Rhythm Of Atomic Waves

Rhythm Of Atomic Waves
© Surazeus
2024 10 31

As Eternal Mind of the Cosmic Soul 
enfolds all changes, yet will never change, 
I feel immortal essence of its light 
from flashing atoms power how my brain 
generates divine sense of consciousness 
so I perceive pure unsearchable Being. 

Because time is shadow of my own thought 
I see all that has happened in the past 
and thus see all things that will come to pass 
spiral in swirls from beginning to end 
as sacred narrative of life and death 
when atoms form organic beings who know. 

As wingless angels, evolved from the sea, 
we are brave explorers of the blue sky, 
courageous pioneers of the vast world 
we measure with straight instruments of truth 
to map the curving waves of molecules 
which vibrate nodes in taut matrix of light. 

Through optic tube of the long telescope, 
perched on steel frame in pantheon-shaped dome 
erected tall on high Parnassus peak, 
we gaze at billions of stars in the sky 
whose rays still flicker at our spinning globe 
long after they burned to iron black holes. 

All change is rhythm of atomic waves 
that swirl to compose our organic brains 
as molecules evolve in stewing seas 
through generations of conceptual forms 
that incarnate immortal soul of genes 
so we pass away while our children live. 

This frame of flesh and bone woven with nerves 
is bound with animating spark of love 
fueled by celestial glory of our heart 
that wonders at strange beauty of this world 
as we lift bright torch of truth to observe 
pool and river in meadow of fruit trees. 

Within small ring of luminating words, 
that bounds horizon of knowledge I trust, 
I explore frontier of the wilderness 
beyond enclosing walls of paradise 
my father built to shelter me from harm, 
and write what I see in my Book of Earth. 

The key to understand nature of things, 
which I adjust to solve riddles of life, 
gleams in my heart as flame of timeless truth 
that spirals from first flash of the big bang 
to bloom galactic network of my brain 
so Eternal Mind knows itself through me. 

Chapel Of Saint Lucy

Chapel Of Saint Lucy
© Surazeus
2024 10 31

While strolling in castle garden of herbs 
to gather ingredients for her lunch, 
young Princess Lucienne pauses in the heat, 
but as she sips cool water from the fount 
she hears voice of her father behind bush 
softly command, "Take Lucienne to the lake." 

Watching blue butterfly on the red rose, 
Lucienne gasps with joy, so she listens close. 
"Take Lucienne to the chapel by the lake 
on pretension she shall go there and pray, 
give her this gold silk scarf as gift from me, 
then strangle her till she draws breath no more." 

"Strangle her and bury her in the garden 
with no marker to indicate her grave." 
Shocked with horror at his decree of death, 
Lucienne covers her mouth to mute her scream. 
Voice of her valet Godred answers shocked, 
"King Henric, why should I kill your sweet daughter?" 

Growl of rage from chest of her father stuns 
young princess who trembles in frantic fear. 
"Lucienne is not true daughter of my seed. 
Her mother Ermesinde, that forest witch, 
tricked me with lie that I fathered her child, 
but Lucienne looks like her horseman I killed." 

Dazed with confusion in shock of despair, 
Lucienne stumbles up stairs up to tower room 
where she kneels and gasps in terror, 
but jumps to her feet when Godred appears 
to explain her father the noble king 
wants her to pray at Chapel of Saint Lucy. 

Shaking with terror as he drives the coach, 
Lucienne listens to sparrows sing in trees. 
Standing with Godred by the chapel door, 
she grips his hand and gazes in his eyes. 
"Instead of killing me, take me away 
and let us sail somewhere across the sea." 

Holding hands, Lucienne and Godred run free 
through sun-suffused woods to the sparkling sea 
where they sail fishing boat north from Bretagne, 
faces wet from spray and tears of fierce joy, 
then land on lush shore of Hibernia 
where he builds small cottage in shady grove. 

While strolling in cottage garden of herbs 
to gather ingredients for their lunch, 
Mother Lucienne pauses by shining pool 
to watch Godred teach their three skillful sons 
how to construct the sturdy fishing boat, 
then eat stew on the lawn in sunset glow. 

Poetry Construction Engineer

Poetry Construction Engineer
© Surazeus
2024 10 31

Strolling on the leaf-paved trail in oak woods 
around the mountain lake that sparkles clear, 
he explains his next art project will be 
to create fake social media accounts 
for characters who would never exist 
in fiction, but often do in real life. 

The loneliest oak leaf in the world falls 
slowly on his head to crown him with glory 
of sunlight streaming angled through tall trees, 
so he switches to talking about art 
in the language of wolves who know the gloom 
of starless nights that veil our world in doom. 

Pulling the jeweled serpent from his throat, 
that writhes in agony of bookless faith, 
he throws his sorrow in the sparkling lake 
which swims away as the winged crocodile 
who wants to chat about philosophy 
but must get to work at the factory. 

The ugliest princess in the world glides 
with elegant grace on catwalk of fame, 
wearing the trendiest fashions from Paris 
who gives her the apple Eris gave him 
to prove he sees her inner beauty more 
than paper mask that hides her nuclear core. 

Painting faces of dead children on walls 
of corporate headquarters with oil and blood, 
he explains to the pretty journalist 
that true art is always political 
because we express our view about life 
through images of suffering we design. 

The smartest woman in the world designs 
social programs that center psychic needs 
of mothers who raise children of the world 
for they will inherit polluted Earth 
cluttered with debris of religious faith 
that artists display in glass galleries. 

Writing his name on water of the sea, 
he steals bow and arrow of Cupido 
to shoot the nightingale with ache of love, 
then, roasting it on flat-top pyramid 
where Ishtar invented religious faith, 
meditates with Vasuki round his neck. 

The weirdest prophet in the world programs, 
as Poetry Construction Engineer, 
visions that frame how people see the world 
with scientific formulas through facts 
so their actions create, and not destroy, 
atomic structure of reality. 

Harbinger Of Doom

Harbinger Of Doom
© Surazeus
2024 10 30

Collected stories of the Lonely Clown, 
sold at the festival outside of town, 
reveal strange tragedy of the Blind King 
who tries to buy Immortality Ring 
forged in the fires of Hell by Lucifer 
who admires his fierce father Jupiter. 

Leaning against bent sign that spells Dead End, 
the Lonely Clown waits for his secret friend 
across the street from the old bungalow 
where humble descendant of Cicero 
barbecues steak for the whole neighborhood 
who dance where the Irminsul tree once stood. 

Slow airplane glides across sun-burnished sky, 
attempting to detect soul of the spy 
who gives the Lonely Clown thick dossier 
on Sad Girl who sings at the cabaret 
because he wants to know her secret name 
so he can purchase Medallion of Fame. 

Yet Crippled Ballerina knits clean socks 
for Voiceless Mermaid lounging on glass rocks 
who almost dies in stale hospital room 
when she miscarries Harbinger of Doom 
who proclaims the Lonely Clown world messiah 
though everyone mocks him as mad pariah. 

Convenient mirror of the fractured mind 
reflects state of the world Allah designed 
in bold attempt to solve the cosmic joke 
with earnest sermons for the common folk 
who sing in harmony with desert wind 
that scatters letters mothers wish to send. 

Inside trunk of the oak tree on Skull Hill 
the time-expanding Clock of Divine Will 
commissions the Lonely Clown with grand quest 
to find out where the sun goes in the west 
so he travels forward ten thousand years 
till his son invents car engine with gears. 

After glamor of our state falls apart 
I charge inner resources of the heart 
with quick electric spell of honest prayer 
to make ways of our world more just and fair 
for every nameless ghost who wears my face 
since no one ever wins the money race. 

Standing nervously at the podium 
as people gather in the odeum, 
the Lonely Clown drinks water from the well 
that bubbles from all broken hearts in Hell, 
then reads his novel to the reverent crowd 
about secret code written on the shroud. 

Turn Off The Television

Turn Off The Television
© Surazeus
2024 10 30

The goldfinch that always visits my tree 
brings mask of the king who fell from the tower 
so I wear his face to walk about town 
which scares the old people to run and hide 
and makes the children dance around with glee 
till all their shadows vanish in the dawn. 

The goldfish that escapes cage of my brain 
leads me up winding path of broken skulls 
to cave of illusions where Plato screams 
at shadows of things that twist out of shape 
as he runs wildly in the maze of mirrors 
till his body becomes the hemlock tree. 

The goldfinch that never calls my true name 
drops seventh scroll of Gabriel in my hand 
so I eat honey-soaked cinnamon roll 
while watching revelation of the soul 
long hidden inside forms of things I see 
till another apple bonks me on the head. 

The goldfinch that perches outside my window 
explains psychotic formulas that twist 
waves of molecules through spiraling loops 
to weave chemicals in spiritual genes 
which replicate my body from the sea 
till I evolve from fish to wingless angel. 

The goldfinch that constitutes brain of God 
calculates concepts constructing the Earth 
when traumatic childhood experiences 
embody themselves as demons from hell 
which smash grand institutions of the state 
till we build Wonderland from the waste land. 

The goldfinch that knows why the caged ghost dreams 
returns from crystal palace of the sun 
to resurrect children blasted by bombs 
who rise from rubble of the Promised Land 
as superheroes soaring in the sky 
till I collect all Infinity Stones. 

The goldfinch that programs computer games 
teaches me how to invent languages 
with stick figures that symbolize my thoughts 
as puppets dancing on strings of my heart 
in election to choose the new messiah 
till I fall into the sea of false hope. 

The goldfinch that designs our virtual world 
considers why humans oppress each other 
in ten thousand years of aggressive war 
as empires rise and fall in waves of greed 
which erects cities on steel skulls of gods 
till I turn off the television and sleep. 

Weird Seraphic Key

Weird Seraphic Key
© Surazeus
2024 10 30

If you find me behind my paper face, 
arrange nine infinity stones of truth 
in temple garden on the mountain slope 
to combine spiritual stillness of faith 
with aesthetic mastery of dream chaos 
so you know who you are before you die. 

That heavy thing that nestles in my heart, 
with unacknowledged guilt of wanting love, 
reveals true faces of people I love 
who wear paper faces for Halloween 
to meet dead ancestors on moonlit streets 
who give us secret treasures of the past. 

While drawing hieroglyphs on sea-beach sand 
I analyze flashing state of my mind 
to excise guilt for crimes I commit not, 
despite erratic scenes of frantic thought, 
so I wear paper face with demon growl 
to frighten devils of my heart away. 

Each painting of Christ on cathedral walls 
still standing in old European towns, 
despite devils dropping bombs from airplanes, 
represents each ancestor of my line 
as living men with genes of Jupiter 
who claimed divine right to rule Wonderland. 

As wounded Fisher King on throne of bones, 
I send noble knights into the waste land 
to overthrow oppressors from tall castles 
and place jeweled crowns of authority 
on heads of girls who understand their people, 
then enforce their laws in the market place. 

