Justice For Every Soul

Justice For Every Soul
© Surazeus
2026 07 08

You are happy to find the broken moon 
in pool of rain outside abandoned house 
where your grandmother grills demonic fish 
with miso soup and noodles of frog brains, 
so you pretend to own your happiness 
when you stand on the porch and wonder why. 

On the way back to the last town on Earth, 
where children live in television screens, 
we stop at diner by the factory, 
where your grandfather made Volkswagen cars, 
and eat hamburgers from dinosaur meat 
while watching soccer on the frazzled wall. 

You are not scared of spiders in your eyes 
for they refract conceptual dreams of gods 
to prove we still know how to make the fire 
from ancient books of lies that preachers sell 
because you talk to pigs about the law 
that requires we donate more than we steal. 

Time unwinds laughter you hide in fake books 
because you watch the science fiction show 
about the captain and his ship of fools 
who must contend with demigods and ghouls 
when darkness of autumn evening descends 
on city of ten thousand screaming trains. 

You stare at face of your first teddy bear 
and ask him why he wants to climb the pole 
where savior of the world hangs crucified 
as if he whispers secrets of your heart 
that unwrite centuries of holy writ 
despite how you cook omelets at dawn. 

You sit three thousand years in attic room, 
peeling oranges for refugees of war 
who appear and disappear in your ken 
till singers gather on the castle lawn 
in calm rebellion of the broken heart 
because you want justice for every soul. 

You hear about your father on the news 
shot dead by agents of the government 
while he was driving to work building homes, 
and when you hear his voice on video 
cry for help as he bleeds on the hot road 
you transform into white horse in the egg. 

You walk alone on ocean shore of fate 
and ask the mindless wind why men must hate 
people who just want to live their own way, 
then you turn around and point at my mask, 
but I have become you inside your head 
so you map world where angels fear to tread. 

Endless Road Of Certainty

Endless Road Of Certainty
© Surazeus
2026 07 08

Too many ways to fall from the blank sky 
interrupt my game of fun chess with Death 
on the beach where children play hide and seek 
to understand how televisions work 
when unseen signals vibrate through the air 
in psychic waves of interactive dreams. 

Too fast for fierce human eyes to detect, 
ghosts flit around our bodies of frail flesh 
on wings of words derived from psychic trash 
and weave with riddle code of honesty 
addictive webs of enervating thoughts 
constraining choices of fate we compose. 

Too far down endless road of certainty 
I wander far beyond necessity 
with ardent faith in what was never real 
till I stand stunned on high edge of the world 
to stare at silver flux of secrecy 
discerned by thoughtless minds of decency. 

Too late for me to address you by name, 
I look for you in every empty room 
because I want to understand your heart 
and what strange passion of hidden desire 
motivates you attempt to stall death 
though we all will die and return to dust. 

Too soon for Jesus to return again 
from Heaven that persists inside our brains 
as Realm of Ideas that never change, 
eternal forms of objects I perceive 
provide blueprint for atoms to compose 
seething bodies from hot energy waves. 

Too close to source of psychic vibrancy, 
I twirl in graceful glide of urgency 
to generate new life before I die 
since I have been reborn since dawn of time 
from coil of genes in writhing mental vine 
which makes me feel immortal as the stars. 

Too slow for fate to allocate my rights 
with flexible modes of contingency, 
Death waits for me far down the signless road 
so I stroll calmly along winding streams 
and scatter fruit seeds of fertility 
across the waste land of my solitude. 

Too few alternatives for rising up 
from thick rotundity of our vast world, 
I feel all-shaking thunder of desire 
swell molds of nature with intense concern 
to flush my heart with gratefulness at life 
when storms forge courage in my cautious heart. 

Safe In The Sad Forever

Safe In The Sad Forever
© Surazeus
2026 07 07

Safe in the sad forever of my heart, 
I take solace with arrogant respect 
that all living creatures move toward their end, 
because at final rush of victory 
beneath brilliant cross of flashing sunrays 
we know strange beauty of eternity. 

Safe in the sad forever of God Brain, 
I ride electric horse with rainbow wings 
in swirling chaos of perceptive plans 
to take my children to the river park 
where they play tag with fairies and kobolds 
that teach them secrets of eternal life. 

Safe in the sad forever of huge books, 
I play mad wizard to categorize 
the fantasy-industrial complex 
composed of spiritual cults that preserve 
arcane secrets of invisible seers 
who keep wise Sibyl locked in golden cage. 

Safe in the sad forever of fruit trees, 
I chat about philosophy of truth 
with rainbow serpent of the sorcerer 
who teaches me how to reanimate 
bodies of the dead with potion of faith 
brewed from honey and mushrooms with love. 

Safe in the sad forever of vast woods, 
I measure winding flow of mountain streams 
through brave analysis of legal rights 
concerning who asserts their privilege 
to play the broken lyre of Mercury 
preserved in museum of singing skulls. 

Safe in the sad forever of deep lakes, 
I program zeitgeist of the modern world 
in fractured narrative of fairytales 
describing placid life of cubicles 
as high achievement of the human race 
since evolving four hundred million years. 

Safe in the sad forever of glass church, 
I bend slant rays of alabaster keys 
to catch swift falcon of the history gyre 
who shows me how to bind the center core 
which holds all nations of the world by law 
united through bold rights of liberty. 

Safe in the sad forever of gold clouds, 
I write code for world spirit of the Earth 
at second coming of messiah sleuth 
who plays the broken lyre inside my heart 
with vexed assessment of lost centuries 
when I slouch toward Oregon to be born. 

Among The First To Wake

Among The First To Wake
© Surazeus
2026 07 07

Among the first to wake in dream of Earth, 
Enitha glides along lush river shore 
among pink primrose blooming softly sweet 
from gentle caress of her tender feet 
that leads her path to silent misty moor 
where luminous phantom gleams in her eyes. 

Strange butterfly of sorrow with gold eyes 
lands on large apple in broad tangled tree 
so shy Enitha reaches out her hand 
just as bright lightning flashes in black cloud 
so she breathes sudden gust of crackling wind 
when luminous phantom scatters black rain. 

When giant spider, larger than her hand, 
crawls up trunk of the broken apple tree, 
Enitha holds her trembling body still 
to watch how long legs weave thin silver web 
that shimmers with each gust of subtle wind 
as luminous phantom gleams in raindrops. 

Small herd of deer with large black eyes of faith, 
yet tense with skittish innocence of fear, 
assemble on shore of the sparkling stream 
to drink with cautious terror of desire 
but flee in shadow of the ancient woods 
when luminous phantom opens her eyes. 

Among the first to wake from dream of time, 
Enitha gazes long at sparkling stars 
that flicker in soft undulating waves 
with swirl of clouds lit gold by sudden moon 
that rises dripping from deep mountain lake 
since luminous phantom knows her true name. 

Elegant horse with long shimmering mane 
grazes on low hill slope among tall grass, 
so lithe Enitha hides in tall oak tree, 
afraid that graceful creature with black eyes 
may race away into the rainbow sky 
when luminous phantom offers her fruit. 

Stretching her arms after sitting five hours 
drawing panels for her graphic webtoon 
that features Enitha at dawn of time, 
Sakura wanders in slippers and pink robe 
to the kitchen where she drinks apple juice, 
yet luminous phantom floats in her mind. 

Watching cars glide on busy road below, 
Sakura ponders how her cute fantasy tale 
should progress that displays her character 
as fragile girl with cautious innocence 
who grows strong when she faces obstacles 
so luminous phantom blooms in her heart. 

Beams Of Psychometric Light

Beams Of Psychometric Light
© Surazeus
2026 07 06

Framed with perspective of my curious heart 
to comprehend through formulas of thought 
atomic nature of our universe, 
Earth shines with beauty of its messiness 
that undulates in teeming mass of coils 
which spring as beams of psychometric light. 

Sun Spider Goddess, bright Solaria, 
weaves our planet from beams of flashing light 
which nurtures our organic body form 
animated by spirit in our brain 
that conjures virtual model of the world 
designed by ideas of words we speak. 

Earth Angel Goddess, brave Telluria, 
molds our body from assertive lust 
so we evolve four hundred million years 
from fish to newt to mouse to cat to ape 
to wingless angel striving to be God 
in quest to gain enlightenment through love. 

I feel bright energy of timeless light 
from countless stars across the universe 
pulse vigorously in every crystal cell 
that constitutes contraption of my being 
as spiritual machine of divine soul 
that wakes cosmic mind in my mortal brain. 

Ascending rugged foothills of respect 
near majesty of Mount Takoma peak, 
I gaze at crescent moon of innocence 
that gleams in sparkling mirror of the pool 
where timeless song of truth vibrates as song 
that tunes strings of my heart with stoic faith. 

Clear mountain wind fills hearts of travelers 
with haunting rapture of brave Seraphim 
whose hearts observe sublime beauty of Earth 
which emanates from every fragile soul 
that glimmers through organic form of thought 
woven from beams of psychometric light. 

Though every creature of organic form, 
that glows this hour on spinning Earth of light, 
will vanish into swirls of mindless dust, 
we shine alive as flame of ardent faith 
with tender dignity of star-eyed hope, 
endowed with secret name of psychic code. 

Since I will one day disappear at death 
and vanish beyond nothingness of time, 
I strum the holy Lyre of Mercury 
in way Orpheus taught me to perform, 
and sing grand epic of philosophers 
about our human quest to know the truth. 

Mountain of Dancing Trees

Mountain of Dancing Trees
© Surazeus
2026 07 06

Through stories we tell about life on Earth 
we program our children with moral code 
how to perceive beauty in changing forms 
if we have found enlightenment of truth 
through ideology that blinds our eyes 
to see gods on mountain of dancing trees. 

Reversing point of view with mirror eyes 
through oscillation of opposing thoughts, 
we measure angles of disparate truths 
since verity depends on vantage point 
so experience points to more complex whole 
that we map on mountain of dancing trees. 

Too many facets of one diamond gem 
refract apparent opposites in view 
so different angles of one whole event 
appear to contradict analysis, 
therefore I puzzle fragments in one truth 
when I play on mountain of dancing trees. 

Each concept I retrieve from pool of facts 
provides one disunited piece of life 
which I collage in mural of grand truth 
connecting unrelated data points 
in fluctuating web of certainties 
that blossoms on mountain of dancing trees. 

Embodiment of gear-wound paradox 
in complex personas our brains design, 
I explore purple mountain majesties 
to understand courage of bravery 
when people with much help people with naught 
to dwell safe on mountain of dancing trees. 

Quiet mathematics of selfless love 
calculates investment without return 
when people help each other generate 
food and goods from minerals of the Earth 
that fuels function of social enterprise 
we settle on mountain of dancing trees. 

Toward inaudible light of pulsing hearts 
we live in language of our hungry tongues 
by breathing wind of hope on river flow 
for inspiration of the garden faith 
which nurtures us with brightness of the star 
that shimmers on mountain of dancing trees. 

