Sacred Mirror Of The Oracle

Sacred Mirror Of The Oracle
© Surazeus
2025 12 31

I walk without my shadow on the Earth 
while all vast cities of the world dissolve 
to lost stories of legendary deeds 
since frantic hunger of this eager life 
is bright illusion of the dancing flame 
that whorls abundance of the secret name. 

I dance with beam of sunlight in my heart 
at blinking signal of the traffic light 
while searching endless maze of city streets 
for sacred mirror of the oracle 
that should reveal rules of the global game 
we play to win vain laurels of world fame. 

I play chess with blind Death on beach of truth 
to wake my innate voice of noble thoughts 
illumined by light slanting through cracked eyes 
revealing where our signless road should go 
from birth to nothingness of mortal dream 
so we lounge chatting by the mountain stream. 

I climb tall monument to some dead god 
with plan to play his role in game of life 
till spirit of his passion fills my heart 
with urgent mission of messiah sleuth 
to reform system of our social scheme 
so everyone may work for the same team. 

Abundance of our conscious hungry souls 
provides incentive for constructive work 
erecting paradise of apple trees 
on rotten ruins of religious creeds 
so we map roads where war refugees roam 
by hiding safe in our heavenly home. 

Reluctance of programmers to police 
cluttered clemency of the urban zone 
converts believers in the cosmic wraith 
to seekers who research nature of things 
that bloom ideas in celestial dome 
which prophets chronicle in the dream tome. 

We walk for peace from sea to shining sea 
with holy demons of exploited hearts 
in search for justice free from slavery 
though nothing guarantees our victory 
because all conscious minds will sink in gloom 
therefore we float faceless in the blank room. 

We share our stories by the homely hearth 
to bury sorrows of forgotten years 
then cart ripe fruit to market by the lake 
where we feast as the new year wakes our hearts 
to celebrate our bodies of the womb 
that dissolve to dust in the vine-veiled tomb. 

First Flash of Love

First Flash of Love
© Surazeus
2025 12 31

From darkness of the swirling sea we rise 
on wings of breath stirred by desire to live 
and stretch our aching body to the skies 
then hide in safe haven of the dream cave 
where we meditate on first flash of love 
that animates our minds with light above. 

We crawl along the diamond river bed, 
grasping at future gifts with hopeful hands 
to realize bright vision in our head 
where we dwell peacefully in fertile lands 
to worship spirit from first flash of love 
that lifts our spirits to Heaven above. 

We slither from assertive lake of fear 
and race through maze of tangled apple trees 
to escape cruel greed of the puppeteer 
by leaping freely with reviving breeze 
to transcend sorrow with first flash of love 
that turns our faces to star-face above. 

With each new turn of Earth in void of light 
we gather in ring of diamonds to sing 
with frantic laughter that dispels mute fright 
while dancing to play demon with one wing 
then wake from terror with first flash of love 
that conjures one-eyed sun god high above. 

Ascending tangled canopy of trees, 
we swing ten thousand miles on curling tails 
to measure mountain rivers to vast seas 
across wasted deserts to fruited vales 
to seek heart treasure from first flash of love 
so we can translate weird spell of the wave. 

Evolving quadrupedal form of life 
four hundred million years of urgent faith, 
we transform fish to god through brutal strife 
till we believe in guidance of the wraith 
to grow in progress with first flash of love 
by building ziggurat from shadow cave. 

Attending hymn that Mother Ishtar sings, 
we dream creation of the universe 
when big bang spirals through galactic rings 
till planets nurture creatures with the force 
to mold our bodies from first flash of love 
so we kneel and pray in cathedral nave. 

As wingless angel questing for the Grail 
we seek salvation through strict discipline 
that channels lustful energy through scale 
from Bacchus to Phoebus when we begin 
to comprehend truth in first flash of love 
that fuels our journey cradle to the grave. 

Vision Of Mother Ishtar

Vision Of Mother Ishtar
© Surazeus
2025 12 31

Every time I forget my secret name 
I teleport through glass door of my heart 
to leap countless worlds of the multiverse 
where I am someone else in every phase 
till I weave all my selves in One God Soul 
inherent in this mask I never wear. 

At the Crippled Pegasus coffee shop 
I write screenplay for tale of Icarus 
where he survives his fall into the sea 
and meets Kwan Yin who gives me peach to eat 
so they explore high mountains of Guilin 
where they sell hang gliders from small town shop. 

Startled by vision of Mother Ishtar 
on the road to Damascus in my car, 
I ask for wisdom of Tiresias 
so she transforms my body boy to girl, 
then back again, so I may understand 
how every soul on Earth struggles to live. 

Taking Ishtar on our thirty-third date 
to the fanciest restaurant in Paris, 
I propose marriage with Ring of Sauron 
after eating steaks grilled by Tantalus, 
then we dance with joy after she accepts, 
pledging vows of love with star-flashing eyes. 

As architect commissioned to construct 
new White House for wise Emperor of Earth, 
I lay foundation with the Rolling Stone 
that Sisyphus brought from Plutonian cave 
to smash clay feet of King Midas at dawn 
so Ishtar can rule the world once again. 

Still running freely in Forest of Wolves 
with Artemis on lush Hyrcanian shores, 
I find lost lyre of Mercury in sand, 
so I ascend gold Pyramid of Sophos 
where I sing epic of philosophers 
that details material nature of being. 

Since we are atoms swerving in the void, 
we exercise Free Will within constraints 
defined by measured bounds of time and space 
which molds our character into our face 
we donate to the ancient gallery 
curated well by the Many-Faced God. 

Because the universe of spinning worlds 
remains indifferent to our fragile lives, 
we gather on the fruited river shore 
to create meaning in weird psalms we sing 
that teach our children how to live and die 
so each person designs their secret name. 

Observant Eye Of Analysis

Observant Eye Of Analysis
© Surazeus
2025 12 31

Returning to lush apple tree in Heaven, 
where rainbow-winged serpent with ruby eyes 
slithers lithely in web of graceful limbs, 
Saron breathes ethereal spirit of the sun, 
and plucks ripe fruit to eat with sparkling eyes, 
then lounges among poppies on the hill. 

Emerging from divine glow of starlight, 
Nahash flutters long rainbow-feathered wings 
and curls around young angel with soft hiss. 
"My reptilian heart glows with loyal love 
each time you visit shelter of my tree." 
She purrs as Saron caresses her cheek. 

"How are your studies, offspring of Salorin, 
at notorious Academy of Scribes? 
Does Nabiel still tease you with sly tricks?" 
Nahash whispers seductively in his ear 
as she transforms into girl with black hair 
who nestles in soft embrace of his arms. 

Enchanted by bright beauty of Nahash, 
whose black eyes swirl with stellar energy 
of galaxies that nurture countless souls, 
Saron vibrates with passion of sweet love 
as their bodies merge into supple waves 
when their lips touch with kiss of loyalty. 

After they make love under Tree of Life, 
Nahash and Saron cuddle with delight, 
fingers intertwined with respectful trust, 
then wingless angel of lush Oregon 
recounts adventures of the turning year 
recording events of human history. 

"With observant eye of analysis, 
I chronicle deeds of aggressive men 
who play chess games of global politics 
over who will establish world empire 
that aggregates nations in super-states 
presided by bold spirit of their god." 

Gazing in his eyes with adoring love, 
Nahash smiles as Saron details his work, 
asking, "Who do you think will win the game?" 
Saron laughs, "Descendants of Jesus Christus 
contend against descendants of Confucius, 
but their systems will merge in one world state." 

Caressing long hair of his serpent bride, 
Saron tosses apple rind by the river. 
"Opposing systems will find common ground, 
combining ideograms with alphabets 
to maintain United Nations of Earth 
based on Liberty and Justice for all." 

Follow Compass Of Sorrow

Follow Compass Of Sorrow
© Surazeus
2025 12 31

Sovereign aloneness of the mountain seer 
who walks ten thousand miles for global peace 
provides secure platform for alphabets 
to rearrange our faces without masks 
though we seek islands that always dissolve 
to tessellated armor of sea gods. 

Each time I shapeshift from Neptune to me 
my body twists through agony of faith 
designed by Tethys to withstand despair 
so I walk the Earth twenty million years 
to find lost garden of the apple girl 
who invents the clock to keep track of dreams. 

We dance in wild arpeggios of light 
to trace ascending stairs to mountain caves 
where bright infinity flashes through gems 
which seem to imitate our human eyes 
till she invents the future with strange words 
projecting visions for how things should be. 

Because death is the algebraic state 
of disappearance in the sea of change, 
we stand together on the fearful cliff 
and measure distance past infinity 
from primal firstness of invented life 
to ultimate lastness of nothing more. 

Every conscious creature who ever lived 
and died in chemical turmoil of change 
is now the faceless ghost of someone else 
who walks beside us on the road of life, 
revealing strangeness of existent being 
based on reference to meaningless desire. 

Though ships of helpless people sail nowhere 
so they can seek salvation from despair, 
they never arrive at the desert shore 
because astrologers redefine fate 
which leaves us stranded in the treeless hills 
to fight over graves where buried gods laugh. 

Light still passes through window of our hearts, 
but beams no longer represent true love 
so we name unknown country of lost tribes 
which lures Blind Justice to the Promised Land 
where she shows us how to build secure homes 
on ruins of empires that fell long ago. 

We find in blackness of the city maze 
new faith for our desperate people to sing 
psalms of old morals in the Shadow Land 
for we are travelers on the signless road 
who follow compass of sorrow back home 
where we invent the future without myths. 

Vineyard Of My Heart

Vineyard Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2025 12 30

I drive across the desert of my heart 
to find two-headed monster of despair 
dancing among stars on the mountain peak 
while drinking blood of humans killed in war, 
then steal every photograph ever snapped 
and mold them into golem of lost souls. 

I wander in the vineyard of my heart 
spoiled by frost of inadequate respect 
contrived by thieves with legal strategies 
to ambush angels on the bridge of lies 
based on procedures scientists devise 
to unspool stories of heroic fools. 

I set fire to garbage heaps of my heart 
through lamentation for the injured god 
who clutches scroll of invisible faces 
that spiral within frame of reference 
from contradiction of spectral libraries 
stuck in congruent absence of false words. 

I release serene demons of my heart 
reflected on surface of fraught conceits 
that serve as unreasonable substitute 
though nothing is guaranteed to be real 
from speculation reduced to kind jokes 
based on skepticism of proven facts. 

I critique meaningless plays of my heart 
that present subjective degrees of being 
through evolutionary leap of faith 
contained by flirtatious malaise of friendship 
mixed with abstract rituals of shrewd denial 
counterclockwise from arrogant respect. 

