I've sat here where my heart engages
upon a simple, most awakening dialog
with what seems to be a most stubborn brain;
That seems of its own accord to walk every opposite direction
round the course and falls back, with an answer that holds no bearing
No matter of fact, play or discourse, only the lost ramblings of its own.
There not much anymore, upon the world that my eyes haven't seen
that this mind, hasn't dreamed or heart felt, knew and wanted, received or lost
Just a constant rumbling of questionings, that fills and walks its seems at times
upon their own battered, self abusive manipulations, that struggle out and proclaims
Their unique attributes before my eyes... Then deem it as fact.
So sitting here, somewhat confused, as ever it seems of late,
to the old tales my heart would spring and what my mind will accept as fact
To write by part and piece of what I am inside and out, these feelings
that here tonight, seem so to rob my soul of its essence
Till like a whore, bound and gagged, I leave myself tied up
longing for the compassion within me that never comes
nor wills anything, other than the structured response
the detailed page that flings upon the nightmare of my dreams,
And wiggles its wayward tongue out at itself in a child like manner.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph