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Below are the 16 most recent journal entries recorded in why do they cry?'s LiveJournal:

Thursday, January 10th, 2008
2:03 pm
'Cos it's not March yet.

Saturday, July 1st, 2006
5:57 pm
Love sinks in by Bobby
How do you describe it when loves sinks in
And you haven't felt love for a million years
How do you describe the warmth that warms your shoulders
Then moves down inside to calm a restless child
A loving warmth like none you've ever known
He's ever known
A calm
A hand reached out to touch his shoulder
A man looked down
A kindly man
And whispered in his ear, "I love you."
And he felt it
He felt it like a healing current passing through to ease his pain
And now he nestles down in a corner by the fire
The fire that has burned in his dark prison for eternity
And gave no heat....till now
Nor made a sound....till now its friendly crackling fills the room
He pulls the comforter up around his head
So warm now and so snug
And falls into a quiet sleep
I watch him
I feel his calm, his lack of fear
And I wonder why
Why now
Why tonight
Why was this man's touch the one
Why his words the words that breached the wall
Was it merely timing
Had he worked so hard at being loved that finally he knew he was?
Will it last
Who cares
The feeling is amazing
The feeling of love
And suddenly you're lifted up and sailing through the stars
So soft
So silent
So free of fear
Sleep little boy
Feel safe
One night of safety?
One more than we've known
One night with no fear of his coming?
One night with no vigil in the dark?
I'd cry in silent sobs of sweet relief, but I'm too tired to cry
Too tired to weep
Besides I know how weeping feels
But peace?
We've never been at peace
And I will not be robbed of a minute of its joy
Move over little man
Tonight we rest!
Friday, May 26th, 2006
6:06 am
Callie's Friend

She is like cool water that flows downstream
That flows with an endless clean deliver
That cleanses all my nightmares and their fiends
Though all of their shadows remain with her
Your life that breathes though my veins full of hope
Continues to bathe my dry thirsty skin
Worthless friendship is ours and I can't cope
Fake tears and passion wears my spirit thin
I can feel her love but can not hold it
Slipping though my fingers will all effort
Always put out when the fire is lit
The destruction of anguish is cut short
Feeling fake love has no essence in real
To taste and to have are separate feel

5:55 am
Repeatitive Emotions
as hour approaches end
feelings of death fill ones soul with fear
the entire world had a picture of my eyes
and i now am being reduced to a statistic

i now understand what an unhealthy mind shall accomplish
laziness is a great sin
laziness wishes to destroy life
today a creation may be destroyed by laziness

hour hath passed and i am granted no verdict
left in my cell waiting
waiting only leads one to insanity
Sunday, March 12th, 2006
2:22 pm
Tick Tock little clock by ste
Tick Tock goes the clock
Another day is nigh
The nightime it befalleth
On this forsaken lie

Another night of nightmares
Of shadows in the dark
The evil of the darkness
The dog his lonely bark

Raindrops on the rooftop
Daddy lies awake
His little son is crying
So daddy makes it safe...

Do not worry little son
Daddy is so near
He will listen out...
For each and every tear...

This clock is going crazy
The night enshrines her son
It wakes him into morning
Another day's begun...

This clock it has a rhythm
Just like this beating heart
And when his clock stops ticking
You will hear yours start!

With all the darkness over
And little boys are safe
For those all who have hurt them
A nightmare for their wake…

Tick Tock

Tick Tock

Tick Tock

Tick ………..
Sunday, June 5th, 2005
7:13 pm
Oh little boy
I wrote this in March 2005

Oh little boy
head held high
no more tears
eyes are dry

Cry no more
oh little one
eyes so sore
pain is raw

Light the sky
with thine ray
a little sunshine
come what may

He sees light
through coming dawn
come what may
none shall scorn

Feet so sore
mind so numb
no more tremble
as darkness comes

Take my hand
my little son
rest so dear
night has come

One last worry
one last fear
do not cry
I am here
Saturday, June 4th, 2005
3:37 pm
Remembering by Kevin age 16

The night is quiet, still and clear,
And the moon casts its silvery pale
Over the home cradled on the forest's breast.

The breeze flits softly past the barn,
Happy and funny red by day but now
A slumbering purple giant squatting by the pebbly path.

Fields and pastures spread their blanket
Of swaying corn and grain over the rich black earth,
Awaiting the new day of work and play.

The night is the great black father:
Sleep!, it is time to renew;
Rest with your loved ones, secure
In their presence and safe in my enfolding arms.

The door grates and his eyes flash open,
His heart racing as the night swirling around him
Retreats and gives way to another: I am the dark.

