Logic Of Her Psychic Search

Logic Of Her Psychic Search
© Surazeus
2026 08 31

She wanders to the broken edge of time 
and lingers in soft swirl of ocean waves 
to ponder how absurd this life can seem, 
which might explain why angels try to rhyme 
while they invent new languages in caves 
so children can advance beside their team. 

She draws how voluminous billows swell 
from throbbing ruby of the hungry heart 
with plan to fold majestic sight of faith 
in clever books we read to key the bell 
that vibrates energy through the star chart 
designed by sightless bard for the dream wraith. 

She dances on uplifted wave of thought 
to find Endymion sleeping in moonlight, 
but deigns to kiss his mind awake with hope, 
so with one raven quill, she never bought, 
his name on water she attempts to write 
till he kisses her on the mountain slope. 

She smooths white marble idol of his soul 
with hands caressing curves of wordless ache 
to wake her shepherd-boy from fruitful dream, 
but he refuses to perform that role 
by walking on smooth surface of the lake 
to capture demon of his self-esteem. 

She feels him dance on flowing mirror sheen 
while he hangs from disk of the silk balloon 
which fools the fishermen in rocking boats 
to think he is wise angel with machine 
that opens portal to the fairy moon 
where he plays music taught by prancing goats. 

She follows voice of children in the dale 
to crystal gleaming pool in fairy glen 
on quest to find star child with seven eyes, 
but wanders lost on empire-building trail, 
misled by cheerful mockery of the wren 
that proves she may be mother of all spies. 

She mistranslates the ancient book of codes 
in bid to trick the tyrant blind with greed 
since people of the world despise his game, 
but he eludes fake justice of the toads 
by basing his reign on the sacred creed 
as if his blatant theft is blessed by fame. 

She channels anguish in her gentle laugh 
that guides her journey to the Promised Land 
where homeless refugees pray in her church 
designed by wizard with the serpent staff 
through social framework of her public brand 
that untwists logic of her psychic search. 

Exploding Stars Of Thought

Exploding Stars Of Thought
© Surazeus
2026 08 31

Entranced by great wink of eternity, 
still mesmerized by floods of spirit light, 
I try to translate from undinal spells 
weird song of Earth inflecting tones of love 
on scrolls of shimmer-passioned sentences 
that wake our conscious sense of wordless awe. 

Though I hear dark confessions of deep tides 
surge through our mortal veins of innocence, 
I seek to comprehend from water rings 
unspoken sorrows wounded hearts conceal, 
born from traumatic nuance of respect, 
as bodies floating flushed on streams of time. 

Raptured through finite consanguinity, 
despite these tendered themes of secret faith 
we dare exchange against insistence winds, 
our hearts retrieve from transient arrogance 
shared eagerness to generate new life 
from swollen ardency of each embrace. 

We long to feel exploding stars of thought 
kiss ceaseless waves of mental energy 
based on transmemberment of memories 
which motivates our journey beyond fear 
on lithe pediments of honest desire, 
till we emerge from waves of pleasant pain. 

Advanced by spectrum of marine concern, 
we pledge portentous passion to preside 
perilous connections between heaved hearts, 
inspired by mutability of trust 
refracting portions of our fractured selves 
in trembling idol of complete rebirth. 

Based boldly on inviable forethought, 
vast latitudes unleveled by exchange 
of logic-spanning staves defined by quills, 
our calm relationship of secret faith 
contracts new signature of fluid words 
despite assertions of contrary truths. 

Meticulous discharge of lonely laughs, 
infrangible bond that welds separate hearts 
of our private minds in trackless clarity, 
expands enclosing scope of welcoming 
to shelter wanderers with godless walls 
that justifies brave argosies of faith. 

Breath sealed by ghosts whose names my dreams record, 
my body swells with bitter streams of hope, 
now strong enough to cancel tyranny 
and build from frantic derelict of faith 
new world view of comprehensive insight 
by which I predict every consequence. 

Mercurial Melody Of Love

Mercurial Melody Of Love
© Surazeus
2026 08 30

Picking ripe berries from the laurel tree, 
that poison tears of angels with despair, 
young Lycidas whistles heart-aching tune 
in cautious winds of the mellowing year, 
then wades into the river of strange dreams 
and sings mercurial melody of love. 

Three muses gathered at the sacred well, 
that springs from stone where Jove lounges all day, 
recite brave songs that quick poets transcribe 
with blood of angels on parched demon skin, 
while Lycidas plays lyre of Mercury 
and stamps his feet in tune with river mud. 

Nursed together on the hill of pear trees, 
Lycidas, and his best friend Satyrus, 
herd flock of sheep beside the flowing stream 
to batten flock with fresh dews of the night 
where evening star gleams in the westering wheel, 
then plays slim oaten flute with aching heart. 

Tune of his oaten flute in desert caves, 
where wild thyme blooms from secret wound of hope, 
echoes soft in hazel copse where wrens sing 
to conjure from lush fairy mounds of fate 
ghosts of wise Druids who share secret codes 
recorded by old bards in wood-carved runes. 

Down Hebrus tides of endless water flow 
Lycidas wanders among fruited trees 
while lithe Satyrus dances with fierce grace 
to show him fane entangled with grape vines 
where skull of Orpheus, studded with gems, 
prophesies rise and fall of great empires. 

Beside the fountain Arethuse, that flows 
free from deep strangeness of our spinning Earth, 
Lycidas dances with bride of his heart, 
star-eyed Amaryllis in linen gown, 
who asks if he plays Herald of the Sea 
as son of Neptune in the horse-drawn cart. 

Disguised as prophet of the broken mask, 
Lycidas plays Alpheus with dread voice 
who visits bottom of the monstrous world 
in quest for valley where Bellerus dwells, 
yet finds his woeful shepherd friends distraught 
at news of his death in the Hebrus Stream. 

Recording deeds of heroes in strict verse 
that encodes tragic song of human hearts 
in Doric lay that few interpret well, 
Lycidas strides as Genius of the shore 
to teach young children art of poetry, 
expressing heart ache in transcendent spell. 

Flash Of Mental Equilibrium

Flash Of Mental Equilibrium
© Surazeus
2026 08 30

Behind the veil of laughter my soul wears 
bees gather sorrows to brew honey tears 
which poison angels with communal hope 
that apple trees will teach us how to cope 
with urgent passion of the need to know 
how seeds transform into the mental crow. 

Since language blinds our eyes to what is real, 
we disentangle concepts we should feel 
concealed in books that only gods can read 
in psychic riddles that compose our creed 
which guides our actions to destroy the world 
in preparation for the cosmic herald. 

I row wood boat across the mirror lake 
to find if Saturnus is yet awake, 
but black cat lurks where scarlet roses bloom 
in moonlit garden where I taste tart gloom 
thick with perfume of poppies in the air 
that proves my vow to always show I care. 

Together on wood patio after rain 
we build great kingdoms because life is vain, 
late-summer evening breeze of broken walls 
through extirpation of communist halls, 
so I row ferry into swirling mist 
to find fruit tree where Adam and Eve kissed. 

I wake up with no chance to start anew 
before the priest declares my crime is true, 
so I ride eagle of America 
to find crumbling temple in Attica 
where I children of my enterprising soul 
are eager to perform angelic role. 

Lost innocence of lovers binds their hands 
with firm commitment to guard fertile lands 
where homeless immigrants escaping war 
get jobs stocking shelves in the grocery store 
because the cleaning lady runs the state, 
whose humble mop still calculates our fate. 

I read the ancient book of fairy tales 
that falls into my hands when terror fails 
to recommend song of the nightingale 
that sings in pastoral setting of the vale 
where honest farmer milks the sacred cow 
though his son plays King of the Golden Bough. 

Through flash of mental equilibrium 
I map lush meadows of Elysium 
to find small temple in weird Orphic cave 
where I join the global ruling enclave 
as shadow king in secret government 
which I rule with Astarian Testament. 

Waves Of Lake Ontario

Waves Of Lake Ontario
© Surazeus
2026 08 30

When sunlight gleams on Lake Ontario 
my lonesome heart ascends on eagle wings 
to glide through heavenly scenario 
where soul in every world religion sings. 
Clear waves of Lake Ontario reveal 
strange energy of selfless gifts that heal. 

We stroll together on shore of great lake 
that binds our nations with mutual respect 
so mirror of its truth unmasks the fake 
through urge for peace that keys how we connect. 
Deep waves of Lake Ontario expose 
brave courage in fate our choices compose. 

Though greedy tyrant wearing crown of thorns 
tries to rename great lake of our joined hearts, 
we gather to feast at lacustrine bourns 
where name of hope is writ on global charts. 
Rough waves of Lake Ontario express 
firm principle of liberty we bless. 

Two nations bound by one Great Lake of Truth 
assert shared mission to nurture world peace, 
administered by wise messiah sleuth 
through office of our Sibyl cantatrice. 
Calm waves of Lake Ontario proclaim 
equal civil rights in the social game. 

Eagle Of America

Eagle Of America
© Surazeus
2026 08 30

The people of our land cry out in shock 
when King Midas aims golden gun of greed 
and shoots down Eagle of America 
that twitches in agony when it lands 
in reflecting pool of the national mall 
where Abe cradles wounded bird in his hands. 

Trapped in small scope of what he thinks is real, 
King Midas struts in Grand Canyon of fear, 
hunting for Eagle of America 
to pilfer treasures of the Spider Queen 
who weaves cables into the world wide web 
so we merge private wills in one world view. 

When he takes control over Ship of State, 
King Midas steers it at the Siren Rocks 
to destroy Eagle of America 
whose flight lures him with illusion of wealth 
between Scylla and Charybdis of greed 
that leaves us stranded on the beach of sharks. 

Caught in vortex of changing history, 
King Midas climbs the fig tree of despair 
to steal from Eagle of America 
golden eggs of vanity we admire, 
but Minerva fires arrow of respect 
that causes wheat to grow from wounded hearts. 

Riding red dragon of treason to war, 
King Midas steals the jeweled crown of thorns 
to fend off Eagle of America 
till George the dragon-slayer with sharp ax 
casts the devil into deep pit of fire 
where he plays rounds on golf course of regret. 

Attempting to arrest fierce Juvenal, 
King Midas sends goons in the streets of Rome 
to deport Eagle of America, 
then appoints Goliath Minister of War 
to fight the Shepherd David when he leads 
grand revolution of the working class. 

Destroying Temple of the Holy Ghost, 
King Midas chases White Queen in her cave 
to kidnap Eagle of America, 
but angel in the dark door wakes from dream 
who sings with eerie voice of ocean waves 
to free our people from his tyranny. 

Attacking Liberty with Book of Deeds, 
King Midas tries to crown himself world king 
with feathers from Eagle of America, 
but wise Minerva wrestles ghost of fear 
and raises Lamp of Freedom high again 
so we build new world of Zarathia. 

