Angelic Wings Of Thought

Angelic Wings Of Thought
© Surazeus
2025 11 30

Since I found eternity in white stone 
that radiates visions of human desire 
I keep on walking endless road of life 
to mimic how wind sings in fruitful trees 
till I become horizon of your heart 
that blooms with eerie lightness of the self. 

Since I woke in cold barren hall of stone 
ten million years after my soul was born 
I draw my body from soil of the land 
which replicates conceptual forms of life 
so I translate weird song of ocean waves 
to math formulas that calculate love. 

Since I concealed my soul in hall of masks 
to weave vibrating threads of psychic spells 
with pregnant atoms sparkling in my blood 
I dream creation of the multiverse 
that blooms from every conscious dreaming brain 
to aggregate our worlds in one whole globe. 

Since I arranged books on library shelves 
to imitate angelic wings of thought 
I weave mask of every ghost in the world 
so I experience life of every brain 
that ever dreams in all the universe 
till I expand scope of perceptive creed. 

Since I sensed strangeness of familiar light 
luminate faces of saints in the church 
I sing new hymns of our fantasy land 
that exists only in minds of the lost 
who stand on street corners and sing sad psalms 
though angels in suits never give them cash. 

Since was born from womb of the oak witch 
who sells vegetables at the grocery store 
I see my mother with eyes of the god 
who teaches our bodies how to evolve 
so we know only the world we can touch 
that has no meaning but what we create. 

Since I constructed cathedral of light 
from wings of angels fallen from the clouds 
I transform into horse with human face 
to catch bombs devils drop on castle towers 
then play guitar outside the city gate 
where farmers sell illusions of the heart. 

Since I designed this virtual world of forms 
based on Ideas in Heaven I forged, 
I fly with breathless laughter over Hell 
with reverence for spirit of nature in God 
who gazes at my face from mirror moon 
so I find only myself in the sky. 

Strategy Of Crucial Hope

Strategy Of Crucial Hope
© Surazeus
2025 11 30

To employ strategy of crucial hope, 
asserting right to breath polluted air, 
we twist our bodies with aggressive faith, 
quick to conform our spirits to sky laws 
designed by fear to confiscate our souls 
when gods eliminate mankind from time. 

Alert at black piano of his heart, 
Ludwig, with graceful arrogance of faith, 
plays his cello sonata number three 
in alpha major to enchant the trees 
who weep to feel sweet music of the stars 
that wild Orpheus played centuries before. 

While driving endless highway of blind faith, 
Narcissus thinks about vast fields of corn 
that shimmer golden on the fenceless plains 
because his tribe in waste land far away 
dwell amid ruins of their bombed-out homes 
where they plant apple trees with injured hands. 

Awake with sudden surprise of weird truth 
in old fishing boat on the mountain lake, 
Belenus gazes at bright Pleiades 
where face of his lost wife Parvati gleams 
as constellation of his aching heart, 
and smiles at ghost of her absence with love. 

Young owlish woman with star-golden eyes 
glides wickedly across the college lawn 
to transform ancient books of poetry 
into moon-winged ravens of dire urgency 
that bring her solemn scrolls of prophecy 
to warn politicians of the end times. 

After Tabiti, goddess of the hearth, 
invents the kitchen table from the wheel, 
that Helius designed to mimic the sun, 
she invites refugees from civil wars 
to sit and feast on bread, honey, and wine, 
while Ludwig plays songs on the violin. 

When forgetful snow covers rugged hills 
and buries our feast halls up to the roof, 
Saint Wenceslaus in long sun-scarlet cloak 
guides reindeer-driven sleigh across snowed fields 
and slides down chimneys with bags of fresh food, 
so we gather around the hearth to sing. 

Worshipping luminous phantom of truth, 
who smiles beneficently at souls on Earth, 
we cultivate vital glow of our brains 
in quest for true enlightenment of faith 
as we grow from wingless angels to gods 
who preserve our souls in songs till we die. 

Communal Laws Of Conduct

Communal Laws Of Conduct
© Surazeus
2025 11 30

Through absolute simplicity of faith 
most people focus on their daily work 
to fund courageous strife against harsh cold 
so their hearts shine bright in gloom of despair 
as nations muddle through another year, 
transforming sorrow to commercial gold. 

Extracting minerals from heart of the Earth 
with desperate hands of earnest agony, 
we build enormous factories from steel 
to manufacture television gods 
who replay roles of Jupiter and Eve 
in psychosocial drama of our state. 

While Adam and Hera manage the store, 
selling graceful lifestyles of magazines 
through furnishings for the upper class home, 
Phoebus and Kwan Yin deliver the news 
about events on television shows 
that display noble spirit of our state. 

Fixing piston engines of cars and trucks, 
Thor keeps commercial machine running well 
while his wife Lakshmi works as clinic nurse 
providing care for souls with urgent needs 
to keep their bodies functioning with love, 
so we can live our lives with honest goals. 

Because I wear the mask of Lucifer, 
which I stole from the ancient gallery, 
I enforce communal laws of conduct 
to manage interactions of our tribe 
that ensure people can do what they will 
if actions of their hands may cause no harm. 

After Oedipus wins popular vote 
he works as Senator in Washington 
composing programs for the social state 
that provide financial assistance credits 
for fathers to earn a fair living wage 
and mothers to raise children with brave love. 

After Jupiter Alfred Prufrock reigns 
one hundred years of solitude in Hell 
to transform the waste land to Wonderland, 
he lectures at the university 
about great art of Michelangelo, 
then swims with mermaids in the silver sea. 

Descending from Heaven on wings of fire, 
Icarus and Michael lead world crusade 
to cast King Midas from the Throne of Power, 
then Ishtar and Mary, Mothers of Faith, 
design new world view of honest respect 
as guide for United Nations of Earth. 

Orchid Of Enchanting Truth

Orchid Of Enchanting Truth
© Surazeus
2025 11 30

I wear soil of wet earth as skin of hope 
so I can wonder how small angels fly 
and tweet in fruit trees of their fierce desire 
to generate new bodies for gene-souls 
so they can dance forever on wild wind 
that thrusts cold blade of fear into my bones. 

Tall tree that stands forever on high hill 
suddenly cracks and topples on its side 
when angry demon roaring in rain clouds 
hurls strike of lightning with aggressive grasp, 
so I howl happily at death of god 
who vanishes in swirl of hungry flames. 

I cannot find clear pool inside my heart 
that shimmers bright with weird angelic face 
who seems to know dark secrets I conceal 
till I stretch arms and legs to touch the sky 
but I feel nothing of its gleaming blue, 
then curl into my body with strange hope. 

When angry words of shadows in gold trees 
slice my skin with bitterness of hope 
I feel sap of hot blood ooze from my eyes 
so I chew fear in honeysuckle stems 
till honey drips from carol of my tongue 
to measure gracious curves of energy. 

Because the tall pear tree by singing stream 
remembers my caress at gleam of dawn, 
I pull aside thick veil of tangled vines 
to enter cavern deep into my heart 
where ghost of every person I once knew 
appears as glimmer in large diamond eyes. 

Long before my brave descendants of faith 
invent the door as frame of random dreams, 
I organize disconcerting events 
with judicious narrative that presents 
ceaseless flow of passion within framework 
assembling puzzle of my comic life. 

Startled by orchid of enchanting truth 
that blooms from corpse of my star-fallen god, 
I bear witness to beauty of this world 
in silly spells I teach children to sing 
as they skip laughing on the river shore 
while I imagine shadow of the door. 

I cannot wait another million years 
for god to evolve from the singing fish, 
so I weave feathers of crows in long cape 
then dance around the fire in ring of stones 
to sing of Hero who wears mask of god 
in battle against demons of despair. 

Pennies Of Cloned Hearts

Pennies Of Cloned Hearts
© Surazeus
2025 11 29

Though she sleeps now in shadows of my heart 
the brilliant light of her eyes luminates 
silent emptiness of our secret home 
with complex beauty of shared memories 
framed by our love as portraits on vast walls 
that animate events of our romance. 

While reading novel in soft-cushioned chair, 
she chews sweet white raisins with slender fingers 
in slow contemplation of eager hope 
which motivates the heart of every human 
to trust the stranger with attractive smile 
for secret treasure of their trusting heart. 

When she finds the last penny in the world 
gleaming brightly on the cement sidewalk, 
she pinches purity of its stored worth 
with practical respect for usefulness 
based on assurance of prized benefits 
we gain by saving profit through esteem. 

When she assesses estimated cost 
of vain deficiency appraised as fake, 
opposed to strict advantage by exchange 
from standard principles for purchasers, 
she treasures merit earned by crafting hands 
that found grand empires on capital gains. 

Emergent artists trapped in maze of wealth 
decry obsessive passion to create 
excessive beauty from randomized objects 
collected from heaps of discarded hopes 
that old men sell for pennies of cloned hearts 
to wives of farmers who befriend pond toads. 

At eerie howl of monsters in dark woods 
she feeds ripe apple to the wingless horse 
whose milk funds castle project to design 
ascendant phase of educating growth 
for children to learn mysteries of the Earth 
when they inherit globe of pulsing ghosts. 

Connected through throbbing node of prime words, 
our radiant brains adapt new global themes 
to maintain noble purpose broadcast well 
when we accommodate pure friends we love 
through quick adjustment our typewriters reel 
if we would comprehend how souls are born. 

When she wakes from bright shadows of my heart 
on opposite side of our spinning globe, 
she guides hawk of my soul with gentle grace 
to visit tomb of her mother at dawn, 
and weeps at loss of treasured revenant 
whose absence gleams as ghost of sacred love. 

Code Of Fake Books

Code Of Fake Books
© Surazeus
2025 11 29

Frantic solitude of angelic hearts 
traps sorrows of ghosts in code of fake books, 
yet nameless people all over the world 
share stories of their lives in tangled threads 
all woven in vast tapestry of faith 
so we understand how each other feels. 

Though I crawl across jagged stones of fear 
on wind-lashed beach below the towering cliff, 
I feel strange beauty of mercurial waves  
exert magnetic radiance of fraught truth 
that excites my heart with drive to assert 
new narrative my brain designs from shock. 

Despite prevalence of orthodox faith 
in strict prediction that stocks oversight 
with optimum progress of the oracle, 
I peer in eyes of strangers with concern 
so I perceive this world of fractured forms 
through premonition of our hungry hearts. 

Severe statistics through dream registry 
provide salvation based on revenue 
acquired through beaming satellites of jokes 
that service semantics devised by fools 
trained with tactical strategies of fear 
against seasonal resonance of trees. 

Strange woman wearing broken mask of joy, 
which she carved from trunk of the honey tree, 
encourages me to sign her warranty 
as talented volunteer of the church 
through tradition devised by therapist 
who translates tradition of psychic rites. 

