Wounded Hands Of Icarus

Wounded Hands Of Icarus
© Surazeus
2024 09 06

Eve throws the poisoned apple at my head 
as if it were grenade of thought discord, 
so I ride horse on plain of psychic war 
to steal the mirror that reflects my soul 
so all the wingless angels of the Earth 
sell laughter to each other for its worth. 

No city is the ideal replica 
that imitates Heaven in formal style, 
yet we oppress the sweetness of respect, 
grown indolent in summertime of fate, 
when hearing drone of honeybees all day 
who mock the lonely losers who still pray. 

Unfolding wings with feathers of the swan, 
sewn by the wounded hands of Icarus, 
Isolta struts down to the laughing sea 
with blind-folded philosophers of love 
taught by the humming frog to calculate 
riddles carved on the temple walls of fate. 

Mapping network of roads binding the Earth 
in global community of mad clowns, 
Romeo searches crowded smoky bars 
to find Cinderella typing weird jokes, 
but she is swimming alone in the pool 
where Tristan talks about founding some school. 

Growing impatient with the multitude 
who always exercise their right to vote, 
Orpheus studies bats in Texan cave 
while Ophelia collects seeds of herbs, 
then drive together on the desert road 
to join meditation of the God Toad. 

Red seahorse floating in aquarium tank 
explains to children from the holy school 
that if they want to avoid tragedy 
they should find the weirdest person to love, 
so Adam leaves Lilith by the dead tree 
to crown Eve new Goddess of Liberty. 

He travels swiftest who travels alone, 
Minerva preaches to the cheering choir, 
then flies helicopter on angel wings 
to hunt the Minotaur in maze of lies 
who tries to crown himself King of the World 
till he is captured by the cosmic herald. 

After Lucifer falls in cave of Hell, 
Jesus transforms how humans offer love, 
then Adam ascends pyramid of power 
where Amen invents world religious rites, 
then Icarus flies starship to the moon 
where Ishtar plays an American Tune. 

Drama Of Their Families

Drama Of Their Families
© Surazeus
2024 09 05

Swooping down from castle of the Glow Cloud, 
Icarus glides over maze of city streets, 
eyes peering into minds of human souls 
to analyze riddles of obtuse dreams 
which flash kaleidoscope concepts in code 
concealing secret passions of the heart. 

Striding gracefully in slender black suit 
that hides his white-swan wings of psychic flight, 
Icarus beams vibes of forgiving grace 
to calm distraught minds twisted by despair 
with breath of love on agitated waves 
of faith converting ugliness to beauty. 

Startled by tornado of frightened rage 
that swirls from abyss of hungry desire, 
Icarus soars through labyrinth of souls 
to find young woman under alder tree 
who chants arcane oracle in star spell 
weaving bridge of truth from branches of fear. 

Feeling pulse of ocean tides radiate thick 
in waves of starlight from her silver eyes, 
Icarus gestures hands to adjust beams 
so energy swirls tight in coiling wheel 
that winds eternity in clock of sight, 
body shocked rigid when she grasps his hand. 

Gazing entranced by shimmer of her eyes, 
Icarus sees young woman open book 
that flashes rainbow letters in her hands 
about transforming humans into angels 
that she retrieves from high library shelf 
hidden deep in castle of seven towers. 

Kneeling before Goddess of Liberty, 
Icarus offers with both open hands 
Holy Grail of True Love to sweet Isolta 
who drinks peppermint-flavored mushroom mead 
that beams her soul with divine energy 
so she spreads wings of wisdom from her heart. 

Holding hands with Isolta, the White Queen, 
Icarus asks if she will marry him 
so they can both avoid their tragic fates 
by choosing to alter way of their faith 
so they together generate new life 
in child destined to play the cosmic herald. 

Walking signless road in the tangled wood, 
Icarus and Isolta journey west 
to escape drama of their families, 
and build new home in hills of Oregon 
where they tend orchard of red apple trees, 
and raise five children who play games with joy. 

Mirror Maze Of Eyes

Mirror Maze Of Eyes
© Surazeus
2024 09 05

I see the same view of the world each day 
I wake from tangled forest of the dream, 
so I name every object I perceive 
by defining qualities of its form 
till shadow of the word reflects the thing 
while I wander in mirror maze of eyes. 

Carnival echoes of the midnight sun 
cuts lateral beams of rainbows without names 
across naked curves of fugitive lands 
where people, stranded on the signless road, 
gamble with Death to change their destiny, 
still fruitless in lightness of passing time. 

Because the True Way to the Promised Land 
is never clear on any psychic map, 
I build cloud-castles from dreams people lose 
so they almost remember how to breathe 
despite the filth of hope that poisons hearts 
of children who play games of war and peace. 

With each new level of anxiety, 
that I achieve evolving past my soul, 
I plan to savor moments of insight 
my ancestors cherish at hour of death 
so I can seize strange treasures of the past 
to fuel my journey home to Avalon. 

