We know our place in the universe
For we named our planet dust.
With Mars and Orion
In this cosmic show.
Yet we named our home
For the dirt beneath our feet
And that is how we treat it.
A rusting jewel
Decaying like the grave.
With this the last morning,
These the sun’s last rays.
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Originally Published 18 April 2018
If I had wings, if I could fly,
To lift me up before I die.
To move beyond this fragile state
To the horizon, before is too late.
I’d fly off to uncharted shores
That my kind had not espied before.
I’d fly out far cross tropic seas
Until I found somewhere I could believe.
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Lingers above the tide line
Where no wave can wash it clean.
Beached, abandoned beyond redemption
No healing water comes for me.
Scarred, a tear in the fabric
Just a remnant of the maelstrom.
Rags and regrets
Are all that clothe me.
Flotsam and jetsam,
Bare bones and embarrassment,
Torn sheets forgotten
In this illusory peace.
False hopes take flight with the morning
But the past stays earthbound here with me.
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.