Silence Screams Out

photo credit: Howard J Duncan Mirage via photopin (license)

The silence of the scream,
Lungs bursting, roiling,
Maelstrom escaping.
I cannot connect
Back into the disconnection.
The static’s code provides no illumination.
Just darkness enveloping me. Floating,
Electrifying, frightening,
Gravity weakening; slowly
Atoms disintegrating.

© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

The End of the Echo

Sounds recede and then
Only silence remains.
Only silence and pain.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Reckless

For the 3rd November here’s a poem about the feelings that bubble away beneath the surface …

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: pni Flos Ignis Pluribus via photopin(license)

I cannot control the rage sometimes.
The rage that burns me up inside sometimes,
Twisting my gut, shaking my sanity.
This anger that threatens to consume me sometimes;
Burning recklessly out of control.
Until there is nothing left
And I loathe the power it has over me.
Yet sometimes all I want is to let it take hold,
Let the fire take it all.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Vampyre

Flickering, fading,
This deception of being,
Absence of feeling.
Haunting
Half-life in the half light
Of a receding world.
Distances are growing.
The only sounds now
Are inarticulate groanings
And soulless moaning.
That mean nothing to me.
For a living being
I’ve ceased to be.

© 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.
Silenced
By the mob,
Individuality lost
In the rain.
 
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

It’s A Lie

photo credit: Rusty Russ Thinking Man via photopin (license)

It’s a lie, it’s improbable,
It couldn’t possibly be.
There’s not seven billion people
Sharing this planet with me.
How could there be all these people
Floating on a tiny rock,
With a trillion miles of nothing all around
Every which way is up.
They can’t all be looking down at their cell phones
Or living vicariously in virtual reality.
With nothing but the hardcore mainframe
To keep back the dark;
Clocked-off from society,
Hermetically sealed by technology.
It’s a lie, it’s improbable,
It couldn’t possibly be
If there really were seven billion people here
It would be statistically impossible
For one of them to not notice me.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Hungers

photo credit: Tortured Mind Broken Soldier 1 via photopin (license)

The forces
Beyond your view,
In another consciousness
Sat in another room.

The pilot of other ships,
Soldiers on the other side;
Non-combatants have no choice,
All are part of this war.

All looking for new sadnesses,
While still waiting for old tears to dry.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Annie

Day 4 of my review of the year, and moving on into December with a poem about loneliness and isolation.

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: Gulls On Edge via photopin (license) photo credit: Gulls On Edge via photopin(license)

I call her Annie.
That little old lady
Who sits on the park bench,
Day after day,
With only the birds for company.

© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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