Evening in still haven

 

I sit there in faded obscurity

like a silhouette that blends in

with the darkened scenery.

From the table down the way,

the obnoxious screech rips the air

like nails tearing through my sanity.

Voices louder than my thoughts

and my thoughts are screaming

in agony trying to get out.

It’s not even late, but the grating sound

of drunken slurs starts to encircle me.

And I think did that used to be me

in a life lived previously?

 

I sit in my own still haven,

the bubble of protection

I cast around myself.

I throw my hearts notepad open,

and take out my soulful pen,

I pour my thoughts

onto the page, then I scramble them,

like eggs in a pan.

I season them liberally,

feelings setting the scene,

until I’m describing a dream

that will open doorways

into the caverns of my mind.

Why? Because I can,

there is no masterplan, just to explore

who I am, where I’ve been,

and what this could all mean.

 

The screech jolts me back into reality.

The small artsy bar, strangely busy,

but I’m away at sea,

letting the waves wash over me.

And for a moment I hear

gulls in the screeching

Like they are feasting

on the food that is me,

A chip wrapper left

sat on a secluded beach.

 

My thoughts lay out in front of me,

that one heart I see when my eyes close,

the state of the world as it all erodes.

The sea, the tide

crashing every morsel thought

into dust at my feet.

I think of people I’ve lost, wondering

what the decor is like there?

Wondering what music is playing?

And do they have answers

to the questions I am laying out on my page?