Love Earth Embodies In Us

Love Earth Embodies In Us
© Surazeus
2019 01 08

When I gaze long in your cerulean eyes
I see the teeming garden of the world
spiral roots down into heart of the Earth
and spread branches to drink sweet drops of rain.

I want to walk with you in grove of trees
where sunlight sparkles in clear drops of rain
forever beyond blank boundary of death,
holding hands as we kiss for eternity.

Ten thousand years over ten thousand miles
I search the changing world to find the gate
back to the secret garden of your heart,
but our paradise eludes my desire.

Though I sit alone in the secret room,
mapping history of my quest for your love,
I feel you always glowing in my heart,
ghost of my desire haunting me in silence.

When I gaze deep in your cerulean eyes
I sense your secret soul behind your words
vibrating with sweet melody of trust
consistent with sparkles of river flow.

I want to hold you in my aching arms
and feel the endless pulsing of your heart
as we embrace to taste our streaming souls
that spiral till we lie tangled in love.

Slow flutter of butterfly wings on flowers
reminds me of the way you look at me
with sly flirtatious grin of flashing eyes
the moment we kiss and become one soul.

Walking together on long road of life,
we hold hands under eternal blue sky,
forever flowing on warm beams of light
as conscious love Earth embodies in us.

In Her Cerulean Eyes

In Her Cerulean Eyes
© Surazeus
2019 01 08

Exploring the world on globe of the Earth,
I zoom down to ancient city of Pskov,
where lion-hearted Alexander Nevsky
in sturdy kremlin on lush river shore
protected Novgorod, his Motherland,
from invading horde of Teutonic Knights.

In street view before white Greek temple hall,
that houses Pskov State University,
I see young woman with long golden hair,
our slender fairy queen with sparkling eyes,
incarnation of our first mother Gotha,
who smiles shyly at camera on the car.

From sprawling farm town where nine families live,
we walk together through tall rustling trees,
talking about the house we want to build,
to sell vegetables in the market square,
and I gaze deep in her cerulean eyes
that reflect beauty of the clear blue sky.

The knight in shining armor on white horse,
who gallops from dark woods in sudden flash,
leans over and clutches her in his arms
then gallops away as I grasp her hand,
so I run swift and silent as the wolf
to follow echo of her screams on wind.

Gasping for breath as I follow hoof prints,
I stumble by rocks on the river shore
where she lies sprawled and naked in the mud,
so I kneel and hold her head in my hands,
weeping as blood gushes from her stabbed heart,
killed because she fought to escape his lust.

Bearing her body to the market square,
I gaze in her eyes that stare at blank sky,
and lay her by the fountain of my tears
where I caress her cheeks, now cold and pale,
as people shout and cry out for revenge
against Christian knights who invade our land.

Our daughter runs into my trembling arms
and we embrace with ache of hopeless love
to lose sweet beauty of her charming soul,
but in her face I see her mother lives,
so I protect her on the road of life
as she journeys on beyond hour I die.

I dream this terrible tale of lost love
as I gaze at the glow of her young face,
blurred to protect her real identity,
though I sense immortal spirit of hope
shimmer in the curls of her flowing hair,
and long to hold her again in my arms.

Progress Of Our Endless Quest

Progress Of Our Endless Quest
© Surazeus
2019 01 08

The world is so much bigger than my eyes
perceive through scope of straight analysis
to comprehend wild landscapes of its soul
that flourishes from soil of river shores.

From Scythia west to Scotland my soul flows
in seething turmoil of communities
who migrate through vast wilderness of hope
mapped by desire of eternal blue sky.

Every ancestor past ten thousand years
somewhere along three thousand miles of faith
stood their hour gazing at the flash of water
in silent meditation about why.

Now all their world views glow bright in my mind
so I perceive this world through their lost eyes
and feel strange shimmer of transcendent awe
calculate progress of our endless quest.

Why are we always traveling beyond
horizon of comfortable world we know
through series of unfortunate events
to find the valley of eternal peace?

Each individual finds their game to play
in private role that fits their secret hope,
but their children grow restless to explore
more options for surviving hostile contest.

Wild aggressive force of energy beams
slanting rays of light through tall forest trees
to motivate my aching heart with love
so I will rise again from grave of fear.

I design new world view of global game
that erases boundaries of nation-states
so we all play together through one law
expressing progress of our endless quest.

Based on geography of curving lands
we humans form tribes to protect ourselves,
preserving way of life our parents dreamed
that help us survive contest for good food.

We build walls of wood and stone that enclose
safe havens of asylum from assault
to protect our children from greedy thieves
with policies that guide strict garden life.

