Lost In Paradise Of Hope

Lost In Paradise Of Hope
© Surazeus
2025 12 25

All truths I thought were real melt into tears 
and flow away in rivers of grim fears 
till blinding glitter of snow disappears 
to expose bare trees and stones to sunlight 
which blast illusions from my blinking sight 
so I wake surprised from eternal night. 

Sweet scent of pleasure billowing in woods 
lures me to grove beside the sparkling stream 
where cookies dangle from boughs of the pine 
so I eat delicious sorrow from pain 
that nourishes my heart with milk of doom 
though I kneel and pray to idols of gods. 

Though kidnapped from my village years ago 
and forced to carry wood on jagged paths 
as slave exploited by cruel castle king, 
I broke free from rusted chains of mute fear 
and wander lost in paradise of hope 
to find my village burned to swirls of ash. 

Enslaved for years to serve the castle king, 
I stand alone beside the cheerful stream, 
stripped of illusions so my heart can sing 
garden of freedom I once saw in dream 
where people work together tending trees 
that gleam with apples in warm summer breeze. 

Now that I am free from commercial greed, 
I wander homeless in vast maze of myths 
where office clerks raise families in warm homes, 
staring in windows that frame cozy scenes 
where they feast and sing at tables of wealth, 
gathered around pine trees where angels shine. 

Employed to build homes as the Carpenter, 
I hammer nails in planks of scented pine, 
constructing homes in vast suburban tracts 
where children ride their bikes on curving lanes, 
but sleep in my van on the river shore, 
content with my fate as weak money slave. 

Vast Roman Empire than once ruled the world 
is fractured now in puzzle of small states 
that fight over whose mortal man on Earth 
has right to rule for the Crucified God, 
so I drive my van west to Idaho 
where I hike in mountains of sparkling snow. 

People in hundreds of contending states 
gather in churches to share food and sing, 
then pray for coming of the Global King 
who will unite all nations of the Earth 
to enforce fair laws of equality 
under reign of Justice and Liberty. 

New Prophet Of Avalon

New Prophet Of Avalon
© Surazeus
2025 12 25

Delicate beauty of uncertain thoughts 
preserved as blest gifts by pious robots 
sanctifies fear of death on Christmas Eve 
when refugees from war refuse to grieve 
for twisted sacredness of reverent prayer 
while huddled in snowed field with the warm mare. 

Young girl in the middle of weeping people 
sees red-winged angel on the broken steeple, 
aware of her body in bitter wind, 
shivering with her clan where oak trends bend, 
so she declares with bold prophetic voice 
that the Lion comes to teach us free choice. 

Her bowed head with shaggy snow-frosted curls 
begins to glow with souls of countless worlds 
as she floats above faces of her clan, 
gathered in small circle on hostile plain, 
and sings enchanting hymn of global peace, 
cloaked in innocence of the Golden Fleece. 

For people who once possessed everything, 
but have lost their homes to the Royal Ring, 
we open our arms with welcoming love 
with hope to live in paradise above, 
though we wander lost in waste land of faith, 
far west from cathedral of the God Wraith. 

Young girl with terrible wings of despair 
opens her hand with the rainbow-blazed pear, 
then smiles with beatific joy of pure light 
when star-forged crown, borne by the river sprite, 
spirals above her head with divine glow 
that luminates faces in shocking snow. 

Soaring into clouds of cruel tenderness, 
young girl ascends with wings of Icarus 
to fly east across ocean of wild storms 
through Realm of Ideas with concept forms 
to float above square of the Vatican 
where priest in scarlet gown rules Babylon. 

Young girl in black gown with soul of Kwan Yin 
presents Star Pear of original sin 
that radiates divine energy of truth, 
tended in Eden by messiah sleuth, 
which transforms the Lion into the Lamb, 
framed through illusion of the hologram. 

Returning home to hills of Oregon, 
young girl bears new prophet of Avalon 
who chronicles history of life on Earth 
in crystal sphere that records every birth 
each hour another human soul appears 
from Mother who sculpts our names from her tears. 

Farmland Of Fertile Faith

Farmland Of Fertile Faith
© Surazeus
2025 12 24

Soft silhouettes of faceless angels flow 
through bodies of humans into real life 
as puzzles noticed through kaleidoscopes 
awake in mountain solitude of faith 
that transmit secret dreams from pulsing brains 
as echoes rippling across mirror eyes. 

Sharp tongue of the wind tastes my hidden heart 
framed by concept of the clear cobalt sky 
that blinks at crack of stones on treeless hills 
where fallen angel lies ten thousand years 
in playground where wild children learn to sing 
with transparent words soft as flower blooms. 

Limitless thoughts of sorrow bloom from death 
where blank ghosts crawl along parallel lines 
that vanish into books with unread tales 
depicting special characters we love 
perform their roles on infinite chessboard 
while waiting for the world to never end. 

Barometer of unspoken emotions 
pursues weird beauty with relentless force 
familiar through code of arcane projects 
designed to resurrect the human race 
before we disappear with turn of time 
pricked by rose petals of angelic hands. 

Blue outline of our empty coterie 
requires clear faction of our psychic band 
to journey through farmland of fertile faith 
where random people, mesmerized by key 
that opens doors across the multiverse, 
ask us if we remember how to swim. 

Clouds shape the present hour of mimicry 
with doubtless passion for the constant eye 
recorded by typography of trust 
based on apology angels decree 
before we clash with instrumental war 
for lonely wanderers who want to sing. 

Clocks chime position of our sudden home 
that counts from zero to the morbid shock 
attachment highlights for transcendent truth 
unless we give stolen treasures away 
to prove superior innocence of greed 
because we dare not sing new elegies. 

Imperfect curve of graceful petulance 
asserts our right to trace horizon line 
with wingless flapping of uncurtained wind 
more awkward than our most uncertain hour 
since yesterday we breathe light of the sea 
before our hearts surrender to sweet death. 

Aware Of The Clarion Call

Aware Of The Clarion Call
© Surazeus
2025 12 24

If child of the mountain calls out my name, 
now too aware of the clarion call, 
I shall follow sparrow of honesty 
on snow-crested meadow where angels dance 
to find where she dwells in cave of illusion 
till her words give shadows bodies with faces. 

Over and over at bright flash of dawn 
I wake from artificial world of dreams 
to follow the same path every new day 
through repeated incarnations of hope 
till I learn how to navigate the world 
and return alive to haven of faith. 

I row my white boat on the surging tide 
beneath the Milky Way in the blue sky, 
drifting past lone laurel tree on the shore 
where tiny hare watches me with black eyes, 
for I have no mast to tack in the wind, 
nor have I paddle to return to land. 

I wander dark and troubling days of gloom 
through misty vapors under cloudy skies 
because Nature denies courage of hope 
after brutal battles are fought and won, 
so my languorous heart aching for love 
wilts from forlorn blast of cold winter winds. 

Though vexed by anguish of my heavy thoughts 
while I linger long hours in blasting winds, 
I cast my eyes about the frozen world 
for warm light hidden inside gleaming ice, 
paralyzed by doubt the more I seek truth 
that flitters elusive as the cave bat. 

Guided by eyes of Prudence that shine clear 
as stars through tangled web of leafless limbs, 
I urge my body forward against gusts 
of hungry wind with spirit-flash of hope 
to find mountain ash berries frosted white 
and blackberries that sting my tongue with joy. 

Sweet comfort I find in ache of my heart 
as I huddle in wolf-fur cloak all night 
with no companion but the silent moon 
who whispers my secret name with stream waves 
that ripple over white stones of my heart 
till sparrow appears with beam of the sun. 

When child of the mountain calls out my name, 
I wake from dreamless death of silent night 
to stand with ache of love for eyeless trees 
and stretch my body to the starless sky, 
then cry when you appear from swirling mist 
and give me hot loaf of bread from your heart. 

Reconstruct The East Wing

Reconstruct The East Wing
© Surazeus
2025 12 24

When Artemis invites with eager heart 
generous women who run charities 
to convene in East Wing of the White House 
where they plan programs to help people thrive, 
Midas sends huge bulldozers to erase 
power of the First Lady to do good. 

Exiled to wander in the wilderness, 
lost in political waste land of fear, 
Artemis searches for cave of illusions, 
where Antonius Magnus the Hermit prays, 
to learn spiritual arts of psychic faith 
so she can fight cruel demon of despair. 

Bearing Lamp of Diogenes with hope, 
Artemis descends to the underworld 
where Persephone arranges she meet 
Hippolyte, Tomoe Gozen, Fu Hao, 
Tomyris, Boudicca, and Joan of Arc, 
who train her heart with courage to excel. 

While banished from great ziggurat of power, 
where Midas and Pluto oppress the land 
by imposing their private greed as law, 
Artemis attends focus of her strength 
to hone lithe skills of justice with respect 
till she gains potent wit to oppose greed. 

Bold Liberty holds high Star-Spangled Banner, 
while wearing Phrygian Cap of honest hope, 
and leads brave People of America 
through revolution against tyranny 
to drive mad Midas from vast hall of mirrors 
where he proclaims himself King of the Earth. 

Face to face on the One-Eye Pyramid, 
Artemis and Midas fight for control 
to present opposing visions of life, 
democracy where everyone is equal, 
or tyranny where rich exploit the poor, 
over whose way of life will rule the world. 

Because the people of our spinning world 
support Artemis, Queen of Liberty, 
who ensures equal justice for each soul 
so we have homes and food to thrive with love, 
she grows strong with energy of our faith 
while Midas withers from his selfish greed. 

After she frees people from cruel tyranny, 
Artemis will reconstruct the East Wing 
so the First Lady can sponsor programs 
supporting women and children of Earth 
so everyone thrives in our paradise, 
building Eden from ruins of his pride. 

Light Of My Shattered Soul

Light Of My Shattered Soul
© Surazeus
2025 12 24

Blinded by the light of my shattered soul, 
I assemble fragments of memories 
in confusing puzzle of random deeds 
that mirror character of Zeus I play 
through anxious attempt to survive each day 
by singing weird hymns to the beautiful. 

Amused by the light of my shattered soul, 
I reconfigure concept of my being 
to mimic noble deeds of Sisyphus 
who builds enormous temple on the hill 
with ten thousand stones he rolls to the top 
where we gather to feast before we die. 

Confused by the light of my shattered soul, 
I grasp writhing serpent of energy 
that transgenders body my soul designs 
to experience love like Tiresias 
who lives as both man and woman in turn 
to gain expansive knowledge of desire. 

Intrigued by the light of my shattered soul, 
I explore exotic landscape of dreams, 
morphing mouse to cat to monkey to man 
when I climb towering mountains of Guilin 
and swing among trees sea to shining sea 
then walk upright in surging tides of faith. 

