When the tears come, I look for you in the in-between.
I immerse myself in your love;
The fragrance of your essence I breathe.
You kiss me; you shelter me;
You hide me in the embrace of your wings.
In the darkness, you are the light of my candle;
The beautiful lyrics of the song that I sing.
You are the tranquility of my soul;
The gorgeous realization of my longing.
The sincerity of my eyes and the passion in my touch,
Are the utterances of my heart’s whispering.
I run, I run to you — and you are there waiting.
Tag: Love
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We were but striplings, some without mothers, some without fathers, running wild in the night unafraid of pitch darkness with hearts of lions. Our aura glowed beautifully in the souls of us; we laughed and we wept in fierce countenance. We were young, yet many were the trials for us; our bodies skinny and undeveloped, so in the company of monsters we fought with tears and dreamt of vengeance. To keep the pain from sorrowful and depressed grandmothers, some held in their agony and kept the devastating silence. Go back in time, and look into the eyes of us. Move past the innocent smiles, and see the hurt in us. The unresolved pain of our past is the illness of us. We cry on the graves of our mothers and curse the abandonment of our fathers. If I could, I would take away the trauma from all of us. We seek heaven’s light to take away the darkness. They are scarred, and they are beautiful. They are my brothers. They are my sisters. Still, now, with the blood of hope, and with the blood of vengeance, we survive tormented summers and bitterly cold winters.
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In your embrace, spiraling black waterfalls are released
Vastly flowing over brown hue contours,
Pouring into deep spinal ridges and forming new rivers.
Calming morning showers on yellow butterflies
With an emerging sunrise, are your whispers.
The brightness of your radiance is the accumulation
Of the rays of the sun, for seven summers. -
Sitting on a twin sized bed in a dimly lit motel room, she lights a cigarette and opens up a bible; she inhales the nicotine, then a slow exhale. After reading a few verses, she closes her eyes and takes another pull; she has worked all night and she is tired, with a little redness of the eyes, but she is beautiful. The intricacies of her contemplation could never be properly conveyed through any written literature or narration. She makes money anyway she can, to feed herself and provide for her son, but she seldom sees him. She prays money’s accumulation will be her salvation; she wants to be a much better mother and live again. The tobacco in her cigarette nears its end — she takes a drink, leaving the condensation on the night stand. She lies down with the television on, the volume low. The comfort of a comforter underneath her, she meant to cover herself, but she was too exhausted. Her eyes close with the hopes of beautiful dreams. She slips her left arm under the coolness of a soft pillow, falling asleep in her heels.
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When you speak to me,
Your words turn into butterflies
That surround me, lovingly. -
In his suffering she held him and listened to him,
And in that instant, his heart started mending,
Leading to lasting healing, and loving longing—
And on the evening she kissed him, he wept,
and said, you are always what was missing;
And he held her in his arms from the twilight, until morning,
Whispering loving utterances as the tears streamed from joyous crying,
And on that day, after a beautiful dawning,
She became his everything. -
In and out of consciousness, before she left, she reached for her son, who wept with his head turned, and in that moment, she released all the pages of her depths, so that even in death, he could hold onto her; and with all the strength she had left, she lovingly whispered three words to him, while wiping away the tears of his weeping, in her last breaths.
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The gauntness of flesh is the cruelty of illness.
Stillness of tormented bodies at 4 AM
is not sleep, but unceasing listlessness.
The wounded heart is known through
many tears and sincere utterances.
Unsightly scars denote the attempted escape
from unbearable agony;
Under dim lighting in a small room with heavy curtains,
a trembling insomniac moves slowly.
In pitch darkness, the sorrowful hold onto
banisters in cold temperatures, wailing uninhibitedly;
The chief torment of the anxious mind is life’s uncertainty.
From birth to death—in-between,
the afflicted struggle for breath.
Even in their mother’s wombs
babies become stressed;
Stillborn babies are kissed,
given names, and mourned.
In late cold December winters,
distressed hearts are torn.
Unsettling letters are received before they grieve
starting with, We regret to inform …
In the pregnancy of the void
some wither away, and some are reborn.
The soul’s balm is the healing of love;
But from its inception it must be pure—
and unadulterated in the properties of its medicine.
A winter baby is delivered from her dying mother’s womb,
and through blood and pain, life begins again.
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You cover me, like freshly laundered white linen
over varnished rosewood tables;You cover me, like an abandoned child
protected under the mighty hands of the archangels;You cover me, like a black veil over the face of
a grieving widow in agony, with the residue of pain
that was left behind silently on her pillows;You cover me, like shade from the heat of the sun
under the tears of a weeping willow;You cover me, like the broad wings of the Harpy Eagle
diligently hovering over her young;You cover me, like the ozone layer over the earth,
protecting her from the sun;You cover me, like a newborn
under the doting eyes of his mother’s embrace;You cover me, every time you wipe away my tears
and gently kiss my face. -
Passionate kisses and sincere promises
Lead to transcendent intimacy
On soft champagne colored comforters
In a canopy bed, with white curtains,
And white lights that surround us.
Rose petals fall from one hundred white roses in purple vases.
A goddess bathes in milk and honey,
And sees through brown eyes with natural lashes;
Her tone of voice are a thousand peaceful rivers;
French perfume on shimmering skin amazes;
Black hair flows over violet silk as she gazes.
Subtle sensuality is the wave that moves
Over a strong euphoric undercurrent;
In her stance, she is beheld as a living art piece,
Captured in different moments;
The beauty of her heart causes a wondrous radiance,
Like heaven’s light, illuminating the wings of the angels.
She captivates the eyes of strangers,
Causing hearts to dance, and thoughts to linger.
