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#Of the night,

comes a delicate veil,

wrapping like a cuddle,

heralding comfort,

whispering dreams to lovers,

blowing kisses to the dark,

teasing peaceful promises,

of the night.
#



© Pagan Paul
Falling leaves
on the rhythm of the wind
you fly.
To a place unknown.
Rainy days,
it’s getting colder.
People haste.
Umbrellas are up.
Year is getting older.
Let’s go home.



Shell ✨🐚
Yes, december is almost here.
In no time another year passes.
So much happened all over the world.
We are the falling leaves.
Have you noticed they are at it again?
Idiocy, insults, back biting and *******.
Infancy in a petulant mood shouting
'cant cook, won't cook, shan't cook'.

And the recipe :-

Take one ex-minister (slightly embittered).
Fold through with a poison pen (neither retractable nor redactable).
Add a pinch or two of smouldering resentment.
Allow to stew and ferment for about 12 weeks.
Then warm through with  an almond glaze of scorn
and liberally spread over several pages of resignation.
Finally wrap in a filou of vellum, and seal.

An ideal meal if you feel that your line manager
really needs a punch filled packed lunch.
And don't forget to garnish and serve with leaks
to the press and media.
Enjoy your meal Prime Minister!

Warning: This recipe contains home truths, scathing criticism,
ambition, nuts, betrayal, regret and crocodile tears.
Ref: Nadine Dorries who finally got around to resigning from the govt. after saying she would many weeks ago. Her resignation letter is scathing of her Tory colleagues and the PM, with a few hometruths being flung at them from her. Its refreshing to hear a politician say the truth, even if born from spite and resentment.
I saw your children
Playing
In the Fiery Pit

Unscorched


How the honest
Innocent

Survive
platonic years insurrected by civil wars (again)

one girl hit by lightning (again)

x-rays of her broken limbs painted from memory

caught between flintlock and fossil

with a just-sleepy-enough, narcotic feeling

his ghost in the sock drawer

his odd fingerprints on her luggage

the wilt of flowered books

full of wide-eyed selfies

and running scared old love letters
(or were they death threats?)

all roadblocks to her star-shaped chemical world

until her coup d'état falls helplessly into the sea (again)
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