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.
white, like snowdrops in March the spider’s web glistens, frozen threads woven for warm summer’s day abandoned to the song of winter, crystals swivel and swerve in a sparkly river dance finding by mere chance a place for a final rest before the new ray of day turns the virgin land of man into mush.
I follow the train of thought back to the front to find no locomotive, no locomotion, levers left beside a broken track; a cowering figure covering eyes ears, mouth; … a piercing peep high above the low clouds, I ascend through white waters rafting higher and higher on the continuing canal of promise; no backwards only frontwards the new train of thought in flight towards the newborn bird of prey calling my name, calling for me to let my wings unfold as I surf the swell of possibilities, loop-de-loop the spiralling sky towards infinity.
I showered my walls in golden rays, in streaks of golden dew; descended towards a scent roasted, toasted – a life of joy abundant.
Oh, runny honey silken money where would we be without these our gilded bees buzzing from plant to trees from houses without fees to our own jared realities.
Runny honey settled down, firm in mind and firm in flesh as pipes crack and concrete crumble; heat-less hell frozen over.
I shower my walls in golden rays, in streaks of golden dew; descend towards a scent of sewage, raw – a life sequestered and scanty; dreams of buzzing bees dwindling.
Ripples fade in still night, Pebbles thrown sink slowly. The milky eye sailing the heavens Through the Dark Angels gale Twins the one mirrored, Binds the celestial To the soil of Man.
Ripples fade in still nights, flung Into the four rivers of Time Pebbles search for home. In The Garden, The Mountain, The Tree Pebbles search for rebirth, Ablutions & Obtuse obfuscations To liberate the languid words
A house of cards in autumn storm I wait for all to fall into a hand that once was dealt in hope to preserve their fate.
A beacon shines upon a shore to welcome and to warn the weary weary wanderers finding their way ashore.
Of all the cards I cannot be the wind has left for me a single kiss upon a treehouse nailed beyond my reach.
A house of cards in autumn storm I climb on creaking ladders, I see them fall and find their place, the lighthouse gently guiding but the kiss – is out of reach.
Too long I’ve walked this earth, searching for another escape, another door opening.
Too long I’ve searched this earth, seen doors invitingly ajar yet passing for pastures of allure.
Too long I’ve seen this earth, alienating me and my mind from all other kind of beings.
Too long I’ve memorised my earthly ventures, and seeing now the setting sun recalling only the broken ones: the flashbacks of an attempted life, the horrors in others’ eyes; my hollow darkens as the stars rise to their final salute a mock tribute to a life too long lived – in avoidance
