Cherubic Frame Of Fear

Cherubic Frame Of Fear
© Surazeus
2025 02 28

My shadow wounded by the silent sky 
transforms into angel wings of desire 
I cannot use to glide above this world, 
for my heart is heavy with songs of death, 
compressed by gravity of mute despair 
as I recite names of souls killed in war. 

Late winter evening gloom shrouds charity 
with soft unfiltered cries of agony 
encased by strict cherubic frame of fear 
which sublimates our suffering with proverbs 
contrived to conceal aggressive abuse 
asserted by weak men who fear the truth. 

Preserving silence of brave mountain peaks 
in subtle valley of exploding oaks, 
my heart flies up on wings of solitude 
to listen for clear encouraging words 
carved with bloody knives on cathedral doors 
locked against desperate hope of refugees. 

Though accountants still hover over Earth, 
clutching bones engraved with names of dead kings, 
the chorus girl walks out into the street, 
draped in torn curtain from the theater, 
to arrange white-painted branches of trees 
so alligators know how to get home. 

The honeycomb I find in rusted truck, 
abandoned ninety-seven years ago, 
explains to me her strangest dream of fate 
about warships that drown in the raindrop, 
so I ask Robert wearing the iron mask 
what god he saw in mundane streets of Rome. 

The Assyrian lion who plays flute 
in the nameless meadows of Idaho 
leads children killed in wars on signless road 
past haven where Jehovah deals cocaine, 
which proves confusion of America 
means nothing to haughty Phoenician priests. 

Gathering flakes of snow in humble hands, 
Charlemagne returns jewels of false faith 
to farmers getting drunk in country bars 
while wheat and corn rot in arrogant fields, 
so Vulcan recasts soul-bent saxophones 
into automatic rifles preachers bear. 

The chestnut that blossoms from my first grave 
transforms bitterness of communal pain 
into streets soaked with patriotic rain 
that drenches innocent horses of faith 
who lead me to the forest of sad wolves 
where I find my wounded shadow in books. 

Brave Savior of Scythia

Brave Savior of Scythia
© Surazeus
2025 02 28

Less subtle than bombs blowing up our homes 
are sensitive boys in crowded bookstores 
softly reciting love poems by dead angels 
while they gaze longingly at their first love 
who picks flowers in lush meadow of skulls 
that sing about the rise and fall of empires. 

When Volodomyr stumbles to his knees, 
beset on both sides by bullies with guns, 
David gives him his slingshot and smooth stone, 
so Zelenus stands on his feet again 
to face Pluto and Midas with brave courage, 
emboldened by support to fight Goliath. 

When despair grips Zelenus with cold hands, 
as he pushes forward against harsh storm, 
his heart is lifted by the glorious sight 
of blue skies shining over gold wheat fields 
where Scythia, Goddess of our star-eyed tribe, 
descends on wings of fire to give him strength. 

Though far away across the Atlantic Ocean, 
where I now dwell in Appalachian Hills, 
my heart still grows as white viburnum flowers 
beneath the great oak tree of Mother Scythia 
that bows heads over Borysthenius River 
with heartache for good people killed in war. 

When Zelenus runs exiled in oak woods, 
hunted by cruel warriors of greedy Pluto, 
Anahita, daughter of Borysthenes, 
gives him fresh water from Fountain of Hope 
that fills his heart with courage to stand tall 
and renew our fight against tyranny. 

Dancing gracefully in field of sunflowers, 
Anahita brings basket of ripe apples 
for soldiers who defend their motherland 
against cruel invaders who kidnap children 
whose voices whisper in the weeping wind 
with desperate hope to return home again. 

Just as David defeated cruel Goliath, 
Aeneas defeated arrogant Turnus, 
and Beowulf defeated vicious Grendel, 
so Zelenus, brave Savior of Scythia, 
will defeat the greedy dictator Pluto 
though Midas refuses to help him fight. 

Zelenus, brave Poet of Patriotism, 
strides with Minerva, Queen of Liberty, 
to rally freedom-loving people of the world 
in our noble fight against tyranny 
as we support global democracy 
which sustains United Nations of Earth. 

Fairy Tales Of Why

Fairy Tales Of Why
© Surazeus
2025 02 28

Conceptual difference between falling rain 
and stone walls human hands erect with fear 
divides my mind with ocular respect, 
so I rejoice in spinning of the Earth 
that tangles my heart in telephone lines 
till I grow fraught wings from my wounded heart. 

If we consider the best way to start 
chanting magic spells the blind crow defines, 
we might discover that each soul is worth 
more than our visual looks or intellect, 
as if we cannot feel the ghost glow near 
enough to vibrate in tune with our pain. 

Stark vision billowing from exhaust pipes 
of cars rumbling down snow-encrusted roads 
glows bright with faces of long-dead monarchs 
who ruled their empires with insight and rage 
in cruel relentless chess game with blind death 
who always wins every humanized game. 

Every year I invent myself new name 
so I can speak through my old mask with breath 
that shadows spirit of the fox on stage 
who runs with elegant grace in state parks, 
then guides lost pilgrims to pond of wise toads 
where immortal grandson of Hamlet types. 

Yet smiling nurse in clinic by the lake 
tenderly cares for children without souls 
who ask with innocent voice of despair 
if they will be able to live long and well 
so she howls with sorrow in stormy wind 
at unfair randomness of mindless fate. 

When we explore our wild deserted state, 
while wearing dresses dead grandmothers send, 
I smile that brittlebush blossoms in hell, 
which does not prove that Jesus might care 
to gather brickleberries in clay bowls 
with noble intention to bake us cake. 

Tall ocotillo that knows why I cry 
comforts me with song of the cactus wren 
who refuses to accept lame excuse 
I offer that I cannot love myself 
because my mother harshly judged my lack 
of common sense with bitter words of love. 

I turn my face up to Heaven above 
where I see nothing but clouds in huge stack 
of contemptuous disdain for my bookshelf 
that bears books about both Jesus and Zeus, 
so I replace them all with poems about Zen 
which should explicate Fairy Tales of Why. 

Leopard Of Paradise

Leopard Of Paradise
© Surazeus
2025 02 27

After snarling at pilgrim lost in dark wood, 
the leopard glides gracefully into shadow 
to rest in warm sun on the mindless rock 
that Moses split to find the well of hope, 
and watches Virgil lead Dante through Hell 
with casual nonchalance of the wild beast. 

Hidden among bushes on the broad hillside, 
Orpheus films the leopard as it glides 
gracefully in shadow of grim despair 
to hunt Cernunnos and his flock of does 
who flee when the leopard and the hart fight 
grand epic battle in cool evening dusk. 

Ophelia grills deer steak on the altar 
as Orpheus scrapes the leopard skin clean 
and stretches it taut in the wood frame 
beside the frame with the skin of the deer, 
then Artemis sews them into warm clothes 
for everyone to wear when winter comes. 

Eyes flashing with moonlight of golden joy, 
the leopard returns to vine-covered cave 
where his mate and two cubs shelter from harm, 
dragging fresh-killed meat for them to consume, 
then lounges on warm stone by the clear pool, 
purring with pleasure as his family eats. 

Eyes glowing gold as the moon in rain clouds, 
the leopard watches Narcissus and Echo 
tip-toe slowly into grove of pear trees 
and kneel before glistening pool of truth, 
then cocks his head with curiosity 
when the two hairless monkeys softly kiss. 

"When I was lost in vision of my face, 
entranced by beauty of this alien creature," 
Narcissus whispers, caressing her cheek, 
"your sweet voice in shadows of my desire 
released me from infertile trance of hope, 
so I can see your face with clarity." 

"When I felt invisible to all eyes, 
misunderstood by everyone I love," 
Echo smiles brightly with tears in her eyes, 
"your hearing my thoughts with your open heart 
applied mask of confidence to reveal 
beauty of my heart to your loving mind." 

Racing down through winding levels of Hell, 
then ascending mountain of clear insight, 
the leopard arrives in lush paradise 
and finds Dante lounging with Beatrice 
by the Fountain of Youth, who both exclaim 
joy to see him, and pet him as he purrs. 

Blood Of Warriors

Blood Of Warriors
© Surazeus
2025 02 27

Sunset light glows red on tips of tall trees 
like blood of warriors on sharp spears of war, 
so I carve their names on the rolling stone 
I push to the top of Helicon Hill, 
so when the Stone of Sisyphus rolls down 
its justice will smash idol of King Midas. 

Beneath wind-blown banner of the Red Cross 
we march on crusade to conquer the world, 
but return home after years of bitter loss 
to crown justice warrior our cosmic herald 
who leads us safely to the Promised Land 
with soul salvation of the red right hand. 

Awake in meditation of calm faith 
in Cave of Illusions on Mount Cecropia, 
I rise as serpent from womb of the Earth 
to abolish cruel human sacrifice 
and teach people how to write thoughts in words, 
then hand Wand of Wisdom to bold Athena. 

Though spirit of Cecrops, the Serpent King, 
sleeps coiled inside marble Capitol dome 
to nourish heart of Liberty with Truth, 
fierce Midas and his greedy minions swarm 
sacred Halls of Justice to seize control, 
then crowns himself king of our world empire. 

When Melusine wakes in my aching heart, 
shocked at political coup of the rich 
who pervert our great Land of Liberty 
into their factory-funded tyranny, 
she urges me to call on Jupiter 
to help us fight dictatorship of Pluto. 

Yet John Keats, grandson of Beowulf Geats, 
gazes entranced at the old Grecian urn, 
and teaches me to see ideal forms 
which forever preserve transcendent beauty 
that beams through body of our mortal soul, 
so I lament fall of America. 

Roused from slumber by pure River of Fate, 
I wear conceptual mask of Jupiter 
and join with Lucifer, lawyer of justice, 
to oppose Pluto and his oligarchs 
and free America from grip of greed 
through civil war we fight in courts of law. 

I want to savor beauty of this world 
that glows with eerie shimmer of calm faith 
as sunset light red on tips of tall trees 
like paint of respect on soft brush of art 
when I paint Sisyphus rolling his stone 
to smash idol of King Midas with justice. 

Universal Beach Of Solitude

Universal Beach Of Solitude
© Surazeus
2025 02 27

Folding my heart in gramophone of hope, 
I become wild swirl of wordless sea waves 
in vain attempt to reconcile my fear 
with anxious honesty of awful truth 
that keeps me circling my own private spot 
on universal beach of solitude. 

Wrapping my heart in peelings of the orange, 
I disappear in swirls of morning mist, 
happy to erase my face from the world 
as mindless waves erase my faint footsteps 
so all traces of my existence vanish 
on universal beach of solitude. 

Burying my heart in shifting sands of time, 
I wear corrupted mask of victimhood 
to solicit sympathy from blind gods 
who mock my pain with silence of the wind 
as I stumble randomly without hope 
on universal beach of solitude. 

