Silver flame burn in her eyes
as she tries to hold back her tears
Dark shining fires  
shooting like spears
beating beats of fear.

Rain drops falling the greyness
in the field, by the river
shine of the diamond
devoid of the glitter
slowly the sparks die.

Rings don't bond them back
unstretched the spring
broken ties, empty hearts
unopened carts
but a game of cards.

Moved back in position
dreading the new season
searching the reasons
blaming themselves
in those eerie silences.

Fighting themselves to break
but trying in hearts another stitch
the tear too large
a very hard wreck
unlikely to be any merger.

A spell caster lived in woods
Always face covered by hoods
People stay away saying it's a witch
And only seen when day turns pitch
I don't believe in black magic ofcourse
But most say it exists because
The spell caster here is no devil
It protects the people, the shrine from evil
Once a bad witch brought kiosk to the people
Emerged amongst the few, this spell caster
With full knowledge of magic and spell master
Yet so many fear its powers and spells
But it never cause harm to any who wishes well
Its name is "HAUK", and it entertains no joke
With a shaft in a hand it walks
In its own world, it hardly talks
Yes, it's a human for sure
This village was an interesting tour...


©sim

.
He lays in peaceful repose upon a sheet of satin,
she moves up to his body and curls into him,
placing her head upon his unmoving chest,
unconditional grief shown in mute sadness.
She recalls his voice filled with love and affection,
his familiar scent now gone, cold and musty,
as deaths sweet perfume hangs heavy
like a drape of choking intoxicant trance.
Moments stretch blandly into minutes of ache,
the minutes career into hours of silent vigil.
And with her head upon his unmoving chest
she exhales and whimpers her final sigh,
a last breath and she submissively slips away.
Hoping, perchance, once more to hear
her masters voice.


© Pagan Paul (25/11/17)

Inside my head
Millions of threads
Collide in a mess

Inside my heart
In various parts
Stuck, are broken pieces of your art
*
Such possessivness you have
To no one you abide nor you serve
On my left wrist and palm
Are scars by your harm
On my right wrist and palm
You wrote with calm
Your name with a knife point
So much pain at my wrist joint
That you held so tight
My teary eyes closing in bright
You enjoying with delight
The blood on my wrist slowly flows
While carving slicing like claws
You seem fine not knowing I am dying
Left me for a while to rest
Your tattoo came out the best
In few hours you came back
To see the blood on my wrist and neck
You cried out calling my name
You didn't realise, what a shame!
You cut my wrist like I was a pest
In a dark corner, you left my body to rest...


©sim

Behind these walls is a miles walk
Behind this smile there is a silent talk
Behind me is an open fire
Burning my feelings burning my desire
Infront of me is a wide stagnant lake
That literally looks like a burnt cake
There is this tree that has no leaves
My eyes are open yet hard to believe
What is this place so dead without water?
Written on the rocks were "Place for Slaughter"
That explains why the lake looked dark and dry
This was the place full of blood and innocent cry
When and how this place got so abundant?
Should I stop myself cause I sound redundant?
Why is there dead silence here?
Does it mean my death is also near?
Few steps back I took to look
The wall that stood there terribly shook
And the way back was sealed off by hook
There is no going back I can see now
Something is wrong with this place, what and how?
There is no direction where to go now
A terrible smell is coming from the lake side
Strangely the lake is fuming, I think I should hide...

(II)
I hid myself in the bay of bushes at best
While I waited to see what happens next
The emerging fume, lights on flame
Burning the coal in the lake so lame
I hear a call out of a name
Like it sounded too familiar, it was my name!
Hush comes a voice in my ear
I nearly choked out of fear
Someone held me down to the ground
While the green shrubs surround
Am pushed to an unground tunnel
That is designed so much like a big funnel
I find myself in a small arena alley
And a man sitting with a shaft with his big belly
I am explained of the questions rising in my mind
The magicians wicked widow is cruel unkind
For she has ordered to slaughter everyone
Whoever talks back to claim their son
The wicked widow so now an evil witch
Takes fresh mens blood so to enrich
The legend makes sense do foretold
Now, what I dreampt here unfolds...

