Weird Archive Of Desire

Weird Archive Of Desire
© Surazeus
2026 07 25

When the small oak-wood horse chess piece falls down 
and clatters on the marble temple floor, 
Robert leaps to his feet and turns around 
just as five men with spears break through the door 
to eliminate him from Game of Power, 
from tale he stores in archive of desire. 

Ignoring assassins with spears of hate, 
Robert retrieves horse chess piece from the floor, 
and contemplates how mankind tames the horse, 
befriending wing-foot angels of the plains 
with apples from Sarmatian mountain range, 
as we explore weird archive of desire. 

Somersaulting from temple of dead gods 
where assassins freeze in statues of stone, 
Robert skips jauntily along the street, 
and whistles merrily down to the dock 
where he sails river boat out to the sea 
with plan to ransack archive of desire. 

After walking around the spinning world 
ten thousand years on winding river shores, 
Robert transforms from wily trickster hero 
to sad old man with gray hair and weak eyes 
trudging guilt-stricken in our godless world 
on quest to restore archive of desire. 

Yet ghostly goddess of wisdom and truth 
remains beside him on the signless road 
as faceless shadow of Suffering Widow 
who waits at home in vain for many years 
till he arrives as beggar at her door 
with books he stole from archive of desire. 

Breathing deep gentle breath of Zephyrus, 
Robert joins Saturn on long pilgrimage 
who leaves Arcadia with the alphabet 
and builds Pallantium on Happy Wolf Hill 
where fierce Juturna tends Fountain of Faith 
that springs with light from archive of desire. 

Kneeling before temple of the laughing tree, 
Robert offers diamond from Cave of Pluto 
to sweet-voiced Carmenta, daughter of Hermes, 
who blushes and agrees to marry him 
once he is ordained pastor of their church, 
assigned to maintain archive of desire. 

Returning home to house his father built, 
Robert finds Herilus tending the garden, 
so they embrace after many long years, 
then sit beneath the willow and drink wine 
while sharing tragic tale of Icarus 
whose wings are kept in archive of desire. 

Deep Sea Of My Heart

Deep Sea Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2026 07 25

Wind blows waves across deep sea of my heart 
as I trudge forever on shining beach 
toward scarlet eye of power that swirls flames 
of bitter hope to animate my frame 
with passion fueled by my immortal soul 
till I stumble and fall in gloom of night. 

Rays of the blood-red sun that never sets 
pierce my heart with sharp arrows of despair 
so I sink down in swirling sand of fear 
at shocking memory of brutal attacks 
when gangs of men swarming from the wild sea 
beat everyone in village of my clan. 

Knocked out in frantic fury of their fight, 
I tumble blindly into heaps of bodies, 
buzzing with horror of arrogant pride, 
then snap awake at searing flash of dawn 
to find that people, who glowed bright with life, 
lie mangled and cold as soil of the Earth. 

Dressed in long gown sewn with feathers of swans, 
tall woman with eyes gray as thunder clouds 
lifts me up from pungent mud of despair, 
then fills my heart with ethereal breath 
as she sings mercurial song of new hope, 
so I stretch my arms to become the sky. 

Athena hands me grail of apple cider, 
so I drink gold elixir of the sun 
that swells my body with blood of the stars 
through resurrection of her xenial grace, 
then leads me to promontory of truth 
where she turns my attention to the sea. 

Surprised at sight that meets my tear-cleansed eyes, 
I watch huge fleet of ships with billowed sails, 
filled with warriors who attacked my people, 
gliding swift across deep sea of my heart, 
so I cry out with voice of victimhood 
that I will destroy their arrogant greed. 

Black clouds of vengeance swirl up from the sea, 
roiling with righteous anger of the sky, 
till I see face of Zeus in glowing clouds 
who hurls thunderbolts at vast fleet of ships, 
then conjures up enormous waves of justice 
which dash their ships against the jagged cliffs. 

Striding along the beach of swirling waves, 
strewn with wrecked war ships and bodies of men, 
I give survivors fresh water and bread, 
then lead them to ancient temple of Zeus 
where we form new city to grow wheat, 
then we feast each year to celebrate life. 

Obscure Woods Of Hope

Obscure Woods Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 07 25

Jortha tells Thor she is looking for Death 
because she wants to give him chocolate cake, 
but when she arrives in Folkvanger field 
she finds Freya lounging bored in Valhalla, 
so she talks to the owl in the oak tree 
about the strange value of traffic lights. 

Startled by luminous phantom of fate 
who beams down on escalator of light 
from black clouds of emotional turmoil, 
Jortha wanders in obscure woods of hope 
where she meets red-haired fox man in long robe 
who tells her his name is Elysius. 

When wild-haired fox man with electric eyes 
grasps her arms and asks her for help to find 
elusive butterfly of love, she smiles 
and guides him down to Valley of Dry Bones 
where Ezekiel resurrects skeletons 
from grateful dead who dance in acid rain. 

Among the screaming trees of suicides, 
Jortha leads Elysius to the glass tower 
where Roland and Rapunzel live in peace, 
creating collages of mythic tales 
from pictures they cut out of magazines 
which they display on cracked telephone poles. 

Hand over hand with courage of the fool, 
Jortha and Elysius, now deep in love, 
climb steep icy slopes of the Matterhorn 
where they relax beneath the Tumtum tree 
and watch the Jabberwock swoop on fae wings 
while they discuss weird formulas of fate. 

When Jortha stares at beauty of her face 
that shimmers in pool where Narcissus drowned, 
Elysius wrestles demon of despair 
to break her free from trance of bitter fear, 
then takes her hand to run down signless road 
to desert town where Glow Cloud looms bright gold. 

Heart revived by apricity of love, 
shy Jortha gathers from Elysian Fields 
mushrooms and eggs of serpents in deep caves, 
then asks Ceridwen to brew Wisdom Wine 
while old Taliesin in huge vine-draped stoa 
teaches Elysius how to play the lyre. 

Hitchhiking sea to shining sea on tour, 
Jortha stands on stage in every town hall 
and sings grand epic of philosophers 
while Elysius plays Lyre of Mercury, 
till one day as they drive in Tennessee 
they die when red truck crashes in their car. 

Orgasmic Flash Of Awakening

Orgasmic Flash Of Awakening
© Surazeus
2026 07 24

Every thought that flashes inside my brain 
contrives to prove with honest arrogance 
that unseen power of the universe, 
which my ancestors declared to be God, 
asserts its conscious sense of knowingness 
through analytic process of my mind. 

Though it seems I have come too late on Earth 
to understand true essence of the gods 
who dream themselves awake in human brains, 
I find they are alive inside this sphere 
as wordless voice in wind and waves and flames 
which speaks through songs that humans in pain sing. 

Each conscious soul who lived on spinning Earth 
the past four hundred million years of growth 
experienced moment of epiphany 
through orgasmic flash of awakening 
which programs how my brain perceives the world 
for their immortal genes design my mind. 

God is ideal conscious being of pure love 
engaged in progress of strict self-control 
as wise persona whom I strive to play 
when I transform from animal to man 
who exercises calm restraint of faith 
to manage intense passions of desire. 

I am the child who sails boat on the sea 
by watching one bright star of shining hope 
that never moves at center of the sky 
which guides my journey to the Promised Land 
as I evolve from fish to singing god 
while I tend fire on mountain slope of faith. 

One God Eye at core of the universe, 
enormous star of super-condensed mass 
through singularity of mental thought, 
knows every planet spinning in the void 
that teems with conscious beings of energy 
who seek to understand their mortal souls. 

I laugh at this delusion of my mind 
that White Whole Spirit of the Multiverse 
vibrates with one divine mind of the Self, 
fragmented into countless conscious brains 
who strive to transcend limits of the flesh 
and glow in harmony with everything. 

How beautiful this weird illusion glows 
that we are temporary sparks of life 
composed of atoms flashing in the void, 
so I stand high on mountain peak of faith 
and savor passion of this timeless hour 
that I am so awake because of death. 

Vital Source Of Life

Vital Source Of Life
© Surazeus
2026 07 24

Atonal vibes of social interactions 
confound my radar sensibilities 
with cross-cultural assumptions of truth 
designed to mitigate with torrid code 
misunderstandings through intense emotion 
contrived to bond our frozen hearts with love. 

Juturna sits beside the bubbling well 
each dawn to guard the vital source of life 
against vandalous gangs of greedy thieves, 
preserving fountain of nutritious hope 
for every person to acquire fair share 
so their growing community may thrive. 

Her small lithe son, curly-haired Faunus, plays 
with carefree joy around the fountain rim, 
molding mud into homes with garden walls 
where little people of sticks bound with roots 
dwell safe in haven of communal charm 
against invading gangs with spears of greed. 

This sweet idyllic scene of pastoral peace, 
set in pre-urban hills of Latium 
before Romulus built first walls of wood, 
forever shimmers in my morning dreams 
with blissful glow of timeless synergy, 
Juturna with gold hair and silver eyes. 

Juturna strums the Lyre of Mercury 
and softly sings harmonious hymns of hope 
while women with their daughters bearing jars 
wait in line for water of the well 
that bubbles from sacred heart of the world, 
as breeze of Zephyrus plays with their hair. 

How can I reconcile this memory 
of timeless beauty in Pomerium, 
where children run among lush apple trees 
and sing spells with starlings, thrushes, and sparrows 
in tunes that augur omens of good fortune, 
with global empire of machines today? 

From peaceful Garden of Pomerium 
at heart of our pastoral community 
we are expanding world empire of Rome 
to enclose within Rule of Jupiter 
Gothinia, Russia, and Zarathia, 
which transform into Anglonesia now. 

Though peoples of these lands contest for power 
in fractious passions of national pride, 
wise Jupiter Leo in the Vatican 
bears Wand of Zambor with Diamond of Truth 
to light our signless road of stoic faith 
as we progress in quest for Wonderland. 

Brave Quest Of Tiresias

Brave Quest Of Tiresias
© Surazeus
2026 07 23

The ancient story of philosophy 
begins when Hermes in cave of his heart 
invents the lyre with strings on turtle shell, 
and ends when Lucretius attempts to fly 
glider from cliff of Mount Vesuvius 
he built based on painting of Icarus. 

I followed journey of Odysseus 
across the land from sea to shining sea 
east from Oregon of the Promised Land 
back toward ancient home my ancestors built 
on sacred mist-veiled isle of Avalon, 
but found new heaven in Oconia. 

Halfway home to lush plains of Scythia, 
where my ancestors traveled along rivers 
in wagons pulled by horses they had tamed 
with apples from hills of Sarmatia, 
I linger in my secret paradise 
with my own Penelope in our home. 

My wife combines all three witches of power 
in one clever person with crafty hands, 
autonomous Circe who molds my heart, 
possessive Calypso who guards my soul, 
and loyal Penelope who endures 
vicissitudes of fate with honest love. 

Asserting passion of the wingless angel, 
my grandfather constructed small airplanes 
with wings of Icarus as metal blades, 
powered by piston engine of Barsanti, 
to soar on solid gusts of swirling wind 
blown whole by gentle breath of Zephyrus. 

Inspired by brave quest of Tiresias, 
I wake one thousand genders in my heart 
so I experience every state of mind 
through dramas all my ancestors performed 
as they explored wild landscape of this world 
finding soul mate to generate new life. 

Attentive with program of Sisyphus, 
I roll huge stones up steep slope of the hill 
where I erect them as tall monoliths 
in ring that mimics cycle of bright stars 
to build tall tower where Rapunzel sings 
enchanting psalms while strumming Harp of David. 

Grown old with long gray hair and dimming eyes, 
I lie in half-slumber by River Styx 
with stoic wisdom of work weariness 
where my grim father Saturnus once lay 
till eager Phoebus woke him with soft voice 
when Astraea gave birth to me at dawn. 

Wake Soul Of The Savior

Wake Soul Of The Savior
© Surazeus
2026 07 23

Across the jagged rocks of Mullach Mor 
I trudge toward rainbow of the silver sky 
at wind-borne cry of the Blind Falconer 
who laments anarchy loosed on the world, 
in search for revelation of the truth 
that Jesus himself will never return. 

Reborn through children of his star-eyed wife, 
brave Marya Magdalena, Mermaid Queen, 
who keeps them safe in cave of Mont Saint-Baume, 
Jesus incarnates in bodies of their offspring 
who wake Soul of the Savior in their hearts 
through sacred bloodline of the Holy Grail. 

Two thousand years descendants of his blood 
wear golden Crown of Thorns with jeweled eyes 
to reign from castle Tower of the Watch 
as guardian over people of the land 
who tend fruit orchards in Garden of Eden 
and wind-blown wheat in Fields of Elysium. 

Though Odysseus defies Host Law of Zeus 
by sacking Ilium with trick of the horse, 
then escapes island of the sorceress 
to reclaim his homeland from greedy thieves, 
Jesus lingers on Patmos Isle too long, 
plagued by visons of the Apocalypse. 

Raised on the lush River Ituna shore 
in Eden Valley of Cumbria Mountains, 
I learn to play the Lyre of Mercury 
from clever Taliesin, bold Gwynedd Bard, 
who gives me wine Mother Ceridwen brews 
which sparks Awen Glow on my radiant brow. 

Baptized in waters of Llyn Tegid Lake, 
I feel demonic energy of love 
beam in my eyes with bright serpentine faith 
when Dragon Teggie rises from dark waves 
and fills my heart with visions of mankind 
striving to evolve from Serpent to God. 

Far from deserted streets of Bethlehem, 
where Abram gave traveling angels bread, 
I stand on jagged peak of Mullach Mor 
to sing with serpent Voice of Prophecy 
about how all great empires rise and fall 
in ever-seething tides of social change. 

Another twenty centuries of dream 
may turn in endless cycles of desire 
for sons of Jesus to wear Crown of Thorns 
while wearing mask Odysseus threw away, 
so I become brave Lion of Respect 
who builds new nation with lost refugees. 

Apple Trees Of Human Hearts

Apple Trees Of Human Hearts
© Surazeus
2026 07 22

Some have called me the Complicated Man 
because I swerve from strict expected path 
through many twists and turns with just my wit 
by stumbling randomly down signless road 
forever nowhere to the Promised Land 
that shimmers gold as palace made of clouds. 

Wrath at injustice of tyrants and thieves 
has driven me through jeweled Gate of Hell 
with hope that I may purge my heart of hate 
and, fueled by love for every human soul, 
ascend Star Mountain to Temple of Truth 
where I play Lyre of Mercury and sing. 

As young man with my magic talisman, 
glass tablet eye-phone of the world wide web, 
aided by wise ancestor of my heart, 
I wield Slingshot of David to oppose 
brute tyrant who exploits the working man, 
then found world nation on equality. 

With Sword of Arthur I forge from the stone, 
and Bow of Odysseus I string with faith, 
I help Athena fight for Liberty 
so ever person living on this Earth 
may employ talents developed as skills 
to build global system of equal rights. 

Each day I work to map this complex world 
with tales on maps that record human deeds, 
I help construct virtual model of Earth 
to program digital twin of our world, 
yet one day Death in black carriage of fate 
will stop for me on Road of Anywhere. 

Though I never planned progress of my life, 
and wandered here and there on road of hope, 
chasing rainbows to meadow of mute ghosts, 
I have arrived at garden of my fate, 
having accomplished project of my heart 
composing Astarian Scriptures of truth. 

These scriptures I compose with honest joy 
detail new testament of my world view 
which I assemble in puzzle of life 
from every myth of every human tribe 
in one whole tale of failure and success 
through world faith of Astarianity. 

Now that I have translated song of waves 
to dream-encoded sentences of verse 
that faintly gleam with visions of my mind, 
I shall lie down by timeless Lake of Dreams 
so my bones become stones and my flesh soil 
from which sprout apple trees of human hearts. 

Where Ravens Talk Of Fate

Where Ravens Talk Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 07 22

Too tired to understand why dark clouds cry, 
the girl who knows where crippled angels hide 
trudges slowly on dusty road of hope 
to gather berries from dream-tangled vines, 
but dodges gasping aside just in time 
to avoid the huge speeding pickup truck. 

Heart pounding from the psyche-jolting shock 
of almost getting slammed by metal grill, 
the girl who knows where lonely horses graze 
sobs hysterically while gasping for breath, 
then lies flat on soft grass behind dead oak 
and stares at clouds where no angels play harps. 

For some strange reason she remembers when 
her mother baked cinnamon apple pies 
while snow was swirling in sweet playful gusts 
of cold but friendly wind of starless night, 
so she pretends her mother is still home 
and did not disappear one summer dawn. 

After filling straw basket on her arm 
with blackberries, raspberries, and walnuts, 
the girl who knows where honest devils creep 
sits on the ground outside the market square 
to sell ten berries for one copper coin 
that glimmers with transcendent innocence. 

When she has earned twenty-four copper coins, 
stamped with the playful face of Mercury, 
the girl who knows where ravens talk of fate 
wanders crowded marketplace at sunset 
to find the thing her heart desires the most 
but that secret treasure eludes her eyes. 

Deciding to save the money she earned 
for flowered cloth to sew new winter dress, 
the girl who knows where fairies craft our dreams 
whistles as she skips to her forest cave, 
but three boys grab her arms and kiss her cheeks, 
then beat her as she struggles to break free. 

Scratching their faces with sharp fingernails 
and screeching in rage at their cruel attack, 
the girl who knows where dragons writhe in faith 
chases them when they steal her money bag, 
but falls to her knees by star-sparkling stream 
and cries to the sky that life is unfair. 

Heart-broken at the loss of hard-earned cash, 
the girl who knows where God sleeps in dark cave, 
stares at the television glowing blue 
while watching some old show in black and white 
about the girl and her swift flying horse 
who defeat criminals to save the world. 

What You Leave Undone

What You Leave Undone
© Surazeus
2026 07 21

You fix the hinges on the broken door 
to frame strange beauty of quiet sunlight 
through fraught ideology based on facts 
that measures consequence of mindless cause 
when you remember what you leave undone 
with deliberate grace of the figured sun. 

You leave your sorrows in the puzzle box 
on stretch of open country devils map 
with solid ambience of unclean thoughts 
constrained by brain-programming buzz of words 
defined by apparition of your soul 
that flaps as tattered star-flag on the pole. 

You offer whiskey to the zombie king 
who feeds three-headed dog of hungry hope 
fantastic dreams you discard in hot sand 
because you swagger on the desert road 
toward ghost town under burnished sky of dread 
that groans with bones of demons in your head. 

You stroll with ardent vigor of blind gods 
to play brave guardian angel of your Hell 
where blandished apparitions steal your cake 
with calm intensity of humble thieves 
who drive west to the last town of your heart 
where swift coyotes steal your fateful chart. 

You drive through dust storm of your vacant clock 
past humming fences of barbed-wire to steal 
torn cloak of death with tragic sense of greed 
by selling hope of paradise to fools 
who cling with faith of homeless refugees 
to Afterlife with holy apple trees. 

You kneel in pain by highway of despair 
as dreamless ghost to scrawl in swirling sand 
tale of your victimhood through suffering 
abuse from people who cannot see you 
as noble person worthy of respect, 
tricked to believe your soul will resurrect. 

You ask for how the Cosmic Architect, 
who drives your rusty truck of gratitude 
on long indifferent highway of the dead, 
could build grand temple from cracked skulls of gods 
to celebrate your life and death on Earth 
with solemn elegies of bitter mirth. 

You stare at mask of your immortal face 
reflected in mirror of Our World Mind, 
but you are stranger to your inner self 
who nurses wounds of guilt from your cruel deeds 
because you violate sacred rule of Zeus 
to welcome immigrants into your home. 

Ocean Shore Of Nevertime

Ocean Shore Of Nevertime
© Surazeus
2026 07 21

Alone on ocean shore of Nevertime, 
he waits for Lord of Heaven to return, 
aware of voices from eight billion souls 
expressing passion of their will to live, 
but no one comes from clouds of blazing fire 
except the mindless sun that rises bright. 

Strange visions of the undescribed sublime 
conceal in symbols secrets he would learn 
to understand how humans play their roles 
by force of will or predetermined fate, 
though all our hopes converge in global choir 
that shatters illusion of holy right. 

No longer frightened by wild swirl of time, 
that twists our bodies from humans to gods 
trapped in weird fairy tales no one reads, 
he finds bold stubbornness of humble faith 
as gleaming diamond jagged in his heart 
with pain that drives him to transcend his fate. 

Constrained by gravity of spinning Earth, 
that bolts our bodies to change-shifting ground, 
he listens at the broken door of hope 
for wild uncanny voices angels chime 
that knocks his body loose from womb of love 
to wander wordless by the humming lake. 

Beside somnolent lake of whispered lies, 
where iridescent ghosts of long-dead ghosts 
appear from cracked stones of philosophy, 
he swells his heart with breath of honesty 
to fill the timeless void of everywhere 
with lonely wisdom of contingent faith. 

Awake on sea-borne boat of travesty, 
he sails toward somewhere he thinks might be home, 
though childhood meadows vanish in stark mist, 
and gazes deep in waters of the sea 
where shadows of his fears lurk urgently 
as snakes in features of his changeless face. 

Bound by soaring mountains and depthless seas, 
he feels powerless strength of swirling waves 
obstruct his journey to the Promised Land 
though he attends to labor of the heart 
with divine passion of the star-eyed snake 
who seems to know his weirdest memories. 

He is the boatman on wild tides of change, 
alone who wields the oar of guiding truth, 
asserting progress through his ship of state 
past Scylla and Charybdis of despair, 
heart wounded with pain his harsh actions caused, 
till he kneels and weeps on Ithaka shore. 

Zen Flash Of God-Eyes

Zen Flash Of God-Eyes
© Surazeus
2026 07 20

Neglected horror of our fractured world 
conceals strange beauty of the human heart 
with legendary myths of noble gods 
who play with loyal men in games of chess 
till they realize gods they worship are fake, 
no more than mortal men wearing gold masks. 

Vast wilderness of roundness sprawls awake 
inside glass jar of honest arrogance, 
corrupt with greed for loyal followers 
who praise the brave influencer of truth 
with glowing accolades for noble deeds 
attacking hostile keepers of the gate. 

Thick mist of sorrow shrouds stone streets of faith 
where marble temple stands three thousand years 
as haven for lost homeless travelers 
to seek deep wisdom on blank walls of fate, 
grand hall long empty but for wind and rain 
that nurture trees where ancient gods once ruled. 

Entranced by silver essence of the lake, 
I seek bright Zen of vacant nothingness 
within the seething network of my brain 
to free my heart from taut bonds of desire 
that bind wings of my soul with hungry hope 
to understand true nature of the world. 

Immortal wisdom of my mortal being, 
programmed by gene-god of my dreaming brain, 
tricks me to seek salvation of the heart 
in temple floating on high glowing clouds 
where angel-ghosts of people I once knew 
play harps forever in harmonious peace. 

Quiet manifestation of great truth 
appears in flash of light before my eyes 
so I draw power down from swirling clouds 
to writhe in tangled verse of sentences 
that map our journey to the Promised Land 
among ten thousand peaks of glowing eyes. 

Zen flash of god-eyes in my aching heart 
still urges me to follow signless trails 
through endless hills composed of angel skulls 
where I rest weary body of my soul 
in tholos veiled by swirls of apple blooms 
to meditate on how clear water flows. 

Ethereal calm of timeless mountain vale 
inspires my heart with weird sublimity 
while I sip apple cider brewed at dawn 
to meditate on nothingness of life 
the swells my true self huge as thunder clouds 
so I will dissipate in swirls of rain. 

Yet Flowers Still Blossom

Yet Flowers Still Blossom
© Surazeus
2026 07 20

Men fight each other to control the land, 
forming gangs who design weapons of death 
to battle over valleys of deep lakes 
and kill each other over groves of trees, 
building great empires that collapse from greed, 
and yet flowers still blossom from the Earth. 

Men erect walls of stone carved from hard cliffs 
and stand guard at the gates of paradise 
where tyrants proclaim themselves God of Truth 
to keep people obedient to their will 
whom they exploit as slaves to garnish wealth, 
and yet flowers still blossom from the Earth. 

Men dig minerals from caves deep in hills, 
enslaving men convicted of dire crimes 
to slave as the dead in underworld mines, 
extracting gold and jewels from dark gloom 
so kings in palaces wear crowns of power, 
and yet flowers still blossom from the Earth. 

Men abduct beautiful women from homes, 
so other men gather armies of boys 
who battle many years at walls of power, 
killing heroes who defend their homeland 
for they go mad when their weak pride is bruised, 
and yet flowers still blossom from the Earth. 

Men build armies from young orphaned boys, 
training them in hard camps for many years 
till they become elite warriors of pride 
who follow god on horse of divine right 
to invade and colonize distant lands, 
and yet flowers still blossom from the Earth. 

Men fly airplanes in clouds where old gods hide 
and drop bombs on sprawling cities of homes 
to kill millions of people, young and old, 
who cry out for justice to empty skies 
where God of their Fathers sits on fake throne, 
and yet flowers still blossom from the Earth. 

Men connive and plot to attain state power 
then declare their divine right to rule all, 
proclaiming themselves gods in human form, 
but they all grow old to wither and die, 
so other men fight to grasp fallen crowns, 
and yet flowers still blossom from the Earth. 

Men increase wealth with hard work of their hands 
to build safe home where their children grow strong 
who branch out to exploit treasure-rich lands, 
but Death always destroys body and soul 
so other people take the things we make, 
and yet flowers still blossom from the Earth. 

Welcome To My Home

Welcome To My Home
© Surazeus
2026 07 20

Dew drops on tips of grass at dawn gleam gold 
with eyes of angels who gaze in my soul 
with cosmic knowledge of the universe 
that knows the secret name of my Gene-God 
whose vision glows in network of my brain 
with divine consciousness of holy light. 

Toward marble building, built like a Greek temple 
as Athens federal savings and loan bank 
four years before I was born on this Earth, 
I stride at dawn from the parking garage 
to map water and sewer line networks 
that service every house in lush Oconia. 

Dream world of ancient social energy, 
created by sun spider of desire, 
shimmers as web of interactive nodes 
that link each person across our Great Land 
with electric lines on telephone poles 
as cyberspace that reflects our real world. 

While I want to conserve state of his world 
as it exists from centuries of work, 
I hope to develop through careful plans 
complex infrastructure of roads and buildings 
to better manage reproductive needs 
which secures safe space for humans to thrive. 

Outrage explodes in hearts of honest folk 
when greedy oligarchs in distant lands 
invade sovereign lands with gangs of armed boys 
who bomb buildings people built with their hands, 
and kill innocent people with blind hate 
so they can control treasures of rich hills. 

Bodies of families, parents and children, 
killed by bombs of swift planes and rumbling tanks, 
become the soil of Earth on which we walk 
to plant fruit trees in new Garden of Eden 
that flourishes from corpses of the dead 
where we gather to sing victorious hymns. 

Their tears gleam as dew drops on tips of grass 
where eyes of devils glare at me with hate 
so I craft Wand of Wisdom from fruit tree, 
pull Sword of Justice from meteor stone, 
and forge Rifle of Truth from polished steel, 
prepared to defend my land from invaders. 

Zeus tells me I should welcome to my home 
all travelers, pilgrims, and refugees 
as immigrants who seek new land to dwell 
safe from cruel tyrants in castles of power, 
so when Odysseus knocks at my door 
I share my feast to hear his journey tale. 

Fragile Boats Of Hope

Fragile Boats Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 07 19

The world river of life flows from my heart 
to fill abyss of fear with sea of love 
so we can sail our fragile boats of hope 
across the surging waves of honesty 
home from sacking towers of Ilium 
where trees of truth bloom from corpses of gods. 

The graceful goddess of my consciousness, 
who glides among fruit trees on the broad shore, 
stoops low to scoop with dipper of her heart 
memories humans relinquish in cold tears 
to quench her thirst for feelings we discard 
which swells her heart with love for every soul. 

The full moon floats in branches of tall trees, 
exposed to conscious gaze of my bruised heart 
while blazing with azure uncanniness 
as sacred treasure every human shares, 
while restless ocean waves of ancient hopes 
leave fragments of our dreams on silent beach. 

The psychic refuge of my broken dreams 
blurs pungent feeling from my stage of being 
so wordless thoughts of innocent desire 
ripple silver stipples across my mind 
as eyes through adequate obscurity 
because I suffer sea change in my heart. 

Because that is not what I mean at all, 
I might be missing whatever I am, 
so I declare with certainty of faith 
that I am nobody, and so are you, 
escaping one-eyed monster of despair, 
since now I am not what I am, I think. 

Incompetent to speak of who I am, 
alone in space of timeless solitude, 
I fashion new persona mask to wear 
so I become the person I would be, 
bold shadow slithering swift across the ground 
which measures fragile fullness of my being. 

Each moment I am real in flesh of time 
flares up as match of psychic energy 
transforming me from fish to singing god 
defined by whorl of flashing water flow 
that vibrates at thunderous crack of faith 
from storm cloud rumbling over mountain peaks. 

I rise from Stygian pool of wounded hearts 
when I compose coherent narrative 
from ensemble of social anecdotes, 
recording heroic deeds of dead men 
who programmed how our brains perceive the world 
as forms of atoms molded from ideas. 

Gothic Armor Of My Heart

Gothic Armor Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2026 07 19

Still alive on land ripe with certainties, 
I draw dividing line of innocence 
straight between reason and insanity 
so can I taste truth through infinity 
and stop where calm wind erases despair 
to convert guilt into hope without luck. 

Removing gothic armor of my heart, 
as grim prizefighter wounded by the word 
my grandmother speaks outside prophecy, 
I weed old Garden of Gethsemane 
where skulls of prophets sing without dream code 
that guides my way through epochs of world power. 

No shallow mercies of the castle court 
reveal source of iron in stringent caves 
where demons no longer haunt dreams of seers, 
so I design new theme for Wonderland 
that might attract the summer tourist crowd 
who love to watch Death judge the deeds of fools. 

Entranced by weird Saronic blue of time 
that shimmers on the timeless sea of truth, 
I wander somewhere in Arcadia 
beyond fictional framework of the map 
along the signless road of nowhere else 
to dwell in mountain temple of dead gods. 

Soft cries of owls in woods of harmony 
expose electric glow of urgency 
that leads us to small mountain pool of stars 
where Pythagoras counts infinity 
contained in measurement of simple words 
programmed as formulas we code from fear. 

Smoke from my humble hearth of fantasy 
towers in luminous ghost of respect 
so I stand small and frail on river shore 
engulfed by grand immensity of time 
that wraps my heart with ancient ardency, 
filled with conscious mind of divinity. 

Strange darkness of the boundless night contrives 
to swell my heart with love for the sublime 
that gleams with pristine beauty of our words 
when we exchange solemn vows of true love, 
then return to our tower of romance 
before lightning strike shatters our world view. 

Though sunlit demons of faith animate 
our fragile bodies with unholy chime, 
we explore uncanny vales of liberty 
in line with ultimatum of soul fate 
which calculates how far we have to go 
to build foundation of our global state. 

Taste Sorrow Of The Moon

Taste Sorrow Of The Moon
© Surazeus
2026 07 18

If I stand outside in hot evening rain 
I can almost taste sorrow of the moon 
sweet as honey on peanut-buttered toast, 
but when gods of ancient societies 
arrive with tablets and bottles of wine, 
we dance all night to celebrate true love. 

I hear soft voice of sorrow in gray mist 
when young Theneva, pregnant with disgrace, 
arrives on boat of wisdom on my shore, 
so I give shelter to the wounded girl 
whose father hurled her from cliff of despair 
then cast her adrift on indifferent seas. 

How far across the swirling sea of hope 
must I sail bravely in frail ship of faith 
to find lost homeland of lush Ithaca 
where prim Penelope in ribboned gown 
weaves tapestry depicting noble deeds 
of warriors fighting for security. 

All questions about nature of this world 
have compiled code of wisdom in fraught verse 
recording ancient wisdom of wise fools 
who proffered answers about how things are, 
so I lounge mindlessly on my back porch, 
plucking rusty strings on my old guitar. 

Though Achilles, gone mad with grief of loss, 
destroyed the city full of families 
to rescue Helen from towers of love, 
Odysseus sailed against obsessive hate 
past obstacles of fear and bitter pride 
to restore the city where his wife rules. 

With baskets on arms of companionship, 
we gather strawberries, mushrooms, and eggs, 
along with lavender and eglantine, 
from sun-drenched meadows of sweet innocence, 
till we find Theneva wounded on grass, 
so we bear her to cave of healing care. 

Now that I know name of that faceless ghost 
who haunts my backyard after the sun sets, 
I translate voice of thunder in wild rain 
to analyze state of the human mind 
processing global conflicts with old myths 
that celebrate the hero who goes home. 

Though we seem lost in rugged hills of mist, 
wise Wotadinus raises wand of truth 
and calls our names so we may follow close 
attentive journey of his earnest quest 
to build safe home with walls of honest stone 
where sweet Theneva may tend apple trees. 

No Face To Mask My Soul

No Face To Mask My Soul
© Surazeus
2026 07 18

I sit down with the natural sight of gain, 
against simple tones of exploding trees 
eager for commitment, since my eyes move 
with twirling planets of lackluster faith, 
if wings of peaches flutter with the clock 
heavier than fake sorrow rendered mute. 

Discerned adjustment of extensive space 
between faces of strangers on the street 
too important to sell, with radiant smiles, 
sounds of silence through mediocrity, 
if thoughts stumble blind into broken doors 
locked against hungry refugees of war. 

Gentility confined to edge of cliffs, 
unaccountable to agents of truth, 
hangs by crude rotation without new pens 
to calculate how soon death comes for us, 
if distance entrances hearts of believers 
stuck on the train that will never arrive. 

Not for all the wine of anywhere else 
will I go to Heaven on the glass hill 
because I want to buy your love with pearls 
as sign of holy sentiment I feel, 
if love stops emerging from wounded hearts, 
for how blue the sky always seems to be. 

As body with no face to mask my soul 
I walk the invisible beach of faith 
without sand in the story with no plot 
except when I agree without good terms, 
if angels have no alabaster wings, 
to sail the sea without the boat of skulls. 

Though death infers logical sense of fear, 
I persist without intention to build 
new house that is no home on signless road 
despite how love should act beyond the phase, 
if fate adorns aversion with false hope, 
from which is born cause of obscurity. 

He says he sees my picture on the wall 
in railway station underneath the church 
where zombies worship vampire as their god 
who plays disc jockey on the radio, 
if we are amazed by obvious things, 
broadcasting revolution in hip code. 

Still shored against grim ruins of the past, 
that buzzes facts of history in my brain, 
I deign to anticipate, with sly jokes, 
collapse of our empire just before lunch, 
if we share power to operate fate, 
because the end of the world is postponed. 

How Quiet Blueness Knows

How Quiet Blueness Knows
© Surazeus
2026 07 18

With startled eyes on quivering twine of truth 
I cast my longing in vast sea of dreams 
but I catch nothing more than devil-gods 
who think they are brave rulers of the world, 
so I lurk in strange shadows of the mind 
to multiply my soul as wordless books. 

I walk on shifting sands of honesty 
to prove I know the secret name of God 
who floods parched land of hope with bitter tears 
where we drown laughing in sorrow we sold 
so we can buy gold castle of the clouds 
designed by children in library rooms. 

Awake on blackberry lane without fear, 
I gather fragments of ghosts from burned books 
to plaster them in beehive of delight, 
concerned for lesser platitude of light 
contained in boxes stacked with silent thought 
despite how quiet blueness knows our names. 

Because I open wide my quiet voice 
with long contrition of excessive hope, 
I blindly wander green fields of dismay 
in search for ordinary time alone 
because I need new battery for my heart 
to understand what strangers want to say. 

No road is straight enough to follow home, 
though they extend beyond hills of esteem 
with proverb I should overcome my fear 
for loss of people I try not to love 
because they disappear in swirling fog 
each time I call their name at stubborn dawn. 

Across bleak moorland to gray city streets 
I follow twisted signs of pulchritude 
on mission to repair bridge of disgrace 
with fractured concepts of seasonal wealth 
derived from sales of flowers to the dead 
before lamps flash while swinging in rain wind. 

Another harried age of our weird world 
returns with summer glow of hungry leaves 
refracting rainbow demons through our hearts 
so we hear spiders sing with ruthless love, 
undone by beauty of her maskless face 
without exception of uncertain truth. 

Through hedonistic wholeness we aspire 
to float on sprawling silence of god eyes, 
based on the stark indifference of grace 
that splits unsteady happiness with smiles 
while we walk endless trail of dire renown 
to channel typhoon winds with humble hymns. 

Art Of Losing Things

Art Of Losing Things
© Surazeus
2026 07 18

Almost unseen in the hot summer sun, 
the faceless ghost who haunts my large back yard 
watches me with ancient eyes of regret, 
but when I approach her in soundless glow 
of heatwaves shimmering over dry grass 
she vanishes into ache of my heart. 

Just as I almost forget she is real, 
she reappears from shadow of desire 
to show me tremendous fish of her heart 
that she caught from deep lake of innocence, 
speckled with lime rosettes of secret code, 
which pulses with rainbow of rented truth. 

With eyes that glare at long-dead stars of faith, 
she tells me I should master with intent 
the art of losing things I value most, 
so I spend hours searching for dream keys 
that I am sure I left beside the door, 
while she stares weeping at her broken watch. 

I write her story in my book of tales 
with golden blood of angels as my ink, 
but every morning when I look again 
the words have vanished into beams of light 
cast by the midday sun through web of limbs 
from trees that seem to understand her heart. 

Her life must be disaster of desire, 
strange drama never seen on stage of fame, 
because she walks along the winding flow 
of red Scamander River on the plain 
below the hill where towers of Ilium 
crumbled into words of lost epic poems. 

While I sip ginger tea on the back porch, 
idly plucking strings of my broken lyre, 
she grips my arm with weird beatific smile, 
and tells me this day when the tyrant falls 
is the most beautiful day of the year 
but tomorrow we must get back to work. 

Because I think I hear the forest elf 
whistle as she dances on moonlit grass, 
I feel my heart drawn taut as silver string 
that twangs with wordless voices of the land 
where star-eyed owls of Nowhere Land keep watch 
over ghost-crowded streets of paradise. 

Eyes half-closed against the bright summer sun, 
that shimmers gold in canopies of trees, 
I hear eerie song of the faceless ghost 
whose sweet mercurial voice of secret love 
reveals the presence of Athena near, 
because I am the sorrow of her tear. 

Graves Of The Nameless Dead

Graves Of The Nameless Dead
© Surazeus
2026 07 17

Awake in ghost-glow of the city maze 
that sprawls across vast plain of anguished wind 
where turgid swamps once festered amid palms, 
I walk along the endless lamplit roads 
past thousand churches with harsh clanging bells 
where frightened people pray to stick of wood. 

When I slouch despondently by the sea, 
the mad-eyed Fletcher from dark mountain woods 
points to the trembling topaz of his heart 
which I mistake to be the Evening Star, 
so I return to cave of humming ghosts 
where diamonds glow with light of the First Flash. 

Orpheus wanders with his broken lyre 
through choking shadows of the underworld 
because no faceless ghost with wavering voice 
follows his untuned melody of faith 
in vain attempt to escape numbing fear 
that we return to mute flame of our birth. 

I trust dire vision of Orpheus more 
than deceptive lie of the afterlife 
that Paulus preached by the tomb of Platon 
because our bodies cannot resurrect 
from organ-crushing nothingness of death, 
nor do our souls linger mute in dark Hell. 

Though I descend to grim Plutonian caves, 
where Orcus whips chained slaves to mine more gold, 
I find no spectral spirits of the dead 
for they are living men enslaved by greed 
who toil in Underworld where treasures bleed 
tears of despair from men who long to die. 

Two souls of immortal transciency meet 
in circle of firm flesh on jagged hill 
to weave taut threads of spirit-binding genes 
that sparks divine soul of immortal hope 
with words of truth unheard in human speech 
which flare forth flame of faith in dreaming eyes. 

Though stars that flicker with beautiful gleam 
burned out to lightless spheres of spinning gas 
millions of years ago in swirl of time, 
their rays of hope appear in our night skies 
with surge of blood-tides in our mortal hearts 
so we express our faith in solemn hymns. 

Orpheus strums the lyre of Mercury 
and sings about the lonely odyssey 
of wily men who learn through suffering 
to honor sacred pale of every home 
by offering shelter to lost refugees 
who build homes on graves of the nameless dead. 

Weird Alphabet Code

Weird Alphabet Code
© Surazeus
2026 07 17

Diurnal factor of the holy mind 
recalculates process of vital faith 
that resurrects from rancid vibrancy 
new state of mind based on theory of play 
through which my hungry heart recalibrates 
sacred path I blaze to avoid world fame. 

The multiverse represents all the worlds 
our brains can imagine as possible, 
but they all emanate through fantasy 
from this real universe in which we live, 
so we must see this world as it exists, 
messy confluence of willful desires. 

Strange wisdom of the rising sun requires 
focused attention of the filtered mind 
to assemble random facts about life 
in ever-shifting puzzle of half-truths 
as kaleidoscopic lens of desire 
through which we perceive what we want to see. 

Disguised as old woman in flower dress 
who has taught grade-school children forty years, 
Seraphus reveals weird alphabet code 
composing words in sentences of hope 
which frames reality of swirling atoms 
in mental paradigm of social truths. 

When I see white horse gallop on grass plain 
with gusts of wind that cause tall trees to swirl, 
I track how my brain processes this scene 
as linguistic function of formal ideas 
to signify objects with qualities 
that describe actions they perform in time. 

Though my brain places label on its form 
describing how the white horse swiftly runs, 
I note how static word fails to present 
swirling complexity of active life, 
yet focuses attention of my mind 
on how to visualize its vibe with verse. 

Quotidian process of analog thoughts 
weaves concepts in digital images 
through frantic analysis based on vibes 
that produce grand portrait of human brains 
tangled with random memories of pain 
which motivates our need to invent truth. 

Expansive scope of beautiful conceptions 
encloses complex forces in whole swirl 
framed by accelerating sphere of fate 
that generates our bodies from coiled genes 
powered by electric soul of the brain 
which animates our minds with flash of love. 

Desolate Texas Highway

Desolate Texas Highway
© Surazeus
2026 07 16

Cold wind howls on desolate Texas highway 
where Darlene trudges to end of the world 
after running away from house of sorrow 
where her cruel step-father stumbles home drunk 
and beats her mother to steal all her money 
she earns working as a waitress all night. 

