Adamantios Tsakaludis

Antithesis is not creative, a

Novelty is not made by
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Obtain only what enables to

Breathe, taking up the
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Irresolute of how to obtain

Safety, is an
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Living every day as if the last one,
Hoping not for happiness, happy I am,
Craving for glory, not me,
Every moment more precious than the last one,
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How short moments can be?
Long enough when happy they are?
Small when sad?
Do they follow us?
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How many moments make a life?
If you live through the eternity,
Do you lose the moment?
Would you be able to forget or to remember?
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Every night I am dreaming,
Of a poetry train,
Its wagons full of words,
Mating each other,
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All poems have a beginning and an end.
Always!
But, I have decided this poem not to end.
Because endings are so sad!
All poems have a beginning and an end.
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Every winter the roots seem fresher than the rest of the tree,
Like something deeper needs to be revealed,
And every spring the trees gain over their roots,
Exposing their virtues,
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What night it was I can't recall,
When I met this bottle of wine,
And then poetry started flooding the deepest corners of my mind…
Until it found a gateway to my hand,
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I do exactly know what a poem is,
I know that since I was thirteen,
And I have read hundreds and
Hundreds of them,
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What brings a new day, is a mystery,
And only as a mystery can stay,
Away from night, a new day only the truth can say,
That night hides behind a dark veil.
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I saw the sun, and he saw me,
I started walking to him,
Too far, I said to myself,
Too near, he replied and showed me
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I am going twice a week in the supermarket,
Always preparing beforehand my shopping list,
For example,
Eggs,
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No darkness,
No shadows,
No fear,
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