Chains Of Selfish Greed

Chains Of Selfish Greed
© Surazeus
2025 04 30

Bewildered and spellbound by striking clocks, 
young woman, wearing fallen-angel wings, 
flings fake medallion of the Lonely God 
on pile of trash in alley of grand greed 
to prove she loves the willow-warbler more 
than the clown crucified on the phone pole. 

Assured she might, with shocking score of fate, 
prise out of hope clear insight into love, 
sad Stella hides new mask of mirth in purse 
made from skin of the silver wolf who knows 
why she is nervous as the graceful deer 
who clatters hoofs in cathedral of glass. 

Yet when she lays on altar forged from gems 
fresh lilies plucked from world obscurity, 
tall Stella dares peer up at Face of God, 
carved from marble into idol of faith, 
that shines with aura beamed in rainbow rings, 
to see if he can see into her heart. 

Still capable of managing with spells 
unending cosmic process of rebirth, 
Faceless Ungod who reads thoughts of her heart 
obscures unnatural light of human brains 
with blazing wings of wordless arrogance 
because he walks on water of the mind. 

Drinking ambrosia from the Holy Grail, 
brewed by the one-eyed witch of Avalon, 
sly Stella boasts ancestry of her soul 
while rearranging puzzle of events 
that would reveal in coded prophecy 
who soon will overthrow the tyrant king. 

For eighty years ago on this dire day 
grim Adolf, hiding in cave of the wolf, 
fired bullet of justice into his brain 
to end disgraceful tyranny of greed 
that cleansed the world with his blood-sacrifice 
as demigod who roared with dragon voice. 

Then fifty years ago on this dire day 
fierce dragon of the mountain, Lac Long Quan, 
drove cruel invaders from streets of Saigon 
to free the ancient land of Vietnam 
so Au Co may walk across war-torn hills 
and bless her children with baskets of fruit. 

Unbound from chains of selfish greed at last, 
wise Stella finds Prometheus by the lake 
where they consider state of world affairs, 
discussing how to build new global state 
where every person living on this Earth 
lives through liberty and justice for all. 

Snowboard Of My Heart

Snowboard Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2025 04 30

Gliding down the mountain slope of bright snow, 
I cruise with grace on snowboard of my heart, 
then shred gnarly hills with aggressive style 
to leap into the vast indifferent sky 
and soar with wingless poise of elegance 
beyond this world, but stump on Earth again. 

Spiraling around in the silver sky 
with bold defiance of cruel gravity, 
Belenus snowboards down the mountain slope, 
sliding back and forth among slim pine trees, 
then notches arrow in his taut yew bow 
to shoot the swift red Cervus in his heart. 

After cutting Cervus meat in thick steaks, 
which he wraps inside large bags of its skin, 
Belenus guides one-horse sleigh in old woods 
toward hilltop fort that smokes in gleaming show 
where Andarta and their son Grannus wait 
for him to return with their winter feast. 

Just as he approaches the long wood bridge 
that arcs over river of gushing ice, 
Taranis skis suddenly swift down the hill 
and hurls long ash spear to impale his chest, 
but lithe Belenus somersaults backward 
and lands on field of snow with spear and shield. 

Chasing Taranis up the mountain slope, 
Belenus finds him waiting at the top 
where they glare at each other in fierce wind, 
then race each other back down to the bridge 
to prove who reaches wagon of meat first 
and who gets wiped out on the frosty grade. 

Eyes squinting as they slalom down the hill, 
racing each other in elegant curves 
through grove of spruce trees, kicking up snow 
as they lean sideways to swerve around stones, 
fierce rivals hurtle gracefully intense 
in feverish competition to win. 

Hotblooded with vehement zeal to win, 
Belenus curls his body into coil 
by leaning forward to soar through the air 
with energetic passion to succeed, 
then glides sideways in half-moon curve to stop 
beside his horse and wagon near the bridge. 

Embracing with laughter after their race, 
Belenus and his cousin Taranis 
drive wagon of meat into fort courtyard 
where everyone cheers, having watched their race, 
then roast steaks and drink mead in the feast hall 
while he dances with Andarta all night. 

Four Hundred Apples

Four Hundred Apples
© Surazeus
2025 04 30

Four hundred apples fall into my hand 
so I scatter their seed cores in soil 
along the road I walk to Neverland 
to play life of leisure instead of toil 
in cheerful valley of the singing horse 
who guides my journey to the river source. 

Sitting on wood floor in the living room 
while curtains sway in afternoon spring breeze, 
I watch television show about doom 
that rises as Godzilla from wild seas, 
then ride my bike in the small Texas town 
where no one has ever heard of the clown. 

Ten thousand years the Earth spins in the void 
while I walk west to find Cave of the Sun, 
then after math class I play the android 
who wants to learn more about having fun, 
but in the schoolyard we watch the plane fall, 
burning as it destroys the Berlin Wall. 

Sometimes while sitting in mid-morning class 
I stare out the window at tall oak trees 
and think about hunting snakes in the grass 
to gather honey made by humble bees, 
but then I focus on grammar of thought 
so I can program the demon robot. 

The question remains in the Book of Boats 
whether Fusang is coast of Oregon, 
so I drive my Chevrolet to herd goats, 
then crown myself Crow King of Avalon, 
since Jimmu taught me how to shoot yew bow 
while standing nobly in the swirling snow. 

With leaping laughter I play in soft rain 
to gather cherries in basket of hope 
while counting human time based on the reign 
each tribal sovereign adjusts to cope 
with disasters, and protect us from harm, 
though people still purchase the magic charm. 

Wandering among mossed rocks in low tide 
on the beach of Cape Alava at dawn, 
Otokichi decides he cannot hide, 
so he constructs the psychic cosmotron 
angels use to translate weird song of stars 
to human passion that fuels motorcars. 

Four hundred apples sprout from Tree of Life, 
so I purchase from Lucifer Estate 
Garden of Eden for my Java wife 
who manages fruit trees to calculate 
fortunate process of cause and effect 
that garners rewards of social respect. 

Man With The Crooked Mask

Man With The Crooked Mask
© Surazeus
2025 04 29

Befuddled by distinguished prayer of fear, 
uttered by tall man with the crooked mask, 
the stone angel, blazing with timeless truth, 
mumbles half-spell of disconsolate joy 
to divert his attention from the mirror 
that reveals our fates our choices design. 

Choosing to exit the bookstore intact, 
despite finding the Scroll of Faithfulness, 
the stone angel, bursting white butterflies, 
laughs bright as chimes that ring at opened doors, 
and slips through shadow of ardent disdain 
to briskly pace down Starlight Boulevard. 

Curious about why some children grow 
devilish despite their happy childhoods, 
the stone angel, radiating romance songs, 
springs swifter than the cheetah to escape 
man with the crooked mask who tries to steal 
graceful beauty of her arrogant heart. 

Snatched by groping hands of the wolfish man 
who pushes her against the alley wall, 
the stone angel, throbbing shark energy, 
respectfully requests that he unhand 
her voluptuous soul so she can go free, 
but he informs her she will bear his child. 

Breathing martial spirit of Artemis 
with intense attention to self-control, 
the stone angel, winding starlight in coils 
of lithe acrobatics, crouches and strikes 
with swift assertion of point-precise kicks 
that crack his legs and force him to his knees. 

Smiling sweetly at his astonished face 
through exposition of his toxic rage, 
the stone angel, taut with righteous respect, 
kicks his face with blow of justice in law, 
then strides away as he falls on his back 
and leaves him twitching in anguish of fear. 

Striding boldly into library hall 
to study at her secret cubicle, 
the stone angel, buzzing with frantic faith, 
trembles with exhaustion of mute despair, 
and cries quietly into her bruised hands, 
then drinks water and breathes to meditate. 

Assembling fragments of her scattered soul 
in puzzle that resembles her fraught life, 
the stone angel, acquainted with the night, 
attends to project for art history class 
in which she analyzes psychic tropes 
that Mary represents in sacred icons. 

House Of The Lost

House Of The Lost
© Surazeus
2025 04 09

Searching empty houses on road of time, 
that leads me deep in crowded city maze, 
I pause at sudden mystery of soft chime 
that makes me wonder why this wordless daze 
leaves me stranded on Bridge of Charity 
without the faintest sense of clarity. 

Though I have searched ten thousand empty homes 
for faceless father who designed my soul, 
I find nothing more than cute garden gnomes 
who tell confusing jokes to fool the troll 
who scribbles stories on the bleeding page 
while locked in structured safety of the cage. 

My mother told me just before she died 
the name he told her in the apple grove 
after they made love, till they had to hide 
from her mad father with the treasure trove, 
because to save his life he ran away 
so she often wept as she watched me play. 

My tragic story never breaks your hearts 
when I lament my state as orphan child 
while we load baskets of apples in carts, 
so I smile and play the clown, meek and mild, 
to hide the bitter anger of my wound 
which winds my heart till I am too attuned. 

My heart ticks twisted with these maudlin tears 
when I lounge placidly in garden fane 
with Spirit Fox and fountain of lost years 
while flowers bloom with suffocating pain, 
so I gaze forlornly at golden haze 
that shrouds my world with faith in the next phase. 

Behind soft pretty mask of my calm face 
I conceal seething passion of desire 
to weave my anguish in this peaceful place 
till terror seeps away with hope less dire 
than pulsing wisdom of my vanity 
that molds the sublime from profanity. 

Though I sing charming hymn of holy awe 
with soul-enchanting voice of divine truth 
I vow to punish abusers with law 
designed for Justice by messiah sleuth 
who mocks tormentors for wounding my heart 
by tracing way of fortune on my chart. 

Abandoned by my father before birth, 
I struggle against harsh odds to survive, 
then counterbalance tragedy of worth 
with even fortune my choices contrive 
by building haven from house of the lost 
because my father is my inner ghost. 

Their Names In Clouds

Their Names In Clouds
© Surazeus
2025 04 29

I hear sad Rachael singing in the field 
while weeping at the tomb where Jacob lies, 
so I record the verses of her voice 
that women for their dead husbands still sing, 
even as their homes are destroyed by bombs, 
yet the Enchanter writes their names in clouds. 

I hear Miranda singing by the sea 
where the grand ship sank in tempest of hope 
till Ferdinand rises dripping from waves 
and brings her the diamond of star-god eyes 
which she transforms into the child of faith, 
yet the Enchanter writes their names in clouds. 

I hear Dulcinea singing with joy 
as she milks cows by the giant windmill 
where Knight of the Woeful Countenance sighs 
with anguish of love that grows in his heart 
for illusion of the Woman he fears, 
yet the Enchanter writes their names in clouds. 

I hear Asenath singing in grove 
where dates ripen in exotic sun glare 
as ibis flap wings among river reeds 
when Joseph arrives after storing grain 
and gives her gold grail with three emeralds, 
yet the Enchanter writes their names in clouds. 

I hear Ophelia singing by the river 
where she tends lush garden of blooming herbs 
while Hamlet lounges by the willow tree, 
strumming lute of the lonely troubadour, 
and compares her to the bright summer day, 
yet the Enchanter writes their names in clouds. 

I hear Anahita singing at dawn 
in cave of illusions where demons dance 
so Mithras enthrones her on the chariot 
which he drives in the streets of Kangavar 
where thousands sing hymn of praise to her name, 
yet the Enchanter writes their names in clouds. 

I hear Cinderella singing folk ballads 
while tending castle hearth in vestal robes 
till she finds Mercutio in the goat shed 
hiding from fierce brothers of Rosaline, 
so she bathes him and holds him in her arms, 
yet the Enchanter writes their names in clouds. 

I hear lonely girls singing in their rooms 
as they write gothic poems in jagged lines 
which they post on their social media sites, 
then dance with aching hearts in weird moonlight 
to hide from toxic masculinity, 
yet the Enchanter writes their names in clouds. 

New Starting Point

New Starting Point
© Surazeus
2025 04 28

I cannot wait for the new starting point, 
so I rebuild intricate state of mind 
through articulate clarity of love 
by sprouting demon wings from broken hearts, 
for I can see the new world order bloom 
from foul corpse of god that fell from the stars. 

Though you may not be able to hear me, 
I speak the words of love I want to share 
so they vibrate across the universe 
and weave our alien minds with secret tales 
through advertisement of religious faith 
designed by my ancestors from despair. 

Startled by exact angle of new gain, 
that traps my sorrow in the ringing bell, 
I measure vastness of the perfect lake 
that bridges distance between our two hearts, 
animated by feelings we exchange 
with strangers we meet on the signless road. 

When beautiful Lamia with gold eyes 
slithers from Lake Lemanus at midnight, 
I follow sweet enchanting song of hope, 
she sings in weird mercurial voice of fate, 
to hear dire prophecy with aching heart 
when I gaze in sparkling swirl of her eyes. 

When luminous phantom of mute regret 
cries out with sorrow of her broken heart 
to find her child who disappeared from time, 
I build another bridge from rainbow beams 
while all the evil people of the world 
kill each other so we can live in peace. 

Till ghost of ringing bells enters my heart 
with animated passion of esteem, 
I stretch my soul beyond my comfort zone 
to allocate fractured portion of life 
with honest dedication to transform 
from snide indifference to kind respect. 

Untextured loneliness of moon-gold light 
urges me to dig roots to core of Earth 
so I can reinvent my naked soul 
with special new mask that conceals my pain 
while I wander with Death in drenching rain 
because she knows what I have always loved. 

Attaining valuable insight to pain, 
I decide how people define my soul, 
framed by social context of liberty 
that shimmers in ethereal air we breathe 
because I map the golden way of angst 
which leads me back to the new starting point. 

Gold River Of Faith

Gold River Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 04 28

I love the little gold river that flows 
between grassy banks of bushes and trees, 
so I strip off my name and social class, 
and swim nude in the cool water of faith 
which cleanses my heart of sorrow and fear 
where I float with the cheerful tweets of birds. 

Though our great land from sea to shining sea, 
teeming with people who work to create 
Heaven in their homes to live safe and free, 
is now oppressed by vicious tyranny 
by greedy thief who hates our Liberty, 
I love the little gold river of faith. 

Every eighty years in turning of time 
we must join forces of our frightened hearts 
to fight for justice and freedom for all, 
against monarchy, against slavery, 
against fascism, and against oligarchy, 
so we live as we will, if we harm none. 

While I float mute in gold river of faith, 
I feel spirit of water forged by stars 
shimmer with immortal soul of sunlight 
that weaves bright threads of fortune in my heart 
to bind my conscious mind to core of Earth 
till I begin to sing old hymn of love. 

This water flowing in river of dreams 
has formed the bodies of organic souls 
over four hundred million years of life, 
rising as cold mist, floating as huge clouds, 
falling as bright rain, flowing in wide streams, 
then pulsing in neuron cells of our brains. 

Soil soaks water from torrents of rain, 
roots suck water in networks of cells, 
fruits swell pungent with water of life, 
animals eat grass and leaves from thick trees, 
and people eat animals, herbs, and fruit, 
so we are the water of Earth that dreams. 

Following Mercury through swirling mist, 
I walk along the river against flow 
to explore its way from the mountain vale 
where water springs from cavern of the mind 
and winds around hills to the sunlit sea 
where humans build their stately pleasure domes. 

I row my small boat gently down the stream, 
past walled gardens where children eat and play 
while everyone waves and calls out my name 
to offer their thanks for my guardianship 
adjudicating peace for every soul 
who thrives at home by gold river of faith. 

Find My Blind Angel

Find My Blind Angel
© Surazeus
2025 04 28

I lose my blind angel down by the sea 
who gives me tomato sandwich to eat 
so I drive my expensive sports car fast 
through endless shining maze of city streets, 
then lie in grass beneath the apple tree 
and throw pink petals in the sky with joy. 

With key that opens door of arcane fate 
I walk toward vacant seat of prophecy 
to scrutinize truth through infinity 
so I can build strong bridge across the rift 
where river of change flows down to the sea 
while I pontificate weird truth of love. 

Wise Helius with long hair white as snow 
tells each tree in wild forest on the Alps 
how beautiful they are with shining leaves 
that radiate spirit of gold molecules 
which beam from every star in the night sky 
to link our hearts in network of bright souls. 

With graceful elegance of calm respect 
Helvetia bears tall Spear of Guardianship 
and leads her people in the wilderness 
away from slavery in gem mines of Hellas 
to build new haven on lush rolling hills 
beside silver waters of Lake Lemanus. 

Tending sheep on hills around Lake Lemanus, 
Gebrinius strums lyre of Mercurius 
and sings with eerie voice of haunting hope 
hymn to praise swift forest-hunter Arduinna, 
while red-haired Visucia gives pear juice 
to travelers who rest in their small fane. 

Standing guard on stone walls of Turicum, 
Visucius peers through large crystal sphere 
as wind flutters his long cape of raven feathers 
when he negotiates peace from arguments, 
while Cissonia bakes bread and suckles child 
who plays with yew bow as his father grins. 

Bearing Caduceus with two coiled snakes, 
Cissonius drives carriage heaped with goods 
for sale to people in small villages 
as clever Dream-Bringer with winged feet, 
while Gebrinia heals the sick with medicine 
and chants spells to conjure soul of Alauna. 

I find my blind angel down by the sea 
when star-eyed Alaunus teaches my heart 
how to analyze current state of being 
by observing flow of cause and effect 
so I can prophesy future events 
to protect tribe of Helvetia from harm. 

Hestia Tends The Flame

Hestia Tends The Flame
© Surazeus
2025 04 27

Throwing mask of her face on pile of skulls, 
Hestia tends fire in hearth of the wood fane 
while ravens caw in oak trees by the lake, 
then places wolf-fur cloak on her old father 
who snores in harmony with cricket song 
that rings in blue shimmer of evening dusk. 

Tending eternal flame of our world state, 
Hestia maintains fire of the family hearth 
so billions of women around the Earth 
my cook delicious meals to preserve health 
of their husbands and children with pure love 
who celebrate her skill to nurture life. 

Face glowing from warm fire in the stone hearth, 
Hestia prepares feast for rebirth of life 
when trees blossom again with leaves and fruit, 
and supervises Ceraon mixing wine 
with Matton kneading dough as Deipneus 
brings food on plates for everyone to eat. 

Startled awake from sleep in dark midnight, 
Hestia finds bold Priapus in her bed 
as he attempts to spark her soul with child, 
so when she screams for help Apollo runs 
to drag the old man from the vestal fane 
and punish him with justice of respect. 

Wandering signless roads of planet Earth, 
Hestia preserves eternal flame of life 
that lights every hearth in homes of the world, 
till Adonis erects electric lines 
on poles of pine in network of hot wires 
which powers every home in maze of myths. 

Arriving after twenty thousand years, 
Hestia wanders streets of America, 
still bearing ancient Torch of Liberty, 
where homes are powered by electric lines, 
so she kneels before lost idol of Zeus 
and lays ancient flint stones before his feet. 

Tending eternal flame of our world state, 
Hestia weaves vast network of copper wires 
to power computers which calculate 
spiritual truths that flash in vatic eyes 
when all our brains dream life with one world view 
which process as nodes in her global brain. 

Wearing mask of her face with shining gold, 
Hestia tends the flame of civilization 
which glows in heart of every dreaming soul 
who dwells with hope for pleasure and respect 
in towns connected by electric wires 
spread out from her heart in Cave of Illusions. 

Weird Door Of Hope

Weird Door Of Hope
© Surazeus
2025 04 27

The road of life that winds into the mist 
too often seems to randomly go nowhere, 
yet if I follow bright light of my heart 
that reveals big picture of my dream chart, 
I find myself with the people I love 
safe in lush garden we create with faith. 

Beneath the Tree of Truth where we first kissed 
we soon began to feel how much we care, 
so we hold hands on winding road of life 
to help each other overcome all strife 
as we share fruit we pluck from limbs of hope 
so trees grow from seeds we drop on our path. 

Entranced by dazzle of the flowing stream, 
that blocks the signless road of cautious hope 
we think leads to our secret happiness, 
we sway in beauty of weird dizziness, 
then hold each other tight with loyal trust, 
charged with essential transience of our lives. 

Our years together swirl into sweet dream 
as we assert fraught sessions we must cope 
with leaps of faith across dark emptiness 
that teems with rich bounty of loveliness 
so we attend lush garden of our needs 
that blooms with fruits rewarding our hard work. 

Though we advance on separate paths of toil 
in project to enclose our paradise, 
we link our hearts with voices of our souls 
to ease production through our mutual roles 
arranging plants with clear cosmetic plan 
to build artificial Heaven in Hell. 

Because we speak with language of the trees 
to record chaos of experience 
in simple catalog of complex thoughts, 
we find ourselves becoming strict robots 
trapped in hierarchic duty of blind fate 
society expects us to fulfill. 

To manage sadness of swift-passing years 
we frame our sorrow as weird door of hope 
so we can hide from monsters in the woods 
by carving them as idols of our gods 
whose fierce demonic faces make us laugh 
when we recount the terror of their eyes. 

The road of life that lead us to each other 
contrived through random fortune of our hopes 
to bring us face to face beside the sea 
where we ate fish we roasted on the fire, 
so we made meadow of our meeting place 
to be garden home of our paradise. 

Humming Room Of Fate

Humming Room Of Fate
© Surazeus
2025 04 27

With nothing better than love to believe in 
Thor creeps along the fence line round nine hills 
to find the angel fallen from the sky 
who howls in anguish at loss of his star 
that burns in aching furnace of his heart 
till rain drenches us on the lonely road. 

Unwanted places of the dancing dead, 
who follow dazzle of the screaming river, 
supports the silver sunlight in the wind 
that leads Thor to the humming room of fate 
where children play board games forever, bored 
while their parents work in car factories. 

