Surazeus Simon Seamount
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Surazeus Simon Seamount
@surazeus.bsky.social
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Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Author. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers in 126,680 lines of blank verse. Historical Fiction. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures https://surazeus.blogspot.com
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Astarian Scriptures

Hermead Epic of Philosophers 2011-2018
Wohaliad 2,900 Poems 2019-2021
Zarathiad 2,476 Poems 2012-2018
Solariad 1,660 Poems 2006-2011
Angeliad 1,346 Poems 2001-2005
Gothiniad 1,948 Poems 1993-2000
Takomiad 2,590 Poems 1984-1992

tinyurl.com/AstarianScri...
Sly proverb that declares with sanity
how we must learn from dire calamity
to live the present through enlightenment,
till pride chains our souls with entitlement,
surprises me with falseness of its tone
analyzed by sneer of the mountain crone.
Escaping to the place where I was born,
I walk beyond horizon of gold corn,
to chat with frog of gold hypnotic eyes
who weaves my network of psychotic spies
when the bitter king tears down the White House
in vain attempt to confiscate my spouse.
In charge of my own secret consciousness,
I try to build Bridge of Forgetfulness,
but ghosts of laughter dance on my lost grave,
so I hide while singing in the grandiose cave
about how people weep in castle towers
where I must practice divination powers.
Though treachery of nostalgia lures my heart
to long for sacred past that falls apart,
I pause to hear the heartless siren wail
as she laments the project I would fail,
so I imagine every way to die
while gliding with demon breath in the sky.
Dire exaltation shouted in springtime
traps me in public pageant of bold crime
because I dream the world will end in flame
consistent with random rules of the game
we play forever in each life reborn
till I wander away with heart forlorn.
My heart cannot afford to lose its faith
in randomness of events twined by the wraith
who teaches me to summon wingless birds
based on arrogant loneliness of words
that bind my body to this shaking globe
which I feel spinning though I wear my robe.
Grief carves accelerated counterpoints
in timeless passion on my boneless joints
till I leap in deep lake of honest pain
to drink electric wisdom of dawn rain
so I can represent facts about life
with inventive process of psychic strife.
Too far beyond tomorrow I have flown
on excess sorrow of the rolling stone,
so I build bridges between lonely hearts
while selling illusions from apple carts
because the living room light flickers faint
at sudden appearance of the sad saint.
Hollow Heart Of Liberty
© Surazeus
2025 10 20

Orpheus breaks into the Zarathian Museum of Fake Art and steals the diamond ring of Tiresias, then flies away to live with Lady of the Rocks on Patmos Island.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/10/holl...
Hollow Heart Of Liberty
Hollow Heart Of Liberty © Surazeus 2025 10 20 If dry stones in the waste land sing to me with voice of angels in the wordless heat, I s...
surazeus.blogspot.com
When long-departed nymphs of faith return
with Holy Book of Fairy Tales form Hell,
I sit beneath the apple tree of time
to meditate on the meaning of life
as I become Buddha Tiresias
spawned from the hollow heart of liberty.
Paused on the busy street in cool twilight
before the bookstore glowing gold with hope,
I wonder why in sixty years of life
I have never heard the nightingale sing,
so I place diamond ring of solitude
on fractured marble mantel of my heart.
Now no one sits on burnished throne of sight
that shimmers on high ziggurat of power
before fraught table of the sacrifice
where the Holy Grail topples on its side
and spills blood of salvation from the book
at stalemate end of our chess game with Death.
My secret horoscope in Book of Jokes,
programmed in riddling code of urgency,
lures me to walk Bridge of Forgetfulness
where faceless people, long undone by death,
still follow guiding star of rainbow wealth
that leads them to the wrecked ship on the shore.
No clairvoyant with pack of tarot cards,
posing as graceful Lady of the Rocks,
attempts to read the fortune of my stars
then prophesy my hanging from the tree
when Fame discovers my safe hiding place
and drags to the public square of faith.
Though I could not speak of my aching love,
nor could my eyes see visage of her soul,
I gaze into the silent heart of light
to hear weird song of ocean waves call me
with eerie voice of wordless ecstasy
while I float mute in nothingness of time.
Strange shadow of my soul under red rock
considers something different from our truth
based on stark fear in the handful of dust
that swirls in fresh wind of the verdant isle
where hyacinths bloom from grave of the girl
whose wet hair shimmers in my morning dream.
If dry stones in the waste land sing to me
with voice of angels in the wordless heat,
I shelter hollow heart of liberty
among the heap of broken images
where branches twist from roots of silent grief
in angry trees that never blossom fruit.
Weird Emptiness Of Truth
© Surazeus
2025 10 20

Orpheus hosts gallery show that presents his photographs about weird emptiness of truth embodied by all the powerful leaders of nations who lived and died the past ten thousand years.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/10/weir...
Weird Emptiness Of Truth
Weird Emptiness Of Truth © Surazeus 2025 10 20 Wide-angle view inside my empty heart reveals ten billion faceless ghosts of fate who as...
surazeus.blogspot.com
Constrained by maxim of the wise buffoon
that laughter raises saviors from the dead,
I purchase at expense of brave virtue
soul-healing relief of scandalous spells
that photograph weird emptiness of truth
so I see my face in eyes of your faith.
Observing imperfections of the mind,
I scorn aggressive tyranny of doubt
to weep with laughter from calamity
that shakes foundation of our world empire
through shock of willful liberty to sing
about our suffering in the prison camp.
We climb misty peaks of intelligence
to peer in gloomy furnaces of fate
where laws of metaphysics control change,
so we can break through walls of worldly pride
and dance with eager diabolic joy
on graves of gods who writhe in agony.
While the humble shepherd with curving harp
sings reverent psalms of worshipful respect
for power of Nature to create souls,
kings wield their holy books as sharpened swords
to kill rebels who laugh at their false pride
till the Jester kills the Tyrant with one stone.