.
I yearn for a lark
in a National Park
to land upon my shoulder.

I ache for a bird
with a secret word
to make me a little bolder.

Were I a peacock
to show what I've got
I may feel a little less colder.

But I'm an old crow
with no place to go
now that I am getting older.



© Pagan Paul (31/12/19)

.
Upon the warm winds of time
glides a perfect single word,
a flick of a wing sublime,
takes flight the faraway bird.

Space leaves room for another
who's adventure now would fly,
whispers the faraway bird
'Peace to thee, farewell, goodbye'.


© Pagan Paul (19/11/19)

.
A door opens with creaking sounds,
inwards to a dark and cool room,
untouched for many hundreds of years,
barely a flicker lights the gloom.

Peeling decoration whispers
at a past richly bottled in wealth,
now nearly empty except for
a curious book upon a shelf.

Bound and covered in lizard skin,
with words that swim on the pages,
shades and shadows cross together,
spells cast by the ancient sages.

A long bony index finger
tracing symbols down an old spine,
pre-history condensed in leafs,
that unfold through space and time...



© Pagan Paul (09/11/19)

.
Lay me down upon the moss,
cover me with autumn leaves,
rest my body in the forest
to be swallowed by the trees,
and let the fleeting moments
whisper my name to the breeze,
as the cool earth welcomes me,
let me go with comfortable ease.



© Pagan Paul (27/10/19)

.
So feint the rhythm of life,
a weak pulse seeking to hide,
the smell of fresh rain coming,
as clouds build high on the side.
Long waiting for cool moisture,
the promise is close at hand,
teasing out the breaking heart,
the rhythm of life unplanned.


© Pagan Paul (28/07/19)

.
Two Knights out and two Knights in,
two Knights in the tourney ring.
With a lance and sword and shield,
no quarter must either Knight yield.

With each muscle and each breath
they must fight on until death.
With mace chain and insult calls,
two Knights stand 'til one of them falls.

The white Knight is a charmer,
black Knight in polished armour,
to win a fair Princess to wed.

The white Knight is a chancer,
the black Knight is a dancer,
who will die on a grassy bed?



© Pagan Paul (25/05/19)