When the last song is sung
And hymnals are closed
When the last bell is rung
And silence is broken
The chronicles of the tormented
Will be loudly read;
The names of the dead
Eternally spoken.
Tag: Blogging
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In turmoil and despair, and perpetual hours of fear
When sleepless eyes are teary and the mind is weary
With thoughts that are scary and hearts that are heavy,
Death whispers promises of rest and sings its sweet lullaby subtly. -
Conceived from the darkness of our mother’s womb
We live in the darkness of four walls in cluttered rooms
Feverishly anticipating our long awaited deliverance soon
Seeking to be born again in eternal light before the darkness consumes. -
Pain rains from the eyes of the afflicted
Suffering knows no bounds in the void
The black hole draws in and slowly consumes
Cries and wailing reverberate in echoes of torment
Who will record the chronicles of the chronically ill?
Desolation takes hold and stifles unmercifully
The dead lie in state but their souls restlessly move
Sudden darkness covers all as the last rose is thrown
Under the black lace veil the last tears are shed for the unknown
The crow looks on from the shadows with piercing eyes
The rejected and desolate gather so heaven will hear their cries
They are counted in the hundreds of millions with sodden eyes
In G minor Devil’s Trill Sonata is played
It is the dawning of the sun that they eagerly await
In the sufferer’s role call one by one they say their names. -
That man should dwell in living hell
At the final hour thus tolls the bell
A life of pain from birth to death
Perpetually he sought his rest
Despite his search no rest he found
The abyss it pulled him to the ground
With all he gave and nothing left
It was then he felt the devil’s breath. -
The tormented wail.
Heavy tears of agony
Fall beneath the black veil.
The dead is carried
By horse and carriage.
A trail of sorrow follows
Behind in silent march.
The dark crow watches
From a distant perch.
Bitter cold wears
On the frailty of the old;
Their steps are slow,
And measured.
The hard frozen earth awaits.
As the lowering begins,
Red roses are thrown
From frail hands
With black gloves.
Freezing winds blow;
With tears and a final stare,
Cold and ashen faces
Slowly disappear. -
Jane Child – Don’t Wanna To Fall in Love
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In narrow hallways
And unkempt rooms
Torment consumes;
Light is sought
But darkness restricts.
Pray and it will go away
They say,
Yet it still abounds.
Tears are shed
On sheetless beds,
But with weeping
There is no reprieve.
He had a dream
Of peaceful streams,
And of the day
He was relieved. -
Now you rest.
Eternally marked
Are the places they slept.
The hot summers
And cold winters
They endured,
But were forgotten
In death.
May roses grow
In the places they wept;
Weathered bodies,
Weary minds,
And heavy breaths.
You are memorialized.
Oh what pain to see
Life through your eyes:
The illness and affliction;
The cries.
Nameless no more
On that peaceful stream
With the dawn of
The morning sun
They rise —You are loved; you are thought of.
Behind the Scenes Photos on Hart Island, NYC’s Mass Burial Ground
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My lovely Phyllis Hyman, you never got the credit you deserved. Your songs move me to deep emotion; your voice a soothing balm of healing and light. Oh, sweet Phyllis, how your presence touched the world! Through your voice you live on. A beautiful woman of deep passion and love you were! You will never be forgotten; your love, your joy, your pain, your hurt, the secrets of you, are weaved throughout your songs in wonderful array. Your lyrics are written upon the hearts of us who connected with your heart and soul. You are remembered.
Phyllis Hyman: July 6, 1949 – June 30, 1995
Phyllis Hyman – Walk Away
Intimate Compositions 