Fleeting thoughts
come and go.

Full of trepidation
and broken bones

Looking, searching
wildly in the mind
for a place of solace,
just to rest
awhile.

Wondering, suddenly,
of Heaven
and its
blessed inhabitants.

How must it be,
what must they do?

I cannot begin to imagine,
but,
what I CAN say is
what they DON’T have.

They have no pain,
no sorrows or dark thoughts,
no hurts or anger
or fears.

Those days are over
for them,
if they had a life,
here.

We shouldn’t ‘envy’,
yes, I know this, but,
I do, I DO envy,
them
and what they
DON’T have,
of which I have
an abundance;
perhaps more than
my share.

I envy them,
and pray to have one day,
what they have,
so I can walk forward
and forget…

Forget the plethora
of trials and
tribulations
as endured by
you, me, us.

We that wake each day
on this volatile,
mercurial planet
we call…
home.


-by Mercurychyld
Copyright 28 Jan 15

Lips to Lips consumed
Drink of the flowing nectar
Pouring out for you

Eyes linger on curves
Landscape feeds a mutual need
Enraptured with Want

Hand in Hand we walk
Side by side in Desire
Ecstacy and Bliss


-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

You bleed and
you wither,
and you bruise
and you shatter,

though, outwardly,
most can’t tell,
blinded and deafened
by their own
inane chatter,

as you slowly
and cursedly die,
it just doesn’t seem
to matter.


-by Mercurychyld
Copyright 28 Jan 15

You come to me with a need...
for sharing,
for release,
for confession...of the concerns
of heart and mind.

Honorably, I take you into me
and shelter you from the harsh
stabbings of your pain,
whether self inflicted,
or life afflicted.

In the midst of your trials,
I surround you in affection,
and profess that you are
not alone, for you will always
be covered by my own
ache and wisdom,
and shielded as you heal.

I am the sentinel, watching
over your broken heart and
spirit as you travel inward
for much needed respite.

I am, the glimmer of light
that reaches into the darkness
and catches you as you fall
through the trapdoor to
sorrow's intangible hold.

I will sing you a beckoning
cadence, soft and compassionate,
to lull you back from the
river's edge..and back onto
shores of peace.

Listen for my voice...it will
always guide you home.
For I know all your secrets,
I've seen all your disguises,
but I am your friend...and
I love you still...and always
will.


-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

There was a woman once,
a woman on a long trek
through the desert.

She was on a mission,
to find herself
and to BECOME…
the woman her late
beautiful mother
had raised her to be.

This woman was mad,
adventurous, often careless,
and utterly inspiring.

I began to envision
my own life;
my own mission in
that vast desert,
and realized that I too
was striving to BECOME…
to UN-become
all the things my own
mother taught me to be,
for her own twisted purpose,
her own power trip
and narcissistic need,
and draped in convenient
deafness and blindness.

Never did I imagine
the excruciating journey
or detestable, bitter path
this un-becoming
would ultimately be,
for me.

Like a puzzle of
a thousand pieces,
torturously forced together,
whether they fit, or not,
the un-becoming entails
shattering, finally, the mirror
image once created
and wrapped around you
like a paralyzingly layer of skin,
and carving out,
from the leftover,
a new image;
the true image
of who I am…

whomever that may
one day be.


-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

The truth lies
not in her eyes,
for she learned
long ago
how to forge
desperate lies.

It's as she was
conditioned to do...
to tell lies
with her eyes,
and beguile
with her smile.

The truth lies
not in her eyes,
but if you must know
just where her
verity dwells...

it's in her voice...

the timber,
the rhythm,
the words,
the whispers
in the sound.

It's in her voice
that her truth
will be found.

Can you hear it?




By Mercurychyld
Copyright

Days ago
there was a battle;
a struggle with waves of
relentless fury and
a choking sorrow,
wounds left to bleed,
but no one else could
know or see.

These wretched winds
were too intense for
me alone to stop;
I tried to reign them in,
but just could not.

Wrestling with injuring
thoughts and chaotic
emotions, alone,
I hadn’t realized another
was watching, guarding
over me, so to speak.

A silent sentinel,
waiting, observing,
making sure that no one
else got hurt
by the brutal storm
raging deep.

The whole time
he lovingly held the reigns,
and now handed them back
over to me.
He placed them gently
in my naked hands,
as his remained leathered
and gloved.

Now I wake
and a blanket of sorrow
covers me, like a
worn sweater,
but the dangerous winds
have died down;
I can once again handle them,
on my own.

None other can truly ‘see’
beneath the layers of
foreign smiles and
thoughtful words,
but he can;

he knows this ache,
understands the dark melody
and in kindness he rides,
he rides
just for me.

I sit high upon the tallest tree
just to witness
with my heart and soul
this thrilling ride he takes,
for me.

Round and round he goes,
gracefully weaving and swerving
to and fro.

For him there is no need
of practice,
yet he rides just for me,
‘cause he knows it
simply makes me happy.

The sounds of the engine,
the leathered hands
gripping the handles,
clutch and throttle;
a most beautiful sight to see,
and he does all this
whenever there’s need.
He does this all
for me.

An intricate flow
of movement,
this connection between
a rider and his bike.

A fascinating exchange
between flesh and machine,
as I have resigned myself
to never truly knowing it,
as I watch this
Angel on wheels.

He rides and swerves
with never a stutter,
never a clumsy fall,
and I simply smile
as it fills me with a
modicum of glee
as I get to watch
as he rides,
rides so skillfully,
just for me to see…

this Angel on wheels.



-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights 28 March 15
Saturday

Living in a world WITHIN the dilapidated walls of this world,
they roam through the darkness on the very streets only
angels and demons dare to tread.

Yet to these bottom dwellers, those very streets, they call HOME.
Under the shadow of night they live...they breed...they draw
blood, when they must, as a means of survival.

They scatter to the four winds at the break of day, though a few
stragglers you'll often see...getting in the way of the busy,
bustling life, there on those streets.

Streets filled with incessant traffic, deafening noise, blaring voices
and most of all...the self-centered masses that too often miss
the trees for the forest.

Once upon a time they had names, and faces, an identity; an
essential, accountable part of this upper world, abuzz with
energy and notoriously fast pace.

Now, they are merely the bottom dwellers, discarded, forgotten,
living in holes, caves, under the very bridges through which
the 'great mass' travels; living in cardboard boxes, nursing
decayed hearts, broken spirits, greeted with scorn, spit, sarcasm
and contempt...as they attempt to, often, travel back up top and
reconnect.

They paint our fast food doorways and ATM's with quiet, desperate
humility, loss and justified anger, while every worldly possession
(the ones they haven't had stolen, or been stabbed for) they
carry like broken treasure in a shopping cart.

This 'great mass' looks upon them as outcasts, too lazy, just crazy,
society's shame...but oh how lame, since 'they' could always be...
you...and me.


by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

Wars for so-called religion,
Children, people starving
under ****** regimes
and dying on the streets.

Tsunamis, Landslides, Hurricanes,
Tornadoes, Erupting volcanoes,
Floods, Avalanches,
Deadly storms destroying
all that stands in their path.

A world where there is a
constant barrage of evidence
of a universal acceptance of
abuse against women
and children.

Evil men, leading cities
and countries,
establishing  selfish,
convenient rules and laws,
often under the guise of
“safety” and “terrorism
deterrant”.

*******; all of it!

Men whose rich pockets
are bursting at the seams
and whose bank accounts
get bigger and fatter with each
sick, sordid war.

Cures that exist for painful,
life-degrading diseases,
afflicting the most fragile
of our human society, and
BIG BUSINESS and
the Pharmaceutical masters
blocking them from the masses.

They MUST  maintain a
bread-line of the tragically
ill to continue
creating addicts, convinced
that they will always need
their almighty drugs to
live and survive.

Rapists, pedophiles, terrorists…
all welcome,
all find a home here,
where the prey is aplenty.

Jobs and wages,
taken away from the citizens
trying to feed and clothe
their families,
being replaced by robots
and drones.

What is a man to do?
How does a single mother
feed her young?

The rich get richer on
the backs of the little people;
the poor fall by the wayside…
modern day LEPERS,
mistreated, shunned
and scorned.

Beat down to the
lowest levels of this
demented humanity.

Evil is a gluttonous
predator who never
gets its fill.


-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

At times in life
we need to be reminded
how there are gifts
and blessings we often
take for granted.

Not on purpose,
not at all, but,
life gets in the way.
The constant struggles
can make any
silver lining seem
galaxies away.

During the darkest
moments, when I wake
each day,
going through the
motions of the daily grind,
I realize that I was
gifted with a few
amazing, inspiring
and loyal companions;

those I am truly
honored to call
my ‘friends’.
Friends in the truest
sense of the word.
Special people who
have shown me time
and time again
what it means to be loved,
unconditionally
and without judgement
or pause.

Even as pieces
of the heart splinter
and crack due to, often,
unforeseen events,
they are always there
to catch me,
if and when I fall.

I will remember
(to remember),
these comrades
God has placed in
my life;
those who know me,
accept me, splinters and all,
and love me,
unconditionally,

come what may.



-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights 27 March 15
Friday

Another Mother’s day upon us,
another deluge to
fill that ocean of tears
from years gone by.

A deep sadness takes hold,
reminding me of what a
dysfunctional circus this
Life has come to be,
trying not to repeat
my own mother’s mistakes.

Hindsight is 20/20,
so they say, but
it doesn’t matter
since you can never, ever
change yesterday.

I dreamed of giving
my sons all the things
I never had, but I look
around and clearly witness
that my efforts have
often been in vain.

A mother’s heart dies
a little more each day
as it travels the path
now chosen,
and for past sins
I and my children
do most definitely pay.

Lightning and thunder
always rumbling’.
The anger and melancholy
makes one want to run
screaming and slam into a
brick wall, so as not to
feel so intensely alone.

One “special day” a year;
an insult and a joke,
meant to placate the
exhaustion and madness
Motherhood can provoke.

I hate the hypocrisy of
it all,
like a band aid on
a deep ****.

Women/Mothers,
Always doing the brunt
Of the ***** work;
We will always cry more,
worry more,
suffer and feel more.

Mocked for our sentiments
and opinions,
for our need to be heard
and taken to heart,
and tending to our
                    quiet rage, warranted anxiety
and fears.

The world doesn’t really care
whether or not we are
truly “happy mothers”,
the evidence tells no lies.

So, forgive my bluntness
(or not, doesn’t really matter),
but for me
Mother’s day doesn’t really
hit the spot.

Too often most forget
That the very days that
mean joy and cheer for some,
for others can bring
nothing but isolation
and pain, not understood
by the festive crowds.

I often wonder,
who creates these
“special days” anyway?



-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

My heart never stops
breaking, caving into
itself.
I’m often so surprised
to have any pieces left.
I never wanted to
be like “her”; like my
mother, yet here I sit,
thinking, feeling,
full of guilt.

A guilt that never wanes
or ever could.

I read many books,
many genres.
Some truly make
me face what my heart
knows too well;
this deep sense of guilt.

As I read of characters;
multifaceted, complex men
who step up and love
and raise their sons
and daughters,
I am reminded,
time and again,
that MY sons do not,
or ever will have,
that kind of blessing.

No great male example
to learn from,
to spend time with,
to show them how to
become good Godly men.

Those moments cause me
to question and doubt
myself, as a mother.

I never wanted to be
like “her”; my mother,
with her revolving door
of ****** men
for one reason or another,
yet here I sit,
thinking, feeling,
reminded of how I too
have failed.

The sins of the parents
shall be visited upon
the children…
for that I’m so
very, very sorry
My sons.

The hot tears fall
and the heart disintegrates,
and the anger-sadness grows…
anger mainly at myself.

MY DECISIONS have
brought us all to
where we are today.

Culpability overload.
I wonder, does God
blame me?
Will my sons?
Not that I would ever
blame either if they do.

If I could go back,
if I could begin again,
what would I change?

This is the question
as the familiar pangs
of guilt grow like weeds,
and never subside.

To my sons,
for all of my mistakes
and wrong decisions,
both before and after
your births,
decisions that leave
imprints on your
lives as well…

I am Forever sorry.


-by Mercurychyld
Copyright 12 Oct. 15
Monday

As to all
there be a season,
joy would not
taste as sweet without
the bitter spice
of tears,

loyalty would not have
its bonding powers
without the sting
of betrayal,

and a rose would not
be as fragrant
or as dazzling
without its
very thorns,

for it would then
be something other
than what it was
meant to be.



by Mercurychyld
Copyright 31 Aug. 2016
Wednesday

I am
my very best friend
and most prominent
obstacle.

I am
the keeper of
all my secrets
and the teller
of some.

I am
the great, unnerving
adventure that
never ends.

I am
consumed by
curiosity and wonder,
and seldom pacified
with answers

which only lead me
down yet another
tangled web.

I am
the poetry in motion
and the walking story
in my head,

dressed in
scads of tendrils
colored in ideas
and thoughts.

I am
the sinner
and the saint.

I cast a shadow
at whim,
even when there is
no sun.

I am
the magic elixir
and I am
the wine.

I am
the great Oz,
the Capt. Hook,
and the mad
Mad Hatter
of my world.

Always be aware,
stay constantly alert,
for not even I know
through which trap door
I will go
within the labyrinth
of this mind...

perhaps
leaving a bit
of shrouded evidence
behind.



-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

She goes by many names,
like the devil…
‘she, her, woman,
MOTHER.

No one else in this unruly world
can wound and shred me
to the very bone…
not like her,
never like her.

She never understood me,
never really cared to, not at all,
though she’ll swear otherwise,
but,
both I and those that know me
know that she doesn’t ‘get me’
AT ALL.

Don’t tell HER that though,
or even THINK about
contradicting or challenging
her word.

Her word is scripture!

I’ve also gone by various names,
names that spilled so easily
from her wicked tongue…
‘loser, quitter,
pathetic, too fragile,
bad attitude,
mentally ill…for no
good reason
(I was just BORN crazy,
not her fault…never).

More often than not
her conversations
(or rather, monologues)
with me (AT me)
consist of pointing out
my every wrong
(in her superior opinion).

My greatest crime?
NOT BEING LIKE HER,
‘matter of fact she has always
been a great lesson to me
of what NOT to be.

I am a much better mother.
I sometimes forget
(when her voice booms in my head)
yet I DO know that,
without an ounce of doubt.

I can tell, when my boys look at me
and smile with utter adoration
in their beautiful eyes.

I can tell, when they want to
constantly hug me and remind me
how much they love me.
My best friend, all those who
truly have come to know me in
life, seem to think I’m pretty cool.

I know that too, though I
often forget
(when her voice booms in my head).

She taught me…
to fear (everything and everyone),
to rage (only on the inside…God
forbid I expressed anger or hurt).

Some have called me
BRAVE.
I never saw or understood that.
At times I still don’t.

When my firstborn died,
in my arms, before his time,
people called me ‘brave’ because
‘I took it so well’.
I didn’t. A piece of me died
with him that day.

Though I’m often terrified, to
even put one foot in front of
the other I do it every day,
for my sons.

I have always been afraid…
of most everything, most
everyone,
yet I rise each day, pushing past
the depression and fear,
swallowing the bitter tears
and I get up and do what must be done.

Isn’t that what courage is?
Doing something, even while
you tremble in your boots?

I do that very thing.

Guess that does qualify me
as being BRAVE.



-by Mercurychyld
Copyright 30 Jan 15

You left me yesterday,
as many times before.
Left me as you found me;
often knocking
at your door.

When you left
I did not cry.
Found fierce pain and sorrow,
yet I did not die.

I, a lonely, broken child
filled with
fractured thoughts
and rage,
still you opened up
my book of life,
and began a
brand new page.

Desperate for a friend
who would somehow
understand,
I found in you a comrade
who took me
by the hand.

I realize now
I pushed to hard;
overwhelmed you
with my need, but,
in you I saw an image
of me,
and in my soul
grew a shameless
greed.

The years went by,
you came and went
and often disappeared,
though I knew you
weren’t quite ‘gone’,
‘cause I always
felt you near.

Then one day
you broke my heart,
as you truly left,
with no trace
or goodbye.

The space you built
within my life
would not again be
filled.

At times I remember
how you colored my life,
and I retreat to my
hidden place,
and take the time
to cry.


-by Mercurychyld
Copyright 11 Jan 2015

Plagiarists,
Bullies,
eat the fruits
of Vanity
and Debauchery so profane.

Salaciousness,
Selfishness;
none will ever be the same.

Adultery,
Greed;
not one word of wisdom
do they ever heed.

Pride and
Hedonistic pursuits
are the ways
of our days.

For crimes of
the flesh,
for ****** of spirit
all must
eventually pay.

Made to believe
that you’re less than,
the truly brave are too few.
Taught to accept
there is something
inherently wrong with
YOU.

Right and wrong,
kindness,
forgiveness,
love unconditional,
all seem mere myth
of ages past.

Like a train wreck
just bound to happen,
as wheels spin
much too fast.

‘Always be YOU’;
the ironic advice
of the day,
but inspire any group
the least bit of discomfort,
your country
will throw you away.

Where we’ll end up,
I have not a clue,
but...
what colors
your heart and mind
will tell the world,
either private or public,
a potentially scandalous
slew...

about YOU.


-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

In this life,
though we may
squirm and fight,
we all long for
that perfect love.

Perfect, not to
the world perhaps,
but perfect enough
for us.

Many come and go,
leaving behind
remnants of their
futile attempts at
engaging your heart.

Then one came
and found me,
drowning in the
filth and muck of
heartbreak,
and breathed new life…
into me.

At first, going on
Instinct
I reacted in the
twisted ways
I’d learned.

Dysfuntion
was all I knew.
Nothing was healthy,
nothing was ever honest
or real,

but,

in his eyes
I found devotion;
Love unconditional,
the kind only written of
in myths and legends.

I am, slowly, learning
to trust and see
Truth in his eyes.

In his arms
I found
my comfort,

and in his eyes
I finally allowed
myself to see…

forever
and what beauty
can actually be.

~by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

The wounds of war
are, often times, hidden
from the naked eye.

Inexperience blinds
ones’ visions,
and common ears
can’t hear the screams,
as shards of flesh
are ripped away
from their
natural setting,

and eyes that close,
yet, no longer see
what, to most,
looks like
‘reality’.

For, now, through
skewed perceptions,
can only envision
moments of hell;
moments that can’t
be UN-seen
or EVER
forgotten.

A soldier who leaves,
innocent, full of ideals,
and returns home,
borne again.

A new, dark creature
has emerged;
one who no longer
speaks or comprehends
the language
or world
of the civilian.

Only understood by
the brotherhood of
those who have also
looked into
the dismal ravages...

of WAR.

Sons and Daughters
of the homeland,
risking life, limb
and sanity,
in defense of
this democracy,
pledging allegiance
to their sacred flag
and way of life.

They have stories
to tell
of epic
human depravity;
they walk in
conscious nightmares
that most, back home,
would rather never know,
and pretend do not
truly exist.

WAR bears only
wounded fruit,
and the only ‘winners’
if one can call them such,
are merely those
left breathing;

those that managed
to **** more of THEM
than they killed
of US.

Those that live
through it and
manage to return,
arrive,
filled with true
knowledge
of, both, the best
and the horrifying
the human soul
can produce.

The stories of WAR
become a second skin
one cannot drink
or wash away.

All the while,
at home,
others walk right by,
showering thanks
‘for their service’,
wishing blessings
and throwing
festive (unwanted)
parades,

while ignoring
the crippled spirits
of the broken soldiers
saluting...

dressed, in their
very best.



~ by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

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

In the end
the lone survivor
comes to learn,
a bit too late,
what is his, and their
and our
ultimate fate.

He learns that he,
and all fallen
comrades
were merely
chess pieces
on God’s
well worn
playing board.

Some pieces are
made of
wood,
some are made of
iron,
others still,
made of
stone,

but, they all fall
in the end.

One will drown,
one will fall off
a cliff,
and break his
neck,
and yet another
will get ripped apart
and eaten
by a pack of
rabid wolves,

but they all fall
in the end.

And only God decides,
who, what, where
and why.


- by Mercurychyld
  Copyrights

Paint me a Hero;
one who can fight
my demons for a spell,
as I sit to rest.

Just hold me tightly,
and tell me I'm not alone,
if but for a while

-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

Calling on Angels
from celestial planes and Earth;
we must begin with ourselves.

We each must decide.
We all heed this call each day;
tested by action and word.




-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

If I had but just one wish,
I’d break it into levels
which would more
than likely be this…

I’d wish to REMEMBERS...
remember the hard
lessons learned
this time around.

Most, painfully learned;
a few amusingly found.

I’d want to fulfill
all the promises
I made to myself.

Promises sacred
to the heart
and kept safe
and hidden
on a figurative shelf.

Remember
how I wanted to
draw and write,
sing and dance
and run and fly

as free and far as ever,
just gliding through
the sky.

I’d not forget
that the current facts
of my life were, in fact,
NEVER part of my plan.

For me, I did not envision
nuptials or children
or being indebted
to any man

but,

next time I’ll finally
get things right.

My life will be
a miracle of friendships and
beauty and art and music
in all forms.

All these and more
will then fill my
curious appetite.

Sorrows, fears, and worries
will NOT take over
my new world.

Only my innate sense
creativity, imagination
and wonder
shall then be
unfurled.

I will never HAVE to
share, give up, or
compromise a thing,
unless it is by choice.

My restless soul smiles
Inside when I stop to
envision these things,
and to them give
full voice.

If I ever get but just one wish
it would most likely be this…

next time around
I’ll not allow the trials
of life or selfishness of others
ever impede my search
for my genuine self
or my personal bliss.


-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

She awoke violently to the sound of blaring alarms coming from the outskirts of the city, or what was left of it after the chaotic state which had turned the entire planet into one giant slave to disillusionment and Marshall Law. Freedom and individuality were a thing of the past. Every citizen became nothing more than a number, and a dark and pure evil ruled over every meaningful facet of human existence.

Only by the grace of God was she even still alive and somehow managing to scrounge
and feed her two young ones...the only semblance of 'love' in her life of sorrow. They
were the only reasons she still found cause to smile, on occasion, amidst all the
frightening madness.

Running, hiding and finding shelter with two little ones in tow was an almost impossible
feat, especially in such a hostile environment. Nowhere to run, no one to turn to, she
did the best she could to keep herself and her boys from harm and complete sadistic violation at the hands of captors who would eagerly spill her blood, but not before forcing her to witness the abominable ****, torment and dismemberment of her two
precious ones...the mere thought and fear of such a thing drove her to the brink of a desperate madness only a loving parent could possibly understand. All she had left, her motivation to stay alive, her treasure, lived and breathed with those babies.

Something in her heart told her this night would be their last run together. She'd heard
from the voices throughout the streets, of the horrors others experienced at the blood thirty hands of these elite monsters running our world. She felt them close now, and there was nowhere left to hide.

She turned and saw a deep body of water only yards away and suddenly she knew what had to be done...a deep feeling of sickness and dread began to grow in her belly, and
the tears began to flow but she wiped her face and put on her most cheerful smile and took on a soft tone and gently took her two loves by the hands and whispered, "Come on boys, we're going for one last swim, take Mami's hands now, here we go." They whispered excitedly to each other and together they all walked into the water. For a moment she stopped and looked down at each of boys, and in her most loving tone reminded them how very much she adored them and that they were gifts from above
and she would never leave them; never. They smiled and said, "we love you too Mami..always and forever and ever", and they giggled.

With that, a solitary tear ran down her cheek, and as she walked and the water began to cover the boys, she squeezed their hands tightly as they began to struggle against the submersion and the choke of death; as she held them there and felt the life ebb away, her heart shattered completely and irreparably, and she felt her soul grow frigid cold and plunge straight into the depths of an unknowable despair.

When she felt the stillness of their little lifeless bodies, she began the trek back to land and tenderly placed each half of her heart right next to each other and kissed them, telling them how sorry she was, but that at least she had the peace of knowing that now her two precious boys were in the loving arms of God, along with their beautiful older brother, who had died years ago, shortly after his premature birth. She prayed to God for His tender mercy and understanding...this was the most horrid sacrifice she'd ever had to make...it was a mercy killing...an ultimate act of kindness and love.

As the bitter, arctic fingers of agony gripped her fractured heart, she held one little hand of each child and sat slumped and wracked with sobs and waited for her fate...and the evil to arrive.


-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

The rings of smoke
run circles
around you;

the air, pungent
with the bitter
stench of second
hand smoke…
cough, cough.

“I can stop,
whenever I choose!”
you say.
Right!

Tryin’ to convince,
who,
me or you?,
but,
we both know better,
don’t we?

You say, “oh, I’ll quit,
someday, you’ll see”,
but truth be told,
it’s just not meant
to be ‘cause…
there will ALWAYS be
heartbreaks,
illness,
lost jobs,
money troubles,
betrayal,
lack,
of food,
of fun,
just lack of…
something.

So, stop foolin yourself
(‘cause you’re not
foolin’ me…heard it
ALL before).

You’ll never really quit
‘cause there will
always be
SOME ****…
stressin’ you out,
leaving you needing…
to calm those
EDGY nerves,
Right?



-by Mercurychyld
Copyright 19 Jan. 15

Perception, my Queen
Battles fought and lost in Ire
Tempted to lash out

Emotions aroused
Moods kindled in Fire
Umbrage is provoked

Insanity rules
Trangression is drug of choice
Penance never paid

Sanity long gone
A new face in the mirror
Mayhem’s melody


-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

The many highways and varied roads we travel each day
are lined with much danger and pent up rage.
A sense of anger that is a constant potential time bomb
just waiting to go off.

Many paths are taken at every moment of our lives.
Some roads are quiet, surrounded by solitary vegetation,
some roads are long drawn and monotonous, coaxing you
to fall asleep at the wheel.
Still, others are surrounded by dread and danger on
either side...here, safety is a seldom seen luxury.

TICK TOCK, TICK TOCK...
LISTEN TO THE EERIE BEATING
OF THE CLOCK!

You have only to watch your daily news to witness
countless examples of a festering that every day,
in different ways, just boils over to a culminating
point where both victim and victimizer take a
proverbial bullet.

Children killing children, mama's selling themselves
to feed one or more 'juniors', daddy...where is
daddy in most cases?

TICK TOCK, TICK TOCK...
LISTEN TO THE EERIE BEATING
OF THE CLOCK!

These pathways and roads on life's highways are
littered with our minute to minute decisions and
bring equal consequence at every turn.
Many times the challenge becomes exiting any
number of one way streets where hate and
collective fury reside, and finding passage to the
expressway leading to boulevards of understanding,
compassion and an enlightened view of our
fellow commuters.

TICK TOCK, TICK TOCK...
LISTEN TO THAT EERIE BEATING
OF THE CLOCK!

Soon...very soon...this world; our world, the only
one we've got...will implode then explode then ball
itself up into a fetal position, and finally drink its
own bitter, fallout tainted tears as each last
survivor...remembers...what once was...

TICK TOCK, TICK TOCK...
LISTEN TO THAT EERIE BEATING
OF THE CLOCK!

I'm afraid...YOUR TIME IS UP!!!




-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

This love
overwhelms
short circuits my system.

Unsure how to deal,
all such new ground.

