Why We Are Alive

Why We Are Alive
© Surazeus
2026 05 08

In snow-filled library of Elysium, 
Sibylla gazes in black crystal ball 
that models white whole of our universe 
in spiral swirls of flashing galaxies, 
then gazes in my heart with sea-green eyes 
so I understand why we are alive. 

With laughing wind of sterile disregard 
I run down endless road to nowhere else 
through mirror that erases my true face, 
untouched by sorrow of my wounded heart 
that nurtures trees of fruit from brainless corpse 
because I question why we are alive. 

We schedule secret tryst in jeweled night 
beside dark river of restless desire 
that craves deep beauty of the hungry sea 
till flash of dawn bursts from my tearless eyes 
so I seek refuge in bright cave of thoughts 
which still calculate why we are alive. 

Bound by fierce empathy for nameless souls, 
who wander signless roads beyond stone walls, 
I walk with Death inside huge picture frame 
to sit by urgent fountain of concern 
and wonder if Blood Moon still misses me 
while wisdom conceals why we are alive. 

If laughter breaks free from mute book of lies 
with tangled threads of fractured memories, 
I may attend brave pilgrimage of love 
beyond all expectations of world fame 
to gaze in crystal ball of timeless truth 
that helps me resolve why we are alive. 

Sad water puppets in pastures of green 
explain how cows convert despair to milk 
though caught between eternity and now 
each time I feel attention of your gaze 
since we bear weight of careless hope within 
as passion that proves why we are alive. 

Though Phoenix of insistent innocence 
rises from smoking ruins of our state, 
we catch rain of Heaven in open hands 
to wash stark pain from melancholy minds 
so we pass through seasons of mental change 
that reframe code for why we are alive. 

While ocean waves breathe memories of my heart, 
and flowers transform sorrow to sweet joy, 
we hold each other close in warm embrace 
to weave our hearts with energy of love 
so when we walk in rain of bitter storms 
we remain warm from why we are alive. 

Hidden Land Of Havilah

Hidden Land Of Havilah
© Surazeus
2026 05 08

While wandering along asphalt highway 
somewhere between Seattle and Miami, 
I turn aside in unmapped wilderness 
to follow Pishon River of my heart 
till I find hidden land of Havilah 
where dead trees of Eden lurk in the mist. 

Sweet voice enchants my heart with ache of hope, 
so I follow mercurial wail of love 
to find young woman with eyes gold as stars 
dancing among lush pomegranate trees 
around clear pool from bubbling fountain spring, 
uncanny scene that inspires me with joy. 

All traces of corporate buildings and cars, 
connected by world wide web of dream machines, 
vanish in swirl of haze as I transcend 
liminal threshold of the multiverse 
to find myself as shadow of my mind 
awake in hidden land of Havilah. 

As I emerge from portal of despair, 
my progress is obstructed by horned demon, 
fierce Azazel, who challenges my right 
to walk the yellow brick road of success, 
so I claw brass wand, forged from ancient lava, 
from sands of time to fight his bitter hate. 

Shocked that I dare oppose his tyranny, 
grim Azazel attacks with snarling rage, 
but I dodge every strike of long sharp claws, 
and bash his arms and legs with wand of truth 
till he falls to his knees in wounded pride 
and pleads till I crush his soul with respect. 

Drinking water from sparkling Hippocrene, 
I breathe healing air of Havilah, 
but gasp surprised when crowd of cheering folk 
celebrate my victory against the devil, 
then star-eyed Astara with jeweled wand 
proclaims me their savior Lyterius. 

Crowned King in hidden land of Havilah 
by Astara who bears child of our souls, 
I reign well with justice in court of law, 
managing farms, ranches, and factories 
to produce and distribute food for all, 
and fund projects improving homes and roads. 

Waking up in modern America 
with memories of life in the ancient past, 
I wonder how civilizations change 
so generous spirit of communal life 
that flows from hidden land of Havilah 
may resurrect our nation from collapse. 

Blinded By Epiphanies

Blinded By Epiphanies
© Surazeus
2026 05 07

I refuse to admit with steel-eyed pride 
my mind has been blown by epiphanies, 
so I walk down to where the sad bears hide 
to engage in psychic polyphonies 
for angels wearing masks with devil smirks 
who hide in kitchens where Apollo lurks. 

When I fall in love with the Femme Fatale 
who manipulates my heart with kind words, 
she invites me to join secret cabal 
dedicated to managing cow herds 
by writing reports with mystical code 
about transcendent hum of the God Toad. 

If I ignore the Damsel in Distress 
because I think her act could be some trap, 
my understanding of love might regress 
to primal state not found on any map, 
yet I will save her from the jaws of death 
despite how she defines the shibboleth. 

Intercepted by the Sassy Tomboy 
who challenges me to magic-wand fight, 
I avoid her kiss by acting too coy 
despite commitment to master Mind Flight 
by breathing deep celestial flare of trust 
that forges Heaven from conceptual dust. 

Inspired by resolve of the Mother Bear 
to protect her children from predators 
by teaching them how to ride the Night Mare, 
I misdirect aggressive creditors 
with glam fantasy of the Afterlife 
which causes them to clash in bitter strife. 

Attending shows with the Trophy Girlfriend 
to enhance social standing I perform, 
I strut to comply with the latest trend 
that hides my deviance from accepted norm 
to prove I am superior to all fools 
because I disdain use of fiscal tools. 

Attempting to woo heart of the Ice Queen, 
who hides trauma behind facade of strength, 
I work hard to invent power machine 
that channels her pain on healing wavelength 
to focus attention of her career 
on ruling world empire with the Blind Seer. 

With my heart blinded by epiphanies 
that flash before my eyes with deep insight, 
I compose tragicomic symphonies 
that no musician ever performs right, 
yet I realize another sacred truth 
which I chronicle for messiah sleuth. 

Establish Secure Home

Establish Secure Home
© Surazeus
2026 05 07

In service to strange country that I love 
I fix broke traffic lights on road of life 
to ensure moral signals of behavior 
function with fair assessment of our need 
to flow in harmony with every soul 
fixated on secret quest of their heart. 

I want to create, rather than destroy, 
structures of atoms that constitute this world, 
though everything grows and decays in its time 
as fragile objects of chemical gears 
composed of molecules that interact 
with constant motions of urgent desire. 

Intense vibration of attractive hope, 
that radiates from core of organic being, 
still pulses with first flash of the big bang 
that flares forth from primal spark of desire 
which motivates my progress to transcend 
bounds of my body through spiritual flight. 

Because neural network of my sponge brain 
conjures my conscious sense of self from dreams, 
composed of memories from ancestral lives, 
I must accept that I am limited 
to perform roles within physical frame 
that nurtures deathless light in mortal flesh. 

I study nature of this global world 
when I measure extension of existence 
to note how far I stand out within bounds 
of structured form, which contains my whole being 
providing instruments of arms and legs 
so I can move, and manipulate shapes. 

Thus I design proverbs of providence 
to express well through formulaic laws 
statements that describe essence of assertion 
inherent in state of physical objects 
through strict methods of scientific research 
which defines process of cause and effect. 

Hidden inside these solemn observations 
that assess status of relationships, 
bright vision of desire to replicate 
new bodies with immortal soul of genes 
motivates my emotion-funded project 
to establish secure home of love with you. 

If visions of the future we both share 
coincide with mutual assessments of fate, 
I choose to dedicate passion of love 
to care for health and safety of your soul 
through marriage of our individual minds 
in consensual program to procreate. 

Janus Guard Of Paradise

Janus Guard Of Paradise
© Surazeus
2026 05 06

When Janus is five years old he arrives 
at the great gold gates that guard paradise, 
and he is so entranced by graceful curls 
of liquid metal forged to mimic vines 
that he dwells sixty years before the gates, 
contemplating beauty of human souls. 

Seven days after Janus first arrives 
and stands in sun and rain both night and day, 
entranced by shimmer of the golden gates, 
Hebe leaves paradise with four-wheeled cart 
heaped with apples she harvested from trees, 
so she gives the boy six apples to eat. 

Three years after Janus begins to guard 
gates of paradise with curious eyes, 
Daedalus constructs small fane by the gates 
where Janus may seek shelter from harsh weather 
while writing name and purpose on clay slabs 
to record who comes and goes through gold gates. 

Twelve years of guarding gates of paradise 
with wand of wisdom Mercury gives him, 
Janus stands firm against invading thieves 
and fights aggressive hordes of screaming goons 
till he stands triumphant in howling wind 
so people inside paradise are safe. 

Twenty years after Janus first arrives, 
Juno appears with troupe of dancing girls 
who sing romantic hymns that Sappho wrote, 
then presents Juturna in saffron gown 
red as apples that bloom in fertile trees, 
with yellow veil held by crown of gold vines. 

Thirty-eight years after Janus starts quest 
to secure paradise with solemn care, 
he teaches daughter Cardea weird art 
of molding hinges for doors she creates, 
and trains brave son Junonius how to fight 
slavers and thieves with wand of Mercury. 

Forty-two years of guarding paradise 
with keen eyes that see into hearts of men, 
Janus presides over funeral of Zeus, 
then places crown of world authority 
on head of his most qualified son, Phoebus, 
whom everyone elects to become Zeus. 

Sixty years after Door Guard first arrives 
to secure paradise in peaceful age 
of prosperity with justice for all, 
Janus defends Garden of Apple Trees 
against Mars, angry he was not crowned king, 
who stabs him in the heart with sneer of rage. 

War-Shattered Eden

War-Shattered Eden
© Surazeus
2026 05 06

If trees keeping telling me the wind loves flight 
that sparks my brain alert to dangerous hope, 
then I may have to walk across the clouds 
and scatter apple seeds on asphalt roads 
to break monopoly of hungry greed 
that writes the rules for how we live each day. 

While children squabble over who remembers 
dream code that opens doors to vaults of wealth, 
I dig my hands in soft soil of the world 
to extract stones of faith with urgent calm, 
then build great castle on high hill of fear 
where I protect my family from despair. 

Amazed at strange glow of the sky at dawn, 
I hold blue conch shell of concerned alarm 
to watch for shadows of demons in woods 
that lurk behind portraits of long-dead gods 
till I see someone floating on the stream, 
and know we cannot return from the dead. 

Stark sunlight of the casual day dispels 
weird magic glow of memories before dawn, 
so I map houses along city streets 
to understand process of civic growth 
that helps me plan state of the urban zone 
that buzzes voices through the telephone. 

Grand temple of feast on the ziggurat 
becomes gold palace of the emperor, 
becomes stone castle of the hungry king, 
becomes city hall of the elected mayor, 
so I walk away from hard haven walls 
that prison me in fear of social change. 

Though I keep searching for the Promised Land 
that shimmers only in dreams of my head, 
I ask Blue Sky to show me no more dreams 
so I can see the real world as it is, 
but hundred million years of fantasy, 
my ancestors dreamed, frame how I see life. 

