Lost In The Wind

Lost In The Wind
© Surazeus
2019 03 03

Lost in the wind of the excessive truth 
that carelessly plays among towers of glass, 
where angels perform rituals to connect 
calculations of value to strict flow 
of conceptual matter packaged in words, 
we arrange strange perceptions of ourselves 
in tranquil lightning of the frozen lawn 
where miraculous urges crack our eyes. 

Today is water that smears memories 
as rain on windows of our silent souls 
so we lie naked on infinite pools 
to become smallness of our fragile world 
and taste electric space between our hearts 
so we break surface of recurring time 
to rise from bottomless ocean of truth 
and listen to slanting beams of sunlight. 

Each shaft of sunlight beaming from the sun, 
shot sparkling sharp by spider of star light, 
arrives to replace our bodies with breath 
of shuddering spirits spiraling from moist soil 
to weave rancid threads of angst through our brains 
that throb thick as sponges in gloom-wild sea 
so we rise reborn as ruminant angels 
to caress delicate curves of nameless eyes. 

Stripped naked of my name and class and creed, 
I stand on water-covered bridge of hope 
and hold in trembling hands seeds of lost fruits 
that contain photos of each conscious soul 
who ever lived in history of our world 
so I leave fading shadows of footprints 
on our fractured mirror of infinite love 
to meet you by the misty lake of eyes. 

Ten billion transparent cars flash awake 
to glide in streams of shining agony 
that vibrate on one giant harp of glass 
which beams electric ball of dark desire 
that buzzes lithe bodies of boys and girls 
who writhe forever under blooming trees, 
faces startled by swirls of galaxies 
whose roots sprout into birds of aching lust. 

So when we wake, after booming guns cease 
blasting frail egg shell of civilization 
to fragments of memories, glued in collage 
of existential dread, we walk outside 
church of lies to see the lost pilot sit 
alone under apple tree where cracked skulls 
of castle kings recite new alphabet 
our children use to calculate world views. 

Because the silent rain that veils dread horror 
is safest place to hide from happiness, 
I chase the trees through shadows of ennui 
and drink fermented grapes from skulls of kings 
where something swims out far beyond the truth 
in catastrophic rush of beauty drowned 
by tears of children who know why we fear 
to spread invisible wings and fly home. 

Lost in the wind of spiritual decay, 
I wear new masks of lost souls every day 
so I become each soul who ever lived 
and merge their multitudes in single ache 
of my loving heart to transcend despair 
for each person killed in ten thousand wars 
whose shadows haunt my still-opening doors 
because they want to explain to me why. 

At The Pearly Gates Of Heaven

At The Pearly Gates Of Heaven
© Surazeus
2019 03 02

We see so many humorous cartoons 
that occur at the pearly gates of Heaven 
where the bearded man at the podium 
judges the worth of the person who died 
and seeks admission to that paradise 
as glorious light beams from the Glow Cloud 
where God shimmers in characterless bliss, 
but we never get past those shining gates. 

I always look on the bright side of life, 
because no matter how much I enjoy 
strange pleasures savored by this hungry body 
that generates ecstatic passions of love 
glowing bright with buzz of truth in my brain, 
I get to die at the end of my trip, 
exploring this world in grand epic quest 
to become conscious God of the Glow Cloud. 

Waking at dawn under the apple tree, 
I fill nine baskets with fruit of my heart, 
then heap them in wagon with turning wheels 
and walk winding road past fields of gold wheat 
to get in line before huge gates of Heaven 
where the Gate Keeper with long flower beard 
inspects my fruit, then drapes around my neck 
ribbon with brass disk stamped with face of God. 

Entering gates of Heaven, I haul my cart 
heaped with apples to the large market place 
where the store master assigns me the stall 
to set baskets of apples on wood bench, 
then people give me coins to buy my apples, 
while God sits high on towering pyramid 
to keep watch over marketing exchange 
and adjudicate disputes based on laws. 

After the sun gleams gold behind far hills, 
we gather in the temple to feast and drink 
when angels in white robes bring plates of food, 
then God descends the gold stairway from Heaven 
and, while his son plays harp, his daughter sings 
as he describes Creation of the World, 
and points to huge cloud glowing with moonlight 
to explain where his father reigns on high. 

At dawn I heap empty baskets on cart 
then leave the gates of Heaven to return 
along winding river where flocks of birds 
swirl among trees where herds of deer graze 
back home to where my grove of apple trees 
shimmers in breezes from high mountain slopes, 
then sit on my favorite stone by the river 
to sing about the beauty of this world. 