Tracking my heart with seismograph of love, 
I quake with hate for monsters of despair 
that devour frightened people of my tribe 
who could not run fast enough over sand 
to escape sharp teeth of their hostile rage 
on universal beach of solitude. 

Hiding my heart in cavern of illusions, 
I watch shadows of demons on the wall 
writhe with horrible happiness of fate 
till I grip jagged metal wand of light 
and run screaming to attack monstrous fear 
on universal beach of solitude. 

Mapping my heart with raven quill of faith, 
I track my journey to the Promised Land, 
Egyptia to Arabia to Persia to India, 
ten thousand generations of lost souls 
forever hunting demons of despair 
on universal beach of solitude. 

Trapping my heart with proverbs of control, 
I confirm my soul with reins of the law 
my father designs to help me perceive 
demons of danger before they attack 
so I can evade monster of despair 
on universal beach of solitude. 

Building my heart in temple of the feast, 
I keep walking toward grave of fate I dig 
to roast demon I killed on altar stone 
and feed five thousand people steak and wine 
while wearing the demon skull as my crown 
on universal beach of solitude. 

Our New-Built World

Our New-Built World
© Surazeus
2025 02 26

Before we step into our new-built world 
we must endure destruction of the old, 
uniting in our quest to journey forth 
through swirling smoke of arrogance and hate 
when fearful men in castles of false gold 
try to kill us when we oppose their reign. 

Surprised at coming of the cosmic herald, 
I leap in swirling vortex of the void 
to measure conscious spirit of the Earth 
who programs formulas of psychic fate 
in emerald on the magic wand I wield 
when I translate secret code of the crane. 

Amused by photograph of the rock star 
who sings anthem of patriotic pride 
while twisting sorrow on the glass guitar, 
I ponder how wise leaders know to sing 
heart-warming melodies of old folk tunes 
that women chant as they till garden soil. 

Now that I am wise King of Zathamar, 
anointed servant of Emperor Toad, 
I build starship inside spinning Earth core 
to beam my soul in horcrux of the ring 
worn by my Muse when she invents Thought Runes 
as memes that code my soul-genetic coil. 

I cannot describe with clairvoyant words 
sacred institutions of the new world 
that we will build from ruins of world war, 
but I predict we will elect our Gods 
from sacred Bloodline of the Holy Grail, 
born from wombs of Mermaid and Melusine. 

Therefore I translate riddles of blind birds 
who predict coming of the cosmic herald 
as social architect of Zathamar 
who rules the world with social justice squads 
patrolling nations with judicial scale 
in mental starship fueled by gasoline. 

As Global Savior built by Frankenstein, 
designed to represent humanity, 
I reign on Pyramid of the God Eye 
that sees everything which happens on Earth 
in whole time-animated atlas globe 
preserving history in Realm of Ideas. 

When I work for President Clementine, 
who maintains our global democracy, 
I forge gold plates of truth on Mount Sinai 
encoding secret of spirit rebirth 
to navigate time with my astrolabe 
as last grandson of mad prophet Tiresias. 

Same Good Savior

Same Good Savior
© Surazeus
2025 02 26

Through false epiphany of mindless fear 
as biased Observer of the Human State, 
I perceive structure of the New World Order 
taking shape across landscape of the Earth 
where six empires grow from two hundred countries 
as puzzles assembled by self-crowned kings. 

Congregating in sprawling empire-states, 
tribes contesting over resourceful land 
ally with enemies of civil hope 
to fight cruel strangers in that nearby state 
who want to take our land and eat our fruit, 
so we follow the howling prophet of death. 

Sarcastic comments on blind human pride 
may never open hearts of wounded souls 
distraught by threats to their security, 
so we gather in temples of bold faith 
and pray with fervent wish to Faceless God 
that we survive and thrive in wars of death. 

Dionysus wants me to drink sweet wine 
and dance with wild abandon in the wind 
that swirls from restless ocean waves of hope 
to motivate my hopeless leap of faith 
so divine energy fills me with love 
when I release fear and set my heart free. 

Apollo wants me to rein intense flash 
of psychic energy pulsing my brain 
with strict attention to constructive form 
that winds taut vibrancy of aching hope, 
so with each careful strum of lyric strings 
I weave graceful melody of pure love. 

Releasing anguish of my wounded heart 
to channel flush of psychic energy, 
I arrange harmonious tones of desire 
fraught with elegant grace of starry tones 
which beams bright rainbow after raging storm 
to enchant despairing hearts with new hope. 

When people of nations misunderstand 
people of other nations with blind fear, 
because principles of our world views clash, 
we sit together in the feasting hall 
to share Epic Tales of our Cultural Heroes 
so we see they are all the same Good Savior. 

With true epiphany of heartfelt love 
as biased Observer of the Human State, 
I share insight of my vision in song 
that every God who founded their nation 
is noble hero we can all respect 
as soul who represents the best of us. 

Greed Of Angry Kings

Greed Of Angry Kings
© Surazeus
2025 02 26

Through fresh beginning from this fallen age 
run children laughing in bright cement maze 
to mock the jester on the global stage 
who prepares the way for the next growth phase 
by burning everything we value down 
till he is consumed by the Thorny Crown. 

With hands raised to the swirling clouds of faith, 
I conjure Thespia from the mountain cave 
to channel divine passion of the wraith 
with sacred mission of the fool to save 
humanity from greed of angry kings 
who howl in rage and break our angel wings. 

Inspired by holy wisdom of the sea, 
I wear oak mask of Thespis on my face 
to play the hero fighting to live free 
against mad tyrants with musical grace, 
then worship Eros in the sacred grove 
on Mount Helicon to celebrate love. 

Rolling stone of sorrow up Helicon 
to smash idol of the king with clay feet, 
Sisyphus sails north to found Avalon 
with head of Ozymandias on the street, 
where he gives diamond to the Fairy Queen 
who bears him daughter he names Melusine. 

When Heracles storms bright Olympus hall 
to proclaim himself emperor of the world, 
Thespia causes that mad tyrant to fall 
when she gives Justice Sword to cosmic herald 
who locks him in dark labyrinth of hell 
where bull-head rages against moral spell. 

Tricked by the rainbow eyes of Pegasus 
to think he is strong when he has grown weak, 
King Midas gives gold key to Narcissus 
who steals the national treasure devils seek, 
till we rally round Minerva with plan 
to save our country from that traitorous man. 

Black yellow-spotted salamander crawls 
on jagged stone in forest of beech trees 
where Thespia hides from Midas behind falls 
to escape lust of his fascist decrees 
when he escapes prison and reclaims 
Thorny Crown of Christ to play mental games. 

That crackling sound that thunders in the skies 
is our world view crumbling from social change 
so honest citizens play crafty spies 
to reprogram thought-concepts that seem strange, 
supporting new world order based on truth 
with justice enforced by messiah sleuth. 

Undoor Of Time

Undoor Of Time
© Surazeus
2025 02 25

Each day I glide through undoor of time 
to walk with my beloved in the park, 
I stop and feel strange beauty of despair 
as dead leaves drift from hungry naked trees, 
then step into the riverboat alone 
and row in dream to laughter of the sea. 

Stars guide my journey through undoor of time 
with spangled proverbs bleeding cherry pits 
that poison angels of the rancid land 
who cradle mothers fallen from the clouds 
whose bodies form fertile fields of our farms 
from which we grow new trees from aching hearts. 

Death lures my wild dance through undoor of time 
because my body tangled with glass bones 
remembers violent ecstasy of love 
that swells my spirit larger than the sky 
with pulsing arrogance of shocked insight 
when I see vision of our spinning world. 

Pure sea waves wash me through undoor of time 
on surging tides of frantic honesty 
with currents that still flow invisible 
though I map vastness of our throbbing globe 
with beauty-measuring glimpse of timeless flash 
that beams divine light in my dreaming brain. 

Unseen grandeur beamed through undoor of time 
connects my body to galactic mind 
as substance glowing spirit from the flesh 
constraining awed assertion to transcend 
material process of chemical force 
which animates our motion toward untime. 

Strange stories dispersed through undoor of time 
map brave new world of beautiful concepts 
when we create meaning of noble truth 
from random anecdotes of world events 
that thrust the fool on stage of history 
whose sacrifice elevates him to god. 

Tossing rock of truth through undoor of time, 
cracked open wide by gentle words of faith, 
I gaze at my face in Pool of Narcissus 
to understand true nature of Star God 
who always seems to silently watch us 
perform calm rituals of our frantic lives. 

With reticent faith through undoor of time 
I carefully explore world of ideal forms 
beyond terrified walls of paradise 
when Lais of Hyccara calls me name 
then takes me to sparkling Fountain of Youth 
to eat and discuss the meaning of life. 

Fishing On The Lake

Fishing On The Lake
© Surazeus
2025 02 25

Listening to Johnny Cash country songs, 
Grendel drives his green pickup truck to work 
at the refrigerator factory 
past the lake where he loves to fish on Sundays, 
but slams on the brakes when he thinks he sees 
the Loch Ness Monster rising from dark waves. 

Filming the giant monster in the lake 
with his eye-phone, too shaky in his hand, 
Grendel plunges through bushes to the shore, 
and exclaims "Holy Cow, look what I see!" 
as he stumbles knee-deep in sparkling waves 
to get a better view of the huge beast. 

Catching sight of the tall mountain Sasquatch 
who runs frantically along the lake shore, 
Nessie leans her head down to better see 
his hairy face, and asks, "What is your name? 
You look just like your father Gandolar 
who used to visit me with chocolate cake." 

Startled when the lake monster clearly speaks 
name of his father, Grendel shouts with joy, 
"My father often told me about you, 
Nessalina, daughter of Melusine, 
about how you met in the Sognefjord 
where you fled after your husband was killed." 

Bowing her head so tears fall in the lake, 
Nessalina whispers, "Gandolar-Son, 
I am honored you remember my sorrow 
at how Apollo slew my husband Python, 
then roasted him on moon-feast pyramid 
while wearing his skull as unholy crown." 

"Instead of punishing that arrow-shooter, 
when I appealed to Jupiter for justice," 
Nessalina cries with big eyes of sorrow, 
black as the night sky where stars glimmer dim, 
"he rewarded that smug arrogant boy 
with hand of his daughter Daphne in marriage." 

Patting her head with honest empathy, 
the big-footed Sasquatch commiserates, 
"I am sorry for your loss, Nessalina, 
so remember that Grendel is my name 
when I return on Sunday to talk again, 
sharing stories about happier times." 

Waving goodbye to the sad Loch Ness Monster, 
Grendel climbs up the steep hill to the road, 
then continues driving quickly to work 
at the refrigerator factory, 
but stops and shouts, "I shall quit that stupid job, 
and enjoy my days fishing on the lake." 

Essence Of Our Happiness

Essence Of Our Happiness
© Surazeus
2025 02 25

Reluctant to understand why trees cry, 
Candice wanders out glass doors of high school, 
along high chainlink fence of the sports field, 
past restaurants, clothing stores, and trinket shops, 
then sits on wood chair outside car garage 
where Beowulf in overalls fixes engines. 

