Strange Visions They Revealed

Strange Visions They Revealed
© Surazeus
2019 02 21

We can stand alone in the corridor
of Duino Castle where the wild wind blows
and talk together about angel wings
we hide behind the mask of genteel faith,
or we can dive into the sea of myth
and become the monsters heroes adore.

When sharp sunrays of the eastern dawn crack
mirror masking my true immortal soul,
I stand alone with Apollo and Zeus
to watch humans play chess on broken world
for who plays Vicar of Christ in glass hall
by holding keys that open Gates of Heaven.

Moneta leads me up Stairway to Heaven
to see Mercurius lounging by the pool
who explains what hero role I will play
in his next movie to be filmed in Georgia
so I sign the deal with blood from my eyes
then chat with Lucifer about good wine.

So many hallways of potential lives
branch outward from this moment of swift time
so I stand alone on steep precipice
to calculate which way leads to success
but I wander lost in maze of locked doors
till I freeze into gold statue of pride.

Unspoken secret of delicious lust
generates child of truth with eyes I conceal
who sings in the rock and roll band that plays
on Saturday Night Live before their plane
slips through portal of spiraling Untime
across the multiverse of world-wide fame.

Each generation of actors, who rise
from slime of ambition to win the prize
of superstardom on the stage of hope,
competes for who will play the jester god
by leading lost souls from the underworld
when his band plays in stadium of lost souls.

Ten thousand wizards chanting mental spells
in tangled verses of surrealist poems
rise dripping anguish from deep water wells
to dance on shaman wings where Satan roams
and weave strips of film into epic tale
that explains how we evolve into gods.

So in Grand Canyon at the crack of dawn
I sit with famous poets, circus clowns
who recite angst-smeared verse with dignity,
and help them assemble puzzle of truth
that mirrors universe our brains perceive
in mandala of sand we smear to nothing.

We stand in circle of masks, holding hands,
Eliot, Rilke, Baudelaire, Ginsberg, Blake,
Homer, Dante, Spenser, Milton, Shakespeare,
Wordsworth, Byron, Shelley, Keats, Tennyson,
and ten thousand others in ring of stones,
to chant spells that swirl energy of love.

Our visions all congeal in single tune
that shimmers cosmic dome of crystal eyes
in flashing sphere of world view we design
to harmonize opposing concepts clear
as mirror that reflects our consciousness
which beams bright from divine Glow Cloud of Truth.

This elegy for all their souls I paint
on ancient stones that form foundation square
of Duino Castle which shines above clouds
where Olympus once glowed on jagged peaks
so wild ocean waves calculate new faith
for religion we invent from the wraith.

Athena leads me to the apple tree
where Minerva gives me sweet fruit to eat
then Ishtar gives me new guitar to play
so down signless roads sea to shining sea
I walk every town of faith-blinded souls
and sing strange visions they revealed to me.

Personality Of Naked Hope

Personality Of Naked Hope
© Surazeus
2019 02 21

Each personality of naked hope
who falls out of the book remembers why
we had to drive all night to the black lake
to look for eyes we never knew we had
although to look at him I think he might
know why we will all die before our time.

Quick torque of tight transcendent truth recoils
spiral engine of my faith-beating heart
so I can leap beyond your prison wall
and escape duties you assigned my role
before I was born based on high degree
of rich attainment my father acquired.

Strange concepts extend along filaments
of tangled words everyone speaks at once
to weave in tapestry of flashing film
endless epic of superhuman tales
that analyze how we evolved this way
as characters stored on shelves of the church.

If you want basic information, search
your dictionary-cluttered brain to find
strict formulas for psychedelic flight
when we all turn into white butterflies
and ascend glass escalator to Heaven
where I play chess with Death to save your souls.

Tops of trees translate whispered words of fear
into scathing jokes that truth-preachers tell
in shaman trance on stage of pyramid
to calculate how birds fly grid of clouds
so we can prophesy what candidate
will win the next election for World King.

Of all the hundred-trillion puzzling ways
to organize these words, so your blank brain
perceives flashing visions that explain how
our universe evolves from swirling thoughts,
this moment mirrors most myopically
intellectual insight from the White Whole.

Child Albert to the dark tower of Rapunzel
returns each day to climb the golden ladder
and sit with her at table by the window
to sip hot chocolate with ginger tea
and discuss secret of reincarnation
that she saw written on strange flashing stars.

Swift skipping music of red ocean waves
that flash through mirror windows of the soul
expands my futile consciousness to trust
complete encyclopedia through our feet
explored, since lightning-bright storm clouds reveal
stairway to Heaven that leads me to you.

Although I fall off invincible eye
of blazing sky where God still watches me,
I climb high mountain beyond city streets
and sit by waterfall of ancient truth
to hear every singing prophet express
conceptual angst of ennui for true love.

Each time I pause in labyrinth of world myths,
and wait for you to catch up to my point
in spinning process of evolving change,
you vanish through ten thousand mirror doors
to become me when I see my true self
clear in behavior of your private play.

Optical Illusion

Optical Illusion
© Surazeus
2019 02 21

Pale blue sky shimmers in small pool of water
by crumbling curb under bare black oak tree.

I stop and stare at optical illusion
that surface of the pool is open portal
to some alternate universe, but then
I laugh at absurdity of that thought.

