Godness Of The Empty Space

Godness Of The Empty Space
© Surazeus
2026 10 08

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Formulas Of Wrong Think

Formulas Of Wrong Think
© Surazeus
2026 10 08

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Human Face Of Geryon

Human Face Of Geryon
© Surazeus
2026 10 08

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

New Truth In Byzantium

New Truth In Byzantium
© Surazeus
2026 10 07

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Church Of Bitter Prayer

Church Of Bitter Prayer
© Surazeus
2026 10 07

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Live Equally With Faith

Live Equally With Faith
© Surazeus
2026 10 07

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mute Book Of Lies

Mute Book Of Lies
© Surazeus
2026 10 06

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mindless Mirror Of Infinity

Mindless Mirror Of Infinity
© Surazeus
2026 10 06

My heart becomes raven of light each time 
Orpheus takes me to the Otherworld 
because snowflakes are laughter of the sun 
that photograph my soul with fractured eyes, 
time unaware of astronauts in boats 
which sail across the mirror of my mind. 

Quick butterflies of memories seem to flock 
around bookshelves of stories never read 
by children who panic at falling planes, 
despite how soon the monster of the moon 
sells our strange secrets to the holy fool 
because the Self is illusion of words. 

Though clocks in trunks of oaks beside the lake 
remember why my Dream Body was born 
at this complex age, on this crowded globe 
of all the planets in the universe, 
I choose to redesign my character 
based on flight of the raven in my heart. 

Surprised by sense of wonder in my heart 
that wakes me from strange dream of broken trees, 
I gather photos scattered on the grass 
and arrange them in frames on temple walls 
to prove my right to breathe air of the sky 
with humble glamor of the nameless ghost. 

Though most believe the universe is made 
by conscious force of psychic energy 
that conjures life on planets of bright suns, 
others believe through formulas of faith 
that we project our sense of consciousness 
at mindless mirror of infinity. 

Preserved by silence of the singing lake, 
who seems to know how I should never feel, 
I focus sharp attention of my mind 
on how soft undulating curves of time 
reveal essential nature of the heart 
so I can prove my brave sincerity. 

Though words I speak become white butterflies 
that flutter far into fate-mirrored sky, 
I hold the stone that streaked in blaze of light 
from mindless mirror of infinity 
to show the secret face behind my face 
which I wear to mask passionate respect. 

Lost in Somewhere City of the Weird Earth, 
alone in endless maze of numbered homes, 
I ponder strictness of the asphalt road 
that frames writhing lawns of yellow grass 
because I am the raven who eats words 
each time I return from the Otherworld. 

Cherubic Wings Of Innocence

Cherubic Wings Of Innocence
© Surazeus
2026 10 06

Untwisting feelings of romantic hope 
to disengage my body from desire, 
I spread cherubic wings of innocence 
to float as light above chaotic seas, 
then sing celestial thoughts of broken stones 
from which spring children of the hungry stars. 

Shy Carla strolls the hard sidewalk at dawn 
past willow threes that paint the lonely sky 
with all the rainbow colors of the wind, 
then opens her small gift shop by the park 
and smiles at ding of the bell on the door, 
then turns on computers, and pets the cat. 

Time-weaving clocks with face of the Green Man 
watch us from trunks of oaks in shadowed woods 
where angels wrestle devils for our hearts, 
but dissipate in mist from silver ponds 
because illusions vanish in sunlight 
which conjures virtual model of the Earth. 

Yet Carla stocking cards in metal shelves 
considers problem of evil that forms 
foundation for international law 
by which leaders of nations in gray suits 
play chess games to control our mortal souls 
with systemic framework of social power. 

Old bearded man, who stares at birthday card 
that shows young lovers swinging by a pond, 
weeps with quiet anguish, then buys the card, 
explaining that he leaves one by her grave 
though rain always dissolves it into grass 
because her ghost follows him everywhere. 

If we could dismantle male privilege 
where men are never punished for vile crimes 
in vain attempts to control minds of women, 
Carla ponders while ringing up new sale 
for Beatrice purchasing pen with pink ink, 
we could make life safer for young girls. 

Cars, forged from steel of fallen meteors, 
which Arthur used to pull sword from the stone, 
float past her gift shop on angelic wings 
of gleaming sunlight that sparks in her heart 
compassion for all the people of Earth 
who suffer and die in stark misery. 

Locking her shop after sunset flames fade 
to darkness tainted orange by mute streetlamps, 
Carla stops by pond in the city park 
and stares at face of Artemis she wears, 
that floats into the sky on red swan wings 
to sleep in her house on the crystal moon. 

Woods Of My Aching Heart

Woods Of My Aching Heart
© Surazeus
2026 10 05

What shining spirit of justice and order 
may power my subjection of despair, 
Shamash defeating Humbaba with light, 
Apollo vanquishing Python with wisdom, 
Jesus overcoming Satan with love, 
or Beowulf battling Grendel with honor? 

What dark obscure woods of my aching heart 
must I explore with lamp of timeless faith, 
though sun-gilded tears may stream down my face, 
strange paradise of uncivilized passion 
entrapping me in labyrinth of despair, 
till I face snake-haired monster of blind lust? 

If monstrous demon of my wounded heart 
howls at my face with mocking disrespect, 
then cracks the mountain of the rumbling world 
by smacking my frail soul against the Earth, 
will I wake roaring flame of innocence 
to rise on wings and fight my hungry greed? 

If primal nature of my monkey soul 
is severed from angelic glow of faith 
that beams from spinning iron core of Earth, 
will I be baptized in pool of desire 
and cleansed of wolfish rage inside my heart 
by tender compassion of my sweet bride? 

Once I rise tall from muck of psychic birth 
and transcend monstrous passion of my heart 
to confirm my soul through strict self-control, 
will I evolve from mad demon of Hell 
to transform through creative offering 
to wise angel of Heaven with eight wings? 

Once Ishtar offers me her fertile heart 
in marriage that combines body and soul, 
and asks me with seductive voice of trust 
to fertilize her with gift of my fruits, 
as Eve ate Apple to generate life, 
will I design new world view for mankind? 

Where will I wander to find nameless ghost 
who falls in bottomless abyss of death 
after I slay great bull of the Sun God 
and feast on steaks I roast on flame of faith, 
to weep for Lycidas and Adonais 
while lost in endless labyrinth of Hell? 

Where will I build the house of seven doors, 
constructing wall with thirty-three watch towers, 
and plant Garden of Eden to raise children, 
when the lightning storm destroys it with flood 
that demolishes everything I make, 
so I sing alone on the river shore? 

Godless Void Of Hope

Godless Void Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 10 05

Wise Aten beams my soul with hands of light 
so I live and die in dream of Earth 
with laughter of the ancient deathless stars 
beaming through atoms of my fragile flesh 
which animate my progress till I die 
when I stare in the godless void of hope. 

Clever Tammuz weaves my spirit from wool 
so I climb broad stairs up high ziggurat 
to bring gifts of my crafting hands with love 
to temple where Inanna brews sweet wine 
which I drink as we kiss in gold moonlight 
when I laugh in the godless void of hope. 

Brave Adonis bakes my body from wheat 
so I bear brass plate with hot loaves of bread 
for everyone on broad ziggurat steps 
may eat the sacred body of the Earth 
while Ishtar sings Creation of the World 
when I shout in the godless void of hope. 

Bold Adam breathes life in my apple heart 
so I tame serpent writhing in the tree 
then people buy apple pies from my cart 
while I perform in market maze of want 
below ziggurat where Asherah sings 
when I leap in the godless void of hope. 

Shrewd Jehovah molds my torso from fish 
so I dive deep in ocean of despair 
to find the herb of youth Gilgamesh lost 
then wander beach to hut where Shamhat sings 
who teaches me to spark life in her heart 
when I swim in the godless void of hope. 

Honest Jesus twists my arms into wings 
so I run swift in forest of swift harts 
to hunt with Artemis in moonlit groves 
where we twang strings of bows with dauntless joy 
to feel our bodies pulsing with desire 
when I soar in the godless void of hope. 

Lithe Lucifer forges my brain from gold 
so I map history of humanity 
on time-animated globe that depicts 
evolution of man from Fish to God 
on endless quest to find the Promised Land 
when I dance in the godless void of hope. 

Audacious Odin carves my name in runes 
that writhe with serpentine intelligence 
in ghost-engendering well of Melusine 
who teaches me to compose tales of faith 
that show how women raise children with love 
when I sing in the godless void of hope. 

Reconnect With Mother Sea

Reconnect With Mother Sea
© Surazeus
2026 10 05

Because the music of the sea knows me, 
I float on celestial breath of the mind 
to interact with humans in the world 
who float on their own music of the sea, 
for we all sing in harmony with hope 
that leaves us stranded on the sunlit beach. 

Expanding beyond scale of holy thoughts 
with every wave that flows onto the beach, 
my mind considers why we suffer pain 
that drives us to consume beasts of the sea 
whose spirits vibrate energy of hope 
which animates our journey to the light. 

Since blazing power of relentless light 
blasts my frail soul with divine energy, 
I follow flashing river through steep hills, 
ascending to broad meadow of soft flowers 
that dance with delicate grace of desire 
in cool breeze that caresses me with hope. 