While walking with shadow of the Third Person 
across the waste land of war-shattered Eden, 
I find colossal statue of some god 
who ruled vast empire sea to shining sea, 
but wind of time erased his glorious name 
and scrubbed away all features of his face. 

I carve my own face on idol of God, 
then plant seeds in soft soil of the world, 
and tend new garden sprouting tender shoots 
that flourishes in waste land of the past 
so giant cities of the ancient world 
all vanish into orchards of fruit trees. 

Blue Bird Of Bitterness

Blue Bird Of Bitterness
© Surazeus
2026 05 05

Plodding along in vast maze of my life 
with passionate boredom of contrived faith, 
I sing with the blue bird of bitterness 
whose melodies calculate happiness 
which raises our ancestors from dark graves 
so we can live the good life we deserve. 

I hear mad prophets on the radio 
excoriate the humble king of faith 
who sings with the blue bird of bitterness 
about search for truth in the wilderness 
that we undertake on quest of the fool 
to redesign the long-accepted rule. 

With caustic interference of regret 
the church lady tries to sell Book of Faith, 
yet sings with the blue bird of bitterness 
despite her brave mission of kindliness 
that mocks her straight-laced dignity of pride 
which fractures when she learns her preacher lied. 

Now heavy as Saturn in my old age, 
I leap with spirit of youth in my heart 
to sing with the blue bird of bitterness 
about eternity of nothingness 
that we will experience after we die, 
so before then I want to learn to fly. 

While meditating in warm summer eve, 
I wonder at pure whiteness of the lily 
guarded by the blue bird of bitterness 
according to dream code of cleverness 
by which I program ritual of my life 
to exercise self-control during strife. 

Though I am absent from you this fine spring 
and with your shadow play in carefree joy, 
my heart feels the blue bird of bitterness 
lead me across Bridge of Forgetfulness 
to find the glorious white horse of your heart 
frolicking freely round my apple cart. 

I may cavort with shadow of your soul 
for vermilion pleasure of our kiss, 
recorded by blue bird of bitterness 
in valley-haunting song of gracefulness, 
but I am devoted with ardent faith 
in helping you develop adroit skills. 

Though I was born in maze of Babylon 
in body of clay dazzled by starshine, 
developed by blue bird of bitterness 
from quiet wisdom of sweet loneliness, 
I will rebuild Garden of Avalon 
in machine-mangled woods of Oregon. 

Gold Sibylline Cage

Gold Sibylline Cage
© Surazeus
2026 05 05

I will fight no more wars of holy hope 
against aggressive growing of hill grass 
that always seems to know where I am at 
in faltered progress to the Promised Land 
where I am sure to find fortune and fame 
that traps me in the gold sibylline cage. 

When rain drenches Earth in casual tears, 
I hold umbrella with careful concern 
over head of the person I love most, 
who gazes at me with astonishment 
as if they never thought I could be kind, 
then we walk awkwardly in the dark streets. 

I keep thinking about her all the time 
no matter where I am in maze of doors 
because I hope she is happy and safe 
alone of all the people in the world, 
though I hope they are safe in general terms 
while we all wait for the apocalypse. 

What revelation should we all expect, 
I wonder with obsessive nonchalance, 
except the fact that humans always form 
systems of social rights and privileges 
based on strict hierarchies of wealth and race, 
all living under the God with no face. 

She laughs when I explain with tangled words 
my convoluted theory of state power 
based on control of psychic energy 
contained in conceptual symbols of hope 
that we are not tangles of hungry genes 
which replicate themselves to dominate. 

Eating fried beef sandwiches by the lake, 
that teems with strange demonic energy, 
we chat about costumes of the elite 
who decorate themselves outrageously 
with classy style of the suave urbane clown 
when they strut before cameras of fame. 

I ask if I could be more serious 
with refined sense of cultivated style, 
but she assures me with amorous smirk 
that she loves the bold jester of my heart 
who follows Isaiah and Juvenal 
to compose scathing satires of respect. 

Resigned to fateful role of satirist, 
whose brave mimetic gestures of defiance 
highlight complex nature of being human, 
I go on pilgrimage to Aquinum 
where I strum lyre of Mercury and sing 
in Temple of Hercules Liberator. 

Holy Water Of The Earth

Holy Water Of The Earth
© Surazeus
2026 05 04

If the sky speaks to me with tongues of snow 
to explain why awestruck trees imitate 
swan-winged Seraphim with ten thousand eyes, 
I will assert through subatomic thought 
compassion for every organic soul 
that strives to transcend terror of pure light. 

Essential quality of being alive 
spurs calm obsession of my hungry heart 
to seek salvation from fountain of light 
that sparkles holy water of the Earth 
which fills my body of delicate flesh 
with rapture of cool wisdom time reveals. 

My face in time-ensilvered mask of fate 
reveals expressive lust to procreate 
immortal soul of genes in mortal form 
that replicates conceptual personhood 
who likes to bake apple cinnamon muffins 
which fill my heart with beauty of the world. 

So when I need to understand the world 
I ask the Oracle of Delphi why 
I am conscious of my one self alone 
of every conscious creature who has lived 
on every planet in the universe, 
but she just gives me root beer shake to drink. 

Thus at sunset before the seventh day 
I enter tabernacle tent of faith 
to roast lamb on altar of sacrifice,
then feed world-wanderers with humble hearts 
who gather mushrooms in the morning mist 
to write their secret names in time-blown sand. 

Dipping my hand in gold-silt water stream, 
I savor sensuous flow of casual time 
with eagerness to measure how change occurs 
when seeds expand from confines of mute words 
to stretch angelic wings of flashing leaves 
then drop sweet fruit of faith in open hands. 

Fabulous beauty of light rays on water 
shocks my heart with illiterate respect, 
expensive thoughts confined by sentences 
ghosts buy from mermaids with transparent eyes, 
so I become vast emptiness of all 
when I drink holy water of the Earth. 

All things in Nature grow without intent, 
transforming from potential seed of thought 
to full-shaped body blooming rich with hope 
of hungry passion to compose the mind 
that conjures image of essential being, 
so I free Sibyl from her cage of fear. 

White Stone Of The Sun

White Stone Of The Sun
© Surazeus
2026 05 04

When I wash the dirt of ten thousand roads 
off my wounded feet with unholy water, 
my grandmother holds the knife of weird truth 
to carve fresh steaks from cave-demon flesh 
so my father can roast it on the altar 
with fire from the lightning strike he calls down. 

My mother gives me white stone of the sun 
and shows me how to walk where devils dance, 
so I invent new words from languages 
I hear birds use when they eat sheafs of wheat 
which hide me from men with soul-wounded spears 
because my face shines with celestial rage. 

Holding broken stick that fell from the sky, 
I draw oval shape in sand of the beach 
so everyone knows I indicate eggs, 
then they follow me to large cave of shadows 
where thousands of birds with white wings erupt 
in squawking rage as we take eggs to eat. 

While I squat on edge of steep sea-side cliff, 
explaining to stiff grass how bright wind knows 
weird secret of life concealed in soft sand, 
I stare at small rock for ten million years 
till it wobbles and falls into the sea 
where it transforms into leviathan. 

When I hold out my hand and spread my fingers 
to measure distance from high mountain peak 
to the silver moon that gleams behind clouds, 
I invent science of geometry, 
but then forget when I find strawberry vines 
so I fill large basket with blood-red fruit. 

My brother steals one strawberry and runs 
leaping and laughing along fallen log 
where honey bees swarm so he screams in pain 
as he transforms into galloping pig 
that offers itself as great sacrifice 
willing to die so we may eat and live. 

My sister draws marks in sand by the tree 
at breath-long intervals of feral fate 
which calibrates increments of small change, 
then explains to me strange concept of time 
which she invents with delicate concern, 
then shows me how to peel orange of her heart. 

On undulating waves of humming names 
I float through ocean of fortune to claim 
divine right to name all things that exist 
with template label that defines each form, 
then walk back to our small ziggurat home 
where I clack the turtle shell and chant spells. 

Isolated From Strange Dream

Isolated From Strange Dream
© Surazeus
2026 05 03

Isolated from strange dream of the world, 
I assemble puzzle of random facts 
to design exhaustive ontology 
that frames complex events of history 
in grand narrative that explains it all 
which fixes my place as hero of truth. 

Isolated from strange dream of the sea, 
I build boat from steam-heated planks of wood 
and sail the seven seas of strange new lands 
to explore nature of our spinning globe 
where people dance on pyramids of power 
to control fields of wheat and hills of gold. 

Isolated from strange dream of the sun, 
I capture rays of light from long-dead stars 
with solar panels of assertive will 
which transform light to electricity 
that powers global empire of machines 
weaving computers into one God Mind. 

Isolated from strange dream of the land, 
I map confusing landscape of the heart 
to organize conflicting nation-states 
in peaceful United Nations of Earth 
though cruel gangsters disguised as presidents 
fight each other over who rules the world. 

Isolated from strange dream of the moon, 
I run with Artemis in misty woods 
with joyful laughter of wild carefree friends 
till Midas forces her to be his queen 
so we revolt against his tyranny 
and fight to establish democracy. 

Isolated from strange dream of the mind, 
I argue with Pythagoras all night 
that stars do not generate human souls 
which animate our bodies with desire, 
and prove that brains generate consciousness 
which dissipates to nothing when we die. 

Isolated from strange dream of the truth, 
I stand millions of years under Fruit Tree 
and wait for my soulmate to keep our tryst 
to nourish our home based on mutual trust 
because our children inherit the Earth 
when we build Heaven from waste land of Hell. 

Isolated from strange dream of the heart, 
I wear mask of my personality 
which I compose through every choice I make 
as I navigate landscape of despair 
on mission to create, and not destroy, 
as we connect and bind our souls with love. 

Weird Voice Of Light

Weird Voice Of Light
© Surazeus
2026 05 03

How may I balance happiness and sorrow 
to power progress of spiritual growth 
through dynamic system of inspiration 
which I derive from deposit of passion 
I channel through document of expression 
based on enterprise of mental encryption. 

Sparked by evanescence my heart may borrow 
from bright atomic flame of chemicals, 
I sublimate mindless force of aggression 
by weaving corporal concept of perception 
through tangled sentences of fractured words 
that mold matter into bodies of faith. 

Snagged on fractal structure of vibrant limbs 
during assertive flight beyond dark scope 
of wisdom that traps my soul in my brain, 
I dangle helplessly above abyss 
that yawns teeth-bristling jaws of painful death 
by grasping rope of truth with stubborn hope. 

Dark nothingness of death would like to swallow 
fragile flame of energy that ignites 
glow of consciousness nurturing my brain, 
so I become aware I am alive, 
awake in shock of arrogant dismay 
that my body conjures my consciousness. 

So many people tell me with false confidence 
that my spirit was forged by the God Mind 
to animate my temporary body 
with immortal soul of divinity, 
and I am fooled to believe this is real 
till I feel my spirit beam from my brain. 

Though molecules that animate my flesh 
first flashed from soul furnace of Father Sun, 
then evolved into this body of flesh 
by passionate desire of Mother Earth, 
my sense of conscious self inside my brain 
is my own unique personality. 

Through all the spiral of galactic light 
the past fourteen billion years of existence 
these atoms that compose shell of my soul 
have flared into this planet that designs 
organic forms to nurture divine mind 
so I think I am God as mortal human. 

We humans are leaves on the Tree of Life, 
grapes on the Vine of Faith, and tender flowers 
that sprout for brief seasons from Ground of Being, 
so I will sing loud with weird voice of light 
to channel vision of creative love 
till our children sing after we all die. 

Feel My Aching Body

Feel My Aching Body
© Surazeus
2026 05 03

Secret words weave clear thread of mystery 
from elemental passion of the heart 
to overcome weakness and win the race 
by leaping on quick wings of urgent breath 
in courageous bid to transcend taut bounds 
of physical endurance to survive. 

Though terror preserves my animal mind 
that animates assertion of my rights 
through structured layers of civilized rules, 
I confirm my soul with strict self-control 
by managing consequences of my acts 
to channel passion with logical verse. 

By gazing off into bright sunset flames 
when I slip fragile body into roots 
of hungry bushes on the steep hillside, 
I find I can deny reality 
shortened by sparkle of the rivulet 
that asks me how I feel with gauge of rain. 

I feel my aching body dissipate 
with each cold gust of alabaster wind 
so I become less solid that the stream 
that flows from fountain of my bleeding heart 
to flood deep valley of excited gods 
who cry for salvation to mocking clouds. 

Graceful girl I imagine I should be 
dances free with beautiful leap of faith 
as writhing shadow only in my head, 
so I ask the old woman who lies dead 
if her tangled hair weaves truth in rough hills 
because her skeleton now forms the land. 

Covered in mud and roots of the wild world, 
I walk into vast room of marble floors 
to hide from weird ghost in the mirror glass 
who gives her face to angels without wings 
with plan to garland horns of happy bulls 
since I know the world will not die when I die. 

No autocrat imprisoned in my heart 
will silence fountains of astonishment 
when lonely people of the world escape 
from dream-tangled roots of arrogant trees 
which replicate my spirit in dark seeds 
that plagiarize apples we ate last year. 

If I am seagull gliding through cold clouds 
till I become dark shadow of the moon, 
I may transform my eyes to twinkling stars 
so you can see the road of truth I blazed 
before I fall to Earth on wings of fire 
where I pretend I am flower of fame. 

Apple Hills Of Scythia

Apple Hills Of Scythia
© Surazeus
2026 05 03

Though apples fill my dreams with golden light, 
sweet scent of pungent juice sticky on skin, 
I have lost touch with blooming apple trees 
in this current life of wandering the land, 
so I want to plant them in my back yard 
to make cider and applesauce each summer. 

Since we discovered apples long ago, 
in high Tian Shan Mountains of Kazakhstan, 
land we named Scythia when we lived there then, 
we traveled far across the windy steppes 
in four-wheeled wagons Helios designed, 
planting seeds by streams all the way to Scotland. 

Awake under apple tree on the hill, 
I see red fruit gleaming in dawn sunlight 
that glitters in raindrops after wild rain, 
so I reach out my hand to grasp the sun, 
but shrink back when serpent among dark limbs 
hisses and bares sharp teeth of poisoned knowledge. 

My father Skyolder gives me magic wand 
I use to swat the serpent on its head, 
then knock apples that fall into my hands 
which I store in wolf-fur bags on my back, 
then dump them in baskets in backs of wagons 
that we pull to large kitchen by the river. 

My mother Scythia wearing long white gown 
teaches me to brew apples in sweet cider, 
cutting them into slices with slender blades, 
stirring them in cauldrons of boiling water 
with thick honey, berries, spices, and herbs, 
then storing cider in clay jars for winter. 

I long to return to Garden of Saka 
that flourished in apple hills of Scythia 
where Almaty City now thrives with life, 
for I hear in dreams of my aching heart 
voice of my mother calling me in woods 
where apples gleam bright on millions of trees. 

We ate apples from sacred Tree of Knowledge, 
we befriended horses with fruit of love, 
and we built wagons with wheels of the sun, 
then traveled far across Garden of Life 
more than five thousand years of eager hope 
to explore this world sea to shining sea. 

Now we know this huge world on which we dwell 
is round as the apple in Tree of Life, 
so I will plant apple trees everywhere, 
by every road in every town on Earth, 
so everyone may eat the Fruit of Knowledge 
that blooms from fertile spirit of the Earth. 

Crippled Hands Of Hope

Crippled Hands Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 05 02

I try to figure out the secret way 
to have the world, that vanishes in mist 
at flash of sunset over distant hills, 
preserved in frame of fragile words I chew 
to chronicle strange journey of my soul 
since hour I first begin to hear birds speak. 

Head tilted so I see beyond dark sky, 
I listen to sunlight explain dream flight 
through thought-vibration spiraling from fear 
that makes my brain itch, stark with eagerness 
to seek dark mountain cave where rain is born 
with thirst to drink honey before I die. 

Harsh pulse of love still urges I expand 
tone of my heart enough to conceal gloom 
through frequent repetition wind contrives 
when I tear roots of sorrow from my heart 
against sweet wretchedness of innocence 
designed to trap my brain in cage of truth. 

Yet deep in eastern sky of bleeding stars 
I hear the faceless men of everywhere 
jingle keys of duty when they explore 
permission to endure another day, 
though wealth they grasp with crippled hands of hope 
still tumbles worthless in trash bins of fate. 

Soon sizzling shadow sharing depth of light 
winds threads of anguish, born from molecules 
by shocking sounds of long-forgotten art, 
around my fragile body by the sea 
that shivers from excessive strike of wind 
when I predict the future no one wins. 

So much to wish for without memory 
leaks from cracked skull of my atrophied clone 
against triumphant applause police sell 
to prove our weightless brains assert free will 
which never counts commercial gain of fate, 
yet translates desperation back to wealth. 

Sorrow stuck in consular envelopes 
requires admission of my primal birth 
on secret island where no god is born, 
who strains to bend electric bow of power, 
though fanged with ambition to rule the world, 
forever wandering in waste land of truth. 

I am no arrow suspended in flight 
toward secret destination no one maps, 
yet I transform from happy naive fool 
to weathered wizard wise in ways of weird 
when I design Puzzle Technology 
to resurrect my father through my son. 

Power Of Snow Mother

Power Of Snow Mother
© Surazeus
2026 05 02

Helpless to understand why ravens cry, 
Cailleach forms mountains of jagged truth 
by strewing rocks and peat along the plain 
from wicker basket of hope on her back, 
then strikes the ground with her hammer-head staff 
that causes the ground to freeze hard as glass. 

Mounting the fleet-foot deer with seven horns, 
Cailleach races along rocky shore, 
long gold hair flowing in snow-sparkling wind, 
to find secret lair in jagged cave by the sea 
where she hides gold egg of the Raven God 
so men cannot find treasure of her heart. 

Clutching skull of Hamlet where serpent writhes, 
Cailleach floats on wind over broad hill, 
where jagged stones of fairy rings pierce Earth, 
to drink ice-cold water from lake of eyes 
where her herd of deer gather in moonlight, 
then asks dead prophet if he understands. 

While sitting on moss-covered hag-chair stone, 
Cailleach feeds worms and seeds to raven flock 
that flap broad wings to defend their snow witch 
when Angus and his wife, Queen Bride, appear 
on white horses with eyes of sunset flames, 
and offer gifts of apples as they kneel. 

Glaring at her daughter with frosty eyes, 
Cailleach grumbles when they beg with tears 
for her to release Earth from freezing winds 
so wheat may sprout and fruit trees blossom fruit, 
or hungry people of the misty isle 
may rebel against her long hiemal rule. 

Petting raven on her shoulder with care, 
Cailleach in white gown and long gold hair 
dances barefoot on meadow of pink flowers 
where primrose flutter in soft morning breeze, 
to kitchen hall where Bride brews apple cider 
for everyone to drink on Beltane night. 

Smirking with passionate joy of her heart, 
Cailleach strides toward crowded blacksmith hall 
where Sucellus hammers swords into plows 
so warriors returning from plundering towns 
may till wet fields to plant barley and wheat, 
eager to brew whiskey for winter nights. 

Hopeful to understand why ravens cry, 
Cailleach breasts-feeds Belenus, her son, 
who sprouts black wings he swipes from Icarus 
and soars above high mountain peaks of faith 
to blast invading army with sharp swords 
with power of Snow Mother in his heart. 

Fairy Wings Of Faith

Fairy Wings Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 05 02

When Alice on the old yellow brick road 
spots the green honeycreeper in the birch, 
she considers her social friendliness 
with knights and holy friars in misty woods 
to be adscititious when she arrives 
at museum of artful anecdotes. 

While staring at strange painting on the wall 
that depicts young woman by mountain lake 
roasting the serpent on altar of gems, 
she removes adscititious influences 
not inherent to significant form 
to experience pure aesthetic emotion. 

Stripped of extraneous components of truth, 
Alice considers why the dodo bird 
represents regal imperial ambition 
as key aspect of fate which constitutes 
essential nature of the divine mind 
eager to concoct new insight in faith. 

Hitchhiking to the Alleghany woods 
with innocent ambition to attend 
annual rainbow gathering of the tribes, 
Alice ignores the Tin Man in the van 
who offers her free ride to paradise, 
but calls her whore and speeds on down the road. 

Emerging from great forest of sad ghosts, 
Boedvar Bjarki, wearing long bear-skin cape, 
offers young hippie girl in flower dress 
berries he collected by sparkling stream, 
then plays guitar and sings Swedish folk songs 
while rainbow children dance around the fire. 

Entranced by swirling scent of jasmine blooms, 
Alice dances with slow sensuous concern, 
floating in bliss on fairy wings of faith 
from strange intoxicating thoughts of love 
that swell her heart till swan wings of desire 
sprout from unseen wounds of her abused heart. 

When the Tin Man, in jeans and scruffy beard, 
tries to dance with too intimately with Alice, 
Dorothy urges the Cowardly Lion 
to protect her friend from the predator, 
but the Jester King smashes the dream clock, 
causing all illusions to dissipate. 

When Boedvar asks Alice to marry him, 
she conjures Tiresias with Rod of Aaron 
who officiates their wedding ceremony 
under the full moon by the mountain lake, 
with Dorothy, Lucy Pevensie, Wendy, 
Caroline, and Chihiro as bridesmaids. 

Poisonous Snake Of Jealousy

Poisonous Snake Of Jealousy
© Surazeus
2026 05 02

When frantic trees bloom out from radios 
in self-controlled chaos of eager fear, 
Mars roars motorcycle in city maze 
to buy fresh bread at the small bakery 
where Ceres sells seashells and sangria 
while Phoebus plays guitar on the front porch. 

Cerulean waves of the Pacific Ocean 
sparkle on expanding beach of gold sand 
where Tristan and Isolde stroll hand in hand, 
brave hearts tangled in forbidden emotion 
while her husband attends church with Lilith 
to sing hymns of Emily Dickinson. 

Deciding Isolde is the girl for him, 
Mars challenges Tristan to armed combat, 
but the clever university scholar 
tricks him to buy his cryptocurrency, 
investment in future technology, 
then swipes motorcycle keys from his pocket. 

Wind blowing their hair with electric joy, 
Tristan and Isolde drive his motorcycle 
on winding mountain trail of singing pines 
to hike broad Valley of Yosemite 
where sun glimmers gold on grandiose cliffs 
that inspires the ghost of Albert Bierstadt. 

Hunting them down with shotgun of hot rage, 
Mars learns to paint with glowing light of truth 
to interpret landscape of the wild west 
with subtle expression of Luminism 
that highlights sublime beauty of great mountains 
where Tristan learns from Phoebus how to sing. 

Startled by copperhead snake in her garden, 
Isolde holds basket of cherries with care 
till Tiresias, strange old bearded man 
who runs the corner grocery store, appears 
to snatch poisonous snake of jealousy 
and transform it back into magic wand. 

Pouring fresh orange juice for Tiresias, 
Isolde sits at the rough-oak kitchen table 
and asks him to explain astrology, 
so he teaches her how to calculate 
cardinal process of cause and effect 
that pivots spiral of atomic change. 

Pushing open door of marital fate, 
Ceres appears from storm over the sea, 
grabs ear of Mars with affectionate snarl, 
and drags him to the small white country church 
where Tiresias officiates wedding 
attended by everyone who knows why. 

Ghosts Of Long-Past Myths

Ghosts Of Long-Past Myths
© Surazeus
2026 05 01

Ghosts of long-past myths haunt our world today 
as mortal embodiments in frail flesh 
of immortal characters from book tales 
who represent eternal energies 
that migrate through human bodies of hope 
through endless recurrence of formal tropes. 

God is Idea wrapped in human flesh 
of every mortal who attained high state 
as enlightened leader over their tribe, 
congealed from characters in history 
whose special personalities reflect 
conceptual force of social authority. 

Each mortal who attained state of godhood, 
El, Zeus, Jove, Jupiter, Brahman, Shangdi, 
Buddha, Odin, and many other gods 
named as creator of the universe, 
persist as glamorous idols of power 
recorded in ancient religious myths. 

Immortal energy of social leader 
migrates through frail bodies of mortal men 
who transcend limited scope of their mind 
through apotheosis of clear insight 
flashed by epiphany of wise attention 
to rule progress of their society. 

Close analysis of communal code 
through careful deconstruction of state power, 
that preserves patriarchal institutions, 
exposes blind regard of selfish genes 
to exert influence through reproduction 
that cripples dynastic bloodlines with greed. 

Hercules represents arrogant bully 
who threatens violence with club of hate 
to establish bold empirical rule 
through aggressive exploitation of men 
by asserting authority through threats, 
now symbolized by haughty figure of Satan. 

Jesus represents compassionate doctor 
who heals wounded bodies with wand of love 
to nurture innate talents in strong skills 
through disciplined education of men 
by guiding hearts through moral parables, 
now symbolized by humble figure of Christ. 

Ghosts of every character in old myths 
possess living people with ancient souls 
of psychic energy they choose to play 
as we perform our temporary roles 
in drama of construction and destruction 
till children bury us and take their turn. 

New Empire Of The Free

New Empire Of The Free
© Surazeus
2026 05 01

Now that I dwell on Fractured Rainbow Lane 
far from the center of commercial gain, 
I spend all day contemplating design 
for excavating concepts from deep mine 
that sprout soul-beaming mushrooms in my brain 
before Saturnus is forced to resign. 

Stuck in Quail Hollow with Alphabet Wolf, 
I dream of my childhood with Beowulf 
who taught me how to soften wood with steam 
to build ships for his dragon-hunting team, 
then we sail on vacation to Zar Gulf 
to search for hungry shark of self-esteem. 

Each time she calls me on the telephone, 
Minerva asks to use my Rolling Stone 
to smash false idol of the tyrant king 
who arrests anyone who dares to sing, 
but when she decides to hire my Soul Clone 
I hide through Invisibility Ring. 

Appalled by interrogation techniques, 
librarians employ to extract from freaks 
misattributed morals of strange tales, 
I map tangled webs of religious trails 
that always lead me up to sky-bright peaks 
which might explain why Cronus always fails. 

Entranced by uncanny tune of the skylark 
that echoes hypnotic tones in the ark, 
I develop with care time-honored ruse 
to protect integrity of my wise Muse 
who fries burgers for picnic in the park 
while Artemis presents the evening news. 

Inspired by noble stance that Remus takes 
allowing everyone to fish hill lakes, 
I follow him to oppose Romulus 
who chains and forces honest Sisyphus 
to build Temple of Jupiter with rakes 
who will only obey brave Tantalus. 

Spirit of Roma still shines in my heart 
ages after her empire fell apart, 
so I build temple home on river shore 
to shelter my family forever more, 
yet they sell apples from the four-wheeled cart 
while I play lyre and sing forgotten lore. 

Our noble way of life has disappeared 
just like my father Tiresias feared, 
so we journey west across the wild sea 
to establish new empire of the free, 
but our old world view keeps getting more weird 
so I hang out in sprawling Knowledge Tree. 

Franchise Of Fake Happiness

Franchise Of Fake Happiness
© Surazeus
2026 05 01

Awash in time-swirling sea of light rays, 
I dwell woke in astrological haze, 
conditioned to respond to obstacles 
by measuring abstractive molecules 
through project to assimilate my soul 
with undulating matrix of the whole. 

Attenuated scope of consciousness, 
enclosed by ceremonial finesse, 
shields pulsing core of vibrant clemency 
with comprehensive spell of ardency 
concealed by convertible copyright 
through deformation of conceptual light. 

Amplified tone of mental furnishings 
deflects harassment of holistic zings, 
impressive with articulated jokes 
indexed by pride-inflated billing hoax 
which discombobulates my budget game 
against bottomless bureau of world fame. 

Allowed to bloom from hungry artifice 
through psychosomatic analysis, 
which denies my heart romantic access, 
I purchase franchise of fake happiness 
constrained by framework of the gourmet cry 
that cracks graphic interface of the sky. 

Archived extremity of social rules, 
based on invention of brokerage tools, 
my dreams refuse command to calculate 
certified challenge of classified fate 
against commitment of the chromosome 
to watch movies in the Pantheon dome. 

Attentive ambience in deserted church 
risks assessment of my exotic search 
for wisdom-woven expression of truth 
which I sell from pyramid-market booth 
to people wanting insurance that death 
will translate their souls to hurricane breath. 

Authorized by Ungod in the Glow Cloud 
to duplicate face of the burial shroud, 
I carve dynamic formulas of hope 
on Emerald Tablet to record weird trope 
designed to mirror special character 
framed by magnetic mask of Lucifer. 

Authentic feelings of my wounded heart 
provide dream-forged key for my fresh new start 
editing grand tales for strange magazine 
centered around reign of Empress Melusine 
whose serpentine sons rule nations of Earth 
through capital gains of spiritual worth. 

Accidental Angel Flight

Accidental Angel Flight
© Surazeus
2026 05 01

If in old lost times we accelerate 
rapid analysis twisted by fate, 
our accidental angel flight through Hell 
may reveal location of the Dream Well 
teeming with ghosts of blind subconscious dead 
who want to become alive in my head. 

Traitors never honestly realize 
plowed fields exonerate word-bleeding skies 
with marble statues of bullies wearing crowns 
who subjugate theology of towns 
by building monuments of social power 
from psychic energy of the sad flower. 

Disintegration of stale social norms 
expands from rugged boulders of named forms 
to prove we never understand why stars 
spark piston engines of time-machine cars 
because I drive too fast on diamond roads 
to find sacred temples of divine toads. 

Beyond last private cove of romance plays 
my true soulmate waits in arrogant haze 
with secret book she stole from half-dead god 
that describes how to make Aaronic rod 
from writhing serpent energy of lust 
because marriage is based on mutual trust. 

Rapid expansion of our empire scope 
adjusts disbursement of religious hope 
only to those who belong to our tribe 
regardless of how they tune the world vibe 
by dancing wildly on the global stage 
based on rules Isaiah bleeds on the page. 

Startled by arrival of the blind king 
who rides the donkey while brave sirens sing, 
sweet Sibyl lectures on the pyramid 
as government office where truth is hid 
inside ripe apricot of mental code 
she gives to pilgrims bearing heavy load. 

Arrival on strange shores of nameless lands 
confuses angels who steal without hands 
because my mother hides secrets in tale 
about my father swallowed by the whale 
when he dared prophesy against the king 
who gave him invisibility ring. 

Humans learned to walk in the ocean tide 
by standing upright when the red moon cried 
so our hands are free to manipulate 
material objects bound by random fate 
because we choose by nature how to play 
joyful games of chase while blind devils pray. 

Evade Voice Of Death

Evade Voice Of Death
© Surazeus
2026 04 30

No problematic gestures we express 
may untwist alphabets of moral rules 
in frantic harmony with waterfalls 
that scream our secret names into the void 
where mindless robots play old social roles 
in vain attempt to evade voice of death. 

No eloquent stutter of campaign speech 
should misalign psychic programs of faith 
contrived by preachers of the Holy Word 
to ride the gravy train of false respect 
in boldest scam since cryptocurrency 
fools millions to invest in fantasies. 

No haunting song of plum-tree nightingales 
sparks sublime visions of celestial grace 
to swell from pulsing cortex of my heart 
beyond mercurial strangeness of dire shores 
where ghosts of my ancestors mutely lurk 
in dim plutonian shadows of my mind. 

No ardent monolog of anxious hope 
teems from my brain in tangled curse of fate 
to ponder actions I could boldly take 
with arms against wild sea of troubled times 
and by opposing tyranny of greed 
establish liberty as way to live. 

No thoughtless crime of arrogant assault 
by frightened minions of the bogus king 
will stall my gradual progress to construct 
new global system of social support 
designed to ensure fair justice for all 
who share vision of Heaven we attend. 

No unsolved puzzles fragmenting our state 
could scatter children of the fallen God 
across unmeasured landscape of desire 
without nostalgic journey beyond home 
to colonize far distant lands of fear 
where skull of Hamlet prophesies our fall. 

No complex project shy Cassandra draws 
with Rod of Aaron in hot desert sand 
could unframe fraught ontology of truth 
since no one cares to understand her code 
describing consequence of war we fight 
in campaign to elect new president. 

No fabulous accounts blind bankers tell 
to analyze how fiscal systems fail 
convince our fragile bodies to rebel 
till Phoebus proves gold mask that Midas wears 
was forged from bones of hungry dinosaurs 
in failed attempt to evade voice of death. 

