Flashing Back

I feel these moments take us back
To remind us what our hearts now lack.
When we see familiar sights,
Somehow we feel the loss of light.

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Flashing back to happy days
My heart is stabbed as mind relays
What meanings were, and now, are seen
As nothing like they used to be.

Drifting clouds kissed warming rays
I watched it all within your gaze
But when I saw the sky today
All I felt was my dismay.

New meanings need to change my eyes
To force things out and say goodbye
What is it in myself that grasps
To beauty that was in the past?

I say it’s gone and done, it’s over.
But everything reminds me of her.
There is no path that I can see…
From my mind I try to flee.

Am I afraid of letting go?
Or is this merely candles glow?
Flickering on the walls within
Going out with what has been.

Time is changing all of me
Who is the me that soon will be?
I fear that I’ll no longer care
How the sun would light her hair.

Is it normal to move on?
To forget the past… Forget someone?
For who are we but broken hearts
Forever falling to the start…

Written by Randall Evans

This is The Vile Mint

He Makes Us Laugh !

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The clown’s mask drips down his cheeks, but he has no face paint on. Sitting under a lamp in the corner of a lonely street his mind wanders. The waters rise from his heart to his head, making it impossible to get up and walk home.

This man, this, ‘clown’, spends his time exchanging laughter for pain. People want him around. They lean on him, laugh with him and seek him for comfort.

Everyday he cuts off small pieces from his body and gives it to whoever’s in need. Everyday he becomes more and more… empty. He gives what he wants to receive, yet he doesn’t know how to receive what he gives.

He can’t stay above the surface of the water, because the flood is within himself.

Is there ever balance in life? Is the emotional landscape like the rolling waves? Does the happiness that crashes on the shore eventually have to flush out through the rip tide into the sea?

The man, the clown, the ocean, stands up in the lonely street. He doesn’t stand straight like a hero on a mission. He doesn’t stand defeated like a man who’s lost it all. He stands in his pain with his eyes closed.

He applies his mental face paint.

Another man walks past. Concerned he asks, “Are you alright?”

The clown looks him in the eye.

“No. I’m not alright. I have a left hand as well.”

This is The Vile Mint

Written By Randall Evans

Only Your Happiness

I wish for you the happiness,
That I will never have,
For me, my love, I’m left alone.
Cold and in the black.

The shadows cover everything,
That you once saw as me.
The shadows cover everything,
And I can barely see.

One day we’ll meet by accident,
You’ll call me an old friend.
I’ll laugh and smile and play pretend,
My life is on the mend!

Yet, I sit alone… In the still blue night,
Convincing myself… it will be all right…

Written by Randall Evans

The Honest Poet Bleeds The Most

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I can not wake,
I can not sleep.
This heart is heavy,
I am weak.

My eyes don’t see,
They only weep.
My love is gone,
And hope I seek.

What is this path you’ve given me?
Where brothers die and lovers flee?
The me inside has but one key,
And now I’m locked in misery.

I heard her pain as she cried out,
Her heart was broken in her shout.
I’ll take that with me ‘till I die.
As well as our last kiss goodbye.

I held her hand and made her mine,
Each day her eyes would light the sky.
My heart I handed in a box,
Without the thought that I’d be lost.

I’m drowning down in all my pain,
Fragmented self is barely sane.
A broken man, I am again,
Cold, alone, in the rain.

I heard your song, it broke me down.
My tears were falling to the ground.
Have mercy on this sinners heart
I need your love, I’m torn apart.

I know you put her in my sight,
To show me love and end the night.
But, now I’m here and no one knows,
Who I am, my inner woe.

Yet, I don’t care for happy days,
Just for her, to keep her safe.
I do not care if I decay,
Just be with her, that’s what I pray.

Written By Randall Evans

Depth

Empty tunnels echo pain.
Beating heart and throbbing veins.
Scattered thoughts and shattered soul,
Hatred fills the empty hole.

Where to turn in this turmoil?
Mind in tempest, face in soil.
I gave too much and feel too weak,
And uttered words I never speak.

Without the mind to stay alone,
Or the want for friends I know.
I wish for comfort from above,
But hatred lives where once was love.

When we give to much we’re left in pain,
Yet, I know deep down, I’d give again…

– By Randall Evans.

Written for the Daily Prompt: Depth

Photo Challenge: Details

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Build your tower to the sky,
Foundations solid on the mire.
Yet, nature comes without straight lines.
No boxes, squares or strickt guidelines.

Curves that dance and sway and sing,
That help us dream up anything.
But, life is square for human beings,
Build by those with sight unseeing. 

“We’ll steal from nature! Then they’ll see!
One point 6 1 8 0 3
Square the office! Square the door!
Build the prison behind square walls!”

Bombarded by shapes that should not be!
We look around but do not see,
That the beauty that is in the leaf
Is chaotic, yet it breathes relief.

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– By Randall Evans.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Details

Nightmare – The Tree

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A dead tree alone in a dessert. Burnt, it’s branches claw at the sky. Slowly, the scene tilts. The sky now below, the dessert above. The tree hangs like a gothic chandelier.

The man holds tight, but his grip is failing. White knuckled on the branches as he slides closer and closer to the sky below. Just let go!

The tree begins to bleed. The dark blood rains down on the man. He has no hope. He has nothing.

Useless!

He falls.

A soft surface. Yet, not a landing… He slides gracefully down for miles on a deep red satin dress. The satin wraps him up. It belongs to a beautiful woman. She cradles the man and hums a lullaby.

A nice lullaby.

A haunting lullaby.

A grotesque song.

Nobody wants you!

The satin melts away into an ocean. A rough sea that throws the man under the surface. The liquid fills his lungs. He can’t breathe.

Hopeless.

He falls out from tears that flow from his wife’s eyes as she stares at a tree. A tree that’s been in their yard since they first moved in. Everything is silent. Everything except the tight sound of a rope.

He stands and looks up at the lifeless body. It’s him.

His tortured soul watches his painless body being carried down by his broken wife.

His eyes open and he wakes up in a pool of sweat.

He rolls over and places a soft kiss on back of his wife’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry.”

– By Randall Evans.

Written for The Daily Post prompt – Nightmare