Blood Is Crying

The ocean appears to be black,
a pitch-black stain that bleeds to shore.
Wind is whispering at my back,
while the moon is shining before.

It’s so tranquil and peaceful here
when there is no one to be found.
The memories bring me to tear,
and I lay down upon the ground.

I stare at the night sky above
and weep for the one that I’ve lost.
There is no joy in feeling love,
too much to pay, too high the cost.

And what should I be thankful for?
How to believe in God above?
Is their solace in winning war
when you lose the one that you love?

Damn the desert sands to despair!
His blood is crying out to me.
My love – the dark night of his hair –
is now silent, eternally.

Unhappiness consumes my soul.
Without him there can be no me;
and I drink tears from sorrow’s bowl
and cast first stones into the sea.

Oceanic reverie gloom –
blacker than black becomes the night.
Wet with melancholic perfume,
I close my eyes, turn out the light.

My soul is a fragile flower,
drifting on tears that drown at sea,
and my hopes fall like a shower.
His blood is crying out to me.

by Linda Marie Van Tassell

Comments (1)

I drink tears from sorrow’s bowl pathos run throughout the lines...very touching.. good imagery...