Transcendental Bard Of Truth

Transcendental Bard Of Truth
© Surazeus
2019 05 29

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grumpy Cat Elegy

Grumpy Cat Elegy
© Surazeus
2019 05 17

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

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

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

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

Our War For Truth

Our War For Truth
© Surazeus
2019 04 20

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cathedral of Our Lady

Cathedral of Our Lady
© Surazeus
2019 04 15

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

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

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

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

Book Of Wind

Book Of Wind
© Surazeus
2019 03 17

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Farmer Of Apple Trees

Farmer Of Apple Trees
© Surazeus
2019 03 17

We should be building roads and businesses 
to connect all of the Americas 
in one commercial system of exchange, 
like China connects Asia in one system, 
instead of building hard walls to enclose 
ourselves terrified in fortress of fear. 

The farmer looks up at her apple trees, 
feeling sunlight gleam through fragile leaves 
of yellow hope, then huddles warm in coat 
of faith that turning of the world will flush 
warm winds of Spring to melt frost from its limbs 
so apples will swell again in white blossoms. 

Opening jar of apple sauce, she canned 
with her mother in the kitchen last Summer, 
she spoons some on hot oatmeal with cool milk, 
and eats while watching news on television, 
then grins at how her old mother would mock 
speeches of politicians with fake words. 

He wants to change our free democracy 
fueled by vibrant urge of capitalism 
into the fascist corporate mafia state 
that allows businessmen to exploit people, 
crushing our system of high education 
so we slave for pittance in factories. 

That is why I want you to attend college, 
the farmer explains to her three young children 
who run outside to play along the river, 
leaping across smooth white stones in swift stream, 
then sit among apple trees and tell stories 
of superheroes they read in comic books. 

Using pruner, looper, and folding saw, 
the farmer prunes branches and twigs of trees 
as late Winter sun gleams from jagged hills, 
breath of her soul puffing in silver mist 
that gleams gold in frosty air of desire 
while she hums America The Beautiful. 

Dream Of The Wind Chime

Dream Of The Wind Chime
© Surazeus
2019 03 16

The birds know why we can never go home 
so we sit by the river and count cracked stones, 
then after dark we continue to roam 
where blind clowns make music with hollow bones, 
for they paint their faces white with dry mud 
and drink wine made of mushrooms, grapes, and blood. 

We hide our faces in shadows of fear 
and weave rays of moonlight in blinking eyes 
to stare three thousand years in flashing mere 
that mirrors arcane truth from empty skies 
so we confront our shadows in the night, 
hoping to discover name of our light. 

We flow through whisper of each singing tree 
to slip past monsters who can never talk 
that leads us down to comfort of wild sea 
where I transform into the joking hawk 
to hide my sorrow in shadowless cave 
while I sing algorithm of each wave. 

I stand stiff in halo of screaming light 
to ask happy birds where my home may hide 
but they become the glow cloud of far sight 
so lost pilgrims hire me as their trip guide, 
though every castle half-seen through dawn haze 
haunts us with horror of its endless maze. 

Behind locked doors the blind forget my name 
so I look for the people I once knew 
but they wear masks and play the court power game 
while I continue searching for the clue 
that might reveal how our world was first made 
and why fearful men fight the vain crusade. 

Down by the river I sit in tree shade 
to ask the birds where I can find my home 
but I become stone statue in the glade 
for I am nothing more than frail wave foam 
blow by indifferent wind of swirling time, 
startled awake by dream of the wind chime. 

Restore Garden Of Eden

Restore Garden Of Eden
© Surazeus
2019 03 16

Elegy for William Merwin 1927-2019. 

Once I decipher the language of water 
I will be able to see the blank future 
because every object of vital substance 
is composed of viscous atoms that flow 
in swirls of chemical articulation 
to explain process of cause and effect. 

When voices of people clutter my dreams 
I walk from city maze to silent hills 
where trees explain the grammar of moon rain 
that translates sorrow into pointed leaves 
which I plaster on my face as new mask 
that weaves rays of light into my sad heart. 

