YOU who insists on negating
my very stories; my personal
memories...
Who are YOU to make ME out
to be demented,
with the wave of your hand, and
the roll of your eyes and
impatient sighs...
just DISMISSING me,
'cause to you...my thoughts,
my feelings NEVER mattered.

I'm just your daughter...
the Mad Hatter!

You never quite believed
that 'he'...your great love..
could violate me...
so hard for you to believe
how lecherous his hands
could really be.

I've heard through grape vines
to this day, you still need
to deny it,
and when confronted with
this truth, your eyes patronize
as, once again, I imply it.

Harsh lessons were learned
very quick and quite well,
as each time I'd follow your
path into hell.
I learned at too young of an age
how this was your drama,
and I...was your stage...
And no one would save me
but ME.
This was just how it would be.

But you taught me well,
how my thoughts or feelings
never did matter,
'cause I was just your daughter...

the Mad Hatter!




-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

He was a preacher long ago,
punished by those in the
small, diseased town,
for his selfishness
and lack of Faith.

His very soul was ripped
from his struggling form,
cursed to walk through
this life
without a soul,

thus, his new purpose
then became to
steal and collect
the souls of others,
and quite the collection
he had.

The soul last collected,
as was once told to me,
was the soul of a
young girl,
to young to die,
to young to fly.

Her soul was snatched
from her,
through no will
of her own,
just like the others.

The grieving mother
gathered her up and
held her body tightly,
as only a true mother can.

Suddenly
the little body stirred.
First a little finger,
then a hand,
then her eyes opened,

but
the soul looking up
at the mother through
those knowing eyes
was not that of her daughter,
as she proved when she began
to hum a tune,
a tune previously hummed
by another.

Souls cling to life
in a way the common
man cannot understand.

The child’s mother,
upon reaching the
realization that this soul
was not in fact
her daughter’s,
simply held her little
body closer,
as only a loving mother
can.

She didn’t care
who now lived
inside her girl

for all that mattered
was,
she had her ‘daughter’ back.



-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

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

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

Organizing his school bag,
my son found a
Mother’s day card
he forgot to give me.

He apologized and
handed it to me
with a look of
pride and love
in his eyes.

I hugged him,
while struggling
so my own eyes
wouldn’t water over.

I walked back to
my room, and sat
next to my husband;
another loving soul,
and suddenly
it hit me
like a freight train...

an Epiphany.
In a matter of seconds
it all flashed
before me,
mere seconds,
that told me
SO much.

I realized that
how I was raised,
growing up in a
constant state of
fear and quiet rage,
I was led to believe
I wasn’t special
or worthwhile.

MY thoughts
and feelings
had no meaning
or place,
to anyone.

Family,
Love,
Acceptance,
Self love
and Peace...
all ripped
from me.

Believing the Lies
that I would never
be or accomplish anything;
would NEVER be good
enough;
was WRONG for just
being...Me.
I lived only a half life.

Existing,
but never LIVING.

I longed for all
the things I never had;
all those beautiful
vocabulary words
and adjectives
I never understood.
Nothing tangible,
but more
immeasurable
and abstract.

Now, as I looked around,
I saw what I had,
and it scared and
unnerved me,
yet made my eyes
glisten with tears
of realization.

Realization
that I now had
my ‘Family’
who ‘Accepted’
everything about me,
and seemed to
‘Love’ me,
unconditionally.

What do you do
with that?
How do you deal?

I don’t have
a perfect or age-old
wise answer.

All I can say is,
that door which was
slammed shut
and locked in my
early life,
was now wide open,
and Love
walked through,
finally.

Maybe this time
it’s here
to stay.


-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

It is an imposing
and intrusive realization
that sorrow and
righteous fury
take a hold of the
psyche and the soul
in places where most
would not allow
even God or His angels
to tread.


by- Mercurychyld
Copyright 31 Aug. 2016
Wednesday

Envisioning, so desperately, the one desire of my deepest heart--to once again be filled
with 'life'; to hear the beauty in a voice that calls me 'Mom'.


I lay with him, even though I felt the repugnance rising to a scream--but I saw only my
desire; I thought only of my possible reward at the close of this act.


