is about Tomorrow
is about the next day
and we go on living
our lives this way
Through out the years, humans evolve to something better,
Someone among us will eventually tap even further...
Beyond all that is normal to a human body will change,
Look deeper and from beneath one's able to reach something out of range...
The sense of sight where we see the physical world and all its beauty,
Sometimes became a curse for all their lives, they only seen all that is ugly
We make use of our eyes to see things with appreciation before judging clearly,
That in our minds will be etched, painted picture of the meaning of all things we see...
The sense of hearing where we listen to the world and all that surrounds us,
That is sometimes dreadful where only what one hears are all other's lies
For the world whispers the truth more often than the lies being constantly yelled,
Schemes and plots are the same, only gets worst when being told not asked from what is being said...
The sense of smell and taste where we scent and savour the world's natural resources
The smell of the polluted air that's killing the environment that ends the life of withering trees and roses.
The taste of the food we eat everyday, so satisfying keeps us alive keeps us going,
Only that everyday is a slaughter, and the belly became a graveyard just in order to survive to end the craving...
The sense of touch where we feel the world with our flesh and bones to communicate,
The lust that the body craves is the strongest feeling that makes us grow and replicate,
Where the saddest form is pain which one feels from all the torments and torture,
A reminder that the world is unfair full of tyranny causing' all kinds of terror!!!
The sixth sense where we see the beyond of what this world have left behind...
We see things we don't understand yet some see them clearly the ghost where they stand,
The ability to communicate with the dead... An astral projection,
ones who have crossed the realm of the other world...A misconception ,
that it change faith and beliefs that changes life how it cycles and revolves...
The seventh sense... It is said that one who are able to tap and awakens it, can see the world's future,
The ability that one can bend time and space, a walk through time that changes the course of nature...
Flashing forward centuries and back again, To witness and prevent changes of things that might happen
Playing God became a taboo even before the beginning, so what's the message? For all this ability one is having?
Is God speaking to ask providing us potentials, a chance to see the world through his eyes?
How are we going to make use of the free will he bestowed unto us to see no more lies!
Only the truth that disrupts the balance mankind has made! Like rules a government planned
Or it will remain a mystery that only God knows and understand... The questions that are in our minds...
The moon did smile
told me to write
and by the visible glow of starlight
did I write fast and bright
To my moon of tides
and the wonder of life
I give this verse to thee
in holy matrimony
I will sing in your light
just another Lunatic
that worships your motherhood
and life bringing cycles
I bow to the glory
the glory of your glow
you move away from us
yet I know so very slow
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Nights like this,
I talk to the stars,
Discussing my life,
And unrequited love.
Nights like this,
I cuddle my pillow,
Pretending its the boy
That I hope to find.
Nights like this,
I crave the summer,
And an apartment,
Hidden in an urban garden.
Nights like this,
I sob endlessly,
Mourning lost things
I never intended to lose.
Nights like this,
Well, they oft occur
As I am a girl of the moon,
Ruled by her ever changing cycles.
you could talk for hours,
until your last words
run into your first words,
until the sun
accidentally bumps into the moon,
until your eyelids
slowly drift down,
and i would still want to listen.
The rain dilutes the sins of the land,
pandemic baptism and resurrection.
This Earth that once housed Noah
and his Ark, a covenant of life,
the buoyant spring,
cycles like the cylinder of a
revolver, a hedged roulette bet.
When we are cleansed, we achieve
grounding under water, in over
our heads, digging in the mud
for pearls in the scallop and
The receding of the waters
is our delta moment, fighting
for absolution; a
mammal under water or a
fish out of water,
there is no difference:
only a burning in our chests,
a yearning for return
to the elements we once knew.
Beyond the traveling castle skies, beyond the deep space where cataclysmic cycles of the universe play out like mice and cats on a table, beyond the aluminum fold of reality that spirits bend with the limits of their mind, imagination, soul, and the spirit itself, there lies God.
Blue skies, tantamount conundrum, eating at your blue heart
Kinko’s de Mayo, wallstruck widow individually felt by pet pals pureed
Bringer of Velocities, caterwauling sidewalks, I see those who are triumphant despite spite, and they are listening
Those who beget new terms and terminologies in social sciences,
Admitting those who create decisions despite spite with advantageous odds and remonstrations across the board, Kentucky Derbyshire divvy up,
Can the scrutable and senile dangers facing the regrettable gains and losses marching on famed gallerias, can the wisdom at polarity with the grounds gained by Kentucky Derbyshire ring-around-the-rosy round-up feel the edge, or are we not cruxed at a pinge for adjectives?
