God Walks Through My Soul

God Walks Through My Soul
© Surazeus
2025 05 31

When God walks through my soul with burning wings 
I rise up from dark webbing of the sea 
to crawl along bright river of fierce hope, 
and climb up sprawling tree to grasp ripe fruit, 
then feast on beauty of the sun and rain 
so I can sing of how I love this Earth. 

If God walks through my soul with flashing dreams 
recording memories of ancestral brains, 
I sprout from matrix of the mountain cave 
that molds my body from soil of the Earth 
so I emerge from darkness of my heart 
woven from roots of trees that feed my flesh. 

Since God walks through my soul with whirling wings 
of wild transcendent anguish to soar high, 
I breathe ethereal spirit of respect 
when I look back on road of life I blazed 
to see my face reflected in the pool 
till I hear Echo call my secret name. 

Till God walks through my soul with gleaming eyes 
I dive deep in dark abyss of my dreams 
where my god-soul is darkness of the Earth 
composed of atoms swerving in the void 
that flare forth from first flash of the big bang 
to weave weird neural network of my brain. 

World God walks through my soul with weaving light 
that flares in flames of heart-surrounding walls 
containing stories of humanity 
in one expansive sphere of vibrant minds 
who dance in circle of tall monoliths 
where vision screens portray our psychic myths. 

Tree God walks through my soul with blooming fruit 
that draws nutritious energy of faith 
from teeming darkness of the Underworld 
where ghosts of every soul who ever lived, 
sucked by hungry roots, fatten me with love 
when I consume fruits of Earth Energy. 

Your God walks through my soul with chanting spells 
that program how my brain perceives the world 
from holy scripture of prophetic code 
presenting Mother Madonna with Child 
who dwell safe in lush monastery garden 
where roots of trees drink blood of fallen angels. 

Star God walks through my soul with humming words 
that pull my darkness from vortex of truth 
to spiral far across the universe 
as sperm that fertilizes egg of hope 
which generates this body of my soul 
so I burn with song till I become dust. 

Jesus And Nine Devils

Jesus And Nine Devils
© Surazeus
2025 05 31

Along gritty railroad tracks into town, 
past dilapidated houses and stores 
through forest of rotten telephone poles, 
I trudge lost toward my unknown destiny 
while I strum guitar with four rusty strings 
and sing cerulean ache of my heart. 

The old gray-wood store with bags of horse feed 
rises tall as the old abandoned church 
where ghost of Jesus lingers in the window 
then wanders out in cowboy hat and boots 
to drive white Buick Rivera sedan 
clanking over the railroad tracks of fate. 

Cruising slow along the cracked asphalt road 
past rows of houses with scruffy-grass lawns, 
where children in coats laugh as they play games, 
Jesus taps fingers on the steering wheel 
while Jim Reeves sings, "I guess I am crazy 
for loving you" on the car radio. 

Nine devils in black leather jackets roar 
engines of motorcycles loud as demons 
as they surround the savior of the world, 
flapping bat wings and unleashing sharp claws 
when they kick the sides of his white sedan, 
and throw rocks that crack his windshield of faith. 

Gunning engine of white Buick Rivera, 
Jesus races fast down the road to town 
where people shopping in department stores 
turn in shocked surprise at unholy roar 
as Jesus and nine devils race through red lights 
in battle over who will rule mankind. 

Swerving back and forth in serpentine curves, 
Jesus knocks several devil bikers hard 
who spin out of control and crash in poles, 
then speeds ahead just far enough to veer 
sideways angled sliding on screeching tires 
that burn rubber hot in billowing smoke. 

Stepping from open door of white sedan, 
Jesus in cowboy hat and snake-skin boots 
stands firm against the tyranny of greed 
to aim silver double-barreled shotgun 
and fires blast of holy righteousness 
that knocks cruel devils off their motorbikes. 

Driving back home to his gray-wood feed store, 
Jesus carries paper bags of groceries 
upstairs to the kitchen on the third floor 
where pregnant Mary Magdalene in blue dress 
helps teen Tamar tend Justus in the highchair, 
so they kiss as he grills burgers for supper. 

Chaotic Swirl Of Hope

Chaotic Swirl Of Hope
© Surazeus
2025 05 30

Why clouds glow silver in the boundless sky 
I cannot speculate nor ponder why, 
absorbed by beauty of the shocking light 
that pierces my sad heart with ache of right 
as I drift in drowsy uncertainty 
at source of mysterious sublimity. 

I see in mirror of eternity 
face of my Muse born from absurdity 
who will take mask of my face off the wall 
and kiss my unfeeling lips when I call 
her sweet name with song of the nightingale 
who leads me through the misty roadless vale. 

I dare not doubt romance of the heart 
calculated well on my stellar chart 
based on inherent uselessness of faith 
contrived to trap concept of the star wraith 
in holy hymns believers sing in church 
beneath the gargoyle on his lonely perch. 

Though my horse of freedom strains at the bit 
I urge her race beyond the counterfeit 
to scatter oak leaves scribbled with dream verse 
across fake planets of the multiverse 
which proves the living cannot love the dead 
whose ghost of absence haunts the pulsing head. 

Stuck in dank danger of my memory, 
through puzzle of my documentary, 
I love the evil witch who hates my soul 
so I play necromancer as my role 
to resurrect the dead in ballad tales 
who mock the process mental health entails. 

I long for bodied contact with my Muse, 
though beauty fails to support old world views, 
so I go through the Underworld of lies 
without looking back to ancestral spies 
who remember my frail dismembered frame 
strewn on the beach as bones without my name. 

I dig the skull of Orpheus from hard dirt 
to learn code of his weird prophetic art 
so I can weave chaotic swirl of hope 
in solemn proverbs that help people cope 
with lack of meaning in this brutal life 
where gods gain power by killing through strife. 

The dead we buried in tomb of grand myths 
return as zombies in ringed monoliths 
who disassemble narrative of truth 
that foretells coming of messiah sleuth 
who wears mask of god to hide nothingness 
though we sing on bridge of forgetfulness. 

Blue Crane Of Longevity

Blue Crane Of Longevity
© Surazeus
2025 05 30

Riding the blue crane of longevity, 
I fly high over Kunlun Mountain peaks 
and land by jade waters of Lake Heihai, 
then climb secret trail past the tiger cave 
through orchard where Peaches of Wisdom bloom 
to Sapphire Palace beneath Whirlwind Peak. 

Attending banquet in the jeweled hall, 
I offer gift of my heart with respect 
to Xi Wangmu, Queen Mother of the West, 
who accepts Emerald Tablet from my hand, 
then takes Big Dipper from the starry sky 
and fills my grail with honey-spiced peach wine. 

While Zhongli Quan strums strings of the guzheng 
that vibrates bright from the Grand Empty Space, 
Wijimu Infinite Mother of Life 
dances gracefully across the rainbow 
to scatter sparkling rain on fields of crops 
where farmers celebrate with grateful songs. 

At sudden blast of swirling mountain wind 
the two-horned dragon-bodied Qilin horse 
emerges from pine woods on flaming wings 
and gallops with thunderous elegance 
in Sapphire Palace to bow before throne 
where Xi Wangmu offers ripe peach to eat. 

Strange vision glows before our dreaming eyes 
that plays dramatic scenes on wall of mirrors 
foretelling birth of the new world-famed sage 
who will arrive during the great world war 
to help us overthrow nationalist tyrants 
and create United Nations of Earth. 

Returning to my home in Okoni, 
nestled in lush foothills of Appalachia, 
I offer cracked corn to the blue-winged crane 
who gives me scroll with fifty thousand songs, 
then bows and soars into the silver clouds 
with blessings from the heart of Xi Wangmu. 

Though dream of America seems to fade 
from ideal state where every human being 
is treated equal under one fair law, 
threatened by white nationalist supremacy, 
I will nurture growth of Zarathia 
where every person in the world lives free. 

Inspired by Xi Wangmu, Mother of Earth, 
who offers soul-nurturing Peach of Wisdom 
for every human living on this Earth 
to savor pleasure and beauty of life, 
I work to build our new America 
based on Liberty and Justice for all. 

How I Create Life

How I Create Life
© Surazeus
2025 05 30

The casual way huge herd of silver clouds 
gallops over rolling hills of tough grass, 
hoofs grazing canopy of secretive trees 
where monsters of my imagination lurk 
till they vanish when I look in their eyes, 
inspires me with hope that life goes on. 

Wild spinning roulette of the mountain wind 
rouses woods of my heart from drowsy faith 
with shock of thought disorder that disrupts 
slow undulation trapped by social words 
that shift my world view into overdrive, 
swirled by entanglements of honest faith. 

Escape from demolished room of my faith 
accelerates my transition to new state 
of hungry passion for eccentric thoughts 
that swim silver-scaled in Memory Sea 
where I sail safely in small scarlet boat 
toward lighthouse in old temple of dead gods. 

Beached on the silent island of regret, 
I step on shifting sands of actual truth 
as alien to this province of contempt, 
and reach for shadow of the gleaming moon 
that overwhelms my mind with buzzing ring 
so I fall backward into well of gloom. 

Whose warm hand of compassionate desire 
catches me from falling into abyss 
of harsh traumatic memories I conceal 
puzzles my heart with adoring respect, 
but when I wake beneath the willow tree 
I see no savior other than the wind. 

Enormous tower of evasive hope 
spears straight up into whale-belly of clouds 
that writhe with lightning flashes of despair, 
so I climb rocky path of broken dreams 
that winds in haunted groves of laughing snakes 
to insert key of truth in door of fear. 

I lock tight shielding door of fortitude 
against aggressive words of Jupiter 
who hurls thunderbolts of anxiety 
to shatter mirror of my modesty, 
but I hide safe in paradise of pain 
and nurture life that swells within my heart. 

Sharp arrow of desire that strikes my heart 
opens wounded rose of conceptual love 
so I grasp skull of my mother and stare 
tearless into hollow hope of her eyes 
till I envision through epiphany 
how I create life from anguish of death. 

Angel In The Dark Door

Angel In The Dark Door
© Surazeus
2025 05 29

When the angel in the dark door calls me 
with eerie voice of ocean waves at dawn, 
I rise from bed and walk my charming home 
where my wife and children sleep safe from harm, 
then fly out the cracked window of my mind 
and glide above the maze of ancient myths. 

If the angel in the dark door knows why 
our frail bodies are chemical machines 
that function temporarily on hope, 
then I might find ghost of my primal self 
performing on the television screen 
role of tragic hero the world respects. 

Since the angel in the dark door chants spells 
of wind that rustles leaves on rugged hills, 
I might understand pain of suffering 
experienced by the uncrowned king of fate 
who hangs of the cross of world revolution 
in vain quest to overthrow god of wealth. 

Though the angel in the dark door conceals 
shocking prophecy of the scarlet horse 
concerning who will win the next world war, 
I play chess with Death on the beach of lies 
till I win eternal life in my head 
as my soul dissolves to dust in the wind. 

Till the angel in the dark door returns 
from palace of Heaven on crystal clouds, 
I will climb the stairway of golden keys 
forged from bones of dragons in the hills 
whose black blood fuels engines of machines 
by which we humans conquer the waste land. 

Where the angel in the dark door plants seeds, 
that she and I stole from Adam and Eve 
off Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, 
I build new temple of the Holy Ghost 
that programs immortal soul of my genes 
with memories from lives my ancestors lived. 

Yet the angel in the dark door conspires 
with laughing devils born in Wonderland 
to trick the White Queen with sly money scam 
to buy cheap timeshares for the Afterlife 
where Hamlet and Juliet wearing crowns 
attend Ring of the Nibelung opera. 

Lest the angel in the dark door realize 
reality is illusion of our minds 
and crown himself new Emperor of Earth, 
I blow the grand trumpet of Gideon 
and wield the wand of Zambor to support 
Justice and Liberty who rule the world. 

Why the angel in the dark door designs 
weird ontology of our new world view 
I understand with bright epiphany 
that shakes foundation of the old world order 
with firm allegiance to Goddess Ishtar 
who rules the world from ziggurat of Ur. 

So the angel in the dark door explains 
the obvious secret of eternal life 
how we reincarnate again in flesh 
when sperm of man fructifies egg of woman 
and generates new chemical machine 
that replicates immortal soul of genes. 

Absolute Knowledge Of Life

Absolute Knowledge Of Life
© Surazeus
2025 05 29

If pretty girls wear spiders of respect 
then handsome boys wear wolves of honesty 
so they contest to match heart with their mate 
which generates new life from tragedy 
when children spring from ashes of world war 
and run toward the angel in the dark door. 

Because my heart is crowded with the ghosts 
of people I meet on the road of life, 
I think of them with affection of hope 
that they are living somewhere in this world 
with joyful attitude of comedy, 
though illusion of our state has dissolved. 

When I strike the stone with the bat of truth 
I hurl pure diamond of being from my heart 
to resurrect the daemon of respect 
that spreads wide Phoenix wings of agony 
so I play game of life on field of hope 
by decoding text of faith with dream keys. 

With song I maintain fragile modicum 
of dream coherence through identity 
as unknown exiled son of Jupiter 
bonding my fragmented psyche in whole 
which mirrors faces of humanity 
who sing solemn hymns at tomb of my soul. 

When I wake at the wild laughter of bombs 
in unimaginable zero summer 
stuffed with knowledge from the apple of truth, 
I dance among the rubble of our nation 
to regain Absolute Knowledge of Life 
with state of wholeness forged from fear of death. 

Climbing the ancient ziggurat of Ur, 
decayed from eight thousand years of warfare, 
I reach high for utopian transcendence 
unachievable through knowledge of fate 
because my breath sends prayers to empty skies 
where no storm god watches over mankind. 

Trapped in Absolute Subjectivity 
by mind-expanding passion to know truth, 
I employ concept of anxiety 
to secure treasure of light from the cave 
where Plato and Kierkegaard still play chess 
though bombs are blasting homes in puzzled code. 

Guided by summer knowledge of my heart, 
I journey from cluttered maze of glass towers 
to luscious Green World of Elysian Fields 
and fly to knowledge from reality 
where Orlando searches for Rosalind 
to dwell in Arden of Eternity. 

Old Telephone Of My Heart

Old Telephone Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2025 05 29

Old telephone of my heart never rings 
but I always seem to hear your true voice 
in cheerful chirp of invisible birds 
who bring me your letters on windy wings 
so, though your absence haunts me as your ghost, 
I feel not lonely in our empty home. 

Reverse psychology of cluttered words, 
which fail to analyze romantic choice, 
reformulates how I perceive new things 
which I record in dictionary tome 
before evening hour of the dinner roast 
when we discuss weak arrogance of kings. 

All day I wander shadows of our house 
to organize puzzle pieces of truth 
with hope to restore coherence of myth 
that underlies weird structure of belief 
on which we found ontology of faith 
based on ancestral memories of our brains. 

Face of Star Goddess on moon monolith, 
revealed by dream quest of messiah sleuth, 
mirrors fertile spirit of my true spouse 
who trusts me as we walk conceptual lanes 
on journey to embody cosmic wraith 
whose holy light assuages wounding grief. 

Old telephone of my heart flies away 
beyond enclosing walls of paradise 
as holy spirit of the mindless sun 
that guides my journey to the Promised Land 
where I found empire of the singing skull 
through which I prophesy what might occur. 

Running on bright beach with psychotic gun 
in vain attempt to evade paying the price 
of excess confidence in how I play, 
I wear sun-blazing mask of Jupiter 
to crash gates of Heaven on my white bull 
and build new world empire from Samarkand. 

All day I wander shadows of my mind 
to analyze how I perceive the world 
within framework of empirical thought 
which exposes artificial approach 
programmed by ancient Greek philosophy 
my brain employs to motivate my game. 

Transcending state as organic robot, 
I invent role as new world cosmic herald 
to expand world view that Plato designed 
where Idea Realm and Heaven share name 
that describes linguistic psychology, 
so I ride with Emily in her death coach. 

Tyranny Of Social Frauds

Tyranny Of Social Frauds
© Surazeus
2025 05 28

Though our state is doomed to decrepitude 
through hypocrisy of failed magnitude, 
we will design new structure of fair laws 
to render effect equal to its cause 
with morals borrowed from the noble wolf 
that dwells on shore of the Mexican Gulf. 

Inspired by spirit of the Absolute 
who falls in love with the kind prostitute, 
I calculate path of my destiny 
to expand empire for my progeny 
who sprout from dragon teeth of my soul seed 
with clever wits to disguise social greed. 

Hanging on eccentric wall of star time, 
Mirror of Truth reflects in ocean slime 
immortal spirit of God in my genes 
who shows me how to build psychic machines 
so I can analyze how my quick brain 
perceives worth of the world based on wealth gain. 

When Amateur Astronomer records 
fall of Lucifer from palace of chords 
she dictates long epic my blind muse sings 
about crystal dynamo of my wings 
that flash as shadow of the humming wheel 
which powers motion of the time-mobile. 

Majestic mass of our atomic world 
sparks revolution of the cosmic herald 
who rides white horse up pyramid of gods 
to battle tyranny of social frauds 
who kill opponents with aggressive tricks 
which shatters vibrant mirror of the matrix. 

The Emerald Seer on pyramid of skulls 
announces refined list of social rules 
while emperor he services on throne of gold 
presides with confidence on misty wold 
over dissolution of world empire 
that falls with eerie singing of the choir. 

Since many emperors with haughty pride 
have fallen from the tower where gods hide, 
I attend class taught by Tiresias 
for tricks to dethrone Ozymandias 
so I can build new empire from weird myth 
using psychic tools of the vision smith. 

To follow star road that will lead me home 
I consult the secret dream-fractured tome 
whose pages change the stories they display 
each time I read them at the break of day 
so I record fall of America 
to glorify rise of Zarathia. 

Music Of My Wounded Heart

Music Of My Wounded Heart
© Surazeus
2025 05 28

Extravagant music of my wounded heart 
finetunes apples ripening in my brain 
which programs how my hands scroll light of faith 
in perfect hymn from my ethereal breath 
that causes trees to dance in ecstasy 
in psychic harmony with surprised rain. 

Duration of music in waves of time 
measures unmoving distance from the past 
reflected in the future I would see 
in silent hallway of my optic scope 
by which my mind perceives the unnamed world 
cluttered with fuzzy objects of contempt. 

I wonder if each object I perceive, 
that moves through volition of mute desire, 
is operated by conceptual soul 
which animates its time-bound body well 
to sing in harmony with water flow 
when the moon in the trees speaks to my heart. 

Immediacy of darkness sparks awake 
my suddenly cautious mind in respect 
of fierce attention to shadowy thoughts 
that lurk in doorway of the everywhere 
which grants admission to my naked heart 
for eating laughter of the rotten fruit. 

Gone far beyond the edge of somewhere else 
with tenuous knowledge of why rain explodes, 
I touch the flexible opening of light 
despite soft comfort of untrammeled time 
when I suffer sorrowing tone of death 
born from consummate face of the whole world. 

When falling leaves of time scream in the void 
that cracks window of silence with false words, 
I run with frantic laughter of despair 
through empty houses where faceless ghosts type 
beautiful stories of romantic trysts 
that drag my heart into the modern world. 

Sharp sound of death explodes from happy graves 
as ghosts that cause rotting leaves to ballet 
across abyss of voiceless honesty 
too swift for children who play chase in rain 
beside long highway full of broken cars 
that envy horses grazing in lush fields. 

While she drives down desert highway of skulls 
I film the scenery with my psychic phone 
while leaning out the open window, eyes 
recording everything that should exist 
as names in volume of forgotten lore 
that lies unread on sand ten thousand years. 

Pain And Pleasure Of Life

Pain And Pleasure Of Life
© Surazeus
2025 05 28

With thoughtless irony of naked truth 
I measure tides of constant social change 
to analyze how humans compose tales 
that organize randomness of events 
to invent meaning from traumatic hope 
till pain and pleasure merge into strange dreams. 

Each time I step out of my comfort zone 
and open door of opportunity 
where I encounter yet another stranger, 
I feel my body buzz with energy 
that sparks hopeful currents between our brains 
so pain and pleasure solder our hot souls. 

Embraced with passion of conceptual love, 
we writhe with agony of lusting faith 
that generates new bodies from our souls 
who scatter far across landscape of hope 
with hungry passion to transcend frail bounds 
through pain and pleasure that transforms our minds. 

Contained alone within bounds of my skin, 
wrapped tightly round by aura of desire, 
I navigate soul-crowded streets of fate 
where millions of my doppelgangers stride 
boldly forth with tense tides of human hope, 
trapped by pain and pleasure we calculate. 

Encased within strict confines of my skull, 
my mind, that soars across all time in space, 
wonders why I am me and no one else, 
conscious only of my single self alone 
out of zillions of souls who lived and died 
entangled in pain and pleasure of life. 

These atoms that compose my thinking brain, 
which flared forth from first flash of the big bang, 
spiraled in one star of one galaxy, 
then congealed in this planet lost in space 
that generates my soul from chemicals, 
sparked by pain and pleasure with consciousness. 

The vast electric field of energy, 
which conforms white whole of the universe, 
is nothing more that sea of flashing light 
that evolves my brain through millions of years 
so I am conscious of myself awake, 
knowing through pain and pleasure I am real. 

My ancestors thousands of years ago 
designed concept of universal God 
based on our private sense of consciousness, 
so I am atoms that form neural net 
awake as mortal with immortal glow, 
molded by pain and pleasure to believe. 

Supervision Of Greediness

Supervision Of Greediness
© Surazeus
2025 05 27

Transparent in the night rain of my heart, 
my body channels plenitude of life 
from cosmic presence of the faceless god 
which originates in dream of my brain 
as seed of love that spirals into role 
I play in grand theater of free will. 

Lost in the darkness of unfettered words, 
that writhe in tangled mess of honesty 
fraught with emotions of uncanny thought, 
I wander beyond bounds of pulchritude 
in journey I begin again each life 
designed by immortal soul of my genes. 

I leave my footprints shadowed in white sand 
which reveal pathway of my secret choice 
as I search far beyond walls of my home 
for sacred pool of water near the sea 
where I bathe angel wings of my sad heart 
so I can fly over vast maze of myths. 

Dressed in gold-furred skin of the beast I slew, 
I grip one writhing snake in each tense hand 
and dance with people of my forest tribe 
in sunlit meadow under boughs of grapes 
while Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury 
to prophesy coming of the star mother. 

Because the noble country I grew up in 
has vanished into haze of tyranny, 
like so many times in world history, 
I grip the sword honed sharp with honesty 
to defend my right to live as I will 
if I harm none through bold integrity. 

I am the wisdom of the rolling stone 
that smashes clay-foot idol of the tyrant 
who tries to impose psychic tyranny 
on people trained to support liberty, 
secure equal rights through justice for all, 
and support the weak with generous care. 

People enslaved by unfortunate fate 
in every land around our spinning globe 
have built the infrastructure of their state 
under supervision of greediness, 
but garner no rewards from their hard labor, 
not even in the fantasy of Heaven. 

Unfettered by soul-chaining lien of power 
exercised by men who claim to be gods, 
I design my fate with each choice I make 
till I get lost in labyrinth of hope 
where I hang my face in the gallery 
and float away as faceless god of death. 

Glorious Sun Of Faith

Glorious Sun Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 05 27

The flock of wild swans descends to the lake 
with flurry of wings woven from starlight 
that scatters shadows of fear in the reeds 
where seven girls gather mussels and eggs, 
for they are graceful daughters of Moon Mother 
who boil stew in cauldron of the blind crone. 

The woman in the lounge chair on the beach, 
wind-tangled hair bound by floppy straw hat, 
gazes through gold eyes of eternity 
to contemplate each node of human life 
that strings our bodies across the landscape 
where we build fragile castles in the sand. 

Beneath umbrella of the careful sky, 
she listens to her seven daughters sing 
while they fill buckets with clams and sand crabs 
for holy mother on the ziggurat 
to roast for supper as the evening falls 
ten thousand years along coast of the world. 

Faces glowing gold from the crackling flames 
just as the bright blazing sun vanishes 
beyond the far horizon of desire, 
the seven sisters of the rising moon 
sing heart-enchanting tunes of aching hope 
while crowds of people listen reverently. 

Sharp eerie melody of their sweet choir 
suspends the frantic sense of passing time 
so stars gleam bright forever overhead 
as people gathered round the ziggurat 
feel their bodies swell with divine respect 
and all their hearts beat in love harmony. 

How strange the glow of orange fire in the sky 
just on the edge of sharp infinity 
as subtle rays pierce hearts of voiceless souls 
with ache of melancholy tinged with love 
that radiates from our bodies as we hum 
in tune with hymn the seven sisters sing. 

On pure white swan wings of my ancient heart 
I glide along the winding coast of time 
ten thousand years from Egypt to Sumeria 
to India to China to Alaska to Mexico 
where millions of small ziggurats glow bright 
with fires as families gather for the feast. 

I see on ziggurat of motherhood 
First Mother Amen stands with arms outstretched, 
head haloed by the glorious sun of faith, 
as she recites Creation of the Earth, 
then fills each cup with sparkling wine of truth, 
so we sing and dance till the end of time. 

Box Of Secret Scrolls

Box Of Secret Scrolls
© Surazeus
2025 05 27

Ripe peaches on the oak-wood table gleam 
with melancholy hopefulness of fall 
so the kitten with serpentine eyes 
leads me along shore of the pebbled stream 
across canal bridge to abandoned wall 
that encloses strange beauty of the skies. 

Through ravenous mythology of fate 
she stares in mirror pool at her weird face 
contrived as abstract concept of the mind 
which aspires to transcend that divine state 
recorded in lost chronicles of space 
matching likeness of Heaven I designed. 

Implausible for ghosts of anywhere 
to open padlocked box of secret scrolls 
with unspeakable obsession of faith, 
yet when I abstract truth with haughty dare 
of audacious innocence through my goals 
I conjugate visions from the star wraith. 

I walk the long way into the new world 
with shadows that stagger into the dawn 
to find everybody I lost to time 
who fade away into the distant past 
too remote for me to remember how 
sorrow erased them from dream of my heart. 

With whole ethereal breath of honest hope 
I sink into the absence of their souls 
to find raw naked energy of love 
still glowing in the deepest core of fate 
which I extract with haunting melody 
that writhes from silent agony of loss. 

Renunciation spoken with harsh words 
through sharp elucidation I accept, 
from familiar risk of imagined fear, 
diverts my attention when wingless birds 
fly spirals backward in sunlit transept 
to disprove power of the puppeteer. 

Unmetered romance of aggressive love 
based on commodified value of truth 
fuels colonized expansion into land 
where angels enslave devils in hell cave  
to extract from Earth transformable wealth 
through exploitation of the red right hand. 

Ardent interest of the blind archivist 
inspires my heart to comprehend the fact 
that people die unjustly all the time 
despite fierce protests of the passivist 
who sees real essence in the uncarved block 
with quotidian progress of the wind chime. 

Weird Self I May Be

Weird Self I May Be
© Surazeus
2025 05 26

The strangeness of this weird self I may be 
opens cosmic eye of atomic faith 
from flashing center of the universe 
created by the language we invent 
when we stand naked in the howling wind 
and find eternal flame of love within. 

Untouchable presence of divine light 
urges me to walk signless road of hope 
toward shadow of my Self on cliff of words 
whom I see mirrored in the waterfall 
when stone of wisdom opens eyes of truth 
that helps me solve the riddle of desire. 

To hide my consciousness in words of books 
I mold new meaning from mud of despair, 
then dance with Beauty on the starry plain 
encircled through anxiety of fear 
by turmoil I enclose in whispered spells 
that spans eternal void of honesty. 

With unitary strength of secret names 
I measure distance between lonely hearts 
to spot with formula the primal cause 
through strict analysis of each effect 
reflecting passion of my dreaming mind 
when I assemble puzzle of our tale. 

Ghost of your absence haunts my daily path 
since you have disappeared from world of light 
that leaves but shadow of your memory 
which glows with momentary grace of hope 
in brief illusion of that fleeting flash 
that fools my heart to think you will return. 

Stiff idols of dead gods from long-failed myths, 
carved from stone on cold cathedral walls, 
stare down at me with flaming phantom eyes 
so I fear they can see play I perform 
as if blind clouds could see my solitude 
when I walk far from walls of paradise. 

Material structures of patterned ideas 
that shift through undulating waves of light 
adjust conceptual faith on verge of change 
when I perceive their realness with my mind 
each time my thought-eye penetrates their form 
so I feel essence of their being in me. 

Abandoned by the words my mother spoke 
when we walked slowly on the windy hill, 
I look around to see her face again 
till I see her transform into the hawk 
that floats between two moments of my heart 
which strikes my mind with sense I am alive. 

Bright Clouds Of Evertime

Bright Clouds Of Evertime
© Surazeus
2025 05 26

Too cheerful for bright clouds of Evertime, 
Yuri stares at sparkling blue river flow 
while stepping across large round smooth wet stones 
toward falls that gush down the moss-slathered cliff, 
drawn by eerie song of the water voice 
that calls her name with breath of timeless hope. 

Tall man with long wind-flowing moon-black hair 
rises from ancient aspect of the stone, 
transforming from the old uprooted tree 
to stand before her with sun-blazing eyes, 
heart beating hawk wings of reserved desire, 
fierce passion he conceals with mask of ice. 

Reaching our her hand with curious grace, 
Yuri lightly touches skin of his cheek, 
cold as snowflakes fluttering from black skies 
where small long-dead stars fracture gloom of night 
with rays of light that streak across the void 
millions of years till they gleam in his eyes. 

Awed by transcendent sense of timeless now 
which expands her view through eternity, 
Yuri offers ice-cold plum to Stone Man 
with smile warm enough to melt glacier peaks 
that send cold water swirling round their legs 
as he accepts her gift with frigid smirk. 

Nine ninja assassins veiled in black robes 
leap swift from silent shadows of despair 
and strike with silver blades honed sharp on hate, 
but Stone Man twirls with elegant ballet, 
protecting woman in yellow kimono 
while he decapitates them one by one. 

Cradling Yuri in arms tense with respect, 
Stone Man gazes in her wide surprised eyes, 
entranced by fragile beauty of her soul, 
then gently helps her stand on river stones 
stained red with blood that gleams in water flow 
which pulses in harmony with her heart. 

Boiling rabbit stew on the crackling flames, 
Yuri sprinkles in onions, yams, and radishes, 
then offers wood bowl of soba that steams 
warm in narrow vale of snow-frosted stones, 
so he bows and eats soba with meat strips, 
startled at flush of joy that fills his heart. 

Holding hands with affectionate respect, 
Yuri and Stone Man stroll across the bridge 
of wood planks arching over Ooka River, 
gliding with comfortable grace of strong love 
in swirling crowd of shoppers passing stalls 
as cloud of white cherry-tree petals swirl. 

Since Cain Killed Abel

Since Cain Killed Abel
© Surazeus
2025 05 26

If I must sing the hymn of hope solemnly 
then I would find the sea too beautiful 
to claim the modest courage of the sun 
that fills my final self with phantom light 
which fuels my transformational progress 
beyond the strangeness of this world I love. 

Before I became this physical being 
who wears the mask of anguished honesty 
I sought to change with restless tides of time 
to grow into my secret unnamed self 
whose face appears in vision of the world 
though I dissolve in shoreless sea of souls. 

Through infinite spaces in Mind of God 
I fly against fierce tides of moral rage 
to bomb the social structure of despair 
that traps our bodies in vast maze of hope, 
and free the frightened souls from church of lies 
to fight against indifference of the sky. 

No rage from suffering of victimhood 
could rouse your noble loving God 
from dank cathedral tomb with angel wings 
to save mankind from brutal wars of greed 
when men bent blind on conquest of the truth 
declare divine right to defend themselves. 

Since Cain killed Abel at the dawn of time 
their sons have fought ten thousand years of wars 
to prove whose God is real by chance of fate 
through contest of quick wits against mute strength 
which scatters orphans far across the land 
who build new empires to control the lake. 

Across the waste land of America 
I search for secret of the Holy Grail 
past shadows of despair where devils lurk 
to seize the moment with aggressive greed 
till I rebel with boundless love for truth 
and fight with breath of comprehensive facts. 

Each tree that writhes from corpse of some old god 
ignores my questions through insanity 
till my tears water roots of their desire 
then they reveal weird secret of rebirth 
that in hindsight now seems so obvious, 
burned in eyes of billions killed in world wars. 

I give fresh flowers to the one I love 
so she can brew sweet liquor from their juice 
which I drink with intense alacrity 
while dancing high on bombed tanks of their god 
then build from ruins of America 
world democracy of Zarathia. 

Mask From Sumatra Island

Mask From Sumatra Island
© Surazeus
2025 05 25

The demonic mask from Sumatra Island 
gazes down at me from clean painted wall, 
so I become the chipmunk on the lawn 
eating seeds, mushrooms, worms, insects, and nuts, 
eyes gleaming with the softness of spring evening 
while the robin wonders why she is sad. 

When Sri Devi dances in twilight glow 
among oak trees in Appalachian hills, 
her hands wrap silence of shadows in books, 
that sing with prayers of crickets in backyards, 
recording story of the human race 
with jagged runes on bones of dinosaurs. 

The wingless angel with the rotten orange 
walks crowded streets of town in twilight glow, 
his gaunt face hungry for the fateful cry 
Jesus shouts from his palace in the sky 
which dangles on wired cable of fierce faith 
above lush valley of the singing skulls. 

The silver river shimmers with sunrays 
beneath the ancient bridge of hopefulness 
where children play along the bushy shore, 
and old men fish with meditative calm 
to catch the hidden dragon of world power 
that rises on frail crystal wings of time. 

Half-functioning brain of the robot clown 
records how meat-bags lacking angel wings 
pursue bright rainbows of their fantasies 
while expecting rich reward for good deeds, 
then analyzes their obsessive strife 
to accumulate dim shadows of wealth. 

With magic feeling of electric faith 
I change the future to reflect the past 
in tumbling tumult of swift social change 
based on conceptual design of my dreams 
arranged in digest of organized tales 
stored in library of the lonely moon. 

Though I cannot read the secretive hearts 
of people I interact with each day, 
I remember sharp scent of apple trees 
that conjures memories of years long ago 
when we would kiss beside the sparkling stream 
and talk about the Heaven we create. 

Uncertain comment of the gliding owl 
translates thunderous voice of the roaming storm 
to holy song of rain on asphalt streets 
that shimmer gold beneath slender streetlamps 
where I find hanging in the evening glow 
my demonic mask from Sumatra Island. 

Barbed-Wire Of Paradise

Barbed-Wire Of Paradise
© Surazeus
2025 05 25

Though churches in every city are packed 
with fervent believers who pray to God 
for salvation from Sahara of snow, 
I crawl across shattered glass of old faith 
on unevolved fins of arrogant hope 
to rule the mountain as the reptile king. 

Pressed against sharp barbed-wire of Paradise, 
I howl with anguish of the mountain wolf 
to watch dinosaur steamshovels devour 
dead Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil 
that was mangled by bombs in the world war 
so Jesus can build cathedral of glass. 

Clutching wrought iron gate, studded with pearls 
transformed from eyes of sailors drowned in tempests, 
I laugh wild with maniacal disdain 
at angry vigilance of the blind crow 
who rejoices in sufferings of mankind 
by gambling for fake salvation with Death. 

Stone statues of soldiers from tragic wars 
glare down at people of the modern world 
who text each other on glowing eye-phones 
about awful crimes of the empire state 
built by the bleeding hands of immigrants 
and slaves shackled with debt of grim despair. 

Gathered in millions of churches at noon, 
men in suits and women in flowering dresses 
sing "Rock of Ages" with the solemn voice 
of terrified people desperate to believe 
that we will all meet again up in Heaven 
to dwell forever free from pain of life. 

The grand museum built from human bones, 
designed to imitate the Parthenon, 
stands firm on mountain of the burning bush 
ten thousand years after humanity 
destroys itself with prideful vanity 
attempting to control bodies of women. 

If we survive nuclear blast of the truth, 
we would exist as nothing but bright ghosts 
who play on fuzzy television screens 
roles scripted for celestial gods of fate 
who haunt us with the absence of their power 
corrupted by desire to live forever. 

Orpheus wearing black suit with green tie 
stands on the stage in crowded Church of Hope 
and preaches to the faceless crowd of ghosts 
how leaders embody Spirit of God 
who treat every citizen with respect, 
providing social structure for success. 

Justice-Borne Democracy

Justice-Borne Democracy
© Surazeus
2025 05 25

So often I forget the sky is blue 
while staring at the television screen 
so I can analyze what truth is new 
in psychic vision of the world machine 
that reformats how our brains see the world 
so we miss coming of the cosmic herald. 

Regret for how rainwater flows away 
in rapid tumbling of soul energy, 
which represents why meaning fails to stay 
trapped in puzzle of social lethargy, 
inspires my sense of cosmic urgency 
to marry faith with atheist fervency. 

Though we are destined in this life to meet, 
we miss each other on the road of fate, 
so I sit on river stone with sore feet 
to reinvent true nature of my mate 
who cannot call me on the telephone 
so I carve our love song on dragon bone. 

Heart twisted into spirals of weird words, 
I gaze in ghostly eyes of my first love 
who haunts me with her absence as swift birds 
who bear her lonely spirit far above, 
so I reach out my hands to empty sky 
and break the haughty world with anguished cry. 

Through endless witty quips of bitter hope 
I hammer weak foundation of beliefs 
that fail to give me tools I need to cope 
when I unite our state of warring chiefs 
with marriage alliance of families 
who transcend role of rival enemies. 

Young children born with innocence respect 
variety of cultures which compose 
global nations with values that transect 
our traditional world views blind gods impose 
in fractured puzzle of opposing cults 
cobbled together on racist insults. 

I want to live in paradise of truth, 
constructing temples with prophetic scrolls, 
but Fate requires I play messiah sleuth 
appointing each person creative roles 
so we can build world empire on one law 
ruled by vatic wisdom of Onatah. 

When I remember why the sky is blue 
while singing psalm that shines my mirror brain, 
I program code to conjure new world view 
for every person in the world to train 
so we unite against harsh tyranny 
to nurture justice-borne democracy. 

Angels Always Sing

Angels Always Sing
© Surazeus
2025 05 24

Because angels in Heaven always sing, 
praising glorious beauty of the Sun Soul, 
I love to dive down in the messy world 
and walk in fragile meat-bag of this self 
that wanders ungracefully anywhere 
to imitate songs angels always sing. 

Forgetting I am real with hungry heart, 
I gaze with awe at beauty of the sun 
that weaves this messy world from rays of light, 
so I float blissfully on futile wings 
to experience freedom of surreal dreams 
till pain drags me back down to solid Earth. 

Soft sea breeze wafting from sun-sparkling waves 
embraces me with surging energy 
that fills me with compassion for all beings 
though some attack me to control my soul 
which forces me to fight for liberty 
so I weep I must kill to remain free. 

Sometimes, while wandering on the signless road 
far beyond crowded city maze of hope, 
I wonder if I fell on tattered wings 
from flaming wisdom of the shooting star 
for I feel urgent passion to transcend 
corruptive framework of this seething world. 

Because this messy world of tragedy 
throbs with silent agony of faith 
I feel eternal music of the stars 
pulsing deep in clenched knot of my heart 
so I relax and open flower wings 
releasing music of angels in song. 

Though my mother calls me Persephone 
with soft voice half-whispered in restless wind, 
I become one mind with the gate of death 
to walk with courage of bold dignity 
in rancid cavern of the jewel mine 
where I sing sacred music of the stars. 

Deep in dank cave of suffocating gloom 
I scatter flowers on the sun-starved ground 
as wind whistles tunes in my hollow bones 
that wake the dead from slumber of despair 
who follow me back to the upperworld 
where they transform into white butterflies. 

Shocked at bright beauty of the Sun Soul, 
I gaze at Phoebus with adoring eyes 
who gives me apple of the bleeding star 
that cures my body of poisonous fruit, 
so I embrace him with passionate love 
as we transform into child of our hearts. 

Grim Pablo Walks Nowhere

Grim Pablo Walks Nowhere
© Surazeus
2025 05 24

Out on the dusty hill of angry shrubs 
grim Pablo pulls red wagon of despair, 
heaped with the broken dreams of nameless souls 
whose tattered wings he rescues from the trash 
when he escapes from asylum ward nine 
to find dank cave where skull of Phoebus glows. 

Chased by the goon squad in black leather boots, 
grim Pablo darts among the twisted trees 
that scream in dire laughter as he high-steps 
so fast his bare feet bleeding from Christ thorns 
kick clouds of dust that hide him from the bulls 
who grin as he grills steak for the mad king. 

High on the quivering phone line of fake words 
that hum in wind across the desert plain, 
grim Pablo dances with electric grace 
to catch the ballerina with snake eyes 
who falls from the moon with the secret book 
in which is written fate of the blind bard. 

Yet when the silver bus full of wild clowns, 
crippled ballerinas, and serious jesters, 
roars by on the desert road into Hell, 
grim Pablo jumps on board with broken lyre 
he stole from tomb of Apollo last year, 
and drinks the gasoline of ancient truth. 

When the lion in sunglasses of faith 
throws him off the silver bus of world fame, 
grim Pablo dances with cool cactus queen 
who transforms his guitar into the toad 
that leaps into the still pond of lost time, 
so he leans against the telephone pole. 

Driving rusty red truck with one headlight 
through endless maze of ugliness and greed, 
Cinderella stops on the desert road 
and asks grim Pablo if he wants a ride 
so the lost knight rides her chariot of fire 
to his grave in the cemetery trees. 

Awake in the twisted sycamore tree 
to see Cinderella on her white horse, 
grim Pablo strums old lyre of Mercury 
when people ask if he is their messiah 
come to save the land of America 
from Mad King Midas who steals all their gold. 

Searching desert hills in delirium, 
grim Pablo walks nowhere with empty gun, 
then kneels in ruined temple of Apollo 
while demon wings writhe from his aching heart, 
so he flies over Gotham City maze 
bringing gospel of salvation to mankind. 

Time River Of Skeletons

Time River Of Skeletons
© Surazeus
2025 05 24

Nothing exists in my dream of this world 
except the time river of skeletons 
invisible to laughter of star gods, 
so we kneel together on its lush shore 
to grasp emeralds and diamonds that gleam 
with eyes of our ancestors in our hearts. 

