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.

Crow Scared

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 quiet as silence is still,

Slowed heart, hushed shrill,

Calm,

I reclaim what pieces I can.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Bastard Page

I do not seek your acceptance; I do not ask for your forgiveness nor offer my repentance, to ones I do not love.
For all the wrongs of my blinded rage,
They were mine to write across my life, its tortured page,
Albeit turned and fresh anew,
On whitest white and written with ink,
Of forgiveness blue.

I held the chickens wishbone stick and could break it with a quick turn, an idle flick, no wish to make, no prayer to drip,
From my godless black spit tongue.
I held the bird aloft, skin of pale, light and down as feathers were soft,
And fading were its dying eyes.

I was the beast in the dark, with darkest stare and silent bark,
And black was my ink-stained page.
Written in hate, bled in rage,
On carved lines I wrote my bastard page.
Words of hate filled by malice did empty and spill from my coward’s chalice,
And how the poison did flow, and course my quivering veins.

Now I write upon my tear-stained page,
Repentant I orbit my bastard page,
Through tears, I call, I cry, to clearest moon, to darkest sky.
I’ve paid my debt; I have served my time, locked in this guilt prison,
Bound by its sentence, created by mine,
My hands of blackest blue.

I am no longer the bastard on the page,
I have no more hate, no more rage,
Flick back a few to see this bastard’s page,
His imprint try to look past,
His clay be broke, his mould be cast,
And left a broken man.

With now my kind eyes are hazed in their sadness dew,
I kneel with head bowed, forgiveness be cast down,
Remove my periled shroud, my burning crown.
Of what was reaped let now be sowed,
And haunt my thoughts no more.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

 

 

 

I Care Not

I care not for your daily tales,

The sound passes through my worn ears

Like wind through tattered sails,

Like holes in a fishing net

The words pass through,

Escaping the sounds

The dull hums of you.

 

Drown me over board,

Cast me no line,

I’ll forget your words in the sands,

Of my sinking time.

I empty my lungs and sink into the black crush,

Don’t pull me back to your vomit of words

Your tedious gush.

 

I care not for your inverted commas acceptable version of events,

No smile will break my cheeks

My dead pan face

Frozen in place,

Lost in sand grain stars 

And all their endless space.

 

Suck me into a black hole,

Void of interest I feel only darkness towards your insipid matters,

You puncture my mind with your worm hole drawl,

As you grind out your mouth soil

At slowest grinding crawl.

 

I care not for your watered down yarns,

The slow turns of your materialistic wheel

Spun by your constant uninspiring spiel,

Turn the wheel to release the noose drop,

Let the trap door open

Let the teeth clattering stop.

 

Clattering with rusty tracks screech,

The constant need you have to give unwanted speech,

Your tongue flapping like a runaway train

Whistles in my tunnel ears 

My tinnitus brain.

 

 I care not for your holy sermon preached from on high

By the grace of God go forward say I,

Preach your gospel

Your enlightened views

To ones that would, and do so choose.

 

So as my dead eyes stare back at you,

Lost black ships abandoned in their milky pools,

I remain anchored by your conversation rock

Longing for time to speed its tick,

And hasten,

Its tock.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Rage

Rage

it used to make me strong

but over time

made me weaker

there was irony

all along.

Hands sweaty

back arched

ready to battle

moments charged.

The shake of the rush

courses through

strength of ten men

unleashes on you.

Guns blazing

no glory

the sad tale

of a once true story.

Punching walls

knuckles bleed

with a wide arm stance

stood a man in need.

But that time has past

Its no longer me

a mournful regret

of the man

you see.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

 

 

Scars On My Brow.

The lines on my brow are scars

they run deep

past troubles not forgotten

even in the darkest of sleep.

 

Time a great healer

not for these scars

they strengthen the walls

keep up the bars.

 

My shoulders spread wide

look of a glare

a lost soul wanders

behind the stare.

 

Its part of the armor

it keeps you all back

don’t press me more

I may lash out

I may attack.

 

But don’t pity what you read

you may have scars yourself

you choose not to believe

but what thou give us

thou shall receive.

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.