Illusion Of Unspoken Hope

Illusion Of Unspoken Hope
© Surazeus
2026 09 07

Simple quietness of long afternoons 
expands moments to vast eternity 
with timeless floating of delicious light 
that gleams on walls and lawns of silent homes 
where people hide from chaos of desire 
to relish peaceful tales of fearful hope. 

Unruly laughter from proprieties 
of gleeful disdain for old social rules 
animates eager hearts with ardency 
of brave attention from heart of the soul 
who seeks salvation in pleasure of play 
that channels energy through graceful minds. 

When she appears from shadow of lost faith 
with hawk eyes that observe our changing fate, 
our spirits run with eager hope to learn 
strange secret of spirit framed by clouds 
that emanates from iron core of being 
so she laughs with delight at chill of death. 

If time unravels hope for paradise 
that fuels our progress against grim despair, 
we gesture with attentive hands of hope 
to weave taut tapestry of innocence 
depicting state of mind we wish to frame 
as narrative remembered in our name. 

Toward strange tomorrow with impassive voice 
we ever stride to realize in real time 
bright vision for the future state of things 
we wish to play on stage of our free will 
though we wind somewhere in vast maze of lies 
that still divert us from elusive goals. 

While resting on soft leather couch of fate, 
dark eyes penetrating shadows of fear, 
she ponders strange security of wealth 
that builds illusion of unspoken hope 
in brick-bound palace of sun-spacious rooms 
where ghosts of possibility haunt us. 

She comes with sunlight breaking through storm clouds 
that cast stark eerie glow of timeless truth 
on treeless mountains drenched with eager rain 
so sparkling laughter of her voice revives 
fear-poisoned hearts of lonely wanderers 
who gather close to hear her clarion song. 

Though all we built, lush gardens and strong homes, 
are shattered by disastrous storms of rage, 
swept clean off Earth in brutal waves of change 
by fierce indifferent Nature, her bright song 
swells wounded hearts with passion to survive, 
so we fly with black ravens in gold skies. 

Become The Faceless Sky

Become The Faceless Sky
© Surazeus
2026 09 07

Blank sky reflects face of eternity 
which my brain conjures from weird memory 
to project complex vision of itself 
at wholesome roundness of the universe 
which mirrors what I think about myself, 
so I see beauty shine in every soul. 

Young shepherd who guides sheep on narrow path 
through rock-strewn wasteland of hungry despair 
to grass-lush meadow on high mountain slope 
where sparkling river flows from glacier snow 
which mirrors face of stranger in my mind, 
I name each beautiful spirit I see. 

When giant one-eyed man in bear-fur cape 
attempts to steal sheep of my mountain flock, 
I set smooth river stone in leather strip, 
twirl courage high around my head with hope, 
then sling authority of legal right 
that cracks his skull and knocks him to the ground. 

Gripping sharp sword he forged from meteor stone, 
when he beat it in cave of shadow flames, 
I hack off his head to free our fertile land 
from oppressive greed of his grasping hand, 
then stand on flat-top pyramid of speech 
to show the world my victory over hate. 

Crowned by Ishtar new king to reign as judge, 
I sit on flat-top pyramid of speech 
and render judgement of authority 
with fair equality of social rules 
when I adjudicate conflicts to rein 
aggressive passion of the human will. 

To stabilize affairs of our shared state, 
ensuring legacy of my fair rule, 
I choose wise woman with insightful eyes 
who bears from holy spirit of my mind 
three sons with eyes that comprehend the truth, 
but they kill each other to take my crown. 

Setting jeweled crown on the judgment seat, 
I desert flat-top pyramid of speech 
and wander back to grass-lush mountain slope 
where wind in leaves of pines whisper my name, 
so I lie by sparkling river of time 
and gaze at blank face of eternity. 

When Ishtar finds me on the mountain slope, 
she reminds me that she crowned me as judge 
to maintain balance of social affairs, 
but I explain my time to reign has gone, 
so she holds my hand till glimmer of dawn, 
then leaves me to become the faceless sky. 

Broken Bridge Of Anywhere

Broken Bridge Of Anywhere
© Surazeus
2026 09 06

She wants to deconstruct unbroken mind 
to program spell linking cause to effect 
that curls her heart with plumes of innocence, 
so when she wears gold ring of loyalty 
no fool would doubt her brave sincerity 
she purchased at the secret magic shop. 

Therefore she hears wild spirits of the world 
mutter arcane spells of verity, 
providing framework for her lost world view, 
which still includes regret and guilt as signs 
that she is making progress toward rebirth 
by struggling to maintain integrity. 

By stretching her shadowless soul at dawn 
to enclose vibrant pulse of cherubim 
as shelter that protects her fragile brain, 
she channels shudder of the river flow 
through angst-flushed veins of passionate concern 
for health of strangers she will never meet. 

Assertive focus of her time-blazed eyes 
requires her body to float on gauze wings 
through sudden nothingness of nameless self 
that wakes as robot running over hills 
till she stops by the jagged stone of fear 
and asks the faceless angel why we die. 

When pine trees of elegant pride transform 
to telephone poles with electric wires, 
she counts every snowflake that never falls 
so she can welcome homeless travelers 
she meets on broken bridge of anywhere 
against cool judgement of palpable faith. 

We fall outside our minds to comprehend 
expansive boundlessness of nevertime, 
so she wants to speak the unhearable 
with courage to oppose the oligarch 
whose shadow looms in storm cloud of despair 
though she bears fragile lamp of liberty. 

Excited by new opportunity 
to travel in the waste land of our faith, 
she shoots bright pistol of her aching heart 
at mindless stars that scream infinitely 
before she finds her way in car of hope 
back to the garden of blind skeletons. 

She knows we are not who we play in life, 
so she strides gracefully along the bridge, 
wearing slender black skirt and frilly blouse 
to advertise them for sale at the store 
hidden in top room of the stone church tower 
where angels weep for every suffering soul. 

Ideal Persona I Would Play

Ideal Persona I Would Play
© Surazeus
2026 09 06

Bright in glass constellation of my heart, 
transcendent god, who has never been real 
beyond imagination of wild priests 
drunk on wine from mushrooms of ecstasy, 
reveals ideal persona I would play 
to maintain dignity of daily life. 

My heart pours torrents of expansive words, 
unmeasured by attentive spate of faith, 
which conjure strangers who steal hungry trees, 
to see enormous city towers gleam 
in evening clouds that loom above deep vales 
where surfaces of pools reveal our eyes. 

Adorned with jewels of fantastic truth, 
my heart attempts in vain to calculate 
ethereal breath of angels in fruit trees 
whose lust embodies serpents with gold eyes 
who tease me with delicious energy 
to think I may achieve eternal life. 

Weird thoughts of wisdom, I untwist from light, 
crawl through dim shadow of my aching flesh 
so I pretend I am First Man of Time 
commissioned by Cloud-Ghost to name all things 
that exist within bounds of time and space 
because they glow beyond mask of my face. 

As daughter of Tiresias, I guard 
Gates of Eden with spear Longinus carved 
to catch the dragon falling from rain clouds 
disguised as glorious angel with nine eyes 
who teaches me how to fly the airplane 
so I can make more accurate map of Earth. 

Though serpent of the apple tree retains 
extensive sets of books blind devils write, 
she dares reveal to me, calm mortal fool, 
collective wisdom of prophets and seers 
whose bones are letters of riddles we share 
while feasting on hamburgers by the lake. 

Long wick of my temporary heart glows 
with timeless grace of pure immortal flame 
which fills my heart with long-unspoken spells 
that fly as ravens from my open mouth 
when I campaign for President of Earth 
while seeking treasure in Elysian Fields. 

Whole in glass constellation of my brain, 
my soul accepts its temporary state 
as mortal body of hungry desires 
animated by immortal gene soul 
through chaos bound in limits of my being, 
so I want to tell you about my love. 

Spate Of Vulpine Protocols

Spate Of Vulpine Protocols
© Surazeus
2026 09 06

In tune with spate of vulpine protocols, 
designed to process economic growth 
through awful worship of transcendent gods, 
who cannot comprehend computer codes, 
we must interrogate how bitter faith 
sidelines assertive patterns without goals. 

Against false spate of vulpine protocols, 
defined by crackled creeds of chocolate cake, 
we disperse funds to arrogant households 
beholden to provisions of gold gates, 
too widely closed for horses to relate 
because we hear bees sing romantic jokes. 

Far after spate of vulpine protocols 
for welcoming lost refugees of wars, 
fought over right to breed on river shores, 
we share concerns on television shows 
for how soon immigrants may learn to pray 
while waiting in bleak offices of faith. 

Never should spate of vulpine protocols 
debate programs for social pertinence 
reversed from previous states of brokerage 
that trap certified catalogs for freaks 
to prove consensus of spliced chromosomes 
for how we calculate incompetence. 

Through active spate of vulpine protocols, 
contained in brave citations of false faith, 
we mold fresh avatars of enterprise 
from inconclusive studies engineers 
sell back to demons in the factory 
who manage fisheries of unborn souls. 

Time-fractured spate of vulpine protocols 
expands exotic documents for farms 
where clumsy ballerinas detain clowns 
with extreme prejudice for inquiry 
against invasion of blind astronauts 
who want to purchase mansions of dead gods. 

Illegal spate of vulpine protocols 
disturbs logistic progress of rebirth 
for model membership of loyalty 
in frazzled concepts of the multiverse 
where children contract magazines for games 
mechanics still refuse to play at dawn. 

Magical spate of vulpine protocols 
teach young professors how to deconstruct 
social privilege of the less powerful 
who refuse to obey state ordinance 
against observance of the holy day 
when we rebuild socialist paradise. 

