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.

Poetry Drafts / / By

Looking Back is Locking Forward

Browsing through a poetry book written in another language, the poet is female and long since gone. She left prematurely, her path was dark yet never forgotten. I find a note inside the book, it is dated 27 Oct 2002 and talks about my spirit guides and crystals, and how I can use them to find my way. I can vaguely recall the session on that day. I wonder if Zadkiel, Rafael, Tabris and Melchisadec are still around, if can I ask them to guide me now, to help me find my way home at last.

Poetry Drafts / / By

Once, a long time ago

I opened up; my consciousness

stretched to the ends of the universe

I was humbled and scared

simultaneously,

I have not attempted to reach

God since that time and I

probably never will

Unexpected Discoveries

Poetry Drafts / / By

I found an old room today, it was next to the master bedroom; just off the upstairs landing, in the house I currently inhabit. As I entered the room and subsequently froze, I saw bookshelves; filled with books as you would expect. Poetry in this language, poetry in the other language. Books on madness in heads once raging, cures for mood swings and other coping strategies. Fantasies of worlds only imagined, books telling how to write them and the life of the sci-fi author. There were books on motorcycle journeys, motocrossing dirty and the best roads to use when crossing the United Kingdom. On the lowest shelf I found canvas in stacks, and a box filled with tubes of paints. Quality paint and quality brushes, left unattended for as long as I can remember. I grabbed the lot, still frozen stiff, not fully grasping the seriousness of the moment. Maybe I had found a way out of the maze, maybe one day I would look back and say: I remember the day I rediscovered my ways, and left the darkness behind.

Poetry Drafts / / By

These days are not like those days / I wish I was awake in someone else’s dream / in days of sunlight / in days of clear skies / in days like those / in days without colds, without shivers, without tumblings / dancing around / handshakes and a smile / greetings to another day / another life altogether

Poetry Drafts / / By

Friday // Freeday // the week is ending // $$ spending $$ burning // and then waiting // hating // for the week to start // again

Poetry Drafts / / By

I walk / leaves between my toes tickle / I walk / a rising sun greets birds in the distance / I walk / sand on an empty beech still sleeping / I walk / breathing the air of the living / I walk / dreaming / I walk / seeing / I walk / in gratitude of still being

Poetry Drafts / / By

o>99<o

99 air balloons

no more

no less,

99 condoms

so many seeds

wasted,

99 small deaths

I gave

you,

99 grueling

years

followed

Poetry Drafts / / By

Her lipstick and

powder box, memories of

death airborne.

Their naked bodies

dancing, my drunken youth and

innocense crumbling.

Lost, looking for a star

atop a building; guiding.

Berlin, in 1987, I survived

the almighty culling

forever

Poetry Drafts / / By

You fools; believing that abuse is only an active undertaking. Your turned backs; your not responding to questions; your silence, your mental games caused more damage than any physical abuse could ever have done. Physical abuse can be avoided by keeping the distance; by running away; by sensing danger, mental abuse can only be avoided by running away and then staying away, from everyone, forever.

Poetry Drafts / / By

How do you define madness? Can madness be cured at all? Is madness just a logical extension, an illness gone on for too long? What is madness, in a world of infinite possibilities? Is madness triggered by too much choice and the power of free will?

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