Jet-black clouds and opaque fog loom,
Men see first sight of doom,
Thunder rolls and lightning strike,
Tremble in the throes fright,
Darkness seeking to destroy,
It creeps like shadow in convoy,
Death controls what rage devours,
And shows the world the angel’s powers.
Lost elephants go to die.
Reaper vultures circle high
Withered bones turn to dust.
Those golden dreams all turned to rust
Children whispering haunted tales
The gathering winds whips up its gales
There is sickness spreading through the this place
A plastic grin on every face
Bushes stir in the eastern breeze
And burn the last forgotten trees.
Boys of the street become gladiators in gilded coliseums,
The trigger-loaded legs of iron men shock the frothing crowds,
A wet winter’s night gives cover a by a gathering cloud,
Weapons wielded like morning stars to win the grassy battle,
Bubbling screams of raving fans, the cauldron starts to rattle,
The pain that turns to hunger turns to adrenaline the veins
And boils the blood of mighty men, then lets them off the reins
And so it was and so it is time and time again
We feed our lust for battle on the grassy lion’s den.
The Vulture and the Fox
Undertaker vultures fly in circles overhead.
The desert fox on meerkat on the hot sand tread.
Scavengers swoop in skeletal arcs upon the vulpine prey.
The vixen and her cub survives for one more day.
Every claw a bladed word, a talon like a knife.
Every fleeting moment clings blinking to dear life.
But vultures cannot break a cunning fox’s will
To survive the brute the fox must pair his guile with his skill.
Shepherd of Dependence
Opinions pummelled into my head
Against my want
Against my will
Take a heavy painful toll
For this, I pay a hefty bill?
All but perfection is forbidden
No freedom to be, or to be hidden
The imagination shackled, we dream behind bars
Cornered agnation, we are falling like stars
And follow like sheep the shepherd of dependence
Our sorrows are cheap devoid of transcendence
My character is molded by the cowardly and weak
Ambition blindfolded by a future that’s bleak
Eoghan Smyth Cavanagh
The journey over at long last,
It has taken many men.
The quiet ones they come at night,
To take your souls again.
Whispering softly in the moonlight
We crumble to their judgement.
Demented people come to die
Here at the northern front.
Some say you can see them rise
Into the blood red sky.
The consequences of neglect,
Though no one questions why.
Your big bright lights will never shine
Here in the dreaded dark
Where all the haunted people come
To haunt the children’s park
Where the ocean’s thunder meets
The ever moving sand
The cold and shivering winter
Bids you fall at its command
Dust and Skin
My enemy’s ghost haunts this place
Where he was executed
Here is a nightmare just for him
For the dreams that he polluted
Here is life and here is hell
A funeral and a wedding bell
Here am I in sight and sound
While he lies silent in the ground
Sometimes we lose, sometimes we win
For we are dust and dust is skin
Time and Kings
The digital sun shines down on us
We get bored once in a while
Darkness and evil collide in space
Then faints a wicked smile
The rain and hail falls like tears
The ghosts of men arrive
We do not wait for time or kings
To make us feel alive
Children’s nightmares stored away
Where darkest secrets hide and play
The imagination running wild
The music of the screaming child
Wingless thoughts like thoughtless time
Cannot learn to fly
Thoughtless time lies motionless
Where stories come to die
Among the old and broken piles
Of long forgotten things
The angel of all heartbreak
With the cracked and broken wings
Michael Quinn Keogh
Millions died, forgotten faces,
Numbers and statistics.
Murdered for a shade of faith,
The dead left to decompose,
Never to be seen or heard again.
You can feel rebellion building
In the burning hearts of men
I’m in my element of fire, doing what I do.
Don’t care what they say or think,
I do it just for you
The illusion of the blind and free,
From the oppressive hypocritical.
Think we are their puppets,
But the puppeteers political
The lambs become the lions,
Fighting for their fragile lives
They’ve made the hard transition,
I can see it in their eyes
The hills have eyes, watching me
Like the sun upon your head.
Lifeless eyes pale ghosts
Filled with hate and dread.
I will be remembered for all of time
For the things that I have done
Things that cannot be untied
From which you cannot run
I cannot not feel my broken legs
In the decomposing mould
Lying in the death-filled mud
Legs go numb with cold
Little did I know that day
The rats of time were gnawing
Silence breaks like breaking glass
The frost of death are thawing
No one speaks or makes a noise,
Not knowing is how they destroy,
They lurk in forests void of sound,
They crawl beneath the rotting ground,
In cloaks of darkness and deceit,
In whispers of deception,
Sound is a weapon here,
The crack of death,
The breath of fear,
It’s the dreaded world,
We cannot face,
This quiet place.
Broken soldiers weeping at their fallen comrades graves,
Fighting for their free will which will always die a slave,
The only lights that light the night are the lights of an early death,
That come to take the moment from a young man’s dying breath,
Dreams once a reality come to die and turn to dust,
All with subtle nod, salute or just a simple thrust,
Once happy men become broke, shadows of their former selves,
Now just wishing to be back in supermarkets stocking shelves,
Clouds cover the forlorn sky so god cannot see in,
As the devil appears wrapped in a flag with an evil grin,
Reality falls like blinding light and scares away the nightmares,
As a proud mother weeping descends the broken hearted stairs,
Waiting for a prodigal son that will never return home,
Who was once a sound that filled the halls
Is now just skin and bone.
I cast the illusion of practised calm
Each day I move towards the dark
The voices in my head drown out reason
Screams in time with my heart
I pretend my thoughts don’t hound my decisions
Nobody realises how much I care
I act like I’m not at war with myself
But the demon takes a toll I cannot bear.
