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The unknown depths call out to me
promising oceans of tranquility,
so let me slip down silently
'neath the waves of a midnight sea.
Addicted to this supplicant swoon,
witnessed only by the waxing moon,
the descent into a liquid room,
as Sirens wail their plangent tune.
Surfing out the softest of tides,
'pon the crest of love my being rides,
to where the deepest of feelings reside.
I sink with ease most graciously.
So let me slip down silently
'neath the waves of a midnight sea.



© Pagan Paul (04/02/18)
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it's 11:59 and im wondering
what tomorrow would bring
all i know is that i love you
with no hesitations, no doubts
i'll love you even
with our nonsensical spouts
i'll love you even
when i find it hard to love myself
'i'll love you even
when the time comes
that you'll find it hard to love me
because i love you
for you're you
and that's all i need.
To this acquaintance,
A rendezvous with midnight.
A gentle Déjà vu and in some sense
I wonder if an unspoken invite
Has played a part or two.
Does the past ever ensue?

Words do become an addiction.
Layer upon layer of repeated satisfaction
Interjected, felt and spewed.
Silken sheet’s confessions are
Best made in the ****.
These words, why are they so bizarre?

Oh let me write it right
Let me dream tonight
Upon this unarmored stage.
Let me free the fight
All through the night
Releasing it from its cage.

With a candlelit smile upon a face
The sheets do gently part.
What fills my heart
Is the gentle art
Of a finger painting slowly traced.
It has not been done by the ones
Lessening love absent of these notions.

What lies beneath must lie beside
As the past becomes renewed.
A gentle kiss a midst a torrents tide
The naked beach subdued.
Wet sand shaping dry demands

Déjà vu be wooed.
Have you ever had that feeling that you had been somewhere before but you knew you hadn’t? Or met someone that you somehow knew yet had never met? Well this piece tries to deal with just such a feeling.
this is
fiction
and nothing else.

you and me,
twisted by pretty words
with senseless meaning.

laying down,
restless nights,
tranquil walks
with sober souls.

holding your hand,
a four leaf clover
stretched onto yours,
you kissed mine.

waiting for the howl
of misfortunes,
i clung onto
your kaleidoscopic smile,
you stayed.

but,
time and time again,
this is fiction
and nothing else.
don't let it fool you, i've been there.
As he watched her walk away,
fading quickly in the dark.
He fought back a sob, a tear,
as he nursed his damaged heart.
She had made her choice at last
and brought an end to their affair.
A universe of might- have- beens
vanished on that cold night's air.
How bleak his future looked right then
for she would not dwell there.
Triangles are difficult
and swans belong in pairs.
His children he saw in her eyes
now never would be born.
He would find another Lover
but never Rose without a thorn.
part of the Ellen series
Why can't I escape from the pain?
Every time I close my eyes, I see you.
You haunt me with every chance you have.
I feel your hands around my neck, draining all the light out of me.
And feeling me with darkness. I am forever stained with ink of your dark soul. When you open your mouth, fire pours out scorching my soul, burning holes in my heart. These Scars do not fade. They do not heal with time, but I look for the clearing in the dark sky. When I cry out from pain, you love it, it brings pleasure to your dark soul. I beg and beg, but you continue to torture my sorrowful soul.

~ Aishah
When will I be able to escape you & this pain?
I always make things harder than it needs to be, I run in circles and complain when I'm dizzy, walk up a steeper route only to slide all the way down to the bottom, push everyone far enough for them to leave then say I'm lonely. It's funny what I can ruin – everything.

I'm like a chemical, the only one known to corrode friendships and rust nothing but itself. Not approved by the FDA and definitely not fit for human consumption. I reek of such acidity that I hurt fragile corneas and sting delicate noses. It's kind of ironic because I'm supposed to only react with this peculiar clear liquid called self-sabotage and only that, but somehow I have managed to slip and ruin everything that comes in contact with me.

Maybe one day I'll find someone that doesn't mind damaged corneas and sharp smells up their nose. Maybe one day I myself won't mind it.
the simplest song (seek your prime)


the one that likely never finishes the course

tune that never ceases though it knows well stilling quietude,
one passenger verse in a lean vessel that reveals, declares,
anoints the outwards atmospheric condition with the conditions
of what’s within,
compulsively, incessantly demanding- seek your prime

write yourself a poem, be a poem, write of your becoming

bring the simmering sauce to a furious boil,
the words placed in your soil by your own five,
reap the fruit even if wormed, bruised, overripe
or trite

this is your song

breathe it into my mouth
until the last one,
making me glad to know you
and your becoming,
prime music

yes, this is a love poem

12/10/17 8:38am
at the point of entry (explicit)

it does not strike me strange
at the point of entry
when the heightened senses and the dark subconscious merge

when the lust and the sweat intersect
with ego desire and self is everlasting everything
that the ***** words secretion is sticky on my tongue

when I pant poems born in rawness and tears
on this the last day of the year
and eyes closed see visions extraordinaire
and the Maker whispers in both ears see!

it is the see of what is me,
it is the point of entry and departure,
one and the same,
conception an immaculate mess,
the emptying and the fulfilling, when unkempt promises
are born free flowing and semi-truths transform into
actualities unforeseen and my child cells of new poems
are injected, stored, awaiting the birthright
and the death of publication,
my moment of privileged perfection passes
and frowns and smiles are
one and the same, silken thread wove open and shut

the precision precious circumcising of flesh and soul departing

the utter collapse from within, the drowning in the amniotic,
rebirthing rebutting my denying that I have no more to give

I believe I belong to you for it is what the desire firing cylinders
say repeatedly in the union of the up and the down cycle:

come, come inside me,
I am the pleasure
you are the treasure
in one cup measured
conjoined container
when the point of entry is the point of departure
and with eyes closed from satisfaction and prayer
I see everything all at the same time, uttering:

I am undone utterly and the difference between
the end and the beginning can be seen only
at the millisecond long seven decade coming
point of entry

12/31/17 5:38am dawn dying and new day mourning
explicit point of entry 12/31 nml
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