King On The Grassy Plain

King On The Grassy Plain
© Surazeus
2025 06 30

No man is a king on the grassy plain 
for all are equal in cold gusts of wind 
that strikes our spirits to the brittle bone 
and leaves us shivering in the brutal rain, 
so bluster all you want against the storm, 
King Lear, then humbly labor on your farm. 

Harvesting sheafs of grain with well-honed blade, 
the old man who once reigned as mighty king 
wipes sweat from his brow as laborers sing, 
then sorts bags of wheat according to grade, 
loading them on wagons with silent faith 
that calm attention soothes the sleeping wraith. 

Ten years since losing his throne in fierce coup 
lead by ambitious husbands of his daughters, 
Farmer Lear finds peace hiding from the plotters 
by selling happiness long overdue, 
then lounges with humble folk at the feast 
to celebrate how their wealth has increased. 

Stumbling into the farmyard at midnight, 
torn dress stained with blood of innocent souls 
killed by armed thugs who steal food from their bowls, 
Cordelia cries with sorrow of their plight, 
then falls into arms of her father Lear 
who gives her cider to banish her fear. 

Learning that sons he entrusted to rule 
with justice to help common people thrive 
like honey bees buzz for good of the hive, 
Farmer Lear admits he was a vain fool, 
since they exploit the people for their gain, 
heedless of how they cause the people pain. 

With the courageous jester by his side, 
and armed with sharply honed Excalibur, 
Farmer Lear transforms into Jupiter, 
and leads army of honest folk to fight 
against cruel tyrants in tall castle towers 
and support justice for people with flowers. 

Striding boldly forth in the thunderstorm, 
Lear defies injustice of mindless nature 
to protect precious lives of every creature, 
since nothing matters from the social norm, 
and battles oppressors of tyranny 
to establish global democracy. 

Facing King Midas in the Hall of Mirrors, 
where illusions of power blind human eyes, 
Citizen Lear and the Jester of Spies 
disrupt the capitalist game of horrors, 
for he knows well, now that he has grown sane, 
no man is a king on the grassy plain. 

Happy Trails Of Everywhere

Happy Trails Of Everywhere
© Surazeus
2025 06 30

We ride the happy trails of life together 
across the waste land in inclement weather 
to build new home with eager hands of joy 
far away from burning towers of Troy, 
erecting empire on law of the sword 
to manipulate lives on the wealth chessboard. 

Gold sun gleams over the ruins of Rome, 
slantwise through eye of the Pantheon dome, 
to light the flashing words in book of tales 
that describe our life on the happy trails 
we follow westward to the Promised Land 
where I rule for Death with the red right hand. 

The Roman Empire never disappeared 
as it transforms into something more weird 
with state system of checks and balances 
through framework of communal valances 
though one man always crowns himself as God 
who steals till exposed as the mortal fraud. 

With crystal shadow of my dreamless eye 
I float on glass wings in the godless sky 
to watch humans play on theater stage 
in dramas based on suffering with rage 
where arrogant tyrants will always fall, 
leaving their masks on time museum wall. 

Strange silence of the spackled mind reveals 
secrets exposed at breaking of the seals 
through revelation of the crippled seer 
who wanders happy trails with Guinevere 
with simple plan to rule the world with love 
by invoking wrath of the cloud above. 

We drive the happy trails of everywhere 
in motor car to find the dragon lair 
where sacred treasure that Beowulf stole 
funds my campaign for political role 
converting European Union straight 
to world empire that forms Gothinian State. 

So I map history of humanity 
that leads to true Astarianity 
which unites all religions of the world 
through Ecumenia of the cosmic herald 
commissioned by Ishtar to compose well 
Astarian Scriptures of the serpent well. 

If you believe in goodness of mankind 
and choose to live with free will of the mind, 
if you harm none by giving without greed, 
making sure everyone has what they need, 
then you are one with universal truth, 
riding happy trails with messiah sleuth. 

Fight For Global Liberty

Fight For Global Liberty
© Surazeus
2025 06 29

So many traditions of fractured words 
exist for aching hearts of hungry minds 
to express state of victimized contempt 
for arrogance of death that crushes faith 
with nonchalant regard of honesty 
despite how gold gulf water gleams at dawn. 

The Black-necked Stilt strides confidently shy 
in shallow waters on the island shore 
where Gulf of Mexico distills my heart 
with ardent vapor of reliant faith 
in mettle favored by assertive doubt, 
followed by elegant poise of distrust. 

Perpetual shimmer of aggressive hate 
drives us along the littoral range of fears, 
precarious with hope for the better world 
that preachers tell us Jesus will make real 
while humans colonize with earnest faith 
ghost-crowded wilderness of treasured vales. 

Beneath wood bower to pagoda hall, 
draped with long Red Mandevilla Vines, 
Su Nu, wearing red and green hanfu gown, 
plays eerie heart-enchanting melody 
on Guzheng zither of Paulownia wood 
that resonates in sinews of my soul. 

If I explore hills of Pannonia, 
where bearded men mine iron from dank caves, 
I may find snakes with diamond eyes of truth 
who lead me to ruins of marble halls 
where wise Serapis once reigned with fair laws 
designed to empower the honest soul. 

One noble truth I learn from history, 
depicting fate of men who grasp for power, 
is that every tyrant who stamps on heads 
of loyal patriots to sate his greed 
has fallen at the strike of Jupiter 
who never allows exploiters to thrive. 

With alphabet of Cadmus in her hand, 
Agave walks streets of America 
to plead for rights of homeless refugees 
whose broken hearts bloom from contentious stone 
through revolution against tyranny 
when we must fight for global liberty. 

Weak victims of injustice we are not, 
so we will not complain with bitter rage, 
and forge instead courageous hearts with hope 
to fight against conspiracies of hate 
through clever wiles of complex mental tricks 
that clear free space for everyone to live. 

Mindless Sky Of Love

Mindless Sky Of Love
© Surazeus
2025 06 29

Fireworks of my heart explode in the sky 
to shatter vision of America 
that shimmers as illusion of fair play 
contrived by code through esoterica 
from doctrine of justice for everyone 
equal under law designed by dead gods. 

New blades of grass sprout green in the bare spot 
of dirt where I had dug out the dead tree 
and tossed it withered by the quiet street 
where sunlight on asphalt of solitude 
erases manifestoes of art schools 
in favor of the heart-enchanting cry. 

The aging mother with curly black hair, 
streaked with silver from sibylline moonlight, 
lifts glass pan from hot oven of desire 
with fresh-baked butter cake that scents the house 
with festive sense of summer holiday 
that fills our hearts with pleasure of the way. 

While nearness pauses flash of pulsing waves 
we breathe extensive distance of bright stars 
outlined against gold afterglow of hope 
amazingly awake through dreams of bells 
that measure sweetness of new peaceful hills 
encased by sorrow of the floating moon. 

No marvel hides strange fellowship of faith 
we share with hugeness of expanding hearts 
since death contrives kind secrecies of love 
which bond our hearts with shared experience 
despite keen disappearances of time 
that wear the whole truth of the humming sun. 

Here only freedom purchased by the song, 
repressing credit equal to strange years, 
reveals true nature of each frantic soul 
who plays their role of sudden theater 
when faced with transcendent catastrophes 
that mask forever-smile of honesty. 

We carry hearts of strangers we first meet 
without obsessive fear of raunchy fate 
since words of wonder keep hot stars apart 
with deepest secret of the laughing book 
that no one knows before the unlocked door 
which opens to the mindless sky of love. 

The sky knows not my kind hypocrisy 
beneath the suddenly dancing fruit tree 
while we swing in the hammock of twilight 
to watch fireworks exploding in the sky 
so every spark of intense memory 
molds new illusion of America. 

Vibrant Holiness Of Hope

Vibrant Holiness Of Hope
© Surazeus
2025 06 28

The navel orange beside the violin 
reveals red waves of darkness in the mind, 
so I leap laughing in the sordid sea 
with intonation of eccentric thought 
still taut with vibrant holiness of hope 
that twangs with soft abandonment of love. 

I like the way you toss your wavy hair 
and how you peel the orange of honesty 
so juice of passion fuses wooden souls 
with sudden silkening of sanguine strife, 
though angels strip our hearts of bitterness 
before the coming of the hungry horde. 

Inscribe our hearts with memories of death 
that ripple slowly on blood lake of time 
to rock our boat with travesty of truth 
despite our pledge to honor wretchedness 
endured by holy pilgrims of white sand 
who float above the existential void. 

Bearing bundle of herbs in gentle arms, 
sweet Moon Girl wearing purple gown of faith 
looks back at me with eyes of timeless truth, 
and smiles with lightning flash that luminates 
heart of darkness where I was trapped too long 
which frees me from entanglement of fear. 

Amazement of blue wind on shore of bones 
opens wide my eyes to see beyond time 
where double shadow of my rainless hills 
reflects weird meaning of the silver sky 
since faceless ghosts catch letters I discard, 
blindsided by silent echo of strife. 

Because the glass moon hides my secret dreams 
with waves of pearls on self-fulfilling quest, 
I stretch taut canvas of my tensile brain 
huge enough to shroud this spinning world 
with veil of wisdom woven from our words 
that rise from fluorescent shade of our lips 

I sail ship of my adventitious faith 
across chromatic bay of your deep heart 
though monstrous clouds lash me with bitter fear 
so we can find our impeccable stars 
that fall from quietness of distant worlds 
sprouting from seeds of faith we throw away. 

Our secret world is island in the bay 
where silver storm clouds drench progressive hills 
in glowing sheen of stories we express 
by selling emptiness as deep insight 
to zealous seekers of vast nothingness, 
then eat the orange while Death plays violin. 

Target Of The Lonely Word

Target Of The Lonely Word
© Surazeus
2025 06 28

I eat the fruit of my labor with angst 
to understand why beauty of my heart 
gleams bright as target of the lonely word 
deployed as weapon of mass disrespect 
to translate laughter of water to jokes 
that vanquish light of liberty at dawn. 

I leave my clean skull on the other side 
where tree branches imitate network of words 
bound by molecular structure of thought 
that forms liquid base for statue of fruit 
reflecting how we die from fulgent shame 
that blinds fools with imprint of safe triumph. 

Illusion of safety digests my brain 
with pickled brine of arrogant concern 
for empty stomach of the angry ghost 
who fails to remember when he was born 
from cracked library door of afternoon 
too soon to disparage unwelcome spells. 

Since we are never meant to survive life 
we stand together around blazing fires 
and speak about the trauma we all share 
that bonds our hearts with strong communal faith 
so we can storm gates of Heaven at dawn 
with righteous demands for electric hearts. 

Inflexion of tree ghosts who search for lies 
to eat that fuel grim engine of desire 
hopes ardor scatters time from atmospheres 
of twirling books that float on raven wings 
in hope that butterflies of flowing clocks 
might share state formulas for soul rebirth. 

Unnecessary tablets of false lore 
lament stark weight of memorized grandeur 
contrived from grammar of the noble bridge 
where Death waits patiently for every soul 
whose flame of life escapes to long-dead stars 
dedicated to protect faceless gods. 

Restricted rites for monuments of fools 
work back to bankrolled madrigals of flight 
that measure endless spinning of this world 
conformed from light of spiral galaxies 
by asking how we paint blood on road signs 
when humble fishermen overthrow kings. 

Instead of demanding computer brains 
we praise wise Hymen of the bridal veil 
with brutal epithalamion for maid 
who steals false stories from my bleeding tongue 
and writes them with typewriter of respect 
to conceal target of the lonely word. 

Ever-Smiling Maid

Ever-Smiling Maid
© Surazeus
2025 06 28

The dirt-brown donkey with electric eyes 
seeks shade on the sun-blazed hilltop in Spain 
beside the small white chapel with no door 
where the ever-smiling maid of the well 
speaks to glowing stones of the white abyss 
about the homeland where the murdered dwell. 

The one-eyed boy with arrow in his heart 
turns away from the ever-smiling maid 
because he feels his crippled state of being 
is heavy burden she must bear with pain, 
but she grabs his arm with electric eyes 
and declares how they are on the same team. 

Together side by side on road of life 
we will face all the hardships of the world 
and support each other with loyal faith 
as we push through the bitter storms of fear 
so we emerge from waste land of despair 
to stand in paradise of calm respect. 

We share resolve encouraging our hearts 
to build our life from promise of true love, 
though road we walked is littered with regrets 
and road we blaze is veiled with blinding fear, 
for we share glowing bead of self-respect 
that helps us find each other in the gloom. 

Holding hands with firm resolve of shared faith, 
both one-eyed boy and ever-smiling maid 
advance together on uncertain road 
without knowing what dangers lie ahead, 
for even if their souls are crushed by fate 
they choose this path together to the end. 

When nine knights in shining armor appear 
on noble horses prancing with grand pride, 
the young couple walking the dusty road 
move aside and bow with humble respect, 
but the good knights decide with sneers of greed 
they want to take the maid as their cute pet. 

When the one-eyed boy tries to stop their deed 
they crucify him on dead apple tree, 
so the ever-smiling maid runs away 
but stumbles at edge of the windy cliff, 
tears streaming down her cheeks with bitter angst 
to see the boy she loves suffering in pain. 

Hanging crucified on the twisted tree, 
the one-eyed boy who grasps the snake of love 
screams in despair when ever-smiling maid 
leaps off the cliff and soars into the sky 
as she transforms into the sparrowhawk 
who bears his fractured skull back up to Heaven. 

Moon-Eye Diamond

Moon-Eye Diamond
© Surazeus
2025 06 27

Sunlight flashes through trees into her eyes 
as Orphne runs swiftly round gnarly trunks, 
and slips through thick veil of blackberry vines 
to escape gray wolves snapping at her heels 
along Gorgyra River in huge cave 
where she falls exhausted to catch her breath. 

Shuffling toward her from the underworld, 
Marsyas, draped in tattered wolf-fur cape, 
holds up bright diamond to observe her face, 
then grins and offers lime for her to eat, 
so she accepts the fruit with gentle smile, 
but as she peels he swings wand at her head. 

Just before the thick wand fractures her skull 
Akheron grasps it with his brawny hand, 
then punches face of the lascivious satyr 
who shrieks in rage that he found the nymph first, 
but Orphne grins and snatches from his hand 
huge diamond that gleams with light of the moon. 

While Marsyas crawls away in fogged gloom, 
Orphne and Akheron follow the river 
to their secret cave in the underworld 
where she places the bright Moon-Eye Diamond 
beside the emerald, ruby, and topaz 
that she had stolen from the satyr gang. 

Setting son Askalaphos on her lap, 
Orphne tells him the legend of the gems 
when gang of satyrs many years ago, 
lead by Hades, fought the dragon Typhon 
to help Pluto attain the underworld, 
and gain control over huge jewel mines. 

Searching for strong workers to mine the jewels, 
the satyr gang attacked farm villages, 
kidnapped healthy men from their weeping wives, 
and forced them to labor in caves of death, 
including her brave father Orion, 
who died when he was crushed by falling rocks. 

Giving Askalaphos sliced pear to eat, 
Orphne explains that she now seeks revenge 
by finding each member of the satyr gang 
and stealing precious jewels from their hands, 
then smiles as her little boy with big eyes 
plays with the jewels that gleam with eerie light. 

While Akheron fishes in Gorgyra River, 
Orphne plays heart-enchanting melodies 
on long flute she carved from arm bone of Typhon, 
but neither notice the large eagle owl 
that watches their boy on the river shore, 
eyes gleaming red as pomegranate fruit. 

Map Of Blood On Her Skin

Map Of Blood On Her Skin
© Surazeus
2025 06 27

Because sad eyes of wingless crows perceive 
flow of my blood in body of the world, 
the water of the river speaks to me 
about my faceless lover of the wind 
who glows from flaming beams of the dawn sun 
that eject despair from darkness of hope. 

Your flaming heart that dispels gloom of fear 
reveals the world to be more beautiful 
where human beings are butterflies on flowers 
who find new strength from turmoil of the sea 
to walk upon wild waves of changing times 
with balanced courage of dream-singing trees. 

Your moon-bright eyes of holy solitude 
illuminate dark signless road of hope 
where I walk toward the future I invent 
by weaving words in tapestry of tales 
defining how I think the world should be 
where every person lives happy and free. 

Celestial whispers of the long-dead stars 
infuse the air we breathe with vain desires 
that fuel our journey to the Promised Land 
where bitter rebels wrestle giant gods, 
then give their treasures to the cheering crowd 
as gifts that seal social contracts of faith. 

Wings of gulls conceal vastness of the sea 
where Mother of Mankind walks on gold sand 
while suffering draws map of blood on her skin 
which shows me how to live with honest joy 
as I hold hands with the soul I love most 
who gives me fruit she steals from snake of lust. 

When shadows of my words reverberate 
as subtle echo of my formless thoughts 
across the hollow space between our souls, 
I feel influence of my heart vibrate 
in symbols that project my fantasies 
within flexible framework of respect. 

Bright shadow ring of thoughts formed into words 
undulates outward from crystalline core 
through strict concentric spirals of respect 
in ripples that weave matrix of our minds 
as organic bodies souls animate, 
which translates genetic memories to dreams. 

The solid ground of Earth on which I walk 
spreads out from hearth of my blood-heated heart 
in all directions to form giant globe 
which slowly spins in void of glowing stars 
so I listen to trees and rivers sing 
elaborate tale of adventure I seek. 

House We Never Build

House We Never Build
© Surazeus
2025 06 26

My heart has never tasted death of time 
sweet as honey dripping from toasted bread 
in tangled words devised by humble priests 
to fool kind farmers with fantastic tales 
of men who fly among the glowing clouds 
with sheen of darkness smeared by wings of crows. 

The house we never build from broken bones 
conceals our daring hearts with shadow hands 
less quick than lightning that unlocks the door 
behind which mermaids sing of snowflake tears 
by keeping watch with guns of holy days 
while strange men walk in fields of singing skulls. 

Untwisted vines of saviors born from stones 
preserve our dandelion hearts of faith 
where mothers never bake sweet apple pies 
as if time charges weird electric codes 
that merge frail body with the dreaming mind 
for jagged effervescence Death regrets. 

Yet nameless millions walking signless roads, 
souls sacrificed to idol of blind god, 
emerge from fractured television screens 
to prove equations of clipped algebra 
expressed with salt of bitter happiness 
before the coming of the dumpster clown. 

Too high on pedestal of wondrous thoughts, 
concealed by fabulous respect for truth, 
Tiresias photographs the cheerful crowd 
of students learning how to prophesy 
fall of the empire from the stolen book 
designed by Kwan Yin to preserve the truth. 

Despite fierce sorrow freezing my heart stiff, 
the river kingfisher with turquoise wings 
leads me safe to gray area of hope 
between the worry and the happy states 
so I sit quietly on couch of thought 
to contemplate history of human wars. 

If pungent scent of seaweed on the beach 
reveals the selfish nature of my love, 
then I release desire to share your fate 
so we together walk our separate ways 
along the river of romantic faith 
where angels drown from fighting dragon spawn. 

Narcissus gazes in the mirror pool 
till Eve gives him ripe apple of his fate 
so he climbs ladder Jacob built from bones 
and rides with Noah on the crowded boat 
to find old Plato mumbling in his cave, 
where Galileo gives him his telescope. 

High Over Laughable Void

High Over Laughable Void
© Surazeus
2025 06 26

Outrageous doubt of vital escapades 
reflects the tarnished gold of searing tongues 
when gangs of wolves with bitter eyes of hate 
arrest gardeners and cooks of paradise 
by cheating honesty with harsh distress 
that poisons well of justice with their greed. 

Deserted lovers riding trains of fear 
on iron tracks of transparent contempt 
swallow sludge of vitreous smoke at dawn 
while floating high over laughable void 
where tender sorrow of the dead reverts 
to gnarly vertigo of broken walls. 

Detailing crimes of men in masks of rage, 
Blind Bard records in verses of restraint 
horrible events people suffer each day 
while stumbling on the scales of destiny 
through starry years on treeless plain of pain 
with voices sealed by horizon of truth. 

If she wants to resist her memories 
of faces twisted by abuse through faith 
she could escape false paradise of rules 
to preach new program of social advance 
in fierce campaign to run as senator 
commissioned to protect rights of their souls. 

So when she wins the vote on day of truth, 
she stands before the cheering crowd with pride 
to vow with earnest voice intent to serve 
needs of their hearts so programs she presents 
improve conditions of their struggling lives 
by framing social issues with love code. 

When circus tents where preachers sell sweet lies 
burst into flames of holy righteousness, 
bright as the fire that burns the Sinai bush, 
she carves new proverbs for the modern age 
on bones of dragons dug from tombs of gods 
so refugees may build productive lives. 

Though poetry makes nothing happen well, 
poets depict what should happen with laws 
that legislate behavior of state heroes 
as they record events of social change 
in tales where good men strive against all odds 
to keep their people free from tyranny. 

Preserved in books of fractured fantasy, 
epic tales of noble heroes inspire 
each generation of children to play 
roles in endless drama of world empire 
that sprouts from ruins of paradise lost 
where the woman gives the man fruit to eat. 

Files Of Fractured Fantasy

Files Of Fractured Fantasy
© Surazeus
2025 06 26

Adjusting photos of fake memories 
that I invent from lost mythologies, 
I order files of fractured fantasy 
to design new global democracy 
based on Liberty and Justice for all 
whose masks hang on the World History Wall. 

Having become this conscious being of bones, 
I aim my rifle at idols of stones, 
contrived by files of fractured fantasy, 
to shoot electric gods of piracy 
from charge of intermittent outages 
that program universal languages. 

I surf swift waves of mental frequencies 
that weave brain molecules with decencies, 
lost in thick files of fractured fantasy 
because they charge us for each ecstasy 
we steal from moon-ghost of the misty moor 
who hangs my lost mask on cathedral door. 

Stripped from the sizzle-frack of flashing screens, 
we build to barter hope in time machines, 
our scattered files of fractured fantasy 
swirl laughing in sea breeze of charity 
despite conceptual frame of distinct facts 
employed to prop political peace pacts. 

We zoom with piston engines of desire 
so we can join the global demon choir 
to sing old files of fractured fantasy 
based on tradition of dream fallacy 
since I would never join for membership 
in their exclusive club of censorship. 

Designing narrative from psychic trash 
in arcane magazine funded by cash, 
disbursed from files of fractured fantasy, 
I steal motifs of truth with blasphemy  
to tell new tale of our national pride 
in service to gnostic wisdom we hide. 

With faith in reason of my disbelief 
in transgressive ritual of social grief, 
I burn weird files of fractured fantasy 
to trash religious ideology 
that traps our hearts in the Afterlife Lie 
so I can perform my role as God Spy. 

Reality must imitate the world 
that increments time for the cosmic herald 
to study files of fractured fantasy 
indoctrinated through dream liturgy 
that memory reflects our loss of beauty 
so we chant spells with frantic sense of duty. 

Lightning Flash Of Faith

Lightning Flash Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 06 25

Exclusive laughter of our bitter truth, 
not honest enough for fire-induced waves, 
envelops our bodies with barbed-wire words, 
trapped in paperback novels pulped by pride, 
which beam invincible beauty of hope 
when we prevail against silence of fear. 

To make friends with enemy of despair, 
while managing estate of broken hearts, 
I give each angel fallen from the sky 
new human name that masks their vibrant soul 
with transparent sorrow of falling leaves 
that shroud our graves with pages of old books. 

Based on filthy discord of tortured words, 
tangled in sponge brains of arrogant gods, 
my story services elusive good 
with mountain shadows of unechoed voice 
that cries destruction of the lonely world 
where we give our friends what we treasure most. 

Each day we wake at flash of bleeding light, 
that drips from screaming star of ecstasy, 
we walk with smiles of fractured fantasy 
at sudden closeness of sweet-honeyed hills 
where chickadees explain secret of birth 
when dragon souls are born from broken rocks. 

When rain of happiness, purchased from pain, 
drenches moon-silver sand of the shocked beach, 
we vacate bright-lit cafes and dry homes 
to dance with ghosts of pessimistic wind 
so we can access secret dreams of love 
responsible for lightning flash of faith. 

Intense expression of miserable joy 
expands my consciousness of what is real 
with shifting framework of our old world view 
so we account for events that occur 
in swift succession of soul-twisting games 
till all my fantasies are stripped away. 

With every song I scribble in beach sand 
I chronicle weird changes of the world 
so I can analyze through formulas 
of psychic gods each political force 
that seems to manipulate minds of men 
who fight each other for the Promised Land. 

Compassion for the common state of being, 
we share in brutal fight to rule the world, 
adjusts aggressive force of thought-control 
when I break free from net of social rules 
to soar on beating wings of Icarus 
above vast maze of cities where you sing. 

Agony Of Silent Hope

Agony Of Silent Hope
© Surazeus
2025 06 25

The woman stands in bright circle of light, 
pulling the universe into her heart 
with brutal smile of arrogant respect 
that rearranges all my memories 
so she is center of dramatic life 
in which I play assistant to her truth. 

I long to inhabit body of flesh 
and savor pleasures of life on this Earth, 
soul curved with agony of silent hope 
so I swell huge beyond frame of my skull 
till I remember life of every soul 
who evolve millions of years into me. 

On laughter of our hearts bound with red thread 
we pirouette over chasm of trust, 
hearts bloated with hot breath of eager faith 
as we embrace with passion to transform 
immortal soul of genes from fish to god, 
then kiss and feed each other juicy fruit. 

Despite how long I fall from empty skies, 
with bones unbuckled from my naked mind, 
I fill the present with dreams of the past 
we share as tangled roots of hungry trees 
while crawling desperately on river shore 
to find sweet mushroom of eternal life. 

The blue dragon fly of our pulsing hearts, 
that unites our souls in marriage of love, 
flits around our faces in summer heat 
as we wade slowly in algae-thick stream 
to catch fish and turtles with eager hands, 
then roast meat over moon-red flames of faith. 

Soft amber glow of innocent desire, 
that lights our faces with ethereal glow, 
reminds our bodies we pulse hot with blood 
as we swim slowly with the river flow, 
then rise together from electric mud 
and laugh with muffled climax at despair. 

While sucking honeysuckle blooms of joy, 
to soothe sharp pain of fragile tree-limb bones, 
we cuddle among goldenrods of fate 
in silver breeze that bears on outstretched wings 
sly chestnut-backed chickadee with black eyes 
who gives us names we cherish with each kiss. 

Your long black hair of delicate concern 
swirls round your face in gusts of ocean wind 
as we trudge wide mudflats of honesty 
to gather clams we roast on crackling flames, 
then sing together in wild harmony 
as we embrace under vast galaxies. 

Road That Never Moves

Road That Never Moves
© Surazeus
2025 06 25

I want to ask clouds in the distant sky 
to tell her through the drops of sparkling rain 
that I will always journey at her side, 
but all I find is shadow of her soul 
silent beside me on the meadow grass 
far from the endless road that never moves. 

Perhaps she will return from somewhere else 
and call my name before my sunless tomb 
to come forth from cold darkness of my fear 
so I can walk with shadow of her soul 
one hundred million years of flowing time 
as we transform from mouse to faceless god. 

If death is secret moving in my heart 
with ache of sorrow springing tears of hope, 
then I will touch the object of desire 
to understand strange essence of this world 
so truth invisible to dreamless eyes 
may shine as lamp that guides our journey home. 

The absent body of her vibrant soul 
still resonates with passion of her heart 
from hollow emptiness of where she glows 
so when I wake from dream I find myself 
standing beside myself among fruit trees, 
expanding to be everywhere at once. 

When our ship splits on the rock of our faith 
we will rebuild material of its hope 
in home with rooms to keep our memories 
preserved in hymns we sing before we die, 
and doors that lead our souls to other worlds 
so we dwell safe in haven of shared love. 

The tree of knowledge on lawn of our home 
looms spectral at the silver sky of hope 
with shaggy gloominess of pure respect 
that weeps to see us humans live and die 
through endless generations of rebirth 
which surge in waves of innocent desire. 

Long branches twisting at the empty sky 
map disappearance of our hungry souls 
as we blaze trails across the wilderness 
to network cities with connective roads 
while weaving empire of world-view control 
which becomes the truth we cannot dismiss. 

Through summer stillness of the sultry air 
our lithe bodies emerge from soil of Earth 
to harvest food from bounty of its faith 
so we share feast of friends in temple halls 
while the blind bard sings long-forgotten tales 
of heroes whose dreams animate our minds. 

Suffering Of Our Land

Suffering Of Our Land
© Surazeus
2025 06 24

The clear spring in the apple forest counts 
how many petals fall from dreamless hands 
thousands of years to cover our lost graves 
where ravens fly along turbulent streams 
with agitated sorrow of my heart 
that helps me break through gates of paradise. 

Encoding sorrow in weird images 
that illustrate the suffering of our land, 
I catch words dropping from the fractured sky 
and plant them in the soil of aching hearts 
for we must part on trail of broken stones 
which I transform into the book of dreams. 

Each sudden gust of trembling air foretells 
terrible storms that crash across the land 
and crush our homes and gardens with disdain 
of calm indifference for our fragile lives, 
so we dance wild with flames of ecstasy 
to celebrate rebirth of apple trees. 

We paste old photos of our memories 
on walls of houses in bomb-blasted towns 
to paper over sorrow of our loss 
so tourists visiting our quirky squares 
will see the charm, and not our suffering, 
though ghosts write our stories on walls in blood. 

Though bombs of oligarchs destroy our homes, 
disrupting museums, churches, and schools, 
our children gather in fear-ruined walls 
to draw charming pictures of paradise 
and write poems of hope with pens carved from bones, 
that channel ghost of electricity. 

While landscaping lawn at the restaurant, 
Narcissus thinks about his honest sons 
who fight for our country in the Marines 
till nine men wearing masks aim guns at him 
and chase him through the streets of paradise, 
then slam him to the street and cuff his hands. 

Locked in the bitter prison of contempt, 
Narcissus leads the nameless prisoners 
in songs of revolution against hate, 
but voices of their hearts for liberty 
dissolve in storm of innocent dismay 
till cement walls crumble into beach sand. 

In green eyes of Earth Goddess I can see 
millions of people yearning to live free, 
so I open wide the door of paradise 
and beckon they enter the Promised Land, 
so they storm the Gates of Heaven with hope 
to taste healthy fruit from the Tree of Knowledge. 

Promised Land Of Peace

Promised Land Of Peace
© Surazeus
2025 06 24

Through gossamer veil of late evening mist 
I leap to taste the pomegranate moon, 
but fruit of passion floats beyond my reach. 
Stars crumble into glass shards on the beach 
that flash in curses concealed in the rune 
to burn as your heart pulsing in my fist. 

Foraging for apple snails of regret, 
the black-winged Limpkin with star-twinkling eyes 
gallops swiftly away with ungainly gait. 
Kneeling before the locked heavenly gate 
that glitters blood-red with diamonds of lies, 
I transform as ghost of the ethernet. 

Awake at dawn in the ruins of Rome, 
Aurora holds star-gold light in her mouth 
and threatens to bestow fame on the fool. 
Forging gold beams into rings with his tool, 
Vulcan plots how to take over the South 
and build new empire where goatherders roam. 

When water in the cauldron of my thoughts 
boils with rage from flames of state tyranny, 
I fight the gangs of thugs kidnapping souls. 
Ill-fated fortune of my psychic roles 
blooms ripe in apple of epiphany 
so I wear party masks of long-dead gods. 

When lightning strikes the tower of lost tales, 
Selene stands in temple of fake time 
to prophesy fall of the tyrant king. 
Floating lightly on soft angelic wing, 
she sings with voice of knowledge at the chime 
that rings before destruction of sea gales. 

Adrift on raft of honesty at sea, 
while searching for the Promised Land of Peace, 
we flee from war that engulfs our homeland. 
The female Dunlin bird rests on my hand 
as I lament that cruel wars never cease, 
keeping calm since I wield the secret key. 

Though antique towers crown the watery glade 
where Science studies nature of our world, 
I sport with joy in happy fields of faith. 
Possessed by fierce ambition of the wraith, 
I perform my role as new cosmic herald 
till energy of hope begins to fade. 

Acquainted with the light of solemn rain, 
I walk the endless maze of city streets 
to find stage of my tragic destiny. 
The luminary clock of ecstasy 
records accomplishment of noble feats 
that I perform with nothing left to gain. 

Driven From Our Holy Land

Driven From Our Holy Land
© Surazeus
2025 06 24

Fast-forward to the hour of shocking death, 
I wander blithely past my pristine tomb 
to gather fragrant rosebuds while I may, 
for if I exhume body of my bride 
to retrieve book of poems I wrote for her, 
I may find her long hair has filled her grave. 

Retreat from battle of the faceless god 
extends courageous warranty of fate 
through base security of legal bonds 
I purchase with blood money of fake wealth 
when I bomb palaces of arrogance 
to hide my weakness with false show of strength. 

Excessive pride in my accomplishments 
misleads attention of my ardent hope 
to play knight of the woeful countenance 
brave enough to attack glass tower banks 
which I mistake for giants of despair 
when I sally forth to guard my homeland. 

The first step in assertion of false power 
to prop frail institutes of tyranny 
lies in convincing honest citizens 
those immigrants escaping distant wars 
are less than human, evil criminals 
who should be driven from our Holy Land. 

Caught in swift swirling tides of social change, 
I program strict analysis to play 
strange games of geopolitical chess 
against opponents paranoid as I, 
till our vicious conflict shatters respect 
that breaks our contract with good government. 

Alone in White House shining on the hill, 
I ponder psychic force of divine will 
which I assert through illegal decree 
in desperate gamble adjusting its key 
slight calibrated degrees just enough 
to crash fortune with my blustering bluff. 

Attempting to erase the populace 
who dares to challenge my authority, 
I fire conceptual missiles at the sky 
where Ungod mocks my feeble show of strength 
till blowback from my nationalist attack 
crushes my illusive bubble of power. 

I lead my grand parade of loyalty 
in global war to dominate the truth 
with lies I weave in tangled web of facts 
against the Will of Heaven to mandate 
strength of my empire that will never fall 
till we are driven from our Holy Land. 

Brave Child Of Immigrants

Brave Child Of Immigrants
© Surazeus
2025 06 23

If I can kick the ball into the net 
before our empire collapses from greed 
then I will leap abyss of honesty 
to test my mettle with assertive faith 
before I tumble from heavenly wall 
and pick fruit in strawberry fields forever. 

When gang of men who wear no uniforms, 
hiding their faces with black bandit masks, 
swarm the strawberry fields of industry 
to arrest the hard-working immigrants 
and deport them all from the Promised Land, 
I film their illegal activity. 

Sweat dripping from my brow in blazing sun, 
I sing the blues with aching heart of hope 
to call the sweet chariot of salvation 
which never swoops from faceless clouds of light, 
so I meet the devil at the crossroads 
and sell my soul so I can play guitar. 

Strumming old battered guitar of my heart, 
I sing the blues on cold Chicago streets 
to howl with wolf voice of the wilderness, 
expressing anguish of the immigrant 
who flees their homeland overrun by gangs 
to seek salvation in the Promised Land. 

Because I work my fingers to the bone, 
constructing car engines in factories, 
I grow new secret pair of angel wings 
I try to hide beneath my leather coat 
till passion to ascend erupts from rage 
with urgency of faith to fight the power. 

Linking arms with comrades on picket lines, 
I strike against dangerous working conditions 
and call for higher wages with respect 
so I can afford to feed my family 
and send my kids to college of desire 
so they can buy new house and car at last. 

Bearing my hungry daughter on my back, 
I trudge rugged trail of the Darien Gap, 
struggling through stark wilderness of pain 
where Orpheus leads mute souls of the dead 
across the waste land to the Promised Land 
where I work as janitor at hotels. 

Assembling fragments of my freedom quest 
in documentary on this bitter life, 
I crack jokes on stage at the smoky bar 
about life as brave child of immigrants 
who pick fruit in the fields of California
while I perform my television show. 

Chic Fashion Store

Chic Fashion Store
© Surazeus
2025 06 23

Too simple for mad people of the rock, 
I send new robot to the planet Mars. 
Casually attempting to pick the lock, 
I discover secrets of god-soul stars. 
We laugh together on the river shore 
then sell our souls at the corner drug store. 

Electric glow on the living room wall 
expands enormously from weeping books. 
Gold statue of Jesus is way too tall 
for me to steal recipes from blind cooks. 
We wander weeping on the misty moor 
after leaving our brains at the book store. 

To smash idol of Jesus with clay feet 
I play guitar that spins the rolling stone. 
Since zombies worship the black parakeet, 
we gnaw our sorrows to the broken bone. 
The weeping widow in the howling door 
sells apple pies at the cathedral store. 

By chanting prayers of fraught anxiety 
I seek shortcuts to becoming the saint. 
If Death impedes my purchase of the key 
then I will sell my soul and learn to paint. 
To empty my mind to its chaos core 
I break fragile clocks in the antique store. 

We gather by the river at sunset 
before gold throne where the puppet king smiles. 
Moon Woman who invents the alphabet 
pays me to organize oneiric files. 
The white cotton dress that Emily wore 
floats faceless down aisles of the grocery store. 

At kiss Susanna plants inside my heart 
I wake by crystal-blue Italian stream. 
She plans my life-journey on her star chart 
so I decide to join her music team. 
After I finish my afternoon chore, 
we eat ice cream at the antichrist store. 

Baptism of my soul in Babylon 
acquaints my spirit with the eerie night. 
On dream quest in dark woods of Oregon 
I find the secret of eternal light. 
Though nobody but me is keeping score 
I evade fate in the popular store. 

Time leaves me stranded on the silent beach 
so I conceal my treasure in white sand. 
As gust of wind from garden beyond reach 
I chase elusive grain of mystic sand. 
Reborn from hunger of the dinosaur, 
I buy new clothes at the chic fashion store. 

Fake Hill Of Anywhere

Fake Hill Of Anywhere
© Surazeus
2025 06 23

The swift bird chases last song of my heart 
far from the human world of motor cars 
to weave vast network of telephone lines 
that connect our brains in the world wide web 
till I become the wild blackberry ghost 
when I lie on fake hill of anywhere. 

The distant thunder of my aching heart 
makes Earth vibrate with clang of angry bells 
that ring from churches all across the land 
to guarantee that supernatural god 
exists in brain of every human soul 
so I sing on fake hill of anywhere. 

The wind in trees calls out my secret name 
but I ignore their desperate cries for help 
as I drive motor car of honesty, 
that time machine that takes me where I want 
despite dire warnings from the scarlet crow 
who lures me to fake hill of anywhere. 

Stunned by strange beauty of the motor car 
that carries me through swirling eye of time, 
I ask the angel where she wants to go 
and she points to the rainbow bleeding tears 
of acid rain dissolving towers of glass 
that melt onto fake hill of anywhere. 

The snowflakes on the television screen 
define eccentric landscape of my dreams 
with silent shroud of angst I wear at night 
while I stand by the window of my mind 
and watch the world destroyed by flood of words 
from my house on fake hill of anywhere. 

The unicorn of arrogant dismay, 
who finds it difficult to arrogate 
official duties to the vampire brood, 
teaches accounting to old prisoners 
at community college by the farm 
who picnic on fake hill of anywhere. 

The questions children ask of wise adults 
confound philosophers of money games 
despite how many homeruns Odin hits 
in global game of psychic thought-control 
he plays with fierce ambition of despair 
as fake king of the hill of anywhere. 

I hear every tree that falls in the woods 
because vibration ringing in thick air 
ripples so far across vast lake of time 
that I can translate spells it means to chant 
about decreasing tax for common folk 
who worship on fake hill of anywhere. 

Distant World Of Peace

Distant World Of Peace
© Surazeus
2025 06 22

Though beauty of the distant world of peace 
escapes reluctant passion of twilight, 
the wingless angel wraps his tensile heart 
around green hills where mushroom houses sprout 
from endless weeping of the river flow 
that leads his way to the blueberry grove. 

Because he cannot see dreams of his heart 
till he sings their passion in eccentric spells, 
he walks along the fence of broken trust 
with casual observance of stranded facts, 
which inspires good citizens to oppose 
aggressive program of stratocracy. 

The dictionary on the windowsill 
provides the wingless angel weird new words 
to record shocking conditions of war 
embroidered on the handkerchief of Death 
depicting citizens of everywhere 
working with their hands to create the world. 

Engaged in holy work of regime change, 
transforming warring states into empires, 
the beautiful model in white silk gown 
poses for cameras with sparkling eyes 
to prove she is the eidolon of Helen 
who lounges on the beach in Mexico. 

When atoms of our bodies flash with stars 
and circle Earth in gusting winds of fate, 
we fill warms bodies of still-living souls 
with fleeting thoughts of dreamy memories 
so they weep softly with loving respect 
while searching for the books we leave behind. 

If Hamlet gazes in eyes of my skull 
and asks about my carefree gibes of joy, 
the wingless angel leads him by the hand 
to glass museum of the singing skulls 
which prophesy strange burning of the world 
in wordless whispers of sad apple trees. 

Standing on high pyramid of eyes, 
she measures broad heavens of twinkling stars 
by stretching long measuring cord of truth 
across the rugged landscape of the Earth 
to map the history of humanity 
where cities grow at mouths of major rivers. 

Since twinkling brightness of eternal light 
never fills nor empties our hoping hearts, 
we cherish conscious eagerness of love 
woven in constellations of our hearts 
as steady guiding light of honesty 
which shows the way to our authentic selves. 

Archives Of Fake Memories

Archives Of Fake Memories
© Surazeus
2025 06 22

Because I am the flowering sea of hope, 
this century of burning monstrous thought 
collapses into laughter through respect 
for shadow angels who live ardently 
with blasphemous desire to rewrite truth 
based on drama that we must think about. 

Against stark background of harsh tenderness 
we disregard surprise of history 
through melancholy meanness of dream code 
that programs us to play survival mode 
in tangent with abstractions trees extend, 
encased in archives of fake memories. 

Stone cottage hidden in suspicious woods 
sends purple thistles with mission from god 
to extricate blind robots from glass banks 
so they can reproduce strawberry jam 
for lonely princess on the red mushroom 
who crowns the greedy frog king of the Earth. 

