You long oppressed; You anxious and stressed: You night walkers with glowing eyes; You precious children whose eyes have cried; You whom dwell within the corners of dark rooms misunderstood and in agony; You who have endured but hope for more; You who are listless and constantly contemplate death; You mothers who are postpartum depressed, who’s eyes cry and can’t sleep but are tired, looking into your baby’s eyes; You whom dwell on the ledge pondering the finality of a razor’s edge; You who sleep all day but wake up even more tired; You who are chronic insomniacs with eyes wired; You who seek resurrection with protruding veins and euphoric injection; The melancholic of you; You sufferers who daily drink of that bitter cup; You depressed fathers who can’t look into your children’s eyes without the shedding of tears; You who have prayed, and prayed again, with the sounds of wailing at 4 A.M. You who are reviled even by the ones who claim to love you, as they say hurtful words again and again; The distressed of you; The ones who ruminate in tormented state; You who live in hell; The poor of you who are ill but find a way still; You grandmothers who raise the children of your deceased daughters; You who are not of my flesh but are are still my brothers and sisters; You who have fought for years; You who are reading this with tears; I love you.
Tag: Feelings
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From his soul he weeps.
Tears in the darkness are unseen,
But heaven hears his cries.
The wailing of white doves
Carry the song of his perpetual pain.
In eternal rain, the heaviness of his cross
Is saturated with water and dragged in mud;
The presentation of his torment
is the shedding of blood.
The earth shakes violently
From the souls trapped in misery.
Alone in desolation,
The darkness is his only witness.
It is when pain is concealed,
That the hideous scars of time
Cause horrid astonishment
When finally revealed.
The faces of the sorrowful
Upon the eyes are permanently
Seared and in the mind indelible.
In his stature he is majestic.
He dreams of reaching heaven’s gates
And riding on the wings of the angels.Antonio Vivaldi – Nisi Dominus
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How can I ever repay you? Your spirit is a deep well of refreshing water. I draw from you. I drink of your essence, and I am resurrected and replenished. My heart belongs to you. I am dedicated to you. You have become a part of me through and through. But my heart, Are beautiful words and writings alone all you can render? Did she not bring you back to life in the middle of the night? Did she not save you from certain desolation in the tormented bowels of isolation? What then do I render? I give my life, all my heart, and all that is within my spirit. The tears of Aphrodite that fell on Adonis’ body are in the same vein of my feelings for you. The gods see your beauty and are envious. Zeus turns his face in angered lust. Selene catches a smiling glimpse of Perseus. Poseidon is stirred and causes the valleys to flood. Your hair is akin to golden waterfalls. The shape of your eyes like almonds. Oh heaven, I count myself among the stars to have received such a precious gift. Your glistening skin under a full moon is like the beauty of a hundred thousand golden harps played by the heavenly angels in eternal light. The delicateness of your aura I will protect with my life. Like a master wine taster I inhale your aroma, and your sweet taste I savor. You are the diamond everyone could not see; you are finely polished and you shine in your beauty. Your cut, color, and clarity are the embodiment of a goddess. In your heart and in your contour you are flawless.
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As the moon reflects the light of the sun,
So are you also my light, my son. -
At night a jealous tide rises.
Looking at old pictures my mind drifts.
A flood of torment then comes
In the form of ‘what-ifs.’
In the arms of another she now abides;
Memories hearken back to that
Loving gleam in her beautiful eyes.
My spirit must be tempered,
But my heart tells me otherwise.
Many lovers have come and gone,
So why for her does my soul still yearn?
The mysteries of love are far too
Complex for one to learn.
In the interim between rue
And finding love again, I burn.
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Illianna’s lament:
I have given of myself, yet they betray me.
I have loved them unconditionally, yet they would slay me.
I have comforted them in winter’s bitter cold,
And from me they have taken and stole.
I have nurtured them and held them closely,
Yet they harbor ill will toward me.
I have laid them against my chest
And comforted them in sweet caress,
Yet their eyes are filled with bitterness.
I have talked to them soft spoken,
but still they desire for my heart to be broken.
Love, why do you beguile me?
I have given them, everyone last one, pieces of me,
And they have left me empty.
In the vessel that is me, it is only tears I carry.
Love, come by and knock on my door;
Give to me what I have been searching for,
For alone in the longest winter I tarry.
I cry out to the heavens;
My ululating echoes penetrate the galaxy. -
Life’s poignancy is steeped in stark reality.
To keep our sanity we shield our eyes from the underbelly.
When we cry alone, on pillows, tears are dried;
We sleep, we awake, and then again we cry.
Season after season in listless state we lie.
Born of our mother’s womb, but alone we die.
In a quest to find happiness it is hard we try;
A stranger’s face feigns happiness, but inside she dies.
On the day of that dawn, oh that beautiful dawn,
We no longer will sigh; we no longer will cry.
Until it arrives, yes until it arrives,
We await or salvation with tears in our eyes. -
For two seasons we shared in the endless pleasure of euphoria.
We were not in love, but we were lovers,
For we both belonged to another;
And on that night we said our final goodbyes
We tasted of pure ecstasy for one last time.
Though I feigned apathy, for long I burned in the fires of jealousy.
Did I fool myself and take cover in fallacies of not loving her?
I took counsel with my heart and it told me,
If it was meant to be it would be;
But still, reasoning and rationality couldn’t console me.
The ghosts of her sounds of ecstasy haunt me.
I am perturbed as I try to purge myself of her memory. -
Sorrowful tears drop on flowers. Eyes cry over what was and what is no longer.
Intimate Compositions 