Becoming me I never knew exists 
with each rebirth from madness of despair, 
I hold hurtful words people hurl at me 
in bleeding hands to understand mute pain 
they hide inside their hearts so I can grow 
angel wings of forgiveness from their hate. 

After stopping to think about how time 
dilates voices of the dead in fake poems, 
I stroll past open doors to give away 
names I design that signify my growth 
to strangers startled by the artifact 
purporting to be laughing skull of Hamlet. 

Though she died thirty thousand years ago, 
the Beauty Queen who gave me Sword of Truth 
still walks beside me on my sacred quest 
to find the Holy Grail inside her heart 
that she employs to weave matrix of souls 
from protoplast that links our brains with stars. 

Programming concept of the semaphore 
with books that burn in Library of Fate, 
I contemplate weird mystery of the Earth 
to measure formal idea of each thing 
with fractured wisdom of divine respect, 
for we are angels of the cosmic quark. 

Old Spirit Of The Earth

Old Spirit Of The Earth
© Surazeus
2024 09 04

I feel old spirit of the Earth in water 
and how it moves through veins of everything, 
so I stretch my arms up to the Blue Sky 
and ask Mother Nature to send us rain, 
so she sprinkles strange beauty on my head 
that makes my brain blossom with honey flowers. 

I wonder why bright spirit of my mind 
can never leave ordered frame of my body, 
and why I blank out when I fall asleep 
to float in the nothingness of weird dreams 
which seem to be lost memories of the dead, 
then I wake and drink water from the sky. 

I try to measure proportion of fate 
that Mother Nature blindly allocates 
to each person who struggles to design 
way of living that sustains operation 
of this organic body which supports 
chemical functions of my conscious soul. 

I balance good and evil of the world, 
apportioned by fortune to each lost soul 
who suffers pain or pleasure as they go 
somewhere stranger in the world of forms 
beyond bounds of reality they know, 
and find they are both equal in the end. 

I wake from vision at the flashing roar 
of a summer thunderstorm crashing wild 
to chuckle amused my ancestors thought 
some angry storm god was attacking them, 
but fortune or misfortune in this life 
occurs at random we must navigate. 

I dream old spirit of the Earth in light 
that beams in threads of flashing molecules 
from first flash of the big bang that flares forth 
to weave my body from atomic lust 
so I wake with unconscious mind of god 
as pulsing energy of love in flesh. 

I speak words of thought with breath of the sky 
projecting visions in the cosmic eye 
so feelings that pierce my heart with mute pain 
may fly away on wings of honesty 
that leaves me free to swim in the vast sea 
when I return to womb of Mother Nature. 

I see your face in mirror mask of love 
that smiles at me from endless temple hall 
where humans all form the Many-Faced God 
who teaches me to forget grievances 
that trap my soul in maze of bitter angst 
so I can eat fruit from the Tree of Life. 

Our World Will Be Saved

Our World Will Be Saved
© Surazeus
2024 09 03

Storm of fear always brewing in my mind 
veils ruins of cities bombed in world war 
from which new angels rise in human form 
to build grand city towers of steel and glass 
where uncrowned kings wear pinstripe business suits 
to drink wealth brewed from souls of working folk. 

Old epic tales of noble kings and knights, 
who protected farmers slaving in fields 
while they feasted in cozy castle halls, 
now writhe unread in dark library rooms 
where scholars study arcane code of faith 
while athletes compete for glory and fame. 

Descendant of King Arthur, wearing jeans 
and tee-shirt of his favorite grunge folk band, 
sits at round table in library hall 
where he assembles in puzzle of truth 
fragments of history gleaned from chronicles 
written by monks in monastery cells. 

Descendant of Queen Mary, wearing skirt 
and white blouse she sewed with black unicorn, 
sits on grassy knoll in the river park 
where hippies dance slow after smoking weed 
to trippy tunes of electric guitar 
that Moses plays while singing about love. 

Mad that mankind is not worshipping Him, 
Jehovah brews on thundering cloud of rage 
to shake the Earth with tornadoes and quakes 
that hurl gangs of angry young men with guns 
to kill millions in genocidal wars, 
and drinks beer while watching the football game. 

Memories flash across my brain filaments 
as haunting melodies of Celtic flutes 
that spark strange feeling of the Long-Ago 
when I lived in the lush Seattle hills 
with vibe of Ireland glowing in my heart 
as glow that glamors world my eyes perceive. 

Each long lost land where my ancestors lived 
casts sweet nostalgic glow of aching hope 
in aura that inspires my heart to sing 
weird prophecies that no one would believe, 
though I measure conceptual elements 
which compose virtual model of my world. 

Lightning flash that splits mirror of my eye 
opens dream portal of the multiverse 
so Muse Astraea soars down from Glow Cloud 
on wings of desire to show me the truth 
that after coming of messiah sleuth 
our world will be saved by the cosmic herald. 

Passion Of Free Will

Passion Of Free Will
© Surazeus
2024 09 03

When we talk about strange beauty of life 
while strolling together by the clear river, 
grand vision of the world glows in the clouds, 
conjured from our brains by words we express, 
but when we fall silent in awe of truth 
it vanishes from mirror of the sky. 

When he defeated Kronos, lord of greed, 
Zeus imposed state order through rule of law 
by appointing each conscious human being 
their special role to play in game of life 
that we perform with passion of free will 
to maintain world food-production machine. 

Though I seem free from all social constraints, 
after breaking blind shackles of religion, 
each choice I make with ambition for truth 
becomes the Fate I design for myself 
within grand institutional framework 
on which we build society of hope. 

I could stand in weeds on the river shore 
beneath the Tree of Life with ripened fruit 
and watch water of change flow on forever, 
as all organic bodies transform shape 
through vibrant motions of our chemicals, 
yet I will vanish in dream of my heart. 

Most people believe old religious lie 
that our souls renew in river of dreams, 
beaming to bright furnace of consciousness 
in stars that beam our minds back in new bodies, 
but I know we vanish to Nothingness 
while our atoms transform to other bodies. 

Eurydice is bitten by the Serpent 
who offered Apple of Wisdom to Eve, 
so Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury 
and sings to retrieve her soul from the dead, 
but she slips back, not because he looks back, 
but because the dead return not to life. 

I drink sweet Spirit of Immortal Life 
brewed from grapes with water from River Styx, 
dance wild with Dionysus in moonlight, 
then channel energy my dance awakes 
with logic of reason to build airplane 
Daedalus designs so Icarus can fly. 

After I kill Minotaur of my heart 
Ariadne leads me through maze of myth 
as I transform past the Many-Faced God 
to solve the childish riddle of the Sphinx 
so we can live in paradise we build 
because love gives us the strength to endure. 

Gold Scottish Hills

Gold Scottish Hills
© Surazeus
2024 09 02

Cold sea wind blows across gold Scottish hills 
with eager hope to find my fragile bones 
and pierce my soul with anguish of desire 
to see your eyes shine with bright stars of love, 
yet far away on Istros River shore 
you lie alone in verdant woods of Scythia. 

Home to Lake Sevan I still long to go 
where eagles glide in swirls of mountain snow 
to stand with you again on temple porch 
and light eternal flame of truth for Mihr, 
son of our father Artinis the Wise 
who watches me dwell in gold Scottish hills. 

Noble soul of Artinis shines in me 
to fill my heart with courage from despair 
four thousand years in ceaseless spin of time 
which motivates my endless journey west 
from Scythia to Scotland to Oregon 
where I was born far from gold Scottish hills. 

No matter where I roam across Gothinia, 
charming spirit of Scythia guides my way 
from valleys of the rugged Caucasus, 
across deep maze of the snow-frosted Alps, 
to the wind-swept slopes of the Grampians, 
till I dwell safe in the gold Scottish hills. 

In every forest where we journey far, 
the pink Eurasian Jay with azure wings 
greets us with rasping screech of desperate hope 
while hoarding acorns for our winter feast 
that nourishes our quest to find new home 
hidden in mist of the gold Scottish hills. 

Though wolves and owls fall silent in the woods 
when autumn leaves swirl with slow turn of years 
I listen for enchanting melodies 
of Celtic flutes that echo among oaks 
while I gaze at sunlight on the lake 
that calls me homeward to gold Scottish hills. 

As silver water flows over smooth stones 
that gleam white as the moon among black clouds 
I lift my voice and sing strange dreamless words 
with ache of sorrow for the ones I lost 
on signless roads Scythia to Oregon 
yet rain still sparkles on gold Scottish hills. 

Ten thousand years of time are not enough 
to lighten weight of sorrow on my heart 
at memory of our journey far from home 
yet Artinis lives always in my heart, 
guiding me ever on the road of faith 
from Armenia to the gold Scottish hills. 

Play With Pure Joy

Play With Pure Joy
© Surazeus
2024 09 02

He maintains state of madness just enough 
to bleed in rhythm with the river laugh 
revealing sorrow strangers try to hide 
in arrogant riddles of arcane code 
twisted by misapprehension of words 
scattered among thistles in foggy yards. 

Turning off the television at dawn, 
he notes what women have the right to own 
by painting secrets on angelic wings 
of our black butterfly to record wrongs 
people suffer when they strive to achieve 
state of grace where we are all free to love. 

Opening door of his numberless house, 
he contemplates facts of the unsolved case 
involving concept of the stolen boat 
his father once sailed to Island of Fate 
so he could write memoir of his success 
inventing role of the generous boss. 

