Vote On Election Day

Vote On Election Day
© Surazeus
2026 03 31

When I find secret land of Xanadu 
hidden in misty mountain vale of peace 
I will sing to the blue moon of respect 
so screaming voices on the radio 
vanish into silent ache of faith 
because I like to flirt with Death at dawn. 

Because he is still waiting for Godot, 
the old man, who sits all day on the bench 
in front of city hall, steals my fake name, 
so I write it down in book of lost tales 
when I visit museum of dead gods 
whose skeletons dance around the North Pole. 

When Godot arrives at the restaurant, 
he introduces me to his new bride 
named Saengdao, which means Starlight, he explains, 
but she takes me sailing on her glass yacht 
to Kharg Island in the Gulf of Hormuz 
where she films her new folk-rap video. 

When I try to vote on election day 
the old man questions whether I exist, 
so I disappear in a puff of smoke, 
then drift without wings, humming lullabies 
about death, over Yosemite Park 
where Shakambari tends vegetable gardens. 

Inscrutable spell of her recipe 
for magic potion that heals harsh headaches 
combines mental spice of spiraling words 
with apricot cider of providence 
which questions privilege of ownership 
exposed by counter-oracles of truth. 

While photographing young couples in love 
who stroll the river walk in evening light, 
Phrixus leans against the brass balustrade 
and stares with sorrow at the silver sheen 
that flickers with elusive Runes of fate, 
then mounts gold ram and flies into the clouds. 

Engaged with program to destabilize 
global patriarchy through language keys, 
Phrixus meets Godot in the crumbling church 
where they discuss projects of bitter wealth 
based on artificial intelligence 
which hallucinates that Jesus returns. 

Logic of random landscapes motivates 
moral mission to organize networks 
of neutral monsters with house mortgages 
who load trucks with boxes of stolen dreams 
through humble technique of successful ploy 
upgrading unique spectrum of toy brains. 

When he buys carrots of syntactic virus 
from Shakambari by the broken gate, 
Godot suddenly understands the joke 
about the raven and the writing desk 
Phrixus told him at the amusement park 
while they were eating hotdogs of despair. 

Children With Sparkling Eyes

Children With Sparkling Eyes
© Surazeus
2026 03 31

The next time we get together to cry 
about how flowers wither in hot sun, 
Tellus will bring glass jar of demon tears 
to nurture souls of angels in small seeds 
who grow into children with sparkling eyes 
before bullets splatter their souls on grass. 

Careful analysis of water flow, 
within context of material exchange, 
proves why excessive passion of desire 
cracks concrete channels of clandestine code 
that redesigns children with sparkling eyes 
who play hide and seek in ruins of church. 

Reverse psychology of social laws 
never works to change behavior with fear, 
relabeled as incentive to mature 
against relentless tides of profit gains 
that tricks hearts of children with sparkling eyes 
to believe in lie of the Afterlife. 

Elected by the people of her state 
to establish affordable health care, 
Tellus drives to work across Bridge of Faith 
till assassins give her apples to eat 
so she can feed children with sparkling eyes 
who play in rubble of their bombed-out homes. 

Clipboard in hand as wind blows her charged hair, 
Tellus organizes fairies and ghosts 
to stack bricks of bombed buildings on wood carts 
so they can rebuild empire of dead gods 
reborn as our children with sparkling eyes 
who pretend they are puppets without strings. 

Amazed at beauty of our broken world 
that functions on laughter of hungry hope, 
Tellus writes complex formulas of fate 
on chalkboard in crowded college classroom 
to educate children with sparkling eyes 
on using magic to build paradise. 

When Neptune wakes from dream in fountain pool, 
startling tourists in the large Florence square, 
Tellus gives him jeans and white shirt to wear 
as they stroll holding hands in evening glow 
to photograph children with sparkling eyes 
who are old gods reborn in human flesh. 

Concerned about current state of the world, 
when dictators disguised as presidents 
contest over whose God will rule the Earth, 
Tellus meditates with Shiva in cave 
visited by children with sparkling eyes 
through revolution of the working class. 

Vast Vacancy Of Being

Vast Vacancy Of Being
© Surazeus
2026 03 30

All my relatives swirl into my heart 
so we all become one galactic mind 
that blooms from vibrant flame of the first cause, 
hearts bound in communal rite of our tribe 
as we breathe in vast vacancy of being 
that swells scope of our souls big as the Earth. 

Compact conception contained in core seed 
designs firm structure of our social state 
arranged so every person of our tribe 
contributes skilled performance of their heart 
that radiates from vast vacancy of being 
as cordial fruit we share each evening feast. 

We harvest fruitful wisdom of this Earth 
with brave assertion of our right to live, 
vain fact ignored by calm indifference 
that encodes how heartless Nature replies 
with riddles from vast vacancy of being 
despite our solemn oath to tend her needs. 

Ordained as messenger by Eye of Fate, 
I open channels between Earth and Sky 
so we comprehend with attentive heart 
what light communicates through cleansing rain 
that springs fresh from vast vacancy of being 
to water growing souls in groves of trees. 

When I uncover lost star catalog, 
by erasing theological creed 
written with blood angels on old scroll, 
I study stellar cartograph of fate 
to navigate vast vacancy of being 
that guides my way home to Elysium. 

I hear voice of my primal Motherland 
call me with heart-enchanting song of faith 
to cross greed-ravaged waste land of this world 
and find lush Promised Land of fruitful trees 
that blossom from vast vacancy of being 
as bountiful garden of generous death. 

No idol of dead god as scarecrow hears 
fervent prayers of desperate refugees 
who scatter from our homeland in lost tribes 
when tyrants attack garden of our wealth 
to find truth in vast vacancy of being 
from which we build new empire from old ruins. 

We thrived ten thousand years of fertile peace 
in secret valley of our singing skulls 
till refugees invade garden of trees 
and drive our people far across the world 
so we float in vast vacancy of being, 
transforming into children of lost faith. 

Hole Of Finite Thought

Hole Of Finite Thought
© Surazeus
2026 03 30

Because death collapses time in my head 
with sudden nothingness of the bright soul, 
I ponder what the living do each day 
to ignore the fact that we all will die, 
then I fish on shore of the singing lake 
and eat its roasted meat under weird stars. 

Framed in my unfurling future, I feel 
exaggerated vastness stretching time 
long enough to catch me before I fall, 
thwarted by excessive passion to live 
when I evade cruel death by accident 
in close proximity to sudden hope. 

Morning light of each new day after death 
arrives with bright elusive flash of faith 
that blinds my mind with truth beyond all words 
at sharpened thrill of opened aperture 
that strikes me with expected solitude 
so I float far alone on waves of where. 

Undetermined moment of someday soon, 
when I will cease to be awake with buzz 
of frantic energy to taste sweet fire, 
tethers tight my heart to silence of wind, 
hidden in scroll of lost voices by quill 
plucked from demonic wing of innocence. 

Brave enough with fractured luck of respect, 
I confront absence of my nameless self 
by calling phone number of my dead clone 
who answers with strange voice of ocean waves, 
but I become mad raven with three eyes 
that hangs out on the sad telephone line. 

So I avoid speaking in my own voice 
with assiduous intent to detach 
my body from lush fields of sparkling lakes 
where birds tweet love songs in flower-flame trees, 
because my being is hole of finite thought 
around which nothing radiates in blind gloom. 

Despite personal investment of hope, 
I stand in spotlight on stage of despair 
and drink milk of angels from burning clouds 
that pour from my eyes in fountains of tears 
which nourishes eight billion hungry souls 
while I float on surging sea of desire. 

My happiness fills shadow of my heart 
with sudden nothingness of silent death 
that blows bright rainbow darkness of my eyes 
open wide enough to become each star 
that twinkles in vast galaxies of souls 
while beneath every city my heart beats. 

If I Reveal My Soul

If I Reveal My Soul
© Surazeus
2026 03 29

If I reveal my soul by how I sing 
relentless emotion through opposites, 
I undeceive myself with new belief 
that glamors richness of our messy world 
which vainly proves with brute indifference 
that Nature fills us with passion of hope. 

If they assassinate idol of stone 
that represents proud ruler of the world 
with accurate bullet of childhood games, 
we may choose new god from the mortal crowd 
to play wise ruler of our crowded state 
who plays piano with graceful respect. 

If we march to martial music of blood 
with bright torch of freedom in every hand, 
we may find our ancestral voices cry 
for justice from blood-soaked soil of our land, 
so we raise flag of Liberty with faith 
that our wild howls become anthem of truth. 

If we spring laughing from sonorous hills 
at sudden strike of brave cathedral bells, 
we may plow fields of stubborn prairie grass 
and plant gold wheat of fierce ambitious plans 
to build empire of hungry enterprise 
so our children may dance in sweet moonlight. 

If I cast line of hope in lake of dreams 
with hope to catch elusive fish of faith, 
I may hear noble song of moon-white geese 
call out to angels on flame-golden clouds 
who grant my boon to gain hard-earned reward, 
though Nature owes me nothing for my work. 

If I should meditate by sparkling brook 
that shimmers calm in grove of twisted birch, 
I may hear strange enchanting song of faes 
that lures my heart to seek dark gloom of fate 
in deep forest green of snow-crested hills 
where child of the mountain waits for my gift. 

If blind musician in dark smoky bar 
plays earthy melody on saxophone 
with soulful anguish of inhuman truth, 
I feel myself alive more than the sea 
halfway between midnight and dawn of time, 
awake with silver shimmer of star waves. 

If I leap over brook of crystal skulls 
while running from death on black horse of fate, 
I feel cascade of timeless water spray 
swirls of strange immortal energy 
prismed radiant with souls of fallen gods 
who weep to hear me sing about cruel death. 

Zephyrean Voice Of Truth

Zephyrean Voice Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 03 29

Terrible ache of the brain breaking down 
into fragments of misread memories 
sprouts into palm tree of the final thought 
where fire-feathered bird of psychotic truth 
sings the most beautiful song of all time 
that drives me mad with wisdom of true love. 

While I stumble blind through random events 
that contrive false narrative of my life, 
my fractured brain invents meaning for why 
I suffer through each scene for which God laughs 
with mocking amusement at how wings shine 
from fire-fangled feathers of ecstasy. 

Far beyond end of the quivering mind 
I spiral into beauty of regret 
dismissed as obstacles on road of growth 
when I transform from singing tree of death 
to wingless angel limping without care 
on signless road that leads me anywhere. 

Struck by bare facts of existence, that seal 
secrets of desire in mouths of the dead, 
I insist the mental world in my head 
is just as real as thick atomic forms 
that pulse with naked energy of light, 
till my brain dissipates it all to dust. 

Stomping hard on the solid ground of being, 
I shout with cold Zephyrean voice of truth 
that I can dwell as both body and soul 
in real world of atoms flashing starlight 
and dream realm of ideas weaving words 
with simultaneous energy of love. 

Whole universe of atoms, which contains 
fragile flame of my body in vast frame, 
glows endlessly in swirls of energy, 
while multiverse of visions in my brain 
replicates inexhaustible variants 
that fuel my quest to find the Promised Land. 