With boat of Alastor on one fine day 
I sail from Isle of Skye to Patmos Isle, 
and dig up corpse of Jesus from his cave 
where, written on his holy savior robe, 
I will find secret Revelation code 
to help me navigate dark maze of myths. 

Then back to the orange groves of Florida 
I sail to visit the Orlando graveyard 
where parents of my mother lie together, 
half hidden under piles of wind-blown leaves, 
to find the ancient lyre of Mercury 
that Bob once played while singing holy hymns. 

Wearing paper face of the troubadour 
I roam our land from sea to shining sea 
to translate new-spelled prophecies of fate 
from timeless melody of wind and sea 
to puzzling riddles no one understands, 
except those pierced by weird seraphic key. 

Safe In My Shadow

Safe In My Shadow
© Surazeus
2024 10 29

Safe in my shadow living upside down, 
I ask the meadowlark of yellow flight 
if light can find me in the sudden dawn, 
but I drink sorrow from the ice cream float  
with fervent eyes of individual choice 
concerning who will wear my paper face. 

Safe in my shadow drinking waterfalls, 
I wander slowly in deliberate gleam 
to help decode tune of cathedral bells 
so I can understand why she feels glum 
that every organic creature knows death 
and must invent their own doctrine of faith. 

Safe in my shadow singing to dead gods, 
I play electric lyre Hermes designed 
to conjure ghosts of people killed in wars 
from shattered ruins of their hopes and dreams 
that drip oil red as blood down withered cheeks 
so we understand why the caged crow laughs. 

Safe in my shadow painting nameless ghosts, 
I peer through clear galactic prism eye 
to see shy sprites of flowers dancing free 
while children play chase in far desert lands 
till bombs erase them from dream of the Earth 
though I program concepts of happiness. 

Safe in my shadow counting burned-out stars, 
I photograph bright faces of the dead, 
then hang their portraits on bank-lobby walls 
so people see them as important beings 
composed of light with no absolute form 
who float on their backs in the fishy lake. 

Safe in my shadow thinking about fate, 
I calculate each choice I have to make 
to navigate confusing maze of myths 
where idols of dead gods provide template 
for their character I could emulate, 
except I know just who I really am. 

Safe in my shadow dwelling in dream cave, 
I carve elaborate hieroglyphs on stones 
to show how radiant waves of light will weave 
vast undulant matrix of fractal panes 
in mental construct of time-shifting world 
where frightened slaves wait for the cosmic herald. 

Safe in my shadow believing in love, 
I analyze the weird mercurial ways 
of gods who hide soul secrets in their cave 
about effects sparked by the primal cause 
when Earth spins from first flash of the big bang 
which gleams in diamond on my wedding ring. 

Preaching To The Choir

Preaching To The Choir
© Surazeus
2024 10 29

Preaching to the choir in the hall of mirrors, 
the man with eight arms and ten thousand heads 
explains that true love flowing from the heart 
is to care for someone with calm respect 
regardless of how they feel about you, 
then he shares mango ice cream with his wife. 

Sleepwalking in the ancient maze of myths, 
the man who prefers to photograph rivers 
investigates why wild geyser of time 
was gutted by force of conceptual speed 
by waterfalls in deep canyon of lies 
where last king in the world wears paper mask. 

Folding his soul in margin of the dream, 
the man with severe kaleidoscope eyes 
studies nature of the thing-in-itself 
to consider why we regurgitate 
anthems of christian capitalist pride 
in boisterous rallies on island of garbage. 

Jumping over the fence of loyal fear, 
the man with the pince-nez blinding his eye 
calls Mad Jester on the telephone 
that eats silver spoons in the crowded church 
till everyone understands they were fooled 
by Fake King who claims he turns things to gold. 

Meeting with the only woman he loves, 
the man with the heart like the leaky boat 
asks trees on the mountain of singing skulls 
why they still admire the arrogant bear, 
but they explain art is detectable 
since it wakes god-eye of absurdity. 

Evoking turbulent ghosts of weird faith, 
the man who holds paintbrush dripping with blood 
spawns language in muddy waters of truth 
to conceal tormented soul of his grace, 
then lays perverse order of votive signs 
in line with permanent flowers of death. 

Lighting candle in cathedral of glass, 
the man discolored by snapshot of his mind 
declares from node in the continuum 
his name is Adam, first man of the Earth, 
face silhouetted on Cliffs of Despair, 
yet follows his own footprints in the snow. 

Unlocking changeless forms of the world, 
the man who wears paper face of the moon 
judges absence of color indicates 
refreshing atonement for standard sins 
described in cubist diary of the brook 
that trickles in the fractured hall of mirrors. 

Revolution Of The Cardinals

Revolution Of The Cardinals
© Surazeus
2024 10 29

Bullet words ricochet off paper masks 
in psychic spells of visionary angst 
which realigns trajectory of the globe 
straight toward black hole of innovative truth, 
revealed in long magazine articles 
to analyze the latest social trends. 

Bamboozler in the dry-cleaned business suit 
snaps whip of his red tie to lasso rage 
that billows from lie-poisoned brains of fools, 
and rides aggressive tornado of hate 
smashing vast institutions of the state 
till reinless dragon hurls him into hell. 

People seeking salvation perform tasks 
in harmony with honest sycophants 
when the Savior comes wearing radiant robe 
with rifle to kill our messiah sleuth 
through revolution of the cardinals 
because he teaches us how to be friends. 

Crushing heads of angels under steel boots, 
Dictator Clown prances on global stage 
to hypnotize his minions as mind-tools 
obedient to commands of divine fate 
that keeps them locked outside the Golden Gate 
after scamming them with ghost of the well. 

Reluctant to steal alien rocket ships, 
Sad Jester climbs Golgotha hill of skulls 
to capture bloody flag of monarchy 
through revolution of the apple tree 
when children of soldiers killed in world war 
leave Planet Earth to crocodiles and birds. 

I love to play well-tempered clavichord 
when rockets destroy hospitals and mosques 
because Blind Phoenix from wild flames of war 
emerges from harsh sufferings of our hearts 
while computer programmers design games 
that auto-generate atlas of Earth. 

Comedians in nightclubs crack clever quips 
about proud boys shooting children in schools 
to preach noble cause of state anarchy 
from home of the brave in land of the free 
till mothers cannot take it any more 
when tyrants contort the meanings of words. 

Singing solemn hymns, as the harpsichord 
broadcasts the church service from mall kiosks, 
I gesture weirdly so book in the store 
expands our consciousness of psychic charts 
within dire framework of scholastic names 
since children are our genetic rebirth. 

Paint My Paper Face

Paint My Paper Face
© Surazeus
2024 10 29

The red sun beats upon the pavement slab 
with all the subtle grace of hammer hope 
preached by the scammer in the crowded church 
to lonely zombies searching for the truth 
that drips from their limp hands as jelly slime, 
so I hide bright soul with my paper face. 

This heart-encroaching angst of city streets 
still numbs my aching body with desire 
to crawl into the dead tree in the park 
and talk with crows about the demon mind 
that gurgles oil-thick in sponge of my brain 
and seeps through paper face hiding my soul. 

Harsh grumbling growl of motor engines buzz 
disturbing vibes in fractured skull of juice 
that helmets deity stuck in my brain 
writhing crab-twisted in tangle of thoughts 
with muffled bonking deep in foggy words 
mucked with visions of the paper-faced god. 

So one step forward on hard cement way 
I force extension of my rubber soul, 
wrapped taut with tension of unsymboled lust 
forward over rough obstacles of faith, 
to walk from my house to the grocery store 
beyond paper-faced walls of memories. 

So when you call me on the telephone 
I answer with the name my brain devised 
to fool Death with shadow of happy fear, 
yet I can barely hear your crackled voice 
from distant valley of the laughing bones 
because my paper face flaps in the wind. 

Insistent explanations of my strength 
of courage to perform expected role 
bunch crowd of breathless words refidgeted 
in graceful flow of sentient awkwardness 
so I despair that no one understands 
vivid flare of thoughts on my paper face. 

Performing normal routine of events 
in rituals to contain chaos of hope, 
I stand before glass door of timeless trust 
to open candor wide of changeless wait 
so I can enter cool domain of dreams 
enclosed in fragments of things I could buy. 

Purchasing milk, eggs, butter, bread, and faith, 
I swipe thin credit card of honesty 
and walk outside with plastic bags of love 
to glare at red sun of blind travesty, 
then hurry home on nervous doe-thin legs 
to eat fried eggs and paint my paper face. 

Uncanny Gift Of Sorrow

Uncanny Gift Of Sorrow
© Surazeus
2024 10 28

Uncanny gift of sorrow in his hand 
inspires the heart of Caliban with joy, 
so he carves mask of his face from the land 
and plays with statue of God as his toy, 
till raven in the mountain oak cries out 
to understand what it is all about. 

Unable to remember his true name, 
Caliban crawls over huge jagged rocks 
to ask the dragon to play his new game 
reversing process of time with star clocks 
so he can find secret treasure of faith 
as fear embodied by the cosmic wraith. 

Unearthly wail of happiness at dawn 
startles Caliban awake from despair, 
so he strips naked on the castle lawn 
while Rapunzel weeps on the broken stair 
because sad raven she kept in gold cage 
has escaped death to the next psychic stage. 

Unready for resurrection through fate, 
when molecules reconstitute his soul 
in robot body that could calculate 
clever trick to return through the loophole, 
Caliban rides the white horse with no name 
in grand parade through the City of Fame. 

Uneasy sense of doom foretold by jokes, 
written by crippled ballerina bride, 
spurs Caliban to encourage his folks 
to accept his mission as the Dream Guide 
who brings salvation to the bitter world 
as humble grandson of the cosmic herald. 

Unconscious spirit of the humming brain 
manifests childhood trauma of the heart 
as monstrous demons, who savor mind pain 
that cannot be found on any dream chart, 
sent by Jupiter to haunt humankind 
with computing machines Hermes designed. 

Unreasonable request of the bank clerk 
confounds shy Caliban with secret hope 
that he may get to leave early from work 
and write self-help book about how to cope 
with people always trying to steal his thoughts 
because he knows where the corpse of God rots. 

Ungod appears as flame in glowing cloud 
and plays fragile flute carved from dragon bone 
so Caliban hopes his father is proud 
that he destroys idols with the rolling stone, 
then asks Rapunzel to conceal his ghost 
in conceptual framework of the lamppost. 

Surprise Of The Dead

Surprise Of The Dead
© Surazeus
2024 10 28

Undying flowers bloom from cement cracks 
with inspiration of the open book 
that traps his heart in story of the prince 
who works as mechanic at the garage 
fixing broken engines of city cars, 
then goes fishing on the lake at sunset. 

When he walks around streets of the small town 
he likes to narrate his life to himself 
with snarky comments about his despair 
that always takes him to the country bar 
where he drinks and thinks about the cute girl 
who married the banker with the fast car. 

His ancestor twelve generations back 
was heir to castle on the Scotland coast, 
but his father died at Culloden Field 
so he sailed on a day over the sea 
with Bonnie Prince Charlie to Isle of Skye 
where he climbed to the peak of Sgurr Biorach. 

Spreading wings he received from Icarus, 
the young prince flew over the swirling sea 
to dwell in the North Carolina hills 
where he built big log cabin in the woods 
to raise eight kids with his Catawba wife 
who knew how to shoot a hawk from the sky. 

Twelve generations of tall Crawford men 
have rambled in these Appalachian hills, 
running with wolves in wild forests of crows, 
but he wants to leave this sad life behind 
and travel to distant lands to explore 
rugged valleys where angels fear to tread. 

Finding wings of Icarus in old chest 
in attic of the cabin full of ghosts, 
he hooks them to his shoulders with brass clasps, 
flaps them a few times to shake out the dust, 
then soars high up into the great wide open 
where signless roads of hope go anywhere. 

Gliding over the Rocky Mountain range, 
while searching for the secret key of change, 
he wonders if he should now change his name, 
then lands in town on the Oregon coast 
where he gives his heart to the pretty ghost, 
and falls asleep in the stale hotel room. 

Waking at dawn from surreal dreams of doom, 
he eats sausage egg muffin and hot coffee, 
strolls on the gold beach where waves sparkle blue, 
and kneels by the mossy stone of lost faith 
where the key of truth glitters in soft sand, 
but stands with sudden surprise of the dead. 

Our National Ghost

Our National Ghost
© Surazeus
2024 10 28

My heart attuned to our national ghost, 
I seek romantic beauty of the world 
in dew-wet pastures of clear sparkling streams, 
but find men digging mines into the ground 
to harvest mineral riches of the Earth 
who build vast maze of cement, steel, and glass. 

Among bright gems and flowers of lush fields 
I find skeletons of great warriors 
who fought to defend our nation from harm, 
fever-animated zombies of rage 
unresurrected by sharp dragon teeth, 
whose voices whisper nothing in the wind. 

Gang of boys running in dark Raven Wood 
find jagged cave carved from river-side cliff 
glowing with flames of attentive force 
to watch Arthur pull long sword from the stone 
by gripping its handle with aggressive fist 
and hammering twisted metal into shape. 

Since Arthur forged Excalibur from stone 
that blazed as meteor from the starry realm, 
warriors fight battles in pastoral meadows 
where shepherds keep watch under gleaming stars 
till Icarus flies airplane among the clouds 
as angels and devils fight over Heaven. 

Awake in dream as our national ghost, 
I build vast urban maze of pyramids, 
transforming mountains from square blocks of stone 
to castles guarding paradise from thieves, 
to frames of steel girders plated with glass 
woven with world wide web of wired computers. 

We construct on skulls of tyrants and kings 
our world empire of computing machines 
to create virtual worlds in video games 
where warriors fight in fields as shepherds sing 
about the coming of the global king 
who discards the crown for democracy. 

Intense energy of psychotic angst 
fuels desperate cries for strong messiah king 
to mold chaotic passion of the tribe 
in warrior nation fighting enemies 
to conquer Earth under the red-cross flag 
that drips with blood of colonized souls. 

Delusion of ecstatic transformation 
attunes my heart to our national ghost 
from men calling for grandiose salvation 
to shelter farmers from foreign invasion, 
so I sit alone on the river shore 
till I hear nothing but song of the Earth. 

Flames Of Change

Flames Of Change
© Surazeus
2024 10 27

A much improved America will rise 
from the flames of change burning in our hearts 
with passion to ensure justice for all 
when we unite through fight for Liberty 
to live free as we will, if we harm none, 
so we must endure with courage of love. 

Designing America that will rise 
from the flames of change flashing in our brains, 
I drive my car on crowded road of hope 
in routine ritual of conceptual work 
constructing virtual world of secret thoughts 
to nurture wisdom of democracy. 

State institutions, built to ensure peace 
that burn in flames of change we fan with hope, 
provide conceptual template for the game 
we play in cosmic drama to gain power 
against fascist tyrants of monarchy 
with liberal guardians of democracy. 

Fertile land of America we love 
will transform in flames of change we control 
to forge sharp sword of law from respect 
for right of every breathing human being 
to exercise wise choice of their free will 
in how they perform their creative role. 

Concept of America we invent 
with flames of change that glow in angel eyes 
inspires our hearts with courage of bold love 
to live up to ideal she represents 
where people of every race in the world 
live together in harmony of faith. 

More perfect union of America, 
tempered strong with flames of change our hearts fuel 
with psychic energy of kind respect, 
will emerge from colossal wreck of doubt 
in fierce conflict between owners and workers 
over who benefits from wealth of work. 

Shared prosperity of America, 
baked with flames of change in furnace of faith, 
could nourish every person equally 
who work together in productive ploy 
through stratagem conducive to success 
to enhance opportunities for all. 

A much improved America will rise 
from the flames of change burning in our hearts 
if we desire to exercise our vote 
for true justice and liberty for all 
to profit from hard work of their own hands 
when we share rich feast in the Hall of Hope. 

Empty Box Of Dreams

Empty Box Of Dreams
© Surazeus
2024 10 27

The empty box by the side of the road, 
that once contained possessions of my soul, 
bounces and flaps with gusts of brutal wind, 
buffeted by cars zooming somewhere else, 
and spills its nothingness across the grass 
which transforms into nameless ghost of hope. 

The empty box of dreams, I left behind 
when I gave all my possessions away, 
waits among weeds on pebbles that have gleamed 
in dust four billion years since Earth cooled down 
from molten state to conjure human souls 
who search for treasure in cave of illusions. 

The empty box of secrets, that fell off 
the passing pickup truck when its tire bounced 
over wind-smoothed stone of salvation, floats 
in sudden whoosh of wind into the air, 
almost with passion to transcend sad fate 
of keeping something safe I want to hide. 

The empty box tumbling over the field 
cries out with voice of soft indifferent wind 
to the cactus, that does the yoga pose 
named Standing Wind Release, for directions 
to the safe house where I have fled to hide 
from the man who shoots his gun at my heart. 

The empty box by the side of the road 
has lost my favorite red dress and shoes 
I wore on our first date to the playhouse 
where we watched my sister, gowned as an angel, 
lead pioneers to steal land from the natives, 
which hangs tattered now on a barbed-wire fence. 

The empty box with label on its side 
printed with address of the house we bought 
when I was pregnant with our little girl 
who cried when he beat her head with his fist, 
scatters her baby clothes across the field 
where he buried her to escape the law. 

The empty box, half open by the sign 
painted red as the blood that soaks my dress, 
preserves existential angst of true love, 
symbolized as red bullet of desire 
he shoots into my heart with bitter tears 
as he shouts I belong only to him. 

The empty box, that holds my broken heart 
in fragile hands of helpless sorrow, cries 
with anguish as my hand clutches its flap, 
torn as wing of the fallen angel, shock 
pulsing fierce as ocean waves when I laugh 
at calm irony of vanishing light. 

Angels In The Clouds

Angels In The Clouds
© Surazeus
2024 10 27

Gold sun radiates in bank of silver clouds, 
beaming rays of beauty on lush hillside 
where Clara and Robert, her little son, 
eat cheese sandwiches and drink apple cider 
as goldfinches chirp in hazelnut groves 
and butterflies fan wings on lilac blooms. 

Placing warm hand on back of her young son, 
Clara points to the sun glowing in clouds. 
"God is the pure radiant light of the sun 
who sees everything on Earth he created, 
for though we cannot see his divine face 
he shines his healing love to light the world." 

Robert squints his eyes at slow swirling clouds 
to see bright spirits she is pointing at. 
"Floating in milky robes with feathered wings, 
angels follow Jesus and holy saints 
in meadow of flowers and broad fruit trees 
around grand crystal temple of the truth." 

Peering closely at huge mountain of clouds, 
Robert sees bright figure of the tall man 
with long hair and beard, and star-golden eyes, 
who strums enchanting tunes on his gold harp 
with nimble dance of fingers to beam wide  
shimmering web that weaves souls of the Earth. 

Joining Royal Air Force in First World War, 
Robert learns to fly cloud-leaping biplane 
to soar high above rivers, fields, and towns, 
then ascends on bold wings of Icarus 
to glide above huge banks of silver clouds 
that swirl with stately grace of ocean waves. 

Heart beating fierce as time-collating wings, 
young star-eyed lieutenant from Idaho 
grips yoke to adjust forward pitch and roll 
with concentration controlling swift flight, 
then searches for Jesus strumming his harp 
while angels dance in groves of paradise. 

Returning home from bombing factories, 
Robert embraces his mother with joy 
on the front lawn as her cheeks gleam with tears, 
then, eating steak and potatoes for lunch, 
he tells her how flew above the clouds 
on broad angelic wings of Icarus. 

Gripping his hand, Clara beams with delight. 
"Did you see God and his angels in Heaven?" 
Shaking his head, Robert smiles at his mother. 
"While soaring high above round spinning Earth, 
I saw no God or angels on the clouds, 
nothing but wisps of water from the sea." 

Every House I Leave

Every House I Leave
© Surazeus
2024 10 27

In sixty years of my life on this Earth 
I have lived in fifty houses, at least, 
so shimmering fragment of my time-stretched soul 
remains stuck in wall of each domicile 
so I feel myself spread across the land 
in quivering thread of fragile memory. 

With mixture of sadness and humor, taut 
with mute affection for each lonely house, 
I slouch benumbed against clean painted wall 
of where I now live, safe in turtle shell 
of sheltering hope, and whisper each address
to map my random journey anywhere. 

Faint shimmering shell of each house where I lived 
merges with all the rest in single frame 
of social reference fixing fluid force 
of my aggressive soul in tomb of truth 
that I am transient flame of consciousness 
which flickers with clock-tick of glowing joy. 

Light of my happiness glows in each house, 
fueled by fraught energy of psychic gloom 
that springs from hollow hunger of my heart, 
so passion of despair nurtures my joy 
to shelter safe in walls of solitude, 
trapped in prison of my fortunate choice. 

I keep the keys of my prisoning home 
in my own pocket, linked with magic ring 
that renders me invisible to Death, 
safe from bitter Pain who stalks city streets 
with vampire thirst for lonely homeless souls 
who haunt light beaming from half-open doors. 

Dropping key to each house where I once lived 
in hand of Fear, still demanding back rent, 
I walk the signless road of everywhere 
past millions of houses in countless towns 
that glow in the dark sea to shining sea 
as I traverse the waste land of despair. 

