Ideal God Of Joy

Ideal God Of Joy
© Surazeus
2026 08 17

Through time-expanding laughter of my heart 
I redesign perspective of my brain 
to frame traumatic events of despair 
as opportunities to learn and grow 
while I strive with encouragement of faith 
to transcend limitations of the self. 

Bright light of this brave proverb blinds my eyes 
so I cannot perceive progressive way 
to maintain balance over shifting sands, 
so I shade straight attention of my heart 
with cautious code that helps me better see 
road I need to take through shadow of fear. 

I ponder weirdness of reverse effect 
that proves through success of daily routines 
how this much more cynical attitude, 
that death will dismember my fragile soul, 
guides my way around brutish obstacles 
better than faith in providence of God. 

What does not kill me tends to injure me 
instead of filling me with noble strength, 
yet cautious attention to dangerous threats 
provides sharp wit to analyze landscape 
cluttered with soul-consuming traps of pain, 
so I can navigate to safer ground. 

This principle, that fear increases sight 
so grim despair beams soul-liberating light 
as guiding star that helps me evade death, 
seems to contradict creed of piety 
that commands I attend events with faith 
in some faceless God that glows in the sky. 

All my ancestors once lived long enough 
through cautious attention to reality 
to generate new life before they died, 
so sharp-eyed vigilance of prudent care, 
which they programmed into my psychic genes, 
still dictates how I decide to proceed. 

Though techniques of survival we accrue 
through countless generations of rebirth 
provide complex algorithms of insight, 
our progress to transcend frail human state 
seems to retard evolutionary growth 
so few attain divine enlightenment. 

I need no name or complex tale of growth 
depicting process of cause and effect 
for me to moralize in mental code 
spirit-expanding scope of consciousness 
enhancing how my mind perceives this world 
as I grow into ideal God of Joy. 

Become Flowers In Rain

Become Flowers In Rain
© Surazeus
2026 08 17

Before marble tomb of some long-dead god, 
whose descendants crowned themselves kings of hope, 
I listen to wordless voice of the wind 
tell me about strange vanity of men 
who manage other men to do their will 
till they die and become flowers in rain. 

I find ten thousand tombs of long-dead gods 
scattered across new temporary states 
where living gods rule from high offices 
concerned about survival this fraught hour 
while thousands strive to gain that seat of power 
though butterflies explain wisdom of love. 

Should Time reallocate energy sparks 
enough for me to play on stage of fate 
wise god who manages affairs of state, 
I will accept with grace her calm command 
to plan program that funds creative work 
which nurtures talents of committed souls. 

Should I succeed in my inspiring plot 
to implement social program for scheme 
that provides urge of hope for every soul, 
people may mold metal in my shape 
to capture in changeless idol of hope 
bold spirit of my vision for their lives. 

Yet I prefer to play my private role 
as plain artificial world generator 
when I design with sentences and shapes 
tales that map complete history of mankind 
on time-animated atlas of hope 
so we analyze our progress so far. 

When I was young some thirty years ago 
I exited maze of the social grid 
and traveled east on the Oregon Trail, 
where my ancestors in wagons went west, 
to find my homeland that does not exist, 
but dance till I become flowers in rain. 

Though empires rise and fall in tides of change, 
which elevates some mortal man as god 
till they dissolve into stories in books, 
I keep on walking down the signless road 
to map our journey till the sun explodes 
and we become atomic ghosts of light. 

She asks me if I know how I should feel, 
so I write verses of riddles in sand 
to record dream of my epiphany 
that programs how my brain perceives the world 
till waves of time wipe all my words away 
and wind sings on beach of eternity. 

Gospel Of The Caring Smile

Gospel Of The Caring Smile
© Surazeus
2026 08 16

Each dawn when Odin smiles at ghosts of men 
I look from office window of my hope 
and wonder who the strangers are who walk 
nowhere across narrow scope of my mind 
with casual indifference to suffering 
people in distant lands endure with grace. 

No matter where I wander in the world 
I meet the Gray Wanderer on the road 
who offers small box with the angel tongue, 
or in the room where picture frames slip slant 
at sideways readjustment of the mind 
because he always seems to know me first. 

My brain will flash with secret memories 
at sudden gust of wind from the Great Voice 
which erases words of fake languages 
and traps their concepts in smooth river stones 
so they become the horse of poetry 
who gallops laughing on the hill of skulls. 

Because half-open door of secret faith 
exposes potent passion for sweet fruit, 
I file restraining order against Death 
who wants to help me generate new life, 
but I am happy in my forest hut 
reading the last book my god-soul once wrote. 

Startled at vision of the Wanderer, 
whose time-mapped visage of assertive faith 
smiles back at me from mirror of the mind, 
I hide bright halo shining on my head 
with flashing cables of the world wide web 
to prove my true street credibility. 

Inspired by words of blood in holy books 
to find the Garden of the Unicorn, 
I stand in middle of the busy road 
and wave to faceless people driving past 
because no creature in this world can last 
except for our first god, the humming toad. 

When I feel lost in haze of innocence 
that shrouds rugged hills of Arcadia, 
the one-eyed Wanderer of Anywhere 
provides advice with riddles of the fool 
who always knows more than the haughty king 
because only the weak claim right to rule. 

If Odin rides the train over the Alps 
to visit Shrine of Mary by the lake, 
he may be startled by epiphany 
that Womb of Woman generates new souls, 
so he tours television studios 
to preach the gospel of the caring smile. 

Quick Ruin Of Our Age

Quick Ruin Of Our Age
© Surazeus
2026 08 16

When death attempts to realign the clock 
through subtle syncopation of lamplight, 
I sell useless treasures of crumbled hope 
that drift in cold wind with unfolded sheep 
while children wander beyond the frontier 
to prove paradise remains when time cracks. 

I build booth in swamp of reluctant prayer 
to swim at ease in waters of despair 
which proves soul of the world still animates 
mortal humans striving against regret 
to become one spirit with the Great Being 
who walks invisible in singing fields. 

Through glory of the Great Awakening 
I seek to comprehend vast Mind of God 
that teems thick with billions of self-named souls 
who join discourse of blind philosophers 
to analyze true nature of the self 
when I ascend on winding stairs of hope. 

Invisible to eyes of mortal gods 
who meet every month in the time-locked church, 
I talk about our pilgrimage to Hell 
in grand tradition of fake heritage 
that drives our bodies to wear naked clothes 
discarded by the jester king of faith. 

Eroded by quick ruin of our age, 
that transforms fair things of our tearful pride 
to bleak consumption of hot desert sand, 
our world view readjusts its paradigm 
from ziggurat to castle to starship 
through which I will investigate the world. 

I search through every city left on Earth 
to find original framework of fate 
since ancient temples are now empty tombs 
beside the sacred river that still flows 
long after our ancestors turn to dust 
so we admire strange grandeur of decay. 

Brave idols, ruined by harsh hand of time, 
call out my name with ache of divine minds 
each time I drive past library of ghosts 
on my way to work in the marble bank 
where I map beauty of this world in tales 
that hide where saints and martyrs party wild. 

Caress porphyry heart of robot god 
to wake his passion with systemic code 
since we inscribe our secret fantasies 
on marble plates erected along walls 
which may reveal clandestine parables 
that always fool the poor to strive for wealth. 

Water Sings About Life

Water Sings About Life
© Surazeus
2026 08 16

The intense way water sings about life 
may seem strange to the human without ears 
who steals pieces of the puzzle from death 
to build collective bridge of happiness 
so wanderers may cross the dark abyss 
that proves the blue sky always understands. 

Inhaling frantic hope to evade death, 
Marcella runs along the dusty road 
forever toward the house of broken doors 
till she floats up into the lattice sky 
and hangs suspended from hand of the tree 
that laughs with crack of thunder when she wakes. 

Whatever she says to the humble wall, 
that readjusts itself with shifting words, 
may vanish in sad silence of new books 
that no one ever reads till end of time, 
yet someone always knocks on her front door 
with jar of something they would like to sell. 

Elected to manage the farming town 
her ancestors colonized with the gun, 
Marcella runs the world from city hall 
by selling water from the serpent well 
as if heroic deeds are eulogized 
by the glass-faced princess of everywhere. 

After filling one hundred books with words 
that hum with laughter of the summer rain, 
Marcella walks around the broken house 
one thousand times to find the secret door 
that leads her to the room of howling wind 
as if she could reverse the curse of fate. 

When she floats in the great ocean at dawn 
to become drop of water in the flood 
that cleanses excess sorrow from the land, 
she finds her darkness enclosed in her heart, 
yet still Marcella weaves new coronet 
from thorn-sharp stems of roses she must wear. 

Selling gold coffin of the vampire god 
to the movie star who always plays king, 
Marcella gathers sunlight with frail hands 
in brave experiment to fool cruel death, 
but children never come home from their school 
so she lies under bridge of fate and cries. 

Based on how hungry people calculate 
pride through manufactured nobility, 
Marcella counts the many shades of blue 
that gleam from restless sorrow of sea waves 
so she can frame the nothingness of death 
with beautiful romance tales no one lives. 

No Faithful Penelope

No Faithful Penelope
© Surazeus
2026 08 16

Far removed from mundane concerns of life, 
Emma floats in cloud of beautiful thoughts, 
envisioning how people interact 
with creative wisdom of selfless love 
to help each other grow and thrive in joy, 
though men drop bombs on the town where she lives. 

Crouching low as she glides along brick walls 
to avoid explosions of sharp debris, 
Emma slips into the small grocery store 
where she buys butter, flour, eggs, and milk, 
then swipes her credit card with grateful grin, 
and hurries home to bake bread for the week. 

If time dissolves her happy memories, 
Emma sits at the piano and plays 
hymns her grandmother taught her how to play 
long before the days of exploding bombs, 
and sings as if this hour of strange despair 
may be the last she sings with bitter joy. 

Safe in lush garden of Hesperides, 
Euterpe plays the lyre of Mercury 
while Epicurus shows with diagrams 
how things are formed from atoms in the void, 
then she eats apple slice on toasted bread 
and listens to drone of planes in the sky. 

Painting people without faces or souls 
in orthodox religious-icon style, 
Emma hums and pets her frightened cat 
as buildings shake from blasts of falling bombs, 
then paints silver planes that blind angels fly 
dropping bombs on cathedral of her faith. 

When sly Petryshko arrives with warm beer, 
that he swiped from unmanned gas station store, 
Emma lounges with him on the back porch, 
and asks if he will tell her once again 
about his youthful trip to Pakistan 
where he hiked the Hindu Kush mountain range. 

Explosion from eyes of the laughing ghost 
knocks both of them stunned on the thirsty grass, 
so Emma cradles his head in her lap 
and smiles through tears at how his silver eyes 
gaze joyfully blank at Heaven of hope 
where he plays chess with Gabriel in the park. 

