Endless Float Of Doom

Endless Float Of Doom
© Surazeus
2026 10 21

Too perfectly framed with beautiful thoughts 
of evening sunlight glowing in tree limbs, 
this timeless hour of shocking namelessness 
preserves strange sense of eerie nonchalance 
that has sustained my endless float of doom 
since childhood spurs reckless passion to live. 

To savor my imposter syndrome as fame 
that redesigns conceptual sense of self, 
which I wear over my real face as mask, 
I twirl on front lawn of my empty house 
and call names of ancestors in the wind 
who leave their voices in mailbox of faith. 

Mind opulent with stolen words of truth, 
unpolished by kismet of fractured thoughts, 
I look at this weird world of pulsing forms 
with brave assurance of indifferent light 
that forces me to see essential glow 
which echoes from mute hollowness of hope. 

Without his demon harp, on which he strummed 
the secret chord that pleased no baffled god, 
King David stands at podium of accord, 
dressed in tweed jacked of professorship, 
and reads entangled verses of the ghost 
whose sorrow haunts the audience with blank eyes. 

Awake in garden of the weeping idol 
with faceless shadow of my mortal soul, 
that sits beside me in the brutal sun, 
I ponder vaguest contour of world truth 
that shrouds my body in decay of words, 
so I become roots of the hungry tree. 

Death wanders with me on the signless road 
and laughs each time that I erect with care 
another sign that names with candid code 
great hero who defies Fate with their deeds, 
but now lies rotting where the sign portends 
how far we walk to find the Promised Land. 

With Holy Spirit of my replicant, 
whose flashing psyche duplicates my brain, 
I sit beside my mother on the shore 
and listen to her endless song of life 
describing her performance in this world 
to reincarnate her soul inside my body. 

All my ancestors, whom I never see 
except as ghosts in early morning dreams, 
teach me how to perceive this changing world 
to understand strange essence of its being, 
then I record it all in book of jokes 
that hide moral lessons in fairy tales. 

New Mexico By The Moon

New Mexico By The Moon
© Surazeus
2026 10 21

Pungent coffee scent of discarded sorrow 
hangs in the fan-swirled air of wordless summer 
that scrawls its thin nostalgic taint on paper 
pressed in the chugging factory of fate 
which looms large as cathedral of the saint 
whose tears are used to cleanse communion dresses. 

Each time Cruel Jester gambles for tomorrow, 
with curious eyes attuned to social glimmer 
of late-night candles on the frantic taper, 
young Weeping Woman paints blood on the gate, 
commissioned by the whisper blowing faint 
as storm that cracks the bay of eager tresses. 

Dirt roads of innocent concern for wisdom 
are now paved with asphalt more gold than Heaven 
so children no longer chase the God Shadow 
on bloody bare feet of the civilized, 
but follow noble horse of the white stone 
that proves superior passion of our nation. 

To build republic on the shattered kingdom 
with holy blessing of demonic raven, 
we entrust government key to Black Widow 
who empowers all the marginalized 
with fertile farmland in the twilight zone 
so everyone transcends their social station. 

With sudden insight of the wicked laughter, 
that rocks the boat of fools on the oiled river, 
Cruel Jester gives Black Widow Ring of Power 
and asks if she would help him rule the Earth, 
but she has plans to set the People free 
by deconstructing world view of the Savior. 

Bundles of corn and sage hang from the rafter 
in secret marble palace of the Giver 
who wears mask of Rapunzel in the Tower, 
so she investigates to find the worth 
of serpent children dwelling in the tree, 
then writes dissertation on their behavior. 

Embarrassed by the plainness of his spirit, 
designed to imitate role of Apollo, 
Thor flies rocket ship to the outer reaches 
where angels ride dinosaurs on Neptune, 
and Beatrice marries Dante in the church, 
then returns in time to play Honest Tyrant. 

Commissioned by Odin to play the Prophet, 
Albert builds new mansion in Sleepy Hollow 
where daughter of Persephone still teaches, 
then drives to New Mexico by the moon 
with intent to continue his vain search 
for ways to integrate the hungry migrant. 

Golden Quill Of Truth

Golden Quill Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 10 20

Though my heart aches with sorrowful despair, 
I pluck one feather from white raven wing 
who brings me mushrooms in the river grove 
where I catch serpents writhing in clear waves 
and carve on wood tablet Saturnian runes 
to prophesy with golden quill of truth. 

Based on bold admiration of respect 
for bitter suffering human souls endure, 
Hestia brings me gold grail with sparkling wine 
that beams weird visions from the mountain wind 
when Zephyr whispers in my radiant ear 
to prophesy with golden quill of truth. 

Enraged that we live free from chains of hate 
which he employs to bind us to his will, 
grim Pluto cowers in stone hall of rage 
and sends mad Midas to destroy our state, 
till Phoebus stands with lyre on global stage 
to prophesy with golden quill of truth. 

Shocked by his violent coup of fascist greed 
when Midas sends goon squad to steal the crown 
that Jesus wears with blood-red ruby gems, 
Minerva leads brave army of our faith 
in revolution against tyranny 
to prophesy with golden quill of truth. 

Attentive to needs of all citizens 
who dwell with freedom in land of the brave, 
Apollo wrestles Python in the cave 
where grand illusions blind us with false creed 
so he dispels hypnotic haze of fear 
to prophesy with golden quill of truth. 

Inspired by courage average humans show 
when faced with adverse obstacles to health, 
I climb high Mount Takoma with intent 
to find lost lyre of Mercury and play 
tropes in musical meter with thought rhyme 
to prophesy with golden quill of truth. 

Desperate to believe we live beyond death, 
we project our consciousness of the soul 
at atomic mirror of the universe, 
but we are temporary flames of love 
powered by eternal atoms of life 
to prophesy with golden quill of truth. 

Awake as me, on this globe, at this time, 
in timeless vastness of our universe, 
I sing with passion of atomic light 
that wakes God in neural net of my brain 
so I become Divine Mind, till I die, 
to prophesy with golden quill of truth. 

Puzzles Of Atomic Fame

Puzzles Of Atomic Fame
© Surazeus
2026 10 20

If about to fall in love with the sea, 
unwind your brain in spools of mirror eyes 
to prove fake laughter causes heart disease, 
then spin with dizzy joy in fractured sky 
because our souls are temporary flames, 
contrived by puzzles of atomic fame. 

Almost about to unlearn arrogance 
with frantic silence bound by holy books, 
I float in seething pool of innocence 
across the multiverse of crystal rooks 
where angels without eyes of rainbow thoughts 
manipulate our bodies as flesh robots. 

No chance to live this fleeting life again, 
I walk bleak desert of New Mexico 
to find the lyre of Mercury in pain 
so I can stand with pride on portico 
before abandoned fane of Jupiter 
to play new social role of Lucifer. 

While bearing light of truth with trembling hand 
in lamp Diogenes lost in dark woods, 
I walk vast maze of cities in our land 
to repaint marble idols of dead gods 
whose ghosts are trapped in fairy tales we read 
to children programmed to ignore their need. 

Since all things exist in material form, 
people are fooled to think the soul is real, 
but consciousness is glow of chemicals 
that flash in neural net of molecules, 
bright as the gleam in frail lightbulb of glass 
that winks to nothing when the structure fails. 

I float on waves of sorrow cleansed by joy 
with mute calm on the Gulf of Mexico, 
then swim with quick dolphin of Arion 
whose song encourages me to perform well 
my sacred role as Bearer of the Light 
who preaches one world faith of mutual peace. 

Through pines on shores of Lake Ontario 
I walk toward glowing cloud of ancient truth 
that gleams with secret of bold confidence 
in timeless wisdom of Astaria 
whose star-bright eyes reveal our new world view 
based on equal rights in Zarathia. 

Strange visions blind my eyes with hopeless hope 
while I float mute in feverish swirl of dreams 
that warring nations of the Earth unite 
in mission to support personal rights 
based on Liberty and justice for all, 
then I wake in haze of our modern world. 

Keep Time In The Bottle

Keep Time In The Bottle
© Surazeus
2026 10 19

Since I never could keep time in the bottle 
to trick eternity of every day 
from passing away in the river flow, 
all our precious days have slipped away swiftly, 
and left us on the shore of wounded hope, 
but still I treasure you with all my heart. 

The box of wishes we kept in our hearts 
has long been empty of forgotten dreams, 
but we still cherish precious memories 
that feed us with nutritious vows of love 
we share as we stroll holding hands to find 
mysterious meadow where we had first met. 

Laughing wild with maniacal relief, 
Jim throws old wood guitar in the black lake, 
pretending he is King of Camelot 
casting Excalibur to the Lake Lady, 
then asks Ophelia to marry him 
as she floats by clutching flowers of fate. 

Mounting airplane with silver angel wings 
that know sorrow Icarus tries to hide, 
Jim soars aloft into the great wide open 
where he seeks horse of wisdom in the egg 
that spirals flashing big as galaxies 
till he becomes the raven in the oak. 

While dancing in the meadow on the urn, 
painted by blind Sylvan historian, 
Jim chases cheerful bride of quietness 
across the broken dales of Arcady 
till they fall down beside the well of tears 
and laugh at absurdity of true love. 

Bent over blank book of conceptual joy, 
Jim writes new unheard melody of love 
that no one still alive on Earth can hear 
though he strums cracked guitar in ecstasy 
and howls with wolves in meadows of the moon 
to frighten mysterious priest of desire. 

Stuck in cold pastoral of obsessive lust, 
where Beauty runs forever out of reach, 
Jim chronicles with runes on river stone 
Weird Truth in writhing code of serpent eyes 
through jokes that no one ever understands 
though he dwells in the peaceful citadel. 

Lounging in his basement room at midnight 
as green rain soaks Seattle in weird tones, 
Samuel plays heart-aching song about love 
on the record play while smoking Dream Flower, 
and writes his own song in black book of lies 
because white ravens are government spies. 

Cafe On Sorrow Street

Cafe On Sorrow Street
© Surazeus
2026 10 19

Melanie smiles at angel, not so real 
as rubber tires on asphalt road of fate, 
because butterflies teach her how to feel 
through laughter of the need to calculate 
time difference of faith-distorted concern, 
backwards up-floating from the time-tossed stern. 

Cast in the swirling sea of certitude 
by sudden lurch outside her old world view, 
Melanie programs fatal attitude 
regarding how police design the True, 
as if Fate always knows just what we need, 
since ideal forms spring from conceptual seed. 

While striding to cafe on Sorrow Street 
with glass guitar and pistol on her leg, 
Melanie sings in rhythm with the beat 
because she finds white horse inside the egg 
that sprouts swan wings of freakish bravery 
to help her fight against fiscal slavery. 

Still chanting spells of courage at twilight, 
on stage at Woodstock in meadow of flames, 
Melanie names brave ghosts who teach her flight 
with secret code for winning psychic games 
in battle against gang of global greed 
who fool humble farmers with morbid screed. 

Commissioned to record in coded spells 
crimes of politicians who wear gold masks, 
Melanie translates moral trick of bells 
to expose bank where the basilisk basks 
with grand conspiracy to rule the world 
through revolution of the cosmic herald. 

Shocked by fall of the tyrant with no face, 
who slouches in glass house of global power, 
Melanie paints visions that leave no trace 
of math formulas smeared inside the tower 
where she sleeps inside fractured vampire boat 
because sad people decide not to vote. 

Fooled by the propaganda slate of lies 
depicting Minerva as evil witch, 
farmers and factory workers become spies 
to expose conspiracies of the rich 
who legislate laws that enslave our souls 
as wage-grifters stuck in hardworking roles. 

While driving highway Auburn to Seattle, 
through pine forests around Mountain of Truth, 
I dream I am Helios herding cattle 
till social change makes me messiah sleuth 
when Melanie rides Pegasus at dawn 
and sings about wild angels on the lawn. 

Mask Of New Identity

Mask Of New Identity
© Surazeus
2026 10 18

To calibrate antenna of my brain 
with flashing movement of palpable pride, 
when hope expands precise pitch of my mind 
in tune with strange breath of mute river stones, 
I smile at you to broadcast love I feel 
that you exist with visions on your tongue. 

Attuning knob of my dragonized heart 
along cosmic spectrum of voiceless ghosts, 
I find electric song of ocean waves 
vibrating from the radio of my brain 
that dredges monstrous memories of desire 
from lightless abyss of the fertile sea. 

My spirit blooms from nothingness of light 
that flash my brain awake in glow of dawn 
so I breathe eyeless spirit of the sun 
that fuels my progress on the river shore 
where I fight gangs of thieves for apple tree 
that gives fruit to all hands in liberty. 

My hands draw from cold depths of energy 
writhing demons that scream in ecstasy 
when I roast fish on flames of jealousy, 
then shriek my wordless power at gold clouds 
that float indifferent to my suffering 
in vain attempt to prove I am alive. 

Death always waits in shadow of each day 
behind large boulders on the beach of faith, 
so I crouch ready for their sudden attack 
till soft wind rustles branches of the tree 
where one small raven watches over me 
with eyes that know why stars will never die. 

When I wear mask of new identity, 
which I carve from trunk of the singing tree, 
Death runs away on frantic legs of fear 
so I declare myself god of the sea 
as storm winds lash huge waves in loyalty 
beneath the shining demon of the moon. 

Fierce passion to survive millions of years 
of rebirth through each generated soul 
still motivates my drive to rule the world 
which I enclose in engine of my heart 
to animate my quest on road of life 
when I sing epic tale of scientists. 

The eyeless mother of the monstrous sea 
gave birth to spirit of my flashing genes 
so I evolve four hundred million years 
from fish to wingless angel who wears mask 
that shields my soul from mocking rage of hate 
because I glow with truth till Death finds me. 

World Brain Of Dreams

World Brain Of Dreams
© Surazeus
2026 10 18

When my soul radiates from world brain of dreams 
through atoms that congeal in frame of flesh, 
I wake from vision of our universe 
that spirals from God Eye of the White Whole, 
and wonder at glow of my conscious self 
that wants to play God till Death intervenes. 

When I emerge whole from world brain of dreams 
by swimming in vast sea of timeless truth, 
I walk upright on sturdy legs of faith 
as art of dance I learn in tides of change, 
then follow winding river of desire 
to mountain cave where jewels glitter eyes. 

This memory beams from world brain of dreams 
that all humanity shares in our brains 
programmed by First Mother of all mankind 
whose song of wisdom rings still in our minds 
so we gather around her Tree of Knowledge 
to share the separate stories of our lives. 

Eight billion people from world brain of dreams 
spring into life from womb of Mother Earth 
who weaves our bodies from genetic coils 
in process sparked by key of Father Sun 
whose patterns shape how matter forms our souls 
so we play games for who will rule the globe. 

Eternal truth spreads from world brain of dreams 
in doctrines of religions priests design 
to organize in strict communal rites 
obsessive passion to generate life 
so we confirm our souls through self-control 
till we get trapped in maze of blind beliefs. 

Love manifests fate from world brain of dreams 
through every choice our frazzled brains commit 
as we engage contests of social power 
over who plays Rapunzel in the tower 
as priestess of truth based on legacy 
designed by Amen, Ishtar, and Athena. 

I map our story from world brain of dreams 
when I hitchhike from sea to shining sea 
because Onatah commissions my quest 
on holy Mount Takoma in Glow Cloud 
and gives me crystal sphere of timeless truth 
so I can watch evolution unfold. 

Translating deep hymns from world brain of dreams, 
that guide our spiritual atheist quest 
to understand true essence of our brains, 
I stand on mountain of the global soul 
with frail mask of my temporary self 
and sing till I beam light of everything. 

Dream Bridge Of Nevermore

Dream Bridge Of Nevermore
© Surazeus
2026 10 17

I trust Orpheus with his broken lyre 
more than Saint Paul and his fake deity 
about the resurrection of the soul, 
for no bright conscious soul of glowing thought 
has ever returned to our life on Earth 
after they cross dream bridge of nevermore. 

When angels bomb Sodom from silver planes, 
blasting temple of Pinikir to rubble, 
Edith stops in flight with her husband Lot 
and looks back at the city of her heart 
which breaks in hot torrents of salty tears, 
then cries in anguish for the past she lost. 

When Hades slithers from dark underworld 
and kidnaps sweet Eurydice with lust, 
keeping her prisoner in cave of fear, 
Orpheus calls her name in fields of flowers, 
trapped in dark shadow of his anguished heart, 
till Persephone reports on her bondage. 

After Hades falls sleep at enchantment 
from hypnotic melodies Orpheus plays, 
and from mushrooms in sweet delicious wine 
that the clever singer offers the miner, 
Persephone releases to his care 
young woman wounded from bite of the snake. 

When Orpheus pauses in the dark tunnel, 
while strumming lyre of Mercury with hope, 
and turns back to see if she follows close, 
he finds that she has vanished in the dark 
because the dead cannot come back to life, 
so he kneels and weeps by the faceless pool. 

After Joseph and loyal followers 
rescue Jesus from the cross of salvation, 
and Raphael cures his wounds with rich herbs, 
their Crown Prince to the throne of Israel 
revives with vigorous health to conscious life 
after almost sinking in the sea of death. 

After Raphael resuscitates Christ 
from moribund state of clinical death, 
Jesus meets his wife Mary Magdalene 
at entrance to the tomb with warm embrace, 
then they escape by ship to Patmos Island 
where he dictates Revelation to John. 

Since Jesus seemed to resurrect from death, 
revived with herbs and care of healing hands, 
Paul preached glamorous lie of the Afterlife 
that still fools people desperate to believe, 
but we all vanish into nothingness 
after we cross dream bridge of nevermore. 

Highest Hill Of Thought

Highest Hill Of Thought
© Surazeus
2026 10 17

Though all my memories vanish in the wind 
when I wake from bright spark of ardent hope, 
I hear voice of the woman with three eyes 
sing soft in harmony with ocean waves 
so I become the tree with long black wings 
emerging from blank pages of the book. 

Strange dreams of running on gold sand of fear 
urge me to rise from nothingness of hope 
and fly on breath of mountain-swelling ache 
till time obliterates the question why, 
so I sit on huge tuft of grass to play 
the faceless ghost who wears mask of the cloud. 

Surprised by laughter of wind-rustled trees, 
I open ribcage of my pulsing chest 
to read the ancient book of memories, 
releasing ghosts of my ancestral selves 
who speak in voices of the twinkling stars 
with humble frisson of psychic resolve. 

With curious passion of the hungry beast, 
I rummage in cracked rubble of my mind 
to find the secret treasure of my heart 
though I admit embarrassment of faith 
because I grieve for someone who is gone, 
their body vanished in the swirling dust. 

Voluble with attentive care for moons 
that flash across the awkward clouds of trust, 
I breathe in fluent language of the ghost 
who teaches me to stand on steady legs 
and walk in surging tides of social change 
till I ascend the highest hill of thought. 

Still hidden in safe habitat of love, 
considered genius by the writhing snake, 
I dance with dazzling beauty of the brain 
to prove my flightless arrogance requires 
brave admiration of the cheering crowd 
whose frail-leaf hands applaud my slow decay. 

Reborn as angel in the factory 
where devils carve new masks of noble class, 
I glide with vibrant beat of city streets 
to taste pure accuracy of loyal pride 
for architect of balanced clumsiness 
when I construct grand hall of fluting bones. 

Because I bleed from portrait on the wall 
as lacrimating prophet without hands, 
despair transforms my body from glass rain 
to throbbing ghoul of beautiful contempt 
which proves my right to reign with stolen laws 
as faceless god on highest hill of thought. 

Unclose Door Of Fate

Unclose Door Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 10 17

Though time flows out of my exploding eyes 
to fill vast maze of city streets with souls 
emerging from old wrinkled photographs, 
I wake at shock of ocean consciousness 
as human cactus singing by the pole 
about how skulls form mountain peaks of truth. 

Lithe ocean fish wind unclock of my self 
with tangled laughter of passionate words 
through unmechanical respect for fear 
that spurs progression of my blooming brain 
which soaks strange memories of frantic dreams 
escaping brains of people around town. 

As broad-winged signet of heraldic pride 
I leap with swan-grace on percussive wind 
to float with swirling angel of gold clouds, 
convinced brave magic vibrates from my hands 
that flush redeeming flames of holy love 
from murmuring cars of electric fame. 

Struck by obsessive blink of traffic lights, 
I stand ten thousand years in the crosswalk 
to count lost angels of the fractured street 
who search for sorrow of the store glass door 
wide open to soft tinkling bells of hope 
that upend social conventions with greed. 

Blind city ghost on balcony of faith 
plays rusty saxophone of arrogance 
that reshapes vast dimension of our brains 
with sacred creed of rotten references, 
desecrated by dead rose of her heart 
because she tries to unclose door of fate. 

Dressed in bright colors of the morning scream 
that twist fake books in riddles of glass film, 
she tells the boy she loves that he appears 
to be her Babylonian Adonis 
who dies in anguish when he tries to rise 
from half-torn photograph of body-lust. 

My racehorse never reaches goal of love 
though I run forward into mist of change 
forever flashing through telephone lines 
that bind great chimneys of regretful brick 
from which smoke of our words transcend our death 
when we vote for the lonely bard of life. 

Primeval memory of antiquity 
writhes groaning from eccentric egg of lust 
as brutal pioneer of psychic spells 
whose frantic code of unmelodious song 
goes on forever into sea of tears 
where we sail boats of hope beyond the shore. 

Poet Glow Of Fame

Poet Glow Of Fame
© Surazeus
2026 10 17

Drunk on the bitter wine of arrogance, 
the Famous Poet, in tattered tweed suit, 
stumbles on stage to polished podium 
in bright university lecture hall 
to read with important voice of prestige 
his latest collection of meditations. 

