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.

Elyanna

Elyanna, mistress of the pipes
Blow him a final note
Take him to the otherlands
Where true bliss and joy
Reside

Elyanna, mistress of the pipes
Take a leaf from the tree of life
Grind it and absorb the elixir of
Truth, thrice so thunders the
Revelations

Elyanna, mistress of the pipes
Hear the words unspoken
Convey His sacred untold lore
The divine bridge once forsaken
Lay in ruins

Elyanna, mistress of the pipes
Rebuild his broken bones
Heal his unshielded mind
Reunite the scattered pieces of
A moribund guardian of Gaia 

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Elyanna

Elyanna, mistress of the pipes
Blow him a final note
Take him to the otherlands
Where true bliss and joy
Reside

Elyanna, mistress of the pipes
Take a leaf from the tree of life
Grind it and absorb the elixir of
Truth, thrice so thunders the
Revelations

Elyanna, mistress of the pipes
Hear the words unspoken
Convey His sacred untold lore
The divine bridge once forsaken
Lay in ruins

Elyanna, mistress of the pipes
Rebuild his broken bones
Heal his unshielded mind
Reunite the scattered pieces of
A moribund guardian of Gaia 

Copyright © 2021 @behind-the-veil-of-sanity / Hayden Veil

I Said No

You ask me for my index finger
I offer you my further
reaching,

You ask for more and more of
same, of sameness, kindness and
the final shiver,

You ask for careful kisses to
sooth your aching days
away,

You ask for answers given
in the margin of the book
unwritten,

You ask me for a singularity
And I -- I said

No

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You ask me for my index finger
I offer you my further
reaching,

You ask for more and more of
same, of sameness, kindness and
the final shiver,

You ask for careful kisses to
sooth your aching days
away,

You ask for answers given
in the margin of the book
unwritten,

You ask me for a singularity
And I -- I said

No

Copyright © 2021 @behind-the-veil-of-sanity / Hayden Veil

As The Viper’s Bugloss Wilted

I left you without farewells
The only way I knew
The only way I could remain – sane

I left you a pink rabbit
For your circadian cravings
To save you – from yourselves

I left you with the knowing
You would only stay awash
While the voltaic charge – prevailed

I left you without a future
For your darkened moods
As the viper's bugloss wilted

Copyright © 2021 @behind-the-veil-of-sanity / Hayden Veil

As The Viper’s Bugloss Wilted

I left you without farewells
The only way I knew
The only way I could remain – sane

I left you a pink rabbit
For your circadian cravings
To save you – from yourselves

I left you with the knowing
You would only stay awash
While the voltaic charge – prevailed

I left you without a future
For your darkened moods
As the viper's bugloss wilted

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I’ll begin another nap today, a hiatus from everything written, from all creative ambitions for which I feel such disconnect at present. I might be back, or not. I leave my testament here, only time will tell if it will be my final say.

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Note to self & listeners… You know those 20+ years you wrote from the heart not really considering the reader and how the words would be perceived in the mind of the receiver… Those years matters not; or matters little in the grand plan of … everything.


After a few months of studying the art of poetry I find them pretentious and vain. Them being the reference of learning and marks.


So here I stand at the crossroads of all. How to go on, and how to to find my purpose – here?


Any ideas? Any suggestions for one lost at sea …

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Note to tumblr (if you’re listening)

I am really disappointed how you just randomly disconnect me from the blogs I follow. If I don’t see any posts from a particular writer I assume they are busy with their life, doing whatever people do in their lives, I am not assuming you HAVE DISCONNECTED ME FROM THEIR FEED :/

But I will from now on. @staff , I am not amused.

Bewilder

 I reach into the box and touch it, briefly,
 the softness of a tennis ball, over-used
 and squidgy, but covered in lumps, like a
 disease evenly spread around its surface.

 I stick my nose in and smell it, the raw
 pungent stench of a rotten corpse on its
 sixth week uncovered in the tropical
 landscape of death.

 I listen but hear nothing, no something,
 like a sigh from a tired mother's lips
 waiting for a husband’s return under
 the brightest of moons.

 I stick my tongue in and lick the lumped
 facade. The salt fuses with my tongue and
 in my veins a tingle from the hydrochloric
 acid burning.

 I extract it and dread floods my veins, fills my
 lungs, and whistles in my ears as its thoughts
 emanates, no reverberates inside my head.
 It hates me, it loathes me, it wants me -- gone.

 I can no longer hold it, it falls to the floor,
 bounces briefly on the unpolished planks
 before it slowly spins towards the darkest
 corner of the room.

 I am left standing, my bewilderment –

 gone. 
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