Azure Purity Of Being

Azure Purity Of Being
© Surazeus
2026 04 16

My heart has become the weird moon in the stream 
fused with infinity through secret words 
that shine as essence at the core of things 
which I perceive with telepathic vibe 
that dissolves barrier blocking my soul 
through impalpable serenity of being. 

Struck by hot blood of sunlight on my skin 
I stretch beyond horizon of my body 
to swirl with soil in water of my brain 
that leaves me standing as sky of the world 
transformed from light to trees and animals 
who blaze with azure purity of being. 

Despite joy-twisting despair that we die, 
I bloom with disconsolate shock of truth 
that we are so alive this vibrant hour 
as flames of energy in pulsing flesh 
which has evolved four hundred million years, 
immortal soul of genes reborn in me. 

I am the distant blueness of the sky 
which emanates from hard core of the Earth 
through swirling passion of beautiful fear 
that drives my progress to become myself 
till I am not the I I dream I am 
because I walk beside me as God Self. 

I become the I I find in the world 
whose spirit merges with my fragile soul 
through strange celestial breath of writhing words 
that thread my brain in fabric of all time 
when I meet mirror image of myself 
who changes into someone else I love. 

Growing old on winding road of my life, 
where I have wandered nowhere randomly, 
I pause and look back at my younger selves 
who separate in clones I am no more 
as shadows gleaming in each open door 
who will remain after I am long gone. 

Once I remove all the masks I have worn, 
which will always reveal another mask, 
I become no one, and yet everyone 
who has ever lived on this spinning globe, 
so when you search for me in songs I write 
you will find nothing but your own true self. 

Joining ancient choir of the human soul, 
I sing with tongue of the invisible 
in harmony with poets of the past 
whose dream-maps guide my clumsy way past fear 
so I rejoice in beauty of this world 
that shines with visible atoms of thought. 

Silver Swan Of Truth

Silver Swan Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 04 16

Dark similitude of her image glows 
as seraph hovering over me with wings 
of ancient wisdom mirrored by the moon 
when she appears as silver swan of truth 
that sprinkles snow of beauty on my head 
so I imagine I am Socrates. 

Her timeless eyes that gleam with countless stars 
unveil bright nothingness in everything 
yet flash through flowing waves of molecules 
in sweet harmonious music of the spheres 
which oscillate between opposing poles 
to weave our souls in matrix of God Mind. 

Inspired by Tree of Knowledge by the lake 
that dances in soft breeze one hundred years, 
I stand as second shadow to her soul 
just as the wise seer Theodore foretold 
who shows me how to see with dreamless eyes 
Realm of Ideas beyond the visible. 

With mind untrammeled by religious creeds 
I outfly nets of mutability 
based on dream map that Theodore designed 
by navigating shadows of this world 
that bind my soul to limits of my body 
though my brain explores weird infinity. 

I hitchhike far across the Evening Land 
with lyre of Mercury in my left hand, 
and on my journey beyond truth I knew 
I find out what I am in my world view, 
because we blaze in preternatural light 
till we all vanish in mute dreamless night. 

Since I am made of atoms shining bright 
with brave attentive force of selfless love, 
I am concept of God we humans made 
attempting wake wise inside my brain 
which gleams as prism in its neural net 
refracting God Mind in my transient self. 

Eight billion humans living on this Earth 
are every one one fragment of One God 
for we all spring from one maternal mind, 
First Mother who still dreams inside our brains 
since she stood startled by the Lake of Stars 
and sang clear visions of her loving heart. 

Though driven down the signless road of hope 
by bleak despair of hunger for weird truth, 
I rise from shadow of my single self 
to feel First Mother wake inside my mind 
so I expand scope of bright consciousness 
to sing with joy while knowing I will die. 

Vibrant Flash Of Faith

Vibrant Flash Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 04 15

If she knows why stars incarnate as flowers, 
she hides the secret as math formulas 
in the chemistry textbook of her heart, 
and only smiles while we dance to the music 
that radiates from the singing stone of truth 
which flashes mirror eyes of lonely souls. 

Since she remembers why the Javan Myna 
taught her how to fly when she was still young, 
she fries corned beef sandwich on sourdough bread 
with sauerkraut, Swiss cheese, and island dressing, 
which we enjoy with sharp Italian wine, 
after which we sit on the porch and ponder. 

Because she has nothing special to prove 
concerning strange color of innocence, 
she rides silver bike to the river shore, 
where nothing dramatic ever occurs, 
to paint secret faces of the Blue Sky 
as shimmer reflected in the road pool. 

Confident she contains crowds of blind ghosts 
who encode her secrets in photographs, 
she sails small river boat on gleaming waves 
where choir of fish sing cosmic melodies 
before the peacock with luminous wings 
that transforms into proud Queen of the Earth. 

Erased by history books she never reads, 
she cooks to feed her children with calm care 
and cleans their clothes so they can play their role, 
till she becomes the body of their house, 
enclosed inside polished box of her heart, 
which she takes with her when she walks away. 

Drunk from imbibing spiced Dragon Brain Wine, 
brewed from honey and psychedelic mushrooms, 
she flies broom of the oak tree among clouds 
to feed expansive emptiness of truth 
with swirling energy contained in fruit 
that weaves memories of gods in her brain. 

Inspired by flood of the apocalypse 
that smashes institutions of state power, 
she surfs tsunami waves of social change 
with grim elation of justice for all 
when she embraces vibrant flash of faith 
to help Nature cleanse our world of cruel hate. 

Unaware I requite her secret feelings, 
she scrapes raw skin of passionate desire 
against granite fortitude of my heart 
so we savor transient bliss of pure love 
that wakes our hearts with vibrant flash of faith 
before we grow old and decay to silence. 

Immodest Seraph Of Fate

Immodest Seraph Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 04 15

Because stars have names that describe their glow, 
I walk around the neighborhood of doors, 
curious about angels who occupy 
empty rooms where faceless people consider 
why secret smudge in the back of our souls 
obscures celestial light inside our brains. 

Though I realize the longest way back home 
is thirteen times around our spinning globe, 
I live with circus of the weeping clown 
on lost island where oranges are not bombs 
designed by immodest seraph of fate 
who charges me for parking in her garden. 

Nothing is spotless in house of desire 
except the screaming clock of happiness 
that teaches me to count eternity 
as blind apprentice stuck at the crossroads 
where sapphire of intensity gleams eyes 
of time-entangled gods in human flesh. 

When I break open fresh-baked loaf of bread, 
searing light of the condensed sun expands 
scope of memory flashing through my brain 
so I remember stumbling in dark rain 
because huge shadow of the angry man 
lurks behind gate of home my father built. 

Discolored scene of urgent lassitude 
defeats perverse order of faded prayers 
stalled by gracious flowers of fragile chimes 
that trap me outside my own space and time 
as if my face reveals continuum 
through dramatic suddenness of soft waves. 

Fear hesitates to antagonize honest souls 
who float suspended in sequestered state 
between survival and global success 
based on refreshing absence of desire 
to question how verbal systems of truth 
reframe old events with new moral laws. 

Disinterested in tactics of regret, 
I measure how the storm of social change 
transforms weariness of the hungry world 
to special promises through rivalry 
unique to our obsessive age of hope 
where people sell motives to stay alive. 

Mirage of paradise that blinds our eyes 
presents potential hazard to the heart, 
explained by immodest seraph of fate 
as fashion brokered by the searching soul 
based in arguments carved on cliffs of faith 
since we never meet at the broken door. 

Fragile Wings Of Thought

Fragile Wings Of Thought
© Surazeus
2026 04 14

Arrested by white lightning of the mind, 
I see strange demon outside looking in 
at how I translate flowers into juice 
that veils indifference Nature twists in trees 
which reassemble molecules of souls 
from wolfish passion to serenity. 

Love pulses subtly with portentous pride 
at mute confession no one dares express 
since darkness molds truth from attentive time 
aligned with psychic cause of liberty 
that we embody through obsessive play 
to build world empire from small colony. 

Concerned how rainbows pierce our aching hearts 
at fraction of the cost to produce dreams, 
I split expansive spectrum in huge books 
designed to photograph the blazing towers 
from which mad gods fall far on crippled wings 
who stare through windows at our cheerful feasts. 

Unbreakable soul of calm honesty 
decides to play no drama on world stage 
in vain attempt to parcel land in shards 
where children of dead gods design new games 
while running freely in cathedral hall 
beneath high arching heavens of regret. 

Our world keeps spinning in the silent void, 
sphere bound by writhing threads of energy 
that weave neural net of my dreaming brain 
with Ungod dwelling in Garden of Zarth 
which shimmers everywhere brave men explore 
because we celebrate core nothingness. 

If death preserves our fleeting memories 
in countless four-walled rooms of privacy 
against assertion of dramatic sun 
who sits in garden of accomplishments, 
we humbly walk with Death on signless road 
because our starlight bodies will decay. 

My new ethereal life of casual play 
presumes ontology designed by Fate 
who nurtures Garden of Hesperides 
to prove existing objects are more real 
than pretty concepts conjured in my mind 
which float away on fragile wings of thought. 

Shocked by how Hope mocks mortal fleetingness 
as gift of nothingness humans enjoy, 
I write new mental program in dream code 
to give each human power of the rain 
that falls in steady streams of liquid masks 
explaining why we give each other names. 

Tearing Roots Of Sorrow

Tearing Roots Of Sorrow
© Surazeus
2026 04 14

If Linda wants to sing of seeing time 
unfold our steadfast stars of frozen hope, 
then she may record riddles birds express 
to measure magnitude of selfish love 
since we are fragile flames of consciousness 
that flicker out before we understand. 

Since Linda perceives what is difficult 
with easy effort of the fractured moon, 
she might exchange beauty of her dream world 
to formulate new code for what is real, 
for she is fierce sprite of the cityscape 
who centers herself till she disappears. 

Disinterested in obvious metaphors 
that hollow space for absence of the heart, 
spry Linda notes that wind heaves in wild trees 
with quiet warmness of enclosing walls 
shaped by sharp subtlety of full-moon rays 
that wrap black sky around her plastic face. 

Through incomplete sentences of desire 
that strike list of observations on walls, 
snarky Linda leads us to hall of masks 
where we stand with her before too-square frames 
that subject fluid personalities 
with clumsy variables of dream syntax. 

Teaching our eyes to see uncanny truth 
which emanates from unnatural fragments 
of puzzles formed from dreams everyone shares, 
curious Linda places broken quill 
in my trembling hand with intimate smile 
and urges me to write spells with my blood. 

Amazed at spare beauty of gentle song 
that she unearths from ancient monoliths 
by tearing roots of sorrow from our hearts, 
grim Linda tells us how all things we see 
are shapes Death molds from rotten flesh of lust 
for we see each other with eyes of death. 

