In purgatory we are suspended.
Anguished screams are the byproduct
When the spirit is wilted.
Epitaphs are written and rewritten
With each changing season.
The anxious and depressed are listless;
There is no room for anything else.
Constant torment of the soul causes scarring.
She is beautiful on the outside,
But on in the inside she’s dying.
When the dead are gone they leave behind the living,
But the living are not living.
In the darkness cries are heard,
And the stark truth of finality is contemplated.
Day after day agony is compounded,
And there is no room to breathe;
We flood ourselves in the tears of heavy weeping,
But there is no reprieve.
With laborious breaths we make an existence;
The delicate shell of us craving a life of substance.
Once filled with life, we drag the carcass
Of yesteryear behind us, hoping for a resurrection,
Or some type of rejuvenation to bring life back into our eyes.
The preacher preaches a fiery sermon
And tells us to look to the skies,
But we have prayed and prayed again, and we are tired.
The world turns its face from the frightful imagery of our reality;
We are mannequins they dress up and pretend not to see;
Still, we are flowers in winter
Waiting for spring to bloom in all our glory.
In giant books of gold bound with the blood of our pain,
The gods, they record our lives, and write our story.
Tag: Personal
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I thought in your heart I had found a home.
In the the throes of my suffering and lament
I found that I was alone.
In the darkness of desolation I reached for you,
Yet still my portion was ridicule and isolation.
Against my will, my heart holds onto you and loves you still,
But like leaves in autumn day by day,
The memories of you, they fall away.
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The dust of my soul are the remnants of pain and the stories untold. In the wind I am carried effortlessly like flower petals in spring. I ride on ten thousand golden chariots and make my ascension; the moon and the planets are my neighbors. In my song there is a sweet fragrance akin to vast fields of white gardenias. My piercing cries are like that of an eagle; I soar above the clouds and view my life’s movie from the heavens. That boy, oh that young boy with a caramel glow, eyes wide and bright who befriended the crow. He suffered, yes he suffered indeed, and the world didn’t know. At the grave site when they lowered her, tears fell from my young face, but when I got older I found there was no more embrace. Oh wondrous mother, look upon your son and see the agony of his days, for the men mercilessly kill and the women’s hearts are cold and no longer filled with grace. I have had many lovers in whom I sought shelter, but my own naivety betrayed me, yet the desires of my heart still slay me.
My redemption has been written in the dark ink of the dried blood of my ancestors turmoil. In tears they were shackled and forcefully made to lie in their own filth; packed side by side in agony they died and were brought over on ships. Enslaved and oppressed they were mercilessly beaten with whips. The blood that ran down their bodies now runs through me; a child of pain, I arrived through the sweat and screams of my mother’s agony; her long hair and hazel eyes a wonder of beauty. I stare into the mirror, and still the eyes of that child that hoped for more stare back at me. He doesn’t say anything, but he knows what I’m thinking. His expressions of sadness and lament move me to want to comfort him, but I cannot, for I am him. Every now and then he sees me and smiles. He dwells among the stars and is a god in my mind.
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Through the fear
Through the fire
Through deep waters
Through vile words
Through the darkness
Through misunderstanding
Through abandonment
When they leave you alone
In agony standing
Just breathe. -
Torment and agony are the portion of the afflicted.
Behind the eyes is where it lives.
A smile can be deceiving, for even in the warmth
Of good company she is naked in cold winter winds.
Words sometimes cannot be used to express true feelings.
In whispered utter these are the only words she could muster:
If I may seem distant my love, know that it is not you.
When asked how she was, she said,
I’m fine, knowing it was not true.
Ideations of not being here cause her to rush to another room
To weep, wash her face and hide the tears.
Are friends really friends when the burden can’t be shared?
She is loving and considerate, and their feelings she would spare.
But it is when feelings are held in that the wounds are deeper,
And the tears, and the agony, and the wailing.
Even if heaven knows her cries, still, inside she dies …
Unknowingly they take of her, and take of her again.
In their euphoria the essence of her they freely spend.
Beneath the surface she craves light and healing;
In her breath, her preciousness, her torment, her pain
Her aspirations, and the agony of her life are so revealing.
With wondrous eyes she is beautiful and sparkling,
But Look past her countenance and deep into her soul to see her suffering.
Her childhood you would witness; the pain of abuse;
The hell of silent agony and constant misuse.
As I stare into her eyes she nods and greets me with a smile;
In knowing the essence of her, I embrace her, gently kiss her, and cry. -
It was after the silence that I cried.
In a sea of raging thoughts
The mind does what it wants,
But all I wanted was you.
Silence torments unknowingly
And then comes the memory of your laughter.
The love made at night and the morning after;
But who could fathom I would be mourning after?
The storms in my heart shake my core;
I hold on with all my might,
But then I shatter and I am no more.
The man I used to be is left behind me;
I look over to the place you sat beside me,
And you are not there.
Your scent lingers but you are not here.
Is such a fate set before me
That I am destined for loneliness and ruin?
Does my heart not solemnly cry out to the heavens?
Oh what grace would befall me
If an angel walked through my door and kissed me!
But maybe I’m not worthy.
Of the love you gave me, I think about it constantly;
On a clear night at midnight I dance in the moonlight.
You are a dream that was realized but lost;
There is no comfort in anyone else’s arms.
I reach for you in dreams and see your reflection in streams,
But ripples in the water take you away from me.
I shall gird up my loins and scatter my tears on the seas;
Oh that I would see you again in the glory of your beauty!
That I would touch your delicate face tenderly;
And kiss you, and you not turn your face away from me. -
Joyous tears are carried in the winter wind;
With longing and soft kisses we begin again. -
You long oppressed; You anxious and stressed: You night walkers with glowing eyes; You precious children whose eyes have cried; You whom dwell within the corners of dark rooms misunderstood and in agony; You who have endured but hope for more; You who are listless and constantly contemplate death; You mothers who are postpartum depressed, who’s eyes cry and can’t sleep but are tired, looking into your baby’s eyes; You whom dwell on the ledge pondering the finality of a razor’s edge; You who sleep all day but wake up even more tired; You who are chronic insomniacs with eyes wired; You who seek resurrection with protruding veins and euphoric injection; The melancholic of you; You sufferers who daily drink of that bitter cup; You depressed fathers who can’t look into your children’s eyes without the shedding of tears; You who have prayed, and prayed again, with the sounds of wailing at 4 A.M. You who are reviled even by the ones who claim to love you, as they say hurtful words again and again; The distressed of you; The ones who ruminate in tormented state; You who live in hell; The poor of you who are ill but find a way still; You grandmothers who raise the children of your deceased daughters; You who are not of my flesh but are are still my brothers and sisters; You who have fought for years; You who are reading this with tears; I love you.
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From his soul he weeps.
Tears in the darkness are unseen,
But heaven hears his cries.
The wailing of white doves
Carry the song of his perpetual pain.
In eternal rain, the heaviness of his cross
Is saturated with water and dragged in mud;
The presentation of his torment
is the shedding of blood.
The earth shakes violently
From the souls trapped in misery.
Alone in desolation,
The darkness is his only witness.
It is when pain is concealed,
That the hideous scars of time
Cause horrid astonishment
When finally revealed.
The faces of the sorrowful
Upon the eyes are permanently
Seared and in the mind indelible.
In his stature he is majestic.
He dreams of reaching heaven’s gates
And riding on the wings of the angels.Antonio Vivaldi – Nisi Dominus
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How can I ever repay you? Your spirit is a deep well of refreshing water. I draw from you. I drink of your essence, and I am resurrected and replenished. My heart belongs to you. I am dedicated to you. You have become a part of me through and through. But my heart, Are beautiful words and writings alone all you can render? Did she not bring you back to life in the middle of the night? Did she not save you from certain desolation in the tormented bowels of isolation? What then do I render? I give my life, all my heart, and all that is within my spirit. The tears of Aphrodite that fell on Adonis’ body are in the same vein of my feelings for you. The gods see your beauty and are envious. Zeus turns his face in angered lust. Selene catches a smiling glimpse of Perseus. Poseidon is stirred and causes the valleys to flood. Your hair is akin to golden waterfalls. The shape of your eyes like almonds. Oh heaven, I count myself among the stars to have received such a precious gift. Your glistening skin under a full moon is like the beauty of a hundred thousand golden harps played by the heavenly angels in eternal light. The delicateness of your aura I will protect with my life. Like a master wine taster I inhale your aroma, and your sweet taste I savor. You are the diamond everyone could not see; you are finely polished and you shine in your beauty. Your cut, color, and clarity are the embodiment of a goddess. In your heart and in your contour you are flawless.
Intimate Compositions 