City Of Dreadful Light


City Of Dreadful Light
© Surazeus
2019 02 16

Our world rolls sparkling in vast spectral void,
assembling our bodies from urgent hope,
swirling us in waves of arrogant pride,
then grinding us back down to silent dust.

I wander in city of dreadful light
past crowds of people wearing masks of glass
that shimmer with visions from world wide web
connecting all our brains in global mind.

With billions of people in cars of glass
I flow on in ceaseless river of time
as Earth rolls on forever like mill stone
indifferent to the passions of our lust.

We rise from sloshing waves of restless sea
like Aphrodite reaching for fresh fruit
to scatter seeds of dreams in spells of verse
which generates our conscious universe.

We walk together on indifferent road
to savor world with no purpose or will
that shimmers in strange beauty of pure light
illuminating hills and lakes with lust.

At center of the city of despair
where thousands of hungry people stand mute
I approach burning bush of divine light
that talks to me about the cosmic soul.

This Earth is fragile diamond of wired souls
whose eyes exchange flashes of lightning threads
that weave our brains in spider web of songs
vibrating sonic words from magnet minds.

I leap through multidimensions of truth
to chase rainbow angel of divine wrath
who shows me how to calculate contempt
and fix the piston engine of my brain.

Escaping blank city of dreadful light,
I sit in lush meadow of singing birds
and laugh when people worship zombie god
who rises from death and devours their souls.

What weird moments of inventive insight
shimmer in folk memory of our lost songs
that hide in riddles origins of memes
which code details about technology.

When Helius invented the turning wheel,
to mirror spinning of our mindless world,
he lifted mankind from surface of Earth
so we ride time-machine wagon of hope.

These fragments of our common memories
we assemble puzzle of whole world view
to value gods as humans who revealed
strange secrets of technology through love.

Our world rolls round forever like mill stone
that swirls in spirals around blazing sun
with no purpose or conscious will of life
till Earth wakes up in dreaming human minds.

This world whirls not to suit our petty whims,
indifferent to our social games for power,
so we gather in church to sing weird hymns
about the child who gives Death the fresh flower.

Sweet Mother Earth generates conscious minds
so we are the vast universe of stars
becoming aware of itself alive
when we sit on the river shore and kiss.

The ever-turning world may grind us down
but we keep springing back to joyful life
when lovers raise the children of their souls,
teaching them to create and not destroy.

We explore our city of dreadful light
to celebrate seasons of turning time
when indifferent Earth gives our bodies life
then consumes our conscious minds in pure light.


Sheep On Lush Hills


Sheep On Lush Hills
© Surazeus
2019 02 16

When dawn light gleams rose over misty hills,
Phoibos Polyarnos, blessed with plump sheep
he tends in cloudy flocks on lush flowered hills,
sits under tall Melia, Manna Ash Tree,
and strums lyre strings that vibrate in cool breeze
as he sings about Ouranos and Gaia.

Stopping with heart-aching sigh, Phoibos stares
at many sheep that graze on dew-wet grass,
and feels nostalgia pierce his beating heart
with longing for those days so long ago
when his mother and her sisters, wild nymphs
with long hair, would dance circles in dawn breeze.

While he would play lyre beneath Melian Ash,
the laughing nymphs, with eyes blue as dawn sky,
would brew honey-sap from trunks of the Ash
with gold honey and apples in brass cauldron
that simmered over crackling flames as scent
of ambrosia wafted on river breezes.

Then Melian nymphs would call their leaping children
who gathered around pot of bubbling juice
and dipped lion-paw seashells with small fingers
to scoop sweet ambrosia, then sit with flowers
among milling sheep and sip honey cider
that sparkled smooth sweetness on tingling tongues.

“The sweet Melian nymphs all died of old age
and now fertilize grass where plump sheep graze,
the girls all married good farmers or craftsmen,
and the boys all joined army of our king
but died fighting wars in lands far away,
so now I alone tend sheep on lush hills.”

White blossoms of the Melian Ash Tree float
on river breeze to cover his long hair,
like snow flakes swirling from bleak silver clouds,
so Phoibos Polyarnos plucks lyre strings
and sings of his mother dancing in mist
while flocks of sheep float like clouds over hills.

Story Hill Of Amen


Story Hill Of Amen
© Surazeus
2019 02 15

You nameless people I see everywhere,
walking around in world of dirt and air
or smiling from photos on social media,
contain whole history of our universe
recorded in pure animated flame
of conscious hope that glows in your cells.

I love you all, the way your faces glow
with bright consciousness of expressive love
which shimmers in halo of silent words
to light bright torch in hand of Liberty
ripping apart darkness of mute despair
so I can blaze new way to paradise.

Though I cannot stand on stage to perform
authoritarian role of the wise fool,
I sit alone in solitude of bookstores
to watch you live on social media sites,
reciting your stories in crowded rooms
to cheering audience of adoring friends.

Like flocks of birds swirl flashing in vast sky
to settle flapping wings in webs of trees
and twitter concepts of perceptive faith,
you nameless strangers of society
discuss events on social media sites
to program new world view of cosmic truth.

Each person moving in vast maze of Earth
springs from ancestors who traveled each life
far over landscape of lost memories
along gushing rivers to distant lands
on countless pathways around spinning world,
but all first sprang from Story Hill of Amen.

Ten thousand years ago on river shore
First Mother Amen stood on hill of words
beneath broad fruit tree of our aching hearts
and taught us how to sing the sacred hymn
that beams clear vision of our dreaming eyes
so we can agree on true view of life.

We all spread outward from her mother womb
in tangled grape vines of family bloodlines
to populate lush river vales with towns
where we all gather in town square at night
to share strange stories of our daily lives
like Amen taught us at the dawn of time.

Painted in complex map of your smiling face
through colorful features of skin and eyes
I perceive long journeys of your ancestors
where they dwelled in jungles, deserts, or mountains,
when they walked over dunes of sand or snow,
concealed by this mask of your secret name.

I want to sit with you in ring of stones
where song fire glows under the silver moon
and listen to your song of haunting words
that reveal your journey around the world
to understand why you are still alive,
then make love to live again in our children.

We spring from rich journeys of our ancestors
so our children will spring from our own journeys
and gather once again on hill of stories
where First Mother Amen stands tall forever
smiling as she teaches us how to sing
so our human song shines bright as the stars.

Tear Down Walls Of Fearful Hate


Tear Down Walls Of Fearful Hate
© Surazeus
2019 02 15

Each time I write one poem I dream awake
strange experience of one long-dead ancestor
who struggled nameless through waste land of fear
to map our landscape of hopeful desire
and survived death to become lesson learned
which I encode in archetypal tale
about bold courage of the human spirit
to transcend our mindless animal nature
and evolve through stages of psychic growth
to become idea of God we aspire to.

Walking in ancient gallery of souls
where characters of the many-faced god
wait dreamless on vast shelf of history,
enclosed in books that tell their deeds and songs,
I take one face of my ancestors down
and wear it to dream again how they lived
while navigating matrix of desire
to consume food and avoid being consumed
as they sought their mirror image to mate
and reincarnate to generate me.

We navigate our way through maze of hope
by wearing faces our ancestors made
to see how they survived hostile attacks
long enough to regenerate their body
in children who continue down the road
of exploration to evolve each life
from fish to mouse to ape to man to god
in constant transformation of fierce atoms
who seek to become divine consciousness
as we wake at this hour of startled love.

Combining millions of ancestors, I
contain multitudes of aggressive souls
who all contend inside my tangled mind
to become one person I name myself
when I walk alone on wild ocean shore
to contemplate mystery of how I am
me alone of all the people who lived
till I contain solitude of my truth
to identify who I want to be
then name myself to define who I am.

Once I combine their energies of hope
in one coherent program of desire,
after cautious analysis of lust
to replicate in children of my faith,
I proceed to explore beyond stone walls
of paradise to find rich Tree of Life
dropping apples free in my open hands,
then gaze at my face in pool of my soul
till I hear voice of one I want to love
echo my passion to walk by your side.

When my ancestors huddled terrified
in dark cave of faith, to avoid cruel monsters,
they constructed walls of stone from dark Earth
to protect themselves in lost paradise,
but now I explore beyond ruined walls
of world-view paradigm their fear designed
because bold heroes of ancient myths fought
and destroyed all those monsters of despair,
clearing landscape of hope for us to live
safe outside those dividing walls of hate.

We cannot tear down all the walls of hope
that protect us from attacks of exploiters
yet imprison us in weakness of fear,
so we must unite for democracy
to fight against tyrants blinded by greed
who exploit work of people for their profit
and free the hungry people of the world
to work together for their own success
so we thrive in harmony of desire,
sharing this planet that gives us all life.

Yet we must tear down walls of fearful hate
that tyrants build to imprison our bodies
when they enforce rules to control our minds,
in constant vigilance against their games
to trap us in cycles of destructive wars,
and fool us to relinquish liberty
for false security of paradise,
so wake up from your mute complacency
and rebel against tyranny of fear
to fight for liberty of honest truth.

Antimatter Of True Love


Antimatter Of True Love
© Surazeus
2019 02 15

The antimatter of my dreaming brain
sucks sorrow into black hole of my heart
and transforms horror through infinity
to beams of light that tangle matter straight
in twanging coils of emptiness I taste
with every apple of our tree I eat.

This flashing memory of matter I mold
in solid shapes of river mud to dream
concept into wagon that aids my work
bearing food from field to kitchen where cooks
brew potions that fuel our bodies of lust
with every loaf of bread we share in love.

Through constant ecdysis of mental growth
I transcend opinions my brain designed
in quick analysis of perceived truths
when facing emptiness of the weird self
whose mouth gapes wide enough to devour suns
that yaw in oscillation of desire.

Strange sudden sounds cause me to jump alert
and crouch in shadow of fear to detect
dangerous monsters lurking close to attack
so I can slip away on silent leaps
and escape horror of annihilation
in desperate hunt to consume soul of light.

