Mindless Mirror Of Infinity

Mindless Mirror Of Infinity
© Surazeus
2026 10 06

My heart becomes raven of light each time 
Orpheus takes me to the Otherworld 
because snowflakes are laughter of the sun 
that photograph my soul with fractured eyes, 
time unaware of astronauts in boats 
which sail across the mirror of my mind. 

Quick butterflies of memories seem to flock 
around bookshelves of stories never read 
by children who panic at falling planes, 
despite how soon the monster of the moon 
sells our strange secrets to the holy fool 
because the Self is illusion of words. 

Though clocks in trunks of oaks beside the lake 
remember why my Dream Body was born 
at this complex age, on this crowded globe 
of all the planets in the universe, 
I choose to redesign my character 
based on flight of the raven in my heart. 

Surprised by sense of wonder in my heart 
that wakes me from strange dream of broken trees, 
I gather photos scattered on the grass 
and arrange them in frames on temple walls 
to prove my right to breathe air of the sky 
with humble glamor of the nameless ghost. 

Though most believe the universe is made 
by conscious force of psychic energy 
that conjures life on planets of bright suns, 
others believe through formulas of faith 
that we project our sense of consciousness 
at mindless mirror of infinity. 

Preserved by silence of the singing lake, 
who seems to know how I should never feel, 
I focus sharp attention of my mind 
on how soft undulating curves of time 
reveal essential nature of the heart 
so I can prove my brave sincerity. 

Though words I speak become white butterflies 
that flutter far into fate-mirrored sky, 
I hold the stone that streaked in blaze of light 
from mindless mirror of infinity 
to show the secret face behind my face 
which I wear to mask passionate respect. 

Lost in Somewhere City of the Weird Earth, 
alone in endless maze of numbered homes, 
I ponder strictness of the asphalt road 
that frames writhing lawns of yellow grass 
because I am the raven who eats words 
each time I return from the Otherworld. 

Cherubic Wings Of Innocence

Cherubic Wings Of Innocence
© Surazeus
2026 10 06

Untwisting feelings of romantic hope 
to disengage my body from desire, 
I spread cherubic wings of innocence 
to float as light above chaotic seas, 
then sing celestial thoughts of broken stones 
from which spring children of the hungry stars. 

Shy Carla strolls the hard sidewalk at dawn 
past willow threes that paint the lonely sky 
with all the rainbow colors of the wind, 
then opens her small gift shop by the park 
and smiles at ding of the bell on the door, 
then turns on computers, and pets the cat. 

Time-weaving clocks with face of the Green Man 
watch us from trunks of oaks in shadowed woods 
where angels wrestle devils for our hearts, 
but dissipate in mist from silver ponds 
because illusions vanish in sunlight 
which conjures virtual model of the Earth. 

Yet Carla stocking cards in metal shelves 
considers problem of evil that forms 
foundation for international law 
by which leaders of nations in gray suits 
play chess games to control our mortal souls 
with systemic framework of social power. 

Old bearded man, who stares at birthday card 
that shows young lovers swinging by a pond, 
weeps with quiet anguish, then buys the card, 
explaining that he leaves one by her grave 
though rain always dissolves it into grass 
because her ghost follows him everywhere. 

If we could dismantle male privilege 
where men are never punished for vile crimes 
in vain attempts to control minds of women, 
Carla ponders while ringing up new sale 
for Beatrice purchasing pen with pink ink, 
we could make life safer for young girls. 

Cars, forged from steel of fallen meteors, 
which Arthur used to pull sword from the stone, 
float past her gift shop on angelic wings 
of gleaming sunlight that sparks in her heart 
compassion for all the people of Earth 
who suffer and die in stark misery. 

Locking her shop after sunset flames fade 
to darkness tainted orange by mute streetlamps, 
Carla stops by pond in the city park 
and stares at face of Artemis she wears, 
that floats into the sky on red swan wings 
to sleep in her house on the crystal moon. 

Woods Of My Aching Heart

Woods Of My Aching Heart
© Surazeus
2026 10 05

What shining spirit of justice and order 
may power my subjection of despair, 
Shamash defeating Humbaba with light, 
Apollo vanquishing Python with wisdom, 
Jesus overcoming Satan with love, 
or Beowulf battling Grendel with honor? 

What dark obscure woods of my aching heart 
must I explore with lamp of timeless faith, 
though sun-gilded tears may stream down my face, 
strange paradise of uncivilized passion 
entrapping me in labyrinth of despair, 
till I face snake-haired monster of blind lust? 

If monstrous demon of my wounded heart 
howls at my face with mocking disrespect, 
then cracks the mountain of the rumbling world 
by smacking my frail soul against the Earth, 
will I wake roaring flame of innocence 
to rise on wings and fight my hungry greed? 

If primal nature of my monkey soul 
is severed from angelic glow of faith 
that beams from spinning iron core of Earth, 
will I be baptized in pool of desire 
and cleansed of wolfish rage inside my heart 
by tender compassion of my sweet bride? 

