Poem – “Of Weights Beneath my Eyes” – Romance – 9/30/2020

Love is never a fair witness,
As only the humming in ears
That continually yearn
For the timeless breaths
Unveiled from simple lips
That never kissed another pair,
Departed from the moon
To hold a neck in a bite.

Her slight,
Her state in knowing
Love from the disarranged image
Has made me write the message
That a bottle for the drunk
Cannot hold.
Intoxicated, as I am,
By breath and bone.

By a nail stuck upright from the coffin,
Allowing air,
There is some life
To the lonely strife,
Of three simple words that can come forth
From the nectar that drops off her humming lips,
As the bird before the prey,
Singing for lonely stars.

She can send her wings forward,
Folding branches against limbs
Of my own,
Within aching scenery.

Poem – “A Hell of Womanhood” – Romance – 9/30/2020

She spent her mockery upon a thousand cuts
Upon a broken stem
That raised itself from her heart,
Wandering to a mirror.
For her face, she saw insects,
Not beauty.
A small mite has intruded her locks,
Full with auburn,
Among silver highlights.
Of one worn year
To a love that never gave sight to fear,
Except to an oncoming day
Of Betrayal’s betrayal,
A haunting of innumerable cuts.

Bled from open sores,
To a mirror where fractures were to her face,
The sounds of a silenced heart.
A thousand tiny cuts
Upon a stem that bloomed raven feathers
From her heart
To the mirror, before her black eyes.
Like love never tore open
To see secrets, manifold,
Open wounds, like open books,
Graven flesh, like the cripple yearning to walk
From a tomb.

Piloting backwards
To a flame that churns a future
In a past,
Life strokes the veins
Where tongues can grab satiation,
Where devils can roam their extras,
Where a man can send his son
To eclipse a hundred wars.

Beauty mimics tragedy
In the retreat of a horn,
Never the soldier.

Poem – “Found upon Petals” – Romance – 9/30/2020

Upon the hollowness
Of a thousand things never mattered,
Upon your grief,
Though without the fallen leaf
That could identify you
Among the darkness,
For each
Smooth texture has become so firm
Of the petals that graze your feet,
Your hands,
Your cheeks,
Where you set your tears so magnificently.

I bleed unbroken hearts
Over to you,
While love has no rule
In the state of decay.
Your mind,
A furnace,
Too hot to enjoy breath,
Too seethed to breathe
Out the vapors of forgotten stories
That went aflame by their pages
That went out by their calamity.

Start the strings
Upon the violas,
For they will soothe you.
Like tantrums,
Your mouth drops open with the sound,
The silence falls,
Unlike the leaf to identify you,
In the nude.

Quote – “Objectification is the Workforce’s Equality” – 9/30/2020

“All people are treated under the same equality within the workforce. That equality is the objectification of each worker. Were compassion to be the desire for a worker, from an employer, it soon becomes a battle of usage versus what does not relate to usage. It is compassion that has no relation to usage, any more than a person is manipulated by a compassionate person.”

– Modern Romanticism

Controversial Opinion – “A Man & a Woman” – 9/30/2020

“A man is weak when he is honest to himself, though will lie to others. A man is strong when he lies to himself, though is honest with others. Whereas, a woman is weak when she lies to herself, though is honest with others. A woman is strong when she is honest with herself, though lies to others.”

– Modern Romanticism

Philosophy – “The Rehearsal of Lies” – 9/30/2020

“Were the lie to ever be the truth, it could then not be a repetition. Deception repeats. Deception does not direct. Deception confuses. Deception does not speak only once. For truth would speak only once, as it must be the first to exit one’s mind.”

– Modern Romanticism

Rehearsal of truth is an oxymoron. No one rehearses the truth. To adlib one’s own lines, is to speak more the truth than the lies upon the script told one to say. To speak the truth, means to say what is meant to be said, only once. Though, when one rehearses themselves of their lines, they are in preparation for the truth to be heard. In their rehearsal, they are preparing for oncoming truth, here to be countered with a lie. For a lie will always play defense, as truth acts as a battering ram.

All liars rehearse. All liars repeat. It did not happen only once. It is like an act. Upon the stage, or before the camera, what occurred did not actually happen. Though, it will deceive. An act, rehearsed through words that were repeated “behind the stage”, or “behind the scenes”, outside of awareness, will confuse speakers of truth. For truth must be defined as something that can be said only once, not repeated. If there are those who did not hear the truth, then it was because they wished to listen to repetition.

Truth stands out. Truth is the light in that darkness of lies. The politician will lie, only if he rehearses his lines. He will lie, only if he believes he will fumble. To stumble over one’s words, in the manner of how repetition reveals itself, is the same as stumbling over multiple rocks. For to face truth, would be to face a wall.

A speaker of truth does not falter. A speaker of truth does not stumble. If a liar wishes to rehearse themselves on their deceit, then it is because they rely on the camera to fix what will be viewed inevitably as truth. We can see, if we are perceptive enough, the truth from the lie. Even of the liar, we can separate fact from fiction, to understand which is most shown.

As an actor, a liar will rehearse. As an actor, a liar will repeat. As an actor, a liar will perform. We will not know of the actor, what is reality. There will be more questions for the liar, than there will be for those who speak the truth. If one had not heard the truth, had not heard the answers, then one was not listening.