Do not imbue on me that poet glow
that shrouds fools in veil of immortal Fame
which transforms mortals, fueled by lust to live,
to holy messengers of divine truth
with marble sheen of false divinity
that neuters mission to expand the mind.

Transforming into bat with devil wings, 
before eyes of the startled audience 
who gasp with surprise at absurdity, 
the Famous Poet flaps about the room, 
bumping into dark portraits of Great Poets, 
and shrieks dire prophecies in solemn verse. 

Strange glow of mute sorrow from long-dead stars 
radiates from frail frame of mortal flesh 
that imbues him with poet glow of fame 
as cosmic insight into social trends 
that illuminate with grammatic twist 
psychological process of the seer. 

After he finishes reading grand poems 
about domestic quietude of rage 
that surges from subconscious sea of faith, 
the Famous Poet sits at polished table 
and signs copies of his latest collection 
for each star-eyed worshipper of his greatness. 

Eyes blinded by his poet glow of fame, 
the Famous Poet wanders endless halls 
past doors that open to empty classrooms 
where ghosts of students haunt strange Otherworlds 
that emanate as holograms from books, 
then floats up into swirling clouds of glory. 

Riding in the back of the dented car, 
driven by the ambitious graduate student 
who gushes on about symbology, 
the Famous Poet gazes at bright stars 
that glimmer faintly through after-rain clouds, 
and ponders nature of the Perfect Poem. 

After waking sober in purple dawn, 
the Famous Poet eats eggs on rye toast, 
then strides gleaming halls of the glass airport 
to ride the airplane to the little town 
where he teaches poetry at the college 
since he survives on poet glow of flame. 

Brave Community Of Ghosts

Brave Community Of Ghosts
© Surazeus
2026 10 16

Since every temple where men worship gods 
has been contrived by bleeding hands of faith, 
I climb stairway to Heaven where glass skulls 
sing hymns of sorrow from the human heart 
that hypnotize my heart with siren spells 
so I almost shipwreck on rocks of truth. 

With laughter of deep-rooted trees of fear 
we find that when we solve catastrophe 
of shattered truth in puzzles of respect, 
we bond in brave community of ghosts 
who carve our new personality masks 
so we personify our souls as gods. 

Despite stark passion to preserve my soul 
beyond decay of flesh to wordless dust, 
I channel fierce incorrigible need 
to transform wreckage of mortality 
in gold-paved maze of grand celestial halls 
where we dance in mirrored haze of dreams. 

On mortal feet of uncelestial hope, 
to span isolation of inner peace 
in august columns of world theaters, 
star-forged from twisted agony of faith, 
I breach liminal space of tragic loss 
to cradle wounded goddess in my heart. 

Though idols of every god who has lived 
as mortal human struggling to survive 
with courage enough that molded their soul 
in marble statue that personifies 
their heroic victory against death, 
shine in temple of faith, I live my way. 

So many centuries of change have passed 
since we constructed from bones of the Earth 
Temple of Segesta on stony hill 
of sorrow for how Death claims every soul, 
yet I long to return on swan-brave wings 
to dwell again beneath its sheltering roof. 

Relaxed in garden of seaside chateau 
beside square fountain where black swans flap wings, 
I strum the lyre of Mercury and hum 
heart-wounding psalms that old David composed, 
as Edith conjures butterflies from Hell 
in memory of our long-deserted temple. 

In Temple of Segesta I still play 
lyre of Mercury with dream-weaving hands 
to mend wounded hearts with aoidic tunes 
that immortalize weak humans as gods 
to glorify mortals who wrestle death 
as spirits that transcend our tragic fates. 

God In Our Own Minds

God In Our Own Minds
© Surazeus
2026 10 16

Original response of secret love 
that echoes at me from across the lake 
reveals that I, and all humanity, 
are here alone on this slow-spinning globe 
because the faceless demon of my heart 
is all that answers my cry to the stars. 

The strangeness of this universe is mine, 
I whisper soft as wind in tall hill grass, 
but I hear voices in the sudden wind 
that rustles tongues of leaves on eyeless trees 
who seem to speak of secrets I would know 
but murmur wordlessly when I attend. 

I climb this stream of radiance to the sky 
to find dark cave of visions inside stars 
where dream of time began in human minds, 
so I sit still in glow of timeless truth 
to feel whole universe of pulsing forms 
surge through vast hollow of my aching heart. 

While meditating in thought-silent cave 
where time becomes swift motion of my blood, 
I realize God is concept we design 
to account for how men exercise power 
so we comprehend social energy 
of leadership that incarnates as kings. 

We venerate mortal Jesus as God 
because his selfless actions of respect 
present new way tribe leaders may perform 
role of protector and guide for our souls, 
instead of tyrant who exploits our fears, 
but he is dead so we perform his role. 

As leader of his tribe centuries ago, 
Jesus embodied in his mortal frame 
immortal spirit of the Selfless King 
which incarnates in countless other men 
who dedicate their hearts to nurture souls 
of people so we live well in their care. 

Thus God, as Good Leader who loves his tribe, 
reincarnates in countless mortal kings, 
with every generation humans live, 
as representative of Christ on Earth 
through active choice of each new mortal soul 
who performs what they know Jesus would do. 

Jesus is dead, but spirit of his love, 
as leader attentive to what we need, 
awakes again in every human soul 
who chooses to treat others with respect 
when we cultivate God in our own minds 
with conscious scope big as our universe. 

Mind Key Of Why

Mind Key Of Why
© Surazeus
2026 10 16

With framed adherence to the chime of light, 
I pivot in dark rain of all-the-time 
where ravens rebuild silence of the wall 
in protest at residual permanence 
that spirals through concern of Jupiter 
whose laughter unwinds clock of our return. 

Emerging from conception of the rock 
that forgets why its shape reflects the sun, 
I run while standing still with psychic tricks 
through preparation to perform as spy 
obsessed with measurement of the mind storm 
that teaches me secret for how to love. 

Extracting holy milk from the Faith Cow, 
at wordless horror of the throbbing drum, 
I interview for the messenger job 
working for the Fairy Queen in Stonehenge 
who asks me to retrieve the tangerine 
stolen by brave boys who know how to grieve. 

Because Artemis counts cars at the show, 
despite objections of the restless stars, 
I always figure out which way is best 
for proving nothing happens when we pray 
to Cernunnos in his arboreal den 
though he writes new creed for the manticore. 

My bitter shadow on the ocean shore 
transforms from human back into the fish 
because I am Oannes on fast track 
to reign as world pope in the Vatican 
who rescues souls from Hell with legal rope 
through dream spells contrived from runes in the well. 

Enchanting holiday shoppers with tunes 
of mind-expanding visions in teardrops, 
I reframe privilege through social lens 
which formulates code of our new world view 
based on television rules of the road 
that children never learn in church-run schools. 

Since I succeeded in my sacred search 
to find God Mask everyone says is fake, 
I transition my soul through the next phase 
within parameters of the truth-hexed, 
so I campaign to play messiah sleuth, 
commissioned to reveal Mind Key of Why. 

We love our planet no god has designed 
though priests deceive us with religious fraud, 
so my wife and I tread the moonlit ridge 
where angel-winged wolves request secret boon 
that I should lead them on our global quest 
to learn secret of flight in metal robe. 

Imperfect Poem

Imperfect Poem
© Surazeus
2026 10 16

Thus spake Surazeus to the lost souls 
who feast to celebrate the Kronia. 
In pursuit of the perfect poem that frames 
aesthetic beauty of the timeless truth, 
every day I write the imperfect poem 
that records progress of my growth in love. 

Immortal God Of Genes

Immortal God Of Genes
© Surazeus
2026 10 15

Still on my quest to find the Holy Grail, 
I stumble down crooked highway of faith, 
then tumble dazed on deep Narcissus Pool 
where I see vision with diamond-glazed eyes 
of my wife glowing with ethereal light 
refracting through her soul from Cosmic Eye. 

While strumming lyre of Mercury with faith, 
I sing hymn to Aion, great light of life, 
mindless creator of all that exists, 
the self-begotten flash of vibrant love 
that beams through Helios and Selene, 
first parents who create my soul from Earth. 

My father high on stone of destiny 
tells me that when I die my soul of light 
will fly on white swan wings of ecstasy 
up to gold peak on mountain of star eyes, 
and dance in nothing of the everywhere 
till I become ripe apple on the tree. 

Young dappled doe with moon-black eyes of faith 
nudges my chest with soft nose of respect, 
so I feed her fresh apple in my hand, 
then we stroll by bright river of our hearts 
to find enormous sphinx on hill of skulls 
who asks me riddle of the human soul. 

I scatter sparks of atoms in my soul 
as fireflies in soft breeze of evening glow, 
dispersing memories of my random life 
in psychic ocean of forever now, 
attuned to vibe coding of mental flex 
that flashes through cosmic intelligence. 

Magnetic shimmer of your secret voice, 
that pulses in harmony with my heart, 
expands my soul with laughter of delight 
that cleanses sorrow from my poisoned mind 
so I float wingless over flowered hills, 
since I know secret of the Holy Grail. 

Each person must discover for themself 
conceptual meaning of the Holy Grail, 
embodied by wise woman with star eyes 
who generates new life from seed of faith 
so our child reincarnates our two souls 
in body for immortal god of genes. 

When I was wondering lost in Wonderland, 
dazed by bright idols of so many gods 
that humans worship as great characters 
to imitate through performance of life, 
Orpheus grabs my shoulders with sly grin 
and teaches me weird mystery of rebirth. 

Now that I have the long-lost Holy Grail 
sitting by my computer on the bookshelf, 
its silver curve mirroring my God Soul, 
I resurrect my darlings from blank book 
by writing spells with raven quill of faith 
dipped in sparkling dragon blood of respect. 

Since I am temporary node of flesh 
in long-evolving vine of divine genes, 
awake with memories of timeless joy 
which my ancestors lived to program me, 
I strum the lyre of Mercury and sing 
till I disperse in swirl of nothingness. 

Immortal Soul Of Phoebus

Immortal Soul Of Phoebus
© Surazeus
2026 10 15

From each psychic node of the matrix beams 
integral vector of expressive thought, 
tangled in homeostatic words of faith, 
bound on its journey to become itself 
and maintain grounded equilibrium 
through inner peace despite pressures of change. 

Staring in abyss of his hollow heart, 
Phoebus wonders with sly smirk of disdain 
if he might be the serpent of his songs 
whose writhing passion, coiled to spring on wings 
of fierce ambition to breach gates of Heaven, 
motivates his mission to mock proud gods. 

When lonely Python of his hungry heart 
slithers from cave of illusions at dawn, 
emerging from wordless darkness of doubt, 
Phoebus strums strings on lyre of Mercury, 
hums softly to harmonize scratchy voice 
of cautious hope, then sings strange spell of truth. 

Gripping wood handle of the rusty hoe, 
Phoebus scratches furrows in stubborn soil 
to sow seeds of new hope with eager hands, 
then bears buckets of water from the river 
many hours every day with aching back 
to nurture sprouts that blossom from his heart. 

