Whatever You Think I Am; I'm Not!

I disregarded a charlatan, for negating my own trust,
I do not trust the reticent from showing me disgust
I argue with the thrice heads of the dog of war and sin,
I spell it out for ignorance that Cerberus is kingpin

I formalise, not realise, this discontentment when I fall,
I understand, not formicate, which is why I stand up tall,
For failure is not understood by those who apparently win,
So rare are these hospitable, that they rarely recognise sin

I identify with souls of rage, disaster alongside fatigue,
Wondering if I will ever realise how close to death I’ve been,
The suffering and hatred, the regret along with pain
Struggling alongside innocence, and admiring their domain

Dominion rules, and subjective fools, retort from all that disgusts,
Ritual abuse, has absolved much misuse of persons of whom I discuss,
So must it be true, when they haven’t a clue to judge us and rule us and say,
No man can stand in front of me and state, he is different in any way.

21/12/07

EyeCeyE (Iain Cockhill)

Sanctuary

True was the band of troubadours transpiring to transcend,
Blue was the colour of the blended flower that was berated with incense,
Sound was the singular virtue, so soulfully and scantily read,
Why were the tones of the instruments of wind so wistful and woefully wed?

If this was the way of the Ischian breeze, with Its Italic Italian Idiom,
Then surely we can traverse their display, despite their deceitful dominion.
Found then I’m certain foundations can flourish, and
Grace discovered when gratuitous;
I alone can beat the ignorant, the blasphemers, and hopefully, the spurious.

Don’t cry for him; he seeks no pity, just empathetic ears,
So signify his significance and swallow sympathetic tears
March in rhythm to the beat of his drum and nod in his own syncopation,
For he hears only in partial tones; exceptional tones of delirium

For time it spans a thousand ticks and time titrates time-space,
The only greater wonder is the need for mankind’s haste,
To find the answer so soon is doom, we need to be more patient,
To understand that time stands still is less understood than latent


Iain Cockhill 2007 (EyeCeyE)

Emancipation

The crackles of dawn, and the eventual morn,
Bring about such immense upheaval,
Who could find it a strain, with the weight of my veins?
So I begged to those without fever.

If I were a tree, and blessed would I, could deny any feelings of shame,
So as it were true; And you could do what you do?!
This is not anger; this is pain!

So just disappear or make yourself near,
Or do whatever it is that you do.
But harm me no more; let me bleed no more sores,
You can’t touch me for all I berate, you're touch can no longer liberate.

For these feelings of scorn, mentioned only at dawn,
Had described all concerns of my peers,
And I laughed at the gaze of that wicked man's haze,
As I watched as he was forlorn.

With the picket fence erect, and his post was adorned
With fascist dictator’s pleasures,
And despite all my rage and the inevitable praise,
My soul could not avoid his allure.

My presence was told and held it resent, until captured, tortured and controlled,
The scientists praise along with his gaze, was nurtured, recumbent and re-sold
To the last buying merchant of souls out of time,
He sold his soul to the devil, yes!
Beelzebub’s claims are far too insane to be anything other than fable.

Just this last open healing, and blessings and feelings,
Don’t distinguish between all we discuss.
For I will be sub serve, as you will again deserve, all
The trust and the hope of the needing.

Let me languish in love, let me drink its fine fluid,
And please do not ask me to stop,
For I am a sentient, respectful, obedient,
Do not treat me like I am a slave.

Desire not for freedom but crave for some justice,
A reminder that we are not lost,
Only found again, it needed no doubt,
For we have become disgust.

A painful sore on the backside of shores,
The beaches our gods dwell in their summer,
And with some distress, i announce this is a mess,
And honour our guest with their arrival.

Suppose for one moment that all was not lost,
That we had the power to change?
Would our change be the best, could we spell out the right?
The truth of all of our people?

Should we laugh at ourselves, like the jezebel’s?
The libertines, and the oppressors?
Should we stand, side by side?
And with nothing to hide, open handed
Sit around the table?

We could talk more than words, exchange more than gifts,
Could we understand each other so proudly,
But sadly the truth that is so painfully real,
Is that there is no place no nearer than here.

EyeCeyE 2007 (Iain Cockhill) XxX

Incest Sister

Spoken into silence
and emptiness again
The words echo off my wall
into loneliness and shame.

The stillness of my being
awoken from my sleep
Finding darkness in my soul
lonely tears I weep.

Empty words of innocence
of cruelty and of shame
Crying out into the night
into loneliness again.

Painful memories dwell so deep
and emptiness I've known
I reach for understanding
just to find that I'm alone.

Desperate cries in silence
never letting go
Wounds so deep inside me
the pain I only know.

Sadness has engulfed me
the family made me kiss her
Pieces of my innocence
shattered by my sister.

Inside - my innocence is lost
she took away from me -
And in this world of brokenness
there's nothing left in me.

DEMONS

I lie awake
I watch the stars
My thoughts they wander
But never far
For creatures lurk in murky depths
Of secrets that had best be kept
My skin, it crawls
When feelings rise
The fears I hold down deep inside
Never speak
Of wicked things
That haunt my soul, invade my dreams
For truth resides in darkness, deep
And from its shadows this truth may seep
Revealing where
And what horrors lie
That keep the terror welled up inside
I wish to set my demons free
Chastise them, to let me be
To feel again
And not to fear
To walk through life, hold someone dear
To know my worth
Feel my skin
Know the person deep within
To finally have my body be
Something that belongs to me.

C. S. C.

Delicate

When darkness shrouds, my love stands proud,
Although distant pale light descends from above
It stands still as though afraid to move,
Though it makes no sound, but it helps me calm.
Then the waking tide n’ the empty farm stall
I wait for thee to return to my warmth.
The touch, your hand, to replenish my soul
I wait, and drift away my thoughts, for
Tomorrow we will go to the place of our birth.

The light it brings such low, bright light,
A winter’s chill on the snowflake glass
The mellow mooing of the waking calves
Their breathe so vivid, with acrid hay
Wipe away the sandman’s sleep, dissolve away my dreams
For today we encounter the rivers and the streams,
Their days of longing will soon return,
By and large their hopes will be cast,
To hear and understand their plight,
With courage they may survive the night

Onward and searching, blind lead the blind,
Ostensibly realising the lesson of trust,
Naked and restless, arms outstretched,
Touching and stroking her slender sublime,
Rendering time like a slow motion mime,
Don’t harsh me you infidel, you heathen abound,
Wait by the arches, there’s something I’ve found
Alas! Comes the cry of the last troubadour…..SILENCE!

“I pronounce he who hath laid his sword in the arena tonight
shall be worthy for a place at the Kings Table, so long as he is victorious!!!”

So the chivalry commenced and all but the dense,
Were driven so violently to display,
To abolish their fear and exacerbate their size, make themselves warriors in glory
With their glory a joke, and the haze of my smoke,
The curse came and took it upon me…
No! Something’s not right, This game was not friendly,
So I searched high and low, and thought that that’s got to go,
But my friend, my only friends had left me,
so lonely, as I found him cold and dead in my arms.

Iain Cockhill 4/12/07