White House That Floats

White House That Floats
© Surazeus
2024 06 03

Gold house that floats above the hill of skulls 
gives doors to horses prancing by the lake 
so they write letters with typewriter tools 
that prove their new messiah king is fake 
because nothing he touches turns to gold 
yet they will not admit they have been fooled. 

Red house that floats beyond horizon hills 
steals windows from glass temple of the clown 
who mails alarming utility bills 
to scam old people who never left town 
since each morning all the streets have new names 
that honor gods who win Olympic games. 

Blue house that floats around the merry park 
drops secret keys that unlock program code 
composed by daughter of the morning lark 
who walks after morning rain down the road 
on quest to find the Holy Grail she lost 
till she returns home, married to his ghost. 

Green house that floats beside the sailing ship 
grabs screaming demons from the sea of fire, 
transforming them to humans with each clip 
that severs wings for angels in the choir 
who fly to Heaven castled in the sand 
where the blind raven maps the Holy Land. 

Pink house that floats below cathedral bells 
wears mask of Jupiter to dance on stage 
in theater where snake queens crawl from wells 
who write stories with blood on the dream page 
as if we hear the television sprite 
who preaches truth he gained with second sight. 

Mauve house that floats within soft desert dunes 
hurls desperate bombs at homes where children play 
because their faces are marked with blood runes 
since they will become terrorists someday 
so Jehovah kills them with thunder strikes 
before they are old enough to ride bikes. 

Black house that floats along the mountain stream 
sucks light of the White Whole into my brain 
though I see how the world ends in my dream, 
so I go out and stand in evening rain 
to feel strange beauty of this spinning globe 
embodied by Ishtar in jeweled robe. 

White house that floats throughout vast maze of myths 
beams radiant spirits from God Eye of my mind 
so I carve magic spells on monoliths 
describing how our Cosmos is designed 
by atoms swerving in dark void of faith 
to randomly generate my soul wraith. 

This I That Is Not

This I That Is Not
© Surazeus
2024 06 03

Through authenticity of the blank word 
this I that is not wears no perfect mask 
to hide strange content of the naked soul 
that writhes in mud as limbless serpent god 
who eats the agony of thoughtless hope 
because every author in the world dies. 

To counter thoughts no one admits they think 
this I that is not mixes tales from books 
through woven tissue of miswritten signs 
by stealing phrases from forgotten myths 
ransacked from dictionary of false jokes 
that conceal feelings in passionate lies. 

To play Silenus on the global stage 
this I that is not breaks from moral laws 
contained by stone-hard walls of paradise 
that melt to butter in black flames of hell 
which opens gate of honest arrogance 
so the writing subject may disappear. 

Through discourse of the social games we play 
this I that is not questions what is real 
when words in books reveal the secret code 
by which the faceless gods of hidden wealth 
control how we perceive the world of things 
so zombies worship vampires they admire. 

Through concept of the workman pair of boots 
this I that is not studies measured thoughts 
between latent essence of the inside, 
manifest appearance of the outside, 
and signified that alienates the mind 
from signifier of subatomic light. 

To erase the individual from faith 
this I that is not works in factories 
to build charisma of the mind machine 
based on romantic values of the heart 
sold to the highest bidder at the bank 
who sells it to the transcendental clown. 

To vote for prophet of the word discourse 
this I that is not argues for demise 
of transcendental ego from the world 
who will return on glorious clouds of fame 
to resurrect the dead from tales in books 
while the savior investigates each crime. 

Through shocking revelation of true love 
this I that is not dances in the rain 
while shooting shadows with rifle of rage 
when their fake messiah is crucified 
so we drive cars across the bridge of fate 
to work in glass towers of thought control. 

We Build New Home

We Build New Home
© Surazeus
2024 06 02

I dance into strange dream of wind in trees 
that speaks with voices of the ancient ones 
whose faces in shadows appear to me 
with eyes blue-silver as the midnight moon 
that pulls me from dark silence of the sea 
so I too sing with language of her waves. 

Though I live far across the storming sea 
my spirit flies on wings of Icarus 
to the misty Carpathian Mountain range 
where I walk along rivers of my heart 
to find hearths of stone in wood feasting halls 
where my Sarmatian ancestors once lived. 

I follow footprints in the muddy shore 
to gaping cave now veiled with vines of grapes 
where bear-fur cape with feathers of the hawk 
lies draped on the table with silver grail 
while diamond-tipped oak wand leans on the wall, 
where I left them three thousand years ago. 

Holding skull of Zalmoxis in my hand, 
I hear chant of the Getae in dark woods 
as they dance wild from drinking snake-blood wine 
brewed by Sabazius with mushrooms in honey 
till Kybele appears from swirling smoke 
and sings mercurial wail of aching hope. 