Star-Wounded Mercury

Star-Wounded Mercury
© Surazeus
2026 08 29

Across crowded maze of our cityscape 
I hear cry of star-wounded Mercury 
radiate from world brain of our radio 
with eerie melody of aching hope 
for every soul alive to live in peace 
though they fight to control the narrative. 

To understand where, on the signless road, 
we are lead by star-wounded Mercury 
in progress of expansion from quaint farms 
to world empire with war planes that patrol 
bright heavens where star angels play gold harps, 
I map our journey to the Promised Land. 

With sword of justice in my red right hand, 
forged from fear by star-wounded Mercury, 
I rally farmers I vow to protect 
in holy war against invading hordes 
to guard enclosing walls of paradise 
where we raise our children in apple groves. 

Mentored by desert prophet with star eyes, 
who wears mask of star-wounded Mercury, 
I protect Rapunzel in the stone tower 
when she gives birth to my heir to my throne, 
so I found Bloodline of the Holy Grail 
to rule world empire built by Jupiter. 

Crowned with victory of my grand chess game, 
well managed by star-wounded Mercury, 
I organize ten thousand castle towers 
uniting nations in Gothinian state 
to colonize rich lands of minerals 
in corporate empire of the faceless god. 

Though world wars topple kings of fantasy, 
in game played by star-wounded Mercury, 
I orchestrate knights of the Holy Grail 
to fight over who wears gold crown of thorns 
in world conspiracy of wealthy banks 
through progress of liberal democracy. 

While wearing Talamasca of dream code, 
invented by star-wounded Mercury, 
I host religious rite of sacrifice 
in ziggurat temple where Ishtar reigns 
to crucify greedy King of the Wood 
who steals our treasure from the Golden Bough. 

Anointed to play Jesus on world stage, 
directed by star-wounded Mercury, 
I fight dark doppelganger of my soul 
till I assimilate in one whole mind 
spirits of Dionysus and Apollo 
so I become Lucifer who rules Earth. 

Listen With Calm Pride

Listen With Calm Pride
© Surazeus
2026 08 29

When he embraces clemency of death 
while wearing flannel suit and dark green tie, 
Scott ponders pewter-polished clouds of fate 
that teach his heart to listen with calm pride 
to obligations of the open door 
that leads him to the garden of dead gods. 

Though voices of children ring off the sea 
where war ships wait in harbor of respect, 
Scott asks the angel with time-bloodied wings 
if he can sail beyond edge of the world 
where ghosts of gods on gold horizon gleam 
with threat of sudden invasion by fear. 

While cows chew cud in fields of fractured skulls 
where fighter jets scream across cluttered skies, 
Scott measures distance to the mountain peak 
from cabin by the lake where angels wait 
for savior of the world to come again 
in starship from some distant galaxy. 

Since time may leave him stranded on the beach 
where two hawks circle in the mirror sky, 
Scott flies large paper kite with haiku verse 
about bed sheets that flutter in salt wind 
with gentle gracefulness of dragon wings, 
then asks Minerva for pear-ginger tea. 

If he waits in the airport by the sea 
for lonely teacher wearing crystal mask, 
Scott never calls her on the telephone 
to tell her what the owl would like to say, 
then strikes the match so he can start anew, 
and lights the candle on the windowsill. 

Open hands catching drops of restless rain 
to wash the dishes in the kitchen sink, 
Scott tends his sick wife in the afternoon 
when sparrows in dead trees steal cinnamon 
for the mother bear who still prays in church 
while clutching amulet of innocence. 

Inspired by beauty of wind-carved alcove 
from gold sandstone that frames cloud-mottled sky, 
Scott calculates psychotic vibe of faith 
that nurtures broken hearts of wanderers 
dislocated from homeland of their tribe 
when strangers adopt them across the sea. 

Though dreams of nothingness haunt morning hours 
from careless arrogance of wind-swirled sand, 
Scott stands on stage with microphone in hand 
and reads verse he wrote on the broken bridge 
through framework of domestic quietude 
that serves as social glue in times of war. 

Laughing River Of Respect

Laughing River Of Respect
© Surazeus
2026 08 29

Free on the laughing river of respect, 
Zephyrus sails to city of glass books 
where he presents tale of the fallen god 
that seems to inspire workers to rebel 
against overlords who enslave their souls 
in war that fades from memories of men. 

Though children from Star Woman in the cave 
rule island of plum trees three thousand years, 
Zephyrus organizes farming towns 
to manage food-production of rich land, 
ensuring every person breathing air 
receives enough food on their plate of hope. 

Wielding star-forged Sword of Gathering Clouds 
that gleams with diamonds from star eyes of gods, 
Zephyrus battles the eight-headed beast 
incarnate as dread pirates of the sea, 
and slays them all with lithe alacrity 
to free the people of his land from fear. 

Painting portraits of heroes from the past 
whose brave deeds save humanity from harm, 
Zephyrus depicts normal human men 
as gods who represent forces of nature 
incarnate in our fragile frames of flesh, 
whose spirits possess men with force of power. 

Ruling people of Earth with honest fairness, 
as river god who controls traffic flow, 
enforcing passage fees on merchant ships, 
Zephyrus reigns in watch-house on the bridge 
where he controls commercial sales of goods 
as guardian over garden of his clan. 

Kneeling by laughing river of respect 
before Star Woman in cave of her heart, 
Zephyrus declares loyalty of faith 
to cause of her grand vision to unite 
all nations of the Earth under one law 
that treats every human with equal grace. 

Chanting verses from Epic of Star Eyes, 
Zephyrus sings before angels in robes 
that sound of the bell ringing in the sky 
echoes the impermanence of all things, 
for flowers show how the prosperous decline 
and the proud fade as dust before the wind. 

Awake by laughing river of respect, 
Zephyrus ponders nature of our world 
where humans work in companies of faith 
through hierarchy of responsible power 
to maintain our food-production machine 
that keeps us alive till every soul dies. 

Puzzle Shards Of Truth

Puzzle Shards Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 08 29

To reassemble puzzle shards of truth 
that depicts virtual model of real Earth, 
Seraphus gathers masks of mortal gods 
who crowned themselves as great leaders of men 
to hang in Museum of Manic Heroes 
which highlights vanity of social power. 

When howling winds of social hurricanes, 
that represent changes in our shared zeitgeist, 
sweep through vast Museum of Manic Heroes, 
puzzle shards of truth in global world view 
swirl into spirals of chaotic fear 
that scatter principles all humans share. 

Separate world views, which religions create 
on grand foundation of heroic deeds 
performed by prophet of their cultural vibe, 
are deconstructed by woke warriors 
who fight to dismantle power hierarchies 
that favor privilege of wealthy clans. 

Wielding the sword Excalibur with hope, 
Seraphus defends with courage of faith 
Goddess of Liberty in human form 
who bears Lamp of Freedom and Book of Truth 
so she can guide lost refugees of war 
through storm to Museum of Manic Heroes. 

When farmers all across the countryside, 
bitter that politicians neglect their needs, 
follow King Midas to the Promised Land, 
they find themselves trapped in vast maze of debt, 
scammed by the greedy thief who steals their wealth 
and leaves them stranded in the wilderness. 

Aware that farmers who produce our food, 
which angels stock in stores across the land, 
were scammed of agency to live with pride 
by greedy king who wears mask of the Christ, 
Seraphus finds them in the wilderness 
and promises to help secure their farms. 

To reassemble puzzle shards of truth 
in new world view based on support of farms, 
Seraphus constructs world ontology 
for every nation on our spinning globe 
to focus fiscal programs of support 
on mothers raising children to grow food. 

On crumbling ruins of America, 
social system built on wealth privilege, 
Seraphus leads our project to construct 
new government focused on funding farms 
that nurtures families with faith in truth 
in thriving state we name Zarathia. 

Empty Books Of Tales

Empty Books Of Tales
© Surazeus
2026 08 28

Ghosts of our ancestors fold their tattered masks 
as origami puzzles of engagement 
to hide essential code of fantasies 
in empty books of tales that angels steal 
through clever plan to encrypt frequencies 
programmed to trick my heart with guarantees. 

Sylvanus stares at how the river flows 
in graceful curves around large stone of faith, 
concerned about excessive intervals 
that index legal statutes without keys 
translating illogical anecdotes 
to riddles of magnetic fortitude. 

No prominent inspector from the tower 
arrives at fountain in center of town 
soon enough to prescribe fake principles 
that manage moral behavior with jokes 
that reference our rational radiance, 
pursuant to unrecognized perspectives. 

Symbolic supplements stored in glass books, 
that define temporal syllabus of faith, 
upgrade mental functions of measurement 
through ultimate testament his heart screams 
against transmission of funds to the sky 
from virtual vanity his mind extracts. 

His brain of advantageous variants, 
contracted by the faceless gods of idols, 
rewinds warrantless clock of revenue 
through socialist drama radios broadcast 
to prove religion no more relevant 
that stories children draw in picture books. 

No sacrifice in stadium of state pride 
proves needless to the specialized reporter 
whose strategy to satellite salvation 
beams through visual virus of vanity 
libertine loyalty jesters revere 
enough to maximize potential gain. 

Honest leverage that saviors apply, 
while singing frantic hymns of motor cars, 
frame social ministry devils require 
through mutant melodies of manic love, 
quick enough to abdicate marketing 
contrived by believers in mysteries. 

Time-shifting paradigm of fairy tales 
provides permission for the populous 
to buy and sell their souls in grim exchange 
according to their noble heritage 
despite hurricane of the holocaust 
that we perform in theater of faith. 

Walk This Tender Earth

Walk This Tender Earth
© Surazeus
2026 08 28

We walk this tender Earth on haughty feet, 
fueled by the burning passion of bright rain, 
with mission to transcend bounds of this time 
through smoldering wisdom of the blazing clouds 
which seem to urge our journey against death, 
till we sit breathless by the gushing stream. 

We bury shame of failure in the grave, 
entangled with long roots of hungry trees, 
to find wealth we extracted with our hands 
stained red with blood of wanderers who grasp 
at fleeting shadow of security, 
amazed at beauty of the fractured sky. 

I weep at forests of tall graceful pines 
hacked into boards of office furniture 
that grew on mountains shoveled in hot stoves 
and forged in rumbling engines of fast cars 
that swarm vast web of asphalt highways fast 
against the silent loneliness of time. 

Along the road where my ancestors walked 
to build new paradise of liberty 
I travel east against their westward tide 
to find my neighbors locked in prison camps 
where angels of pure light in rotting flesh 
sing with the specter of the desert seer. 

With noble anthem of the broken heart 
I celebrate counterfeit victories 
achieved by soldiers of the bleeding cross 
when Twin Towers of global enterprise 
collapse in burning flames of honesty 
at second coming of the eyeless ghost. 

The universe expands beyond my mind 
where atoms spin wild spirals of desire 
so I feel surging tides of ocean souls 
flush through taut veins of melancholy joy 
when I rise from womb of our Mother Earth 
to dream through every soul who ever lives. 

Pure love for life as energy of song 
abides in writhing bones of my god soul 
with lithe affection for all conscious souls 
who glow with me in multiverse of fate 
that we create with every choice we make, 
constructing new world view from fertile myths. 

Born from the rain-wet woods of Oregon, 
that mold my soul from jagged mountain clay, 
I walk the endless road of holy song 
to praise immortal souls of flashing stars 
who dream their gods awake inside my brain 
while I sing in the crowded city maze. 

Old Souls Of Stars

Old Souls Of Stars
© Surazeus
2026 08 28

We are frail mortal dust that dreams of light, 
small fragments fallen from soul-beaming fire, 
old souls of stars that burned before the world, 
whose furnace forged our thoughts in molten time, 
and scatters us as seeds across cold void 
to wake in flesh and wonder what we are. 

We glow within vast crucible of suns 
when hydrogen sings hymns of violent birth, 
compressed to diamond hardness in their hearts, 
and burst in supernova bloom of death, 
propelling our bright atoms through vast night 
to drift ten billion years toward this green Earth. 

Now locked in bone we bear that primal blaze, 
clear glimmer of celestial memory 
that flickers when we gaze at midnight sky 
and feel strange kinship with those distant lamps, 
for every eye that peers in star-strewn dark 
recalls the home from which its light was beamed. 

The iron in our blood was stellar ash, 
the calcium that props our active frame 
was cooked in dying giants long ago, 
so when our hearts beat fast with love or fear, 
the rhythm pulses from that ancient drum 
that first began to throb in central suns. 

We think we walk alone on lonely ground, 
yet constellations wheel within our veins, 
their mythic figures mapped in neural fire, 
and when we love with grief from dream of gods 
we reenact grand drama of huge spheres 
where light yearns still for light across the gulf. 

So though we dissipate to ash at death, 
extinguished when the body cools to clay, 
our atoms lit in starlight cannot fade, 
but swirl again to join their parent glow, 
returning through the dark on silver wings 
to shine once more where new suns take their form. 

We are the universe that learns to see, 
the cosmos waking from its dreamless sleep, 
with eyes that open on the edge of time 
to watch itself unfold in bloom through thought, 
and in each soul that suffers, sings, and strives 
our star recalls its journey and burns on. 

As temporary souls of ancient stars 
we swirl in Earth to learn the shape of flesh, 
taste the bitter-sweet salt of human tears, 
and turn our timeless light to words in song 
so all who hear may lift their gaze above 
and know themselves as children of the stars. 

Solarium Of My Honest Heart

Solarium Of My Honest Heart
© Surazeus
2026 08 28

Each time I look back on road of my life 
to analyze progress of my secret plan 
to generate new life before I die, 
the future unspools world view of my heart 
so I become enemy of my soul, 
distracted by strange beauty of the sky. 

Stretching my body to waken from dream 
electric soul of stars, which animates 
aggressive caution of my hungry mind, 
I write tale of my laughter on the sky 
so I can drink ancient truth in the rain 
that teaches me the way my heart should go. 

Awake this hour in silence of cool dawn, 
I ponder why all humans live and die, 
yet try to play some mythic role of pride 
in psychic drama of our nation-state 
composed of children from One Mother Soul 
whose vision of the world programs our minds. 

I like to lounge beneath my apple tree 
and chat about true nature of the world 
with star-eyed serpent in long tangled limbs 
whose rainbow-feathered wings expand with breath 
to broaden scope of my brief consciousness 
so I almost become God I imagine. 

Each time some hungry animal or man 
attempts to eat my body for its meal, 
or enslave my soul to fulfill their will, 
I fight to maintain life and liberty, 
asserting my inalienable right 
to exist in weird drama of my faith. 

Our souls are conjured by dream of our brains 
as long as bodies function chemically, 
so I stretch tension of my body taut 
with lithe attention to limits of force, 
based on analysis of consequence 
I measure from results of active cause. 

I fashion oak limb into magic wand, 
tipped with sharp diamond from cave of desire, 
so, when they attack to control my soul, 
I fight with martial dance of graceful hope 
to guard Solarium of my honest heart 
where fruit trees blossom with sweet food of love. 

When I look forward on my road of life 
I cannot see the future I will live 
except through fractal lens of earnest love 
constructing paradise my heart designs 
through every choice of fate I activate, 
so I give you fruit to eat in my heaven. 

Jitteriness Of The Deer

Jitteriness Of The Deer
© Surazeus
2026 08 27

In evening shadow of cautious regret 
Carla treads through elm grove to flowered glade, 
toward blue house beside the round silver pool, 
alert with jitteriness of the deer 
to danger lurking in darkening gloom, 
body buzzing with terror of grim death. 

Stomping boots with earnest possessiveness, 
Robert searches for his runaway wife 
who cost three horses and seven cows 
when he purchased her from the poor blacksmith, 
and shouts her name loud in darkening gloom, 
heart pounding with religious rage of pride. 

Trembling in chilly wind of fearful hope, 
Carla knocks lightly on the blue house door, 
but glances behind her in shadowed woods 
when she hears him shouting her name in rage, 
and gasps when old woman opens the door, 
whispering hoarsely to hide her soul from death. 

Running toward blue house by the silver pool, 
Robert grabs thin arm of the frightened girl 
who stares at him with black eyes of the deer 
which attempts to escape jaws of the wolf, 
and grins at the old woman with gray eyes 
to explain the little girl is his wife. 

Frowning with concern as the moon glows gold, 
Catherine insists he let the girl go, 
for she is far too young to be his wife, 
but Robert pushes her with growl of rage 
with force that causes her to tumble back 
so her frail head cracks on hard oak table. 

In purple dimness of the twilight zone, 
Carla gasps in shock of frightened despair, 
then cradles head of the old crone with care, 
whose frail body spasms at jolt of pain, 
vainly attempting to stop gush of blood 
that glistens with horror of mute moonlight. 

Twisting arm free from hard grip of his hand 
when he drags her away from the blue house, 
Carla runs through elms to the gushing stream, 
pauses by the stone to softly declare 
that she would rather die than marry him, 
then jumps in swift current of hopeless fear. 

Crawling on shore of Plutonian gloom, 
many miles downstream from her lost hometown, 
Carla huddles beside the apple tree, 
and cries with anguish of hopeless despair 
when she thinks about old woman who died, 
then eats apples at lonely flash of dawn. 

Map Meadows Of Elysium

Map Meadows Of Elysium
© Surazeus
2026 08 27

Across the frozen fields of ardent faith 
I hear uncanny hymns of wordless hope 
sung by lost angels of the Pleistocene 
that lure me with enchanting siren call 
to journey eastward to the rising sun 
which highlights fruit trees of the Promised Land. 

Trapped in glass temple of the eyeless wraith 
that whispers proverbs about how to cope, 
I offer apple to Queen Melusine 
who bids I take new God Mask from the wall, 
then teaches me to use the Judgment Gun 
when I guard Heaven with my red right hand. 

When son of Jesus reigns as King of Earth 
with angels in hierarchies of state power, 
I ask my father, Archivist of Fate, 
if I can join cult of the Seraphim 
to play role in his global government 
as secret agent of King Jupiter. 

Attending sacred ritual of rebirth 
that takes place in the high Rapunzel Tower, 
I journey Sacred Way to Pluto Gate 
with acolytes while chanting Orphic hymn 
to seek wisdom through psychic punishment 
so I rise reborn as Prince Lucifer. 

Arriving at the Telesterium, 
to join in Eleusinian Mysteries, 
I experience cycle of birth and death 
while wearing oak mask of Persephone 
when I drink nectar of spiritual light, 
then sing in small Anactoron of Truth. 

Presiding in new-built Astarium, 
where Ishtar dictates Book of Fantasies, 
I lead worshippers in rites of deep breath 
that primes our minds to beam epiphany 
when we learn rules for psychedelic flight 
from Icarus who plays messiah sleuth. 

I seek salvation of the Rolling Stone 
which Sisyphus orients to build Stonehenge 
since Oberon hosts festival of elves 
to rule Empire of Earth from Avalon 
for twenty thousand years of solitude 
till hunger builds the towers of Ilium. 

I carve magic spells in runes on god bones 
while Tantalus gives Ishtar sacred orange 
so Apollon stores books on archive shelves 
at wizard academy in Oregon 
where I learn arcane art of pulchritude 
when I map meadows of Elysium. 

Brave Urgency Of Hope

Brave Urgency Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 08 27

Inspired by gold-face shadow on pine hull, 
designed by dawn light gleaming through soft mist, 
Saphyrus ventures from ship of his heart 
to cautiously explore the waking world 
where breezes whisper in large silver leaves 
strange story of the way time unspools all. 

While constellations of the pre-dawn sky 
frame how his eyes perceive tree-bristling hills, 
Saphyrus stretches body of stiff limbs 
to activate brave urgency of hope 
for picking strawberries on the hill slope 
where sea winds prance on deer legs of desire. 

Urging the woman wearing deer-skin robe 
to shelter from fierce wind inside his heart, 
Saphyrus gives her strawberries to eat, 
and feels her eyes etch wisdom of calm faith 
on rough skin of his soul with tender hands 
that warm his trembling body as they kiss. 

When lightning, flashing across the gray sea, 
disperses clouds to unveil the bright sun, 
Saphyrus follows woman with green eyes 
down to the swirling waves of ardency 
where she floats on tormenting waves of time 
till he becomes the land that cradles her. 

Feeling as if his aching soul transforms 
to become this nameless woman he loves, 
Saphyrus chooses to walk by her side 
when they explore lush hills of rustling trees 
to fill leather bags with apples and eggs, 
then follows her up to silver moon ridge. 

Sitting before airigh of rugged stones 
at entrance to large hall inside high mound, 
Saphyrus feeds wood to the crackling flames 
as green-eyed deer woman with long black hair 
brews apple cider with honey and eggs 
that bubbles in brass cauldron of her heart. 

Slicing cheese that she makes from pungent milk 
where wooly sheep graze on thick tufts of grass, 
Saphyrus gazes at the distant loch 
that shimmers silver between rugged hills, 
and wonders if the ship on which he sailed 
from Ostia still lies on the pebbled beach. 

Hoisting sail on his ship of eager love 
that glides over the wine-dark sea of time, 
Saphyrus takes pregnant deer woman home 
from rugged hills of Caledonia 
to sunlit meadows of lush Latium 
where she breastfeeds their daughter in the garden. 

Wild Carmanian Waste

Wild Carmanian Waste
© Surazeus
2026 08 26

Mother of this great globe that teems with life, 
whose psychic energy through human brains 
strives to wake mortal souls with cautious sight 
of faith in what our minds perceive, reveal 
pure essence of atoms in frames of matter 
so I feel your divine mind in my soul. 

Since obstinate questionings about life, 
delivered by the faceless ghost of earnest hope 
embodied by the laughing messenger, 
drive me beyond walls of religious creeds, 
I render brave mission to comprehend 
engine that motivates my quest for truth. 