Dare Disturb The Universe

Dare Disturb The Universe
© Surazeus
2026 09 06

Ghost of my brain lingers upon the pools 
that shimmer in the road of broken dreams 
where strangers without faces they could sell 
walk somewhere else with frantic urgency 
because time always seems about to end 
though days keep flowing in the flash of hope. 

Because I dare disturb the universe 
with questions about time to allocate 
another hour of study which attains 
strange secret about life no one dares share, 
I graph decision time cannot reverse, 
accounting for sweet music of the curse. 

No eyes can fix my ever-shifting soul 
with formulated phrase of arrogance 
so I presume to do what must be done 
in strict performance of the daily plan 
that highlights how we might survive the times 
with scent of perfume on the tragic stage. 

I am no demon with fire-tattered wings 
who slithers on the waste land of despair 
too deeply hidden in the silent sea, 
so I stretch tangled heart to empty skies 
and ponder crisis of the fallen god 
that cracks foundation of our ancient state. 

I never weep nor fast with hopeless prayer 
for no God transcends bounds of everywhere 
to hear plea of my words with active heart 
that could transform state of atomic swirls, 
yet I can calculate what will occur 
through prophetic analysis of fate. 

We are the living gods who play this hour 
in global drama staged by faceless force 
who flare our universe from pulsing sphere 
in overwhelming questions about why 
our fragile bodies vanish in the void 
that leaves injustice staining Earth with blood. 

Magic lantern of my observing brain 
throws striped patterns on walls of paradise 
so I seek words from cluttered memories 
that could express strange truth my eyes perceive 
when I swell movements to spark social change 
as cautious attendant licensed to guide. 

I see no mermaids singing on wild waves, 
nor hear their voices in wind on the beach, 
though they are humans who died long ago 
who leave their bodies writhing in the sea, 
so I stand firm on Earth of spinning change 
when my psychic bones form this mountain range. 

Atoms Dreaming We Are Gods

Atoms Dreaming We Are Gods
© Surazeus
2026 09 05

I stroll along the road that goes nowhere 
because I am always in my core place, 
here at the center of my universe, 
able to perceive all things that exist 
within scope of my cosmic consciousness 
which glow with ghost light of our divine soul. 

When I leave my home and my family 
I travel east to find Primal Homeland 
where my ancestors first woke from Star Dream 
who traveled west one hundred thousand years 
to find where the sun goes under the world, 
yet that is how we find the world is round. 

When I go off to fight the holy war 
to defend the land where my ancestors lived, 
if I survive I try to go back home, 
but wander nowhere in the Anywhere, 
so I sit by the river of blind ghosts 
and sing about the home that never was. 

So I decide this place where I sit now 
has always been secret home of my heart, 
investing passion of indifferent hope 
to build new home in waste land of nowhere 
till this place is the home that always is, 
where my children are born and I will die. 

Over ten thousand years of spinning time 
after I construct new haven for my heart 
on lush shore of this ever-flowing stream, 
enormous city of steel-framed glass towers 
glitters with millions of bright human souls 
who all dream with one vision of my eyes. 

The story of their journey to the west, 
that my ancestors tell in silent wind, 
vibrates in dust of every road I walk 
so I recall their struggles and insights 
that program how my brain perceives the world 
as they survive and generate new life. 

Though ancient mountains where I search for truth 
are frosted by curse of ambitious pride 
that drives us to explore and colonize 
wild lands that bulge with sparkling minerals, 
I reassemble puzzle of world view 
that frames sublime truth with new narrative. 

I am so present in this time-bound space, 
enclosed by invisible walls of truth, 
that I become the paradise I speak 
when I compose Tellurian Testament 
in Astarian Scriptures of my own faith 
that we are atoms dreaming we are gods. 

Bend Our Wounded Bodies

Bend Our Wounded Bodies
© Surazeus
2026 09 05

I cannot bury thoughts in open ground 
except they sprout to angels without wings 
who plow deep soil and plant aggressive seeds 
with plan to claim this land as ancient home 
based on weird paradigm that graves may mark 
our territory where we live and die. 

Heart quickened with tellurian redolence, 
sweet scented by dream-rotten flesh of gods, 
I pour libation of mysterious wine 
in soil for skulls of prophets to imbibe 
that fuels intense expression of deep faith 
far-rooted from great mountains of contempt. 

Against now-sudden freakish snow of hope 
we bend our wounded bodies to contain 
enduring hope for time-unspooling truth, 
connived by thieves who wear official robes 
by claiming land our fathers tilled as theirs 
despite objection at injustice done. 

Contorted by fierce loneliness of faith, 
propped up by worthless prayers for liberty, 
we grasp contingent way for solving how 
dire vanishment at stark cadence of hate 
constrains alert expansion beyond pain 
when house door of our hope is locked by greed. 