First Mother Of Our Soul

First Mother Of Our Soul
© Surazeus
2026 04 30

Why am I me and no one else alive, 
trapped in the fragile nutshell of my head, 
entangled in strange memories of my mind 
from striving to survive till I am dead? 
Every human alive on Planet Earth 
has been born from First Mother of our soul. 

All humans of the world alive with hope 
share universal frame of reference 
that underlies state of religious tales 
with common themes of heroic success. 
Though I sometimes feel alone in my head 
I feel connected to each soul on Earth. 

I feel prime soul of Ishtar in my heart 
when she gathered us all in temple hall 
to nurture our spirits with feast of faith 
then sang creation of the universe. 
Her vision of how our world operates 
still programs how I perceive our life on Earth. 

Bright goddess who created stars of truth 
stands before congregation of the lost 
and tells us how our world was born from fire, 
then gives advice on how to live life well. 
Our souls are fragments of her primal soul 
as shards of her one puzzle mirror mind. 

Since Death will dissolve me in the end 
and scatter atoms of my body far 
as bright unconscious sparkles of starlight, 
I sing the conscious vision of my mind. 
For I am me alone in all the world, 
one temporary flame of conscious faith. 

I wonder why, out of eight billion souls 
alive this hour on globe of rain and dirt, 
I am conscious only of my own self, 
immortal mind in mortal shell of flesh. 
When Ishtar wakes in visions of my heart 
I play my role in fortune of my fate. 

Since each new choice I make defines my fate, 
I hesitate at crossroads of each change 
to analyze effects of active cause 
because I want to create, not destroy. 
I compose scripture that maps my life goal 
to create conscious souls before I die. 

Since no traveler has ever returned 
from the undiscovered country of death, 
I have no dread of what comes after life 
for I will cease to exist for all time. 
With courage I throw burdens to the wind 
to work great enterprises till I die. 

Scroll Of Serpent Runes

Scroll Of Serpent Runes
© Surazeus
2026 04 29

If I must admit that I have no clue 
how my random quest has lead me to you, 
then I will insist with alacrity 
that our relationship is destiny. 
I have no map to navigate my life 
so I compose my script with sensual strife. 

If you require with acrobatic laugh 
that I buy ticket for the chronograph, 
then we shall time-jump multiversal worlds 
to string our souls in necklace of dream pearls. 
Though I apply to work at psychic firms 
they refuse to accept my puzzle terms. 

If Death comes dancing in her black lace gown 
to help me serve as mayor of world town, 
then I will program clairvoyant devise 
that should debug our fear with sacrifice. 
Despite our dedication to the law 
humans will rule with sharpness of the claw. 

If bird of paradise returns from Hell 
with Scroll of Serpent Runes from the Dream Well, 
then I design social system for all souls 
that rewards people who create new tools. 
We gather in grand stoa by the lake 
to share thought code for exposing the fake. 

If time expands the universe of light 
too far beyond gravity of insight, 
then I drive Spaceship Earth across the void 
to gather lost tribes who are Caucasoid. 
Thus I now identify as the horse 
who bore First Mother to cave of the Force. 

If I write epic tale of castle kings 
that begins and ends when the God Toad sings, 
then I will marry shy Apricot Girl 
whose loving heart blooms the way myrtles curl. 
We must construct strong social institutes 
that protect the weak from the stomp of boots. 

If time unspools accomplishments I claim 
by cursing my soul with fortune and fame, 
then I will dwell in mountains of Guilin 
because Death takes all, though we lose or win. 
Gold mist that gleams on twisted limbs of trees 
enhances solemn power of decrees. 

If star-maker goddess designs my soul 
from contradictions of my prophet role, 
then I will dance in secret ocean cove 
to prove that we are demons of true love. 
I wear the mask of Lucifer at dawn 
to celebrate rebirth of Avalon. 

Virtual Moon Of Faith

Virtual Moon Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 04 29

Foolproof security system of love, 
designed to be more secure by default, 
entangles her heart in frayed network wires 
when she calls her mother late every night 
to ask why she abandoned her when young, 
though annoyed strangers always end her calls. 

Wandering empty streets long after midnight, 
Yejin asks Bear Mother to explain how 
devils that fly upside down can find Heaven, 
since she wants to use color-coding system 
to organize lists of tasks she must do 
with effective method of mind control. 

Hired as guidance and control engineer 
by Asmodeus in castle of skulls, 
Yejin uses simulation software 
to design lunar terrain vehicle 
he sends to explore virtual moon of faith 
where ghosts of great warriors play baseball. 

Eccentric billionaire, rich from gem mines, 
Asmodeus runs startup company 
geared to leverage advanced techniques of hope 
through weird artificial intelligence 
with high-tech vision of the future state 
which nurtures innate talents into skills. 

Gathering delicate mushrooms of truth 
in misty forest of the mountain range, 
Yejin studies chemical properties 
inherent in fragile beauty of truth 
that provides essential ingredients 
for brewing perfume that rejuvenates. 

Surprised by sunrise that gleams indigo 
on far pavilions of observant hills, 
Asmodeus watches with adoration 
manic pixie girl dancing in the corn 
with plan to resurrect Jesus again 
from skull beside Hamlet and Orpheus. 

Restored to bodies of robotic flesh, 
those three prophets of existential dread 
follow clever Yejin with loyalty 
as she fights to free girls from slavery 
till she destroys the world patriarchy, 
then sits on temple roof and plays the flute. 

Awake with joy in his butterfly world, 
Yejin gazes long at Asmodeus 
to understand strange wonder of his heart 
as genius ruler of Plutonium, 
then places wreath of flowers on his head 
and giggles at how cute her devil looks. 

Cloak Of Invisible Faith

Cloak Of Invisible Faith
© Surazeus
2026 04 28

If I find truth before the end of time 
in song of sparrows in old maple trees, 
I might find some jagged mountain to climb 
where no official can charge me late fees, 
or else sail ship of state to Samarkand 
where Hatshepsut dances on shifting sand. 

Though I wear cloak of invisible faith 
Death always seems to find out where I live 
hanging out with Boudica in the laithe 
where I milk cows with eagerness to give 
book of secret techniques to the sad prince 
describing how to make jelly from quince. 

I move to the house my grandfather built 
near Pacific Ocean on Seamount Drive 
where I study math formulas of guilt 
that always spur lazy people to strive 
for great achievements in the Land of Oz 
though I play the rebel without a cause. 

I wander randomly on my vague quest 
to find that Woman is the Holy Grail, 
since my ancestors traveled so far west 
from Scythia along the Oregon Trail 
as the Roman Empire still lives in us 
for we are heirs of hungry Tantalus. 

I stand on street corner by the book store 
to strum the lyre of Mercury and sing 
about divine spirit in iron core 
that spins inside the Earth through pulsing ring 
while people toss me coins as they walk by 
since no one wants to understand the Why. 

We elect greedy thief as president 
who likes to mocks the haughty Hercules 
whose sons rule empire of the occident 
through dialectic of sly Socrates 
as sword he wields to expose fake beliefs 
though Jesus has his own weird leitmotifs. 

Since Child of Aphrodite in silk gown 
brews honeysuckle wine from wounded hearts, 
I call Ghost of Pallas to hide the crown 
beneath rotten apples in broken carts, 
yet busts of emperors on my book shelf 
teach me how to see the thing-in-itself. 

Apple trees produce fruit to reproduce, 
caring not whether we eat them or not, 
so I drink nourishing concept of juice 
while Ophelia waits for me on the yacht, 
yet I write truth I find in Riddle Verse 
because my angel is the Healing Nurse. 

Still-Changing Maze

Still-Changing Maze
© Surazeus
2026 04 28

Lost in still-changing maze of social myths, 
I carry memories of home in my heart 
which shines with ancestral star of my soul 
so I may journey straight toward my life goal 
though Truth keeps shifting frame of reference 
to readjust focus of my world view. 

Blind in still-changing maze of ancient truths, 
I sing electric radiance of my heart 
that echoes clear off high museum walls 
so I know where I am on path of time 
as we progress from warring nation-states 
to global union of factories and farms. 

Helpless in still-changing maze of desire, 
I whisper ephemeral web of hope 
as I crawl cobblestone road of concern 
with blood on my hands and dirt on my face 
from defending fruit garden of my home 
to protect my family from greedy thieves. 

Awake in still-changing maze of mad ghosts, 
I strum the lyre of Mercury with sass 
to deflate pompous tyrants with bad jokes 
when the clown wears plastic crown of the king 
and struts on battleship of cowardice 
to beat his chest with fierce gorilla shriek. 

Amused in still-changing maze of brave cowards, 
I join parade of angels withing wings 
who follow Lucifer with Torch of Truth 
to oppose tyranny of Jupiter 
who lives in quaint cottage across the lake 
where he strolls in woods to commune with Nature. 

Surprised in still-changing maze of wise fools, 
I carve dream runes on trunks of countless trees 
to chronicle whole history of the world 
while glowing clouds cast shadows on the world 
where fishermen hold flowers of respect 
and ask ballerinas to marry them. 

Dazed in still-changing maze of psychic faith, 
I perform role of social architect 
to design global political system 
based on justice and liberty for all, 
then fly Icarus kite in city park 
where wild children turn into butterflies. 

Glad in still-changing maze of sordid facts, 
I must extract aesthetic capital 
from harsh suffering common people endure 
by singing elegy to praise the dead 
who wander labyrinth of timeless dreams 
as wordless shadows trapped in tales of books. 

Circus Of Human History

Circus Of Human History
© Surazeus
2026 04 28

If I parcel territory of dreams 
to house the ghost of every character 
preserved in the text of ten billion tales, 
the vast maze of myths in which they reside 
would cover all the waste lands of the Earth 
where they repeat loop of their lives forever. 

Grateful for Death that will erase my soul 
from the circus of human history, 
I skip with carefree joy on signless road 
past amusement park of America 
to play instead in wistful Wonderland 
where Alice pours tea for the Broken Clock. 

When Lancelot spies from Tower of Pride 
dead Lady of Shallot in Boat of Faith, 
he hustles downstairs to the river shore, 
but finds Ophelia half-drowned instead, 
but when he wades in to rescue the princess 
Gabriel bears her away on swan wings. 

After he escapes from Tower of Hope 
with Broken Clock he stole from the White Queen, 
Icarus wanders in bright Ravenwood 
till he finds lost Lamp of Diogenes 
covered by orange leaves with riddles of faith, 
but Hamlet grabs it first and runs away. 

After working the night shift to make cars 
with artificial intelligence gadgets, 
Grendel drinks beer and watches morning news 
where Cassandra and Bacchus analyze 
labile state of the world economy, 
then walks his dog along the shady lane. 

Escaping her cruel stalker, Romeo, 
Juliet moves to small town in Oregon 
where she works for the county government 
mapping parcel outlines for the tax office, 
so she meets Hamlet at the library 
when they read poetry at the open mic. 

Cinderella visits the hospital 
where Romeo sulks with a broken arm, 
so they eat hamburgers and drink root beer 
while watching drama Alchemy of Souls, 
then plan to mountain climb in Austria 
and maybe marry in Niagara Falls. 

