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. 

Language Devils Speak

Language Devils Speak
© Surazeus
2026 03 14

Dehydrated in sunlight of all time, 
I wander waste land of the urban zone, 
lured to paradise by angelic chime 
that rings from beating heart of the God Stone, 
so I climb to the highest mountain peak 
where I invent weird language devils speak. 

Amused by dancing skeletons of fate, 
I collect bones of huge dragons and gods, 
assemble them in Museum of the Great, 
and teach children how they grow from soul pods, 
which inspires new generation to seek 
books of legends in language devils speak. 

Revealed to be son of messiah sleuth, 
who once roused revolution of soul change, 
I set out on quest to find the real truth 
that leads me along the world mountain range 
till I transform into ring-powered freak 
and sing grand hymns in language devils speak. 

Assured I will reign next king of the world 
if I dethrone my father Jupiter, 
I accept sacred role as cosmic herald 
and play my part with mask of Lucifer 
since killers inherit Earth from the meek 
by propagating language devils speak. 

Awake from sorrow of the broken land 
where homes are shattered by religious bombs, 
I journey back to hills of Samarkand 
where I find apple queens in ruined tombs, 
so I kneel and weep by the timeless creek 
that whispers spells in language devils speak. 

Strengthened by support of the faceless dead 
who flock around me when I sing their tales, 
I birth Athena from expanding head, 
who rescues Jesus from cross of sharp nails, 
because they exude uncanny mystique 
when they perform star language devils speak. 

Startled by loud horns priests of Joshua blow 
to invade Garden of Eden with thieves, 
I defend lush Heaven of Jericho 
while the crippled widow of Hector grieves, 
so I preach that, though life on Earth is bleak, 
we will survive with language devils speak. 

Inspired by Isaiah to sing satires 
that spur tyrants to mend oppressive ways, 
I connect world minds with computer wires 
that help mankind evolve to our next phase 
which provides voice for the abused and weak 
who write fair laws with language devils speak. 

Weird Spirit Of Salorin

Weird Spirit Of Salorin
© Surazeus
2026 03 14

Sea breeze shimmers green-gold feathers of pride 
when Salorin, Poet of Zathamar, 
appears on stage in crystal temple hall, 
and strums seven strings with celestial chimes 
in harp from rib bone of Queen Zathamut, 
then sings epic tale of her life and death. 

I sense her gold eyes gleam inside my heart 
when I stand on street corner in Miami 
and feel weird spirit of Salorin wake 
brave courage to express her ancient song 
that vibrates eighty million years of light 
in waves that gleam on bright Florida coast. 

My callused fingers pluck six coiled bronze strings 
that vibrate through shell of spruce wood guitar 
to wake soul of Salorin in my heart 
so I sing grunge folk songs of human life 
beside small fountain in the market square 
while pedestrians and cars traffic past. 

Long curly brown hair of the Anglo Bard 
blows around my face as I play guitar, 
dressed in leather boots and green woolen coat 
caked with red dust of New Mexico hills, 
while I sing surreal ballads that depict 
rough journey of the brave Quester for Truth. 

Grand vision of life on our spinning globe, 
that flourished eighty million years ago, 
glows from projection of my humming verse 
that depicts evolved race of dinosaurs 
who built vast cities of enormous diamonds 
where they performed tales of Saurian gods. 

Diamond cities in land of Zathamar, 
where civilization of dinosaurs 
thrived for millions of years on Earth, 
have all been ground down to sands on the beach, 
tiny fragments that gleam with their great songs, 
and ring with chimes of their long-silenced voices. 

I see their ghosts in glitter of the sand 
when I lounge on Miami Beach at dawn 
after sleeping all night among tall reeds, 
and hear their voices of sharp ringing chimes 
in susurration of green ocean waves, 
so I channel their tales in my street songs. 

As Quester for Truth on the signless road 
that winds along rivers among tall hills 
across this ancient land of Zathamar, 
I ever walk toward Pyramid of Ishtar 
whose song of wisdom shines in every heart 
who thrives in United Nations of Earth. 

Brave Tritonian Faith

Brave Tritonian Faith
© Surazeus
2026 03 13

Long since grown from child of the wandering sea, 
where I once ventured vast unshadowed main, 
I lounge with nonchalance of purpled wings 
on wave-smooth stone to sun my streaming hair 
and study fragments from my ship of pearl 
that shimmers gold with lustrous coil of faith. 

From sunless crypt of aching solitude 
my father Triton wanders in wild gust 
of laughing wind, that gallops from stark peaks 
of jagged mountains, to kneel on cold sand 
and blow wild tune in chambered nautilus 
that rings forlorn on desolate beach of faith. 

Awake with howl of my unresting sea, 
that slithers silver waves around my feet, 
I stretch frail frame of flesh with ache of hope 
that broad sky-dancing wings of fortitude 
may sprout from beating passion of my heart, 
that fills my heart with brave Tritonian faith. 

Though Triton, ancient withered ocean god 
who sired my soul from fertile womb of light, 
lies sprawled on glistening sand of arrogance, 
unsouled by ruthless blast of grinding time, 
I feel spark of his ocean spirit gleam 
with weird immortal energy of faith. 

When I kneel and weep by round pool of light 
that glitters framed by empty shells of truth, 
I see face of my father Triton glow 
with animated urge of my own heart 
as if I wear mask of his bearded face, 
for I am reborn replicant of faith. 

