh of joy, 
so his bright smile casts beams of happiness 
dispelling pall of gloom that clouds my heart. 

After drinking wine he pours in my cup, 
I feel my body spread wide happy wings 
light as calculus of pleasure that lifts 
my aching heart in breathy nonchalance 
above dark jagged horror of despair 
so I cavort with effortless intent. 

We should perform as stewards of the Earth, 
starry-eyed Faunus shouts above sweet din 
of harps and tambourines that bounce with drums 
in frantic anguish to seek heights of truth 
as I fling skyward ragged frame of flesh 
till I collapse with flatteries of spray. 

I float in clambering mesh of rippling waves 
that sparkle ecstasy of spinning stars 
far dizzy more than time constrains world sphere 
as I gasp deep for air of calumny 
too slanderous for love I wish to earn 
from Faunus who still claps his hands with glee. 

My father died while we were hunting boar, 
gored through his stomach by sharp horn of rage, 
so I perceive reflected as his face 
father figure of calm authority 
in Faunus who still watches over me 
since I first wandered childly in his field. 

How should I live with anguish from his loss, 
I slur to Faunus while stumbling confused, 
after all these years without his stern eyes 
asserting wisdom I should know by heart, 
for I can never match his manliness 
with graceful honor of my broken soul. 

Instead of hunting boar in tangled woods, 
I sit by rippling lake near willow tree 
and cast fishing line of woven horsehair 
with quiet contemplation about fate 
that we define through every choice we make, 
thus I act without acting from calm faith. 

Herd of goats bleating as they flee in wind 
startles me from revery of despair 
to gasp when Faunus stumbles in my arms, 
shot by arrows of thieves who stole his pets, 
so I cradle my second father close 
and weep as his soul dissipates in wind. 

Flame Of Magic Energy

Flame Of Magic Energy
© Surazeus
2024 09 29

In wide rugged cove by the sparkling sea, 
beneath dark clouds that blot the Milky Way, 
Prometheus teaches Mannus, his young son, 
how to spark and tend fire in ring of rocks 
by striking flintstones to extricate flame 
of magic energy from the bright sun. 

Kneeling by his father in rocky soil, 
Mannus reaches out to touch the hot flame, 
but pauses at pain that pierces his skin, 
so he closes his eyes against bright glare 
and watches light show flashing in his head, 
persistent spots of whiteness in the gloom. 

Squinting his eyes to gaze up at the stars, 
he sees peripheral flare of rainbow beams 
gleam red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, 
and violet in pulsing waves of thought 
that hang in drops of dew from graceful leaves 
and splash in shell-curve of his open hand. 

Translucent dew drops sliding down curved spheres 
of apples floating just above his head 
contain within space of their shimmering globes 
clear memories from each moment of his life, 
preserving faces of people he loves 
who vanish from sight when he looks around. 

Boiling water in round cauldron of brass, 
Mannus brews fish, apples, walnuts, and eggs, 
with honey drops in sweet delicious stew, 
then dips scallop shell, shaped like lion paw, 
to drink hot liquor, nectar of the stars, 
that fills his soul with energy of love. 

Peering through mist that rises from sea waves, 
Mannus spies young woman running in fear 
so with spear he kills the wolf chasing her, 
then roasts its meat and makes her long fur cloak 
that keeps their bodies warm as they make love, 
and she bears three sons with his silver eyes. 

While Gertha cooks and sews in hall he built, 
Mannus teaches their three wild-leaping sons, 
named Yingwo, Hirmino, and Istiyo, 
how to use fire to create useful things, 
boats to sail the sea, swords to guard their homes, 
and shovels to tame horses and tend crops. 

Almost blind with age, withered by sea wind, 
Mannus squints at flame of the setting sun, 
then takes one last look at Gertha, his bride, 
and three full-grown sons who chat round the fire, 
then wades into the sea with falling rain 
and sinks down into flash of rainbow light. 

All Their Psychic Dreams

All Their Psychic Dreams
© Surazeus
2024 09 28

When I feel gloom of existential angst 
at terrible death of innocent souls 
caused by natural disasters and cruel wars, 
I drink cold glass of soil milk on the porch 
after the wild hurricane passes by, 
and wonder why no god lives in the sky. 

During the sixty years of my weird life 
natural disasters and wars have occurred 
in countless lands around this spinning globe, 
yet why I am always in the safe zone, 
still avoiding Death by fortune of fate, 
baffles my mind with its random mandate. 

So while people die in faraway lands, 
I drink cold soil milk in sprinkles of rain 
that shimmer rainbows on back of my hand, 
so I understand why people believe 
angels from Heaven guard their lives with love, 
though I know no God dwells in clouds above. 

How comforting to believe that some god 
with supernatural power, who knows it all, 
has secret plan for every human soul, 
though so many die in terrible pain, 
which seems to help them endure suffering, 
but all I can do is breathe deep and sing. 

Like poet-seers four hundred years ago 
who sang epics on Isle of Avalon, 
I like to personify Death as Bride 
with star-bright eyes, who wears white cotton gown, 
so I can feel at ease when she is near, 
because Nothingness is nothing to fear. 

I know how strange it is I am alive 
from random events of cause and effect 
where choices humans make define my fate 
so I am born as atoms organized 
in genes that replicate themselves in souls 
who design socially productive roles. 

I walk signless road sea to shining sea 
four hundred million years of soul rebirth 
as organic frames for immortal genes 
that embody spirit of Earth in brains 
who wake to savor beauty of the world 
expressed in riddles by the cosmic herald. 

My brain that emanates my conscious self 
was programmed to perceive and analyze 
by each ancestor struggling to survive 
who generated life before they died, 
so I am sum of all their psychic dreams 
which I remember while gazing in streams. 

Pantheon Of Deified Souls

Pantheon Of Deified Souls
© Surazeus
2024 09 28

These are not the gods you are looking for 
so you should leap through time-revolving door 
to float on wings Icarus sewed for you 
in dream-quest to find the demonic zoo 
where all the mortals once worshipped as gods 
are living now in observation pods. 

This section has the Babylonians, 
and that one houses the Gothinians, 
while the Hindu and Chinese deities 
that represent countless societies 
stretch all across the park far east of here, 
past cage of Mercurius and Fenrir. 

Every ancient god once worshipped by man 
was mortal human who impressed their clan 
with special character their heart designed 
whose image lingers in the conscious mind 
with noble deeds of honor they performed 
which left our daily Way of Life transformed. 

Oannes caught fish on the ocean shore, 
then, on high pyramid with open door, 
he roasted fish on altar stone of faith, 
and welcomed everyone scared by the wraith 
to shelter from the storm in pillared hall 
where they feasted well at the tribal ball. 

Each god that humans worshipped in their hearts, 
who mapped our strange world on conceptual charts, 
is character who symbolizes way 
humans imitate to survive and play 
game of life evading terror of death 
as they tend garden of fruit with deep breath. 

Jesus became the ideal character 
who opposed tyranny of Jupiter, 
Sky King who roars with indifference of Nature, 
to play Kind Guard who cares for every creature, 
for he serves people he intends to save, 
instead of exploiting you as his slave. 

Though Jesus himself died millennia ago 
his life has become grand dramatic show 
presented weekly beneath the tall steeple 
that displays Good Leader who saves his people 
as Platonic Ideal that should inspire 
men who want to play leaders we admire. 

Though Milton recast ancient tribal gods 
as devils in Hell, cruel tyrants and frauds, 
I lead them to Pantheon of Deified Souls, 
for they were once mortals who played their roles 
in epic tale of human evolution, 
kingdoms to empires to United Nations. 

Holy Mushroom Toad

Holy Mushroom Toad
© Surazeus
2024 09 27

Arrogant god of the telephone pole 
shouts at me on the signless desert road 
so I stop and ask him with serious mien 
about the grifter in the business suit 
who sells Bibles to widows on small farms 
to buy jewelry, fast cars, and ocean yachts. 

Dedicated to performing my role 
as high priest of the Holy Mushroom Toad, 
I code new program for the Dream Machine 
while Anahita plays the crystal flute 
to win my heart with psychomantic charms 
so I can talk with ghosts of proud robots. 

When it comes to truth I am paravant 
in the avant-garde of religious jazz 
for delicate fairies dancing in snow 
who gaze into the camera and smile 
which hides ambition to escape the zoo 
and search for truth in hills of Mexico. 

Truth is revealed through the experiment 
clowns conduct in palace of Alcatraz 
despite proclivity to always know 
how beauty queens radiate elegant style 
within framework of our global world view 
that favors keepers of the status quo. 

To achieve Nirvana of cosmic Zen 
while singing ballads in small country towns 
I decide to operate hardware store 
which funds grand temple of the sacred cow 
so I earn enough to marry Bog Witch 
descended from son of Jehoshaphat. 

Meditating in chapel of Big Ben, 
I watch horses race on the misty downs 
while elves catalog spirits of folklore 
describing romance of Forever Now 
for weddings that proceed without a hitch 
because the cute bride knows she is all that. 

I invent theories why the sky is blue 
which mirrors global matrix of my eye, 
encouraging children to ponder why 
Jesus and Mermaid make love by the spring 
whose daughter rides the swift Minervan doe 
in tour to enforce social justice laws. 

Pandora gives me bowl of hot beef stew 
because she knows I am the Trojan spy 
sent to steal wings Icarus used to fly 
when he patrols maze of the magic ring 
on quest to map the starry dynamo 
in psychic machinery of Lord Tiwaz. 

Eccentric Beauty Of Despair

Eccentric Beauty Of Despair
© Surazeus
2024 09 27

When the blind raven of unhappiness 
steals my God Voice from the telephone line 
I walk the signless road of honesty 
to find Eccentric Beauty of Despair 
till illusions of my childhood beliefs 
dissipate with mist in the morning sun. 

I see tall towers of the city gleam 
above mute pine trees of ambitious hope, 
so I walk forward on the signless road 
forever moving nowhere in one spot 
because the universe of changing forms 
revolves around my soul-ballooning head. 

When I find the sword forged from meteor stone, 
which Coventina, Lady of the Lake, 
gave to Arthur when she appointed him 
Guard of the Grail Castle where angels sing 
hymns of glory when son of Christ is born, 
I slide it down serpent sheath of my spine. 

Under dark purple sapphire skies of stars 
on cold winter nights before Christmas Eve 
I walk Seattle suburbs with school friends 
singing carols for Savior of the World 
to strangers smiling in half-open doors 
while hiding demon wings beneath my coat. 

While strolling desert in New Mexico 
along silver river littered with skulls, 
I behold the pillar of fire by night 
and the pillar of smoke by day, balloon 
of hot air Jehovah pilots to guide 
my endless journey to the Promised Land. 

Stuck in amusement park of Wonderland 
where men in business suits trade market shares 
to invest in world factories and farms 
where sad angels work for minimum wage, 
I play guitar on busy city streets 
and sing about the paradise we lost. 

Halfway along spectrum of godliness, 
somewhere between Oannes and Apollon, 
I pluck ripe apple from the Tree of Life 
and give it to the stranger at the gate 
who explains how humans gamble with fate 
then vanishes in mirror of the moon. 

I want to write about domestic life, 
how I keep busy through the endless day 
by mapping history of the human race 
based on prophecies that seem to come true, 
but write instead about woman I love, 
the sweet Eccentric Beauty of Despair. 

Good Tribal Leader

Good Tribal Leader
© Surazeus
2024 09 27

God walks into the kitchen of the world 
where every soul from every nation waits 
while Lucifer cooks blueberry pancakes 
and Gabriel pours milk in every glass, 
but everyone stops and stares at the Crow 
that argues with the Lamb about rebirth. 

If I try to tell grand tales of mankind 
without resorting to machinery 
of gods who personify attributes 
that seem to direct how humans behave, 
like Athena for prudent self-control, 
my humble listeners would be confused. 

As cheerful singer, whose melodious voice 
enchants people with perceptive insight, 
all I wanted was to bring back to life 
my sweet bride who was bitten by a snake 
when she tried to escape sexual assault, 
but failed, and went mad with heart-broken grief. 

So now I symbolize attempt of Man 
to resurrect souls of the dead from Hell 
with song of salvation that sparks the mind 
alive with visions of the Afterlife 
which prove to be illusions of false faith 
that fools still cling to when they call me Christ. 

Whereas Orpheus proved, with bitter cry 
of solemn elegies survivors sing, 
that death is final, and our consciousness 
dissipates to eternal dreamless sleep, 
Jesus appeared to return from the dead 
after his bid for sovereignty was crushed. 

If Jesus came back to life from the tomb 
and lived another forty years on Earth, 
hiding from assassins on Patmos Isle, 
this proves that he did not completely die, 
nor did he float up in the glowing sky 
unless he rode hot-air balloon of Yahweh. 

As Good Tribal Leader willing to die 
to protect his people so they live free, 
Jesus personifies Platonic Idea 
of the Savior who serves his followers 
by founding Bloodline of the Holy Grail 
in sons who rule Kingdom of Christ on Earth. 

Entering Cave of Illusions in Hell, 
I find at table of Conceptual Gods 
Jesus and Orpheus on global stage 
playing lyre and harp as they sing joyful hymns 
for all people of the Earth to accept 
death is final while our children live on. 

Island Of My Heart

Island Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2024 09 27

Yoresick for misty island of my heart, 
where my ancestors lie buried in sod 
beneath rowan trees on cold river shore, 
I stand on porch of my home far away 
and try to replicate heart-aching song 
I hear in breeze that swirls hair round my eyes. 

They are no longer real, those glens and crags 
where my ancestors wandered in their youth, 
searching desperately on desolate moors 
for berries, mushrooms, or bird eggs to eat, 
except in frantic dreams of lonely hope 
where I keep walking toward dark mountain cave. 

I find no great heroes with shining eyes, 
whose exploits fighting monsters and mad kings 
to save humanity from tyranny 
are recorded with blood on dusty scrolls 
in basements of stone churches by the sea, 
except for me reflected in iced meres. 

Yet fragments of knowledge about my past 
provide no material of trusted truth 
to frame foundation for my present state, 
so I must focus on what I need most, 
wood to repair shelter, food to consume, 
and weapons to chase attackers away. 

I have nobody but cold mountain wind 
blowing in trees to keep me company, 
so I breathe deep wild spirit of the air 
and sing heart-felt ode to the autumn wind 
who drives leaves over treeless muddy glade 
with words the blind enchanter once taught me. 

With tear-bleared eyes glaring at wintered light 
of the mute sun, who always stares at me, 
I search shadowy expanse of the world 
for azure bride of Spring whose eerie voice 
calls me with mercurial faith in our love, 
but she dissolves into the sparkling stream. 

Emerging from vapored mist of the storm, 
she rises from tangled grass of the shore, 
and through dim verge winds solitary way 
with walnuts and apples in baskets heaped 
by dirt-smeared hands that caress my flushed cheek 
as she hums with compassion for my pain. 

Tending wounds from sharp arrows I sustained 
while battling gang of thieves with crooked staff, 
she mushes apples and walnuts in meal, 
then feeds me with kisses and laughing smiles 
as I tell her about gold misty glen 
where I ran searching for her in the wind. 

Sing With The Hurricane

Sing With The Hurricane
© Surazeus
2024 09 26

Too full of feelings I cannot express, 
I wish I could sing with the hurricane 
which spirals swift from anguish of true love 
fueled by passionate heat of desire 
with threat to wreck my fragile paradise 
through paradigm of autonomous hope. 

Through awe at multiplicity of things 
based on suspected unity of force, 
I contemplate freedom to sing of truth 
when I map complex landscape of forms 
that mirrors concepts of our shared world view 
mutually dependent on language we speak. 

Before thought-speech pollutes my morning view 
of dew-wet plants refracting scarlet rays, 
which the bright sun radiates from Eye of Time, 
I drink sweet beauty of the flowing world 
springing in fountain from the fractured stone 
where jagged diamond of my heart gleams hid. 

The total Emptiness of Ever fills 
bottomless abyss of my hungry heart 
with passion to explore stark mountain trail 
along its phased negative counterpart 
with appropriate rites that preserve the flame 
of conscious energy flashing my eyes. 

Because unpolished jewel of my mind, 
that gleams with incandescent innocence, 
rolls slowly through the vast array of stars, 
my heart is dazzled by unmeasured depths 
of stretched eternity, which binds my soul 
to fragile body through my consciousness. 

To understand strange process of Unfolding, 
I study mindless mechanical force 
which fuels aggressive spinning of starlight 
that forms galactic wheels of willful fate 
through careful balance of chaos and form 
which I perceive as unity of truth. 

While facing prospect of destructive death 
from wrath of Jupiter in whirling winds, 
I attempt to sing with the hurricane 
which spirals toward us with indifferent dance 
to demolish everything we have built 
so Nature erases us from the world. 

After assembling puzzle of world history 
from random fragments of conceptual facts, 
I laugh with joy at beauty of the wind 
that sweeps across the land on divine wings 
with unconscious force of destructive truth, 
then create again, if I am not killed. 

Wilderness Of Idaho

Wilderness Of Idaho
© Surazeus
2024 09 25

When my heart aches for how the sun shines gold 
through swirling mist upon the Isle of Lewis, 
I teleport halfway around the globe 
to dance with glee in gray Callanish Stones 
while gowned with fairy light in fox-fur robe 
till star atoms vibrate within my bones. 

When I once strode across rugged Uig Hills, 
where ghostly Kittiwakes glide overhead, 
my eyes became entranced by scarlet glow 
of tiny sundews blooming from black soil, 
so I danced with delicate star-eyed sprites 
who swirled around me with soft siren song. 

Lost in vast woods, far distant from my home, 
I pause by cold indifferent waterfall 
to weep for sun-gold valleys of my heart 
where I once played on sparkling river shore, 
then journey onward to the Promised Land 
somewhere beyond the rainbow of my hope. 

