To surprise mending hearts,
the rain has come.
How they know, its work is done.
Now light-filled hearts were dark; too dark
withered & waiting for the clouds to return.

I walk by a garden that’s not mine.
Not everyday, but less than I’d want.
It has a flower blossoming right by the gate.

It’s petals are green.  They sparkle with dew.
Bright and glowing at all times of the night and day.

It’s face is fire. Crackling and warm, a beacon to lost souls and small animals. Warming pieces of people that were unknowingly frozen.

It’s stem is lithe. Twisting, gently curving its way up to the sun. Strong enough to hold its head up and not bow to the wind.

It’s roots, enigma. I do not know how deep they go. But I’d be willing to try find find a *** big enough to hold them all stretched out.

I’d wish to have such perfection in my garden.
I’ve tried placing beauty in it, to no avail.
I once even planted a pretty **** with thorns and spikes. It didn’t last either.
Perhaps my land is salted.

.
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)

Every snowflake like a
                   chandelier hanging
from the ceiling of the heavens.
Light glistens from there cold
                                           glimmer.
Collecting on the sorrows of winters
barren collection on bleak visuals.

But when these chandeliers fall,
        enveloping all in a winters glow.
And for a few moments, everything
                              is in symmetry.
A masterpiece of indistinguishable beauty.