Tall Tree Of Ignorance

Tall Tree Of Ignorance
© Surazeus
2026 11 04

My feelings are no mountains of the moon, 
yet rivers swell from earnest praise of stones 
who hide opinions of angelic clown 
too hungry for unbaked bread of surprise 
because all houses on the country road 
burn from strange laughter of sad pyramids. 

House of my body stretches wings of hope 
so I can fly above vast town of graves 
where mothers gripping bayonets of faith 
make talismans for children without eyes 
who steal jobs in the county government 
by getting tattoos of uncertain gods. 

Words burst from perfect eggs of solitude 
to track quick revolution of our globe 
around three suns of happy carnivals 
where elves hold weddings always at midnight 
for twenty centuries of rocking cradles 
despite how often halls of fate collapse. 

Though we hold hands with loyalty of fear 
to gather plums in rockets of contempt, 
we cross old covered bridges every dawn 
where leaves of spirits flutter in cold breeze, 
so we pause in mid-flurry of shocked truth 
to take cute selfie of our twisted souls. 

So when blonde girl in yellow dress of pride 
gives me old record-player made of glass, 
we sit together on broken stone wall, 
pretending we still live in paradise 
where everyone operates their own store 
along the river boulevard of fate. 

Still wearing dress her mother sewed from rage, 
she plays atonal melodies of faith 
on glass piano forged from meteor tears, 
awake with thrilling ecstasy of love 
that no one else but us can understand 
as secret we share in the crowded church. 

Soft steps of urgent innocence extend 
harsh laughter of the weeping telephone 
clutched by last angel of forever now 
whom darkness fleshes real from ocean sand 
as truth contained in letters never read 
by sad old woman in the rocking chair. 

My name means wind of elegant respect 
exposes joy in foul grave of my heart 
at sudden jazz of cars on highway bridge 
that glisten gold in anguish of night rain 
though we return to paradise we lost 
and hide behind tall Tree of Ignorance. 

Manage Randomness Of Fate

Manage Randomness Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 11 04

My heart remembers nothing of the pain 
wound tight by tree roots in my throbbing brain 
long after river stones of moral tricks 
crack into pageless books of blood-soaked bricks 
from which foundation of our holy state 
was built to manage randomness of fate. 

From crowded neighborhoods of faceless ghosts, 
enchanted by blind horse that always boasts 
about grandiose wars of wealth it has won, 
I compile statistics about the sun 
with plan to build from ritual pieties 
empire through religious anxieties. 

We cheer great victory of the humble man 
who campaigns for God with progressive plan 
to fund healthcare for every breathing soul 
whether or not they perform social role 
that contributes to success of the state 
for refugees locked outside jeweled gate. 

Retention of brave workers without hands, 
who sacrifice their health to uphold brands 
of corporate pirates trashing companies, 
inspires new mission to reforge mental keys 
that should unlock new opportunities 
for tailless monkeys who still live in trees. 

Our bodies wither from unspooling clocks 
that call with trumpets to war-monger hawks 
who land on wrist of Christ at whistle call 
when his voice shakes faith of the castle wall 
through resurrection of the never-dead 
whose wisdom springs as daughter from my head. 

Hephaestus hobbles in cathedral hall 
to fool Achilles in the shopping mall 
with joke that he has been elected king 
who should wield invisibility ring 
through power to raise spirits from the dead 
who are but memories in my addled head. 

I condescend to implicate myself 
through screaming statue on library shelf, 
yet choose to vindicate with random rule 
my use of sorrow as attention tool 
for tricking people to see me as god, 
but flee when they realize I am a fraud. 

Last emperor of my ancient dynasty, 
paralyzed through glam of my majesty, 
I wander homeless on the signless road 
to find secret marsh of the humming toad 
who teaches me code of eternal truth 
so I can play role of messiah sleuth. 

Arthurian Trance Of Faith

Arthurian Trance Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 11 04

I have never heard the nightingale sing, 
yet I have felt brush of the angel wing 
my mind designs as spirit of true love 
that beams at me from the warm sun above, 
so my heart projects conscious sense of thought 
at our Cosmos that mindless atoms wrought. 

Whether relaxed in garden of fruit trees, 
hair gently caressed by the caring breeze, 
or mapping our world on computer screen 
with urgent faith from soul of Melusine, 
I feel vibrant light of the cosmic glow 
radiate through my brain as atomic flow. 

My body pulses with matrix of light 
that forms our planet spinning in slow flight 
two hundred fifty million years one time 
around galactic ring in psychic chime, 
expanding scope of my one tiny brain 
from core of Earth to Laniakea plane. 

Though I am temporary node of being 
on tiny globe in supercluster ring, 
that flashes zillions of planets with life, 
where each mortal soul grows wiser through strife, 
I feel concept of God wake in my heart 
in quest I map on star-observant chart. 

Since beauty of the quaint communal scene, 
where humans live safe from the thought machine, 
is truth we choose with goal of Liberty 
to share our globe in world democracy 
where every soul may thrive with equal rights, 
I channel Mithras to mediate fights. 

Our long greed-ravished Earth of fertileness, 
that blooms to wreck towers of greediness, 
waits mutely in Arthurian trance of faith 
for Sylvan historian of our God Wraith 
to chronicle our fight for Liberty 
that guides our way from dales of Arcady. 

My peaceful temple in lush mountain vale, 
where I guard secret of the Holy Grail, 
may be safe haven from national wars, 
but billions of people behind locked doors 
struggle to maintain healthy dignity 
through personal responsibility. 

To nurture individual human worth, 
enforced by United Nations of Earth, 
I sing in tune with Lyre of Mercury 
brave hymn that praises world democracy 
where every conscious soul on fruit-tree hill 
may thrive in legal framework of free will. 

Blue Wave Of Social Synergy

Blue Wave Of Social Synergy
© Surazeus
2026 11 03

With beating heart steeled by courage of faith 
that Justice always prevails over greed, 
I surf blue wave of social synergy 
in noble fight to stand with Liberty 
against cruel oligarchs of tyranny 
who always lose to brave democracy. 

Mercury dances with the cheering crowd 
with joy erupting from his fear-taut chest 
to breathe again with hope against despair 
after long years beneath dark cloud of greed 
when brave Minerva casts bright flame of truth 
dispelling demon that oppressed our land. 

When Serpentus, dragon with sapphire eyes, 
emerges from wild ocean waves of change, 
she glides on broad wings of attentive hope 
over sprawling metropolitan maze 
to hunt King Midas, clutching bags of gold, 
who flees stumbling in wilderness of greed. 

We gather by broad river of deep faith, 
cleansed by blue wave of social synergy 
that sweeps away cruel gang of fascist thugs 
to free brave people of our fertile land 
so we all dwell in whole community 
that maintains our vital democracy. 

Projection Of Conscious Souls

Projection Of Conscious Souls
© Surazeus
2026 11 03

While wading knee-deep in cold lake of eyes, 
Phoebus explains with earnest nonchalance 
that God is projection of conscious souls 
who see their spirit mirrored in the world, 
so they mistake shimmer of their own soul 
for supernatural mind that controls all. 

When beam of sunlight breaks through black rain cloud, 
Phoebus stands in bright shaft of holy glow 
and asks God in crystal starship of fate 
to rapture him to Heaven on gold clouds, 
but nothing transports him beyond this world, 
so he turns to us and grins as we laugh. 

Am is the first word mankind ever spoke, 
gazing at face of first mother with love, 
because she hums hymn of attentive care 
while feeding us milk of the spinning world, 
so we stand on the lake shore of our dream 
and chant Om with vibration of respect. 

Rain splatters on leaves of the apple tree 
where Am, first mother of humanity, 
cradles her child, she names Ba, at her breast, 
and teaches him to name each thing they see 
in cunning spell with playful melody 
while she gathers apples, berries, and eggs. 

Ascending small ziggurat ten feet high, 
Phoebus faces people camped on the beach, 
who feast on roast fish and hot apple cider, 
then strums haunting tune on the cow-horn lyre 
and sings hymn to Great Mother of the Sea 
who protects and feeds all lost wanderers. 

Dreams of memories, my ancestors lived 
centuries ago by long river of time 
before my current soul-body was born, 
program how my own brain perceives this world 
based on framework of language they designed 
that controls how I see things perform actions. 

Vision of their successful actions drive 
progress of my quest to become myself, 
authentic replicant of my ancestors 
till I swerve off expected path of duty 
to blaze new trail of my own psychic sense 
when I realize I am Phoebus reborn. 

When Phoebe, daughter of Phoebus, presents 
Cronus as man she loves and wants to marry, 
I feel spark of eternity expand 
from primal cause of passion in my heart 
to sing about harsh struggles of mankind 
as we strive to become God we respect. 

River Of Dream Time

River Of Dream Time
© Surazeus
2026 11 03

Extracting minerals from heart of the Earth 
with giant metal claw of hungry greed, 
Vulcan devours mountains of synergy 
to forge billions of cars from steel and glass 
with piston engine Barsanti designed 
that powers chariot of Ezekiel. 

Amazed by trans-human magnificence, 
that emanates from fertile seas of hope, 
and exerts lust through bulging mountain peaks, 
Diana runs with deer in shadowed woods 
to find ghost of Silvanus by the lake 
polluted by waste from car factories. 

Thrown into frame of Earth with hope for life 
by passion of my parents to preserve 
immortal soul of genes in my small body, 
I walk along the River of Dream Time 
while ancestors and descendants observe 
through this temporary node of my being. 

I breathe wind rustling leaves of apple trees 
while strolling past greasy telephone poles 
strung with wires that connect thousands of cities 
through swift currents of electricity 
generated by copper coils of faith 
wound around huge magnetic core of iron. 

Standing by the river of snow-pure water, 
that winds from high mountain to swirling gulf, 
I scroll social media sites on my eye-phone 
through global network of cellular towers 
that connect us all sea to shining sea 
where birds haunt marshes near asphalt street mazes. 

My heart transforms into the moon-eyed crow 
who wakes fierce spirit of Cronus in me, 
so I sing heartache of the tree and bird 
who dwell on shores of brackish city lakes 
littered with trash from factories and stores 
where I park my car at the shopping mall. 

Since Vulcan built first coal-fired steam engine 
that powers factories, trains, ships, and cars 
two hundred years of industrial expansion, 
mankind has transformed our Garden of Eden 
into sprawling cities of Pandemonium 
connected in cyberspace through computers. 

While wandering vast metropolitan maze, 
I hear cry of Silvanus with my heart 
whose spirit lingers in the wilderness, 
so I hike wild hills around Mount Takoma 
where Diana appears with hunting bow 
to share with me ancient spell Nature sings. 

Strobilus Mountain Ghost

Strobilus Mountain Ghost
© Surazeus
2026 11 02

Reborn as the Strobilus Mountain ghost, 
I watch over vast world of human souls 
with emerald eyes of Mithras in my brain, 
commissioned by Anahita to guard 
Garothman House of Song in paradise 
where lovers dance among lush apple trees. 

When I cross Chinvat Bridge of the Requiter, 
my path widens in gold-paved road of faith 
where I pick apples from the Tree of Knowledge 
as Anahita guides my way to Heaven 
while tyrants in towers of steel and glass 
battle each other to control the Earth. 

Though I wander lost on the signless road 
across the endless waste land of desire, 
Ahura Mazda arrives on winged horse 
and gives me Truth Wand of Asha Vahishta 
with mission to lead army of the people 
in holy war against tyrants of greed. 

Fallen to my knees in exhausted hope 
on snow-blasted slope of Mount Strobilus, 
I gasp for breath of wisdom from blue sky, 
but, just as I fall in pit of despair, 
Sura Anahita embraces me 
and fills my heart with courage of respect. 

With help of Verethragna and Sura Osha, 
Anahita urges me to attend 
focus of my heart on people of Earth 
who languish under corporate tyranny, 
so I wake from dark slumber of despair 
as Sura Zeus, son of Astaria. 

Ascending double peak of Strobilus, 
I stand before the burning bush of truth, 
so Zurvan beams from spiral of the sun 
and asks why his twin sons still fight for power, 
Ahura Mazda, God of shining truth, 
and Ahura Mainyu, God of dark lies. 

Zurvan Akarana, God of Infinity, 
teaches his son, Chronus, how to recount 
progress of humanity to evolve 
from angry ape to angel of control, 
adjusting Zodiac Wheel with skillful hands 
in chronicle that reveals spirit of Aion. 

Awake as the Strobilus Mountain ghost, 
I pilot starship of psychic insight 
to patrol United Nations of Earth, 
arresting tyrants and their oligarchs 
to free humanity from their blind greed 
so we live through justice and liberty. 

Mindless Nature Zones

Mindless Nature Zones
© Surazeus
2026 11 02

Bright river flows between bush-tangled shores 
where sandhill cranes discuss theology 
concerning mirror vision of the self 
that we project in mindless nature zones, 
so I fish for salmon of earnest faith 
in how the sun gleams through reluctant clouds. 

Amazed by paradox of brilliant light 
enhanced by solid nothingness of gloom, 
I drive bus on brave road of anywhere 
so people holding books of fairy tales 
may find their grief in secret forest glades, 
encased in tangled roots of apple trees. 

Acquainted with sadness of drifting hills, 
our children wearing costumes of dead gods 
gaze through kaleidoscopes of sacred creeds 
to see angelic souls their neighbors hide 
behind time-weathered masks of bitter faith 
in suffering issued by seven-eyed fate. 

Contrived by formulas of quiddity 
to represent weird whatness of our souls, 
new social myths define our troubled age 
based on performative respect for law, 
so I assert right to my breathing-space 
beneath the timeless olive tree of love. 

Strange laughter from unopened books of faith 
preserves tales about the Healer of Minds 
who teaches us art of resilience 
to understand sorrows we leave behind 
since aging angels, that our parents are, 
guard our progress against rapacious lies. 

Old-fashioned riddles stuck in holy books 
slither from unnatural signs to engage 
unmeasured truths people long to believe, 
such as that souls which animate our bodies 
remain whole with our consciousness intact 
after our frames of flesh dissolve to dust. 

Well organized by our season in Hell, 
our frantic feelings of nonchalant hope 
lie wounded beneath windows of the church, 
beamed by sharp light of citric nothingness, 
so we search through fog of reality 
with dim lamp of our aching hearts as light. 

Each person sees complex state of this world 
as their own puzzle, simplified by fear, 
so we breathe spirit of ethereal love, 
then speak strange words invented by blind trees 
that helps us understand what others see 
as we walk along bright river of faith. 

Radiate Timeless Love

Radiate Timeless Love
© Surazeus
2026 11 02

Shoes worn by walk across the broken land, 
I stand before cracked mirror of my mind 
to reclaim lost time of unwinding hope 
as I keep moving toward the somewhere else 
on mission to become authentic self 
inherent in my genes before I die. 

My heart is rainless waste land of desire 
from which emerge ghosts of ancestral souls 
who guide my way on roadless land of truth 
till I find broken star on dusty plain 
which mirrors primal spirit of my soul 
so I begin to radiate timeless love. 

I hear no nightingale in fruitless woods, 
so I slice open sorrow of my heart 
that springs in fountain of conceptual tears 
which nurture honest roots of humble trees 
who breathe in fear to sing courageous love 
that swells in mystery of wind-fluttered leaves. 

When I grow tall as mountain on the plain, 
limbs stretched far longer than taut vineyard vines, 
I see around me pools of shining eyes 
in countless mirrors that reflect lost worlds 
which teem with life across our multiverse 
where I exist on every globe of hope. 

I shout with tuneless voice of nightingales 
in song that radiates out from flaming star 
which weaves chaotic atoms into globe 
with seas from which organic spirits flow 
as we evolve from fish to singing god 
who gazes at the stars and wonders why. 

I drift without goal in the faceless crowd 
which flows across the bridge of endless hope 
that arches over river of dead souls, 
and wonder where they all are rushing to, 
as if plum blossoms transform from snowflakes 
in endless swirl of people seeking love. 

I drink fruit cider from cup of my heart 
beneath sweet shimmer of the timeless moon, 
then gaze at your face glowing from its light 
till I fall slowly in sea of your eyes 
and spiral into coils of tangled genes 
that weave our bodies in new human soul. 

When we meet walking in the silver rain 
I hold umbrella over your bowed head 
so we merge our two paths in one shared road 
that leads us to safe garden of our love 
where we sing melodies in tune with fate 
for children who spring laughing from our hearts. 

Elusive Ghost Of Innocence

Elusive Ghost Of Innocence
© Surazeus
2026 11 01

Too subtle for acknowledgement, contrived 
by unpaged books of arrogant dismay 
expressed by humble workers of the world, 
his secret spells depict excessive truth 
buried under stones in gardens of faith 
that mean nothing to sweet waves of the sea. 

Still dancing in the crowded club at dawn, 
after the vampires and kings have gone home, 
she struts before blank face of god with pride 
that she votes for the jester to assume 
rule of nations with justice of the joke 
designed to deconstruct wealth privilege. 

Soul projected through stereopticon 
by moonbeams of antisocial regret, 
he hears the earth revolving fast as wind 
in crystal flux of languages designed 
with beautiful joy of oblivion 
that fools the wise to believe we may live. 

Counting scenes his brain remembers as dreams 
of lightning calculators, that expose 
grief of wounded hearts, trapped by belief 
in bright illusion of the afterlife, 
she claims elusive ghost of innocence 
that lingers where all rivers disappear. 

Exploring waste land of bleak galaxies, 
sunk in countless slumbers of hemispheres, 
ineffable with faces of brave people, 
he mimics how astronomers perform 
arcane rituals of psychic augury 
through revelation of the fractured mind. 

Freed from surveillance of blood-thirsty ghosts 
who win election as state governors, 
she conceals treasures pilfered from sad gods 
who dwell in Valley of Sincerity 
among mulberry bushes of fake joy, 
bearded penitents who circle the pool. 

Too many years ago to understand 
sputtering gaslights on the boulevard 
where hungry girls sell flowers of despair 
to haughty shepherds in suits and top hats, 
he floats through countless doors of empty homes 
to find the Good God who does not exist. 

When he asks Goldilocks to marry him, 
with jeweled ring he stole from Saruman, 
she tells him she prefers the forest bear, 
so he transforms into werewolf of rage 
to wins election as the city mayor 
while she works as nurse at the hospital. 

River of Star Eyes

River of Star Eyes
© Surazeus
2026 11 01

Seeking truth in strange laughter of the wind, 
we swim as one in river of star eyes 
while silvan pipes of supple susurrance 
rustles leaves of our hearts with quiescence 
so we transcend obdurance of despair 
with love that expands our celestial wings. 

Because the sea can almost hear my song 
unvoiced by blind amazement, intricate 
with quickened vacancy of primal thought, 
I ask the dead to tell me tragic tales 
trapped in their bodies with aggressive calm, 
but they encase their secrets in our skulls. 

Revived by harsh November rain at dawn, 
that tricks my cerebellum to record 
heart-aching songs for immortality 
no conscious being can win, I scale vast bulge 
of psychic blossoming with bold surprise, 
but hang above abyss of nothingness. 

Inspired by passion of my foolish youth 
to reach beyond bounds of my spurious brain, 
I catch hold tight to motion time extends 
with germinal regret of blind mistakes, 
entranced by languorous music of crickets 
dispersed by sudden flash of bitter rain. 

Despair delays ascension of my soul 
against primordial fragrance fate enrolls 
to trick our minds that we could live forever, 
yet I decide to hide, beneath the stone, 
heart wounded by expansive sense of time 
with bland unwillingness to escape death. 

We cannot live play of our lives again 
though we are driven by ancestral ache 
of slow decay in fractured bones of faith, 
so we assert our right to live this hour 
by pacing boundless space of everywhere 
with haughty courage of our bloodied feet. 

Gnarled branches of the orchard grab my heart 
at sudden flash of bullets from dawn sun, 
reborn as brave metallic bees that teach 
my body to enclose against attack 
when I lie numb on bulging globe of fate 
till soil transforms my soul to flowered breath. 

Since nothing matters in game of false fame, 
except expression of the lonely heart, 
I sit alone beneath moon-favored oak 
and sing about strange beauty of this world 
that swirls away in river of star eyes 
till I am nothing but the wind on water. 

Unwinding Clock Of Sorrow

Unwinding Clock Of Sorrow
© Surazeus
2026 11 01

Unwinding clock of sorrow back one hour 
to readjust attentive force of wisdom, 
Mercury flies homeward to the glass tower 
where he operates global finance system 
by which he funds our food-production farms 
through psychic function of conceptual charms. 

Unwinding clock of sorrow before dawn 
to spark immortal soul of genes awake, 
Mercury becomes stone on White House lawn 
that watches families sail boats on the lake 
with voiceless sapience of the Cosmic Eye 
that knows each process of atomic why. 

Unwinding clock of sorrow with burned hand 
that carves commandments on tablets of stone, 
Mercury performs with new corporate brand 
official functions of the stateless clone 
who pilots United Nations of Earth 
to prove each human has intrinsic worth. 

Unwinding clock of sorrow through moon howl 
to reunite beauty with true sublime, 
Mercury wears crystal mask of the owl 
that generates human souls from sea slime 
with bold agency of abundant grace 
to mold inner light in each special face. 

Unwinding clock of sorrow with Dream Word 
to endow power on our Cosmic Nurse, 
Mercury plots progress of the absurd 
that redesigns state of our multiverse 
so angels and devils merge in one shape 
as humans who explore our weird landscape. 

Unwinding clock of sorrow from brain threads 
that weave matrix of souls in global sheen, 
Mercury maps continent watersheds 
with glowing eyes of well-witch Melusine 
so every person in the world may drink 
water of life that gleams as vital link. 