What are the rules?
How does this end?
What goes in between?

Do not trust…
so says my head.

Please…try…maybe,
says my heart.

I am a rose.
Soft petals,
subtle scent,
but get too close,
hold too tight,
and you might bleed.

Perhaps more a
Venus fly trap.
Interesting, odd,
hybrid colors,
but
keep your distance,
at arms length,
pray for safety.

All It ever knew,
all it ever learned was…
observe,
don’t let’em too close,
always retreat,
and, if they reach out
to touch…
chomp down,
liquefy,
destroy!

Your love overwhelms,
short circuits
my system.

Creates new paths,
opens doors unseen,
wraps the heart
in silk and velvet,
tenderly held
in a special place,
away from
unwanted storms,
aimed at maiming
and destruction.

Nerves grow,
reaching out
to new ground,
sprouting words and
images never
known before.

Not sure what
to make of it.

I hear again
the whispered exchange
between mind
and heart.

Mind asks,
“Can you…
should you…
trust?
What have you
learned in eons
passed?”



Heart replies,
“We can smile,
wide, bright.
A smile that reaches
the eyes,
and we can try,
can’t we…maybe…
please?”

This time
we will try.

This time,
the heart wins.


-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

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
Copyrights

So full of yourself
And your brand of arrogant
self-righteousness.

Who are you
and what is your
importance in the grand
scheme of things…

namely MY things?

I’ll tell you,

You are no one
And worth nothing.
Your empty, fraudulent
words are about as
valuable as a counterfeit
dollar bill,

and that’s just
what you proved to be…

COUNTERFEIT.

No one blinder than one
who can’t or just won’t
see.

Too blinded and deafened
by your own
narcissistic reverie.

I truly hope
you subscribe to
the ‘lone wolf’s’ life
you see,

‘Cause very much alone
is exactly what
you’ll always be.


~ by Mercurychyld
Copyright 17 July 14

These city streets are lined with decay,
just look out the window,
you'll see spoils and rot on display.

Makes me often wonder just
how we came to be where we are.
While the righteous weren't looking
the hounds of hell dragged our
earth too far.

Our one true home is full of death
and discord,
while the little guy suffers,
the masters grow fat, rich and bored.

The 'fat cats' get portly as the
gluttons **** the land,
leading poor and weak to
slaughter,
with a damning, insatiable stand.

Where do we go to seek shelter
from this man made storm?

What do we hold onto in a world
so dis-eased and forlorn?

If survival is yet an attainable dream,
the seeds of destruction and doom
must be pried from the hearts
of men.

As I look out the window and see
this world in disturbing disarray,
the one thing I do know is that,
hope lies within each of us...
at the dawn
of each day.


-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

The plans for her
return
always cause the
greatest dis-ease
to the system.

Mother…a wound
that only ever
scabs over,
but never truly
heals.

She comes from
many miles away;
a casually dressed
monster
with self-proclaimed
‘good intentions’,
like the road to Hell.

My hell…on Earth.
Have I yet paid
my dues?
Have I done enough
penance…ever?

The link to
maintaining my
sanity;
the calming balm
to my distressed
heart…is him.

My lifeline,
the reason I can
continue to smile
and laugh, uninterrupted,
despite the oozing
wound,
invisible to the
naked eye,
appearing to others,
that don’t know
the history,
as simply…
attitude.

The wound never
truly heals;
there is no
‘closure’.
I’ve given up on
that particular idea…
wish…goal.

Despite the ever
festering
inflicted/afflicted
hurt;
my baggage,
which seldom gets
lighter,
I find his comforting
hand, which reaches
for my own,
leading me away,
sometimes even pulling me,
for my own good,
into the light,
giving respite to
the wearied psyche
that dwells in my head.

He shines the brightest
of Suns
upon my often
frigid, numbed soul,
melting away
the sickness,
the brain-washing,
the manipulation
of eons gone by.

Always leaving behind
Shadows
where their
very breath
used to be.

He is the safe haven,
the cocoon
which allows my
safe metamorphosis,
until I can slowly
break out of my shell,
stretching out
multi-colored wings
and finally,
flying,
flying,
flying Free.


-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

As I sit here
quietly,
thinking,
tears spill for strangers
as I try desperately
to rationalize
(to absolutely NO avail),
the heinous and
morbid act carried out
by this...DAD.
I find my mind,
my heart,
in utter turmoil.

Can’t help but wonder
what their last thoughts were,
what they were feeling.
Did they cry in hysterics,
or (as I was trained to do)
quietly, to themselves?
Did they beg DADDY
for their little lives?
Did they beg DADDY
not to hurt them?
Did the oldest
shield the younger ones,
before the lights went out?

My soul in despair.
My ‘Mother instincts’
just wanna scream,
lash out,
find the monster
and destroy him.
Splay him on a slab,
like t.v.’s
favorite serial killer
would.

Make him pay,
slowly,
a long, arduous,
drawn out
painful DEATH.

It’s but a drop in
the bucket
of what that
fiendish ***** deserves.
His soul is empty,
so, there’s nothing
real to terminate.

The tears flow,
my thoughts in chaos,
and my ‘mothers heart’
mourns them all;
these five little souls
I’ve never met.

I do pray
they come across
my own departed
little boy in Heaven,
and find a joyous place
for them to run and play
and be the children
they weren’t allowed
to be,
before their fragile lives
were cruelly snuffed out
by someone who
was supposed to
love and protect.

They were candles
in the wind,
not meant to
be here long.
This maddening act
makes NO sense
to me;
these daily horrors
that happen in this
dark world
where we all reside,
kills yet another piece
of me,
one wicked story at
a time.