For ten thousand years, through life after life, 
immortal soul of Phoebus in his genes 
tends crops of wheat transforming soil to flour, 
to feed regeneration of his mind 
till he begins to understand the Why 
that fuels process of dream analysis. 

Ascended master of the holy light, 
that beams through wounded heart of innocence, 
Phoebus bears lyre of Mercury in hand 
while treading signless road of curious dawn, 
and sings hymn of creation in each town 
where farmers dance to rhythm of his heart. 

From endless centuries of labor blooms 
enlightened seer with cosmic eyes of stars 
whose verse projects grand vision of Earth Dream 
which frames our new world view with guiding law 
that renders superstitions obsolete 
while guiding play of life we all perform. 

Each prophet rising from lush fields of truth 
speaks with great voice of all humanity, 
depicting social system that sustains, 
through equal justice for each conscious soul, 
progress of the lone individual 
to live through liberty for all the world. 

Lady Of The Diamond Star

Lady Of The Diamond Star
© Surazeus
2026 10 15

When I find basalt tombs of sorcerers 
unshattered by proverbs of sacred books, 
I answer nothing to immortal nymphs 
who fly shrieking at me from qualming spring 
because I am the Who unprophesied by Death, 
nor is there any reason why I Am. 

I keep it secret that the Three Maries 
based operations of the Holy Grail 
in eerie grotto of Sainte-Baume massif 
from which our Merovingian tribe of seers 
expanded reign of Magdalene and Christ 
who rule Gothinia past two thousand years. 

I wish I could see eyes of Radegund, 
bright with faith in beauty of this world, 
which manifests conceptual forms of truth, 
while I recite verse of my loyal heart 
from sharp whispers of her Sibylline voice 
that glows bright in dark days of Sirius. 

Someday I hope to follow Ocean Way 
sailed by the Three Maries to hills of Mars, 
piloted also over seamless waves 
by fluent dolphin who saved Arion, 
so I may find lyre Venantius strummed 
beneath shaken fruits of Elysium. 

Though few may understand dream of my heart, 
arranged in puzzles of socialized tropes, 
I sing grand Vision of Apocalypse 
through Revelation of the Laughing Snake 
whom brave Apollo tamed with melodies 
depicting Lady of the Diamond Star. 

Because I am no pair of ragged claws 
scuttling across the floors of silent seas, 
I wear wood mask of Christ Pantocrator 
to fool the devil of the modern world 
when I seize means of production with spells 
that conjure virtual model of One Earth. 

Now under Tree of Knowledge by the lake, 
where demons of greed lurk in wounded hearts, 
I carol praise for leader of the world 
who crowns Wise Woman with respectful wreath 
to restore faith of Radegund with hope 
that Son of Meroveus will rise again. 

White star of Sirius, that twinkles swift 
with flashing scintillation of weird truth, 
which guided brave Venantius up steep path 
to liberal palace of wise Magdalene, 
illuminates path where I walk today 
to grotto where soul of Mercury waits. 

Mercurial Song Of Grace

Mercurial Song Of Grace
© Surazeus
2026 10 14

As long as I can give you all my love, 
my heart will flow with energy of hope 
that springs from fountain of unending joy 
through admiration for all vibrant souls 
who spring from dream of Earth in human form 
for we are spirit of the stars alive. 

When I leave love notes in the hollow tree 
as field guide to haunted forest of love, 
we find they transform into honeycombs 
that drip with memories of secret hours 
we spend together by the citrus tree 
where crow of wisdom sings about our joy. 

Though leaves of time swirl red in chilly wind 
as harbinger of change in mountain air, 
I hear cry of the owl in misty woods 
who brings strange story from the distant vale 
that Death stalks Beauty of the human soul 
whose spirits vanish with flowers in snow. 

When I decode fortune of apple peels, 
that randomly reveal in curls of fear 
new axiom of our deconstructed truth, 
my mind perceives big picture of the world 
unfolding process from vast social change 
when I trace effects to their primal cause. 

Rewriting inner story of my heart, 
through brave steps of attentive ardency 
each day I transcend limits of my being, 
I find that I have courage of tall trees 
to be where my feet are on road of life, 
so I erect signs to guide the lost home. 

To implement with calm diplomacy 
firm state of universal peace on Earth, 
I invest fiducial standard of growth 
in manufacture of war machinery 
designed to organize angelic code 
through strict enforcement of fair global law. 

Awakened by mercurial song of grace 
that horses sing on river shores of love, 
I channel grief through laughter of dawn rain 
reflecting deep compassion of my heart, 
born from deep magic at the dawn of time, 
for every conscious being that lives on Earth. 

Emerging from dark well of innocence, 
with writhing runes of serpentine foresight, 
I join song of free horses on wild hills, 
then bring strange treasure to hard city streets 
as fruit that heals the wounded heart of souls 
who thrive with love that fountains from my heart. 

Find The Silver Moon

Find The Silver Moon
© Surazeus
2026 10 14

After I am done leaping in the air 
while wading in burning flowers of faith 
with the passion of the sun in my mouth, 
I will deconstruct the mystery of flesh 
to find the silver moon inside my brain 
that sends me singing forty million years. 

After I am done dashing against darkness 
with closed eyes of innocent arrogance 
in the sleepless curves of my dream-coiled body, 
I will resurrect the mystery of soul 
to find the frantic sea inside my heart 
that leaves me stranded on the beach of time. 

Or maybe I will watch the lonely leaf 
that falls as oneness of humanity 
with each new generation of bright souls 
that comes and goes in seasons of desire 
till we are swept away by tides of change 
through revolution of the laughing snake. 

I find no people on the spinning Earth 
except blind robots wearing masks of gods 
who fight each other for the Promised Land 
that burns from revolution of the fooled 
at shocking revelation of the truth 
brought by wounded hands of messiah sleuth. 

Before I begin to leap spinning worlds 
across pearl necklace of the multiverse 
to meet the doppelgangers of my being, 
I will reconstruct the mystery of mind 
in computer processor of my brain 
programmed to perform role of God on Earth. 

Before I begin to recalibrate 
piston engine of the time-machine car 
to explore the world, sea to shining sea, 
I will reincarnate lithe Mercury 
as son of Saturn strumming lyre of truth 
to sing satires about the haughty king. 

Or maybe I will live with Anyone 
in the pretty how town of anywhere 
against common decency of lust 
to paint images of new global ghosts 
on rose windows in cathedral of tales 
where floating bells design Astarian Creed. 

I meet strange people in world maze of streets 
who all say they remember Sisyphus 
working as manager for Wonderland 
where Saraswati in the hotel lounge 
sings about new empire of Jupiter 
through revelation of the laughing snake. 

Fertile Globe Of Ranika

Fertile Globe Of Ranika
© Surazeus
2026 10 14

When I wake in the World between the Worlds, 
after finding ring my grandmother hid 
in dream-tangled roots of the apple tree, 
I wander among pools to other worlds, 
wondering which one I should visit today, 
till I hear strange siren song of my heart. 

Diving into pool where Narcissus drowned, 
I swim ten million lightyears across space 
to the other side of our galaxy 
where I wake on the world of my heart 
created by the wise witch Ranika 
who gives me book for me to write dream spells. 

Beside tall goddess with ten million eyes 
and glass wings that span mountains and seas, 
I climb Stairway to Heaven of her heart 
to stroll vast avenue of ziggurats 
where sprawling palaces of gleaming gems 
glitter with divine light of countless stars. 

Ascending diamond stairs of ardent faith, 
we enter palace of Hyperion, 
enormous god with countless twirling wings, 
who gives me crystal sphere with Eye of Truth 
that depicts animated history of life 
on every planet in the universe. 

Transforming into lion with twelve eyes, 
Hyperion sings attentive hymn of hope 
that conjures planet from dream of my brain, 
so I give Goddess Ranika my heart 
who holds my hand with beaming smile of love, 
then we teleport to garden of fruit. 

Sly serpent with electric eyes of fear 
attempts to hypnotize my aching heart 
with vision of myself as emperor 
who rules ten billion worlds of loyal souls, 
but I laugh at his lies of haughty greed, 
which banishes his hate in gentle breeze. 

When Ranika returns from Salithor, 
great city where her people farm and build, 
wise goddess of industrial workmanship 
gives me new raven quill and parchment scroll, 
so I compose in quick Saturnian verse 
epic poem about curious scientists. 

Returning to the World between the Worlds, 
through pool from fertile globe of Ranika, 
I resurrect as Narcissus with faith, 
so I follow heart-breaking song of love 
to find sweet Echo by her apple tree 
who blushes as we embrace with respect. 

My Journey Nowhere Else

My Journey Nowhere Else
© Surazeus
2026 10 13

Because the spring sun is the saddest ghost 
that lingers mute in autumn innocence, 
I write my name in dust of alleyways 
to trace path of my journey nowhere else 
on endless quest to find the beautiful 
that shimmers in the fractured hearts of strangers. 

Amazed at flash in swelling clouds of time 
that imitate vast wings of cherubim 
which hovers over city maze of fate, 
I choose to tell lonely strangers I meet 
I am incarnation of Mercury 
though no one can see the wings on my feet. 

Paused on shore of the god-reflecting lake, 
I look for the Road Not Taken that spans 
lush meadows and bleak deserts of my heart, 
but all I see is the High Road of Fate 
where Orpheus leads blind ghosts of the dead 
who may arrive in Heaven before me. 

Though Atossa has painted every wall 
white with blood of angels to camouflage 
sorrows of children wounded in harsh wars, 
she sings strange beauty of our spinning Earth 
to celebrate this transient life of joy 
which inspires compassion to bloom in me. 

Though I doubt conscious entity called God 
creates this universe with clear design, 
I love how people gather in their church 
to sing about strange beauty of this world, 
and share tales of their struggles to survive 
to support each other in quest for love. 

Escaping dirty streets of rain-drenched cities, 
crowded with people driven from lush vales 
by greedy barons in castles of hate, 
my ancestors sailed to America 
and built new homes in lush Missouri vales 
where they sang hymns by River of Star Eyes. 

Startled by ephemeral glow of desire 
that radiates from bodies of human souls, 
I plot birth of the new energy field 
that weaves many nations in one world state, 
united by respect for liberty 
that nurtures equal justice for all people. 

So when I call God on the telephone 
to ask about why people suffer pain, 
he chuckles and explains with rainbow beams 
that he is but some story character 
invented by kings to keep men afraid, 
then we meet by the lake of stars to fish. 

Flowers In Field Of Fate

Flowers In Field Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 10 13

The faceless ghost of the person I love 
haunts my heart as the absence of their being 
because my brain with lonely ache projects 
idol of their essence in empty air 
so I seem to feel their presence still near 
when their shade picks flowers in field of fate. 

The apparition of their gleaming face 
remains unmoving in old photographs 
recording features of their transient being 
at fleeting moment in that bygone hour 
that we carelessly thought would never cease 
when their shade picks flowers in field of fate. 

