Progress Of Zarathia

Progress Of Zarathia
© Surazeus
2024 12 31

During the last flash at the end of time 
I will dance on my grave by the fruit tree 
that grows beside the never-ending road 
which I have followed all around the Earth 
to find where skulls of my ancestors lie 
ten thousand miles along the River Styx. 

During the last flash in the play of dreams 
I will build ten billion homes by the sea 
so every person living on this Earth 
may dwell in safe security of truth 
to gather with their friends around the hearth 
and share strange stories as they drink and laugh. 

During the last flash at the song of clouds 
I will gather lake pebbles in my mouth 
and sing in harmony with choirs of birds 
to guide the dead and refugees from war 
across the waste land of the weeping heart 
to dwell in garden of the hungry tree. 

During the last flash before the new year 
I will appear on Mount Takoma peak 
in flash of lightning from the star-eyed wraith 
and walk your cities as the cosmic herald 
proclaiming collapse of America 
that nurtures progress of Zarathia. 

Flute Of Forgetfulness

Flute Of Forgetfulness
© Surazeus
2024 12 31

I want to watch first sunrise of this year 
from bottom of the sea in purple haze 
where my genes were formed from spiraling coils 
that vibrate with ancient song of the sun 
which flares forth from first flash of the big bang 
so I can remember my secret name. 

I will shift my brain engine in high gear 
and race myself to transcend the next phase 
when I soar to Heaven on hydrofoils 
in soul journey Scythia to Oregon 
through epiphany of Nirvana twang 
so I win the regeneration game. 

When I gaze up at Mount Takoma peak 
I see bright vision of the Holy Grail 
personified as Goddess Liberty 
who gives me raven quill and scripture book 
to chronicle fall of America 
that leads to the rise of Zarathia. 

Since I have found what weeping angels seek 
beyond scope of her heart-balancing scale, 
I treasure progress through fertility 
of my family safe in tall tower rook, 
nurtured by energy of Onatah 
which binds me to my homeland Scythia. 

Though Wheel of Fortune spins much faster now 
which fuels urgent progress of social change, 
I balance flight of passion with calm reason 
to channel flow of transformative force 
by navigating obstacles of fear 
so I cross lost Bridge of Foresightedness. 

Living with my bride in forever now 
as we explore with love conceptual range 
of romance in harmony with each season, 
I map confusing landscape to the source 
of inspiration as the balladeer 
while my mate plays Flute of Forgetfulness. 

Though we are fragile flames of consciousness 
that glow our brief time on this spinning sphere, 
I savor time I spend with you in Heaven 
that we create with every choice we make 
defining fate that binds our hearts with faith, 
sharing love till we dissolve back to Earth. 

Before we vanish into nothingness, 
inspired by spirit of the pioneer, 
we follow random flight of the Moon Raven 
who guides us to dwell safe by the Dream Lake 
where our pure love is blessed by the Star Wraith 
who teaches us the secret of rebirth. 

Heaven Garden Of Fruit

Heaven Garden Of Fruit
© Surazeus
2024 12 31

Ascending Mount Takoma at bright dawn, 
the cosmic herald gazes to the east 
where Mount Parnassus and Mount Helicon 
connect his heart to spirit of the past 
with thread of song that weaves all hearts in one, 
then strums the lyre of Mercury and sings. 

The ancient landscape of our mutual dreams 
is cluttered with the corpses of dead kings 
who reigned in castle towers long ago 
while wearing crowns shaped round as dragon jaws 
encrusted with gems extracted by slaves 
who worship their father Jesus as God. 

In fertile land across the storm-wracked sea 
we build foundation for democracy 
where every person alive on its soil 
shares equal opportunity to work 
based on liberty and justice for all 
ensured by civil rights under one law. 

Though sons of Jesus reign in the White House, 
supporting system of democracy, 
their hidden ambition to rule the world 
emerges through enforcement of one law 
designed to assert our supremacy 
under Jesus as Emperor of Earth. 

From Scythia we have spread to half the world, 
rooted by wisdom in city of Athena, 
nurtured by faith in mists of Avalon, 
expanding from forum of Jupiter 
through fertile heartland of Gothinia 
uniting Russia with Zarathia. 

Fractured in opposing nations of power, 
both Zarathia and Russia compete 
as eagle wings spread from Gothinia, 
unbalanced by gyrating force of faith, 
where ancient monarch of the British Isles 
slumbers unaware on the Dragon Throne. 

The core of social power migrates west, 
Babylon to Athens to Rome to Paris 
to London, then Moscow and Washington, 
split between contrasting world views of rights, 
yet bind Alaska with Siberia 
around the northern hemisphere with power. 

When Hidden Dragon rises from our hearts 
and sweeps away old tyrants and monarchs, 
he will unite in one world empire state 
nations of angels into Anglonesia 
that will secure Heaven garden of fruit 
where our families may dwell in happiness. 

Book Of Screaming Ghosts

Book Of Screaming Ghosts
© Surazeus
2024 12 31

When the Carpenter rebuilds our quaint home 
after bombs blast it into puzzling shards, 
I collect half-burned family photographs 
to arrange them for chronicles of hope, 
captioned with names and dates for birth and death 
organized in the Book of Screaming Ghosts. 

When the oldest woman in the world calls 
my secret office on the telephone, 
I record endless rambling of her tales 
detailing history of the human race 
as gossip read in People Magazine 
to save them in the Book of Screaming Ghosts. 

When the manic pixie dream girl hitchhikes 
across the waste land to lush Oregon, 
I play grunge folk songs on half-tuned guitar 
as we lounge on the beach of evolution, 
then talk about sacred beauty of truth 
recorded in the Book of Screaming Ghosts. 

When the Redcrosse Knight with the bloody sword 
leads holy crusade to reconquer Hell, 
I escape burned ruins of Babylon 
to fight for fair justice in Avalon 
then search for love in hills of Oregon, 
using maps in the Book of Screaming Ghosts. 

When the Tambourine Man opens Time Door 
with Dream Key forged from bone of some dead god, 
I leap each Earth across the multiverse 
to merge all my selves in one Mask of God 
through which I perceive atoms of the mind 
analyzed in the Book of Screaming Ghosts. 

When the Goddess of Liberty appears 
from abandoned Tomb of Justicia, 
she leads the Remnant who believe in truth 
to fight against tyranny of King Midas 
and restore American democracy 
as foretold in the Book of Screaming Ghosts. 

When the messiah sleuth returns to Earth 
incarnate in the prophet no one hears, 
I calculate world economic flow 
to navigate the global ship of state 
to Isle of Avalon where I record 
weird visions in the Book of Screaming Ghosts. 

When the cosmic herald descends from Heaven 
after King Midas turns Earth into hell, 
I analyze fall of America 
to build Republic of Zarathia 
based on Justice and Liberty for all 
who are born in the Book of Screaming Ghosts. 

Falcon Of World Peace

Falcon Of World Peace
© Surazeus
2024 12 30

With turning of the falcon in the wind 
at widening of the gyre from central core, 
I sense with passionate intensity 
another revelation is at hand 
when Spirit of the World as Lion Man 
slouches toward Bethlehem to be reborn. 

No rough beast this time with pitiless eyes, 
but wingless angel with star-blazing scroll, 
approaches pyramid of global power 
across the waste land of our poisoned hopes 
as prophesied by mute messiah sleuth 
who wears God Eye of Wisdom on his head. 

At seventh coming of messiah sleuth, 
born in lush hills of misty Oregon, 
great Empire of America will fall 
till cosmic herald wakes with dream of truth, 
to found Republic of Zarathia, 
inspired by ancient soul of Avalon. 

Divine incarnation of Jesus Christus, 
through sacred bloodline of the Holy Grail, 
Meroveus to Constantinus to Arthurus 
to Carolus Magnus to Gulielmus 
to our cosmic herald who arrives on Earth 
as complete unknown in the wilderness. 

When anarchy is loosed upon the world 
by oligarchs who grasp for social power, 
our innocent messiah sleuth of truth 
will rise from flood of psychic energy 
to reign as sacrificial lamb with love 
by guarding fertile soul of Liberty. 

Though brave Minerva, who upholds the law, 
was overwhelmed in fight for Liberty 
by greedy Pluto and his puppet Midas, 
the cosmic herald bearing Book of Truth 
will rise as Hidden Dragon of pure faith 
to maintain system of democracy. 

Fierce hurricane of social anarchy, 
fueled by ambition of the Businessman, 
smashes institutions of government 
so corporate kings, unchained by regulations, 
exploit poor working people to steal wealth 
while honest citizens lose everything. 

When Falcon of World Peace circling the sun 
lands on virtuous arm of the cosmic herald, 
the falconer of truth with spell of wisdom 
will tame the rough beast of Jerusalem 
and reign in World Temple on Mount Moriah 
to maintain United Nations of Earth. 

Bob Senses Danger

Bob Senses Danger
© Surazeus
2024 12 30

While strumming guitar and singing folk tunes 
on the street before the national bank, 
Bob senses danger in the great blue sky, 
so he zooms up on rocket of his heart 
to blast the asteroid hurtling toward the Earth, 
then returns, and continues the next verse. 

While strolling arm in arm with his girlfriend 
on Positively Fourth Street in Greenwich Village, 
Bob senses danger in the mountain range 
so he teleports to top of Devils Tower 
where he wrestles Zeus for the Holy Grail, 
then takes Suze out to the Cafe Wha. 

While riding chrome horse with the Cheshire cat 
to give out money he steals from the rich, 
Bob senses danger at the carnival 
so he leaps from bell tower of Notre Dame 
and rescues Ophelia from River Styx 
to play Beauty Queen on Desolation Row. 

While piloting Titanic on the sea 
to sing with Mermaids in the Pantheon, 
Bob senses danger within the White House 
so he dons mask of Dionysian clown 
and scams King Midas from the crown he stole 
to save America from tyranny. 

While volunteering at the bankrupt church 
to serve food to children on Christmas Eve, 
Bob senses danger in the twilight zone 
so he arrests the greedy oligarchs 
who enslave people with credit card debt 
and frees them from the game of win or die. 

While running from assassins of state power 
to ride sandworms in dunes, and harvest spice, 
Bob senses danger in the galaxy 
so he leads revolution of the lost 
and fights for freedom in the Holy Land 
to build telescope on the Temple Mount. 

While building houses for war refugees 
to expand paradise across the land, 
Bob senses danger in stock market game 
so he paints dollar bills on maple leaves 
and funds scholarships for the poor to learn 
we weave our fate with every choice we make. 

While playing chess with Hades on the beach 
to win lost souls who vote for Lucifer, 
Bob senses danger in America 
so he crawls blind on six crooked highways 
to lead us all to the mountain of ghosts 
where he catches blasting rain with his eyes. 

Soul Without The Brain

Soul Without The Brain
© Surazeus
2024 12 30

The beach without sand of unchanging time 
supports slow motion of aggressive hope 
when hunger urges awareness of thought 
which fuels locomotion of fierce intent 
with harsh inspiration of each grim breath 
to crawl across eternity of now. 