Death walks beside her on dark Texas highway 
but Darlene ignores his demonic eyes 
and sneers at thunder that cracks walls of Heaven 
by twisting rainbows into tangled knots 
to calculate process of righteous anger 
that guides her journey across the waste land. 

Black van stops on the naked Texas highway 
so Darlene runs into the howling wind 
but three men drag her to the hotel prison 
where old businessmen and youth pastors pay 
with coins of despair forged from bitter laughter 
to treat her like their sad wives they despise. 

Running nowhere on the bruised Texas highway 
after Darlene shoots mean pimp in the head, 
she stumbles barefoot in the marble palace 
where graceful ghosts worship Helen of Troy 
who tries to hide inside the golden idol 
to escape death from domestic abuse. 

When we meet on the dusty Texas highway 
Darlene gives me cracked mask of Lucifer 
so I play noble role of tyrant-slayer 
in revolution for justice and truth 
till she gets trapped in Tower of Rapunzel 
as popstar who sings on the stage of fame. 

Ghost horse in drizzle on gray Texas highway 
guides Darlene home to the small country town 
where Vulcan works as car engine mechanic 
who plays indie folk in the smokey bar 
with mercurial voice of sincere compassion 
for children killed in genocidal wars. 

Hitchhiking west on the lone Texas highway, 
Darlene considers secret of the moon 
that shimmers in silver lake of discretion 
with arcane formulas of moral code 
to program how our brains perceive the world 
as ever-shifting puzzle of tall tales. 

Devils dance on deserted Texas highway 
though Darlene unravels clock of her mind 
transformed from concept of the loyal turtle 
where the blind read lost books of tragic tales 
designed to hypnotize objective people 
with bright fantasy of the Afterlife. 

Mystery Of Musical Tunes

Mystery Of Musical Tunes
© Surazeus
2026 07 16

Though my brain oscillates with frantic hope 
that justice triumphs over tyranny, 
I wander blithely balanced just enough 
to eat hamburger at the Globe cafe 
and ponder mystery of musical tunes 
that cause the mind to hum in harmony. 

This hour of sudden weirdness, still unknown, 
becomes my destiny by lazy choice 
so I gaze far down hazy road of hope 
to see what strange opinions I should hold 
implicit in surroundings of bare hills 
which I map to analyze fantasy. 

Since I have no inherent legal right 
to be myself with mask of Lucifer, 
I decide to film events of my life 
as if my deeds are dramatic enough 
to compose grand epic of daily needs 
because time suits my passion to pretend. 

This disassembled puzzle of my soul 
might be composed of random sentences 
discarded by the wizard in gray suit 
who talks about the boring things of life 
without hook of the brutal question mark 
that snags blind demon from my hungry heart. 

Becoming more what I have never been, 
I eat last grain of curiosity 
to build new empire on productive farms 
because I gain from suffering I endure 
bright with sheen of forgotten memories 
that angels sell to devils in tool stores. 

Calm thunderstorm over the Texas plain 
reminds me that my spirit image fits 
well in social network of fancy games 
contrived by religious authorities 
based on deduction of justified theft 
in space cleared by arrival of desire. 

My brain projects virtual model of Earth 
on walls of the church where everyone prays 
for one king to rule nations of the world 
with secretions of the demonized heart 
healed by the humorous savior who knows 
how rapturous clouds appear in my skull. 

Since everyone knows truth becomes the hole 
in which our bodies writhe with pulsing words, 
we walk hand in hand on the garden path 
where blood-stained flowers bloom from corpse of God 
to climb the tower of water with pride 
since justice triumphs over tyranny. 

Backward My Dream Mind

Backward My Dream Mind
© Surazeus
2026 07 16

Backward my dream mind, vast as mountain vale, 
wild gushing waters of hope overtake, 
so on winged horse of innocent respect 
I travel abreast with Nature afar 
to comprehend strange music of her form 
that vibrates with psychic music of love. 

Forward with tattered pirate map of hope, 
remnants of friends in buried treasure chests, 
I search for in abandoned yards of dreams 
whose world of secrets I abandoned, lost 
by walking signless road of nowhere else 
till I find something lodged inside my heart. 

How many jagged mountains of desire 
I wonder wait for my mind to explore 
secret caves of cold fire, blue as dawn ice, 
where I would lay my body down to die 
still as sharp ache of hope that stabs my heart 
with eager passion to drink moon-bleak tears. 

Waves of the ocean reach for my soft heart 
with hunger to devour soul energy 
pulsing through blood veins with new strategies 
to outmaneuver thieves in business suits, 
because they sell cliffs to the gullible 
as suitable fields to cultivate crops. 

Another friend returns with stolen gems 
from naked underworld of honesty 
because he knows how to unpuzzle truth 
concealed in alabaster jar of oil 
rancid with secret desires of true love 
for beauty embodied in sculptured mask. 

My fake voice lingers in dim emptiness 
with shocking melody of bitterness 
sweetened by tumultuous ardency 
to sing with resonant silence of truth 
that cracks foundations of world empires 
so our faces become square as glass books. 

No wandering gypsy of the river woods 
dares curse my heart with unrequited love 
which I package with plastic dolls of fear 
for sale to discrete tyrants of concern 
though some prefer fake gratitude of fruit 
rotten with spices of arrogant faith. 

Marvelous thoughts trapped in fairy-tale books 
encourage me to question noble laws 
contrived to rig the social game of power 
in favor of the privileged elite 
who bury treasures outside paradise 
so I leave secrets hidden in the heart. 

White Horse In The Stone

White Horse In The Stone
© Surazeus
2026 07 15

The way we dance about the broken tree 
of knowledge, where three angels gamble souls 
against electric solitude of fate, 
reveals conceptual jaggedness of fear 
by which we prove our noble manliness 
with psychic levels of testosterone. 

Trapped in grim ritual of the shopping spree 
to buy masks and costumes for our new roles, 
I scrub our television screens of hate 
on holy mission from the Puppeteer 
who questions origin of happiness 
invented by the white horse in the stone. 

The way we gather at the flash of  dawn 
in ring of stones, that angels call Stonehenge, 
to sing electric hymn of shocking truth, 
inspires the eyeless aliens from Zar 
to teach us humans how to colonize 
the waste land with water pipes of desire. 

In every life I always play the pawn 
trained by Minerva to unpeel the orange 
as heartfelt gift to world messiah sleuth 
who rules United States of Zathamar 
through hidden network of innocent spies 
who sing about Orpheus in the choir. 

The way we weep with anguish of respect 
for people who die unfairly each day, 
because our souls dwell in no afterlife, 
exposes fraud of preachers who declare 
our wounded bodies will rise from the dead 
because our brains pulse with ancestral ghosts. 

Unnerved by riddles of the brain defect 
which fool me into thinking I must pray 
with plan to learn lessons from mental strife, 
I emerge dripping from swamp of despair 
to parade with jeweled crown on my head 
on global stage where I play Lord of Hosts. 

The way we type our thoughts in fractured verse 
in vain attempt to describe what is real, 
contrary to lies of religious creeds, 
expands scope of my conscious sense of self 
beyond strict bounds of righteous lethargy 
based on canon law of the vampire god. 

Inspired to wear bright mask of Lucifer, 
designed by my mother with glass and steel, 
I study potent vibrancy of seeds 
that bloom from footsteps of the daring elf 
whose kiss sparks my heart with dream energy 
which helps me code the formula for fraud. 

If I Am Someone Else

If I Am Someone Else
© Surazeus
2026 07 15

Shocked by thought-executing fires of hope 
that mold rotundity of Earth from words 
stolen by ravens from dark river shores, 
I charge subscription of strange elements 
that crack calm confidence in mindless truth 
with earnest plan to assert dominance. 

Careless regression from pastoral states 
of mind, contrived by articles of faith, 
contracts expansive scope of innocence 
smaller than the measuring spoon of time 
by which I scoop conceptual nonchalance 
with vague obsession of planless progress. 

Time seems to readjust intense display 
of prowess I project with neutral stance 
where I determine, through unseen design, 
to stand my ground against unnatural force 
that cracks foundation of our social state 
so we fend for ourselves in silent woods. 

Perhaps one thousand years of waterfalls 
have now eroded jagged mountain peaks 
down to wind-rounded hills of smooth regret, 
dispersing spirit of the heart on silver lake 
where ghosts of snowflakes swirl in summer haze 
till they become cranes of adjacent charm. 

Though I have journeyed on the rugged trail 
through seasonal blasts of hostile intent, 
when I reach the door where my best friend dwells 
I pause to savor with intense respect 
urgent passion to travel, now fulfilled, 
then turn around and travel home again. 

Exhausted by attempts to reach the moon 
on tattered wings of hope Icarus lost, 
I stretch description of my faceless soul 
inert on throbbing surface of broken rocks, 
cluttered in seething globe of timeless change, 
till I wonder if I am someone else. 

Disassembled brain of dream-powered gears, 
that oscillates between time-tangling poles, 
programs itself to change how it perceives 
reality through weird framework of tales 
derived from fractured memories of ghosts 
who vehemently deny they are dead. 

Though I once ran swift as the long-maned horse 
along winding stream of advanced degrees, 
in courageous plan to transcend frail frame 
of passion-filtered reverence, my soul 
expends excessive energy of faith 
to evade fate that laughs with tender love. 

National Zoo Of Fame

National Zoo Of Fame
© Surazeus
2026 07 14

After I escape from prison of hope, 
and litter streets of fear with greedy thugs, 
I shall fly the rocket to outer space 
and live in my gold palace on the moon 
far away from the business office complex 
where the Swan of Tuonela waits for me. 

My faith links the fantasy of escape 
with brutal reality of confinement 
because I am the mute ape in your zoo 
who longs to live free in suburbia, 
in the three-bedroom ranch house by the lake 
with white sedan I drive to work each day. 

Though the signless road of my bold ambition 
grows dimmer every day I drive toward Heaven, 
in swirling smog where I can hardly see, 
I fight the devil with the silver star 
who laughs with shotgun of law in his hand 
because he knows I will never be free. 

Trapped within the National Zoo of Fame, 
by the senator who owns the gold mine 
on our land where my father tended wheat, 
my fierce rebellious lion-heart of faith 
is monitored by state psychiatrists 
who study mystery of the human mind. 

Exhibited in cage of my persona, 
I dwell in domestic structure of marriage, 
restricted by the law of give and take 
as I perform identity I stole 
by wearing suit and tie with polished shoes 
when I sit at desk of authority. 

I stare in mirror of my memories 
to wonder where my childhood vanished to 
in faded photographs of broken schools 
filled with faceless people who pray in church 
for savior of the world to rescue them 
from junkyard garden of the rotten tree. 

The photo of my war against the state, 
where I pose with long rifle on my hip 
while riding naked on my shadow horse, 
hangs on the wall of your suburban church 
to prove the wicked come to sorry ends 
as bullet-riddled corpses on dirt roads. 

