Delivery Of The Keys

Delivery Of The Keys
© Surazeus
2025 08 31

Whoever asks the angel for her name 
will vanish in wind of meaningless words 
by teleporting to the Promised Land 
that turns out to be the galactic zoo 
where happy children are brainwashed in school 
to worship face of the arrogant fool. 

Somebody keeps knocking on the back door 
so Michael stumbles over divine spear, 
but no one is standing on the back porch, 
so he drinks beer and watches football game 
between Angels and Devils for thought control 
when God and Satan gamble for our lives. 

Orpheus fills out job application forms 
at every busy car factory in town, 
but no one wants to hire the psychopomp 
who, they fear, would form strong union of workers 
to oppose unfair business practices 
because they earn low wages for long hours. 

When Michael, racing his pickup too fast, 
knocks over motorbike Orpheus drives, 
they fistfight outside the locked Baptist church, 
then eat hamburgers at the country bar, 
yet both fall in love with the young blonde girl 
who plays guitar and sings of broken hearts. 

Venus goes home with the archangel Michael 
and gasps with pleasure when he spreads his wings 
that shimmer silver as wings of the swan 
just as the clock in the oak strikes thirteen 
to signal coming of the serpent princess 
born nine months later from the queen of love. 

While wandering in vast maze of city streets 
Orpheus sneaks in library of books 
where he sees Aurora with long red hair 
reading books about the history of art 
so they talk about linear perspective 
devised by wise Filippo Brunelleschi. 

Invited by the savior of the world 
to attend the delivery of the keys, 
Orpheus waits on the plaza at dawn 
to understand where the sun goes at night, 
but decides that angels do not exist 
though Michael has become his new best friend. 

Piloting the passenger jet in Heaven, 
Michael explains over the intercom 
that they are passing over Rocky Mountains 
where nymphs and satyrs dance in alpine meadows 
till they are arrested by black-masked agents 
and deported back to Arcadia. 

Evolving Fish To God

Evolving Fish To God
© Surazeus
2025 08 31

Startled by how fast the world spins in space, 
I sip hot chocolate on the river shore 
and listen to weird ghosts of carolers 
sing sweetly in the hot late summer night 
about the birth of the heir to the king 
who will lounge in safe castles till he dies. 

Eager to understand why devils laugh 
while dancing with abandon of the mad 
in sparkling sorrow of the waterfall, 
I pet the stray kitten in the bookstore 
while people wander lost in Wonderland 
to find the oldest woman in the world. 

Amazed at beauty of the human race 
that blooms in rich variety of forms, 
I make one puppet for each human soul 
to play their part in pageant of desire 
with fierce expression of their blazing eyes 
at tragic consequence of bitter fate. 

Amused at strangeness of electric stars, 
I lie alone beneath the boundless sky 
and watch the Pleiades glitter with joy 
as apples hanging in the tree of life 
where swift Orion stops to rest a while 
who weeps because his shy sister is lost. 

Hungry to consume words of ancient tales, 
I turn my bare face to the urgent sky 
to feel eccentric drops of frantic rain 
construct assertive format of my mind 
while I break bread with hands of honest faith 
to feed eight billion people of the Earth. 

Absolved of sordid sins my heart denies, 
though I do what I must do to survive, 
I walk two thousand seven hundred miles 
from Seattle to Denver to Miami 
where I float on my back in the clear sea 
and remember evolving fish to god. 

Astonished at the way our world view shifts 
expansive scope of faith at shock of truth 
that reframes how my brain perceives the world, 
I assemble vast puzzle from weird facts 
that redefines the meaning of our being 
in virtual model of the multiverse. 

Embarrassed that my Self might not exist 
as more that figment of my imagination, 
I wear crystal mask of Zeus Cosmetes 
at the wild fantastic Halloween party 
that lasts ten thousand years of history, 
then trudge home and fall asleep on my lawn. 

Great American Tree

Great American Tree
© Surazeus
2025 08 31

Harsh reality of this changing world 
never matches ideal state we dream of, 
yet I hold high bright lamp of that ideal 
as guide to light my way through endless maze 
in bold courageous quest to change the world 
so we live well through peace of liberty. 

Based on grand concept of the ideal state 
designed with equality to enhance 
justice through truth as the American Way, 
I strive to live up to those principles, 
though greedy people grasping to gain power 
sully our reputation with vile deeds. 

All human beings who live on this broad land 
across vast scape from sea to shining sea, 
regardless of their gender, race, or creed, 
possess inalienable rights at birth, 
whether in her nest, or across the sea, 
to live in freedom from any control. 

We confirm innocent state of our soul 
through conscious discipline of self-control 
within attentive bounds of legal force 
to live as we will with creative hope 
as long as we cause other souls no harm 
when we create good instead of destroy. 

Grand vision of our American Way 
presents progressive process of creation 
through conservative adjustment of action 
to produce food and goods we sell in stores 
with capital investment for production 
then social distribution to all who need. 

When Adam needs tools and seeds to grow crops 
expanding scope for the Garden of Eden, 
he climbs ziggurat of Heaven at dawn 
to ask God for investment of gold coins 
as loan so he can produce crop of wheat 
in fields fertilized by milk-flowing cows. 

Adam and Eve tend crops and fruit-tree groves 
while Lucifer, the finance minister, 
scribe son of the priest, who worked his way up, 
contends with son of God, the crown prince Jesus, 
to rule the kingdom when the old man dies, 
tempting farmers to vote for him as God. 

The Garden of Eden, in land of Sumer, 
enclosed by sturdy walls of paradise, 
which I constructed with my bleeding hands 
to protect my wife and children from harm, 
expanding far the past six thousand years, 
blooms now as the Great American Tree. 

Obelisk Of Infinite Eyes

Obelisk Of Infinite Eyes
© Surazeus
2025 08 30

Lost in obelisk of infinite eyes, 
body twisted in spiral galaxies, 
Orpheus asks the old woman with eyes 
gleaming bright in open book of her hands 
where he can find the Garden of Delights, 
but she gives him the flute she carved from bone. 

Headlights of passing cars gleam on the house 
where no one has lived for two thousand years 
so often beams of energy transform 
from darkness into shadow of the girl 
who wears the clean white lace communion dress 
so Orpheus stops and steps from the car. 

Skipping around him in the midnight rain 
while chanting Lucy in the sky with diamonds, 
the young girl tosses silver butterflies 
that flock around him on hurricane wings, 
so he unlocks door of the empty house 
and walks down infinite hallways of time. 

Each door Orpheus passes opens wide 
as portal to another mirror world 
that all branch off from the only real world 
to glow as concepts of what could have been, 
then fade away in gloom of yesterday 
since each choice we assert creates tomorrow. 

While he plays haunting melodies at night 
on bone flute carved by Tethys in the cave, 
Orpheus ponders why all conscious souls 
that animate fragile bodies of flesh 
will vanish in the nothingness of death, 
but finds no answer in the silent dawn. 

Ten thousand ghosts, who keep following him 
as he plays eerie tunes on the bone flute, 
dissipate when rays of dawn unveil fear 
and recreate the teeming world of forms 
composed of atoms swerving in the void 
while he watches people fish on the beach. 

When Orion finds on the ocean shore 
tall black obelisk of infinite eyes, 
he asks his blind mother Ophelia 
if she remembers where the old road goes, 
but she sails away on the wind-winged ship, 
so he carves idol of Ozymandias. 

Returning home in hills of Arkansas, 
Orpheus drives long winding country road 
through ancient forest of the smiling ghost 
to rickety cabin by the stony brook 
where Ophelia bakes sweet apple pie 
beside obelisk of infinite eyes. 

Orange Peels Curl

Orange Peels Curl
© Surazeus
2025 08 30

The childhood book tucked beneath the floorboard 
preserves sad fairytales of long-lost lands 
which crawl across the yard of rotting leaves 
where orange peels curl in strange innocent rain 
that patters softly on piano keys 
because letters from her lover dissolve. 

He finds strands of her hair swirling in wind 
from branch of the apple tree by the pond, 
and also on the pillow in dark hall 
where the afternoon sun lays her warm head 
after rain storms off with angry despair 
to leave ghost of her absence in his heart. 

Climbing the mountain path before sunrise, 
feet crunching rocks where arrogant gods strode, 
they search for light beyond the end of time 
with vow to build Utopia with their hands 
just as Aurora blazes bright with flames 
dispelling darkness of their anguished hearts. 

Awake with sweet delirium of truth, 
shy lovers embrace on the mountaintop 
at orgasmic blast of the rising sun 
that fills their bodies with billions of stars, 
each one nurturing its planet of souls 
with frantic miracle of charity. 

At sparkling center of our multiverse 
Orpheus drinks cinnamon apple wine 
with nonchalant contempt of hungry death, 
while shy Ophelia swirls the rainbow 
to paint the marble statue of her god 
who always tries to run away with faith. 

Orange juice stains his hands with sweet stickiness 
as he peels delicious fruit of the sun 
and watches children play chase in the yard 
with young horses that shake shimmering manes, 
aware that the bright meteor of desire 
streaks across enclosed mirror of the sky. 

They survey cluttered landscape of the Earth 
with eyes of the moon wolf who understands 
song of ocean waves which readjusts fate 
each time another blind person decides 
to sell their family name to the sad clown 
who chooses greed as the best way to live. 

The farmer stands alone in field of wheat, 
hand clutching instrument that programs need, 
and asks the princess with torn angel wings 
if she would be his wife till end of time, 
but she flies away to Elysium 
and weeps alone under the apple tree. 

Theorem Of Important Fears

Theorem Of Important Fears
© Surazeus
2025 08 29

Born out of laughter buried in my heart, 
I float on waters of awakening, 
aware of random words twittered by birds 
with throat burrs whispered in the eglantine, 
diminished weight of oaths unbalanced near 
beyond the fractured limits of our words. 

Still tense with apprehension of false time, 
against corollary measured by thoughts, 
unproved by theorem of important fears, 
I squirm from cramped space of my humming skull 
through game of elemental urgency, 
yet eager to resolve divided tricks. 

We know nothing of disillusionment 
expressed by ticking of the faceless clock, 
trapped in the haunted house of nowhere else, 
yet drunk on sugared periwinkle wine 
too pungent to wake the lion from dream, 
tagged as the sailor lost without his ship. 

Hiding in the private place of your heart, 
I mingle sorrow with tenacious facts 
too original to be elegant 
whenever we feel worthless in sunlight 
because fate strips away our mask of pride 
to show the world raw hunger of false faith. 

Inconsequence through tenuous respect 
always tells the truth no one dares deny, 
yet stricken words stick in the surprised brain 
however oversold with ecstasy 
too intimate for children to escape, 
because we almost hate our noble strengths. 

Because not all of paradise is lost, 
crystalized by embittered mountain winds, 
we build vast temples for the faceless god 
who bathes in hot springs on the jagged slope 
to protect charming emblem of true love 
that glows from phosphorescent clock of eyes. 

Admittedly my brain of pulsing lust 
is not translucent as Orphean mask 
that hungry refugees of war must wear 
by drinking milk around the crackling fire 
as we hum hymns of hollow victories 
we fight to save our bodies from stale fate. 

Since we know nothing of the day or hour 
we might fall wingless from the crystal tower, 
we give each other books we never read 
about romance for adolescent girls 
who boldly live with liberty in law 
in calm defiance of the patriarch. 

Uproot Burning Bush

Uproot Burning Bush
© Surazeus
2025 08 29

Grief lifts torn wings and screams at nothingness 
with voice of every soul that every lived 
to wake god of the dead from rotten soil, 
so I stride busy market street at dawn 
to buy delicious loaf of butter cake 
then sit and eat with ginger hot chocolate. 

Despair unleashes fear-sharp falcon claws 
to tear at pulsing veil of earnestness 
that rends corpses of gods from our mute hearts, 
so I browse pretty books of poetry 
in the quaint bookstore by the flower shop 
where Alette reads fairytales to young children. 

Transforming from rose to owl back to girl, 
Alette drifts slowly through the teeming crowd 
of people swarming in the shopping mall 
to find the Tyrant with the heart of steel 
so she can uproot burning bush of hate, 
arresting his coup to control the world. 

When shy Alette with leap of innocence 
descends to underworld of howling ghosts, 
she walks with quiet pace of God far west 
to drag down mountains from the fractured sky 
and scatter apple seeds in muddy creeks 
that sprout into radios with happy songs. 

Black storm clouds wander blithely over hills 
where old wood houses lurk in yellow grass 
to hide from dusty roads that stumble lost 
past moaning oak trees crowded with blind crows 
despite desire that fuels my aching heart 
to catch bitter sparks of rain with my hands. 

Cautiously stepping along the rain-worn fence, 
Alette shines flashlight in eyes of the owl 
that flicks its ears with warning of the fall, 
so she looks down to see coiled rattlesnake 
sleeping peacefully on grave of her god, 
so she turns and flies away on swan wings. 

Calling out to lost people of the land, 
Alette weeps for all those she could not save, 
so they walk to school and sit at bone desks 
in bright fluorescent-lit classrooms of grief 
to carve devil runes on door of the church 
always locked with the deadbolt of discourse. 

The oldest woman in the world, with eyes 
bright as diamonds buried billions of years, 
gives slices of cake to lonely travelers 
who stop for a rest in temple of skulls 
to ask Orpheus if he knows the way, 
but he just smiles frail as the butterfly. 

Face Behind The Mask

Face Behind The Mask
© Surazeus
2025 08 28

Trust laughs at how rain floods the silver plain 
with solid evidence of brutal faith 
despite foul murder by the lovely host 
who putters about in garden of flowers 
that bloom from bodies buried in the soil 
of thieves who invaded her cottage at night. 

Rain patters roof of the crooked hotel 
perched daintily atop the skull-round hill 
where battered black car with gleaming headlights 
parks halfway up on the narrow sidewalk, 
windshield wipers squeaking on fractured glass, 
watched by the raven on the broken sign. 

Black boots crunch shards of shattered window glass 
as Samuel pushes open old oak door 
and steps into the lobby with one table  
lit dimly by one almost-burned-out candle 
that flickers madly in the eerie gloom 
to highlight wrinkled face of the old witch. 

One eye blue as the sea after the storm 
glares up at gaunt face of the visitor 
who smiles with sinister joy of the jester 
wearing black fedora and black trench coat 
as he asks if she knows the pastor named Fink, 
but she just taps the sign-in book and sneers. 

The young girl with long blond hair and green eyes, 
who wears cute yellow dress and pink felt hat, 
descends the narrow stairs beside the desk, 
then smiles brightly at the jester in black 
as she unfolds the red rose of her hand 
to reveal the gold grail studded with jewels. 

Though he reaches hand to acquire the grail, 
the star-eyed girl whispers with thunder-soft voice 
that echoes solemn prophecy of fate 
how time will readjust conceptual frame 
programming how our human brains perceive, 
which transforms the grail into the black owl. 

The lovely host appears with tray of tea 
so they all sit at round table of faith, 
the jester, the girl, the witch, and the host, 
to play recurring game of psychic chess 
till jester reveals his face behind the mask 
to be detective from the court of Hell. 

While the wily detective without his mask 
weaves tapestry of crime from random clues, 
the three fates unravel web of his brain 
in writhing tendrils that connect the stars 
through our enormous galaxy in swirl 
of singing angels when he tries to run. 

With Spirit Of Mercury

With Spirit Of Mercury
© Surazeus
2025 08 28

If I fall from Heaven and crash on Earth 
in blow that hollows out space for my soul, 
I will hide wings of sorrow in my heart 
so I may walk the signless road of time 
to understand how bodies bloom and fade 
through surge of growth and crumbling of decay. 

With spirit of Mercury in my heart 
I fly on frantic feet of fortitude 
to map our spinning globe composed of dreams 
that human brains weave from experiences 
in animated tapestries of hope 
that chronicle our quest for Wonderland. 

Forever through the endless maze of myths 
I search for persona face that presents 
intimate contours of my secret soul 
so I reveal innate nature of my mind 
in mask that shields my heart from searing pain 
when I whistle nonchalantly in rain. 

Before locked temple door of honesty 
I wait for goddess of my aching heart 
to heed my plaintive cry for amnesty 
for actions I perform to save her life 
till she appears in blaze of divinity 
to reinstate my role in her grand court. 

I walk east to follow the rising sun 
one hundred thousand years of mountain trails 
from Africa across Persia and India 
to climb the towering peaks of Guilin 
where I eat peaches and sing for Kwan Yin, 
then chase the sun west to the Caspian Sea. 

I pave the road of my ancestral quest 
with skulls of my fathers solid as stone 
ten thousand miles from sea to shining sea 
to build foundation of my world empire 
where every human fights for liberty 
to gather in grand temple of Ishtar. 

These visions of the past one million years 
flash in sunlight on surface of the lake 
as mirror that reflects weird memories 
for how my ancestors survived each day 
which program how I live my life today 
in endless journey to the Promised Land. 

After falling from Heaven without wings 
one hundred thousand years of history 
I lie on my back on the grassy lawn 
and listen to the ceaseless river sing, 
then translate its song into human code 
so I can navigate way back to Heaven. 

Each Choice I Make

Each Choice I Make
© Surazeus
2025 08 27

Everything leads to the twist of fate 
I try to avoid with each choice I make 
when I dance with abandon on the wall 
and laugh in despair at heavenly fall 
on thoughtful angst of wingless solitude 
to crawl in the million-year interlude. 

Lost in dreamless haze of the drifting boat, 
I ponder code of the practical joke, 
trapped in phenomenon of the weird rule 
that requires employment of mental tool 
to finetune engine of angelic flight 
in starship powered by conceptual light. 

Each fragment of thought encased in the word, 
which I invent from twitter of the bird, 
contains linguistic reference to strange truth 
designed by hum of the messiah sleuth 
who stops surprised in the vast maze of myth 
to study tales carved on the monolith. 

Defined by name on identity card, 
with proves my right to play the global bard, 
I strip off mirror mask of holy faith 
to expose my soul as the godless wraith 
that swirls in flashing spirals of pure air 
through undulations of the anywhere. 

Though every living creature on the Earth, 
through tangled web of fortune wound at birth, 
lives soul-connected to all other souls 
in complicated game of clashing goals, 
we all dream alone inside our own heads 
as three half-blind sisters entwine our threads. 

Depicted on the tapestry I weave, 
the living gather by the lake to grieve 
while building walls of Heaven from our bones 
constructed by maidens, mothers, and crones 
who invent one world language we all speak 
with aggressive ghost of the mountain peak. 

Though I translate ancient song of the wave 
that echoes in hollow heart of my grave, 
I calm my mind by whistling happy tunes 
to bless lost children who ask me for boons 
though I hide in glass tower by the lake 
and preach salvation of the mindless fake. 

Gods cannot calculate what life is worth 
to measure value of misery and mirth 
as we crawl hungry from electric stones 
to shout obscenities at empty thrones 
by deeds of hope that unbalance time scales 
for homeless refugees on desert trails. 

Snarky Crow Of Prophecy

Snarky Crow Of Prophecy
© Surazeus
2025 08 26

She walks in misty woods of anywhere 
forever toward bleak light of loneliness, 
though she tries so hard not to miss the life 
she never lived in craving for relief 
since she cannot find shadow of her soul 
in solid wilderness of nothing real. 

She wants to establish the window frame 
as whole transparent plane of reference 
which separates the vast world of the viewer 
from three-dimensional illusion of space 
to imitate nature with logical portrait 
depicting how our brains perceive the world. 

She arrives at the fractured gates of Hell 
to ask the smirking centaur standing guard 
if she can give mask of her earthly self 
to someone else so they can live her life, 
but he gives her required identity card 
with her secret name no one understands. 

She looks for love in the forest of ghosts 
because the sun always explains the truth 
but instead she finds love in the wild man 
who dances laughing in the waterfall, 
but he disappears in the flock of crows 
who tell her the sun never had a face. 

She asks the snarky crow of prophecy 
about the future of her fate in life, 
so he declares with stark ominous voice 
that her casual indifference to fate 
will lead to her demise, but she just laughs 
because she knows that everybody dies. 

She lives with demon of her hungry heart 
who always treats her with gentle respect, 
giving her fruits and herbs to prepare meals, 
but she watches him with suspicious fear 
while he constructs sturdy shelter of wood 
where they huddle close when thunderstorms rage. 

She decides she will always think good thoughts 
about grand progress of humanity, 
but not too good or else she might get stuck 
in fantasy that causes her demise, 
so she keeps her view of life realistic, 
nurtured by constant alertness to danger. 

She feels tomorrow creep its petty pace 
to last particle of discarded time 
when candle of her soul will flicker out 
and leave her stranded on the empty stage 
where tears of sorrow water pretty flowers 
that bloom from the dust of her nothingness. 

Electric Waves Of Words

Electric Waves Of Words
© Surazeus
2025 08 25

Sinking down into dark lake of my heart, 
I spread my arms wide as demonic wings 
to float in sunless abyss without breath 
till I become electric waves of words 
shaped by ideas that our brains design 
so I can stand awake on shore of time. 

While building sturdy house of scented wood 
on stone foundation of arcane beliefs, 
I savor pleasure of using my hands, 
which modulate electric waves of words, 
to transform raw material of desire 
in sacred haven that shelters my soul. 

Shocked by strange beauty of the midnight sun, 
I wander endless maze of humming trees 
in rays of sunlight slant with bright insight, 
expressed clear by electric waves of words, 
that gleam from sapphire gem of the sky, 
primeval with detachment of the heart. 

