“Hazes”by Patrick Lee Hebert

Hazes.

 

 

Hazes is by far the most important series for me. It was a literal chronicle of my life at its most tortured. I started Hazes at 20 years old and wrote the majority of the 29 poems during the ensuing 5 years. A few were added in my early thirties when life was changing. At that point the poems lean towards the past in a reflective way. They can be narrative or statement style with stories of the “Forgotten man” which is of course an alter ego of myself. Those years were very tough with the death of my mother, a horrific divorce and a major leg injury that took seven operations and a lot of pain. My music for solo piano from that time (three albums) are mostly based on these 29 poems. The names were used in the titles of the music. I called the piano solos ” Tone Poems”. Somber for sure, with overtones of hope, these poems are among my personal favorites to share with people.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HAZES 1

 

 

THE BEGINNING

 

I live in a haze

the perfect, alternate world

wild phase

dreamlike qualities.

 

I live in a haze

nostalgia can deafen

endless maze

recurrent qualities.

 

I live in a haze

there are faces staring

vacant gaze

hallowed qualities.

 

I live in a haze

reality fades

souls for trades

I’m in a cage.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HAZES 2

 

 

FALLING APART

 

 

Falling apart before me…

are the remnants of many auras…

yet seen…

or dreamed…

in violent night thoughts.

 

I reach to the star clad sky…

and begin to remember

the lost times.

In visions of grandeur…

I relent to my constructed world…

I am hurled.

 

Fooled by recurrent fate…

I am again upon the dreams wave…

forced to understand the repercussions…

but proceeding anyway…

This is the beginning of wisdom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HAZES 3

 

 

ALONE

 

 

Macabre thoughts arise during the haze

Unannounced, they beckon me to awaken…

for a moment, in the middle of the night.

The haze thickens instead of the usual dissipation…

and lasts throughout my day…

confusion.

 

I stare at the moon at night…

when no-one can see me…

I stare into the mirror later…

and can still see her luminous glow…

in my own eyes…

Remembrance.

 

People view me strangely…

thinking I am grey…

but the spectrum cannot hold me…

nor can they understand my conversations with the moon.

I am speaking of them…

and they have no idea…

 

They gaze upon her face…

not conceiving her possibilities of comfort…

and recompense…

they are all fools…

 

drowning in the tears of others…

not knowing my visions of the truth.

She tells me of their faults…

and misconceptions of reality…

She teaches me to expand my mind…

They are all fools…

and are completely blind to the haze

that surrounds them

Until their eyes and souls are opened…

I am alone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HAZES 4

 

 

THE COMING OF NIGHT

 

 

The coming of night

brings darkened endeavors

bright awakenings

are deafened momentarily

ritualistic living

drastic measures

they are only dreams.

 

The man whose face is ashen

speaks with authority that is unpronounced

his pallid cheeks quivering from the pain

of  a thousand years of hurt.

He has wisdom though…

 

Engraved on his soul,

are the intentions of countless thousands

he has chosen to carry.

Like a fool,

he continues…

when no-one…

no-one is listening.

 

In sullen loneliness

he retires to the past.

The lost years were glorious…

although no one can seem to remember them.

He relives the past nightly…

all those years of energy waste

lapse his already livid memory,

and bring weariness.

 

He sleeps,

dreaming of golden forests,

but waking alone to the breeze,

coming from a single window…

and living yet another day…

awaiting the night.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HAZES 5

 

 

RITUALS

 

 

The  moon shines upon the weary man

ebbing his soul

continuing the rituals existence

where the hell is peace in all this?

 

He can see visions on the face

of the translucent future

flooding the senses of a burnt mans ruin

living a lie…

and feeling sorry about the inability to change

where is the wind these days?

 

 

 

 

HAZES 6

 

 

THE SLEEPING MAN

 

 

The sleeping man has been entreated to awaken.

Shaking dreams from his eyes,

he relents.

He begins to recall the wisdom he has forgotten

and falls back to the hell of remembrance.

Where have all the years melted?

Why is the sky so grey?

These are the questions he is forced to confront.

He falls back asleep…

for now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HAZES 7

 

 

KNOWING

 

 

The ravings of a madman are not always insecure

sometimes life can be seen in the dreams of one.

Hazes of the familiar type are always recognized…

Things not understood

are usually the wisdom of forgotten oracles.

These I can see…

these I breathe.

I am waiting to meet the sun

in the morning,

when no one else is awake

so I can hear the chants

of tedious chains broken.

Life from the earth it seems…

is mine alone to savor.

None of you have anything to gather…

and I alone can see and hear

the whispers of ages past.

You should envy me actually…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HAZES 8

 

 

HOLLOW WORKINGS

 

 

To piece it all together

seems endless

senseless

ghosts crowd my weary mind

entwine.

 

I am called in the night

strange hours of dismal lights

dreamy, distant flights

nothing seems right

auras of change, new heights.

 

I saunter life’s path

searching for the very thing

directly in front of me

but clouded by hazes…

 

 

 

 

 

HAZES 9

 

 

TURMOIL

 

 

It seems to me

life is a farce.

I enter the throes of truth,

but don’t believe them.

Red skies…

lies…

fervent prayers…

death?

To become real,

one must give up unfathomable things.

Must continue on this destructive path,

or realize the significance…

lamentations for a man forgotten.

 

 

 

 

HAZES 10

 

 

WRETCHED

 

 

Bitter restorations

accompany the man to his grave.

In sullen voices,

he sings of the loss of blood

by his own hands.

He rots in devices…

made with his own hands.

He has no peace to speak of…

so he relents…

and keeps dreaming.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HAZES 11

 

 

THE POET’S EXILE

 

 

He lifted the heads of kings

with his mourning.

Terrified the common man

with his travail.

 

In dreams he comforted the tormented,

hoping for the same.

Relief was seen,

but never found.

 

The golden mornings of grandeur,

not seen my many,

are the power he thrives on.

Each day an eternity.

 

Dreams are rewarded to the visionary

lurking in fabricated worlds.

Understanding everything…but…

growing older every second…minute…hour…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HAZES 12

 

 

SYMBOLIC ATTRIBUTES

 

 

Symbolic attributes still linger on…

I emphasize on the ethereal…

Death is cold,

bold.

Yet I seek it.

Why?

I dream of golden mornings…

falsified reality.

 

Tell me, is the dream’s end near?

Can the ritual be surpassed?

Am I living the life I think I am?

 

The monster was fierce…

scaled, living death…

He spoke in an unknown language…

Reminding me of my own death…

Wishing it to be his own…

it wasn’t.

 

I was willing to trade my soul…

for a moment’s peace.

A moment’s peace…

too much to conjure.

 

“Was that him?

The one we sought,

delving in the fabricated ocean of falsified lies?”

 

 

I am come,

so you may leave.

I want to know where the hell the peace is in all of this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HAZES 13

 

 

INSIDE MY HEAD

 

 

The demons

in peoples’ eyes

keep eyeing me

from across the room.

 

They sneer

through their hosts

hoping I will turn away.

 

I am disturbed by this,

but not afraid

because they are trapped.

 

Yet sometimes

I look at my own eyes

by use of a mirror

and cannot see them in me.

 

Maybe because I am trying too hard.

Or maybe they don’t want me to know.

But I am sure, very sure,

other people cannot see theirs either.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HAZES 14

 

 

DEATH

 

 

No one knows death for he is

unknown…

He awoke.

The land around him was desolate

nothing stirred

the sky was cloudless

and it was night

there was no moon.

The last thing he remembered was sleeping alone in bed

thinking of the day’s end…

now this place…

whatever it was.

He could hear singing afar off.

The melancholy strain of weak voices…

but he knew…

the message was one to reckon with.

Fear.

 

Running proved futile

because there was no end to this vast place.

Winded, he contemplated the chance of dreaming

but realized, this was real.

He looked down and noticed in horror

his feet were chained to the surface.

Next his hands, and trying to move he heard the words

of the frightful music.

Fear.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Overcome by restrain and pain…

for the chains were very tight…

he felt helpless and weak

and began to cry

and sing.

