.
The Land of Poetica is viewed
as far as the eye can see,
reaching out to unknown shores
edging the oceans of infinity.

Each drop is a Lord or a Lady
contributing to the community,
sending out their words of Art
with no judgement nor impunity.

Though storms may hit at times
rocking the boat of security,
waves of the Lords and Ladies
save Poetica from obscurity.

from 'Selected Works'  
by Lord Pagan of Poetica


© Pagan Paul (22/06/17)

.
Waves of psychic nausea
make the teeth shiver,
as the mind grates on lava
and the cloak pulls tight.
An echo from an illusion
permeates the imagination.
glistening with rancid dew
resplendent in its own reflection.
The image mirrored
is not the genuine original.
The genuine original
is not the image mirrored.
Born of the same picture
yet entities of separate strokes,
Romulus and Remus consort
to blur the edges and paint the story.
The host, confused and special,
supplicates to the paths,
waiting for the reformation,
release, relief, and re-definition.

© Pagan Paul (19/06/17)

.
Today I went

to Hell,

to sell my soul

to the Devil.



I don't know how

it happened,

but I wound up

buying his.



Now I own

the tortured spirit

of an angel

fallen and disgraced.



He wants it back

so it can't pass

auctioned into the

wrong hands.



The dilemma

beckons an answer

from eternities

waiting hordes.



A decision so large

the universe

holds its breath

in chaotic silence.



I don't know how

it happened

but I've ended up

becoming the Devil.



© Pagan Paul (2016)

.
Tick

The Grandfather clock
draws in time
and holds its breath

Tock

A slow exhalation
paints the mind
with images of silence.


© Pagan Paul (June 2017)

.
The serpent around my eye
in perpetuity eating its tail.
A sigil to represent fluidity,
sheds its skin to no avail.

The Truths play around my head in loops eternal,
infinite possibilities of *******,
fractal gems cavorting in lustrous oceans,
that cleanse an hours disgrace.

Pan-Dimensional
and Omni-Directional
Truths are connecting.

Ouroboros, protector of the Tree of Life,
his apple is the gift of Knowledge.
Are those tempted weak and futile?
or hungry for the secrets of Cronos.
The fruit of Wisdom picked, and devoured,
in the garden quest for clarity.

And the serpent around my eye,
like a monocle allowing sight,
flows Truths into my mind,
reflecting matrices taken to flight.

© Pagan Paul (09/06/17)