Evade Voice Of Death

Evade Voice Of Death
© Surazeus
2026 04 30

No problematic gestures we express 
may untwist alphabets of moral rules 
in frantic harmony with waterfalls 
that scream our secret names into the void 
where mindless robots play old social roles 
in vain attempt to evade voice of death. 

No eloquent stutter of campaign speech 
should misalign psychic programs of faith 
contrived by preachers of the Holy Word 
to ride the gravy train of false respect 
in boldest scam since cryptocurrency 
fools millions to invest in fantasies. 

No haunting song of plum-tree nightingales 
sparks sublime visions of celestial grace 
to swell from pulsing cortex of my heart 
beyond mercurial strangeness of dire shores 
where ghosts of my ancestors mutely lurk 
in dim plutonian shadows of my mind. 

No ardent monolog of anxious hope 
teems from my brain in tangled curse of fate 
to ponder actions I could boldly take 
with arms against wild sea of troubled times 
and by opposing tyranny of greed 
establish liberty as way to live. 

No thoughtless crime of arrogant assault 
by frightened minions of the bogus king 
will stall my gradual progress to construct 
new global system of social support 
designed to ensure fair justice for all 
who share vision of Heaven we attend. 

No unsolved puzzles fragmenting our state 
could scatter children of the fallen God 
across unmeasured landscape of desire 
without nostalgic journey beyond home 
to colonize far distant lands of fear 
where skull of Hamlet prophesies our fall. 

No complex project shy Cassandra draws 
with Rod of Aaron in hot desert sand 
could unframe fraught ontology of truth 
since no one cares to understand her code 
describing consequence of war we fight 
in campaign to elect new president. 

No fabulous accounts blind bankers tell 
to analyze how fiscal systems fail 
convince our fragile bodies to rebel 
till Phoebus proves gold mask that Midas wears 
was forged from bones of hungry dinosaurs 
in failed attempt to evade voice of death. 

First Mother Of Our Soul

First Mother Of Our Soul
© Surazeus
2026 04 30

Why am I me and no one else alive, 
trapped in the fragile nutshell of my head, 
entangled in strange memories of my mind 
from striving to survive till I am dead? 
Every human alive on Planet Earth 
has been born from First Mother of our soul. 

All humans of the world alive with hope 
share universal frame of reference 
that underlies state of religious tales 
with common themes of heroic success. 
Though I sometimes feel alone in my head 
I feel connected to each soul on Earth. 

I feel prime soul of Ishtar in my heart 
when she gathered us all in temple hall 
to nurture our spirits with feast of faith 
then sang creation of the universe. 
Her vision of how our world operates 
still programs how I perceive our life on Earth. 

Bright goddess who created stars of truth 
stands before congregation of the lost 
and tells us how our world was born from fire, 
then gives advice on how to live life well. 
Our souls are fragments of her primal soul 
as shards of her one puzzle mirror mind. 

Since Death will dissolve me in the end 
and scatter atoms of my body far 
as bright unconscious sparkles of starlight, 
I sing the conscious vision of my mind. 
For I am me alone in all the world, 
one temporary flame of conscious faith. 

I wonder why, out of eight billion souls 
alive this hour on globe of rain and dirt, 
I am conscious only of my own self, 
immortal mind in mortal shell of flesh. 
When Ishtar wakes in visions of my heart 
I play my role in fortune of my fate. 

Since each new choice I make defines my fate, 
I hesitate at crossroads of each change 
to analyze effects of active cause 
because I want to create, not destroy. 
I compose scripture that maps my life goal 
to create conscious souls before I die. 

Since no traveler has ever returned 
from the undiscovered country of death, 
I have no dread of what comes after life 
for I will cease to exist for all time. 
With courage I throw burdens to the wind 
to work great enterprises till I die. 

Scroll Of Serpent Runes

Scroll Of Serpent Runes
© Surazeus
2026 04 29

If I must admit that I have no clue 
how my random quest has lead me to you, 
then I will insist with alacrity 
that our relationship is destiny. 
I have no map to navigate my life 
so I compose my script with sensual strife. 

If you require with acrobatic laugh 
that I buy ticket for the chronograph, 
then we shall time-jump multiversal worlds 
to string our souls in necklace of dream pearls. 
Though I apply to work at psychic firms 
they refuse to accept my puzzle terms. 

If Death comes dancing in her black lace gown 
to help me serve as mayor of world town, 
then I will program clairvoyant devise 
that should debug our fear with sacrifice. 
Despite our dedication to the law 
humans will rule with sharpness of the claw. 

If bird of paradise returns from Hell 
with Scroll of Serpent Runes from the Dream Well, 
then I design social system for all souls 
that rewards people who create new tools. 
We gather in grand stoa by the lake 
to share thought code for exposing the fake. 

If time expands the universe of light 
too far beyond gravity of insight, 
then I drive Spaceship Earth across the void 
to gather lost tribes who are Caucasoid. 
Thus I now identify as the horse 
who bore First Mother to cave of the Force. 

If I write epic tale of castle kings 
that begins and ends when the God Toad sings, 
then I will marry shy Apricot Girl 
whose loving heart blooms the way myrtles curl. 
We must construct strong social institutes 
that protect the weak from the stomp of boots. 

If time unspools accomplishments I claim 
by cursing my soul with fortune and fame, 
then I will dwell in mountains of Guilin 
because Death takes all, though we lose or win. 
Gold mist that gleams on twisted limbs of trees 
enhances solemn power of decrees. 

If star-maker goddess designs my soul 
from contradictions of my prophet role, 
then I will dance in secret ocean cove 
to prove that we are demons of true love. 
I wear the mask of Lucifer at dawn 
to celebrate rebirth of Avalon. 

Virtual Moon Of Faith

Virtual Moon Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 04 29

Foolproof security system of love, 
designed to be more secure by default, 
entangles her heart in frayed network wires 
when she calls her mother late every night 
to ask why she abandoned her when young, 
though annoyed strangers always end her calls. 

Wandering empty streets long after midnight, 
Yejin asks Bear Mother to explain how 
devils that fly upside down can find Heaven, 
since she wants to use color-coding system 
to organize lists of tasks she must do 
with effective method of mind control. 

Hired as guidance and control engineer 
by Asmodeus in castle of skulls, 
Yejin uses simulation software 
to design lunar terrain vehicle 
he sends to explore virtual moon of faith 
where ghosts of great warriors play baseball. 

Eccentric billionaire, rich from gem mines, 
Asmodeus runs startup company 
geared to leverage advanced techniques of hope 
through weird artificial intelligence 
with high-tech vision of the future state 
which nurtures innate talents into skills. 

Gathering delicate mushrooms of truth 
in misty forest of the mountain range, 
Yejin studies chemical properties 
inherent in fragile beauty of truth 
that provides essential ingredients 
for brewing perfume that rejuvenates. 

Surprised by sunrise that gleams indigo 
on far pavilions of observant hills, 
Asmodeus watches with adoration 
manic pixie girl dancing in the corn 
with plan to resurrect Jesus again 
from skull beside Hamlet and Orpheus. 

Restored to bodies of robotic flesh, 
those three prophets of existential dread 
follow clever Yejin with loyalty 
as she fights to free girls from slavery 
till she destroys the world patriarchy, 
then sits on temple roof and plays the flute. 

Awake with joy in his butterfly world, 
Yejin gazes long at Asmodeus 
to understand strange wonder of his heart 
as genius ruler of Plutonium, 
then places wreath of flowers on his head 
and giggles at how cute her devil looks. 

Cloak Of Invisible Faith

Cloak Of Invisible Faith
© Surazeus
2026 04 28

If I find truth before the end of time 
in song of sparrows in old maple trees, 
I might find some jagged mountain to climb 
where no official can charge me late fees, 
or else sail ship of state to Samarkand 
where Hatshepsut dances on shifting sand. 

Though I wear cloak of invisible faith 
Death always seems to find out where I live 
hanging out with Boudica in the laithe 
where I milk cows with eagerness to give 
book of secret techniques to the sad prince 
describing how to make jelly from quince. 

I move to the house my grandfather built 
near Pacific Ocean on Seamount Drive 
where I study math formulas of guilt 
that always spur lazy people to strive 
for great achievements in the Land of Oz 
though I play the rebel without a cause. 

I wander randomly on my vague quest 
to find that Woman is the Holy Grail, 
since my ancestors traveled so far west 
from Scythia along the Oregon Trail 
as the Roman Empire still lives in us 
for we are heirs of hungry Tantalus. 

I stand on street corner by the book store 
to strum the lyre of Mercury and sing 
about divine spirit in iron core 
that spins inside the Earth through pulsing ring 
while people toss me coins as they walk by 
since no one wants to understand the Why. 

We elect greedy thief as president 
who likes to mocks the haughty Hercules 
whose sons rule empire of the occident 
through dialectic of sly Socrates 
as sword he wields to expose fake beliefs 
though Jesus has his own weird leitmotifs. 

Since Child of Aphrodite in silk gown 
brews honeysuckle wine from wounded hearts, 
I call Ghost of Pallas to hide the crown 
beneath rotten apples in broken carts, 
yet busts of emperors on my book shelf 
teach me how to see the thing-in-itself. 

Apple trees produce fruit to reproduce, 
caring not whether we eat them or not, 
so I drink nourishing concept of juice 
while Ophelia waits for me on the yacht, 
yet I write truth I find in Riddle Verse 
because my angel is the Healing Nurse. 

Still-Changing Maze

Still-Changing Maze
© Surazeus
2026 04 28

Lost in still-changing maze of social myths, 
I carry memories of home in my heart 
which shines with ancestral star of my soul 
so I may journey straight toward my life goal 
though Truth keeps shifting frame of reference 
to readjust focus of my world view. 

Blind in still-changing maze of ancient truths, 
I sing electric radiance of my heart 
that echoes clear off high museum walls 
so I know where I am on path of time 
as we progress from warring nation-states 
to global union of factories and farms. 

Helpless in still-changing maze of desire, 
I whisper ephemeral web of hope 
as I crawl cobblestone road of concern 
with blood on my hands and dirt on my face 
from defending fruit garden of my home 
to protect my family from greedy thieves. 

Awake in still-changing maze of mad ghosts, 
I strum the lyre of Mercury with sass 
to deflate pompous tyrants with bad jokes 
when the clown wears plastic crown of the king 
and struts on battleship of cowardice 
to beat his chest with fierce gorilla shriek. 

Amused in still-changing maze of brave cowards, 
I join parade of angels withing wings 
who follow Lucifer with Torch of Truth 
to oppose tyranny of Jupiter 
who lives in quaint cottage across the lake 
where he strolls in woods to commune with Nature. 

Surprised in still-changing maze of wise fools, 
I carve dream runes on trunks of countless trees 
to chronicle whole history of the world 
while glowing clouds cast shadows on the world 
where fishermen hold flowers of respect 
and ask ballerinas to marry them. 

Dazed in still-changing maze of psychic faith, 
I perform role of social architect 
to design global political system 
based on justice and liberty for all, 
then fly Icarus kite in city park 
where wild children turn into butterflies. 

Glad in still-changing maze of sordid facts, 
I must extract aesthetic capital 
from harsh suffering common people endure 
by singing elegy to praise the dead 
who wander labyrinth of timeless dreams 
as wordless shadows trapped in tales of books. 

Circus Of Human History

Circus Of Human History
© Surazeus
2026 04 28

If I parcel territory of dreams 
to house the ghost of every character 
preserved in the text of ten billion tales, 
the vast maze of myths in which they reside 
would cover all the waste lands of the Earth 
where they repeat loop of their lives forever. 

Grateful for Death that will erase my soul 
from the circus of human history, 
I skip with carefree joy on signless road 
past amusement park of America 
to play instead in wistful Wonderland 
where Alice pours tea for the Broken Clock. 

When Lancelot spies from Tower of Pride 
dead Lady of Shallot in Boat of Faith, 
he hustles downstairs to the river shore, 
but finds Ophelia half-drowned instead, 
but when he wades in to rescue the princess 
Gabriel bears her away on swan wings. 

After he escapes from Tower of Hope 
with Broken Clock he stole from the White Queen, 
Icarus wanders in bright Ravenwood 
till he finds lost Lamp of Diogenes 
covered by orange leaves with riddles of faith, 
but Hamlet grabs it first and runs away. 

After working the night shift to make cars 
with artificial intelligence gadgets, 
Grendel drinks beer and watches morning news 
where Cassandra and Bacchus analyze 
labile state of the world economy, 
then walks his dog along the shady lane. 

Escaping her cruel stalker, Romeo, 
Juliet moves to small town in Oregon 
where she works for the county government 
mapping parcel outlines for the tax office, 
so she meets Hamlet at the library 
when they read poetry at the open mic. 

Cinderella visits the hospital 
where Romeo sulks with a broken arm, 
so they eat hamburgers and drink root beer 
while watching drama Alchemy of Souls, 
then plan to mountain climb in Austria 
and maybe marry in Niagara Falls. 

Crucified on the last telephone pole 
somewhere in desert of New Mexico, 
Achilles Christ cries out with anguished voice, 
"Superman, why hast thou forsaken me?" 
then transforms into psycho-robot owl 
who recites Bill of Rights at the White House. 

Choir Of Lost Wanderers

Choir Of Lost Wanderers
© Surazeus
2026 04 27

To raise my hand against the roaring ocean 
I search for sacred diamond of my heart 
that spirals from core of the universe 
so I can discern truth among the lies 
which guides my journey from land of my birth 
to visit every country on the Earth. 

My heart may never settle in one land 
or take root in rich soil beside some river, 
since my ancestors never stayed for long 
in any valley where their fruit trees bloom, 
for someone always drives them from their land 
so they wander on before they get stuck. 

Before roots bind us to this fertile land, 
so we are trapped in cage of paradise, 
we pack our memories in wagon of hope 
and journey onward down the signless road 
to spin four wheels of fortune with tall tales 
and find another vale to live a while. 

Forever immigrant on restless feet, 
fueled by incessant swirl of ocean waves, 
as landless refugee driven away 
by thieves who colonize farms my fathers built,  
and pilfer fruit from trees my mothers tended, 
I follow star of my heart far from Heaven. 

Though I never feel at home in my country, 
since every land where my ancestors dwell 
becomes cemetery where they bones cry, 
I plant fruit seeds on every river shore 
to build ten thousand towns in fertile vales, 
so my home becomes wherever I roam. 

My body sprouts from sorrow of the Earth, 
and my soul writhes from passion of the Sea, 
as I weave wings from feathers of fallen angels 
with mission to transcend bounds of my flesh, 
inspired by luminous phantom of love, 
so I explore the rich world till Death finds me. 

My raised hand strums waves of the roaring ocean 
that ring with vibrant music of lyre strings 
so I can translate her maternal song 
to verse in every language of the Earth 
in hopes that homeless people of the world 
may sing psalms in choir of lost wanderers. 

Now every country in the world is mine 
since I am home in every land I walk 
for all the world is abode of my soul, 
safe shelter where I nest with gracious strangers 
who feed my heart for tales I sing to them, 
then we bid farewell as I journey on. 

Timeless Lyre Of Mercury

Timeless Lyre Of Mercury
© Surazeus
2026 04 27

Since I have accomplished work of my life, 
composing epic of philosophers 
to glorify deeds of searchers for truth 
through tradition of Academia, 
then you may take my hand, beautiful Death, 
and carry me to lush Elysian Fields. 

There I shall lounge for all eternity 
on orchard shores beside the River Styx, 
and strum the timeless lyre of Mercury 
to sing enchanting verses of my heart 
that form Astarian Scriptures I compose 
with you beside me in dream of our tale. 

Beneath veils of purple Wisteria, 
that scent sweet air from bower of our home, 
we chat about strange stories of mankind 
while through sun-glowing flowers bee-wings drone 
that fertilize my heart with timeless truth 
through deep analysis of social games. 

When they arrive on boat that Charon rows 
across the ceaseless tide of life and death, 
I call names of the Lost Ones killed in wars 
though they were scattered far across waste lands, 
so they relax in temple of our hearts 
and drink elixir of old memories. 

Cold as bright moon-rainbow of aching truth, 
ghosts of the countless dead in ring of stones 
dance gracefully with timeless dream of faith 
while skeletons of bodies rot in soil 
to nurture roots of fruit trees up on Earth 
where children find treasures in shadowed woods. 

Feet bleeding from our quest to find the cave 
from which First Mother birthed the human race, 
we climb the winding rocky trail of hope 
to break fetters of slavery and despair 
on endless journey to the Promised Land 
with nothing but tools in our crafting hands. 

Though it seems goodness of the crowded world 
has withered from harsh traumatic abuse 
we suffer struggling to survive each day, 
we give each other fruit we steal from Hell 
and build new Heaven with courageous hands 
so our children inherit paradise. 

When I rot mutely in tomb of my heart, 
Death may call homeless people of the world 
to gather in my mausoleum hall 
and feast on fruit from the generous Earth 
while skull of Orpheus prophecies truth 
and I play lyre of Mercury with sass. 

Old Song His Father Sang

Old Song His Father Sang
© Surazeus
2026 04 27

Small pony gallops on the river shore 
with casual nonchalance of happy hope 
to find the celestial pear tree of truth 
and feast on transient beauty of this world 
while Phoebus plays worn lyre of Mercury 
and sings the same old song his father sang. 

"Regret should not rule how we live each day," 
Phoebus explains to the gold yarrow bloom, 
but sighs and leans against the tall pear tree 
as aching sorrow settles on his heart, 
heavy as river stone no man can move, 
longing to sing old song his father sang. 

Dozing half-asleep in warm late-spring sun, 
Phoebus feels presence of shimmering ghost 
whose long gold hair wraps his mind in soft web, 
so he reaches out his attentive hand 
to caress glamorous haze of her face 
and wakes to see her leaning over him. 

Clear face of Cassandra with dark gold eyes 
fills the whole sky with gleam of her skin, 
so Phoebus stretches and offers her pears, 
then strums strings of worn lyre with inspired hope 
and sings heart-enchanting melody of love 
while she eats fruit with juice-glistening lips. 

Embraced with passion of the turning world, 
Phoebus and Cassandra kiss with delight, 
weaving spirit threads of their pulsing minds 
through shimmering web of the universe, 
which expands scope of compassionate faith 
till they become one soul of nameless joy. 

Setting Cassandra on pony of trust, 
Phoebus leads them along the winding stream 
while she bears basket of pears on her lap, 
toward the large market town on the lake shore 
where she sells pears while he strums taut lyre strings 
to practice same old song his father sang. 

Glowing with pleasure of living their day, 
Phoebus takes hands of Cassandra in his 
so they dance together on the lake shore 
while everyone gathers in temple hall 
to feast and laugh, till they all hush with hope 
to hear Phoebus sing song his father sang. 

"We are frail flowers blooming from the Earth 
who scatter seeds of our souls in the soil 
so our children will bloom from womb of time, 
for, though our bodies may flourish, then wither, 
in seasons of change for thousands of years, 
we are born again in children of love." 

Green Law Of The Tree

Green Law Of The Tree
© Surazeus
2026 04 26

Still inspired by old green law of the tree, 
I send my roots into darkness of fear 
to transform pain into apples of hope 
so I expand scope of my consciousness 
unhindered by bounds of the universe, 
that grants me passage through winter to spring. 

Though naked branches of my spirit tree 
shake in bitter winds of world social change, 
I welcome gulls who fly in from the sea 
with diamonds of wisdom from secret caves 
where Hecate brews wine from dragon blood 
that gives my eyes power to see beyond. 

I proudly ride head of Leviathan 
when she emerges from Ocean of Dreams 
to give my apparition mask of faith 
so I may walk on water of my heart 
to expose beauty through its ugliness 
when profound horror of time gives me life. 

Great Mother of Visions with hands of light 
quickens my heart with passion for truth 
so I honor Genetrix of the Earth 
who urges tides of love to swell my mind 
so I lounge in seductive revery 
with you in shadow of our solitude. 

Drinking milk disbursed by mother of stars, 
I twirl with abandon inside Stonehenge 
from careless laughter at absurdity 
till I see shining lady on the hill 
who scatters seeds from green law of the tree 
so we may colonize the world with farms. 

For good of the people who trust my word 
I serve their needs with magic mysteries 
to nurture hidden talents into skills 
so everyone contributes to our cause 
to enhance our food-production machine 
with power of ideas in the heart. 

Mothering Angels with eyes full of stars 
teach us how to sing visions of our eyes 
so we sharpen sticks and gather sharp stones, 
prepared to fight with courage of respect 
by waging war to secure global peace 
while bees brew honey for the world to eat. 

Though loneliness glimmers in hollow hearts 
of people who lose people they love most, 
bright anguish they pour in absence of faith 
sprouts back to life from green law of the tree 
which blossoms holy fruit for us to share 
so we transform our sorrow to rich joy. 

Tangled Dreams Of Fear

Tangled Dreams Of Fear
© Surazeus
2026 04 26

When angel of my heart burns through the sky 
with absolute desire to know the truth, 
she weaves my mind from tangled dreams of fear 
to strengthen me with brave audacity 
so I may climb ambitious peak to touch 
primal light of the sun that knows my name. 

Through prism of each raindrop on soft leaves 
I see electric raven with gold eyes 
who asks me if I know name of each soul 
killed by men with greed past million years 
so I carve letters of their vanished minds 
in shifting sands of time on beach of fate. 