 

The words flowed from his lips

as if being spoken through him:

 

 

“The chains are your past

come to you at last

cruelty of life

unending strife                                               (chanting)

sing the song

the song of those dead long

your inhibitions fed

our terribly long dread”

 

He did awake in the end

but he was not in his bed

but in a casket…

for he was truly dead.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HAZES 15

 

 

THE JEALOUSY OF THE MOON

 

 

The moon leaks down her amber glow

ruling the night she knows.

She sees the significance of the sun

and the power he has won.

 

In insane jealousy,

she changes the tides

causes women terrible pain

monthly strides.

 

Without the sun,

she cannot shine at night

because she has no light of her own.

This makes her jealous.

Besides, most people are awake in the day

to see the sun in his brilliance

while most everyone sleeps when she comes out.

She is lonely and becomes jealous.

But cunning is the moon,

chanting recompense

ruling the night.

She is unmatched in her influence.

Darkness her favor…

Jealousy her power…

Seasons befall her changes…

Petty revenge.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HAZES 16

 

 

GROWING

 

 

The haze is closing it seems.

It is not telling me the reasons…

that are behind its somber pastels.

Abandoning me to the realization of the fact:

I am not perfect…

as I might think.

I am a lonely soul…

searching for the truth…

revealed only in its passive stages of thought.

So kill me if you think you can…

or run for your life…

because my mind is expanding…

to greater levels than the gods of lore ever expected.

 

 

 

 

 

 

HAZES 17

 

 

BECOMING PLASTIC

 

 

My future seems to be dying…

before my eyes.

I struggle to hold on…

though it is difficult.

 

My dreams are becoming tainted…

with others’ auras flying about me.

They want to enter my minds train…

Make me feign…

creating a haze…

wild phase.

 

I wish to disrupt the earth’s balance…

with my eyes, this may be possible…

if I have the patience to endure the glares…

of others stares…

society seems impaired.

I am becoming plastic.

 

HAZES 18

 

 

DEATH IS NEVER FAR AWAY

 

 

Have you ever felt the breath…

the cold sensation…

the cruel and rough elation…

the touch of death?

 

Do you awake in the night…

your mind hazy with sleep…

feeling in you very deep…

terrible fright…

you think death just might…

cast his eerie light…

upon your face…

defy your race…

take your place…

leave no trace?

 

People think this is funny.

 

I have noticed that death is never far away…

he lingers day by day…

keeping his way…

youth keeping him at bay…

 

But not always…

 

Have you ever felt death…

is that cold sensation…

on your neck…

his foul breath?

 

Only God is stronger…

So be careful…

surprise him…

this can hold him longer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HAZES 19

 

 

SHADOWS

 

 

A constant garble of emotions…

shaking realizations…

the fallacy of ritualistic living…

all shadows of reality.

I love

and am loved

but ignore the signs

of dissipation

brought on by my own insanity.

I am a fool to see shadows as real things…

for only reflections are they…

I still relent to the past…

and demand sympathy.

It is not so easy to find though…

I tend to resist it…

like a sign of weakness I think…

I am a fool.

 

 

HAZES 20

 

 

THE PAST

 

 

The person who read the minds of others

has died and left me to decide

the fatalistic threats of pondering oracles.

I alone can see the difference between

Heaven and hell.

He failed to mention however…

I would be the judge of falsified myths

in their gender.

There are inconsistent pathways

I must sift through.

Leave me to die,

I don’t want this position.

Just say goodbye to the lost years you fool.

They are never coming back…

NEVER.

 

 

 

HAZES 21

 

 

REGRET

 

 

The emanation of grief…

the holocaust of life,

seems endless.

Faces are all around me…

all the time.

Images of the visions…

oracles once spoke of…

now…

they are here.

They demand recognition…

but repay the favor with sadness.

Who would have thought…

how can one die…

when his soul no longer breathes?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HAZES  22

 

 

PRISONS

 

 

The walls around me

though familiar,

seem like a prison cell.

Faces stare at me like painted statues…

disappearing when I confront them.

