.
Hair the colour of Ravens,
skin the colour of Crows,
eyes the colour of Rooks,
somehow it just flows,
as she walks
     down the path
               like a bride,
with the sway
     of the sultry,
and the smile
                     of the Huntress.
Her way lined
by the bowed heads
of willows,
                   meandering,
with the feint ******
of water bubbling
     over pebbles,
from the mountain stream
that wends in consort
and chimes
        with the bells on her toes.
Her breath, mist
in the morning air,
as she seeks her prey,
     a victim of lust,
with no pardon,
mossy rocks glide by
          as her pace slows,
dew soaking her feet,
     dawn glade,
                          the jaws of her trap.



© Pagan Paul (17/08/18)

some species of plants close their petals at night
as the sun greets the sky and begins to warm the world,
each petal begins to slowly uncurl itself, as if to welcome the warmth of its radiant companion
it isn't exactly known why our self sufficient friends tuck themselves in for the night
one theory says they're trying to conserve energy
another says they want to protect their pollen from not so pollinating others
i wish i could learn to be like these flowers
able to open my soul for others come inside
able to shut the gate when too much of me is being used up
it's been quite awhile
my leaves are beginning to brown and i can't even stand up straight
the sun asks why i can't rest for a while?
close up shop until i'm strong enough to try again?
my answer:
i will remain open for minutes upon hours upon days
hoping he'll show up, hoping that he stays

in very late July,
i observed a firefly
pulsing their neon light
while in the dark, they did take flight

in very late July,
there isn’t many fireflies
they pulse their neon lights
find a mate, and say goodnight

in very late July,
i tried to catch that firefly
wished my hands would be their home
so they’d know they’re not alone