Unwinding clock of sorrow in god hearts 
that calculate the way to paradise, 
Mercury draws new set of star charts 
that guides Jesus to make his sacrifice 
then reign as Savior in empire of need 
which traps monarchs in brutal wars of greed. 

Unwinding clock of sorrow from book tales 
that moralize how humans should behave, 
Mercury weighs our actions on thought scales 
based on illusions in the dreamless cave 
where Anahita bottles water-light 
that inspires me with oracular flight. 

Electric Brain Juice

Electric Brain Juice
© Surazeus
2026 11 01

Fear swallows all dissenters of the heart 
who dare defy finality of death 
that wastes our fragile bodies with despair, 
though we glow with ambition to endure 
by drinking electric brain juice of love 
we steal from Tree of Knowledge with respect. 

Gripping rifle of absolute faith 
in guardianship of angels in gold clouds, 
Orion runs in woods of hungry ghouls, 
then crouches behind large Salvation Stone 
to shoot at tanks invading his small town, 
just as bombs blast the church next to his home. 

At roar of silver angels in blue sky, 
that stretch their aluminum wings with pride, 
Orion aims rifle at Heart of God, 
but flash of shots from rifle of his courage 
attract the Eyes of Death with mocking grin 
who looms as shadow in Valley of Fear. 

When lieutenant of his platoon is shot 
by laughing bullet from tongue of the Devil, 
Orion tries to rally frightened soldiers, 
so they retreat to ruins of the church 
where he crouches beneath statue of Mary 
who holds the headless Savior in her arms. 

Staring at the marble statue of Jesus, 
whose head was shattered by bullet of faith, 
Orion declares to his huddled squad, 
this fertile land where our fathers have lived, 
since they arrived sixteen centuries ago, 
is sacred haven where our families thrive. 

At midnight when moonbeams illuminate 
shattered ruins of the tenth-century church, 
Orion studies structure of stone walls 
to understand architectural design 
on which mankind builds Cathedral of Faith 
now shattered by bombs of national greed. 

Inside the shattered wall of the church apse 
old bottle of wine gleams in gold moonlight, 
so Orion raises glass of wine to Heaven 
and prays for victory of his homeland 
against invading empire of the north, 
then sings heart-wrenching hymn of bitter faith. 

Drunk on ancient wine of fermented faith, 
brewed by some monk hundreds of years before, 
Orion consumes electric brain juice 
that fills his heart with courage of the doomed 
who always fight to guard the fertile land 
where their children play hide and seek with Death. 

Brave Wings Of Mercury

Brave Wings Of Mercury
© Surazeus
2026 10 31

If fear destroys every bridge in the world, 
I will soar on brave wings of Mercury 
to gather broken wands of wounded wizards 
so I can build new bridge of honesty 
from snow-encrusted bones of dinosaurs 
and cross abyss of loneliness to you. 

Though hate sucks all the oceans of the world, 
I will swim with brave wings of Mercury 
in paper boats of fragile ardency 
to find your Garden of Hesperides 
where you bloom delicate as the pink rose 
with courage of the raven by my grave. 

When sorrow kills every tree in the world, 
I will climb with brave wings of Mercury 
high mountain of obsessive fantasy 
to join ghosts of my ancestors at dawn 
in holy kitchen of the well-baked loaf 
that fills my body with spirit of hope. 

Till horror uproots flowers of my heart, 
I will dance with brave wings of Mercury 
across the waste land of the ruined church 
where mute seer, clutching jeweled crown of thorns, 
cries out in anguish of the fallen god, 
though bad luck protects us from tragedy. 

Because despair fractures the glass moon, 
I gaze in shards of truth with earnest hope 
to perceive complex nature of the brain 
that gathers fragments of random events 
to build huge puzzle from small anecdotes 
in world view nobody else understands. 

Since Death erases every conscious soul, 
I will rise on brave wings of Mercury 
to flow on beams of sunlight through the sky 
one hundred billion years of spinning worlds, 
four hundred times around our galaxy, 
till I evolve from fish to singing god. 

While horses burst from eggs of faceless ghosts, 
I will twirl on brave wings of Mercury 
through fraught study of eschatology 
based on strange revelation of the brain 
that conjures virtual model of the world 
because souls are functions of chemicals. 

As laughter crushes mountains of the world, 
I will swell on brave wings of Mercury 
when I attain the highest form of peace 
because I have no desire to be seen, 
nor validated by rewards of fame, 
for I am singing ghost of everywhere. 

Fractured Tombs Of Time

Fractured Tombs Of Time
© Surazeus
2026 10 31

When gods with faces our fathers once wore 
may resurrect from fractured tombs of time, 
I sing weird siren melody of faith 
that lures them to gather around the pool 
where Echo dances in long flowing gown 
till they transform into idols of stone. 

Assembling landscape of lost memories 
from photographs in fractured tombs of time, 
I stalk the barren fields of singing skulls 
to chase away blind ghouls of pestilence 
where crowds of hungry people in moonlight 
wail for the apple tree burned by despair. 

Almost home where rivers water wheat fields 
that flourish around fractured tombs of time, 
I watch the heron build her secret nest 
and listen to grasshoppers sing brave prayers, 
yet fate assures my wounded heart that time 
erases sorrow till my soul remains. 

Though fortune casts me from haven of hope 
so I wander past fractured tombs of time, 
I focus on road my ardent feet blaze 
as I walk forward through the endless maze 
to shining mystery on dark hill of bones 
where silence invents words for me to sing. 

When voices of dead poets wake my soul 
from dreamless sleep in fractured tombs of time, 
I reach my hand toward startled sun of faith 
to snatch fresh apple from the Tree of Truth 
in battle against tyrants who oppress 
common people struggling to survive. 

Eager to watch the new apocalypse 
reveal mad gods in fractured tombs of time, 
I drive lit strip mall in the twilight zone 
where people eat hamburgers in quaint bars 
and watch movies about our antiheroes, 
so I can understand heart of mankind. 

Reincarnated as Golem of Hope 
from secret lab in fractured tombs of time, 
I stuff bloody pages of epic poems 
from ancient books inside cave of my mouth 
which animates my clay body with love 
to play messiah of our modern world. 

Searching for invisible hand of God 
that reaches out from fractured tombs of time, 
I rattle tambourine of demon thought 
because the whole world is my lonely grave, 
then cast tablets of law on jagged rocks 
so runes slither awake as water snakes. 

Sea Of Timeless Truth

Sea Of Timeless Truth
© Surazeus
2026 10 31

Almost drowning in sea of timeless truth, 
I breathe celestial sorrow of mankind 
which swells my heart with spirit of respect 
so I sail onward through the seven seas 
to find the secret island of your heart 
where you supplicate tree of fruit for love. 

Still sailing across sea of timeless truth 
in swollen ship of my love-wounded heart, 
I navigate by stars of your black eyes 
that guide me to the island of mad gods 
who howl with laughter at absurdity 
that constitutes brave beauty of this life. 

To measure thought on sea of timeless truth 
based on pure symbol of the Antichrist, 
I dare unravel paradox of fate 
that we are born with basic character 
that dooms us to choose how we live each day 
so prophets predict effect from its cause. 

Gliding high over sea of timeless truth 
on frantic wings of mortal ardency, 
I translate song of strange immortal bird 
that still sings perilous beauty of love 
since ancient days of emperors and clowns 
that charm me to search forlorn fairylands. 

Reborn as god from sea of timeless truth, 
I shroud dim specter of my transient soul 
in ectoplasmic shroud of fragile flesh 
that converts thought-form of my aching heart 
to normal person cased with marble mask 
as I escape cold idol to live warm. 

Diving deep down in sea of timeless truth, 
I search for long-lost idol of my god 
designed to manage energy of lust 
that drives meat bodies to regenerate 
children from obsessive hope to live 
beyond the final nothingness of death. 

Borne by wild winds on sea of timeless truth 
against mute will of our love-wounded hearts, 
I wander endless beach of shining sand 
to share small cup of honey-flavored tea 
with roaring demon of the godless deep 
who sips, then offers me her gratitude. 

Awake at last on sea of timeless truth 
at far edge of the nowhere of our faith, 
I must refuse to confirm or deny 
that I exist as clump of molecules 
in temporary node of consciousness 
though I sing about beauty of your soul. 

Holy Bridge Of Evermore

Holy Bridge Of Evermore
© Surazeus
2026 10 31

Stuck on the holy bridge of evermore, 
still seeking sacred truth of pungent fruit, 
I watch eight billion people on our globe 
search for their paradise in crowded hell, 
though half asleep in sorrow of desire 
while longing to join the heavenly choir. 

Blind on the holy bridge of evermore, 
yet driven by fierce motor of my heart, 
I map the endless maze of transient fame 
where some among the billions are transformed 
to mindless idols of adoring fans 
who laugh at vanity of life-style plans. 

Deaf on the holy bridge of evermore, 
head throbbing with illogical respect, 
I translate ancient song of ocean waves 
to human language no one understands, 
so we disguise ourselves as long-dead gods 
to trick-or-treat on misty houseless roads. 

Trapped on the holy bridge of evermore, 
with hawk wings in the golden cage of fame, 
I unspool timeless clock of psychic code 
to program how my brain perceives this Earth, 
because you see my mask, not the real me, 
commissioned to play role of Liberty. 

Lodged on the holy bridge of evermore, 
as guest of Cronus in dark mountain cave, 
I incarnate as Orion with bow, 
that humble policeman in your small town 
dedicated to serve everyone well 
despite death tolling of the midnight bell. 

Stalled on the holy bridge of evermore, 
in car with engine Barsanti designed, 
I drive three thousand miles of asphalt roads 
Miami to Seattle with the wind, 
so I can find the land where I was born 
before angels blow apocalypse horn. 

Crowned on the holy bridge of evermore, 
by wise Athena with her eyes of steel, 
I reinvent new reason for my life 
based on the moral codes of prophet kings 
who built foundation of our global state 
and left me to monitor its jeweled gate. 

Bored on the holy bridge of evermore, 
with all eternity of one brief life, 
I play the lyre of Mercury and sing 
about religious wars that humans fight 
over who has the right to breed and eat, 
and who will sit on the Perilous Seat. 

Witching Hour Of Faith

Witching Hour Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 10 30

At witching hour of faith, when graveyards yawn 
ghosts of our ancestors in bitter mist 
of cruel desire to claim gem of the moon, 
Basemath drinks hot cider of god blood 
to smear contagious words of hypocrites 
on cracked foundation stone of ruined fane. 

Bearing bag of skulls from dead haughty kings, 
that clatter with strange voices in dark woods, 
Basemath watches for mischievous sprites 
who bring ingredients into stone-wall fane 
where three witches boil juice of secret truth 
which they trick weary travelers to drink. 

Aware she treads parallel course of faith 
against suggestive council of the oak, 
Basemath wears mask of heavenly show 
when the slick-suited man with specious eyes 
pours pestilence of doubts into her ears 
that good she wills to do corrupts her heart. 

Reluctant to present her soul as good 
when she performs deeds that foster good will 
among poor people seeking food to eat, 
Basemath provides jars of fresh juice 
and baked bread in food booth by the gate 
where hungry people praise their benefactor. 

Enmeshed in foul contradictory rumors 
that taint her reputation with false greed, 
Basemath hurries down dark alleyway, 
but men abduct her from way of her heart 
and lock her in prison with other girls 
who plead for freedom from harsh slavery. 

Mind full of scorpions from anguished fear 
that jocund comfort has deserted her, 
Basemath summons from cave of her heart 
vile spirit of Hecate with dreadful spell 
to energize her fight for liberty 
when she details plan for their bold escape. 

Luring young guard into cell of desire 
with honeyed promises of secret pleasure, 
Basemath strangles him and wears his suit, 
then leads enslaved girls from cell of despair, 
by moonlit gliding toward riverside cave 
where they hide from soldiers hunting their souls. 

Free to frolic in dream light of the moon 
from radiant presence of wise Hecate, 
Basemath federates freed slaves with plan 
to farm fertile land with fruit trees and herbs, 
establishing self-sufficient commune 
so they thrive with liberty of free will. 

Book Of Psychic Codes

Book Of Psychic Codes
© Surazeus
2026 10 30

My ghost remains in homes where I once lived, 
scattered in towns across the continent, 
so they send signals through the ethernet 
that shimmer through the walls of everywhere 
to trick my meat-brain of hungry hope 
into accessing book of psychic codes. 

My ghost assembles fragments of my dreams 
into this meat-puppet that emanates 
radio waves of my temporary soul 
which conjures gust of wind outside my door, 
embodied by the soulmate of my heart 
who declares that she has become my Muse. 

My ghost strolls with me in the neighborhood 
while beaming images of you in wind 
so, when I glimpse blue glitter of the sea 
between the houses where strangers watch me, 
I see in water of its timeless flow 
source of language that fountains from our mouths. 

My ghost leads me to tree of tangerines 
that gleam bright as the sun on twisted limbs, 
so I breathe scent of flowers in the wind 
that fuels intense ardor of wanderlust 
to plot the mathematic flash of faith, 
yet I remain in room of countless doors. 

Ghost of my body emanates from me, 
posed idol-still on broken wall of fate, 
so I arrange smooth river stones in rings 
to mark its hollowness as sacred space 
where I stand safe on spinning globe of thought, 
pretending I still have my angel wings. 

Ghost of my brain vibrates with psychic waves 
when I open door to the fairy house 
where crystal eggs of angels glitter gold 
through which I teleport to distant worlds 
which all reflect state of this current world 
as mirror that presents alternatives. 

Ghost of my pulsing heart designs new face 
for me to wear when I leave fairy house, 
perched on the jagged cliff beside the sea, 
and visit market town with bag of coins 
so I can purchase book of psychic codes 
from lonely woman by the empty well. 

Ghost of my bones inherits song of waves 
so I assert attention of my heart 
to channel voices from the Otherworld 
who ask for secret of the Holy Grail, 
which I explain refers to how our genes 
incarnate in our children as new souls. 

Television Tube Of Truth

Television Tube Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 10 30

When sparrows spring from sudden songs of hope, 
I hold ever-flowing hourglass of fate 
with supple laughter of our arrogance 
that happiness of flashing synergy 
could be more than frail bubble on the stream 
that vanishes with mist on web of dawn. 

Grand symphony of my eccentric heart 
swells with vibrant shadow from my grave 
as sunlit clouds that crack with thunder song 
to drench our city in spiritual rain 
with noisy burden of my wordless voice 
that radiates waves of songs on radios. 

Our spirits rise from swirling sea of dreams 
through bleached evaporation of desire 
to form enormous clouds of mindless gods 
that soak the waste land of the roadless west 
in screaming riddles of electric ghosts 
who transform into humans without hope. 

Dry Earth soaks our spirits into its heart 
so we bloom tall in trees of humming faith 
that morph our bodies into juicy fruit 
consumed by insatiable hope of Death 
who dances when I dare play violin 
for gods in abandoned aquarium. 

Ghosts of my Puritan ancestors glow 
as gold candles in pumpkin heads of gods 
when children dressed as cowboys and vampires 
loot strange treasures from mansions of the rich 
which they return to history museums 
to honor our savage civility. 

Trapped in the television tube of truth 
with masks of characters from fairy tales, 
I captain our sleek starship among stars 
to visit strange new worlds where devils trick 
humble farmers to support haughty kings 
till cities are destroyed by nuclear bombs. 

Emerging from vales of the jagged Alps, 
where lizard men dwell in bright jeweled caves, 
I build empire with Wand of Jupiter 
based on nutritious passion of wheat bread 
so I can find lost grave of Icarus 
and rebuild sky-ship of his broken heart. 

While growing old with sorrow of lost time, 
I carve weird riddles on black obelisk 
with serpent runes of star-engendered love 
that flash on television tubes of truth 
to hypnotize new children of dead gods 
who wrestle hovering cherubim of faith. 

Bills Of Righteous Greed

Bills Of Righteous Greed
© Surazeus
2026 10 29

If I am shadow of thought in your mouth, 
flowing in and out on forbidden wings 
to modulate terror unbinding fate, 
I might choose to dismiss obsessive hope 
that we may shape our commonality 
with pattern of assertive nonchalance. 

Strange letters in the mailbox of my heart 
present excessive bills of righteous greed 
disguised as sentimental anecdotes 
designed to prove faith can overcome fear, 
which liberates our spirits from our brains 
based on new theory of the wounded ghost. 

To wax enthusiastic about death, 
that follows us all the days of our lives, 
I map diaspora of our noble clan 
dispersed by war into the Neitherlands 
where wanderers follow the Tanglefoot 
who seems to know the way to Wonderland. 

Unscathed theme of problematic concern, 
on which we base fake courage of the fool, 
presents alternatives to loyal faith 
through momentary freshness in the air 
since sunshine always prevails in the end 
before we have the chance to calculate. 

Stuck on our return journey to the garden, 
where plangent chants of sorrowful belief 
teach us to breathe dislodged attentiveness, 
we study contrast between truth and lies 
embodied by the cake of holy days 
we celebrate with clandestine despair. 

Locked up inside unframed window of truth 
by absoluteness of the river boat, 
I edit memories of my childhood 
to taint their sorrows with embittered joy 
by which I stitch the obvious wilderness 
with new system of values death defines. 

Irascible with courage of the hero 
dedicated to achieve peace on Earth, 
I legalize my monstrous appetites 
with laundered puzzles of soul ambiance 
funded by institutions that demand 
obeisance to unwritten laws of right. 

Though strangeness of this world is marvelous 
with aromatic vapor of the heart, 
deodorized by fraught religious faith 
in glamorous lie of the afterlife, 
I ask the stranger in the maze of shops 
if they have heard the good news about death. 

Vaudeville Clowns Of Fate

Vaudeville Clowns Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 10 29

Diverted by wisdom of horoscopes, 
he rides the wild-winged chariot of time 
to chant sharp spells with rhetorical zap 
that demask spies in Museum of Truth, 
trapped by bland interchange of morbid thoughts 
when dancing unrestrained in bitter joy. 

Gone homeward to the land of broken masks, 
after fighting against cruel tyranny, 
the prophet flies gray airplane beyond Heaven 
to visit every college in the woods 
and discourse on the valid route through Hell 
that angels trod to transform into gods. 

With wagons of encyclopedias 
the lonely prophet of the Promised Land 
knocks on doors of housewives after the war 
but they refuse to buy gold-lettered tomes, 
which leaves him stranded on the windy heath 
as uncrowned salesman of forgotten truth. 

Startled by cataracts of brave applause 
that resurrect the vaudeville clowns of fate, 
the lonely jester wearing suit and tie 
counts all the land deeds he has won at cards, 
but never visits those abandoned farms 
where devils hide wingless horses in eggs. 

No god invented from his memory 
haunts churches and cathedrals before dawn 
as faceless saints that gamble for the chance 
to predict the future in how birds fly, 
while tax collectors search the empty fields 
for skulls of prophets that refuse to sing. 

New index of his power transcends fear 
when he plays auctioneer of treasured lies, 
dispersed as payment for quick services 
rendered with the sentiment of clerks 
who program computers to calculate 
amount of faith left in our heart accounts. 

Through exegesis of his puzzling jokes 
we analyze his false biography 
to glean conceptual clues of ardent faith 
that help us decode riddles of his spells 
based on defiant paradox of love 
since he hides in the world he sings about. 

No grumpy old man on the windy heath 
shouts about injustice loud as King Lear, 
except the Everyman with offices 
above the bank whose business acumen 
provides framework for him to purchase Heaven 
and rent crystal palaces to false gods. 

Awake With Quantum Truth

Awake With Quantum Truth
© Surazeus
2026 10 29

Concatenation of our wordless love 
binds our bodies with invisible chain 
forged by hot thoughts of hungry memory 
which flashes us awake with quantum truth 
through ignorance of pleasure satisfied 
by flowers bursting from the lonely stone. 

Provisional concern of unstretched thought, 
that unwinds spirit winds on campus lawns, 
provides new frame of social reference 
for hungry minds to find conceptual faith 
rotting on bent tree of knowledge at dawn 
so space expands to mountain by the lake. 

To speak of spatial silence with stone words 
through menstrual fountain of our equal rights, 
we recognize extent of suffering 
bodies endure with anonymous shouts, 
kept alive by cold breath of spider webs 
so we become imaginary self. 

Another lesson in anatomy 
confounds perception of the vanishing 
from kitchen womb of competent desire 
so we bloom from despair of faceless faith 
against abuse of power, dramatized 
by subtle quietness of shadowed veils. 

Inspired by supple rhythms of spring light, 
we learn new tricks through sociology 
at frantic funeral of the desperate girl 
enslaved by thoughts of liberty from duty 
which she performs on empty stage of fame 
with passion based on longing for undeath. 

If she dares sing about mental release 
from uncompressed agony she hides 
in blank book of forgotten fairy tales, 
she may face postmodern obscurity 
obtained from gallery of broken masks 
when we forget the argument of breath. 

Stunned by the cancellation of vain hope 
at fractured laughter of the mocking clock, 
she holds small fragments of her truest self, 
once scattered on the field of humming stones 
who seem to know why caged birds never sing, 
while dancing on cold mornings of regret. 

Awake at whisper flow of silver clouds 
that part at coming of her honest ghost, 
she gives her name away to lonely trees 
so when they call each other in sunlight 
she hears her name echo in empty groves 
through haughty doubt of sacred solitude. 

Yearning Of My Glass Brain

Yearning Of My Glass Brain
© Surazeus
2026 10 28

Soul transformed by yearning of my glass brain, 
I walk the endless maze of city streets 
with Death as my companion in silk gown 
whose black eyes, vast as swirling galaxies, 
inspire my heart to sing beauty of life 
though engine roar mangles its melody. 