Each morning when I drive to work I wave 
at Glow Cloud composed of ancestral souls 
who reflect in eerie orange light lost dreams 
their brains recorded to remember why 
we explore river shores to find the tree 
where trunks transform rain to nutritious fruit. 

Though I thought the glowing clouds were my friends 
they cluster in black billows of harsh wind 
and hurl lightning bolts to smash fragile house 
where my family pursues creative projects 
so I forget their names and blaze new roads 
through gardens where their faces smile as trees. 

That fragile face of replicated souls 
who smiles in mirror of each shadowed house 
shows me path where birds navigate despair 
so I become my parents when they die 
to look at puzzling world as gloom of blood 
nourishes my heart from breast of Mother Earth. 

Tall mountain stands in shadow of my heart 
so I climb beams of moonlight to weave wings 
from laughter of my children when they play 
catch the God Butterfly in ruins of church 
since water flows through our bodies of flesh 
and I build bridge of love with echoing light. 

I feel the Earth turning beneath my feet 
in rhythm with ocean waves in my heart 
as I walk signless road in evening light 
to cross every bridge nameless people built 
hoping to connect distant tribes of humans 
so we approach strangers with open hands. 

Now that stars wake me from dreamless hill soil, 
I follow whispers of wind in fruit trees 
to stone walls that sing secret of my name 
so we lose nothing we once thought was real 
till we offer snow to darkness of hope 
while flower-birds burst from eggs of our eyes. 

Tomorrow belongs to me when I touch 
slither of silver water in cool stream 
that flows from crystal snow of mountain peak 
and winds through anguish of my silent heart 
to sparkle bright on boundless plain of flight 
where we tell each other what we might know. 

Bright faces of water become themselves 
without one word we had hoped to invent 
so we can share analysis of truth 
before we wander too far lost in woods 
where shadows hide ghosts of people we love 
though their bodies crumbled to swirling dust. 

Dust of words from ancient myths of dead heroes 
fall out of books that we forgot to read 
so blind spirit of truth who dwelled alone 
in locked library now walks quaint avenue 
to teach children art of talking to birds 
who give us wings before they become stars. 

At last you understand I am blind guide 
sent by Death disguised as tornado ghost 
from bleak waste land where names of the dead wait 
still as lizards on stones to lead you forth 
from ruins of your church to bright-lit hall 
where children explain the secrets of science. 

So we gather on island in vast sea 
to eat pineapples of forgotten myths 
and thus transform into gods without wings 
to plant seeds of fruit trees from paradise 
we saved when planes bombed Heaven into faith 
and restore Garden of Eden on Earth. 

Infinite Ladder Of Truth

Infinite Ladder Of Truth
© Surazeus
2019 03 15

When John falls out of the window of peace 
he balloons into blinking eye of truth 
in shooting star that blazes bright with love 
across the universe of singing stars 
so we dance laughing to the twanging tune 
of his guitar that vibrates cosmic faith. 

Leaping backward into the Tree of Life, 
long-bearded prophet from wild Avalon 
rides steel-factory unicorn in the sky 
where Lucy dances with the diamond eye 
since she knows what it is like to be dead 
each time she springs out of his divine head. 

Now I feel like I have never been born 
so I follow the wide highway to hell 
where I dance in Strawberry Fields forever 
tripping over the secret pot of gold 
where my Leprechaun father twists rainbows 
into car engines that spiral far out. 

I climb the infinite ladder of truth 
and look through magnifying glass of my brain 
to see the word Yes in each pulsing atom 
that flashes in the clear eye of the sun 
so I buy roses from the star-eyed nurse 
who sings weird prophecies on Penny Lane. 

I follow long-haired prophet of world peace 
through endless labyrinth of huge silver screens 
beyond the crumbling walls of paradise 
to dance alone in waste land of Utah, 
chanting prophecies of the wise Glow Cloud 
where all my ancestors haunt my mute dreams. 

I take mask of the prophet off my face 
and walk alone in drizzling midnight rain 
past thousands of houses where inner glow 
of televisions shimmer in blank eyes 
so I can talk with ravens in dark woods 
who lead me beyond our civilized maze. 