The laughing specter of their vibrant soul, 
masked by play of their joyful character, 
seems to dance forever in movie reels 
preserving sport of their mischievous tricks 
that makes my heart ache with nostalgic pride 
when their shade picks flowers in field of fate. 

The writhing wraith of heartbreaking anguish, 
wounded by random pranks of tragedy, 
conceals harsh suffering that they endured 
in mute sorrow they tried to hide from me, 
tainting their spirit as much as their joy, 
when their shade picks flowers in field of fate. 

The traces of their existence remain 
as poignant scent of their long-vanished essence 
that lingers through electric flash of hope 
in eerie crackles after drenching rain 
that fools my heart to think I feel them close 
when their shade picks flowers in field of fate. 

The woeful phantom of my cherished one, 
too long abstracted from subjective scope 
of my oblivious mind in truant plight, 
lurks ever near antenna of my heart 
so I hear whisper of their thoughts in dream 
when their shade picks flowers in field of fate. 

The sudden spook of their revenant soul, 
which my brain conjures from lost memories, 
fools me to hope their consciousness remains 
in whole coherent frame of their true self, 
yet I know they have vanished from this world 
when their shade picks flowers in field of fate. 

The mindless shadow of the soul I love 
remains as bright illusion in my brain 
so they seem to live in my memories, 
still active in clear dramatic replay, 
though I will never see their face again 
when their shade picks flowers in field of fate. 

While Talking To My Mother

While Talking To My Mother
© Surazeus
2026 10 13

While talking to my mother about truth, 
I reach hand to pluck fruit from Tree of Life  
when gold-eyed serpent with four rainbow wings 
tricks me to believe that Star Man in the Cloud 
will punish me if I eat fruit of knowledge 
so I eat it with heart-poisoning guilt. 

While talking to my mother about trust, 
she tells me she met my father for tryst 
in Tree of Knowledge by the demon pool 
so I run through bright flowers in the field 
to escape the man in the wolf-fur cloak 
who begs me to play bride at his cave hearth. 

While talking to my mother about hope, 
I struggle gasping to climb mountain slope, 
then stand on moon-high peak of howling wind 
to survey world of rivers between hills 
that spins through ocean of electric stars 
which swirl around me as cupids on wings. 

While talking to my mother about faith, 
I perceive vision of immortal wraith 
that rises from her transient frame of flesh 
as ancient goddess with ten million eyes 
who teaches me to generate new life 
from ambitious passion of the Wolf Man. 

While talking to my mother about love, 
I learn from her how to mold wheat in loaf 
which I bake in hot oven of my heart 
till I give birth to bread with blinking eyes 
who smiles when I hum hymn of holy breath 
that fills his body with spirit of life. 

While talking to my mother about fear, 
I watch my son construct and wield sharp spear 
from stick and stone he hones with honest courage, 
then wear fur cape to hunt monsters of rage 
which he kills with attentive strike of power 
when lightning strikes bright as the yarrow flower. 

While talking to my mother about fate, 
I choose to open wide the city gate 
so refugees from wars for fertile land, 
fought fiercely between gods on ziggurats, 
name me Zilpa with the Generous Hand 
when I host feast in Temple of the Wolf. 

While talking to my mother about death, 
I listen to her pray with her last breath 
that I might understand essence of life 
which I mold in bodies as mother-wife 
and raise my sons, Gad and Asher, to rule 
empire of wisdom with the sacred tool. 

Assertive Code Of Grace

Assertive Code Of Grace
© Surazeus
2026 10 12

Time fractured by assertive code of grace 
expands too far beyond calm afternoons 
to shroud lush dells in sanguine bitterness 
that widows would exchange for bowls of flour 
to fry blueberry pancakes at midnight 
for wanderers to feast without regret. 

When children of the new empire return 
from foreign lands with boxes of false dreams, 
we delegate our thinking to machines 
that throw our family photos in the trash 
after recording them in holy books 
depicting conflict between psychic queens. 

When agents of the empire shoot the moon, 
then knock at doors of loyal warriors, 
we hide our treasures behind broken doors 
to prove we worship with taxes of wheat 
the right god on the pyramid of skulls 
who pays us on holiday of his birth. 

No Christmas bells ring clear across the land 
where snow encases corpses of dead kings 
in dark deserted tombs of arrogance 
so we assemble on high mound of poles 
to dance around wild flames of innocence 
and sing of revolution against greed. 

Thirteen centuries later I extract 
skulls of great gods from fractured tombs of time 
so people of the land may see what fate 
bold time decrees with solemn certitude 
for every conscious being who walks the Earth, 
even those who proclaim themselves as gods. 

Bright angels with ten thousand star-gold eyes 
descend from glowing cloud of solitude 
to beam illusions of divine desire 
which animates my body with God Soul 
that claims state of immortality 
because I dream my Self since dawn of time. 

Alone beneath dome of the Pantheon 
I sit at Round Table of Liberty 
to reassemble world view of my brain 
that my ancestors design through each life, 
but I keep secret vision of my heart 
because I dwell in the real Heaven now. 

So I race motorboat across the lake 
and toss books of salvation in the deep 
where they transform to serpents with star eyes 
that form electric runes of cosmic spells 
which I chant to restore democracy 
on firm foundation of all human hearts. 

Illusions Of Superior Pride

Illusions Of Superior Pride
© Surazeus
2026 10 12

Inspired by calm of stone immortal gods 
that dwell in grand museums of lost faith, 
I walk the melting road of anywhere 
to play my own role in wild game of life 
with sculptured heart of greatness that provides 
urgent compassion for people I meet. 

Inspired by quicker wisdom of the Earth 
that surges through my fragile frame of flesh, 
I ask disputed shades of long-dead gods 
if they can teach me how to understand 
what people need to strengthen weaknesses 
so they rise from their sorrow with new hope. 

Inspired by treatises of hungry hope 
that drive us to evolve as we seek truth, 
I frame tall trees in my sunlit backyard 
with eerie atmosphere of one strange day 
that radiates from my childhood with strange truth 
when goddess of the rock appeared to me. 

Inspired by glimmer of your thoughtless eyes 
that watch me draw hope from harsh misery, 
I range through shadows of blind cherubim 
that hover over us in city maze 
with dreadful beauty of the winter wind 
that strips illusions of superior pride. 

Inspired by her apocalyptic tongue 
that writes new scripture for these shocking times, 
I doubt the cold success that Heaven beams 
through contemplation of our mortal lives 
framed by immortal process of soul growth 
so we restore our sabotaged free will. 

Inspired by leased certificates to lust 
that wound our hearts with libertarian faith, 
I raise my hands to mindless cloud of God 
and prophesy brave deeds through epic tales 
that mirror fractured fantasies we grasp 
as tides of change disrupt our way of life. 

Inspired by swagger of the haughty fool 
who crowns himself new king of nowhere else, 
I ride calm horse across the countryside 
with fierce compassion of neurotic love 
though our world view diminishes from hate 
that seizes hearts of souls abused by greed. 

Inspired by sensual passion of fruit trees 
that roar with horror when human tribes fight, 
I draft new litany of conquered lands 
which I observe from high Parthenon throne, 
to redesign world empire of true faith 
based on equal justice for everyone. 

Wild Laughter Of Untime

Wild Laughter Of Untime
© Surazeus
2026 10 12

Each hour I hear wild laughter of untime 
expressed in how leaves flutter in the wind 
I strive to become glowing light of Christ 
through gnostic insight into human hope 
so I wake from dark shadow of despair 
to bloom with knowledge of eternal truth. 

We gather with wild hearts of open love 
around huge barrel of thick apple juice 
so when we drink wild laughter of untime 
we glow with timeless light of singing suns, 
therefore today we live with selfless joy 
because tomorrow we dissolve to dust. 

Strange birds in morbid trees of urgent hope 
teach me to sing wild laughter of untime 
in spells that tangle memories of joy 
in arcane riddles which conceal weird truth 
that we learn to unravel when we touch 
conceptual essence of existing things. 

Since outside gates of Eden I remain 
with worthless treasures of my wounded heart, 
I mistranslate wild laughter of untime 
from ancient songs of Lesbos Island ghosts 
to plaintive elegies that millions hear 
blind angels sing clear on the radio. 

From mystery of the wood-smoke scented breeze 
that shelters me in solitude of faith 
I must extract wild laughter of untime 
while holding hands with silence of the moon 
that penetrates strange darkness of my fear 
with haunting absence of the soul I love. 

Strange creatures lurking in the shadowed woods 
whisper how they still know my secret name 
through disembodied laughter of untime 
that finds me at wood desk by glowing hearth 
composing fairy tales that symbolize 
tragic consequences of misplaced love. 

I never find God in the chapel hall 
nor in grand cathedral of singing choirs 
because wild laughter of untime radiates 
from pulsing passion of my transient heart 
so I float through the window of your eyes 
on wings of sorrow stolen from dead gods. 

Designed to fly by laughter of untime, 
weird intimations of my childhood self 
express strange revelation of my soul 
as incarnation of wild Mercury 
when I attempt to manage self-control 
that hurls me tumbling from the mindless clouds. 

Drama Of My Clumsy Life

Drama Of My Clumsy Life
© Surazeus
2026 10 11

Evicted from weird drama of my life, 
by eyeless angels dancing on my head, 
I wander land of lakes to learn of dread 
as cloud of breath that drifts against the wind 
on endless journey with my mental twin 
who wonders if I might be wolf or lamb. 

I write my destiny on ocean waves 
with fractured wing bone of the wounded god 
to translate buzz of honeybees to words 
that children shout while they play hide and seek 
in vast museum of the doubtful truth, 
embodied by old wagon of our faith. 

By chanting words that ravens teach my heart, 
I transform seven stones to seven loaves 
that angels sell to widows at the church 
who scream with laughter in the perfumed air 
which poisons minds of lonely wanderers 
who leave their sorrows by rain-worn tombstones. 

Exhausted from spinning threads of dire fate 
from tangled destinies of villagers, 
I step outside in darkness of the night 
to see the red-eyed fox of certitude 
protecting my garden from hungry rats 
that gnaw at electric wires of respect. 

Because she knows the bottom of dark time, 
where roots of fruit trees curl in search for tears, 
brave Sylvia gives me voice of nothingness 
by which I dispel huge shadow of love 
that gallops with impetuous honesty 
since we suffer atrocity of dawns. 

Heart bathed in scathing radiance of the moon, 
I swell as fraught inhabitance of love, 
though terrified by innocence of hope 
that hovers low with vast malignity 
above my garden tangled with dream thoughts 
which petrifies my will through solitude. 

Still bearing Lamp of Reason in my hand, 
I search for cemetery of great gods 
whose spirits rot in brains of living souls 
who howl with desultory prayers of faith 
as stasis in blue darkness of my heart 
till I become swift arrow of desire. 