The more efficient systems of state laws
that manage energy of flesh desire
assimilate complex communities
to build empires from small productive farms.

Election system of democracy
controls revolution of constant change
to manage production of food and goods
revealing progress of our endless quest.

Upper Antelope Canyon

Upper Antelope Canyon
© Surazeus
2019 01 08

Gold light beams down into gold sandstone cave
in Upper Antelope Canyon at noon
deep in red desert of the Navajo,
where angels hide from horror of the truth.

Worn into smooth curves of infinite faith
by keen caress of articulate wind,
red sandstone walls whisper forgotten names
of ghosts who haunt my vivid memories.

How atoms construct time in rippling wave
of calculations that describe our moon
reveals sunlight on trees in Idaho
for endless quest of our messiah sleuth.

God is the Glow Cloud of the Singing Wraith
who reincarnates as Zeus to rescind
unjust rules that control our social games
when we compete to win the golden keys.

When you elect me as your White House Knave
I will compose new American tune
to rebuild ruined walls of Jericho
designed by the brilliant daughter of Ruth.

When galaxies are shaped by cosmic lathe
to mirror cathedral hall where rays bend
through prism of rainbows in mental frames,
we meet First Mother born from swirling seas.

I stand in light beam in gold sandstone cave
in Upper Antelope Canyon where moon
illuminates her face with cosmic glow,
and kiss her red lips, soft as ancient truth.

Slipping in hot springs at midnight to bathe,
we sing riddles with articulate wind
of Eternal Spirit to list the names
of people fading from our memories.

Freedom Of The Honest Man

Freedom Of The Honest Man
© Surazeus
2019 01 07

When I breathe deep ecstatic truth of light
my brain releases ocean waves of hope
that toss the fragile ship of faith on high
where ancient spirits wake from spiral flow
to walk in body of my flesh with you
on signless road that leads to paradise.

How can I scramble code of truth I know
so I can realign the cosmic phase
in puzzle of the fractured mirror eye
our nonexistent god must use to dream
how flowers blossom by the nameless stream
where I sit alone to think about you.

I turn around at crack of striking sword
that echoes far across the vale of tears
to search still shadows for the dangerous foe
who must be hunting me in swirling mist
because they feel threatened by my new plan
to free the minds of people from despair.

He aims the sharp knife at my beating heart
and lunges to destroy my hungry soul
so I strike fast to knock the blade away
then punch his face with fierce desire to live
and stomp his skull to neutralize his threat
in struggle to survive another day.

The wolf inside my heart snarls with control
to protect my body from threat of death
when I stare at the attacker I killed
to analyze the reason I must fight,
how I must kill him before he kills me,
then leave his body to dissolve in mud.

I find the wagon where he locked with chains
good people he captured to sell as slaves,
so I unlock the chains from trembling hands,
and they rejoice in freedom from despair
by dancing in the moonlight among trees
and singing hymns that praise my honest deed.

Together we explore the silent woods
to hunt more slavers in the country side
who lock strong villagers with iron chains
so we attack and free their prisoners,
then imprison slavers with their own chains
and take them to the castle of the king.

Emerging from his tower of shining stone,
the king declares with voice of haughty rage
the slavers are his loyal ministers
that he commissioned to enslave strong men
to build new stronger walls of sturdy stone
so we should free them from enslaving chains.

With shock I realize that our noble king
whom we are taught to honor and obey
sent out these men to enslave us with chains,
so I leap forward, wielding sword of truth,
and cut off his head with swipe of the blade,
then snatch his crown and thrust it at the sky.

Our king appointed by God in the sky,
I proclaim before the astonished crowd,
enslaves us for his private benefit
instead of protecting our lives from harm
so hand of justice struck him down in death
to free us from his tyranny of greed.

The priest steps forward from the silent crowd
and places jeweled crown on my own head,
proclaiming me the king of all the land,
for God appointed me to free the people
from cruel oppression of the greedy king,
so I kneel down and accept divine fate.

Parading before crowds of cheering folk,
I stride in court of justice with strong faith
and sit on throne of judgment to begin
administration of our nation-state,
enforcing laws that all men should obey
which maintains freedom of the honest man.

Virtual World Of My Heart

Virtual World Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2019 01 07

Retreating into my fantasy world,
because I cannot find one decent job,
I play all day in world of Second Life
while living in old trailer by the lake.

I am the car mechanic in First Life
who once fixed engines for the garbage trucks
that collected trash of your daily life
while dressed in greasy overalls and gloves.

But in fantasy world of Second Life
I am the noble elf warrior Tassarian
who battles evil wizards in Avilion
while dressed in flowing robes with magic sword.

During the day I drive my rusty truck
that rattles bouncing over country roads
to earn pay fixing engines of old trucks,
then go drink beer at the Laughing Horse Bar.

