This is my disease.
My locked room
Without a key.
My sickness
Without a cure.
This silence
You must endure.
Watch reason flee,
Lights flickering out.
This is my dis-ease.
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Originally published 22 November 2016
photo credit: Marco Nürnberger The Shadow via photopin (license)
What doesn’t kill us
Makes us stronger,
What doesn’t kill us
Makes us wish we were younger,
What doesn’t kill us
Makes us wish for yesterday,
Makes us wish.
That the Shadow would go away
Leave us to our own designs
To roll the dice,
Leaves us to play the game.
Fate in own hands
Impostors by another name,
Captains of our own sinking ship.
In control of our own illusions
With mastery of all our delusions.
With all the weapons ready
At our command
We are ready
To take a stand.
What doesn’t kill us
Makes us wish we were younger
Makes us long for the Shadow
That we fear to go away.
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
photo credit: 1.5+ mil views. Humbled and thanks to all! Struck by the lightning, crushed by a wave! via photopin (license)
Moments slip from out my eyeline,
Chances founder on the rocks.
While I try to begin again
The memories wait for me in the shadows.
My hopes are destined to fail
While these shifting sands
Shift beneath me again.
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
photo credit: Till The End Of Time… via photopin (license)
There was a girl
Between the earth and the sky,
Shadow of a girl
Like a bird she did fly.
There was a girl
I spied between moon and sun,
But when I looked again
That girl had gone.
There was a girl
I saw across the lake,
But when I reached out for her
From the dream I did wake.
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
photo credit: David Kutschke Blood Moon via photopin (license)
Haunted by the silence,
The darkness,
The shadows on the wall.
Hunted by the moon
That follows me
Wherever I go.
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
It’s that time of year for the start of my annual review, and to kick things off a poem from last November
photo credit: Kansas Poetry (Patrick) Winter Tree Revisited via photopin(license)
It is a time for tears,
Of scudding clouds and fierce-blown frost
On a chill north wind.
When darkness lurks mere moments after dawn
And perpetual shade creeps like the Reaper in this winterland.
Death and snow are the bitter harvest
Of this barren season.
A time for tears; November,
Swansong of the year.
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
photo credit: Natalia Medd Summer Wind via photopin (license)
Your heady perfume haunts me
That scent of you in the air.
Dizzying sensations that linger
Like the silhouette of a body
Just sketched on the pillow
When nobody is there.
I caught a glimpse of your shadow
A fleeting glimpse, just a hint
That you were there
Before it was gone.
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
photo credit: Lieven SOETE Orfeo & Majnun ¬ 20161126.0237 via photopin (license)
I am make believe:
Nightmare and dreams.
Spectre of memory,
The furious fever in scenes
Of theatre macabre.
Phantoms, twisted fancy,
Lurking in shadows,
Poisons that won’t let you be.
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
photo credit: Dani Alvarez Cañellas Silvia Pérez Cruz via photopin (license)
Hello,
I didn’t expect to see you here
On the night side of town.
You look like your hiding out
Back here in the half-light
From a paramour pursuing you
With bandaged up flowers
And a heart made of thorns.
Me, well I’m doing fine
Strumming along in time
With the silence.
Trying to make out this design
In the darkness. In the madness;
Wondering why the roses
Are buried in Plaster of Paris
And I’ve a heart full of thorns.
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
photo credit: Kansas Poetry (Patrick) Winter Tree Revisited via photopin (license)
It is a time for tears,
Of scudding clouds and fierce-blown frost
On a chill north wind.
When darkness lurks mere moments after dawn
And perpetual shade creeps like the Reaper in this winterland.
Death and snow are the bitter harvest
Of this barren season.
A time for tears; November,
Swansong of the year.
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
