At the crossroads where melancholia and sadness meet
The anguished drag heavy crosses on dark streets,
With hell’s heat beneath their feet.
Tag: Personal
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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. -
I was wounded and you patiently tended to me.
I was cold and you brought me inside of your warmth.
You are a woman among women, to who a blue diamond is akin.
Just to see your hair fall on your contour is amazing,
And the radiant glow and shimmering of your skin.
You are the most beautiful flower in heaven’s garden;
Even in their vastness, unknown galaxies
whisper to one another jealousies as they behold your beauty.But what can I give?
What can I give to an angel who spread her white wings and embraced me?
Who with tears in her eyes reached down and rescued me?
We cried together that night,
And while she held me I started to write our story;
The title: That Night I Witnessed an Angel In All Her Glory
The debt that I owe is worth so much more than diamonds and jewelry.
My love, I have given you my heart but what more can I render?
I kissed her and whispered, To your love my angel, forever I surrender.
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Sorrowful tears drop on flowers. Eyes cry over what was and what is no longer.
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You are my peace.
You are my release.
In fields of lilacs and white gardenias I dreamt of you;
The angels adorned you in the finest silks of purple, white, and blue.When your hair falls it is like a vast waterfall;
You overflow with passion and love.
The angels whisper in envy of your beauty.
A thousand love poems could never fully capture what you mean to me.Am I a mortal man in the presence of an angel?
Your voice flows like many rivers and I am calmed.
You found me wounded and you helped me;
You are my love and my balm.Let us forget the world and in intimate communion dine;
I have turned my back on the world because you are mine.
Your soft glistening skin is akin to nothing I can imagine;
Your hair down and adorned in your silk black robe, you stand as a goddess.My love, I am lost in your tender caress.
I lie next to you and still I tell you I miss you.
With passionate fire in my eyes I draw you close and kiss you.
Even without words spoken it is through my heart that I tell you I love you.
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In the lonely hours, your memory haunts me beautifully.
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In the millions we gather and cry together; we hold hands and sing by the banks of the river. Our stories of pain are illuminated in our eyes. We have loved, we have lost; We have endured the lonely winters. Each one of us, we bear our own cross; to each other we are healing and light. As the dark night approaches, in the dusk we again recapture the happiness of our youth. Laughter ensues; we chase butterflies as the fireflies join in our joy and light up the night’s skies. We are here; we are scarred but we are here. We commune and dine together and wipe away each others tears. We recall the hardships and joys of our many years. In a vision I see my mother and she is there. We release and the river overflows from all of our tears; we are light beings, and our redemption is near.
I have found my true love again, and as we lie together, I have rediscovered the most secret and sacred parts of her. Oh for so long I had dreamt of again being lost in you; at this gathering of the sorrowful I have again found you and poured out my heart to you. For so many winters my heart wrote you letters that can’t be heard or spoken; we have suffered, all of us, with heavy eyes we had read the vile and disparaging words the world has written of us. With mocking words they eulogize us though we still live; they seek to bury us alive and wipe our memories eternally from the face of the earth. In our deep love for one another, we have found our healing and our rebirth. Step by step through dark clouds we reach heaven’s gates; as we enter, we hold hands together. At the golden round table our banquet awaits.
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I love you. Dead to the sentiments of this world I arise in light yet resurrected in you. You are my life; you are my breath; if your love should ever fade from me, you are my death.
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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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It is in darkness that we have found our true selves. The madness of isolation forces vivid memories of first loves and intimate moments to surface. The restless wailing of souls pierce the eardrums and release emotions within us never before experienced. We grasp these moments like we try to recollect a beautiful dream. We drink sweet wine with tears streaming from our eyes; tears drop in wine glasses. Overcome, we stand one by one and tell tales of love and memories well remembered. As I recollect it was in December that I first clung to my mother’s neck and with love she held me. “You are a good son” are the last words my grandmother would tell me. Red roses on each headstone are gently placed as dusk approaches, but in my heart is their memorial. Smile upon me now oh mother of my inception and in my desolation comfort me like a new born baby.
I have tasted of the bitter portion of misery and wish to consume it no longer. I have dreamed heavenly dreams of walking the endless halls of Valhalla. In the abyss my eyes have grown accustomed to the darkness; I have become an involuntary recluse. It is not I who has left the world, but it is the world that has left me. Passersby see my frailty, and in ghastly astonishment they shun me. The emaciation of once strong muscle and the gauntness and thinness of stretched skin over protruding bone is alarming to their delicate eyes. I am a spectacle of illness in their imaginary perfect world. A leper to be outcast and spat upon in disgust as they pass by the gates of the city. I had once hoped to find love again but found only deception and torment. The days go by, but I refuse to count. Their false pity and insincere well wishes are spotted very easily.
My faith wanes. Will they label me an apostate and seek to burn me at the stake? Will they convict me of heresy if I am no longer willing to pray? Weariness takes over, but insomnia does not allow any rest; the last memory of my love is my head resting on the comfort of her breasts. Hope can sustain, but hope can also be a stark reminder of pain. I stare into the mirror and he stares back at me, but who is he really? I seek answers, but in the interim I long to begin again. At last reborn.
Intimate Compositions 