Morning breaks the barriers of simple days
to the reality of the moment, the fear, torment
that seems on its own accord to rise with Sun
The humbled eyes peer trough
the long hollowed course of ones life
reflective, breaking the self to the truths
Untold ones many, that creep upon the edge of thought
and runs the diagonal line straight through
Till it touches deep the heart.
If I could cry anymore, It would be an ocean
painted to the colour of my blood
Dripping till gone the life retained
that sees no tomorrow, no new day
Just the clouded fabricated structures
That draw and holds me a prisoner of this my self.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph