romanticindeed
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Another trailto least follow,while letters fail to sailin their mute blankness,as hands hold air, burying a seedto come up, with the markof a recollected eternitydeep, in this fairytale. Drowning. Once, downingpills, from your bottomless kiss,bottled into a smile,remembered at a mirrorthat leaves smoke, in your favor, while I keep crawling up to it,hoping for another…
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Sufferance. Brought up, onteardrops to write words –those too cruel to be rewritten,though are rewoundin the countdownof a returned life, to the earth, while crying to be reborn,without crying in darkness. Eyelids cannot cover you,in withdrawn attentionfrom scars, raised aboveyour poisoned flesh, nor can I,could I, turn myself awayfrom these woes, raised abovea meaningless breathin…
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Standing before, the cover,the shielding casket lidof a story’s disappointment,an ending – a concealment, and still, I awaitwhat comes next. Eyes forward,towards a funeral,with song, rose, and failurecaretaking what stepswere takento recognize familiarity, without similarity. A brittle unearthingof senselessness. I carried the stars,the infinity of each dropletto let you, come looseinto solid arms. You found…
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I always turnto see you, in mirrors,drawing smoke from your lungs,with an aura of bleaknessaboard, in your eyes, while tears, have left trailsfor hollow footprintsto be anythingbut a temptation. It has meaning.Cremating this heart,while death still holdsa faint breathfrom a tragic smile, a gleaming lockof withering hair –all symbols to releasea sickness you keep, returning…
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I can, run adrift,distancing petals with you,burning hope,like with that familiar ropewe hold, tighter than hands, and sometimes,we did scar our hands,treating pain as a remedywhen we were somebody. I can always come back,opening doors, like they wereof restored fortresses.I can keep repeatinghistory’s elementsof limping flesh, or I canstall this approach,raising walls, like they arewaves…
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You are, what regrowssafely – congested, in running ivoryfrom burning eyes,those that only onceburned awayany shred of you. Whenever, youregrow, from thorns,from bitterness,in stale perfume –to clinging memories, keep on, move on,while nothing stopsthis heart,from attacking itself. Live on, go onto subside yourselfamong desolate substitution. I’ll repeat, here,what lingers inside buried cold.You are a form,…
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“Between the black or the white, there is nothing but everything brought forward from a certain past into an uncertain future.” Modern Romanticism What a machine knows is to compute A or B from a scenario, or from a file where something can be accessed in its objective light. What it cannot do is comprehend…
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I can run backyour grief, to those letters,disowning yourneedless trials,empty as all airyou rush, from your panting lipsstraight into me. You left, your wordslike seeds from a grave,rebirthing a forestfrom shade. To stretch,even without roots,to want for meaningto take place –for anything would be betterthan coldness, while truthhad remained cloggedin your earth,your bewildering mind, your…
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I found outthat words are only markers,or barricades,to stall uson this path to imperfect shelter.We bring our lights forward,burning in this rush, of our faiths, tested at each step,leaving this ground tremoring. Our hands, held for needed moments,to signal a disposition,to feel this lingering side effectto a life that only stoppedfor the other, with pauses…
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I came to believethat heartaches were wanderers,that teardrops were stormsmeant to scatter. I’ve foundthat you’ve come hereto remind me. You’ve comewith bitternessto your bite,with soundlessnessto your heart, while with a mute pair of lips,you’ll want for everythingthat heartbeats had skipped. You’ll face that fire,bringing your veins to a boil,hearing what littleanother offering of wordshad promised…
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Come to blame?Those cracks, both ofa heart, of a mirror,breathing smokeover a broken reflection, as you might bewhat you say you might be, or you might bethe same as those cracks,repairable as the nextbroken faith. I brought you here,to a place whereall of your scars can be seenfrom an uncovered spot,where shadows cannotseal your worth.…
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I can confirmthere is an estrangement,there has beena taxing embellishment,while there was alwaysa long-lasting sustenancethat has becomean overwhelming starvation, as we were bornfor beauty’s sake,though never receivingHeaven’s answers. Escaping to Hell,if only to find shadowsto conceal us.Our light,under an undoing disguisewere this world’s drumming sound,bringing healing all around, while now we lose breath. Helpless, under…
Modern Romanticism 