Time-flashing rays of light from crystal eye, 
which dreams at center of the swirling sun, 
weave my body with atoms of respect 
for I am spirit of the Earth in flesh 
who seeks to understand nature of light 
that glows as consciousness from my sponge brain. 

Deep in temple of Karnak at Luxor 
the star-eyed angel holds light in her hands 
that beams our souls to center of the Earth 
so we feel giant planet of our hearts 
dreaming through kaleidoscope of our eyes 
so we remember how our world was born. 

Electric angel with black velvet wings 
assembles shards of stories from old tales 
to align fragments of our memories 
in flowing puzzle of world history 
where name of every soul who ever lives 
gleams in tapestry on stone temple wall. 

Grasping my hands with sensitive concern, 
electric angel sings with haunting voice, 
"If I can prevent just one fragile heart 
from breaking into shards of aching sorrow, 
my temporary tenure on this Earth 
shall not be fruitless endeavor of faith." 

Though I cannot play God for anyone, 
though we are emanations of Earth Soul, 
I dare assert intention of respect 
to shine with luminous beauty of love 
while curled with you in privacy of trust 
so we generate life before we die. 

Unnoticed by microscopic device, 
composed with diesel fuel of diamond eyes, 
I give myself with anguish of desire 
to tantalizing faith in nothingness 
that sparks frail flame of my glowing soul 
though bitter storm looms black over our world. 

Ghosts Trapped In Wells

Ghosts Trapped In Wells
© Surazeus
2026 04 26

Associated works of trashed respect 
delude the brave to believe their strong souls 
need no wings to escape death. Ardent faith 
fails to frame fantasy with real thought codes 
as if sparrows are no longer realists 
who translate divine truth for troubadours. 

Fountains in city squares ask loyalists 
to find and map rebels on hidden roads. 
Mothers, who linger without tears in doors 
of vain hope, knit sweaters for the frail wraith 
weeping in the garden. Demons expect 
everyone to memorize their new roles. 

Mixed up with pieces of puzzles, unsolved 
by blind children who invent languages, 
my private words escape from fragile shells 
of subjective truth. I prefer to swim 
deep into blue silence of the Dream Sea 
to find your name tangled in cable wires. 

Therefore, fill my holy grail to the brim 
so I may drink blood from ghosts trapped in wells 
of serpentine runes. Death directs mute choirs 
of angels who perform as hostages. 
I like to study life forms that evolved 
fish to wingless angel, which designs Me. 

Exceptional skill in weaving stale words 
in vibrant tapestries of fairy tales 
traps the jester in quest to explain why. 
Yet the young policeman in the small town 
believes his mission to be just the same 
as the one Superman performs on stage. 

Since we are trapped in our commercial game 
of purchasing products from the grim clown, 
we will barbecue demons in the cage 
of honesty. Icarus learns to fly 
by jumping off the cliff of hungry whales 
who ask Jesus if he can make them birds. 

Reverse psychology will never work 
on flamboyant Bacchus in scarlet gown 
who cries in the kitchen. Electric clock 
that mutates above the castle fireplace 
sternly asks him why he abandoned Eve 
halfway up the mountain in freezing snow. 

While baking apple pies by shipping dock, 
Eve spies Bacchus who pretends not to lurk 
in the bookstore where he buys human face 
to fool the Furies. They attend the show 
starring the Ballerina and the Clown, 
yet no one in the audience wants to grieve. 

Ego Of Sly Pettiness

Ego Of Sly Pettiness
© Surazeus
2026 04 26

The strangest aspect about the Third Man, 
who lets cool rats play pool with his eyeballs, 
is how he paints planets on bowling balls, 
then stands outside gate of the factory 
and plays dissonate melodies of despair 
on broken guitar with five rusty strings. 

Embracing ego of sly pettiness 
through innate talent of the snarky jibe, 
the Third Man takes his face off in the glare 
of spotlights gleaming on the creaking stage, 
then shouts electric satire of despair 
in silent void above highways of cars. 

Empowered by negative interdicts, 
stones of contempt hurled with mocking insults, 
the Third Man tangles lines of sizzling words 
in tattered wings he found on jagged rocks 
by sea shore with eager Icarus fell, 
then pontificates on world theater stage. 

Stacking bricks of baked mud in pyramids 
on solid foundation of shifting sands, 
the Third Man builds cave in heart of the Earth 
where ghost of his ancestor with sharp stick 
fights monstrous dragon of the wounded soul, 
then barbecues burgers in the state park. 

Pretending he is not the seventh son 
who falls in love with fourth daughter of Death, 
the Third Man spreads honey on molded bread 
while bragging about every game he won 
till the butterfly girl in hippie skirt 
marries the banker who runs Babylon. 

Excited about joining the circus of clowns 
who tour country towns sea to shining sea, 
the Third Man milks the sad cow before dawn, 
then stands outside grocery stores to preach 
about the second coming of the king 
who will appear on the purple giraffe. 

Exhausted by attempts to fool the squares 
who live normal lives, working eight to five, 
the Third Man leans against greasy phone pole 
and watches cars zoom past for ninety hours 
till wise tortoise of the waste land arrives 
to teach him lessons in morality. 

The most boring thing about the Third Man, 
who sews secret messages inside shirts, 
is how he is an expert at spreadsheets 
and longs to work as the accountant clerk 
at the company that sells kitchen ware 
because his girlfriend who died loved to cook. 

Futile Hope For Liberty

Futile Hope For Liberty
© Surazeus
2026 04 25

When the black-necked crane of her wounded heart 
flaps mordantly above pale bare-limbed woods, 
Yi Soo-ah leans back in red leather seat 
and sighs with rattle of fast iron wheels 
in train that winds along the river shore 
far away from house where her mother died. 

Late winter shadows of high mountain peaks 
shroud valley of plum trees in thoughtful hope 
at haunting melody of the jade flute 
because she is unaccustomed to grief 
that guides her way along the unseen track 
outside classifiable frame of faith. 

Walking alone along the winding road 
among plum trees that rustle secret truths, 
Yi Soo-ah pauses by the cement bridge 
and gazes shocked at the car-wounded deer 
that trembles halfway down steep slope of weeds 
till she kneels and cries for its innocence. 

Though we exist in world of fragile souls, 
our hearts swell strong with bravery of fear 
at flash of silver clouds over bare trees, 
Yi Soo-ah whispers to the flowing stream 
that shimmers over time-smoothed stones of fate, 
yet wonders if the sparrow understands. 

Small sparrow with chestnut crown and gold wings 
explains that all organic bodies die 
but atoms forming frames of psychic force 
fall in soil where roots transform them to plums, 
so Yi Soo-ah plucks purple fruit of hope 
and gasps with pleasure to consume Rain Soul. 

Startled at sudden clatter in the woods, 
Yi Soo-ah backs against the power pole 
when older gray-haired man in prison suit, 
face and arms streaked with blood of urgent fear,  
stumbles on the road and falls to his knees, 
heart clanging with terror of wordless truth. 

Pressing thick blood-stained book of poetry 
in careful distress of her trembling hands, 
the gray-haired prisoner stares in her eyes 
with ache of longing that she understands, 
then flees into grim shadow of the woods 
when platoon of soldiers with guns appear. 

Wincing at gunfire and scream of despair, 
Yi Soo-ah runs dusty road into town, 
slouches on bench outside small grocery store, 
and drinks cold soda as she shakes from shock, 
then cries quietly as she reads his poems 
about his futile hope for liberty. 

Men Fight Brutal Wars

Men Fight Brutal Wars
© Surazeus
2026 04 25

With confidence great as the ocean wave 
Sylphus glides among the star-singing trees 
to consume apples in ruby-bright cave, 
then chats philosophy with honey bees 
to understand why men fight brutal wars 
which leaves women weeping behind locked doors. 

Alert to butterflies that drop steel bombs, 
Sylphus shrinks houses to models in crates, 
then frolics in meadow with laughing lambs 
in clever plan to fool killer robots 
who march in crusade under the Red Cross, 
enforcing strict rule that Jesus is Boss. 

Startled by shriek of the innocent crow, 
Sylphus builds safe shelters for refugees 
who pray and give thanks to the golden cow 
while binding books in empty libraries 
to hide from loathing of corporate kings 
who want to enslave the princess who sings. 

Astride white horse on the wild carousel, 
Sylphus leads angels to stop World War Three 
when tyrants fight for the Alphabet Well 
where serpent runes nominate Liberty 
as empress who judges what love is worth 
to support United Nations of Earth. 

Stopping in the snowless woods before dusk, 
Sylphus searches for ghost of Lucifer 
who wears my secret face as shaman mask, 
and sings on darkest evening of the year 
about heroic soul of suffering 
that wakes in hearts of every human being. 

Amazed at beauty of the mountain lake, 
Sylphus plots revolution of the just 
because we are no more than cosmic dust 
commissioned to expose tales of the fake, 
then joins his brothers on the fishing boat 
who tease him for his many-colored coat. 

Assigned the most difficult task of all, 
Sylphus codes social system for the state 
organized around the posh shopping mall 
because each person chooses their own fate 
while stumbling awkwardly on road of life, 
learning lessons in overcoming strife. 

With arrogance brave as the skittish cat, 
Sylphus rules the world in Tower of Eyes 
by analyzing facts gathered by spies 
who build glass idols of Jehoshaphat 
then eat pizza and watch fantasy shows 
contrived by wizards of dream studios. 

Her Smile Sparks My Heart

Her Smile Sparks My Heart
© Surazeus
2026 04 25

Because her smile sparks my heart to expand 
scope of conscious truth to include the world 
in brave attention of generous love, 
I dedicate my life to guard her life, 
protecting her body and soul from harm 
so she generates life before she dies. 

This noble principle of honest hope 
has been my goal for countless lives on Earth 
as I incarnate in new flames of flesh 
four hundred million years from fish to god 
in solemn project to nurture life 
so we continue to thrive till the end. 

In each new life, we spring from womb of hope, 
we face new obstacles on road of change 
that threatens to annihilate our souls 
and crush our genes to squirming worms in mud, 
so we breathe deep celestial soul of love 
as we transform to bright angel of joy. 

Strange sense of strong immortality 
vibrates in neural network of my brain 
that fools me to believe I may transcend 
this temporary frame of fragile flesh, 
but conscious sense of self I feel as me 
will vanish when this body rots to dust. 

Illusion that my soul lives after death, 
as self-contained sense of my conscious self, 
deceives my heart with blinding pride that I 
will resurrect from rotten corpse of faith 
because adults with desperate eyes of fear 
convinced me Jesus will raise us from death. 

While walking signless road in the waste land 
halfway across the Rocky Mountain range, 
returning east on road of desperate hope 
which my ancestors walked centuries ago 
to find the Promised Land out in the west, 
I realize we are nothing when we die. 

My conscious soul is function of my brain, 
powered by chemicals of primal light 
that flares forth from first flash of the big bang, 
my temporary sense of self sparked bright 
by immortal atoms of divine thought, 
so I will disappear after I die. 

Immortal soul of genes will generate 
new body from its code when we embrace 
to spark new life from energy of love, 
so though we die and disappear in wind 
our children will preserve immortal genes, 
at least till the sun burns Earth into ash. 

Star Stone Of Inspiration

Star Stone Of Inspiration
© Surazeus
2026 04 25

With no surprising ending to our song 
we wander blissfully along the ocean 
to gather sharp fragments of the star stone 
that streaked in shock across the shining heavens 
because celestial flames of divine love 
flicker inside their cores with soul salvation. 

Sweet graceful woman of our ocean tribe 
gazes in prophecy stone of perception 
where she dreams successful growth of our way 
transforming into empires of her vision, 
so we follow her dance on shifting sands 
when she mutates into the snow-white raven. 

Exhausted from our journey on stone paths, 
we rest beneath the Crying Elm of Sorrow 
which spreads broad canopy of gentle care, 
one of Four Trees of Earth that give us shelter 
from howling storm, that shatters crystal skies, 
swirling from bitter hatred of Rain Dragon. 

When lightning shatters Crying Elm to shards 
and blasts our paradise into cruel desert, 
we wander weeping in ruins of sand, 
hearts bleak with hungry fear of desperation, 
till raven woman of our ocean tribe 
raises high her Star Stone of Inspiration. 

Masking fear of death with bold bravery 
to hide arrogance of her trepidation, 
Pearl Raven Princess holding bright star stone 
guides our journey to recreate our future 
by changing our fate with each choice we make 
to focus our attention on creation. 

Grove of peach trees, heavy with ripe sun fruit, 
that blooms on lush shore of the singing river 
provides generous bounty as reward 
for strict discipline of our loving labor, 
so we build high stone walls of paradise 
to form from ruins of hell our new Heaven. 

Ten thousand years we cultivate peach trees 
that grow tall from Star Stone of Inspiration, 
transforming from village of humble homes, 
where workers thrive with calm communication, 
to vast metropolitan maze of streets 
where we drive cars in race of corporations. 

Programmed by ancient struggles to survive, 
based on experience of all my ancestors, 
I strive to create rather than destroy 
social system that drives civilization 
in global baby-production machine 
that guides us with Star Stone of Inspiration. 

Mirror Eye Of God

Mirror Eye Of God
© Surazeus
2026 04 24

When I gaze deep in mirror eye of God 
I see every soul who has ever lived 
on every planet in the universe 
since first flash flared forth into the White Whole 
for we are atoms shining in the void 
as we awake in neural nets of brains. 

While I gaze long in mirror eye of God 
I relive life of every conscious soul 
who struggles to overcome weaknesses 
and transcend limits of our mortal flesh 
to comprehend vastness of time and space 
for one short hour of timeless ecstasy. 

Floating faceless in mirror eye of God 
that gazes down at me on ball of dirt, 
I feel immensity of vibrant hope 
radiate from spiraling core of our world 
through emanation of unconscious light 
that sparks my soul awake inside my brain. 

Dancing wildly in mirror eye of God 
that gazes at the world through my small eyes, 
I sing soul-haunting melody of faith 
with joy that I am so alive this fleeting hour 
for my short span of shining consciousness 
though time will snuff my soul to nothingness. 

So I wear mask with mirror eye of God 
refracting psychic energy of love 
through flashing prism of my neural brain 
when I see you with kaleidoscope eyes 
integral part of our strange otherness 
as we embrace and kiss to know the truth. 

Now I dream you with mirror eye of God 
to frame our random wanderings in tale 
composed to spark romantic honesty 
that binds our bodies in tangle of love 
so we generate life before we die 
to live another million years in joy. 

Together bound by mirror eye of God, 
two souls from opposite sides of the world, 
we journey far across waste land of desire 
to build our own private Heaven in Hell 
so we tend garden of our paradise 
where our children play free in Wonderland. 

Souls reflected through mirror eye of God, 
nameless strangers giving each other names, 
we play our roles in drama of the world 
creating art that conjures from our dreams 
virtual model of strange reality 
before time erases us from our Earth. 

Tumult Of Distracting Lust

Tumult Of Distracting Lust
© Surazeus
2026 04 24

Clear concision of our unmeasured thought 
contains assertive chaos of desire 
that frames immaculate anxiety 
of strange vistas beyond imagining, 
succinct as subtle decibels that beam 
beauty through realm of possibilities. 

Diligent with disordered discipline, 
we order tumult of distracting lust 
which enflames boundless plains of purity 
where comets outline golden way of hope 
we follow with shameless analysis 
to admire abundance of honeyed spoils. 

Drenched with refraction of devout respect, 
that shimmers with fractals of vanities, 
we speak of pleasant hours from honesty 
through circumspection of unconscious art 
because we extract unknown quantities 
of precise wisdom based on chemistry. 

Disentangled from brave lucidity, 
according to assessments of impacts 
implied by habitual riddles of love, 
we wound each other with confounding codes 
achieved through reversal of nothingness 
that means some other thing we cannot solve. 

Precarious on brink of stated facts, 
we dare administer horror of joy 
tainted with indifference nature plays, 
genteel with graceful sadness of contempt 
considered logical through turbulence, 
polite with seething energy of hope. 

I turn away and gaze beyond my face, 
transfixed by stony stare of faceless ghosts, 
to watch historical events unfold 
with tumbling randomness of bitter fate 
through blazing star-eye of the universe 
as sweepstakes winner of the Afterlife. 

Cloaked with humility of well-earned pride, 
as brave epitome of butterflies, 
I sing enchanting hymn to long-dead gods 
with charmed cadence of storm-stirred ocean waves 
to break free from marble idol of Me 
with calm assertion of the wingless hawk. 

Lovers entranced by glamor-mask we wear, 
intimate with gentle laughter of faith, 
we strip away illusions we had made 
to find real essence of our Otherness 
we share by kissing in light of the moon, 
then tending herb garden just after dawn. 

Still Married To My Muse

Still Married To My Muse
© Surazeus
2026 04 23

Though forced to seek anew some fresher stamp 
presenting noble subject of my camp, 
I grant myself still married to my Muse 
who tempts me to adjudicate the news 
by daring to record destructive deeds 
through paintings that encode our psychic needs. 

My special nature, glorified by fate, 
traps me in curse to guard the jeweled gate 
against incursion proffered by lame thieves 
who limp from tomb where humble widow grieves 
from failed attempt to steal her loving eyes 
through vain expression hollow prayers devise. 

Since I alone in our vast universe 
am no one else but me, I purchase curse 
contrived to spoil alert equality 
against brave blessings from banality 
that we exchange by selling fantasies 
immured in confines of false dignities. 

Tongue-tied by praise of loyal characters, 
more precious to death than stale aquifers, 
I wield with bravery golden quill of truth 
to prove myself wise as unlettered sleuth 
when strangers clutching books of frantic tales 
ask me to solve problems cruel faith entails. 

In polished form of my soul-searing pen 
I measure tangled chaos love would win 
since urgent spirit animates my chord 
with solemn hymn no angel can afford, 
yet mortal pride of my too precious boast 
strands my broken heart on the storm-lashed coast. 

Full sail in ship of state my conscious steers, 
I will explore strange lands with my compeers 
who kneel astonished by clear mountain lake 
that their intelligence considers fake, 
enfeebled by familiar ghost of time 
who crowns as Emperor of Earth the mime. 

Clear charter of your worth excites my hope 
that Jupiter will teach me how to cope 
with undeserving richness of true love 
which flatters me with royal light above 
though I determine death erases all 
while we dance laughing in the waterfall. 

No better judgement could I render right 
than how we are acquainted with the night 
to prove we are as virtuous through faith 
as time-untwisting laughter of the wraith 
who recognizes power of my Muse 
whose weird spell may bomb of my heart defuse. 

Preserving Green Space

Preserving Green Space
© Surazeus
2026 04 23

Though hope creates sustainability 
from important design problem of faith, 
Carla walks quickly along city street 
past store fronts selling illusions of truth, 
ignoring crescent moon in the blue sky, 
intent on getting back to work on time. 

Scalable system for nationwide growth 
inspires Carla with passionate respect 
to outline methods for analysis 
which monitors biodiversity 
based on ascension of rickety stairs 
through frantic doors of cracked anxiety. 

Complex projects for preserving green space 
between old factories and shopping malls 
align with current operational modes 
which Carla plots for future management, 
designed to maximize living expense 
based on calculations of hunger strikes. 

Arranging data collected from fields 
about technical challenges of use, 
Carla tabulates random facts of fear 
which might untangle communal concerns 
for psychic erosion of social trust 
managed by flexible platforms of faith. 

Global datasets of spatialized scope, 
supplied by government warehouse of truth, 
provides Carla with conceptual regrets 
to shore against ruins of mental zones, 
constrained by progress of urban decay, 
where gangs of lost children prefer to play. 

Developing bold strategies to arrest 
regressive destruction of classic frames, 
Carla sketches ideal patterns of change 
that depict uncontrollable time flips 
with attentive focus on channeling 
forces of passion through productive law. 

Staring out office window of her heart 
at people walking up and down the street, 
Carla longs for ancient systems of life 
on communal farms along river shores 
where people first formed brave communities 
to help each other survive against death. 

Clutching bag full of documents and fears, 
Carla rides on the crowded city bus 
through the endless maze of buildings and parks, 
then drinks chamomile tea on futon couch 
and pets her kitten with alien eyes 
while she sketches fairies dancing in moonlight. 

Rubber Wheels Of Flight

Rubber Wheels Of Flight
© Surazeus
2026 04 22

Star angels seem to follow me around 
while I am driving on the busy road, 
adjusting speed of passionate desire 
to keep from hitting souls of other cars 
because we race endless circles of hope 
to catch the rainbow falling from the sky. 

My fingers dance on keyboard of weird spells 
to weave illusions that reflect the world 
of pulsing objects, formed of chemicals, 
that fool me into thinking I am God 
till Death erases my soul from the world, 
and all my atoms become other things. 

I watch the red light till it flashes green, 
then I assert my vain right to exist 
as metal shell on rubber wheels of flight, 
bright angel transformed to frail human being 
assigned strange name that honors long-dead god 
who drives with millions on vast maze of roads. 

Parking my car in garage of false fame, 
I walk with crowd of gods in human form 
to work all day in office of insight 
where I map multiverse of proxy worlds 
as half-aspects of one vast universe 
composing puzzle programmed from my dreams. 

Severe thought static, translating dream songs 
from tangled cantos of unique syntax 
trademarked by serpent of the well, expands 
scope of my conscious attention to facts 
encoded in moral tales of concern 
that invoke syndrome of unscheduled truth. 

