Her silence is not golden. It is hard for her to speak. She is listless and tired. Her eyes are the written volumes of her life. Read through the pages thoroughly, and in deep concentration. See the torturous blood that flows through her veins; feel her sorrow. Hear the agony in her voice. 

The Final Scene

Cold winds pierce through her black veil. She stands there alone; all the other faces of sorrow have departed. She stands there and looks down upon the remnants of him, as the cold and howling winds blow against her. She has not cried. She has not shown any emotion. Her face is solemn. The winds continue to howl as her black dress and veil are pressed against her from one side from the violence of the winds. The grey skies open and cold rain is released. Still, she stands there completely still. Her eyes are fixated on him as she continues to stare. She does not morn for him, for he was the cause of her pain and suffering. She had endured the torture for over thirty years. The beatings and the abuse; the endless suffering; the wailing. All he has left her is torturous memories and a dark void. She doesn’t shed tears because his death is her life. She is numb from the many years she has endured. The sorrow in her eyes is for herself, because of all the wasted years of unhappiness and heartache. The tears of her soul are for the stillborn child she conceived in agony; the wounds and scars of her abuse visible for all to see, as she cried out in pain. He had blamed her for the loss of the child and had become even more violent and abusive, even as she lied listless in bed for months. He hit her violently time and time again, as she lie there numb and in silent tears. The pain of losing her child was a pain she could not fathom and had never felt before. Tears streamed down her face, as she prayed to the heavens day after day. Now, as he lie in a wooden box, no life in him, she is emotionless. The winds pick up in speed and the howling is louder; it is cold and the rain is coming down in torrents. She is unmoved. She removes her veil and black satin gloves and throws them onto the top of the casket, in an act of finality. She takes a rose and places it next to her heart for the child she had lost. Without looking back, she walks away as she empties herself of his memory.

Sufferer’s Darkness

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The feelings of darkness surround me as anxiety overtakes me, and fear entraps me. It’s like invisible forces control me, as ghosts of the past haunt me. I’ve tried to break free, but they constantly taunt me. To my demise they pull me; In silence I suffer as they torment me; night and day it overtakes me. No tranquility. No peace, as they bait me. Constant insomnia. No rest; no sleep, for it awakes me. My Lord and My God, why do you forsake me? Will I survive or will it erase me? I look into the mirror, and the person looking back at me hates me. I am alone in my terror. Who will save me? It is a persistent suffering, but I fight the good fight daily. Is there any fight left in me? Maybe. I prefer when the skies are grey and rainy; I have grown accustomed to the darkness, for it has embraced me, and in that embrace it has chained me. I am now a slave to suffering, ever since that fateful night it found me. It was on a dark street in New York City, that panic first attacked me. I fought hard and valiantly, but it overtook me. It wreaked havoc on my mind, and to the core it shook me; it was strategic in the way it ambushed me, for I was unaware that it stalked me. It took my breath and to the ground it brought me; I would have cried out for help but who would understand me? I lay on the ground frozen, for it had paralyzed me. To heaven I will call once more, and hope that God hears me.

Transcension

It was on the inside that I cried but you couldn’t see my pain. I hid it from the world. A heavy burden to carry; a seemingly perpetual cross to bear. A distinct type of pain and suffering you carry so long that it becomes a part of you. I tried many times to shake it, to deliver myself from it’s hold, but to no avail. If only you knew what I’ve been through; if only you knew my desolation and sorrow. Happiness seems to run from me, and joy seems to escape me. Many times I am told to leave it behind me; to just move on. I am asked why I can’t break free from it; why I can’t circumvent the mental despondency that can wreak havoc on one’s life. In my silence I look at them; I look through them, and I know that they could never understand the depths and levels; the intricacies, and the complexions of me. The profundity of my spirit; the torment I endure. The breadths of my very soul. They could never understand the strength it takes to endure. To survive. To live.

Many would have fallen by the wayside. Many would have lost all hope, but I am quickened by the thoughts of my grandmother, a woman who went through her own struggles and depression; a woman among women, kind and loving in all her ways. An angel to the poor and downtrodden, and a bright light in a world of darkness. I watched her in her suffering. The days and nights she wept. The prayers, and the solitude. Yet she overcame; yet she remained strong in her long-suffering; yet she held strong in her belief in God and was unshaken and resolved.

Even when her own family turned their backs she held on to her faith and remained steadfast in hope. It was her and I against the world, and even at that tender age, I was a young boy with steely eyes, and a fervor within me that I carry to this day. I may be down, but never out. On the right there might be fire, and on the left deep waters but I am never unnerved. My pain pushes me through. It forces me to either transcend or wither and die, but I am a conqueror, and I will not see myself fall. I refuse to concede; I refuse to lose.

I consider the earth and all the beauty within. The promise of tomorrow. The life within me. The lessons and life experiences that I’ve endured. My mother; my grandmother; the people in my life that were kind to me, and the people who left footprints on my heart. Those beloved ones. The ones I will never forget. The ones that loved me; the ones that I will always love. They lift me up and they give me strength. I rest in their memory; I take refuge in love and peace, strength and honor, understanding and forgiveness. I overcome. I transcend.

The Shadows (Her Silent Suffering)

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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.

Who will hear them?

He has been through so much pain. In darkness and loneliness he sits and keeps his hurt inside. He is a child and he deserves love and protection, but he has been victimized and unloved.

She sits with a bruised body and a face of sorrow. Time and time again she is abused by the hands of the man who claims to love her. She suffers in lonely silence.

In a room he lies on his bed, unable to move; unable to function. Mental illness wreaks havoc on his mind and he has lost all hope. He had lost his family due to his illness and is now living in hell and torment.

She was a joyous and happy woman. A wonderful mother and beautiful wife. She now is seen in dark places, and her face of beauty has now turned into a face of weariness and hard life. She has fallen victim to the scourge of addiction and the dark streets feed on her soul. She has nothing left but the faint memory of her children. She cries inside but she cannot break the power of addiction that now rules over her.

Who will cry for these souls?     

Who will cry for the weary?

Who will cry for the oppressed?

Who will cry for the abused? 

Who will cry for the tormented?

Who will cry for the sick and ill?

Who will cry for the addicted? 

Who will cry for those with no voice?

Who will cry for the afflicted?

Who will cry for the precious children?

Who will cry for the unloved?

I will cry for them because no one will hear their plea. I will cry for them because they are deserved of love. I will cry for them because I hear their cries. I will cry for them because they have no more tears to give. I will cry for them because they cannot cry for themselves. I will weep for them because I love them.