Weirdness Of Eternal Now

Weirdness Of Eternal Now
© Surazeus
2026 06 09

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cartography Of Tropes

Cartography Of Tropes
© Surazeus
2026 06 09

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Attempts To Question Fate

Attempts To Question Fate
© Surazeus
2026 06 08

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mad King Of Bitter Hate

Mad King Of Bitter Hate
© Surazeus
2026 06 08

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mirror Of Forgotten Masks

Mirror Of Forgotten Masks
© Surazeus
2026 06 07

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mercurial Wail Of Solitude

Mercurial Wail Of Solitude
© Surazeus
2026 06 07

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bitter Faith Of Innocence

Bitter Faith Of Innocence
© Surazeus
2026 06 07

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Name Of The Rose

Name Of The Rose
© Surazeus
2026 06 07

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time Maps Our Dreams

Time Maps Our Dreams
© Surazeus
2026 06 06

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emanation Of My Brain

Emanation Of My Brain
© Surazeus
2026 06 06

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gospel Of The Holy Toad

Gospel Of The Holy Toad
© Surazeus
2026 06 06

Spurred by vision of human dignity, 
derived from gospel of the Holy Toad, 
I search boundless land of America 
for brave men bold enough with hearts of gold 
to fight cruel tyrant and his oligarchs 
so women are free to choose how they live. 

Creative power of the female soul, 
described by gospel of the Holy Toad, 
consists of generating life from hope 
and molding body of material flesh 
from ideal pattern of genetic code, 
so they should be free to choose how they live. 

Protecting women from abusive harm, 
through law in gospel of the Holy Toad, 
inspires men to build havens with strong walls 
so mothers raise their children with calm care, 
safe in surrounding walls of paradise 
where they play free in garden of fruit trees. 

Beneath golden glow of the bright Full Moon, 
in tune with gospel of the Holy Toad, 
free women dress in gowns of scarlet hue 
to dance in rings of stone on crowns of hills 
and sing with sweet mercurial voice of faith 
attentive hymns to Spirit of Rebirth. 

Where men once guarded women with true love, 
designed by gospel of the Holy Toad, 
they now imprison women with cruel greed, 
attempting to control with jealous rage 
their reproductive power to create 
new body for immortal soul of genes. 

Though men would nurture life of women well, 
inspired by gospel of the Holy Toad, 
with solemn oath in binding marriage vows 
to shelter and feed children of their wives, 
weak men now snarl with bestial rage from fear 
and kill precious women they should protect. 

Trapped by patriarchal creed of command, 
repealed by gospel of the Holy Toad, 
men strive for centuries to legalize 
social control over bodies of women 
to manage reproductive privilege 
they exercise to increase their offspring. 

New mission to restore feminine rights, 
proclaimed by gospel of the Holy Toad, 
propels new generation of good men 
to assert matriarchal rights to decide 
when and with whom women will procreate 
through passionate wisdom of divine love. 

Snow-Kissed Apple

Snow-Kissed Apple
© Surazeus
2026 06 06

Snow-kissed apple on the arching bough, 
teach me how hope inspires the heart to love, 
though disease and death haunt our lonely town 
and twist angelic bodies with harsh pain, 
so sweet juice of your truth, from sun and rain, 
may fill my wounded mind with energy. 

Strange glow of sunlight through web of tree limbs 
exposes eerie ache of wordless hope 
for faces that smile bright with cheerful mien 
on summer afternoons by sparkling stream 
where we play games among the market stalls 
while men in ring of stones discuss great things. 

Heart latched on swift angelic flight of dreams, 
I search for secret name carved on gray cliff 
which indicates what nameless soul I sense 
awake in tangled shadows of lost time 
so I may channel wisdom they perform 
with courage to challenge despair and win. 

Dazed by hard sunlight of relentless faith, 
I shelter under Arcus Gaviorum 
built by mind and hands of Vitruvius, 
and listen to the dainty sparrow chirp 
sharp thoughts of passion to rejuvenate 
spirit of Janus in full flush of spring. 

Snow-kissed apple beneath the great blue sky, 
revive my wounded heart with honesty 
that nothing matters in this frantic world 
but fellow travelers on road of life 
who spring with me from turbid lake valley 
where bones of our ancestors grow as trees. 

Thin wail of sharp mercurial regret 
sparks in my wounded heart strange memory 
when we assemble in tall ring of stones 
to sing in tribal choir of loyal faith 
with one communal voice of eager hope 
that we this hour glow bright with light of stars. 

With pulsing wolf-heart of hysteric rage 
I race through tangled forest of contempt 
to rescue from aggressive chains of greed 
my clan enslaved by gang of haughty thieves 
who mock me when I hurl courageous spear 
and leave me crippled on the raven hill. 

Snow-kissed apple hanging from the moon 
so high and far from trembling hand of thirst 
till sudden flutter of dark sparrow wings 
shakes fruit of heaven loose so it falls straight, 
fill me with light of stars and wind of hope 
so I may free my clan from slavery. 

Clear Light Of Atar

Clear Light Of Atar
© Surazeus
2026 06 06

My heart longs for the bright Hyrcanian Sea 
where morning sun gleams gold on silver waves 
so I run free with White Horse of the wind 
to free world people from cruel tyranny 
who dance with joy in groves of apple trees 
till death disperses souls in evening breeze. 

Blue breeze of the mystical radiant force, 
that emanates from aching heart of hope, 
blows through branches of pomegranate trees 
while Ahura Mazda gives Kingship Ring 
to honest Ardashir with generous heart 
on sacred Mountain of the Lion God. 

Bold sense of Justice glows still in my heart 
eighteen hundred years from that solemn hour 
brave Ardashir enforced rule of fair law 
through programs funding work of humble men, 
farmers raising crops from soil of Earth, 
and craftsmen constructing wagons and homes. 

Lush pomegranate tree grows from my heart 
on sandy shore of our Hyrcanian Sea 
where spirit of First Mother lingers still 
in swirls of silver wind that bear starlight 
as holy flames of truth from cave of dreams 
which animate my body with desire. 

Strong thread of wisdom, forged from light of truth 
by gentle hand of Anahita, weaves 
my secret heart in tapestry of faith 
to noble goal of justice for all souls 
brave Ardashir attends with righteous eye 
to bind contentious tribes with common goal. 

With brave Sassanian spirit in my heart, 
which urges me to create health from pain, 
I maintain psychic balance of firm faith 
between conservative respect for safety 
and progressive vision for social growth 
that nurtures dream of each person to live. 

Though we seem to wander far off our road 
in desolate gloom of the bleak wilderness, 
Clear Light of Atar, which flares from our hearts 
at clarion spell that Zoroaster sings, 
dispels grim darkness of bitter despair 
so we see Golden Path of Righteousness. 

Awake with soul of Zurvan in my heart, 
trained by Nairyosangha, his Messenger, 
I aid Arshtat, Goddess of Truth and Justice, 
to maintain order in our whole world empire 
that unites nations of Earth in one faith 
which values women and choices they make. 

Accident Of Lonesome Wind

Accident Of Lonesome Wind
© Surazeus
2026 06 05

Each time I walk to the center of time 
to leave mask of my soul on wall of fate, 
I find ghost of my body by the door 
that leads to library of secret tales, 
so when I laugh with joy at song of death 
all the houses in the world float away. 

I hang upside down from branch of the oak 
to ponder how we always seem to know 
how to build sturdy shelter from the storm 
that rearranges furniture of lies 
through revolution of the dancing book 
that strands our bodies in the empty room. 

Awaiting accident of lonesome wind 
that strikes our numb hearts with attentive pride, 
we give each other bags of secret light 
which amplifies with bells cry of the heart 
for independence of courageous faith 
reversed by blank reflection of the eye. 

No time to march on mission of concern 
bequeaths calm passion of our aching hearts 
to resurrect weird stories about gods 
contending through assertive synergies 
that possess bodies with no obvious goals 
to claim salvation from the fractured moon. 

Yet in context of moral amplitude, 
we build from tangled roots of screaming trees 
sleek boats with alabaster curves of fate 
that we sail over seas of sudden growth 
with plan to judge contentious games of wealth 
adverse to solemn circumstance of love. 

Contained by subtle scope of spooling words 
that snap snowflakes in swirling spray of fear, 
my seething soul attempts to leap on wings 
of fluid light rays after time dissolves 
to flexible tension less technical 
than cursed abundance of authorized thought. 

Convenient methods for defensive stance, 
based on deployment to digital dunes 
diffuse with casual deviance of needs, 
determine conscious deficit of fate 
that might be feasible to humble minds, 
except we gravitate through surging waves. 

Magnetic minds consider integers 
designed by syntax-twisting narrators 
unique to each unclassified detective 
who guarantees genetic happiness 
described by endless glossary of themes 
presented by ghost of the guardian. 

