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.

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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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Twenty-three pairs of chromosomes

photo credit: Axlaxes via photopin (license)

photo credit: Axlaxes via photopin (license)

What if everybody else is as screwed-up as me.
What if my behaviour is just normal for here.
Perhaps this is not spontaneous combustion
And just the confirmation I’m human

Like a mental gravity weighing me down.
Would any aliens that happen to pass by
Know that we are all cracked, twisted and broken.
Maybe there should be a sign up high in the heavens,

“Planet Earth – you gotta be crazy to visit here.”

© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Resignation

I’ve had enough.
Are you listening?
Have I got your attention?
Yes, that was me screaming.
Showing fear and agitation
As I shouted, raved and ranted,
Gave voice to my desperation.

I’ve had enough.
I’m heading for the exit
A more fulfilling destination.
I’ve had enough of choppy waters,
Of being decaying vegetation.
I found some pride down here in the gutter
Going to rebuild my reputation.

I’ve had enough.
You can keep the aggravation.
Stick it where the sun don’t shine.
I’m going home.

photo credit: Sunset Burns via photopin (license)

photo credit: Sunset Burns via photopin (license)

 

© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.