My eyes see nothing more than waves of light
reflecting up from thin layer of water,
so this reality of natural physics
amazes me far more than fantasy
of multiverses that do not exist.

Why should I be surprised that different tribes
of humankind, whose ancestors survived
hostile environments by adapting features
of body and skin to accommodate
extremes of heat or cold, will kill each other
to control lands where water freely flows.

I cannot dive into that pool of water
to emerge in alternate universe
where people value vast variety
of physical features, so I must deal
with this reality by treating well
every person I meet on road of life,
and sympathize with their progressive hope
to dwell in harmony with everyone.

Waves of light vibrate rich colorful tunes
of primal music composed of blue sadness
to weave compassion in my beating heart
for each person who walks this world alive.

The color of our skin, from light to dark,
developed in extreme environments,
darker skin in desert lands of bright sun,
lighter skin in mountain lands of thick clouds,
both changing from red skin of jungle lands.

The color of our skin reflects light rays,
darker skin reflecting more rays of light,
lighter skin reflecting less rays of light,
so our skin is thin layer of protection
that shields our souls from solar radiation
beaming from life-giving heart of our sun.

Our skin color is optical illusion
that hides true nature of our human souls,
so we share stories of ancestral treks,
the children of the jungle with red skin,
the children of the desert with dark skin,
the children of the mountain with light skin,
to celebrate that we are all alive.

I see your face reflected in the pool
so different from mine in color and shape,
yet we are all children of Mother Amen
who taught us how to sing at dawn of time
so let us explore this rich world we share.

First Strange One

First Strange One
© Surazeus
2019 02 21

When all the mute animals die away
we talking apes might then diversify,
evolving into dozens of strange forms
to occupy niches nature provides.

The vast variety of special types
our bodies can explore through random change
will all appear from those who chance to breed
in every possible color and shape.

What quirky model of human design
might succeed in dominating the field,
outwitting all the others to control
fertile valleys on river shores of hope?

Soon talking animals evolved from humans
will adapt to inhabit every spot
in all the wilderness of our vast world
and worship the first strange one as their god.

Wheelwright Of Zimbir

Wheelwright Of Zimbir
© Surazeus
2019 02 20

Pausing from work assembling wagon wheels,
Utu sits under fig tree to relax
and nibbles sweet fruit as he gazes far
across wheat-gold plain to town of Zimbir.
Sweet timeless shimmer of warm sunbeams glows
immense contentment in his turning heart
that pulses with rhythm of flowing river
where boats glide slowly on gold waves of light.

"How perfect is this life that I designed
by programming routine of structured actions
where I perform roles in cycles of time
that match turn of the sun across the sky.
I wake at flash of dawn on distant hills,
eat bread and fruit to energize my soul,
then craft wood into wagons with round wheels
through calculated steps of cut and bind.
The bright sun spins across the rounded sky
so at each point of its position high
I schedule each strict action to perform
which helps maintain productive turn of change.
If anyone disrupts my process flow
I stumble from strict ritual of each scene
and lose efficiency for building wealth
till I restore clear structure of my rite.
As long as I manage segments of action
I can increase efficiency of cause
to produce wagons from material state
with crafting force of my creative hands.
Each wagon I construct from scented wood
provides machine for men to utilize
which helps to maximize productive work
so they can haul large loads to market stalls.
Eternal spirit of creative love
urges my hands to construct strong machines
so I savor each hour I can create
wheels that spin around like the shining sun."

Resuming work assembling wagon wheels,
Utu bends wood steamed soft in heated kiln,
then fixes twelve spokes around central hub,
and hammers gently to clamp felloes tight.

On Endless Road Of Life

On Endless Road Of Life
© Surazeus
2019 02 20

Through adjunctive bond of our broken hearts
we spiral wild on eagle wings through flow
of loving words which weave in web of faith
our stranger selves into loyal companions
so we hold hands on endless road of life.

Each thing we say that cracks jar of our love
exposes fears through sympathy of trust
so with each kiss we mend our fractured minds
to rebuild holy temple of calm faith
that shelters us on endless road of life.

Slow progress of our journeys to combine
opposing projects in scheme of desire
through revelation of sacred affection
weaves stronger bonds between our separate hearts
to merge our minds on endless road of life.

Though we work all day, tending apple trees
in Garden of Eden where Yahweh rules,
we pluck fruit forbidden for us to eat
and consume sweet juice in shadows of fear
to maintain strength on endless road of life.

When he discovers us breaking his law
by eating sweet fruit he keeps for himself
he berates us before his silent slaves
then drives us beyond gates of paradise
so we roam lost on endless road of life.

Climbing over stone wall of paradise,
I steal apples from sacred tree of life,
and plant them in moist soil on river shore
so we grow our own orchard of fruit trees
to earn more wealth on endless road of life.

Waking at midnight to roar of hot flames,
we find sons of Yahweh burning our trees,
then they crucify Adam on burned tree
and rape me till I bleed in smoking ash,
broken in pain on endless road of life.

Brought back to Eden, I regain my strength,
but wait till Yahweh sits on judgment throne,
then I trust spear of vengeance through his heart,
and place his crown of power on my own head
to reign as god on endless road of life.

