Burning In Ears Of Corn

 

Falling angels withered from

Scorn, let your heart by sung.

Bleed out antics filling your

Soul with vile left over from

The pale moonlight.

 

For every song is the pulse

Beating within me.

 

Shake down burdens confounded

By death.

 

Deadly sorrows eat me alive in

The frosty air saturating my bones

With isolated steeds galloping

Along every star dancing above

My head.

 

There are no more dreams to

Fill my head with empty plight.

 

There is only illusion drinking

Up my sadness, and consuming

My being with the essence of folly.

 

For every breath taken in the

Foul night, I quake in my pools

Streaming out of my blood.

 

Remedy me with your true light,

My Lord, and I shall forever

Engross consciousness with

Every trollop going buzz,

Buzz, buzz in the air.

 

Catch me in the winded beams

Burning in ears of corn.

 

Feed every catch with your

Steal words to let venom

Release from within wounded

Hearts.

 

Hours pass by me to get

A view of my soul.

They hail me, and wonder

Why I cry and cry and

Cry inside my spirit.

 

For the song of the

Everlasting light shall

Echo along the mountain’s

Edge, and folly shall no more

Be caught by the tales voices

Chanted to taunt me in my

Waking dreams.

 

Catch a falling angel,

And deliver him up to

Your kingdom.

For it is where he shall call

You his true Father,

Instead of diving into cretin

Fields dying from disease

Of the heart.

 

Whisper your loving words

Into my soul,

And I shall conjure up all

Seeds to Your Holy vessel

Alive at the call our your

Heart.

 

For it beats inside of me.

Enliven all restitution drowning

In sadden rains.

 

I can’t catch my breath.

I tremble at the crackle of thunder.

For every quake of the earth

Causes me to stumble into golden

Rooms filled with a treasure trove.

 

For this treasure trove is a worldly

Deed documented in decree withheld

By your creed.

However, what is man’s decree to follow?

Is it the light burning up earthly vessels?

Or perhaps it is the oils burning inside

Your tears?

 

In truth, it is your way of knowing

Where man shall be led in darkness

Which continues to feed him with

Your existence.

 

He only look at his own reflection

To find you.

 

For his emblazoned image gets caught

Up by the wind, sailing along into

Your blanket of fog, treading.

 

I fold my hands on top of my lap

When sitting in the pews of your

Home.

 

© Copyright, Kiki Stamatiou, 2016

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