"I had no epiphany about life 
encoded in proverbs of secret wisdom," 
Candice mumbles as she ignores the cars 
flashing sharp rays of sunlight in her eyes, 
"though I observed the landscape of this world 
composed of objects human hands create." 

Grinning as he adjusts small engine part 
and twists the monkey wrench with subtle nudge, 
Beowulf glances at the teenage girl 
wearing purple jeans and puffy pink coat, 
and gold silk scarf wrapping perm of blonde curls, 
with lots of makeup masking her cute face. 

"Every time I see your Greek goddess face, 
just like those statues in museum halls, 
I see perfection of the human form 
expressing ideal beauty of design 
in classic yet unique features that glow 
with star-vital energy of your soul." 

"There you go again talking in weird riddles, 
which shows you could run your own company 
if you want to wear the slick business suit 
and hire talented people with mad skills 
where you provide essential services 
that help companies manage their finances." 

Chuckling as he fiddles the engine core, 
Beowulf considers her compliment, 
"Though I am no David with sly slingshot 
aiming to conquer Goliath for wealth, 
I feel inspired by your calm confidence 
that I could slay dark monster of despair." 

Peering at his face as he tweaks the engine, 
Candice sees halo of light on his head, 
"Though secret nature of our lonely hearts, 
core to the self of our specific being, 
eludes our sight, we ever strive in vain 
to create meaning for life where not exists." 

Kissing her mouth with chuckle of respect, 
Beowulf gazes into her green eyes, 
"Therefore our search for the meaning of life 
as we progress on road of our desires 
where we create our fate with each new choice 
becomes the essence of our happiness." 

Addiction To Liberty

Addiction To Liberty
© Surazeus
2025 02 24

Cracks in the mirror of the universe 
are not cracks that open my heart to love, 
so I walk clean cement sidewalk of hope 
to catch the falling star of solitude 
and use its liquid fire to heal my heart 
that mirrors faces of souls killed in wars. 

I shall kneel in ruins of bombed-out homes 
and gather burned photographs of the dead, 
then frame them with ontology of power 
to hang them in museum of weird beauty 
so people with liquid gold in their veins 
can see their souls in mirror of despair. 

Holding lemons in my generous hands, 
I look at faces of innocent children 
who gaze with wonder at the fractured world, 
safe in classrooms where no bombs of war fall, 
and teach them how to sing the alphabet 
composing spells of wisdom in sad songs. 

Though we fear annihilation of death 
and revere assertion of social power 
to vanquish insecurity of rage, 
we shall gather in houses of locked doors 
treasures of beauty we make with our hands, 
kept safe from hordes of hungry immigrants. 

Awake on river shore of wordless faith, 
I gaze at gleam in the amethyst ring 
that records voices of lost homeless souls, 
encasing letters they will never write 
in empty coffin of their long-dead god 
who arrives with fishing gear and root beer. 

Searching for nameless ghost of the locked door, 
who tries to help me understand their pain, 
I look out window of the haunted house 
to peer inside dark shadow of the mind 
where fishing boats bob on the lake of dreams 
though first mother still sits under the tree. 

Alone in wreckage of our social state, 
undone by addiction to liberty, 
I lie in ruins of our old world view 
and search for meaning in the mindless sky 
where light from stars that burned out long ago 
flicker with sweet calmness of naive faith. 

When I walk toward you on the busy road, 
two lost souls nameless in the teeming crowd, 
we shall unwind our tangled hearts with love 
to treasure mirror of the universe 
cracked with adorable flaws of the soul 
that reflect our souls long after we die. 

Virgin Mary Of America

Virgin Mary Of America
© Surazeus
2025 02 24

Relentless beauty of the daffodil, 
so golden bright in delicate contempt, 
inspires the Virgin Mary to rebel 
against oppression of the police state, 
hands shackled by gold cuffs of blind desire 
that chain her to the dirt-road country shack. 

Eyes glowing with divinity of faith, 
the Virgin Mary stares beyond the world 
to see bright paradise of honesty 
beneath the crumbling town of broken dreams 
with generous heart of social purity 
providing silent energy of love. 

Asserting calm respect of sacred faith, 
the Virgin Mary plots conspiracy 
to shatter absurd paradigm of power 
based on presuppositions of esteem 
that prop patriarchy through arrogance 
which still enforce domestic slavery. 

Waiting tables in the greasy spoon diner 
between the railroad and the factory, 
the Virgin Mary brings liberal plates 
of scrambled eggs with fried bacon and toast 
for farmers and truck drivers who admire 
graceful beauty of her celestial eyes. 

Dressed in simple yellow blouse and green skirt, 
the Virgin Mary of America 
attends the white church on the country road 
but always sits in the last lonely pew 
where she soft sings hymns of piety 
and quietly listens to sermons of faith. 

"We gather every week to pray with faith 
for Jesus to return and rule the world 
as global monarch who unites all nations, 
so, when the greedy scammer crowns himself 
King of America with Crown of Thorns, 
we should not be surprised at his vain pride." 

Shocked at intensity of her soft voice, 
everyone in church turns around and stares 
at prophetic eyes of the Virgin Mary 
that blaze with righteous anger of the Lord, 
then they all vote to excommunicate 
that evil woke feminist from their church. 

Walking alone down unpaved country roads, 
past rundown shacks where poor families live, 
barely surviving with little to eat 
since all government services were cut, 
the Virgin Mary kneels by the plum tree 
and cries for America lost to greed. 

Secure Global Democracy

Secure Global Democracy
© Surazeus
2025 02 24

When the war is won and the killing done 
I put the four-leaf clover in my gun, 
then dance in hall of mirrors with the ghost 
who laughs with innocent faith when I boast 
about how we defeated tyranny 
and helped secure global democracy. 

For eighty years we ruled over the world 
with magic lantern of the cosmic herald, 
opposing tyrants with courage of wolves, 
trusting that democracy always solves 
contentious issues in united land 
monitored by the invisible hand. 

Before dividing walls of fear we stood 
and preached the triumph of all that is good, 
proud our Stars and Stripes flew over world peace, 
secured by service of honest police 
and soldiers on crusade of the red cross, 
obedient to the Heaven-reigning boss. 

But someone replaced Jesus as our king 
with fierce-eyed Odin and his magic ring, 
canceling the woke hippie and his love 
who never appears from the clouds above, 
while crowning bold warrior with sharp ax 
who defends pirates pilfering our tax. 

Though we once challenged Russia at its gate 
their puppet has now overthrown our state 
and crowned himself messiah of the Earth 
while his jester steals everything of worth, 
then swings his hammer and revs his chainsaw 
to destroy our complex system of law. 

Wrecking havoc with his hammer of greed, 
King Midas decrees his capricious creed 
as law that we must all obey or die, 
while he protects his sly sniveling spy 
who cuts funding for all social programs 
while blackmailing us to pay for his scams. 

Recovering from shock of his brute campaign 
to impose dictatorship for his gain, 
we rally around flag of Liberty 
to oppose their lawless oligarchy 
and free our nation from their avarice 
with righteous blow from Stone of Sisyphus. 

For eighty years America ruled well 
the Free World against tyrannical hell, 
but now our democratic government 
has been hijacked by the fake president, 
so we must fight to defeat tyranny 
and help secure global democracy. 

Cold Mind Of Winter

Cold Mind Of Winter
© Surazeus
2025 02 24

With cold mind of winter I approach spring 
to scatter snowflakes as tears of the dead 
that sprout from misery of the blood-soaked sand 
swirled by too many voices in the wind 
that blow snow from high mountains of desire 
to soak the waste land with hope for new life. 

With cold mind of winter I ask the moon 
why she replicates bright mirror of her eye 
ten times across the bleeding crystal sky 
to cast dark shadow of our naked souls 
on windy meadow of the laughing snake 
who mocks us as we try to find the fake. 

With cold mind of winter I eat the flame 
of sorrow hidden in the bleeding fruit 
sweet as pineapple in the cave of dreams 
where ghosts of the dead explain to me why 
so many people are unfairly killed 
by angry people terrified of death. 

With cold mind of winter I punch the rain 
to feel harsh ache of pain from sting of Death 
who mocks Apostle Paul for arrogance, 
then shows me where that Christian preacher lies 
rotting in his grave for eternity 
as Lucina gives me grape wine to drink. 

With cold mind of winter I curse the sea 
with omen from the laughing skull of god 
who offers diagnosis on my state 
of mental health through sacred oracle 
that Sibyl sings while hanging in her cage 
above indifferent waves of honesty. 

With cold mind of winter I attend school 
to develop deeper concept of truth 
based on vast invisible universe 
of unchange beneath the transient surface 
that supports day-to-day reality 
where I sell records in the red brick store. 

With cold mind of winter I channel words 
in dusty canyon of the singing skull 
where two rivers merge in blue flash of rain 
to conjure magic spells of psychic myth 
as thought meets passion of the hungry heart 
which nurtures chemical body of fame. 

With cold mind of winter I strife for love 
that heals dream-festered wounds of innocence 
so we accept that suffering sparks regrowth 
which fuels our transformation of the soul 
to glorious angel from chemical wretch 
as we sing the splendor of life on Earth. 

Hollow Flux Of Fate

Hollow Flux Of Fate
© Surazeus
2025 02 23

We shall embrace the hollow flux of fate 
to scribe clever proverbs on cement walls 
which reckons conduct of the lawless gang 
who gamble perverse notions of despair 
in fraught rebellion of the lonely fool 
through vain contest against the faceless bank. 

Through endless rain on buildings of state power 
walks grim Aquarius with blazing eyes 
who bears witch hazel wand of psychic flare 
to face Narcissus in the mirrored hall 
where they hurl flashing strikes of energy 
in clash for who will wield the key of wealth. 

His vision blurring in the leaden sky 
where twisted creatures from the sunless sea 
scuttle across barren angst of his heart, 
Narcissus shouts with ferocious disgust 
at thousands of angels in business suits 
who tremble in mute horror at his rage. 

Translucent bones of his delicate soul, 
cleansed of sorrow in pool of bitter snow, 
Aquarius reaches both hands to the sky 
to gesture with kinetic sleight of thought 
which channels straight somatic bolt of light 
to shatter illusion of psychic power. 

Encircling spiral swirls of fetid fog, 
congealed in roughened pungency of fear, 
Narcissus strikes back with aggressive growl 
at crumbling shudder rage contrives to fake, 
then howls in shock as all his evil plans 
to crown himself global king dissipate. 

Shocked by intense desire to live with faith, 
Aquarius radiates conceptual soul 
on crystal wings of ringing chandeliers 
to render wholesome solitude expired 
with calm reptilian honesty of pride, 
then strikes the fatal blow of history. 

Triumphant over gang of growling thieves, 
who flee the crumbling walls of social wealth, 
Aquarius declares great victory 
of honest people fighting for their rights 
against the faceless oligarchs of wealth 
who wail as their fake dollars dissipate. 

Though weight of wisdom in our hollow hearts 
bears imperceptible whorl of false dreams, 
we utter spells of horror all alone 
in doorless rooms where no photographs hang 
framed by world view we accepted as real, 
so we embrace the hollow flux of fate. 

Sing About The Dark Times

Sing About The Dark Times
© Surazeus
2025 02 23

To spark and fuel the faint light of hope 
so it shines brighter in looming dark times, 
we sing about the dark times with bold courage 
to help our hearts endure destructive change 
as we evade stark nothingness of death 
whose rage dissipates as we sing its name. 

Because the universe of glowing light, 
where atoms swirl in globes teeming with life, 
remains indifferent to our suffering 
as we strive to record nature of life, 
we sing about the universe we love 
since we accept it has no conscious mind. 

So many times in human history, 
when we were frightened tribes of wanderers, 
wise men and women, who experienced joy 
in painful resurrection from almost-death, 
transcended mortal state to become gods 
who taught us new ways to perceive the world. 

Now we are all near-gods with larger views 
expanded by grand songs our dead gods sang, 
so we feel forsaken by divine mind 
we think incarnates in ascended souls 
as if God, whom mortal seers personify, 
has forgotten us on this messy globe. 

Abandoned by the God we hoped was real, 
whom our ancestors worshipped with long prayers 
the past two thousand years of global wars, 
we dance with wild expression of free will 
to channel divine energy from stars 
so we can sing brightly in these dark times. 

We name the terror, that haunts our great land 
with dark despair of greedy tyranny, 
and so reduce that monster of blind rage 
to sniveling rodent sniffing in the dust, 
for that tyrant, who puffs his chest out huge, 
is not the scary devil he portrays. 

When these dark times almost muzzle your Muse 
and despair seems to paralyze your heart, 
this is the time, as Bertolt Brecht declared, 
to sing about the dark times with bold courage 
so you shine bright as beacon of respect 
which guides silenced people to join your choir. 

Though gang of thieves, motivated by greed, 
are wrecking machinery of government 
so they can oppress us with tyranny 
to suck wealth from hard labor of our hands, 
we rise from darkness overwhelming us 
to sing about the dark times we transcend. 

Here In This Meadow

Here In This Meadow
© Surazeus
2025 02 22

Whistling as she glides in the forest meadow, 
Cholena gathers ripe berries and herbs, 
wraps fish in clay to bake it in hot ashes, 
then sings while she feeds her cute baby boy, 
"Katonah, who dreams with eyes of my father, 
you are my mountain where birds sing in joy." 

Racing along the rocky river shore, 
leaping like the wolf he saw in the woods, 
Katonah chases deer with spotted hide, 
shooting arrow that pierces its wild heart, 
then sings as he skins it, and smokes its meat, 
"I honor your spirit that feeds my soul." 

Gathering shells of quahog clams and whelks 
that glisten on the beach of sparkling sand, 
and animal bones that gleam in grass tufts, 
Katonah grinds shells into wampum beads, 
sews them onto leather belt and long skirt, 
then strings shells and bones on necklace of love. 

Approaching Odina as she grinds corn 
and fries flat cakes on large round cooking stone, 
Katonah kneels and presents in both hands 
necklace he made with shells, bones, and wolf teeth, 
so she beams with joy and accepts his gift, 
then feeds him corn cakes and coal-roasted cod. 

Strolling together in meadow of flowers, 
Katonah and Odina, holding hands, 
sit on the rock beside the sparkling river 
and share with each other their childhood tales, 
then kiss and make love by the maple tree 
as the silver moon luminates their souls. 

Standing by the bright river in dawn light, 
Katonah raises his hand to the trees, 
"Here in this meadow beside our Moon River 
I will build large home of leather on poles 
to shelter you and our children from harm, 
and bring you fish and corn to feast and sing." 

Holding bow and arrow with firm resolve, 
Katonah shows his young son Mahigan, 
whose eyes gleam fierce as the wild mountain wolf, 
how to shoot the arrow with confidence, 
and grins when his clever boy pulls bow taut 
and fires arrow straight with accurate speed. 

Sitting around the fire that shimmers gold, 
that family of Odina, Mother Mountain, 
listen as Cholena sings of creation, 
"Kishlemakong dreams the world, then creates 
first man and woman from the maple tree, 
and sets it on back of Tulpe the turtle." 

We Sing For Life

We Sing For Life
© Surazeus
2025 02 22

We sing about what breaks our hearts the most, 
and present noble visions of the good 
we hope we can achieve where we fail the worst, 
for what we praise with eager heart of hope 
is what we feel we lose with grim despair, 
so we sing for life even as we die. 

We gather in groups on broad river shores 
to remember the terrible event 
that almost wiped our ancestors off Earth 
with solemn ceremony of sad prayers, 
then feast in honor of the noble dead, 
so we sing for life even as we die. 

We wander together across the land, 
our feet blazing trails that become the roads 
where our descendants walk ten thousand years, 
singing about the sorrow of our loss 
and about our hope for the Promised Land, 
so we sing for life even as we die. 

We write the stories of our painful lives 
with sticks in shifting sand on beach of time, 
but laugh when ocean waves of moonlit tides 
erase our stories from heart of the Earth, 
then we bury our parents by the tree, 
so we sing for life even as we die. 

We hide our memories in the polished box 
Pandora gave us as the Christmas gift 
to preserve photographs of those we love 
with keys that open doors to homes and cars 
that burn down and get left on the trash heap, 
so we sing for life even as we die. 

We build our homes from memories of fear 
to shelter our hearts from terrible dread 
when we huddle together under trees 
against bitter cold winds and blasting rains 
to stay clean and warm from the elements, 
so we sing for life even as we die. 

We construct machines with passionate hope 
to produce more food for people to eat 
after we suffer centuries of famine, 
but still millions have not enough to eat 
while rich men enslave us in factories, 
so we sing for life even as we die. 

We write songs of joy from sorrows of loss 
and hymns of happiness from bitter pain 
to sing about the paradise we want 
while still surviving through chaotic hell 
as if we hope to manifest vain hope, 
so we sing for life even as we die. 

Cottage By The Elm

Cottage By The Elm
© Surazeus
2025 02 22

Trinkets people made with creative hands 
flicker in sunlight as they twist and turn 
in river breeze blowing them where they hang 
from limbs of the ancient elm on the hill 
where ghosts of people who lived in the vale 
gather to feast at cottage by the elm. 

I watch rich drama of their life unfold 
for each ghost gathered in the river vale 
who lived and died in time of endless change 
each generation for ten thousand years, 
flames of life bright with energy of love 
till they vanish at cottage by the elm. 

I hear their voices echo in lush groves 
as they express dialogues of desire 
to negotiate through romantic love 
who will generate life in children named 
for spirits who glow in each river stone 
though they linger at cottage by the elm. 

I stand alone in small deserted town 
by long-dried well surrounded by quaint homes 
where ghosts of many generations float 
nameless outside frames of old photographs 
though I can almost seen them in sun gleams 
where they dream me at cottage by the elm. 

I feel vibration of their hopes and dreams 
radiate from river stones on cobbled streets 
where they walked on daily routines of faith 
to maintain bodies with chemical flash 
of psychic passion programmed by lost myths, 
emanations at cottage by the elm. 

I feel their conscious memories of joy, 
transformed from fear by hymns of honest faith, 
program how my brain perceives complex world 
framed by mythic context of bleak despair 
which motivates my quest to find the truth 
hidden as ghosts at cottage by the elm. 

I strum the lyre of Mercury with care 
and sing enchanting melodies of faith 
so trees and stones vibrate with conscious glow, 
or so I imagine as I sing spells 
which translate river flow to human song, 
long trapped by time at cottage by the elm. 

Names of every person who ever lived 
on every planet in the universe 
glow before my eyes as sunlight on water, 
so I record their tales in Book of Life 
while chanting epic of human desire 
to live in peace at cottage by the elm. 

Night Of Everywhere

Night Of Everywhere
© Surazeus
2025 02 22

I seem to be stark light of loneliness 
when I walk with you on the signless road 
to protect you from sorrows of the world 
and give you fruit I steal from Tree of Life, 
companions in the night of everywhere 
glowing bright with love as long as we dare. 

My heart will always glow with happiness 
as I move through life with calm fortitude, 
though anger of hope flares when careless acts 
disturb my steady path of carefulness, 
progressing in the night of everywhere 
so reward for hard work is always fair. 

Enclosed in stoic solitude of strength 
to preserve safe haven of paradise 
as garden surrounded by sturdy walls, 
I hide from hungry horror of the world, 
humming psalms in the night of everywhere 
to praise the mindless sun with hopeful flare. 

Guarding my family with observant faith, 
who dwell in confines of our precious home, 
I maintain vigilant focus through love 
to secure fragile dreams their hearts design, 
attentive in the night of everywhere 
to breathe divine spirit from frigid air. 

To fortify our garden home from harm, 
secure against hostile forces of change, 
I shield the frightened hearts of eager hope 
which animate the people I love most, 
souls enshrined in the night of everywhere 
safe within dream walls of our family lair. 

Though winds of civil war corrupt the land 
with fetid greed of oligarchic thieves 
who threaten to disrupt our quaint routines, 
we struggle against despair to unite 
our mission in the night of everywhere 
to help each other survive with mute care. 

When traitors to everything we believe 
seize control over assets of our state 
to enrich themselves from wealth of our work, 
we assert principles of honest faith 
to stay bright in the night of everywhere 
because we survive when we make and share. 

I try to be clear light of happiness, 
but fear of sudden destructive attack 
from thieves who strike when we are vulnerable 
sparks protective rage to glow in my heart 
so I shine in the night of everywhere 
as mortal who hopes to answer each prayer. 

But We Will Unite

But We Will Unite
© Surazeus
2025 02 21

Kicking his television to the floor, 
David runs outside in the windy night 
and screams with frustration at the blank moon 
that mirrors rage he feels at how things are, 
then opens arms and asks Wolf God for boon 
to pull sword of despair out of his heart. 

Sitting lotus on wet grass of his heart, 
and glaring with frustration into gloom, 
David grumbles, then breathes to clear his mind 
free from visions of the apocalypse 
where everything collapses into chaos, 
and all the progress we have made is lost. 

People are still going about their lives, 
driving on roads to get to school or work, 
performing routine duties of their jobs, 
dealing with issues to make things go well, 
paying their bills, screaming into the void, 
and hoping our country will be all right. 

Lying on his back in exhausted despair, 
David shouts up at cold indifferent stars, 
then laughs at absurdity of it all, 
wishing he could dissolve into the Earth 
and become the tree that stands firm in wind 
while singing about the beauty of rain. 

Greedy thieves have seized control of our state, 
pilfering our treasury for their own gain, 
and wrecking havoc on our institutions, 
long established by legal precedent 
to serve the needs of the people with care, 
because they want to reduce us to slaves. 

I keep hoping someone with enough power 
of legal state authority, bestowed 
by constitutional concept of right, 
will apply checks mandated by the law 
to arrest coup against our government 
and balance power among honest men. 

When one man arrogates unto himself 
complete authority to decree laws 
he executes to maintain his weak power, 
he grasps at straws beyond his legal reach, 
absconding powers to establish laws 
that only senators have the right to use. 

My heart is grieving for our noble nation 
held hostage now by greedy oligarchs 
who are bent on trashing good institutions 
to oppress with rapacious tyranny 
people of this land they want to enslave, 
but we will unite and resist their hate. 

Together On Mount Horeb

Together On Mount Horeb
© Surazeus
2025 02 21

When Bacchus climbs Mount Horeb at midnight, 
he finds no bush burning in silent snow 
so he sets the old television tube 
on broken tablets of the ancient law 
to watch Chinese legend of the White Snake, 
and sighs in love with the shy graceful maid. 

Startled by rustling in the nearby bush, 
Bacchus investigates with the flashlight, 
thinking to find a ram with vine-snared horns, 
but finds instead the angel Gabriel 
drunk on wine Varuni gave him to drink, 
and mumbles he is obsessed with her beauty. 

Drinking wine together on Mount Horeb, 
Bacchus and Gabriel compare love notes 
about their girls, Varuni and Bai Suzhen, 
arguing over which is more beautiful, 
but laugh and decide to become best friends 
as snow covers their television set. 

When Eos brings dawn light of pink despair, 
Bacchus and Gabriel wake with headaches, 
hungover from drinking way too much wine, 
but they both gasp with embarrassed surprise 
to find their girlfriends by the burning bush 
cooking rabbit and mushroom stew for breakfast. 

Glaring at their boyfriends with loving eyes, 
Varuni and Bai Suzhen give them bowls 
of hot rabbit stew, which warms up their hearts, 
then all four walk together down the trail 
with new mission to find the Holy Grail, 
but first they stop for lunch at the hotel. 

Seated as loving couples, they hold hands, 
Bacchus with Bai Suzhen on the one side, 
Gabriel with Varnuni on the other, 
and, when Jesus waits their table, they order 
cheese hamburgers and french fries with root beer, 
then eat as they watch World Cup soccer games. 

After they drive to Niagara Falls, 
the four university best friends pose 
for selfies and group photos that highlight 
fun summer vacation on their road trip 
exploring American national parks, 
then post them on their social media sites. 

Sitting around bright campfire at midnight 
in the Joshua Tree National Park 
under bright Milky Way Galaxy stars, 
they share stories about their younger lives, 
then talk about secret plans for the future, 
how they want to found the new world religion. 

Angelic Wings Of Love

Angelic Wings Of Love
© Surazeus
2025 02 20

While trudging sandy beach with heavy heart 
after his lover dies in a fiery car crash, 
Rick hears jingle-jangle of a tambourine 
ringing clear in the swirling fog of sorrow, 
then he sees dancing in red dress of dawn 
lithe Tamburella singing joyfully. 

Watching Tamburella dance gracefully 
as she shakes the tambourine with delight, 
Rick feels weight of sorrow crushing his heart 
dissipate in sparkles of silver fog 
that twinkle bright from orchid rays of dawn, 
so he falls to his knees in sand and cries. 

"Sweet Tamara, with your emerald eyes 
always glowing green with soft specks of gold 
like lush mountain meadow with daffodils, 
your joyful passion lit my somber world 
with cheerful energy of honest faith 
that gave my heart angelic wings of love." 

Hearing doleful lamentation of sorrow 
the weeping man pours from his broken heart, 
lithe Tamburella shakes her tambourine 
and dances around him with graceful steps 
while silver waves swirl around their bare feet, 
so he stands and stretches his arms out wide. 

"Open your heart to beauty of the world," 
Tamburella sings with enchanting voice, 
"and spread angelic wings of joyful hope 
while breathing bright energy of the sun 
to fill your soul with spirit of the sky 
so all your sorrows flow into the sea." 

Dancing together on the dawn-rose beach, 
Rick and Tamburella twirl graciously 
in spiral harmony with swirling waves, 
and with each jingle-jangle of her heart 
chase shadows of despair across the sky 
to fly from twisted reach of crazy sorrow. 

Dancing wildly beneath the diamond sky 
with both hands waving with angelic grace, 
Rick circles center of the spinning Earth 
to drive all sorrow deep beneath the waves 
which frees his heart from anguish of despair 
as he accepts that his lover is gone. 

Floating together from exhausting dance, 
Rick and Tamburella lie on warm sand 
to gaze at each other with glowing eyes, 
then embrace with caring arms of desire, 
and kiss to become song of the sea waves 
as they merge their souls with passionate love. 

Voices Of Our Ancestors

Voices Of Our Ancestors
© Surazeus
2025 02 20

If all our sorrows render use complete 
with passion to transcend this frame of flesh, 
might we then watch the dancing tree of fate 
weave voices of our ancestors in flash 
of rain that soaks with bright angelic tears 
expansive meadow of our flowered moon. 

Yet dark gloom looming in angelic wings 
would shroud our world in howling voice of God 
who shouts at us through angry wind of time 
so we lie paralyzed with frantic guilt 
that we could not evade cold hands of death 
who shakes the fragile shelter of our hearts. 

When all seems lost in bleak night of despair, 
and fragile bodies that contain warm souls 
dissolve in slogging mud of wordless fear, 
bright rays of dawn pierce shadows of mute angst 
that startle us awake from rabid dreams, 
and we are born again with cheerful chirps. 

Four hundred thousand years of twirling time 
have not erased that dark night of despair 
from sparkling neurons of my dreaming brain, 
mute terror still encoded in my genes 
passed down through generations of our souls 
to frame how we perceive this godless world. 

Much safer for our mental sanity 
to believe supernatural deity 
howls at us through harsh voice of thunderstorms 
which spurs our fierce intention to improve 
how we perform with stoic fortitude 
this role we choose in drama life remains. 

That faceless demon of dark thunderstorms 
still haunts my memory with its harsh command 
which my ancestors masked with face of God, 
old All-Father with beard and blazing eyes 
who taught us to survive this hostile world 
with martial discipline of loving care. 

So all our fathers forty thousand years 
have merged in concept of our global God 
who glares at us with cruel judgmental eyes 
when foolish mistakes cause destructive pain, 
and trains us to apply strict self-control 
to confirm liberty through natural law. 

Wise teachers who perform paternal role 
teach us to study nature of this world 
with scientific method of the mind, 
recording measured effects of each cause 
which code formulas for physical laws 
so we create good, rather than destroy. 

Free Again For All

Free Again For All
© Surazeus
2025 02 20

When I find Godfredus on hill of skulls 
beneath the crucified god of despair, 
he turns to me with eyes of blazing rage 
and laughs in windstorm of coming world war, 
"Triumphalism feasts on empty dread!" 
then clutches spear half-stuck in heart of god. 

When Midas steals the chariot Phaethon crashed, 
and swipes the crown of thorns from head of Christ, 
he races wheels of blades across the land 
to behead loyal angels of Jupiter, 
tramples stars-and-stripes flag of Liberty, 
then smashes doors to Temple of Saturnus. 

Pilfering national treasure of the people 
stored safely in the Temple of Saturnus, 
Midas claims he is rooting out corruption 
while stealing our wealth in front of our eyes, 
then mocks us as he takes our gold away 
and leaves the treasury empty of our dreams. 

Stunned at his brazen theft of our state treasure, 
I stand with Janus on the temple porch 
who asks me with agony in his voice 
when the people will restore this great temple 
consumed by fire of oligarchic greed, 
then weeps in the vast empty hall of dust. 

Strutting into tomb of our Founding Fathers, 
greedy Midas boasts from bold arrogance 
with triumphalism of empty dread, 
then crowns himself King with laurels of Caesar 
to scare us with puffed chest full of hot air, 
bloviating to hide his terror of death. 

Arriving on white horse of honesty, 
Minerva rises flag of liberty 
with stars and stripes of our democracy 
to rally us with encouraging words 
so we unite to oppose tyranny 
against his oligarchic gang of thieves. 

Though central principle of liberty 
based on rule of law with justice for all 
may seem no longer pole of balanced faith 
as state events spiral out of control, 
Eagle of America will return 
to secure vigor of freedom and truth. 

Though dark thunderstorm of civil war brews 
from sea to shining sea, above our state 
destabilized by tyrants grasping power, 
good Liberty and Justice will prevail 
when Minerva drives Midas into Hell, 
and makes Zarathia free again for all. 

Americus The Pioneer

Americus The Pioneer
© Surazeus
2025 02 20

Though ghost of Arthur lingers in gray mist 
among ivy-covered ruins of Camelot, 
and phantom of Alfred floats on frail wings 
among musty leather-bound books of lore 
in maze of candle-lit Winchester halls, 
I feel their spirits alive in me still. 

Few now in distant land of Zathamar, 
renamed America on Gothic maps, 
think daily of those ancient steel-eyed kings 
who forged the English nation from wild tribes 
to build world-spanning empire of commerce 
on which America built its self-worth. 

No mythic king titled Americus 
has ever risen from its wilderness 
composed of refugees from holy wars 
from many nations ruled by gold-crowned kings 
since we sailed west across the stormy sea 
to find land of Atlantis thriving still. 

Crowded now with large Anglo-Saxon tribes 
four hundred years blooming from country farms 
to vast cities of computer-linked towers, 
America proclaims itself with pride 
as the greatest nation in the whole world, 
based on liberty and justice for all. 

Since Aeneas sailed from Troy to found Rome, 
and Brutus sailed from Rome to found Britannia, 
the westward flowing motion of expansion 
drove our ancestors across the wild sea 
Scythia to Scotland to Virginia to Oregon, 
seeking new opportunities of growth. 

No social hero could be idealized 
as symbol forming noble character 
who personifies spirit of adventure 
more than Americus the Pioneer, 
whose name Haim-Eric in Anglo-Saxon 
means Home Guard who watches over the garden. 

Thus brave forward-gazing Americus 
personifies soul of the pioneer 
who leaves behind his European home 
oppressed by greedy kings in castle towers 
to build new nation on grand principle 
that every person is free to live right. 

Together with ancestors of his soul, 
Americus walks signless road of hope 
with Arthur and Alfred to found on faith 
world nation dedicated to liberty 
and justice as keys to democracy 
where we live as we will, if we harm none. 

My Infinite Eyes

My Infinite Eyes
© Surazeus
2025 02 19

I see the universe inside my eye 
so I dream motion of aggressive faith 
assert its right of vibrant energy 
to spiral planets from electric sparks 
that glimmer between my infinite eyes 
as conscious creatures searching for the sun. 

With ache of hunger in my human heart 
I gesture hands and utter magic spell 
to transform water into sacred wine 
so I can raise my children from the dead 
who exist between my infinite eyes 
as they play games in garden of blind ghosts. 