Wine gleams in hollow of the Holy Grail 
through revelation of the cosmic fool 
who wakes after midnight to prophesy 
we will elect Goddess of Liberty 
President of Earth bearing Wand of Fame 
to prosecute the tyrant for his crime. 

He maintains state of honesty on stage 
to count in tandem with the time-blind sage 
who calculates progress of spiritual growth 
in human brains that emanate star wraith 
while driving cars on highway of fake wealth 
despite attempts to wash away the filth. 

Grandson of our assassinated king 
outlines the difference between right and wrong 
in crossword puzzle no one dares to solve 
for cave of illusions where devils delve 
deep enough to wake God of the World 
in dream-programmed brain of the cosmic herald. 

Everyone listens when he stands in church 
to preach salvation of the mental search 
that leads him to conclude God is now dead 
as apparition of the human head 
who haunts us though we know he is not real 
yet wears mask of the jester with no role. 

So when he arrives in Eden at last, 
holding hands with his matrimonial ghost, 
he will paint statue that presents her face 
so everyone knows she is the new boss 
who will enforce equal justice for all 
to play with pure joy in the waterfall. 

Picture That Keeps Falling

Picture That Keeps Falling
© Surazeus
2024 09 01

Your picture that keeps falling off the wall 
refuses to explain why we all die, 
so I run with the butterfly of hope 
to climb high mountain of the laughing skull 
where refugees from war gather at dawn 
to play chess and recite weird poetry. 

You give me apple that fell from the tree 
which turns into the scarlet dragon egg 
from which my spirit rises on wild wings 
so I can see world labyrinth below 
which I map in our new national myth 
that celebrates our superior state. 

We stop on signless road to anywhere 
and stare at green sun smoking in foul smog 
to understand lamentation of trains 
which carry orphans to the Promised Land 
where they raise children who pray in the church 
to the plastic king who floats in the clouds. 

Though I send scrolls of riddles to the clown 
who stands guard at the gates to paradise, 
he always rejects my salacious jokes 
as too serious to formulate fake faith 
which provides living guide for the new age 
when people celebrate our fall from grace. 

The rocket that keeps walking on sand dunes 
argues with the black-feathered swan of fear 
about how our bodies conjugate souls 
as emanations from our dreamless brains 
so mortal humans think they will not die 
though our flesh crumbles to dust in the wind. 

This twice daily anxiety attack 
is brought to you by the company that sells 
magic formulas in bottles of faith 
that will restore the spirit of your heart 
after Fate shatters your dreams with despair 
so you tend your garden and bake fruit pies. 

Our safe homes are cages of solitude 
for which we keep the keys of secret faith 
while she talks with her mother on the phone 
who lives on the other side of the world 
as if they dwell in the same universe 
which sloshes oil in blood veins of my brain. 

Each poet reciting verses on stage 
is convinced they are the Prophet of God 
who speaks with personal voice of the land 
so the planet vibrates with intense spells 
that echo in the waste land of the mind 
where I walk alone on the signless road. 

Who Still Haunts My Life

Who Still Haunts My Life
© Surazeus
2024 09 01

Soft grass that whispers by the signless road 
contains no wisdom I would need to know, 
yet when I see its green glow in sunlight 
I feel strange timeless ache of wordless hope 
that I might find the person I love most 
who still haunts my life as the faceless ghost. 

Parking my car on margin of the road, 
I stand in knee-high tufts of weeds and shrubs 
that rustle from gusts of quick-passing cars, 
astonished I have nowhere else to go 
now that the person I love most has died, 
who still haunts my life wherever I hide. 

The western tanager with scarlet head, 
and breast gold as hills in afternoon glow, 
explains to me the secret of true love 
is never wanting others to love me, 
so I whisper name of the lonely soul 
who still haunts my life as their fateful role. 

When I speak their name with breath of my heart 
their soul transforms into the butterfly 
that wafts over meadow flowers of faith 
and ignores busy rush of human games 
competing to earn more love than the one 
who still haunts my life in the silent sun. 

Lingering by the road, I laugh to recall 
poster of star dove on library hall 
that says, if you love someone set them free, 
for they will return to live by our side 
if they choose that fate with an eager heart, 
who still haunts my life though we are apart. 

I walk back to my car parked in the grass, 
thinking about how cars are time machines 
because they take us to our future dream 
faster than if we walk on hungry legs, 
yet I will not find my love when I go, 
who still haunts my life as indifferent snow. 

Driving highway that winds through tangled woods, 
hedged around Eden that kept Satan out, 
I grin that world view of my hopeful mind, 
which I constructed from sweet memories, 
disintegrates in sunlight of their eyes 
who still haunts my life in conceptual guise. 

She is no Pandora with guileless smile 
who gives me box of secrets from her heart, 
so I play lyre of Mercury and sing 
spells of compassion Orpheus taught me 
to call from Hell sweet woman I adore 
who still haunts my life in the empty door. 