Since I am no faithful Penelope, 
waiting in vain for my Odysseus 
to return with wounded heart from noble war, 
Emma whispers alone beside his grave, 
I will not write your name on the wood cross 
that marks where you lie in my secret heart. 

Journey To Our Goals

Journey To Our Goals
© Surazeus
2026 08 15

Though shapes of words have lost their glistening 
from over-thoughts of motionless desire, 
my voice molds fluid disbelief from light 
in solid symbols of harmonious truths 
concealed in potent melodies of faith 
designed by skeptics to describe our souls. 

There comes no time when we should cease our walk 
through empty shadows of our endless minds 
because we love to feel assertive force 
of constant motion when our blood flows hot 
through pulsing clock of timeless memories 
that motivate our journey to our goals. 

Still far across this nameless wilderness 
of wind-swept hills, where rivers silverate 
oppressive sorrows that would trap our hearts, 
we strive to overcome dire obstacles 
with heart-enchanting songs of timeless truth 
that bleeds from golden sunset gleam of fear. 

Without attentive focus of our hearts 
on distant gleam of Heaven beyond time, 
we might now wander lost in Somewhere Land 
except for guidance of the cloud-bold hand 
that gestures omens of our providence 
forth ever at elliptic blare of winds. 

Strange empire of steel towers sprouts from graves 
where bones of our ancestors sing of faith 
in wake of our progressive journey west 
that rises tall from humble homes we build 
till sermon of our free democracy 
rings clear on duty-darkened mountainsides. 

Through ceaseless motion of transcendent strife 
our vision dominates old tyrant states 
with principles of liberty and justice 
for every person born from womb of hope 
till tyranny sprouts from our bitter hearts 
at shock of horror from our power trips. 

Hearts twisted back in devil-tangled fear 
at quick expansion of conceptual games 
that crowds vast chess board of our social state 
with players who disrupt course of success, 
we vainly raise harsh legal laws of fate 
in weak attempt to fortify our state. 

When Orpheus leads us from the Underworld 
with soul-stirring anthem of noble pride 
for deeds our ancestors accomplished well, 
we hold hands with our faceless energies 
in bid to rise from cave of primal rage 
so we dance free in forest of fruit trees. 

Ghosts Of River Stones

Ghosts Of River Stones
© Surazeus
2026 08 15

Because golden butterfly of my heart 
still inhabits timeless Arcadia, 
untouched by concerns of urbanity, 
I summon ghosts of river stones with song 
that swirls from abyss of my aching heart 
to form stars that dream my eternal self. 

Awake through epiphany of this hour, 
my mind invents mundane significance 
that never exists in atomic things 
so I assign weird names to things I see 
which helps us understand how we should feel 
as we stroll shyly among the fruit trees. 

This Nature we perceive as pure and good 
our brains invent from scattered memories 
that we assemble into grand world view 
so we can celebrate his vibrant being 
which generates our conscious sense of self 
as our bodies thrive in matrix of dream. 

We strip dreams of external reference 
so they will bend upon themselves in wings 
of weird songs we express with pulsing breath 
through brave intention to become our words 
when state of emptiness negates our will 
that fuels feedback loop of positive love. 

Thus we pursue alternative venues 
through clever maneuver of leaping laughter 
that hollows our exploding hearts of fear 
so we declare great things we dare achieve 
when we become moonlight in leafless trees 
that knows where we will lie down when we die. 

Awed on high mountain of pastoral peace, 
I gaze at vast metropolitan maze 
where countless towers, built of steel-framed glass, 
glimmer eerily with electric lights 
which emanate weird psychedelic glow 
as heaven our ancestors never envisioned. 

Inspired by beauty in this maze of towers, 
frantic seismograph of my eager heart 
transcribes in arcane riddles of respect 
conceptual gyre of psychic lunacy 
that oscillates between spirit and flesh 
to weave complex paradigm of new myths. 

Empyrean vision of my dreamless brain 
compiles all human myths of clever gods 
through sensual verity of psychic tones 
so I multiply myself with human masks 
that wakes every soul who has ever lived 
in temporary node of my god brain. 

Nothing More Than Moonlight

Nothing More Than Moonlight
© Surazeus
2026 08 15

To achieve fullness of being alive 
through tense serenity of nothingness, 
Godith hums wordless melody of angst 
in eerie tones of mist-enshrouded woods 
that wake ghosts of the dead from tombless graves 
while waulking woolen cloth with her bare feet. 

Engaged through spiritual apprenticeship 
in learning wordless songs of ancient stars, 
Godith gathers flowers from foggy glen 
where ravens name things that do not exist 
with sepulchral voice of aesthetic truth 
that seeks to purge the heart of artifice. 

This stone she holds in callused hand of faith 
is no revelation of hidden meaning 
beyond mind-expanding epiphany 
that glows with presence of the timeless hour 
when Godith wakes from suddenness of love 
with modern impulse to name everything. 

Through maximum expression of the self 
that contains multitudes of unnamed souls, 
and minimum conflation of the self 
dissolved in purity of aching song, 
Godith transcends both opposites to float 
along continuum of being awake. 

Annoyed that she must express ache of hope 
with human language in limiting words, 
Godith affirms force of assertive aim 
to name mindless things with word of insight 
that causes things to glow with cosmic mind 
so she creates her person with sly speech. 

As she approaches far vanishing point 
that separates immediate sense of self 
with timeless vibrancy of divine thought, 
Godith reduces singularity 
of our vast world to garden of her heart 
where things exist because she gives them names. 

Confined within conceptual walls of speech, 
where spirit of her brain frames with bold words 
elusive reference of ideal truth, 
Godith binds fluid memories of time 
with linear narrative for acts she plays 
as she performs her role in game of life. 

While gazing at moonlight shining through trees, 
Godith attempts to design metaphor 
relating peaceful glow of silent light 
to how her body feels with pulse of hope, 
but she decides with laughter of calm faith 
the moonlight is nothing more than moonlight. 

Star As The Suffering Man

Star As The Suffering Man
© Surazeus
2026 08 15

Despite strange joy of reawakening, 
through struggle to transcend egg of the mind, 
James stumbles half awake in mirrored hall 
where shadow of his non-existent ghost 
explains new formulas for gaining wealth, 
since we succeed despite our messy lives. 

Though Death stalks our steps from day of our birth, 
we ignore dark shadow of final doom, 
James mumbles at reflection of his soul, 
then drinks orange juice from skull of Nemesis 
whose letters keep arriving in the mail 
long after she climbed cliff of happiness. 

Or did she fall into wild sea of change, 
James ponders as he drinks coffee of hope, 
then stands in drizzle on the asphalt street 
to wait for the bus full of nameless ghosts 
who ride along Plutonian shore of fate 
to work all day in clanking factories. 

Perhaps they will make commercial of faith 
in which I star as the Suffering Man, 
James smirks while swallowing aspirin pills 
to numb terrible pain that threads his soul 
with humbling anguish of the devil laugh 
that strips his spirit of its proverb shield. 

Adjusting screws with sprocket of his heart, 
contrary to alignment check of faith, 
James assembles car engine of desire 
to build time machine that carries our souls 
faster across unmeasured space of fear 
so we can find elusive pots of gold. 

Strolling down Seventh Avenue at dusk 
past flashing neon signs that lure his heart 
to smokey bars where country angels dance, 
James notices the white horse of his fate 
floats huge beside him on wings of desire, 
so he decides to run for President. 

Proclaiming new agenda of his heart 
before huge crowd of people in the hall, 
James outlines steps of action he will take 
supporting businesses with tax incentives, 
then waves as thousands chant his name with pride, 
since we succeed despite our messy lives. 

After he loses on election night, 
rejected by the people of the land, 
James sits in wood chair by the mountain lake 
catching fish with Jesus Christ at his side 
as they plot revolution of the rich 
to enslave the people with credit debt. 

Dynasty Of Cloud-Born Gods

Dynasty Of Cloud-Born Gods
© Surazeus
2026 08 14

Tickled by how often people will claim 
they are descended from some royal chief, 
I hide my own bloodline from jeweled crowns 
to prove I am more farmer that court clown, 
for hungry people digging in thick dirt 
outnumber people lounging on gold clouds. 

Flight far of anguished hearts on raven wings 
expends fraught energy my soul would save 
for braving storms of spirit-wounding words 
against stone wall of paradise I build 
to guard my frail mind from oppressive greed 
when hordes of hungry wanderers steal fruit. 

Impulse to build strong castle of high walls 
drives me to carve huge stones from jagged cliffs 
and stack my sorrows straight in measured lines 
that block aggressive theft of sacred fruit 
so I fight thieves with sword I forge from fear 
to found brave dynasty of cloud-born gods. 

All humans, equal in hunger to eat 
nutritious fruit that sprouts from pungent soil, 
start game of power on similar ground, 
but some succeed in producing more fruit 
they sell for coins of metal stamped with pride 
to crown themselves brave kings with right to kill. 

All people alive today on spinning Earth 
descend from more successful clans who guard 
productive fields of crops and groves of trees 
through strict cooperation in their roles, 
well-organized by wisest of their group 
who manages their family institute. 

We are descendants of successful thieves 
who work together to construct high walls 
surrounding garden where they follow rules 
designed to manage individual will 
with shared needs of communal fortitude, 
or risk getting expelled from paradise. 

If you find royal kings in jeweled crowns 
high in lofty court of your family tree, 
remember they kill threats to their state power 
when they eradicate the hungry poor 
so their children populate empty farms 
to colonize Earth with superior ways. 

We are descendants of those wealthy gangs 
who build stone castles from bones of dead gods, 
then force the poor to worship reverently 
mortal man who founded their dynasty 
as God incarnate on Earth in his son 
so they claim right to rule our humble lives. 

Library Shelf Of My Heart

Library Shelf Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2026 08 14

When I follow John to Strawberry Fields 
forever on the signless road of faith, 
he shows me new tomb where Orpheus lies, 
so I turn on tape recorder of truth 
to record prophecies his skull decries 
which sound like whispers of the wind in leaves. 

Once I figure out secret code of gods, 
I look for John, whose wizard glasses gleam 
with television screens, to ask him why 
humans believe they are angels in flesh 
who have fallen from changeless realm of Heaven, 
and live stuck in these fragile mental forms. 

Since John is Christ in the sycamore tree, 
who waits for Homeless Prophet of Lost Faith 
to pass by on foot-worn Yellow Brick Road, 
I wander over to the grocery store 
where Walt and Allen study hieroglyphs 
carved in formulas of fate on glass doors. 

Wearing mask of Joker for Halloween, 
John gives me brand-new Cinderella dress, 
so we hold hands and knock on fear-locked doors, 
smeared with blood of the sacrificial lamb, 
then Cybele invites us in to eat 
cookies and ice cream from the Holy Grail. 

