Remnants of the war,
Leave the children crying in
An uneasy peace.
Bringers of freedom,
Peddle new tyrannies
Like cotton candy
And sugar coated
Lies are still lies
In the mornings light.
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Originally Published 9 September 2015
photo credit: davemmett Infidelity via photopin (license)
Liar song with discordant voices, a twisted echo of the lie.
On-and-on, ever on, until the end time when we start again
Putting the broken pieces back together.
Burying the truth in a shallow grave, sitting waiting for a little rain
And the new shoots and new delusions to deceive.
Intoxicating the two of us, like that undying phantom of our first time.
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
I
photo credit: Historias Visuales Viajera silenciosa via photopin (license)
I may have the words
But the music has escaped from me.
I may know the steps
But the dance has left my feet.
I may have had you once
But that was another day,
Another picture of decay.
II
Metamorphosis:
Say something else, before voices flee
Running timid from
Reality. Bleeding on these streets
For the word crimes. Passionate
Execution of the grey
And the virgin’s vision – decay.
photo credit: zeitfaenger.at Teatro abbandonato via photopin (license)
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
photo credit: biizz it’s not over via photopin (license)
What happens if I distrust the rumours
But take your sweetest lies as facts?
Well the honey bee knows
That the strongest perfume can disguise the truth
And that the prettiest blooms can sometimes be empty inside.
It’s like the stag that has learned to fear the silence
Because of the danger that lies in autumn shadow.
Or the wind that cries softly in November,
For remembrance of what winter brings.
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
This is the final prompt of five from ‘How to Write a Poem’ by Tania Runyan, and is all about unanswered questions.
photo credit: The Next Chapter via photopin (license)
We are five stories from the truth
And them people are looking
Pretty inconsequential way down there
Like ants, just insects really
When you don’t get to see their faces
When you don’t see
The whites of their eyes
They look small enough to crush
Between finger and thumb
To gods like us
Climbing higher and higher
Above the earth.
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Day 27 and a wish for a kinder world
