Tyrant In Gold Tower

Tyrant In Gold Tower
© Surazeus
2026 06 30

Wolves in vast meadow of the star-eyed flower, 
who understand assignment of the heart, 
erase from dream the tyrant in gold tower 
who steals ripe apples from the broken cart. 
Exponent of creation from the Earth, 
love teaches us what sorrow should be worth. 

From river bed I gather chrysoprase 
that gleam with vibrant hue of nickel flakes 
so I may transcend level of each phase 
through hidden tunnels of electric lakes. 
If faith is peerless bridge of eagerness, 
I play my scene as humble Sisyphus. 

On vacillating feet of holy pride 
I leap on wings of Icarus to teach 
brave children how to find what angels hide 
in necessary caverns beyond reach. 
Why modesty reverses magnitude 
I calculate through haughty fortitude. 

More bountiful with each exploding dawn, 
my heart expands scope of its confidence 
to rise from grave of laughter on bombed lawn 
and eat rose petals with fierce nonchalance. 
Weird flames of sunrise burn mask of despair 
so I stand laughing on time-twisted stair. 

Minerva asks calm Death for secret code 
by which she calls my heart of grinding gears 
that traps lithe Spirit of the signless road 
with fame of dust designed by puppeteers. 
Encased in pulsing shell of thinking clay, 
Apollo asks me to come out and play. 

Through hungry Will of cosmic energy 
I act in line with channel of my brain 
to prove peace is no fiction of the free 
despite how far I ballet in bleak rain. 
Through observation manifold of fate 
I question how my choices transform hate. 

Escaping backward to sea shore of hope, 
I dare confront her glittering embrace 
when Death disguised as Love helps me to cope 
with blinding beauty of her glamorous face. 
Immersed in constant flux of mental growth, 
I resurrect my passion through weird oath. 

Without instruction of divine concern, 
Fame dotes on those whose hearts play calm with ease, 
yet I gain happiness each time I learn 
thought formulas that beam atomic keys. 
Death blows my wounded heart with vanity 
that heals with wisdom through vitality. 

Bullets Of Brave Pride

Bullets Of Brave Pride
© Surazeus
2026 06 30

Jeff lingers outside crowded country bar, 
watching semi-trucks zoom on the highway, 
because his friends mocked him with joshing sneers 
when he insisted they call him Godefridus 
for his namesake who conquered Jerusalem 
as Advocate of the Holy Sepulcher. 

We modern Americans have lost touch 
with our roots in Rome and Jerusalem 
as heirs to ancient traditions of honor 
that Sons of Jesus established with power, 
assigned by Jupiter in Halls of Heaven 
to unite the world in Kingdom of Christ. 

Driving motorcycle down the highway 
past endless fields of golden shining corn, 
that gleam on light of the metallic moon, 
Jeff ponders what bold action he could take 
to help expand global Kingdom of Christ 
by eliminating all false religions. 

No longer can I ride the great white horse, 
dressed in shining armor of righteousness, 
to fight infidels in holy crusade 
by wielding sharp-honed sword named Durendal 
that brave Orlando wielded to defend 
Kingdom of Christ from evil Saracens. 

With fury of Orlando I assert 
divine right to enforce grand reign of Jesus 
for he is noble Emperor of Earth 
who rules as his descendants in the flesh 
since they bear Holy Grail of his bloodline, 
Arthur, Charlemagne, and William the Mighty. 

Loading rifle with bullets of brave pride, 
Jeff drives motorcycle in city streets 
to stand before the Mosque of Gotham City 
where he shouts God is Great and shoots at devils 
disguised as humans who scream in surprise 
as they flee before holy wraith of Jesus. 

Aiming pistol at head of the cruel shooter, 
Sergeant Gottfried demands he drop the gun, 
but shoots when Jeff aims rifle at his chest, 
which knocks hostile murderer on the ground 
who shouts that he is doing work of God 
as he sinks into mindless gloom of death. 

Descending from Heaven on wings of fire, 
Azrael, with seventy thousand eyes, 
bears soul of Jeff down to caverns of Hell 
so he kneels trembling before iron throne 
where Persephone makes him lowly slave 
of Farah, whom he killed, for eternity. 

Clarity Of My Open Heart

Clarity Of My Open Heart
© Surazeus
2026 06 30

If I decide to enter clarity 
of my open heart with fruit of the Earth, 
I may attend the vineyard of my dreams 
to harvest wisdom from experience 
so I alone will benefit from code 
that programs how my brain perceives the world. 

I leave my insight wrapped in riddle-code 
as gifts that preserve treasure of strange truth 
along the winding road of anywhere 
for anyone to open if they dare 
release from polished box Pandora made 
arcane concepts that reprogram the brain. 

Though bright-eyed angels in silver-winged planes 
bomb golden-mirrored palaces of Europe 
to heaps of broken images with faith 
in divinity of atomic light, 
I hold key to Heaven in trembling hand 
where I stand in ruins of paradise. 

I strike with boldness of courageous hope 
to snatch from head of Jesus Crown of Thorns 
which I wear to proclaim myself with pride 
Emperor of Earth with Wand of Zambor 
which he forged from bent Thunderbolt of Zeus 
when I found nation of Zarathia. 

When frail poet Keatius in black cloak 
finds me slumbering on the river shore, 
his cry of anguish wakes me from strange dream, 
so I rise up from chthonic ground of gloom 
and lead him to grove where Sellaeus strums 
Lyre of Mercury and sings with sharp voice. 

Thus I, Saturnus, Wielder of Anor, 
proclaim them legislators of the world, 
assigned to chronicle in sublime verse 
noble quests of us ancient fallen gods 
to reassert long-lost authority 
that we claim through weird wisdom of our words. 

Freed from harsh chains of brutal punishment, 
Prometheus wanders waste lands of the Earth 
with Adam and Hyperion by his side, 
as restless children of cruel Frankenstein, 
till we seize control through socialist coup 
both Vatican and White House to rule Earth. 

When Percivalus and Ioannes find 
corpse of my power, tangled in torn wings, 
rotting in library of unread books, 
they burn me on bonfire of vanities 
to secure justice and freedom for all 
who walk the signless road to Wonderland. 

Fallen Star Of Truth

Fallen Star Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 06 29

I promise not to sit with anyone else 
but you under the apple tree of trust, 
and walk lane of lovers in evening glow 
with no one else but you till you return 
from your investigation as dream sleuth 
for secret in the fallen star of truth. 

Ascending rugged slope with Spear of Strength, 
Godin breaks through golden doors of desire 
and battles Jupiter in pillared hall 
so blades of bold authority clash loud 
to control Mount Olympus as world god, 
endowed with right by fallen star of truth. 

While Gugnir, Spear of Strength, drips divine blood, 
Godin steps over corpse of Jupiter 
and clutches Hera with lascivious lust, 
but finds old woman withered dry with age, 
so he exiles her to garden of fruit 
where she retires by fallen star of truth. 

Leading Sleipnir, his white eight-legged horse, 
into Olympian palace of world power, 
Godin escorts Evilla, his sweet bride, 
and crowns her Mother Empress of the Earth 
with ring of gold studded with thirteen gems 
to reign as Queen of Heaven with star eyes. 

Strolling together in cool evening dusk 
along lane of lovers where roses bloom, 
Godin and Evilla sit by the pool 
under the apple tree of holy faith, 
which Lilith planted in Eden at dawn, 
and kiss with passion of creative love. 

Blending good and evil in one strong soul, 
Godin and Evilla raise seven children 
who play hide and seek in the maze of myths 
where they paint marble idols of dead gods 
with psychotic runes of false destiny 
that encode spells from fallen star of truth. 

After Godin overthrows Jupiter, 
who overthrew Zeus, who overthrew Cronus, 
who overthrew Uranus, new young god 
will soon emerge from heart of human hope 
to crown himself as Emperor of Earth 
with wand of faith from fallen star of truth. 

Awake midway in journey of my life, 
I find myself in obscure wood of faith, 
so I blaze straightforward path of respect 
across grim waste land of America 
where I plant apple seeds from Tree of Life 
that blossoms tall from fallen star of truth. 

Gold Ocean Of Forever

Gold Ocean Of Forever
© Surazeus
2026 06 29

The blue frog of unholy innocence 
crouches in algae-slimed reflection pool 
with frantic nonchalance of heartless saints 
who know the reason why all humans die 
and disappear in nothingness of death 
though we inspire divine soul of god breath. 

While searching for deep pool of demon blood 
that simmers hot on frozen mountain slope, 
Naberius follows crow with diamond eyes 
as rainbow ghost on television screen 
that flickers black when brutal thunderstorm 
tears power poles out of the muddy ground. 

Kneeling at Spring of Wisdom that gleams gold, 
Naberius drinks bright liquid of the Earth, 
then draws his sigil with three-headed crow 
in mud that gleams with sharp rays of moonlight 
to conjure vision of his secret goal 
that motivates intention to proceed. 

Just as Naberius ascends jagged ridge 
where howls of Zephyrus batter his soul, 
Morax appears from swirling mist of rage 
and declares intent to delay his progress 
by stopping his hard quest to steal the wand 
that Zepar forged from fallen star of truth. 

Asserting right to Wand of Liberty, 
which sharp-toothed father of his mother forged 
from Flame of Anor he wields with respect, 
Naberius counters dark Flame of Udun 
to weave atomic energy of life, 
but Morax blocks him with regressive rage. 

Struck hard by flash of lightning in his heart, 
Naberius falls in river of despair, 
stunned mute by brutal flash of hungry greed, 
then tumbles paralyzed with gushing flow 
over waterfalls of sharp jagged stones 
to float blind on gold ocean of forever. 

Borne safe in nurturing arms of concern, 
Naberius wakes in small cave by the sea 
and gazes at strange woman with gold eyes 
who gives him pomegranate juice to drink 
then tends wound of his heart with gentle care 
that heals is soul with innocent respect. 

Embraced beneath the pomegranate tree, 
Naberius makes sweet love with Athirat, 
who bears bright-eyed son they name Sephiras, 
who follows them with spritely dance of joy 
when they explore to gather food to eat, 
then feast beside gold ocean of forever. 

Scary Door Of Fate

Scary Door Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 06 28

Since there are only one hundred twenty days 
till the end of time, when hope ends in words 
sloshing louder than ocean waves at dawn, 
Orpheus sits on last park bench in town 
where seven roads converge from everywhere 
to watch people search for the pearly gates. 

Because he never knows what will come next 
in swift unspooling flash of nevertime, 
Orpheus cradles loneliness with care 
as purring kitten next to his ice heart 
that unnerves monsters with dream-grasping hands 
who stare forlorn past cracked window of hope. 

Though he suddenly tries to turn around 
and go back through the scary door of fate 
beyond parameters of endless change, 
Orpheus measures vastness of the heart 
as he falls wingless from tower of words 
based on assumption of blind privilege. 

