Pain rains from the eyes of the afflicted
Suffering knows no bounds in the void
The black hole draws in and slowly consumes
Cries and wailing reverberate in echoes of torment
Who will record the chronicles of the chronically ill?
Desolation takes hold and stifles unmercifully
The dead lie in state but their souls restlessly move
Sudden darkness covers all as the last rose is thrown
Under the black lace veil the last tears are shed for the unknown
The crow looks on from the shadows with piercing eyes
The rejected and desolate gather so heaven will hear their cries
They are counted in the hundreds of millions with sodden eyes
In G minor Devil’s Trill Sonata is played
It is the dawning of the sun that they eagerly await
In the sufferer’s role call one by one they say their names.
Tag: Writing
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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. -
Now you rest.
Eternally marked
Are the places they slept.
The hot summers
And cold winters
They endured,
But were forgotten
In death.
May roses grow
In the places they wept;
Weathered bodies,
Weary minds,
And heavy breaths.
You are memorialized.
Oh what pain to see
Life through your eyes:
The illness and affliction;
The cries.
Nameless no more
On that peaceful stream
With the dawn of
The morning sun
They rise —You are loved; you are thought of.
Behind the Scenes Photos on Hart Island, NYC’s Mass Burial Ground
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My lovely Phyllis Hyman, you never got the credit you deserved. Your songs move me to deep emotion; your voice a soothing balm of healing and light. Oh, sweet Phyllis, how your presence touched the world! Through your voice you live on. A beautiful woman of deep passion and love you were! You will never be forgotten; your love, your joy, your pain, your hurt, the secrets of you, are weaved throughout your songs in wonderful array. Your lyrics are written upon the hearts of us who connected with your heart and soul. You are remembered.
Phyllis Hyman: July 6, 1949 – June 30, 1995
Phyllis Hyman – Walk Away
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“You should smile more” a stranger says; yet she dies on the inside.
She stares at him as if she is looking through a glass pane.
In her eyes are years of torment and unceasing rain.
Silence is all she can muster; he is shaken as he looks upon her. -
In my anxiety
I thought I had
Found an angel
On the day
You said that
You loved me,
But unbeknownst
To me
It had been
A work of trickery,
And the beginning
Of my misery. -
In our mother’s agony we were born.
In our own agony we live. -
The gangrenous stench of torment scorches the nostrils
The rotten carcasses of many souls lie
The ghastly scars of cirrhosis are evident to horrified eyes
Under a black moon the fires of agony viciously consume
They have been rejected by blood but cry no more
Leprous outcasts and wanderers with no home they are
They walk the road of hell in hopes of reaching heaven’s door
Injured souls seek to repair themselves;
The hideous scarring causes the earth to turn away and weep
The oceans well up with rising tides
Peace and a haven is unceasingly sought with tears and bloodshot eyes.
Intimate Compositions 