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Conor Martin Jan 2021
A dogs heart has no weight or mass to be measured
They are one of life’s true honest pleasures
A dog does not see the bad you’ve done
A dog cannot only love one
The heart they have cannot contain their soul
As it runs through open fields
And closes gates to pain and hurt

They heal old wounds of friends we lost
And care not for how much our clothes cost
Dogs create joy wherever they roam
And all they ask is for a pat or a bone

When we walk, we walk together
In life whatever the weather
As when we love a dog
Then we discover life’s true treasure
Conor Martin Dec 2019
Before the dawn
The transition of Lucid dream
From Reality, The bleeding realms
The minds eye untethered and set free
As the dark soul gathers pace on the light
Catching up
Then coming back to life

Take a Heavenly line
Down the new found path
Free from insecurity and anxious decline
Starring into the sun
Black heart no more
I'm rushing back to life

The astral plain memories
Over my shoulder please refrain
From talking of the dark past again
A brighter day, First step forward
As I walk on new found land
As I bathe among New found light

Better than then Me, Back to the Me
I always wanted out, Do not dwell
As I remember how to fly
Soul to soar beside the sun
Reflecting the other side
My journey through the dark

Now I've come back to life
A 1st draft
Conor Martin Jun 2020
Walls of the Heart, Courting fear
When will normality let feelings prevail
Sober judge witnessing senses tell tall tales
Take this Boy away and throw him in Jail

Slamming Iron doors of Minds own creation
Emotional Embargo leads to its fragmentation
Guards of silent despise, A narrow slit slides
Demise makes good viewing for the Devil's eyes

Finger Nails, Clawing marks into stone, Counting days one by one
Reality is too far and gone, These anxious heights from which im thrown, Bruise the body and beat the soul

I cant wait to feel the sun
Burn upon my Mental flesh, malleable and Taught
The reminders of time
I'd rather forget
Conor Martin Oct 2018
There are those who do not know
The secret line, A willows toll
Sands of time wait for me
A raging ocean foaming to consume souls
The blinding light, Of corrupt minds eye illuminates the way
Draws our ship in and spills dementia across the bay

Mixed Signals, On uncharted seas
Breach the waves, Crashing down on me, Minds eye of the storm, See the forks of lightning, ether torn the world cracks open dawn to see

Atop the cliffs we clearly see
The looming scale of misery
Brought from this mind eating disease
One light push is all it takes, Even the effort from the breeze
Over the Edge and back to the rocks
Its all over and over again, Repeating pain by rewinding the clocks
Square one, Same old ****
Back at it again
Calling all ships without Captains
Its okay to not be okay
Just find the right light to guide your way
Past the wrecks and through the bay
Into the safety of loving arms, Your Home awaits
Forget the unforgiving oceans and raise your glass to the souls
it has claimed, Now heaven knows
Conor Martin Aug 2018
In the Mirror mind
A Reflection of what lies beyond the soul
Why am I, who I hardly know
The Demon waits outside my home
Whistling echoes in the snow

The hollow heart carved up by relentless thought
Cold chill of darkness down the chimney across the hearth
This house my home a machine for living
The ugly sins come knocking at my door
Memories thrown from the mantle
Lying fragmented on the floor

Beside the carpet, Where the stain it ever grows
And the role call of madness ever shows
Perfect façade, One true skill
To hide from those, Who i deceive without thrill
A bolt and chain to lock away the truth
My home is ravaged by the ghosts of youth

The fireplace lit, An amber glow embraces life
All to replace my home, With
Ashes of Happy.
Ashes of Sad.
Ashes of all that made my world feel bad.
Looking into your mind and all you see is everything you hate, Everything you cannot relate to and forgetting yourself within what should feel safe like home.
Conor Martin Dec 2016
Empty Bottles align in the light, Reflect the shattered soul, Broken down to the last drop ****** the cork like the wolf harvests bone, The devil within busts through the held open door, Societies vessel of acceptance, ignorance in a swig and a sip ****** up the wall, I Doubt it’s worth the loss of yourself after all.

Dignity as fragile as the brown paper bag, Held around the chalice of your disgusted pride, Bottle after Bottle are you even allowed to call yourself alive, Hooked to the bottom of the glass, Any excuse even if the next ones your so-called last.

Friends and fortune faded, The bottles figure jaded in the light of your dim-witted realise, Nothing else to do but sit back and enjoy the ride

The Reaper sits across the bar, Sickle in hand pouring bottle after bottle never drifting very far, No strings to pull as the tender waits, Bottle like a shotgun, the mixer shakes, the distilled Deity waiting to deliver the last call.