Sweet berries may sustain our bitterness 
that buoyant urgency drives our vain quest, 
though we dare retain our false bravery 
with dreamless laughter of indifferent storms 
that thrash our straw homes into swirls of power, 
unbound by helpless acceptance of fate. 

Preserved by peaceful absences of fate 
that twist our mountain hearts in coils of rage, 
we search for cold wind in fear-jagged cave 
that hides unspeakable truth in bright names 
we share with sparkling ardency of change, 
still mirrored by dark river of our faith. 

On last day of the world near edge of truth 
we pluck fresh fruit of knowledge from the tree 
that transforms bodies of ancestral dreams 
to pulchritude of loyal innocence, 
because this land is formed from hidden graves 
where ghosts of people whisper how to live. 

Down stone-paved trails of jagged opulence 
we search for beauty blooming from cracked skulls 
to find soul of our world in faceless gods 
who loom in shining clouds above brave hills, 
revealing wounds that strength hearts with faith 
till we become dirt of the signless road. 

Matrix Of Star Souls

Matrix Of Star Souls
© Surazeus
2026 09 05

Though I stumble nowhere on road of life, 
randomly following my hungry gut, 
constantly mislead by my eager heart, 
wandering without any plan somewhere else, 
I find myself in paradise with you, 
together in our matrix of star souls. 

Confounded by the star map of my fate 
that sends me every which way I should go, 
which leaves me stranded in the Promised Land, 
I keep going past gates of Wonderland 
to find safe haven of our loving hearts 
where we thrive in our matrix of star souls. 

Sometimes I feel alone on spinning Earth, 
one tiny flash of selfish consciousness 
that glows in vastness of the universe, 
but I feel every conscious soul alive 
on every planet in our multiverse, 
all minds woven in matrix of star souls. 

We dream together in glow of vast space, 
zillions of souls shining in the White Whole, 
for we all emanate from one God Mind 
as atoms flashing with divine insight, 
temporary nodes of self-aware brains 
entangled in huge matrix of star souls. 

I am surprised to find myself alive, 
sparked into being by passionate desire 
of my mother and father to incarnate 
immortal soul of genes in mortal flesh, 
so I strum lyre of Mercury and sing 
cosmic hymn that vibes matrix of star souls. 

Since Dream Thought first sparked awake our world soul 
in swirling glitter of our Mother Sea, 
I have evolved four hundred million years 
fish to lizard to mouse to cat to monkey 
to wingless angel seeking to be god, 
giving body to matrix of star souls. 

My mind contains multitudes of old souls 
for all my ancestors, alive in me, 
program how my time-dreaming brain perceives 
ideal concepts essential to real things 
so I sing mindless soul of God in me 
as one flame in matrix of star souls. 

While David strums harp of clandestine faith, 
and Orpheus plays lyre of innocence, 
I conjure ancestral ghosts from book tales 
that give them life in visions of our hearts, 
then let them all dissipate to star dust, 
angels who form our matrix of star souls. 

Specter Of The Desert Seer

Specter Of The Desert Seer
© Surazeus
2026 09 05

Entranced by specter of the desert seer
who walks unknown in cities of the world, 
I search for wisdom in eyes of the owl 
that brings to honest hands of Liberty 
bright Lamp of Truth and Book of Names and Deeds 
so she guides our quest to the Promised Land. 

Amused by specter of the desert seer 
who highlights crimes of people grasping power, 
I join his revolution to transform 
paradigm of our shared global world view 
to nurture needs of women nursing life 
so we thrive in lush garden of fruit trees. 

Inspired by specter of the desert seer 
who haunts vast crowded maze of city streets, 
I strum the long-lost lyre of Mercury 
to conjure demons of our aching hearts 
so we rebel against oppressive thieves 
and restore functions of our liberal state. 

Confused by specter of the desert seer 
who hums riddles on television screens, 
I wear electric mask of Jupiter 
and fight thieves who clutch wheel for Ship of State 
to sail past iceberg of their fascist greed 
and land in garden where Hesperus rules. 

Engaged by specter of the desert seer 
who channels flames of light in crystal eyes, 
I build piston engine Barsanti sketched 
to power chariot of Ezekiel 
as time machine for zooming fast through space 
so I can find Fields of Elysium. 

Annoyed by specter of the desert seer 
who teaches me to calculate my fate, 
I choose to exercise strict self-control 
based on brave Apollonian will to live, 
fueled by fierce Dionysian love for truth 
till I transform into God I create. 

Designed by specter of the desert seer 
who programs how my brain perceives the world, 
I navigate my way through many turns 
in winding journey through the wilderness 
beyond the waste land to the Promised Land 
where I build Heaven from ruins of Hell. 

Uncharmed by specter of the desert seer 
who casts illusions of religious faith, 
I wake from timeless cavern of my heart 
spirit of Telluria, Mother Earth, 
who molds my soul from eyes of Jupiter 
so wise Saturnus lives again in me. 

