Illusion Of Unspoken Hope

Illusion Of Unspoken Hope
© Surazeus
2026 09 07

Simple quietness of long afternoons 
expands moments to vast eternity 
with timeless floating of delicious light 
that gleams on walls and lawns of silent homes 
where people hide from chaos of desire 
to relish peaceful tales of fearful hope. 

Unruly laughter from proprieties 
of gleeful disdain for old social rules 
animates eager hearts with ardency 
of brave attention from heart of the soul 
who seeks salvation in pleasure of play 
that channels energy through graceful minds. 

When she appears from shadow of lost faith 
with hawk eyes that observe our changing fate, 
our spirits run with eager hope to learn 
strange secret of spirit framed by clouds 
that emanates from iron core of being 
so she laughs with delight at chill of death. 

If time unravels hope for paradise 
that fuels our progress against grim despair, 
we gesture with attentive hands of hope 
to weave taut tapestry of innocence 
depicting state of mind we wish to frame 
as narrative remembered in our name. 

Toward strange tomorrow with impassive voice 
we ever stride to realize in real time 
bright vision for the future state of things 
we wish to play on stage of our free will 
though we wind somewhere in vast maze of lies 
that still divert us from elusive goals. 

While resting on soft leather couch of fate, 
dark eyes penetrating shadows of fear, 
she ponders strange security of wealth 
that builds illusion of unspoken hope 
in brick-bound palace of sun-spacious rooms 
where ghosts of possibility haunt us. 

She comes with sunlight breaking through storm clouds 
that cast stark eerie glow of timeless truth 
on treeless mountains drenched with eager rain 
so sparkling laughter of her voice revives 
fear-poisoned hearts of lonely wanderers 
who gather close to hear her clarion song. 

Though all we built, lush gardens and strong homes, 
are shattered by disastrous storms of rage, 
swept clean off Earth in brutal waves of change 
by fierce indifferent Nature, her bright song 
swells wounded hearts with passion to survive, 
so we fly with black ravens in gold skies. 

Become The Faceless Sky

Become The Faceless Sky
© Surazeus
2026 09 07

Blank sky reflects face of eternity 
which my brain conjures from weird memory 
to project complex vision of itself 
at wholesome roundness of the universe 
which mirrors what I think about myself, 
so I see beauty shine in every soul. 

Young shepherd who guides sheep on narrow path 
through rock-strewn wasteland of hungry despair 
to grass-lush meadow on high mountain slope 
where sparkling river flows from glacier snow 
which mirrors face of stranger in my mind, 
I name each beautiful spirit I see. 

When giant one-eyed man in bear-fur cape 
attempts to steal sheep of my mountain flock, 
I set smooth river stone in leather strip, 
twirl courage high around my head with hope, 
then sling authority of legal right 
that cracks his skull and knocks him to the ground. 

Gripping sharp sword he forged from meteor stone, 
when he beat it in cave of shadow flames, 
I hack off his head to free our fertile land 
from oppressive greed of his grasping hand, 
then stand on flat-top pyramid of speech 
to show the world my victory over hate. 

Crowned by Ishtar new king to reign as judge, 
I sit on flat-top pyramid of speech 
and render judgement of authority 
with fair equality of social rules 
when I adjudicate conflicts to rein 
aggressive passion of the human will. 

To stabilize affairs of our shared state, 
ensuring legacy of my fair rule, 
I choose wise woman with insightful eyes 
who bears from holy spirit of my mind 
three sons with eyes that comprehend the truth, 
but they kill each other to take my crown. 

Setting jeweled crown on the judgment seat, 
I desert flat-top pyramid of speech 
and wander back to grass-lush mountain slope 
where wind in leaves of pines whisper my name, 
so I lie by sparkling river of time 
and gaze at blank face of eternity. 

When Ishtar finds me on the mountain slope, 
she reminds me that she crowned me as judge 
to maintain balance of social affairs, 
but I explain my time to reign has gone, 
so she holds my hand till glimmer of dawn, 
then leaves me to become the faceless sky. 

Broken Bridge Of Anywhere

Broken Bridge Of Anywhere
© Surazeus
2026 09 06

She wants to deconstruct unbroken mind 
to program spell linking cause to effect 
that curls her heart with plumes of innocence, 
so when she wears gold ring of loyalty 
no fool would doubt her brave sincerity 
she purchased at the secret magic shop. 

Therefore she hears wild spirits of the world 
mutter arcane spells of verity, 
providing framework for her lost world view, 
which still includes regret and guilt as signs 
that she is making progress toward rebirth 
by struggling to maintain integrity. 

By stretching her shadowless soul at dawn 
to enclose vibrant pulse of cherubim 
as shelter that protects her fragile brain, 
she channels shudder of the river flow 
through angst-flushed veins of passionate concern 
for health of strangers she will never meet. 

Assertive focus of her time-blazed eyes 
requires her body to float on gauze wings 
through sudden nothingness of nameless self 
that wakes as robot running over hills 
till she stops by the jagged stone of fear 
and asks the faceless angel why we die. 

When pine trees of elegant pride transform 
to telephone poles with electric wires, 
she counts every snowflake that never falls 
so she can welcome homeless travelers 
she meets on broken bridge of anywhere 
against cool judgement of palpable faith. 

We fall outside our minds to comprehend 
expansive boundlessness of nevertime, 
so she wants to speak the unhearable 
with courage to oppose the oligarch 
whose shadow looms in storm cloud of despair 
though she bears fragile lamp of liberty. 

Excited by new opportunity 
to travel in the waste land of our faith, 
she shoots bright pistol of her aching heart 
at mindless stars that scream infinitely 
before she finds her way in car of hope 
back to the garden of blind skeletons. 

She knows we are not who we play in life, 
so she strides gracefully along the bridge, 
wearing slender black skirt and frilly blouse 
to advertise them for sale at the store 
hidden in top room of the stone church tower 
where angels weep for every suffering soul. 

Ideal Persona I Would Play

Ideal Persona I Would Play
© Surazeus
2026 09 06

Bright in glass constellation of my heart, 
transcendent god, who has never been real 
beyond imagination of wild priests 
drunk on wine from mushrooms of ecstasy, 
reveals ideal persona I would play 
to maintain dignity of daily life. 

My heart pours torrents of expansive words, 
unmeasured by attentive spate of faith, 
which conjure strangers who steal hungry trees, 
to see enormous city towers gleam 
in evening clouds that loom above deep vales 
where surfaces of pools reveal our eyes. 

Adorned with jewels of fantastic truth, 
my heart attempts in vain to calculate 
ethereal breath of angels in fruit trees 
whose lust embodies serpents with gold eyes 
who tease me with delicious energy 
to think I may achieve eternal life. 

Weird thoughts of wisdom, I untwist from light, 
crawl through dim shadow of my aching flesh 
so I pretend I am First Man of Time 
commissioned by Cloud-Ghost to name all things 
that exist within bounds of time and space 
because they glow beyond mask of my face. 

As daughter of Tiresias, I guard 
Gates of Eden with spear Longinus carved 
to catch the dragon falling from rain clouds 
disguised as glorious angel with nine eyes 
who teaches me how to fly the airplane 
so I can make more accurate map of Earth. 

Though serpent of the apple tree retains 
extensive sets of books blind devils write, 
she dares reveal to me, calm mortal fool, 
collective wisdom of prophets and seers 
whose bones are letters of riddles we share 
while feasting on hamburgers by the lake. 

Long wick of my temporary heart glows 
with timeless grace of pure immortal flame 
which fills my heart with long-unspoken spells 
that fly as ravens from my open mouth 
when I campaign for President of Earth 
while seeking treasure in Elysian Fields. 

Whole in glass constellation of my brain, 
my soul accepts its temporary state 
as mortal body of hungry desires 
animated by immortal gene soul 
through chaos bound in limits of my being, 
so I want to tell you about my love. 

Spate Of Vulpine Protocols

Spate Of Vulpine Protocols
© Surazeus
2026 09 06

In tune with spate of vulpine protocols, 
designed to process economic growth 
through awful worship of transcendent gods, 
who cannot comprehend computer codes, 
we must interrogate how bitter faith 
sidelines assertive patterns without goals. 

Against false spate of vulpine protocols, 
defined by crackled creeds of chocolate cake, 
we disperse funds to arrogant households 
beholden to provisions of gold gates, 
too widely closed for horses to relate 
because we hear bees sing romantic jokes. 

Far after spate of vulpine protocols 
for welcoming lost refugees of wars, 
fought over right to breed on river shores, 
we share concerns on television shows 
for how soon immigrants may learn to pray 
while waiting in bleak offices of faith. 

Never should spate of vulpine protocols 
debate programs for social pertinence 
reversed from previous states of brokerage 
that trap certified catalogs for freaks 
to prove consensus of spliced chromosomes 
for how we calculate incompetence. 

Through active spate of vulpine protocols, 
contained in brave citations of false faith, 
we mold fresh avatars of enterprise 
from inconclusive studies engineers 
sell back to demons in the factory 
who manage fisheries of unborn souls. 

Time-fractured spate of vulpine protocols 
expands exotic documents for farms 
where clumsy ballerinas detain clowns 
with extreme prejudice for inquiry 
against invasion of blind astronauts 
who want to purchase mansions of dead gods. 

Illegal spate of vulpine protocols 
disturbs logistic progress of rebirth 
for model membership of loyalty 
in frazzled concepts of the multiverse 
where children contract magazines for games 
mechanics still refuse to play at dawn. 

Magical spate of vulpine protocols 
teach young professors how to deconstruct 
social privilege of the less powerful 
who refuse to obey state ordinance 
against observance of the holy day 
when we rebuild socialist paradise. 

Dare Disturb The Universe

Dare Disturb The Universe
© Surazeus
2026 09 06

Ghost of my brain lingers upon the pools 
that shimmer in the road of broken dreams 
where strangers without faces they could sell 
walk somewhere else with frantic urgency 
because time always seems about to end 
though days keep flowing in the flash of hope. 

Because I dare disturb the universe 
with questions about time to allocate 
another hour of study which attains 
strange secret about life no one dares share, 
I graph decision time cannot reverse, 
accounting for sweet music of the curse. 

No eyes can fix my ever-shifting soul 
with formulated phrase of arrogance 
so I presume to do what must be done 
in strict performance of the daily plan 
that highlights how we might survive the times 
with scent of perfume on the tragic stage. 

I am no demon with fire-tattered wings 
who slithers on the waste land of despair 
too deeply hidden in the silent sea, 
so I stretch tangled heart to empty skies 
and ponder crisis of the fallen god 
that cracks foundation of our ancient state. 

I never weep nor fast with hopeless prayer 
for no God transcends bounds of everywhere 
to hear plea of my words with active heart 
that could transform state of atomic swirls, 
yet I can calculate what will occur 
through prophetic analysis of fate. 

We are the living gods who play this hour 
in global drama staged by faceless force 
who flare our universe from pulsing sphere 
in overwhelming questions about why 
our fragile bodies vanish in the void 
that leaves injustice staining Earth with blood. 