Before the turn, No Misery or Shame, In the end, Is it really the bottle or the man who’s to blame.
Conor Martin Jul 2018
May we speak for those forgotten far to soon
You play deaf to requests of human soul
Reptilian lies encasing the heart of stone
Oh Captain, No Captain. On this ship on the edge of the dumb new world
Idiots raised upon the pew, Hailed as Knights of the people
All they’ve brought is numbered days and promises far too few

Too Little, Too late
Deadly victims to the Maybot’s fate
Pillaging idealised dreams of united pride
All the people can do is run and hide
Democracies throat ripped out by the vile disease
British sorry, Not sorry state
Broken system, Shattered across the isle
Devoid of soul, To death do us part
Its Brexit that will drive the steak through
The Iron witches,
Cold.
Dead.
Heart.
I really dont like Theresa May.
Or Brexit.
Conor Martin Mar 2017
I want to show you
the language of my hands
For they at times
can be more eloquent than I can
More subtle than my sometimes clumsy tongue
Less prone to stumble or misstep

Every touch can be a poem
Every word can be a song
The touch of your love unto mine
Create sounds too beautiful to shush

Our entangled souls mimic the body of
Two lost lovers found, breeding light inside our eyes
The whispering of love.

The beat of the drum, Matched by our hearts
bleeding passion between our lips
Memories have been taking me, Too the light from our Eclipse

Satisfy, The aches of emotion the waling of the soul
A body so perfect in my eyes, No substitute is own
Caress, Create, words as of yet unspoken,
Whispered droplets of emotion
Running down your nape

Relentless
Constant
Everlasting through the chorus of our love.

Beautiful in the Moment, My everlasting known as you.
Conor Martin Sep 2017
It’s a Monday morning and I’ve awoken with this grog
what is this horrific feeling starring at me through the fog
Oh ****. I sigh with a cough and a weeze
It’s the flu I’ve heard so much about
Why’s it always me!

I’ll pop the Sudafed I left in the drawer from this time a year ago
that’ll teach this viral ******* whats for
I remember everyone drifted very far, Declared me the patient
Proclaimed I had man flu and was being over dramatic
OH THE PAIN i cried, FOR THOU DOES NOT KNOW!

Why wont you get out of my head
I honestly feel id be better off dead
this mucus and sinus inflamation will allow no silence
to the pounding that exists in the echoing arena of my head

Right ok, Its 8:15 time to lift the dog and bone
And shockingly I sound the picture of health to the boss on the phone
Sick again they sigh as my sinus’ explode
im sorry boss I’ve got to go, My head is pounding and my nose needs blown

Time to go back to bed
Sleep is what I need
Become a marshmallow in the blanket
and try to remember how to breath
I’ll lie on one side as my nostril feels like it fills
i hate being ******* sick. Where’d I put my pills?
I stare at the ceiling while the realisation kicks in
I left them in the kitchen, my moody temper is thrilled

I sound 80 years my senior as I curse the steps below
Hanging on the hand rail, like a Sherpa who’s promised to get me home
I should have gotten a stair lift, My arms are dragging like lead
Why is that phone ringing, If it’s work tell'em im dead

Call it man flu
Call it a cold
It doesn’t stop me feeling old
Its dramatic I know
and my tone is dire
Guess I’ll just feel sorry for myself and go drink lemsip by the fire
M W
Conor Martin Mar 2017
M W
One word and just like that
I am broken into two
My happiness expanded whilst
I’m growing into you

One word and just like that
I am broken into two
Lesser parts of me
Become stronger parts of you

Don't call me something so wondrous
If you feel anything less than love for me

Don’t use such a heart-warming word
If you do not mean it with every bit of your soul

Don’t call me that
Unless you have held me
Kissed me
And declared
That we will always be
Conor Martin Apr 2020
In sweet visionary illusion
Swept up in mindless delusions
Grand thoughts swelling fourth
As mind over matter which pierce the sky
And at this time I cover my eyes
To Shield them from reason
But their is no need as it’s all obscured by clouds

Grey is the colour an eclipse of judgement in fine detail
Status Quo agenda, dig a hole
Bury my head in the sand as it comes through the other side of a flat moronic earth
Social distance from reason, No vaccine to cure the brain from this ignorance plague
Weeping from the wound of privileged upbringing, In a prison surrounded by lacklustre villains watching society crumble from the cell of self justification, Locked doors and keyless thought

Rushed to the windows to watch the sky, No way to see the sun when it’s obscured by clouds.
Conor Martin Oct 2019
In the long hours
When loneliness rears it's head
This iron soul on shoulders lay
Raising with the shift to night
"I've waited for this inky blue"
The midnight rider onward at dawn
With Common sense no more among
Gods with little soliders burden the young
Taking away what never belonged
Peace on earth, In airfilled quotes
Nightmarish slumber
As impatience grows
Imaginations creatures crawl from dark divides
Split the earth and atom between the whispers and the eye
The silent figure at the bottom of the bed
In the long hours
That's when all my living is in my Head
Sleep paralysis
Conor Martin Mar 2021
The cough and splutter of the engines, Failure to launch yourself
Diagnose the problem, Self centred inflictions gripping on the fear
Grip the wheel feel the sweat on your palm
Let the wind whistling through the window. Bring upon an overwhelming calm

