Ramblings, purely poetical ramblings of a crazy mind.

. 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.

. Where's the Wall

Where's the wall I'm trying to find,
So I can drive these thoughts from my mind.
To receive it's pleasure I need the wall,
Then I can see what I'm searching for.

The body craves for it's addictive damage,
Yet the soul creates a new way to manage.
Although the wall is hard and cold to the touch,
The body still desires it's violence too much.

The head becomes numb from the bashing,
Images smashing their way through the crashing.
We continue to stagger through until, thud!
Recognition has the sweet taste of warm blood.

I found the wall I've been searching for,
Why wasn't it there when I looked before.
But the wall is too high as you can see,
That there's nothing of what used to be me.

. Mockery

To be judged by their peers,
Or so you were led to believe.
Was the duty of the judicial system,
But they are out to decieve.
Being a juror you are plucked,
From the populace to be a peer.
But you yourself are to be judged,
By whether you look straight or queer.
No questions about your predujices;
Nor any mention of possible bias,
Nor any reason for the challenge,
The judicial system is a mockery of liars.
So much for being judged by your peers,
Your verdict is deemed before the jury sits.
Barristors and Prosecutors deny the peers,
Because of looks only, it gives me the shits!

A.J. CORKERY 20TH APRIL 1994

. Things Unseen

Disadvantaged by isolation I see naught,
That is to say I see less than I ought.
Naïve by the virtue of my young age,
I see the falling of a worldly rage.

I didn’t live and feel the age of old,
If I did my eyes would be blunt with cold.
Their hurt is read about in books of history,
A future to them shrouded by mystery.

I hear that our history is changing too,
Maybe it would be favourable to an elite few.
The people’s voice appears to be stronger,
Airing words that peace could last even longer.

I can only hear, see, think with thought,
Presented by the news so I am taught.
To voice an opinion both cut and clean,
I cannot do for these things unseen.

. Four Crows

For Christ sake, is that all you can carry?
Never being worthy enough these thoughts resonate,
Forever crying out for acceptance or a kind word,
No known fathers love for this child less than eight.

Forever trying to please and fit in with the wrong fit,
Always yearning and craving for the darker side of life.
Never understanding the longing to be a part of the dark,
Light's hold on me is full of pain and unending strife.

In solitude I find peace,
Hidden in the hallowed halls,
The black dog is crawling in,
Four Crows sitting on my walls.
I try not to listen to them,
I try to not visualise them,
I try to not speak ill of them,
Mostly I just try to ignore them.

In the overbearing presence of nothingness projected toward,
One will either adapt and find a way or simply wither and die.
To gain strength out of solitude and climb back into the light,
To escape the recluses' grip one needs help from a soulful guide.

Slow and insidious the journey out takes one step at a time,
One learns to hide themselves behind their riddles and mask.
Carefully treading in fear of reawakening the hurtful passage,
Always trying to please and do of what the others did ask.

The four crows were sitting on the wall facing to the east,
Opened the iron clad doors releasing the black dogs to the west.
We have hidden behind that which we passionately advocate against,
Failed one commandment, the other, time is surely putting to the test.

The dogs are back feeding on the carcass of a wretched soul,
The crows wait patiently to pick out the eyes with no door,
The angels can no longer piece together the fallen and unwhole,
The demons dance because they finally cracked the restrained flaw.

. The Keeper and Reapers Bet

Empty spaces shatter the silence,
Onto the shores of isolated islands.
List fully bobbing upon the waves,
Solitude eagerly holds onto it's slaves.
Time rings out her deafening chime,
Watching them randomly grasp a rhyme.
Rhythm is waywardly back tracked,
Exaggerating the times between contact.
Measure creating it's own new paradox,
Stretching and contracting worldly clocks.

Rhythm, rhyme, time, and measured paradox,
Clocks turn the tide in and out of rocks.
The hollow echo of the clock's ticks and tocks,
The keeper and reaper take bets on who knocks.

Keeper and Reaper's game is now in play,
Who can honestly answer what is today.
Today's today is nothing but yesterday's tomorrow,
Leaving it up to us to celebrate or follow sorrow.
Although the heart pains with the distance,
Memories serve to pursue our very existence.
Going with the flow of the shore's swell,
Sometimes the story we tell quite well.
From the pit we shall rise above the wraith,
Demonstrating that all you need is faith.

Copyright 2019 3D Poetry

Ramblings

Dincara's Lair