They think they know us.
They think we’re the same.
They seek notoriety
And take the austerity
Of our suffering in vain.
But in the silent depths
Of our darkness and unending pain,
We remain invisible
And unnamed.
Tag: poem
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There is no reason or validation needed to love you.
There is no rational or explanation of the feelings
within me, when I hold you.There is nothing in all the worlds more beautiful than you.
There is too long a list, to write the traits that define you.
There is a particularly wonderful aura about you.
There is no uncertainty that my heart belongs to you.
There is a certain silence after intimacy that
denotes to your heart all of the words that my
mouth wants to tell you. -
In pain, the soul wails,
And the depths of her cry out.
The fallacy of normalcy, is no more.
She is tormented, but lucid;
The potency of her agony
Is measured in piercing screams.
It is the wounding of her being;
The severity of agony finally revealed.
It is the culmination of years of pain
And of things unseen. -
On that day, when we suffer no more, it shall be glorious to behold.
The rain shall fall with a wondrous rainbow, forming a celestial shawl.
The earth will shake, and we shall stand like redwood trees, tall.
We will be reunited with our loves, who shed tears when they fell before the fall.
My mother will call my name as it was when I was in her womb, and I will hear her call.
I will embrace my grandmother as it was when I was a child in her arms.
By a peaceful river, we shall gather and sing angelically composed songs.
All the tears from the years of our weeping will be transformed into diamond waterfalls.The light in our eyes that sorrow once stole
Shall be returned to us one thousand times fold.
We will dwell in the warmth of indescribable love and tread upon the desolate cold.
We will dwell in the warmth of indescribable love and tread upon the desolate cold.
On that day, all the beautiful mysteries of the world will be told.
Broken hearts will mend — and our fractured auras will be made whole.
On that day, the white wings we never knew we had, will begin to unfold.
On that day, the white wings we never knew we had ,will begin to unfold. -
They kept falling,
Sleeping in fields of blood
With their eyes wide open. -
She dies inside but wants to live.
The purging of years of pain is like giving birth again and again.
In labor she wails, pausing in-between screams to deeply inhale.
Her spirit carries her over peaceful waters, and she will not fail.
She is weary, but her resolve forces her to endure;
The day approaches when she will smile angelically
In the heavenly glow of her beauty and cry no more. -
When I am gone from this world
If all I could leave behind were my tears
Remember the places I wept
And if there is fertile soil there
Scatter seeds of roses
So I can be resurrected in them
And witness the dawning
Of the morning sun again -
Come and see the place where she wailed. Witness the bed that is perfectly made and the carpet that is bloodstained. Read the many writings of her pain. See the end of heart-rending journals that bear her name. Reason with your heart, and see how her life could never be the same. Feel the agony she endured, again and again. View the pictures of her smiling before it happened. Experience the aftereffects that rendered her gaunt in her suffering. Bear witness to the listlessness in her movements, her responses, her walking, and manner of talking. Internalize the pain she felt, after her friends and family turned on her, in their apathetic balking. See them now — see them with their eyes filled with tears, crying. Listen carefully, and you can hear the fiber of their souls withering. Extend your arms, and touch the walls that she rested her head in her weeping. Touch the comforters and pillows, that her tears fell and permeated in her sleeping. Close your eyes, and contemplate the aspirations and dreams of a beautiful being. Gather the strands of her hair, that after she brushed, fell on her favorite chair, for safe keeping. Before you go, sign her last entry lovingly, then kiss the door that she was carried through, in her leaving.
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Through open windows, curtains move to and fro
as if dancing in rhythm to the music of spring breezes.
Intimate moments are uncovered by the morning sunshine
that illuminates two lovers in-between glimpses.
Inside, there are tender kisses, tears of joyous crying,
and the erotic secrets of sensual whisperings.
Intimate Compositions 