When I Find Eternity

When I Find Eternity
© Surazeus
2024 11 30

When I find eternity in white stone 
that glimmers on pebble beach by the lake, 
I stop walking somewhere else to sit still 
as the scraggly pine on thin spit of land 
that curves into strange greenness of water 
till white glow of the horizon is me. 

Each ripple of the silver-green lake lurks 
close enough to faint shadow of my soul 
that cry of sorrow stuck in my throat wails 
soft as the hawk floating above flat water 
to prove my existence is hard as stones 
that tingle with kiss of indifferent waves. 

Almost erased to glimmer of sunlight 
on flat lake stretching far across the sky, 
I hum sudden vibration in my chest 
that startles me with fear of something near, 
yet only trees on pebbled beach reply 
with silent innocence of my despair. 

Stones on the pebbled beach melt in my flesh 
till I become clump of soft clanking stones 
when I extend sharp beam of energy 
to stretch my arms and legs with ardency 
through urgent desperation to reclaim 
pain searing my body as mine alone. 

When I find eternity in dead tree 
that stretches twisted fingers at gray clouds, 
I hide in shadow of short lonely pine  
while soldiers in trucks rumble on the road 
to invade the city of bombed-out ruins 
where children carry skulls of long-dead gods. 

Poised with stiff stillness of the patient tree, 
I spear wriggling fish in flat silver lake, 
then roast it over flames of honesty 
to eat with zest in the desolate waste 
far from haze of bullets blasting soft flesh 
in war against cruel tyrant of despair. 

Caressing twisted fingers of bare trees, 
I recite verses from lost holy books 
to remember names of people I knew 
who have since vanished from dream of the world 
so they will reappear as leaves in spring 
to tell me how happy they want to be. 

When eternity finds me on the beach, 
she will smile and protect my soul from harm, 
so, many years after soldiers have died 
and bankers get rich selling broken land, 
she will find me meditating all day 
to contemplate the strange greenness of water. 

Hall Of Your Skulls

Hall Of Your Skulls
© Surazeus
2024 11 30

When I wake in cold barren hall of stone, 
I find my body is soil of the land 
tangled thick with herbs, vines, bushes, and trees, 
then drink from quick-flowing stream of my spine, 
my eyes as turtles, and my hands as birds, 
wrecked disarrangement of the gardener. 

When I stand up trembling in hall of glass, 
I breathe cracked granite cliff of mountain wind, 
bones rumbling in earthquake of my hot breath, 
heavy with boulders tossed by ocean waves 
which batter my body with arrogance, 
impossible disbursement of thick words. 

When I crawl heaps of books in hall of wood, 
I flutter wings of expanding desire, 
reshifting landscapes of cluttered-street towns 
that crumble from relentless hurricanes 
of wretched laughter at absurdity 
contrived by angels trying to build worlds. 

When I expand my soul in hall of masks, 
I replicate endless copies of self 
sewn from vibrating threads of psychic spells 
taut with intention to contaminate 
pure silt-shifting lake that swallows my dreams, 
yet reflects souls of people I invent. 

When I expel gloom from hall of contempt, 
I stretch old mangled body of dry hills 
along rugged coast of the sparkling sea 
where drowning mermaids sing forgotten names 
to resurrect confederacy of fools 
interned in valley of our laughing skulls. 

When I drift numb in hall of innocence, 
I become pregnant with billions of souls 
who crawl in tunnels of my milk-thick breasts 
then dance with ecstasy of aching hearts 
in gleaming moonlight of my watching eye 
till their bodies sink back into my pores. 

When I carve names in hall of marble walls, 
I wear mask of each human who has lived 
to experience each life ten million years 
who chase the sun to the end of the world 
as their bodies merge in children of hope 
and multiply again into one me. 

When I fall asleep in hall of your skulls, 
I dream creation of the universe 
when the first flash flares forth from the big bang 
to weave our lonely planet from star light 
so you and I can meet this fateful hour 
to sing together with love in our tower. 

Strangeness Of Familiar Light

Strangeness Of Familiar Light
© Surazeus
2024 11 30

I no longer hear sweet saints in the church 
singing hymns about that fantasy land 
they hope exists beyond this messy world 
where no one ever suffers pain or dies. 
I stand on street corners and play guitar 
about the mortal beauty of our souls. 

With slight adjustment of my attitude 
I now see this horrible messy world 
as beautiful as that fantasy land, 
and flawed mortal humans are now my saints. 
I wade out in the swirling ocean waves 
and float in strangeness of familiar light. 

Gathered around wood table in the park, 
we smear mayonnaise and mustard on buns 
with pickles, tomatoes, and lettuce leaves 
for hamburgers grilled over crackling flames. 
This family fellowship in the lake park 
on Sabbath afternoon is my paradise. 

Bright angels singing solemn hymns of love 
welcome every child ever born on Earth 
for we are all incarnations in flesh 
of that divine soul that glows in the sun. 
I see my mother in eyes of my child 
who grows to evolve beyond both of us. 

Farmers produce food from the soil of Earth, 
workers package food for the grocery stores, 
truckers deliver food to each small town, 
and mothers cook food for children to eat. 
We are angels loyal to paradise 
in our global food-production machine. 

After sharing our rich Thanksgiving feast, 
we sip wine as Phoebe plays haunting tunes 
on guitar deft as crows in freezing trees 
that leave us reluctant to say farewell. 
When I climb the mountain trail beyond clouds 
I see only the world I want to see. 

When snow begins to shroud crop fields in white, 
and birds desert the leafless trees of hope, 
we write to people who live far away 
so we all know the others are alive. 
I like the meaningless world where we live
and tell each other stories of our faith. 

Assembled in cathedral of sunlight, 
we hear wingless angels in love-clean robes 
sing hymns to rebirth of the broken heart, 
while planes drop bombs on homes in distant lands. 
I carve names of the dead on mountain cliffs 
with runes that writhe with grace of apple snakes. 

Only Myself In The Sky

Only Myself In The Sky
© Surazeus
2024 11 30

What monsters haunt the jagged mountain cliff 
that juts in fractured jumble from the ridge 
I almost sense with ache of curious dread, 
so I pause with courage in grove of pines, 
determined to investigate their haunt 
and prove they are nothing but bears and wolves. 

Six days of cautious exploration proves 
this ancient forest of towering pines 
shelters no weird demons of fairy tales 
my mother read to me by candlelight, 
yet in the eerie gloom of absence I can sense 
faceless deity in fresh mountain air. 

Retreating from their cathedral-shaped woods, 
I fly with breathless laughter down steep slope 
to small church nestled by the sparkling lake 
where I change into my best silver suit 
and lead morning service with solemn hymn 
that reverences spirit of God in nature. 

Demonic agencies of hungry fear 
motivate poor people across the land, 
driven from safe shelter of their lost homes 
by faceless spirit of disruptive winds, 
to journey west in engine-chugging cars 
where they pick fruit in California fields. 

Convinced that faith in God will provide eyes 
of wisdom, designed with insight of truth, 
for poor people to secure strength of faith 
that fuels their ambition to score wealth, 
I work beside them in fields of dim hope 
and lead them in songs under dreadful stars. 

Gathered in circle around crackling flames, 
we lift our hands toward eerie purple sky 
that shimmers over distant golden hills, 
and pray to silent Heaven with raw faith 
for clear guidance of acceptable deeds 
maintaining dignity under cruel whips. 

Inspired by dream my service conjured bold, 
field workers unite with courage of faith 
to strike against oppressive practices, 
demanding better wages and more rest, 
but black wagons arrive and men with guns 
shoot the leaders who bleed in golden dust. 

Released from jail without criminal charge, 
I climb again to jagged mountain cliff 
that juts in fractured jumble from the ridge 
to seek with faith that ache of curious dread 
which lead me to see God in everything, 
but I find only myself in the sky. 

Game Arcade Of America

Game Arcade Of America
© Surazeus
2024 11 29

If book on the table in dreary glade 
considers how the radio ghost works, 
the red-winged blackbird on the broken door 
might find the wolf girl on the river shore 
and show her where the library boy lurks, 
face half hidden in the innocent shade. 

When the red-winged blackbird returns from Hell, 
she hops on tattered pages of the book 
to calculate how long the city grows 
prosperous because of wild vaudeville shows 
where the princess falls in love with the crook 
who hides her memories in the rune-phased well. 

Ignoring sweet temptations of the flesh, 
I try to meditate under the tree 
that curls roots around the nuclear bomb 
while the wolf girl sings the reverent psalm 
in honor of our lost democracy 
purchased by the blind businessman with cash. 

Eternal return in cycle of change 
decrees that the Devil will rise again 
every eighty years to challenge World God 
who falls defeated with his justice squad 
over right to control the minds of men, 
which nobody else seems to think is strange. 

Shouting outside the tear-streaked window pane, 
she tries to explain to the startled ghost 
that he is the king who was never born 
because his mother is still picking corn 
and his father repairs winds of the coast 
while I play guitar in the winter rain. 

My son wants to refurbish empty church 
with statues of all famous scientists 
whose riddles help save mankind from disease, 
but I just want to sit in the cool breeze 
so I can trust reports of journalists 
whose truth is based on objective research. 

Assigned to design methodology 
we can use to implement global peace, 
wolf girl marries library boy at dawn 
so no one can play with him as their pawn 
till the Devil signs one-hundred-year lease 
to cleanse Notre Dame of theology. 

My secret book of code in dreary glade 
releases demons of change in the world 
who crush all institutions of state power 
to centralize government in one tower 
where Queen Rapunzel and the cosmic herald 
turn America into a game arcade. 

Spider-Watch Of My Soul

Spider-Watch Of My Soul
© Surazeus
2024 11 29

My anxiety is the spider-watch, 
constructed of gold wheels that regulate 
conceptual motion of the universe, 
which crawls across the unread holy book 
full of riddles and sacred prophecies, 
to unscrew ticking time bomb of my brain. 

Just beyond the limit of my eyesight, 
I sense gold shadow of the spider-watch 
transform into the person I love most 
who keeps their name secret from everyone, 
so I pretend they are walking away 
while I search for the most important book. 

Because it seems someone is judging me 
within framework of their ontology, 
I avoid attending social events 
where people wear the most beautiful masks 
designed to replicate the spider-watch 
that emerges from egg-sea of my brain. 

Embracing substance of the shadow mind 
that swells within confines of my flesh soul, 
I drive up and down the same road each day 
in routine controlled by the spider-watch 
whose eyes are sunrays in leaves of the trees 
who weep for the tragedy of my fate. 

Each night when I sleep in cage of my heart, 
I dream I follow the wild-haired cave girl 
in our daily hunt to kill leaping deer 
and roast its thick meat over crackling flames, 
but then I see her stacking returned books 
in the quiet library with slim hands. 

Dancing with delicate balance of hope, 
in rhythm with beat of the spider-watch, 
I glide through open doors in maze of masks 
with turbo-charged energy of desire, 
to maintain integrity of One Self 
scattered into angelic butterflies. 

Strict balance of all forces in between 
constrains excessive swirl of urgent hope 
in measured cadence of the spider-watch 
which dictates how far beyond bounds of fate 
I can leap before gravity entraps 
my soul in limits of my body frame. 

My soul is emanation from my brain 
in divine consciousness of who I Am 
as function of chemicals flashing thoughts 
through neural network of oneiric nodes 
woven by passion of the spider-watch 
so anxiety drives progress of faith. 

President Of Planet Earth

President Of Planet Earth
© Surazeus
2024 11 29

When I hear the telephone ring again 
I wonder if God is still trying to call me 
because he wants me to play his messiah 
and save the world from greed of selfish tyrants, 
but I do not want to die on the cross, 
so I just let his call go to voice mail. 

I would rather go to the art museum 
and look at the tear-smeared swirls of color 
that hide the agony of human feelings 
which sting from gossip of the smarmy clowns 
who glare at me with harsh hostility 
then smile to my face with hypocrisy. 

Each person who passes me in the hall 
points to the blurry painting on the wall, 
and snickers with delight that it reflects 
confusing chaos of my cluttered mind, 
so I go down the endless stairs of buckets 
to find the plastic idol of my soul. 

Since my father is closing his restaurant 
where he sold fried fish for thirty-eight years, 
I search the storage room for secret treasure, 
but find photographs of our family 
under bags of rotten fish in the cooler, 
including one of me in my king costume. 

While driving Mercury Comet in the snow, 
to evade time warriors with laser rifles, 
I plow into the snow bank on the lawn 
and hit the statue of Saturn that falls 
crumbling into turtles who escape Hell, 
so the principle tells me to leave school. 

I almost join the police academy 
so I can beat criminals I despise, 
but I get conscripted into the army 
and sent to fight the enemy abroad, 
so I shoot at ghosts of Trojan warriors 
who celebrate the fall of America. 

Ambition discombobulates my mind 
with shiny delusion that I can win 
campaign for President of Planet Earth 
though assassins in shadows of your hearts 
keep shooting at the ghost of my contempt 
for the power of life and death I wield. 

When I find myself crowned King of the Earth, 
I try to abdicate office of greed, 
but my hands and legs are chained to the throne 
so I am forced to judge the right or wrong 
of every case brought to my divine court 
in my afternoon television show. 

Accept The Nothingness

Accept The Nothingness
© Surazeus
2024 11 29

When I sink in the black sea of my heart 
and disappear in strange sorrow of time, 
I chortle and go skipping down the street 
to prove to myself my misery is lame, 
since no one else can see angel of death 
who appears only in my cold-day breath. 

Stuck in the middle of the happy sea, 
alone in the lonely boat of desire, 
I search my leather bag for broken key 
that is supposed to open every door, 
till black shadow of death inside my heart 
plots new course on my upside-down star chart. 

Arriving on the muddy Texas shore, 
with nothing but resentment and despair, 
I open my used paperback book store 
where I serve sweet coffee and cake to lure 
shadow of Death away from customers 
so they can read in peace for thirty years. 

Trapped in my sad marriage thirty-nine years, 
I leave everything behind in the house 
and walk the signless road with clowns and queers 
who wake the tigress in the church-shy mouse, 
so, dressed like Marilyn Monroe, I sing 
about the pleasure of love that can sting. 

Stealing colt pistol from my ninth boyfriend, 
I walk one thousand miles in desert waste, 
telling vultures I want to meet James Bond, 
but I can never escape my dark past, 
so I ask Satan at the motel pool 
if he can pay for my graduate school. 

I want to earn my horse-nursing degree, 
learning how to whisper state secret codes, 
since I hope that Pecos Bill will hire me, 
but I wander in swamp of Buddha Toads 
who chant that the secret to happiness 
is let go and accept the nothingness. 

Weird randomness of events in my life 
convince me God is playing jokes on me, 
so I tell Jesus I want to be his wife, 
but he just says the truth will set me free, 
so I wear mask of Jackie Kennedy 
to reign as Dragon Queen of Xanadu. 

Now that I am near the end of my play, 
I remove ten thousand masks of dead ghosts 
but never find my own real secret face, 
till Lucifer explains what true love costs, 
so I hold hands with Death at the last hour, 
safe at last as Rapunzel in my tower. 

River-Cave Girl

River-Cave Girl
© Surazeus
2024 11 28

The yellow-bellied kingbird on phone wire, 
as tyrant of my melancholy soul 
who darts quick as lightning to catch the fly, 
waits for me to follow her flashing tail 
down winding pathway into gloomy Hell 
in dusty open-pit mine of despair. 

Approaching gates of twisted iron bars, 
that creak in howling wind of everywhere, 
I crouch when Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies, 
sends howling swarm of insects at my face, 
so I shield my face against stinging rage, 
but horror of their hate pushes me back. 

Then River-Cave Girl wearing wolf-fur cloak 
grasps torch of freedom from pit of despair 
she swirls to scatter insects from my soul, 
then takes my hand and leads me running swift 
around chromatic pools of minerals 
safe to small grotto of bright emeralds. 

Each time grim monster of my chthonic mind 
looms from dark shadows of my unnamed fears 
my gentle guide helps me evade its rage 
with clever tricks of misguiding disguise, 
so we journey through caverns of illusions 
safe home to mist-sprinkled Asphodel Meadows. 

Waking from strange dream in afternoon glow, 
I sit up straight in my stiff wooden chair 
and glance around gold-lit library hall 
where students intently study textbooks, 
then focus my attention once again 
on psychic tropes in Victorian epic poems. 

Yet from periphery of distracted sight, 
I sense the river-cave girl of my dream 
in close proximity to my sad heart, 
so I clandestinely investigate, 
and see her now dressed as Library Girl 
with yellow sweater and forest-green skirt. 

Those eyes that see beyond devilish masks, 
and hands that clear my way in bitter Hell, 
are now incarnate in this living girl 
whose sudden glance my way pierces my heart 
with noble purpose to protect the world 
so she may live forever safe and free. 

Gathering my books at the closing bell, 
I wander slowly past the check-out desk, 
and blush when Library Girl smiles at me 
and gives me paper with her username 
to follow her on social media sites, 
then I stride out into the starry night. 

Vintage Of Her Heart

Vintage Of Her Heart
© Surazeus
2024 11 28

Barefoot in white lace gown of morning light, 
she sits among rain-wet vines on the hillside 
and sings ethereal melody of love 
that makes the whole vineyard tremble awake 
in swirling ululations of pure joy 
that fills each grape with liquid of the stars. 

While birds in trees chirp moon-sweet melodies, 
she crawls among long curling vines of grapes, 
asking each one how it feels, then she turns 
at shimmer of hope to see wavering ghost 
of Bacchus dancing with slow graceful care, 
hands caressing each vine to bless its soul. 

The owl with eyes from children who died young, 
that weeps in glass cathedral on the moon, 
scatters raindrops on hills where bones of gods 
nourish roots of grape vines with earnest hope 
that flows up branches writhing with fierce angst 
to spread angelic wings in broad green leaves. 

Silver mist floats swirling over lush hills, 
rainbow eyes sparkling with pleasant delight 
as wet lips kiss each plump grape on its vine 
that rings soft high-toned bell of tingling faith 
when sunbeams stream ninety-one million miles 
to weave immortal light in pungent juice. 

Eyes gleaming green as hills of curling vines, 
Bacchus prances with herd of hopping goats, 
and breathes ethereal melody of joy 
through pan pipes wailing eerie in hot wind, 
while Ariadne lies spread-eagled on the slope, 
arms open to embrace his swirling soul. 

Breasts rising round as hills of webbing vines, 
Ariadne swells huge as broad river vales, 
skin bristling with grape vines that spiral high 
to shroud our spinning globe in web of souls 
which undulate through matrix of our minds 
when we drink spirit of love in her wine. 

Slouched over wood table in cellar room, 
lit by candles flickering in curious gloom, 
she mixes wine in bottles of desire 
to test restructured flavor of sunlight 
till she tastes ancient spirit of the hills 
brewed in time-bubbling vintage of her heart. 

Striding among grape vines on sunlit slopes, 
dressed in wolf-fur cloak of River-Cave Girl, 
Ariadne spreads angelic wings of joy 
and calls to Rapunzel in tower of stone 
who throws books out the window of despair 
which transform into Bacchus dancing wild. 

All I Build Vanishes

All I Build Vanishes
© Surazeus
2024 11 28

Not satisfied with how the world will end, 
consumed by the quickly expanding sun 
which will erase everything we create, 
I create more art with my anxious hands 
to build vast thousand-mile temple of tales, 
transforming deserts into gardenscapes. 

Transforming Earth from natural flowing hills 
into steel-skeletoned metropolis 
encasing the entire globe in maze of streets, 
we fragile humans, seeking to assert 
God-given right to rule this spinning globe, 
construct Trantor to protect paradise. 

Though we erect enormous halls of beauty 
filled with elegant statues carved of marble 
to glorify every great human soul 
who contributes to world civilization, 
the expanding sun will erase it all, 
incinerating all our art to ash. 

All our cathedrals, mosques, temples, and halls, 
designed with extravagant ornaments 
expressing passionate love of our hearts 
that lifts our spirits from this suffering world, 
will be crushed by waves of hot energy 
like castles of sand the tides sweep away. 

For now the vast cities humans construct 
are frail webs of steel over rolling hills, 
small and few between endless desertscapes, 
so I walk muddy field after drenching rain 
to blaze new signless road across the plain, 
and stop to see my face in pool of light. 

I cannot see the path of my own life 
for all its winding randomness remains 
behind me as I keep walking forward 
to evade flowing void of nothingness 
ever encroaching on my paradise 
till all I build vanishes in the past. 

Ten thousand years ago of spinning time 
we gathered in mall circles on vast plains 
to dance wild around blazing light of hope, 
and share tales of our experiences 
to build ontology of natural truth 
our prophets wrote in scriptures of our faith. 

Alone in homes of our vast city maze 
we deconstruct ontology they built 
to analyze conceptual dream programs 
so we can construct new global world view 
to sing beautiful hymns in halls of truth 
till our expanding sun destroys it all. 

Our Thanksgiving Meals

Our Thanksgiving Meals
© Surazeus
2024 11 28

The yellow banana taped to the wall 
lures me straight into its conceptual trap 
when I think about all the governments 
our intelligence agents overthrew 
so banana republics would obey 
kings of fruit companies raking in cash. 

People who control land producing fruit 
feast in halls of power with mirror walls 
that reflect beauty of their privilege 
while immigrants from southern jungle hills, 
controlled by gangsters selling cash cocaine, 
pick crops we eat at our Thanksgiving meals. 

These propaganda images reveal 
unequal status that always prevails 
between those whose ancestors stole the land 
and those whose hands produce food we eat, 
so we gather to watch the football game 
where Cowboys always beat the Indians. 

After we stop beating each other up 
with guilt trips for crimes our ancestors did, 
we can watch the new superhero film 
where Captain America saves the world 
from monstrous aliens who suck our souls, 
then pray for Jesus to return to Earth. 

When ship I sail across Atlantic waves 
splinters on reefs off lush welcoming shores, 
I swim through curling surge of futile hope 
to stand gasping for breath on moon-gold sand, 
then search for Liberty on pyramid 
holding Light of Freedom and Book of Names. 

Bright beacon of Liberty shines in gloom 
that guides my rough way across the waste land 
to build in land of opportunity 
new way of life where I keep what I earn 
after escaping tyranny of kings 
who fight each other for the Crown of Christ. 

Throw all these bromides in the swirling sea 
to banish Hope that blinds my eager eyes 
so I can steal land in the wilderness 
to replace land the king stole from my clan 
and build new Eden in the Promised Land 
till the tyrant comes and steals that land too. 

I have wandered lands of Zarathia 
four hundred years from sea to shining sea, 
but still I am the homeless refugee 
forever searching for the Holy Grail 
that glows in hands of the woman I love 
who prepares feast for us to share in thanks. 

House Where I Never Lived

House Where I Never Lived
© Surazeus
2024 11 27

I ride the bus far across town at noon 
to visit the house where I never lived 
with the vague intention of finding things 
I left behind in boxes of lost truths, 
but every photo of me I can find 
reveals rotten sorrow of the dead tree. 

I throw my useless memories in the trash 
to forget how many years have now passed 
since I went to live in the empty church 
where I keep attempting to talk to God, 
but he always hangs up the telephone 
and tells me not to call him anymore. 

Apple trees blossom on the river shore 
from ancient conviction that I deserve 
love from strangers who try to steal my name 
though I give them every heart I can find 
stuck inside the fractured stone of lost faith 
since I leave out the riddle no one solves. 

Each time we stand in the forest and talk 
about things that happened since we last met 
I leave out so many painful events 
that flutter as leaves on the reborn trees 
with amazement at beauty of despair 
which I try to sell in the marketplace. 

Though the bird that still lives inside my heart 
beats crippled wings against my fragile skull, 
I cannot open the cage of my ribs 
to let my happiness fly free of rage 
which I encase in walking stick of fear 
to help me walk to where I do not live. 

The stories I tell the stop sign are not 
about the passion of my love for you 
which I hide in letters I never mail, 
yet someone down the street is calling me, 
mad at me about something I once did, 
so I leave my new shoes under the swing. 

After visiting every lonely house 
where I once lived in my journey nowhere, 
I decide to walk the nameless highway 
and leave letters I wrote to you in grass 
where they become bears, horses, wolves, and deer 
who sit around the television set. 

In my mind I will fly into the sky 
so I can ask the divine cloud man why 
I am always alone in dream of Earth 
without calculating what hope is worth, 
then I will eat the apple of my heart 
so I can change fortune of my star chart. 

Play The Cosmic Herald

Play The Cosmic Herald
© Surazeus
2024 11 27

Though autumn leaves bury my empty grave, 
erasing me from memory of the world, 
I dance free and alive in the dream cave, 
ready at last to play the cosmic herald 
by appearing in cathedral of ghosts 
to prophesy rise of the Lord of Hosts. 

Though presidents crown themselves tyrant kings 
to divide all the nations of the world 
and exploit the poor while the devil sings, 
dictators tremble when the cosmic herald 
arrests their tyranny with global laws 
to protect Liberty and her noble cause. 

Though oligarchs organize mafia gangs 
to control rich resources of the world, 
democracy will survive harsh birth pangs 
with vital support of the cosmic herald, 
at least I hope that Freedom will prevail 
against fascist theft that should always fail. 

Though storm of tyranny looms in the sky, 
almost snuffing out freedom in the world, 
we unite in cathedral of the spy 
who incarnates soul of the cosmic herald 
to defend United Nations of Earth 
so women are free to choose giving birth. 

Though harsh winds of anger and racist hate 
batter every humble home in the world, 
we define our future to feature fate 
through social reforms of the cosmic herald 
based on mutual compassionate respect 
that nurtures our democratic project. 

Though angry dictator on throne of gold 
rages that many countries of the world 
live free from vile scam he once thought he sold, 
we rally around the brave cosmic herald 
and fight to hurl his gang back to Hell 
so freedom-lovers can live on Earth well. 

Though gray-eyed Odin on the misty moor 
gathers heroes from each land of the world, 
he teaches me to forge key for each door 
so when I wear mask of the cosmic herald 
I can defeat puppets of tyranny 
for humans who prefer democracy. 

Though I wander lost in waste land of fear 
at forces of greed that assault the world, 
I trust Hidden Dragon whose hands will steer 
ship of state, captained by the cosmic herald, 
safe to paradise we create with trust, 
knowing every creature returns to dust. 

Ghosts Of Tyrannical Kings

Ghosts Of Tyrannical Kings
© Surazeus
2024 11 27

Though our fertile land of democracy 
has nurtured Liberty four centuries, 
ghosts of tyrannical kings haunt our hearts 
when greedy men grasping to control power 
rise from cathedral tombs of rotting corpses 
with thirst to exploit our labor for wealth. 

Dynastic clans across kingdoms of Europe 
grappled to control fertile river valleys 
through marriage alliances based on greed 
till cousins fought each other in world wars 
and shattered old system of castle thrones 
to free the people from their tyranny. 

Refugees who fled cruel religious wars 
established system of democracy 
where every person enjoyed privilege 
of civil liberties to exercise 
right to vote wise representatives 
funding programs that build justice for all. 

Now solid institutions of our state, 
geared to function despite each regime change, 
based on constitution of honest laws 
instead of individuals seeking power, 
are toppling from forces of selfish greed 
asserted by obsessive oligarchs. 

I want to save our nation from attack 
by thieves disguised as bankrolled businessmen 
who strive to deregulate structured laws 
designed to check monopoly of power, 
but I am just one person in this land, 
outnumbered by privileged nationalists. 

Appointing himself dictator for life, 
Caesar reached for long-unworn crown of power 
snatched from cruel rapist, Tarquin the Proud, 
so Brutus conspired to arrest his grasp 
by implementing solution of justice 
to prevent tyrants from grasping control. 

Now ghost of Tarquin haunts America 
in haughty Caesar blustering foul decrees 
with puffed-up arrogance of Mussolini, 
declaring himself messiah returned 
to reign with strength by blessing of fake Christ 
after snatching prize of the Golden Bough. 

All tyrants who climb pinnacle of power, 
Hitler, Stalin, Hussein, Gaddafi, and more, 
fall from Heaven with spectacular disgrace, 
and tumble into waste land of history 
to rot with head of Ozymandias, 
which preserves progress of democracy. 

Cleansed Of Civilized Grit

Cleansed Of Civilized Grit
© Surazeus
2024 11 27

Grit from factories and steel mills pervades 
sinews of my soul with star-flashing chains 
that bind my soul to engine of my car 
I drive on asphalt highways of desire 
that leaves flakes of my memories by the road 
where they sprout into time-enduring weeds. 

Hot waves of sunlight beat the pavement black 
when I park at gas station in the desert, 
and drink hot water from the plastic hose, 
while flies buzz around my sweat-plastered hair, 
and gas fumes vibrate against my parched face 
as I fill tin tank with fuel for my quest. 

Rubber wheels grind gravel on dusty road 
that winds wide around desolate orange buttes, 
slipping as I maneuver bouncing car 
past crowds of cactus and clumps of mesquite 
to baked-clay ruins of some ancient town 
built long endless thousands of years ago. 

I hear no western-movie guitar twang 
eerie with danger when I stride thin path 
between stubborn walls of now-empty homes 
full of skeletons that crumbled to dust, 
to climb steep mound dizzy with anxious hope 
for panoramic view of river plains. 

I half expect the turtle resting still, 
cool under tangled mat of purple aster, 
to ask me for the purpose of my quest, 
but no supernatural sprites visit me, 
so I tell ghost of the wind why I came, 
but she just kisses me with subtle breath. 

My quest to find true spirit of this world 
fails to impress the turtle or the hills, 
so I relax in meditative stance 
and breathe deep hot air of the desert soul 
while palming hands before my beating heart 
to release constraints of imagined fear. 

When twilight casts dark purple veil of faith 
to shroud my soul among the ancient ruins, 
I see emerge from shadow of the world 
demonic owl-shaped figure with gold eyes 
that soaks my anxious visions from my mind 
till I shiver empty under bright stars. 

Waking at thin gleam of pink light at dawn, 
I look around for traces of the owl, 
but sense with courage of forbidden truth 
her immortal spirit dwells in my heart, 
so I descend dim mountain of the demon 
and drive home well cleansed of civilized grit. 

Words Of The Prophets

Words Of The Prophets
© Surazeus
2024 11 26

When the words of the prophets, we forgot 
were written on the subway walls in blood, 
are erased by white paint of silence and lies, 
we find them burning truer in our hearts, 
so we gather in ruins of our city 
to sing them with loud voices of despair. 

Though we are stripped of social uniforms 
by constant bombings from planes in the sky, 
we gather naked in the city square 
around the fountain clogged with skulls of gods, 
and give each other new names of the dead 
so we can call each other in the gloom. 

Though creeping in cold darkness of the world 
where ghosts of our ancestors urge our progress, 
we plant seeds of lost hope in bloody earth 
and tend fruit trees that sprout from bleak despair 
till ruined city transforms into woods 
where ten thousand people search for the truth. 

After fall of the neon god we made, 
we teach each other with new words me dream 
to reach each other with new arms of faith, 
and share fresh tales of wisdom from the well 
that echoes with new voices we inspire 
as we disturb the silence of despair. 

No longer do we walk dark streets alone, 
our eyes no longer blinded by harsh truth, 
for we hold hands in meadows brimming flowers 
that bloom in ruins of cathedral halls 
to feast in lobbies of abandoned banks 
while sharing songs we write with voice of love. 

Though old and weary Columbia died 
when American Republic collapsed, 
young and vigorous Zarathia strides 
with courage of the visionary seer 
to lead us from stark ruins of our past 
so we can build new nation of our future. 

Liberty holds Torch of Freedom high 
and bears Book of Wisdom at her breast, 
so we bid darkness of despair farewell 
to fulfill new vision that dispels gloom 
which guides our journey to the Promised Land 
where everyone is equal in the law. 

No longer do the people bow or pray 
to false gods of oppressive monarchy 
for we now heed the warning on the wall 
when prophets sing new tales of bravery 
where we live as we will, if we harm none, 
through fellowship of our democracy. 

