Matthew P. Haubert

Twas twelve twenty-one two thousand and ten, When your sweet soul left, not the earth but a mark. A mark of that of a rose in which never dies, Upon my desk your eyes will forever lie. Grandma you were a saint to anyone who knew. Never disrespect, nor not loved always was you. No…

Libraric Asylum Matthew P. Haubert The mood is quiet, like that of your words,So still, so silent, so splendidly absurd.No on can speak, no one can seem to hear,For feeling, For friends, For fate not here.This libraric asylum so pleasantly be feared. This colorless hue, like that of a sky,So still, So silent, So splendidly high.No pigment can show through these…

I wrote this prose poem for free publish on Amazon.com. Feel free to distribute it anywhere you like! The poem explores the colors from a rainy night in simple detail. How I see the change of rain in darkness. A Prose to a Rainy NightMatthew P. Haubert The silent night rain arrives,For some rain sooths,…

UPDATE: Sold 65 copies already!! Thank you everyone! Now on amazon.com The Suicide Chapbook is my 2nd published poetry chapbook!   The Suicide chapbook explores the mind of myself while inside the psychiatric ward in Columbus Ohio.  The writings are all poetry and journal entries written from within myself. Update: being out of the hospital has very…

Thy face has become pale,     Like that of thee white house. The paint withering away,     like the skin near thy eye a lay. Thy color no more,     than that of an fruit well decayed. The skin that was thee,     Has become unable to aid.

This snippet is from my current under writing work from being in the Psychiatric Hospital. My memoirs and poetry will be released as snippets on this website and as a book on Amazon. Stay tuned for major updates.   Sitting, Laying thy bed hath midnight, Thee screams of the Asylum come alive. The constant crying,…

Can I say my knife is that of my thought? Cutting, slicing more vividly than sweat. Rough that feels but is this not what I sought? So soothing, deep like songs perfect beat.Then a day come the beat becomes to sound, And the blade of thought seeps my body through.Agony I feel, I see, but…

a Cinquain style poem Flower Dead, Alive Struggling, Clinging, Gasping Y0u. Question style poem Why do you shove me away? Must you condemn my soul astray? Does my lust for more simply create woe? Am I not enough where you need more?

A poem about my home environment when I was just a child.   Dearest of Home My dearest of home, now you are alone, Once phantomis dreams who turned me to stone. You took in the weak to silence them all, With whispers whom weep your devilish crawl. My dearest of home, now you are…

Abandoned alone my childhood home Brought and rendered evil spirited delight My mind alone became my throne And began my minds urge to fight Pondering thoughts, waiting ruined for hours My Parents who not care that never come Then painting calming nice dreaming flowers Just always alone and must create for fun   Tomorrow will…