Backward On The Road Of Life

Backward On The Road Of Life
© Surazeus
2022 01 08

The dead walk backward on the road of life 
so we hide their faces in photographs 
to confuse their ghosts that haunt our routines 
with absence of their voices that explain 
what never happens in the wordless books 
which always fly away on broken wings. 

Ten thousand faces my ancestors wear 
appear as floating masks in mists of time 
when I walk through vast maze of city streets 
disguised as Cronus with raven-wing cape 
to chat with their skulls in church of dead gods 
and laugh at stark absurdity of death. 

While I play sad heart-breaking melodies 
with flute I carved from ancient dragon bone 
Lost Princess who loves everyone with joy 
joins me in grove of apple trees at dawn 
as spirit of the lake who gives me light 
with apple that awakens me from death. 

Across Zarathia, land of apple trees, 
I lead long wagon train of refugees 
who seek the Promised Land of fairy tales 
to build new paradise in the waste land 
but build another city by the lake 
where rich landowners control working poor. 

The Money Vampire in grey business suit 
traps the Lost Princess in marriage of hope 
who breeds new generation of fierce gods 
to fight crusade against the Queen of Death 
who gives me mask of Orpheus to wear 
so I stand on the street and play guitar. 

The tragic comedy of our sweet love 
still motivates our journey beyond death 
which generates life in children we love 
who bury our brains under apple trees 
so we can wake again as sparkling fruit 
that nurtures bodies of descendant souls. 

Returning from chthonian cave of dreams 
ten thousand years after my body died, 
I find the Garden of Eden now paved 
with asphalt as parking lot of the mall 
where citizens in land of liberty 
buy clothes sewn by slaves in dark factories. 

Instead of breaking chains of my free will 
through self-control of liberty in law 
I weave despair of death in angel wings 
to fly with Icarus above the world, 
hoping to transcend energy of nature, 
though I walk backward on the road of life. 

Timeless Well Of Love

Timeless Well Of Love
© Surazeus
2022 01 07

Though revelations dwell in panic state 
I will unlearn the names of all Wise Men 
so I can set dead stars above to flame 
where shadows fall from strange eternal eye 
that breeds cold gloom from flash of agony 
because I sing while candles hide lost tales. 

Familiar melody of grateful rain 
preserved in grapes that hang from tangled vines 
inspires grim silence of my aching hope 
when I remember shocking gift of life 
that burns too deep inside my hollow heart 
for me to hear lost tales in candle glow. 

If brutal softness of harsh arctic winds 
reveals warm depth my heart will seek in fear 
I may not pray for miracles of faith 
while standing steady against mocking blast 
when blizzard of words erase stars of truth 
too dimly lit by candles of my eyes. 

The land disdains to care about my hope 
for though I dwell firm on its curving shores 
my soul will never belong to its dream 
yet I dig hands in thick soil wet with rain 
to plant seeds of desire in tomb of rage 
so Tree of Life may grow from my foul heart. 

My eyes imagine beauty of this land 
so I tremble to caress flowing light 
through accurate grace of subtle desire 
that paints sweet vision of this teeming world 
on fractured walls of empty churches where 
blind ghosts draw maps of this strange land we love. 

Fraught scenes of strange behavior blind my eyes 
when I recall sad memories of mute rage 
from people fighting for their right to live 
free from control of people with sharp blades 
though we rebel against strict social rules 
designed to constrain passionate desire. 

Still locked in prison in the arctic waste, 
I breathe contemptuous winds of freezing fear 
that spark my heart to revolt against hate 
when I kneel in grass of Elysium 
to caress petals of the eglantine 
and dream about the woman I still love. 

Engaged in state of panic by the lake 
where eyeless demons lurk in murky flow, 
I tremble to caress eternal light 
that paralyzes my expanding heart, 
then sing transcendent beauty of this life 
in song that springs from timeless well of love. 

Down In Aberdeen

Down In Aberdeen
© Surazeus
2022 01 06

When thoughts destroy church of the avant-garde 
with psychic canon of the howling ghost 
we gather weeping with the snarky pard 
who mocks principles we treasure the most, 
so I play the publicity machine 
while drinking whiskey down in Aberdeen. 

Weird paradox of the punk chanting hymns 
to praise the laureled king in castle court 
displays power game where the moonlight swims 
when poets compete in the bloody sport 
to prove they are the heir of Dickinson 
then dance with devils down in Aberdeen. 

Rejecting social agony of truth 
by adapting complex grammar of lies, 
we erase self of the messiah sleuth 
who shoots fire arrows at God in blank skies 
while strumming harp and singing by the moon 
after Sylvia cries down in Aberdeen. 

Though anodyne prophecies prove too real 
for sweet Minerva dancing by the lake 
I pluck eglantine to hide how I feel 
about star-eyed princess who is not fake 
when I lounge drinking mead on Stone of Scone 
at resurrection down in Aberdeen. 

Collecting garbage in anthology 
that presents brightest minds of Babylon, 
I synthesize code of theology 
which appropriates myths of Avalon 
in the new world order of Oregon 
founded in my tomb down in Aberdeen. 

Experimental spells of mental states, 
confounding sensual profit of the clown, 
produce aesthetic jokes of tragic fates 
that glitter bright as soul-stars on my crown, 
yet I design map of phenomenon 
so we evade death down in Aberdeen. 

Heuristic tool for radical assault 
against institutions of social power 
urge me to modernize conceptual fault 
through honey bee of my eternal flower 
so I play important role in the scene 
of rapping jesters down in Aberdeen. 

Strumming lyre of Hermes by sparkling pool 
as wingless angel in the pastoral masque, 
I imitate romance cant of the fool 
who pines for the princess behind the mask, 
then play Orpheus on the silver screen 
to lead singing ghosts down in Aberdeen. 

To Touch Your Why

To Touch Your Why
© Surazeus
2022 01 06

The last persimmon on the snow-white hill 
reveals strangeness of kaleidoscope eyes 
which cannot see the soul behind the face 
except when rain exposes silent pain 
so I walk backward on the signless road 
to find the person I love lost in time. 

The ancient hemlock by the asphalt road 
smiles sweetly at the smog-gray sky of fear 
while I wait by the twisted metal sign 
that says this road to old house where I live 
is the Dead End where even ghosts get lost 
so I paint your face on its silver back. 

The rancid cactus of the suffering clock 
draws circle of light around my cracked skull 
to translate color of history to rain 
so we can understand the alibi 
the wingless angel insists we accept 
because somehow we might still be alive. 

The sallow willow of the ghetto park 
watches homeless refugees of war play 
board games while bombs destroy religious halls 
though I wear mink-fur coat stained red with blood 
of tyrants we shoot when they crown themselves 
savior of the world on the evening news. 

The glowing hurricane of mindless bliss 
that nurtures purring brood of silver crows 
explains to me why death is absolute 
for every organism ever born 
on every planet in the universe 
so I sit in my river boat and laugh. 

The robust rhododendron of despair 
introduces me to strangers who know 
nothing about why the spider web sings 
confusing riddle about faceless kings 
who ignore augury of roaring planes 
to worship jellyfish god of the sea. 

The ardent apple tree in parking lots 
reveals the eyeless specter in the mist 
who waits outside my window before dawn 
to show me secret of the swirling snow 
so I sing love spells on the radio 
to people weeping as they drive to work. 

The errant eglantine of Avalon 
articulates strange shock of ecstasy 
when I find the person I love the most 
walking toward me in arrogant sunlight 
though empires fall at romance of the rose 
so I reach out my hand to touch your why. 

One Radio Wave

One Radio Wave
© Surazeus
2022 01 05

When my soul dissipates to nothingness 
I become every soul who ever lives 
on every planet in the universe 
since our brains connect on one radio wave. 
I strum on discordant harp of my heart 
to radiate love from spinning core of Earth. 

When I erase myself in Garden of Eden 
with pistol pressed against my heaving breast 
no wingless angel of electric wires 
will fly from Glow Cloud to rescue my soul. 
I dance in sorrow on the rainless plain 
to forge new body from relentless pain. 

When I spend glimmer of purpose with faith 
to transcend sorrow of my marvelous life 
on flapping wings of mirrored consciousness 
I wake with blaze of visionary scope. 
I breathe enormous passion of the sea 
while rising from thick mud with star-dream key. 

When I singe my wings on the burning bush 
while wrestling demon of my hungry heart 
I beam magnetic otherness of me 
beyond this fragile shell of mortal coils. 
I grasp ripe apple from the Tree of Life 
to feast in the temple where no god dwells. 

When I cleanse aggressive hate from my heart 
to shield my soul from arrows of despair 
I study mysterious word on wild water 
to comprehend my ancient erased self. 
I embrace with warm compassion of my arms 
uncanny beauty of your cosmic charms. 

When I paint faces of gods on glow clouds 
to waken dreaming creature of the sea 
I trap the fabled beast in flow of time 
to observe the world from tower of words. 
I sing every wounded song of the world 
on the bridge from which books of dreams are hurled. 

When I think thoughts before I play the role 
while dreaming true love on the summer hill 
with plangent singing of owls in the tree 
I beget my head with religious loins. 
I improvise idea of my soul 
threading through labyrinth of the White Whole. 

When I fall in love with fierce Ariadne, 
transforming from rage of the Minotaur, 
I wake as Theseus on cold city street, 
huddled in cold wind while strumming guitar. 
I follow Golden Way of honest truth 
while wearing glass mask of messiah sleuth. 

Strange Global Reality

Strange Global Reality
© Surazeus
2022 01 05

The arbitrary sorrow of the coast 
that lures me with sad siren song of hope 
obscures conceptual progress of desire 
for us to transcend anger of the boast 
though we are dangling at end of the rope 
and everything we love burns in wild fire. 

The rational anguish of ancient woods 
that calls me across the blank universe 
motivates me to design new world view 
that could replace the one that falls apart 
as multiple centers of gravity 
redefine strange global reality. 