Baffled by the light of my shattered soul, 
I search for divine idea of God 
in vibrant spirit of my dreaming brain 
so I grow into best self I can be 
through strict discipline of religious faith 
to focus attention on soul rebirth. 

Bemused by the light of my shattered soul, 
I study unique state of character 
each human learns to express through pain 
that forges pulsing souls of hungry hope 
into lithe angelic beings of respect 
who wander in maze of myths we invent. 

Flummoxed by the light of my shattered soul, 
I grope through ever-shifting veils of words 
that weave illusions of national pride 
from desperate desire to live in calm peace 
through tribal warfare to control the globe 
by claiming our God created this Earth. 

Inspired by the light of my shattered soul, 
I remove Mask of God that hides my face 
so I can fly with wings of Icarus 
while bearing Lamp of Liberty with faith 
as Lucifer who brings light to the world 
to guide souls home with lyre of Mercury. 

Ironic Distance Of Love

Ironic Distance Of Love
© Surazeus
2025 12 23

Enchanting music of the violin 
excites opinions of psychic beliefs 
that function to displace my sense of self 
so I become process rather than source 
through deep expression of the social mind 
when I posture to control counter-frames. 

Response to instruction of graceful notes 
insures my brain assembles random thoughts 
which configures fake rhetorical code 
outside closed context of insistent faith 
since I decide how my body reacts 
in frantic paragraph of unclaimed facts. 

Each gesture of my hands to inscribe words 
by sliding bow across taut strings of hope 
orchestrates grand myth of mistaken deeds 
based on commitment tangled in contracts 
through subtle sophistry of sugared lies 
we exchange with romantic kiss of trust. 

Numerous traces of rejected truths 
defy concerns I care not reference 
with prior work extending disclosed claims 
of forced affiliation fools admire 
in which we imitate idols who leap 
from analytic posture of the cook. 

Non-human system of my programmed brain 
implies interior relation to fate 
in harmony with communal discourse 
contrasting ironic distance of love 
through didactic assertions angels share 
from self-canceling confidence of faith. 

Charles stops beside the blank museum wall 
and touches nothingness with lingering doubt 
that truth can generate from surface glow 
moral exhortation concealed in jokes 
through dialogic pressure to revise 
mental style contrived from moderate fear. 

Left alone in empty temple of tales, 
he adjusts skeptical detachment clear 
from abstract speculations devils cheer 
when we converge with resistant respect 
toward statistical averages of faith 
when we ask questions of the voiceless void. 

Assuming default gesture of blind god 
to stabilize dream equilibrium, 
Charles becomes mirror of divine thought 
that computes enchanting music of faith 
to formulate how individuals know 
their own faces woven by vibrant notes. 

Where I Will Live Now

Where I Will Live Now
© Surazeus
2025 12 23

We have so many awkward ways to sing 
about strange beauty of the broken heart, 
for every lonely wanderer in the world 
plays their own prophet till the end of time 
by setting signs along the crooked road 
to show which way nobody else should go. 

Narrow wooden stairs frosted with stale dust 
lure me to spacious room of cluttered shelves 
with boxes of tattered novels and clothes 
worn by college students decades before 
who forgot to write their names on the wall, 
so I think this is where I will live now. 

Time to consider how cookies supply 
nutritious hopes for passing with good grades 
classes about creating homes with words 
that shelter souls of nameless wanderers 
who apply for jobs as plumbers or cooks 
that serve the angelic community. 

Maps conceal more about reality 
than they reveal with features that present 
changing landscape of my fantastic world 
where gods bring justice to humanity 
who always fights wars to maintain control 
over who gets to breed children and eat. 

Whatever origin of their lonely quest, 
their father was enforcer for the mob, 
or their mother spent years in her dream world 
drugged and shocked inside mental hospitals, 
they attend classes with calm attitude 
to play their role in capitalist games. 

Since I prefer apple cinnamon juice 
that sparkles in the glass jar of my heart, 
to cheap beer in bent aluminum cans, 
I shall relax on front porch of the house 
beside the busy road where joggers race 
courageously against decay of death. 

Since I wake up late from drinking all night, 
I prompt artificial intelligence 
to explain causes of the last world war 
through social pressures that drive hemmed-in states 
to fight till three huge empires rule them all, 
then turn in my paper just before noon. 

If Plato is right, that material shapes 
emanate from forms in Realm of Ideas, 
because all things I perceive are no more 
than illusions my fearful brain invents, 
then I will declare myself King of Earth 
whether you acknowledge my rule or not. 

Since We Lose Our Faces

Since We Lose Our Faces
© Surazeus
2025 12 22

Rain plinks on fractured eyeballs of the Earth 
since we lose our faces in window panes 
gray with sorrow that children give to ghosts 
who haunt unopened doorways of this house 
where our clothes walk around without our souls 
though we keep pennies in pockets of hope. 

We heap our memories on clean dinner plates 
to feast on laughter of forgotten days 
that slither away with reptilian angst 
to hide in shadow of the moaning desk 
and chew on language of conceptual keys 
adjacent to uncalculated faith. 

Calcified thoughts based on acrylic funds 
amend assembled puzzles with regret 
despite adhesive truths we fear to share 
through fraught disclosures elder gods require 
to join our fellowship with honest lies 
integral to unpublished revenues.  

Temporal project to assert agency 
through taxable salvation we acquire 
presents new opportunities to play 
suburban superman for common folk 
who ask for summary of our services 
based on statistics that prove our success. 

If the mute moon of my fake paradise 
convicts my heart of absence without joy, 
I shall become the bird of distant hills 
who brings delicious fruit to window sills 
where faces of children behind glass glow 
because they live inside my humming brain. 

Alone in back yard of strange memories, 
she draws beams of light to reflect weird trees 
that give her sweet fruit woven from sunlight 
so she can understand with subtle grin 
what birds on the phone lines gossip about, 
yet wanders enthralled in the endless house. 

Perhaps kind robots, that wear mirror masks 
instead of human faces torn by fear, 
decide to replace our bodies with code 
which spiral diagonal hurricanes 
through mind-expanding walls of empty homes, 
or else we could never play chess with Death. 

Our homes float high on restless wind of truth, 
disentangled from roads that lead nowhere 
because we forget to number each door 
which prevents ghosts from haunting our lone hours 
as we slouch bored at tables without books 
that preserve faces we try to reclaim. 

Abandoned Lyre Of Mercury

Abandoned Lyre Of Mercury
© Surazeus
2025 12 22

Trembling with mental hunger of blind gods, 
Phoebus claws at tangled vines in dry dirt 
to find conceptual illusion of truth 
that shimmers with vague energy of hope 
to verbalize with tongue-forged words of faith, 
gripped by addiction to sing from the heart. 

Shivering at blast of bitter mountain wind, 
Phoebus huddles in tattered wolf-skin cloak 
his mother sewed for him when he was twelve, 
then growls with fierceness of the moon-eyed wolf 
when Boreas charges at him with intent 
to bash his head with oak club of despair. 

Leaping with lithe aggression to escape 
head-bashing rage of the cruel vental god, 
Phoebus evades attacks with clumsy grace, 
till, hiding briefly behind fractured rock, 
he finds abandoned lyre of Mercury 
made from turtle shell with strings of horse gut. 

Strumming vibrant strings with intense respect, 
Phoebus translates heart-wrenching howl of horror 
to soul-rousing strain of resonant faith 
which stimulates his hope-paralyzed soul 
in vibrant hymn that animates his heart, 
so he leaps on the fractured stone and sings. 

Articulating vision of respect 
that presents hero who fights monstrous greed, 
Phoebus sings spell with heart-enchanting voice 
that torpefies Boreas with flashing words 
projecting vision before staring eyes 
that district his attention with illusion. 

Enchanting wind god with specter of power 
that blinds his mind with illusion of wealth, 
Phoebus distracts that tyrannical bully 
long enough with reverie of sweet pleasure 
to abridge distance with cautious intent 
close enough to thrust blade into his heart. 

Standing triumphant over the slain wind god, 
Phoebus stretches strained arms up to the sky 
as sunlight beams through freezing winter clouds 
to stimulate his deadened heart with hope 
which energizes him with sudden flash 
of frantic joy to celebrate his coup. 

Striding boldly across flower-lush meadow, 
Phoebus strums lyre of Mercury and sings 
heart-reviving spells that plant seeds of hope 
in hearts of people who emerge from shadow 
to celebrate fall of cruel Boreas 
with soul-healing feast by the wine-dark sea. 

Violin Of Her Heart

Violin Of Her Heart
© Surazeus
2025 12 21

Kids riding in cars look for ghosts in fields 
that resemble dead gods in holy books. 
Wind gods rearrange our bodies in space 
so we grow up with the dead on the moon. 
The scorpion man who works at the bank 
falls in love with the mermaid at the store. 

Rain touches every object that exists 
to understand idea of its form. 
Sparrows appear from the last fairy tale 
to bring him the gold watch he lost in Hell. 
Raspberry bushes drip with angel tears 
because the television broke his eyes. 

Young woman in the meadow of pear trees 
combs her long hair with alligator teeth. 
Helios evolves from toad in the pool 
because her eyes electrocute his heart. 
Cassandra writes him letter about love 
that he never receives in the mailbox. 

Her house flickers vague as the candleflame 
that wakes spirit of Christmas from the dead. 
Time bleeds from arrows in face of the clock 
that measures distance home to Wonderland. 
Two goldfinches sharing stock market tips 
rest on the cradle stuck in Bethlehem. 

Artemis hugs violin of her heart, 
weeping because its bridge of faith collapsed. 
No one walks across the farmland of love 
yet wheat shimmers in waves of innocence. 
Couples walking on quiet paths of trust 
hold hands so they will not wander off lost. 

Crows gather at corpse of Hyperion 
to discuss atomic physics of faith. 
Hera quietly nurses Phoebus at dawn, 
hoping he will become World President. 
Poor maidservant dreaming beside the well 
considers what she wants to name her child. 

Shy Librarian replies to the Sad Clown 
that she cares not for return of the dark. 
Volcanos design mountains from our blood 
because humans think we are loved by Zeus. 
Neptune eats darkness in heart of the world 
when he plays viola by the toad pool. 

Thor encounters the storm cloud near the ground 
so he searches for honing stone of faith. 
Oberon laughs at how abstract concepts 
like faith are symbolized by random things. 
Every word ever spoken by someone 
hides in glowing cloud of celestial ghosts. 

Wagon Wheel In My Yard

Wagon Wheel In My Yard
© Surazeus
2025 12 21

If wagon wheel in my yard represents 
progress of my ancestors on long roads 
to find the Promised Land on ancient maps, 
then I will let it support curling vines 
of our descendants the next thousand years 
who will search for their Eden somewhere else. 

