Fragmentary Grasp of Reason Part 2

photo credit: Apionid Odd Couple via photopin (license)

Sometimes I like to give the illusion
That I listen to the words that you say.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Over You

I cannot cry no more
Because of all the tears
I’ve cried before,
Because of the oceans I’ve wept
Down to the very depths.
I can’t spend any more time,
Pennies or heartbeats
Over you.
Because that will leave me bankrupt
And I can’t risk another heartbreak
Just yet
When I’m not ready to be
Over you.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

It’s A Lie

photo credit: Rusty Russ Thinking Man via photopin (license)

It’s a lie, it’s improbable,
It couldn’t possibly be.
There’s not seven billion people
Sharing this planet with me.
How could there be all these people
Floating on a tiny rock,
With a trillion miles of nothing all around
Every which way is up.
They can’t all be looking down at their cell phones
Or living vicariously in virtual reality.
With nothing but the hardcore mainframe
To keep back the dark;
Clocked-off from society,
Hermetically sealed by technology.
It’s a lie, it’s improbable,
It couldn’t possibly be
If there really were seven billion people here
It would be statistically impossible
For one of them to not notice me.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Gold Season

The rustle of leaves beneath my feet,
The soft pitter-pat of raindrops on the window.
The post-equinox sun who can barely bother to rise
But dazzles so bright that her light leaves me blind.
The chill of the evening that means I reach for a sweater,
The inclement weather that forces me home
To curl up with you.
This is the glory that comes with the fall
This is the song sung by sweet autumn.
These are the memories I hold in my heart
When winter takes hold and extinguishes the light.
Not of your ending, but how you blazed
With unique beauty and life.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Silent Partner

The silence is crumbling
Like the Arctic
It is starting to thaw.
Long buried memories
Should be left to rot
In the coffin,
Amongst the detritus of the landfill
And not burst to the surface
As a reminder, a haunting,
A skeleton call.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.