what is love
in a world that's dying
what is joy
in a world so trying
what is truth
in a world where lying
is an art form

what is faith
in a world so blind
what is hope
in a world unkind
what are dreams
in a world where mind
is unexplored

what is peace
in a world unfed
what is poetry
in a world unread
what is living
in a world who's bed
has already been made

The hollow wind funneled the voice
of the distant night-train crossings,
awakening  a  familiar  silence
hanging from the vast wilderness sky
A restless heart hearkening the echoes,
imagining  a  runaway  Pullman
flew away off the rails,    airborne
on the winged wind headed north

Winter  pausing  for a moment
in  the  shadows  of  familiarity,
as if parsing the unspoken breathings
in an  echoless  surrendered sigh;
uncertain if tacit words set free
could ever allow a heart broken
        to feel whole again

There  is  no  absolving  voice
that whispers in a solemner tone :
        Death  has  no  mercy  ―  
love remains marooned in the wake ,..
and it feels like the world’s gone mad
letting time be the arbiter of perpetuity

The fading dream of a motherless child;
a wish to be held maternally
fell to the ground with a thud,
        breaking the silence,
dissipating formless as the shape of water

Muted cold lips so full of questions
morphing into fugitive sighs
come the unsettled night;
when shadows disappear like frail memories
that  passed  too  soon  to  grasp,
thickly palpable as the warm breath
a winter bird alone on frosty branch

There’s no fear in braving the darkness
in the  winter wilderness of life borne alone
There’s no way of knowing what you’ll find
down that long empty road back home
Life just flashes by silently before your eyes
        through the windshield
    of countless miles and miles

And there’s nothing you can do about it ―
It’s like hearing the moment of truth in a lie
when all I was looking for
was  how I got here in this now,.. yesterday

only finding a hopeless poet
scribbling  slightly stained pages,
spilling  a  bitter  sweet  dream ...


        harlon rivers ... February 2018


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'You there in the back
your name escapes me
we have heard a poem from everyone else
you are the last'

the silence was thick fog rolling in
they stared and lightly giggled
nervous
I sensed that in them
afraid to show any real interest
in what I was about to say
they had read their pieces
on daffodils and daisies
sunsets and moonbeans
now they would hear what they knew was coming
I was the kid they crossed the street to avoid
that sat alone at lunch
not the geek
not the freak
just the unknown
quiet but confident
saying everything in my silence
by the time I had finished
'Hollow Man'
they knew me better
yet the distance became greater

they told mommy and daddy
the Starkman spoke in class today