After performing the bear dance all night, 
I climb winding trail among silent pines 
where ghosts of my ancestors wander still 
with voices whispering lost tales in the breeze, 
till I arrive in grove of apple trees 
where they would gather for the summer feast. 

Bathed in sunbeams from the silvery sky, 
face illuminated with light of faith, 
Scythia, wearing white gown and jeweled crown, 
turns to face me as I approach her hearth, 
so I bow to her with reverent awe 
for she is spirit of my ancient tribe. 

Though I live far away across the sea, 
distant from primal homeland of my heart 
where my ancestors lived on river shores 
fifty thousand years in valleys of fruit, 
spirits of Scythia and Sabazius 
still live in secret cavern of my heart. 

We cannot return to our primal homes, 
for we have wandered far across the Earth, 
moving ever forward life after life 
to pave road of hope with ancestral bones, 
so we build new home in land where we live, 
and we die as our children journey on. 

Energy Of Thought

Energy Of Thought
© Surazeus
2024 06 01

Energy of thought that glows in the mind 
transforms my body into river boat 
so I sail down from mountain to the sea 
where ghost-waves undulate in swirl of stars 
at timeless moment something shifts in me 
when I become the name your eyes perceive. 

Rough waves upset my equilibrium 
that wakes my soul at bottom of the sea 
with urgent mission to transcend the gloom 
while swimming up toward gold eye of the sun 
that beckons me to rise and walk the Earth 
so I confess I am the wave of light. 

Unsteady spin of Earth in starless void 
knocks me about when I walk in deep tide 
on two legs upright from my fearful crouch 
forever climbing long lush river shore 
till I stand on the highest mountain peak 
and stretch my arms to pray they become wings. 

Glare of sunlight dawning on mountain ridge 
hurts my wide eyes with sudden truth I fear 
because the distant horizon of faith 
always gleams far beyond the road I blaze 
with every step I plant on quaking Earth 
that keeps on rolling away from my force. 

Heart-aching tone of wind in bamboo pipes 
wails soft with haunting melody of hope 
as I keep walking hundred thousand years 
life after life incarnating my old soul 
when I chase the sun east to sea of birth 
then chase it west to find out where it dies. 

The road goes ever on beyond my dream 
so I follow it from door of my heart 
because to find out where the sun is born 
I leave behind each home my fathers build 
and build ten thousand more on river shores 
where bones of my mothers compose the Earth. 

To return to first home my mind creates 
I walk the world from sea to shining sea 
till I arrive in valley of fruit trees 
where my first mother sang first song of love 
that died to wake inside ache of my heart 
as light that guides me to my brave new world. 

To wake my true self from egg of my heart 
I walk away from home where I was born 
and map the waste land of terrible fear 
then climb high mountain where the Muse of truth 
teaches me how to sing dream of my mind 
till I return to energy of thought. 

Seven Warrior Maidens

Seven Warrior Maidens
© Surazeus
2024 06 01

When I hear sounds of laughter in the woods 
while walking in mist of Broceliande, 
I disguise myself with cloak of bear skin 
and, like Pentheus, hide in the oak tree 
to watch the Bacchae drink wine as they dance, 
but all I see are seven warrior maidens. 

Around large round table by stone hearth 
I see Artemis, Minerva, Athena, 
Chariclea, Camilla, Bradamante, 
and Clorinda, all dressed in long white gowns, 
wearing gold crowns, each with one different gem, 
and bearing brass scepters with diamond tips. 

Catching sight of me hidden in the oak, 
Athena leaps through the air in high arch, 
grips scruff of my bear-fur cloak, hauls me down, 
and forces me to kneel before their eyes, 
so I declare that I am no berserker, 
for I am Orpheus, then show my lyre. 

Laughing that she would rather meet this bear, 
than some man who would rape her, in the woods, 
Clorinda pulls bear-face hood off my head, 
which exposes me as the foolish bard 
who dares spy on their council in disguise, 
and pinches my cheek with sarcastic grin. 

Strumming strings of my oak lyre, I recite 
riddle to warn them that danger will come, 
when seven pards gather in apple grove 
thirty fierce wolves sent by the lion king 
will capture them to be his concubines, 
for he intends to make them bear his sons. 

With cautious attention their eyes flash bright 
as they solve meaning of my clever riddle, 
then leap into trees on fluttering capes 
as thirty warriors wearing wolf-skin robes 
invade their grove with nets to capture them, 
escaping snares on wings of liberty. 

Conducting battle with scepters of justice, 
seven warrior maidens in graceful dance 
defeat men who try to enslave their souls 
as they twirl scepters with diamond tips 
that crack their skulls, till they all run away, 
leaving those brave women free to rejoice. 

Accepting grail of wine from Chariclea, 
I explain I heard the wolf captain boast 
of his intent to capture them as slaves, 
so, since they give women power to choose, 
I came to help them keep their liberty, 
then lead them to temple of enslaved girls. 

I Feel The Nothing

I Feel The Nothing
© Surazeus
2024 05 31

I feel the nothing between everything 
shimmer with the something my mind perceives 
reflected in blank mirror of my soul 
wide as the ocean swirling in my mouth 
that molds new words no apple tree receives 
when my heart becomes the telephone ring. 

I feel the nothing inside everywhere 
explode from pages of confused snow flakes 
that vibrate concept of the perfect sound 
which swirls in galaxies of the white whole 
mimicked by stone gardens we smoothe with rakes 
despite our need to breathe cold winter air. 

I feel the nothing all around my head 
require I memorize dramatic lines 
which I recite with bold alacrity 
in Hamlet-channeling soliloquy 
while I wander with anguish among pines 
since everyone alive will soon be dead. 

I feel the nothing that surrounds the Earth 
express unspoken secrets of my heart 
with ardent angel wings of Liberty 
on which I fly to spark fertility 
since true romantic love will never hurt 
as we share tales beside the glowing hearth. 

I feel the nothing through eternity 
expand my structured sense of flowing time 
when I stand mute in theater of faith 
to represent absence as the god wraith 
who wakes inside my mind at the soft chime 
of silver bells that prove absurdity. 

I feel the nothing in the silent pause 
refract sweet harmony between each note 
that arches high as rainbows which connect 
worlds of the multiverse based on respect 
for strangers sitting with me on the boat 
on sacred quest to find the primal cause. 

I feel the nothing in each word I speak 
compose complete library of the world 
arranged on shelves of universal myth 
where angels carve runes on each monolith 
that hide prophecies of the cosmic herald 
who stands with cape on high Takoma peak. 

I feel the nothing in atomic swirls 
weave pulsing matrix of my mental state 
that slips through minute gap of emptiness 
in dance translating fear to happiness 
when I compose new play evading fate 
that binds with true love hearts of boys and girls. 

Rescue Medea From Despair

Rescue Medea From Despair
© Surazeus
2024 05 31

I ask the oak standing in my front yard 
to recite lost tale of the Argonauts 
so she generates endless lines of code 
that program how my brain perceives the world, 
then prints ancient tale of Valerius 
on pages she binds in book of my skin. 

After Jason and his buddies return 
from stealing golden fleece from Helius, 
I hear them laughing in the tavern hall 
how they abandoned Medea on lost isle 
so he can marry daughter of the king, 
which breaks cup of my heart I cast in rage. 

Sailing ship named Eunoia, Loyalty, 
swift to rescue Medea from despair, 
I find Aeaea, jagged isle of Circe, 
shrouded in smoke from high volcanic peak, 
and ride rough waves that leap and buck like bull 
of rage with sharp horns Mithras grasps to tame. 

Hurled to the rocky shore by howling wind, 
I crawl steep winding trail around high peak 
to find Medea huddling in dank cave, 
long hair tangled by hands of Zephyrus, 
and blue eyes gleaming with heart-wrenching shock 
of hope that Jason may return for her. 

When I see Zephyrus attempt to rape 
granddaughter of Helius with selfish lust, 
I wrestle him with courage of respect 
to cast him off cliff of justice with prayer 
for help from Venus to protect lost girl 
who accepts apple from my gentle hand. 

Standing tall on ledge outside the dank cave 
as sunlight glows warm on her pain-rent face, 
Medea sings heart-breaking spell of hope 
that Jason will return with gratitude 
to accept true love that burns within her heart, 
as tears stream down her cheeks from hopeless eyes. 

Holding hands of Medea as she weeps, 
I ask if she can take my love instead 
since I love her as much as she loves him, 
vowing I will always stay by her side 
and care for her needs with generous hands, 
for I offer her life instead of death. 

Deciding to evade her tragic fate, 
Medea smiles with joy of renewed hope 
when she sees true love shining in my eyes, 
so I lead her to ship of loyalty 
where she stabs my soft heart, then sails away, 
leaving me to stare at the long-dead stars. 

Genesis Day Cult

Genesis Day Cult
© Surazeus
2024 05 30

Exploring every city in the world, 
I search for the opposite of Doomsday 
because I celebrate bold joy of life 
when people work together to create 
communal garden of herbs and fruit trees 
where we feast around the bright fire at night. 

At hearth inside safe walls of paradise, 
we build with our hands to protect our lives, 
I found welcoming Genesis Day Cult 
to celebrate freedom through self-control 
where we do what we will, if we harm none, 
creating life from tragedy of hope. 

Though Nature is indifferent to our lives, 
expressing unstoppable force of change 
through relentless flow of its ocean waves 
that wipes out whole cities without concern, 
I love weird beauty of its timeless glow 
because I am conscious flare of its light. 

You are pure beauty of the universe 
who smiles at me with gleam of guileless love 
through cosmic mirror of your dreaming eyes 
for you are always sitting at my side, 
laughing or weeping with passion of life, 
and singing in harmony with our faith. 

I know our planet spinning in the void, 
woven by beams of atoms from the sun 
which transforms our bodies from chemicals, 
will disintegrate to dust at doomsday, 
yet with reverent hymns of amazing grace 
I lead rites in my Genesis Day Cult. 

Alone in sacred grove on Helicon, 
I worship ancient spirit of the Earth 
embodied by the woman I adore 
whose strong hands create paradise from chaos 
through inventive vision of loving eyes 
when she builds Heaven in the wilderness. 

When people become terrified of change 
through constant readjustment of ideas 
that form conceptual structure of world view 
which guides how we interact with each other, 
they form their doomsday cult out of despair 
with desperate hope to conserve the lost past. 

Yet when we analyze nature of things 
as structures composed of atomic beams, 
we choose to create rather than destroy 
because we live in mental harmony 
with ever-swirling music of world spheres 
based on code of our Genesis Day Cult. 

We Are Flares Of Chemicals

We Are Flares Of Chemicals
© Surazeus
2024 05 30

The olive sparrow at my window pane 
asks me to follow her to the lake shore, 
so I float outside window of my heart 
on fluttering billows of my white silk robe 
to mold swirling snowflakes in nameless soul 
who wakes from dream in the pink lotus bloom. 

The hungry jester in electric gloom 
assigns me to play new messiah role 
with duty to manage spin of our globe 
according to plot of fate on the chart 
which I navigate from tellurian core 
while angels and devils dance in the rain. 

Unfolding backward timeless page of fate 
to trace the boundless measure of this life, 
we offer gifts to goddess on the cloud 
who gives each pilgrim peach of honest faith, 
so she shows mercy at the judgment hour 
to those who repent of hurtful mistakes. 

Though humble demons born from rancid lakes 
construct on hill of bees the lonely tower, 
the blind princess requests help from the wraith 
who programs puzzle of the disavowed 
so we can overcome this global strife 
between prophets of gods confused by hate. 

Despite weird power of the lyric mode 
to capture flash of emotional gears 
which operate engine of the dreaming brain, 
you wonder if your personality 
could be as real as characters in books 
while you bathe with Narcissus in his pool. 

We run together down hall of our school 
to speak Wind Language of the moon-eyed rooks, 
adjusting thoughts through rationality, 
who flutter black wings in the mirrored rain 
that help children face their conceptual fears 
in tune with vibe of our computer code. 

When deer wander in our front yard at dawn, 
nibbling on soft leaves of young apple trees, 
we wonder if life has meaning at all, 
since we are flares of chemicals in souls 
that glow our brief hour of eternity, 
so we choose to express love till we die. 

Your face glows bright in mirror of my eye 
that reflects state of our modernity 
recorded as spells in the dead sea scrolls 
which hang now displayed on museum wall, 
occasionally rustled by the sea breeze 
because no god can use me as their pawn. 

Eyeless Light Of Liberty

Eyeless Light Of Liberty
© Surazeus
2024 05 29

Not in the fairy palace of my faith, 
nor in the grand cathedral of despair, 
nor in the grim national monument 
of patriotic pride, is ever found 
courageous spirit of the noble hero 
who redesigns the concept of our state. 

Weirdness of mystery in the twilight zone 
guides me with eyeless light of liberty 
through trackless forest of lost fairy land 
that weaves half-seen tunnels of fearless faith 
hidden in suburban maze of our homes 
where I wander far on my secret quest. 

Twirling gold rope of thought analysis, 
I snare wild Pegasus with reins of hope 
and ride his swift progression over clouds 
to search for stately pleasure dome of pride, 
built by the sacred river of my heart, 
that gleams within the modern city maze. 

Weaving thread of words in objective tales 
that chronicle the noble deeds of men 
who fight demonic energies of lust 
to maintain strict progression of desire 
through creative routines of self-control, 
I sing electric vision of the brain. 

Performing role commissioned by my heart 
within galactic sphere of honesty, 
I defeat the monster, crown myself king, 
repel rebellious coup of tyranny, 
then abdicate when wounded by my pride 
to wander waste land of false liberty. 

While grasping broken sword of Damocles 
on jagged rock beside the roaring sea, 
I bear skull of Orpheus in my hand 
and listen close to hear weird prophecies 
predicting rise of the American Empire 
that I build with bloody hands of the law. 

Self-guiding hero of my epic tale, 
written by the eyeless philosopher 
on autumn leaves that float away unread 
down the River Styx crowded with new boats, 
I arrive on Mount Zion with The Book 
as cosmic herald for the war-torn world. 

Standing inside frame of the Scary Door, 
with Scepter of Zambor in my left hand, 
I descend from whirling starship on wings 
to float before eyes of humanity 
and sing grand vision of our new world order 
with peace in United Nations of Earth. 

Television-Eyed Toad

Television-Eyed Toad
© Surazeus
2024 05 28

Though my face recedes in mirror of time 
when fantasy of my pride vanishes 
in glittered haze of puzzling memories, 
I hold fruit of grief in half-open hand, 
hesitant to taste sorrow still unearned, 
while Death carves on stone of fate my real name. 

Since vanity is closer than I think 
on broad cherubic wings of anguished hope 
that hover low with thunder sea-clouds keep, 
I dart my quick angelic eyes to catch 
degree of curses woven by the witch 
to cultivate higher celestial rank. 

Eager to analyze future events, 
still carefree in my restless dance past fate 
while chasing rainbows down the crowded street, 
I carry stones in pocket of my mind, 
straight as ruler that measures psychic bond 
displayed on stage by journalists and saints. 

At intersection of solace and fear, 
contrived by judgment of the holy fool 
who types endless stories that show no goal, 
I look beyond appearance of my bride 
to see White Snake of her soul she cannot hide, 
because I love beauty of her secret star. 

Every person I see on city street 
glows full of life refracted from the Earth 
in decadent beams of celestial worth 
reformulated through words we invent, 
since voice of singing trees is somehow faint, 
so I decide to follow my own route. 

Taking my family to the restaurant, 
I watch their faces glow with secret joy 
through revelation of the Eden Key 
as they eat fish and chips with soda cream, 
so I decide this sweet life is no dream 
composed by Death without mythic blueprint. 

Foolish enough to find faith in the wind 
that shatters homes in cities and farm towns, 
I record chronicle in mystic runes 
describing rise and fall of tyrant kings 
who storm state castles with esurient gangs 
and kill to defend their claim to this land. 

Whatever legend Demodocus tells, 
relating noble deeds of the humble shepherd 
who slings stones at face of the giant lizard, 
will always awe the wild theater crowd 
hypnotized by television-eyed toad, 
so I must answer when my Goddess calls. 

Atoms Weaving Us

Atoms Weaving Us
© Surazeus
2024 05 27

Though alienated from Nature of Earth 
I leave rough cities of humanity 
to meditate on long route of my life 
connecting scenes of my experience 
so I attain resolution through truth 
when I become one with the mountainscape. 

Reclining with pensive woman I love 
in quiet bower draped with flowered vines, 
I feel soft murmur of the ancient sea 
swirl clouds across serenely brilliant stars 
so in sweet silence of cool evening glow 
I sense presence of some sad soul long dead. 

Even though my shadow abandons me 
in the darkest times of life we endure, 
I always feel breath of the evening breeze 
flow through my soul with floating witchery 
of eerie melodies from Fairy Land 
that spark strange passion in my silent heart. 

No haunting tune except my own soft voice 
among honey-dripping flowers of faith 
radiates from center of my universe 
with joyful rhythm of my secret thoughts 
that rings almost unheard across lush vales 
where houses glow among tall pensive oaks. 

Each object moving in this patterned world 
reflects immortal soul of Earth that hums 
with mindless passion to exist in form 
which gleams with sunbeams in my mirror eye 
to flash new neural visions in my brain 
so I perceive true nature of its globe. 

As conscious subject, signified with name 
expressed with love by mother of my soul, 
I feel hot urge of passion animate 
progressive journey on landscape of hope 
that moves my body with intensive calm 
as intellect that weaves my dreaming brain. 

Though no conscious supernatural god knows 
secrets of our hearts, except our own minds, 
that soul which seems to glow in every form 
is my own consciousness reflected back, 
yet all objects I perceive are composed 
of atoms weaving us in web of thought. 

Now that I comprehend with star-bright eye 
incomprehensible nature of life, 
constructed of atoms through chemicals 
that interact with numbered rings of time, 
I treasure woman nestled in my arms, 
for she embodies divine soul of light. 

Memorial Song Of You

Memorial Song Of You
© Surazeus
2024 05 27

Stuck within core of the merry-go-round, 
as giant eye dreaming inside black hole 
at center of our spinning galaxy, 
I dream-play entire process of your life 
as conscious entity who names itself 
immortal I that thinks it must be God. 

You are young stewardess on the airplane, 
flying from Doha to Dublin in clouds, 
who is thrown in the air and hits her head 
when Jupiter grabs its thin fuselage 
and shakes it with violent turbulence 
like the diner peppering his steak with spice. 

You are the housewife in the trailer home, 
cooking soup for your daughter and her son, 
who is thrown around inside metal box 
when Thunaraz hurls it across the road 
while riding tornado across three states 
till he falls asleep on the mountain peak. 

You are the little girl in tattered tent, 
playing games in a Gaza refugee camp, 
who is thrown across block of blasted homes 
when Jehovah hurls lightning bolt of bombs 
which shatters world view that your fathers built 
as castles of sand in the Holy Land. 

You are the nursing student at the college, 
jogging around the lake where Grendel sleeps, 
who is thrown to the ground by grasping hands 
when Tereus chases you in silent woods, 
then cuts out your tongue to censor your voice 
that calls for justice to the empty sky. 

You are the woman in the gang-run town, 
running for mayor to defeat the Wolf, 
who is thrown from the stage of public speech 
when Xolotl shoots bullets in your heart 
because you campaign to lock him in jail, 
assassinated by devil of cocaine. 

You are the mother pregnant with third child, 
driving your children to escape abuse, 
who is thrown off the cliff into the sea 
when Perkunas rams truck into your car 
because you want to live free from his greed, 
so you become wild mermaid of my heart. 

Though I imagine the pain you must feel, 
I hope my sympathy does not replace 
your own real suffering in agony 
with imagined suffering of my love, 
instead I want to honor unjust death 
with memorial song that remembers you. 

Wanderer Of The Woods

Wanderer Of The Woods
© Surazeus
2024 05 26

When weight of ages descends on my heart 
I sense small insignificance of the self 
that plays its role on stage of history 
till time unravels me from tapestry 
so my name and face are erased by Death 
who recycles my atoms in new beings. 

Clothed in wolf-skin vest, with bag and stone-axe, 
I stride along the sparkling river flow 
to hunt for cave, hollowed by wind and waves 
from towering cliff, as haven for rest 
where I may roast meat in faith-glowing hearth 
to feed my family with nourishing love. 

With resolute mastery of natural laws 
I build strict routine of constructive craft 
through self-rule of personal liberty 
to manage regular process of growth 
in cultural venue of the goat-nursed gods 
whose spirits in my heart guide how I live. 

When I was young, still eager to explore 
labyrinth of myths that form city maze 
of ambition, I strolled Clown Avenue 
in misty Seattle with burning heart 
to find the Holy Grail of soul rebirth, 
restless to discover role I could play. 

Near gray stone wall of the Greek-temple bank 
I saw the old man with long hair and beard 
whose narrow face, long nose, and silver eyes 
resembled gray wanderer of the woods, 
that ageless wizard of weird fairy tales 
named Odin, Merlin, Gandalf, and Zambor. 

Pausing amid the ever-hurrying crowd, 
I gazed at mirror image of my soul 
and wondered if that star-eyed seer could be 
the same Saturnus that John Keats once saw 
slumbering in shady sadness of his vale, 
quiet as the stone that flamed from the sky. 

Unsceptered though I roam this boundless Earth, 
ignoring fenced boundaries of nation-states 
where tyrants exploit mute factory slaves, 
I see face of that wizard in the mirror 
who gave to me, thirty-three years ago, 
raven-feather quill from his tattered wings. 

Though I seemed to wander long road of life 
without direction, lost in random scenes 
of disarrayed romance, I now realize 
spirit of Grannus, awake in my heart, 
has always guided me toward my grand goal 
to sing tale of human wisdom in Heaven. 

Reconnect My Heart

Reconnect My Heart
© Surazeus
2024 05 25

Not yet ossified with decay of age, 
though still on my endless quest for truth 
among the shining streams of Faery Land, 
I soldier on through forests of romance, 
bearing Emerald Tablet with Laws of Nature, 
and grail from which I drink the blood of demons. 

Though diamond towers of Elphame gleam bright, 
veiled by thick swirling mist of fantasy, 
on naked ridge of that far eastern hill, 
gilded sharp with golden beams of sunlight, 
where I expect to meet God face to face, 
I see only my own face in the pool. 

Heart humming in tune with the natural world 
imbued with pure glow of divinity 
which radiates bright from every human soul, 
I glide with graceful ecstasy of faith 
past smoking ruins of homes bombed by greed 
to celebrate strange beauty of our world. 

Though indifferent Fate sends religious Death 
to harvest precious souls from fields of faith, 
then separate wheat from chaff with cruel war, 
I weep for every fragile human soul 
destroyed by vicious hurricanes of greed 
in genocides from which great empires rise. 

The carefree girl, murdered by terrorists 
angry that her ancestors stole their land, 
and the sweet girl who loves to sing and dance, 
murdered by bullets of snipers who laugh 
with glee that vermin they exterminate 
cannot breed, are both victims of cruel war. 

Searching for Garden of Eden with faith 
by crossing the waste land of howling ghosts, 
I escape crowded streets of paradise 
and follow Adam to the wilderness 
where I attempt to reconnect my heart 
to divine spirit that animates Earth. 

But that lush garden on the river shore, 
where Eve ate sweet Fruit of Knowledge with hope 
to understand weird nature of our world, 
now burns with flames of arrogance which hide 
fear that strangers will invade paradise 
and kill Spirit of Earth inside our hearts. 

Amid beautiful scenes of fruited hills 
the monstrous tyrant, drowned in pool of truth, 
emerges from dark waters of despair, 
so we bury tyranny in rich soil 
for Tree of Life to transform his foul heart 
to sweet nutritious fruit we share with faith. 