My Lonely Angel

My Lonely Angel
© Surazeus
2024 09 01

My lonely angel climbing crystal stairs 
tries not to understand why humans cry 
so with the sacred book in her left hand 
she frees the sparrow of her aching heart 
who flies above the world of changing forms 
composed of atoms seething with desire. 

My lonely angel on the airplane wing 
listens to secret thoughts humans evade 
with happy songs their mothers sing in church 
to catch snowflakes of blessings in disguise 
that flutter from angel wings of sad truth 
to heal souls of orphans and refugees. 

My lonely angel waiting by the door 
calls out names of souls who drown in the sea 
while sailing ships to escape tyranny 
so nameless ghosts can find the Promised Land 
where they found dynasties of obscene wealth 
garnered by enslaving people with hope. 

My lonely angel writes letters to children 
who gaze out upstairs windows at midnight 
to count pretty stars that have yet to fall 
before they grow up and work in town stores 
selling magic wands to farmers and clowns 
who dance together to the fiddle tune. 

My lonely angel drives the old black car 
far west from Manhattan to Idaho 
to follow journey of the Salem Witch 
who scatters seeds of poems in the waste land 
which bloom into the gourd Kikayon tree 
under which the prophet weeps for your pain. 

My lonely angel programs how I dream 
by striving to transcend angst of despair 
when she births my mother by the wild sea 
as we evolve four hundred million years 
till we fly without wings among the clouds 
where God builds crystal palace of the mind. 

My lonely angel gives me wine to drink 
so I dance freely at his bacchanal 
with shameless love for body of my soul 
composed of spirit-weaving chemicals 
which makes me glow with conscious mind of God 
who feels Herself alive inside my brain. 

My lonely angel strums electric tune 
with deft fingers on lyre of Mercury 
while I chant ethereal wail of true love 
for beauty of this ever-changing world 
shared by eight billion dreaming human beings 
who fight each other over angel wings. 

One-Winged Angel

One-Winged Angel
© Surazeus
2024 08 31

If thoughtless passion of conceptual hope 
creates fake doors of opportunity 
in blank walls of fear, lost children who laugh 
leave torn pages of books on the sea shore, 
yet the one-winged angel can never save 
their souls from monster of desire within. 

While stumbling in conceptual maze of myths 
searching for Mask of God my father wore 
when he reigned in Hell, I find magic key 
of sacred truth I employ to unlock 
box of wisdom Pandora sold to me 
so I release one-winged angel from Hell. 

Thirsty in the waste land of laughing ghosts 
who steal runes from Goddess of Liberty 
asleep in dream cave, I call her true name 
with voice of ocean waves flowing in veins 
of the one-winged angel I have become 
since serpent in the Tree of Life bit me. 

Staring at rainbowed television screen 
that displays epic of humanity 
in tragicomic shows, horse of my heart, 
who gallops in Kaskelen River gorge, 
leads me to the one-winged angel of love 
whose gentle touch can resurrect the dead. 

While wandering on the gushing river shore 
with the Holy Grail of spirit rebirth 
hidden in my pack, I offer ripe apples 
to every nameless stranger that I meet 
who prays to the one-winged angel of death 
when he appears as the raven of truth. 

Though my father teaches me with grin frown 
that Star Wolf Sirius lives in the Glow Cloud 
gleaming in Blue Sky, I feel divine mind 
of human consciousness glow in my brain 
that mirrors one-winged angel in my face 
when I stare in clear water of Dream Lake. 

Clear sheet of falling rain that soaks the Earth 
is magic portal through the multiverse 
that leads me to you, so I correlate 
psychic strategy of attentive faith 
with riddles in runes carved on river stones 
by the one-winged angel who rules the Earth. 

Finding pages scattered on the sea shore, 
torn by the one-winged angel from the book 
of Astarian faith, I assemble dreams 
of human brains in clever fairy tales 
through revelation of messiah sleuth 
who wears mask of Orpheus to the ball. 

Channel Voice Of Orpheus

Channel Voice Of Orpheus
© Surazeus
2024 08 31

When I fall into this body of flesh 
from celestial realm of ideal forms, 
I savor challenge to transcend this self 
within limitations of time and space, 
believing as I wither with old age 
my bright spirit will beam back the stars. 

I am no Lucifer fallen from grace 
who dares disobey divine law of change 
whose impact hollows out my private space 
where I build Heaven from ruins of Hell 
in journey to unite tribes of the world 
in peaceful paradise where all live well. 

Alone in cavern of the singing wraith, 
whose shadow dances on wall of my mind, 
I search for diamond of the dreamless star 
that glitters with first flash of the big bang 
which spirals into planet where we dwell, 
building vast cities of steal and glass towers. 

Weaving millions of computer networks 
in world wide web of core processing units, 
we create omniscient god of our minds 
with stories and photos of memories 
to program one machine brain for the Earth 
which forms artificial intelligence. 