The slope without the curve of measurement 
resists persistent hope of constrained will 
to climb steep otherness of silver why 
high toward upper expanse of safe desire 
till purpose beyond reach of helpless goals 
releases thrust of existence to stand. 

The well without the bottom of rain eyes 
lures desperate agony of nothingness 
with brilliant visions of worlds undesigned 
to reach for sparkle deep in gloom of time 
as endless whisper leaking thoughts of clouds 
fills hollow happiness with truthless rocks. 

The voice without the mouth expressing hope 
vibrates tsunami waves of innocence 
far swirling closer to moon mirror gleam 
based on insistent pace of wordless song 
still wrecking fragile concepts newly stored 
safe behind wavering walls of contempt. 

The day without the hour of static clocks 
computes new memory old gods chronicle 
unsure of how to reconcile complaints 
opposing programs of successful growth 
quick to decay from unsupported claims 
corrupted sooner than storms aggregate. 

The volume without dimension of faith 
enclosing cordial canticles of clues 
counters cosmic joke of wholeness derived 
from cluttered fragments unpuzzled again 
at crack of dawn that stirs within the heart 
vast multiverse of possible untruths. 

The soul without the brain of memories 
vibrates with pulsing attitude of pride 
releasing radiant facts that build world views 
composed of features forming ideal masks 
we wear on stage as we perform our fate 
we choose each hour of struggle to survive. 

The tale without the text of tragedy 
gestating inside book of soul rebirth 
describes pure fantasy of world events 
expressed as magic spell through energy 
required to maintain minimal expense 
when I survive shipwreck in this new world. 

We Hear No Bells Ring

We Hear No Bells Ring
© Surazeus
2024 12 30

So many ways for water to flow blue 
reveal brief settlement of social norms 
shaped by soft atmosphere of cozy homes 
where people hide from chaos of despair 
to bake fruit pies and sip hot chocolate 
while watching snow map motions of the mind. 

Walls of our houses gather light we share 
to code strange sorrows that still stir within, 
preserving memories long frozen gray 
by wings of passing angels when we pray, 
though we dishonor gestures of respect 
by breaking monuments of silent ice. 

We feel soft weight of twenty million years 
in timeless moment of this gold-lit hour 
before noon wrecks beliefs we built with care 
composed of long sojourns in foreign lands 
till bones of our ancestors claim this space 
as our true homeland since cold dawn of time. 

Now rooted in this changeless land of wind, 
tagged with false name of faceless ghost we fear, 
we find our secrets incomplete yet true, 
so sudden end of time starts up again 
our project to design vast tapestries 
we weave from songs of broken radios. 

We write our stories on soft leaves of trees 
through restless dramas written by moonrays, 
so when they fall, now brittle with despair, 
we sweep them into piles of restless words 
unread by patient mountains of concern, 
which would embrace us to their breasts of stone. 

Though we mark ends of years on calendars 
when lands of aching hope are frozen cold, 
and flow of change lithe dancers calculate 
has stalled at pause of fearful discontent, 
atomic flash of time will never cease 
to push our bodies toward our hollow graves. 

Since winter seems to down the dying hour 
through languid settlement of fractured hope, 
we surge against snow of despair with cause 
to readjust slow-motion crash of fate 
with angled reference based on measured grace 
so we emerge from gloom with sunlit eyes. 

We hear no bells ring in the new-year faith 
now that greed drives the hungry tyrant mad, 
so we brace hearts of innocence for hell 
unleashed by gang of thieves with wrecking hands 
who blast our monuments to liberty, 
then party in the rubble of lost hope. 

First Mother Of Humanity

First Mother Of Humanity
© Surazeus
2024 12 29

When portraits fall off world museum walls 
their ghosts transform into new human beings 
who go about their daily mortal lives, 
having forgotten their immortal state 
as atoms swirling in sphere of the sun 
that beam down to Earth to be born as humans. 

Each time one sperm fertilizes one egg, 
immortal soul of atoms incarnates 
in human being whose brain of neural nodes 
emanates unique consciousness of self 
who senses divine glow of radiant love 
program how they perform the fate they choose. 

Though countless conscious souls have lived and died 
four hundred million years of spinning Earth 
since we crawled from fertile womb of the sea 
up fresh water rivers to lake of dreams, 
I am alone with unique state of mind 
which I record in magic spells of verse. 

Each person whose mind conjures virtual world 
through organized arrangement of thought words 
programs how new readers perceive the world 
so conscious glamor of their vision glows 
again in brains of those who read their spells 
long after their own brain dissolves to dust. 

Weird way I view the world has been programmed 
by billions of people who lived and died 
long before my mother taught me to speak, 
so when I wear their old persona masks 
I feel their conscious minds awake in mine 
as I incarnate First Mother in me. 

First Mother wakes in every human brain, 
one soul alive in eight billion new selves, 
so we all remember the night she stood 
tall with breath inspiring her eager heart 
beside the lake of dreams at dawn of time, 
amazed at beauty of this spinning Earth. 

She is immortal spirit of our brains 
awake in individual conscious minds, 
so we speak her true name after we pray, 
Amen, First Mother of Humanity, 
who welcomes us to her pyramid home 
where we eat while she sings tale of creation. 

Amen stands tall on flat-top pyramid 
while we gather on each ascending level, 
spreads both her arms out wide as angel wings, 
head glowing bright in halo of the sun, 
and beams dream of Earth in our minds with song 
so her great God Eye opens in our brains. 

Fund Social Growth

Fund Social Growth
© Surazeus
2024 12 29

The most powerful people always die 
so other people fight to take their place, 
ambitious men hoping to outwit Death 
by climbing pyramid of social fame 
as they ascend to bright immortal realm 
only to collapse and dissolve to dust. 

Though men, who sit by fireplaces and watch 
ambitious men fight for power of fame, 
write their names in the history books 
to chronicle their political games, 
their names and nothing more are left behind 
for they all will die, forgotten by time. 

Therefore I decline your offer of cash 
and public support for me to campaign 
for higher office in the government 
where I could effect with legal programs 
social change for common people to strive 
with equal opportunities for wealth. 

Though I have written nine best-seller books 
describing in detail social reforms 
which progressive architects could design 
to adjust process of productive wealth, 
I have no complex diplomatic skill 
to orchestrate opposing points of view. 

Detailed blueprints for how to reform laws 
which I presented in best-selling books 
have been ignored by government elites 
because they do not want to implement 
fair social system that would equalize 
every person regardless of their class. 

The powerful oligarchs who control 
fiscal accounts that could fund social growth 
prefer to keep the common folk suppressed, 
for weak and hungry men desperate to work 
are easy to manipulate through greed, 
keeping the masses enslaved by false hope. 

They defund education and health care, 
cripple unions, and break social welfare, 
because people, uneducated and poor, 
are more willing to work without complaint, 
so plans for social reform I designed 
are worthless fantasies they will ignore. 

I fought for many years to institute 
far better system of equality, 
but rich oligarchs I have long opposed 
have gained control of our people and land 
through bloodless coup of willing money slaves 
who deserve the hell where they are now trapped. 

Unpuzzle My Self

Unpuzzle My Self
© Surazeus
2024 12 29

If my brain malfunctions in fractured flare 
of dream-lost memories adjusting time 
to dislocate spinning conceptual frame 
of reference flashed backward to uncode truth, 
show me photo of my face in reverse 
when I decide to unpuzzle my self. 

My conscious awareness of jelly gods 
composing vast structure of galaxies 
functions to analyze perceptive gleams 
as qualities of objects atoms form 
through fluid matrix of undulant shapes 
when I speak words to unpuzzle my self. 

Constrained by tangled code computers dream, 
my brain arranges social-programmed tropes 
as building blocks molded by language keys 
to design virtual model of our world 
based on cosmic ontology I spell 
with mirror shards to unpuzzle my self. 

Round greenish glow of distributed woods 
protrudes from mental landscape of fake homes 
ornamented through attached telephones 
to stain weird idleness of mordant clouds 
where sky gods estimate odor of death 
contrived with faith to unpuzzle my self. 

Absent people hollow space-time as ghosts 
threading tubular souls through decayed woods 
where almost narrow distance funnels fear 
since various convex hopes of whiteness cap 
hysterical circles zoned by state law 
through signs I use to unpuzzle my self. 

Yet flocks of ravens repeat rapid rules 
defining how Earth turns inside my brain 
through continuous minerals of desire 
translucent with agony fierce eyes glare 
with delicate chirping of confused gods 
who love to watch me unpuzzle my self. 

Subdued voices of wingless angels blast 
old world views into questions about why 
whistles of spies imitate hero songs 
bards compose from sharp cries of agony 
with words that frame courage to hide despair 
though I succeed to unpuzzle myself. 

Since my brain malfunctions analysis 
of words dissembling theocratic faith, 
I carve snake runes on tablets of oak wood 
in elegant lines of Saturnian verse 
which translates songs of wind and rain to words 
I reinvent to unpuzzle my self. 

Glamor Of Our Thoughts

Glamor Of Our Thoughts
© Surazeus
2024 12 29

We sail forever on river of words 
that began to flow from mouth of First Mother 
and takes us from the mountain cave of dreams 
where she first woke to vision of the world 
one hundred million years down to the sea 
where we build virtual city of the mind. 

The world we see is not the world we speak 
for we invent the glamor of our thoughts 
as truth-veil to hide indifference of Nature 
which allows us to give each other hope 
as we extract desire from soil of Earth 
to eat as fruit with spirit of the Sun. 

Escaping dream illusion built of words 
to explore the real world outside our language, 
I leave city maze of commercial games 
and dwell in cave where faceless angels sing 
before oak wood statue hidden in shadow 
that depicts soul of Antonius Patavinus. 

The rotting statue of the dead saint crumbles 
to dust that swirls as sparkles in moonlight, 
so I carve new statue with my own face 
that resembles one billion living people 
whose words swirl from their mouths as hurricanes 
which people mistake as the Voice of God. 

Just as I float above frame of my body 
as faceless phantom of the world wide web, 
the Queen of Sheba arrives at my cave 
and asks me to compose new manuscript 
that illustrates whole history of the world 
so I weave tales in Chronicle of Eve. 

Through imperial decree of honest words 
I unite wingless angels with one heart 
from Zarathia, Gothinia, and Russia 
in new global Empire of Anglonesia 
which legislates national security 
to guard our bodies in haven of faith. 

Waking alone in cave of my illusions, 
I watch beautiful palace of my words 
crumble into snowflakes of arrogance 
that cleanses soil from blood of civil war 
so flowers and fruit trees blossom in spring 
as always, though our world empires collapse. 

While we lounged in the global tree of fruit, 
First Mother taught me how to express words 
in stream of psychic melodies that form 
vision of the world as subjects who act 
as we perform grand political plays, 
then rot in death as children call us gods. 