Spring wind appears in wispy willow form 
to toy with fleeting flash of light on grass 
that flares in blossoms of still unborn fruit, 
dazing my soul at flicker of soft wings 
with passion that intoxicates my heart 
till my body radiates immortal charm. 

My heart escapes clumsy frame of my soul 
as white-winged butterfly frail as the moon 
to flutter swift around my head with grace 
of tender compassion for suffering souls 
who find enlightenment of sacred truth 
equal in weight to harsh pain they endure. 

Wings of my heart with unforeseen desire 
sign unmapped corner of my secret world 
with seal of spring that sparks my aching heart 
through anguish to unfold itself from fear 
though no one calls it forth from silent gloom 
so I become mute cloud that drifts alone. 

Pure cloud of my most sacred memory 
will soon stitch veil of frost across my vale, 
but hides warm blush of spring in shadowed folds 
while Death leans casually against stout bough 
with coy repose of knowledge I must learn 
that writhes long-buried in grave of my heart. 

While we discuss slow spinning of the Earth 
in crenellate shade of the garden wall 
we feel the sudden gust of lonely wind 
bear our unanchored souls into the sky 
so we gazed shocked at valley of tall trees 
where river of life flows to sea of death. 

Trapped in the stony dream-cache of my heart, 
I find all the missing people of time 
imprisoned in the cave of sunless sorrow, 
so I play lyre of Mercury and sing 
to lead them from dark underworld of fear 
but none can follow me from grave of death. 

Webbed darkness of the forest round the lake 
diverts my journey to its hungry cave 
where I extract from sorrow of my heart 
diamonds of faith that gleam with clarity 
as my soul floats on bright oblivious waves 
along with time river of skeletons. 

Ocean Of Celestial Tears

Ocean Of Celestial Tears
© Surazeus
2025 05 23

When I understand the mind of the world 
I will run frantically in rain-dark streets 
to leap through fractured windows of the truth 
to swim in ocean of celestial tears 
which bleed from eyes of children without homes 
who gather at the library to read. 

I hear deep voices of the prophets call 
when they assemble in library hall 
to read weird stories of their broken hearts 
so I can understand their secret minds 
by reading names of roads on half-bent signs 
while driving past abandoned factories. 

They hide their sorrows inside locked church doors 
which writhe with agony of fractured rules  
encased in blasting sentences that blind 
eyes of false citizens through irony 
whose children play inside the schoolyard fence 
entranced to lies of strange authority. 

With dubious attention of regret 
we realize we artists must cultivate 
unreasonable enthusiasm for reality 
based on banal faith in the proud profound 
wrongly attributed to ancient seers 
with intention to subvert fools in charge. 

Rare opportunity presents itself 
for me to shirk responsibility 
so I declare with Terminator Voice 
I will be back from Heaven with the Sword 
assigned to me with right to execute 
right of the court to adjudicate laws. 

If best minds of my generation write 
daunting spells fueled by our demonic blood 
to operate machinery of night 
with dynamic stars that illuminate 
motionless world of time between our hearts 
then I vibrate with ecstasy of love. 

Shocked by the number of human beings killed 
in wars of genocide around the world 
that men have waged the past one hundred years, 
I wander foggy streets in red lamp glow 
and listen for the terror in the wall 
that explains economic formulas. 

Obscene odes of ambiguous contempt 
I paint with blood on congressional halls 
record the crimes of visionary clowns 
who whisper curses through telepathy 
while wandering lost in lonely country towns 
where ravens in oaks by my grave call me. 

Heights Of Unloneliness

Heights Of Unloneliness
© Surazeus
2025 05 23

Obsession with stark blueness of the sky 
alerts me to strange songs of animals 
that buzz in acrid timber of my skull 
when I stomp grapes with eager feet of hope, 
though blinded by excessive light of rain 
which I collect with baskets of my eyes. 

Quickening fear of frantic afterthoughts 
displays ostensible reason ghosts hide 
from real eyes of the mindless universe 
who completes its purity through my brain 
that soaks in tears of broken continents 
which shift and crack on seething waves of fire. 

With sad voice deep as mountains writhing rocks 
she sings electric melody of faith 
too sweet for plain existence to ignore, 
so we invent weird reason we exist 
through profound beauty of heart-haunting tunes 
the moment we lock eyes with fateful death. 

Returned from country of the rancid lake, 
we gather in wide circles on bare plain  
to drink sweet sorrow people hide in songs
tinted with aggressive desire for life 
since we survive assault of arrogance 
contrived as prayers the righteous steal from fear. 

Trapped in deep well of my truth-hungry heart 
from which I attempt to crawl with bent claws, 
I realize nothing matters I can change 
since I have figured out the secret truth 
about why people give each other ghosts 
woven from shadows of unspoken fears. 

Dark clouds of never-falling rain expand 
over asphalt road shining blue with rain 
where frail metal cars on rubber tires glide, 
driven by angels crushed from loss of faith 
in silent meditation on despair 
that fuels assertion of alienable rights. 

Obsidian mask of the nameless sky god 
reflects true face all my ancestors wore 
which I see in thick window of the car 
gemmed gold with sparkling drops of evening rain 
each time white lightning splits eternity 
so I can comprehend nature of love. 

So when she glances back at me with joy, 
eyes glowing golden as the midnight moon, 
I vow to protect her from pain and fear 
and bring her fruit and flowers of the Earth 
as we perform our complicated lives 
in reverse from heights of unloneliness. 

Demon Of The Crypto-Clone

Demon Of The Crypto-Clone
© Surazeus
2025 05 23

At flash of lightning that cracks clear blue skies 
the wild-haired shaman with angelic eyes 
appears with fire wings on the White House lawn 
chanting curses in dark hours before dawn 
to expel from the Oval Office throne 
the monstrous demon of the crypto-clone. 

After James Dean and Marie Curie kiss, 
as striped sandworms emerge from the abyss, 
which opens glowing portal into Hell, 
Count Dracula at clang of the church bell 
swoops down from the tower of singing skulls 
to rescue her at running of the bulls. 

Beethoven kneels on church steps at midnight 
and proposes to Marie Antoinette, 
but she rides her bike in the country town 
and crashes into treehouse of the clown, 
so he plays violin with nuclear bomb 
that transforms into angel of the tomb. 

The bat-winged shaman with demonic tongue 
ascends to Heaven on the broken rung 
to hurl lightning bolts at the dinosaur 
who smashes the Capitol with loud roar 
that shakes foundation of democracy 
with rampant excess of hypocrisy. 

Wearing mask of Beowulf to the ball, 
the vatic shaman with the crystal ball 
battles Grendel in blue suit and red tie 
who twists sacred truth into lurid lie 
with rage of Achilles urging his pride 
to praise God as he commits genocide. 

While James Dean wields the sword Excalibur 
to play the cosmic role of Jupiter 
Marie Curie blasts Grendel with death ray 
of radiation, and holy nuns pray 
till star-eyed shaman zaps the vampire king 
who writhes in death throes as Valkyries sing. 

Expelling rich Mammon from the White House, 
the lion-hearted shaman traps the louse 
in cage of bitterness he forged from hate 
through failed attempt to escape his just fate, 
and thus the savior of America 
conducts the sacrifice from Attica. 

At flash of lightning that luminates truth 
the star-eyed shaman and messiah sleuth 
ascends thirteen stairs of the pyramid 
to rule Earth with fish-skull crown on his head 
through liberty and justice for all souls 
who find happiness with their honest roles. 

Watch Gold Water Flow

Watch Gold Water Flow
© Surazeus
2025 05 22

If we walk together on road of life 
while sharing stories of our alone times, 
we might find that our independent hearts 
become entangled by the words we speak 
which form the transient trail of breadcrumbs 
that hungry birds of memory love to eat. 

Now that we share wings of innocent flight 
while wandering in the wilderness of fate 
we cannot separate from warm embrace 
that binds our souls with passionate respect 
for this familiar stranger we adore 
who springs to life from idol of hard clay. 

Lost in bright shadows of the Everywhere, 
with alien self who mirrors our desire, 
we explore beyond walls of paradise 
as we compose our secret tales in dust 
explaining thoughts that motivate our play 
which leaves our bodies heavy in soft grass. 

Though we have wandered far beyond the known 
to map the strange world with our eager feet, 
we find that we shall always feel at home 
in every shady grove by every stream 
where we relax one hour of endless time, 
holding hands as we watch gold water flow. 

While we are always maudlin with sweet love, 
trapped in safe sentimental state of mind, 
we shield our hearts from hostile arrogance 
with fierce expedience of the paranoid 
through cautious attention of startled fear 
to violent monsters always lurking near. 

We need to grow beyond soft sentiment 
to shield our fragile spirits from attack 
through calm assertion of selfless intent 
without allowing cynical regard 
to corrupt our strong compassionate faith 
so we can survive indifference of Nature. 

This urgent process of cautious respect 
provides clear-eyed analysis of danger 
that luminates the safest unmapped way 
we navigate over rugged terrain 
on our sacred quest for the Tree of Life 
that blossoms with fruit as gift of the Earth. 

Lounging together on lush river shore 
where we feast on delicious fruit of hope, 
beneath the boundless cerulean sky 
where clouds reflect our fondest memories, 
we watch gold water flow in change of time 
that carries our souls to the sea of dreams. 

Story Thought Unthinkable

Story Thought Unthinkable
© Surazeus
2025 05 21

Though I have not lived very long on Earth 
I know everything that does not exist 
because I read about them in the Book, 
constructed from feathery bones of birds, 
which bleeds oil from my eyes at speed of light 
despite how deep I dive in sea of faith. 

All good intentions of my argument, 
revived from hollow flux of cracking stones, 
provide new framework for hard reckoning 
when I dispute the obvious state of things 
with perverse notions of important facts 
based on excited sweepings of regret. 

Indoctrinated by ripe fruit of lust 
that blooms with weighty opulence of hope, 
I note how fast time vanishes in thought 
describing fevered passion of fake art 
contrived to veil raw wounds of bitter hate 
with satisfaction of my random whims. 

Time jails accomplice of my fearless heart 
with mute abandonment of tattered jokes 
too late to check expansive pertinence 
with honest aspects I could not discern 
before morale may decimate our ranks 
each time I laugh at how trees seem to dance. 

I know the story thought unthinkable 
according to despair of brazen gates 
that might record surprising victory 
which I achieve with confidence of fate 
when I research elaborate assent 
with force of my insatiable respect. 

Ascendance on celestial planisphere 
against the common cause of global laws 
provides regressive undulance of truth 
which music counteracts with relevance 
for patience of exploding stars we lose 
when ships sink howling in the brutal sea. 

