.
My love and I went out a'walking,
that is when we both ceased talking.
Loving, being free and alone together
despite the rain and inclement weather.
Yes the rain fair soaked us through
but it felt just like a shower for two.
All of this along with chirping birds
the moment we stopped using words.


© Pagan Paul (17/07/19)

It will be written long,
when Nature takes her own
and quenches life's flame,
when all the sadness
has been noted and versed,
packaged as final words,
having ******* with regret
or discourse with nostalgia.
The taming of the mortal coil breeds
the Last Poem.



© Pagan Paul (03/06/19)

.
The string trails away down
I tug it with all of my might,
I am the hue of setting suns,
I am a sporting red kite.

I wanted someone with scissors
to so deftly cut the strings,
transform into a real Red Kite
with eyes and feathers and wings.

Floating free upon the winds,
and marvelling at all that I spy,
swooping and diving at high play,
the flying master of the sky.

But now something has changed,
a strange and different feeling,
I think I'd like to be grounded,
for someone to start in-reeling.

I would like to feel so treasured,
a possession of the hearts cry.
Wishing to be the real Red Kite,
the pleasure in someone else's sky.


© Pagan Paul (30/12/18)