Crucified on the last telephone pole 
somewhere in desert of New Mexico, 
Achilles Christ cries out with anguished voice, 
"Superman, why hast thou forsaken me?" 
then transforms into psycho-robot owl 
who recites Bill of Rights at the White House. 

Choir Of Lost Wanderers

Choir Of Lost Wanderers
© Surazeus
2026 04 27

To raise my hand against the roaring ocean 
I search for sacred diamond of my heart 
that spirals from core of the universe 
so I can discern truth among the lies 
which guides my journey from land of my birth 
to visit every country on the Earth. 

My heart may never settle in one land 
or take root in rich soil beside some river, 
since my ancestors never stayed for long 
in any valley where their fruit trees bloom, 
for someone always drives them from their land 
so they wander on before they get stuck. 

Before roots bind us to this fertile land, 
so we are trapped in cage of paradise, 
we pack our memories in wagon of hope 
and journey onward down the signless road 
to spin four wheels of fortune with tall tales 
and find another vale to live a while. 

Forever immigrant on restless feet, 
fueled by incessant swirl of ocean waves, 
as landless refugee driven away 
by thieves who colonize farms my fathers built,  
and pilfer fruit from trees my mothers tended, 
I follow star of my heart far from Heaven. 

Though I never feel at home in my country, 
since every land where my ancestors dwell 
becomes cemetery where they bones cry, 
I plant fruit seeds on every river shore 
to build ten thousand towns in fertile vales, 
so my home becomes wherever I roam. 

My body sprouts from sorrow of the Earth, 
and my soul writhes from passion of the Sea, 
as I weave wings from feathers of fallen angels 
with mission to transcend bounds of my flesh, 
inspired by luminous phantom of love, 
so I explore the rich world till Death finds me. 

My raised hand strums waves of the roaring ocean 
that ring with vibrant music of lyre strings 
so I can translate her maternal song 
to verse in every language of the Earth 
in hopes that homeless people of the world 
may sing psalms in choir of lost wanderers. 

Now every country in the world is mine 
since I am home in every land I walk 
for all the world is abode of my soul, 
safe shelter where I nest with gracious strangers 
who feed my heart for tales I sing to them, 
then we bid farewell as I journey on. 

Timeless Lyre Of Mercury

Timeless Lyre Of Mercury
© Surazeus
2026 04 27

Since I have accomplished work of my life, 
composing epic of philosophers 
to glorify deeds of searchers for truth 
through tradition of Academia, 
then you may take my hand, beautiful Death, 
and carry me to lush Elysian Fields. 

There I shall lounge for all eternity 
on orchard shores beside the River Styx, 
and strum the timeless lyre of Mercury 
to sing enchanting verses of my heart 
that form Astarian Scriptures I compose 
with you beside me in dream of our tale. 

Beneath veils of purple Wisteria, 
that scent sweet air from bower of our home, 
we chat about strange stories of mankind 
while through sun-glowing flowers bee-wings drone 
that fertilize my heart with timeless truth 
through deep analysis of social games. 

When they arrive on boat that Charon rows 
across the ceaseless tide of life and death, 
I call names of the Lost Ones killed in wars 
though they were scattered far across waste lands, 
so they relax in temple of our hearts 
and drink elixir of old memories. 

Cold as bright moon-rainbow of aching truth, 
ghosts of the countless dead in ring of stones 
dance gracefully with timeless dream of faith 
while skeletons of bodies rot in soil 
to nurture roots of fruit trees up on Earth 
where children find treasures in shadowed woods. 

Feet bleeding from our quest to find the cave 
from which First Mother birthed the human race, 
we climb the winding rocky trail of hope 
to break fetters of slavery and despair 
on endless journey to the Promised Land 
with nothing but tools in our crafting hands. 

Though it seems goodness of the crowded world 
has withered from harsh traumatic abuse 
we suffer struggling to survive each day, 
we give each other fruit we steal from Hell 
and build new Heaven with courageous hands 
so our children inherit paradise. 

When I rot mutely in tomb of my heart, 
Death may call homeless people of the world 
to gather in my mausoleum hall 
and feast on fruit from the generous Earth 
while skull of Orpheus prophecies truth 
and I play lyre of Mercury with sass. 

Old Song His Father Sang

Old Song His Father Sang
© Surazeus
2026 04 27

Small pony gallops on the river shore 
with casual nonchalance of happy hope 
to find the celestial pear tree of truth 
and feast on transient beauty of this world 
while Phoebus plays worn lyre of Mercury 
and sings the same old song his father sang. 

"Regret should not rule how we live each day," 
Phoebus explains to the gold yarrow bloom, 
but sighs and leans against the tall pear tree 
as aching sorrow settles on his heart, 
heavy as river stone no man can move, 
longing to sing old song his father sang. 

Dozing half-asleep in warm late-spring sun, 
Phoebus feels presence of shimmering ghost 
whose long gold hair wraps his mind in soft web, 
so he reaches out his attentive hand 
to caress glamorous haze of her face 
and wakes to see her leaning over him. 

Clear face of Cassandra with dark gold eyes 
fills the whole sky with gleam of her skin, 
so Phoebus stretches and offers her pears, 
then strums strings of worn lyre with inspired hope 
and sings heart-enchanting melody of love 
while she eats fruit with juice-glistening lips. 

Embraced with passion of the turning world, 
Phoebus and Cassandra kiss with delight, 
weaving spirit threads of their pulsing minds 
through shimmering web of the universe, 
which expands scope of compassionate faith 
till they become one soul of nameless joy. 

Setting Cassandra on pony of trust, 
Phoebus leads them along the winding stream 
while she bears basket of pears on her lap, 
toward the large market town on the lake shore 
where she sells pears while he strums taut lyre strings 
to practice same old song his father sang. 

Glowing with pleasure of living their day, 
Phoebus takes hands of Cassandra in his 
so they dance together on the lake shore 
while everyone gathers in temple hall 
to feast and laugh, till they all hush with hope 
to hear Phoebus sing song his father sang. 

"We are frail flowers blooming from the Earth 
who scatter seeds of our souls in the soil 
so our children will bloom from womb of time, 
for, though our bodies may flourish, then wither, 
in seasons of change for thousands of years, 
we are born again in children of love." 

Green Law Of The Tree

Green Law Of The Tree
© Surazeus
2026 04 26

Still inspired by old green law of the tree, 
I send my roots into darkness of fear 
to transform pain into apples of hope 
so I expand scope of my consciousness 
unhindered by bounds of the universe, 
that grants me passage through winter to spring. 

Though naked branches of my spirit tree 
shake in bitter winds of world social change, 
I welcome gulls who fly in from the sea 
with diamonds of wisdom from secret caves 
where Hecate brews wine from dragon blood 
that gives my eyes power to see beyond. 

I proudly ride head of Leviathan 
when she emerges from Ocean of Dreams 
to give my apparition mask of faith 
so I may walk on water of my heart 
to expose beauty through its ugliness 
when profound horror of time gives me life. 

Great Mother of Visions with hands of light 
quickens my heart with passion for truth 
so I honor Genetrix of the Earth 
who urges tides of love to swell my mind 
so I lounge in seductive revery 
with you in shadow of our solitude. 

Drinking milk disbursed by mother of stars, 
I twirl with abandon inside Stonehenge 
from careless laughter at absurdity 
till I see shining lady on the hill 
who scatters seeds from green law of the tree 
so we may colonize the world with farms. 

For good of the people who trust my word 
I serve their needs with magic mysteries 
to nurture hidden talents into skills 
so everyone contributes to our cause 
to enhance our food-production machine 
with power of ideas in the heart. 

Mothering Angels with eyes full of stars 
teach us how to sing visions of our eyes 
so we sharpen sticks and gather sharp stones, 
prepared to fight with courage of respect 
by waging war to secure global peace 
while bees brew honey for the world to eat. 

Though loneliness glimmers in hollow hearts 
of people who lose people they love most, 
bright anguish they pour in absence of faith 
sprouts back to life from green law of the tree 
which blossoms holy fruit for us to share 
so we transform our sorrow to rich joy. 

Tangled Dreams Of Fear

Tangled Dreams Of Fear
© Surazeus
2026 04 26

When angel of my heart burns through the sky 
with absolute desire to know the truth, 
she weaves my mind from tangled dreams of fear 
to strengthen me with brave audacity 
so I may climb ambitious peak to touch 
primal light of the sun that knows my name. 

Through prism of each raindrop on soft leaves 
I see electric raven with gold eyes 
who asks me if I know name of each soul 
killed by men with greed past million years 
so I carve letters of their vanished minds 
in shifting sands of time on beach of fate. 

Time-flashing rays of light from crystal eye, 
which dreams at center of the swirling sun, 
weave my body with atoms of respect 
for I am spirit of the Earth in flesh 
who seeks to understand nature of light 
that glows as consciousness from my sponge brain. 

Deep in temple of Karnak at Luxor 
the star-eyed angel holds light in her hands 
that beams our souls to center of the Earth 
so we feel giant planet of our hearts 
dreaming through kaleidoscope of our eyes 
so we remember how our world was born. 

Electric angel with black velvet wings 
assembles shards of stories from old tales 
to align fragments of our memories 
in flowing puzzle of world history 
where name of every soul who ever lives 
gleams in tapestry on stone temple wall. 

Grasping my hands with sensitive concern, 
electric angel sings with haunting voice, 
"If I can prevent just one fragile heart 
from breaking into shards of aching sorrow, 
my temporary tenure on this Earth 
shall not be fruitless endeavor of faith." 

Though I cannot play God for anyone, 
though we are emanations of Earth Soul, 
I dare assert intention of respect 
to shine with luminous beauty of love 
while curled with you in privacy of trust 
so we generate life before we die. 

Unnoticed by microscopic device, 
composed with diesel fuel of diamond eyes, 
I give myself with anguish of desire 
to tantalizing faith in nothingness 
that sparks frail flame of my glowing soul 
though bitter storm looms black over our world. 

Ghosts Trapped In Wells

Ghosts Trapped In Wells
© Surazeus
2026 04 26

Associated works of trashed respect 
delude the brave to believe their strong souls 
need no wings to escape death. Ardent faith 
fails to frame fantasy with real thought codes 
as if sparrows are no longer realists 
who translate divine truth for troubadours. 

Fountains in city squares ask loyalists 
to find and map rebels on hidden roads. 
Mothers, who linger without tears in doors 
of vain hope, knit sweaters for the frail wraith 
weeping in the garden. Demons expect 
everyone to memorize their new roles. 

Mixed up with pieces of puzzles, unsolved 
by blind children who invent languages, 
my private words escape from fragile shells 
of subjective truth. I prefer to swim 
deep into blue silence of the Dream Sea 
to find your name tangled in cable wires. 

Therefore, fill my holy grail to the brim 
so I may drink blood from ghosts trapped in wells 
of serpentine runes. Death directs mute choirs 
of angels who perform as hostages. 
I like to study life forms that evolved 
fish to wingless angel, which designs Me. 

Exceptional skill in weaving stale words 
in vibrant tapestries of fairy tales 
traps the jester in quest to explain why. 
Yet the young policeman in the small town 
believes his mission to be just the same 
as the one Superman performs on stage. 

Since we are trapped in our commercial game 
of purchasing products from the grim clown, 
we will barbecue demons in the cage 
of honesty. Icarus learns to fly 
by jumping off the cliff of hungry whales 
who ask Jesus if he can make them birds. 

Reverse psychology will never work 
on flamboyant Bacchus in scarlet gown 
who cries in the kitchen. Electric clock 
that mutates above the castle fireplace 
sternly asks him why he abandoned Eve 
halfway up the mountain in freezing snow. 

While baking apple pies by shipping dock, 
Eve spies Bacchus who pretends not to lurk 
in the bookstore where he buys human face 
to fool the Furies. They attend the show 
starring the Ballerina and the Clown, 
yet no one in the audience wants to grieve. 

Ego Of Sly Pettiness

Ego Of Sly Pettiness
© Surazeus
2026 04 26

The strangest aspect about the Third Man, 
who lets cool rats play pool with his eyeballs, 
is how he paints planets on bowling balls, 
then stands outside gate of the factory 
and plays dissonate melodies of despair 
on broken guitar with five rusty strings. 

Embracing ego of sly pettiness 
through innate talent of the snarky jibe, 
the Third Man takes his face off in the glare 
of spotlights gleaming on the creaking stage, 
then shouts electric satire of despair 
in silent void above highways of cars. 

Empowered by negative interdicts, 
stones of contempt hurled with mocking insults, 
the Third Man tangles lines of sizzling words 
in tattered wings he found on jagged rocks 
by sea shore with eager Icarus fell, 
then pontificates on world theater stage. 

Stacking bricks of baked mud in pyramids 
on solid foundation of shifting sands, 
the Third Man builds cave in heart of the Earth 
where ghost of his ancestor with sharp stick 
fights monstrous dragon of the wounded soul, 
then barbecues burgers in the state park. 

Pretending he is not the seventh son 
who falls in love with fourth daughter of Death, 
the Third Man spreads honey on molded bread 
while bragging about every game he won 
till the butterfly girl in hippie skirt 
marries the banker who runs Babylon. 

Excited about joining the circus of clowns 
who tour country towns sea to shining sea, 
the Third Man milks the sad cow before dawn, 
then stands outside grocery stores to preach 
about the second coming of the king 
who will appear on the purple giraffe. 

Exhausted by attempts to fool the squares 
who live normal lives, working eight to five, 
the Third Man leans against greasy phone pole 
and watches cars zoom past for ninety hours 
till wise tortoise of the waste land arrives 
to teach him lessons in morality. 

The most boring thing about the Third Man, 
who sews secret messages inside shirts, 
is how he is an expert at spreadsheets 
and longs to work as the accountant clerk 
at the company that sells kitchen ware 
because his girlfriend who died loved to cook. 

Futile Hope For Liberty

Futile Hope For Liberty
© Surazeus
2026 04 25

When the black-necked crane of her wounded heart 
flaps mordantly above pale bare-limbed woods, 
Yi Soo-ah leans back in red leather seat 
and sighs with rattle of fast iron wheels 
in train that winds along the river shore 
far away from house where her mother died. 

Late winter shadows of high mountain peaks 
shroud valley of plum trees in thoughtful hope 
at haunting melody of the jade flute 
because she is unaccustomed to grief 
that guides her way along the unseen track 
outside classifiable frame of faith. 

Walking alone along the winding road 
among plum trees that rustle secret truths, 
Yi Soo-ah pauses by the cement bridge 
and gazes shocked at the car-wounded deer 
that trembles halfway down steep slope of weeds 
till she kneels and cries for its innocence. 

Though we exist in world of fragile souls, 
our hearts swell strong with bravery of fear 
at flash of silver clouds over bare trees, 
Yi Soo-ah whispers to the flowing stream 
that shimmers over time-smoothed stones of fate, 
yet wonders if the sparrow understands. 

Small sparrow with chestnut crown and gold wings 
explains that all organic bodies die 
but atoms forming frames of psychic force 
fall in soil where roots transform them to plums, 
so Yi Soo-ah plucks purple fruit of hope 
and gasps with pleasure to consume Rain Soul. 

Startled at sudden clatter in the woods, 
Yi Soo-ah backs against the power pole 
when older gray-haired man in prison suit, 
face and arms streaked with blood of urgent fear,  
stumbles on the road and falls to his knees, 
heart clanging with terror of wordless truth. 

Pressing thick blood-stained book of poetry 
in careful distress of her trembling hands, 
the gray-haired prisoner stares in her eyes 
with ache of longing that she understands, 
then flees into grim shadow of the woods 
when platoon of soldiers with guns appear. 

Wincing at gunfire and scream of despair, 
Yi Soo-ah runs dusty road into town, 
slouches on bench outside small grocery store, 
and drinks cold soda as she shakes from shock, 
then cries quietly as she reads his poems 
about his futile hope for liberty. 

Men Fight Brutal Wars

Men Fight Brutal Wars
© Surazeus
2026 04 25

With confidence great as the ocean wave 
Sylphus glides among the star-singing trees 
to consume apples in ruby-bright cave, 
then chats philosophy with honey bees 
to understand why men fight brutal wars 
which leaves women weeping behind locked doors. 

Alert to butterflies that drop steel bombs, 
Sylphus shrinks houses to models in crates, 
then frolics in meadow with laughing lambs 
in clever plan to fool killer robots 
who march in crusade under the Red Cross, 
enforcing strict rule that Jesus is Boss. 

Startled by shriek of the innocent crow, 
Sylphus builds safe shelters for refugees 
who pray and give thanks to the golden cow 
while binding books in empty libraries 
to hide from loathing of corporate kings 
who want to enslave the princess who sings. 

Astride white horse on the wild carousel, 
Sylphus leads angels to stop World War Three 
when tyrants fight for the Alphabet Well 
where serpent runes nominate Liberty 
as empress who judges what love is worth 
to support United Nations of Earth. 

Stopping in the snowless woods before dusk, 
Sylphus searches for ghost of Lucifer 
who wears my secret face as shaman mask, 
and sings on darkest evening of the year 
about heroic soul of suffering 
that wakes in hearts of every human being. 

Amazed at beauty of the mountain lake, 
Sylphus plots revolution of the just 
because we are no more than cosmic dust 
commissioned to expose tales of the fake, 
then joins his brothers on the fishing boat 
who tease him for his many-colored coat. 

Assigned the most difficult task of all, 
Sylphus codes social system for the state 
organized around the posh shopping mall 
because each person chooses their own fate 
while stumbling awkwardly on road of life, 
learning lessons in overcoming strife. 

With arrogance brave as the skittish cat, 
Sylphus rules the world in Tower of Eyes 
by analyzing facts gathered by spies 
who build glass idols of Jehoshaphat 
then eat pizza and watch fantasy shows 
contrived by wizards of dream studios. 

Her Smile Sparks My Heart

Her Smile Sparks My Heart
© Surazeus
2026 04 25

Because her smile sparks my heart to expand 
scope of conscious truth to include the world 
in brave attention of generous love, 
I dedicate my life to guard her life, 
protecting her body and soul from harm 
so she generates life before she dies. 

This noble principle of honest hope 
has been my goal for countless lives on Earth 
as I incarnate in new flames of flesh 
four hundred million years from fish to god 
in solemn project to nurture life 
so we continue to thrive till the end. 

In each new life, we spring from womb of hope, 
we face new obstacles on road of change 
that threatens to annihilate our souls 
and crush our genes to squirming worms in mud, 
so we breathe deep celestial soul of love 
as we transform to bright angel of joy. 

Strange sense of strong immortality 
vibrates in neural network of my brain 
that fools me to believe I may transcend 
this temporary frame of fragile flesh, 
but conscious sense of self I feel as me 
will vanish when this body rots to dust. 

Illusion that my soul lives after death, 
as self-contained sense of my conscious self, 
deceives my heart with blinding pride that I 
will resurrect from rotten corpse of faith 
because adults with desperate eyes of fear 
convinced me Jesus will raise us from death. 

While walking signless road in the waste land 
halfway across the Rocky Mountain range, 
returning east on road of desperate hope 
which my ancestors walked centuries ago 
to find the Promised Land out in the west, 
I realize we are nothing when we die. 

My conscious soul is function of my brain, 
powered by chemicals of primal light 
that flares forth from first flash of the big bang, 
my temporary sense of self sparked bright 
by immortal atoms of divine thought, 
so I will disappear after I die. 

Immortal soul of genes will generate 
new body from its code when we embrace 
to spark new life from energy of love, 
so though we die and disappear in wind 
our children will preserve immortal genes, 
at least till the sun burns Earth into ash. 

Star Stone Of Inspiration

Star Stone Of Inspiration
© Surazeus
2026 04 25

With no surprising ending to our song 
we wander blissfully along the ocean 
to gather sharp fragments of the star stone 
that streaked in shock across the shining heavens 
because celestial flames of divine love 
flicker inside their cores with soul salvation. 

Sweet graceful woman of our ocean tribe 
gazes in prophecy stone of perception 
where she dreams successful growth of our way 
transforming into empires of her vision, 
so we follow her dance on shifting sands 
when she mutates into the snow-white raven. 

Exhausted from our journey on stone paths, 
we rest beneath the Crying Elm of Sorrow 
which spreads broad canopy of gentle care, 
one of Four Trees of Earth that give us shelter 
from howling storm, that shatters crystal skies, 
swirling from bitter hatred of Rain Dragon. 

When lightning shatters Crying Elm to shards 
and blasts our paradise into cruel desert, 
we wander weeping in ruins of sand, 
hearts bleak with hungry fear of desperation, 
till raven woman of our ocean tribe 
raises high her Star Stone of Inspiration. 

Masking fear of death with bold bravery 
to hide arrogance of her trepidation, 
Pearl Raven Princess holding bright star stone 
guides our journey to recreate our future 
by changing our fate with each choice we make 
to focus our attention on creation. 

Grove of peach trees, heavy with ripe sun fruit, 
that blooms on lush shore of the singing river 
provides generous bounty as reward 
for strict discipline of our loving labor, 
so we build high stone walls of paradise 
to form from ruins of hell our new Heaven. 

Ten thousand years we cultivate peach trees 
that grow tall from Star Stone of Inspiration, 
transforming from village of humble homes, 
where workers thrive with calm communication, 
to vast metropolitan maze of streets 
where we drive cars in race of corporations. 

Programmed by ancient struggles to survive, 
based on experience of all my ancestors, 
I strive to create rather than destroy 
social system that drives civilization 
in global baby-production machine 
that guides us with Star Stone of Inspiration. 

Mirror Eye Of God

Mirror Eye Of God
© Surazeus
2026 04 24

When I gaze deep in mirror eye of God 
I see every soul who has ever lived 
on every planet in the universe 
since first flash flared forth into the White Whole 
for we are atoms shining in the void 
as we awake in neural nets of brains. 