No words illuminate so well as those 
I steal from fractured legends of dead gods, 
who rage against machinery of delight, 
our secret business to replace grand tales 
with sullen heroes taught by suffering 
for humble memory of gigantic ghosts. 

They scatter scent of hazel in green rain 
when all their children on the road ahead 
evade clear presence of their unlocked doors, 
forgotten by the blind librarian 
who reads old news to ravens on bare shelves 
since we leave treasures of our dreams in books. 

Tiresias In Cave Of Dreams

Tiresias In Cave Of Dreams
© Surazeus
2025 05 21

When I follow the hawk to the waste land, 
where thousands of visionaries have gone 
to find Tiresias in Cave of Dreams, 
I discover buried in sands of time 
true Lyre of Mercury by Well of Odin 
where mermaid bones gleam in the blazing sun. 

Now millions of children with broken phones, 
who want to sing with bold prophetic voice, 
follow the Piped Piper of Avalon, 
while I sit by the Burning Bush of Faith 
high on desolate slopes of Mount Takoma 
and strum the Lyre of Mercury with rapture. 

From Temple of Apollo on the summit 
I see lost children of the fallen empire 
crawl among tangled weeds of Wonderland 
to find the secret Key of Vatic Wisdom 
while lusty Fame chooses with magic wand 
the most glamorous poets as acolytes. 

Dressed in fancy robes of commercial glamor, 
they follow Fame in prestigious parade, 
climbing bowed heads on Stairs of Legacy 
before the crowd that clamors to join in, 
and feast on cakes of sugar-coated praise 
in glittering mirrored Hall of Narcissus. 

Escaping glamorous Court of the Word King 
where the Favored Ones network to gain power, 
I leave grand Castle of the Holy Book, 
past marble idols of the Famous Seers, 
and tread Invisible Trail of the Truth 
to secret cave where Tiresias dwells. 

Sitting on lotus flower in pool of tears, 
I meditate by chanting spell of light 
while Tiresias gathers lightning sphere 
to channel cosmic energy of truth 
and generates virtual model of Earth 
that chronicles whole human history. 

From spirit egg that flashes divine light 
enormous gods composed of human souls 
emerge as characters of epic tales 
whose masks embody social energies 
to perform roles in dramatic events 
in culture clash between conceptual gods. 

Humans embody social energies 
to replay ancient dramas for control 
through clash of Titans in the cosmic war 
that Jupiter and Jesus ever wage 
between democracy and tyranny 
till we die and leave the stage for new gods. 

Choosing Our Own Fate

Choosing Our Own Fate
© Surazeus
2025 05 21

I try to focus on the little things 
adjusted carefully in each glass case 
in the Great American Museum 
of Domestic Tranquility to showcase 
my privileged place in story of our state 
defined by the random choices of fate. 

While eating orange I stole from Tree of Life, 
I lounge in park among wind-rustled leaves 
beneath tall statue of William the Silent 
to honor independence of the mind 
from all controlling tyrants of the state 
who dare think they can legislate our fate. 

I mean to tell about my life at home 
with solemn voice of the brave mocking bird, 
but my heart sprouts wings and will tend to roam 
across the ancient landscape of the Earth 
where people fight to establish the state 
so they can pretend they control their fate. 

The fact that I am related to both 
General Robert Edward Lee and John Brown 
defines ambiguous nature of being 
programming cultural code of my mind 
which operates how I function in my state 
though I swim against empire tides of fate. 

If I analyze my relationships 
with my family through quaint fairy tales 
I might present in well-masked characters 
ancient forces of social theater 
which form foundation of our global state 
while I perform roles that defy my fate. 

Or I could satirize with timeless gods 
contemporary leaders of vast nations 
who wrestle that angel whom Israel fought 
to balance freedom of the individual 
with public interest of the faceless state 
by enforcing laws that equalize fate. 

Though I attempt to fictionalize my life 
in tradition of college writers workshops, 
instead I sing about global events 
in tradition of wandering troubadours 
to record chronicles of the world state 
which moralize weird principles of fate. 

This face-mask from the ancient gallery, 
I wear while chanting arcane prophecies, 
reflects the psychic mind of Everyman 
through mirror of the television screen 
to rationalize blind functions of the state 
that we enforce by choosing our own fate. 

Record Another Testament

Record Another Testament
© Surazeus
2025 05 20

Everywhere I go in my daily life 
I sense the Universe is watching me, 
so I act like the star of my own show, 
controlling everything I say and do, 
but nothing ever results, so I laugh 
and make weird faces at the empty sky. 

Every afternoon I walk to the street 
and check the mailbox of my hungry heart 
to see if the holy angels of God 
have sent me letters that explain the Why, 
but all I get are brochures, store coupons, 
and applications for bank credit cards. 

I hold the sacred language of the world 
that squirms in my hand with ocean-wet scales 
and stares at me with gold demonic eyes, 
so I explain my sorrow to Moon Witch 
who teaches me to translate songs of waves 
to tangled sentences no one comprehends. 

With hands I measure objects that exist 
to find familiar spirit of the wind 
constrained by clustered forms of ecstasy 
which vibrates buzz of passion from my bones 
when I dance with irregular respect 
on stage of the sea-desert in the void. 

Through startled jaggedness of secret codes 
I improvise the reason we exist 
from whispered colors of the singing sand 
that flow in wrinkled tides of ardency 
despite how fast trees crack all parking lots 
to free our brains from knowledge of the book. 

Though I go everywhere freely on Earth 
I can never go back where I came from, 
for I must always loop the spiral road 
forth into swirling mists of Avalon 
where I record another testament 
that represents the Ungod of my brain. 

Your story enters my heart at your touch 
so I carry burden of your mute joy 
entrapped in charcoal cavern of my heart, 
yet I assert respectful narrative 
contrived by fairies of the weeping tree 
to soothe shared hurt with prayers of honesty. 

If we perform our predetermined roles 
on crowded stage of social fantasy, 
we might not make it home on time to watch 
election of the poet laureate 
who chants the fatal elegy of love 
that records the fall of America. 

Often Mistaken For God

Often Mistaken For God
© Surazeus
2025 05 20

That dying star that no angel can see, 
which travels both directions beyond light, 
sprinkles snow flakes of religious desire 
on faces of the faithful by the lake 
where their prophet who tried to walk on water 
has not yet emerged from abyss of time. 

As I stand on broken edge of the world 
ready to dive into abyss of time, 
I wonder if I should be sore afraid 
of swimming in the ocean of my mind 
to find the luminous soul of my heart 
that I have often mistaken for God. 

Should I surrender wisdom of my faith 
to swim in infinite flow of desire, 
then I would feel light of that dying star 
glow in each neuron of my dreaming brain 
so I speak with voice of the oracle 
from the model of Delphi in my yard. 

The Goddess with one hundred billion eyes, 
who created this world of swirling souls, 
teaches me how to speak of what I see 
so she can know if anything is real, 
yet I keep singing visions of my mind 
long after she melts as snow into flowers. 

Each sentiment of beauty I perceive 
can never quench thirst of desire to know 
divine concept of the right character 
who gives me oranges from the tree of faith 
that flash diamond flames in eggs of my eyes 
so I record secret names of the dead. 

We cannot rightly bifurcate the truth 
by twisting wings of sorrow from god skulls, 
yet we can dance with the divinely dead 
whose faces smile from photos on the wall 
when I decide each day which mask to wear 
in sacred role of prophet no one hears. 

Rewinding details of ideal concepts 
from fracture of space collapsed into words, 
I hold up the sky with keyboard of dreams 
to program how the Earth perceives itself 
through myths of fate in television shows 
that lonely people sing about in church. 

The dying star that flashes back and forth 
replaces concept of my world with code 
translating visions into fairy tales 
that parents read their children as they die 
whose luminous souls float in the night sky 
that I have often mistaken for God. 

Faceless God Of Truth

Faceless God Of Truth
© Surazeus
2025 05 19

I need some sit-and-stare-at-the-wall time, 
so I sit on the couch of meditation 
and stare at the wall above the fireplace, 
but not even one minute ticks away 
before I see grand vision of the world 
which I assemble from puzzle of dreams. 

Before my grand vision evaporates 
I dip tip of the brush in bowl of paint 
and draw baseline of truth across the sky 
to frame vast emptiness of everything 
within enclosing bounds of time and space 
to formulate state of things that exist. 

Emerging from nothing of the white wall, 
grand vision of the world blooms into shape 
as field of shadows that reflect ideas 
designed as patterns which objectify 
swirls of material atoms into forms 
which my brain may categorize with words. 

Abrupt expression of ethereal breath 
in gust of wind that blows from mountain peak 
reframes constituent elements of faith 
by scattering puzzle pieces of my mind 
that flutter into butterflies of faith 
which name each human soul born from the sea. 

The old storyteller with oaken cane 
shambles across desolate field of weeds, 
searching for the cafe among clean shops 
where he used to drink coffee and write poems 
that vanished when planes with angelic wings 
bombed his world into rubble of despair. 

Sitting on tattered couch of sad nostalgia, 
the old storyteller stares at the sky 
where ghosts of ancient heroes float as clouds 
till he crumbles into the soil of silence 
while millions of people across the land 
watch history tales on television screens. 

I stare so long at the masks of dead heroes 
that hang on the wall of my empty house 
that I become the faceless god of truth 
awake in every human brain on Earth 
who clash in world wars over who plays god 
till we become fairy tales in lost books. 

Sitting in the Wingless Angel Cafe, 
between the bank and the church on Main Street, 
I draw the face of every human being 
who ever existed in dream of Earth, 
then throw Book of Souls in River of Time 
so I can stare at the blank wall of truth. 

Desire To Generate Souls

Desire To Generate Souls
© Surazeus
2025 05 19

Because the whole sky fits inside my skull, 
I wake in darkness of the everywhere 
to find I am small as the apple seed 
which blooms vast as our swirling galaxy 
that flashes melodies of rain-sparked words 
through undulating matrix of my brain. 

The airplane gliding across empty sky 
takes me to the past where I should not be 
because I get there faster in winged flight 
than if I walk on foot across the land, 
so I fold my soul in page of the book 
that records each forgotten genocide. 

Love motivates each action of my hands 
to build beauty from random elements 
that guard your embodied spirit from harm 
so you can savor pleasure of this life 
in moments of togetherness we share 
that fuels our desire to generate souls. 

When I look for God in dream of the world 
to understand nature of energy, 
I feel conscious sense of my Self expand 
beyond enclosing bounds of my soul frame 
so I become God I am looking for 
that vibrates love in every human soul. 

I am illusion of my pulsing brain 
that feels itself awake inside my skull 
as atoms flashing bright in chemicals 
which conjure virtual model of the world 
through vision of my whole ontology 
that defines structure of our universe. 

