Seldom has the shadow
Crawled over the daylight
At night, I turn it on
My high queen, the wattage
Shines her frozen orange
Upon my heated frame

You look on the darkness
See nothing but the void
Hear nothing but the cold
The old frozen silence
I hear distant echoes
Voices from within flame

Spirits call me
From dark places
Suddenly the light
Won't drive them away

Ghosts love my fragility
I'm living obscenity
Always high on kerosene
Running empty but for fumes

Of outcomes
Can't manipulate fate
Already holding roses
Can't manipulate light
I used her for her purpose
Such thing as too much?
Must be so
As my fingers turn to ice

I'm dead dreams
Ghosts love my fragility

I'm living obscenity
Always high on kerosene

Running empty but for fumes
Running for my life

.
Threading dainty upon eggshells
a free spirit dances lightly.
Passing through and in between
to mesmerise the casual ******.
Her smile, with soft collision,
scatters colour on dim memory.
Her presence, autumn made flesh,
stirs the stones of ancient thought.
Shining gems of mute understanding
sparkle for her tapestry mind.
Casual silver lines of wisdom
weave her playful astral patterns.
Reaching coyly beyond old walls,
lips silent, holding unspoken secrets.
Her eyes framed with amusement
taking shy pleasure from grace.

© Pagan Paul  (2017)