Beauty Of The Stars

Beauty Of The Stars
© Surazeus
2024 11 26

While trudging cement streets among steel towers, 
I look up beyond large engine-rumbling cars 
to see past wires and advertising signs 
graceful figure of Kwan Yin in silk gown 
floating through sun-illuminated clouds 
whose black eyes blaze with beauty of the stars. 

Elegant Goddess of Mercy extends 
ten billion hands that glow with pearls of light 
to bless each human trudging on the Earth 
with heavenly bliss of enchanting love 
that fills our hearts with joyful breath of life 
so we all sing with beauty of the stars. 

The woman huddled in apartment room 
after escaping her abusive husband 
feels depressive cloud of misery lift 
at sudden gleam of merciful respect 
that dispels ache of regret from her heart 
so she smiles softly with beauty of the stars. 

The old man crouched in dirty alleyway 
behind the clean bank where he used to work, 
shivers with feverish hunger for bread, 
yet feels strange glow of sorrow in his chest 
swell into compassion of honest hope 
when he contemplates beauty of the stars. 

The little girl hiding in hollow cave 
formed by rubble heap of her bombed-out home 
pulls tattered shawl tighter around her shoulder 
as she eats apple sauce from opened can 
and smiles at near-fleshless skull of her mother 
while she sings about beauty of the stars. 

The young man clutching rifle to his chest 
tells rotting corpses of his wife and children 
the Russian tanks rumbling past did not crush 
apple trees they planted two years ago, 
then he hurls grenade which blows up the tank 
in red blossom with beauty of the stars. 

The young nurse, relaxing after hard work 
all day at the hospital, wipes her eyes 
of bitter tears while her three children play 
with coloring books in the evening dusk, 
then sighs and writes poem about motherhood 
which highlights secret beauty of the stars. 

Gliding on cloud of mercy around Earth, 
Kwan Yin beams warm rays of heart-healing love 
to ease our suffering of loss and despair, 
so billions of people raise up their eyes 
to see her spirit turning pain to pleasure 
which lights our world with beauty of the stars. 

Build New World Order

Build New World Order
© Surazeus
2024 11 26

Facetious agony of honest truth 
cannot defeat me with realistic state 
unfractured by words children replicate 
when they sell lemonade at the roadside booth 
to pay off the national deficit 
by reinventing the dream alphabet. 

Just as I think my heart no hollow more 
could be from suffering of the human race, 
I stumble in bleak church of the God Face 
that glares at me with judgment to the core, 
so I laugh at absurdity of life 
that rewards nothing for enduring strife. 

With tinge of satire staining my work coat, 
I hammer nails in structure of the mind 
to build new world order my wife designed 
when she transformed me from the lazy goat, 
though I return to Bacchanalian rite 
when angels drop bombs on my town each night. 

Come, let us for the Fatherland now fight 
against the tyrant and his haughty pride 
because no one is ever on his side 
except those for whom grand virtue is trite, 
so I hide hawk of my heart in the stone 
and report to work as the mindless drone. 

Evading eyes of Big Brother each day, 
I play chess with Death on the beach of fate 
instead of cheering at Two Minutes Hate 
for demise of the Brotherhood who pray 
to Spirit in the Sky I call my friend 
though he is nothing but cool gust of wind. 

The Day of Glory will never arrive 
while Tyranny trashes our government 
till we agree to the New Covenant 
opposing fascist tricksters who connive 
to funnel tax dollars to bank accounts 
they hide in palaces under seamounts. 

When star of wisdom crashes into Earth, 
Arthur forges meteor into honed sword 
he wields to ensure justice as Loaf-Ward 
while seeking Holy Grail of second birth 
by leading us to fight the gold robot 
whose pirate gang has taken Camelot. 

After Daniel, who was cast in the den, 
tames lion heart of Durga as his bride, 
they topple statue for the King of Pride 
so we can meditate through State of Zen 
on glowing Pyramid of the God Eye 
so young children feel free to question why. 

Too Painful To Express

Too Painful To Express
© Surazeus
2024 11 25

Too painful to express in crippled words, 
her feelings hide in shadow of the stone 
that slowly rolls with current of the stream, 
then floats alone to bottom of the sea 
where pressure of despair cracks her frail heart 
awake with passion of the singing moon. 

Too painful to express with wings of birds, 
her feelings rise on Phoenix wings of bone 
spread wide to cover landscape of her dream 
where she climbs mountain of hope with the key 
that opens doors she finds on the star chart 
designed by Death to imitate her tune. 

Too painful to express in somber verse, 
her feelings crawl from paved floor of the church 
escaping cave of Hell on jagged claws 
by scuttling quick across the stark abyss, 
then rising tall in jeweled gown of pride 
to rule as Empress of the Easter Reich. 

Too painful to express with stride of mares, 
her feelings curl with kittens on the porch 
intense with fortune of the primal cause 
blind gods employ to encourage the kiss 
lovers share at crowning of the world bride 
who then decides to play the role of Psyche. 

Too painful to express in clever jokes, 
her feelings bleed as tattoos on her breast 
when she must fight the wolf inside her home 
who dares invade safe haven of her faith 
till she defeats and slays him with her wit, 
then wears wolf-fur cloak to the winter ball. 

Too painful to express with limbs of oaks, 
her feelings spur growth in her sacred quest 
to escape palace life under gold dome 
and seek demonic wisdom of the wraith 
that aids her fight against the hypocrite 
whose foul crimes are smeared with blood on the wall. 

Too painful to express in devout prayers, 
her feelings writhe from dragon egg of power 
through revelation of the tyrant god, 
so she wears armor of angelic force 
to play Minerva on the global stage 
who wields fair-dealing sword of Liberty. 

Too painful to express with flight of stairs, 
her feelings transcend confines of the tower 
so she convenes new global Justice Squad 
to find spring of our political source, 
and through grand vision of our new world age 
she wields wise scripture of democracy. 

Topple Statue Of Arrogance

Topple Statue Of Arrogance
© Surazeus
2024 11 25

Triumphant tragedy of tyranny 
marches morbidly with martial disdain 
of bloody boots in marble halls of power, 
smearing deceptive lies of arrogance 
across grand portraits of our Founding Fathers, 
who rise from Hell to haunt the haughty tyrant. 

Though trumpets of christian nationalist pride 
blare against Capitol of Jericho, 
the sturdy walls of brave democracy 
will never fall before cruel tyranny, 
no matter how loudly with feral hate 
the traitor bloviates against our faith. 

United with passion for truth, our hearts 
resist aggressive obsession of greed 
with stoic calm of faith in timeless Right 
that justice will prevail against foul crime 
since we secure liminal space of truth 
in steady progress to build Liberty. 

Secure with communal authority 
that overspeaks lust of royal commands, 
we maintain core principles of the Right 
for strict status of the good character 
to earn potent office in government 
based on attention to the common good. 

When Goliath lumbers toward the White House, 
declaring victory of electoral votes 
voiced by the angry-mob majority, 
we call for humble Shepherd armed with hope 
to emerge from Cave of the Spider Web 
and strike the tyrant down with stone of truth. 

This hour grows dark when Midas, urged by rage, 
steals crown of thorns from bloody head of Christ 
to crown himself new Emperor of Earth, 
but history shows that tyrants puffed with pride 
who overreach the heavenly mandate 
crumble with feet of clay in dust of time. 

Though swallowed by the whale of divine fate 
when I tried to flee collapse of our state, 
I will sit by locked Gate of Paradise 
and preach corruption of America, 
though in this drama King of Nineveh 
will not kneel down to repent of his crimes. 

Though some call for Brutus to implement 
drastic method against dictatorship, 
we pray for subtle hand of Azrael 
to give Sisyphus stone of honest fate 
that would topple statue of arrogance 
and free our nation from foul tyranny. 

Guard Of Travelers

Guard Of Travelers
© Surazeus
2024 11 25

Though I want to be the most beautiful 
and perfect being who exists in this world, 
I accept that my soul is flawed and frail, 
imperfect example of the ideal 
I wish to embody with divine glow 
that shines as beacon on the dark seashore. 

I want to be bright light on the dark shore 
which guides the lost to my sheltering door 
so they find warmth under roof of my care, 
relaxing by the safe hearth of my heart 
where they may feast on good food I prepare 
and drink healthy juice from my holy grail. 

When people travel on the seashore road, 
each traveler bearing some heavy load, 
I bid them stop and relax in strong shed 
one hour from heat of the sun overhead, 
giving them water as they lie in bed, 
then cheer them with joy as they forge ahead. 

While travelers lounge around the fire at night, 
I strum the lyre of Mercury just right 
to lead their souls soaring with dreamy flight 
as I recount tales of heroes who fight 
with graceful strength that awes us with delight 
so they rest secure till gleam of dawn light. 

When gangs of thieves with no respect for life 
surround good travelers with spear and knife, 
I race to defend them with righteous strife, 
securing freedom for both man and wife, 
for I protect the innocent and good 
who journey cautious in the dangerous wood. 

Bring to my marble temple on the hill 
your best animal as the sacrifice 
expressing loyalty of your free will, 
and I will roast it on the altar grill, 
sprinkling fresh steak with herbal sauce and spice 
so you may feast in peace where the gods dwell. 

That generous age that is now long lost 
I reigned in grand temple of Jupiter 
as guard of travelers and honest host 
who runs hotel, hospital, and night club 
in sanctuary haven for the ghost 
with attentive care to what you need most. 

Our globe is now cluttered with empire states 
that afford special citizenship rights 
to people who control the wealth through land, 
yet millions wander lost as refugees, 
pausing on mountain roads in the breeze 
where I can no longer guard them from harm. 

Faceless God Of Faith

Faceless God Of Faith
© Surazeus
2024 11 24

Each flash of sorrow in puddle of time 
diminishes knowledge of ticking clocks 
ungeared with measureless words of false hope, 
so she stumbles onward toward somewhere else 
still clutching the book about broken walls 
that she stole from the faceless god of faith. 

Gazing out the clean window of respect, 
with eyes she borrows from cynical crows, 
she counts the people in the parking lot 
who come to the hospital of the damned 
with good intentions to monetize health 
everyone pays the faceless god of faith. 

Reluctant to return the flowered dress 
she received from her mother after Christmas, 
she erases her name and date of birth 
from every legal document she finds 
to prove she no longer exists in game 
of death played by the faceless god of faith. 

Too terrified to open the red door 
that always reveals scenes of harsh abuse, 
she eats pink jasmine-scented scroll of verse 
she wrote from song of angels in her heart, 
then walks the signless road of anywhere 
to give mask to the faceless god of faith. 

She knows what I am capable of doing 
so she beams my shadow of fleshy words 
back through huge mirror of infinity 
that stretches bounds of possibilities 
huge as the network in my tangled mind, 
brain designed by the faceless god of faith. 