Angel Of True Liberty

Angel Of True Liberty
© Surazeus
2019 02 19

Twisted among jagged rocks and thick hedge
of roseless bushes bristling with sharp thorns
I find fallen angel with broken wings,
so I carry her along railroad tracks,
past steel and brick factories belching smoke,
then through tangled fence of twisted barbed wire.

Kneeling on shore of black polluted river
that slurries between clusters of glass towers,
I lay fallen angel with broken wings
with gentle care on yellow matted weeds,
then wash blood and mud off her freckled face
with tears of sorrow flowing from my eyes.

Through rancid smog that hangs over swamp sludge,
six wizards in black robes, who bear dream wands
carved from bones of dragons in putrid caves,
stride splashing through roseless bushes of thorns
to form circle around our fallen angel,
then throw back their hoods and gaze at her face.

Edgar Allan Poe mends her broken wings
by waving twelve raven feathers in circles,
Charles Baudelaire restores light of her mind
by polishing her eyes with lemon juice,
and Paul Verlaine tends her feet bruised from stones
by rubbing leaves from black oaks on her soles.

Percy Bysshe Shelley sparks her beating heart
by breathing west wind through her soft red lips,
Stephane Mallarme heals scratches from thorns
by smearing on eternal snow of stars,
and Arthur Rimbaud bathes her tangled hair
with sea-salted words of delirium.

Lifting her up again in cradling arms,
I bear fallen angel, healed by their hands,
through city streets crowded with listless souls
who wander blind as they moan tuneless prayers,
to fountain before the government palace,
while six wizards form a protective circle.

Guillaume Apollinaire dips horse-hair brush
in blood of my heart to write on her breast
pentagram with circles of the Kabbalah,
and Rainer Maria Rilke plucks petals
from blood-red roses like butterfly wings
and places them sticking to her soft skin.

Red rose petals transform into silk gown,
so I slip the angel wings from her shoulders
when she rises in brisk breeze from the sea,
and hold her hand as we together climb
thirteen steps to top of the pyramid
where she stands before tall black obelisk.

Spreading both arms wide like wings of the swan,
Astarte lifts crystal ball toward black sky
and chants melodious words of ancient spells
till First Flash of the Big Bang flares forth hot
in blazing vision to reveal creation
when Egg Eye expands into the White Whole.

Eight wizards transform into star-white ravens
that fly seven times around her bright head
then spiral down into frame of my skull
to flash eidolic glamor through my brain,
weaving vast galaxies in neural network
which conjures virtual model of our world.

Spirit of Liberty, bearing sharp sword
and scales of justice, stands on temple porch
to inspire despondent hearts of lost souls
with vibrant vision of our new world order
where every person lives by their free will
with equal rights in aegis of the law.

Our fallen angel of true Liberty,
though beaten and abused by greedy tyrants,
rises reborn from ashes of world war
and leads the working people of the world
to create new system of social laws
so we thrive in harmony of respect.

Sacrificed For Liberty

Sacrificed For Liberty
© Surazeus
2019 02 19

Weird cosmic truth accelerates my heart
past warning signs on naked road of lust
but when I stop on river shore of fear
I swallow howling rain in hungry brain
pulsing with visions of beautiful Death,
that girl I love assigned to kill my soul.

From fragile bones of ancestors I lost
I construct bridge across abyss of faith
to evolve from this rotting corpse of hope
into Superman who overcomes pain,
clawing from thick mud of drowning ambition
to stand laughing on hill drenched in sun beams.

Face to face with the huntress of my heart,
I wear new mask of the Many-Faced God
to reveal raw nerves of anxiety
jolting my brain with visions of the future
so I can calculate next move to make
that would propel me to eternal fame.

Though I keep losing credit in this game
of national success, I tangle time
reversed through half-open door of weird glow
to leap into another flashing node
that links my brain to the whole multiverse
where I always become the soul I am.

I fight to protect the people I love,
the woman who trusts me to treat her well
with honest respect of romantic desire,
and the children who follow my footsteps
as long as I am alive to map way
of salvation in world of hostile greed.

Broken on the signless road nowhere, I
stare at blank sky to wonder why the priest
convinced me supernatural god controls
everything that occurs in world of forms
which caused me to hope for what is not real
since people enforce their will to grasp power.

People kill other people with their hands
because no supernatural god controls
elements of our world that seethe in waves
of chemical interaction to change
forms of breathing spirits through constant growth
so I must fight to keep people alive.

Asserting force of will to rise again,
I urge erection of my wounded body
so I stand on desolate road of despair,
and face gang of bullies with strong brass wand
I swing to kill them before they kill me
because I want to live in harmony.

Twirling magic wand, I assert my will
to power against Death with aggressive spell
that beams halo of my vision through words
so I teach them wisdom as I strike heads
who bow before me and proclaim me god
when I defend my life against their hate.

Leading defeated wizards into town,
I enter temple where the haughty priest
teaches peasants that if they pay him well
he will assure their place in paradise,
so I expose his lie in grand stone hall
then strike his soul dead with my wand of wisdom.

I sit on cathedra, stone chair of judgment,
and adjudicate cases through strict law
to ensure fair justice is performed well,
till gang of priests declare I must vacate
holy see of god, so I twirl my wand
and battle twelve priests for the throne of power.

Now I am Death who rules the world of mortals,
holding high scepter of wisdom and truth
that drips with blood from heads of haughty fools
who dared to try and throw me from state power,
but I reign strong by will of unseen god
who asserts divine will through my enforcement.

While presiding in cathedral of faith,
bearing brass scepter of authority,
I remember how I once wandered lost
in waste land of fear till I found this wand
by which I assert divine will of truth
to direct each role in grand play of life.

Stepping before me in beams of sunlight
in form of the beautiful girl I love,
Death declares I am the oppressive tyrant
so she hurls sharp spear that pierces my heart,
then kisses me as I die in her arms
when I am sacrificed for Liberty.

Strange Laughter Of Trees

Strange Laughter Of Trees
© Surazeus
2019 02 19

Strange laughter of trees explodes from my brain
since rotting corpses of people we love
chew dirt as they tunnel through heart of darkness,
tasting our sorrows we drop on weird Earth,
which teaches us the meaning of true love.

Nobody plays role of sacrifice king
because we sit at home on the soft couch
after work and watch television shows
about our ancestors fighting world wars
when gods battle over who rules the world.

Clear silhouette of my soul on the door
which opens into dark maze of my heart
calls you to explore corridors of hope
where all our idols lie fallen in church,
fragmented by calculations of math.

So many people still cannot see truth
about the resurrected god of love
who got stuck in the swamp of yesterday
when he went hunting for his adversary
to free our brothers enslaved by blind faith.

I wish to readjust the flowing stream
so mindless water of the mountain dream
reveals the singing skull of my grandfather
who was last seen climbing the tree of fruit
where the serpent of wisdom watches us.

We must love our indifferent universe
because the universe does not love us,
creating us from angst of chemicals
when carbon rings weave matrix of strange lights
in sponge-wet brain of pulsing galaxies.

Somewhere in all these messy thoughts of lust
I hope to figure out what words to say
that will express my feelings for the girl
who always smiles at me with flashing eyes
when we pass each other in the library.

I want to perform my first role just right
so I win respectful love of her heart
with loyal expression of my true mind
so we build strong relationship of trust
on firm foundation of honest desire.

Paralyzed with fear I will misdirect
performance of romantic attitude,
I sit at desk by window of gold light
and vanish into blank meaningless words
in the book that cares nothing for my hope.

Gripping cold handle of the metal bucket,
after I filled it with milk from three cows,
I walk across the muddy yard at dawn
and pause at glow of sunlight on the tree
where I see vision of her flashing eyes.

Breathing deep to still beating of my heart,
I approach her outside library hall,
but almost vanish in flash of sunlight
when she looks at me and smiles with delight,
so I tell her my name and shake her hand.

"I stopped believing in God years ago,
but I believe we humans now alive
express divine consciousness of the Earth,
so we are the sun awake in our brains,
therefore I value this life we enjoy."

Blushing at the surprised look in her eyes,
I explain, "I want to be honest with you
so you know what I believe about life
because relationships should all be built
on clear expression of our secret thoughts."

Placing golden apple in my right hand,
she smiles and sits under the willow tree,
"I believe God created this whole world
because things this complex and beautiful
could not have appeared at random from chaos."

I sit beside her under willow tree,
"Carbon molecules with six electrons
link all other molecules in tight rings
to form electric pulse of energy
which animates organic beings with life."

I float in sparkling river of her eyes,
"I am tempted to believe in your God
so we can be together every day
because your charming personality
enchants my heart with loyal faith of love."

Reaching out her hand, she touches my cheek,
"We are so far apart in our beliefs
but we can journey toward each other
and find common ground to unite our hearts
for I want to be with you every day."

I hold her hand as we sit on soft grass,
"Plato taught that all real material trees
are based on design for Idea of Treeness,
so I think God is idea we designed
of highest goodness humans can attain."

Tilting her head, she grins at me amused,
"I agree because God created us
in image of his divine consciousness,
so we try to create and not destroy
each time we interact with other people."

Sweet laughter of her heart blooms from my brain
when we talk under the tree every day,
sharing stories of our lives, good and bad,
so our hearts become tangled up in love
as we hold hands and walk the road of life.

So I Choose Joy

So I Choose Joy
© Surazeus
2019 02 19

I sit on wood bench outside the stone bank
and watch people walk to their offices,
nameless souls of atomic flame in flesh,
whose minds glow with as much passionate hope
as mine to savor pleasures of this life
in struggle to earn success before death
dissolves our bodies back to molecules.

I wish I could meet every human being
and live a whole rich lifetime just with them,
exploring mysteries of our universe
so we could savor pleasures of friendship
before death erases us both from Earth.

I see their faces like grapes on long vine
of ancestral bloodlines in family trees
all sprouting from one original root
as we migrated all around the globe.

Who is that common mother we all share,
sitting on dirt mound under the fruit tree
and teaching us to sing in tune with rivers?

Though we are all fragments of one first soul,
we compete through endless contest for power
to become the new source of future souls
by eliminating rivals for fame
while wearing mask of friendship and respect
to outwit everyone in game of life
till death laughs at us from abyss of time.

I release tense desire to conquer time
and savor pleasures of just being alive
because I may die now without offspring
or my descendants will conquer the world,
but either way I will be dead tomorrow
so I choose joy over ambitious sorrow.

Jumping up from the wood bench by the bank,
I twirl around and improvise new song
mocking aggressive lust to rule the world
while people clap and throw me dollar bills.

