Still In Our Hearts

Still In Our Hearts
© Surazeus
2026 11 12

All our ancestors live still in our hearts 
as memories after the soul departs, 
so, though their bodies vanish from this plane, 
no more than temporary drops of rain, 
shadows of their absence, cast by sunrays, 
haunt us as voiceless ghosts in dreamy haze. 

Samael removes long swan-feather cape 
at sudden flash of sight-elusive shape, 
then turns startled at sharp heart-wrenching cry 
to see his young wife Lilith shrieking, "Why?" 
while clutching new-born baby to her breast, 
so he encourages her to get some rest. 

Tears streaming down her soft grief-stricken face, 
Lilith holds out their child wrapped in white lace, 
so he looks closer at their sparkling eyes, 
no longer gleaming with stars in dark skies, 
so he gasps in shock when he comprehends 
soul of their child has vanished in bleak winds. 

After they bury dead child in soft earth, 
he asks her if another try is worth 
attentive effort to regenerate 
new child of their love against cruel fate, 
but Lilith glares at bright indifferent cloud. 
then covers her head in torn mourning shroud. 

Gathering children, orphaned by harsh wars, 
who hide with hunger behind broken doors, 
Lilith assembles them at farm commune 
where Samael grants each child secret boon, 
teaching them to make things with crafting tools 
while they learn to live with strict social rules. 

White clouds gleam over woods of fruitful trees 
where Lilith harvests honey made by bees, 
then teaches girls to sew clothes and cook food 
and meditate to balance mental mood, 
while Samael teaches boys to carve wands 
so they patrol and guard communal bonds. 

Plotting to seize control of their child school 
and enslave children to work as his tool, 
Midas spreads lies about deeds she performs, 
that she kidnaps children at night from homes, 
roasting their bodies to consume their souls, 
then attacks her with mob of violent trolls. 

Wounded by spear thrust in his gasping chest, 
Samael clutches Lilith to his breast, 
whose heart is pierced by arrow of cruel hate, 
and weeps as she succumbs to unfair fate, 
then shouts for children to resist and fight 
against his tyranny, and for their right. 

Tower Of The Sun

Tower Of The Sun
© Surazeus
2026 11 12

Holding torch of sorrow in his hand, 
Doubting Thomas stares in formless gloom 
and wonders how he should observe this world 
without wallowing in suffering of fear 
or drowning in sentiment of false joy, 
but all he hears is song of ocean waves. 

After we lose our long limb-grasping tails 
and come down from the safety of fruit trees, 
we dance in surging tides of ocean waves 
where we begin to walk upright on legs 
of brave ambition, balanced with deep breath, 
to follow rivers winding among high hills. 

Eating mushrooms, white manna from the clouds, 
we follow herds of cows across vast plains, 
mind glowing with visions of what could be, 
then express audible hope in sharp sound 
that beams clear vision of my mind to yours 
in language that conveys thoughts I perceive. 

Imaginer of status that could be, 
I arrange objects with my crafting hands 
to organize stones in circle for hot fire 
as base foundation above field of mud, 
and construct shelter from pillars of hope, 
which I cover with cow skin of respect. 

Observing many shapes of fruitful trees, 
my brain designs Idea of the Tree 
as standard geometric pattern form 
which I then signify with breath-born word 
that causes other minds, who hear my speech, 
to imagine unseen tree I describe. 

Stacking stones on terraced levels of hope, 
I construct sky-high ziggurat of faith 
on which we tend herb gardens around homes 
where people from many river tribes dwell 
with gate that leads to temple of wise El, 
that we name Babel, Tower of the Sun. 

When drought dries up wheat in my hard-plowed field, 
I climb ziggurat to grand temple hall 
where I ask Inanna, queen of all farms, 
for coins to fund production of fresh wheat, 
so she invests in factory of my work, 
ensuring everyone has food to eat. 

When morning mist of sorrow dissipates, 
Doubting Thomas strolls by the singing sea 
and dreams evolution of humankind 
to dancing angel from beach-crawling ape, 
so he climbs long-deserted ziggurat 
to sing the primal hymn of love for life. 

Random Nodes Of Energy

Random Nodes Of Energy
© Surazeus
2026 11 11

Time of laughter in the absolute zone 
expands advantage of authentic faith 
strangers buy and sell in the market game 
through unbalanced passion of clarity 
designed to readjust the carnival 
where children calculate how long we live. 

Despite clear evidence of shocking love, 
gambled through deployment of innocence, 
angels appropriate cultural signs 
in desperate attempt to debug despair, 
based on deposit in the bank account 
of credits stolen from disabled clones. 

Curious to comprehend cosmetic creed 
through which the dead would integrate their souls 
injected with vaccine of selfless love, 
we analyze jewels of unjust laws 
to locate loyal spark of primal cause 
that flashes in heart of the twilight zone. 

Nobody nominates as manager 
fallen angel who contrives oxygen 
from swirling waters of the purple sea, 
yet she decides, against all common sense, 
to operate on the cancer-ridden ghost 
who wants to code new paradigm for love. 

Objective oversight of poverty 
against procedure carved in pungent mud 
provides new opportunity for pride 
to strategize transmission through fake words 
excessive feelings of desperate desire 
we share as synthetic trick no one solves. 

Unbiased treasurer of sacred love 
vacuums expanding temple of glass masks 
as volunteer whom voters must elect 
in dire need to support library funds, 
verified by faceless god of the moon 
who appears as owl with camera eyes. 

Payable plan of private pottery 
proves we project our sense of consciousness 
at vast indifference of the universe 
and call reflection of our mortal face 
God we assume creates our souls from light 
though we are random nodes of energy. 

Procedure to process reality 
with fractured concept of soul sacrifice 
provides productive stadium of faith 
for satellite salvation of respect 
so I become severe ghost of my laugh, 
reborn from syllabus of ardent spells. 

Death Is Our Shepherd

Death Is Our Shepherd
© Surazeus
2026 11 11

Though apple tree, older than the moon, 
was struck by lightning and burned to thin cinders, 
long shadow of its leaf-wild canopy 
still shimmers on tear-wet grass of his lawn, 
so Nothus climbs ladder of secret tales 
to catch voices of angels in the wind. 

While chasing Choris in apple tree grove, 
Nothus stumbles blind into secret garden 
where statue of Saturnus with long horns 
almost appears alive in shifting rays 
of sunlight stippling concept of our being 
with urgent passion of the hungry heart. 

Blue wing of sorrow tilts his ocean heart 
when pregnant doe emerges from dark woods, 
so Nothus sings light-hearted melody 
about swift-foot Diana with star eyes 
who appears disguised as Choris from the mist 
and asks if he wants to learn how to fly. 

When Piper airplane glides across gold cloud 
with cow-deep hum of psychic chemistry, 
Nothus plucks geranium from his heart 
and gives it to sweet Choris with shy smile, 
but they run when they hear the airplane crash 
and burn with sorrow on sand by the sea. 

When fallen angel with swan-silver wings 
wakes from dark tide of sleep on gleaming sand, 
he rises from his body with soft sigh 
and beams into bright diamond on cliff wall 
in which our galaxy of countless stars 
swirls languidly across abyss of faith. 

To focus attention of his glass heart 
on unspoken needs of his pregnant bride, 
Nothus recounts his ancestral lives 
in fairy tales that make their children laugh 
as they drink hot chocolate and eat cookies 
around the pine tree with blinking lightbulbs. 

Death is our shepherd, and we are all sheep, 
too eager to slip through cracks in stone wall 
that shelters our frail souls in paradise, 
so we share Thanksgiving feast with friends 
when orange leaves shroud graves of our cozy homes 
with pages from chronicles of lost time. 

Strolling together up apple tree hill, 
to worship Cronus in old pine-log fane, 
Nothus and Choris pause on open porch 
to watch enormous swan with sun-gold wings 
land in the pool where blind Narcissus weeps, 
then share sweet kiss as fog veils our lost world. 

Hymn Of Bitter Faith

Hymn Of Bitter Faith
© Surazeus
2026 11 11

Weird beauty of this bright atomic world, 
that spins on undulating waves of hope 
two hundred fifty million years of change 
one time around our flashing galaxy, 
inspires me to sing hymn of bitter faith
when I wake Spirit of Love in my heart. 

As temporary node of pulsing genes, 
awake in complex brain of memories 
that my ancestors program through each life 
as we evolve from fish to singing god, 
I compose verse for hymn of bitter faith 
that guides me with Lamp of Diogenes. 

Plato defines eternal forms of things 
as changeless patterns in Realm of Ideas, 
defined by Origen and Augustine 
as Heaven where Craftsman God creates things, 
which I explain in hymn of bitter faith 
as linguistic psychology of our brains. 

Material objects that exist in form, 
bound by formal limits of time and space, 
stand out as temporary nodes of thought 
that we express in language of our minds, 
deconstructed by hymn of bitter faith 
that Esdras Liberianus sings in Rome. 

When Satan reigns as Emperor of Earth, 
oppressing common folk with tyranny, 
Spirit of Good Leader, who loves the People, 
incarnates as Jesus, anointed as Christus, 
to fight with truth through hymn of bitter faith, 
whose sons reign as kings for two thousand years. 

Though Jesus is dead, crumbled into dust, 
courageous Spirit of Christ, the Honest Leader, 
incarnates in descendants of his blood 
to reign as popes and kings in Gothinia, 
as chronicled in hymn of bitter faith, 
with mission to conquer the entire world. 

Uniting in one nation under Godin 
Zarathia, Gothinia, and Russia, 
I reign as Emperor of Anglonesia 
with Goddess of Liberty as my guide, 
through principle in hymn of bitter faith 
that humans live as they will, if they harm none. 

Now that my revels on stage of whole Earth 
end with United Nations growing strong, 
I remove mask of Jesus Jupiter 
to melt in baseless fabric of my vision 
from timeless dream in hymn of bitter faith, 
then round my little life with peaceful sleep. 

Apple-Cart Girl

Apple-Cart Girl
© Surazeus
2026 11 11

Eyes sparkling with dawn sun on gold-leaved hills, 
apple-cart girl reaches small slender hand 
among yellow leaves where sly serpents hiss 
and plucks ripe apples from branches of hope, 
filling willow baskets with scarlet fruit 
that glisten bright as blood on full-moon nights. 

Heart aching with sorrow of bitter loss 
when her mother was killed ten years before 
resisting rich man of the market town 
who tried to make her his twenty-third wife, 
apple-cart girl pauses along signless road 
and gazes through tears at the river meadow. 

Broad meadow of low undulating hillocks 
slopes down toward blue Bodincus River shore 
where thousands of winter daffodils bloom 
with star-shaped petals yellow as the sun 
interspersed with magenta cyclamen, 
swarming with hummingbirds and butterflies. 

Ghost of her mother haunts her lonely steps 
as apple-cart girl arrives at the market 
where she rents stall beside the copper smith, 
then softly hums sweet playful melodies 
while people buy apples from Tree of Knowledge 
with bronze coins stamped with face of Saturnus. 

Gazing at bearded face of Saturnus, 
stamped on silver denarius that gleams bright, 
apple-cart girl thinks about her absent father 
who left one winter night when she was nine, 
then flips the coin to observe on the back 
her father crowned by Goddess Victory. 

After selling every apple of her heart, 
apple-cart girl pulls her rickety cart 
through thinning crowd in purple twilight glow, 
but stumbles when front wheel of her cart breaks, 
so she slumps in dry grass of misery 
and cries in shimmer of the rising moon. 

Young man bearing lyre stops before the girl 
and asks, "Junia Pomona, my dear friend, 
why are you weeping over a broken wheel?" 
Smiling as he gives her libum to eat, 
Phoebus repairs broken wheel of her cart, 
then walks beside her on the moonlit road. 

Pausing by meadow of gold daffodils, 
Pomona and Phoebus gaze at the river, 
then build four-pillared fane from fallen logs, 
and sit by glowing fire in ring of stones 
till he confesses his love, and they kiss 
while ghost of her mother beams with delight. 

Roadless Anywhere Of Why

Roadless Anywhere Of Why
© Surazeus
2026 11 10

Approaching crossroads of one thousand worlds, 
I search for truths concealed on blatant lies 
till I see faces that mirror my face 
with ideal shape of God in glowing cloud 
so I invent new language for my soul 
to sing about long journey of my heart. 

Alone in silence of the everywhere 
that vibrates from core of the jagged hill, 
I sing with wordless hum of timeless wind 
that transforms into trees who hear my voice 
so they call me with name of river waves 
that wakes me from strange dream of ardent hope. 

I find my voice in bottom of the sea 
then give my voice to desert waste of sand 
while I tread roadless anywhere of why 
with grace of shadows beamed from faceless clouds 
that wander free among tall trees of fruit 
till I find cave of silence in my heart. 

Awake in silver exactness of fate, 
with no preconceptions of who I am, 
unmisted by brave love of mountain peaks, 
I meditate on strangeness of my Self 
who knows true nature of my secret being 
though I am shapeless gloom of midnight thought. 

I search depths of the sea for my blank mind 
so I can place it back among the stars 
that fall as rain to fill my trembling hands 
with mute completeness of my urgent angst 
when I drown in bright pool of everything 
and rise reborn as ancient crone of faith. 

Unburdened by despair of fallen pride, 
I lounge by river of still-flowing light 
to watch the dead come down from clouds to drink 
till my heart shimmers empty of blind rage 
that leaves me floating on moon-silver air 
without black raven wings of bitterness. 

Time unspools threads of mountains into trees 
that transform into humans with wolf eyes 
who run through shadows of demonic woods 
to build stone walls on hilltop of concern 
where I keep watch in tower of respect 
till I become vast web of humming stars. 

I wander roadless anywhere of why 
to understand the vastness of our globe, 
forever forward toward the setting sun 
by racing chariot on the windy plain 
till I soar high on silver wings of joy 
and fly airplane among bright godless clouds. 

Hang Out On The River Shore

Hang Out On The River Shore
© Surazeus
2026 11 10

I never hang out on the river shore 
like my ancestors did millions of years, 
gathering fruit from trees full of fierce snakes, 
fishing from rivers full of crocodiles, 
and huddling in caves we dig from hillsides 
where we eat and sing around the bright fire. 

Though I spend all day at my office desk, 
mapping features with geospatial software 
that depict the infrastructure of towns, 
such as buildings where people live and work, 
and roads where people drive cars back and forth, 
I long to hang out on the river shore. 

While sitting in office with door and window, 
where people walk by sunrise to sunset, 
I imagine how my ancestors lived 
in small pillared homes on the river shore 
where they performed daily routines of life 
gathering food from bounty of the Earth. 

I want to carve wood from trees into planks 
so I can build the house that shelters us, 
and build the wagon that carries our goods, 
and build the boat that transports our frail souls 
to grand temple where tribes from every vale 
gather to feast at sacred festivals. 

I want to chronicle in epic tale 
normal people of prehistoric times 
who go about routines of daily life 
without fighting each other in harsh wars 
over whose mortal leader will play god 
to found dynasties of national rulers. 

Every god recorded in ancient tales, 
and deified in grand religious myths, 
were normal people struggling to survive 
who performed great deeds protecting their tribe, 
fighting against oppressors with strong courage 
so normal people may live in calm peace. 

Some days I want to leave the office calm, 
pause mapping features of our complex world, 
and hang out on the river shore again 
to feel breeze of timeless faith kiss my soul 
so I recall all my ancestral lives 
that program how my brain perceives this world. 

I want to fish, and gather eggs from nests, 
arrange stones in small circle to spark flames 
on which I roast lamb stew with herbs and spices, 
press apples into cider with cinnamon, 
to feast in endless twilight of the world, 
then sing my epic tale of human progress. 

Buy The Bankrupt Farm

Buy The Bankrupt Farm
© Surazeus
2026 11 10

As I decay through process of old age, 
Brian mumbles while driving to his office, 
the more hungry Death haunts my torpid footsteps 
the more strange urge to howl beautiful songs 
swells up from pulsing passion of my heart, 
yet I hunch mute in cubicle of fear. 

Hope for my children to attain success 
through programming template of education 
depends on financial support I provide 
through daily ritual of analysis 
that I perform in vast corporate machine 
investing in production of more food. 

Trapped in the endless round of give and take 
through which organic creatures thrive till death, 
our fragile atomic bodies require 
constant consumption of material forms 
to maintain function of the dreaming brain 
which emanates glow of our divine soul. 

I cannot find great wisdom of the saints, 
Brian smirks as he rides the elevator, 
in this cluttered world of material forms 
that change in constant swirls of energy, 
so I understand why vision of Heaven 
deceives us with hope of life beyond death. 

Instead of accepting that we are nodes 
for temporary shapes of molecules, 
arranged to maintain function of the brain, 
so many humans desperately believe 
that through faith we attain sweet afterlife 
as reward for suffering of this vain life. 

How pleasant to imagine paradise 
as broad lush hills watered by sparkling streams 
where we may wander all day in sweet bliss, 
consuming fruit from fertile Tree of Life 
while singing hymns of praise in endless choirs, 
this dream based on ancient history. 

Our vision of Heaven as garden of fruit 
preserves actual events of our lost past 
when we dwelled in thriving communities 
of homes with gardens of delicious food 
that bloom along rivers of peaceful joy, 
ruled by the River God everyone trusts. 

Compiling reports of profit and loss 
from grocery stores in towns across the land, 
Brian types letters on computer screen, 
then gazes out small window at the city, 
and wonders how much money he can save 
to buy the bankrupt farm his father lost. 

Raven Quill Of Faith

Raven Quill Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 11 09

Amazed at beauty of this messy world, 
I write my dreams with raven quill of faith 
so they sprout wings and fly in glowing clouds 
which leaves me wandering in the Brooding Wood 
where children of my body never born 
leap around me and mock me till I laugh. 

Annoyed at suffering people must endure, 
I code weird spells with raven quill of faith 
to reprogram how our brains perceive the world 
of complex forms, composed of molecules, 
through scientific framework that predicts 
effects resulting from proactive cause. 

Inspired by pleasure we experience, 
I weave new myths with raven quill of faith 
to name the humble people of our world, 
who perform daily rituals with calm hope, 
as heroes whose deeds support global state 
which nurtures every person with brave love. 

Confused by cruel lie of the afterlife, 
I design creed with raven quill of faith 
that describes with accurate formulas 
essential nature of atomic change 
transforming bodies of quick chemicals 
through vibrant radiance of our conscious minds. 

Entranced by mercurial music of fear, 
I compose tunes with raven quill of faith 
that spark Prime Ghost at heart of spinning Earth 
with potent passion of firm self-control 
which channels flash of electricity 
through spiral coil of genes inside my brain. 

Enriched by wisdom children sing in play, 
I draft star hall with raven quill of faith 
from architectural concept of the brain 
enwoven in clusters of galaxies 
that aggregate zillions of globes with life 
as God Soul glowing in organic brains. 

Alarmed by laughter of gods in glass banks, 
I sketch Star Queen with raven quill of faith 
whose soul embodies spirit of respect, 
bright shining with compassion of her heart, 
when we vote for her to rule as seer of trust 
global institution of thought control. 

Amused by haughty pride of greedy fools, 
I craft great law with raven quill of faith 
that guarantees equal justice for all 
so we live as we will, if we harm none, 
since we design our fate with every choice 
that we express through psychic verse of love. 

Triumph Of Calm Emptiness

Triumph Of Calm Emptiness
© Surazeus
2026 11 09

I float awake on river of the dawn 
with savage avarice of holy faith 
urging me to emulate lust of light 
that ravishes my soul with eerie tunes 
of water rippling with splendor of love 
that swells compassion from my aching heart. 

How often my astonished heart awakes 
from shocking tenderness of flashing waves 
when I emerge from absolute despair 
to watch bright laurel leaves of innocence 
mimic dominance of butterfly wings 
that lift me far above this heavy shore. 

Shocked by serene exaltation of wind 
that whispers ancient knowledge in tree leaves, 
I seek arcane meaning of pulsing fruit 
that helps me remember names of the dead 
whose faces shimmer on the morning moon 
at bleak dominion of enchanted snow. 

Asserting triumph of calm emptiness, 
embraced by beauty of the absolute, 
my heart ascends on wings of victory 
at voiceless sorrow of brave endurance 
since I abide in loneness of the all 
that wraps my nothingness in shapeless whole. 

Taut string of math-empowered particles, 
defined by strict relationship of thought 
to sensuous enchantment of bright rain, 
vibrates with solid waves of ardency 
through sacrament of misunderstood spells 
that bears us on river of divine love. 

With intimate attention to sound waves 
on which our souls of desire undulate, 
we abandon hope to intricate flow 
that deconstructs rhymed meter of regret 
so we identify with ache of love 
that marks each phase of passion we transcend. 

Enchanted by strange spell of melody 
that reassembles fragments of our dreams 
from phantasmagoria of intense love 
through spiritual integrity we share, 
our bodies pulse with corresponding truths 
that bloom inside vast hollow of the heart. 

We move with majestic uncertainty 
through sensual curtains of absurdity 
to spark ambition of brave energy 
so we transcend all mountains of desire 
when we attain perfection of respect 
to row boat of faith past oblivion. 

Veiled By Beautiful Lies

Veiled By Beautiful Lies
© Surazeus
2026 11 09

We follow strict routes of our daily lives 
with our wild minds veiled by beautiful lies, 
Tristan declares with flame-hot meteor voice, 
so we create our fate with every choice 
when we exercise force of our free will 
that always leads me to apple tree hill. 

Two men with guns follow his fading trail 
with earnest intention to never fail 
when they set out to capture faceless ghost 
who relives drama of Paradise Lost 
by limping wounded on the dusty plain 
after leaping from the fast-moving train. 

Gray shadow of his first featureless face 
gleams on television screen without trace 
since he becomes the new romantic horse 
who trains forty years to master the Force, 
then goes on mission to defeat the clown 
who steals gold version of the thorny crown. 

