New Glass Masks

New Glass Masks
© Surazeus
2017 09 10

I spent over fifty years of my life
deleting from the program of my brain
conspiracy theories and fantasies
of religion and politics to clear
my dreaming mind of superstitious lies.

When I shot the steel bullet of defiance
straight into the winds of Hurricane Irma
the laughing god Nerthus snatched it from death
and hurled it back into my dreaming brain
that penetrates the television screen.

When I was still a curious boy in Texas
I learned to ride the tall eight-legged horse
from one-eyed Wild Bill Pecos and his wife
so I can ride the hurricane to Heaven,
but when I first saw red-haired Skathi ski
Parnassus Mountain in the swirling snow
I rose from darkness at the break of dawn
and chanted scathing curses at the giant.

The gaunt woman with electric-wire hair
who lies on the high cliff of crumbling hope
grasps the lightning bolt, and binds writhing power
in naked beating of my aching heart
so her daughter can teach me arcane art
of carving runes to capture dreams of eyes.

Though all the puzzle pieces carved by time
that represent archetypes of society
were scattered far by the hurricane winds
I will explore remote lands of this Earth
till I find all twelve fragments of Osiris
so Doctor Frankenstein in tower of glass
can reassemble my body from dreams.

I look into your eyes in search for truth
but all I find are glimmers of my soul
reflected back by mirror of despair,
so I breathe deep the ocean-scented air.

Looking like my mother when she was young,
Sappho strums gold lyre gleaming on her lap
and sings sweet haunting melodies of hope
she heard whispered in the hurricane winds
that swirl through the open door of my eyes
and shatter illusions of human power.

I follow Orville Wright to the white beach
and watch him fly like Icarus to Heaven
and soar above the swirling hurricane
who teaches us the secrets of the void
so when I walk the Grand Canyon at dusk
the oldest woman in the world will rise
from the grave and teach me how to chant spells.

When the hurricane blows over my town
I will sit on the lawn of broken skulls
and listen to the eerie silence wail
voices of women in psychiatric wards
who cry out for escape from mundane lives
so I give them all new glass masks to wear.

Hole Of Death

Hole Of Death
© Surazeus
2017 09 06

When I tune my brain, like a radio
or a television, to receive signals
from brains of people which beam mental waves,
I dream the dramas that their brains design
and thus perceive mythical archetypes
that calculate social process of change.

I surf through the channels of human dreams
and scope the progress of development
as we advance from hunters roaming far
through farmers cultivating crops of food
to craftsmen selling goods in market towns
till vast empires connect large nation-states
in networks of commercial enterprise.

In every social play one person plays
the role of God as king or president
to organize the actions of each person
to produce food so everyone may eat
who contributes to the mission of growth,
rewarded for the labor of their hands.

The captain leads his men into dark woods
where they meet and fight other groups of men,
killing each other in wars over rights
to breed new generation of strong children
who fight again over who reigns as God,
and thus rivers of hot blood from their souls
nourish the thirsty Earth with their desires
so flowers blossom from their shattered brains.

The children who survive will redesign
the paradigm they use to reconstruct
new society on ruins of war.

The little boy who walks high windy hill
picks up the oak branch that lies in tall grass
and stands on the ridge where the sun gleams gold
to gaze at clouds over the glittering sea.

I must cultivate the ability
to perceive the real essence of each object
that radiates from inner core of its being,
and comprehend how its vibrating atoms
urge its motion through labyrinth of space
so I can predict the path it will blaze.

The prophet climbs the steep ziggurat stairs
and stands before the goddess of the world
to present model of our spinning globe
and explains how her people wander lost
as homeless refugees in distant lands
and learn their strange new languages to speak
while forgetting the legends she once told.

We lost our way in the shadowy woods
and emerged into weird fantasy world
where gods we worship are condemned as devils,
but we preserve their sacred memories
in folktales that recall their comic foibles
when they danced on the edge of the abyss.

I took off the crown that weighed down my head
and ran away from the dominant tower
to hide in the cave of prophetic power
while armies of angry men with sharp swords
slaughtered each other over apple trees.

I sit on the sea shore and sing with waves
how God sleeps in minerals, wakes in plants,
walks in animals, and thinks in humans
who gather at hearths and sing tales of love
while gazing at visions among the stars.

The dead may still haunt our bright city streets,
swirling around us in our memories,
nothing more than whispered names in the wind,
who understand the reasons we still strive
to break out of the hard shell of tradition
that they forged in their struggles to survive,
yet we ignore the proverbs of their failures
and walk nowhere down long halls of locked doors.

I gaze in each new mirror on the wall
and see a different person looking back
who dreamed they are the center of the drama
that swirls in restless traffic of ambition
through the corridors of hunger and hope
but nothing of them all now here remains
in the Nowhere land where I rule as king
by measuring the landscape of our dreams.

If you stop here along your busy trek
to wealth and power in the maze of desire,
and listen to the riddles that I sing,
you will miss your ride on the golden horse
who runs swiftly on the merry-go-round
of your capital conquest of the Earth
because you never found the puzzle piece
I slipped into the picket of your shirt.

So forget you saw me singing old spells
on the street before First National Bank
where kings store their hearts in the secret vault,
and go swimming in the posh hotel pool
while the hurricane bears down on the coast,
and watch the sun glowing red in smoke haze
where refugees from holy wars of God
wander the waste land of lost signless roads,
searching for the promised land with no name
where people already farm wheat and cows.

When I descend Parnassus to the castle
where the jesters and clowns gather to feast,
they bar the door against my weathered face
and refuse me entrance to paradise
though I bear the oak book of prophecies
that Saturn carved into our stubborn hearts,
since it is the treasure they claim to seek.

I laugh surprised just when I realize
the jesters and clowns who sing riddling spells
think they are divine wizards and bards
who recite sacred scriptures angels bring,
since no one attends the hushed breathless halls
where they recite their narcissistic spells.

I stand on the mountain in blasting rain
and sing the lightning flash that strikes my heart,
then weave from spooling threads of ringing words
grand tapestries depicting noble deeds
of curious scientists who search for truth
in this real world of whole atomic forms
where no deities manipulate things.

The little boy, alone on the green hill,
laughs when three ravens land in the oak tree,
gathers red mushrooms after purple rain
for the old woman with one eye to cook,
then eats mushroom cider while she explains
the fertile secret of eternal life
when he blasts his soul in the hole of death.

Spirit Of America

Spirit Of America
© Surazeus
2017 09 06

I love the spirit of America
that shimmers in the actions we perform
constrained by rule of liberty in law
when we strive to create and not destroy
by doing what we will, if we harm none.

I love the people of America
who come from every nation on the Earth
and live together as one family
inspired by principle of liberty
by doing what we will, if we harm none.

I love the progress of America
when we conserve the values of our hearts
that shine like beacons in storms of war
guiding us through waste land to paradise
by doing what we will, if we harm none.

Incarnate Our Souls

Incarnate Our Souls
© Surazeus
2017 09 05

I frequently sit and stare into space
and dream the history of the universe
since it all transformed from hot ball of matter
which evolved into galaxies of stars
that nourish planets flourishing with life.

We are atoms attempting to evolve
into omniscient, omnipotent God,
ideal organic creature with great power,
vast polymorphous entity who floats
shifting shapes in chaotic swirl of matter.

I crawl from deep sea along river flow
and float in the pure lake of flashing eyes,
regenerating shell of consciousness
through ten million models of dreaming brains
before I emerge from the Sea of Souls.

I sit alone in quiet hall of books,
watching sunlight beam on composite words,
and feel ache to perform important role
because my ancestors were once crowned kings,
but I compose maps to model the world.

I dream the process of cause and effect
when individual people perceive the world
and devise more complex ontologies
that replicate as cultural artifacts
in tools that assist our fight against death.

Death always destroys all organic souls
but we cooperate to survive well
and live each moment with intense compassion
so we can replicate bodies in children
who incarnate our souls before we die.

Whispers Out Of Time

Whispers Out Of Time
© Surazeus
2017 09 05

Whispers out of time echo in my mind
and call me back across the universe
where I was floating blissful between stars
to walk this solid spinning world of forms.

We gaze into the convex mirror eye
that seems to mimic how the sky folds space
and hope the camera records everything
that happens in the course of human life.

Fast forward through the labyrinth of dreams
I weave the taut shimmering thread of my soul
into the fabric of our teeming globe
till my golden path vanishes at death.

The person you see when you look at me
is nothing more than the idol of light
cast outward by expression of my voice
that hardens into coral reef of words.

Listen close for the whispers out of time
that vibrate from the flow of mountain streams
which bring the atoms of sunlight to you
so you can drink the spirit of all stars.

Think not the I I sing is me alone
for we all share the cosmic soul of life
that shimmers in the atoms we exchange
so I am you multiplied from one eye.

Gaze deep into the convex of my eye
and see the globe of dreams where we survive
on green island surrounded by blue sea
then swerve on the surf of aggressive hope.

We spring from the soil and water of Earth
assembled into conscious brains who dream
exhausting beauty of fertile desire
to replicate ourselves before we die.

Apples Of Heaven

Apples Of Heaven
© Surazeus
2017 09 04

The years race past me like an avalanche
so I try to live like a Roman stoic
and surf the endless waves of social change
when billions of innocent people died
in one hundred years of aggressive wars.

While staring at art in museum hall,
where young women Muses once chanted tales
about strong Heroes who saved them from rape,
I see ancient statues of Greece and Rome
spring alive at my Pygmalion kiss.

Instead of castles of stone where kings rule
we now construct steel towers shrouded in glass
where chief executive officers rule
corporate empires while bourgeoisie clones slave
to build the American Dream from rainbows.

