Richard Lawrence Harrington

Richard L Harrington



Our Home (Lacuna)


A home forged from our years
and this bad liar's face,
in the care of your love;
for your hopes in this place.

I stepped on their ashes
disregarded their graves,
and I kissed you and fled;
now I see what remains.

A river of their soot
'round this runaway's home,
where I burned down the bridge
from the ending they chose.

They drowned in their beliefs
in the filth of their fires,
and they could have been saved;
if I'd stayed for a while.

Now every light is gone
from where you shared your heart;
mere ghosts of obsession,
now forever apart.

Oh please, please forgive me!
I left your world for dead;
and faithfully they marched,
to their believer's end.

I'm nothing more than me,
without another soul;
just this bad liar's face,
and empty chairs at home.

These are the Answers


When you freeze on the rooftop,
see a billion years gone by,
these answers hold no meaning,
but you hold them 'til you die.

You are only as alone
as a child still unborn;
so desperately longed for,
while your life is yet unworn.

You'll know pain in friends' faces
who have also hurt with you;
torn open hearts, thought unloved,
will mend — and break — anew.

Faith and your heathenism
are two practical choices,
yet already you have seen
how small deeds have great voices.

You will love — oh how you'll love
— and your reasons will vary;
like excuses for living,
or breaking up unfairly.

In time you'll choose so wisely,
like an actor's leading role;
sharing stories you borrowed
as you stumbled down a hole.

Remembering to ask why
will drift from your attention;
seemingly less important,
than the last of all questions.

You will love the ones you kill.
You will kill the ones you hate.
These are the answers we've found,
and forever find too late.

Becoming Alone (Lacuna)


It is like rain.

It is the sound.

It is the taste.

As clear tonight as ever.

This memory from long ago,
before your face washed away.

Oh to feel it run down my skin,
as hands and hearts so generously touched.

It is like rain.

It is searching.

It is my loss.

To have suffered and mourned.

Where are you now my nearest friend?
Where have you hidden in the darkness?

Please pull me from this storm,
and hold me, hold me safe on solid ground.

It is like rain.

It is the roof.

It is the leak.

You're hardly anything at all.

Yet on and on I wander,
always finding you less with time.

Don't leave me with myself,
Don't leave me here, with a man I've never known.

Believing (Lacuna)


Now this machine runs cold;
every part in its place,
every squeaky wheel — silenced.

Drilling into the heart of being,
to meet you at the end,
with the whole of my fears.

I've only just begun to know you,
but I believe I know you so well.

They forbade these dirty hands
from the dirt you wanted thrown
into the ground, now your home.

I never believed in faith
but I trusted yours had meaning:
that I was too scared to see.

I've only just begun to know you,
and I trust I always did.

I'll be out past the stars soon;
where touch loses its meaning
- I was bound get there somehow.

I'll embrace the destiny of life
knowing all things are born to die
and I'm afraid to be afraid

I've only just begun to know you,
and I know I never will.

Together Lost


and his only
beside the vague fire
drying old faults
and perfect mistakes

held in delight
broken with desire
resolved to sin
by midnight recourse

how time forgets
whether we retire
dying for more
or slighter absolve

with no farewells
bearing fine attire
pleading in wrath
or destined contempt

oh how holy
without each other
knowing what was
can never again

and her only
beside the vague fire
drying old faults
and perfect mistakes

Of Meeting and of Farewell


As we wait here in wonder,
wrapped around each other,
the ship's in the dock
— our luggage all aboard.
It wasn't easy to get here,
to the end of the world.
Still not ready to go,
but how could we really know?

So we hold on with our nails,
with the pains we find.
An old captain and the cartographer;
still a wind in these sails,
and still just as blind.

Our mail comes from the kneeling,
who can't shake the feeling,
of us on the dock
— with those who won't yet sail.
We merely whisper sweet farewells,
to the rest of the world.
With no more room to need,
we're all that we'll ever be.

So we hold on with our nails,
with the pains we find.
An old captain and the cartographer;
still a wind in these sails,
and still just as blind.

Why make so little of leaving,
of those plans still weaving,
as we drift from dock
— to our life out at sea.
So nearly I could not have been;
so scarcely as the world.
To keep it all so near,
what loss could I hold so dear?

Imaginary Lamp Oil


All I ever knew was your face,
a glimpse through the crowd;
or the dances we've outgrown,
with the pain of our mistakes.

Like a scent you can't remember,
which brings a lost warmth;
as I tremble to confess,
we are not who we've recalled.

You are a memory
- no not even that.
You are what couldn't be,
a rabbit from a hat.

While I've shaded you in my fear,
you have been my light;
in an aimless heart's stumble,
I have found my own new home.

You are a memory
- no not even that.
You are what couldn't be,
a rabbit from a hat.

With Angry Lost Breaths


And we marched forth from our innocence
To heaven and to hell

We left our voices in the fire
With our lovers and our children

We burned our homes and our graves
With trembling strength and swift hands
Wanton faith and promiscuous hunger

We drowned our dreams before their births
Spread our dying father far across this Earth

We wrote this anger in our blood
While every sacred kiss betrayed him

Still she shook down our jealous skies
Every stone beckoned by her seduction

And we each marched on forever
Forever from our precious Babylon

Everything We Live


What do we keep in the blink of an eye?
Our completion, cradling hand to face.
Caress the times when hearts have failed us,
at the end of memories we've wrung dry.

Do you know how I have worshiped you?
How I've held you in everything I am.
Embrace this life as we fall gently away,
under the rain of what we will have been.

Have I been to you all you've been to me?
In the darkest, forgotten things we are.
Lose the only way over the cliff's face,
into the ocean we'll drink with all others.

Blankets for Dreaming (Lacuna)


We live with the truth that we are born to die,
yet somehow the labors of our hands persist.

It is by the obsessions formed in our hearts
that this fear is made to vanish as we toil.

We etch in our souls the music of these loves,
as we play on the phonograph what we become.

We mold the cosmos for our comfort and our children's,
and play the records louder with each generation.

We live to hide the truth we bury in passion,
that we are closest to death when we dream.

Thank you for visiting Art Leaping, the portfolio of Richard Lawrence Harrington

Contact me at:

Follow me on Facebook