The farther west I journey in vast woods 
from Isle of Lewis where my mother waits, 
the tighter I feel yoresick bonds of sorrow 
tug my heart to return across wild sea, 
yet I know I must blaze new trail of faith 
forth into rugged wilderness of fate. 

While sailing down the Boise River flow 
through Sawtooth Range in verdant Idaho, 
I sing heart-aching melody of hope 
my mother sang by smoky hearth of faith 
to lift my heart on white wings of desire 
as tears flow down my wind-enleathered cheeks. 

Dreaming of my mother on Isle of Lewis, 
I weep enough tears from my lonely heart 
to fill deep basin of Loch Langavat 
that shimmers silver with each flash of wind 
across dark wordless waters of my soul 
that blinds me to beauty of this new land. 

The way bright sunrays flash down bare Uig Hills 
with rugged ambience of honest faith 
fills me with passion of the pioneer 
to build new home on shore of Nampa Lake 
where I plant berries from the Rowan tree 
that blooms by cottage where my mother sings. 

After striding vales in the Sawtooth Range, 
through white-barked Aspens flaming gold with joy, 
I lounge on shore of sparkling Sawtooth Lake 
and gaze at jagged mountain peak of truth 
till my heart glitters with its nonchalance, 
at home in wilderness of Idaho. 

Her Encounter With God

Her Encounter With God
© Surazeus
2024 09 24

If I should meet Krishna or Achilles 
when I wander dark maze of Tartarus, 
I may ask them to take selfies with me 
when we ride the frantic merry-go-round 
where we are trapped on horses of our pride 
in hell-loop that displays our cruel crimes. 

Perhaps my journey through the Underworld 
will transform my soul with experience 
as I encounter demons of my mind 
who embody my most terrible fears 
which I must fight and conquer with satire 
if I wish to return to Fairy Land. 

Rather I pause in shadow of the wood 
when I see young girl with basket of herbs 
extend her hand for the sparrow to land, 
for I treasure with anguish of my heart 
this vision of innocence that reveals 
exquisite beauty of this brutal world. 

After I film her encounter with God 
embodied by free spirit of the bird, 
I upload it on social media sites 
so people all over the world can see 
this timeless moment of heavenly truth 
that makes peace on Earth so worth fighting for. 

Since I am demon who has lived on Earth 
thousands of years since Sargon ruled the world, 
with unseen sword of faith piercing my heart, 
I have seen many empires rise and fall 
in seething waves of hungry human souls 
that nourish trees of paradise with blood. 

Though my ancestors, wielding swords of faith, 
fought thieves to protect people of the land 
while managing wheat fields from castle towers, 
I drive my car on busy city roads 
to sit at computer in office building 
where I map history of the universe. 

Both Krishna and Achilles work with me 
as colleagues in our high tech company, 
designing machines with digital ghosts, 
for we survive vicissitudes of time 
by building United Nations of Earth 
where every soul is equal in the law. 

As incarnation of Odin and Frigga, 
imbued with ancient spirit of the Wolf, 
I wear shirt of my favorite soccer team 
while eating tacos with my wife and kids 
to celebrate that we are still alive 
on globe that spins forever in the void. 

Map Winds Of Ghosts

Map Winds Of Ghosts
© Surazeus
2024 09 24

Voice of the global wind no one can hear 
tells me weird secrets of people I meet 
who never speak outside language we share, 
yet with each person who gives me their name 
I map winds of their ghosts in fairy tales 
so I know where to find homes of the dead. 

Heart lured by mystery of the ocean wind, 
which knocks our family photos off the wall, 
I wander graveyards of comedians 
to understand why prophets of Ungod 
become jesters and clowns who satirize 
proud people in power with scathing jokes. 

When beautiful slim Death, in black lace dress, 
brings hemlock bouquet to my old oak fane, 
she offers secret of eternal life, 
but, though I gaze entranced in her black eyes, 
where I see enormous galaxies flash, 
I decline because I love how she sings. 

With delicate calligraphy of blood 
I write old lyric poems on lambskin scrolls 
that Death sings during timeless sunset glow 
as her soul absorbs scarlet rays of light 
till her cold gloom shrouds me in sweet despair 
my heart translates into passionate love. 

Inspired by mystery of the mountain wind, 
I map winds of ghosts with my angel voice 
so I see every place in the world 
on time-animated atlas of history 
where bazillions of nameless humans live 
and die with endless spinning of our globe. 

Though I try to capture them inside books 
winds of ghosts leak through fractures in time 
to pulse music in bodies of the lost 
who dance to measure of infinite hope 
through tragic choreography of love 
based on expression of the faceless god. 

Just as I think I understand it all 
this universe I perceive disappears, 
then reappears all jumbled into code 
of psychic riddles formulating tropes 
which I attempt to puzzle back from truth 
refracting matrix of my buzzing brain. 

Contracting cosmic energy of God 
in cubic stone of diamond innocence, 
so I can map winds of ghosts in world voice, 
I worship sparkles of the universe 
that tinkle melodies of timeless truth 
when crystal drops of rain preserve our names. 

Warden Of The Jovian Cow

Warden Of The Jovian Cow
© Surazeus
2024 09 24

Though I have lived on Earth sixty years now, 
employed as warden of the Jovian cow, 
I still feel young as when I was the boy 
who liked to ride his bike on walls of Troy 
where I watched Achilles and Hector play 
game of chess for the American Way. 

Leaving cave of illusions with no face, 
I embrace eternal now of all-place 
so I can feel star engine of the mind 
expand fractal wisdom the sun designed 
by weaving our organic souls from light 
with wingless angel painted on my kite. 

Still lost in time and lost in space we sing 
sweet hymns to Solaria in Stonehenge ring 
while Phoebus plays guitar on bright-lit stage 
according to rules of the blood-stained page 
which chronicles wild history of the world 
that leads to coming of the cosmic herald. 