From my vision about plain country life 
of the fruit-seller in the market town 
that thrived at the core of civilized life 
the past ten thousand years of human history, 
I see how gates of Heaven represent 
admittance of the farmer and the craftsman 
to sell their produce and crafts inside walls 
constructed to protect people from thieves. 

I drive my car on wide highway to town 
where I walk through shiny glass doors of Heaven 
to enter the shopping mall, paradise 
surrounded by walls where the angels live, 
who sell clothes and things made in factories 
where sinners slave creating things to sell 
so Chief Executive Officer God 
reigns in bright palace of his Golden Tower. 

Nothing has changed the past ten thousand years, 
for farmers grow crops, herders tend livestock, 
miners dig minerals, foresters cut wood, 
craftsmen make things, servants haul things in carts, 
merchants buy and sell things in market stores, 
bankers manage money, and warriors fight 
to guard the whole food-production machine, 
while God makes the rules for how it all works. 

After the rise and fall over centuries 
of towns, kingdoms, empires, and nation-states, 
we have developed complex government 
to regulate business deals between groups, 
and established system of democracy 
so we can choose who plays God of the land 
in controlled revolution through our vote 
so no man can become tyrant of greed. 

Build Our New World

Build Our New World
© Surazeus
2019 03 02

Though this world view we shared for eighty years
falls apart from contentious arguments
whether white males should control everything,
or every person living on this Earth,
regardless of their gender, race, or creed,
has equal opportunity to work
and exercise free will of legal rights
under universal objective law
that will protect or punish every person,
we will establish new global world view
that treats every living person the same,
and supports our talents to hone our skills
so we can be the best we want to be.
We are replacing the way of the past
with more equal way to build our new world.

Nothingness In Everything

Nothingness In Everything
© Surazeus
2019 03 02

Logging off my social media accounts, 
and leaving my phone on the bedroom dresser, 
I step outside and sit in my backyard 
to stare at nothingness in everything. 

I feel solid intensity of Earth 
pulsing in mounds of dirt that bulge compact 
around hot molten core of spinning sphere 
which flashes nothingness of magnet waves. 

I see small seeds spiraling into plants 
through sprouting tendrils of fractal expansion 
when sunlight spins vast webs of throbbing veins 
where nothingness of hunger consumes more. 

I see enormous sun like spider blaze 
flashing webs of photon rays that weave matter 
which splashes from Earth in organic froth 
of nothingness who wakes in conscious brains. 

I dream whole history of our universe 
since first flash flares forth into spiral waves 
of galaxies that nurture worlds of life 
who wake from nothingness of hungry hope. 

I breathe cool air when breezes rustle trees 
and swirl my hair in puffs around my face 
which sparkles flashing cells of glowing soul 
that I am nothingness of the White Whole. 

I strum guitar in quiet afternoon 
and improvise strange contemplative thoughts 
to explore vast labyrinth of mirrored myths 
and wear nothingness as mask of my self. 

I see slant rays of light illuminate 
faces as petals on the wet black bough 
over white chickens by the red wheel barrow 
as I eat fruit of nothingness and laugh. 

I Forget Who I Am

I Forget Who I Am
© Surazeus
2019 03 01

I forget who I am before I wake 
so I invent new self from ocean salt 
and talk to God, my father in the cloud 
whose face stares down at me from beams of light, 
then I float in pond where fish kiss my eyes 
so I become clear shadow of your heart. 

I stand in nothing of slant morning light 
and become wind that whispers in frail trees 
so if you want to find out where I live 
follow chewed cores of apples on mud shore 
of this small river that already knows 
weird new name I intend to dream today. 

The apple on black tree grows more blood red 
than gold sun that beams through my tender skin, 
illuminating fragile bones of faith 
that sprout invisible wings of desire 
so we can fly together from this town 
where we must invent new names every dawn. 

The black heart of the moon shines in my eye 
to flash awake strange consciousness of rain 
so I paddle small wood boat of bird bones 
on laughing river that mocks how I sing, 
then gives me another name to pretend 
I am important as the bleeding moon. 

I forget who I am before I wake 
so I invent new soul from fractured glass 
of every mirror ever forged from sand 
yet when I tear my face off howling wraith 
I wake from anguish of our river flow 
to know why nothing springs from broken hearts. 