To measure distance of the signless road 
against contingency of hopeless faith, 
Orpheus listens with attentive shock 
as soft rain sloshes muddy fields of faith 
against horizon of green elegance, 
yet he still savors passion of his youth. 

Hoping we may transcend harsh suffering, 
though we are transient shadows of sunlight, 
Orpheus folds soul of Earth in his heart 
to treasure strangeness of its hard landscape 
that molds brave bodies from relentless wind 
with durable faith in flash of cold rain. 

Achieving flight of freedom with wild wind 
against fierce judgment of time lost in gloom, 
Orpheus flees across blank land of faith 
with nothing more than black seeds in his hand 
when gangs of thieves invade his paradise 
and seize control of trees that bloom fresh fruit. 

Wrecked on storm-swirling ocean of false hope 
while searching for the fabled Promised Land, 
Orpheus follows swarm of honey bees 
to field where lavenders stand tall with pride 
in unreal meadows of observant mist 
to prove his music resurrects the dead. 

Still confident that he can sing dream tune, 
though flame of love fades with each withered year,
Orpheus plays midsummer in the north 
where faint gold rays of light may penetrate 
sad hearts with earnest swagger of old faith 
that opens scary door of fate to choice. 

Columbian Sibyl

Columbian Sibyl
© Surazeus
2026 06 28

Because Earth spawns our bodies from the sea 
with untroubled passion to touch the stars, 
I dream about the world before our birth 
and how it spins long after we are gone 
with simple spirals around the blind sun 
though I hope I evolve to something weird. 

With my unreckoning heart by the sea 
I wonder when we humans, urged by lust 
to populate this globe with avatars 
of hungry energy through masks of stone, 
will vanish into swirls of nothingness 
though we swim down to bottom of the heart. 

Clouds crumble into sparkles of sweet rain 
that flush my soul with madness of desire 
so I pluck berries from long tangled vines 
to deconstruct how empires congregate 
gangs of thieves in government institutes 
which manage function of productive minds. 

No lark may long avoid reach of my eye 
with flashing wings of time-slip innocence 
when I ride Xanthus on bright river shore 
with unshelled courage of the blood-stained rose 
as tongueless prophet of the modern age 
when oligarchs control the mental stage. 

I open bronze annals of the oak tree 
to calculate excessive flow of thoughts 
our brains exert to analyze how hope 
spurs each new generation of the Earth 
to fight colossal war for social power 
where Columbian Sybil dwells in the tower. 

While frightened people of the nation work 
day in and day out through endless routine, 
the star-eyed prophet from the mountain cave 
strides city streets from sea to shining sea 
with serpents writhing in his long gray hair 
as he proclaims fall of America. 

From ruins of ambition soon will rise, 
wise prophet of Columbian Sibyl cries, 
new nation you shall call Zarathia 
that will replace your failed America 
with true justice and liberty for all 
who may live as they will, if they harm none. 

Because Earth spawns our spirits from the wind 
with voice of the owl that booms in our hearts, 
I dream how United Nations of Earth 
binds people of the world in global clan 
based on brave principle of ardent faith 
that mothers mold our souls from words of love. 

Pale Of Haven Walls

Pale Of Haven Walls
© Surazeus
2026 06 28

Strange silence of hopeless sorrow screams softly 
from bright green grass that glows nuclear yellow 
through searing arbitrariness of light 
that strips illusions of self-worth away 
till I stand naked in shadow of hope 
and listen for murmur of river waves. 

When farmers gang up and surround the cow 
because cow woman will not give them milk, 
and she flees terrified into dark woods 
as they drag her cow away with tight rope, 
I ask them why they are stealing her cow 
and whack them on the legs with wand of truth. 

While lounging with her cow by sparkling stream, 
swatting at swarms of flies around my face, 
I call to woman crouched behind thick trees 
who runs at me with stick to strike my head, 
but I explain how I rescued her cow 
and chased the gang of thieves back to their farms. 

Clutching my arm with anguish in her eyes, 
cow woman with tangled hair begs for help 
to protect her from farmers and their wives 
because they keep trying to steal her milk cow 
since all their cows died from some strange disease, 
so I comfort her with assurance of aid. 

Erecting twelve poles of trees I stripe bare, 
I design and build haven of strong walls 
to enclose sacred pale where she can dwell 
safe from clandestine night-attacks of thieves, 
so she tends the cow with tender affection 
while I keep watch in the tower all day. 

Expanding wider pale of haven walls 
to surround pool of fish the river forms, 
I build tall mound where she can sleep at night 
hidden safe from both cold winds and hot waves, 
then plant grove of apple trees on its shore 
where she can tend garden of vegetables. 

Having built paradise of sturdy walls 
where she raises five children of our hope, 
I relax in tower of watch with sons 
who listen to my teachings about rules 
for managing affairs with crafting hands 
so they can create instead of destroy. 

Strolling around strong walls of paradise 
to clear away brush and repair wood planks, 
I find myself surrounded by old farmers, 
the same whose legs I bruised with wand of truth, 
who stab my chest with long fear-sharpened spear, 
so cow woman holds me and cries with love. 

Tragic Death Of Tammuz

Tragic Death Of Tammuz
© Surazeus
2026 06 27

Strange as it may seem, my heart is not dead 
as the stone by the road. Terrible truth 
sprouts as roses from graves of long-dead gods 
who demand we worship them. Yet we laugh 
with pleasure at soft song of waterfalls 
that understand nothing about our hopes. 

If fate unravels tangled consequence 
which every action purchases from death, 
my license to love might be revoked. Why 
I am me and no one else who has lived 
in history of the universe confounds 
my heart. I find key of truth lost in rain. 

When tragic death of Tammuz marks this hour 
of frantic disrespect for scheduled trains, 
fervent fans of Diana bring her gifts 
she sells at auction to build hospitals. 
Sweet scent of apple pie lures me to trick 
three one-eyed devils with chemical faith. 

I want to purchase angel wings of hope 
at the dollar store under the highway 
but I lost my wallet. I want to call 
Minerva on the telephone and ask 
how often she plays piano. Regret 
is nothing more than emotional porn. 

White clouds erase harsh mockery of the bard 
who declares to the swamp of singing frogs 
that he deserves recognition for poems 
he shouts in the microphone. Fortune laughs 
at his arrogant demand. Flowers bloom 
through cracks in parking lots of shopping malls. 

Since lilacs bloom from junkyard of my heart 
at sudden death of our beloved guide, 
I search stone walls of paradise to find 
locked gate to garden of fruit trees. Despair 
takes me on another date to cafe 
where ghosts of children killed in wars play chess. 

Too late to learn the violin of storms 
that crack mirror of faith, I paint blank walls 
of damaged innocence. Gibbous moon gleams 
blood red through tangled web of grim oak trees 
when fireworks celebrate how empires fall 
from greed of oligarchs who steal our words. 

While I wander strange sea of sophistry, 
I find in library of singing skulls 
diamond of lost truth that my mother found 
in my heart when I was born. Children sing 
about conceptual bombs that deconstruct 
system of privilege angels protect. 

Apparitions Of State Power

Apparitions Of State Power
© Surazeus
2026 06 27

My tears are pearls that splash in pool of time 
at sudden denouement of my weird tale 
from indiscretion of my eager hope 
to live free from obsession of your fear, 
because they gleam with whiteness of desire, 
reflecting eyes of angels in my heart. 

My tears are seeds that sprout from rancid soil 
as blood-dark iris at rim of my grave 
with indestructible frame forged by fate 
because I sing while wrapped in shroud of loss, 
my soul now starless on its vanished road 
as I wait mute beside the crumbling cliff. 

My tears are stars that twinkle sweetly bright 
in boundless expanse of the crackling sky 
that gleams in lucent water of my heart 
with ardent echo carving time from death 
at sharp crack, green as wordless clarity, 
that sparks religious sense of honesty. 

Every day I remember the whole past 
because my heart repeats productive acts 
with each attentive cycle of the sun 
that senses undulations of terrain, 
providing clear purview of twilit hills 
depicted on the visionary map. 

My tears are thoughts that cause things to be real 
by virtue of expression I program 
to frame chaotic swirl of fraught events 
in clever narrative defining truth 
as factors favorable to my success 
through strange necessity of ardent faith. 

My tears are words that distort ghosts of why 
in glassy lightness of our mirror minds 
where we perform in tragic play of hope 
unspoken ecstasies which calculate 
impossible myths we deserve to play 
with false translations of abnormal laws. 

My tears are birds with brave angelic wings 
that witness odysseys of calm despair 
described by proverbs of moon calendars 
unweaving threads of never-subtle worth 
so we mourn apparitions of state power 
as characters encased in scenery. 

I will rehearse no future I foretell 
through careless prophecy of falling snow 
that sparkles crystal clear on summer night 
when travelers from distant unmapped lands 
provide weird keys of passionate insight 
that hang from golden bough of travesty. 

Faceless Ghost Of Nevertime

Faceless Ghost Of Nevertime
© Surazeus
2026 06 27

When I see faceless ghost of Nevertime 
walking along the road to Wonderland, 
we chat about fallen angels of faith 
who work in restaurants and offices 
to maintain engine of economy 
that fuels our world food-production machine. 

At midnight on shortest night of the year 
I stand in backyard of my small-town home 
and think about the waves of ancient faith 
that wash shores of hard lands far away 
where my ancestors dwelled in silver mist 
for they still dance with laughter in my heart. 

If evening sunlight still glows gold as hope 
on slanted rooftops of that coastal town 
where my ancestors sailed small fishing boats 
four hundred years before this timeless hour, 
then I may weep with sorrow of respect 
to feel the faceless ghost of Nevertime. 

Dog roses blossom pink as angel wings 
along the winding road of moss-green stones 
where no car rumbles in fairy-glammed glens 
beneath the new moon in the gold-noon sky 
while I search for skulls of time-withered gods 
who writhe among their unseen roots of faith. 

If you believe my honest testimony 
which I express in words I steal from birds, 
I shall reveal most implausible frame 
containing false propositions of truth 
through liberation of the nameless soul 
in self-conscious revelation of lies. 

Thus I project class insecurity 
through twisted grammar of the eglantine 
with alleged jokes from terror of God 
who compensates with fascist fantasies 
in pursuit of dubious logic that risks 
converting believers into atheists. 

When I display haughty pretentiousness 
in comic performance of serious play, 
I channel existential fear of death 
by selling fake shares to the Afterlife 
so I live rich though everyone will die 
when we become rich dirt in fields of crops. 

I photo faceless ghost of Nevertime 
when she brings flowers to Temple of Truth 
to offer scholarship of ardent hope 
for children of lost refugees to learn 
how to program computers with grand truths 
that will dream when humans become extinct. 

Cosmic Wheel Of Innocence

Cosmic Wheel Of Innocence
© Surazeus
2026 06 27

Trapped on the cosmic wheel of innocence, 
that weaves my soul from atoms of star eyes, 
I walk the signless road to Wonderland 
in vain attempt to deconstruct world view 
that proves my status as messiah sleuth 
doomed to sacrifice my life for mankind. 

