You Are

You are the beauty of the mystery of whispers unheard;
The subtly of a slight brush that brings a hidden rush;
The transcendency of intimacy that is often ignored;
The tears that run after vows of the heart are exchanged in silence;
The breath of archangels in snow that fall softly on winter flowers;
The depth of words spoken in the most intimate hours.

You are the glory of the sun’s rays, gleaming through spring showers;
A Passionate kiss given to the brokenhearted in their most lonely hours;
The beauty of true love found in an instant by happenstance;
The unspoken conveyance of deep feelings in a passionate glance;
The vigor of revived souls near death, given another chance;
The utterances of the long tormented that finally found peace;
The majesty of every wonderful intricacy above and underneath.

Dark Womb

The depths of me are strewn over the ruin of my heart’s desire. To think that I could have love within my grasp yet see it fall into eternal fire. The soul within me is shattered glass, wounding me deeply in many hidden places unmercifully. The very marrow of my being cries out for an oasis of love, but still, love shuns me like a leper walking slowly into a vast city. Perhaps I held on too tightly to the thing that I wanted mostly. In my desolation there is no feminine touch or sweet words to comfort me. My tears fall on the remnants of brokenness. I am hungry and thirsty in a harsh wilderness. Oh, what I would give for one last kiss. I have become a wonderer stumbling in darkness; trying to find my way back to unconditional love in its pureness. The secret diaries of my heart want to remain hidden, but tears force me to write this. In a cold, dark, and desolate place I am my own witness. There is no substitute for a woman’s love. I tried to hide within my own heart, but my own heart calls out for her every time the depths of me are uttered. I try to bury memories daily with sad songs and intricately spoken eulogies — but memories refuse to die and go silently. I had hoped for a new resurrection within me, but her face is all I can see. Her face is all I can see. Haunt me, my love; haunt me, is what my soul screams loudly. Is there no reprieve for the unloved and the exhausted? Sleep does not come easily, if at all. I have had the carnal affections of many women, but it is the the whispers of only one that so moved me. Without even a touch, she captured me in totality. Her hair is like a black river flowing endlessly; her eyes are a wondrous mystery; her lips are the softness and sweetness of honey. I stretch my hands forth, hoping that I can capture a sliver of her aura. She is as beautiful as the joyous singing of archangels. Haunt me, my love. Haunt me. Let your love fall upon me and baptize me in the depths of your soul. The pain in my eyes do not lie. Passersby may stare at me with curiosity as I openly cry. Let them stare and draw near to the sound of my voice so they can hear the novel of the desolate and unloved. I desire a new resurrection secretly — but her face is indelible upon me. I am a leaf in the fall carried by the wind hoping to land on the peaceful river of a woman’s heart. I have sojourned in cold darkness for so long; for so long. Oh, to hear the voice of a woman singing a beautiful song. I was once a baby in the safety of my mother’s womb, carried for many months until delivery, and then I became a man only to see love leave me. I call on heaven to safely deliver me again, but this time from the clutches of torment and misery. The dark womb of the unloved is so cold and lonely. The dark womb of the forsaken is unforgiving and filled with misery.

Unnamed Lovers

Though they lie in stagnant stillness with closed eyes, still, somehow they fly with wings of the inseparable love that they left behind. Indeed, they are buried roses, returned to their origins as seeds, gloriously resprouting anew in the life after — basking in eternally perfect weather, caressed by celestial breezes, where they again hug their lost long mothers and previously downtrodden fathers who transformed into heavenly beings — where there are no tears, or the terror of hopelessness and irrational fears; but where there is indescribable love and a peace that could neve be explained to mortal ears. They are lovers who loved each other deeply without fear. They are immensely loved. They are there.