.
     I stare down at the plate of toast and beans
     wondering why this was never part of my dreams.
     Looking for the future with an illusional pretence,
     hoping good apples will fall on my side of the fence.

And as the fork dances slow
around the legumes in spirals,
the tedium of a wasting life
bears the burden and scars
of missed opportunities in paralysis
and the colour of once bright lights
          glow black,
shining a shadow into the void
covering the bruises
that were once achievements of worth,
     now tender patches
          of failure.
I drop the fork ...

     … pushing away the plate and leaving food uneaten,
     my desire for its nutrition fought and beaten,
     Looking at the apple tree with sombre regret
     maybe its fruit will fall and save me yet.

And disappointment
is worse than anger,
it begins with the stench of loss
the nasal whiff of
what if …

And what if the little apple tree
drops all its fruit down to me?
Would I recognise fortune on my side
or fear the illusions and run to hide?


© Pagan Paul (17/02/18)

There are infinite numbers of me

Running, existing, dreaming

Upon the predestined fabric of time

Yet there is only one of you

Of which

I seem to be fated

To gaze upon

Love helplessly

Never possess

And eventually

Lose completely


And lose you I did

What I never had


Yet the love itself

Was never lost


It was just always

There


Faithful as a child

Running wild and free


A distant

And endless green

Pasture


Praising

Chasing

Flower after flower


Without ever so much

As a touch


For fear of its withering


But mostly

Because it ever

Eludes me


Yet

How can I be

Forever everywhere


Except

Where you are to be?


There are infinite numbers of you

Running, existing, dreaming

Upon the everlasting Pasture

Of Love


Yet

There is only one of me


In time and in space

I might have passed you

Regretfully


But in Love

I believe

We're still destined

To meet

And

To be