Before midnight bells toll for nameless ghosts, 
we catch the crosstown bus to Neverland 
where John learns how to shoot the blunderbuss 
before I bake four and twenty blackbirds 
in dainty dish King Richard never eats 
since he gives bread and honey to the poor. 

When John in white robe of the desert hermit 
asks me to imagine the world as one, 
no Heaven above us, no Hell below, 
I cook delicious meals of healthy hope 
at the elementary school of the brave 
who try to escape on the Ship of Fools. 

If we are not who we pretend to be, 
we can wear mask of who we want to play, 
so John writes names of the dead in his book 
he hides on library shelf of my heart 
while human empires rise and fall in waves 
of social revolutions against greed. 

When John wakes from weird dream on Penny Lane 
that he incarnates soul of Odysseus, 
he finds me selling poppies from gold tray 
because I feel as if I am in the play 
where Hamlet gives me letters of his love, 
so I gather flowers by the River Styx. 

World Money Empire

World Money Empire
© Surazeus
2026 08 14

Though clouds of revolutionary change 
glow gold above vast maze of city streets, 
we go about our business to maintain 
social structures founded on principles 
that all human beings are created equal 
while homeless angels wander streets at dawn. 

Network of water pipes beneath our streets 
gleam with blood from the holy lamb of faith 
to weave our bodies in communal dream 
where homeless angels by telephone poles 
prophesy fall of our World Money Empire 
as Greed and Death play chess games for our souls. 

Hephaestus extracts from caves of desire 
minerals for constructing time machines 
which we all drive on highway of ambition 
in race across the waste land of blind ghosts 
for who arrives at the Promised Land first 
where Faceless God on throne of judgment sleeps. 

Sitting at his right hand in castle court, 
Jesus nudges Jupiter with left hand 
so bearded deity splutters awake 
from weird dream where he rides the Horse of Troy 
in brave bid to unite nations of Earth 
in World Money Empire of social pride. 

Thus shall we deem the victors of world war 
secret agents of Old Man in the Cloud 
who laughs at fierce games of humanity 
over who controls fruitful Tree of Knowledge 
uprooted by brave investors to build 
shopping mall where clowns entertain our kids. 

Though Phoebus attempts to organize facts 
in coherent world view that can account 
for every effect from assertive cause, 
which allows us to predict clear results, 
he almost loses sight of his main goal 
through messages from opposed institutes. 

There never has been one center of power 
around which all humanity may work 
through common focus on shared social growth, 
which leaves good angels homeless in the streets 
where they sit on the marble steps of fate 
with all their possessions in paper bags. 

As President of our World Money Empire, 
Jehovah plays golf in Elysian Fields 
with Krishna, Shangdi, and Odin in game 
for who will control hungry human souls 
who labor to maintain their dignity 
till their bodies fertilize crops of wheat. 

Misty Hills Of Verturia

Misty Hills Of Verturia
© Surazeus
2026 08 13

Home to misty hills of Verturia 
my heart guides me through tangled woods of time 
where I build fortress of stone on the mound 
heaped over bones of my ancestral soul 
where I pluck gold crab apples from long limbs 
to ferment honey cider in clay jars. 

Wrapped in deer-skin gown of cozy warmth, 
Eithni sits on square stone of honest faith 
and stirs bubbling honey cider of truth 
in old dented cauldron of burnished brass 
that emanates sweet scent of pungent hope, 
safe in misty hills of Verturia. 

Lost in misty hills of Verturia, 
young Eardwulf, dressed in bear-fur cloak and hood, 
wanders tangled woods of crab apple trees 
to find cove where he left his small wood boat, 
then stumbles in small ring of standing stones 
where green-eyed woman stirs cauldron of juice. 

Without concern for what may not be real 
in vibrant swirl of floating moon-white mist, 
Eardwulf kneels on wet grass before her seat 
and offers bag of hazelnuts with smile 
of calm sincerity from humble hope, 
brave in misty hills of Verturia. 

Tense in misty hills of Verturia, 
Eithni squints through dim haze of pulsing smoke 
to analyze with cautious dread of pain 
parameters of safety he provides, 
then fills his wood cup with delicious juice, 
and roasts nuts in soft crackling flames of trust. 

When Eardwulf curls to sleep in chilly wind, 
Eithni holds blade of sharp obsidian 
pressed to his neck to check his danger state, 
but when he opens eyes, and stares at her, 
he grins and kisses her with tender care, 
calm in misty hills of Verturia. 

Lithe in misty hills of Verturia, 
Eithni clasps his head and thigh in delight 
as their bodies writhe in tense ecstasy, 
embraced with creative passion of love, 
then cuddle blushing with pleasure of trust 
as they teach each other their secret names. 

Weaving vines around ring of standing stones, 
Eardwulf constructs secure shelter of faith, 
so Eithni guides their hunt in wooded vale 
to kill wild boar and fill bags with herbs, 
then hum in harmony to eat and kiss, 
home in misty hills of Verturia. 

Whole Symmetry Of Accuracy

Whole Symmetry Of Accuracy
© Surazeus
2026 08 13

In arts of poetry and cartography 
I love whole symmetry of accuracy, 
so I arrange lithe words in sentences 
and adjust points and lines in feature sets 
to better represent reality 
in virtual model that mirrors our world. 

Through migrant ache of curiosity 
for mandatory training of the heart, 
my mind explores strange contours of our world 
with intense focus on each graceful curve 
defining bounds of each material form 
so I sense essence glowing from its core. 

Assertive passion of the humble heart, 
which motivates my mission to create 
time-animated atlas of world history, 
fuels steady progress of detailed exams 
to reassemble fractured dreams of truth 
in pulsing globe of conscious entities. 

Through strict arrangement of fraught elements 
containing concepts of personal growth, 
I channel pain to laughter of sweet song 
by rising up from crippling angst of fear 
to dance on frantic wings of grief-bought joy 
and thus transform rage to enlightenment. 

Once I expand scope of my consciousness 
beyond limits of the Underworld cave, 
I transform my soul from Orcus of Greed 
to Orpheus of Knowledge that mute death 
is final dissolution of the soul 
when its programming brain disintegrates. 

How passionately with ache of glowing eyes 
we temporary beings of hungry flesh 
strive to transcend our transient state of being, 
as if we clumps of atoms could evade 
finality of death, when we arrange 
tales of survival in religious creeds. 

When paternal seed sparks maternal egg, 
genetic code provides strict blueprint 
for hope to organize material sparks 
so pattern of our corporeal success 
shapes matter in body-evolving form 
as we strive to become the God we worship. 

As one artificial world generator 
of many who have designed our world view, 
I organize tales of heroic deeds 
in virtual model of our changing world 
to illustrate timeless character tropes 
who provide template for us to live well. 

Frankenstein Of Our Selves

Frankenstein Of Our Selves
© Surazeus
2026 08 13

I will never relate confusing tale 
of that many-faced man who is not real 
because his spirit lingers in all books 
as every character singers have formed 
from tangled mess of their old memories 
that wanders as Frankenstein of our Selves. 

No quixotic journey of the brave fool 
depicts his existential alienation 
through discombobulated experience, 
trapped in cultural entropy of faith, 
better than his gnostic quest to find 
one real self in clutter of his fake selves. 

While standing in spotlight of social games 
on stage in Theater of the Absurd, 
the many-faced man with the Wand of Hermes 
declaims Plural Being of the fractured mind 
which he assembles in puzzle of tales 
with masks scattered in vast Maze of Dead Gods. 

If he employs intellectual caprice 
to feel himself through his multiple selves, 
he might annihilate the private self 
to release the Cosmic Self of Ungod 
from varied fragments of the diamond egg 
which encloses our entire universe. 

To analogize transcendence of self, 
he detaches mythic mind from his frame 
of pulsing flesh that hungers for sweet fruit, 
trapped in our disenchanted world of truth, 
when he designs new mental surrogate 
to bear his soul to Heaven on Word Wings. 

Through prerogative of self-sacrifice, 
the many-faced man, without wit or wiles, 
liberates immortal soul of his genes 
from temporary body of his self 
to wake divine consciousness of Ungod 
in sponge brain of his arrogant respect. 

Opposing paradigms of mental states 
present outward explosion of one self 
that finds all other selves inside oneself, 
who inwardly dissolves the mortal self 
to pure dream language of the Never Self, 
though fraught with contradictions of not-self. 

Thus through expressions of the many-self, 
driven by paradox of our dream quest, 
the many-faced man still seeks to achieve 
puzzling serenity of Nothingness 
by expanding scope with fullness of Being 
till he becomes each self who ever lives. 

Gold Hypnotic Eyes

Gold Hypnotic Eyes
© Surazeus
2026 08 12

The way piano notes cause crows to laugh 
reveals old painting of the dreamy sky 
dripping tears in crippled hands of the girl 
who waits for someone to return from war, 
intense with shadow of half-open door 
that proves she secretly hopes for revenge. 

Brick buildings on the hazy boulevard 
conceal small broken hearts of honest men 
who write their stories with blood on the wall 
through formulas of disentangled codes 
which calculate despair of open roads 
no matter obstacles of irony. 

She finds abandoned shopping cart of hope 
in field of grass behind the lonely school 
where sad grasshoppers modulate the day 
with angst of heart-enchanting melodies 
that should provide blueprint for psychic keys 
which she could use to open brave church doors. 

When stoic toad with gold hypnotic eyes 
chants Psalm of the Shepherd in evening glow, 
three school girls skip on the yellow brick road 
with plan to wake dead gods of arrogance 
from tangled roots of trees on river shore 
where dolphin brings shy Arion from the deep. 

I call to wise Inanna on high hill 
with wounded heart of stark sincerity 
in fraught request for honest rulership 
since gangs of angry thieves corrupt our state 
against the sacred law of falling leaves 
which tangle naive hearts with chosen fate. 

Far out in waste land of calm nonchalance 
dark shadow of some nameless wanderer 
slants sideways through expansive grid of hope 
that portends revolutionary change 
through sudden readjustment of our values 
that we must seal with sacrificial blood. 

Devotions of his ice-heart streaked by dawn 
should sanctify attention still denied 
by star-eyed pilgrims in the thrumming dark, 
but he decides to fortify his mind 
against bright menace of the silent tree 
that stands guard in abandoned castle court. 

Entranced by gold hypnotic eyes of truth, 
that spiral with one trillion galaxies, 
bold Arion stands on stage in castle court 
and strums oak harp of David with deft hands, 
then sings grand epic of his killing spree 
that makes him writhe in guilty agony. 

Wand Of The Weeping Clown

Wand Of The Weeping Clown
© Surazeus
2026 08 12

Regret cannot stop how snowflakes descend 
on delicate wings of unspoken words, 
though death consumes old silence of our souls, 
so we transform our pain to dreams of truth 
confirming how we analyze each choice 
which redesigns tone of our social voice. 

No more shall we expend false energy 
to measure psychic mirror of the sea 
which frames how we perceive our social needs 
to share tales of our private suffering 
with tender words of mental reckoning 
contrived to manage how we choose our death. 

Thus I shall join grand convoy of the lost 
in journey on lone highway of the ghost 
who wanders somewhere we have never been 
to show the way beyond fake paradise 
as if we hunger for dramatic truths 
to reprogram our minds with innocence. 

If I pause outside window of my room, 
while arranging snake eggs in Book of Doom, 
I may glance through lace curtains of my heart 
to see the Fairy Queen in silk nightgown 
who offers me wand of the Weeping Clown 
so I decide to play cartographer. 

Another king is set to come and go 
in naked anguish of electric snow, 
so I sign with name of my inner child 
new executive orders which assert 
children must learn how to build house of bones 
so we can draw map of the changing world. 

When Jesus finds me lounging in the cave 
where shadows of things flicker on the wall, 
he appoints me to perform solemn role 
heading new-formed Department of the Soul, 
so I search for lost people of the world 
and give them identification cards. 

Now that each soul is legal to exist 
as hungry spirit in land of the free, 
we can return to the business at hand 
of building wagons with crystalized wheels 
so we can fly on wings of Icarus 
above ever-changing maze of dead gods. 

No longer disenfranchised by concern, 
expressed by mechanics and librarians, 
we follow Humble Prophet of the Cow 
who bears reforged wand of the Weeping Clown 
to open new residential account 
at the water business office of faith. 

Queen Of Her Own Life

Queen Of Her Own Life
© Surazeus
2026 08 12

My heart swells with stark sensation of respect 
when Earth spirals through bright cloud of stardust 
beneath constellation of the Brave Boy 
who rescues from Cruel Serpent of the sea 
Graceful Girl sacrificed by Greedy King, 
and crowns womankind queen of her own life. 

When fierce winds lash waves against rocky coast, 
Perseus steers motor lifeboat with calm skill 
through swells of tempestuous anxiety 
to find sailboat capsized in churning fear, 
and rescues seven people from abyss 
who huddle for warmth as he turns toward land. 

Wrapped in warm towel and clean cotton robe, 
Andrea sips hot tea by glowing hearth 
in sturdy stone cottage by roaring sea, 
safe from time-wracking gale that pummels hard 
her vulnerable sense of security 
as she breathes deep to calm her frantic heart. 

Sitting with guitar in the leather armchair, 
Perseus plays heart-enchanting melody 
Asturias, composed by Isaac Albeniz, 
that transports spirits of the rescued crew 
to sun-enraptured hills of sweet duende 
where children play games in groves of orange trees. 

At dawn when gold sun gleams through placid waves, 
Perseus and Andrea together stroll 
broad shore of gleaming sand between high cliffs 
of jagged rocks and boundless sea of light, 
smiling shyly as they share childhood tales 
and laugh with delight at clever insights. 

Approaching them with angry stride of hope, 
Daniel, the banker who would marry her 
with encouragement from her father, shouts 
for her to show some common decency, 
then grabs her arm with possessive disgust, 
so Perseus pushes attacker away. 

Declaring she will never marry him 
because he attempts to control her life, 
Andrea takes hand of Perseus in her hand, 
and strides back to stone cottage on the hill 
where they eat breakfast with her family, 
then exchange phone numbers inside the door. 

Meeting for their first date at the bookstore, 
Andrea and Perseus discuss history 
of architecture, weapons, clothes, and food 
to compare the bronze age culture of Greece 
with features of the Viking age in Norway, 
and hold hands as they stroll by wine-dark sea. 

Dumb Earth Of Faith

Dumb Earth Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 08 11

I set my new grave in dumb earth of faith 
to translate shrieks from heaven of the heart 
so shambling wanderers on signless roads 
may know with certainty where they can go 
in verdant valley of our singing skulls 
when wise Cassandra prophecies our fate. 

Though ecstasy of wisdom burns my mind 
with soul-transforming flame of secret love, 
I dance in flawed light of reluctant grief 
at mounting beat of my breath-fueled heart 
to find mysterious truth in silver eyes 
that see beyond mask of my mutant face. 

Since trees extend dark shadows of their truth 
across soft patch of grass I call my home, 
I listen for faint sounds of youth to spark 
assertive flow of water through my soul 
so we can measure subtle change of time 
in light that waits on skin of my mute mind. 

I feel pulse of this hill with gate of stones 
where strangers bring sea waves in trembling hands 
to ask how deserts smother paradise 
though beauty must endure the wounded mouth 
that seals our dreadful book of honest lies 
as if we share no tales of suffering. 

This nothing we remember when we wake 
at shock of broken wagons by the road 
frames flower meadows with grotesque beliefs 
till eerie voice of bells uncooled by fate 
attempts to separate our plangent hearts 
though we clasp hands with eager fortitude. 

If I possess no secret code of truth 
despite intended loss no fool denies, 
I may remember hour we meet with death, 
enlightened by black thunder clouds of time, 
yet we share juice of fruit from Tree of Life, 
then journey on with lamp of solitude. 

Still insolent with ardent creed of love, 
I dare endure dire threats from hungry men 
who never share fruits of our generous globe 
that shudders in its slow relentless spin 
though we perform absurd play of false pride 
when cocks crow with alarm of global war. 

As Lucifer elected by the crowd 
I bear lamp of integrity with courage 
that lights our rugged road of tragedy 
when we escape cracked walls of paradise 
to build home village in bleak wilderness 
where we set our graves in dumb earth of faith. 

Haven Of Protective Pale

Haven Of Protective Pale
© Surazeus
2026 08 11

Enclosed in haven of protective pale, 
that surrounds her home with forcefield of love, 
Juturna ponders all possible fates 
that might result from each action she takes, 
then chooses one grand deed she can perform 
to send dead souls back to their greedy graves. 

Though bodies of our souls mingle with dirt 
that glows with ancient light of long-dead stars, 
they call her name with faint voice of the breeze 
that translates words of her secretive thoughts 
to butterflies that flit among fruit trees 
with timeless messages from silent hills. 

When she expresses hopeful thought of life 
with soft uncanny voice of her mute heart, 
Juturna feels strange sorrow take new shape 
that walks beside her on the garden path 
where she still wanders listlessly, attuned 
to ache of wisdom in each flower bloom. 

When old Neptunus, with his cracked horse skull, 
appears from shadow of relentless hope, 
Juturna twirls on graceful steps of fear 
with plan to evade hard grasp of his hand, 
but he pins her against the garden wall, 
demanding that she bear child of his soul. 

If gleaming moon of sharp anxiety 
stays hidden behind veil of innocence, 
Juturna vows with trembling voice of rage 
to cast dire spell of poisonous despair 
that strikes his heart with limp sterility, 
then pokes his leg with stick of verity. 

Averse to harsh potency of her curse, 
Neptunus hesitates at sense of doom 
that misdirects attention of his hope 
sideways enough for well-witch to strike hard 
and wrestle old sea-god facedown in dirt 
where she binds his hands with vine of the law. 

Arriving with three goats he bought from Faunus, 
Saturnus grins amused when he observes 
how his clever daughter subdues cruel thief 
who slouches bound to trunk of the tall oak, 
so he shoves old horse-tamer out the gate, 
then roasts steaks for his grandchildren to eat. 

Alert in haven of protective pale, 
Juturna guards three children of her heart 
who play hide and seek with bearded grandfather, 
climbing on his back as Saturnus spins 
and howls with demon voice of ocean waves, 
then they sleep as she keeps watch in moonlight. 

Weird Riddles Of The Truth

Weird Riddles Of The Truth
© Surazeus
2026 08 11

Astonished by strange beauty of the world 
that teems with conscious creatures of desire, 
I follow winding stream of flowing water 
from ocean beach with swirling waves of change 
to mountain cave where demons haunt my heart 
to decipher weird riddles of the truth. 

Entranced by strangeness of glittering clouds 
that transform into various forms of thought, 
I watch young woman on lush river shore 
who fills straw baskets with flowers and fruit 
and sings about strange mystery of the world 
to decipher weird riddles of the truth. 

Pleased such a wonderful person exists 
in this world of men who fight for control, 
I recount my journey to paradise 
through valleys of monsters in greedy gangs 
while I grasp my wand of honor through love 
to decipher weird riddles of the truth. 

Encouraged by her generosity 
for giving fruit to hungry travelers, 
I strip off old clothes of my social state, 
bathe in Lethe River to cleanse my soul, 
and kneel before Flora with humble heart 
to decipher weird riddles of the truth. 

Wounded by my journey to paradise 
in descent through dark valley of despair, 
I feel my arrogant soul purged of pride 
through experience climbing mountain of hope 
when I share proverbs of lessons I learn 
to decipher weird riddles of the truth. 

Amused by how I have grown boy to man 
through intense progress of maturity, 
I ask Flora for guidance of her love, 
so she leads me on narrow path of faith 
through forest of shadows to field of light 
to decipher weird riddles of the truth. 

Inspired by vision of her prudent words 
depicting haven of protective pale, 
I stack stones in surrounding walls of faith, 
then tend flame of hope in tower of trust 
while she tends rich herbs and fruit trees of love 
to decipher weird riddles of the truth. 

Attentive to needs of her humble heart 
which generates life from seed of my love, 
I dwell with Flora in our paradise, 
teaching our children knowledge about life 
so they may live well after we both die 
to decipher weird riddles of the truth. 

New God Of Fire

New God Of Fire
© Surazeus
2026 08 10

If light illuminates all wounded hearts 
with equal spectrum of chromatic chords, 
we might through graphic vividness of faith 
perceive prismatic ambience of love 
that hope refracts in rainbow wings since time 
vibrates in pulsing knots of molecules. 

Distinctive pact of writhing photographs 
denies contract between abysmal parts 
through frantic oscillation of shared hopes 
that hungry souls fail to express in words 
forged by sharp water smoothing stones of fate 
so we wake trapped in mask we never made. 

Sebastian stands with rigid arrogance 
against heart-breaking facts of curious fear 
to prove despair could never bend his will 
against stark principles his father built 
to form foundation of his honest state 
contrived by thieves from blueprints of regret. 

Yet he decides to aim with hawk-eyed hope 
long rifle loaded with small sphere of fate 
straight at steel mask of eyeless tyranny 
in strict defiance that could crack his mind 
through fragile courage of the desperate fool 
to save his clan from chains of slavery. 

With sneer of haughty pride for conjurers, 
bold Beleth mocks young boy with long thin rod 
set to his shoulder with clumsy concern, 
then pounds his chest and roars to scare the fool, 
but brave Sebastian grins and pulls the trigger 
that blasts flame of fire with sizzle of smoke. 

