Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: helpless

  • Prose: For Whom the Bell Tolls – 28/05/21

    Prose: For Whom the Bell Tolls – 28/05/21

    In the darkness, I hear a groan. A guttural cry then, of sorts, rises from the gloom. Startled, I jump, not knowing which way to reach or turn, how to, can I even assist? From the past, when will I learn?

    A being is sprawled upon the uneven ground, I only perceive their form after my eyes adjust to the darkness, now revealed as subtle monochromes. With an outstretched arm, the being drags themselves forward, one hand pulls, then the other, and I can’t tell if male or female without difficulty. All that matters is that they are in obvious distress, how can I enable their comfort? How can I make their internal pain less? With a shriek, they shudder, a prolonged fit, then, no movement for an age, as though in some form of forced coma, then eyes wide open – they’ve come to! And their expression, sheer horror, why I’m the one who now shudders.

    A supernatural state clouds their eyes, and a dreamy smile purses their lips – who possesses their spirit? It’s difficult for me to decide. But I am fearful of this figure who shrieks and wails, for they seem unnatural, not of this world, something awry has dragged their spirit or soul through a type of anguishing hell. It seems beyond me to assist, I do not know how to clear their internal pain, in vain, in vain, I feel helpless, tell myself I must walk away. They seem beyond repairing; somehow they must do it on their own, I am not strong enough. Surely for another saviour they must call, I hope for them, the bell shall not toll.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Aakash Sethi from Pexels

    Previous Post: ‘A Foretelling Sense of Importance’ – 27/05/21

    Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose Home

  • Poem: Flailing – 04/03/20

    Poem: Flailing – 04/03/20

    There have been many years of flailing,
my life lacking in solid intent,
and I wonder, where am I going,
am I even progressing?
Hoping for something to shoulder all the weight from my listless life.
 
It’s as though I am simply floating in a mass of water,
stagnant appears to be the tune,
the water dank,
murky,
like my lacking of good fortune.
 
I used to be so focused,
attentive and driven,
full of concentration,
dedication to my art,
my music,
my academia,
the processes.
 
Now, I am simply waiting to expire,
growing older by the second,
each tick a stretch from the previous,
to the finality of my last.
 
I wish for something solid to aim for,
something to hope for,
something which I can reach for,
to impress upon myself,
to enliven and enrich my soul.
 
But my dreams seem so far off
and lofty,
and unlikely to come to pass,
I can dream and dream
but surely someone who has become like me
will only finish last.
 
And the truth of the matter is
I am here breathing,
stealing away others’ rightful air
with my pathetic breaths which amount to little,
no,
nothing,
I am nothing anymore,
not what I used to be,                
burned away are my successes.
 
And my desire for excesses,
all ceremonial,
seem an apparent method of
ridiculous and ostentatious showing of invisible wealth.
 
Because,
while I like to sparkle and I love to shine,
the gems upon my fingers
and around my neck
are really the only things about me lately worth drawing the eye.
 
I realise my tone is morose,
that I am lacking in lustre within my words,
although lifeless and downtrodden feels commonplace
from someone who used to outrageously feel.  

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by StockSnap from Pixabay

    Return to All Posts

    Home