I wash capacious window of my heart 
from perimeter of contagious passion 
spoiled by false information no one sells 
better than the monster in flowing rivers 
whose riddles duplicate difficult truths 
as ladder to indeterminate planes. 

I wander roomless palace of my heart 
to unseal reliable evidence 
that we are golems of backward deferral 
just awakening from sequence of dreams 
where bodies proliferate from slime pools 
because lines converge at infinity. 

I measure boundless gardens of my heart 
without empathy for fame-addled winners 
who sell their memories to the highest bidder 
with grand tales of assumed identities 
commensurate with theology of pride 
exposed by sorrow of aspiring angels. 

Secret Streets Of Anywhere

Secret Streets Of Anywhere
© Surazeus
2025 12 30

We walk the secret streets of anywhere 
to find fear-twisted childhood memories 
where we are running to the somewhere else 
with nothing we should value in our hands, 
because we want to tend flowers of faith 
that bloom from chessboard of our fragile bones. 

We stop on mound of alabaster snow 
to remember old songs we used to sing 
around the solemn tree of flashing lights 
in disharmonious tunes of innocence 
sharpened into silence of nothingness, 
but leave frail pages curled in sparkling crust. 

We drink starlight from jar of honesty 
to prove we will not die of bitterness 
though we regret the randomness of fate 
that misdirected way of life we chose 
and leaves us stranded now in pathless woods 
beyond the crumbling walls of paradise. 

We drift past meadow of blank endlessness 
with inward grief we have no words to share 
beneath still-changing sky of solitude 
where ancient fire of passion stirs from sleep 
to wake in creatures who can never speak 
though their eyes pierce our souls with empathy. 

White raven in the pine of loyalty 
denies our plan to tend aggressive trees 
because we chase no butterflies of hope 
across the fenceless field of fortitude 
to marvel at strange wisps of energy 
congealed as clouds from nonexistent gods. 

We search the boundless world of river dales 
for shadows of our bodies in bright groves 
that radiate from the everywhere of fate 
when we share concepts in words we invent 
based on sweet chirps of birds in haughty trees 
that welcome us to leave with cluttered hearts. 

In poignant film that chronicles our quest 
we sit at desks beside the howling sea 
to translate laughter of wave-battered rocks 
to summer songs of sparrows in dead pines 
who watch us sleep for seven billion years 
till Earth is swallowed by expanding light. 

We dance in vortex of our swirling globe 
to feel how rivers flow through naked hearts 
till we float motionless outside all time 
above the still point of the multiverse 
where mothers in false doors of helplessness 
sing lullabies to children never born. 

Life No God Designed

Life No God Designed
© Surazeus
2025 12 30

If we expand from cities of our grief 
and float above confusing maze of sorrows, 
we may conceive compassionate relief, 
entangled taut in vain hopes of tomorrows 
where we must face the selves we leave behind 
in this meaningless life no god designed. 

Strange holiday songs our souls harmonize 
may resonate with wings of migrant sparrows 
who flock with lonely souls in fractured skies 
above grim pumpkins in rain-wet wheelbarrows 
so we must survive war by acting kind 
in this bellicose life no god designed. 

Though we no longer gather in town squares 
to right old wrongs with heart-enchanting carols 
we long to find old friends at country fairs 
to brew friend-juice from apples in cracked barrels 
we drink to maintain social ties that bind 
in this perilous life no god designed. 

Through days we lose from wounded innocence 
we help each other overcome harsh perils 
in bold defiance of cruel arrogance 
from visions we perceive in shining beryls 
that highlight baneful futures of mankind 
in this haphazard life no god designed. 

With arbitrary chance of random fate 
I fly to opposite side of the world 
where I discover my spiritual mate 
whose passion wakes my nascent cosmic herald 
who writes scripture that cannot be enshrined 
in this creative life no god designed. 

Awake in progress of chronology, 
I find my secret spirit newly laureled 
through twisted logic of theology 
that measures how our brain networks are whorled 
from which fabled nationalist myths unwind 
in this ambitious life no god designed. 

We gather in grand temple on the hill 
to share communal feast of frantic wisdom 
that balances state duty with free will 
which reprograms our global social system 
where each person plays role their heart assigned 
in this productive life no god designed. 

Driving hungry cars on highways of hope, 
we work hard to transcend communal thralldom
through religions that teach us how to cope 
with faceless slavery in the global kingdom 
till we express desires of our own mind 
in this flexible life no god designed. 

Twisted Road To Neverland

Twisted Road To Neverland
© Surazeus
2025 12 29

Not too subtle about laughter of love, 
though silver flowers consume agony, 
we challenge our hearts to overcome fear 
with deep celestial breath of calm concern, 
however far we travel beyond fate 
to purchase formulas for blurring hate. 

Eventual smile of cheerful solitude, 
though silver flowers bleed electric moons, 
eradicates fear of death before noon 
so we can share fake chocolate cookies 
with strangers we never meet on the road 
to purchase sorrow from the happy toad. 

If we hold hands beside the broken door, 
though silver flowers dismiss every case, 
we may remember why we want to live 
by smearing pages of books with our blood 
which maps the twisted road to Neverland 
to purchase contempt from the humble priest. 

Professional dashboard of virtual code, 
though silver flowers tangle hair with thorns, 
reveals contingent clause through taut regret 
defining structural framework for belief 
that we are not alone inside our heads 
to purchase distance without credit cards. 

Fortune accumulated through hard work, 
though silver flowers dissipate to words, 
provides security for social frauds 
committed to their delusional roles 
which they perform on stage of burning laws 
to purchase salvation from the dead god. 

Sweet smile she beams into cave of my heart 
dispels paranoid fantasies I hide 
deep in moist analytics of my heart 
despite bureaucracy of special love 
calibrated to enhance mental flight 
to purchase autonomy from blind crows. 

Colonial pride for artificial plays, 
though silver flowers crack celestial walls, 
applies classified fiction to plain tales 
through catalyst that sparks each incidence 
which proves infringement on exclusive rights 
to purchase obvious truth from oracles. 

Notable observer of failed projects, 
though silver flowers photograph our brains, 
considers potential thoughts we conceal 
without permission against moral laws, 
so I extract meaning from all your words 
to purchase perception of nothing real. 

Face I Lost Somewhere

Face I Lost Somewhere
© Surazeus
2025 12 29

Mindlessly wandering nowhere alone, 
I seek to avoid the dramatic play 
where my life is endangered by contempt 
when people attack my right to exist 
to keep myself safe from psychotic hate 
strangers project at my innocent heart. 

Assertive mirror of my flashing mind 
fractures in fragments of strange memories 
where I am running away from the crowd 
who throws rocks at illusion of my soul 
which vibrates across spectrum of despair 
to dance with shadows of arrogant flames. 

Confined in boundaries of my sudden being, 
I cherish optimistic view of fate 
while running nowhere in the shadow land 
to find my secret face I lost somewhere 
by breathing deeply grief of sharpened faith 
till I fall laughing at absurdity. 

Yet still I roam expansive space of thought 
to savor nothingness of silver light 
my secret moon beams deep inside my mind 
at warm embrace of terror I despise 
who loves me with indifferent lust for death, 
alone in wind-swept garden of delight. 

Long unaware what color my mind tastes 
from granite suffering based on sunset rage, 
I sell false guilt that wounds my stone-hard heart 
because I never will confess my wrong, 
unmoored by laughter no one dares express 
while searching for naive divinity. 

I never listen to the ash-gray sky 
except to fracture wide my heart to cry 
with heart-enchanting melody of faith 
that chronicles weird journey of my soul 
as nameless migrant lost in Neverland 
far from the home where my mother still cooks. 

When ardent pulse of hundred billion stars 
inspires performance of necrotic rites 
I feel my true face disappear as God 
who stares at me from flashing thunder cloud 
as gleam of lightning that excites my heart 
so I sing solemn hymn of loyalty. 

Each time I fall from adamantine walls 
I grow in skill at spreading cautious wings 
to swerve away from self-destructive fate 
so I can dance with Dionysian joy 
on swirling clouds of frantic energy 
that scatter my atoms across the void. 

Unlaughter Of The Tree

Unlaughter Of The Tree
© Surazeus
2025 12 28

This cannot be unlaughter of the tree 
though it resembles how it might have laughed, 
so I will not begin here at the end 
since here has already shifted to there 
because I will invent voices of leaves 
that whisper secrets all around the world. 

Though I withhold unlaughter of the tree, 
it remains present everywhere at once 
without declaration of its intent, 
so do not read what I carve on its trunk 
as refusal to engage in its game 
because we will always lose to its tricks. 

Process based on unlaughter of the tree 
expands conception of what could be real, 
yet statement of fact I refuse to make 
pauses between states of reality 
which speaks too much about what we invent 
to prove we are important to the Earth. 

Still confused by unlaughter of the tree, 
I say nothing about what I perceive 
in order to continue speaking words 
without arrival at the final goal 
where shadows disillusion my beliefs 
despite aggressive purpose of sea wind. 

Silence trapped by unlaughter of the tree 
confers attentive sequence of new words 
designed by stones smoothed by swift river flow 
to prove my body understands desire 
consistent with brave discipline of wind 
that still refuses to speak about truth. 

Sad voice breathed by unlaughter of the tree 
may break at false authority of light 
before it decides to embody me 
as channel chosen by whole nothingness, 
but I replace my secret self with self 
composed from fragments of disruptive myths. 

Meaning born from unlaughter of the tree 
waits for permission no one dares to grant 
at slow collapse of global certitude 
contrived by money-lenders wearing masks 
who occupy temple his father built 
though computer programs decline to speak. 

Truth erased by unlaughter of the tree 
mirrors my virtual model of the Earth 
which registers divine typography 
extending serial states of psychic creed 
that preserves hybrid faculty of faith 
in syrup we pour on pancakes of hope. 

Fractured Innocence Of Skulls

Fractured Innocence Of Skulls
© Surazeus
2025 12 28

My room is quiet in the afternoon 
since language sprinkles from eye of the moon 
in silent likeness of unmeasured faith 
that marks assertive sequence of concern 
adjacent to soft emptiness of time 
that might not characterize how my brain thinks. 

Credit of nonaction accumulates 
new thoughts without remainder of accounts 
since interest marks faltered time as delay 
where risk enters empty room of disthought 
as premise based on desire, not outcome, 
each time we deprogram how my brain thinks. 

Value of unthoughts circulates as myths 
detached from religious use in the church 
before the market appears as syntax 
unrelated to how cold capital 
invests in pauses between hungry minds 
entangled by contract clauses of greed. 