Fair phantom of my pulsing heart appears 
through emanation of courageous fear 
with fierce intention to investigate 
source of power that compels my quest 
to transcend bounds of self-enclosing name 
and claim commission to preach deeds of faith. 

Now that my father Triton vanishes 
from dream time of my fate-perceptive eyes, 
I measure segments of transforming change 
that gears strict increments in scale of growth 
so dawn light swells from nothing of my heart 
to shape this world of forms from wordless faith. 

Inspired by scripture of footprints on sand, 
which I compose in magic runes of dream 
with wand I forged from sharp draconic bone, 
I run with carefree joy in wingless flight 
by breathing clear Zephyrean air of hope 
to fight despair with brave Tritonian faith. 

Spectrum Of Strange Truths

Spectrum Of Strange Truths
© Surazeus
2026 03 13

When my Muse reveals spectrum of strange truths 
arrayed as statues of demonic clowns, 
I fuse my mind with weird riddles to bind 
devious virtues through feverish respect 
from solemn turmoil of typewriter thoughts 
unspooling world view I always believed. 

Despite intermittent sequel of moves 
attending game of mirth against bleak death, 
I push against bounds of physical hope 
that limit expansion of ardent scope 
radiant with fractured words I never speak 
till I reach interval of intact breath. 

Each time our world changes with subtle grace 
through duplication of existing states, 
I leap deceptive loom of glorious fear 
to weave convincing vision of events 
yet to unravel with undefiled force 
at sudden dreaming of explosive fate. 

Uncertain glory veiling mindless trust 
blossoms in flowers from corpse of our god 
corrupted by greed for global control 
where humming children gather by the pool 
to vote with laughter for the haughty fool 
as king of nothing because he lies well. 

Reluctant fallacy of social prayer, 
embodied by galactic ghost of time, 
vibrates with overtones of magic math 
enthralling searchers for evasive truth 
who seal humiliating deeds in jars 
buried in graveyards of outdated creeds. 

Gigantic cactus of conceptual law 
waits lonely in putrid grotto of stones 
tangled with hair of thirty thousand queens 
whose names Time erases with flood of tears 
when sluggish vampire king of loyalists 
charges rent for houses he never owns. 

New discoveries in scientific labs 
alter matrix of reality with jokes 
squeezed from crackling machines of twisted bones 
through convoluted atmosphere of words 
invented by doctors with fractured eyes 
who wander bright shores of Hibernia. 

Unsteady dance on twanging rope of faith 
tempts naive ballerina to transcend 
bottomless abyss of bright nothingness 
from church steeple to the honey-bee hive 
with lithe discipline of angelic soul 
because she likes to hum our river song. 

God Of My World

God Of My World
© Surazeus
2026 03 12

Now that I have become God of my world, 
I can erase my body from Dream Time 
so my name will vanish in gust of wind 
that wanders whistling casually along 
with no care for fortune or fame, those traps 
that suck innocent souls down into Hell. 

Projecting Glow Cloud as God of my world, 
I give sandwiches and bottles of juice 
to homeless people in the city park 
who tell each other tragic tales of loss, 
then follow Moses to the Promised Land 
somewhere over the rainbow of my heart. 

Ascending marble stairs of timeless truth, 
I enter Parthenon where Athena reigned 
since she planted olive tree of true faith 
to feel her spirit glow inside my heart 
as ghost of absence still alive in me 
that molds chaos in loving harmony. 

Loving Athena as God of my world, 
I sing this endless eulogy of faith 
that Liberty inspires the human heart 
to fight for Justice with courageous hand 
through opposition against tyranny 
that maintains progress of democracy. 

Since deathless wisdom is God of my world 
I walk the signless road of honesty, 
evolving from hungry ape of wild woods 
to wingless angel on high pyramid 
singing about creation of the Earth 
when we build Garden of Eden from mud. 

Bathed in Holy Light from God of my world, 
I walk with crowd of people on the street 
in metropolitan maze of the Earth 
where I see angels in all human eyes 
forever searching for pure beam of light 
that fills our bodies with celestial song. 

Measuring time to play God of my world, 
I map extensive patterns of desire 
to plot complex graphs for effect of cause 
which calibrates our mental state of being 
resolving formulas of psychic math 
that program reason in passionate brains. 

Wearing mask that portrays God of my world, 
I conjure virtual world from dream of Earth 
through simple proverb of conceptual faith 
that we get in return whatever we give 
since we reap what we sow with crafty hands, 
then become dirt of Earth from which we bloom. 

Pactolus River Of Fate

Pactolus River Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 03 12

If rain erases motorcars from time, 
deleting time machines from dream of light, 
then I will reinvent the piston engine 
so I can teleport on rubber wheels 
in chariot designed by Ezekiel 
with wheels Helios fashioned from desire. 

When Janus locks temple door of respect 
against small hands of King Midas at last, 
we shall find wealth, that bitter king of hate 
stole from treasure bank of our thriving state, 
washed into Pactolus River of Fate, 
so we may restore world democracy. 

Then humble Philomel, shepherd of souls 
attuned to emotional needs we hide, 
shall rise with divine power of the sky 
to lead us along Tagus River shore 
in our quest to find the lush Promised Land 
to thrive with peace in hills of Zathamar. 