Each evening I log in the virtual world
to join fire circle in Avilion Grove
where Kima Grey-Eyes and I dance and flirt,
then make virtual love in our high tree house.

The president of our land is a mole
of the Russians who installed him in power,
but in misty Avilion we are ruled
by the Fairy Queen with a diamond soul.

At last I find a new job in garage
over one hundred miles across the state,
so I pack my things in my rusty truck
and leave despair behind in my home town.

Sometimes you have to leave the world you know
to find new opportunities for work,
I explain to my sweetheart in Avilion
as we dance to songs of the Emerald Isle.

Whatever happens out in Washington,
whether the President is impeached or not,
I focus on the mission of my life,
to fix car engines and dance with my love.

One day while we are dancing by the fire
in Avilion Mist before magic contest,
Kima tells me her husband in real life
is dying from cancer so she must log out.

My fairy princess disappears forever,
so my elf warrior in elegant robes
dances alone, mute in the chattering crowd,
while I stare out the window at dark woods.

Logging out from virtual world of my heart,
I walk outside and stand on the back porch
to watch silver mist swirl among black trees
where ravens live along the narrow stream.

Since My Life Was Boring

Since My Life Was Boring
© Surazeus
2019 01 06

Lost in fantasies of movies and shows,
I relax on my couch all day and watch
stories of people who lived long ago
struggling to survive against hostile odds.

For forty years I worked constructing homes,
threading electric wires into wood frames
to weave nervous systems that give them life
in flowing power that lights up every room.

I worked all day, weaving wires into homes,
then hung out at bars after work to drink
beer with my friends and watch our favorite teams
compete with other teams to score the goal.

I took my wife on dates to restaurants
where we ate roasted steak and drank sweet wine,
and every summer took my family south
to spend vacation by the sparkling sea.

My wife died of cancer two years ago
and our four children now own their own homes
where they raise their children like I raised them,
so what should I do in my loneliness?

I watch powerful people outwit each other
in endless game of thrones to wear the crown
of gold that gleams with gems fallen from stars,
people who fall from arrogance of pride.

Pride comes before the fall, I heard it said,
but I avoided that destructive game
and spent my years weaving wires with my hands
to give electric souls to human homes.

I taught my children to work with their hands,
to employ the craft of creating things
from raw materials of the generous world
so they can earn their bread with honesty.

I despise the arrogant greedy man
who hired craftsmen to help build his hotels
but then refused to pay them full amount,
reneging on the contracts that he signed.

Why do grifters become the billionaires
who escape justice based on mafia ties
while common working craftsmen go bankrupt
when he refuses to pay for their work?

What am I learning from movies I watch
except that rich men will contest for power
to control the lives of laboring men
and profit from work of our crafty hands.

Yet I cheer on every protagonist
who journeys on quest of the cultural hero
to battle and defeat tyrants of greed
and enforce laws that protect common folk.

Since I worked hard now for so many years,
I claim as reward the right to sit warm
on my couch as wind roars like ocean waves
and watch movies about victorious men.

Lost in fantasies of movies and shows,
I play the role of all those noble heroes
to experience lives of thousands of ghosts
since my life was boring, wiring your homes.

Dreamless Abyss Of Truth

Dreamless Abyss Of Truth
© Surazeus
2019 01 06

I sing strange beauty of our golden light
that shimmers on tall trees at evening tide
to feel eternal spirit of delight
streaming through my heart in wild ecstasy.

Sweet aching sorrow of weird wordless joy
vibrates through all my limbs in flashing buzz
as I sing ancient vision of blue skies
releasing mist from petals of strange flowers.

This timeless hour becomes eternal truth
that spirals all my memories in one glow
so I remember every moment of my life
converging through flash of infinity.

I see your faces gaze at me surprised
as I stand tall on mound of flowers at sunset
and sing wild flow of rivers through my mouth
so I become the wind that knows your names.

I feel light-headed as I float in clouds
when my strict soul expands beyond my mind
and I become pure glory of bright skies
where fiery flames dissolve the world to black.

I stretch my arms beyond bounds of our world
as crowd of people joins my roaring song
to harmonize with descant of the Glow Cloud
that sparkles lightning flash through brilliant rain.

Our spirits soar together to black skies
in spiral swirl of bright angelic minds
so we become one nameless soul of love
who knows itself alive through every heart.

White lightning strikes my spirit with its eye
so I become one soul with the White Whole,
then fall into dreamless abyss of truth
to wake at flash of dawn refreshed with love.

Mirrors The I Am

Mirrors The I Am
© Surazeus
2019 01 06

Who invented character of God,
that supernatural deity of man
always performing on the stage of myth
alone inside the dream world of our minds?

