World Mental Health Day

I can tell you from personal experience regarding mental health that it does get easier, in time you will make it.

I think that is what Dylan was getting at, the below poem, in my opinion was not just about death, but about life as well, don’t just wither away and die.

Never give up.

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Vampire (edited version)

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

Sucking the marrow from your core and helpless soul,

Taking your life,

And consuming it whole.

No cross nor 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.

So,

Hold your bible close, say your prayers, you’re in this nightmare now,

With all my worries,

With all my cares.

Alas,

The vampire you see is not me, it is a mirage of the man,

 I used to be.

And feed I will on your burning light,

Consuming and fading,

Your inner might.

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

The night is long,

As they say.

But have faith in me,

And bring back the man,

I used to be.

Copyright © 2018 Charlie Hasler

I Rise (edited version .50)

Back to the crushing black deep,

Curtain shadow and starless black

Oil well swelled swirling black

Frost bitten dead toe black

Cruellest of cruel cursing soul black, 

Crushing bastard black, 

Rage,

Thrashing sea.

 

Pass me the blade I will end this quick,

No more sinking from this sinking ship,

Leave the noose; pay the hangman's tip,

Tie the boulders to this lead brick

I am jumping from this revolving ship,

Throw me no more lines.

 

Further into deaths cloak black I sink.

Further deep into the dead man’s drink,

Passed the unforgiving Jack Frost brink.

Heavy iron binds the chains that link,

That pulls me to floor.

 

Let me sink down further still,

To the black sacked cat sleeping drown

Seashell sounding whooshing drown

Dead patch eyed sipping sailor drown

And on milky-way grains,

Leave me to lie.

 

As I lay I look up through the black,

Tar beach sludge black

Oil glued winged bird black

Cancer lung black

Smoker’s death black, 

Smoking black sea.

 

In the dark of my pitiful demise,

I look to the heavens at broken skies,

I see a pair of marble pendulums looking down at me.

Golden rich deep brown eyes,

Stab my heart with a lightning bolt jolt.

 

Eyes that hold with cobra stare,

Break down the dark, supply the air,

They lift my heart from its coal black pit,

Gives me the strength, supplies the grit,

And so from the grain I begin,

To rise.

 

Her hair of raging black flames,

Wild burning bright illuminates blackest night,

All hell takes flight, vineyard soil of blackest sight,

Blackest black hair.

Further still,

I rise.

 

A smile that would make the ungodly pray,

Singing hallelujah, armies of trumpets play

Pearl gates open to welcome coming day

I want to reclaim my soul I say,

And so furthermore, 

I rise.

 

Passed the patch eyed sipping sailor,

Passed all the wing glued birds,

Passed Jack and his frosty brink

Passed the ships of past times sink,

And all the forgotten souls,

I rise.

 

And back to her arms I will always return

Back to her embrace her heavenly burn,

I will always find the strength through my sinking demise,

To swim up towards broken bluer skies to meet her loving arms,

And so always, 

I shall rise.

 

 

 

Copyright © 2018 Charlie Hasler.

Mind Radio (a poem from my new book)

Turn down the volume,

It makes me want to scream out loud, while standing amongst this bustling silent crowd.

 

No volume button at my discretion,

To sooth my thoughts or allow for a calmer expression.

 

A tortured look butterfly sliced across my face,

Here stands a man who once had a happier mind space.

 

Is this just me or can you hear it too? that painful laugh,

That devils shrill, that teases me like a twilight winter daffodil.

 

Let me hear your music for a while, so I may lie quiet and bare a smile,

Quiet and peace is all I long for, not this pounding in my brain nor that hammering on my minds door.

 

How I wish I could tune in like you, and whistle to the silence of my own free will.

I scramble for that invisible switch, to silence the cackle of this cackling mind Witch.

 

But you wouldn’t know, you have silence, try listening to these hell like sirens.

All clutter now, all clutter, help me stop the banging of this relentless mind shutter.

 

I look at your face but hear no words, I can’t hear you, I wish I could, then perhaps

We could talk and solve this riddle, of why my mind only plays this devils fiddle.

The Prison I Create (first poem I ever wrote)

There are no bars keeping me in, there is no door without a key in.

All the lights are on without a flicker or dim, my soul free to wander out or in.

And yet I stay frozen to one spot, unable to get past the lock that is not.

I sit and stare at my loves fading smile, trapped in the memory of when I could hold her for a while.

I curse myself and my internal latch, that I cannot get loose from this imaginary catch.

My hands are sore, my eyes are weak, my internal light ever-growing darker and bleak.

The man I once was becoming a ghost in time, locked behind this illusion of mine.

Gone of days when life was a dream to catch, why can I not get past this imaginary latch.

There are no bars, there is no steel, why does my mind command me to kneel?

I have no words, only hate, inside this prison I do create.

I scratch a marking on the wall, to remind me I must obey or face the fall.

And fall I do, further still, into this invisible pit I created by the freedom of my own free will.

The hangman’s noose so appealing,

But today is not my time, I remain for the true love of mine.

No illusionist trick, nor jailers whip, will see me lose my iron like grip.

So I will go on inside my imaginary jail,

And yes, there will be a time that I shall prevail.