Magic lantern of my observing brain 
throws striped patterns on walls of paradise 
so I seek words from cluttered memories 
that could express strange truth my eyes perceive 
when I swell movements to spark social change 
as cautious attendant licensed to guide. 

I see no mermaids singing on wild waves, 
nor hear their voices in wind on the beach, 
though they are humans who died long ago 
who leave their bodies writhing in the sea, 
so I stand firm on Earth of spinning change 
when my psychic bones form this mountain range. 

Atoms Dreaming We Are Gods

Atoms Dreaming We Are Gods
© Surazeus
2026 09 05

I stroll along the road that goes nowhere 
because I am always in my core place, 
here at the center of my universe, 
able to perceive all things that exist 
within scope of my cosmic consciousness 
which glow with ghost light of our divine soul. 

When I leave my home and my family 
I travel east to find Primal Homeland 
where my ancestors first woke from Star Dream 
who traveled west one hundred thousand years 
to find where the sun goes under the world, 
yet that is how we find the world is round. 

When I go off to fight the holy war 
to defend the land where my ancestors lived, 
if I survive I try to go back home, 
but wander nowhere in the Anywhere, 
so I sit by the river of blind ghosts 
and sing about the home that never was. 

So I decide this place where I sit now 
has always been secret home of my heart, 
investing passion of indifferent hope 
to build new home in waste land of nowhere 
till this place is the home that always is, 
where my children are born and I will die. 

Over ten thousand years of spinning time 
after I construct new haven for my heart 
on lush shore of this ever-flowing stream, 
enormous city of steel-framed glass towers 
glitters with millions of bright human souls 
who all dream with one vision of my eyes. 

The story of their journey to the west, 
that my ancestors tell in silent wind, 
vibrates in dust of every road I walk 
so I recall their struggles and insights 
that program how my brain perceives the world 
as they survive and generate new life. 

Though ancient mountains where I search for truth 
are frosted by curse of ambitious pride 
that drives us to explore and colonize 
wild lands that bulge with sparkling minerals, 
I reassemble puzzle of world view 
that frames sublime truth with new narrative. 

I am so present in this time-bound space, 
enclosed by invisible walls of truth, 
that I become the paradise I speak 
when I compose Tellurian Testament 
in Astarian Scriptures of my own faith 
that we are atoms dreaming we are gods. 

Bend Our Wounded Bodies

Bend Our Wounded Bodies
© Surazeus
2026 09 05

I cannot bury thoughts in open ground 
except they sprout to angels without wings 
who plow deep soil and plant aggressive seeds 
with plan to claim this land as ancient home 
based on weird paradigm that graves may mark 
our territory where we live and die. 

Heart quickened with tellurian redolence, 
sweet scented by dream-rotten flesh of gods, 
I pour libation of mysterious wine 
in soil for skulls of prophets to imbibe 
that fuels intense expression of deep faith 
far-rooted from great mountains of contempt. 

Against now-sudden freakish snow of hope 
we bend our wounded bodies to contain 
enduring hope for time-unspooling truth, 
connived by thieves who wear official robes 
by claiming land our fathers tilled as theirs 
despite objection at injustice done. 

Contorted by fierce loneliness of faith, 
propped up by worthless prayers for liberty, 
we grasp contingent way for solving how 
dire vanishment at stark cadence of hate 
constrains alert expansion beyond pain 
when house door of our hope is locked by greed. 

Sweet berries may sustain our bitterness 
that buoyant urgency drives our vain quest, 
though we dare retain our false bravery 
with dreamless laughter of indifferent storms 
that thrash our straw homes into swirls of power, 
unbound by helpless acceptance of fate. 

Preserved by peaceful absences of fate 
that twist our mountain hearts in coils of rage, 
we search for cold wind in fear-jagged cave 
that hides unspeakable truth in bright names 
we share with sparkling ardency of change, 
still mirrored by dark river of our faith. 

On last day of the world near edge of truth 
we pluck fresh fruit of knowledge from the tree 
that transforms bodies of ancestral dreams 
to pulchritude of loyal innocence, 
because this land is formed from hidden graves 
where ghosts of people whisper how to live. 

Down stone-paved trails of jagged opulence 
we search for beauty blooming from cracked skulls 
to find soul of our world in faceless gods 
who loom in shining clouds above brave hills, 
revealing wounds that strength hearts with faith 
till we become dirt of the signless road. 

Matrix Of Star Souls

Matrix Of Star Souls
© Surazeus
2026 09 05

Though I stumble nowhere on road of life, 
randomly following my hungry gut, 
constantly mislead by my eager heart, 
wandering without any plan somewhere else, 
I find myself in paradise with you, 
together in our matrix of star souls. 

Confounded by the star map of my fate 
that sends me every which way I should go, 
which leaves me stranded in the Promised Land, 
I keep going past gates of Wonderland 
to find safe haven of our loving hearts 
where we thrive in our matrix of star souls. 

Sometimes I feel alone on spinning Earth, 
one tiny flash of selfish consciousness 
that glows in vastness of the universe, 
but I feel every conscious soul alive 
on every planet in our multiverse, 
all minds woven in matrix of star souls. 

We dream together in glow of vast space, 
zillions of souls shining in the White Whole, 
for we all emanate from one God Mind 
as atoms flashing with divine insight, 
temporary nodes of self-aware brains 
entangled in huge matrix of star souls. 

I am surprised to find myself alive, 
sparked into being by passionate desire 
of my mother and father to incarnate 
immortal soul of genes in mortal flesh, 
so I strum lyre of Mercury and sing 
cosmic hymn that vibes matrix of star souls. 

Since Dream Thought first sparked awake our world soul 
in swirling glitter of our Mother Sea, 
I have evolved four hundred million years 
fish to lizard to mouse to cat to monkey 
to wingless angel seeking to be god, 
giving body to matrix of star souls. 

My mind contains multitudes of old souls 
for all my ancestors, alive in me, 
program how my time-dreaming brain perceives 
ideal concepts essential to real things 
so I sing mindless soul of God in me 
as one flame in matrix of star souls. 

While David strums harp of clandestine faith, 
and Orpheus plays lyre of innocence, 
I conjure ancestral ghosts from book tales 
that give them life in visions of our hearts, 
then let them all dissipate to star dust, 
angels who form our matrix of star souls. 

Specter Of The Desert Seer

Specter Of The Desert Seer
© Surazeus
2026 09 05

Entranced by specter of the desert seer
who walks unknown in cities of the world, 
I search for wisdom in eyes of the owl 
that brings to honest hands of Liberty 
bright Lamp of Truth and Book of Names and Deeds 
so she guides our quest to the Promised Land. 

Amused by specter of the desert seer 
who highlights crimes of people grasping power, 
I join his revolution to transform 
paradigm of our shared global world view 
to nurture needs of women nursing life 
so we thrive in lush garden of fruit trees. 

Inspired by specter of the desert seer 
who haunts vast crowded maze of city streets, 
I strum the long-lost lyre of Mercury 
to conjure demons of our aching hearts 
so we rebel against oppressive thieves 
and restore functions of our liberal state. 

Confused by specter of the desert seer 
who hums riddles on television screens, 
I wear electric mask of Jupiter 
and fight thieves who clutch wheel for Ship of State 
to sail past iceberg of their fascist greed 
and land in garden where Hesperus rules. 

Engaged by specter of the desert seer 
who channels flames of light in crystal eyes, 
I build piston engine Barsanti sketched 
to power chariot of Ezekiel 
as time machine for zooming fast through space 
so I can find Fields of Elysium. 

Annoyed by specter of the desert seer 
who teaches me to calculate my fate, 
I choose to exercise strict self-control 
based on brave Apollonian will to live, 
fueled by fierce Dionysian love for truth 
till I transform into God I create. 

Designed by specter of the desert seer 
who programs how my brain perceives the world, 
I navigate my way through many turns 
in winding journey through the wilderness 
beyond the waste land to the Promised Land 
where I build Heaven from ruins of Hell. 

Uncharmed by specter of the desert seer 
who casts illusions of religious faith, 
I wake from timeless cavern of my heart 
spirit of Telluria, Mother Earth, 
who molds my soul from eyes of Jupiter 
so wise Saturnus lives again in me. 

Polytropocity Of Wisdom

Polytropocity Of Wisdom
© Surazeus
2026 09 04

Since these are the days of exquisite sorrow, 
we walk together on the broken road 
without regret the center cannot hold 
when our world view begins to fall apart, 
though patched together by outdated creeds 
that venerate some long-dead king as god. 

Feasting with ghosts of the dead on high barrow, 
on oak throne Odin carved from dragon bone, 
I contemplate with knowing smirk of truth 
that now, at two hundred and fifty years, 
America has lasted just as long 
as Tokugawa Shogunate of Nippon. 

The sun that rises on their snow-capped mountains 
sets first from mountains of America, 
from Bokku to Nippon on rainbow wings, 
yet weaving distant lands with mutual vibe 
for seeking honor with the stoic grin, 
Amaterasu in lush Oregon. 

I wonder if we should lament collapse 
of our aggressive colonizer state 
founded by sailors from the British Isles 
who used sea map that Mercator designed 
to explore every land around the Earth 
and rule empire with Scepter of Zambor. 

Though shy Ieyasu, ruler of Mikawa, 
just wanted to be left alone to live 
in peaceful happiness with Tsukiyama, 
his sweet bride graceful as the Sika deer, 
she brings message from Takemikazuchi 
that he is destined to unite the state. 

Somewhere out in land of America 
some humble Ieyasu, or brave Liu Bang, 
who manages affairs of his small town, 
feels Hidden Dragon stirring in his heart 
with mission to unite our fractured state 
and rebuild what Midas has torn apart. 

Some complicated man of many turns, 
urged by polytropocity of wisdom, 
will surf the rising tide of revolution 
to lead the honest people of our land 
against oppressors who exploit our hearts, 
and found Zarathia on love for truth. 

Because I like to contradict myself, 
since I contain multitudes of great souls 
embodied by people across our land, 
I hear voice of America express 
desire for every person to live free 
with equal justice of world liberty. 

Atoms Of Perceptive Brain

Atoms Of Perceptive Brain
© Surazeus
2026 09 04

No state of mind prepares our consciousness 
for blank finality of nothingness 
that fractures sense of being at crack of death 
which scatters atoms of perceptive brain 
in sparkling cloud of inorganic breath 
that turns to mud in mindless flush of rain. 

If bright integrity of consciousness 
is coherent concept of somethingness 
maintaining wholeness in clear sense of self 
outside corporal bounds of pulsing flesh, 
then we would not blank out in dreamless sleep 
and wake at reboot of computing flash. 

Bright conscious glow of our perceptive mind 
is conjured by this brain that hope designed 
through metamorphosis of gene rebirth 
when bodies procreate in child of fate 
which better calculates what love is worth 
through urgent act of faith we navigate. 