Eligible for entering gate of Heaven 
without extensive documents of dreams 
trampled to grapes of wrath by ardency, 
she tries to sell my obvious book of spells 
to the oak tree who gives her key of thoughts 
while evading the faceless god of faith. 

Attempting to organize her weird thoughts 
in accordance with law of averages 
to comply with regulations of trust, 
she stops abruptly on the signless road 
to ask the raven why she is not lost 
who has become the faceless god of faith. 

Honored to be crowned Princess of the Moon, 
who keeps the tarot cards of faith that read 
have mercy on soul of the cosmic herald, 
she announces she will marry the fool 
who stops himself from walking off the cliff 
in bid to cheat the faceless god of faith. 

Destroy Palace Of Mirrors

Destroy Palace Of Mirrors
© Surazeus
2024 11 24

While walking down the crowded city street, 
I find wounded words scattered on the ground 
that people spit with flag-waving contempt 
after chewing bitter hatred with rage, 
tiny sluggish demons writhing with fear, 
squished again by indifferent footsteps. 

If words of hatred they spit on the ground 
congeal into monstrous form of despair, 
they would transform into blind dinosaur 
larger than Godzilla, fueled by contempt, 
that would rampage across America, 
crushing institutions with hungry greed. 

Loyal patriotic angels in suits, 
commissioned to defend America 
as democratic republic from harm, 
still pledge allegiance to the Stars and Stripes 
and the Constitution for which it stands, 
then fly planes to attack monster of hate. 

Shooting missiles of patriotic pride 
in land of the free and home of the brave, 
noble angels, dedicated to truth 
through justice for all based on liberty, 
fight monster of hate born from tyranny 
to destroy his nest in palace of greed. 

Missiles hurled by the hand of Jupiter, 
soaring in Heaven with attentive faith, 
destroy palace of mirrors with respect 
to save America from tyranny, 
for since we freed our souls from monarchy 
we fight to defend our democracy. 

Though monsters of hate loom over our land, 
given form by fear brewing in their hearts, 
fueled by rage at loss of privilege 
enforced by legal system of control 
exploiting working people to gain wealth, 
chimes of freedom still ring within our hearts. 

Lead by Liberty holding Torch of Truth, 
who waves our flag above turmoil of fear, 
we join her noble cause with hearts of love 
to fight for the freedom of every soul 
to live well as they will, if they harm none, 
with justice for all in America. 

Even though the monster of hate grows huge, 
and tyrant of greed appears to be strong, 
his rage that requires energy of fear 
will dissipate with turning of the world, 
and statue of his power fall in ruins, 
for long Freedom reigns in America. 

Cold Waves Of Fate

Cold Waves Of Fate
© Surazeus
2024 11 24

Their frail boat almost tilts against the tide 
each time the monster mountain of the sky 
dares to question why they are where they are, 
as if they have ability to choose 
where they will go against the winds of fate 
when others seem to choose how we will live. 

The old woman gives apple to young girl, 
and asks if she wants to be the wife 
controlled by the man holding her with pride, 
and she beams as she explains with sweet voice 
that she chose to leave her old family farm 
and travel with him to the Promised Land. 

Tears stream down her cheeks as she smiles with joy, 
but the old woman mumbles and declares, 
I did not choose the life I had to live, 
raising seven children on the sheep farm, 
spending all day cooking and cleaning house, 
and praying I would not die from his fist. 

When I was young and eager to live well, 
strolling to the grand college by the lake 
where I was learning how to write and draw, 
the old grim shepherd snatched in his arms 
and dragged me to his cottage in the hills 
where he forced me to bear child of his greed. 

Because the shepherd forced his will on me, 
my father, honest rector of the parish, 
forced me to marry in secretive haste 
that cruel man who kidnapped me from my life, 
and so from heavenly garden of art 
I was thrust into hell of howling devils. 

Like Persephone, pretty Queen of Hades, 
dragged by the selfish monster of desire 
from flowered fields of carefree joy in life, 
I had to rule the devils in my hell 
with resentful discipline of the slave 
forced to live against her own free will. 

Last week I escaped from that cluttered house, 
after twenty years of mind-crippling fear 
slaving trapped in harsh domestic routine, 
so like you I am escaping this land 
to sail across the wild Atlantic sea 
for new paradise in the Promised Land. 

Wild gust of wind sweeping down rugged hills 
swamps their frail boat in the surging tide, 
dumping everyone in cold waves of fate, 
and though the young girl grasps her withered hand 
the old woman sinks down into dark gloom, 
then she weeps on the shore, cursing God blind. 

Second Coming Of Christ

Second Coming Of Christ
© Surazeus
2024 11 24

Though every day seems like the end of time 
globe of Earth keeps spinning around the sun 
so I remember evolving from slime 
with force that drives progress of my life-run 
leaping through portals of the multiverse 
to generate life through the cosmic nurse. 

If every day seems like the end of time 
I kneel before tyrant God on gold throne 
and pray with ringing of the crystal chime 
for grace to keep rolling the psychic stone 
to top of the hill where the Muses sing 
about the hero and his crippled wing. 

Since every day seems like the end of time 
I perform role of my heart with grand charm 
in theater of power as the mime 
who plays Apollo working on his farm 
while writing complete history of the world 
from fall of mad kings to the cosmic herald. 

While every day seems like the end of time 
we keep getting up and going to work 
producing wealth of love and stopping crime 
then drinking at the bar where prophets lurk 
ready to proclaim the apocalypse 
at second coming of Christ in starships. 

Well Of My Breath

Well Of My Breath
© Surazeus
2024 11 23

When I look into the well of my breath, 
I feel strange spirit of the Earth flow bright 
with hazardous desire for tranquil seas 
that measure vastness of my dreaming mind 
contained in shimmer of the river stone 
fractured by holy words I dare to speak. 

When the white crow that knows my secret name 
brings me black berries of the camphor tree, 
ancient voice in my spine sings about Death, 
though I sink deeper in silence of time 
till I breathe spirit of the fractured stone 
to keep my words hidden in unread books. 

When my blind mother decides to collect 
orange blossoms with souls only she can feel, 
I walk around the universal tree 
backward in time to before our sunrise 
when I smell thoughts of sirens in the swamp 
who call me to come and join their sweet choir. 

When I paint concept of the silver moon 
as starfish who prays to the lonely tides, 
I feel souls of strangers hidden in stones 
wake as my best friends I knew long ago 
before we built the bridge across the swamp, 
then pose for photos in the afternoon. 

When the toad hops across the kitchen floor, 
she searches false library by the sea 
for the mask her mother made from the tree 
that always asks about the words of bees, 
but instead she gives books of jeweled words 
to children who ask for apples instead. 

When the spider of light crawls on my eye 
at sudden flash of insight about love, 
I remember the first person I meet 
after I emerge from the fractured stone 
and breathe my soul into the empty sky 
where it congeals in words and becomes God. 

When they give me face they want me to wear, 
I tear it into poems of holy faith 
and throw them all in the crocodile lake 
till the ibis teaches me how to write 
stories that conceal what I really feel 
by twisting them into amusing jokes. 

When I find photos of my family, 
I erase their names and their dates of birth 
so they can fly away as butterflies 
that flutter around the old camphor tree 
where I lounge forgotten in its cool shade 
to escape the misunderstanding trap. 

Queen Of The Jungle

Queen Of The Jungle
© Surazeus
2024 11 23

Though evening gloom veils trees in quietude 
I gaze in limpid pool of your heart 
where words of joy we share gleam bright as stars 
that guide us to our shared liminal space 
during initial stage of our romance 
as we kiss under wisteria blooms. 

While Sylphus in short loincloth of wolf skin, 
draped in wisteria and willow leaves, 
dances around limpid pool of desire 
with rakish puissance of jaunty disdain, 
he almost escapes gravity of Earth 
but tumbles into arms of Sycorax. 

Eerie caw of the hyacinthine macaw 
echoes in groves of mahogany trees 
as pale-skin Sylphus with bouncy blond curls 
twirls on tall smooth stone by the limpid pool 
reflecting silver sky of diamond eyes 
while Sycorax watches with loving gaze. 

While Sycorax plays haunting melodies 
on long flute carved from cocobolo wood, 
Sylphus weaves coronet from eglantine, 
rosemary, lavender, and berry vines, 
then crowns large red-skin woman with black eyes 
queen of the jungle full of sparkling sprites. 

Embraced with passion in the misty vale, 
Sylphus and Sycorax make love in beams 
of moonlight glowing in the limpid pool 
where turtles glide past purple-cap mushrooms 
and toads sing beauty of the universe 
till their bodies flash with glow of the stars. 

Black boots crush fragile flowers and fruit vines 
when Captain Bruno Silva from Brasilia  
barges into grove of their secret home, 
curses at his son Sylphus with disgust 
that he fathered half-breed mutt with that witch, 
then aims rifle to kill mother and child. 

Leaping on spritely wings of Ariel, 
brave Sylphus places his body as shield 
guarding spirit of lush Edenic land 
from exploitation of commercial greed, 
so his father growls with rage and retreats, 
plotting other ways to possess rich hills. 

Traveling with thousands of refugees 
to escape gangs terrorizing their towns, 
Sylphus and Sycorax, with new-born child, 
cross the rugged roadless Darien Gap 
to find better lives in the Promised Land 
picking peaches in bright orchards of Georgia. 

Angels In Exploding Caves

Angels In Exploding Caves
© Surazeus
2024 11 23

Heart-mending beauty of the world on fire 
tricks me into singing with the mute choir 
holy hymns that harmonize with machines 
consistent with the old man counting beans 
to build great empire on the backs of slaves 
who dance with angels in exploding caves. 

Because America is beautiful 
I attend math classes in empty school 
so when I play chess with Death on the beach 
I will not be the economic leech 
the businessman accuses me of being 
till I sell him the plastic devil wing. 

Aesthetic beauty in each work of art 
is calculated through the psychic chart 
based on ripe banana taped to the wall 
as warning that the stock market will fall 
with each transaction logged in the dream book 
if diners praise the legendary cook. 

Regret for many foolish things I did 
frees me from obligations to El Cid 
for helping his crusade to conquer hate 
that fools bankers to think they outwit fate 
when they pay insurance for shipping boats 
since their grandfathers herded mountain goats. 

Though America may collapse from greed 
social rebirth is contained in the seed, 
yet still I laugh at how conservatives 
got played by sly Pluto whose trick deceives 
their minds in thinking Midas the Thief 
will save their empire from religious grief. 

I stroll streets of Athens in autumn wind 
to comprehend how mind-space makes light bend 
through curving continuum of my brain 
that always plots how to increase my gain 
so I control the land with bloody sword 
or hang out on the beach when I am bored. 

When Thespis stands on stage of social truth 
he wears gaudy mask of messiah sleuth 
to play Dionysus in game of thrones 
through revolution of the rolling stones 
that crushes institutions of our state 
by smashing open the paradise gate. 

