The darkness scares
The darkness frights
He must learn to embrace the darkness,
And drown it in light.
Category: Prose
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Whispers in the dark haunt me once again.
Your voice softly said, I love you;
I thought you had come back to me.
It was only a dream.
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Because she wept in heavy rain they could never see her tears.
With nothing left to give she empties her deep wells of pain onto the street.
People unaware walk through the puddles of her sorrow. -
In anxious agony and incoherent words of an exhausted mind
In a state of isolation and loneliness that viciously consumes the spirit
On nights red eyes stare into mirrors with tears for lack of sleep
In unkempt rooms where chaos seemingly abounds and several
empty prescription bottles are strewn
In rooms where for many years illness and fear have festered,
and have consumed, and have metastasized.The walls have witnessed and concealed the deep secrets
They weep in silence for the trepidation of the sorrowful dweller.
After the screaming and torment, in a cluttered bed the afflicted briefly sleeps;Eyes on the wall in picture frames curiously stare.
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As I play the keys of my life, blood and tears drip on the piano. The notes on the music sheet become more intricate. I furiously and wildly continue to play trying to keep up. There is no audience or applause. The stage lights have been turned off. I play in darkness and can barely see the music sheet but for a dim light peering through the dark and heavy curtains. The sounds of the Steinway keys echo throughout the vast and empty auditorium.
At intermission I stare at empty seats.
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The black hearts of men; the wantonness; the covetousness; the deceit.
The taking of innocence; the screams; the blood that cries out for vengeance.
The wicked thoughts of the mind that corrupt and corrode the soul and spirit.
The darkness of it is black like tar; the stench of it—pungent and unfamiliar.
It causes the eyes to water. It stifles the air in the lungs.A once beautiful red rose is wilted and discolored; the stem becomes lifeless. the petals decompose from the edges. When they can hold on no longer, the dark petals fall away into the abyss.
The bloodshot eyes that have witnessed torment, and lifelessness, and misery. The dark cell with heavy chains; the moaning and the cries of men in that place you can’t see your hands in in front of your face; the terror that stalks and lies in wait. The unquenchable thirst. The dogged hunger. The silence and isolation that leads to madness. The insanity of the once astute, well spoken and sane. The grinding of teeth; the nakedness; the withering away of flesh. The numbness of the soul. The anesthesia that is sought to take away the pain. The dark clouds; the eternal rain.
The desolation.
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Fifty thousand crows file in and silently take their seats; the lights are dimmed and the movie of my life is played. Black feathers are still; sharp beaks protrude, some contorted. A light cawing is heard throughout. Dark eyes are seen staring in the glare of projector screen light.
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A raven follows me in my dreams. She watches with a keen eye. Her dark feathers make her impossible to be seen in the dark place. She has always been there, watching, observing. She has witnessed my deep suffering and she knows my plight. In the dark place, I stumble trying to find my way out. I cannot see my hands in front of my face. The raven’s piercing cries are my only signal. The dark place refuses to let me go; it is a parasite that feeds on me day and night. It renders me lethargic. It allows just enough life for an existence, but nothing more.
I am breathing but I have not lived in years. It slowly drains my life force as I crawl toward the cries of the raven. My movements are slow and my will almost non existent. The raven beckons me, but I don’t know where. I had seen a light here before in the distant past but the dark place has hidden it from me. What I would give for just a glimpse of that light, to see it at least once more.
. . . My thoughts consume me.
I crawl on to my unknown destination in the dark place. The raven flaps her wings ahead in the distance. Will I escape or am I resigned to my fate? The question I ask myself is almost rhetorical as the hope I once had is blown away like leaves in the wind. My blood boils as I think about the years of torment in this place. I will gather up my will for one last valiant try.
The raven senses my resolve.
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I had waited for her in my dreams for a thousand years. My bones cried out from that desolate and dry place where men perish and are forgotten. She came to me; I was not deserved of her love, but she came to me. Only the tears of a man could tell such things of the heart. The depths of me were a dry well but she poured out her soul to me and I became an oasis.
My love, kiss me with a kiss the gods themselves would be envious of; let them be jealous of our love. The scent of you is like an expansive field of white gardenias; the length and beauty of your hair is like a waterfall in a lush rain forest; the sincerity of your eyes impassions me, and moves me to tell you secrets of long held feelings for you; your lips are as sweet as honey and soft as rose petals in the morning dew.
Together we will cross the night seas just you and I; your hair blowing in the summer wind. The moonlight reflecting on your shimmering beauty is a sight to behold. The natural essence of you … words can’t adequately describe. In this moment, in this precious moment, I vow a vow to you. Let the moon and the stars be witnesses and let the night seas record my words and my feelings for you. I love you. If there were ever a time that you may not have known: I love you with all my heart.
Kiss me now, and let me live again. Reborn in love, and anew in the sunshine of your smile.
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In a short silk white robe tortured beauty lies listless on a French daybed. Strewn empty wine bottles and scattered pills linger on the floor. A picture of her smiling brightly with her parents atop of the fireplace sits in its frame. In her pain she looks up and remembers the days of her joy; she stretches forth her arm toward the photo as if reaching for a piece of heaven. In her listlessness she is paralyzed; tears run and fall from long lashes, flawless makeup and beautiful eyes.
Intimate Compositions 