Finally them who hurt others for the sake of liberty are wrong, for there is no stabilizing force in equality, but to transcend all limits of gravity towards a destination where/of Yousef-I-Am-Calling-You, truly we are all princes made to be
Gradual lamotrigine beanbag visions, I see into this year’s post-winter, and it is a killer poster child;
Brainfeeder has gone underground, like apocalyptic hedgehogs
You taste defeat at the nearest water source, and at last have come to acknowledge God, but yet lack His Face
Troubadour goal in mind, I set off on a course of wisdom, knowledge and volition my ever faithful companions, and the setting stars retract their febrile fun facts before the sun draft craving resolution over interminate radiation, spell bookbag bellhop expoundaries
Try as we might to con our way to satisfaction, we are mingled with destiny, gruesome contraception will be ours if we try to birth our way out
Carrion delight [ay man] to abomination nations [if you couldn’t tell, that was sarcasm, I know you often can’t tell with Christians], principles at will profoundly influence diplomatic procedures pertaining to, but not limited to, just cause, frontal laws, and existing principality; there is no discourse between nations on a prefatory level; while pacifying heathens with small talk and embodying nations in guns is not totalitarian enough a scheme to describe the scenario
The nations are at war with another over conflicting interests, the Baal cabal that destitutes all living man: money and power, regime and international foothold, winsome ideologies and dastardly plots; give a man a meter and he’ll take a thousand sows, but we are the living few bunch needing a needle to put our hands up to the cross
Politics is a game of speech impediments, tie the knot of the media noose and get it over with—I actually liked Macklemore I think he came from an interesting place, but then he became too popular like Jack Kerouac or Stevie Wonder, and now I’m gonna get some skin for comparing him to Jack Kerouac or Stevie Wonder, when the example is far removed from the comparison—especially critics should know that, I’am puzzled by the outcomes of this country’s outbreaks of hysteria—
Political discourse is not as complicated as it seems, don’t be afraid to educate yourself—they only make it look hard, afraid that you’ll ascend the heights to knowing the difference between justice and violate ease, and when that happens all that’s left to do is depose the government as we know it if we see fit to invoke change—it is our sacred right, only articulated in a document, not sanctioned to us by petty crooks who didn’t know they left the power on
When the cheapened price of rice comes crashing down to Fontaine news cycles, days will elongate to rational, deadly forums in which pretty politicians will recite affectations and denounce treasons and bark orders as never before, pin-lining the reasons for collagosphere printers that they nursed on their deathbeds, senatorial cruise ships sailing away into picturesque night; Congress has a reason to abide by these laws, you see,
There are those who wish to do good, there are those who do evil without knowing, and there are those who commit crimes against humanity with a winking eye and a tip of their hat; they are variously paid and well-living, they have various motives for surviving in this fluctuating economy, they have various ways of spending their money and time, and they have various ways of figuring out what to do with you; they are the high consorts of the grand despot, coding thieves into the soundsystem of winding wine and dine beliefs trickling their way down into the haphazard framework of sociemental breakdowns
You think this sounds paranoid; but do you really think people in this country’s government—not the government itself, remember, the government, as a body, is not living, it is actively composed of functioning members of extranatural society—want you to know the truth about all the things you know they hide from you? Our government runs on the fundamental condescension towards the masses, although the founding fathers were just plain ignorant as to its causes
We assume the people will never educate themselves enough to involve their selves in politics and economy, and this is true for a lack of effort on our parts, but they cannot learn anything beyond a public education because politics and economy refuse to create a system that educates the people, when people send representatives to political institutes (I shudder that we call institutes of the Republic political) who only fight and argue amongst themselves about petty idiosyncratic ideologies and party alliances, issues constituents don’t even care about, or who don’t know any better to care about something else
This country is divided between the rich and the poor, and nobody seems to want to do anything about it besides political students who don’t have a chance in the world of making it in politics because they don’t come from rich families. All we about is Christianity, pop culture, the weirdest trendiest news, arguing over things, what’s the lastest fad, what’s the biggest point to be made, cultural equality, and stuff that should be obvious to all, that only needs to be rephrased. We are recycling through our own shit, patting ourselves on the back, when people are starving and dying left and right due to our own lack of shame or empathy or will to do right or wrong when we hear people crying out out of hunger and powerlessness and all we can do is sit back and laugh at their feeble efforts to reach out to us
What about donating some money you make from your job? What about educating yourself in your free time? What about making a friend of someone who doesn’t have anyone? What about thinking of ways to do something for this society? What about volunteering? What about raising awareness of social issues?
Who is going to inspire change but one of us touching another’s life?
Martin Luther King Jr. changed the nation with a vision and a word, and he was one man
We are an army with God sending fire before us; who have we to fear?
