Through the bleeding tides
My longing for you
Has brushed its tail
Against the nape of
My bare neck.
I tried and torn by
The hours kept in
Flaming breaths sunlight
Does breathe upon me.
There is no faultiness
About your grave; yet,
Murky waters seep through
My corpse when I dance
On the isle of bliss with your
Spirit running through the
I shiver somewhere below
The tempest moon depths
In the guise walking towards
Cannot you meet me with
Parting tongues instead of
Drowning me in your flame.
I only wish to adjust your
Lantern burning its fires
In your visage.
I’m forever bound to your
I try to flee, but cannot.
There is no more erasure.
Where has the blade landed
When you tossed into the air?
It has pierced my flesh.
I bleed out my song with
Each tear I cry.
Severed is my rhyme for
A bitter herb I eat.
Can you not fold your
Sorrows on someone else’s
Why do you bind them to me?
I’m only on in the glittering snow.
Do you not come into my realm
When thirst for consciousness must
Do I not suck poison from your
Breaths, and dissipate your lull?
Where is you miser to behold forsaken
Tides which crash against your shore?
Is there no grace in my calling?
I only know how to recapture rhythms
Long gone in the dance of the heavens
Beaming their eyes upon me.
I lather my sorrows with the tears
Of the white winged dove to procure
Each melody I hear in my mind.
There is not another offering to hide
Your shallow creed.
However blissful the tides be fed,
An hour is danced to in soulful
Cries to end your bleating tune.
Dream no more, my lulling knight.
For you shall not cause me path
To pitter against the wind.
Only your words of enlightenment
Can cross these channels.
Bleed out your song unto the night,
And I shall follow your towards
For it shall then be my calling.
Our paths shall merge into one.
By every extricate vessel a song
Is sung to glory in the highest.
Fever is an allowance.
Grab hold of it, my tower.
For every fire growing inside
Your soul, there shall rise a
Phoenix from its ashes.
He shall drink up bitter
Songs and wash them through
His own soul to heal all wounds
Belonging to the heart.
Shower ever wound with
A dowers seed.
Dial the Lord to bring your
Fruit into earthly stride.
From there I shall cleanse
The soot away from my tired
If only I could quench fear
Cutting dying souls in the mast.
For ever quick there is a noun,
For ever noun there is a plight,
And for every plight there is a
Fire burning down frolicking
Heed my thunder when loneliness
Dances above your head, and divide
All illusion if you are to conquer.
For only illusion can hold you bound
To your vessel when your lost in
A gull filling your pockets with sand.
© Copyright, Kiki Stamatiou, 2016