Poetry

Dincara's Lair

Welcome to Dincaras Lair,

If you have browsed throughout our site, you would have no doubt encountered some poems along the way.

They have been randomly selected from the collections below and published within the site.

This poetry was written for many purposes, the main one being therapy to let the demons out. Other reasons would be of course love. Love for everything and everyone.

Below, is a randomly selected poem from our collations.

Every day we will pick a random collection and add a button to view it in it's entirity. Some have been put into their correct order, others are a shamble.

This is to keep everyone honest, and means you have to come back tomorrow and see what's on the slab.

Today, being the 16th of September 2019

We have chosen

Dreams

 

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Days of Memory

Sometimes

It's happened once again!
The schizophrenic has lost his mind.
Mysteries, puzzles, riddles,
No answers can he find.

Sometimes sweet,
Sometimes sour,
Personalities change
Hour by hour.

He is intelligent,
And thinks he has E.S.P..
It scares the other personalities,
But at times, he really can see.

Sometimes evil,
Sometimes subdue,
Fights himself,
Then starts anew.

At times, he is alright,
Situated in a large crowd.
But when he is the other,
He becomes fearful when friends are loud.

Sometimes here,
Sometimes not,
In a bed,
Or is he in a cot?

Come and visit him;
Please don't misbehave.
See him, at last, in ease.
Kneel beside his lonely grave.


Dreams

Dreams

Enter the world of dreams,
Where nothing is what it seems.
Understanding the myth and mystic,
And dreams become almost realistic.

To hear the chants of folk lore,
To dance and feel it's powerful draw.
To smell and taste their worlds within,
To see where our dreams begin.

"Blasphemy" the sceptics all accuse,
For their world is small and obtuse.
Seeing through an unopened mind;
Fear of the unknown is all they find.

So take my hand and read to your will,
With love and fantasy your mind will fill.
Come enter my world of dreams,
Where nothing is what it seems.



Paradise Contradiction

Weeping Willow

Where? Of where are you,
My weeping willow tree?
Is this terrain too rough,
To support one as fragile as thee?
This place is good for others,
Who have the same as your needs.
They live on in harmony,
Throwing into the wind their seeds.
Like a carpet of green,
They spread out for miles,
Surrounding a water hole of rock,
A travellers view captivated for miles.
If only you could see it,
My weeping willow tree,
Your tears would dry up,
To feel so full and so free.


Ramblings

Lost in a world

Lost in a world,
Not a friend can you find.
Lost in a world,
You feel helplessly blind.

You travel along corridors,
Almost stumble and fall.
A cane, you have no more.
But alas! You hear someone' s call.

The corridors are quite long.
They have many an open hoist.
It's a struggle, but your will is strong.
Try! Try to find that voice.

You walk the long, upward slope.
What are they, blue or green?
There's a new burst of hope,
For these things, you have seen.

You climb upward, more and more,
To confront your own blue eyes.
Behind you are all the doors.
Forward bound to open skies.



Serenades to a Priceless Princess

Writings of an Anonymous Poet

To be loved and to love,
Is an achievement in it’s self.
But to be friends as well as lovers,
Is to grasp an impossible wealth.
Rarely will two individual entities;
Without provocation or knowledge of the other,
Come together so smoothly and passively,
As Nature surely goes to its mother.
Yet this united being suffers,
The intolerable pain of persecuting peers.
A once impenetrable piece of marvel,
Now shrouded in uncertainties and fears.
Through all the trauma and torment,
Placed upon the path of this unison,
Like a rubber ball they in turn bounce back,
Enduring the compression and withstanding the expansion.
Alas, the rubber ball can only last,
As long as a rubber ball can.
Are these the writings of an anonymous poet?
Or are they the cries of a mistaken man?



Special

A Gathering of Kin

The Four came to the one,
The four whom he had sired.
For three timing was too late,
His life was all but expired.

In a room silent and bare,
He was alone no more.
Although body was never to respond,
His spirit lifted this I saw.

Like a gathering of kin,
Being with him to the end.
Not thinking of him as a father,
But comforting a long lost friend.

The Lone Wolf cries,
Out aloud in the night.
For it has lost a mate,
Stolen away on this silent night.

You walked from the hill,
Of the old rugged cross.
You did carry no burden,
For naught was lost.



The Garden

Battle of the Heart

The first major battle is fought,
Within all and every Tender's heart.
The rage has to be controlled,
The torment and anger held apart.

These emotions have to be channelled,
Not to be let loose on a wild rampage.
Rexoch decided to appoint Kindaal,
To hold the leash of this enormous rage.

Kindaal is now General of the Tender,
Although he was formerly of the Fair.
His spirit is unbreakable and sincere,
Common Tender think that he walks upon air.

He has already organised the united masses,
Formed them into Battalions and Divisions.
He has chosen the best Captains for the Tender;
The best strategists for the coming missions.