With each new prototype my hands create 
from prominent radius of rapid plots, 
I perform role of reserved realtor 
primed to sell time shares to the afterlife 
where eager visitors ask demons why 
people reject clues to the renaissance. 

Each riddle I preach in my ministry 
diverts attention of your compact mind 
through trite evasion from current display 
that forecasts secret emotions we share 
based on disfocused attention to scale 
so no one understands how we should feel. 

Recycled decor in cathedral hall 
exports equipment of extreme respect 
divorced from chronic drama of tense love 
except for coupons still uncredited 
because I sell fake books of history 
that chronicle our frantic solitude. 

Cat Distribution System

Cat Distribution System
© Surazeus
2025 11 29

The cat distribution system provides 
adorable companions for the lost, 
whose gentle purrs always heal broken hearts 
because their eyes refract rays of the sun 
to light our souls with beauty of this life 
embodied in lithe cuddly balls of fur. 

Alicia drives on the highway in rain, 
angry because the plumber wrecked the pipes, 
then sees gray ghost in flash of gold headlights 
appear as small kitten huddled in muck 
between black road and concrete barrier, 
so she turns on red emergency blinkers. 

Opening the door after trucks zoom by, 
Alicia crouches to approach the wall 
where tiny kitten with weed-mangled hair 
peers at her through one small blurry eye 
and hisses as she scoops him in her hands 
then shivers as she hugs him to her breast. 

Wrapping mangy kitten in her pink sweater, 
that her mother sewed with three unicorns, 
Alicia drives in gloom of pouring rain, 
headlights gleaming golden on monstrous trees, 
then bounces car up narrow gravel road 
to park beside the porch of rotten wood. 

Bathing small kitten in bowl of warm water, 
Alicia scrubs trembling body with soap 
while gently tugging weeds from curly hair, 
then rubs him dry with towel of concern 
which causes tiny creature to purr softly 
as he curls in crook of her arm to sleep. 

Holding bottle of warm milk to pink mouth, 
Alicia feels his small heart pulsing fast 
as he gulps liquid with aggressive thirst, 
and grins as his sly paws grasp at her hand, 
then gently wipes goopy mucus away 
so he opens both eyes with confidence. 

Holding thin flexible pole with long string, 
Alicia teases kitten with fun play 
so he crouches low and whips his little tail, 
then leaps to pounce upon the feather clump, 
bold mighty jungle beast with gleaming eyes 
chasing feathered dinosaur by the river. 

Lounging on the couch under a thick blanket, 
Alicia watches Wednesday Addams drama 
while cranky gray-haired kitten she names Lurch 
curls on her chest and purrs with satisfaction 
though black rain beats against her Gothic home 
that gleams from lightning in the old oak woods. 

Laughter Of Young Trees

Laughter Of Young Trees
© Surazeus
2025 11 29

After working thirty-five years in sales 
at the largest telecom company 
on the west coast where horses still have wings 
I decide to build new vacation home 
in land of Mordor where the darkness glows 
from flaming volcanoes of happiness. 

The last apple on the tree of blind ghosts 
shines brighter than the moon in black rain clouds, 
which fills my heart with questions about why 
we work so hard to gain success with pride 
when time erases everything we build 
so all we have are thoughts of hungry hope. 

Though few remember laughter of young trees 
framed as oil painting on living room wall, 
I listen for strange voices in the hall 
that whisper softly about melting wealth 
of snow that feeds the valley river flow 
where souls of children still play hide and seek. 

So we lounge on lush grass in meadow grove 
and weave bright flowers in our flowing hair 
while pregnant sheep graze in afternoon light 
where shadows of clouds ripple in our hearts 
till ancient angel on the sudden hill 
signals danger with ominous flute tunes. 

Beyond protective shield of sparkling air 
the universe is black with starless thoughts 
in curving mirror that reflects our minds 
as ocean swirls of words we share in song 
that shifts emergent flash of endless time 
so we feel beams of light inside our hearts. 

Our bodies disappear by increments 
of vibrant chemicals transforming brains 
with each day we dream search for treasure chest 
buried under foundation stone of wealth 
that still records the heart-contorting sound 
of fruit trees uprooted from global law. 

Yet dreams from minds of dreamers who have died 
invade delicate neural net of tropes 
which program how my brain perceives the world 
so I become other people at night 
who teach me moral lessons of despair 
so I know how to avoid their mistakes. 

Translucent truths of private agonies 
deny true freedom to my aching heart 
so I return to office cubicle 
where I write riddles from atomic code 
to analyze weird social frequencies 
that radiate spirit of the fallen god. 

Heap Of Broken Images

Heap Of Broken Images
© Surazeus
2025 11 29

November may be the happiest month, 
crushing lilacs back into the dead land, 
confusing memory of beautiful times 
with desire to live beyond nothingness, 
and rotting roots with endless freezing rain, 
so I sip coffee on wet porch of faith. 

This good Earth covered by forgetful snow 
feeds passion for life with harvested fruit 
that wrinkles in old rumbling fridge of fate, 
so I think back to summer days of yore 
when I hitchhiked across the evening land 
to play guitar near locked churches and banks. 

So I return to rugged mountain range, 
where snow-frosted Chicoma Mountain glows 
scarlet rose at the timeless sunset hour, 
to walk with nameless woman of the woods 
who shows me heap of broken images 
that once idolized mortal men as gods. 

My shadow strides behind me in bright woods 
where I sit high on red rock of respect, 
and contemplate in mountain-stillness air 
obsessive greed of humans to control 
mineral resources of treasureful Earth 
that bloom as hyacinths in the waste land. 

While striding red hills of New Mexico 
where ravens flock in ponderosa pines, 
I never find that famous clairvoyante, 
Madam Sosostris, with her star-black eyes, 
who deals her wicked pack of cards to show me 
the Lady of the Rocks of Mont Sainte-Baume. 

I find I am the Hanged Man with one eye 
based on the horoscope she reads for me 
to prove my father once ruled Avalon 
with four-wheeled wagon of the jeweled crown, 
so I sail west across the storm-wracked sea 
to find Atlantis green in swirling mist. 

When I sprout from lush garden of dead gods 
to walk with office workers and bank clerks 
across the stone Bridge of Forgetfulness, 
I pause at dead stroke of the corporate clock 
to dream when I built sturdy river boats 
and sailed to build world empire on my map. 

Alert on beach below enormous cliffs, 
I play endless chess game of life with Death 
whose beautiful demonic face gleams gold 
in flicker of the pale fluorescent light 
that luminates the vanished sylvan scene 
where I hold skull of Hamlet in my hand. 

Psychic Wand Of Power

Psychic Wand Of Power
© Surazeus
2025 11 29

When the time to pontificate has come 
with blast of winter wind from mountain caves 
I welcome Boreas to our wheat farm 
where we assemble in long wooden hall 
to feast on meat grilled on bright crackling flames 
and sing while drinking wheat beer as snow falls. 

When Boreas shoves old wizard from the chair 
on which he stands with psychic wand of power 
to proclaim he is ruler of our land, 
I try to explain traditional ways 
where we respect wise elders of our tribe 
but his harsh laughter chills us to the bone. 

Asserting right to live free on our land 
in homes we build with crafting hands of hope, 
I challenge Boreas to fight for freedom, 
so we stand face to face on windy hill 
and twirl to fight with psychic wand of power 
in contest over whose law will prevail. 

Struck down by swifter blows of lithe ballet, 
I kneel defeated on hill of insight, 
then labor as slave, grinding wheat to flour, 
while Boreas presides from the hearth chair 
as tyrant who dictates our way of life 
while everyone bows their head low in prayer. 

While pushing pole to roll large grinding stone 
around in circles many times each day, 
I feel strange energy of inner strength 
surge up from pulsing center of the Earth 
in vibrant waves of deifying light 
till I attain new power in my heart. 

Breaking rope that bound me to grinding wheel, 
I hide in woods where ravens sing in oaks 
to craft from rage that seethes inside my heart 
long sturdy staff as psychic wand of power 
which I twirl as I leap and bound to train 
for solemn hour I face Boreas again. 

Standing tall on windy hill of insight, 
I challenge Boreas to another fight 
so he arrives with haughty strut of pride, 
grown weak from sitting in the chair of law, 
then wails in anguish when my blow of truth 
cracks his skull and knocks him to the ground. 

After I execute his police gang 
of fierce young men who enforced his cruel greed, 
I sit in chair of law by the town hearth 
and proclaim new age of justice and truth, 
then raise up high my psychic wand of power 
as people of our land sing joyful hymns. 

Face Of The Singing Clock

Face Of The Singing Clock
© Surazeus
2025 11 28

Since faith in beauty of the everyday 
disturbs my tranquil evening by the lake, 
I fold my hands with pride and start to pray, 
but thoughts for better times necrose to fake 
from realization that nothing will change, 
so I eat apples in the placid strange. 

Though time untwists concern for sudden death 
that creeps behind me on the vanished trail, 
I pause on mountain slope to catch my breath, 
and plot change of evolution through scale 
unmeasured by face of the singing clock 
that tings eternity inside the rock. 

Yet brave immortal spirit of my genes 
reveals each form my ancestors design 
through geared success as soul-breeding machines 
who codify creed in moral guidelines 
predicting how each person may succeed 
to reincarnate from egg unfurled by seed. 

So when my heart aches to embrace your heart 
at flash of spirit gleaming in your eyes 
I plan seduction through romantic chart 
that sparks effect of birth from charming cause 
based on attention of amorous faith 
that notes best features of the well-loved soul. 

How happiness heaves hearty innocence 
through ardent concern of fantastic trust 
inspires my mission to repeat with class 
successful progress of conceptual tryst 
that sparks strict germination of new souls 
from fertile soil of close companionship. 

Each clash of naked hearts with hungry hope 
spurs maturation from concealed physique 
based on perfected framework for success 
that guides performance of robotic faith 
till angled strike of selfish avarice 
diverts our progress through vile twist of fate. 

Therefore I glide with cautious scrutiny 
through swirling chaos of the market crowd 
with focus on amusing dividends 
absorbing profits burgeoning from faith 
that I may captivate hard-earned rewards 
with entertaining play outside my role. 

Because I wear face of the singing clock 
while singing psalms in vast cathedral hall, 
I see weird beauty in the uncarved block 
from which I mold our global spirit ball 
since we embody bright atomic god 
in comic drama of our social squad. 

Ghost In Every Photograph

Ghost In Every Photograph
© Surazeus
2025 11 28

I sense your absence all over our home 
so I feel comfortable in empty rooms, 
and gaze out glassless window of my heart 
to watch your shadow flicker on bright grass 
as you tend garden of flowers and herbs 
and sing through tunes of sparrows in pear trees. 