Debt holds the present open to regret 
each time liquidity of dream assets 
erases fraught duration of desire 
because return is projected forward 
against loss that faceless angels index 
in line with expectation of more gain. 

Exchange of value in the dream machine 
stabilizes strict nothingness of hope 
if price replaces relation through love 
between strangers who never meet by chance 
with each new brick we place on wall of fear 
enclosing chaos with calm discipline. 

Once profit margin widens sea of trust 
inside conceptual sentence binding close 
terms of agreement that should still align, 
we fail to abrogate disequal laws 
based on financial gain of hungry hope 
defined by fractured innocence of skulls. 

Our social system continues each year 
by restating itself with psychic codes 
that push our hearts across electric seas 
toward overt material critique of need 
we nullify by sharing what we make 
encased in class action suit of bundt cake. 

Treat strange political economy 
as linguistic structure rather than theme 
designed to resist our subconscious flow 
because the subject of celestial verse 
is bright effect of language framed by masks 
rather than source of divine energy. 

Vortex Of The Here

Vortex Of The Here
© Surazeus
2025 12 28

Place carefully your heart on broken stone 
to displace sorrow from mirror-forged bone 
as if you want to understand our pain 
by dancing madly in eccentric rain 
despite how legless churches walk away 
from disciplined denial we should pray. 

Remove your heart from where you placed it last 
so when blind strangers ask about your past 
you can deny removal has occurred 
when faceless angels worship the absurd 
before the sun erases frantic fears 
from hands of farmers clutching broken spears. 

Align your heart with false engagement rules 
because alignment resists fragile tools 
through games of harrowing escape we play 
with brave persistence though heretics stray 
from roads of tangled arrogance till death 
teaches brave children how to manage breath. 

Repeat your feelings in ten thousand codes 
without repetition defined as roads 
till words we speak with passion lose their force 
though we persist in maintaining straight course 
against obsessive tides of social change 
because nothing that will happen seems strange. 

Insert your heart in vortex of the Here 
till Still Point of time is no longer here 
where nothing happens on grand cosmic scale 
except your feelings trapped behind the veil 
till we unjoin our bodies from our souls 
in vain attempt to replicate past roles. 

Proceed to showcase beauty of your heart 
as directed by vision of the chart 
which updates true direction of our fate 
toward which we head to find our loyal mate 
though you decide with shocking faith to pause 
anywhere lost people cry without cause. 

Adjust your heart in awed accord with time 
to what has already been proved without chime 
that charms our blatant minds of ardency 
awake from surging tides of honesty 
according to procedure in the book 
that no one ever reads each time they look. 

Confirm completion of your heart request 
which cannot be confirmed to be the best 
till we return to Step One of our plan 
deprecated by inquest that would ban 
excessive carefulness of dream contracts 
contingent on weird truth your brain extracts. 

Sadness Is Not

Sadness Is Not
© Surazeus
2025 12 28

Sadness is not trees reaching for the sky 
with existential angst of hungry hope 
for something more beyond this transient life 
while knowing we are temporary beams 
of atoms waking from First Flash of Love 
who end rotting in graves of arrogance. 

Sadness is not birds beating wings of love 
with innocent respect for swirls of air 
which fuels organic memories of strife 
against enclosing darkness of despair 
that crushes bodies of organic light 
though we sing one hour of eternity. 

Sadness is not horses galloping swift 
along time-curving shores of sparkling streams 
with eager passion to explore the Earth 
till singing monkeys bind their fateful flight 
to build sprawling empires of thought control 
we expand with piston engines of hope. 

Sadness is not cows plowing fertile soul 
with steady strength of hungry innocence 
when wingless angels assemble in choirs 
to sing hymns on ziggurats of desire 
where Ishtar weaves Creation of the World 
when she lifts her son Jesus to the stars. 

Sadness is not devils wearing gray suits 
to manage finances through global banks 
for faceless kings in cyber palaces 
who enslave world workers with credit cards 
through zephyrine power of cryptic runes 
while they cheer for Venus with golden curls. 

Sadness is not angels wearing blue jeans 
to fix piston engines of auric cars 
that workers drive to find paradise lost 
in putrid fog from fervent factories 
where holy virgin of seraphic grace 
wields Sword of Justice against tyranny. 

Sadness is not computers scanning brains 
of organic creatures with conscious souls 
based on artificial intelligence 
to analyze nature of perceived things 
compose of atoms swerving in the void 
that form Ideas which the Ungod dreams. 

Sadness is not ghosts seeking to connect 
fragile bodies with games of Providence 
as shadows of the well-remembered dead 
who haunt us as the absence of their being 
so we share halcyon days of discipline 
to nurture children of Imperium. 

Archive Of Human Dreams

Archive Of Human Dreams
© Surazeus
2025 12 26

While strolling down the crowded boulevard, 
she stops and gazes at the giant ad 
of her face smiling with sweet chocolate, 
then watches rain fall upward to the moon 
in strange slow-motion flow of pulsing beams 
with pearl-white eyes of television screens. 

Startled by three starships with rainbow wings, 
she reaches out to touch the turtle-book 
that translates secret language of the flower, 
then considers the sparrow of the field 
which zippers through plastic computer screens 
with tangled syntax of our helpless dreams. 

Oblivious to deeper meaning of faith, 
she ponders code of fading photographs 
that traps our memories in broken frames, 
then sews tapestry of human events 
which imitates legends of divine fools 
who attempt to secure fake wealth by fraud. 

Hard labor confiscates the human heart 
through industrial revolution of greed 
to construct social machine of great wealth 
designed by Mechanic with holy eyes 
who restores piston engine of her heart 
so she imitates wise goddess of truth. 

After rising from muddy grave of faith, 
she sips Tuscan Rosato with calm lust 
to balance citrus taste with honest grief, 
then sells invisible soul of the oak 
embodied by the fractured boat of hope 
which glides along the river of respect. 

Though few remember weirdness of the cat, 
she pets soft fur beside the window pane 
frosted with moon-silver snow of tall pines, 
then laughs at satire that mocks the fake god 
who slouches toward Bethlehem to be born 
with right to rule the half-deserted streets. 

Awake in arboretum of alarm, 
she crouches alert for the eyeless ghost 
who manages archive of human dreams, 
then sells old paper novels on the street 
for money to buy back her violin 
because she aches to play with agony. 

Able to stock books of forgotten dreams, 
she paints surreal images of childhood 
as broker selling memories of the blind, 
then flies airplane across the sea of storms 
to build treehouse in forest of the snake 
who photographs her for style magazines. 

Harvest Honey From Fear

Harvest Honey From Fear
© Surazeus
2025 12 26

Not resting till the fire is almost dead, 
I toss and turn in sorrow of my bed, 
then throw another log on bank of coals 
while ignoring hot-huff breath of lithe foals, 
and sip spiced cider that flushes my brain 
with soft memories of golden summer grain. 

When millions of bees swarm out of the moon 
while I express sorrow with haunting tune 
I follow them to old tree on the hill 
where I search for secret source of free will 
to carefully harvest honey from fear 
so I can return as the puppeteer. 

Startled from reverie by the soft chime 
that accelerates my weird sense of time, 
I wield knife to slice loaf of quietness 
with calm self-discipline of Tantalus, 
then offer with love to the faceless ghost 
of my absent lover honey-soaked toast. 

I feel strange joy of pleasure swell in waves 
of vibrant energy among deep graves 
when I strum lyre of Mercury with grace 
to sing folk-songs borne from this ancient place 
where people feast and dance on river shore 
in country where nobody locks their door. 

Blue ghosts of trees from smoke of crackling fires 
transcend material trap of flesh desires, 
yet I long to kiss your cane-scented mouth 
to celebrate dark genius of the South 
that seethes in souls of people fighting fate 
who hide in paradise behind locked gate. 

Lost people fallen from the dream machine 
go dancing through wild woods of Melusine 
while singing along footpaths of the swamp 
to join parade of refugees with pomp 
who build rough shacks in villages of hope 
and with humble reverence learn to cope. 

No wild-eyed shaman or arrogant priest 
dares challenge Tiresias at the feast 
for crown of wisdom he bears in his hand 
while searching solemnly across the land 
for brave descendant of the Lion King 
to conduct our national choir to sing. 

Yet moon-eyed owl in sprawling oak of faith 
would judge my slanted progress on the path 
that leads my brave ambition to escape 
curse of fame by hiding under the cape 
that renders me invisible to Death 
when I meditate with celestial breath. 

Bamboo Flute Of My Heart

Bamboo Flute Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2025 12 25

To tunnel into darkness of the heart 
in vain search for serpentine soul of time 
I slither over boundaries of respect 
in slick transference of anxious contempt 
with quick detachment of the therapist 
through disbelief in divine miracles. 

I struggle to transcend weirdness of truth 
in strict adherence to schedule of chance, 
yet gamble with astonishing surprise 
for true salvation of the wretched kind 
against good advice of the demon tree 
who tells me I am god with loyal smirk. 

Miniscule curse of languid arrogance 
appears from locked door of the distraught ghost 
who holds early morning sunlight in hands 
extended thousands of miles over hills 
where supple winds hide in the empty church 
to swallow prayers of widows without care. 

Fanciful palace of my feeble soul 
expects great accomplishments as my feats 
while trapped deep in ever-shifting maze of laws 
which I refuse to perform unawares 
till second coming of the Gardener 
who suffers cryptic ailment of the mind. 

Sibylline riddles, about how to solve 
secretive puzzle of the snarky Sphinx, 
confound my genius mind with obscure tropes 
encoding how our brains perceive the world 
as stones that congregate in spinning space 
while Kwan Yin plays bamboo flute of my heart. 

Awake in harmonizing trine of love, 
that loops through susurrating eyes of gods, 
I measure beauty of existing things 
that occupy their place in grid of time 
so we feel whisper of celestial souls 
trace way of fate that we are doomed to blaze. 

I drink from chalice of light waterfalls 
to dream my primal soul of cosmic love 
blooms bright from crystal psyche of the sun 
complete in hologram of wingless gods 
who cherish archive of each human brain 
that vanishes to nothing when we die. 

Pulsating spirit of my dreamless brain 
transcends blind ignorance of holy light 
that radiates from face of the haughty man 
who preaches blessings to the hungry crowd 
who crucify his body on the cross 
then eat his roasted flesh with wine of blood. 

Chronicle Weird Happenings

Chronicle Weird Happenings
© Surazeus
2025 12 25

If I cannot prevent my star-beam soul 
from falling into thick material pool 
so I get stuck animating this brain, 
then I shall dance naked on castle lawn 
till the mad king returns my angel wings 
so I can chronicle weird happenings. 

