Half–Life of Sorrow

I wanted to hold you and kiss you,
but I had to turn my face away;
I love you, and I didn’t want to see you that way.
Forgive me for my cowardice;
I sat in a wooden pew and tried to shield myself
from what young eyes should never have to witness.
There was pain in so many of us.
We were young and motherless,
in deep waters, running rudderless,
trying to put our pain behind us.
We faced the world with sorrowful souls,
but we were never told, that agony uncontrolled
could permanently damage us.

Alicia’s Agony (her last entry)

Come and see the place where she wailed. Witness the bed that is perfectly made and the carpet that is bloodstained. Read the many writings of her pain. See the end of heart-rending journals that bear her name. Reason with your heart, and see how her life could never be the same. Feel the agony she endured, again and again. View the pictures of her smiling before it happened. Experience the aftereffects that rendered her gaunt in her suffering. Bear witness to the listlessness in her movements, her responses, her walking, and manner of talking. Internalize the pain she felt, after her friends and family turned on her, in their apathetic balking. See them now — see them with their eyes filled with tears, crying. Listen carefully, and you can hear the fiber of their souls withering. Extend your arms, and touch the walls that she rested her head in her weeping. Touch the comforters and pillows, that her tears fell and permeated in her sleeping. Close your eyes, and contemplate the aspirations and dreams of a beautiful being. Gather the strands of her hair, that after she brushed, fell on her favorite chair, for safe keeping. Before you go, sign her last entry lovingly, then kiss the door that she was carried through, in her leaving.

Lovers in Spring

Through open windows, curtains move to and fro
as if dancing in rhythm to the music of spring breezes.
Intimate moments are uncovered by the morning sunshine
that illuminates two lovers in-between glimpses.
Inside, there are tender kisses, tears of joyous crying,
and the erotic secrets of sensual whisperings.

Impassioned Elucidations

Created in divinity, she is much more than beauty
but the embodiment of a mystical mystery that the eyes can’t see.
To touch her essence, you must love her unconditionally.
To reach her depths, you must draw out her whispers of long held secrecy.
There must be an ethereal intimacy that bonds the souls together;
In sincerity, you must whisper sweet words to her heart to find her treasure.
In her, there is a transcendent quietness that brings peace
and a supreme love that break the chains of inhibition that causes release.
She is immersed in divinity, from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet.
The warmth of her love, causes joyous tears and peaceful sleep.
In passionate kisses, the taste of her lips are sweet;
The strands of her hair, are like celestial waterfalls where angels meet.



After It’s Gone

When love is no more, the viciousness of words
is the the weapon that cuts to the core;
all that is left are melancholic whispers, and thoughts of regret.
Years of unhappiness is a slow death,
culminating in the gasping of air in final breaths—
from deep wounds, the soul is disfigured,
and the heart relinquishes passionate feelings in its relent.
There are no goodbye kisses or last intimate experiences;
after the last screams, hatred rises to the surface,
and tears are shed in stagnant silence.
The door closes, and the first night of loneliness
brings more melancholia and darkness.
In an empty dwelling, after it finally sets in,
reality is cruel in its starkness.

In Her Weeping

The black veil is taken away by strong winds,
exposing the depths of agony in her weeping;
there is anguish in her rising, and no rest in her sleeping.
Listen intently, and hear the sorrow of her speaking.
Before misery takes over completely,
she hides the joyous parts of her heart for safe keeping.
The weight of woe makes it hard for her to breathe;
the heaviness of it tears the soul’s fabric
and causes wailing of the deeply wounded spirit.
Unceasing torment renders her numb and listless.
In the darkness, she whispers incoherent utterances in the chair she sits.
Reality is harsh in its coldness — and it can be merciless;
Oh heaven, please turn her many tears in to diamonds,
and her piercing wails, into a joyous song.
Death has taken away from her, what she has loved for so long—
hands, adorned in black satin gloves, lovingly slide down the entire length of the casket,
where inside there is lifelessness — heavy teardrops fall on him
as she leans over, and as if in a trance — she stares at him.
She whispers something to him, before kissing him;
an utterance of secrecy that only belongs to her and him.
Six solemn faced men line up to carry him, to hollowed earth, where they will lay him.
It is there, that she comes with flowers, and weeps in her praying.
The cold fall winds blow against her face and cause her tears to fall away,
as if trying to comfort her in her mourning.
She will see him again in the light of heaven’s dawning.
He is no more, but in her heart, she carries him,
so he walks among the living — breathing, seeing, and whispering.
Even in his departing, her heart still belongs to him.
She is beautiful, as much as she is loving.
She is beautiful, as much as she is loving.







Beautiful Lies

I know you lie to me, but you lie so beautifully.
After utterances of falsity you kiss me, and tell me you love me.
You say, Baby, your heart speaks to me
and other sweet things like, You make me complete,
But I know the essence of you and the depths of your deceit.
The scent of your perfume is intoxicating, and the taste of your lips are sweet.
I admit, at first I couldn’t see it, but it is your aura that revealed it.
The lies you tell are spoken softly in feminine caress;
you kiss me passionately and draw my head into your breasts.
For a moment I am yours, but only for a moment.
If only you were sincere. I sigh—
my heart is filled with sorrow, and my wounded soul cries.

Isabella’s Whispers

Because of my faults and afflictions, do not shun me;
through loving eyes look upon me and truly see the makings of my depths.
Hear the beauty of my utterances through anguished breaths;
In my weariness, hold me in warm caress, and immerse me in your tenderness.
Had I not tasted of love, I would not have known of its healing effects;
do not turn away from me lest I am shattered in my vulnerable fragility,
for if I am shattered, I shall be vastly scattered — and if I am scattered,
the remnants of me will be blown away by the wind,
and taken to a place of desolation where coldness of the heart begins.