I dwell ten thousand years in field of flowers 
between the sloshed wave and the jagged peak, 
safe in fertile haven of Middle-Earth, 
tending herds of sheep, and fields of gold wheat, 
through countless generations of my soul 
reborn as me with each new frame of flesh. 

Now I work as mechanic every day, 
fixing engines of cars in large garage 
along street of businesses and banks 
where cars and people glide by every hour, 
yet memory of that meadow by the sea 
frames how I function in daily routines. 

Attention focused on tubes, wires, and gears, 
I maintain process of physical change 
to manage function of the world machine 
powered by waves that still wash on the beach 
where I take my wife and kids on weekends 
to reconnect our hearts with Mother Sea. 

We hike in meadow where soft flowers bloom, 
and listen to birds chirp in florid trees 
who taught us how to speak words of our thoughts, 
then fish at lake where our ancestors lived, 
to eat roast fish and sing old tribal songs 
around bright campfire under sparkling stars. 

I hope we can maintain this balanced life 
of working in the corporate urban zone 
to maintain world food-production machine 
while seeking recreation in lush Nature 
where we can reconnect with Mother Sea 
whose song rejuvenates our wave-born souls. 

Yet Still I Row My Boat

Yet Still I Row My Boat
© Surazeus
2026 10 04

Glass bridge of laughter questions Game of If 
where nameless people wander distant shores 
with plans to steal new souls from grocery stores 
who vanish in strict mirror of the cliff, 
yet still I row my boat past paradise 
because important things should have no price. 

Electric lightbulb of the smiling sun 
sends garbage trucks to take lost memories 
discarded by housewives with broken keys 
who seek salvation of the holy gun, 
yet still I row my boat past Eden tress 
where angels give math books to chimpanzees. 

Life is the angel wearing mirror mask 
to work for advertising companies 
with clients selling psychic clarities 
to robots who refuse to do the task, 
yet still I row my boat past libraries 
where demons work for social charities. 

Brave butterflies of pencils with nine brains 
flock merrily around sly Mercury 
who teaches jesters art of jollity 
who prance at midnight in honey-gold rains, 
yet still I row my boat past empty church 
where Cinderella continues vain search. 

Trapped by strict duties of proud happiness, 
where horses of the king eat grass of gold, 
my father shows me how to dream-unfold 
airplane wings above Sea of Nothingness, 
yet still I row my boat past apple groves 
where wives of senators slave at hot stoves. 

Despite sincerity of obvious love 
that cripples crow of Heaven with false faith, 
I formulate how God is stellar wraith 
that conjures worlds with psychometric shove, 
yet still I row my boat past matrix schools 
to learn how primates invent farming tools. 

Since fatal geographies of state power 
provide framework for tyrants to play god, 
brave blacksmiths disarticulate the fraud 
with guidance from Rapunzel in her tower, 
yet still I row my boat past bombed-out homes 
to watch gods wrestle in glass thunder domes. 

Conceptual language of the creditor 
reframes the meaning of life we employ 
to reconstruct the sacred halls of Troy 
based on project designed by Lucifer, 
yet still I row my boat past gates of Hell 
to gather dream runes from the serpent well. 

Restore Greatness Of America

Restore Greatness Of America
© Surazeus
2026 10 04

If I should paint the wide subversive sky 
true color of your heart when we first meet, 
the people of the world might analyze 
sufficient romance of my sacrifice 
against synopsis of the seminar 
to judge my brave sincerity of love. 

If I should find crippled crow of my heart 
hopping frantically across the wet lawn, 
the angels of the mountain might require 
visual conformation of my despair 
revealed by neon sign of vacancy 
that flashes intermittently till dawn. 

If I should hear the sharp objective cry 
of morbid nurses in the bitter wind, 
the devils in cathedrals might expect 
guards at the gate of Hell to optimize 
nutritious medicine of martial law 
that traps us in Nirvana after all. 

If I should see the glowing Face of God 
that beams from center of the universe, 
the grim professors might demand I write 
my doctoral thesis about poverty 
that traps the talented in menial jobs 
while mediocre fools run governments. 

If I should write the holy manuscript 
that prophesies new empire of the lost, 
the tongueless preachers might demand I burn 
idols of heroes from religious tales 
to cleanse the sanctuary of the lamb 
who rules through journalist integrity. 

If I should map whole history of the Earth 
that details how great empires rise and fall, 
the housewives in schools might demand I play 
games with children of crippled warriors 
who volunteer to count the treasury 
when priests sell them shares to the Afterlife. 

If I should decree new socialist creed 
to restore greatness of America, 
the lawyers in banks might demand I steal 
celestial wings of flight from Icarus 
so they can storm Heaven in holy coup 
to crown shy Jesus Emperor of Earth. 

If I should play role of messiah sleuth 
through rational performance of my heart, 
the oligarchs might demand I program 
new world view that excludes divinities 
to build from ruins of America 
new state based on equal rights in one law. 

Church Of Broken Clocks

Church Of Broken Clocks
© Surazeus
2026 10 04

Because stars shine indifferent to us, 
not knowing we exist so far away 
on small fragile globe of shuddering water, 
I watch my children play in the back yard 
with joyful laughter of ambitious hope 
that they will rule their own nations one day. 

Obsession of the water-shining stone 
that glistens in the front yard of my home 
inspires me to admire the humble soul 
who rises up from crowd of frantic fear 
to rule the nation accidentally 
when wild waves of change sweep them into power. 

Though names and faces of the global dead 
are forgotten in the spinning of time, 
we merge them all into mythical gods 
who simplify their spirits on one trope 
which preserves their general character 
while their details dissipate in the wind. 

Because the eyeless ghost of my sponge brain 
keeps slipping back and forth in stream of time, 
soaring on wings I stole from Icarus, 
the random story of my awkward life 
becomes the palimpsest of future heroes 
who follow my map through the labyrinth. 

Each day that I grow older than the moon 
I store more information about Earth 
through grand encyclopedia of the brain 
in tales about great empires of the land 
and all the haughty kings who ruled their lives, 
then faded to paintings in history books. 

Since sparrows on statues of generals 
express opinions about their noble deeds, 
we hairless monkeys hide in libraries 
to prove we are wingless angels of time 
blessed to thrive on Earth millions of years more 
since we crawled dripping from the wordless sea. 

Searching for the one book that reveals truth 
in library of human memory, 
I row my boat on river of world dream 
to find the secret island of fruit trees 
where messiah sleuth plots world revolution 
that will unite all nations in one game. 

While spiders spin world matrix of our minds 
we gather in the church of broken clocks 
to decipher riddles from arcane code 
that explain the nature of human greed 
till prophets teach us to embrace nonbeing 
though we make mindless gods from random stars. 

My Feet Write Cuneiforms

My Feet Write Cuneiforms
© Surazeus
2026 10 04

Afloat in randomness of whorling thoughts 
that curl down through genetic memories 
programmed by dreams all my ancestors share, 
I drift with gentle tides of social change 
with stubborn heart that beats time with the stars 
so my feet write cuneiforms of hope. 

While my feet write cuneiforms of hope 
on signless road that takes me everywhere 
beyond the broken walls of paradise, 
I map cave passage through maternal hearts 
down timeless halls of mirrors to perceive 
face of first mother who watches my life. 

Face of first mother who watches my life 
seems to appear on every tree and cloud 
as if her spirit through lush Nature shines 
with faint penumbral glow of divine truth 
so I translate her wordless thoughts of faith 
to songs I sing while strolling road of fate. 

Weird songs I sing while strolling road of fate 
project strange visions of my flashing brain 
each time I face new obstacle of fear, 
providing methods of proactive deeds 
that guide my way on landscape of desire 
through endless labyrinth of confusing myths. 

Through endless labyrinth of confusing myths 
I trace ancestral journey to myself 
based on the tangled narrative of faith 
which my ancestors map in fairy tales 
depicting how people fail or succeed 
to generate new life before they die. 

To generate new life before we die 
we gather food from bounty of the Earth 
till strangers take it all before we can, 
so we build forts on hills and fight fierce wars 
to gather food in bags from hungry woods 
by building empires on the skulls of gods. 

While building empires on the skulls of gods 
we erect idols that depict wise souls 
of leaders who unite our hearts with goal 
to dominate the world with clever plans 
organized by the father of our tribe 
so we present dead mortal as our god. 

Though we present dead mortal as our god 
because he gave us mission to unite 
all nations of the world in Holy Church, 
I leave that endless game of thought control 
and walk to waste land back to Wonderland, 
afloat in randomness of whorling thoughts. 

Lake Of Dreamless Eyes

Lake Of Dreamless Eyes
© Surazeus
2026 10 03

When I find myself at the huge blank wall 
where shadow of my soul mocks my vain pride, 
I open window into nothingness 
and watch one hundred thousand years of wars 
when angry men transform to humming trees 
where children of their enemies play games. 

The house is quiet and the world is calm 
but I am not the book of ancient gods 
because nameless ghosts rise from writhing words 
and dance around me in the summer night 
so I invent strange truth from what I see 
and write their stories no one ever reads. 

How many human faces I have seen 
on endless journey through vast maze of towns 
that takes me through the mystery of faith 
long hidden behind numbered doors of homes 
where strangers hide their secrets inside books 
that angels burn before they break the world. 

My house hangs from the pendulum of doom 
that shakes with throbbing of remembered rain 
though I lose treasure of strange memories 
that lead me to the shadowed woods of time 
where voices of the people I still love 
echo too faintly in receding mist. 

