Can you kiss a mountain
when it falls to its knees?
Can a rose apologise for
growing strong?
Should the peacock weep
about its arrogant beauty?
Can you understand why
a caged bird sings?
Should dragons be blamed
for the suns in their throats?
Should the kraken sleep alone
in the depths?
Should I keep wondering why
I am that I am?

Crystal Freda Sep 12

Her blue pen
on new, fresh
but her mind

Saint Titus Aug 28

Defying justice, I shout somewhere above me. Wholly empty
I can hear the laughter of the clouds

Deference is evil, Louder now, every breath leaving me shaking
As the heavens forge their thunder to rain down

God of malice, forgetting patience, as the words escape me
I can hear the whispers softly now
For the moment, I am searching, though there's nothing I am missing
Forge the moment's once endowed

I was born in this place, barely justified
And now that I am alive, it was never justified
I once basked in this grace, the wording so maligned
I was born in this way, only death will reconcile


This heart beats ever stronger


The drumbeat as I wander


Y tho...

is a bird
spreading its wings
to the freedom
of a spring breeze,
the freedom
to set my thoughts
ablaze with fire,
to set the world
alive with light

Pagan Paul Aug 18

When you caught my wandering eye,
love was a small word to hide behind,
an improper play seen through a diaphanous veil.
There was a new star in the sky, a mint room,
still searching for a lost dream.
I sit and watch a world die, and another take its place,
a kaleidoscope colander, as silence has its throat cut
with delicate skeletal lace and a face of porcelain.

A whisper to the zephyrs of second glance
echoing through the histories of the future,
a plea from a roving orb like a mute scream.
Did you hear me talking to the wind
where the wild things grow, recapturing misty joys.
As the Horns of Cernunnos reflect the primal stag
and the cusp of the Moon vibrates a soliloquy,
you caught my wandering eye.

© Pagan Paul (17/08/17)


why do I
spend so much time
thinking about things
that don't matter?
am I only
protecting myself
from something
I never think about?
why do I spend
so much time
getting lost
deep inside myself,
wandering further
from the path
until I'm too tired
to find my way back?

The wandering I
Oh how boots travel the tundra
Course in hand as the path becomes faded
Like the frantic bee, hurt only by fear of nature
Outside the system with a sharp knee
Point blank
Reasoning before you, after nothing else
Bite into granite opinions as the cast break
Out lost in irony
A memory of what task bring me here
Fall in snow as we forget

Seema Jul 31

An old hollow bowl
Inside it, a dead owl
Filled with charcoal
Buried in a hole
Under the light pole
On the crossroads
Opposite the graves
Near the witches dome
Where believed,
The dark spirits roam
I know this, coz I am,
A wandering soul
Others, the witches stole
I am a carefree witness
I saw, what he did
I saw what all he buried
I also saw the body he hid
And he thought,
Nobody saw his deeds
Planting a dead owl as a seed
Like some secret treasure
That no one can find
I looked closely
He buried, jewels of all kind
He has no idea,
What he had done!
The witch knows it all
Soon it will be his call
My friend, beware
Of the watchful unknown
There's an empty grave
With your name alone!


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