Though I seek riddles in eccentric books, 
composed by faceless heretics of faith, 
my lamp-bright heart guides me past paradise 
once revealed by electric waves of words 
since angels dwell in groves of apple trees 
till they transform into swift motorcars. 

With quill of curiosity I write 
declaration claiming shelter from fear 
that links ten thousand bridges in one road, 
mapped again for electric waves of words, 
down which I travel to the Promised Land 
where people give each other unread books. 

Heart beating calmly in chaotic times, 
I run the opposite direction from death 
one hundred thousand years across the land 
to follow on electric waves of words 
through psychic agency of broken books 
into white butterfly of divine truth. 

Despite how the sun transforms every night 
into mothers who mimic the warm moon, 
we give each other holy eyes of god 
that gleam clear with electric waves of words 
because this country becomes strange to us, 
crowded with singing doors of Nevermore. 

Detached from my body of aching flesh, 
and sealed in casket of the serpent witch, 
I sing my adoration of the queen, 
now inspired by electric waves of words, 
who gives tangerines to the hungry poor, 
trapped in delirium of the helpless heart. 

Theology Of Global Fame

Theology Of Global Fame
© Surazeus
2025 08 24

Refusal to accept star-tangled fate 
fuels my ascendance to the gate of truth, 
alone for twenty thousand years of change 
while writing brain programs from clownish rules 
that form theology of global fame 
for people who refuse to play the game. 

Exposed to bitter elements of fear, 
I gather words of flowers from dark fields 
with hope of unconcerned naivete 
to reassemble world view we designed 
from fragile tokens of assertive faith 
that fools employ to prove their right to laugh. 

Reluctant to remember how I die 
each hour the fractured sky of gleeful glass 
falls as snowflakes on the naked land, 
I huddle by the ever-flowing river 
to study how my stream of consciousness 
nurtures trees that grow from rotten brains. 

I have no innate need of being versed 
in country things for houses in the wind 
or stony roads that wind into sunsets, 
regardless of how often we face death, 
so I invite sly birds of everywhere 
to fly through broken window of my heart. 

I dwell long on what has been in the past 
in order to see where I need to go 
across the muddy field of innocence 
in fruitless bid to rebuild friendly walls 
where lilacs bloom around the rotten elm 
now staged as home for honey bees to live. 

On snowy evenings under diamond stars 
I stand on back porch of suburban house 
where I lived when I was sixteen years old 
with book of essays Ralph Emerson wrote 
to stare at ancient gleam of Mount Rainier 
while waiting for my angel wings to grow. 

As swinger of birches, born in the woods, 
I study cobwebs dripping gold with dew 
to understand perfection of the eye 
that generates virtual world in my brain 
where I can fly up to Heaven with wings 
instead of stumbling lame on mindless earth. 

Indifferent Nature understands my heart 
stirred by desire to cultivate the land 
with seeds of fate I scatter with my hand 
in soil that willfully misunderstands 
puzzle of fate I assemble from dreams 
that leave me sad when I wake before dawn. 

Broken Country Of The Heart

Broken Country Of The Heart
© Surazeus
2025 08 24

Lost in the broken country of my heart, 
I offer love to my friends in the art 
of sentences composed of fractured words 
expressed by thought cadence of chirping birds, 
though our midnight audience is now gone, 
musical voices fading with the dawn. 

Sometimes I am so happy with myself 
I leave my sorrows hidden on the shelf 
in secret library of weeping books 
by which people are defined by their looks, 
so I open locked doors with sword of truth 
to prove I should play the messiah sleuth. 

Though I have lived with blindness of the mind, 
compelled by experience acting kind, 
I overcome with laughter obstacles 
through automatic flash of molecules 
threading gold light with circumscribed intent 
to achieve objective without precedent. 

If I prove intent of serious grief 
by holy nun who wanders wish massif 
with prayer book written with green dragon blood, 
I kneel with her where lotus blooms from mud 
along the pebbled brook of honesty 
where she derides our social travesty. 

She gives me precious token of her soul 
with vague concern that I should meet her goal 
of building paradise in the fear zone 
to preserve our memories in the rolling stone 
which crushes clay-foot idol forged from gold 
defined by set points of the manifold. 

Though twitter I hear opposite the sea 
reveals how to attain land of the free, 
my heart may subdivide from gratitude 
in wounds healed never by the platitude 
which arrogant people shout to assert 
unproven right to own the fertile dirt. 

With generous passion of strange privacies, 
contrived from paintings of anxieties, 
I choose allegiance that quells vain regret 
for sacred goddess in the minaret 
who sings heart-aching spells of loyal faith 
to travelers haunted by the lunar wraith. 

We struggle to transcend delirium 
with ambiguous chance for Elysium, 
yet share mysterious wisdom of the rain 
that seems to wash away all mental pain, 
so if we follow riddles of the chart 
we may find broken country of the heart. 

Wish Clock Of Nevermore

Wish Clock Of Nevermore
© Surazeus
2025 08 24

Through clever realignment of the mind, 
adjusted by wish clock of Nevermore, 
I redefine strange beauty of the world 
with psychic formulas of selfless love 
that get erased from hungry brains of hope 
by shattered silence of indifferent moons. 

With frantic swirling of calm ocean waves, 
reprogrammed by wish clock of Nevermore, 
I climb steep mountain slope of loyal faith 
by gripping roots from ancient trees of truth 
till I achieve the highest point of fame 
from which I fall on wingless flight of fate. 

Despite reluctant passion art requires, 
telecast by wish clock of Nevermore, 
I illustrate strange progress of my life, 
farmer to jester to wizard to king 
crucified on telephone pole of power 
till I freeze into statue of Apollo. 

Eager to explore our vast galaxy, 
mismeasured by wish clock of Nevermore, 
I see long string of forty satellites 
glitter white as pearls from eyes of gods 
as they float slow above the mountain ridge 
before they merge in matrix of the stars. 

Aware that winners invent history, 
rewritten by wish clock of Nevermore, 
I build conceptual walls of paradise 
from painful memories of the war-displaced 
who linger at locked gateway to success 
and whisper names of dead people they love. 

Unsure if I am still alive or not, 
forgotten by wish clock of Nevermore, 
I bend my head, heavy with noble horns, 
to drink from sparkling pond of earnest faith 
where phantom of my soul smiles back at me, 
so I prance haughtily in misty woods. 

Reluctant to participate in games, 
assisted by wish clock of Nevermore, 
I map each water tower and lighthouse 
which link every small town across the land 
in social network that makes strangers friends 
so we together lament death of God. 

Inspired by graceful woman I adore, 
unfathomed by wish clock of Nevermore, 
I photograph her standing in the hall, 
in many-roomed mansion where no one lives, 
gazing at portrait of Truth on the wall 
then we eat supper with laughter and love. 

Eyes Of Flaming Stars

Eyes Of Flaming Stars
© Surazeus
2025 08 23

Almost forgotten in the hour of moons, 
six thousand years of battle for the land, 
the nameless child with eyes of flaming stars 
picks fruit from trees along the river shore 
and sells them in the market of desire 
where God sits on ziggurat of the eye. 

I dream this waking vision of the past 
after the truck crashes into my car 
while I lie paralyzed on red asphalt 
and watch history of wars play on the cloud 
when men kill men to control fertile land 
embodied by women who create life. 

Strapped to the gurney of bold innocence, 
I wonder at miracle of the car 
propelled by piston engine of desire 
that zooms through spiraling tunnel of time 
with eerie demonic wails of rectitude 
past parks where families picnic without fear. 

Uncertain about the future event, 
we wait for hummingbirds to bring the news 
that we are trapped in fake contingencies 
defined by conditions of providence 
required by law to state false messages 
painted on the Grecian Urn of romance. 

Since no one hears the sweet nightingale sing, 
except in fantasy novels of fate, 
I open fridge door of curious angst 
to find spoiled memories, rotten with faith, 
so I eat sorrow of the fallen god 
who shouts that he is still Hyperion. 

Though I die for beauty with arrogance 
I will not stay adjusted in the tomb 
next to the tragic clown who dies for truth 
yet seeks to solve the social mystery 
that pervades angry well of honesty 
because I cannot simplify her ghost. 

Related somehow to the maybe soon, 
mute with timidity of haunted homes, 
I ask the grass about nature of man 
as she emerges from soil of the Earth, 
but she refuses to explain the why 
encoding formulas that measure fate. 

When she insists with velvet-tender voice 
that hope is strange invention of the weak, 
I run with fierce embellishment of faith 
through tuned momentum of angelic form 
in unremitting action that adjusts 
stiff attitudes in men afraid of death. 

Demon Wings Of Hope

Demon Wings Of Hope
© Surazeus
2025 08 23

Stark silence of the canyon-hearted soul 
expands beyond walls of the spinning globe 
where children of the ocean crawl on rocks 
to reach for stars that bloom as golden fruit 
which sparks their hearts with visions of world peace, 
yet fight over whose version is the best. 

Blank door of my soul opens in the sky 
so I soar down on demon wings of hope 
to scatter apple seeds on parking lots 
so trees consume towers of steel and glass, 
providing shelter for birds of the mind 
that laugh at how I weep for liberty. 

Strange sunset glow of timeless urgency 
gleams deeply sad on endless winding road 
that leads our quest round grim Ohio hills 
on hopeful journey to the Promised Land 
that always shimmers with inviting dreams 
just beyond dim horizon of tomorrow. 

Young woman wearing black mask of the crow 
stares longingly at sky of empty words 
while silver rain slithers down her long hair 
since words do not always agree with deeds 
without context of calm perplexity 
till I return from sailing the world sea. 

Except for how time redesigns my face, 
I never change essential state of being 
that radiates from cracked clay bowl of my heart 
through fraught reverberations of blind gods 
who ride the wagon train on signless road 
that winds along the river of black blood. 

Awake on bridge of frantic energy, 
I am concerned how rocks on lonely roads 
chat about artificial intelligence 
since I am working on a much higher level 
that anyone else in the crowded world 
as top critical thinker of all time. 

At the hour of our birth each human being 
is assigned our name, religion, and race, 
then spend the rest of our preprogrammed life 
defending that fictional identity 
that remains as mask of our private tale 
hanging on museum wall of lost souls. 

In our unseasonable reprieve from fate 
after climbing sunless mountains of fear 
we remove our fur coats with aching sighs 
to dance among the apple trees of faith 
after our civilizations collapse, 
then tell each other stories as we die. 

Chase The Rainbow Ghost

Chase The Rainbow Ghost
© Surazeus
2025 08 22

Atrocious process of the supine mind 
expands contrary hope for fractured rain 
that readjusts how eyes perceive strange wind 
except when children chase the rainbow ghost 
who gambles for the fool to win the game 
though she just started learning yesterday. 

Lost in dark Paris streets of tangled fate 
one hundred years ago from this taut hour, 
my spirit seeks in maze of mirror masks 
defrayed excuse to chase the rainbow ghost 
in fight against the clown of everywhere 
whose tricks defraud the faithful of their truth. 

Yet time unwinds electric clocks of fear 
defined by numbers twisted to reflect 
irreverent code for programming weird shows 
that depict how gods chase the rainbow ghost 
who slithers from deep well of Melusine 
with broken lyre no angel wants to play. 

If best way to experience primal faith 
is hiking rugged river trail of pines 
where silver water tumbles famously 
with eager flight to chase the rainbow ghost 
across enormous boulders of respect, 
I sit and smell sharp scent of mountain dirt. 

With playful leaps of artful gratitude 
I hop enormous boulders of my heart 
to ask weird wizard of surreal airports 
secret we need to chase the rainbow ghost 
who builds new hydrostone church of the goat 
we should expunge from list of lonely halls. 

Her white dress spread on lawn of sacred trust, 
Faith smiles with innocence of golden flowers 
that shimmer at soft breath of her moist lips 
as she watches me chase the rainbow ghost 
embodied by the horse with flowing mane 
whose eyes glow with honest flames of her heart. 

Death invents new way of speaking our hearts 
so we wave flags of national intent 
to protest neglect of our serpent bones 
left behind when we chase the rainbow ghost 
in sepia rain that helps us understand 
shades of umber extracting clouds of thought. 

Dire crickets pixilate snowflakes of passion 
which proves the afterlife never occurs, 
described by monologue of pretty souls 
who carve machines that chase the rainbow ghost 
in vain attempt to recreate the world 
in image of the beast with fragile wings. 

Sharp Ache Of Truth

Sharp Ache Of Truth
© Surazeus
2025 08 20

He opens the notebook with sudden urge 
to record the random thoughts of his mind, 
but taps his fingers on blank page of doubt 
with idle nonchalance of the snide seer 
amazed at meaningless sublime of life 
that pierces his heart with sharp ache of truth. 

The microscopic thought of measured words, 
that myths will die with makers of their truth, 
accelerates his plunge in solid sea 
imperceptible to most honest tribes 
who attend church of the mental disease 
with crypto-mystic code of abstract faith. 

Exact assertion of lightness we share 
luminates inner core of secret homes 
with upward motion onto downcast stars 
where devils crawl across the pleasant sky 
with universal sadness no one buys 
though knowledge dawns before the end of time. 

Untethered spirit of angelic faith 
floats over fields of unwalled paradise 
where we attempt to raise the dead with prayers 
that crack brute lamentation of the sky 
despite abysmal waste of stubborn lust 
that almost drowns us in our bitter tears. 

Since he has time to live well in this world 
against all odds of arrogant respect, 
he dances with immune abandonment 
where fairies of midsummer gamble fate 
against conceptual clock of each new hour 
that renders aspect of the forest pool. 

All children know that God was never real 
except ideal our parents advocate 
as goal for which we strive with rectitude 
to transcend limitations of our brains 
by wearing fur in harsh Antarctic hills 
at sudden thoughtlessness of ecstasy. 

Good fluencies of routines mimicked well 
infect Hadean source of spirit pain 
with frantic gestures of our personage 
when he decides to photograph the sun 
who lounges naked on fluffed clouds of fate 
to taste disfigurement of mortal masks. 

He likes this version of himself much more 
than solemn language of irreverence, 
so he invents new theologic code 
that defines fake parameters of fear 
though trapped in self-delusion of lost faith 
still piercing his heart with sharp ache of truth. 

World Battle Of Wits

World Battle Of Wits
© Surazeus
2025 08 20

As cartographer for strange world of myth, 
the poet maps wild landscape of our dreams 
based on memories of all our ancestors 
programmed into how our brain operates 
through actions they performed in face of death 
to generate new life before they died. 

As mechanic for engine of our souls, 
the poet finetunes weird conceptual tropes 
that program how our dream-brain operates 
adjusting systems through ontology 
our bodies use to function in routines 
we employ to create life before death. 

As dancer on the stage of global tales, 
the poet inhales memories of the past 
and exhales hopes for the future with faith 
to leap across abyss of nothingness 
when we attempt to overcome ourselves 
and create new character we perform. 

As insurance broker for our games of chance, 
the poet sells illusions people wield 
to shield their fragile spirits from despair 
in brutal fight against tellers of truth 
who dare expose hypocrisy of pride 
that crumbles in relentless storm of change. 

As bold unacknowledged legislator, 
the poet glorifies the honest soul 
who works to create rather than destroy 
by depicting how they suppress false views 
through logical analysis of cause 
that computes effect of world social peace. 

As mathematician of the psychic code, 
the poet calculates firm formulas 
assembling puzzles of surreal terrain 
through undulating matrix of the mind 
that forms foundation of our state contract 
contrived by task orders of divine perception. 

As jester in the academic court, 
the poet mimics personalities 
by wearing intricate mask of the I 
to play comedy of success in love 
or tragedy of failure in blind pride 
that adjusts moral behavior of fools. 

As spellcaster in world battle of wits, 
the poet chants wyrd hexagraphic spells 
projecting virtual model of the world 
in vision of the way thoughts ought to be 
that transform through alchemical virtue 
how we perceive Ideas of the real world. 

Subtle Winds Of Memory

Subtle Winds Of Memory
© Surazeus
2025 08 19

Though subtle winds of Memory sweep the lyre 
with rays of wisdom luminating truth, 
I walk from exile of neglected faith 
to bear the quivering beams of rectitude 
that paint the flowers of entangled thoughts 
with jeweled joy I buy through suffering. 

Though morning light expands its timeless glow 
on all that answers shimmer of its truth, 
I wander lost in tangled woods of doubt 
to find bright crystal of eternal hope 
that fractures when I grasp its fragile beam 
which animates anew my wayward heart. 

Though I attempt to map the wilderness, 
composed from swirl of wild ambitious sands, 
I hope with eager consciousness of cause 
to quote old universal laws of time 
how Reason turns her dazzled eye away 
from rapturous beauty of this changing world. 

Though death chains pinions of my wildest thought 
to set the cosmic laws of fate at naught, 
I measure fantasy of Earth we love 
with strictest eye of art forged from starlight 
to swirl ethereal light of wordless souls 
with radiant mystery of poetic charm. 

Though I glide over Earth on zephyr wing 
to conjure fruit trees from greed-wasted soil, 
I land in broad elm, empress of vast hills, 
my spirit surfeited with fancy state 
recorded in sly idyls of our greener age 
to live with instinct in survival mode. 

Though first-born pulse moving in my mind 
seems to narrow path of fortune I choose, 
I dance in lonely vales of fertile faith, 
unsullied by loud engine roar of cars, 
to make Arcadia in my secret glade 
beneath the star-crowned cliff of honesty. 

Though garish guardians of the galaxy 
map fabled valleys on Elysian isles, 
I open gates of Eden for the world 
to visit vast amusement park of God 
who teaches us to dial tone of the spheres 
where we play happy games with seraph wings. 

Home of my childhood in small Texas town 
burned down at strike of lightning in fierce storm, 
so I lie unknown in lush empty lot 
to ponder sweetness of this painful life, 
when Memory sweeps electric strings of love 
that vibrate radiant on lyre of my heart. 

Give Their Eyes To Time

Give Their Eyes To Time
© Surazeus
2025 08 19

When I fall from wish of the winking sun, 
I consider the fish inside my mouth 
that seems to speak about wisdom for me, 
so I strip mask of my face off the sky 
to reveal the divine soul of my heart 
which consumes darkness to radiate light. 

When I adjust my mind to understand 
strange language of the stubborn ocean waves, 
I travel country roads to farmless towns 
where children practice secret devilry 
in spite of music wailing from dead trees 
where lonely people give their eyes to time. 

When I wake from suffering of river stones 
at shocking laughter of the mirror brain, 
I channel voice of the people in jokes 
that deconstruct our social privilege 
related to how ravens trick mad gods 
to lose their keys in frantic game of chess. 

When I drive slowly on the winding road 
among tall oaks long rotten from sad rain, 
I calculate the distance I must travel 
to reach the holy temple on the hill 
where singing skull of Orpheus relates 
chemical formulas that light the soul. 

When I design new concept of the gun 
as camera that beams vision of doubt, 
I film progress of social liberty 
every great empire grows from how to why 
till moral doctrines on the legal chart 
are outlined to define the wrong from right. 

When I taste bitter sorrow that turns bland 
at glow of jewels in electric caves, 
I attend college for jesters and clowns 
who lead war refugees in revelry 
to forget bombing of their homes with ease 
when they elect as president the mime. 

When I carve prophecies on dragon bones 
in attentive gamble to ascertain 
obvious features of the conceptual hoax, 
I unpuzzle gospel through sacrilege 
which proves the best soul-forms are tetrapods 
who strive to uphold freedom of the press. 

When I find temple of the humming toad 
in voice-echoed swamp of psychotic rain, 
I study truths of history that unravel 
adamant doctrine that we have free will 
to perform actions decreed by the fates 
who challenge each other for the god role. 

Hundred Isles Of Skythe

Hundred Isles Of Skythe
© Surazeus
2025 08 18

Native to sorrow of my Mother Land, 
where ghosts of my ancestors live in trees, 
I send song of my heart on wind of time 
so you can hear voice of my deathless soul 
sing in silver laughter of the wild stream 
that bears my memories to the golden sea. 

Yet silent beauty of gold mountain slopes, 
veiled by moon-glittered mist of aching hope, 
call me to return across the fierce sea 
to rugged island where my mother Skythe 
stood tall as jagged peak of honesty 
against rampaging horde of bitter thieves. 

Heart-aching song of flute she played at dawn 
still echoes soft in valley of my heart 
three thousand years later with haunting tone 
that shoots shiver of awe along my spine 
so tears of loss flow down my wrinkled cheeks 
because her face still glows clear in my mind. 

I want to build huge castle of strong stone 
to shelter her from storm of hungry greed 
that drives aggressive men to clutch at wind 
as they shout vainly that this land is theirs 
till their bodies crumble into mute dirt 
where their bones form foundation of her power. 

Great empire she constructed with bold words, 
that once enclosed the Hundred Isles of Skythe, 
vanished from songs of people in the wind, 
yet spirit of her heart, bright as sunlight, 
gleams still on rugged hills in swirling mist 
where ravens flock above lush Fairy Glen. 

When I wake from dream of green hills in mist 
three hours after midnight of flowing time, 
I see elegant face of Skythe lit gold 
as she grips serpent writhing in her hand 
and tells me secret of eternal life 
hidden in the scarlet egg of her heart. 

Forever running toward the mountain peak, 
I breathe attentive spirit of the sky, 
then gaze back on long winding road of hope 
I blazed from Skythia to the Promised Land 
to understand how I achieved my aim, 
then gaze far west with blazing eyes of faith. 

Few may remember gleam of her green eyes, 
verdant as looming mountains of her heart, 
yet voice of her immortal spirit sings 
in anguished cry that spirals from my breast 
for Skythe still dreams in visions of my brain 
that guide my journey to her isle of mist. 

Isolation Of The Heart

Isolation Of The Heart
© Surazeus
2025 08 17

When he realizes with shock of cold wind 
that woman he loves is about to die, 
he allocates regressive plight to bend 
ardent dismay by floating in the sky, 
attuned to muted angst of humming wire 
that translates electric song of the choir. 

They walk together on the river shore, 
catching fish with their alligator hands, 
then gather pebbles from the sparkling stream 
to build enormous mountain of fake words 
where children play hide and seek with their ghosts 
till first mother teaches us how to sing. 

Extracting wisdom from the nuclear core, 
he watches woman of time where she stands 
in gleaming spotlight of apportioned dream 
where typewriters give birth to psychic birds, 
glad we find our mother on distant coasts 
because she transforms into angel wing. 

Since I want to join your curious journey 
beyond enclosing walls of paradise, 
you hire the most undevious attorney 
to calculate the psycho-social price 
we pay for isolation of the heart 
quarantined through fortune of the star chart. 

Embraced with graceful elegance of trust, 
they dance in April breeze of yellow flutes, 
rehearsing for the fantasy of dust 
Morpheus sprinkles on their love-grown roots 
as if they have no reason for regret 
beyond eloquence of the alphabet. 

She would decipher his pandemic code 
based on flight of their reality scale, 
but she explains that every soul on Earth 
is soaked by the same rain from the same sky, 
so we climb inside the language machine 
to steer our ship of state past rocks of fear. 

I would walk ten thousand miles on the road 
to be with you, though we succeed or fail 
in game of life, to disprove social worth 
that people use to judge the state of why 
through analysis some dare contravene 
in grand convention of the puppeteer. 

He holds her hand with gentle loving care 
while she goes about her business of death 
which divides concept of the mutual pair 
committed to union of mental breath 
so she becomes the glowing beam of light 
that guides his way in long lament of night. 

Write Our Secret Thoughts

Write Our Secret Thoughts
© Surazeus
2025 08 17

Flowers bloom from bodies of fallen angels 
through skeleton beams of arrogant water 
with abnegation of conceptual wealth 
that heals assertive wound of silences 
which form attentive matrix of the mind 
since we are born to write our secret thoughts. 

Awake with energetic fallacies 
encased in psychic pod of spiral wings, 
I study how tarantula of truth 
explores vast arboretum of my heart, 
veiled by frantic curtains of hotel rooms, 
to explain how we write our secret thoughts. 

Through zigzag travesty of pestilence, 
frozen with penumbras of holy night, 
I float with pollen from attractive flowers 
that crack through boxes of suave predators 
who leap on pedestals of pompous pride 
to pretend Death will write our secret thoughts. 

Fierce wound of moisture flooding hollow hope 
exposes sorrow through abandonment 
that nameless children in orphanages 
exchange with verdant petals of fruit trees 
since ghosts play games in columbarium 
where we must learn to write our secret thoughts. 

Red liquid fabricates constructed slowness 
through hyperfixation on the same chair 
based on brilliant sensory overload 
designed to help my stumbling honesty 
to function through strict routine of bad faith 
despite attempts to write our secret thoughts. 

Undiagnosed weirdness I choose to own 
reveals mislabeled attitude of fear 
contrived by jesters through rebellion 
to seek comfort in fraught danger of war 
because the fluffy black cat knows the way 
which helps us learn to write our secret thoughts. 

Four horsemen of the new apocalypse 
consider ways to improve politics 
based on hope, justice, empathy, and truth 
as we storm citadel of apathy 
through bid to redesign America 
from plans for which we write our secret thoughts. 

I pour my soul in mirror of my child 
who crawls across the mountain range of stars 
with winding uncertainty of old rivers 
when we bequeath our social legacy 
in harmony with vast tectonic plates 
encoding tricks to write our secret thoughts. 

Nature-Wise Woman

Nature-Wise Woman
© Surazeus
2025 08 17

The nature-wise woman in the white dress, 
who disappears in vast mirror of words, 
scatters puzzling fragments of her glass soul 
as seeds in pungent soil of anywhere 
so children of the laughing tree spring tall 
to float in rotating sky of the mind. 

Let Death come slowly as drifting snowflakes 
with frail perfection of the glacier mask 
that cracks awake at surrender to fate 
when we explore the wilderness of words 
because she believes that if Time is God 
then Memory is the Devil we still follow. 

Because the dead can never hear me sing 
through whistle of the tea kettle and train, 
I strive to transcend the ghost of my brain 
who weaves my sorrow into angel wing 
so I lounge safe in backyard of my home, 
refusing to misunderstand desire. 

Dazzling silence blows cold with tenderness 
despite frank fullness of the thoughtful moon 
though dreams I hid with limited surprise 
always seem to be for sale at the store 
trapped in the voice box of the naked god 
who asks me to close my eyes with new faith. 

My heartbeat records history of mankind 
who sails the sea that shimmers in my eyes 
without admitting that we weep with hope 
for somewhere to build home of singing skulls 
with both hands extended to the rich sky 
in restless search for meaning in the stone. 

Searching outside paradise, I engage 
with diverse voices of strangers I love 
who stand on stones by rivers of respect 
to sing strange ache of sorrow from their hearts 
in psalms preserved by tongueless scribes of faith 
who write our secret thoughts with angel blood. 

Sweet miracle through the spider of fate 
inspires my heart to slog in swamp of words 
with delicate wings of swift hummingbirds 
so laughing girls who crowd around the gate 
share fruit they gather in the misty woods 
while weaving wreaths from sorrow of my heart. 

Though all the people I have met in life 
are somewhere far away on road of hope, 
I see their faces in waves of the sea 
shining with feathers of electric birds 
who flock around woman in the white dress 
to savor blueness of the timeless sky. 

Angel Blood Of Truth

Angel Blood Of Truth
© Surazeus
2025 08 16

When I am old and on the verge of death 
I will travel back through spiral of time 
to meet young hopeful version of myself 
and embrace my breast while I weep with love, 
then fill my heart with courage to endure 
long journey where I lose before I gain. 

Now that I near the end of my life road 
I turn back to see how I lived each day 
traveling my land sea to shining sea 
as I created with craft of my hands 
safe garden home from vision of my heart 
so my children may live after I die. 

From nothing I constructed sturdy home 
that shelter souls of my children and spouse 
from hostile forces of weather and fear 
by building empire with surrounding walls 
that enclose the whole world in paradise 
though time will erase us all from its dream. 

Though stone of fear, bound to my soul with hate, 
drags me down into swirling sea of hope, 
I cut myself loose from doctrines of pride 
to emerge from lightless depths of despair 
and walk again on road of fate I blaze, 
pregnant with stary-eyed goddess of the sky. 

On iridescent thoughts of angel wings 
I walk among world crowd of staring eyes 
to fight against injustice of blind greed 
with fierce attention to needs of their hearts 
so with full hands of generous respect 
I bestow gifts of the stars for their growth. 

From cave of sorrows in waste land of fear 
I walk the signless road to Wonderland 
where I fight thieves and tyrants in the rain 
till new star of my fate shines in the sky 
bestowing grace of wisdom on my head 
in diamond of insight that guides my way. 

By right of birth with angel blood of truth, 
beamed in my heart with holy sword of faith, 
I forge vast empire of lost refugees 
who build flourishing gardens of fruit trees 
that spread from temple on the ziggurat 
where I watch over people of my land. 

Against all odds of brutal obstacles, 
hurled at my heart with grasping hands of greed, 
I overcome assassins wielding rage 
to stand tall on high mountain of the truth 
with Lamp of Liberty and Book of Deeds 
to guard fertile land of Zarathia. 

Yearly Laughter Of Fate

Yearly Laughter Of Fate
© Surazeus
2025 08 15

Eager to share yearly laughter of fate 
with millions of workers in cubicles, 
I deal cards of fortune to manage hate 
that cracks foundation of our noble state 
because I measure waves of particles 
that program crystal brain of the robot. 

Unconcerned about whether or not 
anyone loves me, I dance among bees 
to map arch of the bridge Lucifer bought 
when he revived the angel who got shot 
attempting to control the river breeze 
as incarnation of some long-dead king. 

Therefore I will take you under my wing 
to shelter your spirit from social storm 
that shakes hearts of the people as they sing 
hymn of honor to demon with the ring 
that renders invisible mental form 
to bind my soul in swirl of time and space. 

My emotions are written on my face 
since I am qualified by psychic right 
to talk about my secret knowledge base 
when I analyze aspects of the case 
through investigation of divine light 
refracted through theology of fame. 

When I consider new rules for the game 
we play to decide who has right to rule, 
I order puzzle in conceptual frame 
to arrange whatever is not the same 
that we construct with help of the dream tool 
when building naked walls of paradise. 

Therefore I stop to consider the price 
that Fortune requires our bodies to pay 
if we avoid going through it all twice 
by exercising privilege through vice 
to search the waste land for the Golden Way 
in quest that resembles the rolling stone. 

I carve tale of my life on dragon bone 
with Runes of Power designed by the girl 
who explores the vast multiverse alone 
with radiant elegance of the star tone, 
then carves virtual Earth on the shiny pearl 
which twirls in air above the pyramid. 

Great Eye of Wisdom at core of the grid, 
which weaves tight matrix of calculus brains 
in humans frail as sly ephemerid, 
reveals through mirror that devils forbid 
eccentric code of linguistic domains 
where worshippers of laughter congregate. 

Want To Build My House

Want To Build My House
© Surazeus
2025 08 15

I want to build my house with sturdy walls 
inside wide bend of the sparkling river 
so we can play beneath lush apple trees 
in fertile valley among verdant hills, 
but dream of paradise vanished in mist 
six thousand years before hour of my birth. 

Orange mist sparkles in maze of cement streets 
from lights in windows of tall square steel towers 
as I walk cluttered sidewalk past street lamps 
to red-brick apartment with fear-locked doors 
where I sit at wood desk by the cracked window 
and type lines of verse about paradise. 

Slicing beef, onions, peppers, and tomatoes, 
I grill supper on apartment rooftop 
while ravens gather on sagging phonelines, 
then eat hamburger in eerie moonlight 
in sad attempt of my time-aching heart 
to recreate paradise of the past. 

Strumming guitar with callused fingertips, 
I sing, "Today is last day of my job, 
so when I get home I will write weird poem 
of how my hopeless heart still longs to roam 
sea to shining sea in land of the free," 
then quick-pick old heart-breaking melody. 

While typing endless lines of tangled verse 
to help my restless spirit navigate 
confusing maze of myths in human dreams, 
I look up at flutter of eager wings 
to see the citrine wagtail with sharp eyes 
that seem to see weird beauty of my soul. 

So I think about the day years ago 
when man first walked on surface of the moon 
to find that angels live in paradise 
where thousands of crystal cathedrals gleam 
because I want to understand how fate 
is written by each choice our wild hearts make. 

I want to return to Calabria 
to live in Aragonese Castle I built 
with noble purpose to guard paradise, 
but I stroll down to the corner cafe 
to eat beef sandwich with cheese on rye 
while helicopters putter in the sky. 

Old woman who survived the holocaust 
paints portrait of me as angel with wings, 
then conjures the moon from song of the sea 
so I understand truth of liberty 
earned by the courage of great warriors 
willing to die to protect paradise. 

Ledger Of Failed Projects

Ledger Of Failed Projects
© Surazeus
2025 08 14

My name is incarnation of the sky 
that reflects faces of people who search 
nowhere for the ledger of failed projects 
in formulas written with hot swamp mud 
so we can hear the silent voice of God 
that never speaks the name we cherish well. 

Our skeletons of glass dance in the rain 
to hold aggressive gusts of lonely wind 
with hand of honesty no one respects 
despite the woman in the howling train 
who sings strange wisdom of the burning book 
so I can see the face of god again. 

She carves excessive elegy of faith 
in veil of dust that swirls in ecstasy 
deep in green silence of exploding trees 
because we keep on dying before dawn 
when sunlight strikes blow at the gloom of time 
while counting casualties in civil wars. 

Sweet bluster of brass cannons in the mist 
expresses sorrow for each soul who dies 
as flicker of shadow gleaned from my eyes 
that sparks songs on the radio of fate 
where faceless ghosts on mournful landscape vote 
for demon hidden in the singing book. 

Infected with experience of hope, 
we search for hillside where all knowledge ends 
to find how love springs from the anguished heart 
trapped in library of the burning book 
where faceless ghosts preserve dreams of lost scrolls 
in glowing embers of seraphic eyes. 

Adrift on great emptiness of nine seas, 
I peer through spectacles of glowing glass 
to read verse riddles of atomic nodes 
describing solemn artifacts of faith 
which I cast carelessly in divine flames 
when I push boldly in fog of the future. 

Fierce consciousness that shimmers in my brain 
scores notes of music in grand symphonies 
to praise demonic child of wordless dreams 
who opens wide every museum door 
to release faceless ghosts of my ancestors 
who gather in coliseum of hope. 

Though candle of truth flickers at midnight 
she guides the seraphim in silver gowns 
with eerie music of the golden ring 
that spirals tight with old ancestral genes 
preserving all our memories in tale code 
that writhe in vision of the world I make. 

People Can Be Good

People Can Be Good
© Surazeus
2025 08 14

After Plato reveals the ideal Chair, 
that vibrates with essence of its true purpose, 
I sit on concept of its sturdiness, 
then lift angelic quill of timeless truth 
to write map of the world in lines of verse 
expressing love for weird reality. 

Ungrateful ignorance of the cracked mirror 
exposes sweet rainwater of despair 
that flows with lambent horror of respect 
from brute unwillingness of honest men 
to criticize deception of the church 
in harmony with stillness of the lake. 

Secretions of absent thought clutter hope 
with pure contamination of concern 
ensconced with sinister presence of love 
that muzzles frozen smiles of honesty 
riveted at parade of overlords 
who scatter skulls of gods on marble floors. 

Exception to confinement rules reverts 
all closing arguments to baseless fear 
surprised by boredom of the humble king 
who sifts through evidence of brutal crimes 
to judge the devil with assertive laws 
through occasional whispers of sweet lies. 

Harsh hunger of communion with the dead 
excels in tentative conclusions formed 
by reasonable doubt in windowless rooms 
where faceless ghosts riot for better pay 
till bud of contingency blooms from graves 
through disagreement of fierce gratitude. 

False evidence that birds know how to flow 
should clarify why invisible hands 
veil horrible accident of lost love 
with tattered curtain of heavenly hope 
despite assurances through martyrdom 
that true love shall nullify tedium. 

Assurance of redemption, before death 
erases sorrow and joy from aching hearts, 
encourages every fool to sing hymns 
with cunning trial of resourcefulness 
that never matches strange alternatives 
to purchase wish fulfillment from their god. 

Extending upturned palms of clemency, 
long empty of our pregnant solitude, 
we listen to silence for Word of God 
that whispers in leaves of old apple trees 
instead of shouting loud in hurricanes 
because we believe people can be good. 

Fight To Live Free

Fight To Live Free
© Surazeus
2025 08 13

Electrified by terror of the word 
that redefines stature of the absurd, 
I ask the old clown by the twisted tree 
why most humans never fight to live free, 
but he just laughs and gives me juice to drink, 
so I sit on statue of Phoebus to think. 

Astonished by reluctance of despair 
that modifies direction of the stair, 
I climb Death Mountain to Heaven at dawn 
then lie naked on the lush castle lawn 
while people wearing fancy clothes object 
to ontology of my globe map project. 

Disturbed by happiness children express 
by joining ranks of fame-obsessive press, 
I write reports on how wealthy gods cheat 
to conquer lush land with exploring fleet 
so refugees from war can build new homes 
in bleak wilderness where the jester roams. 

Surprised by earnest passion of the fool, 
I paint murals of heroes on the school 
so children can learn about national heroes 
who smile bravely in spite of their dark sorrows 
then choose which mask of god they wear to play 
eternal chess games on the golden way. 

Desired by faceless ghosts on ocean shores 
who call me secret name in global cores, 
the Sad Librarian gives me ancient book 
that maps world empire of the honest cook 
so I can understand his sincere heart 
by redrawing fortune of my star chart. 

Deprived by liberty of dream resource 
through years of discipline in the Mind Force, 
I resurrect maternal ghost of fate 
to rechannel aggressive force of hate 
in project to transform our fractured state 
to global empire of the caliphate. 

Concerned by sudden blast of fervid light 
that shrouds vast city maze in veil of fright, 
I shelter crone of wisdom with my pride 
against stammered tirade I try to hide 
till twitching arm of my ghost self decides 
to cage my demon spirit in sweet brides. 

Detached from cantos of the holy cage 
where angels prance obscenely on glass stage, 
I linger patiently on library stairs, 
unwilling to burn books on country fairs 
where farmers gather to celebrate life 
in tense peace after patriotic strife. 

Chasing Vain Happiness

Chasing Vain Happiness
© Surazeus
2025 08 13

To fly to Heaven on the paper plane, 
while searching for strange beauty of the plain, 
I leap beyond limits of gold-brick walls 
and tumble to Earth where blind angel crawls, 
then stand and laugh at my own foolishness, 
exhausted from chasing vain happiness. 

If this mirror reflects ache of my heart 
that correlates with fate of my star chart, 
I wonder at the mask that hides my face 
people buy and sell in the marketplace, 
tricked by the mad princess of craftiness 
impoverished from chasing vain happiness. 

I want to own my own dream-fertilized land 
to grow enough food with my blood-stained hand 
so everyone in our nation can eat 
instead of having to play trick or treat 
when the rich acquire wealth through laziness, 
bankrupted from chasing vain happiness. 

To control the people of our great state 
who clamor desperate at the pearly gate 
I strike with punishment swift as the storm 
and mete out reward to those who conform, 
yet fear always impairs social progress, 
depleted from chasing vain happiness. 

Since strict demonic energy of hope 
fuels aggressive methods I use to cope, 
I follow winding river through the cove 
past gate of the devil afraid of love 
who trembles at spark of our jolliness, 
bewildered from chasing vain happiness. 

With ardent force of urgent innocence 
I twist back forward without precedence 
to realign conceptual state of mind 
which I employ for yet-born souls to find 
how not to falter from kind loneliness, 
overwhelmed from chasing vain happiness. 

Through haze of images programmed by words 
I follow frantic flight of fearless birds 
to study transient beauty of this world 
embodied by sons of the cosmic herald 
who guard hermetic code of loftiness, 
justified from chasing vain happiness. 

Since he rejects existence of non-being 
through contradiction of the flightless wing, 
he falls into the bottomless void of truth 
which transforms him into messiah sleuth 
who wears formless face of Parmenides, 
mystified from chasing vain happiness. 

Fruit We Steal From Fate

Fruit We Steal From Fate
© Surazeus
2025 08 12

This is no time for the dead to sing hymns 
that guide the living to the afterthought 
where apples dangle luridly on limbs 
which interlace strange temples devils sought 
when they tore off masks of humanity 
in revelation of the forlorn toad. 

Yet we will gather on the river shore 
and tell each other we are still alive, 
then give each other fruit we steal from fate 
to seal concentric progress of the gate 
which keeps our garden safe from hungry thieves 
who search all night for where the Mermaid lives. 

The special people with divine god-bones 
perform dramatic anguish of their lives 
while we who crawl in dirt to read white stones 
cater to all their needs in servitude, 
except the jester with the attitude 
who juggles television tubes and knives. 

What new event of shocking certitude 
could I declare with statements forged from truth 
except that humans live in fantasies 
constructed firm from holophrastic lies, 
designed to twist our brains in rainbow spires 
so we sing ancient songs in holy choirs. 

Reluctant to let go mask of my pride, 
which still protects my heart from insolence, 
I open front door of my humble home 
and shout at clouds about their random swirls 
because I am invention of smart girls 
who shaped my personality from mud. 

Thus I object with sly impertinence 
to hostile arrogance disguised with smiles 
when Fear admonishes me with snarky sneers 
that I should be absolute for sweet Death 
through reason of influence from blank skies 
as fool nursed by baseness of valiance. 

Since we exist on countless thousand grains 
that issue out of dust lit by sunbeams, 
we should not strive to gain more than we need 
when our complexions shift to strange effects 
caused by desire to journey beyond time 
as effusions springing from frantic brains. 

Dreaming of my youth that slips long away 
in palsied state of wisdom bought with pain, 
I sell my beauty to affective fate 
denoting disturbance of mental mood 
through expression of primary respect 
trapped in relentless sentence of fake words. 

One Can Almost Not

One Can Almost Not
© Surazeus
2025 08 12

One can almost not hear song of the rain 
echo down long dark hallways of old schools 
where weeping fairies who clutch leather books 
scatter letters from ancient epics on the floor 
till they sprout butterfly wings and escape 
solemnity of anguish no one shares. 

One can almost not see wild man of bones 
leaping aloft on wings of wicked laughter 
while chasing young lovers in misty vales 
to tear beauty from their soft writhing bodies 
with mortal blow of the drunken wingbeat 
that cracks glaciers converting tears to lakes. 

One can almost not smell pungent regret 
dispersed in sterile winds of wretched faith 
that glistens with sharp ennui of contempt 
when vampire swan with wings blackened by blood 
scatters horror of death from twisted plumes 
caught in the phantom engine of the plane. 