I love to sail around the seven seas 
in noble quest for fields where honey bees 
pollinate food crops humans need to thrive 
since we want more than money to survive, 
for if they die reproduction will stall, 
and global civilization will fall. 

When sons of Mannus choose tools of their trade, 
according to talents of their skill grade, 
they build empires to colonize the Earth 
through research of science to know its worth, 
as if we are not hungry apes in trees 
who work all day to pay production fees. 

Searching for elusive teacher of the truth, 
known to old legends as messiah sleuth, 
I climb steep Himalaya mountain trail 
to escape market of the bargain sale, 
till I find Shiva dancing in glass tomb 
where he wields wand of the nuclear bomb. 

While meditating on high mountain peak 
I discover truth all wise prophets seek, 
that conscious sense of self in dream domains 
is function of our neural-networked brains 
which dissipates to nothing when we die, 
so I laugh the Earth is round like my eye. 

My body channels spirit of the Earth, 
evolving more with each genetic birth, 
fish to lizard to mouse to cat to ape 
to wingless angel mapping world landscape, 
so follow me to gardens of Elysium 
to join my feast in Athena Museum. 

With Every Spin Of Earth

With Every Spin Of Earth
© Surazeus
2024 09 24

With every spin of our soul-pulsing globe 
around Mother Solaria, our god star, 
I feel transcendent spirit of the Earth 
incarnate in conscious glow of my brain 
so immortal God-Eye of the White Whole 
dreams through my temporary mortal mind. 

With fleet-foot Saranyu and Artemis 
I follow bright Surya and Mercury 
to race swift-swirling river of the world 
from deep ocean cove to high mountain cave 
where I hammer star-meteor from the sky 
to forge Holy Grail that bears divine blood. 

With passionate desire to comprehend 
true nature of our vibrant universe, 
I gaze at tools father Mannus displays, 
wide ax to build the river-dancing boat, 
sharp sword to defend haven of fruit trees, 
and spade to farm moist soil with golden wheat. 

With turtle shell, cow horns, and spider threads, 
I construct my new heart-enchanting lyre 
based on design revealed by Mercury, 
then journey with Apollo town to town 
where we perform tale of Odysseus 
who overcomes all hardships to get home. 

With confident steps of eager respect 
to learn weird secrets of our complex world 
I ascend stairway to Heaven of Truth 
where Athena in spacious Parthenon 
lectures for Sibylline Academy 
on how to prophesy future events. 

With calm attention of my aching heart, 
tutored by Phoebus and fierce Kalliope, 
I learn how to sing epic tales of heroes 
appointed by Hera to guard their brides, 
then stand on stage in Museum of Time 
to sing great story of humanity. 

With every spin of Earth around the sun 
I better understand ways of our world, 
how priests on pyramids assert control 
over farmers, herders, and carpenters 
to manage world food-production machine 
so we generate life before we die. 

With fall in rebellion from heights of power 
I journey across waste land of despair, 
transformed in my quest for the Promised Land, 
till I find my soulmate in Wonderland 
who dwells with me in garden we create, 
teaching our children to calculate fate. 

Janus Who Sees Everything

Janus Who Sees Everything
© Surazeus
2024 09 23

Each day when we reach the end of the world 
I stand in door of my home and gaze out 
at all the people with their special names 
who live in every valley of the globe, 
each person going forth on quest of hope 
to chase the fleeting butterfly of love. 

Wearing mask of God on back of my head, 
I tell every angel I meet on Earth 
that I am Janus who sees everything, 
so when they laugh at my conceptual joke 
I feel cheerful rush of adrenaline 
explode inside my brain with demon wings. 

Another hour flows by in sparkling waves 
of psychic vision mapping ordered change 
as I slowly row my small river boat 
while telling one-eyed giants on the shore 
that I am Nobody who knows the rules 
gods arbitrarily change so they win. 

With gracious attitude of humble pride 
I play new mythic role assigned to me 
by oldest woman in the world who laughs 
when I object to why we all must die, 
reluctant to assert my right to breathe 
while tumbling down the hill with Jill my love. 

Too amicable through arrogant charm, 
which teaches me the sympathetic ploy 
for leaping off the mountain cliff of faith, 
I give everyone on the road of life 
thick slice of apple pie my mother bakes 
so they will elect me King of the Trees. 

Yet all the truths I gather in my hands 
to construct grand world view of wicked peace 
escape on raven wings of thoughtful fear 
to scatter seeds of discord in the soil 
so sons of farmers spring from dragon teeth 
who transform into loyal warriors. 

Outspoken prophet in the hall of power 
recalculates income from feudal fields 
to cherish precious works of noble art 
that bleed tears of peasants from eyes of God 
which stains marble floor of our museum 
where Phoebus smashes idols with guitar. 

Brass statue of Buddha, stolen by Thor, 
appears twenty years later on book shelf 
in the lonely house of the rising sun 
where Sylphus asks Syrinx to marry him, 
so they drink wine while dancing on the porch 
to celebrate our rebirth from world war. 

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
© Surazeus
2024 09 22

While driving home in the late afternoon 
with rumbling cars in maze of busy streets, 
I think I see Christ waiting for the light 
at the intersection of Death and Truth, 
but on approach I see middle-aged man 
wearing gray sweats and yellow baseball cap. 

At that strange moment of profound insight 
with revelation of the cosmic kind, 
I know this spinning world will never end 
though humans who inhabit its extent 
may annihilate themselves in world war, 
so I smile and contemplate scope of fate. 

I half expect Christ in the baseball cap 
to spread his arms and float into the sky 
on unseen angel wings of divine faith, 
but he just walks across the busy road 
when the light turns green as the lonely ghost 
who gleams above the moon-enchanted sea. 

So I push button by the steering wheel 
that spreads demonic wings beneath my car 
which soars up high above the traffic jam 
with chitty chitty bang bang and soft whirl 
while gliding east to Isle of Avalon 
where the Fairy Queen welcomes me back home. 

If I fly far enough around the Earth, 
swifter than Superman on fluttering cape, 
which I wave to distract the Minotaur 
while leading refugees from global war 
safe through the labyrinth of religious myth, 
I could escape to lush Elysian Fields. 

