Dincara's Lair

Days of Memory

Welcome to Days of Memory,

A collection of poems written in the dark ages of manhood. Adolesence, depression, and all the good things in life.

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. Days of Memory

In the days of memory
Of dazed states of mind,
In the days of memory,
We almost lost mankind.

Long and horrific was that night.
With the smell of the dying,
And the unforgettable sight,
Of lost children crying.

Mothers were forever wondering,
If their babies were to be born.
Fathers were forever pondering,
If their kin would see a dawn.

All the pain and misery,
Will the teachers tell,
Our children of our world history?
Telling of how it fell.

They never cared of what we were taught.
Now there’s no one left to blame.
Our days are growing short,
We could have lost the eternal flame.

Mothers will tell of the sorrow,
Fathers will tell of the lame.
Both fear tomorrow,
For it holds the same.

In the days of memory,
Of dazed states of mind.
In the days of memory
We lost mankind.
Written somewhere between 1983-86 by Dincara


. The Four Riders

Four riders came out of the sky,
On stallions of fire and ice.
Everyone just stood by;
It came as such a surprise.

This is today, and tomorrow,
Is held with much fear,
Pain, and Sorrow.
Of the world's nuclear year.
The Riders are here!
They have duties to perform,
Which are all too clear.
Hurry Leaders. Reform!

On a stallion of fire,
Came the first.
"War" was his name,
By far the worst.
He arrived first,
To clear the way,
To make it worse,
For those that stay.

Thus, the second came along
And cleared the nonsense.
Those that have survived,
Come and meet "Pestilence".
He is going to help,
You to become corrupt,
Insane,Violent,
All rapingly abrupt.

Everyone is starving,
The third has arrived,
Plague and "Famine".
Can you possibly survive?
Hunger has set in.
Everything is rotten.
Do you remember how you ate,
Or maybe you have forgotten?

Now for the final rider.
You ask, "why is he last?"
But if you are a survivor,
You'd wish time would pass.
For "Death" has no mercy,
Nor discrimination.
There is no escape from
A world annihilation


. Times Up

Where to go, if anywhere's best?
Between you and me and him,
We’re just pawns in chess,
Put in the front line.

Down by the waters edges,
Up in the mountains high,
Looking for the mystical hedge,
That will lead us out of this hell.

Progressively, we moved on unaware,
Crawling, walking, running,
Until we confronted him, standing there.
Bewildered, we just stared.

He was a wan apparition
Doing nothing but his job.
Riding his dark appaloosa,
Down upon us, as was his eternal way.

He stopped and quietly waited.
Time had lost it's meaning.
It is his time now, undebated.
Then the reaper bellowed, ""Time is up!"



. Asunder

Fire and ice,
Sugar and spice,
Ashes to dust,
A love to lust.

All I ever wanted was a house
To shelter a maybe spouse,
For our kids to run around.
This I found to be sound.

Then along came the maniacs,
Whom we gave the axe
To hew the path
For the psychopath.

They released this sour,
Awfully immense power.
This is the politician;
Now peace is an impossible mission.

So now we run scared,
For the resistance is dead.
They have taken control
On most people's soul.

They made us asunder
With the prophesied number.
Without it's dread,
There's simply no bread.

Before I pass on,
Please write my song
About this horrible wrong,
And pass it along.



. Carrier

Carrier of a broken heart,
Who's going to break this spell.
Carrier of a broken heart,
I"m really going through hell.

It has been broken a lot,
To be discarded and thrown into a heap.
I'm starting to believe,
In the lover's leap.

Many a time it has been mended,
Just to be broken again.
I'm beginning to believe,
It's all in vain.

So who's going to help me
And not leave me bust?
To have a proper relationship,
Not one of lust?


. Diary of a Lonely Man

In the blistering heat,
I walked a cobbled street,
Searching for an idea,
For this book I carry here.

As I walk along this street,
I heard the shuffling of many feet,
Then to my surprise,
It was right before my eyes.

It was bound with an elastic band,
And was written by a shaky hand.
It told a short story,
Which told of no glory.

So I will commence,
Not meaning any offence,
Telling as much as I can,
Of this diary of a lonely man.
Originally written between 1983-1986


. Laughter

Usually laughter runs through our street,
Carried along by a thousand feet.
Dawn till late,
My, how these times are great!

With a new birth,
There is a lot of mirth
And a fair bit of celebrating.
My, how these times are exhilarating!

But there are the ups and downs
To drown out the joyful sounds.
But we do recover well.
My, how these times are, swell!

Day in, day out,
These times, without a doubt,
Are free of all misery!
But the future, I cannot see.
Written by Dincara 1985-1986 Currently being illustrated by Ettenyl Laeb


. Insanity

Insanity, it makes me cold,
Insanity, it takes control,
Insanity, it's got a hold,
On my inner soul.