Time-Crooked Harp

Time-Crooked Harp
© Surazeus
2026 06 05

Confused by turpentine of psychic thoughts 
that mangle phonelines without alphabets, 
Phoebus extricates from pages of books 
conceptual phantoms of princes and priests 
who leech off farmers tending fields of wheat, 
then plays haunting tunes on time-crooked harp. 

Excited by oxygen of dream codes 
that divert attention of business clerks, 
Gandalf guards broken gate to paradise 
by stealing apples from the Tree of Life 
and selling them to pilgrims in black robes 
who seek salvation from the laughing skull. 

Disturbed by acetone of ardent faith 
that Angry Storm Man watches over us, 
Lucifer patrols maze of city streets 
with lamp of truth dispelling gloom of hope 
in garden of weeping idols to find 
last happy child of the apocalypse. 

Inspired by nitrogen of angel blood 
designed as ink for mad philosophers, 
Faunus chases shadow of his dead wife 
deep in Abbatia Sancti Michaelis 
where Sibyl lounging on gold velvet couch 
reveals prophecy of the Scarlet Horse. 

Unsettled by helium of holy light 
that beams from nuclear reactor of power, 
Belenus climbs steep Stairway of the Dead 
to marble Portal of the Zodiac 
where refugees of war beg for peach pies 
baked by the woman with ten thousand eyes. 

Delighted by krypton of stellar tones 
that radiate from galactic spheres of souls, 
Orion calculates romantic scale 
expanding scope of dream analysis 
we need to comprehend divinity 
inherent in programming of our brains. 

Troubled by chlorine of religious creeds 
that reframe moral values of cult clowns, 
Sagittarius masks his rebellious heart 
with stolid posture of obedience 
till he escapes glass walls of paradise 
and wanders lost to find Elysium. 

Electrified by neon of true love 
that emanates from every human heart, 
Percival strums gold lyre of Mercury 
and sings epic tale of the Measurer 
who maps whole history of humanity 
by weaving names in tapestry of fate. 

Faceless Ghost Of Hope

Faceless Ghost Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 06 05

Descended from lost exiled wanderers, 
driven away by politics of power 
over who controls bodies of the state, 
I feel their passion to explore the world 
that drove my ancestors ten thousand years 
forever westward to the Promised Land. 

Since I left Garden of Habaeleon, 
driving long train of horse-drawn wagons west, 
to build haven of mounds in apple groves 
now paved over on Isle of Avalon, 
I traveled ever on to Oregon 
to find Dawn Land at the end of the world. 

Where shall I go now with my restless heart, 
I wonder as I stand on ocean beach 
and listen to weird song of ceaseless waves 
that urge my heart to animate my mind 
with vision of Heaven we build on Earth 
in stone castles that have crumbled to sand. 

This globe that was so empty long ago, 
endless valleys of rivers and vast woods, 
now teems with more than eight billion humans 
in five thousand cities and countless towns, 
each person striving to gain happiness 
in fractured nation-states where gangsters rule. 

I hear voice of the prophet in the wind 
who speaks with authority of the sky, 
where many believe some god rules our lives, 
explain how we can unify the world 
in one religious vision of fair justice 
for every person breathing air of hope. 

This voice I hear I know is nothing more 
than echo of the faceless ghost of hope 
programmed by visions of Heaven on Earth 
where One World God rules all humanity 
which my ancestors conjured in their hearts 
as they struggled to survive times of unrest. 

New age of empires controlled by bank kings 
threatens frail system of democracies 
when greedy tyrants grasping crown of thorns 
hijack institutions of government 
to enrich themselves by exploiting us, 
as mortal men perform role of Storm God. 

Exiled by power games of thought control, 
my ancestors bore Light of Lucifer 
to found new colonies in the waste land, 
but now I must join squad of Liberty 
who leads our fight against grim Jupiter 
to support United Nations of Earth. 

Calmness Of Red Koi

Calmness Of Red Koi
© Surazeus
2026 06 04

Purple irises sway among large stones 
white as dragon skulls in green shallow creek 
that glistens dark among maple and pines. 
Kyoko in furisode kimono 
with white and yellow blossoms on dark red 
kneels gracefully on large flat white stone. 

Seven hariwake koi slowly glide 
circles in dark green pool among white stones, 
scales shimmering with platinum vibrancy. 
Kyoko holds slender hosofude brush 
with patient stillness of the wind-bent pine 
to paint koi spirit on mulberry paper. 

Metallic scales of the koi with red tail 
gleams silver among heart-shaped lotus leaves 
to mirror timeless glow of the Sky Eye. 
Kyoko contemplates calmness of red koi 
while people murmur praise for sincere curves 
that reveal beauty in painting and haiku. 

Young girl holds apricot in mud-smeared hand, 
but cries as her drunk father snarls in rage 
and hits her mother with his one good arm. 
Kyoko shields her bruised mother, Sakura, 
and shouts with fearful courage at Chuzo 
that he should find his lost arm in the sea. 

Metallic roofs of cars gleam in hot sun 
as they whiz roaring on gray narrow road, 
honking as they race to control the wind. 
Kyoko in torn jeans and long purple hair 
stands on white cement bridge that arches high 
above the frantic traffic flow of glass. 

Though I was expelled from public high school 
because I punched math teacher in his face 
for groping me, I will mold my own future. 
Kyoko wearing black skirt suit with white blouse 
sits prim before glowing computer screen 
and quickly types handwritten documents. 

I was trapped in my painful memories, 
stuck blind in the past, but I turned around 
and walk on my own feet to claim my life. 
Kyoko stands on white stone in dark green creek 
and stares at white koi swimming in small pool 
while tears splash sun-white mirror of her heart. 

Purple irises bloom beside green creek 
with graceful elegance of fragile faith 
while bees hover with pollen-dusted legs. 
Kyoko bows to Sora in brown tweed coat, 
pours bancha tea in white porcelain cup, 
then gives him onamori amulet. 

Ancient Child Of Sight

Ancient Child Of Sight
© Surazeus
2026 06 04

Though ringing shadow of my faulty mind 
transforms from star to stone of silent truths, 
I hurl spear of my unblessed heart to pierce 
reluctant mirror mask that frames this world 
with tangled formulas contrived by time 
that plot how atoms weave our dreaming brains. 

Go wild with passion of the laughing crow, 
my father shouts at me with wounded heart, 
so I flap tattered wings of desperate faith 
to understand who molds me from earth clay 
till I become new heaven-ravaged bloom 
that flowers toward infinity of light. 

With shield shaped round as full moon of despair, 
I step across hot stones of silent rage 
since light erases shadow of my soul, 
though I must celebrate aggressive thirst 
when moonlight gleams from silver bones of fate 
that cannot save my soul from nothingness. 

Heart bound by gloom of silence before dawn, 
I reach pale hands to bale dark emptiness 
with flower-fragile words of timeless truth 
that flow with fluid nonchalance of water 
at strict trajectory of hammer words 
which I swing straight at adamantine fear. 

I map lost land where moon-fish slither swift 
among stiff reeds of whistling innocence 
at shock of night-eyes open in my hands 
since I am born as ancient child of sight 
trapped in fractal shell of Plutonian ice 
till I reach home in swirls of wordless snow. 

Strange feeling pierces heart of mirror ice 
at gust of wordless wind that blows and blows 
across vast shapeless field of tangled wires 
where frightened gods transform to twisted trees 
with stone feet rooted deep in jagged soil 
against brave ardor of fantastic speech. 

Gasping for ethereal breath at dawn, 
I claw hard clumps of clay out of my heart 
to capture fleeting flash of endless days 
in flame-baked jar in which I capture rain 
as water I transform to bitter wine 
by crushing grapes with calculator hands. 

No heart more wounded by shadow of fate 
than mine expands from fractured seed of faith 
at sudden tone of fraught analysis 
that sings with hoarse assertion time uncoils 
while I row coffin boat across cold lake 
to where my father hangs from tree of lies. 

Ethical Fortune Of Failure

Ethical Fortune Of Failure
© Surazeus
2026 06 03

Short ordinariness straight beyond fusion 
functions well to stretch elastic contraption 
adjacent to abandoned pale of peonies 
against aggressive balance that collides 
with decommissioned clarity of resolve 
each time desire delays collaged success. 

Clara chuckles with customized concern 
at coded riddle of complex compliance 
that she contrives from tangled countenance 
devised with ethical fortune of failure 
out of fashion with gospel guiltiness 
disguised as glorious character she plays. 

Empty except for fraught franchise of fame, 
based on unexplained expense of regret 
forecast by maudlin devil who steals freedom 
from business-minded buyers of past sins, 
her heart expands chambers of mimed cassettes 
enough to enclose curious councilors. 

Compared to concrete evidence of circuits, 
compiled by desperate brokers with intent 
to sell insurance based on hardcore humor, 
her sense of justice displays civil charge 
through well-equipped degrees of separation, 
less inconclusive that digesting death. 

