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I have watched where the winds tarry
across those floods of mind and sea
Little imperfections that carry
where scent to breeze affects the senses
and stresses deep, that want to know and grow.
I have traveled the far and lonely
reached across the divide of mind
and here within the gloaming of the moment
I raise my hand
Seeking that deliverance
that warmth
that resides deep within the pounding heart
wishing to know, To be known
within the embrace of the Gods.

Tempting this colliding hole of indifference
that seems to gather the hordes around
Blinded to the views and style of life
they fail to live the sound
That echo that wings upon their minds and begs
If only for a second , allowing them the chance
To gather the fruits of life.
Softly they walk in sheltered courses
that trail the long divide between them
and there themselves
Strangers that carry
the light of their souls away.

But here in this far sighted gorge
where time holds the moment precious, dear
I see the hemisphere of faith
Of hope and youthful toil
linger upon the fading breath of man,
Calling, calling
where the silence pervades their thoughts
but how well they turn asunder
and walk their fantasy.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
When words no longer hold
invite or excite
that inward response
That once so gathered deep
within ones keep
of the visions of the mind.

There's a loss
a disappearance of sorts
that winged upon a fancy flies
then dies
deep inside the mellow chamber
of dreams.

The tears
that once as years
fades upon the old framed image
that like a crust surrounds
the only affordable expanse
the on vestige of what once
were little filters of oneself.

And here in photos are but the images
that once skirted as the dreams within
between and through
and true
the soft textured rolls
of film and paper, that now
rests upon the tables, the mantels
as reflections of what was.

And the words
still unapproachable
fails to grasp
or gasp
the meaning of the visions
that here once clouded a mind bright and full
those promises of  days,  nights
To rest, now forever humble
To memories long gone.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
Aye! She thinks I don't see
nor understand that wrong
that stretches out from within her
tears her soul and draws the night to bitter tears.
Sudden as the hope aspires to growth
the dream bursts its fermented vision
the crumbling walls over take
spills the well of thoughts
and evaporates so fast the goal.
That a heart can splutter
fade to a dying quest that overtakes the form
and wears the heavy gloom of despair.
Here where the iniquity of life gathers
the tear that buds upon a swollen eyelid
Lost, helpless she bids her rest
in the twilight world of fairy tales.
But I know, I know the prison that holds
gathers the structure of life so tight
that one chokes upon the pale glimmer
of all that once was life.
Deep the cuts that over ride us
holds us upon that which hope failed to draw
and in the silence of the waters
drowns us all.........

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
That here in the passage
that twirls
swirls upon the thoughts
expresses, impresses
there its depth
where words flow and ignite.

Here in this realm of the writer
the world replays
relays within
and grasps deep the fundamentals
that crafts within those elementals
to create a world anew.

Fresh the liberated thought flows
invades, conquers, grows
Till soon a set of lines engraved
sets free the words within
that together with emotion spin
until a world of fantasy is birthed
upon the pages ****** form.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
How often
when the jingle of thoughts
here cross the great divide
that is of you and me
Little spaces
incomplete turns
that both rebel and yet
When the song is right
harmonizes so well
That we forget the differences.

Many the dreams that rattle
within our battle
of being
that we cannot negotiate a path
that runs finely
to the set patterns that are our lives.

But I remember
Know well
the inside out of you
The little glimpses that once were
are yet
and swerve to the marvel
of each image you portray
Somewhere despite the vast
that ride along side our dreams
I still know my sister.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
Where tips the moon
the cradle rocked
the silver gleam
the twilight pools
that soft to embrace
holds, then fades
to the glimmer
that shimmer
of a frosty moon.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
There's a cold Creole cry
that steeps from the underside of the moss
those thick recesses where, the water bridges tight to the banks
and even when the haunting moon fades upon its shades
there is always a cast of eerie chills that invade the frame.
The long lonely, half depressed, half unawakened  strolls
that never quite lead anywhere, yet always ends by the bank
where the water calls, these deep muddy swamps
that awaits in the hopes of a lost soul to enter
to step beyond the boundaries.
There is stew in these waters
a thick haze that fills and the scent it leaves
clings always upon the clothes, hugs so tight the breath, that
no matter how far one strays, it always calls one back.
Trees that have no roots, skeletons cloaked
hinged in the thick ivy moss that scatters from limb to limb
The cries, urgent, fearful, that echoes through the thick undergrowth
gathering in Voodoo curses the humid air to dance, dance
where the imagination clings and hides, Yet! Dares to know more.
It is a long walk, one, that time cannot gather nor hold
where the fields seem surreal to the charged air
and the night falls like lotus blossoms upon the water
to float away where tides to the Delta stray.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
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