The grandson of the prophet with no eyes 
sings complicated spells of psychic truth 
while hidden in dark basement of the soul 
to map the way home to paradise 
where Tree of Life fell rotten long ago 
though he keeps its last seed sealed in his brain. 

With each tornado born from ghost of truth 
my ancestor retreats into vast sky 
till mortal man becomes luminous cloud 
of divine wisdom that glows in my brain 
and haunts me while it guides me through the maze 
where skulls of gods swallow lost prophecies. 

I invent the past out of future dreams 
that fly fast at me on demonic wings 
of energetic passion for rebirth 
so I plant seeds of ten thousand fruit trees 
in the waste land where prophets discuss dreams 
and water their roots with my tears of hope. 

On each new anniversary of my death 
I hang out on the beach of singing skulls 
to chat with my once and future assassin 
complex concepts of fake philosophy 
that drips blood from my eyes in moonlight glow 
which I mold into this mask I wear now. 

I join his revolution number nine 
to dance on rainbows of nuclear missiles, 
then sail crystal boat on river of diamonds 
where laughing demons steal my dreamless eyes 
so I enter Grail Castle to explain 
secret of rebirth to the virgin queen. 

When John leaps from the coffin of world war 
he plays lyre of Mercury by the pond 
where Narcissus and Echo fall in love 
then slithers serpent-swift in tree of apples 
to offer ancient wisdom of the stars 
so I carve poems in Runes on skull of God. 

Through Maze Of Myths

Through Maze Of Myths
© Surazeus
2019 03 15

On the busy street in the sprawling city, 
where strange people are walking everywhere, 
I stop by the tree outside the book store 
and watch the urgent motion of desire. 

I wonder where they are going today, 
these random strangers with interesting faces 
whose names float invisible in the air, 
concealing thoughts that flash throughout their eyes. 

Haunted by Glow Cloud of infinite truth, 
I listen for thoughts they will never share 
as they vanish somewhere down signless streets 
so I will never see their face again. 

Even those people in my family, 
my children I have known since they were born 
many years ago, are strangers to me 
since I only guess what visions they dream. 

I turn around and gaze back down the road 
where my ancestors traveled to this moment 
for thousands of years around our vast globe, 
and feel their hungry hope urge me forth more. 

They traveled in wagons to the wild west 
more than one hundred years ago to find 
paradise far from nations rife with conflict 
and built homes in the rugged wilderness. 

So all those changes in society 
when nations of Europe fought two world wars 
my ancestors but heard of in the news, 
while preserving their medieval world views. 

I still see structure of society 
built on hierarchy of wisdom and strength, 
peasants working for nobles ruled by kings 
who manage food production from stone castles. 

This system of democracy we built 
to vote for presidents who rule like kings 
during four years to manage state affairs 
encouraged revolutions against kings. 

Common people working in factories 
united to overthrow royal kingdoms 
and established states on equality 
of every person to pursue their dreams. 

I learned to compose maps that represent 
landscape of the world where people build cities 
to process food so everyone can eat 
and thus work to earn fair wage for my labor. 

My eyes survey the structure of vast cities 
and watch how groups of people interact, 
then I strum guitar and sing of the hero 
who navigates their way through maze of myths. 

Beyond The Pleasure Principle

Beyond The Pleasure Principle
© Surazeus
2019 03 15

Live extrication of the monstrous heart 
that fuels aggressive tactics of my mind 
reveals agenda of fierce hunger force 
through aching compassion of blind desire. 

I drink coffee at the crowded cafe 
and plot revolution for more just laws, 
then watch historical dramas to see 
how people fought fascists for liberty. 

This fatal situation blaming light 
for glowing passion of conscious insight 
resolves itself through calculated risk 
because I faithfully perform my task. 

I must say what I think without regard 
so everyone knows delusions I make 
from broken wings of the red albatross 
which now haunts the arrogant mafia boss. 

I stop before the blank numberless door 
to every house ever built in the world 
and give new mask to father of the clan 
so he can understand the pain they feel. 

Another angry man with laughing gun 
kills people whose religious creed he fears 
will eradicate faith of his own truth 
which vanishes as illusion at dawn. 

I want to teach people the natural truth 
about life, not with bullets but with words, 
so everyone sees the same universe 
based on facts and not ideology. 