First mortal being to exercise my mind 
through constant turning of quick zest, I find 
strange beauty glowing in this world of forms 
which I explore beyond confining walls 
by raging wild as god against brute storms 
that thrash my fragile soul of chemicals. 

Through every action to transcend blank death 
I learn new secrets sparked by divine breath 
to overcome harsh suffering of the soul, 
asserting bright attention of insight 
with actions contradicting assigned role 
against blank darkness of death with fierce light. 

I am Aeolus, human filled with air, 
huge spirit swollen with desire to care, 
so I run laughing on vast ocean beach 
past scattered wreckage of my storm-bashed boat 
to grasp ecstatic wisdom beyond reach 
till deep in sea of nothingness I float. 

When Sirens on the jagged rock of fate 
sing mind-enchanting song against cruel hate, 
my heart, lured with irresistible hope 
for eternal life after body death, 
drives brave machine of my spirit to cope 
with calm indifference of Nature through breath. 

Though we build empires of productive farms 
based on religious faith in soothing charms 
with vain hope to transcend death of the soul, 
through deathless institutions of grand states, 
things fall apart at cracking of the whole, 
and no ghost lingers at the pearly gates. 

See Past Mask Of Seems

See Past Mask Of Seems
© Surazeus
2026 09 04

Sibylla walks along river of dreams 
and chuckles at the strangeness of her thoughts 
that ponder power struggles between men 
over who controls who will get to eat, 
then asks brave Hamlet if he knows the truth 
that blinds our eyes to see past mask of seems. 

Gazing out across great river of dreams, 
Sibylla plucks apple from Tree of Life 
then gives it calmly to the weeping man 
and thanks Timoleon with beaming smile 
because he freed the slaves of Syracuse 
so they can live and thrive with equal rights. 

We should abolish every monarchy, 
Sibylla whispers in the morning breeze, 
and force every tyrant to farm wheat fields 
so we eat bread of brave humility, 
then design social programs that support 
development of talents into skills. 

Our friendship is broad field of quiet light 
where vibrant hours nurture our mental growth 
so we share love through spiritual support 
the way the shoreline embraces the sea 
that helps us manage chaos of desire 
when gentle hands create Heaven we share. 

I want to offer you encouragement, 
Sibylla speaks to crowd of citizens, 
for I love you in my bewildered way 
when I discover door inside my heart 
that leads me to bright meadow of our hopes 
where we share stories by the glowing moon. 

When Hamlet leaves Ophelia behind, 
where she floats singing on the River Styx, 
Orpheus lifts her out with gentle arms 
so they teach daughter of forbidden love 
how to analyze fraught global affairs 
and prophesy rise of democracy. 

Engaged with process of creative art 
that frames narrative of global success, 
Sibylla fabulates with fairy tales 
conceptual code through ambiguity 
that stages plays of individual will 
when people choose fate they try to avoid. 

Brave hymns we sing in shadow of despair 
embrace chaotic darkness of our hearts 
refracting psychic energy of gods 
so we break our minds free from social norms 
and build global state of Zarathia 
from shattered ruins of America. 

Vibrant Currency Of Fame

Vibrant Currency Of Fame
© Surazeus
2026 09 03

The river gushing from cave of illusions 
will never tell me what I want to hear, 
so I carve visions of my mind in stone 
because rain washes all our dreams away, 
then program robot of my spirit clone 
with secret memories I would forget. 

My future is the future of this land 
that throbs with anguish of the suffering soul, 
unjustly treated by the faceless state 
as honest criminal who does no wrong, 
so I confess to nothing in sweet song 
that hypnotizes believers with lies. 

Unique state of inaugurated mind 
encompasses all possible outcomes 
through secretive analysis of skulls 
which calculate how far we have to go 
to transcend mortal decay of the flesh 
with plan to laugh for the photographer. 

Unsurpassed scope of heavenly respect 
almost daunts bone-clacking seer of concern 
who scrambles nations of bold agencies 
to peel regretful fruit of rotten hearts 
with disorganized methods of soul theft 
through unabated waves of wretched faith. 

Still wearing mask of calm demonic pride, 
I travel between galaxies of gods 
with flashing eyes now big enough to see 
golden path of success through cautious squint 
that brings our bodies back to scrambled game 
till sharp tongues bleed through walls of eager glass. 

If rainbows dare respect my will to win 
I may assert through serpentine attention 
encrusted sorrows heroes throw in swamps 
against deliberate progress we admire 
that patches surreal truths in tuneless seeds 
which sprout when buried in obscure disdain. 

Since I am not smooth cobblestones in rain 
that sings of fateful sorrows ghosts disdain, 
I stride with vibrant currency of fame 
which angels sell to those who discard truth 
to wear fear-polished mask of fervent prayer 
by building houses on the river shore. 

When white horse of Godiva wanders home 
to find out why her daughters cry with shame, 
our ghosts assemble in the city square 
to play role in our tense democracy 
that scatters children out the open door 
to build new empire of aggressive fame. 

Souls Of Hungry Seraphim

Souls Of Hungry Seraphim
© Surazeus
2026 09 03

Too deep the sorrow of brute wakefulness 
that scatters souls of hungry seraphim 
frail as crackled leaves across parking lots 
where demons give each other stolen eyes 
to make up excuses for scamming gods 
who insist on their hard-won happiness. 

Strange idea of the true way to live 
blinds generations of eager wanderers 
who clean the spotless windows of their hearts 
in numberless houses where no one lives, 
apprenticed to the changeless flow of time 
unspooling clocks that scream too silently. 

If books unfold themselves with angel wings 
against sapphire intensity of hope, 
we share ripe peaches in the afternoon 
while Satan vacuums empty offices 
because no one meets him at the crossroads 
with newspapers from secret centuries. 

The greatest tales of history ever told 
seem to have happened far too long ago 
for children to remember why they need 
bread to eat with honey of demon tears 
that soothes the wounded hearts of honesty 
with inconvenience of forgotten dreams. 

Since we get nothing from old memories 
except mute madness of the speeding car, 
we look for kind gnomes in suburban yards 
who ask us if we vote for president 
before the second coming of the toad 
whose eyes gleam bright as headlights in the fog. 

She tells him with soft voice of fluttered leaves 
that she prefers to fill her heart with love 
instead of waiting for his love to fill 
the empty places of her hopefulness, 
so he calls her the beautiful and brave 
with open eyes in museum of her heart. 

Since I was born with the weakness to fall, 
she sings while twirling in clear sparkling rain 
where flower petals flutter in the breeze, 
I was also born with the strength to rise, 
so he holds wingless anguish of her heart 
till she grows wings and flies into the clouds. 

The human heart is stronger than the stone 
smoothed by ten million years of river tears 
because it shatters from betrayal each day, 
yet throbs again with dawn flash of the sun, 
so we hold hands to bind our weakened hearts 
with strength of eager loneliness we share. 

Temporary Gods Of Flesh

Temporary Gods Of Flesh
© Surazeus
2026 09 03

Three ways blind angels know our death is soon 
tricks me to wander thoughtlessly alone, 
but since I see your face in the bright moon 
I leave last pear of my heart on your stone 
that never rolls up or down at my word, 
therefore I conclude that life is absurd. 

The ancient bearded bard with broken harp 
still lingers manic in the happy field 
while cradling with care gold comatose carp 
that leads me to buried Achillean shield 
depicting how citizens of the world 
pray for third coming of the cosmic herald. 

Medusa calls me on the telephone 
so I attend her late-night singing show 
where she plays mirror of the psychic clone 
whose proverbs teach the spirit how to grow 
till cute Cheonyeo Gwishin with purple eyes 
recruits me to join her squadron of spies. 

She wants to ask me why she is not here, 
but words that drip from moist clam of her mouth 
transform to lizards lured by bitter fear 
that mutate problem of evil to faith 
since we are temporary gods of flesh 
with brains that store their memories in dream cache. 

Medusa asks me if I want to kiss 
so we embrace with passion of the snake 
that tricks Eve into wanting homelife bliss, 
though social role she plays is never fake, 
despite how industry consumes tall trees 
as paper money we use to pay fees. 

Since we compete in endless psychic game 
by chanting spells in church of prophet bards, 
we find our souls trapped by oppressive fame 
as social heroes who must hire tough guards 
since farmers are foundation of the state 
whose struggles define our national fate. 

As fugitives from language of the heart, 
we tangle bodies in ballet of hope 
through algorithm hidden on the chart 
favored by survivors who learn to cope 
with exploitation our spirits endure, 
till Jesus arrives on snake-horned markhor. 

One hundred thousand poets recite spells, 
while gathered round fountain of the town square, 
which conjure demons from aesthetic wells 
to win song contest at Scarborough Fair 
over whose poetic vision best depicts 
real world we perceive on the River Styx. 

Luminous Phantom Of Faith

Luminous Phantom Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 09 02

I keep the secret of love in my heart 
though it swells and bleeds into apple seeds 
that I scatter along the muddy road 
while ducking under sorrow-laden boughs 
to savor succulent sanguinity 
too quickly lost in subtle jubilance. 

Excessive laughter of sorrow-winged joy 
teaches me about the impossible, 
yet I never hesitate to reach out 
with eagerness to exchange what we make 
with what we need in weird commercial game 
that functions to keep us busy till death. 

Because she understands language of waves 
Sycorax knows how to use the dream code 
of happiness to tame the Jormungander 
in giving her rides to the Promised Land 
where she paints murals of the multiverse 
on temple walls before the Feast of Friends. 

So when she finds corpse of the gray-haired poet 
rotting among the golden daffodils, 
Sycorax extracts his brain from his skull 
so she can study the Realm of Ideas 
that conjures visions of the Natural World 
as matrix that powers our battery hearts. 

Staring at computer screen for eighth hours, 
Sycorax imagines with fervent calm 
the Great American Novel she writes 
with blood of angels on the locked church door 
where her son lies in the coffin of glass 
since he died in the motorcycle crash. 

We feast on terror of fake happiness, 
Sycorax explains to the green giraffe 
on which she rides into Jerusalem 
as new messiah for the modern age 
to found one world religion of new faith 
that unites all nations in dance of ghosts. 

Driving cross-country in old white sedan 
to start her new job at Wonderland Park, 
Sycorax sings hymns of shy Emily 
whose face is luminous phantom of faith 
that guides her to the future of success 
not even God can see written in sand. 

When she arrives at destined hill of bones, 
where angels disguised as children with masks 
dance among flowers of discarded thoughts, 
Sycorax holds fractured skull of Wordsworth 
till she comprehends spirit of his verse 
that programs atheist wisdom from the curse. 

Always Friends With Ghosts

Always Friends With Ghosts
© Surazeus
2026 09 02

Because she will be always friends with ghosts 
by crossing bridge of angels before dark, 
she feeds swans of the past with anecdotes 
designed as proverbs in the holy book 
to guide lost people to the garden brook 
where they make new faces from broken boats. 

With laughter from cracked stones of hungry ghosts 
she opens pages that flap frantic wings 
which teach young children how to invent words 
they need to prove their minds are worth the light 
that blooms from lilacs in the cluttered yard 
where faceless angels carve their names in bones. 