Unlicensed lecture, expressed by shy god, 
shows me how to manage with legal jokes 
tense energy of our Daemonium 
who performs role with correspondent wit 
of Sign Giver who speaks with Inner Voice 
to guide my journey to the Promised Land. 

Excerpt of famished framework, glorified 
by solemn angel born from river stone, 
who appears to me as gleam of pure light, 
reveals entrapment trick they play on me 
till I escape high walls of paradise 
with one last apple full of fertile seeds. 

Through featured tropes of graphic interface 
I dare conceal strange program of my heart 
by which I forecast state of world affairs 
through clumsy assessment of bankrupt laws 
that helps me solve weird problem of my soul 
too beautiful for brokerage of death. 

Wise Spirit Of Anahita

Wise Spirit Of Anahita
© Surazeus
2026 04 22

Awake in gloaming of our endless day, 
with fierce impatience of the fractured moon, 
I measure wholeness of conceptual fields 
where hungry people tend vineyards of faith, 
and wait for Anahita to arrive 
with jar of water from her sacred pool. 

Her long black hair flowing in evening wind, 
Anahita walks among refugees 
from civil wars that destroyed family homes, 
and pours fresh water in cracked bowls of hope 
so they may drink sweet spirit of the Earth 
that resurrects their hearts from bleak despair. 

Assassins cloaked in blue suits of contempt 
surround brave goddess of water and health 
with evil intent to clamp her in chains 
and force her to kneel before Angra Mainyu 
in humble submission to his desire, 
but she defies his daevas with strong will. 

While Anahita fights daevas with courage, 
Ahura Mazda arrives on white horse, 
leading army of brave warriors with spears, 
they made from pines of Hara Berezaiti, 
who defend people of Assyria 
and protect wise Anahita from harm. 

Awake with wise spirit of Anahita, 
whose courage animates my heart with love, 
I fight destructive force of lies and hate, 
embodied by cruel tyrant in gold tower 
who tries to enslave people of the world 
as mindless workers in his factories. 

Her eyes gleaming bright yellow as topaz, 
Anahita stands on high ziggurat, 
wearing crown of Ishtar with humble pride 
and bearing wand of Inanna with love, 
to organize free peoples of the world 
law-bound in United Nations of Earth. 

Though Midas wrecks institutions of peace, 
and Pluto grasps at false rainbow of wealth, 
we join brave goddess of wisdom and truth 
to build Zarathia through Liberty 
from ruins of rapacious nation-states, 
ensuring justice and freedom for all. 

Though tyrants attempt with aggressive hate 
to destroy wise spirit of Anahita, 
collective energy of psychic power, 
that beams from heart of every soul on Earth, 
weaves matrix of our faith in shield of hope 
to support fertile goddess of our love. 

Purity Of Secret Names

Purity Of Secret Names
© Surazeus
2026 04 22

Elemental clarity of strange facts, 
based on physical solidness of flesh, 
renews psychic experience of the real 
combined with purity of secret names 
we utter as pure prayers of honest faith 
to conjure spirit of the best we are. 

Simple sentiment of our valid prayer 
denies significance buried in mud 
when name we utter with urgent concern 
conceals apprehension our brains adjust 
through imaginative bracketing of fate 
that sparks immanent transcendence of self. 

If my true self, expanding from my heart, 
coheres to object of essential being 
when I wear gold ring of reluctant faith, 
I flip attention of perceptive force 
with quaint discretion of the country road 
so objects I name vanish into dust. 

Through insistence of frantic ardency 
on primacy of the image, that mirrors 
real emotions seething in frames of thought, 
we package subjective feelings of hope 
till name and referent of truth collide, 
which conjures illusion we think is real. 

Whole operation of social control 
connotes feast of love we share in glass church 
so fluctuating time is overcome 
by fraught transfiguration we endure 
if the dead who have lost their sacred names 
dare return to the living without faith. 

If we return to lost wholeness of faith, 
contained within high walls of paradise, 
we may stain Garden of Eden with prayers 
while trapped by fortune within givenness 
of individual experience through spells 
that we record in books angels will burn. 

Entranced by mystic vision of my soul 
sparked awake by light of immortal stars, 
I stride jauntily over pulsing grass 
to mark scrupulous field of reference 
that maintains timeless meaning of our hearts 
fractured into particles of fake words. 

Since my brain is conduit for God Soul 
to express important concepts of truth, 
I scatter riddles of unshadowed stars 
when time folds dimensions of luckless fate 
through archaic technique of language games 
that free our bodies from religious faith. 

Madonna Of The Snows

Madonna Of The Snows
© Surazeus
2026 04 22

Sapphires in strong hands of Ithuriel 
reflect turquoise waters of mountain lake 
where specter of the rose blooms in his heart, 
so he kneels among frail Edelweiss blooms 
and drinks innocent spirit of the Earth 
while graceful swans float in crystalline light. 

Curving swan-necks of women in white robes 
arch with elegant form of timeless trees 
that drop apples and pears into their hands 
while their guardian angel Ithuriel 
protects their souls from wild wolves in dark woods, 
so they laugh and play with innocent grace. 

Bending among white Camellia shrubs, 
in satin dress that shimmers white as clouds, 
Titania caresses petals of hope 
and smiles with soft seductive gentleness 
at grim Ithuriel who wields sharp sword, 
yet ignores distraction of her blue eyes. 

Skin white as moonlight on smooth glacier ice, 
Titania twirls slow under willow tree 
so pearls against her breasts glitter with trust 
that Death, bedazzled by beauty of life, 
will pass her by beneath vast azure sky 
when she reaches her arm to pluck ripe pear. 

Beneath bright snow that gleams on river shore, 
Ithuriel finds ruby gem of love 
when heat of passion melts his heart with hope, 
so he retrieves bright jewel from hard Earth 
and offers it with humble reticence 
to Titania pretending to be shy. 

Dipping silver cup in cold fountain pool, 
Titania offers undine tears of lonely hope 
so grim Ithuriel accepts her gift 
and drinks chilly liquor of happiness 
while gazing at Madonna of the Snows 
whose fingers caress his hard blushing cheek. 

Flutter of Sphinx wings in cold gusting wind 
signifies approach, in wind-snapping cape, 
when Seraphita strides into the grove, 
silver tiara with seven sapphires 
radiating her royal authority, 
so Ithuriel bows before his wife. 

Retreating quickly to her small white boat, 
Titania rows across the turquoise lake 
while gazing with jealousy of false hope 
at vigorous guardian angel with sharp sword 
who steals adoring glance at graceful girl 
while bowing before Queen of Everywhere. 

Figures Of False Truth

Figures Of False Truth
© Surazeus
2026 04 22

Dire signs that adumbrate social collapse 
blind hearts of men with ciphers of star code 
which isolate bodies of frantic hope 
from our incognizant roses of wrath, 
so brave men pose as figures of false truth 
who wander stranded on the psychic moon. 

Intelligent inscriptions in dead books 
reveal bland prophecies of humble deeds 
performed by heroes with arrogant seeds 
designed to charge engines of farming trucks 
despite the broken light of autumn nights 
that scrambles riddles of national fates. 

If I imagine strangers on the street 
while pondering alone in doorless house, 
weird truth beats crow wings that excites the clown 
who conjures demons from the wood prayer bead 
which steals courtesy from soft hands of trees 
since world economy is based on bees. 

Savage powers at parties of the rich 
reclaim social machine of money games 
contrived by mad god of the River Thames 
who spends all day painting his picket fence 
to prove the universe of measured time 
derives from laughter of the selfless mime. 

White moon that gleams old words on river shore 
explains that every star I see in gloom, 
which scribes sacred maps on walls of my room, 
burned out long before my spirit was born, 
so when she rings the doorbell of my heart 
I buy one pear from her rickety cart. 

Unnoticed references that age each hour 
appear from swirling sea of honesty 
as brave leviathan with crystal key 
which opens huge door of my mental tower 
with unexpected passion that love feigns 
to order waves of thoughts in tangled lines. 

Since Death teaches me art of minstrelsy, 
I sing conceptual hymns of wounded souls 
who writhe as serpents in innocent wells, 
therefore men must learn art of chivalry 
from gallant Cave Bear, tamed by Socrates, 
so they can rule their empire colonies. 

Folk music from the vinyl record chinks 
with earnest passion of the suffering man 
about how life flows swift as hour-glass sand 
in vain attempt to counter social jinx 
cast with mute fear by figures of false truth 
who seek divine answers in mundane math. 

God Is Not The Other

God Is Not The Other
© Surazeus
2026 04 21

God is not the Other of anywhere, 
for God is the substance of everything 
that exists as light in the everywhere, 
so vibrant emanation of my soul 
radiates from cosmic core of the God Soul 
that composes essence of the White Whole. 

Inspired by quietness of God, I sing 
never-ending song of the human heart 
that channels conscious energy of stars 
in music water waves articulate 
to comprehend strange otherness of light 
that reflects our own face as Face of God. 

I study Otherness of the vast world 
and wonder if some super-mind perceives 
small temporary frame of fragile flesh 
that nurtures sparkling flame of conscious self 
who wakes inside my brain with flash of faith 
which makes me feel immortal at this hour. 

Awake in present body of my Self, 
I glow with countless memories of life 
all my ancestors lived from birth to birth 
while I evolve four hundred million years 
so immortal soul of my genes migrates 
as vibrant thread of conscious agency. 

God is reflection of my conscious soul 
which I project at surface of the world 
so I feel every atom in all things 
vibrate with pure celestial thought of light, 
yet I exist in bounds of time and space, 
contained within this temporary mind. 

I am this Other in my dreaming brain 
as separate entity of conscious thought 
who swims in swirling matrix sea of light 
till I dissolve to fragments of God Mind, 
unless I generate new life with you 
so we live as one soul beyond our death. 

Though I am stuck inside this frame of flesh, 
contained by limits of my space in time, 
my mind expands scope of attentive care 
to dream eternity of timeless joy, 
spruced by infinity of boundless flight, 
awake in every soul who ever lives. 

My mother tells me God is Everywhere, 
so I search for God in the Otherness 
where I sense bright atomic forms of things, 
till I find God inside my dreaming brain, 
then I play guitar at the city gate 
and sing endless tale of humanity. 

Vital Boundary Of Should

Vital Boundary Of Should
© Surazeus
2026 04 21

If I maintain my rendezvous with Death 
in fertile light of the ultimate good, 
I may inherit miraculous breath 
far across vital boundary of should, 
since I thrive through social obscurity 
with starlight in gloom of security. 

Preserved as nameless ghost in field of time, 
I spring unborn out of the Central Mind 
by which my character performs as mime 
for state ontology my brain designed 
in that uncertain hour before red dawn 
reveals forgotten spirit of the pawn. 