Once I rise tall from muck of psychic birth 
and transcend monstrous passion of my heart 
to confirm my soul through strict self-control, 
will I evolve from mad demon of Hell 
to transform through creative offering 
to wise angel of Heaven with eight wings? 

Once Ishtar offers me her fertile heart 
in marriage that combines body and soul, 
and asks me with seductive voice of trust 
to fertilize her with gift of my fruits, 
as Eve ate Apple to generate life, 
will I design new world view for mankind? 

Where will I wander to find nameless ghost 
who falls in bottomless abyss of death 
after I slay great bull of the Sun God 
and feast on steaks I roast on flame of faith, 
to weep for Lycidas and Adonais 
while lost in endless labyrinth of Hell? 

Where will I build the house of seven doors, 
constructing wall with thirty-three watch towers, 
and plant Garden of Eden to raise children, 
when the lightning storm destroys it with flood 
that demolishes everything I make, 
so I sing alone on the river shore? 

Godless Void Of Hope

Godless Void Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 10 05

Wise Aten beams my soul with hands of light 
so I live and die in dream of Earth 
with laughter of the ancient deathless stars 
beaming through atoms of my fragile flesh 
which animate my progress till I die 
when I stare in the godless void of hope. 

Clever Tammuz weaves my spirit from wool 
so I climb broad stairs up high ziggurat 
to bring gifts of my crafting hands with love 
to temple where Inanna brews sweet wine 
which I drink as we kiss in gold moonlight 
when I laugh in the godless void of hope. 

Brave Adonis bakes my body from wheat 
so I bear brass plate with hot loaves of bread 
for everyone on broad ziggurat steps 
may eat the sacred body of the Earth 
while Ishtar sings Creation of the World 
when I shout in the godless void of hope. 

Bold Adam breathes life in my apple heart 
so I tame serpent writhing in the tree 
then people buy apple pies from my cart 
while I perform in market maze of want 
below ziggurat where Asherah sings 
when I leap in the godless void of hope. 

Shrewd Jehovah molds my torso from fish 
so I dive deep in ocean of despair 
to find the herb of youth Gilgamesh lost 
then wander beach to hut where Shamhat sings 
who teaches me to spark life in her heart 
when I swim in the godless void of hope. 

Honest Jesus twists my arms into wings 
so I run swift in forest of swift harts 
to hunt with Artemis in moonlit groves 
where we twang strings of bows with dauntless joy 
to feel our bodies pulsing with desire 
when I soar in the godless void of hope. 

Lithe Lucifer forges my brain from gold 
so I map history of humanity 
on time-animated globe that depicts 
evolution of man from Fish to God 
on endless quest to find the Promised Land 
when I dance in the godless void of hope. 

Audacious Odin carves my name in runes 
that writhe with serpentine intelligence 
in ghost-engendering well of Melusine 
who teaches me to compose tales of faith 
that show how women raise children with love 
when I sing in the godless void of hope. 

Reconnect With Mother Sea

Reconnect With Mother Sea
© Surazeus
2026 10 05

Because the music of the sea knows me, 
I float on celestial breath of the mind 
to interact with humans in the world 
who float on their own music of the sea, 
for we all sing in harmony with hope 
that leaves us stranded on the sunlit beach. 

Expanding beyond scale of holy thoughts 
with every wave that flows onto the beach, 
my mind considers why we suffer pain 
that drives us to consume beasts of the sea 
whose spirits vibrate energy of hope 
which animates our journey to the light. 

Since blazing power of relentless light 
blasts my frail soul with divine energy, 
I follow flashing river through steep hills, 
ascending to broad meadow of soft flowers 
that dance with delicate grace of desire 
in cool breeze that caresses me with hope. 

I dwell ten thousand years in field of flowers 
between the sloshed wave and the jagged peak, 
safe in fertile haven of Middle-Earth, 
tending herds of sheep, and fields of gold wheat, 
through countless generations of my soul 
reborn as me with each new frame of flesh. 

Now I work as mechanic every day, 
fixing engines of cars in large garage 
along street of businesses and banks 
where cars and people glide by every hour, 
yet memory of that meadow by the sea 
frames how I function in daily routines. 

Attention focused on tubes, wires, and gears, 
I maintain process of physical change 
to manage function of the world machine 
powered by waves that still wash on the beach 
where I take my wife and kids on weekends 
to reconnect our hearts with Mother Sea. 

We hike in meadow where soft flowers bloom, 
and listen to birds chirp in florid trees 
who taught us how to speak words of our thoughts, 
then fish at lake where our ancestors lived, 
to eat roast fish and sing old tribal songs 
around bright campfire under sparkling stars. 

I hope we can maintain this balanced life 
of working in the corporate urban zone 
to maintain world food-production machine 
while seeking recreation in lush Nature 
where we can reconnect with Mother Sea 
whose song rejuvenates our wave-born souls. 

Yet Still I Row My Boat

Yet Still I Row My Boat
© Surazeus
2026 10 04

Glass bridge of laughter questions Game of If 
where nameless people wander distant shores 
with plans to steal new souls from grocery stores 
who vanish in strict mirror of the cliff, 
yet still I row my boat past paradise 
because important things should have no price. 

Electric lightbulb of the smiling sun 
sends garbage trucks to take lost memories 
discarded by housewives with broken keys 
who seek salvation of the holy gun, 
yet still I row my boat past Eden tress 
where angels give math books to chimpanzees. 

Life is the angel wearing mirror mask 
to work for advertising companies 
with clients selling psychic clarities 
to robots who refuse to do the task, 
yet still I row my boat past libraries 
where demons work for social charities. 

Brave butterflies of pencils with nine brains 
flock merrily around sly Mercury 
who teaches jesters art of jollity 
who prance at midnight in honey-gold rains, 
yet still I row my boat past empty church 
where Cinderella continues vain search. 

Trapped by strict duties of proud happiness, 
where horses of the king eat grass of gold, 
my father shows me how to dream-unfold 
airplane wings above Sea of Nothingness, 
yet still I row my boat past apple groves 
where wives of senators slave at hot stoves. 

Despite sincerity of obvious love 
that cripples crow of Heaven with false faith, 
I formulate how God is stellar wraith 
that conjures worlds with psychometric shove, 
yet still I row my boat past matrix schools 
to learn how primates invent farming tools. 

Since fatal geographies of state power 
provide framework for tyrants to play god, 
brave blacksmiths disarticulate the fraud 
with guidance from Rapunzel in her tower, 
yet still I row my boat past bombed-out homes 
to watch gods wrestle in glass thunder domes. 

Conceptual language of the creditor 
reframes the meaning of life we employ 
to reconstruct the sacred halls of Troy 
based on project designed by Lucifer, 
yet still I row my boat past gates of Hell 
to gather dream runes from the serpent well. 

Restore Greatness Of America

Restore Greatness Of America
© Surazeus
2026 10 04

If I should paint the wide subversive sky 
true color of your heart when we first meet, 
the people of the world might analyze 
sufficient romance of my sacrifice 
against synopsis of the seminar 
to judge my brave sincerity of love. 

If I should find crippled crow of my heart 
hopping frantically across the wet lawn, 
the angels of the mountain might require 
visual conformation of my despair 
revealed by neon sign of vacancy 
that flashes intermittently till dawn. 

If I should hear the sharp objective cry 
of morbid nurses in the bitter wind, 
the devils in cathedrals might expect 
guards at the gate of Hell to optimize 
nutritious medicine of martial law 
that traps us in Nirvana after all. 

If I should see the glowing Face of God 
that beams from center of the universe, 
the grim professors might demand I write 
my doctoral thesis about poverty 
that traps the talented in menial jobs 
while mediocre fools run governments. 

If I should write the holy manuscript 
that prophesies new empire of the lost, 
the tongueless preachers might demand I burn 
idols of heroes from religious tales 
to cleanse the sanctuary of the lamb 
who rules through journalist integrity. 

If I should map whole history of the Earth 
that details how great empires rise and fall, 
the housewives in schools might demand I play 
games with children of crippled warriors 
who volunteer to count the treasury 
when priests sell them shares to the Afterlife. 

If I should decree new socialist creed 
to restore greatness of America, 
the lawyers in banks might demand I steal 
celestial wings of flight from Icarus 
so they can storm Heaven in holy coup 
to crown shy Jesus Emperor of Earth. 

If I should play role of messiah sleuth 
through rational performance of my heart, 
the oligarchs might demand I program 
new world view that excludes divinities 
to build from ruins of America 
new state based on equal rights in one law. 

Church Of Broken Clocks

Church Of Broken Clocks
© Surazeus
2026 10 04

Because stars shine indifferent to us, 
not knowing we exist so far away 
on small fragile globe of shuddering water, 
I watch my children play in the back yard 
with joyful laughter of ambitious hope 
that they will rule their own nations one day. 

Obsession of the water-shining stone 
that glistens in the front yard of my home 
inspires me to admire the humble soul 
who rises up from crowd of frantic fear 
to rule the nation accidentally 
when wild waves of change sweep them into power. 

Though names and faces of the global dead 
are forgotten in the spinning of time, 
we merge them all into mythical gods 
who simplify their spirits on one trope 
which preserves their general character 
while their details dissipate in the wind. 

Because the eyeless ghost of my sponge brain 
keeps slipping back and forth in stream of time, 
soaring on wings I stole from Icarus, 
the random story of my awkward life 
becomes the palimpsest of future heroes 
who follow my map through the labyrinth. 

Each day that I grow older than the moon 
I store more information about Earth 
through grand encyclopedia of the brain 
in tales about great empires of the land 
and all the haughty kings who ruled their lives, 
then faded to paintings in history books. 

