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.
Tag: Writing
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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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In the chill of fall winds, a child’s tears fall against cold skin.
Though he waited for hours for his father, he did not show, once again.
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Forever loved, she rests in their hearts eternally.
In death, she is resurrected through loving thoughts and precious memories.
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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.
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With tears, heavy hearts and labored breaths
They live somewhere in-between life and death. -
Awakened and the nightmare begins
Daily life must be lived
But the anguished have nothing left to give
Unwanted thoughts torment the anxious
Irrationality becomes their reality
Depression consumes in totality
The body is willing but the mind is perpetually spinning
Eyes well up with tears for seemingly no reason
To the world the pain is hard to explain
In dark rain the distressed can be heard fervently praying
If you listen closely to their whispers you can hear them saying:
Dear God, I wish I had another brain
I can’t live another day with dark clouds over me, and cold rain
What did I do to deserve this pain?
Let me live again and free me from these chains. -
If tears should fall from my eyes when I look at you it is because I love you
If you should wake up to bouquets of burgundy roses it is because I adore you
If I should say Please don’t go, it is because I can’t live without you
If I should suddenly hold and kiss you it is because I’m drawn to you
If I should reach for you in my dreams it is because I need you
If I should tell you that you are my angel, know that my words are true.
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With feigned etiquette they appear to be delicate
But behind pleasantries they hide heinous inequities;
Vile words are masked by counterfeit smiles and insincere niceties.
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The decadence of man consumes them in their own greed. Even with full stomachs they vigorously and ferociously feed. In the shadows they grunt with bits of rare meat stuck in their teeth. Bloated, they laugh heartily without guilty conscience. Gluttonous in their frenzied state they are blinded by self-indulgence. Corruption of the soul renders even the young among them to appear old. Their faces contorted and excessively wrinkled with a ghost like appearance; their teeth serrated and discolored beyond belief; their gums black and resinous like pitch. Like pigs at the trough they are fattened, but their slaughter is of their own making; wicked minds devise illicit plans for unrepentant pillaging, and more and more taking. Conviction of the soul in non existent; endless tears and dried scattered carcasses are their remnant. Though they wash themselves again and again, the foul smelling stench is permanent. At the slightest sense of fear they scurry like rats to their enclaves and peek out of curtained windows with bulging eyes astonished with horror and panic; henchmen do their bidding in exchange for a piece of their ill gotten gains. Though immortality is sought, it cannot be bought; in futility they spend money endlessly seeking to never grow old; wanting to never die. Ignored are the pleas of the poor, and the children’s piercing cries. As time passes eventually the decadent and cold, grow old and sick. Writhing and emaciated in luxurious beds, and struggling to forever exist, it is in their last throes that they feel the sting of the devil’s whip.
