connections

My Poem ‘Light of your life’

Mark Hastings Poetry , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Life is a symbiosis;
we may be one person,
but we are not meant to be alone;
life can be counted in sunsets
and sunrises –
however, what truly counts
and what everybody remembers the most
throughout their life
are the times that they share
when they felt the most
comfortable and at home.

Our memories are like candlelight
flickering in the wind;
our dreams are like old photographs
that have faded over time;
our fascinations and our connections
from our childhood are like breadcrumbs
of where we have been;
our thoughts and our emotions
carry farther than the seemingly small,
but in reality near-infinite,
confines of our own mind.

However young or old you are,
sometimes life can feel like a struggle –
and the greatest cure,
and the thing that you crave the most,
when your life feels like it is a rocky road,
can be as simple and as special
as a wonderfully-long hug or a cuddle;
sometimes the pressure of living can feel too much
and it is then when all you need
is that phenomenal and incredible
loving caress and touch.

Everybody shares something with everyone else;
love is universal and amazing
and is not meant to be unrequited;
even prisoners can still hold on to hope
behind the walls and the bars
of their prison cells;
those who are meant to be
must do all that they can to remain united.

Technology soon becomes out-dated;
time goes by in a flash;
some things are random,
and some things are fated;
the days to come always have echoes
within them of experiences from the past.

Never give up hope that you will one day
fall in love with someone who loves you too,
and when you find that perfect person
you will find that they understand you,
and they will want nothing more
than to orbit around you like the moon.

The things that are meant to happen and work out
the way that they are supposed to always do;
what is truly important to you
is what you carry with you
through your entire life;
and like the one in your life
who loves you the most,
until your dying day,
everything and everyone
will always be with you
and be the light of your life.

My Poem ‘Infinite Stories’

Mark Hastings Poetry , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

There is no greater story
than a true story;
there is no greater true story
than the story of someone’s life;
there is no greater way
for an individual story
to touch another person’s heart
than to tell it true
and to see it run free;
there is no greater epic
than a death-defying survival
to stay alive.

We all have stories;
we all love stories;
we have meet each other
because we need to;
we all know someone
who has a story from their life
that is so amazing and incredible
it is almost unbelievable to believe
that it is even true.

Passengers on a plane,
passengers on a train,
strangers on a journey,
strangers on a trip,
who can truly be honest
about who they are,
because the only thing that they share
is the shortest of connections and history –
brief encounters, stories that matter,
short exchanges, instances of new changes;
new chapters, fresh banter;
a rush of endorphin’s;
marks of beauty,
like freckles on person’s skin.

Because life is constantly asking
something new of us all,
new stories are being made all the time;
because people are constantly meeting new people
life stories are constantly inter-twinning;
because the rain will always fall,
and the sun will always shine,
somewhere, everywhere,
the pen, the keys, the fingers of a storyteller
will always be writing.

New stories begin every second;
old stories continue and are shared
time after time, day after day –
as if they are once again brand new;
legends are made for us to find
that allow us to see things
in ways that we can understand;
for every story to be
there must be a me and a you.

For better, or for worse,
all of our true stories
are ours and no one else’s;
fortunately, or not,
all of our memories are ours –
our losses, our tears,
our smiles, our glories;
for the best, all of our living days
will one day be like grains of sand on a beach,
and like the countless stars of the universe,
and that is what makes them truly ours
and truly special;
for all of our collective spoken and recorded time,
everything and everybody will always be the reason,
the source, the microphone and the speaker,
not to mention the writer and the reader,
consequential and important
in sharing the world’s inspiring
infinite stories.

My Poem ‘Petrichor’

Mark Hastings Poetry , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

The air is cool;
the thunder and the lightning of last night
have taken away and abated
the feeling of fire that had been burning my skin;
the stormy weather of last night
apparently put on quite a show –
however, right at this moment,
the bright morning light
is streaming through the window;
and like every day that I venture out
into the world, I am hearing things
that I have never heard before,
and I am seeing things and people
that I have never before seen.

I slept like a still sea last night;
I never once woke up
nor was I awoken by any sound of rumbling
or by any flash of light;
when I opened my eyes from my dream,
I looked and I saw the sight
of a beautiful vision before me:
an intense light, brighter than lightning,
enlightened everything and made my world shine,
and the sound that I heard
that sounded like thunder
was my heart beating in my chest;
and as the new day began,
I knew that I could no longer linger or rest –
because what I felt next, to me,
has always been the best.

Making connections;
connecting the dots;
painting a picture of impressions;
seeing the gold within the rock;
understanding the true nature of life and the world;
finding and breathing in the clear and fresh morning air,
and inhaling that extraordinary and unmistakable smell;
feeling happy and sure;
stretching and reaching out
like a newborn chick that has only just
broken free of its shell.

People feel intensely and deeply;
everybody has instincts;
people want to feel secure, as well as free;
everybody can imagine anything
and everything in a single blink;
it has always amazed me
how much our surroundings talk to us
and what they say about us;
it has always fascinated and inspired me
how much life there is above ground,
as well on the ocean floor;
it has always excited me
every time that I have considered and thought
that I and everybody were once cosmic dust,
and that what makes me and us,
who I am and who we are,
also makes the stars what they are –
and, to me, that is enough to make
anyone’s blood rush;
it has always brought alive in me the light in things,
every time that I have taken in
the wonderful planet that I live on,
after a hot day and a stormy night,
and inhaled the air
and became instantly intoxicated
by the smell of petrichor.