one night i visited the dreamland
just to assess how many dreams stand
found many floored when explored
few were killed prematured
few flushed in the time's streams
few murdered by other dreams
few elightened ones crushed themselves
few learned ones locked them in shelves
few dated and were reset
future of this sort most of them met
found some lucky ones still dance
in the eyes of new romance
few could turn into reality
few survivor went till eternity!.....

For me
   Happiness is illegal,
And
   Sadness is my addiction.

.
Snow drifts down
     laying a lawn cold sheet
across the frozen ground,
          creating art reliefs
like acid etching glass,
open space rolling and undulating,
in small hills and depressions,
     bedecked in a veil of white.
The silence is deafening,
quiet having been enjoyed
     and surpassed,
briefly punctuated by the call of a bird,
     A sharp whistle that shrieks
and attacks the silence.
The fresh smell of snowfall wafts up
     as it settles and glistens
in the light of silver moonbeams,
randomly peeping through clouds.
The taste of peace,
                     tranquility,
in the frigid air,
sends imagination soaring
from the desolation of isolation
to another time and place.
          The snow falls,
     falls,
in a relentless race for the ground,
               all is still,
               nothing stirs,
as the moor welcomes its quilt
and sleeps with a cold heart,
     dreaming,
                       of being kissed by the Sun.



© Pagan Paul (28/05/18)

The rain trickles down the windowpane
An unsure sentiment from the atmosphere
Hanging heavily from rose petals as they dance
With each new drip, every fallen drop
The water static singing sweetly in the dark