In light we are reborn, equipped with a crown and sword.
The banners that we wave — passionately worn.
We go out in the night and conquer the storm;
Our scepters laid upon our thrones,
Waiting to be held in mighty hands which rings adorn.
Enemies seek to slay us, and make us the no more;
But their hearts fail them and decimate their resolve.
Their blood soaks the bottom edges of the king’s robe,
over armor that drags on the vast halls of white marble floors.
Once we were reviled and scorned,
But now we are venerated and adored.
Tag: Writing
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Weary and tormented with nothing left to give,
her tears fell on the letter that she neatly folded;
and in that cold room she sat listlessly
closing her eyes after the tears dried,
and she fell asleep for a little while,
awakening to the same thing that for so long she had been fighting;
and to get up, she placed her hand on a worn nightstand,
revealing the many scars on her skin under dim lighting.
And the tears came again, from tired eyes
that were closed so many times in endless praying.
In her frailty, she held onto an unstable cold railing,
in a torn nightgown, walking down the steps to the kitchen;
in tears, she started off with faint words in her whispering—
but then she kept screaming,
all I want to do is live again. -
The feral sun shines on pixie dust
that glitters in-between purple raindrops that fall on us.
In our mother’s womb we all lived in darkness once,
then breathed in light—
but the other darkness came and swallowed some of us
in a long goodnight.They were shiny and unbreakable like metal once—
but then sat listlessly and began to rust.
Oh heaven what will become of us,
if we are unloved with no one to trust?The other darkness, it stalks—
and to mercilessly consume is what it wants.
In twilight glare, wide eyes they stare
to drown the darkness in the moonlight’s tears.
In winter winds on a full moon night,
diamond tears are shed to reflect the light. -
Cold winds blow through leaves
In the fields where they were hanged,
And innocent blood was shed on trees;
At night, hear the restless souls scream
For blood and vengeance in their dreams. -
She was my reason to breathe,
My red rose in a sea of dead leaves.
It is the heart that breaks
And the soul that grieves,
When subtle betrayal you can’t see.
Still, sometimes I hold onto her in my dreams,
And tell myself to just breathe,
Retracing her steps
In the moments right before she left.
I let go of the anger that I kept —
Sitting in the place that she slept,
It was after she walked out, that I wept.Sade – I Never Thought I’d See the Day
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In weeping and torment love is the only reprieve;
The heart is heavy with sorrow,
But a simple kiss allows the soul to breath.
If only for a few minutes there is beautiful stillness,
Wrapped in sweet caress.
In a passionate kiss there falls a calmness,
That words could never express.
It is the cure for unending agony and loneliness.
Love, it is the medicine that overcomes deep sadness
And floods warm light into cold perpetual darkness.
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Erotic shadows move in silent ecstasy.
If only walls could speak and tell of what they see.
White lights highlight motions of passion;
The figures on the wall move fluidly,
As if in a coordinated ballet of sensuality.
In rhythmic fashion they move fast, and then slowly;
If only walls could hear the exchanges of intimate whispers
And untamed screams of ecstasy—
Still, they keep long records of unrestricted pleasure
Of lovers in secret diaries. -
It’s never over, even after the last passionate breaths are breathed,
Even after the last words in ecstasy are uninhibitedly screamed;
You linger on me; the taste of you, a constant reminder of intense intimacy.
I inhale you deeply, waiting to exhale, right up until I burst at the seams,
And then again, and again, and again, and again.
I remember the most sensual moments, and then I store them away for later replay;
The canvas of my mind a willing recipient of the beautiful pictures that you paint.
Take me in your rapture and hold me there for an eternity,
Let me dwell in unfettered sensuality and contemplate your mystery.
The scent of your perfume heightens my senses when you kiss me,
And euphoria takes over in primal carnality.
Blue silk falls away from your shimmering body so easily;
Your long curls, become waterfalls over erotic contours.
I must please you. Every inch of your body must be accounted for.
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Oh the emotions that surface
when affectionate fingers
caress still faces in memorable pictures.
Scented candles are lit; tears run after heartfelt kisses.
She lies down, her hair sprawled on white linen in darkness.
If only the dead could hear beautiful utterances
and loving whispers. -
2 AM eyes look up and down the block; only the fire from a glass pipe can be seen. After the last inhale, the blue flame disappears like magic. Like vampires they retreat into pitch darkness. High rise buildings tower over women of the night with torn stockings. The bitter cold outside combined with strong cigarette smoke, causes redness of the eyes. An old man drinks a bottle of beer, and in-between his raspy lament he cries. The 2 train stops and continues on its way to 149th street. The homeless seek warmth in building hallways so they can sleep. Children of the night in crowded bedrooms from tiny eyes peep. Snow starts to fall and covers all like a white shawl. Heroin addicts inject black tar that would make the devil crawl. Empty buses roll down White Plains road with lights off in ghostlike form. A hole–in–the–wall bar offers a strange silence with unfriendly faces that are listless. The darkness stalks from under the subway overpass; the sound of old train tracks are haunting. Snow keeps falling.
Large rats move in the shadows undeterred and stake their claim. A woman talks to herself loudly, because she is in pain. The wind that blows on the train platforms chills the bones; it is cold. Tired eyes cast off the thousand yard star. Eyes gaze at the lights of an approaching train and are caught in the glare. The gritty winters are harsh, and even the poor find a way to have at least one decent coat to wear. The snow that falls over the Bronx River with bordering trees, makes it look like a winter wonderland. A white pigeon sits atop of an old Lower Manhattan street light. Lady Liberty stands still over New York Harbor with a torch in her hand.
Intimate Compositions 