If she decides her specialty is joy, 
that springs from shifting wells of raven blood, 
she may bring flowers to the funeral 
held for the old man no one seems to know 
who liked to build boats from demonic bones 
as if dew on our eyes may cleanse the heart. 

Her river glazed with light of centuries, 
she tells us how this world is wondrous weird 
so we exchange phone numbers by the lake, 
but lose touch with the ones we want to know 
by walking signless road beyond the wall 
that traps our bodies in false paradise. 

Still half awake three hours before red dawn, 
she stares with wonder at true nothingness 
with plan to give unspoken words away 
because they sprout their own butterfly wings 
and leave her stranded in the doorless room 
despite the way she earns her right to live. 

When fifteen women in the church at noon 
discuss how she reveals her writhing heart 
with anguish for brave seekers of the sea, 
she blesses tables heaped with empty plates 
while stealing apples from the box of lies 
from which flow sorrows of the hungry world. 

So when the last book still unwritten screams, 
she scatters lost words on the cracked sidewalk, 
then opens glass door to the multiverse 
where humble god of impotence designs 
strange paradigm for the whole world to use 
when framing thoughts with ancient languages. 

Yet she extracts from laughing radios 
completed puzzles that depict lost homes 
where families feast on zombie heart of faith 
to prove our right to live free from despair 
based on our friendship with the nameless ghosts 
who glow in television screens of hope. 

First Mother Wraith

First Mother Wraith
© Surazeus
2026 09 02

If we once gathered in September chill 
in stone huts set inside mist-shrouded hill 
to roast lamb on bright crackling flames of hope 
while children play chase on vine-tangled slope, 
then we may cherish memories of those years 
in distant lands with nothing but cold tears. 

Great glen that splits our land with shining lake 
conceals sweet memories we long to take 
when we sail wood ships over storm-wracked sea 
to build new garden in Land of the Free 
since men with guns drive us into dark gloom 
that shrouds our hearts with curse of bitter doom. 

Winds toss our frail ship on huge mindless waves 
which hurl us from wrecked ships to bone-filled caves 
where Death inspires our hearts with brave respect 
to seek weird truth in jewels eyes inspect 
with flash that guides us to the Promised Land 
where we build new empire with honest hand. 

When each new child is born from womb of fate 
I stand with cloth of cheese beside the gate 
as gift for hungry worker passing by 
whose grace will bless our child with star-clear eye 
to spread good fortune from my aching heart 
when I map Heaven on our history chart. 

From treeless glens where purple thistles thrive 
we journey through dark wilderness with drive 
for freedom far from gangs of castle thieves, 
yet linger lost in mountain vales where leaves 
still whisper names of souls we bury here 
among gold flowers by the glistening mere. 

Two hundred years swirl by in flashing clouds 
that soon erase all tales of ancient gods, 
so I wake in new world of phones and cars 
which reprograms constellations of stars 
till Scotia beams from visions of my dream 
whose face I see in shimmer of the stream. 

While strolling along moon-lit creek of faith, 
I see emerge from mist First Mother Wraith 
who guides my heart in lush Seattle woods 
and gives me symbols of ancestral goods 
so I see Scotland mirrored in landscape 
that molds old spirit in my mortal shape. 

Though hills of Scotland, shining in green rain, 
call me to fly home on quick wings of gain, 
I linger in lush Appalachian vales 
to play guitar and recite timeless tales 
depicting noble spirit of mankind 
that drives our hearts with love star god designed. 

Dreamless Lake Of Untime

Dreamless Lake Of Untime
© Surazeus
2026 09 01

Greta walks in dire laughter of untime 
to become mother of the trembling house 
where Walt and Wendell in the forest sing 
to wake soul of Kentucky from dark mud 
which spirals from strange beauty of her eyes 
because her face masks the infinite skies. 

Barefoot in the forest of singing ghosts, 
Greta writes verses of sorrowful hope 
with ants in cursive of electric clouds 
though she tries not to cry with ache of loss 
by telling no one how she misses them 
though they linger in window of untime. 

Rising huge from dreamless lake of untime 
because she carries darkness in her heart, 
Greta fears no monster that haunts the world 
when she is pregnant with honest despair 
whose soul absorbs her melancholy hope 
that cuts her eyes with undigested milk. 

Beyond extremity of lightless faith 
through swirling portal of unspoken words, 
Greta floats above the world-city maze 
where people see her spirit mask glow clear 
as whatever god they worship at home 
composed from our empty rooms of untime. 

Wandering in jagged mountains of untime, 
Greta maps secret valleys with deep caves 
that comprise land of Catalonia 
to find old monastery on steep hill 
where shy Minerva bathes in sparkling pool 
while suckling Phoebus at her breast with love. 

Born from the sacred womb of mindless Earth, 
brave Greta bears new-born son in her arms 
while walking rugged road of refugees 
to find secret garden of apple trees 
where clever Serpentus, with star-gold eyes, 
waits for his wife with passion of untime. 

Trapped in the television of untime 
with ghosts of actors from the Underworld, 
Greta hurries through film studio lots 
as shadow on the stage of every show 
to find Serpentus wearing business suit 
who edits scenes in one grand narrative. 

Shocked by the rise of fascist tyranny 
that threatens world liberal democracy, 
Greta raises high flag of Liberty 
and leads our brave toil for equality 
since fight for right overcomes fight for might 
in still unfolding story of untime. 

Death Remembers Our Ways

Death Remembers Our Ways
© Surazeus
2026 09 01

Whether or not death remembers our ways 
for treating plants and animals of Earth 
seems irrelevant to spooling of time 
which tangles karmic consequence of deeds 
that hungry souls perform in desperate bid 
to survive aggressive gusting of change. 

Despair for the world releases my mind 
from waking anguish of unspooling time, 
yet still I wander among humming trees 
to hear their opinions about respect 
which deceive my eyes of attentive hope 
with the peace of the wild things I can feel. 

While in the presence of clear water, I 
invent connections between twinkling stars 
to channel their light in my pulsing brain 
as omens that reveal how I should act 
to preserve grace of the world with my faith 
that means nothing to the recurring rain. 

Foolishly confident that I am free 
from imagined grace Earth bestows on me, 
I walk the signless road of everywhere 
and ask the faceless people I may meet 
if they can hear ancient song of the land, 
but they keep driving their chariot of fire. 

Though the complex wholeness of our weird world 
remains beyond the knowing of our minds, 
I follow clockwork of daily routines 
without explanation for life or death 
that recycles atoms of my frail body, 
assembled from dreams of discarded tales. 

So I continue to pretend I am real 
as flash of light on water of the lake 
that frames the fantasy of give and take 
programmed as institute of money games 
when we invest in new productive work 
expanding market of spiritual faith. 

Urged by adrenalin to transcend death, 
I hunt demonic monster of my fear 
in drive programmed by ancestral success 
to wrestle hunger that devours my heart 
till I transform from angel into human 
when I build Eden in the wilderness. 

Every god preserved in religious myth 
was once some mortal human with fierce mind 
whose deeds of victory against hungry death 
inspire our hearts to endure suffering 
so we too may become immortal souls 
preserved in tales long after we are dead. 

New Queen Of Liberty

New Queen Of Liberty
© Surazeus
2026 09 01

Hair red as dawn sunlight on treeless hill, 
Celta closes her eyes against gray gloom 
and whispers through rose-petal lips wyrd spell 
that conjures urgent vision of the stream 
swirling around her pale legs in moon rings 
dire wisdom of ravens on star-black wings. 

Curling slender fingers of freckled hands 
to spool kinetic flash of energy 
in taut dynamic coil of spiral bands, 
Celta chants pulsing words of empathy 
that shields her wounded heart with firm resolve 
to search for love where time-blind angels delve. 

Frail spirit inside ruins of stone walls, 
where her grandmother reigned as jeweled queen 
in grand castle destroyed by cannon balls, 
Celta strains attentive core of her mind 
to hear and comprehend fear-puzzled thoughts 
her ancestors hid in wave-battered boats. 

Entranced by inner beauty of her soul 
that emanates through gray glow of her eyes, 
Corbin emerges from sea-fetid swirl 
and offers red apple from dreamless maze, 
so Celta consumes sweet tears of the sun 
while pacing round stones of the weedy lawn. 

While Corbin kisses her with tender care 
and whispers oath to guard her sacred soul, 
Petrus entraps her with his greedy glare 
to proclaim she will perform regal role 
as bride of his hearth, then orders his men 
to arrest Corbin with strong legal chain. 

Caged in grand court hall of the greedy king, 
Corbin watches wedding of his Rose Queen, 
heart aching when Celta wears diamond ring, 
whose eyes gleam when she drinks gold grail of wine, 
then ascends stairs with him to tower room 
where she will execute his fateful doom. 

When Celta returns with white hands stained red, 
holding severed head of the tyrant high, 
the people cheer and celebrate her deed, 
proclaiming her new Queen of Liberty, 
then free Corbin who gives her jeweled crown 
that glitters when she reigns in blood-stained gown. 

Though Petrus destroyed castle of her home 
and controlled fertile land of her lost clan, 
Celta restores her state with Spell of Doom 
to rule her people with generous hand, 
assisted by brave Raven of her Heart, 
who protects her through code of their star chart. 

Logic Of Her Psychic Search

Logic Of Her Psychic Search
© Surazeus
2026 08 31

She wanders to the broken edge of time 
and lingers in soft swirl of ocean waves 
to ponder how absurd this life can seem, 
which might explain why angels try to rhyme 
while they invent new languages in caves 
so children can advance beside their team. 

She draws how voluminous billows swell 
from throbbing ruby of the hungry heart 
with plan to fold majestic sight of faith 
in clever books we read to key the bell 
that vibrates energy through the star chart 
designed by sightless bard for the dream wraith. 

She dances on uplifted wave of thought 
to find Endymion sleeping in moonlight, 
but deigns to kiss his mind awake with hope, 
so with one raven quill, she never bought, 
his name on water she attempts to write 
till he kisses her on the mountain slope. 

She smooths white marble idol of his soul 
with hands caressing curves of wordless ache 
to wake her shepherd-boy from fruitful dream, 
but he refuses to perform that role 
by walking on smooth surface of the lake 
to capture demon of his self-esteem. 

She feels him dance on flowing mirror sheen 
while he hangs from disk of the silk balloon 
which fools the fishermen in rocking boats 
to think he is wise angel with machine 
that opens portal to the fairy moon 
where he plays music taught by prancing goats. 

She follows voice of children in the dale 
to crystal gleaming pool in fairy glen 
on quest to find star child with seven eyes, 
but wanders lost on empire-building trail, 
misled by cheerful mockery of the wren 
that proves she may be mother of all spies. 

She mistranslates the ancient book of codes 
in bid to trick the tyrant blind with greed 
since people of the world despise his game, 
but he eludes fake justice of the toads 
by basing his reign on the sacred creed 
as if his blatant theft is blessed by fame. 

She channels anguish in her gentle laugh 
that guides her journey to the Promised Land 
where homeless refugees pray in her church 
designed by wizard with the serpent staff 
through social framework of her public brand 
that untwists logic of her psychic search. 

Exploding Stars Of Thought

Exploding Stars Of Thought
© Surazeus
2026 08 31

Entranced by great wink of eternity, 
still mesmerized by floods of spirit light, 
I try to translate from undinal spells 
weird song of Earth inflecting tones of love 
on scrolls of shimmer-passioned sentences 
that wake our conscious sense of wordless awe. 

Though I hear dark confessions of deep tides 
surge through our mortal veins of innocence, 
I seek to comprehend from water rings 
unspoken sorrows wounded hearts conceal, 
born from traumatic nuance of respect, 
as bodies floating flushed on streams of time. 

Raptured through finite consanguinity, 
despite these tendered themes of secret faith 
we dare exchange against insistence winds, 
our hearts retrieve from transient arrogance 
shared eagerness to generate new life 
from swollen ardency of each embrace. 

We long to feel exploding stars of thought 
kiss ceaseless waves of mental energy 
based on transmemberment of memories 
which motivates our journey beyond fear 
on lithe pediments of honest desire, 
till we emerge from waves of pleasant pain. 

Advanced by spectrum of marine concern, 
we pledge portentous passion to preside 
perilous connections between heaved hearts, 
inspired by mutability of trust 
refracting portions of our fractured selves 
in trembling idol of complete rebirth. 

Based boldly on inviable forethought, 
vast latitudes unleveled by exchange 
of logic-spanning staves defined by quills, 
our calm relationship of secret faith 
contracts new signature of fluid words 
despite assertions of contrary truths. 

Meticulous discharge of lonely laughs, 
infrangible bond that welds separate hearts 
of our private minds in trackless clarity, 
expands enclosing scope of welcoming 
to shelter wanderers with godless walls 
that justifies brave argosies of faith. 

Breath sealed by ghosts whose names my dreams record, 
my body swells with bitter streams of hope, 
now strong enough to cancel tyranny 
and build from frantic derelict of faith 
new world view of comprehensive insight 
by which I predict every consequence. 

Mercurial Melody Of Love

Mercurial Melody Of Love
© Surazeus
2026 08 30

Picking ripe berries from the laurel tree, 
that poison tears of angels with despair, 
young Lycidas whistles heart-aching tune 
in cautious winds of the mellowing year, 
then wades into the river of strange dreams 
and sings mercurial melody of love. 

Three muses gathered at the sacred well, 
that springs from stone where Jove lounges all day, 
recite brave songs that quick poets transcribe 
with blood of angels on parched demon skin, 
while Lycidas plays lyre of Mercury 
and stamps his feet in tune with river mud. 

Nursed together on the hill of pear trees, 
Lycidas, and his best friend Satyrus, 
herd flock of sheep beside the flowing stream 
to batten flock with fresh dews of the night 
where evening star gleams in the westering wheel, 
then plays slim oaten flute with aching heart. 

Tune of his oaten flute in desert caves, 
where wild thyme blooms from secret wound of hope, 
echoes soft in hazel copse where wrens sing 
to conjure from lush fairy mounds of fate 
ghosts of wise Druids who share secret codes 
recorded by old bards in wood-carved runes. 

Down Hebrus tides of endless water flow 
Lycidas wanders among fruited trees 
while lithe Satyrus dances with fierce grace 
to show him fane entangled with grape vines 
where skull of Orpheus, studded with gems, 
prophesies rise and fall of great empires. 

Beside the fountain Arethuse, that flows 
free from deep strangeness of our spinning Earth, 
Lycidas dances with bride of his heart, 
star-eyed Amaryllis in linen gown, 
who asks if he plays Herald of the Sea 
as son of Neptune in the horse-drawn cart. 

Disguised as prophet of the broken mask, 
Lycidas plays Alpheus with dread voice 
who visits bottom of the monstrous world 
in quest for valley where Bellerus dwells, 
yet finds his woeful shepherd friends distraught 
at news of his death in the Hebrus Stream. 

Recording deeds of heroes in strict verse 
that encodes tragic song of human hearts 
in Doric lay that few interpret well, 
Lycidas strides as Genius of the shore 
to teach young children art of poetry, 
expressing heart ache in transcendent spell. 

Flash Of Mental Equilibrium

Flash Of Mental Equilibrium
© Surazeus
2026 08 30

Behind the veil of laughter my soul wears 
bees gather sorrows to brew honey tears 
which poison angels with communal hope 
that apple trees will teach us how to cope 
with urgent passion of the need to know 
how seeds transform into the mental crow. 

Since language blinds our eyes to what is real, 
we disentangle concepts we should feel 
concealed in books that only gods can read 
in psychic riddles that compose our creed 
which guides our actions to destroy the world 
in preparation for the cosmic herald. 

I row wood boat across the mirror lake 
to find if Saturnus is yet awake, 
but black cat lurks where scarlet roses bloom 
in moonlit garden where I taste tart gloom 
thick with perfume of poppies in the air 
that proves my vow to always show I care. 

Together on wood patio after rain 
we build great kingdoms because life is vain, 
late-summer evening breeze of broken walls 
through extirpation of communist halls, 
so I row ferry into swirling mist 
to find fruit tree where Adam and Eve kissed. 

I wake up with no chance to start anew 
before the priest declares my crime is true, 
so I ride eagle of America 
to find crumbling temple in Attica 
where I children of my enterprising soul 
are eager to perform angelic role. 

Lost innocence of lovers binds their hands 
with firm commitment to guard fertile lands 
where homeless immigrants escaping war 
get jobs stocking shelves in the grocery store 
because the cleaning lady runs the state, 
whose humble mop still calculates our fate. 

I read the ancient book of fairy tales 
that falls into my hands when terror fails 
to recommend song of the nightingale 
that sings in pastoral setting of the vale 
where honest farmer milks the sacred cow 
though his son plays King of the Golden Bough. 

Through flash of mental equilibrium 
I map lush meadows of Elysium 
to find small temple in weird Orphic cave 
where I join the global ruling enclave 
as shadow king in secret government 
which I rule with Astarian Testament. 

Waves Of Lake Ontario

Waves Of Lake Ontario
© Surazeus
2026 08 30

When sunlight gleams on Lake Ontario 
my lonesome heart ascends on eagle wings 
to glide through heavenly scenario 
where soul in every world religion sings. 
Clear waves of Lake Ontario reveal 
strange energy of selfless gifts that heal. 

We stroll together on shore of great lake 
that binds our nations with mutual respect 
so mirror of its truth unmasks the fake 
through urge for peace that keys how we connect. 
Deep waves of Lake Ontario expose 
brave courage in fate our choices compose. 

Though greedy tyrant wearing crown of thorns 
tries to rename great lake of our joined hearts, 
we gather to feast at lacustrine bourns 
where name of hope is writ on global charts. 
Rough waves of Lake Ontario express 
firm principle of liberty we bless. 

Two nations bound by one Great Lake of Truth 
assert shared mission to nurture world peace, 
administered by wise messiah sleuth 
through office of our Sibyl cantatrice. 
Calm waves of Lake Ontario proclaim 
equal civil rights in the social game. 

Eagle Of America

Eagle Of America
© Surazeus
2026 08 30

The people of our land cry out in shock 
when King Midas aims golden gun of greed 
and shoots down Eagle of America 
that twitches in agony when it lands 
in reflecting pool of the national mall 
where Abe cradles wounded bird in his hands. 

Trapped in small scope of what he thinks is real, 
King Midas struts in Grand Canyon of fear, 
hunting for Eagle of America 
to pilfer treasures of the Spider Queen 
who weaves cables into the world wide web 
so we merge private wills in one world view. 

When he takes control over Ship of State, 
King Midas steers it at the Siren Rocks 
to destroy Eagle of America 
whose flight lures him with illusion of wealth 
between Scylla and Charybdis of greed 
that leaves us stranded on the beach of sharks. 

Caught in vortex of changing history, 
King Midas climbs the fig tree of despair 
to steal from Eagle of America 
golden eggs of vanity we admire, 
but Minerva fires arrow of respect 
that causes wheat to grow from wounded hearts. 

Riding red dragon of treason to war, 
King Midas steals the jeweled crown of thorns 
to fend off Eagle of America 
till George the dragon-slayer with sharp ax 
casts the devil into deep pit of fire 
where he plays rounds on golf course of regret. 

Attempting to arrest fierce Juvenal, 
King Midas sends goons in the streets of Rome 
to deport Eagle of America, 
then appoints Goliath Minister of War 
to fight the Shepherd David when he leads 
grand revolution of the working class. 

Destroying Temple of the Holy Ghost, 
King Midas chases White Queen in her cave 
to kidnap Eagle of America, 
but angel in the dark door wakes from dream 
who sings with eerie voice of ocean waves 
to free our people from his tyranny. 

Attacking Liberty with Book of Deeds, 
King Midas tries to crown himself world king 
with feathers from Eagle of America, 
but wise Minerva wrestles ghost of fear 
and raises Lamp of Freedom high again 
so we build new world of Zarathia. 

Star-Wounded Mercury

Star-Wounded Mercury
© Surazeus
2026 08 29

Across crowded maze of our cityscape 
I hear cry of star-wounded Mercury 
radiate from world brain of our radio 
with eerie melody of aching hope 
for every soul alive to live in peace 
though they fight to control the narrative. 

To understand where, on the signless road, 
we are lead by star-wounded Mercury 
in progress of expansion from quaint farms 
to world empire with war planes that patrol 
bright heavens where star angels play gold harps, 
I map our journey to the Promised Land. 

With sword of justice in my red right hand, 
forged from fear by star-wounded Mercury, 
I rally farmers I vow to protect 
in holy war against invading hordes 
to guard enclosing walls of paradise 
where we raise our children in apple groves. 

Mentored by desert prophet with star eyes, 
who wears mask of star-wounded Mercury, 
I protect Rapunzel in the stone tower 
when she gives birth to my heir to my throne, 
so I found Bloodline of the Holy Grail 
to rule world empire built by Jupiter. 

Crowned with victory of my grand chess game, 
well managed by star-wounded Mercury, 
I organize ten thousand castle towers 
uniting nations in Gothinian state 
to colonize rich lands of minerals 
in corporate empire of the faceless god. 

Though world wars topple kings of fantasy, 
in game played by star-wounded Mercury, 
I orchestrate knights of the Holy Grail 
to fight over who wears gold crown of thorns 
in world conspiracy of wealthy banks 
through progress of liberal democracy. 

While wearing Talamasca of dream code, 
invented by star-wounded Mercury, 
I host religious rite of sacrifice 
in ziggurat temple where Ishtar reigns 
to crucify greedy King of the Wood 
who steals our treasure from the Golden Bough. 

Anointed to play Jesus on world stage, 
directed by star-wounded Mercury, 
I fight dark doppelganger of my soul 
till I assimilate in one whole mind 
spirits of Dionysus and Apollo 
so I become Lucifer who rules Earth. 

Listen With Calm Pride

Listen With Calm Pride
© Surazeus
2026 08 29

When he embraces clemency of death 
while wearing flannel suit and dark green tie, 
Scott ponders pewter-polished clouds of fate 
that teach his heart to listen with calm pride 
to obligations of the open door 
that leads him to the garden of dead gods. 

Though voices of children ring off the sea 
where war ships wait in harbor of respect, 
Scott asks the angel with time-bloodied wings 
if he can sail beyond edge of the world 
where ghosts of gods on gold horizon gleam 
with threat of sudden invasion by fear. 

While cows chew cud in fields of fractured skulls 
where fighter jets scream across cluttered skies, 
Scott measures distance to the mountain peak 
from cabin by the lake where angels wait 
for savior of the world to come again 
in starship from some distant galaxy. 

Since time may leave him stranded on the beach 
where two hawks circle in the mirror sky, 
Scott flies large paper kite with haiku verse 
about bed sheets that flutter in salt wind 
with gentle gracefulness of dragon wings, 
then asks Minerva for pear-ginger tea. 

If he waits in the airport by the sea 
for lonely teacher wearing crystal mask, 
Scott never calls her on the telephone 
to tell her what the owl would like to say, 
then strikes the match so he can start anew, 
and lights the candle on the windowsill. 

Open hands catching drops of restless rain 
to wash the dishes in the kitchen sink, 
Scott tends his sick wife in the afternoon 
when sparrows in dead trees steal cinnamon 
for the mother bear who still prays in church 
while clutching amulet of innocence. 

Inspired by beauty of wind-carved alcove 
from gold sandstone that frames cloud-mottled sky, 
Scott calculates psychotic vibe of faith 
that nurtures broken hearts of wanderers 
dislocated from homeland of their tribe 
when strangers adopt them across the sea. 

Though dreams of nothingness haunt morning hours 
from careless arrogance of wind-swirled sand, 
Scott stands on stage with microphone in hand 
and reads verse he wrote on the broken bridge 
through framework of domestic quietude 
that serves as social glue in times of war. 

Laughing River Of Respect

Laughing River Of Respect
© Surazeus
2026 08 29

Free on the laughing river of respect, 
Zephyrus sails to city of glass books 
where he presents tale of the fallen god 
that seems to inspire workers to rebel 
against overlords who enslave their souls 
in war that fades from memories of men. 

Though children from Star Woman in the cave 
rule island of plum trees three thousand years, 
Zephyrus organizes farming towns 
to manage food-production of rich land, 
ensuring every person breathing air 
receives enough food on their plate of hope. 

Wielding star-forged Sword of Gathering Clouds 
that gleams with diamonds from star eyes of gods, 
Zephyrus battles the eight-headed beast 
incarnate as dread pirates of the sea, 
and slays them all with lithe alacrity 
to free the people of his land from fear. 

Painting portraits of heroes from the past 
whose brave deeds save humanity from harm, 
Zephyrus depicts normal human men 
as gods who represent forces of nature 
incarnate in our fragile frames of flesh, 
whose spirits possess men with force of power. 

Ruling people of Earth with honest fairness, 
as river god who controls traffic flow, 
enforcing passage fees on merchant ships, 
Zephyrus reigns in watch-house on the bridge 
where he controls commercial sales of goods 
as guardian over garden of his clan. 

Kneeling by laughing river of respect 
before Star Woman in cave of her heart, 
Zephyrus declares loyalty of faith 
to cause of her grand vision to unite 
all nations of the Earth under one law 
that treats every human with equal grace. 

Chanting verses from Epic of Star Eyes, 
Zephyrus sings before angels in robes 
that sound of the bell ringing in the sky 
echoes the impermanence of all things, 
for flowers show how the prosperous decline 
and the proud fade as dust before the wind. 

Awake by laughing river of respect, 
Zephyrus ponders nature of our world 
where humans work in companies of faith 
through hierarchy of responsible power 
to maintain our food-production machine 
that keeps us alive till every soul dies. 

Puzzle Shards Of Truth

Puzzle Shards Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 08 29

To reassemble puzzle shards of truth 
that depicts virtual model of real Earth, 
Seraphus gathers masks of mortal gods 
who crowned themselves as great leaders of men 
to hang in Museum of Manic Heroes 
which highlights vanity of social power. 

When howling winds of social hurricanes, 
that represent changes in our shared zeitgeist, 
sweep through vast Museum of Manic Heroes, 
puzzle shards of truth in global world view 
swirl into spirals of chaotic fear 
that scatter principles all humans share. 

Separate world views, which religions create 
on grand foundation of heroic deeds 
performed by prophet of their cultural vibe, 
are deconstructed by woke warriors 
who fight to dismantle power hierarchies 
that favor privilege of wealthy clans. 

Wielding the sword Excalibur with hope, 
Seraphus defends with courage of faith 
Goddess of Liberty in human form 
who bears Lamp of Freedom and Book of Truth 
so she can guide lost refugees of war 
through storm to Museum of Manic Heroes. 

When farmers all across the countryside, 
bitter that politicians neglect their needs, 
follow King Midas to the Promised Land, 
they find themselves trapped in vast maze of debt, 
scammed by the greedy thief who steals their wealth 
and leaves them stranded in the wilderness. 

Aware that farmers who produce our food, 
which angels stock in stores across the land, 
were scammed of agency to live with pride 
by greedy king who wears mask of the Christ, 
Seraphus finds them in the wilderness 
and promises to help secure their farms. 

To reassemble puzzle shards of truth 
in new world view based on support of farms, 
Seraphus constructs world ontology 
for every nation on our spinning globe 
to focus fiscal programs of support 
on mothers raising children to grow food. 

On crumbling ruins of America, 
social system built on wealth privilege, 
Seraphus leads our project to construct 
new government focused on funding farms 
that nurtures families with faith in truth 
in thriving state we name Zarathia. 

Empty Books Of Tales

Empty Books Of Tales
© Surazeus
2026 08 28

Ghosts of our ancestors fold their tattered masks 
as origami puzzles of engagement 
to hide essential code of fantasies 
in empty books of tales that angels steal 
through clever plan to encrypt frequencies 
programmed to trick my heart with guarantees. 

Sylvanus stares at how the river flows 
in graceful curves around large stone of faith, 
concerned about excessive intervals 
that index legal statutes without keys 
translating illogical anecdotes 
to riddles of magnetic fortitude. 

No prominent inspector from the tower 
arrives at fountain in center of town 
soon enough to prescribe fake principles 
that manage moral behavior with jokes 
that reference our rational radiance, 
pursuant to unrecognized perspectives. 

Symbolic supplements stored in glass books, 
that define temporal syllabus of faith, 
upgrade mental functions of measurement 
through ultimate testament his heart screams 
against transmission of funds to the sky 
from virtual vanity his mind extracts. 

His brain of advantageous variants, 
contracted by the faceless gods of idols, 
rewinds warrantless clock of revenue 
through socialist drama radios broadcast 
to prove religion no more relevant 
that stories children draw in picture books. 

No sacrifice in stadium of state pride 
proves needless to the specialized reporter 
whose strategy to satellite salvation 
beams through visual virus of vanity 
libertine loyalty jesters revere 
enough to maximize potential gain. 

Honest leverage that saviors apply, 
while singing frantic hymns of motor cars, 
frame social ministry devils require 
through mutant melodies of manic love, 
quick enough to abdicate marketing 
contrived by believers in mysteries. 

Time-shifting paradigm of fairy tales 
provides permission for the populous 
to buy and sell their souls in grim exchange 
according to their noble heritage 
despite hurricane of the holocaust 
that we perform in theater of faith. 

Walk This Tender Earth

Walk This Tender Earth
© Surazeus
2026 08 28

We walk this tender Earth on haughty feet, 
fueled by the burning passion of bright rain, 
with mission to transcend bounds of this time 
through smoldering wisdom of the blazing clouds 
which seem to urge our journey against death, 
till we sit breathless by the gushing stream. 

We bury shame of failure in the grave, 
entangled with long roots of hungry trees, 
to find wealth we extracted with our hands 
stained red with blood of wanderers who grasp 
at fleeting shadow of security, 
amazed at beauty of the fractured sky. 

I weep at forests of tall graceful pines 
hacked into boards of office furniture 
that grew on mountains shoveled in hot stoves 
and forged in rumbling engines of fast cars 
that swarm vast web of asphalt highways fast 
against the silent loneliness of time. 

Along the road where my ancestors walked 
to build new paradise of liberty 
I travel east against their westward tide 
to find my neighbors locked in prison camps 
where angels of pure light in rotting flesh 
sing with the specter of the desert seer. 

With noble anthem of the broken heart 
I celebrate counterfeit victories 
achieved by soldiers of the bleeding cross 
when Twin Towers of global enterprise 
collapse in burning flames of honesty 
at second coming of the eyeless ghost. 

The universe expands beyond my mind 
where atoms spin wild spirals of desire 
so I feel surging tides of ocean souls 
flush through taut veins of melancholy joy 
when I rise from womb of our Mother Earth 
to dream through every soul who ever lives. 

Pure love for life as energy of song 
abides in writhing bones of my god soul 
with lithe affection for all conscious souls 
who glow with me in multiverse of fate 
that we create with every choice we make, 
constructing new world view from fertile myths. 

Born from the rain-wet woods of Oregon, 
that mold my soul from jagged mountain clay, 
I walk the endless road of holy song 
to praise immortal souls of flashing stars 
who dream their gods awake inside my brain 
while I sing in the crowded city maze. 

Old Souls Of Stars

Old Souls Of Stars
© Surazeus
2026 08 28

We are frail mortal dust that dreams of light, 
small fragments fallen from soul-beaming fire, 
old souls of stars that burned before the world, 
whose furnace forged our thoughts in molten time, 
and scatters us as seeds across cold void 
to wake in flesh and wonder what we are. 

We glow within vast crucible of suns 
when hydrogen sings hymns of violent birth, 
compressed to diamond hardness in their hearts, 
and burst in supernova bloom of death, 
propelling our bright atoms through vast night 
to drift ten billion years toward this green Earth. 

Now locked in bone we bear that primal blaze, 
clear glimmer of celestial memory 
that flickers when we gaze at midnight sky 
and feel strange kinship with those distant lamps, 
for every eye that peers in star-strewn dark 
recalls the home from which its light was beamed. 

The iron in our blood was stellar ash, 
the calcium that props our active frame 
was cooked in dying giants long ago, 
so when our hearts beat fast with love or fear, 
the rhythm pulses from that ancient drum 
that first began to throb in central suns. 

We think we walk alone on lonely ground, 
yet constellations wheel within our veins, 
their mythic figures mapped in neural fire, 
and when we love with grief from dream of gods 
we reenact grand drama of huge spheres 
where light yearns still for light across the gulf. 

