So many changes …
If we should fall, tell the world of our exploits,
the pain in our hearts, and how for so long we survived the dark nights.
Tell them of what we’ve endured here,
the tears, the weeping, for so many years.
Tell them that we’ve loved and have been loved,
but by the third season our hearts were shattered
and the remnants of our loving hearts, scattered.
Tell them of the injustice we have endured here, and of our martyrs.
Tell them of the blood that runs every summer
and the crying voices that hope to conquer;
Tell them of the beauty of our mothers
and the quiet strength of our fathers.
Tell them that we weep and suffer,
but somehow we still survive the coldest winters.
Tell them that twelve judge us with prejudice,
and the color of our skin condemns us.
Tell them of apathetic eyes that watch us with hatred and bias
and the system set up to destroy us.
Tell them of our ancestors who came over on ships
to be enslaved for generations—
In tears, raped, separated and whipped.
Tell them that, at our breaking point we didn’t give a shit,
and we were not afraid of death in our final moments.
Tell them that their bullshit sentiments are meaningless
and they walk around as empty husks, soulless.
Tell them that we gave it everything we had,
and faced our fates with tears of resolve—and boldness.
We were but striplings, some without mothers, some without fathers, running wild in the night unafraid of pitch darkness with hearts of lions. Our aura glowed beautifully in the souls of us; we laughed and we wept in fierce countenance. We were young, yet many were the trials for us; our bodies skinny and undeveloped, so in the company of monsters we fought with tears and dreamt of vengeance. To keep the pain from sorrowful and depressed grandmothers, some held in their agony and kept the devastating silence. Go back in time, and look into the eyes of us. Move past the innocent smiles, and see the hurt in us. The unresolved pain of our past is the illness of us. We cry on the graves of our mothers and curse the abandonment of our fathers. If I could, I would take away the trauma from all of us. We seek heaven’s light to take away the darkness. They are scarred, and they are beautiful. They are my brothers. They are my sisters. Still, now, with the blood of hope, and with the blood of vengeance, we survive tormented summers and bitterly cold winters.
In sorrow I hope for joy.
In hell I hope for heaven.
In darkness I hope for light.
In pain I hope for comfort.
In suffering I hope for Peace.
The face of an angel. Gorgeous glowing skin, pearly white teeth and a beautiful smile. She can light up any room and brighten the faces of those she encounters. A radiance is around her and she is beautiful. She radiates love, tenderness, empathy, and care for others. She is a strong woman who has been through many trials and tribulations; the life lessons she has learned, enables her to be a mother to those who are motherless and a comforter to the hopeless and fearful. Many have cried before her while telling the stories of their pain and suffering. She is a quiet and patient listener; her eyes convey the depth of her emotion and her face is flush with empathy. She dries their eyes and gives a soft kiss on the cheek. That alone comforts; that alone gives the strength to carry on another day. The notion that someone cares. This beautiful angel that gives of herself; a woman who has genuine sympathy for those who are lost and trying to find their way through this world. She was lost before and now knows the way out of the darkness. She holds the light, and many follow because they trust her; because they love her.
Every time they leave her, they take a piece of her with them. Sometimes she gets tired; the constant giving of herself and of her essence can be burdensome, but she is strong enough to carry it. She arrives home and her husband has prepared a warm bath for her. He kisses her and holds her tight. He has a special affinity, love and appreciation for her, and he honors her. You see, he had given up on life. He was without hope and love, and she saved his life. She believed in him and gave him a reason to live. She gave him the love he needed. She fed and clothed him, and she cared for him. He loves her more than can be described by any words, and he is now a rock for her. She can lean on him and he is a shelter in the storm. He protects her and would lay down his life for her without question. Often time, he reflects on how her love rescued him from a life of pain and misery, and tears can’t be held back. He holds and kisses his wife. Tears roll down her face at the remembrance of the struggles they both went through and the undying love they now have for each other. “I love you so much, thank you for loving me” he says with tears in his eyes. “ I will always love you,” she says softly.
Wailing voices. Voices that cry out with anguish but are heard by few. kept in the dark in quiet suffering, where there is a seemingly bottomless pit or black hole. A place where time is suspended and reality is turned on its head. Where sorrows are increased, and heavy burdens wear on even the strongest of men. Tears have been shed here; a vast ocean of tears abound. In the distance if you look closely, a woman can be seen sobbing in that dark place underneath the shadows. Her candle is lit, but dim. She turns away quickly to hide her face. She has been there many years, trapped in misery, and in the clutches of loneliness and self-doubt. In her hiding, she wants to be seen. In her quiet sobbing, she wants to be heard.
A barren and desolate land where tumult and disquietude pursues you to no end. A place of deep darkness in the vastness of the other world. Crows spread their wings and navigate their way through thick putrid air. Their piercing cries and calls can be faintly heard in the other realm; their dark feathers conceal them from sight. Only an occasional glow of the eyes can be seen. I can see the other side, almost touch it, but I cannot cross over. Invisible shackles hold me back. For years I have sought to destroy them, but most have proven elusive. Those close to me have witnessed the shackles. They see them clearly, and they have toiled endlessly to release me, but alas I still remain in bondage. Strangers jeer with presumption; I cleave to hope with frayed thread. My movements are controlled and orchestrated by unforgiving and unseen forces. They render me lethargic and wilted. Obscurity has been an unwanted friend and we have abode now more seasons than I wish to count. The portal to the other side grows smaller and smaller by the year, by the day, by the hour. As the hour is upon me, I am incessant in my pursuit to reach it, to break through the dark layers and let light flood in. Will anyone assist? Is anyone there? My own echoes confirm my plight. I am resigned to my fate. Miraculously, fire still burns within me. I must conceal it in a secret place, lest the crows and whisperers of the night gaze upon it and uncover my resolve.