I’m Lost In The Jaded Memories Of Time And Space

I’m lost in the jaded memories of time and space.

Embers break through the brisk of my tears when

The fever subsides in the highways of passionate.

Wretched hours bleed me out into the streets of fire,

I down my nights in the limelight of your turbulence,

But I shall not succumb to the resonating glow burning

Inside my core.

Frosted streets in the winter bring three layers of cold

Throughout my trying body; yet, the nimble find the

Weakness of my cradling limbs in askance for the

Fowlers of deeds.

Let all misgivings come across as the worldly nile,

For the cinder the offers you up to the highest

Mountain never leaves you green in the vindictive

Melancholy of my dreams.

I lose sight of what I’m doing here, but I never let

Go of the strewn beans boiling over in the stove.

I lit the match of you eyes leading me through grand doors

Of your soul where I’m immersed in lilies of the valley.

Wind songs beat their rhythms inside my head,

I’m lost to the desert wishing on you,

But I’m never losing sight of who I have become

In the hours of death.

I am the high beam burning out the risen desire in

Your heart, but the anguish I ghoul out into the streams

Of this fire surrounding me shall deliver up their song

To the bees knees.

Whiskers tickle the keys of my heart where the longing

For the harp drives me to create in worldly songs of creation.

Let the river rise, and the purple beets shall be eaten by

Those grave diggers who follow you around with their

Shovels.

I only wish to dance with the frogs leaping from lily pad

To lily pad.

Engulfing me with feather wings are the white winged swans

Which trollop in every landscape driving you into madness.

The huge bubble explodes, and leaves you with a dampened

Presentation long turned into ashes.

Your ashes are used to washing away wounds of a sullen past.

I’m driven by you spirit to move forth monkeys heart filled

With the red light.

For you wash cars belonging to a magnitude of disease boiling

Over into the golden pot of the Lord’s creed to be healed by

The follicles of time.

However, there is no mask to be awaited for, because I’m in the

Lesser decree of a night born into evergreens.

Don’t drive in the living room with you bumper broken off

Of your car.

For you policy to the light shall be cancelled, and all swollen

Hearts shall deflate from the escapades you challenge.

All the money earned has been inflicted with a greedy sense

Of pride when the crowned prince receives his throne.

However, for every soldier marching down the lonely road

You tread, the lily pads shall continue to swim in the

Bath tub, after the first frog has croaked.

Creaming the doves in tombs of your creed brings forth

A cold; yet, the sour grapes you tread upon shall only

Grow tempered with every stretch of time consumed,

Even if only for a shorter car.

Use your insurance policy to cover up the holes in your

Walls.

For growing up in the light of the moon brings patience,

Enabling a collegiate reward to follow, if only you can

Pay for the damages done by your deeds of misguidance.

For the creed I follow is the tides of the deliverer to deliver

All ways of the winds into thoughts of kindred spirits.

Haul your belongings off to you room for offer up

Assistance for a job in the nightly ways of your fever.

I’m misguided by ambition sometimes leading me astray

When I want to settle for the lesser grievance.

In doing so, I make the job easier.

However, life isn’t always meant to be easier, as much as

I hate to admit.

Locked up in the gates of heaven are the books of lessons

Man has learned, and the rites of passage he has yet taken.

I know I’ll overcome the adversity washing through broken

Channels of my grievances, but I’m unsure of the road taken.

I often wonder if perhaps things would be better had I taken

A different road.

There’s no means for me to know.

For there is only one road taken.

Man cannot divide himself up to take every road at

Once.

He must make solid choices to lay his rocks down,

And build his home on earth, brick by brick,

Piece by piece, and work even harder to his core.

There isn’t always a means to shrink the tumor

Of sorrow, but there is the numbing enabled

Through the power of time to heal wounds,

If only we give it time.

For every moment I count, I add up my light

And give my momentum once daily

To rinse out my center with a good working

Sprayer.

The rabbit jumped through his own tunnel

On his way to the given dream, I giving in

To the easier road isn’t necessarily the

One to fly with.

Going with passionate choices leads to

Its own reward for some, but not all

Those who strive to achieve necessarily

Achieve their true earthly reward.

Menacing is the tide of truth,

But it’s the only one we’ve got.

Roll up the windows to your past,

And open the doors leading to

Your future, little swan of the

Golden waters.

Streaming forth is the mighty hand

Reaching out from the clouds of

Heaven.

I’m anguished over the loan of my life

On earth, but I know animals don’t

Carry their own shovels to bury

Themselves.

For I fumbled many times

Trying to get the number ten

To add up to the roads I’ve taken,

But all I can do is to keeping dividing

My time between my passions,

And the musts to do in matters

Of necessity.

It’s just a matter of the way my

Fire burns through the rush of

The wind.

Tires grow out of their shape,

And often blow out, but I am

Not a number to be put together

By fate.

For there are many numbers I

Carry with me.

My birth rite is from the passage

From my wreathe.

© Copyright, Kiki Stamatiou, 2015

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