At this time now I can say that lively spring has arrived and the cold harsh winter has given up its last breath of life
Now I can see the trees branches looking like claws decorated with leaves
Now I can see grasses glistening with dew which earlier looked like kept in fridge with frosting few
Now I can hear the chirping of birds again which seemed to go abroad and let me vain
Now I am able to see my grasslands again which were transformed into desert without any grain
Now the playground which turned into a haunted site
Is now again occupied by children making it a miracle of life
Now I can feel the wind filled with laughter and joy blowing again
Which once left my side...
Now I can say lively spring has arrived
Lively spring has arrived
I wonder if I were to plant myself
here, now, among roses and lavender,
would I take root and bloom
or just enrich the soil the way dead
and rotting things do?
My heart wants to cry like clouds rain,
feeling the whole range from
misty, steady drops, pouring, drenching,
cleansing, returning me to life before death
because who knows if there is one after
and the next could be even worse.
But sometimes I feel weary, ready
to find out what’s on the other side,
perhaps it’s a peace that doesn’t need
numbness to live with all the lonely pain.
I wish I could turn as green
as the grass, as blue as the sky, and
be subsumed by an early spring.
The woeful moans of autumn show that love did leave us long ago.
Two souls defined by the kind of conceit
held together by passion's sweet summer heat.
Blossomed between each beautiful bloom,
they did nothing but consume;
until all that was left of the love that they lost
was frozen under winter's weary frost.
Blanketed under snow so white,
ready to start things over; to make things right.
The woeful moans of autumn show
that love did leave us
I stand on the chipped wooden deck
now darkened from the rain.
The snow has begun to melt,
water dripping between the cracks.
The sun greets me from behind trees
still bare for the last stretch of winter.
I recall the same trees,
dressed in gowns of green.
Birds soaring between branches,
singing sweet songs of summertime.
I recall these same trees,
as the crisp autumn air
pulled at their red and orange leaves,
and sent them back to the earth.
I recall the same trees,
nude with branches swaying,
as the first snow flakes drifted from the heavens,
leaving a cool white blanket beneath them.
Oh, how q u i c k l y time moves,
passing with such haste.
Oh, how I hope I am changing.
I had never known
with so much kinetic energy
as to uplift me
from the sinking mass
of fragmented debris,
but this woman
laughs heartily at common jokes
and gets drunk on
one shot of vodka - 30 ml.
She has got my senses blooming -
painted like lilacs in spring.
The early sun warms my veins,
Dawn chorus birds are chattering again
A heady smell of dew and flowers
sets the scene for the morning hours.
The mid-day sun warms my face,
dancing butterflies pass playing chase.
The intoxicating scent of life in bloom
carries the promise of the afternoon.
The evening sun warms my world,
Oracles smile at the cool Spring Girl.
Perfumes waft from way out of sight
holding the future through the night.
© Pagan Paul (01/01/15) (2017)
the rain sighs and weeps
and behind our back
a song of woe she sings.
you touch my lips,
your own fallen agape,
within the shadows of your palm
into our own kingdom I breathe life.