My heart transforms into demonic ghost 
that haunts my life trail as Glow Cloud of God 
who guides my way with moral code of scripture 
which I compose from my prophetic visions. 

We know why he wants to play the world king 
so we must oppose his chess game of power 
to equalize all people of the world 
though we copulate and kill to survive. 

I sit at the picnic table alone 
and talk to birds about our politics 
to design solutions that will rebuild 
conceptual model for society. 

So every person knows the sacred name 
our mother dreamed the hour before our birth 
we dance around the tree on river shore 
where first father fought the serpent of lies. 

Beyond the pleasure principle we play 
serious games of life and death with our thoughts 
while we stand silent, waiting for the bus 
to sit all day in the room without eyes. 

We Become Each Other Now

We Become Each Other Now
© Surazeus
2019 03 14

Whirled snow flakes invent new name for my hand 
that touches infinite gloom. Every time 
the vacuum cleaner cries out to the light 
three birds take my eyes to the naked cave 
where the oldest woman in the world paints 
keys that lock broken hearts. Nowhere else time 
spools threads from tangled brain. We think he knows 
how cows design milk from rainbows of faith. 

The cat with eight eyes in glass box of dreams 
rules the real world that does not yet exist 
outside my words. When I wake before dawn 
I realize my eyes are open wide hole 
big as the Grand Canyon. I step from van 
and run across desert hill where quick snakes 
explain algorithm of heat. The secret 
of being awake I give to the last bird. 

Vast eye of the glowing ruby collides 
with passionate hope to resolve slipstream 
of infinite truth. I speak formulas 
of quick contraction on chessboard of power 
however long it takes to film the truth. 
All the sleek planes at every airport 
in the world are asleep in mask of ice. 
I am the emperor of this broken mirror. 

Where is my flower-eyed harbinger of love 
who wants to help kill priests stealing quick souls 
of children? Looking down in fragile vase 
of glass skulls, she watches birds without wings 
flock to ancient tree of rotten fruit. Death 
calls me on the telephone. Laughing ghost 
of transparent faith glues my skeleton 
back together from numbers without light. 

I paint lattice that reveals inner life 
I store in attic where ghosts twist contempt 
to create tornadoes. I design names 
for each tornado born from spiral eyes. 
Black phantom leaps from walls of ruined church 
to eat light in nuclear reactor dome 
though we kiss. I stand here on this one spot 
of lightning sparks in all our universe. 

The emptiness of truth that is my ghost 
visits my mother and father in dreams 
they never remember. I paint on wall 
of every house I lived in fifty years 
faces of dictators who murdered millions 
of children we are not. Never the meek 
inherit the Earth. Hungry angels howl 
idea of apples through my wandering cloud. 

I am the chosen guide you once called for 
before you crushed the telephone with rocks 
of salvation. I look at bright-lit homes 
filled with lives of invisible non-persons 
who equate night with silence of lost words. 
All I follow is my own strange desire 
to know why. Stark edge of infinity 
beckons me to drink darkness of true love. 

From broken dreams of lost pathetic souls 
I assemble puzzle of inner life 
that reveals desires to rule the fake world 
of fragile hopes. This door might be the one 
that leads me to paradise I invent 
from your myths. I found them in dusty books, 
the masks you dropped on the highway to hell 
although they resemble your loyal friends. 

Strict anguish of contempt scratched on car door 
conceals secret formula for success 
we buy at the discount store. I drive far 
beyond broken walls of your paradise 
because I want to live in my own heaven 
though the gate is locked. I stop at red lights 
and think about the mask I wear today 
which mirrors obsessions you never speak. 

Memories of those times we sat in the park 
talking about meaning of nothing much 
keep popping up before my staring eyes. 
All road signs point to Glow Cloud in blank skies 
where emptiness of self is all I know. 
True happiness, packaged in factories 
by religious zombies, so long for sale, 
bleeds from my eyes when indifferent rain sings. 

The bullet of hate knocks his head backward 
and splatters fragments of his pulsing brains 
on our blank faces for a thousand years 
so we laugh. I peel faces of my parents 
from my fractured skull to reveal mute demon 
whose emptiness blooms from dinosaur eggs 
to become this persona I express 
when I play chess with Death on windy beach. 