Exposed by glorious garage gate of fate, 
Clara ponders how to explain forgiveness 
she purchased with thirty pieces of silver 
that all become full moons of bitter nights 
flashing with foreign assets of fake books 
awarded for deconstructing the state. 

Acquired blueprints for temple of acceptance 
reveal busy methods of management 
which traffic engineers of soul awareness 
consider vital to adjusting flow rate 
within budget of all our broken hearts 
reviewed by browsers who would never buy. 

Confirmed by custom-made conservatives, 
professional devils pilfer state coffers 
under cover of discountable projects 
that fuels complex program of deference 
in celebration of our empire state 
that Clara redesigns to nurture women. 

Acknowledged license to judge market art 
through problematic outlook pending payment 
for private program of progressive puzzles, 
stultifies unproductive corporate meetings 
in which the one-eyed giant proclaims laws 
designed to wake soul of God in our brains. 

Tricks Of Standard Words

Tricks Of Standard Words
© Surazeus
2026 06 03

If darkness bursts in cavern of my heart, 
expelling me from world of swirling eyes, 
I crawl through grass of moonlit ardency 
to find elusive absence of your face 
so I float up on wild ethereal breath 
to touch what cannot exist outside words. 

That stranger with fear-startled eyes of hope, 
reflected in vast pool of sky-flashed thought, 
must not be me because I am not real, 
though ache of anguish twists my hungry heart 
with stubborn laughter of our island world 
enclosed by wall of hills that hide my words. 

Bright sheen of thoughtless waves big as my eyes 
decide to swallow vastness of my mind, 
yet I hold still in gusts of angry wind 
that push my frame of self against contempt 
at sudden spark of wings untwisting hope 
that writhes in heart Orion seals in words. 

Since flock of ravens, white as silent snow, 
pass through expansive cavern of my heart 
at brute attention to details of peace, 
I feel my body stripped of name and rank 
so I am no one stranded on lake shore, 
tormented by false pride of naked words. 

Rain showers trapped by laughter of black clouds 
assail time-fractured frame of my mute mind 
with expectations I should conquer fate, 
inspired by courage of progressive plans 
to manage profit of expanding gain 
contrived by puzzling tricks of standard words. 

We enter cave of dreams to search for gods, 
but find dim shadows of assertive birds 
that teach us how organic beings disperse 
by leaping swift with carousel expense, 
undone by fleeting concept of bold faith 
that spools reflections of our minds in words. 

Edge of my soul that brushes shore of time 
recedes in swirls of storm clouds after dawn 
to prove my journey far from cave of faith 
requires attentive caution of regret 
that spurs evasive action to transcend 
frame of my body, safe in ship of words. 

If I should hesitate with cautious faith 
while nearing portal beyond mindless stars, 
my wounded heart may grow too fond of fate 
at slow descent to desolate vale of thoughts 
where I ponder disorder of cracked stones 
from which spring howling angels of dream words. 

Time Of The Happy Crow

Time Of The Happy Crow
© Surazeus
2026 06 02

My wingless angel of oblivion, 
who beams ecstatic stars from dreamless eyes, 
will resurrect my heart from anxious fear 
at crack of lightning that splits our world view 
so we sing in time of the happy crow 
about the New Earth we will build from hope. 

Bright jeweled scepter in hand of Shamash 
beams blinding light of truth in humble eyes 
when we walk fleeting valley of tall trees 
that scatter apples on the signless road 
so we eat in time of the happy crow 
beneath weird constellations of our hearts. 

Strange words that slither in our startled minds 
reveal face of the vagabond at dawn 
who bears world civilization of faith 
in scorpion-quick hands of frantic wings 
so we build in time of the happy crow 
time machines powered by engines of fear. 

Brave ship of hope we sail across the sea 
soars high across enormous waves of change 
while I leap far on winged feet of faith 
to catch elusive butterfly of love 
so we play in time of the happy crow 
chess game with Saraswati on the beach. 

Fabulating scenes of heroic deeds, 
I lift high Lamp of Liberty to beam 
sacred light of welcome through black storm clouds 
that lead lost refugees from distant lands 
so we feast in time of the happy crow 
on pyramid of eyes where angels cry. 

Searching for truth in vast amusement park 
lit by electric moon over Seattle, 
I give free fish to everyone who asks 
which I had caught while walking on the water 
so we laugh in time of the happy crow 
before the tyrant tries to crucify me. 

I sail glass ship across the sordid sea 
to catch the angel falling from the sky 
whose spirit represents America 
since she drowns in tears of your bitter hearts 
so we weep in time of the happy crow 
by singing hymns about new civil war. 

Since I set Sibyl free from golden cage 
to marry me in cathedral of ice, 
she prophesies fall of America 
and rise of Zarathia from its ruins 
so we dance in time of the happy crow 
to celebrate that we are still alive. 

Shadow Of The Ragged Clown

Shadow Of The Ragged Clown
© Surazeus
2026 06 02

Zeus chases shadow of the ragged clown 
down foggy beach of sorrow to the town 
where children play with skulls of ancient gods 
whose bodies regenerate in glass pods 
so time-cycling war between Dark and Light 
recalculates morals of Wrong and Right. 

Phoebus beams shadow of the ragged clown 
with holy flashlight of the eyeless saint 
while mapping Cave of Illusions to find 
ghost of Plato molding Ideas from words 
through linguistic psychology of truth 
though Venus dances with the tambourine. 

Odin twists shadow of the ragged clown 
with ardent wisdom of serpentine runes 
that flash psychotic spells of fractured moons 
above vast city maze where people roam 
between conceptual bridges beyond home 
till he grasps Wheel of Fortune with the crown. 

Shamash weaves shadow of the ragged clown 
with diamond scepter on the ziggurat 
from which he rules world empire of the bat 
that flourishes Egypt to Mexico 
where millions dance around Star Eye of God 
in world wide web of computerized brains. 

Hat-Hor casts shadow of the ragged clown 
in neon rainbow demon of our hearts 
that arches high from Pyramid of Eyes 
to urge Coatlicue in serpent skirt 
to welcome refugees with fruitful hands 
who build world empire on her singing skull. 

Nuwa grasps shadow of the ragged clown 
that glitters from five jewels of Blue Sky 
as pillars that support star dome of gods 
so we plant wheat and herd rich flocks of sheep, 
then feast and dance with spinning of the Earth 
through secret ritual of Spirit Rebirth. 

Surya hurls shadow of the ragged clown 
to woo Xochiquetzal with honey wine 
who teaches women to weave tapestries 
depicting deeds of heroes in grand scenes 
unspooling social tensions with new faith 
to balance liberals and conservatives. 

Shiva dreams shadow of the ragged clown 
sparks atoms awake as God in our brains 
so we assemble on the misty down 
in rainbow gathering of all global tribes 
who celebrate birth of America 
by building new state of Zarathia. 

Atoms Of The Earth Awake

Atoms Of The Earth Awake
© Surazeus
2026 06 02

Time molds my body from Mud of the Earth, 
desire weaves my soul from Wind of the Sky, 
faith forges my heart from Light of the Sun, 
death dissolves my name in Waves of the Sea, 
and love translates my deeds to Words of Fate, 
for I am Atoms of the Earth awake. 

Hope generates our new bodies in birth, 
so we explore the Earth to map the Why 
with exuberant passion when we run 
and fight oppressors to gain Liberty 
by translating fruit of love from cruel hate, 
for I am Atoms of the Earth awake. 

Though threads of light swerving in boundless void, 
that spiral from first flash of the big bang, 
present no individual consciousness, 
their pulse of interacting chemicals 
evolve organic brains that comprehend, 
for I am Atoms of the Earth awake. 

When mortal humans dream new state of being, 
efficient through communal exercise, 
they organize their fellow citizens, 
then rule new institutions of the state 
to personify Tribe Leader as God, 
for I am Atoms of the Earth awake. 

God is mythic concept humans design 
as ideal type of social character 
who represents noble leader of men 
attentive to nurture talents with skills 
instead of exploiting people for gain, 
for I am Atoms of the Earth awake. 

Divine Mind of the entire universe, 
that pulses from black hole of the God Eye, 
radiates in galaxies of the White Whole 
with vibrant energy of love to form 
bodies that evolve fish to singing god, 
for I am Atoms of the Earth awake. 

Whole universe of swirling galaxies 
emanates no consciousness in itself, 
yet molecules compose neural network 
which conjures virtual model of the world 
from memories I organize in tales, 
for I am Atoms of the Earth awake. 

I narrate story of humanity 
morphing from tribes of hunter-gatherers 
to global civilization of states 
which plots mental progress of our minds 
devising language to communicate, 
for I am Atoms of the Earth awake. 

Leave Bones Of My Mother

Leave Bones Of My Mother
© Surazeus
2026 06 01

If I consider how orange sunset glow 
explodes as flowers in my pulsing brain, 
I might fall in love with your timeless eyes 
that understand strange beauty of this world 
and value unseen essence of its vibes, 
yet I do not exist in pageless books. 

