romanticindeed
-
Our skin sold us For the mud of graves. Our flesh melted off Bones as white as the clouds, Upon those dry days Without sounds. Chained in the ways of death, Chained, though without breath For our eyes can only see ahead, Having not viewed below To our feet, where hands grasp us, as gods.…
-
Let me haunt your flesh To rise from its place beneath Soil and trees. I want to see how pale you’ve become, Of how solemn your eyes have been stained, Of how wishful your voice has hurried itself, Of how morbid it is, That those tears of yours merely hang there To never fall. Why…
-
Concept: A woman about as beautiful as many, always seats herself before a mirror to adorn herself in cosmetic, to appear attractive, for no one. That mirror is her curse for loneliness. Though there is a man who represents the “peeping tom” in this story. He always comes to view this woman in the window,…
-
We are sailingTo the winds at our backs,To the freedom that says,“Do not turn back,For there is nothing you lack.”As the clouds part,It is the only storm to ever close,While ahead is the light. We are drifting to the sunrise,Not the sunset.Though, the west be aflameWith the fires of distress,Glimpses of power grasped by filthy…
-
The faltering She’s thrown to the moon. The tears She has dropped to the Earth. The ridicule She has received from the sun. All this, and then some To remind me of what could not be won. I bleed from arms that hold only empty air Poured from my leaking throat That has been slit…
-
Steps are taken, Steps are walked Down towards the heavy shores Where a maid plays her harp To the sounds of the gulf, She adores. I am in the arms of emptiness, As my form makes up The universe, eclipsed from light. The purpose in love Is to feel its warmth, To feel the wash…
-
Why is it that over the centuries, we have had beautiful art that has touched the viewers, or the listeners, or the readers to a level where they had wept? It is because a common factor of humans is to hide a vulnerability. What had made them weep, was the art connecting to the vulnerability.…
-
Not everything is a process, because not everything is predictable in terms of its steps. Grief, for one, is not a process. It is because grief is the most unpredictable reaction to trauma. Are we, in our scientific age, in the desire to control something so uncontrollable as human emotions? That could be our calling,…
-
I caught her beside the portrait, fairly new to its beholding. I caught where she sighed a breath to disturb the oils, or perhaps cause it to dry a bit faster. I caught how her hair fell down just an inch longer, after the time passed during my initial painting of her. She had thrown…
-
Adam and Eve Put her to sleep By a rosy flame In the nested deep. I swore I could lose her Before sunrise, For her sickness swelled, As her chest rose and fell With laboring breaths Of a winded bird. Adam and Eve saw the snake I was, Told me that they’d obey Whatever I…
-
Ten wilted petals Stumbling over the other Upon her fingers, in the grave. The appendages curled, in the state of her death. She catches falling rain upon a bony cheek, Watered over in the ivory. Upon the fingers that do not point above, They yet point below To the sandy Earth Where hollow joys Were…
-
Responsibility beckons to love, is within the same meaning as love. Opposite of love, is a choice. A choice for a murderer, would be to murder. A choice for a slave, would be to cut their wrists. A choice for a thief, would be to steal. The objective status of any human, is to preserve…
Modern Romanticism 