The government of the Soviet Union
was never communist, of equal work
where we cooperate instead of compete,
rather it was big-state capitalist
where rulers were more equal than the slaves.

I try to wear the masks of ancient gods
because I am the secret king of bards
but my personal voice always shines through,
projecting my eternal soul of Godin
because you applaud my antics on stage.

Before I read the novel Clockwork Orange
I read the book he wrote about linguistics,
how juxtaposed words are pregnant with meaning,
like black and cat, two separate concepts,
become the Black Cat of mysterious wisdom.

While watching the old movie, Time Machine,
I laughed to realize the motor car
is that machine which zooms us fast through time,
always forward faster and never backward,
for we can drive faster than we can walk.

Ten thousand years we rode on wooden wagons
pulled by strong horses, our most loyal friends,
but when we first drove cars down dusty roads
the solid world seemed to blur into spirals,
so spinning spiral represents time travel.

Soon everyone will write in poetry,
for those who stumble over angry words
will kill each other off in civil wars
and leave the world cleansed by their flowing blood
for those who sing in groves of apple trees.

The king of words who sang weird spells is dead,
long live the king of words who sings weird spells,
for we will always gather round the fire
and chant the legends of our favorite gods
while we burn statues of our favorite gods.

The Burning Man who stands on desert plain
raises two arms toward the infinite void
with aching hope to fly beyond this globe
so then the visionary who chants spells
runs into the flames and becomes loose atoms.

I ask Virginia Woolf why in her novel
someone must die, and she whispers surprised
that the visionary must always die
as sacrifice in the wild flames of wisdom
so the people of his nation may know.

I pause while singing epic about heroes
and try to hide in quaint suburban life
in desperate hope that no one hears my song
so they will not crucify me at dawn
on the last telephone pole in Montana.

The jester without mouth on Bleecker Street
scatters photos of people without names
till Gabriel descends on burning wings
and takes me back to Bohemia where Idunn
gives me the last real apple in the world.

From those ancient woods where springs bubble clear
Pan and Loki lead me through labyrinth
of mirrors where I see faces of poets
who sang before me on the stage of lies
that glitters gold inside the walls of Asgard.

Now John and Frank are playing chess in Heaven
to determine the fate of every poet
who competes for the rose petal of fame
but Apollo and Phoebus steal the crown
of laurel leaves and hide it in the cave.

The singing fool who strums his cracked guitar
walks the hot sidewalk of a thousand cities,
while cars blast pop songs on loud radios,
and chants secret prophecies as weird riddles
that only deaf birds in dead trees can hear.

The grand illusion of our national greatness
shimmers overhead like a frail soap bubble
as shield to protect our American Way
from nuclear missiles of hostile fear
that scream as thunderbolts in hands of Zeus.

The more I try to imitate the poets
who sang with the fire of insane desire
the more my own voice howls wild hurricane
of suspicious wisdom dug from the cave
of illusions where Plato found the diamond.

When we climb the great pyramid of fame
who will we find reigning like the blind god
but the dark-hatted charlatan who smiles
through the gold-plated mask Apollo wore,
so he appoints me Phoebus Lucifer.

I throw the mask of Apollo far off
the pyramid of ambition to sprout
my own face in the apple on the bough
that hangs heavy over the wall of Heaven
so children can feast while the serpent sleeps.

Once we drain the Earth of oil like vampires
and our cars rust in rain on empty highways
will we return to our most loyal friends,
the horses who ran with us on lush hills
to gather apples on the Tian Shan Mountains.

Clown Of Cosmic Chess

Clown Of Cosmic Chess
© Surazeus
2017 09 03

While buying flowers for his half-dead mother,
on Avenue of Lost Souls where blinking lights
never turn green to allow traffic flow,
he thinks he sees in shadow on the glass
the eminent poet dressed like a clown,
so he drops his keys at door of the church,
and follows the trail of torn tickets past
the garden gate and into the wild woods.
"Are you Adam?" he calls out to the clown,
but the glass elevator closes doors
and the sulking clown wearing plastic crown
of long-dead emperors ascends to stars
where changeless spirits walk the crystal halls
of the vast ever-shifting labyrinth.
"This Heaven, where Ideas of Plato beam
as perfect templates from which all real things
are molded thick by swirls of clashing atoms,
is nothing more than illusion of thought
invented by that first psychologist
who defines how our brains categorize
perceived objects according to their forms."
The sulking clown takes him for a long walk
on swirling clouds that billow like sea waves,
and shows him the sprawling cities of men
that glitter with billions of human souls
shining from each brain like fragile lightbulbs,
so he weeps and his tears become the rain
that drizzle endlessly on cement streets.
"Our souls are like transient light of lightbulbs
emanating from this frail shell of flesh.
When the glass shell, filament wire, and gas
are structured well by design, the frail bulb
will glow at spark of electricity,
but when the shell breaks the light dissipates
and vanishes in the infinite void.
Just so our frail bodies of flesh and blood
operate when all systems are intact,
but when our body and brain are damaged
the soul vanishes to nothing at death."
People trudge over the bridge in gold fog
on the conveyor belt of hopeful dreams
while searching the rain-gray clouds of the sky
for auspices that might reveal the truth,
but he leaves the bridge and walks to the shore
of the brook that sidles past his first home
on its way to a rendezvous at dawn
with the river that no one can cross twice,
and stands on the broken rock of salvation.
"I understand the reason why we die
because we leave shimmer of our true faces
in every mirror where we look for love
although the book that was written by God
before the universe explodes from light
in the Big Bang of orgasmic creation
now reveals the destiny we write
since we compose our death through our life,
each choice transforming the whole universe."
Then he looks back at the mountain of fire
and walks toward the apple tree red with flames
of immortal souls woven from bright rain
and eats the ripe fruit his father forbade
to feel sweet sparkles of passionate hope
surging through the veins of his tingling body,
and he shouts from the windy mountain top.
"This mountain gave birth to me before dawn
for I eat the dirt of its bulging strength
in each apple that shimmers with pure sunlight,
so now I can walk cement city streets
flooded from the hurricane of ambition
and understand the story of survival
written on the face of each human being
who escaped the destruction of wild winds,
but who would listen to these songs I chant
where ancient truths are disguised as folk riddles."
He places three flowers on her grave stone,
but watches her body crumble to dust
and her bones become the mountains and trees
where apple trees bloom and wild horses graze.
He calls her secret name to the vast sky
where he imagines the face of his father
emerges from the billowing white clouds
but the vision dissipates into rain
that falls through the hole in the sheet of time,
and hunger of the world gnawing his heart
urges him to dance on the changing world,
so he dances on the grave of all souls
for every creature who has ever lived
is now the dirt of the Earth where we dance.
"Dance with me in this bright moment in time
for all our memories with friends disappear
like tears in the rain that washes all clean."
He calls out into the darkness that shrouds
ten thousand cities now empty of people
and dances alone with his memories,
the clown of cosmic chess, the king of lies,
the last man to survive nuclear war,
while wind covers all our cities and roads
with mountains of dust from our fire-burned cells.

Relentless Tide Of Death

Relentless Tide Of Death
© Surazeus
2017 09 02

Though all the world is mad with arguments
over whose ideology best describes
how humans should interact to produce
superior civilization through great art,
they gather to discuss in parliament
how best to protect all sovereign tribes
under the legal aegis of wise Zeus
who maps human history on one chart,
while I build castles in the firmament
and listen to the weird harmonious vibe,
sipping a tall glass of sweet apple juice
that weaves galaxies in maze of my heart.
This grand illusion of our national pride
crumbles as Death swirls its relentless tide.

Our National Illusion

Our National Illusion
© Surazeus
2017 09 01

When I look in the swirling waves of light
I see the eyes of every soul who lived.
I open my third eye of second sight
and gaze amazed into the cosmic rift.

"We vanish to nothing after we die,"
she explains to me with a smiling kiss.
I float on wings of love inside her eye,
gliding over the infinite abyss.

I want to hold her in my loving arms
but she dissolves into blank memory.
She lures me to her garden with sweet charms
and then demands I fight for liberty.

While we all will die in passing of time
I hope we pass our time in peaceful play.
Blind greed drives angry men to commit crimes
through endless war between hunter and prey.

Tribes of hunters unite into vast empires
as haughty men play god on pyramids.
The girl with broken angel wings conspires
to weave me new body from aramids.

I play chess with Death to save the whole world
with nuclear missiles on vast continents.
On jagged mountain where the angel skirled
our heroes freeze into glass monuments.

I am not Nostradamus in glass tower,
scribbling new prophecies in secret code.
I kneel before my goddess with white flower
after playing guitar on the open road.

Our national illusion falls apart
into puzzle pieces that will not fit.
I trace games of history on a flow chart
to plot cause and effect in holy writ.

I carve persona from the wood of trees
I wear as mask when I chant magic spells.
My name is whispered in the morning breeze
when girls gather to sing at water wells.

From wandering tribes we become nation-states,
but can we merge into one global tribe?
We maneuver through game defined by Fates
while our lives are recorded by blind Scribe.

Puppets Of Truth

Puppets Of Truth
© Surazeus
2017 08 31

I never thought that I would see the day
when our president is a Russian puppet
and Germany condemns us for our Nazis.

When the hidden dragon through storm of war
rises from the crowd to become the king
who embodies the virtues of the age,
and leads his nation from the bleak abyss
through the waste land of horror and despair
to build the citadel of heaven strong
around the bubbling pool of paradise,
he freezes into the statue of stone
after his body and mind crumble to dust.

When the Soviet Union broke apart
the tall steel statues of Lenin and Stalin
were torn down from their lofty pedestals
and melted down as parts for motor cars,
then, when the knights of the cross stormed Iraq
and hung the dictator they put in power,
statues of Sadam Hussein were dragged down
and farmers stomped on his head with their shoes.

Now the statues of Christopher Columbus
and Robert E. Lee, long standing supreme
over our fertile land of liberty,
are being torn down in the United States
for the empire where we lived eighty years
vanishes in the wind of turning time,
and we gather by the river at dawn
to construct a new and better Zarathi
where everyone is equal under law.

What noble people who performed great deeds
out of billions who once lived on this world
shall we present on pedestal of truth
as gods who embody our noblest virtues,
or shall we let those pedestals stand empty
to represent our disdain for all kings,
except for feet of Ozymandias,
to show we now respect the game of Death
who hurls down every king from throne to grave?

We slaughter each other in bloody wars
over who will drink from river of life,
then our children intermarry and breed
new generations who prefer to build
and sing together in temple of peace,
then erect statues of us where we stand
staring mute and blind at progress of man
as he transforms technology of wit
from wagon to car to rocket of stars,
and all our children sing hymns to our names.

God appears before my eyes in white light,
tall bearded man with face and beaming eyes
of my father, and reaches out his hand
to place scepter of wisdom in my hand,
so I mold scepter into a sharp sword
and chop off the heads of arrogant kings,
then I mold the sword into a long tube
that fires bullets molded as silver spheres
and shoot the heads of slave-traders and thieves,
then I mold the gun into a small camera
to film the history of prophets and kings
in epic of power since God ruled the world
in mortal flesh ten thousand years ago.

While standing on the mountain in gray mist,
gazing east to discover the lost path
my ancestors journeyed ten thousand years
since we all first spread from high pyramid
where First Mother gave everyone new name,
I realize with a soul-shivering laugh
that I am God because I dream the stars
evolving from sea of transcendent light
which congregates in warm body of flesh.

We are all singing fragments of the sun
who wake from dream of the swirling sea,
and chant harmonic vibration of hope
as we make love to generate new life,
though first we defeat the puppet of lies
and dance in circles around the cool spring,
for we are the stringless puppets of truth.

Battle For Heaven

Battle For Heaven
© Surazeus
2017 08 30

Athelwulf stands before the silent crowd,
gripping long sharp sword as he stares in eyes
that shimmer with fear behind haven walls.

"I would make myself king of all the world
by chopping off the heads of haughty fools
who refuse to obey my stern command,
but I prefer to inspire loyal love
so you obey me with a willing heart
as we unite together in one mind
to maintain peace and insure honest justice.
Instead of many disunited clans
who contend over rights to fertile lands,
one kingdom of all nations bound by love
should flourish on our island in the mist.
Accept me as more than just martial king
who leads you to defend our families
in battle for heaven where we live free,
and trust the honest judgment of my law
to deal with equal justice toward all men,
so look up to me as father of all
who organizes actions of each person
in crafty cooperation of work
as we build better garden in stone walls
where our children play free among fruit trees.
To achieve this goal of united lands
we must grip sword and shield with steady hands
and fight together against enemies,
willing to die to insure that our nation
survives many generations to come.
Now follow me with bold hearts to offend
thieves and slavers who attack our safe haven."

Athelwulf raises his sword to the sky
and the warriors roar as they charge forward
and fight till every man lies on the Earth,
blood of their hearts soaking the thirsty soil.
Young children play chase among blooming flowers
where their skulls crumble to dust in the wind.

City Of Glass

City Of Glass
© Surazeus
2017 08 29

The dead who walk on the water at dawn
when hurricanes flood the city of glass
bring you dead ravens in their trembling hands
and stand mute at the locked doors of the church.

The shades of their lost souls on red brick wall
flicker for a moment when dancing trees
sway in gusts of wind from the aching sea
and call to you from hidden cave of death.

They follow you everywhere you may go
but when you turn to see grief-stricken faces
they vanish nameless from your memory
and pictures of their spirits rot in mud.

You pray for them in your homes far away
and proclaim in church after you have prayed
that they are now up in Heaven with God
but the sky is empty where your prayers float.

Their bodies float in the waters that drown
the city of towers where bankers count
profits streaming into secret accounts,
and butterflies feast on the fallen clown.

The apparitions of the dead return
each evening when the hurricane blows wild
so you can hear their songs keening in wind
that strips illusions from temples of lies.

Flood waters submerge the highways of Houston
where rich overlords ride gold limousines
to feast in bright church of prosperity
while the dead rescue each other with boats.

The statue of the singer who stands tall
on the twelve foot pedestal now appears
to walk on water that shimmers in light
and reflects the faces of nameless souls.

Silver Wings Of Liberty

Silver Wings Of Liberty
© Surazeus
2017 08 28

Luke Skywalker stands on the shimmering plain
as desert wind swirls around family dome,
and gazes at twin suns of Tatooine
that gleam with ache of opportunity
through the lonely haze of the timeless sky
till they vanish beyond the blank horizon,
then sighs as he stares up at twinkling stars.

"How I long to escape this ball of dust,
soaring on silver wings of liberty,
and shoot into the boundless void of hope
to glide among the shining stars of life.
All my life I have helped my Uncle Owen
tend his farm to produce nutritious crops,
coaxing seeds to sprout from this barren soil,
while strange eager flame of restless desire
stirs me to race across the galaxy
and visit every planet rich with life.
Other than face of my kind Aunt Beru,
whose tender lullabies glow in my heart,
and gentle hand calms my restless ambition,
I have no memory of my sweet mother,
and yet I seem to see in gleaming stars
contours of her face, and her shining eyes
that ever watch me with wordless concern
from the empty sky where I search for love.
What fierce ache of longing for great adventure
simmers deep in the cavern of my heart
like flames burning bright in the cooking pit,
and drives me to leap in flying machine
and soar swifter than lightning through the sky
as if the spirit of my father roars
in suppressed passion from my beating heart?
Whenever I look with propitious eyes
in the mirror of desire and hope,
I think I see the mask my father wore
when he first gazed up at the boundless sky
with longing to fly swift between the stars.
This dreary globe of waterless dust sucks
my soul down into its featureless sands,
trapping my heavy soul in sterile clumps,
yet that grating friction of hissing sand,
which compresses my mind in stifling rage,
instead of crushing me senseless and numb
fuels the raging flames of my fierce desire
to extract trembling wings from broken shell
of my heart, shattered by dreary despair,
and spread them wide to catch the howling wind
so I may leap light into the broad sky.
How can this little fragile ball of dust
trap my enthusiastic spirit tight
against its withered breast of milkless dugs
when my imagination well projects
visions of my swift flight from world to world?
Though I can conceive my quick liberty
yet I cannot see what chain of events
might propel my escape from this dull world
to seek grand adventure among the stars.
Whenever opportunities arise
that leave clear threads of clues through labyrinth
of desperate hope to perform noble deeds
I will leap to follow that clear guiding star
beyond the imprisoning walls of duty
to play my part on stage of history,
urged by my desire for justice and truth.
Perhaps if I follow my best friend Biggs
and join the Imperial Academy
I may learn to pilot a fighter starship,
then I can leave to join the rebel alliance 
to battle tyrants and rescue the weak
that frees the galaxy from blind oppression.
I hear my Aunt Beru now calling me.
Once I tend the new droids we bought today,
perhaps I can slip away to Mos Eisley
and join the Imperial Academy,
yet duty to the good uncle who raised me
constrains me to remain another season,
at his desperate request for my strong help,
promising me I can sign up next year,
and then I can escape this dusty rock
and soar on beams of light among the stars."

Luke turns away from gazing at the stars
and trudges to sleep under the dome
while lights of a large imperial cruiser
blink with alarm above the spinning world.

Ring Of Hyacinth

Ring Of Hyacinth
© Surazeus
2017 08 26

Though all the world is trembling with war
and public squares echo with arguments
about who can claim rights to benefit
from privileged access to power and wealth
I walk alone the wordless river shore
and converse with the wind about the truth.

Though revolutions are started by youth
who assemble gangs to break down the door
to temples where treasure chests preserve health
the chess game cannot flow commensurate
with history invented in documents
that conceal in code the most ancient lore.

The mirror of your eyes reveals the dream
where we hold hands while following the thread
of secret facts through our dark labyrinth
to find our way back home to paradise
while escaping the world war that destroyed
our experiment in democracy.

I am the king of your theocracy
whose idol rises from the swirling void
because I invented the best devise
that conveys my love to dear Hyacinth
although she wears my ring since we were wed
that I found gleaming in the eyeless stream.

When the greedy tyrant steals the gold key
that leads to the tower room of thought control
take arms against wild sea of troubled plays
and rewrite their script with new prophecy
so everyone must play your new weird game
to win the prize that crumbles from their hand.

Though conflict rages across our free land
I must discover my new divine name
then lead lost souls to found this colony
where sunlight glimmers gold through evening haze
so I assume new angelical role
chanting hymns that worship our mother sea.

Since I now wear the ring of Hyacinth
that bestows on me supernatural powers
of enchanting brains with visions of truth
I find myself swimming against the tide
and always at odds with society
so I stand on the street and sing weird spells.

No wedding will happen with ringing bells
nor will children revel in gaiety
till Gaia returns as my honest bride
who will teach me to rule the world with ruth
since bees that pollinate fruit trees and flowers
support our whole empire with fertile plinth.

Heaven On Earth

Heaven On Earth
© Surazeus
2017 08 24

When rainbow strikes my heart with love for life
I stand against the gang of marching thugs
who cry for liberty and sovereign rights
for themselves alone to control all things.

We must arm our hearts and prepare for strife
against angry men who wave bleeding flags,
then toil to ascend the glorious heights
of victory against tyrants and kings.

To defend well the apple and the loaf
we must free our hands and loosen our tongues
then fight when love for liberty unites
our hearts in noble cause where justice springs.

Each age in spinning of the world we find
that people twisted by blind hate of fear
will threaten to destroy our peaceful work
and yet good souls will fight for liberty.

When gangs of cowards clutching guns attack
to chain our hands so we would slave to live
we must unite our dreams in noble goal
to free all souls from slavery of greed.

When rainbow strikes my heart with love for truth
I stand bold for justice for every soul
then plant secret fruit seeds in blood-soaked soil
and thus restore sacred heaven on earth.

Broken Radio Of Lucifer

Broken Radio Of Lucifer
© Surazeus
2017 08

Though we walk through numberless doors of hope,
clutching books that bubble dreams in our eyes,
we have to count keys and learn how to cope
while everyone we love suffers and dies.

I leave cracked flower pot on the window pane
and watch bees weave light through the morning mist
to laugh about memories lost in the rain,
having forgotten the last time we kissed.

The world shudders at stomp of angry feet
when people gather in parks to protest
arrogant man who proclaims himself king
even though he lost the ancient contest.

I leave my father and mother behind
in the ruins of old world view that crashed,
then build new castle of truth in my mind
but search in vain for the jewels they stashed.

I look in mirror at my aging face
and see kings who once ruled in castle towers,
but I build new world view on solid base
of science and reason hidden in flowers.

While stumbling through the labyrinth of my lust
I hurt both strangers and friends whom I love,
but no one yet died from misguided trust,
and every new day I seem to improve.

We spin dizzy on the merry-go-round
of social change, clutching at old world view,
but who can escape the cosmic fairground
where the weeping clown hides the treasure clue?

On the beach of visions, before sunrise,
I play chess with Death who gives me new name,
although each time I lose I grow more wise
and gain new mastery to play the power game.

Look deep in my eyes and you will perceive
gold snake on misty island in blue sea
who makes light and teaches me to believe
what my hands can touch and my eyes can see.

When I descend with gold Tablet of Truth
from Takoma, mountain where muses sing,
I reveal new world view forged by the sleuth
who explains the universe is One Ring.

Our Journey Forward

Our Journey Forward
© Surazeus
2017 08 17

I feel the history of our human race
flowing through me in a river of song
since we first transformed from the dreamless eye,
and from the deep ocean of swirling waves
we crawled up the river of shining hope
to crouch on the shore of shivering fear.

How clearly I remember looking up
to see the round fruit on the tree of life
illuminated by the golden sun
piercing my heart with hungry ache of love,
and how I plucked it with my grasping hand,
and how its sweet juice simmered in my mouth.

I felt the spinning world inside my breast
explode in gusts of wind that swelled my soul,
and ocean waves throbbed in my fragile skull,
and hot rivers pulsed through my tingling limbs,
and I remember standing on the rock
and stretching my arms to embrace the sky.

But then I shrank down in my fragile shell,
and trembled at the spinning of the world,
and shivered in the long dark formless night,
and dreamed the big bang of the blasting sun
that shaped the mountains and seas from the void
and clumped my mind in this body of flesh.

No name yet did I breathe from gasping grunt
to separate my self from teeming world,
and yet I climbed the highest tree of rage,
longing to fly among light clouds with birds,
and howled into the blustering storm of fear
to capture lightning in my grasping hand.

Alone I gazed at twinkling stars of light,
feasting on fruit at the dawn of dream time,
so when I look around our world today
I see my single soul of dreaming hope
fragmented in seven billion souls
who remember the hour I first woke.

I turn to you and gesture with my hand,
express the sound I assigned as your name,
and lead you forth from our safe cave of dreams
to explore the weird mysteries of our world
and gather food in baskets on our arms
that we consume while sitting by the sea.

Today I stand in bright library hall
and study a large world map on the wall,
then wonder where we first crawled from the sea
to follow the fresh river to the cave,
and where we first climbed into the tree of fruit
to sing in choirs with love to the stars.

How far we swung on vines from tree to tree
in chattering crowds through lofty canopy
from towering peaks of China by the sea,
along the snow-gleaming mountains of India,
and to the lush jungles of Africa
where we came down and walked on upright legs.

We follow the sun that burst from our eyes
and weave the thin golden thread of our souls
into the fabric of this spinning world
as we become its dream of molecules
so all the history of our fight with death
lights our journey forward around the sun.

Statue Of God

Statue Of God
© Surazeus
2017 08 18

When the sun shoots arrows of Cupid straight
through the hearts of nameless people who seek
the secret of love in the leaves of trees,
we gather at midnight in city square
and invent new hymn to praise Liberty.

All my dead ancestors follow my steps
like black smoke from a burning car that hurls
heedless of signs on the highway to Hell
where Hecate holds mirror to my face
that reveals how my ancestors survived
ten thousand years of empires and wars.

We are engaged in a new civil war
in endless cycle of battle for truth
where we must fight to defend Liberty
against selfish tyrants of slavery
for every whole human being to live free
by treating other people with respect
in daily course of our lives to create
statue of God on pyramid of eyes.

