And now that the hour is upon us, let us love each other once more
With the purest of hearts and the sincerest of kisses.
In the blinking of an eye, let us rekindle what we thought we had lost
And recapture the letters of love and all the misses.
We had lost each other in the wind, but now in these precious moments
We begin again and find the sacred intimacy of our origin.
In the calm before the storm, let us hold each other once more
And find our secret place of warmth on the wings of the archangels,
Touching all the worlds and guiding us through the light of heaven’s door.
I will love you and cherish you my angel, now and forevermore.
Category: Poetry
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The autopsy of a broken dream is started with the collection of the scattered pieces. The scene of the final tragedy must be reconstructed and seen through the eyes of the afflicted. The genesis of malady must be traced back and seen clearly; see the hope of the heart and its failed audacity. Glare upon pain in its rawest form, and with astuteness write down your observation. The thoughts of the oppressed must be dissected with precision. To properly conduct the procedure, the dream must be placed in a sterile environment completely void of contaminants. Notice the scarring of the organs denoting internal turmoil. They must be weighed as studious attention is paid. Record the various weights, and make general observations of its final state. It was beautiful in its formation but short in its realization. If you have to, step away briefly and ponder the beauty of what could have been, and then start again. The dream did not have any friends, so at the ceremony you will be the only person to attend. Make sure it is treated with dignity as it appears to sleep peacefully. Remember your duty and maintain professional reputability. At your own discretion, try to visualize what it couldn’t see, and in your memory remember what it wanted to be.
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Incessant sorrow overtakes
With quiet tears the tormented contemplates
What on the other side awaits -
Empty shells stumble around in darkness
Searching for the substance of their former selves.
The hollowness of their souls ring out in endless echoes.
Like fallen leaves in autumn they go whither the wind blows.
As time passes they become walking carcasses
Who see and speak, and listlessly weep.
Under the openness of the ether, the feral children curiously peep.Lethargically they walk
and recite their mantra:We search for the light of resurrection in all directions
Hoping for our day of release and the stillness of peace.
We dwell in darkness and are tormented with emptiness.
The residue of substance is not enough to sustain us;
The hunger of our craving is not of the stomach, but of the soul.
Once young and beautiful faces are now withered and old.
With high hopes and sincere hearts we march, yet we fall apart.
The fulfillment of their purpose they constantly dream;
To be filled with healing waters of a peaceful stream.
Still, they roam;
Weather beaten ships on eternal seas without a home.
I will record their misery and write a poem
In hopes they find that sustaining substance that fills the soul.
In the millions they gather with stories untold;
Inside they seek warmth, for on the outside it’s cold. -
After the mask is partially removed I await the final unveil.
In your nature you are beautiful and your essence I inhale.
I accept you with unconditional love so don’t be afraid.
You have been deeply hurt before so you hesitate;
Day by day you see the intentions of my heart and slow is the pace.
I am patient in my spirit, for it is not a race.
Now with gratitude and tears of joy, I finally see your face;
We weep together and our bond is made stronger;
I would have waited until the end of time,
With elation of the heart knowing that you are mine.
I look at you and see a goddess with blue diamonds in her eyes.
Endless waterfalls are your hair, and the heavens are your smile.
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After the last weeping, when the spirit is no more,
And the cup of emotion has been poured out of the soul
As precious blood pools on the floor,
With ghostly eyes transfixed in dim light she sits,
Waiting for the darkness, listlessly rocking back and forth. -
In purgatory we are suspended.
Anguished screams are the byproduct
When the spirit is wilted.
Epitaphs are written and rewritten
With each changing season.
The anxious and depressed are listless;
There is no room for anything else.
Constant torment of the soul causes scarring.
She is beautiful on the outside,
But on in the inside she’s dying.
When the dead are gone they leave behind the living,
But the living are not living.
In the darkness cries are heard,
And the stark truth of finality is contemplated.
Day after day agony is compounded,
And there is no room to breathe;
We flood ourselves in the tears of heavy weeping,
But there is no reprieve.
With laborious breaths we make an existence;
The delicate shell of us craving a life of substance.
Once filled with life, we drag the carcass
Of yesteryear behind us, hoping for a resurrection,
Or some type of rejuvenation to bring life back into our eyes.
The preacher preaches a fiery sermon
And tells us to look to the skies,
But we have prayed and prayed again, and we are tired.
The world turns its face from the frightful imagery of our reality;
We are mannequins they dress up and pretend not to see;
Still, we are flowers in winter
Waiting for spring to bloom in all our glory.
In giant books of gold bound with the blood of our pain,
The gods, they record our lives, and write our story. -
The residue of you lingers.
I am infused with passionate thoughts;
I must purge myself, but sensuality taunts.
I taste of you, and your flavor is euphoric.
To let go I must convince my heart.
The strong potency of memories
Must be diluted with current reality
Lest there be an overload in sensory.
The recipe:
1 part memory to 7 parts reality.It must be savored and consumed slowly,
For the sweetness can mask its cogency;
Still I am inebriated from overconsumption,
As I secretly indulge with endless craving,
Like some starving predacious being.
Unknowingly I am in your rapture;
Sensuous and loving thoughts haunt me sweetly.
On a clear night I dreamt of the story of Adonis and Aphrodite.
The fire left center of my chest refuses to be quenched;
From past memories I piece together my own collage of what’s left.
On amatory nights with dim lights against my neck I feel your breath. -
The Earth cries out in pain and we hear her. They have misused her; they have taken of her bounty with crude instruments that destroy her. The changing of her climate has given her a high fever. She suffers the diseases of pollution and deforestation. Tons of garbage are strewn over her lands and seas, and she is angry. They have pillaged her and are unmerciful to the wails of her agony. They rape her in incestuous transgression for she is their mother. Greed has infiltrated their hearts and poisoned their blood; the soil is saturated with water; her tears are the flood. In her bosom is fire; for her precious stones and metals they drill deep within her. She is beautifully adorned with diamonds, gold, and silver. Carbon emissions have eroded her protective layer … they continue to defile her. Ice caps melt, and her wild inhabitants suffer. They have lied, and her pain they deny. Oh beautiful mother, your sons hear your cry! We stand with you and fight through the hottest days and coldest nights. We adore you, for you give us life. She will endure the years and one day again be covered in ice.
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I thought in your heart I had found a home.
In the the throes of my suffering and lament
I found that I was alone.
In the darkness of desolation I reached for you,
Yet still my portion was ridicule and isolation.
Against my will, my heart holds onto you and loves you still,
But like leaves in autumn day by day,
The memories of you, they fall away.
Intimate Compositions 