Paul Mar 25
I’ll miss every single morning, waking up facing my old, crumbling wall, where the grey wallpaper has come off the walls and you can see the zinc. I will miss reaching out with my finger towards a part of the wallpaper and pick at it. Not tear it off or make the wallpaper even more torn off – no. I would just pick at it and as if check if it’s still holding on to the old walls that I grew up in. In this room I spent half of my life. Why only half? Well in this room my brother spent his teenage years and only when he left the nest was I able to inhabit his room. I always wished to be in his room. Here I imagined myself building armies, plotting to take over kingdoms. This would be my castle, my guard, my home.
               I’ll miss the summer’s breeze that washes over me when I sit near one of the country side houses, where the two sweet cheery-trees grow. The old bench that my grandfather built in his time – a very simplistic yet effective creation. Two simple planks, not taken care off and always parts of it splintering off, nailed down to two wood blocks of the old apple trees that we cut down. The bench, if one would even call it that, is not comfortable but I guess the sentimental value makes it pleasant and close to the heart. I remember sitting on that same bench and looking up to the sky, where the pure sky is covered in dark red, sweet cherries. The times when we would get out a ladder and start climbing to the tops of these trees and gather all the cherries into a bucket, then finally sit at home and enjoy the desert as a family. Those where the best moments of the summer. Alongside with the smell of freshly cut grass or the burning sensation of the hot wind brushing against your face.
               I’ll miss walking past the dark forests to the river. I will miss slowly tumbling down the small hill towards the ground where moles have turned up and made the walk down even less enjoyable. Yet in the dark forests, where all sorts of creatures lived and made their homes, you would feel the closest to nature’s heart. On the walk there one would start to hear the sounds of the water trickling down the few hills. How much I will miss the river that I was born from. Not in a mystical way –no. There I spent most of my summers, especially when I was still little and I and my brother would go there for a swim after I had helped him do all the hard work. I remember him, sweating and barely catching his breath after manual labor and looking down at me, with such sincerity in his eyes and compassion in his movements. He would smile and slowly pick me up, place me on his shoulders and we would both walk towards our river. I knew he was tired yet my selfish side didn’t want to miss out on such special occasions when I felt so close to him.
               I’ll miss the line of birch trees. I have a fascination with such trees, most likely because of their unique trunks that are covered in black and white spots as if the zebra of trees. I quite enjoy the fact that birches are the first ones to gain and lose their green leaves. I only think of spring and autumn whenever I look at these marvelous, tall trees. We had another one, one to the side, far away from the young ones. A fifty meter tall tree, reaching towards the sky, its stump thick and filled with ants and termites. We had to cut it down as it started leaning more and more towards the ground, most likely wishing to lay down and finally gain rest after enduring so many storms. Now, between the not so young birch trees there is my hammock. There I would lay whenever I had free time, whenever I wasn’t working and sweating while the either too cold or too hot breeze would make me jump. I will miss the sound of all the leaves wiggling about on the branches as a stronger wind passed them. I will miss seeing the yellow leaves fall off the trees and cover the ground and when few gusts of warm weather would hit, they would become dry and every time you step on them, they crackle and you smile.
               I will miss getting back into my bed, where the same piece of torn wallpaper is and the same four corners that I left in the morning. I will miss, covering myself in the same duvet that I had for so many ears and looking up at the crumbling, white ceiling that I once hit with a ball and few pieces of it came falling down.
               Then I would hear my father shout at my mother.
With me slowly preparing to leave home and go out into the world, certain memories cling to heart.
Paul Feb 28
I’m so heavy, too heavy, still dragged on the floor.
My thoughts wriggling, sickening in my mind,
That I call the rotting corpse – decayed and rusted.
Every single cell, more disgusting than the next.
I want to wash away these sins, scrub myself clean.
Hot water? Holy water? I don’t feel the burn anymore.
Like a dead corpse, laying around naked and torn.
What choices can I make while lying dead on the floor?
Forgotten and old, my coffin already caving in on my soul…
Worms, sickening old worms, trying to collapse me for what I told,
But my Goliath was stronger and more righteous that others foretold,
As I lack David and the God that helped him turn the tides of war.
Corinthians said that bad company corrupts good souls,
Yet how can you know a good soul when you wounded yourself,
Beyond the understanding of life and death.
I shall forgive and forget, like Matthew once told,
Maybe then I shall grant rest for my rotting soul?
Repentance and penance – the pillars that shall hold me now.
Without faith, without God, it’s just me and my thought clouds.
Maybe a prayer? To those that shall listen,
Being right – is not easily forgiven.
Paul Feb 17
How about we turn implicit to simplistic?
A small sudden change in our pas de deux.
It’s French. An elegant step of two,
Though we almost ended up wearing the same shoes…
Folie a deux. Madness of two.
Our madness, as our hearts beat in tune.
Tik tok. Tik tok. Like a clock.
Counting the time to our starting off.
Tu me rends fou. You drive me insane.
You make me want to jump, swim or scream your name!
Let’s dance, my L' amour! In the moonlight like gods,
Beethoven’s sonata, performed by Euterpe,
The muse of music and arts! Just for us, the Olympian gods.
Tik tok. Tik tok. My heart is about to stop.
A day? A month? A year or two…
I will not stop loving you.
My dear, my love, my sweet un copain,
I love you, I treasure you, please drive me insane.
Let the grandfather clock, stop the passing of time!
I want you forever, handsome, young knight...
My love, my fire,
That will burn away the night.
Let’s dance! Again. Let me feel you close once more.
Performing our twirls, never dreaming of a stop.
For someone I love <3
Paul Dec 2017
Echoes of voices, long forgotten and lost.
Travel in my mind, looking for things that were put off.
One speaks in a low yet appealing, dark, sickening tone,
Telling of my wrongs, the foolishness of my choice.

