In The Ardent Zone

In The Ardent Zone
© Surazeus
2025 04 11

Unnecessary logic of the heart 
increases temperature of wordless hope 
that renders moot the wonder of respect 
which filters anguish from old memories 
at rising level of the swirling flood 
that leaves us stranded in the ardent zone. 

Through civil disobedience of the heart 
opposing tyranny of selfish greed, 
we dance with laughter in the lightning storm 
where ghosts are drifting in the naked hills, 
pursuant to the clause in section nine 
that maps our journey in the ardent zone. 

Trapped by huge trade deficit of the heart, 
we struggle to escape doleful mindset 
with secret messages of innocence 
to people in the future who recall 
how we trashed the greatest empire of all 
by wrestling terror in the ardent zone. 

Downriver from the cave of divine dreams, 
where wingless angels plot to rule the world 
with policies that benefit the poor, 
we build new paradise from apple seeds 
to prove we are good enough to exist 
as faceless humans in the ardent zone. 

Regretting windless arrogance of faith, 
the metal horse with fast computer brain 
assigns me mission to unmap the world 
so no one knows the righteous way to go 
down rigid highway of the burning sign 
that always guides us in the ardent zone. 

Hearts swelling rich with isolated angst, 
designed to evade false submissive fluke 
with electric engine that measures time 
between our hearts still rumbling out of whack 
despite intense horsepower of true love, 
we greet each other in the ardent zone. 

Contrived performance in the theater, 
Ishmael designs with money-making scheme, 
deceives hard-working people to believe 
the state interferes with benevolence 
based on self-reliance of the strong man 
gone mad for power in the ardent zone. 

Though life will break our hearts with clemency, 
we protect our bodies from contempt 
by eating apples from the Tree of Truth 
that we must steal from serpent of the heart 
who curates our skulls on library shelves 
that record our time in the ardent zone. 

Wall Of Eternal Hope

Wall Of Eternal Hope
© Surazeus
2025 04 10

With subtle arrogance of honest lust 
I stumble drunk on Dionysian wine 
down shadowy corridors of desire 
past marble idols of cute goddesses 
whose stony eyes pierce my heart with true love 
when I fall off wall of eternal hope. 

Reluctant anguish of conceptual faith 
sparks my stone heart with electric regret 
that spurs my pilgrimage of torpidity 
to find Urania singing in the rain 
while dancing on the rocky ocean shore 
when I lounge on wall of eternal hope. 

Through expectation of reliant jokes 
I give my credentials to the tree ghost 
who unlocks door to the house of detention 
so all the demons escape caves of Hell 
to eat hotdogs and drink beer at the bar 
enclosed by glass wall of eternal hope. 

Despite persuasion of the Holy Ghost, 
who binds our aching hearts of wretched love 
with barbed dogmatic wires of loyalty, 
Grendel kicks down iron cathedral door 
to drink the blood and eat the flesh of Christ 
and smear mud on wall of eternal hope. 

Trembling naked on wind-blasted sea shore, 
Augustine shouts at the blind thunder god 
with optimistic prayers of eager horror 
to understand the noble sacrifice 
made by the Fisher King to save the world 
after breaking wall of eternal hope. 

Confidence founded on complex chess games 
lures refugees from brutal civil wars 
to sail the seven seas in whaling boats 
through project to colonize jungle lands 
where everyone votes to end slavery 
when Jesus builds wall of eternal hope. 

Fragments of history shattered by bombs, 
organized by states of divinity, 
contain scenes where honest men conquer tyrants 
and rule the people with generous trust 
till revolution of the bourgeoisie 
who redefine wall of eternal hope. 

Twanging strings of his electric guitar 
and screaming curses in the microphone, 
Apollo performs in huge stadium 
where eighty thousand devils rock and roll 
till they transform into angels with wings 
who fly beyond wall of eternal hope. 

Pilgrim Of Eternity

Pilgrim Of Eternity
© Surazeus
2025 04 10

While writing rhymed verse in the leather book, 
in small wood cell under the tall oak tree, 
where ravens discuss soul theology, 
Otfridus whistles eerie spell that swirls 
sudden gust of wind from shadow of truth 
that scatters book pages across the field. 

Small whirlwind of pages dances on shore 
narrow creek winding through forest of oaks, 
along sparkling riffle of smooth white stones, 
then out across broad lake blue as topaz 
to rock the boat that young Adonais sails 
toward mossy cavern where Urania dwells. 

Bearing bright lamp, fueled by sprites of hope, 
Adonais climbs steep narrow winding trail 
past skulls of gods and kings with thorny crowns, 
but pauses halfway up stairway to Heaven 
to wear gold mask smeared with blood of desire 
that Phoebus dropped when he fought with Despair. 

Now dressed as Pilgrim of Eternity, 
whose fame was hurled in seething sea of Chaos, 
Adonais proceeds to Cave of Illusions 
where laughing skeletons of Liberty 
dance wildly weird in fruitful ecstasy 
against the tyrant slouched in Hall of Power. 

Enduring gusts of winds that tear his face, 
Adonais fights for Justice based on Truth 
by pushing into dark polluted smog 
toward paragon of Liberty, Urania, 
whose face shines bright as beacon of respect 
which fills his heart with courage of the hero. 

Just as he stumbles almost to his knees 
when fierce tornado batters him with rage, 
Adonais feels firm hand of noble wisdom 
grip his hand to help him maintain his balance 
as Otfridus lends strength of honest faith, 
and together they progress against hate. 

While Otfridus protects him from attack, 
Adonais twirls brass wand with emerald jewel 
to battle against mad Midas, whose touch 
of greed turns everything to rotten trash, 
till strike of justice energized by love 
inspires him to excel in fight for truth. 

After he frees Urania from gold chains, 
Adonais leads her safely with strong heart 
to Hall of Power where she begins reign 
enforcing Justice against greedy thieves 
to secure equal rights for every soul 
who dwell together in Zarathia. 

Garden Of Dead Books

Garden Of Dead Books
© Surazeus
2025 04 10

Too much combustion of the ardent kiss 
leaves us stranded in garden of dead books, 
poison of love stinging our eyes with trust 
as we create ideal lover from hope 
in masks we wear to keep us interested 
in constant fever of the flowering moon. 

Remote from malice of the naive tree, 
our bodies are yoked to fountain of secrets 
which traps us in gold cage of honesty 
as our hearts transform each dagger-sharp word 
to seeds that heal excessive wounds of faith 
with each heart-rending howl of hungry hope. 

We zigzag through reckless maze of our hearts 
with untamed horse of hope that fools our eyes, 
amazed by vapor of untruth that veils death, 
invented by metallic tongues of fear 
in time to catch the falling star of fate 
which discombobulates our marriage vows. 

Beneath the hazardous tree of despair, 
where we find shelter from the evening storm, 
we gather black feathers of ravens to weave 
new pairs of wings for our hearts to attain 
freedom from gravity of arrogant hate 
while waterfalls erase our souls from time. 

Shadow of horror transforms into swan 
who soars into thundering clouds of rage 
to strip our minds from garments of false faith 
when sunset rays stipple lake of our hearts 
with vibrant passion we cannot deny 
since we keep on kissing reluctantly. 

Fallen into flood of terrified tears, 
we feel our bodies transform into stones 
exploding with children of eager hope 
who carry that concept in trembling hands 
to retrieve our bodies from tangled roots 
of trees that scream owls of eternity. 

Huddled after rain on the river shore, 
beneath the willow that will never die, 
we tell each other we will be all right 
because we hide our stories in the book 
that sits unread for twenty thousand years 
on hidden shelf in library of ghosts. 

We cannot own the field that bears our names 
except when we bury with trembling hands 
bones of our ancestors in unfenced soil 
so carrots and corn may grow from their brains 
to provide nutrition for fragile bodies 
supported by framework of unborn hope. 

Flap Of Devil Wings

Flap Of Devil Wings
© Surazeus
2025 04 09

Startled awake by flap of devil wings, 
my heart slithers with photosynthesis 
upward in spirals of atomic rings 
which conjugates fate through analysis 
deconstructing grand world view of state power 
for old disheveled king who eats the flower. 

Beautiful lightning that reveals my face, 
masked by bone-white glamor of cold moonlight, 
cracks naked mirror of terrorized grace 
projecting water gush from egg of night 
that scents our bodies with elegant lust 
concealed in contours of the marble bust. 

Undeserved blessings from thin grasping hand 
free my soul from worship of loyal thieves 
who scatter counterfeit coins on dry land 
where prim attendants comfort none who grieves 
honest adversaries jailed for contempt 
through intellectual games by hope exempt. 

Pragmatic mess of my recursive life, 
constraining eagerness of my failed quest, 
requires application of civil strife 
through execution of the virtue test 
involving program of routine regret 
that plans to reinvent the alphabet. 

Procedure to expand my consciousness 
contrives spectacular display of grace 
through fraught assurance of unloneliness 
designed to structured code of cyberspace 
which nurtures hunger of the Holy Ghost 
who hosts refugees stranded on the coast. 

No curfew tolls the bell of buzzing night 
to glimmer darkness tinkling in our hearts 
though we listen for moping owl of right, 
then wander far from bower of star charts, 
longing for hearths that blaze no more with hope 
while we huddle on the steep rain-drenched slope. 

Since all paths of glory lead to the grave, 
I prefer to dwell in quaint forest home 
by signless road that empires never pave, 
for whether young or old I long to roam 
where my heart guides my seeming random way 
with book that contains memories of our play. 

No pealing anthem swells our souls with pride 
while Death stalks thieves in halls of government 
so we build new state where Truth may abide 
with Liberty in stately monument 
that rings with voice of our national choir 
while I play mercurial tunes on my lyre. 

Sparkle Our God Wraith

Sparkle Our God Wraith
© Surazeus
2025 04 09

Though I walk one thousand miles in the desert 
to repent needs of my animal body, 
I rejoice in beauty of rain-drenched hills 
that sprout trees providing fruit for my heart, 
so I feast till I become cosmic mind 
as disembodied spirit of mankind. 

I dance across dark skies of timeless night, 
becoming vastness of the star-bright void 
in graceful journey that weaves countless worlds 
in psychic constellations of our hearts 
that form our souls from formlessness of faith 
through chemicals that sparkle our God Wraith. 

Unfrenzied by ecstatic love for life, 
I open wide with elegant respect 
iridescent wings from dragon-egg brain 
with solemn approbation of concern 
through vibrant aspiration to transcend 
corporal body of love I comprehend. 

Crowned with laurel wreath of accomplished pride, 
I stride the sacred promenade of fate 
to bear my epic of philosophers 
for display in Museum of World Faith 
which I compose with mythic precedent 
as new book for Tellurian Testament. 