How long in mute shadows of emptiness
can I hide from gang of men with sharp spears
who want to skewer my body of flesh
and roast me over hot flames to consume
immortal soul that shimmers from my mind,
before I must face them to fight for my life?

Attaching long rope to strong tree of faith
that leans over empty canyon of death,
I creep toward hunters on the river shore
then leap from shadow so they see my face,
and run toward tree of salvation to grab
rope of hope and swing over deep abyss.

The hunters chasing me through line of trees
fall screaming into canyon of despair
while I swing dangling over its emptiness
and watch them splatter on sharp rocks below,
amazed my subterfuge to survive worked,
then sit on edge of my abyss and weep.

The blind moudewarp of my hungry heart
devours dark mountain of inviolate hope
inspired by antimatter of true love
to become the sun of infinite growth
so I contain solitudes of lost souls
who haunt me by the flickering fire of truth.

Dream Of Our Memories


Dream Of Our Memories
© Surazeus
2019 02 13

I lament the death of each conscious being
who ever lived in history of our world
with aching heart at loss of their weird soul,
and yet I celebrate the life they lived
however brief or tragic it may have been,
because for hour of their expressive hope
they woke from shimmer of our pulsing atoms
and gazed upon our seething globe of things,
aware of themselves alone in the world,
yet part of its flashing process of change.

Time is quick spiral flow of molecules
that interact in constant flash of shapes
to calculate connections between atoms
that shimmer in vast web of particles
which constitute matter in forms of things
based on pattern of intricate design,
through ceaseless motion of ticking progress,
so time continues in one forward flow,
never reversing to some former state,
as shining hologram of the White Whole.

Our brains mirror vast web of galaxies
in how neurons connect as flashing net
to conjure ideal models that reflect
real objects our eyes perceive to exist,
designing virtual world that imitates
real world we observe and investigate,
so all states of being the universe staged
at some point in flow of cause and effect
exist as static vision in my mind
which lets me dream-travel throughout all time.

While the real universe swirls on in flow
of constant changing time from state to state,
my brain retains memories of every state
in parceled fragments of continuous chain,
so within imagination of dream
I can travel to any point in time
and see how the universe existed then,
which allows me to visualize the process
of cause and effect that lead to this state
where we exist now in flush of its change.

All my ancestors for millions of years,
since we first formed one-cell eye of self-sight,
designed virtual world view inside their brains
based on strict observations of their eyes,
so with every new generation born
through combination of mother and father
our brains accumulate more memories
to compile experience of sense perception,
and design standard idea of each thing
through signifiers of linguistic thought.

For every real object our eyes perceive
our brain designs idea in spoken word
to signify standard form of that object,
so every object that models the pattern
of tree we signify with the word tree,
and thus communicate through spoken words
vision of the real world our eyes perceive,
complex creation of the virtual world
through elegant sentences of sung verse
that beam visions of life through magic spells.

The universe is strict structure of atoms,
and our actions cause changes in structures,
construction of atoms coming together,
destruction of atoms breaking apart,
so we judge effects from the forceful cause
to be good or bad for regeneration
of our bodies we replicate through sex,
but atoms always go through constant change,
conjoining and departing in strict process
we rejoice as life and lament as death.

Though I lament the death of conscious beings,
those who succeed in art of copulation
regenerate new bodies from their bodies,
so through new replication of our souls
we can live beyond the death of our parents
and our children live beyond our own deaths,
thus we gain eternal life when our genes
live again reborn in bodies of children
who wake from the dream of our memories
and dream new memories they can pass on.

Therefore, I hope, wise child born from my flesh,
that you will observe true nature of things
and control your actions of forceful cause
so you create good rather than destroy,
then find loving mate of the opposite sex
to replicate this body of our genes
through reincarnation again in flesh
of this immortal spirit in our brains,
then train your children to observe the world
so we can transcend death through soul rebirth.

This immortal spirit born through our genes,
who wakes to consciousness inside our brains,
has regenerated billions of times
during constant forward spin of our world,
so marry and start your own family
to confirm life in self-control of lust
through structure of our liberty in law
so we can evolve beyond these frail bodies,
expanding consciousness to become God
who dreams entire progress of the White Whole.

Choir Of Communal Truth


Choir Of Communal Truth
© Surazeus
2019 02 13

Where once we planted seeds in soil of Earth
to cultivate crops for nutritious meals,
now we write words on pages of our minds
to compose stories and poems of our thoughts,
becoming farmers who cultivate dreams
that record how our brains perceive the world.

Where once we competed to control land
so our tribe can thrive by eating more food,
now bold poets and storytellers compete
to control landscape of experience,
fighting over who has the right to tell
tales of our people struggling to survive.

Grandchildren of farmers who worked with hands
to transform dirt into nutritious food,
poets now transform experience into songs
describing our journeys across the land
on endless quest through waste land of despair
to tend paradise by river of dreams.

Whose grand vision of narrative expression
that describes spirit of the human mind
exploring nature of our complex world
will assimilate all songs in one song
to mix individual voices of poets
in harmonious choir of communal truth?

Shall we cease our war for personal glory
and avoid contest for who plays Apollo
so we can weave many threads of our songs
in one tapestry of heroic myth
that reveals one soul behind many faces
so our spirits shine after we all die?

The Faceless Poet who combines all poets
in one immortal soul of human love
stands on mountain slope beside flowing river
and sings ten billion stories in one story
to reveal communal quest for one truth
that rings till the mindless sun consumes Earth.

Migrate Back Home To Survive


Migrate Back Home To Survive
© Surazeus
2019 02 13

Like rats that crowd abandoned crumbling hall,
once used as the hospital or library
for the local thriving community,
who moved to the suburbs for spacious yards,
leaving buildings to decay from neglect,
just so we drive our cars on vast highways
from homes through maze to offices for work,
racing each other to earn precious cheese.

Parking my pickup truck in parking lot
of the library where my mother worked,
I paint on brick wall in one hundred panels
ancient legend of the wizard Oloron
who was tending apples in Tarazona
when he saw arrogant prince of Navarra
attempt to rape the gentle girl he loved
then stab her heart when she dared to resist.

So Oloron killed the arrogant prince
then fled into the desolate waste land
through sun-baked hills of Bardenas Reales,
where silent horror of the bleeding sun
squeezed all tears from the hot stone of his heart,
then raced through tangled woods to Peak of Orhy
where he battled forty men on steep slopes,
fighting in thunderstorm of howling rain.

Free from tyranny of the greedy king,
Oloron journeyed north to Aquitaine
where he met beautiful princess Marie
who gave him water to drink at the well
when he stumbled wounded into her grove,
so they lived together in tower of stone,
brewing apple cider for all to drink,
and raising seven children of their love.

Somewhere in the bleak waste land of Detroit,
I sit on cold trunk of my pickup truck
while waiting for clients to buy my coke,
and dream about lush paradise of France
where my ancestors lived ten thousand years
before they became Huguenots and fled
cruel persecution from the Catholic Church
and settled on lush shore of Lake Ontario.

My father worked on the large merchant ships
but when he was injured by falling crate
he began to drink to numb searing pain
and died destitute and broke in some alley,
so I worked in car factories in Detroit
but got fired for working at my own pace,
which was not fast enough to make the quota,
so now I sell coke which I never use.

Just one more sale, then I have earned enough
to fly to France where I can start anew
in the land where my ancestors once lived,
but the people driving into my lot
look like narcs and undercover police,
so I jump in my truck and drive away
and hide in the woods till the heat dies down,
then head to the airport with my passport.

After I sell my truck for a hundred bucks,
I have enough to buy my ticket home
but once I land at the Bordeaux Airport
I will have no more money to my name,
although living homeless and penniless
in land where my ancestors herded sheep
is better than being stuck in Detroit hell,
so I must migrate back home to survive.

Timeless Idea Of Chairness


Timeless Idea Of Chairness
© Surazeus
2019 02 12

Chairs exist as arranged clusters of atoms
created by hands of the mortal Craftsman,
while timeless Idea of Chairness persists
unchanging in perfect Realm of Ideas.

I am the crystal chair with angel wings
still dancing on sugar hills of the moon
to calculate how my birth river sings
designed to vibrate with soul-aching tune.

At the round table we sit in our chairs
to eat and drink in trusting fellowship
while we share funny stories of our lives
so we understand why we are alive.

The mad prophet from the mountain appears,
holding high lantern with no glowing flame,
and shouts that we killed God, our tribal king,
and left him hanging in the Tree of Runes.

After I cut Godin down from the tree,
I help him sit in the Idea of Chair,
then give him mead in the horn of the bull,
so we drink and laugh with loud ocean waves.

Godin shows me the cave where he was born,
where he invented the chair from the log
because he hated sitting on the dirt,
and where he keeps the skull of his wise mother.

Ocean wind whistles through eyes of the skull
so we almost hear sentences of thought
which prophesy events we want to pass,
then proclaim the Skull of God speaks the truth.

I set the chair on top of sugar hill,
then sit on the chair in the wind and rain
and watch the universe evolve from light
that spirals singing souls from the White Whole.

So Our Skulls May Kiss


So Our Skulls May Kiss
© Surazeus
2019 02 12

The dreams that sparkle in our watching minds
will vanish at the crushing hour of death.
This conscious shadow that I call myself
will flicker out like fragile flame in rain.
Surprised that we are still alive this hour,
I hold you in my arms with aching hope
that we survive destructive force of nature
which smashes everything we built to dust.

We crawl together in wild pouring rain
to shiver in small dark cave of despair.
How strange the dream of sunlight warm on grass
now flashes clear in darkest hour of fear.
All sweet illusions of what truth we knew
now vanish under torrents of cold flash
pounding our hopeful plans into wet mud
where plain truth of death remains now alone.

I hold you tight in passionate embrace
so separate bodies merge in aching trust.
We move together in wild harmony
with ceaseless rhythm of the pounding rain.
Since we may die we make love all night long
and fill each other with ethereal song
that wakes strange vision in our flashing eyes
how conscious life explodes from laughing skies.

