It sat in the forest of plenty
bleeding sap branches hanging low
broken promises
the hangman's retreat and woes

I stood by him and sat in his shade
asked him how are you doing these days
he shuddered his leaves and they did start to fall
and told me, not well at all

Love had been wicked to him
and the sun never shined on him
his bark was falling
he was close to death

That tree that said he did love
was a lie that now he does despise
broken but pulling back
roots growing again after all the ****** lies

She had told him stories of sadness
and her stories hit his heart
I wanted to relive her
he really believed her from the start

It could have been me
that saddest tree
I mean really
in ruin like me



By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

Where are you Devi ?

Up in the Kailasha
in the arms of Mahadeva
snowclad silent in meditation
while down below in their settlement
humans in the belief you've come down
adorn you with flowers with their hands
and with those same hands **** own blood
rob own kin debauch mothers and sisters
crowd your place of worship with no piety
but for selfies with your image on the background
for Devi unbeknownst to even you
you're no more the Shakti
the prowess against the Evil
but a commerce, a commodity
in the hands of men of 21st century
who know to worship only money.

she tiptoed
slowly and gently
her steps leaving invisible marks
on the cold marble floor

she turned
behind and sideways
but nobody was in sight
in the cold, dark room

it was the last chance,
she thought to herself
someone could stop her

so eighteen and lovely,
mary-ann
the girl everyone loved
picked up the rope

with caution and
descending tears,
she twisted it into a hook
and lifted her head
into it

she took in her
last few breaths
breathe in
breathe out
and then
there was absolute silence.

c.s

A family of Ravens patrol our valley
nothing happens but they know about it.
Any and all opportunity is taken.
Black witches flying around squawking.
They will fight for food, naturally.
Black feathered shapes across the sky.
Beady eyed deep thinkers, watching.
They may yet peck and pick over my carcass.