Crying, crying, crying,
All throughout the tortured night,
Cuts into my nerves like jagged blades
Of a knife with it’s gripping tunes.
I look for the red velvet
To ring in a sweetness,
But all I hear are the turbulent
Alarms going off inside the vocal
Chords of my elderly grandmother,
When I want to sleep.
A veil of the sandman’s sand drapes
My groggy eyes with sleep;
Yet, sleep doesn’t come my way.
Instead of the melodies of crickets
Ringing thru my ears,
There is only the torturing sound
Of my grandmother crying from
Her aches and pains.
© Copyright, Kiki Stamatiou, 2015