I’m sure every loving parent
and anyone who’s ever
loved a child
would be distraught
and mortified,
as I find myself to be.

I can only think on them
and Pray
that their little souls
will find true
Peace now,
through God’s
passageway.


-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

Listen to the Wind
Carrying your Memories
Like ghosts through the Trees
~~~~~~~~~~

Love is kinder now
Though it oft’ wears two faces
For me, it now Sings
~~~~~~~~~~

Forgiveness of Self
Redemption is a true gift
Mercy and Grace reign
~~~~~~~~~

Seeing through cold eyes
Self Esteem is degraded
Turn their voices off
~~~~~~~~~

Come away with me
Where together we can be
Anything we wish
~~~~~~~~~

The Stars are alligned
Two have found their missing halves
All is now at Peace
~~~~~^~~~~~~~


~by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

A medley of poets came together
from both near and far.

Creating and sharing poetry and
war stories of life, at the edge of
our own makeshift bar.

The atmosphere was filled with
friendship, fun and laughter.

Something not often sampled
enough, but now treasured
forever after.

Many got inked with a lasting
remembrance on their skin.

A moment in time carried on
the wings of tattoos; a memory’s
place to begin.

Such a wondrous gathering of
creative juices flowed, I couldn’t
have asked for a more amazing
group.

And my heart is full at the
generosity of our grand hostess,
Metanoia...
giving us all a meeting place in
which to share, express, and for
a while, from life...to recoup.





-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

Confined and trapped,
Imprisoned within
his own form.
Unable to move,
Unable to walk,
Unable to utter a word..
Paralyzed;
he watches the world
around him.

A spectator who
can only observe
and wonder.

He tries to reach out
with his mind,
hoping somehow
someone will pick up his
psychic frequencies
like radio waves.

Keen and intelligent.
A genius that cannot be
Expressed or easily shared.

Misfortune has kidnapped
his existence and held
it for ransom.

Life goes on each day,
people sleeping,
waking, eating, playing,
working, praying.

All he can do is watch it
through the camera lens
of his inquisitive eyes.

So much to say,
yet no one to hear him.
So much to touch,
yet no one can feel him.

How long will his
prison hold him…
no one can say.

Life will go on each day,
as it always does,
and his debt will be paid
in broken pieces of his heart
and shattered slices of
his sanity.

And he shall ever be, merely…
a watcher.


-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

Agnes was certainly no beauty by any
standard of the day, not even 'pretty'
really. Not the type anyone would
notice as she'd scurry through a room.

Surely her stress ridden life added to
the many wrinkles and dark circles
that plagued her face, and the weathered
look of her eyes and skin, and sunken
posture.

To meet her gaze was to witness a far
off, blank expression, where once
emotion and thought were reflected.

Until the day she came toward me with
a box. She sat by me, looked into my
eyes, and spoke in a manner and voice
I'd never heard from her...almost
animated.

She explained how she'd saved and
saved, secretly, with the hope that
one day she'd find something she
believed in strongly enough to invest
in...and, that day was today, and that
'something' was ME!

As she spoke, I came to see her in a
different light. With each passing
sentence carried by her voice, the
wrinkles and ravages of time seemed
to fade. With each passing minute,
the years in her eyes seemed to melt
away and her light shone through,
and I could swear I saw her once
young, vibrant self, smiling at me.

In that small, significant pocket of time
she had looked upon me and found
someone who needed her, once again
truly needed her, and I had found in
her someone who believed, finally truly
believed...in me.



-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

I thrive on the subtlety
of the dance,
and the mystery of
breathless romance.

As the arms interlock
with such grace,
elegant finesse and
exertion
and the intensity of
sensual emotions
come alive,
played out in a
connection of such
passionate coercion.

Firm hands to curved
hips,
the slow meeting of
burning eyes,
the soft graze of
moist lips.

The music consumes
us as the tempo
does rise and fall...
and we glide and move
in rapturous trance
and heed the lover's
call.



-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

There has to be a better way.
There has to come a better day.
Can’t find much cause to want
to stay.

Deep in thought about the things
and happenings of life today.

Dreaming of a place where everything
will finally feel okay.

No more ills or aches
or rabid dismay.

Always searching for a reason…
to want to stay.



-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

What a thing is this...
this spellbinding language in a KISS?

A kiss will tell of tender love,
like holy manna from up above.

A kiss will say hello;
by dewy greeting, much fondness
will show.

A kiss will say 'I must now leave,
but I shall return', in the meantime
leave you in a dreamer's wake,
to slowly burn.

A kiss has many mysteries to relay,
filled with lavish fury
to eagerly display.

A kiss has skill to vindicate,
and yet, with one touch,
to enemy, annihilate

In a kiss you may find betrayal
when the character of one
is thus frail.

In a kiss you will find
the beginning of new life, as hope renewed,
and a soul connects to another;
vile, painful pasts subdued.

In a kiss you will find tempestuous
passions less contained,
as undulating needs claim you
as their intended and perfect domain.

Such, and yet so much more, is this...
the ever mystical language..
the enigma...of a KISS...




-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

Two lemon martinis
was all I had.
Had no idea, after,
I’d feel quite this bad.

Been so long since
I’d gone out to play,
now with headache
and slight hangover,
it was my time to pay.

The spirit and porcelain
gods have a twisted
sense of humor, that’s
for sure...
providing warm euphoria
in ’feel good’ juices,
till your barfed up
stomach lining and a
sledge hammer to the
brain they soon
procure.

NEVER AGAIN will I ingest
such liquid rage this way,
I PROMISE...I think.

