Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Pagan Paul Jun 2023
Like the Empire of Rome
the dogwood
that thought it was an oak
has fallen.

It lays sideways to reality,
its cold roots
cling on for grim death,
the vainest hope of survival
is indeed vain.
Its assassins laugh
as the death knell rings.

Like the Empire of Rome
the dogwood
that thought it was an oak
has fallen.

Pagan Paul (07/07/22)
Pagan Paul Feb 2021
.
Poems are plush curtains,
of words,
pulled together
to hide the world
from the raw emotion
that flows
out of a writer
casting pearls.



© Pagan Paul (14/02/21)
.
Pagan Paul Feb 2021
.
Tomorrow.

Tomorrow it will be better.

You'll see.

You'll see.


© Pagan Paul (14/02/21)
.
Pagan Paul Feb 2021
.
Someone is waiting behind an unlocked door,
peek around the frame and tell me what you saw.
I am a little bit too scared to take a look,
like turning a page in an old horror book.

You see it may be someone who likes me
and that is dangerous for stability.
The hands are motionless on a timeless clock,
it would be easier if they would just knock.

In theory there is nothing I want more
than someone waiting behind an unlocked door.
I've rehearsed this scene so many times before,
but here and now there is a storm at my core.

It ties up the insides like thick knotted hair,
the thought, the fear, that there is nobody there.
So the man in the corner whom most ignore
has someone waiting behind an unlocked door.

But the uncertainty has its own high cost,
as the door locks shut and the moment is lost.

© Pagan Paul (14/02/21)
.
Next page