That I would awake you at 4 am
Just to touch you and breathe again;
That I would hold you lovingly
And kiss you like the world was
sixty seconds from its end.
That I would revere you
Like a precious relic long preserved
And unblemished.
That I would whisper to you
Beautiful words from my heart
That are true and pure;
That I would look into your eyes
And tell you it is you that I adore.
That I would run my fingers through you hair
and marvel at the gorgeous creation that you are;
That I would inhale you in last breaths
And proclaim my undying love
Even in the throes of death.
That I would take a piece of you with me
Until we are again united in empyrean glory.
That archangels in the vast heavens
With golden pens in giant books,
Would write our story.
That I would never be afraid to
Tell you that I need you, and can’t live without you;
That I would tell you I love you,
And you say, I love you too.
That even the shadow of your contour against the wall
Would cause the earth to quake
And the skies to fall.
That I would bask in the healing light of your aura;
That your ethereal nature would be sensed
Even in your whispers.
Tag: Writing
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A small black butterfly crossed my path.
I stopped in front of her so she could pass.
On her journey, she came to rest at last,
On a lone willow tree that wept over tall grass,
By a mighty river with water that runs fast;
On the willow tree she moved her wings gracefully,
Like a seasoned ballerina whose performances are legendary.
From a distance, I admired her beauty,
Then she took off suddenly
And flew over the river beautifully.
Safe travels on your journey black beauty;
Butterfly, I hope you remember me.
-
A kiss on the forehead with joyous tears …
I had carried you in my heart for so many years;
Reunited again, I kiss you with passion
And hold you with unquenchable longing —
The length and texture of your hair
Like eternal heavenly waters falling.
Sunlight falls on you gracefully,
Highlighting the radiance of your skin;
Intimate love letters flow through me in unbridled oratory;
You are a woman of simplicity
Yet exceptional in your beauty.
I had dreamt of you in a white veil
Standing next to me in luminous glory,
Words were exchanged and we kissed lovingly;
Satin white gloves touched my face.
Satin white gloves gently touched my face,
And eternally I was enraptured in your embrace.
I vowed to you with tears streaming from my face
And after, kissed you and held you
In flowing dress bordered with angelic lace.
In a white veil and flowing dress bordered
With angelic lace you looked at me,
And looking back, I saw an angelic face
And said,I promise to love you
Until the end of my days;I promise to love you
Until the end of my days;
I promise to always love you
Until the end of my days. -
Blood runs from my crown; my heavy cross is stained.
Heavy head with crown I stand under torrential rain.
Distilled and then purified by fire seven times again I feel no pain.
They seek to destroy me permanently, blind me, and take my name;
They will never take my name.
When the love is gone, it’s gone, it could never be the same.
Pupae in various stages of travail we have all become butterflies of pain.
I weep with anticipation of the day that I shall reclaim.
Though I have faltered, angels with broad white wings
Surround me to cover my shame;
Mortality is often pondered and then pondered again.
Hope wanes in cold winter winds so prayers to heaven I send.
After the heart is broken something in the spirit bends;
Subconsciously I had held back pieces of me,
So to finally mend, the pieces of me, to myself I will lend.
Love sometimes comes and goes, and like a crushed burgundy rose petal,
There is staining and scarring of the soul;
We were all young once hoping to be old,
But now aged men in cold seek warmth for old and brittle bones.
Even the dust of us will retain our essence
With love and beauty, revealing long past years of romance untold.
They had witnessed my previous form but were not privy to see me transform
Into a king with power sovereign in gorgeous starlight reborn.
An orchestra plays with the lead violinist in passionate depths of forlorn;
With a heavy crown in rain, I reign through storms.
In white linen and fine silk with gold borders I am adorned;
In white linen and fine silk with gold borders I am adorned. -
Rivers of pain overflow from unceasing torrential rain.
The sun is held back behind a grey veil;
We live by sheer will alone —
Wanting to return to the joyful origins of us,
But there is no more home.