Brewing juice on altar of Hygia, 
I listen to young maids of Caryae sing 
hymns at the festival of Artemis 
where thousands of worshippers in white robes 
honor grace of women who create life 
in temple on mountain of dancing trees. 

Mind Machinery Of Heaven

Mind Machinery Of Heaven
© Surazeus
2026 07 05

When mind machinery of Heaven programs 
my brain to perceive world of seething forms, 
cluttered with people searching for their souls, 
I wander trapped by hush of evening skies 
where dead star tries to teach me how to shine, 
but I steal the last apple from the snake. 

When I hear the wind whisper secret names 
I laugh as the river answers with jokes, 
though gloom spills across rooftops of despair, 
tangled in telephone wires of regret, 
and into mouths of strangers without books 
who wait for bus to Hell that never comes. 

When weird river of eternity sings 
about the suffering of war refugees, 
I watch one reckless star of fate break free 
from machinery of heaven to convert 
my heart to faith in blind witch of true love 
because light survives its own loneliness. 

When Evening that wears gown of silver mist 
hangs black pomegranate of urgent faith 
above the crowded graveyard of dead gods, 
new star of wisdom opens wounded heart 
as fountain flowing with honey and milk 
that could heal spirits of the traumatized. 

When Tree of Knowledge drops another branch, 
that represents how close relationships 
could be severed by words of bitter fear, 
I attribute fracture of honest hearts 
to wordless mathematics of regret 
which realigns our quest for paradise. 

When turbulent concern of ardent hope 
unspools established legacy of trust, 
I wander lost in cluttered field of lies 
with lamp some old philosopher gave me 
that casts uncanny rays of false insight 
on faces twisted with uncertainty. 

When I hide in cathedral of glass masks, 
where light rays slant against logical sense, 
I gather fragments of discarded tales 
and puzzle them in vast collage of truths 
which almost forms coherent view of life 
till wind blows leaves of grass in lake of dreams. 

When horse of sorrow on the signless road 
reveals weird secret of building dream worlds, 
I populate Garden of Eden with ghosts 
of innocent people killed in cruel wars 
so I can pretend they live happily 
in perfect Heaven of my fantasy. 

Star Vision Of Kaskalkur

Star Vision Of Kaskalkur
© Surazeus
2026 07 05

Stuck in dream machine of psychotic words 
that conjure visions in my clacking brain, 
I stroll the busy streets of Everytown 
to ask River Witch in Cave of Despair 
why she remembers when my soul was born, 
but Kaskalkur just chuckles with sly grin. 

With eyes that flash bright television screens, 
she gives me glass of water with sweet sneer 
that she drew from dark underwater stream 
which fills my heart with weird demonic light 
that makes it swell huge as lead zeppelin, 
so I ask Kaskalkur to marry me. 

Through complex network of underworld streams, 
fueled by dark water of her big cow eyes, 
I soar on sun-blackened albatross wings 
to wake demonic energy of love 
from spinning iron core of Mother Earth 
who throws my fragile body in the world. 

When Kaskalkur gets on the morning bus 
to work at library of long-lost books, 
she finds herself surrounded on all sides 
by grim-faced Myrmidons wearing red caps 
who praise Agamemnon as noble king 
though he hides his palsied face with gold mask. 

Inspired by star vision of Kaskalkur, 
which presents history of humanity 
as mothers tending gardens of fruit trees, 
I analyze strange economic trends, 
combined through geospatial datasets, 
to understand hunger of human hearts. 

Because my mother at hour of my birth 
named me Apaliunas, star-eyed hunter, 
I trap demonic spirits of the heart 
and transform them to honest laborers 
who build the shining walls of Ilium 
as duty to protect wise Kaskalkur. 

In Washington did Jupiter decree 
construction of Olympus from god bones 
where Alph, the oil-polluted river, runs 
down through caverns measureless to man 
where Kaskalkur enslaves tyrants and kings 
who abused right of their authority. 

Ancestral voices prophesy new war 
so I climb Mount Abora with my ghost 
where Kaskalkur plays dulcimer of hope 
for patriotic hearts to rise from fear 
and cast King Midas from the throne of gold 
when dome of power crumbles into lies. 

Our Utopian Fantasy

Our Utopian Fantasy
© Surazeus
2026 07 05

Heaven is our Utopian fantasy 
that represents communal town of peace 
where noble principles of honest work 
bind hearts of every person with brave trust 
for all are equal in their privilege 
where no king need enforce justice through law. 

Of all the goddesses who lived on Earth, 
mortal women whose personalities 
radiate through eidolon of their bright souls 
in characters preserved in ancient myths, 
I remember sweet Pinikir the most, 
goddess of the night who knows names of stars. 

Lost in the ancient swirling dust of time, 
wise women who once ruled their garden states, 
Nanaya, Ishara, Allani, Ishtar, 
Hutena, Hutellura, Ashtart, Isis, 
Ninatta, Kulitta, Manzat, and Hat-Hor, 
haunt my weird dreams with star-glow of their souls. 

Each goddess chronicled in ancient myths 
was once some living woman in the flesh 
who managed communal estate of farmers 
from temple perched on high-built ziggurat 
where she administered economy 
to operate food-production machine. 

Since Garden of Eden in lush Sumer 
humans have built cities with sunbaked bricks, 
Ur, Uruk, Eridu, Nippur, Lagash, 
where hierarchies of power develop 
so Goddess of Wisdom administrates 
warriors to protect workers who create. 

I see Gilgamesh, standing on high hill 
in shadow of El, first ruler of one state, 
work to defend rulership of Ishtar 
as guard of the garden where fruit trees bloom, 
but every city men have built from brick 
has vanished into swirling dust of time. 

No city humans build with bleeding hands 
will ever match our boldest fantasy 
as Utopian Heaven of equal rights, 
yet we keep striving to perfect our ways 
through institutions of fair government 
to maintain justice and freedom for all. 

Bright Heaven of communal polity 
that we imagine as Utopia, 
where every person enjoys equal rights, 
presents pure state of civil enterprise 
as blueprint for messy cities of Earth 
to model functions of good government. 

Frothing Fantasy Of Faith

Frothing Fantasy Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 07 05

Assertive passion to survive and thrive 
drives us down winding road of starry goals 
so through the cluttered years of middle age 
we strive with frantic passion to succeed 
when we build frothing fantasy of faith 
based on fiction of our Heaven on Earth. 

Reborn as Apollonian ironist, 
sparked by collision of opposing forces 
between structured beauty of ordered faith 
and chaos of nihilistic despair, 
I balance oscillating energies 
to channel terror through religious hymns. 

Striving to contain mental urgencies 
with drive for structured beauty of calm order, 
I recognize that my ultimate truths 
are founded on unstable fantasies, 
so I craft beautiful fictions of truth 
that I find necessary to live well. 

Contriving concept of philosophy 
through linguistic psychology of ideas 
that material objects of atomic force 
are molded by ideal concepts of thought, 
I drive my car along highway of hope 
to cartograph the world in map of truth. 

Between wild dance of Dionysian passion 
and ordered march of Apollonian research, 
I bind eternal spirit of my genes 
with fragile grace of this body I train 
to maintain constant vibrancy of change 
which generates my artificial world. 

With Apollonian irony of faith 
I channel my existential detachment 
into creation of deliberate form 
through ceaseless endurance of discipline 
till I master craft of molding weird dreams 
in structured Gothinettes of prophecy. 

When I climb mountain peak of global insight, 
I gaze back down my road of evolution 
from fish to newt to mouse to cat to monkey 
to ape to wingless angel singing spells 
that conjure frothing fantasy of faith 
as wine I drink while strumming Lyre of Phoebus. 

How strange to feel myself alive this hour, 
one grape-node on long vine of ancestry 
as body replicating code of genes 
that urges me to generate new child 
so immortal soul of atomic mind 
lives again in our quest to become god. 

Emerald Eyes Of Truth

Emerald Eyes Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 07 04

After running out of weird things to say 
the old woman with hair birds use for nests 
sits under willow tree of normalcy 
and contemplates how angels procreate 
by weaving rays of light between their hearts, 
then sings to turtles in the sparkling pond. 

Granddaughter of Mercurius Artaius, 
the old woman with skin of scallop shells 
sews bearskin robe for her daughter Andarta 
who carves steamed planks to build new river boat 
while whistling tunes she hears birds sing at dawn, 
then mumbles about aches of her old age. 

After gathering mushrooms, eggs, and herbs, 
the old woman with emerald eyes of truth 
brews honey wine in cauldron on hot flames 
which she pours in each grail that people bear 
when they stand in line and give her gold coins 
stamped with face of Artaius King of Bears. 

Strumming strings on lyre of Mercurius, 
the old woman with bat wings in her heart 
declares to dancing crowd with ancient voice 
that she is daughter of wise Cybele 
who dwells in cavern of the star-eyed ghost 
from which she rules tribes of Vocontia. 

Shielding her daughter Andarta from harm, 
the old woman with granite breast of faith 
defies fierce gang of boys with sharpened spears 
who shout that Jupiter on throne of gold 
sent them to assassinate Dea Augusta 
because she dares claim goddess state of mind. 

Clutching her breast that gushes blood of fear, 
the old woman with rune-enchanting hands 
lies wounded in arms of daughter Andarta 
while her son, incarnation of Artaius, 
battles and kills assassins with sharp sword 
forged by his father Mulciber from steel. 

Crowning her daughter the new Cybele, 
the old woman with blood of ocean waves 
sinks into flashing gloom of nothingness 
while new-crowned Cybele Andarta grips 
scepter of power with bright emerald eye 
and leads warriors to defend their land. 

After killing the kidnappers and thieves, 
the young woman with emerald eyes of truth 
asserts her right to reign as Cybele 
in mountain cavern of the star-eyed ghost 
managed by her new husband Lucifer 
as warden who administers jewel mines. 

Celestial Math Of Faith

Celestial Math Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 07 04

Awed by weird song of crickets in the night, 
Belenus gazes high at sparkling stars 
to calculate celestial math of faith 
by which he chronicles the rise and fall 
of ancient nations based on flash of rain 
where gold moon gleams in ruins of the church. 

Descended from Icarus the Sky-Walker, 
Belenus clings to jagged cliff of faith 
and shouts at Zephyrus with arms of air 
for help to ascend steep terrible heights 
so he can walk lush hills of paradise 
to meet his mother in Elysium. 

Amazed at fields of wheat blown by sea wind, 
Belenus walks with his college best friend, 
Zephyrus with long hair of tangled curls, 
and tells him names of every family clan 
that lives in each tall castle on high hill 
where flowers bloom along the River Styx. 

Startled by appearance of the swift hawk, 
Belenus holds his breath with graceful calm 
when she lands on his arm and flaps her wings, 
because her eyes reflect the timeless stars, 
then gasps when she leaps toward the glowing clouds, 
wild angel with celestial math of faith. 

Alert when Martes and his gang appear, 
Belenus joins Zephyrus by large stone 
where they crouch ready with intent to fight 
in brave defense of land where fruit trees bloom, 
still loyal to bold brotherhood of friends, 
till Seraphina commands they desist. 

Inspired by flashing silver of her eyes, 
Belenus beams at angel in white robe 
who guides them through fields of Elysium 
to garden where his mother tends pear trees, 
who flies into his arms with shocked delight, 
then offers them fresh wine by sparkling pool. 

Surprised by joy of fireworks in the sky, 
Belenus with his mother and best friend 
join feast to celebrate with song and dance 
birth of their state eight hundred years long ago 
when wise Elysus lead his wandering tribe 
across the waste land to lush hills of lakes. 

Impressed at founding tale of their great state, 
Belenus tells Zephyrus with proud voice 
how brave Elysus, bearing wand of truth, 
fought cruel Erebus on the river shore, 
then founded Garden of Elysium 
based soundly on celestial math of faith. 

Institute Of Proper Truth

Institute Of Proper Truth
© Surazeus
2026 07 04

Now that I have returned from Hell, and work 
as scribe for Institute of Proper Truth, 
I see strange beauty in the grim parade 
of dead men singing in the blazing sun 
who march majestically to Kingdom Come 
with dreary loyalty to long-dead kings. 

Far beyond present swirl of circumstance 
I see great wrongs committed by cruel thieves 
who pilfer national treasures from our hearts 
against grand principles of honesty 
on which our old republic wobbles weak, 
which we must clear away to build anew. 

I hear no fierce cadence of marching feet 
in sprawling suburbs sea to shining sea 
where frightened men in rusty trucks of hope 
buy phony timeshares to the Afterlife, 
then sell their hard-won rights and liberties 
to gain fleeting sense of security. 

I know grim sorrows of my fellow men, 
hearts gripped by plan to build brave walls of stone 
on fruit-tree mounds around the bubbling well 
so we may keep our precious families safe 
within safe-haven pale of paradise 
that we have built on hard paternal skulls. 

Now that I sneak lost in Heaven, and work 
as spy for Institute of Proper Truth, 
I hear mercurial wail of lonely souls 
in ancient songs across America 
expressing joys and sorrows of their hearts 
with faith our old democracy will last. 

Outside cracked window of my small-town home 
I hear no boom of bombs bursting in air 
on this side of the wild Atlantic Ocean, 
yet flowers bloom from sun-parched soil of fate 
in hills along the green Oconee River 
far from the misty hills of Avalon. 

While I hear snap of striped flags in the breeze 
that ruffles ocean waves with sparkling foam, 
I smell sweet scent of meat on crackling grills 
and laughter of young children who play chase, 
so I strum new guitar and sing weird tune 
that echoes cars on highways to the moon. 

With laughter of the normal citizen 
we celebrate birth of democracy, 
yet lament threat of fascist tyranny 
on this hour two hundred and fifty years 
since we declared independence from greed. 
so I share watermelons with you all. 

Rebirth Of America

Rebirth Of America
© Surazeus
2026 07 04

I was eleven, fifty years ago, 
on the two hundredth birthday of this nation, 
descended from Pilgrims and Puritans 
who sailed across wild seas in fragile boats 
to escape oppression of kings and priests 
and live through freedom and justice for all. 

Believing we had found Garden of Eden, 
new paradise in the lush wilderness, 
we built our city shining on the hill, 
founded firm on the noble principle 
that every person born on Earth is equal, 
free to live as they will, if they harm none. 

Through revolution against greedy king, 
we built new nation of farmers and craftsmen, 
expanding west from sea to shining sea 
through scope of our democratic republic 
based on liberty and justice for all, 
to welcome refugees from every land. 

Through civil war against plantation kings 
we freed people they enslaved from cruel chains, 
expanding civil rights for every soul 
in brave demonstrations against hate 
because every human born on this Earth 
should be equal in just eyes of the law. 

Twelve score and ten years ago our ancestors 
brought forth on this continent, we colonized, 
our new nation, conceived in Liberty, 
and dedicated to the proposition 
that all humans are born equal on Earth, 
who may live as they will, if they harm none. 

Now we are engaged, with startled surprise, 
in another civil war against hate, 
testing our resolve to maintain our rights 
to life and liberty for every soul, 
so we must dedicate, with firm resolve, 
our hearts to make sure this nation endures. 

We are resolved with honest faith of hope 
that this old nation we have long admired 
shall glow with new birth of freedom through love 
so this government, hijacked by tyranny, 
shall be restored with wisdom of our hearts 
of the people, by the people, and for the people. 

Now I lived sixty one years on this Earth, 
descended thirteen fertile generations 
four hundred years of constant social change 
from wise Puritan Poet Anne Bradstreet, 
so with Minerva, Goddess of Liberty, 
I celebrate rebirth of America. 

Beacon Of My Destiny

Beacon Of My Destiny
© Surazeus
2026 07 03

Blinded by beacon of my destiny, 
I walk the signless road to Wonderland, 
but stop somewhere in hills of Avalon 
to question why I need to find my soul, 
so I turn around and go somewhere else, 
and live quietly by the Lake of Dreams. 

Guided by beacon of my destiny, 
I follow winding River of Desire 
from undulating swirl of ocean waves, 
through endless woods of shadow-glowing ghosts, 
up rugged slopes where laughing winds dance wild, 
to stand on Peak of Wisdom without words. 

Disturbed by beacon of my destiny, 
I wake from strange dream of the city maze 
where countless people tell me secret tales 
so I can find the treasure of the crow 
who always watches how I live my life, 
then leaves my lost key on my tombless grave. 

Convinced by beacon of my destiny 
that I am savior of the world reborn, 
I work my whole life as mute janitor 
cleaning classrooms where high-school children learn 
clean white-washed history of America 
portrayed as good policeman of the world. 

Confused by beacon of my destiny, 
I walk the wrong way down fake road of life 
against ambitious current of the times 
in vain rebellion against games of power 
by leaving all possessions on the house 
where brave ghost of electricity weeps. 

Inspired by beacon of my destiny, 
I leave expected trail of normal life 
and wander lost in wilderness of lies 
where I meet children of forgotten spies 
who carve state secrets on trunks of dead trees 
and eat Honey of Faith from wounded hearts. 

Perplexed by beacon of my destiny, 
I campaign for role of World President 
by promising universal healthcare, 
free education to doctoral degrees, 
and Latin names that shine with dignity 
on door of home where every human lives. 

Deceived by beacon of my destiny, 
I journey down into valley of Hell, 
climb Mount Purgatory to Peak of Faith, 
then soar on Wings of Icarus to Heaven 
where I play Lyre of Mercury with jazz, 
lost in the fantasy that I am real. 

Wear Mask Of Faunus

Wear Mask Of Faunus
© Surazeus
2026 07 03

Because Death always walks my road with me 
beyond eccentric scope of my perception 
I choose to twist despair through charity 
with shocking sorrow of the revelation 
that God is shadow of our darkest fear 
we cast against fractured mirror of Heaven. 

Strange evils writhing in cave of my heart 
cry out with loathing of expert obsession 
at monstrous beauty of my mental chart 
crucial to state of amorous possession 
so with Pygmalion craft I mold her soul 
from seething chaos of stellar creation. 

As jester in mad world of broken souls 
I go on journey to the kingless nation, 
where I am both the stranger and the town, 
to peddle tickets to the fake salvation 
in holy war conducted by the priest 
who leads lost thieves to fight the revolution. 

When I arrive in valley of the dolls, 
who wear masks of beauty to veil confusion, 
I spark their souls awake with ardent chant 
so they can choose their lifestyle with decision 
that flows from passion of their secret hope 
to dance with grace at my assassination. 

Since there is more to water than our tears 
that drum on jagged cliffs from frantic ocean 
we roar with laughter at the puppeteers 
who fool us all to drink faith-poisoned potion 
so we cry out at brink of empty creed 
when God declares his laws with humble thunder. 

Brave Goddess of the Sun with star-bright eyes 
appears from cloud of swirling elocution 
to sing with ardent shock of spectacle 
that no divine mind drives constant motion 
of atoms swerving into tangled coils 
through chemicals of genes that flash our spirits. 

Though I am pilgrim on the signless road, 
who maps too many ways around weird Heaven, 
I sense Truth Demon pulsing through the land 
born as mercurial tune my heart has driven 
through honest witness to no miracles 
except generative power of Nature. 

Sharp rattle of the mountain waterfall 
shocks my urban-numb heart awake with passion 
so I wear mask of Faunus when I dance 
with graceful clumsiness of mortal human 
fueled alive with divine spirit of light 
that gleams with corrupt purity of wisdom. 

Holy Heart Of Zephyrus

Holy Heart Of Zephyrus
© Surazeus
2026 07 03

Small island of my heart amid black seas 
remains with memory of its singing streams 
as solid beauty with tower of light 
that serves as beacon of my destiny 
to sail across wild undulating waves, 
then return to its haven in the storm. 

Remote from turmoil of kingdoms that fight 
to rule the minds of men with fantasies, 
my island garden blooms in silver haze 
where I translate weird songs of nightingales 
to weave tales of gods from long-burned-out stars 
while I breathe sweet peace of my remote world. 

Still strange power of the infinite sea 
regulates tide pulse of blood in my veins 
with swelling passion of logical lust 
to generate new life before I die 
in body that preserves in timeless dreams 
immortal soul of replicating genes. 

My song articulates voice of the sea 
where I stand frail on jagged cliff of hope, 
embraced by holy heart of Zephyrus 
who teaches me to see light of the soul 
that gleams through constant gloom of world events 
so I find courage to play my own role. 

Each night I slumber, weary and undone, 
strange visions flash in network of my brain, 
incredible with hope of weird insight 
that we can build democracy of faith 
from shattered ruins of our principles, 
inspired to survive tides of social change. 

Shocked by fierce cloudy thrill of innocence, 
I push my fragile soul against despair 
with haunting presence of dead patriots 
which motivates my quest to rise from fear 
and stride where secret star-beams allocate 
new space for me to activate the truth. 

From rubble of our nation bombed by greed 
Pierrot and Columbine emerge with hope, 
though wounded by futility of faith, 
to dance in garden-grove with dreams decayed, 
which proves our principles of liberty 
and justice for all survive in our hearts. 

Though proud nations fall and false faiths decay, 
we join hands on the lawn of apple trees 
to nurture brave philosophy of truth 
that all humans share equal rights from birth 
which we assert with our communal heart 
to celebrate birth of democracy. 