Twilight phantasms glowing in my dreams 
spark me to fine-tune taut lyre of my heart 
so breath of our First Mother plays quick tune 
of wisdom across matrix of my brain, 
expressed as solemn hymn of honesty 
which charms no other heart on Earth but mine. 

Since charmed eddies of autumnal winds form 
mound of forgetful leaves over my skull, 
which sings wordless prophecies about death, 
I sing in solitude of wind-blown trees 
surreal fantasies through weird melodies 
which gleam as lamp that guides my earnest steps. 

Nurtured by solemn visions of soul growth 
at fountain of divine philosophy 
that radiates in ambient air from lush Earth, 
I seek strange truths in undiscovered lands 
where city mazes of steel-framed glass towers 
mushroom from meadows where my fathers farmed. 

Far from the tangled wilderness of hope, 
where my ancestors built havens of peace, 
I cradle secure sense of solitude 
while roaming streets of rainbow-chasing crowds 
among glass towers of commercial wealth 
constructed on ruins of ancient temples. 

No longer lost in wild Carmanian waste, 
where boat of my exploratory heart 
lies beached on shifting sands of certitude, 
I keep mute conference with my dream-hexed soul 
to translate spells of anguish blind ghosts howl 
so passing strangers stop to hear my song. 

That spectral soul as spirit of our times, 
whom I encounter at the desolate tomb 
of our cultural god, opens cyber wings, 
designed by Icarus, and teaches me 
secret of composing truth-riddled verse 
with Cassandra Code to guide the lost home. 

Mirrored Stillness Of The Soul

Mirrored Stillness Of The Soul
© Surazeus
2026 08 26

Despite the mirrored stillness of the soul 
that hides essential nature of my heart 
in sweet illusion of the mask I wear, 
my mind seethes with ambition to transcend 
physical limits of body and mind 
by weaving my memories in riddle verse. 

If bright coherence of the conscious soul 
still glows with integrated sense of self 
after functions of the body have ceased, 
as people are so desperate to believe, 
then why are they not all around us now 
whispering their dreams in words we can hear? 

Just as the frail flame on the candle wick 
puffs into delicate curls of mute smoke, 
so vibrant pulse of psychic energy 
will vanish into nothingness at death 
since chemical glow of the dreaming mind 
ceases to emanate clear consciousness. 

Just as water, shaped by shell of the bowl, 
disperses into incoherent swirls 
when whole frame is fractured into small shards, 
so intact process of the neural net 
will scatter into frazzled sparks of unthought, 
unable to preserve memories as dreams. 

This special feeling of my own uniqueness 
that binds chemical energy as me, 
conjured by ancestral memories of life 
programmed by genes to beam my sense of self, 
tricks me to think my conscious mind has lived 
before my birth as immortal God Self. 

My sense of self is programmed from my genes 
by conscious functions of attentive brains 
in my ancestors who created life 
through each new generation of my being 
that has evolved four hundred million years, 
so I feel as if I have lived forever. 

My brain is but one temporary node 
of consciousness awake in me this hour 
at this still point of my immortal genes 
designed by my ancestors to perceive 
process to generate bodies of children 
another hundred million years of life. 

I am coherent soul combining souls 
of all my ancestors in Sense of Self, 
so I would like to wake in my descendants, 
but they will form their own coherent souls 
in bodies animated by brave love 
bright in the mirrored stillness of the soul. 

Broken Things Of Time

Broken Things Of Time
© Surazeus
2026 08 26

If I wrap huge thoughts in small cage of wings 
to climb complex ladder of chorus tunes, 
I might feel swelling of my conscious mind 
with urgent passion to become the sky, 
but this body my ancestors designed 
constrains my quest to analyze the why. 

I never mourn the broken things of time 
since more than magic of conceptual faith 
preserves integrity of vibrant souls 
with web of words we weave from memories 
to maintain format of our worldview creed 
connecting us to every soul on Earth. 

My face glows in the window of my home 
as constellation formed from long-dead stars 
that flash awake in eyes of the moon owl 
who always watches me perform my life 
in vain attempt to earn credits of faith 
enough for admittance to paradise. 

Half-open doors of innocent desire 
lure me to restart play of my failed life 
with new beginning in some distant town 
where I seek treasure of the secret truth 
hidden in library of ancient tales 
recording lives of people without names. 

Though I try to carry joy in my hands, 
it flows away with liquid solvency 
while I sing quiet carol of my heart 
in silent darkness of the endless day 
where nameless people wander streets of fate 
by hiding pain of sorrow in their eyes. 

When Artemis returns from bright moon 
with seeds of trees she finds in every land, 
she asks me to plant them in town square parks 
where they bloom lush with soft angelic souls 
who whisper fairy tales as I pass by 
so I may understand why all souls die. 

When she explains long lineage of her grief 
in strange words her heart attempts to invent, 
she speaks with fondness of her bitter pain 
since she has danced with searing thorn of fear 
too many years to extricate it now, 
then grips my hand and sings in agony. 

I wonder, as I wander in oak woods 
with basket of persimmons on my arm,  
if my death will be silent as the lake 
that sings with shimmer of sad restless wind, 
but when they make short movie of my life 
I hope they show how much I ache to live. 

Become Ideal God Self

Become Ideal God Self
© Surazeus
2026 08 25

Midway through journey of my eager life 
I find myself in dark wood of the mind 
to study apparitions on black bough 
of faceless ghosts who ask me to record 
tale of unjust exile from paradise, 
so we lounge by white chickens and tell jokes. 

Life occurs when pattern key of the sperm 
unlocks material process of the egg, 
so immortal soul of genes unspools coils 
that assemble atoms in chemicals 
to weave neural network of the brain 
which animates organic frame of flesh. 

Consciousness glows when dream-recording brain 
configures program through analysis 
to gather and consume chemical mass 
that reconstructs the frame of glowing flesh 
which ambulates on landscape of the mind 
to generate new life before we die. 

Death happens when component atom nodes, 
that compose chemical organic beings, 
deconstruct material frame of the self 
so its conscious soul vanishes to sparks 
of atoms that dissipate in mute wind 
and swirl about in random gusts of fate. 

Some atoms stay stuck in clumps of mute rocks 
billions of years as the Earth spins in space, 
while others in dirt are sucked by tree roots, 
transformed to fruit that organic beings eat, 
so atoms that once formed my dreaming brain 
now become flashes in your dreaming brain. 

Every atom belonging to my soul 
belongs to every soul who ever lives, 
for we are clumps of atoms Earth creates 
so she can wake in visions of our brains 
as we strive to become ideal God Self 
which our ancestors make to guide our way. 

Thus when I hear your voice call out my name, 
that we invent to signify each self, 
I smile and open arms of welcoming 
to share my meal in shelter of my heart, 
then we tell each other tales about life 
so we expand scope of our conscious sense. 

Our parents show us how to walk the world 
and name each object and action we sense 
till they vanish into the wind we breathe, 
then we show our own children how to walk 
the world and name its essence in new song 
till we vanish into the wind they breathe. 

Abstract Space Of My Mind

Abstract Space Of My Mind
© Surazeus
2026 08 25

Alone in the abstract space of my mind, 
where reason flaps white raven wings of faith, 
I translate sorrow of ancestral dreams 
to heart-enchanting hymn of honest hope 
that shines with ancient wisdom of the sky 
as lamp that leads me to the Promised Land. 

By forging keys of reason from my pain 
I prove to fallen angels in the rain 
that I am abstract concept of my being, 
primed to ascend on breath-approving wing 
through fraught contingency of spinning space 
as pristine idol with strange divine face. 

Growth through epistemic humility 
provides oblique viewpoint for me to fly 
against the mindless tides of social change 
when I mold dreams of brave uncertainty 
to fit stylistic canon of our state 
while lounging in chalet of mortal fate. 

Through fragments of the humble anecdote, 
based firmly on allusive bricolage, 
my hand arranges puzzle shards of truth 
within aesthetic quadrant of our creed 
that weaves each unrelated reference 
in tensile matrix of our world-shared dreams. 

With programmatic openness of fear, 
concealed in symbols of unabstract art, 
I fashion gossip into ballad code 
to manufacture products from lake muck 
that soothes our wounded hearts with cute bromides 
developed by the archivist of dreams. 

Because we sail the spirit-coiling sea 
across infinite waves of starlit souls, 
we call to lighthouse keeper of our faith 
whose eyes illuminate surface of souls 
so we rise up from abyss of despair 
as swan-winged whales of innocent desire. 

While temporary glimmers of our souls 
pulse under thin skin of our mortal pride, 
great dragon of our hearts expands wild wings 
so we become the self we choose to play 
despite attempts of bitter Thought Police 
to interpret false meaning from our psalm. 

Absorbed by landscape of the mindless vale 
to flow with beauty of the sparkling stream, 
I feel strong tidal pull of social vibes 
reverse abstraction of my dreaming mind, 
so we hold hands and walk the river trail 
to chat about the earnest tones of birds. 

Liquid Eyes Of Faith

Liquid Eyes Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 08 25

Since crystal network of my pulsing brain 
refracts strange dreams from strangers across town, 
I pluck taut strings of acoustic guitar 
and channel voice of our social zeitgeist 
in song of scrambled code to confiscate 
luminous phantom of national faith. 

High on the mountain ridge of fractured light, 
where Minerva was born from crystal brain 
of my desire to understand the world, 
I see blind ghost of Medusa appear 
in flurry of swan wings that scatters flakes 
of mirror-eyed snow in swirls of weird words. 

I want to think I understand this world, 
having assembled my ancestral dreams 
in coherent world view based on photographs 
arranged at random in forgotten books, 
so I ask the twin sisters of lost time 
if they can adjust the clock of my brain. 

Minerva gives me boots of dragon skin 
that protect my feet from sharp jagged rocks 
when I climb the mountain of broken idols 
to find the Holy Virgin of the Sea 
in huge cave where shadows of words distort 
how well my eyes perceive what is not real. 

Medusa gives me cape of brown-bear fur 
that comforts me against the searing blast 
of laughter from the nuclear bomb of fear 
when I chase butterfly of happiness 
through the corn field to the white country church 
where robots sing hymns to the telephone. 

On top the heart-shaped stone of solitude 
small statue of Minerva, forged with gold 
from crown of the last king cast from his throne, 
transforms into the woman with star eyes 
who gives me lyre of Mercury and winks, 
then goes to work as the hospital nurse. 

Inviting me to come and meditate 
with her on Mount Zion by the dream well, 
Medusa gives me liquid eyes of faith 
so I can see true essence of the mind 
which emanates from every human soul 
till I go blind from passion of the heart. 

Retracing path of life I never took, 
that winds through weird worlds of my multiverse, 
I find my soulmate on first world I left, 
still waiting for me at the kitchen table 
where she gives me meal that she cooked to eat, 
so we talk about the way water flows. 