Polytropocity Of Wisdom

Polytropocity Of Wisdom
© Surazeus
2026 09 04

Since these are the days of exquisite sorrow, 
we walk together on the broken road 
without regret the center cannot hold 
when our world view begins to fall apart, 
though patched together by outdated creeds 
that venerate some long-dead king as god. 

Feasting with ghosts of the dead on high barrow, 
on oak throne Odin carved from dragon bone, 
I contemplate with knowing smirk of truth 
that now, at two hundred and fifty years, 
America has lasted just as long 
as Tokugawa Shogunate of Nippon. 

The sun that rises on their snow-capped mountains 
sets first from mountains of America, 
from Bokku to Nippon on rainbow wings, 
yet weaving distant lands with mutual vibe 
for seeking honor with the stoic grin, 
Amaterasu in lush Oregon. 

I wonder if we should lament collapse 
of our aggressive colonizer state 
founded by sailors from the British Isles 
who used sea map that Mercator designed 
to explore every land around the Earth 
and rule empire with Scepter of Zambor. 

Though shy Ieyasu, ruler of Mikawa, 
just wanted to be left alone to live 
in peaceful happiness with Tsukiyama, 
his sweet bride graceful as the Sika deer, 
she brings message from Takemikazuchi 
that he is destined to unite the state. 

Somewhere out in land of America 
some humble Ieyasu, or brave Liu Bang, 
who manages affairs of his small town, 
feels Hidden Dragon stirring in his heart 
with mission to unite our fractured state 
and rebuild what Midas has torn apart. 

Some complicated man of many turns, 
urged by polytropocity of wisdom, 
will surf the rising tide of revolution 
to lead the honest people of our land 
against oppressors who exploit our hearts, 
and found Zarathia on love for truth. 

Because I like to contradict myself, 
since I contain multitudes of great souls 
embodied by people across our land, 
I hear voice of America express 
desire for every person to live free 
with equal justice of world liberty. 

Atoms Of Perceptive Brain

Atoms Of Perceptive Brain
© Surazeus
2026 09 04

No state of mind prepares our consciousness 
for blank finality of nothingness 
that fractures sense of being at crack of death 
which scatters atoms of perceptive brain 
in sparkling cloud of inorganic breath 
that turns to mud in mindless flush of rain. 

If bright integrity of consciousness 
is coherent concept of somethingness 
maintaining wholeness in clear sense of self 
outside corporal bounds of pulsing flesh, 
then we would not blank out in dreamless sleep 
and wake at reboot of computing flash. 

Bright conscious glow of our perceptive mind 
is conjured by this brain that hope designed 
through metamorphosis of gene rebirth 
when bodies procreate in child of fate 
which better calculates what love is worth 
through urgent act of faith we navigate. 

First mortal being to exercise my mind 
through constant turning of quick zest, I find 
strange beauty glowing in this world of forms 
which I explore beyond confining walls 
by raging wild as god against brute storms 
that thrash my fragile soul of chemicals. 

Through every action to transcend blank death 
I learn new secrets sparked by divine breath 
to overcome harsh suffering of the soul, 
asserting bright attention of insight 
with actions contradicting assigned role 
against blank darkness of death with fierce light. 

I am Aeolus, human filled with air, 
huge spirit swollen with desire to care, 
so I run laughing on vast ocean beach 
past scattered wreckage of my storm-bashed boat 
to grasp ecstatic wisdom beyond reach 
till deep in sea of nothingness I float. 

When Sirens on the jagged rock of fate 
sing mind-enchanting song against cruel hate, 
my heart, lured with irresistible hope 
for eternal life after body death, 
drives brave machine of my spirit to cope 
with calm indifference of Nature through breath. 

Though we build empires of productive farms 
based on religious faith in soothing charms 
with vain hope to transcend death of the soul, 
through deathless institutions of grand states, 
things fall apart at cracking of the whole, 
and no ghost lingers at the pearly gates. 

See Past Mask Of Seems

See Past Mask Of Seems
© Surazeus
2026 09 04

Sibylla walks along river of dreams 
and chuckles at the strangeness of her thoughts 
that ponder power struggles between men 
over who controls who will get to eat, 
then asks brave Hamlet if he knows the truth 
that blinds our eyes to see past mask of seems. 

Gazing out across great river of dreams, 
Sibylla plucks apple from Tree of Life 
then gives it calmly to the weeping man 
and thanks Timoleon with beaming smile 
because he freed the slaves of Syracuse 
so they can live and thrive with equal rights. 

We should abolish every monarchy, 
Sibylla whispers in the morning breeze, 
and force every tyrant to farm wheat fields 
so we eat bread of brave humility, 
then design social programs that support 
development of talents into skills. 

Our friendship is broad field of quiet light 
where vibrant hours nurture our mental growth 
so we share love through spiritual support 
the way the shoreline embraces the sea 
that helps us manage chaos of desire 
when gentle hands create Heaven we share. 

I want to offer you encouragement, 
Sibylla speaks to crowd of citizens, 
for I love you in my bewildered way 
when I discover door inside my heart 
that leads me to bright meadow of our hopes 
where we share stories by the glowing moon. 

When Hamlet leaves Ophelia behind, 
where she floats singing on the River Styx, 
Orpheus lifts her out with gentle arms 
so they teach daughter of forbidden love 
how to analyze fraught global affairs 
and prophesy rise of democracy. 

Engaged with process of creative art 
that frames narrative of global success, 
Sibylla fabulates with fairy tales 
conceptual code through ambiguity 
that stages plays of individual will 
when people choose fate they try to avoid. 

Brave hymns we sing in shadow of despair 
embrace chaotic darkness of our hearts 
refracting psychic energy of gods 
so we break our minds free from social norms 
and build global state of Zarathia 
from shattered ruins of America. 

Vibrant Currency Of Fame

Vibrant Currency Of Fame
© Surazeus
2026 09 03

The river gushing from cave of illusions 
will never tell me what I want to hear, 
so I carve visions of my mind in stone 
because rain washes all our dreams away, 
then program robot of my spirit clone 
with secret memories I would forget. 

My future is the future of this land 
that throbs with anguish of the suffering soul, 
unjustly treated by the faceless state 
as honest criminal who does no wrong, 
so I confess to nothing in sweet song 
that hypnotizes believers with lies. 

Unique state of inaugurated mind 
encompasses all possible outcomes 
through secretive analysis of skulls 
which calculate how far we have to go 
to transcend mortal decay of the flesh 
with plan to laugh for the photographer. 

Unsurpassed scope of heavenly respect 
almost daunts bone-clacking seer of concern 
who scrambles nations of bold agencies 
to peel regretful fruit of rotten hearts 
with disorganized methods of soul theft 
through unabated waves of wretched faith. 

Still wearing mask of calm demonic pride, 
I travel between galaxies of gods 
with flashing eyes now big enough to see 
golden path of success through cautious squint 
that brings our bodies back to scrambled game 
till sharp tongues bleed through walls of eager glass. 

If rainbows dare respect my will to win 
I may assert through serpentine attention 
encrusted sorrows heroes throw in swamps 
against deliberate progress we admire 
that patches surreal truths in tuneless seeds 
which sprout when buried in obscure disdain. 

Since I am not smooth cobblestones in rain 
that sings of fateful sorrows ghosts disdain, 
I stride with vibrant currency of fame 
which angels sell to those who discard truth 
to wear fear-polished mask of fervent prayer 
by building houses on the river shore. 

When white horse of Godiva wanders home 
to find out why her daughters cry with shame, 
our ghosts assemble in the city square 
to play role in our tense democracy 
that scatters children out the open door 
to build new empire of aggressive fame. 

Souls Of Hungry Seraphim

Souls Of Hungry Seraphim
© Surazeus
2026 09 03

Too deep the sorrow of brute wakefulness 
that scatters souls of hungry seraphim 
frail as crackled leaves across parking lots 
where demons give each other stolen eyes 
to make up excuses for scamming gods 
who insist on their hard-won happiness. 

Strange idea of the true way to live 
blinds generations of eager wanderers 
who clean the spotless windows of their hearts 
in numberless houses where no one lives, 
apprenticed to the changeless flow of time 
unspooling clocks that scream too silently. 

If books unfold themselves with angel wings 
against sapphire intensity of hope, 
we share ripe peaches in the afternoon 
while Satan vacuums empty offices 
because no one meets him at the crossroads 
with newspapers from secret centuries. 

The greatest tales of history ever told 
seem to have happened far too long ago 
for children to remember why they need 
bread to eat with honey of demon tears 
that soothes the wounded hearts of honesty 
with inconvenience of forgotten dreams. 

Since we get nothing from old memories 
except mute madness of the speeding car, 
we look for kind gnomes in suburban yards 
who ask us if we vote for president 
before the second coming of the toad 
whose eyes gleam bright as headlights in the fog. 

She tells him with soft voice of fluttered leaves 
that she prefers to fill her heart with love 
instead of waiting for his love to fill 
the empty places of her hopefulness, 
so he calls her the beautiful and brave 
with open eyes in museum of her heart. 

Since I was born with the weakness to fall, 
she sings while twirling in clear sparkling rain 
where flower petals flutter in the breeze, 
I was also born with the strength to rise, 
so he holds wingless anguish of her heart 
till she grows wings and flies into the clouds. 

The human heart is stronger than the stone 
smoothed by ten million years of river tears 
because it shatters from betrayal each day, 
yet throbs again with dawn flash of the sun, 
so we hold hands to bind our weakened hearts 
with strength of eager loneliness we share. 

