romanticindeed
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Without me, in arms, I bleed only reflection. The memory of a forsaken vow To the embodiment of now. The world has deceit Rising in reverse Angles, made to mangle Our eyes, to our very feet. Love is a triangle, An emotion without circles. Blood rises, to then fall Down to the distant call. I…
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Since May 6th, 2019, I have begun writing an almost endless stream of poetry on this blog. I have now compiled 924 poems, not including the 164 drafts to poetry I didn’t finish. Minus the 54 poems that I am having published through a local publishing house, I have 870 poems that will still need…
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Can you choose Which part of your heart To lose Upon the path, the lonely road That takes a dive Into the plummet of Hell? I seem to have forsaken myself, For the gift to another. Her eyes, bead back disgrace, In tears that drop from weather’s face. Storms siphon humanity From the melting pot,…
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“The cure comes to us as what was lost, to then be found, even if needing to be dug up from a grave. Love is never a stolen moment. It is, though, something that was never found, never owned, never discovered upon the road where it was walking. For we are not robbers of that…
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“There is, to each person, their preference, their race, their creed, their religion, and everything else. Anything past this is to the realization that despite having a different story, we bleed the same tears. When someone dies among ourselves, precious to us, we feel the same pain. We all feel the same torments, the same…
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She stands so Hellish. She would move so Hellish. Lisa whites out her flame, her spark for a dream, before a sleep ever began. She stands in a fire, and walks in the inferno, for she likes the burn to touch her. She looks at herself around the flame’s tendrils, like its form can be…
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“There is a statement: to be proud for what you can do, and to be humble for who you are. Though, what if this was reversed? What if people were proud for who they are, and they were humble about what they can do? Does this not feed into negligence for actions, and then also…
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“We are lonely of the heart, not of the form, when we have lost what the form will collapse, without.” – “To not Sink a Friend”
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Lean out your life, Broken, into the next page. The messenger With his scribbles Is so often, the hastily-written note. Let the tyrant fall From your heart, For he has eclipsed enough stars. Will you pledge your safety In my arms? Holding nails to the cross, While your wrists bleed a trail. We can drink…
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How could all Discover where I call? I am merely two inches buried in my grave, In my Hell, In my storm. There is abounding scenery Displaced from this world, Of bones, Crosses, Fields lined with dead mice. She left a teardrop to my empty hand, Drawing herself away From my distant mind. Now when…
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It is that My eyes have only ever cried For you Under the haze of a dying sun’s Weathering flame. The sadness Will show me gladness, Will lead me straight Into your fragile hold That I can match myself. We are two broken figures Finding balance With our feet upon the snow. We are cripples…
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She knelt in the fog, Hoping for elsewhere To take her somewhere, Anywhere, But here. Her curls lifted From the surrounded shade About her forehead, Auburn in each strand, Loosened by each tress. She fled, While she bled, Soon as she lifted Herself, to see the moon. All of love Deprived, from her, From the…
Modern Romanticism 