Little dull birdies  .  .  .
Love own songs by mirror pond,
  .  .  .  Graceful swan sails by.

After the guns are silent
After the wounds have healed
The opening words from a song.......
But the wounds never heal
After 40 long years the pain is still there
Memories burned into your brain
In the hours of darkness, night mares
It could have been me not him
Why do we do it? Answer the call
When ever our countries have need
Its not politicians who answer the call
Its not politicians who blled
Its the boys and the girls of our countries so fair
Who give there their lives
In the fight for liberty
Eight thousand miles away from home
To keep another nation free

Dead butterflies on my right arm
Monochrome colored and
Pathetically stained with
Regret and lack of self control
You were so young
With wings as tender as a blooming
Flower and color as bright
As the ocean floor
I didn't mean to crush your
Little wings
But now you can be set free
Cut from this
Aphrodite in chains

I don't care if you think I'm gay
would it matter if my bread was buttered that way
as poetry is my sweet love
I'm married to her with convictions

I'd rather eat a cat alive
the spend a moment by your side
I am not a Poet of convenience
so married to her with convictions

Soon ten years strong
will we have been carrying on
we swapped rings in secret
and were married to our convictions

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

"It's all good: I know how brains work..
..well, I know how they can not work."

The sounds that tumble and pour over,
are refreshing,
until remembering they came from people's mouth's,
bus engines,
heels crunching salt crystals strewn on the sidewalk,
first sound heard, a morning alarm,
last sound heard, is of soMEone falling, asleep,
but it is all those sounds in between, combined with
what was seen,
that is an inspiration...
the first
and
last,

Amid the clatter of pots and pans, he stands washing the dishes and in the restaurant, the waitresses wait to meet princes ,wishing princesses,
he guesses it so as he watches time slow and the hands still move fast past the hour of twelve,
delving into their minds he finds candy floss dreams where apple pie queens sit at five before five and he wonders what being alive really means.
To serve or be served and what does he deserve? and he thinks at the sink but it all gets too much,
a touch on the shoulder which falls like a boulder and crushes his thoughts,as he sought so they seek and was it only last week when the school bell rang nine?
In the time that it takes it took no time at all and the fall came quite quickly,
he didn't feel the hands that cleared the pots and pans and moved him to the quiet place to lay so quietly in grace,
but quietness was in the face that faced eternity.

Hey you,
I've been thinking a lot recently
Wondering how this could have happened.
Five months and I'm still not over it.
But at least now I'm somewhat functional.

Did you know I used to feel the same way you did?
Wanting to end my life
By some self-inflicted act
The rush of a knife,
The avalanche of pills
Anything to make me feel okay
To run away.

Can I tell you the truth?
Sometimes I still do.
But I owe it to you
To get better.
And I know you would say
I owe it to myself as well.

So yes, I've written about you before.
About the sacredness of your memories
About how it breaks my heart to miss you.
But today, I just wanted to say thank you.
You've had a weighted hand in
Saving my life.
And you probably don't even know it.

So, in conclusion, sincerely and, as always, love
Me.