Lounging on lush river shore by tall elm, 
Sirena herds sheep with attentive eyes, 
and sings harmonious melodies of hope 
in tune with swans that float on silver waves 
when comets blaze in brightness of her soul 
with calm in raging tempest of the world. 

Crowning her gold curls with wreath of pink blooms, 
Philomel plays haunting tunes on wood flute 
as graceful Sirena in long red skirt 
dances joyfully with cool evening breeze 
with gray-bearded Zephyrus brings them pears 
and teases her to marry his shy son. 

Adorned with pearls that gleam on her white breast, 
Sirena gathers berries, nuts, and eggs 
in baskets with her mother Ostara 
who teaches her to brew liquor from fruit 
which Philomel pours in clay jars of hope 
they bury by the river to ferment. 

Driving time-machine car from urban maze, 
swift as wind along winding country roads, 
Ezekiel arrives in Garden of Zatham, 
bringing Cinderella and Romeo 
to visit Juliet and Percival 
whose daughter Epona rides her white pony. 

Gathered at large round table of the feast, 
everyone drinks red wine to celebrate 
birth of our new nation Zarathia 
we build from ruins of America, 
then Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury 
while Ophelia sings Ballad of Hamlet. 

Bougainvillea Of My Heart

Bougainvillea Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2026 03 11

Lost in harsh waste land of the modern world, 
I find bougainvillea of my heart 
thriving through resilience of suffering 
with cool menace of eye-enchanting flowers 
concealing unnoticed thorns of despair 
with treacherous allure of sirenic beauty. 

Enduring legacy of my grandmothers, 
within bougainvillea of my heart, 
thrives with fragile compassion of respect 
connecting my body with my ancestors 
as scarlet flowers shroud crumbling tombstones 
with persistent beauty in ruined homes. 

Flourishing in vast cement maze of myths, 
vital bougainvillea of my heart 
conquers the world with scarlet privilege 
through nostalgia for lost time of ripe oranges 
that drip with blood of angels on my lips 
when I consume resources of the Earth. 

Flower-crowned mask of my delicate nymph, 
who tends bougainvillea of my heart 
with nurturing hands of innocent faith, 
reflects divine face of wise Mother Earth, 
reborn each generation from her womb 
through brave extension of life after death. 

Vibrant beauty of resilient strength, 
that blooms bougainvillea of my heart, 
veils shattered ruins of democracy 
where skeletons dance with bears in red rain 
with the grateful dead of our burning land 
as immigrants displaced by endless wars. 

Kneeling in hilly jungle of Brazil 
to sketch bougainvillea of my heart, 
Jeanne Baret studies its delicate leaves 
that hide treacherous thorns of bitterness, 
amazed at how it flourishes in ash 
as deep pink gash of death-defying beauty. 

Both beautiful and dreadful, fragile blossoms 
that mask bougainvillea of my heart, 
sprout from roots that curl deep into hard soil, 
gripping rocks of mountains with angel hands 
which suppresses depression with fierce joy 
of urgent passion to live beyond death. 

Tangled in excessive tendrils of faith, 
wired from bougainvillea of my heart, 
I struggle against bounds of time and space 
to expand scope of curious consciousness 
broad enough to enclose every lost soul 
who attends show in garden of blind ghosts. 

Voice Of Faceless God

Voice Of Faceless God
© Surazeus
2026 03 11

Voice of faceless god reverberates 
through weak eyes of mortals who testify 
to inner beauty of dream-beaming brains 
that bind psychotic scales of timeless hope 
with absolution of fantastic guilt 
which leaves us floating in oblivion. 

My heart curves into silence of the Earth, 
imploding boldly with brilliant words 
unbound by principles of blithe respect 
through unconditional rules based on fear 
defined by sea waves swirling on hot sand 
on which I tumble with tedious faith. 

Constrained by monotonous disbelief 
in ceremonious rites of mental growth, 
I manufacture miracles from lust 
for mind-expansion of absurdist wind 
which entertains my sense of dignity 
through recreation of humility. 

My voice dares mountains to explain why pain 
contrives our wishful bleariness of thirst 
by trudging vainly toward garden of gods 
while I pray with serendipitous rage 
for brave interludes in false paradise, 
demanding haste of madness to debate. 

If I succumb to sudden shift of fate 
with untainted love for merciless skies, 
my heart may swell against locked doors of truth 
to reach absolute void of heartless love 
because my body decays with each day 
I dream magnificence of fruitful trees. 

Disturbed by alien anguish I deny, 
I prepare to leap shade of wretched chime 
with yearning passion of never-read books 
by craving darkness of death-anxious fruit 
where wordless thoughts whisper in humming trees 
so I catch rain with shadow of my hands. 

Insignificant doll of rotten flesh, 
birthed by wet sorrow of maternal moon, 
I break conceptions of unperformed wrongs 
that could destroy illusions of strange joy 
cherished by nameless strangers who contrive 
to fool the laughing ghost of broken stones. 

No fervid wish of seamless fortitude 
could crack my dreadful trust in shameless death 
despite investment of my hungry heart 
in grand delusions of unwanted fame 
that cripple my assertive vanity 
with shocking wisdom of genetic gain. 

Expansive Scope Of Truth

Expansive Scope Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 03 10

When I am worthy of myself at last, 
after my random journey through the world 
on roads in both natural and urban zones, 
I shall attend with cloud-calm dignity 
to treasure my expansive scope of truth 
designed by divine workmanship of hope. 