Great River Of His Tribe

Great River Of His Tribe
© Surazeus
2026 08 24

Boots crunch on mucky gravel of her heart 
as Minnie lurks along the barbed-wire fence, 
crawls low under loose wire in cold moonlight, 
nauseous at pungent scent of oiled mushrooms, 
then scoots across open field past searchlights 
to huddle near the secret facility. 

Because our globe, as third rock from the sun, 
measured at one astronomical unit 
in the formula called Titus-Bode Law 
that predicts sequential spacing of planets, 
orbits just close enough to nurture life, 
billions of planets also teem with life. 

Slowly opening the metal door left unlocked, 
Minnie proceeds with caution in the dark, 
but stops at sight of enormous glass sphere 
that shimmers green and orange with pulsing lights, 
astonished with delight to see at last 
starship that came from some far distant world. 

Start with number zero, followed by three, 
then double each subsequent number, six, 
twelve, twenty-four, forty-eight, ninety-six, 
then add four to each number in the sequence, 
then divide each result by ten, which notes 
position of each planet from the sun. 

Strange eerie yellow glow lights up the room 
so Minnie stares astonished at the sight 
of human bodies in suits and white coats 
scattered from terrible carnage of death, 
but gasps when she sees the alien creature 
that seems half-cat, half-lizard with swan wings. 

Cradling wounded Seraph in tender arms, 
Minnie helps him drink water from the bottle, 
then gazes in his gold serpentine eyes 
and dreams whole progress of his earnest life, 
gliding along rivers, learning to sing, 
and exploring worlds as ship archivist. 

Bearing him inside his crystal starship, 
she follows instructions he telepaths 
to pilot sphere of pulsing glass in space, 
surfing through undulating beams of light 
to his home planet, he names Ranika, 
where his family welcomes him safely home. 

Holding his waist tight with laughter of awe, 
Minnie gasps when he soars into the sky 
and glides along great river of his tribe, 
named Saramatha for his great-grandmother, 
who blesses their kiss as her alarm rings, 
so she grumbles, and gets ready for work. 

Home Of Safe Concern

Home Of Safe Concern
© Surazeus
2026 08 24

Star angels laugh at how you hide your hopes 
in fresh-printed pages of the dream book 
that sprouts toad legs and hops across the road 
to offer scorpion of your wounded heart 
ride across abyss of eternity 
though you know you will drown in tears of joy. 

When you run back home from the river shore 
and tell me how your soul was shocked by faith 
at sight of gray light on water of time, 
you smile and dance like the seven-eyed crow 
who teaches you the way to count snowflakes 
as if your letter will never reach me. 

You walk around the empty room of light 
to paint words of your dreams on walls of time, 
then declare each rune from egg of your tears 
is one black snowflake from the broken moon, 
but you conceal what you treasure the most 
while waiting for the bus that never comes. 

Never one to dismiss socialized claims 
of authenticity through gambled fate, 
you tell every person you never meet 
that you deserve the home of safe concern 
where books disguised as cats lounge in sunlight 
that never stops gleaming through eyes of glass. 

You tell me with joy sparkling in your eyes 
that you met the fairy queen, with long hair 
orange as sunset glow on the mountain peak, 
who gave you silver grail with holy blood 
which made you drunk with psychic ecstasy 
so you keep dancing for ten thousand years. 

When you wake from near death experience 
with one heart trapped in crow of everywhere, 
you tell me you saw White Horse of Despair 
who showed you first sky of soul liberty 
that opens in your mind with wings of hope, 
but you ask if she is God in disguise. 

You take me up the winding stair of truth 
to the top room in the tower of thought, 
and show me the comb that Rapunzel used 
to comb her hair with loneliness of love, 
then asks me if I loved your mother well, 
and why I kept her prisoner of fear. 

When you are finished reassembling mask 
which I have worn since I escaped from Hell, 
you sprout swan wings of arrogant dismay 
and fly away across the galaxy 
to dwell on planet of the singing book 
in which you hide the sorrows of your joy. 

Fear Of Wordless Death

Fear Of Wordless Death
© Surazeus
2026 08 24

Extreme silentness of the sleeping child 
no more disturbs with fear of wordless death 
calm meditation on state of this world 
where towns linked by network of signless roads 
flutter with ghosts of faceless energies 
tangled in cables of the world wide web. 

From earthen womb of communal desire 
our bodies writhe into firm social shape, 
designed by legal representatives, 
to play our roles in game of give and take 
through piranha religion of blind faith 
to celebrate the baby in the barn. 

Still echo from my voice of urgent thought, 
that seeks mirror image of its false self, 
stirs hearts of strangers on bright city streets 
with sole unquiet truth of final death, 
so they assemble in the church of hope 
to understand dark terrors of the heart. 

Face of that stern preceptor, who reveals 
unspeakable wisdom in river stones, 
looms over me as dark cherubic shade 
that presses my hot soul in freezing soil 
at endless sorrow of snow in stiff grass 
twitched by stark breath of angels passing by. 

Though murderous innocence of the sea 
soothes our anguished hearts with frenzied peace, 
we sleep through howling storms of social change, 
home sheltered by trees of religious faith 
that crack at laughter of the thunder cloud 
whose gusts my fathers imagined as God. 

Since beauty is bright mirror of our hopes, 
that beam from face of children born from fear, 
we gather inside ring of guardian stones 
to dance with heartless revery of faith 
and sing in harmony with screaming winds 
that shake steel towers so glass windows ring. 

Dreams of our ancestors, we living share, 
fill interspersed vacancies of regret 
with thrilling tunes that ancient mountains moan, 
so we hold hands and wander winding trails 
from timeless meadows down to market streets 
crowded with commercial hope to cheat death. 

Great Universal Teacher of our hearts 
reveals strange secret few accept as real 
that no wise God in clouds of swirling fire 
plans out trajectory of life we blaze 
with each heart-patterned choice our minds attend 
that keep us safe in haven of our love. 

Spheres Of Flashing Brains

Spheres Of Flashing Brains
© Surazeus
2026 08 23

My heart is borne by turmoil of the sea 
with surging tides of frantic energy 
that hurls me into flight on flowing waves 
above weird vastness of the everywhere 
since breath of time drives spheres of flashing brains 
to generate our bodies from her hope. 

No spirit beams in dark immensities 
where Eye of God stares from blind emptiness 
more dense than coiled despair of eagerness 
on threshold of chaos where swirling love 
devours whole planets of aggressive thieves 
so we stare awed at flames of nevertime. 

Since God can hear me everywhere I go, 
according to what my old father claims, 
I never speak with voice of sudden rain 
to hide my thoughts from tyrant in the clouds, 
but after my father dies in the grass 
I never see this God he claims is real. 

Awake in garden of the writhing tree, 
I pluck bright orange of wisdom from the sky 
and eat sweet juice of stoic innocence 
that fills my body with intense respect 
for aching sorrow of abandoned souls 
who ask each other where they should go next. 

I should express concern for laughing books 
that swallow all our dreams in tangled skeins 
no angel dares unravel from my brain 
to weave new moral code from secret truth 
that farmers scatter in furrows of fate 
so roots transform our bodies into fruit. 

Lost in vaporous fog of wordless hope, 
I gather ghosts of all my pasts to float 
in tandem with my journey beyond walls 
so tremulous gleam of our happiness 
converts fierce hearts of criminals to saints 
so they create instead of destroy things. 

Because the bird is born to sing in spring 
I listen to her voice of timeless chill 
when twisted hands of trees reach for the moon 
since she leads me to hives of honey bees 
where I fill jars with potion of desire, 
untainted by grim bitterness of time. 

Awake in this vast universe of ours, 
I translate evil from selfish intent, 
converting thieves to carpenters of truth 
so I ask Rhea, ghost of sparkling seas, 
if she formats my soul from verdant soil 
in something worthy of the moonlit sea. 

Code of Cassandra

Code of Cassandra
© Surazeus
2026 08 23

To live well in this crazy world of lies 
I follow Code of Cassandra with care 
by writing riddles of satiric faith 
that guide my way in maze of clashing wills 
when I attempt to navigate with class 
opposing forces of partisan pride. 

I will never explain arcane details 
that compose Code of Cassandra with keys 
designed to unlock doors of potent facts 
essential to assemble from word gears 
financial engine of social exchange 
by which we journey to the Promised Land. 

Dynamic order of exotic scale 
now blueprints Code of Cassandra as guide 
for angels to construct our new world view 
providing mental tools of clever sight 
for every human mind to analyze 
state of the world with honest strategies. 

If we decide with hope to certify 
patterns in Code of Cassandra that ply 
melodious vibes of nominal respect, 
we should administer objective laws 
designed to monitor momentous growth 
as brave liaison to Queen Liberty. 

Since children dancing on the broken door 
intimate Code of Cassandra reveals 
logistic course of learning based on gems, 
we might orchestrate stoic privacy 
for every person who renders dream aid 
to faceless ghosts with severe innocence. 

Permission to transcend our fragile souls, 
allowed by Code of Cassandra with drive 
that motivates our ploy for excellence, 
alarms soul-controlling faction of fools 
who try to block our most lucrative deals 
when we found another franchise of faith. 

Module of lifetime mortgages entraps 
normalized Code of Cassandra with proof 
we now are simple singers on lit stage 
expressing hidden angst of human hearts 
who struggle to succeed against all odds 
since the system is rigged against false faith. 

Since vital flash of my spirit suggests 
schedule for Code of Cassandra to spool 
complex networks of interacting minds 
spread across the spectrum of divine types, 
I analyze intensity of hope 
to reprogram how my brain perceives you. 

Library Of The Laughing Book

Library Of The Laughing Book
© Surazeus
2026 08 23

To paint the color of soft river sand 
with simple sorrow of the happy girl 
who loves to dance among the apple trees, 
she asks Icarus with butterfly voice 
if he will teach her body how to fly, 
but his open mouth shimmers ocean full. 

Strange gleam of sunlight on the asphalt street 
reveals true nature of gossamer thoughts 
which veil her body on lawn of wet grass 
before library of the laughing book 
which records in writhing runes of the real 
sad tale of every soul who ever lived. 

Before Tara can escape the empty church, 
the vampire disguised as priest in black robe 
traps her spirit as the white butterfly 
who flutters desperately in the glass jar 
which Joshua taps when he visits at dusk 
when he searches for how she disappeared. 

Grinning at clever joke the vampire priest 
tells to hypnotize him with snake eyes, 
Joshua pulls hat low over his pale face 
and fillips river stone that cracks the jar 
just as the priest shrieks in terrible rage 
so she flies away as he dodges claws. 

Holding hands with firm compassion of trust, 
Tara and Joshua run over the field 
among cows of melancholy desire 
while the priest transforms into thirsty bat 
that chases them when clouds hide the bright moon 
till they hide in her cave on the lake shore. 

Clutching oak wand he carved into sharp point, 
Joshua gazes in eyes of Tara, green 
as thick moss on the river stone of faith, 
then lunges at dark shadow of despair 
to stab the priest straight through his rotten heart, 
who writhes and shrieks till his soul dissipates. 

