The rains from my emotional storm feed the acidity which burns inside my heart. Each strike of lightening and thunder is the source of my rhythmic patterns which hold me hostage to my past. It is the erasure of the driven desires to have the one thing to keep me from isolation.
I’m drowning in a body of sorrow which is fed by the redness of the sun. However, for every breath drawn by me, I’m unleashed by the creator of the fantastical front. If only the doors leading to the power of the holy light will open up to me. How can they be opened up to me when all I see is the darkness which feeds upon my soul?
The rage erupts like a volcano. Fire burns into my heart, creating a rawness I have suppressed for so many years. However, it is of late which it has come to the surface.
The obstacles getting in the way of obtaining solace are the cries of one who feeds on souls drowning in their own illusions, because she craves sympathy.
What I need is to drive out the madness burning inside of me so I can construct each section of my spirit piece by piece to form a pyramid. When each brick is laid, I feel it gets destroyed by the one who holds my soul prisoner.
I’m eating my anguish up everyday, however, I cannot control the degree of rawness which circumspect along my heart. I’m dwelling inside the grave the tyrants have put me into long, long, ago. For if only I can tear down ever fiber of my being and reenter every drop of blood once the cleansing process has ended.
Am I to continue to drift through the murky waters of death, or am I to cut through the black clouds and reach the pinnacle of the holy light? Is there no end to the misery feeding my heart with toxin? The fever in my head rises, and my temples pulsate, because I can no longer sustain myself in the jail I have been living in within myself.
Where am I to feed on to sustain all I am? Little by little I’m fading away into nothingness, because of my sense of loss. I’m not any further ahead today than what I was twenty years ago. I walk through the pages of the stories passing through my mind, but I cannot break hold of my sense of sorrow which bleeds out my core.
If the only means to end the madness boiling inside of me is to end all sense of reality, where will my mind end up next? For man can’t thrive on illusion alone. He must face reality even though he’s had too much reality in his life.
I don’t know which is worse for me. Sometimes I feel like my illusions sustain me more so than reality. Reality is the cruelty feeding my soul and burning up my heart. There is a longing for the spaciousness of another to behold my senses and feed me with a passionate song my vestments can heal my insides with. Whatever they may be, the sorrows are covered with blinders to tease out my mind so my heart can thrive again.
I don’t know if my heart can continue to dwell in a life filled with dark jelly which clings to it to sustain a life force contained with me. However, it is not enough for me. If it is death which calls out to my heart to join his march into the gong, how can I further explore the next mile I’m to take on a crimson journey filling the rawness with overlapping tides to wash through the soreness of the heart.
I long to be free from the jailed pangs erupting inside my soul. Each layer of pain is a passageway to the past realms devouring my soul. It continues to feed on my sanity. I can’t merge with the feats I walk if I’m to constantly be tortured by every draining energy feeding on my anguish only to cause me to erupt in a blazing fire. I must consume every drop of strain, however it only gets buried inside of me.
There is a pestilent spreading irritation with her wailing cries. If I’m to obtain some peace and quiet, I can obtain solace. I’m living inside myself, but I need to break out of the walls holding me captive for over forty-six years of my diluted life.
What can be the measure of my strength is the night time sky when the twinkle of the stars inter a reprising melody only I can hear. It is there I obtaining the calling to walk down new roads to recovery from a long, endless, plight of sleepless nights.
Yes, I have dared to dream in the coldness of my flesh, by my spirit walks where there is no warmth. If the heart echoes inside of the tunnel of love, where can the followers of the night be pastured when their milk flows into the rivers.
I’d like to have my blinders removed from my eyes so I may see the light in the sky; however, all I can see is the rawness overpowering me. I need to sustain each cut the blades from his words feed on. Is there no mercy for crying doves who fly above the fires of a driven city.
Am I to be left up to the Creator in the heavens to decide if I should continue thriving on this river of scorn? Why must the anguish continue to burn up my vessel when all I can do to survive has drained from my spirit? They will has been stomped upon by the clapping thunder of horses’ hooves.
If all should fail to climb the holy mountain to touch the flames of the burning bush, then let the flames from the sun melt into one’s own flesh. Perhaps the heart can go on when the nightfall whispers to the moonlight. For it is the moonlight which shall open up the gateways towards a better movement towards another day. I only hope I can sustain long enough to see the sun rise in the realm of heaven.
© Copyright, Kiki Stamatiou, 2016