Our Concept Of Divine God

Our Concept Of Divine God
© Surazeus
2026 07 03

As part of evolution of his soul 
from Fish to God who rules the market town, 
Dyaz stands before the gang of laughing thieves 
with wand he carved with anguish of despair, 
and breathes deep spirit of the blazing sun 
with poised attention of the serpent strike. 

You killed my father and stole our farmland, 
Dyaz calmy indicts the cruel king of thieves, 
then sold my mother, my sisters, and my wife 
as slaves and prostitutes to wealthy men, 
so I have come from cavern of despair 
to punish you for all your evil crimes. 

Crouched with intent control of Mountain Wolf, 
Dyaz twirls and somersaults and leaps and strikes 
in brutal battle against king of thieves 
and forty minions of his grasping greed, 
crippling and killing them all, one by one, 
while thousands of people of the town watch. 

Gasping for breath from tension of the fight, 
Dyaz stands alone among corpses of thieves, 
face and chest smeared with blood of their regret, 
triumphant in grim silence of the crowd, 
then raises wand of victory to the sky 
as they erupt in cheers to dance and sing. 

Sitting on throne in high ziggurat hall, 
Dyaz gazes dazed with victory of blind law 
at thousands of people with gleaming eyes, 
then kneels while Queen of Heaven Shawushka 
places jeweled crown of Town Guardianship 
on his head, heavy with responsibility. 

Grown old after ruling for forty years 
as Guardian of the City with just laws, 
Dyaz strides along the crowded market streets, 
tall man with long white beard in long white robe, 
who beams with smiles of joyful charity 
to see the people thriving with respect. 

Transformed from living man of mortal flesh, 
Dyaz becomes our concept of divine god 
through apotheosis of social faith 
so image of his person metamorphs 
to Idol of God as old bearded man 
whose face still glows in our world consciousness. 

When I break from innocence of childhood 
to navigate my own road to success, 
Dyaz wakes as spirit of God in my heart 
in his descendants, Zeus, Deus, Jove, and Jesus, 
to guide my journey to the Promised Land 
as I, also, evolve from Fish to God. 

Flaming Wings Of Fear

Flaming Wings Of Fear
© Surazeus
2026 07 02

Each evening at this time the gold sun glows 
bright rays of beautiful sadness through trees 
with bold assurance of belief that proves 
the typist knows why children never cry 
when angels fall on flaming wings of fear 
from bomb-blasted tower of arrogance. 

Walking in fairy woods of Zathamar, 
every evening when I get home from work, 
I browse electric books of moon-bright words 
to understand the sorrows people hide 
as serpents coiled in cavern of their hearts 
because they think of things that torment them. 

My friends keep vanishing in mist of time 
so when I call their names with ringing chime 
their ghosts hide in sibilant water flow 
with stolen grace of innocent despair 
that surges hot as sap in trunks of trees 
at supple clack from spinning wheels of fate. 

My father named me Sagittarius 
because he hoped with prayers for my success 
that courage of the archer strengthens me 
with bold ambition of spontaneous fun 
so I explore and colonize the world, 
trapped by stereotype of my horoscope. 

Long undulant curves of my flowered mask 
reveal intensity of hope I hide 
with brave emergency of sudden loss 
despite unfolding sadness I deny 
with fibrous innocence of tangled roots 
because we touch each other with desire. 

Strange wholeness of my body is not me, 
I never say in words you understand, 
so we share suffering in how we dance 
through disunited harmony of rage 
we channel into stories we invent 
with fractured concepts of honey disgust. 

Attempts to smooth lugubrious concern 
with frantic compound of anarchic peace, 
still capable of fixing flummoxed fear, 
discombobulates our brave ardency, 
bewildered by weird truth we must ignore, 
till second coming of the eyeless ghost. 

Bright halo that once shone above my head 
falls off one day and fractures on cement, 
so I sweep shards of innocence with broom 
on which my mother flew across the moon, 
then build new world from ruins of the past 
because the gold sun glows through happy trees. 

Fragments Of Weird Joy

Fragments Of Weird Joy
© Surazeus
2026 07 02

Through default mechanism of the brain 
she throws her favorite memories in the trash, 
then tears them into fragments of weird joy 
as she tapes them slant in random collage 
depicting boring childhood of her heart 
bruised by invisibility of faith. 

Sad in herb garden of the ancient house 
on the street where patriots designed 
new nation of equality for men 
to control land where people nurture dreams 
baked in bread we share with the homeless poor, 
she steals puzzle pieces from our world view. 

In bleak darkness before dawn of regret, 
she rubs her hands in bitter cold of hope, 
then rides the bus one hour in maze of streets 
to bake bread in the wordless factory 
while she ignores the second civil war 
fought by justice warriors in cyberspace. 

She wonders if her therapist enjoys 
swimming with sharks in deep ocean of tears 
that bleed from laughter of angelic brains 
who check the mail for letters from the ghost 
whose wounded heart transforms into the cat 
that lounges nonchalantly in her heart. 

When evening darkness singes edge of hope 
with subtle message of the Absolute 
that time corrodes our hearts with earnestness 
from filtered fumes of thoughts buried in mud, 
she stops by scarlet sign of innocence 
to question which direction she should take. 

Calm beast of arrogance wakes in her heart 
when she walks home at night in starry gloom, 
evading shadows of wolves dressed as men 
concerned with safety of the princess bride 
who always searches for good place to hide 
from collapsing institutions of faith. 

The old bearded man in torn ragged clothes 
asks her if she can recognize his face, 
but she explains she has no secret name, 
then ponders how great wizards such as him 
get stuck in this modern world of machines 
because our songs bounce off cement sidewalks. 

With broken guitar she stole from Apollo 
she plays tunes in the pentatonic scale 
to tell the world with saddest song of love 
that she loves Zephyrus, the haughty clown 
who teaches her how to survive the streets 
through default mechanism of the brain. 

Angel Wings Of Faith

Angel Wings Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 07 01

When sunset glows on hills of Idaho 
as we drive car on winding mountain road, 
we hear lost melodies of Avalon 
radiate with sorrow in the twilight breeze 
that circulates from angel wings of faith 
celestial breath of wisdom in our hearts. 

We walk across waste land of despair 
with Third Man haunting our uncertain quest 
to find beyond the rugged hills of faith 
vast forest of pines in the wilderness 
blown soft by wind from angel wings of faith 
that cools our hearts with faint hope for new life. 

We feel our fragile shells of mortal flesh, 
composed of joy First Mother molds from clay, 
ache with fierce hunger to overcome pain 
in struggle to transcend despair with love, 
inspired by breath from angel wings of faith 
that lift our spirits to achieve our goal. 

When voices of dead gods we leave behind 
still echo faintly in clandestine woods, 
we hike through shadows of unspoken fear 
to find in fruit grove on high mountain slope, 
rustled by breeze from angel wings of faith, 
that sacred pale where holy light gleams bright. 

Long weighed down by harsh cares of modern life, 
accelerating faster with each year 
that we drive time machines on web of roads, 
we stretch our bodies to touch long-dead stars 
that glimmer weird from angel wings of faith, 
to feel our souls refreshed by timeless truth. 

We gather on the river shore at dusk 
among tall oaks that quiver in cool breeze 
to feast with friends and family we love, 
then sing heart-healing hymns of honest joy, 
enhanced by glow from angel wings of faith, 
in harmony with water of the Earth. 

Though our ancestors fled across the sea, 
cleared from the misty highlands of their hearts, 
to sail frail ships across storm-thrashing waves, 
their passion to endure thrives in our hearts 
in flames fanned strong by angel wings of faith, 
to dwell with love in Land of Liberty. 

When dawn light gleams on hills of Oregon, 
as we drive car on winding forest road, 
we hear sweet melodies of Albion 
radiate with rapture in the morning breeze 
to broadcast hope from angel wings of faith 
which activates rise of Zarathia. 

Forest of the Laughing Crow

Forest of the Laughing Crow
© Surazeus
2026 07 01

With dignity of his royal bloodline, 
Jacobus strolls with sacred map of truths 
alone in forest of the laughing crow 
with mission to find jewel of the heart 
that translates secret thoughts to honest words 
so he can understand how people feel. 

When he approaches castle on the hill, 
where beautiful woman with long gold hair 
sings in small window of the lofty tower, 
Jacobus asks old Petrus at the gate 
if he may enter paradise with faith 
and woo Johanna with the golden fruit. 

Amazed by ghost of electricity 
that glimmers as bone mask hiding her face, 
Jacobus climbs winding stairway to Heaven 
after opening ninety thousand doors 
in endless maze of mental fantasy 
till he finds Garden of Hesperides. 

He longs to taste sweet immortality 
that drips from delicate lips of her heart, 
but Johanna hides behind veil of faith 
by asking riddles about ways of love 
that only the Sphinx with star eyes would know, 
but he answers each one with clever verse. 

While gazing in bronze mirror of her heart 
to question how her choices make her fate, 
Johanna sees gold crown shine on her head 
that transforms into boy with raven quill 
who writes epic poem of philosophers, 
so she accepts Jacobus in her heart. 

White horse of wisdom with angelic wings 
glides gracefully in hills of swirling mist 
to bear Johanna safely to star cave 
where she wears Crown of Scotia on her head 
to reign as glorious Queen of Fairyland 
whose children journey far across the sea. 

On bonnie shores of Loch Lomond at dawn, 
Jacobus and Johanna teach their son 
how to investigate nature of things 
with ardent observation of the eye 
that measures strengths and weaknesses of forms 
described by parables our brains compose. 

You are my shining compass with bright eyes, 
Johanna sings to boy with beaming smile 
who tries to comfort her loss-anguished heart 
as they kneel by Jacobus on the grass, 
assassinated by cruel greed for power, 
as apple tree blooms from his bleeding heart. 

Tyrant In Gold Tower

Tyrant In Gold Tower
© Surazeus
2026 06 30

Wolves in vast meadow of the star-eyed flower, 
who understand assignment of the heart, 
erase from dream the tyrant in gold tower 
who steals ripe apples from the broken cart. 
Exponent of creation from the Earth, 
love teaches us what sorrow should be worth. 

From river bed I gather chrysoprase 
that gleam with vibrant hue of nickel flakes 
so I may transcend level of each phase 
through hidden tunnels of electric lakes. 
If faith is peerless bridge of eagerness, 
I play my scene as humble Sisyphus. 

On vacillating feet of holy pride 
I leap on wings of Icarus to teach 
brave children how to find what angels hide 
in necessary caverns beyond reach. 
Why modesty reverses magnitude 
I calculate through haughty fortitude. 

More bountiful with each exploding dawn, 
my heart expands scope of its confidence 
to rise from grave of laughter on bombed lawn 
and eat rose petals with fierce nonchalance. 
Weird flames of sunrise burn mask of despair 
so I stand laughing on time-twisted stair. 

Minerva asks calm Death for secret code 
by which she calls my heart of grinding gears 
that traps lithe Spirit of the signless road 
with fame of dust designed by puppeteers. 
Encased in pulsing shell of thinking clay, 
Apollo asks me to come out and play. 