Adrenaline pumps through these young blood veins
Like a cheetah burning fire through the African plains
Anger exploding like a storm in the dark
Fighting with the hunger of a great white shark
Sadness sulking in the corner of the room
Happiness rising like a prophet from the tomb
Blissful Dreams Dreaded Nightmares
Blissful dreams dreaded nightmares
Shattered pieces in despair
Fearless boys and fragile men
Broken comrades lying there
Fallen by the tens of thousands
While warfare waves a flag
A blindfold for your stout recruits
In their body bags
The Brittle Truth
The brittle truth quickly digressed,
Innocence unjustly oppressed,
The guilty reign in brutal charge,
Dread and shadow all at large
The dead rest in fragile peace,
They swarm like flies on the deceased.
Eoghan Smyth Cavanagh
The Judas Tree
The light consumed by ravenous dark,
None can hear the loudest hark.
Your nightmares hanging from the Judas tree,
No escape from the screams of the banshee.
The strong are battered and beaten down,
Begging for mercy in the ruthless ground.
Dreams and hopes torn to pieces,
Where is your saviour now, Lord Jesus?
Rainbows sundered by devastating storms,
A halo of light and crown of thorns.
Where no one wants to ever be,
At their end beneath the Judas tree.
Depression crept into this cage,
Which I have come to call my mind.
Where everything goes black as hell
To this dark you are confined.
No one cares that you are real,
You know not where you are going
You forget all you have known,
You disengage from knowing
You reach out for warmth, a friendly hug,
But he was as cold as an illusion.
It makes you think in twisted circles,
He was just your mind’s delusion.
The sun stands still
The buildings rise
The oligarchs of industry
Puppeteer our lives
So we fall into chaos
When the rain comes down
There’s money pouring from the heavens
But it doesn’t hit the ground
They walk upon the shattered blades
That still have an edge
Broken into pieces
Or still hanging from the ledge
Their fall hits as hard and short
As their terminal breath
And everything then ceases
They all reborn in death.
The devilish demonic
Have out come to play
With your weak worthless soul
At the shadow goat’s ballet
The blessed meek are buried
And the strong have come to battle
For darling death shall shepherd
Them to hell like bloody cattle
The darkness comes to dance
And the devil is on patrol
Shadows next victim
Is the servant of your soul
Your nightmares becomes reality
Your imagination running wild
It snakes around your little life
For you my serpent child
Thoughts of pain and agony are inbound
They come and go as they please
Painkillers sprout from the weeds in the ground
Their song is the only thing that puts me at ease
God drags me here, but reality drags me there
No one helps, no one listens
Solutions lead us nowhere
Pressures pounds to succeed in life
From parents, school and of peers
Live up to others, find yourself
I first prayed to the Holy Trinity
In the desert of my greatest need
I questioned everything I knew,
My hands and feet began to bleed
I found a thing inside of me
Raw untempered power
I found my masculinity there
In the my darkest hour
Mikey Mina Ronayne
Thoughts of a Prisoner within his Mind
I live in endless suffering,
The end so far away.
I think in circles in the dark,
I cannot run away.
Troubling thoughts they haunt me,
I know not where they’re from.
The palace of my intellect
Is no more than a slum.
Hope blossoms like a summer’s rose,
The future is in full bloom.
The great adventure of life unfolds
From the sanctum of the womb.
For love is the Holy Grail
For which I always searched,
For though my mind may be a slum,
My heart shall be my church.
Julian Jimenez Ospina
The whispering darkness engulfs the surroundings
Of your blistering thoughts
The positivity start drowning
Diabolical logic that you wrought
A futile reality blossoms
You can hear the banshee scream
Loneliness becomes a normal thing
Love a distant dream
People sound like a distant ring
No one can help anymore
I’m all by myself I hear you sing
A song I can’t ignore
I start to try to drive the car
To sing the song
To play guitar
I hope to be the man like he
Or just be happy to be me
I start to play a different game
The same old rules, a different name
At my story’s turning point
My future is what I anoint
The scene of the crime,
Blood on the floor
A body dismembered in a bag
The subtle distinction
Between the strong and weak
And the wrong
Dark thoughts slither
Around in the shadows of a mind
Hiding from the consequence released
A bright young girl
Ecstasy and death become one
Warm blood splattered
On the rough jagged wall
The fractured and the dented
I used to smoke like burning trees,
Navigate lonely realties
Time dragged slowly
My friends were missed
No place to go
Fun didn’t exist
There was no such thing
Using drugs was normality
A needle or a hunting knife
A moment that can change a life
I try to hide it, to cover it up
But that’s the blade from which I was cut.
I Used to Play Rugby
I run on the pitch, jump over a ditch,
I wish only that I don’t get a stitch.
The match begins, the atmosphere tense,
I get kneed in the face and then nothing makes sense.
I lie on the ground, my consciousness gone,
In the hospital bed, my family looks on.
I awake, what has happened?
By my survival I am gladdened.
Circus of Dust
Adults have been disturbed for their purpose.
Children rewarded for being so worthless.
Man acting like clowns, they belong in a circus.
But still, why does that leave me so nervous.
Teenagers wondering why they aren’t flawless
The elderly wishing they were much more cautious
The dreams, the ambition, they all turn to dust
For that once glittered now turned to rust.
In the Middle of the Night
A sound wakes me in the middle of the night
I look out the window and see the starlight
The room is warm, 68 Fahrenheit
I leave my room, no torch just eyesight
The sight of light filled me with delight
In spite of light surrounding me
I was still filled with fright
But for now I’ll just sit tight