Through The Waves Of My Soul

Through the waves of my soul,

I’m dressed in the robes of death.

Where black rivers flow

Through miles of exhaustion,

The cucumber flesh of my grain

Has mellowed down into my grave.

Free is the bird who flies into the

Sun.

The golden buttery sight after rain

Has diminished gets absorbed into

My unencumbered spirit.

I walk downtown in search of a new

Light; a cycle unbroken by vicious

Callousness of a fierce fire.

It’s been cloudy all day, but hasn’t

Rained yet.

Fighting dogs granulate the articles

Of survival where empowerment

Struggles to survive.

I ignite the fire within my heart

And let the rains of the past wash

Through me with their banter.

The equality of frailties found

Inside a windup doll administer

The foundation for the articles

Belonging to the riveter.

Let no man drive his tools into

The ground while he exhausts

His resources, and bleed his

Waters dry.

Washing up in past sorrow

Are my forgotten years

Suffocating within, driving

Out sanity of the feeble.

However, I have enriched my

Mind over the years with

Fires kindling inside platitudes

Of knowledge waiting to burn

Further into my soul.

I’m beheld by a widen duress

Overcoming the distances of

The hours you breathe.

I can remove the remover

To be removed by the colors

Of the mountains.

There is a fever boiling

My glandular waves to cling

To the dying mandolin.

Weeping inside the extinguished

Flame causes a turtle dove to fly

Further up into the heavens.

The draught from which I dig

Erases my living, breathing

Words.

I’m humbled by the stout your

Words bring to my heart.

Can it be the rains have stopped

Pouring down onto my head

After the heaviness has gone

Into asunder living along depleted

Lines.

I drink the wines from a fruitful

Vineyard.

Seeker of the worldly woes

Is the only means for niceties

To be delivered by the cherry

Thirsting through forms.

These mathematic equations

Drip into my senses;

Yet, the power to be me

Has risen higher by the powers

Being withheld.

I will not be withheld by the

Razor threatening to cut into

My quick where the rivers

Flow into me.

I walk further down the road

Where the light exists within

The city; therefore, it becomes

Me in the ghostly realm of

My mind.

Cherished memories are an allowance

To the feeble soul marching for

His heart to belong.

Surrounding each petal of the red

Rose is velvety softness only an

Angel could resonate with.

For their allegiance to the higher power

Is all of all the graces I am to be in holding.

For in askance of a dream to create artistry

With words is my all mighty force for

Existence in an unquenched world

Driving me on my quest for knowledge.

There is no other measure I’d rather follow.

There is only the light burning inside of me,

Guiding my heart across the floor in this

Dance of life.

Diagnosis, the fire is the only inhibitor

Counting for high levels of acid rain

Landing on the roof.

Apple trees stretch their limbs

Out, and grab hold of children

Playing underneath it.

For the tree is there to tell a story

Of the past to the young.

“One misguided evening where

The stars clung to the heavens,

A great fire shot out of the sky.

It was a meteor crashing into the earth,

Devouring it piece by piece.

The fabric laid before my eyes

Is the event of the uneventful.

Reaching forth digging men, women,

And children out of their mass grave

Was the lowly host of the flames.

For he would not allow for second

Chances.

The masses were extinguish by the

Great flame, and risen up into a

Better world in the kingdom of heaven.

Walking through this wondrous realm,

All the children ran up to the foot of the Lord

Who embraced them with his heart.

For he sent the flame down to earth

To rescue them from their own peril,

And bring them into a better life.

Piercing through my heart is the

Distant stream I long to cross.

Wading in silky waters enriches

The soul with the bread and butter

Bursting through the crevices.

Opening minds is a potent force

Brought about by the devouring

Pestilence.

I’m forever magnified by lawful

Deeds bring me into rightful

Parades, but the nerves never

Remained unbroken.

They broke into shambles

With the bombs dropped from

The sky, consuming flesh of

Every piece of life.

The hours have merged into

One scientific reform.

The fire is burning down bridges;

Yet, nothing is willful on it’s own.

The turnaround comes about with

A tax of a symbol stamped upon

Wax paper; the sealant forever

Binding man to his own decree.

Forever lost, forever burning,

The heart lives in the mastodon.

© Copyright, Kiki Stamatiou, 2015

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