Monday, August 9, 2010

Her Tears



By the flowing river,
she sits by the glowing river,
water shines like liquid gold,
painful memories are growing.. .. ..
and she whispers,
"if you were a road
and I were a hope
could I follow you to where you spill
out into the open sea?
Does the sea hear the cry
of this simple melody and
the sound of wind caressing chimes
while all of my lost dreams . . .
like bubbles filled with nothing
burst over simple touches?"
Left to wonder as she walks
into the water .. .. .. and the river
folds around her
holding her tightly to its bosom
whispering nothing into her ears,
and filling her heart with liquid gold
overcomes her unborn dreams
with a rush of song
and a ripple of water
washes away the unwanted stain
of her tears.


##
Remember Passion?
You were the reason for me to fly.
I longed to see you so much so
I shook off my fear and grew wings
and I flew straight to you,
and you were there
for me . . . my shining light,
my beacon . . . you grew for me
into the brightest star of all
and helped me to see all the beauties
in life . . .
but now there are only shadows
remaining.. .. ..
simple memories, like vague melodies
that cling to the thin skin
of my aching heart .  ..
there is no balm that heals . . .
perhaps time . . . can . .  .
but how do I get rid of love, or all my questions,
unanswered?
For as my planet turns
my sun sinks below the infinite distant horizon,
the night looms
and brings with it, loneliness and darkness
and I cannot see.. .. ..
I cannot see you anymore, my sunlight,
you took all the joy in life
when you left me in the dark
and all the golden emblems of beauty
have become tarnished and desolate,
fading images in my starless skies.

##

ENDLESS PAIN haiku

the white is cutting
textures of frozen tundra
sky drips with colors

I stand here lonely
looking at the night skylights
rejection hurts me

I sing my sad song
with no one here to hold me
me invisible

pain is an emblem
a flag we fly when lonely
shifting shape in winds

my eyes overfill
waters overpower me
salt crusts on my skin

in this endless cold
I am like the wanderer
frightened and alone




Would it help to be numb?
perhaps . . . to look out a dusty window
onto a street brimming with life;
people smiling,
people talking,
people walking
where are they going
all these wanderers?
Do they peer at life so closely. . .
as I.. .. ..
do they hear a sad refrain
as they pass my dark abode?
do they see the shadows looming
do they see a sadness growing
like the deadly nightshade blooming
sweet fruit so full of poison
belladonna . . . the beautiful woman
so full of promise
so full of hope . . .
is that me . . . a pestilence to the one
who loved me?
##


When all is lost:
would talking help . . .
would it give ceasing to this pain,
would it bring understanding where none
was before?

It is like standing on a fence
with barbs digging into your feet
and
you must fall . . .
but your choices are slim . . .
so to which side of the fence
do you take your leap?

a painful distance resides on
either side of this barrier . . .
a chasm,
a gaping hole into the universe,
a void . . . where there is nothing
in view . . . no cushion to land on.. .. ..
no promises . . . no futuristic dreams,
no smiling faces with arms outstretched. . .
nothing to break the fall
no matter how desperate
the decision . ..
yet fall you must. . .

so you plunge . . . and descend into the unknown . . .
the harsh cold winds tearing at your cheeks,
desolate lights flickering by your frightened gaze,
you see no end to this dropping
like flying but without the comfort of wings. . .

and alone . . . you face this inner death . . .
as alone and naked as your existence decrees
and as the fates have determined,
no matter your rebellion.

and so you watch yourself
falling
and
first you fear.. .. ..
and then you grieve.. .. ..
for your inner vision tells you a truth
best left un-worded.

and finally resignation
which overcomes you
just before the end.

How would talking help that?
## 

This page is dedicated to my friend, who like the rose, is sweet and glorious and beautiful beyond compare, but the rose, like passion, burns itself out with its hot flames, and while the embers of love still linger with a heart-wrenching memorable scent of incense, and the wistful memories glow brighter than the full moon, all begins to fade away with the passing of time and the shifting winds  . . . and in the end all is forgiven. But, it takes time . . .


 
                                                                                
                                                                

                  Pierre-Marie . . . this is astonishingly awesome, a labor of love, and a divine collaboration with the God you love and adore. The music is well composed and meticulously crafted and would be considered a masterpiece by any classical symphonic attendee. The sound quality is exquisite and the album cover is tasteful and elegant. Perfection!

There is obviously a great deal of extraordinary inspiration in evidence as I listen. This is a truly moving concept album. Each piece is profound and with monumental aspects which paint vivid mental pictures. I think the music has very healing qualities and a peacefulness and serenity which rides through the profundity of this beautiful music.

Although all the pieces were exquisitely divine and loved by this listener, the favored one was the "6th day" with those lovely human sounds during the creation of mankind, and the music was just so very sublime. How many years did this symphony take you to create? The entire album was so good and deserves a standing ovation from this listener.

M^^W
LOVE
Free music for professional licensing

 

1 comment:

LittleFingers said...

Beautiful... what do I say ? Superb poems !
PM