How Fleeting Life Is © Surazeus 2026 05 21 If nobody cares why the caged bird sings, Christine whispers to the telephone pole, then I shall never pick flowers again for how they wilt in the porcelain jar just makes me sad at how fleeting life is, for I want to free cloud-ghosts from their cage. Startled each time her old telephone pings, Christine gazes down into the black hole at aching whistle of the distant train to ask the ghost with the broken guitar for help solve the theological quiz that provides role for her to play on stage. Shocked by displacement of her naked soul at sudden extraction time executes by flashing whirl of hands on the glass clock, Christine decides to wear tattered swan wings when she dances gracefully in spotlight that erases her uniqueness from dream. Entranced by song of the gold oriole encoding riddles of deep attributes that ripple dark waves of the spooky loch, Christine enters vast cathedral and sings tragic tale of the Queen and the Cartwright who fall in love by the moon-misty stream. Transcribing code of sweet nightingale tunes that echo in forest of burning masks, Christine ponders weird mystery of the sea from which fertile organic life transforms till she contrives formula that describes how atoms beam conscious glow of the brain. Recording proverbs in snake-writhing runes that calculate process of mental tasks, Christine embodies Goddess Liberty who shelters our bodies safe from dream storms that forge fierce empires from down-to-earth tribes who put aside their differences to train. I prefer not to fight their futile war over who controls lush meadows of wheat and who adjudicates cases of crime, Christine declares in court of social law, then chooses to host wandering refugees who huddle at the feet of Liberty. Setting caged birds free through the open door, Christine rules Earth from the Perilous Seat while Percival designs world paradigm that honors brave wisdom of Onatah who gives every person their new house keys which powers growth of world democracy.
Thursday, May 21, 2026
How Fleeting Life Is
Doors Of Weeping Ghosts
Doors Of Weeping Ghosts © Surazeus 2026 05 21 Every house in every city on Earth is guarded well by doors of weeping ghosts that hum with wordless voices of the past, so I wonder if my brain consciousness is more artificial in how it dreams human memories as if they are my own. Though the Earth seems to swallow all our tales, and hide them in our doors of weeping ghosts, we slyly search for serpent in the grove to answer riddles born of intellect so we can find the secret key of lies that may release our memories from the rain. The wind that hums with hunger of the earth, trapped by despair in doors of weeping ghosts, never turns kind from mercy of the clouds, yet when it speaks the names of those we love we dare record them on old temple walls so our descendants may remember them. She smiles at me with sunrise over hills so I may unlock doors of weeping ghosts who hide in shadows that our bodies cast so we feel shiver of their hidden pain since suffering teaches us to understand cost of memories we dare not leave behind. While I strum broken lyre of Mercury that carves our thoughts on doors of weeping ghosts, I channel tales of tongueless characters who wander lost in pages of old books till my voice resurrects their souls from words and gives them life in hearts of listeners. Few would forget stark cries of anxious hope that still vibrate from doors of weeping ghosts each time we dare approach with reticence from calm respect for bitter rage at death to enter hollow hearts of fortitude and measure memories we sold long ago. Yet Arabella climbs the broken stairs with hope to open doors of weeping ghosts against authority of fearful men who wish to hide vile secrets they conceal, though cracks in walls of faith cannot dispel divine rays that expose vexatious truths. I number every home on signless road with rooms enclosed by doors of weeping ghosts to map our global maze of morbid myths that present tales of failure and success, though Death heaps all our bodies in one grave while Earth keeps spinning in the songless void.
Wednesday, May 20, 2026
Raven In The Apple Tree
Raven In The Apple Tree © Surazeus 2026 05 20 Because the raven in the apple tree speaks ancient language of water on rocks that frame mysterious beauty of the world in tangled sentences of faithless words that mirror reverse image of my soul, I always walk backward through every door. Though I left homeland of Gothinia one hundred thousand years ago at dawn, I still feel frosty wind of snow-capped mountains swirl down across the endless steppes of sorrow which makes my heart ache with strange memories that leave me stranded on the Caspian shore. In eerie darkness of the endless night, as sparkling waves of hope swirl round my legs, I see bright angel descend from the moon in wind-blown dress of ambivalent wings to embrace my body with eager love that sparks soul of our child inside her heart. Yet star-eyed seraph hovering over me bestows on fragile mirror of my soul sacred name that signifies my dire fate which glows as lamp I bear in trembling hand to light my way across rough wilderness till tread of my feet blazes road of hope. Each road my feet blaze sea to shing sea becomes wheel-worn way across the land now paved with asphalt in the blistering sun where billions drive cars in circles of faith along passionate river of true love where we construct homes to shelter our hearts. When flock of swallows threads words of my heart across the endless steppes of shining wheat, I follow trail of wings through loneliness to find home of the sun beyond the sky with ache of longing in my homeless heart to eat sweet apples with you by the lake. While you dance gracefully in flowered field and laugh with ache of joy to be alive, I play uncanny melodies of love by twanging taut strings on turtle-shell lyre to sing of beauty in your smiling eyes that wake my heart from grave of bleak despair. Electra smiles bright as the morning sun as we embrace with hope by flowing stream to kiss in harmony with sparrow song that drenches our lithe bodies in sunlight so when we sink in nothingness of death we leave our children alive in the world.
New Heaven On Earth
New Heaven On Earth © Surazeus 2026 05 20 The strange star-eyed angel, nobody sees walking crowded streets of America, hands out slick pamphlets about Kingdom Come, to sell illusion of national pride to Vikings working in car factories who prefer to build New Heaven on Earth. Physical objects of material substance, delimited by bounds of time and space, arrange molecules based on ideal forms designated by words we conjugate in sentences that conjure virtual model we write to describe New Heaven on Earth. Prometheus climbs pyramid of eyes, where Ishtar rules all nations of the Earth, and casts flames of fire in cables of thought, weaving world wide web into internet that links billion computers in One Mind which dreams itself as New Heaven on Earth. Bound tight to tall mast of his sailing ship, Telemachus sings with Sirens of Hope who ask him to legislate equal rights for people of every gender and race who struggle to survive in game of wealth that we all play in New Heaven on Earth. When I ask Jesus when he will return to manage United Nations of Earth that ensures freedom and justice for all, he explains how his spirit incarnates in leaders who nurture skills of all people who help construct our New Heaven on Earth. Ishtar on shining ziggurat of Ur extends both arms in welcoming embrace as Rising Sun of Truth illuminates jeweled crown of her mind with countless eyes that link our minds with grand vision of love so we unite in New Heaven on Earth. Though greedy dictators around the world seize control over sprawling governments to exploit the people for their own gain, cruel tyrants always fall from mad despair, so we transform broken America in Zarathia as New Heaven on Earth. Cherub of Wisdom, shining eyes of truth, hovers over land of Zarathia with vision of hope that inspires our hearts to cast greedy thieves out of government so we can build from problems of the past democracy in New Heaven on Earth.
Tuesday, May 19, 2026
World Tree Of Everywhere
World Tree Of Everywhere © Surazeus 2026 05 19 Despite slow maladjustment of the mind, contrived by journal entries of dead trees, Niskus, son of Neptunus, steals fake coins from the mad king in cold castle of stone, and gives them to poor people by the river who buy televisions that never work. Leaving creepy basement of skeletons that crawl wailing from television screens, Niskus searches for the mysterious road that would lead him back home to Ruritania where travelers and thieves in tavern of ghosts discuss philosophy of Heraclitus. Because every vast city on the Earth has merged in one global metropolis, Niskus walks beyond walls of paradise to wander in savage jungles of beasts through stifling heat of arrogant dismay till he finds cave behind the waterfall. Resigned that he was born cursed child of fate, to avoid brutal tests of worthiness Niskus hesitates to search labyrinth of broken idols for the ancient relic that proves his journey is not for false heroes, stuck in bright mirror world of anywhere. Happy in sprawling library of ghosts, deep in mystical forest of proud bears, Niskus decides to play reluctant hero commissioned to rescue Princess of Pears because she is the secret heir of Hera, destined to fight all evil overlords. When he finds necklace of seven sapphires, that seem to twinkle eyes of the Blind Maiden, Niskus chants magic spells from Book of Dreams to release trapped soul from jewels of hope, so Litavis appears before his eyes who demands he solve riddle of the pear. Wearing Cape of Invisibility to help her escape marriage to his father, Niskus takes her to mountain of cracked skulls where they join secret school of alchemy to learn lost magic of the emerald so Litavis gives birth to our new world. Once they both find World Tree of Everywhere, that blooms from rotting corpse of Neptunus, Niskus and Litavis construct quaint cottage from gingerbread, gumdrops, and candy canes, then raise three children in Garden of Eden who carry on their family legacy.
Monday, May 18, 2026
Treasury Of Broken Dreams
Treasury Of Broken Dreams © Surazeus 2026 05 18 Though travelers with magic telescopes may ransack treasury of broken dreams, we will all gather for Thanksgiving feast to feed ancestors in the Underworld who watch our lives in television shows, then weep when Albert plays the violin. If stock traders who want strawberry pies still pilfer treasury of broken dreams, their teenagers may threaten suicide, then hitchhike to the Allegheny Forest with hope to join the Rainbow Gathering where bankers exercise fake privilege. Yet brave physicians in the marathon, who find no treasury of broken dreams, decide to maximize their lottery pursuant to new federal regulations pertaining to unauthorized regret that has no place on the luxury yacht. Though pioneers study the molecule, which unspools treasury of broken dreams with nominal profits we monitor, memory modulates how Nirvana frames daily routine of laborious survival that we engage with frantic narrative. Honest puppeteers on gold pyramids, who hoard our treasury of broken dreams, strictly stick to religious protocol when they record satellite images essential to our stellar syllabus designed to synthesize disparate creeds. Persistent ministers with social cause, who conceal treasury of broken dreams, deny ownership of symbolic jokes outlined on our quarterly questionnaire that models pinnacle of mutant minds which employ objective analysis. Surprised musicians without gasoline consider treasury of broken dreams reliable source of illegal thoughts which none dare think of on their honeymoons despite expansion of mental control that dismisses the brutal holocaust. Sharp-eyed guardians in tower of the watch calculate treasury of broken dreams with intent to fund national health care and free education for all to learn creative skills of weird ambivalence because Jesus now drives the ambulance.
Shepherd Who Nurtures Sheep
Shepherd Who Nurtures Sheep © Surazeus 2026 05 18 Because his heart begins to atrophy at how his body writhes with bitter hope, Thyrsis considers why sheep love to play in meadow near the oven factory, then plays heart-wrenching tune of futile love that will never be heard on the radio. If his sheep ever die out from disease, Thyrsis decides he will never go work in vast hall of the oven factory where his father worked for thirty-eight years till he died on his way to work one dawn, stricken by the corona virus plague. Aching to transcend sufferings of this world, and experience sublime beauty of nature, as recorded in ancient pastoral poems, Thyrsis explains to Daniel on the phone that his name is no longer Thomas Jones, then sighs as he glares at jets in the clouds. Strumming guitar while watching his sheep graze, Thyrsis improvises song about Daphnis who grows in love with graceful Xenea till her mean older sister, Aphrodite, aims gun at his head to drive him away, so he jumps off the Tallahatchie Bridge. Parking white Honda on the country road, Chloe hobbles through meadow of tall weeds to bring bags of hamburgers and root beer, then grumbles how she wishes he would work again teaching English at the high school, then nestles in his arms when Thyrsis grins. Instead of explaining to her again how he wants to get in touch with the Earth, and savor calm of timeless afternoons as bees gather pollen to brew sweet honey, Thyrsis hums enchanting tune he composed while contemplating how all empires fall. We build global economies of goods based on extracting from soil of the Earth precious minerals and nutritious crops, so someone must operate farms and ranches to sustain firm foundation of exchange, or it will all collapse from weight of greed. The shepherd who nurtures sheep in the field still remains one of the oldest professions that men have worked since dawn of history, so I will carry on noble legacy attended by the savior of mankind though civilizations on Earth collapse.
Sunday, May 17, 2026
Volunteer God Of Nowhere
Volunteer God Of Nowhere © Surazeus 2026 05 17 No time traveler from the distant future would hesitate to play tactical games with people who claim they are always right against common sense of state tolerance though few survive surgery of the heart since I am volunteer god of nowhere. Attempting to prevent psychic abortions from synthetic analogs of free will, men who strive to control bodies of women bankrupt birth clinics all over the country so thousands of mothers die in childbirth when they fool volunteer god of nowhere. Taxable income of clever programmers procures mental oxygen of dream code for sale in the marketplace of ideas contrary to logistics of state health combined with growth of social luxury performed by volunteer god of nowhere. Leverage administered by frantic pundits, concerned about decay of family values, reformats world view of functional artwork to highlight glory of fake billionaires who challenge legislators to compute new script for volunteer god of nowhere. Compliant clerks in consequential banks discuss biblical prophecies that shape how citizens view political strife, now less adaptive to brave compromise except to exploit activists for labor who pray to volunteer god of nowhere. Crowned King of Nothing by state architects, with letters from dynamic embassies, government Jester stores digital dreams in legal journals of soul institutes to test our loyalty against Big Brother who envies volunteer god of nowhere. Moderate vision of objective facts, designed to imitate orthodox creeds, fails to focus attention of our fears on ethics forged by patriarchal goons to build empire of wealth on bones of slaves jilted by volunteer god of nowhere. Deserted houses along the cracked road invite hungry refugees from state wars to open movie theaters with foreign cash, dependent on oil of the desert genie who laughs at wishes we articulate, insured by volunteer god of nowhere.
Underworld Of Happy Clowns
Underworld Of Happy Clowns © Surazeus 2026 05 17 Stuck in dark underworld of happy clowns, Achilles buys soda from time machine that always asks him if he feels all right because blind ballerina never frowns though arrogant Ares is always mean about taxing us for using sunlight. Amid mounting evidence of regret, Achilles rides the happy dinosaur to temple of radiant uranium while he plays keyboard with fake alphabet so we remember long-forgotten lore by selling us land in Elysium. Stuck in happily-ever-after land, Achilles wears strange uniform of pride to prove negotiation skills are good when ships wreck on the wild Oregon strand through infinite laugh on the playground slide since foxes play chase in the misty wood. Latest fashion of potential success, Achilles ponders with fire of his mind, prevents sweet summer romance of despair to stop his thunderstorm of happiness from cracking stone walls Apollo designed with arguments for why God does not care. Stuck in refrigerator of brave faith, Achilles augurs no calamity through leagues of silent forest, canopied by steel beams welded into web of truth, to sell confusion based on vanity though he pretends to know the Nicene Creed. Voluminous brain vital for regrowth, Achilles claims Cleopatra conceals when bankers buy our foreclosed properties, shapes its own fate with inaudible oath based on cognizance of electric wheels that disavow empire atrocities. Stuck with bland ultimatum Death decrees, Achilles catches snowflakes with bruised hands to dance with glee at permanence of death, contrived by speedometer of glass bees so he can use his psychedelic glands to free Sibyl from cage of wordless breath. Vague outlines of clouds that imagine us, Achilles sketches in sand with cracked bones, express consistent energy of joy because we choose to ride Hadean bus from Oslo to Paris with rolling stones though my ghost still dwells in palace of Troy.
Time Of Broken Clocks
Time Of Broken Clocks © Surazeus 2026 05 17 If I am born in time of broken clocks in log cabin beside the sparkling river, my heart will crumble into flakes of rust each time I walk past ticking stone of fate that drinks the salty tears of fallen angels who stitch fractured watches on tattered wings. Though I drift lost in time of broken clocks in cathedral of shattered pendulums that toll no twisted hour of unspooled grief, I ride the graveyard carousel till dawn on weeping horse with crackling bones of glass till my hands become turtles in the pond. Before I laugh in time of broken clocks as midnight stitches paper masks from moons, composed from writhing clumps of bitter snow, I swim in ocean of unmoving hands that drown pulsing face of eternity with graphic weight of arbitrary words. After I cry in time of broken clocks, while stumbling dark halls of the floating castle, I find hourglass on legless desk of fear that coughs ashes where it once poured pure gold at sudden misalignment of six kites that veil blind cherub hovering over me. Never awake in time of broken clocks, I climb staircase that melts upward in clouds of black water, comprised of eyeless gods, to cluttered meadow where electric birds with lanterns glowing in transparent ribs explain why every faceless human dies. Stuck alone outside time of broken clocks, I crawl across the windy plain of homes where violins grow roots through their floorboards to reassemble puzzle from our dreams into graceful church with four tall white steeples where no one ever sings hymns about death. Trapped by truth outside time of broken clocks, I map sizzling rivers that flow backwards through libraries where every book bleeds sand instead of pages wrapped around glass moons that hang suspected above bovine fields where eyeless statues play chess with my shadow. Since I will die in time of broken clocks, I polish mirrors in numberless houses that are filled with thunderstorms of desire brewing inside brains of innocent boys who aim guns at photographs on dead trees and shout to imitate sharp sounds of shots.
Shape Of My Hungry Flesh
Shape Of My Hungry Flesh © Surazeus 2026 05 17 If this world of water and wind and light is all for me, my shadow on its hills, then I will write my name across the sky, but keep it secret that I fall from clouds each day I rise up from soil of its hope and wander among ruins of the past. This great tree reaching toward the faceless sky, that drops ripe apples in my hungry hands, harps brightly humming in soft gusts of wind because its roots curl down to core of time, entwining bodies my ancestors left when their spirits beamed back up to the stars. My lamentation echoes between hills where I rest in heat of the glowing sun since fire is fundamental principle that animates all beings with conscious life for we appear from strife of opposites to spiral through cycles of birth and death. This animating flame of energy that flares forth from first flash of the big bang evolves into shape of my hungry flesh so I sing clear with loneliness of heat that urges me to roam around the world till I know curve of every sparkling stream. I record elements of day and night through unlocalized images of time which conjures thunderstorm of social change to flash assertive rain on towns of men who bury sorrow under roads of wealth when floods erase buildings from ancient land. I walk the signless road of everywhere to visit every city in the land that flourishes from sea to shining sea so I record name and deeds of each life to preserve their memories after they die and vanish into dust on rain-drenched hills. Now I am dreamer of all that is lost, obsessed with singing tale of every soul who rise as generations from the sea in endless waves of strife to gain world fame at piercing cry of hope that cracks the sky, then sink in silence of indifferent graves. Ephemeral flames of bodies glow at dawn when our brains fuse with stones of nameless roads till millions who strive to survive each day are merged in idol of one faceless god who represents our spirits in weird myths that gleam as shadows on tree-shrouded hills.
Saturday, May 16, 2026
First Mother Of Earth
First Mother Of Earth © Surazeus 2026 05 16 Sitting in church on Sabbath afternoon, heart beating at reception of weird light that beams slantwise through window of all time, I see descend on flaming wings of faith First Mother of Earth with eyes of bright stars who fills my mind with visions of survival. When the pastor declares with Father Voice that good obedient wives with humble hearts should submit to will of their husbands with love, I stand up and reach out my aching arms to embrace First Mother of Earth with faith who animates my heart with ardent truth. Breathing celestial energy of faith, I turn away from male authority and exit stage of global patriarchy to walk the signless road of everywhere in brave quest to find the Garden of Eden where First Mother of Earth tends apple trees. Offering assistance of my strong hands to help First Mother of Earth tend fruit trees, I narrate my name and path of my life that seems so random in my clumsy hope, so she accepts me in Garden of Eden where I stand guard in Watch Tower Of Faith. When gang of thieves surround our paradise, demanding we submit to righteous rule of their male privilege with guns of hate, I open gates of heaven wide, and bow to welcome them to feast in Hall of Faith where First Mother of Earth offers them wine. While I play Lyre of Mercury and sing on stage before crowd of wild revelers, First Mother of Earth offers guests sweet wine, so they dance with joy at their victory till they all slump drunk and limp on the ground, so I hang them upside from the tree. Screaming in rage at clever trick we played, arrogant men demand we let them go, so I explain how First Mother of Earth has always ruled cycles of life and death, then slit their throats and fill grail with their blood which I pour on roots of the Knowledge Tree. Though men form gangs in terror of Kind Death, and take over national governments to legalize their spurious right to rule, First Mother of Earth, with power of Nature, sends the Grim Reaper to erase cruel thieves, so children may thrive in Garden of Eden.
Energy Of Fervent Faith
Energy Of Fervent Faith © Surazeus 2026 05 16 From book that records every human dream I extract energy of fervent faith to travel life of every conscious soul till I arrive at zero mark of time that flashes from the negative prelude so I know how you feel inside your heart. From ocean waves that sing electric light I gyrate energy of fervent faith to measure patterns left behind by change which undulate in bodies we become so we invent new questions to preserve truth that water sparkles our brains awake. From seeds of apple trees in pungent soil I blossom energy of fervent faith to reassemble mirror mind of God fractured by experience of painful death through tilted curvature of messy love since drops of rain reflect my divine soul. From lake of dreams on adjustable wings I spiral energy of fervent faith in vain attempt of pulsing fortitude to repair broken hour of misfired words though tangled bodies writhe with attitude that we shall live forever on this Earth. From iron core of spinning pulchritude I magnet energy of fervent faith through flashing coils of rainbow avatars to choose my own assertive destiny when star stone fractures crystal shell of time so I may resurrect from dragon eye. From radiant brain of my angelic ghost I typhoon energy of fervent faith to weave ten billion globes of conscious souls from whirling galaxy of goddess light who generates our bodies from her lust to wake in flashing diamond of her womb. From hurricane of political change I ordain energy of fervent faith when hungry people conjure paradise from ordinary routines of concern while clouds glide over hills of apple trees where we journey signless road of desire. From Garden of Gethsemane at dawn I plunder energy of fervent faith to prove my random way of life is right though I may wander clumsily nowhere so I sing vision of some perfect world that we could build from fragments of weird dreams.
Dream Code Of Cleverness
Dream Code Of Cleverness © Surazeus 2026 05 16 Though I still learn dream code of cleverness to understand sublime beauty of Earth that dreamers write in magic spells of truth, I know ideal Heaven of perfect peace, where every soul is equal in brave grace, can never be achieved in swirl of life. I carve on stone dream code of cleverness to outline patterns of social behavior that strengthen bonds of each community as bold foundation for strong institutions that support each generation of humans who spring from heads of our grand fantasy. While I program dream code of cleverness, that designs blueprint for new global state based on liberty and justice for all, I sense chaotic swirls of potent wills that clash in brutal contest to control essential elements of life on Earth. Stricken down by dream code of cleverness, I fall from grace in Tower of Paradise with tattered wings of Icarus in my heart to hollow space of Hell where I may reign as bold authority who speaks Good Law in brave rebellion against the Blue Sky. So I translate dream code of cleverness in solemn riddles of transcendent odes that honor ideal forms of human souls so lovers almost kiss in timeless youth, entranced by holy songs of nightingales with ache of hope for our paradise lost. Though God and Satan, as soul stereotypes of mortals, compete to rule crowded nations in contest between Nurturer and Oppressor, I tend my garden on the river shore with my Wise Companion in home we share where we raise children of our loyal love. Unraveling dream code of cleverness, I deconstruct systems of mind control inherent in language rich elites use to exploit common people as sad slaves, so we can reframe psychic privilege that narrates success of all who create. Reconstructing dream code of cleverness, I design new world view with sacred myths that highlight creative actions of builders in whole ontology that integrates all gods in ecumenical religion that supports United Nations of Earth.
Crying Elm Of Sorrow
Crying Elm Of Sorrow © Surazeus 2026 05 16 We see him under the crying elm of sorrow as if his body has transformed to stone, yet nobody understands what he says, so we cover him with eglantine vines that bloom with delicate petals of faith that remind our hearts of Ithilien. Horses under the crying elm of sorrow discuss philosophy with Socrates who teaches them to question what is real but they are too innocent to rebel when humans harness them to pull fruit wagons in our journey home to Ithilien. Emerging from the crying elm of sorrow, we gather on the lake shore every summer to dance by starlight among apple trees and share stories about our families, then part with tears to our home villages scattered through valleys of Ithilien. Strange ghosts under the crying elm of sorrow, far off in shadowed woods of yesteryear, speak with voices more enchanting than flutes which haunt our lonely afternoons at home while we tend lush gardens of vegetables that bloom by rivers of Ithilien. World Queen under the crying elm of sorrow sings heart-aching melodies about loss to children who sit at her feet with eyes wide as the silver moon behind rain clouds who remember her voice when they grow old and wail for spirit of Ithilien. Phoebe walks toward the crying elm of sorrow with hesitant steps of perceptive grace to offer bowl of milk with kind intention to old bearded Wulfgar, wounded by war, who accepts her gift, and weeps as he drinks to think of souls lost in Ithilien. Stalled car beside the crying elm of sorrow, that Mercury once drove across the land to perform at concerts in every city before adoring crowds of hungry ghosts, now rusts in silent stillness of hot air and decays in woods of Ithilien. Dancing under the crying elm of sorrow, Draupadi glides with grace of secret love to express lamentation of her heart for all the people killed in civil wars whose names vanish in spring winds of tomorrow though they linger mute in Ithilien.
Become The Eyeless Ghost
Become The Eyeless Ghost © Surazeus 2026 05 16 Tangled in roots of the ancient pear tree, scroll of sorrow swells with hydraulic tears of nameless people in forest of shadows whose suffering has become the eyeless ghost that haunts the solemn courtrooms of old law, so I preserve the scroll in hall of glass. Each time I gaze at ghost of some dead soul, whose face is painted with colorful goop smeared on wood panel and hung on the wall, I see reflection of immortal soul encoded in the human genes we share, so I smile till their soul wakes in my heart. Arrhythmic beat of wounded angel wings asserts free will my heart preserves in code of static words that I repeat each day in rote routine as groove of legacy which scratches when I skip confining phase to weep with nostalgia for frantic dreams. Trapped by hope in dark evening of the mind, I chase fireflies twitching in sunset blood to hide from shadow slithering among trees till I find Apple Witch with golden eyes reading book of spells by the garden wall who gives me last martyred peach of her heart. Though I wander somewhere in her dark woods without purpose, except to understand why every living creature has to die, she calls my name no one else knows but her till I wake in circling aura of her heart where she makes me wear mask of her desire. Trees represent stillness of stoic grace we cannot keep with our time-anxious hearts, she explains to me with confusing words, so I sew leather skin of angry bulls into basketballs on courts of warfare that symbolize this civil war we fight. Magnified by strategies to gain fame, her mission readjusts focus of fate to avoid flaws in dilemma of truth that vague concepts trap our minds in grand creeds in which we dare indulge against regret with inconclusive utterance of faith. Thus I shall quaff moon ale from pewter stoup to taste sweet blood of angels with mad hearts who fall from Heaven every day or two then trudge to work at the cold factory to transform bones of dragons into tools we use to build empire of howling ghosts.
Friday, May 15, 2026
Mission To Play Clockward
Mission To Play Clockward © Surazeus 2026 05 15 Floating formless in alphabetized wind with stringent arrogance of morbid laughter, I map bluffed apertures of my fake mind to guard peach pie of my celestial daughter who assures me she knows how to perform unexpected code through cuneiform. Asking how our bodies are born seems gauche but Jesus always makes it seem so awkward because my character is still ebauche despite my holy mission to play clockward if my soulmate says I am sinister since I choose to become world minister. Without angel wings I am more adroit at building boats with glass hands of the jester who defies oligarchs when they exploit objective ambition of the beast-master who trains his daughter to be dexterous though she thinks no state can be prosperous. With crystal eyes I know I cannot lose through fraught calculation of sincere passion disguised as fractal ballet of the rose which inspires me to go against the fashion and play Light-Bearer role of Lucifer who defies tyranny of Jupiter. Born to always play the wise scullion who never escapes crystal walls of Heaven, I organize our world rebellion with wise direction of the Silver Raven who teaches me the method used to save mankind from laughing demon in the cave. Too clever to win with the wizard card, that illustrates well the human condition, when I accept Minerva as my ward, I harmonize tumult of god ambition against better judgment of the Blind Queen who demands I design her time machine. Looking for another mirror to break through psychic anguish of the sordid circle, I wear glass mask of the angelic freak who prophesies American debacle erased from history by the famous scribe who buys insurance for our Dream Archive. Make me your lyre tuned to the ocean flood that tones each flushed season with solemn humor so I hover over your world and brood to escape celebrity of fame glamour that curses impetuous souls with fate to play the Fisherman instead of bait.