Digging behind the church in morning light, 
dozens of grim villagers excavate 
unmarked graves of young girls who disappeared, 
kidnapped and abused by the smiling priest, 
whose rotten body on the grass decays, 
and mothers weep over skulls of their daughters. 

Time reveals color of soft river sand 
when rainbows shimmer over wind-blown woods 
so Tara calls her children to come in 
who hop and flap their arms like Icarus, 
then gather at the table of calm faith 
to eat sandwiches and drink apple juice. 

Court Of Mental Guilt

Court Of Mental Guilt
© Surazeus
2026 08 23

Not too sublime for engine of the car 
to allocate resources for rebirth 
when we, from gnarly trees emerge unscathed, 
prefer to play chess in the living room 
though planes drop bombs on houses somewhere near, 
for we are frail as flowers in mute fear. 

Concern for how far angels fall each day 
diverts attention of our daily prayers 
to fractured state of global politics 
which sparks new paradigms from social change 
when hordes of people clash in cyber war 
over whose world view describes the real world. 

No bells are heard in leafy neighborhoods 
from churches crowded on the summer day 
when devils wearing masks of holiness 
preach salvation only for those who pay 
tithes to the institution based on lies 
that we will resurrect from graves of muck. 

When Alice returns home from Wonderland 
she finds work at the Pegasus Cafe 
brewing coffee for officers and clowns 
who play their roles in court of mental guilt 
that keeps society functioning well 
in game of fame between lawyers and thieves. 

Too often children who chase butterflies 
get lost in lush hills of Arcadia 
that shimmers as the Otherworld of Faith 
behind facade of this real modern world 
where orcs in banks and elves in galleries 
compete for profit from the vampire god. 

As agent of Talamasca, I search 
dark alleyways for ghosts of ancient gods 
who walk this world in standard human form 
for we embody energies of myth 
composed of tropes that replay old soul wars, 
even when I buy beef sandwich and juice. 

Under old oak tree in the city park 
across the street from office where I work, 
I eat lunch with Bacchus and Icarus 
who ask if I want to participate 
in heist of treasure from museum hall 
where masks of gods hang on the blood-smeared wall. 

I just want to map history of mankind 
in quiet library where screaming ghosts 
attempt to set distorted records straight 
till words in books bleed into honey bees 
that swarm the crowded streets of everywhere 
with sublime hum of engine in the car. 

Bend Bows Of Justice

Bend Bows Of Justice
© Surazeus
2026 08 22

Stories from history books bleed in my eyes 
so I ask the moon raven to hire spies 
trained in the art of painting psychic masks 
with features of demons trapped in wine casks 
who want to teach in the college of fools 
how to adjust engines with mental tools. 

When I visit ancient city of spires, 
where angels twist books into rubber tires, 
Persephone comes from the underworld 
to show me where river dragons lie curled 
as if to fertilize our minds with dreams 
about how we better survive in teams. 

With each satiric joke of solemn truth, 
carved on temple walls by messiah sleuth, 
my tricks dismantle your poetic code 
which helps us navigate the open road 
to understand pain of love in divorce 
though we stick strictly to the moral course. 

Haloed by immense glow of timeless hope 
where she wanders on the time-shifting slope, 
her shadow wavers on the mountain ridge 
as she directs construction of the bridge 
that links our souls over abyss of love 
till angels descend from Heaven above. 

When Rama and Odysseus first meet 
on cliffs of Moher to fight the space fleet, 
they bend bows of justice with hearts of faith 
to shoot words of wisdom at the star wraith 
which liberates Sita and Penelope 
who prepare the fast with their recipe. 

Through taste of copper, bitter in my mouth, 
when ghosts of sorrow haunt homes of the south, 
I climb the highest mountain on this globe, 
dressed only in white hermit-mission robe, 
to seek salvation from ethereal breath 
so I accept finality of death. 

In vast cavern near Sagarmatha peak 
I find the ancient truth my fathers seek 
that skull of every man who reigned as king, 
stored in glass palace where blind angels sing 
sits silent on extensive rows of shelves, 
polished and labeled by professor elves. 

I try to map flow of human events 
through policies of kings and presidents, 
but history was built by the commoner, 
from the farmer to the dream carpenter, 
and by women who cook meals everyday 
while their children in the fruit garden play. 

Faceless Ghosts Of Vanity

Faceless Ghosts Of Vanity
© Surazeus
2026 08 22

With elegant grace of artistic faith 
I stroll awed along labyrinthine streets 
over sculptured bridge of the timeless river 
in majestic city of golden light 
where sun-bleached marble temples crown high hills 
as silent sentinels of grand events. 

On time-worn cobblestones of urgent care, 
where centuries of footsteps echo soft, 
I wander slow past weathered stone facades 
encrusted with dust of eras long past, 
to explore crumbling palaces of pride 
where spirits of antiquity watch me. 

Beneath palimpsest of history I read 
tales of many generations concealed 
in monumental plays of fortitude, 
performed by long-forgotten dynasties 
in chronicles of sorrow etched in stone 
by endless wind of change that knows my name. 

Anchored in bedrock of brave principles 
on foundation fused in soil of desire, 
this sprawling palace of some tyrant king 
arrests the natural landscape with contempt, 
now heavy with unspeakable despair 
that still asserts authority of death. 

Despite bombastic arrogance of time 
that crushes dynasties of kings to dust, 
I stroll with ostentatious obviousness 
that my genetic coils of spirit grief 
unravel from flesh of those royal fools 
who crowned themselves great rulers over fate. 

Awake this prayerless hour of vivid hope 
in open-air archive of human triumph, 
that pulses still beneath ruins of fate, 
I explore grand monument of endurance, 
that looms proud against erosion of time, 
at veil worn thin between me and the past. 

These standard feelings of the long-gone past, 
that shimmers in sunrays on feet-worn streets, 
stir in hearts of every human being 
who visits ancient cities of the world, 
so I must laugh that my heart feels them too, 
though I wear mask of innocent respect. 

Trapped by nostalgia for time-unspooled past, 
I photograph with eye-phone of my heart 
myself before grand monuments to pride 
where men who played god on stage of this city 
are now but faceless ghosts of vanity 
whose selfish commands whisper in the breeze. 

Safe Environment Of Hope

Safe Environment Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 08 22

My frail heart swells with pungent gratitude, 
derived from experience of old age, 
that I have been able, with sturdy faith, 
to maintain safe environment of hope 
for my children to thrive through confidence, 
brave in haven of my protective tomb. 

Productive chaos stirring urban scenes 
secures deep source of energetic growth 
for people joined in contract of concern 
to thrive through dynamic communities 
preserving spirit of brave pioneers 
rooted in soil by hands of founding pride. 

Assertion of pure motive to create 
enough food for every soul to consume 
stirs sublime respect in all open hearts 
for strong beauty of cooperative work 
that binds immigrating strangers of fate 
in prosperous communes through liberty. 

Careful attention of our aching hearts 
conjures from soil of humble nothingness 
flourishing success of fertile desire 
that blooms ripe from desolate afternoons 
as temporary stay against mute death 
that always haunts celebrations of life. 

Sweet music of encoding instruments 
rings brightly in narrow streets of regret 
through durable discipline we direct 
to increase enrollment of carefree joy 
when spark of exotic passion expends 
secret equity of luxurious play. 

Lured by our host of mechanical mirth, 
we follow Bacchus and his prancing pard 
through winding streets of tragic loyalty, 
despite portable ordinance of greed, 
in frantic game exchanging oxygen 
based on scholarship of romantic sport. 

Though we cavort on fluid stage of fate 
to exercise free will of hard-won choice, 
awake on rugged coast of nonchalance, 
we must divorce our jagged hearts of hope 
from heart-entrapping game of synergy 
since rocky cliffs of gray seas understand. 

Alone in meadow of the weeping tree, 
I gather blackberries with trembling hands, 
then sit beneath the willow tree with swans 
and feast on sweet catastrophe of faith 
that children of my tangled genes will thrive 
long after I disappear in mute wind. 

Alone Tree Of Fate

Alone Tree Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 08 22

No black rain is falling on this bright day 
while I walk to the Alone Tree of fate 
so I can translate prophecies of change 
sung by the hissing wind of emptiness 
that batters melancholy homes of hope 
where people eat at the table of faith. 

Though spiders in the garden of lost souls 
search for my heart in shadow of the clock, 
the shepherd who finds body of his wife 
decayed in bushes by the gushing stream 
breaks the silence of God with wordless curse 
that transforms his bones into twisted steel. 

When he wanders in the pasture with cows, 
the shepherd who programs computer games 
hears crystal angels singing in tall trees, 
so he gathers trash of their broken wings 
in plastic bags he piles beside the road 
till dust of long-dead stars encrust his eyes. 

Sharp shots of guns echo in autumn woods 
where angels run in trees of bloody bones 
so ravens shriek from fragments of their mouths 
in wild laments of shattered innocence 
with prayers to clouds inhabited by gods 
who laugh with joy at causing men to fight. 

Trapped in the solitary hour of death, 
the shepherd with gun of religious pride 
considers wetness of tall hungry grass 
when Bacchus dances on his empty grave 
with sober clarity of evening hymns 
that eyeless devils sing with pious faith. 

He kneels and touches blueness of the stream 
with anguish at the desolate secrecy 
preserved in neatness of the garden path 
where toads of panic meditate all night 
against dire quietness of his cold breath 
so he clamps ears against rustle of leaves. 

Bright destitution of his childhood days 
returns with brittle innocence of love 
at that dark hour when eyes of seers expand 
with muffled clang of bells in empty church 
where angels wear masks of children we name 
before they sink in muck of holy war. 

Trapped in their mournful pilgrimage to Hell, 
the people of the nation blessed by God 
lie down together on the shattered plain 
and stare at nothingness of glowing screens 
that flash elusive visions of world peace 
till we become the gods we idolize. 

We Build Another Troy

We Build Another Troy
© Surazeus
2026 08 21

From Troy our urgent mission to survive 
drives our wheeled train of homeless refugees 
to follow Venus sailing her moon boat 
across abyss of hope to colonize 
pristine gardens where ghost of Eden gleams 
from dire emergency of tolling bells. 

Through telescope of innocent respect 
we search for secret code in random stars 
that map our noble purpose with faint flash 
assembled in grand puzzle of desire 
to measure slow sequential flow of time 
beyond intense unraveling of fate. 

Indifferent audience of angels laughs 
at cosmic foibles noble heroes play 
while sanctioned by brave eagles of world war 
who lead parades of our triumphant loss 
against dark shadows in reflected glass 
of faceless enemies we fight each day. 

Of my first disobedience against pride, 
and fruit of my achievements soured by guilt, 
I sing with harp of David in my hands 
while lost in yellow woods of urgent faith 
where I pause at cracked tomb of Oedipus 
to ponder failure of our social dream. 

Wise oracle of concupiscent grace 
expresses stoic principles of calm 
with incandescent dance of mental vibes 
at trick of fame by tarot cards dealt lies 
exposing counterfeit creeds angels sell 
through prank of toxic masculinity. 