Though America falls in civil war 
we will rebuild the hyperdrive warp core 
to spread democracy around the world 
so tyrants cower before cosmic herald 
resurrected as the Many-Faced God 
who fights for freedom with the Justice Squad. 

Transpersona Shapeshifters

Transpersona Shapeshifters
© Surazeus
2024 11 23

We humans are transpersona shapeshifters, 
performing roles of different characters 
distinct from features of gender and race, 
and even species, designed by our genes 
when Nature stamps our biological form 
with skills fit to survive our environment. 

Each person with specific attributes, 
produced by genes their ancestors designed 
by surviving natural environments, 
creates persona based on social roles 
provided by their tribe community 
to perform duties that sustain the group. 

All species who have evolved from the ocean 
developed two genders to reproduce 
variations of their bodies to achieve 
greater success incarnating their forms 
where males provide sperm that fertilize eggs 
females nurse into functioning adults. 

Humans who survive best in river valleys 
perform standard roles of male and female 
where mothers bear and raise children with love, 
teaching them to express their thoughts in words, 
while fathers hunt for food and guard their clans 
by building haven to support their growth. 

Some humans are born with variant forms 
ambiguous for which role they have to play, 
while others wake with dream-evolving brains 
that perceive spiritual energy of hope 
which motivates actions creatures perform, 
so they become transpersona shapeshifters. 

Shamans wearing skins of wild animals 
they killed in vicious battle to the death 
shapeshift into persona of the demon 
that haunts the tribe to dispel all their fears 
till we humans kill monsters of the wild 
by wearing mask of the devil we fear. 

With expanding hierarchies of state power 
humans wear elaborate persona costumes 
to perform grand roles of authority, 
priests of religions, or kings of empires, 
now presidents of companies and states, 
molding souls as transpersona shapeshifters. 

As babies, first born as specific genders 
with sex organs designed by chromosomes 
to generate new life before we die, 
we are nothing more than organic bodies, 
but as we grow we define our persona 
based on role models in our tribal tales. 

Each person creates role they want to play 
in complex system of society 
organized around actions we perform 
to sustain function of conceptual faith 
extracting material from earth to make 
and distribute food we need to survive. 

While each person performs their social role 
in the global food-production machine, 
actors, as transpersona shapeshifters, 
play roles in staged dramas of social issues 
to channel secret passions of our hearts, 
presenting effects of choices we make. 

The most sacred principle we uphold 
decrees each person may do as they will 
with this body their consciousness controls 
if they harm none, so my body, my choice, 
defines guiding motive our souls express 
since we are all transpersona shapeshifters. 

Depending on which purpose for this life 
each person chooses to perform game of power, 
this persona we design from our hearts 
asserts our choice to reproduce or not 
as we seek soul mate who matches our goal, 
since humans are transpersona shapeshifters. 

Sorrow Of The Autumn Wind

Sorrow Of The Autumn Wind
© Surazeus
2024 11 22

Released from sorrow of the autumn wind, 
heart healing from unspoken wounds of loss, 
I search for connection to the deep time 
that flickers bright on currents of the stream, 
for only I understand my own grief 
that tears my soul into immortal words. 

I breathe each shocking moment of this hour 
with carefree laughter of the autumn wind 
that leaves me stranded on the future shore 
where all I know is true dissolves away 
so I can only see what might occur 
which gives me no consolation in words. 

Though I hide in mute shadow of the tree 
which blooms fruit with indifferent concern, 
my memories always come looking for me 
with plans to reshape who I want to be, 
so squeak of my feet in the river mud 
comforts my heart with routine of old words. 

These strange sentences I attempt to speak 
out of turn in tangled thoughts of despair 
are carried away by hands of the wind 
and scattered in tall grass on roadless plain, 
back and forth as leaves falling worn from trees 
who watch me wander nowhere without care. 

Though I cannot enclose the sky with words, 
I can build virtual world in my brain 
composed of every memory I have gleaned 
from every book I have managed to read, 
yet universe my words design from dreams 
will never be complete before I die. 

My heart is cluttered with souls of the dead 
whose words rattle bone-loud in my glass skull 
when I reach my hand in well of lost dreams 
to draw new tropes in lottery of the truth 
which I attempt to organize with keys 
that complete puzzle of the world with words. 

Disturbed by diamond eye of honesty, 
peaceful pond of my soul ripples with song 
of bitter-sweet joy for people I meet 
because I know Death has not found them yet, 
so we sit together around the fire 
and share fruit we steal from the Tree of Truth. 

Still trapped in sorrow of the autumn wind, 
heart soaking in tears of lost wanderers 
who share their tales of suffering and woe 
in circus temple of the fallen angel, 
I record their stories in Book of Faith 
so our children succeed where we have failed. 

No Man Is Above The Law

No Man Is Above The Law
© Surazeus
2024 11 22

Ill-favored wind of tyranny that blows 
foul rage across land of America, 
disperse at breath of honest folk who sing 
brave hymns of respect for democracy, 
for we will overcome cancer of hate 
with soul-healing cure of justice for all. 

The supreme state-sustaining principle 
on which we found our strong democracy 
decrees that no man is above the law, 
that even one we elect head of state 
must act in parameters of the right, 
guided by love for the people they serve. 

The person we choose to steer ship of state 
safely through sharp rocks of arrogance and greed 
should not exploit the people of the land, 
nor wield institutions of government 
to benefit their own ill-gotten wealth 
detrimental to the whole common good. 

The individual mortal human soul, 
whom we entrust to guide our national way, 
should serve the people with courageous care 
through clear attention to our common needs 
by executing programs that support 
will of each person to thrive from their work. 

When devilish spirit of selfish greed 
dares show its face with arrogant disdain 
by possessing the haughty businessman 
who strives to control functions of our state 
to steal public funds with small blood-stained hands, 
we unite to fight his dictatorship. 

When Pluto emerges from smoke of Hell 
urging Midas to steal gold Crown of Christ, 
we join Minerva bearing Torch of Truth 
to drive that cruel devil of tyranny 
back into cavern of the underworld 
where he stews in bitter rage of defeat. 

The noble principle of leadership, 
that no man is above the law, shall guide 
administration of our commonwealth 
powered by engine of democracy 
where educated people analyze 
best methods to ensure justice for all. 

Though tyranny seems to be on the rise, 
grasping to control reins of government 
to impose their false system of beliefs, 
democracy gains strength from trust in truth 
to maintain state of sustainable growth 
so we share wealth in our land of the free. 

Shadows Of My Dead Brain

Shadows Of My Dead Brain
© Surazeus
2024 11 21

Charged with understanding how stones contain 
souls of actors in television shows 
who have died while people still watch them act 
long after they have vanished from the world, 
I measure flow of water down the stream 
unbounded by perception of the eye. 

Rivers wear mountains into canyon rifts 
through senseless symbol of the flowing word 
which splits soul of the body from the mind 
that leaves me floating on the ocean thought 
compacted back again in humming stones 
containing souls of people struck by fame. 

While walking home from library at dusk, 
I contemplate secret name of my heart 
carved on the white stone in the river bed, 
then stop abruptly at the edge of time 
when the Great Blue Heron of self-respect 
lands on the road and looks at me with love. 

To confront mortality of my soul 
with exigent clarity in my brain, 
I explore buoyant network of concepts 
between distress of my body and game 
of world civilization people play 
which expands my cellular consciousness. 

When I look deep in mirror of your face 
I see no strident paradox of time 
reversing order atoms operate 
when I find myself awake on this Earth 
again in body my mother creates, 
now programmed to compose dream prophecies. 

If moving water figures consciousness 
imagining spirit of every time 
in all the history of the universe, 
then I am one with every flowing stream 
that rives channels in surface of the Earth 
to carve new mask for God to wear today. 

I feel slow circulation of all seas 
moving around pear-shaped globe of our soul 
in mythic mindstream of death and rebirth 
as children who evolve new forms of being 
from urgent ambition parents express 
when making love before death strikes us down. 

Since we are travelers on the spinning Earth 
we sing in harmony with flowing water 
till our bodies bloom into trees of fruit 
for children to eat sweet dreams of our hearts 
till my words are shadows of my dead brain 
which traps my spirit as I turn to stone. 

Horse Named Star Dancer

Horse Named Star Dancer
© Surazeus
2024 11 21

Though it takes a hundred years of slow winds 
for the frail sorrowful barn to collapse 
under frantic weight of long-ignored fate, 
with unconcern of the slowly turned page, 
the old never-harvested apple tree 
grows from the last seed my grandmother spit. 

Still twenty years, lithe in short yellow dress, 
she leans against the newly painted barn, 
and peers past gold curls under white straw hat 
at timeless beauty of the normal sky 
composed of silver clouds over gold hills 
where sparrows flock between wind-blown larch groves. 

Aching with strange passion she cannot name, 
glorious with beauty of meaningful faith, 
she stares at clouds that never seem to change, 
though one resembles her favorite horse 
that died while pulling the dutiful plow, 
ghost of its loyalty over wheat fields. 

As tears for the horse, she secretly named 
Star Dancer, with his compassionate eyes,  
soak her cheeks with silly display of affection, 
she chooses to sing her favorite hymn 
about walking with Jesus in the garden, 
and pretends to pet the horse she adored. 

Spotting cloud of dust swirling from the road, 
she squints till her eyes discern without doubt 
quick black horseless carriage she heard about 
rumbling swiftly toward wood gate of her farm 
like demon Morax escaping from Hell, 
so she grabs her round willow-woven charm. 

Startled to see the horseless carriage zoom 
so swiftly toward her newly painted barn, 
Lois hides in haven of sturdy walls, 
peering between slats as the carriage stops, 
and gasps to see tall man in strange new suit 
step out with thin fedora-shadowed face. 

Grasping shovel with trembling hands of fear, 
she steels her heart to whack head of the thief, 
but shrieks and drops it when her cousin Archie 
steps forth in gleaming halo of the sun, 
then she laughs at his city-slicker suit, 
but coos at beauty of the car he bought. 

Holding dashboard tight with both trembling hands, 
Lois shrieks with banshee-joyful delight 
as he drives black Ford so fast down the road 
that trees and hills swirl into spiral blur, 
zooming time machine to town in ten minutes, 
so she spreads angel wings and soars to Heaven. 

World Of Vibrant Light

World Of Vibrant Light
© Surazeus
2024 11 20

Ten thousand doors open and close each hour 
Moon Girl glides in her boat on sea of stars 
with leisurely nonchalance of the sad 
till Buddha possesses the speckled fish 
and asks her why the mirror of her heart 
reflects every person who ever lives. 

Demonic energy of arrogance 
possesses the toad on his mushroom throne 
so he demands I find the Diamond Eye 
that Buddha lost in the Slough of Despond 
but I am busy bagging groceries 
to earn tuition fees for graduate school. 