I interrupt her chant of thoughtful prayers 
in tangled conversation with blind ghosts 
to insist that I see with eyes of life 
because I love every person on Earth 
whose statues camouflage their emptiness 
which echoes strange abandonment of words. 

Her clear-eyed gaze of silent intellect 
strips mask of haughty pride from off my face, 
so we eat apple pie on the back porch 
then sing with crickets in the river reeds 
enraged at vow of silence Linda keeps 
when she transcribes their happy loneliness. 

Mezuzah Of World Dream

Mezuzah Of World Dream
© Surazeus
2026 04 13

Because I am the door through which I pass 
when I transform from my parents to me, 
I stretch my body on conceptual grass 
with luxuriant ennui of the free, 
yet strangers write on tablet of my heart 
their stories that compose my moral chart. 

I stand on dim-lit stage in quaint cafe 
to read my confessions with poet voice 
in spells that trap my spirit in cliche, 
designed to imitate how gods rejoice, 
but I stare in starless void with silent thought, 
then pretend I am the naive robot. 

Though I study figures on Grecian Urn 
with passionate sense of dire urgency, 
I wonder when Fortune will give me turn 
to measure my spiritual vergency 
that indicates focal power of rain 
to refract the Divine Mind through my brain. 

I shall not weep at the clarion call 
that wakes my spirit from tomb of dead words, 
so I paint my dream with blood on church wall 
when angels translate prophecies of birds 
to tragic tale of Tristan and Isolde 
who found world empire on desolate wold. 

When Friedrich rolls away the cryptic stone, 
exposing bones of Jesus in dark tomb, 
I call my father on the telephone 
who tells me secret of maternal womb 
is bound by symbol of the Holy Grail 
from mountain wind that billows my ship sail. 

I sail the Seven Seas in Ship of State 
to colonize the fertile wilderness 
with secret map that helps me navigate 
Scylla and Charybdis from Inverness 
where Rapunzel in tower of star eyes 
trains our daughter to manage psychic spies. 

As I approach Temple of Poseidon, 
that glows on promontory by the sea, 
on my journey from Isle of Avalon, 
Haniel, Angel of Serenity, 
gives me glass tablet of world history 
so I write psalms about the Mystery. 

Haniel bears Mezuzah of World Dream 
while ascending ziggurat steps of faith, 
which she gives to wise Ishtar with esteem 
who sings hymn of the transcendent Star Wraith, 
composed of all our souls woven in light, 
who teaches humans art of spirit flight. 

Crown Of Infertile Pride

Crown Of Infertile Pride
© Surazeus
2026 04 13

If bloodless corpse of the drowned sailor crawls 
cackling from brackish sorrow of the sea, 
zombie followers of the vampire god 
proclaim him new messiah of their cause, 
and crown his fractured skull of rotten muck 
with powerless crown of infertile pride. 

Yet none will call for Ahab to return 
from graveyard of grim heroes time forgot, 
imbued with monstrous energy of hope, 
to play Poseidon and shake Earth again 
with regulating plan that realigns 
old world order in new alliances. 

Resurrected from harrowed brine of power, 
Leviathan raises high ten-horned head, 
dripping with oiled backwash of battleships, 
to roar assertive commands which should prove 
strength of authority enforces law 
against rising tides of rebellious states. 

Weakened by aggressive angst of despair 
at mockery of ministers with calm masks, 
King Midas lumbers clumsily to thwart 
clamorous voices that protest his lies 
while he wallows with sealion contempt 
in wounded pride of toxic vanity. 

Still stuck in ash-pit of Jehoshaphat, 
the self-deluded prince of bitterness 
lurches against coiled serpent of regret, 
shouting curses at prophets to deny 
crimes he commits against humanity 
with slavish corruption of cruel contempt. 

Fierce waves of retribution swell from Hell 
in surging formulations of strict law, 
designed by blind powers of the Blue Sky 
to expose supercilious disdain 
King Midas expresses with envious snarl, 
outraged his devil wings are clipped by truth. 

Evolved from sweet slime of our Mother Sea, 
we stand upright beneath the Tree of Knowledge 
to declare with voice of supremacy 
how we will bend bright rainbow of our will 
against harsh indifference of the wild sea 
that smashes our empire to shards of lies. 

Though we are no more humble penitents, 
we take off civilized shoes of concern 
and walk barefoot endless miles to attain 
wisdom from poisoned whirlpool of Shiloah 
that causes us to choke on principles 
twisting our hearts with shocked hypocrisy. 

Puzzle Of Disparate Truths

Puzzle Of Disparate Truths
© Surazeus
2026 04 12

Exquisite beauty of soft floating snow 
resurrects death in lush leaves on tall trees, 
assembling puzzle of disparate truths 
in mirror mask Nature wears to revive 
aching spirit of my heart with mute love 
so I long to walk with you in bright woods. 

Snow flakes supply sweet angel tears of light 
that nourish roots of fruit trees so they mold 
sunlight to cherries, apples, pears, and grapes 
which nurture human souls of transient flesh 
with clear immortal water from Blue Sky 
who blesses fields where wheat sprouts from our hearts. 

Annoyed that eggs she finds in underbrush 
crack in large basket she wove from tree twigs, 
Celta notes eggs gleam safe on tufts of grass 
so she tears handfuls from bounty of fate 
and pads its bottom with layer of softness 
that protects eggs she collects from getting cracked. 

Returning to kurgan mound by the lake, 
first built by grandfather of her grandfather, 
Celta slips behind thick veil of grape vines 
to enter chambered cairn where she dwells safe, 
hangs herbs above workbench of oak to dry, 
then boils eggs in copper pot in hot hearth. 

Hungry for fish roasted with herbs and oil, 
Celta carries pack with net and long pole 
to silver lake between pine-shrouded hills 
where she casts net to fill basket with fish, 
then digs mussels from slurping river muck 
as sparrows chirp in alders on the ridge. 

Stepping over stones to climb narrow trail, 
Celta pauses when she sees in large cave 
wild wolf man with long matted hair and beard 
who holds cracked turtle shell with two deer horns 
and sings strange anthem as he plucks gut strings 
in lamentation at heart-breaking loss. 

Reaching out his hand with gesture of trust, 
Wilkus offers her ride in river boat, 
so Celta sits on prow bench as he rows 
across bright lake lashed by sudden wind storm 
that causes her to fall against his chest 
and hold him tight as he strives for safe shore. 

Warm and dry together in chambered cairn, 
Wilkus and Celta consume roasted fish, 
drink spiced grape wine with relish of desire, 
share tragic tale of Tristan and Isolde, 
then kiss and make love on thick wolf-fur rug 
as butterfly flutters around their heads. 

Now Unspoken Mirroring

Now Unspoken Mirroring
© Surazeus
2026 04 12

Audacities of faithless innocence 
confuse transactions of honest exchange 
with enraptured lust from austerity 
that realigns resemblance we discharge 
through act of avoidance subtle as shouts 
caressing contours of absence we share. 

Elliptical words misexpress desire 
in tune with fierce emotional restraint 
that stalls deliverance of shocked release 
at passionate blast of erotic thoughts 
through warm compassion of the fallen heart 
seduced by hot metaphors of syntax. 

If I negotiate with casual fear 
to uncover judgement of wordless taste, 
against progression of the absolute, 
I might become subject to honesty, 
brutal with now unspoken mirroring 
that feels intimate at pause of the touch. 

Each turn of sudden sentences we share 
through struggle to convey new moral strands 
excludes our tendency to ramble far 
at penetration of the curious mind 
which intimates our fraught mortality 
at soft obstruction of respite from death. 

Siphoned by sorrow of bland nothingness, 
my shriveled heart sneers at bitter reproach 
contained by consoling voices of wind 
more provocative than sacred regret 
for essential disarray of fake psalms 
that smear sentiments of blood on dead grass. 

If essence of my self emerges clear 
from poisoned nimbus of untasted lips, 
I contemplate aggressive force of life 
that drives divergence of my fractured brain 
from viable range of accepted masks, 
forged by fantasy of family romance. 

Trapped in contemporary culture games, 
as model for psychic material 
contrived to mediate ranges of being, 
I extract facile conclusions from books 
torn by complex language of vanity 
with congenital need for solitude. 

Organized violence of mental spells 
through subtle encroachment of earnest play 
injects sharp charm in our zero-sum game 
involving innocent laughter at soft shock 
of nuclear flash tangential to life 
that focuses attention on desire. 

Strangeness Of Reality

Strangeness Of Reality
© Surazeus
2026 04 12

Entranced by strangeness of reality, 
I kneel in cathedral of burning light 
and contemplate significance of death 
since Nature is indifferent to me, 
till I feel swell from abyss of my heart 
immense divinity of nothingness. 

Annoyed by strangeness of reality, 
I measure magnitude of silent dark 
till I find patterns of normality 
in swirling chaos of atomic change 
that flashes glimmer of the knowing eye 
perceiving lucence of the gaseous soul. 

Inspired by strangeness of reality, 
I thread quick waves of particles in web 
designed to mimic puzzle of unknowns 
contained by figure of the conscious soul 
whose mind arranges colors into shapes 
then labels them with sentimental names. 

Insured by strangeness of reality, 
I purchase credible theology 
encoded in proverbs of social memes 
that arrange themselves as meaning in minds 
concerned with certainties of changeless truths 
unraveling our world view into myth. 

Surprised by strangeness of reality, 
I observe new sonic parameters 
contained by constant flashing entropy 
that might suggest strict rites of honesty 
along path of least resistance to find 
well of salvation in the frosted field. 

Disturbed by strangeness of reality, 
I conjure whimsical image of truth 
to practice metaphysics of respect 
for diaphanous mask my spirit wears 
when I play demiurge of spectral verse 
to mold virtual model of Earth from dreams. 

Observed by strangeness of reality, 
I confront weird mystery of otherness 
that pulses from black hole of everywhere 
in order to describe shadow of fate 
that proves unsolvable with formulas 
designed by seekers to map the Unmind. 

Compelled by strangeness of reality, 
I wander obscure wood of sylvan faith 
to understand nature of everything 
while lost in saccharine mist of desire, 
then meet you at the Pegasus Cafe 
to drink coffee and share spells we compose. 

Hungry Crow Of Truth

Hungry Crow Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 04 12

Erased by laughter of the waterfall, 
I wander to work at the grocery store 
where I stock shelves with cans of vegetables, 
then climb in dead oak tree by the highway 
and pretend I am the hungry crow of truth 
who solves math riddles of the eglantine. 

From my perch in the city park I see 
eight hippies sit in circle on the grass, 
wearing headbands with flowers in their hair, 
who sing hymn Where Have All the Flowers Gone 
with mercurial voices of revolution 
while bearded Jesus strums guitar of truth. 

