.
How I wish I could lay my head
down gently on your thighs,
to make you moan and sigh aloud
and slowly close your eyes.

How I wish I could use my tongue
and give you more than rhyme,
to bring a flush up to your cheek,
of feelings beyond space and time.

How I wish that I could speak
in words of feathered certainty
and so entice your curious mind
to lay down with me for eternity.
.
.
© Pagan Paul (2017)

"this world is so cruel"
and it echoes in my head
and my heart has burst on the floor
and my tears, drowning my thoughts, burning the bridges i loved to cross
taking everything i wanted to love.

i now know i am in control of everything
except what i love
exorcise these thoughts out of me,
i don't want them latched anymore;
set them free, let them go.

all i am is young and time makes it unable to relate
so my ideas disappear into the background and lay sprouting in a field no one has gone
and he will love another and another and
i am up in flames by the time i realize

-its all over

conceptcollection

You follow me into a dark room
Only to let go of my hand.
I wish my words were more vague,
Something no one could understand.
Blunt and to the point.
I heard you got new windows,
Same painted canvas with
A brand new frame
All the colors you can see-
We don't see the same.
Do you remember the way you
Held my face in photographs?
Or the clench of your hand around my neck?
Do you remember the throes of passion
That I guess were one sided-
See, I remember everything,
Every good memory is yours to keep.
But I'll forget them soon enough,
And remember how you broke me,
And the rest, well, that's history.
If I could word it better, you know I would
It's been over a year since I met you,
And I love you more than I should.
There's a thousand bridges burning down in my chest
Ashes and smoke, above and below
There is no hope for us now.
You can get rid of my things,
You can replace them;
You can wash me away,
Cleanse your body of me.
But you cannot erase history.

My God drew glittering
diamonds across the turquoise
plane , amber sunlit shallows
beside lapping banks ,
leaves of every color sailed her
silver waves , windswept memories to cherish
the remainder of my days* ...

the Hello Poetry portrait gallery
is becoming full of empty frames
what individuals had a hand
in these harassment games

we've been deprived of many
talented written contributions
the villainous mob most adroit
with their unwarranted executions

blank boxes tell of an almighty
mischief being awfully made
by they who are wanting
to garner every accolade

under a serious threat our
fraternity of poets are thus far
and of seeing unfilled cubes
there leaves a permanent scar

Nine years and still
we cradle our grief
carefully close,
like groceries
in paper bags.

Eventually the milk
will make its way
into the refrigerator;
the canned goods
will find their home
on pantry shelves.

Most things find
their proper place.

Eventually the hummingbirds
will ricochet against scorched air,
their delicate beaks stabbing
like needles into the feeder filled
with red nectar on the back porch.

Eventually our child
will make her way
back to us. Perhaps.

But I’ve heard
that shooting
****** feels
like being
buried under
an avalanche
of cotton *****.

For now it’s another
week, another month,
another trip to Safeway.

We drive home and wonder
why it is always snowing.
Behind a curtain of snow,
brake lights pulse, turning
the color of cotton candy,
dissolving into ghosts.

And with each turn,
the groceries shift
in the seat behind us.
From the spot where
our daughter used to sit,
there is a rustling sound—

a murmur of words
crossed off yet another list,
a language we’ve budgeted
for but cannot afford to hear.