Since sparrows on statues of generals 
express opinions about their noble deeds, 
we hairless monkeys hide in libraries 
to prove we are wingless angels of time 
blessed to thrive on Earth millions of years more 
since we crawled dripping from the wordless sea. 

Searching for the one book that reveals truth 
in library of human memory, 
I row my boat on river of world dream 
to find the secret island of fruit trees 
where messiah sleuth plots world revolution 
that will unite all nations in one game. 

While spiders spin world matrix of our minds 
we gather in the church of broken clocks 
to decipher riddles from arcane code 
that explain the nature of human greed 
till prophets teach us to embrace nonbeing 
though we make mindless gods from random stars. 

My Feet Write Cuneiforms

My Feet Write Cuneiforms
© Surazeus
2026 10 04

Afloat in randomness of whorling thoughts 
that curl down through genetic memories 
programmed by dreams all my ancestors share, 
I drift with gentle tides of social change 
with stubborn heart that beats time with the stars 
so my feet write cuneiforms of hope. 

While my feet write cuneiforms of hope 
on signless road that takes me everywhere 
beyond the broken walls of paradise, 
I map cave passage through maternal hearts 
down timeless halls of mirrors to perceive 
face of first mother who watches my life. 

Face of first mother who watches my life 
seems to appear on every tree and cloud 
as if her spirit through lush Nature shines 
with faint penumbral glow of divine truth 
so I translate her wordless thoughts of faith 
to songs I sing while strolling road of fate. 

Weird songs I sing while strolling road of fate 
project strange visions of my flashing brain 
each time I face new obstacle of fear, 
providing methods of proactive deeds 
that guide my way on landscape of desire 
through endless labyrinth of confusing myths. 

Through endless labyrinth of confusing myths 
I trace ancestral journey to myself 
based on the tangled narrative of faith 
which my ancestors map in fairy tales 
depicting how people fail or succeed 
to generate new life before they die. 

To generate new life before we die 
we gather food from bounty of the Earth 
till strangers take it all before we can, 
so we build forts on hills and fight fierce wars 
to gather food in bags from hungry woods 
by building empires on the skulls of gods. 

While building empires on the skulls of gods 
we erect idols that depict wise souls 
of leaders who unite our hearts with goal 
to dominate the world with clever plans 
organized by the father of our tribe 
so we present dead mortal as our god. 

Though we present dead mortal as our god 
because he gave us mission to unite 
all nations of the world in Holy Church, 
I leave that endless game of thought control 
and walk to waste land back to Wonderland, 
afloat in randomness of whorling thoughts. 

Lake Of Dreamless Eyes

Lake Of Dreamless Eyes
© Surazeus
2026 10 03

When I find myself at the huge blank wall 
where shadow of my soul mocks my vain pride, 
I open window into nothingness 
and watch one hundred thousand years of wars 
when angry men transform to humming trees 
where children of their enemies play games. 

The house is quiet and the world is calm 
but I am not the book of ancient gods 
because nameless ghosts rise from writhing words 
and dance around me in the summer night 
so I invent strange truth from what I see 
and write their stories no one ever reads. 

How many human faces I have seen 
on endless journey through vast maze of towns 
that takes me through the mystery of faith 
long hidden behind numbered doors of homes 
where strangers hide their secrets inside books 
that angels burn before they break the world. 

My house hangs from the pendulum of doom 
that shakes with throbbing of remembered rain 
though I lose treasure of strange memories 
that lead me to the shadowed woods of time 
where voices of the people I still love 
echo too faintly in receding mist. 

I find their names with letters of bright blood 
fast fading from old books of glimmering leaves 
because wild throbbing of my heart inspires 
fearful rebellion against tyranny 
so I dance by the lake of metal flame 
with radiant laughter of deceptive fame. 

Though I go back and search my tangled dream 
to find the beacon of our anguished pride 
lit by aggressive anger of desire, 
I kneel beside the lake of dreamless eyes 
which casts mercurial gleam on my glass face 
so I become the demon I fear most. 

I hear wild song of ravens after storm 
who gather on electric wires of thought 
to translate noise of brains that buzz with rage 
to solemn hymn uniting wounded hearts 
in global nation of objective faith 
that helps us navigate our maze of myths. 

Awakened by the shouts of jostling flowers 
that toss my body to the humorous moon, 
I surf the flashing tides of global change 
which carry me to land of burning fruit 
where we hold hands and gaze at timeless stars 
that spell our fortune we choose to create. 

Bard Banner Of Our Muses

Bard Banner Of Our Muses
© Surazeus
2026 10 03

While I am wandering in dark tangled woods, 
alone in changeless glimmer of dead gray, 
I find the fallen banner of the bard 
who wrenched it from the western skies with verve 
to light the beacon of musical truth 
that shines from Parnassus with holy glow. 