Seraph Of Freedom

Seraph Of Freedom
© Surazeus
2024 12 28

Alone in sprawling city maze of myths, 
where billions of people live in one dream, 
Shekhinah sings solemn hymns no one hears 
that vibrate invisible waves of love 
to weave our minds in tapestry of faith 
so everyone sings in world harmony. 

Spreading white angelic swan wings with hope, 
which swirl around her body in bright flames, 
Shekhinah floats over city of towers, 
tall radiant seraph with star-diamond eyes 
who beams stream of atoms as chemicals 
that energize our brains with dreams of love. 

Old woman on the park bench by the elm 
opens her eyes, blinking in evening light, 
to watch children play on the jungle gym 
while their mothers discuss psychology, 
then raises her old wrinkled hand to shade 
sunrays that glimmer with angelic form. 

Breathing deep to savor sweet scent of flowers, 
old woman grunts from the effort to rise, 
then shuffles slowly with cute families 
who stroll around the lake in evening glow 
as thousands of lights on trees and wire frames 
flash on to illuminate all their souls. 

Struggling to walk as she leans on her cane, 
old woman with white hair and silver eyes 
walks ten thousand years around the lake 
while children run past, lithe young girls skip, 
and sweet lovers take selfies with eye-phones, 
who swirl around her in blur of desire. 

Though I am not sure as sun on the lake 
if I am still alive this dazzling hour, 
I feel immortal spirit of pure light 
emanate from each beat of my old heart, 
for I remember when mankind first rose 
from Lake of Dreams to eat from Tree of Life. 

I see you coming for me now, blind Death, 
she whispers as young boy on swift skateboard 
collides with old woman among the crowd 
which knocks her back so hard she cracks her head 
and bleeds holy spirit on the sidewalk 
till Phoebus cradles her head with his coat. 

Police arrest the young boy for manslaughter, 
while thousands of people from everywhere 
attend funeral of the lonely old woman 
who floats above them as Seraph of Freedom, 
spreading white angelic swan wings with hope 
that energize our hearts with songs of love. 

Golden Thread Of Love

Golden Thread Of Love
© Surazeus
2024 12 28

The last immortal with the mutant mind 
leaps toward the holy orange tree on the hill 
where the scarlet Phoenix Girl meditates 
inside time-glowing egg of golden light 
with intent to snatch ruby of her heart, 
but scatters her essence in the three realms. 

Wandering disconsolate in vale of tears, 
the last immortal stumbles in moss grove 
to find serpent egg in waterfall pool 
that glimmers scarlet as the midnight moon, 
so he cuddles it close to his warm breast 
when he curls to sleep in the cave of dreams. 

Cracking from the gleaming egg at midnight, 
small two-horned dragon-newt with golden eyes 
flutters around with frail butterfly wings 
till she gets tangled in net of grape vines 
and transforms into girl with long red hair 
who dances gracefully in sprinkling rain. 

Waking up as the black-haired Raven Boy, 
the last immortal sees the dancing girl 
so he assumes she stole his serpent egg 
but she argues back that he kidnapped her, 
and runs away to escape his disgust, 
but golden thread of love connects their hearts. 

Bound to each other by the golden thread, 
Phoenix Girl and Raven Boy go on quest 
to find star eggs that constitute her soul 
which shimmer hid under holy orange trees, 
so they can break their bond of servitude 
and go their separate ways to live in peace. 

Descending to dark canyon caves of Hell, 
Phoenix Girl heals the wounded Red Fox Prince 
after defeating the nine-headed snake, 
and Raven Boy rescues from chains of fear 
graceful Swan Princess whose tears become pearls, 
then find star eggs that aggrandize her heart. 

After Phoenix Girl rises from the flames, 
reborn from shattered fragments of her soul, 
she breaks the golden thread of servitude, 
so she and Raven Boy go their own ways, 
but think about each other night and day, 
feeling their absence like a festering wound. 

Racing toward each other from distant realms, 
Phoenix Girl and Raven Boy meet again 
under the holy orange tree on the hill 
to reconnect the golden thread of love, 
and live together by the Lake of Dreams 
where they raise children who spring from their hearts. 

Cave Of Prophetic Words

Cave Of Prophetic Words
© Surazeus
2024 12 28

Hair flaming with angelic wings of light, 
Isaiah walks in garden of despair 
to talk with God inside the Tree of Fruit, 
but all he hears is whisper of the wind 
that swirls across mirror mask of the lake 
which hides face of the Earth in silent depths. 

Beyond strange beauty of the static poise, 
Isaiah stops halfway up temple steps 
and gestures hand of thunder at the door, 
presenting scroll of judgment to the sky 
where faceless God watches humans play game 
of worship to survive the change of time. 

Opening his mouth filled with lightning flares, 
Isaiah speaks with swarm of honey bees 
that sting hearts of arrogant men with pride 
who enslave people kidnapped from their farms 
to build enormous temples to the sky 
where faceless God disdains their greedy prayers. 

Eyes flashing with lightning over the sea, 
Isaiah raises wand with diamond eye 
to strike the man who kidnaps girls as brides, 
and breaks doors of his palace with contempt 
to free young women from his servitude 
who sacrifice sin-born children to Moloch. 

Emerging from cave of prophetic words, 
Isaiah strides twenty-eight centuries 
across the ruins of ambitious empires 
to strike down tyrants from the judgment throne 
who rule nations with self-advancing greed 
instead of helping citizens advance. 

Beaten by thugs sent by corporate kings, 
Isaiah strides from sea to shining sea, 
denouncing men who exploit laborers 
and separate families of poor immigrants 
to pilfer money from their hungry hands 
while lounging in huge mansions and long yachts. 

Guarding garden on Mount Zion with wand, 
Isaiah teaches daughter Hephzibah 
how to open her heart to the Star Wraith 
so she can prophesy future events 
while performing as Priestess Shekhinah 
who blesses her nation with light of truth. 

Wandering vast cities of America, 
Isaiah cries out to the empty sky 
to fill young David with the holy spirit 
so he guards Liberty with Book of Truth 
who chases Goliath from the White House 
to free the people from his tyranny. 

Secret Of Timeless Joy

Secret Of Timeless Joy
© Surazeus
2024 12 28

If I search for simple heart-warming place 
to relax from ambition of the race 
for glamorous fame of power through wealth, 
I may find secret paradise through stealth, 
asleep in alleyway behind the bank 
where I dream I achieve the highest rank. 

I want to escape the game of world power 
to lounge in the meadow and hold the flower 
that conceals the secret of timeless joy 
when I gain release from role as the toy 
manipulated by the rich to do their will 
so I can earn enough to pay the bill. 

Tangled in mess of social obligations, 
contrived to maintain system of strong nations, 
I walk forever through the cityscape 
that constantly shifts beyond its mapped shape, 
so I never find my wife in our home 
though I decide to adjust where I roam. 

Embraced in privacy of our desire, 
we kiss to music of the city choir, 
so we decide to return to our place, 
but then she vanishes without a trace 
when she drives away on the gray moped, 
zooming away after the light turns red. 

I walk through endless angled corridors 
past ghostly shadows of half-open doors, 
through museums, stores, cathedrals, and schools, 
and factories where elves invent strange tools, 
then along the river down strips of grass, 
still hoping to find my literature class. 

Up steep stairways with frantic intent 
I climb toward office of the president 
who commissions me to make new world view, 
so I design castle for Xanadu 
till my wife texts me on the flashing phone 
while I wander lost in the twilight zone. 

Somewhere in vast city of buildings and parks 
I sense my wife is singing with the larks, 
so I keep walking through its crowded streets, 
attempting to organize mental receipts, 
till sudden wind scatters my words to the sky 
so I laugh with joy that there is no why. 

Inventing reason for our sweet romance 
based on practical concerns of finance, 
I maintain fantasy of daily life 
to support creative projects of my wife 
who transforms wilderness of tangled trees 
into Dream Garden I access with keys. 

Maze Of Desolation Row

Maze Of Desolation Row
© Surazeus
2024 12 27

Weird spells Phoebus plants in heart of the book 
explode with nuclear flash of ecstasy 
to wake blind zombies with epiphany 
through kaleidoscope television look 
that shakes foundation of our nation-state 
at second coming of the clown of fate. 

To buy salvation from the Jokerman 
people of America gamble truth 
which blocks arrival of messiah sleuth 
who was prophesied by the Zimmerman 
shaking tambourine on the windy beach 
with jingle-jangle sorrow out of reach. 

Lost in vast maze of Desolation Row, 
Cinderella calls Hamlet on the phone 
to save her virtue with the rolling stone 
when bells of freedom on the radio 
warn complacent fools of the civil war 
that shakes the window and rattles the door. 

Aware that Pluto embezzles state funds 
to purchase army of the Bloody Cross, 
Hamlet asserts his right to play the boss 
who sells psychotic heroes blasting guns 
to fight the king squatting in the White House 
who insists he is not the greedy mouse. 

Puzzle pieces for huge map of the world, 
scattered on Round Table in Camelot, 
challenge romantic view of Lancelot 
to foretell coming of the cosmic herald, 
but Phoebus just wants to relax at home 
while war refugees continue to roam. 

Amused by circus music in the air, 
Hamlet chases Jokerman beyond Hell 
where Dracula drowned in the runic well 
while searching stalls of Scarborough Fair 
for Cinderella dancing in queen role 
with wild river nymphs around the May Pole. 

Beside sparkling pool of Flying Horse Spring, 
where fairies and goblins dance on the moon 
to mercurial wail of heart-breaking tune, 
Hamlet offers Cinderella the ring 
to ask her hand in marriage of soulmates, 
while starving people clamor at the gates. 

These bane-masked spirits of lost time reflect 
nature of our souls striving to survive 
speed of time machines we attempt to drive 
to secret Heaven of the Architect 
who disarms nuclear bombs to save the world 
when he is reborn as the cosmic herald. 

God With Watching Eye

God With Watching Eye
© Surazeus
2024 12 27

After I walk through hundred million doors 
in endless winding mirror maze of myths 
to study life of every human being 
who ever lived in history of our world, 
I find myself in home nobody built 
with their faces as masks in countless rooms. 

I feel my personality disperse 
around vast landscape of our spinning Earth 
as flakes of ash from burning cross of truth 
transforming into psychic butterflies 
then bloodied pages from lost fairy tales 
to morph at last in little yellow flowers. 

When I become you, I see through your eyes 
same world with different frame of reference 
so I can better comprehend your faith 
in far-fetched fantasies you think are real 
which warps how I perceive this Earth 
till I adjust distortions with plain words. 

As priest-cook with cauldrons, ladles and knives, 
I sit on flat-top pyramid all day 
among four pillars covered with grape vines 
so when people arrive with lambs or cows 
I roast meat well on altar stone of truth 
so they can feast on nourishment of faith. 