I walk cold city streets without a job
to stand before stores in long ragged coat
and sing riddles disguised as prophecies
that reveal how warriors of Liberty
will always defeat the nationalists
who attempt to exploit people for profit
so everyone enjoys fruits of their labor.

They whisper in my mind what they would do,
my ancestors who hover by my head,
and weave visions of faces on white clouds
who play strange roles in dramas my mind conjures
so when I watch living people perform
actions that hide their most secret desires
I see ancient myths of dead gods reborn.

Can I rewrite the script of lusting hope
my ancestors programmed into my brain
and change my fate that their actions defined
to revise assembling farmers and builders
into armies of screaming men with swords
then storm the castles of rapists and thieves
who crowned themselves kings appointed by god?

Every religion in history of mankind
elevates their founder as noble god
who united their dreams in single purpose
to kill or be killed in war for survival,
then builds their temples on skulls of the vanquished
whose blood nourishes the flowers of peace.

Build a statue of sand to honor me
because I am a nobody who failed
to brand my name on the hearts of my people
who wander scattered far across the globe
so when they gather on the river shore
at sunset to share in the feast of sorrows
they will sing hymns to the crucified fool.

I stand in the soft grass of my lush lawn,
frozen at the moment of my long life
when I was blinded by epiphany
that revealed the tale of humanity
fighting for the purpose of liberty
against the vile practice of slavery
embodied in the statue of one person
whose name replicates our bodies of flesh
that tingles with lust to regenerate
eternal soul in children of our hearts.

I stand before the statue of my father,
wearing the gold mask molded from his fame,
and feel the flame of hope burning my heart
to transcend the legend of his great deeds,
so I may journey beyond the stone walls
he erected from skulls of fallen tyrants
and build my own secret garden of fruit
where my children rebel against my rule.

Embodied within this statue of God
I see the faces of all my ancestors
who killed people so people may live free
and carved basic rules on tablets of stone
to control the script of our social play,
so I film the actions of ancient kings
and present their lives in movies we watch
that flicker forever on temple walls
till new generations smash all our idols
and erect new statues of their own heroes.

I am no statue of marble or brass
who stands blind and mute in the public park
to symbolize drama of history
but I will fight to defend Liberty
of every good human being to live free.

Streets Of Charlottesville

Streets Of Charlottesville
© Surazeus
2017 08 13

We gather in the streets of Charlottesville
to protest fascist Nazi goons
who claim that white people should rule the world,
and sing, all people should live free.

Above the peaceful streets of Charlottesville
the statue of Robert E. Lee
still stands in sunlight to commemorate
his vile defense of slavery.

We march the narrow streets of Charlottesville
to defend truth and liberty
and tear down from lofty height of glory
the statue of Robert E. Lee.

Nazis invade the streets of Charlottesville
to praise General Robert E. Lee,
but we defend rule of equality
and sing, all people should live free.

Young Heather, marching streets of Charlottesville,
raises flag of freedom in wind,
and declares, we should not discriminate,
for all are equal in this world.

Prowling the crowded streets of Charlottesville,
James guns car engine and zooms fast
then plows into huge crowd of protesters,
crushing Heather to death in rage.

We scream in the red streets of Charlottesville
as James races fast to escape,
while our warrior of justice lies dead,
killed in the war for liberty.

Lay flowers on the streets of Charlottesville
and dedicate your loyal heart
to fight for freedom and justice for all
where Heather died for liberty.

When fascists march the streets of Charlottesville
and threaten liberty for all,
light your heart with spirit of love
and march strong for justice and truth.

We gather in the streets of Charlottesville
to fight for true equality,
and raise new statue of wise Liberty
in memory of our patriot.

Statue Of Aethelbertus

Statue Of Aethelbertus
© Surazeus
2017 08 10

Staring at the statue of Aethelbertus,
first Christian King of Kent, carved from white stone,
who stands tall in Canterbury Cathedral
on my misty island of Avalon,
I see my own face reflected in his,
like millions of souls in America
descended from both gods, Jesus and Woden.

What are gods but ancestors of us all
who show us how to grow beyond ourselves
and dream reborn in our genetic coils
that spiral sparkles in our dreaming brains?

Having stripped all ideologies away,
to free my mind from delusions of faith
in religion and nationalist pride,
I stand naked in the cold rain of time
only myself, creature of flesh and blood.

Named Albert at birth in lush Oregon,
far from the misty island where he ruled,
I drop the mask all my ancestors wore
and walk faceless in the vast city streets
where people from every nation on Earth
swirl together in silver Seattle rain.

I see the children of all ancient gods
alive in new bodies of flesh and blood
inventing new dramas of love and war
we write through daily routines of our lives
preserved in tales of personalities
playing roles that express spirit of our times.

I may be King Albert alive again
but I tear away the cocoon of his mask
so my soul emerges with unique wings,
and give myself new name, Surazeus,
to dream the ancient world with reborn eyes.