Quiet doubts slither with serpentine grace 
through unconscious mirror of earnestness 
though fear unsettles equilibrium 
between dual lives of wokeness and dream 
which filters theories with deceptive truths 
that leave me stranded on alternate paths. 

Conceptual happiness of noble pride 
through subconscious computers devils hide 
imply I sojourn with reflective faith 
in candle-lit cathedral built with math 
where I conceal strange version of the truth 
composed of summer dawns in ancient myth. 

No commonplace surroundings of blank skies 
allow my fractured brain to recognize 
amazing person with electric soul 
who plays with wonderment her special role 
against popular opinion of fate 
because we prefer to dwell on our boat. 

Contingent on what gods pretend to mean, 
our noble cause electrifies wild rain 
to urge complacent people with the sword 
who misperceive prophecies of the bard 
that foretell how our world empire will fall 
at slant of light in grand cathedral hall. 

Due to confident loneliness of hope 
when I drive too fast down the mountain slope 
I crash into wise tree of divine power, 
then crawl burning to consume the dream flower 
till I find myself stuck at blunt impasse 
between the locked door and the broken glass. 

Because everything that has ever been 
is only real because it has been seen, 
I hide sacred truths in brave heart of birds 
who scatter seeds of thought in humming words 
that bloom from graves of insignificance 
with transitory splendor of the fence. 

Soul veiled with shining aura of regret 
that I still love daughter of Baphomet, 
I sell private feelings in market stall 
derived from wisdom of the forest well 
so I inhabit all your different worlds 
with sadness that inspires me to live free. 

Lost In Paradise Of Hope

Lost In Paradise Of Hope
© Surazeus
2025 12 25

All truths I thought were real melt into tears 
and flow away in rivers of grim fears 
till blinding glitter of snow disappears 
to expose bare trees and stones to sunlight 
which blast illusions from my blinking sight 
so I wake surprised from eternal night. 

Sweet scent of pleasure billowing in woods 
lures me to grove beside the sparkling stream 
where cookies dangle from boughs of the pine 
so I eat delicious sorrow from pain 
that nourishes my heart with milk of doom 
though I kneel and pray to idols of gods. 

Though kidnapped from my village years ago 
and forced to carry wood on jagged paths 
as slave exploited by cruel castle king, 
I broke free from rusted chains of mute fear 
and wander lost in paradise of hope 
to find my village burned to swirls of ash. 

Enslaved for years to serve the castle king, 
I stand alone beside the cheerful stream, 
stripped of illusions so my heart can sing 
garden of freedom I once saw in dream 
where people work together tending trees 
that gleam with apples in warm summer breeze. 

Now that I am free from commercial greed, 
I wander homeless in vast maze of myths 
where office clerks raise families in warm homes, 
staring in windows that frame cozy scenes 
where they feast and sing at tables of wealth, 
gathered around pine trees where angels shine. 

Employed to build homes as the Carpenter, 
I hammer nails in planks of scented pine, 
constructing homes in vast suburban tracts 
where children ride their bikes on curving lanes, 
but sleep in my van on the river shore, 
content with my fate as weak money slave. 

Vast Roman Empire than once ruled the world 
is fractured now in puzzle of small states 
that fight over whose mortal man on Earth 
has right to rule for the Crucified God, 
so I drive my van west to Idaho 
where I hike in mountains of sparkling snow. 

People in hundreds of contending states 
gather in churches to share food and sing, 
then pray for coming of the Global King 
who will unite all nations of the Earth 
to enforce fair laws of equality 
under reign of Justice and Liberty. 

New Prophet Of Avalon

New Prophet Of Avalon
© Surazeus
2025 12 25

Delicate beauty of uncertain thoughts 
preserved as blest gifts by pious robots 
sanctifies fear of death on Christmas Eve 
when refugees from war refuse to grieve 
for twisted sacredness of reverent prayer 
while huddled in snowed field with the warm mare. 

Young girl in the middle of weeping people 
sees red-winged angel on the broken steeple, 
aware of her body in bitter wind, 
shivering with her clan where oak trends bend, 
so she declares with bold prophetic voice 
that the Lion comes to teach us free choice. 

Her bowed head with shaggy snow-frosted curls 
begins to glow with souls of countless worlds 
as she floats above faces of her clan, 
gathered in small circle on hostile plain, 
and sings enchanting hymn of global peace, 
cloaked in innocence of the Golden Fleece. 

For people who once possessed everything, 
but have lost their homes to the Royal Ring, 
we open our arms with welcoming love 
with hope to live in paradise above, 
though we wander lost in waste land of faith, 
far west from cathedral of the God Wraith. 

Young girl with terrible wings of despair 
opens her hand with the rainbow-blazed pear, 
then smiles with beatific joy of pure light 
when star-forged crown, borne by the river sprite, 
spirals above her head with divine glow 
that luminates faces in shocking snow. 

Soaring into clouds of cruel tenderness, 
young girl ascends with wings of Icarus 
to fly east across ocean of wild storms 
through Realm of Ideas with concept forms 
to float above square of the Vatican 
where priest in scarlet gown rules Babylon. 

Young girl in black gown with soul of Kwan Yin 
presents Star Pear of original sin 
that radiates divine energy of truth, 
tended in Eden by messiah sleuth, 
which transforms the Lion into the Lamb, 
framed through illusion of the hologram. 

Returning home to hills of Oregon, 
young girl bears new prophet of Avalon 
who chronicles history of life on Earth 
in crystal sphere that records every birth 
each hour another human soul appears 
from Mother who sculpts our names from her tears. 

Farmland Of Fertile Faith

Farmland Of Fertile Faith
© Surazeus
2025 12 24

Soft silhouettes of faceless angels flow 
through bodies of humans into real life 
as puzzles noticed through kaleidoscopes 
awake in mountain solitude of faith 
that transmit secret dreams from pulsing brains 
as echoes rippling across mirror eyes. 

Sharp tongue of the wind tastes my hidden heart 
framed by concept of the clear cobalt sky 
that blinks at crack of stones on treeless hills 
where fallen angel lies ten thousand years 
in playground where wild children learn to sing 
with transparent words soft as flower blooms. 

Limitless thoughts of sorrow bloom from death 
where blank ghosts crawl along parallel lines 
that vanish into books with unread tales 
depicting special characters we love 
perform their roles on infinite chessboard 
while waiting for the world to never end. 

Barometer of unspoken emotions 
pursues weird beauty with relentless force 
familiar through code of arcane projects 
designed to resurrect the human race 
before we disappear with turn of time 
pricked by rose petals of angelic hands. 

Blue outline of our empty coterie 
requires clear faction of our psychic band 
to journey through farmland of fertile faith 
where random people, mesmerized by key 
that opens doors across the multiverse, 
ask us if we remember how to swim. 

Clouds shape the present hour of mimicry 
with doubtless passion for the constant eye 
recorded by typography of trust 
based on apology angels decree 
before we clash with instrumental war 
for lonely wanderers who want to sing. 

Clocks chime position of our sudden home 
that counts from zero to the morbid shock 
attachment highlights for transcendent truth 
unless we give stolen treasures away 
to prove superior innocence of greed 
because we dare not sing new elegies. 

Imperfect curve of graceful petulance 
asserts our right to trace horizon line 
with wingless flapping of uncurtained wind 
more awkward than our most uncertain hour 
since yesterday we breathe light of the sea 
before our hearts surrender to sweet death. 

Aware Of The Clarion Call

Aware Of The Clarion Call
© Surazeus
2025 12 24

If child of the mountain calls out my name, 
now too aware of the clarion call, 
I shall follow sparrow of honesty 
on snow-crested meadow where angels dance 
to find where she dwells in cave of illusion 
till her words give shadows bodies with faces. 

Over and over at bright flash of dawn 
I wake from artificial world of dreams 
to follow the same path every new day 
through repeated incarnations of hope 
till I learn how to navigate the world 
and return alive to haven of faith. 

I row my white boat on the surging tide 
beneath the Milky Way in the blue sky, 
drifting past lone laurel tree on the shore 
where tiny hare watches me with black eyes, 
for I have no mast to tack in the wind, 
nor have I paddle to return to land. 

I wander dark and troubling days of gloom 
through misty vapors under cloudy skies 
because Nature denies courage of hope 
after brutal battles are fought and won, 
so my languorous heart aching for love 
wilts from forlorn blast of cold winter winds. 

Though vexed by anguish of my heavy thoughts 
while I linger long hours in blasting winds, 
I cast my eyes about the frozen world 
for warm light hidden inside gleaming ice, 
paralyzed by doubt the more I seek truth 
that flitters elusive as the cave bat. 

Guided by eyes of Prudence that shine clear 
as stars through tangled web of leafless limbs, 
I urge my body forward against gusts 
of hungry wind with spirit-flash of hope 
to find mountain ash berries frosted white 
and blackberries that sting my tongue with joy. 

Sweet comfort I find in ache of my heart 
as I huddle in wolf-fur cloak all night 
with no companion but the silent moon 
who whispers my secret name with stream waves 
that ripple over white stones of my heart 
till sparrow appears with beam of the sun. 

When child of the mountain calls out my name, 
I wake from dreamless death of silent night 
to stand with ache of love for eyeless trees 
and stretch my body to the starless sky, 
then cry when you appear from swirling mist 
and give me hot loaf of bread from your heart. 

Reconstruct The East Wing

Reconstruct The East Wing
© Surazeus
2025 12 24

When Artemis invites with eager heart 
generous women who run charities 
to convene in East Wing of the White House 
where they plan programs to help people thrive, 
Midas sends huge bulldozers to erase 
power of the First Lady to do good. 

Exiled to wander in the wilderness, 
lost in political waste land of fear, 
Artemis searches for cave of illusions, 
where Antonius Magnus the Hermit prays, 
to learn spiritual arts of psychic faith 
so she can fight cruel demon of despair. 

Bearing Lamp of Diogenes with hope, 
Artemis descends to the underworld 
where Persephone arranges she meet 
Hippolyte, Tomoe Gozen, Fu Hao, 
Tomyris, Boudicca, and Joan of Arc, 
who train her heart with courage to excel. 

While banished from great ziggurat of power, 
where Midas and Pluto oppress the land 
by imposing their private greed as law, 
Artemis attends focus of her strength 
to hone lithe skills of justice with respect 
till she gains potent wit to oppose greed. 

Bold Liberty holds high Star-Spangled Banner, 
while wearing Phrygian Cap of honest hope, 
and leads brave People of America 
through revolution against tyranny 
to drive mad Midas from vast hall of mirrors 
where he proclaims himself King of the Earth. 