Thursday, May 14, 2026
Weird Spirit Of The Stone
Weird Spirit Of The Stone © Surazeus 2026 05 14 While crawling through thick tangled bush of hope, Samael breathes deep celestial air of faith when giant serpent with electric eyes slithers along river flow on short legs, and gasps surprised when she arches high to commune with weird spirit of the stone. Rainbow-colored feathers along her trunk flutter in sudden breeze along the river as two-horned dragon with electric eyes expresses weird heart-aching song of trust when she reaches short arm to grasp ripe fruit offered her by weird spirit of the stone. Amazed that he can see for the first time angular face on long thick coiling trunk, Samael gazes at dragon with two horns that sings mercurial melody of love in sweet eerie wail that reverberates with passion from weird spirit of the stone. Peering through leaves of the thick tangled bush, Samael sees large woman with curling hair who stands before serpent with crystal eyes and offers watermelon she devours, then caresses her neck as the snake purrs since she adores weird spirit of the stone. Seven men who grip brass spears in their hands, with diamond spearheads sharp enough to pierce and penetrate scaled skin with rainbow feathers, surround curly-haired woman and huge dragon with grim intention to enslave them both so they can claim weird spirit of the stone. Blowing cool breath of his worshipful heart, Samael plays mind-entrancing melodies on dark-green jade flute his grandfather made, diverting attention of dragon-hunters who stare at him in mute paralysis as he channels weird spirit of the stone. Twirling swift with sudden assertive grace, Samael strikes with sharp blade he forged from steel to behead seven hunters in quick play, then bows low before electric-eyed dragon and curly-haired woman with bag of fruit who embody weird spirit of the stone. Pregnant with baby from seed of his soul, Lilith dances slowly with elegance that emotes her serpentine curves with sinuous cadence of fluid motion while Tiamat coils with delicate grace, and Samael guards weird spirit of the stone.
Woke In The Anxious Zone
Woke In The Anxious Zone © Surazeus 2026 05 14 Woke in the anxious zone of my bruised heart, mind twisted by healing wisdom of rainbows, I gather ghosts of children killed by bombs so they can assemble puzzle of dreams from fragments of distempered photographs that conceal immortal soul of their genes. Woke in the anxious zone of dancing homes, doors flapping wild as wings of Icarus, I number every home on signless roads that all lead to ziggurat of Ishtar where she designs new masks for us to wear when we perform our role in game of life. Woke in the anxious zone of wordless books, soaked black with blood of people killed in wars, I organize in conceptual framework every trope based on character and scene that stereotypes our personalities in standard plotlines where everyone dies. Woke in the anxious zone of flashing bombs, unspooled by formulas of righteous prayer, I support United Nations of Earth based on justice and liberty for all through equal opportunity from birth for every soul to optimize their skills. Woke in the anxious zone of radio ghosts, brains buzzing voices of demonic faith, I chat with every person in the world to understand strange motives of their hands concerned with shaping thoughts in clever toys when sorrow challenges our right to love. Woke in the anxious zone of humming trees, designed to conjure fruit of sacred truth, I translate riddles of the Eyeless Snake who whispers code I forge in key of jokes so I can open box Pandora made where my heart flutters arrogant wings. Woke in the anxious zone of singing skulls, crystal egg of draconic fortitude, I join justice squad that Orpheus leads with Apollo and Hamlet to detect crimes committed by greedy oligarchs so we administer justice on Earth. Woke in the anxious zone of my glass eyes, that beam time-animated globe of Earth, I cartograph whole history of mankind to analyze rise and fall of great empires till we create Heaven that unites all in vain attempt to manage civil strife.
Wednesday, May 13, 2026
Fields Of Singing Skulls
Fields Of Singing Skulls © Surazeus 2026 05 13 I want to dance in fields of singing skulls who tell me about how the world could be so much better in how people may thrive with joyful passion of pleasure from pain even in the sorrow of freezing rain that makes the ugly Earth more beautiful. I stumble lost in fields of singing skulls who tell me about the glorious war when glamorous Satan with serpent eyes rebels against grim tyrant on gold throne yet strives to crown himself king of the world as architect of his own suffering. I exercise in fields of singing skulls to transcend limitations of this flesh so I can gaze in mirror of my mind and see the glorious god I could become if I strive hard to overcome weak faith though I may fall from heights of false success. I meditate in fields of singing skulls about the state of Limbo where I dwell in wretched circumstance of endless strife because I know with faith that I deserve to dwell in Paradise of peaceful grace forever inaccessible to me. I strut with pride in fields of singing skulls to climb great mountain of assertive will that purges weakness from my noble frame, proud my attempt to reach the height of fame proves I deserve rewards I cannot win that valorize my failure to achieve. I lounge with grace in fields of singing skulls to fetishize my longing as my goal since fruitful Heaven is beyond my reach therefore my journey to the Promised Land is all that matters to my wounded heart that beats torn wings against cage of despair. I drift forlorn in fields of singing skulls while I design grand world inside my head that matches splendor of my divine heart though efforts to attain this paradise are doomed to failure of my vague desire when I remake this world in my own image. I play guitar in fields of singing skulls to channel weird mercurial vibe of faith through haunting wail of untuned honesty in total acceptance of punishment inflicted on me by indifferent Nature who provides apples I can never reach.
Righteous Way To Go
Righteous Way To Go © Surazeus 2026 05 13 Stuck on the righteous way to go to Heaven that winds through every city in the world, I study statues of Satan and Hamlet to understand romantic state of mind that could fuel engine of my beating heart when I want to leap from Tower of Hope. Lying stunned on the righteous way to go after I fall from Heaven for nine days, I wake alone in Valley of Despond with tattered wings of Icarus I stole to find my crash created my own space where I can sing solemn psalms of despair. Lost on the righteous way to go back home where ghosts of my parents forget my name, I cast my bread upon waters of faith but the birds with angelic wings of light die from sorrow of poisoned promises and I get nothing but handfuls of rain. Mapping the righteous way to go to Hell where Hamlet and Orpheus share bad jokes, I design new ontology of truth to conjure virtual model of the Earth that represents the way things really are instead of how Plato thinks they should be. Eager to name the righteous way to go that leads to paradise of apple trees, I plant seeds in the wilderness of pain that sprout into Seraphim of my heart who stand guard on the marble walls of Troy where Cassandra waits for me to come home. Still waiting on the righteous way to go through airport security with my passport, I think about my bride Persephone who meets Mona Lisa and Melusine to paint statues at the Vigeland Park beneath tall monolith of writhing ghosts. Racing time on the righteous way to go with the Third Man on cold Antarctic plains, I find Hammer of Thor stuck in the ice, so I proclaim myself King of Greenland, and dare mad Nebuchadnezzar to fight me whose statue of gold falls in the waste land. Abandoning the righteous way to go where Percival lies drowned on the sea shore, I ask wise Urania to marry me, but she is in love with Prometheus who operates power plant near Lake Tahoe that leaves thousands of people in the dark.
Tuesday, May 12, 2026
Psychic Energy Of Love
Psychic Energy Of Love © Surazeus 2026 05 12 Primal Spirit, born from infernal swirls in seething chaos of celestial flames, our Last Universal Common Ancestor that first evolved in hot Hadean Eon, still glows with psychic energy of love in every cell of my atomized body. Every organic creature, born from Earth with immortal soul of genetic code, operates machinery for protein systems with shared chirality of amino acids through fuel of adenosine triphosphate as universal currency of cells. Breaking water bonds with hydrolysis, adenosine triphosphate executes sharp energy beams sufficient to drive biochemical processes of life which animates our physical machine through pulsing passion of emotive force. Physical experience of our God Soul buzzes deep inside every cell of my body to spark aggressive assertion of will through brave actions of creative design since I feel original Force of Life pulse in each action I choose to perform. Since Primal Spirit first began to dream four billion years ago in spin of time, her spiral coil of genes accumulates glow of experience in stereotype tropes which illuminates righteous path of action so I pursue Course of Honor to grow. Driven by primal energy of hope, that flares forth from first flash of the big bang, our planet forms from solar nebula to generate prokaryotic cell empowered by stable machine of acids as self-dividing vesicle of lust. Inspired by psychic energy of love, I play the lyre of Mercury and sing hymn of praise to the Supreme Being of Light that glows with nuclear power in the Sun, so I worship Sun-Spider Solaria who weaves our bodies from atomic threads. My brain, nurtured by this chemical frame of my temporary body, embodies immortal flare of psychic energy that we mortal humans have signified with the weird word God to symbolize mindless passion of our desire to live.
Yellow Snake Of Truth
Yellow Snake Of Truth © Surazeus 2026 05 12 Dredged up from the past, strange memories, strangers recorded in ambiguous riddles, crawl wounded on hot highway of ambition, and latch their bodies with obsessive lust to pulsing antivirus of my brain where they plant seeds that reprogram my mind. Floating in colonial skyscape of hope, dispersed across vastness of timeless thought, I wear silver mask of the wise Ungod to play Music of the Spheres on bone lyre that shakes Poisoned Apple loose from my brain so I become the Yellow Snake of Truth. Brewing gloom in white hot Cauldron of Faith, with tears of angels, and mushrooms that sprout from corpses of gods men worship no more, I wear Mask of Folly carved from glass skull of the newest devil to walk the Earth who claws diamonds from ghost mountains of fear. When the Maimed King, still slouching on gold throne of obsolete power, clutches Holy Grail he stole from cracked Tomb of the Unknown savior, I sweep back Curtain of Uncertainty to reveal Faith Beggars wearing gray suits who preach about salvation of the vampire. Renamed Pilgrim of the Apocalypse, I react with wild laughter of King Lear against mechanical sterility of our world industrial society, then design weird blueprint to resurrect Zarathia from ruins of America. I bow with reverence of honest respect before Supreme Being of the One-Eyed Sun whose radiant light of life illuminates our spinning Earth with atoms of desire, since, unmoved by Eight Winds of Providence, he floats serenely on Lotus of Love. As latest descendant of Melkhizath, whose spirit animates my heart with faith, I contemplate Wyrd of our universe, which is the only version that exists out of all the possible variations mirrored by fractals of the multiverse. Still echoing softly in Cage of Voices, prophecies of the Sibyl with gold eyes shatter illusions of national pride because Spirit of Odin, bold Lightning-Caster, is worshipped by people of America, terrified of the Yellow Snake of Truth.
Monday, May 11, 2026
Wounded Heart Of Everyone
Wounded Heart Of Everyone © Surazeus 2026 05 11 The saddest soul in the world eats the stone soft as the wounded heart of everyone so no one else feels anguish of despair. Children swim in the river of weird words to understand why happiness of light gleams on surface of the burgeoning sea. Fragments of the broken mirror gleam blue in white dust of the driveway. Hungry trees explain to the girl in the yellow dress why wind gets trapped in words of holy books no one ever reads. Pipes where water flows slither under yards of fallen road signs. Each time he finds another jeweled crown abandoned in the field of rubber tires behind the car garage, he asks the crow for name of the faceless ghost in his heart. People driving cars wear innocent masks since rain sounds like clack of typewriter keys. Ghosts are not real, yet they are memories of people we would like to see again, the girl in the yellow dress tells the boy in tattered jeans. They walk along the fence and pretend to play piano on wires of awkward flirtation till they depart. When her aunt calls her Catherine again the girl in the yellow dress shakes her head. I am the incarnation of Isolde, but this time Tristan and I will not die of broken-hearted sorrow, for we choose the life we wish to live against cruel fate. When the boy sees the crow on the mailbox where he puts letters he can never write to his mother, he feels strange sense of fear, so he runs into night of broken lamps and hides behind the car-repair garage where his grandfather used to drink cold beer. Late each afternoon, before school is out, Tristan and Isolde meet at the garage where they eat hotdogs and drink seven-up while Light My Fire plays on the radio. Because no airplanes in the clear blue sky are dropping bombs, they both decide to kiss. She plays violin while he plays the flute as strangers making music in the night, till psychic energy swells huge as clouds that crack at sweet electric flash of love so silver rain drenches the world in hope. They never agree to marry or not.
Mauve Mask Of Morning
Mauve Mask Of Morning © Surazeus 2026 05 11 To wear mauve mask of morning without fear, concerned about wordless pain people hide, I sit before glowing computer screen and map whole history of humanity with points, lines, and polygons that depict static image of our now-changing world. I feel mauve mask of morning hide my face while I search among jagged stones of hope for deep well of immortal energy so I can bring cup of juice in my heart to Mother Gaya in four-pillared fane where she weeps over death of the blind moon. Without mauve mask of morning to reflect spirit of water that nurtures my faith, I play in backyard of my empty home, happy as the child with apple of light that mimics how the sun designs our minds with aching gratitude for mystery. I find mauve mask of morning in wet grass, so I sit in museum all day long sketching imitations of famous works to see if I can wake genius of art who gazes at me from blank eyes of ghosts trapped inside frame of conceptual regret. To build mauve mask of morning from sharp shards of rose windows shattered by happy bombs, I rearrange truths of reality so everything I thought was true as wind supplies oxygen when I breathe it in, learning nature of soul carnality. Behind mauve mask of morning Soul of God wakes in vast neural network of my brain so conscious sense of self I feel as me, programmed by dreams that my ancestors lived, fools me to feel immortal in frail flesh, so I run laughing in lush field of flowers. Shielded by mauve mask of morning with pride, I stand on global stage of hungry fame and sing transcendent spells of ecstasy that flash through my brain as epiphany, then vanish from dream of the turning world after I play my part programming truth. Inspired by mauve mask of morning from faith, I follow Death on signless road of fate with urgent passion, fueled by ardent pain, to build from bones of gods sheltering fane where I observe political events as trickster who plays the opposite game.
Sunday, May 10, 2026
Never Die Of Truth
Never Die Of Truth © Surazeus 2026 05 10 Because my heart will never die of truth, though my body and mind wither from time, I wander fields of wheat till I meet Ruth who teaches me psychic secret of chime. We hold hands as we stroll along the stream while troubles weave our hearts in loyal team. Before I wake up, stuck in Tree of Life while stealing apples from Lilith the Queen, I learn from Hephaestus how to forge knife of justice with my name in damascene. Though she casts me out of high garden walls I study secret of electric balls. In Desolation Canyon of Utah I build log cabin on Green River shore where I write love letters to Onatah who trades wagons of corn for iron ore. When I escape castles on noble quest I build democracy in the Wild West. Riding my bike in the small Texas town, I think about Brenda with eyes of gold who giggles when I flirt as clumsy clown then sing prophecies the Crow Witch inscrolled. I see mask of her face on golden moon when I ask Anne Bradstreet for sacred boon. Our great empire now collapses from lies since ideals of justice and liberty are twisted from tricks spread by foreign spies, which curses my tribesmen with poverty. We build from ruins of America new equal nation of Zarathia. I do my part while wandering road of fate, composing epic of philosophers to highlight heroes who investigate nature of life as truth geographers. Now I can vanish from dream of this world at thirteenth coming of the cosmic herald. We should not wait for brave Lyterius to save our nation from the tyrant thief since democracy is precarious, for justice requires sacrificial grief. I search for Ruth in prairie fields of wheat to calculate our wealth in the spreadsheet. Since our nation will never die of truth, we build new world view on verified facts adjudicated by messiah sleuth who notarizes all social contracts. As thirteenth descendant of the Crow Witch I chronicle truth with each hexastich.
Obsessive Eyes Of History
Obsessive Eyes Of History © Surazeus 2026 05 10 The random events of my mundane life occur so far outside standard template of socially accepted stereotypes, that I can only chronicle each phase without application of ordered stamps beyond frame of meaningful narrative. No conceptual meaning assigned by fate could be extracted from those bizarre scenes if I detail each particular fact against normal code of significance contrary to nuance of legal aim that motivates my actions to survive. Each maladjusted purpose I assert reverses message of psychic intent with imprecise explanation of hope beyond general drift of my argument, which is to say I could never attest to divine gist of consensual design. No story ever told in time-bound books, nor shows presented on the glowing screen, ever represents my experience in typical sequence of measured scenes that model paradigm of social tales contrived by fabulists of absurd myths. I will not compose memoir of my life, spinning meaningful narrative of fate from random assemblage of anecdotes that highlight examples of clumsiness when I interact with people in scenes scripted to humiliate me with farce. Each time I stumble into social scene, where fearful people wearing bitter masks direct burlesque of taunting disrespect that stars their caricature of my soul, I perform contrary to game they expect that exposes their hate through travesty. Thus I exit absurd drama they cast by vacating stage of their haughty pride and leave them to strut with false dignity before obsessive eyes of history that devours esteem of arrogant fools with terrible curse of soul-twisting fame. Long trapped in stories other people write, unwilling antagonist of their heroism, I leap from tower of religious faith to soar on urgent wings of Icarus till I fall singing in Ocean of Doom and rise reborn on island of my heart.
Falling Star Of Fate
Falling Star Of Fate © Surazeus 2026 05 10 Too late to catch the falling star of fate, that blasts illusion of our noble state, I leap across abyss of timeless truth to wear changing mask of messiah sleuth and play Lyterius on the global stage to free Liberty from the golden cage. After I trace the falling star of fate, that exposes ghoul of long-concealed hate, I gather wounded people of the land so with strength of numbers we take our stand opposing tyrant in castle of greed whose idol of gold crumbles into seed. Because I map the falling star of fate, that cracks base of our continental plate, I search for fragments of our old world view to assemble weird puzzle from each clue in blueprint for new world order of laws that applies fair verdict to each crime cause. Shocked awake by the falling star of fate, that reveals location of my soulmate, I overcome all obstacles of chance so we can meet and share romantic dance in sacred temple of fertility to generate souls with civility. Twisting time from the falling star of fate, that inspires our new nation to be great, I stand on street corner in every town to play guitar and sing about the clown who decrees we worship idol of gold that portrays Justice without her blindfold. Heart inspired by the falling star of fate, that provides gold for the heavenly gate, I stand guard at threshold of global change to help angels of Ishtar rearrange psychic system of world society with tools that help manage anxiety. Concerned about the falling star of fate, that smolders in garden of my estate, I pull sword of justice from glowing stone with hammer of vision adjusting tone, so I lead revolution of the brave against hungry monster in the dream cave. Empowered by the falling star of fate, that helps my magnetic brain navigate traps to treasures in labyrinth of myth, I crown Ishtar beneath the monolith as priestess who records our names at birth to manage United Nations of Earth.
Safe On The Serpent Way
Safe On The Serpent Way © Surazeus 2026 05 10 In this open field of battle for truth between bleak wind and sorrow of the mind, I build marble temple from dragon bones where the clock, not yet invented by hope, unspools salvation from seductive hearts of those who long to walk the signless road. Soft whisper of some voice in shadowed woods explains quickening of life in dark rain that causes mindless reel of being to spin with sharp machinery of the hungry mind because past events of outrageous crimes occur again today that shocks our hearts. Knife-eyed scientists of truth, who research excessive opinions about state power, scan vast emptiness of heavenly realms with passion to observe how souls are born from flash of chemicals in pulsing brains that emanate with conscious sense of self. Harrowing strain of electric regrets reshapes crowded tenements of lost souls who give up searching for the Promised Land while gazing upward at arrogant clouds that deny right to work and live at will in any town along the restless river. So many voices of the recent past wait mute in cracked texts of long-unread books that highlight fraught problem of ownership fought between factions of corporate states, so I walk barefoot on long pilgrimage to find skulls of gods buried under roots. When Sisyphus stumbles to his crippled knees and rock of salvation begins to roll, I will imagine how happy he is to push the stone of wisdom up the hill, then stand in line with joy to wait my turn while I ponder how matter radiates essence. Since Tiresias gives me wand of respect and retires to watch television shows, I strut the busy streets of business shops till I see tall gold statue in the park, but when preachers demand I worship it I call out for help from Abednego. Running from masked agents with eyeless guns, I seek for Spirit of Lyterius to wake inside hollow cave of my heart and guide my way safe on the Serpent Way, till I find myself at the pyramid where lightning strikes gold idol of the king.
