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
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.)
31 May, 2008
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
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.)
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
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.)
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.]
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.)
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.]
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 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
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.)
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
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.)
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.
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
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.)
30 May, 2008
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]
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.)
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]
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.)
29 May, 2008
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
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.)
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
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.)
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
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.)
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
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.)
28 May, 2008
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
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.)
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
(Please contact the author with questions.)
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
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.)
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
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.)
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