I want

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Regret

I don’t want anything, except for the things everyone else has.
The moments of simple joy and quiet pause
when hope isn’t needed, or ever required.
I want the moment of life, simple and unedited
full of passion and lust, desire and greed,
when breathing is deep and sexual.
I want the seconds to last,
beyond the fraction of time I have, perhaps forever,
as I try to forget how frail my soul has become.
I want, too much, too many simple, basic things,
the kind of things that everyone else has,
that I simply know nothing of.

Tessa, a dream

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Loss, Love, Regret


Could one believe, to never reach,
Having known everything so close.
You were perfect, beyond adoration.
Yet I had to go, from restful dreams I awoke.
My soul was yours, lost figment that wasn’t real,
The moment you showed me what I couldn’t have.

Closed doors, open trails,
How could I never question leaving?
I tried to believe, to deny this world,
As my heart remembered your lesson.
You were such a wonderful teacher,
Having never known your only student.

I had gone, to a place far away,
The dreaming of a silent land,
A glimmer of desire that broke my thought.
Yet like time, you feel through my hand
So soft, so impossible to hold forever,
As I tried to demand, without reason

Do not dream like I, no do not.
For my heart was lost upon the way, so far gone.
Just rest dear one, keep your perfection,
In a moment of blissful ignorance, your innocence.
Do not hesitate to cry one heartfelt sound,
As I fall into this remembrance, the silence of my life.

The Saddest Giant

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Loss, Regret, Spiritual

There comes a moment, when trust and faith become meaningless. Little words that define nothing, as if black had no white. They share such a common theme that they are inherently held together, like a body and soul.

Yet my body lacks a soul. I swear that my breath causes my lungs to raise, only if I live. I am not unique or special in construction, only an automation of blood and flesh that is different because of the error of my creation. I do want to be different. I want to be normal.

If indeed I was created, would not my body be worthy of holding something as special as a soul? If I could breathe, would it not be to fuel the light within me, to ignite the passion of my spirit?

I would only wish that my face was not so hideous, that the people I see would know I cared for them. Someone should love me. I am not broken, or I hope that I am not. Am I not more than the monster they think me to be?

Too many questions. Too many indeed. If I could speak, perhaps I could ask Frankenstein to fix his creation.

Christopher Adams

Posted by Barry Hurd in Creative Writing, Loss, Regret

This started as a poetry piece that quickly developed into a larger creative story this afternoon. It is a character development item for a story I am working on, and some readers have said it is somewhat disturbing. In any case, rip it apart.

**************************************************

Christopher Adams

It was a quiet autumn day. Birds were singing in the distance, the trees whistled gently in the breeze, and the sun gently hid behind crimson clouds floating in the sky. The laughter of children could be heard nearby as they played on the shore of the lake skipping rocks off the calm serenity of the water, beckoning the geese to flutter from place to place. It was perfect. A calm peaceful day.

The clap of thunder sounded once without a sign of storm clouds above. Then again and again. The children’s laughter turned into frantic screaming of nightmarish intensity and I swore the balance of nature itself froze for a moment, then came crashing down in the opposite direction. The thunder came closer and closer, then stopped. The sky turned gray, the trees froze in place, and there was nothing but horrifying silence.

I stood at the water’s edge gazing out to lake and saw a lone man standing ankle deep in the water, he was wearing a fine gray business suit and holding a pistol down at his side. His body shifted as he viewed the nearby park, and my inquisitive nature was shocked to view what he was looking at. His work, the chaotic dream of urban security being shattered by a lunatic with a gun. Around him were the bodies of too many to count. They all seemed lifeless from where I was. Yet one small boy struggled with his own mortality and drew the painful attention of the man who would soon be known as Christopher Adams.

I screamed at the man from two hundred yards as he calmly walked towards the boy of only eight or nine years. I could barely hear the boy’s frantic cry for help as Christopher approached. My voice carried clear and far enough to reach the other shore, but the man who held the gun simply looked at me and smiled. I begged him to stop, I begged someone to help, but today my role could only be that of a witness.

Christopher Adams raised his arm, loaded a single round into his gun, aimed the pistol at the boy and gazed over his shoulder into my eyes. He grinned, and at that exact moment in time I looked into the eyes of someone that defied my belief. I saw what true evil was as the cry of the boy’s last moments were engulfed in the sound of deafening reality.

He turned towards me and I swore his laughter carried across the water as if the devil had found a home here on earth. He pulled one last bullet from his pocket, loaded it into his pistol, and ended his own life.

That would be the tale of a story I would never forget. It would lead to a name the news agencies would make me regret I had ever heard. Christopher Adams. That name would be remembered in the history of this city like a child’s nightmare story. It would find a home in the heart, born from a terror and fear that everyone could relate to, but a terror and fear that only I would have looked into.

As an old man I would dare remember the eyes I stared into that day and they would define the opposite in life I would fight against with all my strength. I would learn to question the world, the frailty of childlike hope, and the safety of my own thoughts would become a commodity that was more precious than anything else I would ever know.

Yet Christopher Adams would not be the name that would burn itself into my memory.

Instead of only remembering the name of a human devil I would instead choose to covet the name Brett Donnely, the name of the small boy I was helpless to save that warm autumn day. His name would inspire each day I helped another soul, his name would be the one I held in regard, and his name would give hope to the thousands of souls that I had the opportunity to touch in my life using the wisdom his life gave me.

Lucid Dreaming

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume One, Inquisitive, Regret

Nothing could simply be more forgiving than the damning feelings of quickly feeling that subtle want of loving taste.

 

Life pulsing slowly, saying soothing words that are simply nothing more than whispering memories of fading desire.

 

Dream now my love as I never say these words to your ear as I am but a silent glimmer in this wanting figment.

 

Here is my loss, of giving my wanting love to dreams I can never have while restlessly trying to believe.

 

Forgive me now as shallow words of soothing living are heartfelt pains of never knowing.

 

I am gone before your arms can touch these dreams of forgotten memories.

I, the Fool

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Dedicated Poems, Loss, Regret, Romantic

If I loved you
could you love me too
If I was a dream
would I dare to release
care to scream
at me the fool
should I stare at this thing
hoping my heart is not just a tool
do I bare myself and reveal this to you?

Angel’s Never Knowing Beautiful

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume One, Regret, Romantic, Spiritual

Thoughts so subtle she couldn’t hear

She had beauty beyond what could be said

Never knew I was thinking of wishing her near

She had beauty beyond what could be said

 

Never said never said

The reasons behind were the reasons ahead

Never said never said

Beauty so bold it could never be said

 

Smiling and laughing she had beauty so bold

Words couldn’t voice what needed to be said

Never could I dream of telling the truth to be told

Words couldn’t voice what needed to be said

 

Dreaming of embracing an angel to hold

She would never know the reason not told

Speaking a dream that was far too bold

The reasons I couldn’t speak the truth so cold

 

Words couldn’t voice what needed to be said

The reasons behind were the reasons ahead

She would never know the reason not told

Beauty so bold it could never be said

Burning Regret

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume One, Friendship, Regret

Sometimes there are so many things to question. In any type of relationship there are things to question, but I purposely try not to think about them. Sometimes there are decisions that you can look at and think how it would all change if someone felt different or had made another decision. I thought back to an old decision and thought about what feelings I had at the time.

Burning Regret

Could you remember me, did you want to

 Did your memory fade, could you see me

Could you feel my presence, did you ever hear my voice

 Did you think me gone, could you see my face

Could you believe in loving, did you believe in me

 Did you want these feelings, could you ignore this place

Could you feel so little, did you feel so much

 Did you regret this meeting, could you hate my touch

My Friend Is Gone

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume One, Defiant, Friendship, Regret

You never knew

How much I cherished you

I miss you today as if you were gone

My words never conveyed this feeling

The reasons why this friendship went wrong

I wish that you could hear this heartfelt reasoning

My silence was the pain that never should have been felt

Please forgive me for what I should have spoke to you each day

Forgive me my friend for we are gone now and this silence is all you knew

Unbreakable

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume One, Loss, Mystery, Regret, Spiritual

I hate this feeling of glass

I fear it day and night

I hold myself from pushing too far

I despise that this is my freedom

I dare not break this thing I made

I keep it to protect my life apart

I damn myself for loving others

I care for those I see

I confess my will has broken me

I hear the beating of my heart

I touch it from within

I realize I am alone

I am held within this box

I know it cannot be destroyed

I see my efforts failed

I feel the cracks which distort my view

I cry from knowing this prison

I view my world with this broken glare

I wish my sight was whole

I know it distorts who I am

I do not reflect within this mirror

I try so hard to be myself

I want my voice to be so clear

I only wish to feel the touch

I see the world I want to reach

I am always feeling this space alone

I cannot touch this world in view

I deny this world to be touched by curse

I attempt to reach and always fail

I believe this pain will never break

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