With trembling hands of my lost legacy, 
which sparks awake the timeless glow of faith 
in my young witch-wrought heart, I lift up high 
that noble banner of our ancient clan, 
then light again with flame of prophecy 
that beacon on the bleak Parnassian height. 

I find the broken lyre of Mercury, 
that Apollo strummed with passionate heart 
some thirty centuries of change ago, 
which passed through skilled hands of many brave singers, 
Phoebus, Homer, Ovid, Virgil, Dante, 
Shakespeare, and Milton, to my hand this hour. 

After tuning strings taut with intense faith, 
I strum the lyre of Mercury and sing 
enchanting hex that conjures from mute gloom 
ghosts of great singers in my bardic clan, 
Philip, Anne, Oliver, William, James, Sarah, 
Edwin, and Robert, who flock to my tune. 

Joining in spontaneous choir of sweet song, 
they beam mercurial voices of bright truth 
in threads of eerie melodies that weave 
grand tapestry of visionary tales 
which illustrate our transcendental faith 
in spells blessed by the Muses of our hearts. 

High on transcendent peak of arcane faith, 
I sing the ancient tale of human hope 
while bearing banner of our bardic clan, 
and tend the sacred flame of divine truth 
that shines from Parnassus with holy glow 
to light our world with wisdom of the Muses. 

Through eerie silence of human despair, 
from hearts crushed by destructive wars for power,  
strange songs of disharmonious ardency 
emerge from hundred million wounded hearts 
whose spells of hope from isolated rooms 
swell whole together through aspiring wind. 

Now that bard banner of our Muses flies 
aloft in pure wind of ethereal song, 
brave voices of hundred million Earth bards 
fuel flame of truth in beacon of our hearts 
which beams from sacred peak of high Parnassus 
to light the Way for people of the world. 

Blinded By Star Words

Blinded By Star Words
© Surazeus
2026 10 03

Blinded by star words of exploding thoughts, 
Citlali washes her face in the lake 
till all the tears of suffering women flush 
her wounded heart clean of observed despair, 
then she tends garden of electric corn 
while children play within scope of her eyes. 

Cupping her hands with soft voice of the wind, 
Citlali scoops water from the silver lake 
that reflects peak of snowy Tlaloc Mountain 
where her grandmother dwells in secret cave 
to commune with soul of the serpent god 
who speaks through song of rivers in the woods. 

Amazed at glory of eye-blinking stars 
that sprinkle fairy dust in human hearts, 
Citlali twirls slowly with graceful calm 
despite aggressive passion of her heart 
that urges her to rise above this world 
and float with ecstasy of butterflies. 

Singing with exquisite respect for light, 
Citlali bakes Tlaxcalli corn flatbread 
on clay griddle comal with quick hands 
then rolls them thick with mushrooms, squash, and beans, 
seasoned with peppers, tomatoes, and herbs, 
which people eat as raindrops flash from leaves. 

When great horned owl with glowing golden eyes 
appears from Mictlan with message of hope, 
Citlali walks along the mountain path 
till she finds young man tending cacao tree, 
so Tecolotl smiles and gives her cup 
filled with hot xocolatl beverage. 

Sipping the bitter sorrow of this world, 
sweetened with chili and vanilla juice, 
Citlali ponders nature of the stars, 
and asks Tecolotl with inquiring voice 
if he thinks stars might be souls of the dead 
who watch us live with synergy of love. 

From swirling fog after wild gush of rain 
Coatl leaps and grabs her by the arm, 
demanding that she bear child of his soul, 
but Citlali tries to escape his grip, 
so he pushes her down, flat on her back, 
till Tecolotl stabs him with sharp spear. 

Suckling daughter she bears with Tecolotl, 
Citlali smiles about his flustered shyness, 
then explains she names their new child Meztli, 
for she is offspring of the humble owl, 
so he makes faces, causing her to laugh 
as moon girl reaches out her tiny hands. 

Holy Depths Of Nothingness

Holy Depths Of Nothingness
© Surazeus
2026 10 03

Kneeling waist deep in glowing silver waves, 
Khaos dips soft hands in swirling lake of stars 
and lifts from holy depths of nothingness 
enormous galaxy of spinning worlds 
which lifts its face and stares into her eyes, 
so she bears the turtle to her beach cave. 

Observing how shape of the turtle shell 
resembles mountains rising from the beach, 
Khaos envisions how world of wind-swept trees 
floats in vast ocean of conceptual hope, 
so she explores steep slope of humming trees 
to find the highest point of innocence. 

Tall tangle-haired man wearing wolf-skin cloak 
extends right hand and offers sun-orange fruit, 
so she consumes light of the flashing rain 
while he fills her with spirit of the moon, 
then wanders back to cave beach of her heart 
where she expands huge as the surging sea. 

When darkness swells inside her aching heart, 
and bulges round as galaxy of worlds, 
Khaos gathers clams and roasts them on hot flames, 
then slurps delicious meat of energy 
that motivates her heart with shock of faith 
to sing heart-radiant hymn of holy love. 

