In the final unveiling,
she disrobed
and displayed her scars;
looking into the mirror,
she wept one last time
before letting go,
and she loved herself again —
disregarding their hurtful words
and disparaging whisperings.
She turned to the side
and let her hair fall.
Moving in slow sensuality
and graceful beauty,
she danced,
blowing kisses to the stars;
the bright lights
casting the shadow of
a diamond
against the wall.
-
-
I think about you and I —
But he holds your heart,
So in my desire for you, I fantasize.
In unfettered pleasure
And beautiful intimacy,
We transcended space and time.
Between off white and purple silks,
Our connection was divine.
I kissed you passionately,
While the stars wrote
Our story in the skies;
I pleased you unselfishly
looking intently into your eyes.
I gave of myself uninhibitedly,
In loving vulnerability;
It was tears of joy I cried.
Through sensual whispers
I confessed that I was yours,
and that you were mine.
You were my life;
You were my love,
Leaving all else behind.
-
The darkness encroaches and renders listless.
After the tears — come the desolate silence,
The shattering of the once vibrant soul,
And the scattered remnants. -
In the warmth of your love
I am a hibiscus basking in the sun,
With raindrops falling gracefully
From my crimson petals,
While late summer winds
Blow against me gently,
After a passing storm. -
Beneath the facade, lies the darkness
that bubbles near the surface.
It hides behind gentle gestures
and overtures of kindness.
The potency of its viciousness
is well concealed in subtleness.
The metastasis of the heart and soul
is the unsightliness of its unfettered sickness.
If aware, one must be careful around it.
Only the discerning eye can see it.
Unveiled, it is horrific in its hideousness.
Released, it is vile in its actions,
and poisonous in its utterances.
Parasitical, it eventually renders its host —
a gaunt, discolored husk of flesh.
Men and women with grey hair
that know of its ills over the years,
make gestures with index fingers over lips,
lest the darkness hears;
the recollection of their time is when
the mercilessness of men — caused famine,
starvation, mass death, destruction,
and the cold winter wailing
of the children’s tears. -
3 Then Judas, which had betrayed him, when he saw that he was condemned, repented himself, and brought again the thirty pieces of silver to the chief priests and elders,
4 Saying, I have sinned in that I have betrayed the innocent blood. And they said, What is that to us? See thou to that.5 And he cast down the pieces of silver in the temple, and departed, and went and hanged himself.
6 And the chief priests took the silver pieces, and said, It is not lawful for us to put them into the treasury, because it is the price of blood.
7 And they took counsel, and bought with them the potter’s field, to bury strangers in.
8 Wherefore that field was called, The field of blood, unto this day.
Matthew 27: 3 – 8 KJV
18 Now this man purchased a field with the reward of iniquity; and falling headlong, he burst asunder in the midst, and all his bowels gushed out.
19 And it was known unto all the dwellers at Jerusalem; insomuch as that field is called in their proper tongue, Aceldama, that is to say, The field of blood.
Acts 1: 18 – 19 KJV
-
To reach her depths,
he displayed
devoted patience,
loving her with
every breath;
And on the ninetieth day
she released,
fell into arms,
and wept in his caress;
kissing him
with tears,
she accepted his love,
and gave
of herself. -
Depths of exquisite intimacy
Precede transcendence in all its glory;
Eyes gaze passionately,
And after the first sentence
Comes an amorous brush, then
Beautiful silence. -
On that day I bitterly wept,
Crying for you, before and after
You took your last breath.
Now as the winter approaches,
I look at your pictures
And hold you in my caress;
Sitting in cold darkness,
I kiss you, and whisper to you
In lovingness.
The agony of my soul
Is let out in wailing —
And with every breath.
Deep crimson rose petals fall
On sentimental pictures,
Coming to rest.
I am overcome with emotion.
I cry for you.
I cry for myself. -
They laugh in gluttonous euphoria
while the poor and disenfranchised
cry out in the purgatory of agony.
Their decadence is displayed
and celebrated unabashedly.
The scent of them, is the odor
of dried blood and bile on worn money.
They hide behind the red cloak of stature,
but they are fickle and cowardly.
With discolored teeth and diseased gums,
they speak falsehoods flawlessly,
from lying tongues.
To maintain preeminence
they would go to any lengths;
The suffering of the destitute is their strength.
From the upper crust, they offer crumbs
and foment division, laughing,
while concealing reprehensible intentions.
Even in death, they would not be worthy of mention.
They lack moral compass from their very inception.
The tools of their game are,
immorality, depravity, and deception.
The souls of them, are darkened and scarred
with the cirrhosis of wickedness.
From their bowels, come the sewerage
of vile and abhorrent utterances;
They are unscrupulous, and employ
slight of hand in their practices.
They are parasitical in nature,
slowly draining their vulnerable hosts unawares;
They secretly scoff at the deep pain of others,
shielding their hideous scowls
with insincere tears.
