Rowan 13m
You know I go to places,
Ones in my mind
Where i feel free
If you could walk with me ,
I'll take you on a trip
But pardon me for some mess
For my mind have the audacity
To ask questions that have no answers
But it sometimes stops the guess
.
Take me away for a while
Show me wanders
I'll hear the songs....if you write
Let me ponder
Talk to me about your thoughts,
I'll tell you my own
I'll tell that I'm not much of a poet,
But I melt for the  Shakespearean sonnets.
.
I hope our colors bind,
Violet is splashed in my soul
maybe your blue would be fine
Like the sea
You see
I write about it in all my poems.
.
If I got to meet you
Future love
I'll write ,
Asking the stars for some space for my words
Asking the sunset for some shades
.
If you let your eyes talk,
May I find my lost pieces
In your unspoken words
May you prove wrong my doubts
Those insecurities towards love
May you show me that a pearl can still shine among the dust.
.
Show me that care is not all roses
Show me that love can outweigh all causes
Bring back my trust in originality
Show me that among that mess in reality,
There still exists a real mind
A pure soul
Let me believe in love
Without lies .
Özcan Sh 42m
I feel something in my heart,
It goes deeper and deeper
They hammer my heart with rusty nails
I always pull the nails out

I won’t let the rusty nails rust my heart
Because that little damaged heart wants to Protect you from the rust.
When I forget the meaning behind my own words who says there was any meaning at all.
And when the words are all you remember who says you ever knew there was meaning.
Here is a gentle reminder:

You don't matter.

Nobody does.

Nobody.
When you die
Nobody will remember you in time.
Blake 5h
If you desire to caress another precious human soul,
Then you have to be prepared to rip your own violently to shreds first.
Including your weary flesh and your brittle bones,
Explore them shreds of yourself...the history of who touched your skin...your bones fragile journeys,
And paint them as words and letters.
Put them into stanzas,
And create your body’s poem.

Let your thoughts and emotions shine from your portrait of self-carnage,
We Poets are vampires,
we share our scriptures of blood...our very being... searching endlessly for human connections.

We are inventing ways to survive without losing our poetic minds,
We think deeply with rhythm
And with knowledge comes unsayable madness.

Read my poems and know my sinister secrets, my darkest fears and how I lost my virginity.
I’ll read yours and know how many scars are on your inner wrist,
whether you love life, maybe your drug addictions, how to get you off and your favourite flavoured crisps.

So go...hurry and write because I don’t know about you,
But I’m hungry my fellow poets
To find a blood twin,
A family of stanzas
And someone to caress my soul with their happiness or sadness or wonder or excitement or themselves
By a beautiful set of written soul words
Let me see you.
Pagan Paul Feb 2017
.
The Virginal one is a Maiden fair,
a girl adorned with long blonde hair.
Bold and brash, yet cautious and shy,
her dreams lift up and start to fly.

Raven hair falls in delicate tresses,
on the Mother of children Nature blesses.
Calm and firm, yet open and sure,
her dreams fulfilled are played out pure.

Cold and damp attack the bones,
trying to agitate the black haired Crone.
Old and steady, yet clever and wise,
her dreams forever light up the skies.

Walking through woods, warm and shady,
barefoot, confident, the Forest Lady.
She has her dreams and always will,
until the day her heart stands still.

© Pagan Paul (01/02/17)
.
Lord of Green series, poem 11
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Pagan Paul Jan 2017
.
A moments magic excitement
of a daring plum sunset
passes into a verdant grey.
A seconds glorious heartbeat
moves on searching eternity
painting the forest dull once more.


© Pagan Paul (2016/2017)
.
Lord of Green series, poem 10
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Pagan Paul Jan 2017
.
I go by the name of Rook.
Lord of all that you can see.
I cradle and nurture my forest home,
my throne sits in the Poetree.

The canopy stretches before me,
tree tops licked in morning dew.
A finch catches my eye and winks,
greeting his Lord, then off he flew.

The sounds of Dawn, the forest awakes,
shedding sleep dust to the rising sun.
An owl calls her goodnight hoot,
disappears, rejecting the day to come.

Otters sport, play chase, by a stream
that flashes silver as light rays dance.
A Ladybird, yellow with black spots,
lands surprised, to crawl along a branch.

Clean crisp air, caressing nostrils,
invigorating life through cool beauty.
The vista of sunrise across the woods,
the source of inspiration for the Poetree.

© Pagan Paul (24/01/17)
.
Lord of Green series, poem 8
.
Pagan Paul Jan 2017
.
Mist languidly enshrouds me,
playfully floating it cuddles,
Half heard echoes of love,
ribbons of yearning so soft.


With your delicate face
in my sleep
I am dreaming with
beauty.

With your heart beat
in my sleep
I am dreaming with
love.

With your gentle voice
in my dreams

I am sleeping with

whispers.


© Pagan Paul (12/01/17)
.
Lord of Green series, poem 9
.
Pagan Paul Nov 2016
.
Her charms cannot be hidden,
laying languid in soft repose,
cloaked in dreams of night,
to secret fantasies she goes.

Doe eyes closed in star sleep,
sweet gentle breath from parted lips.
A shift of woven mist she wears,
nestling flirtatious about slim hips.

A moment stirs her silent rest,
a sigh, rises, pours and escapes.
Anticipating beauty, the inner promise,
of doe eyes when she wakes.


© Pagan Paul (26/11/16)
.
Lord of Green series, poem  7
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