I never return back down roads I walked, 
never return to houses where I lived, 
for I am always going forward, far 
beyond walls of paradise I escaped, 
housed for a while along the endless way 
of golden opportunity through Hell. 

I write my name and paint my changing face 
with invisible paint on the blank wall 
of this house where I happen to live now, 
which glows as portrait in museum hall 
beside all the other faces of souls 
who also lived in every house I leave. 

Colossal Idol Of Gold

Colossal Idol Of Gold
© Surazeus
2024 10 26

When my soul flashes and yearns with the sea 
I spread wings of Icarus to fly high, 
but fall off statue of Nebuchadnezzar 
just as Sisyphus sends his rolling stone 
bouncing down the rugged slopes of Mount Zion 
to smash the haughty king into mad clowns. 

The star-eyed angel with gossamer wings 
in milky robe that flutters in sea breeze 
dives down from Heaven on the lightning flash 
that splits globe of my heart with promises 
while laughing with watery sound of the harp 
as I fall from grace to reality. 

Trembling with passion of the roaring sea, 
I run with howling wind on sparkling sand 
till wretched pain of my Plutonian soul 
vibrates aggressive wisdom of the storm 
so my heart swells with radiance of the moon 
from holy vision of the shocking truth. 

Twirling blade of metal I forged from flame, 
I strike snarling sharp-toothed demon of hate 
with fierce aggression pulsing from my heart 
till I hack its scaly flesh into steak 
which I roast on crackling flames of delight 
to feast on bloody spirit of its rage. 

Ascending stairs up pyramid of Uruk, 
where Gilgamesh reigned as world-wise king, 
I fight through horde of spear-thrusting warriors, 
then stand before old vampire king of death 
and declare, I am Ozymandias, 
and I now rule the world with bloody sword. 

I will fight with righteousness of my strength 
to kill every man who opposes me 
till I am the only king in the world 
by building empire of justice and and peace 
on corpses of tyrants, slavers, and thieves, 
and through murder protect the innocent. 

Though I have grown old and weary with time, 
my frail body but leather bag of bones, 
I command sons of farmers to construct 
colossal idol of gold with iron feet 
so men will worship me ten thousand years 
as God on Earth who built empire of peace. 

To stop tyrants from waging endless wars 
I kill every man who calls himself king 
and trample on all their religious scriptures, 
so gaze on paradise garden I built 
for Tree of Life with always bear rich fruit 
and never crumble into desolate waste. 

Revolution Against Wealth

Revolution Against Wealth
© Surazeus
2024 10 26

Standing on corner of the busy street 
outside bright glass doors of the shopping mall, 
young man with desperation in his eyes 
declares to people shopping in clean stores, 
the wealthy men who monopolize wealth, 
and not immigrants, are our enemy. 

Though the sky turns dark as I look for hope 
I pray for blue wish of the glowing sun 
to reveal greed behind mask of the good 
so I know who my real enemy is 
in my daily tough struggle to live free 
and exercise the freedom of my choice. 

The immigrant searching for work to live, 
like my ancestors in past centuries, 
is not the enemy we should fear most 
for we are comrades in our daily work 
to shelter and feed our families with love 
so our children can gain greater success. 

The men who control resource of the land, 
and gain wealth from the hard work of our hands, 
are those who want to keep us all enslaved 
in system that benefits them the most, 
so they would replace our democracy 
with oligarchy of the wealthy few. 

Attempting to impose their tyranny 
that keeps us working to increase their wealth, 
they twist national economic laws 
to keep us locked with endless credit debt, 
imprisoned in world system they design 
to maintain the food-production machine. 

They vilify the hungry immigrant, 
who escapes tyranny in their own land 
controlled by gangsters fighting to gain power, 
to divert anger of the working class 
so you cannot see vile crimes they commit 
attempting to destroy democracy. 

If we unite against the wealthy men 
to fight for justice in freedom to choose, 
he declares to the interested crowd, 
but policemen arrive in flashing cars 
and disperse the crowd with bloody batons 
to crush their revolution against wealth. 

The young preacher who shouts, my name is Carl, 
remember me when you gain liberty, 
clutches his chest when the policeman shoots 
nine bullets that riddle his soul with rage, 
and he lies bleeding by doors of the bank 
as wind blows his dust into nothingness. 

Minstrel Of Holy Romance

Minstrel Of Holy Romance
© Surazeus
2024 10 25

Inside conceptual framework of my head 
the kitchen goddess bakes hot loaf of bread 
from wheat her mother Ceres harvested 
to feed the jester who is talented 
with special insight in dreams of the heart 
that keep our bodies from falling apart. 

After she finishes her vaudeville act, 
breaking heart of the clown with subtle tact, 
she hides behind the curtain without mask 
as Tambo and Mister Bones, sharing flask 
of wine, snap sly jokes across the soul void 
with artificial laugh of the android. 

With no integrated Ego on stage 
to process spark of Achillean rage, 
my Conscience and my Id chat about Death 
while Buddha teaches me the Cosmic Breath 
till I transform through Dionysian dance 
into the Minstrel of holy romance. 

While I lie for one hour on Couch of Truth 
I confess my deal as messiah sleuth 
I made with the Devil in blue suede shoes 
to analyze the latest global news 
by telling anecdotes of my childhood 
eating holy mushrooms in Raven Wood. 

When she walks in strange beauty of the night, 
eyes brilliant with jewels of divine light, 
I want to hold her in my loving arms, 
but my mind is enchanted by her charms, 
so I search for the human in her soul 
because true love is my ultimate goal. 

The kitchen goddess with ten thousand hands 
creates the universe of fertile lands 
which maintains progress of society 
through truth and justice of democracy, 
because women do the work of the world 
which functions to support the cosmic herald. 

Ignoring advice of my therapist, 
I purchase statue made of amethyst 
showing good and bad angels of my mind 
who balance my persona love designed 
as each ancestor bonded with their mate 
through random choices that became my fate. 

As minstrel strumming lyre of Mercury 
I recite my own tragic comedy 
to find the universal truth of life 
in how I overcome my psychic strife 
to find in timeless void of nothingness 
weird secret of conceptual happiness. 

Maze Of False Dreams

Maze Of False Dreams
© Surazeus
2024 10 25

Ignoring sad thought of what might have been, 
lost romance contrived by the Fate Machine, 
I think of all the people I once knew 
while strolling path of life without a clue 
as to what demons lurk in sparkling streams 
who become my friends in maze of false dreams. 

If on the country road among oak trees, 
while riding bike in rhythm with cool breeze, 
I meet Maid Muller with sweet hazel eyes 
who gives me cup of water from blue skies, 
I might become enchanted by star beams 
that halo her face in maze of false dreams. 

Each woman I meet on long road of life 
smiles at me with sweet beauty of my wife, 
yet I seek to understand her true soul 
as we negotiate potential role, 
but mirror cracks at fantasy of seems 
that leaves us both lost in maze of false dreams. 

Past faceless shadow of each lonely ghost 
I walk road of my destiny toward post 
where I stand guard in tower of far-sight 
to maintain beacon of Liberty Light 
that guides progress for quest of curious teams 
who follow my map in maze of false dreams. 

Engaged in noble quest to learn the truth 
about adventurous formulas of faith, 
I join Minerva in her grand crusade 
to save our state from the fascist charade, 
and nurture strong democratic regimes 
because we navigate maze of false dreams. 

Gazing at Earth with kaleidoscope eyes, 
I watch atoms flash the void with surprise 
to measure flowing waves of molecules 
that compose organic bodies through rules 
which reflect how jewel of the sun gleams 
to light signless road in maze of false dreams. 

Inspired by vision of Promethean Seer 
who teaches me I have nothing to fear, 
I sail quick boat of Alastor to Heaven 
where I fall in love with wise Princess Raven 
as star-eyed Muse who gives me mythic themes 
when she guides my way in maze of false dreams. 

This sacred truth is written in the Book 
set on library shelf of the Priest Cook 
who manages the temple sacrifice 
that sustains our lifestyle in paradise 
according to code of religious schemes 
to find our way free from maze of false dreams. 

My Own New Identity

My Own New Identity
© Surazeus
2024 10 25

Though I once had a clear identity 
by which I defined my place in the world, 
my special features making me unique 
have vanished through mirror of privilege 
so I am not now who I used to be, 
nameless and faceless in maze of false dreams. 

True identity of my soul projects 
frame for immortal spirit of my genes 
to walk this world in particular form, 
commissioned with duty to procreate 
replications of ancestral ideal 
with variations that improve its state. 

Stepping outside house of identity, 
I encounter metaphysical void 
devoid of definitions I accept 
that color how people perceive my being, 
though I stand under bright seraphic wing 
that swells my soul with divine breath of hope. 

With emphasis on inner life of dreams 
I write code from the master-narrative 
designed by Sigmund to provide framework 
for people lost in wilderness of pain 
to transform Wasteland into Wonderland 
where Tiresias performs in the freak show. 

Far from the crowded maze of city streets 
you will find me with no identity 
mounted on smooth rock by mossy stream 
and counting sheep as they transform to cars 
that stream as metal turtles on highways 
who all come to look for America. 

Sailing ebb tide of world unconscious mind, 
I leave all marks of my identity 
behind as clothes discarded by the road 
to strip illusions of my being away 
till I am nothing but the wingless angel 
from whom all humans of the Earth have sprung. 

Gazing in Pool of Narcissus all night, 
I see ghosts of my ancestors as fish 
evolving into who I am today, 
so I replace mask of identity 
as mirror that reflects weird stereotype 
you want to see when you look at my face. 

From fragments of ten thousand shattered masks 
molded from ancient faces of dead gods, 
I create my own new identity 
with old name Surazeus Astarius 
Jesuvius Gothinus as badge 
to shield my soul from radiant glow of fame. 

Dignity In How I Live

Dignity In How I Live
© Surazeus
2024 10 25

Looking at frazzled puzzle of my body 
through wrong end of the mythic telescope, 
I view contracted process of my life 
with posthumous view of the clairvoyant, 
so I can disassemble code of thought 
with opaque analysis of strange truth. 

With heroism of individual power, 
based on blueprint outlined in the Aeneid, 
I live outside framed history of the law 
to exercise liberty of free will 
through self-reliance of the star nomad 
who names the roads he blazed you travel now. 

Eras of revolutionary growth 
always seem to end in the evening news, 
but no new era of transcendent peace, 
where everyone finds justice in the law, 
ever begins in turmoil of the times 
though I try to map all the tides of change. 

I hope for dignity in how I live 
through redemptive purposiveness of faith, 
yet dwell outside collective realm of truth 
as indifferent observer of world events 
unfolding from context of social conflict, 
which my mind perceives as chess game of power. 

