This soul has grown
Through all seasons,

Hanging from the
Salt-cliff
Windblown.

This heart has grown
Through all seasons
Of wild love and
Dead unnoticed man.

This soul will
Survive the end
Of every moment

To goodbye
The earth

Anchored tight

Anchorite

Walled in a cell

With
Windows

To the the
Loving
Livelong
World

Single crocus

Hello

Heart leap

To love
you must find
where light convenes at daybreak
brooding

You must search
beyond impending greenery
assertive lace and pirate flower

Below the clouds of spring
that can’t—
be seriously taken

Behind time’s betrayal
where vined lattice
cages fragments of a smile

Why sophisticate such sense?

Far more to the extent
of will and heart extended
taste is answered
unaware
of when the sweet was gone

For presence is!
when savored sources—linger
...in their endings
known—and not resigned

Melted...quiescent...priestly moment

It’s not Zenith!
but Twilight

who drops her eyes!

To love
you must—
must love

beyond...below...behind

thinking of things to put to verse
   in times that often are adverse
   to topics that involve the universe
   and other serious matter
is difficult

world politics is quite atrocious
the culture scene no less ferocious
and so if you are somewhat cautious
in your choice of themes
few are left

you might start out with poised pen
for something serious & pertinent - but then
you have a quite inspiring moment when
you realize what truly is important
in our lives

just find the words
others can understand

.
And I stumble on across the barren land,
the mist, like a shroud, about me swirls,
chipped flint rocks assault my bare feet,
an endless quarry of slate grey, my world.

So the curtain of sadness and submission falls,
covering my mind with an opaque funeral drape,
the hazy images of the isolated and desolate,
forming the features of depressions landscape.

Vaguely felt, the invasion of another waits,
blind and innocent in a palace of real fear,
set free to roam in a strange arid topography,
desperate times pause for vision to be clear.

A stark scene viewed through teardrops frozen,
by ice winds of piercing calamity and despair,
of a place exclusive to the disaffected and lonely,
the last retreat for an exhausted mind to repair.

And this is my world where the haunted party,
leave me be with my cold mists and grey stone,
the frozen tear for a souvenir means everything,
my special gift, the feeling of being utterly alone.



© Pagan Paul (24/01/18)