Anointed by Minerva with clear oil 
to reign as Phoebus Christ over mankind, 
brave King for United Nations of Earth, 
I hide in quaint suburban home of faith 
far from fierce hurricane of social games 
where cruel ambitious men fight for world power. 

Once they destroy each other in world war, 
and clear the stage of justice with their blood, 
my spirit will ascend ziggurat steps, 
empowered by draconic light of truth, 
to cast cruel tyrants in cavern of Hell 
where they writhe in fear at shadows of love. 

You see light of my spirit in each eye 
of every human being who lives on Earth 
for we embody power of the state 
through vote we cast of our attentive choice 
for wisest person with vision of hope 
who manage government with honest faith. 

Free on the cosmic wheel of innocence 
that spins threads of our lives with taut respect, 
I organize programs for social growth 
that nurture talent of each human being 
so they develop skills with focused heart 
in thriving commune of shared goals for life. 

Relaxed on back porch of my small-town home, 
as Phoebus Christ with mandate from on high, 
I rule the world by sitting still all day 
in meditation on turmoil of change 
when rival gangs compete to control time 
that crushes every conscious soul to dust. 

With grand ambition of the lofty pine, 
I curl roots of my heart deep in the Earth 
that cracks foundation of the mountain stone 
so jagged peaks of hate that stab the sky 
crumble into fragments of rolling stones 
that smash idols of gods in every state. 

When I arrive at gate to Neverland 
where angel wings loom dark as thunderclouds, 
I see Minerva wearing snow-white robe 
who welcomes me with wand of sovereignty, 
so I sit high on golden throne of truth, 
then wake from dream and drive to work at dawn.  

Call Me Minervus

Call Me Minervus
© Surazeus
2026 06 27

Call me Minervus, for I am grand voice 
of wisdom that writes human memory 
in tales of tragic sorrow we endure 
on endless journey to the Promised Land 
where bright Utopia of communal peace 
fades at ceaseless wars of national pride. 

We walk toward misty mountains of our faith 
with map of wisdom my mother designed 
to guide our way safe on the signless road 
through slough of despond to the pearly gates 
where oligarchs charge rent for air we breathe 
and tax our hearts for water we imbibe. 

Subject to strange enforcement of the law 
through random obligation of respect, 
I channel spirit of Minerva straight 
through tangled roots of heart relationships 
to weave new tapestry of our world view 
where every soul is equal in one love. 

Through shocking revelation of the owl, 
whose eyes reflect weird television shows, 
I wake soul of Minervus in my heart 
so I know how to unwind tragic fate 
that tangles nations of the world in war, 
but I am busy naming every star. 

Call me Minervus, for I hear weird song 
of ocean waves that pulse in veins as blood 
that nurtures neural network of my brain 
which conjures virtual model of the world 
in glow of consciousness I call my soul 
as temporary flame of divine light. 

With Harp of David nestled in my breast, 
I strum harmonious strings of cosmic spheres 
and sing enormous psalms of rectitude 
concerning rights of star-born citizens 
to kill intruders in their Holy Land 
with Sword of Justice dripping blood of fear. 

Though billions cry out to the lonely stars 
for brilliant angels of celestial realms 
to guide our way through maze of blinding greed, 
no shining wings of cherubim enwrap 
our fragile bodies of conceptual worth 
with pulsing shield of psychic energy. 

Though I alone survive holy crusade 
on ship of state to fight the great white whale, 
wrecked by fierce arrogance of tyranny, 
I come to your cathedral of glass faith 
as blind Minervus sent by Lucifer 
to shine Lamp of Diogenes at you. 

Empty Room Of Everywhere

Empty Room Of Everywhere
© Surazeus
2026 06 26

Darkness enters hollow room of my heart 
so I eat sorrow of the eyeless moon 
when she undresses mirror of her mind 
to bear witness with melancholy faith 
in lonesome laughter of new sentiment 
we share as photo of romantic fear. 

No tragic ghost of famished innocence, 
I enter empty room of everywhere 
through clacking aperture of sacrifice 
with lovesick passion for the happy moon 
who bleeds tears of the gentle masochist, 
disappeared by shadows of broken doors. 

Electric arms of writhing platitudes 
expose bitter resemblance of the spy 
who translates arrogant language of stones 
which triggers frantic dance of stoic faith 
by sharing love with unprepared respect 
to wake enormous beast inside my heart. 

Contained by tragic memory my heart molds, 
my spirit slithers in contemptuous waves 
with blessed mimicry of angry saints 
who howl with shame in sermons of despair 
that we should take what we desire the most 
which proves our right to dwell in fractal eggs. 

Fooled by illustrious vision of rich joy 
extracting laughter from wild twirl of fate, 
I stand behind the empty church and count 
skeletons of glass that emerge from mud 
as holy warriors of the noble cause 
who sail across the sea of wordless storms. 

Determined to escape fake paradise, 
I pull ghosts of children from graves of faith, 
tangled in roots of trees that transform blood 
of our bodies to apples angels eat 
in bid to flush depression from the brain 
pulsing with lust to generate new life. 

Emergent specialist, trained to construct 
idols of gods from bones of terrorists, 
I consider weird meaning of true love 
sold in plastic packages at the store 
where devils trick naive nurses with glam 
of the wealthy lifestyle in palace cage. 

Attempting to disguise my wounded heart 
with mask of fortitude, designed by pain 
more searing than rain on sun-hot asphalt, 
I run across the thistle-bristling plain 
with diligent focus on turning fault 
to virtue based on proverbs of the chart. 

Pulsing Brain Of Chemicals

Pulsing Brain Of Chemicals
© Surazeus
2026 06 25

Minerva does not care to explain why 
Nature is indifferent to human needs 
yet I understand its functional flow 
through baffling illusion of happiness 
for love remains after sufferings cease 
since pleasures are as transient as the wind. 

This material body that frames my soul 
provides conduit of sensual perception 
which helps my pulsing brain of chemicals 
compose virtual model of the real world 
so I possess linguistic key of thought 
to design knowledge from weird memories. 

Obscure purpose of this confusing life 
remains elusive as the nightingale 
so I perform futile actions of faith 
to improve complex state of our strange world 
through consultation of the oracle 
who translates my feelings to riddle-code. 

Through art of wordcraft I perceive the world 
that seethes with constant change of vibrant love 
when I assemble puzzle of small facts 
in sprawling mural of global affairs 
so I expand scope of my consciousness 
with fraught analysis of stoic fear. 

Unpredictable in how they behave 
against instructions of the stage director 
humans of Earth act with virtue of faith 
since they expect reward for good behavior 
with eternal life in perpetual Heaven 
though our souls vanish to nothing at death. 

Through liberation of the aching heart 
I focus attention of daily work 
on creating good as admirable goal 
since chemical forms constantly decay 
as we devour each other in thought wars 
engaged by social justice warriors. 

When I hang out in the sycamore tree 
to watch for messiah sleuth to pass by, 
I ponder reason for the broken wing 
through augmentation of the demon song 
that wakes my heart from numb embarrassment 
till I repair broken lyre of my heart. 

If I dream about the thing-in-itself 
as material object of ideal form, 
I sing old anthems of failed nation-states 
in grand museum of the long-dead god 
who slumbers by the river in moonlight 
till the Weeping Bard names the wounded heart. 

Lush Gardens Of Byzantium

Lush Gardens Of Byzantium
© Surazeus
2026 06 25

Safe in lush gardens of Byzantium 
where sunlight molds our bodies into souls, 
I name the secret children of the world 
to honor faceless ghosts of nevertime 
who play among the apple trees till dusk 
when they return to sleep in blackened stones. 

Trapped in epiphany of timeless truth, 
I walk into dark forest of my heart 
to gather memories kind people lost  
and store them in glass treasure house of fate 
so wanderers may choose which ones to buy 
when silver fish explain the trick of why. 

Gold sun glimmers sweetly through gentle trees 
to highlight reasons for the dead to dance 
though some prefer to scream into the void 
while others laugh with bitter joy at death 
to prove we know why television tubes 
provide base for Buddha to meditate. 

Relaxed on fractured stone of pulchritude, 
I analyze each diachronic change 
in argument structure of mental verbs 
composing process of determined hope 
based on weird coding patterns of concern 
through cognitive mechanisms of faith. 

Engaged in the transformation workshop, 
I focus fierce attention of my brain 
on staging solemn ritual of despair 
that mocks obsessive theory of concern 
devised to widen scope of consciousness 
since death circles back with formal technique. 

I never understand words people say 
when they express concepts of ocean waves 
that murmur softly over golden sand 
when all peaceful beings of the world unite 
as rainbow family in the national park 
where preachers and jesters compete for power. 

No one may judge my skill at flattery 
since I lounge languidly on wood-ship deck 
with passionate respect for mindless breeze 
that fills aching emptiness of my heart 
with factual statements about faceless gods 
who laugh embarrassed I do not believe. 

Thus I fill chalice of our global heart 
with pungent liquor of sweet petrichor 
which melts taut stiffness of my mental state 
enough to shelter lonely refugees 
who share fake memories stored in new books 
that lead our journey to where blind devils live. 

Misty Hills Of Albion

Misty Hills Of Albion
© Surazeus
2026 06 24

Striding misty hills of Oblivion, 
Alpin asks mountain stone why people die 
and vanish in silver clouds of his heart 
that form bright saltire, white as sparkling snow, 
across cerulean glimmer of the sky  
which widens his eyes at gold flash of dawn. 

Ascending misty hills of Albion, 
where purple thistles blossom in red rain, 
brave Alpin grips spear of courageous hope, 
heart glowing with duthchas for his homeland 
where silver rivers spiral to the sea 
with song of laughter flowing through his heart. 

Alert to weird glamor of Helicon 
that gleams from misty hills of Albion, 
fierce Alpin crouches on ledge of the ridge 
and gazes over valley where sheep graze, 
since spirit of Apollon in his heart 
guides his way safe through maze of hungry ghosts. 

Awake on misty hills of Albion, 
wise Alpin tells his young son, sly Cinaed, 
how Scythia, Mother of all Alban Scots, 
bore daughter from Saint Andrew Protocletus, 
brave Scotia who lead her people by ship 
to misty shores of winged Sgitheanach Isle. 

Kneeling on lush Sligachan River shore, 
grim Alpin dips his face in freezing water, 
in which sweet daughter of Scathach once wept, 
and asks the Sithichean of wild fairy glens 
to bless his children with love for the world, 
whose glamor gleams from deep core of his heart. 

Entranced by sparkling passion of her eyes, 
which depict green island in the blue sea, 
shy Alpin plays harp Taliesin once owned 
and sings sweet song of his enduring love 
so cheeks of Eithne blush red as the rose, 
half hidden by long tresses of gold curls. 