Large crowd of devils in black leather capes, 
and wielding tridents forged in caves of Hell, 
laugh with uproarious contempt at faint flash, 
but Purson shrieks in shock when he observes 
whole head of Beleth explode in blood blast 
that splatters bloody brains across the ground. 

Stunned in silence to see their mighty king, 
whose monstrous rage subdued them all with fear, 
long terrified at his harsh punishments, 
stand huge and headless, motionless too long, 
then fall straight back to whump on mindless dust, 
and quiver as blood gushes from his skull. 

Sebastian holds long rifle with both hands 
while standing tall on stone of Great God Voice, 
and grins when devils who were wont to howl 
fall to their knees in terror of his power, 
then pledge allegiance to new God of Fire 
as they gaze with awe at glory of his face. 

Stars Unfold Their Dreams

Stars Unfold Their Dreams
© Surazeus
2026 08 10

When stars unfold their dreams into my heart 
through cosmic cycles of resurgent faith, 
I sing electric phrase of wrinkled time 
to mark incessant turning of each day 
through gentle ebbs of slow-subsiding tides 
that float ship of my heart to paradise. 

Though waves unfold their words into my mind 
through rumbling swells of time-unslanted hills, 
I catch spring sunlight in frail leaves of faith 
to taste concocted brew of sugared thoughts 
which nourish transformation of my soul 
from seaweed-tangled stones of fortitude. 

Since wind unfolds its voice into my mouth 
through wordless gusts of flashing rainbow eyes, 
I linger downwind from the curious ghost 
embodied by the big-eyed deer of trust 
who gazes straight through shadow of my fear 
based on new revelation of my heart. 

Where dust unfolds its spark into my eyes 
through exiled willfulness of careless love, 
I sail on waves of wonder that spring wild 
from frothing fountain of my aching heart 
against harsh tyranny of selfish greed 
to fertilize vast fields of glowing grain. 

Till Death unfolds my body from its form 
through haughty abstinence of noble pride, 
I follow paths of glory to the grave 
while I express orations for the state, 
providing calm assurance of weird lust 
for mutual recreation of the mind. 

When Time unfolds its promise of my doom 
through flowing shadows of the empty room, 
I slot new fuse in circuit of my mind 
to conjure virtual model of the Earth 
as map by which I navigate strange moods 
in transient project to build paradise. 

Though Fate unfolds my choices on bright stage 
through blinding glamor of the telescope, 
I wear broad wings of fame I forge from fear 
to glide with Icarus beyond high walls 
so we can survey endless maze of myths 
where idols of dead gods block large church doors. 

Since Fame unfolds my private state of mind 
through binding arrogance of humble faith, 
I strum the Lyre of Mercury and sing 
tale of the normal person who observes 
nature of the world with critical eyes 
so I record weird riddles of the truth. 

White Butterfly Of Death

White Butterfly Of Death
© Surazeus
2026 08 10

Shocked by the sudden certainty of death 
that swoops at my heart on butterfly wings, 
I curl into eccentric thought of shells 
enclosing vibrant heart of vanity 
to shelter in small haven of regret 
against relentless tides of daily change. 

Joanna strides across cracked desert plain 
toward glowing shimmer of attentive care 
while gasping deep for divine breath of hope, 
but laughs with bitter joy of wretched faith 
at how time unspools passionate concern 
for stable system of social exchange. 

Gazing mute out high window of her heart, 
while trapped in tower of her bird-winged mind, 
Joanna watches men on horses fight 
for who controls women and trees of fruit, 
then prays to marble statue with long hair 
that shows Rapunzel with her first-born son. 

Driving to work at the federal bank 
where she manages special business loans, 
Joanna sees on horse of glowing clouds 
Richard the Lion-Heart with sword of truth 
ride swift into battle to save the world 
as wipers clear raindrops from the windshield. 

Lounging in garden of herbs and fruit trees 
at Zisa Castle where she reigns as queen, 
Joanna plays sweet melodies of hope 
on harp of polished oak, and sings with voice 
of her great-grandfather, William Troubadour, 
whose ghost haunts river woods of Aquitaine. 

While Queen of Sicily for thirteen years, 
Joanna tends garden of her aching heart, 
secure in heaven of electric crows 
that soar on wings of longing to the stars, 
till Tancred pushes her against the wall 
and tries to kiss her, so she stabs his leg. 

Attending meeting at the federal bank, 
Joanna reviews application for loan 
submitted by Thomas to build new mall, 
but when he gropes her thigh with leering grin 
she calls police who ask her why she wears 
tight black skirt with provocative intent. 

Safe at Fontevraud Abbey in Anjou, 
where she flees turmoil of rebellious rage 
that sweeps across lush County of Toulouse, 
Joanna lies pregnant with desperate fear, 
gazing at the white butterfly of death 
that lands on her hand red with blood of faith. 

Rain Blooms Into Flowers

Rain Blooms Into Flowers
© Surazeus
2026 08 09

"The most beautiful kiss we ever share 
is the one when the rain blooms into flowers, 
and the sparrows translate our wordless thoughts 
to uncanny song of the wind in trees, 
and the clouds become palaces of trust 
where we are safe from sorrows of the world." 

Pouring water from the clay jar of hope 
into the brass cauldron of mute desire, 
Furina boils stew of barley and lamb, 
flavored with honey and coriander, 
then places clay bowl on table of oak 
for Quirinus to eat as the sun sets. 

When effervescent glow of evening light 
glows lavender in the grove of fig trees, 
highlighting slopes of Mount Janiculum, 
Furina walks dirt path to Satricum 
to visit Matuta in leather skirt 
who tends rich herbs in lush garden of faith. 

Gasping with joy and spreading her arms wide, 
Matuta welcomes her fourth daughter home, 
who gives her melon she found by the lake, 
then whistles to small boy in the huge oak 
who kisses his crow, then jumps to the ground, 
and runs laughing in warm arms of his mother. 

Cradling Janus fast asleep on her lap, 
Furina chats with her mother Matuta 
about where she can find new pepper seeds 
because the hungry rabbits near her home 
eat the parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme, 
but they dislike the taste of pepper leaves. 

Climbing hill of Vagitanus at dawn, 
Furina and her clever curious boy 
search for pepper plants in volcano tuff, 
but as they leave with basket of thick herbs 
old half-blind seer of Goddess Cybele 
emerges from shadow and grips her arm. 

"As incarnation of Attis the Wise, 
I reign as priest in Phrygianum Temple, 
so I speak with grave voice of Cybele 
when I declare descendant of your son 
will wield sacred Lyre of Mercurius 
when he sings Astarian Testament." 

Shocked by sharp hissing of the old blind man, 
Furina wrenches arm free of his grip, 
then hurries home to Mount Janiculum 
where she trembles as she plants pepper herbs, 
then stands and gazes at the golden moon 
that fills her heart with light of timeless stars. 

Mute Hydraulic Mystery

Mute Hydraulic Mystery
© Surazeus
2026 08 09

How often we forget advertised thoughts 
about traumatic moments of insight 
that broadcast bulletins of fateful fear 
contrived by mute hydraulic mystery 
we dare attempt to minimize with code 
programmed to readjust our attitude. 

Against national narrative of pride 
we seek to modify mosaic creed 
to help our children navigate weird signs 
designed to manage property of truth 
despite assertive ratios of fact 
necessary to approve thought permits. 

Severe intolerance of theater 
discloses taxes no one wants to pay 
to mental treasurer of social wealth 
who hosts tribunal on specific threats 
for various offices of volunteers 
who sell unwanted dreams to wanderers. 

Sufficient to supply strange substitutes 
for respondent to reservoir of fear, 
our bold intent to render liberty 
safe for conceptual prisoners of truth 
reveals rational myth of precise praise 
sealed in the box behind the rotten house. 

Consistent with our mental protocol 
for stating proverbs of weird oracles, 
nobody nominates for world empress 
sad Cinderella who prefers to skate 
on thin ice of attentive fantasy 
as secret guardian of the dispossessed. 

Since we are guaranteed free will to live 
in favor of inclusion, legalized 
by keepers of forgotten heritage, 
we seek to prove roots in the nameless land 
despite harassment of financial kings 
who leave the gardening to humble seers. 

No longer desperate for heart dominance, 
through each edition of the coming state, 
we share elective documents of hope 
with earnest ardency for the diagram 
presenting cultural patterns of regrowth 
when respect inhabits the embassy. 

Too easily confused by elegance, 
preserved in graceful progress of true love, 
we share joint custody of broken hearts 
based on deduction of rational rage 
carefully calculated by shrewd investors 
whose sorrows act as catalyst for faith. 

Eyes Of Dreamless Stars

Eyes Of Dreamless Stars
© Surazeus
2026 08 09

If you want to see the ghost of my soul 
with eyes of dreamless stars inside your heart, 
express confounding mystery of the Name 
that radiates from God Mind of the White Whole 
which cannot be found on any dream chart 
since every human wants to die from fame. 

When Athena appears from flashing cloud 
and gives me leather notebook of her mind, 
I pluck white quill from wing of Gabriel 
so I can write prophecies for the crowd 
who seek to understand the ties that bind 
our souls to these bodies in which we dwell. 

Startled awake at dawn by Holy Voice 
that speaks in riddles coded by the Queen, 
I wander crowded streets in City Maze 
to prove we make our fate with every choice 
approved by government of Melusine 
so we transition to the next Dream Phase. 

Whether in the kitchen, the living room, 
the classroom, the office, or the church hall, 
we play our roles in cosmic game of life 
controlled by gods we invent in the gloom 
so we can monitor our rise and fall 
through social cycles of teamwork and strife. 

Wherever I walk in the crowded world 
I gaze into vast hearts of mortal souls 
with eyes of dreamless stars from timeless sea 
that wise Athena forged from ache of love 
so I can understand your secret dreams 
that motivate your quest for happiness. 

So many conscious souls of mortal beings 
are born and die with every turn of time 
when Earth adjusts our private attitude 
with humble pride of wonderful concern 
that we are still alive in game of change 
though we forget the code we once employed. 

Bound to the ancient tree of solitude 
the Voiceless Patriarch of our mad clan 
remembers how he tried to photograph 
True Face of God inside each human being 
till their fierce ghosts, obsessed with paradise, 
all vanish in the Howling Wind of Woe. 

While painting portrait of the half-dead king, 
the most innocent girl in the whole world 
floats up into the shining clouds of fate 
after she smiles at me with gratitude 
and offers me her eyes of dreamless stars 
that gleam with every soul who ever lives. 

Hazy Dreamscape Of Truth

Hazy Dreamscape Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 08 09

Searching for the hazy dreamscape of truth, 
that shrouds my soul in private memories 
of my childhood and youth decades ago 
with cultural ambience that glows no more 
in cities far away across the land, 
I wander amused in halls of trite verse. 