The power that emanates from God, the same power that resides in Martin Luther King, is in us as well
We are the holy spectacles of the universe, continental hooligans made to finish God’s work on this Eukaryote planet
Let us arise to finally put to rest the cry of wisdom and prophet’s blood
Let us be as one with ourselves, even as we are one with Christ
In Him, is our trust and firm foundation as the Redeemer of our spirits
Through Him is our beginning, when all things were possible, and all things still are
All that we may need we can find if we just listen and ask, and obey when He gives us directions
To some is given the fruit of the earth, to some is given the fruit of the sand, to all is given the possibility and the chance to listen to the words of Christ’s redemption, whose blood was spilled into the cup of perdition for all of our sins
We are free because of Him to leave this world behind
So choose not the things that consume you, and leave you barren
“For this world in its present form is passing away”
Let us rebuild the walls of Jerusalem together,
Let us help one another off the grounds of dust and depart for the Promised Land, which is not the earth
Let us know that the fulfillment of our era is not wishing the times would change, but living the times, glad with change
i swore to myself
that a flick of the tongue
would never shelter self-hatred
so deeply embedded into the patchwork of my being.
contagion is a sad damn thing
and cycles seem to be an endlessly contributing factor
those who hurt cannot become hurt
and so we place our self-pity at the top of our priorities
disregarding emotion so carefully hidden in the fragile mind of others.
however there are few who's torment is only self-projected
i am one
an anathema that exists in silence
my past has been placed in a box full of secrets
along with the evidence of my self-mutilation
is there a way to keep my eyes shut and my dignity revealed?
this world is numb, and the apathy must be getting to me
because i would rather not feel a damn thing
than to be plagued by misery
from myself and the ones i love
however, emotions are not choices
and humans cannot be reprogrammed
it seems the pleas and slurs i leave in place of words
are what my familiars take to heart
bodies speak such complex languages
and not everyone has the patience
or the attentiveness
to listen to anything other than a cry
and although i warn
and beg for warmth
i receive only glaciers
and memories of faces
overwritten with impassivity
what i would give
to reach into the darkest parts of my soul
and rip out this sorrow
that has clung itself to the shadows of my psyche
in the depths of my worst memories
there is a wish
to take this heart of mine
and throw it to wolves
to be destroyed but desensitized
in my heart
is all my pity
and sunshine darkened and gutted
so very long ago
is on the metal ring handle
to the church door.
The hand twists.
Hard to move,
The door gives
and they are in.
Smell of oldness
He closes the door
behind them, his
hand giving gentle push.
It clicks, holds firm.
Small and old,
the walls a fading white.
Old beams, pews,
altar table clothed
in white a cloth.
She looks around,
hands by her side,
fingers of one hand
holding her blue dress.
He follows, footsteps
after hers, scans her
before him, the walls,
the old wood pews.
They stop and turn
and look back
at the smallness
of the church.
Here will do,
pointing to a pew.
He shakes his head,
we can't, not here,
people may come.
No one comes here,
except on the monthly
Sunday or the odd
visitor or tourist.
He scans the pew,
old wood, wood knots.
Who's to know?
She asks. He walks
down the aisle
touching pew tops.
She watches him,
Some boys would
jump at the chance,
she says. But not
here, he says, turning
to face her, not in
a church, on a pew.
Some might, she says,
running a hand
over the pew top.
They had parked
their cycles outside,
at the back
of the church wall.
The sun shines through
the glass windows.
What if someone
comes and finds us?
She smiles. Moves
Touches his face.
Imagine their faces,
she says. No, I can't,
he says, not here.
He stares at her,
her smile, her eyes
focusing on him,
her red hair loose,
about her shoulders,
her blue dress,
white ankle socks,
We're only 13,
he says, shouldn't
even be thinking
of such things,
let alone doing them.
His body language
tells the same.
She gazes at him,
his short hair,
his eyes wide
his grey shirt,
jeans, old shoes.
she says, here
on a pew, me
and you, this
We could come back
our love scene.
No, he says,
not here, not
He looks at
the altar table,
She sighs, looks
at the pew,
imagines the place,
the area of pew.
He and she.
But it is just
she has not so far,
nor he, just an
impulse on her part,
an urge, a hot
Let's go, he says.
Wait, she says,
let's just sit
in the pew,
He studies her,
her eyes lowered,
her smile gone.
Ok, he says,
and they enter
a pew and sit.
He looks at
the high windows,
She sits and looks
at the brass crucifix,
the distorted Christ,
the head to one side.
She wonders how
they would have done it,
he and she, here,
on this pew.
She is unfocused.
She feels the sun
on her. Blessed,
she thinks, maybe.
He feels a sense
of gain and loss.
He has stepped
to an edge,
a dark abyss.
She turns to him,
leans to him,
They close eyes,