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 mixed opportunities in paralysis
and the colour of once bright lights
shining a shadow into the void
covering the bruises
that were once achievements of worth,
now tender patches
I drop the fork ...
There was poison in the amniotic fluid and I drank it.
Sending the future to its doom wrapped in a blanket.
… 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.
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 fruits down to me?
Would I recognise fortune on my side
or fear the illusions and run to hide?
© Pagan Paul (17/02/18)
I want to yell and to scream
But my lungs won't hold air
My eyes would flow like a stream
But there's no water there
And the days pass me by,
Though there's not many left
Can only breathe deep and sigh
Hold tight all that's left, bereft.
The corpse was still there this morning
My wife had left it covered with a towel
Strange though to feel such emotion
When I had slept like a log in denial
It's a reality of life and I accept it
The search for perfection is fraught
The mistakes can make you a sceptic
And Bread can always be bought from a shop
Perhaps my expectations for you
Perhaps you are blind to the desire
in my eye.
Maybe you are deaf to the disappointment
in my sigh.
Maybe your budget isn't
If you would read my body,
Look into my mind,
We would be great
And all would be fine.
Though it probably should be,
It just isn't enough
To say that you're mine,
I need material stuff.
Roses of red,
I prefer blue.
And the finest of chocolate,
A large teddy bear, too.
Shower me with the money you've spent,
It's not a big deal,
Only a present.
I promise not to be greedy,
I won't raise my expectations even further on the scale.
But you must keep me happy,
Satisfied in every way.
You can't do that for me?
Well what else can I say...
I promise I loved you,
In good times and bad.
And I will always reminisce
The times that we've had.
Oh, I will miss you.
I promise, I will.
But your wallet has emptied.
And my love has gone still.
What am I?
I know the obvious answer is "human",
But I mean it in a more focused way.
What am I to you?
Am I the one whose heart you wish you never broke?
Or the one you wish would fade away for his own good?
Am I the one you kissed so much out of appreciation and maybe unspoken affection?
Or a sullen reminder of the things you may have thrown away?
Am I the sweet sullen soul with a constant smile on his face, who always saw the good in you, and was never angry when you didn't speak, for I was fluent in silence?
Or am I the angry and bitter soul with fire in his eyes, who voices his grave concern and disappointment with the roads you have taken?
Am I the friend you hold so dear, and swore to never let go?
Or am I just a secret now, and nothing more?
The answer is simple
As clear as day
I am not one or the other
I'm the one you wish you never hurt, and wish would let you fade, but I'm still here.
I am the one you showed such grand affection to, but you try to downplay like it was nothing, because from here it seems you still feel pain for it all, but I'm still here.
I am happy and bright soul who knows the good you are and can do, but also the angry and sad one who looks on you and asks "What the hell are you doing to yourself?", but I'm still here.
I am still the friend you hold so dear, but also a secret you don't wish to have, because even though you hate lying to him you still do, but I'm still here.
And that shall always remain the same.
The yin and yang.
But one constant will always remain:
I'm still here.
Because to me, you were always worth it.
why do I force myself to be perfect
on all the things I touch,
it is so very obvious I am not
but the disappointment is much.
Every time I put the amount of efforts
but there is something I always miss.
The expected output is not what I get
results doesn't turn out like I wished.
It is easier to say it doesn't affect
when it does makes me miserable
And at every window there is in fact
a master showcasing her marvels
What good am I to do at any instant
when I feel so incapable
I am this blessed with a lack of a talent
I won't even make a good rebel.
that it would work
that it would last forever
that it was true
that it wasn’t you.
that they were right
that it was wrong
that anything is possible.
that it would look good
that it would feel good
that no one would notice
that it didn’t matter
that tomorrow is another day.
that it is better to have
loved and lost
that it would be worth it
or that everything is going to be okay.