I find their names with letters of bright blood 
fast fading from old books of glimmering leaves 
because wild throbbing of my heart inspires 
fearful rebellion against tyranny 
so I dance by the lake of metal flame 
with radiant laughter of deceptive fame. 

Though I go back and search my tangled dream 
to find the beacon of our anguished pride 
lit by aggressive anger of desire, 
I kneel beside the lake of dreamless eyes 
which casts mercurial gleam on my glass face 
so I become the demon I fear most. 

I hear wild song of ravens after storm 
who gather on electric wires of thought 
to translate noise of brains that buzz with rage 
to solemn hymn uniting wounded hearts 
in global nation of objective faith 
that helps us navigate our maze of myths. 

Awakened by the shouts of jostling flowers 
that toss my body to the humorous moon, 
I surf the flashing tides of global change 
which carry me to land of burning fruit 
where we hold hands and gaze at timeless stars 
that spell our fortune we choose to create. 

Bard Banner Of Our Muses

Bard Banner Of Our Muses
© Surazeus
2026 10 03

While I am wandering in dark tangled woods, 
alone in changeless glimmer of dead gray, 
I find the fallen banner of the bard 
who wrenched it from the western skies with verve 
to light the beacon of musical truth 
that shines from Parnassus with holy glow. 

With trembling hands of my lost legacy, 
which sparks awake the timeless glow of faith 
in my young witch-wrought heart, I lift up high 
that noble banner of our ancient clan, 
then light again with flame of prophecy 
that beacon on the bleak Parnassian height. 

I find the broken lyre of Mercury, 
that Apollo strummed with passionate heart 
some thirty centuries of change ago, 
which passed through skilled hands of many brave singers, 
Phoebus, Homer, Ovid, Virgil, Dante, 
Shakespeare, and Milton, to my hand this hour. 

After tuning strings taut with intense faith, 
I strum the lyre of Mercury and sing 
enchanting hex that conjures from mute gloom 
ghosts of great singers in my bardic clan, 
Philip, Anne, Oliver, William, James, Sarah, 
Edwin, and Robert, who flock to my tune. 

Joining in spontaneous choir of sweet song, 
they beam mercurial voices of bright truth 
in threads of eerie melodies that weave 
grand tapestry of visionary tales 
which illustrate our transcendental faith 
in spells blessed by the Muses of our hearts. 

High on transcendent peak of arcane faith, 
I sing the ancient tale of human hope 
while bearing banner of our bardic clan, 
and tend the sacred flame of divine truth 
that shines from Parnassus with holy glow 
to light our world with wisdom of the Muses. 

Through eerie silence of human despair, 
from hearts crushed by destructive wars for power,  
strange songs of disharmonious ardency 
emerge from hundred million wounded hearts 
whose spells of hope from isolated rooms 
swell whole together through aspiring wind. 

Now that bard banner of our Muses flies 
aloft in pure wind of ethereal song, 
brave voices of hundred million Earth bards 
fuel flame of truth in beacon of our hearts 
which beams from sacred peak of high Parnassus 
to light the Way for people of the world. 

Blinded By Star Words

Blinded By Star Words
© Surazeus
2026 10 03

Blinded by star words of exploding thoughts, 
Citlali washes her face in the lake 
till all the tears of suffering women flush 
her wounded heart clean of observed despair, 
then she tends garden of electric corn 
while children play within scope of her eyes. 

Cupping her hands with soft voice of the wind, 
Citlali scoops water from the silver lake 
that reflects peak of snowy Tlaloc Mountain 
where her grandmother dwells in secret cave 
to commune with soul of the serpent god 
who speaks through song of rivers in the woods. 

Amazed at glory of eye-blinking stars 
that sprinkle fairy dust in human hearts, 
Citlali twirls slowly with graceful calm 
despite aggressive passion of her heart 
that urges her to rise above this world 
and float with ecstasy of butterflies. 

Singing with exquisite respect for light, 
Citlali bakes Tlaxcalli corn flatbread 
on clay griddle comal with quick hands 
then rolls them thick with mushrooms, squash, and beans, 
seasoned with peppers, tomatoes, and herbs, 
which people eat as raindrops flash from leaves. 

When great horned owl with glowing golden eyes 
appears from Mictlan with message of hope, 
Citlali walks along the mountain path 
till she finds young man tending cacao tree, 
so Tecolotl smiles and gives her cup 
filled with hot xocolatl beverage. 

Sipping the bitter sorrow of this world, 
sweetened with chili and vanilla juice, 
Citlali ponders nature of the stars, 
and asks Tecolotl with inquiring voice 
if he thinks stars might be souls of the dead 
who watch us live with synergy of love. 

From swirling fog after wild gush of rain 
Coatl leaps and grabs her by the arm, 
demanding that she bear child of his soul, 
but Citlali tries to escape his grip, 
so he pushes her down, flat on her back, 
till Tecolotl stabs him with sharp spear. 

Suckling daughter she bears with Tecolotl, 
Citlali smiles about his flustered shyness, 
then explains she names their new child Meztli, 
for she is offspring of the humble owl, 
so he makes faces, causing her to laugh 
as moon girl reaches out her tiny hands. 

Holy Depths Of Nothingness

Holy Depths Of Nothingness
© Surazeus
2026 10 03

Kneeling waist deep in glowing silver waves, 
Khaos dips soft hands in swirling lake of stars 
and lifts from holy depths of nothingness 
enormous galaxy of spinning worlds 
which lifts its face and stares into her eyes, 
so she bears the turtle to her beach cave. 

Observing how shape of the turtle shell 
resembles mountains rising from the beach, 
Khaos envisions how world of wind-swept trees 
floats in vast ocean of conceptual hope, 
so she explores steep slope of humming trees 
to find the highest point of innocence. 

Tall tangle-haired man wearing wolf-skin cloak 
extends right hand and offers sun-orange fruit, 
so she consumes light of the flashing rain 
while he fills her with spirit of the moon, 
then wanders back to cave beach of her heart 
where she expands huge as the surging sea. 

When darkness swells inside her aching heart, 
and bulges round as galaxy of worlds, 
Khaos gathers clams and roasts them on hot flames, 
then slurps delicious meat of energy 
that motivates her heart with shock of faith 
to sing heart-radiant hymn of holy love. 

When she gives birth to child with gleaming eyes, 
who wriggles wildly in her trembling arms, 
Khaos weeps with fierce compassion of surprise 
then suckles him at breasts of starry milk, 
humming as he gazes at her with love, 
then speaks his name, Erebus, with respect. 

While gathering clams in leather bag of hope, 
Khaos shows Erebus how to bundle wood 
as they stroll laughing on broad beach of sand, 
then stand together when strong gust of wind 
whips hair around their faces with bright joy 
and sunlight weaves their bodies with delight. 

When wolf man from the cloud-high mountain grove 
appears on windy beach with long sharp spear, 
Khaos notes sharp features of his rugged face, 
then gazes at face her curious son, 
and feels sweet glow of wisdom flush her heart 
to realize how she incarnates his soul. 

While weaving baskets from flexible vines, 
Khaos watches wolf man and Erebus play, 
running swiftly along sun-gleaming beach, 
gathering sticks and stones with clever hands, 
then crafting tridents with three sharpened points 
to catch fish they eat beneath twinkling stars. 

Vibes Of Social Harmony

Vibes Of Social Harmony
© Surazeus
2026 10 02

Trapped by avalanche of identities 
which narrate riddles of anxiety, 
Zemyna describes elements of life 
as wheat that sprouts as her long curly hair 
in meadows lush with flowers of her breasts, 
while she holds crystal sphere of flashing stars. 

We celebrate Earth Mother of our hearts 
because her love sustains life of our souls, 
then takes our bodies back into her soil 
so we are ghosts in great lakes of her eyes 
who dance in birch groves with attentive grace 
till we lie down at death in her embrace. 

When I hear weird spell Mother of Graves chants, 
that echoes softly in moon-haunted woods, 
I play water tunes on flute of my heart 
to radiate vibes of social harmony 
that soothe brittle anger of wounded hearts 
till we attend grand feast Zemyna hosts. 

Even while I walk crowded business maze, 
conducting business of product exchange 
within parameters of strict contracts, 
I hear enchanting voice in blustering wind 
when Mother of Ghosts addresses my soul 
with fate-unspooling hex of fertile faith. 

Advanced to messy edges of our lives, 
I bind with oath of honest privilege 
new secret purpose of the glowing cloud, 
based on abundant wealth of bankruptcy, 
to revive heritage through instruments 
of fiscal gravity attracting ghosts. 

By teaching me how to interpret rain 
as splatter of inflated integers 
that model ordinance of future states, 
Zemyna arms my atmospheric mind 
with orchestrated process of respect 
so I could certify demonic faith. 

Attuned to misdirecting equity, 
depicted by strange cultural entities, 
contrived by deviant currencies of hope, 
Zemyna reprograms dream gallery 
with ardent frequencies of mental force, 
so I accept my role as guardian. 

Attending marathon of humble spies, 
who rewrite rules of dire linguistic tricks, 
Zemyna teaches me with anecdotes 
how to locate the liberal positive 
based on marketing techniques of bold faith, 
so we survive their avalanche of lies. 