I feel fierce agony of aching truth
flowing out from deep fountain of my heart.
Now empty of my soul I tumble lost
in swirling sea of ecstasy you are.
We float together mute on pleasant waves
to breathe deep spirit of vast flashing sky
where Glow Cloud shimmers in calm dawn of light
at sweet release of the last lightning flash.

We stare at each other in calm surprise
to understand orgasm of the storm.
Through pleasant agony we became one,
one conscious hunger of creative faith.
We rise and walk outside the shadowed cave
to stand still buzzing with pleasure of love
on lush wet shore of the cold gushing stream,
enveloped in slanting rays of pure light.

How long we flirted with cautious desire,
exchanging reserved expressions of hope.
We danced around each other in fruit grove
with mutual respect to construct safe trust.
Then flashing thunderstorm of smashing rain
drove us shivering into dark cave of hope
where we embraced in passionate desire
and made love to overcome fear of death.

All barriers of fear between us now fall
so we cuddle safe by the waterfall.
We caress each other in warm sunlight
and kiss where apples glow indifferent bright.
Breathing deep sweet air after shocking storm,
we glow with electric tingle of love,
and laugh as we play chase among fruit trees
to hold each other close where flowers bloom.

Since the endless cycle of changing time
will crush our bodies through decay of form,
we savor pleasures now in prime of life
to generate new children from our hearts.
We gather children by the Tree of Tales
and tell them how we first made love in rain.
They bury us together in our cave
so our skulls may kiss for eternity.

In Tune With The Way Of Power


In Tune With The Way Of Power
© Surazeus
2019 02 12

For I so love our indifferent universe
that I weave energy of my desire
into vibrant fabric of teeming joy
to merge in quick matrix of consciousness
that permeates landscape with its mineral shapes
in shocked alignment of natural design.

I sit in bare kitchen beside cold window,
leaning my elbow on the round wood table,
and watch frail snow fall on black tree-limb tangle
to illustrate how pleasure in strange beauty
transforms mute horror into admiration
for complex matrix of natural design.

On piece of paper blank as field of snow
I draw map of the universe I know,
roads I have traveled while chasing rainbows,
buildings where I played role on stage of desire,
and river shores where I saw soul of light
that shimmers threads in matrix of our world.

Though I am no puppet to will of men,
never slaving against my will for them,
my soul is bound by invisible threads
that tangle my body in web of atoms
which limits forceful motions of my actions
I harmonize with matrix of our world.

Each action I express with crafting hands
to activate aggressive search for food
animates my body in web of souls
to fulfill hunger of creative goals
consuming matter that designs my pattern
when I play architect to build world view.

Recursive contemplation of split facts
extends conscious comprehension of truth
each moment my mind recycles concepts
to calculate complex puzzle of memes
which I assemble in concentric models
virtual ideas of things to build world view.

I step outside the warm frame of my home
and gaze up at eye ball of world sky dome
to feel enlightenment in slant of light
that beams sunrays forged by the dreaming sun
so every atom we share vibrates bright
in sweet harmony with the Way of Power.

For we must love our indifferent universe
who generates our bodies from quick atoms
but cares not whether we will live or die
as we explore our world with loving eye
to comprehend nature of the White Whole
so we sing in tune with the Way of Power.

Awake With New Wisdom


Awake With New Wisdom
© Surazeus
2019 02 11

Heart aching with blind horror of despair,
I gaze at Glow Cloud that illuminates
world of changing forms where I find myself
alive with hunger and suffering of pain.

The wise old man sitting on river stone
told me every changing object I see
manifests changeless idea of that thing
which persist in Heaven, Realm of Ideas.

Nothing comes from nothing, the sage explained,
so our souls are ideas of ourselves
that beamed down from crystal shell of the sky
to animate this body we inhabit.

Once our body dies and returns to dust
our souls will beam back to Realm of Ideas
where we will dwell with the immortal Craftsman
who makes everything from matter of life.

I flew my airplane above glowing clouds,
soaring high above our huge turning globe
and found no Heaven as Realm of Ideas
and no crystal shells with fountains of matter.

The sun forges atoms into molecules
that swirl in beams around our turning world
to activate organic life with cells
generated by genes of carbon rings.

Gliding among clouds high above the Earth
I found no Craftsman as Creator God,
only myself operating airplane I built,
so I am the Craftsman as creative human.

Carbon rings form into organic cells
that evolve into the four-legged creature
whose brain generates animating soul
which perceives the world with virtual-world mind.

The Realm of Ideas shimmers in our brain
which designs models based on perceived objects
then assigns signifiers with words and letters
so we communicate memories through language.

Heart singing with conscious pleasure of love,
I gaze at Glow Cloud that illuminates
world of minerals and organic creatures
where I find myself awake with new wisdom.

One Mind With The White Whole


One Mind With The White Whole
© Surazeus
2019 02 11

Fragments of the world keep falling apart
and scatter verities on ground of hope
where seeds of doubt devour soul-blinding faith
so we investigate nature of being
to construct new world view based on real facts
and find something to eat before we die.

Somewhere in woods on shore of Grasmere Lake,
I listen to chirps of birds in tall trees
to understand loneliness of sunrays
flashing on water of infinite love
which reveals how colors weave solid shapes
when I touch illusions to hear name songs.

I want to know the reason why we wake
from timeless shimmer of the mindless dream
in pulsing molecules of naked lust
which molds conceptual progress of desire
to replicate models of ancient brains
in children who develop their own souls.

I chop down trees, strip off rough bark and limbs,
then assemble logs to construct strong cabin
where I hide from hungry demons of fear
while listening to song of waves on the shore
reveal secret way past numberless door
to stand in shadow among whispering trees.

Though I stand alone on ancient lake shore
I sense presence of soul beyond my mind
lurking unseen behind clear veil of light
then wait for supernatural soul to show
its time-bound mask that conceals the White Whole
which shimmers in pulsing of my brain cells.

Gazing down in clear mirror of the lake,
I see that mask revealed as my own face
of skin expressing concepts of my brain
so I look at the girl with twinkling eyes
who walks with her friends among blooming flowers
and long to weave our trails in way of love.

Collecting fragments of the scattered world,
I assemble new world view based on facts
to design paradigm that will account
for every process of cause and effect
that I observe in my journey toward death
so I always understand what occurs.

I was born at random in constant flow
of chemical change at one point of time
in one spot of space on this spinning globe,
so I explore its conceptual design
to map complexities of swirling atoms
till I become one mind with the White Whole.

Pawns Like Me Limp Lost


Pawns Like Me Limp Lost
© Surazeus
2019 02 11

Scintillating sand of somewhere else swirls
white as willowy whispers I still hear
long after shooting in the city stopped
as silence slouches over my stunned heart.

Whoever won the power game of this war
and reigns as king on chessboard of the land,
pawns like me limp lost in gray smoke of greed
still searching mute for our paradise lost.

I want to sit in wood boat on the river,
holding fishing pole as I catch quick fish
while sunlight flickers on the cool green stream
then eat apples and cheese on soft grass shore.

I think about my childhood on the river
while slouching in the large troop transport truck,
clutching the rifle I used to kill people,
and stare at the river bright among trees.

I want to jump free from the lurching truck
and run into the woods where old trees sing
to sit again in wood boat on the river
but they would shoot me with the firing squad.

Three planes dive out of the clouds like swift hawks
so I shout as they strafe bullets at us
and kill the driver of our truck which leaps
bouncing in the field to crash on its side.

Tumbling into thick bushes where I hang
suspended between infinity and death,
I become the Glow Cloud in empty sky
and think about Kathy in my hometown.

Her round freckled cheeks and silver blue eyes
gaze down at me through shimmering gold hair
so I roll over and fall to the Earth,
then walk with my platoon along dirt road.

We walk three days along the winding river,
following silver shimmer of its truth
till trucks arrive to take us to the city
where I stand still amid dispersing crowds.

Now that the war is over and we lost,
we drop our rifles in heaps by the gate,
then I walk somewhere in vast city streets
past a million strangers who have no names.

Arriving at the house where Kathy lives,
I call her name so she steps out the door,
and stares at me while holding her young child,
then cries she got married since I was dead.

I walk down to the river that flows bright
between buildings destroyed by whistling bombs
and sit on the rock where Death waits for me,
then hum while I fish in shimmering light.

Millions Of Starving People


Millions Of Starving People
© Surazeus
2019 02 10

The words of people talking at the party
float around me like butterflies on wings
of soft whispers poignant for how leaves turn
in breezes blowing from the sunlit river
so I have no idea what their words
reveal about about millions of starving people.

The eyes of statues in our public parks
always watch me play my role on life stage
through surveillance cameras that can record
secret obsessions I hide in plain sight
each time I tell every stranger I meet
the riddle of the man who flew to Heaven.

The strange man who wants to marry our sister
comes back from the dark woods without our father
and tells us he stepped into beam of light
and rose up on angel wings to the sky
where he walks with Jesus in paradise
and we believe till we find his dead body.

We find our father broken on the rocks
so we run home to reveal his misdeed
but he marries our sister in the church
so I stab him as he kisses her mouth
and they chase me into the wilderness
where I walk alone on the wild sea shore.

I stand in beam of light where wild waves roar
but no pure God elevates me to Heaven
so I weep in despair as fierce winds blow
then laugh with freedom from fear of hell fire
since I am no longer constrained by rules
of social hierarchy that enslave me.

I fight no revolution against tyrants
with guns blazing hot in dark city streets
but wield words as weapons that destroy lies
which declare one class of people may rule
everyone else for their sole benefit
while we struggle to find good food to eat.

They hoard the coins of commerce in stone banks
and feast on pork and wine in crystal hall
while millions of people in tenements
fight each other over stale chunks of bread
while working all day in large factories
building guns and bullets for more world wars.

Someday soon they will build statues of me
to celebrate my victory in world war
when I fight the tyrant in tower of steel
and throw him off diamond ramparts of Heaven
but I fall to Earth and wake in this body
so now I must figure out my true name.

Exhausted From Building


Exhausted From Building
© Surazeus
2019 02 10

The strange intensity of puzzling truth
from fragments of the world our minds perceive
buzz fragile infrastructure of the brain
to savor sweetness of green silent rain.

