A beating heart, a dream
A dying soul, shedding tear
Fueled with anger, blasphemes
A cast out, breeding hate
Not against man, not against God
Just a selfless strife
On the ways of man and the ways of God

Death is just one breath away,
While living far from lies,
True to self, and the others' lives
Vision so bright, invisible to man
But to this product,
Of blind hatred.

"Omnia mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis;
Tempora mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis."

Eater of Gods, this creature will be
The tortured, tolerator of pain
All his dreams gone, dead in vain
Yet breathing, to take your breath away
Not to avenge, but to clear
All the fake that is in us.

The tune hums along in G
And the lights buzz softly

I am being taken somewhere
Someplace beneath it all
Underroot, I am
Descending
So deep
The dreary sun
And her arms
Cannot reach
Lower
Than those commonplace people
And all their happenings

It is cold here
Below the surface
And the door appears, open
As I
Recede

--
c

It’s all taking too long--
The commute, the wait
The procession, the speech
The descent, the dark--
I’ve dressed for the occasion
And repose in my finest robe
I just wish
He’d hurry up
Already

--
c

.
Blush the sky with teardrop rips,
let the blood flow free
to spill 'pon the cheeks and fall,
creating puddles of coy crimson.
A mind slowly disintegrates,
no-one tries to halt the decline
and it washes away reason,
the victim unable to resist submission.
Corpuscular clashes with synaptic
and the result transforms tragedy
from the root of all sadness
into an icon of blind worship.
The teardrops freeze on a blank face
that masks a venomous enemy
wrapped in a Hood of poison
that swallows the blushing sky.
A cage of pitch black threads
patiently studies the inner pendulum,
the tick tock of search and destroy,
time weaving its panic dark webs.
Psychotic anxiety in the waiting room
as horses dance on candle flames,
the Knight checkmates his own King,
the pawn is an easily taken prisoner.
The coy puddles of crimson burst,
shattering the mask to reveal another,
a shadow-hand coils its claim,
and the journey begins, cometh the Hood.



© Pagan Paul (11/08/19)

When you’re on top of the world
The high is unlike anything that exists
But the fall is a long, long way down
A motivation for those above to persist
Word of warning to those still climbing
Hold your desires close and don’t let go
All of us fall eventually, inevitably, but
Distance is so much worse when it’s slow

I had watched his glow go down
and I saw the hole swallow him whole.
I now watched his light rise
and I saw his eyes rest on mine,
newly ascended.

She’s highness, deaf but not muted.
Still dignified, past perfect, but still pushing.
Withering tea addict,
laughs at her own sophisticated and immature jokes.
Farts.
How the highness gracefully descend.

Relaxed, reclined,
hands placed still on abdomen, yet they’re itching.
Noisy breaths lift her sinking body,
till she’s plastered to the bed,
not quite motionless.
Can’t decline.
Sits up. Peering, active, but stunted.

She’s highness, deaf but not muted.
Still dignified, past perfect, but still pushing.
Withering tea addict,
laughs at her own sophisticated and immature jokes.
Farts.
How the highness gracefully descend.

Relaxed, reclined,
hands placed still on abdomen, yet they’re itching.
Noisy breaths lift her sinking body,
till she’s plastered to the bed,
not quite motionless.
Can’t decline.
Sits up. Peering, active, but stunted.