Dan Hahn

Washington, Illinois

To grasp my philosophy I will first tell you what I don't believe in. I dare not stop and take a conservative look at a flower's beauty or babble on about a lost love- for if it was love she would be by my side. I venture out into my own fantasy, a plastic world, one of luminous pathways, meandering down a mythical hallway of a maze that leads to a gallery of blank walls. A movement away from external events and a step inside the solitude and silentness of music. With each sip of the poison it is a self-observation of your decadence and the awakening to your mastery of the mystery. Conjuring up old souls we transform repetition, discard modernity, and obtain a golden morality that heightens any religious prayer. Here we take that slow gradual step from mortality into this phantom aura where we live for actions that have no meaning. These three poems are from my book that I self-published call The Vineyard.

Conformity

I wish to avoid
Conformity
You're such a realist
Conformity
You're bond so strong
Reeling us in
Taking us away
From where we belong
Conformity
How I hate your city
With your left
And then a right
In a single file pity
Conformity
Let us disperse
To roam
To set us free
Conformity
Just let me be

Awake

Awake,
My beautiful infant of a child
Squirming thoughts
Settling
Blasting
Reaching
There is life beyond confusion
Storms do pass
Thunder lingers
But in the distant

What a glorious pasture
Veteran beasts now feast
Upon the grassy knoll
Staring at horizons
Fiery phoenix's rising

God's wizards, witches, a unicorn
All types of sorcery being reborn
Finding the lost
Losing the boss
Captain of the vessel
Forgetting to hustle
Then forgetting to the vessel
Flying the kessel
Record time
He's in his prime

Swinging From Vines

We are now grinning, swinging
from the vines, enjoying the lies,
what we say and what is true
is not really you, just fathoms
of the deep, but beliefs are
strong, so still we swing on
vines, brewing our wines,
dancing in our broken garden
beds of once blooming flowers,
now the petals have fallen,
but the buds still on stem has
gathered an audience to see
what is next to come, each season
brings a new scent that is
born from the thorn.