Never in such connection,
Have we all felt so alone,
Eyes fixed locked,
To our forever scrolling phone.
I remember we had friends once,
Of flesh, blood and bone,
Souls of which we connected,
Now mainly through our phone.
A letter had a smell,
A meaning on the page,
The curls of the words whispered,
Now silent, from a bygone age.
I miss the meaning of mattering,
Even if I didn’t matter at all,
I felt I had purpose,
Before this empty social drawl.
My friend he is around the corner,
But feels a million miles away,
He likes my posts sometimes,
How I hope to see him again someday.
We like the world over,
No seas or miles matter,
But we are all so alone,
Despite this social media clatter.
Maybe it is a good thing,
Who really knows?
But what about the negatives,
Do they outweigh the pros?
And yet here I sit,
The irony is not lost,
Searching for my meaning,
When all meaning feels so lost.
Copyright © 2018 Charlie Hasler.
I see the days of shorter light, Cupping the orange of blanket noon, Across the humming hills of yesterday, And the trees of the acorn dune. The crackled flame flickered a phoenix, A phoenix of blooming ruby glows, Ash bowed out the summer, As autumn winged and rose. A change is carried now on the ever cooling breeze, Life begins to wilt and wallow, Slips the clinging fingers of summer, Now falls her widowed leafs. Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.
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.
I like my poetry like I like my boxing. Nothing held back.
(Image sourced from Google, unsure of owner etc, will remove if requested)
No more searching inside the well of excuses, The well will always be full, The bucket will always be empty. Plenty, There always is, Plenty of time to waste, Until there isn't. Only hindsight, Forever hindsight, Forever waste. No risks, No trying, Only excuses, Always tomorrow. Comfortable tomorrow, Cozy as a sock, Warmed and woolen wool, Perched comfy, Fat cat comfy, Old lady winter comfy, Dying. Perched on this comfortable not so well and worried wall. Time stalks the blind, Always remembering, Ticking on. Listen close, Hear the tick and tock, Ticking and tocking, Time, Mine, Yours, Ours, Chiming the excuses away, Today. Excuses that line the hindsight wall, In regretful jars, Made forever by forever facing mirrors, Reflected Into the eternal void of, I, wish and had. Through hands and open fingers the heart and life slip back, Back to the stars, The repeating seed, The grain, The ended dust, Where the only three that matter exist; Before, Once, Never, Into the perpetual always yesterday, Now all rear views, And lumps in the throat. Copyright © 2018 Charlie Hasler