.
A vintage year.

Especially July.

It was the last time

one of my poems trended.


PPx

.
So the smoke coils
surrounding a stray thought
clinging to the vine
as it weaves threads
into a tapestry
of fermented grape wrath.
His pen crawls
across the pages of life
and ignores the punctuation,
a plague infected word flow,
his stream of catharsis.
But the babble
intrudes and sounds irk,
sending resentment forward
like an advance guard
to meet the violence
and deflect the onslaught.
And the wave dies
as the aggressor retreats
before motley defence.
But the mood
has been tainted, spoiled,
despite a flirtatious distraction.
And the flame flickers
as the smoke coils,
and tired eyes avert their gaze
from the perceived ***** page,
the excrement of misery
smeared to make nostrils flare,
and the entry is left
incomplete …



© Pagan Paul (06/05/19)

Sleeping in a silent forest
night sky come and swallow me whole
I promise I won't protest
These stars may fill my tired soul
And these trees, oh, how I love thee
Lush and green, dark and eerie
This is where I long to be
Here is where I'd never be weary
I put my life onto the earth
Dig myself a hole for a bed
This is where lies all lifes worth
Here everything is, I miss nothing I haven't had

Roots may pervade me, leafs shall cover
And in my stead another will grow
I will dissolve in the arms of my last lover
And of all misfortune it will never speak nor will it show

On new branches my soul will hang
until another