Afflicted and anguished voices cry out in darkness
Tears and ceaseless sorrow are the torment of illness
The tired and exhausted desire peace and stillness
It is unrelenting with unforgiving torment and viciousness
In its approach it is particularly ruthless and merciless
Still they fight passionately and defiantly until their last breath.
Tag: PTSD
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In her he finds comfort. In her he can have a moment’s peace.
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As the small
Yellow pills wear off
Thus begins his
Descent into hell. -
An old blind man sways as if in a trance as he plays the strings of the harpsichord. His skeletal frame like a thin pine tree in hurricane winds. Strands of thin grey hair swing from side to side; his frail hands show large discolored veins and expose protruding bone against thin skin. The iris and pupils of his eyes are cloudy white. His eyes transfixed. He plays the song of a story only he knows. The strings of the harpsichord haunt his memories and recall the days of sorrow and a love he once knew. He cannot cry because there are no tears left to be given. His torment are his memories; still he plays beautifully. The ghostly eyes of the dark crow watch from the shadows.
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The darkness scares
The darkness frights
He must learn to embrace the darkness,
And drown it in light. -
Because she wept in heavy rain they could never see her tears.
With nothing left to give she empties her deep wells of pain onto the street.
People unaware walk through the puddles of her sorrow.
Intimate Compositions 