Forever lost in the mirrors of time,
I dance in frilly snow flakes which
Laugh at your darkness unfolding
Within the clouds.
I drink in acidity from my sandy
tears; gripping at my throat with
All their strength.
I ask the mighty hand of God
To lift me up from the peril
You have made me walk through.
Thunder and lightening remise
All fire; drift up to my window
And strike down those whom
Behave in such an appalling manner
Of scuffing along broken roads.
There is no more rain to quench
The thirst of the lion.
For when the hunter goes a calling
On the next seer to advance in the
Aisle of the storm; I lift my shield
To block out treading bullets flying
Past my heart, driving all crimson
Waters away from the subject of
The almighty fires burning in His
How is the hour going to pass into
The night when all seeds bestowed
Upon my head holler in my ears
To let your flamboyance prelude
All desire to be entwined with
For there is no likeness to amber
Which precedes all fountains youthful
Voices lift their souls.
An eagle flies over the mountains;
Crying for diseased hearts to quicken
Their pace if all fires are to cease
In brigade hope rages for.
I’m offering up to you, my Lord,
All the gold pieces my heart can
For the wise always speak through
Shivering souls of the dying night.
Candied mustard greens seethe in
Grace my tunes drizzle out from
My captivated spirit.
Wear you soul outside of your corpse;
For the longing commences, and dark
Clouds disappear into nothingness.
For the spirit in the wind blows away.
I’m not going to ask for reward to bleed
Out all reward to your cost; however,
I’m going to teethe you wounds when
Breaking lawful knots writhing in your
How can a dream be a dream when all
Lost souls seem so real?
I bleed out time to tie all seeds of peril
Into knotted beams of light which shall
Burn on high into the glory God has
Spoken of with his salient breaths.
How can the moon uplift winded children
When their grail has sunk into fleshy
For liquid gold has been sipped in its
Have the trailing tears drowned out the
Hunger burning inside your spirit?
Where shall the fox flea to when his rain
Crashes down upon him?
Perhaps all tears dry up once the wounded
Heart scabs over and dries up all acidity.
No more shall salty tears eat up the core
Which you have now become.
A promise is a promise when the craft
Of the moon walks out on the summer
When every song turns sour, your
Note hangs onto to Lady Luck.
© Copyright, Kiki Stamatiou, 2016