Fading Away

This is a poem about having the passion and will to succeed only to watch it fade away when success has failed.

No skills, no life, no goals, no soul,
bored, helpless, useless and old,
no present, no future, no motivation left still,
light shining bright has betrayed me of will.

Searching for day light once gloriously enlightened,
no crack of glimmer sparkles hope without end,
gloom looming large forever and a day,
as inside I feel love fading away.

Paul Hickey
2-27-12

Missing in Action

This poem may sound a little disturbing as it has suicidal tendencies. It is about a man who was striving for success in his life but now finds himself struggling. During the best days of his life his father was alive and supporting him with every step he took. However, his father is gone, the man is struggling, and has no place to turn. He misses his father and feels that the only way out is to die and where more soothing but to kill himself where his father died. He does not tell anyone where he is and he is gone for several days with no trace until his body is finally found in the headlands by the Bay. I know, sounds disturbing but powerful

The ocean sounds very peaceful,
the night time quite serene,
the hill side is dark and blissful,
the perfect place to end a dream.

My pistol handle feels very warm
as tears drip from my face;
The barrel is so much warmer
as I place it up to my face.

My mouth is opened wide,
My eyes pierce the blackened sky,
and as they close and roll on back,
I hear my father cry.

I hesitate a very brief moment,
to ask the question, why?
Still I pull the trigger,
to fall where he had died.

Missing in the headlands,
a thousand days gone by,
whatever happened to the very sad man
who never said goodbye.

With eyes piercing the blackened sky,
his mouth opened wide,
one day he pulled the trigger
and fell where his father died.

Paul Hickey Copyright @ 2012
2-24-12

Edward Lear

This is a verse from Edward Lear's Poem, "The Owl and the Pussy-Cat". It is this verse that inspired me to write poetry.

"O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,
     What a beautiful Pussy you are,
         You are,
         You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!

- Edward Lear

A Lonely Man's Disgust

This poem is about anger for  not being desirable to others, thoughts of killing those who have relationships, and those people who are considered the beautiful people. Death to love in general.

Crush, burn, grind, saw, destroy powder of unfriendly love,
man and woman buried face down in dust;
a lonely man's flaw raped beyond belief,
blowing  back fire from his cauldron underneath;
Endless passion for vengeance to say the least,
crush, burn, grind rubble of a lonely man's disgust.

Paul Hickey Copyright @ 2012
2-20-12

Closed Casket

This is a poem about rejection, loneliness, isolation, and despair as a result of being made to feel that he/she mean something to other people only to be blown off, left out, and ostacized for no reason but because he/she is alive. Thus the metaphor "Closed Casket" is symbolic for isolation, loneliness, despair, and gives th reader visions of death because the ostracized feels like he or she would be better off dead..even though it won't really matter.

Expendable existence gone just let me die,
bury me for my love of mankind;
Close my casket, keep it closed,
I have been executed, stabbed from behind.

Burn me for words of anger I reveal,
hate for those who perpetrate betrayal,
thoughts of blood baths and killing fields,
evil raging quietly in my eyes,
in my head, in my mind,
fatal actions which may take some by surprise.

Close my casket, keep it closed,
burn me beyond recognition, feed me to the sharks,
my ashes cannot be scattered;
Another lifeless body stiffened and reduced to dust,
dead and gone with peace, good will,
my coffin of imprison locked, it does not matter.

Paul Hickey Copyright @ 2012
2-20-12

Holding Back

This is a poem about having all the potential in the world to do whatever you want to do in life and yet something holds you back from accomplishing your goals.

Potential beyond life behind discouraged eyes of blue,
hidden beneath God's shell of protective flesh and blood,
voices of darkness taunt me to stand still.

What's a lively soul plagued by sadness going to do?
I feel, I see, I hear that I can manifest thunder with love,
Why hold back on dreams waiting to be fulfilled?

Strength electrifies my heavy heart with turning moods,
something in the way stops possibility with grudge,
my lightning attempting to shatter the still.

Days-on-end pass me by alternating brightness of sun and moon,
hope exists but waits for release from deep down under,
my caved house of shrill.

Paul Hickey Copyright @ 2012

I won't Be Feeling It For Long

This poem is about the negativity present in the soul and the guilt that is felt because of the obsessive hate that is repeatedly thought of in one's mind. For someone feeling these feelings life may be more punishing then death. As they get closer in age to their demise the words, "I won't be feeling it for long"are felt inside the tormented.

Only love in life is hate,
it warms my heart at night
and shortens my breath when I speak,
all hard work down the drain
with nothing to show but pain,
you in your glory and triumph,
as I realize I don't belong,
Don't worry, I won't be feeling it for long.