You are sweet ghost in every photograph 
which I have taken all over the world 
whom no one else can see with mortal eyes 
though you are present in every lush scene, 
soul shining bright as secret morning star, 
framed by the wordless memories of my heart. 

When I wander blind in vast wilderness 
after thieves invade safe haven I built 
I shiver frail in anxious misery, 
groping through spiritless gloom of regret, 
till bright light of your heart illuminates 
empuzzled landscape of my aching heart. 

I hope lamp of my heart shines bright for you 
as you for me with guiding prudency 
so we, united with vigorous goals, 
combine assertive efforts of our hearts 
to build safe haven we share as one mind, 
constructing paradise from cautious hope. 

Soft whiteness from brave words of love I speak 
wraps cape of passion to veil fragile heart 
that shields your systematic chemistry 
from hostile strikes of order-fractured skies 
stretched audaciously from uprooted base 
by overzealous hope for honesty. 

At flash of sunlight creeping over hills 
we start insurgency of tragic faith 
through breathing exercise of glimpsed respect 
for supple vastness bounding Earth with gloom 
till emptiness of holy rooms reveals 
brave earnestness which motivates our fight. 

Thus always we transcend lame tendency 
to transform architecture of our brains 
with complex rhythms solving vacancies 
through graduated formulas for flight 
based on promotion our intentions earn 
since death dissolving leaves our souls alive. 

Equipped with mental clock of measured force, 
significant for missionaried clans, 
we build new empire on commercial games 
to balance use value with labor cost 
through fair exchange of clever services 
that conjure your ghost from my memories. 

Instinct Of My Radar Brain

Instinct Of My Radar Brain
© Surazeus
2025 11 28

Perceptive instinct of my radar brain 
inspires me to emerge from fractured stone 
and search for mad gods in the Upside-Down 
where angels in wolfskin spread demon wings 
and howl with hunger of the human heart 
to beam as light that ghosts seek in the dark. 

So I switch on fraught flux capacitor 
when I confront dire cost of secrecy 
that leads me to break free from fear, 
embark on rescue mission down in Hell, 
and free my people from Hypnotic Toad 
who traps their souls in Maze of Holy Creeds. 

Beneath the hope-stripped Tree of Life I stand 
to open clear doors of perception wide, 
extending high antenna of my soul 
so I can sense with radar of my brain 
bright presence of demonic energy 
masked by the pious face of haughty priests. 

When snarling pack of wolves with razor teeth 
converge on sacred grove of apple trees 
where I hide safe in haven of stone walls, 
I climb tall Tree of Life with frantic hands 
and transform into owl of silent moons 
to shoot sharp arrows from bow of desire. 

Alert to stranger things in human hearts, 
that open jaws of anger to devour 
our fertile bodies beaming holy light, 
I race alone in trackless woods of fear, 
evading fierce demonic wolves of faith, 
till I stand firm on bold salvation rock. 

Two million years of frantic fantasy 
I battle demons of the Upside-Down 
with loyal courage for my humble tribe 
till our vorpal blades of honesty 
slay every monster roaming mirky woods 
so we forge Heaven from jungle-wild Hell. 

Though I dwell safe in quaint suburban home, 
constructed from huge dragon bones of death, 
I sense still lurking beyond haven walls 
demonic energy of lawless lust 
that surges now in hungry hearts of men 
possessed by toxic masculinity. 

Conceptual instinct of my radar brain 
alerts divine attention of my soul 
so I wake spirit of grim Jupiter 
to fuel dream-engine of my sapient brain 
which energizes battery of my heart 
to fight for lawful force of global peace. 

Mirror Mask Of Mirth

Mirror Mask Of Mirth
© Surazeus
2025 11 28

Rancid with beautiful thoughts of despair 
that spew from heart of darkness in wild flames, 
my brain expands conceptual web of truth 
through pulsing undulations of new dreams 
that trap my soul in weird character tropes 
who perform behind mirror mask of mirth. 

Assertive spirit, throbbing with delight 
through twisted corridors of ardent hope, 
inhabits my weak flesh of pulchritude 
with putrid potency of painful pride 
that prompts my frantic quest for quality 
etched as features on mirror mask of mirth. 

Far oak-wood leagues of latent larceny 
lure my lust-loosed legs to travel swift, forth 
against embittered odds of ordered moods, 
to mount contracting rays of mated prize 
sealed by grim gloom of scheming prophecies 
as clever clone in mirror mask of mirth. 

Encoded canticles of glamorous chrome 
buzz brutishly with unannounced regret 
as bottled challenge against climate change 
in covert conflict with congress of clowns 
who strive to prove meaningless attitudes 
perfume paintings on mirror mask of mirth. 

No option to prevail through pending wars 
provides our hearts with sentences of fate, 
trapped by subtle syntax of supreme pride 
that fractures special principles we try 
when warriors survey battlefields of jokes 
suggested to ban mirror mask of mirth. 

Routine removal of reserved research 
erases thoughtful theories of blind kings 
who melt across solar spectrum of space 
with activist loyalty through fake oaths 
adjacent to our lame athletic art 
designed to remold mirror mask of mirth. 

Yet who would authorize artistic lust 
except biblical attorney from Hell 
who sees revenge with audio contempt 
to broker deals between strict citizens 
who commandeer collections of old stamps 
compliant with our mirror mask of mirth. 

Confusion clears vast airspace for trite flight 
of calm civilians seeking Wonderland 
where honest communists organize games 
of creative competition to improve 
relations between clans of butterflies 
who sell polish for mirror mask of mirth. 

My Weeping Brother Isaiah

My Weeping Brother Isaiah
© Surazeus
2025 11 28

When wistful winds unwind the burnished sun, 
I stroll with my weeping brother Isaiah 
across the loneliest prairie on Earth 
to catch nameless ghosts of innocent people 
killed by invaders in far distant wars 
who fall with bitter grace of autumn leaves. 

If I escape bomb in the antique clock 
to fly away on weird angelic wings, 
I may solve paradox of death in life 
I find in beauty of bleak winter days 
when contrite gods, embodied in bare trees, 
ignite courageous yearning in my heart. 

Feet bare on glass-sharp ground of frozen faith, 
I stroll with my weeping brother Isaiah 
to find gloom-glowing Seraphim of Pride 
whose eyes spark pure erotic faith in love 
when homeless people gather by blank church 
to buy salvation from their vampire god. 

Lost people who escape from bombed-out homes 
project their grotesque loss on locked church doors 
at calm chastisement meted out by clowns, 
then give their treasures to bankers who stand 
with lofty principles on fractured stones 
to hear cruel songs strangle the wilderness. 

God-born from wretched poverty of hope, 
I stroll with my weeping brother Isaiah 
down signless road to find the Promised Land 
that ever shimmers on sun-slivered hills 
as weird mirage that tricks our trusting hearts 
so we rejoice that brutal empires fall. 

Too many righteous souls with burning books 
surround high ziggurat where Ishtar reigns 
to claim inalienable right for fake wealth 
concealed in social benefits by seals 
stamped for approval by our vampire god 
who shows us how streams flow down to the sea. 

Now bearing Lamp of Liberty in hand, 
I stroll with my weeping brother Isaiah 
and tattooed angels wearing leather cloaks 
who march to fight for vanished vanity 
in protest that all conscious creatures die 
through hunger for deceptive fairy tales. 

Narcissus stares at mirror mask of mirth 
with placid lust to play authentic self 
shaped by anxiety of fluid faith 
for quick transcendence of our mortal vibe 
till he looks up and sees face of the girl 
who cradles wingless sparrow of his heart.  

Arbital Thrunt Of Kanthar

Arbital Thrunt Of Kanthar
© Surazeus
2025 11 28

Each hour the arbital thrunt of Kanthar 
extarcates letters of bimuntic fate, 
I ponder why markambles intorbate 
ancient concepts into modern concerns, 
because we humans never pimmelize 
whatever tropples we find in our hearts. 

So should you ever pertillieve my mask, 
that flortles arbantly in sumble wind, 
remember hour we umberced in the wabe 
where trunkles blython high into the sky 
till borogroves disturb our muntle peace 
that leaves is gimbling without secret hopes. 

Because I have no vorpal sword in hand 
to fight the manxome foe of everywhere, 
I must rely on uffish bravery 
to get me through the brillig hours of fear 
in grand crusade against the Puppeteer 
who crumps our souls in fiscal slavery. 

Possessed by frumious ghost of Phintaral, 
who floods my brain with interportal truths, 
I race galumphing over dosbart dunes 
with momish wings of durl angelic lust 
to find last Tumtum tree by brintle lake 
that fripples weepingly in turgid joy. 

Yet children know how whiffling geebers feel 
when they escape corribled cage of faith 
to transcend doctricked bounds of holy creeds 
with ardent courage to create new truths 
extracted from chthonic crusp of time 
then build cathedrals of arruvish songs. 

Thus when my hands acquite confounded curs, 
who wundral blindly with amated hearts, 
I shall assemble them on hurtled hills 
to lead them on emprize of hollish hope 
through mirksome morks of lumpish lartensy 
to right our renverst view of history. 

Apprised of ruthful semblaunt solemnized 
by stark assertion of far-ramping rogues, 
I host imbussive tournament of fools 
to twyne regressive tyne of timeless angst, 
based on unweeting couthness of thrist hearts, 
to bardent worship of the Cosmic Wraith. 

So when the arbital thrunt of Kanthar 
aslakes attainted fury of my heart, 
I shall aport beheast of rebel clowns 
to overthrow King Midas from garshed throne 
and free America from dreariment 
so we can ploom from rimbles of our brate. 

Fractured Twilight Zone

Fractured Twilight Zone
© Surazeus
2025 11 27

I hear sad crickets reciting their poems 
in fractured twilight zone of loneliness, 
their domestic concerns of broken hearts 
echoing softly through pictureless rooms 
as they cross iced Bridge of Forgetfulness 
on their way to Heaven without Dream Charts. 

I hear in wordless lyrics they recite 
fragmented feelings about people they knew 
whose faces fade from innocence of time, 
so I follow clandestine clues to light 
that shimmers subtler than sharp rainbow hue 
with heart-enchanting vision of the chime. 

I want to empathize with their despair 
when my brain channels emotional beams 
through radio waves of psychic regret 
which they express in clever metaphor, 
but I would wander too lost in their dreams 
to find my own way beyond their vignette. 

I pause on signless road of anywhere 
to gaze at bright stars scattered in the sky 
which my brain constellates in long-dead souls, 
so from my heart wells energy to care 
for how they suffer when I ponder why 
all humans get stuck in their private roles. 

I catch each puzzle piece of broken lives 
that gleam in raindrop tears of memories, 
then study isolated anecdotes 
to comprehend how humanity strives 
against fixed fate of gear-clocked tragedies, 
and thus arrange sweet lies in clever quotes. 