Temporary Gods Of Flesh

Temporary Gods Of Flesh
© Surazeus
2026 09 03

Three ways blind angels know our death is soon 
tricks me to wander thoughtlessly alone, 
but since I see your face in the bright moon 
I leave last pear of my heart on your stone 
that never rolls up or down at my word, 
therefore I conclude that life is absurd. 

The ancient bearded bard with broken harp 
still lingers manic in the happy field 
while cradling with care gold comatose carp 
that leads me to buried Achillean shield 
depicting how citizens of the world 
pray for third coming of the cosmic herald. 

Medusa calls me on the telephone 
so I attend her late-night singing show 
where she plays mirror of the psychic clone 
whose proverbs teach the spirit how to grow 
till cute Cheonyeo Gwishin with purple eyes 
recruits me to join her squadron of spies. 

She wants to ask me why she is not here, 
but words that drip from moist clam of her mouth 
transform to lizards lured by bitter fear 
that mutate problem of evil to faith 
since we are temporary gods of flesh 
with brains that store their memories in dream cache. 

Medusa asks me if I want to kiss 
so we embrace with passion of the snake 
that tricks Eve into wanting homelife bliss, 
though social role she plays is never fake, 
despite how industry consumes tall trees 
as paper money we use to pay fees. 

Since we compete in endless psychic game 
by chanting spells in church of prophet bards, 
we find our souls trapped by oppressive fame 
as social heroes who must hire tough guards 
since farmers are foundation of the state 
whose struggles define our national fate. 

As fugitives from language of the heart, 
we tangle bodies in ballet of hope 
through algorithm hidden on the chart 
favored by survivors who learn to cope 
with exploitation our spirits endure, 
till Jesus arrives on snake-horned markhor. 

One hundred thousand poets recite spells, 
while gathered round fountain of the town square, 
which conjure demons from aesthetic wells 
to win song contest at Scarborough Fair 
over whose poetic vision best depicts 
real world we perceive on the River Styx. 

Luminous Phantom Of Faith

Luminous Phantom Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 09 02

I keep the secret of love in my heart 
though it swells and bleeds into apple seeds 
that I scatter along the muddy road 
while ducking under sorrow-laden boughs 
to savor succulent sanguinity 
too quickly lost in subtle jubilance. 

Excessive laughter of sorrow-winged joy 
teaches me about the impossible, 
yet I never hesitate to reach out 
with eagerness to exchange what we make 
with what we need in weird commercial game 
that functions to keep us busy till death. 

Because she understands language of waves 
Sycorax knows how to use the dream code 
of happiness to tame the Jormungander 
in giving her rides to the Promised Land 
where she paints murals of the multiverse 
on temple walls before the Feast of Friends. 

So when she finds corpse of the gray-haired poet 
rotting among the golden daffodils, 
Sycorax extracts his brain from his skull 
so she can study the Realm of Ideas 
that conjures visions of the Natural World 
as matrix that powers our battery hearts. 

Staring at computer screen for eighth hours, 
Sycorax imagines with fervent calm 
the Great American Novel she writes 
with blood of angels on the locked church door 
where her son lies in the coffin of glass 
since he died in the motorcycle crash. 

We feast on terror of fake happiness, 
Sycorax explains to the green giraffe 
on which she rides into Jerusalem 
as new messiah for the modern age 
to found one world religion of new faith 
that unites all nations in dance of ghosts. 

Driving cross-country in old white sedan 
to start her new job at Wonderland Park, 
Sycorax sings hymns of shy Emily 
whose face is luminous phantom of faith 
that guides her to the future of success 
not even God can see written in sand. 

When she arrives at destined hill of bones, 
where angels disguised as children with masks 
dance among flowers of discarded thoughts, 
Sycorax holds fractured skull of Wordsworth 
till she comprehends spirit of his verse 
that programs atheist wisdom from the curse. 

Always Friends With Ghosts

Always Friends With Ghosts
© Surazeus
2026 09 02

Because she will be always friends with ghosts 
by crossing bridge of angels before dark, 
she feeds swans of the past with anecdotes 
designed as proverbs in the holy book 
to guide lost people to the garden brook 
where they make new faces from broken boats. 

With laughter from cracked stones of hungry ghosts 
she opens pages that flap frantic wings 
which teach young children how to invent words 
they need to prove their minds are worth the light 
that blooms from lilacs in the cluttered yard 
where faceless angels carve their names in bones. 

If she decides her specialty is joy, 
that springs from shifting wells of raven blood, 
she may bring flowers to the funeral 
held for the old man no one seems to know 
who liked to build boats from demonic bones 
as if dew on our eyes may cleanse the heart. 

Her river glazed with light of centuries, 
she tells us how this world is wondrous weird 
so we exchange phone numbers by the lake, 
but lose touch with the ones we want to know 
by walking signless road beyond the wall 
that traps our bodies in false paradise. 

