Nobody’s Home

 

photo credit: Karen Newman Photography Family Photos via photopin (license)

Dead foot dominion
Where corridors echo
With the sounds of corruption,
And wanton wind colludes
With the creak upon the stairs.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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The Ghost

Day 8 of my Review and a poem that is not quite as creepy as the title would lead you to believe.

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: Whirlwind Inside via photopin (license) photo credit: Whirlwind Inside via photopin(license)

It’s part of the bitter harvest,
Parcelled up, a gift from you.
Sealed by a kiss,
With every teardrop earned;
The very least I was due.

It’s carried on the breeze
These dreams of light, driven by machines,
Captured by my sails.
And you’re part of the design
With all winds steering me back to you.

With your touch like ice
Like dark and arrows aimed for my heart.
Because words once said
Will always haunt a soul, and this touch
Of frost was the least I was due.

This traveller’s journey
Has taken me to this crossroads before.
In search of a healer, not the cause.
Because you’re the ghost in my mind
With all roads leading back to you.

© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Creak on the Stairs

Hush dry your eyes
The armies of night
Won’t break down the door.

Everything will be alright
The dawn is just hours away
The light in the sky
Is coming to play.

But first check under the bed
For any ghoul that slipped through
The crack in the wall.
 
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

These Silent Stones

'The Artist's Halt in the Desert' by Richard Dadd http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/legalcode

‘The Artist’s Halt in the Desert’ by Richard Dadd http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/legalcode

I travel alone through this desert
Though my companions are many.
The silent stones around this oasis
Weep tears into the water

While moonlight glistens upon my fears.
False memories, these heartbeat melodies
Are the ghosts listening outside the circle
Beyond the fire glow, out in the dark

Shadows of the night. These desert sands,
An hourglass with eternity running out
A warrior’s fight with demons not of his making,
Surround me becoming part of my being.

I travel in silence, but never alone
While comfort and solace lurk round the oasis.
The darkness relents with the kiss of the dawn,
Earth rotates and day begins again.
 
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

The Ghost

It’s part of the bitter harvest,
Parcelled up, a gift from you.
Sealed by a kiss,
With every teardrop earned;
The very least I was due.

It’s carried on the breeze
These dreams of light, driven by machines,
Captured by my sails.
And you’re part of the design
With all winds steering me back to you.

With your touch like ice
Like dark and arrows aimed for my heart.
Because words once said
Will always haunt a soul, and this touch
Of frost was the least I was due.

This traveller’s journey
Has taken me to this crossroads before.
In search of a healer, not the cause.
Because you’re the ghost in my mind
With all roads leading back to you.

© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Afterlife:

The dead man walked in
Sat down across the table.
He ordered up some whiskey
Poured us both a measure
He said “I’ve come back
From the other side
To deliver you a message.
The way you’ve been behaving
Left some Spirits mighty restless, boy
Like you’re hankering
For your own private
Judgement.
But there’s something you should know
Before you go and do an act that’s reckless.
It’s that Paradise is Hell,
It’s a one-way ticket.”
He laughed, as he finished off his whiskey
“So don’t be a hurrying
No need to go too soon.”

© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.