Quiet Devastation

Oppressive delusions

Begin to serenade the mind.

Backward glances– unfinished —

Blur as visions whirl with pleasure.

In a sky transfigured

Transparent and wavering

Memories of water evaporate–

Damp hands summon quiet remorse.

Alchemy mutates a life of meaning

Into splintered icons beneath the Earth.

Somewhere a telephone rings,

Whisperwood 

The forest closes like a book,
each tree a story I cannot read.
The path dissolves into moss,
soft and secretive underfoot,
while shadows stretch long fingers
to tangle my thoughts.  

The trees do not ask,
nor the rivers accuse;
they only carry me forward,
their silence a solace
as I learn to wander,
to trust the song of the unmarked trail. 

Unsettled

My reflection blinks one heartbeat late,

Caught in the death dream.

It lifts a hand-

Not mine-

Fingers dripping, spelling my name backwards

On the inside of my vision.

Leaning toward the glass that leans back hungrily,  

I try to step away; the mirror whispers:

You are the echo I invited

To keep from being alone.

Leaving the Modern World 

I am learning to sit in silence, 

To find the divine in the ordinary: 

The creak of a chair, 

tick of the clock, 

The rhythm of my own heartbeat.  

The modern world will not stop me;  

I will stop for myself.  

Carl Scharwath has appeared globally with 210+ publications selecting his writing or art. Carl has published five poetry books and four photography books. He was nominated with four The Best of the Net Awards (2022-25) and two different 2023 Pushcart Nominations for poetry and a short story.