Zach Hanlon Nov 2017

On this sacred day,
they await a Savior:
a light for the shadows,
and warmth for the long nights.
Days and days they sit
in the very same holy spot,
praying for the change.
Winter slowly creeps in,
shaking the zealous to their core.
Faith, a fickle candle,
can't stand the gentle breeze.
The wick becomes chilled,
the flame extinguished,
and the weak begin to flee.
Those faithful to the Sun
scorn those who leave the holy site.
Even as the light dies
and the world grows cold,
here they sit patiently.
Unfortunately for them,
darkness still comes to those
loyal to the day.

Zach Hanlon Oct 2017

Dawn breaks across the sky,
with shadows dancing on the pavement.
The air, heavy and warm, remains still,
and the trees and their leaves sleep
until their inevitable wither.
The world is somber and silent,
yet whispers of the living
linger in the grass.
All seems calm, yet collapsing,
as the sun starts to fall,
and the shadows flee back
into the darkness.
My sight blurs
and life fades
into static
everything is
falling apart
yet no creature
is disturbed
all is
calm

Zach Hanlon Jun 2017

Earth below my feet and sky over my head:
I can tread this entire earth,
and visit every destination,
yet end up nowhere.

Give me all the world's riches,
gold, silver, platinum;
print me papers of power.
Still my greed will never be satisfied.

Give me an ideal form;
The body of a god
hollow without divinity.
I'll find each imperfection.

Give me control;
bend everything to my will.
My life in my hands,
and I'll still be too weak to hold it.

Even with the earth below my feet,
I'll always refuse to walk.
Truly, theres nothing more pathetic
than a blessed beggar.

Zach Hanlon Mar 2017

A prisoner on death row, sighing contendedly.
No one was ever sure of his crimes,
but his sentence was clear from the start.
His cell was always absurd,
his life always a mystery.

But now he finds peace.
He has nothing except what he knows;
and what he knows is his end.
It isn't much,
yet it's more than anyone free
has ever had.

Zach Hanlon Jan 2017

There once was
a destructive creator,
breaking his creations
beyond repair.

He burned his bridges,
erased his words,
and broke his
loathsome, creating hands.

The despairing creator,
with nothing left to create,
and nothing left to destroy,
wept.

Impulsive creator,
with your empty notebooks,
and empty canvas,

what have you now?

Zach Hanlon Jan 2017

When the sun burns out,
and the stars slowly fade,

the skies will shatter.
The earth will quake.

Our past forever gone,
our future never found.

We'll run 'til the ground gives
and we turn to ash.

The end will come,
and time will be put to rest.

All will fall
when the sun burns out.

Zach Hanlon Jan 2017

Puppet, puppet,
dance to my whim.
Squirm under string,
and bend to my will.

Puppet, puppet,
hear my call.
Listen only to my word,
and never anything more.

Puppet, puppet,
ever breaking.
Your strings will snap,
and you will fall.

Puppet, puppet,
where have you gone?
Who am I
without my marionette?

Puppeteer, puppeteer,
where did you
get your strings?
who do you dance for?

Was I ever the puppeteer?
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