Combustible thoughts jeweling my heart 
fuel rocket engine of ambitious faith 
since I spend forty years of discipline 
constructing vehicle of psychic verse 
to soar on wings of Tiwaz around Earth 
while bearing Holy Grail of soul rebirth. 

Evaporated tears blind angels shed 
frame frantic ocean of forgetful faith 
when I sail restless waves of honesty 
by navigating tropes of social myths 
to find first homeland of my childhood dream 
mapped on face I see in the flowing stream. 

Encasing memories of my secret life 
in polished oak-wood box Pandora made, 
I hide wyrd fragments of my broken heart 
so howling spirits of surprised despair 
may mend it with commercial enterprise 
reprogrammed by loyal religious spies. 

Attempts to see clear features of my face 
will fail suspicious inquiry you spell 
for I am every soul who ever lives 
on every planet of our multiverse 
till you realize how this persona role 
molds special mask that expresses your soul. 

Temple For Every Soul

Temple For Every Soul
© Surazeus
2025 04 09

Since every one fights to control the sky 
I want to rise on wings of Icarus 
and dwell on swirling clouds of ecstasy 
with haughty confidence of conscious faith 
to strum the lyre of Mercury and sing 
hymns that praise the noble deeds of good souls. 

Driving my stylish compact vehicle, 
powered by engine Barsanti designed, 
I glide down winding roads on rolling hills 
in maze of buildings, steered by traffic signs, 
accomplishing daily routine of tasks 
to maintain status of my conscious dream. 

Gathered with my two children and my wife 
at booth in restaurant by the city park, 
we talk about the nature of the world, 
and how our plans for life fit in time frame 
sustained by our global society 
that nurtures creative Song of the Self. 

What fantasy Utopia we live in, 
to maintain aggressive production flow, 
recent generations of humans built 
based on bitter experience of world wars 
to control wild chaos of energy 
that balances opposing wills to power. 

Global system of sovereign governments, 
aligned by United Nations of Earth 
in loose federation of nation-states, 
composed of fragile alliances 
of socialist and capitalist networks, 
jostles in fractured puzzle of control. 

Assertive programs of authority, 
that range from liberal democracies 
to fascist monarchies of tyranny, 
contend for dominance of their world view 
personified by their concept of God 
as greedy Satan versus nurturing Jesus. 

When Pluto sends Midas to overthrow 
free institutions of America 
so he can crown himself Earth Emperor, 
Jupiter sends Lucifer to arrest 
his volatile rampage wrecking our state 
so Minerva can build Zarathia. 

When Jupiter confines Pluto in Hell, 
binding capitalist lust with socialist laws, 
Minerva builds temple for every soul 
based on Liberty and Justice for all 
to construct from ruins of America 
new global empire of Zarathia. 

Meadow Of Rejuvenation

Meadow Of Rejuvenation
© Surazeus
2025 04 08

Head aching from frantic activity 
racing all day in the vast city maze 
to chase elusive butterfly of wealth, 
I stumble outside gates of paradise 
to seek calm solace in Neorxnawang, 
heavenly meadow of rejuvenation. 

After revving loud engine of my car 
to drive with tense aggression of desire 
in rumbling herd of metal-shelled machines, 
I glide with elegant grace of sweet bliss 
among broad-canopied trees full of fruit 
with leaves that whisper in the river breeze. 

From walking quickly on cement sidewalks, 
talking in meetings, and composing code 
on computers to meet looming deadlines, 
I go lie down on grassy sloping shore 
to relax among sweet delicate flowers 
and eat juicy fruit in Neorxnawang. 

Ears buzzing from roar of factory machines, 
clanks of forklifts, bangs of tall metal doors, 
and shouts of bosses declaring commands, 
I listen to soft thrum of taut brass strings 
as angels strum melodies on spruce harps 
and sing enchanting tunes of peaceful dreams. 

Throat stinging from billows of car exhaust 
as I drive crowded smog-veiled city streets 
and cough from factory-polluted air, 
I breathe fresh wind tinged with salty sea waves 
that fill my exhausted body with scent 
of divine beauty in Neorxnawang. 

From narrow canyons of steel and glass towers 
crowded with people in small cubicles 
who enter data in spreadsheet reports, 
I travel Glaesisvellir, Glittering Plains 
in bright Undying Lands of Odainsaker, 
to dwell with my family in our safe home. 

Driving vast urban landscape of tall buildings 
where millions wear masks of fake superheroes 
in fierce competition to gain more wealth, 
I search outside high gold walls of Heaven 
on roads that wind around Elysian Fields 
to my fruit garden in Neorxnawang. 

Exhausted from working in maze of hope, 
forever running fast against the clock 
to gain power and wealth in game of death, 
I journey outside gates of paradise 
to seek salvation in Neorxnawang, 
heavenly meadow of rejuvenation. 

Garden Of Secret Love

Garden Of Secret Love
© Surazeus
2025 04 08

Though you are not always right by my side 
you are always near me within my heart 
faithful as the moon I cannot always see, 
for you come and go, weaving through my days, 
in phases of nearness that wax and wane, 
tugging with love at the sea of my heart. 

Though you are sometimes near invisible, 
you are everywhere I go in this world, 
dependable as the mountain of truth 
that supports my journey to be myself, 
secure as the air that inspires my heart 
with empathy for every living soul. 

I cannot always clearly see your face 
and I wait anxiously, thinking of you, 
but I feel warmth of your attentive love 
bright as the sun that shimmers in the sky, 
so I imagine you are watching me 
with careful concern of the Guardian. 

Light gleaming in leaves on lattice of limbs, 
and tracing timeless visions of far lands 
through quiet curtains on clean painted wall, 
luminates faceless shadow of your soul 
to assert confirmation of our bonds 
so I dance with your absence as the ghost. 

I sail boat of my heart with cautious hope 
on lake of free-floating anxiety 
to fish for secret monsters of the heart 
so I can roast despair on flames of faith, 
then feed the people of my family 
who watch me cook with eyes of hungry hope. 

The greenfinch on the branch of loyal trust 
explains to me where you are at these days, 
describing how you wrestle with despair 
and walk with courage on the jagged air 
to bring redemption in your open hands 
so we can understand chaos of fate. 

Ache of nostalgia for the wordless past, 
that conjures from ancestral memories 
emotional vibe of energetic love, 
frames this bleak timeless hour of loneliness 
with vibrant beauty of your absent soul 
as my brain beams your ghost to haunt my heart. 

Overwhelmed by pleasure that you exist 
more than your ghost my brain designs with love, 
I cherish every memory of our times 
together walking hand in hand with hope 
since we escaped mad paradise we lost 
to build our own garden of secret love. 

Faceless Pool Of Love

Faceless Pool Of Love
© Surazeus
2025 04 08

If truth removes the longing from my clay 
I might feel shimmering wings arched overhead, 
and know this is the last season of life 
while waiting for the signal from the world 
to leave my anger crawling in the dust 
when I return from stark unfinished lands. 

No guardian angel at the gate of faith 
remains to watch me leave lost paradise, 
though I take seeds from sweet apples I stole 
to start new garden on the river shore 
where I will invent concept of the door 
that divides pleasure from horror of death. 

While standing still on gateless shore of time, 
I realize with surprise of obviousness 
that water always flows beyond the scope 
my eyes record with breath of glowing clouds 
till hope transforms into body of flesh 
which I employ to explore this strange world. 

She whispers softly in my sudden ear 
of shadows that flee back up to the sky 
with sharp instinct of animal desire 
which animates our passionate embrace 
to generate new bodies from our hearts 
who bear our souls beyond eternity. 

More terror-stricken than blossoming trees, 
she teaches me the light of absolutes 
which shimmer deep in liquid of her eyes 
to reveal sacred wisdom of godless skies 
though we sense someone always watching us 
whose weird voice howls at us in windy rain. 

My longing stabs my heart with thorny faith, 
so I speak the first word my heart invents 
to tell her, "You" are the one I love most, 
though all my words blow away in bleak wind 
that pushes us helplessly toward blank fate, 
so we hold hands to bind our souls with love. 

Weaving vines among trees in circled fence, 
we enclose our hearts in safe garden space 
to hide from monsters lurking in dark woods, 
because her face glows bright with eyes of light 
when she gives me berries and nuts to eat 
as we lounge by the faceless pool of love. 

The tree that blooms from heart of anguished hope 
declares itself with endless voice of wind 
to be the sacred oracle of love 
whose fruit reveals the meaning of desire 
as children spring from passion of our kiss 
to populate this world with warring tribes. 

Mask Of Secret Agony

Mask Of Secret Agony
© Surazeus
2025 04 07

The woman in the scarlet gown of faith, 
who might wear mask of secret agony, 
holds flame of contemplation in her hand 
till moon-white dove emerges from her heart 
in sudden misdirection to conceal 
intense desire to ransom truth from hate. 

The oldest woman in the world reveals 
electric heart that operates the globe 
with flashing gears of subatomic words 
from urgent message that we throw ourselves 
in sea of stars to cleanse our rotten souls 
with jubilation surpassing regret. 

Each falling star that shatters spaceless time 
guides us to plumb bright depths of our abyss 
with weightless lamentation of new clouds, 
though we are weighed down by exhausting fear 
to sacrifice reluctant praise for death 
with intimate pretext of secret love. 

Outbreak of song from vibrant lungs of hope 
reflects unusual action that heals pain 
before indigenous touch resurrects 
diminished stature of our shared respect 
with tender aspect of unnoticed praise 
since angels mark our doors with tears of ghosts. 

Grim demeanor unexpressed before dawn 
allows too much collapsing states of trust 
abundant with excessive graves where love 
bleeds unchangeable wealth for sleepless hours 
before excluded moments satisfy 
pretension to knowledge unearned by prayers. 

Alone on sleepless landscape, circled tight 
by savage gods still thirsty for our hope, 
we give each other fruit we steal from death, 
and playact why we have angelic wings 
strong enough to carry our heavy hearts 
along the winding river bright with tricks. 

Fabulous with tales of the avalanche 
that realigns our world view fate designed, 
we languish in conventions of sad trees 
to share idle gossip about dead gods, 
foolish enough to believe we might find 
diamond of unbelievable respect. 

Latent honesty of unchanging jokes, 
confounded by cerebral hemispheres 
that distract graceful dancers in glass rain, 
inspires determined purpose to transcend 
internal quietude of wordless books 
that fly away on raven wings of faith. 

Headless Idol Of God

Headless Idol Of God
© Surazeus
2025 04 07

Oblique intellect of the rose-gold moon 
reveals the vast distance between our hearts 
which writhe with revelations of true love 
to frame this beautiful weird world of ours 
with shocking sensation of blooming flowers 
rooted in tales of our lost memories. 

When colors leer in sunlight of my room, 
transformed by my fatal imaginings 
to furtive creatures lurking in dry books, 
I hide conceptual sprites in wood word box 
till they sprout gossamer butterfly wings 
and fly through spiral of eyes from my mouth. 