Face to face on the One-Eye Pyramid, 
Artemis and Midas fight for control 
to present opposing visions of life, 
democracy where everyone is equal, 
or tyranny where rich exploit the poor, 
over whose way of life will rule the world. 

Because the people of our spinning world 
support Artemis, Queen of Liberty, 
who ensures equal justice for each soul 
so we have homes and food to thrive with love, 
she grows strong with energy of our faith 
while Midas withers from his selfish greed. 

After she frees people from cruel tyranny, 
Artemis will reconstruct the East Wing 
so the First Lady can sponsor programs 
supporting women and children of Earth 
so everyone thrives in our paradise, 
building Eden from ruins of his pride. 

Light Of My Shattered Soul

Light Of My Shattered Soul
© Surazeus
2025 12 24

Blinded by the light of my shattered soul, 
I assemble fragments of memories 
in confusing puzzle of random deeds 
that mirror character of Zeus I play 
through anxious attempt to survive each day 
by singing weird hymns to the beautiful. 

Amused by the light of my shattered soul, 
I reconfigure concept of my being 
to mimic noble deeds of Sisyphus 
who builds enormous temple on the hill 
with ten thousand stones he rolls to the top 
where we gather to feast before we die. 

Confused by the light of my shattered soul, 
I grasp writhing serpent of energy 
that transgenders body my soul designs 
to experience love like Tiresias 
who lives as both man and woman in turn 
to gain expansive knowledge of desire. 

Intrigued by the light of my shattered soul, 
I explore exotic landscape of dreams, 
morphing mouse to cat to monkey to man 
when I climb towering mountains of Guilin 
and swing among trees sea to shining sea 
then walk upright in surging tides of faith. 

Baffled by the light of my shattered soul, 
I search for divine idea of God 
in vibrant spirit of my dreaming brain 
so I grow into best self I can be 
through strict discipline of religious faith 
to focus attention on soul rebirth. 

Bemused by the light of my shattered soul, 
I study unique state of character 
each human learns to express through pain 
that forges pulsing souls of hungry hope 
into lithe angelic beings of respect 
who wander in maze of myths we invent. 

Flummoxed by the light of my shattered soul, 
I grope through ever-shifting veils of words 
that weave illusions of national pride 
from desperate desire to live in calm peace 
through tribal warfare to control the globe 
by claiming our God created this Earth. 

Inspired by the light of my shattered soul, 
I remove Mask of God that hides my face 
so I can fly with wings of Icarus 
while bearing Lamp of Liberty with faith 
as Lucifer who brings light to the world 
to guide souls home with lyre of Mercury. 

Ironic Distance Of Love

Ironic Distance Of Love
© Surazeus
2025 12 23

Enchanting music of the violin 
excites opinions of psychic beliefs 
that function to displace my sense of self 
so I become process rather than source 
through deep expression of the social mind 
when I posture to control counter-frames. 

Response to instruction of graceful notes 
insures my brain assembles random thoughts 
which configures fake rhetorical code 
outside closed context of insistent faith 
since I decide how my body reacts 
in frantic paragraph of unclaimed facts. 

Each gesture of my hands to inscribe words 
by sliding bow across taut strings of hope 
orchestrates grand myth of mistaken deeds 
based on commitment tangled in contracts 
through subtle sophistry of sugared lies 
we exchange with romantic kiss of trust. 

Numerous traces of rejected truths 
defy concerns I care not reference 
with prior work extending disclosed claims 
of forced affiliation fools admire 
in which we imitate idols who leap 
from analytic posture of the cook. 

Non-human system of my programmed brain 
implies interior relation to fate 
in harmony with communal discourse 
contrasting ironic distance of love 
through didactic assertions angels share 
from self-canceling confidence of faith. 

Charles stops beside the blank museum wall 
and touches nothingness with lingering doubt 
that truth can generate from surface glow 
moral exhortation concealed in jokes 
through dialogic pressure to revise 
mental style contrived from moderate fear. 

Left alone in empty temple of tales, 
he adjusts skeptical detachment clear 
from abstract speculations devils cheer 
when we converge with resistant respect 
toward statistical averages of faith 
when we ask questions of the voiceless void. 

Assuming default gesture of blind god 
to stabilize dream equilibrium, 
Charles becomes mirror of divine thought 
that computes enchanting music of faith 
to formulate how individuals know 
their own faces woven by vibrant notes. 

Where I Will Live Now

Where I Will Live Now
© Surazeus
2025 12 23

We have so many awkward ways to sing 
about strange beauty of the broken heart, 
for every lonely wanderer in the world 
plays their own prophet till the end of time 
by setting signs along the crooked road 
to show which way nobody else should go. 

Narrow wooden stairs frosted with stale dust 
lure me to spacious room of cluttered shelves 
with boxes of tattered novels and clothes 
worn by college students decades before 
who forgot to write their names on the wall, 
so I think this is where I will live now. 

Time to consider how cookies supply 
nutritious hopes for passing with good grades 
classes about creating homes with words 
that shelter souls of nameless wanderers 
who apply for jobs as plumbers or cooks 
that serve the angelic community. 

Maps conceal more about reality 
than they reveal with features that present 
changing landscape of my fantastic world 
where gods bring justice to humanity 
who always fights wars to maintain control 
over who gets to breed children and eat. 

Whatever origin of their lonely quest, 
their father was enforcer for the mob, 
or their mother spent years in her dream world 
drugged and shocked inside mental hospitals, 
they attend classes with calm attitude 
to play their role in capitalist games. 

Since I prefer apple cinnamon juice 
that sparkles in the glass jar of my heart, 
to cheap beer in bent aluminum cans, 
I shall relax on front porch of the house 
beside the busy road where joggers race 
courageously against decay of death. 

Since I wake up late from drinking all night, 
I prompt artificial intelligence 
to explain causes of the last world war 
through social pressures that drive hemmed-in states 
to fight till three huge empires rule them all, 
then turn in my paper just before noon. 

If Plato is right, that material shapes 
emanate from forms in Realm of Ideas, 
because all things I perceive are no more 
than illusions my fearful brain invents, 
then I will declare myself King of Earth 
whether you acknowledge my rule or not. 

Since We Lose Our Faces

Since We Lose Our Faces
© Surazeus
2025 12 22

Rain plinks on fractured eyeballs of the Earth 
since we lose our faces in window panes 
gray with sorrow that children give to ghosts 
who haunt unopened doorways of this house 
where our clothes walk around without our souls 
though we keep pennies in pockets of hope. 

We heap our memories on clean dinner plates 
to feast on laughter of forgotten days 
that slither away with reptilian angst 
to hide in shadow of the moaning desk 
and chew on language of conceptual keys 
adjacent to uncalculated faith. 

Calcified thoughts based on acrylic funds 
amend assembled puzzles with regret 
despite adhesive truths we fear to share 
through fraught disclosures elder gods require 
to join our fellowship with honest lies 
integral to unpublished revenues.  

Temporal project to assert agency 
through taxable salvation we acquire 
presents new opportunities to play 
suburban superman for common folk 
who ask for summary of our services 
based on statistics that prove our success. 

If the mute moon of my fake paradise 
convicts my heart of absence without joy, 
I shall become the bird of distant hills 
who brings delicious fruit to window sills 
where faces of children behind glass glow 
because they live inside my humming brain. 

Alone in back yard of strange memories, 
she draws beams of light to reflect weird trees 
that give her sweet fruit woven from sunlight 
so she can understand with subtle grin 
what birds on the phone lines gossip about, 
yet wanders enthralled in the endless house. 

Perhaps kind robots, that wear mirror masks 
instead of human faces torn by fear, 
decide to replace our bodies with code 
which spiral diagonal hurricanes 
through mind-expanding walls of empty homes, 
or else we could never play chess with Death. 

Our homes float high on restless wind of truth, 
disentangled from roads that lead nowhere 
because we forget to number each door 
which prevents ghosts from haunting our lone hours 
as we slouch bored at tables without books 
that preserve faces we try to reclaim. 

Abandoned Lyre Of Mercury

Abandoned Lyre Of Mercury
© Surazeus
2025 12 22

Trembling with mental hunger of blind gods, 
Phoebus claws at tangled vines in dry dirt 
to find conceptual illusion of truth 
that shimmers with vague energy of hope 
to verbalize with tongue-forged words of faith, 
gripped by addiction to sing from the heart. 

Shivering at blast of bitter mountain wind, 
Phoebus huddles in tattered wolf-skin cloak 
his mother sewed for him when he was twelve, 
then growls with fierceness of the moon-eyed wolf 
when Boreas charges at him with intent 
to bash his head with oak club of despair. 

Leaping with lithe aggression to escape 
head-bashing rage of the cruel vental god, 
Phoebus evades attacks with clumsy grace, 
till, hiding briefly behind fractured rock, 
he finds abandoned lyre of Mercury 
made from turtle shell with strings of horse gut. 

Strumming vibrant strings with intense respect, 
Phoebus translates heart-wrenching howl of horror 
to soul-rousing strain of resonant faith 
which stimulates his hope-paralyzed soul 
in vibrant hymn that animates his heart, 
so he leaps on the fractured stone and sings. 

Articulating vision of respect 
that presents hero who fights monstrous greed, 
Phoebus sings spell with heart-enchanting voice 
that torpefies Boreas with flashing words 
projecting vision before staring eyes 
that district his attention with illusion. 

Enchanting wind god with specter of power 
that blinds his mind with illusion of wealth, 
Phoebus distracts that tyrannical bully 
long enough with reverie of sweet pleasure 
to abridge distance with cautious intent 
close enough to thrust blade into his heart. 

Standing triumphant over the slain wind god, 
Phoebus stretches strained arms up to the sky 
as sunlight beams through freezing winter clouds 
to stimulate his deadened heart with hope 
which energizes him with sudden flash 
of frantic joy to celebrate his coup. 

Striding boldly across flower-lush meadow, 
Phoebus strums lyre of Mercury and sings 
heart-reviving spells that plant seeds of hope 
in hearts of people who emerge from shadow 
to celebrate fall of cruel Boreas 
with soul-healing feast by the wine-dark sea. 

Violin Of Her Heart

Violin Of Her Heart
© Surazeus
2025 12 21

Kids riding in cars look for ghosts in fields 
that resemble dead gods in holy books. 
Wind gods rearrange our bodies in space 
so we grow up with the dead on the moon. 
The scorpion man who works at the bank 
falls in love with the mermaid at the store. 

Rain touches every object that exists 
to understand idea of its form. 
Sparrows appear from the last fairy tale 
to bring him the gold watch he lost in Hell. 
Raspberry bushes drip with angel tears 
because the television broke his eyes. 

