romanticindeed
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“How often to weep, dear one? We are not so much different, as you might believe. I bite my own tears, swear myself to my own fears, in dire belief that I will wake up to your silence. Why do you cry, my love? There is no danger. The world might be burning, though there…
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“Anything else, I could outweigh myself from, outmaneuver myself from, outclass myself from. Besides you, all else could be shut like the sun that crosses the gap of the entire sky. Left in the darkness, I begin to dream. I begin to stare. Upon walls that are buried in black, I still see you, imprinted…
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The soldier crosses gapsOf bleeding wounds.Torn fleshAre numbered to the extremitiesFrom where crimson flows.His faceUpon the yellow horizon,The warm descensionOf a flame that is differentThan from those who aim for death,By that of the torch. Still, no brighter warmthThan the heartOf one soldier without the disguise,When he can mourn for the safety of his wife.A…
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“All originality pertains to the stagnant history of a thing, of a creation, of a development. When people can pertain their future to the history, they are responsible. For responsibility could only ever amount to a person knowing that their history cannot change. And so, the future should not change, though simply improve. For if…
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“Written in the ways of purism, is the idea that one blood is inferior, or lacking in quality, over another. To base politics around race, around gender, around creed, is to recede to the aristocracy mentality, though swapped. It is to say that impurity is purity. Perhaps it is that we are all the same,…
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About slendernessTo a finger marred by aches.She shiesJust a second away from my lips.A stain matches her glanceUpon my cheek.One tearFalls as the descending bird,With no wings for flight.All I wantIs to fall in her clasp. Just a moment awayFrom when the priest saysIt is time to kiss.Just a moment,Until I can kill away this…
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Can you breathe,Dear one?The ocean seems to have been wrappedIn a stormOf your making.Can you calm,Dear one?Can you see the fallen dropletsThat exit from a pair of eyes,Like hanging from the shortest piece of rope? Just a bucketTo a wellOf where your sadnessHas its origin. Your handsFeed the line,Down to where your heart resides,Down to…
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To be stagnantIs my placeUpon, as you are absent.My work goes undone,As my days run byMiserable watersBetween my fingers. You could look at me,At the aching manWho does not truly stand.You could mockThe he who never dares to shockThe rest of the veins, in his form,While blood never flows freely. Just a pieceOf the advice…
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Count scars,Limitless as stars.Count truthWhole enough to be broken,As bread is consumed,Chewed,Digested,Not like the lieSo easily swallowed.A broken truthWas once, in preparation,A wholeness. A broken form,BeatenUntil bloody,Is always the truth, reborn,Though neverIn the eyes of who broke it. Would ChristBreak the truth,As he broke bread,As he gave wine?Broken bread, as beaten flesh,Drunken wine, as streaming…
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Just a wellTo dump the contentsOf her eyes.Deep blue as Neptune’s children,AwakenedAs puling infants,Close to no mother,Close to no otherBut the cruel hands of a Father,Of God’s sheltering darkness.For sheCan swear He created Hell. Water the cries,To water them, more.Water the lilies, upon the current to the brook,Draped as curtainsOver the stepping stone.She has lost…
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I am not about to stareFor too long.Your long hairHang like the dropping tearsI have sworn were the place of my bathing.Your faceIs the stolen aspect of an angelDescended to my arms.Did God erase you,That He might see you for me? I hold a kingdomTo your rose,A dream that ignites the restOf the future’s caress.Your…
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She stood there,With cold, wet hair,Like none other than another winterGone fiercely.Through the moon’s many faces,Blankness remainsTo remind meOf a few captured momentsHovering beneath time,Drifting between space. She stands thereTo sharpest melodiesOf her groansIn sheerest grief.Just a daffodilIn a simmering summer’s night,Though never received the warmthOf an aching sun. She was dried againstHer own petals,Using…
Modern Romanticism 