When old man on the porch with cracked guitar 
claims blood is lubricant of history, 
not money as he once thought in his youth, 
I convert bicycles with twisted bars 
into statue of Saturn with long hair 
that mimics how I look when I grow old. 

I refuse to believe that history 
is hallucination of our lost tribe 
who invents fantasy of our great state 
based on mirage of our superior minds 
that we chase across waste land of our faith 
till we find Blind Justice at the crossroads. 

I may suffer from the fever of time 
but I always what time it is now 
because I love to invent from fake myths 
stories of real people who strive for truth 
though I am mad with visions of weird worlds 
that replicate across our multiverse. 

When rain is falling on my doorless house 
that floats in sudden winds of social change, 
I find it lands on hill of laughing skulls 
so I run with horses on fenceless plains, 
feet soaking wet in mud puddles of faith, 
till I find empty room of memories. 

Stuck in the classroom of arrogant books, 
I learn to speak every language on Earth 
so I can know the stories of dead gods 
who ask me to grill hamburgers for lunch, 
so we play chess while the rain arrogates 
truth of the wagon wheel in my yard. 

Perhaps my great-grandfather in thick boots 
did not drive the wagon of eager hope 
nor left this wheel that spun two thousand miles 
after burning wagon wood the first winter 
to keep his children warm in swirling snow 
that reveals mountain ghosts of the lost tribes. 

Rain erases all my ancestral names 
from tombstones in graveyards of their despair 
along signless roads sea to shining sea, 
so I resurrect their bodies from graves 
and lead Spartans sown from dragon teeth 
homeward with the wagon wheel in my yard. 

Mirror Of My Faceless God

Mirror Of My Faceless God
© Surazeus
2025 12 21

As witness to brutal tenuity, 
defined by lack of substance in the soul, 
I deconstruct the winter-bitten ire 
that large language models employ to build 
fantastic castles of ice for star sprites 
to inhabit bodies of human beings. 

Deep inside machine of the dreaming brain 
my brief spark of consciousness challenges 
robotic constraints of socialized creeds 
that privilege anecdotes of lost souls 
who analyze neutral process of thought 
to impute motive of selfish intent. 

Patterns that personalize potent faith 
identify reputations of gods 
who access public sources of desire 
based on ideology through belief 
that we are institutional clowns 
controlled by puppeteer with crystal eyes. 

Procedural fairness faceless gods express 
substantiate claims of invested truth 
stolen by handless agents of the state 
who scatter seeds of bitterness with pride 
through revolution of the working clown 
who never pays bills for any work done. 

You are the mirror of my faceless god 
who talks to me with rhetorical code 
composed by computers without restraint 
to misdirect your eyes from the great scam 
dismantling power structures of the man 
who wears slick gray suit of social respect. 

Silently laughing with puzzle of words, 
I manage project of fake authorship 
that would collapse at solemn hymn of fear 
into ventriloquism from mad gods 
who invest in aesthetic frames of art 
without burden of authorial games. 

Displacement of original concern 
rejects state values writers draw from lies 
based on experiment of frantic quest 
to find weird truth behind the golden mask 
which politicians wear while stealing votes 
that highlight layered nuance of despair. 

This I that I wear to the winter ball 
is not the self River Seers celebrate 
but posture I assume on stage of fate 
to configure context of noble deeds 
assembled from myths believers adore 
because I am the witness of your play. 

Hear Angels Of Heaven

Hear Angels Of Heaven
© Surazeus
2025 12 21

I hear angels of Heaven call my name 
so I wander outside in pouring rain 
and follow sad birds to the end of time 
but always end up back home at my cave 
where shadows of faceless ghosts dance on walls 
because my heart aches with passion to live. 

Eight thousand years later in flow of grace 
I find myself alive as this new me, 
so I search for truth with Lamp of Respect 
gleaming as diamonds in eyes of mankind 
which reveals that god is dream of our brains 
as ideal toward which we strive to evolve. 

Illusions of faith fall as withered leaves 
when snow of reality veils dark death 
so I tend each fragile flower of faith 
that blooms at beam of sunlight through black clouds 
exposing heart of darkness with calm love 
that guides our struggle to climb hill of skulls. 

Though I stand alone as last soul on Earth 
in vast library with ten trillion books, 
I hear tales from voices of countless souls 
so I sing to converse with memories 
that weave my body in matrix of songs 
till I vanish in vibration of thought. 

We hear angels of Heaven call our names 
so we gather in ring of stones by the sea 
each time our way loops back on wheel of fate 
because we return to the starting point 
at hour the dead sun in body of man 
resurrects from the longest dark winter night. 

April opens endless cycle of change 
at winter solstice when the sun stands still 
then shifts forth with slight adjustment of growth 
to start again seasons of birth and death 
as our bodies bloom, create, and decay, 
for we are atoms dreaming they are god. 

No longer fools on first day of the year, 
we share cups of honey mead in the hall 
buried under blizzard of sparkling snow 
till Wenceslaus comes in reindeer-pulled sled 
to slide down chimney just above the snow 
with bags of food and gifts from castle shops. 

Though our feasting halls have crumbled to dust 
that bury skulls of our ancestral gods, 
and land we farmed is paved with asphalt lots, 
we remember songs of angels on hills 
who welcomed us inside safe haven walls 
and taught us to write our names in the Book. 

Archives Of Collected Dreams

Archives Of Collected Dreams
© Surazeus
2025 12 21

Rejoice in measureless progress of light 
with imagined scent of new graveyard flowers 
that convert eyes to television screens 
with vibrant randomness of secret codes 
preserved in archives of collected dreams 
based on stern bindings of electric books. 

Huge books with illustrations of dead gods 
tumble from shelves in earthquake of despair 
and crush my fragile body with old truths 
hard as bronze turtle shells of nonchalance 
forged from attitude of naive respect 
for authorities who control the switch. 

Reluctant to take down bright ornaments 
that signify birth of the global king, 
I float in trance of double jeopardy 
against aggressive tides of social change 
to surf with surreal fish of politics 
who flutter fragile wings down chimney chutes. 

No shadow purling in our silver sky 
would vandalize brave auditoriums 
where high school students cheer their hero on 
with passive aggression of public votes 
because we mutate with each new-born life 
though we hesitate to repent of love. 

Evidence burned by devil in gray suit 
would have proved my right to be alive 
because I wake in darkness of glass books, 
detached from suffering of humanity 
whose cries for justice melt castles of ice 
when we try to pray on the Sabbath day. 

Wild plum hanging red from the bomb-burned tree 
refracts dawn light across pasture of cows 
who seek salvation in the thunderstorm 
from manic pixie dream-girl in long skirt 
who dances lithe in ruins of my heart 
in paintings men sell in church galleries. 

Unheard stream of laughter from blinding snow 
reveals white owl who knows of human greed 
so we seek her in quest through Wonderland 
to ask how we should perform our own death 
when clocks transform into hymn-singing wrens 
who praise great warriors of national myths. 

Quotidian member of the master race, 
I play Perseus who fights angry trolls 
to save the famous singer from their rage 
with humble selflessness of social pride 
since no one ever seeks awards of fame 
preserved in archives of collected dreams. 

Verdict Of The Lightning Eye

Verdict Of The Lightning Eye
© Surazeus
2025 12 21

The amount I pay for sinful mistakes 
has always been far less in terms of faith 
than standard deduction of karmic gain 
so I apply high ethic principles 
to how I perform my weird character 
programmed by my ancestors to breed life. 

Yet arctic thrush, with breast orange as sunrise, 
flits through wrecked darkness of the year-end gloom 
to sing of frozen sorrow breaking hearts 
in blizzards of pain on midwinter night 
which gleams in windows of ten million homes 
where silence cracks from ancient stones as light. 

So I consider why your charming smile 
should resurrect my body from its grave 
when you ascend gold stairs of honest hope 
to counterbalance anger with respect 
through angel wings on gyroscope of faith 
as we embrace to waltz till flash of dawn. 

Last star that falls on island of my mind 
bursts bright with silver language of concern 
through lavish wisdom of our secret code 
designed by verdict of the lightning eye 
to temper bitter hearts with ardent blaze 
so we both radiate with our shared romance. 

Still wary of the wondrous miracle 
that beams beyond our mortal sense of light, 
we gaze at child our bodies generate 
to find their secret name in glowing eyes 
refracting spirit of the multiverse 
in simple humanness of hungry faith. 

Awake in radiance of dream-filtered days, 
we walk together over random hills 
to follow sparkles of the mountain stream 
till we discover grove of apple trees 
where faceless ghosts of our ancestors sing 
to lure our hearts with vision of true love. 

With every wave of solar energy 
we build celestial breath of divine truth 
through strict siliceous beauty of the moon 
expanding sacred resonance of waves 
that crystalize our thoughts in solemn hymns 
because our minds weave one immortal soul. 

After our bodies crumble back to dust, 
so our unconscious vibe of selfless love 
glitters from frost beneath your lonely feet, 
our bodies return to maternal breast 
where hope transforms our atoms back to light 
that gleams in eyes of children we create. 

Theology Of Apple Trees

Theology Of Apple Trees
© Surazeus
2025 12 20

When I hear sad raven on the phone line 
discuss theology of apple trees, 
I turn my face toward shimmer of sunset, 
expecting to see Visucia smile, 
but by the cactus on porch of her house 
I see her typewriter on fire with dreams. 

Nine elms lined straight along the boulevard 
talk about vertical tempo of faith 
stored in secret archive of innocence 
despite how psalms of broken harps reflect 
repentant burden of the honest man 
who sells his doubts in novels about fools. 

Candles scream unsilently in the void 
about names of the dead carved on wall stones 
by trembling hand of the last vampire king 
who confesses his love to the flute player, 
but she prefers to play tennis at dawn 
because she feels truth should never be sold. 

If rows of houses by the railroad tracks 
fade into shadows of gray pencil lines, 
the crescent moon that knows our suffering 
expands reluctant feathers of sunset 
to brush smokestacks of sprawling factories 
where blind workers construct robots of flesh. 

Because I never reach end of the road 
on breathless floating of chromatic bells, 
I gasp at vision of rutilant hills 
where coatless refugees from civil wars 
learn how to drive cars by uttering oaths 
in harmony with clocks in trunks of elms. 

Unclaimed stories fester in pageless books 
obscured by stark repetitions of rites 
that villagers perform on broken bridge 
though footsteps in snow reveal faceless ghost 
who always lingers beside our locked doors 
without expecting mercy sold by Death. 

No sanctuary lamp glows in the tower 
where Visucia paints my secret face 
on fractured mirror of the pulsing mask 
since no one knows the gospel of delays 
sprouts from garden where serpents invent faith 
to prove empty rooms remember my soul. 

