romanticindeed
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Travel about,With meTo see the curves of the Earth.You are the wedding with no vowsNeeded to accompany usOn this stilled voyage. I see clouds that radiate your skinIn the perspiration of searing highlights.I see the world born upon your shoulders,Adorned with the vastness of countless textures.Beauty wanders,Carrying petals in arms,Stems to walk upon,With love to…
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Hold on,Dear,Keep onThe tightness to a ropeAbout your bleeding wrists.The world has drenched youIn unguarded sleep.You are two eyes too heavy,Too despondentTo see the crown above your head,While you toil about in motionless dread. My wants,Our cures.Our bleedingFor what is pure.A love that knows no hideousnessOf reprieve.Why would we desire freedom?Why ever yearn to be…
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“Were the human to be adjusted to their own darkness, they’d indeed begin to love what they see. What they see, being themselves, never illuminated in a reflection. They are the beast who loves themselves, always aching, always famished. They chew upon their own flesh, turn themselves inside-out, and demand to be called ‘beautiful’. Yet,…
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“No man can be named a liar, when his critics are focused upon error of his appearance, rather than of his deeds.” – Modern Romanticism
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“Proof must be within action. A person is always recognized for their deeds, for however noble and direct, and therefore not seen any longer of appearance. We love, we trust, the hero for their actions, when their appearances can be ignored. Though, should the appearance be the heroism, it is deception we believe to empower…
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“The identity is the appearance. The action is the deed. Can we recognize the hero by their looks, or by their actions?” – Modern Romanticism
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Can it be here Where we stare Into our eyes, cold as one, Though, warm as none?
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Build the blocks to where I seeYour heart gravitating to me,The blood I forge to have me transferLove to let your wishes be answered.Sing your pleading songs of mercy,That I might end your sorrows down. Love stoops in its pull,Lust washes form in its lull.To sleep, we go, to end the keepOf arms that reach…
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The dream, the dreamOf porcelain, so keen,Dancing about my mind, in its sleep,Waking to the sun for its keep.I dream with golden textures as its hue,Coddling the romance, becoming brand new. She sways,She sashays,With sparkles for resplendence,With agony for remembrance.I nurture her groundThat she might grow,I listen for soundsThat she might call back. I bleed…
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I blacken, with such sounds,The motions of my feeble arms,The blue awakening of my skies,To drown in your cloudsThe harrowing blue curves of your tears. You count the petalsSpring unleashesTo the scented winds,Breathing sweetTouches of longing. You hold out a handThat I may kiss.You take a standWhere I may catch you,Should you fall. Your eyes,…
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You seek rose where there are only throesOf winter’s disheartened remorse.White releases all the dread of a forlorn momentWhere existence compels imperfection.I kiss, and kiss, againThe breath of an exiting sighFrom two lips, raised highOn a contorted face that leaves us doubtfulWithin the greatest of love’s perfection. Through the darkYou seek winter’s throes.Disheartened remorseOf the…
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“All the appearances of a person, can be endless. It is how the deception operates. The skin tone can be made as an infinite arrangement of colors, for instance. Though, by focusing solely on that, we forget the beyond. We forget what is beneath. We forget what is behind such simple appearances that are swallowed…
Modern Romanticism 