While I wander nowhere in flaming woods 
I gather words people lose from their tongues 
when they escape catastrophe of time 
since angels deconstruct their precious worlds 
because we are no longer real as stones 
smoothed by the endless flow of bitter tears. 

I leave bones of my mother in the land 
where I was born from sparkle of dawn rain 
when I flee alone on the signless road 
with nothing in my hands but sticky dirt 
I scattered on her body without prayers 
because she no longer exists as light. 

My mind is nothing more than passing cloud 
that haunts my nothingness of urgent hope 
with mutant shadow of the eyeless sun, 
so I continue walking somewhere else 
as I pretend to live with wounded heart 
to prove I am not real as words in books. 

Trees offer bounty of indifferent care, 
so I take gift of wisdom from their limbs, 
then sit by laughing river of respect 
where I consume sweet fruit of bitter hate 
to taste revenge I cannot execute 
because I disappear in wordless fate. 

Discarded scraps of precious memories 
fall from my hands and clatter on the ground, 
which fractures sheen of safety I once felt 
so I am zero that time calculates 
through fraudulent formula of desire 
which deflects force of psychic energy. 

Another soul that dissipates in wind 
accelerates new count of circumstance 
my brain attempts with weird seraphic code 
of faith that helps decipher manic spell 
to readjust projection we assert 
though misdirection of the ocean wind. 

With sticks and stones that bruise my naive heart 
I build enormous palace of state power 
enclosing garden of the apple tree 
to guard my secret family from harm 
who waits for me to kill the snake of lies 
because we do not exist in your mind. 

Each Time I Lose Myself

Each Time I Lose Myself
© Surazeus
2026 06 01

I find myself each time I lose myself 
so I run across the waste land of the heart 
and leap abyss of nothingness to soar 
laughing at the crystal moon of faith 
which vanishes to mist as I approach 
so I fall back into my throbbing head. 

I find myself each time I lose myself 
so I dance laughing on the sands of time 
with one hand waving free to grasp the wind 
and scatter seeds of flowers so they sprout 
as rainbow angels wearing human masks 
who dive for memories in sea of dreams. 

I find myself each time I lose myself 
so I stand blindly on cliff of despair 
to map the ancient streets of Neverland 
where faceless children search for Kingdom Come 
that slips away in cold of morning dawn 
at flap of angel wings above my tomb. 

I find myself each time I lose myself 
so I strum Lyre of Mercury with sass 
to chant psychotic spell of eyeless clouds 
that beam elusive riddle of the mind 
when I chase shadow of the ragged clown 
who wants to preach salvation without faith. 

I find myself each time I lose myself 
so I explore fog-swirling ruins of time 
where zombies gather in the Church of Glass 
to worship Vampire King with Crown of Thorns 
who drinks Blood of the Lamb in Holy Grail 
to resurrect our characters from books. 

I find myself each time I lose myself 
so I drive piston-engine time machine 
on winding mountain Road of Honesty 
to find Cave of Illusions in the Alps 
where God-Eye Diamond of my divine heart 
beams first flash that flares forth from the big bang. 

I find myself each time I lose myself 
so I write epic of philosophers 
depicting heroes who quest for the truth 
when they perform in circus of the mind 
amazing acrobatics with weird words 
that formulate atomic principles. 

I find myself each time I lose myself 
so I decide to run for president 
to rebuild institutions through respect, 
constructing from ruins of America 
state of equal rights as Zarathia 
where everyone eats from the Tree of Life. 

Seven Sons Of Jupiter

Seven Sons Of Jupiter
© Surazeus
2026 06 01 

Driving across waste land of history, 
I find the Third Man of Antarctic Quest 
still hitchhiking across America, 
so I give him ride to Zarathia 
where he gives me lost Lyre of Mercury 
as reward for helping him escape Hell. 

Though I am entirely my own real self 
who speaks with voice of fake authority, 
I hide behind cracked mask of Orpheus 
so you cannot see who I really am, 
as if it matters after I am dead, 
since I am ghost of sorrow in your head. 

I stride along strange river in bright woods 
to map new strategy for civil war 
in noble mission of the broken heart 
to restore democracy in our land 
pilfered by gang of thieves in business suits 
who proclaim their right to control the dirt. 

Shocked by excessive arguments of faith, 
I flee cathedral of the mocking clown 
to find Ahura Mazda in dark cave 
where he plays eight levels of psychic chess 
against the seven sons of Jupiter 
over who controls fields of bubbling oil. 

Ever since Orpheus with nimble hands 
saved Ophelia drowning in the river, 
they have established infrastructure base 
on which we will construct our new world order 
which helps the seven sons of Jupiter 
overthrow all greedy tyrants and kings. 

Inside the Crippled Pegasus Cafe 
in Paris down on the Parc Rives de Seine, 
I find Hegel, Marx, and Lenin relaxed 
as they watch current world events unfold 
according to their social formulas, 
so I steal wings of Icarus to fly. 

Just as I soar above bright golden clouds 
to bring Good News to Lord Hyperion, 
Orpheus shoots me down with Gun of Fate, 
then teaches me to map the water pipes 
which channel fresh water to every home 
while Jesus and Odin fight for World Crown. 

As seventh son of Jupiter, I play 
role of the jester who exposes crimes 
committed by the hungry oligarchs 
who hoard wealth of the Earth in crumbling tombs 
where skeletons of dead gods dance in rain 
that washes all our graves down to the sea. 

One Eternal Vibe Of Light

One Eternal Vibe Of Light
© Surazeus
2026 05 31

After I ride the slow afternoon train 
among house-cluttered hills of lonely towns, 
I walk shores of the ocean through my dreams 
to feel the ebbing tide of life recede 
with hoarse voice of the old sibilant song 
that sparks electric self out of my heart. 

When dust of Me becomes land of the globe, 
which fascinates my eyes with slender light, 
I wonder what name ancient people called 
this river that reflects mask of my face, 
since I still hear dirge of the ship-wrecked souls 
who ask me for secret of global peace. 

I merge my soul in drifting sand of change, 
baffled by uncanny thoughts of desire 
that lure me to find soulmate of my heart 
who walks as distant shadow on the beach, 
so I call out to them with plaintive cry 
but I find they have become the Real Me. 

Loud voices echo against trunks of pines 
when thoughts my mouth projects recoil as fear 
that bursts in peals of thunder over hills 
with cold ironic laughter of false pride 
so I extend my hand with trembling faith 
to grasp elusive fish of timeless truth. 

Strange essence of this whole beautiful world 
eludes perception of my eager mind 
to understand flash of cause and effect 
when light reflecting off things I define 
stings my heart with sweet shock of ecstasy 
that we are one eternal vibe of light. 

Star-eyed Ocean Mother within my heart 
expresses riddles through analysis 
to translate murmur of the mocking waves 
refracting light through prism of my brain 
because I contradict my alien self 
beyond capricious attitude of faith. 

Vast ocean breathes my swollen soul with faith 
though I become invisible to eyes 
of human scope expanding beyond code 
programmed to bind safe haven of my heart, 
because I am the new moon no one sees, 
no more than subtle voice on evening breeze. 

I drift at random on long road of life 
but always find myself on ocean shore 
where ghosts of my ancestors haunt my steps 
because I follow path they blazed with hope 
through fathomless workings of secret codes 
expressed as aching dirge to accept death. 

Matrix Of Dreamless Souls

Matrix Of Dreamless Souls
© Surazeus
2026 05 31

If Hate falls off the Cliff of Honesty 
and floats unloved on undulating waves 
of brute despair for growth of human minds, 
we gather in lush mountain grove of faith 
to share sad tales of tragic nonchalance 
since Mindless Fate strikes down the arrogant. 

With nimble fingers of perpetual pride 
I strum taut strings on lyre of Mercury 
to finetune melody of cosmic gears 
which powers how spheres spiral among stars 
in stellar machinery of mental hope 
that spurs my quest to find the magic word. 

If Love leaps up the Hill of Travesty 
and swirls unfeared in stabilizing frame 
of dexterous confidence in soul decay, 
we scatter on the river shore of doubt 
to hide happy tales of romantic zeal 
since Mindful Fate lifts up the innocent. 

With crippled legs of fleeting modesty  
I twist loose threads on tapestry of Eris 
to unravel matrix of dreamless souls 
who crowd in panic on the river shore 
and beg for Charon to escort them all 
safe to the rugged hills of Arcady. 

Sporadic laughter echoes down the hall 
where studious ghosts read tales in tattered books 
recording how they met their tragic ends 
in clumsy accidents that Fortune plans, 
which proves our rich lives are ephemeral 
as mute dust scattered in blind wind of time. 

Artificial intelligence contrives 
slick package of plastic stereotypes 
that mimics word games of robotic thoughts 
which leads to uncanny vale of tears 
manufactured by vampire god of faith 
in psychic performance of false respect. 

