Free Again For All

Free Again For All
© Surazeus
2025 02 20

When I find Godfredus on hill of skulls 
beneath the crucified god of despair, 
he turns to me with eyes of blazing rage 
and laughs in windstorm of coming world war, 
"Triumphalism feasts on empty dread!" 
then clutches spear half-stuck in heart of god. 

When Midas steals the chariot Phaethon crashed, 
and swipes the crown of thorns from head of Christ, 
he races wheels of blades across the land 
to behead loyal angels of Jupiter, 
tramples stars-and-stripes flag of Liberty, 
then smashes doors to Temple of Saturnus. 

Pilfering national treasure of the people 
stored safely in the Temple of Saturnus, 
Midas claims he is rooting out corruption 
while stealing our wealth in front of our eyes, 
then mocks us as he takes our gold away 
and leaves the treasury empty of our dreams. 

Stunned at his brazen theft of our state treasure, 
I stand with Janus on the temple porch 
who asks me with agony in his voice 
when the people will restore this great temple 
consumed by fire of oligarchic greed, 
then weeps in the vast empty hall of dust. 

Strutting into tomb of our Founding Fathers, 
greedy Midas boasts from bold arrogance 
with triumphalism of empty dread, 
then crowns himself King with laurels of Caesar 
to scare us with puffed chest full of hot air, 
bloviating to hide his terror of death. 

Arriving on white horse of honesty, 
Minerva rises flag of liberty 
with stars and stripes of our democracy 
to rally us with encouraging words 
so we unite to oppose tyranny 
against his oligarchic gang of thieves. 

Though central principle of liberty 
based on rule of law with justice for all 
may seem no longer pole of balanced faith 
as state events spiral out of control, 
Eagle of America will return 
to secure vigor of freedom and truth. 

Though dark thunderstorm of civil war brews 
from sea to shining sea, above our state 
destabilized by tyrants grasping power, 
good Liberty and Justice will prevail 
when Minerva drives Midas into Hell, 
and makes Zarathia free again for all. 

Americus The Pioneer

Americus The Pioneer
© Surazeus
2025 02 20

Though ghost of Arthur lingers in gray mist 
among ivy-covered ruins of Camelot, 
and phantom of Alfred floats on frail wings 
among musty leather-bound books of lore 
in maze of candle-lit Winchester halls, 
I feel their spirits alive in me still. 

Few now in distant land of Zathamar, 
renamed America on Gothic maps, 
think daily of those ancient steel-eyed kings 
who forged the English nation from wild tribes 
to build world-spanning empire of commerce 
on which America built its self-worth. 

No mythic king titled Americus 
has ever risen from its wilderness 
composed of refugees from holy wars 
from many nations ruled by gold-crowned kings 
since we sailed west across the stormy sea 
to find land of Atlantis thriving still. 

Crowded now with large Anglo-Saxon tribes 
four hundred years blooming from country farms 
to vast cities of computer-linked towers, 
America proclaims itself with pride 
as the greatest nation in the whole world, 
based on liberty and justice for all. 

Since Aeneas sailed from Troy to found Rome, 
and Brutus sailed from Rome to found Britannia, 
the westward flowing motion of expansion 
drove our ancestors across the wild sea 
Scythia to Scotland to Virginia to Oregon, 
seeking new opportunities of growth. 

No social hero could be idealized 
as symbol forming noble character 
who personifies spirit of adventure 
more than Americus the Pioneer, 
whose name Haim-Eric in Anglo-Saxon 
means Home Guard who watches over the garden. 

Thus brave forward-gazing Americus 
personifies soul of the pioneer 
who leaves behind his European home 
oppressed by greedy kings in castle towers 
to build new nation on grand principle 
that every person is free to live right. 

Together with ancestors of his soul, 
Americus walks signless road of hope 
with Arthur and Alfred to found on faith 
world nation dedicated to liberty 
and justice as keys to democracy 
where we live as we will, if we harm none. 

My Infinite Eyes

My Infinite Eyes
© Surazeus
2025 02 19

I see the universe inside my eye 
so I dream motion of aggressive faith 
assert its right of vibrant energy 
to spiral planets from electric sparks 
that glimmer between my infinite eyes 
as conscious creatures searching for the sun. 

With ache of hunger in my human heart 
I gesture hands and utter magic spell 
to transform water into sacred wine 
so I can raise my children from the dead 
who exist between my infinite eyes 
as they play games in garden of blind ghosts. 

Hiding quietly with ravens and mice 
in gold shadow of the forbidden tree, 
I note how constellations change each night 
to reprogram clock of the universe 
which spirals between my infinite eyes 
with successful laughter of mountain wind. 

Because my tears ring melodies of faith 
that flow with joy on rocky bed of fear 
my heart of stone will shine ten million years 
before its solitude is worn away 
to fragment between my infinite eyes 
and crumble from the hands of Sisyphus. 

Emblematic of how all empires fall, 
the grand snowman I built on Christmas Eve 
has melted into faceless dirty clump 
of existential horror on asphalt 
that dissolves between my infinite eyes 
without the magic thorny crown of Christ. 

Electric spectrum of my sparkling brain 
beams rainbow bridge across the lonely sky 
to prove with jagged honesty of fear 
weak men blind with greed will dispute the truth 
that blossoms between my infinite eyes 
where we dwell safe in haven of fruit trees. 

Frowning as he contemplates history, 
Cynthius explains formula of fate 
that the Brutus Solution always leads 
to the Augustus Dilemma of power 
that expands between my infinite eyes 
into world empire of commercial peace. 

As minuscule speck of dream-conscious light, 
I glow with bitter-sweet love by the pool 
where Narcissus writes his name on the water 
to explain fragile beauty of our world 
that pulses between my infinite eyes 
with billions of people under one moon. 

Plead Temporary Insanity

Plead Temporary Insanity
© Surazeus
2025 02 19

When nonsense of America coheres 
in modest riddle of the goal to win 
wealth of wisdom from the laboring hand, 
Cynthius will show up at our front door 
with the billion-dollar fake check of greed 
to plead temporary insanity. 

Since trees are important to development 
of urban zones with well-manicured lawns, 
legions of devils Cynthius commands 
drive fancy cars across the river bridge 
to hide their luminous sorrows with pride 
and plead temporary insanity. 

One million immigrants with holy books 
talk to each other in dream-tangled verse 
through syntax of magicians who employ 
electric wires to program robot knights 
who march with guns to conquer paradise 
and plead temporary insanity. 

Cynthius, who escapes the solemn church, 
hides in cave where Plato the Puppeteer 
performs shadow play on the wall of truth 
so he can write weird formulas for faith 
to translate machine language from sea waves 
and plead temporary insanity. 

Alone on mountain of the broken skull, 
Cynthius plays soul-haunting melody 
on silver flute of melancholy hope, 
while goldfinch of the phantom menace lands 
on his shoulder with sprig from the plum tree, 
to plead temporary insanity. 

Wandering in library of singing books, 
Cynthius searches for story of faith 
where love overcomes death with honesty, 
but all he finds are frilly fairy tales 
about the fool who gets lost on his quest 
to plead temporary insanity. 

Riding the horse of arrogant disdain 
for preachers who scam the people with lies, 
Cynthius moves with his sad memories 
that vibrate music in bones of his soul 
when he shows kindness to war refugees 
who plead temporary insanity. 

Meeting Cupid and Psyche at the bar 
where Phanaeus plays classical folk songs, 
Cynthius reveals the pearl of great price, 
shaped like the star-luminous Eye of God 
which heals our broken hearts with secret love, 
to plead temporary insanity. 

Blood Of His Sacrifice

Blood Of His Sacrifice
© Surazeus
2025 02 19

Driving black Citroen car across France 
on new-paved road winding along the coast, 
Francois follows his secret guiding star 
in constellation of the Hunter Orion 
to soar on silver wings of Icarus 
above the cluttered world of hungry hope. 

Though he is no elegant movie star, 
who wears black turtleneck shirt and beret 
while writing poetry in leather notebooks, 
and sipping coffee at sidewalk cafes, 
Francois enjoys the finer things in life, 
so he photographs models in slim gowns. 

While Ophelie poses in black silk gown, 
gracefully expressing beautiful form 
defining Woman with elegant calm, 
Francois snaps photos to capture with frame 
of ideal perfection her divine soul 
which contains vital energy of love. 

Lounging at glass table on the patio 
that overlooks the Mediterranean Sea, 
glittering with pure eyes of Amphitrite, 
Francois reads world news on tablet computer 
about the young house maid in Pakistan, 
Tayyaba, who was tortured by her boss. 

Abandoning his glamorous life in France, 
Francois moves to Pakistan capital 
to establish charity organization 
dedicated with noble principle 
to free girls from domestic slavery 
and fully fund their college education. 

Arriving at the sprawling mansion gate 
in white van lettered Electrical Service, 
Francois rings bell and tells the camera 
that he comes to repair system of wires, 
then frees maid Najma from locked storage room 
and whisks her in hijab to the white van. 

Driving casually through the mansion gate, 
Francois breathes calmly as he drives away, 
more quickly when two large sedans give chase, 
speeding carefully narrow crowded streets, 
till he evades them in the heavy traffic, 
and leads Najma to secret compound dorm. 

