So many emotions tonight
I just cannot keep
them in
They are bursting out
from this jar of stars
that I keep next to my bedside
and tonight I couldn't
close it tight
if I tried
yes they are erupting out
as the lid
flies to the skies
messy emotions everywhere,
all over the
bedcovers
spilling onto the carpet
over my fingers as I attempt
to catch them
now I see
that the stellar energy,
just busting
through the ceiling,
up through the roof
and over the stratosphere
is mine
it seems that
I am going for a night- ride
amongst those
brightly encoded particles
sensory endings a-glow
reaching out like starfish
infinite pieces of our being
as they meet the forces beyond
I am rushing through those
night clouds
fluidity floating
trying to understand it all
attempting to know why
How can I make it right
How can things get back on path
And then I realize
This is it…
The path
I am on it
the pieces
       will come back together
only after
they freely
unabashedly
shatter

blame can be apportioned
on the landlord's back
a cladding of inferior quality
wrapped his building's stack

flames quickly engulfed
all the floor levels
tenants were trapped on
such unsafe bevels

what chance did they stand
in getting out of the tower
a cheap Chinese covering  
encasing their bower

deaths were assured
by faulty material
much loved ones lives
seemingly immaterial

construction standards
perished with the smoke
slack council regulations
a legislative choke

Your words unfold like a map
marking the journey through a single day,
made from the comfort of my chair.
You wield your vision like a weapon,
bold slashes with your pen
leave me vanquished in your mirror.

Now the room lies still,
the single pulse your hard-bound words,
taking shape the way a fence crawls across a winter field,
wielding life like a paintbrush,
your pictures more exciting
than the margins where I’ve played.

.
Thy loveliness be fyne arte
powdered 'pon a velvet page.
Thy heart doth sing lullabies
penned in a lovers cage.

Thy loveliness be crystal jewels
studded 'pon a silver thread.
Thy breath doth fan the fyres
stitched in a lovers bed.

Thy loveliness be sweet dreams
strewn 'pon a meadow fair.
Thy nature doth perfume give
flowers in a lovers snare.

© Pagan Paul (14/06/17)

Sometimes, the poems only resonate in the space between the sky and your eyes

Your words are tape, the only heart they will know is the shattered pieces of your own that you hold in the palms of your hands

Sometimes, the poems are only just enough to stop the blood from dripping through your fingers, not pretty, not inspiring

Your words are nothing that the world will ever clutch to its chest in its darkest hour, pointing to them as if to say
There is still poetry!

But they are yours.
Your poetry, your tape stretched across the fragments of your heart.
And in the space between the sky and your eyes,
Your words will always be a masterpiece.