Crying Woman


Crying womanCan you hear that sound?
Shrieking like an injured hound,
Mocking the woman who finds herself bound,
This is why she will never be found.

They stare and weep in awe of her,
She is crazed and rambles in words that blur,
Misery a friend that wraps around her like a fur,
She will know no happiness even when her death occurs

The company she seeks can never exist,
The man she wants will never persist,
She is alone in this sea of mist,
Never to unlock his hard handled fist.

She will go insane and drift away,
They will feel her pain and go a different way,
She will bear her cross and go astray,
This is a loss that will make them pray.

Can you not hear that?
A sound so deep it makes the air weep,
She is at a crossroad beyond willows creek,
Crying her eyes out for death’s sweet kiss.

Plight of a Virtuous Woman of Substance


Woman, dear feeble, quiet, honest and blessed woman,
The mind is wrought with the plight of her,
She is labored and weighed down from within,
But does she cry, NO! She becomes stronger.

She toils, she feeds, she bleeds, she weeps,
Yet she mourns, she groans, she whines and she clamps,
She is deity, she is nymph, she is Delilah, she is gift,
She but bears the weight of the bereaved.

At the morn, she is at the coal, at the noon she is at the field,
At the eve, she is at the dishes, at the night she is at the slander,
At the twilight she is at his bequest, waiting for a night of rest,
This woman weary and angry so, calms her nerves and blesses us all.

She is at her knees praying for the man, she is on the phone asking for his toll,
She is at the yard holding his sole, she is at His throne defending his soul,
She is on the bed wailing in pain, she is beside herself with tears of babies bawling.

At her desk she worries for him, on the move she is weary of him,
At his request she is quiet within, at her time she is broken down within,
By her side the world kept warning, in her heart she heard is calling,
In this era there is no knowing, if she will live or die a-walking

Her heart is open knowing no folly, her mind is up shielding all stories,
She bares the scars, the seen and the hidden,
She holds her sides and watch the mockingbird sail lowly,
She lays awake in the midst of all sleeping,
She is awash with shame at no tender blessing.

She stays submissive with a smile alluding to nothing cruel but all amusing,
This is the theme of all that comes from man and groin in passion astounding,
She tends her sores without begrudging, that the man she loves is all but caring,
There is reason for that which is taunting.

This is the tale of the woman and her heart in waiting,
This is the canvas by which we have being designed,
This is our lot in things dark and fair, this is our stance for all that is unclear,
For herself she knows no glory, for her man she upholds his glory.

credendo vides “by believing one sees”

Willows Night


At the dawn of a dreary night,
Comes my heart with the bellow might,
The madness comes and then away,
The tempo dies and I’m awake.

I seat the dark and delay the light,
I bless the child on this starry night,
We are bound by laws within our clan,
We are pained by the gong we again have clanged.

The man is deep and not a mirror fit,
There will be no voicing or outward speech,
To thy self be true and to man be calm,
Lest it is said you have broken the vows.

So this is what the mailman sends,
The raging truth and the bitter lies,
The lonely walk and the sheltered heart,
The lasting end of a shorten beginning.

credendo vides “by believing one sees”

Epiphany


This is a very bad day to have being hit with such an epiphany, i am in a whirlpool of pain and internal sufferings right now, how to cope, what to do, what is going wrong, how is it any different, what can be done.

so many questions falling on deaf ears and silent lips, i think i have just reached my limit. exploding will not do me any good, focus might be a better alternative, i have to remember i am not alone in this world or am i?

Midnight Musings


Upon my lofty bed of concrete I lay,
Starring back at the darkness above my head,
Admonishing the slightly blowing breeze,
Spying the half drawn willow drapes.

I feel the pain to the roots of my dreads,
The tears slightly thugging at the corners of my eye,
The smile slowly fading from my mind,
And Yanni’s nightingale playing me to peace.

The reminders of what could have been,
Tales of how it would have felt,
Disappointment at the thought of it,
Freedom from a future unkown.

Those drizzles upon the flat sheet,
Are the answers to my bellowing soul,
The pair far gone from one another,
A silence that never brought calm.

Times past and age creeps,
The unwelcome visitor to a heart set on adventure,
So little time and not even there yet,
I sigh, twist and fret, but tarry I will.

When they are forth and the sky is lit,
The smiles returned and the wind bleats,
I will once more dance and soar,
After which all would have been said and done.

credendo vides