Ensuring girls he freed are living well, 
Francois leaves compound in black Citroen 
to visit donors at fund-raising feast, 
but as he steps out before the glass hall 
men on a motorcycle shoot him dead, 
so he lies in blood of his sacrifice. 

Light Of Divine Love

Light Of Divine Love
© Surazeus
2025 02 19

Cool in the silent cistern of my heart, 
memories of our times together gleam 
with helpless grief of those beautiful hours 
veiled now by darkness of long-passing time, 
blessed that mindless light of divine love 
glows through our bodies with pleasure of life. 

Though we are transient shadows of our dream 
in temporary bodies of warm flesh 
as intense energy constrained by frame 
of meaning we devise to maintain life, 
we glow with pleasure of existing now 
through forms stamped bright beyond eternity. 

We paint our bodies on canvas of time, 
asserting with each willful stroke our choice 
to walk this certain way of hope-blind faith 
on ever-shifting sands of social norms 
with honest confidence that we surf well 
in balanced flight of oscillating needs. 

Though I feel lost in wilderness of pain, 
beyond myth-maps of acceptable styles 
humans design for surviving mute death, 
I find myself wherever I am now, 
and thus decide with brave alacrity 
wherever I roam my heart is my home. 

When I participate in sports events 
to express intense energy of hope 
by outpacing the fastest runner far, 
or subduing the strongest fighter down, 
this self I am glows with divinity 
of bright achievement channeled through my soul. 

Through lithe expression of my human form 
I channel divine spirit of starlight 
to display grand conceptual gracefulness 
with the best performance humans achieve 
as model that represents noble strength, 
shining brightly, though time will snuff my flame. 

Stardust congealed in lithe organic form, 
conscious of itself as wily I Am, 
my spirit shines its hour of graceful life 
from birth to death in rise and fall of hope 
while I progress on quest to be myself, 
crowned by Fame, then bowdlerized by death. 

If I accomplishment some memorable deed, 
recorded in our global chronicles 
as notable achievement that provides 
conceptual tool which helps humanity 
transcend our struggle to beautify life, 
I hope Pindar would sing my name with honor. 

Fractal Ecstasy

Fractal Ecstasy
© Surazeus
2025 02 18

Brown tufts of grass poke out brittle white snow 
beside black mirror of the river flow. 
Wings of the goldfinch flutter casually 
at shiver of sorrow in the elm tree. 
Clouds loom over promontory of hope 
where people hike along the windy slope. 

Wheels of the wagon clatter on the trail, 
ignoring anguish of the human wail. 
Box turtle journeys on long epic quest, 
searching for where the sun goes in the west. 
Pink cherry blossoms flutter in the breeze 
on heads of the good and the bad with ease. 

The river alone speaks about strange lands 
which tremble at caress of caring hands. 
When people stop talking about the wind 
the wind contemplates what they want to send. 
Strangers receive letters written with rain 
that preserves the secret of helpless pain. 

Yet tongueless planet speaks in human hearts 
about honest connection of its parts. 
The horse who knows the reason humans cry 
grazes alone beneath the timeless sky. 
Flowers calculate fractal ecstasy 
which unfolds concept of divinity. 

Sound Of Angelic Fear

Sound Of Angelic Fear
© Surazeus
2025 02 18

She wants to know what the angel will say, 
so she walks the winding path in the woods 
down to the shore of the glistening sea 
where she stares at the round back of his head 
as wind blows his gold hair with angst of truth 
that sings forever in waves at her feet. 

Reaching out her hand with reluctant hope, 
she asks the angel why he has no wings, 
but he cannot hear the sound of her voice 
and he cannot feel the touch of her hand, 
so she steps back and stares down at the shell 
that glistens golden under silver waves. 

She wonders why the cold waves understand 
strange ache that pulses deep inside her breast, 
then crouches down to grasp the gleaming gem 
green as leaves of the tree where sweet plums grow, 
and peers deep in the emerald to perceive 
original flame that creates the sun. 

Startled by strange sound of angelic fear, 
she looks up at the angel with no wings 
who towers high above her as the pine, 
so she leans over to look in his eyes 
that glitter silver as the restless sea, 
now hollow as cracked eggshell of the snake. 

Shrieking at sight of the small black-eyed girl, 
the angel stumbles and falls on the sand, 
then reaches out his hand to touch her face 
that beams with eager smile of joyful love, 
so he lies flat on the hot beach and cries, 
tears filling the ocean with streams of hope. 

Holding out her hand with innocent charm, 
she offers wingless angel fruit of love 
so he slowly takes it in his frail hand 
and stares at her as she bites juicy fruit, 
then bites the ripe plum with cautious desire, 
and gasps with pleasure at sweet taste of love. 

Once again she asks the angel of light 
why his big eyes are silver as the sea, 
but he cannot understand what she says, 
so he tells her that he fell off the ship 
and tumbled in waves for eternity, 
then woke up on beach of this brave new world. 

With gentle assurance of modest care, 
she takes his hand and leads him in the woods 
where wood thrushes and goldfinches discuss 
name of the angel who fell from the sky, 
to sit by the pool in grove of plum trees 
where she cuddles in his arms as they kiss. 

Academic Temple Of Truth

Academic Temple Of Truth
© Surazeus
2025 02 18

Searching for Unreal City of the dead 
shrouded in thick fog for one hundred years, 
I follow tweet-tweet song of the wood thrush 
singing in the original olive tree 
that Athena planted on Hill of Ares, 
which I can see from the prow of my ship. 

When I meet the ghost of Tiresias 
singing in Unreal City of the dead, 
I ask that Greek seer with two-gendered mind 
how I can balance lust to procreate 
with respect for their personality 
so we can live in harmony of love. 

Lured by scent of pine on hard rocky shore, 
I climb steep slope of dancing skeletons 
with sound of water lapping at the bow 
which calms my fearful heart as I ascend 
sacred sunlit mountain of Helicon 
to seek ruined temple where Muses sang. 

Though lost in moaning forest of blind ghosts, 
I follow cheerful song of the wood thrush 
through swirling fog of winter afternoon, 
but never find in that deserted land 
ruined temple where the Muses once sang, 
so I sit and sing weird song of my heart. 

I tell the wood thrush in the olive tree 
that if I find Sibylla in her cage 
I plan to set her free with key of faith 
from immortality without fresh youth, 
but she remains caged in my aching heart, 
shrill voice composing weird songs I sing. 

Emerging from fog of the mountain glen, 
Tiresias, who leads the Sphinx with gold chain, 
points Wand of Zambor at my beating heart 
and shouts to accuse me of arsony 
for having set sacred Smyrna on fire 
as ghosts of the dead swarm around my soul. 

Dizzy on high Cliff of Insanity, 
I gaze through fog across the glittering sea 
to see the Unreal City of the dead 
burning with flames of nationalist war 
through conflict between races and religions 
in holy city where Homer was born. 

I feel his bardic soul of sacred song 
on Phoenix wings rise in my burning heart 
so I strum tortoise lyre of Mercury 
and sing epic poem of philosophers 
who build academic temple of truth 
where all our stories vanish into ash. 

If We Do Nothing

If We Do Nothing
© Surazeus
2025 02 18

If we hear strange voices in doors of fate 
that plot to steal everything we create, 
we could hide our hearts in the fractured stone 
and ask bank of dreams for the secret loan, 
or we could whistle and bake chocolate cake, 
and wait for the social system to break. 

If we want to take this chance to escape 
we could don our boots and Superman cape, 
then sail across the sea to Isle of Skye, 
or we could carry the big stick and try 
to fight against rampaging gang of thieves 
who hide our treasures under piles of leaves. 

If we hope to restore democracy 
by opposing king of hypocrisy, 
we must assemble with electric kites 
on noble mission to protect our rights 
to dance in ring of stones for sacred cause 
rebuilding institute of honest laws. 

If we see gangs of thugs with law-blind guns 
dragging away parents from daughters and sons, 
we could join forces to obstruct their acts, 
and argue based on adjustable facts, 
though they try to crush our spirits with hate 
because with each choice we design our fate. 

If we do nothing, paralyzed with fears, 
while oligarchs jam governmental gears, 
they will wreck our food-production machine 
to enslave our souls when the times are lean, 
and keep us working in factories of greed 
because they control our functional need. 

If we can find no beauty in pure art, 
each person forced to play robotic part, 
sad Keats will never sing of sacred truth 
till revolution of messiah sleuth 
casts greedy Midas from throne of state power, 
so we can admire mystery of the flower. 

If we accept their bloodless money coup, 
bankrupt with too many bills coming due, 
we could desert their crumbling urban zones 
to wander in fields of dinosaur bones, 
or we could unite what their greed divides 
and storm compound where the weak tyrant hides. 

If we shall meet in the well-lighted place 
to remove mask of fear from our own face, 
we will find courage of hope to resist 
tyrannical project of the fascist 
and build on ruins of America 
strong new republic of Zarathia. 

Stroke Of The Paintbrush

Stroke Of The Paintbrush
© Surazeus
2025 02 17

Each stroke of the paintbrush on nothingness 
exposes raw emotions our minds hide 
behind pretty images of cute birds 
chirping cheerfully in luminous trees 
so we become beauty we want to see 
in this world where death determines all fates. 

While gazing at the woman with long hair, 
Pablo squints his eyes tight to readjust 
attentive focus of distorted sight 
which fractures image of her anguished face 
expressing sorrow of shy Hecuba 
over suffering deaths her children endure. 

When we encounter objects of desire 
at heart-opening song of the church choir, 
we pour intensive energy of hope 
to fuel flames of passion we dramatize 
in social play with investment of love 
to insure productive return unpaid. 

Each vibrant sound of verbal sentencing, 
by which we frame conceptual images, 
encloses within narrow path of lust, 
that limits consequences of strict acts, 
random possible outcomes of respect 
with special circumstance we hope occurs. 

Painful regret yet motivates our play 
attempting to unwind adverse results 
from cataclysmic cycles unforetold 
by flight of birds across inaugural skies, 
since we cannot backtrack time to reverse 
harmful effects of carelessly thrown words. 

Disastrous fortune ungambled by trust 
hardens circumstance of our fractured state 
in fraught material frame of reference 
that traps our journey of progress now stalled 
by twisted morals of blind prejudice 
disturbing calmness of stoic regret. 

When complex relationships of commerce, 
entangling expectations of hard dreams, 
are broken by obsessive greed of thieves, 
fragile state of institutional growth 
falters from disruption of social ties 
severed by aggression of fascist hate. 

With awful shock of confusing surprise 
we grasp at ropes that bound progressive sails 
to bind again strict embrace of fierce faith 
constraining energy of motive force 
so we can guide our lurching ship of state 
balanced again through oscillating flight. 

Teeter On Dim Edge

Teeter On Dim Edge
© Surazeus
2025 02 17

Still we teeter on dim edge of dark night, 
staring into abyss of our own hearts 
to befriend blind demon we dare not name 
who swells with passion of wild surging waves 
to bloom in flower on lush field of rain 
when dawn dispels cold sorrow from our hearts. 

Submerged beneath deep wave of honesty, 
wide from disruptive mountains rain obscures, 
we scatter hieroglyphs of naked fears 
with anger-shattered shells on hungry shores, 
charmed by coil of stars in our frosted eyes 
to believe illusions that comfort us. 

Drowned angels watch us from soft sunless deep 
to see if we extract from aching hearts 
fabulous shadows kept by frames of words 
in vain attempts to reconcile despair 
with promised beauty dawn contrives to prove, 
despite allegiance we forget to pledge. 

Yet vague demands of flustered ownership 
entail unnecessary risks fierce hearts 
dare to take with eager zeal children know 
as mocking songs they chant on windy hills 
since only fate requires we abdicate 
homes we construct with hands of loyalty. 

Sweet humming of reluctant bees decries 
tuned sorrows grass expresses with stark voice 
swiped from restless winds of our jagged thoughts, 
soft as bells that guide confused steps of hope 
through ragged swirls of mist veiling my face, 
ever closer to foundation of faith. 

Undone by doubtful gravity of love, 
which lovers exchange with trembling desire, 
loyal hearts regret vulnerability 
that leaves our bodies gaping open wide 
unshielded by oaths of special intent, 
weighed down by peculiar sadness of trust. 

Footsteps of fading memories lure us 
with lingering hope that falling petals trace 
clear as lamplight glowing in darkling woods 
though we hold hands to map our secret trail, 
close together in space yet far away 
in time that swirls beyond reach of our hands. 

Contusions of obscure anxiety 
expose untouchable mask I still wear 
as mirror to reflect demonic face 
who watches me with burning eyes of ire 
from bulging clouds of arrogant disdain, 
so I sing heart-enchanting melodies. 

Pope Petrus Secundus

Pope Petrus Secundus
© Surazeus
2025 02 17

Wandering in cluttered Museum of Fate, 
Pierrot gazes at portraits of dead clowns, 
tears freezing into lucent Pierres de Lune 
that gleam with rainbows trapped in gem of time, 
then pantomimes his tragic comedy, 
pining with love for graceful Columbine. 

Descending in cave of Trophonius 
with cheese wheel, honeycomb, and jar of wine, 
Pierrot searches grim darkness of despair 
through underground of moral prejudice, 
but finds nothing more in cold heart of doom 
than star-eyed lizards on purple mushrooms. 

Holding Torch of Freedom and Book of Tales, 
Columbine searches Museum of Fate 
to find the spirit who had called her name, 
but finds only white mask of Lucifer 
that Pierrot would wear to woo her love, 
so she hangs it in Gallery of Popes. 

Returning from cave of Trophonius 
with Crown of Thorns Jesus wore on the cross, 
Pierrot climbs stairway to the Parthenon 
to offer Janus moonstones as a bribe, 
who ushers him in Museum of Fate 
to find Pope Petrus lounging on the throne. 

Heart beating with desperation of the hawk, 
Columbine runs through endless maze of myths, 
past startled idols of dead popes and kings, 
to enter Hall of Mirrors just in time 
to see Pope Petrus bare sharp vampire teeth 
and leap to attack innocent Pierrot. 

