I Can Hear The Clocking

 

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

By confusion.

 

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

The darkness.

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

Into forever?

 

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

Lambs skin.

 

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

Realm.

 

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

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