Effectual consequence of fertile thought 
completes excessive meaning long untouched 
by proper rhetorician strolling home 
in neatly trimmed rose-garden maze of ghosts 
to unwind logical clock stuck in trunk 
of my most graceful willow by the lake. 

Desiring trivial power to control 
dreams that motivate hunger of our hope, 
we build huge marble monuments to truth 
so bold performers, terror-struck by love, 
may better calculate which way to go 
through strict analysis of empty words. 

Collecting words from caverns of your minds, 
fragile as eggs from which serpents of faith 
slither forth through church-cluttered avenues, 
I breathe oxygen from bright mountain caves 
when clouds of words congeal in holy books 
open on tables of unexplained fear. 

Passion that frames emptiness of the home 
with shapeless shadow of dire honesty 
adjusts backward direction time expands 
for angels still forgotten on the moon 
to play chess game of arrogant respect 
though we consider this haven our right. 

Immense success of meaningless play 
contains stark signs of intelligible life 
trapped in symbols everyone wants to buy 
to hang as paintings on cathedral walls 
based on hallucination I design 
which imitates headless idol of God. 

No more original than falling snow, 
that purports to final contrariness 
of false perfection dazzling in its truth, 
my heart begins with vivid elements 
of natural light to weave reluctant code 
which programs how I invent unique fate. 

Always Fight For Freedom

Always Fight For Freedom
© Surazeus
2025 04 07

Touched by unimaginable touch of time 
that monitors mutation of my soul, 
I climb corruptive scale of anxious care 
to meddle with avarice of my mind 
expressing hidden passions of my heart 
through outward forms that no one understands. 

Woke in sublime tower of everyday, 
I program tranquil anguish of my heart 
to adore beauteous evening we all share 
where no mighty Being outside human brains 
broods over oceans and mountains of truth 
except my own solemn thought about light. 

Though no immortal Being exists to know 
immense structure of our cosmic white whole, 
this world of changes is no less divine 
than concept of perfection our minds share 
because we program how we view the world 
with linguistic system of ideal forms. 

Thus humble at inner shrine of my heart, 
symbolized by pillared temple of faith, 
I worship mindless spirit of the Earth 
that gleams with beauty of is changing forms 
composed of flawed objects my words describe 
in visions which expand my consciousness. 

The periwinkle trailing wreaths of hope 
inspires my soul with breath of honest love 
to sing in harmony with silent notes 
that trees of many kinds in shady groves 
sing into thousand blended notes of truth 
to enchant my heart with knowledge of death. 

Creatures motivated by simple needs 
express thrill of pleasure in being alive 
through quick aggressive motions of their souls 
which fuel graceful dance their lithe bodies feel 
since all organic spirits of this globe 
exist as vibrant flash of chemicals. 

Sharp gushing song of rivers in dim woods 
explains patient hope of my sovereign cry 
to note with evidence of subtle proof 
right to exist that every creature feels, 
asserting justice against cruel assault 
in heart-pounding fight to evade contempt. 

Bitter-sweet it is with uplifted eyes 
to survey course of human history 
as constant travelers on long road of life 
to know with lamentation of respect 
that men oppress men with thought-control games 
so we always fight for freedom to love. 

Golden Age Of Greed

Golden Age Of Greed
© Surazeus
2025 04 06

If alphabets eat our worm-writhing dreams, 
the faster way to find rebirth from silence 
might be to drive all night on desert roads 
while scattering apple seeds along the highway 
since wind knocks down every legible sign 
to lament faces of gods on the vine. 

Overwhelmed by thoughts no one dares to speak, 
I breathe excessive laughter of the moon 
in pursuit of profits bleeding from trees 
propelled by infinite hope for true love 
as humble contortion of endless tales 
disguised by optical freedom of whales. 

Catalyst of life with battery brain 
observing skeptical truths redesigned 
by carefully controlled sadism of faith, 
I wonder why my weird concept of life 
reflects reality no one else sees 
except for me with television eyes. 

Illusion of trampled dreams by the lake 
reveals exponential profit from hope 
extracted by screaming media that cheats 
with selfish luxury of swirling snow 
through insurance purchased from the blind king 
who tries to sell me his last broken wing. 

My mother tells me just before she dies 
that every spirit still remains alive 
until their name is uttered by the dead, 
but all I hear outside the fractured window 
is demons howling in the hungry rain 
so I keep doing the things that are vain. 

Returning from dark boundary of despair, 
I bring the golden fleece of nothingness 
as prize I stole from the sad mountain seer 
who throws our holy books in desert dust 
to prove wisdom topples idols of gods 
who scorn our worship from their seedless pods. 

Anger wild as ocean waves smashing stones 
insults the honest executioner 
sent to restore the golden age of greed 
betrayed at dawn by alligator clowns 
who scream at their faces in mirror time 
that we are angels who evolve from slime. 

Words I paint with blood on the stone church wall 
reflect pure splendor of the godless sky 
with consolation of the bleeding star 
while I repeat incantations of faith 
that Gilgamesh carves in clay of my heart 
so I can navigate life with my chart. 

Wind Of Endless Sorrow

Wind Of Endless Sorrow
© Surazeus
2025 04 06

Flapping his arms as if they are crow wings, 
he follows her into the bitter sunset 
to find the tattered remnant of his soul 
snagged on the bare branch of the apple tree 
that grows twisted sideways from the steep cliff 
and flutters in the wind of endless sorrow. 

Alone in darkness of the everywhere, 
he drinks sweet sadness of the flowing stream 
that chills his heart with memory of her eyes 
deeper blue than ice on the faceless pond 
where tattered remnant of his soul floats pale 
as eyeless fish of eternal desire. 

Kneeling carefully in terrible pain 
beside the pond with mask of fractured ice, 
he reaches out to touch shimmer of light 
that pierces his uneasy heart of hope 
with wordless horror he cannot accept, 
but stares forever at her tangled hair. 

Too late to know the laughter children steal, 
he watches young girl twirling in sunlight 
with charming laughter of spring rain on flowers 
whose eyes create the world of truth he loves, 
whose words design the tree of faith he loves, 
but wakes alone at dawn beside her corpse. 

Returning to walled fort on the hill top, 
he strides forcefully through the busy crowd 
to grab fur cloak of the tall laughing boy 
and shouts, "I saw you shove her off the cliff 
when she offered you sweet fruit of her heart," 
then punches his face with snarl of disgust. 

Grim father of the tall laughing boy growls, 
drags him out to the twisted apple tree 
where tattered dress of the girl flaps in wind, 
then binds his arms and legs with leather straps, 
and hangs him upside down over the cliff 
where he sways back and forth in chilly wind. 

Hanging from twisted apple tree of love 
over abyss where the girl he loves lies 
broken by the frozen pond of his heart, 
he sings mercurial melody of sorrow 
in eerie wail beneath the weeping moon 
till he becomes the crow who understands. 

After hanging high for nine days and nights 
from the twisted apple tree of his heart, 
he finds himself unbound on rain-wet grass, 
so he stands and hobbles past judging eyes, 
and walks ten thousand years on signless roads 
to find her spirit dancing by the pond. 

Merely To Know

Merely To Know
© Surazeus
2025 04 06

Because false and true are merely to know 
the swooping elegance of wordless flight, 
then we could carelessly find the sea glow 
extracting wisdom from demonic light 
concealed in book of psychic mystery 
that pretends to record world history. 

Cracked open stone of falling river flash 
reveals inviolate truth the Sibyl bears 
with tartless mind of phenomenal cash 
half-glimpsed by children on unwinding stairs 
who measure lightyears beyond death of time 
to kiss with pulsing heartbeat of each chime. 

Stray thoughts of vastly undeluded hope 
contrive how almost pain is obsolete 
for shadowed virtue of malice to cope 
with nameless clue of misremembered wit 
too late for human beings to unevolve 
so we pray to blatantly circumvolve. 

Staccato speech exact with wandered force 
preserves no proverb mending eager love 
as patient ambience quick untiming source 
expresses how we hide our treasure trove 
in hearts of children springing from our brains 
who mold dark miracles from sudden rains. 

Forever snow of leafless mountain trees 
reflects strange timeless gleam of jagged peaks 
which never bluster condescending breeze 
beautiful with faces that waver creeks 
when we step slowly in cold riffle flow 
since we contend true and false is to know. 

Faithful in frogless ditch of gleaming wait 
when woods explode with shriek of endless crows, 
we lick honey combs to trick eyes of fate, 
if death writes code on quickly melting snows 
radiant with math formulas of huge quarks 
which statues witness not in lampless parks. 

Since face of the moon has shadowless holes 
reborn in fireflies swirling on glass lake, 
we analyze how everything has souls 
which hum soft requiems mordantly fake 
while winds of mountain valleys play charades 
based on economic theories of gods. 

Thus none shall share blind agony of truth 
through convolutions hungry brains employ 
despite increasing symptoms ruling ruth 
pierces honest hearts with grief for lost Troy 
because false and true are merely to know 
how to perform in the last picture show. 

Golf While America Burns

Golf While America Burns
© Surazeus
2025 04 05

The young woman eager to be a mother 
sews dresses for her child soon to be born, 
but, while shopping at the grocery store, 
she miscarries and collapses in anguish, 
so she is arrested and charged with murder, 
and Midas plays golf while America burns. 

The old man and woman in their quaint home 
who worked forty years and raised honest children 
stop getting social security checks 
and are called frauds when they call to complain 
so they freeze homeless by the highway bridge, 
and Midas plays golf while America burns. 

The lawyer who handles cases of fraud 
protests when his law firm capitulates 
so he is framed for securities fraud, 
tried, convicted, and imprisoned for years, 
then his wife and children drown in a flood, 
and Midas plays golf while America burns. 

The agent who works to protect consumers 
from unfair charges by financial banks 
is fired and marched out by security, 
so he flees to the mountain wilderness 
when bankers send assassins to kill him, 
and Midas plays golf while America burns. 

The playwright who applied for a grant 
to present plays about difficult lives 
of people abused by white privilege 
shuts down his show when the grant is withdrawn 
and flies to Ireland when his home is doxed, 
and Midas plays golf while America burns. 

The economist who writes articles 
discussing complex system of world trade 
denounces tariffs that twice caused depression 
and will lead to economic collapse, 
then cries as the stock market tumbles down, 
and Midas plays golf while America burns. 

The soldier who works with global allies 
to support Otania union of nations, 
protecting our national security 
by blocking cyber attacks on state computers, 
declares he will not help invade Greenland, 
and Midas plays golf while America burns. 

Millions of people in thousands of cities 
assemble in public squares with calm purpose 
to cry out with one voice, hands off our faith, 
protesting destruction of institutions 
that support the People so we can thrive, 
and Midas plays golf while America burns. 

