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Autumn was her name her eyes were black and electric with fury,
she drifted in like a storm with her minions behind her beauty,
she danced with the wind in shadowy silence,
But I am immune to her charms and wicked ways.

This dynamic woman caused havoc on the land,
she weaves her mystical magic that only I could understand,
but to my folly I loved her she would be the end of me,
I'm a slave to her and will be to the end of time.

Like a red rag to a bull she tempted me to want her,
her whispers to the wind heralds the end of summer,
even the sun shined no more whilst clouds gave her cover,
as she committed the rest of her forces to winters claim.


By Christos Andreas Kourtis
By NeonSolaris

© 2008 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
betterdays Mar 2017
scintillant bodies flicker
blink and fade in a  darkness
beaming in charcol waves

indigo trees rustle and sway
in tribal dance, as the sea
beats out the metre
on the hard packed sand

on the wing, dark birds
cry lust, death and desolation
and mice write wills and testements
on dry dust paths, before signing
them with a squeak of suprise

in the creek, the platypus rises
and subsides with a quiet splash
surprised by a large form drinking

the frogs write and sing deep bass  arias
with the cicadas and crickets providing chorus
and amongst it all a high pitched perping
from what beast, I cannot recall

we pass now from summer warmth
to the crisp catching cold of autunm nights
darker for the rain cloud weather
making the moon an erethal wreath
if seen at all...

out off the coast a patch of luminous blue
gives of wonder as bio luminescence
holds a small patch of sea in it's thrall

in the morning more leaves
will colour, fade and fall,
the circle continues
from day to day...
                        simply heeding nature's call
Poets fall in love everyday
It might be with the sun; or even a tiny ray.
It might be with the stars; or the clouds as it turns to rain.
Or maybe the morning dew as it springs down from the seventh sky

It might be with the way... the pen and the note make beautiful love
Caressing every inch of its sheets; moaning at its ink-filled touch.
Making beautiful baby poems with rhymes and rhythmical style

it might be with the way....... the autunm kiss the twilight moon
Or as the honeybees sinks its stings on the petals as the flower bloom

Poets fall in love with every gift that nature gives.
Chaos, pains and heartbreak arent enough to make em weak.
Can I ask you if
You would have done it to me
If I wasn't weak

No, I guess the real question is this...
How does it really feel
to be in love with me

Am I a joke a being
Or maybe some playing thing
to fill some empty reels

Have I ever being....
taken seriously
Or maybe the words I speak....
are just some fallacy

Is that why you flee
and leave silently

Have you ever think...
That this shattered part of me
will ever bind to its piece

Do you even believe
That this rageful heart I keep
will ever find its peace

I thought we were the king and Queen
That this love kingdom needs
I the petals and you' the bees
to produce ah honey sweet

Do you feel I'm a kid
or maybe a thoughtless being
living in fantasy
For writing this poetry

Why'd you keep me in shack
And let pain bleed me dry
When you leave me behind

Whyd you feed me to sharks
And then you leave me to cry
even if it would lead me blind

All I know is this
I will continue to keep
this rages I nurture within
Till you come set them free

I hope one day you will...
maybe come back to be
my ever-blazing peace

And if it never come to be
I'll brace myself and script...
beautiful poetry
under the autumn tree 🌳
Happy New months poetry lovers
Witty writers with wishy-washy writes
Rhyming everything that comes to em mind
With every beat that cross em heart
Uncertainty and confusion though surround his live
Struggling to revive his injured vibe  
Like autunm tree; they think he died  
Poor and ugly; they paint him black  
Couldn't find love, no, he couldn't thrive  
Beauty shred but he still survive  
They even named him "the brokest ***** alive"  
 
But see, words has always been his spine  
His greatest ally when troubles arise
When the moon, the sun and the earth collide  
And the sky is tiled with a scary clime  
Clouding his heart, eclipsing his mind  
poem brought smile with its lines as guide  
So if not for rhyme, depressions could've ruin his life  
Writing to him is what oxygen is to the heart

— The End —