The Earth cries out in pain and we hear her. They have misused her; they have taken of her bounty with crude instruments that destroy her. The changing of her climate has given her a high fever. She suffers the diseases of pollution and deforestation. Tons of garbage are strewn over her lands and seas, and she is angry. They have pillaged her and are unmerciful to the wails of her agony. They rape her in incestuous transgression for she is their mother. Greed has infiltrated their hearts and poisoned their blood; the soil is saturated with water; her tears are the flood. In her bosom is fire; for her precious stones and metals they drill deep within her. She is beautifully adorned with diamonds, gold, and silver. Carbon emissions have eroded her protective layer … they continue to defile her. Ice caps melt, and her wild inhabitants suffer. They have lied, and her pain they deny. Oh beautiful mother, your sons hear your cry! We stand with you and fight through the hottest days and coldest nights. We adore you, for you give us life. She will endure the years and one day again be covered in ice.
-
I thought in your heart I had found a home.
In the the throes of my suffering and lament
I found that I was alone.
In the darkness of desolation I reached for you,
Yet still my portion was ridicule and isolation.
Against my will, my heart holds onto you and loves you still,
But like leaves in autumn day by day,
The memories of you, they fall away.
-
The last words to his love were intimately spoken. The sincerity and love in his heart conveyed to her in eternal whispers. Read his last rights, he left that night immersed in the depths of her love holding hands; his warmth against her warmth in silent passion. On his body were the drops of her tears; even in death her love sustained him. She gently passed her fingers through his hair and kissed him. The marriage of souls could never be broken. The angels wept as heaven’s light received him. The violin of her soul composed a new song dedicated to the memory of many years; upon returning home indeed she did cry many tears. It is in weeping that the contents of the soul are poured out. Her love, oh her precious love, in the bed in which they slept, she reaches for him. In the cool air of the early spring, in her heart she writes letters. He is memorialized in the gleam in her eyes that truly signifies the perpetual love in her heart, for that gleam no other man could capture. He belongs to her and she belongs to him forever. The poetry of her soul are the loving utterances when in loneliness and in darkness … she calls his name. In intimate moments of her devotion she feels his hands moving gently against her body … she recollects his touch; she is moved with passion. He is neither gone nor forgotten, for he is right there with her in those moments sharing in sweet euphoria. He calls her name again and again in amorous whisper, and she hears him; the voice of her only love penetrates her consciousness and inundates her with dreams of their first kiss. Oh what a recollection of amatory! In her mind, again and again she replays their story. She is an angel in glorious beauty. She lies down next to him. His warmth holds her eternally.
-
The dust of my soul are the remnants of pain and the stories untold. In the wind I am carried effortlessly like flower petals in spring. I ride on ten thousand golden chariots and make my ascension; the moon and the planets are my neighbors. In my song there is a sweet fragrance akin to vast fields of white gardenias. My piercing cries are like that of an eagle; I soar above the clouds and view my life’s movie from the heavens. That boy, oh that young boy with a caramel glow, eyes wide and bright who befriended the crow. He suffered, yes he suffered indeed, and the world didn’t know. At the grave site when they lowered her, tears fell from my young face, but when I got older I found there was no more embrace. Oh wondrous mother, look upon your son and see the agony of his days, for the men mercilessly kill and the women’s hearts are cold and no longer filled with grace. I have had many lovers in whom I sought shelter, but my own naivety betrayed me, yet the desires of my heart still slay me.
My redemption has been written in the dark ink of the dried blood of my ancestors turmoil. In tears they were shackled and forcefully made to lie in their own filth; packed side by side in agony they died and were brought over on ships. Enslaved and oppressed they were mercilessly beaten with whips. The blood that ran down their bodies now runs through me; a child of pain, I arrived through the sweat and screams of my mother’s agony; her long hair and hazel eyes a wonder of beauty. I stare into the mirror, and still the eyes of that child that hoped for more stare back at me. He doesn’t say anything, but he knows what I’m thinking. His expressions of sadness and lament move me to want to comfort him, but I cannot, for I am him. Every now and then he sees me and smiles. He dwells among the stars and is a god in my mind.
