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If I sat
In my room
Dreaming nothing
But you
I'd be
Happier than
Any man on the
Moon

If I walked
Down the riverbed
Imagining
Holding your hand
I'd be walking on
Cloud's tears
That cried for
Our love

And were I alone
On a mountaintop
As high as
A man can get
You would be
In my heart
As I reached out
And grasped
Heaven

So wherever
My life takes me
Into lightness
Or dark
Your vision will
Calm me
And give me
Nothing
But hope

If I sat
In my room
I would dream
February
  Cold short four weeks
      Slow part of the year
Yet, rent is faster.
Electric meter outside hums louder
It's wheels gaining momentum
And the dial a blur.
And they chose this month to honor your love.
    Valentine's  should be in June.
When the grass is long
Maintenance  needs done
And a old man can make a buck.
Trim a hedge.  Pick up broken bricks
At the newlyweds house being erected.
I'm in love.
The best love I have ever known.
The love I propose is endless.
I want to buy her things and be her gentleman that sends bouquets and boxes of chocolates and rings with sparkling diamonds necklaces and fine linens and silk sheets.
I find myself drunk and forlorn and hopeless.
Until,
In my mind I see her face.
And I melt and feel warm
I say her name,  over and over.
DiAnne, you are my everything.
I love you like no one before.
And I profess
My love forever.
Will you be my Valentine?
We are
      The epitome my dear,
In our dancing throes
           To Ravel's
          Bolero.
The lead
         We share
In giving taking the
           Best of love,
         Breathtaking.
Up there
        Our shine is known,
           Among all of the gods
      As proofs mere mortals
            Can compose
As well
        As any immortal does,
          With grace with
        Love,
            With unworldly
          Repose,
The touch of Gods
     And Angel's daring breath
             Unknown to
               Earthly man.
Come here to dine and feast
          Lovers there,
      you have reached
              That peak,
                   That pinnacle,
     Of ecstasy
Only gods have  
                Known.
.
A door opens with creaking sounds,
inwards to a dark and cool room,
untouched for many hundreds of years,
barely a flicker lights the gloom.

Peeling decoration whispers
at a past richly bottled in wealth,
now nearly empty except for
a curious book upon a shelf.

Bound and covered in lizard skin,
with words that swim on the pages,
shades and shadows cross together,
spells cast by the ancient sages.

A long bony index finger
tracing symbols down an old spine,
pre-history condensed in leafs,
that unfold through space and time...



© Pagan Paul (09/11/19)
.
The Azuneas (Ah-thoo-nay-***), invented by
me for this new mystery series of poems.
.
.
Lay me down upon the moss,
cover me with autumn leaves,
rest my body in the forest
to be swallowed by the trees,
and let the fleeting moments
whisper my name to the breeze,
as the cool earth welcomes me,
let me go with comfortable ease.




© Pagan Paul (27/10/19)
.
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