Tag / poetry

by Chris Chant

Karma Coma

Crying wolf to fate
Will arrange you a date
With the shadow of the reaper,
A soldier of lifes sleeper

No feelings or emotion
Or evidence of commotion,
When he cuts from the knees
The only moment he is pleased

When humans think of Karma
It’s a wind that brings much harmer,
An invisible eye of balance giving
To the path of righteous living

Sees all, and the virtual truth
No excuse to live or behave as youth
The cold will hit when cruel are older
As Karma taps on the foul cold shoulder.

by Chris Chant

Untitled

Choosing demons over loves,
Making deals with invisible allies
Who you believe will serve you right
Not serve up pain in longevity.

Non-belief of close ones hit their peaks
Freaking over the words,
Rebounding over and over,
Until rage blurs the lines of empathy.

Possessed and obsessed
A combination that kills millions,
And left many more stranded,
Empty handed.

There is either no end
Or a quick end,
Both a torture to the victim,
The perpetrator, and the fool,
Three acts playing out
In one mind.

How can one soul survive in this environment
And live unscathed,
Not in isolation, no, they will die alone,
This life needs help,
This life needs to be saved.

by Chris Chant

Limbo

A nights sleep and the heart pumps bigger
Now what hits is the constant trigger

My skin is so wet, and my nerves are soaked
My soul is flat, and my will is choked

I feel there is light, I feel heat in my eyes
A brighter appearance brings up a good cry

I put down the bottle, throw down the cork
Open the door and skip as I walk

The outlook is clearer, different and real
Feels like the air, has shook off its chill

A smile breaks free, wide and thin
The combined warmth, comes from within

Another same day, from beginning to end
Half wearing the mask, half full of pretend

One extreme to the other, to which I seem bound
Desperately searching, for some middle ground.

by Chris Chant

Three Ghosts

Anxiety the past,
Praying on memories of old
Turning joy toxic
Parading doubt in front of others.
Questioning becomes an obsession
With the conscious gods.
Rewriting history through imagination
And doubt.
Feelings of guilt and regret
Cloud truth and innocence.

Depression the present,
Creating Insomnia
And tireless days
Mask slips in lonesome moments
Reappearing with others,
Painting a fake smile in company
Swapping faces to suit situations.
Forever Praying for, and fearing, isolation,
A bittersweet time of clarity
And relief,
In a day of celebration
Where the crowd mood is red
The depressives is blue.

Fear is the future,
Projecting thoughts
To unknown happenings,
Maybe Death or incarceration,
No positive or warm to hold onto.
Uncertainty a devil of the mind,
Imagination the keys on which he plays
Silencing voice of reason.
Rationality plays part of advocate
Though fails to satisfy or reassure
Peace and calm.
Noone can predict what the future holds
Though my accurate twisted depiction,
Is feeling alone and cold.
Many are visited always by these three ghosts,
And Christmas occasions can prove too dour
An Understanding voice can sing like a Carol
A true gift given, in a much needed hour.

by Chris Chant

Shadow

When people say my name
I’m caught off guard
In my head I’m not approachable
Not expecting anyone to engage.

Question why they’ve open discussion
What’s their motive
Is it because I’m the last resort
Or the more interesting people have left

I’m anxious but glad at the same time
Praying I dont say anything stupid,
On egg shells so they will return,
Desperate to make good impression
The circles, emotions and thoughts that rise to the surface during conversation is immeasurable.

To the normal person its every day
To me it hits the seismic scale Of anxiety
My mind takes me through the talk
Summarising if I spoke out of turn
Or brought Shame upon myself.
Will they return for act two, or is once is enough.

Maybe one day I will listen to what they say and not heighten my feelings to my own responses,
Before the questions have been asked.

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by Chris Chant

Illusion of safety

Waiting but it’s already here
The dark space to which I crawl
Pushing to escape this prison,
The boundaries on which I draw

Smiling but I’m already dead
Internally an empty house of glass
Every step, a step too far
Painful to survive, to forever last

Thinking but the thought has stuck
An enemy of autonomy and will
I’m safe in my compulsive home
Never to breathe, never too kill

History but not the present
Happy with my compulsive lie
Only one certainty calms my soul
I will not live, I will not die.

by Chris Chant

Love in Crazy

The heart rendered like a king
Tall, stout and impressive
Evaporating all like a sponge
Past, present, resoundingly obsessive

With each new wave the strings get taunt
Feeling loose, but always holds
A break can be repaired
Or just a myth, that,s been re-told

Eye connections are real
The soul gets mystified
One Love, one other heart to feel
No more can be justified

A timeless lone night lays deep
Coupling and souling a must
Or forever be left in eternal limbo
Heart and mind turning to dust

Running parallel, so very close
A touch sickly, like a vertigo ride
Hearing and speech become an echo
In and out, rythmn of the tide

Is this truth, or is it false?
Love and anguish, my mind they share
Working through, but by default
In both worlds, I have to bare.