It rings
out upon the air
like a serenade of neither here nor there
A haunting of places woe so deep
that harbours where the Soul does keep
All hidden from its danger.
There's not many that open their doors
where the surrounding aftermath of war
fills the tranquil spaces deep within
and leaves behind its very own sin.
Such is the worn, rugged path
the birthed annoyance, the wrath
that ever holds one imprisoned to
Images, dreams, the memories of you.
Craft not the ample dream that wakes
fear there places deep its stakes
and holds the promise of yesterday now gone
Like a vanished impression totally all wrong.
I close tight the doors
Find myself buried in chores
so the mind forgets, the day rushes past
The clue forgotten, till sleep comes fast.
The riddle of the mind
that here plays where it can find
some little glimmer of what once was known
Some little shiver, the skin had shown
and here in the dark
where all fades and resides
comes fast the images one so hides
and awakening again to the whole battle of us
I toss back and forth in the words I cuss.
Alisdaire O'Caoimph