I walk the thin fine line
that draws itself out between reason and folly
those sweet intoxicating rides that flow
out upon the mornings sun and hovers
like a mist upon my life
drenched deep at times am I
to all that I see and perceive around
the laughter, the sadness
haunts me in this now
drives within those pounding strokes
that speak so true and straight
Of what in all this life seems to be.
I watch the horror fields open
the broken visions descend
and in the tiny microscopic range of life
I hear the last drawn breath of men
weep to their mothers their final fear
That gasp between the now and never.
Images cast well to the far distant shores
of the cruelty of which we all share
that little words hinged so delicately
Can crush and disable another's world.
Ironed out metaphors of bashing, gossiping tongues
lay upon the shallow lanes, where in ditches deep
the victim's peek for fear of the shunned shoulder
the awkward eyes that characterize
Their loss to the world.
Where is this place that prophets speak
this world of messiahs that flood our dreams
I wonder at the God or Gods that would have us so live
in pages where the dreams fade and die
the surmountable odds that each must face
crack to the night and even there embrace
the decadence of a people and race
I want to dream away the pain,
run again in fresh sweet rain
before corruption set the demise of ways
The times they speak of in ancient days.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph