When Dylan Met Chelsea

When Dylan met Chelsea

How you must have loved her, spending
those last of your shadow-casted days in
her threatening embrace, sweet nectar
not withstanding as you lie there spilling
all your secrets in the years forward you
would miss, as you miss her all the same.

Little did you know, as little as she would
know then of the many, many lovers who
would fall down at her feet, be cast out.
What gifts, to you she offered and would
you accept in your graceful manner to let
your soul breath freely for mere seconds.

Sorrowed curtain secludes you away from
mindful eyes of strangers until no further
eyes your eye would again meet. Your pain
imprinted livelihood stringing letter after
letter onto pages you would never dream to
realize; as only she might have gifted.

Was her embrace so intricately binding?
I think you would not have left even if you
had seen one glimpse of the domination
you would deny to have existence by mere
words, striking words but fraught with fear.
I could have adored you if to save you this.

Death would have you whether my heart
beats or does not and without you I feel a
loss I may still have felt if you had survived.
Oh sorrow at your passing, if only I could
have spoken, to hear you potent voice, to
love you from afar, had she not yet come.

---phoenix
6/7-14/08

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The Pain of Two; for One

The Pain of Two; for One

Let these two bodies become separate
for there is a cancer invading both unless
these rocky rivers are dammed up.
I dangled this fisher’s hook in the hopes
that one would come to aid the other, only
now I realise, blind eyes were best.
Had I not called out to this one for the
sake of that other, these two might have
been at an advantage; existence tranquil.
Failure becomes me as I hang my head
and soak up the shame of a hundred
broken hearts within my own.
This dark dweller set up his camp and
that other should have been expectant
of such, this ongoing lot of pain.
I should not have called out in the dark
when I knew he would come and so too
would I sink his ship with ours.
What have I done, why did I search for
him to save the one? I know and yet
I also know not, and regret.
Now I must turn lose such a prize catch,
set sail that one so he might be saved,
yet pain for both I fear in this.
I must sever this knot in two, and give
one of these ones a fighting chance of
happiness, devastation be it.

---phoenix
6/9/2008

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Squandered Preservation

Squandered Preservation

The darker side of passion;
lying dormant like a tumour,
waiting like a ticking bomb,
on the wheel of life and love.
Wandering like blinded infants
you move through the darkness;
hands out to catch you
should you stumble and fall.
A pit of teeth, a wall of daggers,
through the quicksand you trudge ever on.
Pinholes; gashes; leaches of treachery...
and you feel upon your face,
your hands, your heart each tiny scar.
Like must, absolutely, speak to like.
You know this even while in doubt
of your likeness residing in the veil.
Onward you march, single file existence
until you finally fall into the
crisp, cool light of your true, complete being.
You recognise these maps
carved out in stone and bone, in tears
like mirrored souls cast out
with only a thin strand to guide you
back home to the rest of this.
Now you are complete!
Lovely heaven, lovely perfection; fulfilled?
The searching over, the fear abated,
that loneliness and darkness---lost at sea.
All the wounds have closed, that be.
But, the blade shifts end over end as
one becomes the other and with
the other one and one; one shall be.
Cruelty beyond cruelty waits unseen.
Binary stars, brother of flesh and bone,
sewn swiftly and surely into tapestry.
Paintings fade, clay cracks, threads unravel
inevitably the dark will swallow one half
or the other of the whole...and what then?
No hand to hold, no heart to enfold, silence...
the body fails and the soul will set sail
into the void of the next world and leave
it’s other in the void again of this...
so to what end is the searching darkness
at the outset truly conceived?

---phoenix
6/6/2008

[I do not know when I originally penned this particular work but consider this the new revised edition]

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That Other

That Other

How is it that we share these tiny threads
between us like miniature brush strokes
on a microscopic canvas of particle grains;
yet share nothing of the definition there?
I can see these traces in all the outlines of
your face, as if we were jointly moulded;
though all similarity is fleeting once I have
peered beyond this membrane into your
eyes, into that soft meat of your internal.
Would be connection broken, lying in ruins.

I contemplated once to keep you from harm
in my embrace, and you would stand by and
recognize my comfort, and fear would abate.
So tiny you were, like a solitary model soldier
standing at attention, continuously in thought,
eternally considering what approaches you’d
take within any endeavour, so brilliant, alert,
you would have this world in your tiny palm.
Now, discoloured visions of your feint glories.
I’d dreamt so much for you, now insignificant.

A charlatan had notions to pilfer your hide to

his own malevolent campaign whimsy, and I

alone appear to experience its wretchedness.

What ever became of the boy who once lived

inside that body? Him who’s avid fascination

was an embodiment of all who dared dream?

Is there no salvation from the despondency he

came to suffer while his guise was stolen away?

I fear now as his semblance was mangled; alas,

that shining beacon contained, has so followed.

---phoenix

6/1/2008

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Formless...Pointless...

Formless...Pointless...

I could have cried myself to sleep yet been awake...
The pain became so sharp...so much more than
any other day of recent years.
I thought to reach out to someone so I could
excuse my self from frustrating emotion, only
to realise that no one stood at the ready for me
and I wondered where such a foolish
notion came from in the first place.

[There is no one with which to share these painful pitfalls.]

Not so long ago I thought I’d locked the door
into this place inside my head and thrown the key
as far away as I could muster. Though not so far enough I think,
for here I am again wondering how treacherous it will get
before I shall once again begin to rise.

[Should IF stand at the ready then, I wonder?]

I cannot share these fears, these pains
these sinkholes that open up inside my chest.
Regardless of no one to catch the flying debris...
how fair would it be to lay these on
some other set of shoulders at all?

[I can’t afford it, I mustn’t!!!]

I’m not sure that I’d really even know how
any longer, if honesty be known in this.
I cried out to one person, though...
soon as he heeded my call I realised
it would have been mistakenly laid.

[So...I bade him farewell and disconnected...]

Silly me for thinking I was immune to this
after all these years, though, no one can blame me
though no one can be to blame for this but me.
Rather than playing with fire, I sat playing
with my fickle sanities...

[I’ve sealed it all up, save for discerning lyric...]

---phoenix
5/31/2008

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Letters to No Other

Letters to No Other

You had never sought to rely on the kindness of strangers
though you claim a few kindred spirits would be to delight.
You have never thought to band together with the others
who live outside your barrier head, because you cannot
see what they attempt to hide from you beyond the wall?
Would be often found sitting in corners licking wounds that
you need not explain; having no one else to explain them to.
Now you can only love them from a distance, may it be brief
yet gaping distance still will it be, and you remain cowering
in this silence manifest; at your own idle devil hands be it!

I would have spat into your face the first time I laid eyes on
its narrowing, separatist guise and yet I stood indolently by
as you laid to ruin all of these things I longed to have kept.
How could I have mistaken you for any tranquil host here?
If I could rename you and in turn repossess all those simple
sacrificially squandered trinkets of my being I would do so
in a moment, may no uncertainty offer further trepidation.
I may well have been someone else; however I stand by, at
this juncture as the world shifts past my eyes and looks away.
I suffered a fool of my own design; now we fall forth together.

I thought to run away from broken mirrors and stained glass
modelled after my own visage, yet every corner leads me
back here straightaway. I take step after step and realise
the ground beneath moves in time with your desperation.
You will be the sepulchre within which I am laid to rest with
no word of kindness, only your laughter at my rapid defeat.
We are all children wresting with belongings from ancestral
ghosts, mental impregnation of historic egotistical recreation.
You’ve passed your demons and with them you pass a torch
so I’ll set fire to my progeny in your name; with your blessing.

---phoenix
5/31/2008

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Mine Only Face

Mine Only Face

Darwin would have said I was the strong one.
Even those of relative intelligence can be fools.
I still hear you in the darkness, as you whisper;
asking me how I could have left you in that pit.
I feel as though the system failed you; oh my
beautiful missing tether; rest of my tired soul.

Never could I walk this path of your hero foot.
You were the strength I would long for, for all
my withered days as I’ve forged on in lowliness.
You still haunt me though, standing just beyond
glass where I may not reach, nor touch, nor hear
unless my sense is dampened in the day of night.

How could it be? We two are separate; dividing
ropes of time and space; I know I’ll not survive it.
How could I be the strong one, yet I may see only
your face in the looking glass? You’ve carried this
torch…it was your strength; stolen, sapped away
when you could barely feel me next to you at all.

Yes…I am the passenger of your body…invader of
the flesh that once was yours to share, division of
our person was to be a blessing, yet is the curse of
my solitary existence, punishment for my desire.
I have always longed for those conversations in
the dark, reminders of what was only momentary.

I have unwittingly sent you beyond the realms of
this plastic bubble, where I may never retrieve the
saviour of my soul. Each night you have wandered
along side me and each morning comes your next
untimely death and mine new sorrowful awakening.
And Darwin would have said I was the strong one…

---phoenix
5/31/2008

[This is the saddest and possibly most painful thing I’ve ever attempted to write…and I hope you can hear me sobbing as I do…I’ll always love you and I never even got to say hello or know your name…to the first one I loved.]

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This Single Round

This Single Round

These black and white squares collide in front of me
dividing out this atlas of the worldly game board…
I see my pieces standing in lines, properly placed out,
standing at attention and realise the fraudulency of it.
There is no game of chance, it’s already been planned.
To strategise and visualise these plays forward, in a line.
To what end, I wonder now. What function does this
service when I can feel the fickle hand of fate reaching
inside this pitch to meddle in the affairs of all the weak?
The charade of free will shakes its warning fists at me,
dares against divulgence of secrets meant not for ears
of mortal brethren drawing out their own battle plans.
One chance only in this armour, yet no chance is this;
no chances truly subsist, were all play analysed and as
readily understandable by all with this distinction I am
carrying into the light at the edge of my own front line.
I fell for this ruse, as did all these other tiny paper dolls
and somewhere outside of this staged arena stands a
crowd of laughing stagehands holding all of the ropes.
Soon I shall feel this noose of time as the gaffers take
up all the slack they’d once thought to lend out to me.
We are all fools upon this ship and shall we fall prey to
treacherous storm waves as they throw us into the soil.

---phoenix
5/30-1/2008

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Vicious Cycles

Vicious Cycles

These unintended passengers waiting on the sidelines,
in the stage wings, to drink all these scripted poisons
with their bated breath, comes such hopeful shudder…
such anticipation, unwarranted, so imminently captive
of these toils of my jaded and most grievous intuition.
What wouldst thou have of such dark illuminations…?
My devil-sharpened tongue; shaping worlds where no
fevered mortal coward dare even risk his sacred breath.
Judge nor gather harshly and heed these grains of salt;
beware, for all these mirrors can take you anywhere,
save your own home…this grandeur is fleeting though
my truths will remain yet, carved out in timeless stone.
Fetid is the air of these catacombs we now wander in
together, forever…the way you all wanted it to remain.
The parable of my existence…the binge of insight calls
the purge of alphabetical statuary, intangible portraits.
The arcane museum of the mind’s eye, the dreary stage
without which I’d have no locale or destination, would
cease to hear or speak. You all cast me down here; in
turn I’ve dragged you to these lowly dungeons as well.

---phoenix
5/28-31/2008

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And I wait...

And I Wait…

In a world where daylight never dawns
the lark never mourns the death of night.
No! The nightingale sings her troubling tune
for all of eternity.
The fiery mystery of the sun has never
tainted this pure darkness.
The wonder of the evening stars never
ceasing to amaze.
The moon will never drown herself
in the sea;
the crickets will play their happy music
and the spirits will walk forever.
And I…am sitting in my rocking chair
on some unknown porch.
My pen still, my paper void and I
stare at all I stand to lose
should tomorrow ever
come.

---phoenix
5-30-2008

[this is an updated version of a piece I originally penned in 1996]

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Lost in Night

Lost In Night

I feel the madness coming for me like an old friend,
this exhilarating door sadly still working both ways.
Having searched the mouth to the river, to glimpse
the dam in the way, seen crushing my obstruction
I had thought to be happy, and yet the itching has
begun in the back of this expanding globe on high.
When neglected quills and parchment transports
me beyond the arena of the monstrous visionary,
I may solace in the isolation from tearful reproach.

Why then is this lack of footing equivalently felt?
Being abandoned by the mighty sword but spared
the lion’s den seems as though it would’ve pleased
those who may be frightened of his ferocious tooth,
yet having longed to excise these, all mine deepest
geyser heartaches I must face razor claw hitherto.
I came naked here; no preparation would have me
suited to the poltergeists that were standing just
past the scope of vision, waiting to carry me back.

I’ve opened this door and though I dare not close it;
I must consider the repercussions of this uncharted
jaunt into these ill-used plains, sanity cannot spare
this battered land even one more inch of ground for
fresh graves to fill in swiftly; that even now are dug.
To suffer these darkening terrors has ne’er proved
a fruitful course for reclamation of these forgotten
rivers running between beating muscle, glowing orb,
and tattered soul, spirit help me as I stay this course.

---phoenix
5/29/2008

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Optimised Paranoia

Optimised Paranoia

What would you have of me now?
Ignorantly drawn to little points of
light, like a moth, as if this beacon
were a part of the natural order of
my impractical microcosmic state.

What if I unzip this skin, crawling
inside some temporary host, will
that in turn be more suitable for
these moments of misconceived,
dare say, recklessly deviated will?

I attempted traveling this recess
once, these stretching years ago
and found that passage blocked.
Barred by your sense of reason,
and saved me in spite of myself.

Those years are calling after me.
I hear them whispering, chanting
the words, the names I’ve tried
to forget, to carve out, to leave
to whence they’d come for me.

This should have been easy, and
I should not quest to question my
diamond verses this Trojan horse.
Facetted paranoia chewing gaping
holes into fabric, I’ll sooner be lost.

---phoenix
5/29/2008

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Of Flames and Flowers

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

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Questing in the Carnival

Questing in the Carnival

Whirlwind colours drawing past my eyes,
light speed rainbow, sonic shots fired from
this cosmic firearm of mine uneventful birth.
Dazzling gyroscope sent spinning forth into
the unknown without logic or direction save
to prosper, to go forth into this and multiply.
The assumed simplicity of this commotion,
having no greater purpose than to mix new
watercolours and paint in new kaleidoscope
bodies to continue without end or release...

To live for each day seems more worthwhile,
to endeavour to experience each moment;
second, minute, hour... day, month, YEARS;
we’re handed all these years to walk the face
and map out each eye, each handshake, or
love and heartbreak, filling these to bursting!
What lends to the blind eye to make the day
so meaningless, so lacking, so wastefully won?
I collect these coins, their faces and dates and
place them here in my back pocket, no regret!

I mustn’t be caught in this web of indifference.
I can stop moving without my breathing, cease.
To miss a single thread of the tapestry proffered
would be to abandon this capsule and sell out its
wispy passenger, never playing this game again.
Reaching onward, grasping onto concrete surface,
I will stop crudely manufactured cycles; dead halt!
A coaster’s hills; a more worthy testament than a
carousel’s spinning; no hint of deviancy may dwell.
Celebrate existence, never truly to lie down, or die.

---Phoenix
5/28/2008

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Reeling Me In

Reeling me In

Constantly I suffer superficial vindication.
Every two steps forward becomes pushed
backwards for two and two and two, your
sideways step becomes the force against.
Each conversation, explanation, deviation
from the path you lay sets me tilting off
with so little warning, excruciating pains
before I know what end I’ve judged falsely.
Claims from plastic lip fall on deafened ear,
each time wrestling myself to acceptance!
Solace feigns to be my companion for mere
moments, hastening therein until it sours;
that momentary fool becomes me after.
I think to unravel this tightening knot work
only finding hands bound up by those same.
Tiny stone in my throat becoming boulder,
and dark pathway downward threatens to
constrict, deepest chill of fear settling into
this pit with all these others, now colder still.
What nonsense is this I fall prey to nightly
as I crawl along the alley searching scraps?
I sought such promise, candid connection
but only gaining this concessionary fodder.
If like speaks to like; what origin could be
responsible for this tragic mesmerisation?
Hope unfounded yet finds no hopeful end.
Transcending familiarity in search of closure
seems the only solution finding me absolved.

