Author name: Hayden Veil

In an earlier incarnation, Hayden Veil enjoyed a successful career in software engineering, writing late-night poetry in pursuit of sanity. On 2 February 2020, the world of Hayden Veil changed: Ghosts became real and with its soul laid bare there was no turning back from the perpetual path of poetry.

text version below


I beg to differ

this is not the end

just an ending of 

a phase that once was 

a beginning 

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I beg to differ

on my knees I plead 

make me dream

make them see 

another me

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I beg to differ

I beg to differ

I beg 

to differ 

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text version below


Will you greet me as I enter 

the gates of heaven broken 

unhinged and rusted iron 

invites fewer every turning

the wheel of time slowing

Will you greet me as I enter

death walking barely silence

flailing 

between fires of brimstone

spokes broken 

Will you greet me as I enter

come with me

in ecstasy dividing

riding free

multiplying 

Will you greet me as I enter

subservient to all whims and 

whatnot 

to make soup in a pit of 

snakes – lips touching


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text version below


Would my writing be different if I used the

perspectives of the roles I play everyday? 

Would the darkness be less dark if I write 

as a gardener among the newly planted 

lavender or as a decorator in the newly 

painted kitchen, or as a sparky wiring up 

the new garage lighting. Surely the light 

would help the darkness vanish, at least 

briefly until the fuses start blowing. 

Maybe the view of a builder would appeal, 

core drilling for a new extractor fan, or an 

adventure disassembling a shed, removing 

fascia and then the crumbling roofing felt. 

The spider nests hidden beneath the floor 

boards would scare the sh1ts out of the

under-18s. Perhaps the metaphor of the

empty canvas in the corner of the room

would work, with new brushes waiting for

wear, paint in tubes long since used

in ernest. Would my writing be different 

if I used the perspectives of the roles I 

play? Probably, and one day I might

just take a stroll down that path.


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text version below


Would my writing be different if I used the

perspectives of the roles I play everyday? 

Would the darkness be less dark if I write 

as a gardener among the newly planted 

lavender or as a decorator in the newly 

painted kitchen, or as a sparky wiring up 

the new garage lighting. Surely the light 

would help the darkness vanish, at least 

briefly until the fuses start blowing. 

Maybe the view of a builder would appeal, 

core drilling for a new extractor fan, or an 

adventure disassembling a shed, removing 

fascia and then the crumbling roofing felt. 

The spider nests hidden beneath the floor 

boards would scare the sh1ts out of the

under-18s. Perhaps the metaphor of the

empty canvas in the corner of the room

would work, with new brushes waiting for

wear, paint in tubes long since used

in ernest. Would my writing be different 

if I used the perspectives of the roles I 

play? Probably, and one day I might

just take a stroll down that path.


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text version below


I wear my shades 

to keep the darkness 

at bay

I wear them comfortably 

not a soul can ever see 

my eyes are hollow 

I wear them always

to not scare the young away

away from their merry dance 

I wear them in truth

to protect me from you

and for that I am sorry 

I wear my shades 

to keep the darkness 

at bay


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text version below


He applied a sparse modelling 

algorithm to scientifically determine 

the essence of his writing. 

All he found was void


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sitting on the outside

looking straight in

seeing a house on fire

nobody else seem

to care if they burn by

the touch of the serpents tongue

everyone’s dreaming dreams

of being free

of having fooled the wicked witch

of times to prosper in years to come 

sitting on the outside

looking straight in

I see only delusional beings and a few

about to die on their swords 

about to die from her cherry lips and

venomous kiss


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pollinosis

text version below


pollinosis

searching for love in a spam folder

    finding love lasts 30 days,

searching for love among inbreads

    finding love fades pretty well,

searching for love as means to an end

    finding love hurts to begin with,

searching for love in a haystack

    the dripping nose giveaway – an oops 


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text version below


once upon a time

long ago as men do count

he made his living in truth be known

as a fictional character in a 3D horror show

once upon a time

longer than most would count as sane

he suffered in silence and with prayer 

not wanting to reveal the truth 

he was no doubt 2D through and 

through 

once upon a time

too long for any sane man’s joy

he spent a night at a 1D concert play

leaving weary at end of nights fall

accepting facts only known to few

Dimensions matters not, folding  

space and timeless loops; really

do


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text version below


I have no fear of the dark

I fear those that hide in there

I fear that which I cannot see

I fear those that cannot feel

  although I am one of those

I fear


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