Lineage (A Sonnet)

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

 

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