.
At the table of eternal sorrow
sits a fool with a crooked smile,
faking interest in a world obscene
and feigning the mood of yesterwhile.
Couched over bent with quill extended,
he writes his heart with a bitter beat,
floating in the mire of a memory stained,
poised with nib to command the sheet.
Capering words form across the weave
with capricious intent and shadow play,
smoke and mirrors intersect and disperse
whilst his mind carries the story away.



© Pagan Paul (04/03/19)

in the end helpless
nothing, nothing could I do or not do
willed or thought
could have led me to a different fate

deeper than any feeling
deeper than fear
this imbues etches. poisons me:
the indifference of the celestials
to us of earth,

Unveiling the venture to set
little warmth against the icy chill
Vain our attempt to evade their atrocities

I can **** you in a poem
and walk away scot-free
so, bend over
I got a gun in your ***
ready aim bang
I love you