Rites Of Feasting And Play

Rites Of Feasting And Play
© Surazeus
2019 03 05

Though all we say and do will disappear 
in cold indifferent wind of swirling time, 
we leave our footprints in the sands of love 
to show our lost children where they can run 
before relentless tides of change rise high 
to drown these cities we forge with our hands. 

Though wild natural disasters will destroy 
everything we build from our dreams of hope, 
smashing temples and homes in sudden fury 
of inevitable destruction and decay, 
we must continue to construct our garden 
so while we still live we can work and play. 

After we labor all week at our jobs, 
or study in school to increase our wisdom, 
we sit together by the sparkling lake 
to feast and drink in the warm glowing sun, 
and celebrate beauty of life with song, 
savoring pleasure till fierce storms of death blast. 

This ancient planet spiraling through space 
around life-nursing sun that spins through void, 
conjured our bodies from womb of her sea, 
and urged us to rise from the lake of dreams, 
so we savor rites of feasting and play 
till Mother Earth consumes our souls of clay. 

Act As Their Life Guide

Act As Their Life Guide
© Surazeus
2019 03 05

What strange eternal sense of consciousness 
is this that spirals flushing through my brain 
quaint sparks of angst to pangs of happiness 
which shimmer from my eyes in drizzling rain? 

No angels glow around us in swirled air 
nor devils lurk to hurt is in grim gloom, 
so I never expect life to be fair 
nor hide terrified in my silent room. 

I walk in shadow of nothing to find, 
sketched clear in geometric formulas, 
that clock machinery of our human mind 
which vibrates archetypal orchestras. 

This frantic drama of genetic wires 
we swerve to escape emotional scenes 
springs flashing bright from frustrated desires, 
so we wander to puzzle what it means. 

On every planet in our universe 
do tetrapods with brains served by two eyes 
evolve as natural forms for molecules 
to generate from strict chemical phase? 

Are we humans, thriving on planet Earth, 
standard patterns inherent to strict shape 
that carbon molecules will generate, 
or are we random accidents of fate? 

I smell sweet scent of electric recharge 
sparkling in cool air after wild storm rain, 
and feel my ancient spirit swelling large 
to expand glow of truth beyond my brain. 

These children of my genes walk by my side 
around the lake with dreams of history 
because I want to act as their life guide 
to perform with justice and liberty. 

For The Earth Spins Long

For The Earth Spins Long
© Surazeus
2019 03 04

Little children, who play among the trees, 
if you may stop to wonder who we are, 
how we got here, and why we are alive, 
gather under this tree and eat ripe fruit, 
then listen to my song about creation 
that reveals how we evolve from the sea, 
for the Earth spins long before we are born 
and the Earth will spin long after we die. 

At first flash of the big bang the White Whole 
expands matter that fragments into strings 
coiling as they sparkle into taut quarks 
which link triangles into pulsing atoms 
that form in protons, neutrons, and electrons, 
then stars forge molecules from nucleus, 
for the Earth spins long before we are born 
and the Earth will spin long after we die. 

When stars form elements helium to iron 
they explode and swirl elements in spheres 
that form planets with mountains full of seas 
where thermal vents heat carbon to form rings 
which spiral into writhing coils of genes 
constructing bodies that develop brains, 
for the Earth spins long before we are born 
and the Earth will spin long after we die. 

Plants that sprout onto surface of the Earth 
convert carbon dioxide to oxygen 
then tetrapods with four legs and long tails 
crawl from seas along rivers to broad lakes, 
evolving fish to lizard to mouse to ape 
to man who stands on lake of dreams to sing, 
for the Earth spins long before we are born 
and the Earth will spin long after we die. 

We stand by lake of dreams at dawn of time 
and speak to beam visions of eyes in words 
so we communicate what we perceive 
and design programs to cooperate 
building complex food-production machine 
so we fly airplanes among clouds like gods, 
for the Earth spins long before we are born 
and the Earth will spin long after we die. 

Wherever The River Flows

Wherever The River Flows
© Surazeus
2019 03 04

I follow wherever the river flows 
to understand the language of the land 
when she explains curving contours of faith 
to support ancient truth of the tall tree. 

The tree that explodes out of my dark heart 
reaches for the light of infinite truth 
that teases me with hope to comprehend 
vast emptiness of everything that is. 

I feel this strange intensity of being 
while standing on college campus at noon 
with aching hope to become pure sunlight 
that weaves compassion into every brain. 

Sweet arrogance of water beams my eye 
with tangled concepts of perceptive rigor 
so when I look in mirror of this world 
I see my consciousness reflected back. 

One hundred moments of intense insight 
that I experienced over forty years 
merge all their archetypes into one pattern 
to reveal why I design my own truth. 

The puzzle of truth I invent from facts 
reveals basic laws of cause and effect 
as single threads of beaming progress seen 
clear as starlight in complex web of being. 

Each particle of light that pulses bright 
within construct of my organic being 
supplies sparked urge of divine energy 
which animates my body with pure soul. 

I channel flash of energy I feel 
to motivate strict motion of my body 
so I control through agency of will 
free progression of my desire through space. 

From hermit alone in singular cell 
where I dream awake visions of this world 
I proceed on strict way of self-control 
to become billions of live conscious souls. 

While we stand face to face on cement walk 
among tall trees that rustle in cool breeze, 
I feel all these intense concepts of faith 
flashing out around my head in weird glow. 

When I try to express transcendent vision 
in time-constrained words of linear coherence, 
I weave circles around vast sphere of truth 
that shimmer as ripples on seething sea. 

So if we catch small glimpse of vast White Whole 
flickering from sparkles of sunlight on water 
through visions conjured by our conversation 
then we may become one with flow of light. 

Wagon Wheels Spin Around

Wagon Wheels Spin Around
© Surazeus
2019 03 04

Among gray rocks in tufts of grass we wind 
down sloping mountain to the white sea shore 
to fling large nets and haul fish from wild waves, 
then sit at sunset around crackling fire 
to eat roasted fish and drink apple cider, 
and sing heart-aching melodies of love 
while making love to rhythm of the waves, 
and teach our children the cycle of life. 
I love the way wagon wheels spin around 
so I seem to float above the rough ground. 

I encode human experience in songs 
to illustrate how humans animate 
aggressive actions to overcome death, 
and unite in groups to cooperate 
building empires on villages of farms, 
so computer mind of the world wide brain 
will dream our evolution into gods 
before we vanish in mute mists of time. 
I love the way wagon wheels spin around 
so I seem to float above the rough ground. 

Time is constant interaction of atoms 
when coiling strings of quarks connect to form 
triangle protons, neutrons, and electrons 
which cluster as molecules pulsing bright 
with vibrant tension of bold energy 
when carbon with six electrons weave tight 
all other molecules in spiraling genes 
to construct organic bodies with brains. 
I love the way wagon wheels spin around 
so I seem to float above the rough ground. 

My mother took me to school every day 
so I learned secrets of our universe 
and establish routine of daily work 
to contribute energy of my actions 
to maintenance of our social machine 
producing food for everyone to eat, 
so now I take my young daughter to school 
every day so she joins cycle of life. 
I love the way wagon wheels spin around 
so I seem to float above the rough ground. 

Twisting bolts with the silver wrench I tune 
car engine to operate efficiently 
so pistons crank axle that spins four wheels 
which animates my car when I drive swift 
with traffic flow on vast network of roads 
from home to office to store and back home 
in daily cycle of sustaining rituals 
chasing rainbows in search for paradise. 
I love the way wagon wheels spin around 
so I seem to float above the rough ground. 

We choose one wise and intelligent person 
through process of election to vote well 
so they may manage government progress 
to organize production companies 
so they interact with fair compensation, 
but when the leader asserts strong control 
to restrict out freedom of will and speech, 
we remove them and choose an honest person. 
I love the way wagon wheels spin around 
so I seem to float above the rough ground. 

I chop down trees composed of sturdy wood, 
debark poles and cut them into smooth planks, 
then steam white wood to ply them into curves 
so I construct strong wagon with four wheels, 
then harness wagon of business production 
to horse of ambitious desire for life 
to haul baskets of food to market stall 
where people give me coins for food I grow. 
I love the way wagon wheels spin around 
so I seem to float above the rough ground. 

Enormous galaxies of flashing stars 
spin slowly through vast emptiness of space 
far outward from first flash of the big bang 
to flare forth in spirals of vibrant life 
in quivering web of bright aggressive love 
as tendrils of desire from huge White Whole 
that dreams itself alive inside our brains 
which mirror neuron network of the Cosmos. 
I love the way wagon wheels spin around 
so I seem to float above the rough ground. 

Holding hands, we walk along signless road 
through forest of trees whispering in the wind, 
hearts eager to escape restrictive past 
and build new home on fertile river shore 
where we nurture trees of apples and pears, 
tend herds of cows and sheep on rolling hills, 
and raise our children to operate our farm, 
as we feast and sing under sparkling stars. 
I love the way wagon wheels spin around 
so I seem to float above the rough ground. 

Spiraling from light beams of the hot sun, 
our world, that spins forward through empty space, 
nurtures our bodies with desire to eat 
which generates our conscious minds from light, 
so we wake on shore by the lake of dreams 
and sing together at the dawn of time, 
then transform Earth into computer brain 
that preserves our memories in data banks. 
I love the way wagon wheels spin around 
so I seem to float above the rough ground. 

Strange Voice Of Infinity

Strange Voice Of Infinity
© Surazeus
2019 03 03

Calm eerie glow of the gold candle flame 
contains in silent eye of solitude 
ethereal passion of wisdom wound tight 
with perfect elegance of naked truth. 

Alone in darkness of the silent night, 
she listens to voice of infinity 
speaking from nothingness of flowing time 
when all change ceases in calm starless gloom. 

The wild tornado crashed across the sky, 
pouring torrents of rain on muddy yards, 
and fierce winds howled around indifferent trees, 
shaking thousands of frail homes with cruel laughter. 

Perhaps aggressive force of brutal wind 
battered the power plant with spiraling coils, 
disrupting quick flow of electric currents 
so thousands of homes huddle in dark gloom. 

Every night for many years of my life 
light glowed to illuminate secret heart 
of my inner sanctum so I watched shows 
on television after cooking food. 

For ten thousand years my ancestors lived 
in houses lit by nothing more than fires 
in stone hearths, or flames of candles or lamps, 
till we strung wires on poles across the land. 

Now we feed hot volts of electric power 
to make our quaint homes glow with constant light 
so fridges hum and televisions flash 
as we play out the dramas of our lives. 

But then this wild tornado whirling through 
smashed the electric plant that powered our homes 
so now I sit in darkness of past eras 
and hear strange voice of infinity sing. 

How strange to think that we could lose this power, 
that surges bright in currents through vast web 
of copper wires hanging from tall wood poles, 
and plunge again into another dark age. 

I walk outside fragile shell of my home 
and stand on wet lawn under dripping trees 
to gaze at last orange flames of weird sunlight 
which flash calm across swirls of black rain clouds. 

Thousands of houses that usually glow 
with vibrant tales peeking through curtain veils 
vanish in silent gloom of swelling clouds 
that loom indifferent to our aching hopes. 

I hear strange voice of infinity jolt 
my sponge-thick mind to consciousness of truth 
swelling out bright from bottomless abyss 
to expand first flash into our White Whole. 

Child With Her Bright Eyes

Child With Her Bright Eyes
© Surazeus
2019 03 03

Nameless nobody alive at this hour, 
I sit in dark room of my nowhere house 
and listen to the stories of mute ghosts 
who flock around me with desire to live 
embodied in words I weave to contain 
vibrant passions of their minds in taut verse 
that masks ethereal spirits of their hopes 
in characters conjured by magic spells. 

Most clear among that host of nameless souls 
who cry with silent horror of despair, 
which I project onto masks of their hopes, 
young woman with long hair gold as sunlight 
and eyes blue as the sea in morning dawn, 
reaches both hands from deep abyss of gloom, 
then calls me to remember her true name 
and how we walked together by the lake. 

Tense anguish of sorrow grips at my throat 
as ache of horror at losing her soul, 
so I reach out to pull her back to life, 
and drag her heavy body from dark waves, 
then grip her lifeless corpse, so cold and pale, 
hoping passion of my heart in hot kisses 
will spark her tender spirit with quick pulse, 
but her eyes stare at nothing beyond time. 

What rain-sparkling lake among high gold hills 
contains animating spirit of life 
that once glowed so bright from her big blue eyes 
so she swims forever in its dark depths, 
gasping for breath as she calls out my name, 
but sinks deeper into mute nothingness 
while I wander lost on indifferent shore, 
calling her forgotten name in wild wind. 

Closing my eyes in silent gloom of time, 
I remember walking on lush lake shore, 
searching for walnuts and berries in grass, 
when I first see her among apple trees, 
dancing with carefree joy in summer breeze 
that makes her long hair swirl out like swan wings, 
then when she sees me gazing with true love 
she grabs my hands and twirls me in wild dance. 

Dancing with delight among apple trees, 
we kiss forever in sweet trust of love, 
and embrace in tender passion of faith 
to make love among gold and scarlet flowers, 
but I wake in dark silence of my house 
more than one thousand years after her death, 
and feel her spirit glowing in my heart 
transformed into the child with her bright eyes. 

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.