.
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)

There were a pittance of days she did things for herself.

She liked the way an orange could be peeled to its barest form, made each peel a journey to something.

She enjoyed knit sweaters pulled past her knuckles while barreling through wisping city winds.

She found much joy in closing her eyes among a crowd of strangers.

The mounted sky sheds opens above her. What a pleasure it would be to see and feel all at once.

These were human moments. Like the ones you read about in those poem books, those romance novels, those 500-paged atlases. They sat shallow and sweet in the valley of her tongue, a pinch of raw sugar.

She recoils as the taste fleets swiftly, melted away like each moment before last.

--
c

She spoke of dreams
and chasing shooting stars
under galactic blankets
that covered them warm...

He kissed her quiet
"Shhh darlin'
you're doing it again..
you're reading my
thoughts"

There is a storm
gathering in
            my womb
soon to explode
into a thousand
crimson stars
lighting up
my veins with fire
and unraveling
deep-set,
          knotted scars
and the gentle rage
outside my window
presses on, inside my head
as I lie here,
my thoughts twisted
in a cozy, yet empty bed
my thoughts unfurl
in misty haze
           curl into
                      smoky
                 rouge
as nightsky thunder rolls
into creamed saxophone
                          deluge
the snare drum beats
in firelight
ripple sheets
in silky flutter
as my fingers strum
my womanly instruments
into loamy, primal butter
my voice in quiet utterance
as the heavens open
           to heavy rains
                    that liquefy
                           my desert
                 hydrate my
           bare-soul caves
so I electrify my echoes
into fruited, crystal drips
frothing up my
cherry wine
upon these moistened,
hungry lips

There are many things that people believe in
Some more playful than real
Like how the sun and the moon are lovers
So many theories about humanity
All the ins and outs of it
All the whys and how’s
How the sound of toes tapping on the floor
And water falling from the sky in drops
Can make us who we are
But what if there really is more?
Maybe inside of us there’s something making us who we are
So many of us of this world being held down
How someone’s views and opinions are what makes them
What about the ones who are more?
The ones with the beautiful souls
The ones who only care about feelings, happiness, fullness of life, and beauty
The ones who are a spark in the darkness of he world
The ones you notice simply by how they don’t touch the earth when they walk, they glide as if every step takes place on a star
The ones who come when people need it most, sending boring lives into hurricanes of colors, thoughts, and questions
The ones that are a little more beautiful and a little more tragic than the rest
Maybe, just maybe
The people are a little more universe
Maybe a normal soul is made of grass and trees and warm spring days or cold and snow on a winter night
But that could not compare to the soul of a universe
Infinite and dark and beautiful
Where stars are steps and ideas are realities and colors are just a bit more vibrant
Maybe some of us are just created more universe than the rest of us
But it makes all the difference