romanticindeed
-
Drop upon knees, More frigid than the ground beneath. You took your love by a bouquet of flowers, Dressed up as the stems, themselves, With slenderness to form, While radiant in cheeks, With love to every sentence You will ever speak. Your eyes, A cauldron for my searing. My passion bites the chords Wrapped around…
-
“All love is not delicate, ever on its own. On its own, it is waiting to create. To imagine the universe as infinite, is to believe in love the same. All beauty is delicate to its creator. All beauty is shaped by hands so unseen, while through our submission, we allow them to mold us.”…
-
“Is weather the only thing a human can predict? If so, then what storm will not be predicted, because we had no stable structure, because our roots were missing? If our past is somehow erased, then we leave ourselves open to the driving winds, of tyranny or of simple defeat, to ourselves, to our individualism.…
-
“Whatever soldiers of the past fought for, to end or remain alive, makes those roots numerous by the many tears a storm of the mind had done to topple a body dead. Love protects, like how the mind is meant to protect the form, through wisdom. Therefore, to cut the roots of a nation, embedded…
-
“If any human was allowed to wander into privacy without restriction, we’d not be conquerors. Such is never the case when a human will protect what should not be touched by alien hands. For it is not the offense, though the defense, that ignites the war.” – Modern Romanticism
-
“It is not love that is found. It is love that is fought, for the life, to remain alive. For what we find might slip, and what we hold onto is never released even if it burns our hands.” – Modern Romanticism
-
Cold Washes the running warmth From your heart. You want an end To each bending turn Of a vein for you to follow. You will only bleed more From eyes that are cast In a direction of nowhere. Life has left you Open, like a child. Hands are splayed out To catch the droplets To…
-
Can a grip Truly slip Free, from the sand More bottomless Than the sea? I hold down cradles, more dear Than up my sails. She was the terror upon the wind, I write to the journey of endless breaths. She wields the storm, My tempest, Her eyes, held in the clouds, Her face, kept behind…
-
The romance With the resplendence. The wild eyes, The miserable cries. The wilderness, The loneliness, The bewilderment Of one set of lips Far enough to hear its sigh, Never close enough to taste. Her wind is let through cold Of my window. Her drear is a pressure so dear That I wish to call myself…
-
The jaws open wide, Leaving me space to crawl, Leaving me gaps to enter, Leaving me miseries to console. The lips plastered there Upon her surface, One swollen By eyes of innumerable tears, Calls me to her wings. I am a rose too many In this burning bouquet I hold, in arms, steady, Though rotten.…
-
“Her beauty is the leaves during Autumn, meant to fall, and be swept upon the road like tears across cheeks. ‘Why lie to yourself?’ might say any sensible person, to this disdainful soul. She counts Heaven for its stars, though never for its sole kingdom. A mansion has a place for her, though the beds…
-
“There will never be a heart within a chest if that chest is not meant to be opened. It becomes then a coffin, holding something dead.” – To not Sink a Friend
Modern Romanticism 