You hold the pieces of my heart in your hands
and before the world, you cruelly display me.
The looks, the rumors, and the whispers—
come from people we know mutually.
My soul holds onto the love,
the nights of intimacy, and all that used to be;
I curse myself under my breath,
for my own foolish heart betrays me.
I blow kisses to your pictures,
and again, I am at your mercy.
-
-
A diamond sun shines its light on a fuchsia river
flowing flawlessly infused with pixie dust
and ghosts of kings past, with golden chariots.
The stars connect and form a mighty circle,
crowning the earth, for the giving of herself,
and for the miracles of her birth.
Joyous tears of archangels fall, causing
fallen trees to be resurrected and restored tall.
The crippled, and elderly near death, get up and walk.
Fetuses in their amniotic sacs begin to talk.
Mothers of slain sons cry no more,
for they see them in celestial bodies,
adorned in white, with golden crowns at heaven’s door.
The blood of the innocent are recompensed,
and evil doers are tried and sentenced;
The North Star is recognized because she is a guide,
and heard the wailing of many slaves
that fled on the nights she gave her light.
Terminally ill children, grow white wings
and begin to beautifully sing of their healing;
The blind regain their sight. -
The way he feels about her is like a beautiful song unheard;
the intricacies of its melodies held back by secret whispers
that the heart wants to declare loudly and succinctly.
He carries the heavy weight in his heart—
still somehow apprehensive to unburden himself,
so his soul will burn in blue fire until he vocalizes his desire;
In his dreams he holds her in intimate passion,
her hair flowing over his arms, as she whispers
beautiful words and smiles at him.
He must speak now or forever hold his peace,
lest he touch the depths of hell of uncertainty
for an eternity in disbelief. -
She freed herself, letting her soul take flight;
Uninhibitedly, she danced,
Moving gracefully in the twilight. -
In light we are reborn, equipped with a crown and sword.
The banners that we wave — passionately worn.
We go out in the night and conquer the storm;
Our scepters laid upon our thrones,
Waiting to be held in mighty hands which rings adorn.
Enemies seek to slay us, and make us the no more;
But their hearts fail them and decimate their resolve.
Their blood soaks the bottom edges of the king’s robe,
over armor that drags on the vast halls of white marble floors.
Once we were reviled and scorned,
But now we are venerated and adored. -
Just keep trying.
Groove Theory – Keep Tryin‘
-
In intense release, sensual sounds move through walls,
and the body is taken over by pleasure, in waves of euphoric shudders.
In those enraptured moments, nothing else matters;
Intimate words are uttered in whispers, and eager lips find each other.
Dedicated tongues induce uncontrollable screams;
The control of steady rhythms flow like violet rivers,
Under a bright crystal sun in lucid dreams.
It is more than just a frenzied session;
It is the building of refined ecstasy in slow progression.
After several positions, there are four words whispered before explosion.
Silence falls — and the mind records from the tryst what it wants;
In the immediate after, the sensual rapture is vividly recalled. -
Weary and tormented with nothing left to give,
her tears fell on the letter that she neatly folded;
and in that cold room she sat listlessly
closing her eyes after the tears dried,
and she fell asleep for a little while,
awakening to the same thing that for so long she had been fighting;
and to get up, she placed her hand on a worn nightstand,
revealing the many scars on her skin under dim lighting.
And the tears came again, from tired eyes
that were closed so many times in endless praying.
In her frailty, she held onto an unstable cold railing,
in a torn nightgown, walking down the steps to the kitchen;
in tears, she started off with faint words in her whispering—
but then she kept screaming,
all I want to do is live again. -
Lonnie Liston Smith – A Garden of Peace
-
“If it is not right do not do it; if it is not true do not say it.”
—Marcus Aurelius
Intimate Compositions 