Tears spill on paper as the anguished write final letters.
Eyes stare up at beautiful bright moonlight on a clear night,
As warm blood turns cold in the snowy winter.
Category: Poetry
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They feign empathy but are filled with apathy.
From duplicitous lips they speak words of understanding,
But in the deep pit of darkness they leave you standing;
Alone we are born and alone we die;
Alone we seek joy and alone we cry;
Alone we crawl through blue fires of suffering and are purified;
Alone we are redeemed with blue fires of resolve in our eyes;
For we know the treachery of their false sympathy;
Sweet lips throw poisonous daggers of hateful words upon discovery. -
We survive, but we have yet to live. Drained of blood and tears we wearily march with valiant hearts through the darkest night by lamplight, holding high our banners of war with nothing left to give.
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In the final act, illness is unveiled in its true ugliness, raw hideousness, and utter mercilessness; when blood flows from open veins and the eyes from behind which it lies, are bloodshot and teary from torment and unceasing cries.
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In illness the emaciated and anguished take painfully slow steps in darkness.
The quiet torment of loneliness captures and devastates in its stillness.
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When black lace gloves are laid on finely polished wooden dressers and the long procession is over, in stillness she sits at her beauty vanity and stares into the mirror. Thoughts of sorrow and anger forcefully take over. Silent tears stream as she wipes off her makeup; clothes are taken off and left strewn on varnished wooden floors. To crawl into bed is all she can muster; he is gone now, and will never come back to her. And what of the children’s tears? She must grieve in painful secrecy for they need the strength of their mother. Fall has come, and alone in tearful anguish she awaits the bitter cold of the winter.
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With whispers of sweet nothings
Lovers undressed her body,
But could never undress her soul.
The depths of her; her very essence,
They would never know. -
Gorgeous pearls and rare diamonds adorn her.
A beautiful angel she is, and they adore her;
She is ravishing and wondrously alluring.
Aesthetically unmatched her recipe is prepossessing.
A goddess among women and incomparably charming,
But behind seductive hazel eyes lies desolation and decay;
Her mask is worn and starts to disintegrate day after day.
They love her in her glory but secretly despise her.
In dark corners they devise plans to destroy and ruin in utter.
She is a beautiful roe unaware of the hunter’s bow;
If they would know her humanness and deep sorrow;
If they were aware that at night at walls she stares;
If they would only see her pleasantries and genuine sympathies,
But they are poisoned by long held jealousies and secretive envy.
To know her, is to know longing for genuine love.
To be in her company is to see kindness and generosity.
To look into her eyes is to see a loving woman in despair;
In her sterility she desires fertility, to one day have a family;
And she ponders the duality of life and finality.
Lonely, she slips into her royal blue silk nightgown.
Another arduous night has come;
Precious tears stream as in darkness she softly lies down.
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In love’s perpetuity we have found immortality.
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In the chill of fall winds, a child’s tears fall against cold skin.
Though he waited for hours for his father, he did not show, once again.
Intimate Compositions 