One can almost not taste metallic lust 
immobilized by scorn of useless hope 
that countless wanderers across waste lands 
never sing in hymns at founding of kingdoms 
that crumble at crack of demonic eggs 
when no one shakes anguish off in hot rain. 

One can almost not touch svelte flesh of pain 
who lies on bed of roses in dark grotto 
dripping with perfume of angelic blood 
at how gods alter loyalties of fools 
by clutching votive scroll of prophecies 
soaked in pool of mud in the bright swamp. 

One can almost not feel struggle undone 
by graceless waddle of the crippled king 
who vainly clutches broken wand of power 
while teaching children how to chant weird spells 
when they appear on television shows 
anxious to win the contest for world fame. 

One can almost not know truth about Death 
who stares at us for endless centuries 
as we perform our duties to the land 
through calculation against bitter fate 
to gain perspective on the way of things, 
consigned to always replay how we die. 

One can almost not sing reflective psalm 
concerning methods gods use to rule mankind 
by pulling painted faces from cracked mirrors 
enough to navigate needs of the people 
who strive to transcend trap of royalty 
based on excessive prayers dead angels eat. 

Where I Play God

Where I Play God
© Surazeus
2025 08 11

While watching people live their daily lives 
in god-eye of the television screen, 
I forget to record their names and deeds 
in Book of Sorrows buried in tree roots 
that nourish Tree of Knowledge with our dreams 
which gleam in raindrops on its twisted limbs. 

I study features of each human face 
that flickers briefly on the dream-time screen 
so I can understand their secret thoughts 
that flash in words across mask of their soul 
though polished facade of arrogant pride 
fragments into sorrow of broken dreams. 

Blank faces of strangers I pass each day 
while walking streets in maze of numbered doors 
reflect unconscious feelings of my heart 
so I see in expressions they display 
secret character I attempt to hide 
because I feel the whole world lurch sideways. 

Thus I am ready to start work again 
designing artificial worlds from dreams 
where puppets of real people in my head 
perform their roles preserved in fairy tales 
where ten thousand incarnations of Phoebus 
compete to wear his golden mask of fame. 

I shall lay my skeleton of moon-glass 
among bright flowers of Elysium 
so bees brew mushroom honey from my blood 
for children of the rainbow to consume 
as they transform into shadows of light 
who gaze at jagged mountains in blue dusk. 

Orpheus strums the lyre of Mercury 
while he explains in twisting waves of verse 
that if we throw the true fortunate man 
into the never-ending stream of fate 
he will emerge with fresh fish in his mouth 
that feed nine billion people stuck on Earth. 

Because too many people judge my book 
based on its cover, which depicts too well 
obsessive nothingness of righteous faith 
that causes me to wander off the trail 
and struggle in the vine-entangled field, 
I fill one basket with all my dream eggs. 

When I blink from tension of the long day 
at fading of my autocratic brain, 
the multiverse of dream-conceptual code 
winks out of existence from nothingness 
till my neural net recreates the world 
where I play god till death erases all. 

Golden Road Of Success

Golden Road Of Success
© Surazeus
2025 08 10

Lost in mind-bending illusion of time, 
preserved in television show of fate, 
Gotenus runs across the muddy field 
to catch rainbow of perspicacity, 
shocked awake with discernment from despair 
at the crumbling of his castle into sand. 

Eager to learn flight from ravens of faith, 
explained by snow flakes on the fractured screen, 
Gotenus stops running by the highway 
to stare at shadows streaking swiftly past 
till his eyes, searching for horses, see cars, 
glass coffins floating on four wheels of fate. 

Astray far from golden road of success, 
disoriented in maze of locked doors, 
Gotenus searches among roots of trees 
for sacred book he buried in his heart 
which he plans to trade for the Holy Grail 
that tumbles down stairs of the falling tower. 

Ardent with fierce faith forged from suffering, 
amazed at wisdom in song of the toad, 
Gotenus preaches salvation by faith 
in hollow horror of the empty church 
while faceless ghosts sing sacred hymns of hope 
for second coming of the long-dead king. 

Zealous for aesthetic beauty of truth, 
consumed by hunger of capital gains, 
Gotenus calculates through numbers gain 
return on investment from measurement 
defining secret passion of the heart 
while lovers replicate digital assets. 

Anxious from strict efficiency of death, 
bewildered at the birth of divine souls, 
Gotenus stands at locked door of the tower 
and calls name of Rapunzel with bold voice, 
but Radigund, her daughter with Adonis, 
appears at the window of fate instead. 

Impatient for their wedding to begin, 
invested in weird worship of the mind, 
Gotenus stands before his princess bride 
and gives her Wand of Ishtar with respect 
so she wields global political power 
to manage United Nations of Earth. 

Fallen from Heaven on torn angel wings, 
tricked by the Serpent Witch of Honesty, 
Gotenus wanders gloomy halls of time 
in many-roomed mansion of privilege, 
calling for Radigund with anguished voice 
who died in childbirth forty years before. 

Weird Map Of Everwick

Weird Map Of Everwick
© Surazeus
2025 08 10

If we return to town of Everwick, 
where horses graze in shady yew-tree groves, 
we may feast by the sparkling sea of time 
to sense how water flows with endless hope 
till flash of insight from the boundless sky 
enlightens heavy hearts with sacred truth. 

I read strange stories of humanity 
while gazing in the river-book of fate 
to dream long record of assertive faith 
performed by spirits of the ancient dead 
who wander lonely streets of Everwick 
to replay tragedies of honest folk. 

With fiery hue of rainbows in their eyes 
ghosts of my ancestors watch me perform 
relentless progress of ascending power 
while I walk endless circles every day 
to chase swift star-eyed fairies of desire 
who scatter dust in streets of Everwick. 

Still nestled safe in bushes of respect 
on misty shore beside the stream of light, 
I draw in dust weird map of Everwick 
where gods play chess with helpless human souls 
who hunt for demons in the yew-tree groves 
while elves sing haunting melodies of hope. 

Mute in yew groves near town of Everwick, 
we hear the spectral singing of the moon 
that highlights beauty of the human face 
which masks demonic energy of lust 
to generate new life before we die, 
therefore we sing with hope to empty skies. 

Crows caw in cheery silence after dawn 
while mushrooms sprout from rotten flesh of hope 
as I dissolve in glow of intense light 
till voices humming with observant fear 
echo softly from streets of Everwick 
which wakes me from the soundless drowning dream. 

I flit between opposing states of mind, 
assertively active with happy hope 
or introspectively passive and sad, 
in rapid ricochet of wretched ruth, 
and thus create fierce fortune of my fate 
with each helplessly random choice I make. 

With bleeding hands of frantic joy for life 
I construct stone towers of Everwick 
where I guard heaven of its garden homes 
one thousand years of restless loyalty 
where ghost of my obsession to survive 
remains in breeze that rustles yew-tree leaves. 

Almost Obscene Truths

Almost Obscene Truths
© Surazeus
2025 08 09

More than conceptual laughter of white crows, 
or angels tangled in crabapple trees, 
or green regret of almost obscene truths, 
unfurling pages of observant books 
reflect how children love to play at dusk 
aggressive games against mute emptiness. 

Because nothing begins with the glass trees 
that intertwine burnt bodies dangerously, 
we kiss too tender for angels to die 
against assertive ardency of clocks 
that strike us with libidinous concern 
before the second coming of the horse. 

Abandoned infants of the deviled seer 
decide to salvage half-burned tree of faith 
consumed by silver flames of baseless fears 
when broadleaf shoots ascend toward fractured light 
since winter sullies righteousness of love 
which nature keys to propagate our brains. 

With reckless courage of the chestnut horse 
you dare decode lost chocolate cake of fame 
despite the onyx storm of crumbling thrones 
for which cruel oligarchs of banks compete 
while ghosts stare at their faces in dead trees 
beneath the brightening sky of fractured words. 

Half dead already with the torch of time, 
I keep on playing chess with angled tricks 
in praise of mystery for the cheerful girl 
who rides white bull of Zeus on ocean shore 
to write unerring book of galaxies 
with expert constancy of curious awe. 

Some claim that darkness still unites our hearts 
with distant coldness of internal space, 
but I disprove their weird hypothesis 
by catching raindrops from glass eyes of god 
whose weeping causes world-destructive floods 
while we sip root beers on library steps. 

No ordinary god with zillion eyes of light 
dwells happily on invisible worlds, 
yet I confuse my pleasure with mute grief, 
accustomed to grim quietude of time 
when sand yawns vast as star-creating clouds 
because my soul cannot be trapped by words. 

I pierce adamant solitude of life, 
evading need to die as sacrifice 
so people of the world can read and write 
with simple letters that signify sounds 
though I dance ballet on transmission wires, 
passionate to transcend my wretched pain. 

Perilous Maze Of Myths

Perilous Maze Of Myths
© Surazeus
2025 08 09

Falling behind in progress of the wave 
for project to translate song of the sea, 
I run forever on the signless road 
to save the human soul from slavery 
by leaping in the air on lightning wings 
in gamble for salvation against death. 

To understand strange beauty of the light 
that gleams on mirror of the boundless mind 
I call blind Watcher on tower of glass 
who points to constellations of the heart 
that help my ghost achieve hard enterprise 
transforming negative space into words. 

With exiled children born from nothingness 
I gather diamonds from the cave of lies 
which fracture Earth into the multiverse 
that beams inside eight billion human brains 
based on forthrightness of harsh ridicule 
that we endure with voices of the wind. 

Now I am reborn from my rotten skull 
as honest Watcher on tower of glass 
assigned by Death to guard with starry eyes 
lush valley of the soul-nurturing stream 
with sparkles bright in trees of pungent fruit 
where children of the serpent feast in faith. 

Safe in green shadow of the split pine tree, 
star-eyed Watcher of my maternal genes 
brews honey-mushroom wine with cinnamon 
that fills my body with electric flush 
so my brain swells large as the galaxy 
that nurtures zillions of organic souls. 

In scarlet blaze of flaming falcon wings 
my heart transcends material world of forms 
to soar on commandeering flight of faith 
beyond sadistic glimmer of despair 
so I bless mankind with generous grace 
by teaching them to write the alphabet. 

Oppressive darkness of eternal dawn, 
suffusing breast of wisdom with cold air, 
asserts concern for stretched pursuit of truth 
to build our nation based on measurement 
through verification our brains perceive 
so we relieve harsh suffering with doubt. 

No laughing demons of regretful guilt 
disrupt our ceremony of despair 
for eyeless Watcher on tower of glass 
designs new map to program our world view 
which lights again lamp of Diogenes 
who leads us through perilous maze of myths. 

Fragile Life Of Faith

Fragile Life Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 08 09

The homeland of my heart changes each day 
I wake in eerie light of the strange sun, 
and sing of distances down signless roads 
to bridge infinite nothing of respect 
that spirals vastly between I and You 
with uncertain connection of dream words. 