Threading haze of morning with soft voices 
of factory workers trudging on wet roads, 
the chestnut angel, bearing bowls of doom, 
gives poisoned food to children by the prison 
who transform into mushrooms with red eyes 
that sprout from televisions in the mud. 

Venus weaves living moment of perception 
with conscious passion of the clinking glass 
to drink the whiteness of the boundless sky 
while laughing cats congregate in the church 
to ask the dead man writhing on the cross 
why he never returns till end of time. 

Regret for sorrow of the rain-blurred hills 
inspires the fallen angel with one eye 
to rebuild walls of Heaven from cracked skulls 
of dinosaurs who once roamed hills of Earth 
despite the promise they may win the prize, 
trapped in glass cubicle of fractured eyes. 

Rose-cheeked Adonis returns home at dawn 
with wild boar he killed on the mountain slope, 
then hosts grand barbecue for everyone 
who works with his son at the factory, 
while Venus, his aging wife in blue jeans, 
gives beer to all while smoking cigarettes. 

Rain adds rank wisdom to the gushing river 
that overflows weed-tangled banks of hope 
when Venus sees young Thor lounging alone, 
so she embraces him with eager arms 
and begs him to expand her state of mind 
while bald Adonis fries steaks at the grill. 

Falling in the river as they embrace 
after rolling on the steep primrose bank, 
Thor and Venus drown in flood of desire 
while kissing their own shadows in the brook, 
so Adonis eyes Juliet with a wink, 
but she runs away with Sir Lancelot. 

If I Find God In Apples

If I Find God In Apples
© Surazeus
2025 04 26

If I find God in apples of the tree, 
and not in empty weirdness of the sky, 
I cut the apple in half with sharp knife 
but find instead the shining harvest moon 
where butterfly angel with ardent wings 
flies immaculate city of the dead. 

Astonished by secret light of the heart 
that names dead bodies in the city streets, 
I sing love tunes to the sad pregnant moon 
who lounges on the broad beach at midnight 
after the dream-trippers all fall asleep 
swimming in hallucinations of words. 

Loud voices of teenagers in the dark 
expose awkward passion to transcend fear 
by gambling with fate to win the lost key 
that opens every house door in the world 
depicted in the million-dollar movie 
written with broken pencil of the ghost. 

Excruciating silence of the sea 
hisses frantic with radiator voice 
despite ceramic flower pots on the sill 
that dream the rainy nights of Arkansas 
depicted in the film where ever soul 
who thinks they will live forever still dies. 

When enormity of this moment shocks 
even the cynical prophet of doom, 
I walk toward the paralyzed king of greed 
whose face will vanish in the swirling fog 
that shrouds skyscrapers of the world empire 
when curse of blood drips down windows of glass. 

Fragile shadow of passionate respect 
extends conceptual door of skeletons 
to welcome son of Jupiter to Hell 
where he stars in the movie about Death 
who breaks our bodies into pulsing atoms 
which migrate dirt to fruit to human brain. 

I gather emptiness of naked hearts 
on sculpted pages of atrocious books 
to highlight point of utter tedium 
where all the myths and legends that sustain 
foundation of our culture with grand tropes 
collapse in puzzle pieces scattered far. 

If Jupiter picks mushrooms in the woods, 
where Romulus hunts tragic deer of fate, 
I may find my mother and father lost 
on ice-frosted Bridge of Forgetfulness 
who show me God in apples of the tree 
that fall into my hand without remorse. 

First Word Of Her Heart

First Word Of Her Heart
© Surazeus
2025 04 26

Though not yet born from silence of our hearts 
she sings in heaving harmony of waves 
that rise from lucid fire of ocean depths, 
pale purple in thick lilac foam of fate 
that blooms from bright unbroken bond of life 
as Aphrodite with her star-bright eyes. 

Her ocean breast that heaves with each deep breath 
designs the primal song of aching hope 
our hungry hearts still sing with unstained love 
reborn again each day inside our hearts 
as word of truth we sing with honest shame 
that binds soul of the universe in us. 

Bright tulips dancing in the mountain wind 
call us to rise from graves of memory 
and leave vast city maze of cement streets, 
where twisted shadow of mute human souls 
refuse to answer screaming telephones, 
to swim in ocean waves of cleansing faith. 

Though I am fleeting flame of consciousness 
that glows brief hour from all eternity, 
wild ocean waves preserve song of my voice 
forever in each curl of foam on sparkling sand 
since I am outcast from society 
as morbid conscience of its hungry fear. 

Trapped in frail fragments of the shattered mirror 
that flashes bright with television shows, 
I call to Aphrodite with storm voice 
who rises singing from wild ocean waves 
to pull me wriggling from her bloody womb 
and wash me clean in moon-white waves of love. 

Born from aromatic womb of the sea, 
contrived from tangled coils of psychic genes, 
I crawl on blistering sand of timeless faith 
toward woman dancing on the giant shell 
who forms my body from soil of the Earth 
and breathes ethereal visions in my mouth. 

She wakes in every human brain on Earth, 
First Mother who rose from the swirling sea, 
and sings her primal song of star-blind love 
in every complex language humans speak 
that all spring from the First Word of her heart 
in sprawling tree of tongues programming songs. 

Now every woman living on this globe 
smiles at me with her original soul, 
immortal goddess in each mortal girl, 
so we hold hands and run down to the sea 
to lie on sparkling sand and kiss with love 
as lilac foaming waves wash over us. 

We Must Love One Another

We Must Love One Another
© Surazeus
2025 04 26

We must love one another with respect 
or fight each other in fierce civil war, 
Wystan exclaims with soft uncertain voice 
in the smoky dive that radiates with jazz, 
then glares out cracked window at the dark sky 
where waves of fear and anger circulate. 

Dancing wildly drunk with odor of death, 
Wystan throws stones from old cathedral walls 
at idol of the psychopathic god 
who looms forever on high pedestal 
above vast empire that rules half the world 
with aggression of nationalist pride. 

Crude spirit of dictatorship, that roared 
eighty years ago from dark German woods, 
though banished and sealed tight with global laws 
in Cave of Illusions where Pluto lurks, 
now rises from vast swamp of Washington 
in the Golden Calf on the White House lawn. 

Bright skyscrapers, filled with computer banks 
that calculate stock market of our worth, 
express toxic strength of Collective Man 
in fierce competition to control land 
sparkling with rich minerals for factories 
to generate intelligent machines. 

Awake from euphoric dream of world peace, 
Wystan stares in mirror of politics 
at mask of imperialism he wears, 
and remembers his teacher in grade school 
declared that those to whom evil is done 
do evil in return through endless wars. 

Standing bleary-eyed in bleak glow of dawn, 
alone on the Brooklyn Bridge where cars speed, 
Wystan tries to speak for the voiceless mass 
of people stuck in strict survival routines 
to unfold with bold words the folded lie 
that America is land of the free. 

Composed of Eros and dust of the Earth, 
beleaguered by cruel negation of despair, 
Wystan grips fallen Torch of Liberty 
and relights with love its affirming flame 
so he can stride through streets of honesty 
and lead resistance to cruel tyranny. 

We must love one another with whole hearts, 
Wystan preaches to huge crowd on the Mall, 
so we can live with dignity and hope 
or we will kill our friends in civil war, 
so fight for equal justice for each soul 
as we build new state of Zarathia. 

Vision Of Dream Light

Vision Of Dream Light
© Surazeus
2025 04 26

The simplest way to rebuild the lost truth 
is measure shape of objects with the eye, 
and thus apply perception of the heart 
to structured concept of assembled water 
which manifests as conscious souls in flesh 
fueled by psychic energy of sunlight. 

The honest way to explain our desire 
to generate new body from weird dreams 
is fortify strict formulas of facts 
through buzzed assertion of linguistic tricks 
designed by subject of the dreaming brain 
that conjures virtual world from puzzling light. 

While Phoebus, dressed in tweed professor suit, 
sits casually before the camera lens 
in bright lights on the television stage, 
the audience of well-educated minds 
attends his complex theories of the soul 
with analytic eyes that love the light. 

Disgruntled agent of the fascist state, 
whose simple vision of the complex world 
expands with love, distorted by new truth, 
runs up the aisle and shouts his words form lies 
then fires big gun of arrogant dismay, 
attempting to assassinate the light. 

Amused by anger sparked by words of truth, 
lithe Phoebus dodges bullets with calm grace, 
somersaulting on demon wings of faith, 
then hurls apple seeds from the Tree of Truth 
which pierce pungent soil of his fractured brain 
and blossom into vision of Dream Light. 

Our pulsing globe of psychic energy 
is formed of atoms swirling in the void 
that swerve from straight trajectory of fate 
on undulating curves of ardent lust 
in planets that nurture organic beings 
whose brains emanate conscious sense of self. 

When Science and Spirituality kiss 
with passionate desire to create life, 
where mindless light of cosmic energy 
glows bright with conscious mind of divine love, 
Religion tries to channel lust for life 
with rituals of duty based on foresight. 

Casting twelve bronze tablets for forum walls 
with metered phrases in elegant verse 
that outline basic principles of truth, 
wise Phoebus stands before the restless crowd 
to preach new age of multicultural peace 
that forms social state of Zarathia. 

Warrior Stuck In The Oak

Warrior Stuck In The Oak
© Surazeus
2025 04 25

After he builds his house from turtle shells, 
Phoebus lounges in the field by the lake 
and chats with the warrior stuck in the oak 
who tells him with casual banter of flowers 
about his people slaughtered in their homes 
by people who claim his homeland as theirs. 

Pointing to the deer on the grassy hill, 
that perks its ears at the sound of his voice, 
Phoebus explains the need for conservation 
to protect the wilderness outside time 
from greedy men who build large factories 
which process tree nymphs into plastic toys. 

Somewhere over the rainbow of the mind 
where people live in peaceful paradise, 
Phoebus lounges in temple of dead gods, 
and enters numbers in spreadsheet of faith 
to calculate high return of investment 
within the framework of oppressive laws. 

If the sun gleams elegantly through pines 
with brilliant beams that stripe shadows on lawns, 
Phoebus will know why the cave dragon cries 
since Beowulf stole all his hard-earned gold 
he saved after working for forty years 
assembling car engines in factories. 

Startled by the woman with seven eyes 
who rises from muddy swamp of pretense, 
Phoebus invites her to drink sugared tea, 
so they chat about arrogance of power 
when the ambitious man steals crown of thorns 
to prove with vain bluster he is not weak. 

The warrior stuck in oak of the blind eagle 
teaches prancing fauns how to build bridges 
which bind our lonely hearts with charity 
to help the downtrodden and vulnerable 
with funds from nonprofit societies 
as businessmen chop off the hands of singers. 

Screaming sweets songs into the void of fear 
that echo in Grand Canyon of weird faith, 
Phoebus decides to run for President 
as wise descendant of Henry the Lion 
who plays chaste ballads of romantic love 
for his bride Eleanor of Aquitaine. 

