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Aug 20, 2010
Dive Beneath

Mangled linens twisted round me
as if hands, I FEEL HANDS upon my flesh.
Rippled edges of the world before me,
why can’t I see you…see clearly that
which you dangle before my eyes?
Running down this unfamiliar corridor
and yet I know now what it is I search.
Open door, silent strangled screaming
and somehow I know I’m not here.

I cry out your name, cry out to anyone
and yet I know that no one can come.
Terror, unbecoming, no sound escapes.
Peeking beyond the edge of the curtain...
falling off the ledge of existence and
know, in landing, I’ll never wake from this.
Membrane cushion, I sink through skin
into the grey beyond, and deeper down,
down, down, into the pit...tunnel vision

I see dawn approaching and I wander forth
in search of comfort, security it would offer.
Centre of the clouds, I’ve wandered into
these heavens, and beyond lay darkness.
Pool of chaos, engulfing me, erasing me,
yet remains my inward consciousness.
Single gossamer thread remains between.
I am of this, this thickened intangibility.
I am not of this, having left behind my skin.

The vehicle of my existence knows not
what horrors remain inside that vortex.
That coiling ribbon, slender line between
the lucid and those detachably deranged.
I walk among two fields of vision, pulled
and pushed by each, and each again; again.
If closed these portals lead to everywhere,
and when open they lead only here…to this.
I must choose which path, and choosing end.


any copying/reproduction/distribution of this writing, in whole or in part, without express permission from the author is strictly prohibited. ©SaerenPhoenix 2008
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Posted: Aug 20, 2010 9:18pm
Aug 20, 2010
Endless Thankless

Justify yourself, selfish, self-centred swine!
Unknown; nameless; no one; nothing;
quantify what you’ve offered unto the “all”!
Tiny doppelgangers wear your sneering face,
all milling round you at waist height?
Do you not see those gears, how they’re
grinding just beneath the delicate surface,
mimicking each harshness, each ugliness?
Pity for them, I harbour sadness as I trace,
ever forward, their lot on this coil.
You blind them quickly so that when
choice is proffered, quickly would it fade.
I see! You feel accomplished loosing
devils, DEMONS upon this fragile soil.
And what of them then, speculations…
or all those that would multiply thereafter?
Status quo; you bequeath your mother
one hundred further generations’ filth
laid out in line then, in your stead.
How dare you, as you dared presumed
too much in your complex, whilst
with permissions lacking, did you rely
upon the premise of your own existence.
As this world would cast you onward,
cast, too this light; harsh reality upon you,
have I spat upon the ground at your feet.
Mother bestowed you wondrous treasure;
nature, wisdom, creation of the blank slate,
and gave you nothing to her, but your ego;
in return, no worthy gift other than these--
thankless contributions of your SELF!


any copying/reproduction/distribution of this writing, in whole or in part, without express permission from the author is strictly prohibited. ©SaerenPhoenix 2008
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Posted: Aug 20, 2010 9:10pm
Aug 20, 2010
Tu eres una Mariposa

briefly glimpsed as you shape shift.
barely visible, the tiny changes in
your colour, your poise, your presence.
ever onward, never linger, never giving
anything so much as the time of day.
you wander in, out, in, out and would
never think to consider the world beyond;
beyond the fragile borders of your flesh.
maybe once, but once and ne’er thereafter.
why then, be so much significance assigned?
reminder of forgotten ghosts, worlds, lives?
vicariously to ride upon your simple wing?
not so; yet still I contemplate, ponder that
which would be curious, were it not yours.
were you not there to flit, to flicker between
rows of stones and flowers, were I not allowed
to remain a silent witness, sideline passenger;
questionably madness, disinterest in the whole.
such a tiny thing, but painful when absent
and still so painful be it to observe you, still
silently standing by, never involved, invisible.
truth is often mistakable depending on where
you are positioned in the moment of said sight.
with that comes a question, begging to be decried.
is it truly your fickle nature, or is it mine?


any copying/reproduction/distribution of this writing, in whole or in part, without express permission from the author is strictly prohibited. ©SaerenPhoenix 2008
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Posted: Aug 20, 2010 9:00pm
Aug 20, 2010

Of Flames and Flowers

(as originally written on January 3rd, 2008)

What earth wouldst I inherit;
the meekness of the spirit,
wagered spoils of treachery,
the salvation of the weak from
that which all their longing
proves both farce and false?
What ‘heart’s desire’ comes?
Not always, nor often, nor fairly.
Burning passion of dying hearts
will in times of misery, extinguish.
No ONE, nor all, gains fruition
from their fearful, tiring fury.
No one shall always solace
in result, for flames may just
burn flesh or spirit, hence
such meekness at its birth!
Flames make not, wanting fools,
though the lesson may be both
poisoned cruelty or lesson proved.
Lessons are the heart of structure
in what is to be a life itself.
Comes then hope and happiness
to those both worthy and kindly
of these black or yellow gifts.
Baskets of eggs may topple.
Taken from this one discards baskets,
then to rise, to use both hands.
There is a flower here!
One who would not see it
would purchase another basket.

---phoenix 1-03-2008

any copying/reproduction/distribution of this writing, in whole or in part, without express permission from the author is strictly prohibited. ©SaerenPhoenix 2008

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Posted: Aug 20, 2010 7:17pm


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Mary Coleman
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