Broken

Vicious words wound deeply through fierce lips, spoken vitriolically; without pause, long held sentiments of resentment flow from the tongue fluently — in an instant, love is retracted and utterly shattered, marking a new reality. A feeling of impending desolation creeps in, exploiting the soft underbelly of vulnerability mercilessly. Tears are shed unceasingly as tormented weeping is carried out in cold darkness silently. The heart is pierced with the dagger of sadness then ripped apart violently. The soul withers as tearful eyes gaze lifelessly. Sleep is not found ; the appetite wanes, and in heavy sorrow the body moves listlessly. Hopes of forever are shattered instantly; the utterly broken heart feels the pull of death’s gravity, and in a depressive state, the tearful broken hearted question their sanity.

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.

Iliana’s Sorrow

The words she whispered linger in the place she wept. Clutching a picture of her parents, she contemplated for several minutes, drained, with nothing left. Her tears fell on the glass picture frame that she held in silent lament. In her last agony, she spoke softly, in faint breaths. Lying down in a white nightgown, she closed her tearful eyes, and slept.

Autopsy of a Broken Dream

The autopsy of a broken dream is started with the collection of the scattered pieces. The scene of the final tragedy must be reconstructed and seen through the eyes of the afflicted. The genesis of malady must be traced back and seen clearly; see the hope of the heart and its failed audacity. Glare upon pain in its rawest form, and with astuteness write down your observation. The thoughts of the oppressed must be dissected with precision. To properly conduct the procedure, the dream must be placed in a sterile environment completely void of contaminants. Notice the scarring of the organs denoting internal turmoil. They must be weighed as studious attention is paid. Record the various weights, and make general observations of its final state. It was beautiful in its formation but short in its realization. If you have to, step away briefly and ponder the beauty of what could have been, and then start again. The dream did not have any friends, so at the ceremony you will be the only person to attend. Make sure it is treated with dignity as it appears to sleep peacefully. Remember your duty and maintain professional reputability. At your own discretion, try to visualize what it couldn’t see, and in your memory remember what it wanted to be.

You

You long oppressed; You anxious and stressed: You night walkers with glowing eyes; You precious children whose eyes have cried; You whom dwell within the corners of dark rooms misunderstood and in agony; You who have endured but hope for more; You who are listless and constantly contemplate death; You mothers who are postpartum depressed, who’s eyes cry and can’t sleep but are tired, looking into your baby’s eyes; You whom dwell on the ledge pondering the finality of a razor’s edge; You who sleep all day but wake up even more tired; You who are chronic insomniacs with eyes wired; You who seek resurrection with protruding veins and euphoric injection; The melancholic of you;  You sufferers who daily drink of that bitter cup; You depressed fathers who can’t look into your children’s eyes without the shedding of tears; You who have prayed, and prayed again, with the sounds of wailing at 4 A.M. You who are reviled even by the ones who claim to love you, as they say hurtful words again and again; The distressed of you; The ones who ruminate in tormented state; You who live in hell; The poor of you who are ill but find a way still; You grandmothers who raise the children of your deceased daughters; You who are not of my flesh but are are still my brothers and sisters; You who have fought for years; You who are reading this with tears; I love you.

Oh the Weeping of Men

From his soul he weeps.
Tears in the darkness are unseen,
But heaven hears his cries.
The wailing of white doves
Carry the song of his perpetual pain.
In eternal rain, the heaviness of his cross
Is saturated with water and dragged in mud;
The presentation of his torment 
is the shedding of blood.
The earth shakes violently 
From the souls trapped in misery.
Alone in desolation, 
The darkness is his only witness.
It is when pain is concealed,
That the hideous scars of time
Cause horrid astonishment
When finally revealed.
The faces of the sorrowful 
Upon the eyes are permanently 
Seared and in the mind indelible.
In his stature he is majestic.
He dreams of reaching heaven’s gates
And riding on the wings of the angels.  

Antonio Vivaldi – Nisi Dominus 

Hard Frost

The tormented wail.
Heavy tears of agony
Fall beneath the black veil.
The dead is carried 
By horse and carriage.
A trail of sorrow follows
Behind in silent march.
The dark crow watches 
From a distant perch.
Bitter cold wears 
On the frailty of the old;
Their steps are slow,
And measured.
The hard frozen earth awaits.
As the lowering begins,
Red roses are thrown 
From frail hands
With black gloves.
Freezing winds blow;
With tears and a final stare,
Cold and ashen faces
Slowly disappear.

I Miss You

In your eyes I wanted to be a good son. In my eyes you were a god.
In a sea of black a young boy sits quietly in solid oak church pews.
Young eyes stare at stillness as it lies. The agony of reality encompasses
Like tall waves in dark seas.
In that moment your last words are remembered:

“You are a good son”

Tears fall.