Train

We rode out and watched the world pass by.
Trees weeping gently in a summer rain.
It always rained in Ireland no matter the season.
There is an honesty in love, a simplicity much missing from today’s world.
But we were harder then more open to the knocks and falls
so unlike those that came after.
We found our own ballast, our own strength.
Ma, Da, my brother and me, on a train
before the fall.
It is only now I realise that love is more important than all,
than all the pain you build up in your heart,
so today I’m going to worship at her altar
I’m going to go ride that train and find myself at the start.

We lived in dreams always.

There was something in the night
it seemed alive, you could almost feel it breathe
the animal mind of my age, afraid to rest, to sleep
for in stopping it might miss, moments that may never be.
A deep hurt ran through the dark
silent eyes watching for a movement, waiting
ready to pounce upon the weak.
All is lust, blood, venality and the stink of corruption
it seems that nothing can break out.
Where are the words that lift the soul?
Where are the songs to make a hand a fist?
Where can the restless run?
Why are the ignorant content to wallow in the filth
and the piss of all that is profane?
Oh it seems that hope can flounder in the debris that remains.
And yet….and yet…a spark can make a flame
and love can grow in the light her fire creates
and in that way nothing has ever changed
and in strange ways we lived in dreams…always.

The Fear

 

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imagehttps://shespeaksmusic.bandcamp.com

 

Hey all, just a quick plug for our debut single ‘The Fear’ we would be most grateful if you could give it a listen. Just click the link above. We are all very proud of it, hope you like.

In the gloaming heart

 

In the child’s field, before his fame
innocence and experience stake their claim
the soldier’s path is chosen
blood signifies the man.

Love, it finds it’s own sweet voice
and echoes out across the void
that riddle rests within the heart
forever to remain.

From Dun Sgathaich the warrior rides
to crest the heights of a morning sky,
three daughters raise the sounds of war
three sons to kill the kings.

Strapped upon a rock to stand
to hold back that dark grasping hand
yet, Black Morrigan’s cacophonous caw
heralds the fading day.

Watches

The digital watch flashes
catching my eye.
A nurse whispers to you ‘it means he’s not blind’.
All the seconds from here to then are taunting the living,
a death’s head moth flies to the light.

Hearing again the beep on the hour
(It means I’m not deaf, you let out a sigh)
All the hours run faster and faster.
If we could catch it, then we’d never die.

That patch on my head?
It means I’m a fighter, a scar
from a battle a long time ago.
You carried me then but I was much lighter
I’d carry you now but where would we go?

Isn’t it funny how we seek
some type of answer
to the ebb, to the flow
that makes up our lives?
Ain’t it funny how digital watches,
lighting the way
means we’re not blind.

Initiation (a Jungian dream comes full circle)

 

Once we talked about
the ways that we would rise,
the cartography of the heart
textures of wrong and right.
The prerogative of the young
is to be myth and sing their own song.

We thought that hope
would not be tamed and caged
that everything would remain
and looking out at the stars
they were almost like notes on a stave
we could not yet read, we could not yet play.

Destiny was there to be fulfilled
we had all our time to hunt, to kill
talking shit on the Cruachan Hill.
Of politics, pride, bravado and lies
unattainable girls, the unlived life
day chasing to the depth of midnight.

Now everything is January coloured
and the skies do weep
we feel the ebb, the flow
the surface shifting beneath
I see the fire dim in your eyes
knowing too it has dimmed in mine.

What love is this my old friend?
Two young boys, now two older men
Oh I never thought this weight
would be so much that we might break.
Turning to me now, you say:
‘I know how you felt on that day’
Nothing more needs to be said
our dreams now belong with our sacred dead.

Den Haag

image

Den Haag Centraal heaves as we wait
two lost men hanging on to loss
condemned to share these days
trains slip by.
Fast food left festering on a plate
cigarettes on an endless loop
life passes in a gradual way
time slips by.
Both of us on a road outward
running from a thousand cliches
in the crowd we stray,
two alone.

That feeling in my gut
facing down a past
in which I nearly, ever so gently,
drowned.
That feeling in my heart
head on at last
that nearly, ever so violently,
saw me down.

Den Haag Centraal a beginning of a full stop
two men trying to find themselves
jigsaw souls cast upon a floor
rain passed by.