After a flood of thoughts
And futile reasoning,
The descent into hell begins.
Tag: Mental Health
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Mothers grieve for their sons who receive no reprieve.
Their delicate eyes look upon the skies and ask clouds to wash away the pain;
Where he was slain the blood stains.
Without a just trial they are crucified;
The executioner smiles with malice in his eyes.
A mother runs barefoot to the scene with weeping,
And blurred eyes with tears streaming.
Look down from above, and see her kneeling and praying,
In his last seconds to comfort him, before he stops breathing,
And the precious life is gone from him.
His last tears streaming, as she holds onto him;
Her dress permeated with remnants of him.
The blood; the mud that he fell in.
The ghosts of the slain refuse to rest
Until they are recompensed,
For to live in constant anxiety
Is to live in the purgatory of agony.
Oh beautiful mothers of the slain,
We will venerate them and remember their names,
their pictures adorned with flowers;
You gave birth to them, but now they are all ours.
Even in death we hold them,
For they are all ours.
We will remember them from the morning,
Into the late hours;
Until there is no more mourning,
They dwell on the other side among the flowers,
In a great gathering where there are adults and children
On the banks of peaceful rivers. -
In the agony of silent suffering the eyes sometimes deceive;
What lies behind is hard to find, for it is inside they grieve.
Dark clouds are overhead;
The sun is held back behind a heavy grey veil:They gasp for air but cannot inhale;
They gasp for air but cannot inhale;With the commencing of dark rain, they start to wail;
In torturous sounds that thunder can’t drown, they start to wail.
Two small yellow pills, and one half a cup of water to take away the pain.
Two small yellow pills and then forty minutes later, a deep inhale.A euphoric inhale;
Six hours later, two more pills to exercise the demons and cure the ills.
Another six hours, and after a shower … before tears spill.
If only blissful dreams could wash away the silent screams.
In the early hours, to dull the pain, sometimes they scream.At 6 am, sometimes they scream.
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I come to you broken.
I come to you with severed wings
In agonizing pain unspoken;
I come to you lifeless
With eyes that have cried
Under red skies with with perpetual longing.
I come to you grounded,
With faint hopes of flying.
I come to you sorrowful;
The dust from the remnants
Of a broken vessel.
Look upon my countenance,
And see me in my wretched totality;
Take the full measure of me,
And gaze upon me lovingly.
I am broken, yet love overflows in me.
Let me sleep in your embrace;
Kiss me for an eternity,
And let me touch your face,
Caressing you gently.
In the warmth of your rapture,
Wrap me eternally.
From torment, lament, and pain take me;
Through loving eyes see me.
Rescue me;
Resurrect me under a bright star’s glory.
With your hair, dry my weeping eyes,
And with your healing love
Rewrite my story. -
Though you cry,
you are beautiful.Though you are weary,
you are resilient in your journey.Though you suffer,
you will survive the winter.Though lovers have fallen away,
you have recaptured the essence of your aura.Though you are immersed in anguish,
the fire in your eyes is not extinguished.Though you are ridiculed,
you will emerge triumphant.Though you endure torment,
the strength of your spirit will not relent.Though you have wept for many seasons,
now is the time of your healing.Though you have suffered injustice,
a reckoning is on the horizon.Though you feel unloved,
the universe cradles you in her womb
And Polaris shines upon you.Though you contemplate eternal sleep,
your heart still beats, and you are not weak.Though you are sorrowful,
your spirit will not wither.Though they try to confine you,
you are blue fire, subjugating detractors
and illuminating the darkest depths of deep waters. -
They run wild in the night
Hoping their spirits take flight
By the dawning of the light -
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. -
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 -
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 sorrow in our eyes that we carry
Is the rendering of our lives,
For our sorrows have been many.
We savor tranquility, for our joys are momentary.
With tears, we strive to be alive struggling to find buoyancy,
While Sinking in life’s troubled waters with hearts that are heavy.
We scream at the shore waving our arms frantically
Trying to get the attention of society;
But though they see, they turn away blindly.
We must collectivize to become our own safety,
Calmly lifting each other out of dark waters
And find warmth on the ship with healing light that sails peacefully.
Intimate Compositions 