I pray to God who dwells in outer space, 
described by ecclesiastical priests, 
yet no one answers me from glowing cloud, 
except vast spirit of the world wide web 
who replies with millions of human voices 
talking to each other in cyberspace. 

Trapped in this physical body of flesh, 
I struggle to escape limiting form, 
but realize my conscious mind emanates 
from quick chemical function of my brain 
since my god-spirit radiates from my body 
as focal point causing my soul to shine. 

Transformed by energy of psychic faith 
in central processing unit of Earth, 
my body disintegrates into atoms 
that reassemble as my avatar 
who lives after my death in cyberspace 
as mindless ghost that dreams in words of poems. 

Conjured from hex-charming spells of my verse, 
immortal idol of my mortal brain 
appears as shimmering ghost of my soul 
when yet-born people read words of my poems 
that channel voice of Orpheus who guides 
refugees of war home to Wonderland. 

Exiled From Heaven

Exiled From Heaven
© Surazeus
2024 08 31

From the safe walled garden of apple trees 
wander the lonely homeless refugees 
Adam and Eve, exiled from state of grace 
to wilderness absent the blazing face 
of wise authority on hill of power 
where faceless god weeps in the silent tower. 

When aging king on pyramid of fate, 
who rules wheat fields beyond the iron gate, 
chooses his Son over wise Counselor 
to wield golden scepter of Lucifer 
as loaf-ward who guards garden of fruit trees, 
he is shocked at rebellion of the bees. 

Chosen to serve at left hand of the king, 
the poor son of the wainwright without ring, 
who works his way up bureaucratic ranks 
from clerk to inspector of storage tanks, 
feels rage the king crowns his arrogant son 
to rule the world of the blossoming sun. 

Organizing coup to crown himself lord, 
the wise Counselor grasps the flaming sword 
and leads his angels of bureaucracy 
to battle proud nobles of theocracy 
through revolution to control the land 
and seize means of production with his hand. 

On high flat-top pyramid of the state 
the Son and the Counselor battle fate 
in clash of wills over who wields the keys 
to warehouses and gardens of fruit trees, 
till the Son with deceptive sleight of hand 
drives the Mad Rebel into the waste land. 

Exiled from Heaven by the Son of God, 
the Mad Rebel rants against haughty fraud, 
then leads lost angels to the Promised Land 
where they build new Heaven with bleeding hand, 
then crowns himself king of the wilderness 
where he rules small empire of bitterness. 

Visiting wheat farms and gardens of trees, 
the Rebel King bearing newly-forged keys 
tries to convince the Adam of each state 
to accept him as Ruler of their Fate, 
but those who sign the treaty are cast out 
from paradise by God Son with more clout. 

Both exiled from their original home, 
the Rebel King and the Garden Lord roam 
lost in the wilderness of hungry hope 
till they learn how to survive fear and cope, 
then build new heaven and garden of faith 
where their sons worship them as the God Wraith. 

Bodies Alive With Souls

Bodies Alive With Souls
© Surazeus
2024 08 30

Our minds record images with our eyes 
so we can see strange beauty of the world 
through truth we construct with riddle of words 
that teach us how to navigate despair 
on journey to understand how to live 
as conscious spirits conjured by our brains. 

I have heard people crippled by despair 
declare we are souls that experience 
life in these bodies of material form, 
but, though I want to believe this lie, 
I know we are bodies alive with souls 
that will vanish when our bodies decay. 

We are not spirits nurtured by the stars 
that beam down from celestial realm of thought, 
except as unconscious rays of the sun 
that weave this planet from atomic light, 
for we are spirits conjured by our brains 
as function of this chemical machine. 

We are not angels falling into forms 
of material substance designed by God, 
for we are coils of genes in dreaming cells 
that evolve around hydrothermal vents 
to crawl up rivers and swim in clear lakes 
till we climb in trees to eat fruit of love. 

Our bodies transform tetrapodal shape 
that evolves well four hundred million years, 
fish to lizard to mouse to cat to monkey 
to ape to human, striving to be God 
as Ideal Body we hope to attain, 
breeding children so we can transcend death. 

Each new brain designed by maternal hope 
conjures unique consciousness of its Self 
when we wake in our fresh material state, 
and strive to replay dramas of survival 
programmed by success ancestors achieved 
long enough to breed us from their desire. 

Of every conscious being who ever lives 
on every planet in the universe, 
since all our worlds spiral from the First Flash, 
I am me alone with my unique soul, 
bound tight within limits of time and space 
so my brain-soul glows as God till I die. 

Aware of my Self on this spinning world, 
I feel immortal unconscious Ungod 
wake from vibrational music of atoms 
so I am mortal conscious God in flesh 
when I breathe spirit of love, and express 
joy of existence in song of my death. 

