Looking back on days passed,
Beneath the feet of god’s decay,
Looking back on what I was,
Wishing for a new-found life,
Looking back on a three-piece game,
Each of me way back when,
Looking back at the gathered crowd,
Assemble each and everyone.
Poetry © Mira Sophia Chrysostomou
The broken frame,
Beyond this life,
A silent prayer,
The bridge to beyond.
Along the frame,
The timber strong,
A peaceful moment,
Despair begone.
A reflection deep,
Echoed within,
Worshipped silence,
A moment gone
Poetry © Mira Sophia Chrysostomou
They say everyone is born a hero.
From;
The little boy
with crimson cheeks,
To;
The little girl
with her tiny button nose.
Everyone starts the same.
A blank slate
filled with chivalrous intentions.
A clean page
meant for courageous acts of bravery.
But take heed
my darling little angel.
For the world is a cruel place.
The trials of youth are endless,
The challenge of life all encompassing.
They will try to break you,
to tame you,
to change you.
But you must hold on.
The darkness of the world
will engulf each little boy,
turn each little girl to shadow.
For everyone is born a hero
But,
Life will force you to survive;
it will strive to make you a villain.
Poetry: © Mira Sophia Chrysostomou
Photography: © Antonio Chrysostomou
Oh look at the rosebud,
Oblivious to its surroundings,
Like a dainty animal,
It smiles upon this world.
So innocent it seems,
A beautiful flaw in nature,
A being of creation.
It sees its fellow flowers,
Beautiful in full bloom,
It longs to join them,
To spread its flowery petals.
But it waits.
For what we do not know,
But wait it does.
The winter sun bathes the rosebud in a golden light,
And slowly, very slowly,
As if scared of the world around,
The rosebud sheds its frosty confines,
And beams upon the world,
In full bloom once again.
© Mira Sophia Chrysostomou
You can’t cheat death,
But that doesn’t mean
death can’t cheat you.
No matter what you do,
What details you alter,
What sacrifices you make,
You will always end up there.
Pain is what unites us,
Suffering is our burden.
There’s nothing you can do to change it.
You must accept the inevitable,
accept your fate
For in the end,
All you can hope for;
Is a simple tranquility,
A peaceful bliss.
An end to the strife.
Just like,
a sweet shot of whisky
At the end of a shit-smeared life.
© Mira Sophia Chrysostomou
The silver surface,
The ripples in the tide,
A pool of thoughts,
A well of dreams.
We stand here together,
Our life reflects,
In the mirror we see,
Our lives seen,
Our lives told.
As nature deems.
© Mira Sophia Chrysostomou
The silent sound,
The inaudible creak,
They dance silently by,
Disturbing not my sleep.
© Mira Sophia Chrysostomou
the things we’re told,
the things we see,
they’re as different,
as you and me.
© Mira Sophia Chrysostomou
adventures in a lightroom 