Poem – “Dying Petals on your Neck” – Romance – 9/29/2020

Raindrops, keep falling
From some ocean in your eyes.
You keep crying
For whom,
I know not.
The world spins wildly
Upon your pained shoulders,
As you sit to grieve,
While I stare in disbelief
That you cannot rise
To meet something other than
The look in your eyes,
Other than, where you may die.

Pointed at your reflection,
What can be
Of that rejection,
Of relief?
Just love, I offer,
Though, you’ll keep weeping.
Chestnut hair
Accompanies strain, in every feeble lock
That descends in growth
Past your bleak eyes.
Of falling rain
That centers in your sight upon the clock
Where time can only arrange itself
In your disheveled garbs.

How can this life of you
Sit, so idly,
Counting stars,
Reminiscing over scars,
With wine held in a shivering hand?

Blood rounds itself
In the sweetness of a sugar rush,
The bitterness of a memory train
Where the iron upon the tracks
Screeches and never halts.

Poem – “With Eyes upon the Daring Ocean” – Romance – 9/28/2020

She sought to set out
Upon the streaming sea,
Of colors glistening,
Along with her hair.
Her eyes
Matched the fewest sunrays
That still stood in appearance
To the eastern skyline.
Golden resplendence,
Showering radiance
Matches an occurrence
To the cracks of a broken heart.

She sought to oar out
A rowboat to the furthest expanse,
Search for her heart,
Find her lost path.
She sought a route out of
Her stagnancy.
Her eyes watched the men
With their paddles and oars,
With their looks to never subside
Of determined fervor.
Of one shattered heart, to her,
There can be this reprieve.

Of face with fan of wind,
She sets out to the naked skyline
To bleed a mile of yearning
Without cause.
A simple proof
To bring the parts,
The strewn tears,
To gather a whole
As one, of a heart made for warmth
Treasured in a basket full with flowers,
To primrose and lilac.

Poem – “The Heaven in your Eyes” – Romance – 9/28/2020

The seamlessness
Of one word that could collapse
Me, to these very knees.
One word to love,
One heart to take,
Never anything to break.
I will soothe all concern
Shouldered upon you,
Weathered over you,
One favored kiss.

Your eyes,
Full of Heaven’s rise
In the bliss,
Within the kiss
To a pair of lips,
Among the perfumed neck,
And the graceful swing
Of your embracing arms.
I will hold
Your form, in its shivering,
As nothing escapes,
As nothing forsakes.

In your eyes,
Deep within
A glance that cannot run,
Cannot be undone
Of its scenery
To winded glades,
Timeless vows,
Bent knees
Of where I am
Wanting to hold you
In arms full of gravity,
To then dine on your stare.

Poem – “My Love does Pour” – Romance – 9/28/2020

As grief
Possesses voice,
Like the crossed showers
Glistening to the tears
Upon my streaming face.
White-wilted flowers
Form their stems,
To never the regrowth
Of more petals,
For I cannot love more
Than ever I did her.

Like voice
Given to the rain that pours
Love, through my storming heart,
As thunder bellows of a throat
So raw
To the stained vintage
Of a thousand photographs of deceit,
That a love had gifted only grief.
Just a memory of something shattered,
Just a one that never mattered,
And, now as one that merely showers.

Can I see
Through the rain,
To see you, in the gleam?
Can you walk back
To the puddles in my arms?
I wish to stare through
To eyes that never stare back.

Can you count the stars
With me?
With me,
Can you weary me
More than my heart ever could
When drowned by the feathers
Of your so-light love?

Poem – “Old Man who Cannot Smile” – Romance – 9/28/2020

How can he
State his fate
With only air to grip
In empty palm?
The pain that has sunk
His heart into a stone
Has been squeezed
Of every last tear.
Just a man,
Only a man
Who wears no crown,
With his queen
Looking down.

His face curves,
His shoulders burn
Of their residue.
Just blank ashes
That cannot remember from where
They fell.
Love, he sees
Of her,
In the trees,
Faint winds carrying scents
Of her, in sweetest escape
From blanketing meadows,
From the ever-worn glades.

He carted her
Heavy, in vowing arms
That raised the gates of forts
To shut out the massacre
Of a thousand other women.
Her carted her
To the burial of a forgotten few,
Whose eyes were still seeing Heaven,
The vow of a man who hadn’t fallen,
Not like the angel whose stand
Had soon reached the sand.
He carted her
To where he departed her
In the place where he could love her.

For just a second more,
To love her,
To cast his eyes upon fragility’s melting state,
With pity to his every shift
For movement that no longer mattered,
In a sadness that for tears, been gathered.

Poem – “My Lips in the Soil” – Romance – 9/27/2020

Grief stills me
In dying sleep,
For I have drunk too many tears
To see where my years
Shall carry me.
My fingers lift
To feel the warmth of a fading sun,
To bleed caught sorrows
Over the evening’s forsaken tomorrows.

Some stilled picture,
Some glimmering reflection
Of her, in the sky
Where darkness can mimic my pledge,
My vow
As now
My lips are always buried
In the soil, where she hurried
Far from my arms.

Some frame,
Some portrait
Where love does not follow
Me, in heaviest sorrow.

One face,
One certain grace
That had bested me
In grandest peace.