My temple is made of words
in the centre I do now stand
I wave my hands in gestures
and compose my dreams

Their is no strain to me
for it comes naturally
this gift is heaven sent
therefore I will sing it's praise

I dreamt of a beach of sand
and when I woke it was in my hand
my dreams are truly vivid
I hope that you understand

When I dream of ancient wars
I always come back with scars
I stride time like a child
a child in a sandpit of time


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris