Life has always been one
where I swam upstream,
against the tide,
always against.

Most times the waters rage,
offering no mercy,
but only turmoil
as I thrash around
the powerful waters,
as if wrestling
Neptune himself.

At times the god
seems appeased,
for a while,
and the waters relent,
caressing me,
playing, pushing, pulling
back and forth,
as if a smoothly choreographed
ballet.

The calm never lasts,
very long.
I know this well.
I only attempt to enjoy
these softer moments,
while they grant me
subtle tendrils
of relief.

Soon enough
the angry waves return,
challenging me,
daring me to continue
this treacherous swim,
upstream,
always against
the tide.

Too often
I have felt the danger,
the desire even,
to finally let go
and drown.

Funny thing is
I have no real clue
how I’ve made it
thus far…

as I never learned
to swim.



-by Mercurychyld
Copyright 11 Jan. 2015

My pages blown from my
Grasp
They fly high as like
Small clouds,
Riding The winds, I reach
For that which is unattainable
Now far out of reach,
I run,
Then sprint
Then walk
As my hands now upon my knees,
Out of breath as well as paper
They flew, up and down
In to the face of an unsuspecting
Man, words he saw before he
Fell upon hands and face,
Paper removed a title seen
"The Accidental Meeting"
He looked up, and beheld
Beauty,
Smiles,
Hand,
Held out, blushing he took
Her hand, and she spoke
"If it wasn't for that page"
"We wouldn't have meet & spoke"
And the story kept a keep sake
Of there meeting that nearly wasn't,
"But ahead of ourselves we are"
As other pages
Flew,
Skimmed,
Fluttered
Through the air,
Landing upon faces here and there,
One unfortunate crook, who now
Paid a price, when paper meet upon his face,
He saw three word planted between his eyes
Crooks
Never
Prosper
And with that an almighty
"****"
To the floor he slumped,
A short post meet groin and man
As a voice high pitched,
"What paper is this landing between my eyes "
As three laughing police man
Tears before there eyes, took the paper
And glanced at became the undoing
Of a criminal on the run,
"Evidence and a good read"
Lifted to the car as
Nuts
Meat
&
Veg
Very bruised, he couldn't run even if he wanted,
Many pages flew through the air, me
Not knowing the impact my stories
Landing  here & there,
By those are for another time,
"If you see paper, words & ink"
*"Please read my stories and tell me what you think"

It never lasts…
not long enough.
Always fleeting,
temporary,
gone all too soon.
It’s a tease with
no ‘happy ending’.

Every so often
you get a piece,
just a small fragment,
just as quickly departed,
right as you were
getting accustomed
to it.

A stunning box
with intricate,
abstract designs,
but what you don’t
notice, till way
too late, is
that if you hold it
close, right up
to the light,
you will see the
fine cracks.

You’ll see it start
to chip away
as you scratch
the surface
with your nail,
and chunks of
false paint fall
to the ground,
and you find the ugly,
rusted color underneath
its artificial chiseled skin,
an imitation of beauty
which can truly only
live and shine
within the jagged
confines of the
imaginative mind.

Nothing really brings
joy; not BEING
any of the things
we’re expected
or required to be…
not being a mother,
not being a wife,
not being a daughter,
not being a sister.

Nothing really brings
joy,
but when it seems
you finally catch
a glimpse of it,
even for a small
snippet of time,
you must, painfully,
realize that it was
just your
untrustworthy eyes…

playing cruel tricks.


-by Mercurychyld
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