Reborn as Ariel from hard words of fear, 
soul incubated quick by swirls of blood, 
I rewrite drama of my clumsy life 
with brave conviction of substanceless faith 
because my angel wings were never real, 
illusions beaming from my spiral eyes. 

Crazy Angel Of Despair

Crazy Angel Of Despair
© Surazeus
2026 10 11

The wise leader gives his all for the people, 
focusing attention of his compassion 
to design complex economic programs 
that nurture craft skills of the talented 
so every person performs their small part 
maintaining the food-production machine. 

Pulling cart with crates of apples and books, 
I walk the dusty Massachusetts road 
to find one-door house in shadowy woods 
where the wizard of words and his blind cat 
ponder the meaning of our universe 
that shimmers with the holy light of stars. 

Attempting to adjust steps of my quest, 
I steer myself away from holy light 
to gather firewood in the misty woods 
so the old man in the huge one-door house 
may boil tomato soup with ginger roots 
to warm our bodies on cold winter nights. 

While gliding camouflaged among oak trees 
to snatch one milk cow from enormous herd, 
I stop when billowing shadow of greed 
rises up from Earth with demonic wings, 
so I hide from soul-searing eyes of Geryon 
who roars at Heracles in lion-fur cape. 

After I run back to the one-door house, 
I play wild heart-enchanting melodies 
on glass piano by the gleaming pond 
where Narcissus stares at mask of his face 
till Echo tosses cracked stone of her heart 
so he looks into dark pools of her eyes. 

Shocked at mercurial song of moon-white winds, 
I run outside and gaze at blazing clouds 
to see the crazy angel of despair 
wrestle jet planes that scream across the sky, 
then hurl their bombs of greed to outer space 
where they destroy worlds in ten billion years. 

Through silent grieving for the long-dead soul, 
whose absence haunts me as ghost of their love, 
I wander waste land of America 
beneath proud mirror of the mindless sun 
who shows me end of all organic souls 
that dissipate at death to wordless dust. 

As wordless dust in cold relentless wind 
that blows through endless maze of city streets, 
I translate timeless song of ocean waves 
to jaunty jingles on the radio 
that urge hard-working people to buy goods 
which heals the crazy angel of despair. 

Dress His Daughter Wore

Dress His Daughter Wore
© Surazeus
2026 10 11

Too many children have been killed in wars 
when men wielding angry weapons of death 
assert right to control bodies and minds 
of brave people who refuse to obey 
commands of loyalty to haughty man 
who insists he is God in mortal flesh. 

The eerie way mercurial sunlight gleams 
on silver waves of our Pannonian Sea, 
wakes in my heart obsessive quest to find 
hidden island of my innocent faith 
where children of my heart play in the mist 
as nameless ghosts who vanish when I call. 

Ten billion angels on bright swirling clouds 
open holy book of myths with shining words, 
then raise their faces to the glorious sun, 
and sing ecstatic hymn of mindless faith 
to praise divine nothingness of pure light 
that pulses through each atom of our souls. 

When spectral shadows of our transient souls 
gleam soft as flames of candles in dark gloom, 
we ask each other why our spirits swirl 
on clock-expanding spiral beyond fear 
through psychic force of love-composing songs 
that weave our bodies in matrix of time. 

Elijah crouches low in river boat 
when two black-winged whooping cranes of desire 
swoop slowly past the broken willow trunk 
as orange flames of the evening sunset flash 
with fierce compassion on bleak river waves, 
so he grips book of dreams with steady hand. 

Striding through invisible waves of light 
into bright cavernous cathedral hall, 
past angels singing praise to God on Earth, 
Elijah stands behind man in white robe 
who turns around and welcomes him with hope, 
smiling with joy of selfless love for all. 

Showing torn blood-stained dress his daughter wore 
to Archangel Michael, grandson of Jesus, 
Elijah relates tale for all to hear 
how Michael lead angels with shining swords 
to slaughter people of his mountain clan 
because they deny that Jesus is God. 

Stepping forward with sudden thrust of hate, 
Elijah tries to assassinate Michael 
by stabbing him with his own holy blade, 
but Michael twirls wand with emerald sphere 
to fracture his skull with hard blow of prayer, 
then smirks as angels drag his body out. 

Electric God Rays

Electric God Rays
© Surazeus
2026 10 11

When I was a young boy in Fort Worth, Texas 
we always ate Roman Meal Bread for lunch, 
with slice of Nuteena fried in the pan, 
so I would picture myself as Apollo 
strumming the golden lyre of Mercury 
while soldiers maintained peace of our empire. 

While I was attending the first grade 
at Morningside Elementary School, 
we rode the bus to the bread factory 
on Summit Avenue in Fort Worth, Texas 
that Ninnie Baird founded in her back yard, 
and watched them bake bread on conveyor belts. 

Sitting at the wood table in the kitchen 
every morning before going to school, 
I smoothed peanut butter on slice of bread, 
then gooped strawberry jam with gentle care, 
which I placed in the small brown paper sack 
with the monkey tail of my last name Craig. 

I remember riding our red Volkswagen 
through the debris-littered streets of Forth Worth 
one rain-wet morning of electric sun 
after hippies demonstrated all night 
against the brutal war in Vietnam, 
and staring at a mattress that was burned. 

In early morning hours before dawn 
when my mother drove us to the daycare, 
I heard some guy on the radio sing 
Bye, bye, Miss American Pie, I drove 
my chevy to the levy but the levy 
was dry, them good old American boys. 

That song still echoes in my heart today 
and vibrates in every song I compose 
which rings in waves of subtle prophecy 
to shake foundation of cruel tyranny 
so we can rebuild our democracy 
after long autumn of the patriarch. 

I fail learning to sing with the Quaint Voice 
prized by School of Domestic Quietude 
where poets contemplate their fraught childhoods 
as if we are frazzled psychiatric patients 
with sponge brains zapped by electric god rays 
as incarnation of Phoebus on Earth. 

I can no longer find in grocery stores 
orange bags with Roman Meal Bread for lunch, 
so I strum lyre of Mercury and sing 
about the fall of empires when cruel tyrants 
seize control over the mans of production 
till we follow Liberty up from Hell. 

Mute Cloud Woman

Mute Cloud Woman
© Surazeus
2026 10 10

When cloud woman on silk demonic wings 
explains how child of the mountain transcends 
glass box of sorrows hidden in the stone, 
I gather flowing water of the moon 
that flutters on frail wings to where I wait 
in glowing aura of the willow tree. 

Entranced by sadness of green ocean waves 
that seem to know what I intend to do 
before I wake from fractured stone of fate, 
shy cloud woman steals from electric snake 
last apple of love, then brings it to me 
in glowing aura of the willow tree. 

Trapped by skin of the wolf with angel wings 
that should conceal true nature of my heart, 
I run in spirals of expanding faith 
through maze of meadows to the misty glen 
to help faceless people build garden homes 
in glowing aura of the willow tree. 

Assembling relics of lost memories 
as photographs of people by the house, 
and undelivered letters in the drawer, 
heart-broken cloud woman compiles new book 
about her brother who wanders the world 
in glowing aura of the willow tree. 

While children run along the orchard hedge 
to count ducks floating on the silver pond, 
and women churn butter by the stone wall, 
mute cloud woman sings about the moon owl 
who watches her with eyes of ancient stars 
in glowing aura of the willow tree. 

Born from strange gleam of the viridian sea, 
with eyes of emeralds that perceive the heart 
of every conscious creature in the world, 
cloud woman climbs stairs to the Parthenon 
where Athena sends me to find her scroll 
in glowing aura of the willow tree. 

On ruins of the city bombed to rubble 
we build new temple of the laughing god 
who teaches us to love this transient life 
for every soul has no more than one chance 
to shine with beauty of expressive love 
in glowing aura of the willow tree. 

I deconstruct the person I have been 
when I dismantle memories of pain 
by beaming all my sorrows in the mask 
that hangs in hall of the many-faced god 
who wakes reborn as me with crafting hands 
in glowing aura of the willow tree. 

Castle Of God Skulls

Castle Of God Skulls
© Surazeus
2026 10 10

Yet steely spring-dawn sun of innocence 
that sparks my soul awake with ardent joy 
fuels my aggressive strife to conquer hate 
by harnessing with passion of the lake 
pain-devil dancing in cave of my heart 
with shocking laughter of the rolling stone. 

When dawn strikes my heart with ardent joy 
I rise from coffin of my dream-stained bed 
and saunter lustily along the stream 
that laughs at giant stones of arrogance 
which teaches me to navigate my rage 
and build enormous castle of god skulls. 

So faceless demons chase me in the mist 
with mocking laughter of the blind sky god 
till I rip wand of rage from muck of Earth 
and fight dark shadows of terrible truth 
whose sharp teeth gouge weird faith into my heart 
because I gnaw at seeds of bitter love. 

Intense assertion of my right to live 
details contract I sign with Death at dawn 
to question why organic creatures die 
in frantic battle to survive stark pain 
though I glimpse beauty of the timeless glow 
which radiates from my holy heart as love. 

To solve the complex mysteries of love 
I strip my mind bare of intense desire 
to generate new life before I die, 
then float in psychic water of the world 
where faces of the dead gleam in dark waves 
before I wrench my body free from greed. 

I wonder where across landscape of fear 
I could progress against hard social tides 
that sweep our bodies into grand events 
when brutal gods of power fight for right 
to rule how we perceive with frazzled minds 
amazing story of courageous deeds. 

Reborn as wing-foot messenger of hope, 
I fly above vast maze of city streets 
where millions of bright angels sing wild hymn 
to glorify one man above them all 
who guides their journey to the Promised Land 
but vanish as illusion of despair. 

Unlicensed feelings of my mirror mind 
reflect strange legends of the evening news 
that detail endless tales of absurd death 
which humans suffer in their quest for love 
because everyone who lives will soon die, 
and everyone who meets will part at last. 

Tears Of Fallen Angels

Tears Of Fallen Angels
© Surazeus
2026 10 10

I drink luminous juice of cosmic fruit 
that boosts my mortal soul up to godhood 
which vibrates from frail network of my brain 
till my bones dissipate in swirling waves, 
then I rise dripping from pool of despair, 
soul baptized clean by tears of fallen angels. 

Drenched in electric shadow of desire 
that crackles through frame of my fragile soul, 
I stand amazed before wraith of star words 
who teaches me to sing hymns of respect 
for all the people falling from the sky 
who writhe in sorrow on the broken Earth. 

Enraptured from this mortal frame of flesh 
by sweet angelic voices of the choir, 
which weaves wings on my wounded heart of faith, 
I float up in cathedral of blue ice 
that gleams with starlight of divine insight 
till mute atomic god wakes in my brain. 

So I become bright angel of star eyes 
born from smooth river stone of endless time 
till I wake in my body down on Earth 
where I trudge aching in cold field of mud 
to harvest cabbages in drizzling rain 
for baskets on the splintered cart of hope. 

When God in crystal palace of the clouds 
speaks on the radio with human voice, 
assuring us we will endure this war 
while angels fly on silver wings of faith 
and drop bombs on our humble river homes, 
we clasp our hands and weep in bitter prayer. 