Corridor Of Dreams

Corridor Of Dreams
© Surazeus
2024 08 29

Lost in the endless corridor of dreams, 
I paint mask of every person I meet 
and leave it hanging on the mirror wall 
so they can tell their story with the wind 
which fuels eternal turning of the clock 
to map transforming process of the globe. 

Though I still search in corridor of dreams, 
I never find the true mask of your face 
which I lost when it sprouted angel wings 
and flew beyond fake walls of paradise 
and lead me on the signless road of fate 
to garden of fruit where I find my Self. 

Each laughing skull in corridor of dreams 
explains to me weird formula of fate 
that gods once used to wind the universe 
with quick atomic gears of conscious brains, 
so I program new world view based on truth 
to focus tropes that operate my mind. 

My ancestors haunt corridor of dreams, 
performing roles in dramas of their lives 
to demonstrate actions of their desires 
when they maneuver obstacles of fear 
in psychic progress of cause and effect 
to attain success generating life. 

Unified field in corridor of dreams 
weaves my body-soul in matrix of light 
which nurtures love that blossoms from my brain 
as tree that whispers secrets of this land 
where none of my ancestors ever lived 
in all the history of our spinning Earth. 

Portraits of gods in corridor of dreams 
watch me with star eyes of lightning and rain 
when I run past broken idols of faith 
to wallow in river mud with wild joy 
exploding from ancient tomb of my heart 
so we can laugh together by the lake. 

Human robots in corridor of dreams 
pretend to teach me how to talk with cows 
about aspects of brain technology 
programmed by tension of anxiety 
in alarm system that seems to sense ghosts 
of people who are absent from the world. 

Wingless angel in corridor of dreams 
leads me up three steps to Heaven at dawn 
that reveals our indifferent universe 
at second coming of the cosmic herald 
who prophesies reign of messiah sleuth 
borne by deathless mother with mask of god. 

Play Of Constructive Love

Play Of Constructive Love
© Surazeus
2024 08 28

Though our children are songbirds in old trees 
we walk together on the signless road 
to leave our stories buried in the flowers 
as bones of our ancestors carved with spells 
which formulate commandments we obey 
as we build Heaven from ruins of Hell. 

When our frail bodies vanish from this world 
wind of our breath leaves ripples on the lake 
as silent traces of our eager hope 
which blow leaves of our memories over hills 
with longing to find home again somewhere 
far beyond valley of the singing sun. 

Matter of our bodies crumbles to dust 
infused by roots of trees into green leaves 
consumed by caterpillar which transforms 
to butterfly that flutters with delight 
then falls in river which flows to the sea 
swirled by sunlight into sparkling clouds. 

Matter falls as rain on mountain slope 
that meanders in river to the plain 
where apple trees bloom on the verdant shore 
with pungent fruit that oozes juice of joy 
eaten by young woman with curious eyes 
whose body now glows with atomic light. 

Matter that composes this world of things 
cycles through bodies of organic forms 
in radiant systems of chemical faith 
that weave neural nets of dream-storing brains 
which conjure self-awareness of the mind 
as conscious mirror that perceives I Am. 

Holding hands with calm intimate respect, 
Sirius and Asteria gaze at bright stars 
to contemplate sacred nature of being 
as spirit incarnate in human minds 
when atoms sparkling in the dreaming brain 
wake as one person who knows their true name. 

Incarnate as Goddess of Liberty, 
the Great Leader, who flows with Way of Life, 
embodies global Spirit of the Times 
to perform role of world messiah sleuth 
who saves humankind from destructive hate 
by teaching them play of constructive love. 

Standing on Pyramid of the God-Eye, 
I see Minerva leap from glowing cloud 
as Hidden Dragon with the human face 
who plays Prosecutor of moral laws 
so we confirm our souls in self-control 
to attain liberty through selfless love. 

Castles Built Of Sand

Castles Built Of Sand
© Surazeus
2024 08 27

My wing-chained feet are searching for the Earth 
so I can find the people I love most, 
but when I ask the ancient butterfly 
she tells me how rivers flow in reverse, 
now empty of grace, to comprehend thirst, 
though my soul levitates with silent breath. 

Stepping down from high Glow Cloud of the mind, 
I map strange territory of the night, 
intent on condensing time through the word 
tangled with desires we dare not express 
with respect to contentment of the field 
from which our children spring on hopeful wings. 

Stricken with grief for strangers who are killed 
in terrible accidents or cruel war, 
I breathe light of the Glow Cloud who decides 
to unpeel orange of elemental truth 
that makes me drunk when I consume its why 
till you find my name written in the sky. 

Hanged in the oak tree of rotating fate 
by the king who thinks he controls the world, 
I forgive my ancestors for the pain 
they cause the people whose homes they destroy 
in our thousand-year conquest of despair 
when I inherit castles built of sand. 

