Darkness strikes
Nothing but a calamity
Anguish, sorrow, and grief sadly appear
What a major catastrophe
Through the hurricanes and earthquakes
Countries are in a state of ravage
Hundreds of lives have been lost
As a result of the massive damage

Mary, in your life there was great sorrow and pain. From the very beginning you knew it was going to be a long hard road. Seven sorrows you endured during the life of your son. You bore them all with fortitude and divine grace. The number seven is for fulfillment and perfection and it is through our sufferings and trials that we are shaped, refined, and perfected. Not once did you give up or give in to despair; rather through grace and faith, you remained steadfast. How your heart must break for your children, Mary. There is so much pain, violence, and hate in our world today. Grant a deep peace and love in my soul Oh Blessed Mother, that I may do what I can to console your sorrowful heart.

Amen

She stared out her window, it was scary and dark
Harvest Moon reminding her of all she forgot
The crickets sweet song, was a deafening roar
Harvest Moon calling, come and explore

This night and what would transpire, she already knew
The fear of it all, invaded her mind and grew
She decided to be brave and examine it all
It was the end she feared, not the fall

Harvest moon hung in the sky big and bright
She ventured outside in the soft orange light
The fireflies fluttered and danced under the trees
The leaves rustled with the chilly northern breeze
Her eyes darted and searched, fear clung to her
"why did this orange night occur "
She always thought this night would be red
Not this beautiful orange hue of the moon instead

The shadows reached out to her soul and beckoned
Feet hesitating for only a short second
Now deep in the woods no light escaped through
Harvest Moon not seeing her, once orange turned blue

The owls asked her questions
That we dare never mention
She answered them all with tears and with truth
Oooh those owls where such cunning sleuths
She walked on through the forest decay
Telling the shadows of memories to just stay away

She broke through the dark tree line
Leaving those deep inky shadows behind
She had came to a field of bittersweet wheat
Her fingertips brushed the tops as she walked with bear feet

Harvest Moon smiling to see she made it through
Her mind was the forest where the dark thoughts flew
Nightingales came to sing a song of rebirth
For that is what happens when you leave this earth

She stood in that field ready and willing
For the razor sharp scythe to do it's reaping
In the soft orange glow of that night
Harvest Moon made everything right
Her sorrowful life over with a whimper, not a boom
You'll find her up there visiting that glorious Harvest Moon

You carry with you a blackened sky
Not everyone can see it, but it's in your eyes
It's in the very heart of your being
I hear the sorrowful song your singing
You hide it well
Your personal hell
But I have my own, I can tell
I can feel your pain's tide ebb and swell
It threatens to pull you under
I too hear that thunder
We are creatures connected by darkness
The beast of Hell have marked us
You try to hide this from the world
As your life spirals and whirls
It's exhausting, I know for a fact
For everday your taken aback
Living life under that blackened sky
You can hide it, except from your eyes

Calm in silent mourn
Trees bow beneath the frail storm
Light sings sorrowful

Standing at a fork in the road
Which way should I go
To the right
Keep putting up this terrible fight
Straight ahead
All the time wishing I was dead
Or to the left
So mournfully bereft
I see only darkness either way I chose
There doesn't really seem much to lose
Maybe I'll just lay down here
Like in the headlights a deer
Oh I forgot I was already hit
That is why here I sit
Already road ****, just waiting to die
Under the darkening sky
Guess I could limp off, but at what cost
I'm one of the lost
With no way home
Through this life alone I roam
Humans are not ment to live that way
It makes for the most sorrowful day
So here I stand at the fork again
I've been here before, and I know everyway is grim

She's the girl with the cherry red lipstick,
the full ******* and rounded hips.
They call her sweet ******;
pretty little ******.

You'll know when you see her.
She'll answer you with, yes sir.
But don't look into those lovely eyes;
they will hypnotize; entice.

And her tongue is sugar coated
with sly and tempting lies.
They draw you near and nearer
every time she licks her lips.

She captures the young men's hearts,
with her seductive youth.
She feeds on their lustful stares;
their male hormones, testosterones.

Their jealous girlfriends
give her the strength
to make it through the days;
to ignore the painful shame.

But every lonely night she cries
herself to sleep,
and prays to the heavens
to retrieve her innocence.

They call her sweet ******,
pretty little ******.
But I know her well as Sorrowful,
and pretty with a grieving heart.

The sorrowful birds seemed less enchanted,
Like a forgotten holocaust beating
In agony, the silent grey of dawn
Set forth over the mystery.
Under perplexed veils I call
Forth the lost days of depressing
Symbols, like a raven in the distance,
A storm smothering its deathly gaze.
     And when alone the sparrow
Refused to chirp, instead wallowed
In the quiet solitudes of the lucid
dreaminess of the bitter infinite grey.
      Earth offers its deathly gaze
As a meager conteplation in the
Grey of the early Winter displaying
Her snowy apron like some dark matron.
Gradually the day drags obeying
Time, slow to the mind of a sad one,
Preoccupation of illusions,
Like a poets inane blank page,
A wind minded sadness flying
Through darkened pupils:

A grey irony forms,
A crow cloaked as a hope
Cries to the infinite grey;
"I will always love you,
Though you abuse me."

I dreamed a glacial moment,
Where time ends or begins,
I was hopeful the grey would
Never end and I could wear
Its sad dark velvet with its
Perjured love and scorned existence,
I follow the shadow of storms
Searching for the torment with in,
The bleakness is a grey day with
The sun hiding its hopeful radiance.

Why not the sorrow
Instead of hopeful constellations
From mythical legends,
Instead of the lost Gardens of Babylon,
Beauteous notions
Of the heart's grandiosity?
If everyday is a struggle,
If each day we try to fill
The void we are born with,
If pain is all too real;
We are born into the struggled,
To be friends to enemies
To make ourselves whole
While trying to find the existential
Moment of truth in ourselves,
As we gulp down joy
And sweat about under the sun.
The sorrowing cannot be claimed,
Though its air chokes you,
Though it eats your luster,
There is the other that one rarely
Finds, joy in the light.
Sorrow is too frequently a visitor.