With beaming smile of welcome home for me, 
my Fairy Queen, who still rules Avalon, 
offers Holy Grail of Dionysian wine 
so I drink and dance in grand Stonehenge Hall, 
then play lyre of Mercury and sing spell 
that conjures sylphs to make nuclear bombs poof. 

Bright sparkles rain down on the upturned masks 
of humans gathered on Haryana Plain 
to watch Jupiter and Krishna engage 
in global chess game over who defines 
atomic nature of reality 
which maps Aryavarta on globe of truth. 

As Emperor of Anglonesian Empire, 
I turn into the driveway of my home, 
then sit on the back porch and play guitar 
while complex civilization of Earth 
blossoms from golden apple of my eye 
while eight billion humans contemplate why. 

Zillions Of Alien Lives

Zillions Of Alien Lives
© Surazeus
2024 09 22

Reluctant to admit his heart is wild 
with tumbling passion of the waterfall, 
Sylphus waits beneath the apple tree 
for someone to emerge from swirling mist, 
till lightning flash from thundercloud of hope 
transforms into Star Woman with three eyes. 

Floating on wings of desire above his head, 
Star Woman gazes deep in mortal eyes 
of Sylphus who sees vision of her heart 
expand from first flash of the universe, 
then reaches out her long galactic hand 
to fill his brain with stories of lost worlds. 

As one hour passes by on spinning Earth 
shy Sylphus, young innocent child of hope, 
sees vision of the universe expand 
from flash of light to galaxies of stars 
that nourish countless worlds of conscious souls 
who live and die through swirls of energy. 

Each planet that transforms from chemicals 
embodies timeless soul of energy 
in frail organic bodies that evolve 
from curious cells to supernatural gods 
who wake with conscious passion of desire 
then dissipate in swirls of weeping dust. 

Awake in mind of every conscious soul 
who ever lives in all the universe 
on every planet since first flash of time, 
Sylphus gains knowledge of experience 
with sign of name each conscious soul obtains 
as they transcend despair to sing with joy. 

Startled awake from somnial reverie, 
while reliving zillions of alien lives, 
Sylphus opens his own perceptive eyes 
to see gleaming over dark hills of faith 
our sun with mirror of atomic eyes 
that shrouds his soul with rays of energy. 

Breathing in spirit of the universe 
as oxygen engendered by the sun, 
Sylphus feels his fragile organic body 
pulsing with atoms of divine insight 
that fuels conscious mind his brain emanates 
so he hums vibrant melody of love. 

Stretching as he stands by Tree of Life, 
Sylphus eats apple he takes from the snake, 
then strolls among reeds on shore of the lake 
till he finds Syrinx sitting on large stone 
who calls his name and gives him fish to eat, 
so he gives her ripe apple of his heart. 

Safe Walls Of Paradise

Safe Walls Of Paradise
© Surazeus
2024 09 21

Just as I reach the hour of no return, 
sideways from Heaven on surfboard of hope, 
I leap beyond safe walls of paradise, 
expelled from perfect honeymoon resort 
by knowledge life is full of evil men 
so I must fight them to protect my home. 

When their happy honeymoon is complete, 
Adam and Eve leave Paradise to build 
new home in the suburbs with lawn and pool 
where she raises two children to adults 
while he works upward in the corporate ranks, 
till they retire to cottage by the beach. 

Though forced to flee his home in Paradise 
by angels shooting bombs that blast his home, 
Aeneas leads his family to the beach 
so they sail leaky boat to foreign shore 
where they are secured in refugee camp 
while he works in the factory building cars. 

Returning home from oil war in Iraq, 
after serving tours in Garden of Eden, 
Odysseus finds his wife in the strip club 
dancing to raise money to pay high bills 
incurred when her mother died from disease, 
so he drives delivery truck with his dog. 

Displaced from land where my ancestors thrived, 
I choose to accept decree of blind fate 
some would attribute to grand plan of God, 
but I know is no more than random chance 
when Fortune spins the wheel of constant change, 
since success I create is my design. 

Leaving World Library of epic tales, 
I journey across waste land of old myths 
to steal cracked masks from idols of dead gods, 
then stand on street corners in countless towns 
and sing about my quest to find the truth 
about real nature of our universe. 

Landing artful job as cartographer, 
I construct virtual models of the world 
to chronicle time atlas of world history, 
then compose epic of philosophers 
that records their quests to describe the truth 
about real nature of our universe. 

Standing on pyramid of their world view, 
built on foundation of truths they expressed, 
I sing epic tale that celebrates quest 
of humankind to understand our world, 
then rest in Paradise my words designed 
where my family dwells safe in happiness. 

Eerie Beauty Of The Moon

Eerie Beauty Of The Moon
© Surazeus
2024 09 21

Though timeless eerie beauty of the moon 
cannot be captured by camera or phone, 
my brain records its heart-enchanting vibe, 
which, if I never poetize its power, 
will vanish to blank nothing when I die 
as atoms of my brain scatter in wind. 

With words arranged in riddles of respect, 
or colors organized in vibrant shapes, 
my mind presents that soul-reviving shine 
our timeless night-light sphere exudes with joy 
through frail medium of temporary art 
to capture eerie beauty of the moon. 

Since our ancestral parents first emerged 
from sloshing darkness of the primal sea, 
and crawled up rivers to fresh-water lakes 
where they peeped from water-eye of desire, 
we have gazed long with reverential awe 
and love at eerie beauty of the moon. 

Every month in four hundred million years, 
since we rose from Dream Lake at dawn of time, 
we four-legged creatures, who love to sing, 
have chanted heart-expanding hymns of love 
while gazing entranced during solemn dance 
through joy at eerie beauty of the moon. 

Though we cannot with cultural media 
capture ethereal essence of her glow 
that shimmers with entrancing ambience 
among twisted branches of fruitful trees, 
eternal recurrence of her brief show 
illustrates eerie beauty of the moon. 