Inside small house of glass on river shore 
in deep valley between high jagged peaks 
I mold new body for my shivering soul 
to rise reborn from ashes of world war 
then look in mirror to see every face 
of every person who gazed in its truth. 

I weave ten billion faces in one face 
so I become omniscient god we dream 
who stands on river shore at dawn of time 
and weaves her visions into neuron cells 
that sparkle in billions of living brains 
though she is now statue in cleansing rains. 

Now that I design new self to be real, 
which I mold from mud of Castalian Spring, 
I stand on street corner and sing your tales 
because immortal mask of my true face 
mirrors your face when you look in my soul 
since we are sparkles of the vast White Whole. 

I Tend My Garden

I Tend My Garden
© Surazeus
2019 03 01

While the world goes crazy with politics,
contesting over whose ideology
manages commercial activity,
I tend my garden of fruit trees and herbs.

I sold my television years ago
so I spend my long quiet afternoons
tending produce in soil of my back yard,
watering roots, pulling weeds, and trimming limbs.

Then after working I sit in the chair,
in shimmering glow of the indifferent sun,
to drink apple juice and listen to birds
sing about their desire to fly with love.

Cradling guitar in my arms, I tune strings,
then strum vibrating tension of desire
and pluck melodic solutions for love,
then sing strange visions that flash in my eyes.

While they fight over who controls the world
I control my own progress in my yard,
transforming wilderness into my garden
where apples hang over the sparkling pool.

Capitalism spurs productive growth,
while socialism distributes the goods
to everyone, so all participate
in vibrant life of our economy.

I nurture food to grow from fertile soil
while government officials regulate
all commercial transactions to ensure
fair exchange of money for goods produced.

I give ripe apples to lost refugees
so they can eat while wandering road of hope,
and they plant seeds of apples in rich soil
to create more gardens on river shore.

Last Angel In Heaven

Last Angel In Heaven
© Surazeus
2019 03 01

Faster than waves crashing against sharp rocks
to remind me my flesh body is frail,
as flowers that blossom in torrents of rain,
I walk toward city of the singing stones.

I want to know how angels know my name
because I designed its vision from mud
of naked river where nothing but light
from sunrays explains strange reality.

Each step I ascend winding trail of hope
brings me closer to shining paradise
where girls in temples harmonize in choirs
with voice of prophecy in roaring waves.

Dead bodies of children, women, and men
lie strewn on golden streets of paradise,
blood staining white marble with tears of death
that shimmer silently in swirling smoke.

Who killed all the angels of paradise,
I cry out in anguish of desperate fear,
and vanish in nothingness of fire smoke
that sucks all sorrow from my hollow heart.

So many beautiful people destroyed
by sharp swords lie mangled on temple floors,
eyes staring blankly at the empty sky
as their elegant names bleed in mute soil.

The last angel in Heaven still alive,
I sit on throne where God judged life and death,
and gaze at empty hall where shadows sing
as God and angels are devoured by worms.

Children From The Lost City

Children From The Lost City
© Surazeus
2019 03 01

No better way can ever be contrived
to understand how ancient tribes survived
hostile wars between Asuras and Devas
when Assyria and India fought fierce wars
than reading legends of Angels and Devils
battling to control Ziggurat of Ishtar.

When Godin, All-Father who ruled Asgard,
allied with Yahweh, Jupiter, and Zeus,
lead fierce Aesir down from vast Scythian plains
to battle Brahma, Shiva, and Vishnu
over who rules fertile Sumerian fields,
they fought to control Ziggurat of Ishtar.

Ruling the world from Ziggurat in Ur,
Godin crowns his son Issa as Osiris,
wise heir to rule as judge on throne of power,
so Lucifer, who expected to rule,
rebels and leads his loyal followers
north over Caucasus Mountains to Scythia.

Renaming himself Skyolder, Lord of Light,
Lucifer leads Assyrians in wagon trains
to colonize fertile lands on long rivers
they name Earth for Gearthe, Mother of God,
settling Gerthmania, Witalia, Galatia,
Gothinia, Celtia, Britannia, and Scotia.

We populate those lands ten thousand years
now named Europe for beautiful-faced queen
who rides white bull in parade of lost souls,
thriving in Germany, Italy, Gaul,
Sweden, Denmark, Ireland, England, and Scotland,
children from the lost city of Asgard.

