When All of This Was Fields

photo credit: pni Sky Eyed Mammoth via photopin (license)

I can sense the breathing of the city
Even though the windows and the curtains are closed.

I’m doing everything I can to shut out the light,
Yet I know the city keeps right on living all around me,
Hemming me in. Cocooned within glass and steel
A manufactured being in a designer prison that is all too real.

I can’t stand this conditioned air, the sterile thoughts
And pretending to be civilised enough for this society.
For how it plugs me into its desires,
The pleasure centre stimuli.

For all the antiseptic pollutants that it uses to subdue me
Are not enough recompense for what this city demands of me.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.


Can you be stalked by a song?
Followed in and out of your dreams by a rhythm.
Melody coiled about your subconscious,
Haunting your hours hidden in the shadows.
Music in the motion of the leaves
As they dance around, spiralling down
In autumn’s romance with gravity.
Lyrics twisting their way like a river
Through the landscape of your life.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.


The glow of the lights
Shines out across the water
Calling me back home.

In the chill winter twilight
All is dark except for you.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

All Together

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Stripped of everything but my soul,
Naked, nothing left to identify my mortal remains
But the record of my conduct here on earth.
All accoutrements of wealth, all holy symbols of my false religions,
All gone now.
All shields, all swords, I’ll have no more protections.
No magic spells are left to save me
Just an account of my actions
Where they weigh a feather against my sins.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.


If I dream of you sometimes I hope you will forgive me. I hope you understand that I just need to see your face sometimes. For a glimpse of someone whose hair falls down upon their shoulders in that hauntingly familiar way, is not enough to sustain me. For all the colours are a hundred shades of wrong and beauty means nothing, when only your face has any meaning for me. For I can walk through a flower garden when the roses are in bloom and it feels as barren as a desert if the scent of your perfume is not the air I breathe. So if from time to time I dream of you, I hope you understand, I hope you will forgive me.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.


photo credit: PiConsti Thunderstroke via photopin (license)

I’m glad my pain amuses you,
I’m glad my distress keeps you warm.
I’m glad my feelings of inadequacy
Kept you entertained on the night of the storm.

I’m secretly pleased that you enjoyed my disease
That you found them of use, the experiments on my body and soul.
That you could view with scholarly detachment
The dissection of my brain by the scavenger crows.

I’m glad all my notions and twisted emotions
Merited a footnote in the book of your life.
I’m happy for you, that you found someone new.
But the scars that I bear were caused by you and your knife.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.


photo credit: tanakawho Night archer via photopin (license)

A straight line between here and the end,
Between now and forever –
Between forgiving and the original sin.
The arrow’s fight with time and space
Is a neverending race, a moment of now.
Resistant to the air, lost to the tumultuous tragedy –
Victim of the farce, the cruel comedy of life.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.


photo credit: Rusty Russ Barbados Sailing via photopin (license)

Even though the wind is against me
I can adjust my sail, battle on.
For my course is mapped,
I know my destination
A new day is before me,
I’m following the rising sun.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Nothing and Nowhere

photo credit: Photogirl1977 Tears via photopin (license)

The stillness of the vacuum at the heart of it all.
The silence of the moment that heralded my fall.
The sadness of the climax, the shattering of dreams
When reality is nothing like you hoped it would be.
The absence of essence, of reason to believe.
Of loss and the grave, and the inevitability of grief.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.


photo credit: Robert Couse-Baker without a trace via photopin (license)

After the storm, when the rage has subsided
A dead calm takes over. A false dawn is my fear,
As frightening as the storm in its way.
For you expect me to speak first,
To return things to normal. As if there is no wreckage,
No cargo to salvage and no survivors to be found.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.