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. 

Incarnation Of Saint Michael

Incarnation Of Saint Michael
© Surazeus
2026 06 14

The narrow dusty road across bleak plain, 
that takes me past wind-weathered hills of hope, 
seems to extend forever to the sky, 
but I know somewhere far beyond despair 
stands shining temple of wise Jupiter 
who hosts grand banquets for lost travelers. 

But by the time I arrive at his hall 
ten thousand years of reckless social change 
have transformed villages of hungry farmers 
to vast metropolitan maze of streets 
so piston-engine cars glide past glass towers 
where Jupiter reigns as bank president. 

The silver airplane Daedalus designed, 
which Icarus pilots with focused faith, 
zooms swiftly far in high celestial realm 
so wingless angels manage world affairs 
in global council of state ministers 
where Jupiter presides with wise insight. 

Peter chuckles at vision of the world 
that Michael proffers with clever grin 
where mythic spirits of conceptual gods 
provide vigor of ideal characters 
as psychic force of social energy 
which incarnate in normal mortal men. 

Consider how mythic tag of our name 
acts as key to initiate psychic force 
of social role performed in state of grace 
by that original person whose mind 
may exercise broad visionary scope 
through our contemporary mental form. 

That first Michael, human who bore my name, 
now sanctified as archangel whose soul 
exerted deeds of duty to assert 
central authority of Jupiter, 
whose name signifies Jehovah Pater, 
has become glamorous ideal of the hero. 

By assigning name of that great archangel, 
Michael who slays dragon of the cruel tyrant, 
whose devilish spirit possesses men 
each generation with ambition to rule 
with greed, exploiting human slaves for wealth, 
my mother hopes I will act with his spirit. 

Therefore, it is my duty in this life, 
as mortal incarnation of Saint Michael, 
to save America from tyranny, 
but how I shall perform this sacred role 
has yet to manifest, so I employ 
patience to act well when the time is right. 

Waves Of Vanishing Desire

Waves Of Vanishing Desire
© Surazeus
2026 06 13

When Phoebus follows river of his eyes 
that flow through broken window of his heart, 
he finds his body in the ocean house 
that floats on airplane wings of dragon eggs 
which nurture horse with honeysuckle wings 
who teaches him how to dig his own grave. 

Weary on waves of vanishing desire, 
Phoebus builds another bridge from sparrow bones 
that gives him strength of harpy butterflies 
to endure endless days of everywhere 
because the past returns in loops of laughter 
where river of his eyes flows to the sea. 

Heart bruised by shadows of the faceless dead, 
Phoebus lies on grass while the clock rewires 
how his sponge brain perceives eternal light 
that glows from skin of Columbine when she strips 
mask of her happiness to bare her soul 
studded with milk-white stars of unmarred faith. 

Concluding with sly grin of knowingness, 
Columbine asks the charlatan to prove 
she has no right to live in paradise, 
but he sells Bibles to the gullible 
who cheer when Harlequin erases words 
to steal the falling star of honesty. 

Amused at clashing cymbals of respect, 
Columbine rescues the blind hanging man 
who sells her memories of their love trysts 
to kind sorcerers from Bohemia 
who ask Phoebus to reign as their new king 
while he rocks his daughter in gentle arms. 

When Harlequin returns from Kingdom Come 
and asks bold Columbine to marry him, 
Phoebus interferes with their fake romance, 
intending to repair the garden path 
where Melancholy dances with Disdain 
as if they are new deities we love. 

Clotilde points to angels in the sky 
whose bodies fall as snowflakes on the Earth, 
so Phoebus makes small snowman on his lawn 
with twisted tree branches as devil horns 
while children gather coins from lake-shore mud 
stamped with cute scene of Bacchus and his pards. 

While she plays tambourine with broken heart 
beneath the weeping bells of Notre Dame, 
Phoebus gives Columbine peach juice to drink 
so she teaches Clotilde how to paint 
faces of ghosts who descend from the sky 
with metallic wings of terrified birds. 

Moment Of Lost Time

Moment Of Lost Time
© Surazeus
2026 06 13

Now that I am halfway through my life tale, 
I want to walk with you on the dirt path 
around the lake where summer breezes blow, 
and take photographs of your graceful soul 
to preserve this moment of our lost time 
so our image will remain though we die. 

Concerned about the price of tangerines 
that gleam with waterdrops on the store shelf, 
we weigh advantages of eating fruit 
in contrast to expending hours of hope 
researching variant types of meadow birds 
who seem to know our final resting place. 

Distraught by stories in the daily news 
about women and children who escape 
bombs that deconstruct their family homes, 
we turn the television off at sunset 
and stroll about the quiet neighborhood, 
waving to every person who drives by. 

My favorite mural in town of Pompeii, 
painted on thermopolium cafe, 
shows graceful Nereid with curly hair 
riding blue Hippocampus with fish tail 
while strumming golden lyre of Mercury, 
for you are incarnation of her soul. 

Agathodaemon slithering in my heart, 
with jeweled eyes that know the universe, 
flutters rainbow feathers along its spine 
as she protects sacred space of our home 
where we dwell safe from mobs of hungry souls 
who clamor for salvation from stone gods. 

To open crystal portal door of faith 
and slip back in time to when we first meet 
so we can avoid our too-tragic fate, 
we sit together on the river shore 
and talk about philosophy of being 
as if we are still Phoebus and Carmenta. 

Wearing masks of the Singer and the Sibyl, 
we perform play we wrote about their lives 
on the outdoor stage in the city park 
where people gather every Sabbath day 
to celebrate birth of Zarathia 
we build from ruins of America. 

Once romantic play of our lives is done, 
and all the ravens in the writhing oaks 
have flown beyond fake walls of paradise, 
we board small boat of skulls that Charon rows 
to glide across the oil-black River Styx 
and live forever in Elysium. 

Quest To Find Meaning

Quest To Find Meaning
© Surazeus
2026 06 13

I have wandered river landscape of Earth 
two hundred million years of spinning time 
on endless quest to find meaning of life, 
and each moment I almost understand 
I generate new body with my mate 
so I continue journey to the stars. 

Just on the other side of the bright hill 
where nothingness of death looms over me, 
I find another world of wooded vales 
where tribes of people live on river shores 
so I keep climbing endless hills of hope 
till I discover that our world is round. 

I keep on walking to the end of time 
while singing to beam visions of my eyes 
which helps me organize my memories 
in coherent tales of cause and effect 
so I can map the endless road of faith 
where other people walk before I come. 

I follow the rising sun every dawn 
forever toward the endless sea of light, 
but then turn away toward the setting sun 
because I keep walking circles of fate, 
one hundred thousand years till I arrive 
at the edge of the world in Oregon. 

With you at my side on the ocean shore 
I listen to the endless song of waves 
which I cannot translate to human words, 
and explain to you the meaning of life 
which I discover in my vain attempt 
to evade death and live another day. 

If I can find the wings of Icarus 
and fly above this world of hills and lakes, 
I would ascend to world of swirling clouds 
to find grand crystal palace of the gods 
who live forever in dreams of our minds 
as our ancestors who watch over us. 

Stuck in this soft body of hungry flesh 
as temporary node of deathless genes, 
my spirit writhes with passion to transcend 
confining limits of this transient life 
to savor psychic glow of ecstasy 
that expands my mind through epiphany. 

There is no meaning to this sudden life, 
so we invent religions based on myths 
of people whose grand deeds of public life 
are framed with tragic consequence of fate 
because they try to assert thought control 
instead of flowing with the tides of change. 

Fairyland States Of Zarathia

Fairyland States Of Zarathia
© Surazeus
2026 06 13

As psychotic elite who rule the world 
from Fairyland States of Zarathia, 
we record spells of the heartless Mermaid 
from old riddles of her Three-Legged Crow 
to publish prophecies of faceless gods 
performed by Oberon on the Late Show. 

Working late in East Wing of the Black House 
in Fairyland States of Zarathia, 
Titania develops social programs 
designed to help mothers raise children well, 
but Midas bulldozes her office suite 
so he can build a Winter Palace Ballroom. 

Returning home on tattered wings of faith 
to Fairyland States of Zarathia, 
Icarus founds start-up tech company 
that ploys artificial intelligence 
to automate tedious business tasks 
which garners wealth for man in the glass mask. 

Nontoxic masculinity of faith 
through Fairyland States of Zarathia 
contrives mental recipes of fraught faith 
from bland conviction social rules require 
for sorting souls by color of their skin 
against creed of Heaven death nullifies. 

Campaigning to become next President 
of Fairyland States of Zarathia, 
Oberon journeys to the mountain cave 
where Saint Fillan convinces the wild wolf 
to plow fields of wheat in place of the ox 
because the farmer is the key to wealth. 

Marsh orchids blooming purple from lush hills 
in Fairyland States of Zarathia, 
give courage to lost refugees of war 
afflicted by gang of cruel oligarchs, 
so they smuggle ginger wine into Hell 
where they dance on corpse of the fallen tyrant. 

Driven from Hibernia by dream thieves 
to Fairyland States of Zarathia, 
we wander signless road of nowhere else 
because we never find the Promised Land, 
so we build amusement park Wonderland 
where wingless angels pretend they can fly. 

Unlocked gates of technological Heaven 
in Fairyland States of Zarathia 
expose collectible memories we share 
as mass delusion of national pride 
when we experience television shows 
to celebrate birthday of our lost empire. 

Winding Road Of Change

Winding Road Of Change
© Surazeus
2026 06 12

When I am ready for the leap of faith 
from crumbling tower of religious hope 
I spread wings I borrow from Icarus 
and wonder with amazement of mute awe 
why I am me and no one else alive, 
then lean against the balustrade and sigh. 

Solaria beams rays of holy light 
through web of branches in the Tree of Life 
to luminate deep cavern of my heart 
where wise demon of my genetic soul 
conducts analysis of social vibes 
so I navigate vast maze of myths well. 

Telluria molds genes of memories 
from tangled vines of innocent desire, 
transforming body of material flesh 
four hundred million years from fish to god 
that programs how my mind perceives the world 
so I generate life before I die. 

Venturia breathes whole ethereal soul 
through brave pneumatic gust of energy 
which animates my body of frail flesh 
with compassion of visionary hope 
that flashes conscious sense of secret self 
so I sense cosmic God wake in my brain. 

Thalassia swirls waves of timeless faith 
across courageous landscape of my heart 
which motivates ambitious quest for truth 
that drives my progress on the road of life 
to conserve stories of human exploits 
in chronicles of failure and success. 

Saturnus wakes my spirit from strange dream 
and guides my way on winding road of change 
to navigate confusing maze of ghosts 
so I find broken lyre of Mercurius 
that he designed six thousand years ago 
from turtle shell and strings of aching love. 

Apollon finds me tangled in despair 
so he frees my heart from lustful desire 
by teaching my voice to manipulate 
images of feeling with words of thought 
so I transcend greed with selfless concern 
when I articulate soul of mankind. 

As wingless angel born from womb of Earth, 
I crawl from sea along river of hope, 
climb generous Tree of Life to eat fruit, 
then follow river to Mountain of Truth 
where I map history of humanity 
as we strive to transcend despair with love. 

Who You Journey With

Who You Journey With
© Surazeus
2026 06 12

Who you journey with on rough road of life 
is far more important than where you go, 
so I keep you within scope of my eyes 
with attentive care to our circumstance 
to ensure your precious spirit is safe 
while I gather fresh fruit for you to eat. 

When Juturna finds creek of clear cold water 
trickling in thick woods between rugged hills, 
she follows sparkle of light into gloom 
till she finds spring that fountains from dark earth, 
so she proclaims to Janus with sweet voice 
that she has now found their forever home. 

Calling out to her mother, Rumina, 
older woman with long hair and green eyes, 
Juturna guides her to the fountain grove 
where they rest in shade of the broad fig tree 
as Janus plucks sweet fruit for them to eat, 
then brings them water in new turtle shells. 

Janus builds temple beside broad fig tree 
with oak for foundation of the firm floor, 
four silver firs as columns for roof beams, 
and cypress for walls and two sturdy doors, 
around stone hearth that preserves flame of light 
where Juturna and Rumina cook meals. 

When Juturna exclaims two cows are gone, 
Janus and their son Quirinus grab wands 
and track the cows to large bone-littered cave 
where the grim giant Cacus snarls in rage, 
so while Janus distracts him with sharp spear 
Quirinus leaps on his back with thick vine. 

After strangling greedy Cacus to death, 
Quirinus explores dark cave with bright lamp 
where he finds large diamond that glitters clear 
as ice-white silver moon on winter nights, 
so they bear it back to their temple home  
where Janus sets it firm on altar stone. 

Gazing deep in crystal sphere of pure light, 
Juturna sings verse of oracle spells 
describing visions she sees with her mind 
how the first flash flares forth from the big bang 
so threads of sparkling light form spinning globe 
from which gods and humans spring into life. 

When pregnant Juturna goes into labor, 
Rumina attends process of childbirth, 
then washes the new-born girl clean with care, 
so while Juturna nurses her with love 
Janus bestows name Carmenta with pride 
and gazes in eyes of his reborn mother. 

Persistence Of Secret Love

Persistence Of Secret Love
© Surazeus
2026 06 11

I call out to dark shadow on the shore, 
thinking they must be somebody I know, 
but they have never existed in time, 
mind designed with fear-automated gears 
that wind our mouths with beams of earnest light, 
reckless with persistence of secret love. 

If I should offer pessimistic codes 
without bitterness through security 
for industrial passion of eager hearts 
with expeditious game of narratives, 
I may voice constant struggles to transcend 
thematic alarm of personal faith. 

Larger forces in our shared catastrophe 
render masters of sloganeering tricks 
responsible for scouring observations 
designed to model how we weigh our worth 
when we inhabit avatars of faith 
against diminishment of miracles. 

Aghast at framing device angels use 
to change trajectory of mutant ploys, 
I gaze in gleam of well water with goal 
to measure firmament of splendid souls 
who precede cosmic fixture of old fruit 
in harmony with psychic consequence. 

Thus I invert heavens with casual stance 
in potent reversal of separateness 
through isolation of our frantic hearts 
to find divine spirit of clarion faith 
in subterranean space of pulsing brains 
where we shelter in place from foul disease. 

Set on evading fraught taxonomy 
through calm bewilderment of honesty, 
I tally inventory of my dreams 
to comprehend rich treasures I possess 
while trudging dusty road of jagged thoughts 
as mordant observer of ardent faith. 

I taste cathedral stone of elegy 
amid debris of crumbling tapestries 
that shroud hope-wrecked cars in junkyard of faith 
to weep for poisoned land of brutal truth 
that foils green memory of warm sun 
calibrated with moral questions of fate. 

Safe on mixed-grass prairie of humble pride, 
I build new kingdom of wind in the heart 
that converts veritable floating ark 
of nameless creatures writhing in my heart 
so I broadcast signal of wordless songs 
that roots my body as idol of faith. 

Ruined Temple Of Diana

Ruined Temple Of Diana
© Surazeus
2026 06 11

Today I am so happy being alive 
that I forget to shout at the Blue Sky 
about the problems humans cause each other 
till I remember nobody is up there, 
so I walk around streets of Rome to visit 
Basilica of Santa Prudentiana. 

Disgusted with the life I used to lead, 
tricking people with scams to steal their money, 
I rename myself after Novatus, 
then journey to Lake Nemi that gleams blue 
to sit by ruined Temple of Diana 
and weep for the loss of beautiful souls. 

When eerie voice of sorrowful desire 
rings through dark forest of the eyeless wolf, 
I walk toward mysterious grove that glows 
with solemn anguish of the fallen angel 
who sings with aching wisdom of the stars 
about the man who sacrificed his soul. 

Willing to die for the people he loves, 
Prudentiana sings in gold moonlight, 
the honest leader who came from the stars 
nurtures every person with tender care 
so we develop talents into skills 
instead of enslaving us for his gain. 

When I see three men with sharp spears and chains 
grab Prudentiana with hands of lust, 
and drag her toward their wagon cage of slaves, 
I pick up shark rocks from the river shore, 
whistle as I toss them high in the air 
that whack them with my wand of liberty. 

After cracking skulls of slavers with rocks, 
I unlock wagon cage and set slaves free 
who fall to their bruised knees with gratitude 
and proclaim me savior sent down by Zeus, 
then beg me to play shepherd of their clan, 
so we journey forth to the Promised Land. 

Rebuilding ruined Temple of Diana 
with stones we haul from hill of granite cliffs, 
we reinstate rituals of daily life, 
tending gardens of herbs and herds of sheep, 
with Prudentiana, our clever leader, 
performing role of Domina Silvarum. 

Gathered at round table heaped with good food, 
we celebrate success of our new venture, 
former slaves working rich communal farm, 
as Lucina brings light and pitcher of juice, 
so I strum lyre of Mercury and sing 
that spirit of God lives in every heart. 

Ruthless Winners Like Me

Ruthless Winners Like Me
© Surazeus
2026 06 10

Time has no frantic pace I can discern 
that leaves all mortals in cold graves of faith, 
so I race headlong toward high peak of fame 
in desperate contest to achieve success 
above all other losers on this globe 
whose skulls crumble to dust beside my own. 

Long tedious days crowd endless short years 
with daily contests to gather more wealth 
than competitors in shadowy woods 
who pray to faceless spirit in the clouds 
to grant them random luck of generous fate 
while I hoard food in cold castle of stone. 

Ignoring cries of homeless refugees, 
driven from rich lands by laws I decree 
that river-nourished woods are mine alone, 
granted divine right to gather and hunt 
for secret treasures of bountiful Earth, 
I lounge in tower with coffers of plunder. 

Though hungry hordes of rebellious fools 
clamor desperately at gates of my Heaven 
with revolutionary fervor of blind rage 
that I gain power through law over land 
to defeat them in chess game against death, 
I sip sweet wine and dine on roast beef steak. 

While they beat drums and pipe with Bacchic frenzy 
beneath electric horror of the moon, 
I strum gold strings of the elegant harp 
and chant harmonious hymns of reverence 
to praise Lord God whose frank benevolence 
has blessed me with wit to pilfer their wealth. 

Removed from teeming crowds of vagrant churls 
who cry for justice to the empty sky 
for infernal judgment against my power, 
I fund their passage on mercantile ships 
across stormy sea of indifference 
to slave on my farms in the colonies. 

Ruled by harsh law of the grim wilderness, 
that those who are stronger and wiser win 
in brutal battle of wits to control 
religious narrative of the whole state 
based on systemic privilege of wealth, 
this world honors ruthless winners like me. 

So though our nameless skulls sit side by side 
on lightless shelf in cathedral of faith, 
as if we are equals in realm of death, 
I stamped my name on grand buildings and laws 
in legal framework that enforces power 
of my descendants to exploit your own. 

Simple Life Of Solitude

Simple Life Of Solitude
© Surazeus
2026 06 10

I shall go out to field of tangled briars 
to build myself small hut from bones of birds, 
and there with brave attention of the wind 
begin grand process of devouring myself, 
so I may gaze with passion of the oak 
at image of my soul in Walden Pond. 

Lounging on front porch of the small wood cabin, 
which they erected beside Walden Pond, 
Henry Thoreau and his walking companion, 
William Channing, sip hot herbal tisanes 
that they brew from pine needles and mint, 
and chat about philosophy of life. 

Because the complex rituals of our lives 
are frittered away by involved details 
that lure our progress into labyrinths 
of trivial necessity through care, 
we must eradicate tangled obligations 
and simplify slate of our daily tasks. 

If one man who follows preordained paths, 
assigned by social duty of his state, 
cannot keep strict pace with his companions, 
perhaps he hears beat of another drummer, 
so let him step to music which he hears 
however boldly measured or far away. 

Thus I proceed with confidence of faith 
in clear direction of my secret dreams 
to live this simple life of solitude 
that I imagine while I ponder fate, 
for the great characteristic of wisdom 
is to abstain from doing desperate things. 

When I observe human society 
I see thousands hacking at branches of evil, 
while one who sees what he is looking for 
strikes at deep roots of selfish greed and hate 
that foments strife through jealousy and fear 
with action that obstructs destructive deeds. 

