Up to Us**

The sky is a darker grey dissolution,
the rain comes more often and
is worse than usual
for this time of year.
It sets the mood
on everyone’s face, and
in the corners of the mind;
a melancholy patter-patter
that soaks through your skin
and dampens everything,
like a wet, lake shore fog.

How often have we been in this place,
the sickly sweet
rosy smelling, smoke and lies;
I have lost count.
Anyway, it doesn’t matter,
cause on the surface
all hope has been eaten
by dissolution’s embrace.
We hold so many illusions,
that somehow this can work,
that all that we need is just a tweak,
a continuation of,
what has led us here all along
just with some different paint.

I know it is wrong,
but I often think
we deserve all of these horrors  
since hardly anyone
will do what needs to be done
to end it.
Except to declare
we need more horrors.

The Earth will continue on,
no guarantee conscience life
will again exist.
Perhaps, when looking from a larger perspective,
the cosmos will be much better off
without human beings.

One way
or the other,
it is all up to us!!

Aztec Warrior/redzone 4.2.16

"The sea cannot be his, cannot be his. The sea cannot be his."

He woke up on her side of the bed, an echo pounding down deep in his head. "The sea..."

He reached for the bottles he kept within arm's reach - as he struggled to twist off the first cap, his key keeper knocked on the door before walking in a breakfast tray elegantly arranged. A feast for two.

Although by now the knocks had become mute, this one was as different as yesterday's, carrying the sound of hope. A flash flood of memories filled his head. He thought of what he would say only to drop the bottle of pills, cursing under his breath as the door slowly opened.

His heart bled a little bit. The room darkened - the pound in his head returned bringing him to a rage of black tears. He tasted salt. It burned more than the tip of the tongue, corroding his pride before clinging like oysters to his vocal cords, blocking his airway.

His keeper entered the room in goose feather gloves and goose feather shoes - setting down the tray, she picked up each pill from the floor and bed and pointed to a letter-sized envelope sitting on one corner of the tray. "This one came early this morning."

He picked up the envelope, held it up to the light of the keeper's eyes and then brought it to his nose. Taking in more than a few breaths, he fell asleep.

The sea...

He sat on the rocks of Gibraltar. He crossed the sea with his eyes before resting them in the dim light of the old light house.

Breathing in waves, exhaling seasalt and fear, he opened the envelope and began to read.

virtual vertigo is all in my  headphones

Yesterdays pain is following you
sits on your shoulder 'n don't set you free.
Took the wrong footin n stepped down on those,
lookin thru eyes that di'n't want to see.

We is diff'rent in colour
but skin an' blood just the same.
I am filled up wit' anger,
you is covered in shame.

Scared to look back
at hist'ry past
unable to turn from
what you wanted to last.

Tortured and toubled,
when it came to the clinch
you bought us along
an' introduced Mistuh Lynch.

To you Mistuh Whitey
we ar' lower than low,
Mistuh Blacky does the t'ings
that you don't want to know.

I belongs to the man,
just like-the dogs.
There for pickin' the crop
an' choppin' the logs.

Yesterdays pain's not goin' nowhere
It's stickin to you all o' the way.
Fo' the evil yo' done 'tis stayin' right there.
Never t' move, never t' sway.

Yeah yest'days pain is followin you
it sits on yo' shoulder 'n it won't set you free.
Cos you took the wrong footin' an' stepped down on those,
while starin' thru blind eyes that don't want t' see.

It’s the year of you and don’t you forget.
Where happiness sits at the top of the list; but
smiles are reserved for those who deserve
the gems of your affection, shining so bright.

You’ll embrace those that enrich your existence.
The guardian angels and mad hatters, who
make your soul tap dance to the music of the mighty,
whilst unleashing a belly laugh like no other.

You’re a working woman who’s a work in progress.
Learning the art of adulthood
whilst darting in and out of Neverland,
a commute full of surprises.

You’ll see the light, or maybe just sense.
Realising that grades don’t measure success,
those pointless paper squiggles have nothing
on you.

It’s the year of you and you should be excited.
Because great things lie ahead for the
dreamers with a passion, so open your eyes
and get ready.

© Sarah Mullaney

Sometimes
the burning
is so powerful
that I
might as
well be
tied to a stake
like the pagan
wise-women of yore
mistaken for witches
no dousing
with gasoline
necessary
for the inside
is already so
slick with
simmering
flammability
combustable
liquids
that trickle
down my thighs
into the earth
and create dark steam
that turns into light
as its luscious
vapor rising
from my being
Soon I will
simply evaporate
and become
atmospheric
ether floating
up towards
stars
and raining
love down
into the
tender receptacle
of your
being