 

The freak started his day like always

a cup of coffee,

a few downers…

he enjoyed the contrast

so much it became a ritual.

“I was dreaming at the time”, he would say…

to himself mostly…

to others occasionally…

for the effect on their face…

which was always confusion.

They would never know…

he lamented over this because he was lonely.

 

Just four more of the pretty pills, he thought

would put me to sleep…

six more forever.

He wondered how it would feel

to never wake up on the earth…

but in a faraway place.

Yes, suicide my friends…

is a gifted thought for madmen.

How crazy is the idea?

 

Four pills have been done…

What’s next?

Suicide on paper?
Yes,

it is safer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HAZES 23

 

 

THE GLORIES OF THE PAST

 

 

The glories of the past

are no longer real.

They are falsified myths

to be remembered.

Nothing will ever be the same.

Do you realize the pain that has been wrought?

Circling the camp…

were the corpses of the many who have fallen…

dead to the real world we thrive in…

real in the dreams of common me.

Falsified myths at best.

Do they exist?

Single out the death that follows…

and run…run.

 

 

 

 

 

 

HAZES 24

 

LIES

 

 

They sky is grey today

I feel lonely today

The clouds seem to feign

The new king has begun his reign.

 

Do you realize the terrible attributes?

The careless glances

The malicious attractions…

Are all directed toward you?

 

To become alive in a sense

I gave up the traditional reasoning.

I sought a secluded place to replenish

the horrible things I crave.

 

I am not who you think I am!!!!!

 

 

 

HAZES 25

 

 

QUEEN OF THE FOREST

 

 

I have upset the Queen of the forest

Her wrath is kindled against me

She has sent messengers to relate this to me…

because of her anger.

 

The skies have blackened…

death stalks me…

but I am elusive…

and to imagine…

the Prince is my son…

but he doesn’t know of me…

thus her despising me…

I refused her to tell…

this is my option in this fabricated world.

For I am not the King…

only a lowly court composer…

who writes love songs to the Queen in her chambers…

when the King is off onto the hunt.

He looks like his mother…

thus saving my life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HAZES 26

 

 

DREAMS

 

 

I have dreamt of the woods

Being among the forest

Golden visions

I could thrive here

 

The short-lived dramas

Our fantasy worlds

Becoming each other

Not wanting to

 

I awake in the middle of the night

Feel the wind on my face

I am forced to relent

It is just too revealing

 

These thoughts come in all seasons

Nostalgia can be overwhelming

And it is amazing

I would rather live in that

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HAZES 27

 

 

DEMENTIA

 

 

 

The reality of dreams…

the coming of night…

the rain gently pounding…

that eventful night…

plight of the ages

was for me to fight.

I chose wrong.

thus my sight…

was weakened.

 

Do you realize,

dreams like that

change my opinion of  living?

Dementia…

false faces…

staring back at me…

To hate me seems wise…

it has been so  many years…

why now?

why now?

It hurts so much…

though it be unreal.

Who the hell are you to mess in my affairs…

Who the HELL?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HAZES 28

 

 

THE COMING

 

 

The apocalyptic coming of night…

Exchanging shy glances with the day…

Familiar places immersed in light…

Now foreign.

 

The cool breeze…

That gently shakes the leaves…

Through the moon shining…

Is my longing.

 

I didn’t ask for this frame of mind…

It came upon me unexpectedly…

Like a giant revelation…

To be savored…

But flavored in sadness…

SILENCE.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HAZES 29

 

THE RETURN

 

I live in a haze…

The perfect, alternate world

Wild phase

Dreamlike qualities.

 

The shadows were worlds

Worlds to thrive in

Places of haven…

Soul rest.

 

I live in a haze

Nostalgia can deafen

Endless maze

Recurrent qualities.

 

Her face was ashen

Glowing with malice

She had power

Of a vicious sort

 

The hazes were the feeding ground

They are the place I rest

The monotony of ritualistic life

Has stopped here momentarily

 

Black skies…

Lies…

Death enacted.

Spiritual wills…filled.

 

It seems to me

my soul has left my body

Infested with power

The funeral bauer.

I live in a haze…