With gray volcano ash from distant land
where monsters howl in dark tunnels of hope
I mix water and stir it with the hoe,
then shovel goop in mold to build brick road.

Across pleasant pastures of Eden Land
I build vast network of motor car roads
so we can drive our chugging time machines
much more quickly from sea to shining sea.

Exhausted from building vast highway network,
I lie on the Rainbow Mountains to sleep
and dream television shows stations beam
in pulsing radio waves off shining moon.

I reach out my hand under midnight stars
to caress soft cheek of the mountain slope
then kiss her while I become lightning storm
as the Glow Cloud makes love with fertile Earth.

Trees, flowers, and crops sprout from her moist womb
and tendrils of grape vines curl around roads
where millions of cars rust in silver rain,
and consume vast cities of steel-glass towers.

Eden Mother Nature, hungry and blind,
swallows all cities and roads into mud,
and crushes skulls of humans into dust
which I mix with water to make cement.

I build vast labyrinth around pyramid
then sit to rule on pinnacle of power,
watching over sprawling Metropolis
where every person dwells in temple garden.

Exhausted from building ten thousand empires
that rose and fell over ten thousand years,
I sit in backyard of my home in Georgia
and play guitar on world network of roots.

For ten thousand years we wandered the world
and lived alone in valleys along rivers
but now we are connected mind to mind
through social networks on the world wide web.

Though no one hears me sing, yet still I sing
to remember the timeless loneliness
before we networked our minds in one mind,
and feel your presence in the bright Glow Cloud.

I twang taut roots of this tree in my yard
so thousands of people around the world
sing their poems with me in great choir of Earth,
which vibrates as it twirls through empty void.

Face Of My Dead Mother


Face Of My Dead Mother
© Surazeus
2019 02 09

Pure exquisite mammatus of my mind
reveals straight edge of infinite concept
when my flesh transforms into glow of love
containing every hope hungry souls lose
since sunlight stuffs idea of my new being
with gloom pulsing solid as liquid streams.

Transparent angel of the black-night moon
beams ancient wisdom of weird universe
through dreaming eyes she gave to me at birth
when milk flows white from beams of singing stars
to fill my hollow heart with ocean waves
so I sprout tall from roots of laughing trees.

Down to dark silent sea floor of my heart
I glide above sweet barren field of snow
to fill puffed lungs with spirit of wild stars
and rise above high mound of solid gloom
to bleed glass light in rain that tastes so sweet
I almost wake from vast field of mute Earth.

So with deep breath I rise up from wet ground
then walk on trembling legs through rustling trees
to stand on river shore in eerie light
of smiling moon who gives me secret name
then I kneel and touch face of my dead mother
whose rotting heart transforms into white flowers.

Deep voice of thunder from Glow Cloud calls name
of sparkling rivers flowing through my veins
so I emerge from corpse of her desire
and dance alive with heart-conjoining grief
to grow from walnut into monster of wild trees
consuming rocks to bloom trees from my head.

Now I can understand language of flowers
who teach me how sunlight molds my soft flesh
from sparkling water of the stream that flows
spirals forever between my ice heart
and shimmering moon who knows why I am me
so we kiss and become each other more.

Our Love For Liberty


Our Love For Liberty
© Surazeus
2019 02 08

These hours of naked wonder that excite
awed contemplation for amazing life
enhance primal love of my aching heart
for this ancient land and the varied tribes
who dwell together in her river vales,
united in our love for liberty.

Since brave Eliza Harris long ago,
running from slavery, like the startled fawn,
swam gushing river of hope to escape
oppression of greedy men, took her child
to land of the free and home of the brave,
we celebrate our love for liberty.

Though good people with skin darker than pale
are still oppressed by blind rules of the state,
we continue fight for justice through law
to be applied with equal force of truth
so we together thrive in fertile land
forever ruled by love for liberty.

When I was traveling sea to shining sea,
and played guitar on street of every town,
I sang grand vision of one global world
that dissipated in foul car exhaust
but we join hands around old Tree of Life
united in our love for liberty.

Weird Sound Of One Hand Clapping


Weird Sound Of One Hand Clapping
© Surazeus
2019 02 08

Weird sound of one hand clapping cracks my mind
of crystal glass to fracture eye of light
who dreams vast universe of tangled atoms
which spiral laughing on galactic wheel
of changing time beyond my ruined walls
of paradise where fruit trees sprout from hearts
of dead souls rotting in moist soil of love
though everybody knows my secret name.

Weird sound of one hand clapping multiplies
excessive particles through gamesmanship
when rabid armies of religious warriors
compete for who will wear the crown of gems
till time grinds all our bodies down to dust
and wind of laughter wipes the names of kings
off black monolith of eternity
as we repeat lessons of history.

Weird sound of one hand clapping flashes bright
atomic bomb of bold aggressive faith
that Jesus will return on clouds of wrath
in spinning starship of twelve blinking gems
to reconstruct waste land of industry
restoring Garden of Eden where skulls
of prophets lined on museum shelves sing
the latest pop songs on our radios.

Weird sound of one hand clapping beams my heart
across vast universe of spinning stars
that spiral outward from intense White Whole
where giant brain of God dreams everything
to hologram our planet from desire
who wakes from hot atomic dream of hope
and tastes sweet sparkle of ambrosia love
that drips from apples on the Tree of Truth.

Weird sound of one hand clapping calculates
recurrent progress of our social state
when hunters become herders on the ranch
and gatherers become farmers in the fields
and tribal gangsters build enormous empires
who elevate their founder into God
till All-Father recedes into Glow Cloud
who watches you to make sure you obey.

Weird sound of one hand clapping allocates
conceptual angels of our spinning globe
to incarnate each hungry human being
who walks alone vast plain of gusting wind
to find the tree of fruit on river shore
where fragile body of the dreaming mind
consumes electric energy of light
then continues on to explore the world.

Weird sound of one hand clapping regulates
excessive beat of every conscious mind
when lost soul shivers in dark cave of shadows
to dream creation of our universe
and then returns from underworld of death
to bring bright diamond of the singing sun
which beams clear vision in our surprised minds
how we are clusters formed from pulsing atoms.

Weird sound of one hand clapping molds my mind
from tangled web of neurons flashing stars
so I am the whole universe of light
awakened from strange dream of swirling waves
to become aware of itself alive
when we make love on river shore of time
and generate new bodies of our children
who dance with us, eating apples in rain.

Wild River Of Lost Dreams


Wild River Of Lost Dreams
© Surazeus
2019 02 07

These dead angels from rotting tree of truth
have followed me for more than fifty years
in shadows of horror that linger bright
around bundled tension of broken wings
I keep hidden inside my twisted arms
which makes me code riddles of their weird faith
to map back home wild river of lost dreams.

Love flows away in current of despair
to clock slow ticking of atomic cells
when striking hour of violent hope declines
though we form bridge with all-embracing arms
since we dissolve in everlasting gaze
to follow blanked-out signs through naked maze
and stumble to wild river of lost dreams.

Blind Phoenix rising from pyre of world war
veils ten thousand cities of broken towers
with glowing embers blasted from our hearts
though sirens sing old heart-enchanting spells
to wake this self-engendered ghost from hell
who skips with laughter on deserted street
which leads us to wild river of lost dreams.

Glow Cloud of love looms over trembling towns
where bellowing herd of terrified souls
follow statue of dead god through glass maze
of glowing screens where crackling flames explain
strange pictures smiling in gloomy museum
where Lady of Rebirth looks down from stars
when we follow wild river of lost dreams.

Awake on silver shore of angry sea,
I find old fractured statue of my soul
that blossoms lightning from heart of the rose
revealing evanescent mask of hope
I wear to hide contempt for blinding laws
when egg of chaos dragon becomes me
still slithering up wild river of lost dreams.

Urged on by vanity of foolish faith,
I navigate my journey through gold hills
where mocking mist of arrogance defies
my fragile dignity through treasured jinx
to swim in silver mere of naked ghosts
who calculate hour of my mundane death
now baptized in wild river of lost dreams.

When Priestess Rahab rides her scarlet beast
up shining pyramid where Ishtar reigned,
she offers me gold cup of mushroom wine
so I imbibe and we make love all night
to generate ten thousand savior kings
who rule all nations of this spinning globe
when I rise from wild river of lost dreams.

On Pegasus of flaming wings at dawn
Apollinaire descends from court of Heaven
to give me lyre he stole from Mercury
and shows me how to cast enchanting spells
that weave weird visions of surreal veracity
when I evolve from ape to singing angel
drowned alone in wild river of lost dreams.

Brief Flickers Of Sunlight


Brief Flickers Of Sunlight
© Surazeus
2019 02 07

On the solid geography of Earth,
where water streams among high bulging hills,
we organic creatures with dreaming brains
are brief flickers of sunlight on its surface,
flashing across its endless wind-swept spaces
for our flow of time on this spinning globe,
then we vanish into indifferent wind
that sings among the rocks of timeless hope.
I sat under this tree for seven days,
thinking I would vanish in blowing wind,
but I am still here, and you are still here,
and we are hungry with desire for love.
Since we will vanish in spinning of time,
let us make love to regenerate life
so our children may walk bountiful Earth
and feast on fruit of this tree we grow.

Cold Woods Of Lost Hope


Cold Woods Of Lost Hope
© Surazeus
2019 02 07

I was walking through these dark soggy woods
after cold rain soaked my heart from despair,
but I have stood here, somewhere off the trail,
for so long I feel tree roots growing down
from my numb toes into muck of the world
till I think I have become the mute tree
that whispers nothing in wind, and drinks rain.

Now my human body is nothing more
than flicker of sunlight through latticed web
of tree branches, so when I try to move
I dissipate into gleam of light on water
of the pool that reflects from heart of darkness
this face I think might be me with strange eyes.

I am shadow of the coldness that drips
in sparkling globs of water from the sky,
the blank sky that stares silently at me,
as cold stillness of ceaseless flowing time
erases my name from odd memory.

I want to address you to express thoughts
of hope for our future of coupled hearts
traveling together on long road of life,
but ghost of your spirit that is not here
glows as image of you before my eyes,
so I feel like I am talking to you,
but you will never comprehend these words
that I breathe out, which would communicate
concepts of my feelings for you to hear
and comprehend how I want to be with
you forever close in glow of the light.

I seem to vanish in shadows of time,
and become memory of you I desire,
but I look down and see my shoes are soaked
wet from brown muck that squishes my foul heart
with anguish of hope to see you again.

All previous moments of my life converge
at this timeless hour in cold soggy woods
where I become vague single cloud of light
that almost feels sharp sting of freezing rain
which drizzles from the gray indifferent sky
to give my mind shape of this rancid body
that shivers with terrible ache of hunger,
so I become real again, startled why.

I see each random moment of my life
flash before my eyes on this flowing stream
in disjointed fragments of jolting cause
that channels my spirit around high hills
to this strange moment of awoke surprise,
as if I still float through space of this world
like some dead leaf blown by the careless wind
wherever blind chance of indifferent fate
decides to throw me into the cold world.

I see each moment when I saw your face
and how strong gaze of your clear sparkling eyes
enchanted my desire to stay with you
and follow you wherever you may go,
but now I see how you avoided me,
and slipped away into shadows of day
to disappear from memories of my hope.

Your charming smile lured me to follow you,
as I ache with hunger for you to fill
vacuum of my infinite soul with love,
so I can transform your soul into child
who dreams this world with your sky-sparkling eyes,
but you escape the scope of my desire,
which is why I wander in soggy woods,
stuck nowhere in shadows of mute despair.

How can I erase from my memories
alluring glitter of your charming eyes
so I can find again my own true path
and escape from this bog of horrid fears
when my body coagulates from light?

I cannot retreat to past memories
where desire for you sucks me into muck,
so I must push forward from shadowed fear
to follow flowing stream of my new hope
and blaze clear trail from tangled web of love
that will lead me back to haven of walls
where I can work in garden of my dreams.

I want to escape cold woods of lost hope
but since light of your eyes leads me nowhere
I must find new light of indifferent sky
to lead me home to my garden of dreams.

Rebirth Of Manus


Rebirth Of Manus
© Surazeus
2019 02 07

Stripped of my possessions, my clothes, my name,
and ownership over my family land,
then thrown naked in the field of wet grass,
excommunicated from my home town,
I stand exposed to the harsh elements,
nobody alone in the bleak wilderness.

Though I lose all identifying marks
that signify my status in my tribe,
and define who I am and what I do,
I still remain my naked primal self,
intelligent animal who can talk
and analyze environment where I am.

Stripped of all my social illusions, masks
that defined my role in communal game,
I return to my original self,
so I can invent new role to play,
and develop new set of daily rituals
from habitual actions that sustain life.

Can I survive this anguished howl of pain
and grow beyond this horror of exile,
so I can find in deep well of my heart
my secret voice to express my clear thoughts
then give myself new name to describe how
I rise reborn from cold mud of this world?

I built so many things with my skilled hands
over the years to make my visions real,
but all I made has been taken away,
yet I know I can make it all again,
because my vision and skill to create
I possess inside my mind and my hands.

As long as they never destroy this body,
they cannot destroy my vision or skill,
so I can give myself new secret name,
Manus, to indicate my skill with hands,
how I can manipulate solid matter
and create everything I need to live.

Reborn from the muddy field of this world,
I am Manus, the Hand who creates things,
transforming waste land into paradise
by stacking stones to build surrounding wall
where I construct the hall to house my soul,
and tend plants in garden of my safe haven.

Though they destroyed illusions of my status,
I create new illusions to maintain
ritual performance of daily routine
tending food that sustains body of flesh
so I can stand proud again on this world
and proclaim myself, Manus of the Earth.

Birth Of The Prophet Alaunius


Birth Of The Prophet Alaunius
© Surazeus
2019 02 06

Shading her eyes as she watches Glow Cloud,
Alaunia breathes deep the flower-scented air.
“I walk from the land where the sun is born
to find the land where the sun dies at night.”
Alaunia walks along the flowing stream,
long gold hair flowing in the gusting breeze,
then stops on large square stone covered in moss
to watch flock of birds swirl across blue sky.

Turning back to face crowd of followers,
Alaunia points at birds in the vast sky.
“One flock splits in two flocks that fly apart,
which soar far away among glowing clouds,
then backward swift they dart as if to clash,
but merge again in one harmonious flock.
One bird emerges from the swirling flock
to lead them all forth to the promised land.
One nation separates in civil war,
following twin brothers as rival leaders,
but some greater threat challenges their lands,
so they unite again to fight for peace.
One holy prophet will rise from the crowd
to lead them all forth to the promised land.”

Descending mountain slope to river plain,
Alaunia leads her followers to camp
where two warriors on horses wield sharp swords
and face each other to fight for the crown.
Standing between twin brothers who shout threats,
Alaunia raises both hands to the sky.
“Great Spirit who created world of men,
wise father who watches us from Glow Cloud,
reveal to me which brother should rule Earth,
so they may reign as friends instead of foes.”

Lifting high gold crown, studded with twelve gems,
Alaunia places it on her own head,
then gestures to the boys to both step forth,
and places hands on their heads when they kneel.
“The Father Spirit in the great Glow Cloud
commands that I unite your hearts in one,
so I will bear one child for both of you,
who will unite your two nations in one.”
Gazing in their eyes with heart-charming smile,
Alaunia kisses each twin boy in turn
till their angry glares dissolve to bright smiles,
then she gives them each ripe apple to eat.

Holding their hands, she leads them to the cave
where their wolf-mother first woke from star dream,
and saw creation of the universe,
then taught her children how to speak their thoughts.
Alaunia lies with each boy in the cave
who fills her fertile womb with holy ghost,
that sacred essence of the mortal soul
which sparks new life in children of our hearts.
“The spirits of your two souls blend in one
to reunite your energies through love.
This child reincarnates again in flesh
your divided souls in united soul.”

Sitting in large cave of shadows all day,
Alaunia feasts on roast meat they both bring,
then eats fruit they gather with generous hands,
while her belly grows, pregnant with their child.
One brother brings juice from apples he crushed,
while the other brings juice crushed from red grapes,
so when she drinks the grape juice first they fight,
then Romulus kills Remus in hot rage.
“You killed your good brother in jealous rage,
so you must leave and reign on seven hills,
but you will never raise the child I bear
for I will teach him art of prophecy.
One day he will unite divided nations
and lead them all forth to the promised land.”

Leading his people to the seven hills,
Romulus founds city inside stone walls,
while Alaunia sings alone in large cave
where she births her son at the harvest moon.
“I name you Alaunius, child of my heart,
and you shall father children with twelve brides
whose children will reign over twelve great tribes
who shall populate all lands of the Earth.”

Alaunia sits beside the flowing stream,
long gold hair flowing in the gusting breeze,
teaching her son the art of prophecy,
how to observe and analyze the world,
then describe its mysteries in chanting verse
to beam visions of truth in eyes of men.

Contest Of Aggressive Will


Contest Of Aggressive Will
© Surazeus
2019 02 06

Every human I meet on road of life
is bundled passion of material atoms,
teeming with vibrant desire to consume
nutritious food we harvest from the world
then replicate their bodies in new forms
to transcend finite limitations of death.

We either clash in conflict of desire
for limited resources to consume,
or we cooperate to produce more food
so everyone can eat at feast of friends
where we maneuver in strange social games
over who will copulate to breed children.

We navigate around each other, careful
to take what we want while preserving life
so everyone is happy in our game
till conventions of daily ritual habits
harden into laws of strict social roles
that we preserve in tales of archetypes.

Some accept roles others define for them
in political games of play-control,
while others define role they want to play
and defend their status in social game
through aggressive expression of strong words
that declare right to exercise free will.

We let others define our role for us
or we define our role we want to play
in constant contest of aggressive will
to enforce our word as law they obey
through delicate dance of contesting wills
till someone kills someone to get their way.

I want to live in peaceful harmony
with everyone in social game we play,
avoiding clash of wills that causes death,
for I want to live with force of free will
while allowing others to live their way,
but people will clash and fight to the death.

Though in the end every person will die
yet those who reproduce new children will
succeed in winning this game after death,
so some decide that they will kill and rape
to dominate life through aggressive lust,
while others believe in life after death.

How can we design better social system
that allows every person to live well
while managing conflict of rival wills
where each will attain what they desire most
so everyone can live in harmony
till the sun swallows our world in hot flames?

I sit in glowing sunlight on lone hill
to gaze at shimmer of the sparkling sea
while letting all aggressive lust of will
flow unexpressed from tension of my soul
till I sit empty of contesting hope
in soft indifferent wind of spiritual love.

People form groups to follow the strong leader
as religions or political parties
to work together in aggressive gangs
so they enforce desire of their life-way
to expand empire of resource control
in life mission dreamed by their founding god.

While I admire the visions of their hopes,
I reject all gods worshipped by religions
for they are dead, though their spirits live on
in aggressive missions of followers,
so I disengage from all social games
and sit alone in haven of my heart.

Avoiding contest of aggressive will,
I become first god of my own religion,
defining role I play in game of life
to follow my own dream of happiness,
composing scripture of my private quest
to transform waste land to my paradise.

How To Fight The Abuser


How To Fight The Abuser
© Surazeus
2019 02 06

When Evelyn strolls by the apple tree
she hears the invisible bird of faith
describe the monster with the human face
who preaches about love from God above
while sucking her soul with his vampire mind
so she snatches wings of sunlight from death.

Her fear and hope are so together wound
tight as taut wires of electric guitar
that her aching heart twangs at snapping voice
of people smiling through unconcerned mask
of polite contraption breaking her thought
to shudder horrified at hidden truth.

Trapped on quiet afternoon walk somewhere
she has to be before the clanging bell,
Evelyn stops by the old apple tree
that waits indifferent to all human pain,
and thinks about the sparkling summer rain
when she was free to run and play with joy.

He pushes hard into my aching mind
at painful shock of anguish without words
to escape gripping hands that twist my arm
and wrench my heart from haven of surprise,
then snarls with contempt in my naked ear
vile insults that mock my sweet innocence.

I want to tell some person I can trust
how our church priest raped me against my will,
though he insisted I should never tell
or God would cast me in hot fires of hell,
but horror of suffering humiliation
already consumes my heart with despair.

Now I know why Jennifer attacked him
last year with the knife to stop his attacks,
but they locked her in the mental asylum
so I cannot follow her path to hell,
or I would never escape cement cell
to breathe sweet pungent air of liberty.

The vast structure of our society
was built by men to favor rights of men
controlling bodies of women and girls
so they can satisfy their lust on us
regardless of our private choice of will,
so they would punish me, but never him.

If I cannot strike at him for his crimes
without suffering from unjust retribution,
meted by indifferent state run by men,
I feel numb anguish to strike at myself,
and wound my flesh to ease my mental pain
by inflicting physical pain on myself.

I want to live and enforce my free will
to savor sweet pleasures of being alive,
so I must harden my heart against despair
and tap deep well of forceful energy
to strengthen my will with determined trust
and fight against oppressor of my soul.

I will not let that man define my life
except to waken warrior will to fight
for liberty of choice to live my way,
enforcing justice of objective law
to punish evil men for hateful crimes
when they abuse people for their own lust.

Feeling strange flow of strength flush her heart,
Evelyn spreads angel wings of wild flames
in leaping ascension above despair,
then leans dizzy against indifferent tree
and laughs with sudden freedom of bold purpose
at fierce resolve to fight hard for her rights.

Adjusting wings she snatched from fear of pain,
Evelyn continues to her next class,
breathing deep cool wind that rustles dry leaves,
and considers how to fight the abuser
by navigating assumptions and laws
that maintain liberty of her free will.

Whom Does The Grail Serve


Whom Does The Grail Serve
© Surazeus
2019 02 05

Still lost in the ancient house with no doors,
I follow voice of the girl with no eyes
who shows me spiral of infinity
that winds truth tight in my genetic coils
so I can rise above blind arguments
to see maze of history where I am lost.

Millions of people are fighting for power
by shooting thoughts of ideology
to block each other from speaking their minds
after we deconstruct Christian world view
that controlled how we all perceived the world,
shattered by far-sight of the telescope.

When Galileo peered through telescope
he revealed that stars are not small fixed points
of material fountains on crystal shells
that the Craftsman turns to control our fate,
so illusion of Heaven fractured apart
and collapsed into ruins of the Waste Land.

That old world view, where God creates the world
of changing material forms from Ideas,
fragmented into delusions of grandeur,
so we deconstruct state authority
to question strong social hegemony
where one group of people controls all others.

Now people fight over what world view
describes our universe with accurate terms
constructed from complex scientific laws
that help predict acts of cause and effect
so we can organize society
based on true principle of liberty.

People unite in gangs to fight for freedom
as religions and political parties,
and follow the man with the clearest vision
who leads them in contest of will to power
to dominate resources of the land
then organize how people eat and breed.

The wise individual leads social group
like twelve wands bundled around the sharp axe
in fasces mounted on the temple wall
where magus leads gang of twelve disciples
as bold magistrate with collective power
to maintain strong central authority.

The messiah wielding sharp axe of truth
leads twelve disciple guards with magic wands
who form circle to police roving tribe
within circus pale of protective poles
then build walls of the polis city-state
on hill top where water fountain flows clear.

Because he slew the dragon from the sea,
we anoint him messiah with snake oil,
then he sits on the flat-top pyramid
to keep watch over market of our tribe
while wearing dragon mouth as sacred crown
in symbol of authority from heaven.

Our tribe messiah roasts steak on the fire
and feeds each soul who worships him as god
so he rules as he wishes for twelve months,
then we sacrifice him on altar stone
to drink his blood that gushes from his heart,
and hang his body in the tree of crows.

When the sun god dies and rises reborn
at turning of seasons from death to birth
we crucify oppressive fascist king
and sprinkle his blood on the frozen fields
so seeds sprout again into wheat and grapes
through sacrifice of the vegetation god.

Every four years the descendants of Christ
campaign in election for president
to rule as god-king of America
by traveling town to town across the land
to present their vision of our great nation
with justice and liberty for all people.

When Grail King enters Castle of Lost Souls
the Maiden of Reincarnation appears,
bearing the Grail and the Blade on the Plate,
and solemnly asks, whom does the grail serve,
and he replies, he serves all citizens
to help them achieve creative success.

Once kings treated the people as their slaves,
exploiting their labor to build great empires,
accounting themselves as gods of the world,
but Jesus showed kings how to love the people
and treat them with justice and liberty
so each person can pursue their happiness.

Deconstructing the fantasy of Heaven
where Storm God raises people from the dead,
we construct new world view based on science
as method of tools to measure the world
and define laws that describe how things work
so we can build real Heaven on this Earth,
transforming the waste land to paradise.

Though lost in the ancient house with no doors,
I follow voice of the girl with no eyes
who leads me singing to the mountain top
where I watch progress of humanity
evolving to enlightened angels of love
who live in harmony with the White Whole.

Spies Who Seek My Treasure


Spies Who Seek My Treasure
© Surazeus
2019 02 05

The way of laughter we follow nowhere
explains nothing except what we invent
to describe patterns of wind pushing lost
through expensive doors that no one can lock
however fast rain dissolves aching heart
so lonely for the nameless soul I love.

This restless sea that I keep in my mouth
to test straight progress of the cobra way
reveals intricate faith in puzzle chart
fragmented by words written on frail sand
so I can navigate susurrant charms
honey bees preserve in my aching heart.

Therefore when I open trunk of the oak
three butterflies escape my swirling eye
so I find the first book ever composed
which records names of eccentric robots
who sing story of American Adam
when I plant seeds in Massachusetts woods.

I file new claim in Office of Lost Dreams
how scripts for comedies are locked forever
in yellow crystals scattered on fake road
that leads nowhere through wilderness of pain
to trace movements of spies who seek my treasure
while I design new roles for fools to play.

Before she can finish counting each tree
that grows within ten feet of every road
the laughing meteor from my broken clock
smears honey across gray desolate sky
to crack our world which tumbles into space
negating power-structure of our last empire.

For two thousand years I try to ascend
gold stairway of light to Realm of Ideas
that shimmers gold above last crystal shell
to find perfect unchanging paradise
far from horror of this still-changing world
where our angelic bodies rot to muck.

I find nothing more than blind Jupiter
kneeling on cloud amid flashing rainbows
who moves people around on vast chessboard
to manipulate history of world power
by crowning me King Albert of the Earth
so I sell the crown for a sailing ship.

I sit at round table in the white hall
to arrange in new world view I design
puzzle pieces of strange memories from dreams
in fragments of information with truth
that fall as tears from eyes of weeping souls
who call my name as they wander nowhere.

Siren Of Ligurian Sea


Siren Of Ligurian Sea
© Surazeus
2019 02 05

Though beautiful Simonetta Vespucci
succumbed to painful ravaging disease,
which destroyed elegant grace of her form,
consumed by suffering from tuberculosis,
elegant perfection of her sweet face,
and startling glitter of star-gazing eyes,
lives on forever long after her death,
for she is immortal Venus of Genoa,
transcendent Siren of Ligurian Sea,
who rises reborn from wild ocean waves.
Graceful beauty of her embodied soul
forever on painting canvas shines bright
so we can perceive beauty of her heart
revealed in sweet love glowing on her face,
idea of beauty that transcends all time
though she long ago crumbled into dust.

Immortal Venus Of Genoa


Immortal Venus Of Genoa
© Surazeus
2019 02 05

Sharp sunlight gleams on silver flashing waves
that ripple sparkling toward the white-sand beach
where pink flowers tumble in morning breeze
to land in long gold hair of the young girl
who rambles among slender apple trees
and whistles with birds that flutter small wings.

Kneeling in lush grass on shore of the stream
that trickles winding among wind-swept hills,
Simonetta dips fingers in swift flow
of cool water that flashes in dawn light,
then gasps as she splashes her face and breast,
blushing as she gazes at glowing clouds.

Slipping long gown down her shoulders and thighs,
so it rumples with seaweed on white sand,
Simonetta wades in Ligurian Sea,
then dives headfirst into high curling waves
which angry Neptune beats against sharp rocks,
and swims out under the cool shimmering sky.

Small and fragile on wild Ligurian Sea,
Simonetta swims sensuously through waves
of flashing water toward pure shining light
where Helius rises gleaming from abyss,
then floats, treading water, in surging sea,
arms spread wide like a hawk gliding on wind.

Swimming back toward beach surrounded by cliffs
of jagged gold rocks that tower at blue sky,
Simonetta rises from crystal waves,
green water drops flowing over soft skin,
and long gold hair clings to her breasts and thighs
as she glides through green waves to the white sand.

Her parents, Gaspare and Chateroccia,
who sit together in the small wood boat
as west wind blows long hair around their faces,
open the large green bottle to drink wine,
sing quaint folk song about Queen Cleopatra,
then kiss as the boat rocks on surging waves.

Running forward from grove of apple trees,
her sister Cattocchia drapes long dry gown
around her shoulders to wrap her up warm,
then Simonetta kisses her flushed cheek
as they sit together in bower of grapes,
arms wrapped around each other in brisk breeze.

Bringing bowl of apples, cherries, and pears,
Marco Vespucci kneels before cute sisters,
and, while they giggle and eat luscious fruit,
he plays sweet melody on ringing lute,
improvising song about Birth of Venus,
Goddess of Love who rises from the sea.

I see you rising from the sparkling sea,
sweet Simonetta, soul of fertile Venus,
elegant and graceful on the gold sea shell
as Jupiter and Juno blow soft wind
that swirls long hair around your breasts and thighs,
while sapphire stars glitter in your blue eyes.