However mean and poor your life may seem, 
meet circumstance with passion of respect, 
and do not shun its most difficult events, 
for fault-finders find fear in paradise 
while thrill-seekers find elation in hell, 
for it is better to serve than to reign. 

When dawn gleams gold on sheen of Walden Pond, 
Henry and William eat sweet hasty-pudding 
of cornmeal, molasses, ginger, and milk, 
then set out down the signless road of hope 
on yet another vigorous walk-and-talk 
with goal to climb rugged Mount Monadnock. 

Weirdness Of Eternal Now

Weirdness Of Eternal Now
© Surazeus
2026 06 09

Through tight control of intermittent thoughts 
we wind disparate memories in spheres 
of flashing strategies to burn god stones 
with tattered pages from ancestral books 
so prior tests we dare contrive from code 
enchant our hearts when sad nightingales sing. 

While sitting blindly in windowless house 
with numberless door of inequity, 
I roam the whole universe of strange lands 
though tethered to fragile skull of my soul 
since gushing mountain river piles logs high 
against enormous stone of innocence. 

Slouched by unkempt grave of the famous seer 
who harvested peaches from tangled trees, 
I mutter prayer of sorrow to his mask 
to checklist deeds I refuse to perform 
through mechanism of uncertain grief 
that covers me in random leaves of hope. 

No star-eyed visitors appear from mist, 
seeking redemption from gratified corpse 
to highlight uselessness of sentiment 
that could not resurrect my pardoned heart 
from graceless circumstance of fortitude, 
since love might manifest in dormant seeds. 

Could I return from underworld of faith 
with contract that impacts my credit score, 
I would sail leaking boat across dark sea 
to harrow blatant sense of urgency 
with greatness death displays at crack of dawn 
when everything I knew as true is wrong. 

Up jagged cliff of ambition I climb 
against assertive gusts of lonely wind 
to count bright sparkles on the silver sea 
by wishing goodness for each soul alive 
who walks alone the signless road of fate 
to prove people can govern themselves well. 

Inspired to extract my body from roots 
of ancient trees, I breathe faith to express 
despair we deny pierces hearts with truth 
despite our vow at picnic by the lake 
to savor weirdness of eternal now 
by drinking sorrow brewed in bitter herbs. 

I seek sublimity of perfect thoughts 
that swell at suddenness of your sharp eyes 
beaming subtle blast of rainbow bliss 
with cheerful jubilation gladly struck 
in harmony of love we blithely share 
with brokenhearted document of faith. 

Cartography Of Tropes

Cartography Of Tropes
© Surazeus
2026 06 09

Attempts to eradicate sentiment, 
that tangle my heart with vines of desire, 
prove more than difficult to implement 
when I am but one voice in the global choir 
that sings hymns about bright Heaven above 
through universal law of selfless love. 

Strange feelings shaped by artificial hope 
writhe in my heart with fierce draconic need 
to manage programmed rites that help me cope 
with social drama from religious creed 
designed to chain my heart with rigid rules 
which I dismantle with conceptual tools. 

Emotions based on vision of the real, 
my mind projects through frame of my world view, 
propel my progress on the Fortune Wheel 
when I attend my quest to code the true 
defined by ideal trope of my dream state 
that helps me choose condition of my fate. 

My naming secret specter of my soul, 
expressed well by character mask I wear, 
asserts specific space where I play role 
attentive to cause effect that I dare 
present as purpose of deeds I perform 
which models fluid response by the norm. 

Tending inner identity through code 
that weaves fragments of memories in verse, 
I shift thought gears to spool efficient node 
that binds my body to the universe 
as phantom sprouting from matrix of light, 
enhanced by radiant wisdom in dream flight. 

If I attempt to frame my psychic being 
through universal template of mankind 
I find my soul defined by angel wing 
that spreads wide scope of my expanding mind 
so bright compassion of my glowing heart 
flows out beyond grid limits of my chart. 

With courage of feelings, I navigate 
Slough of Despond to find the Promised Land, 
but Petrus stops me at the Pearly Gate, 
demanding I show passport with my hand 
that Jesus signed and stamped with Bloody Cross, 
so I build New Heaven as my own boss. 

Intense passion of feelings are no good 
for guiding my way in vast maze of myths, 
so I advance by faith through gloomy wood 
with Lamp of Lucifer to megaliths 
since I prefer cartography of tropes 
to journey safely on rough mountain slopes. 

Attempts To Question Fate

Attempts To Question Fate
© Surazeus
2026 06 08

Home on little island Neptunus bears 
in cool flowing waves of the Lydian Lake, 
I relax rejoicing in fruit-tree grove, 
safe in stone walls of secret paradise 
on vine-entangled shore of Sirmio 
where Catullus teaches me to chant songs. 

Fierce-eyed Cybele with long tangled hair, 
enthroned on river-smoothed Oracle Stone, 
shows how bodies, animated by souls, 
spring from scarlet egg of Chthonian womb, 
designed by passion of the swirling sea, 
then leaves my skull smiling in cold moonlight. 

Sweet Diana, mistress of secret glades, 
swift daughter of Jove, son of Jupiter, 
son of Jehovah, guide me with your star 
through mountain forests to your olive grove 
where you teach us to hunt the fleet-foot deer, 
for you protect boys and girls with your love. 

Alone on shadowy road of my life, 
from which no living soul ever returns, 
I remember dancing with Juturna 
in honey-thick fields of Elysium 
as I descend to cave of flashing jewels 
to fight Orcus and free slaves from despair. 

With quivering wings of brave Zephyrus 
I seek Rhamnusia in Temple of Fate 
to read sacred Book of Aquarius 
whose riddles reveal secret formulas 
that help me choose which road of deeds to walk 
when I help Orion defeat cruel Pluton. 

Lured by song of Laodamia for my ghost 
to possess wood statue of her dead spouse, 
I climb Mount Latmos with my broken lyre 
to pray Apollo repair its cracked shell, 
but I find Endymion in moonlight 
who asks me to consult his horoscope. 

When I ask innocent Harpocrates, 
who plays with toy lyre on lap of his mother, 
star-eyed Isis, who peels orange for her son, 
if he has seen his father, Horus Sky-Walker, 
that devious godling taps finger to his lips 
to silence my attempts to question Fate. 

While I drink deep from cool Hippocrene Stream, 
from climbing long trail up Mount Helicon, 
I hear someone call my name, Hecatus, 
so I turn around and look everywhere, 
but Artemis is hiding among trees, 
so I call her name to the empty sky. 

Mad King Of Bitter Hate

Mad King Of Bitter Hate
© Surazeus
2026 06 08

Last night under the fractured bloody moon 
I discovered I failed to verify 
my faith subscription to the resurrection 
so I find myself, when I wake at dawn, 
stranded in endless maze of asphalt streets 
that binds cities of Earth in cyberspace. 

I knock on glass door of the Happy Church 
to ask if they sell updated maps to the soul 
but the robot wearing a blue preacher suit 
tries to sell me shares to the Afterlife, 
so I steal tattered wings from Icarus 
and leap from steeple of the mocking owl. 

Gliding high over maze of city streets 
with message scroll I swipe from Earendel, 
I try to find statue of Lucifer 
who bears the shining Lamp of Liberty, 
but mob of factory workers tears it down 
to build new bowling alley with a bar. 

Landing in Garden of Eden with grace, 
I stroll rocky shore of the River Styx, 
cluttered with skulls that prophesy world doom, 
and search for the Tree of Knowledge and Lies, 
but find King Midas hacking at its trunk 
because he wants to build a huge ballroom. 

When I call Jesus on the telephone 
to report vandalism in paradise 
he sends Azrael with electric wings 
to wrestle the mad king of bitter hate, 
but Midas accuses him of being crooked 
then storms away to sulk by the Dead Sea. 

Grasping scepter Nebuchadnezzar dropped, 
Midas rides huge gold hippopotamus 
past bomb-blasted gates of Jerusalem, 
through crowds of angels jeering at his face, 
but he sneers and snatches gold Crown of Thorns 
to crown himself emperor of the world. 

Swift Hawk of Horus swoops down from Blue Sky 
and transforms into Lucifer Sky-Walker 
who wields law-sharpened sword Excalibur, 
to behead greedy demon of despair, 
but blade of justice crackles hologram 
that flickers, then returns to bloated hugeness. 

Soaring up to High Castle on Golgotha, 
I break through third wall of apocalypse 
to smash computer racks of corporate banks 
so eidolon of Satan dissipates, 
which dispels cloud of doom shrouding the world 
so people of Earth rejoice in the streets. 

Mirror Of Forgotten Masks

Mirror Of Forgotten Masks
© Surazeus
2026 06 07

Happy in mundane failure of my life 
to play grand role on stage of history, 
safe from glaring spotlight of random fame, 
I gaze in mirror of forgotten masks 
where faces of my ancestors combine 
whole shadow of my soul that glows awake. 

Calm in acceptance of my mundane life 
where I carve prophecies on river stones 
recording who gets cursed by random fame, 
I float in mirror of forgotten masks 
as eight billion humans with dreaming brains 
who enter contest over who plays god. 

Surprised by joy that fountains from my heart 
as surreal vision flashing through my brain 
detailing how to evade random fame, 
I leap through mirror of forgotten masks 
to navigate combat zone of thought mines 
that could explode at misstep of each choice. 

Entranced by beauty of my Mountain Muse 
who gives me crystal sphere of timeless truth 
that maps path I take beyond random fame, 
I swim in mirror of forgotten masks 
with time-animated globe of world history 
evolving from shy fish to singing god. 

Inspired by wisdom of my Honest Spouse 
who tends Garden of Eden with crafty hands 
so Tree of Knowledge blooms with random fame, 
I rise from mirror of forgotten masks 
to build castle of faith on hill of beasts 
where angels sing in choir of tragic loss. 

Nourished by healing fruit of the Dream Tree 
which sprouts from rotten corpse of Jupiter 
to translate selfless love from random fame, 
I bloom from mirror of forgotten masks 
to drive my car to work at flash of dawn 
where I map features of our cluttered world. 