Turning the large glass television off, 
Tristan decides to ignore mocking scoff 
expressed by painted warrior on the wall, 
then floats outside at the wild raven call 
that shatters silence of the Texas heat 
radiating from fence-wired fields of wheat. 

Walking routes of his summer afternoon, 
Tristan passes red-brick church of the moon 
where thieves in suits calculate cash they scam 
from faithful believers in the I Am 
who hides in glow-clouds with nothing to say 
to wounded people who desperately pray. 

Building starship shaped like plastic pen cap, 
Tristan soars swiftly to escape the trap 
set by the power-obsessed god Voltar, 
while riding in the red Volkswagen car 
to swim with elves in the dam-informed lake 
where he suddenly becomes more awake. 

Observing quotidian nature of hope, 
through which we find simple methods to cope, 
Tristan draws weird image of the next phase 
our bodies may evolve to map the maze 
where he evades cruel demons in foul mood 
to live safely free in the Brooding Wood. 

Resurrected with soul of Lazarus, 
Tristan flies far on wings of Icarus 
so he can play grand role of Lucifer 
while wearing crystal mask of Jupiter 
when he journeys from ruins of Babylon 
to build world empire from lush Oregon. 

Anthology Of Dream Code

Anthology Of Dream Code
© Surazeus
2026 11 08

Whatever I inherit from the dead 
transforms into books no one wants to read, 
so I decide to walk the neighborhood 
which always puts me in a better mood 
to edit anthology of dream code 
dictated to me by the moon-eyed toad. 

Entranced by beauty of the river stone, 
that glimmers as heart of the princess clone, 
I scrub my wounded heart till it seems clean 
as polished steel gears of the time machine, 
but all my efforts seem to be in vain 
when pages of my books dissolve in rain. 

Transcendent zero woven from dream math 
reformulates fortune spilled by sweet wrath 
from secret agony of mindless faith 
designed by mirror wisdom of the wraith 
who still decides that I resemble both 
thief and giver, tricked to accept my oath. 

Defunded program of the psychic lab 
provides training for soul-painters who dab 
enough paint to depict our spinning globe, 
ruled by star woman in long scarlet robe 
who conquers Heaven with the howling mob, 
then appoints me as provincial nawab. 

When I transfer bright spirit of the star 
to possess computer of the quick car, 
my mother gets stuck in the kitchen door, 
so I find Cailleach on the misty moor 
who teaches me how to manage my fear 
when I enter Salem on the White Deer. 

After I explore Earth in crystal boat 
to trade magic ring for the prancing goat, 
I compose formula to calculate 
progressive way to design my own fate 
through each decision, whether wrong or right, 
that I make to enhance my divine light. 

Cleansing my soul in the waterfall 
that binds my body through electric ball, 
I encode secret of life in weird spell 
that conjures serpent runes from the brain well 
so I climb sunbaked peak of the skull hill 
where I insist on process of free will. 

Just as I think I understand the mind, 
that functions to reveal truth to the blind, 
I find myself unfound in Wonderland 
with Melusine who wears our wedding band 
which proves her right to rule our crowded land 
that flourishes from gesture of the hand. 

Always Voyage To Cythera

Always Voyage To Cythera
© Surazeus
2026 11 08

I wish I could find solace in how waves 
extract sharp thorn of sorrow from my heart 
yet leaves me bleeding on beach of despair 
so I wonder what words mean anymore 
as I spiral in vast abyss of stars 
what whisper thoughts of time-expanding hope. 

Grass consumes frail bodies of dead ghosts 
whose hands engrave their names on temple walls 
where vultures feast on the sacrificed god 
since Destiny is shaper of the Will 
through choices we express in devious words 
that trap us tangled in our fantasies. 

Complex creed of our socialized beliefs 
are bright illusions of our blinded eyes 
that guide our steps along the rocky shores 
of furious islands in fabulous seas 
where shipwrecked refugees build world empire 
on tale of the girl who steals fruit from snakes. 

Stuck as demon in the windowless realm 
of my imagination without walls, 
I wear gold mask of the sacrificed god 
to play his role in pageant of our state 
till snow-capped volcano explodes in flames 
that unravel secrets of dreamless brains. 

Thus I always voyage to Cythera 
where Sirens dance in sudden flash of rain 
so I can shelter in the temple hall 
since glass typewriter of Orpheus waits 
for me to chronicle current events 
through complex account of our search for truth. 

Across infinitude of stable air 
I dare explore realm of false parables 
with stubborn honesty woven from pain 
till I know myself as frail human being 
whose heart reflects in mirror of my eyes 
concept of God people project at me. 

White blood on tearless stones of honesty 
reveals source of torrential attitude 
that fuels my journey to the Promised Land 
where I rebuild grand temple of the god 
whose name is lost from books of history 
except as shadow on the grass at dawn. 

Groomed mightier than death from ecstasy, 
my heart is canonized by myth of love 
when I become the heavenless undone 
by grim assertion death requires I prove, 
so I float nameless in slow surging tide 
till wings of Icarus grow from my heart. 

Dizzy Absolute Of Why

Dizzy Absolute Of Why
© Surazeus
2026 11 08

In empty houses where nothing takes place, 
people wanting to play heroes in tales, 
carved on mountain cliffs with demonic claws, 
move back and forth in tandem with the clock 
that unwinds nuclear laughter of dead hearts 
who wait by roller-coaster of regret. 

In torn images from news magazines 
her finger traces shadows of dead gods 
disguised as angels wearing masks of glass 
who stare with contempt at the camera 
that fails to capture essence of the soul 
at bitter moment of forgotten lust. 

Exhausted on the church roof of false faith, 
he transforms into thriving swan of lust 
who chases chaste maid on the interstate 
till she opposes brute austerity 
and frees her body from his fractured eyes 
long into midnight of no tolling bells. 

No gods on swirling clouds of bold intent 
call down to fragile humans sick with hope, 
yet they assemble in the stone-walled church 
to pray with fervent faith to glowing clouds 
from which no savior on angelic wings 
beams from his crystal starship of concern. 

Ignoring grief that poisons her soft heart 
with fragments of surviving memories 
as frantic action that obscures with words 
pure face of light that God wears everywhere 
as soundless scream from buzzing limbs of trees, 
she stands in dizzy absolute of why. 

Unsettled horror of calm innocence 
provides new motivation from his heart 
to spin on wild arms at cliff edge of fate 
to prove he is survivor of strange love 
gone bravely beyond walls of paradise 
because he runs forever on the plain. 

Accepting that he is the traveler 
who knows all highways back to Neverland, 
he hides his soul on tattered map of fate 
to ask the stranger in each passing town 
if they remember mockery of the clown 
who now pretends to rule the world with love. 

Through motions of her body in cold air 
that vibrates canorous tune of despair, 
she walks with Phoenix grace of wordless hope 
to find the empty house of mountain light 
where ghosts of children call her secret name 
till she embraces Death with gentle kiss. 

Sunlight Of Forever Now

Sunlight Of Forever Now
© Surazeus
2026 11 08

I walk in sunlight of forever now, 
heart filled with ravens of excessive joy 
which helps me feel vibrations of desire 
from pulsing brains of humans seeking love 
with fierce ambition to regenerate 
fragile bodies of flesh before we die. 

I sing in sunlight of forever now 
with heart-piercing tune of mercurial voice 
that startles people awake from their trance 
induced by ideological hypnosis 
so they can see this real world as is, 
and not distorted through religious lens. 

I dance in sunlight of forever now 
with Dionysian passion of the heart 
to break free from constraints of social rules 
that trap our bodies in duties of state 
so we can flow with energy of love 
we channel through weird spells of faith we chant. 

I trace in sunlight of forever now 
with Apollonian logic of the mind 
to bind excessive chaos of regret 
with wealth-producing rituals of design 
so we create strict urban zone of good 
fueled by fierce passion of the suffering heart. 

I watch in sunlight of forever now 
progress of whole material forms that grow 
from seed of rich potential to transform 
through intense training of assertive faith 
from frightened children to brave warriors, 
seasoned by experience fighting for freedom. 

I swim in sunlight of forever now 
from resurrection of the apple tree 
that teaches me hard art of how to die 
by living with brave passion of respect 
through endless labyrinth of faceless gods 
who sprout from tree that grows from book of tales. 

I stretch in sunlight of forever now 
to fan new wings I bought from Icarus 
because I want to fly above world maze 
and map life-path of every living soul 
so I can understand what people want 
who seek to incarnate before they die. 

I play in sunlight of forever now 
another game of chess against grim Death 
who laughs at all my clueless vain attempts 
to save the suffering soul from guilt of Hell 
since we construct vast empires to our glory 
only to vanish in the Nothingness. 

Then The Prophet Comes

Then The Prophet Comes
© Surazeus
2026 11 08

Unlicensed by power of the Glow Cloud 
to prophesy rise of the Hidden Dragon, 
Phoebus declares himself Messiah Sleuth 
with insight in the nature of the mind 
to organize all people of the land 
in new empire of productive success. 

Yet people gathered in the city square 
cry out with anguish of the hungry soul 
for assurance from voice of the Glow Cloud 
that the lives they live have not been in vain, 
for all we build will crumble into dust 
and our souls dissipate in voiceless wind. 

Standing alone on the pyramid plat, 
too high above the people of the land 
to clearly hear the visions of their hopes, 
mad Midas screams in rage at little folk 
that they should worship him as Golden God, 
till they drag him down from his lofty perch. 

Lead by Minerva with Longinus Spear, 
brave people of the land with hungry hearts 
throw mad King Midas on the heap of trash 
where he writhes in anguish of his bitter pride, 
consumed by flames of greed in hot Sheol 
that erases his tyranny from Earth. 

The Spirit of the Good Leader, who loves 
ambition of the individual soul, 
and nurtures innate talents into skills, 
migrates from body to body of men 
chosen by wise Craftsman of the Blue Sky 
to embody leadership of the state. 

The Spirit of the Bad Leader, who hates 
self-reliance of the individual soul, 
and exploits strength of labor to gain wealth, 
migrates from body to body of men 
chosen by cruel Mimic of the Gold Cave 
to embody selfishness of the fool. 

Though individual prophets and tyrants, 
who appear in endless tides of events 
that undulate through history of mankind, 
vanish in the progress of life and death, 
new prophets and tyrants will always rise 
to replay fight of Christ and Anti-Christ. 

When the cruel tyrant claws his way up 
to reign with hate on Pyramid of Power, 
the people tremble in fear from his rage 
till spark of hope erupts from oppressed hearts 
and fires rebellion against tyranny, 
then the prophet comes to build democracy. 

Mango Trees Of Jigawa

Mango Trees Of Jigawa
© Surazeus
2026 11 07

To store dreams in magazine of her brain 
Anyanwu glides along the river shore, 
heart swelling with joy at the jaunty chirp 
of black-winged Ibadan malimbe birds 
that causes her to become one with light 
though men in helicopters shoot at ghosts. 

Watching soccer game on the flashing screen 
when girls of her nation win the world cup, 
Anyanwu cheers and dances with delight 
at courage of the human soul to fight 
for victory against decay of death 
by kicking ball of sorrow at the sky. 

I am Eyes of God in this mortal realm, 
Anyanwu sings while strumming long Garaya, 
who dreams this world alive so She may know 
complex emotions of the pulsing brain 
that powers passion of the mortal heart 
to savor pleasure of romance and fruit. 

Taking shelter from sudden thunder storm 
beneath canopy of Iroko trees, 
Anyanwu breathes sweet scent of rain in mud 
that radiates from broad fields of tangled vines, 
then gasps surprised to see the crocodile 
transform into tall man with slender arms. 

Astonished at grace of his lithe advance 
when he offers mango of his bruised heart, 
Anyanwu accepts gift of humble hope, 
so she decides to walk the signless road 
with him through steamy marsh of the God Toad 
whose song excites her heart with love for life. 

Returning to work at the hospital, 
dressed in white uniform of the staff nurse, 
Anyanwu tends patients wounded by war 
when men fight men over whose god is real, 
then wears ivory masked gilded with gold 
while she plays violin on bomb-blasted tank. 

Glowing warm with cosmic light of the sun, 
that distributes life to organic bodies, 
Anyanwu dances on the river stone 
free among mango trees of Jigawa 
which capture solar rays in golden fruit 
that nurture minds of mortals with pure love. 

Suckling new-born son of her fertile heart, 
whose eyes gleam black with unlight of the moon, 
Anyanwu sees reflected in his soul 
all her ancestors born again in flesh, 
so she sings tale of the trickster god Gizo 
who appears as spider with star-god eyes. 

Lost In Nowhere Land

Lost In Nowhere Land
© Surazeus
2026 11 07

Lost in nowhere land of excessive faith, 
Godwulf mops classroom floors of the high school 
at midnight when vampires and ghosts haunt hearts 
of teenagers seeking to understand 
intense desire to regenerate bodies 
from tangled memories of divine genes. 

Lost in nowhere land of expensive hope, 
Godwulf wanders past crowded biker bars 
to buy sub sandwich with tuna and cheese, 
then sits on park bench by deserted church 
with stones that flash from garish neon signs 
while he thinks about how wagons are made. 

Lost in nowhere land of progressive trust, 
Godwulf hears loud angry voice of some man 
insulting his wife with contemptuous snark, 
but when he beats her on the head with rage 
something swells from passion of his heart 
so he knocks her abuser to the ground. 

Lost in nowhere land of abundant courage, 
Godwulf fights the man abusing his wife 
till police arrive with guns in their hands 
so he tells them he is the caped crusader 
protecting women from abusive men, 
but young policeman shoots him in the back. 

Lost in nowhere land of artistic vibe, 
Godwulf lies on his back on wet cement 
and stares through branches of the maple tree 
to contemplate architecture of stars 
that weave life on planets from threads of light 
in organic creatures with throbbing brains. 

Lost in nowhere land of corporate clowns, 
Godwulf leaves hospital after three months 
recovering from the bullet in his back, 
but finds that he is no longer employed, 
so he applies to work as the janitor 
at the bank that forecloses mortgages. 

Lost in nowhere land of explicit love, 
Godwulf sits all day on the polished bench 
before city hall with eagle on top 
of its dome which spreads golden wings of pride, 
and panhandles for money to buy food, 
then sleeps behind the library at night. 

Lost in nowhere land of mercurial fame, 
Godwulf goes to the Pegasus Cafe 
every Wednesday night to read poetry 
with fragments of ancestral memories 
about the fractured paradigm of life, 
then wanders mute along the river shore 
till he transforms into turtle of truth. 

Born In Hyrcanian Hills

Born In Hyrcanian Hills
© Surazeus
2026 11 07

With supple laughter of the diamond hawk 
Arcadius opens golden doors of fate 
to gaze upon vast city of his hope 
that teems with people who see him as god 
who walks in human form on fragile Earth, 
but weeps behind the golden mask he wears. 

For that is how I imagine he feels, 
Petrus explains to the wolf by his side 
as they stroll mountain meadow to acquire 
diamonds from dark mine of the Underworld 
where thousands of people enslaved with chains 
extract stars from heart of darkness with rage. 

If we keep time-leaping long centuries 
between established points in the timeline, 
Arcadius complains to the faceless clown, 
I might miss how great empires are designed 
on strict hierarchical structure of power 
based on mortal man who plays role of god. 

Driving his pickup truck back to the farm, 
with sacks of feed for horses in the field, 
Petrus sings along with the country song 
about how love is burning ring of fire 
that fuels our passion to transcend dark hour 
with Dionysian dance in pouring rain. 

Aiming rifle at the tall man in black 
who robs state banks that foreclose on our farms 
and leaves hardworking farmers destitute, 
Arcadius questions purpose of the law 
designed to help the rich exploit the poor 
against the principles that Jesus taught. 

Concerned about high price of gasoline 
that fuels his tractor for harvesting grain, 
Petrus decides to run as governor 
against son of the banker in gray suit 
who buys foreclosed farmland at auction cheap, 
but gets drunk while fishing after he loses. 

Stopping his car on highway by the lake, 
Arcadius sees some man fall from his boat, 
so he swims to the middle of the dark lake 
and drags Petrus back to the pebbled beach 
where he tries to transform into the wolf 
whose spirit was born in Hyrcanian Hills. 

Though I had been crowned the first emperor 
to rule eastern Rome from Byzantium, 
Arcadius smiles for broadcast cameras, 
today I am honored with all my heart 
that the great people of Zarathia 
have chosen me to reign as President. 

Garden Mother Horta

Garden Mother Horta
© Surazeus
2026 11 07

While repairing wood walls of their fane home, 
replacing rotten porch pillar with pine 
he chopped and hauled down from the mountain slope, 
Satres stands on tiled roof in leather apron 
and sees his wife and daughter hauling bags 
of fruit and herbs they gathered by lake shore. 

Heart aching as he watches with concern 
how Lartha, gentle wife with silver eyes, 
and Thania, clever daughter with gold curls, 
struggle to drag bags of food over field 
of bushes and stones to stock cellar shelves, 
Satres pictures wagon with rolling wheels. 

Carving multiple blocks of wood in curves 
with adze he hones sharp on smooth river stones, 
Satres assembles four wheels from oak felloes, 
fitting them with dowels into strong rings, 
adjusts them with axles of sturdy pine, 
then presents wagon to his surprised wife. 

Hauling wagon down to shore of the lake 
where fruit trees, herbs, and vegetables grow wild, 
Satres holds up shovel he bought from Velthur 
who forged it from metal in the hill cave, 
then when Lartha shows him small fruit trees 
or vegetables she wants, he digs them up. 

Planting trees and vegetables in clay pots, 
that he carefully extracts from thick soil, 
Satres hauls wagon back to their fane home 
where Thania hoes rows of furrows from field, 
then Lartha shows him where to place each pot 
as he digs holes deep enough for long roots. 

Hauling pots of water filled from the lake, 
Satres rests on bench under shady elm 
while Thania waters trees and vegetables 
which Lartha tends by pulling hungry weeds 
and trimming branches so more fruit will bloom, 
as cool breeze rustles leaves with pleasant hum. 

When several planks of the wagon get cracked 
from heavy clay pots of water or dirt, 
Satres replaces them with new-carved planks, 
then sits at table outside their fane home 
where they eat galettes baked with meat or fruit, 
and drink apple cider in evening glow. 

Strumming taut strings on lyre of Mercury 
with fingers callused by carpenter work, 
Satres sings hymn to Garden Mother Horta 
who taught him how to gather plants from fields 
and plant them in garden enclosed by walls, 
while Lartha and Thania dance on moonlight. 

Empty Of Clock Sorrow

Empty Of Clock Sorrow
© Surazeus
2026 10 06

Empty of clock sorrow that could obscure 
clang of church bells in the merry hollow, 
Silvanus prances through ten thousand doors 
to crack his heart on stages smeared with blood, 
then wanders home to lounge beneath the willow 
and ask the starling for romantic cure. 

Having struck the richest gold vein of truth 
in sunless mine of human memories, 
Silvanus weaves from tangled nerves of fear 
ten thousand tapestries of world events 
presenting humble people as great heroes 
who mimic messiahs on talking burros. 

Eager to learn how to play grand piano 
with brave Bavarian fury of the storm, 
that Ludwig performs when he wrestles angels, 
Silvanus leaps with outspread arms of joy 
in flower meadow of the honey bee 
to play President in Land of the Free. 

Exiled from Heaven for stealing our hearts 
with scathing mockery of the haughty king, 
Silvanus hosts midnight feast for the elves 
when he strums lyre of Mercury and sings 
about mysterious people with star eyes 
who secretly dwell in covenant burrows. 

Struck by weird inspiration of glass gods 
whose brains refract confused divinity, 
Silvanus falls in love with the Lost Princess 
who rises from toilet cleaner to queen 
and rules with fierce justice of innocence 
over wanderers in ten thousand boroughs. 

If given the chance to go back in time, 
teleported three thousand years before, 
Silvanus would choose to dwell in the Alps 
where spirit of his father Silvus wakes 
beside star-eyed lake in high mountain vale 
when he builds fane for his bride to dwell safe. 

Mind cluttered with fragments of memories, 
lived by his ancestors ten million years, 
Silvanus slowly twirls while breathing wind 
to practice martial arts through meditation 
till he gains power of the stealthy wolf 
who builds army from refugees of war. 

When ten thousand starlings swoop from Glow Cloud 
with message scrolls from angels in glass towers, 
Silvanus reads in swirl of their wild flight 
new age of freedom and justice for all 
rising from hearts of people who desire 
all nations of Earth unite in one faith. 

Inspired By Flame Of Awen

Inspired By Flame Of Awen
© Surazeus
2026 11 06

With my bones of glass forged by flower light, 
and serpentine tongue of weird prophecies, 
Taliesin whispers to cracked tortoise shell, 
I should remain invisible from Fame 
whose blessing is the curse of vampire lust 
that drains bright Awen from my aching heart. 

Though clutching harp of whale bone to his breast 
with wordless passion of the sky-fierce crow, 
Taliesin stands on cliff of mocking wind 
and sings in harmony with ocean waves 
so strings from hearts of dragons ring clear thoughts 
that spark our craving to understand why. 

Mouth open round as cave of flashing wind 
expressed by Zephyrus in curls of verse, 
Taliesin channels craving of the heart 
in spell that formulates obsessive want 
which drives all conscious beings of chemicals 
with brave propellant of our mutual love. 

Composed of quick atomic chemicals 
that program progress of productive rites, 
Taliesin bonds integral drive of hope 
through vision of our bodies as star gods 
consuming fruit and meat of voiceless souls 
to fuel expansion of our fragile minds. 

Like Adam aches to eat apple of Eve, 
and Phoebus chases Daphne in fruit grove, 
and Romeo clutches Juliet to his chest, 
and Orpheus turns with frantic respect 
to bring Eurydice back to warm life, 
Taliesin searches our dreams for Modron. 

Heart pulsing with slow swirl of galaxies 
when his fingers strum taut strings of our hearts, 
Taliesin sings while bearing harp of bone, 
time molds our temporary spirit flames 
from mindless slime of surging ocean waves 
to wingless angels emanating light. 

With skulls of Orpheus, Hamlet, and Jesus 
singing prophecies on museum shelf, 
Taliesin translates song of ocean waves 
to story of curious humanity 
constructing global empire of glass towers 
from Flame of Awen in the human heart. 

Inspired by Flame of Awen in his heart, 
that flares forth from first flash of the big bang, 
Taliesin sits on Stone of Prophecy 
on Mount Takoma by Star Mirror Lake 
and writes our dreams in serpent runes of faith 
which beams new visions in our hungry hearts. 

Bodies Of Our Vibrant Souls

Bodies Of Our Vibrant Souls
© Surazeus
2026 11 05

I feel sacred glow of her fertile heart, 
that radiates passion for beauty of life, 
encased in subtle innocence of truth 
that nurtures bodies of our vibrant souls 
when we explore landscape of our desire 
with honest attention of mutual trust. 

She imitates electric flight of birds, 
disguised as flowered angel of despair 
with owl-eyed wisdom from exploding seeds 
while dancing on sun-stippled field of fate, 
perfumed with freakish sorrow of desire 
when she bites into apricot of trust. 

Heart dilating gold-rimmed Black Hole of love 
at flap of angel wings before dawn flash 
electrocutes my soul with earnest angst, 
she clutches me with wrecking cry of trust 
that twists our bodies into prefect swirl 
of startled gasping at explosive kiss. 

We dream our bodies lithe as serpent joy 
in shadowed hall of undone paradise 
with taut assertion of magnetic trust 
that splatters spirits of our bonded hearts 
on undulating canvas of our hearts, 
transforming us from mortals to clay gods. 

Unmindful of Medusa in her heart, 
she reaches tender hand of anguished hope 
to pierce hard shield of sorrow I erect 
which mirrors beauty of her timeless face 
that unstones my too-long paralyzed soul 
so we pulse pale with living fruit of love. 

If we meander too long in hot glare 
of eyeless sun, that seems to always know 
dark secrets we unspokenly conceal, 
she splashes me with fountain tears of love 
to prove our souls are destined to compose 
new bodies for immortal soul of genes. 

Disguised as Harlequin with thirteen wings, 
clipped from both demons and angels alike, 
I glide with proud elegance of the swan 
in ploy of honor when I must perform 
role of Odysseus for Penelope 
since airplanes fly above our garden pool. 

She is the May Queen with grace of the swan, 
awake with sparks of passion from my eyes, 
since we perform in tragic play of love 
that still engenders children of our hope 
so we accept our bodies will decay 
as they become their most authentic selves. 

Psychic Flash Of Memories

Psychic Flash Of Memories
© Surazeus
2026 11 05

Blinded by psychic flash of memories, 
I utter arcane knowledge of god-stars 
with insane voice of eager honesty 
that throws me into tangled vines of fear 
where, troubled by temptation of contempt, 
I dangle upside down from cross of fate. 

Fueled by psychic flash of memories, 
I race through endless maze of rancid wealth 
to catch elusive butterfly of love 
that leads me lost in meadow of cracked skulls 
which sing strange prophecies in secret code 
about the fall of greed-stoked tyrannies. 

Confused by psychic flash of memories, 
I wear new gilded mask of Jupiter 
and prance with haughty glow of angel pride 
to prove my divine right to rule the world, 
forever on the run from nothingness 
till Death finds me on throne of arrogance. 

Triggered by psychic flash of memories, 
I conceal my natural identity 
beneath so many layers of false myths 
that I lose track of my primary self, 
entangled in titles and names of fame 
when glamor traps me in my fantasy. 

Annoyed by psychic flash of memories, 
I feel my soul stretched taut with probity 
so my brain oscillates between extremes 
around opposing poles of moral creeds 
till my soul is bound by veracity 
that blinds my eyes to essence of my Aion. 

Prompted by psychic flash of memories, 
I design new temple of global faith 
based on true vision of creative force 
expressed by Ishtar on the ziggurat 
from which she rules world religions of faith 
with story of mankind as curious angels. 

Flustered by psychic flash of memories, 
I climb Mount Helicon to Cave of Dreams 
where skull of Orpheus with mirror eyes 
sings timeless spells of social synergy 
that heals wounds of my heart with sacred goal 
to secure United Nations of Earth. 

Inspired by psychic flash of memories, 
I rubricate scroll of my epic poem 
about search of humanity for truth 
that leads our brave steps of curious faith 
ever deeper in labyrinth of dead gods 
who preserve our ancestors as word ghosts. 

Code Of Eternal Truth

Code Of Eternal Truth
© Surazeus
2026 11 05

Brain tangled with code of eternal truth, 
I laugh at how time disconnects my heart 
from people of my small community 
when I move to vast city maze of hope 
to find my role in drama of world games 
as one who draws map of the wandering trees. 

Fate misdirects attention of our hearts 
from dreams we build of cloudy palaces 
to trap our bodies in mundane routines 
gathering energy from soil of the Earth 
to nurture psychic flash of memories 
by which we map our quest for fruit of faith. 

Nerves frazzled by code of eternal truth, 
I leap into sky of infinite thought 
as if I bear broad wings of Icarus 
so I can fly above maze of our world, 
but I fall back to solid sense of facts, 
and breathe for energy to venture forth. 

Fortune tricks my eyes with glamorous dream 
that I could ascend high steps of success 
along honorable course of offices 
to achieve programs of productive wealth, 
but I get knocked down by aggressive strife 
when rivals frame me with guilt of their crimes. 

Mind programmed with code of eternal truth, 
I measure features of material shapes 
to draw clear blueprints of their ideal forms, 
then state in formulas of numbered law 
cause and effect of consequential force 
so I can analyze essence of life. 

Chance leads astray ambition of my faith 
when I realize Jesus was mortal man 
whose deeds embody noble character 
of leader who nurtures talents as skills 
in people who accept him as their savior 
when he incorporates them in haven life. 

Heart inspired by code of eternal truth, 
I stop to chat with every human being 
in every city on our spinning globe 
so I know their names and dreams of their hearts, 
and how we all connect in web of souls 
that radiates visions of our fears and hopes. 

Luck catches me by surprise when she beams 
from Heaven to bestow on my bowed head 
laurel crown of acclaim from Tree of Truth, 
so now I wear Cloak of Invisibility 
to evade Fame with her nuclear-bright eyes 
lest ring of wealth become slave-chain of greed. 

Tall Tree Of Ignorance

Tall Tree Of Ignorance
© Surazeus
2026 11 04

My feelings are no mountains of the moon, 
yet rivers swell from earnest praise of stones 
who hide opinions of angelic clown 
too hungry for unbaked bread of surprise 
because all houses on the country road 
burn from strange laughter of sad pyramids. 

House of my body stretches wings of hope 
so I can fly above vast town of graves 
where mothers gripping bayonets of faith 
make talismans for children without eyes 
who steal jobs in the county government 
by getting tattoos of uncertain gods. 

Words burst from perfect eggs of solitude 
to track quick revolution of our globe 
around three suns of happy carnivals 
where elves hold weddings always at midnight 
for twenty centuries of rocking cradles 
despite how often halls of fate collapse. 

Though we hold hands with loyalty of fear 
to gather plums in rockets of contempt, 
we cross old covered bridges every dawn 
where leaves of spirits flutter in cold breeze, 
so we pause in mid-flurry of shocked truth 
to take cute selfie of our twisted souls. 

So when blonde girl in yellow dress of pride 
gives me old record-player made of glass, 
we sit together on broken stone wall, 
pretending we still live in paradise 
where everyone operates their own store 
along the river boulevard of fate. 

Still wearing dress her mother sewed from rage, 
she plays atonal melodies of faith 
on glass piano forged from meteor tears, 
awake with thrilling ecstasy of love 
that no one else but us can understand 
as secret we share in the crowded church. 

Soft steps of urgent innocence extend 
harsh laughter of the weeping telephone 
clutched by last angel of forever now 
whom darkness fleshes real from ocean sand 
as truth contained in letters never read 
by sad old woman in the rocking chair. 

My name means wind of elegant respect 
exposes joy in foul grave of my heart 
at sudden jazz of cars on highway bridge 
that glisten gold in anguish of night rain 
though we return to paradise we lost 
and hide behind tall Tree of Ignorance. 

Manage Randomness Of Fate

Manage Randomness Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 11 04

My heart remembers nothing of the pain 
wound tight by tree roots in my throbbing brain 
long after river stones of moral tricks 
crack into pageless books of blood-soaked bricks 
from which foundation of our holy state 
was built to manage randomness of fate. 

From crowded neighborhoods of faceless ghosts, 
enchanted by blind horse that always boasts 
about grandiose wars of wealth it has won, 
I compile statistics about the sun 
with plan to build from ritual pieties 
empire through religious anxieties. 

We cheer great victory of the humble man 
who campaigns for God with progressive plan 
to fund healthcare for every breathing soul 
whether or not they perform social role 
that contributes to success of the state 
for refugees locked outside jeweled gate. 

Retention of brave workers without hands, 
who sacrifice their health to uphold brands 
of corporate pirates trashing companies, 
inspires new mission to reforge mental keys 
that should unlock new opportunities 
for tailless monkeys who still live in trees. 

Our bodies wither from unspooling clocks 
that call with trumpets to war-monger hawks 
who land on wrist of Christ at whistle call 
when his voice shakes faith of the castle wall 
through resurrection of the never-dead 
whose wisdom springs as daughter from my head. 

Hephaestus hobbles in cathedral hall 
to fool Achilles in the shopping mall 
with joke that he has been elected king 
who should wield invisibility ring 
through power to raise spirits from the dead 
who are but memories in my addled head. 

I condescend to implicate myself 
through screaming statue on library shelf, 
yet choose to vindicate with random rule 
my use of sorrow as attention tool 
for tricking people to see me as god, 
but flee when they realize I am a fraud. 

Last emperor of my ancient dynasty, 
paralyzed through glam of my majesty, 
I wander homeless on the signless road 
to find secret marsh of the humming toad 
who teaches me code of eternal truth 
so I can play role of messiah sleuth. 

Arthurian Trance Of Faith

Arthurian Trance Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 11 04

I have never heard the nightingale sing, 
yet I have felt brush of the angel wing 
my mind designs as spirit of true love 
that beams at me from the warm sun above, 
so my heart projects conscious sense of thought 
at our Cosmos that mindless atoms wrought. 

Whether relaxed in garden of fruit trees, 
hair gently caressed by the caring breeze, 
or mapping our world on computer screen 
with urgent faith from soul of Melusine, 
I feel vibrant light of the cosmic glow 
radiate through my brain as atomic flow. 

My body pulses with matrix of light 
that forms our planet spinning in slow flight 
two hundred fifty million years one time 
around galactic ring in psychic chime, 
expanding scope of my one tiny brain 
from core of Earth to Laniakea plane. 

Though I am temporary node of being 
on tiny globe in supercluster ring, 
that flashes zillions of planets with life, 
where each mortal soul grows wiser through strife, 
I feel concept of God wake in my heart 
in quest I map on star-observant chart. 

Since beauty of the quaint communal scene, 
where humans live safe from the thought machine, 
is truth we choose with goal of Liberty 
to share our globe in world democracy 
where every soul may thrive with equal rights, 
I channel Mithras to mediate fights. 

Our long greed-ravished Earth of fertileness, 
that blooms to wreck towers of greediness, 
waits mutely in Arthurian trance of faith 
for Sylvan historian of our God Wraith 
to chronicle our fight for Liberty 
that guides our way from dales of Arcady. 

My peaceful temple in lush mountain vale, 
where I guard secret of the Holy Grail, 
may be safe haven from national wars, 
but billions of people behind locked doors 
struggle to maintain healthy dignity 
through personal responsibility. 

To nurture individual human worth, 
enforced by United Nations of Earth, 
I sing in tune with Lyre of Mercury 
brave hymn that praises world democracy 
where every conscious soul on fruit-tree hill 
may thrive in legal framework of free will. 

Blue Wave Of Social Synergy

Blue Wave Of Social Synergy
© Surazeus
2026 11 03

With beating heart steeled by courage of faith 
that Justice always prevails over greed, 
I surf blue wave of social synergy 
in noble fight to stand with Liberty 
against cruel oligarchs of tyranny 
who always lose to brave democracy. 

Mercury dances with the cheering crowd 
with joy erupting from his fear-taut chest 
to breathe again with hope against despair 
after long years beneath dark cloud of greed 
when brave Minerva casts bright flame of truth 
dispelling demon that oppressed our land. 

When Serpentus, dragon with sapphire eyes, 
emerges from wild ocean waves of change, 
she glides on broad wings of attentive hope 
over sprawling metropolitan maze 
to hunt King Midas, clutching bags of gold, 
who flees stumbling in wilderness of greed. 

We gather by broad river of deep faith, 
cleansed by blue wave of social synergy 
that sweeps away cruel gang of fascist thugs 
to free brave people of our fertile land 
so we all dwell in whole community 
that maintains our vital democracy. 

Projection Of Conscious Souls

Projection Of Conscious Souls
© Surazeus
2026 11 03

While wading knee-deep in cold lake of eyes, 
Phoebus explains with earnest nonchalance 
that God is projection of conscious souls 
who see their spirit mirrored in the world, 
so they mistake shimmer of their own soul 
for supernatural mind that controls all. 

When beam of sunlight breaks through black rain cloud, 
Phoebus stands in bright shaft of holy glow 
and asks God in crystal starship of fate 
to rapture him to Heaven on gold clouds, 
but nothing transports him beyond this world, 
so he turns to us and grins as we laugh. 

Am is the first word mankind ever spoke, 
gazing at face of first mother with love, 
because she hums hymn of attentive care 
while feeding us milk of the spinning world, 
so we stand on the lake shore of our dream 
and chant Om with vibration of respect. 

Rain splatters on leaves of the apple tree 
where Am, first mother of humanity, 
cradles her child, she names Ba, at her breast, 
and teaches him to name each thing they see 
in cunning spell with playful melody 
while she gathers apples, berries, and eggs. 

Ascending small ziggurat ten feet high, 
Phoebus faces people camped on the beach, 
who feast on roast fish and hot apple cider, 
then strums haunting tune on the cow-horn lyre 
and sings hymn to Great Mother of the Sea 
who protects and feeds all lost wanderers. 

Dreams of memories, my ancestors lived 
centuries ago by long river of time 
before my current soul-body was born, 
program how my own brain perceives this world 
based on framework of language they designed 
that controls how I see things perform actions. 

Vision of their successful actions drive 
progress of my quest to become myself, 
authentic replicant of my ancestors 
till I swerve off expected path of duty 
to blaze new trail of my own psychic sense 
when I realize I am Phoebus reborn. 

When Phoebe, daughter of Phoebus, presents 
Cronus as man she loves and wants to marry, 
I feel spark of eternity expand 
from primal cause of passion in my heart 
to sing about harsh struggles of mankind 
as we strive to become God we respect. 

River Of Dream Time

River Of Dream Time
© Surazeus
2026 11 03

Extracting minerals from heart of the Earth 
with giant metal claw of hungry greed, 
Vulcan devours mountains of synergy 
to forge billions of cars from steel and glass 
with piston engine Barsanti designed 
that powers chariot of Ezekiel. 

Amazed by trans-human magnificence, 
that emanates from fertile seas of hope, 
and exerts lust through bulging mountain peaks, 
Diana runs with deer in shadowed woods 
to find ghost of Silvanus by the lake 
polluted by waste from car factories. 

Thrown into frame of Earth with hope for life 
by passion of my parents to preserve 
immortal soul of genes in my small body, 
I walk along the River of Dream Time 
while ancestors and descendants observe 
through this temporary node of my being. 

I breathe wind rustling leaves of apple trees 
while strolling past greasy telephone poles 
strung with wires that connect thousands of cities 
through swift currents of electricity 
generated by copper coils of faith 
wound around huge magnetic core of iron. 

Standing by the river of snow-pure water, 
that winds from high mountain to swirling gulf, 
I scroll social media sites on my eye-phone 
through global network of cellular towers 
that connect us all sea to shining sea 
where birds haunt marshes near asphalt street mazes. 

My heart transforms into the moon-eyed crow 
who wakes fierce spirit of Cronus in me, 
so I sing heartache of the tree and bird 
who dwell on shores of brackish city lakes 
littered with trash from factories and stores 
where I park my car at the shopping mall. 

Since Vulcan built first coal-fired steam engine 
that powers factories, trains, ships, and cars 
two hundred years of industrial expansion, 
mankind has transformed our Garden of Eden 
into sprawling cities of Pandemonium 
connected in cyberspace through computers. 

While wandering vast metropolitan maze, 
I hear cry of Silvanus with my heart 
whose spirit lingers in the wilderness, 
so I hike wild hills around Mount Takoma 
where Diana appears with hunting bow 
to share with me ancient spell Nature sings. 

Strobilus Mountain Ghost

Strobilus Mountain Ghost
© Surazeus
2026 11 02

Reborn as the Strobilus Mountain ghost, 
I watch over vast world of human souls 
with emerald eyes of Mithras in my brain, 
commissioned by Anahita to guard 
Garothman House of Song in paradise 
where lovers dance among lush apple trees. 

When I cross Chinvat Bridge of the Requiter, 
my path widens in gold-paved road of faith 
where I pick apples from the Tree of Knowledge 
as Anahita guides my way to Heaven 
while tyrants in towers of steel and glass 
battle each other to control the Earth. 

Though I wander lost on the signless road 
across the endless waste land of desire, 
Ahura Mazda arrives on winged horse 
and gives me Truth Wand of Asha Vahishta 
with mission to lead army of the people 
in holy war against tyrants of greed. 

Fallen to my knees in exhausted hope 
on snow-blasted slope of Mount Strobilus, 
I gasp for breath of wisdom from blue sky, 
but, just as I fall in pit of despair, 
Sura Anahita embraces me 
and fills my heart with courage of respect. 

With help of Verethragna and Sura Osha, 
Anahita urges me to attend 
focus of my heart on people of Earth 
who languish under corporate tyranny, 
so I wake from dark slumber of despair 
as Sura Zeus, son of Astaria. 

Ascending double peak of Strobilus, 
I stand before the burning bush of truth, 
so Zurvan beams from spiral of the sun 
and asks why his twin sons still fight for power, 
Ahura Mazda, God of shining truth, 
and Ahura Mainyu, God of dark lies. 

Zurvan Akarana, God of Infinity, 
teaches his son, Chronus, how to recount 
progress of humanity to evolve 
from angry ape to angel of control, 
adjusting Zodiac Wheel with skillful hands 
in chronicle that reveals spirit of Aion. 

Awake as the Strobilus Mountain ghost, 
I pilot starship of psychic insight 
to patrol United Nations of Earth, 
arresting tyrants and their oligarchs 
to free humanity from their blind greed 
so we live through justice and liberty. 

Mindless Nature Zones

Mindless Nature Zones
© Surazeus
2026 11 02

Bright river flows between bush-tangled shores 
where sandhill cranes discuss theology 
concerning mirror vision of the self 
that we project in mindless nature zones, 
so I fish for salmon of earnest faith 
in how the sun gleams through reluctant clouds. 

Amazed by paradox of brilliant light 
enhanced by solid nothingness of gloom, 
I drive bus on brave road of anywhere 
so people holding books of fairy tales 
may find their grief in secret forest glades, 
encased in tangled roots of apple trees. 

Acquainted with sadness of drifting hills, 
our children wearing costumes of dead gods 
gaze through kaleidoscopes of sacred creeds 
to see angelic souls their neighbors hide 
behind time-weathered masks of bitter faith 
in suffering issued by seven-eyed fate. 

Contrived by formulas of quiddity 
to represent weird whatness of our souls, 
new social myths define our troubled age 
based on performative respect for law, 
so I assert right to my breathing-space 
beneath the timeless olive tree of love. 

Strange laughter from unopened books of faith 
preserves tales about the Healer of Minds 
who teaches us art of resilience 
to understand sorrows we leave behind 
since aging angels, that our parents are, 
guard our progress against rapacious lies. 

Old-fashioned riddles stuck in holy books 
slither from unnatural signs to engage 
unmeasured truths people long to believe, 
such as that souls which animate our bodies 
remain whole with our consciousness intact 
after our frames of flesh dissolve to dust. 

Well organized by our season in Hell, 
our frantic feelings of nonchalant hope 
lie wounded beneath windows of the church, 
beamed by sharp light of citric nothingness, 
so we search through fog of reality 
with dim lamp of our aching hearts as light. 

Each person sees complex state of this world 
as their own puzzle, simplified by fear, 
so we breathe spirit of ethereal love, 
then speak strange words invented by blind trees 
that helps us understand what others see 
as we walk along bright river of faith. 

Radiate Timeless Love

Radiate Timeless Love
© Surazeus
2026 11 02

Shoes worn by walk across the broken land, 
I stand before cracked mirror of my mind 
to reclaim lost time of unwinding hope 
as I keep moving toward the somewhere else 
on mission to become authentic self 
inherent in my genes before I die. 

My heart is rainless waste land of desire 
from which emerge ghosts of ancestral souls 
who guide my way on roadless land of truth 
till I find broken star on dusty plain 
which mirrors primal spirit of my soul 
so I begin to radiate timeless love. 

I hear no nightingale in fruitless woods, 
so I slice open sorrow of my heart 
that springs in fountain of conceptual tears 
which nurture honest roots of humble trees 
who breathe in fear to sing courageous love 
that swells in mystery of wind-fluttered leaves. 

When I grow tall as mountain on the plain, 
limbs stretched far longer than taut vineyard vines, 
I see around me pools of shining eyes 
in countless mirrors that reflect lost worlds 
which teem with life across our multiverse 
where I exist on every globe of hope. 

