Sifting through the ravages of time, I encounter a golden steed dressed in rosary the tides brought forth. For the voices of angels amplify their voices with the sounds of bassoons erupting inside my ears. Drink of the chalice I bring froth unto you, my dear. This is the melody time’s four champions burned into every heart and mind the validities held within it.
There is no more to vanquish in the eyes of the young. For the treasure seeping into your soul shall implode, and bring causal reward at your feet, if only you’ll let your soulful rains saturate my flesh. For is the truth of laughter to be bestowed upon only a select few? How is it the tide cannot vanquish sorrowful deeds? For it is because they are rectified in the spirit floating in wind chimes.
Dreadful is the song burning inside my heart when there is no escape for the longing. My longing is your surreal melody to fill my heart, and cause explosion of every trove. For you elite forces burn into me. I see a light blue fire emerge from your breath. If only you save every drop for my, my lord. For I wish to elate every drop of your breath, and fill up my heart with such elixir.
Such is the state of my being when fortitude ties me up inside caves of scorn. However, why the scornful ashes which are left behind to feed me with your song? Is there no other means to bring forth the holy light? I search for your grail of antiquities, my timely fetes. Ask for my dower, and it shall burn into you. For I only wish to become the becoming of the sunlight; however, all I can do is fade away in the moonlight.
Sing me your song so lovingly unfolded in your heart. For it is the tides my existence is quenched by rally. If ever tear should start to fall unto you, my drifting veil, then I shall wear it upon my heart, emblazoned by your fire. For to suckle ever ounce of fire within me shall bring forth dryer ground. It is Mother Earth who shall cry for her nature’s way filled by halt.
I shall refuse to burn up in the sun if it means my treasure trove shall no longer be mine betwixt. For there is no escape in the jungle filled brew. Why can you not see true red for what it is? For it is the blood of the bleating lamb shall feed your pulsating rhythms pulsating inside your heart.
I shall drink from your chalice wines of better herbs where I shall once again become whole. If only you could be. For it is every dream found within expenditure.
© Copyright, Kiki Stamatiou, 2016