The history,
Often repeated
Seldom deleted

Although
Mostly manipulated
Suitably stipulated

Yet
Differently, it can be interpreted
And in the process it is re-created

Is the history,
Always been a mystery??

It will be written long,
when Nature takes her own
and quenches life's flame,
when all the sadness
has been noted and versed,
packaged as final words,
having ******* with regret
or discourse with nostalgia.
The taming of the mortal coil breeds
the Last Poem.



© Pagan Paul (03/06/19)

Every night I lay down to rest
The same old visions keep on creeping around my head
They scrape my mind and burn my core
I don't think I can take no more
Will I get through the night?

On the edge to insanity
I don't know what's real or fantasy
The demons sip on my coffee cup
Their screams get loud they never stop
My ears are a red masterpiece

The chaos beings to rise
I'm falling down the rabbit hole to my demise
Sticks and stones may break my bones
But loving you will make me whole
The chaos drowns me tonight

A seesaw is all that's left
Bouncing anxiety inside my chest
Strangers steal my loneliness
Patching up my self-made mess
Frozen in the concrete jungle

Jon said we're halfway there
But it seems to me I'm stuck in second gear
I lay my back flat on the ground
Here I'll die with no one around
Out of reach and with nothing to fear

A light in the dark calls my name
Safe and sound it guides me home with its flame
With a broken wing left to die
I could still learn to fly
Once lost but now I'm found