I listen closely to what words they use 
describing anxious moments they perform 
in awkward scenes of plays they feel trapped in 
to solve conundrum of the cynic Muse 
who untwists morals of the social norm 
to free each spirit from their mannequin. 

Ghost of Narcissus whispers in their ears 
to trick their souls with anguish of desire 
so they write poems in futile quest for fame, 
instead of analyzing treasured tears 
produced by vanity, to join world choir 
that leaves them stranded in the losing game. 

I wear soul-twisted mask of Lucifer 
to bear high Lamp of Liberty with hope 
lost souls can see bright sun of honesty 
till they realize I am grim Jupiter 
who trains scared refugees with tricks to cope 
when poets preserve their tales in tapestry. 

Wispy Ministers Of Fate

Wispy Ministers Of Fate
© Surazeus
2025 11 26

When I meet wispy ministers of fate 
in fear-entangled woods of shadowed hopes, 
I project artful valor to dispel 
assiduous regret of tempered trust 
with mounting assertion of humbleness 
despite inflamed amazement bought by prayer. 

Together wrapped in warm embrace of fear 
on yellow sands of Neptune, warmed by rays 
of that wanton-billowed sun we evade, 
we imitate mute creatures with sly play 
for cautious arrogance through questioning 
based on mutual alliance of brave care. 

With bold conception of mortality 
we veil our secret fairy land with vines 
of random sentences that writhe in wind 
that no wise man would trifle for reward 
by howling whimsically at owl-eyed moon 
before mute darkness disappears our thoughts. 

By sweeping subtle dust behind each door, 
where gentle Hecate with hallowed curse 
displays vain presence of offended pride, 
we prove our widely gaping graves of faith 
more important than books that never cry, 
displacing marvels of dissembling creeds. 

Though folly still possesses aching hearts 
with clear instructions of unquenched desire, 
we bring together fortunes to one space 
where cordial negligence of redeemed friends 
connects shy strangers through shared suffering 
which should enrich our lives with common faith. 

Preferment constant with collected codes 
denies remembrance calcified with hope 
for those allowed to wander undeterred, 
yet measure fragments of unpuzzled truths, 
as if sweet condemnation could provide 
honorable chances for redemptive play. 

Enhanced with bravery natural to my isle, 
supporting park where Neptune counts his wealth, 
I stride with casual conquest to embrace 
scaled magnitude of mountainous concepts, 
too confident that fortune will be mine 
as burnished reward for sincere deeds. 

True wretchedness of empty gallantry 
bids I expand beyond bounds of belief 
within contrived arrest of valiant cause, 
based on obedient revolt against lies, 
so I may trick strict ministers of fate 
to crown my broken heart with laureled mask. 

Spiral Tide Of Molecules

Spiral Tide Of Molecules
© Surazeus
2025 11 26

Sad minds that wobble at soft flash of dawn 
consider strategies through fraught concern 
to measure way around kind obstacles 
which bulge from ardent shadows twisted thrice 
by which they analyze how paradise 
expands through spiral tide of molecules. 

My spirit horse, trapped in slow rolling stone, 
designs new application so I learn 
why moonlight stripes amazing tears of fate 
down quiver-frantic walls of singing books 
because Pandora gives me secret box 
containing maps I use to navigate. 

Since I need energy to sew strong seam 
that binds my brain to matrix of lost time, 
I open flashing door of innocence 
to walk world trail that does not yet exist 
and find dream realm where ideas persist 
so I save logic through indifference. 

Strange woman I have never seen before 
stares smiling deep inside infinite star 
that gleams bright with immensity of truth 
revealing secret thoughts all humans hide 
that swirl with endless passion of sea tide 
from which I rise to play messiah sleuth. 

Together we float happy in love trance, 
asserting right to create happenstance 
that frames conceptual home our bodies form 
to shelter children blooming from our souls 
who must invent their own new social roles 
designed to help them manage psychic storm. 

Reluctant laughter cracks foundation stone 
which helps us balance loss with earnest gain 
through application of our mental force 
exploring contours undulating weird 
across expansive landscape of each word 
we speak with celestial breath of the source. 

You ask me with grand solemn voice of pride 
how we exchange material through fair trade 
which must provide support for fiscal goals 
programmed by analysts in cubicles 
who measure wisdom based on chemicals 
to nourish better angels of our souls. 

We balance strong opposing force of hope 
through subtle oscillation angling scope 
for jovial projects clever gods present 
to help mankind transcend our fear of death 
through calming meditation of fire breath 
that gives us courage to be confident. 

Energy Is Force Of Mass

Energy Is Force Of Mass
© Surazeus
2025 11 25

If I assemble puzzle of my brain 
before the naked hour my ship comes in 
I might discover where the white horse goes 
when she escapes on wings of silver snows, 
because my face is mirrored by the moon 
each time another person dies too soon. 

Attending grand reception of the rich 
to feast on serpent steak down on the beach, 
I network with the corporate kings of fate 
who laugh because I always take the bait 
since no one answers when I knock on doors 
with secret plan to join their global tours. 

Erased from dream of time by sudden change 
that sends me hiking misty mountain range, 
I pause beneath the empty sky of thoughts 
to ponder why each organic being rots 
while seeking heightened consciousness of truth 
when I pick flowers on the golden path. 

No arcane object correlates my heart 
to flashing stars of fortune on the chart 
that Janus left out on his office desk 
since I am brave enough to take the risk 
by searching for hidden garden of fruit 
where thieves disguised as kings hide stolen loot. 

Appointed by Jupiter before dawn 
to manage government affairs through plan 
devised by lady of the lake who dreams, 
I set out to map all the winding streams 
that flow from mountains of snow to the sea 
so I can teach people how to be free. 

Answers people hear blowing in the wind 
cannot explain strange morals of each trend 
that people follow through sly trick of fame 
untwisting morals coiled to fret the game 
when I strum lyre of Mercury with class 
and sing how energy is force of mass. 

Opposed to fiscal slavery of faith 
that tricks good people to worship Star Wraith, 
I play reluctant jester of the bank 
confused by social order without rank 
where souls ascend hierarchy of state power 
presided over by seer in the tower. 

I place each piece of information right 
in still-expanding puzzle of brain light 
to readjust world view I conjure whole 
from fragments of old myths composing role 
I play as celestial King of the Hill 
who insists that all mortals have free will. 

Celestial Loan Of Light

Celestial Loan Of Light
© Surazeus
2025 11 25

Though cars cannot remember where I drive 
within conceptual purview of my brain, 
I strive to transcend limits of my soul 
so I may gain salvation when I pay 
high interest on celestial loan of light 
that fuels my journey to the Promised Land. 

I weave extensive thread of my brain-soul 
through door of every building in the world 
I enter on my journey through its maze 
that weaves immortal spirit of my name 
in shimmering fabric of our matrix mind 
till my face glows on tapestry of time. 

When I discover timeless Tree of Truth 
blooming with apples by the River Styx, 
I carve face of my whole ancestral soul, 
then wear its features as mask of my brain 
so strangers know who I pretend to play 
in social drama of this global age. 

Yet I keep disappearing through each door 
where I float lost on angel wings of faith 
because no one remembers who I am 
as humble offspring of the cosmic wraith, 
trapped in ever-twisting maze of my pride 
till I fall off the cliff into the sea. 

While drowning in deep sea of memories, 
I manifest metal shell of my car 
so I can journey forth through inner space 
till I arrive on the lush new-world shore 
where I forge keys from energy of hope 
to build new state from ruins of the old. 

Erecting system that favors my power 
in long fiscal game of capture the flag, 
I blaze legal roads of psychic control 
to channel traffic of creative force 
composing corporate structures of my brain 
which preserves lustful passion of my heart. 

Homeless and hungry at the pearly gates, 
after losing in the stock market crash, 
I play guitar and sing ache of the heart 
on stage where no one pays me any mind 
till my soul dissipates into car exhaust 
when my voice vibrates on the radio. 

Once I pay back celestial loan of light, 
issued by World Jupiterian Bank, 
I perform role of Lucifer the Wise 
in political play for social power 
which is always won by girl in the tower 
who rewards me well for my sacrifice. 

Realms Of Endless Change

Realms Of Endless Change
© Surazeus
2025 11 24

Reluctant aeronaut suited in steel 
accepts droll mission from brave Jupiter, 
stair-sweeper in lighthouse of immense gloom, 
to find lost treasure forged from secret eggs 
exposed by tongueless seeker from gray hills, 
but sits all day on bench by the town hall. 

Extracting elements of the True Self 
from twisted sentences of holy books, 
one-sandaled Jason steals the last glass door 
from bleak castle of Doctor Frankenstein 
whose ghost sneaks up behind me at midnight 
so I replace the batteries of my brain. 

Deprogrammed by wise witch of Zathamar, 
who studies at the Lenin Institute, 
teenage Narcissus learns to play guitar 
then sings The Sounds of Silence by the bank 
where Jupiter conspires with Artemis 
to fund small companies with generous terms. 

Alert confusion woven from white lies 
reveals clandestine motive of the owl 
to buy old manuscripts for state archives 
once stolen from hidden underground tombs 
to prove God is illusion of mankind 
designed with the best features dead kings. 

Struck by strange portrait of the singing horse 
that hangs above fireplace mantle of pride, 
Narcissus sits beside the sparkling stream 
and strums guitar to practice singing spells 
in shocking harmony with falling bombs 
though he longs to run and hide in the hills. 

Because the grand world has no need of me, 
I leave prayers in lighthouse far from the sea 
suspended between realms of endless change 
to prove I am no more important at all 
than subtle beauty of wind in the grass, 
so I record her wise proverbs on tape. 

Though Jason drowns every day in the sea 
he clings safely to the secret belief 
that every human lost in maze of hope 
is more important than our long-dead gods 
despite dire warning of electric storms 
that flash in tune with television themes. 

If I participate in all your schemes 
oppressing people of the Earth with debt 
then I gain power of political fear 
to earn excessive votes of greedy fools 
who try to escape realms of endless change 
till we all vanish as dust in the wind. 

Catullus With Serpent Eyes

Catullus With Serpent Eyes
© Surazeus
2025 11 24

While I dwell in garden of insolence 
I pretend to be the most unique soul 
who ever dares project breath of hot flesh 
against refractive prism of the world 
which cannot see me with indifferent mind 
so I can accept my death with grim grace. 

Thus I play guardian for the rights of Man 
by mocking tyrants on their fragile thrones 
then packing fractured skull of innocence 
in suitcase sewn from skin of devil wings 
when I ride cruise ship west to Avalon 
where no one knows the things that I have done. 

I ask God what he will do when I die, 
if he will drink light of my shattered soul, 
or wear my flesh as garment of his goal, 
since I am silent words of sea-smooth stones 
that clatter soft in empty house of bones, 
but he says naught, so I am not afraid. 

