Guilt – (old post)

Twisted and mangled like disregarded wrappings strewn across a bare floor, this guilt mangles and twists me into a shape, devoid of the man, I was before.

 Ash grey skin as bleak and lifeless as floating body, once walked with pinker complexion, now floats and swirls face down, lost to all, a sad reflection.

 Hindsight, its torturous memory, taunts with constant projection, of the once possible, now unobtainable choices, of a wiser, direction.

 Eyes haunted with pasts entity, possess all the answers, but none of the keys, lost in times forgotten, to open seas.

 Guilt a burden, mine`s deserved, forgiveness a virtue, or so I’ve heard.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Atonement – (old post)

I wandered a broken man, 

Devoid of soul,

How my diamonds did roll,

And slice my barren hands.

 

On white-hot sands, of changing lands

I wandered amongst ghostly dunes.

With haunted eyes and muffled cries,

I hummed a quivered tune.

 

And met was I, by an echoed cry

Of a dog I know by name,

Red eyes glared, as mine froze scared,

His eyes a ruby blaze.

 

With a matchbox fumble and a liquored tumble,

I fell to my prayer-less knees.

And there I kneeled, with no strength to yield,

No words to muster my way.

 

It was at that moment, in the search for atonement,

The injury had become my own.

And there in the rain, the beast lay slain,

Alas, my truth had run me down.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Discount Town – (old post)

Introduction: Through a bland town, across a beige chewing gum minefield pavement, through the indoor market filled with the noise of sales and desperate pitch, second-hand sounds and the bloody sweet smell of the butchers stall, I wander into a town called Discount.

 

Husbands hen-pecked

holding shopping lists miles long

plod and dare not

put a single foot wrong.

 

Texting people

miss sight of homeless

forget their pound

socially acceptable pocket fumble

stare at ground.

 

Middle ranged woman

low of moral stock

sips her coffee

under the broken

town clock.

 

God preacher in middle of square

deaf crowd, do not hear, do not care.

Carries on preaching

voice disappearing

into hire purchased

thin air.

 

In the betting shop of magician’s riches

shadows and mirrors

curses and twitches

sits an old man, rolled cigarette in one hand

necessity in the other and desperation eyes

a look of his mother.

 

Politicians promise

advertising for derelict lies

on the side of a future promised

affordable

refurbished

high-rise.

 

This was the story of Discount Town

cigarette haze

this unemployment phase

let’s all remember the better days

a complex of shopping

we are all lost

all lost

in this credit maze.

 

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.