(20 minute poetry)

All fine this time though next time who knows.

I am Stuck inside a rhythm,
is there a name for that?
A schism?
and would they name it after me?

I want to be famous instead I am nameless
one of the drones which society
in their kindness homes,
they give me employment and say it empowers me,
but there's little enjoyment and
I get little of it.

And yet I am thankful that I am not in a bank full
of thieves with a grievance and that is a bonus, it seems the onus is on me to find a middle ground yet still be
Decisive.

So
that's how it plays out
I forget about schisms which are not in the music nor rhyming or rhythms and I lay down and die.

I sit and I spy with this Central line eye something beginning with?
And she thought I was looking at her and the clothes that she nearly wore and the bore sat beside her,
I never spied her at all.

This long journey I take
just to touch your face
to feel your skin next to mine
knowing that you are touched by her divine

My shield is down
I lay my sword on the ground
know my love that you have me
and my love loyal and profound

You will see clouds part
and the rains depart
when I give you my love pure
it is for you that I do this for

My lips against yours
my heart is yours forevermore
this soldier is home once more
and I swear never to go back to war


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

Let me talk you off that edge
I can see your standing on
Your standing calm
But remember life is beautiful

Don't cut your wrist
Don't look for no tomorrow
Don't feel hate
Don't feel sorrow

And I've been there before
I know you won't hear
Unless I'm compelling
Please hear what it is I'm telling you

I have blood in my veins
Boiling times a Scorpio
My birthday was yesterday
Really was it happy?

But still I'm holding on
Can I be strong? And make the change,
I'm waiting on
I can't if I don't believe it

Well I believe
I believe
I believe in a bright tomorrow
I hope that you do to

(20 minute poetry)


Barking!
mad?
No,
but I could be.

This is my journey
London East.
Into the West, an ending best left to the author.

I bought a ticket, wicked.
So I'm going back in time, travel for 1/9 ( that's in old money, real money when money weren't funny money)

Bethnal Green,
I've escaped from greener places,
tower blocks, take aways and sweet shops.

I lean towards Liverpool street where the ancient meet monuments which the City awaits.

Now to the bank, rank outsiders in the honesty stakes,
someone should put the brakes on them men.

Off to St Paul's a majesty of halls, Wren had some ***** putting a dome atop that.

Last stop before Holborn is Chancery lane, lawyers to blame and they're just criminals like all the rest.

Into the West,
an ending
best left
to
the author.

Press your hands into my heart
Hard enough to make an impression
Push as if to make the marks last
Scare me, so I will always remember
That someone walked my veins
And danced inside my lungs
That you were in my heart
You felt it beating loud and steady
You pushed until I was ready
To love you so hard again
To feel this world of mice and men