As the darkness closes in I scream out in resolved subversiveness; the will of my spirit echoes throughout the earth and scorches the bottom of the heavens. The angels hear the agony and torture of my silent cries. A dove flies overhead and keenly searches my soul; she sees my pain and lands on my shoulder with a beautiful white gardenia. I inhale deeply as I savor the perfume of the flower; the light inside me is again rekindled.
Category: Prose
-
I lie awake at night, but sleep all day. My existence is in darkness because I can no longer see the light. I walk amongst the shadows because fear has debilitated my will. My thoughts consume me day by day. I am turned away and unloved by many who claim to understand my sorrow. Intrusive thoughts flood in, and amplify my trepidation. I am shunned by society and family. I feed on different forms of therapy to survive. I seek happiness, but to no avail. I am paralyzed as my heart rate increases and I start to sweat. I hope for release from my pain, but it seems I am destined to live in perpetual darkness. I am a vampire.
-
A Mother’s love
Is a soothing voice,
A warm hug,
And a comforting kiss,
After a bad dream. -
Listening to one of my favorites from Sade, I contemplated the fear, the character in the song experienced as she waited for her matador to come home, while expecting bad news.
Sade asks a very poignant question in her lyrics – “Can she tame the beast that is her fear?” I thought about this and realized how profound a question it is in our everyday lives. Fear is indeed a beast, and it is destructive and unforgiving. Can we temper our fear even in the face of adversity?
-
For those of us who face seemingly insurmountable odds in our lives. For those of us who have struggled, and given with nothing left to give. For those those of us who are misunderstood due to our internal anguish and silent turmoil. For those of us who sit in silent darkness late into the night and release tears without being seen. For those of us who have loved, and lost love.
Against All Odds – Phil Collins (1984)
-
In sorrow I hope for joy.
In hell I hope for heaven.
In darkness I hope for light.
In pain I hope for comfort.
In suffering I hope for Peace. -
She walks in the night’s shadows, soliciting customers as they pass by. There is a sadness in her eyes; a profoundly deep and troubled look, that only the streets could fathom. The years have passed by, and her once radiant beauty has turned into a weathered face, and aging body. The streets are cold and unforgiving, as it takes of her essence and leaves her destitute with no assurance of life or future happiness. She is lost in a world of drugs and alcohol as she sells herself to feed her addiction. Her heart is heavy with sorrow and her story is one of pain and turmoil. She stands under a street light and lights a cigarette. She inhales deeply and allows the nicotine to enter her lungs and invade her bloodstream. Her eyes show no emotion as she stares into the dark night. Eyes that scour blocks and alleyways for signs of imminent danger, while at the same time keeping a keen sense for potential customers as she makes her rounds on a summer night in Hunts Point. She can feel a piece of her soul leave her every time the undignified exchange takes place. After the deed is done, crumpled and dirty bills are given, while more than flesh is taken. Still, the night goes on, as shadowy figures move about on the rough and gritty streets. She seeks out other peddlers of the night to make another exchange, but this time she will pay for the euphoria she seeks; it has become a part of her now. She relies on it to make it through the night. The days wane and the nights are long. It lies dormant during the day, but it is in the night, that the streets are awakened with activity. The sordid cycle is repeated again and again; Faces disappear and are never seen again. The years fade away like leaves in the wind. Some familiar characters can still be seen walking on dark blocks, as the sound of crushed glass can be heard under foot. A look into their eyes, and the soul can be seen. In a moment’s notice their story is told.
-
Lord, grant me solace. Grant me peace.
-
I’m so in love with you and I could never forget the first time we . . .
laid eyes on each other; it was then that I had visions of kissing you . . .
I went out on a limb and told you my true feelings for you, and it was then we found love in each other’s arms . . .
-
The cries and tears of the children spill and flow into the rivers and streams; the ocean rises and her waves are lifted up in anger with the tears of my people. The blood and tears are mixed and infused into the lakes and bayous. The waters are perpetually restless and troubled by the souls and spirits of they that shed their blood and were oppressed. The eyes that glow in the night and the creatures of the water hear the loud cries of the souls and the pain in their voices. They cry out for vengeance, and they scream for justice. They weep for remembrance. The earth underneath is shaken and moves violently. Tears ripple through the waters with lightning speed and the soil is saturated with blood.
In the deep dark of night everything is suddenly again quiet. The creepy crawlers of the night and they that dwell in the deep midst of the lakes and bayous are afraid and tense with anticipation. For they have witnessed the injustices; they have witnessed the generations of they that have suffered and have bled, and have shed tears, and have been tortured, and have cried out to God, and have been beaten, and have been broken, and have been enslaved, and have been raped, and have been trodden, and have been unloved. On the banks of the rivers and lakes; the streams and the bayous; stand the ghosts of my people. Eyes fierce, wide and illuminated; They line up side by side in tattered rags. Their wounds show and bear witness to their past lives. Their blood is dried on them. They line up. The elders and the ones with gray hair. The men and the women. The young ones. Hand in hand they line up, and in silence they look on. The children hold the hands of their mothers; the mothers hold the hands of their men; the men hold the hands of the elders and they look on.
Blood sheds from old wounds and tears begin to flow from wide illuminated eyes, but they show no emotion. In silence and in the dark of night they look on. My heart is dismayed by the pain of my people; my eyes, red and sodden with heavy sorrows. As if in a dream, I stretch forth my arms. The moonlight reflects on the dark waters; Polaris shines bright in the night’s sky. They beckon me to come forward, and I oblige as I slowly approach. My people, with bare feet, tattered rags, thick scars on backs, deep wounds, tears flowing from eyes and faces emotionless, stretch forth their arms. The old and the young; the little children, stretch forth their arms to embrace me. In their embrace I am overcome. My God, I am overcome with emotion. Each one begin to whisper closely in my ear the story of their life and pain. The whispers grow louder and I am caught in a whirlwind of their voices; they take me to the places of their deepest suffering and to the places where they wept.
My whole being is shattered by the reality of their past existence. I stand silent. My spirit is filled with fury and sorrow. A potent mix that boils and stirs fire within me. What am I to do? The generation of tears have flown and permeated the earth. What once grew here no longer grows. Their pain and rage have impregnated her and she is vexed by the plight and the affliction of them. The earth will not be moved. She will not forgive. she will not give up her stores and she will not yield her crops; the tobacco; the sugarcane; the cotton will all wither and die. The trees where my people were hanged have shed their leaves. Their roots are rotten and their once sweet fruit have turned bitter. The bumbled bee and the honeybee will not pollinate. The flowers and the once green grass is brown, scorched and sparse. Innocent blood has been shed here. Tears have fallen here. Enough to crack the dams and flow out violently into the vast rivers and oceans.
My people, my precious people; I love them. They peacefully fade away back to their place of rest, where there is no sorrow. One by one they go back to tranquility. I am left alone to bear witness. I scream out with all the air in my lungs and with every fiber of my being: You will be avenged! You are redeemed! With ghostly eyes they turn back and look; in haunted voices, my people whisper: Remember us; remember us.
Intimate Compositions 