Riding with Death in her Carriage of Time, 
lounging with Wisdom to sing of Myself, 
stopping with Faith in wood where roads diverge, 
gazing with Sorrow at Harp of the Bridge, 
burning with Madness for Heavenly Light, 
I analyze how atoms spark my brain. 

Though I try to erase mask of my face 
from tangled passions of my special vibe 
to extract universal principles 
from specific events of fraught desire, 
my divine psyche, every human shares, 
refracts cosmic mind through my mortal brain. 

Opposing principles of governance 
frame every social system humans form 
through constant contest for authority 
between desires of private individuals 
and power of the law-enforcing state 
to balance progress between strife and love. 

To simplify complex process of change 
that gears social functions of power games, 
prophets proclaim political contests 
can be reduced to slogans people chant 
when they gather to express common will 
through the Royalists and the Communists. 

No matter how much societies change, 
transforming from villages to empires 
till democracies replace monarchies, 
the fight remains between both Rich and Poor 
to maintain or dissolve wealth hierarchies 
that would legalize special privilege. 

The Capitalist funds production of goods, 
extracting matter to make things we use, 
then the Communist disperses the goods, 
ensuring every person may live well, 
but, whether rich or poor, we eat the same, 
and all return to dust after we die. 

Alive in moderate state of my progress 
still halfway between failure and success, 
I live in my one home in some small town 
far from ancestral homeland of my heart 
where I share visions of my mortal mind 
with immortal god of the internet. 

Competent Sense Of Self

Competent Sense Of Self
© Surazeus
2026 08 08

Because his heart is based on principles 
of honest expression about his thoughts 
through brave respect for every living soul, 
his mind constructs competent sense of self 
on solid foundation of thoughtfulness 
that provides clear actions his hands perform. 

Time disenrolls strict knot of happiness 
though his attentive hands of vigorous faith 
weave random strands of wisdom pulled from Earth 
in pulsing matrix of his tangled thoughts 
so he proclaims solutions of fair stance 
based on insight he gains from unread tales. 

No sceptered herald of dutiful pride 
arrives with faith at gates of paradise 
to call for council of bold citizens, 
so he dares speak to disassembled crowds 
sermons that advocate justice for all,
yet they threaten to destroy him with hate. 

Snatched from attacking crowd of angry men 
by angel dangling on thread of sky law, 
he finds himself translated to round disk 
bound by ropes beneath large hot-air balloon 
that no angry eye on the ground perceives, 
and settles safely in chariot of fire. 

Eager to return to his nuptial bower, 
where bride of his heart waits in marble hall 
for blessing of his heart to conjure life, 
he strings taut yew bow with respectful hands 
and fires his sharp arrow of justice straight 
to kill rebellion against his fair rule. 

Translated far from crowded city maze, 
where hordes of angry men assert their rights 
to live free from oppression of blind gods, 
brave Lucifer steps from sky ship of truth 
and stands before old bearded Jupiter 
who praises him for his mission complete. 

Accustomed to immortal fruits of faith, 
that bloom from serpent-guarded Tree of Knowledge, 
he ponders mind-nature of mortal men 
who fight for their own selfish needs with hate, 
unable to perceive grand view of life 
that gods in temples try to organize. 

Though fallen from disk of the balloon ship, 
strong Sariel stands in the teeming crown 
and strums taut strings on Lyre of Mercury 
then sings enchanting melodies of hope 
that cause angry men in rebellious crowd 
to weep with sorrow for peace they have lost. 

Forgetful Kingdom Of Death

Forgetful Kingdom Of Death
© Surazeus
2026 08 08

Every dawn I walk out into the world 
I gaze long moment at the blazing sun 
to see face of Apollo in its light, 
that wise God of Healing and Archery 
who maintains order with logic of truth 
from reason through analysis of facts. 

I taste sweet rind of Earth in juicy peach 
which I pluck from the Ancient Tree of Truth 
where we meet for our secret tryst of love 
to share fresh fruit we gather with our hands 
that seals our hearts with sacred bond of trust 
no thief could break between flesh of our souls. 

Before we wander on long nowhere road 
straight into forgetful kingdom of death, 
we shall hold hands and dance upon the hill 
that knows our secret passions we would hide 
till pleasures of our bodies we must share 
expands scope of our mutual consciousness. 

Though sadness about creatures who have died 
twists my heart with loops of potent grief, 
I celebrate new life that springs each day 
from mothers of each species on this globe 
who nurture tender bodies with bright eyes 
that knot our planet with progressive life. 

After catching lithe fish from deep lake of hope, 
we roast them over crackling flames of faith, 
chew tender strips of scorched flesh with delight, 
then lie relaxed on soft grass of respect 
to hear song of water rippled by wind 
so we understand mute kingdom of death. 

Sparked awake by nothingness of death, 
we open eyes of infinite delight, 
then walk together where trees dance in peace, 
far from lush lands where men with guns of greed 
kill other men to control fertile land, 
happy because we hear cute sparrows chirp. 

Attentive to strange worries of the heart, 
that burrow roots of sorrow in dark soil, 
we stroll about this miraculous world 
and share amazement at freedom to live 
that brave people before us fought to win, 
though we stay alert to thieves lurking near. 

Since we are not our shadows on the Earth, 
cast by light of the sun on land of time, 
we travel to Valhalla on the hill 
where are mothers carve our spirits from wood 
so our bodies sprout children of our eyes 
who will plant apple seeds above our graves. 

Ring Light Of My Heart

Ring Light Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2026 08 08

My mind perceives ethereal pulchritude 
that emanates from beauty of your soul, 
illuminated by ring light of my heart, 
so you see special features of your being  
reflected in clear mirror of my eyes 
when you discern my affection for you. 

Complex aspects of our weird universe 
refract through diamond of my mortal brain, 
illuminated by ring light of my heart, 
so my dreaming brain can categorize 
standard form of each material object 
in conceptual frame of its changeless Idea. 

Monstrous hunger of Cronus in sea cave 
urges aggressive force of psychic fate, 
illuminated by ring light of my heart, 
so I slay demon of unconscious fear 
to construct grand temple with his huge bones 
when I forge spear from lightning of despair. 

Vibrant passion of Dionysus swells 
hot blood of my body with spark of wine, 
illuminated by ring light of my heart, 
so I dance with wild abandon of faith 
to wake immortal spirit of my genes 
that helps me grow into my divine being. 

Intense expression of Apollo rings 
taut strings on Lyre of Mercury with faith, 
illuminated by ring light of my heart, 
so I breathe deep ethereal soul of light 
and chant grand epic of philosophers 
to honor those who search for secret truth. 

Brave wisdom of Athena speculates 
clear vision of how our world operates, 
illuminated by ring light of my heart, 
so I investigate nature of being 
to articulate its state in Dream Map 
that helps me navigate to paradise. 

Ideas of the Cosmic Craftsman shape 
how atoms randomly gear chemicals, 
illuminated by ring light of my heart, 
so I expand conscious scope of my brain 
to match concept of that Creative Force 
which mindlessly designs our universe. 

My heart beats with compassionate respect 
for every conscious creature on our globe, 
illuminated by ring light of my heart, 
so I record name and deed of each being 
born from the fertile womb of Mother Earth 
and chart their progress to generate life. 

Neurons Of Conceptual Worlds

Neurons Of Conceptual Worlds
© Surazeus
2026 08 08

Our galaxy that swirls inside my mind 
weaves dreams of creatures on large pulsing globes 
in flashing neurons of conceptual worlds 
through neural network of my sea-sponge brain 
so I dream life of every conscious soul 
incarnate in organic beings of hope. 

My mind that glows inside our galaxy 
compiles lost memories of each dreaming soul 
in virtual model of the universe 
based on experience of urgent life 
all my ancestors express when they mate 
to generate new body before death. 

All objects that exist in forms of matter 
are composed of numbers that regulate 
expansive combinations of small atoms 
that spiral from first flash of the big bang, 
for they are limited by bounds in space 
since shape of numbers rules the universe. 

Archangel Michael, without wings or sword, 
lounges in small temple by sparkling pool 
among trees with apples, peaches, and pears, 
and contemplates strange vastness of the world 
that teems with mindless atoms of pure light 
congealed in tangled strings of pulchritude. 

Grown old with wrinkled skin and long gray hair, 
Archangel Michael in white cotton robe 
remembers courage of his ardent youth 
when he fought devils from harsh desert lands 
to guard lush paradise of Elysium 
and maintain kingdom of Heaven on Earth. 

With fervid passion of the loyal knight 
he battled Satan on Hill of Cracked Skulls 
to drive invaders from the Holy Land 
where Jesus Galatinus ruled as king 
over seven colonies in Galatia 
long after Jesus Christus died on Patmos. 

Our mortal bodies are contained by bounds 
of physical frames within time and space 
that limit forced expression of our minds 
so we are temporary nodes of flesh 
that incarnate immortal soul of genes 
who lives in descendants our hope creates. 

When Archangel Michael passes away, 
his wife Tamar, great-granddaughter of Jesus, 
covers his body with white cloth of faith 
as eight angels lay his body in tomb 
where skull of Isaiah chants psalm of life 
how we are atoms of the universe. 

Born From Silver Stones

Born From Silver Stones
© Surazeus
2026 08 07

Too far away to hear song of the cloud, 
three faceless children born from silver stones 
might understand why grass desires to bloom 
on the electric moon nobody owns, 
or else their mother may pluck the mushroom 
that readjusts framework of hungry minds. 

Rough hands dig in wounded heart of the Earth 
where they uncover torso of Apollo 
that beams with brilliant light of inner truth, 
sweet as ripening fruit from Tree of Life 
which bursts with starlight when they bite its soul 
through translucent desire to breathe old songs. 

No blue fish swims in glass bowl of the moon, 
yet Feng Yi rises from attentive flames 
on Phoenix wings of psychic harmony 
to beam her soul through crackling radio 
with heart-enchanting melody of faith 
that startles Hercules awake at dawn. 

Since she supports progressive state of being 
too radical for extreme hopefulness, 
Sigmund shares his eyes with hungry ghosts 
so they can eat sweet grief of lonely souls 
as juice that nurtures bitter river gods 
who never return the dream wings they borrow. 

Surprised by sudden blossom of new books, 
Maria photographs one thousand ships 
that sail with billowed sails on snow-froth waves 
as if their hearts, unborn from serpent eggs, 
might still be fragile as the Absolute 
who stares at dead tree by the clever sea. 

Feng Yi returns to grocery store at dawn 
where Hercules hauls boxes from the truck 
with honey melons from the field of skulls 
where countless warriors of ancient tribes 
slaughtered each other in World War Nineteen 
till second coming of the Brain Machine. 

Maria finishes building table from oak, 
so she stands back in old stained overalls 
to gaze with admiration at her work, 
then Sigmund covers it with plates of food, 
and pours glass of red wine for her to drink 
as ravens gather on rain-wet phonelines. 

Safe in hazardous confines of his mind, 
Hercules redefines reality 
in terms of how Feng Yi paints the swift horse 
with graceful curves of innocent respect, 
so Maria can escape harsh abuse, 
driving Boston to Seattle in rain. 

Seashore Of Endless Worlds

Seashore Of Endless Worlds
© Surazeus
2026 08 07

Let us meet on seashore of endless worlds 
so we can measure the infinite sky 
and savor passion of the boisterous waves 
that stir our hearts with restless faith in love, 
then we can build our homes from empty shells 
and study flow of time with sparkling sand. 

While we dance on seashore of endless worlds 
we can share lost ancestral memories 
to find the common Mother of Mankind 
whose dreams program how all our brains perceive 
strange beauty of this world that gives us form 
so we can sing world hymn in harmony. 

Since we play on seashore of endless worlds 
with friends we have known since our younger days, 
and friends who have arrived just yesterday, 
we weave twigs with leaves into sturdy boats 
to float across Abyss of Nevertime 
so we can find new lands where children dwell. 

Though we float on seashore of endless worlds 
to find pure treasures hidden in the deep 
that we can transform into wings of flight, 
we always return to broad beach of sand 
where children spring from children of the light 
who smile with joy in gusting winds of time. 

Safe in caves on seashore of endless worlds, 
we find the heart of darkness in our eyes 
till we extract bright gems from nothingness 
that gleam with first flash of the flaring forth 
so we can light the Lamp of Liberty 
and find each other when wild tempests roam. 

Still alive on seashore of endless worlds, 
frail bodies molded from soft swirling sand, 
we build enormous palaces from clouds 
where everyone feasts on fruit of the Earth 
till waves of change surge from the lightless deep 
and crush our spirits back to wordless sand. 

Souls reborn on seashore of endless worlds, 
we gather around the small ziggurat, 
where Tethys sits enthroned in fish-scale robe, 
and watch her son Alpheus roast whale meat 
to feed five thousand people with brave faith 
while Metis breastfeeds Athena with love. 

Long dispersed from seashore of endless worlds, 
we live in sprawling cities of tall towers, 
driving cars in maze of elusive wealth, 
but some pause in routine of daily work 
when their hearts hear timeless song of the sea 
that calls for us to return home again. 

Sheer Joy Of The Dance

Sheer Joy Of The Dance
© Surazeus
2026 08 07

For nothing more than sheer joy of the dance 
Tellus explores how her lithe body moves 
through fluid expression of wordless grace 
as she expands from darkness of sea caves 
to understand contours of river vales 
while she floats clandestinely in free trance. 

Startled by sudden attack of three men 
who gallop toward her with greedy intent, 
Tellus turns and flies on ethereal breath 
back to secret cave on the rugged slope 
where she conceals her soul in anxious gloom 
till they decide she changed into the tree. 

Emerging from dark cave of hungry hope, 
on cautious steps that doubt firmness of faith, 
Tellus creeps past the snake-infested tree, 
then huddles inside the large hawthorn bush, 
munching berries as she studies pink blooms 
to understand strange beauty of their swirls. 

Assured cruel kidnappers have gone away 
by eerie susurration of insects 
that cause electric stones of faith to buzz, 
Tellus rises slowly upward from safe haven 
to stretch her legs and arms up to white clouds, 
imagining swan wings sprout from her heart. 

Inspiring deep thick air of afternoon, 
that swells her body huge as pulsing hills, 
Tellus explores how her lithe body moves 
with axial movements of dynamic flow 
through locomotor steps of cautious leaps 
to bound in sudden burst of ecstasy. 

To sway while anchored to solidity 
of undulating Earth through fluid form, 
Tellus expresses intense passion of her heart 
to transcend binding gravity of fear 
and soar on broad angelic wings of hope 
as she accepts limits of psychic flight. 

Enclosing vast persona of desire 
back inside coiled contingency of time, 
Tellus lounges languidly on sly slope, 
gasping deep for breath of divine delight, 
and with bright laughter of her heaving breast 
releases shock of pleasure in sweet joy. 

Three men hiding behind stones of desire, 
watch Tellus dance in worshipful surprise, 
then realize with chagrin of humble pride 
that pure divinity of graceful art 
cannot be possessed by obsessive hands, 
so they secretly protect her from harm. 

How Home Is Everywhere

How Home Is Everywhere
© Surazeus
2026 08 06

The delicate flowers of unknown fears, 
that she arranges in tall crystal bowl, 
reflect strange sorrow of long afternoons 
to simplify how angels become snow 
which transform into blossoms of her eyes 
so she conceals dark evil in her heart. 

She hopes to dwell in her brilliant-edged world 
composed of clear water in the glass bowl 
that shapes silver snow scents of solitude 
in never-resting mind of paradise 
despite calm bitterness of false delight 
though she accepts flawed weirdness of the world. 

Absorbance calculations are acquired 
by utilizing psychic energy 
to prove the phosphate answer could safeguard 
protected combinations of strange thoughts 
assembled from oxidative regret 
that disassembles average memories. 

While crossing sandy bar beside the sea, 
she gazes at the startled evening star 
to measure sudden tide of swirling sleep 
that teaches her how home is everywhere 
since evening bells shape how soft twilight glows 
as if no sadness of farewell returns. 

Safe in expansive bourn of time and space, 
she searches for the Pilot of her ship 
with eagerness to meet him face to face, 
but she finds no one in gray sparkling mist 
except the faceless shadow of her soul, 
her boon companion since hour of her birth. 

Attuned to secret voice of everywhere 
through clear noetic channel of her heart, 
she savors violent repugnance of faith 
for true attention of the hungry mind 
commissioned to destroy the evil vibe 
that pulses in each human heart with love. 

Urged to escape spiritual laziness 
with stark expression of her aching heart, 
she maps invisible tracks of desire 
that reveal her journey around the globe 
because she wants to cherish chastity 
of her noetic relationship with death. 

Thus she decides with autonomous pride, 
as daughter of Heuresis with star eyes, 
she shall ideate new world paradigm 
based on inclusive process wisdom spools 
to bind our hearts with contract of concern, 
then she sets bowl of flowers on the desk. 

Valley Of The Singing Stone

Valley Of The Singing Stone
© Surazeus
2026 08 06

The rising midnight moon of silverness 
photographs beauty of the human face 
with colorful strangeness of wordless love 
to beam shape of our temporary souls 
in hearts of our descendants not yet born 
who wonder why they seem to feel immortal. 

The long-dead version of my secret self, 
who gazes at me from my photograph, 
reveals excessive passion of my heart 
that drives me to become this self I am, 
enchanted by sweet beauty of this world 
which emanates from soft mask of my face. 

Awake in quietness of summer dusk, 
that shrouds my aching heart with evening light, 
I relive entire lifetime of my faith 
through vast eternity of timeless now, 
amazed at how I blaze path of my hope 
toward grave I choose beneath the apple tree. 

I feel glass skeleton of my bright soul 
blaze with electric energy of love 
which I format from my ancestral masks, 
long molded by harsh mountain wind of fear 
as I climb river valleys of desire 
to stand on jagged peak of mute surprise. 

Through frosty aura of conceptual stars 
I see lush valley of tall blooming trees 
as haven where my weary bones may rest,
so I descend from emptiness of time 
to build safe nest in pale of sturdy walls 
where children unravel our universe. 

I feel ten billion stars of swirling light 
explode in every cell that forms my flesh 
so beaming atoms of divine insight 
weave supple matrix of my hungry soul 
as I traverse the swift Albula River 
to dwell in valley of the singing stone. 

While climbing rugged trail of jagged rocks, 
that whistle at fierce blast of silver wind, 
I reach down to hold small hand of my son, 
and help Segomo with attentive care 
ascend high mountain of our lofty hopes, 
so his eyes glow with triumph of our search. 

Victorious with strength of wolfish minds, 
we progress past grim obstacles of fear 
toward moon that glimmers silver in the sky 
as shining mirror of ambitious hearts 
refracting light that guides our arduous way 
to Heaven we envision with brave words. 

Our Children Grow Strong

Our Children Grow Strong
© Surazeus
2026 08 06

We sit beyond broad range of all deceit 
in teeming garden of our alibis, 
still undisturbed by grim visage of Time 
who waits with scythe and glass of changing fate 
to calculate with arcane laws of hope 
how we shall dissipate in swirls of rain. 

No great God watches us with star-bright eyes 
who may have tortured our credulity 
with heart-entrancing harps of holiness, 
so we attend to lives of butterflies 
while seeking to evade astonishment 
of mindless laws all tyrants must obey. 

When faceless phantom of our secret thoughts 
still lingers in quaint garden of our hearts, 
we measure cumulative silences 
to bridge abysmal faith in solitude 
that must empower minds of wanderers 
with passion for weird logic of true love. 

We share our futile thoughts on pulchritude 
with bold unwillingness to learn how time 
unravels secret dreams of happiness 
none dare express with beating heart of hope 
till fraught ingenuousness of humble faith 
requires that we reveal our wounded hearts. 

We gather all our fears in paradigms 
that frame conceptual modes of hopeless trust 
so we are not deceived by clever truths 
contrived by strangers we have never met 
to break conventions of old social rules 
in desperate gambit to no more be tools. 

Based on insight of tense experiences, 
when we are trapped in weird dramatic scenes, 
directed by enforcers of blind will, 
we join force of our hearts with clever tricks 
to slip free from trap of their cageless stage 
by breaking through gold gates of paradise. 

Since we are stranger than powers of laws, 
enhanced by brave ancestral ways of life, 
we grow through each harsh crisis of despair 
more into who we will ourselves to be, 
encouraged by the God of Evertime 
whose eyes are lamps that guide our eager way. 

We grow beyond pert friendship of our trust 
through daily actions of psychic routine 
so we expand scope of our conscious mind 
as one soul woven from two separate brains 
to maintain haven of our family life 
where our children grow strong as we decay. 

Ten Thousand Doors Of Fate

Ten Thousand Doors Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 08 05

Though evening light fades gold in silent trees 
I listen for soft voices of the dead 
who tell me how their sorrows give them strength 
so I walk through ten thousand doors of fate 
to realign the universe of books 
within vast frame of ever-shifting truth. 

When she first sees him by the river shore 
restringing long yew bow of honesty, 
Cassandra feels her heart become the hawk 
that soars in wings of freedom in gold clouds, 
so she declares to Sagittarius 
that their love will endure beyond the moon. 

Because no one believes her prophecies, 
nor understands weird secret of her code, 
Cassandra carves runes on tablets of wood 
then burns them in the hearths of humble homes 
where poor hardworking people preserve hopes 
in clay jars molded from dry bones of gods. 