As avatar of the disenfranchised, 
buffoon outside norms of society, 
disillusioned foe of idealism, 
lonely sufferer of symbolic sorrow, 
Pierrot is the alienated observer 
struck by mysteries of the human condition. 

Soaring swift on angelic wings of love, 
Columbine snatches bow from Cupidon 
and fires sharp arrow of Platonic Love 
that strikes undead heart of the vampire pope 
who explodes into frantic butterflies 
that flutter halo round head of Pierrot. 

Crowned Pope Petrus Secundus of Gothinia, 
Pierrot, with Columbine, in red silk robes, 
parades before large cheering crowds of Roma, 
then enters gold-walled Museum of Fate 
where he presides on jeweled Judgment Throne 
just as a meteor strikes the Earth with fire. 

Code Of Uncertain Faith

Code Of Uncertain Faith
© Surazeus
2025 02 16

When they try to disrupt language we speak 
in vain attempt to prove their awesomeness 
their treasures that seem to shine in their hands 
crumble to dry dust of meaninglessness, 
so we reclaim lamentation of love 
with shrill elegies of uncertain faith. 

Elegant curves of our picturesque coast, 
that unfurl fate of fractal consciousness, 
provoke our compulsive analysis 
through hypnosis of arbitrariness 
with each striking revelation of love 
that lurks at the end of uncertain faith. 

Secret memory of the dream-shadowed mind, 
severed with arson of mischievousness, 
obscures inner void of the sacred truth 
silvered with hard plow of fierce quietness, 
despite hurtful passion of brutal love 
dependent on code of uncertain faith. 

Absence of the migrant soul singing spells 
exposes forced solace of eagerness, 
dignified by transparency of blind lust 
that enlightens moribund hopelessness 
through primary notion of vivid love 
to relish process of uncertain faith. 

Acoustics of dream truths unfixing facts 
align alienation through otherness 
not commonly accepted by networks 
anchored to time by standard lawfulness 
when we enter the same room without love 
to exchange tokens of uncertain faith. 

Glossary of wounds defines characters 
trapped in fake purity of loneliness 
through valence valued greater than distrust 
based on paradox of grand saintliness 
which reflects how the hateful barter love 
conditioned on force of uncertain faith. 

Witness to emergent reality, 
we calculate progress of trickiness, 
never wavering to compose melodies 
that dispel opposite of gloominess 
while remaining the same on stage of love 
beyond irony of uncertain faith. 

Crowded horizon of glass surfaces 
wields eye-loop of unmapped contrariness 
to reveal inner landscape of desire 
which connects our hearts to world nothingness 
churned by static waves of innocent love 
hidden in riddles of uncertain faith. 

Glass Brain Of Faith

Glass Brain Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 02 16

Nothing seems real to the glass brain of faith 
who watches the world television show 
depict villains stealing wealth from our hands 
while soil of the Earth crumbles into words 
that turn into butterflies of despair 
so hopes and dreams vanish in silent rain. 

Fruit trees blossom from the glass brain of faith 
at second coming of messiah sleuth 
who works at the Museum of Lost Dreams 
where people visit after work to pray 
since rivers keep on flowing to the sea 
regardless of who tries to rule the world. 

Messages beamed from the glass brain of faith 
declare with confidence of rain-smooth rocks 
the situation is under control 
despite thieves seizing computer machines 
that distribute payments to hungry hearts 
who wander with horses on windy plains. 

Laughing clocks unwind the glass brain of faith 
faster than hawks snare rabbits in the bush 
too late for laws protecting innocence 
when banks charge fees for the air people breathe 
though we hold our breath and jump in the lake 
to find salvation in tears of the sky. 

Something is true to the glass brain of faith 
that sees Heaven with kaleidoscope eyes 
where Lucifer dances on glowing clouds 
with Emerald Tablet of chemical laws 
on which he scribes weird formulas of fate 
that define process of cause and effect. 

First flash spirals in the glass brain of faith 
to map expansion of the universe 
that flares forth from big bang of conscious love 
forming galaxies of suns which feed globes 
with energy that evolves into beings 
who tell each other stories of the real. 

Star atoms pulse in the glass brain of faith 
who wakes from strange dream of eternity 
to name itself as separate conscious being 
exploring landscape of its hungry heart 
before it invents weird concept of God 
as supernatural being that never dies. 

I see myself in the glass brain of faith 
that conjures virtual model of the Earth 
composed of memories I experience 
which I organize in Tale of My Life 
within narrative framework of my soul 
which will end in death I cannot foresee. 

Door Of Eternity

Door Of Eternity
© Surazeus
2025 02 16

Lonely for the way ghost clouds shimmer white 
with sobbing heaviness at hour of birth, 
I stand outside door of eternity 
to welcome newcomers to our weird world 
who emerge from the pregnant mother tree 
that binds their bodies with the change of time. 

To touch the face of Death I touch your face 
so I can feel fierce coldness of the stone 
when I push through door of eternity 
and sob with gravity of changing time, 
soul leveled against broad breast of the globe 
to taste tumbling song of the silkened sea. 

Each stone of Earth tumbled by waves of the sea 
cries out to me with anguish for pure light 
we feel within door of eternity 
when we hang half-awake in poise of hope 
between ice-glistening air and damp earth 
which beckons our hearts with alluring voice. 

With grip of honest passion for the truth, 
I cling to the edge of vast emptiness, 
long falling through door of eternity 
which I describe in letters I must hide 
that still lie scattered on forgotten desk 
where birds eat words I never meant to write. 

Cold lamentation of the burning hill, 
despite how far stairs curl around despair, 
reveals repaired door of eternity 
where children watch our global fight for power 
play out on field where leaves of time fall slow 
to shroud false geometry of our love. 

Through elegant dribble of happy rain 
I head for somewhere far beyond my grave 
which imitates door of eternity 
to wait between the rotten and the ripe 
with unperceiving passion for the truth, 
bewildered by how flowers grow in mud. 

Yet immanence of death prefers my speech 
explaining frail fate of philosophy 
brought forth to crack door of eternity 
and savor intricate concept of grief 
based on rubble of homes destroyed in war, 
manifest in miracle of my eye. 

My face mirrors nameless divinity 
with subtle amusement of graceful shock, 
able to lock door of eternity 
extravagant with horror we conceal 
with heart-enchanting song of ocean waves 
where ghost clouds whorl across the crystal sky. 

Blowing In The Wind

Blowing In The Wind
© Surazeus
2025 02 15

While standing on the pyramid of truth 
to watch events of world history unfold, 
I realize that this hour is the end 
of the world we have known for eighty years, 
and the weird answer we once gave our friend 
is now no longer blowing in the wind. 

The dove of peace still sails across the sea, 
having never once found rest in the sand, 
and missiles have been fired to destroy homes 
every year since that young prophet cried foul, 
for the weird answer we once gave our friend 
is now no longer blowing in the wind. 

I keep on walking down the signless road 
where I have seen things I will never tell, 
finding diamonds of truth I cannot sell, 
yet still they refuse to call me a man, 
since the weird answer we once gave our friend 
is now no longer blowing in the wind. 

The vast mountain of patriarchal power 
may never be smoothed to democracy, 
and hard-working people are still not free 
for people do not care, though they can see, 
so the weird answer we once gave our friend 
is now no longer blowing in the wind. 

Searching for God, said to dwell in the sky, 
I keep looking up for Justice to come, 
but then I realize the face I see 
is my own, mirrored in how I will act, 
for the weird answer we once gave our friend 
is now no longer blowing in the wind. 

While I have lived on Earth for sixty years 
I have heard millions of hurt people cry, 
so I have become huge eyes full of tears, 
and my ears ring with tales they never tell, 
for the weird answer we once gave our friend 
is now no longer blowing in the wind. 

Walking road of fortune around the Earth, 
I recite the name of each human soul 
killed in countless wars of national pride 
who all follow me to the Promised Land, 
since the weird answer we once gave our friend 
is now no longer blowing in the wind. 

Though the world we have known comes to an end 
we support United Nations of Earth 
to build new world based on democracy 
with liberty and justice for all people, 
though the weird answer we once gave our friend 
is now no longer blowing in the wind. 

Bones Of Dead Men

Bones Of Dead Men
© Surazeus
2025 02 15

Numberless dice formed from bones of dead men, 
smoothed round by endless sorrow of sea waves, 
roll tumbling over sand of timeless hope 
cast by Hand of Death with indifferent grin 
when captain of our ship gambles for life 
against grim embassy of wingless angels. 

Alone in my small river boat of faith, 
adrift on swirling sea of moaning mist, 
swept downriver from wooded Saxon hills, 
I see moonlit wrecks of enormous ships 
floating sail-less toward dim Elysian shore, 
captained by grim Charon with serpent eyes. 

Then, smooth skin gleaming white as snowy fields, 
huge demon of the sea, Leviathan 
or Cetus with faithless wings of despair, 
emerges from abyss of surging waves, 
and gazes with indifferent frosted eyes 
at me immobilized by gleam of truth. 

Entranced by Mobius Strip of diamond eyes 
which mirror boundless vastness of my mind, 
enhanced by spectrum of eternity, 
I read in flashing verses of bright stars 
complex formulas that define pure state 
contrived by liquid relativity. 