Measuring the pace by our distance to the place We think we are meant to be
Against the others shadow, In the overhead lights as they repeat the message of who we wish to see
In the rear-view mirror, And the only one looking back is me

Flash of the Lights that run through my mind, I hear the woosh as they
Cut the air above the roof, like an asteroid in the sky plummeting to the ground
Bringing hope to the masses behind the iris’
Blips of life on a blacktop monitor of the heart

As we see the blood on the motorway of journeys of the others before
Can you see no one really reached the goal, On the cold hard shoulder
Pushed out by the lack of a helping hand in a measured, heartless box

Was this really a race when i feel emotions jumped the start
Breaking down my being and counter steering against the barrier of my heart
I awake from the worst fears undesired and I find myself here again

Sitting at the lights, Red goes to amber and I cant muster the fight
Going for all the wrong reasons I want to make right
Body and Spirt versus my minds diversion on the path less often trekked

My instructor for living, The Shrine for reprisal, As the engine kicks into life
We race down the highway, As the bumps rumble our being but we enjoy the ride
Hand on our shoulder to direct us to arrival, Pass the test of time

We see the gridlocked side streets, Acknowledge and bypass the line
Staying straight on our heading, Travelling onwards towards the light
Conor Martin Oct 2019
You've got that caramel charisma
That sweet tooth personality that leaves me wanting more
Where have you gone, I wish you were here
It's time we left the factory and came to see a world brighter than the glass ceiling allows

Sweet, No sweat
Its banter no barter
The high road not often spoke
A message among the common folk
Whispered love beyond the time
Around the reason of this rhyme
It's all I've done to ignore the signs
You should be mine
And will be holding hands
Along the river lagan
And our throats ache from
Songs over sang

Urge, Desire
Perception of the rain on our lips
Feeling sadness on finger tips
We know one night is all we get

Love then life
What is it worth
Grains of potential
Gritty like the dirt
We wash clean to
Bare our skin within
The linen cloth warmth
Of sultry affluence
Conor Martin Jun 2017
Life and Death
as the pendulum swings
Back and forth the momentum wins
The victim of change, Aesthetics of hate
Gravitational, Force pushes us down

Stop listen turn around
Hatred spills the blood in town
Screaming spells the loss of love
Freedom slipping from the hand in a glove

Dictatorship, Reside
Revolution, Obide
Nowhere left to hide
Sandstorm growing at my door
Slipping through the cracks
Words born in anger fight back

Muslim, Attack
Caucasian, Relax
World of Aggression never slacks
Expectations devour
Hate gives birth to our final hour

Cant you see, This is it
Human kind divided, Falling to bits
No chance to cling together
only blown apart
By bombs bought from Martyrs
In a War they claim they didnt start
Conor Martin Mar 2017
Symphony of Silence throughout the night
Doors and windows latched and locked tight
Sleeping softly as dreams ******
Troubled times when morals where subdued

We’re shoulder to shoulder with the **** or the ***,
Look at themn's with the same eyes, not down the barrel of a gun
The pasts only purpose now, Make the blind clearly see
The mistakes they made with their ******’ corrupt legacy

It’s quiet in the cities cobbled streets, the birds pick at first light
Emerge from their nests, Like our generation glimpses first sight
The new formed world from the rubble of this war
No emblem or flag can heal wounds this vicious or raw
Brick by Brick, The walls of Peace rose to keep in hate
There’s no more guerrillas in the street, Only as heads of State

The Family divided, A Birds clipped wing
This Island, Our home,
Shared together
or
Squandered Alone
The North is quite simply, The most politically and culturally frustrating place to live in, Beyond people feeling so self entitled believing that their culture is better than anyone else's we are cannon fodder to the representatives who regularly pit one side against the other in order to enhance personal and political agenda, Do not read this believing that one side is more or less guilty than the other. Both sides of the co-existing divide are guilty of things beyond the comprehension of the wider population.
I Wrote this in one of my moments of frustration.
Conor Martin Jan 2017
Our Walk on the Beach.

The whispers of the ocean, Play among our toes
As the water grows colder and the time only tolls
Emerge to the sand, Warm grain of your hand
Caressed softly into mine, Digits of ours intertwine

Tide whirring in, Surrounding our souls in froth
You lit up my life like I was a moth
Drawn to the light like a candle in the dark
Retreat to our home now, As the sun sets stark

Our minds the wither of winter
Our Souls the bonfire of June
Hearts raging on like the piper
Who keeps on forever playing our tune
i wrote this thinking about a walk i took with the woman i love

— The End —