When she gives birth to child with gleaming eyes, 
who wriggles wildly in her trembling arms, 
Khaos weeps with fierce compassion of surprise 
then suckles him at breasts of starry milk, 
humming as he gazes at her with love, 
then speaks his name, Erebus, with respect. 

While gathering clams in leather bag of hope, 
Khaos shows Erebus how to bundle wood 
as they stroll laughing on broad beach of sand, 
then stand together when strong gust of wind 
whips hair around their faces with bright joy 
and sunlight weaves their bodies with delight. 

When wolf man from the cloud-high mountain grove 
appears on windy beach with long sharp spear, 
Khaos notes sharp features of his rugged face, 
then gazes at face her curious son, 
and feels sweet glow of wisdom flush her heart 
to realize how she incarnates his soul. 

While weaving baskets from flexible vines, 
Khaos watches wolf man and Erebus play, 
running swiftly along sun-gleaming beach, 
gathering sticks and stones with clever hands, 
then crafting tridents with three sharpened points 
to catch fish they eat beneath twinkling stars. 

Vibes Of Social Harmony

Vibes Of Social Harmony
© Surazeus
2026 10 02

Trapped by avalanche of identities 
which narrate riddles of anxiety, 
Zemyna describes elements of life 
as wheat that sprouts as her long curly hair 
in meadows lush with flowers of her breasts, 
while she holds crystal sphere of flashing stars. 

We celebrate Earth Mother of our hearts 
because her love sustains life of our souls, 
then takes our bodies back into her soil 
so we are ghosts in great lakes of her eyes 
who dance in birch groves with attentive grace 
till we lie down at death in her embrace. 

When I hear weird spell Mother of Graves chants, 
that echoes softly in moon-haunted woods, 
I play water tunes on flute of my heart 
to radiate vibes of social harmony 
that soothe brittle anger of wounded hearts 
till we attend grand feast Zemyna hosts. 

Even while I walk crowded business maze, 
conducting business of product exchange 
within parameters of strict contracts, 
I hear enchanting voice in blustering wind 
when Mother of Ghosts addresses my soul 
with fate-unspooling hex of fertile faith. 

Advanced to messy edges of our lives, 
I bind with oath of honest privilege 
new secret purpose of the glowing cloud, 
based on abundant wealth of bankruptcy, 
to revive heritage through instruments 
of fiscal gravity attracting ghosts. 

By teaching me how to interpret rain 
as splatter of inflated integers 
that model ordinance of future states, 
Zemyna arms my atmospheric mind 
with orchestrated process of respect 
so I could certify demonic faith. 

Attuned to misdirecting equity, 
depicted by strange cultural entities, 
contrived by deviant currencies of hope, 
Zemyna reprograms dream gallery 
with ardent frequencies of mental force, 
so I accept my role as guardian. 

Attending marathon of humble spies, 
who rewrite rules of dire linguistic tricks, 
Zemyna teaches me with anecdotes 
how to locate the liberal positive 
based on marketing techniques of bold faith, 
so we survive their avalanche of lies. 

Ocean Waves Of Thought

Ocean Waves Of Thought
© Surazeus
2026 10 02

I want to talk to you about the rain 
is if broad wings of angels could erase 
conceptual bitterness of twisted pain 
that we accept as normal for the face 
that shields our souls against psychotic fame, 
tricked by the king of clowns to play his game. 

With ache of longing to taste juicy fruit 
while stuck in deep lake of demonic tears, 
I reach my hand to grasp the bitter loot 
that blinds my eyes to arrogate false fears 
while haughty Tantalus laughs at my plight 
because my agony is rendered trite. 

Startled awake from dream of writhing snakes, 
Selene sees her daughter Herse leap 
at flash of lightning that shatters soul lakes 
with sudden laughter that all life is cheap, 
so Hermes swoops down to embrace the girl 
whose honest hex hurls him in ocean swirl. 

Old pastor gripping Bible to his chest 
demands I tell important anecdotes 
which relate need for boys to go on quest 
exploring secret to construct sea boats 
on which we sail to conquer paradise 
with certain shock that we must pay the price. 

I want to hold sweet Thetis in my arms 
because our son is destined to perform 
great deeds of valor on skull-cluttered farms 
where Hera makes love with the God of Storm, 
but she prefers the humble man who knows 
how to tame horses when the full moon glows. 

Enraged that I can never obtain wealth, 
I smash old idol of Hermes in grief 
which scatters gold coins with obnoxious stealth, 
so I buy friendships that prove to be brief 
which leads me to knock at steel gates of Hell 
that shake at shocking mockery of the bell. 

Knee deep in sloshing waves of solitude, 
I wade into cold ocean waves of thought 
to swim with mermaids whose sweet songs are rude 
because they insult the divine robot 
who tries to conquer nations of the Earth 
without understanding what faith is worth. 