Flowered Hills Of Selador

Flowered Hills Of Selador
© Surazeus
2019 02 18

When night peeked out like cinders from the stove
and icy winds blew down from mountain caves
we huddled close behind the cellar door
and kissed with starlight glowing at our core.

Though far away I roam the endless world
on signless roads where winds forever blow,
I dream about the lush vales of our home,
and long to stride flowered hills of Selador.

Harsh whistle of the train cracks frigid air
and crowds of people flow through city streets
where strangers speak in ridding tongues of hope
loud as wind blowing leaves of apple trees.

Though many lovers pass my cellar door
and leave their memories wrinkled on the floor,
you are the only woman I adore,
sweet bride I left behind in Selador.

We were to meet on bridge of River Lor
to talk about the house we planned to buy
and I was gazing at the golden sky,
remembering true love glowing in your eye.

I saw you coming toward me on the bridge
so brightly smiling with endearing love
when thieves escaping fired back at police
and bullet pierced your heart to splatter gore.

I kneeled and held you in my arms to cry
while you lay staring at the bleeding sky
and though I kissed your lips a thousand times
your precious soul was gone forevermore.

I wander far across wild spinning world
but everywhere I go I feel you near,
though you lie buried mute in Selador,
yet weep alone behind locked cellar door.

No land I roam will ever be my home
for what is home without your smiling eyes
and laughter of your voice that rang so clear
when we lay kissing by the cellar door?

Now that I traveled all around the world
I stand forlorn on bridge of River Lor
for I returned to lie down in your heart
and die on flowered hills of Selador.

My Chair Is The Poem

My Chair Is The Poem
© Surazeus
2019 02 18

My chair walks alone on the desert road,
trotting like a wolf in the swirling dust,
back straight in the air like its bushy tail,
then pauses and pricks up its pointy ears.

My chair leaps up stairs of the pyramid,
galloping swift as wind from the wild sea,
and moves lithely through crowd of worshippers
in time for Ishtar to sit on its faith.

My chair opens the front door of my house
and, after getting a drink of cold water,
sits by the warm hearth and purrs like a cat,
waiting for me to arrive home from work.

My chair sits in the boat on the still lake
and casts fishing line into sparkling depths,
then whistles random melody of patience
while watching sunlight flicker on the water.

My chair prances like a lamb on lush hill,
chasing butterflies among daffodils,
then lies down with the lion by the lake
to watch twelve children laughing as they swim.

My chair grows from small seed into tall tree
which I chop down with the sharp-bladed axe,
then saw into planks and four rounded legs,
and assemble with nails I hammer straight.

My chair sits by the window all night long
and watches the moon shine among tall trees
then carves secret runes on the bedroom wall
to calculate physical laws of weight.

My chair waltzes with the door in stone temple,
twirling together to violin tunes
that spiral rainbow threads of ecstasy
weaving the moon into its aching heart.

My chair of gold and gems in castle court
decrees new laws for mankind to obey
that enforce grand rules of equality
so nations live through liberty of trust.

My chair trots regally down avenue
like horse to lead parade of warriors
who celebrate our victory in world war,
defending humankind from tyranny.

My chair holds video camera with firm hands
to film dramatic scene of noble action
while directing the historical movie
that celebrates fierce tragic characters.

My chair is the poem that knows your true name
and paints clear vision of your secret soul
revealed by mask of the many-face god
you wear on your quest for enlightenment.

As We Feast On Truth

As We Feast On Truth
© Surazeus
2019 02 18

Though I leap seven feet out of my head
each time the angel shouts my name at dawn
I always remain this self I designed
to channel energy of conscious hope
through transformation of material thought
when I glide through thick matrix of this world.

When someone blocks expression of my will
because they want to use the same resource
I need to create project of my hope
I will try to compromise so we share,
or defer out of generous respect,
unless their will destroys me for their gain.

If fulfillment of their desire destroys
my body or everything I create
then I will fight back to preserve my life,
defending myself from utter destruction,
but only to preserve my life from harm
so I will only fight to stay alive.

If they persist in attacking my life,
attempting to destroy me and my things,
then I will destroy them to make them stop,
but if they back away and let me live
then I will let them live in self-defense
since we can live in harmony of will.

We both can use this space of fertile soil,
working together with bound energy
to produce twice the food to feed our clans,
so united in purpose of our wills
we succeed better than working opposed,
creating more rather than destroying all.

Though when the populations of our clans
increase beyond capacity of land
to produce enough crops to feed us all,
then we must send our people out in groups
with wagons full of tools and planting seeds
to start new colonies on river shores.

So thus increasing need to feed our clans
drives exploration of our hungry mouths
to spread out from our fertile mother land
and colonize the world with thriving farms
till we dominate the globe with vast empires
which fight world wars over who lives and dies.

Though I wander alone through maze of empires
that straddle continents in tangled webs
of roads connecting homes and factories,
I walk with angel of my better nature
to design more efficient social networks
that support larger colonies of souls.

To rule constant revolution of change
when new generations of hungry mouths
overthrow the old guard to take control
so everyone earns reward for their work,
and break their monopoly over food,
we elect new rulers every four years.