Crazy with passion to understand why 
our bodies of genetic coils are formed 
from atoms swerving against random fame, 
I soar through mirror of forgotten masks 
on wings of Icarus designed by hope 
till I build Heaven in Hell where I fall. 

Amused by complex political games 
ambitious tyrants, driving blind by lust, 
play to gamble so they win random fame, 
I polish mirror of forgotten masks 
so people visiting the Oracle 
may see dire consequence of every choice. 

Mercurial Wail Of Solitude

Mercurial Wail Of Solitude
© Surazeus
2026 06 07

Our world may be mask for the eyeless god 
who veils immortal light of its vast face 
behind endless swirling of the storm cloud, 
yet my airplane in the sky leaves no trace 
as proof of life that glows outside my head, 
born as Winged Victory of Samothrace. 

This puzzling world pretends to be more real 
than Heaven I imagine in my mind 
so I sing with roar only oceans feel 
when blazing sun, no peaceful god designed, 
sinks deep in surging waves of timeless wheel 
with eerie tune that sailors strive to find. 

Struck by mercurial wail of solitude, 
I see sweet siren with long flowing hair 
lounge on large jagged island in sad mood 
while gazing past my face in sunset glare 
with casual horror of her pulchritude 
enchanting me with love because I care. 

Dark places of this world within my heart 
blaze bright with power of the holy word 
which I find written on my secret chart 
by potent wisdom that long rings unheard 
with aching privilege of faith to start 
assertive games that reclaim the preferred. 

Alert to readjustment of the bomb 
that never touches strangeness of dark hills, 
I search vast maze of rubble for my home 
with buoyed innocence of moon-splashed walls 
to calculate social power of doom 
as blind force of fate that obeys no rules. 

Through misty groves of academe I fly 
beyond enchanted place I know is fake 
to find where frivolous gods still ask why 
we cannot keep great treasures our hands make 
unless I agree to play the dream spy 
by searching for source of the magic lake. 

Till morning gleams with shifting mutant forms, 
which reframe our psychic identities, 
I meditate with peace of lightning storms 
to transcend religious serenities 
that deconstruct all our conceptual norms 
with divine right of mortal entities. 

When our huge Ship of State strikes the iceberg 
that swells through oligarchic tyranny, 
I swim to island of the laughing lark 
who welcomes me home to my barony 
where I study process of orange clockwork 
in vain attempt to plot weird irony. 

Bitter Faith Of Innocence

Bitter Faith Of Innocence
© Surazeus
2026 06 07

To remove mask of my identity 
as whatever gender and race I am 
in temporary drama of my life, 
is to expose inner gears of my brain 
through universal character I play 
by deconstructing social privilege. 

I may seem to be straight cisgender male 
through Europeans in America, 
motivated by Scythian ardency 
essential to soul of Gothinians, 
yet I relate with empathy of love 
to every person living on this globe. 

My nature, signified by social labels 
imposed by time and place of my soul birth, 
radiates psychic energy of faith 
signed by First Mother of humanity 
who lived two hundred thousand years ago 
in Okavango Delta of my heart. 

I feel pulse of her heart animate mine 
with passionate respect for sparkling rain 
that drenches endless grassland with clear song 
she channels through sweet voice of eager hope, 
so I express her vision in my verse 
that wakes her soul in every human heart. 

We are the children of her star-lit eyes 
who multiply from womb of Mother Eve 
to carry Stick of Truth and Stone of Faith 
while wearing Cape of Wisdom to keep warm 
as we explore expanse of spinning Earth, 
and share our tale in song around the fire. 

Dividing into countless warring tribes, 
all branching from First Mother of our souls, 
we reframe our social identity 
to differentiate our noble clan 
from all the others who invade our space 
as we fight over whose Father is God. 

Inspired by bitter faith of innocence, 
that spurs aggressive progress of my plan 
to expand United Nations of Earth 
which assimilates all races in one, 
I let First Mother of humanity 
possess my body with spirit of love. 

Every race and religion on this globe 
originates from First Mother we share, 
so my heart aches at blaze of civil war 
that sparks my passion to adjudicate 
new world religion binding every creed 
in song that honors One Mother of All. 

Name Of The Rose

Name Of The Rose
© Surazeus
2026 06 07

The bald-head man with glasses and mustache 
adjusts tweed jacket and laces work boots, 
then sweeps huge pile of old discarded books, 
heaped on rain-slick sidewalk, against brick wall 
next to glass door of some abandoned bank, 
lamenting how knowledge of the past gets lost. 

"I cannot decide what to name the Rose," 
he muses while staring with rain-blurred eyes 
at tattered covers of paperback novels 
that depict bitter women in torn dresses 
and angry men with guns and loosened ties, 
"since the girl from the village is my mother." 

When he was young student in art history 
forty years ago at the university, 
he traveled to Italy for the summer 
where he climbed the steep Stairway of the Dead 
to find lost book that Aristotle wrote 
hidden in gloomy Abbey of Saint Michael. 

One cover shows corpulent businessman, 
in blue suit and red tie, wearing a blond wing, 
whose face resembles the ravenous pig, 
so he remembers how Odysseus 
was wounded by sharp horn of a wild boar 
while hunting on slopes of Mount Porcorianus. 