While I gaze long in mirror eye of God 
I relive life of every conscious soul 
who struggles to overcome weaknesses 
and transcend limits of our mortal flesh 
to comprehend vastness of time and space 
for one short hour of timeless ecstasy. 

Floating faceless in mirror eye of God 
that gazes down at me on ball of dirt, 
I feel immensity of vibrant hope 
radiate from spiraling core of our world 
through emanation of unconscious light 
that sparks my soul awake inside my brain. 

Dancing wildly in mirror eye of God 
that gazes at the world through my small eyes, 
I sing soul-haunting melody of faith 
with joy that I am so alive this fleeting hour 
for my short span of shining consciousness 
though time will snuff my soul to nothingness. 

So I wear mask with mirror eye of God 
refracting psychic energy of love 
through flashing prism of my neural brain 
when I see you with kaleidoscope eyes 
integral part of our strange otherness 
as we embrace and kiss to know the truth. 

Now I dream you with mirror eye of God 
to frame our random wanderings in tale 
composed to spark romantic honesty 
that binds our bodies in tangle of love 
so we generate life before we die 
to live another million years in joy. 

Together bound by mirror eye of God, 
two souls from opposite sides of the world, 
we journey far across waste land of desire 
to build our own private Heaven in Hell 
so we tend garden of our paradise 
where our children play free in Wonderland. 

Souls reflected through mirror eye of God, 
nameless strangers giving each other names, 
we play our roles in drama of the world 
creating art that conjures from our dreams 
virtual model of strange reality 
before time erases us from our Earth. 

Tumult Of Distracting Lust

Tumult Of Distracting Lust
© Surazeus
2026 04 24

Clear concision of our unmeasured thought 
contains assertive chaos of desire 
that frames immaculate anxiety 
of strange vistas beyond imagining, 
succinct as subtle decibels that beam 
beauty through realm of possibilities. 

Diligent with disordered discipline, 
we order tumult of distracting lust 
which enflames boundless plains of purity 
where comets outline golden way of hope 
we follow with shameless analysis 
to admire abundance of honeyed spoils. 

Drenched with refraction of devout respect, 
that shimmers with fractals of vanities, 
we speak of pleasant hours from honesty 
through circumspection of unconscious art 
because we extract unknown quantities 
of precise wisdom based on chemistry. 

Disentangled from brave lucidity, 
according to assessments of impacts 
implied by habitual riddles of love, 
we wound each other with confounding codes 
achieved through reversal of nothingness 
that means some other thing we cannot solve. 

Precarious on brink of stated facts, 
we dare administer horror of joy 
tainted with indifference nature plays, 
genteel with graceful sadness of contempt 
considered logical through turbulence, 
polite with seething energy of hope. 

I turn away and gaze beyond my face, 
transfixed by stony stare of faceless ghosts, 
to watch historical events unfold 
with tumbling randomness of bitter fate 
through blazing star-eye of the universe 
as sweepstakes winner of the Afterlife. 

Cloaked with humility of well-earned pride, 
as brave epitome of butterflies, 
I sing enchanting hymn to long-dead gods 
with charmed cadence of storm-stirred ocean waves 
to break free from marble idol of Me 
with calm assertion of the wingless hawk. 

Lovers entranced by glamor-mask we wear, 
intimate with gentle laughter of faith, 
we strip away illusions we had made 
to find real essence of our Otherness 
we share by kissing in light of the moon, 
then tending herb garden just after dawn. 

Still Married To My Muse

Still Married To My Muse
© Surazeus
2026 04 23

Though forced to seek anew some fresher stamp 
presenting noble subject of my camp, 
I grant myself still married to my Muse 
who tempts me to adjudicate the news 
by daring to record destructive deeds 
through paintings that encode our psychic needs. 

My special nature, glorified by fate, 
traps me in curse to guard the jeweled gate 
against incursion proffered by lame thieves 
who limp from tomb where humble widow grieves 
from failed attempt to steal her loving eyes 
through vain expression hollow prayers devise. 

Since I alone in our vast universe 
am no one else but me, I purchase curse 
contrived to spoil alert equality 
against brave blessings from banality 
that we exchange by selling fantasies 
immured in confines of false dignities. 

Tongue-tied by praise of loyal characters, 
more precious to death than stale aquifers, 
I wield with bravery golden quill of truth 
to prove myself wise as unlettered sleuth 
when strangers clutching books of frantic tales 
ask me to solve problems cruel faith entails. 

In polished form of my soul-searing pen 
I measure tangled chaos love would win 
since urgent spirit animates my chord 
with solemn hymn no angel can afford, 
yet mortal pride of my too precious boast 
strands my broken heart on the storm-lashed coast. 

Full sail in ship of state my conscious steers, 
I will explore strange lands with my compeers 
who kneel astonished by clear mountain lake 
that their intelligence considers fake, 
enfeebled by familiar ghost of time 
who crowns as Emperor of Earth the mime. 

Clear charter of your worth excites my hope 
that Jupiter will teach me how to cope 
with undeserving richness of true love 
which flatters me with royal light above 
though I determine death erases all 
while we dance laughing in the waterfall. 

No better judgement could I render right 
than how we are acquainted with the night 
to prove we are as virtuous through faith 
as time-untwisting laughter of the wraith 
who recognizes power of my Muse 
whose weird spell may bomb of my heart defuse. 

Preserving Green Space

Preserving Green Space
© Surazeus
2026 04 23

Though hope creates sustainability 
from important design problem of faith, 
Carla walks quickly along city street 
past store fronts selling illusions of truth, 
ignoring crescent moon in the blue sky, 
intent on getting back to work on time. 

Scalable system for nationwide growth 
inspires Carla with passionate respect 
to outline methods for analysis 
which monitors biodiversity 
based on ascension of rickety stairs 
through frantic doors of cracked anxiety. 

Complex projects for preserving green space 
between old factories and shopping malls 
align with current operational modes 
which Carla plots for future management, 
designed to maximize living expense 
based on calculations of hunger strikes. 

Arranging data collected from fields 
about technical challenges of use, 
Carla tabulates random facts of fear 
which might untangle communal concerns 
for psychic erosion of social trust 
managed by flexible platforms of faith. 

Global datasets of spatialized scope, 
supplied by government warehouse of truth, 
provides Carla with conceptual regrets 
to shore against ruins of mental zones, 
constrained by progress of urban decay, 
where gangs of lost children prefer to play. 

Developing bold strategies to arrest 
regressive destruction of classic frames, 
Carla sketches ideal patterns of change 
that depict uncontrollable time flips 
with attentive focus on channeling 
forces of passion through productive law. 

Staring out office window of her heart 
at people walking up and down the street, 
Carla longs for ancient systems of life 
on communal farms along river shores 
where people first formed brave communities 
to help each other survive against death. 

Clutching bag full of documents and fears, 
Carla rides on the crowded city bus 
through the endless maze of buildings and parks, 
then drinks chamomile tea on futon couch 
and pets her kitten with alien eyes 
while she sketches fairies dancing in moonlight. 

Rubber Wheels Of Flight

Rubber Wheels Of Flight
© Surazeus
2026 04 22

Star angels seem to follow me around 
while I am driving on the busy road, 
adjusting speed of passionate desire 
to keep from hitting souls of other cars 
because we race endless circles of hope 
to catch the rainbow falling from the sky. 

My fingers dance on keyboard of weird spells 
to weave illusions that reflect the world 
of pulsing objects, formed of chemicals, 
that fool me into thinking I am God 
till Death erases my soul from the world, 
and all my atoms become other things. 

I watch the red light till it flashes green, 
then I assert my vain right to exist 
as metal shell on rubber wheels of flight, 
bright angel transformed to frail human being 
assigned strange name that honors long-dead god 
who drives with millions on vast maze of roads. 

Parking my car in garage of false fame, 
I walk with crowd of gods in human form 
to work all day in office of insight 
where I map multiverse of proxy worlds 
as half-aspects of one vast universe 
composing puzzle programmed from my dreams. 

Severe thought static, translating dream songs 
from tangled cantos of unique syntax 
trademarked by serpent of the well, expands 
scope of my conscious attention to facts 
encoded in moral tales of concern 
that invoke syndrome of unscheduled truth. 

Unlicensed lecture, expressed by shy god, 
shows me how to manage with legal jokes 
tense energy of our Daemonium 
who performs role with correspondent wit 
of Sign Giver who speaks with Inner Voice 
to guide my journey to the Promised Land. 

Excerpt of famished framework, glorified 
by solemn angel born from river stone, 
who appears to me as gleam of pure light, 
reveals entrapment trick they play on me 
till I escape high walls of paradise 
with one last apple full of fertile seeds. 

Through featured tropes of graphic interface 
I dare conceal strange program of my heart 
by which I forecast state of world affairs 
through clumsy assessment of bankrupt laws 
that helps me solve weird problem of my soul 
too beautiful for brokerage of death. 

Wise Spirit Of Anahita

Wise Spirit Of Anahita
© Surazeus
2026 04 22

Awake in gloaming of our endless day, 
with fierce impatience of the fractured moon, 
I measure wholeness of conceptual fields 
where hungry people tend vineyards of faith, 
and wait for Anahita to arrive 
with jar of water from her sacred pool. 

Her long black hair flowing in evening wind, 
Anahita walks among refugees 
from civil wars that destroyed family homes, 
and pours fresh water in cracked bowls of hope 
so they may drink sweet spirit of the Earth 
that resurrects their hearts from bleak despair. 

Assassins cloaked in blue suits of contempt 
surround brave goddess of water and health 
with evil intent to clamp her in chains 
and force her to kneel before Angra Mainyu 
in humble submission to his desire, 
but she defies his daevas with strong will. 

While Anahita fights daevas with courage, 
Ahura Mazda arrives on white horse, 
leading army of brave warriors with spears, 
they made from pines of Hara Berezaiti, 
who defend people of Assyria 
and protect wise Anahita from harm. 

Awake with wise spirit of Anahita, 
whose courage animates my heart with love, 
I fight destructive force of lies and hate, 
embodied by cruel tyrant in gold tower 
who tries to enslave people of the world 
as mindless workers in his factories. 

Her eyes gleaming bright yellow as topaz, 
Anahita stands on high ziggurat, 
wearing crown of Ishtar with humble pride 
and bearing wand of Inanna with love, 
to organize free peoples of the world 
law-bound in United Nations of Earth. 

Though Midas wrecks institutions of peace, 
and Pluto grasps at false rainbow of wealth, 
we join brave goddess of wisdom and truth 
to build Zarathia through Liberty 
from ruins of rapacious nation-states, 
ensuring justice and freedom for all. 

Though tyrants attempt with aggressive hate 
to destroy wise spirit of Anahita, 
collective energy of psychic power, 
that beams from heart of every soul on Earth, 
weaves matrix of our faith in shield of hope 
to support fertile goddess of our love.