Though we are inspired by her sweet face 
to mirror in poems of expressive words, 
or images of paintings we create, 
artworks we make to give our feelings shape 
are nothing more than faint shadows of love 
to recall eerie beauty of the moon. 

When she appears once every thirty days 
with glorious glamour of transcendent truth, 
Queen of the Night Selene watches us 
while her son Dionysus leads our dance 
in circle of stones that mirrors her face 
to honor eerie beauty of the moon. 

As we are wandering lost in tangled woods, 
brave Dionysus, son of Selene, 
pours nutritious wine in grail of our hearts, 
then leads us dancing by the Lake of Dreams 
where we sing hymns that heal our hearts with love 
to become eerie beauty of the moon. 

How Beautiful Humans Are

How Beautiful Humans Are
© Surazeus
2024 09 20

We almost never see the face of death 
rise moonly pale from sea of swirling souls, 
yet we stroll blithely down the road of life 
as if forever knows our secret name, 
till flowers blossom from my startled brain, 
wakened by kisses of the lovely rain. 

When I learn how beautiful humans are 
because we play in enigmatic woods, 
I order choas of aggressive plants 
in golden garden of my brilliant hopes 
so we flow sweetly in our cryptic homes 
to share apple cider with nameless ghosts. 

I feel the best time to be curious 
about strange beauty of the natural world 
is when my camera opens eagle wings 
and flies into dim shadow of my fear 
to expose why nobody really cares 
about insanity of saintliness. 

With tidy answers of unravelings 
I translate horrible song of the sea 
to sacred hymns blind angels love to sing 
in praise of sanctimonious suffering 
which resurrects my body from the word 
tightly binding unread books in the sky. 

Born in the secret cage of holy words, 
with precious guitar I make from moonlight, 
I walk invisibly through city crowds 
to steal memories dripping from their eyes 
so I can paint road signs with angel blood 
that show the way forward in maze of myths. 

Good at pretending I am kind and wise, 
I bleed my tragic tale through telephones 
about the night our bus tickets get lost 
till I wander the wretched world of masks 
with plan to unbury fake god of light 
who judges me for what I never say. 

We always fall off walls of paradise 
when angels swoop down from indifferent clouds 
to give us keys that open tower doors 
where we go to hide from hunger of hope 
as if we are not special and unique 
because we sell our souls to empty books. 

No one pays attention to the old man 
who gibbers madly by the city gate 
while saints contend for who will rule the world 
in brutal battle on the dusty plain 
where children play soccer with skulls of gods 
whose noble faces are reclaimed by Death. 

Why We Are Mortal

Why We Are Mortal
© Surazeus
2024 09 19

Wishing I could be immortal and free 
from this body of chemical desire, 
I walk elsewhere among the singing trees 
to sit in sunlight of unspoken words 
and wait for someone to walk down the road 
who brings obscure book of the secret truth. 

Almost past midpoint of new promised year 
through riddles printed in the almanac, 
I smell strange scent of summer on the page 
of every book I open to the wind, 
though I fall silent with attentive hope 
to watch what might happen before the end. 

Strange faceless shadow of my ancient soul, 
who looks at me from mirror on the wall, 
decides what truth about my inner thoughts 
I should perceive as silver clouds of truth 
that sprinkle rain of afternoon to cleanse 
heart-breaking horror of the singing sea. 

Impatient for what blue skies want to say 
about soft density of wordless love, 
I treasure secret of the apple tree 
based on my shadow on the selfless grass 
who urges me to hurry past the hour 
the moon will rise on Phoenix wings of power. 

Always at center of the turning world, 
awake with question of how light knows why 
our bodies buzz with atoms of the mind, 
I tend to business of the steady rain 
with project to equalize rights of souls 
who give each other nothingness of love. 

Yet colors of the world must orchestrate 
authority of tact programmed by fate 
to challenge traditions we still obey 
with loyal adherence to the bright sea 
whose depth is measured by the snarky Sphinx 
who tells me my failures are my success. 

Addressing blind clock of eternity 
that spirals atoms in net of my brain, 
I start to think about the honest way 
time dilates whispers through windowless homes 
each time I draw another writhing rune 
from bottomless well of my loving heart. 

As incarnation of the oracle, 
I predict pattern of the molecule 
that spirals from first flash of the big bang 
to form this planet that creates my soul 
so I can wake her conscious mind in me 
and tell you why we are mortal and free. 

Blaze Our Own Trail

Blaze Our Own Trail
© Surazeus
2024 09 19

Though leaves are falling from the cosmic tree 
to shroud our world in souls of long-dead gods, 
I catch one leaf at random in my hands 
and read name of the god I long to meet, 
Seshat, who taught me how to sing my thoughts 
in words that ring as stones in stream of time. 

When I pronounce secret code of her name 
her form appears before my surprised eyes, 
slender woman, wearing leopard-skin skirt 
and gold crown with tall marijuana leaf ,
who bears tablet of clay on which she scribes 
hieroglyphs which signify the world we see. 

Stretching cord from wand planted in the soil, 
Seshat measures dimensions of the mind 
to lay foundation for the temple hall 
where priests roast steak for sacred meal of faith 
while singers play lyres and recite the tales 
that define how civil people behave. 

Holding Stylus of Wisdom in my hand, 
I compose world chronicle that records 
salient events of human history 
which manifest passion of energy 
allotted by sky gods to human souls 
who perform their roles in dramas of fate. 

Some humans shine so bright with divine light 
their actions extend beacon of respect 
through grim darkness of terrible events 
to guide our journey to the Promised Land 
where we build safe haven of courteous laws 
till they transform to idols we admire. 

When noble heroes of social events 
pass away from changing swirl of this world 
their spirits undergo apotheosis 
so they transcend this mortal world of hope 
and freeze to idols of conceptual trope 
that embodies virtues they once performed. 

With reverent awe of attentive respect 
we erect their idols in temple hall 
where children gaze with scholarly intent 
to study pattern their achievements code 
constraining flash of fear with self-control 
that molds passion into deified shape. 