Sitting in gazebo among apple trees,
Sandro Botticelli sketches Arcadian scene
with Simonetta Cattaneo as Venus,
elegant girl with long flowing gold hair
who rises from waves of the surging sea
to embody perfect beauty of life.

Holding hands in the large crowded courtyard
of the Palazzo Medici in Fiorenza,
Simonetta and Marco share love vows,
then sit together at their wedding feast
inside the lavish Villa di Careggi,
as Lorenzo Medici toasts their health.

At the joust in the Piazza Santa Croce,
Giuliano Medici rides on white horse,
bearing green banner on tip of his spear
showing Simonetta as Pallas Athena,
Goddess of Wisdom wearing a gold helmet,
with inscription, The Unparalleled One.

Crowned Queen of Beauty in Medici Court,
Simonetta in flower-embroidered gown
blushes rose red as blue eyes sparkle bright
when Angelo Poliziano recites poem
about Iulio and Simonetta the Siren
who sing and dance on meadows of Elysium.

Lounging among apple trees on lush hill,
Simonetta lies stretched in flowered gown
to gaze at clouds glowing bright up in Heaven
and Giuliano sleeps after hard-fought battle,
while Sandro paints them as Venus and Mars
with three naughty Satyrs stealing his lance.

Coughing up blood that stains her flowered gown,
Simonetta lies sick in tall tower room,
surrounded by family and friends who weep
as tuberculosis destroys her body,
and Marco holds her hand with broken heart,
but her blue eyes gaze at the glowing cloud.

Bearing open coffin through Florence streets
Marco, Giuliano, Lorenzo, and Sandro
set her down beside the Fountain of Neptune
and bow their heads to mourn her lost soul
as everyone pauses long to admire
Simonetta, immortal Venus of Genoa.

Game Of Evolution To Be God


Game Of Evolution To Be God
© Surazeus
2019 02 04

I drive my truck through city streets at dawn
to deliver goods from factories to stores
which maintains constant flow of energy
transforming food into bodies of people
who perform roles as puppets on chess board
in game of evolution to be God.

I twirl broken tree branch as magic wand
to battle cannibals on hill of skulls
till I defeat them all in game of wits
before they crucify me in the fruit tree
then crown myself with gems of fallen stars
in game of evolution to be God.

I polish brass scepter with shining diamond
that I lift high before awed worshippers
and sing vision on creation of life
then kill slavers to keep my people free
who tend fruit trees in lush Garden of Eden
in game of evolution to be God.

I forge flame-melted stone into sharp sword
to fight wand wizards on flat pyramid
till I defeat them all in game of thrones
and ride galloping horse on plain of wheat
to conquer the world with army of men
in game of evolution to be God.

I stuff ball on powder in metal tube
then aim it at the swordsman with a grin
to blast fire beam that blows his head apart
then lead army of boys with shining guns
to overthrow dynasties of proud kings
in game of evolution to be God.

For ten thousand years I play games of power
by designing better weapons of death,
the wand of wood, the brass scepter with gems,
the sharp sword, and the rifle that blasts bullets,
establishing myself as leader of men
in game of evolution to be God.

The Earth is soaked with the blood of god-kings
and countless warriors who followed their lead
in endless crusades to conquer the world
on divine missions to expand vast empires,
fighting to control this indifferent world
in game of evolution to be God.

I want to rise above bloody world wars
that empires fight in clash of will to power
when arrogant gods driven by stark fear
organize frightened men in holy states
who fight each other to control the Earth
in game of evolution to be God.

I am descended these ten million years
from the winners of all those bloody wars
for we built paradise on broken skulls
and taught our children to cultivate plants
but they fight each other for right to live
in game of evolution to be God.

I want to transcend urgency of lust
and transform greed into creative craft
so we will create rather than destroy
social system where everyone can live
together in harmony of peaceful love
in game of evolution to be God.

I want to evolve past aggressive stance
to dance with loving humans in the garden
where we cultivate fruit on Tree of Life
and sing heart-enchanting hymns of true love
as we become one soul with the White Whole
in game of evolution to be God.

God Of Myself


God Of Myself
© Surazeus
2019 02 04

The book of stories on the forest floor
laughs with the playful wind that flips torn pages
smeared with blood of people killed long ago
whose spirits haunt my dreams with pulsing eyes.

I write their names with grass blades on sidewalks
that wind through cement canyons of great cities,
detailing how they struggled to survive
till wind blows their spirits into mute night.

The tales of individuals merge details
of active deeds in one generic trope
so personalities transform to gods
whose names tag millions of souls in one mask.

Unless I express my personal traits
of peculiar aspects through noble deeds
beyond usual methods of social rites,
I will disappear in God of Myself.

How many millions of years of lost time
did my ancestors look up at blank sky
and believe the Glow Cloud was divine God
watching us with authority of truth?

That shimmer of their belief still glows bright
in my brain when I look up at blank sky
and sense conscious presence watching me live,
till I realize it mirrors my own mind.

I see God of Myself in the Glow Cloud,
projecting my Ego to cosmic height
so I can see myself as little doll
groping blindly through the maze of desires.

I find book with blank pages on the ground
so I dip angel-feather quill in blood
of my heart and write epic tale of heroes
to record how we dream from the White Whole.

Stare At Empty Sky


Stare At Empty Sky
© Surazeus
2019 02 04

Leaves of time scatter from the trees of hope
to shroud the golden path of destiny
we follow through the maze of blind desire
to find the garden of safety, but I
hesitate in grove of silent concern
to sit nowhere and stare at empty sky.

Why should I continue on path of fate,
I wonder as I stare at glowing clouds
where my ancestors once thought God resides,
and laugh because each decision I make
becomes the true destiny I design,
charting my progress toward my own mute grave.

I could sit here under the tree of fruit
and die on this spot so dust of my flesh
feeds roots of this tree consuming my soul
so I become this tree stretching its limbs
to whisper sorrowful joy of my heart,
or I could go find my grave somewhere else.

Whether I stay here for rest of my life
or I wander far along winding rivers
means nothing to anyone else but me,
for someday, somewhere far down my long road,
I will fall over and sink in dark gloom,
and never again wake from dreamless sleep.

Does some supernatural consciousness glow
inside every pulsing atom of me
to motivate my progress through this world,
or is this consciousness I name myself
my own volition asserting free will
to ambulate my own way through this world?

Before my father fell over and died
on the river shore many moons ago
he told me how each creature that exists
is the hunter or the hunted in game
of life and death as we fight to survive,
trying to stay alive as long as we can.

I want to be neither, hunter or hunted,
so I navigate with careful attention
complex geography of hills and lakes
to maintain safety of body and mind,
thus I keep moving through maze of mute trees
to hide from predators hunting for food.

I long to stop on some deserted spot
and arrange stones in circle to protect
this fragile body that sustains my mind
so I can rest from my perpetual flight
within haven walls I build with my hands
to guard lush garden of my peaceful hope.

Once I enclose myself in garden walls,
tending fruit trees that sustain spirit life
in constant ritual of active attention,
I feel tension wind tight urge of my heart
to break free and explore the wilderness
where I dream the indifferent universe.

Preserving small garden in ring of stones,
I venture outside walls to explore hills,
hunting for anything I can take back
and keep hidden in my safe paradise
where I relax in hut on heap of stones
to keep watch in the long hot afternoon.

What is my purpose for hiding in garden
of secret walls that protect me from harm
except to avoid attention of hunters
while I plan through wit of analysis
method to eliminate evil monsters
till I can dominate vast wilderness.

Fruits of desire sprout from the trees of hope
to reveal the golden path of my will
that I chart through grim waste land of despair
till I establish through bold precedent
my divine right to rule over this land,
sitting nowhere to stare at empty sky.

With Death I Sit


With Death I Sit
© Surazeus
2019 02 03

With Death I sit on the city park bench
and watch the beautiful people walk by
who cannot see the shadow mask I wear
so I write their wordless thoughts on dry leaves
in magic spells that no one else can sing,
woven as dreams on the butterfly wing.

With Joy I dance on the river shore grass
and taste transcendent rain of bitter tears
that fall from eyes of people still enslaved,
unnamed and unseen somewhere in the world
though I try to find them with tracking ring
which resonates signal on the owl wing.

With Fear I walk through labyrinth of locked doors
to search for faces of terrified people
who hide behind masks in nice photographs
posted on the world wide web of lost souls
revealing how long falling angels cling
before they soar away on eagle wing.

With Truth I break through locked doors of desire
to battle men who enslave other people
then lead nameless souls from foul underworld
who wander confused in our modern world
so we sit together by bubbling spring
to weave ourselves new star-soaring hawk wing.

Eye Of The Sacred Blue


Eye Of The Sacred Blue
© Surazeus
2019 02 03

The moonlit rain fills my mouth with lost words
that sparkle from eye of the sacred blue
so I walk city streets in weird dawn light
and scatter apple seeds in cement cracks
to weave mute sorrows of our unknown tales
in ever-shifting tapestry of souls
that composes web of our national mind
I wear as Superman cape when I sing.

While strumming guitar that Hermes designed
from turtle shell, cow horns, and horse gut strings,
I walk nameless highway under blue sky
and visit each graveyard here to the sea
to improvise ballads about the strange lives
of every dead person buried in Earth
whose hearts sprout into apple trees that wait
in whispering wind for children to play chase.

I find sweet apple fallen from the tree
where angels sing majestic harmony
so I inspect strange matrix of its seed
to navigate vast labyrinth of its dreams
and from its secret tendrils reconstruct
cathedral hall where children in white robes
hold hands around the ancient Tree of Life
and grow into bright glowing spheres of love.

Soft tinge of poignant perfume lures my heart
to follow phantom hope in grove of trees
then gaze in blossom of unfolding truth
to fathom mystery of every lost petal
that hides true story of some nameless soul
who walked this world long years before my birth
and played tunes of faith on flute of my bones
to lead me home with pipe dream of desire.

Long black hair flowing in sun-gold sea breeze,
she gazes straight through my heart with calm love
from eyes black as night sky full of warm stars,
so I reach out my hand to hold her hand,
and together bound by wings of loyal faith
we blaze new trail of love around our world,
then kiss forever under Tree of Life
that drops sweet apples in our laughing hands.

