Lonnie Liston Smith – A Garden of Peace
Tag: Mental Health
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The shattered pieces of me remain behind and unswept,
Still strewn on the floor where my eyes first wept.
I awake, still broken, wanting to be whole again,
Hoping that my soul will finally mend.
The sorrow of my heart seems to never end.
I keep falling — but not in love again;
I just keep falling,
Like raindrops
Without end. -
In weeping and torment love is the only reprieve;
The heart is heavy with sorrow,
But a simple kiss allows the soul to breath.
If only for a few minutes there is beautiful stillness,
Wrapped in sweet caress.
In a passionate kiss there falls a calmness,
That words could never express.
It is the cure for unending agony and loneliness.
Love, it is the medicine that overcomes deep sadness
And floods warm light into cold perpetual darkness.
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True love seemed so close within reach,
Yet her eyes were so distant.
Many secrets were shared,
And many promises were given;
But after the intimate whispers and beautiful letters,
Tears blew in the wind,
Because love departed from the heart
Leaving only its remnants. -
She dances to expel the pain,
her fingers moving in motion
through the air delicately.
Though her heart aches, she will not break;
There is a wondrous beauty
in her fragility.
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If I could, I would catch your tears in the wind
and hold them, and make your pain my pain,
willingly accepting your burdens;
And in my love for you, I will embrace them,
hoping in time the strength of my spirit will erase them;
But if all else fails, I will forever carry them,
kissing and holding you tearfully
thankful to see you smile again;
And at my end, I will be lifted up into the heavens,
and the deep scarring of my heart
will finally mend. -
Tears of torment drench heavy curtains.
The sorrowful wail to release the pain and stem the damage.
Agony is devastating, with no ending,
and is not remembered in its origins;
the stumbling of the listless and incoherent whispers,
pierce the stagnant silence at 4 AM.
The soul is stained with the dark dye of pain;
in a long drought of happiness, they pray for rain.
Too often, their signatures are incomplete letters
on white paper, soaked with bloodstains.
Epitaphs of the heart are written,
then rewritten, again and again.
Darkness refuses to leave;
With constant tightness of the chest
and in labored breaths, they breathe.
There is no understanding after abandonment —
so for themselves they grieve.
Desolation shatters utterly, leading to unceasing tears
that fall on worn rosaries.
Old men with grey beards
and elderly women with long silver hair,
weep for the young
who lie in boxes motionless,
in silent beauty.
Words of the anguished are spoken,
hoping that the angels will hear them.
Still, they pray for solace,
and a new awakening. -
The darkness encroaches and renders listless.
After the tears — come the desolate silence,
The shattering of the once vibrant soul,
And the scattered remnants. -
On that day I bitterly wept,
Crying for you, before and after
You took your last breath.
Now as the winter approaches,
I look at your pictures
And hold you in my caress;
Sitting in cold darkness,
I kiss you, and whisper to you
In lovingness.
The agony of my soul
Is let out in wailing —
And with every breath.
Deep crimson rose petals fall
On sentimental pictures,
Coming to rest.
I am overcome with emotion.
I cry for you.
I cry for myself. -
Those passionate utterances in every breath;
That first sensual kiss and the emotions you felt;
The healing you find in the giving of yourself;
The strength you found when you thought you had nothing left;
The tranquility of a newborn
in the cradle of his mother’s breasts;
The joy of a father recording his daughter’s first steps;
The tears of joy when the one you love reaches your depths;
The warmth of your body in sweet caress;
The roses given that express tenderness;
The whispering of three words that bring oneness.
Intimate Compositions 