With calm compassion for the wounded soul, 
I roll Rock of Salvation up the hill 
to build enormous palace without goal 
through firm intention to ignore the bill, 
till I find fractured skull of Sisyphus 
that vibrates with contempt of bitterness. 

Unclock Chance Of Fate

Unclock Chance Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 10 02

Aside from how fast stars always explode 
into light fairies with gossamer wings 
who bring bottles of root beer to blind clowns, 
Gearthe considers why white horses laugh 
at the wild-haired king chasing the giraffe, 
because she wants to paint portraits of ghosts. 

As if respectful turbulence of planes 
reveals how deep the psychic manhole goes 
for devils to hide from raven disease, 
Gearthe scatters pumpkin seeds on sidewalks 
while asking glass-shelled tortoise of dark faith 
how long it takes for alphabets to grow. 

Since no more than seven ages of man 
show our regressive pattern of regret 
by disobedience to laws of Glow Clouds, 
Gearthe advertises her expertise 
for extracting souls from god-twisting books 
to rescue children from the war machine. 

Though no one knows when the last god will die 
from embarrassment of drowning in tears 
that humans shed from constant suffering, 
Gearthe walks one hundred thousand miles 
to find the new-born angel with nine eyes 
who is destined to work as a janitor. 

If Death considers what the stop sign means 
that stands forever at crossroads of fate 
till Jesus cheats Krishna at game of cards, 
Gearthe will give away to bitter monks 
all the most famous paintings about queens 
who were forced to marry privileged thieves. 

Backward up Stairway to Heaven at dawn 
with random plan to unclock chance of fate 
at crack of gears in broken time machines, 
Gearthe gazes through swirling fog of time 
to navigate valley of singing skulls 
because the future is one step beyond. 

Yet when three prophets of the global bank 
distract attention of the humble folk 
through lamentation at the death of God, 
Gearthe holds flowers by the faceless pool, 
then asks shy Narcissus to marry her 
while echoing his religious beliefs. 

Till seeds expand into towers of steel 
that frame glass spirits of unusual faith 
based on undulations of interest rates, 
Gearthe decides not to proceed with plan 
to purchase glass castle from Jupiter 
till he admits his conceptual mistake. 

Surf The Waves Of Change

Surf The Waves Of Change
© Surazeus
2026 10 02

When tyrants take control of government, 
appointing thieves to higher offices, 
and funnel dollars of our hard-earned tax 
from programs that support the common folk 
to coffers of their private bank accounts, 
all we can do is surf the waves of change. 

When humble lawmen from the government 
ride into small towns on the wild frontier 
to challenge barons who own all the land, 
and integrate them in the empire state 
that trains sons of farmers as banking clerks, 
all we can do is surf the waves of change. 

When Midas, Nebuchadnezzar, and Lear 
imprison angels from Elysium 
to extract minerals from the mines of Hell, 
and build tanks and airplanes with bombs of hate 
to fight over who controls the most land, 
all we can do is surf the waves of change. 

When oligarchs of high-tech companies 
design artificial intelligence 
to perform functions of analysis 
that disemploys millions of programmers 
who fight video wargames in cyberspace, 
all we can do is surf the waves of change. 

When farmers attending church on Sundays 
no longer receive fiscal subsidies, 
while brave migrant workers from southern lands 
are deported to towns run by drug lords 
so no one is left to harvest their crops, 
all we can do is surf the waves of change. 

When prophets disguised as cartographers 
rename the ancient lands of everywhere 
to realign conceptual state of mind 
that conjures virtual model of the Earth 
so we navigate tides of history, 
all we can do is surf the waves of change. 

When democratic republic of hope, 
which we built strong on noble principle 
that every person born across this land 
has inalienable right to liberty, 
collapses under greed of oligarchs, 
all we can do is surf the waves of change. 

When Gothinius, descended from two gods, 
Jesus and Odin, through Holy Grail bloodline 
of Faramundus, and Frank Queen Argotta, 
unites the warring nations of Europe 
in unified state of Gothinia, 
all we can do is surf the waves of change. 

Lost On Ghostless Moors

Lost On Ghostless Moors
© Surazeus
2026 10 01

By stretching my mind across centuries 
to wind my heart with frantic memories 
my soul becomes the boundless sky of doors 
through which I wander lost on ghostless moors 
to gather blossoms from the playful breeze 
so I forge trauma into psychic keys. 

Because I am calm enemy of hate, 
tricked to play happy by swindle of fate, 
I am uninterested in fraught game 
of who suffers most to achieve false fame, 
so I transcend stark agony of pain 
by floating wingless in electric rain. 

If I cast hex of calibrated spells 
through inefficient laughter of church bells, 
I may revive my equestrian heart 
long enough to check fortune-twisting chart 
against status of episcopal faith, 
fabricated through lust of the Star Wraith. 

Since I may inherit Book of Weird Lies, 
composed by children of dynamic spies, 
I may attempt to grow angelic wings 
through spiral sparkle of demonic rings 
that proves my soul is native to this land 
as frightened rebel of divine command. 

