SUgAr by Michelle Marr

SUgAr’s so sweet, it’s like powdered honey,
The bees who produce it know it’s all about money.
It lures us in and gets a grip on our mind,
Family and friends, they’re all left behind

We give up our lives and sell out our soul,
Just one more bag and then we’ll take control.
Pay off the bills and try to keep some pride,
But the hunger starts to eat us up deep down inside

Before we know it, the weekend’s upon us
Just one more bag: call it a bonus!
Promise yourself that by Monday it’s gone.
Life can be lonely, but you know it goes on

In the blink of an eye and the flap of a wing,
It’s Friday again and the SUgAr is King.
Take me away and make me Queen of your world;
By Monday I’ll own it and won’t come unfurled

I’ll stick by my promises and get myself clean,
But by the weekend you’ll still follow its sheen
You’ll try to resist it and you’ll try to pretend
The fluffy white SUgAr won’t signal your end

We all lose our focus at one stage in time,
The bees making honey still know it’s a crime.
You cannot resist it and you can’t say no,
The powder keeps falling, like sweet white snow

Got so many questions, you think it will resolve;
But all SUgAr will do, is help the brain cells dissolve.
Morning comes, your head hurts and your nose is bleeding;
The SUgAr’s still sweet and it keeps on feeding.

The stand off is on and the struggle's begun,
Just one weekend and you think the battles been won.
Then the buzzer sounds, there’s a friend at your door;
But the friend is a pimp and the SUgAr’s his whore…

Poems by Daryl Hennix

Knocking On Heaven's Door

The Day St.Gabriel blows his horn
And the fallen arise from their graves.
When the ears of the saved will ring
In recognition;
Every nation one in the same.

When the sun shines so bright
The moon is no longer known to
Mankind and the eyes of the demons
Melt away,

No shadows to cast or caverns to explore;
Every soul stood to attention.
Sinners called from their caves to
Be held accountable for their ways,
The Wicked close to follow.

And one by one we're held accountable,
Each sin spelled word for word.
Some granted entry others only teased
At the idea, prior to facing
Their fate

When it is me who stands before Peter at the gates
Of eternity, fists clenched of past wrongdoings,
And St.Peter asks me of my heart;
Have I loved enough?
Have I let love and if I used the gifts given?

Have I sinned too much?
Made others sin, or
Stood blind to obvious wrong doings?
With no one else for me to cast blame;
No friends or family by my side

Angel eyes witness my doubt, no words,
Or muscles to move;

All I can do is plead ... Please

********************

The Entryway

Standing at the entryway ...

Waiting for the next calm
To tame the Vodka storm.
My wandering mind
Lost in an alcoholic
Forest, bound by
Tress of bourbon and scotch,
Dripping their sweat
Onto my head;
Soaking through my
Cranium, feeding
Ideas and thoughts to
My cerebral cortex

Standing at the entryway…

Peach schnapps
Nourishes the great
Rivers and lakes I
Respectfully call my
Adversaries.
Gin permeates the clouds,
Only to release the
Tensions onto this
Forest dwellers liver.
The fog of inebriation
Rules with an iron
Fist just beyond the
Heineken Falls.

Standing at the entryway

Is where my
Eyes are glazed
And visions often
Double team me,
Cornering me.
My legs mere strings.
Much too feeble
To gain the advantage
Over the flattest of soil.
Cirrhosis was born
As my true nemesis
Tracking me down
As its prey

Scraping away in
My miserable attempt
To escape my predator's
Clutches, I decide to
Walk through the entryway

“Hello Welcome to A.A”