 

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Dead As A Nail – (old post)

I feel I am dead, as dead as a nail,

All hammered and coffin

All bent and rust.

Buried back down deep beneath the cold

And frozen black dust.

 

And yet I still breathe, a tired man’s breath,

Albeit a sigh, a solemn draw,

While I hammer at the window

While I wrap at the door,

My mind has locked me out.

 

Or maybe I am locked in, I am not sure,

Either way I am standing here once more,

Standing on the wrong side of this bastard bolted door.

I am searching for the right key

But the bunch is far too big.

 

So as it is, back to the shadow I have returned,

Where no warm does glow, no hope does burn.

Back to the bottom of hells staircase,

Locked behind the door and staring at my once stood place,

All dead and nail inside.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Crow Scared – (old post)

Scared as a crow I fear the always open field,

Armour ready, steady shield,

Advancing,

My march is glacier slow.

 

As hard is the rock and open the place,

Iron shoes, lactic lace,

Sweating,

My back is arched like a clock stuck at two.

 

Head cracked with ball and fist,

Frustration racing, mind blitzed,

Raging,

My teeth grind the board with gritted chalk.

 

I rest my forehead against the clawed door,

Eyes shut, fingers sore,

Heavy,

I am weighed with anchored breath.

 

Tomorrow, always tomorrow,

Words hollow, tears follow,

Wailing,

My thoughts banshee the muted wall.

 

With all that is sudden the door closes, 

That man I know leaves, gliding shut on a gentle breeze,

Waiting,

Who knows when he will return.

 

Now all is quiet as silence is still,

Slowed heart, hushed shrill,

Calm,

I reclaim what pieces I can.

 

 

Copyright © 2018 Charlie Hasler.

Finding The Pace – (old post)

It is not always the winning that wins the race,

More the finding, understanding ones pace.

Lungs will burn, legs will seize, 

Ankles will twist, knuckles will freeze,

Eyes will stream and flow.

 

Not everybody’s race is there to be won,

It is there to be run, it is there to be done,

Along the winding upwards track, 

The rain in your face,

The sun at your back.

 

Even on the hardest course,

You must find your strength, your driving force.

The sun can sit a pin prick upon a dream, 

No warming glow, no guiding beam,

Rising only, to taunt and dazzle the way.

 

When you find your pace, 

With iron lungs and windswept face,

Pounding, the track will become your own.

No curb side jump, nor side wind thump,

Will knock you out of line.

 

Welcome the hills, the hardest track,

The dying sun sinking against your back.

Welcome the cutting of sleet and ice cold rain,

The weeping sores, the blinding pain.

Broken, is only to stop, to allow the fall, allow the drop.

Winning, is to simply carry on.

 

 

Copyright © 2018 Charlie Hasler.

Burden Chime – (old post)

I am anxious all of the time and fear is my burden chime.

Hands are locked, eyes are tight, a constant need to fight or flight.

I am exhausted all of the time, always listening to the burden chime.

The constant chime never stops, no pleading or begging pause these chiming clocks.

The clock always ticks, ticks, ticks, never a pause to let me unload these heavy mind bricks.

A walk outside is done as a race, the burden chime sets the pace.

I am not in control of my inner feel, these devil chimes steer my internal wheel.

Chime, tick, chime, tick, please help me with this hellish mind brick.

Please stop the chime, its making me ill, anymore and ill sink further still.

I can’t breath, the chime wont let me, please make it stop or at least reach out and get me.

Pass me a hammer, pass me a knife, cut this chime and help me reclaim my life.

I want my life back, chime no more, to hell with this anxiety matador.

I have no fight left, I have no flight in me, the burden chime is killing me swiftly.

On goes the burden chime even as I write this, toes curl, neck aches, please help me put on my mind brakes.

How can I go to work tomorrow, the burden chime allows me only sorrow.

Tired I am, counting the chime rhythm, dancing to its tune at any time given.

So as you read this now, look at your watch, gaze at your clock and be thankful you hold the key and command the lock.

You hear no chime, you are the clock and you command when it goes tick or tock.

 

 

Copyright © 2018 Charlie Hasler

Mind Radio (edited version)

Turn down the volume,

It makes me want to scream out loud, while standing among-st this silent crowd.

 

No volume button at my discretion,

To sooth my thoughts or allow for a calmer expression.

 

My tortured look sliced across my face,

Like a man who once had a happier mind space.

 

Is this just me or can you hear it too? that painful laugh,

That devils shrill, that teases me like a twilight winter daffodil.

 

Let me hear your music for a while, so I may lie quiet and bare a smile,

Quiet and peace is all I long for, not this pounding in my brain nor that hammering on my minds door.

 

How I wish I could tune in like you, and whistle to the silence of my own free will.

I scramble for that invisible switch, to silence the cackle of this cackling mind Witch.

 

But you wouldn’t know, you have silence, try listening to these hell like sirens.

All clutter now, all clutter, help me stop the banging of this relentless mind shutter.

 

I look at your face but hear no words, I can’t hear you, I wish I could, then perhaps

We could talk and solve this riddle, of why my mind only plays this devils fiddle.

 

 

Copyright © 2018 Charlie Hasler.