Pass It On

photo credit: ssoosay A Riot Pin-up Model via photopin (license)

If there was one word for this world of ours.
One word to summarise it all up.
That word would be cruelty, or on a good day hate.
For this is a world of misery, with lives spent crying;
Crying a whole river flood of tears.
And for what, what is all the anger for?
What is it that makes those furious wheels rotate?
Well there is fighting over dirty patches of ground,
That are now so battle scarred nobody really wants to call them home.
And then there are the wars fought
Between the thugs and the mad,
Over who has control of the holes in the fabric of the earth,
Because everybody wants to own the shiny rocks beneath.
Or the rampage to control the streets
So that chemists can create better ways
To get a buzz on a Friday night
Not caring if along the way a few kids die,
Because you can’t make an omelette without smashing heads.
Then you have the beauty contest battles
Between closed minded believers
Over whose god is best.
When all those gods agreed on the one thing
And made sure they passed it on,
On those stone tablets and in those sacred texts. They suggested
That we should just get along
And everything will turn out for the best.
So it’s a shame, no one was listening
Or perhaps they just closed their eyes
And put fingers in their ears.
Because surely this world would be a little easier
If we all tried to get along.
 
© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Originally Published 8 June 2018

Now this song does not have a direct link to the above poem but it was playing while I was writing so I’ve included it because I can.  And because it is about love and not hate. Which has to be a good thing.

 

From the Belly of the Beast

photo credit: C Searle Vortex 3 via photopin (license)

I have a strange, uneasy feeling,
A tsunami of emotion
Raining down on me.
A love/hate thing
Tearing me apart.
From the inside,
From the depths
Deep within the dark.
A wave of shadow –
Creature from my subterranean soul –
My other self, this unquiet heart.

© 2020 | 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.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Originally Published 6 February 2016

Pass It On

Here we go with Day 19 of my review of the last twelve months …

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: ssoosay A Riot Pin-up Model via photopin(license)

If there was one word for this world of ours.
One word to summarise it all up.
That word would be cruelty, or on a good day hate.
For this is a world of misery, with lives spent crying;
Crying a whole river flood of tears.
And for what, what is all the anger for?
What is it that makes those furious wheels rotate?
Well there is fighting over dirty patches of ground,
That are now so battle scarred nobody really wants to call them home.
And then there are the wars fought
Between the thugs and the mad,
Over who has control of the holes in the fabric of the earth,
Because everybody wants to own the shiny rocks beneath.
Or the rampage to control the streets
So that chemists can create better ways
To get a buzz on…

View original post 168 more words

Home to Roost

photo credit: itsokstay_calm free the birds via photopin (license)

I’m transported back to the beginning,
To the moment we first met, before the shame and the regret.
To when we still held our own secrets and had not cried those teardrops yet.
Before the setting of the sun on the longest day

Back when we just matched, before we became detached;
From reality, from each other. We went from lovers
To two strangers, barely speaking, merely passing in the hall.
When the indiscretions stepped out of the shadows. When the truth came to call.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.