In a short silk white robe tortured beauty lies listless on a French daybed. Strewn empty wine bottles and scattered pills linger on the floor. A picture of her smiling brightly with her parents atop of the fireplace sits in its frame. In her pain she looks up and remembers the days of her joy; she stretches forth her arm toward the photo as if reaching for a piece of heaven. In her listlessness she is paralyzed; tears run and fall from long lashes, flawless makeup and beautiful eyes.
Tag: Life
-
In the winter you hurt me deeply, but it was in the summer that I wept.
The high potency of passion mixed with anguish is a painful purge.
The process is slow and deliberate; it cannot be rushed.
Lingering essence of you stalks and torments.
In the lonely hours I drink the cup of sweet reminisce; Intoxication is immediate.
In a lover’s cafe a sad pianist plays the keys of a Steinway beautifully.Memories of love and endless ecstasy while tears fall is beautiful melancholy.
-
In my darkness and through crying eyes, I still see you.
-
Act 1: He is born into the world with the pain and screams of his mother. After the agony of labor, sweat and tears, a smile is garnered. A soft blanket. The warmth of a mother’s love. A soft kiss.
Act 2: His pain is immeasurable; his suffering endless. Rough drafts of his epitaphs are written in blood. Hemoglobin is bright red in his fiery veins; life is in him, but more and more he craves the perceived stillness and peace of death.
Act 3: He is reborn as his constant screams reverberate under a blood moon and a darkened sky. He is reborn with tears streaming and in stark nakedness. The grey wolves hear his piercing cries; they howl. The earth is shaken. The gods turn their heads and weep.
-
I remember the words you spoke to me;
Many nights you cried.
The pain of your weeping vividly echoes.
Your smile and laughter I also reminisce.
You were everything to me; Still you are.
If I could, I would collect your teardrops
And turn them into diamonds.
Your blood runs in me grandmother,
For you were both mother and father.
There are some things I must tell you.
In your last agonies you told me I was a good son;
I turned my head; tears streamed.
A woman of love; of generosity.
A beautiful angel you are, Constancia.My abuela Constancia,
In my mind you ride on golden chariots
Drawn by one thousand Arabian horses;
Your Adornment in white is the fabric of the gods.
The rarest of diamonds grace your neck,
Earlobes and wrists.I love you.
-
Beauty lies in a wooden box
Flowing hair rests on top of fuchsia silk
Gold bracelets adorn the wristsPrecious tears fall on white gardenias
The orchestra plays a melancholic song
Why every time does the rain fall?
gods cry –
-
On a metal gurney the finality
Of suffering lies.
There is no more breath.
There is no more life—
In wide open eyes.
Oh the heaviness of her pain
On darkened days;
The wailing; the weeping,
And silent cries.
Heaviness of sorrow
Was plainly seen,
But society purposely
Turned a blind eye.
Still she valiantly fought …
The uncaring and the mockers,
The image of her face
Will eternally haunt.
Left behind in her room
Is a coffer,
And inside it, a gold heart locket
With the inscription:
“In My Heart Forever”
That was given to her by her mother.
A note was found beside it.
Who will help carry her?
This beautiful soul that graced
The earth with her presence.
Her piercing hazel eyes,
And long hair,
dark as Raven’s feathers.
As they look upon her,
Her adornment will be seared
In their memories.
A fighter; a sufferer;
A carrier of heavy sorrow
That weighed upon her —
Who among us can judge her?
In peace she will rest gently;
Perhaps she will enter the pearly gates,
Or walk the halls of Valhalla —
There is a peaceful stream
In many a dream, where the living
Have sworn to have seen her.Her Epitaph:
“Remember me not
For forlorn and pain;
But in the morning dew,
And the rising of the sun,
Three times, lovingly
Whisper my name.” -
Strands of hair and the scent of you linger –
I thought it was in the spring,
But we had found love in the winter.
Tears of my love for you fall on paper;
I beseeched the heavens to find the words
To write you a beautiful letter –Another winter has come,
And there is no warmth to be found.
I cleave to the memories of you;
The scent of you infuses my blood
To the point of utter insanity.
I have become a madman for your love –Take me; do as you will, for I am yours.
Passionate love come and take me above the clouds,
And let me kiss the starlight –
My love, let us lie together in lilac fields
and find intimacy never explored,
As you wear the colors of white and indigo –If your love has been taken by another,
I will await you on the other side for an eternity.
You will be my flower that I will nurture and water –
Spring after spring, I will await your bloom;
I will call your name in my dreams,
And passionately sing to you under a wolf moon. -
Leaves blow in frigid winds.
Illness incapacitates,
Leading to listless state.
Long held tears are shed
In cold stillness.
Memories of past loves
Vaguely appear.
Silence is shattered
By sudden wailing.The condensation of
Heavy and rapid
Winter breaths are clearly seen,
but forlorn is cloaked in
A black hoodie.
Wailing ceases,
And apparent calm transcends.
Warm blood spills on cold snow;
Stillness is frigid.
Intimate Compositions 