The womb of past secrets is stretched in agony,
longing to give birth to what is long hidden and unspeakable;
but its child is stillborn and unmourned,
because dark whispers do not make it past closed doors,
to tell accounts of what was — and the pain that still lingers.
Vengeance is dreamed of, and always tingling on the tips of the fingers.
The heart refuses to fully heal, until there is a reckoning of monsters.
They can no longer live in hiding, plotting; planning.
They must be drawn out, and utterly rooted out by their victims, limb by limb;
even the blood, bone, and sinew of them must not remain.
Nothing shall be left of them — not even the whispers of their names.
After they inflicted anguish, torment and pain
nothing again, ever again, was the same.
Tag: poem
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The sorrowful heart, is the pen that writes
anguished paragraphs and chapters of torment.
The author’s bio is a summary of years of lament.
The foreword is written in blood;
the book is dedicated to the withered soul’s remnants.
The eyes of the reader widens, as the first chapter begins.
Tears are shed, and anguished screams are heard, as the final chapter ends. -
You speak to me through abbreviations of the heart:
a light kiss; the brush of your hand against my wrist;
the way you gaze at me when you take your hair down;
your loving whispers to me when I’m down.
Confessions of the heart don’t have to be long —
in short form, I understand.
Through the falling of my joyous tears,
I tell you I love you, again and again. -
In agony, she keeps falling,
Praying that love will catch her,
With arms outstretched, waiting. -
The depths of her soul sing to him lovingly,
when long held joyous tears run,
and impassioned utterances won’t come easily. -
With one last amorous kiss
After the last erotic tryst
She left him seductive seeds
So his heart could sprout
New gorgeous memories. -
The broken heart is a martyr of love,
giving of itself until the very end
when there is there no more reconciliation;
it is cried over, again and again.
A picture of two lovers in happier times
is turned over, thrown, and intentionally broken;
the strewn shattered glass, denotes a deep pain unspoken.
The loving heart, loved with everything it had,
until it stopped beating and could love no more.
In a cold dark room, its martyrdom is mourned.
The once loving heart is turned to stone,
and it is warm no longer, but cold.
The once warm heart is cold;
it is so cold. -
Purple passion flows through euphoric veins
after being deeply inhaled willingly into the bloodstream;
The body submits to the enraptured infusion
in eagerness to take away the pain that eyes cannot see.
Heavy breaths, in-between sensual screams
denote the intensity with every slight touch she feels.
Pleasure flows, like a perpetually spinning wheel.
Purple lips passionately kiss — stimulating desire;
Red and blue fires come together, enticing one another.
A purple moon rests in a purple sky,
over purple oceans, where purple birds fly;
After intense intimacy in purple lights,
on purple silk, purple tears are cried. -
Heaven, please let the children dance again;
Let the hearts of tearful widows mend;
Restore breath to the lifeless and joy to the broken;
Let victims release their pain, through utterances of the once unspoken;
Let the deeply wounded begin their healing;
Let the numb immerse themselves in wonderful feelings;
Let the unloved find love through kisses and intimate gestures;
Let the motherless children of deceased mothers
hold them once again — and hear their whispers. -
The reticent tongue does not speak of what lustful eyes see.
Feelings are released through unsolicited dreams —
where heavily she breathes through intimate screams.
Vividness of dreams seem so real that even the scent of her is remembered.
Chanel No.5 is not there when he awakens, but somehow its fragrance lingers;
he still feels the softness of her hair through passionate fingers.
He is with another, so he tries to forget her;
the torment of his soul is his heart’s unceasing desire.
To temper his raging fire, his heart must wear blinders,
for to see her is a passionate reminder.
The woman that lies next to him, is not her;
his secret desires she will never know.
Intimate Compositions 