Suddenly awake in huge doorless house 
veiled by enormous hollyhocks of faith, 
I write names of the dead on endless walls 
while shopping for fruit in the grocery store, 
erased by ocean waves of honest time, 
but no one hears me read their names in rain. 

If I would learn to sing of noble love 
perhaps brave Catullus with serpent eyes 
may steal the ancient lyre of Mercury 
from grand museum by the River Styx 
and train my hands with graceful agony 
to feature beauty of my loyal bride. 

Since I was born in garden of cracked skulls 
one hour before the savior of the world, 
I live in safe obscurity from fame 
far from the stage where clowns play politics 
where I map history of humanity 
to prove we are no more than singing fish. 

My feathered wings of ardent hope for love 
may crystallize from wordless ice of truth, 
but I express compassion for all souls 
in lofty chronicle of measured verse 
recording grand events as they occur 
to highlight hero of this stormy age. 

Stupendous future molded by our votes 
provides framework for discipline of rage 
where we communicate our special terms 
transforming modes of apprehending love 
so we share feelings in circle of masks 
that reflect assumptions our eyes project. 

My Heart Glows Full

My Heart Glows Full
© Surazeus
2025 11 23

My heart glows full with beauty of our world 
so I paint only truth I want to see 
about sad singers stuck on city streets 
who strum guitars and sing ache of the blues 
while piston-engine cars of eager hope 
drown out their voices with commercial roar. 

My heart beats quick in ardent harmony 
with hammer blow of smiths on anvil brains 
to forge sharp sword of justice from despair 
so warriors wield shields of honest law 
in war against cruel tyrants on gold thrones 
to free humanity from corporate greed. 

My heart pumps brave with river-current flow 
when I dip oar with strong courageous hope 
and stroke intense compassion for mankind 
to drive my boat to heartland of the world 
where I step forth on shore of distant lands 
with clear intention to explore weird Earth. 

My heart asserts high undulating waves 
when I take arms against deep troubling sea 
that laughs at my aggressive vanity 
while surging nonchalantly with the moon 
that breaks enormous mountains into sand 
where I dance laughing on slow-shifting truth. 

My heart blooms spindly lilacs of stark faith 
for walking wounded warriors without hands 
who hold strange beauty of the faceless sun 
in open flowers smooth as lacquered eyes 
with frantic memories that convey with pride 
our mortal message on bright fields of snow. 

My heart fires pistons with rapid acclaim 
as driving force constructing halls of sense 
in vast cathedral space with hoarded words 
dispensed by pile-driver wealth of lost time 
embodied by scent of madeleine cake 
that triggers memories of exploding bombs. 

My heart beams riddled with eccentric tones 
through clumsy subtlety of formal games 
despite grim sloppiness of solemn faith 
appropriate for tricks lost children learn 
when they throw stones at idols of dead gods 
who crumble into bureaucratic forms. 

My heart confirms its soul with self-control, 
so good we do will ever be our task 
through metric relativity of time 
that leaves us stranded in ruins of faith 
where wingless angels search for photographs 
that fall from Tree of Fame in constant change. 

Numberless Doors Of Fate

Numberless Doors Of Fate
© Surazeus
2025 11 23

Thoughtlessly eager to revive the dead, 
the old gray-haired woman with serpent eyes 
walks cobblestone streets in swirling green fog 
with large leather bag of truth that contains 
skulls of Hamlet, Orpheus, and Sobek 
which all prophesy the end of the world. 

Yet heart-broken Jester with frozen smile, 
carved into his soft face by Hanuman, 
offers Morticia ride home to Berlin 
so she alights in swift carriage with Death 
where they play chess over souls of the dead 
who stand inside numberless doors of fate. 

Waiting at the Neuschwanstein Castle gate, 
Krishna welcomes Morticia with stiff bow 
then leads her up winding steps to the tower 
where Nostradamus peers in crystal ball 
while teaching Rapunzel to analyze 
events that will happen in games of power. 

Before Morticia opens bag with skulls, 
Jupiter teleports from Babylon 
through mirror portal that reflects her mask, 
and tries to abduct Rapunzel as bride, 
but Morticia hurls three needles of blame 
that pierce his heart with paralysis. 

Binding body of Jupiter with wires 
that connect all souls to the world wide web, 
Rapunzel transforms him into the owl 
that always hoots outside window at dawn 
where Percival writes verses on lamb skin 
about his longing for girl in the tower. 

While strolling in lush park on river shore 
with yellow umbrella shading her face, 
Rapunzel spies in the afternoon crowd 
wild-haired Percival wearing slim black suit, 
so she pretends to trip in his open arms, 
and they gaze at each other in surprise. 

Blushing as they stroll on the castle lawn 
around the fountain where Neptune reclines, 
Rapunzel and Percival obfuscate 
passionate desire they feel to make love 
with polite inquiries in family wealth, 
till they find three skulls singing by the pond. 

Ghosts of Narcissus and Echo appear, 
conjured by Morticia from graves of fear, 
so Rapunzel and Percival embrace 
and make love with wild spinning of the Earth, 
then raise three children with moral respect 
safe within their numberless doors of fate. 

Laika Floats In Outer Space

Laika Floats In Outer Space
© Surazeus
2025 11 23

I doubt Laika flew far enough away 
from Earth to see it as small ball for play, 
nor did she live just long enough to see 
beautiful vastness of our azure sea, 
for she died when the capsule glowed too hot, 
so she cannot run in Heaven with God. 

Ivan stares out cracked window at the place 
where Laika used to show her cheerful face, 
then peers at silver mirror of the sky 
to calculate where Sputnik may soon fly, 
but all he sees are twinkling stars of ice 
that prove there is no perfect paradise. 

While typing short poems in Acmeist style, 
that depict man of nature without guile 
because he plows black Earth for noble cause 
in harmony with universal laws, 
Ivan sees black car brake outside his door 
so he huddles terrified on the floor. 

Trembling in fear as the secret police 
arrest his neighbor who had called for peace, 
Ivan hides small in shadow of despair 
while they drag someone thumping down the stair, 
then breathes again when tires squeal in the night 
so he drinks cold vodka by candlelight. 

Vowing to escape prison of the state, 
Ivan leaves beef bone on cracked dinner plate, 
then flees in snow-trapped woods of faceless ghouls 
past abandoned churches and shuttered schools 
with frantic intensity of the deer 
that scampers from the hunter in blind fear. 

Slipping through thick tangled bushes of hope 
on freezing Christmas night down rugged slope, 
Ivan wriggles under tall barbed-wire fence 
to escape Heaven without penitence, 
then races toward lush land of liberty 
to live with free will in dire poverty. 

Just as he nears locked gate of paradise 
and leaps to soar on wings of joyful vice, 
Ivan feels bullet of authority 
strike his spine with jolt of absurdity, 
so he falls tangled on barbed-wire of death 
where he dangles high as he gasps for breath. 

Hanging upside down on tangled barbed-wire, 
Ivan listens to the heavenly choir 
sing grandiose Ode to Joy Beethoven wrote, 
then sees with surprise where angels may float 
Sputnik blinking among stars of his dream, 
so he and Laika stroll by sparkling stream. 

Absence Of Souls We Love

Absence Of Souls We Love
© Surazeus
2025 11 23

My international thoughts trigger trees 
to scream about morality of hope 
which humans dig from caverns of desire 
then forge computers programmed with dream code 
that help our species evolve from star slime 
so we can dance with joy in grim twilight. 

Based on electric innocence of eggs 
we leap from cliff of arrogant dismay 
to float high above bottomless abyss 
where spirits of the dead lurk in our hearts 
with thirst of vampires for eternal life 
though we hide our fears in cute fairy tales. 

Each moment of awareness our brains beam 
we stand on sharp edge of eternity, 
unbalanced by lithe vertigo of faith, 
yet we assert emboldened steps of trust 
to manage how time still unwinds our hearts 
because ghosts are absence of souls we love. 

So I dip cautious foot of curious fear 
in gushing stream of time that swirls with light 
to feel how currents of communal change 
affect society through choice I make 
to take the signless road less traveled by 
when I set out colonize the world. 

While sitting at wood desk in upper room 
of my apartment on Dream Avenue, 
I listen to sharp sounds of busyness 
in car engines and childish shouts of play 
which I translate to story of the soul 
while typing letters on blank page of time. 

High literary attributes of fate 
describe conceptual actions people take 
through each encounter of the seventh kind 
in face to face transactions in dream states 
which fuels commercial life of world empires 
when agents organize corporate exchange. 

I watch ten million sons of Icarus 
fly swift around in Heaven above Earth 
to broker contracts between businesses 
who buy and sell our manufactured goods 
in games that define castle comedies 
directed by King Lear who lost his crown. 

Yet in the end all I can think about 
is how much I adore my loyal spouse 
who walks our way of life with me each day 
on countless roads already blazed and named 
by hungry humans for ten thousand years 
which all lead back to the garden of ghosts. 

Vision Of Star Truth

Vision Of Star Truth
© Surazeus
2025 11 22

She cries out frantically in gentle song 
through charming melodies of bitter angst 
that scares everyone with terror of death 
which they hide with calm mask of holy faith 
as they kneel around her in glowing grass 
and pray for salvation to empty skies. 

Frail girl in long black dress of subtle lace 
stands rigid under scarlet-glitter moon 
to bear huge heavy book of ancient tales, 
and chants expansive vision of star truth 
to prophesy with eloquent discourse 
how messiah sleuth rules the world with love. 

Eyes gleaming with faith in goodness of man, 
young Ellen describes with sea-solemn voice 
how noble man who treasures human souls 
descends stairway from Heaven on broad wings 
that shelter fragile human souls with care 
to guide each wanderer to paradise. 

Brave Michael wielding brilliant sword of faith, 
that he forged from meteor which fell to Earth, 
leaps forth from ziggurat where Ishtar reigns 
and hunts down wealthy men, who hide in towers 
as they enslave people trapped by huge debts, 
to free slaves so they farm on river shores. 

After Michael defeats and arrests men 
who enslave free humans for their own gain, 
he leads the newly-freed wanderers safe 
to build new colonies on river shores 
where their descendants thrive and multiply 
ten thousand years into empires of farms. 

Strong men who organize armies of orphans 
conquer vast farmlands from towers of greed 
then crown themselves as divine gods on Earth 
who exploit people with ownership laws 
and kill rebels against imperial power 
to secure tyranny of endless rule. 

Jesus fights against tyrannical thieves 
to free people of Earth from empire states 
so every individual may learn skill 
that contributes wealth to the public good 
where those who work with crafting hands of faith 
may prosper through compassion of their hearts. 