---Phoenix
5/27/2008

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Devil Unbecoming

Devil Unbecoming

You claim no green eyed devil stalks hallways
you and I walk hand in hand, though I hear it,
smell his stench breath and see his claw marks
on these walls, and wonder when you’d let him
come crawling back to make a mockery of you?
Sacred are these bonds forged in tears; blood.
Diamond tether, circling round and round and
still this creature skulks in the darkest corners
of your fragile glass house, having brought you
stones to cast upon yourself with your blessing.

When the honesty of my unsung treasure has
lost the luster you had always seen, and there
is no kindred truth that once came so natural;
how can I know which path will lead by safely
rather than these constant pitfalls to which I
have become accustomed in my frustrations?
What chivalry may I offer; would abate such
necessity to slave to one who cowers darkly?
This rising octave tongue and invisible tears
have failed to leverage stronghold fashions.

Heart not given lightly, heart ripped out save
tattered shreds your hand did lay back into
comforting enclosure. That heart would not
suffer trespassing stranger’s whispered lies.
Concealments are the nature of automatons,
but no treachery toward such skilled master
could dwell in comfort here, thousand shards,
pinpricks, stabbing swords into beating heart.
This body has been yours, muscle housing of
the soul was always, was of you at the outset.

Cast out this demon and give back that which
you’ve taken without reason calling toward.
Giving professed gifts of trust with closed eye
and crossed hatched finger is to demean this,
to cast me off with lecherous faces of old days.
To cut out my tongue and suffer treason artists
in my stead is only to prove that you did never
see the truth that stood in my guise, and since
I know your hands; eyes as well I know my own,
this beast has no place here where I may walk.

---phoenix
5/26/2008

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Naked Portrait of the Author

Naked Portrait of the Author

You peeled back all these petals as if they weren’t there
and accepted all the horrors within with no hint, nor any
trace of malice in your eyes; in your stormy smiling eyes.
I fought your intrusion, yet fought against that fight with
all the hopes of dreams that lay wilting on the vine there.
I overturned that cup I held, at your feet and let forth its
rush, the current of all these bottled passions and you---
you sat anxiously, eagerly, and drank up all these poisons
and asked me to refill that chalice unto my contentment.

Soft wings gently enfolded my abandoned nature, found,
salved, dressed those wounds; encouraged the mending.
Healing hands, healing heart, you began to mix and to lay
mortar and brick to replace the crumbling ruins in which
we two, you and I, stood together; might have been first.
No walls to break down stood between we two, cautious
though; you proceeded gently, permission be your guide.
No touch, nor whispering lips came to this body, uninvited.
No forced intention, no assumed ownership of this occurred.

Swiftly did union find unavoidable shelter, and gentler still
entering misused gateways gaining access to that loveliest
creature buried deep within, through sinew passage and
further still until all reason came to be alive with your skin.
All manner of knowledge translated on your tongue and to
my ear in eerie silent voices, shared between kindred spirits.
How I so want, without abandon, every timeless moment
yet to come for you and I, eager to imagine the inevitable
juxtaposed signature to bare us forward to the end of time.

---phoenix
5/25-6/2008

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Preferential Indifference

Preferential Indifference

I have looked past the curtain of the void and seen
the haze beyond what attempts to give shape to all
that has no definition. Without boundary hindrance
I can trespass there and seek out that which brought
forth from my own soul, the shroud that lay without
rather than within. I see the colourful cloaks about
each nameless would-be transient soldier, if cast off
were all such grappling, contaminating force-fields.

