Rachel Henley Poems

An old man so cruel, An old man so lost.
An old man, a young lover soon forgot.
His back is crooked, his intentions are wicked.
His very own sorrow is self inflicted.
...

Love, we try to find it,
But love finds us.

Love, It touches everyone,
...

Tired fists bleeding,
a deep red waterfall oozing through white ancient boulders,
Hatred swims in my eyes like pollution in city skies.
I find nothing I love within you, like that,
...

Oh, the dreams we can never reach,
the tragic horror that is love,
giving us a taste of what we can never have,
a little bit longer, a sorry,
...

There are pebbles that call for you,
winds that muffle a roar of your name,
the ocean wades in your glorious image.
But I am one with you,
...

This painful absence in my chest,
supported by the constant leaking,
Soon as I board up my hut,
the hurricane of you,
...

It only takes a bottle of whiskey,
or maybe two, I lost count.
We all feel sorry for ourselves,
when we drown in oceans of regret.
...

To break away, without closure,
no finality in the ending of all that mattered.
Nothing is settled, just left behind.
Pack all that you call yours, in cardboard boxes,
...

I often wonder,
if my last ever words,
in the form of speech, of course.
Would be a plea to a god or gods,
...

we are nearing the end now darling,
I can see the line from here,
it is evident what will be,
but will it always be clear?
...