If Nature seems to frame my fragile being 
as favored worshipper of her weird state, 
this award bodes as generous testament 
to faith-focused progress of my intent 
with honest will to transcend weak account 
in dispute with fear that discharges guilt. 

Exposed to harsh elements of despair 
that blast my soul with grim indifference, 
I ramble rugged terrain of false dreams 
with troubled pleasure of aggressive stealth 
to discover source of time-sparkling light 
that casts ethereal glow on craggy steep. 

Clear pool of water among humming trees, 
that seems Plutonian phantom to conceal 
with supple mist of voluntary faith, 
extracts from framework of my filtered heart 
judgmental horror as keyword revised 
by lurid lecture of contemptuous wind. 

Awake with eerie insight of respect, 
I row tenuous boat of my heart forth 
across moon-shattered lake of bold grandeur 
while vulgar passions seethe with discipline 
to intercourse with Nature against Death 
among gloomy hills of sweet solitude. 

Resounding echo of my wordless cry 
cracks no ice-hard precipice of weird truth 
with good intentions of my anxious heart 
to earn kind favor of Nature with song 
of tranquil sleeplessness in morbid dreams, 
though my soul emanates from River Stone. 

Awed by Presences of Nature that glow 
on surface of this universal globe, 
I hide delight of triumph behind mask 
of calm ennui, impressed with character 
of my brave spirit molded into mask 
I wear to shield my heart from hungry fear. 

When I devise puzzle of virtual Earth 
through scheme to map whole history of mankind, 
I carve runes in cyphers on trunks of trees 
recording names and deeds of forest kings 
till Fortune taunts me with lightning-blazed fire 
that erases our story from the world. 

When Kingdoms Collapse

When Kingdoms Collapse
© Surazeus
2026 03 10

Chronic concept of the fortified mind, 
compiled from facial circuit of blank fate, 
contributes to spate of unlicensed fame 
contained by keyword of improved impact, 
based on fair complexion of my grim mood 
which notifies my colleagues of the news. 

Unfractured friendship of forgetful faith 
reveals my desire to prepare canned goods, 
jars of peaches, applesauce, beets, and pickles, 
because I must stock basements shelves with hope 
that I could survive collapse of the state 
alone on prairie of my nameless ghosts. 

Young woman with long hair flowing in wind 
arrives with the hurricane after dawn, 
and gives me book of ancient fairy tales 
that tell strange stories of powerful gods 
who play with humans as puppets and pawns, 
so I turn my face to gold fields of wheat. 

Heaping bags of wheat on the wagon plat, 
with four sturdy wheels Helios designed, 
I transport goods to warehouse of stone walls 
where the Loaf Ward buys bags of wheat with coins 
of gold stamped with face of Phoebus Apollo, 
so I forge coins into crown with twelve rubies. 

While driving black car down the dusty road, 
teleporting in time machine of hope, 
I wonder at the speed I race away 
far faster than the swift-galloping horse, 
then lean against the brick wall of the bank 
and sing folk songs while I play beat guitar. 

Death comes to me as the woman in black, 
with eyes that flash bright as the Morning Star, 
who gives me my heart trapped inside the rock, 
which she breaks free with hammer of desire, 
so I transform into the moon-eyed owl, 
and my heart beats when the mountain wolves howl. 

Maybe I will understand the world war 
being fought between England and Germany, 
lands where parents of my parents were born, 
so my divided heart now fights itself, 
unless I climb jagged mountain of snow 
and cry out to the blind angels of Heaven. 

Let the grandsons of Queen Victoria 
fight each other over the Crown of Jesus, 
while I plow my fields with hands of respect 
and can the produce of my honest heart, 
for nations will rise when kingdoms collapse, 
designed and built by hands of loyal men. 

Shining Mountains Of Light

Shining Mountains Of Light
© Surazeus
2026 03 09

The purple columbine of my aching heart 
blooms beside rocky mountain valley spring 
that sings with ancient voice of wordless joy 
while washing all my sorrows to the sea, 
so I almost believe that I can fly, 
but I breathe spirit of the sky instead. 

Attentive wisdom of snow, crusted white 
with timeless beauty of starlight, displays 
faceless beauty of our immortal soul 
all humans share, molded by suffering 
from passion into social mask we wear, 
which almost mirrors divine mind of light. 

Exhausting though the climb may be, rough path 
of glacier-fractured stones winding sideways 
in rolling basin of the mountain vale, 
I breathe patient endurance of orange clouds 
with persistence of pioneers, that fuels 
progressive quest of my immortal genes. 

Far from people-crowded streets of commerce 
that wind through cement canyons of ambition, 
I stand tall in rugged meadow of flowers 
among the vast Shining Mountains of Light, 
and watch with awe how dawn rays of the sun 
luminate Tava Kaavi, Mountain of the Sun. 

Gazing east far over mountains and seas, 
I strain to see around curve of the Earth 
Mount Olympus where All-Father was born 
who strode on rugged clouds of broken stones 
to fill his heart with courage of the wind 
in fight against cruel Titans to live free. 

Bright apparition of some great world savior, 
robed in white, hair blowing in divine wind, 
appears on white horse with gold horn of power 
and shining wings of star authority, 
so I wonder what god my eyes perceive, 
Zeus, Brahma, Jesus, Odin, or Shangdi. 