When seven warriors sent by rival priest 
leap up the pyramid with sharpened spears 
to destroy me so he can wear my crown, 
I fight them with wand of diamond on brass 
with back to stela till I kill them all, 
then girls anoint my body with fish oil. 

Anointed messiah of the sea tribe, 
I wear gold crown that imitates fish jaws 
with sharp teeth encrusted with emeralds 
as I parade before the singing crowd 
then sit on high pyramid judgment throne 
to adjudicate each case with fair justice. 

I am immortal god with watching eye 
who rules on pyramid of global power 
one thousand generations of my sons 
till priests replace the last with gold idol 
that humans worship ten thousand years more 
till I stand alone in the bleak waste land. 

Returning to my present mortal self, 
I hold American one dollar bill 
depicting pyramid with watching eye 
where mortal gods once ruled empires of men 
in wasted desert called the Holy Land, 
and weep with sorrow at paradise lost. 

Loom Of Verbal Fate

Loom Of Verbal Fate
© Surazeus
2024 12 27

If the Fates still think of themselves as young 
and beautiful to eyes of desperate souls, 
I am not surprised people are still fooled 
by their vain promises of artless grace 
while dancing in mirrored room of desire 
that tricks us into choosing how we die. 

We know without investigating why 
that creature lurking by the Tree of Life 
is not the Christ billions are waiting for, 
yet I would like to undeceive their minds 
so one of every third person on Earth 
may see Pandarus rise up from the dead. 

With his dramatic gesture at clear truth, 
Pandarus reveals to our shocked surprised 
that madness is the end of every play 
where the haughty man, puffed up in his pride, 
who snatches crown of thorns to claim as his 
role of world messiah, is always doomed. 

The traitor to our noble principle, 
that every person living in this land 
has equal rights to opportunity 
based on liberty and justice for all, 
will strut his hour on global stage of fame 
till his tyranny crumbles from his shame. 

The way we choose to live defines our fate 
for every step we take leads to our death, 
even if we dwell in the House of Dreams 
or meditate under the Tree of Knowledge, 
for our organic frame of chemicals 
dissolves our consciousness to mindless air. 

The fiery wheel that spins across the sky 
as solar goddess named Solaria 
weaves our planet with quick atomic threads 
that tangles our minds in matrix of hope 
so with each breath our soul is energized 
to expand consciousness and become God. 

Ten million spider girls of cosmic love 
spin Earth from light on loom of verbal fate 
so we are characters with special names 
whose forms appear on tapestry of time 
to play our role in creation of life 
then swirl back into mindless sea of light. 

Pandarus dressed in wizard robe and hat 
lures curious people in the circus church 
where angels and devils, paid by our fate, 
re-enact war between Jesus and Satan 
through our state election every four years 
which keeps our nation vibrant with new hope. 

Civil War In Eden

Civil War In Eden
© Surazeus
2024 12 27

After the two young slaves, Adam and Eve, 
have been expelled from the Garden of Eden 
for eating fruit from the trees they must tend, 
tired of always eating bowls of wheat mush, 
they take their solitary way of hope 
far upriver to find new vale to live. 

Standing on lush shore of the flowing river, 
Adam and Eve open hands to reveal 
seeds they kept hidden from the fruit they ate, 
so they dig holes in soft earth with hard hands 
to plant fruit seeds in rows of eight by eight, 
then nourish them with water in cupped hands. 

Over forty years of transforming growth 
the two freed slaves extend orchard of fruit 
to hundreds of trees blooming in sunbeams 
and sparkles of rain that sweep the broad vale 
where their children and grandchildren play free, 
gathering each afternoon to feast and sing. 

While Cain tends trees with obedient faith, 
Abel wanders hills with restless attention 
where he meets young girl with curly gold hair 
named Ashima who gazes in his soul, 
and teaches him to help her tend the sheep, 
then they make love under the olive tree. 

Bringing wife and baby daughter back home, 
Abel cooks and roasts lamb on altar stone 
so everyone feasts and praises his name 
while ignoring fruit salad Cain and had made, 
so Cain follows his brother to the stream 
and kills him with broke branch of wounded pride. 

After Adam exiles him with his family, 
tall elegant man with army of soldiers 
arrives hungry and thirsty after long march, 
so Adam welcomes them with sumptuous fast 
of lamb and wine while girls play harps and sing, 
then listens as he relates bitter tale. 

After Yehowah exiled you from Eden, 
he appointed me guardian of the garden 
to strictly enforce rules slaves must obey, 
but after years of faithful servitude 
I was passed over for role of crown prince 
when he named his inexpert son instead. 

Lucifer stands before Adam and clan 
and declares, I will found my own new kingdom, 
so if you pledge loyalty to my cause 
of rebellion against tyrant Yehowah 
I will protect you from slavers and thieves 
and keep you safe in paradise of power. 

Adam assures Lucifer with calm smile 
he will consider pledge of his support, 
then Lucifer leads army of fallen angels 
to find strategic spot on river plain 
where they construct new pyramid of power 
as Lucifer begins to build his kingdom. 

Halfway between two pyramids of power 
where both Yehowah and Lucifer reign, 
Adam tries to maintain his neutral stance, 
but soldiers from army of Lucifer 
raid his large garden to steal fruit and lambs, 
and abduct dozen of girls for their wives. 

When Raphael arrives with angel army, 
sent by Yehowah to render assistance, 
Adam hosts them with feast of lamb and wine, 
then listens as Raphael relates the tale 
of how Lucifer was caught embezzling funds 
and fought civil war to crown himself king. 

Gazing at Raphael with eyes of faith, 
Adam explains, though I had been enslaved 
and treated with harshness for crime of hunger, 
I built this paradise with my bare hands, 
so if you recognize my sovereignty 
I will assist you against Lucifer. 

Assuring Adam he still reigns as king, 
Raphael surrounds his flourishing farm 
with angel army bearing swords of flame 
who recruit men to construct high stone walls 
that enclose his paradise of fruit trees 
with strict authority of social rules. 

When Raphael announces new decree 
that no workers and peasants are allowed 
to eat fruit from the trees of paradise, 
Adam objects and declares with loud voice 
that fruit has always been free to consume 
for everyone who dwells in paradise. 

Assured by Raphael of his support, 
Seth arrests his father Adam in swift coup, 
confining him to his room in the palace, 
then kneels in temple on the pyramid 
where Ashtoreth, young wife of Raphael, 
places gold crown with jewels on his head. 

Chained to first fruit tree he planted with love, 
after escaping from Garden of Eden, 
Adam transforms into serpent with wings 
who watches endless civil war for power 
fought between liberals and conservatives 
six thousand years as empires rise and fall. 

Falling Feather Of Faith

Falling Feather Of Faith
© Surazeus
2024 12 26

Just before the falling feather of faith 
fractures facade of Earth with jovial fear, 
Jovis fills basket with juniper berries 
to brew gin with chamomile, lavender, 
and angelica, which simmers in glass jar 
as butterflies flutter around his head. 

Racing swiftly into the temple hall, 
Orcus howls with rage at unjust decree 
as he thrusts long sharp spear of arrogance 
straight at exposed chest of the smiling god, 
so Jovis twirls to evade his spear thrust, 
then bonks his head that knocks him on the ground. 

Binding hands of Orcus behind his back, 
Jovis grips his hair with assertive right, 
then forces him to open gate to Hades 
and lead him down into the underworld 
where hundreds of people in prison cells 
call weakly for salvation from despair. 

Harrowing hell of Hades with gold key, 
Jovis frees hundreds of people from death, 
and leads them safely to the upperworld 
where they build village of gardens by huts 
in lush meadow along the River Meles 
around ruins of the old Homerium. 

Faunus, whose father wrights wagons and wheels, 
finds ancient bearded man in temple hall, 
and watches him brew gin from herbs and berries 
while sunbeams glimmer in his long white hair, 
then shows him lyre of turtle shell and horns, 
so Jovis teaches him how to play tunes. 

Young Faunus sits by the town fountain pool 
and strums taut strings to play bright melodies 
in harmony with birds tweeting in trees, 
and sings about Orpheus who attempts 
to bring his murdered wife back from the dead 
but wanders lost in despair when he fails. 

While everyone drinks gin and dances wild 
to rhythm of the drums that Bacchus beats, 
Faunus recites sad tale of Icarus 
who falls as wingless angel from the sun 
till Helius rescues him from the sea 
and teaches him how to build wagon wheels. 

Jovis manages project to rebuild 
old ruined Homerium in grand hall 
where Faunus sits before the feasting crowd 
and sings about clever Odysseus 
who strives against all odds to return home 
where Penelope unravels his tale. 

Stuck In Vast Solitude

Stuck In Vast Solitude
© Surazeus
2024 12 26

Sweet emptiness of meditative minds 
expands airy vacuum of hollow thought 
that fills with ideal shells of faceless frames 
enclosing sacred space with walls of words 
where nothing ever happens to adjust 
forward motion stuck in vast solitude. 

Slouched against brick wall of the bankrupt bank, 
Edwin stares at the concrete highway bridge 
where cars speed past in blur of arrogance, 
forever going somewhere far away 
till they merge into long serpent of steel 
that hums in restless melody of fear. 

Each time he hears bang of some trashcan lid, 
he winces, startled from paralysis 
to relive terrible crash when large truck 
bashed into his car on the busy road 
that killed his wife and children as he drove 
for day of fun at the amusement park. 

Through bleary eyes of alcoholic haze 
he sees glowing ghosts of his wife and children 
standing in mid-winter drizzle of rain 
that shimmers in late evening lamppost beams, 
forever watching him with eyeless masks 
that melt into heart-wrenching shriek of pain. 

Half awake in luminous flush of faith, 
Edwin dons the scarlet Santa Claus suit, 
loads lots of food in the back of his truck, 
and drives around the poorest neighborhoods, 
giving boxes of food to families 
who thank him with tears in desperate eyes. 

The red-crested cardinal with white beak 
lands on the grass and stares up at his face 
as Edwin sits cross-legged by the wall, 
so he opens his hands and sprouts gray wings 
larger than ones angels in paintings bear, 
but he cannot fly away among clouds. 

Five boys strutting by in the evening rain 
surround his small encampment by the bank 
and shout insults as they beat him with bats, 
but run into the woods when passing car 
stops and honks, leaving him in wet mud 
with blissful desolation of his sins. 

Standing at the podium in clean blue suit, 
Edwin declares before world journalists 
that America will retake control 
of the Panama Canal to secure 
our homeland against invasion of China 
as paramedics pronounce him deceased. 

Dark Line Of Fate

Dark Line Of Fate
© Surazeus
2024 12 26

Strolling in meadow of flowers and birds 
among the towering mountains of Guilin, 
I see Kwan Yin appear as living woman 
whose silver eyes reveal with flash of light 
dark line of fate made by the swift grass snake 
which I have followed toward my destiny. 

Following the grass-snake dark line of fate 
that she reveals to me with teasing grin, 
I leave the known path of society 
and walk in tangled limbs of moaning trees 
till I find in the timeless mist of gloom 
the narrow green creek in yellow-leaf woods. 