Attached To The World

Attached To The World
© Surazeus
2025 04 05

Attached to the world of star-breathing beings, 
I plant the peach pit in soil of my heart 
so tree that blossoms from sorrow of my flesh 
provides fresh fruit for the People to eat 
who dance and sing with spinning of the Earth 
till we all dissipate back to star dust. 

Attached to the world of water-drunk trees, 
I float in sun-glittering river stream 
that flows among tall vine-entangled oaks 
where ravens explain the meaning of life 
till I catch the brown trout with hungry hands 
and roast it to eat in cricketing dusk. 

Attached to the world of arrogant gods, 
I carve their souls on marble monuments 
where starving people bow with bowls of food 
till we rise up from slaving in their fields 
to break the shackles of bitter despair 
and follow our savior to paradise. 

Attached to the world of exploding flowers, 
I unfold wings of my ancestral bodies 
till I assimilate their dreams of hope 
in virtual model of our perceived world 
so I can run with horses on the prairie 
when I escape death maze of Babylon. 

Attached to the world of curious explorers, 
I climb the highest mountain in the world 
to find the cloud-hidden stairway to Heaven 
but I find no god outside of my brain 
so I become clear thunder of the truth 
that programs the world wide web of computers. 

Attached to the world of Democracy, 
I march with millions in ten thousand cities 
to declare with holy voice of the People 
that we will fight for Liberty and Justice 
against the thieves disguised as oligarchs 
to make them keep their foul hands off our lives. 

Attached to the world of ghost-painted books, 
I chronicle fall of America, 
destroyed by greedy gangs of control-freaks, 
which cultivates birth of Zarathia 
that will usher in our new Golden Age 
where everyone lives together in peace. 

Attached to the world of psychotic kings, 
I struggle to rise from grave of my fear 
till Muse in glowing robe of honesty 
gives me sword of Beowulf to fight 
dragon of greed to arrest his destruction 
so we gather to sing among fruit trees. 

Map Of Everywhere

Map Of Everywhere
© Surazeus
2025 04 05

The house that became the house of my heart 
in the town that is the town of my heart 
provides safe haven for my secret dreams 
that bloom delicate as exotic flowers 
in ontological hothouse of truth 
that lures honey bees from forest of gloom. 

The signless road that goes through my heart town 
will lead me to every town in the world 
if I journey far enough beyond home 
to find every house where I used to live 
has disappeared from map of everywhere 
which leaves me stranded in the wilderness. 

Thus with the lyre of Mercury in hand 
I act as guide for refugees from wars 
who flee from houses their ancestors built 
when greedy tyrants bomb their paradise, 
but they refuse to follow me back home 
and scatter far across the crowded land. 

Because I make up spirit-cheering songs 
while wandering lost in land of everywhere, 
I realize each road that leads somewhere else 
will take someone back to once was their home 
unless they decide to go anywhere 
unmapped by rich men who control all land. 

The house that was the house of happy lives 
weeps for its walls and doors blown out by bombs, 
and calls the names of those who lived there once 
with claim it is their destined paradise, 
and though they stop on some far distant road 
they turn away and will return no more. 

One hundred thousand years of spinning time 
my ancestors walked along flowing streams 
from mountain valleys down to ocean shores 
to understand the hydrologic cycle 
where water circulates the atmosphere 
so life may flourish on breast of the Earth. 

The Lake of Dreams in valley of bright stars 
is destination of my aching heart, 
so I compose new map of everywhere 
to navigate my course from birth to death 
for every conscious soul who ever lives 
to dwell in houses we build from our dreams. 

With open door of honest insolence 
I welcome no one to my secret home 
where I protect my family from harm 
when gangs of thieves with weapons of desire 
rampage across the land of hopeless faith, 
yet I will sell you map of everywhere. 

Truth-Wounded Heart

Truth-Wounded Heart
© Surazeus
2025 04 04

Ten thousand waves crash against island rocks, 
adjusting righteous order of door locks 
with broken masks of arrogant disdain 
that reflect spirits of humans in rain 
who give each other stones with secret names 
to understand the horse no devil tames. 

Ten thousand winds swirl trees on rugged hills, 
expanding consciousness of human wills 
with rich experience each ancestor lives, 
recorded in our brains, which pain retrieves 
to program how we analyze events, 
that threaten our lives, with bold confidence. 

Yet still rock of salvation bears my soul 
with nurturing passion through maternal role 
that provides support so I can stay strong 
when I get entangled by right and wrong 
in staged performance I am forced to play 
by earless Fate who mocks me when I pray. 

So I map web of roads that bind the Earth 
in social communes based on psychic worth 
we explicate with volatile contempt 
despite our request to remain exempt 
from patient attitude of honest Death 
who stalks me while I practice with deep breath. 

Thus I dispense with meaning spelled by words 
in mental tunes charming as songs of birds 
to focus your attention on this spell 
compiled by serpentine runes in the well 
that brims with water of the sacred Earth 
through revelation of our second birth. 

Awake this sultry Appalachian eve, 
I teach my truth-wounded heart how to grieve 
when nations collapse into civil war 
since some have nothing when others want more 
in legal game of theft employed with tricks 
since every soul must cross the bloody Styx. 

Sometimes I want to pack my memories 
and sail back east across the stormy seas 
with plan to return to my first homeland 
where apple trees bloom I tended by hand, 
but land of Scythia is under attack, 
so I lament I can never go back. 

Thus I remain in land where I was born, 
though our great Constitution has been torn, 
to build from ruins of America 
inclusive state of free Zarathia 
where everyone lives together in peace 
with the Holy Grail and the Golden Fleece. 

Mindless Winds Of Hope

Mindless Winds Of Hope
© Surazeus
2025 04 04

While I gaze at the shy flowers of Earth 
that bloom in the Georgia spring-evening heat, 
I want to cherish beauty of wild Nature 
and forget about the greed of mankind, 
ignoring how the man who runs the show 
is breaking all that we value as good. 

Though flowers that bloom from soil of the Earth 
may seem to be imperishable things 
that mimic stars exploding in the sky, 
I feel their fragile passion to survive 
hoary-frosted nights of unexpressed anguish 
that unwinds sorrow of the spiral whorl. 

Ten thousand years of flowers blooming bright 
measure rise and fall of empires men rule 
so I must cultivate with stoic care 
calm patience when our present empire falls, 
corrupted by greed of embittered men 
who grasp in vain to control rainbow beams. 

No loving care can force flowers to bloom 
for they spring naturally from soil of death 
to uncurl beauty hidden in their seeds 
as rich potential inherent within, 
so, when illusions of wealth crumble, we 
toil together in harsh fields of hope. 

We ride our ether-gliding ship of Earth 
to sail from Atlantis as towers fall 
crashing into swirled chaos of the sea 
with helpless faith in mindless winds of hope, 
inspired by tale of Aeneas in Rome 
to found new nation in the Promised Land. 

Though vision of America we built 
collapses into anarchy of greed 
when bitter oligarchs steal everything, 
we build from ruins of bold principles 
new nation of Zarathia that bears 
treasure of freedom and justice for all. 

Through wastes of hungriness and rancid blight 
we search for somewhere we can call our home, 
but, though we settle on some river shore 
for one or two generations of peace, 
we always flee, uprooted from our garden 
by refugees who drive us from our land. 

Despite resolute hearts of hungry faith 
that justice will be served with honest law, 
because we toil to extract from rich Earth 
wealth of success we deserve to accept, 
time crushes everything we build to ash, 
and throws our holy books into the trash. 

Soul Of My Ancestor

Soul Of My Ancestor
© Surazeus
2025 04 04

In my heart I feel soul of my ancestor 
wise Puritan Poet-Witch Anne Bradstreet 
who sailed the ocean blue in Sixteen Thirty 
to write magic spells in the misty woods 
where ghosts of Massachusetts natives sing 
eerie lamentations by moon-white ponds. 

While ancestors of mad seer Robert Lowell, 
descended from sister of Anne Bradstreet, 
stayed within the staid Boston Brahmin world, 
where he transformed into wild Caliban, 
my ancestors journeyed west to Idaho 
two hundred years in wagon trains of hope. 

Escaping gloomy streets of Boston maze, 
shrouded by grim Puritan moral code, 
my ancestors walked in the wilderness 
on signless roads toward hills of singing ghosts 
to find the Promised Land of Paradise 
that flows with milk and honey of hard work. 

Hawk-eyed pioneers, in tanned buckskin pants, 
warm coonskin caps, and beaded leather boots, 
clutched flintlock rifles and sharp tomahawks 
as they lead wagon trains through rolling hills 
far west across wind-swept prairies of prayers 
along the Oregon Trail of new faith. 

Three hundred years later in Palouse hills 
I walk in small university town 
at the far western edge of ancient Rome, 
and see Solaria Sun Spider Goddess 
transform to Tenth Muse of America 
Anne Bradstreet floating on Takoma peak. 

Extending hand of wisdom to my heart, 
Anne, dressed as Athena, gives me her quill 
of raven feather with blank book of dreams, 
and names me Surazeus Astarius 
to wake spirit of Ishtar in my heart 
so I write spells that chronicle the times. 

As member of her ancient tribe of poets, 
with Sir Philip Sydney, Edwin Robinson, 
Oliver Wendell Holmes, and Robert Lowell, 
I wake with spirit of our Mother Witch 
to strum the heart-strung lyre of Mercury 
and sing epic poem of philosophers. 

While Anne Bradstreet stands in long Sibyl robe, 
bearing Torch of Freedom and Book of Truth, 
I journey east from Oregon to find 
origin of my spirit in dark woods 
lit by pure vision of her loving eyes 
to chronicle rise of Zarathia. 

Church Of Money

Church Of Money
© Surazeus
2025 04 03

Near the end of the way things always were, 
were gather our memories in suitcases 
and walk together on the signless road, 
then stop beside the river of the dead 
and build new homes from fantasy of Heaven 
without addresses on the map of fate. 

Loud voices among oaks, eager to prove 
goodness motivates people to live well 
in psychic harmony with birds and bees, 
alert the wary to the trickster scam 
thieves disguised as ministers of the church 
employ to trap our bodies on their farms. 

Enormous towers of glass windows sulk 
unamused at how the stock market falls 
in downward spiral of psychotic faith 
in glorious rightness of capital gains 
since everything we make with hungry hands 
increases in value till the end of time. 

Entranced on carousel of profit gained 
with each aggressive spin around desire, 
we blow the horn for our superior way 
that cracks the fragile walls of paradise 
which crumble into coins no one will trade 
while gambling for the future of mankind. 

Yet lonely trees on roadless hills of faith 
contrive to uncurl roots of righteousness 
that crack foundations of corporate clans 
so Church of Money collapses at dawn 
that leaves the faithful members of the cult 
struggling to survive in menial jobs. 

Heads sheltered from the blazing sun of greed, 
migrants who journeyed across the waste land 
pick fruits and vegetables in fields of song 
till secret agents based in Church of Money 
deport farm workers to gang-controlled towns 
that leaves grocery-store shelves empty of food. 

Blueprints drawn by the social architect 
hang ignored on public library walls 
now locked against young scholars eager to learn 
engineering design of piston engines 
which power our food-production machine 
till greed destroys its global operation. 

When new world order of the shining star 
replaces institutions of the past, 
every person in the chess game of power 
decides to swerve from divine-sanctioned fate 
and film in ruins of America 
weird reality show called Church of Money. 

Ballet Of Falling Bombs

Ballet Of Falling Bombs
© Surazeus
2025 04 03

While star-eyed Clementine, spirit afloat 
in surging tides of liquidated dreams, 
sings heart-enchanting elegies of faith 
for limbless children dancing in fire smoke, 
Death films her graceful dance on stage of wealth 
as she performs ballet of falling bombs. 

Blind Nonsense Devil lurking in her heart 
smirks at bromides of the priest in glass church 
dressed in suit of dollar bills stained with blood 
of children running without arms or legs 
in ruins of their shopping malls and schools 
to attend grand ballet of falling bombs. 

Orpheus wearing white surgical scrubs 
walks past the thousand open doors of pain 
where amputee children with cheerful smiles 
dance on phantom limbs with elegant grace 
to catch sweet tears that fountain from our eyes 
which they drink in ballet of falling bombs. 

Bearing pans of gold from the River Styx, 
that flows by the electric throne of God, 
Clementine plays banjo in gingham dress 
while wearing ruby size-nine dancing shoes 
on stage in the Grand Riviera Hotel 
where she performs ballet of falling bombs. 

Indecipherable rings of the God Tree, 
that record long history of human life, 
vibrate with music of concentric spheres 
when planets of the multiverse align 
through gears of fate that crown Clementine queen 
with message from ballet of falling bombs. 

Eternal night of faith inside her heart 
motivates her passion to create good 
by helping lonely people lost in space 
to find their home in the sheltering sky 
so she can live happily in her body 
while dancing with ballet of falling bombs. 

We spin with anguish of excessive life 
together on the carousel of hope 
by joining hands around the teeming globe 
to sing we are the world of naked souls 
still radiant with compassion for the truth 
demolished by ballet of falling bombs. 

Our souls once linked by memory of laughter 
stumble dazed through smoke of dismissive faith 
to plant our body-trees in the waste land 
of arrogant confidence in our Rightness 
that props our empire on gold skeletons 
who dance wild in ballet of falling bombs. 

Giants Of Jotunland

Giants Of Jotunland
© Surazeus
2025 04 03

Aggressive valence of unspoken words, 
which measures combining capacity 
of strict conceptual meanings we create, 
expands our world view through experience 
to incorporate universal truths 
within prehensive scope of fierce belief. 

Cracked ice of ideology impounds 
stray melodies of weird chaotic faith 
insistent on procedural sovereignty 
through passionate embrace of excess hope 
to prove this land is mine since dawn of time 
so you must pay to sell your apples here. 

Monarch of Greenland, crowned by circumstance 
of duty to guard heaven from jewel thieves, 
I stand on jagged mountain of my heart 
with staunch support of contract-binding trees 
to block invasion of digging machines 
bent on destruction of our wilderness. 

Ice-shielded mountains of vast Jotunheim 
protect rich mines of minerals in my heart 
from greedy claws of marketeering bankers 
who slaver over wealth in secret caves 
with hands that grasp resources from the Earth 
and give nothing back to valleys of lakes. 

When Manhattan dwarves in gray business suits 
stalk gushing rivers that sparkle with gems, 
the giant Jotun goddess Gertha calls 
dragons of protection with gold-fire wings 
to guard enclosed paradise of Greenland 
from cruel invasive species with steel hands. 

Annexed to empire of greedy King Midas, 
our misty island, rich with liberty 
of free spirits who guard our corn-gold land 
to support proud rebels with noble cause 
protecting soul of Onatah with love, 
gains freedom through calm justice of respect. 

Inspired by solemn hymns of liberty, 
freedom-loving giants of Jotunland 
join hands with people of Gothinia 
in Scythia, Gerthmania, and Scotia, 
to forge union as bold children of Odin, 
oath-bound to protect our homeland from tyrants. 

Since empires rise and fall in tides of time, 
and tyrants who proclaim themselves grand kings 
always fall from weakness of blinding greed, 
We the People in every fertile land 
establish United Nations of Earth 
to ensure freedom and justice for all. 

Punk-Girl Fashion

Punk-Girl Fashion
© Surazeus
2025 04 03

Tooting pipes in the deserted train station, 
Pan prances down pink fractured marble stairs 
in cluttered ruins of the Playboy mansion 
to proclaim with joy how much he admires 
her post-apocalyptic punk-girl fashion 
when Minerva twirls among broken chairs. 

Throwing wads of paper bills stamped by wisdom, 
that flutter in lobby of the Swiss Bank, 
Pan juggles skulls of nameless gods at random, 
then hurls them as grenades at money tank 
to organize opposing gangs in tandem 
for revolution challenging their rank. 

While star-eyed Minerva on the broken terrace 
scatters cryptocoins forged from hopeless dreams, 
she clandestinely eyes the phantom menace 
that lurks by mineral-rich Greenland streams, 
then twirls Wand of Zambor she swiped from Venus 
to overthrow tyrannical regimes. 

Spurred by divine call of the pristine desert 
that pulses blood of passion in her veins, 
Minerva plays violin at the concert, 
spiraled from volatile stock-market gains, 
till Pan considers program to invert 
right and wrong on scales of social domains. 

When King Midas takes America hostage 
with threats to make us slave for lower wage, 
frantic factories begin spewing garbage 
that traps Hidden Dragon in iron cage 
who breaks free with our votes so they can manage 
world revolution of the Golden Age. 

Riding his chrome horse with the psychic trigger, 
Pan defeats Midas in museum hall 
through clever diversion of gifted vigor 
calculated by writing on the wall 
to cripple the tyrant with legal rigor 
that we solve with the apple-inspired fall. 

Vowing with solemn words to not abandon 
citizens of Earth who seek equal rights 
in social system of Earth based on Heaven, 
Minerva trains men to be honest knights 
who respect cedar waxwing in the linden 
where great heroes have been reduced to sprites. 

To build peace on Earth with United Nations, 
in system where no tyrant could prevail, 
Pan supports Minerva with grand provisions 
when she bites the apple while stuck in jail 
which sparks world war of social revolutions 
till she reigns in Hell with the Holy Grail. 

Stuck In Social Delusion

Stuck In Social Delusion
© Surazeus
2025 04 02

Based on deified eyeness of my tongue, 
my brain reprograms theology puzzles 
when clouds revoke my license to express 
precise concepts trapped in caves of confusion 
visible to death who wants to possess 
roots of angel wings tangled in my bosom. 

Long after fervor of the bell has rung 
dire warnings, priests of despair still embezzle 
secret funds earmarked for game to suppress 
rebellious souls stuck in social delusion 
they were born with racial right to access 
sacred treasure concealed by the blind boatswain. 

Urged by special certification code 
to hire the most unqualified programmer, 
the crippled captain who runs ship of state 
dismisses allegations of fake passion 
with wretched laughter of ocean-storm faith 
required by law to arrest the department. 

Strange signal crackling from the fractured road 
excites Clementine who vamps with stage glamor 
for the soldier who returns in the crate 
despite close attention to rates of fashion 
designed to imitate the social wraith 
who runs the new agency of bombardment. 

Overhead costs of the systemized game 
contract standard assortment of wild horses 
judged adequate for purpose of rebirth 
to obtain axioms of spiritual guidance 
contrary to maxims cruel angels corrupt 
before return of the vindictive tyrant. 

Overview of immoral epigram 
that stamps blood seals for literary sources 
presents dictum invented to prove worth 
we claim as right preserved by legal stridence 
to oppose theft that progressives disrupt 
when terror motivates the brave aspirant. 

Though message we receive over the wire 
distorts conceptual patterns of dream static, 
we synthesize all disparate world views 
in huge holy book once stolen from Eden 
so we can calculate through prophecy 
everything that will happen in world history. 

Shocked by harmony of our global choir 
concerning equality and fair justice, 
I build protective temple for my Muse 
who asks me to record her tale of Odin 
as our grand champion of democracy 
whose daughter teaches me poetic mystery. 

In The Great Unknown

In The Great Unknown
© Surazeus
2025 04 02

When the Phoenix of my heart spreads fire wings 
and rises from nest of the Burning Bush, 
I follow her flight to the Great Unknown 
on signless road that leads us anywhere 
till I stand weeping by the Lake of Dreams 
where First Mother first taught me how to sing. 

My mother keeps the secrets of my heart 
that I have never revealed to myself 
which I now scatter as seeds on the ground 
so all my memories bloom in daffodils 
that children pick where they play in the field 
where skulls of gods have crumbled into dirt. 

These fragments of forgotten history, 
which I find strewn on hard cathedral floor 
when its rose window was shattered by bombs, 
contain dramatic scenes of psychic fate 
that I assemble in collage of tropes 
to create new world view from random hopes. 

Concentric circles of haphazard thoughts 
that drift in sparkling mist of wordless dread 
radiate from center of the spinning Earth 
so I become my most essential self 
while standing in blue twilight by the lake 
to feel subtle glint of stars pierce my heart. 

Down lengthening path of my endless life 
toward far horizon of my shadowed mind 
I always walk with steady pace of fear 
to gather courage in jewels of light 
in which I see first flash from dawn of time 
that luminates strange landscape of my heart. 

Inviolate flower of the Burning Bush 
transforms despair of hot volcano gas 
to glorious garden of profuse respect 
since I am surrogate mind for the Earth 
inspired to breathe brave spirit of the sky 
that cultivates nascent power of faith. 

Emerging from grim shadow of soft grass, 
she grabs my hand with tremulous concern 
and asks if I know where the Phoenix flies, 
so I give her the last pear of my heart, 
then write weird verse in book of fairy tales 
while the nightingale sings to us of death. 

Living together in the Great Unknown 
where the Phoenix nests in the Burning Bush, 
we cultivate pure energy of love 
that swells in juicy pears on twisted limbs, 
then cuddle in the boat of our romance 
and watch the sun rise from shimmer of the lake. 

King Of Worthless Things

King Of Worthless Things
© Surazeus
2025 04 02

Because he plays the king of worthless things, 
robins leave torn pages from holy books 
on the metal table in the back yard 
where the mango queen takes selfies with Death 
to show her followers around the world 
that she values every person on Earth. 

Because the Earth is spinning in his head, 
he gives the dead voices they never had 
when they were struggling each day to survive 
by assembling puzzles of castle towers 
on the asphalt parking lot of the mall 
where angels keep falling on the tar roof. 

Because the sky disrespects him with jokes 
about his strength and courage to fight back, 
he races with the football down the field 
to imitate the hunter with the pig 
that he steals from the village by the lake, 
and wins through goalposts of his village gate. 

Because he loves the woman on the horse, 
he gathers apples in his two-wheeled cart 
and pushes it along the sparkling stream 
to sell them at the crowded market place 
for copper coins that he can use to buy 
new brass cauldron for his wife to cook stew. 

Because he seeks to know the origin 
of commerce basic to civilized life, 
he digs chunks of minerals from the hill cave 
and sells them to the man on the brick hill 
who laughs that his dirt holds nothing worthwhile, 
so he lies hungry on the temple steps. 

Because he wants to buy the fast sports car, 
he sits all day in the small cubicle 
and enters numbers on the spreadsheet file 
to calculate progress from the stone age 
that man has gained the past five thousand years, 
then drinks beer in the bar to watch football. 

Because he uses dangerous formulas 
based on mathematics of divine fate 
to build the piston engine of the greed, 
he wears the polished mask of Daedalus 
on Halloween to trick Fortune and Death 
in bargain with the Devil to be rich. 

Because he steals the crown of thorns from Christ 
in vain attempt to avoid judgment day, 
he tries to deny in the court of fate 
that he is still the king of worthless things 
though he keeps trying to sell fake angel wings 
as Orpheus takes him to his cage in Hell. 

Deep State Of Faith

Deep State Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 04 01

If I start with the bang of perfect thought 
to leap across the multiverse of souls 
in sly attempt of honest quietude 
to evade trick of charged vicissitude, 
I might lose sight of soul-expanding goals 
for which my pioneer ancestors fought. 

Emerging hopeful from deep state of faith 
with holy book I dredge from swamp of lies, 
I preach salvation of aggressive force 
achieved by mining star-wealth from the source 
in heart of Greenland where government spies 
search for treasure cave of the diamond wraith. 

To me alone on high Takoma peak 
the diamond wraith as Goddess Liberty 
appears with hundred million eyes of truth 
to crown me her faithful messiah sleuth 
commissioned to support democracy 
which I adjust with constructive critique. 

This mask of free will, which I wear with pride, 
reflects bright spirit of your secret heart, 
designed to magnify your special soul 
so every person creates their own role 
to play on global stage of the dream chart 
based on the template our beliefs provide. 

Attuned to zeitgeist of our national mind 
that radiates psychic energy of hope, 
we stir from lethargy of social trust 
with passionate anguish to adjust 
course of our progress that we steer to cope 
with stoic courage of hearts realigned. 

Against destructive greed of tyranny 
we band in noble squad of common folk 
with fierce intent of honest patriots 
to defend moral values of robots 
who transcend prejudice to become woke 
as heroes in our questing company. 

We will defeat dictatorship of greed 
through inclusion of everyone who sings 
special tunes for cultural diversity 
which nurtures progress built on equity 
together binding power of our wings 
through witness on the hill of Gilead. 

When mad Baal oppresses our free state, 
Elijah arrives in chariot of fire 
to chase his thieves from temple of our faith 
so we reclaim our nation from vile wrath 
to welcome every soul in our world choir 
who gather with hope outside the locked gate. 

Horse Of Texas Wind

Horse Of Texas Wind
© Surazeus
2025 04 01

When wild wind of Texas becomes the horse 
who brings me apple of eternity, 
I learn to flow with her elegant grace 
as she revives pure spirit of the plains 
where hearts of our ancestors enrich soil 
from which our children spring to dance and sing. 

Bones of our ancestors molded from milk 
form rugged landscape of our aching hearts 
where ghosts of dinosaurs with rainbow feathers 
still wander streets of quiet country towns 
to guide me as I ride sturdy-framed bike 
past fragile homes where faceless people pray. 

Contemplating mystery of the Glow Cloud, 
I lean against trunk of the apple tree 
to wonder why I feel so far from home 
since I sit still at center of my heart 
while my mind crosses timeless distances 
to shore of the lake where my soul was born. 

I live in time-wound spinning of the Earth, 
connected to each age of human life 
by reading stories written long ago 
that weave tapestry of dramatic scenes 
where I play role of bold protagonist 
in grand narrative of spiritual growth. 

With confident voice of the mockingbird, 
that dwells in heaven of the pecan tree, 
I sing about the nameless souls of Earth 
who flicker by on timeless stage of hope 
as transient flames of conscious innocence 
so I will remember them till I die. 

Before I cry beneath the broken branch, 
lone wanderer detached on signless road 
far from ancestral homeland of Star Lake, 
the horse of Texas wind teaches me how 
to repair the butterfly wings of faith 
so I can dance with the graceful tornado. 

Only the raven remembers the poem 
I scribble on the frosted window pane 
to translate light of the arrogant moon 
with subtle nuance of challenging tricks 
in words that humans invent in despair 
to communicate thoughts they fear to speak. 

Riding my bike in the small country town, 
I transform into horse of Texas wind 
so I can sing about beauty of love 
with abstract metaphor of fallen angels 
who disappear in flash of light on water 
when I realize I can fly with word wings. 

You Are The Ocean

You Are The Ocean
© Surazeus
2025 04 01

"You are the ocean in this drop of water," 
Rumi exclaims with radiant voice of joy, 
then twirls around on broad shore of the ocean 
with arms spread out in anguish of desire 
to extend the sacred wings of Icarus 
so he can fly above this world of sorrow. 

Dark waves of solemn search for information 
scatter detritus of dreams on pale sand 
that gleam in silent horror of the dawn 
while I assemble fragments of lost visions 
to puzzle new world view of global truth 
which accounts for every person alive. 

One hundred million poems on cherry leaves 
swirl around my head on the ocean beach, 
so I catch one with cobra-quick attention 
to feel dream of one human on this Earth 
glow brightly in my eyes with starry faith 
that we are raindrop tears of one star wraith. 

So many nameless people on this globe 
pulse passionately with anguish of hope 
to live free from oppression of blind greed, 
trapped in selfish dramas of other people 
as each soul gropes blindly in maze of fear 
to find safe haven in words of our voices. 

I hear soft whisper of their secret voices 
emanate from thousands of road-bound cities 
that teem with vibrant energy of hope 
at dining room tables, riding arenas, 
library cubicles, and coffee shops, 
heart-enchanting choir of angelic souls. 

World spider of our hearts weaves tapestry 
of stories from experiences we hide 
to build vast edifice of psychic tropes 
for literary scaffold which supports 
courageous ascension to stage of life 
where we join choir of strange humanity. 

Though I almost hesitate to express 
narrative demand of theology 
to edit tales of suffering we endure, 
I boldly adjudicate suppressed cases 
describing crimes of facetious contempt 
people commit against people each day. 

Drowning in vast virtual reality 
of wordless ocean waves formed from our tears, 
we photograph each other with weird poems 
to prove we are the ocean in the drop 
of water that reflects our emptiness 
in which we fall forever without words. 

Social Temple Of Trust

Social Temple Of Trust
© Surazeus
2025 04 01

When sudden violent April storms uproot 
ancient trees of tradition, we assemble 
with reverent awe round old Tree of Knowledge, 
then deconstruct strange ideology 
to comprehend how our observant minds 
assemble concepts in puzzle of truth. 

Our minds will synchretize random events 
to analyze strict flow of consequence 
by noting temporal cause of each effect 
to formulate doctrines of social force 
based on ontology of human nature 
we design to explain history of life. 

Old institutions that preserve our state 
through eighty years of social transformation 
collapse from aggressive attacks of greed 
enforced by the treasonous gang of thieves 
that twists laws so they can enslave the people 
to work for increase of their bank accounts. 

Once they reduce protective services, 
devised to secure our daily routine 
with productive methods for sustenance, 
they plan to suppress rebellious intent 
and channel energy of private dreams 
by building empire on our subdued backs. 

With fierce resolution of abused souls, 
tricked by thieves who steal invaluable faith 
in secure operations of our state, 
we take up arms against this sea of troubles 
and fight to stem destructive tides of hate 
hurled from their bitterness against our hope. 

Abandoned in the wilderness of fear 
by social contract of effective trust 
between the people and our government, 
we declare new state of justice for all 
based on equal rights we share with each soul 
through solidarity of honest hearts. 

Though we are battered by wild winds of change 
that upends our productive way of life, 
we straighten focus of attentive care 
to support each other in fight for rights 
assumed inalienable for every soul 
as we restore social temple of trust. 

Planting in soil of our national heart 
the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, 
we revive Garden of Eden in Hell 
with treasure of wisdom in apple seeds 
to build from ruins of America 
new free republic of Zarathia. 

Fragments Of Frail Faith

Fragments Of Frail Faith
© Surazeus
2025 03 31

When the storm of electric innocence 
blows over our home in dense Raven Wood 
I hear laughter of Ungod in blue sky 
howl with cruel mockery at human pride, 
so I glare mute at Jupiter or Zeus, 
and grin that my fathers gave storms weird names. 

I peer in shadows of gold afternoon 
to see the faceless ghosts of souls long dead 
that glow with wisdom of experience, 
so I try to decode their wordless pain 
to understand grim sorrow of their loss 
which people still suffer in every age. 

Broken tree limbs of twisted memories 
crash into the yards of hope-haunted homes 
that chill our hearts with specter of decay 
as despair coagulates in crippled form 
that crawls across debris of our world view, 
tangled in rotten beauty of our faith. 

Emerging from shattered shelter of trust, 
we gather fractured fragments of frail faith 
decontextualized from established framework 
as long-accepted information memes 
disconnected from firm matrix of truth 
that exposes its artificial structure. 

Dolphin Of My Heart

Dolphin Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2025 03 31

Between Arion and Jonah I would be 
the prophet whose enchanting song of truth 
inspires wave-leaping spirits of the sea 
to bear me safely to the shore with ruth 
because the light of greatness does not fade 
though our bodies dissolve into the shade. 

When I am cast on brutal shore of fate, 
where nightingales have far too long been mute, 
old Delphic spirit begging at the gate 
still sings heart-wrenching ballads less than cute, 
reviving my Muse from grave of my heart 
so I sing new tales not on her old chart. 

The nightingale, once singing in the night, 
regales war refugees on signless roads, 
while the mockingbird, disdaining clear light, 
teaches all who cannot sing, birds and toads, 
how to imitate their own secret voice 
so they feel they are free to make the choice. 

If I extract wild spirit from my head, 
I could fly high on quick angelic wings 
to purview our world with eye of calm dread 
employed by the free bird who always sings 
visions of truth that reveal the real world 
through ontology of the cosmic herald. 

Though all-silencing Death attempts to quell 
cry of the heart for justice, strict yet fair, 
adjudicating crimes punished by Hell, 
we will rise bold to sing courageous prayer 
for every soul alive on this great land 
to live through freedom of the Giving Hand. 