The floorboard creaks as the dark shows the way,
Gloating and encouraging, forcing the warm bed
To give up its helpless offering of trembling innocence.

The dark waves its cruel hand and cold air
Crawls across his slender body, cozy covers and fuzzy pjs
Sliding away, helpless against the creeping cruelty.

The dark is the great black beast:
Awake!, it is time to weep;
Feel the pain and know the shame, cold
In the screaming silence of what you have become.

Current Mood: restless
1:06 pm
Emotions from Charlie age 14 Triggers
Getting angrier every day.
It's growing inside me like fire.
I'm replacing this childish fear with rage.
Spitting out ugly painful words
'til my body is empty and I'm knee deep in dirt.
Tearing off this mask, baring my teeth.
Are you scared yet? You should be.
Watch me kill this scared little child.
Silence the voice that sounds just like mine.
He's screaming through my mouth but the sound is dying.
His tears feel hot on my face but I'm not crying.
You think I'm so weak but I'll prove you wrong.
I'm not your child anymore.

It's my turn to be a kid
Thursday, June 2nd, 2005
10:03 pm
The Silent Scream revisited
This is a piece of my poetry written last year from memories of childhood sexual abuse, and how denial affects his life in adulthood,

The little boy crying in the wilderness
Only the wind hears his cries
The lone wolfcub baying so dear
For life as a cub to become clear

His family don't know him anymore
The little boy once so dear
Turns into someone unclear
He has earned his fears

He cries out in fear
He cries out in pain
The cries are unheard
Because they are his pain

A life so young in silence
So young in fear
So terrified of the dark
Terrified of life

He screams to be heard
Nobody listens
His screams are in silence
But not in his dreams

Dreams; what are they?
Nightmares for one so young
Night terrors are they
Waiting for the one to pounce again

Lying in the dark trying to sleep
If I do, then will I awaken?
The nightmares too scary to sleep for
But he needs sleep
So he waits till dawn
Just to catch a couple of hours
Of well earned sleep?zzzzzzzz

He awakens to another day
What will it bring?
He prays to God, that one day his
Soul can sing

It can sing as it was meant to be
As a little boy so innocent
He is still so sweet and innocent
Just as God wanted him to be

You took his life
You took his soul
You are in hell now
For the sorrows never told

Never told, not until now
It is still so painful being there

Current Mood: cold
Monday, May 30th, 2005
8:06 pm
A poem from Charlit age 14
An excerpt from Charlie
A Clean Slate (for my bro Kev).

The voice inside the boy's head whispered
If they remove your pain, you will have nothing left
Without the pain you will be an empty shell
No thoughts, no feelings, no sound
Black buttons instead of eyes
Clean like a piece of paper
Waiting for the words to fill the page

He silenced the voice and picked up the pen
The first line read These are my words, this is what happened
And the words grew larger and larger
Until they filled up the room like laughter
Like a song that gives you strength
When you don't know where to begin
The second line read This is me and I'm not to blame

It's my turn to be a kid

Thnx 4 the poem little bro. I cried when I read it. It means a lot 2 me.


It means a lot to me, the pain of an abused child whose mind can write
poetry like this, I think it is awesome.
How about You?
Thursday, May 12th, 2005
8:40 pm
good question...
why do they cry? who knows. only those who cry have a slight clue, which is the feelings. but no one really knows... wow im bored.

Current Mood: artistic
Thursday, March 10th, 2005
8:42 pm
New group
OKay, please don't hate me, but I'm going to be lame and advertise my group here. not sure if it's allowed. If not, I apologize, But I'm the only person in there, and it's no fun that way.

Check it out?
Wednesday, July 28th, 2004
4:47 pm
if youre bored ive got something for you to do... reply to this or AIM: ludere tragicus
Friday, June 22nd, 2001
6:05 pm
laying on my back now, the stars look all too near
I lay on my back, staring up at the ceaseless blue dome, trying to catch my breath. Harry lays beside me, his arms around, his face buried into my shoulder. I cannot see his expression but I can feel his smile upon my skin. The wheels turn round and round and round, like a beautiful disaster shining with summer rain. Translucent rain gushing down from thick, black, invisible clouds. The weight of today's solar shimmer upon the calmness of this obsidian inner-city canal is blinding. It's a beautiful day.

Across the ripples, various characters go about their daily business. Very few of them smile. It's a waste of such a gorgeous afternoon. Harry looks up from time to time, tries a joke or two on for size. Some of them laugh, some of them grin, some of them merely scowl some more and speed up. These are the ones that make us guffaw the loudest, but we are happiest when a passer by laughs with us. These are the moments of shared friendship: a promise with to a stranger that we are on the same side.