Greedy tyrants who clutch with manic fear 
at transient illusions of fiscal power, 
elusive as Hound of the Baskervilles, 
since Hugo was cursed for kidnapping women, 
attempt to burn the sweet innocent girl 
because she laughs at their frail vanity. 

Residing in lush Garden of Delight, 
the Girl from the Village with golden hair, 
tends delicate rosebud of her thorned bush 
while her train of nymphs wearing flower wreaths, 
named Chastity, Danger, Reason, and Shame, 
play with elegant grace in stone-rimmed pool. 

The Lover wearing clothes of Everyman 
gazes entranced in Fountain of Narcissus 
where reflection of Rosebud sparks true love 
to blossom with desire from aching heart, 
as if sharp arrow pierces him with hope, 
so his voice echoes with Name of the Rose. 

Adjusting tattered books on metal shelf, 
the balding hippie with glasses and boots 
sells them to passing strangers for one penny, 
then visits grave of his wife, Rose Marie, 
who died from cancer twenty years ago, 
and cries how beauty of this world is lost. 

Time Maps Our Dreams

Time Maps Our Dreams
© Surazeus
2026 06 06

She tells me I can never understand, 
so I carve her face on the crystal moon. 
Rose petals flutter from her callused hand 
at subtle fracture of the bone-flute tune. 
Time rearranges fragments of strange truth 
in pages of books she sells at her booth. 

She holds my hand with casual arrogance 
while we stroll by blue river of lost souls. 
Great warriors driven by brave innocence 
fight over water that washes their skulls. 
Time scatters bones of angels in cold stream 
which transform into cars in mundane dream. 

She laughs with courage of the howling wolf 
when I attempt to build cottage of stone. 
Our bodies writhe as we swim in the gulf 
so our hearts pulse with harmonious tone. 
Time allocates conceptual words of fate 
providing signs we use to navigate. 

Moonlight gleams in her eyes with arcane code 
that adjusts conceptual frame of my mind. 
While she translates proverbs of the God Toad 
I deconstruct world zeitgeist Zeus designed. 
Time animates psychic gears of my brain 
when she takes me dancing in summer rain. 

She knows the secret thoughts my brain conceals 
by flapping swan wings on cape of her pride. 
I retrieve from Death treasures Terror steals 
to build safe haven where she may abide. 
Time programs how my brain perceives the world 
that fools me to think I am the cosmic herald. 

She pauses on edge of the jagged cliff 
to show me where ships with tattooed sails sink. 
Wanting to impress her, I act too stiff, 
so she melts my heart with sly kiss and wink. 
Time maps our dreams on animated globe 
that highlights when she sings in silky robe. 

She whispers strange tales of gods in my ear 
so I write surreal plots in tangled verse. 
Trained by Apollo to play puppeteer, 
I chant epic poem of philosophers. 
Time weaves my songs in tapestry of truth 
that presents life of our messiah sleuth. 

She appears before me in flash of light 
on Mount Takoma where I meditate. 
She gives me Lyre of Mercury to fight 
world exploitation by tyrant of hate. 
Time transfers magic of Mount Helicon 
to hidden landscape of my Avalon. 

Emanation Of My Brain

Emanation Of My Brain
© Surazeus
2026 06 06

Innocent hope twists my heart with vain faith 
that humans love each other selflessly 
and work together with one set of rules 
to cherish bodies that nurture our souls 
for I am emanation of my brain 
that flashes with dreams of eternity. 

Someday people with respect for the truth 
will build Astarium, Temple of Truth, 
to honor courageous philosophers 
and brave scientists who investigate 
complex nature of our weird universe 
to formulate codes that explain its laws. 

Through rational derangement of my senses, 
with prodigious process of deconstruction 
that fragments memes of our global world view 
in morphing puzzle pieces of weird facts, 
I jailbreak Sibyl from her golden cage 
so she can teach me wisdom of the heart. 

When I draw back crystal dome of Blue Sky, 
I find lightless gloom of eternity 
where Ophelia floats on calm black waves 
till she blooms awake with white lily lips 
at blinding flash of countless flaming stars 
that sparkle in every cell of my soul. 

Twirling wild with frantic delirium 
on jagged stones where ocean waves ferment, 
I transform from the helpless boat of fate 
to roaring serpent with electric wings 
while strumming vibrant strings of the bone lyre 
till my body dissipates in storm wind. 

Ensconced in mystic horrors of weird truth, 
I reassemble fragments of my soul 
by clamping mask of Phoebus on my face 
so with eyes of the sea my heart perceives 
luminous phantom that devils call God 
reflected in vast mirror of my mind. 

Thus I bathe naked in languor of faith 
against national pride of blood-stained flags 
while riding Behemoth of revolution 
to free my people from huge prison boats 
so we swim lost in surging sea of change 
till Liberty guides us to Hall of Hope. 

Eternal Spinner of atomic souls 
transforms my body of chemical lust 
to ethereal phantom of conscious love 
who evolves Leviathan to Gabriel 
as writhing spirit of my hungry heart 
so I give Mary glass of milk to drink.