Worthless lives
That are burden on earth,
Caught in the cycle
Of death and birth.

Made me wonder
How don't they die,
Realized later,
No different was I.

A beggar I saw,
Body full of disease,
Looking for alms
'give me some food, please'

Broken and shocked I
Thought what can I give,
Greatest thing he had
Was the 'Will to Live'.

Her fragrance reached my heart
My eyes searched for her crazy
I found her from the far
She sat in front of a bar
She gave me a smile
And disappeared
Into the crowd
And let my heart
Fall in love alone.

.
Snow drifts down
     laying a lawn cold sheet
across the frozen ground,
          creating art reliefs
like acid etching glass,
open space rolling and undulating,
in small hills and depressions,
     bedecked in a veil of white.
The silence is deafening,
quiet having been enjoyed
     and surpassed,
briefly punctuated by the call of a bird,
     A sharp whistle that shrieks
and attacks the silence.
The fresh smell of snowfall wafts up
     as it settles and glistens
in the light of silver moonbeams,
randomly peeping through clouds.
The taste of peace,
                     tranquility,
in the frigid air,
sends imagination soaring
from the desolation of isolation
to another time and place.
          The snow falls,
     falls,
in a relentless race for the ground,
               all is still,
               nothing stirs,
as the moor welcomes its quilt
and sleeps with a cold heart,
     dreaming,
                       of being kissed by the Sun.



© Pagan Paul (28/05/18)