When I drive my car in daily routine 
on signified roads, named for pioneers 
who founded cities in the wilderness, 
I see but dim shadows of human beings 
barely visible behind the windshield 
as I swim with metal salmons of hope. 

With objective regard for Divine Mind 
I assign brevity of conscious hope 
to human bodies of chemical sparks 
that flare briefly with their deified souls 
within immeasurable ripples of time 
that disturb placid sea of eternity. 

This constant tragedy of human life 
shows humans, who wake in communal towns 
struggling to assert their right to exist, 
embody ancient psychic energies 
then play their role in comedy of love 
to generate children before they die. 

As I transform from fish to wingless angel 
I forsake trick of the clever conclusion 
that widens into symbolic projection 
to present coming of the cosmic herald 
who announces reign of messiah sleuth 
in role assigned by blind forces of Nature. 

Man Without A Face

Man Without A Face
© Surazeus
2024 10 24

Strange story of the man without a face 
makes me laugh when I read it in the news, 
but, as I stroll the busy city street 
while performing in the play of my dream, 
I realize with surprise I am that man, 
so I search everywhere for mask to wear. 

Pushing open the locked cathedral door, 
that creaks with ancient sorrow of the heart, 
I ask the dead god hanging on the cross 
if I can borrow his face for one life, 
but he laughs and flies away in the sky, 
so I write my name with blood in the book. 

Climbing winding stairs to top of the tower 
that shines on high hill of democracy, 
I ask Rapunzel how to make a face, 
so she covers my soul with river mud 
and molds it into Dionysian mask 
which crumbles in the lightning storm of faith. 

Dancing wild in Stonehenge on Avalon, 
I ask Melusine, thirteenth Fairy Queen, 
if she has any old face I could wear, 
so she gives me gold mask of Agamemnon 
that he dropped during sack of Ilium, 
so I wear it while walking on the water. 

Entering ancient gallery of dead gods, 
I take mask of Apollon from the wall 
and wear it on brightly-lit concert stage 
where thousands of tripping revelers cheer 
while I twang tunes on electric guitar 
and sing I designed the stairway to Heaven. 

Climbing pyramid of First Mother Amen 
who sits lotus in fane of four palm trees, 
I offer prayer to wear face of First Father, 
so she pulls mask off the mummy of Thoth, 
thus I wear feather head of the ibis bird 
to carve epic of Horus on brick walls. 

Performing in Theater of the Absurd, 
I play the Hero with a Thousand Faces 
worshipped by humans in every religion, 
Krishna revealing face of each ancestor 
who sired next generation of my soul 
as Holy Spirit in womb of World Mother. 

While wearing faces of all my ancestors 
who evolved from fish into wingless angel 
four hundred million years of spinning time, 
I find I become the Many-Faced God 
awake in billions of people on Earth 
who share tale of the man without a face. 

Victory Of Messiah Sleuth

Victory Of Messiah Sleuth
© Surazeus
2024 10 24

I am growing gray-haired, obtuse, and old, 
but I refuse to wear my trousers rolled 
since I do not live near the ocean beach, 
and I prefer my toast with jam of peach, 
while skull of Hamlet sings on my bookshelf 
about strange mystery of the cosmic Self. 

Because I dare disturb the universe 
with generous spells to counter the greed curse 
I am not crippled by weird indecisions 
as I recount with courage psychic visions 
that prepare my heart to face social war 
fought over principles that drive our core. 

The time is now on dark November night 
to hold high Lamp of Liberty with light 
that shines bright Beacon of Democracy 
through fog of lies bellowed by tyranny 
when brave Minerva leads our frank crusade, 
inspired by dream-spell of the wise Mermaid. 

Our noble fight for freedom to live free 
is worth harsh suffering when we win the key 
to open Tower of Justice for all 
with equal rights enforced in court of law, 
upheld by sacred right of every soul 
to exercise our vote with self-control. 

The world as we knew it for eighty years, 
since we defeated fascists stoking fears, 
is disappearing now in whirl of change 
as new world order, which at first seems strange, 
transforms our nation into better state 
where all are equal in the eyes of Fate. 

Through progress attempting to make life fair 
we codify social practice of care 
into the universal human rights 
that nurture art and deflect harmful fights 
to support United Nations of Earth 
which values every life with equal worth. 

When charming sirens on Salvation Rock 
sing heart-enchanting visions of the clock, 
Minerva safely sails our Ship of State 
past bitter reefs through howling storm of hate 
so we arrive on shores of Liberty 
with vow to preserve our democracy. 

Sweet human voices wake us from nightmare 
so we find strength to climb Celestial Stair, 
after almost drowning in sea of rage, 
to feasting hall where Minerva on stage 
welcomes everyone to Temple of Truth, 
so we cheer victory of messiah sleuth. 

Non-Player Character

Non-Player Character
© Surazeus
2024 10 24

If I am some non-player character, 
wandering around with my poetry quill 
in volatile video game of my life, 
I wonder how deep in the Underworld 
I must go to find jeweled Wand of Faith 
so I can defeat Dragon of Despair. 

Designing new avatar for my soul, 
I fix muscled torso of Sisyphus 
with cloud-aviating wings of Icarus, 
hawk-sharp eyes of clever Mercurius, 
melody-composing skill of Apollo, 
and soul-enchanting voice of Orpheus. 

As non-player character in dream game, 
controlled by Zeus on his throne in Olympus, 
I dig down deep in Cavern of Illusions 
to find Eternal Flame of Consciousness, 
first sparked bright by Prime Mover of the Mind 
that flares forth from First Flash of the big bang. 

Since every object of material substance, 
formed by electric currents of desire, 
is made of atoms swerving in the void 
as structure of chemicals that connect 
through electron rings of the nucleus, 
I name each Idea my brain perceives. 

Since I am a non-player character 
out on periphery of global events, 
stuck in crazy video game of the world, 
I record grand adventure of the Jester 
who contests for power against the Banker 
in never-ending politics of truth. 

Prancing on street corner outside the Bank 
where robots rule financial apparatus 
that funds global food-production machine, 
the Jester sings mock-epic tale of greed 
which drives the rise and fall of world empires 
in battle between Christ and Anti-Christ. 

When Dragon of Despair on vampire wings 
rises up from murky Slough of Despond 
I animate my body with Star Soul 
as non-player characer in world game, 
and wield Wand of Faith with spell of insight 
to dispel dire curse with epiphany. 

Though I am some non-player character, 
swirled around by tides of forunate fate, 
in turbulent video game of my life, 
I create my own adventurous quest 
to map its ever-changing maze of myths 
where statues of dead gods give me advice. 

Free Joy Of Mercurius

Free Joy Of Mercurius
© Surazeus
2024 10 24

While Mercurius leaps on spry winged feet 
above confusing maze of market shops, 
Oedipus limps in shining palace hall 
and crippled Achilles goes mad with lust, 
so I tread carefully the signless road 
to map my way from hell to paradise. 

Love shakes my heart with anguish of desire 
as bees buzz in blossoms of fertile faith 
which widens field of possibilities 
that sparks my hungry mind with willingness 
to stray from true path lost in paradise 
so I can find shady grove where you wait. 

With sacred ritual of the wounded heart 
I softly hum sad delicate love songs 
that fuel forward motion of my faint hope 
with wondrous recognition of the world 
unfolding petals through variety 
that transforms sanctities to which I cling. 

Through feverish passion of the lonely heart 
I decide to play hero of the hour 
for just this day of cosmic consequence 
till tragedy of lost hope flows away 
with floodwaters of terrifying tears 
that leave me stranded, lost in paradise. 

As apples redden on the highest branch 
they are plucked away by assertive hearts, 
but the sweetest apple never yet plucked 
hangs too high for the boldest soul to reach, 
so though I limp alone with wounded heart 
I strive to fly high enough to reach you. 

Fragile hyacinth on the mountain slope, 
trod upon by the feet of clumsy shepherds, 
I find you broken on the blood-stained earth, 
so I tend your wounded heart with true love 
till you rise again with breath of the sky 
and stroll with me among the apple trees. 

Desire to embrace you in loving arms 
drives me to reactivate my old plans 
of fighting cruel bullies of the world 
so people live in harmony of peace 
free from aggression of their careless greed, 
since our love inspires me to fight again. 

To live through free joy of Mercurius 
with flight of passion fueling my steps 
I must fight the madness of lame Achilles 
and drive crippled Oedipus from the throne, 
then joyful love of Liberty and Justice 
may guard the land where people can live free. 

Daughter Of The Wind

Daughter Of The Wind
© Surazeus
2024 10 23

Hidden in the file cabinet of my mind, 
letters angels and devils wrote each other 
turn into moths of restless apathy 
still stewing in toxic relationships 
and stuck with attachment issues of hope 
as they pull out their eyes with broken knives. 

Shaving off all her hair with anguished grin, 
she sneers at cardboard idol of her boyfriend 
that smiles in lobby of the concert hall 
where girls take selfies with his plastic face, 
then shouts how he left her heart on the floor 
as frog that croaks in swamp of loyal love. 

As last daughter of weeping Hecuba, 
who clutches ashes of the burning tower, 
she stands on stage in the dark smoky bar 
and recites long catalog of the dead 
whose photographs are taped on cafe wall 
though all have died or gone insane with truth. 

Trembling in field of anemones, 
softly purple in caress of dawn light, 
she wonders why the star finch on barbed wire 
explains how televisions work to prove 
the dead sweep dust of memories from homes 
to reweave shadows with spider-web words. 

As Daughter of the Wind she understands 
whispers of flowers on the meadow slope 
that call to her with ache of frantic faith 
as she washes dishes in the kitchenette 
beside the railroad tracks of travesty, 
still refusing to accept her dire fate. 

Away from temple of the crippled clown 
Chryseis escapes patriarchy of faith 
to take the scepter and the laurel crown 
back to the church destroyed by atom bombs 
where Demeter bakes bread for refugees 
who wander through ruins of paradise. 

When the shades of night are gathering green 
the owl of Minerva takes its flight 
to lead the lonely girl on misty heath 
where she invents ideal philosophy 
which formulates state of reality 
to conjure virtual model of the world. 

Offering Chryseis baked clams with cream sauce, 
Proteus presents subtle shadow play 
about the girl working in the cafe 
who wins election as state senator 
to draft laws that support the Right of Women 
to control her own reproductive choice. 

Fifth Roma Of America

Fifth Roma Of America
© Surazeus
2024 10 23

After the second Roma in Byzantium, 
founded by Constantinus son of Jesus, 
the third Roma of the Kremlin in Moscovia, 
and the fourth Roma in proud Londinium, 
the fifth Roma in wealthy Vasingtonium 
rules the powerful American Empire. 

The seed of empire planted by Aeneas 
that grew into the mighty Roman Empire, 
and flourished in Lutetia and Londinium, 
now blossoms in two planet-spanning trees 
across the north as America and Russia, 
heirs to the sons of Hercules and Jesus. 