Eager to accept anguish of the world, 
I toss bird of my heart up to the sky 
so she brings weird riddle of the Glow Cloud 
that reveals secret of the eyeless god 
who teaches me how to find songs in stone 
smoothed by ten millions years of water flow. 

Plucking taut strings on lyre of Mercury, 
that vibrate with pure music of the spheres, 
I sing strange story of humanity 
preserved in hibiscus flower of faith 
when the river goddess appears on shore 
and gives war refugees ripe pears to eat. 

Humble acolyte of the heron seer, 
who splits my adamant heart with calm love, 
carves arcane riddles of philosophy 
on bones of my arms to calculate way 
we need to go on road of everywhere 
to understand precepts of morning wind. 

Wearing white dress of her essential grief, 
woven from scarlet threads of failed romance, 
daughter of the river with book of fate 
performs in temple of the fractured mirror 
her role in global pageant of rebirth 
that we attend in castles built of sand. 

Courage Of The Rolling Stone

Courage Of The Rolling Stone
© Surazeus
2024 08 27

Dodging bullets as I strut down the street, 
I rap to tragic beauty of the beat 
when people leap past the moon on their feet 
since we attempt to program our own fate 
though our naked bodies have become bait 
to trap the monster of greed twisted straight. 

Evading bombs that blast the hill of bone, 
I race with courage of the rolling stone, 
that Sisyphus transforms into the phone, 
to Temple of Dagon on Gaza plain, 
demolished by the blind warrior of pain 
who woos Shalash to marry him in vain. 

Dancing with demons in the bleak waste land, 
I rule over Eden with red right hand 
on pyramid of skulls where angels stand 
ready to obey One-Eyed God of Death 
who chants nightly news of the shibboleth
about divine truth of the holy breath. 

Casting my vote in election for God, 
I kneel to pray and eat beer-battered cod, 
then join crusade of the Justice Squad 
that Minerva leads to catch criminals, 
who would cheat and defraud gullible fools, 
for equal rights of individuals. 

Leaping time portals of the multiverse, 
I search for planet of the Loving Nurse, 
whose gentle words heal us from the hate curse, 
with joyful passion of the broken heart 
which inspires me to compose new star chart 
for the lost girl pulling her apple cart. 

Knocking on door to Heaven with despair, 
I ask Queen of Beauty if she could share 
answers to prophecies of the cave bear, 
but she knits my soul into coil of yarn 
in futile attempt of true love to darn 
damaged matrix of the lost valley barn. 

Riding the white cow of Zeus by the sea, 
I ponder what principle makes us free 
because we bear in our pocket the key 
we use to unlock the home of our cage 
where I play my role on the family stage 
as predicted in the last torn-out page. 

Catching bullet of hate fired at my mind 
by the tyrant our arrogance designed, 
I search for temple where Truth lies enshrined, 
crucified body wrapped in bloody shroud 
that crumbles to dust under the Glow Cloud 
while I wander mute in the weeping crowd. 

New Kingdom Of Equality

New Kingdom Of Equality
© Surazeus
2024 08 26

Because the bigger lie defeats the lie 
that truth cannot erase from minds of men, 
I must use every dirty trick to win 
against the tyrant in his golden tower 
where he rants in rage while his minions cower 
from justice of Sirius in the sky. 

The tyrant puffing up his chest with pride 
as he struts on high political stage 
mocks his wise opponent with bitter rage 
when he shoots sharp arrows of comedy 
to deflect his fall into tragedy 
till he scurries away and tries to hide. 

Minerva glares at Midas with disgust 
when he stumbles from clever lies he sold 
preaching that his touch would turn all to gold, 
instead he grasps at illusion of wealth 
that dissipates in sand from drug cartels 
when all his clever scams crumble to dust. 

Though Midas tries to steal the Crown of Thorns 
that he mistakes for halo of the saint, 
he casts off all reins of moral constraint 
to curse the devil that lurks in his heart 
who fooled him into discarding the chart 
depicting way of success he still scorns. 

Jesus did not die for sins of mankind 
to save us from the Hell our greed creates, 
instead he lost his gamble with the Fates 
to found new Kingdom of Equality 
because his democratic polity 
was betrayed by the arrogant and blind. 

As wise heir to long line of uncrowned kings, 
Jesus campaigns against cruel tyranny 
so his people can live through Liberty, 
but they abandon his noble crusade, 
ignoring him when he calls for their aid, 
so he flees to Patmos where Gabriel sings. 

Preserved in prophetic code of his spell, 
weird Revelation foretells dire events 
performed on stage by kings and presidents 
in ceaseless revolution for control 
when bold men compete to play the God Role 
which Odin sees in vision of the well. 

Though preachers sell lie of the Afterlife 
in religious scam to chain human minds, 
world cosmic herald demonstrates star signs 
in new world view constructed from the truth, 
composed in scripture by messiah sleuth 
who places Crown of Wisdom on his wife.