The first time I saw you, I loved you,
But you had already given your love
To someone else;
Many years have passed,
And I still think about you;
You have imprisoned my emotions,
For my heart still belongs to you;
Until you are mine,
My soul will always long for you.
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I battle against the waves of despair
My head barely above water
It seeks to drown me
It seeks to take me under
My anxiety builds; it taunts me
It threatens to tear me asunder
I am afraid,
Will I remain or will I falter?
I will let out tears,
And leave my burdens at God’s alter;
I will try to patiently wait for my rescue
As I wade in the lonely, deep, and dark waters. -
My Lord, my God,
Please hear my cry;
For without your love
My soul will die. -
Love. A word often overused and incorrectly defined.
Love. A word often betrayed by the actions of those claiming to intimately know it.
Love. A powerful mover of emotions.
Love. A word often used for selfish gain.
Love. A word trampled on and defiled by unscrupulous deceivers.
Love. Something to be valued and protected.
Love. Something worth fighting for.
Love. Something that can sometimes be unfathomable to the human mind.
Love. The embodiment of the word is a wonderful thing to behold.
Love. Some think they truly know it, but have never experienced it.
Love. The essence of it is more beautiful than diamonds and brings me to tears.
Love. To know it, is to know passion.
Love. The emotions of it will cause the heart to beat faster.
Love. The meaning of the word can be expressed in many ways.
Love. A precious gift worthy of veneration.
Love. I will speak it. I will live in it. I will give it.
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“Jesus wept.” (John 11:35, KJV)
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As I cope with daily life and my own personal struggles and sorrow, I hearken back to what I consider the most poignant scene in the Bible. Now admittedly, I haven’t attended mass in several years, as I believe in total honesty and full disclosure.
The scene or time I am referring to, is when Jesus cries out and asks his Father why he abandons him in that particular hour. I hadn’t read the Bible in quite some time, and when I reread the passage in the book of Matthew, it moved me to tears. To think about abandonment in a time of immense pain and unthinkable suffering for the sins of the world, is something I could never fathom. I carry my own cross daily as we all do. It is heavy but I must carry it. I hope all of you are well, content, and joyous. Sending love to you all.
“Now from the sixth hour there was darkness over all the land unto the ninth hour. And about the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying, Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani? that is to say, My God, my God, why has thou forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:45-46, KJV)
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She visited me in my dreams for a fortnight; the length and soft texture of her hair brushing against my face as we kissed passionately. The scent of her, like the scent of a thousand fields of white and cream gardenias in beautiful array, intoxicating my soul as we slow danced to a beautiful concerto composed by the heavenly angels. Passionate words of love were whispered as I held her tightly; the warmth of her bosom against my chest causing my heart to flutter as she stunned me with her femininity and beauty. I was wrapped in her love and affection. I had known her intimately, and the passionate moments we shared was something to be written of in the stars. She had moved me. In tender longing I reached for her again to feel her warmth and love, but she wasn’t there. I searched for her in my dreams with fervor and much intensity, but she was nowhere to be found. Alas, the fifteenth day had come.
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The cold desolation of the void encompasses me. The utter blackness of it depresses me and wounds my spirit. I will not let it feed on my distress. With tears flowing from eyes of anger, and with bare feet, I will dance. I will cry out from the abyss. Wildly and in uninhibited rage, I will dance in silent darkness.
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The walk of the sufferer is slow and staggered. Every step taken with foreboding and trepidation. They are worn and emaciated in appearance, for they are haggard. The longing of their souls is like a never ending prayer sent up from darkest of the dark and desolate places. To count their stories is to see a sea of despondent faces. I have dreamed many dreams of tranquility, and of that oh so peaceful stream. I have contended with the darkness, and now know it intimately; it is not a friend of mine, for it seeks to destroy me. I have heard the loud cawing of the crow; I have seen the terrors of the night and the eyes that glow; it has fed on my misery and sorrow. It has fattened its belly with the essence of the lost souls that are now hollow. It has rendered men soulless vessels of bone, blood, and muscle. It has taken. It has devoured. The souls of men seek reprieve and comfort, but their portion has been akin to an eternal purgatory without the promise of heaven. The weight and heaviness of sorrow and sadness, crushes the spirit and turns it to fine dust. The darkness comes quickly and inhales the remnants with vile euphoria. Like vultures to putrid and rotten flesh, there is nothing left to denote what was, or what could have been, just nothingness and the foul smelling void intermingled with horror.
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They hide behind calculated treachery, and meticulously constructed masks of deception, but the vileness in their laughter has given them away.
Intimate Compositions 