Fire bursting at the seams of humanity
Drinks in souls of a withered plant.
Drifting into balloons is the encased
Melancholy persuading broken roads
To remiss off sorrowful deeds based
On the equity of the biases you created.
All eaves created among heavenly bliss
Surpasses each and every song in the
Light of heaven.
Surrounding my mind are mystic bodies
Drowning in volcanic matter.
Liberation comes in the eyes of the Lord’s
Harbor when all fountains ask for honors
Of the disease you brought forth.
Carriage comes rocking down a funnel;
Yet, all matter surrounding feverish goons
Entices each fathoming buffoon to dry
Out the laundry hanging on the lines of
Effort be distorted along jagged lines of
Each clogged sink is the back up stemming
From life’s atrocities.
I try as I may to flush out soot built up by
Oceanic tides, but I never seem to reach
Whenever there is a cross in the sea, I falter
Down broken roads repeatedly, hoping the same
Mistakes aren’t made.
However, I plunge in the ease of my soulful waters
Through slapping my guitar on a stick to make a
Handful of hope to give equivalent pressure.
I try not to fight the sway of the saw and I jag
Away at wooden doors sealed under lock and key.
His bolt is fastened too tight for a knob which
The idea is to propel; yet, I saw off the ends of
Humanity’s electrical current.
For every beam of light to burn through
Solid wood, one must drive out all power
Illusion thrives on.
For his words fill lungful of deceit
Wandering through mystic halls.
Each side is plastered with blood belonging
To the dead.
I’m painted a deep red all over to hollow out
My breathing bones, and seep into fallow graves.
Only then shall everlasting light cut through the
I must filter out passage ways clogging your view
Of what’s real and what isn’t.
You must discern so. For all else is the knowing
Instead of wandering the unknown with a blank
Credence be unto you and your defected arrow.
For every shot you took at the board, you went
Once the target was missed, you faltered further
Down the roads of deceit.
Crafty leads you down your winded breaths of fire.
There is no lull in the night when the eagle dies.
Turn to the flame for help to fade into the sun.
Don’t burn up the night with your hallow song,
But lead yourself down golden roads toward
Paths of rite where you belong in the hours
Of the blade.
Dance into the sunlight. Breathe the winds
Sadness, and fill the heart with life.
© Copyright, Kiki Stamatiou, 2016