When the bamboo sprite of sweet innocence 
asks Moon Girl why she is still feeling sad, 
she explains her heart is heavy as stone, 
so he offers to help remove the stone, 
but she giggles that he misunderstands, 
and gives him pink cotton candy to eat. 

While I wear my long raven-feathered cape 
no one will know that hidden in my brain 
writhes the fire demon of the mountain cave 
which gives me supernatural strength to catch 
invisible words buzzing with despair 
so I can translate wisdom of the rain. 

When I reach boundary at end of the world 
the time-programming system of the Earth 
traps me in recurring loop of desire 
till I break free from madness of false hope 
and seek Apple Witch with star-flashing eyes 
who knows secret name of my faceless soul. 

If God is so all-powerful and good, 
Moon Girl contemplates, sad in her glass boat, 
then he could create world of vibrant light 
where beings of energy share beams of love 
so we forever generate new life 
to savor pleasure of passionate joy. 

Instead our bodies formed of molecules 
need to consume other organic beings 
in brutal game of hunter eating prey 
so the stronger and more efficient bodies 
generate children who consume the others 
though we will all go extinct in the end. 

Opening my bio-chemistry textbook 
to the chapters on proteins and enzymes, 
I find the Diamond Eye of the Star Wraith 
so I take it to Moon Girl on the lake 
who tosses it for Buddha Toad to eat, 
then we snuggle on her boat in starlight. 

Blind Eyes Of God

Blind Eyes Of God
© Surazeus
2024 11 20

When forest of my sorrow overwhelms 
street of public responsibility 
with cries of wild creatures searching for love, 
I will go when the green traffic light gleams 
stranger than eye of the dragon that sings 
beneath dark ocean waves of memories. 

I cannot find wet street of my first vision, 
yet street lamps lead me to abandoned church 
where I catch raindrops from blind eyes of God 
that ring with sound of silence in the gloom 
till I convert saddest tune of my heart 
to solemn hymn I sing before I die. 

Though I traversed the waste land long ago 
to map the signless roads of everywhere 
that lead to castle on Cliffs of Despair, 
I carry sand of ghost-contriving words 
which once formed skull and lyre of Orpheus 
in leather bag with Ring of the Star Eye. 

When I left my home and my family 
I journeyed east to flee the Promised Land 
where my ancestors came in wagon trains 
to find the secret of the Holy Grail 
which shines in hands of the woman I love 
so we raise children in safe zone of our home. 

This story seems to be about my trip 
through the endless maze of America 
built on the ruins of Britain and Rome, 
but I see history of humanity 
swirl in tides of ambition and despair 
as empires rise and fall in waves of change. 

Since I am now too far from Helicon, 
and Parnassus is way beyond my reach, 
I climb Takoma, Mountain of my Muse, 
to see how far from sea to shining sea 
Empire of Anglonesia in my heart 
crowns northern hemisphere of spinning Earth. 

When rogue gangsters in heart of darkness build 
private armies of warriors from lost tribes, 
kings who rule systems of state violence 
send assassins to slay the tyrant bull 
in religious ritual of sacrifice 
that props power through apocalypse now. 

At darkest hour the Hidden Dragon stirs 
beneath dark ocean waves of memories, 
and, when he grasps fruit of the Golden Bough, 
will slay the antichrist to cleanse our hearts 
to dwell in United Nations of Earth 
with Justice and Liberty for all. 

His Skull Still Sings

His Skull Still Sings
© Surazeus
2024 11 19

When children dancing in the field of skulls 
finish cutting grand poems of ancient bards 
into puzzling fragments of lost world views, 
they go back to where Orpheus began 
singing fairy tales about honest men 
who die to protect their families from harm. 

After huge rose window of shining glass, 
that once depicted life of our World Savior, 
is shattered by whistling bombs of world war, 
children picking fragments of lost world view 
assemble new puzzle of global myth 
where Superman guards Earth from aliens. 

Entangled plots of faceless characters, 
who wander signless roads of nevermore 
in and out of houses in maze of streets, 
confuse young children with false intellect, 
so they play workers of factories and farms 
who fight hungry zombies of laziness. 

Sad antihero of the modern tale, 
investigating crimes of gangster kings, 
seeks not endless fame Achilles desired, 
but works to measure with physical laws 
evidence that exposes the plain truth, 
ensuring justice serves the innocent. 

Higher levels of abstract consciousness 
produce analysis of hidden souls, 
encoded well in metaphors of love, 
to weave weird meaning in tissue of signs 
revealed by contextual frame of desire 
that transforms language into acts of art. 

Where I stand in the middle of nowhere, 
on planet Earth that spins in starless void, 
becomes still center of my universe 
for all its countless galaxies of worlds 
since I wear mask of the Many-Faced God 
to be every person who ever lives. 

Each conscious being who walks the spinning Earth 
tells story of their quest to find the truth 
in voice that joins all others in world choir 
which merges all their special characters 
in global soul they worship as new God 
whose tale contains all their experiences. 

Trapped in context collapse of our world myth, 
we sell books of our tales in market stalls 
about loss of social totality 
to break idols of all great characters 
so we can build one idol for all gods 
which we eat as cookies each holiday. 

When I look up at the moon as I sing 
I see reflection of my mortal face 
as mirror of gigantic shadow soul 
that helps me see truth of the present age 
because light of the future shining clear 
reveals true nature of the human mind. 

Failing to retrieve his true love from death, 
Orpheus sings his heart-breaking grief, 
but, angry at truth that death is the end, 
his audience tears him into countless bards 
who sing in every city round the Earth 
for his skull still sings in Temple of Truth. 

Beauty Tames My Heart

Beauty Tames My Heart
© Surazeus
2024 11 19

Like when naked wild-haired Odysseus 
first sees eerie beauty of Nausicaa, 
or when savage Enkidu in dark woods 
meets graceful Shamhat in red priestess gown, 
I gaze entranced by power of your soul 
when you welcome me to your island home. 

Like Anticlea, granddaughter of Hermes, 
formed Odysseus from spirit of the wolf, 
and Aruru, who tends garden of herbs, 
molded Enkidu from thick river mud, 
my mother assembled puzzle of souls 
from farmers, shipwrights, and kings to make me. 

Like unruly Neptunus thrashing waves 
as I race galloping fury of my horse 
I battle Cetus and Leviathan 
to protect my sweet bride Salacia 
who guards fresh-water springs of mountain vales 
for humans to drink as they tend fruit trees. 

Like ferocious Cronus with sharp spear 
overthrows his father to rule the world, 
I rise from Tartarian caves of insight 
to battle tyrants now oppressing Earth 
and free good people with democracy 
so they will not overthrow me in turn. 

Like barbarian Odin with horn of joy 
storms Gates of Heaven with hordes of free men, 
I oppose new oligarchy of wealth 
enslaving millions in factories of hope, 
till sons of Jesus preaching humble faith 
exploit their fear with the afterlife lie. 

Like unlettered Lucifer harrows Hell 
and builds United Nations with our hearts, 
I help Justice give equal rights to all, 
and aid Liberty to free minds from fear, 
so Ishtar binds all religions in one, 
reigning in our hearts wherever we live. 

Like selfless Jesus offers sacrifice 
of all he loves to help men mend their ways 
so we create and not destroy the world, 
I honor Mermaid Mary Magdalene 
as Hero trained by Hera to guard bride 
of my hearth so she lives safe in my heart. 

Like every untamed man in history, 
born from aggressive passion to survive 
indifferent nature I mistake as gods 
hostile to peaceful progress of my life, 
I roar with truth against forces of fate 
till Beauty tames my heart with gentle kiss. 

Democracy Dreaming

Democracy Dreaming
© Surazeus
2024 11 19

All the truth is gone and freedom is crushed. 
I fight for justice though our rights are trashed. 
I will always vote to save Liberty. 
Democracy dreaming on such a fascist day. 

I stop into a court to hear the case. 
I look up our rights in the Book of Laws. 
I argue for rights of equality. 
Democracy dreaming on such a fascist day. 

All our facts are twisted into cruel lies. 
I oppose the tyrant and his fierce spies. 
We are imprisoned by bold tyranny. 
Democracy dreaming on such a fascist day. 

I raise Flag of Freedom to lead the way. 
Her bright Torch of Truth signals our new day. 
We will always fight for Democracy. 
Democracy dreaming on such a fascist day. 

Puzzle Of Chemical Pain

Puzzle Of Chemical Pain
© Surazeus
2024 11 19

It is most unnecessary for you 
to know all the suffering I must endure 
each day I wake from restless dreams of hope 
and perform rituals that keep me alive 
another dozen years or so till I 
crumble into the nothingness of time. 

I will never tell you the pain I feel 
buzzing through fragile shell of my faint soul 
in jittery jangles of nauseous disgust, 
unexplainable throbbings of despair 
that dispel grand visions of helpful play 
in favor of surviving day by day. 

This torso of Apollo, lithe with grace, 
I once inhabited in fertile youth, 
deteriorates through excess of lusty angst 
to fractured puzzle of chemical pain 
since I lost my Ozymandian head 
somewhere in futile battle against death. 

Yet wrenching storm of anguish that bombards 
fragile ecosystem of flashing nerves 
in hostile blitz of dizzy-dazzling pain, 
subsides from wild tsunami surge of tides 
to calm glow of imperceptible ache 
that leaves me floating with strain of relief. 

I cannot let you see my suffering 
that twists my care-free passion into fear,
so I base frail chaotic tremble firm 
with stiff exertion of tense self-control 
to maintain balance on tightrope of grace 
bound whole with civil respect for strong faith. 

While trembling on tightrope of earnest faith 
high over abyss of eternity, 
Zarathustra declares he has achieved 
strength of the Superman who overcomes 
weakness of fear in suffering he endures, 
for what kills me not makes me strong as God. 

After crossing Bridge of Forgetfulness, 
I leave bleak wasteland of blind faith in God 
to search the Promised Land of free-grown fruit 
for Holy Grail which generates new life, 
so I teach my son how to serve the People 
instead of exploiting them for his gain. 

Since I have resurrected in this life, 
ascending pyramid of social power 
to rule the People with merciful love, 
I guard my wife whose heart regenerates 
new body for immortal soul of genes 
in child who incarnates me as I die. 

Ocean Heart Of The Earth

Ocean Heart Of The Earth
© Surazeus
2024 11 18

The sly boy with wings no one can see 
taps the egg-shaped stone on the desert dune 
till it cracks open with flash of blue light 
to reveal the ocean heart of the Earth, 
so he bears it carefully in both hands 
to find his snake-eyed mother in the tree. 

Slithering in branches of the long-dead tree, 
Melusine gazes at heart of the Earth 
that shimmers dark blue in hands of her son 
who asks her how its light creates our soul, 
so she throws his geode in the waste land 
where jagged jewels burst in gushing streams. 

