demons lie ravaged
by the light
the scorn of night

.
Last night
she said I was cold.
Unreachable.
Surrounded in a halo of frost.
It burnt her fingers
as she dared to touch,
but there was little there.
Just … frost-bite,
and the sense
that she was alone in the room.
In body I was there,
but the Boat of Millions of Years
was sailing through my eyes
to the intended destination,
my lost mind.
She called to me
but I was to far to hear.
Down her soft cheeks
the tears did stream,
as she screamed my name
over and over.
She screamed until
the screams turned to sobs,
as the slow realisation
that I no longer knew her,
knew me, knew anything,
hit her like a wave of grief,
freezing her emotions dead.
Last night
she said I was cold.
And I was cold
because I knew that it was
our Last Night.

© Pagan Paul (16/02/20)

Poems written
late at night
are always
the most honest

Because
late at night
the overthinkers
are way to sleepy
to filter their words

Only then they truly
don’t longer speak
with their mind
but
with their heart

Razorblade


Shot a rebel through the heart.
Cancer kills but life is art.
You tried to put a stop to all that we are,
But we are too hot to handle; you can’t grab hold of a star.


Fire your guns; I’m invincible.
Speak your words; I’ve heard them all before.
Condemn a man for condemning your war.
You will never stop what we are.


Your system of control and degrade is beginning to fade.
Push my buttons, I’m a microwave,
Blowing through your wall like a hand grenade.
A tongue so sharp, I’m a razorblade;
Cutting your lies apart…your truth cannot be saved.


(C)2020 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.