Remnants of suffering are left in dark rooms;
Only silence fills the void.
Everything remains untouched, and as it was before.
Tortured faces in picture frames blankly stare.
Tag: Poetry
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In a dimly lit room,
Gaunt, bluish discolored hands
Slowly reach for heavenly light. -
When there is no more life in the eyes,
The stillness of lifelessness is penetrating;
The sterility of coldness and finality is harsh.
It is like the taste of metal in the mouth.
I contemplate the nothingness of it.
The days of men are counted in seasons.
When I look upon them, is tears all I can give?
For they are men no more, but have been reborn.
They will live; they will yet live.
In my memory, I will count them as gods. -
Gentle evening
Breezes comfort a lonely
weeping willow tree. -
The abyss releases its loud and torturous cries.
I can hear the rumbling of trapped souls in agony.
My own fate is contemplated;
I am shaken. -
Nothingness.
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In sorrow do we not weep?
In triumph do we not rejoice?
Do we not share passionate kisses
And whisper long held secrets
In the hours of the twilight? -
On an autumn’s night
From gorgeous hazel eyes
Her final tears are cried. -
In darkness, you wrap me in your warmth and hold me tightly.
You nourish me with love and kind words of inspiration.
With Affection, you rub me gently and speak to me in soft tones.
In tempest and sorrow you are my strength, and place of refuge.
Day by day, I grow strong in your never ending affection.
In your womb, I am comforted. -
Tortured spirits bellow. The wretched place gives up its cries. Contorted faces stare intently through the soul with wide eyes. Zombie like figures through muffled cries, point with apprehension to where the toxic billows rise. The blue skies turn grey; the smoke overtakes the sunlight and all is covered in darkness. A red ribbon is caught up in the foul wind and swallowed by it. My lamp is heavy and my kerosene is low. Shadowy figures move in and out of the smoke filled darkness to and fro. The unbearable sounds of anguish go up into the clouds and are infused with the toxic smoke. The stench of it reeks; the sounds of sadness and unfulfilled dreams cause me to weep. The darkness inhales the smoke and is euphoric in its exhale. It is intoxicated with the sounds of suffering. The earth is heavy with the saturated tears of the oppressed. The oceans roar in anger and the earth’s core erupts. Measured steps are taken, lest I fall into perpetuity. Crows fly overhead en masse. The realm is turned into black pitch. The treacherous bridge swings and sways as I attempt to walk over the abyss. Save my dimly lit lamp, I am blind in the darkness. Crippling apprehension fills the void. I am consumed in desolation. I recite the works of Dickinson and Poe. With heaviness of heart, I will write works of my own torment and sorrow. I will walk in the dark and horrid place and blend in with the shadows, in hopes that hopelessness won’t know.
Intimate Compositions 