Each god whose idol stands in hall of fame 
reflects conscious mind of one mortal soul 
who played grand role in social game of life, 
yet we who breathe alive this hour of hope 
must blaze our own trail in dark tangled woods 
to live so we create, and not destroy. 

Sing Tale Of Your Life

Sing Tale Of Your Life
© Surazeus
2024 09 18

Whatever we see in sparkles of rain 
refracting joys and sorrows we endure 
deceives our hearts with beautiful concepts 
presenting ideals based on things we see, 
so we find in random experience 
timeless truths about nature of this life. 

The yellow-crowned heron on river shore 
pierces our hearts with her star-golden eyes, 
so we seek answers to riddles we read 
written with demon blood on autumn leaves 
that fall in elegant spirals of hope 
to shroud the graves that will swallow our souls. 

After I hear many people express 
opinions that explicate their world views 
which present irreconcilable truths, 
I walk away from crowds of argument 
to see weird truth that cannot be denied 
sparkle as sunlight on the river flow. 

High walls of paradise our fathers built 
with hands bleeding tears for those killed in war 
could be haven protecting us from harm 
by gangs of rapists, slave-traders, and thieves, 
or prison that traps us with rigid laws 
enforced by tyrant and his gang of thugs. 

While walking in wild grove of apple trees 
you stop and turn around to look at me 
so you can tell me feelings of your heart, 
but you cannot find right words adequate 
to shape your vision in programming code 
true as roots that curl down deep in the Earth. 

They think they know the truth about our hearts 
because they only see how we perform 
our chosen roles in dramas of our states 
where every person plays their special part 
in the global food-production machine 
that benefits those with weapons of death. 

After getting lost in world maze of myth 
while searching for the Holy Grail of love, 
I map the tales we humans tell ourselves 
to conjure virtual model of the Earth 
in holy scripture of religious faith 
that preaches joy in this life here and now. 

Our individual souls of conscious dream 
are ephemeral as sparkling drops of rain 
since our awareness of our mortal selves 
is chemical function of fragile brains, 
so I give you apple from Tree of Life 
and sing tale of your life after you die. 

Who Cry For Liberty

Who Cry For Liberty
© Surazeus
2024 09 17

Nausea wrecks my heart with reverent awe 
for brutal warriors of old epic tales 
who slaughter countless men to clear the field 
for honest kings to build empires of peace 
where ministers harvest wealth from meek slaves 
who cry for liberty with broken hands. 

Riding elevator to Tartarus 
where Achilles and Tantalus play chess, 
I break leash that binds Cerberus to Hope, 
then run through labyrinth of forgotten gods 
to find Ophelia by Fountain of Youth 
where white butterflies flutter from her mouth. 

Finding King David asleep on his throne, 
after he flew airplane from Samarkand, 
I steal his golden harp with magic strings, 
then climb Mount Horeb in the pouring rain 
where Gabriel cries into kylix of beer 
because Aphrodite ran off with Thor. 

Strumming magic strings with crackerjack hands, 
I chant efficient riddles in weird verse 
depicting grand deeds of paranoid kings 
who send ships sailing on the seven seas 
to find and bring back elixir of life 
brewed as liquor from Orinoco Flow. 

Ennui torques my heart in genetic strands 
that weave my conscious mind in harmony 
with howling demons in museum halls 
who race motorcycles through Gotham streets 
to find grand temple of the Buddha Toad 
chanting on mushroom for ten million years. 

Staring at burned-out bush on Mount Horeb 
where Jehovah once glowed with divine light, 
I ponder strange mystery of politics, 
how blind Fortune always favors the bold, 
and why Fame chooses World Stars randomly 
though Death destroys all bodies in the end. 

Though zombies still worship their vampire king 
in glass cathedral of the singing skull, 
I find Narcissus lounging by the pool 
to discuss nature of psychology, 
while Echo argues vociferously 
for unique character of human souls. 

Though I fall into Hell as Lucifer 
I rise reborn as Christ on Phoenix wings, 
but wake as Adam in this mortal shell 
who dares to leave safe walls of paradise, 
and walk among the lost souls of the world 
who cry for liberty with broken hearts. 

My Angel Glowing Green

My Angel Glowing Green
© Surazeus
2024 09 17

My angel glowing green as fruit-tree leaves 
envelops fragile body of my soul 
with overwhelming vibrancy of light 
in soft thick slime of surging ocean waves 
so my mind becomes potential event 
that mimics god-mind of the universe. 

With anguish pulsing in frame of my soul 
I rise from volatile ambience of time 
to burst from unsettled identity 
through metamorphic sublime of respect 
for vibrant green that radiates from my brain 
in angel wings I beat against glass skies. 

Swelling ripe with fructuous juice of star blood, 
profuse with bounteous angst of holy thought, 
I splash my arms in swirling ocean waves 
to analyze bright glitter of sunlight 
in each perfected sphere of fecund truth 
abundant with beams of our Fairy Ground. 

My angel glowing green as ocean waves 
emerges pale from slosh of surging slime 
to smile at me with universal light 
at stark climatic shout of wicked joy, 
then glowing skull of diamond-prismed eyes 
melts into vast wings of excessive hope. 

Deep stickiness of my internal words, 
expanding crystal bones in tree-limb web, 
encloses my angelic soul of light 
in bulging layers of pain-contracted flesh 
so I feel trapped in limits of my soul 
that helps me discover who I must be. 

Gowned in slender dress, sewn from willow leaves, 
Ophelia waltzes alone among trees 
glowing bright with apples of green-gold skin, 
sheer passion of her atom-fluid heart 
fueling her ambition to transcend death 
with elegant leap of wingless desire. 

Round mirror eye of our assertive sun 
extracts from boundless abyss of our hearts 
intention to create from fractured words 
new world view as puzzle of psychic code 
contrived from clatter of stones in the stream 
that gushes from mountain vales of mute pride. 

Switching perspective of attentive faith 
with sudden torque of quick balletic wit, 
I pluck ripe apple from the Tree of Life 
and give it to the stranger on the road 
who weeps at vision of angelic light 
that glows green with eternal love we share. 

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.