The orchestra weeps. The lead violinist cries tears of blood.
Tag: Blog
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I am perturbed; the underbelly of the darkness disturbs. The wantonness of man is manifest in the foul smelling mire of blackness deep within the soul. The chambers of the heart are corroded with unbridled wickedness and deceit. The beast of envy roams unceasingly devouring the light. Angry spirits seek peace to unload their burden of hatred. The world spins on its axis as the winds of hell seek to blow her inhabitants into the abyss of no return. The angels descend in the hundreds of millions and spread their wings to shield the earth. Roaming souls eerily moan; the sorrowful cry out to release their pain; the underworld is shaken.
Heaven hears their cries, but Hades laughs in sinister iniquity. Lady justice swings her sword in blind fury. Gold leaf weaved through her long hair and a gleaming white robe is her adornment. Fire burns within me. The dark crow looks on. We are fragile. We are all weighed in the balance. The hearts of men reveal their innermost secrets as they are seen in blue light. The hour is upon us.
Leviathan swims the deepest and darkest waters. Tears of the tormented saturate the earth. Her soil is rich with their memories. The testament of the sorrowful and tormented are recorded in the book of blood and tears; they will be restored in joy and happiness; they will be resurrected anew in light. A child is born in his mother’s agony. She screams as life is pushed through her womb; he has made it from darkness into the light. In the night’s sky Polaris shines in prominence. Let the journey begin.
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We danced wildly on god forsaken nights
Making our way through the rot and decay of urban blight
Through the fire we walked side by side
And held each other as we cried
We no longer looked to the skies
But found strength in each other’s youthful eyes
Let all that are gone be reminisced in wondrous dreams
In our hearts we hold you in high esteemWe all love you
We will search for you and find you in the starlight
We are the children of fire
The motherless and fatherless born of pain
Children of the night wild and untamed
Oh the pain that we endured
The horrors that tender eyes had seen
It was the fire in us that kept us warm on freezing nights
We will cross that peaceful stream
And at that beautiful gathering reunite
Let all our memories be resurrected in light -
Silence lies;
Then comes weeping and wailing
The incessant cries.
Terrified eyes shed tears
looking down upon wide open eyes.Tears drop onto, and stream down the face of the lifeless
as if the lifeless cries in a state of perfect stillness.The screams and wails of the left behind
scorch the morbid silence.
Onlookers fill the room.
Some mumble incoherently
as if they’re in some nightmarish daze.Suddenly the mortality of man
Is counted and measured in dreadful wonder.
Minds start to think of the darkness,
And search for immediate refuge.
The light, oh that beautiful light.The wails become distant
As the room empties.
The crying fades.
Only mute pictures in frames are left to witness.
Again, Silence lies. -
An old blind man sways as if in a trance as he plays the strings of the harpsichord. His skeletal frame like a thin pine tree in hurricane winds. Strands of thin grey hair swing from side to side; his frail hands show large discolored veins and expose protruding bone against thin skin. The iris and pupils of his eyes are cloudy white. His eyes transfixed. He plays the song of a story only he knows. The strings of the harpsichord haunt his memories and recall the days of sorrow and a love he once knew. He cannot cry because there are no tears left to be given. His torment are his memories; still he plays beautifully. The ghostly eyes of the dark crow watch from the shadows.
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Because she wept in heavy rain they could never see her tears.
With nothing left to give she empties her deep wells of pain onto the street.
People unaware walk through the puddles of her sorrow. -
In anxious agony and incoherent words of an exhausted mind
In a state of isolation and loneliness that viciously consumes the spirit
On nights red eyes stare into mirrors with tears for lack of sleep
In unkempt rooms where chaos seemingly abounds and several
empty prescription bottles are strewn
In rooms where for many years illness and fear have festered,
and have consumed, and have metastasized.The walls have witnessed and concealed the deep secrets
They weep in silence for the trepidation of the sorrowful dweller.
After the screaming and torment, in a cluttered bed the afflicted briefly sleeps;Eyes on the wall in picture frames curiously stare.
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As I play the keys of my life, blood and tears drip on the piano. The notes on the music sheet become more intricate. I furiously and wildly continue to play trying to keep up. There is no audience or applause. The stage lights have been turned off. I play in darkness and can barely see the music sheet but for a dim light peering through the dark and heavy curtains. The sounds of the Steinway keys echo throughout the vast and empty auditorium.
At intermission I stare at empty seats.
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The black hearts of men; the wantonness; the covetousness; the deceit.
The taking of innocence; the screams; the blood that cries out for vengeance.
The wicked thoughts of the mind that corrupt and corrode the soul and spirit.
The darkness of it is black like tar; the stench of it—pungent and unfamiliar.
It causes the eyes to water. It stifles the air in the lungs.A once beautiful red rose is wilted and discolored; the stem becomes lifeless. the petals decompose from the edges. When they can hold on no longer, the dark petals fall away into the abyss.
The bloodshot eyes that have witnessed torment, and lifelessness, and misery. The dark cell with heavy chains; the moaning and the cries of men in that place you can’t see your hands in in front of your face; the terror that stalks and lies in wait. The unquenchable thirst. The dogged hunger. The silence and isolation that leads to madness. The insanity of the once astute, well spoken and sane. The grinding of teeth; the nakedness; the withering away of flesh. The numbness of the soul. The anesthesia that is sought to take away the pain. The dark clouds; the eternal rain.
The desolation.
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Fifty thousand crows file in and silently take their seats; the lights are dimmed and the movie of my life is played. Black feathers are still; sharp beaks protrude, some contorted. A light cawing is heard throughout. Dark eyes are seen staring in the glare of projector screen light.
Intimate Compositions 