-
Though I do not want to, my heart still loves you,
But remnants of hatred stubbornly linger;
The in-between is my hell. -
Through the fear
Through the fire
Through deep waters
Through vile words
Through the darkness
Through misunderstanding
Through abandonment
When they leave you alone
In agony standing
Just breathe. -
Torment and agony are the portion of the afflicted.
Behind the eyes is where it lives.
A smile can be deceiving, for even in the warmth
Of good company she is naked in cold winter winds.
Words sometimes cannot be used to express true feelings.
In whispered utter these are the only words she could muster:
If I may seem distant my love, know that it is not you.
When asked how she was, she said,
I’m fine, knowing it was not true.
Ideations of not being here cause her to rush to another room
To weep, wash her face and hide the tears.
Are friends really friends when the burden can’t be shared?
She is loving and considerate, and their feelings she would spare.
But it is when feelings are held in that the wounds are deeper,
And the tears, and the agony, and the wailing.
Even if heaven knows her cries, still, inside she dies …
Unknowingly they take of her, and take of her again.
In their euphoria the essence of her they freely spend.
Beneath the surface she craves light and healing;
In her breath, her preciousness, her torment, her pain
Her aspirations, and the agony of her life are so revealing.
With wondrous eyes she is beautiful and sparkling,
But Look past her countenance and deep into her soul to see her suffering.
Her childhood you would witness; the pain of abuse;
The hell of silent agony and constant misuse.
As I stare into her eyes she nods and greets me with a smile;
In knowing the essence of her, I embrace her, gently kiss her, and cry. -
It was after the silence that I cried.
In a sea of raging thoughts
The mind does what it wants,
But all I wanted was you.
Silence torments unknowingly
And then comes the memory of your laughter.
The love made at night and the morning after;
But who could fathom I would be mourning after?
The storms in my heart shake my core;
I hold on with all my might,
But then I shatter and I am no more.
The man I used to be is left behind me;
I look over to the place you sat beside me,
And you are not there.
Your scent lingers but you are not here.
Is such a fate set before me
That I am destined for loneliness and ruin?
Does my heart not solemnly cry out to the heavens?
Oh what grace would befall me
If an angel walked through my door and kissed me!
But maybe I’m not worthy.
Of the love you gave me, I think about it constantly;
On a clear night at midnight I dance in the moonlight.
You are a dream that was realized but lost;
There is no comfort in anyone else’s arms.
I reach for you in dreams and see your reflection in streams,
But ripples in the water take you away from me.
I shall gird up my loins and scatter my tears on the seas;
Oh that I would see you again in the glory of your beauty!
That I would touch your delicate face tenderly;
And kiss you, and you not turn your face away from me. -
Joyous tears are carried in the winter wind;
With longing and soft kisses we begin again. -
You long oppressed; You anxious and stressed: You night walkers with glowing eyes; You precious children whose eyes have cried; You whom dwell within the corners of dark rooms misunderstood and in agony; You who have endured but hope for more; You who are listless and constantly contemplate death; You mothers who are postpartum depressed, who’s eyes cry and can’t sleep but are tired, looking into your baby’s eyes; You whom dwell on the ledge pondering the finality of a razor’s edge; You who sleep all day but wake up even more tired; You who are chronic insomniacs with eyes wired; You who seek resurrection with protruding veins and euphoric injection; The melancholic of you; You sufferers who daily drink of that bitter cup; You depressed fathers who can’t look into your children’s eyes without the shedding of tears; You who have prayed, and prayed again, with the sounds of wailing at 4 A.M. You who are reviled even by the ones who claim to love you, as they say hurtful words again and again; The distressed of you; The ones who ruminate in tormented state; You who live in hell; The poor of you who are ill but find a way still; You grandmothers who raise the children of your deceased daughters; You who are not of my flesh but are are still my brothers and sisters; You who have fought for years; You who are reading this with tears; I love you.
Intimate Compositions 