I fantasized of another face, to get me by. I imagined other hands exploring me. My
companion too was excited, I could tell, and ready for the mission, when suddenly it
all came to a screeching halt; the fantasy ruined... when.......................he SPOKE!




by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

That fluffy little kitty cat,
on the window sill she sat.

She licked and cleaned and groomed her hair,
just living life without a care.

Her daily thoughts were simple and pure,
of meals and treats, and she, demure.

Never did she bother thinking
that our days upon this earth were shrinking.

Seldom did she dream of love,
or of flying creatures just above.

That kitty cat, she walks the line.
Cool kitty cat, and she’s all mine.


-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

Your strength
and delicate resilience
showers us with hope,
love and deep thought.

As you fly high above,
the sound of your
mighty wings serves
as a reminder and
a healing…for your soul…
for ours…for those
beautiful, fragile ones
that shall endure
long after.

Your shining legacy
will live on, past any
of us, and
your strength shall
fly on eternity’s wings
into tomorrow, and
in the meantime,
our hearts fly
with you.

God bless you Carmen,
and all the ‘Carmens’
in the world!


-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights


*Written a few years ago, to be included with other
Poets words, dedicated to a victim of violence, **** and domestic abuse who was terribly burned and suffered immensely. This poem, and others, was collected in a poetry book for the victim: Carmen

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

Woman: “I know you’re there, I always know,
                  so please, come out.
                  We have so much to talk about.”

Child: “I’m just always scared and alone, it
             really hurts to be me.
             All I am is everything they don’t want
             me to be.”

Woman: “You missed out on so much care and
                  affection, but now we can help each
                   other find the right path and direction.”

Child: “Oh, it’s ok.
             I’m never good enough.
             Guess I never really deserved
             love or affection anyway.”

Woman: “Please don’t say that, don’t let’em
                  convince you that **** drivel is
                  true.
                  I’ve known you well, always, and I
                  truly DO...Love you.”

Child: “No matter how I tried, I could never
             please, or do ANYTHING right.
             I’m just SO tired of this fight.”

Woman:” I know, my fragile child, that’s why
                  I’m still learning to be
                  everything you need and needed,
                  you see?
                  Because, my little one, we must
                  both realize and always remember
                  that we are never quite alone...

                  ‘cause I am YOU, and you are ME!”



-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

Words are the life's blood
of a writer; just as technique
is to a prize fighter.

With our words we can
commemorate each other,
while in the same breath,
obliterate another.

A thousand words would
still not be enough to quench
a lover's desire; even the most
sensual lyric would only begin
to stoke that fire.

I, for one, use words as a
pathway by which my heart,
mind and soul communicate;
and with each verse, my
inner world, I choose to
illuminate.



-by Mercurychyld
Copyright

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

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

You'll always remember
he'll not disappear,
keep the moments so tender
held at heart, always near.

When your eyes flow with tears
as in moments they might,
let them flow without fears
and hold those memories tight.

As in time you move on toward a new life
those fresh events will never obscure your past,
just try to relinquish the reins on old strife
for your life is still full and remembrance is vast.

You've endured and survived the pain
and one day you'll come to know it wasn't in vain.




By Mercurychyld
Copyrights

Only you can translate
where you are
on your voyage through
this varied farce
called “life”.

No one else can dictate
to you…
or should even dare…
how to phrase
your feelings,
your thoughts,
your personal moments.

Who is anyone to
cause another to feel
inept or inferior
for wording their
experiences as they will?

We are all both
audience and poet,
consumed by the
powerful spell of words
and meaning
we are bonded
in ink.

It takes gumption
and courage
to give voice to
your vision of
the world.

It often requires
resilience and nerve
to open your heart
and peel back the
layers of skin,
and let others take
a long look at the
inner workings of YOU.

Be brave,
take courage,
let your soul speak
in its very own
language.

People will read
your words and
listen to the sweet
whispers
and thunderous shouts
that flow from pens
and keys
to release the
inner demons and angels
and the lyrical
vines that bloom and live
in our individual
landscapes,

fluidly coursing from
our own rabbit holes
with fortitude and grace
and our neverlands,
where we need never
grow up,

to share with those
that need to see
and hear and feel
and wonder.


-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights