Knowhere

photo credit: Marco Ascrizzi P1070949 via photopin (license)

A man took a bus
Went searching for his heart.
He’d left his home of forty years,
Packed a bag – filled it with memories
And assorted other dusts.
He watched as the driver pulled out into traffic
And joined the motorway.
He watched as everything he’d ever believed
Dwindled through the window
Of a bus bound to nowhere. Until all that was left
Was a collection of smudges on the glass.
Like a dim, shadowed, constellation of stars.

© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Originally Published 31 May 2019

Reprise

photo credit: Tom Wachtel I stopped via photopin (license)
I stopped on the step and stooped to look at my feet. There was something afoot, but it wasn’t me.

A chill breeze caress,
A shiver for midsummer.
A kiss of winter
Walks in out of the moonlight
From no man’s land, takes my hand.

© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Yes, You

Yes, you came and saved me again.
From the shadows and the dark,
From the monsters in my heart.

You are electric, lighting up my night.
I resonate to the frequency of your touch.
I ache when you are absent, without you

Living is as bitter as a winter storm.
As callous as tears,
Cried naked and alone.

Yes, you saved me once again
From the torment and the fears.
You are temptation I can’t resist.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

A Dark Wood

photo credit: J a s o n B o l d e r o sprung via photopin (license)

The dark wood mirrors my soul.
Shadows’ lengthening as day recedes,
Summer’s warmth weakening like a memory
In the dusk tide between the trees.
Leaving nothing but creeping decay
Beneath a blanket of fallen leaves.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

I See Dead People

I see ghosts out of the corner of my eye.
Shadows of the past, phantoms long gone,
Haunting me. Sleeping and waking, the dreamers
Creep through the tall grass. Circling my sanity.
Searching for the weaknesses in my reality.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Chiaroscuro

photo credit: The Manic Macrographer Low Key Portrait via photopin (license)

Your light and dark plays with me.
Essence of night is the fragrance you wear.
Silence is the word on your lips
As with a gaze unwavering you stare
Succeeding again at unmanning me.

Twilight and rain clouds wrapped about you
Like a mantle of darkness
You are shadows, a certain chill in the air.
An absence, a sickness,
An addiction I keep on returning to.

You are the bones, the secret within.
The whisper deep underground
Forever echoing in the dark.
You are the fatal cry. The final sound.
I am your victim. You are my sin.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Midnight Wandering

photo credit: khalid almasoud Thinking after midnight via photopin (license)

Not a breeze stirs the waters.
Time seems frozen by this summer heat
As sweat wraps me in its sickly embrace.
I’ve gone walking at this midnight hour
In the shadows beneath the trees.
I’ve gone searching, searching for something
I can’t remember. Yet I know I’m lost.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

The Missing Pieces

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The silhouette still hides the soul.
The target can blind you
To the meaning of the goal.
And the missing pieces make you forget
How complete is your imperfect whole.

Though you may shatter, curse yourself
With seven years of bad luck
Pick yourself up. Ask for a little help.
Remember riches are weighed
In more than just their value as wealth.

All blessings glitter, not only silver and gold.
What is the day, without the night.
What is the warmth, without some cold.
What is the smile if not watered by a single tear.
What am I if separated from this troubled soul.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Rhyme nor Reason

photo credit: Anonymous Account Go ahead via photopin (license)

photo credit: Anonymous Account Go ahead via photopin (license)

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

Bogeyman

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.