Still half awake three hours before red dawn, 
she stares with wonder at true nothingness 
with plan to give unspoken words away 
because they sprout their own butterfly wings 
and leave her stranded in the doorless room 
despite the way she earns her right to live. 

When fifteen women in the church at noon 
discuss how she reveals her writhing heart 
with anguish for brave seekers of the sea, 
she blesses tables heaped with empty plates 
while stealing apples from the box of lies 
from which flow sorrows of the hungry world. 

So when the last book still unwritten screams, 
she scatters lost words on the cracked sidewalk, 
then opens glass door to the multiverse 
where humble god of impotence designs 
strange paradigm for the whole world to use 
when framing thoughts with ancient languages. 

Yet she extracts from laughing radios 
completed puzzles that depict lost homes 
where families feast on zombie heart of faith 
to prove our right to live free from despair 
based on our friendship with the nameless ghosts 
who glow in television screens of hope. 

First Mother Wraith

First Mother Wraith
© Surazeus
2026 09 02

If we once gathered in September chill 
in stone huts set inside mist-shrouded hill 
to roast lamb on bright crackling flames of hope 
while children play chase on vine-tangled slope, 
then we may cherish memories of those years 
in distant lands with nothing but cold tears. 

Great glen that splits our land with shining lake 
conceals sweet memories we long to take 
when we sail wood ships over storm-wracked sea 
to build new garden in Land of the Free 
since men with guns drive us into dark gloom 
that shrouds our hearts with curse of bitter doom. 

Winds toss our frail ship on huge mindless waves 
which hurl us from wrecked ships to bone-filled caves 
where Death inspires our hearts with brave respect 
to seek weird truth in jewels eyes inspect 
with flash that guides us to the Promised Land 
where we build new empire with honest hand. 

When each new child is born from womb of fate 
I stand with cloth of cheese beside the gate 
as gift for hungry worker passing by 
whose grace will bless our child with star-clear eye 
to spread good fortune from my aching heart 
when I map Heaven on our history chart. 

From treeless glens where purple thistles thrive 
we journey through dark wilderness with drive 
for freedom far from gangs of castle thieves, 
yet linger lost in mountain vales where leaves 
still whisper names of souls we bury here 
among gold flowers by the glistening mere. 

Two hundred years swirl by in flashing clouds 
that soon erase all tales of ancient gods, 
so I wake in new world of phones and cars 
which reprograms constellations of stars 
till Scotia beams from visions of my dream 
whose face I see in shimmer of the stream. 

While strolling along moon-lit creek of faith, 
I see emerge from mist First Mother Wraith 
who guides my heart in lush Seattle woods 
and gives me symbols of ancestral goods 
so I see Scotland mirrored in landscape 
that molds old spirit in my mortal shape. 

Though hills of Scotland, shining in green rain, 
call me to fly home on quick wings of gain, 
I linger in lush Appalachian vales 
to play guitar and recite timeless tales 
depicting noble spirit of mankind 
that drives our hearts with love star god designed. 

Dreamless Lake Of Untime

Dreamless Lake Of Untime
© Surazeus
2026 09 01

Greta walks in dire laughter of untime 
to become mother of the trembling house 
where Walt and Wendell in the forest sing 
to wake soul of Kentucky from dark mud 
which spirals from strange beauty of her eyes 
because her face masks the infinite skies. 

Barefoot in the forest of singing ghosts, 
Greta writes verses of sorrowful hope 
with ants in cursive of electric clouds 
though she tries not to cry with ache of loss 
by telling no one how she misses them 
though they linger in window of untime. 

Rising huge from dreamless lake of untime 
because she carries darkness in her heart, 
Greta fears no monster that haunts the world 
when she is pregnant with honest despair 
whose soul absorbs her melancholy hope 
that cuts her eyes with undigested milk. 

Beyond extremity of lightless faith 
through swirling portal of unspoken words, 
Greta floats above the world-city maze 
where people see her spirit mask glow clear 
as whatever god they worship at home 
composed from our empty rooms of untime. 

Wandering in jagged mountains of untime, 
Greta maps secret valleys with deep caves 
that comprise land of Catalonia 
to find old monastery on steep hill 
where shy Minerva bathes in sparkling pool 
while suckling Phoebus at her breast with love. 

Born from the sacred womb of mindless Earth, 
brave Greta bears new-born son in her arms 
while walking rugged road of refugees 
to find secret garden of apple trees 
where clever Serpentus, with star-gold eyes, 
waits for his wife with passion of untime. 

Trapped in the television of untime 
with ghosts of actors from the Underworld, 
Greta hurries through film studio lots 
as shadow on the stage of every show 
to find Serpentus wearing business suit 
who edits scenes in one grand narrative. 

Shocked by the rise of fascist tyranny 
that threatens world liberal democracy, 
Greta raises high flag of Liberty 
and leads our brave toil for equality 
since fight for right overcomes fight for might 
in still unfolding story of untime.