The clock is ticking,
Shooting stars dont last long, but,
Im afraid to look.

Time is running short,
And Still, I refuse to watch,
A star lose its light.

Without our knowledge
It happens to YOU
It happens to ME
Oh LOVE,
Tell me about LOVING

The clouds of LOVE
Shadows on YOU and
Rains on me
Oh LOVE,
Tell me about your timing

The water of LOVE
Quenches thirst of YOURS and
Extinguished the fire within me
Oh LOVE,
Tell me about your purity

The flowers of LOVE
Adores your being and
Garlands my soul
Oh LOVE
Tell me about your petals

The sunshine of LOVE
Brighten your path and
Illuminates my journey
Oh LOVE
Tell me about your light

The sands of LOVE
Rests of your oceanic heart and
Blows on my desert soul
Oh LOVE
Tell me about your winds

The fire of LOVE
Burns your heart
Annihilates my soul
Oh LOVE
Tell me about your ferocity

The Nature of LOVE
Makes you THE boy
Makes me THE girl
Oh LOVE
Tell me about our union

Without our knowledge
It happens to YOU
It happen to ME
Oh LOVE,
Tell me about LOVING

.
'No man is an Island'
Maybe not true my Dear friends.
Perchance in general, contact is good.
But take a good look.
There are many Islands in the emotional ocean
with closed harbours and sealed ports.
Refugees of romance; Tortured traumas;
Insane individuals; Mental mercenaries;
Each one a lonely star,
a pinprick of light, disconnected,
on a girdle of the sky,
protected by a carapace of experience,
cold, distant, drifting further from the source,
in a race for consolidation and annihilation.
Islands of safety become Isles of danger.
Selfishness; Self-hate;
Self-perpetuating; Self Destruct;
The inward circle and downward spiral
cloaking the Island, shielding its existence,
shunning the continents of integration.
So can it be true my Dear friends,
no man is an Island?


© Pagan Paul (28/06/17)

.
As I walk this lonely path
the music plays for me.
Picking at the neat stitches,
the seams of my inner universe.
Somewhere a dam bursts,
a levee breaks, floodgates open.
And vision is impaired by drops
like boulders of rain on a windscreen,
but I have no wiper blades,
just the rims of my wraparounds.
And the music plays on regardless,
ripping through the fabric,
the cushion of my existence.
Control lets go, an illogical absentee.
Millennia creep by as minutes tick.
Sliding through black curtains sight returns,
the shakes pass slowly, rubbernecking shame.
And as the music plays in my head,
I walk the path and treasure the gift
of tears for souvenirs.


© Pagan Paul (2017)

.
Let us linger for a while
upon this sacred mid-stream Isle.

Between the banks of this woodland river,
the flanking tree-scape murmurs peace.
Tinkling drops over pebbles tumble,
eager and away to the sea, its home.
The easy flow of destiny contained
in a dashing continual race.
Birds chatter until the big one shrieks,
its flashing form
diving through the canopy
in search of a mammal to feed its young.
The chorus resumes.
A nervous Doe peeks from dense undergrowth,
constant alertness as she moves,
body trembling in anticipation of attack,
but conquering fear, bends to drink.
Lazy grass and moss so soft
lies underfoot in this magikal place,
the feel and the pull of the earth
brings comfort and peace to the tired body,
tranquility evoked with sight and sound,
soothing the mind with touch and smell,
a sensual cuddle from the Natural world.


© Pagan Paul (2016/2017)

.
The sky hangs heavy, still and sore,
sad, it doesn't change any more.
Maybe the answers are right here,
Not up there with uncertainty and fear.

A voice cries out desperate and loud,
'every silver lining has a cloud'.
Perhaps there are no answers now,
but the future may reveal somehow.

Unmasked and uncloaked, the weary mind,
through the imagery the thoughts unwind.
A storm rages and a light bursts through,
a path, years lost, there, in full view.

Where this leads is mystery unclear,
but not up there with all the fear.
A whole new vista, could be uncertain,
the arduous task of raising the curtain.

© Pagan Paul (2016/2017)