Blood in battle;
The wailing of men in agony;
A king’s sword with the blood of his enemies;
Men of war with many great victories;
Relics and precious jewelry handed down through the centuries;
The vastness of halls with fire against walls;
A gorgeous queen in all her glory;
Men of great inventions,
And scribes who write your story.
Subjects who swear their loyalty;
The overindulgence; the feasting;
The splendor of royalty.
The conquering of kingdoms,
And the taking of lands;
The spoils of war;
The world in jeweled hands.
The jealousy;
The betrayal;
The waywardness of daughters,
And sons who are ungrateful.
The continued poisoning of meat;
The drunkenness of a disconsolate king in his seat;
The emaciation of the once mighty;
The thinness;
The gauntness;
The sickness.
In his own kin, the eyes of treachery.
The discovery of dark ambition, inadvertently.
To live, he must now kill his enemy;
By the light of the morning,
A first born son will be no more.
The decision of a king;
The falling of a legacy.
The cold, discolored skin;
The heaviness of the heart of a king.
The silence of death;
The agony.
The torment of finality.
The renting of kingly robes;
The heavy head of a king on his throne;
The canker;
The weeping.
Tag: Creative Writing
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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.
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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. -
That I would awake you at 4 am
Just to touch you and breathe again;
That I would hold you lovingly
And kiss you like the world was
sixty seconds from its end.
That I would revere you
Like a precious relic long preserved
And unblemished.
That I would whisper to you
Beautiful words from my heart
That are true and pure;
That I would look into your eyes
And tell you it is you that I adore.
That I would run my fingers through you hair
and marvel at the gorgeous creation that you are;
That I would inhale you in last breaths
And proclaim my undying love
Even in the throes of death.
That I would take a piece of you with me
Until we are again united in empyrean glory.
That archangels in the vast heavens
With golden pens in giant books,
Would write our story.
That I would never be afraid to
Tell you that I need you, and can’t live without you;
That I would tell you I love you,
And you say, I love you too.
That even the shadow of your contour against the wall
Would cause the earth to quake
And the skies to fall.
That I would bask in the healing light of your aura;
That your ethereal nature would be sensed
Even in your whispers. -
A small black butterfly crossed my path.
I stopped in front of her so she could pass.
On her journey, she came to rest at last,
On a lone willow tree that wept over tall grass,
By a mighty river with water that runs fast;
On the willow tree she moved her wings gracefully,
Like a seasoned ballerina whose performances are legendary.
From a distance, I admired her beauty,
Then she took off suddenly
And flew over the river beautifully.
Safe travels on your journey black beauty;
Butterfly, I hope you remember me.
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A kiss on the forehead with joyous tears …
I had carried you in my heart for so many years;
Reunited again, I kiss you with passion
And hold you with unquenchable longing —
The length and texture of your hair
Like eternal heavenly waters falling.
Sunlight falls on you gracefully,
Highlighting the radiance of your skin;
Intimate love letters flow through me in unbridled oratory;
You are a woman of simplicity
Yet exceptional in your beauty.
I had dreamt of you in a white veil
Standing next to me in luminous glory,
Words were exchanged and we kissed lovingly;
Satin white gloves touched my face.
Satin white gloves gently touched my face,
And eternally I was enraptured in your embrace.
I vowed to you with tears streaming from my face
And after, kissed you and held you
In flowing dress bordered with angelic lace.
In a white veil and flowing dress bordered
With angelic lace you looked at me,
And looking back, I saw an angelic face
And said,I promise to love you
Until the end of my days;I promise to love you
Until the end of my days;
I promise to always love you
Until the end of my days. -
Blood runs from my crown; my heavy cross is stained.
Heavy head with crown I stand under torrential rain.
Distilled and then purified by fire seven times again I feel no pain.
They seek to destroy me permanently, blind me, and take my name;
They will never take my name.
When the love is gone, it’s gone, it could never be the same.
Pupae in various stages of travail we have all become butterflies of pain.
I weep with anticipation of the day that I shall reclaim.
Though I have faltered, angels with broad white wings
Surround me to cover my shame;
Mortality is often pondered and then pondered again.