She looks through glasses at my twisted heart 
to calculate love that bleeds from my mouth. 
I smear dreams of compassion on blank page 
of every book that no one ever reads 
in every dark library in the world 
where you wait. I always see your true face 
in the mirror where you have never looked 
for your soul. We become each other now. 

Red Octagon Sign

Red Octagon Sign
© Surazeus
2019 03 14

She stops before the red octagon sign 
where four letters in white reveal strange truth, 
shaping features she perceives in the world 
that look like curved river, tall tree, round sun, 
and human face, but wonders what it means, 
four pictures that map the way to the garden 
where she tends fruit trees by the winding river 
while the sun shines warm, giving life to all. 

Walking along cracked road into vast city 
where no one has lived for a hundred years, 
she gazes astonished at rusting cars, 
houses, apartments, office buildings, stores, 
churches, factories, shopping malls, and banks, 
and wonders about the people who built 
enormous structures from bright metal beams, 
then sits alone on river shore and weeps. 

Before she died last month among fruit trees, 
while we were sitting in glowing moonlight, 
my grandmother told me how she was born 
when this bright city was busy with life, 
filled with magical machines that allowed 
people far away to communicate, 
because wizards they called scientists found 
secrets of atoms that compose all bodies. 

In one hundred years they transformed the world 
from farmers with horses in wooden homes 
to computer operators with cars 
in sprawling cities built from steel and glass, 
and everyone held tablets in their hands 
that radiated beams of light through the air, 
who talked to each other across the land 
as they flew metal birds around the world. 

Instead of bringing peace and harmony 
between every nation around the world, 
these magic tablets they could use to talk 
caused fierce conflict between opposing groups, 
so people in gangs fought to control truth, 
competing to narrate how all things work, 
but they destroyed each other in great war, 
killing everyone over right to live. 

Walking into large store filled with cobwebs, 
she holds small eye phone gleaming in her hand 
where she sees her face reflected in glass, 
so she takes it back to garden of trees 
far outside town on the curved river shore, 
and places it on shrine inside her cave 
where it gleams dark and silent in moonlight 
while she brews juice and sings forgotten tunes. 

Horror Of Beautiful Love

Horror Of Beautiful Love
© Surazeus
2019 03 14

Most days when I wake before dawn I feel 
like Colonel Kurtz in Apocalypse Now, 
head stuffed with straw and bones fragile as glass 
as I hunch bleary-eyed in silent ruins 
of lofty cathedral where nought but wind 
whispers words of horror from mute abyss 
secrets of prophets and philosophers 
who search for God and find only themselves. 

I walk along old trail of broken hearts 
where skull of every person who has lived, 
since we first crawled up rivers from weird sea, 
watches me explore labyrinth of lost myths 
to create new character I will play 
on public stage of power littered with bones 
of kings who seek for immortality 
but vanish as their children play new roles. 

Whoever manages to steal from death 
Mask of God to play high authority, 
enforcing moral laws of right and wrong, 
loses their sense of self in role they play 
through vain bid to gain glory of great fame, 
so they vanish from history without name 
that defines private personality 
when they search for themselves and find fake God. 

I sail up river into Heart of Darkness 
on sacred quest to find the Holy Grail, 
and then assassinate my alter ego 
who crowns himself emperor of the Earth, 
but contemplate mystery of consciousness 
while I gaze at my face in flowing water 
as Narcissus tries to find his love Echo 
where she dances singing in gold starlight. 

This fractured body of my buzzing soul, 
once assembled by Doctor Frankenstein, 
I navigate through labyrinth of locked doors 
past pedestals where minotaurs stand guard 
with double-headed labyr axe of justice 
to climb ziggurat of star-singing goddess 
who brews mushroom wine that will blow my mind 
when I reincarnate from her vast womb. 

I climb thirteen steps of high pyramid 
and find giant diamond-eyed telescope 
where I gaze down in crowded maze of hope, 
watching people who make things with their hands 
they sell in markeplace of new ideas 
to earn fortune in the American Dream 
while I manipulate their puppet souls 
with promise of eternal life in Heaven. 

I rule this fertile globe of rock and water 
that spirals randomly through empty void 
by measuring landscape of its clashing force, 
then mapping contours of our psychic dreams 
to comprehend secret of flowing streams 
and compile encyclopedia of knowledge 
I gathered by encircling with my feet 
crystal structure forming eyeball of Earth. 

Rubbing my head with crafty hands of wit, 
I contemplate emptiness of frail forms 
because all objects of material shape 
are teeming clumps of energetic atoms 
that transform through states of chemical force, 
consuming each other in constant war 
to direct life through self-control of law, 
awed by the horror of beautiful love. 

People With No Mouths

People With No Mouths
© Surazeus
2019 03 13

In the village of people with no mouths 
they seek to express strange amorphous thoughts 
about contingency of second birth 
by exchanging seeds of flowers, herbs, and fruits. 

The little girl walking among bluebells, 
that sprout from blank eyes of their dead ancestors, 
discovers red mushroom that blooms from heart 
of her mother who sleeps from drinking rain. 

Plucking the red mushroom, soft as the moon 
glowing on clear pond among apple trees, 
the little girl consumes it with her eyes 
so the mushroom blooms from her ruby heart. 

When the girl sits in village ring of faces, 
the mushroom blooms from soft skin of her face 
and they stare astonished with blinking eyes 
when she opens red lips of her round mouth. 

The little girl opens her mouth and sings 
melody of wind rustling leaves of trees 
in harmony with water-trickling stream 
through bird words that flash visions in their eyes. 

When the little girl with red mushroom mouth 
kisses the face of each person, a mouth 
blooms from mute anguish of their aching heart, 
so they join strange song of water and wind. 

Leading the villagers, both young and old, 
in circles around landscape of their eyes, 
the little girl with red mushroom mouth signs 
each existing object with bird-tweet name. 

Holding hands in circle on round hill top, 
the villagers with red mushroom mouths sing 
with the voice of wind and sunlight on water 
as they transform into tall apple trees. 

So I Feel Every Bullet

So I Feel Every Bullet
© Surazeus
2019 03 13

The bones of people killed by men with guns 
rise up from mud of Earth and walk at dawn, 
crowding city streets with clack of their pain 
to wash our tears away in flashing rain 
so I feel every bullet blow my mind. 

The little girl lost in vast maze of fear 
appears before me with flowers in her hands 
then wild sea wind blows melodies of hope 
to whistle through frail cracked skull of her soul 
so I feel every bullet blow my mind. 

She reaches bone-sharp fingers in my breast 
to clutch tight wild beating wings of my heart 
and twists it from tendons of my rib cage 
then sets my soul free to soar among clouds 
so I feel every bullet blow my mind. 

I see them all around me on sea shore, 
bones of their sorrow glowing in moonlight, 
then I become breath of souls killed by guns 
who haunt my life in every open door 
so I feel every bullet blow my mind. 

Way Of Wholesome Masculinity

Way Of Wholesome Masculinity
© Surazeus
2019 03 13

My strong sense of responsibility 
for the life of children I generate 
blocks quick thrust of my desire to enjoy 
pleasure of passion for this mindless now, 
because I want to raise my children well 
by teaching them to navigate strange maze 
of reality, and guide them on way 
of truth to paradise of fruitful trees 
where strict routine of actions nurtures life, 
ensuring they survive after I die. 

If I pursue quick pleasure of desire 
then leave the woman pregnant with my child 
to survive this reckless world, if she can, 
my genes may dissipate from dream of time 
because I abandoned them to blind fate, 
but if I commit passion of my love 
to care for the woman I impregnate, 
sheltering her from hostile environment, 
and feeding her good food I hunt and gather, 
I can preserve lives of children we make. 

I think this way is natural for my mind, 
to plan long-term beyond moment of pleasure 
for preserving lives of my wife and children, 
because most of my male ancestors paused 
at moment of connection through hot lust 
to remember how men blinded by passion 
failed to preserve lives of their fragile children, 
and so decided to commit their hearts 
to guarding life of the woman they loved 
so their children grew up healthy and wise. 