Harry finishes his Newcastle Brown, and throws the glass bottle into the river. I scold him, but not seriously. He doesn't listen anyway. He just apologises with a smile on his face. He whispers that he'll never do it again, then flicks his cigarette filter down into the trees. The emerald glimpses from a photosynthetic light show dance and wave across his soft skin as he looks up and smiles at me, so sweetly.

A smile that hides a lie. We've been friends for years. We both know when six o'clock comes, we'll never see each other again. But it's a beautiful day, no less. I just wish the whole world could share it.

Suddenly, cruelly, I am torn from my delusion. I know this happened nearly three weeks ago. Our little hiding place in life and time is millions of miles behind me. Gaia has moved without pause for ceaseless hours since then. Mankind will never pass that place again, but maybe, somewhere out there in the darkness of space, there is a little X, marked with an astral image of an empty bottle of Newcastle Brown, just hanging there forever in that one spot where Camden Lock Once Was.

I can try and pilgrimage down to the river some time, but it's not there any more. It's not the same. The sunlight is of different intensity, the dogs bark to a different tune, and the barge man wearing the ladies' underwear will have sailed on. The geographical layout is a lie. It's not the same place at all.

However, it exists in my mind. It exists in Harry's mind. And we are eternal, the atoms that compose us are eternal. In every carbon-based life-form my molecular structure scatters to when I'm gone will contain a small fraction of That Moment, locked up deep inside it. One day, that hour will have travelled so far, every speck of dust in the world will be filled with it. And maybe then Andromeda will have spun round. Maybe another planet will pass our Place In Space. Maybe someone will feel what we left behind. Maybe Harry and I can change the whole universe, even if we can't change ourselves.

The river is so beautiful at this time of year, so thick with grime it's almost carved from stone. Stone rivers, cardboard trees, ice-cream bridges. Sunlight bleeding through with flecks of meteorite burned up in our atmosphere and gushing over us along with the invisible storm. Sooner or later, we'll all be washed clean.

Current Mood: reflective
Thursday, June 21st, 2001
10:41 pm
Orange, amber halogen light changing to white on the snow. The streets are brighter when it snows, detailing every dark corner with the sparkle of star and moon light caught there. Early, blue mornings achieve effervescence, sliding into daylight and blinding reflection. Slippery streets are softened and Winters only saving grace is its color. Clear, crisp light of day, then bending in the fall of snow to make flakes of the rainbow. In the park are snow angels, snow men, snow forts, snow kids throwing snow balls and snow sledding in ruts turning black with earth mixed with ice. Crystal clear ice tentacles hanging from everything, stabbing the dirt when it gets too warm, Beware of Falling Ice from skyscrapers barely holding the Winter between the canyons of salt, ice, snow, gray stone. The City grips the Season and wants to make you think that it owns this time. The Season grips the City and brings it to its knees when the time is right.

Current Mood: contemplative
Saturday, May 26th, 2001
8:14 pm
A small rendering.
Blues in the Night

Friday had been a hot, sultry sophisticated lady of a day that ended in a soaking storm breaking and cracking the night into small pieces. Saturday answered with chilled winds from cold breaking waves on empty beaches. Chicago Ave. was teaming as Kate ambled in the direction of the subway. The hint of summer lurched at the city and pulled back leaving a crazy blues in the air. Revolt seemed to be hanging out there in the dark night sky and she passed one, then another spitting out the cold in frustration. They came to the street with cabin fever, willing to take on Motha Nature So shut-tha-fuck-up! The hawking homeless, party animals, streetwise punks, rich bitches, doorway dwellers running for their lives in the coldness of a night that should be hot. She dodged in and out, wishing for that sub shop to be open and finding it closed, slipped around the transit cop yelling at his dog, down into the tube that would spit her through to the night again. Cold steel turnstiles open to the partially and When will they finally finish?refurbished station. Across new granite tile floors, down granite stairs, train leaving, screaming Gotcha again! At the bottom of the stairs a radio played and a tap, tap, tapping. The new floors giving life to old sounds, the Dancer was back. She found her spot, leaning against the i-beam supporter, picking up the rhythm, lighting a cigarette, watching as others joined in the sight and sound. Radio blaring, but not strong enough to drown out trains, as she found her seat, just as the door closed, One more time, please? Take the world, make it a better place, for you and for me and the entire human race.

Current Mood: weird
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