Chris Haifley

Chris Haifley Poems

I am queen of the acrylics
Master of plaster
Voyager of vintage.
I live to command pens

First it's the smell of the damp ground,
Of the woods and the brush,
And the waning light.
Fright sparks, a flame in the foliage,

'Candy, candy, ' the innocents scream
I know what it tastes like; it’s not what it seems
These sweets will draw you in and slit your throat
For this candy you’re eating is filled with dope

My Body Is A Cage
Just there to hold the true Me,
I do my best to portray it,
But nothing could compare.

Trapped in a tarnished city of gold,
The glory gone with the years,
We need to find something else to hold,
Besides the bitter sting of our own tears.

Such a need to control the lights,
In this quiet hour of anticipation,
Strong emotions called upon in a time of tranquility are the only ones that can be caught...

The first idea falls like a star,
White as paper and bright as the sun,
The images start flowing, dark as night,
But pure as our passion and love for life.


Swimming, floating, drifting,
Through and through my mind, the air,
Rising, falling, never ever stopping,
Magnified magnificent in the night.


Remember the day, when the sun shone bright,
When the rain was pure,
And you could walk in the street at night?
Remember the days when we had so much trust,


Never did I would think things would get so bad
One bad situation after the other—call me queen of WPWT
Call me under aged and hormone enraged

Here we go again, the insecurity delving deep into her throat
As the shame comes pouring out
And the tears, mental tears stream down her face
This day’s emolument paid for the Life

The absence is stinging
Waiting for the low rumble of hope
Not knowing if you’re here, where you are (Can you see me? Hear me?) , if you’re there
The nights that used to plague you are becoming a dear friend

Drag me to your hell, I won’t mind, sometimes we all need a good shock
You think it’s for the best of me, of you, of us
But I don’t want to go without you, watching you suffer is just too much
My love, life without you is hell! There is nothing that can compare to losing you

It starts with a line and ends with relief
From these hips I realize there is nothing to reap
The blood once used to numb has finally turned black

Back to my Safe Place in less than seven days
My body still aches, though the night is still a haze
Once the Devil left, back came the nice man
The Monster He commanded turned back to a van


If love made flowers grow, what would you raise for me?
A field full of Dandelions, weeds, only to be blown away with the wind?
That’s fine with me darling,
Even Dandelions were full of life at one point.

Hiding away, illuminated by a single light
An artificial, piercing light
That brings everything good, bad, and interesting into my view
But also foreshadows turmoil.

Only with distance keeping us apart,
I carried you everywhere I went.

Forced back to life, the sterile light envelops him,
Not the blue light he hoped for, nor the gray he expected,
But a light burning bright with the intensity of Life,
Brutal enough to see to the bone.

Chris Haifley Biography

I'm really nothing special. My real passion in life is art, but poetry and writing are a big part of me too. I draw abstract and am aiming to become a graphic designer. I love the raw emotion that comes from poetry and visual arts, it just makes life interesting. Anyway, I'm just trying to get out there and show the world some of my poetry and get some feedeback (on the accound that I've been writing privately for years) . And hopefully I'll gain some wonderful information about my poetry, so I can keep writing and find my way: D)

The Best Poem Of Chris Haifley

An Artist's Splendor

I am queen of the acrylics
Master of plaster
Voyager of vintage.
I live to command pens
My destiny is to design inks
Instincts demand me to draw.
My hands speak a language all their own
My fingertips are permanently stained
Emotions flow freely through my soul
My ideas fill up the void spaces of the earth.
I spend most of my time in solitude, but I’m never lonely
I produce my best work while alone
I see the world without any filters
I am skillfully and flawlessly self-taught.
My soul is black and white
My heart beats color throughout my veins
I can faultlessly merge simplicity and chaos.
People call me an idealist
A realist
An angel
A mystery
A liar
A miracle
A legacy
A freak.
My face is expressionless—for I have seen worse
Non-inventive souls make me sick
No one carries the charming burden that I must.
No one believes that I have this wonderful creativity
My peers always doubt my work
They look in disgust upon my ink-stained hands while I show them off like a trophy
For they have never created work like me, they don’t have a clue.
They do not know that you must suffer for you art,
They do not know how many nights I’ve gone without sleep just to create
Or how I’ve drawn until my fingers bled
Or how many times that damned hot ink burned me
Or how my wrists have gotten chronically injured
Or how many times I’ve gotten electrocuted
They do not know the price of creativity
And the glorious hell I must go through just to create the work that they must doubt to cover their envy
No one has strength like me.
Like us.
We are artists.

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