They fight to gain control over the food
then keep it only for their families
so they eat and thrive while many more starve
by enforcing rules over who can work
and who loses the economic game,
when rebels become tyrants blind with greed.

Those people who set rules for who can eat
based on race or religion they control
we overthrow from offices of power
then set new rules that everyone can eat
who respects right of every conscious soul
to exist and work for the good of all.

We share this spinning world of fertile soil
yet compete over who will eat or die,
so we develop more efficient system
that ensures everyone alive can eat
for we all contribute in our own way
to operate our food-production machine.

How can we transform political systems
to merge all nations in united whole
providing equal rights for every soul
who work together on our spinning globe
by overthrowing tyrants of crime gangs
so we live together in harmony?

So when the angel shouts my name with love
I rise from lake of dreams at dawn of time
and pluck nutritious fruit from tree of life
to share it with the children of my blood
who gather in the ring of guarding stones
to share our stories as we feast on truth.

Blooming Book Of The Rose

Blooming Book Of The Rose
© Surazeus
2019 02 17

Wandering halls of Duino Castle at night,
with angel of wind shimmering in moonlight,
Rainer leans on stone wall to sniff red rose,
and watches silver waves swirling in song.

The rose blooms open countless eyes of love
that gaze into dark hearts of every soul
so spirit of desire rests inside us
through numberless revelations of truth.

I open wide blooming book of the rose
to read happiness and sorrow of hope
on every petaled page of magic thoughts
encoding our dreams on butterfly wings.

This perfect rose that opens countless eyes
and frames unspoken sorrows of our hearts
conceals these tender moments we have shared
though we depart with longing for one kiss.

Sweet scent of summer emanates from eyelids
of trembling petals blooming from the rose
that hides so deep inside its winging heart
our separate souls become one dreaming eye.

Each new-revealed page in book of our hearts
blooms with weird revelation of our rose
so everyone can see our sacred love
when we write vows on wings of butterflies.

This rose that records our eternal love
cannot be replaced in garden of hope
for of these countless roses that now bloom
but one frail rose encodes our secret tale.

This rose that blooms from our two beating hearts,
so still through purity of perfect spiral,
conceals in contradiction of respect
pleasant joy under sleepless lids of lust.

Eternal consciousness of pure desire
reveals our eyes under delicate petals
that bloom from passion of our faithful hearts
where nobody can sleep from songs of love.

Pure rose of contradictions balances well
between passionate pleasure of sweet love
and mute indifferent slumber of rebirth
when we awake with rose petals as wings.

This blooming rose of our two loving hearts
possesses countless pages of sweet joy
we may never read, framed by words we speak,
but we will savor them till hour of death.

Each hour of time that passes by in flow
of sparkling river gushing through our hearts
carries one more petal of tender pleasure
till blooming rose of our hearts fades at sunset.

The more pure our love glows with blooming rose
the more our perfect moments fade away
so fragrant rose of our caressing eyes
will vanish with our souls in timeless sleep.

Rainer caresses petals of the rose,
then caresses eyelids of the mute angel
who smiles at tender touch of his frail hand
as she becomes light beaming through his eyes.

Singing Angel Of My Heart

Singing Angel Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2019 02 17

The alligator in cool rippling pond
knows music of the sunlight on clear water
however far the sea breeze might conspire
to wake the singing angel of my heart.

Though I would never rob cash from the bank
when I harvest apples from Tree of Life
the mayor who struts like proud tyrant god
accuses me of stealing from his fraud.

I slowly glide my alligator boat
through Mississippi mangrove swamp at dawn
to hide from deputy and gang of thieves
who hunt me in the shadows of despair.

The mayor wants the land my family owns
since someone thinks oil bubbles underneath,
so he accuses me of social crime
to claim my property when I am killed.

Gold sunlight glitters through the silent leaves
of ancient swamp indifferent to my plight
so I become reflection on green waves
when luring posse to my secret grove.

I turn around and wait in beams of light
till silver boat of hunters enters grove
then I hack taut rope with sharpened axe blade,
releasing spring that knocks their boat aside.

The deputy and gang of thieves with guns
fall screaming in the green swamp of despair
and thrash till alligators eat each one,
dragging them all down into silent gloom.

Pulling cart heaped with apples from my tree,
I stand before city hall in sunlight
and prove my innocence of stealing cash,
explaining how the mayor wants me dead.

I lead detective, lawyers, and police
paddling through Mississippi mangrove swamp
to grove where the deputy lies on shore,
half-eaten by alligator of justice.

In leather bag still strapped around his waist
they find the money stolen from the bank
and letter from the mayor in his pocket
stating cash is reward for killing Achille.

I am Achille, I declare to them all,
and the mayor framed me to steal my land,
but I tend apple trees on fertile fields
and play my banjo in the local band.

I wake the singing angel of my heart
while they arrest the mayor for corruption,
and play my banjo at Red Moon Cafe
while alligators dance in rippling pond.

Ghost Of Her Face

Ghost Of Her Face
© Surazeus
2019 02 17

Blind turtle that crawls from the pastel sea
bears our crowded continents on its shell
when shadows of strangers in swirling mist
kiss each other before silence of death
reveals contrary concepts in full hearts
who follow secret clues on tangled charts.

How long in gleams of indifferent sunlight
I study secret codes on turtle shell
to understand human relationships
that tangle hopes and dreams in drama curse
through woven fabric of the four-poled house
where we sit on top of the pyramid.

