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 Mar 2018 Corvus
Pagan Paul
.
The ether shimmers.
Time slips.
Your words float,
and dance for my eyes.
But we belong apart,
destined never to meet.

Yet...

There is a connection
as images assault me,
directly from your pen,
wrenching my soul,
drawing the pain,
painting the pleasure.

And...

Your words found out
emotion is not dead,
its just a sleeping child,
waiting to be loved.
But we belong apart,
destined forever to be...

… perfect strangers.




© Pagan Paul (2017)
.
 Mar 2018 Corvus
Meera
Weak Glue
 Mar 2018 Corvus
Meera
Your parents screaming on the top of their voices
Hurling insults, complaints and abuses
Their relationship on the verge of breaking
Cause now they're tired of faking
You little girl, as delicate as feather
Acting like glue, trying to hold them together
Weak glue
   Poor you......
Children soak up everything they see, feel, and hear.When parents argue excessively and for too long, it can leave children feeling insecure and fearful.
 Mar 2018 Corvus
Fumbletongue
There is a difference between
minimalism and simplicity.

To live minimally is an action.
To live simply is an art
 Mar 2018 Corvus
witchy woman
I can't deal with this suspension
animated friction, frozen for the meantime
within the imaginary societal lines.
Sustenance within intimacy,
hangs in fragmented impermanence
as a reminder to us all
we are all victims of the human condition.

Even with memories etched within
aged smile lines, or experience
burned across cataract eyes, we cannot escape
no matter how we may try
the barrier concrete- our human mind.

In death, we struggle with our
own feeble understanding,
we lack the ability of total comprehending.

We enter this world,
soft, vulnerable- exposed
we exit this world,
in paper thin skin
stretched over fragile bones.

Regardless of the connections
we may form as we grow
we come as we go,
are born, and in likeness die,

alone.
we come as we go
 Mar 2018 Corvus
Patty P
The Quiet
 Mar 2018 Corvus
Patty P
the sounds we make
the sounds i hear
the waves of the sounds
prolongs in my whisky ear
the quiet in my living room
is my favorite of them all.
red glasses peak from the tops of the book covering the black haired beauty's face.
tiny flips of the pages is heard, from inside the study of hers...
long night it was, the hours mocking at her,
as she signed throughout the night.
tired, and heart broken.
with all of that
she felt overwhelmed.
every memory she remembered
of him.
it hurt.
but the quiet was driving her insane.
he isn't communicating as much...
it doesn't feel right
something is off, with him.
she holds her book as she tosses it to the side
hearing it slide across the wooden floors, eventually stopping
against the wall.
it was the quiet
the space between them both.
what is happening?" she questioned in her mind.
she got up, kicking off the covers onto the floor
she paced her study, rubbing the temples of her head.
back and forth
is the how she illustrated her thoughts.
uncanny and apprehensive describe her issue with him.
but the quiet
where was her music?
where was her sound?
who muted her?
who took her words away?
who took her voice away?
.............................................
it was the quiet.
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