Limping across the field for soccer games, 
Phoebus declares he is no Oedipus 
doomed to fall in love with his graceful mother 
who wanders in the mists of Avalon 
till she births birth to me in Oregon 
where I am the warrior stuck in the oak. 

Ennui Of Word Punks

Ennui Of Word Punks
© Surazeus
2025 04 25

If the rotting corpse of myopic clouds 
eats rotten grain and rusty screws with zest, 
white horses may attach clocks to gateways 
when spiders call their comrades to take arms 
against aggressive ennui of word punks 
who stagger drunk in dream-polluted smog. 

After wandering the Earth for six thousand years 
on separate roads of frantic destiny, 
Adam and Eve meet again in the garden 
that has turned into the desert of fear 
where skulls of gods with television eyes 
recount the endless wars mankind has fought. 

Kissing with ardent lust of ocean waves 
that shatter ancient cliffs of dynasties, 
Adam and Eve gaze at each other long 
with aching sadness of heartless surprise, 
then sit together under the dead tree 
that once provided Man with fruits of wisdom. 

Eating mushrooms ravens bring them from caves, 
Adam and Eve lounge in the Vatican 
to share the stories of their endless journey, 
how he went west and she went east to circle 
our spinning sphere and build enormous empires 
which they rule as immortal vampire gods. 

Reaching out her hand with anguished respect, 
Eve watches the curious hummingbird 
explore arcane secrets of the white orchid 
from which swirl faceless ghosts on frantic wings 
of iridescent anger to seek truth 
exploding from the radio of mad seers. 

Wind blows her long hair tangled in her mask 
as Eve walks winding country road of bitterness 
that shimmers silver with repressive pain 
while huddling in long coat against cold rain 
as spray from the passing car of bleak fate 
drenches her soul that becomes shrieking crows. 

Bringing loaded gun hidden in his jacket, 
Adam shuffles into college classroom 
to teach world literature to business majors, 
analyzing the folk songs of Bob Dylan 
within the framework of social poetics 
in satires of Persius and Juvenal. 

Government agents kick down classroom door 
and drag Adam away in steel handcuffs, 
then lock him in the concentration camp 
hidden in jungle of El Salvador 
where he preaches gospel of poetry 
in sacred scripture of Octavio Paz. 

Lamp Of Holy Light

Lamp Of Holy Light
© Surazeus
2025 04 25

When proud Superbus struts in halls of power 
to assert dominance of his contempt, 
worms convert bodies of great kings to dirt 
transforming arrogant flesh into flower 
of beautiful indifference, exempt 
from social laws of that blind angels exert. 

Weeping over tragic fate of Lucretia, 
I kneel in her temple by Nemi Lake 
where Face of Diana gazes at me 
from dark depths of emotional inertia 
with knowledge to perceive the real from fake 
I need to support world democracy. 

Though none dare challenge bold Arician king 
who reigns as tyrant of the Golden Bough, 
yet Virbius trains in secret to defeat 
arrogant bully who clutches Star Ring 
in vain attempt to prove he owns the cow 
that tramples his serpent soul with her feet. 

The king who slays the slayer shall be slain, 
declares Tiresias in the sacred grove 
where Artemis weaves tapestry of fate 
to show ambition for power is vain, 
for those who hoard our social treasure trove 
will be destroyed by their own bitter hate. 

Still wearing short skirt and long hunting boots, 
Diana treads wood path among tall trees, 
and aims sharp arrow with her taut moon bow 
with eye of perceptive insight, then shoots 
swift leaping deer, that moans in soft spring breeze, 
to defeat the mad king in mythic show. 

Silenced by terror of harsh tyranny 
that Superbus imposes on our land, 
we wait for bold Orestes to return 
from Parnassus and save democracy 
by slaying the tyrant with his red right hand, 
then wear the crown of power he must earn. 

Despite attempts to twist verified truth 
with lies through insults at his enemies, 
the tyrant king who killed the bully king 
hides with shame of crime when messiah sleuth 
sends Strophius to retrieve psychic keys 
and jail Superbus with Hadean Ring. 

Heartbroken he could not protect Verginia 
from lust of the tyrant in hall of power, 
Icilius leads revolution to fight 
for Liberty enforced by brave Justicia 
who frees Rapunzel from the Ivory Tower 
so she can bear the Lamp of Holy Light. 

Frantic Fantasy Of Wealth

Frantic Fantasy Of Wealth
© Surazeus
2025 04 24

Frail ship that lurks on surging tide of hope 
spreads long swan wings of silver snowflakes wide 
with honest passion to transcend my dream 
and soar above catastrophe of faith 
that wrecks gridwork of analytic code 
composing frantic fantasy of wealth. 

Untwisting morbid concepts, discomposed 
by strangled fortitude of toxic faith, 
my fragile ship leaps granite-cracking waves 
on force of ardent breath anesthetized 
through daring deprivation based on facts 
administered by agents of despair. 

Distorted synonyms, aligned by state 
of reconfigured profiles we design 
by sculpting mindless stones of wretched time, 
destructure contours of conditioned walls 
we block from concepts contrived from desire 
despite excessive formulas birds cast. 

Thus to Antarctica by wooden ship 
we sail beyond neat-charted bounds of faith 
to walk unsteady hills of swirling snow 
as solid silhouettes composed of greed, 
exploring blurred appearance of glass wind 
that howls indifferent to our eager pride. 

Disrobed of warm conventions socialized, 
with curious passion to translate glass wind 
that courses swift with rhythmic flow of fate, 
I represent my naked wordless mind 
to elemental blast of voiceless thought 
with heart-entangled vines of dreamless love. 

Cold solitude of thoughtless urgency 
guides me through teeming throng of minds 
in fervent streets of grim resounding gloom 
when I inspire irreverent breath of fruit 
from essence steeped in tincture hope refines 
to fill my hungering heart with honest angst. 

If I decide to sing myself at last, 
and take to heart each atom we all share 
that weaves our lonely minds in sacred bond, 
I shall return from rugged mountain vales 
to lounge with casual indolence of truth 
in verdant grove of eerie nonchalance. 

By stripping veil of custom from my heart 
to greet the primal wind of friendless hills, 
I prove all landscapes undulating weird 
reflect lean passion of unmeasured faith 
that fuels my quest to comprehend despair 
so we can rise from fear and greet the day. 

How To Fly Kites

How To Fly Kites
© Surazeus
2025 04 24

Sorrow of children whose homes have been bombed 
bloom into flowers from corpses of gods 
whose monstrous minds lie silently entombed 
in temples lost souls find on mist-veiled trods 
deep in dark forests of fantastic sprites 
who teach hungry orphans how to fly kites. 

Laughter of children in schoolyards of fate 
bleed into holy books of howling priests 
who reprogram robots with creeds of hate 
which chain with commandments arrogant beasts 
dressed in pinstripe suits to work in the bank 
supported by Grand General in his tank. 

Breaking free from social constraints of fear, 
so he can watch movies in theaters, 
the Weeping Clown shifts his brain in high gear 
to compete for wealth against Lucifers 
who crown him great king of the puppeteers 
when he waltzes beneath shocked chandeliers. 

When his brother tries to kill him in rage, 
in dispute over who rules seven hills, 
Remus escapes from world chronicle page 
to wander in mountains of sparkling rills 
where his descendant invents the airplane, 
elected pope after global campaign. 

Lounging in his fishing boat on the beach 
beneath the lighthouse on the rocky shore, 
Phoebus decides he does not want to preach 
salvation in temple of Numitor 
who orders conceptual rituals of faith 
while hiding in cave of the regal wraith. 

Though she runs in forest of singing trees 
to escape her fate by Sibyl foretold, 
Verginia falls exhausted to her knees 
in shrine of Cloacina forged from gold 
where her proud father stabs her in the heart 
to save her soul from curse of the star chart. 

Gathered by chance in the desert road diner, 
as strangers who converge by different paths, 
Remus, Phoebus, Verginia, and the Clown 
who weeps unceasing in his coffee cup, 
ignore each other as they eat hamburgers, 
and scroll social media on their eye-phones. 

The ghosts of children killed in brutal wars 
flock to lone diner in the desert vale, 
lured by bright spirit of the Weeping Clown 
who writes their names in his Book of Souls 
to record unjust manners of their deaths, 
then leads them singing to the Promised Land. 

Exploitation Of Poor People

Exploitation Of Poor People
© Surazeus
2025 04 23

Tired of being constrained by official laws 
that prevent exploitation of poor people, 
King Midas leads army of greedy thugs 
to fire thousands of people from good jobs 
who wander cast out from their family homes 
stolen through legal tricks in court of law. 

Saint George rides white horse into Gotham City, 
asking pedestrians to point the way 
to where monstrous dragon of angry greed, 
driven by fear Fortune favors him not, 
devours hands of poor people to control 
land he confiscates through legal warfare. 

The Rifleman stands alert in the street 
in small prairie town on the windy plain, 
and tells the woman with basket of pears 
that when the people of the country stop 
paying attention to how affairs are run 
they will lose their justice and liberty. 

After dancing on the tightrope of faith 
over abyss of vital hope for wisdom 
to overcome the weakness of his fear, 
Superman looks inward with laser eyes 
to plot how societies develop morals 
so he can control fate with his will to power. 

Calculating steps of development 
in progressive course from cause and effect 
which advance phases of expansive growth, 
Hamlet ponders to be or not to be 
assertive force of change for equal rights 
he hopes will transform world society. 

Holding high lamp of freedom glowing bright, 
Diogenes searches maze of the world 
for the honest man with strong moral compass 
enlightened enough to manage with calm 
global Ship of State he navigates safe 
through icebergs of fascist nationalism. 

Wielding hammer of constructive respect, 
Thor builds houses with kitchens and bedrooms 
where poor people may dwell in world peace 
to shape habitat for humanity 
till Pluto destroys those houses with bombs 
as he grasps to control material wealth. 

With fierce infection of impiety 
by painting his face with false mask of strength, 
the Mad King bankrupts Nature with his greed 
in clutching at grand illusion of wealth 
with small hands that symbolize his weak state, 
gibbering in rage that he has lost the game. 

Survive The Violent Storm

Survive The Violent Storm
© Surazeus
2025 04 23

Swollen by spring runoff of lonely hope, 
the river nymph calls for me to disrobe 
and hold her in my arms with aching love, 
so I park my car on low highway grass 
and half-skid down in my polished dress shoes 
to find the spot where gods gather to glow. 

Washing foul grime of nasty politics 
off cracked mask of my face with river tears, 
I imagine huge boulders in the stream 
crashing from distant mountain slope of bones 
when ancient demon dinosaurs of fame 
fight each other over who rules the world. 

Eager to escape collapse of our state, 
caused by thieves pillaging government banks, 
I gaze at fluffy swirls of star-white clouds 
with sigh of faint hope I could spread swan sings 
and glide with peaceful indifference to fate 
among enormous billows of despair. 

Raindrops that splash my face with sudden kiss 
through sociological appeal angels build 
offer to cleanse horror of civil war 
from fractured network of my tangled heart, 
fraught with crosscurrents of opposing views 
that offer clashing views on how to live. 

Elite club of wealthy people, who own 
imaginative concept of native land, 
clamp legal bonds of liens on clutching hands 
to exploit aggressive hope of desire 
in social programs that favor their power 
which alienates people from providence. 

With careless arrogance of the planless sage 
I measure vastness of the silent space 
between assumptions of the human race 
that some are better than others with genes 
woven by sweet angels from golden threads 
while I splash in cold river of regret. 

Bright thunderstorm of credentialed contempt 
looms over distant vales of singing skulls 
where people race each other in street maze 
to find the Holy Grail of world success 
when Jupiter blusters with arrogance 
to rearrange chess pieces of world power. 

Confused by trickery of the zodiac 
which recalculates roadway to achieve 
conceptual fame in the fantasy game, 
I choose to believe this beautiful life 
I check for myself from chaos of hope 
will survive the violent storm of world change. 

Question Formal State

Question Formal State
© Surazeus
2025 04 23

To be the one who comprehends the why 
that spirals plight of the helical ray 
which beams from nuclear mind of the sun, 
I question formal state of nothingness 
essential to chain atoms in thought strings 
which pulse with passion of my eager heart. 

To wash contention down with flushing words 
despite decision angels calculate 
to stretch our souls beyond bounds of the brain, 
I drink excessive flow from melting ice 
which leaks thick psychedelic dreams of fate 
constructing palaces of jeweled eyes. 

To think aggressive logic forth from doom 
through curved progressive steps of ardency 
reflecting metered tales on angled walls, 
I pour demonic blood squeezed from sponge flesh 
on sunbaked desert pavement of my heart 
to oil jagged fragments of memories. 

Orpheus pauses in the bleak waste land, 
and squints into nerve-jangling glare of fear 
that shimmers thick on boundless plain of dread 
where no signs point the way to paradise, 
then laughs wounded with hysterical pride 
at shriek of vultures circling void of time. 

To strum taut strings on lyre of Mercury 
that twang too taut across eternity 
as tangled sinews that compose my being, 
I scratch at desert pavement cracked by hope 
for one faint simmer of moisture dispersed 
though I shiver freezing in blaze of light. 

To taste soft flowers Ophelia held 
in trembling hands of shy flirtatious faith 
still plump and white with sorrow of dawn snow, 
I croak audacious hymn of travesty 
at mirror mask of death who watches me 
crawl ten million years across scorching sand. 

To bloom from rain-soaked soil of honesty 
with lithesome grace of heaven-reaching flight 
fire-fueled by urgent quest to transcend pain, 
I scream nonverbal howl of rasping cough 
on crippled wings of pure angelic rage 
as Earth embraces my frail soul with death. 

Orpheus stumbles into apple grove 
and falls face-first on plush lawn of wet grass, 
skin cracked and peeling from hot desert sun, 
and coughs as Ophelia pours in his mouth 
cold apple cider spiced with cinnamon 
that beams divine soul of god in his brain. 

Infinitely-Looping Stair

Infinitely-Looping Stair
© Surazeus
2025 04 22

Phoebus builds bridges nobody can cross 
from turtle shells and feathers of quaint lies 
plucked from honest wings of the albatross 
because he wants to send sly language spies 
to foreign countries with mission to twist 
truth of their world view by the plagiarist. 

Free-market societies reduce life 
to production and consumption of tales 
which illustrate morals of mental strife 
to show what success or failure entails 
through tragedy of pride blinded by greed 
or comedy of love that fulfills need. 

Our prophets chanting spells of flashing verse 
design the meaning of life that provides 
incentive for compassion through the purse 
to help the broken people that wealth hides, 
urged by social justice to balance scales 
for salvation bought at holiday sales. 

Phoebus Christ opens hundred million doors 
to every house still standing in the world 
where grumbling teenagers perform their chores 
with psychic energy of the dream herald 
who will place your skull in museum hall 
after gentle death gives her clarion call. 

Hopeful people clutching old microphones 
gather on the Bridge of Audacity 
to chant spells of their poems to hungry stones 
with hard-earned credits of tenacity 
which should reprogram how our brains perceive 
because every person needs time to grieve. 

Shocked by dissolution of the mad king, 
who tries to control how the People think, 
we share sad stories of our suffering 
while gliding on ice at the skating rink, 
then sit with Buddha in garden of ferns 
where the bush of Moses forever burns. 

Regret for opportunities we miss 
inspires our eager passion to explore 
confusing labyrinth of the mind abyss 
where devils sell fantasies at the store 
with the neon sign that flashes our name 
to announce new winner of the fame game. 

Phoebus waits on the bridge that leads nowhere 
for crowds of workers in the dawn-lit fog 
who climb the infinitely-looping stair 
with mission to complete the catalog 
which chronicles fall of America 
and subsequent rise of Zarathia. 

Sapphire Of Weird Truth

Sapphire Of Weird Truth
© Surazeus
2025 04 22

When the stone angel rises from the sea 
with eyes of rain and wings of shifting sand, 
I follow her over threshold of time 
through maze of streets in every town on Earth 
to sprinkle drops of water on your heads 
so you can dream the way our world transforms. 

The happy girl who weeps on bench of stone 
wraps tattered cloth around her withered soul, 
yet dares cruel Cupid to shoot her bruised heart 
that shivers naked under love-blind moon 
while sad Endymion sleeps in empty grave 
which transforms his softy body into bronze. 

With no preconceptions of the square moon 
that shimmers silver with exact control, 
the stone angel swallows shadows of souls 
in fractured mirror of her cosmic mind 
with steady flicker of unfaithful fears 
which agitates conceptual peace of fish. 

Bright speckles flash on surface of her mind 
when the stone angel of indifference 
teaches me how to fish for dragon spawn 
which I roast on small flat-top pyramid 
as first restaurant in history of mankind 
while she sings to entertain travelers. 

We wander in vast labyrinth of our dreams 
past spinning clocks that measure timeless thoughts 
to weave wings from feathers of fallen angels 
so when we find the sapphire of weird truth 
we can see each other on distant worlds 
that sparkle frail across our galaxy. 

Unbalanced facets of electric lakes 
highlight penumbra of the screaming moon 
designed by suffering through our ecstasy 
which displaces our bodies across time 
so we must break down gold cathedral doors 
to live in fruitful garden of the mind. 

Invisible madness of medicine 
heals wounded hearts of cypher-severed souls 
who fish witty dialogue from the well 
that never fulfills wishes we express 
despite attempts to be mirthful on call 
during emergency games of contempt. 

Performing ritual of the sacrament 
to evoke blind god of false memory, 
we conjure instead stone angel of truth 
who calculates circle surrounding fate 
still hidden in the sapphire of weird truth 
which casts shadows of friendship we embrace. 

Holy Trees Of Faith

Holy Trees Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 04 22

The striped lizard of arrogance, that crawls 
mewing across the eyeball of the sky, 
counts all the people wandering alone 
amid the ruins of their fantasies 
who sing the anguish of their broken hearts 
all together in harmony of hope. 

The old man sitting on porch of his home 
on the cabbage farm by the country road 
considers why the lizard knows the name 
of every poet wandering alone 
in ancient cemetery of dead gods 
who come out as zombies every full moon. 

Chewing on the stalk of wheat in his teeth, 
the old man wearing the tattered felt hat 
ponders what folksy proverbs he could share 
on his next radio show on Sunday night 
that might inspire working people to hold 
fast to faith that slithers away as sand. 

The people wandering in the wilderness 
who look for signs along the wheel-worn road 
search for the dandelion of the sun 
which might reveal the hour the ship comes in 
so they can follow chimes of freedom ringing 
across the broad prairies of wind-blown grass. 

So when the children of the country town 
run down the dirt road in the afternoon 
to pick wild plums from holy trees of faith 
with joyful exuberance of the young, 
the old man brings them baskets with a grin 
as finches flit between the white-laced trees. 

The way the world of hills and valleys burst 
with bright explosions of slow-motion blooms 
after rain drenches farms and towns at dawn 
revives his sense of skeptical respect 
as children jump around with jubilance 
with muddy feet that curl roots into Earth. 

Thus we are rooted to this ancient land 
where we are born from hearts of migrant souls 
because we eat the light of singing trees 
that transform mud of this land into fruit 
which molds our bodies from its timeless dreams 
and welcomes us with comfort in its graves. 

Yet flock of starlings shrieking in the sky 
remind the old man with hair white as snow 
that he can see eternity of truth 
when he gazes in the rainwater pool 
which reflects the face his ancestors wore 
before they became fruit the Earth consumes. 

Our Global Zeitgeist

Our Global Zeitgeist
© Surazeus
2025 04 21

When I attempt to think outside the box, 
which Pandora gave me for my birthday, 
I find my soul transformed into the fox 
leaping over rainbow of the dreamway, 
so I refocus attention of my mind 
on world of machines Barsanti designed. 

I should not wish the world to match my will, 
but wish the world to be the way it is, 
declares Dorotheus on the dusty hill, 
who writes in sand weird riddles of the quiz, 
thus I attain calm peace with providence 
to treat people with honest confidence. 

Large furry possum waddles on the porch, 
consuming insects from corpses of kings 
who tried to kill the goddess with the torch, 
then I weep when the bold Valkyrie sings 
who bids farewell to Wotan with sad heart 
as I mark Cave of the Ring on my chart. 

Fierce wolf with eyes lit by the silver moon 
runs by my side around the Caspian Sea 
to mountain meadow where I sing sad tune 
through forty thousand years of charity, 
for I fix engines in fast cars of fate 
that read bright satellites to navigate. 

Because all signed roads lead the way to Rome, 
where Chief Bridge-Builder in the Vatican 
reads oracles from riddles in the tome 
that Sibyl wrote with blood of Leviathan, 
I map human history on spinning globe 
which animates progress with the space probe. 

Gathered in Temple of Saturn at dawn, 
we celebrate foundation of great Rome 
as grand republic in which any pawn 
may attain freedom to build their own home, 
so billions of people vote for the Pope 
whose vision presents broadest social scope. 

Translating scripture from weird secret code, 
Dream Jester channels our global zeitgeist 
for the generation lost on the road 
who follows strange vision of Phoebus Christ 
to visit every city in the world 
in grand victory tour of the cosmic herald. 

Though Midas still thinks he runs planet Earth, 
he roams with Nebuchadnezzar and Lear 
on storm-wracked heath of madness beyond worth 
while clutching fake holy book with blind fear, 
so Minerva bears Lamp of Liberty 
to free Justice from chains of tyranny. 