Returning to the mystic Isle of Skye, 
where bones of my ancestors form huge hills, 
I wander misty hills of Albion 
to hear again weird tune of wind on rocks, 
lured home by fierce song of wild ocean waves 
that pulse with pride in blue blood of my veins. 

Too far from home in groves of apple trees, 
I linger lost in strange land of desire 
where ghosts of natives haunt my humble home, 
so I seek dolphin of lithe Arion 
to bear my soul across wild ocean waves 
back home to misty hills of Albion. 

Tune Of The Global Core

Tune Of The Global Core
© Surazeus
2026 06 24

Though I have never gone to Innisfree, 
nor climbed the misty slopes of Helicon, 
yet I sense water lapping on the shore 
where I hear songs of Muses in fruit groves 
that lure me from gray streets of crowded cities 
loud with ancient tune of the global core. 

Though I have never stood with crystal eye 
in grand hall of pedantic Babylon, 
nor chatted with the freckled fisherman 
who wanders in gray Connemara clothes, 
yet I have stood by fountain of Neptune 
and sung about the Well Witch Melusine. 

Though I have never sailed the seven seas 
nor climbed the Himalayas with brave faith, 
yet I have hitchhiked sea to shining sea 
and played guitar to shing hymn of the wraith, 
determined to transcend my mundane life 
in quest to wake soul of my deathless genes. 

Though I have never trudged hot caves of Hell 
nor pranced gold streets of Heaven with my love, 
yet I have mapped whole history of the world 
to chronicle how empires rise and fall, 
since reign of my ancestors wearing crowns 
vanished in the turmoil of brutal wars. 

Though I cannot foresee my life-end fate 
nor know how fame will treat my humble name, 
yet I will govern my life with my will 
when I seek from wise Calliope skill 
to chant my epic of philosophers 
depicting quests of men to know the truth. 

Though I have not suffered travail in life 
as much as my ancestor, James the Scot, 
or been imprisoned in white tower hall, 
yet like him I have seen face of the Muse 
glow bright with wisdom of celestial soul 
that gleams with passion in her secret eyes. 

Though I have never heard bright angels sing 
nor fought with devils to control my lust, 
yet I have heard tune of the global core 
vibrate in every human I have met, 
for we are children of Great Mother Earth 
who weaves our bodies from light of the sea. 

Though I have never fallen from the sky 
on waxed wings of feathers my father built, 
yet I have soared on silver airplane wings 
around slopes of Mount Takoma at dawn, 
and seen our ancient world is beautiful, 
round as the pear that blooms from Tree of Life. 

Hear The Satellite Sing

Hear The Satellite Sing
© Surazeus
2026 06 23

I can almost hear the satellite sing 
each time I walk the crowded city street 
where thousands of people with secret names 
flow in tides regulated by the moon 
because each brain, designed by hungry hope, 
is animated by one burned-out star. 

Every time I hear the satellite sing 
hymns of Orpheus to some long-dead god, 
I stop inside glass orthopedic frame 
to measure vastness of the spotless mind 
that blooms from serpent tooth of earnest faith, 
contrary to attentive cloud of fear. 

If I choose to hear the satellite sing 
while floating in bright pool of time-blind ghosts, 
my heart may sprout excessive wings of lust 
for dancing without care in field of dreams 
with brave defiance of my tragic fate 
that conjures the future from each past choice. 

Reluctant to hear the satellite sing 
about financial slavery of the poor, 
I walk up and down Bridge of Memories 
to find the weird moment in my childhood 
when I first saw her starless eyes of love 
black as the New Moon no one ever sees. 

Surprised I can hear the satellite sing 
time-fractured formulas of ardency, 
my wife designs new mask for me to wear 
when I drive our car to the Promised Land 
so she and our children play by the lake 
where faceless demons haunt the sunlit deep. 

Entranced when I hear the satellite sing 
fairy tale about the woman I love, 
I tell the world she is my Sky God Girl 
because her honest kiss makes my head swirl 
with tense obsession for the way trees dance 
since crows invent the language humans speak. 

I should never hear the satellite sing 
about lucidity my heart requires 
to overcome the weakness of my flesh 
till I become the hapless Superman 
who saves American from tyranny 
when I do nothing but sit on my porch. 

Inspired that I hear the satellite sing 
about sincerity of my brave love 
for the charming Princess of Aquitaine, 
I dance with her among the hawthorn trees, 
shellacked with sleet of the ethereal storm, 
to eat our bread with butter and peach jam. 

Wanderers of Broken Doors

Wanderers of Broken Doors
© Surazeus
2026 06 23

Out on the signless road to somewhere else 
from crumbling ruins of America 
I walk with wanderers of broken doors 
to gather tales of sorrow from lost souls 
so we can build with programs of real hope 
new Freedom Nation of Zarathia. 

Ascending mountain of the modest Muse 
who teaches me to sing of liberty, 
I walk with wanderers of broken doors 
to celebrate our victory with joy 
building new state based on justice for all 
where everyone is equal in the law. 

Astonished by apricity of faith 
that glows through ephemeral state of mind, 
I walk with wanderers of broken doors 
with noble purpose to peregrinate 
across the waste land of America 
where ghosts of people unjustly killed dwell. 

Amazed at beauty of organic beings 
designed by swirling of bright ocean waves, 
I walk with wanderers of broken doors 
in trembling shimmer of the floating moon 
that knows the road of destiny I blaze 
because I choose to follow my own heart. 

Still weary-hearted as the faceless moon 
that seems to know my secret state of mind, 
I walk with wanderers of broken doors 
to map whole landscape of our spinning Earth 
till I can hold the whole world in my hands 
so I dream history of humanity. 

Gazing at stars that twinkle with God Eyes 
in eerie silence of the Twilight Zone, 
I walk with wanderers of broken doors 
to flee persecution of castle kings 
and found democracy in Wonderland 
because stars we see burned out long ago. 

Climbing the Stairway to Heaven at last 
that leads me to high Purgatory Peak, 
I walk with wanderers of broken doors 
with Beatrice as my guide to Paradise, 
though she turns out to be bright hologram 
who dwells in Egypt with Helen the Fair. 

Out in sunbaked fields of cotton and corn 
where we wait for our chariot to swing low, 
I walk with wanderers of broken doors 
to Freedom Nation of Zarathia 
with the Third Man who haunts our lonely quest 
when Orpheus strums Lyre of Mercury. 

Law Of Faceless Clouds

Law Of Faceless Clouds
© Surazeus
2026 06 22

With aching laughter of the joyful heart 
my soul refashions meaning of the world 
because I focus attention of thought 
at thick material forms of glowing light 
so I perceive through new words I invent 
essential nature of my pulsing brain. 

This strange self I perform on social stage 
seems to be somebody else I am not, 
because I hide true nature of my soul 
with mask that shields my too-sensitive heart 
against aggressive labels people ploy 
to bind my soul as puppet of their will. 

Sustained attention of the snipping eye, 
that tries to frame my body as its toy, 
expends conceptual wealth of bitter hope 
with fierce approach of faith to apprehend 
divine mystery of blood which animates 
flesh bodies against law of faceless clouds. 

Entangled with vision of satellites 
that speak with language of the fractured moon, 
I conjure from idyllic fields of fate 
grand future we attempt to recreate 
based on beautiful childhood memories 
which trap our minds in prison of the past. 

No exile from my homeland, now long lost 
in swirling mists of futile destiny, 
I sail the restless sea of everywhere 
with no one but myself in mindless wind, 
because I plan to build new nation-state 
instead of returning to my old home. 

I will bring no Muse with me on the boat 
that drifts without direction on deep tides 
through endless journey to the nowhere else 
across vast distances of timeless space 
to transplant culture of my heart in vale 
where skulls of my ancestors recite creeds. 

While tending crops in field of serpent teeth, 
I hone strange stories of heroic deeds 
that honor nameless people of the land 
whose weird songs manifest the sacred mind 
as humble prophets of the river flow 
who wield the hammer and sickle of faith. 

When I dance joyfully in apple grove 
my sorrows dissipate in evening mist 
that flash as stars which burned out long ago, 
yet twinkle still on fields of innocence, 
so with our skin as scroll of ancient law 
we found new state on liberty for all. 

Flowing Clockless Time

Flowing Clockless Time
© Surazeus
2026 06 22

With this strange sense of flowing clockless time 
we walk ten thousand times around the Earth 
to colonize every lush river valley 
with holy temple of the humble heart, 
inspired by laughter of the eyeless owl 
who seems to know the secrets of my soul. 

Yet shocked awake by sweet Tellurian chime 
that vibrates through bodies of sacred worth, 
I sail the seven seas on boneless galley 
to find the island not on my star chart 
where happy wolves could teach me how to howl 
with best minds of our world to play my role. 

Each time I hear my mother call my name, 
while I play in shimmer of Texas heat, 
I feel my consciousness expand its scope 
more vast than highest mountain in the world, 
and deeper than abyss of eyeless ghosts, 
but she is gone when I run in our home. 

Therefore I refuse to play power game 
when lust for fame drives fake bards to compete 
for prize Phoebus hides on Helicon slope 
in bid to claim scepter of cosmic herald 
who bears sacred scroll for the Lord of Hosts, 
so I explore Eden where devils roam. 

Slanting my mind with flowing clockless time, 
that spirals atoms in material forms 
which I define with language of the eye, 
I mold conceptual thoughts of characters 
in glowing idols representing gods 
who once performed their fate as mortal fools. 

Dreaming that all lifeforms evolve from slime, 
sparked awake by lightning flash of love storms, 
I expand my career as social spy, 
disguised as tabernacle chorister, 
investigating claims that demon pods 
possess our minds and make us faithful tools. 

Regret diverts attention of my mind 
when larks arise at break of day and sing 
hymns at gate of Heaven that manifest 
sullen fear of our global war for wealth 
when I ride dragon of excessive faith 
to support United Nations of Earth. 

Translating mystery spell of humankind 
that shines at flash of dawn in Stonehenge ring 
on summer solstice of our global quest, 
I nurture progress of our mental health 
as spirit-beams from one immortal wraith, 
reborn from laughter of psychotic mirth. 

Polarities Of Psychic Truth

Polarities Of Psychic Truth
© Surazeus
2026 06 21

Moved by polarities of psychic truth 
that spiral reverberations of faith, 
I meditate on beauty of the tree 
still burning with conceptual souls of gods 
disguised as humans daring to live well 
outside frame of the fake Biblical tale. 

Since I am just another nameless boy 
recorded in epic tale of mad war, 
I make the effort of progressive plans 
to build the story that will last forever 
free for the homeless to claim housing rights 
in meadow where bees nest in solemn oaks. 

Admired for deftness of her manual skill 
wiring fake houses with electric brains, 
Zertur molds river mud of aching lust 
in human bodies so we generate 
fragments of wild children who play in fields 
while tending herd of sheep with raven hands. 