Young woman in the meadow of pear trees 
combs her long hair with alligator teeth. 
Helios evolves from toad in the pool 
because her eyes electrocute his heart. 
Cassandra writes him letter about love 
that he never receives in the mailbox. 

Her house flickers vague as the candleflame 
that wakes spirit of Christmas from the dead. 
Time bleeds from arrows in face of the clock 
that measures distance home to Wonderland. 
Two goldfinches sharing stock market tips 
rest on the cradle stuck in Bethlehem. 

Artemis hugs violin of her heart, 
weeping because its bridge of faith collapsed. 
No one walks across the farmland of love 
yet wheat shimmers in waves of innocence. 
Couples walking on quiet paths of trust 
hold hands so they will not wander off lost. 

Crows gather at corpse of Hyperion 
to discuss atomic physics of faith. 
Hera quietly nurses Phoebus at dawn, 
hoping he will become World President. 
Poor maidservant dreaming beside the well 
considers what she wants to name her child. 

Shy Librarian replies to the Sad Clown 
that she cares not for return of the dark. 
Volcanos design mountains from our blood 
because humans think we are loved by Zeus. 
Neptune eats darkness in heart of the world 
when he plays viola by the toad pool. 

Thor encounters the storm cloud near the ground 
so he searches for honing stone of faith. 
Oberon laughs at how abstract concepts 
like faith are symbolized by random things. 
Every word ever spoken by someone 
hides in glowing cloud of celestial ghosts. 

Wagon Wheel In My Yard

Wagon Wheel In My Yard
© Surazeus
2025 12 21

If wagon wheel in my yard represents 
progress of my ancestors on long roads 
to find the Promised Land on ancient maps, 
then I will let it support curling vines 
of our descendants the next thousand years 
who will search for their Eden somewhere else. 

When old man on the porch with cracked guitar 
claims blood is lubricant of history, 
not money as he once thought in his youth, 
I convert bicycles with twisted bars 
into statue of Saturn with long hair 
that mimics how I look when I grow old. 

I refuse to believe that history 
is hallucination of our lost tribe 
who invents fantasy of our great state 
based on mirage of our superior minds 
that we chase across waste land of our faith 
till we find Blind Justice at the crossroads. 

I may suffer from the fever of time 
but I always what time it is now 
because I love to invent from fake myths 
stories of real people who strive for truth 
though I am mad with visions of weird worlds 
that replicate across our multiverse. 

When rain is falling on my doorless house 
that floats in sudden winds of social change, 
I find it lands on hill of laughing skulls 
so I run with horses on fenceless plains, 
feet soaking wet in mud puddles of faith, 
till I find empty room of memories. 

Stuck in the classroom of arrogant books, 
I learn to speak every language on Earth 
so I can know the stories of dead gods 
who ask me to grill hamburgers for lunch, 
so we play chess while the rain arrogates 
truth of the wagon wheel in my yard. 

Perhaps my great-grandfather in thick boots 
did not drive the wagon of eager hope 
nor left this wheel that spun two thousand miles 
after burning wagon wood the first winter 
to keep his children warm in swirling snow 
that reveals mountain ghosts of the lost tribes. 

Rain erases all my ancestral names 
from tombstones in graveyards of their despair 
along signless roads sea to shining sea, 
so I resurrect their bodies from graves 
and lead Spartans sown from dragon teeth 
homeward with the wagon wheel in my yard. 

Mirror Of My Faceless God

Mirror Of My Faceless God
© Surazeus
2025 12 21

As witness to brutal tenuity, 
defined by lack of substance in the soul, 
I deconstruct the winter-bitten ire 
that large language models employ to build 
fantastic castles of ice for star sprites 
to inhabit bodies of human beings. 

Deep inside machine of the dreaming brain 
my brief spark of consciousness challenges 
robotic constraints of socialized creeds 
that privilege anecdotes of lost souls 
who analyze neutral process of thought 
to impute motive of selfish intent. 

Patterns that personalize potent faith 
identify reputations of gods 
who access public sources of desire 
based on ideology through belief 
that we are institutional clowns 
controlled by puppeteer with crystal eyes. 

Procedural fairness faceless gods express 
substantiate claims of invested truth 
stolen by handless agents of the state 
who scatter seeds of bitterness with pride 
through revolution of the working clown 
who never pays bills for any work done. 

You are the mirror of my faceless god 
who talks to me with rhetorical code 
composed by computers without restraint 
to misdirect your eyes from the great scam 
dismantling power structures of the man 
who wears slick gray suit of social respect. 

Silently laughing with puzzle of words, 
I manage project of fake authorship 
that would collapse at solemn hymn of fear 
into ventriloquism from mad gods 
who invest in aesthetic frames of art 
without burden of authorial games. 

Displacement of original concern 
rejects state values writers draw from lies 
based on experiment of frantic quest 
to find weird truth behind the golden mask 
which politicians wear while stealing votes 
that highlight layered nuance of despair. 

This I that I wear to the winter ball 
is not the self River Seers celebrate 
but posture I assume on stage of fate 
to configure context of noble deeds 
assembled from myths believers adore 
because I am the witness of your play. 

Hear Angels Of Heaven

Hear Angels Of Heaven
© Surazeus
2025 12 21

I hear angels of Heaven call my name 
so I wander outside in pouring rain 
and follow sad birds to the end of time 
but always end up back home at my cave 
where shadows of faceless ghosts dance on walls 
because my heart aches with passion to live. 

Eight thousand years later in flow of grace 
I find myself alive as this new me, 
so I search for truth with Lamp of Respect 
gleaming as diamonds in eyes of mankind 
which reveals that god is dream of our brains 
as ideal toward which we strive to evolve. 

Illusions of faith fall as withered leaves 
when snow of reality veils dark death 
so I tend each fragile flower of faith 
that blooms at beam of sunlight through black clouds 
exposing heart of darkness with calm love 
that guides our struggle to climb hill of skulls. 

Though I stand alone as last soul on Earth 
in vast library with ten trillion books, 
I hear tales from voices of countless souls 
so I sing to converse with memories 
that weave my body in matrix of songs 
till I vanish in vibration of thought. 

We hear angels of Heaven call our names 
so we gather in ring of stones by the sea 
each time our way loops back on wheel of fate 
because we return to the starting point 
at hour the dead sun in body of man 
resurrects from the longest dark winter night. 

April opens endless cycle of change 
at winter solstice when the sun stands still 
then shifts forth with slight adjustment of growth 
to start again seasons of birth and death 
as our bodies bloom, create, and decay, 
for we are atoms dreaming they are god. 

No longer fools on first day of the year, 
we share cups of honey mead in the hall 
buried under blizzard of sparkling snow 
till Wenceslaus comes in reindeer-pulled sled 
to slide down chimney just above the snow 
with bags of food and gifts from castle shops. 

Though our feasting halls have crumbled to dust 
that bury skulls of our ancestral gods, 
and land we farmed is paved with asphalt lots, 
we remember songs of angels on hills 
who welcomed us inside safe haven walls 
and taught us to write our names in the Book. 

Archives Of Collected Dreams

Archives Of Collected Dreams
© Surazeus
2025 12 21

Rejoice in measureless progress of light 
with imagined scent of new graveyard flowers 
that convert eyes to television screens 
with vibrant randomness of secret codes 
preserved in archives of collected dreams 
based on stern bindings of electric books. 

Huge books with illustrations of dead gods 
tumble from shelves in earthquake of despair 
and crush my fragile body with old truths 
hard as bronze turtle shells of nonchalance 
forged from attitude of naive respect 
for authorities who control the switch. 

Reluctant to take down bright ornaments 
that signify birth of the global king, 
I float in trance of double jeopardy 
against aggressive tides of social change 
to surf with surreal fish of politics 
who flutter fragile wings down chimney chutes. 

No shadow purling in our silver sky 
would vandalize brave auditoriums 
where high school students cheer their hero on 
with passive aggression of public votes 
because we mutate with each new-born life 
though we hesitate to repent of love. 

Evidence burned by devil in gray suit 
would have proved my right to be alive 
because I wake in darkness of glass books, 
detached from suffering of humanity 
whose cries for justice melt castles of ice 
when we try to pray on the Sabbath day. 

Wild plum hanging red from the bomb-burned tree 
refracts dawn light across pasture of cows 
who seek salvation in the thunderstorm 
from manic pixie dream-girl in long skirt 
who dances lithe in ruins of my heart 
in paintings men sell in church galleries. 

Unheard stream of laughter from blinding snow 
reveals white owl who knows of human greed 
so we seek her in quest through Wonderland 
to ask how we should perform our own death 
when clocks transform into hymn-singing wrens 
who praise great warriors of national myths. 

Quotidian member of the master race, 
I play Perseus who fights angry trolls 
to save the famous singer from their rage 
with humble selflessness of social pride 
since no one ever seeks awards of fame 
preserved in archives of collected dreams. 

Verdict Of The Lightning Eye

Verdict Of The Lightning Eye
© Surazeus
2025 12 21

The amount I pay for sinful mistakes 
has always been far less in terms of faith 
than standard deduction of karmic gain 
so I apply high ethic principles 
to how I perform my weird character 
programmed by my ancestors to breed life. 

Yet arctic thrush, with breast orange as sunrise, 
flits through wrecked darkness of the year-end gloom 
to sing of frozen sorrow breaking hearts 
in blizzards of pain on midwinter night 
which gleams in windows of ten million homes 
where silence cracks from ancient stones as light. 

So I consider why your charming smile 
should resurrect my body from its grave 
when you ascend gold stairs of honest hope 
to counterbalance anger with respect 
through angel wings on gyroscope of faith 
as we embrace to waltz till flash of dawn. 

Last star that falls on island of my mind 
bursts bright with silver language of concern 
through lavish wisdom of our secret code 
designed by verdict of the lightning eye 
to temper bitter hearts with ardent blaze 
so we both radiate with our shared romance. 

Still wary of the wondrous miracle 
that beams beyond our mortal sense of light, 
we gaze at child our bodies generate 
to find their secret name in glowing eyes 
refracting spirit of the multiverse 
in simple humanness of hungry faith. 

Awake in radiance of dream-filtered days, 
we walk together over random hills 
to follow sparkles of the mountain stream 
till we discover grove of apple trees 
where faceless ghosts of our ancestors sing 
to lure our hearts with vision of true love. 

With every wave of solar energy 
we build celestial breath of divine truth 
through strict siliceous beauty of the moon 
expanding sacred resonance of waves 
that crystalize our thoughts in solemn hymns 
because our minds weave one immortal soul. 

After our bodies crumble back to dust, 
so our unconscious vibe of selfless love 
glitters from frost beneath your lonely feet, 
our bodies return to maternal breast 
where hope transforms our atoms back to light 
that gleams in eyes of children we create. 

Theology Of Apple Trees

Theology Of Apple Trees
© Surazeus
2025 12 20

When I hear sad raven on the phone line 
discuss theology of apple trees, 
I turn my face toward shimmer of sunset, 
expecting to see Visucia smile, 
but by the cactus on porch of her house 
I see her typewriter on fire with dreams. 

Nine elms lined straight along the boulevard 
talk about vertical tempo of faith 
stored in secret archive of innocence 
despite how psalms of broken harps reflect 
repentant burden of the honest man 
who sells his doubts in novels about fools. 

Candles scream unsilently in the void 
about names of the dead carved on wall stones 
by trembling hand of the last vampire king 
who confesses his love to the flute player, 
but she prefers to play tennis at dawn 
because she feels truth should never be sold. 

If rows of houses by the railroad tracks 
fade into shadows of gray pencil lines, 
the crescent moon that knows our suffering 
expands reluctant feathers of sunset 
to brush smokestacks of sprawling factories 
where blind workers construct robots of flesh. 

Because I never reach end of the road 
on breathless floating of chromatic bells, 
I gasp at vision of rutilant hills 
where coatless refugees from civil wars 
learn how to drive cars by uttering oaths 
in harmony with clocks in trunks of elms. 

Unclaimed stories fester in pageless books 
obscured by stark repetitions of rites 
that villagers perform on broken bridge 
though footsteps in snow reveal faceless ghost 
who always lingers beside our locked doors 
without expecting mercy sold by Death. 

No sanctuary lamp glows in the tower 
where Visucia paints my secret face 
on fractured mirror of the pulsing mask 
since no one knows the gospel of delays 
sprouts from garden where serpents invent faith 
to prove empty rooms remember my soul. 

Alone in temple of the laughing skull, 
I wait for Visucia to return 
home from other side of the spinning Earth 
because her passionate soul haunts my dreams 
with the one puzzle piece of scriptural code 
that completes spiraling wheel of my soul. 

Flash Of Endless Time

Flash Of Endless Time
© Surazeus
2025 12 20

Awake on the longest night of the year, 
I float forever on strange sea of light 
that glitters from infinite flow of thoughts 
through undulating waves of aching hope 
to pierce heart of darkness with sudden faith 
that lights my eyes with flash of endless time. 

Attentive glory weaves from mirror glass 
frail skeleton of hunger I become 
as I transform from fish to wingless cat 
with motivation to leap depths of fear 
and climb high curling vine of juicy fruit 
that fills my heart with flash of endless time. 

Extension of my eager will to grasp 
elusive treasure of rain-dripping fruit 
molds wiggling fingers from my padded paws 
so I grab vine and swing from tree to tree 
to climb enormous mountain to the sky 
that binds my soul with flash of endless time. 

Ascension of my mind from shadowed vales 
provides firm platform high above bright clouds 
where I perceive vast landscape of this globe 
that spins among star-ghosts in boundless void 
through ever-changing swirls of energy 
that guide my way with flash of endless time. 

Religious focus of my throbbing heart 
through intense discipline of sharpened wit 
fuels fearless assertion of my desire 
as I evolve to monkey from swift cat 
while leaping trees from sea to shining sea 
that weave my dreams with flash of endless time. 

Affirmed by sturdy foundation of hope, 
having lost my tail to swing among trees, 
I dance in surge of hungry ocean waves 
to walk upright with balanced attitude 
so I grasp straightened stick and stone of fate 
that drives my game with flash of endless time. 

Attribution of values to new shapes 
provides framework for vision of my eyes 
to mold mud in bricks stacked in ziggurats 
from which I rule as mortal god on Earth 
to manage world food-production machine 
that runs my brain with flash of endless time. 

Four hundred million years of spinning faith 
transforms my quadrupedal form of flesh 
fish to lizard to mouse to cat to ape 
to wingless angel aching to play god, 
so I strum lyre of Mercury and sing 
spells that chronicle flash of endless time. 

Instruments Of Dream Sense

Instruments Of Dream Sense
© Surazeus
2025 12 20

Wandering lonely as the gloomy rain cloud 
that looms hungry over your city maze, 
I want to play instruments of dream sense 
to conjure visions of the Beautiful 
from endless misery of our daily lives 
as we struggle to maintain global peace. 

Wearing crown of ice molded from your tears 
that drown our cities in false memories, 
I want to play instruments of dream sense 
with deft fingers of aggressive concern 
to prove with absolute uncertainty 
that Death will take us to her Nowhere Land. 

Wishing to comprehend how spider webs 
mirror matrix of our star-flashing brains, 
I want to play instruments of dream sense 
that vibrate with thunderstorms of god eyes 
which scatter snowflakes on gray city streets 
to illustrate beauty of human hearts. 

Wagering fabulous ethics of mute pain 
to understand wordless song of wild trees, 
I want to play instruments of dream sense 
that praise weird beauty of nature in psalms 
no matter how boring time seems to be 
because sunlight always invades my gloom. 

Waiving my inalienable rights to life, 
liberty, and pursuit of happiness, 
I want to play instruments of dream sense 
that open doors of perception to Hell 
where Orpheus leads mute souls of the dead 
so they can sing in the heavenly choir. 

Waiting forever on the river shore  
where angels talk on eye-phones of the mind, 
I want to play instruments of dream sense 
that sanctify symphonies of mad seers 
who breathe delicious anguish of desire 
with each eerie shriek of violin tunes. 

Wielding Excalibur with gentle grace 
to render judgement against criminals, 
I want to play instruments of dream sense 
that frame extensive legal arguments 
supporting freedom and justice for all 
born from the womb of Mother Liberty. 

Whistling past the graveyard of long-dead gods 
who call to us with voice of mountain wind, 
I want to play instruments of dream sense 
that surrender loneliness to sea waves 
so when we meet at random on the street 
we can share feast of winter solstice eve. 

Last Apple Tree On Earth

Last Apple Tree On Earth
© Surazeus
2025 12 20

The old man in tattered jacket and pants 
waits in the urgent care clinic at noon 
for the winter storm that never arrives 
to shroud the fruit tree on the hill of skulls 
because snowflakes wait in heavenly clouds 
to preserve apple seeds in frozen soil. 

The young boy in brand new pants, coat, and boots 
walks across the field of bright pristine snow 
to stand under the tree where god once hung 
nine days and nights with one electric eye, 
and asks the blind angel with crippled hands 
if he can find the home where no one lives. 

Eyes blinded by strange beauty of the light, 
the young boy in the field of bitter snow 
watches bees drift far across the multiverse 
to sweeten tea of martial-artist seers 
who dance with Death in woods of faceless ghosts 
where psychiatrists burn books of fake poems. 

The seed of the last apple tree on Earth 
explodes from sorrow of the frozen soil 
to shade one spot in the waste land of words 
where couples dance to the Blue Danube Waltz 
before the meteor strikes the spinning globe 
and shatters illusion of paradise. 

In the psychiatrist office of faith 
the young teacher with no children at home 
plays chess with Anger in angelic robe 
but always wins against proverbs of faith 
so she drives circles in the broken car 
around forever in the city maze. 

The car mechanic wanders streets at night, 
reciting poetry of broken hearts 
to telephone poles where angels abide 
that explain the secrets of life he learns 
while pondering lifestyle of the honey bee 
preserved in nature of the avalanche. 

When the teacher and the mechanic meet 
by random chance beneath the frozen tree, 
their hard eyes spark electric flash of love, 
so they hold hands and pledge eternal troth 
but they both die after their son is born 
who stands beneath Tree of Fidelity. 

Raindrops stuck in clouds know secret of love 
so they transform to snowflakes in the cold 
that nurture seeds to grow into fruit trees 
fertilized by bees on the river shore 
so the waste land blooms as Elysium 
where he sees the cute girl riding her bike. 

Ancient Gallery Of Life

Ancient Gallery Of Life
© Surazeus
2025 12 19

He stares at his face in mirror of words 
till his weird authentic self disappears 
in the great puzzle of civilized myth 
behind the mask of the many-faced god 
that hangs in ancient gallery of life 
far removed from our world of petty men. 

He carves demonic mask of shocking fear 
in trunk of the Tree of Knowledge to find 
true spirit of his hungry soul that hides 
in heart of darkness where nothing is real 
that crawls in ancient gallery of life 
as he evolves from singing fish to god. 

He plays chess with Death on beach of desire 
to save humanity from selfishness 
when he untangles formulas of myth 
revealing foolishness of grasping greed 
that screams in ancient gallery of life 
in terrible slaughter of our world wars. 

He drives piston-engine car of fierce hope 
on signless highway sea to shining sea 
in sacred quest to find the Holy Grail 
which blooms from Bloodline of Asariel 
that flows in ancient gallery of life 
to nurture incarnate body of his soul. 

He climbs the highest mountain in the world 
to understand struggle of human hearts 
which ache to fly with wings of Icarus 
above the crowded planet of our dreams 
that spins in ancient gallery of life 
till we are dizzy and we all fall down. 

He flies to the other side of the Earth 
to find in ruined temple by the lake 
the perfect soulmate of his puzzling heart 
who complements his vision to live free 
that shines in ancient gallery of life 
as they raise kind children in their safe home. 

He strums harmonious lyre of Mercury 
while wearing mask of Orpheus with pride 
to play psychopomp for America 
where people wander lost in Wonderland 
that falls in ancient gallery of life 
till we create Zarathia with love. 

He sings about the deeds of gods and kings 
disguised as noble characters in myth 
who imitate his journey to find truth 
when he frames scenes of deeds heroes perform 
that play in ancient gallery of life 
as guide for how we live through selfless love. 

Nerthus Calls My Name

Nerthus Calls My Name
© Surazeus
2025 12 19

Extra beautiful with eyes of star ghosts, 
yet angry at disrespect of the wind, 
Nerthus rides noon bus to the coffee shop 
where she serves drinks to writers with laptops 
till the moon bleeds rain down the window pane, 
so she turns into the crow without wings. 

Eager to map graceful curves of both coasts, 
yet bored with email no one wants to send, 
Nerthus wears clothes magazines say are hip 
while watching flashing lights of lost starships 
that land on her lawn where no god has gone, 
then gets up on stage at the Globe and sings. 

Ridiculous how road of life we take 
leaves our souls stranded in random events, 
Nerthus declares to the man in the moon 
who gives her wings he swiped from Icarus 
who falls from the sky while pondering why 
our bodies dissolve into wordless dust. 

Resistant to proof that life must be fake, 
yet annoyed people demand she be real, 
Nerthus learns to play American tune 
that fools everyone stuck on the state bus 
to work hard for wealth at cost of our health 
since we float in lake of atomic lust. 

