Hates Self Reflection

Those vicious insults bounce right back

the burden of guilt is yours to carry

on your own bitter twisted back.

I hope those bricks are heavy

way you down

you are the cause of your own

wretched frown.

Your cold stare makes me feel warm

your coldness only makes you wither

against your own internal storm.

I wonder what you see

when the shadows come

a sad face of a mother

once proud to call you son.

The bully you are

kind you are not

awaits for you a lonely grave

in a dark solemn spot.

And when you look in the mirror

what do you see

not a kind reflection

like the one looking back at me.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

 

Her Eyes

Brown eyes of rich marble

pendulums that mesmerize my stare

and imprison my guilty heart

to a sentence free of care.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Anxiety Comes Knocking

Bang!

goes the door

sending shudders to my core

anxiety has come knocking

at my nervous mind door.

 

Bang again!

Its not getting in

a brace of the latch

a flick of the catch…….

Its no good

anxiety is still knocking at my minds door.

 

Bang………

 

Stop

 

Whats this?

 

its gone….

 

Just as my heart returns to pace

a look of horror shoots across my face

my worst fear

its all so clear

anxiety

was

already

in

here……

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Anxiety Inferno

Its starts with a subtle twitch

a spark of an itch

a gasp

a whimper

a tight eyed splinter.

 

Hands turn to liquid

palms slide of touch

the heat grows

much

to much.

 

Back dripping with a humid rain forest stick

the heat and fear

take their grip.

 

Nets cast over lung

choking fear

inferno flames

get too near.

 

Sweat retreats

from every pore

to dampen

the flames

burning sore.

 

Now inferno roar

and burns

burns

to

your

core.

 
Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

 

 

Daydreamer

Daydreamer, where have you gone?

All those days to dream, still near, not gone.

Daydreamer where have all your dreams gone?

 

When you look through life’s looking-glass, do you see a long-lost past?

A distant memory, a line on a horizon shore

or more of life’s predictable ocean

to sail ever more.

 

Was your dream too big, or courage too little?

to dare to play life’s uncommon fiddle.

A familiar tune more appealing

alas, not as revealing.

 

And when you look into the pale reflection of your valleys brow

do you see her love lost and wonder how

the day dreaming stopped

Somewhere

Somehow?

 

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

 

 

 

Troubled Mind

How I fear my troubled mind, you never do treat me kind.

How I fear my troubled mind.

 

Moonlight creeping, through pane of glass, how I pray my fear won’t last.

How I fear my troubled mind.

 

Silent taunting, mocking laughter, my troubles lasting ever after.

How I fear my troubled mind.

 

Black cloud, as black as oceans deep, rocks of sharps and serpents sleep.

How I fear my troubled mind.

 

Shadow across brow of hill, dampening light of darken sight.

How I fear my troubled mind.

 

Claps of thunder, roll of dice, remove remove my winter ice.

How I fear my troubled mind.

 

How it feels all so unkind

Be still, be calm my troubled mind

learn to love and treat me kind

my worried

worried

fragile

mind.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Road To Mend

Im on the road to mend

perhaps its just around the corner or past that unshapely bend.

Over the hill

past that snow

a little to the left

over there

just so.

Past that tree

across that lock

that`s the place where minds go to dock.

Im face-down in the dust

so lost

on this road guarded by a mind cyclopes.

One track vision is all I see

like the cyclopes and fear

together we make three.

So many mirages

where is it all from.

My feet are heavy.

But its ok.

I am sure ill eventually find my way.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Vampire

I am the vampire in your life, causing pain and supplying strife.

Sucking the core from your soul, taking your life and consuming it whole.

No cross or spike nor illumination light, will help you against my worry, my pain, my plight.

I am the vampire who takes control, contorting and reshaping your helpless soul.

Hold your bible close, say your prayers, your in this nightmare now, with all my cares.

The vampire you see is not me, it is a mirage of the man I used to be.

Feed I will on your light, consuming and fading your inner might.

But stay strong, resist my will, fight back and battle still.

The night is long but so is the day.

 Have faith in me.

Set me free.

Bring back the man, I used to be.

 

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Fears Web

What is this spiders web, running and weaving through my head

Diamond and square, circle and tear

Trapped am I upon the thread

Struggling to get free from my inner mind web

Dangle and jangle, cocooned a frown

A thread across my mortal crown

What is that in the distance

Closing in to consume my inner resistance

Eyes gleaming, like a patch of  starlight

Nothing can contain my inner worst fright

I try to get loose, cut away free

No amount of screaming is going to save me

Fast approach, nearer still

To afraid to fight, to weak to break free

I shall allow this fear to break and consume me

Now on top, pinning me down

The weight too much, I feel the drown

And so the feast commences

Breaking through my fragile mind fences

Fear is done

It scurries away

Leaving me here dangling

Empty

I

Sway.

 

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Bleeding Hands

Hands of stone, cracked and weeping, the only peace I get is when I am sleeping.

 Cold and hard, ash grey, the torture pecks and stings all day.

What have I touched, I must remember, to cleanse and clean or face the temper.

Crucifix hands lay in wait, ready for the nail to stab and penetrate.

With a smash of the hammer, and slash of the whip, I see my hands open, tear and rip.

And on the crucifix I lay, unable to move, frozen with fear against the wood, Id do it myself, id end it all if I could. To hell being attached to this pain, to this wood.

Take a knife, cut them off, Ill do it myself or hang aloft.

Put the gun to my head, and make my eyes see only red, Its not worth it, id be better off dead.

Ill offer my hands on the block, or smash my head against that idyll rock.

All day long from morning till night, my hands are the source of my wretched plight.

A constant wasp sting, dirty needle, razor blade or sand paper evil.

Paper cuts all day long, leave me waiting for that silent nights song.

Blocks of ice, that follow me round, for all my days, locked and bound.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.