Farewell to what could have been;
Farewell to the voices within.
No black suits or black veils.
No trying to hold back tears after a deep inhale.
No wake or funeral rites
After a passing in the night;
No flowers or wreaths,
Or a gathering to weep.
No past stories or mention of prior glories.
No teardrops on varnished wood
With six metal handles.
No clutching of rosaries
And dishonest eulogies.
No viewings with quiet weeping,
as silk gloves gently brush over the body.
No solemn sermons
In-front of melancholic congregations.
No horse-drawn carriages
With black horses, wearing blinders
Waiting to carry glass caskets.
No pallbearers to carry the deceased.
No end of service crowds
That spill over into the streets;
No consumption of alcohol.
No sentiments of rest in peace.
No crying widows comforted by men
With ulterior motives under the guise
of helping her to live again;
No crocodile tears from estranged family
And disloyal friends.
Alive, they are mourned alive,
For it inside that the spirit dies.
Do you not see it in the eyes?
Do you not witness the desolation in their cries?
Hear their moaning in the early mornings,
The dim lamplight cast against the awning.
Who will pay their respects
And leave roses on weathered decks?
Who will mourn them?
Are they not deserved of tears?
Are they not deserved of flowers
In a beautiful array of colors
Weaved within neat and well made wreaths?
See them lying there in stillness,
Eyes closed and adorned in tattered garments.
Weep in solemn reflection
With inflections of misery within your lament.
A song is sung after the final bell is rung;
A song is sung after the final bell is rung.
Tag: Creative Writing
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The Sea roars.
The edges of her violently hit the shore.
At even she is pulled by the moon;
She moans as she rises.
Her depth and darkness set under a red sky;
The place where men go to bury secrets.
She has become an involuntary accomplice;
Lifelessness slowly sinks to her cold floor
From the relative warmth of her surface;
She will not give up her dead.
In her currents they become somewhat lifelike,
Moving to and fro like some morbid puppet show,
With wide eyes open in the darkness.
The creatures of the sea
Observe their latest inhabitants;
Like shipwrecks they are scattered
Longing to be remembered;
The last of their tears coalesced
Into the salty waters.
On the surface, the living
Weep for their sons and daughters;
In their distress they go to her,
Jumping from bridges to find solace;
In her depths, they seek solace.
In her melancholy—
She is stirred with waves of sadness.
The heavens look down upon her
And see her vastness;
She is a keeper of secrets;
Yes, she is a keeper of secrets.
She holds them in her bowels for perpetuity
And cradles them in her rapture lovingly.
She is the Sea—
She is the Sea.
She will not be tamed,
And she will remain.
She gives of herself;
In her calmness and warmness they swim,
On her surface they sail,
And in her, are fish, dolphins, and whales.
She is the Sea—
She is the Sea.
She will not give up her dead;
Their tombs she will not reveal.
She embraces them and carries them with her
Wherever her currents may go.
Her cold and salty depths
Are their final rest.
In her depths,
They find their final rest. -
Venomous words linger even the morning after,
And when even is come, more tears run—
Angered silence constricts the tongue, and words are hardly spoken;
Though remnants of love remain, it could never be the same —
For the heart weeps, and the spirit is broken. -
Your movements were fluid.
Looking into your eyes I cried,
And you wiped away my tears and kissed me.
The touch of you moved my soul gracefully;
See me now in my weeping
As I kneel besides you sleeping,
Your memory infused in me
And a part of my being;
Rest my love, until the coming
Of that glorious dawning,
When we are again reunited in the heavens.
It was you — it was always you;
Side by side I would have died with you,
Holding hands and in my last breaths
Reaffirming my endless love,
Leaving behind the relics of us;
Kiss me one more time —
Even in death let me feel your lips against mine,
Before the warmth of your body leaves you
And I am rendered listless,
Left to stumble around in the wilderness
Of the harshest winters.
Lost without you, I am so lost without you.
For a time, life had yielded sweetness,
But now I taste of its bitterness,
And my aura slowly withers —
What can I render to you now that you are gone?
A thousand roses laid gently
Around your headstone?
I must consort with the angels
To make inquires of your soul
And to send you a message of love and of longing;
Oh but for the day of that glorious dawning!
Until then I will carry you in my heart
Through rivers and streams,
In deep valleys and dreams, you are with me.
Winter again approaches;
I will warm us by a fire
And sing songs of our love together;
I will commune with you
And take you under the twilight
In your white dress — your hair pulled back,
Your neck adorned with a beautiful gold necklace,
The winds blowing through your dark long curls
That flow in length like graceful waterfalls;
We will dance and after rededicate our vows.
You belong to me and I belong to you.
Do you take this woman to have
And to hold, for richer for poorer,
In sickness and in health,
To love and to cherish in life and in death?
I do. Eternally, through deep waters
And through fire,
Through the hottest summers,
And through the coldest winters,
You remain my only desire;
Now kiss me as I adorn you
With a new ring, you are more beautiful
Than a blue diamond sparkling.
Whisper to me when I am lonely —
Of you I will write beautiful poetry
And remember the first day I beheld you in glory;
It was in the sixth month that you came to me,
And by the the twelfth we were in love
Together forever inseparably. -
In eternal sleep the silence keeps,
Those at the wake, awake they weep;
In wooden chairs the bitterly weep,
In fedora hats and veils of black.
She screams his name in writhing pain —
The gloves of silk the tears they stain.At the final viewing it starts to rain;
In autumn winds it starts to rain.
They eat and drink and speak of him
But never knew his suffering;
The nights he toiled with the soul embroiled,
In torment deep and anguished sleep.The winds of change — the winds of change
Though he prayed, they never came.
In a lilac field they found him lain,
For it was the night before that he was slain;
In the throes of death with shallow breaths,
He called her name; his mother’s name.
And saw an archangel with eyes of flames
With broad white wings, descend from the heavens
And comfort him; a beautiful angel did comfort him.He prayed:
God forgive my sins, and in your light welcome me in
As I now go back to the dust from where we all begin.
Amen.Lying in a wooden box
they pause to look at him,
Eyes closed and still,
with discolored skin.
On his folded hands spill
The tears of his brethren
And the rest of his so called kin
who really never knew him.
They never knew him.From worn hymnals they turned
To page fifteen and started to sing;
After, two black horses pulling a
White carriage is what carried him,
leading the procession of much weeping
Tears were carried in cold winds
Through drizzle sweeping —
And at that place they lowered him;
With tearful eyes they lowered him.
With red roses with long stems;
With beautiful roses with long stems. -
The winds that blow incite the crow
Had not I seen I would not know
Her eyes they stare with trance like glare
As I approach I quell my fear
In whispered breaths I count my steps
To inquire of her the deepest depths
She drew me nigh to see my eyes
Resiliency she said she sensed
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Long after your aura lingers.
I long for you in dimly lit rooms —
The essence of your passion still
Tingling on the tips of my fingers.
The waves of your substance encompass me
And I am immersed in you deeply;
The depths of me I cannot hide.
See me now in my naked vulnerability
Without my pride, without doubt,
Without my tall defensive walls.
I strip myself of insecure ruminations
And with love I give you my all.
At the end of the world when everything around us falls,
It is then we will rekindle our eternal vows —
Inseparable in the heavens, your hair
Falling off the edges of the clouds;
Our story written by the hands of
Angels with golden pens, read aloud again and again.
Your comeliness rivaling that of even the stars;
With tears of joy I behold you…
My dear woman, I love you.
Adorned in white you are my morning light
That vanquishes the torment of the night.
I hold on to you in the storm;
I call for you loudly and you reach for me.
The fire that is in you is also the fire that is in me.
You are a wonderful mystery and beautiful naturally.
Almond eyes across the room stare …
Your hair like a thousand waterfalls in spring after a long winter thaw,
Curling on the way down with thunderous applause.
Forever I am yours. Eternally I am yours. -
Two levels from hell at 3 A.M.
She drinks again and thinks of him
Forever scarred once gentle heart
Now cold as ice and triple darkThe darkness stalks
The darkness stalks
With red eyes shot
The darkness stalksHer spirit wails
Her spirit wails
With deep inhale
Her spirit wailsA love was lost
A love was lost
And now her soul is torn apartAnd in those tears she sheds her tears
From pretty eyes that age with years
Behind her eyes is where pain lies
And Hestia’s flame of many firesImmersed in pain
That terrible pain
She’s tasted hell
Again and againFrom birth to death in torturous depths
The soul it weeps in labored breaths
She walks across in measured steps
The treacherous bridge above the abyssTwo levels from hell
Two levels from hell
Within four walls is where she dwells -
Searching for light I plead my cause and plight. The vast darkness of a deep well, my road of suffering is that of hell. I have seen with my eyes and heard with my ears the cries and screams of the afflicted, sorrowful moaning and the deep bellowing of the tormented. The voices of their pain fill the void and ascend to the heavens. The stench of it burns the nostrils. Fear stalks me and apprehension holds me against my will. I must cross over the abyss, or forever I will remain in darkness. Vile beasts wander aimlessly in search of sustenance; a songbird refreshes my resolve. My lamp is dim and my oil is low. I must move faster; I must make haste. In my pocket she sings—again my songbird sings. We are both weary but hopeful. She will cross over to the other side with me. We must make it over or perish here in the land of desolation. I thought I saw the treacherous bridge, but my eyes deceive me. Still we slog on, for we are replete with determination and hardened in our travail. I see the bridge now; that treacherous bridge over the abyss. We make ready for our journey over. Yes, we will cross over, Songbird and I. She peeks out briefly, her beak resting on the edge of my worn and rugged pocket. A new song is sung.
Intimate Compositions 