I shout with tuneless voice of nightingales 
in song that radiates out from flaming star 
which weaves chaotic atoms into globe 
with seas from which organic spirits flow 
as we evolve from fish to singing god 
who gazes at the stars and wonders why. 

I drift without goal in the faceless crowd 
which flows across the bridge of endless hope 
that arches over river of dead souls, 
and wonder where they all are rushing to, 
as if plum blossoms transform from snowflakes 
in endless swirl of people seeking love. 

I drink fruit cider from cup of my heart 
beneath sweet shimmer of the timeless moon, 
then gaze at your face glowing from its light 
till I fall slowly in sea of your eyes 
and spiral into coils of tangled genes 
that weave our bodies in new human soul. 

When we meet walking in the silver rain 
I hold umbrella over your bowed head 
so we merge our two paths in one shared road 
that leads us to safe garden of our love 
where we sing melodies in tune with fate 
for children who spring laughing from our hearts. 

Elusive Ghost Of Innocence

Elusive Ghost Of Innocence
© Surazeus
2026 11 01

Too subtle for acknowledgement, contrived 
by unpaged books of arrogant dismay 
expressed by humble workers of the world, 
his secret spells depict excessive truth 
buried under stones in gardens of faith 
that mean nothing to sweet waves of the sea. 

Still dancing in the crowded club at dawn, 
after the vampires and kings have gone home, 
she struts before blank face of god with pride 
that she votes for the jester to assume 
rule of nations with justice of the joke 
designed to deconstruct wealth privilege. 

Soul projected through stereopticon 
by moonbeams of antisocial regret, 
he hears the earth revolving fast as wind 
in crystal flux of languages designed 
with beautiful joy of oblivion 
that fools the wise to believe we may live. 

Counting scenes his brain remembers as dreams 
of lightning calculators, that expose 
grief of wounded hearts, trapped by belief 
in bright illusion of the afterlife, 
she claims elusive ghost of innocence 
that lingers where all rivers disappear. 

Exploring waste land of bleak galaxies, 
sunk in countless slumbers of hemispheres, 
ineffable with faces of brave people, 
he mimics how astronomers perform 
arcane rituals of psychic augury 
through revelation of the fractured mind. 

Freed from surveillance of blood-thirsty ghosts 
who win election as state governors, 
she conceals treasures pilfered from sad gods 
who dwell in Valley of Sincerity 
among mulberry bushes of fake joy, 
bearded penitents who circle the pool. 

Too many years ago to understand 
sputtering gaslights on the boulevard 
where hungry girls sell flowers of despair 
to haughty shepherds in suits and top hats, 
he floats through countless doors of empty homes 
to find the Good God who does not exist. 

When he asks Goldilocks to marry him, 
with jeweled ring he stole from Saruman, 
she tells him she prefers the forest bear, 
so he transforms into werewolf of rage 
to wins election as the city mayor 
while she works as nurse at the hospital. 

River of Star Eyes

River of Star Eyes
© Surazeus
2026 11 01

Seeking truth in strange laughter of the wind, 
we swim as one in river of star eyes 
while silvan pipes of supple susurrance 
rustles leaves of our hearts with quiescence 
so we transcend obdurance of despair 
with love that expands our celestial wings. 

Because the sea can almost hear my song 
unvoiced by blind amazement, intricate 
with quickened vacancy of primal thought, 
I ask the dead to tell me tragic tales 
trapped in their bodies with aggressive calm, 
but they encase their secrets in our skulls. 

Revived by harsh November rain at dawn, 
that tricks my cerebellum to record 
heart-aching songs for immortality 
no conscious being can win, I scale vast bulge 
of psychic blossoming with bold surprise, 
but hang above abyss of nothingness. 

Inspired by passion of my foolish youth 
to reach beyond bounds of my spurious brain, 
I catch hold tight to motion time extends 
with germinal regret of blind mistakes, 
entranced by languorous music of crickets 
dispersed by sudden flash of bitter rain. 

Despair delays ascension of my soul 
against primordial fragrance fate enrolls 
to trick our minds that we could live forever, 
yet I decide to hide, beneath the stone, 
heart wounded by expansive sense of time 
with bland unwillingness to escape death. 

We cannot live play of our lives again 
though we are driven by ancestral ache 
of slow decay in fractured bones of faith, 
so we assert our right to live this hour 
by pacing boundless space of everywhere 
with haughty courage of our bloodied feet. 

Gnarled branches of the orchard grab my heart 
at sudden flash of bullets from dawn sun, 
reborn as brave metallic bees that teach 
my body to enclose against attack 
when I lie numb on bulging globe of fate 
till soil transforms my soul to flowered breath. 

Since nothing matters in game of false fame, 
except expression of the lonely heart, 
I sit alone beneath moon-favored oak 
and sing about strange beauty of this world 
that swirls away in river of star eyes 
till I am nothing but the wind on water. 

Unwinding Clock Of Sorrow

Unwinding Clock Of Sorrow
© Surazeus
2026 11 01

Unwinding clock of sorrow back one hour 
to readjust attentive force of wisdom, 
Mercury flies homeward to the glass tower 
where he operates global finance system 
by which he funds our food-production farms 
through psychic function of conceptual charms. 

Unwinding clock of sorrow before dawn 
to spark immortal soul of genes awake, 
Mercury becomes stone on White House lawn 
that watches families sail boats on the lake 
with voiceless sapience of the Cosmic Eye 
that knows each process of atomic why. 

Unwinding clock of sorrow with burned hand 
that carves commandments on tablets of stone, 
Mercury performs with new corporate brand 
official functions of the stateless clone 
who pilots United Nations of Earth 
to prove each human has intrinsic worth. 

Unwinding clock of sorrow through moon howl 
to reunite beauty with true sublime, 
Mercury wears crystal mask of the owl 
that generates human souls from sea slime 
with bold agency of abundant grace 
to mold inner light in each special face. 

Unwinding clock of sorrow with Dream Word 
to endow power on our Cosmic Nurse, 
Mercury plots progress of the absurd 
that redesigns state of our multiverse 
so angels and devils merge in one shape 
as humans who explore our weird landscape. 

Unwinding clock of sorrow from brain threads 
that weave matrix of souls in global sheen, 
Mercury maps continent watersheds 
with glowing eyes of well-witch Melusine 
so every person in the world may drink 
water of life that gleams as vital link. 

Unwinding clock of sorrow in god hearts 
that calculate the way to paradise, 
Mercury draws new set of star charts 
that guides Jesus to make his sacrifice 
then reign as Savior in empire of need 
which traps monarchs in brutal wars of greed. 

Unwinding clock of sorrow from book tales 
that moralize how humans should behave, 
Mercury weighs our actions on thought scales 
based on illusions in the dreamless cave 
where Anahita bottles water-light 
that inspires me with oracular flight. 

Electric Brain Juice

Electric Brain Juice
© Surazeus
2026 11 01

Fear swallows all dissenters of the heart 
who dare defy finality of death 
that wastes our fragile bodies with despair, 
though we glow with ambition to endure 
by drinking electric brain juice of love 
we steal from Tree of Knowledge with respect. 

Gripping rifle of absolute faith 
in guardianship of angels in gold clouds, 
Orion runs in woods of hungry ghouls, 
then crouches behind large Salvation Stone 
to shoot at tanks invading his small town, 
just as bombs blast the church next to his home. 

At roar of silver angels in blue sky, 
that stretch their aluminum wings with pride, 
Orion aims rifle at Heart of God, 
but flash of shots from rifle of his courage 
attract the Eyes of Death with mocking grin 
who looms as shadow in Valley of Fear. 

When lieutenant of his platoon is shot 
by laughing bullet from tongue of the Devil, 
Orion tries to rally frightened soldiers, 
so they retreat to ruins of the church 
where he crouches beneath statue of Mary 
who holds the headless Savior in her arms. 

Staring at the marble statue of Jesus, 
whose head was shattered by bullet of faith, 
Orion declares to his huddled squad, 
this fertile land where our fathers have lived, 
since they arrived sixteen centuries ago, 
is sacred haven where our families thrive. 

At midnight when moonbeams illuminate 
shattered ruins of the tenth-century church, 
Orion studies structure of stone walls 
to understand architectural design 
on which mankind builds Cathedral of Faith 
now shattered by bombs of national greed. 

Inside the shattered wall of the church apse 
old bottle of wine gleams in gold moonlight, 
so Orion raises glass of wine to Heaven 
and prays for victory of his homeland 
against invading empire of the north, 
then sings heart-wrenching hymn of bitter faith. 

Drunk on ancient wine of fermented faith, 
brewed by some monk hundreds of years before, 
Orion consumes electric brain juice 
that fills his heart with courage of the doomed 
who always fight to guard the fertile land 
where their children play hide and seek with Death. 

Brave Wings Of Mercury

Brave Wings Of Mercury
© Surazeus
2026 10 31

If fear destroys every bridge in the world, 
I will soar on brave wings of Mercury 
to gather broken wands of wounded wizards 
so I can build new bridge of honesty 
from snow-encrusted bones of dinosaurs 
and cross abyss of loneliness to you. 

Though hate sucks all the oceans of the world, 
I will swim with brave wings of Mercury 
in paper boats of fragile ardency 
to find your Garden of Hesperides 
where you bloom delicate as the pink rose 
with courage of the raven by my grave. 

When sorrow kills every tree in the world, 
I will climb with brave wings of Mercury 
high mountain of obsessive fantasy 
to join ghosts of my ancestors at dawn 
in holy kitchen of the well-baked loaf 
that fills my body with spirit of hope. 

Till horror uproots flowers of my heart, 
I will dance with brave wings of Mercury 
across the waste land of the ruined church 
where mute seer, clutching jeweled crown of thorns, 
cries out in anguish of the fallen god, 
though bad luck protects us from tragedy. 

Because despair fractures the glass moon, 
I gaze in shards of truth with earnest hope 
to perceive complex nature of the brain 
that gathers fragments of random events 
to build huge puzzle from small anecdotes 
in world view nobody else understands. 

Since Death erases every conscious soul, 
I will rise on brave wings of Mercury 
to flow on beams of sunlight through the sky 
one hundred billion years of spinning worlds, 
four hundred times around our galaxy, 
till I evolve from fish to singing god. 

While horses burst from eggs of faceless ghosts, 
I will twirl on brave wings of Mercury 
through fraught study of eschatology 
based on strange revelation of the brain 
that conjures virtual model of the world 
because souls are functions of chemicals. 

As laughter crushes mountains of the world, 
I will swell on brave wings of Mercury 
when I attain the highest form of peace 
because I have no desire to be seen, 
nor validated by rewards of fame, 
for I am singing ghost of everywhere. 

Fractured Tombs Of Time

Fractured Tombs Of Time
© Surazeus
2026 10 31

When gods with faces our fathers once wore 
may resurrect from fractured tombs of time, 
I sing weird siren melody of faith 
that lures them to gather around the pool 
where Echo dances in long flowing gown 
till they transform into idols of stone. 

Assembling landscape of lost memories 
from photographs in fractured tombs of time, 
I stalk the barren fields of singing skulls 
to chase away blind ghouls of pestilence 
where crowds of hungry people in moonlight 
wail for the apple tree burned by despair. 

Almost home where rivers water wheat fields 
that flourish around fractured tombs of time, 
I watch the heron build her secret nest 
and listen to grasshoppers sing brave prayers, 
yet fate assures my wounded heart that time 
erases sorrow till my soul remains. 

Though fortune casts me from haven of hope 
so I wander past fractured tombs of time, 
I focus on road my ardent feet blaze 
as I walk forward through the endless maze 
to shining mystery on dark hill of bones 
where silence invents words for me to sing. 

When voices of dead poets wake my soul 
from dreamless sleep in fractured tombs of time, 
I reach my hand toward startled sun of faith 
to snatch fresh apple from the Tree of Truth 
in battle against tyrants who oppress 
common people struggling to survive. 

Eager to watch the new apocalypse 
reveal mad gods in fractured tombs of time, 
I drive lit strip mall in the twilight zone 
where people eat hamburgers in quaint bars 
and watch movies about our antiheroes, 
so I can understand heart of mankind. 

Reincarnated as Golem of Hope 
from secret lab in fractured tombs of time, 
I stuff bloody pages of epic poems 
from ancient books inside cave of my mouth 
which animates my clay body with love 
to play messiah of our modern world. 

Searching for invisible hand of God 
that reaches out from fractured tombs of time, 
I rattle tambourine of demon thought 
because the whole world is my lonely grave, 
then cast tablets of law on jagged rocks 
so runes slither awake as water snakes. 

Sea Of Timeless Truth

Sea Of Timeless Truth
© Surazeus
2026 10 31

Almost drowning in sea of timeless truth, 
I breathe celestial sorrow of mankind 
which swells my heart with spirit of respect 
so I sail onward through the seven seas 
to find the secret island of your heart 
where you supplicate tree of fruit for love. 

Still sailing across sea of timeless truth 
in swollen ship of my love-wounded heart, 
I navigate by stars of your black eyes 
that guide me to the island of mad gods 
who howl with laughter at absurdity 
that constitutes brave beauty of this life. 

To measure thought on sea of timeless truth 
based on pure symbol of the Antichrist, 
I dare unravel paradox of fate 
that we are born with basic character 
that dooms us to choose how we live each day 
so prophets predict effect from its cause. 

Gliding high over sea of timeless truth 
on frantic wings of mortal ardency, 
I translate song of strange immortal bird 
that still sings perilous beauty of love 
since ancient days of emperors and clowns 
that charm me to search forlorn fairylands. 

Reborn as god from sea of timeless truth, 
I shroud dim specter of my transient soul 
in ectoplasmic shroud of fragile flesh 
that converts thought-form of my aching heart 
to normal person cased with marble mask 
as I escape cold idol to live warm. 

Diving deep down in sea of timeless truth, 
I search for long-lost idol of my god 
designed to manage energy of lust 
that drives meat bodies to regenerate 
children from obsessive hope to live 
beyond the final nothingness of death. 

Borne by wild winds on sea of timeless truth 
against mute will of our love-wounded hearts, 
I wander endless beach of shining sand 
to share small cup of honey-flavored tea 
with roaring demon of the godless deep 
who sips, then offers me her gratitude. 

Awake at last on sea of timeless truth 
at far edge of the nowhere of our faith, 
I must refuse to confirm or deny 
that I exist as clump of molecules 
in temporary node of consciousness 
though I sing about beauty of your soul. 

Holy Bridge Of Evermore

Holy Bridge Of Evermore
© Surazeus
2026 10 31

Stuck on the holy bridge of evermore, 
still seeking sacred truth of pungent fruit, 
I watch eight billion people on our globe 
search for their paradise in crowded hell, 
though half asleep in sorrow of desire 
while longing to join the heavenly choir. 

Blind on the holy bridge of evermore, 
yet driven by fierce motor of my heart, 
I map the endless maze of transient fame 
where some among the billions are transformed 
to mindless idols of adoring fans 
who laugh at vanity of life-style plans. 

Deaf on the holy bridge of evermore, 
head throbbing with illogical respect, 
I translate ancient song of ocean waves 
to human language no one understands, 
so we disguise ourselves as long-dead gods 
to trick-or-treat on misty houseless roads. 

Trapped on the holy bridge of evermore, 
with hawk wings in the golden cage of fame, 
I unspool timeless clock of psychic code 
to program how my brain perceives this Earth, 
because you see my mask, not the real me, 
commissioned to play role of Liberty. 

Lodged on the holy bridge of evermore, 
as guest of Cronus in dark mountain cave, 
I incarnate as Orion with bow, 
that humble policeman in your small town 
dedicated to serve everyone well 
despite death tolling of the midnight bell. 

Stalled on the holy bridge of evermore, 
in car with engine Barsanti designed, 
I drive three thousand miles of asphalt roads 
Miami to Seattle with the wind, 
so I can find the land where I was born 
before angels blow apocalypse horn. 

Crowned on the holy bridge of evermore, 
by wise Athena with her eyes of steel, 
I reinvent new reason for my life 
based on the moral codes of prophet kings 
who built foundation of our global state 
and left me to monitor its jeweled gate. 

Bored on the holy bridge of evermore, 
with all eternity of one brief life, 
I play the lyre of Mercury and sing 
about religious wars that humans fight 
over who has the right to breed and eat, 
and who will sit on the Perilous Seat. 

Witching Hour Of Faith

Witching Hour Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 10 30

At witching hour of faith, when graveyards yawn 
ghosts of our ancestors in bitter mist 
of cruel desire to claim gem of the moon, 
Basemath drinks hot cider of god blood 
to smear contagious words of hypocrites 
on cracked foundation stone of ruined fane. 

Bearing bag of skulls from dead haughty kings, 
that clatter with strange voices in dark woods, 
Basemath watches for mischievous sprites 
who bring ingredients into stone-wall fane 
where three witches boil juice of secret truth 
which they trick weary travelers to drink. 

Aware she treads parallel course of faith 
against suggestive council of the oak, 
Basemath wears mask of heavenly show 
when the slick-suited man with specious eyes 
pours pestilence of doubts into her ears 
that good she wills to do corrupts her heart. 

Reluctant to present her soul as good 
when she performs deeds that foster good will 
among poor people seeking food to eat, 
Basemath provides jars of fresh juice 
and baked bread in food booth by the gate 
where hungry people praise their benefactor. 

Enmeshed in foul contradictory rumors 
that taint her reputation with false greed, 
Basemath hurries down dark alleyway, 
but men abduct her from way of her heart 
and lock her in prison with other girls 
who plead for freedom from harsh slavery. 

Mind full of scorpions from anguished fear 
that jocund comfort has deserted her, 
Basemath summons from cave of her heart 
vile spirit of Hecate with dreadful spell 
to energize her fight for liberty 
when she details plan for their bold escape. 

Luring young guard into cell of desire 
with honeyed promises of secret pleasure, 
Basemath strangles him and wears his suit, 
then leads enslaved girls from cell of despair, 
by moonlit gliding toward riverside cave 
where they hide from soldiers hunting their souls. 

Free to frolic in dream light of the moon 
from radiant presence of wise Hecate, 
Basemath federates freed slaves with plan 
to farm fertile land with fruit trees and herbs, 
establishing self-sufficient commune 
so they thrive with liberty of free will. 

Book Of Psychic Codes

Book Of Psychic Codes
© Surazeus
2026 10 30

My ghost remains in homes where I once lived, 
scattered in towns across the continent, 
so they send signals through the ethernet 
that shimmer through the walls of everywhere 
to trick my meat-brain of hungry hope 
into accessing book of psychic codes. 

My ghost assembles fragments of my dreams 
into this meat-puppet that emanates 
radio waves of my temporary soul 
which conjures gust of wind outside my door, 
embodied by the soulmate of my heart 
who declares that she has become my Muse. 

My ghost strolls with me in the neighborhood 
while beaming images of you in wind 
so, when I glimpse blue glitter of the sea 
between the houses where strangers watch me, 
I see in water of its timeless flow 
source of language that fountains from our mouths. 

My ghost leads me to tree of tangerines 
that gleam bright as the sun on twisted limbs, 
so I breathe scent of flowers in the wind 
that fuels intense ardor of wanderlust 
to plot the mathematic flash of faith, 
yet I remain in room of countless doors. 

Ghost of my body emanates from me, 
posed idol-still on broken wall of fate, 
so I arrange smooth river stones in rings 
to mark its hollowness as sacred space 
where I stand safe on spinning globe of thought, 
pretending I still have my angel wings. 

Ghost of my brain vibrates with psychic waves 
when I open door to the fairy house 
where crystal eggs of angels glitter gold 
through which I teleport to distant worlds 
which all reflect state of this current world 
as mirror that presents alternatives. 

Ghost of my pulsing heart designs new face 
for me to wear when I leave fairy house, 
perched on the jagged cliff beside the sea, 
and visit market town with bag of coins 
so I can purchase book of psychic codes 
from lonely woman by the empty well. 

Ghost of my bones inherits song of waves 
so I assert attention of my heart 
to channel voices from the Otherworld 
who ask for secret of the Holy Grail, 
which I explain refers to how our genes 
incarnate in our children as new souls. 

Television Tube Of Truth

Television Tube Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 10 30

When sparrows spring from sudden songs of hope, 
I hold ever-flowing hourglass of fate 
with supple laughter of our arrogance 
that happiness of flashing synergy 
could be more than frail bubble on the stream 
that vanishes with mist on web of dawn. 

Grand symphony of my eccentric heart 
swells with vibrant shadow from my grave 
as sunlit clouds that crack with thunder song 
to drench our city in spiritual rain 
with noisy burden of my wordless voice 
that radiates waves of songs on radios. 

Our spirits rise from swirling sea of dreams 
through bleached evaporation of desire 
to form enormous clouds of mindless gods 
that soak the waste land of the roadless west 
in screaming riddles of electric ghosts 
who transform into humans without hope. 

Dry Earth soaks our spirits into its heart 
so we bloom tall in trees of humming faith 
that morph our bodies into juicy fruit 
consumed by insatiable hope of Death 
who dances when I dare play violin 
for gods in abandoned aquarium. 

Ghosts of my Puritan ancestors glow 
as gold candles in pumpkin heads of gods 
when children dressed as cowboys and vampires 
loot strange treasures from mansions of the rich 
which they return to history museums 
to honor our savage civility. 

Trapped in the television tube of truth 
with masks of characters from fairy tales, 
I captain our sleek starship among stars 
to visit strange new worlds where devils trick 
humble farmers to support haughty kings 
till cities are destroyed by nuclear bombs. 

Emerging from vales of the jagged Alps, 
where lizard men dwell in bright jeweled caves, 
I build empire with Wand of Jupiter 
based on nutritious passion of wheat bread 
so I can find lost grave of Icarus 
and rebuild sky-ship of his broken heart. 

While growing old with sorrow of lost time, 
I carve weird riddles on black obelisk 
with serpent runes of star-engendered love 
that flash on television tubes of truth 
to hypnotize new children of dead gods 
who wrestle hovering cherubim of faith.