So though we dissipate to ash at death, 
extinguished when the body cools to clay, 
our atoms lit in starlight cannot fade, 
but swirl again to join their parent glow, 
returning through the dark on silver wings 
to shine once more where new suns take their form. 

We are the universe that learns to see, 
the cosmos waking from its dreamless sleep, 
with eyes that open on the edge of time 
to watch itself unfold in bloom through thought, 
and in each soul that suffers, sings, and strives 
our star recalls its journey and burns on. 

As temporary souls of ancient stars 
we swirl in Earth to learn the shape of flesh, 
taste the bitter-sweet salt of human tears, 
and turn our timeless light to words in song 
so all who hear may lift their gaze above 
and know themselves as children of the stars. 

Solarium Of My Honest Heart

Solarium Of My Honest Heart
© Surazeus
2026 08 28

Each time I look back on road of my life 
to analyze progress of my secret plan 
to generate new life before I die, 
the future unspools world view of my heart 
so I become enemy of my soul, 
distracted by strange beauty of the sky. 

Stretching my body to waken from dream 
electric soul of stars, which animates 
aggressive caution of my hungry mind, 
I write tale of my laughter on the sky 
so I can drink ancient truth in the rain 
that teaches me the way my heart should go. 

Awake this hour in silence of cool dawn, 
I ponder why all humans live and die, 
yet try to play some mythic role of pride 
in psychic drama of our nation-state 
composed of children from One Mother Soul 
whose vision of the world programs our minds. 

I like to lounge beneath my apple tree 
and chat about true nature of the world 
with star-eyed serpent in long tangled limbs 
whose rainbow-feathered wings expand with breath 
to broaden scope of my brief consciousness 
so I almost become God I imagine. 

Each time some hungry animal or man 
attempts to eat my body for its meal, 
or enslave my soul to fulfill their will, 
I fight to maintain life and liberty, 
asserting my inalienable right 
to exist in weird drama of my faith. 

Our souls are conjured by dream of our brains 
as long as bodies function chemically, 
so I stretch tension of my body taut 
with lithe attention to limits of force, 
based on analysis of consequence 
I measure from results of active cause. 

I fashion oak limb into magic wand, 
tipped with sharp diamond from cave of desire, 
so, when they attack to control my soul, 
I fight with martial dance of graceful hope 
to guard Solarium of my honest heart 
where fruit trees blossom with sweet food of love. 

When I look forward on my road of life 
I cannot see the future I will live 
except through fractal lens of earnest love 
constructing paradise my heart designs 
through every choice of fate I activate, 
so I give you fruit to eat in my heaven. 

Jitteriness Of The Deer

Jitteriness Of The Deer
© Surazeus
2026 08 27

In evening shadow of cautious regret 
Carla treads through elm grove to flowered glade, 
toward blue house beside the round silver pool, 
alert with jitteriness of the deer 
to danger lurking in darkening gloom, 
body buzzing with terror of grim death. 

Stomping boots with earnest possessiveness, 
Robert searches for his runaway wife 
who cost three horses and seven cows 
when he purchased her from the poor blacksmith, 
and shouts her name loud in darkening gloom, 
heart pounding with religious rage of pride. 

Trembling in chilly wind of fearful hope, 
Carla knocks lightly on the blue house door, 
but glances behind her in shadowed woods 
when she hears him shouting her name in rage, 
and gasps when old woman opens the door, 
whispering hoarsely to hide her soul from death. 

Running toward blue house by the silver pool, 
Robert grabs thin arm of the frightened girl 
who stares at him with black eyes of the deer 
which attempts to escape jaws of the wolf, 
and grins at the old woman with gray eyes 
to explain the little girl is his wife. 

Frowning with concern as the moon glows gold, 
Catherine insists he let the girl go, 
for she is far too young to be his wife, 
but Robert pushes her with growl of rage 
with force that causes her to tumble back 
so her frail head cracks on hard oak table. 

In purple dimness of the twilight zone, 
Carla gasps in shock of frightened despair, 
then cradles head of the old crone with care, 
whose frail body spasms at jolt of pain, 
vainly attempting to stop gush of blood 
that glistens with horror of mute moonlight. 

Twisting arm free from hard grip of his hand 
when he drags her away from the blue house, 
Carla runs through elms to the gushing stream, 
pauses by the stone to softly declare 
that she would rather die than marry him, 
then jumps in swift current of hopeless fear. 

Crawling on shore of Plutonian gloom, 
many miles downstream from her lost hometown, 
Carla huddles beside the apple tree, 
and cries with anguish of hopeless despair 
when she thinks about old woman who died, 
then eats apples at lonely flash of dawn. 

Map Meadows Of Elysium

Map Meadows Of Elysium
© Surazeus
2026 08 27

Across the frozen fields of ardent faith 
I hear uncanny hymns of wordless hope 
sung by lost angels of the Pleistocene 
that lure me with enchanting siren call 
to journey eastward to the rising sun 
which highlights fruit trees of the Promised Land. 

Trapped in glass temple of the eyeless wraith 
that whispers proverbs about how to cope, 
I offer apple to Queen Melusine 
who bids I take new God Mask from the wall, 
then teaches me to use the Judgment Gun 
when I guard Heaven with my red right hand. 

When son of Jesus reigns as King of Earth 
with angels in hierarchies of state power, 
I ask my father, Archivist of Fate, 
if I can join cult of the Seraphim 
to play role in his global government 
as secret agent of King Jupiter. 

Attending sacred ritual of rebirth 
that takes place in the high Rapunzel Tower, 
I journey Sacred Way to Pluto Gate 
with acolytes while chanting Orphic hymn 
to seek wisdom through psychic punishment 
so I rise reborn as Prince Lucifer. 

Arriving at the Telesterium, 
to join in Eleusinian Mysteries, 
I experience cycle of birth and death 
while wearing oak mask of Persephone 
when I drink nectar of spiritual light, 
then sing in small Anactoron of Truth. 

Presiding in new-built Astarium, 
where Ishtar dictates Book of Fantasies, 
I lead worshippers in rites of deep breath 
that primes our minds to beam epiphany 
when we learn rules for psychedelic flight 
from Icarus who plays messiah sleuth. 

I seek salvation of the Rolling Stone 
which Sisyphus orients to build Stonehenge 
since Oberon hosts festival of elves 
to rule Empire of Earth from Avalon 
for twenty thousand years of solitude 
till hunger builds the towers of Ilium. 

I carve magic spells in runes on god bones 
while Tantalus gives Ishtar sacred orange 
so Apollon stores books on archive shelves 
at wizard academy in Oregon 
where I learn arcane art of pulchritude 
when I map meadows of Elysium. 

Brave Urgency Of Hope

Brave Urgency Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 08 27

Inspired by gold-face shadow on pine hull, 
designed by dawn light gleaming through soft mist, 
Saphyrus ventures from ship of his heart 
to cautiously explore the waking world 
where breezes whisper in large silver leaves 
strange story of the way time unspools all. 

While constellations of the pre-dawn sky 
frame how his eyes perceive tree-bristling hills, 
Saphyrus stretches body of stiff limbs 
to activate brave urgency of hope 
for picking strawberries on the hill slope 
where sea winds prance on deer legs of desire. 

Urging the woman wearing deer-skin robe 
to shelter from fierce wind inside his heart, 
Saphyrus gives her strawberries to eat, 
and feels her eyes etch wisdom of calm faith 
on rough skin of his soul with tender hands 
that warm his trembling body as they kiss. 

When lightning, flashing across the gray sea, 
disperses clouds to unveil the bright sun, 
Saphyrus follows woman with green eyes 
down to the swirling waves of ardency 
where she floats on tormenting waves of time 
till he becomes the land that cradles her. 

Feeling as if his aching soul transforms 
to become this nameless woman he loves, 
Saphyrus chooses to walk by her side 
when they explore lush hills of rustling trees 
to fill leather bags with apples and eggs, 
then follows her up to silver moon ridge. 

Sitting before airigh of rugged stones 
at entrance to large hall inside high mound, 
Saphyrus feeds wood to the crackling flames 
as green-eyed deer woman with long black hair 
brews apple cider with honey and eggs 
that bubbles in brass cauldron of her heart. 

Slicing cheese that she makes from pungent milk 
where wooly sheep graze on thick tufts of grass, 
Saphyrus gazes at the distant loch 
that shimmers silver between rugged hills, 
and wonders if the ship on which he sailed 
from Ostia still lies on the pebbled beach. 

Hoisting sail on his ship of eager love 
that glides over the wine-dark sea of time, 
Saphyrus takes pregnant deer woman home 
from rugged hills of Caledonia 
to sunlit meadows of lush Latium 
where she breastfeeds their daughter in the garden. 

Wild Carmanian Waste

Wild Carmanian Waste
© Surazeus
2026 08 26

Mother of this great globe that teems with life, 
whose psychic energy through human brains 
strives to wake mortal souls with cautious sight 
of faith in what our minds perceive, reveal 
pure essence of atoms in frames of matter 
so I feel your divine mind in my soul. 

Since obstinate questionings about life, 
delivered by the faceless ghost of earnest hope 
embodied by the laughing messenger, 
drive me beyond walls of religious creeds, 
I render brave mission to comprehend 
engine that motivates my quest for truth. 

Twilight phantasms glowing in my dreams 
spark me to fine-tune taut lyre of my heart 
so breath of our First Mother plays quick tune 
of wisdom across matrix of my brain, 
expressed as solemn hymn of honesty 
which charms no other heart on Earth but mine. 

Since charmed eddies of autumnal winds form 
mound of forgetful leaves over my skull, 
which sings wordless prophecies about death, 
I sing in solitude of wind-blown trees 
surreal fantasies through weird melodies 
which gleam as lamp that guides my earnest steps. 

Nurtured by solemn visions of soul growth 
at fountain of divine philosophy 
that radiates in ambient air from lush Earth, 
I seek strange truths in undiscovered lands 
where city mazes of steel-framed glass towers 
mushroom from meadows where my fathers farmed. 

Far from the tangled wilderness of hope, 
where my ancestors built havens of peace, 
I cradle secure sense of solitude 
while roaming streets of rainbow-chasing crowds 
among glass towers of commercial wealth 
constructed on ruins of ancient temples. 

No longer lost in wild Carmanian waste, 
where boat of my exploratory heart 
lies beached on shifting sands of certitude, 
I keep mute conference with my dream-hexed soul 
to translate spells of anguish blind ghosts howl 
so passing strangers stop to hear my song. 

That spectral soul as spirit of our times, 
whom I encounter at the desolate tomb 
of our cultural god, opens cyber wings, 
designed by Icarus, and teaches me 
secret of composing truth-riddled verse 
with Cassandra Code to guide the lost home. 

Mirrored Stillness Of The Soul

Mirrored Stillness Of The Soul
© Surazeus
2026 08 26

Despite the mirrored stillness of the soul 
that hides essential nature of my heart 
in sweet illusion of the mask I wear, 
my mind seethes with ambition to transcend 
physical limits of body and mind 
by weaving my memories in riddle verse. 