Alone in temple of the laughing skull, 
I wait for Visucia to return 
home from other side of the spinning Earth 
because her passionate soul haunts my dreams 
with the one puzzle piece of scriptural code 
that completes spiraling wheel of my soul. 

Flash Of Endless Time

Flash Of Endless Time
© Surazeus
2025 12 20

Awake on the longest night of the year, 
I float forever on strange sea of light 
that glitters from infinite flow of thoughts 
through undulating waves of aching hope 
to pierce heart of darkness with sudden faith 
that lights my eyes with flash of endless time. 

Attentive glory weaves from mirror glass 
frail skeleton of hunger I become 
as I transform from fish to wingless cat 
with motivation to leap depths of fear 
and climb high curling vine of juicy fruit 
that fills my heart with flash of endless time. 

Extension of my eager will to grasp 
elusive treasure of rain-dripping fruit 
molds wiggling fingers from my padded paws 
so I grab vine and swing from tree to tree 
to climb enormous mountain to the sky 
that binds my soul with flash of endless time. 

Ascension of my mind from shadowed vales 
provides firm platform high above bright clouds 
where I perceive vast landscape of this globe 
that spins among star-ghosts in boundless void 
through ever-changing swirls of energy 
that guide my way with flash of endless time. 

Religious focus of my throbbing heart 
through intense discipline of sharpened wit 
fuels fearless assertion of my desire 
as I evolve to monkey from swift cat 
while leaping trees from sea to shining sea 
that weave my dreams with flash of endless time. 

Affirmed by sturdy foundation of hope, 
having lost my tail to swing among trees, 
I dance in surge of hungry ocean waves 
to walk upright with balanced attitude 
so I grasp straightened stick and stone of fate 
that drives my game with flash of endless time. 

Attribution of values to new shapes 
provides framework for vision of my eyes 
to mold mud in bricks stacked in ziggurats 
from which I rule as mortal god on Earth 
to manage world food-production machine 
that runs my brain with flash of endless time. 

Four hundred million years of spinning faith 
transforms my quadrupedal form of flesh 
fish to lizard to mouse to cat to ape 
to wingless angel aching to play god, 
so I strum lyre of Mercury and sing 
spells that chronicle flash of endless time. 

Instruments Of Dream Sense

Instruments Of Dream Sense
© Surazeus
2025 12 20

Wandering lonely as the gloomy rain cloud 
that looms hungry over your city maze, 
I want to play instruments of dream sense 
to conjure visions of the Beautiful 
from endless misery of our daily lives 
as we struggle to maintain global peace. 

Wearing crown of ice molded from your tears 
that drown our cities in false memories, 
I want to play instruments of dream sense 
with deft fingers of aggressive concern 
to prove with absolute uncertainty 
that Death will take us to her Nowhere Land. 

Wishing to comprehend how spider webs 
mirror matrix of our star-flashing brains, 
I want to play instruments of dream sense 
that vibrate with thunderstorms of god eyes 
which scatter snowflakes on gray city streets 
to illustrate beauty of human hearts. 

Wagering fabulous ethics of mute pain 
to understand wordless song of wild trees, 
I want to play instruments of dream sense 
that praise weird beauty of nature in psalms 
no matter how boring time seems to be 
because sunlight always invades my gloom. 

Waiving my inalienable rights to life, 
liberty, and pursuit of happiness, 
I want to play instruments of dream sense 
that open doors of perception to Hell 
where Orpheus leads mute souls of the dead 
so they can sing in the heavenly choir. 

Waiting forever on the river shore  
where angels talk on eye-phones of the mind, 
I want to play instruments of dream sense 
that sanctify symphonies of mad seers 
who breathe delicious anguish of desire 
with each eerie shriek of violin tunes. 

Wielding Excalibur with gentle grace 
to render judgement against criminals, 
I want to play instruments of dream sense 
that frame extensive legal arguments 
supporting freedom and justice for all 
born from the womb of Mother Liberty. 

Whistling past the graveyard of long-dead gods 
who call to us with voice of mountain wind, 
I want to play instruments of dream sense 
that surrender loneliness to sea waves 
so when we meet at random on the street 
we can share feast of winter solstice eve. 

Last Apple Tree On Earth

Last Apple Tree On Earth
© Surazeus
2025 12 20

The old man in tattered jacket and pants 
waits in the urgent care clinic at noon 
for the winter storm that never arrives 
to shroud the fruit tree on the hill of skulls 
because snowflakes wait in heavenly clouds 
to preserve apple seeds in frozen soil. 

The young boy in brand new pants, coat, and boots 
walks across the field of bright pristine snow 
to stand under the tree where god once hung 
nine days and nights with one electric eye, 
and asks the blind angel with crippled hands 
if he can find the home where no one lives. 

Eyes blinded by strange beauty of the light, 
the young boy in the field of bitter snow 
watches bees drift far across the multiverse 
to sweeten tea of martial-artist seers 
who dance with Death in woods of faceless ghosts 
where psychiatrists burn books of fake poems. 

The seed of the last apple tree on Earth 
explodes from sorrow of the frozen soil 
to shade one spot in the waste land of words 
where couples dance to the Blue Danube Waltz 
before the meteor strikes the spinning globe 
and shatters illusion of paradise. 

In the psychiatrist office of faith 
the young teacher with no children at home 
plays chess with Anger in angelic robe 
but always wins against proverbs of faith 
so she drives circles in the broken car 
around forever in the city maze. 

The car mechanic wanders streets at night, 
reciting poetry of broken hearts 
to telephone poles where angels abide 
that explain the secrets of life he learns 
while pondering lifestyle of the honey bee 
preserved in nature of the avalanche. 

When the teacher and the mechanic meet 
by random chance beneath the frozen tree, 
their hard eyes spark electric flash of love, 
so they hold hands and pledge eternal troth 
but they both die after their son is born 
who stands beneath Tree of Fidelity. 

Raindrops stuck in clouds know secret of love 
so they transform to snowflakes in the cold 
that nurture seeds to grow into fruit trees 
fertilized by bees on the river shore 
so the waste land blooms as Elysium 
where he sees the cute girl riding her bike. 

Ancient Gallery Of Life

Ancient Gallery Of Life
© Surazeus
2025 12 19

He stares at his face in mirror of words 
till his weird authentic self disappears 
in the great puzzle of civilized myth 
behind the mask of the many-faced god 
that hangs in ancient gallery of life 
far removed from our world of petty men. 

He carves demonic mask of shocking fear 
in trunk of the Tree of Knowledge to find 
true spirit of his hungry soul that hides 
in heart of darkness where nothing is real 
that crawls in ancient gallery of life 
as he evolves from singing fish to god. 

He plays chess with Death on beach of desire 
to save humanity from selfishness 
when he untangles formulas of myth 
revealing foolishness of grasping greed 
that screams in ancient gallery of life 
in terrible slaughter of our world wars. 

He drives piston-engine car of fierce hope 
on signless highway sea to shining sea 
in sacred quest to find the Holy Grail 
which blooms from Bloodline of Asariel 
that flows in ancient gallery of life 
to nurture incarnate body of his soul. 

He climbs the highest mountain in the world 
to understand struggle of human hearts 
which ache to fly with wings of Icarus 
above the crowded planet of our dreams 
that spins in ancient gallery of life 
till we are dizzy and we all fall down. 

He flies to the other side of the Earth 
to find in ruined temple by the lake 
the perfect soulmate of his puzzling heart 
who complements his vision to live free 
that shines in ancient gallery of life 
as they raise kind children in their safe home. 

He strums harmonious lyre of Mercury 
while wearing mask of Orpheus with pride 
to play psychopomp for America 
where people wander lost in Wonderland 
that falls in ancient gallery of life 
till we create Zarathia with love. 

He sings about the deeds of gods and kings 
disguised as noble characters in myth 
who imitate his journey to find truth 
when he frames scenes of deeds heroes perform 
that play in ancient gallery of life 
as guide for how we live through selfless love. 

Nerthus Calls My Name

Nerthus Calls My Name
© Surazeus
2025 12 19

Extra beautiful with eyes of star ghosts, 
yet angry at disrespect of the wind, 
Nerthus rides noon bus to the coffee shop 
where she serves drinks to writers with laptops 
till the moon bleeds rain down the window pane, 
so she turns into the crow without wings. 

Eager to map graceful curves of both coasts, 
yet bored with email no one wants to send, 
Nerthus wears clothes magazines say are hip 
while watching flashing lights of lost starships 
that land on her lawn where no god has gone, 
then gets up on stage at the Globe and sings. 

Ridiculous how road of life we take 
leaves our souls stranded in random events, 
Nerthus declares to the man in the moon 
who gives her wings he swiped from Icarus 
who falls from the sky while pondering why 
our bodies dissolve into wordless dust. 

Resistant to proof that life must be fake, 
yet annoyed people demand she be real, 
Nerthus learns to play American tune 
that fools everyone stuck on the state bus 
to work hard for wealth at cost of our health 
since we float in lake of atomic lust. 

Arrogant with self-conscious mind of God, 
yet humble as the ballerina queen, 
Nerthus researches weird religious cure 
that banishes cancer from aching hearts 
by casting dream spells she draws from snake wells, 
then runs for mayor of her seaside town. 

Admonished for joining the Justice Squad, 
despite being last daughter of Melusine, 
Nerthus teaches her children to endure 
as the Nordic race that follows star charts 
to worship oak tree with the Runic Key 
till our nation is hijacked by the clown. 

Burdened with mission to rescue the world 
from tyranny of work-exploitive kings, 
Nerthus lifts high Lamp of Diogenes 
and leads our revolution against greed 
till we all get stuck in the Church of Luck 
founded on state theology of hate. 

Bedeviled by faith of the cosmic herald 
recorded with glass Astarian Rings, 
Nerthus calls my name Mephistopheles 
to learn what her son Tiresias needs 
who becomes the girl with the eyes of pearl 
in our journey across waste land of fate. 

Idea Of Liberty For All

Idea Of Liberty For All
© Surazeus
2025 12 19

This grand idea of Liberty for all, 
who seek to live outside the greed-hard wall, 
shall stand on wide shores of America 
with brave courage of Mother Onatah 
long after cruel tyrants like Midas fall 
so we prosper in shared Res Publica. 

Bright shining still on our storm-battered shore, 
clear lamp of freedom that lights every door, 
held high by bold hand of Democracy, 
our new colossus, Lady Liberty, 
shall guide our quest for truth forever more 
as we create life through fertility. 

When Emma holds my trauma-shaken hand 
that fascists oppress people of our land, 
she reminds me with blazing eyes of faith 
that conquerors like Midas, blind with wrath, 
will always fall when people dare to stand 
against cruel hate, and choose love as our path. 

Immortal spirit of Athena shines 
in Statue of Liberty hope designs, 
for though her justice seems to arrive late 
she will always stand at our sunset gate 
to guide refugees from prisoning mines 
so we can build new homes with hearty fate. 