Saturday, May 9, 2026
Woke In Angelophanic Realm
Woke In Angelophanic Realm © Surazeus 2026 05 09 Trapped in despondency of eager faith, I follow Zadkiel with purple wings along winding trail of hope-shattered stones to snow-frosted peaks of Strobilus Mountain where I find fountain of my sun-born soul that fills my mortal frame with divine light. Still chained to ragged cliff of anarchy, Prometheus calls my name in howling wind, so I open portal of my aching heart which lures his flame-stealing soul to attend phase of my project constructing world view that beams radiation of primordial god. Engaged with focus of attentive care in brave adventure of curious growth, which my ancestors practice through each life, I map weird vision of ontology that defines virtue of active respect based on constructive process of design. Through theft of fire from cave of ardent faith I build assertive walls of Ilium where we horse-traders evaluate pride, immune to blood of dragons in our hearts, based on clairvoyance of agnostic dread still pertinent to moments of insight. Interior vision from Spirit of Mundus, which postulates sacred garden of ghosts, provides supportive landscape for my heart to dwell woke in angelophanic realm where I translate encoded messages as cosmic revelation few perceive. Demonic shade, that emanates from me, guides me through mirror cave of mental math to mediate contract of my wounded heart with cosmic Seraph of immortal genes along the winding Serpent Path of faith where Numinous Phantom of my heart sings. When I receive weird truth that we choose fate, I recite sagacious riddles of insight while performing pageant of ecstasy through narrative exposition of deeds which portray my inner transformation based on the friendly silence of the moon. Freed from subterfuge of religious creed, I walk with Zadkiel on mountain trail to build devotional fane of respect for soul of my ancestors in my heart to glow as mirror that presents my face which masks ephemeral spirit of the Earth.
Glass Idol Of God
Glass Idol Of God © Surazeus 2026 05 09 Faint light of afternoon glows sultry green on pallid walls of silent living rooms where shadows of people whose names I knew fade into fuzzy memories few recall, preserved by songs in aching melodies that nobody ever sings anymore. Embellished beauty, inherent in words never spoken against oppressive fear, teaches me to distrust bitter commands that attempt to mute music of the streets which reveals cracks in foundations of faith then causes our great empire to collapse. Sirens once lured sailors to crash bold ships on rocks of lust to taste forbidden fruit, but now sirens wail to warn of attacks when angels of heaven in silver planes drop bombs of greed on halls of liberty, so the wounded wail in ruins of faith. Exempt from greed that plagues weak hearts of men, we wander toward siren song of despair to gather round waterless fountain pool where faceless people in travel-worn shoes leave empty suitcases in piles of hope while family photographs swirl in hot wind. Our bodies mutate from statues of gold to hunger-wasted zombies of blind faith so we exchange hope-tattered dollar bills to buy illusions of brave apathy that clutter abandoned churches where ghosts sing solemn hymns to glass idol of God. Mother of Dignity, wearing black dress stained with blood of angels, points to Glow Cloud fractured into puzzle pieces of truth, and asks why we are baffled by despair embodied by old woman on the cow who gives the thirsty broken cups of dreams. Exquisite rant against dishonest men, who succumb to surprise of carefree death, provides glimpse into how gears of the brain analyze mutation of our world view so we see everything differently now, since life is one long television show. Though I lost mask of white ghost in my heart that haunts waterless wells in horseless fields, I almost feel reborn from flames of change that blast institutions of social games, yet jagged quartz that writhes in all my cells traps my spirit in glass idol of God.
Ghost Of Shimmer-Thought
Ghost Of Shimmer-Thought © Surazeus 2026 05 09 When I kneel at fern-wreathed curb of the well to see strange whiteness Robert once discerned, I see no godlike ghost of shimmer-thought behind mask of my simple mortal face, so I pretend with smirk of innocence that I perceive true essence of this world. Sun-dappled lilies of the valley bloom from graves where my ancestors rot to dust along lost roads of verdant urgency since patterns of transcendent ideal forms mold matter into transient beings of light which weaves meaning out of random events. While trudging endless road of prairie grass beside four-wheeled wagon of dreamy hopes, I seek glow of enchantment in bright hills that whisper secret tales in wordless wind, revealing secrets of this ancient land where grim demonic shadows of fear lurk. I sense weird spirit of faceless regard as meaning immanent in mindless things that I project with passion to express transcendent vision flashing in my eyes which dissipates in sudden gust of wind so I see river valley as it is. Vast cities in lands far across the sea teem with gangs of men fighting for control over whose god bestows their right to live with fierce ambition to claim providence for calm consumption of material wealth providing nourishment for psychic growth. No cities gleam on distant hills of hope beyond horizon of potential peace so I imagine divine providence beams rays of light on river vales of hope to highlight opportunities for growth where I may thrive far from castles of greed. This vision of new opportunity drove my ancestors in long wagon trains over rugged mountains of agony, across windy prairies of urgency, to build new homes on river shores of faith far from oppressive grasp of tyranny. Now tyrants reach their hands across the land to crush all opposition to their greed as spirit of Rome looms over lush vales to expand empire of social control, so I stand on wild beach of Oregon and laugh because our crowded world is round.
Wings Of Tranquil Honesty
Wings Of Tranquil Honesty © Surazeus 2026 05 09 Distantly arriving at nonsense now with the old book that wants to read itself, I ask nobody why we are alive, then drink apple juice on the broken rock, so I can take stock of the world today, Nature serene while humans fight for power. They seem to stand so still in peaceful calm, huge trees that gaze up at the empty sky where no giant man watches all I do, but their roots are tangled in hostile wars over who sucks atoms of material from corpses of organic animals. Their soft leaves of tender fragility, that flutter delicately in cool breeze, are engaged in struggle for dominance over who soaks in more bright rays of light that flush their hardened trunks with energy to scatter more seeds far across the land. They chirp so cheerfully in gentle trees, the birds that flutter wings of urgent hope where no guardian angels protect my soul, but their sweet songs express romantic hope to attract the most ardent monitors attentive to needs of their frantic faith. Their fragile wings of tranquil honesty, that swirl in controlled flights of fantasy, hurl their obsessive hearts in frenzied flight with agitated passion to proclaim voice-enforced shield of territorial bounds in struggles to control space of their dreams. When I walk out on porch of my quaint home at peaceful gleam of dawn that paints all rosy, I hear birds chirping in gently swayed trees, and feel strange calm of timeless innocence that soothes tense agitation of my heart from berserk fight for power humans play. Yet like humans they fight for dominance, contesting over who has right to live safe in fertile space of heavenly calm to generate and train children with love who produce food so everyone can eat then craft machines and tools with rich insight. To seek unperturbed respite of firm faith from overwrought obsession for control that drives humans to dominate our globe, I fight to defeat tyrants blind with greed, then shroud my heart in tranquil fantasy our state provides opportunities for all.
Friday, May 8, 2026
Why We Are Alive
Why We Are Alive © Surazeus 2026 05 08 In snow-filled library of Elysium, Sibylla gazes in black crystal ball that models white whole of our universe in spiral swirls of flashing galaxies, then gazes in my heart with sea-green eyes so I understand why we are alive. With laughing wind of sterile disregard I run down endless road to nowhere else through mirror that erases my true face, untouched by sorrow of my wounded heart that nurtures trees of fruit from brainless corpse because I question why we are alive. We schedule secret tryst in jeweled night beside dark river of restless desire that craves deep beauty of the hungry sea till flash of dawn bursts from my tearless eyes so I seek refuge in bright cave of thoughts which still calculate why we are alive. Bound by fierce empathy for nameless souls, who wander signless roads beyond stone walls, I walk with Death inside huge picture frame to sit by urgent fountain of concern and wonder if Blood Moon still misses me while wisdom conceals why we are alive. If laughter breaks free from mute book of lies with tangled threads of fractured memories, I may attend brave pilgrimage of love beyond all expectations of world fame to gaze in crystal ball of timeless truth that helps me resolve why we are alive. Sad water puppets in pastures of green explain how cows convert despair to milk though caught between eternity and now each time I feel attention of your gaze since we bear weight of careless hope within as passion that proves why we are alive. Though Phoenix of insistent innocence rises from smoking ruins of our state, we catch rain of Heaven in open hands to wash stark pain from melancholy minds so we pass through seasons of mental change that reframe code for why we are alive. While ocean waves breathe memories of my heart, and flowers transform sorrow to sweet joy, we hold each other close in warm embrace to weave our hearts with energy of love so when we walk in rain of bitter storms we remain warm from why we are alive.
