Paul James Woolley

Paul James Woolley Sep 2024

Kiss

I need to kiss you like the sky needs the sun to break the endless night, like the sea craves the moon to guide its restless tides.

My lips ache with a hunger only your breath can fill, a longing as ancient as the first whispered word between two souls. Every inch of space between us feels like a desert, where I wander lost and parched, searching for the oasis of your mouth.

I need to kiss you as if the air is too thin without it, as if time itself would stop unless I press my heart into yours through that soft collision.

The world could stand still, crumble, or fade away, but nothing matters as much as the simple truth of my life:
I need to kiss you.
Desperately.
Now.
Again.
Forever.

Paul James Woolley Sep 2024

You, my thoughts and heart…

You're always in my heart, a quiet echo that fills the spaces between each beat. In the pause before breath, you linger, woven into the fabric of my being like a thread of light through the soft shadows of evening.

You’re the unspoken thought at the edge of my mind, present even in your absence, a presence that colours everything I see. Even when the world turns chaotic, there you are, steady as a whisper, constant as the sky.

My thoughts drift to you like a river to the sea, inevitable, as natural as the pull of the moon on tides. Always, you are there, not as a distant memory or fleeting dream, but as a truth that anchors me.

Paul James Woolley Sep 2024

Aged 72 on Thursday

My days of laughter have slipped away, like sunlight caught in a wave, bright for a moment then lost to the deep.

Once, joy was found in every corner—a child’s secret smile, the pulse of music in crowded rooms, the thrill of chasing a breeze through open windows.
Holidays,trips to the seaside long since past.

Now, the echoes are faint, hollow notes where melodies once sang. I walk through the same streets, the same rooms, but the colours have dimmed, the voices have softened.

The fun, the careless abandon, the rush of forgetting the weight of the world—they have packed up quietly, leaving only the stillness, the memories, and longing.

Now I wait in this quiet longing,wondering if the light might return, or if I must learn to dance with the shadows of memory instead.

A sad, monotonous life.

Paul James Woolley Sep 2024

Love lost

Her voice, a blade wrapped in velvet sighs,
Cutting through the softest parts of me.
Each word, a storm behind her once loving eyes
Unveiling skies where sunlight dared not be.

She mocks my pain , twists every grimace ,
A dance of words with poison on her tongue.
I, the puppet, trapped in misery,
While she, untouched, from icy towers sung.

How cold her gaze, how sharp her gentle scorn,
I stand as ash, where once a flame was born.

Paul James Woolley Sep 2024

For you…

You are in every line, every breath between words. I write you into the spaces, where silence becomes the shape of your name.

My hand moves to trace your form in ink, like it’s always known your rhythm, your pulse, the soft curve of your thoughts. I wasn’t a poet until you—until you made me one, made every phrase tremble with the weight of you.

You live in the verses I never knew how to speak. You became the muse I couldn't refuse, the only one who bends my words into something more, something alive, something that belongs to you. Now, every page waits for you, breathless.

Paul James Woolley Sep 2024

A love letter never to be sent to my secret lover….

My Dearest,

There are words that I have carried in my heart for so long, words that tremble on the edge of every breath, yet somehow, I cannot bring myself to say them. They are words full of tenderness and longing, words that speak of love so deep it has become a part of me—yet each time I try to give them life, they fade back into silence.

I have watched you, perhaps more closely than I should, in those quiet moments when you are unaware of the world around you, and I have marveled at how effortlessly you fill my life with warmth. You bring light into my days in ways I could never fully express, and my heart, without permission, found its home in you long ago.

Yet, for reasons I cannot explain, my lips remain sealed. It isn’t fear, nor is it doubt in what I feel. Rather, it is the weight of this love—so precious, so fragile—that makes me hesitant. I fear that in saying it aloud, something so pure might be shattered or changed by the very act of naming it. Perhaps I am selfish for keeping this love locked away where only I can hold it, but know that it is there, constant and unwavering.

If ever you feel a presence near you in moments of quiet, that is my heart reaching out to you, whispering what I cannot say. If ever my eyes linger on you a moment too long, it is because they are filled with all the love I cannot speak.

I hope, in some unspoken way, you have felt this love as clearly as if I had shouted it from the highest place. It is a part of me, and it is yours, always.
With all that I cannot say but deeply feel,

Yours always,

If our circumstances were defensive would write to my secret lover these words but…..

Paul James Woolley Sep 2024

Acceptance

She never loved me, and now I live in that quiet truth.
I’ve stopped twisting her coldness into reasons, stopped searching for her smile in half-hearted glances and unspoken promises. Love was never a part of her for me, only an idea I clung to, fragile and glowing. I imagined her warmth, sculpted it out of longing, but it was always cold in her world, always untouched by the fire I tried to build.

Her heart was a room I was never meant to enter. I stood at the threshold, waiting for a key that didn’t exist, hoping for a light that never flickered. Now, I’ve stopped waiting. I’ve let the door close behind her. It’s not a final slam, just the soft settling of things that were never meant to be.

I accept it now—not with bitterness, but with the ease of a breath let go. She never loved me. And that’s alright. The love I imagined still lives, but it’s my own now, no longer tethered to her shadow. I let it float freely, untouchable and soft, like something born to fly but never land.