Before beginning of my sense of self 
that speaks dream spells in breath of honest hope 
I touch weird image of my secret face 
reflected in bright mirror of the pool, 
and wonder from what stone of time I spring 
through fierce compassion of the angel wing. 

Through every conscious choice of faith I make 
based on clear vision my brain formulates, 
I calculate strict progress of my fate 
to build my destiny with stone and wood 
by planting fruit trees inside garden walls 
where my descendants may thrive and transcend. 

Death is no threshold our bodies pass through 
for we are composed from atoms of light 
so we must generate children of hope 
through seed that fertilizes egg of love 
to reincarnate soul-genes again in flesh 
four hundred million years of soul rebirth. 

Art Of Radical Insight

Art Of Radical Insight
© Surazeus
2025 05 19

To psychoanalyze my state of mind 
within framework of the Hamlet discourse, 
I enter laboratory of the state 
to practice art of radical insight 
through performance of madness inside words 
that wards off ghosts listening at my door. 

On contours of my deep ambivalence 
toward secret nature of my serpent heart 
I stumble against obstacles of hope 
to shift attention of my eager faith 
through misdirection of my stated goals 
to evade being role model for the world. 

I am no mascot for this fractured time 
by surfing waves of elemental change 
though I lounge in consulting room of fear 
to wrestle angels of aggressive cheer 
who test fierce loyalty of my shy heart 
to the faceless monster who reigns on high. 

Wearing mask of the psychoanalyst, 
I guide lost souls with lyre of Mercury 
that rings with melodies Orpheus wrote 
from cavern of illusions trapped in words 
they write with blood of angels in blank books 
to formulate fuel from sludge of despair. 

Attempting to figure out who I am, 
I strip away all signs of social status 
so I stand naked on the careless field, 
unshielded by illusions of false pride, 
though I must suffer weird mental dysfunction 
because I chant weird prophecies of fate. 

Uncanny to myself, I hear my voice 
reverberate against walls of the state 
which shakes pillars of the establishment, 
yet I sing visions from my own deep mind, 
which no shadowed muse demands I dictate, 
that springs from weird persona of my soul. 

When I stop to think about the weird world, 
the wires of my brain explode sparks of code 
that reprogram how I perceive the real, 
perhaps because I sublimate harsh truth 
with polished metaphors of sublime art 
that traps demonic horror in strict form. 

My one big theory tangled in my heart 
explains true nature of the universe 
that organizes every disparate fact 
in sprawling puzzle of our memories 
which I assemble from all human tales 
to psychoanalyze my state of mind. 

Weird Haze Of Yesterday

Weird Haze Of Yesterday
© Surazeus
2025 05 19

Far from archaic shores of my childhood 
I sail to see God in fog of the future, 
but find only more lands where people dwell 
in cities staged to replay founding tale 
of their ancestor who arrives one day 
to pluck fruit from the giving tree of hope. 

The normal world of truth where I grew up 
has vanished now in dim fog of the past 
where I left corpse of God inside the church 
from which spring nations of humanity 
who worship idols of ancestral guides 
which guard the garden of our secret code. 

After climbing mountains of jagged peaks 
to view paintings that depict long-dead gods, 
I stand before gate to Towers of Silence 
with hope to see the Flame of Zoroaster 
that must still glow with spirit of God Mind 
which flares forth from first flash of the big bang. 

The only place I have ever seen God 
is in the shining mirror on the wall 
that shows how the fairest spirit of all 
animates child of Narcissus and Echo 
whose face emanates energy of faith 
with charismatic glow of divine truth. 

When Oceanus, riding foam-maned horse, 
falls in love with graceful star-eyed Aditi, 
she transforms his spirit of honest faith 
into brave Mithras wearing scarlet cape 
who defeats the cruel tyrant Minotaur 
in brutal battle to wear Crown of Christ. 

Archaic world of my childhood in Texas, 
where I ride my bike to the college campus 
and read about alphabets of the world, 
vanishes in weird haze of yesterday 
when I hitchhike Seattle to Miami 
and play guitar by fountain of the ghost. 

While I meditate by the gushing river 
in pine-crested foothills of Mount Takoma, 
I see three goddesses of wisdom glow, 
Athena, Saraswati, and Kwan Yin, 
who bless me with the Voice of Prophecy 
so I can navigate safe way through Hell. 

Wearing mask of persona I design, 
to shield mortal frailty of my heart, 
I sing Chronicle of Humanity 
disguised in fairy tales of Gothic angst 
that record my quest for the Holy Grail 
which shimmers in the heart of my soul mate. 

Grand Canyon Of Faith

Grand Canyon Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 05 18

The gray-haired woman in the river boat 
commissions the white raven to retrieve 
gold pocket watch from the insolent knight 
who sells his armor at the antique shop 
for coat of many colors he can wear 
when he attends the posh gallery show. 

The sad angel curled in the oak book shelf 
requests the red-furred cat with serpent eyes 
for pair of wings the snowy owl sells 
then watches the passenger jet of faith 
scatter fake clouds of arrogance with prayer 
while the cat and the owl play game of chess. 

The spider man with thirty-thousand eyes, 
who lives in the Grand Canyon of faith, 
weaves tapestry of human history 
that presents the prophets in dreamless caves 
of every religion mankind invents 
to translate wisdom of toads in the swamp. 

The young school girl wearing long cotton skirt 
climbs down the side of the high red brick wall 
on rusty ladder of excessive faith 
because she wants to ask the robot clown 
how he can always make sad people laugh 
with confusing riddles no one could solve. 

The car mechanic in the large garage 
decides that engines represent the heart 
demonic angels build for time machines 
that lonely people drive across the land 
where Roland blows ivory oliphant horn 
though no one rescues his soldiers from bombs. 

The small-church pastor wearing silver suit 
flips through pages of the Bible to find 
elusive passage that explains how faith 
can save the fool from dancing off the cliff, 
then drinks beer by the oak and laughs all night 
at absurd beauty of the butterfly. 

The serious magician with yew wand 
transforms the toad long croaking in the swamp 
into accountant for the country bank 
tasked to adjudicate requests for loans 
farmers apply to fund their future crops 
in field where Mithra tames the Minotaur. 

The gray-haired woman in the river boat 
gives me the wand she uses to catch fish 
so I ask the school girl to marry me 
so we can translate song of nothingness 
to silly fairy tales children can read 
before they grow up to work in finance. 

Energetic Faith In Dirt

Energetic Faith In Dirt
© Surazeus
2025 05 18

Too long strange silence of the angel wing 
vibrates ancestral memories of the stream 
that floods the plain one hundred million years 
till wingless angel of the aching heart 
explores along the winding river shore 
and picks up gleaming emerald of her eye. 

Alone on grassy plain of floating stars, 
she sings the ancient memory of our genes 
that fuels her endless journey to the moon 
which always gleams above the distant hills 
and lures her to the land of apple trees 
beyond horizon of the wordless wind. 

The child who feels vibration of the rain 
throb deep in crystal bones of honesty 
knows why she is herself and no one else 
in all the history of the universe, 
for she collects the masks of long-dead gods 
to hang on trunks of trees as ticking clocks. 

Long curly hair swirls randomly in wind 
as she walks slowly toward demonic light 
that glimmers weirdly on the giant stone 
which wavers proudly in her aching heart 
till she arrives at edge of nothingness 
to touch the solid coldness of the world. 

What name of energetic faith in dirt 
she breathes with vibrant passion of her tongue 
defines complete expansiveness of self 
wrapped whole in secret warmth of fantasy 
which she decides must designate the face 
who looks at her from shimmer of the pool. 

Through misdirection of the twisted branch 
that points beyond vast whyness of the sky 
she feels soft hand of love enclose her heart 
with gentle protest of the lonesome guard 
who feels complete when she stays by his side 
while glimmer of the sun binds their hearts firm. 

Expressing vision glowing in her eyes 
with vibrant words that slither from her tongue, 
she tells him why their hearts connect in love 
because we calculate our destiny 
through each decision our hearts choose to make 
when we seek wholeness of our secret self. 

Assembled concepts of the fractured world 
complete whole puzzle of their separate hearts 
when they hold hands and walk in silent wind 
to blaze the trail long signless in the sun 
where we now drive our cars on asphalt road 
that takes us round in loops of strict routine. 

Frame Of What Is Real

Frame Of What Is Real
© Surazeus
2025 05 18

Each scene of unresolved false memory 
that flashes blurred across his fuzzy mind, 
as Seth floats through the quiet afternoon 
in peaceful sadness of eternity, 
sparks dull anxiety of numb despair 
that makes him chuckle when he snaps awake. 

Nobody cares about my memories, 
Seth mumbles to the finch on the back porch 
that hops along the rail of eager hope, 
then drinks cold faucet water of concern 
in small home nestled in the grove of oaks 
along suburban street lined with dead cars. 

Submerged in half-dream of the afternoon, 
Seth rides the horse across the windy plain 
to catch the shadow of objective fear 
embodied by the man with doorless key 
whose laughter twists the oak tree into rope 
that dangles from the beam of unjust law. 

Haunted by faceless god his father feared, 
Seth walks quickly past every empty church 
because he knows the doors are locked all week, 
then browses fiction section of bookstores 
to read short summaries of unreal plots 
about men numb with angst of modern life. 

The plush green couch in middle of his house 
floats just above the ground of principles 
in shy defiance of grim gravity 
each time his brain designs new alien world, 
completely different from the state of Earth, 
where he is the brave angel who can fly. 

When Seth decides to fish on lake of dreams, 
where he casts line into abyss of fate 
to catch the Loch Ness Monster of his heart 
who knocks him off balance from his wood boat, 
he falls nine days and nights in wingless flight 
to hum half-awake on his floating couch. 

Through sudden field of shocking certainty 
Seth runs through thunderstorm of laughing gods 
to find the girl he loves beside the lake 
who kisses him in drenching rain of time 
till she reminds him of her secret name 
which reconstitutes frame of what is real. 

Shouting at the empty sky of false faith, 
Seth asks divine zookeeper of the Earth 
if he can perform with elastic grace 
roles of both therapist and referee 
as pope who rules empire of fairy tales, 
then stares out the window as evening falls. 

Almost See The Face

Almost See The Face
© Surazeus
2025 05 17

As star of my own solar system, I 
wake in the quiet house of screaming ghosts 
that beam from every brain alive on Earth 
as radiant static of world emptiness 
without sad story of the human race 
that flickers on blank television screens. 

Eight billion houses on our floating Earth 
blink eyeless windows in the rancid night 
though crackling stars burn human hearts to ash 
because we walk alone on signless roads 
together yet apart in void of time 
just close enough to almost see the Face. 

Anxiety appears in old-man form 
crouched in mute horror of the sunless room 
who follows me as shadow of my body 
which thirsts to drink fermented blood of fear 
that bleeds from pulsing sponges of my eyes 
till I push him in swamp mud of my heart. 