Great city built of stone with bleeding hands 
glistens in ruins from bright exploding bombs, 
so we search rubble of our lost world view 
to find the jeweled crown of divine right 
crumpled under heaps of rage-blasted stone, 
yet I pray to the stern face in gold clouds. 

Dismantled wisdom of aggressive greed 
exposes treasure of our offerings, 
that we paid for the afterlife in Heaven, 
was stored in coffers by grim men in robes 
who buy airplanes and islands in the sea 
where they feast on our noble sacrifice. 

What fragments of lost faith I hope to find 
lie scattered on the broken street of faith, 
so I gather photographs of the dead 
and paste them in world book of memories 
where children read their names with solemn voice 
that frees their ghosts from dreadful tragedy. 

Egg Of The Serpent God

Egg Of The Serpent God
© Surazeus
2026 10 10

Spirit born from egg of the serpent god 
with ten thousand eyes of galactic minds, 
I walk city streets of America 
with ambitious hope of the fallen angel 
to comprehend gears of the human brain 
through dizzy laughter of the black moon ghost. 

Strange ennui of existential sorrow 
grips my heart with anguish of desire 
when I walk past glass doors of shopping stores 
filled with cute trinkets of human concern 
about disease, famine, and holy war 
that obliterate countless souls each year. 

Expanding scope of conscious insight swells 
my self-awareness huge as dinosaurs 
that wandered Earth as gods with tiny brains 
one hundred eighty million years of faith, 
evolving into gray ghosts in spaceships 
who haunt dire memories of our midnight skies. 

When our dark shadows detach from our bodies 
and form glowing spheres of glass that float lightly 
over sea of ink which gods use to write 
emotional contracts between blind lovers, 
I explain why clocks are ticking backwards 
to the old witch wearing red face of Geryon. 

Till the baseball player demands with voice 
of bus engines rumbling on the highway 
that I explain arcane code of weird proverbs 
that bleed from my eyes when I play guitar, 
I wait for Artemis in the train station 
to prove I am brave assassin of faith. 

I keep attempting to assemble right 
immense puzzle of human history, 
but all the pieces depicting great heroes 
and evil tyrants fighting over truth 
scatter from gusts of indifferent wind 
when Boreas chases Phoebe all night. 

After carefully planning twenty years 
plot to assassinate the greedy king, 
Selene finds the most beautiful boy 
standing in her way in the hotel door, 
so she calls Hyperion on the cell phone 
which causes glass cathedral to explode. 

While Apollo in the Museum of Masks 
designs the chemistry textbook with herbs 
and seashells instead of math formulas, 
I gather skulls of children killed by bombs 
and place them on shelves in the grocery store, 
packaged for sale as cookies the rich buy. 

Disaster Of These Times

Disaster Of These Times
© Surazeus
2026 10 09

With serpentine runes of atomic truth, 
I chronicle disaster of these times, 
depicting how King Midas steals and lies 
to wreck democracy with claws of greed, 
so we desert grand city of gold towers 
and cross the waste land without wings of faith. 

With nothing but guitar and book of dreams, 
I chronicle disaster of these times 
in solemn hymns of passionate despair 
that satirize grand heroes of our age 
who prop dictator with his tin-pot hat 
so he can strut and call himself great king. 

With crackling radio in basement den, 
I chronicle disaster of these times 
through frantic cartoons of brave disrespect 
for lords and ladies in the castle court 
who plot to enslave millions of lost souls 
to work for nothing in their factories. 

With magic wand carved from telephone pole, 
I chronicle disaster of these times, 
presenting ancient gods of bogus myths 
as spirits that possess ambitious men 
with poisoned energy of selfish greed 
that cracks foundation of our world empire. 

With oar of wisdom in the boat of dream, 
I chronicle disaster of these times 
through blateration of ephemeral truth 
which I deal with jokes to perendinate 
commission of Death to eradicate 
precious treasure of apricity. 

With laurels Fame shackles around my head, 
I chronicle disaster of these times 
through interlocking formulas of faith 
contrived by preachers to scam humble fools 
who purchase timeshares to the Afterlife 
that they can never use in this sad life. 

With psychic camera of the holy lamb, 
I chronicle disaster of these times 
when I transfer my brain to robot skull 
replacing old withered body of flesh 
with android chassis of smooth polished steel 
so I can rule the world as Machine God. 

With writhing dragon of my honest heart, 
I chronicle disaster of these times 
by dancing wildly in the acid rain 
that swells my sponge brain huge as the White Whale 
so I swim deep in abyss of lost time, 
then lounge relaxed on beach of broken ships. 

Wander With Clumsy Grace

Wander With Clumsy Grace
© Surazeus
2026 10 09

Old woman who lives on the moor alone 
beams her strange face into the mirror mask, 
then turns to look at me with star-black eyes 
so I remember when my soul is born 
from ocean waves at dawn of my Gene Dream 
four hundred million years ago this hour. 

Paralyzed with laughter of crackling ice, 
my bruised heart limps across the frozen field, 
so I become the woman in the house 
watching herself wander with clumsy grace 
beyond fuzzy scope of adoring eyes 
to place wood plate of apples on the stone. 

My heart is not white as the unlit sky 
because the rain-smooth stones refuse to buzz 
when airplanes float above the mindless clouds 
which traps me in cold atmosphere of glass 
till I stand up another thousand times 
and walk through the door of infinite hope. 

Leaves swirl around my feet with playful joy 
so I press my hand on the frozen dirt 
to wonder if the Earth feels my soul warmth 
and wants to speak of ancient moonless truth 
till I become one wheel of the apple cart 
that searches for the words negating grief. 

When she asks me if winter has arrived, 
we wander leafless woods of sleepy faith 
in robes of tender green that keep our minds 
enclosed in social structure of our names, 
since garlands we had woven back in May 
now wither with transparency of hope. 

Our eyes become entangled in desire 
as flashing magnets of conceptual love 
when we embrace with passionate despair 
to generate new life before we die 
or savor pleasure of this transient life 
because our bodies glow with divine light. 

Discarding fractured puzzles of the past, 
framed by romantic gestures of respect, 
we search for what world view of holy love 
could replace deconstructed fantasies 
which once sustained our nation through world wars 
because we built empire on privilege. 

If we escape dim shadows of our fear 
to give our bodies with calm selfless love, 
we might rise up reborn from graves of books 
to see strange beauty in this broken world 
where wounded hearts beam light of fierce desire 
to taste electric wisdom of the rain. 

Unclock Of Atomic Fate

Unclock Of Atomic Fate
© Surazeus
2026 10 09

While Rapunzel in glass tower of mirrors 
calls to the angel falling from the sky, 
Gawain leaps on meaningless legs of love 
to catch the neutered wolf of Arkansas 
because this life is still unbearable 
for children on the Dnipro River shore. 

Still clutching unclock of atomic fate, 
Rapunzel evades Death for many years 
while dancing awkward ballet gracefully 
in supple swirls of humble hurricane 
which hopes to tend flowers of holy faith 
that bloom from corpses of forgotten gods. 

Alert to strict analysis of waves, 
Rapunzel wonders why oceans of faith 
leave her soul stranded in the greenless room 
with phone of supernatural intelligence 
while she waits for messiah of world peace 
who never returns from the lonely moon. 

Whenever Rapunzel tells her nine sons 
to scorn the casual randomness of death, 
they play game of baseball with the Muses 
in the long-neglected graveyard of kings 
who rise as zombies on election night 
since Lucifer campaigns for President. 

When Apollo, eating burgers and fries 
at the Gearshift Grille on Route Sixty-Six, 
calls Rapunzel with the news that she won 
the Nobody Prize of World Literature, 
she tells him she is singing with the wind 
while wandering hills of Iceland before dawn. 

Clutching marble face of Endymion, 
Rapunzel kisses him with ardent lust, 
and whispers she will steal him from that witch, 
Selene, runway model at the Louvre, 
then removes glass mask of her personhood 
so tender shoots sprout with greenness of love. 

While we are young and brimming with desire, 
we make love with the stranger in the woods 
and generate wild children of the heath 
who build great empires with machines of grief, 
but, Rapunzel grins at Endymion, 
we still die and dissolve to swirls of dust. 

As the world law-enforcement officer, 
Rapunzel prosecutes in Justice Court 
brute thief who dismantles democracy 
when he demands the Laurels of World Peace, 
arrested by Gawain on Christmas Eve, 
then she lies down by the ocean to die. 

Godness Of The Empty Space

Godness Of The Empty Space
© Surazeus
2026 10 08

My heart is withness of the empty space 
that binds our distances in spiral thought 
based on miniscule ecstasy of love 
flashing inside our closed eyes with strange luck 
at randomness of fame that curses fools 
who chase elusive butterfly of faith. 

Transformed by notness of the empty space 
expanding endless books of fairy tales, 
redesigned as sacred stories of faith 
that guide how we adjust our focused fear 
contrary to completeness of dire need, 
I hear Death object to thrust of desire. 

My brain is forthness of the empty space, 
woven by assertive fractions of light 
that pulse with psychic energy of waves 
which toss my fragile body on the beach 
so I attempt to stand straight at the sky 
of dizzy upside backward till I laugh. 

Through intense thingness of the empty space 
I try to explain twisted differences 
between bittersweet moments of regret 
for choosing where to go at flash of dawn 
that leaves me stranded in the somewhere else 
if time tricks me to tell you how I feel. 

Remembered dreamness of the empty space 
renders my face invisible to Death 
who wanders everywhere in swirls of snow 
to edge of eternity where ghosts build 
house of memories that steals my true name 
because I believe in the endless rain. 

Cherished by startness of the empty space 
for vast imperfectness of ardent play, 
I wear faces sharp as knives children sell 
for boxes of fractured gods who require 
pain of sorrowful truth to resurrect 
fictional characters from holy books. 

Entrapped by calmness of the empty space, 
I stumble perilously happy through Hell 
to follow laughing horse with clockwork eyes 
who gives me crystal orange of irony 
so I may understand how she loves me 
more as we grow old by the willow tree. 

Pregnant with Godness of the empty space, 
I hang nine days and nights from the phone pole 
because my brain is linked by psychic wires 
to weird internet of the world wide web 
so I channel prophecies of Star Wraith 
which disassembles puzzle of the brain. 

Formulas Of Wrong Think

Formulas Of Wrong Think
© Surazeus
2026 10 08

Obsessed with trite formulas of Wrong Think, 
I uncreate myself with every song 
I shout into the void of everywhere, 
when I dismantle and interrogate 
illusions of myself as normal being 
I forge as shield against absurdity. 

Helenus tells every person he meets 
along the winding road of anywhere 
that he was born in grand towers of Troy 
before they fell from market games of greed, 
but he was born in some small lonely town 
in mercurial backwoods of Oregon. 