Now sailing wood ships on sea of Atlantis,
children of Godin migrate to the west
and swarm across rich land of Onatah
we name America for Haim Eric,
Home Guard over strong castle of stone walls
rebuilt from ancient Ziggurat of Ishtar.

Since Godin and the Angels of Asura,
fought Deva and the Devils of Bharata,
ten thousand wars between opposing clans
have raged across fertile lands of the Earth,
but I will return as Prophet of Peace
to worship love on Ziggurat of Ishtar.

Now desolate in waste land of despair
the huge Ziggurat of Ishtar stands empty,
bleak temple to the fellowship of man
where Ishtar once sang Creation of Life,
so I sit alone under shining stars
and drink refreshing wine of honest wisdom.

Nameless Radiance Of The Wraith

Nameless Radiance Of The Wraith
© Surazeus
2019 02 28

When pain has emptied my heart of all truth
so naked in bleak dark I walk alone,
I become nameless radiance of the wraith
that writhes in ecstasy of psychic being,
hollow voice twisting silence into song
that wrings melodies from cries of despair.

When illusions of happy family life
shatter love into fragments of contempt,
cracked by indifference of logical fact,
I escape pure light of the silent home
and stare at the road that winds into stars
to fall into black hole of nothingness.

Nowhere to go now from white empty room,
I look for signs that lead to paradise
that preachers claim shimmers above blue sky,
but wander nameless road far outside town
to stand shivering in rain on muddy field,
heat of the blind sun burning me to ash.

Thousands of starving people from cold gloom,
crawling from shattered television tubes, 
zombie toward me to devour my sogged brain
as they whisper they will pray for my soul,
and reach frail hands to claw our throbbing hearts
that hang rotting from black limbs of dead trees.

I want to wake from nightmare of this vision,
but I am awake, alone in red rain
that soaks libraries of books so inked words
of ancient stories bleed into swift rivers
as putrid chemicals from factories
that spew toxic lust in Pool of Narcissus.

Shivering in featureless field outside town,
I look for my ancient friend, the gold moon,
which shatters into fragments of bright eyes
who stare from every drop of falling rain
to wash all memories of pleasure and pain
from my sponge-slick brain till my soul twists weird.

I occupy this empty space with empty heart,
ballooning flushed horror that throbs my head
with gushing flow of rivers through my veins
in swirling cycle of unspoken anguish
to flash my eyes clear with red sun of dawn
when sharp rays gleam on broad infinite glen.

Expanding outside confines of my skull
in billowing flush of intense desire,
I ache with sympathy for suffering souls
who wail on river shore where skeletons
wander together among dead black trees
to eat moist mushrooms of immortal truth.

This is no allegory for our times
of civil conflict between clashing truths
though we scream voiceless into silent void
strange analysis of current events
in psychic battle to control the world
through stories to praise who suffers the most.

Though corporate gangsters try to enslave us
with aching need to sustain soul-flashed body
with blood of angels, siphoned from cave lake,
we fight blind tyranny of institutes
through expression of individual will
to work together and share our earned wealth.

What fierce audacity of loving faith
expands to contain empty space of truth
when howling demons who animate us
spiral coiling from infinite black hole
to weave sunlight into body of flesh
which generates our conscious soul of lust.

Last apple in the world hangs from dead tree
that sprouts greed buds at kiss of morning light,
so I caress moist bark of twisted limbs,
then kiss gray stone that shimmers in swift stream,
because at last from abyss of despair
I crack from egg and become the White Whole.

Natural Expression Of Chemicals

Natural Expression Of Chemicals
© Surazeus
2019 02 28

When I sit outside the building at noon
to savor nature after eating lunch
I feel vibrations of life from the world
emanate through sweet glory of desire.

The moist soil of the Earth which supports me,
the cool air I breathe, the water from rain
splashing my eye, and the sun glowing warm,
they all sustain existence of my soul.

Though soil and air and water and sunlight
nurture my evolution into being
they are indifferent to my living weal,
nor care whether or not I reproduce.

I enforce success of creative will
by investigating nature of things
then organizing elements of nature
to maximize efficiency of life.

I enhance strict process of my success
by programming daily ritual of action
which generates more life-sustaining food
through expression of pleasure to consume.

Though the world of elements loves not me,
swirling my whole body into existence
through natural expression of chemicals,
I love this world that generated me.

If They Harm None

If They Harm None
© Surazeus
2019 02 28

How many times will white men and police
kill innocent people with darker skin,
or women who will not submit to lust,
before we demand justice of the law
punish them with equal severity
for everyone else who breaks social rules?

How can I appreciate beauty of art
and enjoy intense emotions of music
while innocent people are getting killed
because white men cannot control their anger
at feeling impotent in tides of life,
like everybody else who learns to cope?

We all appreciate intense desire
to program rituals for living life well
that maximizes return of investment
so we profit from creative endeavors,
but none of us go on killing rampage
to enforce our will when life is not perfect.

Men annoyed that life does not match their hopes
should exercise self-control within bounds
of social law to respect human lives,
and recognize everyone has the right
to pursue happiness of their desires
by doing what they want, if they harm none.

Sculpture Of The Horse

Sculpture Of The Horse
© Surazeus
2019 02 28

White marble smooth as slick ocean iceberg
carved in elegant curves of leaping flow
expresses anguish of hungry desire
in taut-muscled form of the wind-swift horse
that races in frozen motion of hope
far beyond silence of museum hall.

Epona touches sculpture of the horse,
sliding slender fingers along its curves
to taste taut tension of its seething force
contained in solid mineral shape of stone,
and savors beauty of its leaping flight
that shimmers white in vast museum hall.

Hidden in leaf veil of the apple tree,
Epona watches the white horse run swift
along the sparkling river in slant rays
of sunlight that illuminate taut force
of bundled energy uncoiling limbs
to leap over logs and skid in lush grass.

Rearing high, the white horse strikes its sharp hoofs
at hissing danger, whinnies quick alert,
and stamps the writhing snake to crush its skull,
then prances among flowers and butterflies,
arching its head with ears pricked and eyes wide,
while swishing long tail with arrogant pride.

Eager to win affection of the horse,
Epona stands still on lush river shore
and holds bright apple glowing in her hand,
catching her breath when the horse sidles near,
and keeps as still as the tree in the wind
as the horse sniffs the apple in her hand.

Standing every day on lush river shore,
Epona offers apple to swift horse,
till wind-swift leaper trots up to her side
with eager affection of trusting love,
so she caresses his mane and smooth skin,
then slides on his back and kisses his neck.

Holding tight with arms around his full chest,
Epona gasps for breath when he runs swift,
galloping fast as wind to high hill top,
then charging down the slope with eager flight,
and dodging around trees in playful game,
to stop at last by her tall apple tree.

Caressing the horse sculpture with bright eyes,
Epona smiles at memory of their play,
then stern museum guard glares and demands
that she not touch the art, so she withdraws
trembling hand and blushes in rays of light
that highlights its soul in museum hall.

Origami Shadows Of Desire

Origami Shadows Of Desire
© Surazeus
2019 02 28

Through origami shadows of desire
I unlock doors of possibility
on noble quest to build the perfect world
where we exchange equal energy flow
to sustain honest love that binds our hearts
and fuels our journey to share joys of life.

Yet no matter how many times I leap
alternate timelines of possible ways
to interact with you that will ensure
perfect happiness that harmonize flow
of psychic energy between our hearts
I unfold word-smeared paper-airplane script.

No matter how many times I jump worlds
of possible scenarios for our love
in restless quest across our multiverse
to stay on track that harmonizes ways
we interact in drama we design
I fall on paper wings of Icarus.

No matter how many times I slip past
moments where I say words that hurt your heart
to realign machinery of our love
by shifting gears of psychic attitude
so we connect in harmonious desire
I tumble on wind of anguished regret.

No matter how many times I adjust
dial of quirky attitude to program
conceptual expressions that charm your heart
with vision of my loyal loving trust
to balance our exchange of energy
I give and take hot charge of sparkling will.

On origami wings of trusting flight
I soar through mirror doors of dreaming eyes
to open looking glass of flashing hope
and navigate infinite maze of faith
through twisting corridors of signaled truth
to find you safe in haven of my heart.

As We Sleep Together

As We Sleep Together
© Surazeus
2019 02 27

Quiet sadness of twilight tingeing bones
blue with strangeness of waving guitar twangs
soothes transient ache of slow remembering
for each moment we are together close
as silence and death which binds are lone hearts
in spiral dance of empathy through whispers.

So close we are together on this globe,
yet the entire world bulges out between
our faces when we turn away to mute
clashing argument that entangles us
in convoluted contest about what
we could do to survive horror of death.

