In dark and isolated places
Where suffering is endured,
Tears of sorrow are not seen,
And whimpers of agony are not heard.
Tag: Pain
-
-
At 2 A.M. she does her dance,
Her eyes of sorrow hidden by euphoric trance.
She does her best to entertain the crowd;
Wide eyes they glare, and the shouts are loud;
Her fluid movements cause money to rain,
For the dirty bills are her source of gain.
It’s behind the eyes, oh those weary eyes,
Where her soul seeks warmth, and her spirit cries.
Her passion is singing; her passion is life;
Still she walks in heels on a winter’s night,
To make a living the only way she has known,
For the long dark road has become her home.
She is mentally afflicted, because she is a victim
Of abuse in her childhood, when pain was inflicted.
Her tears are the tears of an angel …
She longs for understanding; she longs for light;
For a heavenly shelter from the cold of night.
As she strips her clothes, pain strips her soul;
Only the familiar eyes of her sorrow would know.
She is an angel. A beautiful woman.
At 2 A.M. she is still a woman. -
Dried teardrops are invisible. The heaviness of sorrow lingers. Agony of unrealized dreams are consumed by the darkness. Remnants of pain are left on a razor’s edge. Angels weep.
-
Heaven’s light,
Shine down on the children
Of the night;
See their pain;
See their hunger;
Know their plight.
Bless them;
Love them;
Adorn them
In garments of white.
Hear the longing
in their cries;
Comfort them;
Forever wipe the
Tears from their eyes. -
The billows of peril blow;
The smoke of never ending agony
Is involuntarily inhaled,
And enters the bloodstream;
The torturous moments
Are replayed over and over.
The body tries to rid itself of the invasion,
But once it starts, it cannot be stopped;
It must run its course.
It is difficult to remain calm as panic ensues.
Descent into the abyss seems imminent;
The darkness is frightful and consuming.
Afflicted souls cry out
And reach for a place of light;
Hyper-vigilant eyes scan corners
In the darkness of night.
The pulse rate increases
And the heart palpitates.
The cries of the sorrowful
and the afflicted are seldom heard;
The dividing line between sanity
And insanity is easily blurred.
Windows to the soul are bloodshot
And clouded with tears;
The emaciated appearance
Is the result of the hardship of the years.
Curiosity of passersby cause them to look
Deep into the eyes;
The suffering of the soul is seen;
They quickly look away in horror—
And many cry upon witnessing
The utter desolation and ruin of that dark place.
Tired Souls listlessly huddle together in pitch darkness,
And together await the dawning of the sun;
So that heaven can hear their plea,
In unison they continuously hum. -
Cold fall winds blow
A woman looks out of a window
The eyes that stare are the eyes of sorrow
This is not the mask of joy she wears
For these eyes are the eyes that people don’t know
In silence and loneliness she suffers
And she will wear her mask again tomorrow
To perform her daily and arduous show
But if one could get past the mask
To see her pain and daunting task
And offer a comforting place for tears to flow
Then the depths of her they would know – -
Can you accept my faults?
Can you accept my fears?
If I reveal myself to you in earnest
Will you still be there?Will you use my vulnerabilities against me?
Will you mention them and intentionally try to hurt me?
In my time of pain will you be there for me?
Will you give of your love unconditionally? -
My heart rate rises and perspiration ensues;
I try to hold it back, but it is persistent in it’s pursuit.
I curse it to hell, but it is not easily compelled;
Anger rushes in with the deepness of a well.
I try again valiantly as I press against it’s will,
But I have been infiltrated, now the battle is uphill.
My thoughts now consume me; my body tense with fear;
I cry out to the heavens, in hopes that God will hear.
I listlessly wait for an answer or a sign,
But in a dark room, I realize the cross to bear is mine. -
No one can relate to his pain. In darkness he sits, while contemplating the story of his life. The relentless agony; the hurt and sorrow. The strife. He would say a silent prayer, but his prayers haven’t been answered as of late. Walking on a razor’s edge, a gust of wind could be the deciding factor of his fate.
The plight of the sorrowful is a long and winding road through the depths of hell. They claim to love him, but their definition of love is frail and without depth. They speak with forked tongues and whisper poisonous words in dark places. Their hearts beat with the blood of treachery and the darkness of their souls have devoured them. He sits and witnesses their demise from afar, as they unknowingly descend into the very pit they have made with the folly of their deception.
The kissing of lips and tender moments, the intimacy and sharing of love that existed in his memory, have been reduced to rubble. All that is left are sorrow, anxiety and perpetual suffering. The lonely are forgotten and cast into the deep sea of insignificance. Who will hear his silent cries? As he walks on, his cross grows heavier and heavier; love has been a dream, and happiness a prayerful wish. The heaviness of his sorrow is enough to crack the foundations of the earth, and the measure of his pain is enough to fill the seven seas.
Despite his travail, there is still love and a unique passion and warmth in his heart. He survives with raw determination and the memory of his mother’s face is glowing light. Still, rest is not easily found, as he walks into the darkness to face the terrors of the night.
-
There is a time
In life we know,
The depths of pain
When sorrows flow;Inside my mind
Is where you’ll find
Where fires burn,
And billows blow;I’d found a dream
In blessed light,
Till darkness robbed me
In the night;It pulls me down;
It pulls me down;
With cruel intent,
And silent sound.
Intimate Compositions 