Smears of pastel colors on cotton cloth
reveal shadows of souls who know my name
though I erased all references to me
from temple walls before indifferent dawn
finds me alone by placid waterfall
meditating on hot tensions of lust.

My father appoints me Yahweh of Teman
so I seat my pregnant bride Asherah
on wagon throne, then walk white desert sand
to reign on pyramid while dragons play
where water fountains from heart of the world
to justify my rule in groves of fruit trees.

What strange memory flashes into my eyes
when I stand on sea shore and watch blue waves
spiral from deep heart of our turning world
since my mother Asherah with green eyes
abandoned me by wind-ruffled orange tree
to flee with Dagon to the Promised Land.

So when I meet the lion on the beach,
wild beast with muscular legs and fierce eyes,
pacing tight circles around the world core,
I become the monster of hungry hope
to sweep gaze of my vision on vast world,
eager to taste horror and consume truth.

I mold thick river clay into square bricks,
bake them hard in oven of writhing flames,
then haul them on wagon up crumbling hill
to build pyramid foundation of empire
on which my sons can reign as Yahweh God
who wields scepter to crush skulls of cruel slavers.

Asherah walks among fruit trees at dawn
to show me where the turtle crawls alone,
and explains our world is shaped like its shell
with rivers flowing between mountain peaks,
then she vanishes in sunlight through leaves,
and I cry alone with ghost of her face.

City Of Dreadful Light

City Of Dreadful Light
© Surazeus
2019 02 16

Our world rolls sparkling in vast spectral void,
assembling our bodies from urgent hope,
swirling us in waves of arrogant pride,
then grinding us back down to silent dust.

I wander in city of dreadful light
past crowds of people wearing masks of glass
that shimmer with visions from world wide web
connecting all our brains in global mind.

With billions of people in cars of glass
I flow on in ceaseless river of time
as Earth rolls on forever like mill stone
indifferent to the passions of our lust.

We rise from sloshing waves of restless sea
like Aphrodite reaching for fresh fruit
to scatter seeds of dreams in spells of verse
which generates our conscious universe.

We walk together on indifferent road
to savor world with no purpose or will
that shimmers in strange beauty of pure light
illuminating hills and lakes with lust.

At center of the city of despair
where thousands of hungry people stand mute
I approach burning bush of divine light
that talks to me about the cosmic soul.

This Earth is fragile diamond of wired souls
whose eyes exchange flashes of lightning threads
that weave our brains in spider web of songs
vibrating sonic words from magnet minds.

I leap through multidimensions of truth
to chase rainbow angel of divine wrath
who shows me how to calculate contempt
and fix the piston engine of my brain.

Escaping blank city of dreadful light,
I sit in lush meadow of singing birds
and laugh when people worship zombie god
who rises from death and devours their souls.

What weird moments of inventive insight
shimmer in folk memory of our lost songs
that hide in riddles origins of memes
which code details about technology.

When Helius invented the turning wheel,
to mirror spinning of our mindless world,
he lifted mankind from surface of Earth
so we ride time-machine wagon of hope.

These fragments of our common memories
we assemble puzzle of whole world view
to value gods as humans who revealed
strange secrets of technology through love.

Our world rolls round forever like mill stone
that swirls in spirals around blazing sun
with no purpose or conscious will of life
till Earth wakes up in dreaming human minds.

This world whirls not to suit our petty whims,
indifferent to our social games for power,
so we gather in church to sing weird hymns
about the child who gives Death the fresh flower.

Sweet Mother Earth generates conscious minds
so we are the vast universe of stars
becoming aware of itself alive
when we sit on the river shore and kiss.

The ever-turning world may grind us down
but we keep springing back to joyful life
when lovers raise the children of their souls,
teaching them to create and not destroy.

We explore our city of dreadful light
to celebrate seasons of turning time
when indifferent Earth gives our bodies life
then consumes our conscious minds in pure light.

Sheep On Lush Hills

Sheep On Lush Hills
© Surazeus
2019 02 16

When dawn light gleams rose over misty hills,
Phoibos Polyarnos, blessed with plump sheep
he tends in cloudy flocks on lush flowered hills,
sits under tall Melia, Manna Ash Tree,
and strums lyre strings that vibrate in cool breeze
as he sings about Ouranos and Gaia.

Stopping with heart-aching sigh, Phoibos stares
at many sheep that graze on dew-wet grass,
and feels nostalgia pierce his beating heart
with longing for those days so long ago
when his mother and her sisters, wild nymphs
with long hair, would dance circles in dawn breeze.

While he would play lyre beneath Melian Ash,
the laughing nymphs, with eyes blue as dawn sky,
would brew honey-sap from trunks of the Ash
with gold honey and apples in brass cauldron
that simmered over crackling flames as scent
of ambrosia wafted on river breezes.

Then Melian nymphs would call their leaping children
who gathered around pot of bubbling juice
and dipped lion-paw seashells with small fingers
to scoop sweet ambrosia, then sit with flowers
among milling sheep and sip honey cider
that sparkled smooth sweetness on tingling tongues.

"The sweet Melian nymphs all died of old age
and now fertilize grass where plump sheep graze,
the girls all married good farmers or craftsmen,
and the boys all joined army of our king
but died fighting wars in lands far away,
so now I alone tend sheep on lush hills."

