.
     I stare down at the plate of toast and beans
     wondering why this was never part of my dreams.
     Looking for the future with an illusional pretence,
     hoping good apples will fall on my side of the fence.

And as the fork dances slow
around the legumes in spirals,
the tedium of a wasting life
bears the burden and scars
of missed opportunities in paralysis
and the colour of once bright lights
          glow black,
shining a shadow into the void
covering the bruises
that were once achievements of worth,
     now tender patches
          of failure.
I drop the fork ...

     … pushing away the plate and leaving food uneaten,
     my desire for its nutrition fought and beaten,
     Looking at the apple tree with sombre regret
     maybe its fruit will fall and save me yet.

And disappointment
is worse than anger,
it begins with the stench of loss
the nasal whiff of
what if …

And what if the little apple tree
drops all its fruit down to me?
Would I recognise fortune on my side
or fear the illusions and run to hide?


© Pagan Paul (17/02/18)

Face your fears with me,
and we will conquer them
together.
No more running,
no more shying away from that
which is unpleasant.
You are courageous and virtuous,
and the sum of all your mistakes
will never be the sum of all you are.
Gaze at what is harsh and real with me,
let me be your eyes,
let me catch you if you stumble -
we will both fall inevitably.
Let truth only fall from our lips,
and we will always be whole,
we will always find
a way.