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.

Ejector Seat

photo credit: romainguy Electric Storm via photopin (license)

I want to get off,
I want to get out.
I want someone to explain
What it’s all about.

I want to get on,
I want to get up.
Without somebody trying
To pull me apart.

I want to get in,
I want to get it.
I want somebody
To have a heart.

I want to get back,
I want to get back,
Press the reset –
Back to the start.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.


photo credit: Bold Frontiers Starry London Night via photopin (license)

Dark shadows, disembodied voices
Floating in the night,
This world beyond the window.

In fragments of modern art –
Bright lights and disappointment.
In search of answers

When there never was any meaning.
Just this spiralling deceit
Diverting us down one-way streets.

Twilight whispers
Spark tongues of flame.
Yet unaware, we stay the same.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

High Rise

Scurrying drones
The people down there,
Hardly human –
Motives lost
Within the hive mentality.
Cries of fear, pain, anger, rage;
Do not rise beyond the miasma
Of traffic fumes.
By the mob,
Individuality lost
In the rain.
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Walled Up

Between the hopes and the tears.
The coping mechanisms
Ain’t helping you cope any more
And the pills
Are just making you feel small.
Your dreams are buried deep,
Dug in with all those tomorrows,
Buried deep in the grave.
The senseless brutality of
This modern world
Has left you numb
And the distance between
The promised land and reality
Leaves you barely clinging on
To the darkness,
Your only friend.
For without it you’d be nothing; but afraid.

© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.


photo credit: Oliver Thompson Photography Ghost 3 via photopin (license)

I picked a face,
Chose an image from the shelf.
These emotions are not my own
But a homage to the human race.
My pretence.
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Behind The Mask


photo credit: wolfgangfoto ophelia via photopin (license)

I’m trapped behind this mask
In a prison of my own making.
Manacles of my own design
Shackle me to this world.
Leaving only a fitful spectre free
Like a ghost upon the moon.
Like a soul marooned far from home.
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.