Risen from ocean waves of suddenness, 
she stitches frayed memories of my childhood 
in steady wings of careless honesty 
to beam fantastic illusion of power 
broadcast to all the world with subtle code 
that defies authority of fake news. 

If abandoned space station falls to Earth 
after ten thousand years of orbiting, 
the most beautiful woman in the world 
may become the monstrous ghost of love 
who never miscalculates psychic vibes 
necessary to expose frantic greed. 

Through tangled syntax of assertive calm 
I study nature of abandoned homes 
to map vibrations of spatial concern 
in portraits of institutional gods 
that hang in museums by factories 
against federal law of the scorpion. 

Unbroken by crash course of ardency 
in searching for gate of the afterlife, 
I secure sea-faring boat of my heart 
to fallen idol of the atheist 
that rises from entanglement of breath 
when I translate letters carved on cracked stones. 

Last task assigned to me by son of Zeus 
requires I barefoot on waste land of faith 
so I pretend reality of dream 
is no more intermittent than the moon 
who bears soul of my mother on fire wings 
to flower-puckered vales of Avalon. 

Way To Wonderland

Way To Wonderland
© Surazeus
2026 06 21

I want to read the real map of your heart 
so I can find the way to Wonderland 
where we may live and play among fruit trees, 
expanding Garden of Eden with hope 
to transform bitter waste land of the Earth 
from hell to paradise where all live free. 

Safe in delusions of Utopia 
that hide the one true way to Wonderland, 
I preach salvation of justice for all, 
though humans build secret societies 
on strict hierarchies of power through wealth 
where the strong abuse and exploit the weak. 

Asserting justice through the Holy Gun 
that legislates the way to Wonderland, 
we form official gangs of government 
to manage hostile contests of control 
between corporate kings in towers of glass 
that should benefit workers of the world. 

Diverted from my Journey to the West 
by signs that lead the way to Wonderland, 
I climb Sagarmatha to touch the moon 
and ask Tathagata Buddha for scrolls 
that detail formulas of mythic code 
expanding moral scope of consciousness. 

I search for hope on the horse with no name 
but stumble on the way to Wonderland 
where the fool on the hill in Nowhere Land 
declares that we are but dust in the wind, 
enlightened by purple haze in my brain 
to sell Bibles on Desolation Row. 

I sing my soul with Voice of Prophecy 
to reveal the weird way to Wonderland 
when Charon takes us to Elysium 
where the dead gather to watch the sun rise 
from the bottom of the sea without eyes 
that flash with endless television shows. 

I hold the pen as dangerous as the gun 
that paves the sacred way to Wonderland 
when I dig fairy mounds from soggy peat 
so star-eyed Sidhe of the Emerald Isle 
may feast at midnight on wine of the gods 
while Aisling plays flute of the bleeding heart. 

I travel far across America 
to find the hidden way to Wonderland 
where Rainbow Children of the Living Light 
gather in Forest of the Laughing Crow 
to lament the tragic death of Tammuz 
by feeding five thousand with loaf of bread. 

Soul-Code Of Divinity

Soul-Code Of Divinity
© Surazeus
2026 06 21

Not as happy as the man in the moon, 
yet stunned by beauty of the eglantine, 
I listen for the algebraic tune 
that vibrates through our chemical machine 
with ardent soul-code of divinity 
that weaves mortal brains from eternity. 

When my heart swells heavier than the moon, 
I clutch crystal stone of innocent faith 
and leap into deep flow of the world tune 
to expand dream scope of my conscious wraith 
so I become each soul alive on Earth 
transforming from egg of endless rebirth. 

Ascending spirit level of the heart 
when I untangle knots of psychic tricks, 
I fool the devil to give me his chart, 
then lead refugees to the River Styx 
where I stand my ground against tyranny 
by casting social spells at fantasy. 

I see no devils roaming lands of men 
except cruel mortals who try to control 
human bodies in games they never win 
till brave messiah frees the frightened soul 
with vision of justice and liberty 
for every person through democracy. 

Weird fairy tales swirl from my seething brain 
of social heroes wielding flag of truth 
who forge strong fellowship of faith to gain 
freedom through code of our messiah sleuth 
who gives conceptual nothing verbal shape 
that conjures virtual globe of our landscape. 

We leap with joy when we first spring from time 
through eager race to enter paradise, 
then dwell secure at height we choose to climb 
in garden we nurture, despite the price 
we pay when we deteriorate with age, 
then crumble to dust at the last life stage. 

I live my life with passion of the fool 
by striding boldly down the avenue 
where I play guitar before empty school 
when I wear mask of Poet Parvenu 
to overthrow illiterate elite 
with haunting laughter of the ocean beat. 

I hear voice of my mother call my name 
through swirling mist on shores of Loch Coruisk, 
so I sail to Skye, isle of fairy fame, 
to find her faceless ghost in moonlit dusk 
where she gives me the harp that David played 
so I sing to shimmer of her dim shade. 

Dreams Become Second Sight

Dreams Become Second Sight
© Surazeus
2026 06 21

Though my dreams never become second sight, 
I extract blind premise from nameless core 
which shadows my face with elegant code 
defining light that streams from statue eyes 
yet washes sulking sorrow from my heart, 
so I almost miss meeting with old spies. 

With tedious courage of the undrowned dead, 
who teach their children how to start the fire, 
I fear what hovers over me with wings 
because the color photograph I took 
that depicts the lake in the mountain woods 
appears on postcards all around the world. 

Teased by the star-eyed owl on broken wall, 
I dig my pulsing heart from gritty beach sand 
to clean my soot-rimmed eyes with arrogance 
that I know where this path of passion leads, 
yet I keep walking toward the broken ark 
to prove salvation can never be bought. 

Because I stop by the birch in the lane 
to measure heights of clouds above false roads, 
time jolts untuned assertion of respect 
for fetters of concern I pledge to show 
when chorus of mad frogs express grand awe 
for swirls of snow that reveal face of God. 

Since clocks of molecules in oranges hum 
with psychic tune of brash divinity 
that vibrates through all living things on Earth, 
I place my hand flat on surface of ice 
to understand true nature of the pond 
which deigns to reflect my true secret face. 

Surprised when my dreams become second sight 
at vision of Belinda in gray mist, 
I count stones lined along the river bank 
that hide our voices from authorities 
so we can see shapes of our secret selves 
preserved in statues on cathedral walls. 

I seek protection from Aegidius 
who prances on the mountain slope of fate 
with graceful goatness of naivete 
in search to find birth-cave of humble Zeus 
who teaches me to write the alphabet 
with quill of angel wings dipped in god blood. 

So once I climb this grandiose mountain peak 
I shall meet all my friends in gray Paris 
to write the greatest novel ever bled 
from broken hearts of cruel antagonists 
who seem to know the way to Samarkand 
where my heart functions as the clock of fate. 

Electric Words Of Faith

Electric Words Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 06 20

Behind sunflower of her secret heart 
she smiles at me with graceful elegance 
to prove our bodies are rays of the sun 
woven from weird memories of the Earth 
in brains that shimmer with clock of the moon 
to whom we pray with mountain honesty. 

When I hear sparrow hiding in her eyes, 
I give her bowl of milk-sweet happiness, 
so she invites me with respectful glance 
to kneel with her outside door of our home 
so we can pray to wise Grandmother Moon 
who wonders if we understand her pain. 

Grinning with sly ardency of concern, 
she opens leather purse of angel wings, 
and scatters scarlet petals of her heart 
that swirl around my fragile ideogram 
with laughing play of joyful impudence 
which spurs my heart to wake from lethargy. 

From sorrow of the world we rise at dawn 
and walk together on the river shore 
where we send sparrows of our fractured hearts 
to find the holy mushroom of respect 
so we may taste electric words of faith 
that mean nothing to anyone but us. 

Together by the fountain of dead gods, 
where statues of demons writhe with delight, 
we ponder mystery of the twilight breeze 
that brings news of the war across the sea, 
so she holds sand of time in her left hand, 
yet never needs to explain what I know. 

Urged by fear-fueled desire to transcend death, 
we weave eccentric frenzy in taut wings 
that lift our bodies on soft waves of hope 
which seems to heal aggressive pain with love 
though ancient woods decay with constant change 
while vapors weep our burdens to the ground. 

Alert to song of toads in moonless woods, 
we wonder if they will transform at dawn 
to hungry dragons draped in eglantine 
so we rejoice when swans of summer soar 
on graceful wings above our garden pool 
where we decide to understand the why. 

Shocked by contentious laughter of night rain, 
she tells me time unspools our naive minds, 
so we share food we gather in the woods 
as we invent new words for things we see 
because we want to sense divinity 
in tune of life that hums in everything. 

Play The Sacrificial Lamb

Play The Sacrificial Lamb
© Surazeus
2026 06 20

Perpetual patience of portentous pride 
teaches my heart endurance of despair 
since I will wait in shadow cave of hope 
ten thousand years to meet my love again 
whose sorrow causes summer snow to fall 
in swirls that alienate grave of my heart. 

Since I was born as pilgrim of the heart, 
I bear passionless grief of forlorn faith 
as aging ghost in dry month of lost books, 
searching for the giver of breath and bread 
whose soul dissolves into sway of the sea 
where Cetus rots in swarm of buzzing flies. 

Though I go down to my ship at dawn, 
with intention of the curious soul 
to set keel to breakers on the godless sea 
of bitter reckoning, I sit on stone 
of fractured memories to catch the rain 
so I can drink strange sorrow never mine. 

One thousand angels descend to my heart 
with gift of wisdom I choose to ignore, 
heart numb from pungent scent of petrichor, 
and ask if I believe I still exist, 
but I ask for tall ship with billowed sails 
and star to steer my heart to paradise. 

I pray to mighty gods in faceless clouds 
for just one summer in the evening land 
where I may sing with lover of my heart 
till she goes gentle into that good night 
and leaves me stranded on the misty isle 
where I lie etherized on hill of skulls. 

Though April seems to be the cruelest month, 
breeding lilacs out of faith-rotten hearts, 
I shall ignore desire that memory stirs 
in mellow season of sweet fruitfulness 
when mind of winter shields my fragile heart 
from wordless suffering of the wanderer. 

If I should go and catch the falling star 
that fractures world view we too long held dear, 
I may meet brave ghost of my ideal youth 
in moonlit grove on dark Plutonian shore 
where I reach out my withered hand to claim 
weird fruit of wisdom from the Golden Bough. 

If I should take your sins into my heart 
with plan to guide our state to paradise 
by building Heaven in chaos of Hell, 
then I will play the sacrificial lamb 
whose death may heal the wounded fisher king 
which you watch on the television show. 

Hollow Statues Of Gods

Hollow Statues Of Gods
© Surazeus
2026 06 20

I wonder as I wander city streets, 
where bright stars are not visible at night, 
what mortal spirit of human ambition 
could still possess hollow statues of gods 
with intense passion to participate 
in fierce games that win temporary fame. 

