Winds of Hell

Of life’s trials
The billows of tribulation
I deeply inhale;
The hot and putrid smoke
Ascends from the dark abyss,
It burns my nostrils and blisters my skin
As it tests my will;
With tears in my eyes I will fight;
I will not relent,
For the winds of hell shall not prevail. 

Sunday 4:35 AM

I haven’t listened to any Baroque compositions in quite sometime. I felt it appropriate on this early Sunday morning to post this Missa tota by Bach, as an ode to NPR’s Sunday Baroque, where I first heard this wonderful choral composition. Admittedly I haven’t attended mass in years, as I have an Anglican background, but I guess this piece will serve as my mass for this morning. I am currently exploring the traditions of the Eastern Orthodox Church, which is totally irrelevant to this post but I wanted to say it nonetheless.

Additionally, I find Baroque compositions to be a soothing balm for the mind and I use the musical genre as a form of therapy, as I do many other genres of music.

Blessings and love to all of you.

J.S. Bach: Mass in B minor Kyrie Eleison (1)

Depths of Sorrow

There is a time
In life we know,
The depths of pain
When sorrows flow;

Inside my mind
Is where you’ll find
Where fires burn,
And billows blow;

I’d found a dream
In blessed light,
Till darkness robbed me
In the night;

It pulls me down;
It pulls me down;
With cruel intent,
And silent sound.

Loving Essence

I have kissed you with the kisses of adoration; I have loved you with the love of the essence of my heart. Our connection was predicted by the stars and consummated under a harvest moon. The galaxies whisper our names in loving adoration and high regard. Every season our passion increases more and more. After the twilight, we will make love and renew our vows in the darkness of night. I will hold you loving and closely, as we look out of our window and gaze upon the heavenly glory of the starlight.

Cries of the Sufferers

As immeasurable pain touches my soul I cry out from the dark and lonely abyss. My thoughts are plagued with grief as sorrow takes hold and paralyzes my will. I have sought peace only to find war; I have sought love only to find hate; I have sought sunshine only to find gray skies and thunderous rain. In cold desolation I lie still as the freezing winds of fear and desperation take my warmth from me. Season by season I grow weaker as I contend with the harsh realities of my wretched existence. I awake to melancholy and go to sleep in persistent anxiety. Who will hear the cries of the sufferers? Pain is a deep and festering wound that leads to infection and sepsis of the soul. It eats away at happiness and contentment slowly and methodically until there is nothing left. The cries and wailing of the sufferers echo throughout, as a sad song is played. Crows gather on a ledge and stare as they bear witness to the mire. The sufferers stumble around in zombie like state as they try to find their way. The road to happiness and freedom seems to allude them, but they walk nonetheless. Their plight would bring tears even to the strongest and most powerful of men. To gaze upon them, is to gaze upon perpetual suffering. To look into their red and weary eyes, is to look into their souls. Souls of deep pain and sorrow. The story of their once joyful lives are now haunting memories of the past. Still, there is a light of hope every time someone stops and listens to their story while giving words of comfort and love.