Nowhere in the real world do I find God
performing deeds the ancient myths relate,
so only in the silent words of books
exists this concept that embodies Self.

The more I race through labyrinth of lost tales
in concentric delusions of the Unself,
the closer I come to linear narrative
of the Self I invent in soul of God.

When I look up at clouds to find that God,
defined as Craftsman who designed our world,
I perceive my own face reflected back,
so our universe mirrors the I Am.

Wisdom Of The Rotting Tree

Wisdom Of The Rotting Tree
© Surazeus
2019 01 05

Fierce knowledge of the articulate wind
that blows across the land of peaceful truth
explains that borders of all nation-states
we will erase to equalize all tribes.

We stand on hill of skulls on flashing flow
of spiral puzzles that unravel chains,
proclaiming revolution of the just
for every race to bathe in one clean pool.

Each person who performs their sacred role
to build cathedral of clandestine law
will earn the surreptitious choice to win
reward of wealth beyond the furtive mask.

Conceal your naked horror in your mind
so you can rein despair with wings of faith
and channel burning rage in buzzing wires
that weave electric soul in web of eyes.

No calculation of the singing ghost
will ever express complete code of trust
how atoms spiral coils of springing light
to sparkle chemistry of lusting flesh.

The handless witch who weaves moonlight in wings
sacrifices the child she bore from rape
and drinks its blood to curse the angry man
who forced her body to create his soul.

Erasing his cruel spirit from this world
she roasts his child and feeds it to wild wolves,
then frees my broken body from the cave
and brings my soul back from the mute abyss.

I break through castle door at crack of dawn
and face my uncle on my judgment throne
then stab his heart with silver blade of hope
to take back crown my long-dead father wore.

I snap awake from ancient dream of blood
and wonder why fearful men fight for power
and kill each other to control the world
though time will crush them all to mindless dust.

Bold wisdom of the rotting tree reveals
why game of justice is kill or be killed
when brothers fight each other to the death
for who will play the judge of divine law.

So that is why I turned my face away
from ancient castle of the bleeding stones
to walk alone across the misty heath
till I stand naked on the ocean cliff.

Now far beyond the garden walls of time
I look back on that winding road of fate
I blazed to avoid duty of the king
who must soak the world in blood to rule well.

Now on frail bridge where no one knows my name
I stare down in vast bottomless abyss,
which reflects back the face my father wore,
and laugh to realize I am him reborn.

I would explain strange narrative of hope
that leads me wandering lost in maze of mirrors
but in delusions of my arrogance
I see my real self hidden by my mask.

We see ourselves in mirror of the face
other people present when we express
conceptual hunger of our bleeding hearts
so we must map new chart of mythic deeds.

Wisdom of the rotting tree that my brain
programs in writhing tendrils of neurons
glows bright as every galaxy that spins
throughout vast dreaming brain of the White Whole.

Right Way Back To Heaven

Right Way Back To Heaven
© Surazeus
2019 01 05

Cold allegations of the rancid heart,
which leaves the corpse of the horse in the bed,
reveals hypocrisy of noble pride
black as the tar pit behind city hall
that preserves bones of officials who pray
for salvation from their zombie messiah.

We meet for coffee in bleak afternoon
and listen to wild voices of the dead
who found fake refuge on the hostile moon
to solve ancient puzzles in the cracked head
though children leap beyond the ruined wall
to hear my skull sing in the empty hall.

We see on covers of books in bright stores
faces of zombies and vampires who claim
they know the secret of success and fame
that clueless minions accept as the truth
because they saw them talking on the screen
of the glowing box God gave to Mankind.

No one but me is your messiah sleuth,
the blind man with computer wires for hair
shouts in the middle of four traffic lanes
where the red light of regulation blinks
to channel space whales who soar on fire wings
and bow before him on the pyramid.

Remember, once you enter doors of church
their hungry priests will never let you leave,
but when I find the ancient map of lies,
that explains our bodies are gene machines
which reincarnates children of our souls,
we might escape by tearing down stone walls.

While sitting alone at the street cafe,
to assemble puzzles of all lost world views
at small round table of weird platitudes,
I feel strange dizzy spell of whirling worlds
almost cast me out from heaven of truth
so I breathe ancient spirit of desire.

Still falling from heaven these thirty years,
wingless prophet of the heartless clown-king,
I soar over abyss of boundless truth
to touch infinity through blinded eyes
before sunset dissolves vision of time
till nothing changes by the flowing stream.

No one but me is your messiah sleuth,
broken robot who escaped factory
where computer brains are programmed to see
palace of heaven shining on high clouds,
so I crack the glass ceiling of blind faith
to reveal infinite nothing of truth.

