The plug that kept me within breath
has been pulled, and now I ebb on the
precipice of my essence being swallowed
by a drain of unworthy moments..

I am on of a cycle of decline weaving
upon the sides of these occasions,
ever declining to be but a residue  of what was.
I'm empty and only sediment is remaining.

you can find yourself the greatest cynic
optimism a distant memory
the belief in goodness seemingly gone
consequently that goodness will not win through,
powerless you can sink into the depth of despondency
drowning in negative emotions
like the scapegoat driven into the wilderness
you begin to know what it is to be alone.

How much truth sleeps at the bottom of a bottle
So much soul lies with a drink in the hand
I downed shots of forget and apologies
I've drank cups full of women to whom I don't know names
These pockets run dry as my insides burn
And all my poems are written with a quivering hand.

My clouds are falling
and all I want to do is run
but I remain frozen, no umbrella, no coat.

I thought the skies
would show me mercy,
but I guess I don't understand their poetry.

Torrential pouring of tears,
but I stand there accepting her grief
letting it wash away my pride.

I suppose one day I will realise why.

That day, I absorbed all of the rain,
and now all I can do is cry.

The train pulled into the station
It was the beginning years
The days were not my own
Her, yanking my arm as we boarded
Me, following unsteadily down the row
Hers, the only seat available
Something to be shared
Something to be taken
The sounds of the engine and passengers
Giving me hope for more
My purpose and destination unknown

The train pulled into the station
It was the young years
The days were meant to be savored
Me, ravenous for freedom
Her, a haunting presence
Something to avoid
Something to push to the future
My seat by the window, roomy with possibilities
Giving me hope for more
My purpose and destination are mine

The train pulled into the station
It was the middle years
The days were lived for others
Me, dragging myself aboard
Her, a presence in a crowded aisle
Something to hide from
Something to question
The window frosted over, hiding the passage of time
My purpose and destination traded away

The train pulls into the station
It is the golden years
The days and story my own to reclaim
Me, climbing aboard, prepared and vigilant
Her, diminished but unforgotten
My seat fully my own
Some stories to be shared
Some spirit to be rekindled
The sunset out the window, guiding the autumn of my life
My purposes and destination lighting the open road ahead

Could I touch you for a moment
--Could I please just touch you?
"No."
But I want to feel your sorrow
"I already told you. Go."

I can't leave you here without me
I can't ever find the way
To remember that you want me gone,
But forget the pain of what you say

"You're not helping make this better
You can't sense the way I feel
'Cause right now, as much as ever
You can never see what's real"

What's real is I'll always love you
What's true is all that I've said
What you didn't seem to notice
Is that I'll love you 'til I'm dead

"Well, then love me far away"
So you still think this is right?
"Love me for the time you had me."
I have treasured every night

Let me make up every light of day
That you were not my sun
Show me all the things you loved in me
I'll recreate every one

I'm sorry for any single glance
That was not into your eyes
For that blink that made me miss the trace
Of troubles in disguise

"Oh, what's the use, you pitiful soul?
I thought you'd seen it start
Once another stole my breath away,
I took from you my heart."

Never the one with a safety net,
having to move quickly, silently,
and calculated.
In a house pulling me into
depression,
further than I could pull myself,
I refused.
Never to be trapped into
ammonia soaked walls and
defeated thinking of years
past,
a "golden child,"
I moved on.
How it hurt to hear those words,
from someone that has
never been hungry,
never realized that the hunger
never fades and that I
never had a choice.
It was get up,
get out, stay moving,
or die
forever.

There were rivers
Streaming down her face
Great deltas in which he swam
Till he reached the shorelines
Of her wounded eyes

he stayed in the rim
Just out of sight,
In the curve of black
Where the day kissed the night

She could never see him
And he could only hear her pain
Her agony in loneliness
It ached for them to be apart
But he knew it was for the best

He could never reach her
But he thought if he might
It would be in her dreams
Where the day kissed the night

I hear pounding on my head
When will it stop Bam,Klang,Boom they need to be ****** dead

I can't stand this pain
It's driving me insane

Keep poppin those pain pills
Still my head feels like it's being drilled

It's the demons trying to get in
I keep telling myself don't let them win

Run, hide, fight, or should I flight
I choose to stand up and fight

Your not coming in to rearrange me
You don't have the master key

I have more angels in my head
demons you have been misled

I was stuck in slimy goo pulling me lower and lower
I start to float up higher and higher

My angels begin to sing
And surround my brain

As the angels sing louder
The banging becomes softer

I begin to feel free again
Like a weight has been lifted

The angels begin to spin me around
The demons begin to fall off my head going straight to hell

The more I spin and hear the angels sing
I'm coming back into myself free of evil

Last night drinking
cherry cured 'shine
from Tennessee
I caught the moon
flinching behind
a tree like a white
flower afraid to be
cut from its dark stalk
whereas in the spring
when I'm sober
it grows outside my
window before daylight
when moths come
and die gently while
I lie here listening
to their silent soft wings
dreaming of bleeding
in my sleep and find
no trace of a wound
aching in the harsh red cut
of another day breaking.

The Violin’s azure strings wept softly,
from inside of a mind made cell;
musical echoes lamenting,
a poignant abyss too vast to fill
each and all silenced reverie,
leaving the philosopher’s stone
                                          unthrown

Blue guitar minor chord changes,
bent notes phrasing sharps and flats;
memories ―      gently weeping confirmation
as a repressed flow of soul
pensively leaks out

The spirit's currents eddy
suffused within written verve;
silently purging the soul's fountains ―

                                    musical rivulets swell
                                     quietly overflowing
                              an alchemist’s soul unfurled...


        © harlon rivers ... all rights reserved