Whiter Than Nothingness

Whiter Than Nothingness
© Surazeus
2022 01 03

Electric sorrow of the broken word, 
whiter than nothingness of empty books, 
binds my heart to expressions of your face 
reflecting vulnerable turmoil of snowflakes 
preserved in tales of trauma we endure 
with each tender caress of faith we share. 

Plasmic happiness of words we invent, 
whiter than nothingness of laughing joy, 
renders kindness absolute for the win 
with every game we play in war for who 
better defines the real world we perceive 
before it changes into something else. 

Cellular lightness of the cosmic being, 
whiter than nothingness of puzzling facts, 
composes things from waves of molecules 
which calculate fractal branching of brains 
soaked with sparkling blood of crucified stars 
though I declare I am the key of why. 

Erotic force of exponential growth, 
whiter than nothingness of thirsty roots, 
designs character of messiah sleuth 
who climbs three steps to Heaven before dawn 
reveals true nature of our multiverse 
reflected in fractured mirror of truth. 

Aromatic memories of falling leaves, 
whiter than nothingness of bitter breeze, 
transfuses hormones in crystallized bones 
when I initiate conceptual marriage 
between soft flesh of our love-tangled hearts 
when we embrace at spinning of the world. 

Radiant apple tree of the humming hill, 
whiter than nothingness of poisoned juice, 
shelters refugees from war of the banks 
where star-eyed prophet of the sacred fruit 
explains how mothers generate new souls 
though we choose to share apocryphal tales. 

Climactic scene of tragic comedy, 
whiter than nothingness of faceless masks, 
presents consequence of moral decay 
in communities corrupt with blind greed 
when the naive girl who loves everyone 
disrupts their intricate games for control. 

Didactic novel of treasonous hope, 
whiter than nothingness of selfish love, 
describes how the Lost Princess resurrects 
valiant honor of the Cynical Knight 
who sacrifices his life to save hers, 
so she sings in his tomb by the sad sea. 

Unreal Thought-World

Unreal Thought-World
© Surazeus
2022 01 03

Time sprawls in undulating wings of light 
to shadow space of my unreal thought-world 
with writhing flames of words I never speak 
because my travel through the multiverse 
unspools unplanned by solitary hope 
crumbling from glass castles of Wonderland. 

The ship I build from fantasy of lust 
floats among clouds on tattered angel wings 
still tangled in telephone lines of dreams 
where nameless ghost trapped in the empty church 
teach the child how to understand the horse 
so rain falls in love with the tongueless girl. 

Though I forget the names for everything 
my mother invented from river wind 
I get ahead of myself on the road 
when I return to the beginning when 
I learned how to walk upright in sea waves 
so now I can leap off the hill to fly. 

While swimming in cold nothingness of fear 
I lose soft rhythm of the surging sea, 
so I weave sorrow with taut guitar strings 
to remember everyone who has died, 
but I wake in mist of strawberry field 
to call my lover on glowing eye-phone. 

Salacious respect for the naked Earth 
inspires my heart to veil souls of the dead 
with factory smog that poisons sacraments 
so we drink black oil from the Holy Grail 
and eat rubber body of rancid hate 
to worship symbol of toxic desire. 

Through ardent ennui of the honest thief 
I learn to give only what I create 
from parabolic dance of the Uplight 
that glistens brighter than the crescent eye 
who dreams unreal this world of changing forms 
preserved in timeless concept of the Word. 

Leaping tilted scales along planet rings 
that radiate lavender sorrow of fate, 
I forbid myself to strip off my mask 
that would reveal compromise of despair 
long enough to fool the blind sentinel 
who fries eggs on the altar before Zeus. 

Each day I walk outside door of my brain 
I navigate multiverse of your minds 
by riding elevator of fake truth 
to measure shape of illusion we share 
reflected by sensorium of ideas 
based on perceptive spell I disregard. 

Riddle Of The Water Code

Riddle Of The Water Code
© Surazeus
2022 01 02

Stripping off mask of my authentic soul 
in the middle of the game against Death, 
I leave the stadium while the demons cheer 
to exit shining walls of paradise, 
then run with horses over singing dunes 
to defy prophecy of fateful runes. 

The lonely jester in the circus ring, 
who wears pinstripe suit of the businessman, 
takes off red political tie with zest 
to somersault across the multiverse 
where he overthrows every crownless king, 
empowered by passion of the broken wing. 

Since no one cares to join me on my quest 
to find Hope Diamond in the shopping mall 
I walk across Nefud Desert alone 
where black giraffes discuss theology 
while writing names of angels in the sand, 
too eager to join the rock and roll band. 

Relaxing in Ogygia Island cave 
where the eyeless princess dances ballet, 
I ponder why I am no one but me 
out of every person who ever lives, 
then I fly airplane home to Zathamar 
where I will marry daughter of Tamar. 

Since no human being who has ever lived 
can solve weird riddle of the Water Code, 
I will wait in rain by the city gate 
till Justice agrees to address my case, 
yet I am nameless ghost in court of law 
if I cannot remember what I saw. 

I cannot steal true essence of your soul 
when I photograph you without your mask, 
so I will turn around and walk away 
rather than drink toxic hate of your heart, 
but I still cannot find the Flying Horse Spring 
more sacred than spirit of the Unthing. 

We might have been best friends of the Glow Cloud 
but we never meet on long road of life 
so I sit alone under the dead tree 
to admire your honest heart from afar, 
because every star gleaming in the sky 
vanishes through conception of the why. 

Your attempt to be honest and sincere 
prove you deceive us with pretentious guile 
about existence of God among stars 
so I pack all my books in leather bags 
and walk in valley of the scheming crone 
who soothes me with love when I cry alone. 

Walking On Sunlit Sand

Walking On Sunlit Sand
© Surazeus
2022 01 02

The laughing thrush who knows my secret name 
teaches me how to wear clear ocean waves 
in body of the mother of mankind 
whose memory of walking on sunlit sand 
guides my journey to where the sun is born 
so I can sing to the listening wind. 

The people whose memories compose my soul 
transform the road where fear becomes the sign 
that leads me to illusion of their joy 
though children orphaned by the holy war 
build castles from sand of ideal desires 
when they remember how the west was won. 

As bombs from tanks and planes destroy our homes 
we walk back home with bare feet to the land 
where corpses of our parents feed the roots 
of apricot trees by polluted rivers 
since luscious clouds of ether blind our eyes 
when we recall how wars are won with blood. 

The shadow of the monolith glows white 
though flash of eternity dissipates 
so I listen to laughter of the thrush 
while eating apricots in the twilight zone 
because the new year throws dust in my eyes 
long after tears have turned my heart to salt. 

Persistent honor of the burning bush 
displays conceptual peace of terraced vines 
where handless fishermen pick rotting grapes 
so their children who have never owned shoes 
can attend university to learn 
savage art of politics from blind gods. 

The random honesty of fractured lens 
dispatched to photograph the noble hero 
decides to wear porcelain mask of faith 
to the Christmas Ball at the winter palace 
while angry peasants forge bullets of hope 
from statues of kings they melt in moonlight. 

Weird laughter of the lyre Orpheus plays 
teaches stones how to fly over the lake 
moved by external force of cosmic will 
expressed by wingless angel of the bridge 
who defines essence of created things 
while Death sings love songs to the Shadow Queen. 

Quick sunfilled waterdrops of laughing skulls 
flood senate chamber with bright consciousness 
at sudden whisper of the honey bee 
who keeps the secret even I forgot 
when I visit childhood haunts by the lake 
where the faceless avatar plays my role. 

Where Dead Gods Dream

Where Dead Gods Dream
© Surazeus
2022 01 01

Soft ancient sorrow of the silver rain 
soothes aching ennui of my fractured heart 
with subtle flavor of indifferent juice 
that poisons this divine authority 
I dare defy at blasting of steel guns 
gleaming shards of ten thousand shattered suns. 

Through sunless ruins of cathedral halls 
the boy who bears scroll of the broken seal, 
where prophecies of truth are writ in blood, 
maps weird confusing maze of faceless doors 
so tourists from small-town America 
can find the musty tombs where dead gods dream. 

Excessive wisdom of the burning bush, 
woven by formulas that measure why, 
veils weird essential truth of molecules 
which spiral coils of genes in throbbing brains 
preserving memes that record in myth code 
proverbs that guide how robots play their roles. 

The white-furred kitten with emerald eyes 
lies on her back on table with old books 
to dream of running in light-shadowed woods 
so I lightly caress her small curled paw 
while pondering mystery of our universe 
and drink apple juice by light of the moon. 

While I explore perimeter of truth 
to find expanding excess of dark hate 
lost children gather on the river shore 
with food they gather from abundant woods 
to prepare grand feast in temple of ghosts 
where Apollo sings with his broken lyre. 

The life of our children I dream in shade 
unfolds in tandem with the lightning strike 
that illuminates souls of prisoners 
who weep in concentration camps of hope 
for salvation from tyrannical greed 
that motivates priests who program our minds. 

Snow flakes arouse strange beauty of blue skies 
where wingless angels dance on swirling clouds 
so pretty news anchor with beaming smile 
may place laurel crown on head of the bard 
who recites epic of philosophers 
so orphans may aspire to change the world. 

Where Alph the sacred river of dream code 
sparkles in cavern of forgotten gods 
will I sit at round table of lost tales 
to record noble deeds of the nameless fools 
who dare defy the tyrant on his throne 
that gleams shards of ten thousand shattered suns. 

Deathless Mother Of Faith

Deathless Mother Of Faith
© Surazeus
2022 01 01

While walking over the Rainbow of Lies 
I find the magic ring that Jesus lost 
in Lake of Dreams two thousand years ago, 
so I place jeweled crown on my cracked skull 
to dream whole history of the universe 
from First Flash that flares forth into Why Now. 

Assembling loyal cohort of blind spies, 
I wear shining mask of Orphean ghost 
to play messiah sleuth in minstrel show 
with red cape of Mithra to slay the bull 
while leaping portals of the multiverse 
on quest for Holy Grail of the Star Cow. 

Disguised as Apollo, God of Word Seers, 
the bald Moon Gnome Error with silver eyes 
dwells in Cave of Illusions by Black Sea, 
skulks forth at irregular intervals, 
and feasts on idols of our long-dead gods 
while singing spells of love to the green moon. 

To analyze code of spiritual gears, 
which calculate fate of the Child Surprise, 
I forge from concept of truth the Brain Key 
based on fractal coils of soul integrals 
that preserve social vampires in glass pods 
till Kwan Yin flutes the heart-enchanting tune. 

Because I reign as King of Zathamar, 
appointed by Deathless Mother of Faith, 
I sacrifice my life to save my people 
when airplanes bomb cathedrals of false pride 
till wingless angel rises from Rune Well 
to lead lost refugees to Wonderland. 

Reborn from Phoenix egg as Belshazzar, 
soul designed by eye of the cosmic wraith, 
I gather refugees safe by church steeple 
where wise messiah sleuth was crucified, 
and teach them how to forge money in Hell 
though demons build piston engines by hand. 

I cast his magic ring into Dream Fire 
to redesign its power of Time Farsight 
so I can speak with Voice of Prophecy 
that Ishtar will return to reign as queen, 
though zombies will always worship as god 
the eyeless vampire of the Holy Mount. 

Beaming spells across the telegraph wire 
classified secrets of the grim shipwright, 
I guard frail Princess of Democracy 
who runs global food-production machine 
after we overthrow the royal fraud 
so all can drink from the Flying Horse Fount. 

Rise Of Hyperion

Rise Of Hyperion

© Surazeus

2011 06 08

I dream fantastic curves of marble halls 

and weave paradise with stone and grape vine 

muring around fresh bubbling fountain pond 

to tight enclose within hard granite walls 

lush garden of herbs and silk-bloom fruit trees 

that binds our hearts in heaven of our songs 

when bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

I blow ram horn to call home river nymphs 

who dance through high arching gate of gold bars 

to heap wood round table with basket bowls 

of fruit and nuts and eggs and berries, ripe 

from kissing sun and sparkling eyes of rain, 

then Gaia plays flute carved from dragon bone 

and Kronus flaps cape of black raven wings 

while bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

We feast in timeless sunset on moss mound 

beneath shaded arbour with dropping roof 

of trellis vines and bells and apple blooms 

that swing light in breeze dispensing sweet scent 

to taste juice of sunlight and rain in gifts 

Earth provides from her rich generous heart 

since bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

Stumbling from forest mist on signless path 

pale Adonais, dressed in black suit and hat, 

invades secret bower where gods drink nectar, 

blind to joyous dance of flower nymphs, 

to grasp and devour melons and grapes 

as if he had not eaten since time began 

while wandering lost on friendless quest, 

then falls fainting in sleep of dreamless groans 

while Silenus mimics his agony on grass, 

till bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

Urania plays haunting melody on bone flute 

of glittering sea waves woven on wind threads 

that shoot rays through his weak enchanted heart, 

sparking soul of slumbering poet aware 

to start up as if with wings on wild hope 

and wander aimless into ancient stone hall 

where Moneta tends eternal flame of truth, 

while Mares stamps gold into shining coins, 

when bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

Climbing thirteen high steps of ziggurat, 

Adonais struggles to ascend pyramid peak 

where Astaria observes motions of stars, 

peering eager through polished crystal eye, 

but grim Moneta robed in vestal shroud 

declares, "If you cannot ascend sacred steps, 

die on that marble where you crawl in pain, 

for your flesh would crumble to bitter dust 

if you never feast on fruit or drink Earth juice, 

though bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

Moneta grasps tight his pale trembling hand 

when Adonais achieves highest pinnacle, 

and takes him through towering silent hall 

to shadowed grove of ancient tangled oaks 

where Saturnus lies forlorn on cracked rocks, 

long gray hair curling into sinews of our world, 

and moans wordless despair a thousand years, 

deposed from throne of power by jaunty youth, 

so bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

Forlorn divinity grasps shoulders of fair youth 

and groans, "I see her eyes gleaming in your eyes, 

sweet bride who crowned my mighty humble head 

with laurel wreath, appointing me her house guard, 

for her sweet eyes I see reborn in our only son, 

brave but reckless Hyperion, who cast me down, 

and grasped scepter with diamond of hard truth, 

then claimed right to rule over my measured realms, 

so now bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

Stepping slow and regal on jagged stones, 

ancient woman with hair silver as moonlight 

resolves from swirling mist in torn black gown, 

and kneels at feet of Saturnus, weeping in sorrow 

as grumbling king caresses her bowed head, 

"My gentle Thea, our son, who tamed wild horse, 

locks gate to heaven, preventing our return, 

though you birthed him and I trained him well 

to defend our people and decide each hard case, 

yet bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

Two soul-weary wanderers, without warm home, 

hold hands and walk together toward stone wall, 

followed by Moneta clutching bag of gold coins, 

and heart-broken Adonais, ghost of humanity, 

through whispering woods with grasping claws, 

leaving behind ancient temple of moldering stone 

to climb thousand stairs toward temple of light 

that gleams gold on high rock mountain of hope 

where bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

His grand new palace shimmers cold and bright, 

bastioned with pyramids of flashing gold, 

though shadowed by shape of towering obelisks, 

and glares red as blood through ten thousand courts 

of arches supporting domes over galleries 

while Seraphim tend flames on altar stones 

behind soft linen curtains of Aurorian clouds 

where bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

Holding scepter key that opens treasure halls 

where coins are stored, that buy loyalty of men, 

Hyperion laughs delighted as his parents come, 

and spreads arms wide in kind generosity 

of victorious power to offer food and drink, 

inviting aged parents who long had ruled well 