Voice Of Every River

Voice Of Every River
© Surazeus
2024 05 25

The voice of every river in the world 
speaks to me in thoughts people never speak 
as loud roar pounding in my sea-shell ears 
which, at expression of my own faint voice, 
coalesce in whole emblem of my mind 
through which I feed upon infinity. 

Since sparkling neurons of my dreaming brain 
conjure virtual model of the whole Earth, 
this mysterious function of comprehension 
seems to weave into fabric, more divine 
than chemical Nature that sustains life, 
my brain composed of flashing molecules. 

Though the mind of humans, which seems divine, 
glows magnified more beautiful than Earth 
on which it dwells in matrix of bright forms, 
our brains are nothing more than chemicals 
condensed in neural cells which conjugate 
impressions into meaning we design. 

I find no meaning in this changing world 
composed of chemicals that nurture souls 
with complex organs evolving into gods, 
except the meaning my perceptive brain 
assembles into puzzle of world view 
from fragments of concepts my eyes conceive. 

No conscious gods with supernatural power 
exist outside idea-programmed brains, 
for every mythic legend that records 
life and deeds of powerful divine beings 
was preserved in weird stories people shared 
describing humans who lived ages past. 

I feel their ancient spirits in gold light 
that gleams with hope each timeless afternoon 
on green leaves hanging from tall dreamless trees 
who watch generations of human beings 
rise and fall through waves of history 
in endless seething tides of war and peace. 

Though Beauty of Nature that forms this Earth 
appears to glow with bright divinity 
in spirit, our fearful ancestors termed 
God, who created this organized Cosmos, 
I know this supernatural conscious mind 
I feel is but projection of my dreaming brain. 

Sitting quiet in haven of my home, 
observing humans move as streams of hope 
in streets connecting cities around Earth, 
like blood cells in global network of veins, 
I hear all their voices through river spell 
sing in worldwide choir of our divine mind. 

Butterfly Of The Moon

Butterfly Of The Moon
© Surazeus
2024 05 24

To live free from shackles of politics 
I sing about butterfly of the moon 
that kisses eye of peace with vampire teeth, 
yet still the Minister of Honesty 
will lock me in dank prison of free speech 
to dull sharp blade hidden in absurd spells. 

My bones love roots of flowers and fruit trees 
that transform rotten atoms of my brain 
to apples tyrants steal from hands of farmers 
who light candles in windows of the night 
so little owls can find lost book of jokes 
thrown into unmarked grave of the court jester. 

Even if King Midas steals Crown of Thorns 
and imprisons all journalists and painters, 
Taliesin will walk to the grocery store 
to purchase milk and bread with dragon teeth, 
then by the willow in the river park 
will sit and talk with ducks about the clouds. 

I see thousands of clones of my true self 
walking somewhere quickly on city streets 
who never look at me with my own eyes, 
so I blow Trumpet of Gideon at dawn 
while I plough the field to grow golden corn 
as bombs destroy homes where nameless ghosts live. 

Deep in dark witch cave in lush Cerkno Hills, 
I drill holes in femur bone of the bear, 
then stride down trail among Fraxinus trees 
to stand on stone in swift Juruda River 
and play heart-haunting melody of hope 
that thrills my heart with beauty of this world. 

Alone on gray mountain roof of the world, 
I drink milk from cow of the shining stars 
while dancing slow in ring of jeweled stones, 
then eat strawberries from the silver plate 
embossed with scene of Clovis on his horse 
who bears magic wand from the hazel tree. 

Though I am whiteness of the temple wall 
where no words of warning written in blood 
warn humble folk of the apocalypse, 
I fill tank of my silver car with gas, 
then drive on narrow winding mountain road 
to monastery filled with ancient scrolls. 

To remember every mass genocide 
I sing about butterfly of the moon 
with technology that destroys the Earth 
when I sell my soul to the ocean wave 
which washes ruins of empires to the sea 
where I float in wordless infinity. 

Dwarfed By Mount Takoma

Dwarfed By Mount Takoma
© Surazeus
2024 05 24

If that strange gold glow after evening rain 
saturates my mind with visionary thoughts, 
excited awake by cracks of thunder, time 
may pause, intent as tall unmoving trees 
that wait with expectation that I choose 
to do nothing, mute owl in the oak tree. 

Though my body pulses with thick content 
of atoms packed in small frame of my soul, 
my mind broods over bottomless abyss 
to hear voice of the Earth in flow of light 
surging with each plodding beat of my heart 
to bear my body-bound soul beyond time. 

Yet time constrains slow motion of my mind 
in bright sea waves of endless words, that swirl 
with sensual flash of memories, which record 
countless moments of my life in the past, 
reflected in leaves that hang in gold air 
in vast suburban landscape of our world. 

Though I now lounge in haven of my home, 
gazing out large windows at quiet street 
where families stroll in peaceful paradise, 
I ponder hour forty-four years ago 
when I climbed up steep winding mountain trail 
past shadowy pines where no demons lurk. 

Heart pounding with assertion of calm will, 
far from large noisy crowds of my schoolmates, 
I emerged alone on broad meadow slope, 
rugged with jagged rocks and twisted pines 
in deep valley of gushing waterfalls, 
dwarfed by Mount Takoma, my Helicon. 

Enormous mountain that looms over me, 
fourteen-thousand feet above the blue sea, 
last flaming smoke five hundred years ago, 
broods with solemn majesty of great power 
more serene than Olympus where fierce gods, 
my ancestors feared, toyed with mortal lives. 

No earth-born brood of Uranus and Gaia, 
not fierce Jehovah, nor ferocious Jove, 
strides gigantic on icy silver peak 
to meddle in wars between nation-states 
through social ideologies, employed 
by presidents to justify their rule. 

No conscious spirit but me, wingless angel 
evolved from mice when dinosaurs ruled Earth, 
stands fragile before benign mountain god 
that gleams indifferent to my happiness, 
so I choose to celebrate my keen life 
with hymns brief as breath of my carefree voice. 

Bodies Copy Themselves

Bodies Copy Themselves
© Surazeus
2024 05 24

Because truth bursts from weird shadow of time 
my heart, attached to beauty of this world, 
desires to replicate each unique form 
so beautiful bodies copy themselves 
with pleasure of resemblance that confirms 
perfect love through urgency to create. 

Lulled into ecstasy of static hope 
by stark negation of restrictive shame, 
I leap past bounds of lineated rules 
with bold authority of honest fear 
to copy strange resemblance of my being 
in child whose eyes reflect authentic hope. 

Lured by attraction of beautiful truth 
that glows from heart of everything I see, 
I journey over waste land of despair 
to find hidden garden of changeless bliss, 
embodied by horse near the apple tree 
beside the river flowing to the sea. 

Based on definition of excellence 
that presents ideal forms of changing things 
as changeless concepts in realm of ideas, 
I seek recompense from cruel arrogance 
who tries to possess beauty of my soul 
that decays from illusion of desire. 

Becoming beauty of this flowing world 
through strict attention of focused desire, 
I draw shapes that mirror forms I perceive 
to duplicate with spell of humming words 
structures of atoms in puzzle of light 
that gleams from first flash at the dawn of time. 

Composing stories with names of lost souls, 
I resurrect characters of the dead 
so they float beside me in gentle breeze 
that rustles leaves of trees on hill of hope 
where I can assemble puzzle of light 
to replicate beautiful world I dream. 

Willing to enter ever-changing doors 
that lead me to museum of lost art, 
I hold knowledge of beauty in my heart 
to appropriate spirit of desire 
that can only be sung by the blind choir 
which dissolves back to the particular. 

Attached to beauty of the changing world 
that cycles through birth in growth to decay, 
I treasure life of each organic being 
that copies itself in children of hope 
who fight over whose Heaven is more real 
that we construct on ruins of desire. 

Stone In The Grass

Stone In The Grass
© Surazeus
2024 05 24

The light that radiates concept of the mind 
knows truths about the soul it never tells, 
so when I look at the stone in the grass 
it looks back at me with eyes of dead stars, 
yet I see the mountain it wants to be 
as it sees the god I will never be. 

We tell each other what the light should say 
then stare into the space of everywhere, 
so I listen to the stone in the grass 
but it tells me nothing I want to know, 
yet I invent my name to signify 
I am not the god I would want to be. 

I modify strange nature of the light 
by reshaping material of the tree 
so strange laughter of the stone in the grass 
records story of the tree I cut down, 
yet I build the house that shelters our souls 
from spirit of the tree that is not god. 

The light that screams in fracture of the mind 
knows truths about the world it wants to tell, 
so I stand mute with the stone in the grass 
that tries to see the real me I still hide, 
yet cows in the meadow of playful wind 
gossip about people who would play god. 

The light that reflects the face of ungod 
designs the face I wear till I am born, 
so I will carve on the stone in the grass 
the face I will wear long after I die, 
yet when you see mask of my changing face 
you say I am one aspect of our god. 

We give each other light with grateful hands 
after we almost die in war of books, 
so I will become the stone in the grass 
that David slings to bring down tyranny, 
yet we remain ghosts in our bombed-out homes, 
singing prayers to god who was never real. 

If we become the light that never tells 
we might begin to understand true love, 
so I feel seen by the stone in the grass 
who is my soul mate I will always love, 
yet she brings water from the wishing well 
when she perceives the god that I could be. 

We stand together in hope of the sky 
where we feel what the light wants to reveal, 
so we carve names on the stone in the grass 
which remains long after everyone dies, 
yet my descendants sing my secret name 
and worship me as god I never was.