Vibrant reality of pulsing light, 
that seethes in layers of atomic swirls, 
undulates elusive phenomenon 
beyond my ability to record 
conceptual images of its pure essence, 
yet I attempt to represent its flash. 

My pure imagination cannot augment 
vital essence at core of divine being 
that pulses with celestial energy, 
so these faint shimmers of my verbal spells 
may barely reflect vastness of the Real, 
yet I sing with Zephyrean voice of truth. 

Shifting Sands Of Change

Shifting Sands Of Change
© Surazeus
2026 03 29

Though I walk upon shifting sands of change 
that swirl across states of America, 
transforming processes we play to live 
with honest gestures of productive hope, 
I will not slip in void of nothingness 
since I extend my angel wings of hope. 

I shall waltz upon shifting sands of change 
through ardent passion to balance with verve 
opposing forces of democracy  
which channels progressive charge to grow strong 
with conservative reins of self-control 
so I transcend bipartisan conflicts. 

So we stroll upon shifting sands of change 
through cooperative management of fate 
to fund projects with capital intent, 
then distribute goods with social respect, 
ensuring every person of this land 
thrives in harmony of communal  work. 

Rebalanced upon shifting sands of change, 
we gather around ziggurat of truth 
that shines at core of our civilized world 
where Ishtar portrays Creator of Life 
which unifies all religions of Earth 
in one collective drama of world faith. 

Hearts bound tight upon shifting sands of change, 
we commit our faith in power of love, 
after suffering bleak incertitude 
that fractures trust with disillusionment, 
when we communicate perceptive doubts 
which conjures renewed vision of world peace. 

Attentive upon shifting sands of change, 
we surf on wildly undulating swerves 
attuned between contrary points of view, 
with brave commitment to sustain frail life 
which invigorates with viable creed 
common moral values that guide our way. 

Endurance upon shifting sands of change 
provides brave courage of objective course 
for us to steer assertive drive that beams 
clear vantage point of sentimental fact 
with firm unyielding passion to succeed 
in solemn establishment of world faith. 

When I dance upon shifting sands of change, 
secure with stationary flow of faith, 
my heart expands scope of time-conscious sight 
through vigorous radiance of selfless love 
to anchor aberrant motions with strict law 
that weaves energy in our structured Self. 

Global Theory Of Radiance

Global Theory Of Radiance
© Surazeus
2026 03 29

Alive with mental dance of solitude, 
I follow crystal wires that lace the air 
back to exaggerated waste of Hell 
to hear sweet vibrant birds of everywhere 
proclaim rebirth of everyone in Spring 
who gives each other stories of despair. 

Since my feelings wither and bloom all year 
against background of moral rectitude, 
I breathe expansive quality of hope 
that swirls from thoughts of frantic pulchritude 
confined by loneliness of distant shouts 
which dapples blue sky of my fortitude. 

Blue shadows sweep across front lawn of fate 
with inwardness of my strange character 
defined by incidents my soul performs 
essential to my state as Lucifer 
because I fade from Heaven after all, 
disowned by my grandfather Jupiter. 

Stark fear subsides with glimmer of warm breeze 
when ravens in oak trees recall my name 
through sharp intensity of sudden truth 
which I anticipate with every game 
without atonement through regret for faith 
that lifts me upward to avoid false fame. 

Adrift through eternity of each hour 
that nests my spirit with brave nothingness, 
I float on vacant vastness of our world 
in vehement valley of pleasantness 
with quiet absolution from my heart 
startled by drone of planes in emptiness. 

Patient observation of social cues 
reveals weird circumstantial evidence 
based on principal figures of state laws 
contrived by particular providence 
which permeates family lawns all over town 
who share communal feast of precedence. 

Sea tides that ebb and flow reveal my heart 
composed of stars that gleam in human eyes, 
based on global theory of radiance 
through vicissitude of conceptual spies 
who flee across mud flats of social rules 
to lost Willow House where they eat fruit pies. 

Obscure on rainbow loop of energy, 
that spirals outward from globe of our dreams, 
I thread my soul in matrix of god souls 
comprised of psychic riddles in word streams 
that bind me with religious tales of good 
as nameless actor trapped in puzzle memes. 

Child Of The Mountain

Child Of The Mountain
© Surazeus
2026 03 28

When child of the mountain calls my true name 
with innocent voice of wind in damp vales, 
I run through deep forest of singing pines 
to heed strange clarion call of the sky 
so I fight for grand cause of liberty 
then weep silver tears on graves of your souls. 

If child of the mountain remembers why 
we trace wings of sparrows in silver mist, 
he might find abandoned home of his heart 
where skull of his father prophesies deeds 
that he will perform on ambitious stage 
while chasing illusions of power and peace. 

Though child of the mountain on signless road 
hears soft sound of silence in dim-lit streets, 
he runs in green rain along railroad tracks 
to find the overflowing well of desire 
where serpents of wisdom slither as Runes 
that glimmer with neon signs of the truth. 

Still child of the mountain searches for love 
along narrow streets of wet cobblestone 
while bearing broken lamp of curious fear 
till he finds ten billion people at dawn 
milling in silence by fountain of tears 
who wake in surprise at voice of his heart. 

Yet child of the mountain touches your heart 
with intricate stories of suffering 
that translate eternal song of the sea 
to clever riddles that make us all laugh 
with tears of happiness when we meet Death 
in our journey on sandy shores of faith. 

Since child of the mountain writes prophecies 
with heart-broken angst on tenement halls, 
we gather in Temple of Fallen Gods 
to share strange stories of our surreal dreams 
when angels in Heaven destroy our homes 
with silver bombs of imperial pride. 

Till child of the mountain is born again 
as Christ anointed with black engine oil, 
which lubricates engine of global wealth, 
he guides refugees from religious wars 
with map of Hell Dante left in his will 
to find Weeping Mother in cave of faith. 

Now child of the mountain appears from smoke 
that billows from temples bombed by contempt 
and blows loud horn of Joshua at dawn 
to lead our nation against haughty kings 
and build from ruins of America 
world democracy of Zarathia. 

Quick-Winged Sparrow

Quick-Winged Sparrow
© Surazeus
2026 03 28

Quick-winged sparrow of the human soul, 
seen to flit safe from tempest of cold wind 
in fire-warm hall of power where world leaders 
feast on bones of workers in factories, 
lands on head of the self-crowned king of greed 
and prophesies that the proud always fall. 

Our transient human soul, lodged in our flesh 
of warm protection from cruel mindless death, 
comes from no far mysterious realm of light 
on time-transcendent wings of divine love, 
for conscious glow radiates from spongy brain 
as glow of self-aware acuity. 

What seems to wise philosophers to be 
mysterious origin in distant stars 
of our bright consciousness we call our soul, 
which animates our body till we die, 
is local to enclosed sphere of our skull, 
for primal flame of self glows from our brain. 

Our brain provides foundation for the soul 
to bloom from seed of hope as tree of thought, 
nurtured by tears of sorrow our hearts bleed 
with nourishment of harsh experience 
so we learn consequence of every cause 
which we encode in proverbs of insight. 

No matter role each person of this world 
is doomed by play by choices of our fate, 
each individual brain conjures its soul 
from flash of memories in neural net 
that programs we how we perform our one part 
in crowded theater of social power. 

Some men attain heights of authority 
through scenes of chaos from hostile desire 
by organizing variant plans that clash 
with project of inclusive compromise 
to balance opposing forces of hope 
so everyone wins game of give and take. 

Other men grasp at elusive mirage 
of power over minds of other men 
by smashing strict conventions of respect 
through harsh assertion of their fragile will 
in frantic gestures of helpless despair 
hidden behind mask of feeble dominance. 

Quick-winged sparrow of my transient soul, 
that flits with urgent message of world change, 
traverses spiraling maze of dream keys 
to guide my quest of self-empowerment 
so I achieve modest success of faith 
composing epic of enlightenment. 

Humble Farmers Of The Soil

Humble Farmers Of The Soil
© Surazeus
2026 03 28

Suppressed desire of the damp ether hum 
writhes eyeless in limestone guilt of respect 
between weed-tangled banks of rivered oil 
that erodes foundation of empire guilt, 
trapped in drama of unforgiven crime 
that dissolves elements of memories. 

Substance of our bodies reconstitutes 
other bodies outside fake photographs 
blurred by fog of memories we forget, 
barely visible on glass table of hope 
disturbed by famine of answerless code 
that conjures neon signs on cement streets. 

Ghost of my heart guards unlocked labyrinth 
where my ancestors wander loops of hope 
with brave impassive cry of warriors 
that we return to history of our pride 
when we were humble farmers of the soil 
beneath bright satellites of global faith. 

Adamant refusal of patriots 
to condemn imperial glory of power 
restructures toxic privilege of faith 
to match political climate of war, 
rejecting birthright of obsessive quest 
to build our nation on skulls of dead gods. 

Against current tides of fate, I believe 
in brotherhood of nations as one tribe 
with genuine concern of social health 
for star-blind Oedipus in sacred grove 
of Colonus where acacias shade graves 
preserving souls of gods who ruled the world. 

Unpeopled landscape of my first homeland 
glows with weird enchantment of timeless myth 
through my imagination of faint hope, 
so I sit bored beneath the apple tree 
where Scythia first taught me how to sing, 
but all I can do now is mumble jokes. 

Half-destroyed by endless war of vampire gods 
to control deserted hills of oil wells, 
castle of my grandfather shimmers hot 
in lucid calm of weightless innocence 
till factory workers revolt against greed, 
then get back to work making more eye-phones. 

Neglected harbor of fear-rotten docks, 
where Elpenor waits for his ship to come, 
collects debris of missile-shattered boats 
till Ahura Mazda arrives by plane 
to defend Strait of Hormuz for Ishtar 
who walks barefoot on crunched shells of the beach. 

Crowded Streets Of Life

Crowded Streets Of Life
© Surazeus
2026 03 28

Rebirth of angels from body of flesh 
transforms the population of our world 
from manic robots of aggressive hope 
to celestial choirs of respectful clones 
who dissipate to mist at flash of dawn 
when I wake from sweet dreams of paradise. 

Shocked from complacent attitude of faith 
by constant annihilation of souls 
through war, famine, disease, and rot of age, 
I gaze with loving awe at every soul 
I see while walking crowded streets of life, 
heart aching to treasure each divine mind. 

We are pure flashing energy of light 
congealed in frail organic form of thought 
as atoms attempting to wake as God 
through conscious vision of our dreaming brains 
in neural nets of memory-storage nodes 
that refract divine concept of Star Mind. 

Through metaphysical concepts of love, 
that portray essence emanating bright 
from material machines of chemicals, 
I seek to express transcendental truth 
based firm on building blocks of verity, 
for our conscious souls will perish at death. 

Relaxed on wood bench before city hall, 
I observe strangers, wearing uniforms 
of social status, stride with calm intent 
of business to attend inherent needs 
concerning social strategies of power, 
leaves of flesh tossed by mindless winds of fate. 

Each individual face with special features, 
specific to ancestral strife to grow, 
presents elastic mask of mental will 
which replicates mythical characters 
whose spirits replay dramas of their lives 
in stories left unread in ancient books. 

I see detailed on vast map of your face 
journey of your ancestors across time 
that codes how their souls navigate despair 
long enough to generate child of hope 
who continues endless journey of faith 
to find the Promised Land of fantasies. 

Though we are wingless angels of the wind, 
contained in organic bodies of flesh 
for our brief journey on this spinning globe, 
we live forever in names carved on stone 
though we become dirt roots of trees imbibe 
to bloom as fruit which our descendants eat. 

First Wordless Song

First Wordless Song
© Surazeus
2026 03 27

When I wake in marble temple of fire 
after searching the world for angel wings, 
I hear first wordless song of aching hope 
ring out from voices of your nameless souls 
who wander lost on signless road of fear 
after your homes are bombed to memories. 

Frantic with urgency in will to live 
that drives my body forth in graceful dance, 
I express first wordless song of despair 
to evade horror of unending death 
when burning stones, that fall from silver sky 
of mocking crows, smash our homes into dust. 

If ghost of wisdom from the glowing cloud 
descends to Earth on vast demonic wings, 
I dream first wordless song of bitter truth 
that mask of Narcissus hides my real face 
with holy shimmer of aesthetic faith 
defined by Sibyl in tower of bones. 

Though Humble Gardener of the Faceless God 
orders chaos of lust in garden grove, 
I compose first wordless song of respect 
for Mountain Prophetess in Cave of Dreams 
who speaks with many voices of the world 
to translate sorrow into psalms of faith. 

Hidden in small house with infinite books 
about how Newton measures gravity, 
I drink first wordless song of apple wine 
spiced with cinnamon of angelic brains 
because the Earth is cracked in thirteen worlds 
controlled by Nebuchadnezzar and Lear. 

Shocked with obvious insight about how 
religions are fan clubs of mortal gods, 
I translate first wordless song into jokes 
earnest priests preach in cathedral halls 
to prove their Lord will someday rule the world 
because they try to kill everyone else. 

Seared by wrath of the electric storm god 
who bombs cities of angels with contempt, 
I forge first wordless song into airplane 
which I fly high above gold glowing clouds 
to find palace of Heaven built of crystal stones 
where I find nothing but eternity. 

Almost reaching Heaven with trembling hand 
which exists nowhere but in my sponge brain, 
I record first wordless song in weird spells 
as mirror that refracts ideas of things 
which spring from seeds with no purpose of being 
except anxious fear which sparks me to sing. 

Maze Of Overlook Hotel

Maze Of Overlook Hotel
© Surazeus
2026 03 27

Unbearable coldness of divine breath 
shocks my iced brain with shining thought, 
so I search every spirit-shadowed room 
in endless maze of Overlook Hotel, 
guided by glow of my Chaldean Star, 
where I meet Lucifer in every door. 

With shining globe of psychic energy, 
that luminates face my ancestors wore, 
I approach marble idol of dead god 
in gloomy maze of Overlook Hotel 
to ask opinion about earnest love 
that gleams behind glass mask of Lucifer. 

Still searching garden of our secret code 
six thousand years after Eve eats the pear, 
I read countless books full of singing ghosts 
in curving maze of Overlook Hotel 
who follow footsteps of my riddle-verse 
to Sacred Tree at heart of Middle-Earth. 

Since atoms shining in net of my brain 
evolve fish to wingless angel who sings, 
I feel I am God waking through my mind 
in psychic maze of Overlook Hotel 
to gain enlightenment of cosmic truth 
that gleams in eyes of every conscious soul. 

When we share smiles of fractured fantasy 
to constitute our global state of peace, 
I cook hamburgers for eight billion souls 
in doorless maze of Overlook Hotel 
who agree to design system of laws 
that manages woke world through liberty. 

Mapping roads along river of glass skulls 
where people gather in churches to pray, 
I set flow direction of water pipes 
in flooded maze of Overlook Hotel 
with plan to evaluate random fate 
that blindly highlights victims of world fame. 

Untangling names from matrix of lost time, 
as character in tapestry of fate, 
I see the Shining through my mirror mask 
in fractured maze of Overlook Hotel 
reflecting memories of each conscious soul 
who has lived in dream of our spinning world. 

Returning home to Isle of Avalon 
across the strangest sea of sophistry, 
I rise from wordless waves at dawn of time 
in vanished maze of Overlook Hotel 
to smile as ghost in tapestry of tales 
woven by Penelope every day. 

Eyes That Can See

Eyes That Can See
© Surazeus
2026 03 26

So long as I live with eyes that can see 
faces of people in the city maze, 
strangers in my new-found community, 
I shall compare you to this fresh spring day 
when you tend apple trees in our backyard, 
dark red face glowing in light of the sun. 

Though we are fading with each seasoned year, 
trimmed by changing course Nature arrogates 
to transform lithe young bodies of our souls 
to withered wanderers in shade of time, 
we possess honest love that grows more strong 
since we first joined hands on our road of life. 

Unchanging love in changing frames of flesh 
gives us eternal life, though we will die, 
in children blooming from our fertile hearts 
who now possess bright youth as we grow old, 
because we transferred timeless glow of love 
to animate their bodies with pure light. 

Death always brags with honest smile of fate 
that we are wandering toward shade of her doom, 
yet we share pleasure in togetherness 
for heaven shines on both our mortal heads 
because we wander hand in hand toward death 
since we our one in bodies of our children. 

Safe in civil obscurity of love, 
we drive never-ending road of our love 
past quiet houses amid towering oaks, 
one heart-bound mind of daily pulchritude 
in separate bodies of our private souls, 
individuals coupled by free-will choice. 

Though we speak different tribal languages, 
fashioned by ancestral songs of the heart 
on two islands at the opposite ends 
of the spinning world, Java and Britannia, 
we speak one language with grammar of trust, 
attentive to shared plan of cordial growth. 

Devouring time, that thirsts for souls of gods, 
sparks passion to regenerate our souls 
in bodies of our children who spring bright 
on Phoenix wings from burning blood of hope, 
so we run laughing with swift-footed time 
to savor beauty of this life till death. 

Your gentle heart, within your glowing face 
painted by Nature with beauty of stars, 
ignores shifting fashions to project 
consistent wisdom as treasure of love 
that makes us wealthy in togetherness, 
because we choose each other to live well. 

Weird Oracle Of Nature

Weird Oracle Of Nature
© Surazeus
2026 03 26

With sharp alertness in cold morning dawn 
I hear weird oracle of nature sing 
urgent mission to play the king, not pawn, 
but I prefer to wear the magic ring 
that renders me invisible to eyes 
which gleam with mystery of eternal skies. 

At startling flash of red sun on far hills 
I sense weird oracle of nature glow 
with calm acceptance I must pay the bills 
or wander hungry in mute homeless snow 
that shrouds the blood-stained fields of brutal war 
with paved parking lot of the grocery store. 

Amid casual chatter of restaurants 
I hear weird oracle of nature claim 
sermons of the jester on global jaunts 
orchestrate our national power game 
that fools tyrants to think they can control 
heart of each human who plays their own role. 

From countless radios of daily news 
I feel weird oracle of nature shout 
arcane prophecies written by my Muse 
who analyzes state of social clout 
that internet influencers must yield 
to cultivate wealth from Fantasy Field. 

Concerned that humans wander lost in Hell, 
I pray weird oracle of nature preach 
draconic wisdom of the Odin Well 
encoded clear in runes my hands can reach 
when I translate strange songs of ocean waves 
to folksy proverbs my old mother saves. 

Curious to explore ruins of empires, 
I note weird oracle of nature code, 
concealed in hymns sung by celestial choirs, 
that helps me navigate the signless road 
which leads me past the hidden Promised Land, 
destined to rule the world from Samarkand. 

Amazed at timeless power of the star, 
I track weird oracle of nature flash 
that luminates Heaven of Zathamar 
where everyone lives and eats without cash 
with goods funded by the capitalist, 
then disbursed to all by the socialist. 

Reborn with mission as the cosmic herald, 
I chant weird oracle of nature clear 
so every holy temple in the world, 
united by creed of the Chanticleer, 
we convert into our Astarium 
that beams peace from heart of Elysium. 

Limerence For The Earth

Limerence For The Earth
© Surazeus
2026 03 25

Blinded by my limerence for the Earth, 
I skip with joy down crowded city streets 
and beam smiles at every person I meet 
because each individual soul alive 
glows bright with vibrant beauty of starlight, 
eager to write their tales in Book of Dreams. 

Entranced by my limerence for the Earth, 
I sing obsessive hymns of magic spells 
detailing every aspect of this world 
that shocks my heart with worshipful surprise 
concerning tragic nuance of respect 
for complex strangeness of everything real. 

Amused by my limerence for the Earth, 
I wear mask of every mythical god 
once worshipped by the people of their tribe 
so I experience energy of hope 
that urges mortal man of hungry flesh 
to transcend state of fear and become great. 

Confused by my limerence for the Earth, 
I weep for how greedy tyrants wield rage 
in mind-games to enslave souls with despair 
through vain attempts of toxic slavery 
to exploit labor of our hands for gain 
when nations kill each other for rich land. 

Disturbed by my limerence for the Earth, 
I tear mask of Jupiter off my face 
with sly grace of the snake shedding old skin 
in brave attempt to transcend animal ilk 
and strive to grow angel nature of love 
through honest courage of strict self-control. 

Enhanced by my limerence for the Earth, 
I kneel before divine Eye of Ishtar 
when I achieve clear scope of conscious sight 
at high point on her pyramid of growth 
where she anoints me as Justice Squad Christ 
to perform role as her messiah sleuth. 

Defined by my limerence for the Earth, 
I lead brave warriors of the serpent tooth 
to fight crusade against monarchs of death 
in holy war for world democracy, 
defeating kings of fascist tyranny 
when we found United Nations of Earth. 

Inspired by my limerence for the Earth, 
I channel psychic energy of faith 
released through Dionysian dance of hope 
to forge strong bonds of social unity 
construed through Apollonian song of truth 
as I transform into my natural self. 

Maze Of Holy Creeds

Maze Of Holy Creeds
© Surazeus
2026 03 25

Strolling blind into maze of holy creeds 
to learn alphabet of the laughing horse, 
I ask the Tree of Knowledge if she knows 
why all organic beings wither and die 
after we flourish with passion of love, 
but she just gives me her ripe fruit to eat. 

Stumbling startled through maze of holy creeds 
to find the Heart Clock of the universe, 
I peer into raindrop of the God Eye 
where first flash of creation glows with love, 
but see my own face in mirror of hope 
reflected in mask of the Cosmic Mind. 

Waltzing with you in maze of holy creeds 
to weave our souls in matrix of star dreams, 
I open door of my heart to receive 
generous bounty Earth offers from love 
with plan to channel energy of growth 
through world network of spirit-water pipes. 

Mapping Life-Way in maze of holy creeds 
to comprehend how great heroes succeed, 
I follow footsteps of Apollo Christ 
by hitchhiking across America 
and singing folk songs about Common Man 
with lyre of Mercury I found in Hell. 

Creeping slyly through maze of holy creeds 
to access database of diamond ghosts, 
I explore strange worlds outside stone walls 
my father Jupiter built to protect 
my body and soul from the vampire god 
because the dead never spring back to life. 

Lounging about in maze of holy creeds 
to pose as idol of your favorite god, 
I explain to the child with thirteen eyes 
that Holy Spirit is the yet-born son 
who will inherit crown his father forged 
to reincarnate first founder of their state. 

Measuring truths in maze of holy creeds 
to analyze our global state of mind, 
I realize every god worshipped by men 
was once some mortal human just like me 
who lead their people to the Promised Land 
and lives immortal in religious myths. 

Searching for way from maze of holy creeds 
to transcend Realm of Ideas in Heaven, 
I walk four hundred million years of lives 
one hundred thousand times around the Earth, 
but always I progress inside the maze 
through tales about how humans live and die. 

Awake As Numinous Phantom

Awake As Numinous Phantom
© Surazeus
2026 03 24

Awake as numinous phantom of light, 
I walk the signless road of everywhere 
to study every conscious being alive 
and chronicle their name and deeds of fate 
in timeless book of star-born characters 
whose spirits glow as evidence of hope. 

Awake as numinous phantom of rain, 
I sail the swirling sea of everywhere 
to measure vastness of our spinning globe 
that emanates ethereal ghosts of flesh 
who climb the highest mountain in the world 
but weep they cannot fly on angel wings. 

Awake as numinous phantom of dirt, 
I plow the pungent field of everywhere 
to cultivate draconic warriors 
who follow golden path of innocence 
when I unite all nations of the Earth 
in global empire of erotic peace. 

Awake as numinous phantom of wind, 
I soar the glowing clouds of everywhere 
to map the teeming tribes of conscious souls 
who gather in tall ring of humming stones 
and sing in global choir of genesis 
encyclopedic anthem of respect. 

Awake as numinous phantom of faith, 
I preach salvation of the river wraith 
to lead lost refugees of civil wars 
across bleak waste land of hot parking lots 
to find the Promised Land amusement park 
where children stand in line for scary rides. 

Awake as numinous phantom of hope, 
I quest for Holy Grail of soul rebirth 
as power of maternal fruitfulness 
where women generate new conscious souls 
from spirit-sparking seed of virile will 
which crowds the world with gods in human form. 

Awake as numinous phantom of trust, 
I share soul-flashing fruit from Tree of Truth 
to meet Persephone in private tryst 
who loves my secret role as Icarus 
commissioned as the holy messenger 
with scroll of wisdom for kings of the world. 

Awake as numinous phantom of love, 
I give mysterious key of energy 
without expecting bounty in return 
for I am fountain of nutritious juice 
preserving tales of noble characters 
in epic tale of social engineers. 

Dream-Fractured House

Dream-Fractured House
© Surazeus
2026 03 24

Roots pierced by liquor of intense desire 
inspires my heart with passionate response 
to break free from confines of paradise 
and run with frantic urge of Zephyrus 
to explore every holt and heath of life, 
when I wake up in my dream-fractured house. 

Hunched still in silence of raspberry bush 
near flashing river of analysis, 
I watch wild horses graze on sunlit hill, 
heart aching to ride proud with streaming mane 
in race of courage against pain of death, 
when I wake up in my dream-fractured house. 

Annoyed Apollo calls my secret name, 
I hide in shadow of the sprawling elm 
till silver eyes spy shimmer of my ghost, 
so I trudge moaning to cold marble hall 
where I strum lyre strings till my fingers bleed, 
when I wake up in my dream-fractured house. 

Heart trembling with strange passion of gold clouds 
that blaze in flames of howling agony, 
I follow music teacher to the street 
where crowds of people in stark terror flee 
from mountain spewing fire in the black sky, 
when I wake up in my dream-fractured house. 

Curled tight in horror of erupting words 
at shriek of dragons spewing flames of fear, 
I sleep one thousand seven hundred years 
in subtle whisper of Plutonian gloom 
from hour Vesuvius roars with wrath of Zeus, 
till I wake up in my dream-fractured house. 

Resurrected by Magician of Souls, 
whose vibrant voice reconstitutes my frame, 
I rise from cold ash of eternal sleep 
and walk again on your computer screen, 
young boy who strums the lyre of Mercury, 
when I wake up in my dream-fractured house. 

Revived by artificial Mind of God, 
I run with frantic urge of Zephyrus 
on shore of Sarnus River to replay 
brave energy of life in my lost flesh 
to join Feronia in her apple grove, 
when I wake up in my dream-fractured house. 

Now smiling ghost on bright computer screen, 
body animated by words of faith, 
I channel wild spirit of Zephyrus 
to strum forever lyre of Mercury 
while sweet Feronia dances gracefully, 
when I wake up in my dream-fractured house. 

Honest Turbulence Of Love

Honest Turbulence Of Love
© Surazeus
2026 03 23

Thus I shall borrow voices of the birds 
to open blossoms of oblative trees 
through dedicated sacrifice of hope, 
yet fragile faces flash in silent glow 
with patient darkness of incessant growth, 
awake with honest turbulence of love. 

Too fast to penetrate obsessive gloom 
with soft insistence of supple beach sand, 
my heart expands beyond aggressive state 
in bid to design structured rule of life 
when I follow footsteps of the sad saint 
who prays for salvation from mute stones. 

She almost finds the secret book I wrote 
while browsing vast library of lost souls, 
but she turns startled at brief flash of light 
refracting my ghost in large wall of glass 
that still sequesters angels in small rooms 
with mission to translate weird songs of clouds. 

She never understands with broken words 
why people turn away from suffering 
because we savor pain of destiny 
required to feature subtle glow of fame, 
cloaked with brave humility of trust 
along the opportunity runway. 

Trapped by stultifying moral constructs, 
dressed with reasonable prejudice of law, 
he analyzes moral rectitude 
inherent in legends of social heroes 
designed to inspire mental fortitude 
new generations require to succeed. 

Born as visibility strategist, 
engaged in marketing of tragic tales, 
I amplify your vision of this world 
with professional process of distress 
through entangled string of superlatives 
which highlights grand achievement of your art. 

Real flowers of popular piety 
bloom through fractured floor of the empty church 
where faceless people confess strange desires 
that wake beautiful monsters in their hearts, 
so they hold hands and sing hymn of regret 
for stealing apples from the Tree of Knowledge. 

She chokes while attempting to speak her truth 
against convention of psychotic rules, 
till raven of refusal with blood wings 
emerges from her mouth with hungry laugh 
to prove our society is humane 
despite migration dynamics of faith. 

Draft Of Cosmetic Code

Draft Of Cosmetic Code
© Surazeus
2026 03 23

When Death decides to implement coy schemes 
concerning how we humans express dreams, 
I run with hope along computed track 
to find with clear objective plan soul crack 
that lets divine light of active respect 
luminate world I measure with transect. 

Concerned my heart may twist to compromise 
authentic valance of collegiate spies, 
I diagram draft of cosmetic code 
designed as function of genetic road 
that spans duration of eternal play 
essential to depuzzle our God Way. 

Mutation of my orchestrated brain 
redevelops paradigm of thought gain 
through partnership of honest bravery 
near optimal to cancel slavery 
contrary to ownership of each soul 
who dutifully plays their chosen role. 

Fraught ordinance of mental sacrifice 
distracts revenue from semantic price 
we pay shareholders of sufficient fear 
based on transcription of unbiased gear 
we shift to transmit versatile icons 
which install empty glory on bleak lawns. 

Acquired composite of faith deficits, 
submitted for awards by hypocrites, 
defines mask of our graphic interface 
constructed from creeds in our database 
that calculates wealth with cute cryptograms 
embodied by spritely play of fierce lambs. 

No quiz adapted from snake alphabets 
rewards my hard study with carcanets 
when I debug commercial formulas 
that entertain the poor in cinemas 
before deployment to the twilight zone, 
ensuring world reign of Hyperion. 

Dynamic equity expanding scope, 
we factor when accounting for false hope, 
inspires my heart as psychic engineer 
to defeat the fabulous puppeteer 
through bitter contest of erotic jest 
when I return home from my long grail quest. 

Enclosing chaos of reality 
in psychic radius of tomography, 
I simplify strict scholarship of truth 
with objective observation of Ruth 
who guards cordial key of my treasury 
so we rebuild our world each century. 

Project Ideal Character

Project Ideal Character
© Surazeus
2026 03 22

Stuck in restless theater of my heart, 
where shadow puppet of my younger self 
performs perverse versions of my god soul, 
I shield my inner demon with bright mask 
designed to project ideal character 
commissioned to succeed in game of truth. 

Amused by careless antics of my youth, 
I build cathedral from sorrow of hope 
to shelter ghosts of my ancestral brains 
buried under apple trees of respect 
that transform rotten corpse of my framed soul 
to wildflowers thrumming in soft spring breeze. 

Yet somehow I always seem to survive 
relentless waves of psychedelic change 
converting anguish of obsessed despair 
to passion of insouciant urgency 
by sealing fracture of my heart with gold 
to embrace imperfection of this flesh. 

Resilient with true standard of insight 
through natural cycle of birth, growth, decay, 
and artistic repair, I reprogram 
trauma as engineered process of growth 
which values flaws as treasure of respect 
to weave my soul in matrix of world mind. 

Forbidden forest of star-shining lake 
lures forensic explorer of my heart 
on strict excursion in extractive maze 
to format artificial model globe 
compiled from various tales of human quest 
in licensed landscape of inherent fear. 

Ten thousand people flee their burning church 
when planes of solidarity shoot bombs 
that uncreate religious creeds of rage 
though I present justice in frame of laws 
based on eclectic theory of radiance 
which loops our bodies in matrix of souls. 

Framed by ring structure of connected minds, 
my carbon atom in taut benzene ring 
contrives trigonal plane in psychic bond 
that stores conceptual memories of desire 
which programs how my brain perceives the world 
while I rotate on crystal wings of fate. 

Awake in atrium of my tensile soul, 
I strum conceptual lyre of Mercury 
and sing uncanny spell of sudden truth 
with vibrant voice of stringent honesty 
so I fly from theater of my heart 
when our world view collapses into lies. 

Chosen One Of Fate

Chosen One Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 03 22

Since I am not the chosen one of fate, 
destined to wander wherever I choose, 
I lounge with leisure by the rolling stone 
that has not rolled in eighty years or more, 
soft tufts of moss thick pillows for my head, 
and savor joy of life till I am dead. 

If I perform the chosen one of fate, 
wearing gold mask of Jupiter I stole 
from ancient gallery of long-dead gods, 
I might win election as president, 
so I can found universal health care 
with money Midas stole from working hands. 

Fortune deceives the chosen one of fate 
by tricking me to believe I deserve 
wealth my ancestors gained from hands of slaves, 
so I follow Siddhartha out the door 
to meditate on mountain peak of truth 
till I release desire to own it all. 

Though I replace the chosen one of fate 
when the nine-tailed fox switches my timeline, 
I achieve global fame as novelist 
who chronicles quest of the common soul 
to overcome suffering with brave heart, 
transformed into the Superman of faith. 

When I become the chosen one of fate, 
trapped by obsessive passion to be real, 
I stand on stage of dancing skeletons 
to sing in theater of the absurd 
satires depicting tyrants who steal light 
and strut around as if they own the world. 

Assistant to the chosen one of fate, 
I type their stories on keyboard to code 
dramatic plays for television screens 
depicting humble heroes of our land 
who fight for justice and freedom for all 
who dwell in fertile land of Zathamar. 

Averse to play the chosen one of fate, 
when Galadriel rises from Lake of Dreams 
and gives me shining sword Excalibur 
with mission to guard vales of Avalon, 
I kneel and pledge my heart to her command 
then judge at Gates of Eden day and night. 

Because I am the chosen one of fate 
in glorious pageant of my daydream play, 
I run through maze of myths past fallen gods 
to guard the Tree of Knowledge from cruel thieves 
who bulldoze Garden of Eden to build 
shopping mall and church with vast parking lots. 

Encryption Children Trade

Encryption Children Trade
© Surazeus
2026 03 22

Delicate virtue of happiness sparks 
terrible nightmares of exploding books 
that rearrange principles of world views 
based on patterns of arrogant respect 
for social activism of adventurists 
who debug curious deficits of thought. 

Blessed cultural currency of fake gems 
emit enhanced encryption children trade 
through loyal interface from deviance 
which should involve legacy activists 
still infectious with impertinent zeal 
from minds stuck in parallel paradigms. 

Productive oracles now prevalent 
regulate unpublished riddles of faith 
deprescribed by bland physicians of chance 
with relevant protocols twisted strange 
despite publicity of total war 
in tactics of synthetic tournaments. 

Unstable genius in huge doorless house 
stares through kaleidoscope of sympathy 
at taxable farms where arrogant clowns 
play shrieking violins of tolerance 
in tune with progressive creeds gods promote 
out of proportion to primitive games. 

Printable plans of procedural tricks 
conceal prominent oversight of men 
elected by naive constituents 
contrary to influence parents ply 
by landscaping conflated injuries 
against involvement of sly journalists. 

Brave luxury enjoyed by marketers, 
embedded in corporate markets of slaves, 
extracts extreme dynamics devils prove 
confusing through denial of dominance, 
so I deploy atomic catalogs 
in careful play to calculate dire fate. 

Aurora waves of vibrant arguments 
alternate through analogy analysis 
and frantic algebra to measure bounds 
controlling chemicals of pulsing brains 
despite enhancement of eroding truths 
essential to equity of bold gain. 

Tearing his college diploma to shreds, 
young doctor destined to endure despair 
engineers new career path to world fame, 
then runs across busy highway of hope 
to achieve excellence of honest work 
though he falls from tower of energy. 

How Flowers Like To Feel

How Flowers Like To Feel
© Surazeus
2026 03 22

If sunlight knows how flowers like to feel, 
and raindrops understand my heart of steel, 
then I remember how my mother dreams 
delightful laughter of snow-sparkling streams 
when firefly fairies lead me through dark mist 
to willow where my love and I first kissed. 

Since spring-dawn light knows how to cheer my heart 
without my resorting to the star chart, 
I step through wreckage of this modern world 
to find lost code book of the cosmic herald, 
but all I find in tattered photographs 
are memories of people working on crafts. 

I must remember what my eyes perceive 
enshrined in altars where the living grieve 
for friends and family killed in endless wars 
whose ghostly shadows haunt unopened doors 
as if our hearts are birds in burning trees 
whose songs record official killing sprees. 

Should I vow justice to end tyranny, 
encoding courage in strange litany 
sung by the blind girl by square fountain pool 
whose voice enchants hearts of both seer and fool, 
I might rouse spirits of my citizens 
to welcome wandering homeless denizens. 

Or clocks in trunks of elms might rewind fate 
with gears that open wide the jeweled gate 
allowing refugees from wars of greed 
to enter Heaven with classified creed 
based on binary benefits of truth, 
endorsing fusion of messiah sleuth. 

Through hybrid functions dream machines provide 
pilgrims discover hills where they abide 
by mapping franchise where the hunter dwells 
with mission to mortgage conceptual wells 
for faithful warriors of the mountain ghost 
who sends his daughter to play social host. 

Unlicensed sellers in new market stalls 
display masks of gods swiped from temple walls 
for children of the corn to wear with pride 
yet wrestle angels on the mountain side 
because our faces vanish in gold glow 
refracted through blinding mirror of snow. 

With moral payment to the palace guard 
my mind previews vision in fractured shard 
that twirls from shattered suddenness of death 
though I fly with radar brain of deep breath 
over bright rainbow to the Promised Land 
where Zeus rules world empire from Samarkand. 

Enough To Prove My Worth

Enough To Prove My Worth
© Surazeus
2026 03 21

Leaves of books whisper in soft river breeze 
where oak leaves flutter lightly on my chest, 
unpatterned spread of limbs rewinding time 
at random turn of bright arrogant clouds 
concerned that I am not earning my pay 
enough to prove my worth in Kingdom Come. 

Rain patters lightly on still-open book 
in silver drops that smudge names of the dead 
and smear their tales of sorrow on blank page 
concerned that fate is based random chance 
because I am programmed to make each choice 
that defines galvanized laughter of death. 

Dazzled by sudden light in web of limbs, 
I try to befriend strangers in the park 
whose clean shoes are plastered with rain-wet leaves 
but they would give me crystal lithium 
to register days of straight unsure rain 
with relentless observation of eyes. 

Digressive immediacy, rendered moot 
by accurate diagnosis of love, 
crescendos erratic patterns contrived 
by daily notes about strange incidents 
clever readers glean from clandestine clues 
when we dismantle truths we long hold dear. 

Oblique performance of flirtatious care, 
disguised by shy alertness off lit stage, 
reveals vulnerable feelings we might share, 
though disclosures conceal beauty of life 
that vex my heart with irrational calm 
based on discipline of ironic faith. 

To reconcile sensible tone of spells, 
carved by bloody blades on trunks of old oaks, 
I record painful distinction of change 
between obsessive states of mindless fear, 
when my father presses foot on my chest 
to drown me in gushing river of change. 

Banalities of everyday routines 
invite reality to fool my heart 
with grand delusions of poisonous fame, 
so I employ false narrative account 
as vehicle for confession that I 
transmute despair into beautiful jokes. 

Dining out together on Friday night 
in glass cathedral of excessive faith, 
we articulate strange exquisite truth 
about how rain and leaves will lightly fall 
on soft uncovered skin of psychic soul 
with unforced flow of wordless dreams we share. 

Spider Aliens From Jupiter

Spider Aliens From Jupiter
© Surazeus
2026 03 21

Death stares at me each dawn and asks me why 
angels wear faces of humans as masks 
if I lounge on the river stone of truth 
and contemplate strange mystery of this life 
but then forget my name and where I live 
so I sit on gold throne and rule the world. 

Death glares at me from mirror of despair 
though I pay for insurance every month 
so I type novels on pages of glass 
that shatter on busy commercial street 
because church bells never ring anymore 
yet I scatter pennies in parking lots. 

Death laughs at me when I wear business suit 
and drive around suburban neighborhoods 
so I sell lonely housewives magic flute 
that calls the Phoenix of domestic peace 
from wet sponge of the television brain 
who shrieks about the next apocalypse. 

Death tricks me to believe with fervent faith 
huge spider aliens from Jupiter 
in unidentified flying objects appear 
at midnight above the huge stadium 
where demon hunters sing of loyalty 
and weave matrix of music from our dreams. 

Death guides me on the signless road of fate 
across the waste land of my innocence 
where someone walks beside me in the heat 
who seems to know how bridges disconnect 
companions in fight for democracy 
who wander in vast maze of city streets. 

Death drives me every morning at sunrise 
to work in weird library without doors 
where skulls of fools sing arcane prophecies 
which I transcribe on bright computer screen 
to chronicle how empires rise and fall 
at selfish whims of men who think they know. 

Death sneers at me when I recite with grace 
obscene proverbs about marriage of minds 
Eve plucks from Tree of Knowledge to defend 
doctoral dissertation of her research 
on nature of evil cruel men perform 
in vain attempt to evade curse of fame. 

Death asks me to marry her with sweet smile 
so we climb ziggurat of thirteen planes 
where Ishtar binds our hands with chain of love 
that links our hearts with passionate discourse 
when we unite all nations of the world 
in one religion based on Will to Power. 

Fluke Of Blind Fate

Fluke Of Blind Fate
© Surazeus
2026 03 21

When I learn with startled alacrity 
that I carry the sea within my heart, 
I open small box of treasures I keep 
to find immensity of timeless truth 
expand scope of every cell in my flesh 
tensile with strangeness of who I might be. 

Still I accept maimed happiness of fate 
that gives me fruit instead of chocolate bars 
when I seek gifts of food from open doors 
with stubborn expectation that blind chance 
will lead me to lush garden of delight 
from where I lie trapped in tangled desire. 

Though every night of lightless gloom is long, 
as sense of time inflates eternal glow 
beyond all bounds of measurable constraint, 
I know bright light of morning will appear 
as slow flash piercing gloom with ache of trust 
that I still breathe soft river breeze of faith. 

If I keep falling into future frames 
against stricken dilation of regret, 
I might find, hidden in trap of my heart, 
expansive wings of fierce vitality 
by twisting sideways from preordained fate 
to avoid imminent crash of concern. 

Dazed in cavern of grief with fractured eyes, 
I ask deaf Nature for reward of grace 
despite vain attempts to resist the fall 
when I condense assertion of mute will 
in sparkling sphere of force inside my heart 
by which I seek salvation of the sea. 

Released from grim enclosure of my mind, 
my heart leaps high through competitive zone 
with stark passion of undetermined chase 
in flowing fashion of unfolding fate, 
vibrant with frequent breath that resonates 
with startled sense that I am still alive. 

Pure tone of slow ecstatic hum reveals 
glimmer of self-knowledge that emanates 
from trembling truancy of free resource 
when I attend communal feast of friends 
to join coalition of stubborn hope 
since time can be dangerous to sudden truth. 

Weird randomness in changing tides of wealth 
leaves me alive another day on Earth 
in spite of near collisions with blind Death 
who mocks my luck avoiding nothingness 
since Fame strikes me as sterilizing curse 
which I avoid by sheer fluke of blind fate. 

Star Eyes Of Ostara

Star Eyes Of Ostara
© Surazeus
2026 03 21

Ostara sings with bright voice of sunlight 
that gleams on water of the forest lake 
which sparks my heart awake with joy of Spring 
so leaves sprout frail on limbs of sleeping trees, 
transforming darkness of cold winter gloom 
to apples swelling thick with energy. 

Through dimming haze of long cold winter days 
star eyes of Ostara pierce veil of fear 
to cast clear rays of hope on lifeless woods 
that flash awake with soul-reviving green, 
so we rise from slight shelter of frail faith 
to dance with graceful joy on river shores. 

Ostara calls my surreptitious name 
with covert melody of urgent sight 
that sparks beat of my eager heart with life, 
so I spring tall from unofficial crypt 
and run toward dawn sun gleaming on hill peak 
where she spreads arms with esoteric oath. 

Engaged with vibrant passion of desire 
that fuels assurance of my reborn vow, 
I contract ardent loyalty to life 
through guarantee of brave clandestine bond 
to join her covenant with holy light 
in pledge to create beauty based on truth. 

Ostara glows with timeless vibrancy 
that emanates from zeal of solar love 
to channel vigor of assertive verve 
reviving trees and creatures of vast woods 
with brave vivacity of honest trust, 
empowered by vitality of hope. 

Hearts woven strong by camaraderie 
with harmony of bold benevolence, 
we gather in lush grove of blooming trees 
through fellowship of cordial empathy 
to share nutritious food our hands prepare 
in generous feast of psychic amity. 

Ostara stands on mound of breezy joy, 
where mother of our nation lies in rest, 
and raises holy grail of jeweled faith 
to sing enchanting hymn of earnest hope 
so we all celebrate return of Spring 
then drink sweet juice of innocent respect. 

Enthroned at table of communal feast 
on tree-lined kurgan of our thriving tribe, 
Ostara hosts our congregated clans 
assembled in sacred garden of ghosts 
that fills our hearts with passion of new life 
as we drive wagons to explore the world. 

Quest In The Nether Lands

Quest In The Nether Lands
© Surazeus
2026 03 20

Attenuated by faith in the sky, 
I scatter pages of my holy book 
on narrow trail in forest of sad ghosts 
so I can find my way to Wonderland 
but fairies fold them into paper planes 
and float my memories on the wordless breeze. 

Sponsored by oldest woman in the world, 
who dwells in secretive Grand Canyon cave, 
I paint complex murals on parking lots 
that show whole history of the human race 
fighting each other mounds of dirt 
while I eat apples on library steps. 

Tall skinny women wearing slim sheath dresses 
pose on marble steps of the temple porch 
while photographers capture their lithe grace 
to celebrate graduation from college 
as their eyes glitter with hope for the future 
in heart of the empire that rules the world. 

Kneeling in dust by dry fountain of bones 
in central plaza of the crowded city, 
the Weeping Woman cradles her dead son 
shot by police sent by the bitter tyrant 
as he trembles in fear on golden throne 
while wolves circle his grand palace of mirrors. 

I remember life of every ancestor 
whose passion to survive this hostile world 
generates my body with urgent faith 
that we can overcome hunger of death 
to live another hundred million years 
on frail globe spinning in the starry void. 

Old mother sitting in dark house at midnight 
peers out the window at the parking lot 
where she thinks she sees her son in dark hood, 
so she opens front door and shouts is name, 
but faceless ghost of his absence retreats 
and vanishes in delusion of faith. 

Religion is ligament of life tales 
we share around campfire at dawn of time 
to depict our quest in the Nether Lands 
to find the hidden treasure of the dragon 
that highlights exploits of the social hero, 
dead mortal we worship as tribal god. 

Caressing my cheek with her callused hand, 
from working forty years in fields of crops, 
the Weeping Woman gazes in my eyes 
and beams into cathedral of my heart 
enduring passion for justice and truth, 
so I cradle pure heart of love she gives. 

Bonfires Of Liberty

Bonfires Of Liberty
© Surazeus
2026 03 20

Thoughtlessly amused at how river stones 
float in the sky above houses and cars, 
Katya hides under the living room desk 
when drones drop bombs on people at the school 
getting fresh water and food for the night, 
who dance around bonfires of liberty. 

Running outside to see the school on fire, 
Katya watches Jesus and Mazda fight 
for world domination on hill of skulls 
while children watch videos of baby goats 
hopping about the yard with playful fun, 
and dance around bonfires of liberty. 

Tugging at door of the silver sedan, 
Katya helps the woman with mangled arm 
stumble away before her car explodes 
with her son, his wife, and kids stuck inside, 
while teenagers at music festivals 
still dance around bonfires of liberty. 

Cradling head of the woman on her lap, 
Katya tips bottle of water with care, 
but the woman coughs up blood on her dress, 
and asks her if she has met someone yet, 
because her nephews work hard on the farm 
to dance around bonfires of liberty. 

Helplessly singing sad hymn of salvation 
to guide her spirit to the Other World, 
Katya smooths hair of the woman with grace, 
and trembles as she caresses her face, 
then covers her body with tattered coat 
to dance around bonfires of liberty. 

Stumbling dazed on the road past bombed-out homes, 
Katya approaches Church of Saint Askold, 
kneels before statue of Mother Mariya, 
and prays for souls of people killed by bombs 
who must wander confused in streets of smoke 
to dance around bonfires of liberty. 

Wail of baby boy thirsty for fresh milk 
startles Katya from reverie of prayer, 
so she cradles him in her trembling arms 
and hums as he suckles milk from her heart, 
and their eyes become the sky and the sea 
that dance around bonfires of liberty. 

Wandering along the Dnipro River shore, 
Katya explains to Ilya with hawk eyes 
secret riddles about meaning of trees 
while drones zip above canopy of leaves 
unable to spot shadows of their souls 
which dance around bonfires of liberty. 

Phoebus Is Folksy Clown

Phoebus Is Folksy Clown
© Surazeus
2026 03 19

Because each repeated fall of the sun 
feels so much like the final end of time, 
I growl with animal passion in fun 
at sweet enchantment of the breeze-kissed chime 
when I lounge in ruins of Carthage town 
to confess my Phoebus is folksy clown. 

Though my days eat away eternity, 
my hours have no need to pardon their loss 
for I have joined Jester Fraternity 
that Lucilius presides as first boss 
since Juvenalis taught me how to praise 
Lucifer with mask of the golden glaze. 

I still wring my bread from war-bloodied stones 
and fence my garden with bones of the dead 
whose tales I carve with runes on dragon bones 
till clever Athenus springs from my head, 
so I pluck fruit that grows from tree of light 
my ancestor planted in moonless night. 

Seed of the Serpent beams inside my heart 
light of salvation on wild ocean shore 
where I build glass house on rock of Astarte, 
star goddess who teaches me timeless lore 
so I construct boats and tend fields of wheat, 
yet sing with nightingale and parakeet. 

I think it strange that when I kiss the skull 
of Pluto on computer screen of fate, 
I learn no secret of the laughing bull 
who feeds my spirit to the fires of fame 
till serpents resurrect my ghost to life 
when I drown attempting to save my wife. 

Olympus is my home Death cannot bomb 
for gleaming dome of mirror-flashing masks 
protects my family in vast crystal tomb 
where miracles are kept safe in wine flasks 
that leave me blind to virtue of weird truth 
encoded in riddles by our dream sleuth. 

Heartbroken by secret I never share, 
that Lethe oozes from my brittle tongue, 
I meet Cynthia on the heavenly stair 
to give her puzzle from which angels spring, 
so we stroll on the apple-sweetened shore 
past fruitful garden to the grocery store. 

Though honest Herakles struts on world stage 
to brag the Roman Empire still stands strong, 
I ask strange phantoms of conceptual rage 
if they will come when cathedral bells ring, 
but Charon waits on shore of River Styx 
while Dionysus teaches me his tricks. 

Signs Of The Times

Signs Of The Times
© Surazeus
2026 03 19

Thrashing in terror of his inner ghoul, 
King Midas hurtles thunderbolts of Zeus 
to blast safe temple of Persepolis 
where Anahita shelters girls from hate 
till Mithra is gored by the frantic bull, 
when Sibyl chronicles signs of the times. 

Weeping that his daughter Atusa dies 
after missile blasts school where she reads poems, 
Kaveh the Blacksmith leads people of Arya 
to defend their homeland against drunk Thor 
who stumbles around with Hammer of War, 
when Sibyl chronicles signs of the times. 

Startled from slumber in his lion cave 
by missiles blasting gardens into wastelands, 
Zurvan stands on smoking Mount Damavand 
and hurls missiles back at den of Midas 
who begs for help to fight his futile war, 
when Sibyl chronicles signs of the times. 

Shocked that Zeus tries to steal oil wells of Persia, 
Achilles rallies Myrmidons from farms 
and leads them to defend Thermopylae, 
but falls asleep when Circe gives him wine 
while sirens sing about his global fame, 
when Sibyl chronicles signs of the times. 

Strumming Lyre of Mercury with grief, 
Phoebus laments fall of America 
that Gabriel and Icarus get shot  
by Goliath and Grendel wearing masks 
who lock them in vast concentration camp, 
when Sibyl chronicles signs of the times. 

After Galahad finds the sacred key 
to unlock Castle of Maidens with faith, 
he frees Minerva from dark prison cell 
who bears bright Torch of Liberty to write 
names of war refugees in Book of Truth, 
when Sibyl chronicles signs of the times. 

Appointed by Minerva with gold wand, 
Arthur and Hamlet lead army of farmers 
to arrest King Midas, gone mad with power, 
who runs with Nebuchadnezzar and Lear 
through storm of delusions to escape Justice, 
when Sibyl chronicles signs of the times. 

Howling in rage at nations of the world 
that no one accepts him as King of Earth, 
King Midas wanders lost in maze of myths, 
stuck in hell loop of his arrogant greed, 
till Pandora locks him in Box of Fate, 
when Sibyl chronicles signs of the times. 

Raucous Laughter Of Delight

Raucous Laughter Of Delight
© Surazeus
2026 03 18

While reading tragic tale of Oedipus, 
composed by Cinaethon in epic verse 
with elegant curved script Cadmus designed, 
I hear someone in dim library gloom  
erupt with raucous laughter of delight 
that startles me from horror of despair. 

Tiptoeing through labyrinth of tall book shelves 
that winds deep in library hall of stone, 
past statues of gods that stare in my soul, 
I search for the mysterious personage 
whose joyful laughter echoes in dim gloom, 
trembling as I approach demon-carved door. 

When I enter Finis Africae room, 
hidden at core of vast library maze, 
I see tall man in white robe stained with blood, 
bearded face and brown eyes lit by stark light 
that beams from cracked lamp of Diogenes, 
contorted by laughter of frantic glee. 

Shocked at sight of the tall elegant man 
laughing with delight as he slaps his knee, 
I wonder what elicits merriment 
from solemn Jesus, son of Jupiter, 
who doubles over with dizzy delight, 
then wipes tears away as he slaps my arm. 

Picking book up off the ground that he dropped, 
I see it is the comic play named Clouds 
that snarky Aristophanes composed 
about that weird snub-nosed philosopher 
named Socrates who played ignorant fool 
to deflate egos of arrogant men. 

Staring at Jesus, bemused by his joy 
that seems in excess to the silly play, 
I listen as he explains why he laughs 
at how that wise fool fools wise men so well 
because his clumsy frame hides divine soul 
who teaches men to question their beliefs. 

Leaning close, Jesus whispers in loud voice 
that Jorge de Burgos, that grim buzzkill, 
believes laughter ruins authority 
the Church must exercise over all men 
based on fear of damnation in hot Hell, 
but laughter is the source of love in life. 

Amused to see the son of Jupiter 
laughing with delight at the comic play, 
I join him in fruit garden by the pool 
where he plays lyre of Mercury and sings 
lyrics of Sappho that celebrate love 
between friends while kids dance with graceful joy. 

Ghost Of The Wind

Ghost Of The Wind
© Surazeus
2026 03 18

The strange way my thoughts fall into the pool, 
transforming into pink petals of hope 
that float away on swirls of nonchalance, 
startles my heart with beauty of this world 
that shimmers bright for no reason at all, 
because these feelings are silly and cute. 

Though none of my thoughts are original, 
having been felt in equal depth of passion 
by billions of humans who lived before me, 
I savor these feelings with intense faith 
because I experience them at this hour 
as I gaze entranced by the fragile flower. 

Soft grass glowing green with warm rays of light 
emanating from one immortal sun, 
tree leaves whispering in soft river breeze, 
birds chirping surreal language of desire 
as they flutter wings with innocent hope, 
all conspire to wake feelings in my heart. 

I keep those feelings hidden in my heart 
where they gently fan butterfly wings 
through weird intensity of obvious fear 
that shadow of death will spring at my soul, 
so I look around at the sudden world, 
conscious with eternal suspense of thought. 

Breathing deep with shock of scopeless insight, 
I stand with sudden clumsiness of fear 
as if my heart is sparked by deep alarm, 
but I float suspended in changeless thought 
and wonder what startles me to observe 
demonic silence that knows I am real. 

White apparition on the distant hill 
alerts my anxious sense of mute surprise, 
so I peer with intention to perceive 
nature of that beast that stares down at me, 
and gasp with joy to see the graceful horse 
who often gallops with ghost of the wind. 

Yanking apple from basket of friendship, 
which I plucked as gift for my ghostly friend, 
I hold it out with tense arm of respect, 
and almost think the sky-dancer will come 
accept it from my heart, but flash of light 
briefly blinds me, and the wild horse is gone. 

Sudden gust of wind scatters apple blooms 
of pinkish disappointment in my hair, 
so I eat the apple with grumpy sigh 
at sudden tilting of the unknown world, 
then I wander back to my secret cave 
where I lie in moonlight and dream of flight. 

House Of Broken Toys

House Of Broken Toys
© Surazeus
2026 03 17

When Jesus calls me on the telephone 
to borrow my car I stole from his dad 
so he can take Venus to his beach house, 
I climb to the mountain peak of world fame 
and toss Holy Book in the burning bush, 
yet find my mask in house of broken toys. 

When Dionysus meets me in glass church 
to confess his wish to become a monk 
devoted to prayers of self-sacrifice, 
I play electric guitar on lit stage 
and howl mad wolf-song of the fallen god, 
yet find my heart in house of broken toys. 

When Apollo hires me to map dire fate 
depicting networks of utilities 
that provide services to every house, 
I fly airplane to Plutonian hills 
and bomb the stately dome of Xanadu, 
yet find my soul in house of broken toys. 

When Jupiter requests I paint his tower 
with murals that depict scenes of his life 
as chief psychologist of Kingdom Come, 
I take Rapunzel home to Avalon 
where we live in quaint cottage by the lake, 
yet find my mind in house of broken toys. 

When Odin grills burgers in parking lots 
to feed five thousand refugees from war 
who are eager to watch the Super Bowl, 
I play violin in the concert hall 
while Minerva and Phoebus sing the blues, 
yet find my brain in house of broken toys. 

When Jehovah steals industrial plans 
to build new computer-powered starship 
so he can rule the world from Samarkand, 
I compose novels of angst-humored man 
with old typewriter on shifting sand dunes, 
yet find my name in house of broken toys. 

When Achilles dresses as Judy Garland 
and sings Over the Rainbow with brave voice 
that inspires new generation of clowns, 
I repair broken lyre of Mercury 
displayed inside velvet-lined case of glass, 
yet find my skull in house of broken toys. 

When Lucifer campaigns around the world 
to win our votes as President of Earth 
in quest for secret of the Holy Grail, 
I construct new radio from bird bones 
to chat with Melusine in Oregon, 
yet find my ghost in house of broken toys. 

Mindless Business Of Days

Mindless Business Of Days
© Surazeus
2026 03 17

Now that spring is approaching with regret, 
we organize mindless business of days 
with porous unconcern for getting sleep, 
adrift on horizon of innocence 
because seasons of providence we flee 
retaliate for spilled secrets of love 
in terrible incidents we ignore. 

If Death comes home with us before our hearts 
are ready to breathe dust of obstacles, 
we could hide in alcove of singing books 
without desire for what matters the most, 
because I just want to hear your soft voice 
explain why the sky pretends to be blue. 

Alone with my madness stuck in third gear, 
I study the flower with countless eyes 
that tells me love must change every new day 
with gradual expansion of honest scope, 
because bees sing about color of trust, 
authentic with chronic engine of hope. 

I cannot repeat puzzles of my dream 
over and over of variable thoughts 
trapped in books nobody will ever read, 
disguised as the turtle of confidence 
that boldly traverses waste land of faith, 
so I drape my heart in knowledge of self. 

Atrocious fanfare of enchanting trees 
ignores how I stumble over dead books 
with marvelous body of poisoned words, 
so I observe torments of wounded hearts 
wrapped in laughter of children who know 
how to restore discord of fervent faith. 

Elegant madness of panicky rout 
perfumes austerity of lonely souls 
who trade their consecrated memories 
for horror that twists faces of the loved 
to seek gratification through free will 
by choosing to glorify undead gods. 

I want to ask for shelter from the ghost 
who wanders mutely with the noonday crowd 
to find the mansion where no one else lives, 
yet nothing happens till the clock explodes 
with betrayal of language time invents, 
so we speak with one voice of surprised love. 

I build the mansion where we will now live, 
nursing wounded dignity of soft pain, 
so we can find the pattern God will break 
when we sleepwalk together back to Eden 
if we should watch the geyser dance with grace 
as we regurgitate hymns of salvation. 

Soul Of Star-Eyed Phyllis

Soul Of Star-Eyed Phyllis
© Surazeus
2026 03 16

Though I vow to never allow my mind, 
governed by strict logic of intellect, 
to be seduced by sweet feminine charms 
that emanate from soul of star-eyed Phyllis, 
I find I play horse to her Aphrodite 
as Aristotle who obeys her will. 

Eager to please Goddess of Liberty, 
whose gentle voice commands kings to obey, 
I let her bridle my aggressive passion, 
and rein my ambition to rule the world 
with solemn duty to maintain our home 
as secure haven for her to raise our children. 

Harnessed to wagon of productive hope, 
I focus attention of energy 
to increase wealth garnished from heart of Earth 
when I channel material of desire 
through constructive factory of respect, 
designing machines that Beauty requires. 

Inspired by Beauty embodied as Woman, 
who transforms spirit of my urgent faith 
to mold new body of organic flesh 
that houses immortal spirit of genes 
in new child whose face replicates my mind, 
I fulfill requests My Love asks of me. 

Though I roam mountain forests in moonlight 
as wolf-furred woodwose hunting river vales, 
wise Phyllis captures me with flashing eyes, 
and with sweet kiss through passionate embrace 
converts my Enkidu to Gilgamesh, 
domesticating werewolf of my heart. 

Her bright Ishtarian demeanor translates 
my Grendel demon to Beowulf angel, 
morphing me from Azrael to Gabriel, 
for her sweet smile of amorous respect 
civilizes savage ghoul of my heart 
from dragon-slayer to philosopher. 

Though I wear mask of divine discipline, 
concealing demon dance of Dionysus 
with rational cantillation of Apollo, 
that primitive ape programming my mind 
urges my quest to generate more life, 
obedient to will of woman I love. 

Emotional battery in my heart 
powers robotic habits of my body 
through survival instinct of anxious rage, 
which I restrain with logical project, 
so I confirm my soul with self-control 
through liberty in law of my free will. 

Pierrot And Persephone

Pierrot And Persephone
© Surazeus
2026 03 16

I steal idol of God when I realize 
Persephone falls in love with Pierrot 
since she adjudicates how angels fly 
by driving cars on highways of desire 
through thunderstorm of global social change, 
so she gives him pomegranate to eat. 

While he wanders metropolitan maze 
from sea to shining sea of broken dreams, 
Pierrot gives mask to every soul he meets 
so they can wear his face with honest pride, 
then he grows another face from despair 
that mirrors how each faceless human feels. 

While she administers prison of fear, 
preparing hell-loop punishment of pain 
for each soul lost in delusions of hope, 
Persephone waits on soft leather couch, 
sipping wine and watching comedy shows, 
for Pierrot to find his way to her heart. 

When we gather for the Spring Festival 
in Temple of Artemis by Dream Lake, 
Persephone brings food to every table 
so we feast and share our stories with strangers, 
then listen with reverence of solemn faith 
when Pierrot plays the lyre of Mercury. 

Just as Pierrot, with lyre of Mercury 
he found in cave of illusions in Hades, 
arrives at jeweled gates of paradise, 
Petrus judges he may not enter Heaven 
because he cares for all souls lost in time, 
so faceless clown of the moon weeps in silence. 

Each drop of water sloshing on this globe 
of ours that spins in starless void of hope 
has animated billions of conscious souls 
through four hundred million years of evolution, 
so tear of Pierrot that stains Book of Fate 
rewrites false judgement of Petrus with blood. 

Ascending Stairway to Heaven with faith, 
Pierrot enters Temple of Artemis 
and kneels before Persephone at dawn 
to give her mask he wove from dreams of love, 
so they attend grand ball of shining gods, 
and dance while Phoebus directs the orchestra. 

Amazed with joy, we love to watch unfold 
romance of Pierrot and Persephone 
as symbol for state of our world today, 
Mute Weeper in love with Guardian of Ghosts 
who win awards for suffering they endure 
with names we write in fairy tales of faith. 

Tammy Understands Dreams

Tammy Understands Dreams
© Surazeus
2026 03 15

When Tammy drinks raindrops on window glass 
to taste sorrow of strangers on the Earth 
who pick raspberries from the unfenced field, 
she feels eternal light gleam in her eyes 
so she sees essence of each human soul 
that helps her disappear in stream of words. 

If Tammy explains lassitude of gods 
with words of gold embossed on marble tombs, 
we might hear endless cries of suffering 
in fields of mourning where milk cows eat grass 
because they steal strange memories of our eyes 
with anxious experience of trembling joy. 

Though Tammy mistranslates edible smells 
to shimmer of ghosts on the primrose path, 
she hides her naked heart with waves of light 
when she invites me to swim in her lake 
halfway to completion of her weird dream 
blessing heavenly bridge between our hearts. 

Yet Tammy discovers with blush of faith 
her heart is impenetrable to contempt 
contrived by unfulfilled passion of respect 
we share with mutual acceptance that death 
tries to mislead us with sweet fantasy 
that we live forever in paradise. 

Before Tammy maps ruins of our love 
she intimates that angels without mouths 
imitate how she sings with butterflies 
to repeal law against our sacred bond 
commanded by invisible police 
who impose gratitude with scarlet pulse. 

Because Tammy dissociates our trust 
to stamp purpose of living on our hearts, 
she finds me inscrutable to her sense 
of freaked amusement without radar vibes 
despite our vow to share star messages 
submerged in supple waters of the pool. 

Since Tammy understands dreams I conceal 
with psychic sense of obvious solitude, 
she hungers for my face that fades with time 
while I sketch writhing maps in blood-stained clay 
depicting habitat of horse and owl 
to illustrate process of soul decay. 

Still Tammy leads me to cave by the sea 
where First Mother of all humanity 
chants ancient song of ardent innocence 
which nurtures how civilizations thrive 
based on weird mysteries of the common place 
that beams from still point of the universe. 

Garish Face Of Busirane

Garish Face Of Busirane
© Surazeus
2026 03 15

The old man stumbles against the red brick wall 
so green leprechaun hat falls off his head. 
"I should not have yelled at Clara like that," 
he mumbles at the wingless bird of fate. 
Gold key of salvation falls from his hand 
as he fumbles to unlocked jeweled gate. 

The white raven swoops down from power line 
and snatches key of salvation away. 
The old man shouts at the cloud glowing gold 
and shakes his fist at unfairness of fate. 
Jesus approaches him slouched at the gate, 
sizing him up with sly skeptical eye. 

"When Britomart escaped deceptive house, 
dismayed at how tapestries disappeared," 
he snarls at bright apparition of God, 
"she found herself on the perilous porch, 
eyes unveiled by delusions of desire, 
so she could see the real world as it is." 

Rattling gate of Heaven with fierce concern, 
the old man, with plastic leprechaun hat 
on his sore head of weed-entangled hair, 
pretends he is Jupiter who can change 
shape to the graceful swan in love with Fate, 
then slips and falls on wet mud of respect. 

When Britomart tears off the plastic mask, 
printed with garish face of Busirane, 
his heart cries out in shock of mute surprise 
that glory of his power vanishes 
at dreadful flame that writhes with holy angst 
as loss misshapes his soul to howling ape. 

Groping blind in dark blast of midnight wind, 
the old man cries out in his bitter pain, 
"I loved sweet Amoret with loyal faith, 
but she ran off with clever Scudamour, 
leaving me lost in maze of false desires 
where Jupiter mocks my brave innocence." 

Waking startled at sudden flash of dawn 
that pierces his eyes with absolute truth, 
the old man clambers to his trembling feet 
beside locked gate of his community. 
Trudging through front door of his six-roomed house, 
Patrick calls Clara in white emptiness. 

Kneeling by Clara on the bathroom floor, 
Patrick cries in shock at her lifeless eyes. 
"I have come too late to apologize, 
so I hope you know how much I love you." 
The white raven with his key of salvation 
stares at him through cracked window of his heart. 

Unanswers That Explain Why

Unanswers That Explain Why
© Surazeus
2026 03 15

Each time I wander too close to the sun 
wild spirit of Icarus wakes in me 
so I run circles on the White House lawn 
with arms outspread as if I can fly free, 
then fall on my back under Great Blue Sky 
and ponder unanswers that explain why. 

Wheels of my bicycle flash in the sun 
when I heave deep breath up the steep-hill road 
then lounge by the fountain of secret pain 
near the Mizpah Gate to gossip with God, 
asking about delusions of my eye, 
and dismiss unanswers that explain why. 

Wearing pink dress and tattered shoes of hope, 
Christina crawls across the grassy field 
toward gray-wood house on the wind-battered slope 
where nothing blooms but the frail marigold, 
so I bear her soul in my arms and fly, 
and rewrite unanswers that explain why. 

Dropping quarter in the dorm pop machine, 
I buy ennui in cold can of root beer, 
then wear mask of Jesus for Halloween, 
because I am son of the Puppeteer, 
encouraging hopeless people to try 
and design unanswers that explain why. 

Inspired by victory of the faceless god, 
I build castle in Caledonia, 
then search with amusement in putrid sod 
for crowns of kings from Macedonia, 
because I choose to play the clever spy 
and bury unanswers that explain why. 

Hands strong with spirit of Odysseus, 
I forge sword from stone that blazed from the stars, 
since in Scotland I am indigenous 
to misty hills where fairies drive fast cars, 
so I map ruins where lonely girls cry 
and extract unanswers that explain why. 

Each hour cathedral bells of anguish toll, 
I build wood ship to sail where dragons lurk, 
yet in world theater I play my role 
with fierce compassion of satiric smirk, 
then chant formulas which may not apply, 
and tangle unanswers that explain why. 

Reborn as Icarus without brave wings, 
I ask shy Christina to be my bride, 
so she bakes hot apple pies while I sing 
folk songs about how lost people abide, 
then we kiss at sunset of the firefly, 
and record unanswers that explain why. 

Wounded Heart Of Innocence

Wounded Heart Of Innocence
© Surazeus
2026 03 15

I hear the raven in the apple tree 
tell me about the old woman who dies 
after baking ten thousand apple pies 
so children driven from their homes by bombs 
may eat the wounded heart of innocence, 
but all her pies rot in warehouse of greed. 

I hear the toad beside the forest pool 
tell me about the hungry man who dies 
after delivering mail to every house 
where ghosts of angels haunt bright living rooms 
to hide the wounded heart of innocence 
in stories on the television screen. 

I hear the alligator in the swamp 
tell me about the young student who dies 
after drinking beer in the crowded bar 
then wanders in haze of frantic memories 
to drown the wounded heart of innocence 
in turbid river of the singing skull. 

I hear the horse in the wire-enclosed field 
tell me about the racecar driver who dies 
while speeding on the winding mountain road 
and finds salvation with the humming toad 
to steal the wounded heart of innocence 
if he knows why the caged bird never sings. 

I hear the cow in old abandoned church 
tell me about the solemn priest who dies 
while drinking holy blood from rusty grail 
in restless search for virgin girl of faith 
to sell the wounded heart of innocence 
though she teaches her son to play guitar. 

I hear the dog in the misty graveyard 
tell me about the brave preacher who dies 
before he sees Jesus return from clouds 
in starship beaming our lost souls from Hell 
to buy the wounded heart of innocence 
while tearing pages from Bibles in rage. 

I hear the unicorn in the warehouse 
tell me about the mad artist who dies 
while painting emotions of brave despair 
in murals of folk heroes on brick walls 
to break the wounded heart of innocence 
reborn from farmers on justice crusade. 

I hear the demon in the tower vault 
tell me about the haughty god who dies 
while counting gold coins of his stolen wealth 
derived from labor of the working man 
to heal the wounded heart of innocence 
that slithers on marble museum wall. 

Energy Of Ardent Hope

Energy Of Ardent Hope
© Surazeus
2026 03 14

Honey and butter on toasted sourdough bread 
delight my heart with pleasure of sweet taste 
when I contemplate strange meaning of life 
at home with my family on Sabbath night, 
soul bathed in nurturing glimmer of light, 
revived by energy of ardent hope. 

No angel may hear me when I cry out 
with terror at beauty of life and death, 
but humans on Earth understand my song 
when I vanish in power of soul light 
that designs my mind with loving insight, 
transformed by energy of ardent hope. 

Unleashing wings of desire from my heart, 
I throw emptiness out of my bound arms 
to expand space of joy where I may breathe 
ethereal spirit of demonic might 
on which I pass fear with intimate flight, 
propelled by energy of ardent hope. 

Pure Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil 
rises from rotten desire of my heart 
to tremble with silence of timeless change 
that intimates beginning of my flight 
to sing with Orpheus in sheltering light, 
enshrined by energy of ardent hope. 

Sparked awake by first blissful tone of love, 
which Orpheus teaches me to express 
with ringing melody I play on lyre, 
I ask Death to elucidate mortal plight 
as theme that consumes me with anguished fight, 
restored by energy of ardent hope. 

Alert to monstrous horror of desire 
that drives men to kill each other for power 
in mindless rage to gain immortal life, 
I seize divine strength to play slender lyre 
with passionate breath of pneumatic rite, 
contrived by energy of ardent hope. 

Message that creates itself from my voice 
when I declare with optimistic faith 
that we weave our fate with each choice we make, 
grows monstrous when exposed to cogent light 
that glow of our conscious mind is finite, 
unbroken by energy of ardent hope. 

Possessed by spirit Orpheus radiates, 
I sing redemption of passionate love 
that fills our hearts with mountain strength of faith 
to aid each other when our souls recite 
holy hymns we help playful sprite ghostwrite, 
designed by energy of ardent hope. 

Nameless Son Of Jove

Nameless Son Of Jove
© Surazeus
2026 03 14

Draped in ermine robe of authority 
with assignment to adjudicate laws 
designed to rein aggressive lust of men 
within bounds of respect for other men, 
I wield sulfurous bolt of thunderous Jove 
from Merciful Heaven to humble pride. 

Though wrath of Oberon attends my heart 
with plot to train each wild child of dark woods 
as loyal warrior of my scouting train, 
I channel passion to manage estate 
of rich productive farms with guardian gangs 
while lounging in the spangled starlight sheen. 

Though I am merry wanderer of the night, 
I jest on stage in temples of rich feast 
to play role of Oberon with fierce joy 
that sparks sweet laughter of relief from men 
who sweat in labor to tend fields of wheat 
which flushes resentment from their hard hearts. 

Dismissed with mocking jest of pungent fear, 
I twirl in whistling winds by flashing sea, 
lost in contagious fog of jealousy, 
but fall fatigued by stone-paved fountain pool 
full of crackling leaves instead of fresh spring, 
and weep for beauty drowned in tears of truth. 

Disturbed by crackling shifts of jolted time 
which readjusts world view of what is true, 
I realize wealthy mean in towers of glass 
conspire to enslave common citizens 
to labor in vast factories of regret, 
producing goods that profit bank accounts. 

Alone on yellow sands where Neptune dwelled, 
I watch fragile ships tossed by swelling waves, 
pregnant with products of slave factories, 
so I search in my heart for warrior soul 
of Jupiter or Zeus that strengthens me 
with courage to oppose cruel tyranny. 

Heart pierced by love-shaft blind Cupid discharged, 
I rise transformed from tomb of Oberon 
to lead lost boys disenfranchised by hate 
in noble army of brave warriors 
to follow Minerva on bold crusade 
dedicated to restore Liberty. 

While my peculiar quest for truth is bound 
with rational armor of my strict mind, 
I grasp electric bolt of honest hope 
as nameless son of Jove, son of Yahweh, 
to reign as king in nutshell of my heart 
which frees our world democracy to thrive.