Still, I Weep

I cry, not because of regret or the woman that left, but I shed tears for love itself, for it never had a chance to grow because the soil of its young roots became infertile — dying in its infancy, it withered slowly and painfully, and though I nurtured love as a mother cradling her newborn baby, I could not save it — so I gave love one last kiss in its place of final rest and wept over my loss for weeks until the tears could flow no more from listlessness, insensibility and lack of sleep.

Beautiful Contemplation

The darkness offers an indescribable solace. The smoothness of her skin is the epitome of the magnificence of a woman’s softness. Soft light gently illuminates the feminine beauty and sensuousness that so many envy. They lust after her curvature but foolishly step over her true power as a natural nurturer; they could never be profound and loving enough to dig deeper to find the diamonds hidden within her. Indeed, she is a beautiful wonder yet to be discovered. She is alone with her thoughts. The contemplation of her is like a revered book constantly read, re-read and referenced by the most distinguished scholars. To kiss her is heavenly — to possess her heart is to have a gift desired ineffably . To know even just a small portion of her secrets is to know her intimately. To know the loving thoughts expressed in her eyes; to truly resonate with the pain in her cries, is to know pure love eternally. 

My Afflictions

I sought understanding, but I found none. I sought love with many tears, but it came with conditions. I craved the healing depths of affection, but rejection was my portion. I tried to hide the sorrow in my eyes, but my attempts were futile. My existence has consisted of tribulations and many trials. I have walked in the depths of that valley were death shadowed me constantly without mercy. I have unknowingly sat in the company of those who have tried to hurt me. The blood that runs within me is that of a vindictive family. I have seen the ugliness of internal strife all of my life. I have been called upon by people that I love to choose sides. In dark quiet rooms I have incessantly cried. I lost a part of myself when my mother died. I have not exceptionally achieved, though I’ve tried. I have not distinguished myself in my own critical eyes. What is most invaluable to me is peace of mind. I breathe, but still I feel buried alive. I see, but I stumble constantly as if I am blind. I eat, but I am never satisfied. I sleep, but I’m still doggedly tired. The ecstasy of intimacy is one of the few things that makes me feel alive. I seek warmth to prevent myself from becoming utterly cold inside. I seek an ethereal transcendence, but maybe it will come in time.


Oh, the beauty of womanhood that cannot be replicated in mere sentiment or whittled down to the objectification of envied elements. To find the secret gems of her soul, one must be immersed in her completely. She is a woman, naturally — made up of magnificent complexities and steeped in the glory of femininity. Sitting on satin sheets, she unfastens her bra and finds release. Her movements are graceful; her feminine essence, unmistakable. Her heart is beautiful. Her love, incomparable and irreplaceable. The intrinsic elegance of her presence is breathtakingly wonderful. The soothing words of her whispers are essential. 

Your time of sorrow and weeping is but for a season, for the stars affectionately shine upon you because your heart is beautiful — and since your inception, you have unknowingly lived and breathed in the company of angels.