But for now....ahhh, who
am I kidding...I think
I’ll go merrymaking
and have just ONE
more drink (LOL!).



-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

I love the feel of your hands
as they travel and caress.

I hate the feel of those hands
as they punish with duress.

I love the sound of your voice
as it whispers such an intimate
word.

I hate the sound of that voice
so full of the venom often
heard.

I love the look in your eyes,
the way they watch me and stare.

I hate the look in those eyes,
so cold, unfeeling...such a
wicked glare.

I HATE that I LOVE you!





By Mercurychyld
Copyrights

A lovely fellow poet
did comment
about how an
ignorant soul had nerve
to complain that
they’d no longer read
the poet’s words anymore,
for the poet
made them
“FEEL...SOMETHING”.

Really genius?!
Imagine that!

So, a much needed
heads up...

ANYTHING you read,
be it Poetry,
Stories,
News articles,
and even
the Lyrics of a song
may cause you to
‘think’ and ‘FEEL’...
something.

Alas, such is the
price of Poetry
and the pouring out
of personal views
or fiction
onto parchment.

Poetry may not be
YOUR particular cup of tea,
and that’s ok...

I certainly couldn’t see
me sitting
  to watch a long,
drawn out sports event...
but that’s just me.

If you, poor soul,
cannot handle the
‘feelings’
inspired by Poetry,

please, just close
your laptop,
and walk away,
so, we poets,
can resume our
ink-spawned
Revery.


-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

This day never ends,
not for me.
Dressed in the guise of
weeks, months and years,
but to me,
it’s all one
never-ending day.

I am a wildcat in a cage
made of consequences,
vile people
and wrong turns.

I am not a child
nor a woman,
nor a human anymore.

I am an ANIMAL
trapped in a cage
made of flesh and bone,
tied and twisted
with veins and arteries
laced with toxic outrage
and liquid pain.

I am a BEAST
caught in a trap
so invisible,
no one else can see.

I am fangs and claws,
surviving only on the
basest instincts.

I want to rip
through flesh,
tear at my
private thoughts,
claw at the venomous
upsurge of emotion
flowing through
this battered heart
and dying spirit.

This day never ends,
not for me.

The years pass,
the scenery may change,
colors become muted,
life tastes bland,
but the day never ends,
never comes to a close.

It’s all a wicked
nightmare that screams
in your head,
then suddenly stops
and goes silent,
waiting for you to find
your comfortable place
again,
only to reach out
with sadistic pleasure
and grab you
with unremitting vigor.

If there is an end,
my eyes are blind to it.

One day I will
finally explode
and all that I am
and have ever been
will ooze out,
drenching everything
in its wake,
like hard rain.

One day the madness
will cease,
life will come to a
standstill;
till that time comes
my life will continue
on this dark, morbid road,
and the day will
never end…

at least not for me.


-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

Ask me not the question unless you truly burn for an answer
but be forewarned,
for there will always be a door through which you may not enter,
a depth of heart
you cannot reach,
a path into the soul
you will never truly know.
Do not bedevil yourself in trying to find
these cryptic places,
for they are not yours to find.
But only be satisfied
to know the profound places to which you are invited and allowed to see...
do not search for more.
Only take what is granted you and know that in that moment, at that
time, it is the best of me
and all is as it should be.
And ask me not the question...
unless you can bear the burden.. of my truth.


-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

I saw it...ravaged and old,
cursed by...time.
Left to rot in an
old, unwelcoming lot.

It told of so many roads
traveled, so many
conversations had...
so much love made in
the dark of night, parked
in secret places.

Life...it had 'life' once..
long ago.

So many places, so many
stories, buried forever,
within squeaky hinges
and forgotten steal.

Now, disregarded...
and discarded...but
once, long ago, it
provided...it was
essential and carried
precious cargo,
encased by metal and
glass....

before becoming a relic
of another time.



-by Mercurychyld
Copyright 2015


* Re: a picture of an old parked, rusted pick-up truck

I've never understood
that word,
'happy'.

It was always
foreign to me.
Even now
it can cause the
circuits in my brain
to temporarily
malfunction.

For me it was always
a concept
that arrived
on a silver ship,
stayed to visit a while
in the lives of
the few
only to fly off again,
back to its natural habitat,
far, far away.

Then one day
it came to me,
what made ME 'happy',
and the word
was no longer quite
as elusive,
it no longer held
the position of
enigma in my mind.

I realized that
things, like music,
which sometimes
made my heart dance,
or that at times
calmed this savage
beast,
or even seduced me
with its sensual
melodies
and sultry lyrics
made me...happy.

And films, both old and new,
of many genres
that I so adore,
which constitute
a huge part of
my 'world'
and have often been
just the friend I needed
to help me escape
a dark, stressful day,
even if
just for a while.

Then there are my
favorite culinary
delights,
too many to name,
but the list does
include prized
cheesecake and
beloved dark chocolate,
full of those lovely
antioxidants
that run free
throughout  my frame.

And I cannot forget
the little things,
the instances
no one notices,
but me,
like the beauty
of my son's face as
he sleeps,
and I stare in wonder
and just listen to him
breathe,
almost bringing
me to tears.

I remember, too,
that there is LOVE.
All different kinds
and levels,
and when LOVE
is behaving
and treating me
kindly,

whispering sweet,
rapturous nothings
in my ear,
then this once alien
concept is no longer
so strange to me.

And I then understood
that happiness is not
a constant state of being
for most,
but it resides in the rare
and beautiful
snippets of life,

and it isn't often
until it has
come and gone
that we often recognize
that Happiness
was ever there.




-by Mercurychyld
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