Someone who looks so happy
in a big sunny field actually could think big,
could have anything, could have
riches, power, anything.
To be stupid, to be happy
in a big sunny field.
Actually, it's hard to argue with that.
Pretend you've got that now.
Could you wish for anything?
If you had a big sunny field to be in,
would you think anything,
riches, power, ANYthing,
actually looks so big
in the big sunny field you've got?

and i'm afraid that soon, *there will be no one left that i love..

This proverbial palace of pen
And paper has room for
Exactly as many as
We are.
Together.
People of Parchment, welcome.
Move in.

Poem has room for your every letter,
Each one of your feelings, all
Pleasure; all hurt.
It's diary, -hallways that go on
Forever-
That you can explore in your mind,
It is birth

Of things that you love, that you see
Your own features in.
Thoughts fit for sharing with minds
Like your own.
It's channel for channeling, channel
For handling the things that arise,
You are never alone.

It's words to the pictures of love
That you witnessed, it's tellings of
Hardships you had
To withstand.
It's more discriptive of lust and of
Pleasure than movies you watch in
The dark with
Your hand.

The Palace of Poem has room for
Each poet. The doors are unlocked,
See the sign: "Vacancy."
Interiour's custom, your personal
Taste as design, and don't ask:  
It is perfectly free.

In here there's no grown-ups,
We're children; just taller.
No bedtime, no said time to eat or
Come home.
In here you can choose to create
When you're crying, or laughing or
Tickled or cut to the bone.
-
It's a palace fit for the Kings and
Queens of Expression
That truly live in your
Every
Mirror.

My pen doesn't write anymore
It stumbles and trembles in my hand.
If Autumn were here, she'd understand.
It's funny how we never know
exactly how our life will go.
It's funny how a dream can fade
within the break of a day.
I'm not sure where you are now
though I see you in my dreams
and I hear everyone say
"Things are not always what they seem".
So I'm often uncertain
if you like your new home
and when I'm uncertain
I write a poem.
Time can't erase the memories
and time can't bring you home.
That time was a part of me
and now a part that's gone.

The melodious voice, her silent voice.
Is nothing but a harsh reality of your choice.

Shutting her up and putting her down,
Doesn't give you a wise man's crown.
She who out of love performed every act of abnegation,
She is the one, the true sensation.

How could you be so insensitive to not hear?
So much she said through the eyes in tear.

For love and respect today she whines,
Despite your ruthless nature, with her love, you, she binds.

Maybe you don't know,
Even in dark she can glow.

She can extend the unforgiving minute,
Her strength and purity has no limit.
She standing on earth has reached the stars and sky,
Still in misconceptions you are high.

Open your eyes, your heart, your soul!
You're nobody to charge on her life any toll.

Do not underestimate this silent voice,
Her unsaid is heard even in the noise.

When this silent voice will come out of its shell,
Will that be the time when you'll ring a bell?

Today the voice is silent.
Tomorrow, my friend, it might be violent.

One who has brought you on this earth,
Don't dare to consider her as dirt.
Silently she can give you the pain of your life,
She is nobody but your mother, daughter or wife.

Her silent voice is loudest everywhere.
Her absence you won't be able to bear.
So from today, begin to care.
Wise man's crown then you'll wear.

It's been awhile
since I've seen your face
in all that it is --
your inviting dimples,
the flecks of gold in your eyes,
the pinkish tones in your lips
-- and I can't take much more of it.

As the leaves fall and the birds sing I recall all the reasons that made me frail
Like a wave knows she will reach the ocean, I know that there is hope out there
Like how at night a flower wonders if the sun will ever rise and shine once more
Again and again, I think of how someone can hold you without touch and lead you to the shore
The wrinkles on your cheeks and the smile in your voice and the smell of the sun after the rain
The earth would spin and we’d spin too but always land colliding and we’d know we’re still sane
Laughter so true and love so vast they can set off avalanches and halt thunder
And as the days pass the moon will be full again and our eyes would see its beauty as we stand gazing under
The pleasure in having a house to call a home and walking on wet grass and feeling the wind in your hair
Flowing rivers and crashing snowflakes and tragedies of the sweet winter air
Your print on my heart, your voice in the back of my mind and the things you utter
The sound of defeat and the cruelty of failure but none of that matters because you protect me like a shutter

It's the way it creeps into your brain
and intoxicates your thoughts
and triggers unwanted emotions
and inhibits your every move
leaving you paralyzed from
the neck down.

And there's nothing you can do
except take the red or blue pill --
a temporary solution to
a lifelong illness
that will stop at nothing to
devour all the good inside you.

I just wish it would stop
and allow me to breathe
and keep my chest from feeling
as if a thousand needles are lodged inside.
That's my small request.
Why can't I have that?

its weird how
one day
you see flowers bloom
and the next
you see them die

its weird how
the sun can shine on
one side of your face
but on the other
only shadows find their place

its weird how
no one knows
that these laughs and smiles
are just escapes
from the letters in piles

its weird how
all thats left
is just a blank canvas
and just empty space
and someone in line
to take your place

Why not dig faster
As if you hadn't time
The water may be rising
But why not sit and rhyme

Sometimes echoes
And smiles abound
Forgetting yourself
Isn't worth
what was found

A bird to rise
And bags beneath
And strain to beg for
Just release

Wheat and hazel
May make thee
An orchard merry
Or feet to flee

Somber silence
One prays for
Shallow living
To pay the store

I am living
Inside out
Humble endings
For the rout

Shaking tremblings
lovely shapes
Air connecting
What to sate

Ponder meanings
In moss and stone
As debtors mingle
At your home

Where did we go wrong
I sometimes ask the Sun
But answers are long given
And hardly won

The rain taps
on my window.

                             It asks me
                             if it can
                             sing in my ear.

Until I
fell asleep.

                                                               ­           I wish the rain,
                                                                ­          was you.

If it was possible
I'd for thousand life times
would like to write twenty four seven

When I bang them out in a start
me and my computer never part
together twenty four seven

It's the joy of it
I would not give a ****, if I was ****
I'd still write, twenty four seven

I know some of my durges are pure hell
and others have the promise of heaven
I am such a geek from head to feet, twenty four seven

I know I have said it before
but I do say it again
she is my obsession, twenty four seven

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris