It starts softly
the gentle pluck of a string
that hums upon its own vibration
equating all to a note, a sound
Then flows softly upon the air
to tantalize the ear, awaken the mind
and sometimes deeper beyond compare
it touches the heart, romances the soul
Into its vibrant beauty
Consuming all to grace.

It is here I found you
in the soft recesses of your voice
that sang so deeply within me
awakened a heart to pump and drive
the mind to dream again and sing
such it is, when words and voice
equate to the resounding depth within
and hushes all to the profound moment
That love finally bears its coat
And walks humbly before the eyes.

Its in the whispers of nightly dreams,
we all bear them upon our midnight cries
that eternal want again to be
to come alive and feel the heart's great rapture
the souls desire to forever copulate its form
to the oneness that love so begs it be,
and here I hear the twilight winds
sweep clean and pure the fabrics of thought
where emotion drives fast and hard to tower through
Echoing its want, its need to be and feel.

I look deeply into your eyes
picture my universe anew
where sunsets and dawn stretch into an infinity
of promised dreams and future's bright comet's tail
that ever rings the value of your form here to me
and cries upon the tender most hopes
My hand in yours,
my soul bound and true
that love wakes that shuddering foundations of life
and allows its brilliance true its hue
Till lips touch
hands caress
and love sings it true melody of hope
That here now I see in you.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

O' Rabbie that e'er helped oor tongue
flow like a well that's newly sprung
that wae true passion an' Usquabae
recites tha spirits O' Scotland's way
Words that put merit in oor speech
Words, tha English scauld against an' preach.

Och! If it wasney fa oor ways
thats wannered doun tae oor days
we couldney say worth a rot
what makes a Man, true a Scot
Let England wae her tonsils strained
keep what fa them tis better Named.

Nae Scot wants tae pass his days
with words that doun in Cambridge lays
far better tis oor tongue in grace
Than a' O' England's frills an lace
Nae better spoken word there is
than what a Scot calls truly His.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

They say that within love
All answers are contained.
That within loves prism
God there is named
That a love that is true
holds the brightest hue
for it speaks out all that's thine
into the heart of the great divine.
Love breeds pure and clean
travels out against what's obscene
purifies us all to know
That by which love does grow.
This temple of the purest heart
revolves where time has its start
comes full circle to hold one true
To the words that flow, In me, In you.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

When I am dead and gone
my flesh to earth better worn
what shall old fate say of me
upon the pages of life's melody
When this heart has waged it final woe
to whom shall it say it did go
and where in all of dignity
Shall the soul gather it's serenity.

When these hands have ceased their write
and faded letters appear in sight
Shall the words speak true of poet dead
or shall they be as words unsaid
Who will know the greatest loves
that filled my soul like blessed doves
Shall a tear linger out for me
while far between this world I be.

What of all I dream't and feared
the passions born, the torments reared
The little words I shared with glee
the promise of love's tender plea
But sure as time shall mark the spot
Shall I have gained all that within I sought
or will the winds but carry me afar
To leave my soul as a burned out Star.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph