I can hear the clocking inside
The cistern I used once for
Stalling upon my own rage.
Could it be the calling I’ve waited
For so long has finally come to
Attend to my will?
However, is it my will which
Bestows upon me to thrive on
The light burning up the sky.
I can feel fever burning inside
Of my soul.
For its fires rise and rise;
Creating an ambiance to
Behold in the moonlight.
I’m fed by your honorable
Beam which transforms me;
Yet, my mind is surrounded
I’m unsure of what to do
With myself when the hours
Phase into the sunrise.
Where is the profound life
Changing tide to rise me up
To the congregated vessel
The Lord becomes me with.
For connecting with me is
A shadow which dances in
I cannot touch it,
But I can feel this figure
Press his hand against my
Back at night when I start
To drift off to sleep.
Can it be I never lost what
I never found in the sea of
The Holy Grail?
Perhaps starlight gazes on
While I grow faint with
Every touch press into my
Back, touching holding
Of my spirit.
I rise out of my corps
To join he who brought
Me along for the journey
I too am embarking upon.
I questioned why spiritual
Bodies are unspoken of in
The physical realm of the living.
However, the living continue to
Live in the glow of the afterlife
Walking side by side with those
Whom can no longer see them.
Cannot a longitude of the apple
Falling across the field go on
For only if the dance of life could
Let itself be known to all who live
In the physical realm, and not just
To those whom delve into their
Plight of the spirit, choosing only
A select few from the land of the
Living to realize their existence.
If light love brought in time’s
Doors gone never gotten into
For the kindred share their knowledge
Through bringing loved ones into
The realm of the spirit, only to return
Them back to the land of the physical
I’ve been beyond the colors of the
Rainbow; guided by fires burning
Across a lost land.
However, is it really ever lost?
When all seems lost, it really isn’t.
For the minds of the spirit world
Bestowed me with wisdom in chilled
Nights where I lay on a cold floor
Curled up in a musty scented blanket,
Crying for a life long gone.
However, when the thunder and lightening
Ceased in the morning, I walked up
To my bedroom window, gazing out
At the sunlight.
Tomorrow is now today, and yesterday
Only a memory of a figure shattered
By her own storm.
For the fires inside her have transformed
From rage to a calm; an ever present
Source of which to feed upon.
Bleeding out every ounce of poisonous
Frailties; I beheld my own reflection.
© Copyright, Kiki Stamatiou, 2016