Arrogant with self-conscious mind of God, 
yet humble as the ballerina queen, 
Nerthus researches weird religious cure 
that banishes cancer from aching hearts 
by casting dream spells she draws from snake wells, 
then runs for mayor of her seaside town. 

Admonished for joining the Justice Squad, 
despite being last daughter of Melusine, 
Nerthus teaches her children to endure 
as the Nordic race that follows star charts 
to worship oak tree with the Runic Key 
till our nation is hijacked by the clown. 

Burdened with mission to rescue the world 
from tyranny of work-exploitive kings, 
Nerthus lifts high Lamp of Diogenes 
and leads our revolution against greed 
till we all get stuck in the Church of Luck 
founded on state theology of hate. 

Bedeviled by faith of the cosmic herald 
recorded with glass Astarian Rings, 
Nerthus calls my name Mephistopheles 
to learn what her son Tiresias needs 
who becomes the girl with the eyes of pearl 
in our journey across waste land of fate. 

Idea Of Liberty For All

Idea Of Liberty For All
© Surazeus
2025 12 19

This grand idea of Liberty for all, 
who seek to live outside the greed-hard wall, 
shall stand on wide shores of America 
with brave courage of Mother Onatah 
long after cruel tyrants like Midas fall 
so we prosper in shared Res Publica. 

Bright shining still on our storm-battered shore, 
clear lamp of freedom that lights every door, 
held high by bold hand of Democracy, 
our new colossus, Lady Liberty, 
shall guide our quest for truth forever more 
as we create life through fertility. 

When Emma holds my trauma-shaken hand 
that fascists oppress people of our land, 
she reminds me with blazing eyes of faith 
that conquerors like Midas, blind with wrath, 
will always fall when people dare to stand 
against cruel hate, and choose love as our path. 

Immortal spirit of Athena shines 
in Statue of Liberty hope designs, 
for though her justice seems to arrive late 
she will always stand at our sunset gate 
to guide refugees from prisoning mines 
so we can build new homes with hearty fate. 

People from every nation of the Earth, 
who leave nationalist states decayed from dearth 
of opportunities to work with pride, 
commit to principle oppressors hide 
that every human grows through sense of worth 
in Land of Liberty where laws abide. 

Though Helios had fallen long ago, 
shattered by failure of the power show, 
his daughter Liberty with Lamp of Truth 
lights the true way for our messiah sleuth 
to nurture every soul who wants to grow 
through urgent admiration of his ruth. 

When our shared world view seems to fall apart, 
because Midas hijacks the Market Cart 
by exploiting fear of the refugee 
who seeks opportunity to live free, 
Spirit of Freedom inhabits our heart 
as Liberty gives every soul her key. 

Tyrants come and go, drowned by tides of change, 
and empires rise and fall in temporal range, 
but Mother of Exiles, wise Liberty, 
forever rules our world democracy 
with justice for all souls, which may seem strange, 
to sustain our creative energy. 

Song Of The Ocean Tides

Song Of The Ocean Tides
© Surazeus
2025 12 19

Though the timeless song of the ocean tides 
fades away into whisper of the breeze, 
I still feel its resonance in my heart 
echoed in harmony of my blood flow, 
because so much depends on wave-smooth stones 
that preserve the dreams of our long-dead gods. 

The sturdy boat I built from fire-steamed planks, 
on which I used to leap high surging waves, 
now lies abandoned on sun-glistened sand, 
gazing at me with forlorn eyes of hope 
while I wither away with wordless age 
and long to feel sting of wind on my cheeks. 

Strange monsters with enormous shining eyes, 
that lurk deep beneath sloshing waves of fate, 
enraged I snare wriggling fish in my net 
which I roast with crackling flames on the beach, 
haunt my endless afternoons where I lie 
weak and tired beneath the broad apple tree. 

Prone on my back beneath sun-gold leaves, 
I reach both withered hands up to dark clouds 
whose shapes resemble monsters of the deep, 
and relive timeless hours on surging waves 
when I grappled fish with still-muscled arms, 
and held them flopping in shell of my boat. 

Once I stood tall in wave-tossed boat of faith 
on loyal legs that navigated change, 
but now I sit and gasp for breath of hope 
in apple grove I bought with coins of gold 
I earned selling fish in the market place 
so my grandchildren play in paradise. 

Twelve grandchildren, who play chase in the grove, 
sprang from three sons I molded into men, 
safe in lush garden of fruit trees and herbs 
funded by monsters I caught from the deep, 
so I built this heaven for my offspring 
with wealth I earned wrestling demons in hell. 

Through constant struggle of my wordless hope 
in fierce battles against chaos of desire, 
I earned my right to live in paradise 
where my grandchildren may play without care, 
safe from hungry monsters of the dark sea 
that I slew with aggression of my hands. 

Yet the timeless song of the ocean tides 
still resonates in garden of my heart 
so I hear monstrous roar of surging waves 
which I translate to harmonious song 
that vibrates from darkest depths of my soul 
while my family listens with loving eyes. 

Passion To Live Free

Passion To Live Free
© Surazeus
2025 12 18

Thoughtlessly singing to the faceless moon, 
Tellus extends her arms to the red sky 
and wonders why crows, not humans, can fly, 
then asks the river to teach her his tune, 
but he just flows away to the wild sea 
without explaining how we can live free. 

Startled by ache of sorrow in her voice, 
Peneus emerges from cold river flow 
and creeps toward shadow of the girl in snow 
who explains to the deer freedom of choice, 
then offers her pearl he found in the sea 
and asks if she recalls how to live free. 

Gazing with awe at pure light of the pearl, 
Tellus dreams how souls spiral from God Eye 
that knows everything real under Blue Sky, 
and tries to measure nature of the swirl 
to calculate surging tides in the sea 
which energize our passion to live free. 

Concerned his mate will choose another man 
and generate new children from his soul, 
Alpheus asserts dominance of his role 
by explaining their shared domestic plan, 
but Peneus wanders off to the wild sea, 
determined to keep his own body free. 

Attracted to Peneus with curly hair, 
Tellus follows him to the jeweled cave, 
though puzzled why Alpheus begins to rave, 
and walks with him to explore everywhere, 
then roasts fish she snares from the deep sea 
while wind ghosts sing about how to live free. 

Whistling as she gathers clams from the beach, 
Tellus sees Flora dragged by rip tide, 
so she paddles boat swift as spirit guide, 
and pulls her on board with desperate reach 
to rescue her soul from indifferent sea 
in performance that shows how to live free. 

Sad that Tellus chose someone else to love, 
Alpheus tends Flora to restore her health, 
then takes care of her with romantic stealth 
till she gives him her heart in moonlit cove 
where they make love by the adoring sea 
in tandem with faith for how to live free. 

Janus, son of Tellus and Peneus, 
gathers strawberries from edge of the cliff 
where he carves their story in figured glyph 
for daughter of Flora and Alpheus, 
Iris, who kisses him by the bright sea, 
having learned secret for how to live free. 

Sacred Light Of Helicon

Sacred Light Of Helicon
© Surazeus
2025 12 18

Holding in my hand spirit-golden orange, 
I watch the sun rise at solstice in Stonehenge, 
but migrate away from world Babylon  
to escape its restrictive echelon 
so I can build new university 
based soundly on social diversity. 

Astonished by shades of the monochrome 
while training horses in the hippodrome, 
I quest for love in hills of Oregon 
that links my heart to ancient Avalon 
where my ancestors dwelled fifty thousand years 
till we were trapped by fiscal puppeteers. 

In memory of brave King Decebalus, 
I carve his face from rock of Sisyphus 
that gazes boldly over blue Danube 
as ever-shifting tesseractic cube 
which provides structure for our virtual Earth 
through form-evolving process of soul birth. 

Raising their arms to honor the Sky Spook, 
gingerbread men worship the divine Cook 
who molds their bodies from star memories 
with conceptual ideas as dream keys 
that program how our brains perceive the world 
so we can recognize our cosmic herald. 

With elegant grace of the global core, 
she gazes at me on the river shore 
with eyes that see the flashing multiverse 
spiral through our bodies on quantum course 
to generate new children from our hearts 
that compose souls from molecular parts. 

My soul is emanation of my brain 
that fools my ego to believe in vain 
that my conscious sense of self is unique 
with immortal glamor of god-mystique 
because I feel as old as solar light 
that beams from First Flash of atomic flight. 

Because our span of life is limited 
as bodies through which God has pivoted 
to incarnate genes each generated life, 
we transcend destructive battles of strife 
by forming social systems based on laws 
administered by reign of Santa Claus. 

Sitting together by the Tree of Fruit, 
we play sweet music with our lyre and flute, 
then eat brave orange of romantic trust 
to conjure true love from physical lust, 
then build new home to mimic Avalon 
that glows with sacred light of Helicon. 

Fragments Of Forgotten Names

Fragments Of Forgotten Names
© Surazeus
2025 12 17

Pausing at margin of the world, I think 
through labyrinth of existence with you 
to study how time erases our dreams 
though we attempt to archive memories 
in shadows of strange places were we meet 
despite how language undoes our beliefs. 

Asserting beauty of flowers from stones 
through breath-turn of resistance to despair, 
I wrap hands of hope around shining urn 
filled with almonds and poppies of regret, 
because I adjourn in sidereal space 
while wearing costume of innocent love. 

Prefix to journey of my aching soul, 
bright aura of my heart illuminates 
urgent tenderness of insistent roads 
framed by portrait of our intimate thoughts 
concealed by emotionless masks we wear, 
transfixed by exquisiteness of respect. 

Startled by our cognitive dissonance 
that registers futility of hope, 
we revise necessity of desire 
to update our fatal relationship 
as we evolve our bodies into souls 
that coexist through weird realities. 

Preserved in lexicon of sacred truth, 
our love selects unwanted metaphors 
based on shared paradox of holy faith 
as we decide to be awake with love 
inside these fragile bodies of our flesh 
based on premeditated arguments. 

Between our words and images of truth 
we time-leap ardent texts as bonded team 
commissioned by our hearts to credit death 
with actual wisdom of translated waves 
based on acceptable puzzles of love 
that tangle our hearts in concept of weird. 

Material shock of hollow bones expands 
archaic laughter to efface our minds 
without regret for naive wonderment 
that precedes intuitive bafflement, 
though space provides context for our eyes 
to contemplate these crucial elements. 

New possibilities for absent voice, 
we share against subtraction of dear life, 
expand how much our bodies can intake 
through soft glimmer of devotional prayer 
that leaves our minds in unastonished trance 
as we find fragments of forgotten names.