Hiding quietly with ravens and mice 
in gold shadow of the forbidden tree, 
I note how constellations change each night 
to reprogram clock of the universe 
which spirals between my infinite eyes 
with successful laughter of mountain wind. 

Because my tears ring melodies of faith 
that flow with joy on rocky bed of fear 
my heart of stone will shine ten million years 
before its solitude is worn away 
to fragment between my infinite eyes 
and crumble from the hands of Sisyphus. 

Emblematic of how all empires fall, 
the grand snowman I built on Christmas Eve 
has melted into faceless dirty clump 
of existential horror on asphalt 
that dissolves between my infinite eyes 
without the magic thorny crown of Christ. 

Electric spectrum of my sparkling brain 
beams rainbow bridge across the lonely sky 
to prove with jagged honesty of fear 
weak men blind with greed will dispute the truth 
that blossoms between my infinite eyes 
where we dwell safe in haven of fruit trees. 

Frowning as he contemplates history, 
Cynthius explains formula of fate 
that the Brutus Solution always leads 
to the Augustus Dilemma of power 
that expands between my infinite eyes 
into world empire of commercial peace. 

As minuscule speck of dream-conscious light, 
I glow with bitter-sweet love by the pool 
where Narcissus writes his name on the water 
to explain fragile beauty of our world 
that pulses between my infinite eyes 
with billions of people under one moon. 

Plead Temporary Insanity

Plead Temporary Insanity
© Surazeus
2025 02 19

When nonsense of America coheres 
in modest riddle of the goal to win 
wealth of wisdom from the laboring hand, 
Cynthius will show up at our front door 
with the billion-dollar fake check of greed 
to plead temporary insanity. 

Since trees are important to development 
of urban zones with well-manicured lawns, 
legions of devils Cynthius commands 
drive fancy cars across the river bridge 
to hide their luminous sorrows with pride 
and plead temporary insanity. 

One million immigrants with holy books 
talk to each other in dream-tangled verse 
through syntax of magicians who employ 
electric wires to program robot knights 
who march with guns to conquer paradise 
and plead temporary insanity. 

Cynthius, who escapes the solemn church, 
hides in cave where Plato the Puppeteer 
performs shadow play on the wall of truth 
so he can write weird formulas for faith 
to translate machine language from sea waves 
and plead temporary insanity. 

Alone on mountain of the broken skull, 
Cynthius plays soul-haunting melody 
on silver flute of melancholy hope, 
while goldfinch of the phantom menace lands 
on his shoulder with sprig from the plum tree, 
to plead temporary insanity. 

Wandering in library of singing books, 
Cynthius searches for story of faith 
where love overcomes death with honesty, 
but all he finds are frilly fairy tales 
about the fool who gets lost on his quest 
to plead temporary insanity. 

Riding the horse of arrogant disdain 
for preachers who scam the people with lies, 
Cynthius moves with his sad memories 
that vibrate music in bones of his soul 
when he shows kindness to war refugees 
who plead temporary insanity. 

Meeting Cupid and Psyche at the bar 
where Phanaeus plays classical folk songs, 
Cynthius reveals the pearl of great price, 
shaped like the star-luminous Eye of God 
which heals our broken hearts with secret love, 
to plead temporary insanity. 

Blood Of His Sacrifice

Blood Of His Sacrifice
© Surazeus
2025 02 19

Driving black Citroen car across France 
on new-paved road winding along the coast, 
Francois follows his secret guiding star 
in constellation of the Hunter Orion 
to soar on silver wings of Icarus 
above the cluttered world of hungry hope. 

Though he is no elegant movie star, 
who wears black turtleneck shirt and beret 
while writing poetry in leather notebooks, 
and sipping coffee at sidewalk cafes, 
Francois enjoys the finer things in life, 
so he photographs models in slim gowns. 

While Ophelie poses in black silk gown, 
gracefully expressing beautiful form 
defining Woman with elegant calm, 
Francois snaps photos to capture with frame 
of ideal perfection her divine soul 
which contains vital energy of love. 

Lounging at glass table on the patio 
that overlooks the Mediterranean Sea, 
glittering with pure eyes of Amphitrite, 
Francois reads world news on tablet computer 
about the young house maid in Pakistan, 
Tayyaba, who was tortured by her boss. 

Abandoning his glamorous life in France, 
Francois moves to Pakistan capital 
to establish charity organization 
dedicated with noble principle 
to free girls from domestic slavery 
and fully fund their college education. 

Arriving at the sprawling mansion gate 
in white van lettered Electrical Service, 
Francois rings bell and tells the camera 
that he comes to repair system of wires, 
then frees maid Najma from locked storage room 
and whisks her in hijab to the white van. 

Driving casually through the mansion gate, 
Francois breathes calmly as he drives away, 
more quickly when two large sedans give chase, 
speeding carefully narrow crowded streets, 
till he evades them in the heavy traffic, 
and leads Najma to secret compound dorm. 

Ensuring girls he freed are living well, 
Francois leaves compound in black Citroen 
to visit donors at fund-raising feast, 
but as he steps out before the glass hall 
men on a motorcycle shoot him dead, 
so he lies in blood of his sacrifice. 

Light Of Divine Love

Light Of Divine Love
© Surazeus
2025 02 19

Cool in the silent cistern of my heart, 
memories of our times together gleam 
with helpless grief of those beautiful hours 
veiled now by darkness of long-passing time, 
blessed that mindless light of divine love 
glows through our bodies with pleasure of life. 

Though we are transient shadows of our dream 
in temporary bodies of warm flesh 
as intense energy constrained by frame 
of meaning we devise to maintain life, 
we glow with pleasure of existing now 
through forms stamped bright beyond eternity. 

We paint our bodies on canvas of time, 
asserting with each willful stroke our choice 
to walk this certain way of hope-blind faith 
on ever-shifting sands of social norms 
with honest confidence that we surf well 
in balanced flight of oscillating needs. 

Though I feel lost in wilderness of pain, 
beyond myth-maps of acceptable styles 
humans design for surviving mute death, 
I find myself wherever I am now, 
and thus decide with brave alacrity 
wherever I roam my heart is my home. 

When I participate in sports events 
to express intense energy of hope 
by outpacing the fastest runner far, 
or subduing the strongest fighter down, 
this self I am glows with divinity 
of bright achievement channeled through my soul. 

Through lithe expression of my human form 
I channel divine spirit of starlight 
to display grand conceptual gracefulness 
with the best performance humans achieve 
as model that represents noble strength, 
shining brightly, though time will snuff my flame. 

Stardust congealed in lithe organic form, 
conscious of itself as wily I Am, 
my spirit shines its hour of graceful life 
from birth to death in rise and fall of hope 
while I progress on quest to be myself, 
crowned by Fame, then bowdlerized by death. 

If I accomplishment some memorable deed, 
recorded in our global chronicles 
as notable achievement that provides 
conceptual tool which helps humanity 
transcend our struggle to beautify life, 
I hope Pindar would sing my name with honor. 

Fractal Ecstasy

Fractal Ecstasy
© Surazeus
2025 02 18

Brown tufts of grass poke out brittle white snow 
beside black mirror of the river flow. 
Wings of the goldfinch flutter casually 
at shiver of sorrow in the elm tree. 
Clouds loom over promontory of hope 
where people hike along the windy slope. 

Wheels of the wagon clatter on the trail, 
ignoring anguish of the human wail. 
Box turtle journeys on long epic quest, 
searching for where the sun goes in the west. 
Pink cherry blossoms flutter in the breeze 
on heads of the good and the bad with ease. 

The river alone speaks about strange lands 
which tremble at caress of caring hands. 
When people stop talking about the wind 
the wind contemplates what they want to send. 
Strangers receive letters written with rain 
that preserves the secret of helpless pain. 

Yet tongueless planet speaks in human hearts 
about honest connection of its parts. 
The horse who knows the reason humans cry 
grazes alone beneath the timeless sky. 
Flowers calculate fractal ecstasy 
which unfolds concept of divinity. 

Sound Of Angelic Fear

Sound Of Angelic Fear
© Surazeus
2025 02 18

She wants to know what the angel will say, 
so she walks the winding path in the woods 
down to the shore of the glistening sea 
where she stares at the round back of his head 
as wind blows his gold hair with angst of truth 
that sings forever in waves at her feet. 

Reaching out her hand with reluctant hope, 
she asks the angel why he has no wings, 
but he cannot hear the sound of her voice 
and he cannot feel the touch of her hand, 
so she steps back and stares down at the shell 
that glistens golden under silver waves. 

She wonders why the cold waves understand 
strange ache that pulses deep inside her breast, 
then crouches down to grasp the gleaming gem 
green as leaves of the tree where sweet plums grow, 
and peers deep in the emerald to perceive 
original flame that creates the sun. 

Startled by strange sound of angelic fear, 
she looks up at the angel with no wings 
who towers high above her as the pine, 
so she leans over to look in his eyes 
that glitter silver as the restless sea, 
now hollow as cracked eggshell of the snake. 

Shrieking at sight of the small black-eyed girl, 
the angel stumbles and falls on the sand, 
then reaches out his hand to touch her face 
that beams with eager smile of joyful love, 
so he lies flat on the hot beach and cries, 
tears filling the ocean with streams of hope. 

Holding out her hand with innocent charm, 
she offers wingless angel fruit of love 
so he slowly takes it in his frail hand 
and stares at her as she bites juicy fruit, 
then bites the ripe plum with cautious desire, 
and gasps with pleasure at sweet taste of love. 

Once again she asks the angel of light 
why his big eyes are silver as the sea, 
but he cannot understand what she says, 
so he tells her that he fell off the ship 
and tumbled in waves for eternity, 
then woke up on beach of this brave new world. 

With gentle assurance of modest care, 
she takes his hand and leads him in the woods 
where wood thrushes and goldfinches discuss 
name of the angel who fell from the sky, 
to sit by the pool in grove of plum trees 
where she cuddles in his arms as they kiss. 

Academic Temple Of Truth

Academic Temple Of Truth
© Surazeus
2025 02 18

Searching for Unreal City of the dead 
shrouded in thick fog for one hundred years, 
I follow tweet-tweet song of the wood thrush 
singing in the original olive tree 
that Athena planted on Hill of Ares, 
which I can see from the prow of my ship. 

When I meet the ghost of Tiresias 
singing in Unreal City of the dead, 
I ask that Greek seer with two-gendered mind 
how I can balance lust to procreate 
with respect for their personality 
so we can live in harmony of love. 

Lured by scent of pine on hard rocky shore, 
I climb steep slope of dancing skeletons 
with sound of water lapping at the bow 
which calms my fearful heart as I ascend 
sacred sunlit mountain of Helicon 
to seek ruined temple where Muses sang. 

Though lost in moaning forest of blind ghosts, 
I follow cheerful song of the wood thrush 
through swirling fog of winter afternoon, 
but never find in that deserted land 
ruined temple where the Muses once sang, 
so I sit and sing weird song of my heart. 

I tell the wood thrush in the olive tree 
that if I find Sibylla in her cage 
I plan to set her free with key of faith 
from immortality without fresh youth, 
but she remains caged in my aching heart, 
shrill voice composing weird songs I sing. 

Emerging from fog of the mountain glen, 
Tiresias, who leads the Sphinx with gold chain, 
points Wand of Zambor at my beating heart 
and shouts to accuse me of arsony 
for having set sacred Smyrna on fire 
as ghosts of the dead swarm around my soul. 

Dizzy on high Cliff of Insanity, 
I gaze through fog across the glittering sea 
to see the Unreal City of the dead 
burning with flames of nationalist war 
through conflict between races and religions 
in holy city where Homer was born. 

I feel his bardic soul of sacred song 
on Phoenix wings rise in my burning heart 
so I strum tortoise lyre of Mercury 
and sing epic poem of philosophers 
who build academic temple of truth 
where all our stories vanish into ash. 

If We Do Nothing

If We Do Nothing
© Surazeus
2025 02 18

If we hear strange voices in doors of fate 
that plot to steal everything we create, 
we could hide our hearts in the fractured stone 
and ask bank of dreams for the secret loan, 
or we could whistle and bake chocolate cake, 
and wait for the social system to break. 

If we want to take this chance to escape 
we could don our boots and Superman cape, 
then sail across the sea to Isle of Skye, 
or we could carry the big stick and try 
to fight against rampaging gang of thieves 
who hide our treasures under piles of leaves. 

If we hope to restore democracy 
by opposing king of hypocrisy, 
we must assemble with electric kites 
on noble mission to protect our rights 
to dance in ring of stones for sacred cause 
rebuilding institute of honest laws. 

If we see gangs of thugs with law-blind guns 
dragging away parents from daughters and sons, 
we could join forces to obstruct their acts, 
and argue based on adjustable facts, 
though they try to crush our spirits with hate 
because with each choice we design our fate. 

If we do nothing, paralyzed with fears, 
while oligarchs jam governmental gears, 
they will wreck our food-production machine 
to enslave our souls when the times are lean, 
and keep us working in factories of greed 
because they control our functional need. 

If we can find no beauty in pure art, 
each person forced to play robotic part, 
sad Keats will never sing of sacred truth 
till revolution of messiah sleuth 
casts greedy Midas from throne of state power, 
so we can admire mystery of the flower. 

If we accept their bloodless money coup, 
bankrupt with too many bills coming due, 
we could desert their crumbling urban zones 
to wander in fields of dinosaur bones, 
or we could unite what their greed divides 
and storm compound where the weak tyrant hides. 

If we shall meet in the well-lighted place 
to remove mask of fear from our own face, 
we will find courage of hope to resist 
tyrannical project of the fascist 
and build on ruins of America 
strong new republic of Zarathia. 

Stroke Of The Paintbrush

Stroke Of The Paintbrush
© Surazeus
2025 02 17

Each stroke of the paintbrush on nothingness 
exposes raw emotions our minds hide 
behind pretty images of cute birds 
chirping cheerfully in luminous trees 
so we become beauty we want to see 
in this world where death determines all fates. 

While gazing at the woman with long hair, 
Pablo squints his eyes tight to readjust 
attentive focus of distorted sight 
which fractures image of her anguished face 
expressing sorrow of shy Hecuba 
over suffering deaths her children endure. 

When we encounter objects of desire 
at heart-opening song of the church choir, 
we pour intensive energy of hope 
to fuel flames of passion we dramatize 
in social play with investment of love 
to insure productive return unpaid. 

Each vibrant sound of verbal sentencing, 
by which we frame conceptual images, 
encloses within narrow path of lust, 
that limits consequences of strict acts, 
random possible outcomes of respect 
with special circumstance we hope occurs. 

Painful regret yet motivates our play 
attempting to unwind adverse results 
from cataclysmic cycles unforetold 
by flight of birds across inaugural skies, 
since we cannot backtrack time to reverse 
harmful effects of carelessly thrown words. 

Disastrous fortune ungambled by trust 
hardens circumstance of our fractured state 
in fraught material frame of reference 
that traps our journey of progress now stalled 
by twisted morals of blind prejudice 
disturbing calmness of stoic regret. 

When complex relationships of commerce, 
entangling expectations of hard dreams, 
are broken by obsessive greed of thieves, 
fragile state of institutional growth 
falters from disruption of social ties 
severed by aggression of fascist hate. 

With awful shock of confusing surprise 
we grasp at ropes that bound progressive sails 
to bind again strict embrace of fierce faith 
constraining energy of motive force 
so we can guide our lurching ship of state 
balanced again through oscillating flight. 

Teeter On Dim Edge

Teeter On Dim Edge
© Surazeus
2025 02 17

Still we teeter on dim edge of dark night, 
staring into abyss of our own hearts 
to befriend blind demon we dare not name 
who swells with passion of wild surging waves 
to bloom in flower on lush field of rain 
when dawn dispels cold sorrow from our hearts. 

Submerged beneath deep wave of honesty, 
wide from disruptive mountains rain obscures, 
we scatter hieroglyphs of naked fears 
with anger-shattered shells on hungry shores, 
charmed by coil of stars in our frosted eyes 
to believe illusions that comfort us. 

Drowned angels watch us from soft sunless deep 
to see if we extract from aching hearts 
fabulous shadows kept by frames of words 
in vain attempts to reconcile despair 
with promised beauty dawn contrives to prove, 
despite allegiance we forget to pledge. 

Yet vague demands of flustered ownership 
entail unnecessary risks fierce hearts 
dare to take with eager zeal children know 
as mocking songs they chant on windy hills 
since only fate requires we abdicate 
homes we construct with hands of loyalty. 

Sweet humming of reluctant bees decries 
tuned sorrows grass expresses with stark voice 
swiped from restless winds of our jagged thoughts, 
soft as bells that guide confused steps of hope 
through ragged swirls of mist veiling my face, 
ever closer to foundation of faith. 

Undone by doubtful gravity of love, 
which lovers exchange with trembling desire, 
loyal hearts regret vulnerability 
that leaves our bodies gaping open wide 
unshielded by oaths of special intent, 
weighed down by peculiar sadness of trust. 

Footsteps of fading memories lure us 
with lingering hope that falling petals trace 
clear as lamplight glowing in darkling woods 
though we hold hands to map our secret trail, 
close together in space yet far away 
in time that swirls beyond reach of our hands. 

Contusions of obscure anxiety 
expose untouchable mask I still wear 
as mirror to reflect demonic face 
who watches me with burning eyes of ire 
from bulging clouds of arrogant disdain, 
so I sing heart-enchanting melodies. 

Pope Petrus Secundus

Pope Petrus Secundus
© Surazeus
2025 02 17

Wandering in cluttered Museum of Fate, 
Pierrot gazes at portraits of dead clowns, 
tears freezing into lucent Pierres de Lune 
that gleam with rainbows trapped in gem of time, 
then pantomimes his tragic comedy, 
pining with love for graceful Columbine. 

Descending in cave of Trophonius 
with cheese wheel, honeycomb, and jar of wine, 
Pierrot searches grim darkness of despair 
through underground of moral prejudice, 
but finds nothing more in cold heart of doom 
than star-eyed lizards on purple mushrooms. 

Holding Torch of Freedom and Book of Tales, 
Columbine searches Museum of Fate 
to find the spirit who had called her name, 
but finds only white mask of Lucifer 
that Pierrot would wear to woo her love, 
so she hangs it in Gallery of Popes. 

Returning from cave of Trophonius 
with Crown of Thorns Jesus wore on the cross, 
Pierrot climbs stairway to the Parthenon 
to offer Janus moonstones as a bribe, 
who ushers him in Museum of Fate 
to find Pope Petrus lounging on the throne. 

Heart beating with desperation of the hawk, 
Columbine runs through endless maze of myths, 
past startled idols of dead popes and kings, 
to enter Hall of Mirrors just in time 
to see Pope Petrus bare sharp vampire teeth 
and leap to attack innocent Pierrot. 

As avatar of the disenfranchised, 
buffoon outside norms of society, 
disillusioned foe of idealism, 
lonely sufferer of symbolic sorrow, 
Pierrot is the alienated observer 
struck by mysteries of the human condition. 

Soaring swift on angelic wings of love, 
Columbine snatches bow from Cupidon 
and fires sharp arrow of Platonic Love 
that strikes undead heart of the vampire pope 
who explodes into frantic butterflies 
that flutter halo round head of Pierrot. 

Crowned Pope Petrus Secundus of Gothinia, 
Pierrot, with Columbine, in red silk robes, 
parades before large cheering crowds of Roma, 
then enters gold-walled Museum of Fate 
where he presides on jeweled Judgment Throne 
just as a meteor strikes the Earth with fire. 

Code Of Uncertain Faith

Code Of Uncertain Faith
© Surazeus
2025 02 16

When they try to disrupt language we speak 
in vain attempt to prove their awesomeness 
their treasures that seem to shine in their hands 
crumble to dry dust of meaninglessness, 
so we reclaim lamentation of love 
with shrill elegies of uncertain faith. 

Elegant curves of our picturesque coast, 
that unfurl fate of fractal consciousness, 
provoke our compulsive analysis 
through hypnosis of arbitrariness 
with each striking revelation of love 
that lurks at the end of uncertain faith. 

Secret memory of the dream-shadowed mind, 
severed with arson of mischievousness, 
obscures inner void of the sacred truth 
silvered with hard plow of fierce quietness, 
despite hurtful passion of brutal love 
dependent on code of uncertain faith. 

Absence of the migrant soul singing spells 
exposes forced solace of eagerness, 
dignified by transparency of blind lust 
that enlightens moribund hopelessness 
through primary notion of vivid love 
to relish process of uncertain faith. 

Acoustics of dream truths unfixing facts 
align alienation through otherness 
not commonly accepted by networks 
anchored to time by standard lawfulness 
when we enter the same room without love 
to exchange tokens of uncertain faith. 

Glossary of wounds defines characters 
trapped in fake purity of loneliness 
through valence valued greater than distrust 
based on paradox of grand saintliness 
which reflects how the hateful barter love 
conditioned on force of uncertain faith. 

Witness to emergent reality, 
we calculate progress of trickiness, 
never wavering to compose melodies 
that dispel opposite of gloominess 
while remaining the same on stage of love 
beyond irony of uncertain faith. 

Crowded horizon of glass surfaces 
wields eye-loop of unmapped contrariness 
to reveal inner landscape of desire 
which connects our hearts to world nothingness 
churned by static waves of innocent love 
hidden in riddles of uncertain faith. 

Glass Brain Of Faith

Glass Brain Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 02 16

Nothing seems real to the glass brain of faith 
who watches the world television show 
depict villains stealing wealth from our hands 
while soil of the Earth crumbles into words 
that turn into butterflies of despair 
so hopes and dreams vanish in silent rain. 

Fruit trees blossom from the glass brain of faith 
at second coming of messiah sleuth 
who works at the Museum of Lost Dreams 
where people visit after work to pray 
since rivers keep on flowing to the sea 
regardless of who tries to rule the world. 

Messages beamed from the glass brain of faith 
declare with confidence of rain-smooth rocks 
the situation is under control 
despite thieves seizing computer machines 
that distribute payments to hungry hearts 
who wander with horses on windy plains. 

Laughing clocks unwind the glass brain of faith 
faster than hawks snare rabbits in the bush 
too late for laws protecting innocence 
when banks charge fees for the air people breathe 
though we hold our breath and jump in the lake 
to find salvation in tears of the sky. 

Something is true to the glass brain of faith 
that sees Heaven with kaleidoscope eyes 
where Lucifer dances on glowing clouds 
with Emerald Tablet of chemical laws 
on which he scribes weird formulas of fate 
that define process of cause and effect. 

First flash spirals in the glass brain of faith 
to map expansion of the universe 
that flares forth from big bang of conscious love 
forming galaxies of suns which feed globes 
with energy that evolves into beings 
who tell each other stories of the real. 

Star atoms pulse in the glass brain of faith 
who wakes from strange dream of eternity 
to name itself as separate conscious being 
exploring landscape of its hungry heart 
before it invents weird concept of God 
as supernatural being that never dies. 

I see myself in the glass brain of faith 
that conjures virtual model of the Earth 
composed of memories I experience 
which I organize in Tale of My Life 
within narrative framework of my soul 
which will end in death I cannot foresee. 

Door Of Eternity

Door Of Eternity
© Surazeus
2025 02 16

Lonely for the way ghost clouds shimmer white 
with sobbing heaviness at hour of birth, 
I stand outside door of eternity 
to welcome newcomers to our weird world 
who emerge from the pregnant mother tree 
that binds their bodies with the change of time. 

To touch the face of Death I touch your face 
so I can feel fierce coldness of the stone 
when I push through door of eternity 
and sob with gravity of changing time, 
soul leveled against broad breast of the globe 
to taste tumbling song of the silkened sea. 

Each stone of Earth tumbled by waves of the sea 
cries out to me with anguish for pure light 
we feel within door of eternity 
when we hang half-awake in poise of hope 
between ice-glistening air and damp earth 
which beckons our hearts with alluring voice. 

With grip of honest passion for the truth, 
I cling to the edge of vast emptiness, 
long falling through door of eternity 
which I describe in letters I must hide 
that still lie scattered on forgotten desk 
where birds eat words I never meant to write. 

Cold lamentation of the burning hill, 
despite how far stairs curl around despair, 
reveals repaired door of eternity 
where children watch our global fight for power 
play out on field where leaves of time fall slow 
to shroud false geometry of our love. 

Through elegant dribble of happy rain 
I head for somewhere far beyond my grave 
which imitates door of eternity 
to wait between the rotten and the ripe 
with unperceiving passion for the truth, 
bewildered by how flowers grow in mud. 

Yet immanence of death prefers my speech 
explaining frail fate of philosophy 
brought forth to crack door of eternity 
and savor intricate concept of grief 
based on rubble of homes destroyed in war, 
manifest in miracle of my eye. 

My face mirrors nameless divinity 
with subtle amusement of graceful shock, 
able to lock door of eternity 
extravagant with horror we conceal 
with heart-enchanting song of ocean waves 
where ghost clouds whorl across the crystal sky. 

Blowing In The Wind

Blowing In The Wind
© Surazeus
2025 02 15

While standing on the pyramid of truth 
to watch events of world history unfold, 
I realize that this hour is the end 
of the world we have known for eighty years, 
and the weird answer we once gave our friend 
is now no longer blowing in the wind. 

The dove of peace still sails across the sea, 
having never once found rest in the sand, 
and missiles have been fired to destroy homes 
every year since that young prophet cried foul, 
for the weird answer we once gave our friend 
is now no longer blowing in the wind. 

I keep on walking down the signless road 
where I have seen things I will never tell, 
finding diamonds of truth I cannot sell, 
yet still they refuse to call me a man, 
since the weird answer we once gave our friend 
is now no longer blowing in the wind. 

The vast mountain of patriarchal power 
may never be smoothed to democracy, 
and hard-working people are still not free 
for people do not care, though they can see, 
so the weird answer we once gave our friend 
is now no longer blowing in the wind. 

Searching for God, said to dwell in the sky, 
I keep looking up for Justice to come, 
but then I realize the face I see 
is my own, mirrored in how I will act, 
for the weird answer we once gave our friend 
is now no longer blowing in the wind. 

While I have lived on Earth for sixty years 
I have heard millions of hurt people cry, 
so I have become huge eyes full of tears, 
and my ears ring with tales they never tell, 
for the weird answer we once gave our friend 
is now no longer blowing in the wind. 

Walking road of fortune around the Earth, 
I recite the name of each human soul 
killed in countless wars of national pride 
who all follow me to the Promised Land, 
since the weird answer we once gave our friend 
is now no longer blowing in the wind. 

Though the world we have known comes to an end 
we support United Nations of Earth 
to build new world based on democracy 
with liberty and justice for all people, 
though the weird answer we once gave our friend 
is now no longer blowing in the wind. 

Bones Of Dead Men

Bones Of Dead Men
© Surazeus
2025 02 15

Numberless dice formed from bones of dead men, 
smoothed round by endless sorrow of sea waves, 
roll tumbling over sand of timeless hope 
cast by Hand of Death with indifferent grin 
when captain of our ship gambles for life 
against grim embassy of wingless angels. 

Alone in my small river boat of faith, 
adrift on swirling sea of moaning mist, 
swept downriver from wooded Saxon hills, 
I see moonlit wrecks of enormous ships 
floating sail-less toward dim Elysian shore, 
captained by grim Charon with serpent eyes. 

Then, smooth skin gleaming white as snowy fields, 
huge demon of the sea, Leviathan 
or Cetus with faithless wings of despair, 
emerges from abyss of surging waves, 
and gazes with indifferent frosted eyes 
at me immobilized by gleam of truth. 

Entranced by Mobius Strip of diamond eyes 
which mirror boundless vastness of my mind, 
enhanced by spectrum of eternity, 
I read in flashing verses of bright stars 
complex formulas that define pure state 
contrived by liquid relativity. 

With compass gleaming in my red right hand, 
influenced by magnetic waves of light, 
I sail straight across Sea of Oceanus 
west through towering Gates of Hercules, 
with pears from garden of Hesperides, 
toward pristine island where Atlantis shines. 

With quadrant pointing toward Unmoving Star 
that fixes axis pole for spinning Earth, 
I measure boundless space of surging tides 
from gleaming pyramids of Babylon, 
past apocalyptic Isle of Avalon, 
to land on lush shores of Chesapeake Bay. 

Since Moby Dick swallowed my fragile soul 
and spit me on shore with mission from Zeus, 
I walk back east from woods of Oregon, 
where Liberty on high Takoma Mountain 
gave me crystal globe scrolling human history, 
to prophesy at the locked White House gates. 

When Midas seizes thorny Crown of Christ 
to crown himself King of America, 
Minerva waves starred flag of Liberty 
to fight against nationalist theocracy 
so we support global democracy 
to build strong United Nations of Earth. 

Ten Million Ways

Ten Million Ways
© Surazeus
2025 02 15

More than ten million ways to sing the dream 
befuddle me with possibilities 
for dancing with flow of the river stream 
to join our national festivities 
disguised as wingless angel of the moon 
commissioned to oppose the rich tycoon. 

More than ten million ways to speak the word 
confound my heart with eager scrappiness 
known for contriving instinct of the herd 
to construct grand palace of happiness 
constrained by mortgage no one wants to pay 
except the king conned by the castaway. 

More than ten million ways to build the home 
inspire my mind with vision of world peace 
where no one conscious ever has to roam 
propelled by malice of the Golden Fleece 
to purchase honesty from the blind seer 
who hides spy cameras in the chandelier. 

More than ten million ways to fly on wings 
increase my mountain-fierce anxiety 
for learning how to forge new magic rings 
as horcrux programmed by psychiatry 
which grounds electric flash of my brain soul 
masked by performance of my special role. 

More than ten million ways to sail the sea 
compel my drive to channel pressure straight 
through psychic force of social liberty 
designed by brave souls who reprogram fate 
so I can proudly say with thunder voice 
I blaze my destined path with each blind choice. 

More than ten million ways to cook the cake 
record each vain attempt that witches brew 
when stirring elements drawn from the lake 
by laughing jesters of the Argo crew 
who seek out new worlds of tribes to explore 
without ever stepping outside the door. 

More than ten million ways to pray to God 
enforce wild revolution of the lost 
who frame the honest king as greedy fraud 
miscalculating what services cost 
in coup to destroy our democracy 
and enslave our minds with theocracy. 

More than ten million ways to rule the world 
chronicle how all empires rise and fall 
in chaos controlled by the cosmic herald 
who translates bloody writing on the wall 
through revelation that earns him respect 
as prophet who plays social architect. 

Walk With Broken Wings

Walk With Broken Wings
© Surazeus
2025 02 15

Elimination of his crippling guilt 
motivates his selfless attendant drive 
to steward progress of the bigger deal 
firmly based on the arbitrary scale 
expansive with fabulous honesty 
that double-locks rotating door of time. 

Through routine strike of equanimity, 
to check strange matter of distracted fear 
for inconvenient focus on desire, 
he hopes fraught method of the falling rain 
upholds blotched breath of exhaled fortitude 
that may metastasize hopeful regret. 

Beyond reach of intervention, expressed 
by distorted results of radiant words, 
inserted by electric scream of rain, 
he prevents ineptitude of dream rage 
that mirrors disquiet of peopled streets 
crowded with faceless ghosts who search for love. 

Burdened by despair washed ashore by fate, 
he bears sorrows in backpack with mute heart 
to flee burning house of false memories, 
and wanders fields of stale grass wet from tears 
children scatter from crippled hands of hope 
till we are threads of light lost in blind night. 

Enriched alternative of crashing walls 
encourages him with startled ardency 
to rebuke evil-hearted sycophants 
who flatter agents of the secret clan 
to parley nationalist goals with harsh shout 
that takes shape from triumphant honey bees. 

Immersed conception, crawling from hot sea 
with humid efficiency of mute stones, 
exerts projected pattern to enclose 
matter in final form of evolved faith 
when he proclaims with gravity of pride 
his spiritual retreat from loneliness. 

Brain spun by spiders born from fierce sunlight 
to stretch beyond ideal shape carved by words, 
he threads strange memories in new world view 
with rapid keystrokes that encode respect 
earned by harsh suffering, self-insured by fate, 
to trudge dispirited in swirling leaves. 

Mind captivated by the infinite, 
unreachable with concept signifiers, 
he scatters words of wisdom on sidewalks 
that freeze human tears in patches of ice 
where heart-broken wanderers slip and fall, 
then rise again to walk with broken wings.