Awake to psychic vibrations of stones, 
I float on wingless breath of agony 
as grief guides me beyond dream-tangled woods 
to find lost tomb of the person I love 
whose name I bury in the silent Earth 
so none can steal the jewels of their soul. 

Slouched on the stone, paralyzed by despair, 
I obsess over horrors of the world 
evil men commit to exploit our souls, 
but Kwan Yin gleams with sudden flash of light 
dispelling misery I found comfort in, 
so I stand and sing to the silver lake. 

Everything I see around me on Earth 
flows in constant motion of transformation, 
slow soil, fast water, swift wind, and beamed light 
that flares forth from first flash of the big bang, 
urged by prime mover of passionate love 
which generates vast universe of worlds. 

Gazing up at boundless sky where bright stars 
gleam with silent indifference of faith, 
I wonder if that prime mover is aware 
beyond aggressive force of energy 
enough to design chemicals that mold 
organic bodies with dream-conscious minds. 

Light of the universe transforms hot force 
of fierce atomic energy through love 
into weird neural network of my brain 
so I am God awake as conscious mind, 
amused that I was born and soon will die 
just as I figure out nature of things. 

The limbless snake that slithers in the grass 
writes dark line of fate to map the true way 
we wingless angels follow to our fate 
which we design with every choice we make, 
so I choose to create, and not destroy, 
song spells that conjure vision of the world. 

Mercurial Clew Bay

Mercurial Clew Bay
© Surazeus
2024 12 25

Gray catbird hopping on the sandy shore 
always chats with the stop sign outside town 
near where old Finn Craig with the turtle beard 
repairs cars in greasy red-brick garage, 
and thinks about Sheila back in high school 
who models dresses for store catalogs. 

Except for how wind rattles the stop sign 
late evenings in blue glow of loneliness, 
he never tries to think about the way 
the holy spirit moves things with no soul, 
not to prove eyeless rocks have consciousness, 
yet tightens the bolt with the monkey wrench. 

Smooth purr of engines, lithe with cheetah grace, 
calms anxious passion of rainbows in oil 
forming pools in asphalt of rancid thoughts 
that fail to reflect beauty of the sky 
where someone with no supernatural eye 
always seems to be watching how he lives. 

The orange cat, with purple eyes that can see 
eternity, lounges with casual pride 
under blinking lights of the Christmas tree 
with gaze that dares him just to try and hide 
his naked ambition to rule the world 
as incarnation of the cosmic herald. 

Sapphire waters of mercurial Clew Bay 
reflect the most popular deity 
who floats just above hundreds of flat islets 
with eager faith in what smooth beach stones say 
regardless of how bright they signal light 
because no bells ring in stillness of why. 

Tall alder tree beside the trickling stream 
explains why lovers sometimes misunderstand 
innocent passion for heartless neglect, 
so Finn lounges in grass of timeless trust 
to hear what the green water wants to say 
since they have been friends twenty thousand years. 

Surprised when Patrick swings bat at his face, 
Finn ducks and punches him hard in the nose, 
so they sit awkwardly on the stream shore 
to think about the reason they must fight 
while the gray catbird in the alder chirps 
with laughter at their pointless rivalry. 

Sheila glides down the stream in rowing boat, 
then beckons both to board with angry glare, 
so they talk about nothing as the current 
swirls them out onto mercurial Clew Bay 
where they admit that everything is wrong, 
and nothing can be done but calmly fish. 

God Who Never Dies

God Who Never Dies
© Surazeus
2024 12 25

Right after my mother gives me her eyes 
she tells everyone she was always blind 
so I count the stars that fall from her hands 
and tend them as they grow into long vines 
with eyes that people buy so they can see 
the god who never dies inside our hearts. 

When my blind mother leads me in the woods 
she bids me sit on mushrooms with red toads 
while she carves new mask from trunk of the oak 
then gives it to me as my secret face 
with pair of green-blue eyes so I can see 
the god who never dies inside the trees. 

After we climb to the top of the world 
where nine Muses dance in tall ring of stones 
my mother reaches her hands to the sky 
and draws rain down into her flashing womb 
to create body which I use to see 
the god who never dies inside the clouds. 

Before gaping mouth of the shining cave 
my mother inserts her new pair of eyes 
then leads me down to underworld of fear 
to show me where to find large shining gems 
and how to carve emeralds in eyes to see 
the god who never dies inside the Earth. 

Knee-deep in canal of water we dig 
from gushing river to channel its flow 
so tears of heaven nourish stalks of wheat, 
we grind flour and bake pies with roasted pears 
green as my dreaming eyes I use to see 
the god who never dies inside the wheat. 

Beside the table near the glowing hearth, 
my mother sews new clothes for me to wear 
then bids me answer the phone when it rings 
to talk with people in far distant lands 
about why they want to visit and see 
the god who never dies inside the wires. 

Under the propped-up hood in pouring rain, 
I replace and fix broken engine parts, 
adjusting passion of pistons to spark 
exploding gas that causes wheels to turn 
so we drive sea-side mountain road to see 
the god who never dies inside the car. 

In line to vote in free democracy 
for man with vision to improve our lives 
as president who rules our nation-state, 
I wonder why societies require 
one man both strong and self-controlled to play 
the god who never dies inside the Sun. 

Joy Of This Hour

Joy Of This Hour
© Surazeus
2024 12 25

Relaxing in the plush leather arm chair 
beside vast window of the spinning Earth, 
I listen to people across the land 
sing anguish of their hearts in solemn hymns 
expressing vain hope that joy of this hour 
will last forever beyond end of time. 

The Earth slowly turns with the wheel of time 
which calculates the path of every soul 
who designs their fate with each choice they make 
to weave mast matrix of conceptual life 
in lithe organic bodies bound by form 
that glow with light till they crumble in death. 

We cannot live forever on this world, 
so on the longest dark night of the year 
we gather with our families and friends 
in warm homes light by fires of frantic faith 
to feast on food we harvest from the Earth 
and sing about the god who never dies. 

The god who never dies has no flesh form, 
for it is spirit of our consciousness 
which emanates from neural net of brains 
in light bulb glow that casts away despair 
till our bodies wither with change of time 
and we are snuffed out by the nothingness. 

Because we fall in nothingness of death 
we gather in grand halls of stone and glass 
and pray to Ungod in the empty sky 
who never responds with rational words 
yet haunts our dreams with grim demonic masks 
we carve on trunks of trees as totem poles. 

From excess passion of electric spine 
that teems with visions we just understand 
I dance with graceful Muse of silent hope, 
embraced in torrents of celestial rain 
that drenches heat-parched fields of sleeping seeds 
so fruit trees sprout from corpses of our gods. 

Slouched half asleep in arm chair by the hearth, 
I feel weird vibes of every human soul 
alive with ache of love on Earth today, 
most of them stuck on narrow roads of hope, 
all of us trudging to our day of doom 
alone in bleak togetherness of faith. 

Since we have labeled everything with names 
we sense is real in cluttered dream of light, 
we know what is real and what was some lie 
after we wake from drear insomnia plague 
to go back home and continue our work 
building illusions in computer world. 

Rumors That Dictators Fall

Rumors That Dictators Fall
© Surazeus
2024 12 25

The heavens high above our fragile Earth 
are not hostile to mundane hopes of men 
though it hurls meteors at Garden of Eden 
that light whole countries with the blaze of truth 
to sear vast forests with indifferent flame, 
then gouge deep craters where cathedrals stood. 

Though we watch our doom as statues of wood, 
hearts filled with mute disquietude of dread, 
we are all spellbound by numbing despair, 
unable to arrest oncoming blast 
of social tyranny brought by the thug 
who seeks revenge against the just and good. 

Lost in dim twilight underneath the mind, 
we search in vain for refuge from the blast, 
paralyzed by respect for principle 
that everyone should play life by good rules 
which govern how all participate 
in writing programs that compose our state. 

With something strangely pure about the heart 
we cry to empty sky of long-dead stars 
for world salvation from cruel tyranny 
as angry men assert fascist control 
over armies of poor obedient men 
determined to make their state great again. 

Attentive to hypothesis of fear, 
we psychoanalyze causes of war 
that stir civil strife for control of power 
between opposing factions forged by greed 
in fight that proves at fall of bloodied flags 
to be but mirrors on the wheeling stage. 

Faces glow as stars in moon-shadowed pool 
where spirits of dead warriors call for help 
to nameless ghosts who go about their lives 
in calm routine of social quietude, 
discussing rumors that dictators fall 
exhausted from mind-numbing dread of death. 

Our jagged shadows on cracked wall of time 
reach trembling hands to time-receding sun, 
then fall back into muck of helpless hope 
confined by bounds of thick material need 
to skip from world to world in vain attempt 
to measure spiral of expanding eyes. 

Each morning branches from electric time 
with orchestrated song of countless brains 
while we eat oranges of the mother tree 
then surf tsunamis beyond time and space 
at subtle crackle on the radio 
when Death crowns himself American king. 

Derelict Dream World

Derelict Dream World
© Surazeus
2024 12 25

Delusion of our derelict dream world 
unveils perceptive insight in the way 
children believe the beauty they require 
to maintain sane aggression of desire 
till we realize the truth that when we pray 
nobody can hear but the cosmic herald. 

Determined to evade drama of fate 
that still unfolds no matter what I do, 
I play ten thousand games of chess with Death 
while learning from Buddha magic of breath 
as I notate the latest puzzling clue 
in Book of Dreams lost in the shipping crate. 

Relaxed from rigors of reality 
which always is itself without my faith, 
I calculate consequence of each act, 
then record its formula as weird fact 
that proves illusion of the cosmic wraith 
whose quirks program my personality. 

Roused from languid dream state by ecstasy 
of innocent insight in state of love, 
I build new haven on the river shore 
to study spin of our terrestrial core 
I thought was crystal from light beams above 
that weave magnetic shell of fantasy. 

Spurred forth from Heaven by desire to learn 
about true nature of our universe, 
I descend stairway to Hades of light 
where perfect beauty is always too bright, 
so I wear sunglasses kept in my purse 
that helps me observe how angel brains turn. 

Surprised by joy I swipe from Serpent Tree, 
I climb pyramid of the Watching Eye 
to claim ownership of the apple grove 
where Hera cooks meals at the radiant stove, 
but Icarus teaches me how to fly 
because he says he wants me to be free. 

Concerned for dire straits of humanity 
in which they vote for dictators to rule, 
I wear my red Superman Mithras cape 
to wrestle bull of the poisoned landscape 
while children of enemies attend school 
to avoid psychic trap of vanity. 

Amused by game of words magicians play 
to conjure virtual world that mirrors Earth, 
I disappear into this prophet role 
so no one can figure out my end goal 
as I dance through maze of religious myth 
to map progress of my Astarian Way. 

