A poem by Adam Pitas

Grassy horizons green, your summer pastures seem free,

Why do I see the trees shedding leaves ahead of me?

Dead leaves pass me by, drawn by fate infected highways,

Suddenly so cold, I wish I could see the byways.

Yet I have to keep the speed up, so I don’t arrive too late,

For a previous appointment that I sealed as my fate.

Can the sunshine see me, do rays even feel the flakes,

Or are they all just smothered by clouds of past mistakes?

Coldness takes pain away and freezes all the shed tears over,

Fixation, desperation, cold determination take over.

I’ll freeze the leaves to pieces, clear broken shards, maybe stumble,

Let all my creepers die in ice, for frozen dreams don’t crumble.

A poem by Adam Pitas

Splashes catch my screen,
in the airwaves they did gleam,
full of thoughts and wonders,
between some lies and blunders.

Splashes touch my fingers,
droplets wake the ringer,
whispers from afar,
judging who you are.

Wonders, blunders,
my screen and fingers,
that which drips,
in the web it lingers.

A poem by Adam Pitas

A meadow wakes from a dark damp slumber.
Fresh blades flood with fury and rapt wonder,
Watching the march of a merciless light,
Burn and beat out the last breaths of the night.

A fevered meadow awaits the hot swords.
The glistening blades rise to the sun’s hordes,
As a wild wind rips the protective leaf,
Instilled by good night upon the bare heath.

The cool ward of night’s coat is done and gone.
The meadow is scorched with a bright new dawn,
While rays of morn carry dew to the Gods,
Taking sweet life from the fevered rose buds.

Red drops of dew flow from rosy flowers.
Rays of raw light pound with piercing power,
Murdering a meadow stark, yet by strife,
Giving the land a thing vital to life.

Drizzle rises to another hereafter.
Flames drivel with maddening laughter,
Cackling and watching Hell’s floods from the sky,
Scorch the Earth, leaving a meadow to die.

After a callous charge, a sad moon creeps.
Night sees slain flowers and silently weeps.
As a cool, gentle rain breaks pouring down,
Night dons my dear meadow in a damp gown.

Spirits of vapor return to the field.
The grass blades rejoice, my meadow is healed.
New life is sprouting from the soft damp ground,
Tired, my meadow sleeps, renewed and renowned.