His amused grin, red glowing eyes,
Look into my soul, my brain and my thighs.
Telling how disgusting, how hideous I look today.
Even when I was sure, I was almost an eight.

The other one laughs. Quite cheerful this day.
He smiles, he loves, he makes the bad voice go away…
His tone confident and willing, strong and quite nice to hear.
Reassuring my decision, telling me it is beyond fair.

I listen to the two, loud in my brain.
Yelling, bickering, both telling me I am insane.
“You must pick a side! Pick or drown in disease!”
I listen to the two with quite fair ease.

Amusing that is, I sit quite confused.
No voices, no logic, just a visit from a muse.
Torn between sides, one right and one wrong.
To pick or to drown? Guess that is my choice.
I find it quite difficult to pick a side or to make a choice or set off on some path in life. Life doesn't seem to have a good choice, it only has bad choices and the choices that are a bit better than the bad ones.
Paul Dec 2017
I breathe. Fast. Black. Panic sets in.
Beautiful as the world starts caving in.
The dark birds throwing, a shadow my way,
Predicting a future, filled with dismay.

I see. Shining. Light. Peace comes this day.
The eyes of the one - looking my way.
Does it know that I’m starring?
Those eyes I believe, the smile, the thought. I start to bleed.

I feel. Plenty. Warm. Can it be enough?
To stop the panic, to stop the rust?
My knees are too heavy, breathing is hard.
It gives me its lung, I am more than I thought.

I live. Long. Bright. I think this is it.
No dark birds, no walls crumbling in.
My heart is now beating, so potent, so strong.
The futures great ocean, I start to shrug off.
Paul Dec 2017
I hear a crow, sending it's plea,
The winter has come, the time is to flee.
Cold mothers hands, will rip off its wings,
Life must now hide under a layer of Winters skin.

I remember the warmth of Summers embrace,
The smell and the feeling, the Spring would place.
The beauty of color, the sympthony of trees,
The howling of Autum as it regretfully leaves.

Now like that crow, I sit in the snow.
So open, so cold, I've forgotten my home.
My wings - frozen shut, feathers stripped away,
Waiting for another cold mothers embrace.
As everything becomes cold and white, momments where I could just sit back and relax become more and more rare.
Paul Dec 2017
Dorothy once said:
“There’s no place like home!”
Where family waits, where we don’t feel alone.
Maybe she’s right,
On the subject at hand,
Yet I feel out of touch, too naïve too understand.
I remember the monsters,
Under my bed.
No comfort, protection, bad ideas in my head.
My guardian angel,
Cold and upset.
She now nods to the one, who carries my regrets.
No tornado, no monkeys,
No witches with brooms.
It’s just me in my home, dining with the king that rules.
We say that we can't pick family, but must family be only decided by blood?
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