Cold darkness.
Category: Prose
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The tormented wail.
Heavy tears of agony
Fall beneath the black veil.
The dead is carried
By horse and carriage.
A trail of sorrow follows
Behind in silent march.
The dark crow watches
From a distant perch.
Bitter cold wears
On the frailty of the old;
Their steps are slow,
And measured.
The hard frozen earth awaits.
As the lowering begins,
Red roses are thrown
From frail hands
With black gloves.
Freezing winds blow;
With tears and a final stare,
Cold and ashen faces
Slowly disappear. -
In narrow hallways
And unkempt rooms
Torment consumes;
Light is sought
But darkness restricts.
Pray and it will go away
They say,
Yet it still abounds.
Tears are shed
On sheetless beds,
But with weeping
There is no reprieve.
He had a dream
Of peaceful streams,
And of the day
He was relieved. -
My lovely Phyllis Hyman, you never got the credit you deserved. Your songs move me to deep emotion; your voice a soothing balm of healing and light. Oh, sweet Phyllis, how your presence touched the world! Through your voice you live on. A beautiful woman of deep passion and love you were! You will never be forgotten; your love, your joy, your pain, your hurt, the secrets of you, are weaved throughout your songs in wonderful array. Your lyrics are written upon the hearts of us who connected with your heart and soul. You are remembered.
Phyllis Hyman: July 6, 1949 – June 30, 1995
Phyllis Hyman – Walk Away
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The gangrenous stench of torment scorches the nostrils
The rotten carcasses of many souls lie
The ghastly scars of cirrhosis are evident to horrified eyes
Under a black moon the fires of agony viciously consume
They have been rejected by blood but cry no more
Leprous outcasts and wanderers with no home they are
They walk the road of hell in hopes of reaching heaven’s door
Injured souls seek to repair themselves;
The hideous scarring causes the earth to turn away and weep
The oceans well up with rising tides
Peace and a haven is unceasingly sought with tears and bloodshot eyes. -
In that moment she was set free,
And shed tears of joy in quiet peace.
She inhaled deeply the memories of agony
And with eyes of fire,
Exhaled agony in her final release.Antonio Vivaldi: Nisi Dominus, RV 608. No.4
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Good morning to all.
J.S. Bach: Mass in B Minor
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The winds of stormy seas blow against my tears. I wildly dance in trance like state in the dusk of the twilight. The sand is cool beneath my feet. A fire is lit. Tonight I commune with the stars and the night’s sky. I will sup and make merry as if you were here with me. The memory of your beauty and smile elevate me in euphoric reminisce. The way you touched me and the length and scent of your hair lead to feelings inside me that cannot be expressed in words or writings even by the most eloquent of orator and writer. The most expressive works of literature could hardly grasp or capture, the feelings of you.
My love, I am caught up in your rapture; in my flesh I am constrained to dwell here in this wilted existence and cold world without your warmth. Echo my name in dreams and reach for me. Illuminate me in your loving light and release me from my torment. For what is living or what is life without you? I live on in your memory. I love you. I will always love you. I hope you can hear me.
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In my spirit I was unhappy
But you told me you loved me,
And my desire for you blinded me
With false affirmation of sincerity;
What freed me was the discovery
Of your deceit and hypocrisy. -
In darkness we walk; we are survivors of the night. The dark raven still flies; we fear no fright. In suffering we have been tried; blood and fierceness in our eyes. Our seasons of weeping have strengthened us; hard resolve is in our cries. Let now all in our congregation in unison rise. Let the earth’s soil remember the tears of our torment; let the four walls echo the whispers of our days and nights of agony. We have been made strong in our endless affliction; we present the dreadful scars of trauma, and the world is aghast. We have been rejected and unloved even by our own fathers; our anguish and misery is the pain of our mothers. We live in darkness like vampires; our hands outstretched longing for the sunshine, but seemingly rejected by the light. The dilation in our eyes tell the tale of our secluded existence. We are but mortals with hearts full of love and pain. Our forecast are grey skies and eternal rain. We swear now an eternal oath, that the traumas of our childhood eternally sleep and shall never rise again.
Intimate Compositions 