So lay me down to sleep,
In that hole six foot deep.
And I promise never to creep,
From that long, deep sleep.

So I promised yesterday,
That in that hole I would stay.
But to silently lay;
I cannot do, forever a day.



. 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.


. Descent

Vibrant colours shone,
Upon the descent.
The passage was long,
Narrow and bent.

The stars hastened by;
They seemed to entwine.
My thoughts were as dry,
As a glass of white wine.

From that hallowed place,
I have been evicted.
To face the human race,
And a life predicted.

My guardian may, pay me a visit,
As this place I shall forget,
But not in my spirit,
And that’s what I will regret.



. Images and Colours

Over the next two years,
Life will be in images and colours,
Immune to all fears,
Emitted from others.

An astral trip to Saturn
Is as easy as cake.
But, to decipher the pattern,
May make your head ache.

The colours of the night
And visions of rain
Sometimes slip into the right
Hemisphere of the brain.

Logic is on the left side;
This comes later on
When we use mathematics to divide
And grammar to help us get along.

The right uses images and colours to communicate,
Where as the left just doesn't understand.
But if these thoughts, you able to translate,
Then time and space are in the palm of your hand.



. Solitude

On the plains of existence,
I fought the great fued.
To keep my distance,
And to remain in my solitude.

He spoke in a soft tongue,
As this was my guardian's way.
He said that I was too young,
And that here I couldn't stay.

The trip was to be short,
Not at all a pleasure.
"Can't you have a second thought, my friend?
That I will treasure."

"My guardian that I hold high,
From this plain I will be rend.
Do I have to say good-bye,
To you my spiritual friend?"

What is the world going to bestow,
Upon our Daniel Mooresythe?
His talents, people will try to get.
His gifts may destroy their life.


. Transition

The final astral mission,
To be in limbo for two years.
Is to complete the transition,
As already have my peers.

Like a moth to candlelight,
Images we attract,
Unaware of their flight,
Into our subconsciences are trapped.

To conquer this shell
In which we do arrive,
The controls are hell
And it's hard to drive.

To keep it upright,
Balance is the trick;
Like a newborn chick in flight,
The takeoff isn't that quick.

At first, it's hard alright,
But soon, it will be fun
To see faces of delight
As a father catches his son.



. Freedom

The word freedom,
Is such a lovely word.
But what I have to say,
To you might sound absurd.

My first conception of freedom,
Is tranquillity and peace.
I think it is quite obvious,
We expect it least.

But death is the greater,
It's freedom ever drifts,
Throughout our population,
To me is God's greatest gift.


. Hero of a Dream

I have a son and a daughter,
And a lovely young wife.
I think to myself,
We lead a simple life..

He's one of a kind!

A puppet in a lonely chair,
He looks terribly bored.
He thinks to himself,
Hey! I'll start a war.

He's become a little blind!

"Huh, how do I start?
A push here or push there.
A pinch of salt and maybe
I'll throw in a scare."

He loves to dream!

"Oh no! What's happening?
It's got so out of hand.
No one loves me anymore.
Everything has become so bland."



. Life of Luxury

I've thought about a life of luxury.
I've thought about a life of fame.
But I'll tell what sucks you in;
It's about the dustbin game.

When you live a life of luxury,
All, you need a fair bit of money.
When you live a life of fame,
Well your days don't look so sunny.

But I lead a simple life;
I put on a bit of a tease.
I feel on top of the world.
Best of all, I feel at ease.

I've seen people with their luxury.
I've seen people with their fame.
I'll be honest;
They all look a bit lame.

I"ve seen those people look so dull,
But on the screen they really shone.
All, I've looked hard enough
And I've seen what's really wrong.



. New Star

There’s a new star in the heavens tonight,
A star that forever will shine bright,
A star that will never lose it's brightness,
A star that will always be of fullness.

Death came to you so unfairly,
Struck you nigh on forty.
Friend of many, foe of none,
Many a heart you had won.

You have now found that everlasting peace,
Although your earthly vehicle has ceased.
I know that you will always be around
To help Nan and Pop's hearts once again become sound.

You never had a son,
But a marriage was so, a great one.
Now that you have left us all,
When I go give me a call.




. Old Man

Can you see the old man,
Walking down the road?
Can you see the old man,
Carrying a heavy load?

The old man is lonely.
The old man might quit.
For he finds it so troublesome,
Trying to make the "Big Hit".

In his search for love,
There is a lot of caper.
But for now, he suffices,
With his pen and paper.

Maybe he will find love,
And once again become young.
Maybe he will find the love,
That will bear his son.

The old man will see his son,
Walking down the road.
The old man will see his son,
Carrying a lighter load.