Reflected in sad mirror on the wall, 
nine literary heroes fold their brains 
in huge delicate origami cranes 
that float around as books with serpent eyes 
chased by brass keys with bat wings of contempt 
when they pose for the random photograph. 

I disappear in painting on the wall 
to live forever as the Fisherman 
sitting peacefully in small wooden boat 
on the misty lake in lush mountain woods 
till sly Bianca opens door of time 
to tattoo words of my song on her arm. 

I ride the bus in maze of city streets 
all summer to songs on the radio 
about clean firmness of the naked soul 
which dances laughing on shore of the lake 
where wingless fairies steal keys of our homes 
till planes bomb our paradise into hell. 

Through chaotic necessity of truth 
I dig holes in the asphalt road of faith 
to find the secret treasure of the troll 
who wears blue business suit and long red tie, 
then end his reign of terror with the Word 
that shatters crystal temple of despair. 

Fixed by tragic stare of the noble clown, 
I summon demons from Sunday cartoons 
who teach us how to inhale oxygen 
after we fall to the Earth from dreamless stars 
so we can gather fruit in summer rain, 
concealed in archives of fake memories. 

One Homeland For All

One Homeland For All
© Surazeus
2025 06 22

When I hear sparrows in the sycamores sing, 
even though soldiers have shot them all dead, 
I declare with endless voice of the sea 
that I support the people of each land 
against the oligarchic terrorists 
who control their countries with angry fear. 

When I return to homeland of my birth 
I find strangers living inside my home, 
so I listen for the voice of my mother 
but I hear rain splashing against the window 
and the bread she baked has become the land 
that forms the flesh of my embodied soul. 

When I search for my homeland in the world 
where my ancestors lived ten thousand years, 
constructing homes from the songs of their bones, 
I find nothing now but buildings in fields 
veiled by stories in books nobody writes 
that escape my hands on wild sparrow wings. 

When I tell the strange story of my life 
in the language my ancestors devised, 
I hear their voices in the lonely wind 
that scatters photos of my family 
across the alley of trashcans and cats 
who tell me of sadness with silent eyes. 

When the old wizard in the empty church 
drinks wine from skull of Hamlet with remorse, 
he tells the blind king chained to the gold throne 
that every war weapon he manufactures 
costs money that could fund the daily lives 
of his people he should protect from harm. 

When the sun concentrates sharp beams of light 
on kitchen garden of my aching heart, 
I ask the silent sparrows in dead trees 
if they will sing for us of victory 
against the tyrants in their towers of glass 
who charge us taxes to live on the land. 

When Ariel Spirit of Creation flies 
above volcano of my hungry soul, 
I design my destiny with each choice 
I make through principle of liberty 
to help the honest people of the Earth 
raise crops and feast though bombs destroy it all. 

When Jesus brings the sparrow back to life 
by breathing song of beauty in its heart, 
perhaps the tribes of wandering refugees 
may all return to homeland of their hearts 
though we find other tribes living there now, 
for Earth has become one homeland for all. 

Names Written In Sand

Names Written In Sand
© Surazeus
2025 06 21

Shocked by how far the wingless angel falls, 
I carry bodies of the nameless dead 
from smoking rubble of frail vanity, 
heart broken at the sight of pretty faces 
smeared with blood of innocent despair, 
too sad to record political crimes. 

Young father, clutching hand of his shocked wife, 
carries two wounded children on his back 
as they stumble from tall apartment building 
engulfed in roaring flames of arrogance, 
leaving behind photos of memories 
that vanish in bitter winds of despair. 

Arriving at the airport terminal, 
crowded with thousands of war refugees, 
the small family huddles on hard asphalt, 
but no airplane with angelic wings 
bears them safely to land of apple trees, 
so they discard their names written in sand. 

Attempting to compete with lonely death 
in game of chess by striving to escape, 
young father leaves his dead wife on dry sand 
with their children embraced in her frail arms, 
then walks across the waste land of his heart 
to find art gallery by the River Styx. 

Sipping wine in tall slender grail of faith, 
young father observes works of abstract art, 
red strips of cloth hanging from angel wings 
to symbolize blood of our sacrifice 
when people die in wars between rich men 
who buy and sell their skulls as cryptocoins. 

Diving in blue Mediterranean Sea, 
young father swims with fierce demonic rage 
past colossal Pillars of Hercules, 
then rides graceful dolphin of Arion 
to glass pyramid by Chesapeake Bay 
where he works in the cellphone factory. 

Though I am no Aeneas with brave heart 
to shine as light for refugees to follow, 
I will build empire based on enterprise 
that provides analysis of events 
defined by framework of conceptual peace 
which requires nerves of courage to attack. 

Surprised at impact of the wingless angel 
that explodes with nuclear blast of contempt, 
I wear television tube as strong helmet 
to protect virtual model of the Earth 
that crumbles into fake coins in my hands, 
so I read all their names written in sand. 

Oracle Of Frenzied Faith

Oracle Of Frenzied Faith
© Surazeus
2025 06 21

I carry my heart to the lonely sea 
whose strange silver waves sing indifferently 
with careless disregard for honesty 
which I express against the empty sky 
where faceless Ungod watches over me 
so I return to town with charity. 

Amid colossal wreck of the wood ship 
dead bodies of my family on soft sand 
stare blankly at the empty sky with faith 
in resurrection at the judgment day, 
but I watch bodies crumble into dust 
till glowing skeletons dance in moonlight. 

I know the splendor of the singing sea 
that pulses hot in tangled web of veins, 
presenting evidence of clarity 
through rational critique of chastity 
irrelevant to code of psychic games 
beyond fraught nature of absurdity. 

Intense ecstatic high of verity, 
which complements the legal game of greed, 
compels my soul to cartwheel over Hell 
in shattered blink of light which catapults 
my wingless body at the empty sky 
till I fall back to Earth in breathless flight. 

When I explore dilapidated cairns 
where secret hall of books preserves lost dreams, 
I find mask of my face on shadowed wall 
deep in tangled thicket of my true heart 
since I still ruminate on what we lost 
through ravenous credulity of hope. 

With vatic gaze of social energy 
I study human faces on bright streets 
and wonder where in maze of hard-locked doors 
they go to find the person they love most 
based on unexplained wonder of desire 
composing destinies of strange affairs. 

We write our questions in the book of fate 
before the oracle of frenzied faith 
can cheat our hearts with fantasies of fear 
because we all vote for the charlatan 
who renders judgment on what we deserve 
then throws our bodies in the ditch of death. 

Inspired by shock of fraught anxieties, 
we ride our horses in calm prairie wind 
in search for Justice in the wilderness 
while praising valor of the honest soul 
who never bows before authority, 
exiled to wander by the lonely sea. 

Brave Bavarian Spirit

Brave Bavarian Spirit
© Surazeus
2025 06 20

For Halloween on next October night 
I will go dressed as the honest Kurt Eisner 
who ruled the Folk State of Bavaria 
after they drove out the arrogant king 
with program to attend prosperous peace 
till he was shot in the back by despair. 

Cruel tyrants always grasp for social power 
with fierce intent to found their dynasty 
through aggressive violence against dissent, 
but honest philosophers like Kurt Eisner 
rise from the crowd of earnest discontent 
to support fair justice through liberty. 

Though none remember Kurt Eisner today, 
his ghost crowded off stage of history 
by hordes of vampires fighting for the wand 
that Charlemagne wielded with self-control, 
his spirit focused on rights of the people 
inspires honest folk to fight monarchy. 

From ruins of shattered political states 
wise seers enlightened by philosophy 
construct republics based on equal rights 
with liberal principles which constitute 
functional departments that should provide 
broad services for every citizen. 

The brave soul motivated by respect, 
who dedicates their heart with solemn vow 
to cultivate skills of talented hands, 
employs courageous art of sacrifice 
that nurtures loyal love of citizens 
to work for the greater good of their state. 

Though I live far across the globe 
from fertile valleys of Bavaria 
where my ancestors thrived ten thousand years, 
my heart remains in ancient misty woods 
where spirit of my courage still runs free 
with moon-eyed wolves of courteous liberty. 

My face, reflected in clear Chiemsee Lake, 
reveals Elysian landscape of my dreams 
where I perceive pure essence of the Earth 
refracted clear through hearts of human souls 
who gather on lush lake shore every year 
for grand festival on midsummer eve. 

With brave Bavarian spirit of the wolf, 
alive with passion for beautiful truth 
that glows sun-hot in core of my true being, 
I fight for strong communal charity 
to reinforce justice and liberty 
that pulses as heart of democracy. 

Runes On Bones Of God

Runes On Bones Of God
© Surazeus
2025 06 20

When my heart aches with the sorrow of loss, 
remembering souls of people killed by bombs, 
I carve their names with runes on bones of God 
to preserve spirit of courage and hope 
though their conscious minds dissipate in wind 
so their voices sing when I play the flute. 

Recording variants of the human soul 
with measured templates of precise details, 
I draw beauty with runes on bones of God, 
trimmed by the flawless angst of earnest hope 
with twirling blocks that should align all time 
with savage moment of our holy kiss. 

Forgetting sorrows that drip from wet leaves 
as bitter rain long tangled in sly knots, 
I smear passion with runes on bones of God 
to raze enormous castles of blind greed 
that levels playing field for social game 
when merchants sell wishes to haughty fools. 

Because the future still changes the past 
despite intensive force of happiness, 
I weave stories with runes on bones of God 
that highlight guilt of the vulnerable heart 
who plays charade of romance for the crowd 
when angels execute the lonely queen. 

With blessed assurance of the endless game 
adjusting harmony of urgent speed, 
I recalculate runes on bones of God 
past far horizon of the happy horse 
who shows me where our words in silence drown 
at startled recognition of the clown. 

Soft petals of mulberry violets 
sprout from stone idol of the Buddha skull 
each time I scribble runes on bones of God 
no matter how long devils meditate 
in vain attempt to transcend human needs 
for us betrayed by weakness of the flesh. 

When fierce Athena gazes down at me 
with eyes that flash bright lightning bolts of love, 
I kiss her lips with runes on bones of God 
to show how deeply I adore her soul 
through signs that indicate alternatives 
to sharp equation of her wedding dress. 

When she wears mask of luminous concern 
to face unfiltered light of cosmic truth, 
I map the trail with runes on bones of God 
where she wears sacred artifact of faith 
as white lace dress iconic from her art 
to show me wisdom at the cliff of time. 

With Courage In My Heart

With Courage In My Heart
© Surazeus
2025 06 20

I rise each day with courage in my heart 
on tattered wings of fierce angelic hope 
and fly across our land of liberty 
to fight for freedom and justice for all 
when I confirm my soul with self-control 
and save America from tyranny. 

I rise each day with courage in my heart 
in road-worn boots of opportunity 
and stumble signless road of urgency 
to work with hands of grim humility 
constructing engine of stability 
and save America from tyranny. 

I rise each day with courage in my heart 
from rancid soil of arrogant desire 
as warrior springing from sharp dragon teeth 
to challenge greed of false authority 
based on stark horror of soul-hungry death 
and save America from tyranny. 

I rise each day with courage in my heart 
encased in armor of noble respect 
with sword and shield forged from experience 
to break heart-crushing chains of slavery 
when the rich exploit the poor to gain wealth 
and save America from tyranny. 

I rise each day with courage in my heart 
through boundless energy of honest faith 
asserting moral strength of rectitude 
to support brave Goddess of Liberty 
who manages our world democracy 
and save America from tyranny. 

I rise each day with courage in my heart 
with valid information of the light 
exposing propaganda falsity 
to prove the real with scientific facts 
dispelling haze of cruel mendacity 
and save America from tyranny. 

I rise each day with courage in my heart 
through stoic fortitude of loyalty 
attending duties of my daily work 
to build our nation with tenacity 
where every person pursues happiness 
and save America from tyranny. 

I rise each day with courage in my heart 
and chronicle events that change the world 
with quill of truth from fallen-angel wing 
to strengthen United Nations of Earth 
where every soul is equal in one law 
and save America from tyranny. 

Goalless Road Of Hope

Goalless Road Of Hope
© Surazeus
2025 06 19

Once I encompass desert of despair, 
proceeding on the goalless road of hope, 
I feel unconscious jury of my heart 
expand beyond blazing width of the sun 
with accurate attention of One Mind 
to estimate strange bitterness of pain. 

Though ignorance is angel of my heart 
that pilots me along the goalless road 
past apparitions of our faceless souls 
that bloom as petals on the wet black bough, 
I build conceptual church of solitude 
on burdened landscape of the shadowed moon. 

Chromatic opposite of my pale brain 
vibrates with fractured shards of arrogance 
that spirals out from core of my heart void 
with rich embellishment of wordless wind 
through cyclic whiteness of stark assonance 
as subtle sorrows rippling on the pond. 

Though I indulge myself with faithful fear, 
contrived by rich refusals of respect, 
no proverb can suffice to allocate 
extensive puzzles scattered on hot sand 
across the flat horizon of my hope 
because I hone my heart to edge of time. 

My body maps the goalless road of fate 
from birth to death in progress beyond why 
by plotting course across the restless sea 
as floating frame of shining molecules, 
programmed with light to sing the river tune 
which binds emotional reserve with love. 

I see myself costumed in robe of fire 
each time I enter stage of time and play 
role of dire fate I choose to sacrifice 
my mortal soul with shrewd sincerity 
and save the world from horror of desire 
though I continue to consider why. 

When torrents of regressive rain disturbs 
heart-tangled roots of ancient sprawling oaks, 
they tumble down the rugged hill of faith 
to crush the howling skulls of vampire gods, 
exposing privacy of secret thoughts 
which ravens steal from corpse of my blind soul. 

Lost in dark maze of asphalt city streets, 
drenched in relentless drizzle of cold rain, 
I growl with primal dragon soul of lust 
to fuel aggressive energy of power 
so, reborn as Apollo from cracked Earth, 
I strum the lyre of Mercury and sing. 

Behind His Invisible Face

Behind His Invisible Face
© Surazeus
2025 06 19

Stopping in the woods one warm summer eve, 
Narcissus gazes in pool of his heart 
to understand weird secret of his soul, 
but all he sees are shadows of desire 
that flicker with beams of sunlight on water 
hidden behind his invisible face. 

Tiresias, that beautiful young man 
wearing long red robe that priestesses wear, 
told me with ominous voice of the sky, 
when my father brought me to his dream cave, 
that I would live well with wealth and success 
if I never get to know my true self. 

While gazing at his face in the clear pool, 
Narcissus hears sweet voice of a tree nymph 
echo among trees in the apple grove, 
so he hurries toward heart-enchanting song 
to find young woman in red priestess robe 
who sings as she weeps with tears of the sky. 

Your face reflects with beauty of sunlight 
ache of desire that motivates my heart 
to understand beast nature of my soul 
so I confirm my soul with self-control 
to treat you with selfless love of respect 
rather than attempt to control your body. 

Leaping from shadow of angry despair, 
Nemesis grabs young Echo in his arms 
and presses sharp knife blade against her throat 
as he demands that she accept his love, 
but she cries that she rejects him again, 
then asks Narcissus for help to escape. 

Notching arrow in yew bow of his heart, 
Narcissus aims past her beautiful face 
and shoots sharp point that kills the angry youth, 
then bears sweet Echo in comforting arms 
safe to the haven of his temple hall 
where he tends her wound and serves healthy food. 

Gazing at delicate shape of her face, 
eyes gleaming blue as water of the pool, 
Narcissus whispers as their soft lips touch, 
by looking outward at face of your soul 
I understand inner state of my soul, 
for I know real me in strangeness of you. 

Echo bears child from spirit of Narcissus 
who names the beautiful boy for his father, 
brave river god Cephissus with green eyes, 
so he takes growing son to apple grove 
to show him face in mirror of the pool 
and explain how to understand himself. 

Hearth Of The Parthenon

Hearth Of The Parthenon
© Surazeus
2025 06 19

Fifty years ago children would play wild 
in the wide streets all summer afternoon 
with eager passion for the roles they choose 
in carefree timelessness of grassy lawns, 
but now they sit at computers on desks 
and weave visions across the world wide web. 

I want to go outside in the bright glow 
and ride my bike along the quiet streets 
past houses where children play on small lawns 
to the library on the college campus 
where the round fountain splashes peacefully 
in the wooded hills of northeastern Texas. 

Pausing outside the brick library door, 
I gaze up at clouds in the pale blue sky, 
but see no airplanes from the last world war 
dropping bombs to destroy our way of life, 
so I stroll inside and sit at the desk 
to read of languages and alphabets. 

Strolling with Bilbo in the Misty Mountains, 
then through spidery shadows of Mirkwood, 
I join his quest to find the secret treasure 
of gold and jewels in the Lonely Mountain 
where dragon of tyranny rules the world 
till Bard shoots him down with arrow of truth. 

We travel north in the blue pickup truck 
to dwell in the shadow of Mount Takoma 
near the Cascade Mountains in Washington, 
called the Yamakiasham Yaina range, 
where ancient tribes of forest people dwell 
along the sparkling Nichiwana River. 

Hiking in pine woods around Mount Takoma, 
I search for ancient treasure of my heart 
in timeless quiet of the lake-side grove, 
till northern spotted owl calls my true name, 
then Calliope, daughter of Apollo, 
gives me the ancient lyre of Mercury. 

Orpheus teaches me how to sing spells 
with power to enchant the human mind 
with tales of heroes who write history 
to build foundation of philosophy 
on which our world civilization stands 
that spreads bright from hearth of the Parthenon. 

I chuckle at how my creative brain 
invents grand legend of heroic deeds 
from random journey of my mortal soul 
across the crowded landscape of this world 
where thousands of prophets preach their world views 
till we die and our books crumble to dust. 

Giant Fish Of Urgency

Giant Fish Of Urgency
© Surazeus
2025 06 18

Thoughtless ice plate that floats above the book 
decides to redecipher puzzle code 
contrived from jokes by old man of the sea 
who wrestles giant fish of urgency 
while accounting for all profit and loss 
regulated by the odious machine. 

Therefore we humans worship the sly cook 
who prepares delicious meal from the toad 
that swallows arbitrary jealous key 
in attempt to redefine potency 
achieved by laughter of the global boss 
who keeps falling in love with Melusine. 

Refusing to sleepwalk much of the time 
by redeveloping weird arcane ways, 
we choose how we assert socialized force 
though they regurgitate anthems of power 
when things get more difficult to avoid 
if asked to prove the past is paper thin. 

Communal laws define state of the crime 
with dream about our journey in the maze, 
too difficult to maintain steady course 
through brutal storm to tall demonic tower 
where Frankenstein builds the clever android 
to rule as king of those who never win. 

Deciding I am the rascal of truth, 
I jump over the fence of ancient rules 
in bold defiance against tyranny 
controlled by the preacher without the book 
we use to fly on wings of fantasy 
after escaping from the underworld. 

Waiting for reign of the messiah sleuth, 
who decides what children study in schools, 
I trade my freedom for the barony 
at the opportune time when angels look 
deep in heart of the bashful Pharisee 
who mocks our star faith in the cosmic herald. 

Waiting for nothing to happen tonight, 
I stretch my soul in swirl of symmetry 
through bid to establish friendship with Fate 
as permanent mirage of thoughtless seeds 
that glimmer with electric mask of Zeus 
which I wear on my endless journey west. 

Counting puzzle pieces fractured by light, 
I attend state college of puppetry 
to learn how artists transform bitter hate 
into rigid doctrine of social creeds 
that set rules for how we should reproduce 
in the treasure book I find on the weird quest. 

Church Of Arrogant Doors

Church Of Arrogant Doors
© Surazeus
2025 06 18

Despite the nothingness of rotting apples 
people gather in small groups by the lake 
to share anecdotes of their aching hearts 
while giving each other boxes of dreams 
that flutter away in the gust of wind 
which erases everything they should know. 

The broken statue in the large town square 
watches them go about their daily lives 
with diamond eyes that see dreams of their brains 
washed clean by eagerness of evening rain 
at the hour when only the one-armed boy 
keeps watch by the fountain full of snakes. 

Yet the man on the horse with silver eyes 
appears at dawn with the new book of lies 
which he opens to investigate how 
happy citizens think about the bees 
swarming from the church of arrogant doors, 
distracted by eerie cry of the owl. 

Though we drive wagons for ten thousand years, 
that harnessed horses of the windy plains, 
we now drive piston-engine cars of fate, 
those time machines of urgent wizardry 
we race across the vastness of the world 
forever chasing rainbows to find gold. 

When monstrous demon of excessive greed 
haunts the bright castle shining on the hill 
till the caring king goes mad with sharp grief, 
the glamorous vampire with blood-painted face 
dispels doubt from the hearts of citizens 
with gleaming pearl of pure draconic truth. 

No guardian angel with electric wings 
hovers over the small village by the lake 
protected by brackish swamps of huge snakes, 
so I play spectator of charity 
to protect my people from thunder storm 
by dancing in the rain and shouting madly. 

The honest rooster wakes them all at dawn 
so they gather around corpse of the Hydra 
which I roast on the fire for all to eat 
delicious despair seasoned with sour sauce 
designed to reflect beauty of the heart 
so every person has their own address. 

Romantic realm of individual seers 
who wander mountain vales of hungry ghosts 
attracts the lone wolf from the empty church 
who paints portraits of gentle country folk 
which hang in the big city gallery 
to celebrate the paradise we lost. 

Blast Of Hateful Bombs

Blast Of Hateful Bombs
© Surazeus
2025 06 18

These eyes that connect my mind to the world, 
once plump as grapes newly swelling from vines, 
wither and wrinkle in bright heat of truth 
so events I observe on stage of fear 
contract into fractured shards of lost faith 
which I assemble in puzzles of hope. 

Through crackled swirl of smoke from blasting bombs 
I see young woman with long tangled hair 
cry out for beauty of the shattered world 
to pursue shadows with freedom of light, 
but Parnia falls from Heaven on torn wings 
as dying star that sizzles in my heart. 

Bearing cinders of the angel with care, 
I trudge along the empty asphalt road, 
hoping to preserve flame of her lost soul 
long enough to help her reincarnate 
in soulless robot with computer brain 
programmed to calculate safe way of fate. 

Kneeling before giant mushroom of hope, 
I place fragile flame of angelic soul 
in egg that gleams before the moon-eyed toad, 
then chant occultic spells of ardency 
to channel psychic beams of energy 
refracting light through prism of my heart. 

Strange scarlet glow inside the pulsing egg 
congeals eclectic rays of ancient stars 
to fictile body molded from moist clay 
that transforms into angel with twelve wings 
who rises tall from rancid muck of Earth 
to soar on rainbow wings above storm clouds. 

Yet when I blink to clear view of my eyes, 
I see conceptual face of my soul mate 
as normal woman sitting at my side 
who glances up from book of poems she reads 
and asks me if I want something to eat, 
so I squeeze her hand and smile with delight. 

Though woman I love as queen of our home 
dwells safely in firm shelter of my care, 
thousands of women in far distant lands 
lie dead or wounded in rubble of faith, 
or wander traumatized in cluttered streets, 
because cruel men blast their world views with bombs. 

My wife and her best friends with sparkling eyes 
stroll together in long wind-fluttered gowns 
on white-sand beach beside blue shimmering sea, 
sweet vision of our secret paradise 
that vanishes at blast of hateful bombs 
which pierce my eyes with shrapnel of despair. 

Paper Gods Of Faith

Paper Gods Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 06 17

Strange silence between each word I never speak 
that surges from vast underworld of fear 
translates screech of the owl in lunar code 
to snarky riddles car mechanics share 
while they barbecue hamburgers with sauce 
on moonlit beach for paper gods of faith. 

Weird prophecies sealed in the Vatican 
describe lake valley where glass horses play 
hide and seek with heroic ghosts of fate 
that pass through spirals of unmeasured air 
with rainbow wings only children can see 
who crayon-color paper gods of faith. 

Athena plays the quantum flute of time 
so flashing particles of mindless light 
flow quick together in synchronous waves 
which bloom as apples on the Giving Tree, 
deceiving me to think I that I could live 
in Heaven made by paper gods of faith. 

When my soul swells huge as the sparkling lake, 
where First Mother rose from liquid of hope, 
I float blissfully aware of cruel greed 
above vast maze of towers I dream real 
so I can empty my star-hungry heart 
long supported by paper gods of faith. 

Intense emotion of buzzing phonelines 
persists in contradiction I explore 
between patient endurance of suffering 
and frantic assertion of dominance, 
wound tight with emptiness of honest words 
outlined too well by paper gods of faith. 

To play the quantum flute of chaos theory, 
forever on globe of atomic words 
when my reign begins the apocalypse, 
I wear mask of my personality 
captured by the photograph years before 
that outlines play for paper gods of faith. 

Entranced by wonder of this modern world, 
vast city mazes of cathedral halls 
where wizard of words deprograms the state 
by singing childish folk songs long forgot, 
I provision journey to Nowhere Land 
where I hide cash in paper gods of faith. 

Each time I realize with ironic faith 
that gods suck energy from human souls, 
I call you home across the distant plain 
so we can share intimate hours of love 
since devils and angels misunderstand jokes 
stretched frail with love for paper gods of faith. 

Flute Of Joyful Angst

Flute Of Joyful Angst
© Surazeus
2025 06 17

Deep in the lonely city of my heart 
where sparrows refuse to fly with fake wings, 
I search for secretive words of dead trees 
that shower my body with fractured light 
trapped by potential echo of the voice 
that crawls on rat feet in the alleyway. 

With adamant faith in the dreamless bus 
I wait in whisper of reluctant poles 
dripping icicles of hope from phone lines 
that teach selfless love to the Argonauts 
who play hide and seek till the evening falls 
in empty museum of the brain clock. 

Urged by aggressive thrust of life, I leap 
astonished by commotion of the mind 
that blazes bright with holy breath of moons 
too far away to see with naked eyes, 
so I carve statue of the faceless god 
in narrow niche of the small country church. 

No reader stays to observe doom of death 
that spreads my virtue in the narrow tomb 
where minds too generous for the harsh world 
mingle with dust of the dark shining Earth, 
since luster of my name forever fades 
like star that gleams long after it burns out. 

Awake on fruitful sphere of spinning Earth, 
I measure distance around pear-shaped globe 
to study every tribe of human souls 
which thrive on shores of rivers that collect 
tart tears of those who suffer tyranny 
so I expand my conscious sense of truth. 

When I confront beautiful truth of life 
to comprehend weird nature of my mind, 
I square the circle of eccentric faith 
to formulate limits of time and space 
so universal element of love 
flashes rainbows through prism of my heart. 

I love to climb the mountain by your side 
to wake immortal spirit of the Muse 
from dragon egg of our contingent heart 
with delirious rush of ecstatic joy 
that we could avoid Death another day 
and savor pleasure of rain on our skin. 

To understand strange riddle of our house 
we listen to the howl of ghostly wolves 
whose eyes appear in glow of candle flames 
while Willow plays her flute of joyful angst 
to predict probabilities that puzzles 
reflect wandering photons of my soul. 

Shield Of Silent Faith

Shield Of Silent Faith
© Surazeus
2025 06 17

If you target my kind generous heart 
for assassination with bitter words, 
I forge considerate shield of silent faith 
from firm belief in goodness of the world 
to maintain implicit integrity 
on which I found attention of my love. 

After you give me with nonchalant hand 
basket of strawberries too tart to eat, 
I boil them in pot of angry regret 
till they transform into syrup of peace, 
so when you return with wagon of wheat 
I feed you with pancakes of calm respect. 

Placing plate of fried buttermilk pancakes 
on wood table before the grim-faced farmer, 
Leone pours strawberry syrup on top, 
and smiles when Frank devours it with pride, 
grinning like wolf that devours stray plump sheep, 
and his stone face softens in sunset glow. 

Just as Frank finishes the last pancake, 
stone-tipped arrow with eagle feathers whisks  
through cotton curtain and thwacks on his book 
with half-written poem beside the black quill, 
so he grabs his rifle and runs outside 
to see Hotah surrounded by five men. 

Shocked at sight of his Sioux friend and his wife, 
gentle Zonta with their daughter Wachiwi, 
surrounded by Zachary and his sons, 
Frank shouts and runs to stand beside strong Hotah, 
then aims his rifle at the five cowboys 
who shout and aim their rifles at his heart. 

"Why protect this vile thief," Zachary growls, 
who keeps hunting deer in my private woods?" 
Asserting authority of his land, 
Frank declares, "They are all now on my land, 
so I give them sanctuary with faith. 
Leave my land for they are guests of my home." 

Gesturing for his sons to lower their guns, 
Zachary growls and retreats down the road, 
but threatens to kill them if he hunts again. 
Frank growls back, "That land along the lake shore, 
which you claim by right of your greedy gun, 
belonged to Hotah and his whole tribe first." 

Protecting his friends from five angry men, 
Frank explains with assertive voice of truth, 
"This whole land belonged to his thriving tribe, 
his father Mahkah, and his father Mato, 
and so on since the beginning of time. 
You and my father stole this land from them." 

Pointing to the woods where herds of deer roam, 
Frank reminds him, "The deer in those wild woods 
are free for anyone to hunt for food 
as ancestors of Hotah did for centuries." 
Guiding Hotah, Zonta, and Wachiwi safe 
inside his home, Frank offers them pancakes. 

After they all eat stacks of hot pancakes 
with strawberry syrup, and apple cider, 
Wachiwi and Zipporah dance together, 
two young girls with happy star-spangled eyes 
singing with joy before the glowing hearth 
while Hotah beats drum and Frank plays guitar. 

Progress On Road Of Life

Progress On Road Of Life
© Surazeus
2025 06 16

The jester who animates my stoic heart 
urges me to progress on road of life 
while I conserve my basic principles 
that maintain integral spirit of faith 
which guides my journey to the Promised Land 
where I build Heaven from ruins of Hell. 

Asserting liberal code of honesty 
through my individual autonomy, 
I choose to pursue personal interests 
and account for the actions of my hands 
within structured framework of liberty 
so I do what I will, if I harm none. 

With tolerance of human differences 
expressed through diversity of lifestyles 
I recognize importance for the truth 
measured by varied perspectives of fact 
to participate in my own governance 
and promote social justice for everyone. 

Though grand cathedral of catholic faith 
has been shattered by industrial advance 
based on piston engine technology 
which channels strict electric energy 
to power world food-production machine, 
I trace architecture of founding concepts. 

Foundation of western civilization, 
composed from conceptual ideas of things, 
was designed by Plato to explicate 
how linguistic psychology defines 
objects based on universal ideals 
that persist in Heaven Realm of Ideas. 

Things are formed from Idea of the Thing 
through categories of special examples 
so trees that exist in bounds of time and space 
shape matter into pattern of its form, 
constructed from atoms of pulsing light 
that shimmer in vast matrix of our souls. 

Though people blind with fear will congregate 
into nationalist states of paranoid greed, 
desire for freedom to pursue our dreams 
defies aggressive grip of tyranny 
when various people unite separate states 
to design United Nations of Earth. 

Instead of performing rites of state power 
through grand ceremony of solemn acts, 
I prance across landscape of Earth with joy, 
and sing while strumming lyre of Mercury 
as jester loyal only to myself, 
choosing to create rather than destroy. 

How To Unface The Mind

How To Unface The Mind
© Surazeus
2025 06 16

Clear eye of truth that sees the great beyond 
describes exigency of divine fate 
that we invent from ripples in the pond 
when storms of sorrow suddenly abate, 
which leaves us stranded on the beach of hope 
to clutch at nuisance of the need to cope. 

The half-open door, tangled with long vines, 
discretely reveals costume for the role 
I play on stage where I speak solemn lines 
that apply art of unselfing the soul 
when I follow crows in the labyrinth 
in vain search for daughter of Hyacinth. 

If the sky is birdless ten thousand years 
then I will lead the rabble out of town 
to find torn letters soaked with bitter tears 
snagged on sharp points of the dejeweled crown 
which shimmers brighter than the fickle moon 
at heart-wrenching anguish of the rain tune. 

Preparing food on marble counter top, 
wicked witch of the west, in white lace gown, 
glares at me with the knife, ready to chop 
apples I stole from garden of the clown 
who teaches me how to unface the mind 
to reveal true history fraudsters designed. 

Immutable with shock of ocean song, 
she brews sweet antidote to soothe my pain 
so I ask Hydra about what went wrong 
who strides with glamor of the social vain 
till I build our home on the misty moors 
where we raise flock of gentle manticores. 

Yet thief who marks my words with ink of blood 
leaves nothing I would value in my bones 
so I mold body for my soul from mud 
though violins haunt empty tombs with groans 
for perpetual glitter of secret thoughts 
hidden in gloom where my sincere love rots. 

Locked inside the lidless box of my heart, 
my demon writhes against dutiful laws 
till Pericles asks me to draw new chart 
that maps way of success for our great cause 
since I will never tire of this weird world 
which I have designed for the cosmic herald. 

From bottom of the ocean I return 
to stand tall with regal authority 
on pyramid of power where globes turn 
through living laughter of true charity 
because I am faceless brain of the sun 
dedicated to always having fun. 

Nation Of Our Dreams

Nation Of Our Dreams
© Surazeus
2025 06 16

Sharp slant of light that hefts my heart with love 
weighs heavy on my mind with subtle fear 
at fierce destructive hurricane of hope 
that sweeps across weird nation of our dreams, 
dismantling truths about nature of life 
we took for granted as mirage we trust. 

Yet people who go to work every day 
ignore dark terror of the nevermore 
that looms in shadow of wordless despair 
grimly low over nation of our dreams, 
because our hearts would shatter from distress 
in fragments of principles we respect. 

I see the people of America 
gather in every city, large and small, 
to protest the clown who crowns himself king 
when he sends goons in nation of our dreams 
to arrest all hard-working immigrants 
so he can drive us out of our homeland. 

I cannot change the world with spell I sing 
but I can record in riddles of code 
crimes he commits against our human rights 
till we reclaim vast nation of our dreams 
as home for everyone who works and plays, 
sharing liberty and justice for all. 

Thus I record daily social events 
in global journal about human rights 
that chronicles our struggle to survive 
as free agents in nation of our dreams 
strong against his systematic abuse 
to protect our people against his greed. 

When the old tyrant in his shabby suit 
asks soldiers to march in parade of power, 
they trudge forlornly past his plastic throne 
while all across broad nation of our dreams 
millions of people gather to protest, 
for we have no kings in America. 

When cruel dictators feel weak and afraid 
they force fierce soldiers to march in parades 
with gaudy display of excessive force 
to tighten grip on nation of our dreams, 
but we laugh at illusion of their power 
as they fall from tower of haughty pride. 

Slant of light that pierces my aching heart 
refracts divine energy of god mind 
through pulsing sponge of my electric brain 
so I sing across nation of our dreams 
grand hymns to honor Goddess Liberty 
who reigns forever in America. 

Love Contrived From Code

Love Contrived From Code
© Surazeus
2025 06 15

Softer than angel wings forged from barbed wire, 
your harried words staple wounds of my heart 
with persistent pursuit of honesty 
that proves reluctant love contrived from code 
entangles cold reason with sentiment 
designed to resurrect my soul from sorrow. 

I wait for you on bridge of travesty, 
heart revving engine of false merriment 
with cheerful laughter of buzzing phonelines, 
though sands of time cover vast city maze 
where we stage theater of our romance 
based not on our secret intimacy. 

Still whittling memory from the broken bridge, 
despite inheritance of fractured names 
the dead disown with obvious distaste, 
I ask sad Psyche why she cries each dawn, 
but she lounges nude on the river shore 
while blind angels paint beauty of her soul. 

Spectral people acquainted with the night 
chafe at excessive slide of compound error, 
though no one calls the clown who steals my crown 
because he fumbles key of yesterday, 
old colleagues gathered to pray by the door 
that never opens to acquaintances. 

Never awkward despite appearances, 
the child who tries to weep talks to the pool 
about crepuscular hour when angels cry, 
but drinks tea brewed with tears of pregnant wolves, 
intolerant mystery never reconciled 
before the watchers count the falling snow. 

If I must, I count equine hours of loss 
to unbend slant of glass cathedral light 
which penetrates the stairs I never climb, 
intensity of truth contained by books 
more wordless than the horse beside the lake 
who recounts difficulties of the day. 

Never is always the right time to pray 
because no one ever answers from the sky 
that stares at me with nonchalant respect, 
though the red sun that never sets requests 
instruments to measure sudden eclipse 
that erases my name from hill of time. 

Lost in the yesterday of anywhere, 
I forge new soft wings with barbed wire of fate 
to understand heart-breaking loss of faith 
that people feel when bombs destroy their homes 
and send them wandering on the signless road 
to find love contrived from code of hope. 

Doorway Of The Story Book

Doorway Of The Story Book
© Surazeus
2025 06 15

Each fantasy world in the multiverse, 
which I enter in dreamtime of my mind 
through glowing doorway of the story book, 
resembles some aspect of this real world 
where I am millions of different souls 
all alive in this one body I am. 

About the human personality, 
which I seem to share with eight billions souls, 
I can only describe in riddling code 
my own experience of pleasure and pain 
because I wear mirror mask of my heart 
which I forge from conceptual words of truth. 

The soil of this planet on which I walk 
is formed from body of each conscious soul 
who ever lived and died in flow of time, 
so I dream their lives in songs I compose 
from tangled skein of human memory 
woven in brains over millions of years. 

The atoms that compose my living body 
have composed the bodies of countless souls 
who woke from endless dream of flashing light 
with every spin of Earth around the sun 
so I feel pure intensity of love 
that vibrates from immortal soul of atoms. 

Though atoms are immortal beams of light 
that flare forth from first flash of the big bang 
to form galaxies of globes warmed by suns, 
they are not conscious beyond pulsing glow 
of psychic energy that shimmers from their spin 
till they form neural network of our brains. 

When quick sperm fertilizes faithful egg 
to generate new body of warm flesh, 
animated by conscious mind of hope 
in complex brain that conjures virtual world 
programmed by dreams of individual brains, 
one mortal soul blooms from immortal genes. 

By reading countless stories humans wrote 
over ten thousand years of history, 
which record tales of failure and success, 
I experience in visions of my brain 
how human beings have failed in tragic loss 
or succeeded to generate new life. 

Religions are built on tale of some god 
based on the mortal human who once lived 
and struggled against angry greed of death 
to overcome their weakness with bold love 
and perform great deeds of creative truth 
that guide how we seek peace instead of fame. 

Ghost Of The Faceless God

Ghost Of The Faceless God
© Surazeus
2025 06 15

Shadows of my sorrow chase me in spring 
through trees that beam light down into my eyes, 
so weird joy I experience with shy fear 
blooms from daffodils of yellow concern 
when I breathe words of cold indifferent wind 
till my chest rises mountain meadow strong. 

With breath of clouds that swirl inside my chest 
I speak the real essential names of things 
to understand tense magnet of my heart 
that spirals tongue of thoughts with agency 
from buzzing honeycombs of innocence 
that resemble sections of memory. 

Stored in compartments of contrived events, 
my memories present moral proverbs 
which I categorize through fairy tales 
as study guide my frantic heart consults 
when faced with dangerous situations 
so I know how to evade strike of death. 

Enclosed in sectored brackets of my brain, 
strange memories of traumatic events, 
I guess must be what my ancestors lived, 
flash vividly clear in visions of hope, 
depicting actions they performed in fear 
which I apply to how I play my role. 

Abject with passion to transcend blind fear, 
I growl with fierce exertion of respect 
to stand upright on swiftly spinning Earth 
when I assert authority to speak, 
though my personness may evaporate 
at flash of lightning that luminates faith. 

This complete person of passion I am 
emerges from four hundred million years 
of evolution from lizard to human 
while I strive to overcome suffering 
from punishment inflicted by cruel greed 
till I become ghost of the faceless god. 

Inhaling spirit of the mirror sky, 
I submerge my body of aching flesh 
in sparkling waters of the silver lake 
to swim across abyss of nothingness 
in sky reflected on surface of time 
to hear soft echo of my wordless voice. 

Dripping sparkles of eternal starlight, 
I rise from lake of dreams at dawn of time 
and balance upright body with light beams 
to avoid falling against the hard world 
so I observe vast landscape of my dream 
and spread my arms to pretend I have wings. 

Weird Knowing Of The Fall

Weird Knowing Of The Fall
© Surazeus
2025 06 14

When bell of my soul tolls from words of truth 
I tread the solitary ground of shaking sense 
with hollow beating of my endless steps 
from treading broken landscape of my heart 
to find wrecked silence in dry river bed 
uncertain at weird knowing of the fall. 

Dream space expands so far beyond my skull 
I float in dizzy swirl of frantic fright, 
fraught with fragments of wordless unconcern 
too late to catch the swiftly flying thought 
escaping strangeness of reasonable fate 
that finishes rite of the funeral game. 

Yet solar lanterns of the midnight play 
disperse reluctant ghosts from doorless homes 
at shocking breath of malevolent hills 
based on enormous pride of ransomed hope 
if sly cat on the sill retrieves the moon 
soon enough for silver clouds of respect. 

Attending protest of the fascist king, 
the falcon rips off paper masks of frauds 
to expose selfish greed of oligarchs 
who steal keys to the kingdom of the mad 
without up so floating many bells down 
since no one attends parade of the clown. 

With soul frail as candle flame in the wind 
I exercise constitutional right 
to play role of the blind philosopher 
when I stop hijackers on the star ship 
from blowing up my planet with their thoughts 
so I can eat steak for dinner in peace. 

When millions gather on the beach to pray 
for victory of Justice over greed, 
the petty tyrant in fake uniform 
struts up and down the street with plastic gun, 
declaring we should obey his commands 
till his rage runs out of battery juice. 

The man who builds our houses with strong hands 
strolls down the avenue of weeping trees 
at tolling of the sad cathedral bell 
when all the children of the world return 
from walking in bleak desert of the snake 
to bring home treasure of the dreamless cave. 

I wear the shining crown of charity 
that glitters with jeweled eyes of dead gods 
so I can prophesy fall of the king 
who tumbles head-first off the Berlin Wall 
nine days and nine nights on grief-tattered winds 
through sacrifice that saves humanity.