(III)
The fancy dark woman with long hair
Braided with jewelry looking so fair
I thought she was a fairy from wonderland
But the truth, a wicked witch of barren land
In my dream, I **** her somehow
But I can't recall anything as of now
The legit people already know my skills
They seek for protection from any more kills
Now I have to recall how I executed this *****
So this land would be free from such an evil witch
In my hair I have a sacret sharp fin of a fish
Given to me by an old sage as a wish
Recalling his spoken words as it goes:
      "...here my child is a weapon
         use this to destroy the happen
         stab this in the heart at noon
         when the sky is clear and you see the moon
         the magicians widow died along with him
         but the evil magic took over her body at dim
         do not fear, for you will win
         just stab in the heart with this fin..."
Out from the ground, walking towards her nest
She was hanging like a bat on the pillars to rest
Very much aware of my presence, I could tell
A siren like scream in my ears was her yell
I needed to close up on her to do my deed
She out numbered me, and grabbed me like a ****
I could sense my fear crawling from behind
There was no mercy or a gesture of any kind
Before she could make her move on me
Dang!
In goes the fin in one spin
In agony she cried with pain
Her body wrapping up in black smokes
While making the air around me choke
I ran towards the lake where I first stood
The wall that was sealed now all good
I made my way out through the wood
And started a miles walk behind the wall
A mythical journey ended with the evil fall
The magicians widow now I recall...


©sim

Once upon a time,
There was a girl
Who met a Shakespeare
They were from different places
With the same passion, poetry.

She was hopeless, until now
He was all set for a bright life.
She walked in darkness
Then,he filled with light.
She had fallen once
Now he's there for a hand.

He was her Shakespeare
she loved his every lines.
He welcomed her into his world
The world of outstanding poetry.

she felt her ship has anchored
After a long journey in the Pacific.

.
Boiling clouds approach the dawn,
a profusion of sinister foreboding,
banking up to obscure the day,
a menacing storm just reloading.

A figure runs across the moor,
panic and purpose in hostile flight,
pursued relentless across the heather,
desperately chasing the receding night.

A treeline beckons promising safety,
a disguise from the hunters view,
open ground slips passed slowly,
the forests sanctuary calls anew.


I wake startled, heart hammering in my chest,
fight or flight images seek my mind to infest.
The pounding in my head, hooves on a forest floor,
provoke shivers, as rivulets upon a dampened moor.
My breathing slows and sweat dries upon my skin,
a sense of belonging starts to grow from within.
Dazed I slip sideways out of my comfort bed,
and stare into the mirror at the antlers on my head.
I return to the bed and casually slide back in,
wondering where my fantasy dreams had been,
but all I discovered was another fitful sleep
as the images form of a treasure I keep.

Memory bubbles up and I am in a glade,
sun shining bright and sat in the shade.
Billhook and bow saw propped by a tree,
the life in the forest feeling good to me.
Peace and tranquility, I counted my luck,
when out of the trees sprang a young buck.
So fragile but already magnificent and proud,
stomping his hooves, snorting out loud.
Brave and insolent he looked at my eyes,
staring me down, holding caution so wise.
A look passed between us, a mute reflection,
an instant mind meld of atavistic connection.
I was He and He was me,
my spirit guide for eternity.
And the sun shone upon us in that glade,
the forest spirits celebrating that bond made.


With failing energy, tired from the chase,
a thought of doom and my senses race.
Taking rest in the heart of a clearing,
a quick twang and the pain is searing.
Surrounded in a trap the hunters prepared,
there is no way of escape, I am ensnared.
The loosed arrows point is sharply felt,
as a crimson flood stains my pelt.
Mind is swooning and my legs bend.
This is not how the Old Tales end ...

The scythe of Death merrily reaps,
lightening strikes, thunder rolls.
The frigid grave waits so silent,
empty, for he whom the bell tolls.

Boiling clouds obscure Dawns pale skies,
as the hunters horn in triumph it cries.
This is the End, when the dream dies.
My heart is still and I gently close my eyes.


© Pagan Paul (11/11/17)