they are

her stars
read and re-read

immense in their power

vast and
predictable

telling fortunes
spinning time

keeping quiet

her stars
out of reach

and inimitable

I’ve chosen to walk
A lonely road
Where ravens squawk
As time erodes
Where the devil talks
Through whispered codes

I walk along
A dark wooded path
Where the nights are long
And I face Satan's wraith
Everything feels wrong
There's no turning back

The more I wander
The more I stray
More time to squander
The days away
So much time to ponder
The end of days

Darkness is falling
The Earth is dying
The Devil's calling
The news is lying
It's all so appalling
There's no denying

This path I roam
Is filled with sorrows
Nowhere feels home
Too many tomorrows
Too Many poems
Spreading my woes

The Devil follows
He tempts my soul
But my soul is hollow
So still I stroll
This pain I swallow
And it takes its toll

I can not save
This doomed planet
We've dug our grave
Satan's enchantment
Has made us slaves
Bloodshed is rampant

And when we crumble
I'll shed no tears
The devil mumbles
In our ears
So we stumble
Year after year
As the end draws near

through streets like open sores
I'm here.
hissing chatter
Invading my skull,
creeps down my spine.
pressure building.
it's all in your head.
You are the only one here,
feeling like this.
I'm outside, standing in the street —
Sun on tired eyes.
worms pushing
under my skin.
9am.
the doors are open.
Your appointment,
try not to cry.
But they don't understand,
you look human.
"Don't you want to work?"
"What do you enjoy doing?"
no. good.
let me bite     my ****** misery
and pour it
                 down  
      your throat.

.
If you happen to find a poet
hiding shyly beneath a stone.
Gently put him in your pocket
and carry him safely home.

Show him love and kindness,
take time to get to know him.
And if you smile so sweetly
he will gladly pen you a poem.

For if you hold his real value,
and recognise his true worth.
He'll look deep into your soul,
to give you the sun, moon and earth.

© Pagan Paul (05/04/17)

“I put my heart and soul into my work,
and have lost my mind in the process.”

                                         Taunted and tormented
                                         Voices in his mind
                                         Dreams filled with anguish
                                         Love he couldn’t find

“Art is to console those who are broken by life.”

                          His heart, his soul
                          crushed by deep despair
                          struggling to breathe
                          weight he couldn’t bear

“One can speak poetry by arranging colors well.”

                                           Swirls of cobalt
                                           splash of emerald green
                                           flashes of deep carmine
                                           saffron flares between

“The night is more alive, more richly colored than the day.”

                        Nights beneath his brush
                        became life’s multicolored page
                                        his words and wisdom were
                        far beyond his age.

“The more I think it over the more I feel there is
nothing more truly artistic than to love people.”  

                                       Love was not a certainty
                                       but stars could make him dream
                                       greatness escaped his grasp
                                       his work remained unseen.

“A great fire burns within me, but no one stops
to warm themselves at it.  Passersby see only a wisp of smoke.”

                                         Had he not ended his life,
                                         would his praises have been sung?
                                         If you die so early
                                        are you forever young?

Can you paint the picture
  brushless

Can you sing the words
  while mute

Can you dance the lone
  fandango

Can you rage
  beyond your youth

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)

Hope
Rises
Like
A
Phoenix
From
  The
Ashes
Of
Shattered
Dreams

517

He parts Himself—like Leaves—
And then—He closes up—
Then stands upon the Bonnet
Of Any Buttercup—

And then He runs against
And oversets a Rose—
And then does Nothing—
Then away upon a Jib—He goes—

And dangles like a Mote
Suspended in the Noon—
Uncertain—to return Below—
Or settle in the Moon—

What come of Him—at Night—
The privilege to say
Be limited by Ignorance—
What come of Him—That Day—

The Frost—possess the World—
In Cabinets—be shown—
A Sepulchre of quaintest Floss—
An Abbey—a Cocoon—

28, and I've seen many lives,
Old soul in the new age; freak
Of what's unknown and refined.

Black suited dress shoed traveler,
Beyond human veil, this life is to
Much, for a shadow of light's
Detail.

This life gives no touch,
For a wandering brain,
It's only the lonesome
Souls who laugh and
Cry in their pain.

Did pills with father,
Watched mother
Drink; seen guard's
In two prisons,
Gang's tattooed ink.

O' so many demons litter the prison
Cells;

Better enjoy life young one
For there's so much you don't know
In great detail.

Things unsaid, hidden to,
Don't let the government lie to
You; for they'll make you their fool.

Thing's won't be easy little lass,
Some things will be hard young
Lad. Life's not made of plastic,
It's more of a paper bag.

It'll rip you and spit you,
Where you don't wanna
Be. But remember God
Still loves you, he's the
Light that you don't
See.

Because the world's darkness,
Is in Satan's hands, as the new
Drug of humanity, the devil sells
Lies in Rich men's hands.

Take off your coat Mrs, please
Sit down sir, don't be scared,
Please don't compare your
Fears in this world.

You know not fear, for the real
Fear is unknown.

What you don't know can hurt you,
Shake you to your bones.

I'll smile to show you God,
For his love is true, inside
Though I'm dying, that's
Right; human like you.

I'll take off my armour,
Set it down.

Musical poet, prophet of what's
Lost, no sound.

Because to many hear, they though
Don't see a thing;

Nor do they listen, not understanding what
One means.

28, and I've been through hell,
29 soon maybe, if God will
See me out.

Though today I'll just keep on
Smiling, giving the creators love,
For many don't know that word
Because they don't know him
Above.

I've just come to teach,
Just passing through.

28 for today, maybe the morrow
An eternal spirit so true.

Who won't cry anymore,
From noone around.

28 years old, giving love to all
Yet none with him to be
Found.


© Brandon nagley
© Lonesome poet's poetry.

On a distant summer
a girl walked four miles
to sell fruits at the haat
and mowed by the May heat
fell asleep on a patch of concrete.

The noon dusts played around her
sleep little girl rest your feet
the winds will play you a song
refresh you with dreams so sweet
the walk back home won't be long.

The sun had slid the shadows grown
when opened her dream dazed eyes
there she was at the haat all alone
her fruits in the basket had dried.

She had dreamed a round dime
clutched in her palm
colored gold with her wish

she had slept thru the time
and when the winds calmed
held nothing to buy home a fish.

Time has flown those dusts far away
years have grown her wise
yet when the winds blow lonely in May
her tears she cannot disguise.

The sound of the wind rustling the crusty leaves that bury me.
They smell so sweet, decomposing in the spring;
Like memories wafted to my brain and its stem.
Plant this seed in deep, between the vertebrae of my spine
And I’ll curl like a fetus, trying to find a heart to listen (to.)
The months pass in nines. I’m still trying to find a way out this womb.
Drying veins align, a path for these rivers to follow you.
I decay before I bloom, trace my pain through my roots.

-SLuR

I hope Death is like the sea,
Vast, endless.
So I can float on
Raging waves.
No land in sight,
Just
Magnificent,
Infinite
glory.
And we are
Never afraid.