Born On This Night

Born On This Night
© Surazeus
2024 12 24

Though snow is shrouding Earth in eerie light 
in places far away from where I live, 
and people gathered in bright living rooms 
sing carols as they exchange heart-felt gifts, 
I sit alone at my computer desk 
and dream whole history of the spinning Earth. 

Why some men in history of world events 
are swept up by swift tides of social change 
to preside in positions of state power 
fascinates me with randomness of chance, 
glad I am safely unknown in my haven 
observing tragic fates of haughty men. 

The weirdest men with fierce ambitious faith, 
driven by hunger to obtain more wealth, 
or spurred by earnest fear of being enslaved, 
attend political games and ascend 
pyramid of power to obtain control 
as master who shapes programs of the state. 

Once men who wielded weapons of contempt, 
wands of wood they swirled to gain dominance, 
then swords honed sharp enough to behead gods, 
gained power if they could kill all opponents, 
so the biggest bully crowned himself king 
who reigned on pyramid of social power. 

Technology of death has since evolved 
from swords to tubes that blast bullets of hate 
so men fight massive wars five hundred years 
that drench this spinning Earth in human blood 
till soil of sorrow glistens with hot tears 
of people who survive the slaughterhouse. 

Bombs dropped by airplanes that can shatter buildings, 
and nuclear missiles hurled by Jupiter 
that can annihilate with one hot flash 
whole cities of buildings and human beings 
to swirls of sparkling dust, destroy our faith 
since we now know that gods are bitter men. 

The type of leader who treats human beings 
as precious people with creative skills, 
and serves their needs with compassionate mercy, 
is symbolized by the king Christians worship 
as God of Love incarnate in one man 
who was born on this night they celebrate. 

Though Christians present the kind selfless Jesus 
as type of man leaders should emulate, 
they vote instead for haughty conqueror 
who declares intent to keep paradise 
exclusive for the members of his race, 
but like all tyrants he will fall disgraced. 

Though Jesus shines in cathedrals of faith 
as brave example of the selfless king 
who treats every human being with respect, 
his noble character has been replaced 
by Haughty Tyrant, driven mad by greed, 
who demonizes everyone not like him. 

Though Jesus himself died ages ago, 
and his descendants ruled from castle towers 
hard-working peasants for two thousand years, 
immortal spirit of the selfless leader 
he represents will inspire mortal men 
to embody his way of thought control. 

Dream About Rivers

Dream About Rivers
© Surazeus
2024 12 24

Though I dream about rivers every day, 
the way they glisten in light of the sun 
as they wind among hills and across plains, 
flowing from mountain snow to the wild sea, 
I have not spent this life time on their shores 
as much as I want to dwell in their glow. 

From space of my house on the oak-wood hill, 
within four walls of unorthodox insight, 
I hear mercurial song of the wild rivers 
pulse in harmony with blood in my veins 
that echoes voices of the ancient dead 
who walked along those rivers long ago. 

I am not disappointed by my fate, 
for I created mine with every choice 
that I performed from vision of desire 
which I projected at the natural world 
as light to guide my quest beyond the garden 
which nurtures fragile body of my soul. 

Yet light-masked phantom of my nameless self 
still walks along the lush tree-clustered shores 
of ten thousand rivers around the world 
where my ancestors woke from starry dream 
to find their name inside the fractured stone 
that still glows in neural net of my brain. 

If I heed siren cry of river nymphs, 
which I hear soft as subtle undertone 
to humming machinery of world commerce, 
I may escape from station of my duty 
and wander without care for wealth or fame, 
lost forever along the shining river. 

Since my ancestors, searching for their names, 
have explored the long course of countless rivers, 
mapping them in dream landscape of my brain, 
the modern names we use to signify 
process of their flow honor brave explorers 
who embodied their energy through love. 

The gods and nymphs recorded in old myths 
still haunt those rivers that now bear their names, 
which seals consequence of dramatic lives 
in legends that recount their tragedies, 
though we forget fierce passion of their hopes 
as we relive them now in our own plays. 

As child of the river in human form, 
I am the radiant phantom of its water 
encased in bounds of fiber-woven flesh 
that pulses with weird rhythm its flow, 
so I preserve the river in my heart 
when I translate its beat to sentient verse. 

Wealth Of Our Universe

Wealth Of Our Universe
© Surazeus
2024 12 24

Since the wind speaks in its alien language 
about expression of thoughts with my voice 
in flight of birds where the sun ever shines, 
I understand everything she explains 
when I walk hill slope to where the fruit tree 
reveals to me how the universe works. 

Awake as luminous phantom of water, 
I float with caution above computer screens 
to weave billions of brains in web of words 
that pulse with prudent possibilities 
for rising resurrected from our hearts 
with blinking traffic through the universe. 

Uncertain town of our numberless homes 
decides to trap towering cloud of hope 
absorbing concepts through experience 
by leaving perimeter of foiled truth 
with broken strings of silent understanding 
prelude to sadness of the universe. 

To dismiss disappointments of our fate 
with failing music of the cracked guitar 
I print new tickets to the theater 
where confident spies tap into the bliss 
of windy countries silent of their rocks 
that form foundation of our universe. 

Except for earliness of hungry goals, 
provoking goodness of the angry bridge, 
solitude compels ambition to rule 
small empire of restless discoverers 
who return from hell with accounting books 
to calculate wealth of our universe. 

Rapid steps of our fearful fortitude 
lead me to sunshine of parallel worlds 
where doppelgangers of my maskless face 
animate countless robots with my soul 
to play guitar with anguish of respect 
for divine beauty of our universe. 

Adjusting to ruin of our nation-state, 
I expand camouflaged empire of faith 
to incorporate all North America 
in psychic concept of Wohalia 
where everyone is equal in the law 
based on liberty in our universe. 

Strategic steps of clandestine warfare 
maintain strict rituals of self-government 
with magic mystery of my global tour 
adjudicating freedom for the lost 
who search for their names in the tidal pool 
where drowned angels design the universe. 

Green Apple Of My Brain

Green Apple Of My Brain
© Surazeus
2024 12 24

Green apple of my brain rots in the dirt, 
unearned luxury of romantic lust 
sprouting tendrils of conceptual insight 
as roots scrounging interior junkyard dreams 
and branches spiraling up at rainbow fear 
through twisted conformity of respect. 

Mutating fetus of ancestral hope 
flops helpless from moist womb of arrogance 
to crawl thirsty across bone-jagged beach 
of blind immortal anguish to sprout wings 
and glide clumsily on celestial breath 
till upright on trembling legs I stand god. 

Ever forward on locomotive limbs 
through progress of excess ambulance, 
I seek thick fruit of rancid honesty 
dripping from tangled limbs of reverence 
to consume material angst of fierce faith 
that fuels ambition of my dominance. 

Seeking to access interior cognition, 
I squirm through writhing tunnels of regret 
with intense attention of focused passion 
to assemble fragments of fractured facts 
in slow-shifting puzzle of pulsing shapes 
till I perceive wind-blown tree on the hill. 

Alone as rain-smooth rock on lush hillcrest, 
I am new-born soul from womb of the sea, 
dizzy with breath of inherent conception 
enclosed within bounds of conscious perception, 
so I express hum of cosmic vibration 
to herald ascension of human power. 

We four-limb creatures who rise from the sea, 
crawling up rivers to emerge from lakes, 
swarm vast forests of trees on mountain ranges, 
howling with laughter as we swing on vines 
while eating grapes and apples of the sun 
whose beams of light animate our god-souls. 

We gather in sea caves of gloomy shelter 
and dance around the ancient dinosaur, 
singing to imitate her anguished wail, 
energized by vision her eyes express 
of timeless passion dancing in wild waves 
around tall black monolith of the stars. 

When Adam and Eve find Garden of Eden 
by sparkling river in Almaty Mountains, 
Eve snatches thin neck of the writhing serpent 
then Adam crushes its head with his heel, 
so they collect green apples of my brain 
and sell them in the bustling market town. 

Dreamless Eye Of Light

Dreamless Eye Of Light
© Surazeus
2024 12 23

When I go to the swamp of rancid hope 
to ask the toad how to assemble time, 
I see the death mask of the poet Keats 
rise up from bubbling waters of desire 
and sing in tune with the toy nightingale 
which clicks its gears in the cage of my mouth. 

Because everything that Nature creates 
from seething passion of water and light 
accumulates and grows from swampy swirls 
beyond our means to manage wild desire, 
we embrace the blue optimistic sky 
with imperfect faith of honorable grace. 

When the wild red fox of the shadowed woods 
stops and smells sweet truth of the daffodil, 
I rouse my languid melancholy soul 
to keep on walking in the trackless woods 
because my feet create the road of hope 
which proves paradise is where I am now. 

While watching red sun of intelligence 
float slowly into chaos of the sea, 
then waiting through eternity of gloom 
to watch the sun bloom from the mountain womb, 
I realize the Earth is large spinning sphere 
that spirals around dreamless eye of light. 

My body, generated with sunlight 
by my mother from apples she consumed, 
embodies dreamless spirit of the sun 
that aches to wake in matrix of my brain 
and become conscious of itself as I Am, 
immortal atoms in this mortal form. 

If I become arrogant with respect 
because I sense immortal soul of light 
animating consciousness of my brain, 
I may construct huge idol of myself 
from gold I dig from marrow of the Earth 
and stand with feet of clay above the world. 

Since I feel genius spirit of the sun 
emanating from neurons of my brain, 
my face will mold senseless gold into mask 
that resembles contours of my mad soul, 
so when you find my Ozymandian head 
alone in the waste land, know I am you. 

Immortal spirit of the mindless sun 
glows awake in brains of eight billion souls 
who live as fragments of its single thought 
arrayed in teeming crowds of conscious beings 
incarnating first mother of the sea, 
each one signified with their special name. 

Swirl Of Electric Globe

Swirl Of Electric Globe
© Surazeus
2024 12 23

My heart can hear, with engine growls, hot blood 
of fractured Earth come gushing from my mouth 
as black ambrosia gurgling with the voice 
of naked demons who howl in sea wind 
with rancid lust of pulchritude, constrained 
by legal phrases broken by compassion. 

Yet quick attrition, brokered for contempt 
by smirk of death at ruby flare of noon, 
reduces bold effectiveness of faith 
through sustained attack of passionate prayers 
for more life, frail body mangled by bells 
floating down with illuminated clocks. 

Empty light of stretched-out eternity 
spirals tight in swirl of electric globe 
that nurtures organic creatures who love 
beauty of nature with attentive fear 
from slightly rocking rhythm of stream waves, 
revealed by afterthought of honest rage. 

Weighed down by divine gravity of souls, 
we surge from slimy spawn of primal hope 
to formulate four-legged body frames 
for climbing trees where frantic serpents sing 
hymns to demonic god with human face 
whose filament brain twitters engine lust. 

Ice shatters crystal shell of spirit mask 
at sultry kiss of the late morning sun, 
revealing ancient demons inside trees 
who stretch their wingless arms to grasp at light 
blasting our souls with fuel of desire 
to embrace beauty of transcendent air. 

I should prefer to climb the tall straight tree 
with demon claws of fierce ambitious faith 
so I can touch elusive flash of beauty 
beaming from your eyes, eyes vast as the sky 
enclosing our knowledge in structured scope 
centered on weird importance of my being. 

Night breeze inserts long tendril vines of lust 
to weave blood veins in matrix of my mind 
expanding larger than mountainous sphere 
interlaced with seasonal arrogance, 
too far from home to understand the why 
that death asserts as signal for rebirth. 

If wild boys swing from birch trees in the snow 
Earth rewards boldness of the brave decider 
who explores beyond bounds of the safe known 
with foolish fearlessness, misunderstood 
by nameless people who remember him 
as god-man who ascended to the stars. 

When Women Collapse

When Women Collapse
© Surazeus
2024 12 23

Sordid beauty of sharp aesthetic light 
brightens faces with astonishing peach, 
soft as glowing sorrow people conceal 
when we pay attention to mute despair 
spilling from half-open mouths in dire angst 
forgotten each morning in time for work. 

High-powered weapon of my wordless hands 
transforms illusion of our shared world view 
which divides into opposing world views 
claiming authority of valid truth, 
till the view founded on lies will collapse 
to make way for the view based on real truth. 

False views require energy to maintain 
so, though their enforcers oppress and kill, 
they fall exhausted from fear in the end, 
and what is true about the world remains 
since it requires naught but calm honesty 
from believers to continue their lives. 

Old woman who nursed the soul of the world 
picks figs and pomegranates from steel trees 
to feed lost hungry orphans in the streets 
till one grows up to play Persephone 
who becomes pregnant from the silent owl 
so she teaches her son how to make guns. 

When the old grow mute from fighting for truth, 
the young steal the stories they left in books 
to play the drama prophets warned against 
till daughters of Death huddle in the church 
and plot revolution against the king 
who tries to steal their incarnation eggs. 

Civilizations will always collapse 
when women collapse from fear and despair, 
exhausted by working while men trade lies 
forged into coins from gold bones of the Earth, 
yet they gather children composed of words 
to build Republic of Zarathia. 

Extending crippled hands of twisted trust, 
women scatter seeds of faith in the soil 
to grow wheat that angels use to bake bread 
so we gather in bleak cathedral ruins 
to eat flesh of the Earth and drink its blood, 
then party wild till the apocalypse. 

When I grow sick with cancer of despair, 
I operate on myself on the church alter, 
dissecting layers of psychotic trauma 
programmed by berserk ancestors in dreams, 
till I, ensorcelled by conceptual faith, 
design Republic of Zarathia. 

Fractured Mirror Eyes

Fractured Mirror Eyes
© Surazeus
2024 12 23

No matter how far out we fly in space 
beyond distorting atmosphere of Earth 
the stars will still appear the same small size, 
never growing huge as gems on black velvet 
or apricots on black porcelain plates, 
so I will just stay here on my back porch. 

The swirling snow and the fast-flowing stream 
are two things in this world of fleeting hopes 
I can never grasp with my hands or words, 
so I watch my children grow with the trees 
into angels who sprout invisible wings 
and fly away to become bold adults. 

The white owl brooding in the twisted oak, 
bright as the full moon on black winter night, 
reveals to me with fractured mirror eyes 
transient beauty of this strange world I see 
embodied by people who come and go, 
awed by idols of Michelangelo. 

Sweet vanity of our laughter and tears 
inspires me to express love in my heart 
for every person who will pass away 
and vanish from strange beauty of this world 
as careless Earth enfolds our life-sick hearts 
and changes us to words we never speak. 

Small island of my heart yearns for the bridge 
formed from two trees that twist embracing arms 
far across bottomless abyss of faith 
to bind our loneliness with bitter song 
of longing to become one family 
who eat and feast together on dark nights. 

Ominous words we speak by the gray pond, 
broken from tedious riddles of false hopes, 
deceive our aching hearts with trembling love 
that we might understand each other once, 
yet birds flap wings in leafless frozen trees 
and bear our sorrows to some distant land. 

Startled awake in timeless glow of dawn, 
I gaze across bay of indifferent light 
to watch frail boat of faith on choppy waves 
struggling forward against tide of despair, 
so I climb to hilltop of fruitless trees 
and shout names of my people who have died. 

As honest captain steering ship of ghosts, 
I write name of each person gliding aboard, 
record their tale in huge Book of the Dead, 
then paste their photo with years of their life, 
so their descendants know why they are sad 
yet choose to live their own confusing play. 

Ghost Of Tolstoy

Ghost Of Tolstoy
© Surazeus
2024 12 22

If I walk backward into my old house 
two thousand miles away across the land 
where I used to live forty years ago, 
I might review what happened in the past 
to understand how I got where I am, 
but I just stare at blank face on the wall. 

I lie on my side by the Christmas tree, 
reading War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy, 
while Mount Rainier shimmers with silver snow 
framed by square window of the living room, 
while Reagan rants about the evil empire 
where ghost of Tolstoy wanders in the woods. 

Eight years later, while I stroll with the crowd 
of punks on University Avenue, 
I meet the ghost of Tolstoy by the bank, 
old Russian forest wizard with long beard 
and ice blue eyes who walked across Siberia 
and escaped by ship to live in Seattle. 

Sitting on bench under the tall red alder, 
I write lines of verse in the black sketchbook 
with the fountain pen full of demon blood, 
then Valentin, the Russian forest wizard, 
reads my poem with ice-melodious voice, 
then declares, "True poets are always mad!" 

While sitting in window of my apartment 
above bookstore named Beauty and the Books, 
I see bright flash of lightning open portal 
through which Athena on twelve wings of flame 
appears to me with eyes of blazing faith, 
then bears me to the peak of Mount Rainier. 

"True name of this sacred mountain," she sings 
with voice of ocean waves in swirling snow, 
"is Mount Takoma, Star Goddess of Milk, 
equal to Parnassus and Helicon 
for Muses who inspire poets to sing 
emanate from crystal heart of this peak." 

Handing me eye-phone and maple guitar, 
Athena touches my forehead with light 
that fills my heart with mission to compose 
epic poem about wise philosophers 
whose ideas form dream ontology 
that programs how our brains perceive the world. 

Following Jonah sea to shining sea, 
I avoid sitting at the White House gate 
to hide my face as the messiah sleuth 
with seraphic mask of the cosmic herald 
to prophesy fall of America 
so we can create free Zarathia. 

Ghost-Conjuring Ring

Ghost-Conjuring Ring
© Surazeus
2024 12 22

Searching in dark attic of her old house 
for book of fairy tales to read her children, 
Beatrice finds rusty tin of photographs 
depicting people from last century, 
and below them, gleaming eerily green, 
a thick gold ring with a square emerald. 

While holding photo of a young blonde girl 
wearing a black lace dress and holding books, 
Beatrice slips the emerald ring on her finger, 
and blinks in flash of light that blinds her eyes, 
then stares surprised at girl in the photo 
who stands before her with moon-glowing face. 

"My name is Mary Williams, twelve years old, 
and I love to read epic poetry 
composed by Byron, Shelley, and Keats, bards 
who conjure worlds with magic of their quills, 
and I am mourning death of my young sister 
whose dress caught fire while cooking at the stove." 

Guessing the emerald ring conjures the ghost 
of the person depicted in the photo 
she holds, Beatrice picks one showing a man 
wearing a dapper suit with leather boots, 
who stands beside a saddle on a fence 
and cradles a shiny Winchester rifle. 

"My name is James Venable, twenty five, 
and I am helping guide our wagon train 
of thirty families on the Oregon Trail 
from Missouri over the Rocky Mountains 
west to lush wilderness of Idaho 
to build our new home safe in paradise." 

Instead of the book of strange fairy tales, 
Beatrice takes the tin of old photographs 
and ghost-conjuring ring to the living room 
where she and her children with eager eyes 
meet ghost of each ancestor in the flesh 
and listen to them tell tales of their lives. 

"My name is Bertha Ziebarth, thirty two, 
born near Gorka Castle in Thuringia, 
traveled with my family when I was twelve 
by ship across the wild Atlantic Ocean, 
to live in Minnesota, land of lakes, 
and raised four children with brick-making wealth." 

While Beatrice writes their stories on computer, 
her children draw pictures to illustrate 
events detailing their immigrant lives, 
then publishes book for children to read 
while they wear copy of the magic ring 
which conjures ghosts from photographs we hold. 

American Milk Cow

American Milk Cow
© Surazeus
2024 12 22

The cow that stops before cathedrals doors, 
blocking highways so no car can escape 
vast maze of streets, becomes fountain of milk 
that floods the city with ache of desire, 
but people transform their cars into boats 
that glide in shadow of the lightless moon. 

People who get out of their powerless cars 
surround the milk cow to strip off their clothes 
and dance with wild abandoned to weird tune 
played on bone flute by angel in the pine 
which grows enormous from cathedral ruins 
till it knocks the glass moon out of the sky. 

When my mother catches the fragile moon, 
with hands long calloused from endless housework, 
she stitches clouds as faces children wear 
who play games of chase in the neighborhood, 
digging their hands in thick soil of the Earth 
to forge its substance in food and machines. 

When I look inside mirror of this world 
I see more clever version of myself 
as young woman wearing long flowing gown 
who dances gracefully by the Nile River 
to weave vision of our beautiful Earth 
with letters of fire on blank building walls. 

Kneeling on her prayer rug on house rooftop, 
she sings enchanting melody of faith 
that transforms into the patient milk cow 
who walks the world from sea to shining sea, 
leading refugees from destructive wars 
who journey across dunes of whispering sand. 

After weaving wreath from flowers and vines, 
Europa drapes it on horns of the cow 
that stands on pedestal in temple hall 
where Elijah raises knife to the sky 
and waits for Isaiah to prophesy 
fall of another empire from puffed pride. 

Reversing ourselves in alternate worlds, 
the snarky version of myself and I 
wake up in our opposite universe 
so we can become who we want to be 
while riding the cow of national pride 
to found our world business empire on milk. 

Riding on my American milk cow 
in holiday parade down city street 
where everyone gathers to sing church hymns, 
I pretend I am not the cosmic herald 
proclaiming reign of the messiah sleuth 
who appears as ghost on computer screens. 

Make America Great Again

Make America Great Again
© Surazeus
2024 12 22

Though they once ruled our lives with monarchy, 
forcing us to obey their family 
as representatives of God on Earth, 
we will make America great again 
by voting in elections for the person 
who presents the best vision for our lives. 

Though they decree our faith with theocracy, 
demanding we kneel and pray to their god 
so they can establish strict new world order, 
we will make America great again 
by dispelling illusion of their sky king 
to build belief on scientific research. 

Though they try to rewrite our history, 
erasing crimes committed by the state 
to whitewash our manifest destiny, 
we will make America great again 
by acknowledging cultural mistakes 
and treating everyone with equal rights. 

Though they gain bloody wealth from slavery, 
forcing human beings to work for no pay 
on which they found exploitive corporations, 
we will make America great again 
by funding equal opportunity 
where every person works creatively. 

Though they compel reproductivity, 
controlling fertile bodies of all women 
to increase stock of mindless factory slaves, 
we will make America great again 
by legalizing female right to choose 
so they control their body with free will. 

Though they moderate state pedagogy, 
restricting access to prized education 
so the rich glorify authority, 
we will make America great again 
by funding schools so everyone attends 
to comprehend true nature of the world. 

Though they regulate social hierarchy, 
imposing status of white privilege 
to maintain their power over the land, 
we will make America great again 
by adjudicating fair civil rights 
because no person is above the law. 

Though they control our minds with tyranny, 
imposing harsh laws through dictatorship 
that restrict freedom to seek happiness, 
we will make America great again 
by uniting through Light of Liberty 
so we live as we will, if we harm none. 

Wild Mercurial Wail

Wild Mercurial Wail
© Surazeus
2024 12 21

Alone by mountain lake in the vast woods, 
the young girl, with the most beautiful voice 
that anyone has ever heard on Earth, 
sings heart-enchanting melodies of faith 
from terrible suffering of bleak despair, 
transforming pain into ecstatic bliss. 

Howling with laughter as they run in woods 
with leaps and bounds around boulders and trees, 
grim wolf boy and his mountain gang of thieves 
surround young girl walking by starry lake, 
take turns ravishing her for several days, 
then leave her bleeding and bruised by the lake. 

Naked and trembling with terrible pain, 
Hyrkeis crawls slowly along the lake shore, 
long black hair tangled with bird bones and twigs, 
legs and thighs stained with blood of her despair, 
till she arrives at secret vine-veiled cave 
where she curls in wolf-skin blanket and weeps. 

When the full moon gleams gold above the lake, 
her mother appears from glimmer of mist, 
so Hyrkeis rises after months of rest 
and strides in glitter of Hyrkania Lake 
to baptize her wounded body in tears 
and cleanse poison of disgust from her heart. 

Filling small cart with walnuts, pears, and herbs, 
Hyrkeis travels three days to market town 
where Astraia keeps watch in the tall tower, 
and while she sells produce along the street 
she sees the wolf boy riding on large wagon, 
crowned as Town Guardian with scepter of death. 

Following crowd of cheering worshippers, 
who praise him for killing the tyrant king, 
Hyrkeis stares shocked as he ascends stairs 
and sits on judgment throne in open temple, 
so she falls to her knees, trembling in rage, 
then anguish of pain explodes in her heart. 

Welling up from deep abyss of her heart, 
terrible scream of rage rises from hell 
to emerge as beautiful melody 
in wild mercurial wail of aching sorrow 
that shocks the Wolf God and the silent crowd, 
who all listen in mute trance as she sings. 

Strange vision fills their song-enchanted eyes 
which rips mask of goodness and honesty 
from face of the Wolf God on throne of power, 
exposing crime he committed against her, 
so frenzied crowd tears his body apart 
as Hyrkeis walks away, tears on her cheeks. 

Craftsman Of Clocks

Craftsman Of Clocks
© Surazeus
2024 12 21

Long gown whipping in cool breeze of the sea, 
Ceres strolls in field of star-golden wheat 
ten thousand years of flower-blooming dream, 
sweeping stalks of grain with delicate hands 
which agitate rich soil soaked with blue rain 
so we bake bread and cake from flour of life. 

When his clock-making business is burned down 
by gang of boys paid by more wealthy rivals, 
Heimeric Zenz loads his family and tools 
in rickety wagon he found abandoned 
in the cemetery of his ancestors, 
then leaves Ohio for the wild frontier. 

After he calculates the wagon wheels 
have spun around eight hundred thousand times, 
Heimeric stops on shore of some broad river 
on flat plain near the Rocky Mountain range, 
and builds cabin from bones of his ancestors 
which he heaped together in box of tools. 

Visiting small towns in the wild frontier, 
Heimeric applies for a loan at banks 
with plan to open his clock-making shop, 
but every clerk explains without a smile 
that time does not exist on the prairie, 
so no one needs clocks to control the time. 

Sitting by stone hearth in cabin of bones, 
covered to its roof in swirls of bright snow, 
Heimeric stares in darkness of the fire, 
in bleak despair about how he should live, 
yet King Wenceslaus driving sleigh of goods 
never appears with jingling silver bells. 

After snow melts into thick prairie soil, 
Heimeric Zenz, master craftsman of clocks, 
stands outside time under slow swirling clouds, 
and in bleak darkness of eternal dawn 
he sees tall woman with flowing sun-bright hair 
who scatters grains of wheat bright as gold coins. 

Harnessing his wagon horse with small plow, 
Heimeric tills rich soil around his home, 
then walks along versed furrows of wet dirt, 
while reaching in large bag around his shoulder, 
and sows wheat kernels with sweep of his hands 
that once constructed clocks with skilled control. 

After he gains wealth selling bags of wheat, 
Heimeric Zenz buys plot of land in Denver 
and builds the first town shop for making clocks 
which he creates with attentive respect 
till clocks tick on every mantle in town 
on the prairie where time does not exist. 

More Equal Democracy

More Equal Democracy
© Surazeus
2024 12 21

If I could stretch my heart around the world 
to protect every soul alive with hope, 
I would expand weird power of my heart 
to prove I am strong Seraph of the Light, 
but I am just one fragile mortal soul 
bound within limits of this eager mind. 

Descendant of Serapis, Lord of Rams, 
commissioned to play shepherd of my tribe, 
I gaze with sharp attention of respect 
to peer through maze of possibilities 
and prophesy events that might occur 
through flexible analysis of facts. 

Though Jesus is not some immortal god 
who lives forever in sphere of pure light, 
he embodies spirit of the Wise Leader 
who beams down from stellar fountain of life 
to animate mortal man with compassion 
guiding loyal folk of his tribe with insight. 

Willing to die for people of his tribe, 
Jesus represents the type of wise king 
who serves his people with respectful love 
and guides each person to develop skills 
so they fulfill potential of their talent, 
instead of exploiting people as slaves. 

That man, who grasps for political power 
so he can secure through dictatorship 
access to wealth we extract from the ground 
so he controls production of our food 
and judges through state programs he decrees 
who lives or dies,  is Satan in disguise. 

Jesus and Satan are stereotypes 
who embody personality tropes 
that men who gain power choose to embody, 
Jesus who serves all citizens with love, 
or Satan who exploits the working man 
for personal gain with embittered hate. 

Dismissing system of monarchic rule 
based on random sons succeeding their fathers, 
we established method to choose our rulers 
by voting for that man as president 
who presents better vision of his plan 
through strict dynamics of democracy. 

Though Satan has deceived the minds of men 
who voted for his as our president, 
he always proves too weak to maintain power, 
so, after he destroys state of our land, 
we will rebuild from ruins of his greed 
stronger and more equal democracy. 

Adam Naming Things

Adam Naming Things
© Surazeus
2024 12 21

I pretend I am Adam naming things 
so I can make things happen without words, 
but many things happen against my will 
so I keep quiet and go with the flow, 
steering boat of fate on river of time 
with my telephone-wire sunset of faith. 

Somewhere along the endless flow of change 
I row my boat ashore from River Styx 
to explore meadows of Elysium 
where love reveals essential state of life 
inherent in expression of the Force 
which I apply to conjure paradise. 

Each morning when I wake from dream of light 
I assess sun-streaked clouds in the dawn sky 
and state who I want to become today, 
then perform my role in our social play 
that never goes the way I planned at first 
so I am someone else by end of day. 

The only body parts I can see well 
are these hands I use to transform the world 
by rearranging landscape elements 
so I create Cosmopolis of hope 
where children invent games of politics 
when someone crowns himself King of the Hill. 

Though I invent with hope inside my mind 
the way I want our spinning world to be, 
when I explore the world beyond my home 
I discover weird landscapes of despair, 
so I map the real world as it is now, 
then shape my soul to match its destiny. 

The map I draw to imitate the world 
spills off table of curiosity 
in jagged tree-bound coasts lashed by wild waves 
where I follow rivers to mountain peaks 
so I can see the world outside my mind 
casting shadows of ideas in my heart. 

Across span of three hundred thousand years 
my ancestors walked, exploring the Earth, 
from Egypt east along world mountain range 
to Guilin where I climbed to reach the sky, 
then northwest to the rugged Caucasus, 
and west across Europe to Oregon. 

I followed the Sun to edge of the world 
to discover where she rises from the sea, 
then followed the Sun west the other way 
to discover the Earth is a round globe 
that spins around the giant glowing sun, 
so now I know who I have always been. 

After Rapunzel Escapes

After Rapunzel Escapes
© Surazeus
2024 12 20

After Rapunzel escapes tall stone tower 
where Pluto had kept her his prisoner, 
she climbs barefoot across the jagged rocks 
where roaring ocean waves burst into spray, 
shivering in thin dress as she climbs steep hill 
to stand beside old tree on windy plain. 

Bloody feet pressing moist soil under grass, 
Rapunzel breathes fresh gusts of chilly wind 
to motivate fierce beating of her heart 
which fuels each step she takes across the plain 
as she limps slowly toward the gleaming hill, 
then kneels and drinks blue water from the lake. 

Recognizing lush meadow of bright flowers 
where she was gathering herbs, mushrooms, and eggs, 
when Pluto snatched her wriggling in his arms 
and raced away in horse-drawn chariot, 
Rapunzel weeps as she walks toward small hut 
where she lived with her mother years ago. 

Finding small hut nestled among oak trees 
under small rock cliff where the river bends, 
Rapunzel opens creaking door with hope 
to see bright eyes of her mother again, 
but shrieks and sobs when she finds withered corpse 
rotting with worms inside her skeleton. 

After she buries her mother in Earth, 
shrouding her rotten corpse with flower petals, 
Rapunzel cleans the hut, sweeping dirt out, 
scrubbing the walls, and scooping cold gray ash, 
then sparks bright fire that glows with starry light 
to brew apple cider which warms her heart. 

Though she lived thirty years in tower room, 
sleeping on silk feather bed with plush pillows, 
wearing elegant gowns and jeweled crowns, 
and hosting fabulous feasts with rich food 
while feted as queen by ministers and dukes, 
Rapunzel savors freedom of her hut. 

Thinking about the three children she bore 
to Pluto, while imprisoned as his wife, 
grim Orcus, Hades, and Persephone, 
Rapunzel feels reluctant twinge of guilt 
for abandoning them to his abuse, 
but Pluto values his wealth over her. 

While tending her small garden by the river, 
Rapunzel senses presence of her son 
approaching from the lake with eager joy, 
but when she calls Orcus with surprised cry 
his ghost vanishes in the evening dusk, 
so she kneels alone and cries to the moon.