While riding El Camino on glass highway 
across Mojave Desert in July, 
I hear that god Apollo and his friends 
have landed on bright mirror of the moon 
to visit God and his exotic cat 
who shows them how to run the universe. 

Extreme perfection gained by stealing rain 
inspires my heart to photograph the face 
that God wears as he plays the human race 
based on experience of the pioneers 
who earn their privilege through suffering 
that they endure while stealing pristine land. 

Old bearded preacher wearing long black cloak 
declares that God is energy of light 
that animates each atom through the void 
so everything we do by force of fate 
expresses will of God in how we act, 
but I insist I live through my own will. 

Potential portrait, that depicts my face 
as noble prototype of providence, 
hangs on museum wall of reverence 
that proves all my accomplishments of faith 
place me on pinnacle of social games 
as prominent goon of society. 

Revenue retrieved from fake bank accounts 
solidifies my power over truth 
when I employ strategic feints of faith 
sufficient to enhance my social clout 
enough that I play grand symbolic role 
as clown crucified by bureaucracy. 

Subjective standards of state moral laws 
require conditions supportive of faith 
taxed by grim priests with sharpened scythes of hope 
who sell synthetic prayers of rectitude 
contrived by honest therapist of hope 
who forges keys of wisdom from despair. 

Fruit Of Secret Truth

Fruit Of Secret Truth
© Surazeus
2026 04 11

Bewildered by ghosts hiding in blank books, 
who beam voices of gods through window glass, 
I step outside numberless door of home 
and face busy world of ambitious pride 
that hides human suffering in sad songs 
sung by their tragic angels till they die. 

I find no more than shadows of our world 
writhing as serpentine ghosts in blank books 
to perform roles of long-dead characters 
who succeed or fail in finding soul mate 
to generate new life before they die 
who with Leander swim the lusty sea. 

Startled when divine apple tree of truth, 
which casts eerie shadow across our land, 
transforms into little girl with star eyes, 
I walk to town library after work 
to read about wind devils of the soul 
who become gods chronicled in old myths. 

Stripped of their language, homes, songs, and fruit trees, 
my ancestors sail across storm-wracked sea 
to invade and colonize paradise, 
transforming wilderness of mountain woods 
to gleaming towers of computer banks 
where Mercury plays the Wizard of Oz. 

Awake in dreams that flash across my mind, 
all my ancestors reperform their lives 
in endless loop of strange experiences 
which program how I interact with fate, 
tricked to believe my special consciousness 
will live forever in meme code of poems. 

Each drop of water sloshing on our globe 
has been ingested by organic beings 
four hundred million years of blooming growth, 
so this one drop of water in my heart 
has animated billions of bright brains 
with light that shimmers now in my own brain. 

I feel their souls vibrate inside my cells 
as seething ocean of spiritual ghosts 
who teach me secret of eternal life 
is how immortal soul of genes in me 
threads all my ancestors in my brain now 
that spools from First Mother of humankind. 

I ask Persephone to marry me 
so she gives me pomegranate to eat, 
then we hold hands and lounge beneath the stars 
where soul of everyone who ever lives 
twinkles blissfully at how we kiss 
and give each other fruit of secret truth. 

Wise God We Elect

Wise God We Elect
© Surazeus
2026 04 11

Startled by something unseen in the night, 
I exchange my face for the mask of light, 
then dance with carefree joy in the grove 
where wingless fairies of apple trees rove, 
but stop and ponder why men fight for power 
and who will marry princess in the tower. 

I value beauty of our empty world 
that spins in galaxy of stars unfurled 
with quaint anticipation that strange tune 
vibrates with passion of the writhing rune 
lithe as wise serpent in tall tree of fruit 
that flutters rainbow wings as I play lute. 

To stop blood-thirsty tyrant shooting bombs 
that shatter safe homes into boneless tombs 
Scheherazade recounts one thousand tales 
while strolling secretly on mountain trails, 
and then one more about the holocaust 
humans commit when paradise is lost. 

When massive vibration of human souls 
beams rainbow shimmer of intense love goals 
with effortless grace of perpetual prayer 
by chanting spells that unveil ghoul of fear, 
we reach out hands of generous respect 
to mold zeitgeist in wise god we elect. 

Electric phoenix ghost with crystal wings, 
that soars above our river vale of rings, 
expresses shrill uncanny song of hope 
that teaches me constructive ways to cope 
with our volatile time of social change 
where moral values shift weird angles strange. 

Astonished by world-spin of chemicals 
in matrix wound from waves of particles, 
I catalog all creatures who exist 
with sibylline code in dynamic list, 
encrypted by psychotic formulas 
through cosmic map of the Americas. 

Yet proxy actor who plays Lucifer 
insists that I perform as Jupiter 
in secret mission to guard paradise 
by coding social myths with viral price 
which redefines how brave heroic deeds 
vector calyx pattern of mental seeds. 

Though singers come and go in flow of time 
eternal song of true love humans mime 
will bloom again each season of the heart 
in harmony with notes on the dream chart 
composed with blood of angels on the scroll 
which I archive as duty of my role.  

Blind Mother Sea

Blind Mother Sea
© Surazeus
2026 04 11

When I crawl from womb of blind mother sea, 
with brain programmed to sing atomic tunes, 
I explore tricky landscape of our globe 
over three hundred eighty million years 
till I stand on highest mountain of faith 
and proclaim myself god in breathing flesh. 

Then timeless fortune mocks my haughty pride 
and trashes fantasy my brain designs 
with cruel indifference of mind-twisting fate 
that readjusts attention of my heart 
to balance passion with obsessive rites 
which I perform to evade strike of death. 

Through self-control of scientific verse 
I confirm my soul at flash of dire curse 
that tricks perception of my curious eyes 
with grand illusion based on human deeds 
when I restrain assertions of free will 
with laws designed to focus lust on truth. 

Trapped by conceptual creed of bitter faith, 
that bodies made of pulsing molecules 
will resurrect from death at word of light, 
I escape despair at surprise of truth 
that we will disappear to swirls of dust 
when our lithe lust-driven bodies decay. 

I return to shore of blind mother sea 
to hear again in hollow of my heart 
relentless melody of surging tides 
where I first learned to walk upright on legs 
of curious passion to map the whole world, 
but weep I am so far now from her song. 

We humans have now mapped our spinning globe, 
exploring every inch of her landscapes, 
fertile plains, lush woods, rugged hills, bleak deserts, 
and colonizing vales where rivers flow 
with forty eight thousand cities and towns 
connected in vast web of signless roads. 

Though I have dwelled on surface of the Earth 
three hundred eighty million years of hope, 
I dream the twenty million years before 
I spent deep in womb of the swirling sea, 
forever swimming toward pure Eye of Light 
whose voice still calls to fly beyond the sky. 

I stand on wall that Nehemiah built 
from bones of dragons carved in cubes of glass, 
and survey lands across our spinning globe 
where people gather around fires to sing 
while kings in towers play chess games of war 
over who controls the blind mother sea. 

Calyx Of Conceptual Code

Calyx Of Conceptual Code
© Surazeus
2026 04 11

More ardent than how crows explode from rocks 
are tangled thoughts of tainted misery 
that drive me to walk endless neighborhood 
of manufactured homes designed to hide 
wolf spirit that lurks in each human heart 
with passion to survive fake fantasy. 

Though beauty of this energetic world 
pulses too bright for my sponge brain to see, 
my eyes assert brave effort to perceive 
electric essence flushed with quirky light 
when I stroll asphalt streets past flowered yards 
to listen for gossip of crows in elms. 

Binding fierce rage with calm spell of the Way 
that swirls deep as ocean waves in my cells, 
I float entranced by sudden vernal smells 
proclaiming ancient song that Nature writes 
with scars on soft bodies of human ghosts 
who conceal divine souls with masks of pride. 

Though I never return to land of myth 
that pulses all around me with sunlight, 
I ask Eurydice if she will sing 
psalm of darkness that still keeps her alive 
thousands of years after she caught the snake 
and took it writhing in deep cave of dreams. 

Because Eurydice sings the same psalm 
that lead her to escape prison jewel mine, 
we today can follow glamor of hope 
that she exudes on stage of ecstasy 
to understand blood moon of soul rebirth 
as we replay her tale in church of faith. 

Though singers of old tales change every age, 
translating ancient dramas for new ways, 
strange music of humanity vibrates 
forever with each spin of Earth in space 
when immortal spirit wears our new face 
so Orpheus appears each eighty years. 

When we are young and restless with desire 
we wander endless roads of fantasy 
to design weird role of our destiny 
by carving our place in dream of our time, 
startled into wisdom by charming chime 
that Fortune rings to wake us from our dream. 

Now that I play role of my special state 
by wandering somewhere to evade my fate, 
I analyze fashion of my true self 
that blooms in calyx of conceptual code 
to understand strange nature of my being 
that causes my love-wounded heart to sing. 

Wounded Heart Of Pity

Wounded Heart Of Pity
© Surazeus
2026 04 10

Emergent spirit, composed of sea bells, 
bequeaths new embassy through hieroglyphs 
detailing circuit calm of quadrant coil 
on which I sail beyond contrived complaints 
to cherish supple calyx Earth explores 
through monody my shadow souls express. 

Fantastic rain of unearned legacy 
pummels fields of private loneliness 
with ancient disciplines of mutiny 
by which my wounded heart of pity knows 
urgent silence outlawry still absconds 
despite fierce oaths contrary friends express. 

Far outside chilly walls of crowded church 
I sing with larks of unharmonious truth, 
tongue bound by bell-rope knelling fractured homes 
since I still wander doomed cathedral lawn 
through ripe assertions of sad epitaphs 
carved on strange walls in spells wild ghosts express. 

Though I have heard from scattered tones of stars 
antiphonal psalms no angel dares sing, 
I push against tribunal words of light 
at broken intervals launched into clouds 
from which I tumble prostrate on stark hills, 
hived in tales my old father should express. 

Up terraced meanings, desperate children mold 
from visionary voice of instant truth, 
we score eccentric cognates trapped by hope, 
though flawed encroachments tangle mute despair 
flung from towers of revival we seek, 
recording messages devils express. 

Taut matrix of our story-woven hearts 
enshrines false heroes who once filled our eyes 
with grand illusions of commodious fate, 
unsealed by forest spirit who knows how 
showers cleanse our putrid souls of despair 
evoked by anthems our sorrows express. 

Fraught carillons in tombs of withered gods, 
veering against light of synoptic creeds, 
lures our attentive souls long motionless 
to navigate our labyrinthine lies 
through pulsing monoliths of ardency 
now vibrant with sweet visions fools express. 

Index of riddles, that inspire our quest 
to hear sibylline voices of calm lakes, 
beneath which demons writhe oblique to fate, 
reveals palladium heart that nurtures me 
with tearful humor of healing regret 
so I may translate proverbs gods express. 

Specter Of Wisdom

Specter Of Wisdom
© Surazeus
2026 04 10

When their eyes are unblinded by pure light 
that radiates from glamor of my spells, 
and they preach salvation through inner sight 
granted by perspective of cosmic truth 
applied through analysis of my verse, 
Specter of Wisdom will curse me with fame. 

If I unveil psychotic course of change 
that transforms world view with sharp keys 
so minds perceive atomic state of truth, 
designed by Ungod to spark songs of joy, 
Specter of Fame will rise from cosmic wells 
and bind my spirit with perplexing curse. 

While I sing esoteric spells of faith 
in clever riddles of weird parables 
that mirror complicated scenes of change, 
designed to misdirect avenging ghosts, 
so you evade poisonous curse of fear, 
Specter of Truth will guard our way past Hell. 

Though poised Evangelist afraid of Death 
distorts clear vision my spells indicate 
that we are conscious flames of verbal light 
who flare forth from first flash of fertile hope, 
Specter of Love will shield our transient souls 
till we evaporate at chime of faith. 

Till zombies worshipping their vampire god 
transfer affection of obsessive faith 
to complex portrait of ontology 
presenting deeper truths about this world 
which my insightful spells project as dreams, 
Specter of Prudence will guard me from Fame. 

Safe in veiled haven of secure respect 
from seductive disease of famished Pride, 
I chant empowering vision of the Force 
we channel through attentive mind of faith 
Specter of Justice programs in our hearts 
so I may die in peaceful solitude. 

So if I maintain balance of regard 
for natural effect of constructive cause 
with formulas that transform selfish greed 
to generous calm of communal work 
that binds our global state of just rewards, 
Specter of Pride will never curse my soul. 

When minds of loyal followers are cracked 
by shocking truths that sprout from seeds of faith, 
programmed by cosmic vision of this world 
that guides their quest to find the Promised Land, 
Specter of Wisdom will release my soul 
from stifling curse of sterilizing Fame. 

Machines Of Potent Words

Machines Of Potent Words
© Surazeus
2026 04 09

Grim gargoyle shape of my expanding brain 
dodges succulent perfection of thirst 
through imperceptible questions he screams 
to imitate machines of potent words 
so we feel safe beside the lake of dreams 
where fish explain consecutive regrets. 

Since truth and beauty that our hearts desire 
are both illusions which our brains design, 
truth the real world we try to understand 
and beauty the dream world we would create, 
we walk together in stark field of flowers, 
inventing words to match what we perceive. 

Tenebrous beauty of the world we see 
sucks light of rainbows in vortex of gray 
so we mix flour and milk in bowl of hope 
to bake fresh bread that keeps our secret fears 
concealed in swelling loaf of urgent faith 
while nursing darkness of the spinless world. 

Rate of convection, when heat radiates, 
defends velocity of transient soul 
defined by wind chill factor of sweet words 
disguising curse of estimated flow 
when moving air disrupts my atmosphere 
though I breathe pure celestial dreams of love. 

We bundle fractured hearts with eglantine 
to stride with brave anxiety toward light 
illuminating maskless souls we mold 
from ringing bells that lure our seamless dance 
against continuous time through false doors 
to high-walled courtyard of lost paradise. 

Adjusting patient line of wounded souls 
through secret code of frantic telephones, 
we neither confirm nor deny concern 
for endless meditation angels play 
based on exoneration we must purchase 
to free our bodies from theology. 

Weird book in which I hide discarded tales 
floats faintly slow above my throbbing head 
to beam bewildered sentences of fate 
that stretch our bodies beyond bounds of hate 
so we glance casually at screaming ghost 
who offers faces of state suffering. 

Dazzled by hills of honest fortitude, 
I colonize my heart with twisted lust 
when I extract material wealth of words 
from hills that share lost treasures forged by light 
so we may dwell in tense peace of despair 
without care for indifference of Nature. 

Voices Of Broken Hearts

Voices Of Broken Hearts
© Surazeus
2026 04 09

If I should suppose that snow would destroy 
this world civilization that we built 
from twisted bones of dinosaurs and gods, 
then I should look out window of the house, 
where my cousin General Lee once stood, 
and contemplate new state of Liberty. 

My book of prophecies that no one reads 
may adumbrate no future ever seen, 
yet moon of sorrow deciphers my joke 
to mean that we are stuck in maze of myths 
with only glass of water to preview 
wild ocean that flows as blood in our veins. 

Though I cannot measure with tangled verse 
how far we have come down the signless road, 
I should empathize with telephone lines 
that listen to voices of broken hearts 
so much they weep icicle tears of hope 
that crash on the windshields of hungry cars. 

If I should try to understand your heart 
before it flies away on sparrow wings, 
my house may reshape cubicle of hope 
so time accommodates electric words 
that beam weird rainbow eyes of psychic truth 
to understand how water flows from thought. 

When my cousin John Brown raises his gun 
to free enslaved people from greed for gain, 
I shall join his crusade to set them free 
so we may beat brave drums of Liberty 
where oil rigs weep for death of Clementine 
whose eyes beam rays of moonlight in my heart. 

Though brittle colors of our state archives 
process our dreams as technicolor ghosts, 
we open gates for travelers of time 
who give white breezes of soul-pardoning 
to ancient Saturn with long beard of fate 
sprawled among exploding flowers of faith. 

Our misty island never changes shape 
though frantic ocean waves of bitterness 
attempt to reframe state ontology 
in ways that criminalize worshipped gods 
who travel to strange country of glass doors 
till we adjust how we view moral rules. 

Because I wish to be her follower, 
commissioned to guard her body from harm, 
I calculate new ways we measure truth 
to navigate geography of love, 
and dwell save in museum of respect 
where we translate voices of broken hearts. 

Puzzle Of Spectral Souls

Puzzle Of Spectral Souls
© Surazeus
2026 04 08

From shattered memories of all my past lives, 
which my ancestors lived millions of years, 
I assemble puzzle of spectral souls 
in mask and cape I wear to play my role 
as mad prophet on storm-wracked heath of fate 
to overthrow world emperor of greed. 

Surprised by joy after rebirth from pain 
of suffering through long dark night of the soul, 
I reconstruct puzzle of spectral souls 
by weaving scenes from ancient epic tales 
that compose new tale of heroic deeds 
when wise seer helps young boy kill tyrant king. 

Through careful analysis of close reading 
to comprehend tropes of my random life 
I deconstruct puzzle of spectral souls 
which unveils social machinery of myth 
that jesters use to manipulate minds 
when they crown themselves kings of angry tribes. 

Attentive to needs of my princess bride, 
who reincarnates my soul in our love child, 
I generate puzzle of spectral souls 
designed by immortal soul of our genes 
as we evolves four hundred million years 
from four-legged fish striving to play god. 

Based on honest principle of free will, 
that motivates my quest to become god, 
I conjugate atomic world-view globe 
which models planet spinning in the void 
that flares forth from first flash of the big bang 
through spiral of deified energy. 

To explore landscape of dramatic scenes, 
which my brave ancestors experienced, 
I navigate conceptual maze of myths 
where every great human in history 
stands frozen as idol of their grand deeds 
in signs that guide my way to Wonderland. 

Curious how neural net of our brains 
emanates temporary conscious soul, 
I analyze puzzle of spectral souls 
by how their actions cause effects of change 
that we record in chronicles of fate 
which we frame with each decision we make. 

Tangled in matrix of atomic souls 
that cast caliber of my character, 
I calculate puzzle of spectral souls 
through formulas of psychic paradigms 
to join world choir of angels singing poems 
about why life is brief but beautiful. 

First Mountain Mother

First Mountain Mother
© Surazeus
2026 04 08

Strange music echoes in vale of my heart, 
uncanny melody of timeless passion 
that swells from pulsing bodies of our souls, 
so I walk out in crowded streets of Roma 
where Gallae priests in long colorful robes 
dance wildly to celebrate Megalesia. 

Eyes flashing bright with timeless stars of truth, 
Magna Mater Cybele, Mountain Mother, 
rides throne inside four-wheeled bronze chariot 
with humble shepherd Attis at her side, 
so I approach and offer fruit of love 
which she accepts with bright seraphic smile. 

When Cybele presides on judgment throne 
with grand rite in Temple of Victory, 
my heart swells brave with joyful pride of faith 
that ancient spirit of her soul remains 
glowing strong in heart of America 
that urges us to build Heaven on Earth. 

Brave Aura, daughter of wise Artemis, 
filled with holy spirit of Dionysus, 
bore our first Mountain Mother Cybele 
by Star Lake on misty Mount Dindymus, 
who reigned as oracle at Pessinus 
in temple Midas built with hands of gold. 

When her descendant Ilus, son of Tros, 
built citadel of Troia with high walls, 
her Phrygian Spirit of noble courage 
flowed with Aeneas to the Seven Hills 
where Romulus built great city of Roma 
that shines from heart of Mother Cybele. 

From Star Lake on misty Mount Dindymus 
immortal spirit of Cybele springs 
to nourish her descendants with grand vision 
for ruling Heaven through organized rites 
so we confirm our soul with self-control 
when building empire of First Mountain Mother. 

From Pessinus to Troia, then to Roma, 
through Londinium and Vasintonia, 
grand spirit of Cybele sprouts again 
as Goddess of Justice and Liberty 
who guides our democratic way of life 
where all are equal in America. 

As we dance to celebrate Megalesia, 
and drink bitter-sweet wine of Dionysus, 
we honor soul of Mother Cybele 
who teaches us to transform pain to joy 
by generating life before we die 
since we accept that death will take us all. 

Vampire Witch Of Hell

Vampire Witch Of Hell
© Surazeus
2026 04 07

Persephone in white-lace wedding gown 
kneels among glowing cinders on the plain, 
bearing apple-shaped ruby in her hand 
that glows with pure ethereal flame of love, 
and chants soft spells from ancient Book of Truth 
so glowing gem becomes her beating heart. 

Orion on white horse of arrogance, 
that gallops on thundering hoofs of rage, 
aims sharp spear at heart of Persephone, 
intent on killing vampire witch of Hell 
who smirks and twirls on rainbow angel wings 
to shoot shower of needles at his eyes. 

Blinded by rays of divine cognizance, 
Orion screams as he tumbles on rocks, 
then crawls in agony of wounded pride 
till he sucks energy from tortured souls 
to swell enormous as dragon of hate 
and hurls jagged boulders at dainty girl. 

With casual gestures of nebulous faith, 
Persephone bats boulders with her hands, 
like milk cows swat flies with tails as they graze, 
then somersaults on flashing wings of fate 
while casting shining net of ice-moon rays 
that traps Orion in tangled emotions. 

Trembling in horror at vision of death 
that amplifies acerbic voice of fear, 
which fractures his coherent sense of self, 
Orion writhes in muscle-tensing strain 
through rigid agitation of despair 
that twists his body into feral beast. 

Gently touching head of the rope-bound hunter, 
Persephone whispers proverb of faith, 
"My fertile body of creative power 
is not your helpless puppet to control, 
so with strict spell of assertive respect 
I arrest your aggressive force of greed." 

Chanting spirit-rejuvenating spell, 
Persephone reprograms his world view 
to purge his toxic masculinity 
that cleanses his mind of animal lust 
which transforms wild beast into calm man 
who kneels before her with obedient heart. 

Persephone in white-lace wedding gown, 
followed by Orion with Spear of Truth 
as loyal guard who protects her from harm, 
ascends ziggurat to Temple of Justice 
where she presides as Goddess Liberty 
who maintains world empire with rule of law. 

Fly And Live Free

Fly And Live Free
© Surazeus
2026 04 07

Stepping up onto the stone balustrade 
in the high tower of ambitious hope, 
Icarus spreads wings in hard gusting wind 
that he constructed from feathers and bones, 
and pictures in his mind sweet Chrysanthis, 
daughter of Hecate and Helios. 

Closing his eyes to grand view of the world 
around high tower of ambitious hope, 
Icarus remembers the timeless hour 
he was strolling in garden of fruit trees 
when he first beheld graceful Chrysanthis 
dancing with tree nymphs at the festival. 

Breathing deep celestial wind of desire, 
Icarus grips wings with determined hope 
to fly beyond maze where Helios rules, 
who refused to allow wise Chrysanthis 
to marry lazy son of the craftsman, 
then leaps with faith into abyss of fear. 

Gripping broad wings he built from dragon bones, 
Icarus soars swift over maze of streets 
where thousands of people point to the sky 
and cry with awe to see the angel fly, 
then gasp when arrows Helios fires miss, 
as he aims for island across the sea. 

Reviewing plan he made with Chrysanthis, 
when they met in Dream Cave of Hecate 
to meet on island of the singing skull 
that recites prophecies of Orpheus 
so they can live free from cruel tyranny 
that Helios imposes on the land. 

Adjusting wings to balance frantic flight, 
Icarus growls from anguish of surprise 
when arrow of Helios strikes his leg, 
but his left wing cracks and heat melts the wax, 
causing him to spiral out of control 
till he crashes into the placid sea. 

Swimming toward electric light of regret, 
Icarus remembers last night they met, 
and how silver eyes of Chrysanthis glowed 
when they kissed and vowed to meet again soon, 
so vision of her face gives him new strength 
till he crawls from the sea and shouts with joy. 

"Let them believe I drowned in the sea 
in vain attempt to fly and live free," 
Icarus laughs as he stretches his soul 
when Chrysanthis leaps with joy in his arms, 
so they kiss with passion as the sun rises, 
then walk together to new garden home. 

Chamber Of Lost Secrets

Chamber Of Lost Secrets
© Surazeus
2026 04 06

Stuck in chamber of lost secrets all day, 
I map confusing maze of ancient myths 
that chronicle history of human games 
we play in theater of the absurd 
over who reigns as God till we all die, 
then our children replay contest for power. 

Lost in chamber of lost secrets with you, 
I study masks of long-unworshipped gods 
to understand weird spirit of each age 
reflected in soul of some mortal man 
they chose to play deity of their tribe 
in holy mission to conquer the world. 

Blind in chamber of lost secrets from light 
that beams through unveiled face of cosmic mind, 
I name each god in old religious myth 
who founded dynasty of mortal kings 
to play messiah anointed by fate 
by killing all men who oppose their rule. 

Born in chamber of lost secrets with love 
that weaves neural net of my brain from dreams, 
I draft how my organic frame evolves 
fish to lizard to mouse to cat to monkey 
to ape to wingless angel striving to be god 
when I enforce my rule through Liberty. 

Woke in chamber of lost secrets with faith 
that men we elect to play god will reign 
with compassion for every living soul, 
I stand in rain by gates of paradise 
to play weird tunes on lyre of Mercury 
and sing with wild uncanny wail of love. 

Fired in chamber of lost secrets with lust 
to generate new life before I die, 
I fly in time-machine airplane of hope 
halfway around Earth on wings of desire 
to marry Goddess of the Holy Grail 
who reincarnates our souls in our children. 

Dazed in chamber of lost secrets from hope, 
I listen to Moon Girl play melodies 
of heart-enchanting grace on silver flute 
that lifts my soul from muck of agony 
so I fly high with wings of Icarus 
above vast maze of human history. 

Mute in chamber of lost secrets, I sing 
first flash of love that flares forth into worlds 
that teem with conscious beings of energy 
who bloom wise from quantum cosmology 
for our brief flash of life till we burn out 
and vanish into shadows of our words. 

Vibrate Voice Of God

Vibrate Voice Of God
© Surazeus
2026 04 06

Nebulous song of the black telephone 
asks me to commit unrelenting love 
through pretentious messages from dead gods 
which I must announce to humanity 
though my soul detaches from my stone brain 
and floats on brittle hum of ardency. 

Thrashed by wonder of unfamiliar death, 
who floats above me every sleepless night, 
I consider how famine mistransforms 
shadows of frantic minds to animals 
who wander without caution in moonlight 
to stare through windows at angelic humans. 

Because my mother weeps when she conceives 
my mortal body from draconic daze, 
she plays violin for gentle peacocks 
whose eyes design my heart calligraphy 
so I know how to vibrate voice of God 
through tangled verse of fabled honesty. 

With broom of listless ennui at world war 
I tend the broken bridge of loneliness, 
though I ignore the zither of my heart 
to exorcise angelic energy 
from millions of hearts possessed by despair 
who ask me to write battle hymn of faith. 

I will eat oranges of confusing taste 
rather then erase them from my sad joke 
that maps waterless rivers of regret 
where wingless angels stuck in empty churches 
fold wounded hearts in origami cranes 
while they deny their desire to escape. 

When I find his Green Car wrecked on the road 
halfway between New York and San Francisco, 
he introduces me to his best friend, 
the bear who has built every bridge on Earth, 
then teaches me how to defend myself 
when Fortune curses me with global fame. 

Thirsty for truth beyond theology, 
I steal lemons from Tree of Good and Evil, 
but refuse to sugar bitter despair 
while riding donkey of world revolution 
to drive mad King Herod from our White House 
and free Liberty from guilt-loop of Hell. 

As abject failure at the cursing game, 
I hurl book of riddles into the swamp, 
then renovate ten thousand rotten houses 
so every homeless person in the world 
may dwell in haven of attentive fear 
and join world choir to vibrate voice of God. 

Reluctant Prayer Of Hope

Reluctant Prayer Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 04 05

Each time she pauses by the broken door 
to listen for reluctant prayer of hope, 
another crow emerges from the book 
with clocks for eyes that unspool alphabets 
while tired construction workers drink hot beer, 
because she waits for her ship to come in. 

Fake photographs from family of ghosts, 
stuffed inside leather suitcase of wolf skin, 
escape from aching laughter of her heart 
to live as butterflies in shadowed rooms 
where children play board games of psychic war 
while ships of slaves sink in electric storms. 

Back when old kings ruled every crowded land 
from castles of aggressive greed for gold, 
her grandparents folded her in the box 
and sent her overseas on ship of state 
so she lives now in small Missouri town 
where she tries to ignore the weeping clown. 

Arranging books on brave library shelves 
in moral order of their truthfulness, 
she ponders how the television works 
transmitting images in crackling air 
like crystal ball of the grim sorcerer 
who builds model ships in bottles of faith. 

These faint fragments of cultural debris, 
that float about her on butterfly wings, 
she slots in expanding puzzle of truth 
as picture that shows nations of the world 
clashing in fierce religious wars for oil 
which fuels our piston-engine time machines. 

Ascending narrow stairs of innocence, 
she stands on peaked roof of brave Jupiter 
to survey sprawling maze of city streets 
where billions of people struggle to live 
in constant hunger for paradise lost 
as robots building cars and radios. 

Sharp cry for justice in the teeming crowd 
sparks revolution of the working class 
who program computers in cubicles 
that weave world wide web of god consciousness 
combining social media anecdotes 
in never-ending novel of success. 

Relaxed on front porch of her cottage home, 
free from bondage of marriage and religion, 
she writes novel about the abused girl 
who reclaims her life with struggle for truth 
to live as true self nascent in her heart 
while jets bomb homes in countries far away. 

Silent On Subjective Tricks

Silent On Subjective Tricks
© Surazeus
2026 04 05

They almost trick me into spilling why 
death comes to us as the white butterfly, 
but I keep silent on subjective tricks 
which I employ to map the River Styx 
where magic spells sprout from linguistic muck 
with energy I gather to fool Luck. 

Since no one dares to teach me how to fly, 
I gain employment as government spy 
assigned to analyze the crucifix 
despite abundant code angels unfix 
to guard the activist driving her truck 
who rescues the church pastor who got stuck. 

Atomic brains amend contract of thought 
with ambient destiny where cooks get caught 
through humble success of great discipline 
too dangerous for the loyalist to win 
though I drive streets of Seattle to find 
celestial key that opens Divine Mind. 

Ride with me in my fast airplane I bought 
to find the hidden oracle who taught 
my father how to architect Berlin 
when he grew up in Temple of Shaolin, 
dancing with principle that to be kind 
forges theology with creeds that bind. 

Startled awake on Bridge of Loneliness, 
I hang out to converse with Sisyphus 
about true nature of the Cosmic Christ 
who invades money temple in brave heist 
through mental coup against cruel tyranny, 
then crowns his son with feudal barony. 

When my sponge brain begins to phosphoresce 
with frantic visions of global distress, 
I visit the Pope as wise poltergeist, 
commissioned to design novel zeitgeist 
that secures equal rights through Liberty 
which lifts every soul out of poverty. 

Entranced when Minerva begins to croon 
screams of despair into uplifting tune, 
I wear mask of Lucifer as my face 
to prove our souls disappear without trace 
when our bodies decay at strike of death 
though we practice yoga with calming breath. 

Exclusive deal won through electric boon 
freaks me out when our empire falls too soon 
to account for god vibes in our headspace 
though Apollo is detecting the case 
to find out who released demonic wraith 
whose tender care teaches us selfless faith. 

Grand Event To Play

Grand Event To Play
© Surazeus
2026 04 05

Flowing on away into evening light 
that floats suspended in green glowing leaves, 
my memories dissolve to empty scenes 
of passion for the grand event to play 
in huge museum on the river shore, 
crowded with white statues of long-dead gods. 

I love graceful goddess who has no face 
because she understands the gift of life 
encasing light of stars in frame of flesh 
urged by desire to procreate its soul 
which glows inside weird tangle of my brain 
with scenes of their achievements to survive. 

When shy Psyche visits garden of pears 
to find the language of her aching heart 
she buried under hollow stone of hope, 
she finds me holding darkness in my hand 
so she gives it wings to escape my mouth, 
then takes my hand and smiles with knowingness. 

Water of Heaven flows out of my eyes 
so I drink laughter of the flashing stream 
where swirling portal to infinity 
reveals strange beauty of this spinning globe 
that nurtures my body with starry breath 
even as I dwindle to silent books. 

My hungry spirit of barbarity 
will vanish into clocks of factories 
contrived by wizards of the wingless horse 
to build ten million time machines of fate 
so I can drive from sea to shining sea 
just fast enough to almost escape death. 

Haunted by indifferent Nature of change, 
I cobble new narrative for my life 
by stringing random events in taut thread 
that twangs from magic touch of Orpheus 
to make sense from harsh events I endure 
that seems to give my journey some grand goal. 

Sweet dissonance of clashing purposes 
reveals ambitious strategies for growth 
contrary to oppression of the state 
that crushes honest people under plots 
designed to figure characters from tales 
who choose the lighthouse as clandestine fate. 

Unraveling years of our weightless curse 
expands dim consciousness of signal lights 
that flash through gloom of swirling alphabets 
toward which we sail on fractured view of truth 
with brave intention to restore from ruin 
abandoned temple of the laughing god. 

Angel Wings Of Hope

Angel Wings Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 04 05

On this rainy Sunday morning at dawn 
after first full moon of transcendent light 
spawned by radiance of the Spring Equinox, 
I hear subtle wind of nurturing care 
animated by angel wings of hope 
on which I fly above vast maze of myths. 

My holy book of long-forgotten lore 
floats in tangled red threads of destiny 
within glass box of false eternity 
that spirals with galactic agency, 
animated by angel wings of hope 
on which I tumble from celestial realm. 

Eternal flame of black sublimity 
flares forth from seed of potential concept 
to bloom from nothing into something real 
as sacred flower of psychic energy 
animated by angel wings of hope 
from which I become my true divine self. 

Traversing hill of skulls at crack of dawn, 
I feel eternal light of ardent faith 
pierce wordless armor of my aching heart 
to see Clementine and Ophelia swim, 
animated by angel wings of hope 
to fill straw baskets with flowers and eggs. 

Just as I approach ancient ring of stones, 
bright rainbow beam of my beautiful truth 
reveals Eostre, fecund Goddess of Life, 
holding on her lap young child of her heart, 
animated by angel wings of hope 
to write tales of human life in Dream Book. 

Though tyrants in steel towers of blind greed 
kill men who defend their gardens of fruit, 
Aquaria transforms spirit of love 
from fear to child with eyes of timeless faith, 
animated by angel wings of hope 
to build new nation from ruins of war. 

When gold moon rises high on Phoenix wings, 
born from fertile womb of World Mother Sea, 
she sends her flighty son, wild Pegasus, 
to carry me across the windy steppes, 
animated by angel wings of hope, 
from which I ride to explore spinning Earth. 

Cells in my body split to formulate 
new body from blueprint of psychic code, 
designed by immortal soul of my genes 
to walk in blooming forest of the dead, 
animated by angel wings of hope 
as wingless angel wearing mask of light. 

House Of Laughing Masks

House Of Laughing Masks
© Surazeus
2026 04 04



Though I fade into white wall of blank masks, 
I open drapes of sorrow to perceive 
casual performance of every-day life 
when people walk to the clean grocery store, 
then cook dinner and listen to weird songs 
on vinyl records that spiral the void. 

Another child exploring the wheat field 
disappears into shadow of the book 
that teleports them to far distant land 
where they invent new name that confines thought 
as jeweled crown secure on velvet cloth 
beams satiric laughter at the Glow Cloud. 

When I gaze in eye of the Palantir 
I watch people all over the world live 
lives of quiet desperation to prove 
we are ghosts in one television screen 
assured of salvation with the One Ring 
forged by Angel of Death from my soul bone. 

With white horse of my adventurous heart 
I stroll along the craggy seashore cliff 
on winding network of trails that invite 
my noble journey to end of the world 
where I will build the House of Laughing Masks 
to preserve record of my mundane life. 

Ten thousand retired schoolteachers with pens 
could not repair my house of memories 
fallen into disrepair through regret 
for not opposing tyrants in steel towers 
whose greed destroys institutions of state 
so empires collapse into companies. 

Marble idol of Jesus on the hill 
spreads arms of love to welcome every soul, 
then gives me book and pen with bold command 
that I rewrite whole history of the world 
to show his sons triumphant in conquest 
as they enforce law of his love with guns. 

With joy for life, despite dark fuel of fear 
which nurtures passion of respect for death, 
I saunter casually on spring-bright road 
past houses where strangers wear laughing masks 
to hide horror that men in seats of power 
bomb hospitals and schools to kill the flower. 

Leaving frantic hustle of city life, 
I stroll in pastoral painting of false hope 
to visit natural beauty of wooded hills 
where monstrous demon of human desire 
seethes under calm waters of mountain lakes 
so I return to House of Laughing Masks. 

Sudden Chime Of Flowers

Sudden Chime Of Flowers
© Surazeus
2026 04 04

I think spring wind that moves my garden gate 
with sudden chime of flowers in sunlight 
might be young daughter of the lyre-skilled seer 
whose bright uncanny chord of ardent faith 
makes fruit trees dance with joy in morning rain, 
so I sing with her spirit in my heart. 

Though I have slept alone for many years, 
secure in calm state of my solitude, 
warmth of love that blooms from giving heart 
no more than illusion of fading fate, 
sweet voice of her free spirit sparks my soul 
awake from silence of my loneliness. 

After searching for her on homeless plains, 
I step outside door of safe house I built 
from fragile memories of cheerful laughs, 
and find shrewd daughter of the lyre-skilled seer 
tending herbs and fruit trees on river shore 
where I wander mute as water-smoothed stones. 

I ask forgiveness from her shining eyes 
as her deft hands tend roots of healing herbs 
when she mixes fresh fruits and vegetables 
with magical secrets of alchemy 
to prepare healthy feast for wanderers 
who gather around table of her heart. 

Now that faint shadow of my nameless soul 
has split in two bright spirits on the grass, 
I breathe celestial aura of the moon 
and sing enchanting melody of love 
while graceful daughter of the lyre-skilled seer 
frolics before large crowd of travelers. 

With sudden gust of wind that shakes our hearts 
our wild-winged son of fate, brave Icarus, 
swoops down from tall tree on taut sturdy rope, 
then seems to fly with eagle elegance 
above the awe-struck crowd of refugees 
who cheer transcendence of divinity. 

Though he transforms into the wingless crow 
who travels distant lands of sparkling snow, 
our curious son investigates star flight 
by searching for the highest peak of hope 
so he can soar beyond bounds of this world, 
though he may fall in bosom of the sea. 

Immense red glare of flames in timeless sky 
portends apocalypse of global wars, 
but clever daughter of the lyre-skilled seer 
tends fruit trees with attentive hands of faith, 
for empires stand on hard productive work 
of farmers and crafters with love for beauty. 

Museum Of The Heart

Museum Of The Heart
© Surazeus
2026 04 04

Each time I meet someone on long life road 
who stumbles, half bent under heavy load 
of sorrow they feel duty-bound to bear, 
I point their way to the heavenly stair 
that requires they leave all burdens behind 
so they are free to grow in their own mind. 

All these cute bromides the suffering share 
are broken toys abandoned on the stair 
because the drunk man, bruised by fight for pride, 
cannot find where the innocent must hide 
to open fragile wings in frantic flight 
and escape his rage in defective night. 

Relaxed on hill of our disastrous breeze, 
my mother gives me her forensic keys 
that function to open library doors 
which preserve melody of ocean shores 
recorded clear in my ancestral dreams 
because I follow ministerial streams. 

Yet all I remember from sitting in school 
is learning how to employ naive rule 
as mental mechanic repairing the brain 
which animates my mercurial gain 
when I navigate winding career path 
as cartographer through magic of math. 

I see reflected in each human face 
obsessive anguish of the angel race 
to investigate murder mystery 
at core of political history 
recording how kings kill to maintain peace 
yet protect only those who pay the lease. 

Dwelling safe in Museum of the Heart, 
which our ancestors built on our star chart, 
I compose new narrative for the world 
around eighth coming of the cosmic herald 
who builds world state that supports spirit birth 
comprising United Nations of Earth. 

When Salome dances before world king 
while she wears my spirit-enchanting ring, 
I may start to love her and lose my head, 
which she will bear home on platter of lead 
to shield my brain against radiant waves 
through prophecies of oracles in caves. 

When you and I meet on long road of life, 
united in goal to overcome strife, 
we build from ruins of America 
state of equal rights named Zarathia 
which binds the rebel with the orthodox 
through spiral riddle of psychotic clocks. 

First Mother Am

First Mother Am
© Surazeus
2026 04 04

I compete only against gears of silence, 
which Death employs to unravel my mind, 
by expressing through machinery of words 
complex contraption of conceptual truth 
designed by ancestors of my desire 
to conjure virtual model of the world. 

Millions of lonely explorers like me, 
who muddle through daily routines of hope, 
string frail words of concepts in brittle verse 
to weave veil of illusions in loose net 
with scheme to catch elusive fish of faith 
so we can eat roasted dreams of desire. 

Small groups of people huddled on the beach 
around the world from Africa to China 
gather each night for eighty thousand years 
to share tale of the man with gleaming spear 
who kills enormous dragon of the deep 
and roasts it on pyramid for our feast. 

Wearing dinosaur skull that crowns his head, 
brave storm god, who provides fresh food to eat, 
stands strong beside first mother of our tribe 
to guard her soul when she adjudicates 
disputes between contentious appellants, 
then pours juice in our cups for all to drink. 

Strange vision from our pre-civilized age 
glows bright before my disconcerted eyes, 
so I sing ballad of First Mother Am 
whose ghost reigns still on pyramid of power, 
her star-bright eye of knowledge watching us 
as immortal spirit we now call God. 

First Mother Am teaches her daughter Amen 
to host weary travelers on long roads 
with feast of bread and juice in temple hall 
where Yusa strums strings of her harp and sings 
heart-enchanting melodies that present 
men as heroes who protect everyone. 

Millions of poets alive now on Earth 
sing alone in their rooms around the world, 
for we remember aching song of hope 
First Mother Am sings in our pulsing hearts 
through voice of Ishtar on high pyramid 
that binds our souls in one global religion. 

We poets chanting verses of fierce faith 
are curious prophets of First Mother Am 
for we compete with stark silence of death 
as choir of angels singing tale of hope 
till we all vanish from dream of this Earth 
when voices echo faintly in the void. 

Swirls Of Conscious Dust

Swirls Of Conscious Dust
© Surazeus
2026 04 03

I see that we are swirls of conscious dust, 
congealed by passion to observe the stars 
so God can wake up in our dreaming brains, 
but when I ask the mountain by the sea 
how many human bodies form her soul, 
she weeps swee rain that drenches fields of wheat. 

Awake in dream as swirls of conscious dust, 
we see First Mother of our human race 
in face of every soul alive on Earth 
for we are mirrors of her primal mind 
reflecting her immortal genes in how 
we sing together in one global choir. 

Wind molds my soul from swirls of conscious dust 
when I float sparkling over mountain range 
as gleeful mist of potent energy 
conspiring with tall trees of humming fruit 
to nourish human bodies with strange joy 
that urges us to run on river shores. 

Radio waves spark my swirls of conscious dust 
with aching passion to sing psalm of faith 
depicting brave ontology through love 
for every human dancing without wings 
till we fall laughing from Glow Cloud of hope 
and float mute on convenient waves of time. 

Dynamic thoughts in swirls of conscious dust 
may claim to resurrect my mortal soul 
with psychic blueprint Pythagoras draws, 
but I know our organic frames of lust 
decay from glory of productive play 
and dissipate to currency of fate. 

Expressive games in swirls of conscious dust 
motivate gorgeous ghosts in pulsing flesh 
to build bold heritage through honest work 
firm on foundation of harmonious faith 
so tale code integrates logistic growth 
based on judicial innocence we share. 

Monument built from swirls of conscious dust 
preserves celestial light of mental debt 
enmeshed in mordant matrix sewn from words, 
riddles constructed from suffering scenes, 
yet we link hearts with laughter angels lease, 
subscribed to special shows of satellites. 

Ephemeral glow in swirls of conscious dust 
emanates bright from core of our brief being, 
fugacious with sense of divinity, 
so I will treasure transient scene of love 
we share in garden of our private play, 
embraced as skeletons ten million years. 

Poisonous Prayer Of Pride

Poisonous Prayer Of Pride
© Surazeus
2026 04 03

I never noticed time can see itself, 
Eve chuckles at absurdity of fate, 
then strolls with unsynced bells of worthless hope 
to stand on treeless hill of perfect size 
where angels scatter bones of gods in grass 
that transform into books no eye can read. 

Eve wears new mask carved from tamarisk wood 
to break hard shackles of theology 
by selling peace to mad king on the heath 
whose rainbow silhouette veils her stale heart 
with sterile shadow of unconquered love 
that reveals how precious her soul should be. 

Affixed communion with specious belief, 
that long-dead vampire god will resurrect 
our rotten bodies from root-tangled soil, 
inspires Eve every morning to transcend 
aching pain of her back and hips worn down 
by baking apple pies beside the bomb. 

Eve remembers six thousand years of thirst 
for fruit from Tree of Knowledge that seals 
fructuous heart of innocence with respect 
for pure Flame of Atar that manifests 
victorious beauty of the conqueror 
who overthrows all tyrants in the world. 

Her heart sprouts wheat of calm beneficence 
that resists thought decay of pestilence 
against dominion of the mortal man 
who claims divine right to exploit our hands 
that garnish treasures from the generous Earth 
which accounts for poisonous prayer of pride. 

With palsied hands that plea to abjure pain, 
Eve draws map of the world with blood of gods 
on arch of triumph in the capital 
where wounded warriors of the war for oil 
parade before polished Mirror of Death 
who twists their souls with arrogant dismay. 

Through emulation of the solemn rite, 
that she directs with skull of god in hand, 
Eve holds ripe apple to indifferent sun 
that bursts with timeless circumstance in code 
programmed by brains of children in cold rain 
who share their stolen grief with eyeless friends. 

Stuck in shadow between Never and Now, 
Eve steals electric Diamond of Lost Truth 
that beams celestial light of energy 
which proves we are but swirls of conscious dust 
that dissipate in soft relentless wind 
which swirls long hair around her weathered face. 

Saddest Song Of Love

Saddest Song Of Love
© Surazeus
2026 04 02

Though no one understands songs of her heart 
which seem like uncanny shrieks of night owls, 
she walks narrow trail among twisted beech, 
then gazes in green water of the creek 
to savor passion that glows in her heart 
that bloom as white bloodroot flowers from dirt. 

Opening envelope of thin wolf skin, 
she reads letter written by Lucifer 
with blood of angels on butterfly wings, 
then breathes shimmering emptiness of light 
that fills her heart with joy to be alive, 
so she sings enchanting song of respect. 

Stone by stone with gentle hands of thought 
she deconstructs illusion of the Self 
till she become dim shadow of her name 
that vanishes when the glass sun of time 
shatters on horizon of intellect, 
then dissipates in smoke from cottage hearths. 

Strange scent of wet leaves, pungent in night air, 
asserts aggressive pulse of wrangled hope 
that drives her to express in wordless tunes 
excessive wisdom of the hollow stone 
when she performs her saddest song of love 
that cracks foundation of theology. 

Shocked by the subtle shine of innocence 
on moon-ensilvered waters of the creek, 
she assembles new face of gracious trust 
from lithe prismatic waves of nothingness 
to wear as mask when she walks streets of town 
past strangers who all seem to know her name. 

Yet purple bergamot blossoms of truth 
unfold proportion of vivid desire 
designed to connect precious gratitude 
with ghosts of demons trapped in trunks of elms 
that swirl around her in celestial mist 
while she glides gracefully beyond her grave. 

Inevitable state of longsuffering good 
twangs harp strings sharp with subtle hollowness 
when star-eyed Seraph appears from her heart, 
so she remembers how we strive for good 
at cost of carelessness through flash of dawn 
based on reason of zestful agency. 

Curious about clones of her lost self 
that appear as silhouettes on grassy hill, 
she strolls columned cathedral of bright woods, 
suffused with slanting rays of divine light, 
and sings with harsh voice of sincerity 
that causes ghosts to shiver with desire. 

Giving Tree Of Hope

Giving Tree Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 04 02

When the giving tree of hope is destroyed 
by the tyrant and his gang of mad thieves, 
Belenus escapes walls of paradise 
with the last apple seed of divine truth 
and wanders forlorn on Plutonian shore 
where toads ask him if he can save the world. 

Because the giving tree of hope is burned 
by bombs that angels drop on paradise, 
Belenus hides in dark cave of blind ghosts 
who ask for the hottest stock market tips 
while roots of trees break towers into dust 
through oxidation that consumes steel frames. 

Watching the giving tree of hope chopped down 
by the Most Honest President on Earth, 
Belenus hacks into computer banks 
to transfer money to the bank accounts 
of poor hardworking people of the world 
who buy pickup trucks and shoot angels with guns. 

Slouched in despair at giving tree of hope 
where frisky children play with prancing goats, 
Belenus reads satires of Juvenal 
that condemn rampant corruption and vice 
of villainaires who rule in Washington 
by exploiting people for private gain. 

Shocked that the giving tree of hope now rots 
and blooms with poisoned fruit of arrogance, 
Belenus joins Minerva and her squad 
of justice warriors fighting for the right 
of every person in this fertile land 
to live free as they will, if they harm none. 

If the giving tree of hope vanishes 
from Garden of Eden in world war three, 
Belenus plants ten thousand apple seeds 
in parking lots of shiny shopping malls 
so new global forest of righteousness 
blooms from ruins of world civilization. 

Concerned that the new giving tree of hope 
struggles to be reborn from Bethlehem, 
Belenus tames with spells of alchemy 
ten-headed dragon rising from the sea 
so he crowns himself Emperor of Earth 
who rules with magic wand of equity. 

Tending the healthy giving tree of hope 
that blooms from corpses of tyrants and thieves, 
Belenus hosts grand feast of equal rights 
for all the people of the Earth to join 
while Orpheus plays the lyre of Mercury 
and Minerva sings about Kingdom Come. 

Alive In Abya Yala

Alive In Abya Yala
© Surazeus
2026 04 01

I think I took a wrong turn in the mall 
because I am not in America 
any more, where Liberty for every soul 
is the sacred law by which we all live, 
illusion of greatness that vanishes 
and leaves me alive in Abya Yala. 

Inspired by the man bleeding on the tree, 
who grasps writhing snakes of hate in the well 
and transforms them into Runes of Respect, 
I leave cathedral of the vampire god 
and stumble in meadow of maple trees 
that flash me alive in Abya Yala. 

Alone on mountain of the Rainbow Snake, 
who reveals woman with stalk of gold corn, 
I watch butterflies turn into jet planes 
that bomb the ziggurat where Ishtar reigns, 
so I flee into waste land of the west 
where I howl alive in Abya Yala. 

Stripped of my wolf-fur cloak and magic wand 
by one-eyed wizard of dark Raven Wood, 
I drive my car from sea to shining sea 
home to where I was born in Oregon 
where Multnomah cleanses my heart of fear 
so I dance alive in Abya Yala. 

Broken wings of Icarus in my heart 
flap helplessly in hurricane of change 
when I fall from Heaven of Righteousness 
and wander Turtle Island without hands 
to help Onatah tend Garden of Corn, 
soul reborn alive in Abya Yala. 

When illusion of Great America 
collapses into shards of shiny lies 
because demon of greed escapes from its cage, 
I join free people of Zarathia 
to build new nation based on equal rights 
that fires us alive in Abya Yala. 

I want to return home to Avalon, 
then on to Lake of Dreams in Scythia, 
to build strong United Nations of Earth 
that renders equal justice for all souls 
who share this lush globe spinning in the void 
that beams us alive in Abya Yala. 

After the American Empire falls 
from crushing weight of xenophobic hate, 
we will build new nation for everyone 
who shares love for truth of wise Onatah 
who directs choir of equal citizens 
so we sing alive in Abya Yala. 

Names Of His Lost Tribe

Names Of His Lost Tribe
© Surazeus
2026 04 01 

Trapped by obsession with integrity, 
Alanus walks to the new grocery store 
and contemplates how to save his lost tribe, 
but they are photos on the cereal box, 
so he scatters cornflakes on tombless graves, 
and prays to the sparrow in the elm tree. 

Reluctant to accept his bitter fate, 
Alanus paints mural on the brick wall 
that depicts migration of his lost tribe 
with bright colors in cartoon characters 
which tourists photograph with beaming smiles 
to post up on their social media sites. 

Annoyed by laughter of the traffic light, 
Alanus forges new Anywhere Key 
from dark matter in bones of his lost tribe 
with lightning flash of mute anxiety 
so he can teleport to every house 
where ghosts of his ancestors linger blind. 

Startled by appearance of gold Dream Stone, 
Alanus breaks it open with soft spell 
so he can read the names of his lost tribe 
who drive horse-drawn wagons of curious hope 
across the wind-swept steppes of Scythia 
where they build tree-house networks in tall trees. 

Amused by sparkle of electric snow, 
Alanus leaves car factory at dawn 
with fragments from the skulls of his lost tribe 
to lounge on back porch of his shabby home 
and grill hamburgers while his children play 
under strangeness of blue Missouri skies. 

Concerned about the state of politics, 
Alanus builds fortress on ancient mound 
to host council meeting of his lost tribe 
who plan new movement of the working class 
to seize means of production from vampires 
and build new schools for their children to learn. 

Shocked by acceleration of world war, 
Alanus hikes in rugged mountain vales 
with hungry survivors of his lost tribe 
who build new nation in the wilderness 
centered around Temple of the Soul Flame 
which their First Father stole from Hearth of Hell. 

Eager to translate song of honeybees, 
Alanus enters temple of blank books 
that record tales from the lives of his lost tribe 
which play as shows on television screens 
in stores of old deserted shopping malls 
where children of the fallen empire play. 

Vote On Election Day

Vote On Election Day
© Surazeus
2026 03 31

When I find secret land of Xanadu 
hidden in misty mountain vale of peace 
I will sing to the blue moon of respect 
so screaming voices on the radio 
vanish into silent ache of faith 
because I like to flirt with Death at dawn. 

Because he is still waiting for Godot, 
the old man, who sits all day on the bench 
in front of city hall, steals my fake name, 
so I write it down in book of lost tales 
when I visit museum of dead gods 
whose skeletons dance around the North Pole. 

When Godot arrives at the restaurant, 
he introduces me to his new bride 
named Saengdao, which means Starlight, he explains, 
but she takes me sailing on her glass yacht 
to Kharg Island in the Gulf of Hormuz 
where she films her new folk-rap video. 

When I try to vote on election day 
the old man questions whether I exist, 
so I disappear in a puff of smoke, 
then drift without wings, humming lullabies 
about death, over Yosemite Park 
where Shakambari tends vegetable gardens. 

Inscrutable spell of her recipe 
for magic potion that heals harsh headaches 
combines mental spice of spiraling words 
with apricot cider of providence 
which questions privilege of ownership 
exposed by counter-oracles of truth. 

While photographing young couples in love 
who stroll the river walk in evening light, 
Phrixus leans against the brass balustrade 
and stares with sorrow at the silver sheen 
that flickers with elusive Runes of fate, 
then mounts gold ram and flies into the clouds. 

Engaged with program to destabilize 
global patriarchy through language keys, 
Phrixus meets Godot in the crumbling church 
where they discuss projects of bitter wealth 
based on artificial intelligence 
which hallucinates that Jesus returns. 

Logic of random landscapes motivates 
moral mission to organize networks 
of neutral monsters with house mortgages 
who load trucks with boxes of stolen dreams 
through humble technique of successful ploy 
upgrading unique spectrum of toy brains. 

When he buys carrots of syntactic virus 
from Shakambari by the broken gate, 
Godot suddenly understands the joke 
about the raven and the writing desk 
Phrixus told him at the amusement park 
while they were eating hotdogs of despair. 

Children With Sparkling Eyes

Children With Sparkling Eyes
© Surazeus
2026 03 31

The next time we get together to cry 
about how flowers wither in hot sun, 
Tellus will bring glass jar of demon tears 
to nurture souls of angels in small seeds 
who grow into children with sparkling eyes 
before bullets splatter their souls on grass. 

Careful analysis of water flow, 
within context of material exchange, 
proves why excessive passion of desire 
cracks concrete channels of clandestine code 
that redesigns children with sparkling eyes 
who play hide and seek in ruins of church. 

Reverse psychology of social laws 
never works to change behavior with fear, 
relabeled as incentive to mature 
against relentless tides of profit gains 
that tricks hearts of children with sparkling eyes 
to believe in lie of the Afterlife. 

Elected by the people of her state 
to establish affordable health care, 
Tellus drives to work across Bridge of Faith 
till assassins give her apples to eat 
so she can feed children with sparkling eyes 
who play in rubble of their bombed-out homes. 

Clipboard in hand as wind blows her charged hair, 
Tellus organizes fairies and ghosts 
to stack bricks of bombed buildings on wood carts 
so they can rebuild empire of dead gods 
reborn as our children with sparkling eyes 
who pretend they are puppets without strings. 

Amazed at beauty of our broken world 
that functions on laughter of hungry hope, 
Tellus writes complex formulas of fate 
on chalkboard in crowded college classroom 
to educate children with sparkling eyes 
on using magic to build paradise. 

When Neptune wakes from dream in fountain pool, 
startling tourists in the large Florence square, 
Tellus gives him jeans and white shirt to wear 
as they stroll holding hands in evening glow 
to photograph children with sparkling eyes 
who are old gods reborn in human flesh. 

Concerned about current state of the world, 
when dictators disguised as presidents 
contest over whose God will rule the Earth, 
Tellus meditates with Shiva in cave 
visited by children with sparkling eyes 
through revolution of the working class. 

Vast Vacancy Of Being

Vast Vacancy Of Being
© Surazeus
2026 03 30

All my relatives swirl into my heart 
so we all become one galactic mind 
that blooms from vibrant flame of the first cause, 
hearts bound in communal rite of our tribe 
as we breathe in vast vacancy of being 
that swells scope of our souls big as the Earth. 

Compact conception contained in core seed 
designs firm structure of our social state 
arranged so every person of our tribe 
contributes skilled performance of their heart 
that radiates from vast vacancy of being 
as cordial fruit we share each evening feast. 

We harvest fruitful wisdom of this Earth 
with brave assertion of our right to live, 
vain fact ignored by calm indifference 
that encodes how heartless Nature replies 
with riddles from vast vacancy of being 
despite our solemn oath to tend her needs. 

Ordained as messenger by Eye of Fate, 
I open channels between Earth and Sky 
so we comprehend with attentive heart 
what light communicates through cleansing rain 
that springs fresh from vast vacancy of being 
to water growing souls in groves of trees. 

When I uncover lost star catalog, 
by erasing theological creed 
written with blood angels on old scroll, 
I study stellar cartograph of fate 
to navigate vast vacancy of being 
that guides my way home to Elysium. 

I hear voice of my primal Motherland 
call me with heart-enchanting song of faith 
to cross greed-ravaged waste land of this world 
and find lush Promised Land of fruitful trees 
that blossom from vast vacancy of being 
as bountiful garden of generous death. 

No idol of dead god as scarecrow hears 
fervent prayers of desperate refugees 
who scatter from our homeland in lost tribes 
when tyrants attack garden of our wealth 
to find truth in vast vacancy of being 
from which we build new empire from old ruins. 

We thrived ten thousand years of fertile peace 
in secret valley of our singing skulls 
till refugees invade garden of trees 
and drive our people far across the world 
so we float in vast vacancy of being, 
transforming into children of lost faith. 

Hole Of Finite Thought

Hole Of Finite Thought
© Surazeus
2026 03 30

Because death collapses time in my head 
with sudden nothingness of the bright soul, 
I ponder what the living do each day 
to ignore the fact that we all will die, 
then I fish on shore of the singing lake 
and eat its roasted meat under weird stars. 

Framed in my unfurling future, I feel 
exaggerated vastness stretching time 
long enough to catch me before I fall, 
thwarted by excessive passion to live 
when I evade cruel death by accident 
in close proximity to sudden hope. 

Morning light of each new day after death 
arrives with bright elusive flash of faith 
that blinds my mind with truth beyond all words 
at sharpened thrill of opened aperture 
that strikes me with expected solitude 
so I float far alone on waves of where. 

Undetermined moment of someday soon, 
when I will cease to be awake with buzz 
of frantic energy to taste sweet fire, 
tethers tight my heart to silence of wind, 
hidden in scroll of lost voices by quill 
plucked from demonic wing of innocence. 

Brave enough with fractured luck of respect, 
I confront absence of my nameless self 
by calling phone number of my dead clone 
who answers with strange voice of ocean waves, 
but I become mad raven with three eyes 
that hangs out on the sad telephone line. 

So I avoid speaking in my own voice 
with assiduous intent to detach 
my body from lush fields of sparkling lakes 
where birds tweet love songs in flower-flame trees, 
because my being is hole of finite thought 
around which nothing radiates in blind gloom. 

Despite personal investment of hope, 
I stand in spotlight on stage of despair 
and drink milk of angels from burning clouds 
that pour from my eyes in fountains of tears 
which nourishes eight billion hungry souls 
while I float on surging sea of desire. 

My happiness fills shadow of my heart 
with sudden nothingness of silent death 
that blows bright rainbow darkness of my eyes 
open wide enough to become each star 
that twinkles in vast galaxies of souls 
while beneath every city my heart beats. 

If I Reveal My Soul

If I Reveal My Soul
© Surazeus
2026 03 29

If I reveal my soul by how I sing 
relentless emotion through opposites, 
I undeceive myself with new belief 
that glamors richness of our messy world 
which vainly proves with brute indifference 
that Nature fills us with passion of hope. 

If they assassinate idol of stone 
that represents proud ruler of the world 
with accurate bullet of childhood games, 
we may choose new god from the mortal crowd 
to play wise ruler of our crowded state 
who plays piano with graceful respect. 

If we march to martial music of blood 
with bright torch of freedom in every hand, 
we may find our ancestral voices cry 
for justice from blood-soaked soil of our land, 
so we raise flag of Liberty with faith 
that our wild howls become anthem of truth. 

If we spring laughing from sonorous hills 
at sudden strike of brave cathedral bells, 
we may plow fields of stubborn prairie grass 
and plant gold wheat of fierce ambitious plans 
to build empire of hungry enterprise 
so our children may dance in sweet moonlight. 

If I cast line of hope in lake of dreams 
with hope to catch elusive fish of faith, 
I may hear noble song of moon-white geese 
call out to angels on flame-golden clouds 
who grant my boon to gain hard-earned reward, 
though Nature owes me nothing for my work. 

If I should meditate by sparkling brook 
that shimmers calm in grove of twisted birch, 
I may hear strange enchanting song of faes 
that lures my heart to seek dark gloom of fate 
in deep forest green of snow-crested hills 
where child of the mountain waits for my gift. 

If blind musician in dark smoky bar 
plays earthy melody on saxophone 
with soulful anguish of inhuman truth, 
I feel myself alive more than the sea 
halfway between midnight and dawn of time, 
awake with silver shimmer of star waves. 

If I leap over brook of crystal skulls 
while running from death on black horse of fate, 
I feel cascade of timeless water spray 
swirls of strange immortal energy 
prismed radiant with souls of fallen gods 
who weep to hear me sing about cruel death.