The tormented wail.
Heavy tears of agony
Fall beneath the black veil.
The dead is carried
By horse and carriage.
A trail of sorrow follows
Behind in silent march.
The dark crow watches
From a distant perch.
Bitter cold wears
On the frailty of the old;
Their steps are slow,
And measured.
The hard frozen earth awaits.
As the lowering begins,
Red roses are thrown
From frail hands
With black gloves.
Freezing winds blow;
With tears and a final stare,
Cold and ashen faces
Slowly disappear.
Tag: Sadness
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In your eyes I wanted to be a good son. In my eyes you were a god.
In a sea of black a young boy sits quietly in solid oak church pews.
Young eyes stare at stillness as it lies. The agony of reality encompasses
Like tall waves in dark seas.
In that moment your last words are remembered:“You are a good son”
Tears fall.
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Silence lies;
Then comes weeping and wailing
The incessant cries.
Terrified eyes shed tears
looking down upon wide open eyes.Tears drop onto, and stream down the face of the lifeless
as if the lifeless cries in a state of perfect stillness.The screams and wails of the left behind
scorch the morbid silence.
Onlookers fill the room.
Some mumble incoherently
as if they’re in some nightmarish daze.Suddenly the mortality of man
Is counted and measured in dreadful wonder.
Minds start to think of the darkness,
And search for immediate refuge.
The light, oh that beautiful light.The wails become distant
As the room empties.
The crying fades.
Only mute pictures in frames are left to witness.
Again, Silence lies. -
The black hearts of men; the wantonness; the covetousness; the deceit.
The taking of innocence; the screams; the blood that cries out for vengeance.
The wicked thoughts of the mind that corrupt and corrode the soul and spirit.
The darkness of it is black like tar; the stench of it—pungent and unfamiliar.
It causes the eyes to water. It stifles the air in the lungs.A once beautiful red rose is wilted and discolored; the stem becomes lifeless. the petals decompose from the edges. When they can hold on no longer, the dark petals fall away into the abyss.
The bloodshot eyes that have witnessed torment, and lifelessness, and misery. The dark cell with heavy chains; the moaning and the cries of men in that place you can’t see your hands in in front of your face; the terror that stalks and lies in wait. The unquenchable thirst. The dogged hunger. The silence and isolation that leads to madness. The insanity of the once astute, well spoken and sane. The grinding of teeth; the nakedness; the withering away of flesh. The numbness of the soul. The anesthesia that is sought to take away the pain. The dark clouds; the eternal rain.
The desolation.
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Dried teardrops are invisible. The heaviness of sorrow lingers. Agony of unrealized dreams are consumed by the darkness. Remnants of pain are left on a razor’s edge. Angels weep.
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In the pitch darkness of desolation, the sun doesn’t shine;
I have my sight, but in the deep darkness of sorrow I am blind. -
Cold winds pierce through her black veil. She stands there alone; all the other faces of sorrow have departed. She stands there and looks down upon the remnants of him, as the cold and howling winds blow against her. She has not cried. She has not shown any emotion. Her face is solemn. The winds continue to howl as her black dress and veil are pressed against her from one side from the violence of the winds. The grey skies open and cold rain is released. Still, she stands there completely still. Her eyes are fixated on him as she continues to stare. She does not morn for him, for he was the cause of her pain and suffering. She had endured the torture for over thirty years. The beatings and the abuse; the endless suffering; the wailing. All he has left her is torturous memories and a dark void. She doesn’t shed tears because his death is her life. She is numb from the many years she has endured. The sorrow in her eyes is for herself, because of all the wasted years of unhappiness and heartache. The tears of her soul are for the stillborn child she conceived in agony; the wounds and scars of her abuse visible for all to see, as she cried out in pain. He had blamed her for the loss of the child and had become even more violent and abusive, even as she lied listless in bed for months. He hit her violently time and time again, as she lie there numb and in silent tears. The pain of losing her child was a pain she could not fathom and had never felt before. Tears streamed down her face, as she prayed to the heavens day after day. Now, as he lie in a wooden box, no life in him, she is emotionless. The winds pick up in speed and the howling is louder; it is cold and the rain is coming down in torrents. She is unmoved. She removes her veil and black satin gloves and throws them onto the top of the casket, in an act of finality. She takes a rose and places it next to her heart for the child she had lost. Without looking back, she walks away as she empties herself of his memory.
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“Jesus wept.” (John 11:35, KJV)
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My heart rate rises and perspiration ensues;
I try to hold it back, but it is persistent in it’s pursuit.
I curse it to hell, but it is not easily compelled;
Anger rushes in with the deepness of a well.
I try again valiantly as I press against it’s will,
But I have been infiltrated, now the battle is uphill.
My thoughts now consume me; my body tense with fear;
I cry out to the heavens, in hopes that God will hear.
I listlessly wait for an answer or a sign,
But in a dark room, I realize the cross to bear is mine. -
Two horses stand still in deafening silence. They begin a slow walk as the carriage of the fallen is drawn. A sea of black follows behind in solemn state. Sobbing can be heard as tears fall from sorrowful eyes. Black satin gloves and silk kerchiefs wipe the tears away. The walk is not long, but the anguish of separation is fully realized in those final moments. Hands are held and comfort is given. Behind dark shades and black veils, the streaming of tears is endless. The manifestation of sorrow in it’s rawest form causes the heart to break. The red and teary eyes of the sorrowful gaze off into the distance in trance like state. In silence, their hearts cry out to the heavens in search of solace and healing. Doves are released; their whiteness is contrasted against the blueness of the sky. A red rose is thrown and a final prayer is whispered.
Intimate Compositions 