phoenixrising

  A gift, she said  Of orange and red  A womb, not a star  To hold all life  A pregnant Celestial  Of fire and fertile. Hell hath no fury  As a mother abused  Her gifts squandered,  Her soul sorely used.  A brutal reckoning  Between man and his sire  A release of righteous rain  And dark storm clouds of dire.  Where would you hide?  You, of fragile bone and blood When the earth parts her thighs  And her innards flood.  Where would you run?  From the only home you’ve known.  More nourishment reaped here  Than gratitude sown.  Bow down to her fury  Her benevolence, her claim  Kneel to her power  Lest it be the end of your game. 

  Blood runs red and tears black,  In violence we    compensate for What    in character we lack.  Spurn the saviour  Fell the messiah  Embrace instead the angry pyre  Yield to subjugation, slaves we are  Why elevate oneself?  Compassion is a dream too far.  Every kindness deserves a brutal reply  To succour the corrupt  While the innocent cry.  Turn on each other, kill and maim If ‘the others’ are not hurting  Why play this game?  Worship instead in your temple and mosque Golden thrones of empty air  And not a single deity who deigns to talk. 

  How do you do?   He asked me today  As though we were strangers  With nothing more to say…  His face I recall - probably,  The rest of him forgotten  The wool over my eyes, Now thickened with cotton.  As close and intimate,  In a distant memory; Of all those heady emotions, We now find ourselves free.  Whoever said love is eternal,  And affection blind;  Have perjured themselves greatly  Been untrue and unkind.  Love can die as easily,  As the rest of us.  It can shatter and wither  With nary a fuss.  And so here we are,  You and me and not ‘we’ We’ll look at each other  Yet we won’t see.  The damage we’ve inflicted  The pain we’ve brought  Havoc and chaos  Where peace was once sought. 

   Of death and it’s power   Even in it’s finest hour  Is incapable of taking, As your heart is breaking…  A precious soul,  And a beautiful heart.  Time stands still  And appreciates this art.  Of immortal grace  And an unforgettable face.  That transcends your thoughts  And your very skin;  The voice that cannot be drowned  However deep within.  And thus, death stands defeated,  To this magic divine For in your glow,    I thrive  As your heart beats in mine. 

  Woman,   Where does the universe end,  And you begin?  Are you to be defined,  Confined, enshrined,  By men of little imagination,  Of closed and infertile minds?  Is your beauty to be quantified  By the dictates of masculine power? Not to be compared with the force of nature,  Only the fragility of a flower?  Is your worth, your magic,  To be tied to the fertility of your womb?  Your sins calculated and compared to your virtues,  Your life in man’s service to decide a fitting tomb?  Nature, though a most powerful mother she be;  Must bear the suffering heaped upon her  By an ignorant and arrogant He.  Yet her power is compelling and all pervading,  Built to nurture and destroy at will. When the last storm has ravaged these sunken lands,  She will persist, she will exist still.  Your strength, dear woman;  Is derived from this force  Your courage and your resilience,...

  Pale white cheeks  Painted in muddy streaks.  What are these scars that your skin so mar?  Torn and jagged flesh, ever bleeding  Ever gasping.  Divided and conquered,  The wound no longer blurred.  Two separate portions of a whole,  A single heart with a twin soul.  Walls erected and barb-wired as well  If ever the prisoner should try to flee his cell.  Be fool enough to reach out to the other side, To disregard the fencing, to undermine the divide.  Borders are there for a reason you see? To keep apart much more than you and me.

  Come my precious, come to me.   Let me unwind all that can be.   Peace and laughter and contentment divine No good to me, for on your sorrow I dine.  Did you imagine a life of glee  That from melancholy, you could flee?  Let me disabuse you of that notion Let me hand you my peculiar potion.  Of betrayal, hatred, dishonesty and slights, Let me make wrong all that was right.  Your dreams to ashes, your soul to cinder,  A fire birthed by very worthy tinder.  Compassion is for ‘pansies’, you know?  Abuse    and gross neglect, is how I grow.  A tyrant am I, feeding on human depression Oh how lovely it is to witness your oppression.  A soul? A heart? What good are those?  Family values only for the world of K. Jo’s.  A crying child, a distraught spouse Let me turn your home into a savaged house.  My selfish endeavour is noble indeed,  I gladly accept the evil seed.  Like a chameleon I change ...