Heaven, send down your rain
Replenish my withered heart
And wash away my pain.
Tag: Feelings
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The ink of the poet’s pen wails on paper,
releasing passion onto pages,
telling of love, remembrance and anguish.
The sky is set on fire, and words are eloquently put together;
the poet weeps — writing in-between bouts of insomnia.
Memories do not die, they only sleep,
to be awakened again in vivid recollection.
They tell of a childhood lost, the wants of intimacy and love,
and pain exposed in its rawness.
Tears fall on rough drafts as they are discarded;
the heart whispers, and the hand narrates what can’t be ignored.
The pen itself weeps, as it is infused with the author’s agony;
it bleeds the dark ink that continues to tell a story.
He is no Poet Laureate,
but what he conveys is an emptying of the soul and transparent;
in his world, the summers are hotter and the winters colder.
In his world, the soul whispers the things of the innermost, at the writer’s hour. -
I give myself to you wholly and totally
With my scars, faults, and beauty.
Take all of me and love me,
Or reject me utterly in my vulnerability. -
In her travail, she remembers to love herself, dry her eyes and deeply inhale.
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For so long I held on,
my tightened grip—
a surety that I would not slip.
You came and held onto me as I wept,
and talked to me with love,
through gentle breaths.
To convince me to release,
you guided me step by step;
in my apprehension
I feared my descension,
but you promised to be my protection.
The torment of my soul
was my vulnerability,
still, I closed my eyes and let go;
you caught me,
and I finally breathed deeply.
In my descent into your loving arms, I fell freely.
In my release, you became my peace.
I kept falling—
and love is what I fell in. -
Standing in front of the mirror,
for a long time, she stared at herself
and began to remove the facade—
slowly peeling off all of the layers;
at the foundation she made a breathtaking revelation
as she wept, beholding a being
that was a divine creation,
exuding magnificence and
angelic light with every breath. -
She steps out of the darkness with resolve,
Her broken heart not fully healed;
Still, she carries on with quiet strength and beautiful calm.
She is not deterred, though her tears are carried in the wind;
She does not weep for herself but for him;
It was in the second trimester, that she named him.
She weeps over her loss but will try again;
In her pain, she called on heaven to safely deliver him,
But it was not as she prayed for it to be;
In tears, blood, and agony she miscarried—
But now, it is in her heart, that he is carried.
She says his name in beautiful whispers
And sings to him lovingly,
Saying, My beautiful baby, forever you are a part of me. -
Take my memory and do with it what you will,
but remember I loved you, in spite of, and without strings;
remember you couldn’t fly, but I gave you wings.
Remember you couldn’t sleep, so I stayed up with you
until you fell asleep in my arms, while I would softly sing.
Remember you couldn’t tell the difference between sex and intimacy,
until I held you into the morning, and kissed you slowly,
and wept, as I wrapped you in unselfish pleasure and the warmth of me.
Remember the times of your anxiety, when you couldn’t breathe,
and I talked to you in loving sincerity, and I became your peace.
Remember I adored you, and vowed to always love and protect you;
remember my solemn face and truthful eyes, when I told you,
that I would die for you, and in that moment, you knew that it was true.
Remember you uttered with tears, that you belonged to me,
and that I forever belonged to you. -
You hold the pieces of my heart in your hands
and before the world, you cruelly display me.
The looks, the rumors, and the whispers—
come from people we know mutually.
My soul holds onto the love,
the nights of intimacy, and all that used to be;
I curse myself under my breath,
for my own foolish heart betrays me.
I blow kisses to your pictures,
and again, I am at your mercy. -
A diamond sun shines its light on a fuchsia river
flowing flawlessly infused with pixie dust
and ghosts of kings past, with golden chariots.
The stars connect and form a mighty circle,
crowning the earth, for the giving of herself,
and for the miracles of her birth.
Joyous tears of archangels fall, causing
fallen trees to be resurrected and restored tall.
The crippled, and elderly near death, get up and walk.
Fetuses in their amniotic sacs begin to talk.
Mothers of slain sons cry no more,
for they see them in celestial bodies,
adorned in white, with golden crowns at heaven’s door.
The blood of the innocent are recompensed,
and evil doers are tried and sentenced;
The North Star is recognized because she is a guide,
and heard the wailing of many slaves
that fled on the nights she gave her light.
Terminally ill children, grow white wings
and begin to beautifully sing of their healing;
The blind regain their sight.
Intimate Compositions 