Entombed on the outskirts
of hero township
sits a once Arcadian jewel
turned relic

its vast wings spread
as an eagle
but the days of flight
long exhausted

sullen close-down signs and banners
hang minatory from
a fractured glass ceiling
-- a terminal remainder

spots of rain fall thru strewn wreckage
along the counters of a fossilized department store

inchworms journey down
the massive teeth of a frozen
escalator descended from
the empty heavens

creepy crawlers move about
remnants of a food court
in search of morsels

like the droves of
holiday shoppers
that once haunted this place

before betraying it
for the shiny new toy
across the highway

.
Last night
she said I was cold.
Unreachable.
Surrounded in a halo of frost.
It burnt her fingers
as she dared to touch,
but there was little there.
Just … frost-bite,
and the sense
that she was alone in the room.
In body I was there,
but the Boat of Millions of Years
was sailing through my eyes
to the intended destination,
my lost mind.
She called to me
but I was to far to hear.
Down her soft cheeks
the tears did stream,
as she screamed my name
over and over.
She screamed until
the screams turned to sobs,
as the slow realisation
that I no longer knew her,
knew me, knew anything,
hit her like a wave of grief,
freezing her emotions dead.
Last night
she said I was cold.
And I was cold
because I knew that it was
our Last Night.

© Pagan Paul (16/02/20)

The candle goes out again
Relighting then flame
Burning brighter then before
Even if it’s just a Dream