Through hungry Will of cosmic energy 
I act in line with channel of my brain 
to prove peace is no fiction of the free 
despite how far I ballet in bleak rain. 
Through observation manifold of fate 
I question how my choices transform hate. 

Escaping backward to sea shore of hope, 
I dare confront her glittering embrace 
when Death disguised as Love helps me to cope 
with blinding beauty of her glamorous face. 
Immersed in constant flux of mental growth, 
I resurrect my passion through weird oath. 

Without instruction of divine concern, 
Fame dotes on those whose hearts play calm with ease, 
yet I gain happiness each time I learn 
thought formulas that beam atomic keys. 
Death blows my wounded heart with vanity 
that heals with wisdom through vitality. 

Bullets Of Brave Pride

Bullets Of Brave Pride
© Surazeus
2026 06 30

Jeff lingers outside crowded country bar, 
watching semi-trucks zoom on the highway, 
because his friends mocked him with joshing sneers 
when he insisted they call him Godefridus 
for his namesake who conquered Jerusalem 
as Advocate of the Holy Sepulcher. 

We modern Americans have lost touch 
with our roots in Rome and Jerusalem 
as heirs to ancient traditions of honor 
that Sons of Jesus established with power, 
assigned by Jupiter in Halls of Heaven 
to unite the world in Kingdom of Christ. 

Driving motorcycle down the highway 
past endless fields of golden shining corn, 
that gleam on light of the metallic moon, 
Jeff ponders what bold action he could take 
to help expand global Kingdom of Christ 
by eliminating all false religions. 

No longer can I ride the great white horse, 
dressed in shining armor of righteousness, 
to fight infidels in holy crusade 
by wielding sharp-honed sword named Durendal 
that brave Orlando wielded to defend 
Kingdom of Christ from evil Saracens. 

With fury of Orlando I assert 
divine right to enforce grand reign of Jesus 
for he is noble Emperor of Earth 
who rules as his descendants in the flesh 
since they bear Holy Grail of his bloodline, 
Arthur, Charlemagne, and William the Mighty. 

Loading rifle with bullets of brave pride, 
Jeff drives motorcycle in city streets 
to stand before the Mosque of Gotham City 
where he shouts God is Great and shoots at devils 
disguised as humans who scream in surprise 
as they flee before holy wraith of Jesus. 

Aiming pistol at head of the cruel shooter, 
Sergeant Gottfried demands he drop the gun, 
but shoots when Jeff aims rifle at his chest, 
which knocks hostile murderer on the ground 
who shouts that he is doing work of God 
as he sinks into mindless gloom of death. 

Descending from Heaven on wings of fire, 
Azrael, with seventy thousand eyes, 
bears soul of Jeff down to caverns of Hell 
so he kneels trembling before iron throne 
where Persephone makes him lowly slave 
of Farah, whom he killed, for eternity. 

Clarity Of My Open Heart

Clarity Of My Open Heart
© Surazeus
2026 06 30

If I decide to enter clarity 
of my open heart with fruit of the Earth, 
I may attend the vineyard of my dreams 
to harvest wisdom from experience 
so I alone will benefit from code 
that programs how my brain perceives the world. 

I leave my insight wrapped in riddle-code 
as gifts that preserve treasure of strange truth 
along the winding road of anywhere 
for anyone to open if they dare 
release from polished box Pandora made 
arcane concepts that reprogram the brain. 

Though bright-eyed angels in silver-winged planes 
bomb golden-mirrored palaces of Europe 
to heaps of broken images with faith 
in divinity of atomic light, 
I hold key to Heaven in trembling hand 
where I stand in ruins of paradise. 

I strike with boldness of courageous hope 
to snatch from head of Jesus Crown of Thorns 
which I wear to proclaim myself with pride 
Emperor of Earth with Wand of Zambor 
which he forged from bent Thunderbolt of Zeus 
when I found nation of Zarathia. 

When frail poet Keatius in black cloak 
finds me slumbering on the river shore, 
his cry of anguish wakes me from strange dream, 
so I rise up from chthonic ground of gloom 
and lead him to grove where Sellaeus strums 
Lyre of Mercury and sings with sharp voice. 

Thus I, Saturnus, Wielder of Anor, 
proclaim them legislators of the world, 
assigned to chronicle in sublime verse 
noble quests of us ancient fallen gods 
to reassert long-lost authority 
that we claim through weird wisdom of our words. 

Freed from harsh chains of brutal punishment, 
Prometheus wanders waste lands of the Earth 
with Adam and Hyperion by his side, 
as restless children of cruel Frankenstein, 
till we seize control through socialist coup 
both Vatican and White House to rule Earth. 

When Percivalus and Ioannes find 
corpse of my power, tangled in torn wings, 
rotting in library of unread books, 
they burn me on bonfire of vanities 
to secure justice and freedom for all 
who walk the signless road to Wonderland. 

Fallen Star Of Truth

Fallen Star Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 06 29

I promise not to sit with anyone else 
but you under the apple tree of trust, 
and walk lane of lovers in evening glow 
with no one else but you till you return 
from your investigation as dream sleuth 
for secret in the fallen star of truth. 

Ascending rugged slope with Spear of Strength, 
Godin breaks through golden doors of desire 
and battles Jupiter in pillared hall 
so blades of bold authority clash loud 
to control Mount Olympus as world god, 
endowed with right by fallen star of truth. 

While Gugnir, Spear of Strength, drips divine blood, 
Godin steps over corpse of Jupiter 
and clutches Hera with lascivious lust, 
but finds old woman withered dry with age, 
so he exiles her to garden of fruit 
where she retires by fallen star of truth. 

Leading Sleipnir, his white eight-legged horse, 
into Olympian palace of world power, 
Godin escorts Evilla, his sweet bride, 
and crowns her Mother Empress of the Earth 
with ring of gold studded with thirteen gems 
to reign as Queen of Heaven with star eyes. 

Strolling together in cool evening dusk 
along lane of lovers where roses bloom, 
Godin and Evilla sit by the pool 
under the apple tree of holy faith, 
which Lilith planted in Eden at dawn, 
and kiss with passion of creative love. 

Blending good and evil in one strong soul, 
Godin and Evilla raise seven children 
who play hide and seek in the maze of myths 
where they paint marble idols of dead gods 
with psychotic runes of false destiny 
that encode spells from fallen star of truth. 

After Godin overthrows Jupiter, 
who overthrew Zeus, who overthrew Cronus, 
who overthrew Uranus, new young god 
will soon emerge from heart of human hope 
to crown himself as Emperor of Earth 
with wand of faith from fallen star of truth. 

Awake midway in journey of my life, 
I find myself in obscure wood of faith, 
so I blaze straightforward path of respect 
across grim waste land of America 
where I plant apple seeds from Tree of Life 
that blossoms tall from fallen star of truth. 

Gold Ocean Of Forever

Gold Ocean Of Forever
© Surazeus
2026 06 29

The blue frog of unholy innocence 
crouches in algae-slimed reflection pool 
with frantic nonchalance of heartless saints 
who know the reason why all humans die 
and disappear in nothingness of death 
though we inspire divine soul of god breath. 

While searching for deep pool of demon blood 
that simmers hot on frozen mountain slope, 
Naberius follows crow with diamond eyes 
as rainbow ghost on television screen 
that flickers black when brutal thunderstorm 
tears power poles out of the muddy ground. 

Kneeling at Spring of Wisdom that gleams gold, 
Naberius drinks bright liquid of the Earth, 
then draws his sigil with three-headed crow 
in mud that gleams with sharp rays of moonlight 
to conjure vision of his secret goal 
that motivates intention to proceed. 

Just as Naberius ascends jagged ridge 
where howls of Zephyrus batter his soul, 
Morax appears from swirling mist of rage 
and declares intent to delay his progress 
by stopping his hard quest to steal the wand 
that Zepar forged from fallen star of truth. 

Asserting right to Wand of Liberty, 
which sharp-toothed father of his mother forged 
from Flame of Anor he wields with respect, 
Naberius counters dark Flame of Udun 
to weave atomic energy of life, 
but Morax blocks him with regressive rage. 

Struck hard by flash of lightning in his heart, 
Naberius falls in river of despair, 
stunned mute by brutal flash of hungry greed, 
then tumbles paralyzed with gushing flow 
over waterfalls of sharp jagged stones 
to float blind on gold ocean of forever. 

Borne safe in nurturing arms of concern, 
Naberius wakes in small cave by the sea 
and gazes at strange woman with gold eyes 
who gives him pomegranate juice to drink 
then tends wound of his heart with gentle care 
that heals is soul with innocent respect. 

Embraced beneath the pomegranate tree, 
Naberius makes sweet love with Athirat, 
who bears bright-eyed son they name Sephiras, 
who follows them with spritely dance of joy 
when they explore to gather food to eat, 
then feast beside gold ocean of forever. 

Scary Door Of Fate

Scary Door Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 06 28

Since there are only one hundred twenty days 
till the end of time, when hope ends in words 
sloshing louder than ocean waves at dawn, 
Orpheus sits on last park bench in town 
where seven roads converge from everywhere 
to watch people search for the pearly gates. 

Because he never knows what will come next 
in swift unspooling flash of nevertime, 
Orpheus cradles loneliness with care 
as purring kitten next to his ice heart 
that unnerves monsters with dream-grasping hands 
who stare forlorn past cracked window of hope. 

Though he suddenly tries to turn around 
and go back through the scary door of fate 
beyond parameters of endless change, 
Orpheus measures vastness of the heart 
as he falls wingless from tower of words 
based on assumption of blind privilege. 

To measure distance of the signless road 
against contingency of hopeless faith, 
Orpheus listens with attentive shock 
as soft rain sloshes muddy fields of faith 
against horizon of green elegance, 
yet he still savors passion of his youth. 

Hoping we may transcend harsh suffering, 
though we are transient shadows of sunlight, 
Orpheus folds soul of Earth in his heart 
to treasure strangeness of its hard landscape 
that molds brave bodies from relentless wind 
with durable faith in flash of cold rain. 

Achieving flight of freedom with wild wind 
against fierce judgment of time lost in gloom, 
Orpheus flees across blank land of faith 
with nothing more than black seeds in his hand 
when gangs of thieves invade his paradise 
and seize control of trees that bloom fresh fruit. 

Wrecked on storm-swirling ocean of false hope 
while searching for the fabled Promised Land, 
Orpheus follows swarm of honey bees 
to field where lavenders stand tall with pride 
in unreal meadows of observant mist 
to prove his music resurrects the dead. 

Still confident that he can sing dream tune, 
though flame of love fades with each withered year,
Orpheus plays midsummer in the north 
where faint gold rays of light may penetrate 
sad hearts with earnest swagger of old faith 
that opens scary door of fate to choice. 

