photo credit: Mat Che DIAPOSITIVE 1.2 (CHILDREN OF THE LIGHT) via photopin (license)
“there is a crack in everything,
that is how the light gets in.”
Leonard Cohen
I will not go down,
These depths must be the deepest.
While this darkness is at its completest
I will hold fast. I will make a spark.
I will last out until dawn.
Until I can feel the warmth and the light
And this body becomes real to me again.
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
For the 10 November here is a poem about the anxious mind and keeping hope alive …
photo credit: Jason A. Samfield The Absences of Light via photopin(license)
The grey clouds swirl around my mind
Like a million dark thought butterflies.
A cascade of believings before the facts
Chasing me through this subconscious realm
Up and down these roads, to hell and back.
Making me forget to look up occasionally
To see that the clouds do break
The sky here and there.
And in the distance through the haze,
A hint of blue is sneaking through,
To remind me that better days are coming soon.
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Breath …
In … out …
Within the deep of the night,
The living heart of a life …
The weeping fragments …
Lost masterpiece of a dream …
Until a switch is flipped.
Support is withdrawn …
And they turn out the light.
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Numbness spreading out from within
Like a gangrene, strange confusion.
Death cell by cell, crawling back in
To the snakeskin of my own hell.
I am the monster, it is me.
Symbiosis/singularity.
This falling before the fall.
Shadow footsteps echoes in hell;
Darkness’s calling heard before.
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
In the dark of the night time
In the cold of my bed
In the moments in between
When the feelings are raw.
When my mouth is slowly drying
And the words rot in my throat.
And the dreams are dying
Like autumn leaves falling in the breeze.
And I can’t unfeel what I’ve felt before.
And my belief is crumbling,
Oh so many nights of tears and dust.
Then there’s this feeling I get
In the pit of my stomach.
A chill like a knife blade
Twisting within my spirit and guts.
When I’d scream
If screaming counted for much.
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
photo credit: The Manic Macrographer Reigning blood and chrome – HSS! via photopin (license)
Ripples and entropy,
And rumours unheard
While the liars stir.
Are the lips for kissing
Or the hope I cannot bear.
Echoes and reflections
Exhaled into the night,
Passing notion of twilight
Gives way unto
The uncertainty of sightless dark.
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
photo credit: Film #swap with Amy Chu via photopin (license)
I’m lost
To the four winds,
Scattered ashes,
Windblown leaves on an autumn breeze.
Longing to be a memory that makes it
Through the darkness of this dying season
That’s forever haunting me.
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Anyway, I’ve got fears of my own
Hidden away in a high tower.
So, I can’t take your worries away
It isn’t as simple as kissing them better.
But if you want my advice, and you’re free to ignore it,
Write it all down in a letter and mail it to Santa
Or burn the letter and put the ashes
In an urn up high on your shelf.
Perhaps this would help. Go stand in the rain
Let the gale howl through you,
Let the weak light of the winter sun decide your truth.
Laugh;
Cry;
Make Love;
Do whatever you can to hold back the night.
You have to unravel the strings of your happy
From all your other fighting kites
Before taking the first step of the precipice.
© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