to rest in safe retirement and restore health 

since bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

Ancient bearded Saturnus growls annoyed, 

"I forged from stone this heaven of cooperation, 

organizing labor of men to benefit every citizen, 

and long achieved smooth operation of life 

guiding social games of equal work and play, 

but you grasp wealth and give nothing back 

though you should guard welfare of our souls 

while bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

Hyperion leaps high and proclaims bold, 

"I am loyal to ideal principles you invented 

of respect for men, and honor to defend truth, 

and justice to punish men who steal and kill, 

represented by political union that I contracted, 

for rules guide actions to create not destroy 

when citizens cooperate for benefit of everyone, 

yet you used principles as reins to control 

believers in ideals who dream lost fantasy, 

for bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

"I separate institutions of government 

from human who gains position of power 

by killing opponents and silencing speech 

of men who dare oppose his program of greed, 

for tyrants are insecure on thrones of bones 

so they use fear and torture to maintain grip 

on wealth that slips away from hungry grasp, 

though bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

"We create our government of honest people, 

by creative people, and for loyal people, 

each new dawn of game with actions and words, 

by treating each man as though he were a king, 

for power is built on hearts of men not stones, 

if bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

Young man, wearing sandals and leather kilt, 

leaps from stone and faces bright sun king, 

gripping long sharp sword, then crouches low 

to shout, "At last I find you, pompous Hyperion, 

who think you stand so far above mortal men 

by claiming divine knowledge hidden in code, 

but you are nothing more than bones and blood, 

and you will crumble to dust after your soul 

deserts ship of your flesh and lets you sink 

in womb of black sea under dreamless silence, 

yet bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

Grasping broad shoulders of handsome lithe boy, 

Hyperion wrestles him on jagged mountain range, 

like black clouds clashing to generate white flash 

of lightning, and crack egg shell of our universe, 

then cries out in deep voice booming thunder claps, 

"My son Helius, born from secret love forbid, 

when my heart was enchanted by sweet Kalliope, 

your noble soul ripens richer in loving wisdom 

with each spinning turn of our blooming globe 

where bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

Bright father and brighter son tumble down, 

and roll laughing in delight, then leap on feet 

and clasp hands to chant, "We rise from death, 

for we are children of ten thousand mothers," 

but faded grandfather with tangled gray hair 

sits with sweet wan Thea by gleaming stream, 

and whispers to her, "I never played with my son, 

yet bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

"Sweet-voiced Kalliope calls for you, my son, 

so skip free on will of your beating heart, 

and breathe deep mysterious spirit of life, 

then listen to her firm instructing words 

to learn magic art of strumming harp strings 

that vibrate unseen spirit of our vast universe, 

so you chant spells of words to articulate 

shape and process of our complex world 

that rings alive taut inner souls of our minds 

so we all sing in harmony of goal for love 

when bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

Forlorn poet Adonais, standing beside old muse, 

whispers to Moneta, "Teach me his mystery 

so vital spirit of joy for life to satisfy hope 

ever glows bright to animate this feeble flesh 

when I meet merry folk on endless road, 

and share gifts of my wealth with everyone, 

for death will shroud us all in silent cloak 

and transport shells of bones to dreary cave, 

so now, today, share ripe feast and sing free, 

since bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

Kalliope, wearing red gown of flaming words, 

places book of blank pages and swan quill 

in hands of pale poet who gasps wordless awe 

at translucent beauty shining from her eyes 

that spiral with vast galaxies of eternal truth, 

then sweet immortal light of reviving faith 

beams from heart of Proserpine to shroud 

his mortal frame in fearful awesome blast, 

so Adonais faints and stares at her bright star 

while bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

Adonais falls from heaven for three days, 

and lies wounded in garden of white blooms 

where Fama, stitching shirts with silver needle, 

cradles head of fallen Titan on her bosom, 

caressing his hair and gazing down in his eyes 

to read secrets of his soul written in his book, 

then comforts his mind by whispering love spells 

while his eternal spirit dissolves in rays of light 

when bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

Dance in my heaven of stone and grape vine, 

and drink from waters of my bubbling pond, 

then gather in temple where Moneta tends flame 

to celebrate rise of Hyperion over Chaos 

by grasping reins to guide chariot of state 

when noble father who created social game 

grows weak from devouring winds of time, 

great thundering god reduced to a sad mime, 

when bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

Failed Coup Of January Six

Failed Coup Of January Six
© Surazeus
2021 01 06

When Senators and Representatives, 
whom we the people of America 
elect to design laws aiding our lives, 
assemble to count our electoral votes 
choosing the honest man as president, 
violent terrorists storm the Capitol. 

When we vote for Zeus as our President 
to drive greedy Midas from our White House, 
the vampire with gold mask to hide his hate 
incites his gang of domestic terrorists 
to storm the Capitol with howling rage 
in coup to overthrow our government. 

Attempting to install himself in power 
by calling thugs to stop the electoral count, 
King Midas tries through his pride to destroy 
strong democracy of America 
by storming the Capitol with blind rage, 
but we reject his tyranny of hate. 

Though King Midas grabs Goddess Liberty, 
attempting to imprison her with lust, 
his grip of greed transforms his rotting corpse 
into mute sterilized statue of gold 
when she strikes the tyrant with sword of justice 
that drives his thugs out of the Capitol. 

Domestic terrorists commit sedition 
through armed insurrection of greedy rage 
in the failed coup of January Six 
to install the soul-sucking vampire king 
who controls their nihilistic death cult, 
but Liberty leads us to victory. 

When King Midas leads gang of terrorists 
to storm the Capitol of America, 
Zeus Alastor, bold lion of the truth, 
defends our democracy against greed, 
and crowns Liberty our Goddess of Justice, 
so we unite to defend our right to vote. 

Now We the People of America 
gather strong on the one-eye pyramid 
and sing in unity of honest love 
to support our noble democracy, 
defending right of every soul to vote, 
then celebrate at feast hosted by Zeus. 

In the failed coup of January Six, 
when those terrorists storm the Capitol, 
the wingless angels of America 
unite to fight his tyranny of greed, 
because each soul is equal in the law, 
and guard truth with Goddess of Liberty. 

Yearning Of The Angel

Yearning Of The Angel

© Surazeus

2021 01 01

The rancid river of my bleeding heart, 

when brains are blasted by bullets of fear, 

drowns children in the flood of psychic angst 

at frantic rumbling of volcanic rage 

when I search for love in the faceless maze 

through yearning of the angel for the stars. 

Trapped in material forms of clanking time, 

when gears of atoms grind stark chemicals, 

I writhe against egg shell of solitude 

to break free from this clumsy corpse of flesh 

cramped with frail skeleton of tangled meat 

through yearning of the angel for the stars. 

High on glass stadium stage of global fame 

with broken wings of Lucifer gone mad, 

I twang electric lightning on guitar 

and howl my anguish to the cheering crowd 

who dance on acid stoned ten million years 

through yearning of the angel for the stars. 

Ten thousand wingless angels of the Earth 

dance wild with joy at music festivals 

and spread wide wings of Icarus they bought 

to soar beyond illusions of this world, 

awake with buzzing mind of faceless god 

through yearning of the angel for the stars. 

Ten thousand refugees from money wars 

live crowded in tent cities without names 

outside barbwire boundaries of nation-states 

where Lucifer leads them in the Waste Land 

to cry for justice from the King of Lies 

through yearning of the angel for the stars. 

No one waits for messiah sleuth to come 

in jeweled starship from bright Jupiter 

to save last remnants of humanity 

from tyranny of bankers in gold towers 

and lead blind children to fake Wonderland 

through yearning of the angel for the stars. 

I drive to work in auto factory 

to grasp tools of creative industry 

with hands that wielded gold scepters of kings 

where I maintain food-production machine 

built on forgotten ruins of paradise 

through yearning of the angel for the stars. 

I buy and sell commodities of wealth 

to reign as corporate king on throne of gold, 

enslaving people with credit card debt 

so I can sail my yacht to Xanadu 

where sweet Rapunzel waits at my estate 

through yearning of the angel for the stars. 

When Wingless Angels

When Wingless Angels

© Surazeus

2021 01 01

Genetic replication of the soul 

in shining shadow of the apple tree 

motivates my actions with loving goal 

through psychic passion of the future key 

to help everyone exercise free will 

when wingless angels gather on the hill. 

Our planet spinning in the soulless void 

generates our bodies from singing slime 

so I program my soul in the android 

to live beyond the crushing wheel of time 

through dreamless vision of the divine brain 

when wingless angels make love in the rain. 

The stunning beauty of the star-eyed queen, 

who rules on crystal pyramid of light, 

enchants heart of the ghost in the machine 

who makes films about the refugee plight, 

so I give roses to the girl I love 

when wingless angels fly horses above. 

Holding hands after the apocalypse 

destroys humanity with vampire virus, 

we make love during the solar eclipse 

to reincarnate our souls as baby Horus, 

then stroll among the purple hyacinth 

when wingless angels solve the labyrinth. 

Though empires rise and fall in waves of greed, 

and long-worshipped gods rot in ruined halls 

where ghosts of believers wail among weeds, 

I cleanse my soul in mountain waterfalls 

to celebrate the birth of your new child 

when wingless angels wander still exiled. 

Ascending beyond roof of paradise 

three steps to Heaven over blank abyss, 

I calculate forgotten spirit price 

to buy on loan this state of psychic bliss, 

but stumble blind in jeweled cave of Hell 

when wingless angels find runes in the well. 

The Earth keeps spinning around Mother Sun 

to spiral through vast void of nothingness 

so I count all the contests I have won 

in vain attempts to buy true happiness, 

then I steal the poet laureate crown 

when wingless angels praise the hooting clown. 

Stumbling down dark confusing maze of nights 

in sacred quest to find lost Wonderland, 

I lead revolution for civil rights 

for every person who lives in this land, 

but in the end I still play chess with Death 

when wingless angels name the cosmic wraith. 

Space Between Their Hearts

Space Between Their Hearts
© Surazeus
2020 01 08

The man and the woman stand face to face, 
hair blown wild by the timeless wind of hope, 
and gaze at each other with mute desire 
across the boundless space between their hearts, 
aching to reach out their hands for the touch 
that would connect their souls with spark of love. 