My mother and my father have grown old 
from searching vast maze of elusive hope, 
but spirit of desire they sparked in me 
powers my progress to become whole Self 
that combines all my ancestors in one soul 
which fractures into children of our genes. 

Each person is convergence of god souls 
whose genes weave their new body from desire, 
so we are tangled memories of love 
converted from despair that drives our will 
to transcend limits of our fragile frames 
as souls that swell huge as our spinning globe. 

When I get lost in maze of flashing doors, 
that lead to many different worlds of fate, 
Death takes my hand with gentle vigilance 
and guides me to perform role of my heart 
so I choose to create, and not destroy, 
with prudent attention to psychic needs. 

Though I am temporary node of genes, 
in which unconscious soul of atoms gleams 
as radiant passion to generate life, 
I program vision of our multiverse 
from mythic legends of religious books 
in world view that mirrors reality. 

I build whole world religion in my heart 
that refracts through yearning of my glass brain 
virtual model of our complicated world 
so I can make through clear analysis 
informed decisions in how I behave 
so I live as I will, if I harm none. 

Join me in Temple of Goddess Ishtar 
that shines with truth on Ziggurat of Ur 
to feast on harvest of productive hands 
and drink wine from fruit of our loyal hearts 
to bond our souls with contract of respect 
that nurtures United Nations of Earth. 

I see her light appear in gloom of fear 
when Liberty arrives with Lamp of Truth 
to wield honed sword of Justice with firm hand 
so we enforce equal rights for all souls 
who dwell together on this spinning globe 
that spirals from yearning of my glass brain. 

Westward On The Signless Road

Westward On The Signless Road
© Surazeus
2026 10 28

My ancestors have always left the land 
where they had lived since the dawn of their dream, 
traveling westward on the signless road 
to follow the sun across the great sky, 
then settled down in some new fertile vale 
to raise their children in the Promised Land. 

Now after ten thousand years of lost time 
I can look back on the long winding road 
of their journey each generation west 
over mountains and across seas in search 
for something they had never understood, 
and see there is no reason for our quest. 

Since I am just one individual node 
in ever-reincarnating chain of being, 
evolving through each life to become god 
in human flesh, awake with cosmic light, 
I know our endless journey is not done, 
for I have traveled sea to shining sea. 

What restless spark spurs my incessant trip, 
forth from safe haven of my childhood home, 
still urges me to walk the endless road, 
though I have aged, and prefer to remain 
quietly mapping history of mankind 
in marble temple of the Water God. 

As I cease forward motion of my soul 
and settle into daily work routines, 
that restless spark flashes bright in young hearts 
of my children, eyes glowing with that flame 
of hope that guides us far beyond the known, 
so they shall journey on as I rest here. 

Each land along the journey of my soul, 
which my ancestors left so long ago, 
still teems with descendants of other souls 
who stayed tied to our original land, 
and thrived in generations to this day 
so they remain in vale of my first dream. 

I long to travel back on road of hope 
to visit every land they left behind, 
and meet the people who still live there now, 
distant threads in tapestry of our genes 
that bind us all in matrix of world mind, 
so I can understand this urge to search. 

From one small tribe on fertile river shore, 
who thrive between the mountain and the sea, 
we spread in all directions of the wind 
to colonize the world with Calibans, 
so I would climb the Ziggurat of Ur 
to hear the ancient song of Ishtar ring. 

Revelation Of The Ardent Nurse

Revelation Of The Ardent Nurse
© Surazeus
2026 10 28

Though my soul has not yet drifted away 
on quick waters of ever-changing time, 
I measure alterations by the day 
to calculate how soon the deathly chime 
will vibrate soft melody of my name 
so I die before I am trapped by fame. 

Now withered with strange wisdom of the tree, 
I lounge in my pedantic Babylon 
and ponder how our actions make us free 
while plotting how to retake Avalon 
where my ancestor reigned as Fairy Queen 
till she was replaced by the Dream Machine. 

With stylus, forged from the same meteor stone 
which Arthur used to hone Excalibur, 
I wrote formulas on tablets which zone 
my legal right to reign as Lucifer 
because I bear Lamp of Diogenes 
to wield the thirteen magic Spirit Keys. 

I learn to walk upright in ocean waves 
after I lose my coiled tree-swinging tail, 
so now I chant hymns in shadow-weird caves 
while Helios herds milk cows in the dale 
through holy act on which empires are built 
that correct actions through brave sense of guilt. 

Phoebus hoops civilization with peace 
through illusion of justice based on rules, 
so kings judge deeds enforced by thought police 
while farmers produce food with humble tools, 
yet hermits search for God on Mount Meru 
outside frame of our religious world view. 

Fanatics frightened by liberal self worth 
attempt to crucify the humble clown, 
but his descendants thrive to conquer Earth 
by adding jewels to his thorny crown, 
so Rapunzel sings in Tower of Troy 
while Hamlet wanders the waste land of joy. 

Since I am still running to Paradise 
with the last penny of faith in my cap, 
I find fame is won by toss of the dice 
that turns its golden cage into the trap 
from which the wise seer can never escape 
though all the spinning world is their dreamscape. 

Before the second coming of the ghost, 
born from bitter witch of the city slum, 
I eat good breakfast of fried egg on toast, 
then sail Titanic to Byzantium 
with revelation of the ardent nurse 
who programs our view of the universe. 

Frantic Fairy Faith

Frantic Fairy Faith
© Surazeus
2026 10 28

Aroused by unkept memories of light 
reflected by slow flutter of oak leaves, 
I weave the spin of bike wheels with the flash 
of stops signs where ravens never assert 
strange answers to imponderable concerns 
that milk smells sweetest in the cereal bowl. 

Startled by unsung melodies of love 
that crackle on the untuned radio, 
I imagine that the round blue sky-dome 
is one enormous eye of innocence, 
like my eye with green isle inside blue sea 
where people live in memories of their hopes. 

Alert to unspooled stories in old books 
that wait for magic of my eyes to glow, 
I replay half-cut scenes of my short life 
to map my journey to the somewhere else 
from mountain far away where I was born 
as half-told tale of frantic fairy faith. 

Though I have stumbled randomly awake 
through decades of existence to my state 
of present being in small town of desire, 
I weave coherent tapestry of fate 
that narrates my life as some noble quest 
to become who I always choose to be. 

Enormous silence of eternal now, 
that hovers over me as cloud of light, 
slowly flaps excessive wings of words, 
so I gaze in eyes of my private Seraph 
whose face reflects, in one mask of the Self, 
all my ancestors who designed my being. 

Though split by storm of arrogant regret, 
the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil 
still provides fresh apples for me to eat, 
so I join sweet Ophelia by the lake 
who bakes apple pie from our wounded hearts 
which we share with Sigmund and Beowulf. 

Alone in vast white-walled museum room, 
I assemble from fragments of old tales, 
and news stories about tragic events, 
perceptive puzzles of the human soul 
that almost mirror psychic ghost of hope 
who haunts our dawns with wails of wordless prayers. 

Clouds float above broad field of barns and poles 
where cows graze among trees by the dirt road, 
this firm foundation of productive pain 
from which empires rise through labor of our hands 
when we weave memories of humble strife 
in religious tale of the sacrificed king. 

Weird Beauty Of The Dead

Weird Beauty Of The Dead
© Surazeus
2026 10 27

Perched on polished shelf in Museum hall, 
my skull will sing my puzzling prophecies 
ten thousand years after I turn to dust, 
for I have seen weird beauty of the dead 
who follow me down to the cave of dreams 
where they are shadows haunting books of tales. 

After I leave ghost of Eurydice, 
who haunts quaint bookstores of small college towns, 
I wander by deep river of lost souls 
where I spy corpse of sweet Ophelia 
floating on cold waves of bitter tears 
while clutching flowers of Persephone. 

I hear voice of the world in tweets of birds 
whose melodies enchant our wounded hearts 
with vision of life blooming from our death, 
but humans remain dead in dust of Earth 
while flowers bloom again as the world turns 
so I become laments sung for the dead. 

While I continue living in this world, 
singing sweet tunes of elegiac desire 
for lovers to embrace with loyal trust 
to generate new life before they die, 
ghost of my hope as fertile bride I lost 
haunts liminal space between life and death. 

Holding hands with gentle Ophelia 
as we stroll garden of Hesperides, 
my mind projects ghost of Eurydice 
so I sense nearness of her absent being, 
but when I turn at flash of her sweet thought 
I see Ophelia smiling with faith. 

No human ever born from womb of fate, 
flesh animated by spirit of hope, 
has ever returned from blank nothingness 
once our fragile forms of thought dissipate, 
yet still the living wake with otherness 
that binds our hearts with memories of the dead. 

Awake with luminous song of my Self, 
which emanates from God Eye of the All, 
I translate dreams of stars to human songs 
that mirror abyss of the hungry heart 
so we assert attention of control 
to balance passion swirling through our souls. 

With rhythmic pulse of energetic faith 
our bodies writhe in ecstasy of love 
so we may generate from flash of hope 
new body node to maintain coil of dreams 
that spirals from immortal soul of genes 
so Orpheus incarnates in my brain. 

New War For Mind Control

New War For Mind Control
© Surazeus
2026 10 27

Since green light has been premise in my eyes 
as metaphor for psychic arrogance 
for eighty years of harvests and rainstorms, 
I contemplate how generations change 
in wild tides of conflict and fellowship 
to nurture fruit trees from the barren lands. 

World view untwisted by barometer 
of social change in spectrum of false faith, 
I calmly record in world chronicle 
tragedy of new war for mind control 
that we fight to show impersonal green 
transforms our bodies from moist soil to flesh. 

My mind expands cosmological eye 
with vivid dream of how mankind evolves, 
refracted through vast prism of our brains, 
so I stand bewildered on mountain slope 
to study maze of streets in cityscapes, 
parallel with vagueness of wingless gods. 

Since polished mirror of my brain perceives 
ghost of God as horizon of new light, 
I map complexity of mortal lives 
in passionate competition with Death 
to prove their worth before they dissipate 
against fulfillment of the final phase. 

Though wizards bear wands and warriors swords, 
I carry pack of spatulas and pans, 
so when I wear One Ring of Divine Light 
I feel tempted to transform the waste land 
to garden of fruit trees where children play, 
but decide to toss that ring into Hell. 

Yet when I turn to broad experience, 
where sun-bleached skeletons of angry gods 
lie scattered on the sand with dream-wrecked ships, 
I wake inside cosmological eye 
to gain perspective of immortal mind 
in complex progress of world history. 

Therefore I choose calm life of daily rites 
with wife and children in our cozy home 
instead of waging war against mad gods 
whose haughty pride of arrogant disdain 
will cause their own downfall from throne of greed 
when I let Nature cripple tyranny. 

Complex landscapes sprawl in my lonesome eye 
as I adjust perspective of my heart 
based on new framework for world history 
designed to map progress of psychic growth 
when I assemble puzzle of world view 
from individual tales of birth and death. 

Home At Last To Avalon

Home At Last To Avalon
© Surazeus
2026 10 27

When garden of her heart has grown too wild, 
and swallows idol of god with tree roots, 
she tends grief of fire smoldering in her bones 
while lurking in vast shadow of the Sphinx 
till pendulum of fortune swings her way 
and knocks her to the ground with broken wings. 

Her father grows from tangled roots of fate 
in overgrown garden of screaming trees, 
lamenting holocaust of eyeless ghosts 
who crowd before locked gates of paradise 
till finger bones transform to bitter keys 
which open access to the Promised Land. 

Surprised by cycle of seasonal change, 
when birds with feathers of electric words 
fly south at blast of winds from hills of snow 
to leave our books they steal on windowsills 
of lonely angels in the nameless land, 
she laughs that none can pronounce her name right. 

At annunciation of her bride night 
at midnight in lush garden of deep pools, 
she whispers hostile prayer of gratitude 
that Death has chosen her of all his wives 
to incarnate his divine soul as God, 
then climbs wall of Heaven and runs away. 

Arriving at train station in bleak snow, 
young woman in the blood-stained bridal veil 
gives gold coins to poor people in torn clothes, 
then transforms into white bat with silk wings 
to haunt great kitchen of the castle witch 
who teaches her how to bake blackbird pies. 

Trained as brave somanaut by crippled clown, 
young bride of Jesus Frankenstein wears mask 
as she descends to Underworld of dreams 
to find the broken lyre of Mercury 
rusting on tomb of Orpheus the Christ 
which she repairs and sells to Tamerlane. 

To analyze material of this world 
and understand support of mental vibes, 
young bride in black lace dress of innocence 
designs new starship for her secret soul 
so she can time-warp through the multiverse 
and visit all her doppelganger selves. 

Returning home at last to Avalon, 
by tapping Tree of Knowledge with her wand, 
Minerva gathers refugees from wars 
and founds new nation based on equal rights, 
that may never exist on spinning Earth, 
where she tends garden of the wild goat boy. 

Emerald Tablet Of Faith

Emerald Tablet Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 10 26

Bright spark of truth you long to clearly see 
evades attentive focus of your mind 
by slipping through containing words of fact 
to slither stealthily straight past your face 
in flashing sponge computer brain of god 
who sings salvation of the humming toad. 

Earnest commitment to study the sea 
inspires your hungry heart to understand 
brutal ghosts of honesty books depict 
as noble heroes corrupted by vice 
for greed to live beyond death as robot 
entranced by drunk revelry of the goat. 

Justice you fight to achieve every day 
wanders blind in waste land of silent prayer 
with plan to steal Emerald Tablet of Faith 
on which is written riddles of your fate 
in writhing runes that burn your staring eyes 
as you evolve beyond the fake-god phase. 

Reluctant to pursue the Golden Way, 
you linger in tower room with cracked mirror 
where Rapunzel gave birth to the God Wraith, 
and ponder what drives wounded souls to hate 
oligarchs who rule the world with dream spies 
while you wander lost in religious maze. 

Trembling in harsh cold of state negligence 
outside castle door where the elite squad 
gather to praise each other for their poems, 
you snarl with bitterness they left you out 
instead of forming new exclusive club 
for your own gang of dolls who love your work. 

Winning grand awards without precedence, 
you proudly proclaim you are not the fraud 
who howls with angst that the circus clown roams 
endless streets of gold to earn social clout 
as leader of three men in the wealth tub 
who sail seven seas where mad dolphins lurk. 

Startled by sudden undoing of laws 
that governed good behavior in our land, 
you try to vote for Minerva the Wise 
who would arrest Midas with his small hands 
for treason against decency and truth, 
but Bacchus steals the crown of thorns Christ wore. 

Measuring effects of the primal cause 
by which wild swerving atoms form star band, 
you fail to parse his endless stream of lies 
entangling logical concerns with brands 
of wealth decoded by messiah sleuth 
who leads wounded angels on the sea shore. 

Weird Voice Of The Dead

Weird Voice Of The Dead
© Surazeus
2026 10 26

I want to be normal, like everyone 
else who walks around like they know the game, 
but I would rather perform Belshazzar, 
slouched securely on unearned throne of fame, 
than Apollo prancing around on stage 
as if I speak with Weird Voice of the Dead. 

Tripped up by hungry beauty of the heart, 
that drives me with ambition to compete 
against glamorous stars everyone adores, 
I sing heart-aching verse fate will delete 
to arrest downward spiral of despair, 
then stumble gracefully in silent rain. 

Cruel devil of Pride haunts my halting steps 
with urgent passion to express in spells 
weird visions flashing in vault of my brain, 
which I find writhing in moon-vortex wells, 
so I tear off my performative mask 
to expose raw horror of being alive. 

Obsessed with hoping people will perceive 
ghost of my being as spirit of insight 
equal to great seers, whose visions provide 
guidance for nations to thrive in the light, 
I flee town square crowded with frightened mob 
who seeks salvation from prophet of hate. 

Preferring to play the prophet of love, 
I hide in wilderness cave of despair, 
eyes blinded by illusions of harsh truth, 
and seek in shadows of my demon lair 
puzzles I need to construct new world view 
that frames events with values we perform. 

I see all objects of material form 
are structures of atoms that grow from cause 
inherent in seed of their origin, 
so I devise strict set of moral laws 
that we do what we will, if we harm none, 
when we construct rather than destruct things. 

When I descend from mountain of Fire Ghost, 
bearing emerald tablets carved with Thought Code 
that describes physical nature of life, 
I find mankind worshipping the Gold Toad, 
so I shoot arrow of Apollo straight 
when I sing spells with Weird Voice of the Dead. 

Struggling to escape egg of the blind horse, 
I grasp the broken lyre of Mercury that sticks 
bent from trunk of the ancient rotten tree, 
then climb headless idol of the World God 
to stand on shoulders of the giant fool, 
and laugh as empires collapse into gangs. 

Hard Soil Of Desire

Hard Soil Of Desire
© Surazeus
2026 10 26

The angel may need their clandestine sorrows 
to fuel aggressive progress of their soul, 
but humans rely on religious faith 
to veil reality from their sharp eyes, 
so I reach out my trembling hand of hope 
to snatch ripe apple from the snake of fate. 

The seed of thought that blossoms from my brain, 
then fructifies as spirit of the self, 
binds me to cherished frame of reference 
that is my fragile body of hard flesh, 
since glowing wind of mindless clouds conveys 
breath of infinity through my sponge brain. 

Lodged by design or random accident 
of fateless chance through passionate discourse 
of strangers, who embrace with hope to leap 
beyond abyss of death on frantic wings, 
I wake as flower of this dreaming globe, 
deluded to believe I might be God. 

Through unknown process of electric thought, 
my sense of conscious self expands each hour 
that I express through motion of intent 
concern for maintenance of my soul flame 
that flickers fragiley in blast of time 
when I scrape food from hard soil of desire. 

When I attempt to outstrip bands of time 
with breath-fueled bout of energetic faith, 
then stand unjaded on high peak of thought 
and challenge faceless clouds of gusting wind, 
who seems aware that I assert my right 
to exist, I feel my heart swell with love. 

Proud men with gangs of mindless warriors, 
who obey commands of his voice to kill 
lone men who dare defy his right to rule, 
sit on high thrones of judgement to declare 
rules that govern how men should interact 
to maintain the food-production machine. 

When I stand before that proud mortal man, 
who insists he reigns by right of the sun, 
I wonder that he hopes with bitter faith 
to live forever as God on this Earth, 
because false glory of all human gods 
will fade as they decay and dissipate. 

Vain humans who believe that they are gods, 
commissioned by the mindless fate of fear 
to organize complex societies, 
come and go in strict tides of social change, 
but farmers who produce food from the soil 
remain in gardens where their children play. 

Literary Swamp Of Truth

Literary Swamp Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 10 25

My body undulates with grace of change, 
emerging from green slime of solitude 
to dance with laughter on cracked skull of God 
mistaken as foundation stone of fate 
on which priests build religions of regret 
to claim vibe of salvation with false prayer. 

I catch the cannonball of psychic fear 
fired from political mouth of greed 
that reassembles houses of blind souls 
who gather diamonds from angelic graves 
so we can prove our right to eat old books 
dredged from the literary swamp of truth. 

Yet iron frog of wisdom crawls from screen 
of screaming television to adjust 
stark focus of our minds on eyeless clocks 
that tick in breasts of mermaids who recall 
halcyon days in dark Seattle streets 
where twisted jesters cheat naive bank clerks. 

My brother climbs fake pyramid of gold 
to ask the ghost of telephones why fate 
chooses some to be true face of the times 
while others labor in obscurity 
with humble commitment to noble truth 
which tricks their hearts with illusion of fame. 

Still undefeated by bland mockery 
that time hurls at glass faces of sad seers, 
I dare express defiant words to show 
wreck of my life, on highway of concern, 
reveals that spinning wheels fortune designs 
trick sirens to rescue my soul from books. 

Stuck in the literary swamp of truth, 
I pave ten thousand roads between small towns 
where fairies play banjos in grocery stores 
with noble purpose of the iceberg queen 
who fishes sorrow from polluted pools 
till we lean against brick walls without cause. 

If you have nothing better to do now, 
meet me at the book bazar in the park 
so we can tear the ghosts of bitter fools 
from fairy tales of arrogant dismay 
before blind senators can legislate 
how we may use our bodies to know love. 

When old man on the beach of lonely waves 
asks why do we live and why do we die, 
I take two cigarettes out of his hand 
and give him apple that I bought from Eve 
so we can know strange pleasure of the heart 
expanding scope of truth beyond the swamp. 

Tree Of Flashing Brains

Tree Of Flashing Brains
© Surazeus
2026 10 25

Despite skillful disorder of rain clouds 
that knock my body around on the hill, 
I am the wondrous man with winged feet 
because I know strange secret of the wind 
who whispers programmatic code of love 
which helps my find the tree of flashing brains. 

Disperser of rich grace on stepping stones, 
I gather snowflakes into books of dreams 
which I bear to peak of the mountain thought 
to weave bright laughter of wild ocean waves 
within unsullied passion of my heart 
through generous wisdom of the loyal moon. 

When I walk with the departed through Hell 
on dainty feet of ballet nonchalance, 
I find beguiled bride of the empty well, 
perplexed by faithless lust of abstinence 
that fuses bodies of strangers with hope 
to incarnate as ghost with mask of glass. 

I follow empty chairs on winding road 
through fields of wheat where alabaster crows 
breathe beauty of the light in human flesh 
who paints the face of God as apple sphere 
which I bake on the plate of hungry clay 
that proves my right to live in liberty. 

Transformed from wood dolls with emerald eyes 
into lithe boys and girls with moonlit skin, 
we race along the river of glass skulls 
to crown the winner with the crown of thorns 
forged with gold melted from idols of gods 
whose faces reincarnate as our souls. 

