My death will be liberating.

And I do not say that in the sense
that I am going to find a cliff
and take a good jump off.

No.

I am just trying to find a
clever way to tell you

that I do not know what is going
to happen next.

You see,

there is a
fine line
between
dreaming and
mortality

and

I am finding out for myself
that being in love
does not always
involve

being awake.

And for my sake
I fall in love with daydreams,
nightmares,
hazy realities
and

the hung-over idea

of not being enough.

It is all out of my hands.
                 It is all out of time.

And the only thing I have left to do,
now,


is decide.

Reading her,
I found torn out pages
in her book.
She burnt them,
From a past that never happened
To a love that never could.
She wanted to break her pen
But she continued writing just to see,
If anyone would ever love her...
Her never ending story.

Heaven filled not only our eyes,
But also our hearts
With skies full of pink.
But what can I say?
She is pink skies herself;
Damp city with streets
Nothing but dashing cars,
Flashing street lights,
And occupied people.
Yet she is all I can see.

Take a peek inside his poems
if you really want to know him.
He hides himself deep, immersed
a tiny piece in every verse.

Take a peek and take your time
savour the moment of every line.
Relish the thought of what lies there
and appreciate his soul laid bare.

© Pagan Paul (31/08/16)