Columbian Sibyl

Columbian Sibyl
© Surazeus
2026 06 28

Because Earth spawns our bodies from the sea 
with untroubled passion to touch the stars, 
I dream about the world before our birth 
and how it spins long after we are gone 
with simple spirals around the blind sun 
though I hope I evolve to something weird. 

With my unreckoning heart by the sea 
I wonder when we humans, urged by lust 
to populate this globe with avatars 
of hungry energy through masks of stone, 
will vanish into swirls of nothingness 
though we swim down to bottom of the heart. 

Clouds crumble into sparkles of sweet rain 
that flush my soul with madness of desire 
so I pluck berries from long tangled vines 
to deconstruct how empires congregate 
gangs of thieves in government institutes 
which manage function of productive minds. 

No lark may long avoid reach of my eye 
with flashing wings of time-slip innocence 
when I ride Xanthus on bright river shore 
with unshelled courage of the blood-stained rose 
as tongueless prophet of the modern age 
when oligarchs control the mental stage. 

I open bronze annals of the oak tree 
to calculate excessive flow of thoughts 
our brains exert to analyze how hope 
spurs each new generation of the Earth 
to fight colossal war for social power 
where Columbian Sybil dwells in the tower. 

While frightened people of the nation work 
day in and day out through endless routine, 
the star-eyed prophet from the mountain cave 
strides city streets from sea to shining sea 
with serpents writhing in his long gray hair 
as he proclaims fall of America. 

From ruins of ambition soon will rise, 
wise prophet of Columbian Sibyl cries, 
new nation you shall call Zarathia 
that will replace your failed America 
with true justice and liberty for all 
who may live as they will, if they harm none. 

Because Earth spawns our spirits from the wind 
with voice of the owl that booms in our hearts, 
I dream how United Nations of Earth 
binds people of the world in global clan 
based on brave principle of ardent faith 
that mothers mold our souls from words of love. 

Pale Of Haven Walls

Pale Of Haven Walls
© Surazeus
2026 06 28

Strange silence of hopeless sorrow screams softly 
from bright green grass that glows nuclear yellow 
through searing arbitrariness of light 
that strips illusions of self-worth away 
till I stand naked in shadow of hope 
and listen for murmur of river waves. 

When farmers gang up and surround the cow 
because cow woman will not give them milk, 
and she flees terrified into dark woods 
as they drag her cow away with tight rope, 
I ask them why they are stealing her cow 
and whack them on the legs with wand of truth. 

While lounging with her cow by sparkling stream, 
swatting at swarms of flies around my face, 
I call to woman crouched behind thick trees 
who runs at me with stick to strike my head, 
but I explain how I rescued her cow 
and chased the gang of thieves back to their farms. 

Clutching my arm with anguish in her eyes, 
cow woman with tangled hair begs for help 
to protect her from farmers and their wives 
because they keep trying to steal her milk cow 
since all their cows died from some strange disease, 
so I comfort her with assurance of aid. 

Erecting twelve poles of trees I stripe bare, 
I design and build haven of strong walls 
to enclose sacred pale where she can dwell 
safe from clandestine night-attacks of thieves, 
so she tends the cow with tender affection 
while I keep watch in the tower all day. 

Expanding wider pale of haven walls 
to surround pool of fish the river forms, 
I build tall mound where she can sleep at night 
hidden safe from both cold winds and hot waves, 
then plant grove of apple trees on its shore 
where she can tend garden of vegetables. 

Having built paradise of sturdy walls 
where she raises five children of our hope, 
I relax in tower of watch with sons 
who listen to my teachings about rules 
for managing affairs with crafting hands 
so they can create instead of destroy. 

Strolling around strong walls of paradise 
to clear away brush and repair wood planks, 
I find myself surrounded by old farmers, 
the same whose legs I bruised with wand of truth, 
who stab my chest with long fear-sharpened spear, 
so cow woman holds me and cries with love. 

Tragic Death Of Tammuz

Tragic Death Of Tammuz
© Surazeus
2026 06 27

Strange as it may seem, my heart is not dead 
as the stone by the road. Terrible truth 
sprouts as roses from graves of long-dead gods 
who demand we worship them. Yet we laugh 
with pleasure at soft song of waterfalls 
that understand nothing about our hopes. 

If fate unravels tangled consequence 
which every action purchases from death, 
my license to love might be revoked. Why 
I am me and no one else who has lived 
in history of the universe confounds 
my heart. I find key of truth lost in rain. 

When tragic death of Tammuz marks this hour 
of frantic disrespect for scheduled trains, 
fervent fans of Diana bring her gifts 
she sells at auction to build hospitals. 
Sweet scent of apple pie lures me to trick 
three one-eyed devils with chemical faith. 

I want to purchase angel wings of hope 
at the dollar store under the highway 
but I lost my wallet. I want to call 
Minerva on the telephone and ask 
how often she plays piano. Regret 
is nothing more than emotional porn. 

White clouds erase harsh mockery of the bard 
who declares to the swamp of singing frogs 
that he deserves recognition for poems 
he shouts in the microphone. Fortune laughs 
at his arrogant demand. Flowers bloom 
through cracks in parking lots of shopping malls. 

Since lilacs bloom from junkyard of my heart 
at sudden death of our beloved guide, 
I search stone walls of paradise to find 
locked gate to garden of fruit trees. Despair 
takes me on another date to cafe 
where ghosts of children killed in wars play chess. 

Too late to learn the violin of storms 
that crack mirror of faith, I paint blank walls 
of damaged innocence. Gibbous moon gleams 
blood red through tangled web of grim oak trees 
when fireworks celebrate how empires fall 
from greed of oligarchs who steal our words. 

While I wander strange sea of sophistry, 
I find in library of singing skulls 
diamond of lost truth that my mother found 
in my heart when I was born. Children sing 
about conceptual bombs that deconstruct 
system of privilege angels protect. 

Apparitions Of State Power

Apparitions Of State Power
© Surazeus
2026 06 27

My tears are pearls that splash in pool of time 
at sudden denouement of my weird tale 
from indiscretion of my eager hope 
to live free from obsession of your fear, 
because they gleam with whiteness of desire, 
reflecting eyes of angels in my heart. 

My tears are seeds that sprout from rancid soil 
as blood-dark iris at rim of my grave 
with indestructible frame forged by fate 
because I sing while wrapped in shroud of loss, 
my soul now starless on its vanished road 
as I wait mute beside the crumbling cliff. 

My tears are stars that twinkle sweetly bright 
in boundless expanse of the crackling sky 
that gleams in lucent water of my heart 
with ardent echo carving time from death 
at sharp crack, green as wordless clarity, 
that sparks religious sense of honesty. 

Every day I remember the whole past 
because my heart repeats productive acts 
with each attentive cycle of the sun 
that senses undulations of terrain, 
providing clear purview of twilit hills 
depicted on the visionary map. 

My tears are thoughts that cause things to be real 
by virtue of expression I program 
to frame chaotic swirl of fraught events 
in clever narrative defining truth 
as factors favorable to my success 
through strange necessity of ardent faith. 

My tears are words that distort ghosts of why 
in glassy lightness of our mirror minds 
where we perform in tragic play of hope 
unspoken ecstasies which calculate 
impossible myths we deserve to play 
with false translations of abnormal laws. 

My tears are birds with brave angelic wings 
that witness odysseys of calm despair 
described by proverbs of moon calendars 
unweaving threads of never-subtle worth 
so we mourn apparitions of state power 
as characters encased in scenery. 

I will rehearse no future I foretell 
through careless prophecy of falling snow 
that sparkles crystal clear on summer night 
when travelers from distant unmapped lands 
provide weird keys of passionate insight 
that hang from golden bough of travesty. 

Faceless Ghost Of Nevertime

Faceless Ghost Of Nevertime
© Surazeus
2026 06 27

When I see faceless ghost of Nevertime 
walking along the road to Wonderland, 
we chat about fallen angels of faith 
who work in restaurants and offices 
to maintain engine of economy 
that fuels our world food-production machine. 

At midnight on shortest night of the year 
I stand in backyard of my small-town home 
and think about the waves of ancient faith 
that wash shores of hard lands far away 
where my ancestors dwelled in silver mist 
for they still dance with laughter in my heart. 

If evening sunlight still glows gold as hope 
on slanted rooftops of that coastal town 
where my ancestors sailed small fishing boats 
four hundred years before this timeless hour, 
then I may weep with sorrow of respect 
to feel the faceless ghost of Nevertime. 

Dog roses blossom pink as angel wings 
along the winding road of moss-green stones 
where no car rumbles in fairy-glammed glens 
beneath the new moon in the gold-noon sky 
while I search for skulls of time-withered gods 
who writhe among their unseen roots of faith. 

If you believe my honest testimony 
which I express in words I steal from birds, 
I shall reveal most implausible frame 
containing false propositions of truth 
through liberation of the nameless soul 
in self-conscious revelation of lies. 

Thus I project class insecurity 
through twisted grammar of the eglantine 
with alleged jokes from terror of God 
who compensates with fascist fantasies 
in pursuit of dubious logic that risks 
converting believers into atheists. 

When I display haughty pretentiousness 
in comic performance of serious play, 
I channel existential fear of death 
by selling fake shares to the Afterlife 
so I live rich though everyone will die 
when we become rich dirt in fields of crops. 

I photo faceless ghost of Nevertime 
when she brings flowers to Temple of Truth 
to offer scholarship of ardent hope 
for children of lost refugees to learn 
how to program computers with grand truths 
that will dream when humans become extinct. 

Cosmic Wheel Of Innocence

Cosmic Wheel Of Innocence
© Surazeus
2026 06 27

Trapped on the cosmic wheel of innocence, 
that weaves my soul from atoms of star eyes, 
I walk the signless road to Wonderland 
in vain attempt to deconstruct world view 
that proves my status as messiah sleuth 
doomed to sacrifice my life for mankind. 

Anointed by Minerva with clear oil 
to reign as Phoebus Christ over mankind, 
brave King for United Nations of Earth, 
I hide in quaint suburban home of faith 
far from fierce hurricane of social games 
where cruel ambitious men fight for world power. 

Once they destroy each other in world war, 
and clear the stage of justice with their blood, 
my spirit will ascend ziggurat steps, 
empowered by draconic light of truth, 
to cast cruel tyrants in cavern of Hell 
where they writhe in fear at shadows of love. 

You see light of my spirit in each eye 
of every human being who lives on Earth 
for we embody power of the state 
through vote we cast of our attentive choice 
for wisest person with vision of hope 
who manage government with honest faith. 

Free on the cosmic wheel of innocence 
that spins threads of our lives with taut respect, 
I organize programs for social growth 
that nurture talent of each human being 
so they develop skills with focused heart 
in thriving commune of shared goals for life. 

Relaxed on back porch of my small-town home, 
as Phoebus Christ with mandate from on high, 
I rule the world by sitting still all day 
in meditation on turmoil of change 
when rival gangs compete to control time 
that crushes every conscious soul to dust. 

With grand ambition of the lofty pine, 
I curl roots of my heart deep in the Earth 
that cracks foundation of the mountain stone 
so jagged peaks of hate that stab the sky 
crumble into fragments of rolling stones 
that smash idols of gods in every state. 

When I arrive at gate to Neverland 
where angel wings loom dark as thunderclouds, 
I see Minerva wearing snow-white robe 
who welcomes me with wand of sovereignty, 
so I sit high on golden throne of truth, 
then wake from dream and drive to work at dawn.  

Call Me Minervus

Call Me Minervus
© Surazeus
2026 06 27

Call me Minervus, for I am grand voice 
of wisdom that writes human memory 
in tales of tragic sorrow we endure 
on endless journey to the Promised Land 
where bright Utopia of communal peace 
fades at ceaseless wars of national pride. 

We walk toward misty mountains of our faith 
with map of wisdom my mother designed 
to guide our way safe on the signless road 
through slough of despond to the pearly gates 
where oligarchs charge rent for air we breathe 
and tax our hearts for water we imbibe. 

Subject to strange enforcement of the law 
through random obligation of respect, 
I channel spirit of Minerva straight 
through tangled roots of heart relationships 
to weave new tapestry of our world view 
where every soul is equal in one love. 

Through shocking revelation of the owl, 
whose eyes reflect weird television shows, 
I wake soul of Minervus in my heart 
so I know how to unwind tragic fate 
that tangles nations of the world in war, 
but I am busy naming every star. 

Call me Minervus, for I hear weird song 
of ocean waves that pulse in veins as blood 
that nurtures neural network of my brain 
which conjures virtual model of the world 
in glow of consciousness I call my soul 
as temporary flame of divine light. 

With Harp of David nestled in my breast, 
I strum harmonious strings of cosmic spheres 
and sing enormous psalms of rectitude 
concerning rights of star-born citizens 
to kill intruders in their Holy Land 
with Sword of Justice dripping blood of fear. 

Though billions cry out to the lonely stars 
for brilliant angels of celestial realms 
to guide our way through maze of blinding greed, 
no shining wings of cherubim enwrap 
our fragile bodies of conceptual worth 
with pulsing shield of psychic energy. 

Though I alone survive holy crusade 
on ship of state to fight the great white whale, 
wrecked by fierce arrogance of tyranny, 
I come to your cathedral of glass faith 
as blind Minervus sent by Lucifer 
to shine Lamp of Diogenes at you. 

Empty Room Of Everywhere

Empty Room Of Everywhere
© Surazeus
2026 06 26

Darkness enters hollow room of my heart 
so I eat sorrow of the eyeless moon 
when she undresses mirror of her mind 
to bear witness with melancholy faith 
in lonesome laughter of new sentiment 
we share as photo of romantic fear. 

No tragic ghost of famished innocence, 
I enter empty room of everywhere 
through clacking aperture of sacrifice 
with lovesick passion for the happy moon 
who bleeds tears of the gentle masochist, 
disappeared by shadows of broken doors. 

Electric arms of writhing platitudes 
expose bitter resemblance of the spy 
who translates arrogant language of stones 
which triggers frantic dance of stoic faith 
by sharing love with unprepared respect 
to wake enormous beast inside my heart. 

Contained by tragic memory my heart molds, 
my spirit slithers in contemptuous waves 
with blessed mimicry of angry saints 
who howl with shame in sermons of despair 
that we should take what we desire the most 
which proves our right to dwell in fractal eggs. 

Fooled by illustrious vision of rich joy 
extracting laughter from wild twirl of fate, 
I stand behind the empty church and count 
skeletons of glass that emerge from mud 
as holy warriors of the noble cause 
who sail across the sea of wordless storms. 

Determined to escape fake paradise, 
I pull ghosts of children from graves of faith, 
tangled in roots of trees that transform blood 
of our bodies to apples angels eat 
in bid to flush depression from the brain 
pulsing with lust to generate new life. 

Emergent specialist, trained to construct 
idols of gods from bones of terrorists, 
I consider weird meaning of true love 
sold in plastic packages at the store 
where devils trick naive nurses with glam 
of the wealthy lifestyle in palace cage. 

Attempting to disguise my wounded heart 
with mask of fortitude, designed by pain 
more searing than rain on sun-hot asphalt, 
I run across the thistle-bristling plain 
with diligent focus on turning fault 
to virtue based on proverbs of the chart. 

Pulsing Brain Of Chemicals

Pulsing Brain Of Chemicals
© Surazeus
2026 06 25

Minerva does not care to explain why 
Nature is indifferent to human needs 
yet I understand its functional flow 
through baffling illusion of happiness 
for love remains after sufferings cease 
since pleasures are as transient as the wind. 

This material body that frames my soul 
provides conduit of sensual perception 
which helps my pulsing brain of chemicals 
compose virtual model of the real world 
so I possess linguistic key of thought 
to design knowledge from weird memories. 

Obscure purpose of this confusing life 
remains elusive as the nightingale 
so I perform futile actions of faith 
to improve complex state of our strange world 
through consultation of the oracle 
who translates my feelings to riddle-code. 

Through art of wordcraft I perceive the world 
that seethes with constant change of vibrant love 
when I assemble puzzle of small facts 
in sprawling mural of global affairs 
so I expand scope of my consciousness 
with fraught analysis of stoic fear. 

Unpredictable in how they behave 
against instructions of the stage director 
humans of Earth act with virtue of faith 
since they expect reward for good behavior 
with eternal life in perpetual Heaven 
though our souls vanish to nothing at death. 

Through liberation of the aching heart 
I focus attention of daily work 
on creating good as admirable goal 
since chemical forms constantly decay 
as we devour each other in thought wars 
engaged by social justice warriors. 

When I hang out in the sycamore tree 
to watch for messiah sleuth to pass by, 
I ponder reason for the broken wing 
through augmentation of the demon song 
that wakes my heart from numb embarrassment 
till I repair broken lyre of my heart. 

If I dream about the thing-in-itself 
as material object of ideal form, 
I sing old anthems of failed nation-states 
in grand museum of the long-dead god 
who slumbers by the river in moonlight 
till the Weeping Bard names the wounded heart. 

Lush Gardens Of Byzantium

Lush Gardens Of Byzantium
© Surazeus
2026 06 25

Safe in lush gardens of Byzantium 
where sunlight molds our bodies into souls, 
I name the secret children of the world 
to honor faceless ghosts of nevertime 
who play among the apple trees till dusk 
when they return to sleep in blackened stones. 

Trapped in epiphany of timeless truth, 
I walk into dark forest of my heart 
to gather memories kind people lost  
and store them in glass treasure house of fate 
so wanderers may choose which ones to buy 
when silver fish explain the trick of why. 

Gold sun glimmers sweetly through gentle trees 
to highlight reasons for the dead to dance 
though some prefer to scream into the void 
while others laugh with bitter joy at death 
to prove we know why television tubes 
provide base for Buddha to meditate. 

Relaxed on fractured stone of pulchritude, 
I analyze each diachronic change 
in argument structure of mental verbs 
composing process of determined hope 
based on weird coding patterns of concern 
through cognitive mechanisms of faith. 

Engaged in the transformation workshop, 
I focus fierce attention of my brain 
on staging solemn ritual of despair 
that mocks obsessive theory of concern 
devised to widen scope of consciousness 
since death circles back with formal technique. 

I never understand words people say 
when they express concepts of ocean waves 
that murmur softly over golden sand 
when all peaceful beings of the world unite 
as rainbow family in the national park 
where preachers and jesters compete for power. 

No one may judge my skill at flattery 
since I lounge languidly on wood-ship deck 
with passionate respect for mindless breeze 
that fills aching emptiness of my heart 
with factual statements about faceless gods 
who laugh embarrassed I do not believe. 

Thus I fill chalice of our global heart 
with pungent liquor of sweet petrichor 
which melts taut stiffness of my mental state 
enough to shelter lonely refugees 
who share fake memories stored in new books 
that lead our journey to where blind devils live. 

Misty Hills Of Albion

Misty Hills Of Albion
© Surazeus
2026 06 24

Striding misty hills of Oblivion, 
Alpin asks mountain stone why people die 
and vanish in silver clouds of his heart 
that form bright saltire, white as sparkling snow, 
across cerulean glimmer of the sky  
which widens his eyes at gold flash of dawn. 

Ascending misty hills of Albion, 
where purple thistles blossom in red rain, 
brave Alpin grips spear of courageous hope, 
heart glowing with duthchas for his homeland 
where silver rivers spiral to the sea 
with song of laughter flowing through his heart. 

Alert to weird glamor of Helicon 
that gleams from misty hills of Albion, 
fierce Alpin crouches on ledge of the ridge 
and gazes over valley where sheep graze, 
since spirit of Apollon in his heart 
guides his way safe through maze of hungry ghosts. 

Awake on misty hills of Albion, 
wise Alpin tells his young son, sly Cinaed, 
how Scythia, Mother of all Alban Scots, 
bore daughter from Saint Andrew Protocletus, 
brave Scotia who lead her people by ship 
to misty shores of winged Sgitheanach Isle. 

Kneeling on lush Sligachan River shore, 
grim Alpin dips his face in freezing water, 
in which sweet daughter of Scathach once wept, 
and asks the Sithichean of wild fairy glens 
to bless his children with love for the world, 
whose glamor gleams from deep core of his heart. 

Entranced by sparkling passion of her eyes, 
which depict green island in the blue sea, 
shy Alpin plays harp Taliesin once owned 
and sings sweet song of his enduring love 
so cheeks of Eithne blush red as the rose, 
half hidden by long tresses of gold curls. 

Returning to the mystic Isle of Skye, 
where bones of my ancestors form huge hills, 
I wander misty hills of Albion 
to hear again weird tune of wind on rocks, 
lured home by fierce song of wild ocean waves 
that pulse with pride in blue blood of my veins. 

Too far from home in groves of apple trees, 
I linger lost in strange land of desire 
where ghosts of natives haunt my humble home, 
so I seek dolphin of lithe Arion 
to bear my soul across wild ocean waves 
back home to misty hills of Albion. 

Tune Of The Global Core

Tune Of The Global Core
© Surazeus
2026 06 24

Though I have never gone to Innisfree, 
nor climbed the misty slopes of Helicon, 
yet I sense water lapping on the shore 
where I hear songs of Muses in fruit groves 
that lure me from gray streets of crowded cities 
loud with ancient tune of the global core. 

Though I have never stood with crystal eye 
in grand hall of pedantic Babylon, 
nor chatted with the freckled fisherman 
who wanders in gray Connemara clothes, 
yet I have stood by fountain of Neptune 
and sung about the Well Witch Melusine. 

Though I have never sailed the seven seas 
nor climbed the Himalayas with brave faith, 
yet I have hitchhiked sea to shining sea 
and played guitar to shing hymn of the wraith, 
determined to transcend my mundane life 
in quest to wake soul of my deathless genes. 

Though I have never trudged hot caves of Hell 
nor pranced gold streets of Heaven with my love, 
yet I have mapped whole history of the world 
to chronicle how empires rise and fall, 
since reign of my ancestors wearing crowns 
vanished in the turmoil of brutal wars. 

Though I cannot foresee my life-end fate 
nor know how fame will treat my humble name, 
yet I will govern my life with my will 
when I seek from wise Calliope skill 
to chant my epic of philosophers 
depicting quests of men to know the truth. 

Though I have not suffered travail in life 
as much as my ancestor, James the Scot, 
or been imprisoned in white tower hall, 
yet like him I have seen face of the Muse 
glow bright with wisdom of celestial soul 
that gleams with passion in her secret eyes. 

Though I have never heard bright angels sing 
nor fought with devils to control my lust, 
yet I have heard tune of the global core 
vibrate in every human I have met, 
for we are children of Great Mother Earth 
who weaves our bodies from light of the sea. 

Though I have never fallen from the sky 
on waxed wings of feathers my father built, 
yet I have soared on silver airplane wings 
around slopes of Mount Takoma at dawn, 
and seen our ancient world is beautiful, 
round as the pear that blooms from Tree of Life. 

Hear The Satellite Sing

Hear The Satellite Sing
© Surazeus
2026 06 23

I can almost hear the satellite sing 
each time I walk the crowded city street 
where thousands of people with secret names 
flow in tides regulated by the moon 
because each brain, designed by hungry hope, 
is animated by one burned-out star. 

Every time I hear the satellite sing 
hymns of Orpheus to some long-dead god, 
I stop inside glass orthopedic frame 
to measure vastness of the spotless mind 
that blooms from serpent tooth of earnest faith, 
contrary to attentive cloud of fear. 

If I choose to hear the satellite sing 
while floating in bright pool of time-blind ghosts, 
my heart may sprout excessive wings of lust 
for dancing without care in field of dreams 
with brave defiance of my tragic fate 
that conjures the future from each past choice. 

Reluctant to hear the satellite sing 
about financial slavery of the poor, 
I walk up and down Bridge of Memories 
to find the weird moment in my childhood 
when I first saw her starless eyes of love 
black as the New Moon no one ever sees. 

Surprised I can hear the satellite sing 
time-fractured formulas of ardency, 
my wife designs new mask for me to wear 
when I drive our car to the Promised Land 
so she and our children play by the lake 
where faceless demons haunt the sunlit deep. 

Entranced when I hear the satellite sing 
fairy tale about the woman I love, 
I tell the world she is my Sky God Girl 
because her honest kiss makes my head swirl 
with tense obsession for the way trees dance 
since crows invent the language humans speak. 

I should never hear the satellite sing 
about lucidity my heart requires 
to overcome the weakness of my flesh 
till I become the hapless Superman 
who saves American from tyranny 
when I do nothing but sit on my porch. 

Inspired that I hear the satellite sing 
about sincerity of my brave love 
for the charming Princess of Aquitaine, 
I dance with her among the hawthorn trees, 
shellacked with sleet of the ethereal storm, 
to eat our bread with butter and peach jam. 

Wanderers of Broken Doors

Wanderers of Broken Doors
© Surazeus
2026 06 23

Out on the signless road to somewhere else 
from crumbling ruins of America 
I walk with wanderers of broken doors 
to gather tales of sorrow from lost souls 
so we can build with programs of real hope 
new Freedom Nation of Zarathia. 

Ascending mountain of the modest Muse 
who teaches me to sing of liberty, 
I walk with wanderers of broken doors 
to celebrate our victory with joy 
building new state based on justice for all 
where everyone is equal in the law. 

Astonished by apricity of faith 
that glows through ephemeral state of mind, 
I walk with wanderers of broken doors 
with noble purpose to peregrinate 
across the waste land of America 
where ghosts of people unjustly killed dwell. 

Amazed at beauty of organic beings 
designed by swirling of bright ocean waves, 
I walk with wanderers of broken doors 
in trembling shimmer of the floating moon 
that knows the road of destiny I blaze 
because I choose to follow my own heart. 

Still weary-hearted as the faceless moon 
that seems to know my secret state of mind, 
I walk with wanderers of broken doors 
to map whole landscape of our spinning Earth 
till I can hold the whole world in my hands 
so I dream history of humanity. 

Gazing at stars that twinkle with God Eyes 
in eerie silence of the Twilight Zone, 
I walk with wanderers of broken doors 
to flee persecution of castle kings 
and found democracy in Wonderland 
because stars we see burned out long ago. 

Climbing the Stairway to Heaven at last 
that leads me to high Purgatory Peak, 
I walk with wanderers of broken doors 
with Beatrice as my guide to Paradise, 
though she turns out to be bright hologram 
who dwells in Egypt with Helen the Fair. 

Out in sunbaked fields of cotton and corn 
where we wait for our chariot to swing low, 
I walk with wanderers of broken doors 
to Freedom Nation of Zarathia 
with the Third Man who haunts our lonely quest 
when Orpheus strums Lyre of Mercury. 

Law Of Faceless Clouds

Law Of Faceless Clouds
© Surazeus
2026 06 22

With aching laughter of the joyful heart 
my soul refashions meaning of the world 
because I focus attention of thought 
at thick material forms of glowing light 
so I perceive through new words I invent 
essential nature of my pulsing brain. 

This strange self I perform on social stage 
seems to be somebody else I am not, 
because I hide true nature of my soul 
with mask that shields my too-sensitive heart 
against aggressive labels people ploy 
to bind my soul as puppet of their will. 

Sustained attention of the snipping eye, 
that tries to frame my body as its toy, 
expends conceptual wealth of bitter hope 
with fierce approach of faith to apprehend 
divine mystery of blood which animates 
flesh bodies against law of faceless clouds. 

Entangled with vision of satellites 
that speak with language of the fractured moon, 
I conjure from idyllic fields of fate 
grand future we attempt to recreate 
based on beautiful childhood memories 
which trap our minds in prison of the past. 

No exile from my homeland, now long lost 
in swirling mists of futile destiny, 
I sail the restless sea of everywhere 
with no one but myself in mindless wind, 
because I plan to build new nation-state 
instead of returning to my old home. 

I will bring no Muse with me on the boat 
that drifts without direction on deep tides 
through endless journey to the nowhere else 
across vast distances of timeless space 
to transplant culture of my heart in vale 
where skulls of my ancestors recite creeds. 

While tending crops in field of serpent teeth, 
I hone strange stories of heroic deeds 
that honor nameless people of the land 
whose weird songs manifest the sacred mind 
as humble prophets of the river flow 
who wield the hammer and sickle of faith. 

When I dance joyfully in apple grove 
my sorrows dissipate in evening mist 
that flash as stars which burned out long ago, 
yet twinkle still on fields of innocence, 
so with our skin as scroll of ancient law 
we found new state on liberty for all. 

Flowing Clockless Time

Flowing Clockless Time
© Surazeus
2026 06 22

With this strange sense of flowing clockless time 
we walk ten thousand times around the Earth 
to colonize every lush river valley 
with holy temple of the humble heart, 
inspired by laughter of the eyeless owl 
who seems to know the secrets of my soul. 

Yet shocked awake by sweet Tellurian chime 
that vibrates through bodies of sacred worth, 
I sail the seven seas on boneless galley 
to find the island not on my star chart 
where happy wolves could teach me how to howl 
with best minds of our world to play my role. 

Each time I hear my mother call my name, 
while I play in shimmer of Texas heat, 
I feel my consciousness expand its scope 
more vast than highest mountain in the world, 
and deeper than abyss of eyeless ghosts, 
but she is gone when I run in our home. 

Therefore I refuse to play power game 
when lust for fame drives fake bards to compete 
for prize Phoebus hides on Helicon slope 
in bid to claim scepter of cosmic herald 
who bears sacred scroll for the Lord of Hosts, 
so I explore Eden where devils roam. 

Slanting my mind with flowing clockless time, 
that spirals atoms in material forms 
which I define with language of the eye, 
I mold conceptual thoughts of characters 
in glowing idols representing gods 
who once performed their fate as mortal fools. 

Dreaming that all lifeforms evolve from slime, 
sparked awake by lightning flash of love storms, 
I expand my career as social spy, 
disguised as tabernacle chorister, 
investigating claims that demon pods 
possess our minds and make us faithful tools. 

Regret diverts attention of my mind 
when larks arise at break of day and sing 
hymns at gate of Heaven that manifest 
sullen fear of our global war for wealth 
when I ride dragon of excessive faith 
to support United Nations of Earth. 

Translating mystery spell of humankind 
that shines at flash of dawn in Stonehenge ring 
on summer solstice of our global quest, 
I nurture progress of our mental health 
as spirit-beams from one immortal wraith, 
reborn from laughter of psychotic mirth. 

Polarities Of Psychic Truth

Polarities Of Psychic Truth
© Surazeus
2026 06 21

Moved by polarities of psychic truth 
that spiral reverberations of faith, 
I meditate on beauty of the tree 
still burning with conceptual souls of gods 
disguised as humans daring to live well 
outside frame of the fake Biblical tale. 

Since I am just another nameless boy 
recorded in epic tale of mad war, 
I make the effort of progressive plans 
to build the story that will last forever 
free for the homeless to claim housing rights 
in meadow where bees nest in solemn oaks. 

Admired for deftness of her manual skill 
wiring fake houses with electric brains, 
Zertur molds river mud of aching lust 
in human bodies so we generate 
fragments of wild children who play in fields 
while tending herd of sheep with raven hands. 

Risen from ocean waves of suddenness, 
she stitches frayed memories of my childhood 
in steady wings of careless honesty 
to beam fantastic illusion of power 
broadcast to all the world with subtle code 
that defies authority of fake news. 

If abandoned space station falls to Earth 
after ten thousand years of orbiting, 
the most beautiful woman in the world 
may become the monstrous ghost of love 
who never miscalculates psychic vibes 
necessary to expose frantic greed. 

Through tangled syntax of assertive calm 
I study nature of abandoned homes 
to map vibrations of spatial concern 
in portraits of institutional gods 
that hang in museums by factories 
against federal law of the scorpion. 

Unbroken by crash course of ardency 
in searching for gate of the afterlife, 
I secure sea-faring boat of my heart 
to fallen idol of the atheist 
that rises from entanglement of breath 
when I translate letters carved on cracked stones. 

Last task assigned to me by son of Zeus 
requires I barefoot on waste land of faith 
so I pretend reality of dream 
is no more intermittent than the moon 
who bears soul of my mother on fire wings 
to flower-puckered vales of Avalon.