I found the lonely and built a cabin there.
Learned to live in it.
Decided I was better off with a roof over my head,
Even if some bad thoughts leak in when it rains.

When the feelings run and hide
and when there is nothing left inside.
I cannot even begin to disguise
the fact that I have cemetery eyes.

An empty shell, a carcass, a husk,
autonomic movement from dawn to dusk.
I will not allow my emotions to rise
and bring back life to my cemetery eyes.

There are words I just cannot repeat,
questions and probing, an enforced retreat.
The shutters fall, there is no compromise,
nobody sees behind my cemetery eyes.

© Pagan Paul (2016)

old poem.

even the dazzling butterfly.      
had to start out as a caterpillar
then isolate itself in a cocoon    
to create its true self                   
in due time

so don't expect that                 
the person you are now          
is the you for eternity              
the best of things change        
in due time

I bruise myself when I'm reminded of your beauty, and the
Blues and purples are nearly as satisfying to my eye
As you are.

I'll let the wind blow me into the headlights of a car,
So long as you are in it and
Your face is the last thing that
I see.

You unknowingly hurt me-
I willingly hurt myself.

Some of my parts
-The ones that are left-
Work only in memory of you
And I cannot shut them down,
No matter how much I want to.

I love not only the body,
But the soul-
The photos;
The memories;
Your smile;
The clothes you wear;
The music you make;
Your glasses;
Your hair.

Mar 19

Agony of memories shackled in soul
Loss of control

Cult raised isolation bred within youth
Eureka of truth

Abandoned by love own motherhood start
Burden of heart

Maternal disease and death's lengthy fight
Daytime to night

Caring in vain is like tightening rope
Grasping for hope

Sweet child now mortal illness attacked
Mind being racked

No support acquaintance or true friend
Alone till end

Questioning Deity in trial with doubt
Childish I pout

Weakness in battle spirit slowly died
Strength not inside

Broken wondering why His small pawn
Can't carry on

There is a man
     with only one hand,
in the 3rd eye of Buddha
     he learnt about clapping.

There is a woman
     with only one heart,
in the land ruled by men
     she retained her compassion.

There is a man
     with only one eye,
in the land of the blind
     he was ostracised.

There is a mind
     with only one thought,
in the land of the banal
     it treasures imagination.

© Pagan Paul (19/10/16)

Old Poem

Being single is an eye opening experience everyone should endure
It has taught me to enjoy being alone
It has taught me a freedom I've never known
I learn more about myself every day
The hindsight is blinding
The biggest thing being single has taught me
Is to never take a relationship for granted again
You don't know how good it is to have someone
When you have absolutely no one.
Some people have no idea how lonely really feels
When you don't have a single person
In your phone to reach out to
That's what loneliness truly is.
Yet that's how I live my life every day
If I'm lucky enough to meet someone soon
I'm going to do all that I can to hold on to them
Because being this isolated is not something I ever want to feel again.

Mar 17

Cover your eyes. Cover your eyes.
You there.You're better off here.

The world is spinning far faster than you can comprehend.
Coloured streaks race past you.
Keep your hands to yourself, don't reach for them.
They're dangerous.

Surely you'll be better off where you are,
With your eyes covered by scarred hands.
Surely you'll be better off where you are,
where you can't see how out of place you are.

Inspired by You There by Aquilo
#song   #isolation   #danger   #aquilo  

Silver boulder nestled upon the grass,
As the surface collects the sheer sunlight.
This stone retains the warmth which does not last,
While my fingers against the hard stone write.

The rock absorbs cold air upon nighttime,
Adapts to each climate it is within.
Diverse foliage surrounds all which doth chime,
Sounds of nature are to beauty akin.

I rest upon the stone, feeling the air,
A force which grasps like a warm and fond hand.
Sunlight filters through the sparse trees, so fair,
While some music cues in my head, unplanned.

This is my place—solace from all truth,
A place which does ignite my life, my youth.

I wrote this sonnet for my creative writing course.

a self inflicted isolation
all to avoid the confirmation
    that I simply don't belong

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