I read ten thousand books of poetry
to discover strange code of liberty,
but nothing more than haughty pride of faith
oozes from cracked eggs of the singing wraith
who howls false prophecies of cosmic doom
reflected in mirror of the world room.

I ride swift gallop of my unicorn
to leap the walls of paradise at noon
before the laughing king with foul disease
seeks absolution from indifferent seas
so I can prove to doubters of my book
that I am wizard of the crumbing rook.

Though lightning strikes my tower on hill of skulls
I fly on metal wings above your town
to map vast tangled labyrinth of truth
where you still search for the Fountain of Youth,
then I referee apocalyptic game
where poets wrestle for immortal fame.

No one but me is your messiah sleuth,
so I will leave the house of haunted rooms
to follow nameless ghosts of aching hope
who spring from horror of your memory
on mission to restore democracy
though we are mindless clods in graves of love.

I climb high pyramid of singing skulls
to gaze through diamond of the cosmic eye
so I can see vast flow of history
that spirals from core of infinity
in tangled planets of subconscious love
incarnate in our bodies of the mask.

The faceless god who knows my secret name
laughs when I request proverb of the grail
so I leave behind quaint community
of blind believers to follow the rail
that leads me to the labyrinth of glass towers
where angels dress as devils in disguise.

The handless princess of the fallen kingdom
explains to me the right way back to Heaven
but I decide to marry her instead
and build her castle on the river shore
where she sings riddles by the cooking hearth
after she reveals secret of rebirth.

No one but me is your messiah sleuth,
proclaims the preacher in the church of glass
beyond encounters of the seventh kind,
so I design new model in my mind
that replicates structure of the White Whole
which mirrors features of my private soul.

Handless Girl Of Careless Love

Handless Girl Of Careless Love
© Surazeus
2019 01 05

Strange arrogance of the blind albatross
who knows the sorrow of capricious loss
reveals how refugees in leaking boats
pass mute sirens where the dead angel floats.

They flee the waste land of our brutal greed
where vampires suck oil from hot sand of need
to drink the blood of Earth till we all die
except the handless girl who cannot cry.

Through swirling mist of terror in moonlight
she gestures for my way to leap in flight
from cliff of faith above the blank abyss
then gazes in my eyes so we may kiss.

I follow glowing sheen of her long hair
that leads forever up the winding stair
till we stand smiling in her tower room
and make love forever in honey gloom.

She leads me to the treeless ocean shore
where refugees from wars wait at locked door
that leads to labyrinth of spurious wealth
still teeming with priests who survive by stealth.

Just as we enter temple of desire
where faceless god teaches secret of fire
nine priests arrest the witch of laughing stars
and force her to attend long seminars.

I fly the airplane of aggressive truth
to prove I am the new messiah sleuth
and bomb cathedrals of the ancient lie
of resurrection in the perfect sky.

On ruins of the church I build new hall
where children calculate songs on the wall
that honors handless girl of careless love
who weaves starlight in neurons of our brains.

Flicker Of Diminished Truth

Flicker Of Diminished Truth
© Surazeus
2019 01 04

Each time the swirling clouds blank out the sun
of aching summer afternoons, I laugh
inside my mind while staring at the grass,
remembering how her eyes flash when she smiles
and whistles like the bird hidden in trees
before the flicker of diminished truth.

I feel the vastness of the world shrink down
around the fragile faithfulness of hope
each time dark clouds frame the question of time
within the frantic flapping of her wings
when the bird of my heart begins to sing
before the flicker of diminished truth.

Beyond the bondage of the city streets
I sit alone in meadow of free wind,
though lawless wilderness of grass is bound
inside barbed wire of ownership, to ponder
mysteries of cool showers that flash
before the flicker of diminished truth.

I see the abandoned wagon with wheels
of broken fortune, and white skeleton
of the horse that shook silver harness bells
by rustling trees, almost returned to dust,
that Robert drove through snowy evening woods
before the flicker of diminished truth.

What promises of secrets long forgot
did he have to keep when he passed the lake
to leave behind the mystery of the dark
on endless search for spirit of the dead
who haunt our nameless roads in wordless wind
before the flicker of diminished truth?

The changing of the seasons, cold to hot
and back again on endless wheel of lust,
reveals transforming growth of aching hearts
through blossoming and death of our fruit trees
we never see in lands where no snow falls
before the flicker of diminished truth.

From frantic rat race in the money maze
I leave your fierce competition for fame
and sing sweet songs of love in dreamless haze
on quest for mystery of your holy name,
because I play role of messiah sleuth
before the flicker of diminished truth.

I rise from meadow of the timeless light
and drive my swift car on the faceless road
to chase the rainbow of transforming power
that beams from rain-wet soil of life and death,
and play my role as pawn in game of thrones
before the flicker of diminished truth.

Dream-Chanting Muse Of Saskatoon

Dream-Chanting Muse Of Saskatoon
© Surazeus
2019 01 04

The morning rain tries always to explain
how fast the wind goes nowhere through my brain,
so we walk past each other every day,
letting strange stars illuminate our way.

Though I have never been to the white moon
to dance on angel wings with reckless care,
I fly back home to your riparian tune
that flows so endlessly through my vast heart.

I know every angel who lives alone
on moons of Jupiter by silver pools
for they can see me everywhere on Earth
though I live far away through second birth.

We gather in basements of broken dreams
to meditate on laughter of wild streams
and seek the power of flight inside our hearts,
designing new ways to live on old charts.

When the dream-chanting Muse of Saskatoon
finds me walking on the side of the road,
she teaches me how to fly past the moon
with angel wings bought from the Book of Dreams.

She leads me to the Garden of Lost Souls
where they dance free inside the barbed-wire fence
so I reveal their paradise is Hell
though she rolls dice to win another chance.

Cold sparkling rain on grass beneath my feet
flows down from highland hills to misty moors
where I become the werewolf you will meet
when we escape despair through castle doors.

We sail across the wild Atlantic Sea
but lose each other in the wilderness
till centuries later we sing to be free
and build strange fantasies of happiness.

When daughter of Ixchel flees Mexico
to search for paradise in Texas hills
I return from Jupiter as the crow
who leads her dancing to the sparkling rills.

Like she fled warring gangs to find new life
my great-grandmother fled religious strife,
so refugees come to America
welcomed by loving arms of Onatah.

When the dream-chanting Muse of Saskatoon
sings ancient melodies of soul salvation
soaring death planes by strange light of the moon
turn into butterflies above our nation.

The morning rain that flows from purple clouds
revealing fractal rays of perfect light
inspires wild frenzy of our mantic shrouds
so I chant prophecies of vivid right.

Quiet Indifference Of The World

Quiet Indifference Of The World
© Surazeus
2019 01 03

Kneeling in the empty cathedral nave,
late afternoon while birds twitter in trees,
he palms his hands before large crucifix
with Jesus bleeding as he stares at Heaven.
Bowing his head, he closes his eyes tight,
then breathes deep incense-scented air of hope,
and tries to feel himself open to light
of the blazing sun like vast boundless plains.

"Supreme God, Lord over Heaven and Earth,
send your spirit from glowing clouds of Heaven
and fill my empty heart with your sweet love
so I may feel the beauty of your truth.
I often feel the absence of your spirit,
but our priest, wise servant of your good word,
tells us that you are everywhere in space,
so I seek to feel glory of your power.
I open my heart to your presence, yet
I cannot feel your spirit in my heart,
so I repent of all my evil sins,
hoping you will favor me with your love.
I want to feel your power fill my frail body
so I become one with your universe
and comprehend true nature of your spirit
that blazes brighter than the sun at dawn."

Opening his eyes, he looks around hall,
large dim-lit space enclosed by walls of stone
under arches that loom high toward the sky
like interlacing branches of tall trees.
Strange timeless sense of infinite expanse
presses downward on his quick-beating heart
with aching horror of vast nothingness
that shimmers in quiet unchanging air.

"Where are you, God of Heaven?" he shouts loudly
at silent shadows of the empty hall,
then winces at slurred echo of his voice
that reverberates into ominous fear.
"I begin to suspect I am alone,"
he mumbles in surprise, "because I feel
no electric sense of some divine presence
charging my body with generous love.
I feel nothing in cathedral of air
except shudder of my own beating heart
that pulses from emptiness of the world,
so I am alone in vastness of time.
I have prayed to empty air all my life
because my father and the church priests claimed
immense god of supernatural power dwells
everywhere so I can call him for help."

Standing up slowly, knees sore from stone floor,
he stares all around the vast empty hall
where sunlight streams slanting onto wood pews,
and feels strange illusion vanish at blink.
Jumping up and down in sudden wild rage,
he screams wordless blasphemies at walls,
then runs circles around the empty nave,
howling like wolves enchanted by moonlight.

"God is no more real than the air I breathe,
and God is no more real than empty space
of nothingness between stone walls of truth,
so God was invented by feverish minds.
I want to ask, why should I follow rules
proclaimed by priests to be the Word of God,
but priests made those rules to make us obey,
so I will make my own rules of behavior.
I never want to perform any act
that will hurt or kill any other people,
not because unreal God proclaimed that law
but because I want people to feel good.
If there is no God, there is no afterlife,
so I want to help people stay alive
since this hour of conscious awareness glows
bright with intense desire to taste more pleasure."

