This was composed to the driving strains Santana's screaming guitar and Clapton's wailing guitar in their collaborative performance at the Crossroads Guitar Festival.
If eyes are the window to the soul, then why?…
Why can’t they see Hell blazing in his eye?
Mortally wounded spirit cries… the hellish chasm gapes
Over his every tortured nerve another memory scrapes
Darkness personified with every remembered face
Wounds of the soul so deep Time cannot erase
If eyes are the window to the soul, then why?…
Why can’t they see Hell blazing in his eye?
Honor and glory gained for gory deeds
Guilt cuts like a knife while murdered hope weeps
The eyes take in what the hands have done
The soul forever sees the black victory won
If eyes are the window to the soul, then why?…
Why can’t they see Hell blazing in his eye?
He closes his eyes to live out hell replayed
To wish just once, his hand could be stayed
His every step… every breath now death haunts
With demon souls of his dead his vision taunts
If eyes are the window to the soul, then why?…
Why can’t they see Hell blazing in his eye?
On his shoulder all his dead… faces pushing the slide
Every soul a demon howling… powering his final ride
No stopping him this time… no one to catch as he fell
His demons dragging him down… dragging him down…
down… down… down to Hell!
If eyes are the window to the soul, then why?…
Why can’t they see Hell…
Hell blazing in his eye?
Hell blazing…
Blazing…
Blazing in his eye?
I was listening to NPR, to a couple talking about their son, who returned form Afghanistan. They'd been so thankful he'd returned uninjured. His suicide devastated them. Something they said when they were talking inspired this poem. They said he was physically unharmed, but had a "mortally wounded spirit."
It also reminded me of something my grandfather said once, about how it felt returning from Korea. He said everyone expected him to just get over it and put it behind him; and, that their expectation was "like a knife in the gut."
by D. Denise Dianty
© 13 September 2014
Pick up your own copy of my first
ebook of poetry at My Life In Poetry
Why can’t they see Hell blazing in his eye?
Mortally wounded spirit cries… the hellish chasm gapes
Over his every tortured nerve another memory scrapes
Darkness personified with every remembered face
Wounds of the soul so deep Time cannot erase
If eyes are the window to the soul, then why?…
Why can’t they see Hell blazing in his eye?
Honor and glory gained for gory deeds
Guilt cuts like a knife while murdered hope weeps
The eyes take in what the hands have done
The soul forever sees the black victory won
If eyes are the window to the soul, then why?…
Why can’t they see Hell blazing in his eye?
He closes his eyes to live out hell replayed
To wish just once, his hand could be stayed
His every step… every breath now death haunts
With demon souls of his dead his vision taunts
If eyes are the window to the soul, then why?…
Why can’t they see Hell blazing in his eye?
On his shoulder all his dead… faces pushing the slide
Every soul a demon howling… powering his final ride
No stopping him this time… no one to catch as he fell
His demons dragging him down… dragging him down…
down… down… down to Hell!
If eyes are the window to the soul, then why?…
Why can’t they see Hell…
Hell blazing in his eye?
Hell blazing…
Blazing…
Blazing in his eye?
I was listening to NPR, to a couple talking about their son, who returned form Afghanistan. They'd been so thankful he'd returned uninjured. His suicide devastated them. Something they said when they were talking inspired this poem. They said he was physically unharmed, but had a "mortally wounded spirit."
It also reminded me of something my grandfather said once, about how it felt returning from Korea. He said everyone expected him to just get over it and put it behind him; and, that their expectation was "like a knife in the gut."
by D. Denise Dianty
© 13 September 2014
Pick up your own copy of my first
ebook of poetry at My Life In Poetry
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