Learning to play guitar when he is twelve, 
Helenus busks in the Pretty How Town 
where up so floating bells corrupt the clown 
who writes in anguish of electric wires, 
composing hymns sung by cathedral choirs 
when his body twirls up to the glass moon. 

Shocked by disturbance in the psychic force, 
as if millions of voices cried at once 
than huffed into silence of the Soul Source 
that blows soft as the wind in willow leaves 
where the first mother of mankind still grieves, 
Helenus plays chess with Death on the beach. 

Concerned about formulas of Wrong Think 
that angels use to calculate our fate, 
I recreate my body from weird genes 
entangled by ancestral memories 
that program how my brain perceives the world 
and tricks me into playing the cosmic herald. 

Helenus keeps his fraught relationship 
with his mother secret from the tabloids 
who invent new strange American myths 
based on the fabulous life of the fool 
who proclaims himself Emperor of Earth, 
not knowing he is our psychotic tool. 

Accepting award for weird spells of faith 
he conjures from grave of the holy seer, 
Helenus reigns as wise Asterion 
in Anglonesium, New Parthenon 
as capitol for Empire of Anglonesia 
composed of Zarathia, Gothinia, and Russia. 

Inspired by weird formulas of Wrong Think, 
I sing with secret voice of everyone 
to play eccentric role of Lucifer 
by bearing sacred Lamp of Liberty 
while writing name of every human soul 
in epic poem as Tellurian Testament. 

Human Face Of Geryon

Human Face Of Geryon
© Surazeus
2026 10 08

We cannot fear ambition of the heart 
to transcend sorrow of soul-twisting pain 
till we design new myth-contriving chart 
that guides our leap through time portal of rain, 
so we walk fields of lush Elysium 
with noble vision of delirium. 

Though not as brave is honest Heracles, 
new-born as his contemporary clone, 
I face the screaming ghost with psychic keys 
who wears the human face of Geryon 
because I want to know the arcane truth 
that motivates reign of messiah sleuth. 

I climb three steps to Heaven before dawn 
to measure our indifferent universe 
where I meet Pegasus on White House lawn 
eating apples from Medusa the Nurse 
who asks me if I know the Golden Way 
that binds our lonely hearts in fertile play. 

While crossing bleak waste land of Libya, 
I throw sharp raven quill at Helios 
who gives me Holy Grail of Sylvia, 
then asks me of I know Prometheus, 
but I just want to find the Promised Land 
where Fortune doles fate with her Red Right Hand. 

When Norax, son of Hermes, calls my name 
with lunar melody through secret code, 
I climb Parnassus to hex curse of fame, 
but find Lyre of Hermes on signless road, 
so I sing romantic tunes of blind faith 
to woo humble daughter of the Star Wraith. 

After I kill cruel giant Geryon 
in battle against tyranny of greed, 
I build with laughter of Hyperion 
light house tower on cracked skull of his need 
from which I rule world empire of free will 
named Anglonesia for the Wisdom Hill. 

While sailing down the River Phlegethon 
to find apple garden in Tartarus, 
I find shy Erytheia on the phone 
arguing with the architect Sisyphus 
about reconstructing the Parthenon 
where I will rule Earth as Asterion. 

When I wake at dawn from weird fantasy 
that I wear human face of Geryon 
with solemn quest to map the galaxy, 
I play my role based on criterion 
that I am temporary soul of light 
conscious of its God Self in cosmic night. 

New Truth In Byzantium

New Truth In Byzantium
© Surazeus
2026 10 07

Since I find new truth in Byzantium 
in scrappy gardens of the laughing skull, 
I flirt with Death who smiles at me with eyes 
that mirror galaxies of flashing stars 
to cherish virtue of pretentious faith 
that helps me translate water song of love. 

If I should recognize my holy ghost 
who drifts among old apple trees of fate, 
I may learn secret of Byzantium 
concealed in cedar box with golden lock 
that gleams ephemeral as fragrant joy 
my love exudes while lounging by the pool. 

To measure gravity of drifting clouds 
that veil swift airplane with projective voice, 
I stand on glistening bridge of evermore 
that spans abyss of swirling arrogance 
as proof I must purchase right to exist 
from every stranger I may never meet. 

Thus I cast victimhood into the trash 
because I want to eat the shepherd pie 
while showing constellations to the child 
who wonders at the story of the snake 
who transforms into queen of bubbling wells 
because I sing on moonless summer nights. 

Entranced by how cicadas sing of light 
beneath the sprawling stars of honesty, 
I read strange omen in the eagle flight 
about the guardian of the apple tree 
who builds another bank beside the lake 
and offers loans to farmers in the dell. 

Though I have traveled far around the world 
with wings of angels tucked into my pack, 
I purchase jar of honey, and blue cheese, 
at small family store by the river bridge, 
then give my voice to stranger at the door 
who gives me book of grief to keep the score. 

Reprising sacred role of global seer, 
which I perform on stage of tragedy, 
I type strange story of the hungry girl 
who walks across the field of screaming trees 
so I can understand her bitter words 
when she gives me egg of the serpent god. 

Carving spell of wisdom with demon bone 
in runes on Emerald Tablet of Untime, 
I channel energy of my brain soul 
to wake Star Ghost of Lake Ontario 
who asks me with flirtatious grin of hope 
about truth I found in Byzantium. 

Church Of Bitter Prayer

Church Of Bitter Prayer
© Surazeus
2026 10 07

Trapped by sharp lethargy of innocence, 
we drift the midnight sidewalk of desire 
to find the purple haze of shocking truth 
that veils our long-healed hearts with nonchalance 
through incoherent laughter of sad faith 
that we lose our souls in the photo booth. 

Strange flower on the roadless mountain slope 
gleams in electric smile of bitter ghosts 
whose voices taste like silver light of dawn 
despite confusing absence of jasmine 
crushed by careless joy of city car tires 
that glisten in the rain of reptile faith. 

No one will ever see ghost of my being 
sitting on roof of the haunted hotel, 
because I twang decisive nerves of steel 
when death employs belligerent respect 
while driving old truck on the dusty road 
far past the last gas station of fooled hearts. 

Too lonesome for the chance to cry for real 
in performative display of victimhood, 
I sing with angels on the radio 
about the true love I left back in town 
who may wonder if I am still alive 
somewhere outside the church of bitter prayer. 

I refuse to pay the cost of wild joy 
while driving nowhere on the lost highway, 
since time cannot undo my noble deeds 
protecting women from aggressive men 
who leave me bruised and beaten on the ground 
long enough for her to fly up to Heaven. 

Though I love the land where I was born, 
and grew up running in lush river vales, 
I journey to escape liars and thieves 
who figured out how to steal all my land, 
and build another home far from my home 
that shelters children I tend with calm care. 

I hold this world together with strange words 
though the mountains of my youth call my name, 
because I scatter prayers on rancid soil 
that redesign wild spirit of my flesh 
so I become another human being 
by wearing mask of a long-forgotten god. 

Because I catch flame in the ether zone 
while soaring on fear-fueled Icarian wings, 
my words become the hex of secret truth 
that breaks hard walls in church of bitter prayer 
so we treasure our darling thoughts of hope 
and frame them with theology of growth. 

Live Equally With Faith

Live Equally With Faith
© Surazeus
2026 10 07

Sunk in dire gloom of her brave misery, 
Blathnaid lifts heavy sorrow of her head 
to stare bleak-eyed at meadow of bright flowers 
where bodies of young men clutching cracked spears 
still groan in agony of painful death 
till eerie silence shudders in soft breeze. 

When she finds the lyre that Achilles stole 
from Eetion, father of Andromache, 
Blathnaid nestles small curved-wood instrument 
on her lap, like mothers cradles newborns 
to suckle them with milk, and strums taut strings 
that vibrate with elegy of despair. 

Failing to find words that clearly express 
anguish of her heart at death of young men 
who could have lived unremarkable lives 
with loving wives while raising happy children, 
Blathnaid shrieks at corrupt justice of Heaven 
till her body shakes uncontrollably. 

Why would you die for some young mortal man, 
Blathnaid howls at corpses with trembling voice, 
to crown him leader of our hill-wild tribes 
because his grandfather once wore gold crown 
while claiming authority from High Heaven, 
instead of dwelling in your own safe homes? 

Though your cowardly king has quickly fled 
over the sea to Skye in boat of fear, 
Blathnaid caresses blank face as she sobs, 
I have remained with fate-abandoned corpses 
to lament bitter loss of your brave souls 
that could have brightened our land with joy. 

Why have the tribes of men throughout all time, 
in every land around our roomy world, 
Blathnaid sighs as she buries more dead soldiers, 
always chosen to crown the strongest man 
as leader who enforces tribal laws 
and orchestrates their wars to conquer land? 

Why can men not live equally with faith 
as colleagues sharing rich communal space, 
Blathnaid glares at the fallen crown of gems, 
instead of building hierarchical states 
that allow managers to exploit workers 
then living on wealth they extract from slaves? 

Heart purged of anguish at loss of brave men 
from hot tears that cleanse their faces of blood, 
Blathnaid strums long-lost lyre of Mercury 
as she journeys in the Scottish highlands, 
and sings of boys who fought with bravery 
in every feasting hall where people weep. 

Mute Book Of Lies

Mute Book Of Lies
© Surazeus
2026 10 06

If my soul gets trapped by mute book of lies, 
because my heart is lured by promises 
of awards and acclaim for dreams I weave 
from tangled memories of nameless souls, 
I shall untwist false concept of dream time 
to map my progress through the Otherworld. 

Each angel who escapes mute book of lies 
transforms into some normal human being 
who goes about the routine of their life, 
performing rote roles expected of them 
by social rules that obligate success, 
though most of us manage with hidden flaws. 

Gods of myths labeled in mute book of lies 
are based on mortal humans who once lived 
long ago in swirling mists of untime 
whose valorous deeds glamorize their souls 
so they become concepts of noble deeds 
that provide templates for how we behave. 

Writhing with passion from mute book of lies, 
Helios races the chariot of fire 
across the crystal highway of the sky 
to conquer the world with glorious deeds, 
defeating tyrants so people live free 
to build new world empire of equal rights. 

Stumbling through doors to leave mute book of lies, 
I stand on the road of Forever Now 
and ask myself where I should go from here 
to maintain balance of my eager heart 
so we can stay together till we die 
because we are flowers in field of fate. 

Sailing on the flood from mute book of lies 
in fragile boat of my body-bound soul, 
I feel my brain pulse with aggressive lust, 
programmed by millions of ancestral lives 
regenerating souls life after life, 
so I sway entranced in the midnight mist. 

Falling forever in mute book of lies 
that gives me angel wings like Icarus, 
I ride the bus each dawn to work all day 
assembling radios in the factory, 
while I dream of being a famous singer, 
then ride home to eat pizza at midnight. 

Reborn as Star God from mute book of lies, 
I type magic spells on computer screen 
so they flutter fragile butterfly wings 
and fly to flower-hearts of random strangers 
to sprinkle fairy dust into their eyes 
so they wander with me in Wonderland.