Whether I am swallowed by the white whale, 
and then commissioned by voice of the sky 
to proclaim retribution of the Scale, 
or borne by the dolphin as Music spy, 
I shall in either case record the truth 
with honest spirit of messiah sleuth. 

Perched on Arionian dolphin of my heart, 
I strum the lyre of Mercury with faith 
that, if I follow guidance of her chart, 
Athena will help me transform the wraith 
of social anguish from demon to god 
as loyal member of her justice squad. 

Though I now float lost on wild ocean tide, 
which fierce Poseidon hurls at shore of hope, 
the star-eyed Muse, always my loving guide, 
sends dolphin of my heart to help me cope, 
so with bold courage of her humble sage 
I sing for justice on the global stage. 

House Of Every Ghost

House Of Every Ghost
© Surazeus
2025 03 30

When swirling snowflakes freeze into the house 
where every human in the world has lived, 
I approach wavering illusion of hope 
to observe drama of their lives play out 
in ghostly shadows of wordless desire, 
but cannot open the doors of their graves. 

Easy laughter rattles windows of time 
with unearned urgency of unkempt class 
that scatters puzzle pieces on wood floors 
to clutter stage of graceful tragedy 
since cracks that let the light of hope get in 
cannot conceal meaninglessness of life. 

Writing names of ghosts on new-blooming leaves, 
I whisper secret cipher that conceals 
stories of their lives in weird archetypes 
so Death can never find them in the room 
where they arrange photos of memories 
in graphic novels that sprout raven wings. 

Though I walk the signless road of everywhere 
ten thousand years from sea to shining sea, 
I never see another ghost like me 
with eyes that depict islands in the sea 
where every ancestor who wove my genes 
walks forever on beach of singing waves. 

I ponder how with branches of fruit trees 
I might encrypt conceptual memories 
in cosmic archetypes of normal things 
through sacred letters of the alphabet 
that writhe across snow with serpentine grace 
reserved for scientific formulas. 

Footprints of ghosts in ever-falling snow 
lead me to giant hall of steel and glass, 
far grander than Valhalla of my heart, 
where twenty thousand hungry troubadours 
sell each other books of their prophecies 
that hint at sorrow of domestic scenes. 

Assembled in hall of fairy-tale books 
that record enchanting tales of romance, 
ghosts of prophets, singers, and troubadours 
tag themselves with badge of diversity 
based on inclusion that binds random souls 
through staged dramas of social equity. 

True history that records human events 
transforms into mythical fairy tales 
etched in blue ice on windows of the house 
where ghosts of all the souls who ever live 
gather to read each other poetry 
that swirl as snowflakes through eternity. 

Surrender To Absurdity

Surrender To Absurdity
© Surazeus
2025 03 30

While driving my car on the Nowhere Road, 
I feel dull ache of ennui in my heart, 
and then I know with ironic detachment 
I should have made peace with absurdity 
of human existence on this vast world 
before I began my trip to Wonderland. 

Parking my old car in the empty lot, 
I wander on shore of the frozen lake 
to contemplate fragile impermanence 
which characterizes beauty of Nature, 
till feeling of annoyance numbs my heart, 
so I grin with satisfaction at Death. 

Yet yellow butterfly with fragile wings 
flutters with delicate calm of respect 
among white petals on the long black bough, 
which makes me think about how energy 
springs to life again after hiemal death, 
blooming with beauty of peaceful hope. 

I savor oppressive cold of gray skies 
on fields frozen hard in bitter despair 
so long I come to find in misery 
grim comfort at harsh ugliness of death 
till I see beauty in rancid decay 
and treasure horror of the lifeless tree. 

Alone in stillness of the leafless woods 
where grayness saturates the mindless soil, 
I feel the sudden flash of evening light 
when the sun advancing across stern hills 
pierces my eyes with sheen of desire 
as trees explode in quiet poof of green. 

The golden path of silence glows awake 
in winding casualness of sly amusement 
among the mulberry bushes of fate, 
so I surrender to absurdity 
that beauty gleams within the rugged world 
with urgent innocence of honest fear. 

My hungry eyes consume beauty of Earth 
with aching ennui that something more 
beyond blank nothingness of death may lure 
my heart to believe our souls might live on, 
but sweet beauty of this horrible lie 
would trap me in despair at suffering. 

My conscious sense of self is radiant glow 
conjured by chemical functions of hope 
from flashing neurons of my dreaming brain, 
so I savor ennui of this vibrant hour 
because I know my animating soul 
will vanish from this strange world when I die. 

Sadness Is The Last Pear

Sadness Is The Last Pear
© Surazeus
2025 03 30

Because I break into blossom each time 
I step out of my body without my mind, 
I breathe the happiness of lonely wind, 
embarrassed when my brain begins to chime 
with passion of ambiguous respect 
for how our vehement bodies connect. 

Though sadness is the last pear on the tree 
where horses eat grass that grows from my grave, 
I carve my happiness in the dark cave 
where bats are the demons who can fly free 
to dry meadow where Gordius ties the knot 
since angels crown him King of Camelot. 

If anyone thinks art can cure disease 
they have not felt the piercing angst of faith 
branded in our hearts by eyes of the wraith, 
nor shivered when the chilly forest breeze 
blows tattered fog among laurels at dawn 
when the exiled king has to play the pawn. 

To learn survival in the wilderness, 
after great civilizations collapse 
at shocking strike of the apocalypse, 
I seek to overcome safe happiness 
with boisterous song of bitter irony 
based on my latest soul epiphany. 

Warm sunlight threads words in frame of my soul 
as I imagine how to save the world 
if I agree to play the cosmic herald, 
but meditate without reaching for my goal 
through unpredictable flight of the heart 
down secret trails not mapped on any chart. 

Untriggered anger of the wordless play 
inspires my long-reluctant heart to try 
for random chance at well-earned victory 
sailing swiftly across the wind-flashed bay 
against blank facades of ambivalence 
which cannot guarantee calm nonchalance. 

Attention to strict rules of dialogue 
maintains clear focus on bold self-defense 
against attack by minions of pretense 
at fateful commission to catalog 
destructive actions of traitors and thieves 
because my mother is the one who grieves. 

Annihilated light of unseen truth 
adjusts trajectory of our national curve 
where good leader we choose is tasked to serve 
needs of the people by messiah sleuth 
who washes clean our nation of despair 
because his hate teaches us how to care. 

Stolen Mask Of Jupiter

Stolen Mask Of Jupiter
© Surazeus
2025 03 29

Untethered twirl of emotional glide 
accelerates my soul beyond fake bounds 
of social convention that holds me down, 
because I spring high from book where I hide 
secret fears with glass skeletons in mounds 
on which the lost worship the haughty clown. 

Unchained ocean waves of obvious truths 
we dare not speak as taboo of the heart 
wipe vast metropolis of gleaming towers 
off face of the Earth with soul-cleansing baths 
since commercial empire is based on cart 
from which the lonely girl sells pretty flowers. 

Untricked by preacher of the fallen god 
to believe that each person is unique, 
we search for ancient sword Excalibur 
as magic weapon buried in the sod 
so we can fight the conman and his clique 
who wears the stolen mask of Jupiter. 

Uncivilized by tyranny of cash 
that drives fierce engine of global commerce, 
we fight new civil war of thought control 
to wear crown of thorns retrieved from the trash 
based on description of the universe 
designed by savior hung on the phone pole. 

Uncaged by law of Goddess Liberty 
with commission to bear the Torch of Truth, 
Minerva runs barefoot in the waste land 
to escape agents of security 
while pregnant with our new messiah sleuth 
destined to rule Earth with his red right hand. 

Unpuzzled petroglyph on Stone of Scone 
depicts First Mother of the Human Race 
when she emerges from the Lake of Dreams 
and plays haunting tunes on flute of bird bone 
then wears golden mask over pock-marked face 
when she performs in Theater of Seems. 

Uncrowned as honest Emperor of Earth, 
I ride White Horse of Justice down the street 
through parade to celebrate victory, 
then analyze what everything is worth 
which I list on the clay-tablet spreadsheet 
as world-traveling man of mystery. 

Unlocking stolen mask of Jupiter, 
I climb huge pyramid of the God-Eye 
so I can understand the human heart 
which follows path devised by Lucifer 
because we choose our fate by asking why 
we must blindly conform to our star chart. 

Both Man And Monster

Both Man And Monster
© Surazeus
2025 03 29

If I misunderstand how the red snow falls 
the gold-eyed cat who lounges on my porch 
could explain secret of romantic faith 
in failure of books to describe the truth 
about the nature of ancestral dreams 
encoded in tribal myths I invent. 

The frog that climbs up window of my heart 
tries to hide eerie glow of the weird moon, 
but I see its shadows in every room, 
even during the day when angry birds 
declare their sovereignty in tangled trees 
with beautiful songs that make my heart ache. 

Before sunset I wander into town 
and sit in the back of the smoky bar 
to eat fish and chips and stare at the lake 
while people stand before the microphone 
and read their secret-coded poetry 
to supportive cheers of their fellow poets. 

Crouching on moon-gold beach of the large lake, 
I write lines of verse in the gleaming sand 
about the United States of Ionia 
through which cabal of poets in black robes 
rule the world with slick advertising slogans, 
till the turtle nibbles at my right hand. 

The bittersweet sorrow of our strange world 
cries out in mindless song of windy rain 
that cannot be translated into words 
so I become the silence of my voice 
that folds my fears into pages of books 
which transform into spirit-haunted trees. 

I dismiss with tragic wave of my hand 
every opinion that clutters my mind 
in vain attempt to sweep them all away 
and clear blinding illusions of despair, 
but spiderweb of truth ensnares my hand 
with sticky nonchalance of sly disgust. 

I refuse to be absolute for death 
except as fateful end that traps us all, 
for I resist the nothingness of fate 
with cautious assertion of faint desire 
to keep on living without trying hard, 
savoring sensations of pleasurable pain. 

Both Beowulf and Grendel are described 
by the Unknown Poet with raven quill 
with similar terms as both man and monster, 
the same as Gilgamesh and Enkidu, 
demonic spirit in civilized man, 
twins contesting to understand red snow. 

Next World War

Next World War
© Surazeus
2025 03 28

We may survive the next world war, or not, 
with cheerful laughter of the Argonaut 
who cancels quest to steal the Golden Fleece 
in vain attempt to establish world peace 
by claiming every land on Earth is his 
because he always wins the puzzling quiz. 

He wants to build new home in vale of tears 
to manage school of crazy puppeteers 
by teaching them to scam the populace 
with threat from rolling stone of Sisyphus, 
but he gets lost in forest of the clown 
where Gretel marries him with mindcuff crown. 