Hidden Land Of Havilah
Hidden Land Of Havilah © Surazeus 2026 05 08 While wandering along asphalt highway somewhere between Seattle and Miami, I turn aside in unmapped wilderness to follow Pishon River of my heart till I find hidden land of Havilah where dead trees of Eden lurk in the mist. Sweet voice enchants my heart with ache of hope, so I follow mercurial wail of love to find young woman with eyes gold as stars dancing among lush pomegranate trees around clear pool from bubbling fountain spring, uncanny scene that inspires me with joy. All traces of corporate buildings and cars, connected by world wide web of dream machines, vanish in swirl of haze as I transcend liminal threshold of the multiverse to find myself as shadow of my mind awake in hidden land of Havilah. As I emerge from portal of despair, my progress is obstructed by horned demon, fierce Azazel, who challenges my right to walk the yellow brick road of success, so I claw brass wand, forged from ancient lava, from sands of time to fight his bitter hate. Shocked that I dare oppose his tyranny, grim Azazel attacks with snarling rage, but I dodge every strike of long sharp claws, and bash his arms and legs with wand of truth till he falls to his knees in wounded pride and pleads till I crush his soul with respect. Drinking water from sparkling Hippocrene, I breathe healing air of Havilah, but gasp surprised when crowd of cheering folk celebrate my victory against the devil, then star-eyed Astara with jeweled wand proclaims me their savior Lyterius. Crowned King in hidden land of Havilah by Astara who bears child of our souls, I reign well with justice in court of law, managing farms, ranches, and factories to produce and distribute food for all, and fund projects improving homes and roads. Waking up in modern America with memories of life in the ancient past, I wonder how civilizations change so generous spirit of communal life that flows from hidden land of Havilah may resurrect our nation from collapse.
Thursday, May 7, 2026
Blinded By Epiphanies
Blinded By Epiphanies © Surazeus 2026 05 07 I refuse to admit with steel-eyed pride my mind has been blown by epiphanies, so I walk down to where the sad bears hide to engage in psychic polyphonies for angels wearing masks with devil smirks who hide in kitchens where Apollo lurks. When I fall in love with the Femme Fatale who manipulates my heart with kind words, she invites me to join secret cabal dedicated to managing cow herds by writing reports with mystical code about transcendent hum of the God Toad. If I ignore the Damsel in Distress because I think her act could be some trap, my understanding of love might regress to primal state not found on any map, yet I will save her from the jaws of death despite how she defines the shibboleth. Intercepted by the Sassy Tomboy who challenges me to magic-wand fight, I avoid her kiss by acting too coy despite commitment to master Mind Flight by breathing deep celestial flare of trust that forges Heaven from conceptual dust. Inspired by resolve of the Mother Bear to protect her children from predators by teaching them how to ride the Night Mare, I misdirect aggressive creditors with glam fantasy of the Afterlife which causes them to clash in bitter strife. Attending shows with the Trophy Girlfriend to enhance social standing I perform, I strut to comply with the latest trend that hides my deviance from accepted norm to prove I am superior to all fools because I disdain use of fiscal tools. Attempting to woo heart of the Ice Queen, who hides trauma behind facade of strength, I work hard to invent power machine that channels her pain on healing wavelength to focus attention of her career on ruling world empire with the Blind Seer. With my heart blinded by epiphanies that flash before my eyes with deep insight, I compose tragicomic symphonies that no musician ever performs right, yet I realize another sacred truth which I chronicle for messiah sleuth.
Establish Secure Home
Establish Secure Home © Surazeus 2026 05 07 In service to strange country that I love I fix broke traffic lights on road of life to ensure moral signals of behavior function with fair assessment of our need to flow in harmony with every soul fixated on secret quest of their heart. I want to create, rather than destroy, structures of atoms that constitute this world, though everything grows and decays in its time as fragile objects of chemical gears composed of molecules that interact with constant motions of urgent desire. Intense vibration of attractive hope, that radiates from core of organic being, still pulses with first flash of the big bang that flares forth from primal spark of desire which motivates my progress to transcend bounds of my body through spiritual flight. Because neural network of my sponge brain conjures my conscious sense of self from dreams, composed of memories from ancestral lives, I must accept that I am limited to perform roles within physical frame that nurtures deathless light in mortal flesh. I study nature of this global world when I measure extension of existence to note how far I stand out within bounds of structured form, which contains my whole being providing instruments of arms and legs so I can move, and manipulate shapes. Thus I design proverbs of providence to express well through formulaic laws statements that describe essence of assertion inherent in state of physical objects through strict methods of scientific research which defines process of cause and effect. Hidden inside these solemn observations that assess status of relationships, bright vision of desire to replicate new bodies with immortal soul of genes motivates my emotion-funded project to establish secure home of love with you. If visions of the future we both share coincide with mutual assessments of fate, I choose to dedicate passion of love to care for health and safety of your soul through marriage of our individual minds in consensual program to procreate.
Wednesday, May 6, 2026
Janus Guard Of Paradise
Janus Guard Of Paradise © Surazeus 2026 05 06 When Janus is five years old he arrives at the great gold gates that guard paradise, and he is so entranced by graceful curls of liquid metal forged to mimic vines that he dwells sixty years before the gates, contemplating beauty of human souls. Seven days after Janus first arrives and stands in sun and rain both night and day, entranced by shimmer of the golden gates, Hebe leaves paradise with four-wheeled cart heaped with apples she harvested from trees, so she gives the boy six apples to eat. Three years after Janus begins to guard gates of paradise with curious eyes, Daedalus constructs small fane by the gates where Janus may seek shelter from harsh weather while writing name and purpose on clay slabs to record who comes and goes through gold gates. Twelve years of guarding gates of paradise with wand of wisdom Mercury gives him, Janus stands firm against invading thieves and fights aggressive hordes of screaming goons till he stands triumphant in howling wind so people inside paradise are safe. Twenty years after Janus first arrives, Juno appears with troupe of dancing girls who sing romantic hymns that Sappho wrote, then presents Juturna in saffron gown red as apples that bloom in fertile trees, with yellow veil held by crown of gold vines. Thirty-eight years after Janus starts quest to secure paradise with solemn care, he teaches daughter Cardea weird art of molding hinges for doors she creates, and trains brave son Junonius how to fight slavers and thieves with wand of Mercury. Forty-two years of guarding paradise with keen eyes that see into hearts of men, Janus presides over funeral of Zeus, then places crown of world authority on head of his most qualified son, Phoebus, whom everyone elects to become Zeus. Sixty years after Door Guard first arrives to secure paradise in peaceful age of prosperity with justice for all, Janus defends Garden of Apple Trees against Mars, angry he was not crowned king, who stabs him in the heart with sneer of rage.
War-Shattered Eden
War-Shattered Eden © Surazeus 2026 05 06 If trees keeping telling me the wind loves flight that sparks my brain alert to dangerous hope, then I may have to walk across the clouds and scatter apple seeds on asphalt roads to break monopoly of hungry greed that writes the rules for how we live each day. While children squabble over who remembers dream code that opens doors to vaults of wealth, I dig my hands in soft soil of the world to extract stones of faith with urgent calm, then build great castle on high hill of fear where I protect my family from despair. Amazed at strange glow of the sky at dawn, I hold blue conch shell of concerned alarm to watch for shadows of demons in woods that lurk behind portraits of long-dead gods till I see someone floating on the stream, and know we cannot return from the dead. Stark sunlight of the casual day dispels weird magic glow of memories before dawn, so I map houses along city streets to understand process of civic growth that helps me plan state of the urban zone that buzzes voices through the telephone. Grand temple of feast on the ziggurat becomes gold palace of the emperor, becomes stone castle of the hungry king, becomes city hall of the elected mayor, so I walk away from hard haven walls that prison me in fear of social change. Though I keep searching for the Promised Land that shimmers only in dreams of my head, I ask Blue Sky to show me no more dreams so I can see the real world as it is, but hundred million years of fantasy, my ancestors dreamed, frame how I see life. While walking with shadow of the Third Person across the waste land of war-shattered Eden, I find colossal statue of some god who ruled vast empire sea to shining sea, but wind of time erased his glorious name and scrubbed away all features of his face. I carve my own face on idol of God, then plant seeds in soft soil of the world, and tend new garden sprouting tender shoots that flourishes in waste land of the past so giant cities of the ancient world all vanish into orchards of fruit trees.
Tuesday, May 5, 2026
Blue Bird Of Bitterness
Blue Bird Of Bitterness © Surazeus 2026 05 05 Plodding along in vast maze of my life with passionate boredom of contrived faith, I sing with the blue bird of bitterness whose melodies calculate happiness which raises our ancestors from dark graves so we can live the good life we deserve. I hear mad prophets on the radio excoriate the humble king of faith who sings with the blue bird of bitterness about search for truth in the wilderness that we undertake on quest of the fool to redesign the long-accepted rule. With caustic interference of regret the church lady tries to sell Book of Faith, yet sings with the blue bird of bitterness despite her brave mission of kindliness that mocks her straight-laced dignity of pride which fractures when she learns her preacher lied. Now heavy as Saturn in my old age, I leap with spirit of youth in my heart to sing with the blue bird of bitterness about eternity of nothingness that we will experience after we die, so before then I want to learn to fly. While meditating in warm summer eve, I wonder at pure whiteness of the lily guarded by the blue bird of bitterness according to dream code of cleverness by which I program ritual of my life to exercise self-control during strife. Though I am absent from you this fine spring and with your shadow play in carefree joy, my heart feels the blue bird of bitterness lead me across Bridge of Forgetfulness to find the glorious white horse of your heart frolicking freely round my apple cart. I may cavort with shadow of your soul for vermilion pleasure of our kiss, recorded by blue bird of bitterness in valley-haunting song of gracefulness, but I am devoted with ardent faith in helping you develop adroit skills. Though I was born in maze of Babylon in body of clay dazzled by starshine, developed by blue bird of bitterness from quiet wisdom of sweet loneliness, I will rebuild Garden of Avalon in machine-mangled woods of Oregon.