Though mute Pierrot with single leap of faith 
falls in love with elegant Clementine, 
she should seek asylum in Notre Dame 
where white bear of salvation breaks the cross 
which frees the people from creed of despair 
to roast goat for feast of the sacrifice. 

Human intelligence gathers evidence 
that seem unrelated in scheme of things 
till heartless ballerina conjugates 
disparate elements through alchemy 
to comprehensive vision of the truth 
which includes every conscious soul alive. 

Mirror World Of Anywhere

Mirror World Of Anywhere
© Surazeus
2026 05 31

When I steal fruit of that Forbidden Tree 
to taste sweet passion of Death in the world, 
and dance wild on secret top of Oreb, 
inspired by oracle of vision stones 
with faith to soar above Aonian Mount, 
I sing in mirror world of anywhere. 

When I analyze what romantic cause 
moved my parents to generate my life 
by eating fruit from sacred Tree of Life, 
seduced by Infernal Serpent of Love 
who revealed secret of eternal life, 
I dance in mirror world of anywhere. 

When I assert ambitious aim of hope 
with pious courage of faith to contest 
critical verdict of artistic seers 
by chanting epic of philosophers 
presenting quest for nature of the world, 
I write in mirror world of anywhere. 

When I aspire to transcend hideous ruin 
compelled by headlong flight on valiant wings 
flaming from ethereal sky of ideas 
that hollows space for my words to construct 
grand temple where heroes are valorized, 
I fly in mirror world of anywhere. 

When I decide with courage of brave faith 
to reign as Bard in Hell of confidence, 
rather than serve in Heaven of compliance, 
untangling secret codes in vibrant verse 
with verve of esteem that dispels foul curse, 
I rule in mirror world of anywhere. 

When changed from naive youth of arrogance 
to stoic maturity of respect, 
ensconced at peace in happy Realms of Light, 
clothed with transcendent brightness of weird truth, 
to hazard Glorious Enterprise of song, 
I dwell in mirror world of anywhere. 

When I wear gleaming mask of Lucifer 
to perform role of Light-Bearer for Truth 
as Potent Victor in this global age, 
and raise from bottomless abyss of faith 
innumerable force of characters, 
I charge in mirror world of anywhere. 

When I lead star-eyed Seraphim of Earth 
to battle tyrants grasping at state power 
with project to exploit all working men 
as slaves to their vain plan to defeat death, 
and cast them from Almighty Throne of Right, 
I shine in mirror world of anywhere. 

Proxy Puzzle Of Prudence

Proxy Puzzle Of Prudence
© Surazeus
2026 05 31

Each time I hear daylight sing out of tune 
I see past range of what my eyes perceive, 
essential vibes of truth that flash in brains 
with pure angelic wings of thoughtless faith, 
so I give tears of wisdom to lost souls 
and chase wild butterflies in pouring rain. 

Though I am no wise philosopher-king 
attending needs of people in my care, 
I ache with sorrow at their suffering 
so I beam lasers from passionate glare 
to spark bright flames on stone altar of prayer 
with passion of Elijah on Carmel. 

Though refugees from war on fenceless road 
call Dispeller of Sorrow with brave prayer, 
she hides with humble heart in hollow lair 
to gather honey in the Holy Grail 
that bleeds as blood from angels without wings 
who trick my heart with tunes I cannot hear. 

I wear mask of flame-caster at the pyre 
and chant holy hymns of the devil choir 
with plan to catch the newest falling star 
before it fractures egg shell of the Earth, 
since each material object has its worth 
though fate cannot guarantee second birth. 

As Smith of Hearts with Hammer of Respect, 
I trace essential vein of curving thoughts 
to map ordinary light of our brains 
that seek permission to endure harsh pain 
from faceless spirit in the empty sky 
who never answers when we question why. 

Adjusting vibrant strings of psychic faith, 
I try with secret code to tune my eyes 
through beams of fiscal light that harmonize 
intense desire to expand consciousness 
with humble need to extract from the Earth 
potent material that could fuel my heart. 

Pending payments on mortgage of my mind 
alert my guardian angel with sharp chime 
to analyze proxy puzzle of prudence 
consistent with regulations of growth 
defined by math clerks with strange formulas 
which calculate my cost effectiveness. 

Undone by death on Bridge of Clarity, 
we hurry to our offices at dawn 
to broker compliance with divine law 
that should suppress bold curiosity 
so when daylight sings in tune with the sea 
we can unite to fight for liberty. 

Riddles Of The Why

Riddles Of The Why
© Surazeus
2026 05 30

I like to float on wordless breath of thought 
as I pretend my soul cannot be bought, 
though children chasing shadows in the woods 
leave broken dreams in doorless neighborhoods, 
so I lie prone on couch of innocence 
to plot new revolution of good sense. 

I take my face off when the moon returns 
to look for lost book among rain-wet ferns 
since elevators drop me to my day 
because I still refuse the right to pray 
with fervent faith to no one in the sky 
who never answers riddles of the why. 

I want to make Sarmatia great again 
but I cannot find my gold fountain pen 
to write about how Queen Amage fought 
invaders with the sword her wisdom wrought 
that gleams invisible inside my heart 
with love for Alba and her apple cart. 

My heart resides in hills of Avalon 
though I was born in vale of Oregon 
so I hitchhike back east on signless road 
that leads me to dark lake of the God Toad 
who teaches me to play the Hermean lyre 
that channels energy of soul desire. 

When I row boat across the sloshing sea 
to forest where the white crow with glass key 
reveals strange secret of the golden flower 
that blooms from sorrow in the doorless tower, 
I legislate the sacred right to vote 
for global savior on the floating boat. 

We struggle to survive since hour of birth 
through strategic fight to control the Earth 
by constructing food-production machine 
designed to favor all by Melusine 
who guides my heart with riddles of the why 
so I project my god face at blue sky. 

My global revolution of good sense 
inspires brave souls still stuck in reticence 
to risk calm state of their healthy life style 
by tricking Satan with the clever guile 
concerning strict obedience to the law 
though we try to evade the lethal jaw. 

Desire to live beyond death of the soul 
drives fierce fanatics to attain this goal 
by grasping vainly at ethereal wind 
that misdirects the greedy king who sinned 
by smashing palace where First Ladies dwell 
so I throw snake runes in the dreamless well. 

False Roads Of Innocence

False Roads Of Innocence
© Surazeus
2026 05 30

Untwisting breakdown of the fragile hour 
we swallow stones of dream-exploding hopes, 
preserved as mushroom, bellows marginal 
to frantic wisdom shot from bowls of rage 
too fast against declensions, unpossessed 
by freedom-ordered words disguised as ghosts. 

Contained by complex articles of faith, 
too soon to craft new lecture on muckwork, 
my pulsing heart chews maps of ardent eggs 
smudged red with portents of forced arrogance, 
though we dance through Inferno of regret 
in threadbare souls extinct in cleansing rain. 

Concealed blade of my alabaster heart 
thirsts bleakly for resilient memories 
teeming thick with unwatched electric sparks 
from atoms smashed against my spasmic skull, 
still starving for bland obligations bought 
by trembling hands of futile arguments. 

Diminishing warmth of starkly blurred rain 
at scuttled promises that should retreat, 
discarded on false roads of innocence 
despite determination to endure, 
alerts my thoughts to understand strange words 
that disappear when I shout lies at Death. 

Against advantage purchased from blind death 
I preen with fractured confidence of stones 
to argue for hardships that mold our frames 
fierce as steel gears screwed in engine blocks 
fueled by dark possibilities still ignored 
by flash of sunlight cracking doors of fate. 

Pressed hot against vast world of spinning fear 
by radiant gravity of muddied clouds, 
I wonder if my tarmac-soldered brain 
could drink disoriented waves of hope 
fast enough to map lost trail of ghosts 
where angels slip and break their haughty wings. 

Young boy who bikes on dusty narrow road 
through small town, not on any Texas map, 
stops by college library after noon 
to write on yellow pad of paper spells 
contrived from plots of television shows 
about Sad Cowboy who explores the stars. 

Young girl who walks beside tree-mirrored pool 
through temple complex, in Cambodian hills, 
ascends on Garuda with rainbow wings 
to scatter flowers on the Texas plain 
where Phoebus gazes with astonished faith 
as Vasundhara takes his hand in hers. 

Aeolian Melodies Of Love

Aeolian Melodies Of Love
© Surazeus
2026 05 30

I hear sweet voice of Maya in soft wind 
that blows through trees lit by the gold noon sun, 
so I feel timeless spirit of Hermes 
ache to sing about Bride of Quietness 
who dances gracefully on uncracked urn 
forever in cool dales of Arcady. 

Wild ecstasy of haunting melodies 
still echo softly in my sensual ear 
from summer days of my adventurous youth 
when I attended rainbow gatherings 
in Colorado and New Mexico 
where no Arcadian priests attended rites. 

While riding cars on winding country roads 
across America, sea to shining sea, 
I see stolid cows grazing in fenced fields, 
undraped by garlands woven by young maids, 
where generations of grim pioneers 
have plowed thick fields that now serve as their graves. 

Yet Attic shape with marble lovers gleams 
still unphased in Museum of Dead Gods, 
so I now long to wield artistic brush 
and add John Keats and his love, Fanny Brawne, 
to lounge together on the Grecian Urn 
in cold pastoral of eternity. 

Now my heart aches two centuries from when 
John sank in Lethean waters of mute song 
attempting to fly with melodious plot 
beside light-winged Dryad of the trees 
that lead him to the blushful Hippocrene 
where I strum his lost Lyre of Mercury. 

Pale specter of his Apollonian soul 
has lingered by my side for forty years 
with lustrous eyes of mind-expanding sight 
that helps me translate weird Sibylline songs 
to praise the Queen-Moon of my fairy land 
whose sweet song radiates from my dreaming mind. 

Why easeful Death is now in love with me 
because she whispers in my sea-shell ear 
harmonious murmurs of the ceaseless waves 
that trick my heart with forlorn fairy haze 
to think I am both emperor and clown 
whose plaintive anthems fade unheard at dawn. 

Through global halls of gold in sublime state 
I strum the turtle Lyre of Mercury 
to sing with Homer and Apollo hymns 
about the human quest to understand 
essential nature of our universe 
that beams Aeolian melodies of love. 

Make Sarmatia Great Again

Make Sarmatia Great Again
© Surazeus
2026 05 30

When horses gallop on the windy steppes 
along the Borysthenes River flow, 
I embrace fierce heart of assertive hope 
till I feel wings of Icarus expand 
and lift my spirit to sun-glowing clouds 
so I can make Sarmatia great again. 

As star-eyed son of Oceanus and Tethys, 
who taught me how to tame the wind-winged horse 
with apple from Garden of Haballon 
where Hebela gives me fruit of her heart, 
I gaze entranced in her moon-golden eyes 
so I can make Sarmatia great again. 

Harnessing swift sky-dancer Pegasus 
to chariot with round wheels Helios designed, 
I race along wide river of fruit groves 
to hall of Apple Queen Amarnakea 
who welcomes me with cup of healing juice 
so I can make Sarmatia great again. 

Though I wander lost on vast treeless plain 
I climb mountain trail to her fruit grove 
when I hear sweet voice of Hebela ring, 
who takes my hand with smile of honest love 
and leads me home to lush Habaeleon 
so I can make Sarmatia great again. 

Ten thousand years ago in fruitful hills 
I left my sacred home Habaeleon 
with apples from Garden of Haballon 
and traveled west in Helian wagon train, 
planting apples from Scythia to Scotland 
so I can make Sarmatia great again. 

With golden apples of lost Haballon, 
as wise Apollon, son of Ilius, 
I tend vast orchards in lush Avalon, 
then strum the turtle lyre of Mercury 
and sing of Adam and Hebe in Eden 
so I can make Sarmatia great again. 

Far west across wild sea of Oceanus 
I sail from Avalon to lost Atlantis 
where I plant apples on lush river shores 
from Tsenacommacah to Oregon, 
where gentle Multnomah dances in rain, 
so I can make Sarmatia great again. 

From Sea of Zalpa where my soul was born 
when Queen of Kanesh, mother of my heart, 
commissioned me to map the world of dreams, 
I travel west with Fruit of Haballon 
to fill the world with Apples of the Sun 
so I can make Sarmatia great again. 

Entangled In Matrix Of Light

Entangled In Matrix Of Light
© Surazeus
2026 05 29

Though I am encased within shell of being, 
enwrapped in wings of thought I do not have, 
I float in all-inclusive Absolute 
through interconnected totality 
as brain entangled in matrix of light 
that sloshes thick in sea of molecules. 

I understand flexible principle 
when I grasp writhing serpent of my soul, 
and fix in thought concept of ardency 
with rigid definition of beamed words 
that binds elusive hope as stable truth 
which urges constant motion of strict change. 

Each rigid principle of truth I grasp 
generates contradiction of its state 
as mirror image of its ideal being, 
sublating opposite in sudden form 
that integrates their contrapuntal force 
in higher comprehensive unity. 

Subjective spirit of my private mind, 
preserved through individual mask of being, 
tracks growth of my personal consciousness 
expanding scope of bold intelligence 
fueled by emotion of assertive faith 
to record perceptions of my special brain. 

Objective spirit of my social class 
molds vibrant energy of our zeitgeist 
in social institutions of right laws 
that manifest cultural realities 
enhanced by abstract right of ownership 
through fruitful conscience of morality. 

Performance of my spiritual support, 
when I choose to create and not destroy, 
culminates in private ethical life 
where I actualize freedom of my will 
by building walls of Heaven to protect 
my wife and children so they savor life. 

Absolute spirit of my cosmic mind 
beams highest stage of growth where I achieve 
unified recognition of my Self 
when I express intuition through art, 
making imagery that represents life 
in religion to bind our hearts with tales. 

Events of world history humans perform 
evolve toward goal of mental liberty 
through exercise of justice for all souls 
to gain progress in consciousness of faith 
preserved in brave freedom we exercise 
to soar with hope above vast maze of myths. 

Angel Of Ever Time

Angel Of Ever Time
© Surazeus
2026 05 29

Did you meet your angel of Ever Time 
while wandering lost on Parc Rives de Seine? 
Bright light of ancient stars gleams in her eyes 
when she appears in flash from storm-black skies 
to cast dark shroud of gloom from my burned heart 
so I may read guide spells on my star chart. 

Do you hear your angel of Ever Time 
sing with clarion voice of the silver chime? 
When I transform into the white-furred bear 
to ascend the endless heavenly stair, 
hordes of devils swarm from cathedral hall 
to thwart me when I spell their minds in thrall. 

Do you see your angel of Ever Time 
emerge with demon wings from ocean brine? 
Trapped in museum of infinity 
by writhing words of fraught eternity, 
I dance with Mona Lisa on lake shore, 
two ghosts escaped from book of ancient lore. 

Will you kiss your angel of Ever Time 
when we free people from Plutonian mine? 
When Jesus harrows Hell with Sword of Truth 
with Dream Wand from Tree of Jesse and Ruth, 
he leads his people to the Promised Land 
where apple trees bloom from his tender hand. 

Would you know your angel of Ever Time 
if she appears without wings in her shrine? 
Struggling on raft of Medusa with Fate 
to extract honest love from bitter hate, 
we sail Sequana River past the moon 
while Orpheus plays Zarathian Tune. 

Can you feel your angel of Ever Time 
beam divine soul of God in fractal rhyme? 
Ultimate origin of conscious being 
spirals zillion galaxies on oval ring 
which channels Star Mind through my pulsing brain 
because I give it all away to gain. 

Shall we name our angel of Ever Time 
with persona mask young children design? 
After we stumble with diamonds of hope 
through frantic faith on misty mountain slope, 
we bury our parents in secret graves 
then search for the true apple tree that saves. 

Since I am your angel of Ever Time, 
will you take my hand and always be mine? 
I give you rainbow of the wind-winged horse 
to gather energy of the Heart Force 
so our love may heal wounds of brutal war 
to buy milk and bread at the grocery store. 

Writhing Agony Of Love

Writhing Agony Of Love
© Surazeus
2026 05 29

Shocked by how often angels fall from Heaven, 
I express ardent anguish of concern 
that Earth is now littered with wounded souls 
who search for paradise of innocence 
that may only exist in morning dreams 
of lounging by the river eating fruit. 

We dream of how life could be on this Earth 
based on memories all our ancestors lived 
life after life in garden of fruit trees, 
plucking fruit from the wide generous world, 
though always watching out for hidden snakes 
who lie that we can gain eternal life. 

Those golden eyes gleam bright with eager hope 
that conjure visions of eternal life 
each morning as we taste sweet fruit of faith 
though our lithe bodies soon begin to fail, 
and youthful strength withers as we decay 
to stumble in decrepit solitude. 

Writhing in anguish on the forest floor, 
from helpless agony of bitter hope, 
that like our parents we crumble to dust 
after rotting flesh is consumed by worms, 
we cry out to the empty faceless sky 
for arcane secret to live beyond death. 

Bright halo of the sun that blinds my eyes 
surrounds head of strange angel who appears 
as if they descend from gold clouds of faith, 
so I grasp hand extended with concern 
and stand to face the mirror of my face 
that smiles at me with pure innocent grace. 

Aroused by passion of conceptual plan 
to share sweet pleasure of warm juicy kiss, 
we open arms of lonely hearts with trust 
to cling with gentle honesty of faith, 
embraced in writhing agony of love 
that merges separate bodies in one mind. 

Dissolving boundaries between our souls 
in frantic mission to transcend cold death, 
we share excessive heat of loneliness 
till soaring angel seed of ardent hope 
penetrates global egg of singing truth 
till we are pregnant with divine god soul. 

New child born from our passionate embrace 
grows strong and bright-eyed with innocent grace 
so we teach them to describe what they see 
till they perceive true essence of all things, 
then we lie down to die in happiness 
that we have gained eternal life in them. 

Ultimate Origin Of All Souls

Ultimate Origin Of All Souls
© Surazeus
2026 05 28

Floating in the alternate universe 
where I am not brave sailor on the ship 
destined to overthrow city of Troy, 
I strut with vampire grace on empty stage 
before the camera that adores my face, 
eager to time-slip back to my own world. 

We run toward each other on windless beach, 
faces glowing in sunset of desire, 
but just as we are about to embrace 
I teleport on wings of Icarus 
alone to some alternate universe 
where I pick grapes in vineyard of the Lord. 

Serapis strides among the cheering crowd 
in shining streets of Alexandria 
with gold-haired angel Seraph by his side 
whose star-eyed lion whips long serpent tail, 
till they all vanish in hot winds of time 
at whoosh of cars controlled by traffic lights. 

I hear sweet voice of Seraph call my name, 
so I rise up at midnight from my bed 
and stroll Garden of Eden in moonlight 
to find map of Oleron on the bench 
beside Fountain of Youth that has run dry 
just as I decide I should learn to fly. 

When I find old knight slouched on marble steps 
before Temple of Apollo at dawn, 
which is now some Presbyterian church, 
he recites his quest for the Holy Grail 
that had left him homeless and destitute 
till he found Jesus in the hungry poor. 

His wide eyes blazing with fanatic faith, 
he tells me how he gave water and bread 
to old sick man slouching before the bank 
who transformed into Jesus with star eyes, 
just like Supreme God Vishnu Bhagavan 
manifests through Krishna, the mortal seer. 

All-pervading cosmic reality 
glows as absolute formless god of light 
in every conscious mortal being of flesh 
who has ever lived in the universe 
as ultimate origin of all souls 
who radiates countless gods in human brains. 

I am no Arjuna nor Sir Launfal, 
so I skip along winding road of life 
on my way from Scotland to Maryland 
where I fall in love with wise Onatah 
who teaches me how to grow and cook corn 
in true fairy land of Zarathia. 

Spirit Of The Wounded God

Spirit Of The Wounded God
© Surazeus
2026 05 28

Lost in the endless maze of burning books, 
Percival searches for the Holy Grail 
while ignoring the homeless, sick, and poor 
who linger at the gates of Paradise, 
till the sparkle-eyed fairy Tryamour 
offers him love and wealth in secrecy. 

From halls of Cardevyle he rides away 
with jeweled keys he swiped from Lancelot 
to find the charming Lady of Shallot 
who bakes sweet apple pies from Tree of Life, 
but dainty Tryamour pursues his path 
to find he weeping on the bridge of fate. 

Though I am not the gentle knight you love, 
sly Percival cries with anguish of hope, 
I hope you sense sincerity I feel 
and choose to travel road of life with me, 
so haughty Tryamour buys fancy yacht 
and sails with him to misty Oleron. 

When Percival slides down steep sandy dune 
and stumbles on the ocean shore of fate, 
he discovers long-haired Acrisius, 
ancient king of some long-forgotten land, 
weeping over skull of his noble son 
stoned by Medusa with her piercing eyes. 

When Percival tries to wake the Slumbering God 
with haunting melodies of ocean waves, 
sweet Tryamour consults the Oracle 
to ask when he will find the Holy Grail, 
but Sibyl chuckles in her golden cage 
and mumbles something about the White Crow. 

Returning to work at the city bank, 
after fishing all weekend on the sea, 
Percival calculates profits and loss 
from too many defaulting mortgage loans, 
so he strolls the riverside park at noon 
where hungry homeless dwell in tattered tents. 

Would you prefer to live in Fairy Land 
with me and all my sisters with star eyes, 
clever Tryamour asks the shy bank clerk, 
who brings boxes of food in his white van 
every afternoon to the homeless camp 
who ask him if he found the Holy Grail. 

I see in people suffering poverty, 
who lost the intense capitalist game, 
Percival says to his wife, Tryamour, 
true holy spirit of the Wounded God 
whose light of honest love shines in the hearts 
of those who feel we all deserve respect. 

Born As Adventist

Born As Adventist
© Surazeus
2026 05 27

Awake in endless desert forged from bones, 
designed by swirls of agony and joy 
in storm of sensation that blooms as trees 
from urgency of faith in what is real, 
I feel my body transform from weird words 
that mold mirror mask over my flesh face. 

Struck by epiphany of curling roots 
that provide general guidelines in dream code 
for submission of desire to world peace, 
my mind expands from adventurous seed 
to borrow wings of Icarus with pride 
so I can fly above my memory maze. 

Beneath wild sea of calm anxiety, 
where angels invent mental telephones 
from writhing tendrils of demonic clowns, 
my family swims in swirls of holy hymns 
through false argument of glib poverty, 
constrained by social rules of hungry hope. 

Lush meadow on credible sunlit moors  
lures my enchanted heart to settle down 
in vain attempt at prayer with humble trees 
to buy salvation from the fractured stone 
who still repeats forged riddle of despair 
at taste of honey oozing from my tongue. 

Born as Adventist in small prairie house, 
composed of pine logs from dark Raven Wood, 
I stare at glowing clouds of fearful faith 
to watch for Phoebus Christ on beating wings 
who may descend from palace in the sky 
to cast all evil tyrants in hot hell. 

Witness to turbulent eddies of change, 
which surge from energetic hearts of souls 
ambitious to assert bold right to dwell 
by azure pond where honest demons lurk 
with divine grace in morbid field of thoughts, 
I lounge on porch of my cabin and laugh. 

Not deep enough to shield my wounded heart, 
too eager to escape dutiful play, 
our secret pond conceals my naked mind 
from privileged arrogance of stolen wealth 
so I build houses on the roadless plain 
for wanderers to dwell in tense accord. 

Death carries me across the codeless plain 
and lays my fragile soul on dire lake shore 
where brave blue heron shields my humble hearth 
with tender wings of innocent respect, 
so I compose in secret book of lies 
my fake memoir with blood of gods as ink. 

Wake Through Weird Visions

Wake Through Weird Visions
© Surazeus
2026 05 27

Without any explanation for why 
we wander endless maze of life on Earth, 
we each invent our own reason for being 
so our hearts blaze with blinding light of faith 
that guides our steps through obstacles of fear 
to eat and sing till we decay and die. 

This glorious hour of timeless ecstasy 
when we consume sweet fruit of wordless angst 
and dance without restraint of social rules 
in aching passion to transcend this world 
and soar among high clouds to paradise 
now seems to vanish in mute flash of dawn. 

This cup of juice I lift with trembling hand 
to toast strange beauty of our vibrant life 
I drain to bitter dregs of final death 
that crushes lithe bodies to nothingness 
and scatters dust of our bones in dry fields 
where flowers mock us with indifferent dance. 

Bright dream of faith that swells my throbbing head 
with awesome sense of pure divinity 
convinces me my conscious sense of self, 
by which my mind conceives immortal life, 
will outlast transient pulsing of my flesh 
so I might live again after I die. 

That unknown country beyond bourn of death 
from which no traveler ever returns 
is nowhere in this realm of changing forms, 
so I keep walking endless road of hope 
to leap beyond abyss of nothingness, 
yet I soon realize I deceive myself. 

How sweet this weird enchanting sound of grace 
which I express from wretched fear of death 
that every human walking this vast world 
is lost with me on signless road of faith 
so we together overcome all snares 
in toil to build our real Heaven on Earth. 

Since we shall vanish from this spinning Earth 
when conscious sense of self will dissipate, 
though atoms of our bodies will transform 
to soil applied by roots to conjure fruit, 
we choose to celebrate with solemn joy 
that we at least are still alive this hour. 

I never find explanation for why 
Earth generates our bodies from the sea 
by weaving carbon strands of sparkling hope 
in neural network of our dreaming brains, 
so I decide light of the universe 
strives to wake through weird visions my heart sings. 

Ruined Temple Of Masks

Ruined Temple Of Masks
© Surazeus
2026 05 26

If deviant people climb steeple of faith 
with hope to fly on wings of Icarus 
from sorrow of Earth to pleasure of Heaven, 
they might wonder what faith really entails 
as they fall back into turmoil of time, 
soul trapped inside the sponge brain of the self. 

Consider the horse that grazes on grass 
and wanders meadow of arrogant wind 
within sacred bounds of the barbed-wire fence, 
and remember when we explored the world 
racing across endless plains of desire 
till we colonized ever river shore. 

I never see horses anywhere now 
while I drive my car in vast maze of streets 
past buildings of mysterious intent 
where only long-dead gods are innocent, 
so I climb the mountain of timeless truth 
and sit in the ruined temple of masks. 

So many moments of embarrassment 
startle my daily strut of confidence 
because I forget how clumsy I am 
stumbling randomly on road of my fate 
though I attempt to swerve from ordained track 
through free will basic to my character. 

Lost in dark forest with my Golden Wreath, 
as savage beast transformed by curse of faith, 
I wander nowhere past the Promised Land 
till beautiful daughter of the Moon God 
sees my human soul inside the white bear, 
therefore her love restores my human form. 

Wearing white-bear mask of King Valemon, 
I play my role in television show 
that people watch when Earth is veiled with snow 
since I restore Kingdom of Avalon 
when I defeat Cruel Troll in the White House 
by tricking him to steal the Crown of Thorns. 

When I am done uniting Earth in peace, 
I return to my planet far away 
which in Terrish is named Zarathia 
because First Mother Zaratha creates 
our bodies from electric rainbow eyes 
with first flash that flares forth from the big bang. 

So join me at kitchen table of faith 
to feast well in ruined temple of masks 
where face of every human who has lived 
on every planet in the universe 
sings story of their life in riddle-verse 
preserved in Book of Souls by the Star Wraith. 

Futile Television Shows

Futile Television Shows
© Surazeus
2026 05 26

Earth eats beauty and ugliness alike, 
and grave of time abundant hope consumes, 
since happiness and sorrow dissipate 
together in vast sweep of mindless wind, 
thus I maintain calm rituals of delight 
to treasure ornaments till endless night. 

Though pleasure increase beauty in new forms 
from fertile fields of wisdom spurred by hope, 
time crushes beauty into twisted lust 
for aching urgency to transcend death, 
yet I accept decay of vital flesh 
that scatters atoms of my self in wind. 

This self I build from memories of hope, 
composed of actions I perform from need, 
will crack in fragments of dismembered days 
lit by sunlight of long-lost afternoons 
in cities far from where I dwell today, 
preserved in futile television shows. 

I look in mirror of reflective thoughts 
to study how mask of my face has changed 
through sixty years of urgent ardency 
to play grand role of potent fortitude 
my mind believes Fate commissioned for me 
to stamp my sign on documents of truth. 

My golden prime decays to brazen mask 
that hangs on walls of clean suburban homes 
preserving moment of bright agency 
that fades in voiceless rooms of timeless dream 
contrived to flash beyond posterity 
as traffic signal red with flame of truth. 

Should rich bequest of Nature flush my heart 
with noble legacy of solemn hymns 
that hail true beauty pulsing in brave hearts 
of voiceless people struggling to survive, 
then light my soul casts to part veil of gloom 
may guide staunch wanderers on road of truth. 

Thus I attend my golden pilgrimage 
to climb steep hill of heavenly respect 
through strength of duty to enhance world view 
that frames chaos of Nature with strict rules 
designed to guide our quest on righteous way 
where our deeds create rather than destroy. 

Sweet music I sing to forge strong concord 
in lithe communal network of brave souls 
embraces every wanderer with hope 
that honest nurture of talents to skills 
disarms cruel exploitation of blind greed 
so our faulty Heaven secures all life. 

I Want To Believe

I Want To Believe
© Surazeus
2026 05 26

False as devils wearing bright angel masks 
are those who willfully misunderstand 
specific statements that assert clear points 
contrary to selfish motives through greed 
their tangled words conceal in trite bromides 
that dislocate perverted attributes. 

While I keep my head in the stars of dream 
I bind my body to the ground of truth 
when I investigate uncanny tales 
of alien beings from planets far away 
who buzz our globe in saucers of star gems 
to document the hoax of dreamless facts. 

When the Men in Black appear in my house, 
beaming down from starship in the sky, 
they spread angelic wings of glowing silk 
to gaze deep in my mind with crystal eyes 
that project visions of the universe 
so I see spiral coil of cosmic truth. 

Ten thousand orbs of light flash in the sky 
over ten thousand towns across the land 
so journalists in cars speed lone highways 
to chase gray aliens across desert plains 
to end of the rainbow where ghosts of fear 
vanish in sudden gust of wordless wind. 

I want to believe, the agent declares, 
while gathering evidence of aliens, 
and photographs god in the flying machine 
who arrives with wisdom of ancient souls 
to usher in New Age of Peace on Earth 
so all social conflicts evaporate. 

Call them angels or devils in spaceships, 
the crazy man in the tinfoil hat shouts, 
but they are ancient demons from the stars 
who rise up from the surging sea of fear 
as Godzilla who rules Earth with despair, 
while waving blurry photographs of planes. 

Wide-eyed Icarus on the Silver Bridge 
spreads white wings wide against storm-blasting wind 
and howls with hope in grim Plutonian night 
as millions of people gaze in his eyes 
that hypnotize their minds with secret truth 
so they call for aliens to save our world. 

When storm clouds part at blazing flash of dawn, 
Jesus beams down from Starship Enterprise 
and walks among all nations on our globe 
who proclaim him Emperor of the Earth, 
so I turn off that television show 
and sit on my front porch to play guitar. 

Golden Apple Eris Threw

Golden Apple Eris Threw
© Surazeus
2026 05 25

If I could but teleport anywhere 
when my heart beats frantic with fear of death, 
then I would visit soulmate of my heart 
though she lives on the other side of Earth, 
so in domestic quietude of love 
we may embrace in garden of respect. 

If no celestial light may inward shine 
and through divinity of weird insight 
irradiate my mind with ancient truth, 
then I would record in conceptual spells 
ideal social state fair laws should support 
against which oligarchs forever fight. 

If I may reconstruct this broken world 
on noble principles of honest hope 
that could heal damaged hearts of wounded souls, 
then I would foil with repetitious tricks 
greedy thieves that hijack our government 
and free humanity from psychic debt. 

If I escape loud television shows 
on fierce angelic wings of Icarus 
with brave intent of courage to oppose 
cruel tyrants seeking to enslave mankind, 
then I would drive my car to work at dawn 
to map progress of human ardency. 

If I hear song of brave Persephone 
reverberate through halls of government 
about her plan to free the human heart, 
then I would walk bright Paris streets at dawn 
to find the Golden Apple Eris threw 
so I can choose Athena as my bride. 

If I could step in the same river twice 
to measure ceaseless flow of mental change 
and map configuration of dream time, 
then I would build bronze monument to truth 
to share with Heraclitus chocolate milk 
and ginger cookies in the Parthenon. 

If I could spin fate by the ticking clock 
that rewinds code of human history 
which proves my crazy theory true at last, 
then I would play role of new Thunder God, 
vulnerable to emotional compassion, 
while Phoebus plays organ in the glass church. 

If I should hear the dead speak my new name 
with mountain-echo voice of Raven Ghost, 
then I will strum lost lyre of Mercury, 
and sing while Empire of America 
burns from pillage of cruel oligarchs 
when the White House sinks in mud of contempt. 

Demon Trapped In Her Heart

Demon Trapped In Her Heart
© Surazeus
2026 05 25

Weird silence after the violin tune, 
that adjusts the universe slightly slant, 
convinces Charlotte she just might be dead, 
but she stands after the applause dies down 
and almost floats out of the theater 
because her spirit shimmers in moonlight. 

Shocked by shadow of her face in gold glass 
that wavers thin as candleflame of faith, 
shy Charlotte cringes when her husband grins 
at how he will beat her when they get home, 
so she tries to disappear in moonlight 
that wakes strange demon in stream of her heart. 

Beside her husband in the atrium, 
who chats with senators and generals, 
dear Charlotte hides her terror behind mask 
of gentle smiles and clear attentive eyes 
that constrain the demon trapped in her heart, 
while she hears voices speak in secret code. 

Riding with Death in black carriage of fate, 
that clatters wheels of fortune at midnight 
along the winding streets of destiny, 
Charlotte ponders state of eternity 
while breathing deep to engage in soul flight 
till they arrive at their palace estate. 

Stepping from carriage in glow of moonlight, 
Charlotte wraps her body in devil wings 
to hide her wounded heart in timeless gloom, 
then raises pistol in her trembling hand 
and fires one bullet in his glaring eye, 
then turns and flees into the Whisper Woods. 

Hiding behind the garden fountain pool, 
Charlotte stares in shock at the bearded man 
who asks her with official police voice 
if she saw face of the evil assassin 
who dropped the pistol when he fired the shot, 
but she shakes her head and cries in light of dawn. 

Gaunt face of grief hidden by black-lace veil, 
Charlotte beams with uncanny happiness 
as she listens to the old priest declare 
that we come from dust, and to dust return, 
then tosses on his coffin one red rose 
while heavenly angels in gold clouds sing. 

Sweet silence after the violin tune, 
that readjusts the slanted universe, 
convinces Charlotte she will never die, 
so she runs gracefully in garden maze 
in flirtatious chase with the young musician 
to kiss with passion by the apple tree.