the lantern meant to light my way
brighten my path and send me sway
with her i thought i would travel, gain
but same same same
the admirable? extravagant pain.
Copyright © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. (artwork, poem)
Tag: betrayal
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Artwork: the lantern – 04/12/21
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Poem: Confusion – 04/11/20
There’s no confusion in the motions,
they’re deft and sure and clean,
but there’s confusion in the aftermath,
I don’t want to be seen as someone
I shouldn’t be.There’s power in the words,
the murmured tones from up above,
there’s something lingering there, you know,
and it’ll come forth one day,
when push comes to shove.The answers will press themselves
into my face,
no need to fight away from the crowd,
I won’t need to ignore their presence,
I can sense them already now.I cannot help but wonder:
am I doing the wrong thing?
Times that felt right in the moment
project a sense of followed guilty feeling.It is true that I should withhold
when something inside propels me to
sing and dance?
I wonder to myself,
I wonder:
should this time be the last?
(30/10/20)
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Emily Morter on UnsplashJoin me also at:
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Poem: A Womaniser – Spoken Word and Text – 15/06/20
Spoken by Lauren M. Hancock The dregs of my coffee are far too sweet, distasteful, what an experience, wholly bittersweet. Here I am reminded of, here I am taken back, to the years in which I fervently chased, and received nothing in return, my efforts proved an utter waste - this is sheer fact, no sense of it could I make. I won’t reveal him completely, how untoward that would be, although one thing I will say is, he pulled the wool over my eyes as I dreamed. Dreamed of a love so pure, of true affection, unconditional acceptance, reverence, devotion, I should have tried introspection. This man revealed himself as a cowardly, dastardly boy only out to take what he could control: my heart, my essence, my eyes. Those cold winter’s nights when we would share the same air in quiet spaces, breath visible in clouds, at his beauty I would stare, those balmy summer nights when I would doll myself up just for him, when modesty was amiss, of it I had no care. His mischievous nature, but, betrayal every time, ignored the next day, subsequent weeks, months, still I wanted to make him mine. How arduously I would seek him out until finally he was present again, the nights, my longing recognised, though, likely to him, my desperation, plain to see. He was like a magnetic force, but I never gained anything from him, the tired pattern of his quick disappearances, warranted deep despair within. And when I finally discovered his deception, he had a fiancé, or at most, a wife, my feelings turned, furious, seething anger, I beseeched, begging to be heard, I then vowed to destroy this former prize. But who am I to wreak havoc on another person’s life? At the time, it felt justified, so, revelations to his other, but she refused to believe or even dare recognise, my screenshots to her inbox, they held no power. My task was complete, but I apologised over and over, ironic panic at the idea of never again having him in my life, the guilt was enormous, but surely, I’d performed the right thing, she needed to know, that her man was not so upstanding, of his misdeeds she surely would not have learned of these from him. His phone number finally changed sometime thereafter, was it possible I was not his only secretive ‘other’? His philandering, perhaps upon many women he’d honed these skills, the craft, the art, of disrespect, dishonour, and uncommitted thrills. I grew more careful with my heart, who would clasp it, what I would give, while he lived, swum in adultery, and I believe he felt not one ounce of sin. © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. Image by Pexels from Pixabay Music: "The Hardest Part", Jeremy Blake
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Poem: Unreachable – 11/06/20 #Fiction
Intermittent beeps, one through three, Why can’t I reach you? It’s devastating me. Engaged signals as my frantic calls go on and on, I need you, I want you, can’t you consider what I want? I resort to messaging, walls of text, unanswered, unseen, forever to be unread? Can you forgive me for what I’ve done? Not everything is as it seems, the thread in our tight line has unravelled, will you answer me, please? My desperation grows the longer you won’t attend, anger, I’m raging, vicious thoughts run through my head. Everything you think and thought I have done is all hogwash, it’s nonsense, borne of gossip from a jealous throng, can’t you consider other possible circumstances? I thought you loved me, “eternally”, you did say, now left unreachable, my explanations ignored, bittersweet, you’ll not hear what I have to say. And the tragic facts of this debacle are that they only saw me with him, at an unplanned meeting, laughing at a silly joke of his. I may have brushed his hand briefly, a few too many times, but darling, oh, my darling know I need you, please remain forever mine. So, forgive me of my shortcomings, my thoughtless, flirtatious behaviour that day, I meant no harm, I should have smiled, and walked the other way. © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. Image by StockSnap from Pixabay
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Flash Fiction: Poison in a Land So Sweet – 01/11/19
I lay myself down in that quiet meadow that exists only within my mind. I rest back, against the soft, pillowy grass and I allow myself to keep. To become at one with the scene, the beautiful sunset, the sublimely coloured horizon; it is so glorious, and I know it’s only for me. I bask in the wonder, treating my eyes, my amazed orbs to swell and brighten as the light slowly changes, the atmosphere darkening, into the dusk of the afternoon. And I lay here waiting, for you to come soon. I lie in wait, for your presence, to keep me safe.
There is nothing to fear in this landscape, for I have created it all on my own, but I wish for you, I call for you, to visit at least, or perhaps to return here and decide to call this home. A land in which you and I can exist, with love and soft-spoken dexterity, our hands, their movements, clutching each other’s, are not at all amiss. We grasp our attentive and longing outstretched hands, linking also arm in arm. But, my love, you have not come, will you ever arrive?
My careful eyes watch for you, I know you won’t leave me alone for too long.
But in trots an arrogant fool, one who does not belong in my precious landscaped scene, nothing to compare with you, because he is too proud, he is too haughty, yet I am confused, do I pay attention to him or ignore him completely? After all, it seems far too rude to dismiss another, even though he seems rough and overly boisterous and showy. I am not in the practice of being rude, I dislike the practice and behaviour greatly. So, I make eye contact with this buffoon, who is lauding himself throughout my delicious scene, trampling on the flowery neighbourhood, and I, close to rolling my eyes, acknowledge him if but for only a few seconds. I do not want to encourage him, to have you feeling my eyes treating you as seconds.
Oh, how he prances, how he dances, before me, his masculinity screams for my attention, begs for it more and more, until I cannot help myself, I start to laugh, he’s amusing, and this encourages him some more. And then suddenly, you appear from the corner of my eye, from behind a dense bush, and your eyes scream betrayal; I cannot do anything but fumble: I wasn’t moved by him, I want to scream, I wasn’t moved at all, not a little. Yet my heart, how it now aches, at having hurt you in a manner unintended, I am filled with guilt, while the buffoon stands to attention, smiling widely, grinning with obvious pride bursting from inside. He guffaws at the problems he has advertently caused me through amusing and entertaining me with his wiles, and all the while he remains there, cocksure, boastful, pride-filled – of him I am reviled.
I reach for you, but it is too late, you tell me I have made my choice and it is time for you to dissipate. With tears forming in my eyes, you melt back into the horizon, never again to be seen, in this fantasy of mine, you are now gone. You were my only delicate and sweetened portion. I weep for you, but this buffoon has proven his method: a rapid and obvious sabotaging poison.
© 2019 Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.
Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose 
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