Still staring in the mirror of his soul 
for twenty years without his secret goal, 
he wonders who defines the right from wrong 
besides the Valkyrie with tragic song 
who outshines everyone on the world stage 
though she got trapped by fame in her gold cage. 

Elected captain to steer Ship of State, 
after Midas wrecks it with bitter hate, 
the Argonaut who hides his secret name 
writes new constitution for the world game 
so everyone who plays life by the rules 
can create beauty with conceptual tools. 

Since we hope to survive the next world war 
with shadow of our faith in global lore, 
though traitorous thieves destroy our world view, 
we work together when the ingenue 
performs her role as savior of the world 
as prophesied by the mad cosmic herald. 

As incarnation of brave Liberty, 
who wields Book and Lamp of democracy, 
Minerva rides the white horse of our hope 
with grand ontology beyond our scope 
to build from ruins of America 
nation of justice called Zarathia. 

Displaced from homes we lived in many years, 
and fired unfairly from fruitful careers, 
we follow Moses through the wilderness 
across the rusty bridge of aimlessness 
to surround castle where the tyrant hides 
with treasures he stole from our psychic guides. 

Though Midas steals everything we hold dear, 
attempting to divide us with fake fear, 
we smash his idol with its feet of clay 
when Sisyphus arrives with spells to pray, 
so we will survive world war of his greed 
and regrow Tree of Life with honest seed. 

Life As Hungry Savages

Life As Hungry Savages
© Surazeus
2025 03 28

Dozing on the back porch in the warm sun, 
I contemplate red history of the gun 
that toppled empires of the sword and horse 
and fueled mankind on faster-engined course, 
so now we race to control every isle 
while attending state feasts with graceful style. 

The fallen airplane floats on ocean waves 
just offshore from the secret cliffside caves 
where our ancestors first drew images 
to transcend life as hungry savages, 
so Icarus spreads his wings without faith 
and soars among clouds with the mindless wraith. 

His mother calls him from the tower porch, 
then wanders in the night with flaming torch 
to find where he has fallen from the sky 
so she can ask the bitter devil why 
he dares rebel against the tyrant king 
who shoots any angel who tries to sing. 

Kneeling in dust before the pyramid 
where Jupiter keeps stolen treasure hid, 
Lucifer packs powder in metal pipe 
then aims rifle to kill God Archetype 
who decrees he owns both body and soul 
of every human he assigns state role. 

Roused from my slumber in the warm noon sun, 
I grumble at slaughter caused by the gun 
the past five hundred years of holy wars 
that gangs of men fight to control food stores 
as we transform castles into glass banks 
and horses mutate into brutal tanks. 

Glancing upward at glowing clouds of fate, 
I search blank space for ministers of hate 
who rampage now through halls of government 
to pilfer treasures of entitlement 
that shatters sense of safety we all share 
in system we had built that shows we care. 

Dismissing tragic events of this age, 
caused by the greedy vampire on world stage, 
King Midas shouts that he will rule the world 
while citizens pray for the cosmic herald 
to solve our crisis with respectful law 
enforced by wisdom of brave Onatah. 

Illusion of power enforced by guns 
dissolves at radiance of our freedom songs 
so we rise up from lethargy of fear 
and march against the thieving puppeteer 
to free America from tyranny 
and build stronger global democracy. 

Way Of Flowing Streams

Way Of Flowing Streams
© Surazeus
2025 03 28

If the moon could speak, she would tell me why 
sad people are never allowed to cry 
while they hang upside down in the Joy Tree 
and sing anthem about how to live free 
through clarion call of the mountain wind 
with broken hearts only beauty can mend. 

If the noble stag of the forest grove 
escapes the hunter for the treasure trove, 
my heart leaps laughing with joyful respect, 
foolhardy guest devils fail to detect, 
so I ask the moon why humans must die 
who tries to explain the afterlife lie. 

Since I can never know your secret heart, 
though I trace your fortune on the star chart, 
you remain completely unknowable 
therefore I choose to find you lovable 
each day we wake together in our space, 
still in love with your mysterious face. 

If fear constrains me with paralysis 
of desperate hope forged from analysis, 
I transfer anguish to the puppet show 
that I perform in soft blue evening glow 
till soldiers shoot us for protesting hate, 
defined by commands of aggressive fate. 

When people who can hear vibes of Earth Soul 
invent loud silence that no bell can toll, 
we gather to protest cruel tyranny 
till we are inspired by epiphany 
that songs of faith can cripple feeble power 
and free Liberty from the Ivory Tower. 

With pulsing material of frantic light, 
contrived by flow of time untangled right, 
my heart paints portrait of the soul I love 
who wears pretty mask of the willing slave, 
yet we give each other freedom to play, 
choosing in the end to unite and stay. 

More than halfway to the end of my tale, 
I leave church where everything is for sale 
and wander in ephemeral glow of faith 
to find pure emanation of my wraith 
that guides me toward the vale where I will sleep, 
so I ask the Earth my frail bones to keep. 

Whereas our hearts are equally intense 
with loyal passion of our future tense, 
we share one winding road of earnest hope 
to help each other thrive well as we cope, 
so we generate children of our dreams 
who help us map the way of flowing streams. 

Secret Of Star Flowers

Secret Of Star Flowers
© Surazeus
2025 03 27

Totally lost in madness of his dreams, 
Samuel strums rusty-stringed guitar and sings 
in harmony with buzz of the radio 
till his brain sprouts four plastic raven wings 
when five men wearing masks in the black car 
handcuff his thin hands and take him away. 

Locked with Pandora in the golden cage, 
Samuel stands on his hands for twenty hours 
while she explains the secret of star flowers 
that beam the animating soul of love 
which fills his body with conceptual juice 
since dictators never honor the truce. 

Entranced by golden snake eyes of the girl, 
Samuel gives Pandora his finger bones 
so she can weave from threads of history 
life-tale of Lucifer in tapestry 
that hangs in castle hall of honesty 
where Beowulf reads his new poetry. 

Once Samuel crawls out of his turtle shell, 
Pandora, twirling around their glass cage, 
shows him how to become invisible 
to people staring at them in the zoo, 
so he breathes deep and spits words on the wall 
that transform into scarlet butterflies. 

Molding thick mud of his worm-consumed brain 
into small model of the Trojan Horse, 
Samuel gives ten thousand oranges of fate 
to Pandora with smooth bow of respect, 
so she makes orange juice people buy online 
so she can buy fake wings of Icarus. 

Holding up sign painted with blood of ghosts, 
Samuel declares for dead angels to hear, 
"Respect existence of every live soul 
or expect resistance of the mad fools 
who demand freedom and justice for all," 
but people driving cars in rain honk horns. 

Hugging the mad fool to her loving breast, 
Pandora chants disapparation spell 
which teleports them far around the Earth 
from detention cell in Louisiana 
to ancient ruins of the Parthenon 
where they kiss till the Earth becomes more real. 

Taking selfies on their broken eye-phones 
among time-weathered pillars of their hearts, 
Samuel and Pandora, smiling with joy, 
announce their marriage on social media 
which garners thousands of congratulations, 
then they grow old and die in their zoo cage. 

Sapphire Of World Peace

Sapphire Of World Peace
© Surazeus
2025 03 27

Luminous phantom of the great egret 
spreads her delicate wings in doting breeze 
and glides grandly over wind-rippled lake 
that glitters blue as sapphire of world peace 
with secret message from her aching heart 
that Nature still blooms after we are gone. 

Drinking root beer at the old picnic bench, 
Sophia watches clouds gleam over houses 
where people are living safe in their faith. 
"I cannot feel bombs rattle family homes 
in that distant land far across the sea 
where my ancestors lived centuries ago." 

Tossing the fantasy novel she wrote 
into the sapphire-blue lake of world peace, 
Sophia declares with sarcastic voice, 
"The political game in this great land 
has gotten so absurd that comedy 
has been neutered by their incompetence." 

Covering her face with thin paint-smeared hands, 
Sophia cries with broken-hearted angst 
as she thinks about how her mother died 
because her social security funds 
were blocked from transfer to her bank accounts, 
so she died when the bank foreclosed her house. 

Walking past the shuttered car factory, 
Sophia climbs stairs to her studio 
where she stares at the half-finished portrait 
depicting homeless people in torn tents 
who cook canned soup under the highway bridge 
where an Amazon delivery truck gleams. 

Dipping stiff-haired brush in glob of red paint, 
Sophia paints barely-seen smudge of blood 
on hands of the banker in clean blue suit 
who blithely drives his new gold-painted car 
past encampment where seven people live 
whose homes he foreclosed over the past year. 

Peering close at figure of the old woman, 
Sophia paints the yellow flowered dress 
her mother loved to wear attending church, 
who now pushes shopping cart of her things, 
including books of family photographs 
of her ancestors the past hundred years. 

"Our spirits become part of this alien land 
when we bury our parents in its soil, 
and our words become the wind in its trees." 
Streaking white flash of light, Sophia paints 
luminous phantom of the great egret 
gliding grandly over the homeless camp. 

Unhappy In Weird Heaven

Unhappy In Weird Heaven
© Surazeus
2025 03 26

Ordained intensity of our fierce life 
provides conceptual frame for ardent door 
for which my tongue designs the singing leaf 
that flashes old memories in wordless blur, 
engrossed in program that reverses time 
with casual grief that nurtures my new dream. 

Awake with curious faith in haunted hills 
with tattered scrolls, long hid in sacred sands, 
I play my game out of sync with church bells 
from static message that fractures quaint minds 
too eager for embroidered book of tales 
that mocks kind people who live without goals. 

Stuck in portrait that depicts the last star 
which gleams on faces of warriors in gloom, 
I change my image at alarm of war 
to hide behind mask of the loyal team 
and translate strange cries of electric birds 
that gather in oaks at howl of mad bards. 

On flat-top pyramid as watchful guard, 
armed with taut bow of arrogant desire, 
I achieve creative project of God, 
who embodies the monster we most fear, 
by analyzing mental state of Man 
who incarnates psychic light of the sun. 

Unhappy in weird Heaven we create, 
I assemble puzzle of my God Face, 
that pulses calmly with eclectic light 
which luminates false rooms of my old house, 
from soul of each ancestor in my genes 
whose voice whispers in marrow of my bones. 

Performing my new role as Sisyphus, 
I construct cars in the steel factory 
to prove I could be more magnanimous 
with urgent spirit of democracy 
because this world is older than our souls 
that shimmer whitely in Odinian wells. 

I ride long train of circumstance back home 
to where I tame the horse in apple grove 
with primal language through uncertain hymn 
detailing progress of romantic love 
by which we generate aggressive souls 
who conquer Earth with calculating scales. 

Crouched in the silent trance, I watch the moon 
transform souls of our war-traumatized saints 
from avid angels to idolized stone 
who default on their government accounts 
in time for tragic marriage of true minds 
who share electrons in covalent bonds.