Lonely Whisper

Drifting we do from early bud, to all but ash and ground

Happiness is a lonely whisper,

Amongst this bustling crowd.


Snap of fingers echo’s, from a hindsight setting hand,

Dreams sit behind the cusp of yesterday’s forgotten,

More lay waiting, beyond tomorrows remembered land.

 

Moments of content are few, as flakes in the autumn snow,

All must be held with a rose clasp,

Better to whether the thorn, than wince, and regretful let them go.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

 

Early Curtain Hill

Soon now back the clocks will creek their light away,

Tired arms of two, only one will backwards sway, 

Stolen will be one hours, one hours of lightened day.

Time takes a giant step back, lowers the sun, tilts it`s blinding seasons cap.

Blinded now the sun sits always low to curse the driving eyes,

No longer sat on walls of warming weather skies.

Clocks pull down the day like a shutter door, 

Light comes crashing down on the soon to be frozen floor.

All closed now, all closed,  weeping eyes, dripping nose.

All faded now the olive and chestnut skin shine few,

Grey eyes ringed and stare the wet washing in.

Lined stretch under the sodden miss timed weight.

Wind blows the smalls across the neighbours creaking gate.

Mr Time the watch watcher of always watching and wearing way,

Sits alone in his house up on early curtain hill,

Down he now embraces the dark and turns up the winters chill.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 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 © 2017 Charlie Hasler.