There is no more warmth in the bosom of our mothers,
Or the remembrance of cigar smoke
And the rough feel of the unshaven faces of our fathers;
We have been cold for so many winters.
We have been cold for so many winters.
For a time we had found warmth in lovers,
But even passionate kisses fade away;
Now we seek passion in wanting to live another day.
Flowers are brought for the dead;
A penny for your thoughts, but
Constant overthinking causes dread.
Wanting to feel the aura of our younger selves again,
I see a boy that looks exactly like me,
And I reach for him wanting to tell him of the pitfalls ahead.
I scream hysterically to get his attention,
But he never turns his head.
Oh the tears we have shed;
The many tears we have shed.
Insidiously desolation feeds constantly on the soul;
Aged with torment and heaviness of heart,
Even young bodies appear to be old.
For the record, many entries have been written,
But still there are many stories untold.
The depths of me I hold onto
Like a rare diamond found in its raw form,
Yet to be cut and polished
To exhibit its true beauty and brilliance;
Somewhere near there is a true stillness
Like frozen streams through beautiful valleys
Where buffaloes graze in harsh winters.
I bathe in starlight;
I bathe in starlight;
Wrapped in the blanket of the covering of the night,
In nakedness I bathe in starlight.
I am forever a child of the night,
Running barefoot on dimly lit city blocks
Past where they sell pizzas by the slice
And colorful flavors of shaved ice.
Where the winters are long,
And the sorrowful sing songs
While old ladies in black with wooden and metal rosaries
Behind long funeral processions mourn.
Where tears fall on the bodies of slain sons
From the eyes of single and depressed mothers as they bawl,
And the hopeless and homeless light fires
In open barrels to keep warm in late fall.
We weep in torrential rainfall,
Covering sorrowful faces with worn hands
And praying fervently
That the sad children will once again be happy
And do their dance.
The sun is held back behind a grey veil.
It is overcast with a chance of perpetual hail;
Three Hail Marys are said
And then a deep inhale;
Three Hail Marys are said
And then a deep inhale. -
A Luna Moth visits me at night.
She is light lime green
With brown and purple borders bright.
She lands on me gently, and
Willingly I indulge her company;
Under the light her stillness comforts me.
Most times she stays long,
But on occasion she swiftly moves on.
In the moving of her wings
She prompts me for a song:Oh Luna Moth with wings so soft
And beautiful colors who visits me oft!Oh Luna Moth with wings so soft
And beautiful colors who visits me oft!She settles, and again I am calm—
On a cold and windy night
With her presence I am warm.
Luna Moth come back again
My nightly visitor and wonderful friend;
Please do not forget about me when the twilight comes
And the rising of the sea.
Tomorrow under the light is where I will be
Awaiting your company eagerly;
Tomorrow under the light is where I will be
Awaiting your company eagerly. -
After the spilling of innocence,
There is the blood of vengeance;
Fire in the eyes signifies a thirst that never dies.
There must be a recompense paid.
There must be an accounting
For every tear shed in time of weeping.
There must be no rest for enemies—
No joyous feasting or sound sleeping.
They must perish,
They must perish with their blood upon them in stifling fear;
They must anticipate their fate
Knowing the hour is near.
And in that hour, revenge will be as a honeycomb sweet;
They are the sowers of violence,
So violence they will reap; savagery they will reap.
Under a red sky, rivers of blood will overflow,
Until the tall reeds and the grass is stained;
The essence of them will not remain;
The essence of them will not remain.
Even the dust of their bones the winds will carry away,
Then will come the darkness of the night
And take away the day;
Darkness will take away the day.
Their last laments will not be heard—
And their pleas for mercy will be ignored.
They shall fade away promptly from history.
It shall be written of them, that they died cowardly,
Without glory or notoriety.
Their ending will not be a great mystery;
With the blood of vengeance they shall be wiped out;
They shall be wiped out utterly. -
Farewell to what could have been;
Farewell to the voices within.
No black suits or black veils.
No trying to hold back tears after a deep inhale.
No wake or funeral rites
After a passing in the night;
No flowers or wreaths,
Or a gathering to weep.
No past stories or mention of prior glories.
No teardrops on varnished wood
With six metal handles.
No clutching of rosaries
And dishonest eulogies.
No viewings with quiet weeping,
as silk gloves gently brush over the body.
No solemn sermons
In-front of melancholic congregations.
No horse-drawn carriages
With black horses, wearing blinders
Waiting to carry glass caskets.
No pallbearers to carry the deceased.
No end of service crowds
That spill over into the streets;
No consumption of alcohol.
No sentiments of rest in peace.
No crying widows comforted by men
With ulterior motives under the guise
of helping her to live again;
No crocodile tears from estranged family
And disloyal friends.
Alive, they are mourned alive,
For it inside that the spirit dies.
Do you not see it in the eyes?
Do you not witness the desolation in their cries?
Hear their moaning in the early mornings,
The dim lamplight cast against the awning.
Who will pay their respects
And leave roses on weathered decks?
Who will mourn them?
Are they not deserved of tears?
Are they not deserved of flowers
In a beautiful array of colors
Weaved within neat and well made wreaths?
See them lying there in stillness,
Eyes closed and adorned in tattered garments.
Weep in solemn reflection
With inflections of misery within your lament.
A song is sung after the final bell is rung;
A song is sung after the final bell is rung. -
If you should fade away from me,
Let me hold on to the remnants of you
With tears of longing, weeping, for what could have been
In-between sorrowful singing, appealing to the heavens to hear my cry;Kiss me one last time lest I die without remembrance of your eyes
And the softness of your skin against mine.
To have tasted of your love,
Is to have touched heaven seven times;If you should leave, I will weep three days without ceasing,
Then on the fourth day resign myself
To the stark truth that there is
No life without the aura of your being.The intimacy of our union I will recall vividly in my memory
And indulge in pleasure endlessly;
Seeing the subtle and sensual movements of your body,
Without inhibition, kissing you wildly and lovingly.If you must go my love,
If you must ever leave me for any reason at all
Before you walk away, take a piece of me,
And store me away from all your other memories separately;That I may live within you and kiss you occasionally,
To remind your heart that you still carry me;
I love you; I love you fervently.
Never leave; stay with me. -
The Sea roars.
The edges of her violently hit the shore.
At even she is pulled by the moon;
She moans as she rises.
Her depth and darkness set under a red sky;
The place where men go to bury secrets.
She has become an involuntary accomplice;
Lifelessness slowly sinks to her cold floor
From the relative warmth of her surface;
She will not give up her dead.
In her currents they become somewhat lifelike,
Moving to and fro like some morbid puppet show,
With wide eyes open in the darkness.
The creatures of the sea
Observe their latest inhabitants;
Like shipwrecks they are scattered
Longing to be remembered;
The last of their tears coalesced
Into the salty waters.
On the surface, the living
Weep for their sons and daughters;
In their distress they go to her,
Jumping from bridges to find solace;
In her depths, they seek solace.
In her melancholy—
She is stirred with waves of sadness.
The heavens look down upon her
And see her vastness;
She is a keeper of secrets;
Yes, she is a keeper of secrets.
She holds them in her bowels for perpetuity
And cradles them in her rapture lovingly.
She is the Sea—
She is the Sea.
She will not be tamed,
And she will remain.
She gives of herself;
In her calmness and warmness they swim,
On her surface they sail,
And in her, are fish, dolphins, and whales.
She is the Sea—
She is the Sea.
She will not give up her dead;
Their tombs she will not reveal.
She embraces them and carries them with her
Wherever her currents may go.
Her cold and salty depths
Are their final rest.
In her depths,
They find their final rest.
