Thoughts flood in and intrude.
I must remain calm in the storm.
Torment rains down with stark reality;
I have dreamed of having peaceful dreams
But have only seen the underbelly.
Its rawness is hideous and scary.
Indeed in its presentation it is ugly.
My portion has been suffering
And I drink of that cup daily, unwillingly.
With a look of sincerity a solemn faced priest
Pulled me aside and told me:
Say 1 Our Father, 3 Hail Mary’s and 1 Glory Be.
I have sought heaven but for me are the gates open?
For long we have been suffering and hoping,
And hoping yet again.
Has the darkness become my bedfellow
And perpetual anguish my friend?
Lovers see my pain and tell me they love me,
But by the dawning of the morning light
They are gone ironically.
Understanding has only crossed my path in passing.
The spirit yearns for the substance of love
And something substantial and lasting.
About my life, I put pen to paper,
But where do I begin?
They accuse me of apostasy
And desire to tar and feather me;
Thoughts of their hypocrisy increase my anxiety.
In my lament, I remember my mother’s torment;
The nights of crying uncontrollably.
Was it somehow acquired or was it passed down to me?
In the scope of things does it matter at all?
Maybe the answers could be found in my genome
But it is in my own thoughts that I roam.
What is there to say of bitter winters
And the depressed drinking chamomile tea by the warmth of fires?
What is there to say of past loves of yesteryear who are no longer here?
The nothingness and silence of the darkness offers no solace.
Tag: Mental Health
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The tears that run in silent pain
Are dried and then they run again.
For long the flood of tears are held;
They suffer in a quiet hell.The dam it breaks when tears are filled.
The blood it runs when it breaks the will.
The darkness calls on winter nights;
Through darkened eyes they seek the light.The light is sought but still it’s dark.
If we should fall, tell the world we fought
A valiant fight with all our might;
Our flag in cold wind through the darkest night. -
Strong winds cause running tears to be blown back from a solemn and beautiful face. Arms outstretched, in her green dress she dances alone in the dusk at her own pace. With bare feet she steps up on the ledge and it is there she contemplates, saying goodnight to the world and with a final bow leaving behind this place.
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Baptized in dark waters of pain I arise reborn to reclaim my name. I have tasted the sting of bitter cold; I have walked through the hottest flames. Indifference and numbness renders me somewhat listless. They scold me with harsh words and haughty admonishments. From their defiled pulpits they scream mispronounced words they don’t understand in improper contexts. I look down upon them from above the clouds and I laugh; they swear at me and throw obstacles in my path. I transcend their petty attempts, for they know not of pain and the strength from tribulation that is gained. They know not of sleepless nights and the weary eyes that weep under the blackness of dark rain. I look through their windows and see the sickness and cirrhosis of their souls. Their rapid aging from the years of wickedness and perpetual lying, causes blackness and hardening of the nails and the brittleness of bones. I sit and contemplate my thoughts as a righteous king on his throne. To think they could lie in wait to wound me would show the stupidity of their audacity. They thought they would take advantage of my anxiety, but in their futility they couldn’t find me. I transcend; I transcend then begin again. Submerged in dark waters of agony and writhing pain I arise with fire in my eyes to conquer and reclaim. My enemies must vacate the throne upon which the sword and scepter bear my name.
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The malabsorption of fear renders the intestines nauseous and liquefied with sickness. It must not be ingested and given a chance to spread and metastasize; it must be wholly spit out and rejected. If swallowed, it must be immediately purged from the stomach, heaved out with extreme prejudice and burned in blue fire. But when the table is set, will we eat of the portions of fear, lies, illusions, and fast made conclusions, or will we reject the poisonous banquet?
The sweet fruit of clarity and the now reality longs to be eaten, broken down, and used as nourishment for the system.
The caustic ulcers of contagion bleed, heal and bleed again, in the interim.
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Our forewords are inscribed in blood. Chapters of anguish are effortlessly written. Pens of fire highlight the darkness that can’t be seen by the naked eye. Our records of torment and suffering and pain are intricately layered as the pages are turned. Footnotes take hold of the reader and guide with harrowing precision. See where we walked in laborious breaths clutching tight our heavy crosses; hear the incessant wailing of those who hope for more and want to live, but for so long have only existed but yet endure. Witness the pungent scent of hopelessness, despair, and misery. Read with focused intent, not fast; feel the texture of the paper and turn the pages slowly. With every letter and with every word step into rugged boots and hard worn shoes; take the journey. Stretch your arms North, for Polaris is still the star of our or salvation; we are sufferers in blood and in bonds, we send heaven our voice letters and ask for the angels to break our fetters. Some pages may be blank but tears that fall on paper narrate the chapter. The downtrodden, the anguished, the mute, the outcast and long languished are given voice through the pages to record and tell of their devastation and long sadness; diligently search the index and reread certain passages to gain more insight and to interpret the book in its fullness. Run your hands over the leather binding and admire the gold leaf engraving but be mindful to retain poignant paragraphs that are well worth retaining. We cry out between the lines. Our final chapters are yet to be written.
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Between life and death
Between labored breaths
Between purgatory and hell
Between the haunting rings of the final bell
Between heaven and the abyss
Between agony and bliss
Between the fog and a dark mist
They are there, unseen,
But they do exist. -
1:17 A.M. Elmira, New York
Early winter.Rachel’s Story
It’s cold in her room. Rachel lies still under a worn comforter on a twin sized bed covered with flannel sheets. She’s tired, but can’t sleep. Lately, she’s been plagued by long bouts of insomnia. Her thoughts won’t slow down; she ruminates about the doctor’s appointment she missed the day before. It was important, and now she’ll likely have to wait another two weeks before she can be seen again. The nausea has gotten increasingly worse and she hasn’t eaten anything for the last eighteen hours. Her mother called earlier but she didn’t feel like talking to her. Since the diagnosis last year, she’s been reclusive and standoffish, even with her mother and her two siblings who she’s been close with all of her life.
She’s always been fit, but now she looks somewhat thin and malnourished. The illness has taken its toll. Her appetite is diminished and the prescribed medication aggravates her nausea, leading to vomiting. Just two years ago she was engaged to be married; he left shortly after her diagnosis. She still loves him despite of his transgressions and betrayal. She called him some time in the past three weeks but his number has been disconnected. Almost time for her to take the next scheduled dose of medicine. Only five Valiums left before the bottle is empty. It’s early winter, but temperatures have been colder than usual for this period of the season. She warms some soup on the stove. While that’s being heated, she takes a 10 mg dosage of Valium.
The soup is ready now, but she only eats two spoonfuls and three saltine crackers. She hopes the nausea will go away soon. Back in bed under the warmth of the comforter she retires; she hopes she can get at least two to three hours of sleep. 2:36 A.M.
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Daily, he fights to tame the beast that is within.
Everywhere he goes it doggedly stalks him.
He fights the beast with vicious resilience,
And is deeply wounded, but still he hopes to win.
It patiently lies in wait hoping to overtake him.
The dark wolf sits at the door wanting to be let in …
In feral anxiousness he howls waiting to be let in. -
Though I see, darkness clouds my sight,
And though I speak, I am mute with listlessness.
The deafness of desolation is torturous silence;
I have swallowed the bitter taste of violence.
I reach for her loving touch but she is not here;
The scent of her essence lingers in the air.
The numbness of indifference alleviates my fears.
I search for light,
But embrace the darkness to alleviate my tears.
Intimate Compositions 