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
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 3:04 AM UTC
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
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