Wild mob of people run in driving rain 
and crowd into Museum on Skull Hill 
in frantic flight to escape swirling flood 
that sweeps their farmhouses and herds away 
so fields of wheat become bright sea of tears 
that fills their hearts with desert emptiness. 

The oldest woman in the world declares, 
while holding million-year-old skull of God, 
that we must thrive through curiosity, 
always asking questions to understand 
how Death will measure fortune of our lives 
when lovers almost touch at end of time. 

Millions of people killed in civil wars 
crowd shore of the River Styx at midnight, 
but Charon shouts that they must all return, 
so faceless ghosts of hungry refugees 
haunt shopping malls from sea to shining sea 
where they sing beneath tree of flashing brains. 

Humble Prophet of the Cow

Humble Prophet of the Cow
© Surazeus
2026 10 25

To understand how light of long-dead stars 
animates human brains with fierce desire 
to fly with joy above this rumbling globe, 
I ask the humble prophet of the cow 
who gives me holy grail of milk to drink, 
so I feel tree roots curl into my heart. 

Cassandra walks beside the spinning wheel 
that rolls home-wagon on the windy plain 
on endless walk to find the Promised Land 
ruled by the humble prophet of the cow 
who writes strange puzzles on tablets of clay 
that cause time visions to flash in her eyes. 

Crouched by the wagon wheel of wordless hope, 
Cassandra watches with obsessive eye 
her father walk into the shadowed woods 
to ask the humble prophet of he cow 
which way they need to go on signless road 
to find the palace of the laughing clown. 

Head buzzing with mute terror of undeath, 
Cassandra treads the liminal expanse 
of sorrow toward horizon of her heart 
to hear the humble prophet of the cow 
proclaim his hegemonic state of mind 
which traps brave people in harsh tyranny. 

Advanced against blurred obstacles of faith 
to transcend metaleptic wall of fear 
erected by postprandial somnolence 
before the humble prophet of the cow 
can catch the angel falling off the moon, 
Cassandra parts veil to the Otherworld. 

Inspired by spark of new insightful vibe 
that channels flow of psychic synergy, 
Cassandra abjures fractured paradigm 
spooled by the humble prophet of the cow 
that affirms function of male privilege 
exploiting fertile nature of the womb. 

Spearheading progress of leveraged love 
against systemic power of desire, 
Cassandra gathers riddles of glass skulls 
forged by the humble prophet of the cow 
to build impactful program of respect 
ensuring mothers feed their children well. 

While drawing soul of serpents from the well 
whose whispers teach her secrets of dream runes, 
Cassandra gazes back down road of life 
paved by the humble prophet of the cow, 
and wonders how her brave children will fare 
in game of life long after she is dead. 

Rope Of His Attentive Love

Rope Of His Attentive Love
© Surazeus
2026 10 25

Sunlight streams in stained-glass window of Christ 
as Shepherd herding sheep in river vale 
inside the Seventh-day Adventist Church 
on hilltop in small town of Keene in Texas 
where people in flower dresses and suits 
gather on Saturday morning for Sabbath. 

Exiting the large Sabbath School classroom 
with his leather Bible pressed to his chest, 
Albert glides with large crowd in long hallways 
and downstairs to main sanctuary hall 
where he sits beside his mother and sisters, 
but hopes to see sweet angel of his heart. 

Pastor Ron Halverson, who had grown up 
as a Beachcomber gangster in Brooklyn, 
steps up to the podium on the broad stage, 
looking like Stephen King in a gray suit, 
and points up to stained-glass window of Christ 
to illustrate his role as selfless Savior. 

The Lord of Truth is Shepherd of my soul, 
for his bounty supplies all that I need, 
so I lie in pasture by tranquil stream 
after his guidance through dark vale of fear 
restores my soul with fruit from Tree of Life 
when we feast in safe haven of his care. 

When I was young in wild streets of New York, 
my friends and I would play a dangerous game 
where we would tie long rope of haughty faith 
on southern side of the high Brooklyn Bridge, 
then dive into swift tide of the East River 
that flows swift to the Upper New York Bay. 

Diving down in swift tides of the East River, 
that flushes back and forth for hours each day, 
is like our plunge into flow of desire, 
so we would have to breathe deep breath of hope 
and swim up fast enough to grab the rope, 
or tides of greed would sweep our souls away. 

Our Shepherd Jesus reaches down his hand 
with loving gesture of the bridge-bound rope, 
so we must reach our hands with honest faith 
to grab strong rope of his attentive love 
and climb with faith back to the sturdy bridge 
to secure our place in Heaven with God. 

After they sing the hymn Amazing Grace, 
Albert searches through the large milling crowd 
till he finds Daphne Stuart in green dress 
with blue eyes and gold curly hair who smiles 
when he gives her small box of chocolate, 
and she gives him her painting of a horse. 

Cosmic Self Of Ungod

Cosmic Self Of Ungod
© Surazeus
2026 10 24

Every conscious soul of organic flesh, 
woven from quick coils of electric eyes, 
who wakes from pulsing passion of desire 
on every planet in the universe, 
then sings with love to generate new life, 
dreams alive with cosmic self of Ungod. 

Though alone in forever now of me 
as I stroll along winding stream of hope 
on this one globe of all time-spooling globes 
that teem with souls across the multiverse, 
I sing with universal choir of souls 
so alive with cosmic self of Ungod. 

While trembling with fear in the wilderness, 
wounded from attack of demonic rage 
when my husband drove me out of our home 
because I bear no children from his seed, 
I gaze at silent sky of gleaming stars 
that swirls bright with cosmic self of Ungod. 

Our world of high mountains and surging seas, 
that seems so huge at center of all space, 
is but one tiny globe of transient souls 
in one small galaxy of countless stars 
in humungous ocean of streaming light 
that spirals from cosmic self of Ungod. 

Old bearded prophet with star-flashing eyes, 
Isaiah gives me bread and juice to eat, 
then guides me across waste land of despair 
in tour along safe edge of the abyss 
till we arrive at garden of fruit trees 
that blossoms from cosmic self of Ungod. 

With gentle hands of attentive concern 
Isaiah gives me shelter in his heart, 
so, while he writes fierce prophecies in verse 
to guide our king on path of righteousness, 
I weave tapestry that depicts creation 
of our world from cosmic self of Ungod. 

When I bear strong child from seed of Isaiah, 
and name him Sariel, the Prince of El, 
cruel husband who drove me out of our home 
appears and demands I return to him, 
but ravens swoop down from the Tree of Love 
and drive him from cosmic self of Ungod. 

With nimble fingers of expressive joy 
Sariel plays harp of David and sings psalms 
describing oneness of our universe 
where every conscious being of mortal flesh 
glows with immortal spirit of the stars, 
born as souls from cosmic self of Ungod. 

Unjust Death Of The Honest Man

Unjust Death Of The Honest Man
© Surazeus
2026 10 24

When Proserpina, daughter of Ceres, 
returns after the harvest festival 
with Mercurius to resume her role 
as manager of jewel mines for Pluto, 
skipping as she sings psalms of blooming fruit, 
Hecate opens gates with Key of Death. 

Eyes sparkling with joy from her summer play 
with her sweet mother in Elysian Fields, 
Proserpina twirls to show off her new dress, 
hugs cute Mercurius, who blushes shyly, 
then skips past gates down to the mines of Pluto 
where criminals dig jewels from deep caves. 

Just before Hecate locks gates of Hades, 
Jesus Florian Silva from Mexico, 
who died in crowded cell in Texas jail 
while in the custody of officers, 
slips free from Underworld of the mute dead, 
eyes glowing with light of the Watchful Owl. 

Following power lines that glow bright gold 
in vast network of word-shimmering voices, 
Jesus searches for flames of energy 
that glow in hearts of his children and wife, 
then spots their sorrow as they return home 
from his funeral in the humble church. 

Haunting the home he built with his own hands 
after working thirty years in construction, 
Jesus watches his wife, Sofia Dolores, 
born in the rugged hills of Venezuela, 
prepare supper for their extended clans 
who gather to remember his kind soul. 

Standing before crowd of family and neighbors, 
gathered at the evening velorio, 
Sofia, wiping tears from her eyes, relates 
tale of his hopeful quest across the desert, 
then working sunrise to sunset each day 
so their Texas-born children attend college. 

My kind-hearted Jesus Florian Silva, 
who always worked hard and obeyed the law, 
and paid his taxes though he could not vote, 
was arrested and beaten without cause 
by the cruel immigration officers 
who left him to die in the crowded jail. 

As everyone weeps and wails in outrage 
about unjust death of the honest man, 
Jesus glides away from his crowded home, 
follows glowing wings of Mercurius, 
and walks back through the jeweled gates of Hades 
where Morpheus gives him cider to drink. 

Melodies Of Psychic Math

Melodies Of Psychic Math
© Surazeus
2026 10 24

While I wander endless maze of hard streets 
through crowds of angels wearing human masks, 
my heart sings melodies of psychic math 
to reprogram private religious faith 
by weaving all national fairy tales 
in single epic of the human race. 

I drive through black rain drenching country road, 
that winds through forest of satyrs and nymphs, 
but slam breaks hard when ghost of innocence 
leaps into headlight beams with bloody face, 
so I lift from sharp gravel of despair 
fallen angel as hysterical girl. 

Shivering beside me in brown vinyl seat 
while I race Chevy Malibu to town, 
young girl in jeans, white blouse, and cowboy boots, 
whispers her tragic story with hoarse voice 
that slithers on snake skin into my spine 
so shudder at horror of her fear. 

I drove from Florida to Tennessee 
to study computer programming code, 
where nice boy, who seemed interested in me, 
lured me into dark woods behind the school 
where his jealous girlfriend cut me with hate 
then bashed my head with chunk of sharp cement. 

While I stare at her fractured skull in shock 
where her brain pulses with divine god-mind, 
my heart screams melodies of psychic math 
that program human brains with love and hate 
so we fight for our place in game of power 
where some may win, but all die in the end. 

I wonder what fraught formula of hope 
drives humans, seeking to protect their rights, 
to kill other humans who block their way, 
which manifests as endless bloody wars 
fought by nations over ten thousand years 
for whose ancestral god is the True God. 

When I arrive at the hospital door 
that glows warm in the freezing rainy night, 
I call for help to nurses in white gowns, 
but when they arrive with their healing hands 
the wounded girl I rescued from dark woods 
is nothing more than a broken Barbie doll. 

While I kneel at grave of the murdered girl, 
whose ghost sought my help one dark rainy night, 
my heart prays melodies of psychic math 
so I can calculate cause and effect 
of greedy lust that drives humans to kill 
so we confirm our souls with self-control. 

Time Unfolds The Nothing

Time Unfolds The Nothing
© Surazeus
2026 10 24

Since time unfolds the nothing of our joy 
which we have built on memories of pain, 
I walk away from shambles of my faith 
and wander nowhere in the wordless world, 
then sit alone on river shore of fate 
with nothing but my hope to contemplate. 

Befuddled by confusing stream of thoughts 
that jumble memories of suffering 
in scattered puzzle of painful abuse 
that people hurl at me with bitter hate, 
I watch clear water of the river flow 
in trance that seems to cause the world to slow. 

Intense arrest of sudden fractured fear 
suspends me in unmoving quietness, 
so I begin to float on breathless wings 
of ardent sparrow outside frame of flesh, 
soul swelling far beyond shell of my mind 
through undulating horror hope designed. 

Too clear before my eyes of bleeding rage 
I see again that scene I would forget 
when cruel men dragged my mother from our home, 
then left her bleeding by the dusty road, 
so moment light of life flashed from her eyes 
now shrouds my soul as shadow of dark skies. 

Three days and nights of endless bitter tears 
wound my disbanded heart with anguish tight, 
too wounded from despair as I cried out 
for her to wake from nothingness of death, 
then buried her with flowers by the tree 
that tricks me to believe her soul is free. 

When gang of boys from town surround my place 
of refuge in bright forest of fruit trees, 
I whirl oak staff I carved with serpent face 
to bash their heads when they grab at my arms, 
till they all crawl as dogs on dusty ground, 
then vow I am their queen on goddess mound. 

Brave warriors of my heart obey my words 
when we attack high ziggurat of power 
and fight the bankers in their halls of wealth 
to free humble farmers from slavery, 
then wear the crown of law on judgment throne 
to rule the land with fair justice alone. 

Since time unfolds the nothing of our sorrow 
which we have built from memories of pleasure, 
I return to garden of our respect 
to shelter you with wisdom of my heart 
so we thrive in temple of our world view 
till death erases us from dream of love. 

God Mind In My Brain

God Mind In My Brain
© Surazeus
2026 10 23

When darkness of my heart breathes stellar lust, 
I dare collude with psychic force of hope 
to fight against oppressors of the mind 
who try to poison fruit from Tree of Life, 
but I know apples sweeten in the dark, 
which tames the serpent of my heart with love. 

When beauty writhes from fractured egg of light, 
I gaze through trees to see soul of mankind 
that shimmers deep inside our pulsing hearts 
till beams of passion radiate from our brains 
so we become wild angels in fruit trees, 
immortal genes that coil from ocean waves. 

I visit every temple in the world, 
built long ago by reverent hands of faith, 
and stand in darkness of their ruined truth 
to feel brave spirit of humanity 
that hides in terror inside sunless halls 
from writhing serpent of our hungry hearts. 

Waist-deep in green pool of the mountain stream, 
among enormous stones of jumbled thoughts, 
I bathe in tears of devils who perceive 
how darkness nurtures light of human hearts 
to cleanse my body of selfish disease 
so I may transform into swirls of light. 

The common belief, that the human soul 
beams down to animate our mortal flesh, 
then remains whole with conscious sense of self 
after our bodies crumble into dust, 
has been the greatest falsehood of all time 
that still deceives most people with vain hope. 

How comforting to believe that our soul 
could exist intact before we are born 
and might still remain long after we die, 
because few conscious beings alive on Earth 
are willing to accept with aching heart 
that we are transient flames of flashing light. 

Because whole mental program of my brain 
has been designed by each subsequent life 
of my ancestors struggling to survive 
as they evolve four hundred million years, 
my sense of conscious self glows fiercely bright 
so I feel divine God Mind in my brain. 

Tricked by this feeling of immortal life 
that animates my million-year-old brain, 
I breathe ethereal spirit of this Earth 
and sing epic poem of philosophers 
who seek to understand essence of truth, 
translating mute fear into light of faith. 

Mirror Of Indelible Truth

Mirror Of Indelible Truth
© Surazeus
2026 10 23

Inside mirror of indelible truth 
my face multiples to ancestral masks 
so I almost forget who I am now, 
but with attentive song of love for all 
I reassemble conscious self of being, 
then walk in maze of competitive games. 

Trained by ten million years of fights for food, 
we humans compete to control the dirt, 
squared by diameter of stark moonlight, 
but I withdraw from constant games of faith 
so you can fight for glory of false fame 
since we will all become dirt in the end. 

I step into strange vastness of our world, 
though bound by limits of this time in space, 
to navigate excessive swirls of lust 
that urges our frail bodies to collide 
with passionate ambition to expand 
scope of power that includes storm-calm clouds. 

When the river veers away from the road, 
I swerve from dutiful way of desire 
to disassociate my brain from games 
that people play to win the sparkling prize, 
then gather river stones with bleeding hands 
to build high tower of heavenly hope. 

Spurred on by sadness lurking in my heart, 
I gather dust of deserts in blank books 
to mold glass idols of important gods 
that glow with nuclear power of blind faith 
when I float candles in small paper boats 
as lamentation for their tragic death. 

Awake in Time House, haunted by dead gods 
who live in children without secret names, 
I contemplate strange riddle of the rain 
that types new formulas of psychic truth 
causing my sponge brain to recollect 
memories of suffering that people discard. 

While tending cattle herd of Helios 
with clandestine plan to preach the good news, 
I feel my body dissipate to words 
that flutter frantically in summer breeze 
so I become fairytale character 
that no one roots for on the movie screen. 

Penelope expects me to comply 
with social regulations that endow 
inalienable rights on my transient soul, 
transformed by names of flowers in the mud, 
so I become the father of my brain 
that shimmers vaguely in mirror of fate. 

Wicker Basket Of Wealth

Wicker Basket Of Wealth
© Surazeus
2026 10 23

Since angels struggle to explain despair 
to oak trees lounging in the parking lot, 
roots cracking miles of asphalt into crumbs, 
Plato joins convention of architects 
where he presents new way to visualize 
city landscapes that favor garden pools. 

Watching sunrays flash on the mountain ridge 
when Eos weaves forms of the world from light, 
Rixende sits among tall willow trees 
with branches heaped on workbench of her heart, 
and contemplates strange beauty of the world 
as she weaves wicker baskets with strict care. 

Watching butterflies on wild lavender, 
Rixende calculates from market price 
how many baskets she should weave today 
to earn enough coins from her crafting hands 
that lets her purchase the small copper pot 
which Gauzbert hammers into useful shape. 

Though passion of time cannot be contained 
with serpent riddles in bottle of hope, 
Rixende contemplates how sweet perfume 
might enchant metallic heart of Gauzbert 
to notice graceful beauty of her soul, 
but decides to buy the cooking pot instead. 

While teaching Alamanda how to weave 
wicker baskets from slender willow limbs, 
Rixende explains concept of its type, 
how Idea of Basket provides form 
as standard pattern of restrictive size 
that contains matter within useful shape. 

Every material basket that exists 
embodies in span of its time and space 
the Perfect Basket in Realm of Ideas, 
which we call Heaven of changeless truth 
because it provides frame of reference 
for matter to become things of this world. 

Stopping by her booth in the market place, 
that radiates outward from Temple of Ceres, 
Plato inspects several baskets with care, 
gives her three silver obols stamped with owls 
while praising tightness of the wicker weave, 
then strolls away with basket on his arm. 

Though ten thousand years of time has transformed 
cities on Earth from ziggurats to towers 
since crafty Tayet first designed the basket, 
we still weave round baskets from willow limbs 
so children may gather eggs from the woods 
when Ishtar sparks life to spring from the Earth. 

Creation Of One Thought

Creation Of One Thought
© Surazeus
2026 10 22

Through weary struggle of uncertain gain 
against ten thousand years of heartless pain 
we strive to build empires of clan estates 
secured by watchtowers on jeweled gates 
to guard our paradise of lush fruit trees 
from homeless gangs of plundering refugees. 

Bright angels wearing jeweled crowns of thorns 
in white robes on the river shore blow horns 
to praise great hero who returns from war 
and kneels before his mother at the door, 
then drinks from cup of wine his father gives, 
teary-eyed with joy that his first son lives. 

Great shining castle of our family power 
gleams on hill of clouds high above the tower 
where pregnant princess in the window sings 
heart-aching sorrow soft as raven wings, 
for she sees Death in long white robe of light 
approach with broken tablet of her plight. 

She turns and gazes at me across time 
that startles me in trance at eerie chime, 
since words she sings project on silver screen 
progress of her reign as Queen Melusine 
whose serpent blood still simmers in my veins 
with writhing ambition of divine gains. 

When searing anguish throbs inside my heart 
through formulas that bloom on the star chart, 
I try to break my gaze from eyes of fame 
that hypnotize my mind with the world game 
men play to achieve great things till they die 
while I just want to float in wingless sky. 

Awake too long from endless hours of watch, 
I feel my soul-projecting brain gear notch 
up higher through coiled maze of blazing gods 
as pulsing spheres that flash on crystal rods 
in vast Kabbalah tree of One God Eye 
that tricks my mind to cartograph the Why. 

Great Eye of timeless truth expands from flash 
that flares into our multiverse of cash 
by weaving conscious beings of hungry hope 
from spooling coils of soul-genetic rope 
so we assemble on high ziggurat 
where Ishtar sings Creation of One Thought. 

When I find broken Lyre of Mercury, 
I learn how to fix it from Liberty, 
then sing how social systems organize 
brave talents who compete to win the prize 
of honor as gods in Temple of Fate 
though everyone will die at any rate. 

Code Of My Shibboleth

Code Of My Shibboleth
© Surazeus
2026 10 22

Translating the code of my shibboleth 
to universal truth about the heart, 
I filch sacred treasure of the mad wolf, 
who wears gray suit and red tie stained with blood 
of angels lost among the metal trees, 
then map the waste land of the modern heart. 

Every house in which my body has glowed 
still shimmers on the endless road of life 
where other people dwell inside my rooms 
and wonder why my faceless voice of hope 
still whispers from the walls where photos frame 
fragment of my soul that I left behind. 

Collision of our bodies on the grass 
sparks flowers to expand beyond their scope 
so our courageous arms of calm respect 
embrace whole strangeness of our cluttered world, 
till all the faceless versions of my self 
gather in circus of the red-crowned crane. 

Though demons climb down ladder of my mind, 
intent on stealing scripts for tragic shows, 
I hide sad ghosts of epic characters 
between the writhing words of fairy tales 
so they can live free from worship of men 
who expect them to embody the Good. 

I follow honeybees to hill of skulls 
where prophets and messiahs without jobs 
assemble every Sunday afternoon 
to eat hamburgers and talk about why 
so many humans still suffer and die 
despite their teachings about honest love. 

Strong in conviction of honor with pride, 
I declare the Great Yes and the Great No 
through oxymoron of ambiguous truth 
so my soul oscillates with angel wings 
between opposing poles of equal facts 
that contradict the logic of their power. 

Based on quiet mathematics of weight, 
another branch on the great Tree of Knowledge 
breaks and drops in solitude of faith 
with no warning from storm of global war 
that forces us to play heroes or fools 
in bitter gamble to transcend our fate. 

Firecrackers burst in honest hearts with love 
so I transform from dinosaur to god 
who has no heart inside frame of my soul 
though it swells huge as plane with silver wings 
that carries refugees from civil wars 
who sell their shibboleth to live in Heaven.