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.
Tag: Life
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The percussion of their heartbeat
Is the rhythm of struggle of many generations.
The agony of their fathers last words
Spoken intensely for so many summers.
They have seen the hope of dreams
Turned into the nightmares of monstrous scenes unseen;
Their fathers lie there—eyes opened, as pooled blood
Starts to run; the last remnant left behind
Of the affliction of their lives.
Mothers in unbearable anguish comfort their sons
and gently wipe the tears from their eyes;
They say, It will be alright, but in their hearts
They fear their utterances lie;
Prayers are abandoned, and faces
No longer look toward the sky.
Stark reality is lifelessness taken away on a gurney,
While eyes stare, with not so subtle apathy;
Black children ask, What does that mean for me?
Tired mothers and fathers try to answer
But voices drag wearily;
Targeted we may be, but we find our strength daily.
We will survive; even with tears in our eyes, we will survive.
In anxiety, we will survive;
In depression, we will survive;
With a generational history of PTSD, we will survive;
With OCD, we will survive;
With afflictions of all kinds, we will survive;
And after the dark winter we will thrive. -
Lifeless he is carried; his open eyes look towards the sky.
The remnants of his tears stream, just minutes before he screamed
I can’t breathe, still the evil one pressed harder with his knee;
In his last moments he called for his mother; in distress he was, but
Still, he could see her. Cold-blooded eyes stared with arrogance in the air;
Inside they smiled for they relish the instillation of fear.
We hang on in constant distress hoping that our salvation is near;
Strange fruit appeared on blood spattered trees for so many years;
Our brown hue our only sin— Constantly in our oppression we are set back
Then begin again; Our lives lived like a tormented novel
Written in the bowels of hell and narrated by the devil.
Over fifty years ago, We Shall Overcome was sung,
But still now we sit anxiously with weathered hands wrung—
We survive but we have yet to thrive. Systematically we are targeted
So our solemn plight is to stay alive. They see our sorrow,
But they ignore our cries; I swear under the heavens
and on the pain of my grandmother’s eyes, that one day . . .
That one glorious day, we shall arise. -
The suffering of the long anguished is palpable
Lifelessness is sensed even though they draw breath
The oppression of the soul is heaviness of sorrow untold
Faces of sadness are listless and cold
A once vigorous spirit is slowly constricted
The substance of a man are the contents of his heart
Dreams are dreamed but reality falls apart
Light evening breezes blow through weeping willow trees
Weeping of the sorrowful causes the listener to fall to their knees
Oh the wretchedness of the innocent
Words are hard to find in constant torment
A sudden tightening of the chest feels like the last breath
Many seek solace in the perceived tranquility of death
Tears of the ill are endlessly spilled
A respite from their troubles is their solemn will
But sorrow persists still
Upon hearing the news there is a sudden chill
Tears drop when the soul is wounded and the body is still
The world does not care if they survive
Some cut themselves again and again to feel alive
When the last rose is thrown why does it rain every time
The living march on behind black carriages horse drawn
The portion of the sufferer is agony and forlorn
Black silk kerchiefs absorb the tears of the old
While the young with solemn faces look on
The aged with wrinkled faces and weathered hands lament
Slowly and in whispers they sayWe were born of our mother’s womb
But now we are old
We have sought warmth and love
But still we are cold
The path of agony is long
And for so long we have walked
Look upon us and see what the years
Have unmercifully brought
Oh Eternal Father hear our cry
Oh Eternal Father hear our cry
Lest in our misery we unmercifully die
Lest in our woe we cruelly dieThey loudly cry
On varnished wooden pews
They loudly cry -
Your betrayal was subtle,
But my intuition scoured
The depths of your soul,
Diligently seeking the thing
I hoped not to find;
You told me that you loved me,
But there was a contradiction in your eyes.
I was wounded deeply,
But I held it inside,
Hoping that my intuition had lied.
And on that day in its blatant revelation
I wasn’t surprised;
Still, on the inside I cried.
In the midst of pain,
still, I marveled at your pretty eyes,
And sensual lips that spake
Beautiful lies.
A thousand rains could never
Wash away the stain,
Even though you apologized.
My parting words were,
I love you;
Goodbye. -
It must be said of sorrow that the sufferer cares not of tomorrow,
For Life is lived on the edge so the numb soul can feel again;
Tears flow within four walls and agony is undocumented,
But the weeping soul knows that is is wounded;
In the throes of torment dreams of love seem so distant;
Lovers come and go like the changing of the seasons.
The anxious heart longs for warmth when winter approaches
but the chill of cold loneliness pervades.
The once resoluteness of their being fades …
In weeping plea they lament and say,
Who will love us to the end of our days?
Gray hair sets in and the nails are brittle and hardened;
With wrinkled faces and cloudy eyes near blindness
The old reflect on their lives in quiet lament and great sadness,
Stretching forth frail hands under dim lamplight
As if reaching for a piece of the past to be rewritten;
Their utterances incoherent, mumbling prior words spoken
Attempting to bring back some semblance of living,
Because for so long they have been heartbroken
With souls exposed to the cold and hearts frozen .
Old photos over worn fireplaces resurrect fond memories of the past
And in that precious moment the aged get up and start to dance.
Throwing aside pride, they cry for love lost and for love never pursued;
More precious than diamonds now are the memories of their youth.
Though near blindness, in the mind they see clearly,
For even in grayness and frailty they glow in their beauty.
Years of torment and agony causes the body to age rapidly,
But they have survived many brutal winters untold;
They whisper to themselves laughingly,
Though I am old, I have breath yet within me;
Love is still within reach and not just a memory. -
It is in weeping eyes that the heaviness
Of the heart is weighed.
She used to smile on the outside,
But within she was slayed.
Condemnatory eyes stare as passersby jeer,
But they are soulless,
And their existence meaningless;
She no longer lives in their world —
In the spreading of her wings
She is gorgeous. -
The essence of me still holds you tightly in loving caress;
The stubbornness of my heart refusing to let go
Of intimate moments and kisses endless.
I am trapped in time, preserved in ice from the cold winter of loneliness;
My eyes cry … the warm tears fall.
In the clutter of my mind I clear a space for you.
You dance with me intimately and you are again mine;
Or at least for a time.
Come home with me, and let’s rekindle a once raging fire
That slowly faded to embers;
I had tried to find a way out many times, but I am lost in your rapture.
Vividly I commune with you in dreams,
But when I awake the sight of you is hard to capture.
The indelible mark you left on me is impressed upon my heart eternally.
With your hair curled and eyes bright I see you;
Your warm smile and beautiful aura
Entangling me in deep passion of rare memories.
I loved you deeply, always pouring out of myself the deep well
Of intimacy, love, and sensuality so you’d always remember me.
Oh heaven, that I could hold her once more;
That she could see solemn eyes that for so long have cried.
No, no, I must pull away and temper my desolate soul,
Lest my heart longs for you for an eternity;
But despite my constant protest, my heart no longer belongs to me. -
Suffering of a heavy heart causes weeping unceasing.
Winds through willow trees blow and their leaves know
The coming lament of the season;
Eyes cry sometimes for no known reason.
The feelings of yesteryear are still there,
But the resolve to keep living is hard to muster.
In last shallow breaths with arms outstretched they call for their mothers.
The movie of their lives are played within the blinking of an eye;
The foundations shake, and soaring eagles start to cry.
The stillness of lifelessness is contemplated …
The living go on in agony and forlorn, in disconcerted waiting.
Cold darkness calls in seductive whispers,
Promising peace and tranquility to the listener,
But the primal instinct to survive causes rise,
And the tormented continue to live and suffer.
Oh, that they could live without pain and agony in blissful harmony.
The burdens of the anxious and the oppressed are many;
The blissful and the happy are looked upon with wondrous envy.
Who will hear the wails of the sorrowful?
Who will take up their banners and resume their march
While they lie in wounded state paralyzed with the prognosis of their fate?Oh heaven hear their plea, for their suffering is constant
And their pain unbearable. Grant them reprieve, for they
Fall to their knees overcome with sorrow and are no longer able.Tears are blown in the wind in winter chill,
With ashen faces solemn and still.
They hold on for another season. -
With held breaths and measured steps
We open our eyes to the light;
One by one, we embrace the sun
After surviving the night.
Intimate Compositions 