romanticindeed
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Down in the deepest love In the deepest dark Of a heart, that has wildness attached, Within, and upon the deepest ache, Of an organ that does not cease Its unguarded rhythm. I feel, though I do not Wish to, Because the sun only feels as cold as it could be In the murky underlying…
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When winter has lullabies in bells and snow-showers, Summer will lure her in, like the scenery she comprehends not is warm Enough for her vacant and cold mind. Summer will allure her, Out of a state in wonderment, Lilies dressed on her garments, Petals dressed on her eyelids, Flower stems dressed on her fingertips, And…
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Over the mantle, where fewest feathers were laid, Like a softness I did not comprehend, Was the only one ever made. A breath was all it took to send each feather away From atop the mantle, put in place. I lost where the key went To her heart. I lost where the pain leapt From…
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“The mentality that speaks of a person only capable of knowing themselves, is to reject the empathy from another. We have rejected the words from another person, that is, who says to ourselves, ‘I have walked that same road.’ With an immense focus on the past, we face the direction of pain. Empathy knows pain,…
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“How far does empathy reach, besides beneath the Hell piled atop the guilt that one runs from? Empathy has, as I believe it to have, the power to burn a hole through the floor of Hell, of a person’s Hell, to see what the evil person does not wish to see, of themselves.”
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“Even the monster feels, when no one hears the monster’s howls, when released up to the moon, expecting its silver surface to shed a tear. Even the monster feels, when no one knows why the monster dwells, in the darkness of either its mind, or of the physical shadow. For that is because the monster…
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That which she trusts, with me, All to known, only by me. For my loyalty breathes itself, over her veins, Over the stains, that cannot depart From her heart, in its place. What a history she has, For me to cherish, to feel with each fragment To her sullenness. All secrets, buried in a book,…
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Allow me to lick the tears Free from your cheeks. You have more to yourself, than the many years To the sadness in your sleep. I lay in opposite direction From you, And drink freely the falling rain, From your eyes. It is a bitterness, like a wine made from the Italian vineyard, But I…
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What will we take from the form?Will it be the breast, or the lips,Both of which we kiss with our mouths, our tongues?So much the infant, as a man,As I am,But, in flooding desire to see myself, whole again,As sickness, in miserable sin. For when I stare up at the lowered clouds,There is a spread…
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Do not Come to weep A single droplet of wax into my hand From your eye, that melts The color of the moon. Silver is the changeable Metal, Still so dry in the stillness of a night, Where wine glasses touch lips, and curves extend from hips. I find what I cannot Find in any…
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She carries fire atop her loins, Spreads it upwards for the world to see, And to breathe, Red upon a scenery of pink, And scents as raw as the flesh carved out Of a wilderness beneath. She attracts the goers to the flame, She makes use of those resorting to disdain, Brought out of life,…
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“Influence is the road to deception. Truth is the straightest road to the love for another, and from another. Trust, even if blind, is never blind, because it is the least thing a flawed and imperfect human expects.” A personal choice is the relation to deception, because the personal choice had only been made through…
Modern Romanticism 