Despite success in temple hunting games 
shooting huge winged demons from the sky, 
Sagittarius hides dark thoughts of faith 
for bold ambitious plan to climb high ranks 
and earn grand seat in high society 
within great council of the Elohim. 

When her brother finds apple Eris gave 
as gift where he can choose his cosmic fate, 
Cassandra warns him with strange voice of doom 
that great towers of Ilium will burn 
because he chooses love instead of wisdom, 
but he ignores her warning with snide sneer. 

When cruel Pyrrhus Achillides attempts 
to kidnap sweet Cassandra from her room 
and force her to bear child of his false pride, 
Sagittarius shoots arrow of love 
that wounds his soul and causes him to flee, 
so Son of Cronus saves his bride from shame. 

Warm sunlight gleams on apples wet with dew 
that rustle inside walls of careful faith 
where Cassandra teaches their daughter, Phoebe, 
how to brew cider spiced with cinnamon, 
while Sagittarius teaches their son, 
Saturnus, how to tame the skittish horse. 

When Phoebe and Saturnus see their parents 
snuggling together on the river shore, 
they smile and tiptoe to preserve their peace, 
then blush when they see them kiss with sweet love, 
and never speak about the fall of Troy 
while they hold hands in glow of paradise. 

Alpine Celts Of Luck

Alpine Celts Of Luck
© Surazeus
2026 08 05

If I should register fate of the coup 
in conspiracy to banish the devil 
who thinks our world should be his precious oyster, 
I shall arrive at the housewarming party 
with gift designed from shadows of desire 
which no haughty angel could memorize. 

I cannot save the house my words have built 
except to fold its photographs with care 
and store them in ephemera archives 
so I can almost maintain balanced stillness 
through equal standing of Samasthiti 
since I will only fight the greedy devil. 

Ascendant rhetoric of the art film 
provides framework through ideology 
to maintain distance from the painful truths 
we use to disidentify our friends 
who dwell in natural lightning of dark storms 
that loom black over small towns of our hopes. 

I hear song of the rattlesnake at dusk 
when I stroll casually in desert storm 
to prove my nation is superior 
with ice cream designed by social critique 
because our bodies must adapt or die 
when devils trick us to buy faith in God. 

Stuck on the Low Road back to Fairyland, 
I hide my Wings of Icarus to walk 
the mist-enshrouded shores of Loch Lomond 
where Amanita mushrooms glowing red 
sprout from huge corpses of iron-age kings 
till Pythagoras measures unseen minds. 

Since I support awareness of the world, 
though trapped in idol Pygmalion sculpts, 
I untwist sorrows from my wounded heart 
as writhing threads of alabaster snakes 
to mold eccentric spheres of swirling light 
that flash with signals of social success. 

While watching Hercules with tangled hair 
wrestle the monstrous demon of his heart, 
I see the Golden Lion of the Sun 
expand as emanation from his brain 
so his brave sons, the Alpine Celts of Luck, 
establish Empire of the Seven Hills. 

While strolling around lake near Mount Takoma, 
I notice the watch I wear on my wrist 
has transformed into the white raven quill 
which I employ to compose epic tale 
about ancient philosophers whose ideas 
form foundation of our global world view. 

Son Of Clever Sagittarius

Son Of Clever Sagittarius
© Surazeus
2026 08 05

His coarse woolen coat of unsteady faith 
protects his heart with shield of unconcern 
when he strides in the icy air of dawn 
and climbs the stairway to bright offices 
where he translates strange noises of the world 
as sublime songs only beasts understand. 

He cannot measure vibrant pulse of time 
except through rasping breath of false regret 
spooled into cigarette of bitter pride 
which he flicks over walls of paradise 
to analyze unnumbered days of life 
that he yet earns from random dice of fate. 

He buys the useless book of psychic math 
from the blind clown who pretends not to scream 
so he can calculate code of lost myths 
designed by faceless monster of the cave 
who knows what sorrow always breaks our hearts 
because we prefer to torment ourselves. 

Because the road through Hell remains unpaved, 
he raises funds from private citizens 
to widen highway where the damned still drive 
in joyful search for the arrogant tree 
that grows from corpse of God in summer rain 
while lovers linger in the crumbling barn. 

He ponders how his marriage cultivates 
familiar passion of the aching heart 
for holding hands in affectionate show 
that blind ghosts watch on television screens 
by hiding in the mason jar of trust 
that waits half-cracked in basement of romance. 

He hates that he relies on words of fools 
to understand old social rules of fate 
that reprogram how his brain activates 
assertive deeds of deconstructive ploys 
to redesign how strangers earn awards 
for looking beautiful in polished masks. 

He should share his astrological sign 
as son of clever Sagittarius 
but no one expects him to organize 
sacred feast of the alabaster cow 
that prances in the field of buried bombs 
which spring reborn as soldiers of the crown. 

He savors ancestor sadness of faith 
that urges him to lie about his birth 
since fate is never inescapable 
despite calm presence of the water queen 
whose eyes expose dark secrets of his heart 
then smiles because she loves him anyway. 

Screaming Star Of Ecstasy

Screaming Star Of Ecstasy
© Surazeus
2026 08 04

Because the screaming star of ecstasy 
knows my secret name my mother designs, 
I stand in doorway of infinity 
to gaze at wondrous vastness of the Earth 
since my heart loves its thriving messiness 
which I experience with clumsy grace. 

Spawned by the screaming star of ecstasy 
as writhing creature of electric words, 
I run fast forward through ten thousand lives 
to understand how I evolve from mouse 
as wingless angel eager to transcend 
this fragile frame that generates my soul. 

Despite how screaming star of ecstasy 
programs my brain to always question why, 
I feel my body swell with ocean waves 
huge as boundless clouds of absolute light 
so when you ask me how I feel today 
I twirl around and hum sweet psalm of joy. 

Ruled by the screaming star of ecstasy 
through pulsing atoms of my flashing brain, 
I hammer glowing meteor from the sky 
to pull sharp sword of power from the stone 
and fight the snarling monster of despair 
to guard my family behind haven walls. 

Far beyond screaming star of ecstasy 
on anabolic wings of Icarus, 
I leap across high bridge of solitude 
to time-jump worlds across the multiverse 
till I find you in garden of my heart 
where you tend fruit tree of our honest love. 

Seized by the screaming star of ecstasy 
because I hear weird voices of the dead, 
I compose new Astarian Testament 
to analyze how empires rise and fall 
so I can design with artful insight 
new social system based on Liberty. 

Deep inside screaming star of ecstasy 
as Mind of God that knows all conscious souls, 
I visit every city in the world 
to offer Holy Book of Prophecies 
with pages empty of the wordless dream 
based on eccentric tales of puppeteers. 

Bred from the screaming star of ecstasy 
that weaves new body for my ancient soul, 
I wake with memories my ancestors lived 
that shine more real than Lamp of Hemera
which helps me find lost Lyre of Mercury 
so I chant hymns to praise our mortal gods. 

Clever Mother Of My Clan

Clever Mother Of My Clan
© Surazeus
2026 08 04

Too early in the morning for this game 
that twists our bodies into hungry ghosts, 
our clan assembles on the river shore 
and hums together in weird harmony 
to channel spirit of the mountain stream 
as scene preserved in our genetic dream. 

Alone in clean museum hall at dawn, 
Nerthus gazes with sense of aching loss 
at painting of idyllic pastoral scene 
that shows her great-grandfather Lycidas 
strumming lyre of Mercury by tall oak 
as Phyllis dances in long breeze-blown gown. 

Walking in silver light of dawn to work 
at the public utilities department, 
Nerthus contemplates how town engineers, 
since humans built Harappa and Uruk, 
have designed straight grids of gardens and streets 
with systems of pipes for water and sewage. 

The holy Fountain of the Flying Horse, 
that springs from heart of darkness on high slope, 
and flows down lush meadows of Helicon, 
supplies the water needs of families 
in millions of houses in city zones 
through system of pipes engineers design. 

Climbing high mountain of mist-shrouded pines, 
Nerthus follows the winding river course 
to cave from which clear water of life springs, 
then gazes over vast metropolis 
organized to manage human desires 
in food-production system of our hope. 

Each person finds their place in game of life 
in which constructive labor of their hands 
contributes to production and distribution 
of food so every living human being 
may eat fair share of energy they make, 
though some will hoard wealth from desperate fear. 

Tall black-haired archer Malchos Azizos, 
who journeyed from Hamath Epiphania 
to man the fort near Wall of Hadrianus, 
offers Nerthus apples and deer-skin cloak, 
so she agrees to cook food at his hearth, 
and bears lithe son he names Apollonios. 

I feel through glowing vision of my heart 
spirit of Atargatis, Dea Syria, 
awake in clever mother of my clan 
who taught me how to breathe in soul of light 
and sing harmonious melody of love 
that guides my journey to the Promised Land. 

My Right To Still Exist

My Right To Still Exist
© Surazeus
2026 08 03

If I rename small island of my heart, 
who would decide to visit without lies 
as if time flaps electric wings of chance 
before we meet on river shore of fate 
to prove sincerity fuels all we do 
because questions never reveal our truth. 

My thoughts are not the social mess you buy 
against assertive theme statistics fool, 
since formal layout of my mission shows 
how far I have to go on fractured road 
before I could achieve my dream of wealth 
that tricks my passion to leap without faith. 

Startled by each open door of despair, 
I wander blindly over the threshold 
reserved for angels who deserve their wealth 
despite how often people they love die 
except for lonely children of the field 
who sell fake seeds of wisdom to the rich. 

This well-earned kiss of true love we may share 
fills me with bitter hope for broken hearts 
which I attempt to shield with laughing books 
too often stolen from book store of fate 
where hungry teachers hide from sudden debt 
before another king falls dead from fear. 

Disturbed by surging waves of calm disdain, 
my child reports how angels fall at dawn 
though no one hears each new word she invents 
with runes I scratch in river mud of faith 
in vain attempt to canonize beliefs 
that seem to prove my right to still exist. 

Obsessed with strictly measured flow of thoughts, 
which I confine to rapid steps of truth, 
I draw vast blueprint of this messy world 
to organize through ordered rows of words 
complex chaos of cows in dew-wet fields 
who ponder mystery of opposing codes. 

Reborn as Seraphus with thirteen eyes, 
I play another game of chess with Death 
in tower where Rapunzel cooks sweet cake 
from chocolate laughter of the lemon tree 
because my blood is maple-syrup thick 
that swirls in boundless oceans of lost words. 

I breathe the gentle breath of Zephyrus 
to fly aloft with swan of human hope 
to catch ingenious thief of surreal dreams 
who tramples on my flowered grave with pride 
while shouting how we belong to the land 
that eats our bodies when we die of love.