The imperial agony of bare hills 
that diverts my attention from contempt 
exults in triumph of the global state 
prophesied by bloody runes in deep wells 
when the royal traitor begins attempt 
to defy divine dictates of blind fate. 

The mercurial assurance of the sea 
that animates ambition of my heart 
supports my program to communalize 
wandering tribes with ovation of the key 
outlined by formulas on the star chart 
to found one religion under blue skies. 

The whimsical comfort of mountain wind 
that twists my spirit with suffering of pain 
disassembles world model of my mind 
so I gaze at the world through pouring rain 
to see atomic essence of its being 
defined by beating of the angel wing. 

The erratic solace of the clear lake 
that ejects my body from halls of truth 
guides my wandering spirit in the waste land 
where every noble savior is a fake 
who distorts my faith in messiah sleuth 
by charging toll at gates to Wonderland. 

The capricious ache of the waterfall 
that programs how my brain perceives the world 
reflects my specter in the mirror mask 
worn by every president we elect 
who sends Parzival to kill every tyrant 
and free mankind from shackles of blind hate. 

The principled horror of empty sky 
that wakens me as vampire in the tomb 
crowns me as Orpheus to play his role 
leading refugees of war who ask why 
we must suffer since we exit the womb 
at soul birth from first flash of the White Whole. 

Old Shadow Book Of Why

Old Shadow Book Of Why
© Surazeus
2022 01 04

Writing tale of Lost Princess I adore 
with blood words in old shadow book of why, 
I question moral conclusions of laws 
that define etiquette in castle courts 
where angels stab each other in the back 
in competition to win heart of God. 

Assembling puzzle of global events 
recorded in old shadow book of why, 
I analyze power moves of politics 
fought between brothers in the game of thrones 
to calculate divine decrees of fate 
with fraught formulas of the social state. 

Wandering jester of the dead honey tree, 
whose eyes bleed in old shadow book of why, 
plays crystal flute on shore of the Black Sea, 
heart aching with desire for the Wolf Girl 
who hunts darting deer in Tellurian Wood 
far from stone tower where her mother weeps. 

Discussing events on the radio show, 
dissected from old shadow book of why, 
I preach salvation of the arcane spell 
carved on cement wall of the factory 
where sons of angels assemble new cars 
we drive on highways to the Promised Land. 

Riding the whirlwind of global events, 
encrypted in old shadow book of why, 
to fight for freedom from cruel monarchy, 
I walk bleak wind-swept plains of Scythia 
to find the pool from which the Volga springs 
where Zorya welcomes me home with a kiss. 

Constructing castle from skulls of dead gods 
with plans drawn in old shadow book of why, 
so I can keep my family safe from harm, 
I kneel before fane on Mount Helicon 
where skull of Orpheus prophesies how 
men and women choose each other to love. 

Solving weird riddles invented by Death 
that sizzle in old shadow book of why, 
I journey from Arabia to Guilin 
to follow highway my ancestors blazed 
on quest to find cave where Helius was born 
so I can understand my ancient soul. 

Running with horses on vast Scythian plain 
where trees sprout from old shadow book of why, 
I harness forward motion of desire 
to build global empire of fertile farms 
where children play free in paradise lost 
till they invent concept of God from fear. 

New King Of Everywhere

New King Of Everywhere
© Surazeus
2022 01 04

The absolute glow of the trembling Earth 
which emanates from effect of my heart 
originates conceptual thoughts I dream 
to witness primordial darkness of truth 
when you smile and gaze deep into my eyes 
so we contemplate hollowness of time. 

The horned owl in the oak of clacking skulls 
beams moonlight through cracked crystal of my heart 
so I hear song of the meteor who brings 
spirit of truth from the infinite void 
awake in humming diamond of my brain 
since I illuminate horror with words. 

The last vaudeville clown of America 
dances weeping in empty theater 
where ghosts of angels and demons reflect 
spirit of the age that dissolves in war 
as smoke from guns veils lost Garden of Eden 
till laughing skull of Hamlet reclaims truth. 

The fractured mirror in temple of masks 
distorts eternal truth words fail to prove 
so I climb the crooked sycamore tree 
and wait for messiah sleuth to see me 
but the girl in white dress of loyal love 
gives me the apple she stole from the snake. 

The eyeless face behind the curtain lace 
in upstairs bedroom of the ancient mansion 
watches me ride swift horse of Zathamar 
so I become the serpent in Star Lake 
who builds enormous towers of steel and glass 
to prove I am new King of Everywhere. 

The latest book of the World Testament 
that appears in temples of singing skulls 
records brave journey of Zarathia 
from vast Babylon to lush Oregon 
on quest for secret of eternal life 
hidden in dream code of genetic coils. 

The writhing umbrage of the Tree of Life 
conveys clairvoyant attitude of care 
on waves of molecules that weave timed space 
in walls of paradise that trap my mind 
too deep in labyrinth of Tellurian myths 
for me to remember my secret name. 

No phantoms dance in my mysterious mist 
so I disappear from all social platforms 
prepared to open window of my mind 
through aggressive chess play of liberty 
reluctant to allow freedom to reign 
at sudden cracking from the door of doom. 

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? 

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.