Η ΠΤΗΣΗ

THE FLIGHT

A BURST

SOLSTICE 21-12-2012

NO HUMAN CAN...

A SITUATION

I am sitting here

I'm feeling cold

It's dawn again

I'm used to it

I'm thinking 

about Christmas

Tiny lights flashing 

behind me

He decorated 

the tree for me

My punishment 

is smiling...

And I, I just miss 

the moment

Nothing

from what I was once

I still am

In nothing

to what I was

I'm not coming back

My grey wolf! 

Make me dream!

You're the only one 

who does not ask me

you just give me

You're the only one

who inclined to 

your Goddess and 

asked her to come back

You 're the only one 

who might teach me

how to get  away 

from this nightmare.

We so often worship

the neglecting 

by refusing

the acceptance

We so often

attach ourselves 

to the "ah!"

while the "ha!" 

would change our fate.

A GREAT LOVE

I'm in love...

I'm in love...

I'm in love...

I'm in love!

I'm in love?

I'm in love and

I'm in love

With my

Black and White

Kind and Cruel

Poor and Rich

Mute and Sound

Bitter and Sweet

Sore and Mellow

Huge and Small

Soul's and Flesh's

LIFE!  

(c)ChryssaVelissariou2012

HALF

FOG

  

by ChryssaVelissariou2013

I do not want anymore

to come back

Even if you think of me 

when it rains '

even if you look at me

hidden in

the mist with your eyes in tears

your back bent.

I do not want anymore

light to live

I walk through the dream's fog '

I talk to 

myself so I can bear the

absence of

the present one in every turn.

Dark my reign.

I do not want anymore

love to feel '

I get pleasure in secret,

even if

you think I do not give in

to defeat,

even if you hope I will

fight again.

IS IT FUTILE?

Sometimes

der arme Poet / the poor poet

Gemälde von Carl Spitzweg.

I wonder

if showing

my soul it

is futile

completely.

I'm exposed.

I confess.

I fight with

myself and

many others

addicted

to dig more

and deeper.

The treasure

is carbon

ad nauseam.

I hope though

looking for

diamonds or

gold nuggets

as frantic

rhymester

in delirium.

I frankly

am grateful

to anyone who

withstands me.

Loneliness

of this kind

to the poet

is equal

to paranoia.

He suffers

from a special

kind of autism

and he needs

rhythm to get

in contact.