so slowly may words gently caress you
like leaves on the wind upon your ear
as it was on the december mourning
so very cold in abandon
she was locked away from hope
only in it she had but one

a curiousity she would never know

fore he was a poet
that crafted words around her
it was much like a druids hands
they were molding a spell
the ethereal energy she felt
upon it her neck so gently kissed
into the day words would spin
this night held forever
a silken dance would come alive
for in hours so very far away
she heard a symphonie of purple hues
the violins the sang of love
the cellos moaned in tragedy

how is is for but only one night
in a land full of passion destiny
a want for a dance
precise to the words that carried her away

within only moments after it had begun
the song would die
the angels they did drop
hot tears of miseries from above
washing her skin
staining her heart
for a moment of pleasure
she would die one-thousand sorrows

© All rights reserved (Greg Constas 1-06-10)

 

It was a love laced upon the sufferings of Midnight and her embrace
That the Angel cried so tragically bleeding her misery
A crimson rivulet that would make a sea

The heavy blankets of the eleventh hour hung
A purple of the richest dyes
Staining the night skies so heavily

A time in which they shared a hope
Tomorrow a wish never to come
If for one moment they could have the night

Within her cold touch
They would forever be separated
A darkness in paradise

Treetop canopies heavy in her rule of night
No light no hope

 

lay it so softly
upon pillows of the finest silks of Persia
your head

.

so softly upon the moon the sky dances
her one million eyes
the fairies of Midnight and her embrace

.

it is upon it this night
in a destiny to die
for but one moment
in this chasm of never-ending nights
of always a tomorrow that never arrives

.

a wish upon your eyes
so soft a touch
fall away into dreams

.

see the serenade painted in tree top canopies
it is below the watchful eye of the moon
so silently they sing
the violins they do whisper
it is vocal kisses so gentle upon your ear
the cello moans a song of goodbye
so gentle lips upon your nape
bare neck nude
a kiss

.

wake so slow from everdream

.

thousands of pages rain stained, the ink has all but washed away
it was in the scrolls of those ancient masters these words were found
pages lost to the winds of time
rain stained ink runs away with letters into smears
this page was blown across a sea into new lands of a modern world
scholars and poets alike did sit and discuss the words upon this page
history always comes back around
and if you pay close attention you may find that like so many of your idols or totems
you may become a living history of your craft

 

words upon a page such as a dream upon the mind
where is it in all our our ancient texts and scrolls
in a sea of changes throughout the world
where have the words gone
the writers they once danced upon a destiny
in worlds where beautiful muses were inspirations
now but only the words have died
tomorrows dreams of all the beauty has been forgotten
words have taken upon different meanings
no longer the holders of sacred thoughts reviered
the wisdom found in our penned tales
burns a glorious flame into the circles we walk
each poet deliver a gift of beauty
upon the destinies of tomorrow

SEIZE

grasp a hope upon the the wind
write words forever burning in your heart
to every poet an inspiration
in the words of another
design your universe so that you craft your art to perfection
and one day become born to the world

 

there it was upon a rock
it was the sea five hundred feet down
into which the attention was born
a hope born for tomorrow

.

 

in so many ways around the world
a violence cried rivers of crimson
while somewhere else children were starving to death
and the old were forgotten

.

 

a country in which within itself
violence reign amongst its own people
on the other side of the world
the same held true for different reasons

.

 

when upon the hour
tomorrow it shall come
a world of common existence shall rise supreme
and the spirits of the world may shine on riches

 

 

the angel she flew down
to blow a kiss upon the night
it was within the shimmers of her wings
that the powder
it turned to stars

I look up into the sky so dark and gently calm
and it is your face I see amongst all the other constellations
I find heaven has offered me an angel

this is what upon a parchment
I write to you in a time of a thousand eons old
there was once and long lost
within a heart a hope
to find someone

who it was
he would look upon at his angel

these pages of trials are blown through the ages
it is upon a night wish once
upon a time a reveal
that under a jaded moon
you found me
and I liked you

 

the rain she cries down upon
it is within an ear
drop one angel tear
so softly upon the face
shall lick

into a night of Crimson fantasy
it is where your words
they do dance
in pools of magic
before my eyes

so softly your whispers
in so much silence
you say so many things

The winds they blew the pages through the ages
scrolls curled in whispers on the wind
so many words lost in faded ink
one account of a love
so sought for
she would be an Angel from the Elysian Fields
into his arms so comfortably
it was a wish she wished to the gods
lay her head here

it was said in a time of a dead Greek angel
"to believe in what you want
will it become your wish and your happiness"

it was said in a time of a dead Greek angel
"you are such a beautiful man
when she finds you, you will be happy"

an age so far gone
it was hope that was just about to die
and then froim nowhere you came
kissing me ever so gently
blue/green eyes allowing me that swim
into a sea so deeply a wish never to come out

a million wishes upon a billion dreams of a trillion stars
it is what makes a night so perfect
somewhere in the world an ancient lore
you are part of
those words would be these
a star is a wish
flying so high
a journey towards the heavens
once upon a night
once upon a wish
when a star falls
someones whispered wants are coming to them.....
my star fell the other night
and with it
you have come to me

 

Focus tomorrow`s horizon
Sorrow means no future
Cover my face
With my guilty hands

It`s the season the trees die
The birds don`t sing anymore
The rivers never come back
Nature dies out

This tragic future
destinied to hurt never heal
What end can save me
What good gives me an end

Nothing is innocent
Nothing is fair
I keep wondering
How did I end up like this

First passion
Now is lost
A dramatic dead story
I killed all I have

My sadness is
Translated into madness
I spell meaningless words
A poem for sorrow and death

 

The ship and its crew named Nighwish, set sail many years ago, with a Mistress named Tarja. Into all the foreign lands they went, with it they dicovered fame. Then about that time started coming to America, the ship was under attack.
Here it is going into year two, with a mistress dead and a whore to replace. The ship and its crew, sail the seas in salvage. The voice of the ship is weak, try as she may. No matter how dominant she tries to be, she does not control the anger of the storm in front of her. Her voice strains to be heard in the footprints of the past, that she now tries to fill.

I like poetry and good music, it is like a fine wine and silk
upon a purple and crimson night
where it was they of two lore's
dance upon the eve in this night
wait for but a moment
for it is upon a dream
tonight
you so shall walk
in the imminence of this night

so quietly she has arose
gently looking down on you as her sister Gaias' child
so gently she is wrapping her around of night around you
the evening treasure of this night
it is to your neck upon which do fall
ever so soft kisses wish you well upon her stay
from a land so very far away

there was a poet that sat upon a rock
writing it he was
his words upon verse
her eyes they were so gently close
that upon the straying touch of ink to page
she was canvassed in so soft of wonders
where it was
this masterful fey
he was of the lands the arts were born
some leagues away
the night to her for a ride upon her
a world exempt and void of harm and hate
for in the country of her older sister
she was for her beautiful lore of crimson
deemed it they did to her kind
the red witch
so sadly your foremothers were burned upon stakes in England
while so far away in Greece
were of love were already written 2000 yrs before
it was written of those beautiful creatures only know as nymphs
so beautiful they were of mother Gaia
did they come with their own passion
in it upon it this night
the poets of Greece
still write upon the fey of the crimson lore
so it is into this
that you may look upon
an honour and a true value
it would be to you
for you are the fey
I am the poet
cuddle in our beds
come here i will keep you warm
of this ever cold night
on the successor of autumn

winter

on this cold night,
so cold when even the fire in your hair may not keep you arm
i am here just always out of reach
just by a bit
so stretch your arms out to me
and allow me to draw you near
stay gentle by me

it will be upon this night that forever
so warm my arms they are
to keep you warm in this calm silence
of a wish to blow a kiss
upon it would ride
my words to you upon this eve
are forever gone

I am lost in a bit of time

the angels they did dance
so soft upon your shoulder
she cried a symphony of a thousand goodbyes
laced in sorrows bittersweet suffering
that tomorrow when the moon has laid it
her weary head upon the day bed sister Gaia's body provides to her
where it will be for you cuddled so warm
upon my body in an eve of 1000 words

upon the night when the ink flowed into her heart
a tear drop fell so gently to kiss the page

every moment one more closer to the impending tragedy
upon it this night these words would eventually end
sorrow danced a weary history upon the writer
forever to record great histories of once great places
and now in a world of no longer today
it is so far and few in between women
they enjoy a true art
to have their mind kissed ever so gently
a tongue made so softly from words spun into this dream
for a 1000 nights and into a century beyond

forever to write it
my words upon my page
let it be nice that you shall be thought of
when the fires of the crimson lore's
they might grow bright
into pages of text
it is where she might find me