You are a beautiful verse intricately laced through several chapters of the book of sensual and loving whispers, wrapped in an enigma, set down by gentle winds upon a peaceful lavender river where butterflies frolic and fly over in the spring and summer and where willow trees weep under beautiful snowfall in the winter.
Category: Poetry
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With sweet whispers the darkness beckons me, methodically appealing to the deep sorrow of my tragedy. It says, I can take away the pain if you allow me. I embrace the bitter taste of misery to deaden the unforgiving sting of its potency. I now live in my own, but I was born of my mother’s agony. Resentment is the blood of my family, so I do not forgive easily. Through vengeful eyes I see my enemies. I dream no more of love — my nightmare resumes when I awaken; sitting on the edge of my bed I gaze aimlessly at nothing, and I am reminded that I am a man forsaken. Oh, heavenly father, look at what torment has taken. It seeks to utterly decimate me and leave me irreparably broken. I have become an apostate of love’s religion. In my state of affliction I have come to questions my past decisions. The man in the mirror swears at me under his breath; I stare at him for several minutes contemplating the depth of his sentiment. I scream like a madman within four walls to purge at least a small portion of the pain. Tiring myself out, I sit drenched in perspiration with tempered melancholy, and I am tranquil again.
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Dark immersion tires me and wears on my will, still, something pulls me up to the surface slowly — I open my eyes releasing my last cries, I am solemn, and I am still.
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A hummingbird kisses a blue orchid. Rose petals dry the tears of the heartbroken. The scent of rain is a beautiful prelude to love-making. A once wounded bird flies again, spreading healed wings that were broken. A goddess rises from her slumber immersed in immaculate beauty. The gods whisper among themselves with tones of feral envy. A gorgeous grey haired woman dances under the soft glow of twilight slowly. In a French bed with embroidered canopy, lovers make moans of unlimited ecstasy. The once desolate find love and tightly hold on to it. There is a wondrous peace in the place that an Angel once slept. A field of flowers grow in the place that my mother once wept. The perfumed scent of white gardenias is the sweetness of an Angel’s breath. From her hair, a woman removes several pins and a glorious waterfall flows again. On an antique square white tufted ottoman, with crossed legs, she moisturizes her skin, and it is incredibly feminine. She thinks about finding love again, and her heart is comforted. A pregnant moon gives the ocean the fullness of her illumination — the dark waters accept her light and rise to meet her for the occasion.
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In brokenness the most passionate memories are all that are left. There is a deep sorrow still unknown to the yet bereft from love’s abandonment. There is a well with perpetual depths filled with the tears of all who have wept. There is healing in the whispers of an angel’s breath. There is a profound intimacy that is beautifully transcendent. There is affectionate and passionate sentiment from kisses on the neck. There is a silence when lovers are in each other’s arms that cause tears to fall. There is a tenderness when making love that expresses the intent of the heart.
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It is the eyes that are telling when gazing upon the countenance of a woman. The delicateness of her is immeasurably beautiful. She is a pink rose in the morning dew. You must love her to draw water from the deep well of her soul. The wonderful sent of her blow-dried hair could be considered something so simple, but in the arms of her lover it becomes something deeply intimate. The crown she wears is a crown of passionate kisses from the lover that truly loves her. The Sun is her father, and the North Star is her mother. She was conceived in December in the coldest winter that envied the warmth of her. The beauty of her countenance is the manifestation of the radiance of her essence that lies beneath the surface. She is the Phoenix eternally rising, her diamond eyes breathtakingly shining as she stares upon a celestial horizon.
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Where were you when I needed you? All I asked for was understanding and compassion. It wasn’t about sex. It wasn’t about fucking. I valued you as a woman, not body parts for selfish sexual satisfaction. I truly tried in every beautiful way to convey my emotions. Still, I apologize for my own errors. Still, my heart sends you loving whispers. With every intimate moment I reached to caress your essence. With every kiss I wanted you to know that I loved you with everything within me. So many years are spent in unhappiness in the unforgiving purgatory of pretense. So much fucking time is wasted with trivial and bullshit arguments. One thing that I can say about myself is, I always gave you room to vent. At risk of looking weak I would shed tears and tell you that I didn’t want to leave. You once were my reprieve. You were the life that I breathed. In my anxiety, sometimes I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to be the man that you needed. I wanted to bring the comfort of security, love and financial stability. I wanted a transcendent intimacy. I wanted you to evoke strong emotions of affection when you looked at me. I wanted you to be exceedingly joyous and happy. Perhaps you are happiest without me. Perhaps I am a romantic fool steeped in some ridiculous love fantasy. Perhaps I should beseech the ghost of Norma Jean and converse with her deeply about life, love and tragedy. The winters are so cold; baby, they are so cold. Fall is already here, and another desolate winter is near. I see you through my tears — baby, I swear that I still see you through my tears.
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Silver hair brushed back gracefully
Elegance of a certain age
The radiance of long distinguished beauty
She knows intimacy intimately
There is potency in her ecstasy
In six inch heels she’s extremely sexy
Confident in her femininity
Many times her heart has been broken
Still she loves profoundly deeply
She is a graceful woman
She’s a woman in all her glory -
Wailing utterances pierce the red twilight sky that cause reverberations in the atmosphere and angels to cry. Holding a wooden rosary, a wise and beautiful lady named Constancia once told me, Victor, in life you will face adversity, but you are the son of a mother whose fierce spirit was born of me. Without fear, boldly take hold of your destiny.
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Size seven heaven grace petite feet — through an opening newly pedicured toes peep. Six inch heels give the beauty of feminine subtly the perfect arch. In pointed toe stilettos through hellfire a woman could walk. A cocktail dress and flats do not go together like oil and water — after an invite to a New York City rooftop party, a trip to Nine West is always in order, or Saks Fifth Avenue for even more desired attire. Over form-fitting denim, stiletto heeled thigh high boots set the streets on fire. Scuffing newly purchased “So Kate” Louboutin’s is almost a sin; the contrast of black leather against red soles is almost amazing. “Hi, I’d like to try these on in size seven,” says a beautiful woman wearing a black V-neck backless mini-dress and Chanel pearl stud earrings. Heavy makeup is not her thing, but frequent trips to Barneys New York was when it was open. People compliment her on the fragrance she’s wearing, her dress and the heels that adorn her. The shoe salesperson says, “If they’re too tight, you can go a half-size bigger;” she says, “Thank you, I know, but never.”