Perhaps one man descended from them all, 
combining their divine souls in one mind, 
may appear from turmoil of history 
and unite warring nations of the Earth 
with open hands of generosity 
that rule justice and liberty for all. 

This fantasy of one wise global ruler 
inspires nationalist pride of every tribe 
who believe their own god will rule the Earth, 
but I know they are all but mortal men 
who fight each other over dirt and rain, 
so I walk with the person I love most. 

Table Of Feast And Song

Table Of Feast And Song
© Surazeus
2026 03 09

When the wind blows through the doors of my heart, 
I wake from dream where our world falls apart, 
so I stroll among flowers of the field 
to contemplate virtual world on war shield 
which Achilles bore with defiant arm 
when he fought great war of feminine charm. 

Programmed with dreams of the language machine, 
my brain assembles from weird puzzling facts 
patchwork world view that frames what might be real 
through fraught ontology my thoughts design 
that centers everything on Death and Tax 
since Earth is indifferent to how I feel. 

Learning how to shape dreams from Morpheus 
so Ideas of Plato catalog 
objects I perceive with subjective stance, 
I weave vast tapestry of fractured tales 
that represent patterns of psychic tropes 
which nurture how our hearts survive on hopes. 

Wearing discarded mask of Orpheus, 
I search through endless swirls of verbal fog 
to find my brain expanding from dream trance 
with solemn beauty of wise ocean whales 
who float with jeweled crowns and red silk robes, 
and discuss organic life on earth globes. 

With Lamp of Liberty and Book of Deeds, 
I walk crowded streets of America 
as prophet who returns from the waste land 
with sacred proverbs based on moral rules 
that define good and bad as acts we play 
to construct or destruct structures of atoms. 

I worship the Sun as Solaria 
that weaves our bodies from soul-beams of light, 
and worship the Earth as Telluria 
that generates our souls from singing waves, 
for I am temporary name-masked soul 
attentive to perform my chosen role. 

Wise Shepherd in lush field of sparkling wheat 
guides us with his staff of comforting light 
through the valley of the shadow of death 
to the lake that teems with delicious fish 
where he prepares table of feast and song 
so we dwell in house of wisdom he built. 

When the wind blows through the doors of my heart, 
I rebuild our lost world with new star chart 
to shelter every refugee from war 
who shares labor in the field and the store, 
while Aeneas reigns in tower of dreams 
to guard our tribe that dwells by flowing streams.  

If I Adjust Cycle

If I Adjust Cycle
© Surazeus
2026 03 08

If I adjust cycle of my emotions 
to match exploding stars of naked words, 
I might find Lost Princess with seven eyes 
singing in forest of eccentric clowns, 
yet when I turn on the glass radio 
ghosts from distant stars call my secret name. 

If I adjust temperature of my rage 
to counter pain of patient pertinence, 
I might wake on the moon in time to see 
God break every pattern of human faith, 
yet I anticipate the second coming 
while typing at my desk in the hot swamp. 

If I adjust ingenuous mode of reason 
to lock my brain with alternative truth, 
I might caress sensuous contours of time 
to surf tidal wave of continuum 
silhouetted by dramatic regret 
when I follow claw-prints in bloody snow. 

If I adjust celebration of wisdom 
in spite of artificial victory, 
I might taste resolve of the Gardener 
to rebuild Garden of Eden in Hades 
that matches permanent state of respect 
fractured by pendulum unwound by fate. 

If I adjust lassitude of each season 
that returns with ostensible perversion, 
I might reclaim discolored photograph 
that proves I committed those evil crimes 
based on defeated memory of chimes 
gracious with flowers of frantic endurance. 

If adjust flight of arrogant breath 
by swooping wingless over power lines, 
I might remember who gives me their mask 
by calling my name on the telephone, 
which I deny outside of time and space 
because I am spectator of the race. 

If I adjust standards of moral values 
to style our fight as matter of survival, 
I might sense absence of psychotic color 
by starting enterprise of stolen wealth 
with uncommon manners of noble clowns 
who fight each other for the secret key. 

If I adjust scale of false modesty 
to join holy cult of the Water Book, 
I might sidle past the house of dead gods 
to rendezvous with Death down by the river 
that flushes human bodies to the sea 
with indifferent auspice no one perceives. 

Ten Thousand Doors Of Time

Ten Thousand Doors Of Time
© Surazeus
2026 03 08

Strange beauty of inflections keys my mind 
with barbaric flash of the star-black eye 
that gazes from core of the universe 
to dream my soul awake with flashing words 
frail as icicle on limb of the tree 
that whistles casually in winter wind. 

Lucid shadow of my eternal soul 
traces indecipherable cause of hope 
through bodies of all my ancestral souls 
who speak with inescapable concepts 
about great circle of euphoric light 
that glitters sharply at far edge of time. 

Great river of my adaptive heart flows 
with brave insistence of electric snow 
that molds our bodies from evasive fear 
so we climb trees and swing vast canopies 
six thousand miles from sea to shining sea 
till we transform from monkeys into humans. 

Silver-eyed blackbird in the apple tree 
recounts obsessive journey of my soul 
one hundred million years to find the cave 
where the sun is reborn every new day 
till I forget what I am looking for 
and live by the river ten thousand years. 

Blue clouds occur above my empty house 
where I collect raindrops in open eyes 
unfractured by contorted strength of faith 
to prove I first designed the wheel of time 
that mimics eye in mirror of the sun 
which survives the death of every state god. 