Invisible thoughts I speak in whole words 
coincide with visions our brains express 
through principle of freedom time extends 
across abyss of cosmic paradox 
that gathers sense from countersense of truth 
on which we build this fragile life of faith. 

Across expanding boundaries of new words, 
that we invent with automatic song, 
I thrust unconscious passion for lush land 
so words impregnant silence with weird dreams 
through reminiscence for the spiritual 
contained in static theme now possible. 

Yet I pre-member life I soon will live 
stored safe in stone of river-flowing hope 
rendered more visible by placid flight 
essential for unhidden confidence 
consistent with conceptual accuracy 
we share in songs around the crackling fire. 

Receptive to connecting radiance 
through core attitude of recited spells, 
I measure fierce duration of cold breath 
when I express experience I create 
to master methods of perceptive growth 
exploring foothills of remaining faith. 

To claim uniqueness trapped in veil of change 
based on shared cognizance of loyal friends 
I chant spells which checkmate reality 
constricted by assertion of faint chance 
too random for incursions to regress 
from shattered remnants of forgotten tales. 

Porous construct of our fraught origin, 
contrived by maternal instinct to search 
for thoughts shaped round as berries and mushrooms, 
knows we capitulate from cognizance 
since nobody becomes what they are not, 
ordered by monotone fragments of truth. 

As representatives of divine light, 
we arrogate tragic tales of success 
for ourselves alone against tides of change 
to claim responsibility for love 
that radiates through mirrors of weird fate 
on which we build this fragile life of faith. 

Visions Of A Better World

Visions Of A Better World
© Surazeus
2025 08 08

If the leader of the state is the flower 
then the people of the land are its roots, 
for the flower is replaced every year, 
but the flower will never bloom again 
if the roots wither from the lack of hope, 
so flowers bloom if we water the roots. 

When hollow hearts of the people are filled 
with nourishing rain of hope from the sky, 
we can water the gardens of our dreams 
to feast on pleasure at table of truth 
with vital spirits of our families 
sheltered by faith we earn from suffering. 

When roots of the tree of knowledge curl deep 
in heart of darkness composing my soul, 
they transform anguish of bitter despair 
at unjust loss of good people I love 
to nutritious fruit of wisdom that feeds 
my mind with visions of a better world. 

Expressing ideal visions of my mind, 
I write simple letters that signify 
sounds I speak in sentences of desire 
that conjure in mind of the listener 
view of this world where people seeking hope 
are equal through endeavors to survive. 

Each letter I inscribe in clay of Earth 
records extensive parables of thought 
I speak to narrate tale of human life 
where people interact in games of chance 
to create or destroy structures of words 
that note effective consequence of cause. 

Long contemplating mystery of this world 
while standing on ambitious mountain peak, 
I pause at endless flash of dreaming thoughts 
to breathe ethereal spirit of the sky, 
then draw new map that represents the real 
with words that symbolize the way things are. 

For I am flaming spirit of the star 
which animates my body with pure light 
that beams from glowing sphere of energy 
as Sun Spider Goddess weaves planet Earth 
with ever-flowing waves of molecules 
that form organic souls from chemicals. 

Humming merrily as she contemplates 
mystery of how letters signify sounds, 
Ophelia, in gown of woven vines, 
waters flowers in garden of her heart, 
then turns startled when Orion arrives 
and gives her brass cauldron for brewing wine. 

Clear Sparkle Of Escape

Clear Sparkle Of Escape
© Surazeus
2025 08 07

Swift time we run as sparkles to escape 
reveals how we develop tools from need 
to plow thick soil of Earth with anguished hands 
reshaping wilderness of hungry plants 
in cosmic order of the garden plan 
which reprograms behavior of the soul. 

Awake four hundred million years of change, 
I program psychic dialogue of spells 
between genetic code of dreaming brains 
and text our hands compose in pageless books 
recording evolution of our souls 
from fish to man who strives to become god. 

Worthy of my endeavor to create 
new vision of the mental multiverse 
that redefines how people perceive Earth, 
my gene-aspiring program of thought rhyme 
encodes all memories of the human race 
in fairy tales we teach as divine truth. 

I craft with clay of dreams contrived from hope 
credible proposal through deep research 
in program funded by the Lightning Girl 
who asks I demonstrate with magic tricks 
straight viability through which stars gauge 
magnitude of my charismatic heat. 

Weird organism born from womb of fate 
could stringently constrain prophetic fervor 
confounding boundaries that shelter fear 
because I qualify for scholarships 
established by faceless ghost of desire 
who animates my body with my mind. 

Extreme fixation of the astronaut 
derives psychic energy from the sun 
so I can map winding coastline of hills 
peculiar to the planet Zathamar 
transformed by asteroids from inner space 
so we feast and drink till they destroy Earth. 

Dazed by dreams of howling on misty heath, 
I preach salvation of the Fairy Book 
because my body dreams of its own soul 
who climbs the winding Stairway to Heaven, 
but people deride me and call me names 
so I become clear sparkle of escape. 

I map whole history of humanity 
with map of my body tattooing Earth 
so children wandering lost in heartless snow 
can gather in grand temple of relief 
where we all realize with joyful laugh 
that we return to land where we began. 

Evergreen Concept Of Fate

Evergreen Concept Of Fate
© Surazeus
2025 08 07

When I become pure memory of the Earth 
that sprouts from pungent soil of naked truth 
I feel time recompose body of words 
defoliated by intense regret 
though I bloom full of lurid loneliness 
in tune with evergreen concept of fate. 

Weird humming harmony of humid hope 
extends regression from reverse regret 
when I revert to original state 
for which my fragile body was designed 
so we become sweet kisses we exchange 
contrived by evergreen concept of fate. 

High jagged mountain lurking by the sea 
glares down at dark reflection of its mind 
concealed by undulating waves of light 
so I walk toward tall tower of white stone 
beneath spiraling stars of galaxies 
transfixed by evergreen concept of fate. 

Rain drenches garden of electric flowers 
so flowers melt in streaks of rainbow blood 
which flash in slick conundrum of respect 
despite weird difference between states of mind 
we share in tangled lines of frantic words 
exchanged by evergreen concept of fate. 

Because our world view of the universe 
fragments through social ideologies 
we find infinite ways to rearrange 
puzzle pieces of truth in one true code 
assembling shards of worlds in newborn Earth 
reformed by evergreen concept of fate. 

Dark clouds roll down from mountain peak of faith 
to drench the waste land of our honest hearts 
in crackling wisdom forged by spinning wheels 
that teach us how to open temple doors 
when we decide to join the global cult 
designed by evergreen concept of fate. 

Forever toward dim distant shore of peace 
we strive against aggressive waves of change 
empowered by ghost whisper of our thoughts 
that lead us to the lake of singing skulls 
where we share fruit of labor in grand feast 
hosted by evergreen concept of fate. 

The faceless refugees displaced by war 
wander lost in vast maze of empty temples 
past clean marble idols of their dead gods 
while ten thousand huge hourglasses disperse 
sands of memory so time tempers the times 
measured by evergreen concept of fate. 

Honesty Of Falling Leaves

Honesty Of Falling Leaves
© Surazeus
2025 08 06

Every day feels like the end of the world, 
the raven lady of the weird woods sings, 
so I pick prickly fruit of arrogance 
from tree of death, that writhes in agony, 
to eat the temporary truth of fate 
which demolishes the world I create. 

More real than honesty of falling leaves 
that twirl from heaven most exquisitely 
my heart expands beyond bounds of the Earth 
with torrid muteness of demonic wings 
so I inform the world regretfully 
that life goes on after everyone dies. 

Beside white tower of eternal flame 
that shimmers bright on rugged cape of fear 
the raven lady in the black dress growls 
at pack of wolves that run in swirling mist 
because she wants to raise me from the dead 
after replacing my heart with her clock. 

Mechanic despair of the broken heart 
fuels journey of my blind robotic soul 
that crawls beaten and defeated back home 
so I weave stories of courageous hope 
to create beauty out of my heartbreak 
though I drown mute in sorrow of the faith. 

Astride white horse of bold nobility, 
the knight in shining armor wields word spear 
to kill dragon of masculinity 
which threatens queen of femininity 
in psychic war to conquer and control 
aggressive intention to procreate. 

We gather in huge cave of screaming gods 
to organize countless pages from books 
which each records in briefest summary 
tragic life of one complex human soul 
whose name is never whispered in the wind 
that flutters leaves of faceless demon trees. 

How bizarre, shepherd Tityrus laments, 
these times are revolutionary bad 
again in cycle of destructive hate 
erupting from ambitious clash for power 
which still alternates between joy and grief 
that leaves me stranded on the signless road. 

We can trust honesty of falling leaves 
that cover all our graves with veil of Time 
for she erases everything from Earth 
while molding new souls from dust of our light 
so we meet again by the apple tree 
to eat the fruit of wisdom till we die. 

Death Is So Beautiful

Death Is So Beautiful
© Surazeus
2025 08 05

Death is so beautiful in her black dress, 
Apollo sings into the microphone 
while Dionysus plays the saxophone 
and Orpheus twangs the psychotic lyre 
in Le Bal Blomet jazz club in gay Paris 
while ghosts who will die in the world war dance. 

Floating in eerie sorrow of the trance, 
Death twirls with graceful arrogance of love 
in crowd of people lost in haze of hope 
who dance to escape stark vision of fear 
for angels in silver planes who will fly 
and drop bombs on gardens of paradise. 

Alive on Earth four hundred million years, 
Death walks beside me on the road of life 
and smiles with joy for beauty of this world 
while telling me with beaming heart of love 
how wonderful all the human beings are 
who savor life with hot flame of the star. 

Viridian waves of the innocent sea 
flash as they swirl on gold sand of the beach 
with amazing lessons they want to teach, 
but I just stare at mirror of my eye 
that shelters our world in sphere of fresh air 
which fills our bodies with pneumatic soul. 

When I slouch paralyzed by grim despair 
at constant suffering that people endure 
everywhere else in never-ending pain, 
Death takes my hand with smile of joyful love 
and leads me in dance on our spinning globe 
that spirals on forever in the void. 

Death gazes at me with infinite eyes 
that glitter deep as boundless space through time 
so I feel vastness of the human heart 
that pulses with pure energy of hope 
to progress forward on the roadless plain 
within expansive strangeness of the sky. 

Though shock of horror pierces my soft heart 
with bitter angst at unfairness of fate 
that strands so many helpless souls in pain, 
I rise up from mud in oppressive rain 
to untwist wisdom of my heart from hate 
by mapping quest for love on my star chart. 

Death is so beautiful with her black eyes, 
I sing as I strum lyre of Mercury 
with heart-enchanting melody of faith 
that stirs the hearts of millions from despair 
so we all dance with spinning of the Earth 
to celebrate life till hour we all die.