Dincara's Lair


Welcome to Ramblings,

Ramblings, purely poetical ramblings of a crazy mind. Some are good, Some are bad, but they are an expression of mood at the time.


. 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!

. 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.