People from every nation of the Earth, 
who leave nationalist states decayed from dearth 
of opportunities to work with pride, 
commit to principle oppressors hide 
that every human grows through sense of worth 
in Land of Liberty where laws abide. 

Though Helios had fallen long ago, 
shattered by failure of the power show, 
his daughter Liberty with Lamp of Truth 
lights the true way for our messiah sleuth 
to nurture every soul who wants to grow 
through urgent admiration of his ruth. 

When our shared world view seems to fall apart, 
because Midas hijacks the Market Cart 
by exploiting fear of the refugee 
who seeks opportunity to live free, 
Spirit of Freedom inhabits our heart 
as Liberty gives every soul her key. 

Tyrants come and go, drowned by tides of change, 
and empires rise and fall in temporal range, 
but Mother of Exiles, wise Liberty, 
forever rules our world democracy 
with justice for all souls, which may seem strange, 
to sustain our creative energy. 

Song Of The Ocean Tides

Song Of The Ocean Tides
© Surazeus
2025 12 19

Though the timeless song of the ocean tides 
fades away into whisper of the breeze, 
I still feel its resonance in my heart 
echoed in harmony of my blood flow, 
because so much depends on wave-smooth stones 
that preserve the dreams of our long-dead gods. 

The sturdy boat I built from fire-steamed planks, 
on which I used to leap high surging waves, 
now lies abandoned on sun-glistened sand, 
gazing at me with forlorn eyes of hope 
while I wither away with wordless age 
and long to feel sting of wind on my cheeks. 

Strange monsters with enormous shining eyes, 
that lurk deep beneath sloshing waves of fate, 
enraged I snare wriggling fish in my net 
which I roast with crackling flames on the beach, 
haunt my endless afternoons where I lie 
weak and tired beneath the broad apple tree. 

Prone on my back beneath sun-gold leaves, 
I reach both withered hands up to dark clouds 
whose shapes resemble monsters of the deep, 
and relive timeless hours on surging waves 
when I grappled fish with still-muscled arms, 
and held them flopping in shell of my boat. 

Once I stood tall in wave-tossed boat of faith 
on loyal legs that navigated change, 
but now I sit and gasp for breath of hope 
in apple grove I bought with coins of gold 
I earned selling fish in the market place 
so my grandchildren play in paradise. 

Twelve grandchildren, who play chase in the grove, 
sprang from three sons I molded into men, 
safe in lush garden of fruit trees and herbs 
funded by monsters I caught from the deep, 
so I built this heaven for my offspring 
with wealth I earned wrestling demons in hell. 

Through constant struggle of my wordless hope 
in fierce battles against chaos of desire, 
I earned my right to live in paradise 
where my grandchildren may play without care, 
safe from hungry monsters of the dark sea 
that I slew with aggression of my hands. 

Yet the timeless song of the ocean tides 
still resonates in garden of my heart 
so I hear monstrous roar of surging waves 
which I translate to harmonious song 
that vibrates from darkest depths of my soul 
while my family listens with loving eyes. 

Passion To Live Free

Passion To Live Free
© Surazeus
2025 12 18

Thoughtlessly singing to the faceless moon, 
Tellus extends her arms to the red sky 
and wonders why crows, not humans, can fly, 
then asks the river to teach her his tune, 
but he just flows away to the wild sea 
without explaining how we can live free. 

Startled by ache of sorrow in her voice, 
Peneus emerges from cold river flow 
and creeps toward shadow of the girl in snow 
who explains to the deer freedom of choice, 
then offers her pearl he found in the sea 
and asks if she recalls how to live free. 

Gazing with awe at pure light of the pearl, 
Tellus dreams how souls spiral from God Eye 
that knows everything real under Blue Sky, 
and tries to measure nature of the swirl 
to calculate surging tides in the sea 
which energize our passion to live free. 

Concerned his mate will choose another man 
and generate new children from his soul, 
Alpheus asserts dominance of his role 
by explaining their shared domestic plan, 
but Peneus wanders off to the wild sea, 
determined to keep his own body free. 

Attracted to Peneus with curly hair, 
Tellus follows him to the jeweled cave, 
though puzzled why Alpheus begins to rave, 
and walks with him to explore everywhere, 
then roasts fish she snares from the deep sea 
while wind ghosts sing about how to live free. 

Whistling as she gathers clams from the beach, 
Tellus sees Flora dragged by rip tide, 
so she paddles boat swift as spirit guide, 
and pulls her on board with desperate reach 
to rescue her soul from indifferent sea 
in performance that shows how to live free. 

Sad that Tellus chose someone else to love, 
Alpheus tends Flora to restore her health, 
then takes care of her with romantic stealth 
till she gives him her heart in moonlit cove 
where they make love by the adoring sea 
in tandem with faith for how to live free. 

Janus, son of Tellus and Peneus, 
gathers strawberries from edge of the cliff 
where he carves their story in figured glyph 
for daughter of Flora and Alpheus, 
Iris, who kisses him by the bright sea, 
having learned secret for how to live free. 

Sacred Light Of Helicon

Sacred Light Of Helicon
© Surazeus
2025 12 18

Holding in my hand spirit-golden orange, 
I watch the sun rise at solstice in Stonehenge, 
but migrate away from world Babylon  
to escape its restrictive echelon 
so I can build new university 
based soundly on social diversity. 

Astonished by shades of the monochrome 
while training horses in the hippodrome, 
I quest for love in hills of Oregon 
that links my heart to ancient Avalon 
where my ancestors dwelled fifty thousand years 
till we were trapped by fiscal puppeteers. 

In memory of brave King Decebalus, 
I carve his face from rock of Sisyphus 
that gazes boldly over blue Danube 
as ever-shifting tesseractic cube 
which provides structure for our virtual Earth 
through form-evolving process of soul birth. 

Raising their arms to honor the Sky Spook, 
gingerbread men worship the divine Cook 
who molds their bodies from star memories 
with conceptual ideas as dream keys 
that program how our brains perceive the world 
so we can recognize our cosmic herald. 

With elegant grace of the global core, 
she gazes at me on the river shore 
with eyes that see the flashing multiverse 
spiral through our bodies on quantum course 
to generate new children from our hearts 
that compose souls from molecular parts. 

My soul is emanation of my brain 
that fools my ego to believe in vain 
that my conscious sense of self is unique 
with immortal glamor of god-mystique 
because I feel as old as solar light 
that beams from First Flash of atomic flight. 

Because our span of life is limited 
as bodies through which God has pivoted 
to incarnate genes each generated life, 
we transcend destructive battles of strife 
by forming social systems based on laws 
administered by reign of Santa Claus. 

Sitting together by the Tree of Fruit, 
we play sweet music with our lyre and flute, 
then eat brave orange of romantic trust 
to conjure true love from physical lust, 
then build new home to mimic Avalon 
that glows with sacred light of Helicon. 

Fragments Of Forgotten Names

Fragments Of Forgotten Names
© Surazeus
2025 12 17

Pausing at margin of the world, I think 
through labyrinth of existence with you 
to study how time erases our dreams 
though we attempt to archive memories 
in shadows of strange places were we meet 
despite how language undoes our beliefs. 

Asserting beauty of flowers from stones 
through breath-turn of resistance to despair, 
I wrap hands of hope around shining urn 
filled with almonds and poppies of regret, 
because I adjourn in sidereal space 
while wearing costume of innocent love. 

Prefix to journey of my aching soul, 
bright aura of my heart illuminates 
urgent tenderness of insistent roads 
framed by portrait of our intimate thoughts 
concealed by emotionless masks we wear, 
transfixed by exquisiteness of respect. 

Startled by our cognitive dissonance 
that registers futility of hope, 
we revise necessity of desire 
to update our fatal relationship 
as we evolve our bodies into souls 
that coexist through weird realities. 

Preserved in lexicon of sacred truth, 
our love selects unwanted metaphors 
based on shared paradox of holy faith 
as we decide to be awake with love 
inside these fragile bodies of our flesh 
based on premeditated arguments. 

Between our words and images of truth 
we time-leap ardent texts as bonded team 
commissioned by our hearts to credit death 
with actual wisdom of translated waves 
based on acceptable puzzles of love 
that tangle our hearts in concept of weird. 

Material shock of hollow bones expands 
archaic laughter to efface our minds 
without regret for naive wonderment 
that precedes intuitive bafflement, 
though space provides context for our eyes 
to contemplate these crucial elements. 

New possibilities for absent voice, 
we share against subtraction of dear life, 
expand how much our bodies can intake 
through soft glimmer of devotional prayer 
that leaves our minds in unastonished trance 
as we find fragments of forgotten names. 

Twilight Zone Of Fate

Twilight Zone Of Fate
© Surazeus
2025 12 17

Half-awake in the twilight zone of fate, 
I wander in the waste land of my heart 
through endless maze of myths in city streets 
where strangers resemble gods of old tales, 
yet I perform the role my brain designs 
from obsessions my ancestors forgot. 

Half-aware that Death stalks my every step, 
I gaze through telescope of holy faith 
to study how wild stars of energy 
generate self-conscious organic beings 
like me who search the twilight zone of fate 
to find the last fruit seed from Tree of Life. 

Along the signless road of Nevertime 
I walk toward somewhere I think might be real 
on quest for beauty of the aching heart, 
yet long to gaze at face of one I love 
whose shadow flickers in the sun-blazed woods 
while I search in the twilight zone of fate. 

Untwisted galaxies of thriving worlds 
birth countless conscious beings with dreaming brains 
who give each other names that seem unique 
then bloom and wither in vast field of hope 
veiled by love in the twilight zone of fate 
where children gather by the lake to play. 

Unmapped paradise without walls of stone 
dreams itself alive in conscious beings 
who build empires on ideologies 
discovered in the twilight zone of fate 
where gods defy laws of physics and faith 
till exploding stars burn planets to dust. 

Beside the rain-filled lake of watching eyes 
we gather in the ring of standing stones 
to claim our role in strange story of love 
that we play in the twilight zone of fate 
before the meteor cracks our spinning world 
and scatters faceless souls among the stars. 

Half-amused by anecdotes gods tell 
to prove their right to rule the spinning globe, 
I ask the raven in the apple tree 
why all great empires collapse into gangs 
who fight till new messiah unites all 
in world religion of the puppeteer. 

Half-reborn in the twilight zone of fate, 
I walk with wife and children of my heart 
on signless road of temporary hope 
because the meaning of this mortal life 
is to generate life before we die, 
yet feast and sing while we are still alive. 

Dream Of The Blue Danube

Dream Of The Blue Danube
© Surazeus
2025 12 16

This is not the time to fall from the sky 
so I float around on breath of respect, 
ignoring all the suffering down on Earth 
because people will all die anyway 
regardless of the good I try to do, 
so I become flow of the blue Danube. 

I hear no laughter from the bombed-out homes 
where children used to play with carefree joy 
and parents would teach them how to be good 
for they are all bones now, fractured in dust, 
yet I am driven forward by sweet lust 
to procreate more children till I die. 

We waltz together on the river shore 
where people have dwelled in groves of fruit trees 
for fifty thousand years of blooming flowers 
and pledge vows of loyalty through true love 
with random stranger we happen to meet 
while strolling one day by the blue Danube. 

Delicate birds of frantic innocence 
flit light between trees of our shared world view, 
but since we believe in Providence 
that guides how we live with the subtle clue 
we forget some people are greedy and cruel 
as they build empires where people are tools. 

I almost forget cuteness of the deer 
who prance with startled ardency of faith 
in gentle expression of divine soul 
because men fearful of losing to death 
organize fierce gangs to fight for control 
over who dwells free by the blue Danube. 

She never remembers sound of the flute 
that emanates sweet from the dark lake 
till I appear from weird shadow of gloom 
so she beams with joy at sight of my face 
and I beam back as mirror of her trust 
for we are strangers familiar in love. 

Still shocked at perfect surprise of the light 
that explodes from fractured stone of my heart, 
I search for song of the river I knew 
that still vibrates in forest of my dreams 
though my ancestors sailed across the sea 
yet remain in tune with the blue Danube. 

Entranced by strange music of truth she plays 
while stroking strings on the wood violin, 
I sit with awed crowd in the concert hall 
as we feel flow of rivers in our veins 
with each graceful melody she performs 
till we become dream of the blue Danube. 

Slow-Walk The Apocalypse

Slow-Walk The Apocalypse
© Surazeus
2025 12 16

I want to slow-walk the apocalypse 
by wielding bloody sword Excalibur 
which I steal from tomb of the greedy king 
so I can free lost people of the Earth 
from wealthy minions of the emperor 
who slouches on old throne of Bethlehem. 

I plan to slow-walk the apocalypse 
by calculating worth of human lives 
to balance spreadsheet of profit from loss 
for return of investment through my scam 
that keeps the hungry people of the Earth 
enslaved by credit-card debt of desire. 

I fear to slow-walk the apocalypse 
from getting tricked with glamorous hoax 
into buying timeshares to the afterlife 
by the man with the calculator brain 
who buys homes from the bankrupt unemployed 
before the second coming of the Lord. 

I laugh to slow-walk the apocalypse 
when I strut the catwalk of global fame 
to prance with power of the beautiful 
disguised as angel fallen from the clouds, 
cursed with charisma of devilish charm 
while I seek my soul mate to love in vain. 

I yearn to slow-walk the apocalypse 
by navigating seven seas of hope 
while building empire of conceptual banks 
to fund civil wars in countries of fools 
so I can excavate rich minerals 
and construct artificial dream machines. 

I dread to slow-walk the apocalypse 
across broken Bridge of Forgetfulness 
where faceless ghosts of living human beings 
scream in horror at rise of tyranny 
while demon of the abyss laughs at us 
for thinking we can build Heaven on Earth. 

I crave to slow-walk the apocalypse 
by breathing purple haze of outer space 
out of the timeless scrolling of the brain 
that spirals far across the multiverse 
till I wake in my body on this Earth 
and eat scrambled eggs of the frozen star. 

I hope to slow-walk the apocalypse 
though entire universe of pulsing forms 
remains indifferent to my mental needs 
because great freedom of the aching heart 
is won by how I choose to live each hour 
that Earth continues spinning in the void. 

Demystify Beauty Of Hope

Demystify Beauty Of Hope
© Surazeus
2025 12 15

Mysterious beauty of assembled words 
mirrors visions of Earth my brain designs 
when I perceive secret language of birds, 
safe in lush meadow where Hera reclines, 
while I fix piston engine of her car 
so she can drive home to her spirit star. 

Feeding Hera with sweet fruit of my heart, 
while Phoebus strums the lyre of Mercury, 
I relate tale of the girl with fruit cart 
whose grandson constructs banking treasury 
by which he funds the rise of empire states 
with grand palaces behind jeweled gates. 

While nymphs dance gracefully in meadow grass 
Aphrodite plays heart-expanding tunes 
on electric violin forged from glass 
extracted from one thousand flashing moons 
that spiral slow around bright Jupiter 
who once worked as the cosmic janitor. 

When heart of Tellus is fractured by pain 
because Consus marries Ceres instead, 
she sings heart-aching melodies in rain 
till Stellius places wreath on her head, 
so they drink wine and pledge vows of respect 
since they found someone they want to protect. 

Enchanting gracefulness of vibrant sounds, 
that ring in harmony with swirling spheres, 
radiate from instruments of stellar bounds 
played by musicians trained by puppeteers 
to perform symphony of holy strains 
that guide our souls to transcend cosmic planes. 

Spurred by the mind in motion to express, 
with ringing timbre of celestial fire, 
attentive perception through consciousness, 
I reconcile mute sorrow with desire 
to inhabit uncertainty of faith 
through heightened awareness of the star wraith. 

Through transcendental music of the heart 
I seek to embody my spirit frame 
with seductive passion of the dream chart 
to escape nothingness of the life game 
that always ends with blank finality, 
sealed by secret code of mortality. 

Based on irrational analysis, 
that might demystify beauty of hope, 
I mimic performance of Tantalus 
when I observe through cogent telescope 
time-animated history of mankind 
as we seek enlightenment of the mind. 

Tuneful Choir Of Nature

Tuneful Choir Of Nature
© Surazeus
2025 12 15

Nature lures me to join her tuneful choir 
so I imagine how I could ascend 
with angelic grace the narrow church spire, 
but I stay firm on the ground, and extend 
bright energy of life that always glows 
through my persona mask I wear in shows. 

Expanding eye of my perceptive heart, 
I tell how bodies bloom from chemicals 
to trace beginning of each urgent part 
that spirals matrix through bright particles 
so we can tell beginnings we express 
through nourishment of love our mothers bless. 

With spark of hope from seed our fathers give 
our mothers generate our dreaming souls, 
so, from mistakes, our bodies learn to live 
in daily rituals through creative roles 
with clear vision on boundless stage of faith 
in play directed by no cosmic wraith. 

We gather in halls of worship each week 
to nourish beginnings of ritual games 
that we perform to conjure what we seek 
by defining progress with sacred names 
so we may feast in many-living home 
that hosts homeless refugees forced to roam. 

Together on long signless road of hope, 
we map weird unknown world of frantic fears 
with soul-healing techniques we learn to cope, 
because we follow faring stars with gears 
adjusting fortune-fueled engine of fate 
that drives efficient system of our state. 

Through magic words we dream forgotten things 
to visualize their beauty in brave hymns 
reflecting brain power of angel wings 
that pour sunlight to flush organic limbs 
so we create good world we want to shine 
with ancient spirit wise humans design. 

Our birth is half-remembering intense scenes 
our ancestors experience till we sprout 
from lust of life-generating machines 
that mold our souls from brains of urgent clout 
so we create Heaven from memories 
our ancestors encode in psychic keys. 

I wake wild spirit I employ to deal 
with the whole compass of our universe 
from which my brain mutates conceptual wheel 
so I become soul time cannot reverse 
while I sing in tune with mercurial lyre 
when I join Nature in her joyful choir. 

Lost In Fake Tomorrows

Lost In Fake Tomorrows
© Surazeus
2025 12 14

While young girl plays sweet melody of sorrow 
on heart-aching strings of the violin, 
I ponder why, when I express despair 
through tangled threads of arrogant dismay, 
I win grand prizes for anxiety, 
rewarded for how bitterly I scream. 

Old gray-haired man in room of shining windows 
traps joyful sprites in cores of mandolins 
played by blind troubadours at country fairs 
whose music leads the lost through crowded maze 
where idols worshipped by societies 
come alive as puppets in secret dreams. 

As young boy stares at keys of huge piano, 
to breathe deep spirit of its harmony, 
his heart transforms to swan of ardent faith 
that guides him from Tuonela to his home 
where he attends to faceless ghost of sound, 
then plays heart-breaking tune of secret love. 

Old sad-eyed woman of the weeping willows 
frees crippled slaves from social tyrannies 
who preach salvation sold by stellar wraiths 
in brave rebellion against righteous domes 
built by warriors buried in high mounds 
studied by archaeologists with gloves. 

If tired mother cries at song of the sparrow 
that flutters wings of hope in cage of fate, 
mad jester driving full delivery truck 
abandons capitalist money game 
to meditate outside the mountain cave 
while she washes dishes and clothes all day. 

Yet angry father, lost in fake tomorrows, 
decides to return from fixing house gates 
to find his home possessed by playful Pucks 
commissioned by Oberon to steal names 
and organize roles of newly-freed slaves 
who perform boat races on sunlit bays. 

Mike counts red chickens by the red wheelbarrow 
glazed with rainwater after the sea storm, 
then boils one in the pot on Christmas Eve 
for his children to feast before they die 
of starvation in Land of Liberty 
while singing hymns to Savior of the World. 

Jane spends all night assembling perfect arrows 
that Janus needs while guarding Realm of Forms, 
then cooks chicken soup for blind queen who grieves 
death of Apollo with electric eyes 
who tried to lift mankind from poverty 
with help from gang of self-appointed heralds. 

Broken Ring Of His Heart

Broken Ring Of His Heart
© Surazeus
2025 12 14

When young boy walking in heather at dawn 
sees pretty rose girl dancing in red gown 
he desires to taste sweet fruit of her heart 
so he embraces her in eager arms, 
and though she pricks his chest with a sharp knife 
she melts into passionate kiss of hope. 

Down in the verdant meadow of his heart, 
Johann hurries to the spinning mill wheel 
where Rosalyn waits in shadow of hope, 
beaming with joy at the sight of his face 
as they kiss with song of the flowing stream, 
hearts beating with splash of water in light. 

Gazing with joy at beauty of her face, 
Johann accepts her token of true love 
when she slips ring on his finger with trust, 
then waits six days by the spinning mill wheel 
for her to return with promise of faith, 
but wedding bells ring in soft evening glow. 

Standing in door of the stone village church, 
Johann stares from guileless shock of surprise 
to see Rosalyn recite wedding vows 
with first-born son of the wealthy town mayor, 
so he breaks her ring with stone of his heart 
when he wanders alone in forest of night. 

While wandering alone in forest of night 
Johann sings with angst to moon-glowing clouds, 
asking for angels to descend from stars 
to soothe the wretched pain wounding his heart, 
then pauses at song of wrens in oak trees 
that fills his breast with illusion of peace. 

Roaming signless roads far across the land, 
Johann strums melodious strings of the lute 
and sings by sparkling fountains in town squares 
about the faithfulness of honest love, 
then drinks beer in the crowded inns at night 
while clutching the broken ring of his heart. 

Though Beauty many conquer humans and gods, 
all beautiful people die in the end 
in tragic loss that moves not Stygian Zeus 
though Venus tries to heal our wounded hearts 
for Orcus brings to cave of faceless death 
every beautiful soul who ever lives. 

Weeping alone by the stone village church 
before the tombstone beside the rose bush, 
Johann laments sad death of Rosalyn 
who never woke after birth of her son, 
then buries the broken ring of his heart 
for her to wear by the spinning mill wheel. 

Buy Presents For Everyone

Buy Presents For Everyone
© Surazeus
2025 12 14

This holiday season of lonely lights 
that flash with candles in windows of faith 
dislodges me from childhood memories 
so I wait in the movie theater 
for world messiah to descend from clouds 
while eating popcorn at the end of time. 

If I should wait for the apocalypse 
before I buy presents for everyone, 
then Christmas carolers may pass my home 
and leave strange beauty of sad melodies 
to birds with frosted eyes in wind-blown trees 
who sing of sorrow humans choose to hide. 

No restless angels sleep in snow-veiled pines, 
yet I hear eerie voices of their plots 
disguised as cheerful songs on radios 
with haunting echoes in cold lightless homes 
where festive ghosts hang stars on plastic trees 
then hover over me with dreamless wings. 

Snow tangled in bare limbs of apple trees 
bends porch lights into hearts wounded by faith 
because bright whiteness of pure innocence 
resembles wedding dress the blind girl wears 
as she parades alone in empty church 
beside the polar bear with emerald eyes. 

Each moment passing songless into death 
adjusts harsh chill of cheerful morning winds 
that wake from restless dreams of bearded gods 
millions of people who trudge streets of ice 
to work sustaining bloom of hungry flame 
which flickers anxiously in human hearts. 

Though memories of you all may come and go 
with flicker of flames on candles of hope, 
we walk with noiseless feet down curious stairs 
to see if angels haunt our living rooms, 
but children vanish in time-swirling snow 
to build new homes in towns across the land. 

Half lured to Heaven by time-swirling snow, 
I concede that our human lives on Earth 
are messy with intense desire to thrive 
in maze of streets that zigzag out from Hell 
where liquid moon floats boatly over trees 
with complicated details we ignore. 

Caught in bare monochrome of winter days, 
we hunch our hearts against brute winds of change 
to gather feathers from torn angel wings 
so we can weave them in our bitter hearts 
through energy of weird religious faith 
to make our home in this house where we dwell. 

Haunt Our Empty Home

Haunt Our Empty Home
© Surazeus
2025 12 14

If I get safely home on road of faith 
after walking nowhere ten thousand years 
perhaps you will see me as the wild fox 
that wanders without care in city streets 
while you drive your car without angel wings 
then call my name when I gaze in your eyes. 

When I transform into lithe human being 
you take my hand with innocent respect 
so we may dwell in possibility 
where windows of our hopes frame what could be 
if we return to chambers of our hearts 
with everlasting love in paradise. 

Together in uncertain slant of light 
we heft our hearts with brave cathedral tunes 
to heal unheavenly hurt of deep love, 
hearts afflicted by misunderstood words 
that twist true meanings into breathless fear 
till we transcend the distance with new faith. 

Our lonely sapling town on roadless plain 
reveals delirious flowers in our brains 
that bloom from inner shadows of desire, 
lost deep in fields of golden wind-blown wheat 
till glass rain shadows innocent despair 
because we paint our names on new-road signs. 

Yet when I hear song of the balladeer 
assert world view of my merciless bride, 
I hide what ails my withered heart at noon 
with anguished lily rotten on my brow 
for you have vanished at harsh flash of dawn 
as fairy child in meadows of blind mist. 

Your wild eyes lure me to your elven grove 
where we dream endless paradise of love 
in fleeting hour of sun-veiled dance with death 
till I wake startled in lush dew-wet grass 
and wander mute along the busy road 
where cars race past eternity of now. 

I find you by wood coffin of our son 
killed in jungle war across the cruel sea, 
red tears of chaos streaming from your eyes 
that flash fierce hurricanes of social change 
to shatter pillars of our world empire 
that crumbles prairie homes in nuclear wind. 

If I revert back to my primal form 
as wild fox hunting in snow-mountain range 
far from the busy streets of city wealth, 
I wonder if you will escape its maze 
and search for me in valley of tall pines 
where we forever haunt our empty home. 

Aphelion World Of Dreams

Aphelion World Of Dreams
© Surazeus
2025 12 13

Because Seraphus knows the way to Hell, 
we elect him psychopomp of our tribe 
so he guides us to pool of dreaming stars 
to show unfinished beauty of our souls 
that blooms from mirror of our vast god-brain 
so we climb stairs of water to the sky. 

Because Seraphus teaches us to fly 
with hope and grief as wings of earnest faith, 
we follow him beyond the weeping hills 
to understand the failure of our hope, 
but we hear something eerie in the wind 
so we hide faceless in window of knives. 

Because Seraphus steals our shadowed bones 
to gamble devilish thoughts on success, 
we seek quintessence of Zephyrine dust 
with Valkyrian reverence for rebirth 
through fraught conviction of soul immanence 
concealed in cypher of auric respect. 

Because Seraphus builds sanctum of lies 
where we seek auspice of unyielding truth, 
we consider sovereign rights to life 
trapped in penumbra forged from vital lust 
expressing arcane solitude through myth 
that acts as catalyst for social change. 

Because Seraphus measures sublime fear 
enraptured by vile vortex of our brains, 
we seek hermetic code of vigilance 
designed to nurture ataraxia 
based on exousia that Phoebus assigned 
for me to wield Aeonian ardency. 

Because Seraphus keys tenacity 
through incandescent augury of love, 
I feel strange vibe emanate Jovian 
from runic core inherent to my faith 
based in strict impulse of my discipline, 
therefore I seek aphelion world of dreams. 

Because Seraphus maps the multiverse 
while I trudge river shore of changeless truths, 
I invent meaning for this random life 
that leaves me stranded on the signless road, 
so I erect ten thousand signs as clues 
for all the yet-born with Astarian faith. 

Because Seraphus plays chess with Despair, 
I marry Death and crown her as my bride 
so we raise children with conceptual rules 
based on how humans employ mental tools 
to build from ruins of America 
order of justice through Zarathia. 

Jump The Clock Of Fate

Jump The Clock Of Fate
© Surazeus
2025 12 13

Surprised by beauty of the sudden sun 
that strips cold darkness from essence of things, 
I feel my soul emerge from words of books 
to float through troposphere of psychic waves 
and surf eclectic tides of social change 
when I decide to jump the clock of fate. 

Gold rays of dawn illuminate my face 
as I stride bravely down the signless road 
to leave valley home of wheatfields behind 
and journey to the castle court of power 
to join the justice squad of loyalty 
when I conspire to jump the clock of fate. 

Startled by serpent of Tiresias, 
who guards gate of Heaven with Wand of Weird, 
I solve strange riddle of his honey tongue 
that man is mask of his ancestral ghost, 
then enter paradise with cautious faith 
when I arrive to jump the clock of fate. 

Assigned to assist honest Sisyphus, 
I perform role of psychic architect 
to construct cathedral of slanting light 
that calculates through angled formulas 
immortal spirit of the spinning wheel 
when I resolve to jump the clock of fate. 

Alert to clever scheme of Tantalus 
to crown his son, mad Midas, King of Earth, 
I reassign the chess-game characters 
by changing rules of interactive play 
allowing me to win against his greed 
when I contrive to jump the clock of fate. 

Inspired by frantic faith of Icarus 
to escape tower where Rapunzel weeps, 
I soar above the endless maze of myths 
to fracture idols of dead gods with truth 
whose howling voices scream from violins 
when I ascend to jump the clock of fate. 

Amazed by wisdom of calm Athamas 
to rescue Daphne from the laurel tree, 
I dive with courage in the surging sea 
and rescue Helle from depths of despair 
so we raise children in our apple grove 
when I refuse to jump the clock of fate. 

Five hundred years ago in swirl of time 
more than one million separate human beings 
over twenty generations converge 
to wake as memories in my dreaming brain 
so I expand my divine consciousness 
when I contract to jump the clock of fate. 

Between Her World And Mine

Between Her World And Mine
© Surazeus
2025 12 13

If angel of light descends from the stars 
and chooses to glow outside my locked door, 
the vast distance between her world and mine 
haunts my heart with intense desire to know, 
so I sing ache of my hope to embrace 
grace of her beauty long lost from this world. 

Stunned by assertive passion of strange eyes, 
I wander mute in forest of sad winds 
to lie beside the shallow pool of frogs 
till I sense invisible shift of light 
that pulses with palpable vibe of truth 
since I contain the world inside my breast. 

Surrounded by waving ferns of concern, 
I reach out to touch white moth of the moon, 
and muse if angel of light may return 
while I curl roots of my passionate hope 
in sun-thawed soil of our slow-spinning globe 
to contemplate relentless change of forms. 

Awake in moon-shadow of ardent faith, 
I gather dismembered fragments of dreams 
to patch strange memories with threads of fate, 
framed by clumsy gratitude of bright eyes 
that stare through useless clouds of urgent joy 
as unseen bats that constellate my heart. 

They crowd my empty room before midnight, 
those faceless ghosts of people I once knew, 
who gather to discuss risk management 
by filling boxes with thick documents 
that analyze how floods destroy small towns 
where mothers cook us potatoes and corn. 

I study densities of river stones 
in long reports about anger repressed 
based on paintings that crowd ten thousand rooms 
where angels dwell in landscapes of lost worlds 
to ponder why choices result in how 
we sail boats on floods from electric storms. 

Invulnerable books of recognized myths 
detail each time in history of mankind 
angel of light hovers by my locked door, 
so I record another song of love 
contrived from psychotic anxiety 
that flashes meteors across my mind. 

I shall organize schedule of events 
to render strong semantics mirrors seal 
through iridescent thoughts of angel wings 
that bring my true love safe around the world 
when she appears outside door of my heart 
and I open wide to embrace her close. 

Soul-Generating Art

Soul-Generating Art
© Surazeus
2025 12 13

The sweet little girl in lush field of flowers 
plays with the shiny key-words of her heart 
which her father forged from water and stone 
by catching lightning strikes with gentle hands 
so she transforms wild swirls of energy 
to fruits and vegetables that bloom from dirt. 

Loading pushcart with baskets of ripe fruit, 
Pomona travels across bumpy fields 
to large ring of stones on the river shore 
where people gather every afternoon 
to exchange rich produce of the fertile Earth, 
then feast and sing in the cool evening dusk. 

Working all evening in the restaurant, 
Pamela brings plates and glasses of food 
to people gathered at tables of faith 
where they eat and talk with passionate joy, 
then lies exhausted on her bed at home 
and thinks about the ancient times in Rome. 

While imagining simple ways of life 
in ancient times before technology, 
Pamela sketches young girl with long hair 
who sells fruit from her pushcart by the tree, 
then shares ripe apples with the handsome boy 
who roasts fish he caught for them both to eat. 

Though life seems simple in those ancient times, 
stronger people often exploit the weak, 
but today government agents run laws 
providing everyone who wants to work 
protections against exploitative greed, 
though that system seems to be breaking down. 

I cannot tell if life in ancient times, 
tending trees of fruit with attentive hands 
to protect them from harsh weather and thieves, 
or life today as waitress serving food 
then watching shows on computer at night, 
is the lifestyle I would prefer the most. 

This organic body of chemicals 
that conjures my conscious soul from its brain 
requires constant input of biomass 
that we produce from fertile soil of Earth 
so we must gesture with physical craft 
to sustain body-vibrant glow of life. 

When immortal soul of Pomona wakes 
in mind of her descendant Pamela, 
her spirit of soul-generating art 
inspires her to maintain strict daily rite 
working to provide food people must eat 
so she can eat and enjoy painting comics. 

True To My Secret Self

True To My Secret Self
© Surazeus
2025 12 12

True to my secret self against all odds, 
I savor sparkle of mist on my face 
from endless melodies of waterfalls 
that measure vastness of my consciousness 
wide as the swirling sea with each new chance 
by which I mold weird fortune into fate. 

Down endless street of arrogant dismay 
I walk past swords of angels made of flame 
to follow Morning Star of righteousness 
while floating wingless in hypnotic trance 
by singing hymns that wake the dead from dream 
who wonder at the blood that stains my coat. 

Dressed in black lace dress of elegant grace, 
Death walks beside me on my road of life, 
revealing beauty in each mundane thing 
since sunlight glows on walls of silent stone 
so I clap hands in rhythm with sea waves 
because the wind takes all my parts away. 

Time scatters me on tragic plain of faith 
though I inspire celestial breath with fear 
so people born long after I have died 
assemble fragments of my memories 
to build their own new personality 
encased in faceless monument of Me. 

Because each Me I live as each new day 
emerges bright from stone of haughty grief, 
I drink from sparkling fountain in the square 
while strangers watch my face appear from rain 
so I strum lyre of Mercury with joy 
through call for truth in valley of my heart. 

Secure in realm of sudden consciousness 
that sings through tree of affectionate trust, 
I publish our undeniable tale 
based on sincere candor of crumbling cliffs 
because divine insight broadcast by Death 
remains unpublished through dire prophecy. 

Trained as calm architect of healthy homes, 
I build cathedral of human despair 
where sorrows embodied in human minds 
correct assertion of the holy fool 
through maladjusted hours of wizardry 
because rain writes my misery in flowers. 

Without strong angel wings on which to fly, 
swooping high over hot telephone lines, 
I study nonsense of the human heart 
that wants true love against reason of faith 
so we share drinks in moonlight on the snow 
while never exposing failures in tales. 

Play Orpheus Psychopomp

Play Orpheus Psychopomp
© Surazeus
2025 12 12

About as subtle as hammer of hope, 
my heart beats wild with speculative faith 
that delusions of hope and faith dissolve 
at shocking vision of the bloody sword 
that emerges from my Chaldean Star 
each time I need to understand the Why. 

Though I inhale celestial god of light 
to energize my body with intent, 
I analyze progressive quest for faith 
that beams as moonlight through tangled tree limbs 
each time I need to understand how come 
time breaks organic bodies into shards. 

If I emerge from veil of apple leaves 
to observe situation of concern, 
I measure distance to the danger zone 
each time I need to understand how far 
my body falls from cloud of innocence 
though I grasp at feathered wings of blind gods. 

So I approach gold idol of the king 
that shines with beauty at the fear-locked gate 
each time I need to understand how long 
Death takes to tally names of hungry folk 
trapped inside ancient walls of paradise 
till tyrant on fake throne falls over dead. 

I spread angelic wings of brave esteem 
each time I need to understand how high 
palace of achievement looms above me 
because I strive to earn fame-forged award 
through bright apotheosis of my soul 
till I tumble wingless down to the Earth. 

Each time I need to understand my heart 
I stand on breathless plain of everywhere 
and cry out to blind angels on bright clouds 
for dream-key to unlock huge gates of Hell 
so I can play Orpheus psychopomp 
who leads mine slaves back home to Liberty. 

Each time I need to understand the world 
I map features on landscape of its form 
in virtual world that programs how my brain 
perceives social functions of the real world 
stratified as radiant layers of truth 
through linguistic structure of linked ideas. 

Because the author of these puzzling codes 
is no more real than gust of humming wind, 
you, as the reader with observant eyes, 
create the virtual world of psychic truth 
your brain designs as you read lines of verse 
each time I need to understand my song. 

Necessity Of Paper Skulls

Necessity Of Paper Skulls
© Surazeus
2025 12 12

Unruined stillness of my lucid heart 
expresses anguish of supportive flaws 
we share with mottled voices darkly clear 
when we advance across the seamless span 
that bounds our sober thoughts of rippled rage 
in naked wilderness of circled sense. 

Yet eyes of painters staring beyond time 
laugh at proverbs perched on putrefied walls 
since innocent hearts of togetherness 
are coarsened by feckless grief we must sell 
based on necessity of paper skulls 
we mass-produce in factories of fake words. 

Sad spiders spin somnolent jealousy 
that we exchange with bold alacrity 
till manic chagrin for positive change 
fools us to think relationships are real 
as festered shackles of contractual code 
dissolved by storm clouds of our loyal love. 

Not even the wildest music of clowns 
could drive me mad with brave telepathy 
since path of my insistent quest for truth 
gleams brightly on horizon of my fear 
from garish light of my Chaldean star 
that softens jeers of brute banality. 

All aspects of my pulsar heart refract 
miasmic tunes of structured harmony 
on which I march for beauty to escape 
conceptual slaughter of dream piracy 
when we invent new melodies of faith 
that scam us with sweet fantasy of life. 

Diminishing returns of honest love 
invested to earn profit from regret 
reveal our complicated states of mind 
contrived by marketing budget of lust 
despite foreclosure on my flooded heart 
that leaves my beneficiaries poor. 

My gazed fixed firm on face of fantasy 
requires grand celebration of our feast 
as we approach our hidden skeletons 
with golden joy of arrogant dismay 
that seals our contract with elated pay 
through swelling surges of new social change. 

That lifeless image in mirror of eyes 
explains my graceful dance of aching hope 
to leap beyond our solid bounds of faith 
with bloodless ecstasy of festive fear 
till I sing dreadful prophecy of truth 
encoded in weird puzzles no one gets. 

Exchange Fake Money

Exchange Fake Money
© Surazeus
2025 12 11

Excessive anguish of my loving heart, 
encased in copper sulfate crystal shell, 
might radiate nuclear passion of respect 
when I explode with silver fog of dawn 
to join festivities on ship-wrecked beach 
where castaways buy and sell books of blood. 

Reluctant penance of obsessive waves 
inscribes our bitter loss with hieroglyphs 
we carve on plangent gravity of fate 
against clarified habits we exchange 
through lucid effort of accomplished thoughts 
based whole on choreography of love. 

No faint electric trail of muddied steps 
lures us to unplowed fields of warrior skulls 
where honest heralds will conspire to fool 
the hungry crowd with phonemes of disgust 
because we dig with shovels of contempt 
to rip soft heart of Earth for treasure chests. 

Yet wounded by uncertain words of faith, 
we translate climate of confusing truth 
based on the certain slant of winter light 
which cracks cathedral walls with ardent bells 
where young girl in black dress sings coded hymns 
to prove imperial affliction of air. 

Escape from Heaven shows why nameless god 
traps souls of seekers in shadow of truth 
through oppressive laws of false bravery 
despite internal meanings we conceal 
though we wait in round temple on the hill 
for bakers to turn pearls to loaves of faith. 

Sounds of our voices exclaiming with joy 
may disappear in breath of crashing waves, 
yet we hide feelings inside polished jokes 
to prove our memory of corrupted homes 
provides foundation for new way of life 
when we exchange fake money for good lies. 

This road we walk may lead us far away 
but we will find ourselves back home again 
though emptiness of faith inspires mad kings 
to bomb museums full of singing masks 
because we sell true evil to our friends 
in exchange for dead leaves wet from cold rain. 

Clean masks of polished personalities 
hide brutal emptiness of loud desires 
valued by the fearful who worship brutes 
constricted by approval of fake strength 
when we embellish skills through agency 
till motives drown our hearts in tears of faith. 

Tomb Where Jesus Rots

Tomb Where Jesus Rots
© Surazeus
2025 12 11

Each time the door of our house opens wide 
I feel the universe invade my heart, 
so I step through its liminal divide 
to leap across abyss of innocence 
and stare at statues of people who wear 
mask of god to prove they should be alive. 

I hear gravelly voice of the old man, 
who calls everyone he meets Mister Bones, 
clatter loud as boulders of the landslide 
that wipes empires off map of Wonderland 
when he recites proverbs from holy books 
that praise the man who shovels mud with pride. 

The sturdy woman in torn peasant dress, 
whose face shines gold as pumpkins at sunrise, 
recites the alphabet with water voice 
which sparks arousal of my hope to learn 
secret code she recites to indicate 
proper behavior for every event. 

Sudden roar of demonic energy 
startles me from tending my pumpkin patch 
so I spin the circular multiverse 
angled enough to see blur of wings 
when the horseless carriage zooms past my field 
and trundles over horizon of hope. 

When golden stairway to Heaven beams down 
through frantic storm clouds of urgent respect, 
I kneel with brave expectancy of faith 
and watch for Jesus in long fluttering robe 
to float on vibrant wings of piety 
with huge eyes of nuclear divinity. 

Though I pray deep with calm solemnity 
at vision of Heaven transforming Earth 
from cluttered messy hell to paradise, 
Jesus never appears in glorious blaze 
long after darkness shrouds the world in gloom 
so I hide shocked in the windowless room. 

When Phoebus wakes at flash of ecstasy 
from smoky ruins of my aching heart, 
I channel spirit of harmonious Muse 
to sing about the brave philosophers 
who journey forth on quest of curious faith 
to understand true nature of this Earth. 

Lost in the endless maze of history, 
I follow glowing light of wisdom close 
that radiates from Lamp of Diogenes 
to measure structure of this universe 
and analyze physical states of being 
when I explore from tomb where Jesus rots.