Thus men who focused on moment of pleasure, 
then abandoned pregnant women to fate, 
failed to teach their children how to live well 
so their way of thinking vanished at death 
of each generation lost in the world, 
while men who focused on raising their children 
by caring for their wives with generous love 
taught their children how to investigate 
nature of this Earth to survive and thrive, 
so their offspring now populate the world. 

Though urge of chemical biology 
drives me with fierce desire to procreate 
with every woman I meet in the world, 
I exercise self-control of respect 
to honor first the wish of every woman 
to control her own reproductive rights 
and commit eager passion of my heart 
to care for one woman who shares my love 
when we both express our mutual affection 
to work together raising children well. 

Instead of impregnating every woman 
I can catch against desire of her heart, 
who would sacrifice or abort the child, 
unwanted because forced against her will, 
I respect private will of every woman 
to choose the man with whom she wants to breed, 
because she generates flesh from her flesh, 
thus I protect the right of every woman 
to live the way she chooses, and to bear 
the child she wants to raise with loving care. 

No woman should be forced against her will 
to bear the child of fierce aggressive man 
who cares nothing for her private desires, 
so every man should care for every woman 
to respect and honor her right to choose 
whether or not to bear child from her heart, 
then every child well born to loving parents, 
who work together to teach them good way 
to savor beautiful pleasures of life, 
will transcend flesh with divine consciousness. 

When force of genetic biology 
urges me to procreate in new children, 
so eternal spirit of foaming genes 
reincarnates again in flesh of bodies, 
I control urgent energy of lust 
to woo the woman who attracts my heart, 
so we together plan our matrimony 
with mutual agreement to replicate 
children of our love through expressed free will, 
and thus we build our family on respect. 

Through way of wholesome masculinity, 
based on respect for free will of each woman 
to exercise her reproductive rights 
through clear-eyed choice to share passion with me, 
I navigate confusing maze of life 
through hostile landscape of indifferent nature 
by committing faithful love of my heart 
to live hand in hand with my trusting mate 
so we raise children to love the White Whole 
who create with joy after we both die. 

Seething Fertility Of Nature

Seething Fertility Of Nature
© Surazeus
2019 03 12

Seething fertility of nature flows 
through chemical process of flashing blood 
that nurtures consciousness of dreaming brains 
in constant regeneration of form 
that blossoms as tendrils of bones and nerves 
from spiraling coil of genetic soul. 

The pregnant woman generates new body 
of sensitive flesh to conjugate soul 
of conscious awareness in flashing brain 
which incarnates flighty imagination 
bound within limits of chemical shape 
so immortal God wakes in mortal Human. 

While Mother Earth molds our bodies from slime 
with sloshing hunger from swift-swirling sea, 
and throws us panting for spiritual breath 
on cold indifferent shore in beams of light, 
we rise up tall on two feet and stretch arms 
of hope to fly high, urged by angst of love. 

Crouching low on river shore among trees, 
I scope landscape to spot fierce predators, 
then, gripping stick and stone, I run on wind 
to attack the wolf that ate half my clan, 
hurling stone to stun its head as I thrust 
sharp spear into its heart, and howl its voice. 

Draping wolf fur cape over my tense shoulders, 
and, gripping diamond that glitters sunlight, 
I raise metal wand I dug from foul muck, 
and lead my clan on winding river shore 
to curve of placid pool teeming with fish, 
so boys holding spears form ring to stand guard. 

Sitting on stone perched on high rounded hill, 
I hold wand and diamond under tall tree 
that hangs heavy with apples full of juice, 
while worshippers kneel and offer me gifts 
in return for apples from Tree of Life, 
then drink juice and dance under sparkling stars. 

Twelve girls pregnant with my children form ring 
around throne with monolith where I sit 
and judge disputes people bring to my court, 
then five men leap from large crowd and hurl spears 
to kill me and my brides, but I leap swift 
to break sharp spears and crush their fragile heads. 

Erecting ring of stones around fruit tree, 
I build paradise around garden haven 
surrounding tall tower of stone on high hill 
where I keep watch over large market town 
that thrives around sturdy walls of my castle, 
invisible god whose eye sees all things. 

I carve commandments on tablets of stone, 
establishing rules of social behavior 
which I enforce with harshest punishment 
to build strong walls of paradise that stands 
firm against hostile forces of cruel nature 
to protect society against death. 

My sons fight civil war for thought control 
over who will reign as god when I die, 
but they kill each other with bloody swords, 
and thousands of my people die from plagues, 
so I sit alone, last person alive, 
hungry and cold in prison tower of power. 

Descending tower of power in castle grounds, 
where gardens of fruit trees are tangled wild, 
I walk past skeletons rotting in mud, 
to stand on river shore in gleaming dawn 
where my ancestors founded paradise, 
and watch fish swimming in still-flowing stream. 

I spear large fish and roast it on hot flames, 
then sing heart-aching melody of love, 
alone in paradise reclaimed by nature, 
and listen to soft voices of dead souls 
who crowd around me in clear moon-lit night 
to sing their names forgotten in the wind. 

Flowing Wave Of Still Infinity

Flowing Wave Of Still Infinity
© Surazeus
2019 03 12

The most intense moments of deep awareness, 
when we become conscious of divine glow 
that shimmers from neurons of our dreaming brains, 
we spend alone among sun-silent trees, 
attempting to compose expressive song 
through flowing wave of still infinity. 

What spirit-flashing wind of aching hope 
swells conscious sense of self beyond the shell 
of fragile bone encasing sponge-wet brain 
so we become moist body of the world 
and feel all living things in tense compassion 
through flowing wave of still infinity? 

How can we capture in tumble of words, 
we utter soft from hollow breast of shock, 
where beating heart of lust to know the truth 
fuels frantic urge, this weird transcendent vision 
of whole complexity that awes our minds 
through flowing wave of still infinity? 

So strange this shimmering vision of the world 
that glows complete before our gazing eyes, 
visible only to our stark attention, 
simple in its vast comprehensive image, 
yet too complex to describe in linear speech 
through flowing wave of still infinity. 

Whenever I enter this conscious trance 
of clear perception, where I see as one 
countless processes weaving tapestry 
of vast reality, I float on waves 
of wordless ecstasy to become all 
through flowing wave of still infinity. 

Though bound inside limited shell of flesh, 
that my mother generated from slime, 
my conscious glow of divine comprehension 
expands large as the White Whole of all light 
so tangled genes of my name spiral wide 
through flowing wave of still infinity. 

I lose sense of my particular self 
as strange special details of my being vanish 
in swirling mind that spirals zillion suns 
so every atom of my body pulses 
quick in rancid harmony with all minds 
through flowing wave of still infinity. 

Awake through mirroring conceptual flash 
of atheist spiritualism, I laugh 
with surging waves of joy that spark my heart 
to gallop wild on timeless plain of faith, 
exploring our world dreamed by the White Whole 
through flowing wave of still infinity. 

Garden Of The Broken Gate

Garden Of The Broken Gate
© Surazeus
2019 03 12

This war that rages all around my head 
is nothing more than illusions of words 
billowing as smoke from mouths of the dead 
who follow each other in howling herds. 

We shoot each other with sarcastic jibes 
to prove that we are right and they are wrong 
then go about our boring daily lives 
to eat despair and suppress the weird song. 

We encode dreams to calculate fate 
so we can navigate vast maze of lies 
while dodging volleys of aggressive hate 
that splatter ideologies through eyes. 

This civil war we fight to define truth 
destroys delusions of our noble state 
so every soul becomes messiah sleuth 
as we contest right to investigate. 

We crucify god on telephone pole 
who reigned as our tyrant in the White House 
so we interview who will play king role 
to overthrow messiah of blind clowns. 

The triumvirate of three emperors 
who rule world empire of national pride 
vanishes in clear light of honest mirrors 
where the new queen of the world will abide. 

When Mother Amen on first pyramid 
reveals creation of our universe 
how we evolved from the first phoronid 
she heals our wounded hearts as psychic nurse. 

When illusion of empire falls apart 
we dance in ring of stones to celebrate 
then design and create new worldview chart 
that leads from garden of the broken gate.