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I'll be your bird. I'll be your cage, for the miracles of life that shudder behind closed doors. Let the heavenly light lift you up with its loving arms, and carry your tongue through heaven's door. Hopeless people, desperate eyes, mild embrace that weeps for cotton chldren who caress broken tears with the stroke of a humble pen. Passion stains winded graveyards with deceitful flames belonging to steel heartbeats.

Melodic breezeways chant to crowned rhythms of your spiteful disease. "Oh messenger of dark alleys, don't run me into your burning walls. For the fortitude of this life at first glance shall not drink hazy visions, but shall two roads bleed into me, a drifting soldier, buried whithin concave walls, then I shall scream to my own delight, and be filled you up when the Lord of Hallow Winds raises me up into cedar clouds."

Your spirit is the ink that drips into these hallow mirrors of isolated bodies. for th emultitude of these icy visions linger on throughout cloudy songs. This serene dampness is the embodiment of my elusive soul that frolics with your tabernacle dreams. I am your song which bleeds into cyclonic tombs. shield me away from your wickedness of sloth. For my dessert has become the jailor of this cystic piece of loom. My breaths are shaky and my eyes grow hazy with being seduced by sleep; thus, becoming one with the darkness I shall reap.

I am the light which does not conceive the rain that bursts into flames of desire. for this fire is a drifter that has been started by you. For the cat's tongue has blown me away with your words of electricity that flows through my metallic veins. This beast humbles me with words that go unspoken. For your creamy river causes me to seim through elaated muscles of the sandman who pours his loving crystals on top of my closed eyes, and opens my soul to your mystical flame; the music that resides within your burning heart.

I liquify my words to sweeten the quakes of my soul that dances inside bold flames of your dominating iceberg.l I am the fountain overflowing with th eLord's milky rays of sun, and I will surround your burning keys with magnitude of flourescent spirits. With each passing day, a new song is born from the womb of creativity, and gives the flamboyant heart an everlasting vengeance to consume when you have fallen at the steps of death's door. Tainted is my nuance when your fallow has dried up like a raisin in the sun. Weeping daisies give off their nourishing sadness to feed redundant appetites on the day of Judgement.

Learn more about this author, Kiki Stamatiou.
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