I'm transparent like a window
but I'm prone to keeping curtains closed
to cover up my youthful,
aching, naked soul.

I used to be promiscuous;
my essence on my sleeve.
a charming laugh; a crystal glass
from which many a fool drew drink.

A chalice of life;
warm like cinnamon wine,
soft like angel's delight.
Beheld by every eye.

But it never felt right;
I was smoke off a fire,
yet still smouldering coal.
Just a young, beautiful

byproduct of desire.
There's no smoke without fire.
Although, I tried to fan it cool;
the flames ran only wilder.

But as the old wind blows, it seems
a withered tree still grows new leaves.
A dandelion spreads its seeds
but they lie far away from me.

Now, I move transcluently-
ultraviolet invisible ink-
I speak in soothing whispers;
they travel further than you'd think.

if I can't think what
the problem can be
well, then it just has
to be me!

even if no problem at all
imagination jumps in
kicks me right in the shins
from there a mountain will grow
out of a tiny mole hill, oh woe!

I know this is something I do
I remind myself it's nothing new
yet my senses seem to dislodge
finding ways to my own sabotage.

it's deep in my heart and my mind
a solution I'd sure love to find
to a problem that this time I know
is definitely me...without doubt.

zero








         became





                  in the beginning





                                          nothing
­




                                                            ­   0




                                                             ­            s p r e a d  o u t


                                    
                         ­                                                                 ­              nowhere
                                           ­        surrounded by
                                           nothing              everything                  until
                     looking in on      one              zero
                 everything               surrounded by                                    it
             looking out on                        
             within                                                           ­                           bent
              seen from
               that can only be                                                              b­ack
                 a vision
                    from outside                                                          ­in
                          seen                                ­                             on
                               can only be                                 itself
                                      a shape that          became
                                                          ­     1

The aromatic scent
of Fresh rain falling
upon dry earth,
is the essence for
the continuance
of all life itself.

.
The emptiness is full of lost joys ...

The heft and fall
          of a wood axe
                    splitting down winter logs
The sight of girls
          pretty and fair
                    exposing flesh in the sun
The smell of flowers
          scented breeze
                    and fresh mown grass
The pint of real ale
          quenching thirst
                    after a long days graft
The company of friends
          killing loneliness
                    laughing and telling stories
The piquant moments
          of happy and sad
                    when tears flow easily
The arms of lovers
          on a cold night
                    and raising a heartache
The taste of fruit
          so ripe and lush
                    dribbling juice down chins
The feel of a smile
          crossing lips
                    releasing hormonal pleasure ...

The emptiness is full of lost joys …



© Pagan Paul (03/06/18)