Exhausted by constant struggle against
threat of annihilation that hurls gloom
of silent despair, we sit under tree
of rotting apples full of wriggling worms
and listen to wind batter fragile leaves
when it explains why everything decays.

Heart beating fast as wind in clanking trees,
I sit still as stone throbbing river flow,
body still tense from memory of my actions
running through woods as I grip sharpened spear
to hunt deer forty winters of aggression,
now aching with weariness of my race.

Hunger drove me to kill swift animals
of lithe leaping beauty so I could roast
sweet flesh over crackling flames in twilight,
and feast to empower my body with heat
of pleasurable life, but now I look back
on winding path of my hunt with surprise.

I killed and ate so many animals,
which filled my body with aggressive force
to dominate landscape with my sharp will,
but now I wither and weaken from age,
instead of transforming into swift bird
so I can fly high among glowing clouds.

I cease strumming guitar to hear blue wind,
and float bodiless through immensity
of silent consciousness without my name,
for I disappear in dark nothingness
to become the last ray of light that glows
over distant mountain peak of lost joy.

I consumed wild spirits of animals
so they all wake inside my throbbing head,
aching to run swift along winding streams
and chase blustering wind to the sunless sea
where we become the dancing swirl of sand
whose laughter echoes into bleak moonlight.

I touch your emptiness with breath of hope
when I dip fragile hand, gashed by sharp rock,
in sparkling river so my singing blood
taints yellow sand with sorrow of my love
till I become shadow inside your eyes
when you return and touch me with soft words.

Kneeling together among wind-swept reeds,
we dip our hands in water of the world
and drink sweet sunlight to revive our hearts
with silent joy that we are still alive,
then I cuddle you in my warming arms,
to become moonlight as we sleep together.

Through Their Forgotten Eyes

Through Their Forgotten Eyes
© Surazeus
2019 02 27

Just as I almost come to comprehend 
vast complexity of our universe, 
dream bubble of my vision on its nature 
pops into sparkles of oblivion. 

Skipping carelessly among daffodils, 
with dreamy eyes in slanting rays of light, 
I chase apparitions of human faces 
that smile as petals on a wet black bough. 

Astonished at emptiness of our faith, 
I tumble into abyss of despair 
when I skip laughing off cliff of far sight, 
and crawl broken in slimed slough of despond. 

Grasping tufts of grass in my trembling hand, 
I ask the silent face of my dead father, 
whom I see in glow cloud of ancient wisdom, 
about true nature of our universe. 

I contain multitudes of long-dead people, 
invisible inside cave of my head, 
whose voices echo in wave-sloshing winds 
that swirl around me on bright mountain top. 

I stand on green island in wild blue sea 
on enormous globe spinning into clouds 
where blazing eye of light too bright to see 
silently watches me walk everywhere. 

Bright eye of light is always in the sky 
since I am emptiness of hungry hope 
so when my head spins dizzy in vast space 
I lie down on grass to become all things. 

They flock around me in cool gusting wind, 
all the poets and storytellers whose words 
glow black on pages in ten thousand books 
after their bodies all dissolved to dust. 

They watch me with eyes of infinite thought 
through dreams of twilight possibilities 
which merge all multiverses into world 
where I now wake with weird astonishment. 

Though I reach my hand out in swirling gloom, 
hoping to capture essence of each soul, 
and mold their spirit in mask of their face, 
they vanish away on butterfly wings. 

Their names are written in tangled tree roots 
that curl down into dark heart of our world, 
but only fruit of their expressions bloom 
from silent skeletons of their lost souls. 

So once again I rise up from frail Earth 
and stand on mountain top of aching hope, 
then breathe deep spirit of each whispering soul 
to see this world through their forgotten eyes. 

Red Flowers When We Die

Red Flowers When We Die
© Surazeus
2019 02 27

After walking for years on cement roads 
in astonishing sunlight of desire, 
I sit on yellow grass in city park 
and listen to trees explain why we are. 

On busy street in Samara I meet 
young woman whose eyes glow with sparkling stars 
so we hold hands and walk among red flowers 
to share songs of birds we hear in our dreams. 

Holding hands of trust in warm slanting rays, 
we explore familiar world with strange eyes 
to become each other more when we kiss 
and lie together in shadow of faith. 

Together forty years since hour we met, 
we become whole emptiness of lost fear, 
and glow with happiness of our true love 
that turns us into red flowers when we die. 

Our Lightning Wraith

Our Lightning Wraith
© Surazeus
2019 02 27

This world is not so lonely as it seems 
where we talk to masks of strangers we know 
to replay ancient myths in surreal dreams, 
amused when flowers bloom through crystal snow. 

I meet new people everywhere I walk 
in vast well-ordered maze of city games 
where strangers eat despair with mouthing talk 
that weaves weird tapestries from secret names. 

We give each other masks we carve from faith 
of ancient trees where honeybees brew love 
so we drink god-brain wine with lightning wraith 
who brings funny tales from Heaven above. 

I walk country roads in ten thousand towns 
to find wild party in old ring of stones 
where children sing with angels in white gowns 
and wizards prepare potions from our bones. 

Those dancing spirits vanish in dawn mist 
so I call out their names in anguished faith 
till clever riddle in our game of whist 
reveals true nature of our lightning wraith. 

I flash in cloud that glows above your world, 
revealing true way of power through vast maze 
though angels seek where the dragon lies curled 
somewhere beyond the veil of purple haze. 

I glimpse her pretty face in passing crowd, 
wise angel who will rule our world one day, 
whose brain now spirals bright from the storm cloud, 
so I kneel by the flashing sea to pray. 

Since I was born from broken egg of myth 
I become spirit of our nation-state, 
star queen emerging from our lightning wraith 
who will restore our truth destroyed by hate. 

Weird World Of Forgotten Dreams

Weird World Of Forgotten Dreams
© Surazeus
2019 02 27

While mapping weird world of forgotten dreams 
that people drop along the signless road, 
who search for Heaven along sparkling streams, 
I come face to face with the robot toad 
that sucks oil from throbbing heart of the Earth 
as we sing in ruined church of second birth. 

Wielding my word pen, mightier than the sword, 
I battle banking robot toad of greed 
manipulated by the Money Lord 
who rules fertile fields from gold tower of need, 
so I wander lost in waste land of hope, 
learning riddles of truth on how to cope. 

Riding white giraffe with Pegasus wings 
through streets of Gotham at the darkest hour, 
I gather thirteen elves with magic rings 
to assault the vampire in his gold tower, 
so we spiral swift in storm-flashing sky, 
battling over whose truth beams from World Eye. 

Star Girl with three eyes, riding Lion King, 
arrives from waste land of the Laughing Clown 
to give me new sword forged from angel wing, 
so I can rule shadows of the ghost town 
who whisper secrets of the hanging god 
whose promise of salvation is a fraud. 

Since I must join side of justice and truth 
in cosmic battle between love and hate, 
returned from Heaven as messiah sleuth 
I master chess game of our nation-state 
to battle Vampire God in tower of gold 
who steals back Crown of Prophecy he sold. 

Though still in exile after civil war 
over who pays tax to the Guild of Clowns, 
our Fairy Queen with book of ancient lore 
ascends pyramids in ten thousand towns 
to crown wise Liberty Queen of our Hearts 
which weaves vast web of souls on world-wide charts. 

Now that I mapped every river that flows 
from mountains of prophets to seas of kings, 
I can reveal where the crystal ball glows 
that prophesies when Queen Liberty sings 
to show how we evolve from fish to gods 
who fight for truth in social justice squads. 

I sit alone in mountain cave of dreams 
and map ideas in epic of desire 
where eyes of humans swim in time-bright streams 
to sing in harmony with sun-soul choir, 
designing program of the star-search goal 
to feel our minds vibrate with the White Whole. 

Surviving Our Civil War

Surviving Our Civil War
© Surazeus
2019 02 26

I remember nothing before this hour 
wrenched me gasping from gloom of aching hope, 
so I breathe deep fresh wind of silver skies 
to maintain balance on two trembling legs 
since broken angel wings dissolve to dust, 
then I stagger forward, driven by lust. 

How old is this spinning world of cracked light, 
I ask the jagged rock on the beach sand 
who tells me how waves surge in flooding tide 
in rhythm with the moon that knows my name, 
so I hide in hollow cave of my heart 
when alarm bells of anxiety clang. 

Barrage of cannon fire echoes through woods 
in rapid pocking of explosive fear 
to wind taut anguish of my hope for peace 
that urges coiled heartbeat of my desire 
designing program for successful work 
when I descend star mountain with God Spells. 

My brain envisions weird scenarios 
presenting what if everything goes wrong 
to cause destruction of my fragile soul, 
so I crouch hidden behind tall stone wall 
of peaceful heaven my father once built, 
too anxious to explore vast hostile world. 

What lurking monsters as fierce gangs of men 
hunt for me in wilderness of desire, 
I wonder as I peer at moving shadows 
that haunt silent woods beyond haven walls, 
but, gripping magic wand of wisdom, I 
venture through anxious gate of wariness. 

How bright did this alarm of mental scope 
shine in ancestors to wake them alert 
when danger threatened to destroy their lives 
so that its operations of awareness 
too keenly blare through meadows of my mind, 
causing me to see danger everywhere. 

When alarm of anxiety blares loud, 
I analyze environment of my state 
to review nature of my situation, 
and determine if that danger is real, 
then adjust stance and progress to ensure 
safe navigation of this hostile world. 

I wonder who I am today, so I 
stand on marge of the silver-sparkling pool 
and gaze at shimmering image of my face 
that masks with placid mien of careful faith 
seething emotions of intent desire 
to secure strict routine of self-protection. 

When opposing factions fight civil war 
in frantic strife of conflated despair 
to control our national narrative, 
I dodge snapped conflagration to avoid 
destruction of my soul integrity 
and build foundation on truth I can trust. 

Assembling new world view from shattered shards 
of truth, discarded by aggressive hordes 
of frightened men who shoot each other dead, 
I construct sprawling cathedral of myths 
that incorporates every god ever worshipped 
by humans searching for love in the dark. 

Gripping magic wand of wisdom, I race 
zinging bullets from howling guns of hate 
to escape clash of ideologies 
when religious warriors kill for their god, 
then wander bruised and battered somewhere lost 
on signless road through waste land of despair. 

Huddling among ruins of ancient church, 
bombed by nationalist aggression for control, 
I stare at statue of their savior god 
whose shattered visage gazes down with love 
at fields of Elysium blasted by war, 
and feel his loving spirit wake in me. 

Since our god died two thousand years ago, 
each man who gains control of social games 
declares himself anointed by that god 
to reign with divine right of noble good, 
but two such men who claim that divine right 
fight to the death to secure right to rule. 

I want to live outside their empire games, 
but gangs of men band together to fight 
other gangs of men over fertile land 
so I have to join one gang or the other 
to keep myself alive till rule of law 
again prevails to maintain peaceful order. 

Once loyal to my nation, family tribes 
descended from our wise ancestral god, 
I switch adoring focus of my faith 
to rest on principle of liberty 
for every person to live as they will 
with equal justice under noble law. 

From monarchy in worship of one king, 
who reigns because his father reigned before, 
we change dynamic game of politics 
to fair republican democracy 
where we the people vote for human being 
who serves our vast food-production machine. 

Rising up from field of battle, I stand 
dizzy in slanting rays of clear sunlight 
to gaze at meadow of wind-rustling trees 
where the river flows still from distant hills, 
and see nothing in the sky except clouds, 
wild land beyond all nation-states of men. 

Instead of building new civilization, 
I want to live free on this fertile land 
like Adam, who tended trees of ripe fruit, 
but billions of people who survived war 
must live together on this spinning globe, 
so we build new society for all. 

Our planet spins from hot vibrating coils 
of atoms woven into minerals 
which generate creatures with conscious brains 
so we organize duties of our hands 
to produce food so everyone can eat, 
consuming sweet energy of our sun. 

I see the sun glow like a giant spider 
that weaves our world from strings of molecules, 
so I swim in the river of cool water 
to cleanse my soul of sorrow and despair, 
then stand singing under the apple tree 
as I become one mind with the White Whole. 

Empty Shells Of Hope

Empty Shells Of Hope
© Surazeus
2019 02 26

Immersive wisdom of our virtual world 
that shimmers in the neurons of our brains 
guides our journey through labyrinth of desires 
so we may navigate physical landscape 
of the possible our hands can achieve 
by surfing well waves of cause and effect. 

I want to construct economic system 
that assigns creative role for each person 
so we maximize production of food 
that provides sustenance for everybody 
to support their more creative endeavors 
transforming our world into paradise. 

Too many people die in brutal conflicts 
where groups compete for limited resources 
when everybody could cooperate 
so all experience pleasures of desire 
by sharing produce in grand feasting hall 
to feast and celebrate people we love. 

I wander waste land of our bombed-out cities, 
remembering how our culture used to be, 
people driving cars between work and home, 
then sharing food at parties with our friends, 
but now their laughter echoes in the wind 
that blusters through the empty shells of hope.