At the crossroads where melancholia and sadness meet
The anguished drag heavy crosses on dark streets,
With hell’s heat beneath their feet.
Tag: Poems
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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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In its inception it could be based on hearsay or misguided perception.
As a tiny seed it is watered and nurtured and soon becomes a deep rooted tree
bearing the fruits of malcontent, violence, superstition and ill intent.
The poisonous fruit invades the bloodstream with sinister efficiency, mercilessly infecting its host.
The virulence of its effect is evident in the pupils of the eyes.
It can lie dormant for many years, sometimes revealing itself
in the form of vengeful words and angry tears.
The sweetness of the fruit masks its bitterness in the stomach.
It is not well digested;
With the absorption of poison, the heart and organs become infested.
Inside, the spirit writhes, withers, and groans as the infection takes its toll.
A shake of the hand is manifested and a deceptive smile,
For it is behind the glare of darkened eyes that the secrecy of hatred lies. -
In the place she once left a hole, a flower now grows.
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The tears that run in silent pain
Are dried and then they run again.
For long the flood of tears are held;
They suffer in a quiet hell.The dam it breaks when tears are filled.
The blood it runs when it breaks the will.
The darkness calls on winter nights;
Through darkened eyes they seek the light.The light is sought but still it’s dark.
If we should fall, tell the world we fought
A valiant fight with all our might;
Our flag in cold wind through the darkest night. -
In the night’s darkness under a full moon alone he cries.
The night breeze on his face he feels, as the winds shake the trees.
As tears stream he looks up at the sky and falls on his knees,
And with a loud voice he screams, Oh no god please.
For to know his love is gone is torture and forlorn.
In his weeping, tears cover the golden locket he had given her;
The blood of his love permeates his clothing and touches his skin.
He had found her, with blood around her, eyes open.
He picked her up and held her, and kissed her tender,
And tried to resurrect her with all his will;
But on that night, in her beauty, his angel lay still.He will carry her; with a heavy heart eternally he will carry her.
In the night, he will reach for her and she will not be there.
On the pillow she slept are the strands of her hair.
In the space she lay, now he lies and says a quiet prayer;
On her pillows and hair, fall the drops of his tears.His Prayer:
Oh God, please open heaven’s gates,
As I now in your hands place my fate,
For she is my heart and without my heart I cannot live.
I have wept and I have cried with nothing left to give.
My angel has been taken away from me,
And now I again seek to see her in your glory.
For my sins and my many transgressions please forgive me,
As I leave this world to write the rest of my story.
Oh Holy Mary, Mother of God please hear me.He lies still. From open eyes tears still spill.
Silence Falls. -
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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The undertaker’s gloves touch what was once hopeful and full of life.
He lies there, eyes open, but they see not and he is not.
The sterility of cold skin against cold metal is like a thousand winters.
The time for contemplation has ceased;
He lies; Still, he lies.
The darkness behind the eyes is like the ink of a black pen
Burst open into two round spaces of translucency and left to settle.
The discoloration of his nonexistence
is not found in the beauty of any rainbow.
The body has given up the ghost,
But does the ghost know it has left its shell?
The undertaker’s experienced hands will be
The last semblance of care given to him.
He does not know, for he is not present in the body.
They will cry over him;
they will shower him with flowers, but he will not know.
When he was here he counted the days and the hours but they did not show.
Yet they now stand there, teary eyes with a glare.
That they would throw dirt on him and walk away
Without even the remembrance of a genuine memory is blasphemy.
The undertaker takes it all in, for he has seen it many times before.
In the interim between life and death he contemplates his own mortality.
The living go on, and the dead are mourned;
The solemn faced undertaker, the last recorder of them that breath no longer.
His last job is done for the night; he turns off the lights
And says goodnight to his silent residents whose souls have taken flight.
Intimate Compositions 