If bright coherence of the conscious soul 
still glows with integrated sense of self 
after functions of the body have ceased, 
as people are so desperate to believe, 
then why are they not all around us now 
whispering their dreams in words we can hear? 

Just as the frail flame on the candle wick 
puffs into delicate curls of mute smoke, 
so vibrant pulse of psychic energy 
will vanish into nothingness at death 
since chemical glow of the dreaming mind 
ceases to emanate clear consciousness. 

Just as water, shaped by shell of the bowl, 
disperses into incoherent swirls 
when whole frame is fractured into small shards, 
so intact process of the neural net 
will scatter into frazzled sparks of unthought, 
unable to preserve memories as dreams. 

This special feeling of my own uniqueness 
that binds chemical energy as me, 
conjured by ancestral memories of life 
programmed by genes to beam my sense of self, 
tricks me to think my conscious mind has lived 
before my birth as immortal God Self. 

My sense of self is programmed from my genes 
by conscious functions of attentive brains 
in my ancestors who created life 
through each new generation of my being 
that has evolved four hundred million years, 
so I feel as if I have lived forever. 

My brain is but one temporary node 
of consciousness awake in me this hour 
at this still point of my immortal genes 
designed by my ancestors to perceive 
process to generate bodies of children 
another hundred million years of life. 

I am coherent soul combining souls 
of all my ancestors in Sense of Self, 
so I would like to wake in my descendants, 
but they will form their own coherent souls 
in bodies animated by brave love 
bright in the mirrored stillness of the soul. 

Broken Things Of Time

Broken Things Of Time
© Surazeus
2026 08 26

If I wrap huge thoughts in small cage of wings 
to climb complex ladder of chorus tunes, 
I might feel swelling of my conscious mind 
with urgent passion to become the sky, 
but this body my ancestors designed 
constrains my quest to analyze the why. 

I never mourn the broken things of time 
since more than magic of conceptual faith 
preserves integrity of vibrant souls 
with web of words we weave from memories 
to maintain format of our worldview creed 
connecting us to every soul on Earth. 

My face glows in the window of my home 
as constellation formed from long-dead stars 
that flash awake in eyes of the moon owl 
who always watches me perform my life 
in vain attempt to earn credits of faith 
enough for admittance to paradise. 

Half-open doors of innocent desire 
lure me to restart play of my failed life 
with new beginning in some distant town 
where I seek treasure of the secret truth 
hidden in library of ancient tales 
recording lives of people without names. 

Though I try to carry joy in my hands, 
it flows away with liquid solvency 
while I sing quiet carol of my heart 
in silent darkness of the endless day 
where nameless people wander streets of fate 
by hiding pain of sorrow in their eyes. 

When Artemis returns from bright moon 
with seeds of trees she finds in every land, 
she asks me to plant them in town square parks 
where they bloom lush with soft angelic souls 
who whisper fairy tales as I pass by 
so I may understand why all souls die. 

When she explains long lineage of her grief 
in strange words her heart attempts to invent, 
she speaks with fondness of her bitter pain 
since she has danced with searing thorn of fear 
too many years to extricate it now, 
then grips my hand and sings in agony. 

I wonder, as I wander in oak woods 
with basket of persimmons on my arm,  
if my death will be silent as the lake 
that sings with shimmer of sad restless wind, 
but when they make short movie of my life 
I hope they show how much I ache to live. 

Become Ideal God Self

Become Ideal God Self
© Surazeus
2026 08 25

Midway through journey of my eager life 
I find myself in dark wood of the mind 
to study apparitions on black bough 
of faceless ghosts who ask me to record 
tale of unjust exile from paradise, 
so we lounge by white chickens and tell jokes. 

Life occurs when pattern key of the sperm 
unlocks material process of the egg, 
so immortal soul of genes unspools coils 
that assemble atoms in chemicals 
to weave neural network of the brain 
which animates organic frame of flesh. 

Consciousness glows when dream-recording brain 
configures program through analysis 
to gather and consume chemical mass 
that reconstructs the frame of glowing flesh 
which ambulates on landscape of the mind 
to generate new life before we die. 

Death happens when component atom nodes, 
that compose chemical organic beings, 
deconstruct material frame of the self 
so its conscious soul vanishes to sparks 
of atoms that dissipate in mute wind 
and swirl about in random gusts of fate. 

Some atoms stay stuck in clumps of mute rocks 
billions of years as the Earth spins in space, 
while others in dirt are sucked by tree roots, 
transformed to fruit that organic beings eat, 
so atoms that once formed my dreaming brain 
now become flashes in your dreaming brain. 

Every atom belonging to my soul 
belongs to every soul who ever lives, 
for we are clumps of atoms Earth creates 
so she can wake in visions of our brains 
as we strive to become ideal God Self 
which our ancestors make to guide our way. 

Thus when I hear your voice call out my name, 
that we invent to signify each self, 
I smile and open arms of welcoming 
to share my meal in shelter of my heart, 
then we tell each other tales about life 
so we expand scope of our conscious sense. 

Our parents show us how to walk the world 
and name each object and action we sense 
till they vanish into the wind we breathe, 
then we show our own children how to walk 
the world and name its essence in new song 
till we vanish into the wind they breathe. 

Abstract Space Of My Mind

Abstract Space Of My Mind
© Surazeus
2026 08 25

Alone in the abstract space of my mind, 
where reason flaps white raven wings of faith, 
I translate sorrow of ancestral dreams 
to heart-enchanting hymn of honest hope 
that shines with ancient wisdom of the sky 
as lamp that leads me to the Promised Land. 

By forging keys of reason from my pain 
I prove to fallen angels in the rain 
that I am abstract concept of my being, 
primed to ascend on breath-approving wing 
through fraught contingency of spinning space 
as pristine idol with strange divine face. 

Growth through epistemic humility 
provides oblique viewpoint for me to fly 
against the mindless tides of social change 
when I mold dreams of brave uncertainty 
to fit stylistic canon of our state 
while lounging in chalet of mortal fate. 

Through fragments of the humble anecdote, 
based firmly on allusive bricolage, 
my hand arranges puzzle shards of truth 
within aesthetic quadrant of our creed 
that weaves each unrelated reference 
in tensile matrix of our world-shared dreams. 

With programmatic openness of fear, 
concealed in symbols of unabstract art, 
I fashion gossip into ballad code 
to manufacture products from lake muck 
that soothes our wounded hearts with cute bromides 
developed by the archivist of dreams. 

Because we sail the spirit-coiling sea 
across infinite waves of starlit souls, 
we call to lighthouse keeper of our faith 
whose eyes illuminate surface of souls 
so we rise up from abyss of despair 
as swan-winged whales of innocent desire. 

While temporary glimmers of our souls 
pulse under thin skin of our mortal pride, 
great dragon of our hearts expands wild wings 
so we become the self we choose to play 
despite attempts of bitter Thought Police 
to interpret false meaning from our psalm. 

Absorbed by landscape of the mindless vale 
to flow with beauty of the sparkling stream, 
I feel strong tidal pull of social vibes 
reverse abstraction of my dreaming mind, 
so we hold hands and walk the river trail 
to chat about the earnest tones of birds. 

Liquid Eyes Of Faith

Liquid Eyes Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 08 25

Since crystal network of my pulsing brain 
refracts strange dreams from strangers across town, 
I pluck taut strings of acoustic guitar 
and channel voice of our social zeitgeist 
in song of scrambled code to confiscate 
luminous phantom of national faith. 

High on the mountain ridge of fractured light, 
where Minerva was born from crystal brain 
of my desire to understand the world, 
I see blind ghost of Medusa appear 
in flurry of swan wings that scatters flakes 
of mirror-eyed snow in swirls of weird words. 

I want to think I understand this world, 
having assembled my ancestral dreams 
in coherent world view based on photographs 
arranged at random in forgotten books, 
so I ask the twin sisters of lost time 
if they can adjust the clock of my brain. 

Minerva gives me boots of dragon skin 
that protect my feet from sharp jagged rocks 
when I climb the mountain of broken idols 
to find the Holy Virgin of the Sea 
in huge cave where shadows of words distort 
how well my eyes perceive what is not real. 

Medusa gives me cape of brown-bear fur 
that comforts me against the searing blast 
of laughter from the nuclear bomb of fear 
when I chase butterfly of happiness 
through the corn field to the white country church 
where robots sing hymns to the telephone. 

On top the heart-shaped stone of solitude 
small statue of Minerva, forged with gold 
from crown of the last king cast from his throne, 
transforms into the woman with star eyes 
who gives me lyre of Mercury and winks, 
then goes to work as the hospital nurse. 

Inviting me to come and meditate 
with her on Mount Zion by the dream well, 
Medusa gives me liquid eyes of faith 
so I can see true essence of the mind 
which emanates from every human soul 
till I go blind from passion of the heart. 

Retracing path of life I never took, 
that winds through weird worlds of my multiverse, 
I find my soulmate on first world I left, 
still waiting for me at the kitchen table 
where she gives me meal that she cooked to eat, 
so we talk about the way water flows. 

Great River Of His Tribe

Great River Of His Tribe
© Surazeus
2026 08 24

Boots crunch on mucky gravel of her heart 
as Minnie lurks along the barbed-wire fence, 
crawls low under loose wire in cold moonlight, 
nauseous at pungent scent of oiled mushrooms, 
then scoots across open field past searchlights 
to huddle near the secret facility. 

Because our globe, as third rock from the sun, 
measured at one astronomical unit 
in the formula called Titus-Bode Law 
that predicts sequential spacing of planets, 
orbits just close enough to nurture life, 
billions of planets also teem with life. 

Slowly opening the metal door left unlocked, 
Minnie proceeds with caution in the dark, 
but stops at sight of enormous glass sphere 
that shimmers green and orange with pulsing lights, 
astonished with delight to see at last 
starship that came from some far distant world. 

Start with number zero, followed by three, 
then double each subsequent number, six, 
twelve, twenty-four, forty-eight, ninety-six, 
then add four to each number in the sequence, 
then divide each result by ten, which notes 
position of each planet from the sun. 

Strange eerie yellow glow lights up the room 
so Minnie stares astonished at the sight 
of human bodies in suits and white coats 
scattered from terrible carnage of death, 
but gasps when she sees the alien creature 
that seems half-cat, half-lizard with swan wings. 

Cradling wounded Seraph in tender arms, 
Minnie helps him drink water from the bottle, 
then gazes in his gold serpentine eyes 
and dreams whole progress of his earnest life, 
gliding along rivers, learning to sing, 
and exploring worlds as ship archivist. 

Bearing him inside his crystal starship, 
she follows instructions he telepaths 
to pilot sphere of pulsing glass in space, 
surfing through undulating beams of light 
to his home planet, he names Ranika, 
where his family welcomes him safely home. 

Holding his waist tight with laughter of awe, 
Minnie gasps when he soars into the sky 
and glides along great river of his tribe, 
named Saramatha for his great-grandmother, 
who blesses their kiss as her alarm rings, 
so she grumbles, and gets ready for work.