From brown eyes spilled tears, and in the blood that ran, was love, courage, hope, anger, passion and the sorrow of many years. In the throes of death, what words are spoken in the last moments of breath? The last tears that fall are the essence of the preciousness of her soul. Heaven knows the injustice that will follow; heaven knows that the words from the executioners foul breath will ring hollow. The slaying of black innocence is rarely recompensed. An accounting for the shedding of blood is seldom witnessed. What then of the heavens? Do we not fervently cry out for vengeance? Do we not cast ourselves on the alter of justice and weep in sincerity and reverence? They feign solidarity with us, yet within the blinking of an eye they would unjustly kill us; their words are meaningless and their souls, dark and cancerous. Behold, the face of the slain. Let us look upon the countenance of an angel one last time and kiss her, before the world uses her name in vain, and with prejudiced disdain, dismiss her. Her memory now lives in us, and we are its keeper; we will not relent. We will not falter. Her soul dwells in celestial light forever, and with a crown of rose gold adorned with white diamonds, she smiles in her beauty and walks the vast halls of her fathers.
-
Willows weep at the end of summer
And fall asleep in the fall,
After all their last tears are shed
Before the bitter cold of the winter. -
The lust of my wayward thoughts set me adrift on the waters of intense intimacy and unfettered sensuality. I want you uninhibitedly; I want you to want me with primal instincts, holding back nothing, reacting to waves of movements with no time to think. Whisper to me the secret lusts of your desire; do not temper your spirit—release your fire. Look into my eyes intently when you reach your climax; do not hold back; we are wild roses in our flourishing. You belonged to another, so I’ve waited eight seasons now to satisfy my longing. I want you totally; you are my predilection. The scent of you alone moves me to pleasure. Let us spend beautiful evenings in a canopy bed surrounded by white lights and white roses. Let us enjoy the textures and colors of beautiful silks and vintage quilts. You are the passion of my heart; I render to you all that I am and all that I have. I love you with a definition not yet discovered or written. The literature of my spirit are writings of you filled with love, passion and eroticism. The subtle beauty of you are the undertones of a queen draped in purple silk over a golden throne flowing. I marvel at the softness of your skin and its beautiful tone shimmering. Oh, that I should be so fortunate to witness the beautiful sounds of your rapture! The contours of your silhouette alone hold me in your capture. We are two blue fires who have finally come together. My desire for you is obvious in my approach. I touch you with emotions overflowing; in my overtness I reveal long hidden steps leading to the depths of my soul. You touch and see the parts of me that for so long have remained untold.
-
I turn my head so you don’t see my tears.
When I needed you, you weren’t there—
But still my hearts loves you; still I am a fool for you;
Release my heart from this bondage of imprudent love;
Let me find another and fall into her embrace,
Kissing her passionately and gently touching her face.
Let me shed tears of joy with her and love her without apprehension.
Let my aura embrace her, and let my spirit tell her
That my heart longs for her with sweet surrender.
Release me I say, and let me live without you;
Poison from sweet lips are so often spoken;
The contours of your face are beautiful,
And the length and softness of your hair are undeniable,
Yet my heart is broken.
I am tormented by my own heart with unreasonable yearning.
Your taste is sweet, but the bitterness of your treachery
Lingers in the intestines; I can tolerate you no more
Without the withering of my soul;
I can entertain you no longer my love.
Reject my heart bitterly with fierce words that sting utterly,
So it can long for you no more and return to me.
Erase the love I have for you and extirpate my emotions mercifully;
Send my heart away with the lacerations of deep hurt
So the scars can be a testament of my foolish desire.
Let me greatly lament in my time of weeping
So the coldness of my heart can be turned against you forever.
Do not indulge my silliness when I call your name in my slumber;
Reason with me fairly, and release me gently
Like a paper sailboat on a winding river.
Let me go and draw sweet tasting waters
From the deepness of another well;
Let me abide in heaven and escape the harrow of hell.
Tell me plainly you do not love me.
Tell me that you have found another better,
And that you have fallen in love.
Give my heart no hope, nor indulge my wayward emotions in any way;
Act harshly towards me, and vigorously push me away.
Cause my heart to hate you without consternation.
Allow me to finally find my angel. -
Their petty criticisms will not move me;
Their biased assessments will not disturb me;
Their hypocritical rhetoric will not cause
me to lose sleep;Their mockeries will not stop me;
Their bullshit theories I will wholly reject;
The fear in their eyes on the advent
of their timely demise, I will laugh at;The memory of them will be short lived
in the purgatory of insignificance;The story of their names will be cutoff in mid-sentence;
They will be forever bound in the hell of irrelevance;
The children will not whisper their names in reverence;
Their fame will fade, and their lives will
be burned in the flames of obscurity;Their lofty titles will be wiped out,
and their names will be the subject of mockery;They will be reviled even unto the third and fourth generations;
They will leave no legacy behind;
The pain that they inflicted will not be forgiven;
The stories of their treachery will live on
and never die;There will be no tenderness given
The poetry of their victims will have no
refrains of love written about them;They will fade away like ashes in the wind.
-
Unsolicited dreams stalk my slumber.
The remnants of you linger;
More and more, I attempt to purge myself of you,
But you cling to me like permanent viscous residue.
If only one night I could rest without the
Unabating taste of you;
The breath of you, like the fragrance of white gardenias—
I inhale eagerly, and in my in-breathe
I hold my breath so I can absorb
The depths of you within me.
In my room I find myself emotional,
And the tears stream endlessly.
Against my wishes my heart craves you
And stubbornly refuses to mend;
In another futile attempt, I withdraw
And try to cleanse you from my system again.
My anger is kindled against my own aura.There must be an ending to this purgatory of uncertainty.
Do you still love me or do you hate me utterly?
The constant conflict within me
Is the fire of my insanity;
An answer must be given,
For my soul tires—and my heart wilts
Like the dark petals of unwatered flowers.
Detesting the memories of you,
But then secretly hoping for another dream,
I find myself in the torture of the grey in-between.
You are my love and my concupiscence;
You are my agony and my misery.
-
You are my medicine;
The light that vanquishes the darkness within.
My parched soul sought an oasis,
And my wounded heart bled out under the vastness.
Oh to touch your contours tenderly
And write paragraphs of you lovingly!
Am I not indebted to the heavens,
And do the angels not whisper of us
In halls of jasmine, gold and beryl?
If we were to die together
Let them also mourn us together
And look upon our countenance for the last time,
Whispering to each other,
In heaven they dine.
Before the bitter cold of the winter
Let couples embrace with tears and say to each other,
I have found you, and now with this solemn vow,
I promise to love you like no other.
On nights when the moon is bright they will
Look for us right after dusk and see us in the starlight—
Reaching to touch the sacred remnants of us;
I breathe in deeply to inhale the essence of you
Before the world is no more,
When the songbirds have sung their last song,
The moon turns to blood,
And everything is gone;
I exhale slowly in euphoric glory
Waiting for another deep inhale,
With beautiful anticipation. -
In weeping agony
I cursed the day
You were taken
Away from me.Giuseppe Tartini – Sarabande
-
Roses are carried and wept over.
When petals are withered they mourn.
Roses rest when their stems are worn;
They are carried by black carriages horse drawn.
Of the soil they were made, to the soil they return;
Sometimes they are placed in wooden boxes and burned,
Or wrapped in white linen, then given to the vastness
Where violent winds blow, and restless seas churn.
Intimate Compositions 