The Line crossed in the Firehouse carries with it the glory and magnitude of a following. The creator of Tomorrow leads me into designing my own whims. I am sustained by his glory. I offer myself up in servitude to his name. Montag, the dreamer has been Gone for many years. Throughout the entire ten and a half years, he’s Been hard at work writing about his travels into the unknown. The jungles of his mind create the fortitude of strength burning in the hearts of man. For life is a Firehouse where folks wait to come alive within themselves. There is the hunger burning up the souls of the encumbered.
I am living in the disease of the frailties of a mountain I have yet to descend, for fear of falling through the cracks. I am a dreamer; yet, I am a doer. I foster new horizons. With every stroke of my pen, my soul leaks out onto the pages stories dwelling inside of my core.
For the instant a memory is delivered to the writer, the whole world can share in the experience taking place within his mind.
There is a transparency going in the eyes of the beholder. Wishes bleed through the core of the earth, rising to the surface in reluctant ways I cannot speak. If one listens, he will hear the humming bird singing its heart out for the fallen who have succumbed to their deathly plight in the fields of honor in the battles of war.
There is no prudent means for eluding the past. For there is only the frailty existing within the whole of the sum. The sum lit up with a fire so red, so hot, cuts its roots deep into my heart.
Only the magnitude of our breach can be broken by the incumbency of the oceans voice echoing throughout. I can hear his voice call out to an to bring himself out of the grave he dwells, and to march into the great waters of the Nile.
I am burning in the cinder of the Universe. Rocks and boulders block my pathway towards the fostering worlds where only the giving survive. For to be a part of the shifted magnitude of their lender leads me to believe they are dwelling in the ways of the truth through the power of the light.
Are you an imposter leading me astray, or are you the reality I have yet to see? Whatever you are, and wherever you have been is only the division of where you are going.
There is no fire brewing in the masses of these graves I speak. For only the living can see the truth for what it is. The grail of your ill tidings when you summon up the beast within yourself to be down the meek with your dryness. The scorn I see within the world came about, because the miser failed to deliver up himself in offering servitude to a public constrained by the ways of the past.
© Copyright, Kiki Stamatiou, 2015