Gold Sibylline Cage
Gold Sibylline Cage © Surazeus 2026 05 05 I will fight no more wars of holy hope against aggressive growing of hill grass that always seems to know where I am at in faltered progress to the Promised Land where I am sure to find fortune and fame that traps me in the gold sibylline cage. When rain drenches Earth in casual tears, I hold umbrella with careful concern over head of the person I love most, who gazes at me with astonishment as if they never thought I could be kind, then we walk awkwardly in the dark streets. I keep thinking about her all the time no matter where I am in maze of doors because I hope she is happy and safe alone of all the people in the world, though I hope they are safe in general terms while we all wait for the apocalypse. What revelation should we all expect, I wonder with obsessive nonchalance, except the fact that humans always form systems of social rights and privileges based on strict hierarchies of wealth and race, all living under the God with no face. She laughs when I explain with tangled words my convoluted theory of state power based on control of psychic energy contained in conceptual symbols of hope that we are not tangles of hungry genes which replicate themselves to dominate. Eating fried beef sandwiches by the lake, that teems with strange demonic energy, we chat about costumes of the elite who decorate themselves outrageously with classy style of the suave urbane clown when they strut before cameras of fame. I ask if I could be more serious with refined sense of cultivated style, but she assures me with amorous smirk that she loves the bold jester of my heart who follows Isaiah and Juvenal to compose scathing satires of respect. Resigned to fateful role of satirist, whose brave mimetic gestures of defiance highlight complex nature of being human, I go on pilgrimage to Aquinum where I strum lyre of Mercury and sing in Temple of Hercules Liberator.
Monday, May 4, 2026
Holy Water Of The Earth
Holy Water Of The Earth © Surazeus 2026 05 04 If the sky speaks to me with tongues of snow to explain why awestruck trees imitate swan-winged Seraphim with ten thousand eyes, I will assert through subatomic thought compassion for every organic soul that strives to transcend terror of pure light. Essential quality of being alive spurs calm obsession of my hungry heart to seek salvation from fountain of light that sparkles holy water of the Earth which fills my body of delicate flesh with rapture of cool wisdom time reveals. My face in time-ensilvered mask of fate reveals expressive lust to procreate immortal soul of genes in mortal form that replicates conceptual personhood who likes to bake apple cinnamon muffins which fill my heart with beauty of the world. So when I need to understand the world I ask the Oracle of Delphi why I am conscious of my one self alone of every conscious creature who has lived on every planet in the universe, but she just gives me root beer shake to drink. Thus at sunset before the seventh day I enter tabernacle tent of faith to roast lamb on altar of sacrifice, then feed world-wanderers with humble hearts who gather mushrooms in the morning mist to write their secret names in time-blown sand. Dipping my hand in gold-silt water stream, I savor sensuous flow of casual time with eagerness to measure how change occurs when seeds expand from confines of mute words to stretch angelic wings of flashing leaves then drop sweet fruit of faith in open hands. Fabulous beauty of light rays on water shocks my heart with illiterate respect, expensive thoughts confined by sentences ghosts buy from mermaids with transparent eyes, so I become vast emptiness of all when I drink holy water of the Earth. All things in Nature grow without intent, transforming from potential seed of thought to full-shaped body blooming rich with hope of hungry passion to compose the mind that conjures image of essential being, so I free Sibyl from her cage of fear.
White Stone Of The Sun
White Stone Of The Sun © Surazeus 2026 05 04 When I wash the dirt of ten thousand roads off my wounded feet with unholy water, my grandmother holds the knife of weird truth to carve fresh steaks from cave-demon flesh so my father can roast it on the altar with fire from the lightning strike he calls down. My mother gives me white stone of the sun and shows me how to walk where devils dance, so I invent new words from languages I hear birds use when they eat sheafs of wheat which hide me from men with soul-wounded spears because my face shines with celestial rage. Holding broken stick that fell from the sky, I draw oval shape in sand of the beach so everyone knows I indicate eggs, then they follow me to large cave of shadows where thousands of birds with white wings erupt in squawking rage as we take eggs to eat. While I squat on edge of steep sea-side cliff, explaining to stiff grass how bright wind knows weird secret of life concealed in soft sand, I stare at small rock for ten million years till it wobbles and falls into the sea where it transforms into leviathan. When I hold out my hand and spread my fingers to measure distance from high mountain peak to the silver moon that gleams behind clouds, I invent science of geometry, but then forget when I find strawberry vines so I fill large basket with blood-red fruit. My brother steals one strawberry and runs leaping and laughing along fallen log where honey bees swarm so he screams in pain as he transforms into galloping pig that offers itself as great sacrifice willing to die so we may eat and live. My sister draws marks in sand by the tree at breath-long intervals of feral fate which calibrates increments of small change, then explains to me strange concept of time which she invents with delicate concern, then shows me how to peel orange of her heart. On undulating waves of humming names I float through ocean of fortune to claim divine right to name all things that exist with template label that defines each form, then walk back to our small ziggurat home where I clack the turtle shell and chant spells.
Sunday, May 3, 2026
Isolated From Strange Dream
Isolated From Strange Dream © Surazeus 2026 05 03 Isolated from strange dream of the world, I assemble puzzle of random facts to design exhaustive ontology that frames complex events of history in grand narrative that explains it all which fixes my place as hero of truth. Isolated from strange dream of the sea, I build boat from steam-heated planks of wood and sail the seven seas of strange new lands to explore nature of our spinning globe where people dance on pyramids of power to control fields of wheat and hills of gold. Isolated from strange dream of the sun, I capture rays of light from long-dead stars with solar panels of assertive will which transform light to electricity that powers global empire of machines weaving computers into one God Mind. Isolated from strange dream of the land, I map confusing landscape of the heart to organize conflicting nation-states in peaceful United Nations of Earth though cruel gangsters disguised as presidents fight each other over who rules the world. Isolated from strange dream of the moon, I run with Artemis in misty woods with joyful laughter of wild carefree friends till Midas forces her to be his queen so we revolt against his tyranny and fight to establish democracy. Isolated from strange dream of the mind, I argue with Pythagoras all night that stars do not generate human souls which animate our bodies with desire, and prove that brains generate consciousness which dissipates to nothing when we die. Isolated from strange dream of the truth, I stand millions of years under Fruit Tree and wait for my soulmate to keep our tryst to nourish our home based on mutual trust because our children inherit the Earth when we build Heaven from waste land of Hell. Isolated from strange dream of the heart, I wear mask of my personality which I compose through every choice I make as I navigate landscape of despair on mission to create, and not destroy, as we connect and bind our souls with love.
Weird Voice Of Light
Weird Voice Of Light © Surazeus 2026 05 03 How may I balance happiness and sorrow to power progress of spiritual growth through dynamic system of inspiration which I derive from deposit of passion I channel through document of expression based on enterprise of mental encryption. Sparked by evanescence my heart may borrow from bright atomic flame of chemicals, I sublimate mindless force of aggression by weaving corporal concept of perception through tangled sentences of fractured words that mold matter into bodies of faith. Snagged on fractal structure of vibrant limbs during assertive flight beyond dark scope of wisdom that traps my soul in my brain, I dangle helplessly above abyss that yawns teeth-bristling jaws of painful death by grasping rope of truth with stubborn hope. Dark nothingness of death would like to swallow fragile flame of energy that ignites glow of consciousness nurturing my brain, so I become aware I am alive, awake in shock of arrogant dismay that my body conjures my consciousness. So many people tell me with false confidence that my spirit was forged by the God Mind to animate my temporary body with immortal soul of divinity, and I am fooled to believe this is real till I feel my spirit beam from my brain. Though molecules that animate my flesh first flashed from soul furnace of Father Sun, then evolved into this body of flesh by passionate desire of Mother Earth, my sense of conscious self inside my brain is my own unique personality. Through all the spiral of galactic light the past fourteen billion years of existence these atoms that compose shell of my soul have flared into this planet that designs organic forms to nurture divine mind so I think I am God as mortal human. We humans are leaves on the Tree of Life, grapes on the Vine of Faith, and tender flowers that sprout for brief seasons from Ground of Being, so I will sing loud with weird voice of light to channel vision of creative love till our children sing after we all die.
Feel My Aching Body
Feel My Aching Body © Surazeus 2026 05 03 Secret words weave clear thread of mystery from elemental passion of the heart to overcome weakness and win the race by leaping on quick wings of urgent breath in courageous bid to transcend taut bounds of physical endurance to survive. Though terror preserves my animal mind that animates assertion of my rights through structured layers of civilized rules, I confirm my soul with strict self-control by managing consequences of my acts to channel passion with logical verse. By gazing off into bright sunset flames when I slip fragile body into roots of hungry bushes on the steep hillside, I find I can deny reality shortened by sparkle of the rivulet that asks me how I feel with gauge of rain. I feel my aching body dissipate with each cold gust of alabaster wind so I become less solid that the stream that flows from fountain of my bleeding heart to flood deep valley of excited gods who cry for salvation to mocking clouds. Graceful girl I imagine I should be dances free with beautiful leap of faith as writhing shadow only in my head, so I ask the old woman who lies dead if her tangled hair weaves truth in rough hills because her skeleton now forms the land. Covered in mud and roots of the wild world, I walk into vast room of marble floors to hide from weird ghost in the mirror glass who gives her face to angels without wings with plan to garland horns of happy bulls since I know the world will not die when I die. No autocrat imprisoned in my heart will silence fountains of astonishment when lonely people of the world escape from dream-tangled roots of arrogant trees which replicate my spirit in dark seeds that plagiarize apples we ate last year. If I am seagull gliding through cold clouds till I become dark shadow of the moon, I may transform my eyes to twinkling stars so you can see the road of truth I blazed before I fall to Earth on wings of fire where I pretend I am flower of fame.
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