Could have been me casting victory to the sun,
what should have been has never prevailed,
pitch black darkness endlessly reigns
and I try frantically to remain sane,
as the dream I once grasped fades away into gone,
don't worry, I won't be feeling it for long.

On the surface things are not what they seem,
flooding water drowns the living inside,
all false happiness washed off my face,
destroying my false facade of grace,
what has happened to the boy
who could never get enough love from the sun?
Don't worry, I won't be feeling it for long.

Trapped in a catch-22,
not a single soul understands what I say,
everything is alright
until you find yourself in the depths of there,
then, only then, will you know how I feel,
think about what you said was wrong,
why I realize I don't belong?
Why I won't be feeling it for long?

Paul Hickey Copyright @ 2012
2-15-12

Shelter From the World

Like gazing into a mirror her own reflection projects on to you.
Is it paranoia? Is it hallucination? Is it really truth?
Nothing is really certain!
Is it depression? is it obsession? Is it psychosis unbound,
her hair draped like a curtain?

She yells for some reason at the top of her lungs,
accusing you of words that you say;
She screams for no reason, the words are not real,
her thoughts controlling every ounce of her brain;
She strives for control; she is out of control,
tormented from the horror inside;
Never ever smiles, mad at the world, evidence her insides have died.
She lives a very sheltered life; she is a sad and lonely girl
who hides within her shattered soul seeking shelter from the world.

Her heart consumed with anger dwelling lost within her shell,
beyond belief does it seem possible to find a friend at will;
I am trying! I am here! can you see me in your focus?
I see someone that I can reach
where friendship cannot deceive us.

I know the evil on the surface is not real,
her sights are only blurred;
The scariest part is to watch this girl,
her innocense abruptly disturbed;
I look at her, I see her kindness underneath all her pain,
I so much want to be her friend
but she yells and yells again;
She says she is not in a very good place,
the reasons for her scenes,
How can she possibly have a friend when she is running out of steam?
She lives a very sheltered life; she is a sad and lonely girl
who hides behind her shattered soul seeking shelter from the world.

Is it true that everyone is watching her?
Are there many eyes fixated with plans to hurt?
It seems to me this isn't true but what is it going to do?
There are those who dislike the way you dress, the way you look,
the way you eat your food;
It is such a shame those who jude don't get to know the real you.

Do as you say, say as you do, this is also true for you.
How can you even begin to judge a person you don't even know.
Maybe you would like to know them but have no clue of how?
Maybe they would like to know you,
There is something missing now.

Is it paranoia? Is it hallucination? Is it really the truth?
Nothing is really certain!
Is it depression? is it obsession? is it psychosis unbound,
her hair draped like a curtain?
She yells for some reason at the top of her lungs,
accusing you of words that you say;
She screams for no reason, the words are not real,
her thoughts controlling every ounce of her brain;
She strives for control; she is out of control,
tormented from the horror inside;
Never ever smiles, mad at the world, evidence her insides have died.
I know the evil on the surface is not real,
her sights are only blurred;
The scariest part is to watch this girl,
her innocense abruptly disturbed;
I look at her, I see her kindness underneath all her pain,
I so much want to be her friend
but she yells and yells again;
She says she is not a very good place,
the reasons for her scenes,
How can she possibly have a friend when she is running out of steam?
She chooses to live a very sheltered life, a sad and lonely girl
and hide within her shattered soul seeking shelter from the world.

Paul Hickey
2-14-12

Gone Away

This poem talks about how the pain felt in life is burdensome while being alive. However, after I am dead the pain will be gone.

Alone in this world, where am I going?
I use to smile and feel alive.
Now all I wanna do is cry.
Fire use to surge through my veins,
hot and non-extinguishable flames.
Now coldness of thought is where I choose to stay.

Covers pulled up over my head,
in darkness let me sleep;
Let me never see the satisfaction of light in shining,
just leave me to shiver in peace.
Let every friend cease to exist as numbness haunts my brain,
here we go, a familiar place, it is happening all over again.

Failing to reach my goal in life, depression quickly prevails,
as I dread the wake of morning to see the light of day.
Support from those who matter, seem to me nothing but distant lies,
and lost inside myself, I only want to die.
Been here so often I have no problem saying goodbye,
when in turn, I ascend, I shall not shed a tear
because on this day, I would have left behind this burden gone away.

Let my mind and teeth rot away, I cannot afford the healing,
left behind by foe or friend, I'm running out of time.
Destitute, short of breath, tightness in my chest,
every bone in my body stiffening with pain,
engulfed in flames just let the life in me melt away
so that this burden has gone away.

Tears forever fall slowly within a catatonic stare,
As desperately I search for ways out seeking revenge
on those who leave me behind time-and-time again;
Let the hammer fall on those who point fingers at me,
give me strength to throw it back in their face,
shall my Hell turn to Heaven because God knows I will;
I'm taking down names of those who dare betray,
I will remember, I will seek action, I will bury them until my dying day,
when in turn, I ascend leaving behind this burden gone away.

Paul Hickey
2-13-12

Fire Down Below

I had only one bottle of wine that night,
still I felt her fire;
Then she threw her drink at me,
dousing the flames of desire.

Beneath the bar my shaking leg
jittered to the wetness of water,
while below my stool, an icy pool,
made the flames seem hotter.

Appearing behind me in awe of her acts,
a lovely angelical goddess,
willing to dry off the bulge of my crotch,
I wasn't about to stop her.

She rubbed and wiped, scrubbed, and stroked
with he cloth of golden magic,
making me rise to praise the heavens,
in awe I spewed with madness.

She stopped her stroke surprised and complexed,
I begged for more of the same,
without hesitation she looked at me
proceeding without shame.

As the public looked on they called my name,
I was focused on being drained,
and when she finally took her magic away,
I invited them all to drink.

She appeared again behind the bar,
smiling with eye's content;
sincerely sorry for what she had done,
I only wish it would happen again.

Her essence felt upon my leg,
cold yet stiffening my soul,
was the reason for my fire
burning down below.

Paul Hickey
2-9-12
Copyright@ 2012

Pointed Tip and Jagged Edge

This was written one day as I observed a group of children taunting and teasing another child. It was brutal, cruel bullying which made me think of the Columbine incident in 1999 when two boys were so brutally bullied that they planned for a year to shoot up columbine high school. They succeeded leaving schools across the nation to rethink security and safety rules. They managed to kill 12 students and a teacher with guns and explosives. This is written from the perspective of medieval times when they had knights that would fight in battle. technically it is about bullying and the bullied rising up to the challenge sticking up for himself.

At once I am shielded with shafts of alloyed metal
raised above my sweaty forehead,
extended, ascended for the welcoming,
skyward for the butchering,
I am blessed with overpowering supremacy.
Impinge not, chance spoiled, I reign ultimately
with crushing mind and ponderous lengthy cast.

Speak in vain, strike to try, prepare for lowering
of my blade, fool with me and die;
stand I in lucid stillness as a quadruplet of trouble-
tolerant goons oppose a non-threatening,
nothing-to-do-with face.
I refrain listening for closer ear-fulls of discouraging words,
torrid dryness of tongued remarks, as I anticipate
death for them all; What becomes of these combating words?

                                        "What's wrong with him"?
                                          One man says.
                                       
                                        "He looks to be limp",
                                          another scorns.
I
 twist with a "ooh" pause for a second and gasp:

                                        "The Hell with you,
                                          I'm coming to do,
                                          listen to me!
                                          I'll run you through"!

Circle and glide,
four men from all sides
alter my run
from opening of sun.

Trapped with limited space,
surrounded by several faces,
the only way free
is to battle and seethe,
bring down the iron forever protecting me.

There is an adrenalin surge,
as I am scared at first,
my body touch-sensitive and weird,
trembles with fear,
them and I face-to-face, eye-to-eye
scoping the other pace-by-pace, glide-by-glide.

                                            Circle-and-glide, circle-and-glide,
                                            face-to-face, eye-to-eye;
                                            Circle-and-glide, circle-and-glide,
                                            pace-by-pace, glide-by-glide;
                                            Circle-and-glide, circle-and-glide,
                                            contemplate, watch their face;
                                            Who will deliver? Who will die?
                                            Circle-and-glide, circle-and-glide,
                                            face-to-face, eye-to-eye;
                                            Circle-and-glide, circle-and-glide,
                                            pace-by-pace, glide-by-glide.

Number one begins his plunge;
I cleverly out-fox his run
guiding him to collide with a concrete wall;
Assuming my sword,
I stab him twice through the floor;
He dies at the base of the wall.

Soon number two jumps me from behind
engraving my arm with a keenly felt grind,
brandishing symbols of an enemy weapon.
Swiftly I rotate to thrust him away,
feeling the edge of a poisonous blade.
I injure him not once, not twice, but thrice,
as he falls to the ground lifeless in a pool of blood.

Witnessing demise of his assaulting comrades,
three snuck up on me, hacking,
grazing, gashing my cleansed face.
I, conscious of the semi-prosperous touch,
recognize the sun's rays as it's fiery beams
fall upon my foe-inflicted wound.

"Ouch," I cry, the glowing light is infecting
the flesh that internally, externally harnesses
the symbolic scratch. The attempt contaminates
my once flawless skin. "Ooh, oh", I moan. "It hurts,"
"it stings,", I momentarily shout in pain. There is
no time for shame. I must regain my
energizing flare for punks that stare. I must pick
myself up, dust myself off, charge them for my laceration,
their mutilation, my destination.

Craziness loiters about my head as sounds of
voices speaking insanely between my ears. I, hearing strange
voices rupture my thinking with gentle disturbing whispers,
burst into neurotic functions as they brain-wash me;

                                "Kill Them," they say.
                                "It's your only chance for escape".

As some of them ask me to do away with the opposition,
others chastise and torch, my body breaking out in chills;

                              "All right! All right! I'll do it!
                                 I'll do it! Just leave me alone!"

I am driven up the walls passed the brinks
where I shall take lives of those who choose
to fool with my brain. Based on my actions,
I grasp my sword handle, swing dangerous steel over-head,
lodging sharpness into his chest, pointed-tip and jagged-edge.
I twist and turn until i can see agony of life's end written
all over his face. With a downward thrust I extract
his heart from his stomach and he drops to the pavement
in perpetual rest, stiff at the feet of his previously defeated mates.

Alas be still, as I and the leader of the bunch
square off for victory of life, suffering of passing;
him and I face-to-face, eye-to-eye, observe the other
pace-by-pace, glide-by glide:

                                              Circle-and-glide, circle-and-glide,
                                              face-to face, eye-to-eye;
                                              Circle-and glide, circle-and glide,
                                              contemplate, watch his face;
                                              Who will deliver? Who will die?
                                              Circle-and glide, circle and glide,
                                              face-to-face, eye-to-eye;
                                              Circle-and-glide, circle-and glide,
                                              pace-by-pace, glide-by-glide.

An itchy reflex occurs as he thrust a perry to my head.
I duck to lift him to a higher place, picking him up by his legs.
With all my might, I throw him crashing to the wall where
two other slayings have taken place before him. He rises from
the earth and runs towards me for another try, drawing blood
from a minor wound. I, possessing looks of a pride-concealer,
gloat, challenging the man to continue forth to let loose the
blood inside me. He accepts my dare. He parries forward with

earlier attempted charge. I block his run with a downward fist
jarring his weapon away from him. He is trapped like some
wild animal between "the wall where dead men fall" and the
blade that drains the life-sake from evildoers. Maintained
within a nightmare, brain, hand manifested by himself,
there is not even a smaller means of get-away. Exhilarated
over extreme potency I exert on him, I ogle the suffering,
squirming, groveling he feels from my presence.

                                      "Please don't put me to death,
                                        pointed-tip and jagged-edge," he says.
                                        I say, "OK, I shall let you live,
                                        minus pointed-tip and jagged-edge.

As he rotates his back-side away from me,
I betray my words and give him a jolt
through the kidneys, pushing, twisting,
turning until pointed-tip and jagged-edge
reaches the opening, ventral portion of the
abdomen. With his kidney dangling from
pointed-tip, I rush around to the front to
pull pointed-tip and jagged-edge out through
his wasted gut. Then I plunge my piece through
him again, pointed-tip and jagged-edge,
lodging my piece fatally into his heart. He falls
dead along with his mates at the wall where dead men fall.

                                                       Dead men fall, dead men fall,
                                                       at the wall, all-and-all;
                                                       Dead men fall, dead men fall,
                                                       all are gone, fall-by-fall;
                                                       Dead men fall, dead men fall,
                                                       wait for long, be certain their gone;
                                                       Who will profit? Who shall don?
                                                       Dead men fall, dead men fall,
                                                       at the wall, all-and-all;
                                Dead men fall, dead men fall,
                                                       all are gone, fall-by-fall.

Paul Hickey
2-6-12


                                     

Thunderless

This is poem that was written when I was laying down by my window at home looking at the sun and thinking about how my life was so good 10 years ago. Now I contemplate what the future holds as I struggle to maintain my passion for life and for the things I love in life.

Memories are meant to be, desire for those long gone,
today is not the same as then, grieve as I stand alone;
Smiles abroad everlasting faith, now pace the world in wonder,
what til this day, has faded away, stealing all my thunder?

Endless sobbing heart deprived of hope within it's cries,
not to this very day have I ever hoped to die;
Smiles abroad everlasting faith, now pace the world in wonder,
what til this day, has faded away, stealing all my thunder?

horizontally declined pelted with beaming rays upon my face,
blind from hovering clouds of fear that fill my eyes with mace;
Smiles abroad everlasting faith, now pace the world in wonder,
what til this day, has faded away, stealing all my thunder?

Anquish engulfing whirl-pools circulating within me now,
spiraling without reason leaving sweat upon my brow;
Smiles abroad everlasting faith, now pace the world in wonder,
what til this day, has faded away, stealing all my thunder?

Paul Hickey
2-3-12