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.

THE FINE LINE

The line is fine
between mad and
divine and yet there is
space for all to reside
between opposite
sides through
limits of mind
crossing the line a
second nature of mine

Short words

Today
I only want
short words
like those
in children’s books
if you can’t make me
understand
then maybe
you shouldn’t try
at all
Tomorrow
may be different
a saga I might like
or poetry in motion
a short story
your words’ delight
For days that
follow after
those mentioned
here above
I cannot say
for sure but
keep on talking
and I will
surely yield

WOULD YOU WORRY

Would you worry if I switched my phone to mute
Left you wondering how I was
If I managed and if I coped with it

Would you worry if I forgot the day of week, the week, the month, the year
Left you wondering where I was
If I struggled up the hill or not

Would you worry I left them all behind
Shut the door and turned off the light
If I carried on or not

FIRST IMPRESSION LAST

Love, oh love
so grand
the night before the morning sun.

Mayhap did mead cloud my heart
or not
yet to decide.

No coin left
my pockets all empty
must have had a helluva of a time.

Still asleep beside me
never before seen
a stranger, vaguely resembling a female from yesterday’s dream.

Not much left of her
all transformed
morphed into something new.

Sparkling blue eyes
removed
lenses floating in a cup nearby.

Curly hair
soft as silk
detached and hung beside the bed.

A bosom to die for
attached to the bra
now embracing a plant afar.

Kissing her goodbye
an option indeed
with dentures removed
I give it a miss

I need mead
I need mead to cleanse my heart
I need mead
I need it now

SNOG A TREE

I would snog a tree
if it had your lips.
I would risk a few splinters
if it had your thrust.
I would cut it down
and set it alight
just to feel your fire
next to me.
Is that love
I ask thee.

FEVER OF DEATH

forty-five degrees
fever of death
no strength
no desire
no breath
not apologizing
I bite your shoulder
excitement taking over
sorry
curls on skin
skin on skin
skin cover bones
bones hide beneath
slippery when wet
I slip
excited and breathless
apologizing wordless
your eyes
tells the story
no words are required
your tremble
your shake
your smile
I awake

THE SHADOWS OF SOLITUDE ARE REAL

Upon the path of the lesser knowing, wind chill roaming and icicles forming, the whores are out tonight.

Beyond the realm of reason, insanity rules the world, with the false and the fake and the great pretenders, prayers for guidance are heard.

The sole survivor ponders and preys upon the weak, the lame, the rotten and the stink, the shadows of solitude are real.

With a sigh, and without hope, I close the door and weep.

ONLY SUPERFICIAL WOUNDS

Walls so white 
pure white
Blood, only a little blood
not to worry - only a superficial wound

The Wanting,                    The Temptation,                                        The Laughter — died                                   The  Hatred,                The Filth,                                The Guile — smiled                                   Die - please, die
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