Exhausted after preaching sacred truth 
while possessed by Spirit of Liberty, 
American Pythia with star-bright eyes 
lies mute on Earth till wings sprout from her heart, 
then she ascends on wings of writhing flame 
to vanish in the empty godless sky. 

Every Soul Who Lived

Every Soul Who Lived
© Surazeus
2025 11 22

They drift into my hands as flakes of snow, 
all the faceless ghosts that wander the world 
four hundred million years of flashing faith 
who beam from every being who ever lived 
since we began to evolve from the sea, 
and each soul whispers their tale in my heart. 

I write the secret name of each mute ghost 
with runes of prophecy in shifting sands 
so Fate remembers every soul who lived 
though they have vanished into swirling dust 
for every atom that composes Earth 
once shimmered in the brains of living beings. 

Each atom woven in net of my brain 
was drop of water falling from the sky 
refracting clear immortal light of hope 
which energizes battery of my brain 
so I sing now with voice of all the dead 
who ask me to embody them with pride. 

When I see Icarus among the clouds 
reaching hopelessly toward the eyeless sun 
with longing ache to reach Realm of Ideas 
where Loving Craftsman creates conscious souls, 
I cheer his flight beyond our changing world 
though he falls back to Earth as flakes of snow. 

When I see Lucifer in crystal halls 
wrestle Jupiter over crown of power 
to free humans from tyranny of greed 
so we can live through talent of our skill, 
I cheer his crusade to charge liberty 
though he falls back to Earth as flakes of snow. 

When I see Earendel, brightest of Angels, 
bring light of wisdom to nations of men 
based on justice and liberty for all 
then guide mankind with lamp of prophecy, 
I cheer his message of democracy 
though he falls back to Earth as flakes of snow. 

When I see Orpheus emerge from Hell 
while strumming lyre of Mercury with faith 
to lead ghosts of the dead to paradise 
where they haunt me while I wrote poetry, 
I cheer his quest to rescue souls from death 
though he falls back to Earth as flakes of snow. 

When I see Jesus descend from Glow Cloud 
on flashing starship of ethereal drives 
to nurture spirit of each conscious soul 
so they grow to reflect image of God, 
I cheer his reign supporting us with love 
though he falls back to Earth as flakes of snow. 

My Motherland Of Scythia

My Motherland Of Scythia
© Surazeus
2025 11 22

If happiness sucks life out of our bones 
with monumental typhoon of contempt 
after we buy it packaged at the store, 
perhaps we could return to river vale 
where we tend chickens and cows on the farm 
to avoid causing lush Nature more harm. 

Ten million years from now on spinning Earth 
new species of conscious organic souls 
that evolve from fertile womb of the sea 
may carve our bones into musical flutes 
and play such sweet heart-aching melodies 
that sorrow could translate our memories. 

Yet I spend my non-working leisure hours 
watching stories about romantic strife 
between two people whose aggressive clash 
sparks passionate love of trust-forged respect 
so they generate children from desire 
who in turn join our world romantic choir. 

Though I found my soul mate in this strange life 
on the other side of our spinning world 
so we raise two children combining our genes, 
they are whole separate souls outside my mind 
who will journey new roads on their own quests 
after they bury my books in wood chests. 

If sorrow forges courage in our bones 
with Herculean honesty of faith 
after we sell it on the drama stage, 
perhaps we could oppose harsh tyranny 
to free our bodies and souls from fake debt 
to prove we are not some weak marionette. 

Ten million years ago on spinning Earth 
we swung with joyful energy of hope 
through endless canopy of fruitful trees 
in Garden of Eden around the globe 
before we formed aggressive nation states 
ruled from safe Heavens locked with pearly gates. 

Now I spend my dream-crafting labor hours 
composing stories about faceless souls 
who program mental malfunction with grace 
to transcend fear from nothingness of death 
and follow Orpheus strumming his lyre 
who leads us all home to our humble shire. 

Though I wandered years far across the land, 
performing songs from sea to shining sea 
in quest to become my Essential Me, 
I lounge at home in Appalachian hills 
because my motherland of Scythia 
beams from my heart to form Zarathia. 

Room Four Zero Four

Room Four Zero Four
© Surazeus
2025 11 22

Sweet ghost in room four zero four knows why 
humans are wingless angels in flesh form 
who search for illusion of Heaven on Earth 
yet find spirit of God inside our brains 
aching to comprehend nature of light 
that flares forth from first flash of the big bang. 

Mad king in room four zero four declares 
royal authority of the whole world, 
but know no one ever knows his secret name 
so he pretends to play the happy game 
employed to write news stories that portray 
moral consequence of each human choice. 

Sad queen in room four zero four recalls 
weird hour she first sees kind Lucifer fall 
from high position as bank president 
to wander lost now in the city maze 
as homeless drunk who mumbles to himself, 
so she calls her old mother in Taiwan. 

Weird clown in room four zero four decides 
to hitchhike nowhere sea to shining sea 
and play guitar while singing grunge folk songs 
after Phoebus taught him how to compose 
stories in verse that present common men 
as social heroes who fight tyranny. 

Blues singer in room four zero four groans 
at pain of cancer eating at his heart, 
then steps on stage in dark Chicago bar 
and howls fierce anguish of the human heart 
that suffers agony of broken dreams 
with longing for false paradise of hope. 

Shy typist in room four zero four paints 
portraits of elves in grand fantasy tales 
with almond eyes and long thick sparkling hair 
who represent projection of her soul, 
then sits in frilled dress that hides her round hips 
and types company correspondence well. 

Tall model in room four zero four sews 
elaborate scenes of county towns and farms 
with buildings and characters from folk tales, 
then wears high fashion dresses and slim slacks 
through eclectic minimal luxury 
while striding gracefully on fame-lit stage. 

Mute seer in room four zero four encodes 
political events in clever fables 
which satirize cash-greedy billionaires 
who enslave people with corporate debt 
till messiah sleuth breaks monopoly 
and founds new United Nations of Earth. 

Upgraded World View

Upgraded World View
© Surazeus
2025 11 21

If I can fly till the end of the world 
then I will draw pictures of all my friends 
in book of angels floating on the lake 
with wonderous attitude of batteries 
charged with fierce competence of social games 
despite alluring consequence of fame. 

Cosmetic mask of indecisive faults, 
still in compliance with ancestral laws, 
conceals true continental heart of hope 
through ardent discipline of extreme faith 
exceeding focus of fantastic speech 
unbiased toward bland strangers on the street. 

Upgraded world view of transmitted truths,
based on virtual vanity of respect 
for how trees sing with protocols of power,
presents precise publicity of faith 
no honest pioneer discards with rage 
for which I am most qualified to sell. 

Pursuant to their unrecognized clause, 
consistent with notations children break, 
brave oracle directs world orchestra 
in partnership with monitors for love 
despite objective ploy through mysteries 
because we are observers of our fate. 

Forbidden equity of gradual growth, 
esteemed by generous galleries of gain, 
provides calm guardian with fake guarantees 
since land titles purchased on the foggy bridge 
defy conceptual gravity of greed, 
ensuring every enterprise may fail. 

Compliance with currency devils deal 
in gamble to require immortal urge 
attracts more deviant puppeteers of power 
than is convenient for my global reign 
so I should cite adhesive aerospace 
appendix for program to conquer death. 

Affected robot of dire infancy 
decides to play brave advocate of fear 
annoyed by slow advancement gods conceal 
as honest architect of our world state 
when seeking tired approval from sad ghosts 
who challenge copyright of curious clowns. 

Doctoral dissertation of dividends, 
exerting exclusive code of desire, 
develops sad compliance jesters bear 
with earned denial of encrypted tales 
depicting heroes who fly without wings 
to abrogate casino charity. 

Stageless Cape Of Fame

Stageless Cape Of Fame
© Surazeus
2025 11 21

Sometimes I like to stop and speculate 
on why my face appears on mirror moon 
as flame-contorting ghost of innocence 
that beams demonic energy of faith 
through psychic prism of my dreaming brain 
so I reinvent who I am today. 

While I stroll casually down city street 
in crooked urban zone of food cafes 
I shroud my soul in stageless cape of fame 
to hide blank nothingness of my real self 
behind mask of the wizard that I wear 
because I pretend no one else exists. 

Delusion that my existence in flesh 
vibrates with divine consciousness of stars 
beams brilliant as lamp of Diogenes 
exposing plain fact that no honest man 
walks anywhere in urban maze of greed 
so I pretend I care not for their lies. 

Assigned to paint on brick wall of the square 
complex mural depicting characters 
who represent soul of America, 
I wake my mind with vision of bold strife 
social heroes perform on crowded streets 
when they fight for lawful right to live well. 

No matter race or creed each person plays 
based on genetic code of mental sight 
we all share grand stage of America 
to solve dramatic tensions of each tribe 
contending to erase our differences 
and live through principle of liberty. 

When gangs of thugs with black face masks and guns 
attempt to deport natives of this land 
to clear space for invaders to live free, 
we band together with plan to protect 
every person working to create wealth 
in honest labor for the common good. 

As I walk through vast maze of human myths 
to relive strange historical events, 
I find my true self, forged in flames of fear, 
emerge with courage of communal strength 
to help each other live free in this land 
that nourishes our souls with holy wind. 

So when sudden forces of social change 
spur me to rise from teeming crowd of loss, 
I stride from grave with stageless cape of fame 
and strum the lyre of Mercury and sing 
inspiring anthem of national pride 
to follow Onatah in march for truth. 

Puzzle Of My Woke Sky

Puzzle Of My Woke Sky
© Surazeus
2025 11 20

Now I will reflect upon my woke sky 
to save the world from slick incompetence 
with joyful laughter of harrowing faith 
that channels energy of fraught despair 
to fuel my quest to build the Promised Land 
from fractured memories of potent minds. 

Through ballistic dance under my woke sky 
as wingless angel with sun-spotted mind 
I shall narrate in tapestry of faith 
conceptual schemes of purged utility 
through objective correlative of tricks 
designed to fool the faithful with sweet lies. 

Still assembling puzzle of my woke sky 
from disconcerting truths of bitter jokes, 
I knock slow on every numberless door 
to find the hero of the modern world 
who could lead army of the bleeding cross 
to cast our devil in the pit of fire. 

Alarmed by cruel jester of my woke sky 
because he clings to ring of arrogance, 
I ride white horse off the merry-go-round 
in revolution of the working class 
to reclaim wisdom of the burning book 
while Cinderella bakes us chocolate cake. 

Alert with convenience of my woke sky 
through deviant expectations of the rich, 
I calculate how long our dream will last 
when we rebuild the Argo with new wood 
to sail the seven seas with cameras, 
commissioned to record why empires fall. 

Concerned about death rays from my woke sky 
that radiate fragile souls of privilege 
with intercontinental tweets of crows, 
I wrestle radioactive angel of death 
to climb the stairway to Heaven at dawn 
where Jesus waits for me with nuclear eyes. 

Impressed by thunderstorm of my woke sky, 
I sit on bench beside the surging sea 
and watch ships heaped with containers of souls 
bring treasures of our hearts to distant lands 
because I hold your lost dreams in my hands 
and feel their wings beat with divine respect. 

One trembling star that gleams in my woke sky 
illuminates confusing world of souls 
with brilliant beauty of this wretched life 
so after all our wars for thought control 
we hold hands in the ring of shining stones 
and sing of peace we never will achieve. 

Immortal Soul Of Light

Immortal Soul Of Light
© Surazeus
2025 11 20

Each evening once per week when I take out 
garbage bags of my foul anxiety 
I stand some time beneath the star-bound sky 
and contemplate strange mystery of our being 
as fierce organic creatures of blind faith 
acute enough to ponder why we are. 

I hear soft wordless songs of forest sprites 
resonate with immortal soul of light 
which radiates from organic physiques 
through wicked emanation of desire 
to transcend sudden nothingness of death 
by generating life before we die. 

Tall oak trees reach stiff arms of ardent hope 
toward invisible Heaven of Fate 
with wordless agony of chemicals 
to spiral back toward original eye 
from which our universe flared forth as flash 
of psychic energy we term divine. 

So I too reach my wingless arms of faith 
high toward celestial realm of ageless God 
that my ancestors long believed is real 
with searing ache to soar on divine breath 
awake from seething planet of hot goop, 
but still I dream trapped in this mortal frame. 

Since Pythagoras taught immortal soul 
beams down from stars to animate our bodies 
and then returns to rejuvenate in stars, 
humans have clung to illusion of life 
after death with desperate angst of faith, 
but still we die and crumble into dust. 

Though atoms that compose my frame of flesh 
recycle endlessly in swirls of change 
as they transform from rain to soil to plants 
to animals with conscious dreaming brains, 
this divine sense of my self as unique 
will vanish when my soul-body decays. 

My brain assembles memories of sense 
in complex puzzle that depicts our world 
through narrative I convert to grand myth 
that portrays my quest to discover truth 
as holy mission of messiah sleuth 
till I fall in my grave and disappear. 

Unless I code narrative of my life 
in epic tale to preserve memories 
as virtual world my brain conjures in verse, 
my vision of this complex universe 
disintegrates into waves of the sea 
so I map my journey before I die. 

Sudden Shock Of Cognizance

Sudden Shock Of Cognizance
© Surazeus
2025 11 19

Nineteen years before the empire will fall 
Jake wrenches upward from brain-tangled sleep 
to slouch dazed on edge of the broken bed, 
hair more ruffled than wind-blown raven wings, 
and stares bleak-eyed out smudged window of angst 
at cars racing swiftly on highway bridge. 

Tugging on torn jeans and tattered tee-shirt, 
and trudging out the door in untied shoes, 
Jake wanders with the frantic crowd of sheep 
with bored wolf eyes in late autumn sun glare 
to flop on iron bench by the book store 
and watch the world grow wealthy without him. 

Emerging from dazed numbness of despair, 
that paralyzes his cumbersome heart 
with tedious nonchalance of earnest dread, 
Jake stares with sudden shock of cognizance 
from turbid apprehension of grim gloom 
at lurid faces reflecting his horror. 

Ten thousand years after he tames the horse 
Jake sneers at people in arrogant suits 
who strut with pride at employment of faith 
with contempt that they are robots of greed 
willing to bow with obsequious fawning 
through servility to power of wealth. 

Lurching to his feet with sudden insight 
when holy spirit of the great blue sky 
flashes bright in pulsing sponge of his brain, 
Jake raps expansive sermon in taut verse 
of rhyme-asserting prophecy for truth 
presenting moral virtues of great men. 

Though some slow down and listen to his spell 
preaching complex analysis of life 
through logical deductions of the heart 
that offer solutions to global problems, 
Jake never notices that people drop 
money in his hat as they hurry past. 

Exhausted from hours of preaching hard truth 
through deep perceptive verses about life, 
Jake spreads Icarian wings of solitude 
and floats away into the sparkling sky 
in glorious ascension up to Heaven 
where Jesus welcomes him to paradise. 

Two thousand years after Jesus leaves Earth 
Jake eats hamburger in the city park 
then wanders back home where he pays the rent 
with fractured fragments of his bleeding bones, 
and falls asleep in tangled sheets of faith 
to dream he is the raven Odin tends. 

Puzzle Of My Creed

Puzzle Of My Creed
© Surazeus
2025 11 19

Nothing says crazy like the way cows laugh 
at foibles of human contests for power 
based on who can best tame the fierce giraffe 
on which he rides to possess the star tower 
then crash pearly gates of Jerusalem, 
yet still I rule ghosts of Elysium. 

Mad prophet of the modern nuclear age 
proclaims prophecies through the radio 
about the woman who appears on stage 
to build world empire from lush Idaho 
in bid to equalize all states of mind 
since no one seems to know how to be kind. 

We sell each other trinkets of dream truth 
to fuel economic growth for our state 
so well-organized by messiah sleuth 
who reads Tarot cards to program our fate 
that helps us prosper till the end of time 
when the world transforms with the charming chime. 

Assertive progress to express the self 
diverts attention of prophetic seers 
who code weird characters for the book shelf 
through revolution against puppeteers 
despite acceptance of faith in the Lord 
who conquers the world with my bloody sword. 

Through psychic breath of distant ringing bells 
I clear space wide around my dream-framed soul 
for morphing pain with ghosts of secret wells 
so bitter wisdom programs my new role 
which I perform in tower by the lake 
to prove my persona is me, yet fake. 

Projective spell of words that weave world view 
swells whole organic body from my brain 
which I sustain by performing virtue 
based on tragic tales in which tyrants gain 
social power over gullible fools 
who fight to dismantle our public schools. 

When I discover mystery of the heart 
at crossroads of my senses bound by hope, 
I record my quest on confusing chart 
that teaches my followers how to cope 
with disappointment that every soul dies 
so our memories vanish from our eyes. 

This complicated virtual world of life 
which I program from all my memories, 
that keys proverbs for managing harsh strife, 
dissipates to nothing all truths and lies 
except what I record in spells you read 
in project to paint puzzle of my creed. 

Tide Of Historical Change

Tide Of Historical Change
© Surazeus
2025 11 18

When tide of historical change recedes 
after terrible storm of tyranny, 
I find myself gasping on sand of despair, 
so I breathe deep ethereal ghost of hope 
and laugh at boggy horror in my brain 
to make myself the monster I most fear.  

Loquacious gods of arrogant dismay 
teach me to measure landscape of the brain 
so I express disaster through my play 
with fraught dynamics of dependent joy 
that duplicates my spirit in each mind 
trapped in lush garden of the holocaust. 

No genesis of birth is guaranteed 
based on logistics woven from fake dreams 
we share through ministry of urgent chance 
that Mercury assigns to patriots  
who sell permission to profess proud guilt 
for hiding despicable attitudes. 

Impulsive laughter about nothing real 
jiggles piercing gaze of ardent hope 
for blind voyeurs who creep in paradise, 
immersed in fierce performance that conceals 
fascinating opinions of foul thoughts 
that crack glass shields of innocent contempt. 

With the lighthouse keeper she falls in love 
based on environs of the churching world 
lit by attentive beams of cautiousness 
which modulates danger of vigilance 
based on casual whimsy of mocking tones 
before death germinates from rotten hearts. 

Not knowing well how gasping will of fate 
could flash truth-twisting wisdom into lies 
may now confound how well I play this game 
by which I trick believers to expect 
their crucified god will return again 
to enforce justice with the lightning sword. 

She loves each saint who shines their holy light 
on brutal ugliness that smears this world 
with honest horror of absent desire 
through pointless project to paint surfaces 
of mirror masks with features of my face 
so you can trust that thoughts I speak are true. 

To cleanse abomination of his heart 
with quaint forgiveness that arrogates bridge 
on which we cross in fog of urgent prayers, 
she gives him everything inside her heart 
till he consumes excessive randomness 
before he drowns in restless tide of change. 

Laughter Of False Faith

Laughter Of False Faith
© Surazeus
2025 11 18

Relaxed in hollow of dream-fractured house 
where my ancestral ghosts play chase with death, 
I bleed my eyes as words in holy book 
that flaps crow wings of frantic arrogance 
to bear my wordless soul to paradise 
where my glass bones form foundation of faith. 

Contrary to how time allocates truth, 
we give each other lies our trembling hands 
mold from desperate hope to understand 
why our bodies pulse with hungry light, 
eager to transcend mute nothingness 
by singing sorrows of weird ocean waves. 

Town bus we ride should always take us home 
past fate-parceled lots with numberless doors 
that never open to our fearful knock 
unless we forge new key of innocence 
from fractured skulls of gods we find in dirt 
that singe our hands with laughter of false faith. 

Since faith means nothing to the rolling stone 
that tumbles from lame hands of Sisyphus, 
we steal gold coins from coffers of the clown 
who claims he owns both our bodies and souls, 
then give them to the woman on the beach 
who shows us where the sun is born each dawn. 

When I step off the bus outside of town, 
far from the nearest church, school, store, or bank, 
I find myself with no direction home 
outside the walls of paradise we built, 
so I walk nowhere to find my own grave 
filled with books of stories no one can read. 

I become oak by the side of the road 
where I stand ten thousand years of steady change 
to watch small tribes of humans multiply 
into sprawling empires of warring gangs 
who contest over which man will play god 
till death erases them all from the land. 

When I return to body of my self, 
I wake just three hours after midnight 
to contemplate strange patterns of my life 
where I keep wandering somewhere else to find 
house of the rising sun beside the sea 
where lost girls take control of their own lives. 

I drift two hours on gentle waves of faith 
that surges strong as forceful energy 
which fuels assertive passion of my play 
when I perform this artificial self 
that I have molded from experience 
getting lost on the signless road nowhere. 

Summer Tree Of Tongues

Summer Tree Of Tongues
© Surazeus
2025 11 17

If owls still wail before old fathers die, 
I should walk windswept road of dancing trees 
to find the house I built collapsed in rain 
when rage erases beauty from the sky, 
though I hide wingless angels in my eye 
because they seek to understand the why. 

Cloud-stippled wings of thunder-laughing crows 
beat urgently against hole of my face 
since sharp words spoken by the shadow ghost 
targets my heart with ubiquitous faith 
that God attends my fortune with bold plan 
which cripples my ability to play. 

Mysterious beauty of the singing stone 
attracts attention of the nameless girl 
who pauses search for blueberries and eggs 
to ask the crow in summer tree of tongues 
why no one seems to understand her words 
as if their souls are water of the lake. 

So she leans close to study flower blooms 
where bees buzz languidly in shimmer-thought 
for simple concept of possessive fate 
contained in promises of falling rain 
that still reminds her why she needs to know 
how human bodies pulse with energy. 

If she explores dark chambers of the sea 
with hazardous assertion that time swirls, 
she fears frail hope will shatter at the strike 
of supple wings old butterflies consign 
to sighs of happiness from casual waves 
despite allowance for excited ploy. 

Our perfect voices blend with radiant choirs 
in company of sudden ringing spite 
that leaves our bodies throbbing on hot sand 
when we embrace in tangled hope of love 
though we sink wordlessly in liquid gloom 
to escape hollow duty of the tomb. 

Trapped by terrible silence of respect 
that blesses lonely hearts with fortitude, 
we sell each other lies for eggs and gems 
based on capacity of hearts to know 
glamor of lies from grittiness of truth, 
delicate with frantic friendship of faith. 

Distraught with heartless majesty of angst, 
we store our precious relics in our hearts 
to prove we grow beyond obsessive game 
our parents teach us to play so we gain 
plaintive glitter of earnest ardency 
when I rebuild home with paternal bones. 

Beginning Of The New Life

Beginning Of The New Life
© Surazeus
2025 11 17

Another beginning of the new life 
leaves me stranded on dark Plutonian shore 
so I count stars that fall into the sea 
to shape new puzzle from lost memories 
when I arrange them to resemble face 
that always watches me from the bright sky. 

Each word that emerges from fallen stars 
reveals new aspect of the universe 
I never saw before in shadowed woods 
that their sharp edges cut my tender hand 
so blood sparks seeds to bloom in pretty flowers 
that call my name in startled breeze of truth. 

Aware of ill things my quick hands have done 
that cause harm through motive of silent shame, 
I run toward thunder of surf on sharp rocks 
to dance with carefree horror on the grave 
where faceless critic howls with bitter love 
when I exercise virtue of contempt. 

Askance at falling star of restless fear, 
I face dark shadow of my sympathy 
to ponder sudden miracle of hope 
when I leap free from falling tree of wrath 
which proves I understand dim twilight rain 
exposing alphabets of silent pain. 

Disintegrating rainbow of complaint 
spurs sharp metallic taste of arrogance 
when I throw silver stone of random thought 
in burbling brook where frogs sprout angel wings 
which tricks me to attend their special needs 
while I share orange slices with lonely crows. 

If I should turret rationality 
with hoisted sails of corporate desire, 
my nimble soul could crawl from broken tomb 
to claim enravished grace of vital facts 
contained in tattered volume of fake lore 
extending warm breath of my beating heart. 

Soft petals of white lilies scrawl my brain 
with foul intention of chemical lust 
to prove sweet beauty blooms from turbid muck 
transforming sorrow to unspoken joy 
since stark solitude reeks of sensual trust 
for future versions of my laughing ghost. 

Tucked between safe rocks of nevermore, 
I weave taut sentences of endless dream 
with seed machine of dishonest respect 
for messes patterned into miracles 
despite unfinished quest of treasured truths 
that urges me to start another life. 

If Heaven Is Real Or Not

If Heaven Is Real Or Not
© Surazeus
2025 11 16

Though her voice is trapped in stone of her heart, 
sea of blood sloshing in fragile egg shell, 
she spreads bold wings of silence to transcend 
thunderstorm that blows through her hollow soul 
till she channels anguish of wounded hope 
in solemn psalm that enchants us with faith. 

While stuck trembling on ladder of hope, 
she asks for help from ghost of Benedictus 
who hums with saintly voice of gentleness, 
"Only in humility can you crawl 
into Heaven without angelic wings 
when we climb high to reach the light of truth." 

He whispers as he gives her raven quill 
which she dips in blood to compose her will,
"If you exalt yourself above the Earth 
you will descend into caverns of Hell, 
so humble yourself with brave honesty 
to ascend to Heaven on wings of faith." 

Riding city bus past car factories, 
she contemplates tales in Gospel of Luke, 
then works all day in office cubicle 
digitizing roads on computer screen 
to map strange history of humanity 
who have always searched for the Promised Land. 

Wearing two-horned mask of the happy devil, 
she walks streets of Heaven on Halloween 
to ask for chocolate bars from Seraphim 
who smile bemused at her evil costume, 
then lounges with friends in Garden of Eden 
while Sandalphon directs grand choir of angels. 

Bearing box of sweet flower cakes she baked, 
Arella beams charm at Hadraniel 
who grins as he accepts one cake as bribe, 
then skips gold-brick road with light-hearted joy 
to find Raziel in library hall 
translating songs of humans from Tibil. 

Glancing up from writing his book of knowledge, 
Raziel smiles with joy to see his wife 
whose emerald eyes reflect seas of Tibil, 
so they kiss and eat her sweet flower cakes 
while Abathur plays soft tunes on the harp, 
then stroll together by the River Styx. 

Holding hands as they arrive at the sea, 
Raziel and Arella pledge their love 
before enormous sea monster Rahab, 
but she wakes at dawn when the alarm rings, 
then stares at the Morning Star in the window, 
and wonders if Heaven is real or not. 

Windshield Frame Of Hope

Windshield Frame Of Hope
© Surazeus
2025 11 16

Perpetual journey of my restless soul 
urges me to spend my wild precious life 
forever on the road to somewhere else 
as fairy-tale character on vain quest 
to map our messy world with one neat myth 
that answers all our questions in weird code. 

Though all my ancestors had journeyed west 
to find ever-elusive Promised Land, 
I journey east to find their origin, 
but get stuck in lush Appalachian hills 
while war planes bomb homes in Scythia 
where my first mother ran with prancing wolves. 

No fair destination of my fierce heart 
shines brightly in the windshield frame of hope, 
so I keep driving past the pearly gates 
since paradise becomes prison of fear 
where desperate believers pray on their knees 
for Jesus to return with sword of justice. 

I drive the lonesome highway of the heart 
to find the sea cave where the sun is born, 
but stop in roadside cafe by rail tracks 
to eat hamburger of grilled dragon meat, 
then sit on the front porch ten thousand years 
and play grunge folk songs on battered guitar. 

When war-winged demon of lost history 
escapes the falconer in widening gyre, 
I know the central world view of our nation 
spins wild with anarchy of innocence 
so we must surf destructive waves of change 
at ninth coming of Goddess Liberty. 

Now paralyzed with complicit despair 
that thieves have seized control of government, 
we rise with brave Valkyrian respect 
to march with holy flag of liberty 
lead by Helios in chariot of fire 
against bold tyranny of oligarchs. 

For twenty thousand years small human tribes 
journey along rivers in sturdy boats 
to colonize valleys of singing ghosts, 
but now we drive fast piston-engine cars 
on pillared bridges above water flow 
with nostalgic songs on the radio. 

Unbounded spaciousness of endless plains 
invites our journey into solitude 
across existential bleakness of faith 
through constellated night of unmapped fate 
which I perceive in windshield frame of hope 
that only has the meaning I assign. 

Glaucus Golden-Eyes

Glaucus Golden-Eyes
© Surazeus
2025 11 16

Deep in many-roomed mansion of the sea 
demons of human hunger lurk in gangs 
administered by Glaucus Golden-Eyes 
who cackles with delight when thunderstorms 
toss burdened cargo ships on playful waves 
to threaten profits of the merchant king. 

Exchanging tongues of sorrow with blind gods, 
Glaucus trudges across cement piers of ports 
to inventory goods in ship containers 
manufactured by economic slaves 
whose eyes refract rainbows of liberty 
through revolution of the humble clown. 

In counterbalance to perpetual labor 
we extract our eyes from diamonds of wealth 
with enormous promise of tinsel profits 
based on false paradox contrived by thieves 
that wealth will trickle down to working hands 
despite how Glaucus proves that theory wrong. 

Though Narcissus stares down at his own face 
he thinks the image he sees in dark water 
is someone else who might know all the answers 
but fails to delineate his real self 
through equilibrium of fantastic truths 
designed to concentrate our scattered minds. 

Through failure to communicate our views 
about allusive function of the world 
our minds that grope for broken evidence 
beep from disorienting arrogance 
achieved by mapping towns destroyed by bombs 
where children play chase in cathedral ruins. 

Unmerging of realities on stage 
consoles our pain-wracked bodies with perfume 
of inadvertent lies from frightened angels 
who work for Glaucus in gray offices 
arranging shipments of factory-made goods 
to lonely villages in third-world countries. 

Yet when Narcissus struts on dim-lit stage, 
wearing mask of Glaucus, lord of the banks, 
the cynical audience laughs at his jokes 
mocking insatiable greed of corporate kings 
who rise as zombies from law-broken tombs 
and eat brains till they transform into bronze idols. 

I hear no mermaids singing each to each 
while I wander homeless on foggy beach, 
yet I hear voices from nightly news shows 
justify crimes of political vampires 
who launder taxes to private accounts 
while the people drown in floods of despair.  

If I Meet Jesus

If I Meet Jesus
© Surazeus
2025 11 16

If I meet Jesus strolling in the field, 
near fish lake formed by the electric dam, 
we could hang out under the apple tree 
and chat about the art of being a leader 
who nurtures skills of people in their care 
instead of exploiting people for wealth. 

When gang of immigration officers, 
wearing bullet-proof vests and black face masks, 
surround us with black trucks and flashing lights, 
and try to arrest him with assault rifles 
for living freely in America, 
Jesus flies to Heaven on angel wings. 

I find Jesus again several months later 
with his white van full of donated food 
for hundreds of homeless people with children 
who live under the highway overpass 
near the cathedral and the private bank, 
but speeds away just as police arrive. 

When I take my mom to the hospital 
after she is diagnosed with breast cancer, 
I meet Jesus again in sterile ward 
wearing white robe with red cross of compassion 
where he treats her with chemotherapy 
and sings soft psalms when she passes away. 

While covering the factory workers strike 
when they request a more fair living wage, 
I watch Jesus leading the union members 
as they negotiate with corporate owners 
to secure health benefits and insurance, 
eyes flashing with passion for justice done. 

Last year while visiting the large high school 
to teach class seniors about poetry, 
I notice Jesus wearing overalls 
as he cleans the bathrooms and mops the floors, 
and chats with students, sharing clever jokes, 
then gives money to poor students for lunch. 

Though I visit every church in the land 
filled with wealthy people in stylish clothes 
who sing hymns of praise to Jesus the Savior, 
I never see him at their podiums 
preaching sermons on national politics 
that favor conservative business ploys. 

If I meet Jesus striding down the street 
he always takes me to the homeless shelter 
where he assembles children in a room 
to teach reading, writing, and arithmetic, 
then helps their parents search for jobs to live, 
leaving Heaven empty on shifting clouds.