Long mute in heart-aching sorrow of truth,
I wandered maze of this strange world alone,
till she took my hand with enchanting smile,
and now we walk together road of life,
so I sing words of sun-lit rain that bursts
from fountain of my heart to flow in spirals
around this spinning world on rainbow wings
and soak waste land with awakening tears.

Our children sprout from seeds of our lost hope
we planted long ago in soil of Earth
so when they spring on laughing wings we dance
together swirling happy by the sea
that first created our bodies from light
and cast us on harsh world of naked bones,
hands reaching out across the silent void,
then sing as one soul till we fade in death.

Mouth full of moonlit rain, I express words
of magic spells that beam before our eyes
visions of ideas forming transient truth
which molds masks of our personalities
from fruit seeds and flower petals wet from rain
soaking our faces to hide sacred tears,
yet we sit together on river shore
and pledge to stay together till we die.

The sunlit rain fills my mouth with new words
that sparkle from eye of the sacred blue
so we walk city streets in sharp dawn light
while holding hands to connect beating hearts,
and share stories of our childhoods to light
swerving way of faith through maze of desire,
because we create our Heaven on Earth
each moment we look at each other and smile.

Navigate Her Dreams


Navigate Her Dreams
© Surazeus
2019 02 02

Purple wine sparkles in slim crystal glass
as moonlight gleams through raindrops of soft faith
that slide down fragile cheek of the sad night
when she thinks about his face in the window.

Sipping wine like the silver stream of hope
that trickles over white stones in her heart,
she curls up warm inside the white down quilt,
and ties hair up to expose swan-slim neck.

Black hair glimmers blue in orange candle light
as she gazes with swan-black eyes at shadows
dancing on books in the shelf by white wall,
then touches her cheek with three slender fingers.

Raindrops freeze into snowflakes that swirl white
in gold halo of the streetlight where ghosts
gather to whisper her name in the wind
as she touches the window with warm palm.

Frost shimmers white as the moon in black clouds
that seems to sail across the endless sea,
infiltrating tendrils of her pale soul
as she shivers naked in the fragile dark.

Every evening after work for eight years
since she dropped out of college to write poems
she comes home from mopping floors at the bank
and writes thin curving letters in notebooks.

Each snow flake that flutters through starless night
she draws with words in tight concentric thoughts
to calculate opaque memories of love
that sparkle as frost on glass of her heart.

Capturing conceptual tweets of small birds
who weave threads of truth between silent wings,
her tender sentences record emotions
that shimmer mute in pool after gold rain.

She gazes in mirror of glittering pool
on white cement beside tufts of green grass
and sees her face dissolve into frail stars
who flash code of her invisible name.

Though no one reads her poems that blossom frail
from cracked heart of forgotten incidents
she writes their letters on pages that bleed
anguish of hope through curve of each mute truth.

Awake in slant of light that beams through window,
she gazes at dawn-infused streets of white snow,
to ignore intense passion of cold stone
encasing her heart to protect frail faith.

Thirteen pages filled with fragmented thoughts
present puzzles crossing words with proverbs
to clue arcane wisdom hidden in riddles
which she records to navigate her dreams.

Men Sink In The Muddy Stream


Men Sink In The Muddy Stream
© Surazeus
2019 02 02

I want to live well as long as I can
yet Death is always lurking close behind
mocking me with horror of nothingness,
so I savor sweet light on everything
that glows with melancholy fortitude.
How sweet it is to look into your eyes
and hear your voice as you talk about things,
animated by essence of desire.

More than one hundred fifty years ago
sons of farmers, dressed in wool uniforms,
sailed steam ships along gush of flowing rivers
to shoot balls from cannons with blasting fire.
I hear crickets in trees on the far shore,
singing as men sink in the muddy stream.
I can smell scent of wood steamed soft to bend
as I mold thick beams into hulls of ships.

Another sunset smears blood of dead men
across the silver sky of empty hope.
Old women and children gather in church
to sing about the coming of the savior
while men with guns run through the misty woods
and shoot the shadows of monsters they fear.
I hear their voices across centuries
still singing across the broad muddy streams.

Soft song of water lapping at wood hull
wakes memory of my mother after sunset
singing hymns about the garden of trees.
The sun forever shines through flashing leaves
to tweak strange sorrow in my joyful heart.
Instead of tending vegetables and herbs
or feeding chickens and pigs in the yard,
I want to stand on deck of sailing ships
and feel thick hulls gliding over high waves.

The brutal injustice of slavery
and the screams of men shot by guns in war
vibrate beneath tension of politics
that twist our hearts against harsh tyranny.
We must fight for liberty of all people,
I want to tweet in hurricane of voices
that clash over definition of freedom.
I stand alone on river shore and hum.

I pry darkness apart with rays of light
to generate sparks of truth between eyes
so music of our hearts move between shade
of boundless nothing that reveals our minds.
Our bodies are nothing but pulsing sparks
of quick immortal atoms flashing bright.
My ship glides bouncing on rough river waves
past islands where skeletons dance in rain.

Deep as silent hills forever strong here,
I tend apple trees and build river boats,
then sit on porch of my house by the stream
and listen to infinity explain
perfection of each action I perform.
Strange adoration for butterfly wings
persists in secret code of aching hymns
I sing while covering hillsides with white doors.

No matter how close Death gets to my heart,
I still move forward through maze of despair,
slipping through doors of mirrors no one sees
to become my true self that has no name.
I look into bright sparkle of your eyes
and see vast galaxies of flashing suns
reveal sweet kindness of your gentle soul.

Every Person Is Born Equal


Every Person Is Born Equal
© Surazeus
2019 02 02

While riding crowded bus through city streets,
jostled by tires bouncing on asphalt lumps,
I imagine being chained on a slave ship
three hundred years ago from Africa
taken by force and hurled across the sea
then sold to pick cotton in sweltering fields.

No human should suffer indignity
of being enslaved to labor endless days
against our will, beaten if we resist,
for excess profit of another person,
then thrown nameless in the dark silent grave
when death consumes our waning energy.

The color of our skin, dark brown to white,
should be irrelevant to basic rights
of liberty to pursue happiness
working our projects of creative will
and building private life with family
equal in judgment of impartial law.

Though none of my ancestors were enslaved,
and some may have owned good people as slaves
before the Civil War broken iron chains,
I see this world through eyes of every human
and wish for every person in this world
to enjoy freedom of creative love.

Stepping off the bus to walk downtown streets
and glide slowly with admiring respect
for every nameless stranger passing by,
I gaze amazed at rich variety
of human faces in colors and shapes
now here from every nation in the world.

How different we are now from those lost days
just over one hundred some years ago
when social structures let one group of people
enslave another group to exploit labor,
yet all are equal now under one law,
though most are still not treated as they should.

Though we restructured social institutions
providing basic liberty and rights
for every person alive in this world
still too many people with darker skin
are not treated with dignity of love
they deserve by virtue of being alive.

Now we are shaking loose through social storms
last racist deeds from rafters of our nation
so we can reassert good principle
that every person born into this world
lives equal within justice of our courts
and behave as we will if we harm none.

Seer Of The Cave


Seer Of The Cave
© Surazeus
2019 02 01

I want so much more than this dusty cave
to shimmer ambition of divine truth
when I play my role in this cosmic play
to dramatize concept of noble love
in honest gestures of my crafting hands
because I am eternal soul of man.

I was every person who ever lived,
I am every person who is alive now,
and I will be every person who will
be alive some day in this world of forms,
thus I record name of my every self
in Book of Souls so we will live forever.

I step in shadow of the mountain cave
to see where the flowing river is born
and listen to the voices of the dead
explain how they survived till they could breed
and generate new body for the soul
we pass along from brain to dreaming brain.

I see my face reflected in your face
and hear my own thoughts echoed in your words
thus we are fragments of first mother soul
splintered into new separate human beings
so we embrace and kiss with eager hope
to generate new soul from flash of love.

When I first set out on my quest for love
I dreamed how drama of our meet would play
based on the way my parents played their roles,
but we conceive our own dramatic parts
and clash in bitter tragedy of lust
then dance in tender comedy of love.

I strip all names of gods from off my face,
discarding masks my ancestors once wore,
then walk my own path in weird maze of eyes,
expressing passions through my own new mask
to play this person natural to my heart,
so love this real me I reveal to you.

They try to drive me from huge cave of dreams,
those old men who beat me with cursing wands,
so I fill the cave with smoke of my spells,
and stab their hearts as they flee cave of shadows,
then I declare myself Seer of the Cave,
and wear shining ring of gold on my head.

When children of first mother all arrive
to sit around our ancient cave of dreams
I stand before them tall in blowing wind
and chant the vision of our noble soul
in revelation of the heart-true spell
so they accept me as Seer of the Cave.

Quest For You


Quest For You
© Surazeus
2019 02 01

I sail fragile boat on vast sparkling sea
that glides from force of wind billowing sails
on life-long mission to explore the world
and walk the shore of every ancient land.

I shroud my boat on beach of sun-bright sand
and walk along the narrow winding stream
to follow its flow to high mountain cave
where its spring fountains from heart of the world.

Ten thousand ancestors on eager feet
followed rivers over ten million years
so all their journeys merge in my one search
as I repeat strict ritual of their quest.

I feel them all awake inside my mind,
gazing with ancient eyes at this new world
so I feel timeless shimmer of desire
to savor beauty of landscape I love.

Amazed at vision of this teeming world,
I stand forever on sun-glowing stone
and gaze at stillness of our turning sphere
which spirals endlessly through empty void.

Could we but share this feeling of delight
in glances of our loving eyes to see
transcendent glow of everlasting truth
which gleams from pulsing atoms of our souls.

I sense your spirit still alive somewhere
now moving through strange shadows of lost faith
so I spread arms to soar among bright clouds
but fail to rise from Earth to find your face.

Each time I think I hear your voice call me
I turn to see no ghost among my trees
so I return to beach of ceaseless waves
to sail my fragile boat on quest for you.