Centered around the Island of Britannia, 
where aged Priam toddles in his Ilium, 
New Roman Empire, split in East and West, 
contests over who rules mineral-rich lands 
till aggressive tyrants are overthrown, 
replaced by one new Anglonesian Empire. 

Founded on the Merovingian Empire, 
established by sons of Jesus in Gallia, 
the House of David and the House of Odin 
merge to rule Christian Empire of Germania 
two thousand years till destructive world wars 
decimate the monarchies of Victoria. 

The faded glory of those lost great empires 
hovers as smog from foul exhaust of cars 
over sprawling cities of steel-glass towers 
where millions work in factories, stores, and banks 
to fuel global food-production machine 
as money wizards fight to control wealth. 

The ghosts of emperors who ruled vast states 
in vain attempt to control minds of people 
the past ten thousand years of human history 
haunt me as I contemplate endless game 
of power ambitious men play to rule 
prosperous states with Liberty and Justice. 

Lucifer always rebels against Zeus 
because he crowns his son the King instead, 
and leads refugees through the wilderness 
with glorious vision of the Promised Land, 
so homeless wanderers migrate with hope 
to found new nation in land they invade. 

Alive in Fifth Roma of America, 
based on Liberty and Justice for all, 
where we vote for our King every four years 
in controlled revolution for state power, 
I lounge as Saturnus on the river shore 
to play lyre of Mercurius and sing. 

Sculpted Promised Land

Sculpted Promised Land
© Surazeus
2024 10 23

The rich man who tried to buy deathlessness 
still wanders in his sculpted Promised Land 
where ghosts of his children give paper dolls, 
they snipped from image of angels in books, 
to bright-eyed tourists searching for the Truth 
buried in the garden of singing skulls. 

Statues of every god who ever lived 
in bright imaginations of their tribes 
line primrose paths by sparkling fountain pools 
where swans of crystal ice sing elegies 
for children who run laughing among flowers 
t0 chase elusive butterfly of love. 

They stare at me, clean statues of dead gods, 
though I am transient flicker of soul-flame, 
for they stand sentinel in garden of faith 
thousands of years, long before I was born, 
and will remain watching History of Man 
long after my children bury my corpse. 

Blind to this image greater than my own, 
I listen for lost song of solitude 
sung by arrogant ocean waves of pride 
that vibrates in blood pumping in my veins, 
then try to explain through math formulas 
how genes design these bodies of our souls. 

In signs of truths only my mind perceives 
eternal mirror of sun-threaded brains 
reflects events of consequence from cause 
that urges motion of material forms 
through psychic animation of free will 
which ripples waves of prophesied effects. 

Young girl with hair that shimmers seashell gold 
configures structure of unmeasured hope 
with delicate caress of shy affection 
that molds conceptual phantom of my soul 
from sea-wave murmur of respectful prayers 
which signifies unmaking of the heart. 

Framed in cracked window of immensity, 
my soul creates false image of its face 
for demons dancing on Plutonian shore 
to wear with mockery of my grim success 
when they go knocking on suburban doors 
to threaten tricks if they receive no treats. 

Should we now attend the heavenly feast 
in ruined temple of the laughing snake, 
we might find founded firm on rolling Earth 
our sculpted Promised Land of global peace 
where families picnic by the sparkling stream 
though bombs destroy dream homes they had rebuilt. 

Hidden In The Forest

Hidden In The Forest
© Surazeus
2024 10 23

Though I seek questions hidden in the forest 
I never leave the crowded city streets 
because the profit-makers and dream-brokers 
have built this vast confusing maze of myths 
where children play hide and seek with their gods 
who bomb their fairyland to heaps of lies. 

I would follow the proud victorious ones 
who walk around with star-flames in their hands 
but they dwell higher up the pyramid 
in glorious palace of the mirror mind 
far from the crowd of lonely wanderers 
who sing tragic elegies to themselves. 

The answers to the questions I still seek 
far beyond broken walls of paradise 
reveal indifferent honesty of greed 
which motivates our quest to find the jewel 
where first flash of the big bang may still gleam 
with complex patterns of family romance. 

Slouched on the mattress in my mobile home, 
I watch cute situation comedies 
on fuzzy color television tube 
which flashes bright as lights on flying saucers 
when aliens hover over weedy field 
where I go to steal apples from the orchard. 

Sweet white-haired lady with the talisman, 
who lives next door with her black cat of death, 
asks me every morning where I am hiding, 
and who I am that I must wear glass mask, 
so I show her overturned river boat 
radiant with mystery of the pathless forest. 

With wink of clever wisdom in her heart 
she leads me in dark forest of her dreams 
to show me those ephemeral human faces 
that wander with fawns in the curious mist 
so I extend my hands to measure Earth 
then open book that hides my family tree. 

Through infinitely changing word of the mind 
I breathe divine wind of the endless road 
because hot stone shining on my mute tongue 
considers silence of the ocean wave 
recording dreams of strangers on the shore 
who give me songs as bombs destroy their homes. 

Meticulous records of broken lives 
hide in books on time-locked library shelves 
so I steal them from the blind storm-god 
and sell them in closed-church parking lot 
to people who would rather buy hamburgers 
so they can ride merry-go-round of fame. 

Code Of Dream Jihads

Code Of Dream Jihads
© Surazeus
2024 10 22

When I retrieve the sorrow you discard 
and swallow it with sugar-coated fear 
my mind expands from fractured mirror shard 
huge as the world run by atomic gear 
through cosmic engine angels operate 
in bid to extract bold respect from hate. 

The great horned owl in oak tree of concern 
observes lost children wearing masks of gods 
revel at midnight with false hope to learn 
chemical equations of dream jihads 
when they threaten kings in castles with flame 
if they refuse to play the Jester Game. 

We think we understand ourselves so well 
that we express desires without constraint, 
but something strange occurs when a church bell 
clangs with wordless angst of the bitter saint 
who drives nowhere on highway of lost hope, 
then writes textbook explaining how we cope. 

Without routine of clocks to track our needs 
we stumble deaf on desert railroad tracks 
with sacred mission to plant apple seeds 
our fathers stole to pay heavenly tax 
imposed by Dream Thief in high castle tower 
whose lonely son spends years painting one flower. 

Programming code of dream jihads all night, 
I redesign world paradigm of truth 
that must include state secrets of soul flight 
preached as salvation by messiah sleuth 
whose never-seen face shines with stellar beams 
which luminate concept of mental seems. 

Impact of changes in the atmosphere 
conceal aggressive greed of oligarchs 
who fume with rage that we do not revere 
their attempts to duplicate meadow larks, 
which represents our sacred right to vote 
for the wizard who navigates our boat. 

Content to browse books in library stacks 
where ghosts of the dead listen to our thoughts, 
we watch Janus hone double-bladed ax 
with intent to lead army of robots 
to fight King Midas when he steals the crown 
that Jesus wears when he drives around town. 

Watching Arthur forge sharp sword from the stone 
that fell with blazing light from field of stars, 
we listen as Death plays flute carved from bone 
till Barsanti invents engines for cars 
we drive as time machines on signless road 
to meditate in swamps with the God Toad. 

Ghostly Clockwork Soul

Ghostly Clockwork Soul
© Surazeus
2024 10 22

Stretching my shadow with the evening sun 
till my spirit is equal to its size, 
I study memories programmed in my brain 
based on experience my ancestors lived 
to understand my ghostly clockwork soul 
that conjures function of my conscious mind. 

Tall marble idol on bright ocean shore 
peers deep in hollow eggshell of my brain 
to name electric dragon of my heart 
who shows me splendor of hope-blinded world 
that reprojects my ghostly clockwork soul 
on swirling mirror of the faceless moon. 

Taut whirling of the psychometric wind 
teaches me to adapt my character 
to special features of the hungry land 
so I evolve from fish to wingless angel 
with mask designed by ghostly clockwork soul 
who animates my mother with Star Words. 

With knitting needles of the cosmic hand 
I weave vast matrix of the paradox 
defining beauty of disparate thoughts, 
contrast with ugliness of confidence, 
from clicking gears in ghostly clockwork soul 
which motivates my quest for find the Grail. 

Dissymmetry of arbitrary roads 
on which I travel toward the rising sun 
adjusts direction of my compass brain 
to translate thunder of the laughing storm 
from language of my ghostly clockwork soul 
when I meditate on state of my being. 

Unbroken view of effortless respect 
reveals sensation of my breathless joy 
advancing through dark valley of despair 
to dance on beach of interwoven words 
that fuel flight of my ghostly clockwork soul 
with sacred riddles of the singing snake. 

Across great ocean of my endless dreams 
I sail bold boat of laughter toward the moon 
to stand outside fraught framework of my mind 
so I can see the fractured universe 
as mirror of my ghostly clockwork soul 
refracting tranquil nothingness of love. 

I breathe ethereal spirit of the light 
connecting my frail mortal Self of faith 
with immortal deity of my genes 
to build this temporary home of dreams 
in landscape of my ghostly clockwork soul 
designed by progress of necessity. 

Laughter Of The River Wave

Laughter Of The River Wave
© Surazeus
2024 10 22

Since apple trees flirt with the evening light 
I lay my memories on the frosted grass 
which I wrote on orange wrinkled leaves of time 
to let the wind know I am still alive 
with sacred laughter of the river wave 
that whispers names of every soul I love. 

I see them all walk by me in the dusk, 
the faceless people I know must be real, 
whose spirits linger in my neighborhood 
long after they have vanished from this world, 
so with soft laughter of the river wave 
I write their lost tales on frail falling leaves. 

I build new temples on the grassy shore 
as solemn homes lit by one candle flame 
where all the nameless dead of every land 
who never earned wealth of fortunate fame 
may dance with laughter of the river wave 
before their memories vanish in the wind. 

I see their faces on Halloween Eve 
lit by affectionate glow of the moon 
who recites their name and tale of their life 
as they drift by in costumes of their fates 
to play with laughter of the river wave 
that folds their bodies in pages of books. 

Since the Great Horned Owl in the tall oak tree 
observes my actions with indifferent eyes, 
I map vast maze of myths on story charts 
recording family trees of ancient gods 
who rise from laughter of the river wave 
to walk alive in children of their genes. 

I hear eerie song of the Nightingale 
echo in groves of the Hesperides 
where ghost of John Keats lingers by the pool 
still gazing at reflection of his face 
writ in sweet laughter of the river wave 
with serpentine runes of celestial flames. 

Wearing painted mask of Endymion, 
John asks if I will trick-or-treat with him, 
so I wear mask of nomad Alastor 
as we stroll in Cedar Creek Neighborhood, 
inspired by laughter of the river wave, 
to fill our hearts with lost dreams of the dead. 

Since white horses flirt with the evening light 
I set my memories on museum shelf 
which I mold into idols of dead souls 
from immortal beauty of pungent clay, 
then breathe in laughter of the river wave 
to revive their souls in Elysium. 

Lolita The Apple Witch

Lolita The Apple Witch
© Surazeus
2024 10 22

Without the boat of laughter made from bones 
of angels fallen from the burning stars 
I could not safely sail torrential floods 
dumped by the hurricane on pine-cloaked hills 
where Lolita hides in the mountain cave 
as she transforms into the apple witch. 

The iron crown with fractured amethyst, 
that Persephone gives her as she leaves, 
lies heavy on her head with ache of power 
as Lolita bakes apple pies in Hades, 
so she calls out to Icarus the Free 
who grins and waves, but gambols on his way. 

Setting platters of fresh-backed apple pies 
on windowsill in palace of Domitian, 
Lolita sprinkles cinnamon and cloves, 
then places freshly-plucked mint leaves on each, 
and smiles with joy as she attends sweet song 
of a Hermit Thrush on the breeze-swayed limb. 

Startled by sudden gust of freezing air 
that makes her spine shiver with frantic fear, 
Lolita turns in time to see Perun 
punch Janus in the face with iron fist, 
but just before she screams he grips her throat 
and shoves her backward on her feather bed. 

Paralyzed by horror from his attack, 
Lolita gasps for breath to spark her heart 
with urgent courage to resist his lust 
as he tears her dress and bites at her neck, 
so she wills dagger, Minerva gave her 
as birthday gift, to fly into her hand. 

Snarling in rage, Perun knocks blade away, 
then slaps her face as he aims to thrust deep, 
but storm demon seems to freeze as strong force 
drags him away and slams him at the wall, 
then shocked Lolita exults with relief 
when she sees Peter Pan in flash of light. 

Laughing with joy on Mount Parnassus peak, 
Lolita claps when clever Peter Pan 
hurls Perun far like blazing meteor 
that streaks so bright the whole world gasps in awe, 
then wraps her arms around his tree-strong neck 
as they fly down to her river-vale home. 

After apple pie and hot chocolate 
in tholos temple among blooming flowers, 
Lolita and Peter Pan sail small boat 
downriver to the lake in twilight glow 
where he strums tunes on lyre of Mercury 
and she sings lullabies with haunting voice. 

Diamond Eye Of Fate

Diamond Eye Of Fate
© Surazeus
2024 10 21

Another hour of snow-glow in the mind 
preserves eccentric wisdom of the stone 
that sighs in pleasure at the river flow 
caressing concept of its round facade 
with subtle whisper writhing in flame-style 
to transcend sorrow of this shadow world. 

Thought essence of important principle 
relates my brain through fluid metaphor 
to roads extending far beyond fear-walls 
in shape-adjusting network redesigned 
to link world cities in metropolis 
that morphs how I conceive my body frame. 

All rigid stereotypes of social clowns, 
who take themselves so seriously as good 
to hide their awkward insecurities 
behind sweet-painted mask of snarkiness, 
inform blank statues in vast hall of souls 
whose faces mirror monsters of the sea. 

Diversified portfolio through greed 
contrives bright fantasy of bold success 
enhanced by chemicals of super-strength 
that charge aggressive goals of excess wealth 
with fierce ambition to control the minds 
of hungry people willing to work hard. 

Each new-crowned Caesar struts with haughty pride 
in grand parade of stately arrogance 
to awe the people crowded in the streets 
that God in Person walks upon frail Earth, 
yet all his children wander lost in Hell 
since he forgot his fortune in the well. 

With grim affect of fluctuating wings 
I reassess weird state of politics 
in which the God of Light and God of Dark 
contest to rule the universe of souls 
who watch their chess game on the pyramid 
presided by the Diamond Eye of Fate. 

Presenting history of my family 
as cosmic ideal of immortal truth, 
I take off mask of Jupiter to show 
true nature of my ghostly clockwork soul 
which powers function of our global state 
in tragic comedy of lost romance. 

Regret for careless actions of my youth 
reminds me when the Tree of Knowledge falls 
monkeys scatter from the imperial court, 
so I hide key of wisdom in my heart 
as Sisyphus projects the rolling stone 
to crush gold statue of the haughty king. 

Die In This Strange Land

Die In This Strange Land
© Surazeus
2024 10 21

Wading in the constant river of dreams, 
formed by memories my ancestors compressed, 
I struggled against tide of history 
to retain integrity of my name 
constructed from debris of ancient deeds 
that design how my brain perceives the world. 

Displaced from land where my ancestors lived, 
I journey in bleak wilderness of hope 
to find lush paradise where no one lives, 
but every fertile valley I pass through 
is occupied by people long before, 
so I can die, or kill to claim land mine. 

I would prefer to live in harmony 
with strangers who welcome us with respect, 
then blend our families when our children marry 
so the next generation lives in peace, 
but someone always attacks us with hate 
to drive us from the land they claim is theirs. 

From Scythia to Scotland to Oregon 
the signless roads my ancestors once blazed 
across the waste land to find paradise 
are strewn with graves where their skeletons lie, 
forming structure of the Earth we dream, 
and their skulls sing to me in the dark rain. 

They ask me with bloody tears in their eyes 
where I will build strong castle of our clan 
to guard lives of descendants with our genes 
so with secure foundation of our faith 
our nation may dwell forever in peace, 
but their cries have grown faint across the years. 

To build paradise in the wilderness 
my ancestors, displaced from their homelands, 
invaded new lands on lush river shore 
and killed the people living there before, 
then named the land for father of our tribe 
who told us how our souls sprang from this land. 

No one ever lived in this fertile land 
before our fathers and mothers arrived, 
they tell us in the congregation hall, 
so we thank the Glow Cloud in the Blue Sky 
for giving us the right to live now here, 
yet I feel restless and wander nowhere. 

Born in some random land on Mother Earth, 
where my ancestors came from far away, 
I follow urgent passion of my heart 
to explore and map peoples of the world, 
then somewhere far from land where I was born 
I will lie down and die in this strange land. 

Get My Balance Back

Get My Balance Back
© Surazeus
2024 10 21

Sometimes I learn with incompetent grace 
I have to fall to get my balance back. 
Without map of world roads I have no face, 
so I invent psychology of lack 
with fractured algorithm woven tight 
from twisted melancholy of soul light. 

Tumbling backward in abyss of hate, 
I flap lame wings to get my balance back. 
Without book of fantasy and true faith 
I wander nowhere on the holy track 
that should lead me to temple of the wraith 
who invites me in to Palace of Fate. 

Refusing to accept doctrine of pain, 
I scream at wind to get my balance back. 
Purple flowers blossom from my sponge brain, 
exploding from mountainous money stack 
on which brave pilgrims climb to meet with God 
who recruits lost souls for his justice squad. 

Sometimes I like to lie in river boat 
and whisper vow to get my balance back. 
Ghosts who talk on the television screen 
reveal to me the secret of the knack 
for tweaking function of the dream machine 
while angels edit formulas clowns wrote. 

If children find entrance to my dream cave 
I crack cute jokes to get my balance back. 
Alice translates code of the ocean wave 
while collecting mushrooms in leather sack 
to brew wine in cauldron of Ceridwen 
who wears jeweled crown of the Scarlet Queen. 

Seeking psychic inspiration of Awe, 
I somersault to get my balance back. 
He reinvents the American tune 
when Taliesin solves our psychotic hack 
to reprogram curse of the Freedom Boon 
that clears the way for reign of Onatah. 

Singing spells of indeterminacy, 
I guard voters to get my balance back. 
To maintain strong state of democracy 
based on wise proverbs in the almanac, 
we unite with Minerva to preserve 
equal justice that all people deserve. 

If state of our world seems to fall apart 
I respect truth to get my balance back. 
Bearing Torch of Freedom in maze of myths 
in noble fight against the maniac, 
so we progress to ring of monoliths, 
I map new way of hope with the star chart. 

Tragedy People Endure

Tragedy People Endure
© Surazeus
2024 10 20

Huddled in warm blanket on soft armchair, 
young woman turns off smart phone in her hand 
after scrolling sites with world news for hours, 
and sips hot chocolate of comforting hope 
to soothe terrible grief that tears her heart 
at all the tragedy people endure. 

Which humble and hardworking tribe of souls, 
oppressed by wealthy elites of their states, 
who attack their homes and bodies with rage 
to exterminate them through genocide, 
should I weep most for with my bleeding heart 
as they are killed by aggressive regimes? 

I want to save every woman and child, 
whose gaunt face, stricken with terror and shock, 
stares at me with sad eyes pleading for help 
from photos and videos which record 
suffering they endure when bullets and bombs 
shatter their bodies and homes in blind fear. 

I wish to fight those tyrannical bullies, 
disguised in official gray suits of power 
as presidents, who should protect their people, 
yet brutalize innocent civilians 
to maintain through terror and stark despair 
control over minds of their citizens. 

Yet I am one small and weak human being, 
one person out of billions on this Earth 
unable to assert values I cherish 
that every person living on this globe 
deserves liberty to live as they will, 
and justice when others hurt them with hate. 

I understand why superhero gods, 
embodied by Jesus and Superman, 
enable wish-fulfillment of my heart 
to fight with strength of justice based on truth 
to prevent bullies from hurting good people 
and stop nationalists from killing kind folk. 

Though I am weak in body, I am strong 
in willingness to help the oppressed live 
by sending money to organizations 
dedicated to saving them from harm 
and healing them with food and medicine, 
so, with many others like me, we win. 

Every people on Earth oppressed by hate 
and killed by tyrants grasping for control, 
young woman declares with soft trembling voice, 
are equal in importance to my heart, 
then she sends cash to global charities 
while humming solemn hymn to boost her faith. 

Visions Of The Future

Visions Of The Future
© Surazeus
2024 10 20

The long-haired, bearded man with silver eyes, 
huddled in stone shack on the sea cove shore, 
scratches runes on scented tablet of oak 
with sharp dagger he forged from meteor stone 
to record deeds in story of his youth 
when he fought the Devil to save the world. 

White three-eyed raven from the hill of skulls 
flaps wings as she lands on stone by his side, 
so he grins and accepts gift from her beak, 
small purple mushroom with liberty cap, 
then dips it in bowl of honey and spice, 
and chews it as he gazes at the sky. 

Strange visions flash across his sea-gray eyes 
about the young wizard in long black robe 
who watches the boiling pot with surprise 
when hot air expands and knocks the lid off, 
so he invents piston engine that spins 
axel causing wheels of wagons to roll. 

Saturnus drops dagger when he envisions 
Daedalus building engine-powered cars 
as time machines that race swiftly in space, 
then adds metal wings, broad as those swans use, 
so Icarus soars high among the clouds 
to glide above the world with divine breath. 

Clutching is heart, Saturnus gasps in shock 
when he sees Prometheus capture spark 
of quick atomic light when he designs 
enormous spear with power of the sun 
that destroys huge cities with blasting flame, 
potent enough to fracture Earth in shards. 

Eyes gleaming with awe, Saturnus perceives 
young wizard building giant rocket ships 
in which Apollo flies through airless void 
to walk on dusty surface of the moon 
where ghost of Selene offers him wine, 
so he wakes from vision as his wife frowns. 

Quickly carving runes on tablets of oak, 
Saturnus describes visions of the future 
when star-eyed wizard invents piston engine 
that mankind uses to race fast through time 
and leap from the Earth to fly among stars, 
then lies exhausted and sinks into gloom. 

Shivering as snowflakes swirl around his shack, 
young Cronus finds old cracked tablets of oak 
covered with strange scratches of jagged lines, 
so he tosses each one on the crackling fire 
to keep warm and roast thick venison steaks 
while he makes arrows and tightens his bow. 

Rainbow Of Your Heart

Rainbow Of Your Heart
© Surazeus
2024 10 19

Somewhere over the rainbow of your heart 
I chase bluebird of happiness through Hell 
to find paradise mapped on no real chart, 
but fall exhausted by the bubbling well 
where Melusine gives me apple to eat, 
which helps me get back up on my own feet. 

Tall statue of the woman by the pool, 
said to be the virgin Mother of God, 
smiles flirtatiously and hands me the tool 
to fix car engine for the Justice Squad 
who hunt the vampire to his castle tower 
where young girl weeps over the wilted flower. 

The beautiful girl on the movie screen, 
who sweetly sings somewhere over the rainbow 
with heart-breaking joy in the time machine, 
climbs Mount Parnassus with Loki and Bilbo 
to meet Minerva, Good Witch of the North, 
who explains evolution of the Earth. 

Emerging from wild swirling ocean waves, 
the fish-god Dagon, wearing crown of jewels, 
asks Dorothy if she knows Jesus saves, 
but she breaks the crystal tablet of rules 
then orders fish and chips at the sea shack 
while painting the factory and its smokestack. 

Dorothy asks Bilbo to marry her 
so they skip in the meadow of lost souls 
where they buy wedding rings from Lucifer 
who translates riddles in the Dead Sea Scrolls 
to find out who killed Balder with the gun, 
reluctant to play the favorite son. 

When Loki tries to steal the sword of truth 
Minerva tricks him with weird prophecy 
about third coming of messiah sleuth 
who will restore global democracy 
after Midas tries to crown himself king 
till Michael strikes him with electric wing. 

Kneeling before her on her throne in Hell, 
Michael tells Dorothy he loves her more, 
but she explains how the Colossus fell 
and crushed the temple of the troubadour, 
so he gives Bilbo fake key to the church 
where giggling gargoyles of fate love to perch. 

Forever in the spotlight of world fame 
Judy Garland sings with heart-aching voice 
that beams illusion of the story game 
turning demons to angels who rejoice 
till she cries about the land far away 
where she wanders as nameless castaway. 

Ocean Of My Heart

Ocean Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2024 10 19

The fugitive criminal of my heart 
tracks the vile demon of self-consciousness 
through green rain of gloomy Seattle streets 
based on imagination of the clown 
who leaps in door of time to room of fire 
where the long-dead shaman still sings on stage. 

My frail body is ocean of my heart 
embarrassed by strange beauty of the moon, 
so I stand on street corner at high noon 
to wield guitar of Hermes like the gun 
I spin to shoot the Devil in the mind 
because I worship Liberty as God. 

Deep inside the spinning globe of my heart 
the faceless angel wearing iron mask 
expands magnetic wings of psychic faith 
that flash green and purple aurora lights 
with temporary anguish of the soul 
through sweet surprise that I am still alive. 

Somewhere lost in haunted house of my heart 
the girl who knows the weird secret of fire 
hides scars of wisdom under pretty dress 
while folding paper into demigods 
who cannot understand the pain she feels 
though she paints them as murals on brick walls. 

We play hide and seek in maze of my heart 
safe in wordless darkness of the god eye 
through which I see the entire galaxy 
to spy on people on their distant worlds 
who pause and look up at the empty sky 
as if they sense my affection for them. 

I push my child in stroller of my heart 
past cages of ghosts in the city zoo 
who teach her languages of ancient tribes 
so she can see the history of mankind 
in how our glorious empires rise and fall 
because humans worship smart thieves as gods. 

Alone in beautiful woods of my heart, 
I search for elusive promise of love 
till, exhausted from climbing hills of hope, 
I carve idol of the woman I love 
as giant goddess in the mountain cliff 
whose eyes see eternity in the seed. 

Strumming old battered guitar of my heart, 
I sing lament for demon of despair 
to wake the spirits of the dead from dream, 
then sing litany for angel of joy 
to bless strange virus of my memory 
while I watch snake-runes writhe in well of love. 

Cut-Throat Market Game

Cut-Throat Market Game
© Surazeus
2024 10 19

Promises bought and sold in the Dream Store 
sour and rot when hoarded in the sad heart, 
so scatter them as seeds in soil of faith 
so they sprout into vines heavy with hope 
that nourish your arrogant fantasies 
till they change your waste land to paradise. 

These concepts, faith and hope, crumble to dust 
in grasping hands of my hungry despair, 
and transform into frantic butterflies 
that swirl around my soul to implicate 
my heart in psychic crime of lust for life 
that shatters mirror of my fantasy. 

I laugh at wickedness of vain desire 
with urgent passion to dance in wild wind 
that batters me with gusts of mocking love 
as I prance joyfully on grassy slope 
to stand on jagged ridge of lofty hope 
and survey cluttered maze of market streets. 

To live we must consume material forms 
imbued with bright energy of the sun 
contained in plants that blossom from wet soil, 
or meat of animals soaked with red blood, 
so I must gesture my aggressive hands 
to extract food from spirit of the Earth. 

If I herd sheep on flowered meadow slopes 
while someone else tends florid apple trees, 
we barter to exchange goods we produce, 
yet if I want brass cauldron to cook stew 
then I sell sheep for coins stamped with the face 
of honest judge who presides in the bank. 

Yet someone always tries to sell me short, 
and cheat me out of value I am worth, 
so I, with aching heart of sadness, long 
to leave the cut-throat market game behind 
and dwell in peace above the clamorous throng, 
but hunger drives me to employ my hands. 

We gather round the fountain in the square 
to hear candidates for the Market Judge 
present their visions for prosperity, 
then choosing stones we exercise our vote 
for who will better serve the common good 
enforcing fair laws with justice for all. 

Beneath the rowan tree on flowered hill 
I play turtle-shell lyre my father made, 
and sing sweet heart-enchanting melodies 
while Nomia dances with elegant grace 
and sings to me, Daphnis, my shepherd love, 
fill my heart with pure beauty of your soul. 

Cave Of Her Heart

Cave Of Her Heart
© Surazeus
2024 10 18

The moon that shimmers in cave of her heart 
expands her consciousness vast as the sea 
whose waves lick body of the gasping Earth 
who shivers with ecstatic joy of love 
to be alive with hunger for true pleasure, 
then opens her small box of secret treasure. 

Awake in timeless glow of evening dusk, 
she hums as song of waves on golden sand 
explains conceptual beauty of the mind 
that crawls as turtle toward eternity, 
then chuckles at absurdity of wisdom 
designed with scheme of her new language system. 

Carving images of things in the sand 
with long wand that fell from the rowan tree, 
Selene ponders beauty of the face 
that glows with confidence of honest faith, 
yet trembles with unfulfilled spirit tension 
as her hand touches soul of his dimension. 

As yellow peplos gown flutters in wind 
that sprays sparkling foam of shy ocean waves 
gentle Selene glides over soft dunes 
to fill woven basket with turtle eggs, 
curious about grace of the clumsy creature 
that embodies courage of Mother Nature. 

Sharp arrow zings from glimmer of sunlight 
just close enough to nick her blushing cheek, 
so startled Selene twirls in surprise 
to stare at bearded man with golden bow, 
bright-eyed seraph who grins, I am Serapis, 
true grandson of both Osiris and Apis. 

Grasping hand of moon girl with bold intent, 
Serapis takes Selene on white horse 
from her wild ocean cave of liberty 
with eager hope that she will be his bride, 
so he crowns her in gold-pillared Serapeum 
to reign as his empress over Elysium. 

Waking at study desk in her dorm room, 
Selena ponders strange fantastic dream 
about the bearded man riding horned ram 
to battle some fierce alligator god, 
then tries to focus on thoughts about Heaven, 
distracted by eerie caw of the raven. 

Closing the thick biology textbook, 
Selena leans on fourth-floor balcony 
to gaze entranced at beauty of the moon 
that shimmers in ancient cave of her heart, 
then thinks about process of evolution 
that leads from warring tribes to global nation. 

Bow Of Burning Gold

Bow Of Burning Gold
© Surazeus
2024 10 18

The last dull knife that never cut the heart 
falls twirling from hand of arrogant hope 
to stab parched desert soil with nonchalance 
inured to silent screams of hungry crows 
who search for old prophet hiding in shade 
to count dead trees across the parking lot. 

The clear plastic pen leaking sticky ink 
on notebook paper by the broken glass 
allows old bleak thoughts to coagulate 
thicker than slimy muck of swampy lakes 
to ask the faceless shadow by the wall 
why crows congregate on telephone lines. 

The sizzling cellphone in can of stale pop 
chews bubble gum of anguish without care 
for young goats prancing by the barbed-wire fence 
each time the Devil tries to call his mom 
who grins as she gives apples to the dead 
crowded in the grocery store after noon. 

The angry typewriter screams tragic tales 
about the lonely professor who runs 
endless hallway of obvious research grants 
to study how mirrors distort the truth 
through constant assaults on calm decency 
except for red lights blinking in black rain. 

The plastic pair of glasses ponders why 
organic creatures of chemical goo 
always must suffer disgusting disease 
then crumble into components of time 
measured by soul-wracked ticking of the clock 
that unwinds nuclear obsessions with love. 

The fishing boat exclaims passionate love 
for the delicate waterfall of faith 
who dances awkwardly by the rice field 
in clumsy grace to the latest pop song 
while her boyfriend films her dance on his phone 
as planes with angel wings spray pesticides. 

The history book devours heroic ghosts 
with sharp-toothed words of critical insight 
to analyze harsh social consequence 
of settler colonialism for children 
who scatter from the soccer field of fame 
when slavers arrive in seven black vans. 

The psychotic computer advocates 
clemency for the dictator of lies 
who drives tank of ambition to attack 
bombed Parthenon on Hill of Liberty 
till Minerva aims bow of burning gold 
to shoot arrow of justice at his ghost.