Hope wanes in cold winter winds so prayers to heaven I send.
After the heart is broken something in the spirit bends;
Subconsciously I had held back pieces of me,
So to finally mend, the pieces of me, to myself I will lend.
Love sometimes comes and goes, and like a crushed burgundy rose petal,
There is staining and scarring of the soul;
We were all young once hoping to be old,
But now aged men in cold seek warmth for old and brittle bones.
Even the dust of us will retain our essence
With love and beauty, revealing long past years of romance untold.
They had witnessed my previous form but were not privy to see me transform
Into a king with power sovereign in gorgeous starlight reborn.
An orchestra plays with the lead violinist in passionate depths of forlorn;
With a heavy crown in rain, I reign through storms.
In white linen and fine silk with gold borders I am adorned;
In white linen and fine silk with gold borders I am adorned. -
Rivers of pain overflow from unceasing torrential rain.
The sun is held back behind a grey veil;
We live by sheer will alone —
Wanting to return to the joyful origins of us,
But there is no more home.
There is no more warmth in the bosom of our mothers,
Or the remembrance of cigar smoke
And the rough feel of the unshaven faces of our fathers;
We have been cold for so many winters.
We have been cold for so many winters.
For a time we had found warmth in lovers,
But even passionate kisses fade away;
Now we seek passion in wanting to live another day.
Flowers are brought for the dead;
A penny for your thoughts, but
Constant overthinking causes dread.
Wanting to feel the aura of our younger selves again,
I see a boy that looks exactly like me,
And I reach for him wanting to tell him of the pitfalls ahead.
I scream hysterically to get his attention,
But he never turns his head.
Oh the tears we have shed;
The many tears we have shed.
Insidiously desolation feeds constantly on the soul;
Aged with torment and heaviness of heart,
Even young bodies appear to be old.
For the record, many entries have been written,
But still there are many stories untold.
The depths of me I hold onto
Like a rare diamond found in its raw form,
Yet to be cut and polished
To exhibit its true beauty and brilliance;
Somewhere near there is a true stillness
Like frozen streams through beautiful valleys
Where buffaloes graze in harsh winters.
I bathe in starlight;
I bathe in starlight;
Wrapped in the blanket of the covering of the night,
In nakedness I bathe in starlight.
I am forever a child of the night,
Running barefoot on dimly lit city blocks
Past where they sell pizzas by the slice
And colorful flavors of shaved ice.
Where the winters are long,
And the sorrowful sing songs
While old ladies in black with wooden and metal rosaries
Behind long funeral processions mourn.
Where tears fall on the bodies of slain sons
From the eyes of single and depressed mothers as they bawl,
And the hopeless and homeless light fires
In open barrels to keep warm in late fall.
We weep in torrential rainfall,
Covering sorrowful faces with worn hands
And praying fervently
That the sad children will once again be happy
And do their dance.
The sun is held back behind a grey veil.
It is overcast with a chance of perpetual hail;
Three Hail Marys are said
And then a deep inhale;
Three Hail Marys are said
And then a deep inhale. -
After the spilling of innocence,
There is the blood of vengeance;
Fire in the eyes signifies a thirst that never dies.
There must be a recompense paid.
There must be an accounting
For every tear shed in time of weeping.
There must be no rest for enemies—
No joyous feasting or sound sleeping.
They must perish,
They must perish with their blood upon them in stifling fear;
They must anticipate their fate
Knowing the hour is near.
And in that hour, revenge will be as a honeycomb sweet;
They are the sowers of violence,
So violence they will reap; savagery they will reap.
Under a red sky, rivers of blood will overflow,
Until the tall reeds and the grass is stained;
The essence of them will not remain;
The essence of them will not remain.
Even the dust of their bones the winds will carry away,
Then will come the darkness of the night
And take away the day;
Darkness will take away the day.
Their last laments will not be heard—
And their pleas for mercy will be ignored.
They shall fade away promptly from history.
It shall be written of them, that they died cowardly,
Without glory or notoriety.
Their ending will not be a great mystery;
With the blood of vengeance they shall be wiped out;
They shall be wiped out utterly.
Intimate Compositions 