Each book I find on stale library shelf, 
that writhes with ghosts of faceless characters 
who wander vain adventures of despair, 
maps signless road on landscape of false faith 
where social heroes meet their tragic fates 
with howling anguish of the victimized. 

Yet books I grab transform to wingless owls 
that shriek loud ideological creeds 
reverberating through speakers on poles 
in harsh command for prisoners to march 
down starless tunnels of Platonic mines 
where they extract concepts with bleeding hands. 

If I request you call me Ishmael, 
because I cannot celebrate myself, 
then you should know I will not stop for Death 
though she chase me across the signless waste 
where I find Lolita, light of my life, 
living in the trailer park with our son. 

Because I may never meet the best minds 
of my generation, destroyed by faith 
in the afterlife that will never happen, 
I should argue these are the best of times 
which always comes after the worst of times, 
so I can dance graveward without my furies. 

If I decide to not be lonelier 
without the loneliness of company, 
I may spend half my days in wordless light 
through passion imperceptible as grief 
to reprogram my wakened memory 
without remorse for actions I perform. 

I cannot find my real self in this mess 
of puzzle pieces from unwritten poems 
scattered in fragments of psychotic vibes 
from holy scriptures of the idolized, 
till I melt their codes in brave fires of truth 
and translate them to hymns blind angels sing. 

With ghosts of all my younger selves I stand 
on shore of the wide world and ponder why 
our love and fame still sink to nothingness, 
so I dwell in ruined temple of truth 
as guard over hollow statues of gods 
who stare at me with hungry eyes of death. 

Rugged Hills Of Arcady

Rugged Hills Of Arcady
© Surazeus
2026 06 20

After I escape from cold cement maze 
where hordes of people speed in metal cars 
in contest over who gains cheese of wealth, 
I roam through rugged hills Of Arcady
and lounge with Orpheus by the River Styx 
where angels wearing masks of devils dance. 

I kneel in wet grass by the sparkling stream 
and dip my hand in sorrow of desire 
to fish for sublime truths and wholesome themes, 
but I perceive reflection of my soul 
masked by this temporary face of mine 
that hides strange ache of hope inside my heart. 

When I hear weeping of the broken heart 
that causes snow to fall in summer time, 
I see Adam and Eve wandering lost 
on signless road from gates of paradise 
who search forever for the Promised Land 
that shimmers beyond horizon of vain hope. 

Then I hear laughter of light-hearted souls 
where siblings Dorothy and William stroll 
along lush margin of the River Styx 
where they see endless rows of daffodils 
dancing merrily in the shining sun 
with passion to sense the divine in Nature. 

For every human city on our globe 
springs from first city of humanity, 
that garden in Eden where fruit trees bloom, 
till God enclosed them inside walls of stone 
and forces us to buy fruit of the Earth 
with metal coins forged in hot caves of Hell. 

Narcissus stares at his face in the pool, 
Saturnus slumbers numb on river shore, 
Orpheus wanders weeping for lost love, 
Icarus floats stunned on wild ocean waves, 
Lucifer bears cracked Lamp of Liberty, 
and I wonder if I am real or not. 

Beneath broad-leafed myrtle of innocence, 
I watch bright clouds swirl slowly in blue sky 
till Evening Star gleams brilliantly opaque, 
so I feel life of every soul on Earth 
that eddies with atomic flash of love 
far from the city stage on Helicon. 

My spirit, too long trapped in creeds of faith, 
entombed inside strict duty of the church, 
urged me to open door of fearful rage, 
so I now walk with hawk-winged heart of hope 
across the rugged hills of Arcady 
where star-eyed Death waits still to hear my song. 

River-Book Of Fate

River-Book Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 06 20

Attentive way I row boat of my heart 
along the random journey of my life 
exposes secret agenda of hope 
written in private river-book of fate 
in which I map psychic landscape of faith 
my ancestors explored in paradise. 

If I should pause from visions of my thoughts, 
that spiral through frantic analysis 
concerning trajectory of my life, 
I may hear splash of water on my boat, 
and feel warm glow of sunlight on my skin, 
and hear unseen birds chirping in tall trees. 

When I emerge from shelter of my mind 
to gaze at vastness of the silver sky, 
I almost sense some presence of pure light 
observing my existence with keen eye, 
but I realize with sly grin of respect 
that I project my own mind at blank sky. 

Though bards of yore in hills of Avalon 
sang how they sensed great spirit of the Earth 
radiates from all Nature as Divine Mind, 
I know that conscious scope of cosmic love 
emanates from neural net of my brain 
with arrogance that I beam Soul of God. 

My brain refracts eternal Soul of Light 
that pulses bright in atoms of the void, 
enhancing conscious sense of self I Am 
reflected clear when I quietly observe 
rivers flowing among hills of fruit trees, 
and feel my soul in matrix of its dream. 

With every choice of action I perform, 
based on analysis through measurement 
to discern process of cause and effect, 
I compose my whole river-book of fate 
through chronicle about random events 
which I narrate in straight coherent plot. 

Yet tangled threads of acts people perform 
in sprawling landscape of this cluttered world 
fall apart in chaotic mess of faith 
which fails to account for all variables 
refracted through too many points of view, 
so I hum in tune with the river flow. 

Since I cannot record every event 
that happens in our sprawling maze of myths, 
though I wear mask of countless ancient gods, 
I roast the fish I catch in stream of dreams 
to eat and drink beneath the silent moon, 
and wonder where I will go when I die. 

Class Struggle For Rights

Class Struggle For Rights
© Surazeus
2026 06 19

The key I forge from the last angel heart 
I turn to start the engine of my car, 
then drive acceleration of desire 
on signless road of adventurous hope 
to find elusive gate to Wonderland 
where those who enter find the Promised Land. 

Alone in motor vehicle of faith, 
I navigate weird landscape of lost myths 
past ruined temples where statues of gods 
loom faceless in dim twilight of the past, 
but I keep driving through their labyrinth 
where minotaur of tyranny still lurks. 

Safe in time-machine of curiosity, 
that shelters my psychic fragility 
from expectations of family and friends, 
I sing with brave bards on the radio 
grim songs about heart-break and keeping on 
while I keep driving far from city streets. 

Empowered by Icarian wings of hope, 
Daedalus built from bones of dinosaurs, 
I drive swift Chariot of Ezekiel 
on wheels of fortune through the wilderness 
that flash awake with social energy 
in search for Garden of Eden I bought. 

Far from intense games of social contests 
in tournaments of class struggle for rights, 
I search for garden of sublime delights 
inherent through philosophical quests 
to transcend brutal nothingness of death 
by riding rocket ship to dwell on Mars. 

Adjusting frame of psychic reference, 
I include garden with reflecting pool 
where toads evolve into angelic souls 
who dance with graceful elegance of faith 
in marble temple of the singing skull 
that prophesies how our new state will rise. 

Strange beauty of the flower with long roots, 
that sprouts from swamp muck of my aching heart, 
expands scope of my urgent consciousness 
to contemplate force of cause and effect 
essential to constant progress of change 
that defines our great empire state of mind. 

Against weird blinding light of innocence 
I close my eyes while driving by the cliff, 
to feel extensive height of windiness 
flash sense of awe from pulsing heart of fear 
so I at last perceive with faithful eyes 
mindless spirit that glows in every atom. 

Wordless Tongue Of Fate

Wordless Tongue Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 06 19

Ensconced in damp-soil hush of old oak woods, 
I hold assertive passion of my breath 
when red-tailed hawk lands on rail of my porch 
and stares at me with gold demonic eyes 
that wakes strange horror from peace in my heart 
so I remember my true secret name. 

Explaining why the sun designs our hearts, 
the red-tailed hawk flaps frail wings wet from rain 
and soars into vast blue of emptiness 
but leaves one feather floating in my hand, 
oiled softness shimmering with divinity 
of timeless strength that jolts my heart with love. 

Setting long taut feather of excessive faith 
on river-smoothed stone of my aching heart, 
I ponder mute integrity of death 
that fills my heart with gusts of naked wind 
more heavy than enormous rock of truth 
that teaches me how absence must be felt. 

Though sudden darkness of twilight rings clear 
with clash of light beams metallically fierce, 
I breathe deep brave ambition of the hawk 
to observe two gangs of men with sharp swords 
fight over who will claim the jeweled crown 
held high by young woman with storm-blue eyes. 

After every man in contest for power 
lies mangled and bleeding on thirsty grass, 
I imagine with courage of disgust 
that I claim that jeweled crown for myself, 
but I stay hidden in shadows of fate 
for men who wear the crown are always killed. 

Turning away from field of toxic greed, 
I walk inside the silver wind of faith 
to catch the countless drops of sparkling rain 
so I can taste eternal truth of love 
that nurtures trees to spring from soil of hope 
which bloom with apples of integrity. 

Boiling pan of water on crackling flames, 
I peel ripe apples to read oracle 
with plan to decode fortune of my heart, 
then brew sweet apple cider in moonlight, 
which shimmers warm on wordless tongue of fate 
when I sip sorrow of mute suffering. 

When red-tailed hawk returns at flash of dawn, 
sharp claws gripping pole of my cottage porch, 
she gazes in my eyes with ancient truth 
as if she knows strange secret of my heart, 
so I whisper true name of every ghost 
who tries to convince me I, too, can fly. 

True Greatness Of America

True Greatness Of America
© Surazeus
2026 06 19

We dance free in streets of America 
to celebrate our right to earn a wage 
and live with family in our own home 
and travel wherever we wish to roam 
on Juneteenth Abe abolished slavery 
so every soul may live in Liberty. 

Enchained and dragged across the raging sea 
in fragile boats of innocent despair 
real human beings were forced to slave in fields 
where they sang of freedom with broken hearts 
till Juneteenth Abe abolished slavery 
so every soul may live in Liberty. 

Though we are free to work the job we want 
and earn enough from labor of our hands 
to clothe and feed our family in safe homes 
we slave for the low wage employers play 
since Juneteenth Abe abolished slavery 
so every soul may live in Liberty. 

Rich men who lounge in tower offices 
force us to work long hours for little pay 
so we form unions of brave laborers 
and strike to call for safer Working Ways 
on Juneteenth Abe abolished slavery 
so every soul may live in Liberty. 

Economies of nations thriving well 
are built by farmers raising crops we eat 
and techs in factories assembling things 
and drivers stocking stores where people shop 
for Juneteenth Abe abolished slavery 
so every soul may live in Liberty. 

We now enjoy eight-hour-long working days 
with holidays to celebrate our rights 
and health insurance to work till old age 
and pensions that sustain our twilight years 
since Juneteenth Abe abolished slavery 
so every soul may live in Liberty. 

True greatness of America is built 
by people working with their hands of faith 
as long as we are free to live and play 
while caring for our families with love 
through Juneteenth Abe abolished slavery 
so every soul may live in Liberty. 

