Poetry: until we meet again

Neal Visher – until we meet again
In whirlwinds of feelings, does happiness elude
The emptiness of hopelessness; I twist, I turn, I brood
But is existence futile, with nothing there to see?
The hands of time arrested while they cut you viscerally

Do gifts appear as water dancing on deserted sands
If only we could grasp a thing and feel it in our hands
This thing remains invisible with power over thee
If no one’s there, my company gives way to misery

The hands of time have stopped you see, they form into our history
I don’t imagine anything. Not hopes, nor dreams or memories
Our lives, it seems, on balance beams and life it is a mystery

Are we in time, to disappear? The moment’s all we have, right here
There’s nothing here for you to see, so save the clamping down of fear
And while the fear is in arrears; a grating noise inside your ear

So what is it that I’ve become, over the discourse of my years?
And what of past regrets, or of the teacup full of tears?

As one becomes an empty shell inside this nutty game of hell
Well, whereto fore was purpose, now is just an empty wishing well
And though there’s pleasure in the rain, the moon, it still doth wax & wane
Illusions of a figure is: Another man, alone. Insane

Looking, seeking, living, breathing, memories of shining seething
In the Sounds Of Shattered mirror, every fragment draws you near

Is the end so far away, where nothing’s left for you to say
of self reflections from your past, your future, and of you, today

And If this causes you dismay then spread your wings and crawl away
or write a better story book, or do your best to sail away.

*Based on a free write from Nov. 8, 2016
(Purple ‘First Class’ spiral-bound notebook)
Original Free write:

The whirlwind of feelings
the emptiness of hopelessness
happiness eludes
existence is futile

my gifts show me the water on desert sands

nothing special to see here
save the clamping down of fear
the fears in arrears

I’ve become an empty shell
in this nutty game of hell
where’s my purpose, very well
but where’s my pleasure?
there, in the sounds of the shaterring mirror
while the end’s so far away
but every moment it’s nearer
and I,
can’t run away


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