Calm before the storm; calamity of miscreant faithful
hosts at mayhem’s dawning. Follows leading sons, lo
claims no daughter would be worthy or proved whole.
Abused and forgotten symbiotic intangibility abandons
in search of another, what might prove to refute such
false prophetic yearning. Hope denied each time and
onward moving in a constant circle, rings of harrowing
cycles written out in sand and bone, circumstantially.

Why wouldst each categorise what shall not suffer such
suffocation; beasts of gnashing teeth and clawing digits?
Is there no shred of relish in the questions of the here,
the now and why that cannot serve you all to this end?
Err of humanity would be continuation of controlling
machinations in the names of glorified passive entities.
Pray, do these unconscious answer swiftly to heathen
brethren nailing feet to pedestals of unending grief?

Inalienable truths were etched upon the beating fists
within the cages of each hindered lonely, but reason
abandoned as the language was left in ruins, rotting
softly between the pages of memory, severed cruelly
at the hands of eternal prisoners through these acts
of choice by each and all that continued bowing at the
feet of indifference, of herded mindset congregation.
Warriors of apocalyptic storms shall vainly cry its name.

---Phoenix
5/24/2008

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In time, this time...?

In time, this time…?

If willed to you, were these strings…what would you have of her then?
Would you tie her up tight so you could parade her about like a horse?
Would you draw her round you like your paper-doll, marionette, a pet?
What manipulation tactics prove your best recourse for all her refusals?

When after all of these things transpire, as we all know they have, for she
is weakened; has become weak willed in old age though body be young.
What treachery is within the confines of the orbs within us she’ll not see?
Sorrow! What has she happened upon here in these swamps of tragedy?

If time heals all wounds; what will be left of her when time turns about?
If these wounds are all that remain of the creature origination that was…
why then would we want said time to heal us of these things we’re of?
How will we ever sing if all that remains is an undefinable outline in sand?

If she gave again, this soulless body, would you treat it to the same contempt?
That which does not kill us makes us wish we were still sealed in the vaults?
She will ask these invisible dwellers if they would give this back if option be.
Fear ties these knots about our solar plexuses, attaches these containments.

We would always be these broken hearts worn on the sleeves of our fathers.
We would have it no other way, as to try to force our souls to stand and fight
these moulds we are all forced to bare and then to share with our children.
These choices are made within, and the within is left in doubt and without.

These mothers never show the potential of our accomplishments; is barred
at the door by the same strings that attach between fearful mind and heart.
What is to become of her as she stands in the corner trying to remember it?
That song she thought she heard for just a moment in her childhood guise.

Walking dead continue their trek across great painted voids without sense.
No direction is laid out in line for the colony of ants to follow and get home.
We shackle each and every one of our brothers so that our children learn to
commit these treasons in our absence, so we feel we will live into forever.

There is no missing link or we would not find ourselves out here in this pit.
When great globes of anguish cast us off of the stonework we have raped,
will there be any memories of what we once thought to offer in our stead?
We shall be reduced to puzzles of dust, with none left to glory in our history.

---Phoenix
5/24/2008

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

(Please contact the author with questions.)

This Tiny Death

This Tiny Death

Let these two membranes terminally collide!
Let the souls beneath embrace, communicate;
silently speaking to each other as only souls may.
Let these auras mingle and acquiesce as these
vehicles join together to share their essences.
Such shameless dependence, this necessity for
experimental euphoria; each reunion unlike any
such encounter before, nor would be after this.

Intertwined within these brief moments may
these two, find peace and wisdom. Let psychic
bondage favour the tired and weary, let the
unconscious ferry onward the torch none would
commit to whilst enshrouded in the facsimile of
what truly lie beneath the soil of their beings.
No greater mystery to be offered than to delve
deeper into the eyes of the other, and together.

Outward consciousness fleeting; inward turns
the focus of the mind’s eye, controlling with it
synaptic currents, fibres of electricity, flowing
down, out, through, combining and separating.
Oh, to dwell within this moment, for an eternity
and to sleep thereafter, dreaming as if still within.
The mount’s peak within eyesight, within reach now,
and over, then would I fall off the edge, and pass on.

---phoenix
5/23/2008

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