Blown by indifferent wind of careless fate, 
I wander toward familiar compound ghost 
of every person I meet by the gate 
who may still cherish me as Temple Host, 
assumed as faceless stranger without goal 
who waits for me to assign them their role. 

We tangle alien languages of faith 
in hybrid code of misunderstood truth 
that weaves new vision of the cosmic wraith 
who appoints mad fool as messiah sleuth 
with mission to revive the empire force 
which we derive from wyrd celestial source. 

I find my body on the distant shore, 
where I left robot of my secret self, 
to chronicle success of the Dream Store 
extracted from books of myth on the shelf 
composed by angel of the bloody wing 
who gives me Lyre of Mercury to sing. 

That bitter tastelessness of shadow fruit, 
which offers promise of divine insight, 
fools no one but cruel thief who dares to shoot 
in shameless bid to gain control of light 
which I oppose with motive to maintain 
productive peace where everyone may gain. 

Brave speech may purify strange dialect 
our tribe employs with calm alacrity, 
but through conceptual diction we project 
expanding scope of psychic ministry 
to weave all languages of Earth in one 
with the microphone rather than the gun. 

Still meditating in the Yellow Wood 
on which road of the future I will take, 
I map my vital boundary of should 
to ensure my story is real, not fake, 
so I stride boldly on the misty heath 
to keep my honest rendezvous with Death. 

Mystic Of The Absolute

Mystic Of The Absolute
© Surazeus
2026 04 20

Considered mystic of the absolute, 
shy Sylphus mounts the wingless horse of pain 
and flies with casual fear to Camelot 
where Daedalus invents mortgage machine 
to maintain neutral stance of spectral pride, 
silver with shadow of the deified. 

Supreme assurance of arrogant vote 
presents voyeur of our trademark concern 
for which Wonder Minion will play the bait 
that lures blind vampire to deserted barn 
where he is forced to milk the money cow 
while Gabriel operates the dream plow. 

Threshold of welfare, troubled to transform 
bodies of children to robots of faith, 
denies attempts to cross unvoltaged term 
we urban ghosts decide erases myth 
despite transference of the ego mask, 
tempted to drink sweet soma from the flask. 

Recording process of world social storm 
that shatters institutes of global peace, 
brave Sylphus visits temple without charm 
where grim Amaterasu names her price 
for selling sacred bronze mirror of souls 
in place of demon apples in cracked bowls. 

Insurance, designed to protect the mind 
from induced improvement jesters proclaim, 
liquidates stolen assets without brand 
controlling interest in the money game, 
yet Sylphus asks Aurora with star eyes 
if she will help him organize their spies. 

Increase of hybrid machines on the road 
defies logic contrived by weeping bards, 
so Sylphus proclaims Gospel of the Toad 
whose spiral-rainbow eyes of sacred chords 
hypnotize loyal followers of Zarth 
whom they proclaim is Emperor of Earth. 

Major placement of protein packages, 
as proxy partnership of brain perfume, 
reveals location of sad hostages 
who prefer to contest for global fame 
as if they think they can evade the curse 
that opens portals to the multiverse. 

Reborn as mystic of the absolute, 
lithe Sylphus surfs huge waves of social change 
while on world tour to play demonic flute 
with Artemis as quantum queen of grunge, 
then in the Green Room when the play is done 
they eat pineapple pizza of the gun. 

Angel Of Star Fire

Angel Of Star Fire
© Surazeus
2026 04 20

Startled awake by angel of star fire, 
who haunts our nation with wings of despair, 
I lounge on my back porch and play guitar 
while King Midas destroys America 
so he can crown himself king of the world, 
but he drowns when he tries to walk on water. 

Inspired by hymn from angel of star fire, 
we gather at the river of cracked skulls 
that floods city mazes with crystal tide 
which flows by the electric throne of Death 
where wood statue of God erupts in flames 
when Aaron casts serpent wand in the grass. 

Longing to fly with angel of star fire, 
I race bicycle down steep hill of hope 
with arms of faith outspread to imitate 
eagerness of Icarus to transcend 
mundane routines of daily rituals 
designed to maintain life through self-control. 

Eager to play with angel of star fire, 
I carve chess pieces from statues of gods 
which I found buried in mud of the well 
so we perform our roles on stage of power 
to protect Liberty in the High Tower 
where she sings with blue bird of bitterness. 

Trapped in life maze with angel of star fire, 
who sits on crystal throne of glowing clouds 
beneath binary rainbow of respect, 
I refract currency of my star soul 
through prism heart of her kaleidoscope 
when Minerva returns from Cave of Truth. 

Freed from prison by angel of star fire, 
I map whole history of our human race 
on time-animated atlas of Earth 
so we can navigate landscape of ghosts 
to build from ruins of America 
new land of justice called Zarathia. 

Deployed to war by angel of star fire, 
I wield Excalibur with clumsy grace, 
as warden who guards the garden of God, 
which I forged from stone in Cave of Illusions 
to lead world revolution of the caring 
against all tyrants and kings in glass towers. 

Reborn from fear as angel of star fire, 
I stand on ziggurat of Mother Ishtar 
to strum the lyre of Mercury with faith 
when she casts spell of brave enlightenment 
to prevent Midas from fracking the world, 
so we join United Nations of Earth. 

Willing River Of Love

Willing River Of Love
© Surazeus
2026 04 20

Crawling from coffin of his character, 
Delmore explains to Queen Elizabeth 
that he is Phoenix of the broken clock, 
reborn from jester of the hungry king 
with mission to rebuild castle of glass 
where time is the fire in which we learn. 

Searching for innocent ghost of Rimbaud 
lost in dark labyrinth of Gormenghast, 
Delmore steals lute from tomb of Romeo, 
then sings old French ballads to passing cars 
that cross the Brooklyn Bridge in bitter rain 
while Sinatra croons on the radio. 

Crouching behind shield of Achilles Christ 
to protect us from radiant nothingness, 
Delmore cries out to angels in the clouds 
who drop bombs on factories in Germany, 
then tames the undivided horse of faith 
so he can ride the last road back to Rome. 

Lounging in cobwebbed tomb of Baudelaire, 
Delmore tears pages from his bank account 
while catching stones people cast at his head 
so he can build new wall for paradise 
that traps obsessive ghost of his childhood 
in Garden of Eden where none can rest. 

Paralyzed by impotence of strange hymns, 
that twists his rigid heart with wordless wrath, 
Delmore writes unreadable spells of hope 
in cafe near post office of mad kings, 
asking Socrates for money of faith, 
enough to last till the apocalypse. 

Baptized clean in willing river of love, 
Delmore waits in Black Swan Pavilion 
for serene exaltation of the mind 
to liberate his body from disgust 
through brave emulation of divine lust, 
yet names the dead in the Kingdom of Snow. 

Directing grand choir of humanity 
to sing solemn hymns of empty dismay 
that celebrate victory of true love 
which shines in us before the morning hour 
so we become aloneness of fruit trees, 
Delmore plays instruments of ancient song. 

Walking calmly through day of April light 
to find his Self amid the blaze of change, 
Delmore writes new Book of Theodicy 
to prove with formula of tangled verse 
that goodness conquers evil every day, 
till his heart explodes during his swan song. 

Forgetting My Own Face

Forgetting My Own Face
© Surazeus
2026 04 19

If I end up forgetting my own face, 
designed by passion my ancestors felt 
while walking bravely against wind of fear, 
I might wear mask of Cloud God to conceal 
amalgamated nothingness of self 
which angels document in clever jokes. 

Strolling in field of dandelion flowers, 
which explode in wishes of lonely souls, 
I ponder nothingness at end of time 
that traps me in this temporary body 
through which I aspire to climb mountain peaks 
as witness to transcendent state of mind. 

Because I know no fate of falling rain 
while hiding in ruins of paradise, 
slouched on huge stones that fell from fractured walls, 
I organize list of tasks to complete 
in mission to found empire on god skulls 
when death bequeaths weird secret of rebirth. 

Dark shadow looms above vast maze of streets 
where apes in suits play gods in wars of truth 
while I drive children from school to graveyards 
where they conduct random experiments 
to understand how trees bloom rich in Spring 
from coffin where the vampire god lies stiff. 

If I end up designing my new face 
from masks of gods long fallen in disgrace, 
I may be forced to wrestle before dawn 
eccentric angel of our nation-state 
who lives in mansion by polluted lake 
as castle capital of Avalon. 

True friendship chains our hearts with bitter faith 
we try to sell from market stalls of hope 
when butterfly god in her chrysalis 
hangs from rugged cross on hill of skulls 
which sprouts new limbs with apples of the sun 
so I sail river boat across the sea. 

In noble fight against the tyrant king 
we must not falter at the darkest hour 
for Justice needs our courage to transcend 
schemes of greed rich bankers promulgate 
in van attempt to control minds of men 
who wake from weird hypnotic trance he spelled. 

Ophelia finds lyre of Mercury 
rusting on tombstone of last troubadour 
whose spirit wakes again inside her brain 
so she ascends ziggurat of world fame 
to untwist political games of power 
with pungent beauty of the psychic flower. 

We Have Not Disappeared

We Have Not Disappeared
© Surazeus
2026 04 19

Though ocean waves erase our names from sand, 
and time dissolves our bodies into dust, 
our vibrant characters of baser hopes 
will live by fame in stories of old books 
far longer than great empires ever last, 
but even myths will dissipate in wind. 

I hear strange whistle from voice of the moon 
as distant echo in shadows of fate, 
so I help the blindfolded girl escape 
harsh judgement of villagers with stone hands 
shocked in rage that she dares defy their rules 
till we wander lost in waste land of fear. 

Clutching audible objects of true love 
that pulse with passion of seasonal hope, 
we break through shadow of wordless despair 
to fall in lush grass by the sparkling lake, 
amazed we managed to evade cruel death 
whose bitter rage growls softly after dusk. 

We lie beside soft whispered stream of hope 
where horses graze among old apple trees, 
and think about infinity through time 
that spirals forth in never-ending flow 
as vast gulf stretching everywhere we look, 
concerned we have not disappeared enough. 

Bright face in trickling eddies of starlight 
appears to watch us from abyss of faith, 
so we trade silent thoughts between our eyes 
which hang suspended from billowing clouds, 
but then weird light illuminates her face 
that gleams pure white as mask of bloodless ice. 

I sink in lightless gloom of misery 
and float on undulating waves of grass 
to dream I fly on horse of vanity 
away from roaring demon of my heart, 
then start awake in gold glow before dawn 
to see she transformed into a pond toad. 

Indulging happiness of lightning strikes, 
I search everywhere through indifferent woods 
to find dim shadow of her fragile soul 
for thirty years till memory of her face 
fades into flicker of leaves in sunlight 
as I stare at my own face in the pool. 

While eating bitter apple of my heart, 
I pause and stare at flicker of the lake 
and wonder how she vanished in the light, 
the blindfolded girl I rescued from death, 
then turn because I think I hear her voice 
as I transform into the eyeless crow. 

Universal Element Of Love

Universal Element Of Love
© Surazeus
2026 04 19

Through universal element of love 
mindless atoms swirl into galaxies 
that weave stars from aggressive fantasy, 
then nurture planets blooming ghosts of faith 
in spiral coil of genes which replicates 
new bodies that evolve from fish to god. 

Stuck in this body of frail mortal flesh, 
as long as chemicals of this lithe form 
function through interaction of bright sparks, 
I maintain forward motion through desire 
to find tree of knowledge with fruit of life 
which animates my conscious heart with love. 

Ninth Adam, son of Amen and Adad, 
breathes gusting air of hope to swell his soul, 
then stands on wobbling legs of frantic fear 
and stares at giant dragon with gold eyes 
that chews bodies of his tribe dripping blood, 
and howls with terrible rage of despair. 

Wrenching long brass wand with sharp jagged spikes, 
that cooled from lava flow at dawn of time, 
Ninth Adam rushes forward on fierce legs 
and batters face of the dragon with blows 
of brave aggression writhing from his heart 
till shrieking dragon stumbles to escape. 

Tracking bloody steps of the sharp-toothed beast, 
Ninth Adam finds in small cave by the lake 
wounded dragon cowering in stark fear, 
so he bashes its head with lightning strikes 
that crushes its skull into bloodied mush, 
till he lies exhausted under mute stars. 

Hauling wagon with dragon and its eggs, 
Ninth Adam enters gates of paradise 
where Inanna hosts rites of victory 
as Eloh roasts meat on high ziggurat 
that feeds five thousand people of the town 
who praise dragon-slayer with joyous hymns. 

Enrobed with leather cape from dragon skin, 
Ninth Adam presides on the judgment throne 
to reign as noble guard of paradise, 
while Ninshubur bears children of his seed, 
then trains his son Zababa to wield spear 
as hunter who slays dragons of the sea. 

"Through universal element of love, 
that fuels our bodies with star energy," 
Ninth Adam explains to his fierce-eyed son, 
"we fight evil dragons who eat our minds 
so we may generate bodies of flesh 
that preserve immortal soul of our hearts." 

When Pinocchio Wakes

When Pinocchio Wakes
© Surazeus
2026 04 19

When Pinocchio wakes from peaceful dreams 
of humming with cool breeze by sparkling lake, 
he stares up at the bearded face of God 
who sparks life in his heart with breath of love, 
then helps him stand and walk on clumsy feet 
so he ambulates through his own free will. 

Wandering in forest of tall pine trees 
that sway in dance from mountain winds of hope, 
Pinocchio caresses their rough bark 
with hands that sense mute spirit of their trunks, 
so he breathes deep and exhales vibrant tune, 
expressing visions of his mind in verse. 

Ascending mountain trail to gaping cave 
where faceless shadow of blind demon glows, 
Pinocchio touches large diamond gem, 
embedded in stone, resembling his eyes, 
where he sees first flash of the universe 
which animates his consciousness with love. 

"Though I feel trapped in container of flesh, 
attentive spirit of my conscious mind 
motivates forward motion through my will 
as I explore strange landscape of this world 
to discover origin of my being 
that pulses with atomic flash of light." 

Sitting still before bearded face of God 
by lake in cave of gems gleaming moonlight, 
Pinocchio asks, "Who am I, and how 
have I become alive with conscious hope? 
I feel bright jewel of immortal soul 
pulse with passion at the core of my being." 

Eyes blue as sapphires, stuck in cavern wall, 
gleam with joy as God looks in his eyes. 
"I am Geppetto, Craftsman who carves things 
from tree wood, like wagons, houses, and boats. 
I am frail mortal father of your soul 
for I sparked your life in womb of your mother." 

Reaching callused hand with attentive care, 
Geppetto caresses face of his son. 
"You are lithe mountain fox of joyful play, 
wounded by arrow of aggressive hate, 
so I extracted jewel of your heart 
to animate body of wood I made." 

Removing wood mask of his faceless soul, 
Geppetto reveals bright spirit of God. 
"If you wear person-skin you made too long 
you may forget true spirit of your heart, 
but your heart will always remember who 
you have been since first flash at dawn of time." 

Yellow Wood Of Hope

Yellow Wood Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 04 18

The crumbling stone bridge over the brown river, 
on which the statue of the poet stands, 
waits for my ghost to cross its wildered way, 
humming with gusts of arbitrary wind 
that scatters pages of verse from frail hands 
so our dreams dissolve into silent song. 

Delicate plum stone of my rotten heart, 
charred by sad flame of the arrogant lamp, 
contains original purpose of life 
designed by Raven Witch of Serpent Lake 
who brews honey wine in Cauldron of Faith 
while chanting hex of wisdom from the stars. 

Atomic light of pure love in my cells 
began to gleam before our world was born 
from frantic swirls of penitential lust 
that sparkles carbon molecules to bind 
aggressive force of hope with grim desire 
which aggregates proverbs in Book of Dreams. 

Startled awake by the wrinkle in time, 
that folds every universe of my mind 
in vibrant matrix through radio waves, 
I study flashing quarks in supple words 
preserved as letters writhing on white page 
that prove ten dimensions spiral through eggs. 

When I come to the road less traveled by, 
that has never appeared on any map 
drawn by Lone Wolf in monastery cave, 
I find pregnant woman by the blind oak 
who seems to know the secret of my name, 
so we walk in the yellow wood of hope. 

Alert in classroom full of changeling sprites, 
I teach how Mercator projection map 
provides the best navigation device 
for brave explorers who sail Seven Seas 
across ten dimensions of time and space 
to colonize the world with fantasies. 

My sensitive spirit of eager faith 
writhes with rancid bitterness of gloom 
when I transverse the endless realm of words 
with yearning to retrieve Diamond of Death 
by crossing threshold of the Otherworld 
that leaves me stranded in my first hometown. 

I drift in dreary reverie of fear 
to seek asylum in your weary heart 
where grief corrupts sagacious honesty 
through quaint cathexis in your faceless soul 
for which I leap to cross eternity 
as swirling shadow of atomic words. 

Absence Of Auspicious Love

Absence Of Auspicious Love
© Surazeus
2026 04 18

To buy dragon eggs at the grocery store, 
I carry magic box of blinking eyes, 
reluctant to transcend limits of thought 
as if I am the tragic money man 
who always stumbles on the muddy road 
though I stare at the ghost on the front porch. 

To dive in lake of pain before dawn light, 
I watch collapsing century resurge 
with monstrous tenderness of berry jam 
which teaches me importance of dream facts 
to avoid the trap of hiding regret 
for living blasphemously without pride. 

To ransack archives of personal taste, 
I dismiss surprises of history 
smeared with melancholy colors of hope 
which suit my vibrant life style on the town 
when I perform dramatic scenes to prove 
lessons of survival trick me with wealth. 

To relax in burning building of faith, 
I write strange thought formulas on chalk boards 
that describe how flowers explode from brains 
through social ideologies of power 
that divide us into factions of blind greed, 
impersonal as mountains that drink clouds. 

To analyze photographs of blurred ghosts, 
I stand beside the stop sign near the park 
and count how many chances I have missed 
in vain attempts to evade curse of fame 
that dogs my footsteps past the Promised Land 
till I attend inauguration balls. 

To formulate myself as almost real, 
I break into meaningless tomb of fear 
where skeleton of Jesus, cracked by fate, 
crumbles into gold dust of burned-out stars, 
so I stand trembling on the global stage 
and erase heroes from national myths. 

To join my neighbors at the barbecue, 
I untwist proverbs from roots of dead trees 
disguised as telephone lines of contempt 
that beam puzzling riddles to glowing screens 
reflecting faces in masks of dead gods 
whom we perform all day with reticence. 

To try ingenuous mode with bitter guile, 
I measure changing contours of the world 
where priests lead believers in maze of lies 
because in the end every person dies, 
for every fake belief in holy books 
blinds me to absence of auspicious love. 

She Almost Wonders If

She Almost Wonders If
© Surazeus
2026 04 18

She almost wonders if time is not real 
based on how water flows through veins of steel 
till silver raven, from dim vale she fears, 
explains strange magic of machinery gears, 
so lame girl walks downside up to her room 
where faceless fairies flicker in sad gloom. 

She never questions why stars glitter gold 
because she savors water that seems cold 
while reading romance tales in canny books 
that were sewn from butterfly wings by cooks 
who hide crystal keys in loaves of hot bread 
which she can use to resurrect the dead. 

She always asks each ghost their secret name 
because she wants to learn their psychic game 
which gives her social tools to fool the fools 
who gather in workshops to design tools 
that devils use to manipulate minds 
except for her who loves to feed shy hinds. 

She ever wanders garden of fruit trees 
in search of new words she can use to tease 
grim angel standing guard by jeweled gate 
whose sky-blue eyes require she defy fate, 
but when she climbs through window of her heart 
he flies away without celestial chart. 

She often leans in window of high tower 
to watch her favorite horse consume star flower, 
and dreams of racing swift beyond far hills 
to eat fresh apples and drink from clear rills, 
but wakes from daydream in gray mirror frame 
to smile and pretend she was not born lame. 

She mostly paints fierce dragon on ice peak 
whose rage is tamed by lame girl who is meek 
since she is doomed to inherit the Earth 
according to chart of her royal birth, 
so she limps quietly down narrow hall 
past portraits of ancestors on the wall. 

She nearly steps through unlocked door of hope 
in frantic mission to expand her scope 
by slipping free from castle of despair, 
but pauses halfway down steep winding stair 
to ponder abstract numbers of blind faith 
that help her mind perceive the eyeless wraith. 

She rarely thinks about mute nothingness 
while waiting on Bridge of Forgetfulness, 
so when Rapunzel gains her liberty 
she strums taut strings on lyre of Mercury 
and sings heart-wrenching psalms of bitter love 
while busking in strange towns where she may rove. 

Organize Electric Beams

Organize Electric Beams
© Surazeus
2026 04 18

While stealing apples from the Tree of Life 
in Garden of Eden where angels play, 
I hear tall woman with long flowing hair 
explain that, though the singers may change, 
the music goes on for thousands of years, 
so I lie on my back and stare at clouds. 

If I should disappear from dream of time 
my heart will expand its delicate wings 
and sing in harmony with flowing streams, 
articulating words with tongue of ice 
which conjures visions from rumble of thoughts 
so we become the truth our minds invent. 

When I am amniote at dawn of time 
I crawl through shallow stream of trickling light, 
imbibing water of cerulean skies, 
across sapphires, rubies, and emeralds, 
transforming form by climbing tall fruit trees, 
so now I stand and talk about my hope. 

