Wounds of Night

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To me,
To me all the time.
Nearer to me all the time.
Like rays of darkness,
The blinding shafts of night
Hold me close.
Hold me closer,
Closer than the dark
That waits to destroy
The fears.

The spiralling void
Inside of the darkness.
Like a spider’s web
I bind myself with its lies.
In a shimmering gossamer deceit
Wound about me.
Tighter, ever tighter,
Tightening all the time.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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In Reverie

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The sunlight through the window frame,
Casting spells writes in shadows
Drawing religious symbols on your naked skin,
As you lay in a reverie upon my bed.
You are real, I know it. For I still feel the wound
Of the raw impression, you have drawn in scarlet upon my soul.
Yet you lay there as innocent as the morning
Leaving barely your outline upon the sheet.
And, I fear that if you wake you will get up and walk away.
As fleeting as a breath of morning air.
That life will continue as before almost as if you were never there.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

King of the Ruin

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Ruin reigns
In this kingdom of lovers.
This wasteland of flowers,
This aching place
That makes my heart skip a beat;
With the Shadow Moon ascendant
That made me complete.
For I’ve finally learned
That I needed your tide to ebb away
And maroon me here.
Now I can live again
For I’m finally free.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Clay

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I cannot contain this existence
Within a single soul
A unified whole
When I do not know
Where these wings will take me
Or if the footsteps of the future
Will shake the ground from beneath my feet
If the environment will force me to transform
Into something different
Shocking
Luminous
Brand new
So do not ask me
Where I have come from
For how can I know
For the past has changed me
I am different than I was then
And I may change once again

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Vertigo

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Balance can be achieved.
For those with balance, I have seen.
Yet there is no balance in me.
They say balance can be found
In the sound of a babbling brook,
Or in the infinitude of silence
In the night between the stars.
They say balance can be reached
By striding out taking a few easy steps.
By taking a few gentle, calming breaths.
By reaching out, taking hold of Your hand.
Yet still, I’m falling,
Though I never reach the ground.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Time Lies

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The clock ticks,
Time passes at a steady rate.
The Past wanders from sight,
Disappears quietly from the cavalcade
Into the shadows to die.

The Present crawls like a caterpillar
Consuming everything that it can.
Unaware of all, except now –
Secure in its form.

While Future promises
That it will turn unseen,
Like a confidence trick
Into a wondrous butterfly.
That flutters transcendent, glorious for a day…

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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.

Wishing Well

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If I had a wishing well that worked
That made all my dreams come true.
What price would I have to pay
For making all those wishes reality?
What would it take, surely
More than pounds, shilling and pence.
Would it ask for blood from a stone?
What sentence would fit my crime?
Would it cost me my freedom,
What payment would wishing demand?

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

This Fortress

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Calm –
I do not mean you calm.
That is what the world says
When the world speaks to me.

When car horns growl
And strangers bare fangs
In laughter and smiles.
When deadlines are wielded like weapons

And the second hand slices through the air
Like the judgement of a guillotine blade.
When the rising anger of sound batters the stones of my soul
Until the inevitable crash of the bricks of this fortress to the ground.

Calm –
I do not mean you calm.
That is what the world says
When the world is becoming too real for me.
 
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Theatre

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Colours
Bleach out, fade.
All withers, turns grey.
Dust gathers
Between the cracks in time.
Decay
Gathers pace, even,
Before the curtain falls.

But it is a new broom
That is all.
The scenery changes,
Some of the actors too,
But the characters
Are familiar,
Same old plotlines too.
You will see after all
That nothing’s new.
 
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.