Online

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 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.