A connection, a spark,
light in the dark;
lust into love,
as pure as the angels above;
both so young, both so dumb,
just the two of them was their sum;
they felt the world move as they moved,
everything intertwined in just their groove;
so madly in love, as if the world was only filled with those two,
both went hand in hand together, like a toolbox and the screws;
but then, both did things they said they wouldn't do,
and soon they realised it was no longer them two;
they realised in fact 'the world does not revolve around us',
and they were just two teenagers who were once in ocean deep love;
and as the days had passed, they had spoken less and less,
both did things to ease away the stress;
and now, they would hardly speak at all,
ironic for two who once stood so tall;
and all they have now are memories so fond,
of the love they had for each other, once so strong;
and now in their hearts, the memories remain deep,
for every once in a while, there would be a tear or a weep;
funny how life pans out,
yet time keeps moving forward, without a doubt...

~

a woman, weeping,
at her own wedding dinner,
copiously, bleating sobs,
unsignaled, unprovoked, inexplicable.

misunderstanding guests,
shifting their weight
from foot to foot,
searching for a combo-pose of
of joyous discomfort.

all is well, say the wedding singers,
hymns of wedding songs they perform,
encouraging the standers-about
to dance,
all whom are inconsolably confused about
the wed woman's recognition of a
moment's milestone marker
which distinguishes, her totality,
feeling the differential between
the miles ahead,
the miles already passed,
but cannot answer
the singular considerable consideration question,
is this mine, the right road
and am I
who I am supposed to be,
or the supposition of others

which is why bride weeps at her wedding

~

a sober, industrious, quiet man
of many middle years,
seen sway dancing on the lawn
at 6:00 AM,
to sounds unheard,
was it music, voices,
a breaking point,
the birth of madness?

we, who watched from within,
behind a safe boundary
of glass and stucco and timber,
jealously considering alternate theories
of creation of the universe,
dual roles,
observing guests and voyeurs,
prayed for ourselves,
desirous of his wishes granted,
swayed with him,
in flagrante delicto,
co-conspirators unseen,
but jailed,
behind protective walls of
glass and stucco and timber,
sotto voce confessing priest-worthy sins
while protesting their innocent knowledge
of a man's delightful craziness,
a distraction from
weeping brides

~

the parents posts to Facebook
pictures of children,
warily unaware that their favoritism
is slip showing

oh they favor the youngest son,
beautiful Joseph with many colored coats,
possessing the practiced cuteness
and skillfully employ how to manipulate it sweetly
on suspecting adults

the  eldest daughter,
unconsciously,
is the child made over
into a physical representation,
a manifestation of themselves preserved
as parents are wont to do
just because
they can
~
the swayer wedding guest
pray~dances to the tune of:

give over, her to me, to me,
to replant her unsuspecting
in garden wild,
feed her colors of her as yet unthought of,
foresee her aching beauty,
teach her freedom dancing by the sea,
weeping at her weeping
at her wedding
simpatico with her,
confusion and joy and fear

which is why the man sway dances
on the lawn at 6:00 am and weeps
copious bereft and joyous,
at the possibilities of conquering life
and foresees
the child wedding weeping
and weeps in anticipatory empathy sympathy
at their cojoined
kinship fate

~

.
The sky hangs heavy, still and sore,
sad, it doesn't change any more.
Maybe the answers are right here,
Not up there with uncertainty and fear.

A voice cries out desperate and loud,
'every silver lining has a cloud'.
Perhaps there are no answers now,
but the future may reveal somehow.

Unmasked and uncloaked, the weary mind,
through the imagery the thoughts unwind.
A storm rages and a light bursts through,
a path, years lost, there, in full view.

Where this leads is mystery unclear,
but not up there with all the fear.
A whole new vista, could be uncertain,
the arduous task of raising the curtain.

© Pagan Paul (2016/2017)

When I am dead, reclaim me
When I am dead, our earth
Though it will be mine, no more
Will reclaim me
It will have my body
Like hyenas, upon my empty carcass
Or crows, on battle fields
I shall cease to be
My body will be of the earth
Because in these, once, the vessels of our opinion and our prejudice
Are things, that allow
For one more day
One infinitesimal second
They allow, the earth, to limp on
Existing, decaying
For one day longer

My life, my existence
Has become
Cigarettes, ***, indigo ink
Wishing, to make it
Through the day
And wishing I had
The guts to die
I hope, secretly
For a stranger
A human shaped hurricane
Someone new
Who doesn't know my history
Someone to set me free
My perfect, imperfect
Stranger
Wherever can you be?

Eight years, I have loved you
Since both we, were children
Not some fast burning flame
But the warmth of a coffee cup
Or an arm, around your shoulder
I never said a word
I dared hope, only in silence
A year ago, I kissed you
And like brittle clay, I broke
I told you of my feelings
And of my secret hope
You did not feel the same
But said you knew, for a long time
And yet I love you still
Shamefully, in secret
Like my love is a crime

It felt as if
Your lips reconciled
The thousands
Of thoughts
In my mind
Into one singular word:
Stay.