Snow capped up streets with cold
Never was man unafraid to drive
For his heart consumed the fold
When his car took a dive.
What a fool he must’ve been
To think he’d not go out blind
When he landed in the state pen
Because his license he couldn’t find.
Osculated by her husband’s duel
With the Earl of Fester
Mrs. Cobble called him a fool
Because he could best her.
For she was a noble in her recant
And he was an ox beholding his bail.
Her heart could not repent
For her husbands lack of a tail.
In her dreams her fortune told
An owl whispered, “Get your cantor.”
She replied, “Why. He’s not so bold.
When my husband is only full of banter.”
Drifting in her own decree,
Mrs. Cobble drank wines of sorrow
To set her burdens free
From atrocities of tomorrow.
The longer the days would capture
Her mire lull in the rain storm
His heart she filled with rapture
Because his cadence wouldn’t form.
“I’m in dire need of you song,”
He said, “Before I can go out with a bang.”
Keeping his mallet warm with a tong
He dressed his heart to clang.
Mrs. Cobble shuddered at night
When her mister danced in the rain.
For he coddled another with his sight
And his wife clobbered his with his cane.
“Drink in the soul of the tides,” he sighed,
“For I no longer wish to be low.
You no longer give me a high
When the well wishers go.”
She replied, “How can this be, you big oaf,
When all I do is muster the ruins
You have raised in my loaf.
For we are nothing now but prunes.”
So on went this dance around the table.
For there was never another boss
Who was so unstable,
Because she was hung on his cross.
All the songs have now been told
In youth quandaries sinking in the earth.
Now it all becomes sold
In the heroes unsung in their mirth.
For there are no more dreams
At night where I sleep.
Nothing is what it seems.
So I cannot hear a peep.
Mister Cobble no longer pleads
To his wife of fifty long years.
For now she has become the seeds
Of sorrow he now steers.
For is there another kind word
For him who never became in life.
All he did was go toward
The sun without having any strife.
Just around the bend she came
To tell their tale of their song.
For she was their daughter now lame
By her parents gong.
Peeling away layers of her soul,
Young Amelia cries out in vain.
Her heart lies with a foal,
Broken down by her pain.
Sunlight seeps into her eyes
Creating fallacy the mind
Whenever her spirit cries
For words spoken by neighbors unkind.
She sighed, “Lord, how will I climb
Down this mountain you have brought
Upon me who has no dime
To spend upon a heart so wrought.”
He replied, “My child, you have come
So far across such a blade.
Now all your hear is my drum
In the waters I drop in cascade.”
Her lungs began to flail.
No more can she savor her flight
There is no more of her kale
To make into a kite.
Drinking her bitter herbs
Her heart begins to sink.
She never spoke untrue words
About they whom put her in a brink.
Sanity bleeds onto the ground
In pleas for silence crashing,
Her weight in gold now compound
Among their kindness thrashing.
Said the Lord, “Be kind among the stars
In the heavens. For they shall guide
You across the kingdom of Mars.
So take it all in stride.”
Climbing Jacobs Ladder, she slid
And dropped to her knees.
For she no long hid
Her love with the bees.
Channeling all her emotion,
She galloped along the shore.
To see all the commotion
Society now bore.
She cried, “Is there no more hope
In our world when the earth quakes.
Can I wash the shores with soap
When the heart is bitten by snakes?”
They replied, “Say no more about it.
For there is no need to stir
In God house you lit.
For he is a kind Sir.”
Anguish unfolds upon her face
Her soul jostled by such fangs.
Directing their world with disgrace
The king burns his fires with his reigns.
A mother coddles her child
Who coos at the sight of gold.
Amelia dares to go wild
In a land burning up in the cold.
Onward she runs through the flame.
Her man now sunken in by such stain.
For she is the one to blame.
His body grows old with strain.
“Give up this rally you brought,”
He shouted, “And give a heart to stir.
For you are the one I sought
In the night, I must concur.”
“My love is pure for all who thirst,”
She cried, “Yet, your song is no longer truth.
I must run away before I burst.
For here I’m prisoner by you sooth.”
Running through the open fields,
Her burning feet no longer retrain her.
For she knows her way around the yields
And never flounders down the retainer.
Collapsing near a tree in the forest,
Her heart began to weep
For those who sung her with chorus
To bring her body to sleep.
Little Lucy ran along the edge
of the river, singing.
Eating her grand mama’s porridge
She heard in the distance ringing.
Dropping her meal to the ground,
She fled back to her cabin screaming,
“What could be the racket I found?
For am I actually dreaming?”
Every fiber of dried grass stung
Her feet which bled out in porch..
Stopping by the door she flung
Open, Lucy lit up her torch.
She cried, “I cannot walk these roads
My ancestors feet lead me down.
For I don’t wish to die in the folds
With a stern heart and frown.”
Dipping her feet in the puddle
A hole in the roof brought forth,
Lucy’s soul began to muddle
Through a soul which had no worth.
© Copyright, Kiki Stamatiou, 2016