Goodbye, In So Many Words

photo credit: cerealbawx Watchin’ TV! via photopin (license)

Silence stretches into hours
Like taut threads straining in a hurricane
On darkening streets lashed by rain and hail.
A chorus of broken hearts are the storm winds
Howling with tears. Echoing through walls
Aching within the symphony of silence
Of an abandoned home.

© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Yes, You

Yes, you came and saved me again.
From the shadows and the dark,
From the monsters in my heart.

You are electric, lighting up my night.
I resonate to the frequency of your touch.
I ache when you are absent, without you

Living is as bitter as a winter storm.
As callous as tears,
Cried naked and alone.

Yes, you saved me once again
From the torment and the fears.
You are temptation I can’t resist.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Random Love Tricks

photo credit: jinterwas Deliverance via photopin (license)

She is not here, she is gone.
Just a mirage at the oasis for the lovesick.
Only a temporary delusion
That she ever could have existed in this world,

In my world.
In the barren desert of my heart.
In the endless silence
Between the heartbreaks

That in the infernal night
Wraps me tight within its arms.
Because I’m alone
For she is gone.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Unkempt

My emotions have become tangled;
My heart choked with weeds
And creepers of ivy squeeze,
Making it hard to breathe,
As they twist and turn growing
In and out of my lungs.
At times I forget how to feel
As I reel, buffeted by the dance of the wind.
This is what has become of me
Blinded by a vision of seeing a life
Without you.

© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Euphoria

"Ammonite cross-section" by User:Nikkimaria - Own work. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Ammonite_cross-section.jpg#/media/File:Ammonite_cross-section.jpg

“Ammonite cross-section” by User:Nikkimaria – Own work. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons – http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Ammonite_cross-section.jpg#/media/File:Ammonite_cross-section.jpg

After the moment

Only the shell is left,

Abandoned and lost.

 

© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Resignation

I’ve had enough.
Are you listening?
Have I got your attention?
Yes, that was me screaming.
Showing fear and agitation
As I shouted, raved and ranted,
Gave voice to my desperation.

I’ve had enough.
I’m heading for the exit
A more fulfilling destination.
I’ve had enough of choppy waters,
Of being decaying vegetation.
I found some pride down here in the gutter
Going to rebuild my reputation.

I’ve had enough.
You can keep the aggravation.
Stick it where the sun don’t shine.
I’m going home.

photo credit: Sunset Burns via photopin (license)

photo credit: Sunset Burns via photopin (license)

 

© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

I’ve got to get out of this place

Day 11 of the 30 Reblogs of November

Made of sticks and stones

He had read it in a magazine, about the Romanian civil servant who had died at their desk, sitting propped up in their office chair for two weeks and no one noticed. That could happen here, Graham thought, it is the Friday before Christmas if I died now they would not find me to January.

The office was open plan. A sniper who happened upon the scene should have had line of sight from one end of the cavernous space to the other, but as Graham looked around he could see how people had manufactured walls to protect themselves. A forest of pot plants loomed, family photos were chosen as company over the living heartbeats and conversation of colleagues, calendars were propped up as a makeshift barricade a stuffed Piglet toy and Shaun the Sheep pressed into service as the defenders.

He could hear the tap, tap of a keyboard…

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I’ve got to get out of this place

He had read it in a magazine, about the Romanian civil servant who had died at their desk, sitting propped up in their office chair for two weeks and no one noticed. That could happen here, Graham thought, it is the Friday before Christmas if I died now they would not find me to January.

The office was open plan. A sniper who happened upon the scene should have had line of sight from one end of the cavernous space to the other, but as Graham looked around he could see how people had manufactured walls to protect themselves. A forest of pot plants loomed, family photos were chosen as company over the living heartbeats and conversation of colleagues, calendars were propped up as a makeshift barricade a stuffed Piglet toy and Shaun the Sheep pressed into service as the defenders.

He could hear the tap, tap of a keyboard, an incessant voodoo beat that reverberated around in the post five pm hush on the second floor. Graham watched as the motion activated lights blinked out, a testament of abandonment, an onward rushing tide of darkness that would overwhelm him.

There should have been festivity, he thought, a Christmas tree that twinkled in the corner, maybe a moth-eared chain of paper angels set to fluttering in this air sucked dry of atmosphere, even a simple card, but it was like Cromwell had never left this part of Cambridgeshire. Christmas had been cancelled.

A door slammed, the last light extinguished, snuffed out, only the light above Graham remained alight.

‘I’ve got to get out, while I’m still alive.’ He whispered to the night.

  While somewhere out in the dark his unseen companion tapped away at a keyboard.