The Web Poetry Corner
The Web Poetry Corner
Albany, NY, US
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KevinHale@rr.com (Chris Hale)
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I took a walk the other day
along the place where I once played.
Remembered back to purer days.
Reminisced but couldn't stay.
Similar but not the same.
Stripped of gold and left for gray.
Cast aside and left for dead.
These images inside my head.
The white sands piled up in my mind.
Covering things I left behind.
Sandcastles from another time.
Sifting, don't know what I'll find.
Love songs void of love or sound.
Friends I lost and those who found their peace of mind before they drowned.
How about another round of whisky sour?
My darkest hour is that which passes like a flower when winter casts it's icy breath
and covers me in a warm shower
Everything's the way it seems, but something isn't right.
Seem's the relic of my dream is my only friend tonight.
Hard to say how things got this way.
It crept up behind me so slow.
And before I knew it the tide had changed.
Now I'm more alone than you could know.
Alone in a way you wouldn't guess, for I'm hardly by myself. But surrounded by loved ones and age-old friends, yes, I'm a book on a barren shelf.
My head it is whirring. A thousand tongues purring.
Am I hearing voices or screams.
That feeling inside me, again it is stirring.
I'd rather live in my dreams.
The shore is lined with townsfolk there to watch the boats come in.
As they break into the harbor riding on the southern wind.
After days at sea the men are reunited with their kin.
But one man stays with his out on the ocean.
Through howling storm, in raging torrent walls of salty spray.
Through times when one would think they'd never see another day.
He pushes off from shore and quietly leaves the sheltered bay.
To reap the fruits of the unforgiving ocean.
Nothing short of warrior, yet peaceful to the last.
His technique it is practiced but inprovisation vast.
For one must think so quickly, inattention cannot last.
When dealing with things erratic as the ocean.
Anachronism ever present in body, soul and mind.
His days are numbered but he trusts eternity is kind.
And although it's threatened this man's life so many times he finds that in the end he has nothing but the ocean.
A Kind of Void
There's a place that I'll remember 'till the ending of my days, where eternal summer and nostalgia bind.
A gentle ocean breeze wipes away the summer haze.
I've got to make it back there to find my peace of mind.
'twas a lifetime and a half ago the last time I was there. It seems I was a different person then.
But I still long to feel that salt breeze blowin' through my hair, and heal my inner child once again.
Children play in sparkling sands along that strip of shore. A distant seagull sounds her lonesome cry. That seagull has it made, yes I believe I'd trade every goddamn thing I have if I could fly.
Well today I left it all behind, got in my car and drove. All I know is I'm a headin' south.
'Cuz I hear that wind a callin' me, blowin' through the grove. My hidden memories now have a mouth.
And they're talkin' to me as I drive, remindin' me of times when i was younger and the world was mine to take.
I'm a gettin' closer, won't be too long 'till I'm there.
I vow to never make the same mistake.
Your sick game has claimed another soul.
You filled my heart with joy, then brought me to my knees.
Keep your love away from me forever.
You taste like candy, and spread like a disease.
I got drawn in when i should have ran.
I should have left before you cast your spell.
I was caught offguard, how could I have known that your sweet face hid the fiery pits of hell.
You left me now, your gone, out of my life.
It looks like freedom but it feels like death.
Do you see me? Are you proud of what you've done to me?
No part of me escaped your silent wrath.
The image of you has fled these aching eyes.
I see you only in the white sands of my mind.
You got close to me then left me by surprise.
I'm better off. My heart's been left behind.
Beautiful starlet, miraculous thing, born of June skies and late summer dreams, gentle and sweet as the first dew of spring. The smell of warm hay and raspberry cream.
Treading effortlessly over soft ground, slip out of sight and into the trees, lifted to flight on the wings of the breeze, love at first sight while I shuddered and drowned.
What can I say but to state the unknown? Tied up and tangled my thoughts shall they be. Iíll show you ecstasy when weíre alone, if only my words would cease to betray me.
Your grace knows no limits, your thoughts are sublime. A smile from your lips turns darkness to light. I could die happy tomorrow if today works out right. Iíll give you the world if you give me some time.
Freedom to Fade
A boy who loves all that is righteous and honest,
A girl whose innocence was taken too young.
A bleeding heart echoing tormented sonnets
for the woman whose soul is already gone.
A man has been left with a burden to carry.
A woman whose scars show the weight of her own.
Both of them doomed to be spiteful and wary.
An undying hatred and a chest full of stone.
To formulate answers you need to have reasons.
And the truth is not made up of answers alone.
A change of heart sometimes ignores changing seasons,
as the old one needs time to relinquish the throne.
The world is a playground for tyrants and liars.
The game is called life, the winners are fined.
To sell good intentions you need to have buyers.
To buy what is sold you have got to be blind.
Summer's end, a peircing wind against thin skin. Let me in or tear me limb from limb. The difference is small.
Emotions stalled, frozen, framed. No one to blame. Glad you called.
No tell me why. I've been standing in line for some time. Love may be blind but so am I, deaf and dumb for letting this slide. Give it straight, play by play. The truth is fine but if it doesn't rhyme tell me a happy lie.
I live in pictures. Day by day the memories wither and die away. Lying in a pool of shame and remembering your face, the silence as you boarded the train. What did I say? "I'll be waiting?" I meant "I'll be lame."
Decay. A festering wound to start the day off right. What a delight to amuse yourself with my pain, a crimson stain against my putrid blight. A hell of a thing to see, so step right up and catch a glimpse of Hell for free.
There are some who will tell you that life is not long, and to live for tomorrow's to live in a cage.
And they speak out of turn because they're never wrong.
When the fire starts to burn out they churn and they rage.
But then there are those who are much more like us, and somewhere along the line lost faith in fate.
Emotions are shackled, memories collect dust.
And even though they are still young it's too late.
It's a pitiful thing when luck takes a turn, and leaves old acquaintances gasping for breath.
For there's nothing in life that hurts more than the burn that comes after the flame that wrongly met its death.
What I now fear's that they don't know the scale of what they left to die, that they don't comprehend
the profoundness of taking that fork in the trail, for each new beginning comes after an end.
And then who's to say just exactly what's gone, for the pain does not come until after the fall.
And the wound does not sting until steel is withdrawn.
And to kill all the good times takes no time at all.
The Hudson River will go on flowing,
the Mohawk River too.
What was before after will stay the same.
Except for me, for my soul purpose failed for me to do, I'm
Stuck between the sunshine and the rain.
Days of golden sunlight fall away. Eternal dungeon shaded.
Memories bleached and faded from overuse. Misuse.
At a point the abuse will affect a toll.
What's left is time to stand erect or to simply fold. The latter I suspect to be less of a chore.
The allure of what once was. In my head.
Eclipsed by life's continual revelations.
(things I despise more than life itself)
Is now dead.
Our connections I now can see were just a game.
I should have known before now, I just wasn't aware we were playing. Yet.
You never gave me time to place a bet.
And maybe I thought trust had once been there.
In a place that is now erased, defaced and bare.
By now I'm used to the illusion
that my conscience has made
that my life doesn't fade
but goes on instead like the edge of a blade
and melts away by halves into nothing
to join the eternal parade.
By now it's no more than illusion.
And I don't have to fake
the feelings that rise up inside me
only an instant before me.
Before I can curl up quivering, and shake.
By now my whole life is illusion
and I run on blind
and can't turn around, to see what's behind
and where I came from
and what I found.
And if I could I still couldn't see back to the beginning,
for all of the turns I've made.
And gone around.