When kingdom-killing prophet of the laugh 
reveals sly bluff the Blindman conjugates, 
we strive to fathom absolute expanse 
of spaceless straightness tangled by fake words 
that throws our bodies on light curve of change 
so we hold hands from gates of paradise. 

Each time grand towers of bright Ilium 
are burned by agents of cruel tyranny, 
we build another Troy with bleeding hands 
to manage empire of corporate stores 
that binds our paths through corridors of time 
till we assemble in one church of wealth. 

When mantra-minded flower child of fate 
arrives from Underworld of bitter truth 
to fix machinery of the star-wound soul, 
contrived as psychic dynamo of faith, 
I publish odes of sorrow on the wall 
so ghosts of heroes hide in wordless books. 

Bitter Prayers Of Fantasies

Bitter Prayers Of Fantasies
© Surazeus
2026 08 21

After turning key of uncertainty 
I ask the honey bees of innocence 
to find home burned by soldiers of despair 
who barricade their hearts with polished stones 
fractured from idols of their social gods 
who feed on bitter prayers of fantasies. 

There is no substance in our enmities 
we gather to replace faint hopes of love, 
yet we ask honey bees of arrogance 
to build their hives of passion-pilfered wealth 
in home now empty of our family ghosts 
whose hearts lead them to wander windy hills. 

In ninth Troy of America we dwell, 
secure in tower where Rapunzel sings, 
whose anguish catches it afire this hour, 
though we continue with our daily lives 
through certain faith that noble minds prevail 
though faceless Helen walks the Earth again. 

Dark weeds grow from pavestones of social power 
where Brigid herds sheep on the White House lawn, 
and sings enchanting prophecies of doom 
while I play broken lyre of Mercury, 
yet she decides to give out fish and bread 
to people homeless from social collapse. 

No dream of paradise could paralyze 
our good intentions for democracy 
in noble mission to replace all kings 
with honest leaders whom people elect 
because they hear with brave ears of insight 
voices of the dead explain how to live. 

Heart riddled with weird light of star-blind gods, 
I hurl fierce curse of justice at the sky 
where no immense mind of the absolute 
ensures equality for every soul, 
so with eye of my brain in turbulence 
I seek moon-stark hill of electric skulls. 

Shocked by insistence of angelic wings 
that I transcend this fragile flame of flesh, 
I channel bitter prayers of fantasies 
through jubilant expressions of respect 
for brave endurance of our wounded hearts 
to face down the silver-helmed Seraphim. 

Indifferent to our solitude in time, 
the star-eyed prophet of the misty isle 
refuses to proclaim in busy streets 
crimes of the powerful who still exploit 
our bodies for profits they confiscate 
though we pray to idol of God for help. 

Empire Of Jocular Play

Empire Of Jocular Play
© Surazeus
2026 08 21

If we attempt to stop the clocks of change, 
and tangle voices in telephone lines, 
to silence celebration at dire hour 
the greedy tyrant tumbles from his throne, 
despair for life will burst from wounded hearts 
and crack the sky with fireworks of new joy. 

Contours of anguish wrapping hearts with hope 
divulge more passion than we care to show 
when we assemble on mist-flurried shore 
with plan to conjure from abysmal gloom 
new demon of despair to haunt our land 
and shadow our great nation with blind faith. 

Too many puerile farmers and bank clerks 
attempt to plaster laws across the sky 
more beautiful than carnage of world war 
when prophets wander lost in busy streets 
to find their enemy is almost dead, 
white-faced as angels they flee from in dreams. 

Yet we all pause from revelry at dawn 
to hear the starry-eye soprano sing 
heart-wrenching hymn of tragic innocence 
while gleam of Sirius, her guiding star, 
reveals the baltering torrent of our tears 
though we dance with unsteady ardency. 

Strange victory shout of cardiac respect 
may act as uncommercial catalyst 
for bold uprising of communal clans 
against incompetence of legal greed, 
yet we desert cathedrals of contempt 
to play exotic roles in public squares. 

My brain may now be vacant of old creeds, 
erased by brave endurance of concern 
in frantic storms of social dominance, 
but I shall rise from muck of sublime truth 
to rebuild empire of jocular play 
despite indulgence on the peccant stage. 

My wounded heart expands beyond its ken 
when Sibyl sings from golden cage of truth 
calm tablet-chat of arcane prophecies, 
so I translate strict formulas for wealth 
from purling laughter of clear mountain streams 
which knits immigrants in new freedom tribe. 

Since we will dwell in Land of Unconcern, 
brave bodies crushed by supple gears of change, 
fake prayers revive our souls of poisoned faith 
with mute inoculants, by angels brewed 
with brazen laughter for the shock effect 
that teaches us to value what is real. 

Sacrifice For Moral Code

Sacrifice For Moral Code
© Surazeus
2026 08 20

Because the gift of prophecy demands 
sacrifice of treasure we value most, 
I replicate with pristine character 
mask of my mundane personality 
so I become wise scapegoat for the world 
that guides attention of creative care. 

To die as sacrifice for moral code, 
contrived to manage gestures of concern 
that channels guilt of selfish procurement, 
I play role of fate-wounded sufferer 
who struggles bravely calm to overcome 
mental challenges through resilience. 

Heap all your bitter sorrows on my head 
when you expose my culpability 
presenting efforts to master deep flaws 
through bright deception you accepted well 
as proof that fragile humans with bold hearts 
may transcend limitations of our souls. 

Through my fantastic tale of daring feats, 
which I present as honest narrative 
of hard-won triumph over weaknesses, 
you offer rewards for accomplishments 
that prove all people willing to work hard 
have strength to bolster status of their fate. 

Yet heights achieved through too aggressive game 
thrust fragile sense of victory beyond base 
adjusted for safe balance of the heart, 
therefore the higher we rise through hard work 
the farther from earned merits we may fall 
and crash so hard we shatter wordlessly. 

Sharp shards of my integral sense of self, 
scattered far across fraught landscape of pride, 
fail to hope-activate magnetic coherence 
for vital principles of framed insight 
to reassemble mask of my true self 
so I become sly thief you think I am. 

Alone in gloom of my besieged framework, 
without truth-binding creed that hard work pays 
social dividends of accepted prize, 
I question nature of essential faith 
composing public person I perform 
outside containment of my stale success. 

Failure to focus fractured facts of fate 
within well-ordered system of respect 
causes my soul disperse in mocking wind 
so I sink deep into bottomless abyss 
and vanish from theater of false pride 
in sacrifice that prophesies your doom. 

Sublimity Of Self

Sublimity Of Self
© Surazeus
2026 08 20

Should time maintain vibrational concern 
for fragile bodies of our transient souls, 
I might find courage to endure sharp pain 
of this excessive hour in swirling tides 
that toss my spirit on assertive faith 
with hollow laughter of wind on shore rocks. 

Ten thousand ghosts of mocking innocence 
attack my heart with bloody beaks of fear 
that drives me to run clumsily lame-quick 
against elusive obstacles time hurls 
to hide in shuddered shadow of despair 
at throbbing pain of crippled arrogance. 

Enclosed in tightened narrowness of hope 
that crushes me to shivers of weak pride, 
I wait for ghosts of laughter to disperse, 
bored with their hunt to tear my soul apart, 
then hold my tattered sense of self in hands 
that tremble to perceive my wounded heart. 

I know death will erase me from this world 
and leave no trace of me in wordless wind 
except faint scent of terror in foul sweat 
that oozes slick from naked pores of faith 
which makes me worry my liquidized soul 
drains as tears to empty me of myself. 

Grim-hungry rocks at mouth of my small cave 
drip thirsty to devour my pungent flesh 
so I escape harsh jaws of eyeless death 
and stumble in cold evening gloom of faith 
to find safe tree where fruit of ardent joy 
supplies sweet energy of urgent hope. 

With cautious steps of careful attitude 
I slowly creep across broad field of rocks, 
that jab my naked feet with leering lust, 
toward slender gleam of light on distant ridge 
that lures me to some terrible regret 
through cold Plutonian fog of bitter angst. 

Alone in vastness of our spinning globe, 
I linger mute beneath huge jagged stone, 
and watch immensity of twinkling stars 
stream white as milk in gushing arc of light 
across enormous nothingness of desire 
so I forget sharp anguish of my pain. 

I see small purple mushroom with long hood 
stuck tight to jagged stone of timeless hope 
so I consume its slimy fruit of faith 
that swells small scope of my tear-stained eyes huge 
through stark obsession for ecstatic love 
till I become sublimity of self. 

How To Thrive With Love

How To Thrive With Love
© Surazeus
2026 08 20

Thoughts tumble over rough cliff of my mind 
to form mirror mask of shimmering calm 
that veils turmoil of feelings in my heart 
so you see placid face you want to see 
concealing soul that swirls with clarity 
while I plot how to advance my career. 

No Christ nor Arthur star in my life play 
as grand exemplars for how to behave, 
so I accept Odyssean flaws with grace 
that drive my soul against Neptunian pride 
on zealous quest to find my secret home 
that strands me on your grim Plutonian shore. 

You are my bright-eyed siren on sharp rocks 
whose heart-enchanting song of mute desire 
reveals how I lost what I most adore 
while urging me to soldier on with hope 
around obstacles of indifferent fate 
since you are beacon of my journey home. 

Frail ship of my enduring heart maintains 
integral structure of my fractured mind, 
so I stay balanced as I surf wild waves 
of constant change in fortunate progress, 
star-guided toward weird paradise I built 
as haven for your soul till I return. 

Bombs dropped from planes that laughing angels fly 
may deconstruct framework of our world view 
based on security of our hearth home, 
but kingdom of our faith consists of code 
programmed to bind our hearts with marriage vows 
as shield against invaders of our land. 

Hearts bound by loyalty of trusting love, 
we stand secure in knowledge of our faith 
that gives us strength of honest arrogance 
to endure relentless attacks of dream thieves 
so we preserve pale of our nation-state 
till haughty angels fall from flaming clouds. 

You are Calypso and Penelope 
combined in one courageous soul of hope, 
so I commission me with solemn oath 
to guard your life against oppressive greed 
of men who view your life as profit tool, 
for you are person I respect with love. 

Long after angry soldiers with cruel guns, 
sent by exploiters hiding in tall towers, 
retreat from field of battle we endure, 
we rebuild haven of our humble hearth, 
then grow again through our creative hands 
by teaching children how to thrive with love. 

Intense Desire To Live

Intense Desire To Live
© Surazeus
2026 08 19

I feel the ocean seething in my brain 
when I somersault inside the black hole 
that pulses with intense desire to live 
to wake up bound inside this coil of flesh 
that urges me to compete for fresh fruit 
so I generate life before I die. 

I feel vast emptiness of everything 
swell huge through singularity 
in still point at the center of all light 
when galaxies flare forth from flash of thought 
then spiral into strands of clicking genes 
that mold bipedal gods with grasping hands. 

I feel urge to transcend my frame of thought 
so I run laughing on long wooden dock, 
then leap high into heaven of gold clouds 
on time-rewinding wings of Icarus, 
but fate pulls me back down to solid state 
where I laugh wildly on my back in grass. 

I feel expanding scope of consciousness 
envelop Earth with gleam of mental code 
so I dream every soul who ever lives 
as universal mind of mindless self 
who sings in one harmonious melody 
hearts of eight billion separate human beings. 

Suryathi, bright-eyed Goddess of the Sun, 
ascends from gleaming fields of blooming rice 
to fly on bold Apsara wings of faith 
above vast complex of tall tower spires 
and scatters coins of gold on villages 
where farmers bless her generosity. 

Gold river dragon rises from clear stream, 
eyes gleaming bright as diamonds of star truth, 
scales writhing lithe as flames of holy thought, 
and sings uncanny spell of heart insight 
that sparks strange vision of world prophecy 
which I sing as I stroll long road of light. 

Queen Mary steps from wood ship of desire 
and strides wet stones in swirling fog of fear 
to claim with faith the jeweled crown of thorns 
she wears as wise Minerva born on Earth, 
then tells me with soft voice of ocean waves 
that I will build new kingdom of free will. 

Since I am temporary node of thought 
that vibrates spirit of genetic code 
as deathless angel in my mortal shell, 
I order hamburger with tater tots 
and eat lunch at bench in the river park, 
then play guitar and sing of human hope. 

Delusions Of Global Conquest

Delusions Of Global Conquest
© Surazeus
2026 08 19

If I should find myself under attack 
by gangs of thieves hostile to my free will, 
I may hope Aphrodite would appear 
to whisk me away in cloud of concern, 
like she sheltered Paris from Menelaus, 
because my heart is full of love for life. 

I pray to Goddess of Beauty and Love 
to veil my fragile soul of naive hope 
from social predators, armed with state laws, 
who try to scam my innocent respect 
with lucrative return on vested funds, 
and bear me to safe haven in her heart. 

Were clever Eris, Trickster of Desire, 
to toss Apple of Chaos at my feet, 
so Goddesses of Wisdom, Love, and Power, 
were to tempt me with treasures of their hearts, 
I like to think my mind would analyze 
best scene that fosters spiritual success. 

While I decide which path I want to take 
that guides me to domestic quietude, 
I must descend to Underworld of dreams 
to ask Achilles and Odysseus 
which goddess I should choose to risk my fate, 
whose fortunes present results of Free Will. 

Perhaps I may find Dante by the pool, 
where Narcissus listens to Echo sing, 
so he will guide me to the Promised Land 
in lush Edenic vales of Idaho 
where I travel on the Oregon Trail 
to escape slaughter of religious wars. 

With spirit of Adam I tend fruit trees 
to fight deceptive serpent with gold eyes, 
inspired by Jesus son of Jupiter, 
because I choose to consume Fruit of Faith 
that opens my Third Eye of Star Insight 
to help me perceive essence of all things. 

With courage of brave Arthur of the Stone, 
descendent of Jehovian Fisher King, 
and Marya Magdalena, Mermaid Queen, 
I bear the bloody cross of holy war 
to build ten thousand towers of white stone, 
constructing Kingdom of Heaven on Earth. 

All these delusions of global conquest, 
that drove my ancestors two thousand years 
to colonize every nation on Earth, 
now dissipate in wordless glow of dawn, 
so I drink from the Holy Grail of Truth 
in my self-made role as Messiah Sleuth. 

Star Eyes Of My Night

Star Eyes Of My Night
© Surazeus
2026 08 19

Because she is the star eyes of my night, 
beaming visions of vain hope from her heart, 
I search with hope for algorithmic ways 
to redesign our social narrative 
so we admire perceptive qualities 
of common people struggling to survive. 

The plumber adjusts invisible pipes 
to channel water from the River Styx 
through sink faucet in kitchen of concern 
so I can cook spaghetti on the stove 
with tomato sauce and parmesan cheese 
when we drink wine and ignore falling bombs. 

The workers who repair our broken homes 
with frames of wood and nets of copper wires 
work with their hands to reshape forms of hope 
against oppressive tyranny of words 
stacked by large language models of pride 
so we drive our cars to the grocery store. 

The mechanic tweaks engine of my car 
so gas in combustion chamber explodes 
to power spin the piston engine sparks 
in twirling cycle of aggressive force 
so we zoom fast across map-measured space 
in time machine of legalized control. 

The farmer plows soil with hard dragon bone 
and sows sharp teeth in furrows of mute verse 
so angels and devils both spring with hope 
from field of dreams to colonize the world 
and build vast maze of streets with numbered doors 
where idols of dead gods direct our lives. 

The driver maneuvers delivery truck 
on web of highways sea to shining sea, 
porting raw materials to factories, 
providing merchandise to shopping stores, 
and stocking homes with valuable assets 
where we dwell in domestic quietude. 

The baker gathers wheat that Ceres grows 
to grind grains into flour of secret code 
they program into loaves of fresh-baked bread 
that we eat with fried fish and tartar sauce 
when Jesus preaches Sermon on the Mount 
about caring for homeless immigrants. 

I dream I meet Jesus on signless road 
alive as you and me with pulsing heart, 
so I ask if he will return again soon, 
but he shows how his spirit incarnates 
in leaders who nurture each human being 
through state that gives all freedom to live well. 

How Psychic Angels Talk

How Psychic Angels Talk
© Surazeus
2026 08 18

The peaceful loneliness of the sidewalk, 
where I wander between asphalt and grass, 
reveals to me how psychic angels talk 
when they calculate our terrestrial mass, 
so I visit Emily in her yard 
where she grins and deals the Magician card. 

Strange blueness of the midafternoon sky, 
that glows behind web of telephone lines, 
explains futility for asking why 
death occurs in this world no God designs, 
since Jesus tells me no one is up there, 
so we must show the living that we care. 

Grim grayness of the town-connecting street, 
that tricks me to go anywhere I want, 
extracts despair from my heart with each beat 
which powers angel wings I dare to flaunt, 
but I cannot fly, so I journey on, 
strumming guitar as the national pawn. 

Indifferent angst of sunrays in glass doors, 
exposing vanity of daily work, 
tricks me to find salvation in bookstores 
where prophets without holy books still lurk, 
but when I visit his still-empty tomb 
Zeus tries to sell me riddles that spell doom. 

Since Jesus has been dead two thousand years 
our personal relationship is stalled, 
so his granddaughter cleans the world with tears 
when she appoints me as her castle skald 
to sing of Mermaid and her Holy Grail 
who dwells in haven of the mountain vale. 

Proud dignity of the telephone pole 
provides new framework for our old world view 
that every human has appointed role 
to kill each other over what is true, 
so I must deconstruct class privilege 
when I rebuild United Nations bridge. 

Locked doors of houses in suburban zones 
discuss catastrophe of being alive, 
so I sell Bibles forged from dragon bones 
to save family photos on the hard drive 
as puzzle pieces in tale of our state 
fractured in church gangs by greed-driven hate. 

Strange quietness of wind on the bare hill 
drives me to stack stones in heavenly wall 
by adjusting duty based on free will 
while I sell apples in the market stall, 
till Emily steps from carriage of faith 
and asks if I have seen the Cosmic Wraith. 

Psychic Rivers Of Regret

Psychic Rivers Of Regret
© Surazeus
2026 08 18

Soft vibration of crystal words reforms 
how human brains perceive the Face of God 
that gleams from golden clouds of arrogance 
to mutate how we talk about our souls 
as light that glows from fragile shell of glass 
which blinks out when the brain ceases to dream. 

If angels dare to explain how the brain 
could process sentences of fractured truth, 
we humans might remember why we hope 
to share conversations about rebirth 
in humming mountains of social thoughts 
when we meet ourselves in the spectral zone. 

I hear ephemeral voice of weird faith 
when I float high on invisible wings 
to teach the faceless ghosts of everywhere 
strange secret of conceptual innocence 
inherent in fake law of gravity 
that might invalidate my divine creed. 

Since no one speaks about the fall of stones 
which float on psychic rivers of regret, 
we gaze in eyes of people starved by fear, 
trapped in the prison camp of global faith, 
who sell each other empty books of tales 
which they burn to keep warm on winter nights. 

Foreclosed quality of inhuman speech, 
concerned with quality of suffering, 
pronounces new law of humble rapport 
between exploiters and victims of fraud 
who argue semantics in the locked church 
to deconstruct confession bombs of truth. 

If we use language to communicate 
hunger for substantial faith in the known, 
we might confuse young children without keys 
who prove flowers and glaciers design 
how we give and take in contests of love 
for return on investment despite death. 

Haunted by attentive ghosts of lakes, 
shot by angel of spiritual rewards 
who deems them unfit to work in food stores, 
I gamble for salvation with word-luck, 
heart tangled in language matrix of truth, 
when I overhear words of flightless souls. 

Awake with breath-turn of the mountain vale, 
I measure atom-wind of spiral waves 
to sense pure essence of the conscious brain 
which translates seething tides of wordless hope 
to jumbled logic of cathedral hymns 
which humans sing to pretend no one dies. 

Ideal God Of Joy

Ideal God Of Joy
© Surazeus
2026 08 17

Through time-expanding laughter of my heart 
I redesign perspective of my brain 
to frame traumatic events of despair 
as opportunities to learn and grow 
while I strive with encouragement of faith 
to transcend limitations of the self. 

Bright light of this brave proverb blinds my eyes 
so I cannot perceive progressive way 
to maintain balance over shifting sands, 
so I shade straight attention of my heart 
with cautious code that helps me better see 
road I need to take through shadow of fear. 

I ponder weirdness of reverse effect 
that proves through success of daily routines 
how this much more cynical attitude, 
that death will dismember my fragile soul, 
guides my way around brutish obstacles 
better than faith in providence of God. 

What does not kill me tends to injure me 
instead of filling me with noble strength, 
yet cautious attention to dangerous threats 
provides sharp wit to analyze landscape 
cluttered with soul-consuming traps of pain, 
so I can navigate to safer ground. 

This principle, that fear increases sight 
so grim despair beams soul-liberating light 
as guiding star that helps me evade death, 
seems to contradict creed of piety 
that commands I attend events with faith 
in some faceless God that glows in the sky. 

All my ancestors once lived long enough 
through cautious attention to reality 
to generate new life before they died, 
so sharp-eyed vigilance of prudent care, 
which they programmed into my psychic genes, 
still dictates how I decide to proceed. 

Though techniques of survival we accrue 
through countless generations of rebirth 
provide complex algorithms of insight, 
our progress to transcend frail human state 
seems to retard evolutionary growth 
so few attain divine enlightenment. 

I need no name or complex tale of growth 
depicting process of cause and effect 
for me to moralize in mental code 
spirit-expanding scope of consciousness 
enhancing how my mind perceives this world 
as I grow into ideal God of Joy.