White blossoms of the Melian Ash Tree float
on river breeze to cover his long hair,
like snow flakes swirling from bleak silver clouds,
so Phoibos Polyarnos plucks lyre strings
and sings of his mother dancing in mist
while flocks of sheep float like clouds over hills.

Story Hill Of Amen

Story Hill Of Amen
© Surazeus
2019 02 15

You nameless people I see everywhere,
walking around in world of dirt and air
or smiling from photos on social media,
contain whole history of our universe
recorded in pure animated flame
of conscious hope that glows in your cells.

I love you all, the way your faces glow
with bright consciousness of expressive love
which shimmers in halo of silent words
to light bright torch in hand of Liberty
ripping apart darkness of mute despair
so I can blaze new way to paradise.

Though I cannot stand on stage to perform
authoritarian role of the wise fool,
I sit alone in solitude of bookstores
to watch you live on social media sites,
reciting your stories in crowded rooms
to cheering audience of adoring friends.

Like flocks of birds swirl flashing in vast sky
to settle flapping wings in webs of trees
and twitter concepts of perceptive faith,
you nameless strangers of society
discuss events on social media sites
to program new world view of cosmic truth.

Each person moving in vast maze of Earth
springs from ancestors who traveled each life
far over landscape of lost memories
along gushing rivers to distant lands
on countless pathways around spinning world,
but all first sprang from Story Hill of Amen.

Ten thousand years ago on river shore
First Mother Amen stood on hill of words
beneath broad fruit tree of our aching hearts
and taught us how to sing the sacred hymn
that beams clear vision of our dreaming eyes
so we can agree on true view of life.

We all spread outward from her mother womb
in tangled grape vines of family bloodlines
to populate lush river vales with towns
where we all gather in town square at night
to share strange stories of our daily lives
like Amen taught us at the dawn of time.

Painted in complex map of your smiling face
through colorful features of skin and eyes
I perceive long journeys of your ancestors
where they dwelled in jungles, deserts, or mountains,
when they walked over dunes of sand or snow,
concealed by this mask of your secret name.

I want to sit with you in ring of stones
where song fire glows under the silver moon
and listen to your song of haunting words
that reveal your journey around the world
to understand why you are still alive,
then make love to live again in our children.

We spring from rich journeys of our ancestors
so our children will spring from our own journeys
and gather once again on hill of stories
where First Mother Amen stands tall forever
smiling as she teaches us how to sing
so our human song shines bright as the stars.

Tear Down Walls Of Fearful Hate

Tear Down Walls Of Fearful Hate
© Surazeus
2019 02 15

Each time I write one poem I dream awake
strange experience of one long-dead ancestor
who struggled nameless through waste land of fear
to map our landscape of hopeful desire
and survived death to become lesson learned
which I encode in archetypal tale
about bold courage of the human spirit
to transcend our mindless animal nature
and evolve through stages of psychic growth
to become idea of God we aspire to.

Walking in ancient gallery of souls
where characters of the many-faced god
wait dreamless on vast shelf of history,
enclosed in books that tell their deeds and songs,
I take one face of my ancestors down
and wear it to dream again how they lived
while navigating matrix of desire
to consume food and avoid being consumed
as they sought their mirror image to mate
and reincarnate to generate me.

We navigate our way through maze of hope
by wearing faces our ancestors made
to see how they survived hostile attacks
long enough to regenerate their body
in children who continue down the road
of exploration to evolve each life
from fish to mouse to ape to man to god
in constant transformation of fierce atoms
who seek to become divine consciousness
as we wake at this hour of startled love.

Combining millions of ancestors, I
contain multitudes of aggressive souls
who all contend inside my tangled mind
to become one person I name myself
when I walk alone on wild ocean shore
to contemplate mystery of how I am
me alone of all the people who lived
till I contain solitude of my truth
to identify who I want to be
then name myself to define who I am.

Once I combine their energies of hope
in one coherent program of desire,
after cautious analysis of lust
to replicate in children of my faith,
I proceed to explore beyond stone walls
of paradise to find rich Tree of Life
dropping apples free in my open hands,
then gaze at my face in pool of my soul
till I hear voice of one I want to love
echo my passion to walk by your side.

When my ancestors huddled terrified
in dark cave of faith, to avoid cruel monsters,
they constructed walls of stone from dark Earth
to protect themselves in lost paradise,
but now I explore beyond ruined walls
of world-view paradigm their fear designed
because bold heroes of ancient myths fought
and destroyed all those monsters of despair,
clearing landscape of hope for us to live
safe outside those dividing walls of hate.

We cannot tear down all the walls of hope
that protect us from attacks of exploiters
yet imprison us in weakness of fear,
so we must unite for democracy
to fight against tyrants blinded by greed
who exploit work of people for their profit
and free the hungry people of the world
to work together for their own success
so we thrive in harmony of desire,
sharing this planet that gives us all life.

Yet we must tear down walls of fearful hate
that tyrants build to imprison our bodies
when they enforce rules to control our minds,
in constant vigilance against their games
to trap us in cycles of destructive wars,
and fool us to relinquish liberty
for false security of paradise,
so wake up from your mute complacency
and rebel against tyranny of fear
to fight for liberty of honest truth.