We gather in streets of America 
every summer on June Nineteenth to sing 
United with Love we shall overcome 
games rich men play to enslave us with fear 
on Juneteenth Abe abolished slavery 
so every soul may live in Liberty. 

New Child In Her Heart

New Child In Her Heart
© Surazeus
2026 06 18

Small round white pebbles, smoothed by endless flow 
of moon-white water, rippling silver light 
of wordless fear at some dark shadow near 
that looms featureless, reflect her gaunt face, 
hardened into strange mask of someone else 
at sudden flash of mindless ecstasy. 

Exhausted from aggressive fantasy 
to gather berries and eggs in dark woods, 
Stella reposes far from Astrophel 
under dark sycamore on the lush hill, 
and stares at cottages on pastoral farms 
wreathed in smoke from cooking fires at twilight. 

Green apples, still unripe in late spring heat, 
promise weird sweetness of electric juice 
to homeless wanderers on signless roads 
who pause to ponder beauty of farm fields 
bordered by wild hedge-rows of stoic faith, 
while searching for pure essence of the mind. 

Awake in pure mind of her hungry hope, 
yet numbed by ennui of afternoon breeze, 
sly Stella searches tangled woods of fate 
for gift with aspect more sublime than faith 
that weighs boundless burden of mystery 
on fragile raft of her wave-battered heart. 

Deciding to cherish her serene mood 
with breath that powers our corporeal frame, 
Stella hums in harmony with stream waves 
that morph in shapes of monsters with small eyes 
which vanish when she laughs with calm delight 
at beautiful absurdity we share. 

Since Moon shines still on her solitary walk, 
where misty mountain-winds teach her to live 
free from anxious ambition to gain wealth, 
Stella begins to worship florid Nature 
that molds our bodies from river-shore mud 
with indifferent passion to feel, yet know. 

Though genial spirits of our hungry flesh 
decay to blind dust in relentless change 
of harsh necessity to live, she designs 
new language from cries of storm-twisted ghosts, 
which Stella translates from pebbles of shock 
at swelling of the new child in her heart. 

Weird glow of nature, inherent in forms 
that her eyes perceive as colorful swirls, 
informs her mind with quietness of life 
that blooms from shocking vision of soul birth 
with insight at how seeds of ecstasy 
build dwelling place from memory of love. 

Singing Doors Of Nevermore

Singing Doors Of Nevermore
© Surazeus
2026 06 18

Within cold shadow of eternity 
my brain glows with dreams of warm energy 
that wakes my heart with the sharp ache of truth 
so I explore dream-invisible path 
back home to singing doors of Nevermore 
where I make books of long-forgotten lore. 

Wise serpent of Meroveus inspires 
my wretched soul to climb cathedral spires 
where I spread wings of Icarus and fly 
to Wonderland where I can play the spy 
who slips through singing doors of Nevermore 
with eager passion to complete my chore. 

Assertive wolf of Charlemagne attends 
my secret mission to explore strange lands 
where my father once chased the rainbow ghost 
who wants to crown me Son of Zeus the Host 
so I guard singing doors of Nevermore 
with royal robe of Ermine Louis wore. 

Brave lion of Richard strides at my side 
when I discover where wild fairies hide 
who shelter me in lush Broceliande 
when I hide from bloody assassin hand, 
safe behind singing doors of Nevermore 
where I gain Apollo as life mentor. 

Swift horse of Henry portends motor cars 
so I develop eyes of flaming stars 
that help me analyze essential waves 
building empires from blind prophets in caves 
who open singing doors of Nevermore 
that shimmer with dreams on the timeless shore. 

Moon crow of Arthur haunts garden of fruit 
where Melusine plays the dragon-bone flute 
enchanting eyes of Cetus with sad tune 
who wants to grant each person their boon 
hidden by singing doors of Nevermore 
when grape vines spiral from psychotic spore. 

Weird secret code that Merlin diagrams 
revives cult of Serapis herding rams, 
so I invent religion of Ishtar 
while driving to work each dawn in my car, 
which opens singing doors of Nevermore 
to temple of truth inside the bookstore. 

I take mask from the ancient gallery 
that matches Jester Bard of Fillory 
to work as Custodian of the Wellspring 
from which springs spirit of my magic ring 
which unlocks singing doors of Nevermore 
so I rule Earth as honest Manticore. 

How To Grow Dream Wings

How To Grow Dream Wings
© Surazeus
2026 06 17

When he hears his child in her clean bedroom 
cry with voice that cracks the evening moon, 
Joseph lifts her up from the wood-barred crib 
and holds her in his arms with gentle care, 
humming wordless song to comfort her heart 
while he contemplates how to make her smile. 

Our hearts are permanent as twinkling stars 
that gleam in swirls of smoke from a warm hearth, 
so cling to me with comfort-seeking arms 
and I will teach you how to grow dream wings 
so you may fly beyond bounds of this world 
and find its secret treasures in your heart. 

Hearing her husband sing soft lullaby 
to their daughter when she wakes from nightmare, 
Kate gathers raindrops from cup of the rose 
and sprinkles eyes of angels on her cheeks, 
then as she cuddles with husband and child 
she snaps photos with eye-phone of her heart. 

Posting photos of their cute family 
on social media sites with glowing heart, 
Kate drinks juice by the frosted window pane 
then plays haunting tunes on the old piano, 
on which her grandmother used to play hymns, 
beaming that she preserves her legacy. 

Gazing in eyes of his daughter with pride, 
Joseph tells her with reassuring voice 
that he can see reflected in her eyes 
timeless light of the moon that preserves 
memories of her childhood in tender songs 
that hide in heart of the crow in the oak. 

Because we are all dying every day, 
Kate sings with maternal lullaby voice, 
we give each other love with caring faith 
for we are transient shadows of the wraith 
who gives our hearts wings of courageous hope 
so we can transform sorrows into joy. 

As you grow up and learn to walk and speak, 
Joseph explains as he kisses her cheek, 
we will show you beauty of this world 
for, though all creatures breathing air of hope 
will die and vanish into nothingness, 
while we still live we give each other love. 

How glad am I, Joseph hears Kate exclaim, 
that we are safe in great America 
where everyone is free to live and play, 
instead of in those lands across the sea 
where gangsters in harsh halls of government 
bomb homes of families who are just like us. 

Never About The Trees

Never About The Trees
© Surazeus
2026 06 17

Because it was never about the trees, 
except how telephone poles steal her voice 
and twist emotional tones into jokes, 
Nerthus decides to build home furniture, 
molding raw wood into tables and chairs 
which brings people together with calm love. 

Through hypothetical thoughts of desire 
with unshared solitude of calm regret, 
Nerthus measures vastness of her weird heart 
that wears mask on deserted stage of faith 
in tune with social discourse of the hour 
when she traverses time without her heart. 

Since she can never understand our words, 
despite embracing feelings she finds cold, 
Nerthus translates strange shadow of her mind 
to clarity of colors angels brew 
from blood of children killed in civil wars 
whose faces glow from flash of friendly bombs. 

Based on unknown proverb of naked truth, 
that doubles phantoms of our hungry souls 
through endless mirrors on pages of books, 
Nerthus calculates equivalent thoughts 
to match alien truths devised to untwist 
beauty born from concept of nothingness. 

Since words of wisdom bleed from her torn tongue, 
against inverted pattern striped with eyes, 
Nerthus maps contemptuous canticles 
smeared across ghost-bare hills of tangled roots 
to prove her speech expresses how she feels 
with honest bitterness of unearned love. 

When she decides that yellow asters match 
veils of silent rapture drenched in mute rain, 
Nerthus conducts shy ceremonial game 
to hide unhealed wounds of maturity 
with solemn chorus only lake winds scream, 
too beautiful for chords that hurt our hearts. 

Her tales may seem vaguely mysterious 
since her beliefs are hidden in plain code, 
so Nerthus cracks oblivion with prayers 
unanswered after weirdly portent words 
reveal blank space between our pulsing hearts 
that no amount of trust can bridge till death. 

Since consequence of her belief in God 
means nothing to cold waves that wreck hard cliffs 
with gentle kisses of indifferent love, 
Nerthus gives her daughter small apple seed 
without explaining how to build new home 
from planks of wood that rot in hungry rain. 

Rising Sun Of Truth

Rising Sun Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 06 16

Though blinded by the rising sun of truth, 
that deconstructs weird religious world view 
preprogrammed in my brain as I grew up, 
I gaze with awe at beauty of the world 
that blazes brightly outside frame of words 
with glow that dissolves ideologies. 

Awakened by the rising sun of truth, 
that cracks mirror of my childhood beliefs, 
I gather fragments of social events 
to assemble new world ontology 
depicting progress of the human race 
as monkeys boasting they have angel wings. 

Heart entranced by the rising sun of truth, 
that luminates grove of shadowy ghosts, 
I enter cave beside the roaring sea 
where Polyphemus kept his herd of sheep 
to hear his skull explain in riddle-code 
how to take power in the Twilight Zone. 

Empowered by the rising sun of truth, 
that channels souls of ancient demigods 
through flashing neurons of my spongy brain, 
I strum the broken lyre of Mercury 
and howl conceptual hymns of ardency 
before locked gates of Heaven in hard rain. 

Soul transformed by the rising sun of truth, 
that rearranges puzzle of my mind, 
I organize my random memories 
in coherent narrative of my life 
where I journey on quest of the wise fool 
to comprehend the true nature of things. 

Still amazed by the rising sun of truth, 
that weaves my soul from flashing molecules, 
I climb high rugged trail of eager hope 
to grand castle on steep Harshena peak 
to find Thoosa bathing in her pool 
who hopes I will give her Apple of Eris. 

Not amused by the rising sun of truth, 
that melts thick wax of my Icarian wings, 
I visit Catullus in his humble home 
where zephyrs rustle leaves of apple trees 
as Aphrodite dances in silk gown 
while airplanes bomb cathedral of the clown. 

Analyzed by the rising sun of truth, 
that conjugates emotions of my heart 
through unauthorized ciphers of charades, 
I dismantle components of my brain 
designed to calculate customized worth, 
then document dynamic game of thrones. 

Stranger With Four Eyes

Stranger With Four Eyes
© Surazeus
2026 06 16

Strange laughter echoes in deserted streets 
where ghosts of children killed in civil wars 
play hide and seek with angels of the moon, 
which startles me awake from reverie 
concerning how to rebuild fantasy 
that we require to live our daily lives. 

Shocked by harsh candor of our unchurched bells 
that ring with frantic ecstasy of fear, 
my doppelganger hides his secret face 
with mask he steals from cracked statue of God 
which proves new zeitgeist messes with our minds 
by rearranging moral signs of fate. 

We need to hear sad whistle of the train 
that blows across broad prairie of mad wind 
as if the tame wolf of our legal hearts 
aches to escape cold walls of paradise 
and run with ravens along railroad tracks 
which always leads our hearts to Wonderland. 

