The flames branching upwards in a spire
It's cruel twists never seem to tire
A dark soul comes from the fire
It's Sam, a kid they all admire
Fables try to claim thee
Through stories of a tree
Branching upwards in a plea

A widow stares at a stain, left by the rain
Constructs a local fane, all in her saviours name
Caught between the fear and guilt
Of living off someone's fame
Knowing the day it all stops, she'll be engulfed by a flame

Abaddon is calling, Ezekiel is balling
Babylon returns
Mathias saw the world, while Belial just watched it burn
With immense follow through
The path becomes true
As he watches triple 7's disciple scamming for a buck or two

Out on a past due lease
The Man Of Peace

My sweet grandson Mathias
with eyes so blue
as the coral sea.
And when he smile to me
I discover the whole new world.
Magical feeling envelops me
when we are together
and I show and give him
much love and care.
When he reaches his hands to me
and says: Momoo..
It warms my heart with joy
and gives me strength
to belive and be strong.
I love him from the bottom
of my heart
He shows me that is worth
to live
when I have experience
and quality time with him.

If I could find the Proverbs
arranging them accordingly
Inside these lucid creases
I would die happy, just to
concieve metrical composition

... for all time

I'd scribble heartbreaks and
rescue missions of my soul
to clarify empathy of baptism
that my love is more than love

If I had a key with a heart
bleeding at the crown
I would unlock the poison
So much I allowed myself
in suffering
I am languishing
rib cages, shutting in
all my reasoning to breathe...

where to be found another day

I'd scribe in scrolls
of my 15 yrs of sorrows
hoping your eyes can see
I am just as damaged as
a vehicle wreck
Yet a mother of 1
who was lost
on a sad occasion

3 yrs ago when I first
decided to bare my deepest
and thickest out pour
of my poetry,
I wrote about you

Mathias Ti'avasu'e

..I became the whipping
motherless girl beneath Zues..

Conveyed the impression
at first glance
Writing my storms delicately
as when mommy first held you
helped me describe my
inner workings
so that you might understand

… exactly the mother I
could have been

I love you in all of your grace, your
purity, and your precious life.
And when that time comes that
I may write of you
I could find the words I need
to create heavenly for you
and to conquer

... and if this makes perfect poetry,
then why does it still hurt so bad?

© S.T. Rebel of Eden

In the immortal words o  the late great Jonny Mathias
Oh ** oh oh oh ** oh ** oh **
Oh ** ** oh ** oh oh ** oh **
Oh ** ** ** **
Oh ** ** oh
Oh ** oh **
Oh oh ** oh **.