My cross is heavy. Tired, I drag it slowly; navigating hidden paths to avoid those that may try to hurt me. In the darkness of the night with blood and heavy sweat I stumble and fall on one knee. Splinters of weathered wood tear into me. My cross is heavy but it is mine to carry; looking back with tears in the wind I see, and hear the moans and cries of those just like me. In droves we walk slowly, and carry on in pain; blood drips on snow, dirt, grass, concrete and open road, and is washed away by rain. Bloodshot eyes are teary and filled with rage. In the book of tears with millions of chapters and soiled with blood, I angrily write another page.
Tag: Thoughts
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The eyes that hide the hell inside
Are with disdain just cast aside,
For deep inside it thus abides
And causes fear and sudden cries.For people look and wide they stare.
The worst of them with hating glare.
If long enough in the eyes they look,
It is then with shock they see the tearful book. -
If I could, I would turn your tears into diamonds;
I will take shelter in the memories of our warmth,
Hoping that precious love again will find us. -
They feign empathy but are filled with apathy.
From duplicitous lips they speak words of understanding,
But in the deep pit of darkness they leave you standing;
Alone we are born and alone we die;
Alone we seek joy and alone we cry;
Alone we crawl through blue fires of suffering and are purified;
Alone we are redeemed with blue fires of resolve in our eyes;
For we know the treachery of their false sympathy;
Sweet lips throw poisonous daggers of hateful words upon discovery. -
In the final act, illness is unveiled in its true ugliness, raw hideousness, and utter mercilessness; when blood flows from open veins and the eyes from behind which it lies, are bloodshot and teary from torment and unceasing cries.
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In illness the emaciated and anguished take painfully slow steps in darkness.
The quiet torment of loneliness captures and devastates in its stillness.
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With whispers of sweet nothings
Lovers undressed her body,
But could never undress her soul.
The depths of her; her very essence,
They would never know. -
Gorgeous pearls and rare diamonds adorn her.
A beautiful angel she is, and they adore her;
She is ravishing and wondrously alluring.
Aesthetically unmatched her recipe is prepossessing.
A goddess among women and incomparably charming,
But behind seductive hazel eyes lies desolation and decay;
Her mask is worn and starts to disintegrate day after day.
They love her in her glory but secretly despise her.
In dark corners they devise plans to destroy and ruin in utter.
She is a beautiful roe unaware of the hunter’s bow;
If they would know her humanness and deep sorrow;
If they were aware that at night at walls she stares;
If they would only see her pleasantries and genuine sympathies,
But they are poisoned by long held jealousies and secretive envy.
To know her, is to know longing for genuine love.
To be in her company is to see kindness and generosity.
To look into her eyes is to see a loving woman in despair;
In her sterility she desires fertility, to one day have a family;
And she ponders the duality of life and finality.
Lonely, she slips into her royal blue silk nightgown.
Another arduous night has come;
Precious tears stream as in darkness she softly lies down.
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On a dark and rainy night they told her,
“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”
She said,
But until death the innocent perpetually suffer.
Intimate Compositions 