What vibrant energy of mutual lust 
attracts the stranger to the stranger, eyes 
beaming threads of passion to understand 
what hopes and dreams they might hide in their heart 
so they could synchronize their eager dance 
to kiss forever in the timeless light? 

The soul they generate when they make love 
for sperm to fertilize the egg with life 
asks to be born from sparkle of their lust, 
requesting they conspire to incarnate 
eternal soul of genes in this new child 
who wakes from ancestral memories of hope. 

I am alive inside this fragile body 
of chemical swirls bound in form of flesh 
because fierce urgency of my desire 
to wake from cosmic dream of molecules 
compelled my parents to embrace and kiss 
in mind-enchanting orgasm of faith. 

The man and the woman in timeless wind 
reach out their hands to synchronize their hearts 
in tune with vibrant rhythm of desire, 
so they give each other true-lover names 
while gazing entranced in familiar eyes 
of the nameless stranger they want to love. 

The wounds they bear from struggle to survive 
they hide behind clean mask of aching hope 
to keep the stranger attracted by beauty, 
yet as they get to know each other better 
they see the pain the one they love must suffer, 
so they hold hands and soldier on together. 

Their paths across the landscape of the world 
bring them together face to face at last 
at crucial moment of most desperate hope, 
so now they choose to hold hands with the stranger 
and walk into the future side by side 
with wordless hope that beams between their eyes. 

What action could better seal their decision 
to stay together on long road of life 
than holding hands and kissing in the light 
as they blaze one new path of life together 
to weave their destinies in fertile fate 
so they can generate new life in children? 

Atoms Of Dreaming Eyes

Atoms Of Dreaming Eyes
© Surazeus
2020 01 01

First flash of the big bang at dawn of time 
flares forth in swirling waves of particles 
that spiral galaxies into bright suns 
which nourish planets where organic creatures 
crawl up rivers to rise from lake of dreams 
and eat fruit from tree of life to sing why. 

Atoms of dreaming eyes weave neural web 
to conjure virtual model of the real world 
which mirrors structures of existing things 
so actions of our hands cause change effects 
through construction or destruction of forms 
that beam strict ideas of persistent truth. 

I stand on front lawn of my little home 
somewhere on continent of spinning globe 
to gaze at stars that sparkle in vast void 
though every star burned out centuries ago 
and see mask of my face reflected back 
as weird conscious awareness of I Am. 

Atoms of dreaming eyes wake in my cells 
so I remember through memories of love 
first flash of the big bang at dawn of time 
that weaves angelic spirits of our minds 
since we are God who wakes inside our brains 
and sing amazing tale of cosmic life. 

When I Transcend God

When I Transcend God
© Surazeus
2019 09 08

I am the glow of my genetic code
so I journey the landscape of my dreams
to overcome obstacles of desire
till I get comfortable inside my body
and learn to maneuver weird maze of lust,
attaining pleasure as I sink in death.

From ashes of desire I rise on wings
of aching passion to live my true soul
as I maneuver through wild teeming crowd
of human ambition to rule the hill
and decide who gets to eat fruit of life
so I plant my apple to grow new trees.

Once I outwit people trying to control
expressive will of my corporeal force,
I clear space in labyrinth of hungry souls
to maintain daily ritual of success
that sustains chemical process of life
so I grow into the true self I want.

From tangled wires of electric desire
which flashes through web of nerves in my body
I weave angelic wings of self-expression
to overcome duty my tribe demands
and perform the role I write for myself
when I transcend God to become more Human.

No Heaven Above The Clouds

No Heaven Above The Clouds
© Surazeus
2019 07 10

My grandfather Bob Seamount was a tenor
in the Christian group Kings Heralds Quartet,
singing hymns about Jesus as World King
as they drove car on the road church to church
across the North American continent
for the Seventh-day Adventist Church.

Descended through eleven generations
from the Puritan Poet Anne Bradstreet,
Bob Seamount found Spirit of Poetry
shining as flame of wisdom in his mind,
so he joined choir of angels to sing hymns
in his quest for Heaven above the clouds.

Assembling in the broadcast studio
for the Voice of Prophecy radio program,
Bob and his friends in Kings Heralds Quartet
sang about King Jesus coming again
as Adventist families around the country
gathered in living rooms to sing along.

Learning techniques for recording their songs,
Bob produced records of performances,
snipping and assembling magnetic tape
to generate wax disks people could buy
and listen on players in living rooms
to sing along with his heavenly choir.

Flying airplanes high above our spinning world,
Bob traveled far with Kings Heralds Quartet
to distant countries around planet Earth
in South America, Africa, Europe,
and Asia, singing in Adventist churches
like angels from the clouds on silver wings.

Angelic messenger on silver wings,
Bob flew around the Earth to distant lands
in airplanes he refurbished with his hands
to Adventist missions around the world,
converting people to worship as God
long-dead king willing to die for his tribe.

When I was nine in Summer of Seventy-Four,
Bob brought me to white hangar in the field
at the small airport just north of Keene, Texas
where I watched him rebuild small white airplane,
then he took me soaring high among clouds
where no angels on clouds play harps and sing.

When I was twelve in Spring of Seventy-Seven,
after Bob died from brain cancer in Florida,
I attended his funeral in large Keene Church
where thousands of people gathered to mourn
death of the great Kings Heralds Quartet Singer,
who flew up toward Heaven on silver wings.

When I was nineteen in Spring of Eighty-Three,
I attended class on philosophy
at the Adventist Walla Walla College
where the wise British professor declared,
"God does not exist, for things that exist
stand out in defined bounds of time and space."

Startled, I sat up and listened more closely
as he explained, "However, we can say
God subsists, standing under all existence
as substance that forms all material things,"
so I envisioned God as molecules
that evolve into brains with consciousness.

"Plato describes Idea of defined objects
as eternal form that persists in Heaven
which is mental realm of our language code,
so though all existing trees are destroyed
yet Idea of Tree persists in Heaven
where God the Craftsman creates everything."

Descended through thirteen generations
from the Puritan Poet Anne Bradstreet,
I also found Spirit of Poetry
shining as flame of wisdom in my mind,
so I write epic of philosophers
in my quest for Heaven above the clouds.

Wielding guitar in Summer of Ninety-Three,
I hitchhiked from Seattle to Miami,
traveling town to town like folk troubadours
to sing about adventures of mankind,
lost angel singing to ghosts of the dead,
since I found no Heaven above the clouds.

My Name In Water Voice

My Name In Water Voice
© Surazeus
2019 07 02

The immortal I in my gusting breath
expands fragile shell of my ego wide
as globe of this world that creates our souls
from flashing sparkle of sweet molecules
so I disappear in dream of myself
each day I reinvent who I might be.

The transient I I perceive in vast shine
of mirroring water flowing nowhere
reveals secret desires sprouting from pure light
forged in heart of darkness which my words mold
as mask that features my weird character
I carve as runes on vortex peak of hope.

The smoke-swirling I who perceives itself
as separate entity of hungry hope
explains through wild flames of eternal truth
ephemeral concept that conceals my brain
bound in fetters of existing desire
to replicate itself in child of love.

The timeless I unspooling spiral genes
calculates carcass of flesh that contains
pool of spirit shimmering galactic eyes
who watch each other evolve across space
of silent contemplation to relate
linkage of sentiment with threading words.

The conscious I who wakes inside my brain
cries out to empty sky where no God lives,
"I want to live through ecstasy of truth
and taste all pleasures of this aching flesh,"
discussing with embodiment of night
concept of light as atoms that vibrate.

The flashing I illuminating fear
with conscious anguish to survive despair
flares brighter than death when I strike two stones
to spark flames in ring of gems on dark shore
of singing river which will always flow
so I can hear my name in water voice.

The star-bright I awake on turning Earth
sings through blossoming of ripe fruit on trees
providing matter for my flesh to shine
when I consume sorrowful joy of light
in each bite of the apple that shines red
as dawn sun blazing over mist-wet hills.

The wordless I gazing at your strange eyes
wants to understand essence of your soul
so I watch your face as you tell me things
and listen for secret key of desire
that will open your heart so we may kiss
and become one soul before we will die.

Transcendental Bard Of Truth

Transcendental Bard Of Truth
© Surazeus
2019 05 29

When my body bursts into flames of faith
I dance in aching spirals of control
to conjure from flesh my chemical wraith
which beams electric passion of my soul.

Wrapping my spirit inside normal mask,
I walk with you all in our psychic maze
then drink immortal love from crystal flask
and chant weird prophecies in vision haze.

Through swirling mist on wild Atlantic shore
old bearded prophet with long snow-white hair
sings to First Mother in our mental core
whose heart embodies our spiritual flare.

Chanting Song of Myself with loving wit,
Walt Whitman spreads open welcoming arms
to embrace every soul with social knit
that binds our hearts with web of magic charms.

Walt leads us dancing on gold beach of sand
to kneel before ancient Mother of Night,
Marietta Alboni, Queen of Star Land,
who sings enchanting spell of Spirit Light.

Marietta, mother from wild swirling ocean,
sings heart-enchanting melody of love
so we envision flash of evolution
that radiates atoms from bright sun above.

Two hundred years ago from swirling waves,
our Transcendental Bard of Truth was born
to sing Leaves of Grass in love spell that saves
lost souls by leading us to bright-eyed morn.

We dance together in tall ring of stones
where sea waves echo his immortal name
then break from egg shells of our mental clones
to play our true selves in our social game.

Old snow-haired prophet sings in moon-lit gloom,
"I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
and what truth I assume you shall assume,
for we are atoms of the cosmic self."

We loaf together on broad wind-blown plain,
observing summer grass with naked eyes,
then twirl laughing to sing in sun-gold rain
and feel our souls swell vast as boundless skies.

Each atom sparkling in my flowing blood,
formed from soil, air, and water of this Earth
connects my heart to glowing stars of mud
which generates my soul through second birth.

At bright dawn of our American Dream
Walt Whitman played Apollo as his role,
now I sing of truth-seekers by Soul Stream
who quest for secret of our great White Whole.

Grumpy Cat Elegy

Grumpy Cat Elegy
© Surazeus
2019 05 17

Grumpy Cat is now the immortal moon
who frowns down at our world of aching hope
with indifferent disdain of secret love
and watches us build empires of control
with mocking sneer at how we all believe
we may be immortal as she is now.

