In ethereal dreams I await you my angel.
Category: Prose
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Our forewords are inscribed in blood. Chapters of anguish are effortlessly written. Pens of fire highlight the darkness that can’t be seen by the naked eye. Our records of torment and suffering and pain are intricately layered as the pages are turned. Footnotes take hold of the reader and guide with harrowing precision. See where we walked in laborious breaths clutching tight our heavy crosses; hear the incessant wailing of those who hope for more and want to live, but for so long have only existed but yet endure. Witness the pungent scent of hopelessness, despair, and misery. Read with focused intent, not fast; feel the texture of the paper and turn the pages slowly. With every letter and with every word step into rugged boots and hard worn shoes; take the journey. Stretch your arms North, for Polaris is still the star of our or salvation; we are sufferers in blood and in bonds, we send heaven our voice letters and ask for the angels to break our fetters. Some pages may be blank but tears that fall on paper narrate the chapter. The downtrodden, the anguished, the mute, the outcast and long languished are given voice through the pages to record and tell of their devastation and long sadness; diligently search the index and reread certain passages to gain more insight and to interpret the book in its fullness. Run your hands over the leather binding and admire the gold leaf engraving but be mindful to retain poignant paragraphs that are well worth retaining. We cry out between the lines. Our final chapters are yet to be written.
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1:17 A.M. Elmira, New York
Early winter.Rachel’s Story
It’s cold in her room. Rachel lies still under a worn comforter on a twin sized bed covered with flannel sheets. She’s tired, but can’t sleep. Lately, she’s been plagued by long bouts of insomnia. Her thoughts won’t slow down; she ruminates about the doctor’s appointment she missed the day before. It was important, and now she’ll likely have to wait another two weeks before she can be seen again. The nausea has gotten increasingly worse and she hasn’t eaten anything for the last eighteen hours. Her mother called earlier but she didn’t feel like talking to her. Since the diagnosis last year, she’s been reclusive and standoffish, even with her mother and her two siblings who she’s been close with all of her life.
She’s always been fit, but now she looks somewhat thin and malnourished. The illness has taken its toll. Her appetite is diminished and the prescribed medication aggravates her nausea, leading to vomiting. Just two years ago she was engaged to be married; he left shortly after her diagnosis. She still loves him despite of his transgressions and betrayal. She called him some time in the past three weeks but his number has been disconnected. Almost time for her to take the next scheduled dose of medicine. Only five Valiums left before the bottle is empty. It’s early winter, but temperatures have been colder than usual for this period of the season. She warms some soup on the stove. While that’s being heated, she takes a 10 mg dosage of Valium.
The soup is ready now, but she only eats two spoonfuls and three saltine crackers. She hopes the nausea will go away soon. Back in bed under the warmth of the comforter she retires; she hopes she can get at least two to three hours of sleep. 2:36 A.M.
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I feel you
I need you
I breathe you
I love you. -
With feigned etiquette they appear to be delicate
But behind pleasantries they hide heinous inequities;
Vile words are masked by counterfeit smiles and insincere niceties.
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The decadence of man consumes them in their own greed. Even with full stomachs they vigorously and ferociously feed. In the shadows they grunt with bits of rare meat stuck in their teeth. Bloated, they laugh heartily without guilty conscience. Gluttonous in their frenzied state they are blinded by self-indulgence. Corruption of the soul renders even the young among them to appear old. Their faces contorted and excessively wrinkled with a ghost like appearance; their teeth serrated and discolored beyond belief; their gums black and resinous like pitch. Like pigs at the trough they are fattened, but their slaughter is of their own making; wicked minds devise illicit plans for unrepentant pillaging, and more and more taking. Conviction of the soul in non existent; endless tears and dried scattered carcasses are their remnant. Though they wash themselves again and again, the foul smelling stench is permanent. At the slightest sense of fear they scurry like rats to their enclaves and peek out of curtained windows with bulging eyes astonished with horror and panic; henchmen do their bidding in exchange for a piece of their ill gotten gains. Though immortality is sought, it cannot be bought; in futility they spend money endlessly seeking to never grow old; wanting to never die. Ignored are the pleas of the poor, and the children’s piercing cries. As time passes eventually the decadent and cold, grow old and sick. Writhing and emaciated in luxurious beds, and struggling to forever exist, it is in their last throes that they feel the sting of the devil’s whip.
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My undying love for you
Has never changed;
Let the heavens welcome us
At the end of our days,
And may the worlds forever
Know our names;
Let tales of our legendary love
Be whispered in intimate settings,
And romantic cafes;
The essence of our commitment,
And dedication
Will be reenacted in plays;
You are the blood
That run through my veins;
On that day when all tears
Are wiped away,
I shall again hold your hand
And say:
Your are my light;
Beside me you stand
Adorned in white;
You are beautiful beyond
A thousand lush green valleys
At the dawning of the sun;
The kindness of your eyes
With no justice my words
Could describe;
The length and fullness of your hair
Are like a thousand endless waterfalls
Sprinkled with gold dust,
Glistening in the summer sun;
Your skin is a marvelous wonder,
Delicate and precious
Shimmering under a full moon
In the soft caress of the twilight;
Your lips are as soft and beautiful
As burgundy rose petals
In the freshness of the morning dew;
Your nose is like a perfect sculpture,
Crafted with the precision
Of the maker’s skilled hands;
Your earrings compliment
The silhouette of your neck;
Bracelets adorn your wrists,
Highlighting Your loving
And graceful hands.
You are my day,
And you are my night.
I love you … I love you …
Life could never destroy us,
And death could never separate us;
You are the wind that carries me
In endless dreams;
You are my rest …
And peaceful stream.
You are ingrained in me;
With tears in my eyes
And on one knee,
I affirm to all who hear or see,
That you forever
Are my lady. -
Cold darkness.
Intimate Compositions 