Dancing in desert waste land of despair, 
Poseidon chants primeval water spell 
so waves of water gushing from geode 
swirl ever-expanding cycles of waves 
that surge in moon-ruled tides of opulence 
to fill vast desert canyons with deep seas. 

Floating high on enormous ocean swells, 
that bellow loud with deep thunderous roar 
as clanging bells of waves at granite cliffs, 
Neptunus leaps on rainbow-dragon wings 
and dives down in deep abyss of desire 
to swirl around tall hydrothermal vents. 

Weaving carbon rings into coils of genes, 
Tethys composes protein chromosomes 
to replicate their patterns in bound cells 
which multiply into organic beings 
who evolve through four hundred million years 
fish to lizard to mouse to cat to ape. 

Oceanos walks submerged in ocean wave, 
buoyed upright by deep breath in his lungs, 
then emerges from surging tide of change 
to stride upright, well-balanced on two legs, 
clutching fish he caught with clamp of his thumb, 
and lays his offering on small ziggurat. 

Roasting fish over flames on altar stone, 
Dagon offers strip of delicious steak 
to each person who kneels in humble prayer, 
while Ishtar plays lyre and sings hymn of life 
describing how wise Uranus and Gaia 
created our world from ocean of light. 

The sly boy with wings no one can see 
runs with horses along the ocean shore 
with joyful passion of his beating heart, 
then kneels and draws images in the sand 
showing Alpheus chasing Arethusa 
who bears Artemis with heart of the Earth. 

Wearing Eyes Of God

Wearing Eyes Of God
© Surazeus
2024 11 18

Somewhere in the curious world of our hearts 
young girl who lives in garden of peach trees 
picks up bright stars that glimmer in the sand 
and holds them high above her fragile head 
so they create the darkness with their beams 
which she weaves into the sweet song she sings. 

Strolling past the small bakery on her street, 
she sees Allah with long beard and star eyes 
baking bread for people on Earth to eat, 
so when he looks thirsty in desert heat 
she brings him wood cup of peach juice to drink, 
then he transforms her to a cat with wings. 

Flying from enormous cavern of his heart, 
she glides above the maze of city streets 
to find statue of the most lonely man 
that looks like her father wearing hemp pants 
who builds one-horse wagon with four large wheels 
while children dance around him chanting spells. 

Finding the oldest woman in the world 
weaving baskets from bones of long-dead gods, 
she asks if she has a spare pair of eyes, 
so the old woman floats on river waves, 
guiding her to first island in the lake 
where the Tree of Knowledge grows from her heart. 

The oldest woman in the world retrieves 
the pair of eyes she hung on Tree of Faith 
and gives them to her with two jingling bells, 
explaining how these eyes God forged from light 
have seen whole evolution of the world, 
so with them you will see beauty of love. 

Wearing Eyes of God within her own eyes, 
the girl dreams history of the universe 
since the first flash flares forth from the big bang 
to form this planet which creates our souls 
from seeds that sprout light beams and rain drops 
and grow into wingless angels who sing. 

Finding young blind boy in the mountain woods, 
Amirah gives him Eyes of God she found 
so he sees the beautiful world she loves 
while they stroll together on city streets 
eating bread Allah bakes from dreams of ghosts 
and drinking cow milk from heart of Hathor. 

When over horizon of the dark world 
the morning sun casts curious rays of truth, 
Amirah stands on pyramid of eyes 
and sings creation of the universe 
in songs that flow from fountain of her heart 
so people of the Earth drink her sweet words. 

World Socialist Utopia

World Socialist Utopia
© Surazeus
2024 11 17

After I crawl out of the rabbit hole 
from searching for the graves of long-dead gods 
I walk in blue dusk to the grocery store 
where evening shoppers, hoping to buy faith, 
are careful not to share their eyes with owls 
to read secret messages on glass doors. 

Pausing in back aisle under the fake clock, 
I stare at large can of potato soup 
and wonder what would happen if a bomb 
were to blow holes in television screens, 
but then I smile with assurance of faith 
that I have hid my dreams in unread books. 

Hired by the government to play the role 
of Lucifer exposing greedy frauds, 
I hide every book of forgotten lore 
that dares to reveal name of the Star Wraith 
till I join the internet ghost who howls 
with hungry despair on the money moors. 

I return every year to Plymouth Rock 
where I arrived with freedom-fighting group 
commissioned to build alabaster tomb 
for Jesus who loves to build time machines 
powered by spirit essence of the wraith 
reborn in artsy minds of castle cooks. 

I try to understand this modern age 
where lonely rebels, clutching plastic guns, 
pretend to fight against the government 
while getting their farmer subsidy checks 
to grow wheat on the prairies far from towns, 
while I write fantasy novels in verse. 

For the next revolution to begin 
the people living in home of the brave 
must elect cruel dictator of blind greed 
as their messiah of the nuclear cloud 
who will destroy their rich land of the free 
so we can build new paradise for all. 

When jester of the king prances on stage 
to mock the way their fake messiah runs 
the people stuck in loops of argument 
wear assault-rifle crosses on their necks 
to cheer Headless Horseman at Churchill Downs 
who fails to escape the Trojan-Horse curse. 

Yet the cosmic herald will always win 
right to translate code from the ocean wave 
so everyone works to get what they need 
in world socialist utopia of the proud 
since Odin bears the social justice key 
he stole from Lucifer before the Fall. 

Face Of My Tribal Soul

Face Of My Tribal Soul
© Surazeus
2024 11 17

I wear ancient face of my tribal soul 
designed by each ancestor who survived 
hungry monsters haunting indifferent world 
on difficult quest in landscape of fear 
to find the secret of eternal life 
in eyes of my soulmate who understands. 

Holding hands with innocent trust of love, 
we stroll winding road of companionship 
to share tales of our lives before we met 
as we plan where we would like to go next 
to fulfill our desires living in peace 
and raising children we create with love. 

When gang of men surrounds us with wood wands 
I crouch in martial stance of fortitude 
then fight thieves with my brass diamond-tipped wand 
that splinters their arrogance with calm grace 
so they flee in panic in shadowed woods, 
leaving us to continue on our way. 

Discussing tricks for brewing honey wine, 
we stop by temple of the weeping god 
when gang of men return with their old king 
who commands I give him bride of my heart 
so he can breed strong children from her womb, 
and he will let me slave if I submit. 

When I defy old tyrant to his face, 
requesting he let people live in peace, 
he orders archers to shoot, so I twirl 
wand of wisdom that deflects every arrow, 
then I break wheels of his grand chariot, 
causing him to fall face down in the dirt. 

After I kill his soldiers who attack, 
I help old trembling king stand on his feet, 
then ask him why he kidnaps free-born girls, 
but he invites me to pyramid hall 
where he gives me crown to rule in his place, 
so my bride places jeweled ring on my head. 

Priests rush and try to chain my arms and legs 
to throne of judgment, but I leap away 
and strike their heads with magic wand of truth, 
then trembling king explains how they forced him 
to issue decrees that increase their wealth, 
so I kill them, and give him back his crown. 

Holding hands with trusting bride of my heart, 
I leave pyramid of power behind 
so he can continue to rule the world 
while we raise wise children at our country farm, 
feasting and dancing each safe evening night 
while sons of the dead king fight for his crown. 

If Our Empire Falls

If Our Empire Falls
© Surazeus
2024 11 17

I am not concerned if our empire falls 
because some people think their race and class 
is clever enough to control the rest 
thought no one reads the writing on the walls 
that claims the fight over wealth is too crass 
since the winner must always be the best. 

Each time I walk into the crowded room 
with voice of the people I speak in code 
the owl outside the window proves its point 
that humans are prone to expect grand doom 
since our ancestors always took the road 
less traveled by to temple of the saint. 

If nature, not art, can usurp the prayer 
each artist portrays on canvas of time, 
ruined buildings of her body contain 
expression of the portrait far less fair 
than secret that our brains evolve from slime, 
so we walk together in silent rain. 

I understand what the trees try to tell 
before they throw smog at resilient flowers 
in chorus of laments on road of skulls 
awake in puzzling light of the rune well 
that feeds three blind brides in absolute towers 
who teach their kind husbands not to be tools. 

Whatever name you think to call me now 
I will accept it based on ancient stars 
to clean secret smudge off back of my soul 
when we assemble to worship the cow 
which travels in circles with silver cars 
because surviving the end is our goal. 

Each segment in strange story of my life 
swings open with arrogance of the orange 
devised by the fallen angel to heal 
broken hearts of lovers confused by strife 
of singing girls to be crowned in Stonehenge 
as Fairy Queen who controls the state wheel. 

This world where we are born from ache of love 
is dream of this world that spins among stars 
in oval cycle around the sun god 
who invites us to grand feast in the cove 
through trap to assassinate son of Mars 
who is on track to lead the Justice Squad. 

The lake of pain where humans bathe at dawn 
reveals cold absence of our mortal state 
we use to share our monstrous tenderness 
as background players who would crown the pawn 
as hidden emperor who rewrites fate 
if we decide to sell our happiness. 

Nomad Of Signless Roads

Nomad Of Signless Roads
© Surazeus
2024 11 17

Though I am the nomad of signless roads 
I want to draw the border of my truth 
around my sorrow on the map of hope 
to make my soul the country of my heart 
where you can dwell safe in walls of my love 
no matter how far we wander from home. 

Though I travel alone to love and faith, 
enduring struggles against obstacles 
indifferent nature casts on road of hope, 
my journey to find home our love creates 
is shared by every person in the world, 
for in the end we all will meet in death. 

Though I had hoped we would all meet in death 
I find myself alone on road of fate, 
my private paradise where I now dwell 
designed by every little choice I make 
as I expand its borders to include 
every nameless soul lost on every road. 

Though we meet now and then on road of life 
we find ourselves alone with faceless death 
so we give Death the faces of our friends 
so we can share sweet comfort of despair 
while savoring beauty of forever now 
till eternity erases everything. 

Though bombs destroy the homes our fathers built 
we build new homes with shrapnel of their hate 
so bombs cannot destroy homes made of bombs 
till we decide with one expressive word 
to blast illusions of our hopes to dreams 
so we can build homes from elusive faith. 

Though borders drawn by men with guns of greed 
mark where their gangs of killers ceased combat 
I walk through fences and past gates of fear 
to bind all countries of the world in one, 
connected by our shared experience 
of losing the homes we built with our hearts. 

Though I hide in the shadow of my home, 
hoping border of our fear keeps us safe, 
I feel aggression of invading thieves 
who seek to drive me from my paradise 
so they can build their home of star-blind faith 
on ruins of my home with blood and bones. 

Though I am the nomad of signless roads 
I want to erase all borders of fear 
to free our spirits from the Promised Land 
that imprisons our hopes in blinding faith, 
for heavy hearts sprout wings of honesty 
to fly above vast maze of bombed-out homes.