The pages of her diary are filled with
memorable recollections of ecstasy and agony.
In the most intimate writing of her secrecy,
she documents the otherworldly pleasure
of absolutely irresistible ecstasy found in agony.
Tag: poem
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You never told me how you felt about me,
but now that I have discovered your secret,
somehow, I burn in the fires of jealousy.
My heart torments me, whispering unsolicited scenarios
of what could have been or what could be.
Seeing you with him, I whisper to myself,
It should have been you and I;
at the time, other lovers occupied my time,
so I couldn’t clearly see how you looked at me.
Maybe I was always yours in my heart subconsciously —
destined to discover your true feelings inevitably.
When you see her again don’t be angry,
but for the record, it was your closest
and most trusted friend that
revealed it to me. -
She is beautiful in her desire
Denying her heart’s feelings no longer
Her want for him only grows stronger
Her soul is deep refreshing water
And her heart is blue fireThe rhythm of her amorous fingers
Causes her erotic whispers
To become euphoric screams that grow louder
She calls his name as if he is inside her
Passionately letting go right after the last letter -
The darkness conceals,
hiding pain behind its veil—
and stifling the anguished screams.
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Between euphoric breaths,
she confessed that she loved him;
not holding back, she gave him her everything,
and in her moaning, she signaled her joy
and the fulfillment of her longing—
touching his soul, and evoking emotions
that long stirred within the depths of him.
It is then that he said to her, I want no one else;
forever you are my woman.
Without inhibition, she rode him
uncovering the breadth of her eroticism—
she leaned in and kissed him,
whispering to him, how much she had missed him.
And after the last letter, she released the passion of her fire
and kept going as he whispered, faster.
His drive took him over the edge
when she passionately said, mi amor, deeper—
he closed his eyes when she seductively
Started sucking his fingers;
and in the height of his release,
he told her, that he was more than a lover
but that he was in love with her. -
We were both broken
but took pieces of each other
and nurtured them
to find our healing;
we kissed each other
in the throes of our weeping,
and we held each other
in the darkness of our sleeping.
To shield each other from
the coldness of this cruel world,
we held each other’s hearts
in warmth for safe keeping—
finding new levels of love for each other
in the utterances of our whispering
and in the transcendent
intimacy of our bonding. -
The tears she cries come from a deep sorrow that wounded her long ago.
She is in pain, but because her spirit is beautiful, sometimes it does not show.
She is an angel, who will transcend and touch the heavens, but she does not yet know.
She has held on for so long, but to heal, she will learn to let go. -
I am shattered, but cradle me in my ruin;
I am unloved, so hold me in your bosom,
and let me feel the heartbeat of love again;I am in constant pain, so don’t forsake me
when I fall to my knees in incessant weeping;My body and soul are weary, so when you look upon me
kiss me, and whisper sweet things to me when I am sleeping;I cry out, from the depths and darkness of desolation,
so spread your white wings in light, and rescue me
from utter devastation — my angel. -
You who suffer, you who are misunderstood,
and you who were unloved since childhood—
gather your hearts together, for there is comfort in unity, and a shelter.
Cry no more, for the abandonment of your fathers
or for the death of your beautiful mothers,
but let the soul that is within you,
strengthen you and strengthen others.
Raise your swords ye valiant men and women,
and with your battle cry, cut through the darkness;
spare nothing, and do not be merciful,
lest the darkness recovers in the void
and comes back to attack you in your slumber.
All ye mighty generals, that conquered and died in battle
lend us your resolute hearts,
that we may raise our banners of war in silent march.
We will carry on, even in the bitter cold of winter,
until the darkness is slayed and our swords rest upon its cursed grave—
but if there is nothing left of us, ye who come after us,
with our swords and armor bury us—
but do not weep for us when our bones return to dust.
Gather up your own hearts, sharpen your swords,
and let not there be frailty in the arms that wield the bow
or in the resonance of your words.
Before warfare, test the worthiness of your armor,
and in battle, strike your enemy with violent anger,
searing even the sinew, to strike down the darkness
that would steal your happiness
and snatch the light that is within you.
Intimate Compositions 