Divine Mind Of God

Divine Mind Of God
© Surazeus
2025 04 21

Scent of rain in gold afternoon of sorrows 
emanates from the Holy Name of God 
which I pronounce with voice of thunder clouds 
in hundred million languages of thought 
that humans speak to comprehend the Mind 
awake in flashing neurons of our brains. 

Water of hope seeps up from the dark Earth 
to spring as fountains of confident faith 
through surging energy of dreamless sight 
that beams before our eager hopeful eyes 
visions of peaceful cooperative life 
where people celebrate flowers of rain. 

My body thrums with anguish of desire, 
tangled with twisted vines of aching hope, 
as I explore vast forest of decay 
in frantic search through landscape of despair 
for fruit of life that sparks awake from fear 
divine mind of the laughter-shining sky. 

Electric quietude of sublime breeze, 
that swirls around me from deep lake of eyes, 
reflects bright stars that sparkle in the sky 
with beams of light that travel in the void 
millions of years after their stars burn out 
to weave their rays in neurons of my brain. 

Quick-leaping birds of arrogant respect 
call to each other from indifferent trees 
to flirt with shameless passion of desire 
with hope to generate bodies of flesh 
from counterfeit riddles children express 
when they gather eggs from meadows of flowers. 

I walk my unique path in solitude, 
and then with wife and children of my heart, 
in bold quest to wake Divine Mind of God 
in flashing neurons of my dreaming brain 
so I feel radiate from core of my soul 
first flash that flares forth from white whole of being. 

Each nation thriving on lush river shores 
develops language to describe the world 
where creeds define immortal cosmic soul 
who dreams itself awake inside our brains, 
so we design religions to express 
how we each perceive Divine Mind of God. 

Each prophet who appears in dream of Earth 
teaches us all to sing with words of faith 
poetic visions flashing in our brains 
so we join global choir to sing one truth 
when we feel cosmic herald in our hearts 
bind all souls through Astarianity. 

Vow To Stand Guard

Vow To Stand Guard
© Surazeus
2025 04 21

Leaping through the forest with taut yew bow, 
Romulus chases the white hart of fate, 
fires sharp arrow to pierce its noble heart, 
then smiles with pride at the successful hunt 
when Diana hugs him with laugh of joy 
as they preside over feasts in her temple. 

Adjusting stone carved from the mountain cliff, 
Romulus founds Temple of Jupiter 
firm at foot of lush Palatinus Hill 
with vow to stand guard and support the people 
who cheer birth of his city they call Roma 
as Diana gives him grail of wine to drink. 

After Jesus preaches message of love, 
Petrus casts nets in Lake Tiberias, 
hauls fish on shore he roasts on altar stone 
to feed five thousand people who sing psalms, 
then tells the uncrowned King of Israel 
he will follow him as Fisher of Men. 

Raising Key to Heaven that Jesus gave, 
Petrus preaches that Christus is the Rock 
for he is willing to die for his people 
instead of treating them as slaves he owns, 
and helps each person develop their talent 
so they grow skilled with discipline of work. 

Meditating in stillness of Soul Light, 
Franciscus sits in grove of apple trees 
and hums in harmony with cosmic thought 
as birds alight on his shoulders and arms, 
while deer and wolf sniff at his open hands, 
as he becomes one with the Mind of God. 

Strumming lute with spirit of Mercurius, 
Franciscus sings Canticle of the Creatures 
with adoration of his aching heart 
to Brother Sun, bright glory of the world, 
and Sister Death, from whose dreadful embrace 
no mortal can escape with humble heart. 

Washing feet of the Mother with her Child, 
Papa Franciscus blesses her with love, 
then rides white car among the cheering crowds 
to chapel where he kneels before the manger 
where Baby Jesus lies on safe keffiyeh 
as he prays for all refugees from war. 

Gesturing with the Benediction Sign, 
Franciscus Georgius Marius Bergolius 
blesses people of Telluria on Easter 
two thousand seven hundred seventy-eight years 
after Romulus founded the Holy City 
in the Roman Empire that never ends. 

Dreams Of Atom Eyes

Dreams Of Atom Eyes
© Surazeus
2025 04 20

Despite morbid beauty of heartless trees 
stomping with root feet on asphalt highways, 
which tears them apart in fragments of fear, 
we vote to cut them into planks of wood 
so we can build Bridge of Forgetfulness 
across abyss of wretched travesties. 

Startled awake by sudden storm-sharp breeze 
that causes us to shudder in our maze 
of rattled doors, possessed by puppeteer 
born in the hall of mirrors, Neptune laughs 
and runs without restraint on glowing beach 
to catch elusive butterfly of truth. 

Curious to comprehend concept of good, 
invented by the witch of of cheerfulness, 
I carve runes to record weird memories 
that seem to involve uniformed giraffes 
earning state-stamped certificates to teach 
oracles uttered by messiah sleuth. 

Tremulous demons of benevolence, 
neglected by children of Pegasus, 
study in college to be specialists 
in various disciplines with secret codes 
designed to program how our brains perceive 
clusters of color as objective forms. 

Meticulous agents of arrogance, 
confounded by riddles of Sisyphus, 
decide to work as honest corporatists 
in secret project to control the world, 
conducting war of arbitrary rules 
against free agents of psychotic will. 

Arrested by agents of haughty toads, 
who disregard laws of fate to deceive 
innocent people with conceptual storms, 
blind prophet becomes the new cosmic herald 
whose scriptures are studied in global schools 
by wizards who play on capitol hill. 

Though my heart, gentle as the whippoorwill, 
respects each person in the global choir 
who sings with billion voices of One Mind, 
I rest in cave of illusions to feel 
electric flashing of the cosmic wheel 
that weaves my brain from dreams of atom eyes. 

Hearts burning bright as bush on Mount Horeb, 
we dance together on the river shore 
after trudging ten years in the waste land 
to gaze astonished at star-eyed cherub 
who sells ripe apples at the grocery store 
till state agents deport him from our land. 

Mystic Riddles Of Love

Mystic Riddles Of Love
© Surazeus
2025 04 20

White blankness of infinity expands 
ovular structure of our universe 
so if we go far enough around time 
we will return to first hour of our birth, 
though rain-fed rivers always flow downward 
from the mountain cave to the ocean wave. 

The old rotten fence falls over in rain 
between the backyard of neatly-mowed grass 
and the forest of trees tangled with vines, 
so Adam pulls wagon of wood and tools 
to rebuild wall of paradise with pride, 
enclosing garden of fruit trees with hope. 

Constraining passion of animal lust 
with solemn liturgy of wordless hope, 
I organize perceptions of my brain 
with strict linguistic pulchritudes of faith 
which formulate mystic riddles of love 
through clear perception of my starlit eyes. 

Eager to glimpse the brightest star of loss 
that shimmers on calm seawaves of my heart, 
I cross the sandy bar on moonless night 
to find the angel, fallen from the sky, 
trapped by tendrils of elegant seagrass, 
who floats while singing in sad revery. 

Stumbling lost along river of blind skulls, 
far from the weeping valley of my birth, 
I find one lone apple tree on small hill 
blooming bright with pink petals of respect, 
so I breathe sweet ethereal soul of time 
to catch the lightning bolt of obvious truth. 

Bearing fallen angel in aching arms, 
Adam lays the woman with sea-blue eyes 
in shady hut beside the sparkling lake, 
and pours sweet apple juice between her lips 
till she wakes from dream and blinks in surprise, 
then cries because she lost her swan-lithe wings. 

Strolling together among apple trees 
that shimmer pink in evening sunset glow, 
Adam and Eve smile shyly with desire 
as their hands brush, which wakens hearts in love, 
so they embrace and make love by the lake 
with melodious chirping of the wood thrush. 

Teaching Seth how to prune limbs of fruit trees 
to maintain verdant health with free airflow 
so more fruit may sprout from network of limbs, 
Adam prepares his youngest son for time 
when he will bear wand of authority 
to manage Garden of Eden with faith. 

One World Astarianity

One World Astarianity
© Surazeus
2025 04 20

Reborn from spark of psychic energy, 
I rise whole from ontological void 
of random chance as spiral coil of love 
which unifies atomic multitude 
in tight organic form of pulsing light 
to manifest wyrd mystery of desire. 

Watching birds fly with random nonchalance 
across the silver sky of everywhere, 
I calculate track of the impossible 
to map trajectory of the cosmic soul 
who animates my body with blind faith 
in warm revival from the chilling stream. 

Wise woman Amen, in leopard-skin dress, 
sits on flat top of the brick ziggurat 
between four pillars at monolith throne 
to tend the cauldron of sweet apple juice 
which she gives every thirsty wanderer, 
then sings Creation of the Universe. 

Star Goddess Ishtar, in white linen robe, 
sits on flat top of the brick pyramid 
to preside in expansive feasting hall 
where thousands of pyramid priestesses 
assemble to attend Moon Festival 
to drink the juice and eat the bread of Earth. 

First Mother Astaria, in red silk gown, 
sends Sarah and Abraham to the west, 
and Saraswati and Brahma to the east, 
to organize tribes of wandering hunters 
in communes tending herds of animals 
to manage food-production companies. 

Astaria founds religions of the world 
which spring from pulsing spiral coil of love, 
so Judaism, Christianity, Islam, 
Hinduism, Shaivism, Krishnaism, 
Taoism, Confucianism, Communism, 
thrive as one world Astarianity. 

Religions of the world were first conceived 
by Amen, Ishtar, and Astaria, 
so spirits of our hearts on angel wings 
may gather round tall Ziggurat of Ur 
where Wise First Mother of the human race 
first taught us how to sing dreams of our hearts. 

Bold honest hero with weapon of death, 
who guards First Mother with loyal respect, 
dies to sustain our souls with Liberty, 
so spirit of her passion resurrects 
his spirit in the body of his child 
who builds one world Astarianity. 

Revolt Against The Mad King

Revolt Against The Mad King
© Surazeus
2025 04 19

If Janet walks to the bright grocery store 
past houses with lace curtains glowing blue 
because people watch television shows, 
she might remember where the sparrow falls 
so she can weave its feathers in her heart 
as she buys bread and milk with copper coins. 

If Janet bears food in the paper sack 
along the asphalt street that shimmers green 
because young leaves were blown by the wind storm, 
she might suggest the ghost inside the tree 
could work as letter typist at the bank 
since she likes painting white horses with wings. 

If Janet cooks scrambled eggs on the stove 
while demons dance as barely-controlled flames 
because purple morning glory vines bind 
souls of families with stories never told, 
she might hide photos of her mom and dad 
who drowned while fishing on the mountain lake. 

If Janet eats toast with butter and jam, 
described by Marcus Gavius Apicius 
in his cookbook De Re Coquinaria, 
she might play chess games with death on the beach 
to save humanity from nuclear war, 
yet cries because she loses every time. 

If Janet reads the murder mystery book 
about the librarian of antique books 
found dead in the medieval history aisle, 
she might translate the ancient epic poem 
composed by Mercury with dragon blood 
when drinking sweet banana-mango juice. 

If Janet strolls on rolling grassy hills 
to photograph the country college town 
with silver river full of dragon ghosts, 
she might solve puzzle of the Rainbow Bridge 
signed by empty sorrow of endless roads 
where people drive past fields of paradise. 

If Janet gathers apples from the tree 
where Lucifer lounges on crooked limb 
while smoking flowers of the cosmic mind, 
she might sell dreams of haunting fantasies 
to lonely people hiding in the church 
who pray for salvation to stick of wood. 

If Janet meets Ishtar for Easter lunch 
in garden grove beside the sparkling lake 
to celebrate rebirth of spinning Earth, 
she might march on the anniversary 
of the day when We the People revolt 
against the mad king and his tyranny. 

Numbered Mirror Face

Numbered Mirror Face
© Surazeus
2025 04 19

Startled by fragile beauty of the soul, 
I gaze into the numbered mirror face 
that measures constant change of flashing time 
with swift atomic wheels which spiral tight 
to weave all moments of my memories 
in one smooth flow of wisdom in my brain. 

Relentless turning by the clock of fate 
erases every bound material form 
from shimmering landscape of our spinning globe 
for we are transient shadows of One Mind 
that dreams the universe of light to being 
so we may sing sweet hymn of aching love. 

Vague monsters on map of our memories 
haunt misty valleys of our secret tales 
which we explore in casual enterprise 
with jeweled tokens dug from fearful caves 
inspired by urgent knowledge of the wind 
from lightning storms that wake us from the dead. 

Awake on pinnacle of framed ideals 
at shocking climax of contained desire, 
I balance with opposing force of truth 
competing concepts of the world we see 
that blends in swirls of colorful aspects 
till words we speak refract its brilliant facts. 

Exiled by sorrow from my captive home, 
I strum strings of the harp with arrogance 
between excessive regions long pursued 
with each alarming strike the pendulum 
radiates in waves of silent attitude 
that knocks our boat against the muddy shore. 

Since I accept quotidian state of being 
with heart of faith untethered from despair, 
I choose to act on instinct of my mind 
through will to power surging in my frame, 
so I control wild flight of breathless thought 
to glide with grace above maze of my dreams. 

Evading gloom from strips of ardent light 
with staggered prance of parallel dream-time, 
I weave fragmented rhythms from chaos 
with measured order words perpetuate 
based on each time I circle unmapped worlds 
to build quaint microcosm of the Earth. 

Blind owl of my irregular concern, 
that leaps on thunderous steps of holy angst, 
motivates me with fierce intensive love 
to float at stillpoint of the universe 
with killer wings of my wandering heart 
so I become unmoving shade of death. 

Hypothesis Of Our Hope

Hypothesis Of Our Hope
© Surazeus
2025 04 19

Machine of nature flashing in our hearts 
recomposes shadow of timeless faith 
that serves as nothing more than glowing mist 
which shrouds our valley of the singing trees 
who wonder why we weep tears over death 
since they will transform our atoms to fruit. 

Exasperation of the flowing stream 
deprives our hearts of faith in birth of light 
with numbing rancor of the falling rain 
that reveals how our bodies need good food 
in lucid testament our breath declares 
as words that fall in soil as dreamless seeds. 

Since God is hypothesis of our hope, 
devised in desperate circumstance of fear, 
we travel forward over windy plains 
along invisible road of weird shapes 
in dream of faithfulness that leads our steps 
beyond the farthest hill of rugged space. 

So that is how we figure in our eyes 
this world of rivers flowing around hills, 
where trees provide sweet fruit of life to eat, 
is round as apples red against the sky 
that we steal from the hissing snake of death 
so we can dance around the burning bush. 

Through divine election of hungry hope 
we traverse rugged hills in latitudes 
of probability with eager faith 
to assert amorality of choice 
as we progress in motion without laws 
to prove we are free agents without cause. 

Based on caprice of passion to transcend 
frustrating limits from this frame of flesh, 
we justify our journey against death 
to circle valley of our spirit birth 
so we can explore the whole universe 
according to Eternal Will of Fate. 

Hope to build new Eden in the waste land 
highlights the desperate folly of our hearts 
that leads us to wander in tangled woods, 
howling in horror at shadowy beasts 
that haunt our aimless journey to our graves 
till we see our gaunt faces in the pool. 

Though lumens of our beauty wear away, 
we follow flashing moon of changing faith 
that chimes progressive flow of unmarked time 
in uniform degrees of psychic growth 
till we transform into shadowy beasts 
and fade into mute sorrow of the lake. 

Replay The Eerie Tune

Replay The Eerie Tune
© Surazeus
2025 04 18

Orpheus leads Ophelia by her hand 
high up the winding rocky mountain path 
while clutching cold frame of his silver lyre 
with taut strings humming in the frantic wind, 
quickly with caution past the snake of faith, 
eager to rejoin the heavenly choir. 

Bright angels swirl around them in the sky 
as clouds that glow with shocking sunset flames 
with hope to lead them to the waterfall 
since psychic program code in the blue eye 
defines algorithms of their star names 
which gives them courage to transcend the wall. 

From apples ripening on Tree of Fate 
swift goldfinches leap on moon-woven wings 
to bring scroll of prophecy to the toad 
which swells huge enough to swallow all hate 
when Orpheus chants spells in magic rings 
that beam eidolic illusions of God. 

They share cold darkness of their aching hearts 
to glimpse strange beauty of the alien face 
reflecting shadow of their secret souls 
with urgent care to conjure from dream charts 
predawn endurance of their tribal space 
defining how they perform cosmic roles. 

They agree to meet at the next full moon 
when Ishtar resurrects the Earth from death 
in secret mountain cave where time was born 
with mission to replay the eerie tune 
which sharpens pure flame of their psychic breath 
at haunting horror of the martial horn. 

Each day they perform their ritual routine, 
gathering food from the generous world 
with constructive gestures of crafting hands 
to maintain function of the mind machine, 
programmed to perform as the cosmic herald 
in project to reclaim colonized lands. 

Love language of the holy messenger, 
who plays the lyre that Mercury designed, 
adjusts attentive focus of his heart 
on needs of his romantic passenger 
who asks with frightened voice if he can find 
snake of fear highlighted by her star chart. 

Avoiding traps that tempt him to gain power 
of authority over reverent souls, 
Orpheus turns away from Throne of Law 
and discards key that unlocks golden tower 
to focus attention on sacred scrolls 
preserved in Hall of Truth by Onatah. 

Trickery Of The Zodiac

Trickery Of The Zodiac
© Surazeus
2025 04 18

Too high above confounding maze of doors 
on wings of angels stolen from dark Hell, 
young son of Hamlet and Ophelia 
falls in love with Juliet in red dress 
when she dances gracefully by the stream 
and sings eerily, "Life is but a dream." 

Amazed by trickery of the zodiac 
by which he calculates the road to take, 
young son of Hamlet and Ophelia, 
who calls himself mad jester with the crown, 
decides to erase history of mankind 
from pure Edenic vision of his mind. 

Insisting they call him Ophelius, 
instead of Hambert, lost prince of Denmark, 
young son of Hamlet and Ophelia 
steals gold Maserati from the garage 
and races swiftly by the moonlit gulf 
with engine growling loud as the wild wolf. 

To treasure beauty only blind fools see 
by eating apples from old Tree of Fate, 
young son of Hamlet and Ophelia 
declares before the cheering stadium crowd 
that he is prophet of war refugees 
who follow buzzing of the honey bees. 

Entranced by beauty of her star-black eyes 
when Juliet dances on the nightclub floor, 
young son of Hamlet and Ophelia 
saves her from Romeo when he gropes her thighs, 
so they run laughing to the city park 
where they make love till singing of the lark. 

Face lit by rays of rosy-fingered dawn 
while he keeps watch over his sleeping bride, 
young son of Hamlet and Ophelia 
contemplates meaning of life till she wakes, 
then gives her apple he stole from the tree 
because she is queen over land of the free. 

When Romeo charges at him with sharp knife 
to stab him in the heart with howl of rage, 
young son of Hamlet and Ophelia 
punches him in the face with calm restraint, 
but Juliet clutches him and weeps in shock, 
heartbroken at the death of her life rock. 

Arrested for murder by grim police 
for killing son of the bank president, 
young son of Hamlet and Ophelia 
declares his innocence in court of law, 
but he is sent south to El Salvador, 
locked in the prison camp forevermore. 

Psychic Graph Of Cogency

Psychic Graph Of Cogency
© Surazeus
2025 04 18

Since candid words of terrid innocence 
spark dreams to bloom in my lucible mind, 
I hope their psychic graph of cogency 
could vigify my heart with providence 
based on fervific passion to express 
clear insight earned through appliance of pain. 

Not horrible as pallid nonchalance 
through torpid indifference of charity, 
my stringent livor based on vigid spite 
enhances verdant particles of fear, 
destined to rigify my argument 
with legal articles of fervid faith. 

Fierce principalities of torpid trust 
assemble various codes of cogent facts 
to aid construction with adjusted thoughts 
of ever-shifting proverbs stating proof 
that conscious vibes of rigid potencies 
exacerbate our tendency to laugh. 

Despite fervific focus on desire, 
designed to lucify our state of mind 
with latticed wisdom, trapped in formulas 
none can unravel with rigific hope, 
we maintain progress beyond tepid trance 
to claim astringent fields as ordered truth. 

Thus I hide from perception of my eyes 
men shaved and stripped of social dignity, 
then stacked in cement cells of impudence 
by fascist gangsters gripping guns of fear 
who sing grand hymns of patriocity 
to sustain patriarchy of contempt. 

Yet still conceptual vigor of my soul 
remains the leaping fountain of respect 
with unquenchable faith to sing of truth 
as hungry human suckling milk of stars 
from breasts of light in wicked satiety 
with ravenous desire to know your heart. 

Merciless attention to basic rights 
through luminous landscapes of loneliness 
applies contingency of urgent faith 
with pride to psychic graph of cogency 
so I create adjusted warmth of love 
with shining wisdom of exploding rain. 

Therefore we gather on the river shore 
to fight for universal rights of man 
against kleptocracy of greedy kings 
since we outnumber wealthy oligarchs 
while Zarathustra raises flag of faith 
and leads us forth to build democracy. 

Library Of Hearts

Library Of Hearts
© Surazeus
2025 04 17

Divine longing to walk the hidden course 
through irregular bloom of hungry shadows 
urges my eyes to perceive ordered forms 
blurred in abundant rhythm of desire 
with undeterred gestures to manage growth 
of wild trees that obscure pathway of faith. 

Beaming within limits of its taut sphere, 
the sun weaves bodies of organic brains 
from flashing molecules of timeless truth 
who dance together on the ocean shore 
and sing in harmony with swirling waves 
with rapturous awe at beauty of light. 

Mind-pulsing revery of honey bees 
causes clovers to sprout from rancid prairies 
where children splash in starry-silver pools, 
then hold their breath and float on nothingness, 
suspended between credence and despair 
based on narrative of hope we compose. 

Crouched inside encompassing wall of mounds 
that shields our bodies from hunger of monsters, 
we whisper perfect names in secret code 
to realign attention of our eyes 
with focus on dark shadows of despair 
that lurk among indifferent trees of faith. 

Eager to erase ignorance of Earth, 
we attempt to explore beyond the pale 
of sacred haven where we clutch word keys 
with fierce objective to protect the truth 
in tandem with speech of electric leaves 
that rustle softly in the haughty breeze. 

We catalog strange objects we observe 
as mind-animated parts of blind trees 
that teach our hearts to be reliable 
with rooted stories of the wanderers 
who transplant ghosts from garden of mad gods 
to prove our souls are born from wind and rain. 

Gold warblers lounge in maples by the lake 
with holy mission to retrieve the star 
that falls in blaze of glory from storm clouds 
to write our memoirs in black-feathered books 
we store with care in Library of Hearts 
where daffodils bloom from our rotting brains. 

Dawn wrenches lonely hills from wordless graves 
without respect for how we humans feel, 
so we map signless roads of everywhere 
which all lead straight to City of the Owl 
embodied by the girl with moon-gray eyes 
who teaches me to sing when angels weep. 

Matrix Of Dream-Webs

Matrix Of Dream-Webs
© Surazeus
2025 04 17

When the shadow butterfly of my heart 
flutters into bright planet of your eye 
I forget myself and become your hope 
as sweet electric current of respect 
flows between our bodies in spiral rings 
that blossom into wings of honest love. 

When the star-flashing honey of our words 
weaves taut beams of early afternoon light 
in startling mystery of mutual desire, 
we merge our bodies into glowing cloud 
as precious wings of respect bind our minds 
in compassionate embrace of pure love. 

We want this temporary flame of love 
to glow as long as we are both alive, 
connecting our alien bodies with trust 
as we stroll hand in hand on ocean shore 
to sing in harmony with awe-formed waves 
so we tend energy of faith we share. 

The more we talk about the world we see, 
sharing anecdotes of wondrous events 
that we experience in our times apart, 
the larger virtual world inside our minds 
expands to accommodate formulas 
we devise to explain what we perceive. 

Though we are chemical cogs of desire 
as bodies bound in matrix of dream-webs, 
propelled by natural forces of the Earth 
in global wheel of flashing molecules, 
we navigate landscape of sun-sparked forms, 
choosing our way with axiom of free will. 

We write the script of our predestined fate, 
dispelling illusions of hopeful dreams 
to measure status of reality 
so we can comprehend nature of things 
enough to choose what actions to perform 
within variable range of possibilities. 

Constrained by universal laws of Nature, 
we exercise expansive force of hope 
to balance forward motion of desire 
between extremes of energy and form 
as aggressive souls of organic brains 
in compliance with machinery of time. 

Lithe with play of illusory free will 
within atomic framework of the Earth, 
we breathe ethereal spirit of the sun 
to surf on undulating waves of fate 
along trajectory of flexible laws 
in tune with inexorable flow of hope. 

Island Of Sweet Hope

Island Of Sweet Hope
© Surazeus
2025 04 16

When the shining sun of desperate hope 
is obliterated from the clear sky 
by haunting shadow of the howling moon, 
Odysseus crawls on sore hands and knees 
across the sparkling sands of Ithaca, 
and cries out with joy at his return home. 

Three thousand two hundred and three years later 
I stand in evening dusk on back wood deck 
of my home in sultry Appalachian hills 
near turbid waters of Oconee River, 
and feel ache of nostalgia in my heart 
for homecoming of heroes from harsh wars. 

How far from Ithaca in sailing boats 
my ancestors journeyed on endless search 
to find lush valley with the Tree of Life 
where we may gather in the evening dusk 
to party with pleasure of being alive, 
sweet visions that program how my brain dreams. 

Now far away from Island of sweet hope 
I dwell in temporary paradise 
in quaint comfortable home I did not build 
where my wife and children may safely dwell 
to create beautiful art about life 
with eager passion of dream-crafting hands. 

Soon the shining sun of desperate hope 
may get obliterated from the sky 
by readjustment of the fate machine 
when devil of greed who escaped from Hell 
possesses old king with ambitious pride 
to again wreck grand towers of Ilium. 

This cruel Agamemnon in our White House, 
who has unleashed mad Achilles in hate 
with avaricious chainsaw of contempt 
to exile countless good people from Heaven, 
sneers with bitter disgust for honest law 
while he rampages in careless revenge. 

If wily Odysseus with clever ploy 
would evict cruel tyrant from our White House 
to rebuild our great empire he destroys 
instead of helping trash America, 
he could return to Island of sweet hope 
with esteem that he saved our land from greed. 

We call on wise Athena to attend 
urgent mission restoring our great land 
by turning heart of sly Odysseus 
from selfish greed to selfless courtesy 
with courageous compassion of respect 
to save our homeland from invasive thieves. 

This Hour Of Faith

This Hour Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 04 16

Emerging from wood fane by the pear tree, 
Sabina stands before her frightened people. 
"Now that we have secured haven of hope 
on lush shore of swampy Albula River, 
protected by our guardian Curinus, 
may Mother Ceres bless us with ripe wheat." 

Gesturing toward their boats anchored to oak trees, 
Sabina reminds them of their hard journey. 
"My father, Sabus Jupiter Fidius, 
assembled our tribe, driven from their land, 
on rugged sea shore of hilly Laconia 
and lead us here to this lush mountain valley." 

Sabina presses her hand on her heart. 
"His noble father, Sancus Fisovius, 
divine guard of our tribal sanctuary, 
god of heavenly light, sanctified oaths 
of agreements in contracts of respect, 
and avenged dishonest ones who broke oaths." 

Sabina gazes in their hopeful eyes. 
"Now that we enclosed our town with safe walls, 
we shall build temple to our tribal founder 
to preserve memory of his honest reign 
as son of Dius Fidius and his bride, 
wise Neith, graceful daughter of Sobecus." 

Sabina wipes tears from her sparkling eyes. 
"Sobecus reigned as river priest of oaths 
in land of Egyptia in hot Africa, 
till his brother overthrew him in coup, 
and set him adrift on the wine-dark sea 
with his young daughter and beloved books." 

Sabina raises right hand to the sun. 
"Generous Feronia, Goddess of Mothers, 
found Sobecus and his daughter shipwrecked 
on shore of Laconia, hungry in rain, 
so she gave them shelter and food to eat, 
and told her son Fidius to guard them well." 

Sabina crosses her arms across her breast. 
"When Neith grew tall and graceful as the willow, 
her kindness and beauty won the bold heart 
of Dius Fidius, defender of his tribe, 
so they pledged their love before Feronia, 
then she gave birth to our Lord Fisovius." 

Sabina spreads arms open as they cheer. 
"Each generation of our bold ancestors 
wandered lost in this world of hostile tribes, 
but we build our new home with crafting hands, 
for we are blessed by Feronia and Neith, 
whose spirits wake in me this hour of faith." 

Farm Fields Of Paradise

Farm Fields Of Paradise
© Surazeus
2025 04 15

Warned by stones in the walls of paradise 
about fish flipping the sky upside down, 
we untangle memories of this wild land 
which we name after first mother of faith 
who walked these lush hills centuries ago 
to hide our bodies in egg of her heart. 

Vulnerable to hungry machines of hope, 
which plow fields of grass into furrowed verse 
where wordless men with taut wind-weathered faces 
scatter seeds of stories in graves of fear, 
old paradigm of Earth we cherished deeply 
hides redolent spirits of our dry bones. 

Words ferret mysteries with the sense of touch 
we connive to prove Earth remembers us 
so cities of stone we build on her breast 
creak with anguish of forgotten desires 
that bloom from rain-wet fields into gold wheat 
we bake into bread to weep for Adonis. 

Consorting at twilight with honest lovers, 
we weave strange loneliness of midnight flowers 
in wreaths we wear to May Day festivals 
with unrelenting passion to transcend 
cadence of broken hearts in sprightly dance 
though we relapse to status of lost fools. 

Our bodies vanish into fields of wheat 
where we first rose from corrugated tombs 
to map eccentric meadows teeming angels 
who chase each other twenty thousand years 
as we gather berries from tangled vines 
which represent weird history of our race. 

Buoyant spawn of our hearts escaping caves 
grasp roots of trees with elegant disgrace 
to organize wild herbs from shadowed woods 
into neatly aligned rows of fruit trees 
which flourish thick in hush of river winds 
for sweet unsingable hymns of old faith. 

Amazed at startling beauty of gold mist, 
that frames the rising moon with arrogance, 
we calculate our peaceful absences 
with daring urgency to comprehend 
crystalized wisdom of our drifting house 
that shelters our children from angry storms. 

Conjured by gale-warning voice of the sea 
that sings with sibilance of honest hope, 
our spirits beam with marvelous intent 
to count each raindrop shining with its star 
that animates seeds with ambitious pride 
we feel tending farm fields of paradise. 

Fervent Prayers To God

Fervent Prayers To God
© Surazeus
2025 04 15

The words I speak are transient as the wind, 
yet mold from conceptual clay of my brain 
timeless state of reality I feel 
vibrate in ruthless wind of constancy 
with arbitrary perfection of thought, 
for I create the world with words I speak. 

The mystery of the weirding words I speak 
reveals the way to balance truth with lies 
halfway between reality and dream 
when I stand on the rock of haughty hope 
to proclaim the meaning of world events 
that swirl our bodies in currents of fate. 

The faultless vision of the way things are 
highlights the pointless passion of desire 
that drives our spectral progress to transcend 
walled obstacles of belligerent faith 
contrived by gestures our bodies invent 
to program fortune of successful plays. 

The process I prescribe with strict respect 
provides clear method we articulate 
to catalog all objects of the world 
with words that shape forms into clear ideas 
demarked by boundaries of conceptual fact 
depicting accurate state of primal being. 

The card tricks jesters play on loyal fools 
expose selfish greed of each conscious soul 
who risks their hard-earned wealth of social pride 
to gamble for salvation against Death 
who always wins in fate-adjusted time 
despite our fervent prayers to God for Life. 

The eerie laughter of the apple tree, 
who understands fierce hunger of my flesh, 
excites erotic wisdom of my brain 
to plant small seeds in putrid river mud, 
and faithfully attend their fragile sprouts 
till forest of fruit trees grows from my corpse. 

The monstrous toad beneath the murky waves 
lurks in disguise as beauty I desire 
with glamorous allurement of sweet eyes 
for pleasure promised by ecstatic faith, 
so I dive in dark lake where Grendel hides 
to fight the demon Nature with word spells. 

The painful memories of our harvest hour 
compose the sturdy bridge of honesty 
across which humans walk with trembling faith 
to find the Promised Land of fruitful trees 
across the waste land of sterilized faith 
defined by rapture of true words I speak.