Nature’s doors washed through me with essence burning inside of the wildness of yearning. Creature of foul enhances the deeds of the underworld. As for hailing illusion, it takes over his mind. The sock is single and the odd one out. However, what happens when there is an odd sock. The odd sock is generally relative to a philosophical stance. The symbolic term “the odd sock” is often found in Richard Castle’s books in the Nikki Heat series. The books are based on the ABC hit television series “Castle”. Although in real life the books where written by a ghost writer, I’ve had a deep appreciation for the books as well as the television show.
Back to reference of “the odd sock”. It is the one clue which we come in contact with which we don’t immediately take notice. Although it’s out there in plain sight, we often aren’t conscious of the relevance of “the odd sock” to our lives. Grounded logic is succumbed with intrinsic melodies of pasteurized hearts.
The beats of the heart are not infallible. For the measure by which it pulsates leaves man driven by his own tendencies to procure embellishment. For the essence of the heart is clear as the dollar marked by the serial numbers of life. However, there is a march into the sea. Waters rise up, and come crashing down upon me with their gongs. Voices of crib carry with them no other means for the stratosphere.
I cannot divine your falsehoods. For only the true light burning up in the sky can befuddle every amusement coming your way. You see, what is of certainty running through your grave is the dirt hitting your head. Such atrocity of the heart can only enrage fools of the fools. For there is no plenty of heart when isolation feeds upon the mind. When reality sets, in all a life can do is appeal to the higher power for guidance through the jungle he’s trapped in.
He wanders back and forth, running around inside his cage which hangs upon the treachery feeding his soul with vile circumference beholding him. Wicked waters erase fallacy through means of filling man’s heart with illusory. Creepy crawlers eat up every leaflet clinging to branches strung out on whiskey. For this foul breath takes over, and hypnotizing all he encounters. It causes a euphoria on a fallible plain.
The scene which never got any laughs was when you stumbled home one day, and collapsed on the floor. Your eyes were blot shot, puffy and red. The fires within them took every drop of who you were, and bled out the one and only light once beheld inside your heart.
Why let the miser confound you with his own demands? What was he trying to exemplify? For only the unholy of the unholy take a precious soul into their hands with intentions of destroying it. Eventually, their poison devoured you. Your last years on earth were nothing but tumult and disease of the heart. Soulful moons laughed with their wickedness.
I ran through the garage, grabbed an axe, dashed outside, and smashed the headlights of the devils consuming your soul, mind, spirit, heart, inner child, your entire being. The two devils emerged from the car. I swung my axe back and forth, and struck them both on the heads. I told them if they ever come back to our home, and if they ever came near you again, there would be a heavy price for them to pay. I’d see to it. I’d make the gashes I made on their arms and shoulders look like child’s play.
I shouted, “How dare you come here to my home, and laugh at my brother. You’re jealous of him for his academic smarts. You could never raise yourself up. So, therefore, you chose to break him down and destroy him for everything he is. We’ll see who has the last laugh,” and I struck their windshield with my axe, shattering it. I swore I’d somehow find a way to get even with them for bringing harm to my brother. They’d pay.
Eventually, I prayed to God to do something about those devils. Please keep them away from my brother. The day you climbed the stairway to heaven, my aching being bled out for the tides of anguish to wash through me, and exit out the other way. Years passed. I often talked to you. You were my confidant from beyond the grave.
Years later, I came to the realization about how God has a plan for all of us. I was so badly distraught in my own torn world. The world I refer to is the world going on at the time inside myself. Fires burned out of control in my spirit. Yet, there was a pain in there cutting me up from within. If it weren’t for you to go to the Great Kingdom in the sky, I would have never developed throughout the years. I developed in the sense, I was a work in progress. I’m still a work in progress. For the melodies enriching my mind are songs sung by a choir of angels. For it is because of such great army in the Lord’s Kingdom I was able to relinquish the pain through find an inner strength. It was this power which relit my heart light. So, now, instead of the fires of rage, I have the circumspection of the guiles to live out a rich, saturated heartfelt existence through laying down my axe, and lifting up my heart in song.
© Copyright, Kiki Stamatiou, 2016