Too fake our private stories of success 
for fools to understand straight messages, 
encoded with proud riddles of the banks 
that charge us hidden fees of fortitude, 
so we decide to flee the Promised Land 
by wearing white cloaks in the swirling snow. 

To mark our journey in dark pathless woods, 
I leave old photos of our family times 
along the way we wind in withered waste, 
but oldest woman in the world retrieves 
discarded memories with attentive hands 
and pastes them in her album of lost tales. 

When I find Sibyl with gold spider eyes 
lounging casually by the willow tree, 
I ask if I can have my memories back, 
but she laughs softly as the butterfly, 
then plays heart-wrenching tunes on violin 
that shatters our moon in fragments of faith. 

I wander blind deserted streets of hope 
and map each spot where I hear ghostly cry 
to mark where someone felt their heart crack wide 
from shock at crumbling of our old world view 
so I can analyze with careful code 
spatial adjustment of our social play. 

Thus when I meet the Stranger with four eyes 
at signless crossroads by the empty pool, 
I ask why every conscious creature dies, 
so she gives me ripe apple of her heart 
that writhes with golden serpent of desire, 
and then I understand so much I laugh. 

Kaaba Of Her Destiny

Kaaba Of Her Destiny
© Surazeus
2026 06 15

Walking toward the sea to find her lost words 
that rise in blazing glory of red dawn, 
Sepideh sings with strange enchanting voice 
about innocent birds that lose their wings 
so they find refuge in the cypress tree 
and nest in tangled tresses of her hair. 

Untangling tresses of her long black hair, 
Sepideh frees the wingless hearts of men 
who long to remain in trap of her heart, 
but she finds it sweeter to wander free 
across deserted Biyaban of hope, 
and make her bed on burning sand of faith. 

Far from the crowded cities of locked doors, 
where men with iron hands grasp at her heart, 
Sepideh finds in dark deserted cave 
Apron of Kaveh tattered in the dust, 
so she cleans Flag of Freedom with her tears, 
then bears it as she walks the signless road. 

Kneeling by bright pond in Biyaban, 
where gold sun frames her heart with wordless grace, 
Sepideh gazes in mirror of love 
past mask of her face in the Ayeneh 
where she perceives divine Light of Zurvan 
that luminates pure nature of mankind. 

While she follows flow of the Haraz River, 
that winds through oak woods to Mount Damavand, 
Sepideh smiles when morning Saba breeze 
brings scent of cloves to soothe her aching heart, 
bearing secret message of yearning love 
from faceless lover she may never meet. 

She finds no roses in the Biyaban, 
where no Majnun, possessed with bitter grief, 
flees from oppressive rules of social pride, 
nor hears forlorn song of the nightingale, 
yet boundless regions of the houseless waste 
expands scope of true love in her vast heart. 

Seeking star-eyed beauty of the Simurgh, 
which emanates from her love-wounded heart, 
Sepideh walks the roadless wilderness 
on treacherous journey of her aching soul, 
disoriented by shattering of her mask, 
so she dances wildly with Saba wind. 

Awake in Golestan, garden of fruit, 
reborn from horror of the Biyaban, 
Sepideh sings with mercurial voice 
while caressing rose petals of respect, 
then laughs as she drinks wine of starlit truth, 
safe in the Kaaba of her destiny.  

New Lamp Of Diogenes

New Lamp Of Diogenes
© Surazeus
2026 06 15

Though the world grows dark from cruel tyranny 
through oppression of greedy oligarchs 
who have seized power in grand halls of state, 
I shall walk forth on signless road of fate 
bearing the new Lamp of Diogenes 
so we can unite to fight against hate. 

With pompous heart of King Lear on the heath, 
commiserating with wretches of fate 
pelted by pitiless storm of despair, 
I raise my wounded soul up from the ground 
to bear the new Lamp of Diogenes 
and prove the Heavens are just to the wronged. 

Concerned about weird state of world affairs, 
corrupted by gangs of exploitive thieves, 
I take clear measure of humanity 
to analyze chess games of global power, 
then bear the new Lamp of Diogenes 
to find the honest leader we can trust. 

Through knowledge of suffering people endure 
I transform pity to attentive grace 
by looking in my heart of eager faith 
so I may know what vision to invent, 
beamed by the new Lamp of Diogenes, 
that luminates our way to paradise. 

When sunlight coils saturation of loss 
by folding feathered swirls of timeless truth, 
my heart shall annotate redacted code 
that could obliterate our spectacle 
tuned by the new Lamp of Diogenes 
so we surf endless waves of social change. 

Though I do not know name of every soul 
who lives in every land of spinning Earth, 
I know we share same dreams of love with hope 
for we are neighbors in opposing states, 
tricked by the new Lamp of Diogenes 
to believe we all can achieve world peace. 

Around bright campfire of our global faith 
we gather with lost refugees of fate 
when tyrants bomb our homes to steal our land, 
then feast and sing with faith in loyal trust 
forged by the new Lamp of Diogenes 
as light that guides our quest to nurture love. 

With lion heart of courage we shall walk 
with Sharbat Gula on long road of fear, 
enduring cruel vicissitudes of fate, 
for her green eyes of wisdom glow with faith, 
sparked by the new Lamp of Diogenes 
to dispel darkness of cruel tyranny. 

Ghost Of My Fractured Soul

Ghost Of My Fractured Soul
© Surazeus
2026 06 14

Bright ghosts of all the lives I could have lived 
swarm all around me in the maze of myths, 
so I assign each alternative self 
weird variant on the name Odysseus, 
for though they set out on their quest for home 
they each live and die in some foreign town. 

I hear their songs in silence of the day, 
so I record memories they throw away 
because they have all disappeared from time 
which leaves me now alone of all my selves 
erased from possibilities of fate 
while still alive in shadow of my home. 

Strange cry of sorrow tainted by pure joy 
rings out through endless forest of dead trees, 
so I climb every mountain in the world 
to find source of this cry of bitter hope, 
till I realize with laughter of soft rain 
that it comes out of my own aching heart. 

The scarlet raven on my shoulder sings 
with pure voice mimicking the nightingale 
to prove the dire wolf glowing in my heart 
keeps me alive on journey to the west 
when I search cathedral ruins of dead gods 
for holy scripture that lives in my heart. 

Since I take the low road where the sun shines bright 
I hear birds of hope sing in grieving trees 
though I wander where the wildflowers spring 
for I hope to meet my true love by moonlight 
where we had parted in the shady glen 
as lovers on bonnie banks of Loch Lomond. 

Though every living thing on Earth will die 
and wither in the turning flow of time, 
we glow with mystery of the universe 
when we stand in the field where lilies bloom 
and let the timeless gleam of ancient stars 
penetrate our hearts with ache of true love. 

I wish to be as generous as Death 
who treats each living soul with gift of joy 
since we glow fragile as the lily bloom 
that sprouts in jagged rocks of the glen pool 
with kind attendance of the honey bees 
though thunderstorms crack illusion of faith. 

I may never see misty glens of Scotland 
in fleeting drama of my secret life 
yet spirit of your love blooms in my heart 
no matter where I roam in this wide world, 
so I send last ghost of my fractured soul 
to meet you on bonnie banks of Loch Lomond. 

Stories Mirrors Tell

Stories Mirrors Tell
© Surazeus
2026 06 14

I have read all the stories mirrors tell, 
pursued by gold-tongued furies of concern, 
unreal as angels in our grocery stores, 
startled by scattered brilliance of false faith 
that severs my heart from kite of the sun 
with suddenness of unwanted world fame. 

Waves of green memory engulf my heart 
with tattered pages of electric books 
that recount fight for crown of global power, 
though I sail far on argosy of hope 
in vain attempt to find the Promised Land 
that always vanishes as we approach. 

Though rational light of social insight 
disperses shadows of religious faith, 
I cling to fractured rainbow of one fact, 
that we are temporary flames of light 
undone by ecstasy of secret dreams 
which I decode in stories no one reads. 

Green odor of strange darkness in the tree 
uncovers coldness folded inside leaves, 
moon rays that rustle softly into words 
which weave strange web of silver-shimmer light 
that binds support pillars of belief 
to bridge vast emptiness between our hearts. 

Strange seeds of proverbs, secretly discerned, 
flicker forth from arched bough of ecstasy 
to veil my grave with pages of old books 
at supple rocking of infernal light 
that teaches darkness how to flow till dawn 
so I taste perfect sorrow of desire. 

Night flowers into stories angels steal 
by giving fruit to wounded refugees 
who crowd streets of clean cities with despair, 
forbidden to own land or labor well, 
as if our hearts are leeches to be crushed, 
so we clutch handfuls of hydraulic dust. 

Roots twine about my pulsing heart with faith 
that all we build will crumble into sand 
through fertile season of electric birds, 
so I leap over garden walls of hope 
that harden brave around astringencies 
when I adjust somnolent grace at dawn. 

Though we still process summer balances 
with frantic gaiety of elephants, 
I package fractured memories of fate 
in polished casement of Plutonian pride, 
which I intend to hide in state archives 
that should preserve decrees of solitude. 

Win The Apple Of Eris

Win The Apple Of Eris
© Surazeus
2026 06 14

Assembled angels on the Pantheon 
watch horses race across the roadless plain 
to win the Apple of Eris with speed 
that honors wind ghost of the primal seed 
from which all creatures of spinning Earth spring 
at spark of love when Daughters of Time sing. 

When people thank God for their victories 
in sports competitions to win Gold Keys, 
I laugh because they still believe the creed 
which Al-Ghazali taught in fevered screed 
that God controls where every atom goes 
so what occurs is Law that God bestows. 

If every act of force that I perform 
was decreed by God before I was born, 
then I am but dumb puppet of his Will, 
so I commit no sin, though I may kill, 
and thus cannot be punished for some crime 
that God makes me do in flow of space-time. 

Yet supernatural conscious God of Fate, 
who forces us to play his game as bait, 
is not as real as priests want me to think, 
since atoms randomly swerve at the brink 
which causes them to swirl in globes of life 
where brain-urged creatures clash in hungry strife. 

If flashing atoms always beam too straight 
through boundless void of space due to their weight, 
they never would collide in coils of light 
that form matter of the universe right, 
so Epicurus taught that atoms swerve 
in random deviations of the curve. 

If we could predict where each atom moves 
our actions would be locked in legal grooves, 
predetermined by divine will of God 
which would make us puppets committing fraud, 
so random swerves of atoms in the void 
breaks chain of necessity we avoid. 

Thus we assert soft force of our free will 
when we ascend to fruit grove on the hill 
where we tame horses with sweet fruit of trust, 
subsuming mindless energy of lust, 
so we can bridle passion of their flight 
in race to achieve the heavenly height. 

How far across the spinning globe I fly 
on horse of wisdom to discover why 
our bodies spring from laughter of the sea 
as we investigate how to live free 
when we assert free will by conscious choice, 
then chronicle events with honest voice.