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Modern Romanticism

The aspect of romance, divided between the heartening and the thoughtful.

Introduction to a Short Story – “A Charitable Set of Eyes” – Romantic Work – 10/22/2019

October 22, 2019
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Oh, realm of the wicked, where dreams drop from hands like droppings from the bottom of a bird; there is much admiration to stick upon beauty to admire; why withhold what should be offered?

Love will lift it, beyond the realm of Men, where flesh is torn and raped. Faces are many that stare with bewildered eyes. And, those eyes are always heavy, surrounded by creases deep, and crimson hues that are upon cheeks, displaying a kind blush for compassion. Bewildered, are we, when we are also compassionate, never understanding why a soul would ever suffer.

Here is a man, who should be set with those same eyes upon him, perhaps twice or thrice. Make him a life, won’t you; for he is the remnants of a man with shadows long, revealing a history bent in the underlying, and only underlying, flame of poverty.

Poverty is a low flame, that burns alike the embers beneath the “middling” fire, itself. All that flame above, is the flame of industry. Coals are the poor, black as the soil. We ignore the useless; so, we ignore the love from God, and we ignore the most suffering.

Industry is a place of incredible heat. Beauty rises from it, though never from the coals of that low heat, called poverty. Chase that lowness, dear loving ones from above. God is loved, and it is not God who ignores.

Say this concept to yourself, reader, as brief as it is written: If there is a fire unseen, then it is a warmth unneeded, and that is God; and, if there is a warmth too low, the middling flame of industry does no more than to walk over it. A flame we are drawn to, is a comforting one.

Industry does not know industry; a pauper instantly knows another pauper; and all knelt, loving ones will, as well, comprehend the other loving one, without any time expended.

Here is a man, for we’ve said it twice now, who is in love with beautiful women. Fascinated by them, and seen even now to throw greater stares of marvel, seeming to overpower those women’s stares of disgust towards him. He is a pauper enveloped in the impoverished strain of a failing side to the Earth, to humanity; we have said, at least, that he has a history of this side, of poverty, have we not?

We have said it. A life settled around poverty is a life clinging to that low flame, most alike being a someone with chains that bind that someone to hug the roof of Hell.

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