One fragile candle, glowing gold with faith 
one fleeting moment through eternity, 
contains dim conscious sense of self I am 
because I play the Mad Astronomer 
whose eyes have seen galactic deities 
possess chemical shells of mortal gods. 

Essential shadow of my abstract mind 
proves my organic body must be real 
when I eat apples of the mountain slopes 
that teach my animal mouth how to speak 
so I walk through ten thousand doors of time 
to find lush valley of my singing skull. 

Only the blind remember how the past 
shines clear in tragic tales of story books 
which I record with raven quill of truth 
I dip in gold ichor of divine blood 
till time erases every word I write 
so all your names vanish from cliff of truth. 

New Life Always Springs

New Life Always Springs
© Surazeus
2026 03 08

Vague splatter of misty rain on soft grass 
frames frantic despair of my heart with glow 
of mute sorrow at constant loss of life, 
yet new life always springs from mud of death 
with flourishing passion of timeless desire 
for us to dwell together in our space. 

Paused at flaming gates to leave paradise, 
I look back at shining temples of gold 
where people cheer song of the noble hero, 
then turn my face to emptiness of hope 
and walk in graveyard of the lonely world 
where billions of people killed in wars wait. 

I almost hear their voices in the wind, 
each one telling me of their tragic fate, 
till all their spirits swirl in hurricane 
of mocking laughter at God on his throne 
who glares enraged that his authority 
crumbles at relentless process of fate. 

Instead of arranging flowers on graves 
of innocent people mangled by bombs, 
I scatter apple seeds that sprout in trees 
so cemetery of our endless wars 
transforms into vast forest of fruit trees 
which nourish my body with love for life. 

Billions of trees blooming from our dead bodies 
transform material of our dreaming brains 
to stars that glitter in vast void of space 
with unrequited love for worlds of souls 
who live and die with endless swirl of change 
as we evolve from fish to singing god. 

On every planet in the universe 
one conscious creature pauses on their way, 
and gazes through infinity of space 
to see each other in mirror of love, 
our special faces becoming one face 
who sings our dreams in timeless song of light. 

Though I may weep for every conscious soul 
who ever lived and died on every world, 
collective radiance of their countless brains 
weaves my small brain in matrix of their truth 
so I dream complex patterns of their lives 
when I sleep under watch of the Moon Crow. 

When I meet Circe on the ocean shore 
and drink wine offered by her generous hand, 
I find my mortal body of desire 
transformed into immortal beam of light 
when she gives birth to me from seed of hope 
that drives me to live ten thousand years more. 

Lilacs Of Sordid Desire

Lilacs Of Sordid Desire
© Surazeus
2026 03 08

Attuned to song of river stones, I climb 
ladder of ideas with bravery 
to find wild fiddler on the mountain slope 
who causes lilacs of sordid desire 
to bloom from corpses of huge dinosaurs, 
so I photograph it all with my brain. 

Beneath veneer of civilized respect 
shy mountain wolf wakes in my wounded heart 
while I trudge alone on Sahara dunes, 
clutching rifle to my chest with vain prayer 
that whistles in the waste land of concern 
with holy shimmer of the godless sun. 

I gather gold coins from fallen empires 
to catalog their depictions in code 
of kings as gods who rule with wand of death 
by whacking people on the low-bowed head 
to teach them wisdom of subservience 
loyal to the angry man in the tower. 

Separate from likeness of the changing world, 
I remind myself that time spools my brain 
with memories that I weave in tapestries 
showing epic tales about tragic heroes 
who grasp lightning bolts with courageous hands 
to photograph everything that occurs. 

After I might have figured it all out, 
listening to thousands of people talk 
about mistakes they made, or their victimhood, 
I walk away from city of blind fools 
to sit on the hill where butterflies flit, 
and watch their buildings burn when thieves attack. 

While we sit face to face beside the lake 
at small round table of the quaint cafe, 
I measure distance between our brain worlds 
that gapes wide with magical mindfulness 
recorded through songs on the radio 
which I sing with aching voice of desire. 

When tangle of our bodies is undone 
by emotional memories we share, 
hearts aching with pleasure of vain regret, 
I work to keep everyone I love safe 
from sudden disintegration of truth 
that leaves us stranded without guiding myths. 

Pretty inwardness of angels we love 
radiates from religious paintings of saints 
martyred in spiritual climate of fear 
through mind-numbing fantasy of false pride 
that angels guide our nation to subdue 
unruly states who worship their own gods. 

Slime Evolving Into God

Slime Evolving Into God
© Surazeus
2026 03 07

Since I am slime evolving into God, 
halfway along mutation way of truth, 
I play chess with blind angel of the sea 
who smiles at me from her aquarium tank, 
but when I break her free from stereotype 
she flies away into the Great Blue Eye. 

I sing through solid stone of my sponge brain 
the sacred name my angel dreams for me, 
so I invent the primal alphabet 
depicting people fishing by the sea 
which traps productive souls in myths of gods 
who wield sharp knives to carve death into time. 

Since I am slime evolving into God, 
reborn from heart of darkness seven ways 
from fractured kingdom of the gothic rose, 
I wear skull of the dragon on my head 
to reign as Pope for thirteen thousand years, 
tending fruit trees in Garden of Zathar. 

Wrapped in cocoon of letters Eve designed, 
I transform from small furry dinosaur 
to long-legged cat that scampers in tall trees 
where I sing heart-enchanting tune of love 
in mind-expanding code of tree-root truth 
from which I weave vast tapestry of tales. 

Since I am slime evolving into God, 
I fly ingenious plane with angel wings 
among bright clouds where crystal temples shine, 
then drop aggressive bombs on ancient towns 
that shatter schools where young girls sing in choirs 
whose bodies float on bloody wings of light. 

Perplexed at sight of planes in turbid skies, 
Mercurius runs through maze of crowded streets 
till bomb destroys illusion of his state 
so he lies mangled in museum ruins 
still clutching lyre of turtle shell he made 
that rings romantic songs on radios. 

Since I am slime evolving into God, 
I join the barbarous brotherhood of faith 
to fight for who will own Narcissus Pool 
till all weak losers crumble into dust 
so warriors alone inherit the Earth 
destroyed by bombs exploding in our brains. 

I build new Heaven on ruins of Hell 
from spiraling orbs of terrible truth 
where Isaiah sees six-winged Seraphim 
create our bodies from atomic rays 
that radiate waves of frantic molecules 
from God Brain at core of the universe. 

Quick Atoms Of Time

Quick Atoms Of Time
© Surazeus
2026 03 07

Paid by the hour to invent clever lies, 
I mow dusty lawn of my glass moon house 
beneath uncanny sky of innocent whisps 
that swirl from sparkles of typewriter keys 
while I study ancient Little Red Dots 
that gleam one billion years at dawn of time. 

Bare gray trees wait for bells of hope to ring 
but no one in the oak-wood suburb speaks 
about the ghost horse with emerald eyes 
that haunts the car-less streets on afternoons 
when butterflies transform into old books 
unread by children till the end of time. 

Behind every locked door on silent streets 
faceless women hide from arrogant men 
who fight each other in world cyberwars 
till safe temples and schools in distant lands 
are blasted by the microphones of hate 
which leaves souls twisted by the curse of time. 

Early spring rain of the gold-shadowed sun 
drenches houses in towns of rolling hills 
where no nymphs or satyrs have ever played 
because they wander stuck in glowing screens 
as ghosts of fairy tales no one believes 
so we go to work in the nick of time. 

Sun gleams gold in raindrops on window glass, 
refracting spirits of eight billion brains 
in wordless whirl of shimmer-shattered myths 
too neatly packaged and labeled in stores 
for purchase with the credit card of faith 
that startles me awake at flash of time. 

Concerned about the state of politics 
unspooling principles of sacred laws, 
old half-blind jester of the castle court 
lounges in library of melting books 
and laughs at dissolution of world views 
disassembled by quick atoms of time. 

No quirky character of mental mirth 
appears from patriotic fog of war, 
except for cruel knight of the dented axe 
who throws his shining armor in the dirt 
and shoots brave angels with rifle of fear 
to oppose strict democracy of time. 

Rude riddles of unruly rectitude 
recalibrate our world colonial state 
when Midas and Nebuchadnezzar fight 
world war over who owns oil wells of power, 
and will marry Rapunzel in gold tower 
whose lamentation unwinds clock of time. 

Quaint Suburban House

Quaint Suburban House
© Surazeus
2026 03 07

Every time I focus my camera 
on special beauty of some human face 
that glows clear in crowd of the vampire race, 
sunlight fractures perception of my brain 
so I see essence of spiritual stain 
transform our souls through psychic formula. 

Lost on my way to find America 
to which I have never even got close, 
I open sacred book to diagnose 
song of mad gods that radiate from the stone 
because I walk the desolate hill alone 
where I worship the sweet tarantula. 

Exiled from my throne in Babylon 
through clever trick of the deity ruse, 
I find new employment as crazy muse 
for sad poet who writes enchanting tune 
that pictures face of his love on the moon 
till he falls dead in hills of Aragon. 

Discussing wisdom in the portico 
as key to enter gates of paradise, 
Bragi and Mercury fry eggs with rice 
to share with Juliet and Clementine 
who wear jeweled crowns from the Pluto Mine, 
then ride gold carriage home to Jericho. 

Done singing her part in the opera 
in theater without official lease, 
Roma weaves my cape from the Golden Fleece 
so I can battle ghost in the machine 
manipulated by Queen Melusine 
whose star shines in our national cinema. 

Inspired by noble soul of Onatah 
whose spirit haunts my quaint suburban house 
in sacred body of my secret spouse, 
I feed all the hungry people in town 
who cheer when she appears in red silk gown 
with wand to kill wealth-sucking Dracula. 

Trapped in weird castle maze of Avalon 
with zombies who insist on loyal faith, 
I transform into dream-controlling wraith, 
projecting visions with words of my mouth 
that lead refugees of civil wars south 
to build world empire based in Oregon. 

Reborn with brave spirit of Lucifer 
dedicated to predicting the truth, 
Jesus will return as messiah sleuth 
to crown himself emperor of the world 
by wearing gold mask of the cosmic herald 
that hides his state as son of Jupiter. 

Room Of Silver Light

Room Of Silver Light
© Surazeus
2026 03 07

Azure silence in room of silver light 
reveals itself in white blooms on gray trees 
that flutter wings of horizontal flight 
to map untended roots of flaming breeze 
that centers me at core of flashing time, 
unshaken by electric scarlet chime. 

