was he loving
was he kind
did he always speak his mind

was he thoughtful
was he warm
did he listen, and conform

was he faithful
was he loyal
did he tinker, did he toil

was he patient
was he tough
did he dream, big enough

was he funny
was he wise
did he brim with dull surprise

was he humble
was he vowed
did he always make you proud

was it sudden
was it slow
was there nothing left untold

was he ready
was it time
was forgiveness left behind

.
And I stumble on across the barren land,
the mist, like a shroud, about me swirls,
chipped flint rocks assault my bare feet,
an endless quarry of slate grey, my world.

So the curtain of sadness and submission falls,
covering my mind with an opaque funeral drape,
the hazy images of the isolated and desolate,
forming the features of depressions landscape.

Vaguely felt, the invasion of another waits,
blind and innocent in a palace of real fear,
set free to roam in a strange arid topography,
desperate times pause for vision to be clear.

A stark scene viewed through teardrops frozen,
by ice winds of piercing calamity and despair,
of a place exclusive to the disaffected and lonely,
the last retreat for an exhausted mind to repair.

And this is my world where the haunted party,
leave me be with my cold mists and grey stone,
the frozen tear for a souvenir means everything,
my special gift, the feeling of being utterly alone.



© Pagan Paul (24/01/18)

I wipe the tears!
Overcome the fears,
From turbulent to calm,
My life steers!

I let the things go
Let the life flow,
From the dark to a spark,
The life gets a glow!

I forgive!
The gratitude I give,
From gloom to bloom,
I begin to live!

I forget!
And having no regret,
From messed to blessed,
Now the life is great!

I pray!
At the end of the day,
From painful to blissful,
The life finds a way!

If this was the end, for you,
for me, for the creation, how
would we be judged?
As the children we once were, perhaps,
innocence and glee.
But still, would the sun
not fall onto us?

I could be the messenger.
I could tell the tale
of destruction of humankind,
but would it be for nay?
Would it be better,
to die,
in the darkness?

Die as heroes, die as villains,
do we truly care
which way we go?
If the rain of fire,
would still come down?
If we'd still
soil the ground,
with out bodies?

So I say, take me,
teach me the ways,
of living while I have the day.
I do not care for
heaven nor hell.
For I'll still be,
just dead,

when the red sun cries.

Betwixt what is said
Yet not meant,
And what is meant
Yet not said;
There most love to oblivion is lost
Like as lonely leaves 'neath the **frost.

call me at the midnight hour by the rainy window
we will watch the blue stars come alive
shooting down
into the late december sea