My tragic flaw is I will seize the day 
despite the consequences actions cause 
when I design network of water pipes 
to provide social service of respect 
to every house in the factory town 
displayed in your National Zoo of Fame. 

Why Time Is Fake

Why Time Is Fake
© Surazeus
2026 07 13

Camilla considers why time is fake 
while floating in glass boat on the star lake, 
though wingless angels on the muddy shore 
keep disappearing through numberless door 
at sudden crack of bells that realigns 
statues of dead gods in conceptual lines. 

Staring at her face in the mirror gleam, 
Camilla thinks about joining the team 
of wingless angels to hunt criminals 
who abuse good people like animals, 
but three clocks on the vast cathedral wall 
unweave matrix of time in sad rainfall. 

Packing six paper bags of groceries 
while angels spiral through her ovaries, 
Camilla plans her clandestine escape 
from prison of her home in the dreamscape 
by switching money to her bank account 
with secret agent of the castle count. 

Bright headlights of the speeding car expose 
uncertain beauty of her private rose 
with flashing magnet of hypnotic trance 
through thought paralysis of her stiff stance 
at shock of horror that her husband steers 
car of bitter rage at her wordless fears. 

Crushed against her car at sudden impact 
of blunt aggression beyond legal fact, 
Camilla gasps in anguish of mute pain 
that sears through tattered fabric of the vain 
with mangled ardency of canceled hope 
untwisting order of her mental scope. 

Stunned awake beyond conscious state of fear 
at blurred flash of the unreachable near, 
Camilla writhes in buzzing blast of shock 
that sucks her spirit into the faceless rock 
where she becomes small seed of nothingness 
as swollen bulge on bridge of faithfulness. 

From open eyes of vast infinity, 
Camilla soars through sharp futility 
as wordless blood from gaping mouth of love 
gurgles desperately to express concern 
for safety of her daughter in the car 
whose eyes are fractured by the lonely star. 

While Camilla floats in the ambulance 
to gamble with death in fraught game of chance, 
police arrest her husband as he snarls 
with rage against disobedient girls, 
but the nurse pronounces moment of death 
when young mother explains why time is fake. 

Golden Hurt Of Knowingness

Golden Hurt Of Knowingness
© Surazeus
2026 07 13

While strumming broken lyre of Mercury, 
inspired by golden hurt of knowingness, 
I sing about the woman with nine hearts 
who founds world empire of Olympia 
which unites fractured nations of the world 
through Anglonesia of our eager hope. 

Eager to dance on the mirror-mind moon, 
inspired by golden hurt of knowingness, 
I open wounded heart of charity 
with selfless play through generosity 
to fund the private dream of every soul 
who builds garden of fruit in the waste land. 

Awake with passion for the common man, 
inspired by golden hurt of knowingness, 
I build safe home along the signless road 
for every human alive on this Earth 
to dwell in paradise of equal rights 
that gleams as fantasy in sun-bright clouds. 

While searching for the Holy Grail of love, 
inspired by golden hurt of knowingness, 
I gather geospatial data sets 
about every aspect of human life 
to map complex depiction of our world 
through detailed analysis of desire. 

While soaring on broad wings of Icarus, 
inspired by golden hurt of knowingness, 
I hunt vast city maze of broken idols 
for evil men who abuse and exploit 
other human beings for their selfish gain 
to free slaves of money from chains of hope. 

Alert to clever scams of corporate kings, 
inspired by golden hurt of knowingness, 
I track deceptive calls from telephones 
to huge fraud factories in jungle zones 
where job-seekers trapped in forced labor camps 
call us with offers too good to be true. 

Avid for grand agenda of the woke, 
inspired by golden hurt of knowingness, 
I gather abused victims of the world 
who fight as social justice warriors 
to defeat Midas and his gang of thieves 
who try to enslave us with credit debt. 

While wearing honest mask of Lucifer, 
inspired by golden hurt of knowingness, 
I follow Goddess of Justice and Truth 
who leads our holy war for liberty 
for every person living on this globe 
that spins forever in the godless void. 

Wonder At Beauty Of Life

Wonder At Beauty Of Life
© Surazeus
2026 07 12

Every road in the world leads to my home 
so I visit every home in the world 
and give my loneliness in ribboned book 
to every person in the world I meet 
who gives me their own version of my name 
that binds our hearts with brutal sense of hope. 

Startled by shining angel on the slope 
who offers me jeweled crown of world fame, 
I veil my spirit with mask of retreat 
to hide in small cave by the mourning brook, 
alert in shadow where my soul lies curled 
as curious fox hidden in pungent loam. 

Suspended between flashing poles of time, 
brief blaze of insight in my urgent heart 
reflects my soul in mirror pool of fate 
through transitory bloom of mental scheme 
contrived to wake my spirit from despair 
and teach me to accept seasonal change. 

Assertive purpose to extend my range 
on route to anywhere humans may care 
converts attention of my wordless dream 
to seek new occupation where I wait 
with curious breath that weaves expansive chart 
which heals my wounded heart with every chime. 

In dark uncertain hour before bright dawn 
at weird enchantment of familiar sight 
I meet the eerie presence of my faith 
in faceless stranger whom I know too well 
who asks if wonder at beauty of life 
inspires my heart to transcend fear of death. 

Fulfilled beast of my heart considers math 
that calculates inherent worth of strife 
to forge my soul from wisdom in harsh hell 
when I first name the transcendental wraith 
who teaches conscious potency of right 
that fuels my mission to unking the pawn. 

Since each beginning is another end 
that sparks my ostentatious quest for power 
I program vulgar passion to transform 
weak frame of wisdom in my wounded heart 
to bravery of the wolf who knows the way 
through timeless moments in bloom of the rose. 

When I arrive at place of my repose 
beneath the apple tree where devils pray, 
I build new gate from wheels of my dream cart 
since I am voice of every evening storm 
that rings in highest room of the ghost tower 
composed of faith that crumbles into sand. 

Secret Agent Of My Heart

Secret Agent Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2026 07 12

Because the secret agent of my heart 
is activated into combat mode 
when greedy devils of the corporate bank 
kidnap my precious daughter from safe haven, 
I transform into fierce angel of vengeance 
to harrow Hell and free blind slaves of money. 

When I was young, with tender heart of hope, 
I launched my new-built river boat of faith, 
encouraged by star-eyed ghost of my mother, 
and sailed bright river between tree-lush shores 
toward glorious palace of gold glowing clouds 
that gleams beyond horizon of desire. 

Yet bright illusion of my fantasy 
that shimmers with pleasures I long to taste 
lures me to city teeming with strange treasures 
that trick my hands to take what I desire 
with appetite for unreachable beauty 
till debt traps me as slave of hungry greed. 

Too many voices of seductive truth 
that echo with passion in city streets 
present bright fantasies of facile wealth 
through advertisements of brave services 
which offer easy solutions of power 
till I dispel them with assertive spell. 

Toward shining palace of celestial clouds 
I sail far from safe homeland of my heart 
but wander lost in maze of puzzling doors 
locked tight against dark thunderstorm of fear 
on mission to find daughter of my heart 
trapped somewhere in lush paradise of faith. 

I wander circles among market stalls 
amid chaotic turmoil of desire 
where people seeking treasures of the heart 
flow swift in patterns of rapacity 
till I lie dizzy in the field of skulls 
and call name of my daughter to the wind. 

Hands bleeding with rapacious hope for truth, 
I claw precious minerals from the Earth 
to mold material wealth of energy 
in forms of beauty that blind eager eyes 
with grandiose visions of national pride 
as hall of stone that stands ten thousand years. 

When I breach secure walls of paradise 
to find my daughter dancing by the pool, 
feet bound by golden chains of charity, 
I fight to free her soul from slavery, 
but wealth controls her power to create 
life from aggressive ambition of fate. 

Memories Of Dead Gods

Memories Of Dead Gods
© Surazeus
2026 07 12

When dawn sun opens mirror of my brain 
I reassemble framework of my face 
with fragments torn from memories of dead gods 
so I when I face the world at flash of fame 
my honest simpleness may shield my heart 
from slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. 

I get my eyes from Cronus and Saturnus 
so I may see heart of each human being 
that glows with secret passion they would hide 
when we exchange conceptual energy 
through tangled formula of sentences 
encoding sentiment in psychic code. 

I get my ears from Phoebus and Apollo 
so I may hear bright music of the spheres 
that radiates from first flash of the god eye 
when I translate weird song of ocean waves 
to pop songs blaring on the radio 
when everyone plays Sunday on the beach. 

I get my arms from Bacchus and Hephaestus 
so I may craft wave-leaping ship of fate 
from wood of trees I cut from Helicon 
when I sail seven seas on treasure quest 
to colonize the world with castle queens 
who rule cities at mouths of flowing rivers. 

I get my heart from Jupiter and Jesus 
so I may rule empire of pyramids 
controlling fields of wheat and herds of cows 
when I ride white horse on the hill of skulls 
to fight crocodiles in the steaming swamp, 
depicted as Saint George who slays the dragon. 

I get my brain from Athena and Hermes 
so I may envision in lines of verse 
deeds wise heroes perform as humble men 
who seek to understand nature of things 
as they develop through philosophy 
foundation of our world civilization. 

I get my tongue from Hera and Poseidon 
so I may sing enchanting spells of sight 
depicting complex nature of the heart 
which animates each human to explore 
expansive landscape of our spinning globe 
that generates our souls in pulsing brains. 

Though my frail mortal body is composed 
of fragments from grand deities of time, 
I pause from endless journey of my soul 
on signless road in waste land of despair 
and laugh at weird absurdity of life, 
then keep on searching for the Promised Land. 

Angelic Wings Of Fortitude

Angelic Wings Of Fortitude
© Surazeus
2026 07 11

What I experience is irrelevant 
to beauty of truth that shines as the sun 
which energizes atoms to compose 
fragile bodies that nourish dreaming brains 
awake with passion to taste fruit of hope 
that blooms from twisted anguish of tree limbs. 

Disconnected from valley of my birth, 
I walk on grass of exile without words 
to understand excessive flash of stones 
which ask what secret name I answer to 
by cooking bread from dough of fearless faith 
though wind blows ashes from my trembling hand. 

Trapped in dank prison of rebellious hope 
by chains of fear men forge from bitter hate, 
I spread angelic wings of fortitude 
to soar above vast maze of doorless homes 
but weep for people stuck inside despair 
till I fall back inside my fragile head. 

To escape that plausible state of grace 
against hostile attack of wingless fame, 
I transform into tortoise with steel bones, 
empowered by majestic haughtiness 
that I can fly on angel wings of faith 
to dwell in realm of changeless paradigms. 

My conscious sense of selfhood is programmed 
by all my fierce ancestors who have lived 
four hundred million years of desperate faith, 
therefore by now my brain imagines state 
of psychic power to transcend its frame 
alive beyond bounds of this mortal flesh. 

Deluded I can live outside my brain 
as faceless soul of timeless energy, 
I prance on rainbow bridge of innocence 
to organize delusions of my power 
in mural that depicts my divine myth 
which crumbles to dust of lost centuries. 

My soul that shimmers with light of the sun 
is chemical function of my sponge brain 
which animates fragile body of bones 
as vehicle I drive to procreate 
new body for my genes before I die 
since I will dissipate to wordless wind. 

Though I imagine I can fly with grace 
beyond bounds of my skull on wings of light, 
I always swirl back in shell of my skull 
and wake from nothingness of dreamless sleep 
to laugh with joy that I am still alive, 
surprised at beauty of this cluttered world. 

Snow-White God Butterfly

Snow-White God Butterfly
© Surazeus
2026 07 11

If I cast my bread in waters of hope, 
after selling devils ten thousand cars, 
I could buy descendant of Pegasus 
to fly above vast maze of city streets 
where people chase bright rainbow of respect 
till they vanish in television shows. 

With sharp knife of assertive innocence, 
I slice bread loaf of economic gain 
so every person in the world can eat 
as if food is the answer to despair, 
because the snow-white god butterfly knows 
secret passion of my casino heart. 

Though all gods humans worshipped in the past 
are nameless gusts of wind in sun-gold trees, 
I feel them ever present in my home 
for they haunt those who think about them most, 
small lights of hope in darkness of the world 
that guide my way in tangled woods of change. 

Ghost of my mother in her living room 
sits in the rocking chair of timeless truth, 
and knits another sweater of concern 
from huge ball of traumatic memories 
which she gives to homeless people downtown 
who wear them when they huddle in snow fall. 

Since the dream ghost of everyone decides 
to sell lamp of Diogenes to Thor, 
our bodies have become vessels of thought 
programmed to perform duties for the dream 
that hard work is rewarded with great wealth 
which we all share in our hypnotic trance. 

When Alfred the Great and Harald Fairhair 
play game of chess in Kronborg Castle court 
over who will wear the golden Crown of Thorns, 
Phoebus takes hand of Alof Gydhasdottir 
and sails with her to misty Isle of Skye 
where they fly his starship to Magrathea. 

Now that I know my whole ancestral tale, 
filled with men and women with starry eyes 
who attempted to build Heaven on Earth, 
I can relax on shore of River Styx 
and think of how to map world history 
that includes every soul who ever lived. 

After I work in the car factory, 
assembling engines from midnight till dawn, 
I hang out in meadow of dew-wet grass 
and listen to snow-white god butterfly 
describe how swerving atoms interact 
to conjure consciousness in dreaming brains. 

Fleeting Span Of Life

Fleeting Span Of Life
© Surazeus
2026 07 10

Though infinite flash days before my birth 
and infinite mire days I rot in Earth, 
I spend this fleeting span of life with you 
beside our lake of dreams that shimmers blue 
with dignity of love our bodies share 
as flames of energy that writhe in air. 

Though toil of hope our work-worn hands express 
proves vain as too-brief glow of happiness, 
we bind our hearts with contract to create 
calm hours of peace by star-lit lake of fate 
to savor pleasure of beauty that floats 
almost changeless as time-revealing boats. 

Though we have drifted far across the land 
on signless roads unmapped by human hand, 
we still are loath to linger in one place 
too long, since generosity of grace 
traps earnest travelers in paradise 
where hearts get twisted by corrupting vice. 

Though urgent passion to explore deep vales 
drives our souls forward into blasting gales, 
we like to dwell on sparkling river shore 
to bake sweet barley bread by open door, 
then drink tart wine in timeless twilight glow 
to watch wild sparrows fly with Zephyr flow. 

Though we would like to journey to the star 
that lures our careless hearts to reach too far, 
we will one day lie down on nursing grass 
and sing without regret as our souls pass, 
so, nameless Traveler, stop by this mound 
where we are buried in the hungry ground. 

Though you have far to go before bright sun 
sets blazing on wild hills where swift deer run, 
sit on this mound where our old bodies lie 
and listen to proud evening crickets cry 
mournful elegies for each conscious being 
who lived and died in shadow of the wing. 

Though I have vanished from long dream of Earth 
as if my divine spirit beamed no worth, 
my dreams recorded in riddles of verse 
radiate as light across the universe 
so yet-born children on this same lake shore 
will hear my voice sing long-forgotten lore. 

Though I stroll staffless down this endless road 
on mission to pay Hades what I owed, 
still hearty as I wither from old age, 
my children play lyre of Phoebus on the stage 
while slow Acheron bears my glowing soul 
to Elysium after I play my role. 

Integration Of God Eggs

Integration Of God Eggs
© Surazeus
2026 07 10

Still tracing blood in final truth of bone, 
cracked by assertive thoughts none dare express, 
I enter our remote tower in air 
where silver wisher of the humble Clerk 
recalls swift flight of hawks at dawn of fate 
which casts strange shadow on the broken gate. 

Unsure if spools of time may detox fear, 
when curious fish in tunnels of green seas 
teach me to wrestle fate in wordless gloom, 
I scatter remnants of my wicked dreams 
on sparkling sands of arrogant dismay 
to prove my heart intends to offer hope. 

Indifferent to souls of children that flit 
on sparrow wings of urgent confidence 
between vast strangeness of borderless hills, 
I wander down the forest path of hope 
and open wide my arms to embrace love, 
but you disapparate from barren fields. 

If we should meet again at starless flash 
safe within crumbling palaces of bone, 
we may exchange insightful tales of fate 
to resurrect blind demons from our hearts 
and banish them with laughter to the moon 
at sudden comprehension of torn wings. 

We wait together on the river shore 
to be seen by God in gold cloud of fate, 
but children scatter far across the hills 
which leaves us half-asleep in dreamless heat 
at shocking quickness of the dancing tree 
that hides our sorrow in shadow of eyes. 

Our debt to integration of god eggs 
remains unpaid from countless spins of fear, 
bedazzled by ambiguous ambience 
that we experience in unwindowed room 
where martyred ghosts of honeysuckle twist 
our minds with laughter beyond countless years. 

Each clue I leave on meadow of glass skulls 
blinds your electric eyes with clever code 
so you attempt to sell your wounded heart 
entwined with reason of innocent vines 
if we escape taut mesh of tangled lies 
contained by hideous roar of knelling words. 

Though still unwept by dangerous regret, 
sweet Stella gives me dignity of trust 
which I record in seventh testament 
at dazed solemnity of honest men 
whose shadows sterilize valleys of ghosts, 
fluent with forced fragility of faith. 

Misty Vales Of Caledonia

Misty Vales Of Caledonia
© Surazeus
2026 07 10

Through misty vales of Caledonia 
with lamp of Diogenes on my hand, 
I search for the dream ghost of everywhere 
who seems to know the secret of my name, 
because I hear her voice in tangled woods 
sing heart-enchanting melody of love. 

In shadowed woods of Caledonia 
with sharp spear of Longinus in my hand, 
I find Carline, daughter of Hecate, 
brewing cauldron of honey mushroom wine 
so I offer apples from Tree of Truth 
to star-eyed Nicnevan with long black hair. 

On jagged hills of Caledonia 
with blunt Hammer of Thor in my hand, 
I build stone towers as havens of faith 
where daughters of Scathach may dwell in peace 
to raise brave children of their aching hearts 
who map the world with hard feet of desire. 

From rugged shores of Caledonia 
with billowed sails of curiosity, 
I sail wood ship on flashing waves of hope 
along Black River of Goddess Danu 
who leads her people to the Promised Land 
to live safe from the swords of hungry greed. 

Up winding trails of Caledonia 
with Wand of Zambor to steady my gait, 
I climb fairy hill of Sith Chailleann 
where winds of wisdom swirling flakes of snow 
speak with voices my ancestors expressed 
about strange history of humanity. 

By sparkling lakes of Caledonia 
with eye-phone linking to the world wide web, 
I film deep waters of placid Loch Ness 
in hope to see lithe monster of God Mind 
that lurks in lightless abyss of my heart 
with arcane knowledge of all human fate. 

Down secret caves of Caledonia 
with flashlight that illuminates the mind, 
I find skulls of demonic dinosaurs, 
who roamed the world millions of years ago 
before we evolved to angels from mice, 
to record riddles of their prophecies. 

Across lush fields of Caledonia 
with horse of courage swift as morning wind, 
I confront the dream ghost of everywhere 
who shows me how history will unfold 
through revelation of messiah sleuth 
whose spirit wakes in hearts of all mankind. 

Official Mask Of Fate

Official Mask Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 07 09

Stuck in the painting of my faceless ghost, 
that hangs on sun-bleached wall of bloodless wind 
in empty house somewhere on signless road 
where no one ever goes to find their heart, 
I pretend I am cold light of the moon 
as I float deep in water of my mind. 

Awake in timeless silence of undeath, 
I love to feel soft undulating waves 
that people speak caress my tingling skin 
so I almost remember secret name 
my mother dreamed one hour before my birth 
which gleams as sunlight in web of tree limbs. 

While sitting in my house on somewhere street, 
with wife and children in their private rooms, 
I hear ten million voices whisper poems 
that pulse with energy of my heartbeat 
in global choir of angels who express 
ache of sorrow to design happiness. 

Your secret hopes and fears echo in words 
you write in posts on social media sites 
that shimmer in great cloud of divine lights 
translating human thoughts from tweets of birds 
that blend in raucous harmony of hope 
with desperate need to help each other cope. 

Though I gaze in pool where Narcissus drowned, 
I see your faces blend in my one face 
for we are angels of one human race 
born from First Mother whose whole heart is crowned 
with jeweled ring of wisdom we all share 
in coil of genes that weaves our souls with care. 

Though I hear all your voices echo clear 
in woods where Echo plays the violin, 
that radiates vibes of mental medicine, 
I sing in syncopated rhyme of cheer 
that cracks enormous egg of dragon brain 
which nourishes my heart to soothe its pain. 

Bloomed in the painting of my faceless ghost 
which I wear as official mask of fate, 
I attend the Global Conference of Seers 
at University of Zarathia 
to present panel on star prophecies 
composed by Sibyl in the Vatican. 

All weird illusions of my special role 
dissipate to mist on shore of the lake 
where words of every poem that humans write 
sparkle as water of silent respect 
on which I row my boat of fantasy 
to photograph proud monster of the deep. 

Justice For Every Soul

Justice For Every Soul
© Surazeus
2026 07 08

You are happy to find the broken moon 
in pool of rain outside abandoned house 
where your grandmother grills demonic fish 
with miso soup and noodles of frog brains, 
so you pretend to own your happiness 
when you stand on the porch and wonder why. 