To build the baseline of our real-life tale 
we start with honesty and end with lies 
we carve as masks from skulls of ancient gods 
to hide our aching hearts with bold bravado 
that shields our wounded souls from vampire lust 
on which celebrities of fame must feed. 

By singing riddles of exotic hymns 
I hope to achieve what my heart desires 
when I create virtual Earth in my brain 
to mirror real world composed of atoms 
that seethe from heat to form organic souls 
who writhe with pleasure to create new life. 

With incomprehensible breath of hope, 
I crawl hand over hand to mountain peak 
where I stand on one leg of tense respect 
to reach the first star of the universe 
that still shines pulsing deep inside my brain 
since its first flash flared forth from the big bang. 

I feel how very atom of my soul 
has pulsed with energy of lust for life 
fourteen billion years of spinning time 
through various forms of chemical concepts 
transforming from ideal ghost of the I 
who evolves billions of lives to be me. 

Reframing problem of the afterlife, 
I explain that I am the incarnation 
of my parents in the flesh again now, 
designed by immortal soul of our genes 
as bodies that replicate our God Mind 
in new brains where I almost see the Face. 

Lake Of Dancing Wolves

Lake Of Dancing Wolves
© Surazeus
2025 05 17

Disturbed by how fast Death claims human souls, 
Juturna watches television shows 
about life in the ancient Land of Oz 
where elves build palaces of dreams from snows 
that never cease swirling from weeping moons 
which hang as mirrors on black starless skies. 

Each time she returns to scene of the crime 
to find conceptual evidence of fate, 
Juturna lingers on the ocean shore 
till Arion arrives from end of time 
on star-leaping dolphin of Zathamar 
to give her golden apple of the sun. 

Running together in the river grove 
from horde of assassins wearing black masks, 
young lovers search for somewhere safe to hide, 
till they find cave where Plato waves glass wand 
to teach them secrets of the universe, 
so shy Juturna kisses Arion. 

Unsure of how he feels about her heart, 
Juturna strides across the windy plain 
to weave fantastic visions from green rain, 
so Arion chases shadow of hope 
to find her on solemn Cliffs of Moher 
where he explains to her how he much cares. 

Determined to escape the falling bombs 
that blast all fantasies to kingdom come, 
young lovers drive highway of singing skulls 
till they arrive at lake of dancing wolves 
where they build temple to the Faceless God 
whose apple trees sprout from the fertile sod. 

Back to reality on fairy wings, 
Juturna flies home safe to Illinois 
where she shows photos of her time in France 
to strangers on the street she meets by chance, 
till secret agents of the government 
arrest her for tricking the president. 

Alone on mountain of the burning bush, 
Arion ponders social provenance 
that sparks the rise of prophets who give voice 
to grievance of the people sore oppressed 
who dare revolt against the status quo 
to favor equal rights for every soul. 

Deported to the Isle of Avalon, 
Juturna reunites with Arion 
by lake where snowy egrets flap their wings, 
then holding hands they sit on wooden porch 
to watch empire of America fall 
so Zarathia can rise on Phoenix wings. 

Reason Time Is Weird

Reason Time Is Weird
© Surazeus
2025 05 17

She wonders if the reason time is weird 
could flash from how the raven wing transcends 
eccentric jokes contrived by ringing bells 
despite how fast the book shelves have been cleared 
except for why sweet cuteness still depends 
on serpent princess stealing words from wells. 

So drives steel motorcar of honest hope 
swift on the writhing highway of fake wealth 
to catch the falling star with angel mask 
born as her daughter on the mountain slope 
who grows up hunting butterflies with stealth 
to finish well each fate-appointed task. 

Yet each house glowing by the dragon sea, 
where children play and laugh with fearless joy, 
explodes from bombs hurled by the angry god, 
so they crawl limbless in land of the free, 
then work in factories to assemble toy 
sold in shopping malls by religious fraud. 

Annoyed by attitude of haughty pride 
displayed by football captain on their date, 
she joins the army of the howling horse 
to arrest preachers and scammers who lied 
in schemes to steal money from naive fate 
who sells mineral rights to the holy source. 

When Attila camps at the gates of Rome 
with purpose to enslave the populace, 
fierce Leo meets him on the battle field 
and casts demonic spell from arcane tome 
that sparks compassion for the human race 
so the mighty warrior decides to yield. 

In every age of human history 
demonic spirit of the anti-christ 
incarnates in some tyrant blind with greed 
whose rage oppresses man with misery, 
till from the people rises new brave Christ 
who leads our revolution in dire need. 

Attired as warrior goddess we respect, 
Minerva waves bright flag of our just cause 
to organize our fight for liberty 
and pave way for the social architect 
who will design new set of global laws 
that maintains justice through democracy. 

When she concludes the reason time is weird 
based on analysis of fairy tales 
that people share on social media sites, 
she trains her son to play role of the bard 
who prophesies that Liberty prevails 
through war that paralyzes parasites. 

Wealth Gap Of Fate

Wealth Gap Of Fate
© Surazeus
2025 05 17

Inspired to narrow the wealth gap of fate 
by investing in flights of fantasy, 
Faunus plays hide and seek with Libitina 
who wants to kiss him with sweet vampire eyes, 
while Salacia boils oyster seaweed soup 
to feed the crowd of refugees from war. 

Bright effervescence of the swirling sea 
sparkles deep in his eyes with selfless love 
when Faunus sees long-haired Venilia 
chase butterflies in lush Elysian fields, 
so he leaves Libitina in the cave 
and chases her along the windy beach. 

Enraged at how Faunus abandoned her, 
Libitina crouches on the cliff edge 
and hurls large stone with jagged points of hate 
that cuts the shoulder of Venilia 
who stumbles to her knees and cries in pain, 
so the curly-haired boy tends to her wound. 

Cradling Venilia in his caring arms, 
Faunus leads her safely to the dream cave 
where Salacia gives bowls of oyster soup, 
so he feeds her while she blushes with hope, 
then whispers how she wants to marry him, 
but shrieks in fear when Libitina glares. 

Declaring that Faunus belongs to her 
because her built her temple of the dead 
where she burns corpses in the holy fire, 
Libitina grabs his reluctant hand, 
but he proclaims attention of desire 
to focus love on life rather than death. 

Fuming with anger at his hurtful words 
spoken by one she thought cared for her heart, 
Libitina runs on the windy shore, 
then sits on large black stone of arrogance 
that guards mouth of the gushing snow-fed stream 
to cry at rejection of loyal trust. 

Slim Alpanus in gown of raven feathers 
appears beside her on the river stone, 
who wipes her tears with skeletal hand 
and offers pomegranate with red seeds, 
so Libitina follows master of death 
down into cave of diamonds and despair. 

Turnus, son of Venilia and Faunus, 
rides young horse across the Esquiline Camp 
where he sees young girl with long flowing hair, 
Lucina, proud daughter of Libitina, 
so he embraces her with eager arms, 
and she kisses him with intense desire. 

Matrix Of Our Mutual Mind

Matrix Of Our Mutual Mind
© Surazeus
2025 05 16

Delicate yellow flower of my heart 
blooms through crack in Church of America, 
so I rise up from cavern of desire 
and walk toward shadow of faith I accept 
as way more real than Heaven preachers sell 
who curse their enemies to burn in Hell. 

The prophet rises from the common folk 
when they are trapped in hostile circumstance 
to speak with clear voice of the clairvoyant 
what action they could take against despair 
to overcome oppression of the rich 
who exploit energy of crafting hands. 

Because there is no supernatural God 
who created this world from spoken word, 
I am unprophet of the tribal soul, 
composing spells of complicated code 
to cast clear vision of the virtual world 
that mirrors real world which creates our souls. 

Dedicated to truth of the Ungod, 
who watches not over all that I do, 
I unspool matrix of our mutual mind 
to mirror real world in my dreaming brain 
so I can calculate cause and effect 
to help predict the coming of the sun. 

When people of my nation, fraught with fear, 
cry out with voice of patience in despair, 
I recompile their most outstanding fears 
to seek sanction from shadow of the god 
that emanates from fractured stone of truth 
so I recite clear vision as their guide. 

If we are still on signless road of fate 
that leads from sea shore to the mountain cave, 
we will relax in Temple of Blind Gods 
where flame-caster forges new Wisdom Wand 
for me to wield as Emperor of the Yarth 
despite how clocks unwind my neural soul. 

Each book I eat with alabaster teeth 
contains concepts of twisted energy 
so with apparent flap of angel wings 
my brain uploads new set of memories 
just fading bright from instrument of truth 
which I wield now in crippled state of being. 

With calm alacrity of peaceful pride 
I assemble fragments of fractured truth 
from countless tales of vain experience 
to conjure virtual world of faceless souls 
based on real people who invent new names 
woven in matrix of our mutual mind. 

Ghosts Of Fake Words

Ghosts Of Fake Words
© Surazeus
2025 05 16

Along bright beam-path of the lonely moon, 
heart beating wild with dark misshapen wings, 
I run toward glowing shadow-heart of hope 
that winds out spiral-flight of honesty 
for eye-swirl mist of harrowing desire 
to aim my soul straight through eternity. 

Accelerating leap of earnest faith 
propels my soul across night-wide abyss 
with fierce intent to reach infinity 
on eager wings I bought from Icarus 
who hides in cave of illusions to weave 
expansive matrix of our mutual minds. 

Enclosed within courageous form of faith, 
that whirrs from tides of nothingness I feel, 
my heart embraces time-strong vanity 
to drive fate of my heart against harsh rules 
restraining fierce aggression of my hope 
to play competing game of arrogance. 

Regret winds taut with anger self-control 
by which I rein assertion of my rights 
to manage flushing flow of energy 
that fuels my mission to investigate 
confines of caverns gleaming rich with wealth 
I wish to extract with world-crafting hands. 

Attained by bloated conceit of false faith, 
through aggrandizement of bland boastful pride, 
I glut my heart with insolence of praise, 
disposed toward innocence of vacant nymphs 
who feast on rumors swollen with grim tears 
despite offensive charge of charity. 

Each object pulsing with Solarian light 
vibrates bright outlines of existing forms 
beyond horizon of our consciousness 
in mountains haunted by ghosts of fake words 
whose hands caress my brain with pungent lust 
for bitter juice of my sea-mirror soul. 

Trapped by eternal glow of evening dusk 
that challenges rich substance of my faith 
with naked longing of my heart heart, 
I exit pale of sacred temple hall 
so I experience struggle to survive 
till I return home with treasures of truth. 

Trite manifestation of empty choirs, 
when I paint mural of our tribal tale 
with blood that oozes from my reckless mind, 
deranges how my brain processes facts 
now symbolized by divine characters 
misconstrued as normal people we are.