Turning his face away from crucifix,
he walks outside into afternoon wind
listens to birds twitter in rustling trees,
and feels sunlight glowing on his pale skin.
Gazing up into the fast empty sky,
he feels quiet indifference of the world
billowing around him in wind and light
that connects his mind to the universe.

Secrets Of The Battlefield

Secrets Of The Battlefield
© Surazeus
2019 01 03

When silver mist floats over silent fields
where warriors once battled to rule the land
these tears their children weep evaporate
and sparkle on blades of grass in blue dawn.

The river of hope gushing from their eyes
swirls around all obstinate obstacles
to spread out on the desolate plain of lies
and water waste land of their blinding rage.

Their bodies lie sprawled across the wet grass,
staring up from ravines of brutal loss
to smile at blue sky of their enemies
and remember why hawks fly among clouds.

Their children push against their rotting hearts
and tear out of their chests with hungry hands
to wear their battle-torn skins as new clothes
while they walk together in silent mist.

Roots of flowers and trees pierce their rotting hearts,
devouring mute despair of bitter loss,
and transform their bodies into bright blossoms
that whisper eerie spells in amused breeze.

Before the blue sky was their enemy
they talked together about laughing rains
so the soil of their bodies in broad fields
soaked raindrops to hide from the thirsty sun.

When will you give us rain, they sang and danced,
but the silent sky stared down into their eyes,
so they faced each other on sun-baked field
and stabbed each other so blood soaked the land.

Now their bodies sink into the dry soil
and their blood soaks the world with aching hope
so the children of old enemies mate
and bear children who forget that they fought.

The children of enemies sit by trees
and gaze at the blue sky through tangled limbs
then kiss soft as pink petals in sunlight
and give each other secret names of love.

Their children stand around the shining pool
that long ago drank the blood of their hearts
and laugh how silver sheen reflects their souls
to reveal secrets of the battlefield.

They drink the piquant water of their dreams
and tell each other stories of success
then sit alone in shadows of hot noon
to hide strange sorrows in the rainless dust.

When silver mist swirls among apple blooms
where children of warriors play hide and seek
these hopeful words they speak evaporate
and sparkle on lips of lovers at dawn.

Lion Of The Lord Of Wrath

Lion Of The Lord Of Wrath
© Surazeus
2019 01 02

When I was young I looked like Leon Trotsky,
fighting for individual liberty
so every soul is equal in the law
striving for true justice through self-control.

Now I am old I look like Leo Tolstoy,
composing epic of the human quest
through weird lives of ancient philosophers
to describe nature of our universe.

So I will change my name to Leon Thorin,
hammering metal nuggets as god of thunder
to transform stone with fire in metal plates
and build engines that operate cars and planes.

I am the lion of the lord of wrath,
angel sent down by God on the Glow Cloud
to quest for secret of the Holy Grail
held by the woman near the apple tree.

Old mad-eyed wizard in the wilderness,
I transform our waste land to paradise
where children play among the apple trees
and take my face they wear as mask of god.

Your Body Is Starlight

Your Body Is Starlight
© Surazeus
2019 01 02

Your body is starlight fooling my eyes
so I walk in mist that mirrors the skies
to sparkle quick atoms inside my veins
that nourish tendrils of galactic nerves
which shimmer me awake in seaside rains
while I explore your sweet terrestrial curves.

Though all our illusions of the world crack
into puzzling fragments from the blank book,
we write new myths of messiahs and clowns
to understand why people fight for power
while our daughters dance in elegant gowns,
and weep for our queen confined to the tower.

Your body pulses with stars of the truth
which transforms me to the messiah sleuth
so I walk beyond bounds of city streets
to find where the sun drowned in war-flame mist
and decode secrets of corporate elites
though blind angels name me their oculist.

I open the blank book of secret lies
to remember why the ghost stole my eyes,
and calculate the measure of our love
supporting steel beams of computer banks
connected by wires in the apple grove
so we ride unicorns to fight their tanks.

This aching sorrow of the silent mist,
that hides where Orpheus and Ophelia kissed,
still animates the way I play my role
in mapping history of the human game
since we all first evolved from the White Whole,
inventing language from the perfect name.

Where sinews of tree roots wrestle with stone,
equal to Prometheus who waits alone,
we stretch our bones on frontier of desire
to stand on margin of strange changing world
and climb hope mountain that rises far higher
than transcendent passion we ache to hold.

Your body is starlight flashing my mind
to reveal why distant stars are aligned
in random array of nebulous code
that calculates weird synergy we need
to leave disaster for the open road,
still bearing with us the last apple seed.

I keep on walking somewhere beyond time
on quest to find the secret of the slime
where we first transformed from the mindless ghost,
but I long sit on rock by gushing stream
to fish for wisdom of the blank signpost
and laugh my truth is nothing but some dream.

Meaningless Riddles Of Truth

Meaningless Riddles Of Truth
© Surazeus
2019 01 01

The monarch butterfly from Yucatan
migrates around cracked asteroid of my heart,
unburdened by the guilt of frozen thought
more fragrant than forgotten summer night.

The lake where I played when I was a child
without the name bestowed by secrets stars
now shimmers behind the tall barbed-wire fence
erected by vast government of fools.

I walk around the grocery store at midnight,
measuring the flavor of sweet tangerines,
melons, and berries to remember why
empires rise and fall on blooming of fruit.

I dig roots of trees from the rancid soil
among rustling leaves of ancient fruit trees
to carve network of roads from silent woods
where angels dance on centrifugal force.

Emerging from self-portrait of the Christ,
I walk among indifferent trees of time
where famous paintings shimmer in soft mist
like blinking traffic lights we all ignore.

Conspiring with Fairy Queen of Star Lake,
I breathe wild-winged words of eloquent ghosts
who tell me tales of every soul who lived
before we wingless angels learned to talk.

She holds the porcelain cup of my skull
so one thousand arms grow out of my chest
and writhe quick as snakes in the Tree of Life
to whistle flute spells through wounds in my heart.

She draws ten thousand squares within the square
till vibrant sphere of the blazing sun glows
with flashing flames that blink ten billion eyes
who dream me parallelogram through time.

The longest straight line through infinity
curves wide around the spiraling White Whole
that might connect my brain with flashing nerves
to every conscious being who ever lives.

The formula for bodies falling far
in boundless space from Glow Cloud of Our Mind
recalculates path through radiant crevasse,
stretched tensile taut in space between two waves.

My see-through body floats above your sea
because I fall through space ten thousand years
with every forward thrust of spinning Earth
so I become your shimmery water ghost.

My naked shadow shoots deep in your sea
conceptual angels who create new forms
to organize wild flashing molecules
in human bodies who stand up and sing.

Now in glass boat of starlight I sail home
beyond our thirty seas of dreaming eyes,
unchanged by clocking spiral through my brain
to calculate strange way of power we play.

Now here on featureless plain of nowhere
I map sunlight and shadow of straight curves
because my twisting tongue is river song
that vibrates white from heart of spinning worlds.

God rises from sea waves at dawn to laugh
weird music of ethereal counterpoint
because each silent pause between our words
reveals eternal truth that none can taste.

God wears clear mask of water so I see
translucent souls of every brain that wakes
to blossom from dark tangled genes of lust
so we become ourselves in quiet homes.

Remember, you will die, she sings to me,
so you must work to maintain liberty
of free will agency against the greed
of every tyrant who enslaves our hearts.

Remember why sunlight on water sings
weird riddles of integrity through faith
so when Death calls us from the Cave of Dreams
we can answer how stairs well into space.

I sing quick string of altered flashing light
to line vast mirror with my radiant brain,
exquisite emptiness through pulsing eyes
designing paradise where children play.

I sing transcendent flowers of shattered skies
to lead light-seekers far beyond stone walls
of bombed cathedrals where our hearts still beat
false rhymes of spells old witches calibrate.

Exiled from paradise that fails to change,
I change appearance of my mirror face
to play each hero in forgotten myths
whose names were long-ago erased from books.

Ostracized from church I burned to the ground,
I build new church with skulls of nameless gods
to write whole history of our Underworld
so we remember ghosts in morning mist.

On endless quest to find the Holy Grail,
I stop and stare at girl on city street
who ravels red hawk back inside my heart
so I become the angel of the truth.

On timeless journey back to paradise,
I hold hands with the true bride of my hearth
who weaves words to program my brain neurons
so I sing meaningless riddles of truth.

Our Golden Goddess

Our Golden Goddess
© Surazeus
2019 01 01

Our golden goddess rises from the sea
to teach us living way of liberty
by working to create with crafting hands
and sharing fruit we grow from fertile lands.

Another year our world spins through deep space
as atoms pulse to animate each face
so we may grow beyond the mask of fate
and share the road of life with loving mate.

We lead our children to explore the world
and learn how matter is shaped by the mold
of cosmic spirals spinning from abyss
which reincarnates our souls through loving kiss.

Our golden goddess leads us to the shore
where friends and lovers dance around the core
of temple hearth that casts strange eerie light
illuminating love through second sight.