.
Snow drifts down
     laying a lawn cold sheet
across the frozen ground,
          creating art reliefs
like acid etching glass,
open space rolling and undulating,
in small hills and depressions,
     bedecked in a veil of white.
The silence is deafening,
quiet having been enjoyed
     and surpassed,
briefly punctuated by the call of a bird,
     A sharp whistle that shrieks
and attacks the silence.
The fresh smell of snowfall wafts up
     as it settles and glistens
in the light of silver moonbeams,
randomly peeping through clouds.
The taste of peace,
                     tranquility,
in the frigid air,
sends imagination soaring
from the desolation of isolation
to another time and place.
          The snow falls,
     falls,
in a relentless race for the ground,
               all is still,
               nothing stirs,
as the moor welcomes its quilt
and sleeps with a cold heart,
     dreaming,
                       of being kissed by the Sun.



© Pagan Paul (28/05/18)

I grew up between bookends
with the holy word held between
one fell off the shelf with no amends
now the shelf is filled with words unseen

So I read of other options
now I question the thread
of these fairy tale adoptions
which have been so deeply embedded

Christian school, weekly church, prayers before bed
my childhood filled with these epic tales
of a guy who died and then rose from the dead
and if you don't believe, well, see you in hell

They are good stories, some even great
but that's all they really are
to live by them is to live a life castrate
burning bush and a man inside a whale, a little bizarre

I am not mad I grew up this way,
but now I live a life of questioning
of what's beyond the pearly gates
without all of the one sided lecturing

In the damp morning streets of my mind
a smell of words so foul
phrases that bind
and forever hidden underneath a dark cowl

Walking neath a hollow sky
a living, breathing, stone-cold vaul
as a lovely darkness constantly spills over my mind's eye
but never reaching thy heart, this empty hall

Words luminous like stars
reflecting on the sea below my feet
my mirrored self gripping onto bars
this is where truth and make-believe meet

I ask the Great Ones to give me the wounds
I ask for those that I deserve
Waited to bleed for many moons
this body is eager and so is every nerve

I cannot live another day
living of the starlit night
hiding my sole purpose away
this fragile human shell, my endless fright

Is this my Anathema?
I feel endlessly accursed
This mind's life is nothing but a phantasma
and it seems nothing can collect what has once been dispersed

Am I not dead yet?
Is this not dying?
I was not hit but still I bled
Why have you taught me how to be death-defying?

Blinded by what is illuminated
I'm always drowing in the space between
a warm light that has faded
and a bright and terrifying fire burning so keen

So just finally set my flesh ablaze
break through this agony, a heart so tame
let this sea of blood erase
and overflow this frame