Attentive flash of primal energy, 
that motivates my quest to find fresh fruit, 
fills empty nothing of my hungry mind 
when missing feature draws me to new state 
in constant motion of the absolute 
to seek truth that is absent from my heart. 

Fierce longing to remember taste of rain 
draws me to flashing flicker of the flame 
which I contain in ring of glowing stones 
because I know they are the fallen stars 
that teach me how to label what I see 
with words that blaze enlightenment of faith. 

Knee-deep in muddy water of the lake, 
I move through swirling lichen of desire 
to catch elusive fish of secret truth 
while hunting demon of excessive wrath 
that strikes from tangled limbs of tempting fruit 
so I snatch the writhing snake by its neck. 

When savage thirst for ecstasy of love 
swells huge from pulsing passion of my heart, 
I open wide my mouth with tongue of ice 
to speak in words of honest sentiment, 
but nothing more than howling wind of hope 
soars from cage of my soul on wings of light. 

Designed by brutal nature of the bog, 
I rise from sloshing arrogance of fear 
to build enormous towers of steel and glass 
so I can organize electric beams 
in computer nodes of the world wide web 
as I evolve from fish to Cyber God. 

Celestial Stars Of Truth

Celestial Stars Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 04 17

Uncompromising laughter sinks the boat 
when flowers bloom from April blood of fear, 
so she stares deep in bullet of the heart 
to judge with fake authority of stones, 
but she will miss the way dead flowers droop, 
subjective thoughts of labor unfulfilled. 

Because no yellow cabs of honesty 
still gleam in silver fog of bored desire, 
Cassandra chews gum by the whisky bar 
and hides gun of despair in plastic purse, 
but smiles at every stranger in the rain 
who give her flowers that wilt before dawn. 

Inverse of shadow, ionized by faith, 
beams blatant silence at the bookstore lamp 
through photographic tricks, which magnify 
inert ambition fueling games of chance 
which no fool ever wins against the house 
that cracks and sinks into the hungry swamp. 

Rain splushing loud against her fractured heart 
enhances lonely shock of bitter hope 
that she decides means nothing to the man 
who plays role of her father in the game 
untwisting moral laws of fortitude 
which encode uncollected jokes of kings. 

Critical flame consuming books of tales 
frames how the humble tramp in baggy pants 
gives scarlet lily to the girl who cooks 
meals of eggs, potatoes, and buttered toast 
for grim-faced warriors of the Burning Cross 
who wage holy crusade against straw men. 

Inspired by jagged cliffs, battered by waves 
of relentless change, she gathers cracked stones 
from bleeding walls of paradise to build 
cathedral of contemplation from words 
children discard with eurythmic contempt 
for rotten leaves of fashion magazines. 

Her eyes behind lace curtain of desire 
express unspoken passion to share hope, 
so he breathes deep celestial stars of truth, 
then soars on invisible wings of love, 
swooping over phone lines of faceless words, 
then lands in garden where she tends fresh herbs. 

Enchanted by smile of wisdom she beams, 
he listens to soft voice of her strange soul 
describe weird vision of peace between tribes, 
then gives her brass cauldron he forged from faith 
so she cooks stew enough to feed the world 
from fish he catches in the mountain stream. 

Reptile Sobek Soul

Reptile Sobek Soul
© Surazeus
2026 04 17

Ever-living fire of the star-soul mind 
gleams beautiful happiness in my brain, 
so I wear mask of Sobek I designed 
to dance with laughter in electric rain 
till mad Poseidon shakes the spinning world 
which spawns religion of the cosmic herald. 

Transcending limits of this transient flesh, 
I float in cavern of spiraling gems, 
woven by Apollonia through dream mesh 
so seven sisters wearing diadems 
appear before the crowd of worshippers 
and seek to marry loyal Jupiters. 

Disguised as Sobek, master of the sea, 
I challenge Seth to run for president 
in social campaign to crown Liberty 
who rallies spirit of the dissident 
while we play golf in hills of vanity 
by scamming loyalists for charity. 

Dancing to wild beat of the forest ghost, 
drunk on wine of truth that Bacchus brews, 
I sacrifice Black Lamb as temple host 
to feed eight billion people evening news 
contrived to validate the gods in power 
who worship Golden Calf in the glass tower. 

Long seaweed hair of emotional vibes 
writhe out from head of Tethys in dream web 
that weaves her spirit into wandering tribes 
who spread from Atlas Mountains of Maghreb 
in epic quest to find the Promised Land 
where Sobek rules all with his red right hand. 

With gentle gestures of conceptual spells, 
Tethys fills our hearts with ocean waves 
so we vibrate with energy of wells 
which radiates runes of wisdom from dank caves 
when Jesus and his wife, Empress Mermaid, 
enforce fair justice with the law-honed blade. 

Connected to white lilies of the field, 
that fluoresce beams from silver moon of faith, 
my raucous heart expands platinum shield 
that protects my people from the cosmic wraith 
who morphs me from Sobek to Lucifer 
so I bear light as humble troubadour. 

When I hear trickle of the waterfall 
that sparkles over jagged cliff of time, 
I find I have become Prince Parsifal 
betrothed to marry graceful Clementine, 
so I evolve from Reptile Sobek Soul 
with solemn vow to play new honest role. 

Azure Purity Of Being

Azure Purity Of Being
© Surazeus
2026 04 16

My heart has become the weird moon in the stream 
fused with infinity through secret words 
that shine as essence at the core of things 
which I perceive with telepathic vibe 
that dissolves barrier blocking my soul 
through impalpable serenity of being. 

Struck by hot blood of sunlight on my skin 
I stretch beyond horizon of my body 
to swirl with soil in water of my brain 
that leaves me standing as sky of the world 
transformed from light to trees and animals 
who blaze with azure purity of being. 

Despite joy-twisting despair that we die, 
I bloom with disconsolate shock of truth 
that we are so alive this vibrant hour 
as flames of energy in pulsing flesh 
which has evolved four hundred million years, 
immortal soul of genes reborn in me. 

I am the distant blueness of the sky 
which emanates from hard core of the Earth 
through swirling passion of beautiful fear 
that drives my progress to become myself 
till I am not the I I dream I am 
because I walk beside me as God Self. 

I become the I I find in the world 
whose spirit merges with my fragile soul 
through strange celestial breath of writhing words 
that thread my brain in fabric of all time 
when I meet mirror image of myself 
who changes into someone else I love. 

Growing old on winding road of my life, 
where I have wandered nowhere randomly, 
I pause and look back at my younger selves 
who separate in clones I am no more 
as shadows gleaming in each open door 
who will remain after I am long gone. 

Once I remove all the masks I have worn, 
which will always reveal another mask, 
I become no one, and yet everyone 
who has ever lived on this spinning globe, 
so when you search for me in songs I write 
you will find nothing but your own true self. 

Joining ancient choir of the human soul, 
I sing with tongue of the invisible 
in harmony with poets of the past 
whose dream-maps guide my clumsy way past fear 
so I rejoice in beauty of this world 
that shines with visible atoms of thought. 

Silver Swan Of Truth

Silver Swan Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 04 16

Dark similitude of her image glows 
as seraph hovering over me with wings 
of ancient wisdom mirrored by the moon 
when she appears as silver swan of truth 
that sprinkles snow of beauty on my head 
so I imagine I am Socrates. 

Her timeless eyes that gleam with countless stars 
unveil bright nothingness in everything 
yet flash through flowing waves of molecules 
in sweet harmonious music of the spheres 
which oscillate between opposing poles 
to weave our souls in matrix of God Mind. 

Inspired by Tree of Knowledge by the lake 
that dances in soft breeze one hundred years, 
I stand as second shadow to her soul 
just as the wise seer Theodore foretold 
who shows me how to see with dreamless eyes 
Realm of Ideas beyond the visible. 

With mind untrammeled by religious creeds 
I outfly nets of mutability 
based on dream map that Theodore designed 
by navigating shadows of this world 
that bind my soul to limits of my body 
though my brain explores weird infinity. 

I hitchhike far across the Evening Land 
with lyre of Mercury in my left hand, 
and on my journey beyond truth I knew 
I find out what I am in my world view, 
because we blaze in preternatural light 
till we all vanish in mute dreamless night. 

Since I am made of atoms shining bright 
with brave attentive force of selfless love, 
I am concept of God we humans made 
attempting wake wise inside my brain 
which gleams as prism in its neural net 
refracting God Mind in my transient self. 

Eight billion humans living on this Earth 
are every one one fragment of One God 
for we all spring from one maternal mind, 
First Mother who still dreams inside our brains 
since she stood startled by the Lake of Stars 
and sang clear visions of her loving heart. 

Though driven down the signless road of hope 
by bleak despair of hunger for weird truth, 
I rise from shadow of my single self 
to feel First Mother wake inside my mind 
so I expand scope of bright consciousness 
to sing with joy while knowing I will die. 

Vibrant Flash Of Faith

Vibrant Flash Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 04 15

If she knows why stars incarnate as flowers, 
she hides the secret as math formulas 
in the chemistry textbook of her heart, 
and only smiles while we dance to the music 
that radiates from the singing stone of truth 
which flashes mirror eyes of lonely souls. 

Since she remembers why the Javan Myna 
taught her how to fly when she was still young, 
she fries corned beef sandwich on sourdough bread 
with sauerkraut, Swiss cheese, and island dressing, 
which we enjoy with sharp Italian wine, 
after which we sit on the porch and ponder. 

Because she has nothing special to prove 
concerning strange color of innocence, 
she rides silver bike to the river shore, 
where nothing dramatic ever occurs, 
to paint secret faces of the Blue Sky 
as shimmer reflected in the road pool. 

Confident she contains crowds of blind ghosts 
who encode her secrets in photographs, 
she sails small river boat on gleaming waves 
where choir of fish sing cosmic melodies 
before the peacock with luminous wings 
that transforms into proud Queen of the Earth. 

Erased by history books she never reads, 
she cooks to feed her children with calm care 
and cleans their clothes so they can play their role, 
till she becomes the body of their house, 
enclosed inside polished box of her heart, 
which she takes with her when she walks away. 

Drunk from imbibing spiced Dragon Brain Wine, 
brewed from honey and psychedelic mushrooms, 
she flies broom of the oak tree among clouds 
to feed expansive emptiness of truth 
with swirling energy contained in fruit 
that weaves memories of gods in her brain. 

Inspired by flood of the apocalypse 
that smashes institutions of state power, 
she surfs tsunami waves of social change 
with grim elation of justice for all 
when she embraces vibrant flash of faith 
to help Nature cleanse our world of cruel hate. 

Unaware I requite her secret feelings, 
she scrapes raw skin of passionate desire 
against granite fortitude of my heart 
so we savor transient bliss of pure love 
that wakes our hearts with vibrant flash of faith 
before we grow old and decay to silence.