With compass gleaming in my red right hand, 
influenced by magnetic waves of light, 
I sail straight across Sea of Oceanus 
west through towering Gates of Hercules, 
with pears from garden of Hesperides, 
toward pristine island where Atlantis shines. 

With quadrant pointing toward Unmoving Star 
that fixes axis pole for spinning Earth, 
I measure boundless space of surging tides 
from gleaming pyramids of Babylon, 
past apocalyptic Isle of Avalon, 
to land on lush shores of Chesapeake Bay. 

Since Moby Dick swallowed my fragile soul 
and spit me on shore with mission from Zeus, 
I walk back east from woods of Oregon, 
where Liberty on high Takoma Mountain 
gave me crystal globe scrolling human history, 
to prophesy at the locked White House gates. 

When Midas seizes thorny Crown of Christ 
to crown himself King of America, 
Minerva waves starred flag of Liberty 
to fight against nationalist theocracy 
so we support global democracy 
to build strong United Nations of Earth. 

Ten Million Ways

Ten Million Ways
© Surazeus
2025 02 15

More than ten million ways to sing the dream 
befuddle me with possibilities 
for dancing with flow of the river stream 
to join our national festivities 
disguised as wingless angel of the moon 
commissioned to oppose the rich tycoon. 

More than ten million ways to speak the word 
confound my heart with eager scrappiness 
known for contriving instinct of the herd 
to construct grand palace of happiness 
constrained by mortgage no one wants to pay 
except the king conned by the castaway. 

More than ten million ways to build the home 
inspire my mind with vision of world peace 
where no one conscious ever has to roam 
propelled by malice of the Golden Fleece 
to purchase honesty from the blind seer 
who hides spy cameras in the chandelier. 

More than ten million ways to fly on wings 
increase my mountain-fierce anxiety 
for learning how to forge new magic rings 
as horcrux programmed by psychiatry 
which grounds electric flash of my brain soul 
masked by performance of my special role. 

More than ten million ways to sail the sea 
compel my drive to channel pressure straight 
through psychic force of social liberty 
designed by brave souls who reprogram fate 
so I can proudly say with thunder voice 
I blaze my destined path with each blind choice. 

More than ten million ways to cook the cake 
record each vain attempt that witches brew 
when stirring elements drawn from the lake 
by laughing jesters of the Argo crew 
who seek out new worlds of tribes to explore 
without ever stepping outside the door. 

More than ten million ways to pray to God 
enforce wild revolution of the lost 
who frame the honest king as greedy fraud 
miscalculating what services cost 
in coup to destroy our democracy 
and enslave our minds with theocracy. 

More than ten million ways to rule the world 
chronicle how all empires rise and fall 
in chaos controlled by the cosmic herald 
who translates bloody writing on the wall 
through revelation that earns him respect 
as prophet who plays social architect. 

Walk With Broken Wings

Walk With Broken Wings
© Surazeus
2025 02 15

Elimination of his crippling guilt 
motivates his selfless attendant drive 
to steward progress of the bigger deal 
firmly based on the arbitrary scale 
expansive with fabulous honesty 
that double-locks rotating door of time. 

Through routine strike of equanimity, 
to check strange matter of distracted fear 
for inconvenient focus on desire, 
he hopes fraught method of the falling rain 
upholds blotched breath of exhaled fortitude 
that may metastasize hopeful regret. 

Beyond reach of intervention, expressed 
by distorted results of radiant words, 
inserted by electric scream of rain, 
he prevents ineptitude of dream rage 
that mirrors disquiet of peopled streets 
crowded with faceless ghosts who search for love. 

Burdened by despair washed ashore by fate, 
he bears sorrows in backpack with mute heart 
to flee burning house of false memories, 
and wanders fields of stale grass wet from tears 
children scatter from crippled hands of hope 
till we are threads of light lost in blind night. 

Enriched alternative of crashing walls 
encourages him with startled ardency 
to rebuke evil-hearted sycophants 
who flatter agents of the secret clan 
to parley nationalist goals with harsh shout 
that takes shape from triumphant honey bees. 

Immersed conception, crawling from hot sea 
with humid efficiency of mute stones, 
exerts projected pattern to enclose 
matter in final form of evolved faith 
when he proclaims with gravity of pride 
his spiritual retreat from loneliness. 

Brain spun by spiders born from fierce sunlight 
to stretch beyond ideal shape carved by words, 
he threads strange memories in new world view 
with rapid keystrokes that encode respect 
earned by harsh suffering, self-insured by fate, 
to trudge dispirited in swirling leaves. 

Mind captivated by the infinite, 
unreachable with concept signifiers, 
he scatters words of wisdom on sidewalks 
that freeze human tears in patches of ice 
where heart-broken wanderers slip and fall, 
then rise again to walk with broken wings.