Age of the Darkest Sorrow

By Eder Morales

We are constantly submerged in societys demand for correct behavior. But if we always try to be adequate in the eyes of society, we may lose our focus on truth. The world seems to be telling us to avoid trying to find meaning in our most dolorous emotions. So we often do not see that there can be beauty when we are troubled. Joy has been the only acceptable goal for many around us for centuries. Accepting the sole argument of joy is like accepting that heaven is our only destination. But what about unheard, sabotaged feelings? Excruciating feelings are given names like hell or the abyss. It is only the world of art that does not segregate damaged thoughts. In art we can find salvation for our sorrows. A journey to the depths of lamentation conveys beauty, making the greatest art out of hurt.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 11, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499069747

Book preview

Copyright © 2014 by Eder Morales.

Illustrations by Juan Carlos Escobar Salazar

Library of Congress Control Number:   2014916303

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-4990-6975-4

                Softcover        978-1-4990-6976-1

                eBook             978-1-4990-6974-7

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 09/10/2014

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CONTENTS

1. Depths of My Anguish

The Torture of Silence

2. Crónicas: Bohemia Vagabunda

Eternamente Olvidado

To my family and beloved friends: Juan Carlos, Fausto, Darwin, Raquel, Alaide, Ixchel, Arturo, Iván, Leonardo, Fanny, Daniel, Josue, José Ángel, Abraham, Erick, Alejandro, Carlos; and in the memory of my dear friend Christian Morales García.

Depths of My Anguish

1

The Torture of Silence

Elley’s Extravaganza

Below the surface of the White Sea

Down the stratosphere of the joyless captivation

The little boy asking for the girl of precious origins

Where has Elley landed?

The day she was supposed to scream the loudest

An incomplete look to the gaze through the shore

So mesmerized

No more cynicism dressed like a firefighter during the weekends

Pleasing the illuminating supernova

Tending the volcanic pimples that erupt every night during the irrelevant flu

And Elley says she has finished

She has crossed the mountain with no shoes, though she has no time to choose

On top of her radiant skin

On the Mount Everest of her lips

Someone has left a message on a hidden kiss

Elley with no cardinal signs

Elley of the ill words regarding a comparative dispute of pride and honor

Restless roads craved by denial

The universe is a recess at her habitat

Distance is set to commit a very brief task

There is another windy night

As usual the protagonist of the tale has begun

To find on the corner, to search on the darkest spots, to seek a fancy shadow

Elley and her routine

More unfinished bread bags on the sands

Filling pancreatic holes

Where has compassion ended when all were supposed to endorse needs and necessities?

Perhaps it is not a duty

Notwithstanding, she says she is giving back all words of compromise to the agony of sacrifice

Another act of interrupted fervor

Another quick magic trick

Elley the mystical queen

Leaving soon, distance has acted against the miracle of the sun.

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Delia

Differentiating the realms of charm

Surfing along the liquor of a sided line of blue ink

Another strain of chaos running wild, asking for his name to be said

Humble pieces of history asking mankind to follow the shadows, not the lighted and sliced bodies

Hoping to breathe while beasts persecute the desire of homemade stories

Hearing tales of the western tragedy

Dreaming about some extinguished grams of adrenaline

Psycho maniacs surrounding the cranberry plaza

An innocent taboo waiting to finish them all

Hurries to scope an almost unknown glass of air

Not stopping while gravity stills owns fetes

The running electro-waves condense the thoughts of swords

Looking at farms of dry hearted laments

A whispering leaf wants reactions

Excuse me while I get murdered by her unwritten words of hurt.

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Brutal Silent Lady

How could have we survived today

Wasn’t thanks to the diabolic fire?

Thanks, lover with sweet and enjoyable lips of clay

I ran back to where I became a wicked misfortune

Yes, the place where dreams were extremes and excruciating tragedies

Why leaving me with inflicted tears?

No person has better truth of me than you

How could we have hurt each other?

In the various ways of sin

Over the kingdom of substantial grief

Our laments are bittersweet silver coins on our skulls

We are safe, I can feel you climbing out the clouds

Don’t ask why nature has us into sickness and bullets

Dear destinies come cure our cynical separation

How could we be able to ignore us from such kilometers of love?

Can two identical spirits be so in love and in the dangers of crying find consolation on letting the noblest feelings fade away?

If we could have warned us before everything between us became undone

I said to you I loved you with all my molecules

The sole silence burns the page where we committed

Nothing can possibly kill the spirit of a devoted follower than secrecy from a woman

Why you made a quiet gesture, invisible response.

One or all the other reasons kidnapped by the cult of your muteness? I don’t know

I don’t know

Your answer yet so absent

And I wish to kill myself

If I could have disappeared when you were so quiescent with my bone

I could have never committed the crime of ignoring you

Why you never responded the letters of the broken artist?