On the way back to the last town on Earth, 
where children live in television screens, 
we stop at diner by the factory, 
where your grandfather made Volkswagen cars, 
and eat hamburgers from dinosaur meat 
while watching soccer on the frazzled wall. 

You are not scared of spiders in your eyes 
for they refract conceptual dreams of gods 
to prove we still know how to make the fire 
from ancient books of lies that preachers sell 
because you talk to pigs about the law 
that requires we donate more than we steal. 

Time unwinds laughter you hide in fake books 
because you watch the science fiction show 
about the captain and his ship of fools 
who must contend with demigods and ghouls 
when darkness of autumn evening descends 
on city of ten thousand screaming trains. 

You stare at face of your first teddy bear 
and ask him why he wants to climb the pole 
where savior of the world hangs crucified 
as if he whispers secrets of your heart 
that unwrite centuries of holy writ 
despite how you cook omelets at dawn. 

You sit three thousand years in attic room, 
peeling oranges for refugees of war 
who appear and disappear in your ken 
till singers gather on the castle lawn 
in calm rebellion of the broken heart 
because you want justice for every soul. 

You hear about your father on the news 
shot dead by agents of the government 
while he was driving to work building homes, 
and when you hear his voice on video 
cry for help as he bleeds on the hot road 
you transform into white horse in the egg. 

You walk alone on ocean shore of fate 
and ask the mindless wind why men must hate 
people who just want to live their own way, 
then you turn around and point at my mask, 
but I have become you inside your head 
so you map world where angels fear to tread. 

Endless Road Of Certainty

Endless Road Of Certainty
© Surazeus
2026 07 08

Too many ways to fall from the blank sky 
interrupt my game of fun chess with Death 
on the beach where children play hide and seek 
to understand how televisions work 
when unseen signals vibrate through the air 
in psychic waves of interactive dreams. 

Too fast for fierce human eyes to detect, 
ghosts flit around our bodies of frail flesh 
on wings of words derived from psychic trash 
and weave with riddle code of honesty 
addictive webs of enervating thoughts 
constraining choices of fate we compose. 

Too far down endless road of certainty 
I wander far beyond necessity 
with ardent faith in what was never real 
till I stand stunned on high edge of the world 
to stare at silver flux of secrecy 
discerned by thoughtless minds of decency. 

Too late for me to address you by name, 
I look for you in every empty room 
because I want to understand your heart 
and what strange passion of hidden desire 
motivates you attempt to stall death 
though we all will die and return to dust. 

Too soon for Jesus to return again 
from Heaven that persists inside our brains 
as Realm of Ideas that never change, 
eternal forms of objects I perceive 
provide blueprint for atoms to compose 
seething bodies from hot energy waves. 

Too close to source of psychic vibrancy, 
I twirl in graceful glide of urgency 
to generate new life before I die 
since I have been reborn since dawn of time 
from coil of genes in writhing mental vine 
which makes me feel immortal as the stars. 

Too slow for fate to allocate my rights 
with flexible modes of contingency, 
Death waits for me far down the signless road 
so I stroll calmly along winding streams 
and scatter fruit seeds of fertility 
across the waste land of my solitude. 

Too few alternatives for rising up 
from thick rotundity of our vast world, 
I feel all-shaking thunder of desire 
swell molds of nature with intense concern 
to flush my heart with gratefulness at life 
when storms forge courage in my cautious heart. 

Safe In The Sad Forever

Safe In The Sad Forever
© Surazeus
2026 07 07

Safe in the sad forever of my heart, 
I take solace with arrogant respect 
that all living creatures move toward their end, 
because at final rush of victory 
beneath brilliant cross of flashing sunrays 
we know strange beauty of eternity. 

Safe in the sad forever of God Brain, 
I ride electric horse with rainbow wings 
in swirling chaos of perceptive plans 
to take my children to the river park 
where they play tag with fairies and kobolds 
that teach them secrets of eternal life. 

Safe in the sad forever of huge books, 
I play mad wizard to categorize 
the fantasy-industrial complex 
composed of spiritual cults that preserve 
arcane secrets of invisible seers 
who keep wise Sibyl locked in golden cage. 

Safe in the sad forever of fruit trees, 
I chat about philosophy of truth 
with rainbow serpent of the sorcerer 
who teaches me how to reanimate 
bodies of the dead with potion of faith 
brewed from honey and mushrooms with love. 

Safe in the sad forever of vast woods, 
I measure winding flow of mountain streams 
through brave analysis of legal rights 
concerning who asserts their privilege 
to play the broken lyre of Mercury 
preserved in museum of singing skulls. 

Safe in the sad forever of deep lakes, 
I program zeitgeist of the modern world 
in fractured narrative of fairytales 
describing placid life of cubicles 
as high achievement of the human race 
since evolving four hundred million years. 

Safe in the sad forever of glass church, 
I bend slant rays of alabaster keys 
to catch swift falcon of the history gyre 
who shows me how to bind the center core 
which holds all nations of the world by law 
united through bold rights of liberty. 

Safe in the sad forever of gold clouds, 
I write code for world spirit of the Earth 
at second coming of messiah sleuth 
who plays the broken lyre inside my heart 
with vexed assessment of lost centuries 
when I slouch toward Oregon to be born. 

Among The First To Wake

Among The First To Wake
© Surazeus
2026 07 07

Among the first to wake in dream of Earth, 
Enitha glides along lush river shore 
among pink primrose blooming softly sweet 
from gentle caress of her tender feet 
that leads her path to silent misty moor 
where luminous phantom gleams in her eyes. 

Strange butterfly of sorrow with gold eyes 
lands on large apple in broad tangled tree 
so shy Enitha reaches out her hand 
just as bright lightning flashes in black cloud 
so she breathes sudden gust of crackling wind 
when luminous phantom scatters black rain. 

When giant spider, larger than her hand, 
crawls up trunk of the broken apple tree, 
Enitha holds her trembling body still 
to watch how long legs weave thin silver web 
that shimmers with each gust of subtle wind 
as luminous phantom gleams in raindrops. 

Small herd of deer with large black eyes of faith, 
yet tense with skittish innocence of fear, 
assemble on shore of the sparkling stream 
to drink with cautious terror of desire 
but flee in shadow of the ancient woods 
when luminous phantom opens her eyes. 

Among the first to wake from dream of time, 
Enitha gazes long at sparkling stars 
that flicker in soft undulating waves 
with swirl of clouds lit gold by sudden moon 
that rises dripping from deep mountain lake 
since luminous phantom knows her true name. 

Elegant horse with long shimmering mane 
grazes on low hill slope among tall grass, 
so lithe Enitha hides in tall oak tree, 
afraid that graceful creature with black eyes 
may race away into the rainbow sky 
when luminous phantom offers her fruit. 

Stretching her arms after sitting five hours 
drawing panels for her graphic webtoon 
that features Enitha at dawn of time, 
Sakura wanders in slippers and pink robe 
to the kitchen where she drinks apple juice, 
yet luminous phantom floats in her mind. 

Watching cars glide on busy road below, 
Sakura ponders how her cute fantasy tale 
should progress that displays her character 
as fragile girl with cautious innocence 
who grows strong when she faces obstacles 
so luminous phantom blooms in her heart. 

Beams Of Psychometric Light

Beams Of Psychometric Light
© Surazeus
2026 07 06

Framed with perspective of my curious heart 
to comprehend through formulas of thought 
atomic nature of our universe, 
Earth shines with beauty of its messiness 
that undulates in teeming mass of coils 
which spring as beams of psychometric light. 

Sun Spider Goddess, bright Solaria, 
weaves our planet from beams of flashing light 
which nurtures our organic body form 
animated by spirit in our brain 
that conjures virtual model of the world 
designed by ideas of words we speak. 

Earth Angel Goddess, brave Telluria, 
molds our body from assertive lust 
so we evolve four hundred million years 
from fish to newt to mouse to cat to ape 
to wingless angel striving to be God 
in quest to gain enlightenment through love. 

I feel bright energy of timeless light 
from countless stars across the universe 
pulse vigorously in every crystal cell 
that constitutes contraption of my being 
as spiritual machine of divine soul 
that wakes cosmic mind in my mortal brain. 

Ascending rugged foothills of respect 
near majesty of Mount Takoma peak, 
I gaze at crescent moon of innocence 
that gleams in sparkling mirror of the pool 
where timeless song of truth vibrates as song 
that tunes strings of my heart with stoic faith. 

Clear mountain wind fills hearts of travelers 
with haunting rapture of brave Seraphim 
whose hearts observe sublime beauty of Earth 
which emanates from every fragile soul 
that glimmers through organic form of thought 
woven from beams of psychometric light. 

Though every creature of organic form, 
that glows this hour on spinning Earth of light, 
will vanish into swirls of mindless dust, 
we shine alive as flame of ardent faith 
with tender dignity of star-eyed hope, 
endowed with secret name of psychic code. 

Since I will one day disappear at death 
and vanish beyond nothingness of time, 
I strum the holy Lyre of Mercury 
in way Orpheus taught me to perform, 
and sing grand epic of philosophers 
about our human quest to know the truth. 

Mountain of Dancing Trees

Mountain of Dancing Trees
© Surazeus
2026 07 06

Through stories we tell about life on Earth 
we program our children with moral code 
how to perceive beauty in changing forms 
if we have found enlightenment of truth 
through ideology that blinds our eyes 
to see gods on mountain of dancing trees. 

Reversing point of view with mirror eyes 
through oscillation of opposing thoughts, 
we measure angles of disparate truths 
since verity depends on vantage point 
so experience points to more complex whole 
that we map on mountain of dancing trees. 

Too many facets of one diamond gem 
refract apparent opposites in view 
so different angles of one whole event 
appear to contradict analysis, 
therefore I puzzle fragments in one truth 
when I play on mountain of dancing trees. 

Each concept I retrieve from pool of facts 
provides one disunited piece of life 
which I collage in mural of grand truth 
connecting unrelated data points 
in fluctuating web of certainties 
that blossoms on mountain of dancing trees. 

Embodiment of gear-wound paradox 
in complex personas our brains design, 
I explore purple mountain majesties 
to understand courage of bravery 
when people with much help people with naught 
to dwell safe on mountain of dancing trees. 

Quiet mathematics of selfless love 
calculates investment without return 
when people help each other generate 
food and goods from minerals of the Earth 
that fuels function of social enterprise 
we settle on mountain of dancing trees. 

Toward inaudible light of pulsing hearts 
we live in language of our hungry tongues 
by breathing wind of hope on river flow 
for inspiration of the garden faith 
which nurtures us with brightness of the star 
that shimmers on mountain of dancing trees. 

Brewing juice on altar of Hygia, 
I listen to young maids of Caryae sing 
hymns at the festival of Artemis 
where thousands of worshippers in white robes 
honor grace of women who create life 
in temple on mountain of dancing trees.