River Styxta

Inside the depths of my very soul,
there lay tears as deep as the river Styx
that leads into my heart, black and painful as Hell.
I've cried too long for you
and there in the river, swim all my dreams and goals
moving farther from me as painful memories
that I push into the bottom of my broken heart.
There is no return for all those that have floated past
and it sucks more into it like an endless black hole,
from which I've lost myself.
Only a Hades, a reflection of a pitiful me,
guards over the darker side of me,
eating me up more and more each day.
And it seems more like I'm a frustrated Persephone
who seems to sink into darkness more
than she basks in the sunlight.
Just like my soul has been sucked into hell
swimming endlessly for eternity,
the tears that have come from my heart
seem unending in this pitiful fate.

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Tis the river of sadness and pain, and regret which flows inside of me. That which flows in and out of my heart and soul.

Greatest Love

Sometimes,
the greatest love
is that which watches from afar.
To know that they're happy
even if it's not with you.
To know they're smiling,
even if it's not because of your presence.
To know they're laughing,
even if it's not your joke.
The greatest love keeps silent
and keeps smiling despite the pain
that they're loved one
might unknowingly or knowingly
bring.
Because the greatest love
is not of one's selfishness
but being selfless for the one
that you love most dearly.

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It is the truth, that the greatest love is sometimes the most painful of all. Jesus loved us so much that He died for the salvation of the world. As people, we encounter the same thing. Sometimes, the greatest love of all is the selfless love that seeks nothing in return.

Tears of an Angel

Drops are pouring outside,
slow at first like water droplets
before pouring in the form
of a million tears.
Thousands of angels crying out
in painful remembrance
of the hardships of the world.
Endless sounds of pitter-patter on the ground
with the dark sky engulfing every ray of light.
Eternal till nothing is left to cry for,
and it passes as the world forgets
and starts anew.

-
When it rains, it's as if the angels are crying for us. Crying for our pains and sufferings, our joys and our dreams. Mostly, they cry because they hear our souls crying out, longing to shed what we sometimes refuse to make known. Because our souls, and angels, know what we refuse to know.

Unslumbered

Oh cruel is the waking morn
whose appearance looms just beyond
and in whose rising one remembers
the cruelty of a night filled
with tossing and turning
Oh woe the bright sun
whose rays shine behind the clouds
good-bye to the moon's white glow
and a promise of endless dreams
as limitless as the star-filled sky
Oh detest the crowing rooster
whose sounds awaken to a new day
his greeting to the dawn is another farewell
to the silent night where everyone but one
slumbers

-
Oh, it is cruel indeed to have to face the morning everyday, without sleep. Sleepless nights, dreamless dreams.