No tears, no pain, no struggle can possibly stop me from knowing your response

The reality of the days seems so unpleasant and so grotesque

I look at your nerves with senses of shock

I possess the eagerness of your hate

Thanks for all the sleeplessness

But I still feel you in every recognized wound on my corps

My breaths aren’t going to be completed without your stellar wind

Come closer. Your throne has never been stolen

Your castle within me hasn’t stop fighting

We want you back forever

Respond to the unprecedented tries of attraction

My biggest wish in life is to build a secret relation with my only sacred goddess

You

Don’t laugh at me

Don’t ask why

Your prince is here

Waiting patiently for the mold of your stones

Your times of crying near banality have no real purpose

I love you. Why?

I haven’t heard you since the day I became a fugitive on my own pride

I haven’t listened at your outcome

Come; answer me with wars and with battles or with a killing noise

But always know a childish human tries

Yes, tries the true you.

A Daring Missionary Protecting the Occulted Noble Spirit

See the triviality of our age

See the moments of delight bleeding soreness

Don’t give up quite yet

Stare closely at lunacy even if trouble seduces you

Yet keep your echoes clean

You have loved me like no other will ever do

Don’t hold back

We would win even after all the havoc

Stay and continue binding your talents with my forbidden past

Times are filled with cracked doors and disarray

Don’t surrender to the claws of messiness

Uphold your scene to the closest aura

Thanks for being a perfect whiteness at life

Just keep on floor

Don’t move from here

Lungs need air and a smell for another clash to cast

Stay and see the whirlpool of souls enact another restricted taboo

Remain, I would not mess you down

These times never in vain

Here with two million clocks

Keeping on bringing the blue of Neptune

Beauty with no merciless stones

Sorry for being a freak

You may feel one unstoppable status of anxiety

Feel and don’t give

Remain with more than three seconds to endure

I wouldn’t let any human take on your purity

Don’t disconnect this esoteric doctrine

Hey, release the fright away

Let it fly against the pollution

We are far from over

Shaping you a bigger beach to dive into the blues

Marching eager to the ethanol of the deadliest of sorrows

With you on the side of the purple

The eyes browned when no trouble gets you down

Please don’t give in.

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In Process (Processing, Wait Please…)

I cannot picture another wondering woman through the fields of the mist

No more drinking nights with my indecisiveness

I cannot move from here

Unless I sign your years

Unless you command your flowers to my worshiped memory

People saying rubbish about women

I’ve found my destiny

My most famous noon

My moon and satellite of the future

I’m not going to mock

I’ve seen your face wrapped under simple silhouettes

No more murdered confusion, it is Saturday night already

I’ve landed on the planet I fervently wanted

The body blessed by your nest

No more kids snowing games

You have come to the scene

Feeling your velocity

I’ve won

May the gems of your chest rumble on my nudeness?

May I get close to your rolling Spanish kiss?

It’s you after all

The astonishing bride of the prophecy

I left my doubt at a kinder’s lunch bag

Come on and hug the bells

Place nature away from the light

We have ruled

In case you feel worried don’t stumble with my bones

Don’t be twice as hard as ivory

Sitting silently on the day

I’ve seen the insignias

Are you ready to be?

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Northern Marathon on Red Why

A candle in the middle of my lenses

A freezing morning for my feet

A damaging murmur from the sacred rite

Witchcraft against the cryptic mentalities

The solar field has escaped from the abstruse earlier today

Wind with a polar cavity tasting my hallowed shame

Your end is almost an inevitable spell

I approach the most comfortable of the seats on the carriage

An instant transportation to the aromas of the glorious, idealistic, and emotional yesterday

She appears so fresh, brown-eyed, and prepared for the occasion

The tears flow down the brume

The organs began to vibrate as she tries not to find me familiar

The supernatural mind gets bombarded by the imagery of her presence on my thoughtful land

And she pushes her hands against the window for comfort

Air doesn’t clean her hands on the occasion

While I examined how real is the circumstance of her sudden look on my most bizarre reality

A sound coming out of her little pocket hypnotizes my memories so much, that time begins to be interpreted as a kind of substance transpiring inside my heart.

Somehow, the right side part of my body began to whisper within the very deep fragments of my reason and feelings

The voice said. Why you did that? I will never be alive, why?

My head began to tell my body to get dizzy and to unbalance my stillness

One, two steps

Slowly and red bathed, the omission of noise made me company as gravity took its pleasure on me

Her running away

The last thing I’m able to observe.

While She Comes

A sneezing topic regarding the song of the long watched distant night on wintertimes

There are ways in which one can recreate a divine domain

Memories capable of making tears appear to be diamonds in the eyes

Memories giving the inner energy of hope a lesson on believing hard

Yes, there is imagery inside the best of dispositions to the senses, images capable of turning broken minds able to be fixed with a momentary picture on the psyche

Many ways of reviving the shattered soul and crippled spirit after the heart has been brutally humiliated

The past as the emergency salute

Memories on the shadowed territory of the blurred fact

One anonymous reality

Memories cannot be so valued by many stubborn opinions

Base of occulted fears

For the melancholy of those who wish to transform drops of agony into blessings of the supreme sentiment of peace. Memories like shinny lives lighting the path of present situation while dealing with a bohemian state of compassion

One