Ocean Waves Of Thought

Ocean Waves Of Thought
© Surazeus
2026 10 02

I want to talk to you about the rain 
is if broad wings of angels could erase 
conceptual bitterness of twisted pain 
that we accept as normal for the face 
that shields our souls against psychotic fame, 
tricked by the king of clowns to play his game. 

With ache of longing to taste juicy fruit 
while stuck in deep lake of demonic tears, 
I reach my hand to grasp the bitter loot 
that blinds my eyes to arrogate false fears 
while haughty Tantalus laughs at my plight 
because my agony is rendered trite. 

Startled awake from dream of writhing snakes, 
Selene sees her daughter Herse leap 
at flash of lightning that shatters soul lakes 
with sudden laughter that all life is cheap, 
so Hermes swoops down to embrace the girl 
whose honest hex hurls him in ocean swirl. 

Old pastor gripping Bible to his chest 
demands I tell important anecdotes 
which relate need for boys to go on quest 
exploring secret to construct sea boats 
on which we sail to conquer paradise 
with certain shock that we must pay the price. 

I want to hold sweet Thetis in my arms 
because our son is destined to perform 
great deeds of valor on skull-cluttered farms 
where Hera makes love with the God of Storm, 
but she prefers the humble man who knows 
how to tame horses when the full moon glows. 

Enraged that I can never obtain wealth, 
I smash old idol of Hermes in grief 
which scatters gold coins with obnoxious stealth, 
so I buy friendships that prove to be brief 
which leads me to knock at steel gates of Hell 
that shake at shocking mockery of the bell. 

Knee deep in sloshing waves of solitude, 
I wade into cold ocean waves of thought 
to swim with mermaids whose sweet songs are rude 
because they insult the divine robot 
who tries to conquer nations of the Earth 
without understanding what faith is worth. 

With calm compassion for the wounded soul, 
I roll Rock of Salvation up the hill 
to build enormous palace without goal 
through firm intention to ignore the bill, 
till I find fractured skull of Sisyphus 
that vibrates with contempt of bitterness. 

Unclock Chance Of Fate

Unclock Chance Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 10 02

Aside from how fast stars always explode 
into light fairies with gossamer wings 
who bring bottles of root beer to blind clowns, 
Gearthe considers why white horses laugh 
at the wild-haired king chasing the giraffe, 
because she wants to paint portraits of ghosts. 

As if respectful turbulence of planes 
reveals how deep the psychic manhole goes 
for devils to hide from raven disease, 
Gearthe scatters pumpkin seeds on sidewalks 
while asking glass-shelled tortoise of dark faith 
how long it takes for alphabets to grow. 

Since no more than seven ages of man 
show our regressive pattern of regret 
by disobedience to laws of Glow Clouds, 
Gearthe advertises her expertise 
for extracting souls from god-twisting books 
to rescue children from the war machine. 

Though no one knows when the last god will die 
from embarrassment of drowning in tears 
that humans shed from constant suffering, 
Gearthe walks one hundred thousand miles 
to find the new-born angel with nine eyes 
who is destined to work as a janitor. 

If Death considers what the stop sign means 
that stands forever at crossroads of fate 
till Jesus cheats Krishna at game of cards, 
Gearthe will give away to bitter monks 
all the most famous paintings about queens 
who were forced to marry privileged thieves. 

Backward up Stairway to Heaven at dawn 
with random plan to unclock chance of fate 
at crack of gears in broken time machines, 
Gearthe gazes through swirling fog of time 
to navigate valley of singing skulls 
because the future is one step beyond. 

Yet when three prophets of the global bank 
distract attention of the humble folk 
through lamentation at the death of God, 
Gearthe holds flowers by the faceless pool, 
then asks shy Narcissus to marry her 
while echoing his religious beliefs. 

Till seeds expand into towers of steel 
that frame glass spirits of unusual faith 
based on undulations of interest rates, 
Gearthe decides not to proceed with plan 
to purchase glass castle from Jupiter 
till he admits his conceptual mistake. 

Surf The Waves Of Change

Surf The Waves Of Change
© Surazeus
2026 10 02

When tyrants take control of government, 
appointing thieves to higher offices, 
and funnel dollars of our hard-earned tax 
from programs that support the common folk 
to coffers of their private bank accounts, 
all we can do is surf the waves of change. 

When humble lawmen from the government 
ride into small towns on the wild frontier 
to challenge barons who own all the land, 
and integrate them in the empire state 
that trains sons of farmers as banking clerks, 
all we can do is surf the waves of change. 

When Midas, Nebuchadnezzar, and Lear 
imprison angels from Elysium 
to extract minerals from the mines of Hell, 
and build tanks and airplanes with bombs of hate 
to fight over who controls the most land, 
all we can do is surf the waves of change. 

When oligarchs of high-tech companies 
design artificial intelligence 
to perform functions of analysis 
that disemploys millions of programmers 
who fight video wargames in cyberspace, 
all we can do is surf the waves of change. 

When farmers attending church on Sundays 
no longer receive fiscal subsidies, 
while brave migrant workers from southern lands 
are deported to towns run by drug lords 
so no one is left to harvest their crops, 
all we can do is surf the waves of change. 

When prophets disguised as cartographers 
rename the ancient lands of everywhere 
to realign conceptual state of mind 
that conjures virtual model of the Earth 
so we navigate tides of history, 
all we can do is surf the waves of change. 

When democratic republic of hope, 
which we built strong on noble principle 
that every person born across this land 
has inalienable right to liberty, 
collapses under greed of oligarchs, 
all we can do is surf the waves of change. 

When Gothinius, descended from two gods, 
Jesus and Odin, through Holy Grail bloodline 
of Faramundus, and Frank Queen Argotta, 
unites the warring nations of Europe 
in unified state of Gothinia, 
all we can do is surf the waves of change. 

Lost On Ghostless Moors

Lost On Ghostless Moors
© Surazeus
2026 10 01

By stretching my mind across centuries 
to wind my heart with frantic memories 
my soul becomes the boundless sky of doors 
through which I wander lost on ghostless moors 
to gather blossoms from the playful breeze 
so I forge trauma into psychic keys. 

Because I am calm enemy of hate, 
tricked to play happy by swindle of fate, 
I am uninterested in fraught game 
of who suffers most to achieve false fame, 
so I transcend stark agony of pain 
by floating wingless in electric rain. 

If I cast hex of calibrated spells 
through inefficient laughter of church bells, 
I may revive my equestrian heart 
long enough to check fortune-twisting chart 
against status of episcopal faith, 
fabricated through lust of the Star Wraith. 

Since I may inherit Book of Weird Lies, 
composed by children of dynamic spies, 
I may attempt to grow angelic wings 
through spiral sparkle of demonic rings 
that proves my soul is native to this land 
as frightened rebel of divine command. 

Concealed by silence of old broken truth, 
designed by ravens acting out of ruth, 
I analyze consequence of my deed, 
then adjudicate fault through mental need 
to exercise free will within constraints 
applied by nature to create more saints. 

Through ballads, strictly coded to express 
moral values that conjure happiness, 
I document events of this wild age, 
performed by sly mortals on global stage, 
depicting tragic passions of blind gods 
whose arrogance transforms them into toads. 

Across the waste land of eccentric rules 
children wander nowhere past fractured schools 
to learn of freedom for the wounded soul 
who studies secrets of the flashing whole 
so they can sell anger in holy books 
because temple priests are restaurant cooks. 

With tale-tattered quill, from my crippled wing, 
I chronicle our age of suffering 
by giving voice to the marginalized 
who storm Heaven though they are unbaptized, 
then compile ten billion stories with runes 
that dissipate into soul-haunting tunes. 

God My Brain Invents

God My Brain Invents
© Surazeus
2026 10 01

When dawn sun gleams red over apple creek, 
piercing my heart with agony of love, 
I fool myself one hour of glowing thoughts 
that I am one with some vast cosmic mind, 
and not alone and small on giant globe 
that slowly spins in void of nothingness. 

How comforting to think that cosmic mind, 
beaming from hills and clouds with warming love, 
observes my being with soul-nurturing care, 
empathizing with strange feelings I feel, 
and would protect my frail body from harm 
while teaching me to see nature of things. 

This hope for huge protective soul of love 
that gleams as ghost in sun-refracting clouds, 
I wonder if my mind derives its sense 
from memories my ancestors reviewed 
because they all experienced sweet care 
their living parents performed in each life. 

My mind projects care of this cosmic mind 
based on experience of each new life 
from memories of their childhood that transfer 
brain to brain on dream-weaving strings of genes 
which feed complex glow of my conscious mind 
so I expect care from ghost of this world. 

No parental spirit, bodied in flesh, 
hovers over me with cherubic wings 
to shield my frail embodied soul from harm, 
so my mind projects as ghost of their care 
incorporeal being in God my brain invents 
that shimmers as illusion of my faith. 

If I were not projecting ghost of care 
as ideal god that presents in thought 
absent parent my programmed brain expects, 
I would begin to tremble with stark fear 
that sharp-toothed monsters of death lurking near 
may attack and destroy my tender soul. 

Thus with fake confidence of specious faith 
I strut landscape of terror to account 
for secret treasures I extract from death 
as fruit which I consume to sustain life 
that flushes with tense strength of ardent pride 
transient self which I navigate with care. 

Now stuck with ghost of God my brain invents, 
programmed by psychic memories of hope 
that my ancestors conjured from stark fear 
to navigate through gangs of hostile men, 
which helped them survive to generate life, 
I protect and guide my children with care. 

Pool Of Her Luminous Heart

Pool Of Her Luminous Heart
© Surazeus
2026 10 01

While angels and devils fight in the sky 
as lightning flashes in swirling black clouds, 
I wander along crumbling asphalt road 
far out in the desolate countryside 
to the abandoned mansion of gray wood 
where faceless ghosts float in one thousand rooms. 

Before rotten stump of the ancient tree, 
that once sheltered children with joyful eyes 
who played games on long summer afternoons, 
I kneel and touch small sprout of tender leaves 
that struggles to grow from its legacy 
and bloom with apple rubies of true faith. 

When I touch roots with anguish of regret, 
that radiates from despair of wounded hearts 
since people I love were slaughtered in war, 
passionate beam of psychic energy 
spirals through expanding scope of consciousness 
which manifests in tree of global faith. 

Celestial goddess robed in tattered pain 
vibrates with spark of cosmic synergy 
that spirals from pool of her luminous heart 
so she creates our spinning world of souls 
to pulse in ocean of atomic waves, 
then sings while drenched in golden seeds of faith. 

Emerging from weird visions at gray dawn, 
I ponder meaning of that vague word, Faith, 
which weak men, trapped by duty to succeed, 
wield as weapon of spiritual control, 
so I gaze at old crumbling house of hope 
that creaks in wind of innocent desire. 

How fiercely I longed to escape this house 
and live with passion in city of lights, 
but vampires cloaked in dapper suits of wealth, 
instead of humble knights with crafting tools, 
became obsessed with beauty of my face 
and sucked bright spirit of my naive heart. 

Instead of Penelope waiting at home 
for Odysseus to return to warm hearth, 
I am Medusa searching for true love, 
for I have left behind gods turned to stone 
as tragic lessons no one cares to learn, 
yet hope to find Perseus waiting for me. 

Wrapping her long tangled hair in firm bun, 
Mary unlocks door of her family home, 
cleans every room with broom and mop of faith, 
then sits in leather armchair by the hearth 
to sip hot chocolate and watch snowflakes 
flash in timeless light of the gold Full Moon. 

Fruit Tree Of Untime

Fruit Tree Of Untime
© Surazeus
2026 09 30

I live beside the river of blind souls 
who dance around the fruit tree of untime, 
awake with arguments of lonely flowers 
while flapping crippled wings of honesty 
that flare against infinity of hope 
till we become new houses for our dead. 

I bury seeds of sorrow in wet Earth 
to nourish with tears fruit tree of untime 
that curls thirsty roots into my thick heart 
with passionate intensity of faith 
that startles me awake from wordless dream 
beneath the mirror sky of burning eyes. 

Forever down long winding road of thoughts 
I walk away to fruit tree of untime 
through endless loops of returning progress 
since I arrive back where I once began 
to find the beginning is now my end 
except I want to start the way again. 

With crowd of angels on high ziggurat, 
gathered around sprawling tree of untime, 
I hold high brass wand with emerald eye 
refracting beams of sunlight in rainbow 
that lights bright faces of ten billion souls 
who sing hymn to the glory of our globe. 

When God wakes in atoms of dreaming eyes 
that blossom ripe from fruit tree of untime, 
I feel glow in my body every soul 
who will ever live on every world globe 
in all the universe of swirling galaxies, 
so I transmit songs of their aching hearts. 

Like every tree that exists in Spacetime 
manifests perfect fruit tree of untime, 
so Jesus, Allah, Buddha, Vishnu, Zeus, 
and Odin manifest, as mortal men, 
perfect Tribe Leader who cares for the people 
who trust him to organize their lives well. 

Vibrating with eternal buzz of light 
that spirals out from fruit tree of untime, 
I declare with radial galactic voice 
that I am atoms which always exist 
for all things emanate from my God Mind 
through transient bodies of organic souls. 

As temporary being with conscious self, 
nourished with love by fruit tree of untime, 
I savor strangeness of this universe 
and treasure beauty of your radiant soul, 
so we embrace and generate new life 
who will live and sing long after we die. 

Beauty Of Her Cosmic Soul

Beauty Of Her Cosmic Soul
© Surazeus
2026 09 30

Gold Key of Wisdom I forge from my heart 
opens doors of happiness to safe homes 
where ghosts of apples as organic beings 
share visions of their minds in songs of faith 
that shine as lamps to guide us on the road 
which we traverse to build new paradise. 

When I observe strange objects of this world 
that shimmer with light in vale of my heart, 
my mother Reitia writes words that she speaks 
as runes she carves on smooth tablets of wood, 
then teaches me how to cast magic spells 
as hex that projects vision of my mind. 

When I see pretty girl with long gold hair 
and blue eyes gleaming bright as valley lake, 
I grab her with my hands to kiss her mouth, 
but mother Reitia twists my arm and frowns, 
then teaches me to treat girls with respect, 
admiring beauty of her cosmic soul. 

Appointed to accompany Her Way, 
I guard sweet Artemis with magic wand 
as she attends duties of her routine, 
protecting her soul from monsters and men 
as she gathers fruit, berries, nuts, and eggs 
from eerie shadows of the mountain woods. 

Though I save her fertile body from harm, 
stopping men from enslaving her as wife, 
she saves me from blind selfishness of lust 
because I come to know her secret heart, 
as I attend her progress every day, 
when I focus true love on her, not me. 

When her mother contracts marriage of state 
for brave Artemis as obedient wife 
to manage household of the wealthy banker, 
I relinquish duty as her soul guard, 
then drift with broken heart in obscure woods 
to linger by her favorite turtle pool. 

As I convince myself to let her go 
and respect freedom of her private will 
to marry the wealthy man she may choose, 
Artemis appears in our secret grove, 
where I stare at reflection of my face, 
and calls my name with voice of genuine love. 

Attending mirror of her glowing eyes, 
I burst with joy at tenor of her words 
that she loves me because I love her soul, 
nursing her freedom to live as she will 
instead of striving to control her body, 
so we hold hands and stroll back into town. 

Arthurian Code Of Conduct

Arthurian Code Of Conduct
© Surazeus
2026 09 30

When hexagonal ice crystals refract 
spirit of the sun through sphere of my brain, 
I see crowd of red and black balls swirl wild 
in flashing spirals of electric coils 
that scatter into flocks of silver crows 
who gather in oak trees to sing my name. 

Because astonishing light of my being 
emanates from mortal frame of my flesh, 
I dream delusion of immortal life 
glowing from conscious system of my brain 
which tricks my mind to feel as if my soul 
exists long before it beams from my body. 

Contained within limiting bounds of being, 
my soul vibrates from waves of chemicals 
that interact to conjure glow of life 
through finite channels of time-woven space, 
designed by my ancestors so my genes 
construct this temporary self I am. 

Spurred to perform act of the noble soul 
by story of the tyrant who exploits 
bodies of people to increase his power, 
I journey road to the high mountain pass 
where statue of the goddess glows alive 
and commissions me to defeat the king. 

Inspired by her vision of global peace, 
I fight against every tyrant on Earth 
with passion of brave Cronus in my heart 
to cast cruel Uranus from throne of greed 
and free the hungry people of the world 
to operate farms with communal faith. 

Just like Saint Lucia asks Empress Maria, 
who asks Princess Beatrice for assistance, 
who sends Vergilius to guide Dante to Heaven, 
so Athena asks Apollo, who asks 
Mercurius, who sends Orpheus with lyre 
to guide my journey to the Promised Land. 

Thus wise Athena teaches me to see 
essential spirit in each human being 
so I may attend to their secret needs, 
and nurture innate talents into skills 
that allows them to create way of life 
fulfilling dreams of their ambitious hope. 

Wielding Sword of Justice in hand of faith, 
applied to my care by the Fairy Queen, 
I follow Arthurian Code of Conduct 
opposing tyrants, enslavers, and thieves, 
protecting farmers, herdsmen, and craftsmen, 
and protecting women who create life. 

Far Side Of Reality

Far Side Of Reality
© Surazeus
2026 09 29

Quick leap to far side of reality 
through oscillation of brave opposites 
connects the lonely island of my heart 
to lush continent of humanity 
as bridge of compassionate ardency 
which helps me find missing treasure of truth. 

Slow fall to far side of reality 
from transient twirling of excessive tries 
may channel frantic energy of faith 
in pulsing tunnels of my sponge-wet brain 
to motivate attention of my love 
laser-focused on dark needs of your heart. 

Grim trudge to far side of reality 
across dire waste land of the spotless mind 
reveals bold quality of strong friendships 
designed by manufacture fervid faith 
bonding hearts of strangers with calm words 
disguised as solemn hymns of potency. 

Deep swim to far side of reality 
in bottomless abyss of weird insight 
exposes monstrous demons of my heart 
who hunger to consume galactic fruit 
that shimmers so enticingly correct 
from twisted hands of sad demonic trees. 

High flight to far side of reality 
above gold clouds of crystal palaces 
lures thirsty angel of my bitter heart 
to hope for afterlife of pleasant bliss 
strolling with God in Garden of Delight 
where my doppelganger plays lyre of faith. 

Bright prance to far side of reality 
inside wide ring of tall emerald stones 
attracts shocked apparition of my brain 
to hope my spirit lives eternally 
before and after this organic frame 
contains assertive passion of success. 

Mad quest to far side of reality 
around Plutonian forest of wise crows 
tricks me to follow Golden Way of Weird 
where I assert prophetic state of mind 
because I see in vision of dream code  
events that never happen on this Earth. 

Brave strike to far side of reality 
against oppressive gang of psychic thieves 
compels me to rebel against false gods 
who reign on hill of skulls with holy word 
because this space of land around my head 
provides foundation for my sovereignty. 

Trick The Algebraic Vain

Trick The Algebraic Vain
© Surazeus
2026 09 29

Exquisite concept of the codicil, 
that supplements virtual world of my brain 
with legal formalities of false creeds, 
contrived to trick the algebraic vain 
into believing in the Afterlife, 
facilitates my quest to find the Grail. 

Though I was born to emulate the god 
who honors fabricated states of mind 
with brave expenditure of sordid faith, 
I strive to graduate from fairy school 
through evanescence of inglorious jokes 
that deal explicit codes of ardent grace. 

Assigned to play adjacent analyst 
through progress of attractive avenues, 
I claim my heart has been reauthorized 
to track essential functions of desire 
through formulas of courage birds invent 
by dancing in exotic episodes. 

Though self-contained by modular regret 
through optimal duty of honest leaps, 
despite elite membership of my brain 
in building framework for our new world view, 
I compile facts for divine currency 
concealed by mortgage of the covenant. 

Calm grandeur of incisions once revised, 
by calculating new visions of clouds, 
requires misspelled austerities of love 
to reassemble cracked puzzle of pride 
that glorifies deep beauty of true hearts, 
expunging envy through obsessive joy. 

Through fractal letter of soul maintenance, 
reversed by secret techniques of concern, 
we shop for shocking gossip at the church 
where angels store grain in bags of despair, 
till wooden robot of ethereal fear 
provides welfare for winners who still fail. 

Awake at aperture of dreamless domes, 
where haughty angels boast of bankruptcies, 
I balance catalogs of proofless facts 
with mental functions of the carnival 
because we must express impassioned creeds 
which polishes expanding scope of truth. 

Thus I will broadcast biblical welfare 
through wireless workshops of witless thieves 
who rank themselves pleasant entrepreneurs 
whose hearts are bound by rainbow allergies, 
or else we all will die from laughing bombs 
that disassemble our religious faith. 

Lurid Hills Of Ithaka

Lurid Hills Of Ithaka
© Surazeus
2026 09 29

Since Ithaka is always on my mind, 
forever just ahead in swirling mist 
toward which I journey by the starry map, 
I gather riches of sorrowful truth 
in my constructing hands so I can build 
safe haven for my children to grow wise. 

Through curtains of uncertainty I leap 
into frame of the sudden photograph 
where I hang frozen without angel wings 
till paper crinkles and dissolves to dust, 
then I fall into well of gravity 
to hold my loving spouse in gentle arms. 

Though brave heretics against holy thoughts 
emerge in flames from tomb of confidence, 
they cast all superstitions to the ground 
in challenge to the Gorgon of the church 
that lurks as faceless ghost of arrogance 
in twisted shadows of the broken house. 

Since travelers still ride their placid ways 
in cool shade of the nuclear missile bomb, 
we give each other tickets for the train 
that never takes to Heaven nameless soul 
who flocks around my passion-wired mind 
as loyal bride in tattered wedding dress. 

Because the yellow sea ghost of desire 
derides our plan derived from mordent leaves 
to follow blood-thick river of respect, 
I leap the lunar silences of fate 
while I record sweet music of the sand 
to prove that Heaven is our fantasy. 

If snow disfigures idols of our gods 
that stand by frozen brooks of travesty, 
I may decide to run with gentle wolves 
through evergreen forest of lonely vales 
far from the illness of my fractured mind 
so I become light of the afternoon. 

Now that my deconstructed soul of masks 
has been regenerated by the egg, 
my mother asks the spirit of her god 
to beam from stars and animate my mind 
with solemn honor of the upright creed, 
but I would somersault the laughing beach. 

With unconstraining voice of solitude 
I dare rejoice at rapture of my heart 
when I guard healing fountain with sharp eye 
that waters lurid hills of Ithaka 
with ghosts of heroes who give away names 
of their brave spirits to the world today. 

Crippled Wing Of Fire

Crippled Wing Of Fire
© Surazeus
2026 09 29

Forbidden sorrow of the cherry tree 
reveals sweet nothingness of urgency 
that spurs my climb in tangled certainty 
from dissolution of the river flow 
that casts me paralyzed in comfort snow 
since love diminishes my anguished pain. 

Soft pink of dawn reveals my long-lost home 
en route to unconsoling ocean shore 
where I am shadow of my mute desire, 
face glowing rose from crippled wing of fire 
that concentrates my numbing loneliness 
as swan that glides on mirror of my mind. 

Unburdened kindness of the leafless tree 
that resurrects brave dinosaurs of love 
inspires strange wonder of my swollen mind 
to ponder shrieks of gulls in frantic breeze 
that flicker in wide circles of concern 
though children invent new systems of state. 

Red rabbit of my half-excited heart 
darts swift through endless maze of wordless prayers 
that young girls whisper in the doorless church 
while washing speckled hands in bowls of oil 
which they smear in black words on courtroom walls 
to indicate precisely what they mean. 

She hides her stories in the broken box 
beneath worn dresses on the attic shelf 
which then transform to zombies of desire 
that wander buzzing streets of afternoon 
where carpenters repair our broken homes 
while devils fix electric wires of faith. 

Through open window of her wounded heart 
she hears sad crickets of apocalypse 
sing all night long about the formula 
defining process of soul gravity 
that drives celestial bodies to transcend 
market stalls where angels sell lemonade. 

Through gaps of naked trees on hill of skulls 
the full moon shimmers with ten billion eyes 
because we see ourselves in how it smiles, 
distorting concept of the human soul 
that dissipates to nothing when we die 
because our atoms form bodies again. 

Alert to shocking insult of the stone, 
she stares at ocean waves of restless rage 
that sloshes inside porcelain teacup 
as she floats up in white-lace wedding dress 
and hovers with enormous angel wings 
above the world that feels her suffering. 

Beauty Of My Changing Face

Beauty Of My Changing Face
© Surazeus
2026 09 28

Remote as starlight in eyes of the dead, 
I gather yellow apples of the sun 
to sell for copper pennies of regret 
to lonely housewives in suburban zones 
whose children reincarnate ancient gods 
while angels paint roses on temple walls. 

To dwell in pale mirage of fractured homes, 
where healthy demons wear cute human masks, 
we blink as slow as stars in river waves 
and cast strange treasures on soft satin mud, 
though death projects our spirits at black clouds 
so words we speak could conjure cosmic minds. 

Since we are atoms flashing in the void, 
we are the cosmic mind of nothingness 
that beams from countless stars of swirling gas 
till we evolve from sloshing waves of hope 
and crawl with agony of gasping breath 
on muddy shore beneath the tree of fruit. 

Thus I rise up from gravity of fate 
to stand half-steady on this wobbling world, 
and reach with dizzy confidence of lust 
to grasp sweet fruit of frantic innocence, 
then eat with laughter of the falling leaf 
that fools us with the cycle of rebirth. 

Since I am gray with sleepiness of time 
while nodding by the fireless hearth of faith, 
I watch forgotten tales in ancient books 
transform to shadows of the nameless dead 
who weep for beauty of my changing face 
though I sell sorrows to the smirking toad. 

If love has fled across the mountain range 
with urgent mission of the messenger 
who scatters letters on numberless graves, 
I wake the pilgrim soul of ardent faith 
to travel nowhere on the signless road 
till I become the house where no one dwells. 

When I was new-born child of the dead king, 
old bearded wizard of the jagged cave 
received my body from wild ocean waves, 
and taught me how to improvise bold tales 
while strumming sacred lyre of Mercury, 
but I run bank to finance struggling farms. 

Gold rays of sunlight beam through stalks of wheat 
with timeless shimmer of transcendent truth 
that fills my heart with scope-expanding awe 
so wingless angels of this wicked world 
perceive weird beauty of my changing face 
in masks of god that pulse on temple walls. 

War-Machine Of Fear

War-Machine Of Fear
© Surazeus
2026 09 28

Our bodies, ground in war-machine of fear, 
transform from angels to demonic gods 
who fight for plot of land to plant fruit trees 
when greedy tyrant on the ziggurat 
demands obedience to him as sun lord 
so we pay taxes for his lazy guards. 

Hoping to escape war-machine of fear, 
we run across the swirling waves of fate 
to leap on angel wings into bright clouds, 
but plummet to grave Earth of broken hearts 
in crash that clears space in the Holy Land 
for us to build new empire of dead gods. 

Transformed to ghouls by war-machine of fear, 
we mortal bell-brains clanged by shouts of hate 
howl wild in chorus with electric wolves 
that prance through arch of triumph to pretend 
our savage slaughter of our enemies 
grants us rewards of noble gratitude. 

Confused by code in war-machine of fear, 
I walk through abacus of glowing trees 
to translate pungent scent of after-rain 
from shock of surging blood in twisted veins 
to hunger magic through imperatives 
that we exchange gifts with oppressive goons. 

Sun-dazzled fierce by war-machine of fear, 
I stumble lost in labyrinth of ghosts 
who fail to possess idols of dead kings 
based on transcendent nature of god eggs 
to dwell in yet-unrealized dreams of peace 
contingent on obedience to the king. 

To reinvent the war-machine of fear 
as faith-expansive gyroscope of love, 
I build wood bridge across abyss of death 
so angels may cross from their world to ours 
and give us treasures on the moon-gold night 
where laughing waterfalls preserve our thoughts. 

Paralyzed by the war-machine of fear 
that churns out greed-blind devils of the church, 
I wash my face in pool of Hippocrene 
which causes wings to sprout from my sponge brain 
so we pick vegetables in falling snow 
and eat hot soup around fire of despair. 

Concerned about the war-machine of fear 
by mining silver from deep Laurion caves, 
we build huge fleet of ships with billowed sails 
to fight great empire of the tyrant king 
and save our nation from enslaving chains 
so we may live and die with liberty. 

Alive With Pleasant Pain

Alive With Pleasant Pain
© Surazeus
2026 09 28

The dry sand of the desert teaches me 
the preciousness of water from the sky, 
so I pray thanks through humble orisons 
to the faceless Cloud Ghost who cannot hear, 
yet drenches me with cold indifferent rain 
that shivers me alive with pleasant pain. 

Soft purple shimmer of the morning sky, 
that shines with holy glimmers in our eyes, 
wakes tender bodies on soft flower beds 
so we rise up from graves of frantic dreams 
to sit in circle by the sparkling stream 
and eat sweet apples as we sing strange hymns. 

Though haughty angels of sharp mountain peaks 
mock frail flames of our conscious ardency, 
we stride against doomed sorrow of our fate 
that we all die from monsters or old age, 
for faceless Cloud Ghost haunts our sentient steps 
as blind death that swallows all life in gloom. 

Together working with our crafting hands 
we build long sturdy bridge of fallen trees 
to cross the gushing river of despair, 
so Death rewards our cleverness with gifts 
that trick the foolish with an early death 
yet reward the wise with creative life. 

The wet mud of the river teaches me 
the preciousness of warm light from the sun, 
so I carve wand of wisdom from tree branch, 
and sharpen stone I bind with vine of faith 
in spear I thrust to kill demonic hate, 
then fashion cloak that conceals me from Death. 

With diamond sphere refracting light of truth 
I lead my curious tribe on holy quest 
to map strange landscape of this spinning world 
through journey to explore the Promised Land 
where we build empire of the Watching Eye 
that rules our lives on ziggurat of faith. 

Once bravely young with passion to explore, 
I now stand aged with knowledge of the world, 
old as the twisted oak on hill of skulls 
where I hang, one-eyed, forty thousand years 
above the well of words where serpent runes 
morph me to wingless angel with star eyes. 

Strange beauty of this world inspires my heart 
with love for every living soul on Earth 
to see in constellations of bright stars 
clear chart that maps the fortune we create 
as destiny we choose with our free will 
to generate new life before we die. 

Ring Of Humming Stones

Ring Of Humming Stones
© Surazeus
2026 09 27

While dancing inside ring of humming stones 
that refract sunlight into rainbow beams, 
Shimut transforms to eagle with broad wings 
when he twirls wand with sharpened diamond tip 
to drive fierce wolves into the wilderness 
as guard protecting souls in space of hope. 

Crowned with gold halo ring of jeweled light, 
Shimut stands guard on ten-foot ziggurat, 
protecting people in space of his strength 
who dwell safe inside ring of humming stones, 
eyes watching how they act through self-control 
to maintain rich commerce of give and take. 

When Manzat, Lady of the City Doors, 
who makes our city flourish with strict rules, 
assumes seat of judgment on ziggurat 
of far-watch, Shimut guards her soul from harm, 
enforcing verdicts of her sentences 
when she decrees how people should behave. 

Though star-eyed daughter of their fertile love, 
Tiranna, born from lightning flash of faith, 
feels overwhelmed by duties of her state 
as daughter of the Rainbow Queen of Truth, 
she dances laughing in the sudden rain, 
so she lights up the ring of humming stones. 

Descended from star goddess of the hills, 
I wake from dream of her attentive life 
eight thousand years since she gave birth to me, 
and taught me how to read future events 
in flashing constellations of the sky 
where Shimut guards Manzat with loyal love. 

While bright spirits of Shimut and Manzat 
vibrate in visions of my flashing brain, 
I ponder how to manage flow of love 
that surges through my body every hour 
with ache of wisdom to translate weird song 
of ocean waves to words humans can hear. 

Their spirits animate my body now 
with tense concern of voiceless prophecy 
to preach salvation with attentive zeal, 
achieved through dance in ring of humming stones, 
to billion souls of hungry urgency 
who gather to worship in halls of faith. 

Attentive focus of Shimut, to guard 
good citizens of Earth with ardent faith, 
still motivates my quest to organize 
chaotic passions of the human tribe 
encamped in nations fighting to survive 
as ghosts who dance in ring of humming stones. 

Axiom Of Free Will

Axiom Of Free Will
© Surazeus
2026 09 27

Driven to live by axiom of free will, 
we humans clash in wars to control air 
by twisting light of quick atomic lust 
into swift piston-powered time-machines 
so we race through expanding maze of dreams 
to catch ghost of wealth before we all die. 

I dare not pay this time its needful woe 
since grief, at thought that millions of sweet souls 
suffer and die in shocking agony 
through countless centuries of clockless change, 
twists my heart with helplessness of desire 
to protect the living from pain of fear. 

Our fragile bodies of bones bound with nerves, 
and muscles tense with terror of attack, 
vibrate with passion of powerful faith 
to fight against oppression of the strong 
as we secure safe haven from their greed 
in loyal union of communal creed. 

Through better act of purposes we play 
direct attention to commissioned faith 
that blinds our eyes to perceive what is real, 
since faith presents what we most hope is real, 
yet veils the real that pains our hearts to see, 
which leaves us stumbling against obstacles.

We overcome through axiom of free will 
illusions of hard obstacles that block 
assertive progress of our psychic growth 
as we reprogram how our minds perceive 
complex process of social games we play 
through fraught interactions of give and take. 

I cry woe for brave people of this land 
who once thrived well to work daily routines 
constructing goods from raw material forms 
to produce wealth of our national pride, 
but now our free minds are enslaved by greed 
through sweet enchantments of commercial thieves. 

Deceived by outward show of businessmen, 
whose flashy wealth convinced our eager hearts 
that hard work will earn rich rewards of wealth, 
we clutch at tattered rainbow fantasy 
that money trickles down to callused hands, 
which we stretch empty to the godless sky. 

Inspired to work by axiom of free will, 
we sort through trash of treasures we obtain 
by plundering bounty of this generous globe, 
yet find no more than baubles of regret 
that clutter quaint suburban homes with junk 
which gleamed so bright in church of holy lies. 

Bridge Of Broken Minds

Bridge Of Broken Minds
© Surazeus
2026 09 27

I feel in my heart strange desire to sing 
but lie mute under shadow of the wing 
that presses me to center of the globe 
so I transform to nothing but blind lobe 
that pulses with compassion for the lost 
whose fate reveals what greedy hope has cost. 

While dream-biking on bridge of broken minds 
I stop to call the demon whose heart binds 
billions of human souls in web of pain 
though we assemble to laugh in cold rain 
that drenches waste land in our angel tears 
which cannot cleanse our bodies of harsh fears. 

That moment when you wake up from blind dread 
and see ghost of my name outside your head 
remember all the moments of our love 
we spent together in the starlit cave 
because the hot pulse of those memories 
will vanish bright as rain in thirsty seas. 

Look closely at wavering ghost of my soul 
and you will see the fragment of the whole 
as contradiction twisting what you feel, 
then you will know that I am always real 
while fears that haunt your wounded heart are fake 
as weird illusion your fraught desires make. 

Though wind blows weeds beside the country road 
I ride my bike past pond where moon-eyed toad 
reveals in wordless vision of my heart 
weird beauty of false faith in starless chart 
that glows as constellation of god stars 
which shimmers at the passing of glass cars. 

Your words of faith I hear on phone of trust 
dispel demonic anger of the ghost 
that follows me on endless road of fate 
so love for life blossoms from rotten hate 
as lotus bloom that weaves my tangled soul 
in psychic matrix of the cosmic whole. 

My bloody feet leave prints on signless road 
where I run from exploding bombs of God 
dropped by his angels from swift silver jets 
that transform into thirsty vampire bats, 
so I hold emptiness in mangled hands 
while I wander homeless on kingless lands. 

Ghost of my childhood flees from flashing bombs 
to hide from devils in abandoned tombs 
while planes of tyrants scream across the sky 
in howl of vain victory that drowns the cry 
of orphaned children who attempt to pray, 
then build new world order on the True Way. 

Visible Wings Of Silence

Visible Wings Of Silence
© Surazeus
2026 09 27

On visible wings of silence I dance 
outside enclosing walls of paradise 
so beaming scope of consciousness expands 
huge enough for my small mind to perceive 
vastness of this world on which we thrive, 
itself so small in whole expanse of stars. 

On visible wings of silence I leap 
beyond small valley where my soul was born 
to push through tangled veil of fencing vines 
in bold quest to explore the strange new world 
which I glimpse in dim dreams of eager hope 
where nameless people know not I exist. 

On visible wings of silence I soar 
far high above huge swirling clouds of hope 
to find the crystal halls of gleaming truth 
that form bright Heaven of my fantasies 
through longing ache to escape hard toil in fields 
of sour exhaustion under whips of greed. 

On visible wings of silence I glide 
with sly clandestine plan of calm respect 
to slip past guards with sharp spears of contempt 
and flee in shadowed woods of innocence 
far from the bitter whips of slavery 
since I got trapped in paradise of greed. 

On visible wings of silence I twirl 
high on broad stone of defiant disgust 
to fight slave-hunters rattling chains of fear 
in quick avoidance of their grasping hands 
intent on binding my free heart with greed 
that motivates my desperate fight to live. 

On visible wings of silence I turn 
back toward safe valley of my spirit birth, 
where my old mother must still cook for me, 
with swift assertion of my liberty 
through endless maze of sunlit mountain glades 
till I stumble in safe grove of my home. 

On visible wings of silence I flip 
over safe haven walls of paradise 
where I hide soul of frantic energy, 
then with assembled warriors of my tribe 
we ambush cruel slave-traders by the lake 
and kill them all to maintain liberty. 

On visible wings of silence I fall 
from clouds of Heaven on frail tattered wings 
so fantasies of utopian paradise 
dissipate in heat of long afternoons 
when I toil in fruit orchard of my heart 
that tastes sweet as my life in liberty. 

Fractured Sense Of Self

Fractured Sense Of Self
© Surazeus
2026 09 26

If our remembered time of happiness 
lurks eyelessly about half-broken doors 
with dauntless urgency of naked thoughts, 
who would dare require cruel fate to relent 
his harsh decree that frail innocent souls 
should suffer turmoil of national change. 

No graceful spell of unspoken support, 
developed by assertive breath of fear, 
could reassemble fractured sense of self 
dispersed by mocking laughter of concern 
to scatter randomly in empty room 
where gentle sorrow understands the why. 

So we drive cars on endless road of hope 
with urgent message from the fruitless tree 
which curls roots under asphalt parking lots 
with dire compassion for the homeless souls 
who clamor to perform Shakespearean roles 
through pride in Theater of the Absurd. 

As ceaseless lackey to eternity, 
entranced by ghastly shadows of my soul, 
I should devise strange plots of social games 
to outwit mockery of the jester-king 
whose disrespect for values of the just 
shocks honest folk with paralyzed contempt. 

With easy steps of faithless honesty 
I wander landscape of state memories 
now cluttered with false idols of brave fools 
whose hateful missions of aggressive rage 
against lost homeless refugees from wars 
should smirch his soul with curse of bitter fear. 

Long did my fearful forefathers request 
miraculous aid from Heaven above clouds 
of glowing beauty with fervent faithfulness, 
but no voice spoke except in wordless cracks 
of horrifying thunder to provide 
divine guidance to their misguided quest. 

Undisciplined by nobleness of mind, 
their urgent mission to create on Earth 
utopian commune of the Promised Land 
failed to expand our conscious scope of faith 
beyond intense routine of crafting work 
transforming raw materials to machines. 

Now global revolution is at hand 
through jolting buzz of passionate desire, 
which deconstructs world view that furnished frame 
for noble actions of heroic souls, 
so we must spark as flame in fear-numb hearts 
brave resolution to rebuild our state. 

Laughing Thief Of Grace

Laughing Thief Of Grace
© Surazeus
2026 09 26

I wonder at life of absurdity 
where weak men crippled by arrogant faith 
gain power over honest carpenters 
by twisting moral numbers of concern 
to propagate false vision of their right 
contrived by Cloud Ghost to be sacred law. 

As honest fugitive from words of pride, 
that twist our language into holy prayer, 
I grin at keening sun of solitude 
to polish secrets of my brittle bones 
repaired by shocking miracle of lies 
that cannot soothe the sword blade in my heart. 

If I can stop the laughing thief of grace 
from chopping down the ancient Tree of Life 
that blooms in garden of the weeping bride, 
I might play role as Emperor of Earth 
too well for happy people to obey 
commands that we take care of this weird world. 

My crippled hand of brave euphoria 
may listen to harsh darkness in your heart 
to bless our tables with plates of fresh fruit 
that scents our doorless home of frantic wings 
with pungent memories of eventide 
on river shores where unnamed bodies float. 

She asks if I remember why she cries, 
but laughs at all my answers as cruel lies, 
so I reflect on each mistake I make 
while eating sorrow of her chocolate cake 
that teaches me to grieve all suffering 
too many people bear while angels sing. 

We treasure secret visions of ourselves 
that we preserve in books no one can read 
while tending wounds that only devils see 
though jewels, dusted with pollen of flowers, 
refract conceptual spirit of Star God 
through pulsing passion of our sponge-soft brains. 

Crippled by impotent hatreds from fear, 
which motivates our journey for the Book, 
we search for crystal halls where blind gods feast 
while they ignore the suffering of humans 
who kneel and pray in churches built from bones 
for salvation from laughing thief of grace. 

Thus when I deconstruct religious creeds 
I find they elevate dead mortal king 
as powerful god who creates all things, 
so I leave maze of money to ascend 
misty vales of Mount Takoma to merge 
my mortal soul with timeless light of truth. 

Holy Word Of Arrogance

Holy Word Of Arrogance
© Surazeus
2026 09 26

Surprised by holy word of arrogance 
that teaches him to understand the trees, 
Iapetus laughs while heaving stone of faith 
at gusts of storm winds blasting his frail hut 
where wife and children huddle in stark fear, 
so he builds fane to shield them with his heart. 

Inspired by holy word of arrogance 
that sparks strange fire of wisdom in his brain, 
Prometheus sets stones in ring of hope 
to well contain the writhing flame of light 
of flashing chaos inside frame of thought 
so he can manage power of the sky. 

Disturbed by holy word of arrogance 
that tricks him to look back down road of fate, 
Epimetheus subdues bear with sharp claws, 
then sews fur cloak for Pandora to wear 
as she holds precious box of secret truth 
when they walk in broad field of sparkling snow. 

Concerned by holy word of arrogance 
that presses stars down on our mortal heads, 
Atlas supports globe of Earth with brave trust 
when he constructs tall roof of pine-tree beams 
where his clever daughters, Hesperides, 
guard orchard of golden apples from thieves. 

Engorged by holy word of arrogance 
that drives him to oppose tyrants of greed, 
Menoetius declares with boastful voice 
that he crowns himself Emperor of Earth 
because his acts are the most beautiful, 
till Zeus strikes him down with his thunderbolt. 

Deceived by holy word of arrogance 
that highlights beauty of brave Helios, 
Clymene bears him son she names Phaethon 
who drives huge two-wheeled chariot of fire 
in noble battle against Uranus 
to free the world from tyranny of greed. 

Intrigued by holy word of arrogance 
that diverts focus of his searching eyes, 
Deucalion constructs huge ark of wood 
where he bears Pyrrha, loyal bride of trust, 
safe during flood that destroys world of men, 
to dwell on Mount Parnassus in fruit grove. 

Amazed by holy word of arrogance 
that shows indifference of Nature to Man, 
Cronus wields sharp blade of justice to fight 
violent Uranus in Temple of Truth, 
which Iapetus built to shield human souls, 
through war to cast cruel Titans into Hell. 

Eyeless Agony Of Faith

Eyeless Agony Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 09 26

Nothing explodes from glass page of the book 
writhing with tongueless ghosts of long-dead gods, 
so Albert walks past hundred thousand doors 
to find the person who reflects his soul 
with comprehensive formulas of faith 
that weave their bodies from demonic genes. 

Bearing gold wand with curling snake of hope, 
Adonis strides on brittle bridge of blame 
while hawk of justice leaps from his bold hand 
and strikes face of the tyrant on the throne 
who screams in eyeless agony of faith 
when his son takes jeweled crown of regret. 

Concerned about electric memory 
translating all our dreams to lurid myths, 
Adonijah declares himself World King 
and strides with courage in grand temple hall 
where David clutches broken lyre of power 
while chanting psalms to praise the Shepherd God. 

Appointed Chief Happiness Officer 
by Aphrodite with long golden hair, 
Adam woos her with basket of fresh fruit 
he stole from Tree of Knowledge at midnight, 
then builds enormous palace of glass masks 
from bones of dragons killed by meteors. 

Reigning as God over River of Time, 
Achelous son of Elus stands alert 
on Bridge of Farsight as Guardian of Life, 
but when he sees gold-eyed Perimede, 
he wrestles Hercules to win her heart, 
though she hides in Cave of Castalia. 

Born from song of the Ocean before dawn, 
Abassi floats above the crowded world 
on silver wings of laughter forged from fear, 
then wakes and drives to work constructing homes, 
till immigrant agents wearing black masks 
lock him in sprawling deportation camp. 

After his analyst job at the state bank 
is replaced by robot with angel eyes 
powered by artificial intelligence, 
Ares drinks beer at the old country bar, 
then sings cowboy songs on stage every night 
and sleeps in his truck behind some garage. 

Inspired to run for President Earth 
with plan to unite all nations in one, 
Apollo campaigns sea to shining sea 
till Pluto tries to shoot him in the head, 
so Dream-Enchanter eats the nuclear bomb 
and retires to work on the Family Farm.