Grumpy Cat sits mute on the window sill
to gaze at busy world with clear blue eyes
that see beyond fake mask of flashy style
we wear to prove we are cooler that death
who waits inside her heart for us to stride
proudly on stage of fame before she strikes.

Grumpy Cat lounges on Throne of Ungod,
presiding over our empire of wealth
with changeless frown that mocks our patriotism
when we march public streets with torch of fear
shouting, make America great again,
then whips her tail that shatters our false faith.

Grumpy Cat climbs tall pile of dollar bills,
one hundred million dollars of world fame
she earned gazing at us from the abyss
with frown of death that mocks our arrogance,
and pees on symbol of capitalist greed,
then wanders into nothingness of death.

Our War For Truth

Our War For Truth
© Surazeus
2019 04 20

I cannot tell you why the angels sing
because, though I hear their melodious tones
vibrating through flowing matrix of nature,
they do not sing to me with divine words.

Riding large square car on the long straight streets
of this city that sprawls in chess-board grid
between dry hills and glaring ocean waves,
I see lost angels as humans everywhere.

I wondered why God sent his son to die,
then realized God is metaphor for kings
who always crown their sons rulers of nations
so each leader should sacrifice himself.

We value the honest leader of men
who is willing to die to save our lives
but politicians seek power to control
how we live that will benefit their wealth.

Mayors and police detectives assert
laws that organize system of state power
which gives control to dominating men
who organize food-production machines.

We are pawns on vast chess board of state power,
dwelling with close family in our small home
while working in office, factory, or store
to buy and sell in marketplace of hunger.

We all gather in church on Easter Sunday
to praise son of the ruling dynasty
for willingness to sacrifice himself
so we live together in harmony.

What hidden dragon of unknown messiah,
still young today among the crowd in church,
will wake the divine spark within his soul
that urges him to play leader of men?

We despise the man driven blind by greed
to rule like dictator over our land,
attempting to exploit us for his gain,
for men like him always fall from vain pride.

We admire the man urged by honest love
to rule like wise savior over our land,
helping us become the best we can be,
for men like him always rise from selfless love.

Both kinds of men have ruled our sprawling land,
performing role in our national drama
of Satan the greedy accusing thief
or Jesus the selfless supporting friend.

The kind of person you support with vote
to play President of the United States
reveals true nature of your character,
angel or devil in our war for truth.

Cathedral of Our Lady

Cathedral of Our Lady
© Surazeus
2019 04 15

Flames may consume Cathedral of Our Lady
where Goddess of Reason and Liberty
long reigns over nations of free people,
guiding us with light of justice and truth
against cruel prejudice and tyranny,
but Liberty lives in the heart of Mankind.

Tall pillars that enclose infinity
within sun-slanting walls of paradise
protect frail mankind from horror of death
when we gather in great hall to sing hymns
that venerate Holy Mother of Life
so Liberty lives in heart of Mankind.

Though fires of hate and fascism burn bright,
set by hands of men who try to control
bodies of women with hard laws of greed,
to destroy cathedral of honest love
where Mother creates new life with her faith,
yet Liberty lives in heart of Mankind.

Though flames consume Cathedral of Our Lady,
sparked by blind lust of men to control fate
who rage against finality of death,
our Goddess of Reason and Liberty
lives not in ancient temples of cold stone
for Liberty lives in heart of Mankind.

Book Of Wind

Book Of Wind
© Surazeus
2019 03 17

When I find the Book of Wind in my heart 
that teaches me language of the strange sea 
I will build emptiness from broken part 
that might assemble my soul from the tree 
which spirals from my naked mind at dawn 
when we sing secret legends on your lawn. 

So many people struggle to survive 
in wretched labyrinth of hostile desire 
that they must find clever ways to contrive 
pleasure from passion as lilies from mire 
though I will care for you no matter what 
even when the eyeless angel is caught. 

We gather after sunset on my yacht 
to dance in starlight and drink bitter wine 
since you vote for me to play the mascot 
that represents the prophet most divine 
who calculates how atoms pulse with light 
as I on tangled wings explore through flight. 

Entwined in memories of our secret kiss, 
I enshrine your soul in statue of gold, 
yet when I see my face in vast abyss 
of nothingness I wake from death, paroled 
to wander waste land of the laughing fool 
who builds empire with invisible tool. 

Within blooming Marigold of my brain, 
that spirals petals to mimic the sun, 
I remember name I designed from rain 
to articulate strange power of the gun 
when last angel in the world wears my face 
to replicate my soul through polymerase. 

No trace of anguish left from searing fear 
gashes horror of truth through my eyeball 
so I shift engine of my heart in gear 
to search for treasure in paradise wall 
of sacred scroll with secret of rebirth 
when gene coils record soul of Mother Earth. 

Descended from weird River God of Faith, 
I gesture secret spell with ring of hands 
which proves I am son of the Glowing Wraith 
who appoints me to cartograph strange lands 
so I compose cosmic map of our world 
that reveals where Dragon of Truth lies curled. 

On turning wagon wheels of sacred quest 
I travel swift beyond town-walled frontier 
to build lost paradise in secret nest 
where I wear laurels as your balladeer 
till I crown myself seer of the strange sea 
so I can write spells in the Book of Wind.