Companions on our journey through the void, 
we measure far horizon of our hearts 
that spin on vibrant axis as ovoid 
designed by secret message on dream charts 
we share at sudden shock of reborn fate 
that should require our frail bodies to wait. 

Despite pure chaos spooling migrant brains 
with ancient strength of honest ardency, 
I pray with trees in gratitude of rains 
that stain our tattooed souls with vagrancy, 
because we sell true beauty of the soul 
against good sense that complicates our goal. 

Too small of thought to conjure difference 
between expended voice of timeless faith 
and wretched laughter of grim nonchalance, 
I exercise expensive dance of truth 
with joyful howl of brave contrarian 
because I love our Dream Librarian. 

Expendable drop of conceptual rain, 
doomed to disappear in tides of change, 
I shine with festive bitterness of pain 
because I dare traverse the global range 
of hungry mountains on quest for respect 
detailing progress of my social sect. 

So when I take my fundamental place 
on pedestal among dire certainties, 
I measure sand as substance of my face 
which glows through specter of solidities, 
because each moment of this fleeting play 
I beam appearances that never stay. 

Awake with surprise through eternity, 
I become Galanthus nivalis bloom 
that gleams with snowdrop of uncertainty, 
dispersing horror of impending doom 
with simple confidence of honored breath 
since I accept inevitable death. 

If the meek inherit dream of the Earth 
to dwell in ruins of old temple halls, 
I find in grass and stone immortal worth 
as paintings of dead gods on broken walls, 
so I watch dragon-shaped clouds in blue skies 
conceal activities of psychic spies. 

Nature Breathes Through Me

Nature Breathes Through Me
© Surazeus
2026 03 06

Awake by fairest river of dream song, 
I stroll in alder shades of innocence 
and listen with attentive mind of faith 
to song of water over rocky falls 
that shocks my thoughts with waywardness of hope 
contrived by calm that Nature breathes through me. 

How many ancestors of my dream soul 
as children played in cool delightful rill 
that streams between lush banks of fruitful trees 
till their heart, bronzed with radiance of joy, 
expands broad scope of conscious wantonness 
while sporting in thunder shower of faith. 

Fair seed-time of their river-nurtured souls 
weaves fearful beauty of ten million years 
from summer-shimmered slopes of lonely hills 
in tangled genes that program how I feel 
when I attend with anxious platitudes 
to daily duties that preserve my soul. 

I feel strange urgency of their despair 
contrive to hurry me on beyond death, 
so I reach hand with curious intent 
to comprehend uncanny gold-moon glow 
that lights night-wanderings of my earnest heart 
when I attempt to plunder Earth of truth. 

Hands gripping jagged concept of fierce height, 
I climb ambitious rock of fissured faith 
to savor fierce blast Zephyr hurls at me 
with mocking joy at fragile state of mind 
where I assert strange utterance of truth 
with brave wisdom of the perilous ridge. 

Alert to invisible workmanship 
that rings harmonious music of my mind 
with discordant elements that alarm 
sanguine sense of studied confidence 
infused in vibrant process of my brain, 
I shout random words at the empty sky. 

More worthy of myself than I admit, 
since I am what I am, designed by genes 
all my ancestors presented to me 
as psychic legacy, I ponder path 
my inner nature drives me to attend 
as I create my fate with every choice. 

I too sail boat of the shepherd with care 
across moon-shining lake of mountain time 
to cavern of the Willow Witch who knows 
desire I harbor in my wounded heart, 
for she sparks passion of creative song 
inspired by love that Nature breathes through me. 

Whole World In One Eye

Whole World In One Eye
© Surazeus
2026 03 06

Yet far over lush green hills of wild trees 
I hear bright fairies with rainbow wings sing 
enchanting melodies of waterfalls 
that lure me through face-blasting wind of fear 
to climb enormous mountain of desire 
so I may see the whole world in one eye. 

Fierce heartbeat of the river shakes my soul 
when mountain voice of timeless beauty roars 
through millions of faceless people who cry 
for salvation from tyranny of hope 
when I climb steep jagged cliff of respect 
so I may see the whole world in one eye. 

Just as I dangle by one trembling hand 
from sharp edge of truth at top of the world, 
frail body buffeted by haughty wind 
blown by my father Jupiter in play, 
I breathe ethereal soul of honest faith 
so I may see the whole world in one eye. 

Weird glowing mask of crystal legacy 
appears through matrix of bright algebra 
with zillion eyes of flashing molecules 
who offers hand of naive providence 
to open cosmic door of energy 
so I may see the whole world in one eye. 

Heart startled by magnetic travesty 
that proves to maximize elective leap, 
I somersault through flashing portal frame 
with brave mercurial wings of innocence 
to leap Earth globes across the multiverse 
so I may see the whole world in one eye. 

Stumbling through clear mist of fantasy 
with calm assertion of predictive fate, 
despite potential fracture time displays, 
inspired by broad perspective of starlight, 
I stand amazed on Sagarmatha Peak 
so I may see the whole world in one eye. 

Entranced by curved partitions of vast lands 
where humans crowd in maze of theaters 
to process jewels from heart of the Earth, 
I map confusing borders of dream states 
that records endless wars to control dirt 
so I may see the whole world in one eye. 

Awake with beauty of our crowded globe, 
where eight billion humans with flashing eyes 
gather in halls to sing hymns for dead gods, 
I recite true name of each living soul 
with joy you are all still in our Dream World 
so I may see the whole world in one eye.