Concealed by silence of old broken truth, 
designed by ravens acting out of ruth, 
I analyze consequence of my deed, 
then adjudicate fault through mental need 
to exercise free will within constraints 
applied by nature to create more saints. 

Through ballads, strictly coded to express 
moral values that conjure happiness, 
I document events of this wild age, 
performed by sly mortals on global stage, 
depicting tragic passions of blind gods 
whose arrogance transforms them into toads. 

Across the waste land of eccentric rules 
children wander nowhere past fractured schools 
to learn of freedom for the wounded soul 
who studies secrets of the flashing whole 
so they can sell anger in holy books 
because temple priests are restaurant cooks. 

With tale-tattered quill, from my crippled wing, 
I chronicle our age of suffering 
by giving voice to the marginalized 
who storm Heaven though they are unbaptized, 
then compile ten billion stories with runes 
that dissipate into soul-haunting tunes. 

God My Brain Invents

God My Brain Invents
© Surazeus
2026 10 01

When dawn sun gleams red over apple creek, 
piercing my heart with agony of love, 
I fool myself one hour of glowing thoughts 
that I am one with some vast cosmic mind, 
and not alone and small on giant globe 
that slowly spins in void of nothingness. 

How comforting to think that cosmic mind, 
beaming from hills and clouds with warming love, 
observes my being with soul-nurturing care, 
empathizing with strange feelings I feel, 
and would protect my frail body from harm 
while teaching me to see nature of things. 

This hope for huge protective soul of love 
that gleams as ghost in sun-refracting clouds, 
I wonder if my mind derives its sense 
from memories my ancestors reviewed 
because they all experienced sweet care 
their living parents performed in each life. 

My mind projects care of this cosmic mind 
based on experience of each new life 
from memories of their childhood that transfer 
brain to brain on dream-weaving strings of genes 
which feed complex glow of my conscious mind 
so I expect care from ghost of this world. 

No parental spirit, bodied in flesh, 
hovers over me with cherubic wings 
to shield my frail embodied soul from harm, 
so my mind projects as ghost of their care 
incorporeal being in God my brain invents 
that shimmers as illusion of my faith. 

If I were not projecting ghost of care 
as ideal god that presents in thought 
absent parent my programmed brain expects, 
I would begin to tremble with stark fear 
that sharp-toothed monsters of death lurking near 
may attack and destroy my tender soul. 

Thus with fake confidence of specious faith 
I strut landscape of terror to account 
for secret treasures I extract from death 
as fruit which I consume to sustain life 
that flushes with tense strength of ardent pride 
transient self which I navigate with care. 

Now stuck with ghost of God my brain invents, 
programmed by psychic memories of hope 
that my ancestors conjured from stark fear 
to navigate through gangs of hostile men, 
which helped them survive to generate life, 
I protect and guide my children with care. 

Pool Of Her Luminous Heart

Pool Of Her Luminous Heart
© Surazeus
2026 10 01

While angels and devils fight in the sky 
as lightning flashes in swirling black clouds, 
I wander along crumbling asphalt road 
far out in the desolate countryside 
to the abandoned mansion of gray wood 
where faceless ghosts float in one thousand rooms. 

Before rotten stump of the ancient tree, 
that once sheltered children with joyful eyes 
who played games on long summer afternoons, 
I kneel and touch small sprout of tender leaves 
that struggles to grow from its legacy 
and bloom with apple rubies of true faith. 

When I touch roots with anguish of regret, 
that radiates from despair of wounded hearts 
since people I love were slaughtered in war, 
passionate beam of psychic energy 
spirals through expanding scope of consciousness 
which manifests in tree of global faith. 

Celestial goddess robed in tattered pain 
vibrates with spark of cosmic synergy 
that spirals from pool of her luminous heart 
so she creates our spinning world of souls 
to pulse in ocean of atomic waves, 
then sings while drenched in golden seeds of faith. 

Emerging from weird visions at gray dawn, 
I ponder meaning of that vague word, Faith, 
which weak men, trapped by duty to succeed, 
wield as weapon of spiritual control, 
so I gaze at old crumbling house of hope 
that creaks in wind of innocent desire. 

How fiercely I longed to escape this house 
and live with passion in city of lights, 
but vampires cloaked in dapper suits of wealth, 
instead of humble knights with crafting tools, 
became obsessed with beauty of my face 
and sucked bright spirit of my naive heart. 

Instead of Penelope waiting at home 
for Odysseus to return to warm hearth, 
I am Medusa searching for true love, 
for I have left behind gods turned to stone 
as tragic lessons no one cares to learn, 
yet hope to find Perseus waiting for me. 

Wrapping her long tangled hair in firm bun, 
Mary unlocks door of her family home, 
cleans every room with broom and mop of faith, 
then sits in leather armchair by the hearth 
to sip hot chocolate and watch snowflakes 
flash in timeless light of the gold Full Moon.