Just keep trying.
Groove Theory – Keep Tryin‘
Tag: Anxiety
-
If I could, I would catch your tears in the wind
and hold them, and make your pain my pain,
willingly accepting your burdens;
And in my love for you, I will embrace them,
hoping in time the strength of my spirit will erase them;
But if all else fails, I will forever carry them,
kissing and holding you tearfully
thankful to see you smile again;
And at my end, I will be lifted up into the heavens,
and the deep scarring of my heart
will finally mend. -
Tears of torment drench heavy curtains.
The sorrowful wail to release the pain and stem the damage.
Agony is devastating, with no ending,
and is not remembered in its origins;
the stumbling of the listless and incoherent whispers,
pierce the stagnant silence at 4 AM.
The soul is stained with the dark dye of pain;
in a long drought of happiness, they pray for rain.
Too often, their signatures are incomplete letters
on white paper, soaked with bloodstains.
Epitaphs of the heart are written,
then rewritten, again and again.
Darkness refuses to leave;
With constant tightness of the chest
and in labored breaths, they breathe.
There is no understanding after abandonment —
so for themselves they grieve.
Desolation shatters utterly, leading to unceasing tears
that fall on worn rosaries.
Old men with grey beards
and elderly women with long silver hair,
weep for the young
who lie in boxes motionless,
in silent beauty.
Words of the anguished are spoken,
hoping that the angels will hear them.
Still, they pray for solace,
and a new awakening. -
The darkness encroaches and renders listless.
After the tears — come the desolate silence,
The shattering of the once vibrant soul,
And the scattered remnants. -
We were but striplings, some without mothers, some without fathers, running wild in the night unafraid of pitch darkness with hearts of lions. Our aura glowed beautifully in the souls of us; we laughed and we wept in fierce countenance. We were young, yet many were the trials for us; our bodies skinny and undeveloped, so in the company of monsters we fought with tears and dreamt of vengeance. To keep the pain from sorrowful and depressed grandmothers, some held in their agony and kept the devastating silence. Go back in time, and look into the eyes of us. Move past the innocent smiles, and see the hurt in us. The unresolved pain of our past is the illness of us. We cry on the graves of our mothers and curse the abandonment of our fathers. If I could, I would take away the trauma from all of us. We seek heaven’s light to take away the darkness. They are scarred, and they are beautiful. They are my brothers. They are my sisters. Still, now, with the blood of hope, and with the blood of vengeance, we survive tormented summers and bitterly cold winters.
-
After a flood of thoughts
And futile reasoning,
The descent into hell begins. -
Mothers grieve for their sons who receive no reprieve.
Their delicate eyes look upon the skies and ask clouds to wash away the pain;
Where he was slain the blood stains.
Without a just trial they are crucified;
The executioner smiles with malice in his eyes.
A mother runs barefoot to the scene with weeping,
And blurred eyes with tears streaming.
Look down from above, and see her kneeling and praying,
In his last seconds to comfort him, before he stops breathing,
And the precious life is gone from him.
His last tears streaming, as she holds onto him;
Her dress permeated with remnants of him.
The blood; the mud that he fell in.
The ghosts of the slain refuse to rest
Until they are recompensed,
For to live in constant anxiety
Is to live in the purgatory of agony.
Oh beautiful mothers of the slain,
We will venerate them and remember their names,
their pictures adorned with flowers;
You gave birth to them, but now they are all ours.
Even in death we hold them,
For they are all ours.
We will remember them from the morning,
Into the late hours;
Until there is no more mourning,
They dwell on the other side among the flowers,
In a great gathering where there are adults and children
On the banks of peaceful rivers. -
In the agony of silent suffering the eyes sometimes deceive;
What lies behind is hard to find, for it is inside they grieve.
Dark clouds are overhead;
The sun is held back behind a heavy grey veil:They gasp for air but cannot inhale;
They gasp for air but cannot inhale;With the commencing of dark rain, they start to wail;
In torturous sounds that thunder can’t drown, they start to wail.
Two small yellow pills, and one half a cup of water to take away the pain.
Two small yellow pills and then forty minutes later, a deep inhale.A euphoric inhale;
Six hours later, two more pills to exercise the demons and cure the ills.
Another six hours, and after a shower … before tears spill.
If only blissful dreams could wash away the silent screams.
In the early hours, to dull the pain, sometimes they scream.At 6 am, sometimes they scream.
-
I come to you broken.
I come to you with severed wings
In agonizing pain unspoken;
I come to you lifeless
With eyes that have cried
Under red skies with with perpetual longing.
I come to you grounded,
With faint hopes of flying.
I come to you sorrowful;
The dust from the remnants
Of a broken vessel.
Look upon my countenance,
And see me in my wretched totality;
Take the full measure of me,
And gaze upon me lovingly.
I am broken, yet love overflows in me.
Let me sleep in your embrace;
Kiss me for an eternity,
And let me touch your face,
Caressing you gently.
In the warmth of your rapture,
Wrap me eternally.
From torment, lament, and pain take me;
Through loving eyes see me.
Rescue me;
Resurrect me under a bright star’s glory.
With your hair, dry my weeping eyes,
And with your healing love
Rewrite my story. -
The percussion of their heartbeat
Is the rhythm of struggle of many generations.
The agony of their fathers last words
Spoken intensely for so many summers.
They have seen the hope of dreams
Turned into the nightmares of monstrous scenes unseen;
Their fathers lie there—eyes opened, as pooled blood
Starts to run; the last remnant left behind
Of the affliction of their lives.
Mothers in unbearable anguish comfort their sons
and gently wipe the tears from their eyes;
They say, It will be alright, but in their hearts
They fear their utterances lie;
Prayers are abandoned, and faces
No longer look toward the sky.
Stark reality is lifelessness taken away on a gurney,
While eyes stare, with not so subtle apathy;
Black children ask, What does that mean for me?
Tired mothers and fathers try to answer
But voices drag wearily;
Targeted we may be, but we find our strength daily.
We will survive; even with tears in our eyes, we will survive.
In anxiety, we will survive;
In depression, we will survive;
With a generational history of PTSD, we will survive;
With OCD, we will survive;
With afflictions of all kinds, we will survive;
And after the dark winter we will thrive.
Intimate Compositions 