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First of the drybeneath the pale complexionof a beautiful moon,you crywith an ocean to displacefrom a heart, to flood the earth. First to startyour journey to the depths.Last to be birthedas the still-life, for the sunrise. The first of many fogsto lift to your eyes. The last of all those walksto the cliffs,to toss your…
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“Being proud is a damning thing for the identity. Why? When you are proud for who you are, rather than what you can do, then you are the one who would favor the value of a book cover, instead of the interior pages. You would be the prejudiced one to consider the exterior’s worth over…
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We despairwhen the autumn tree cannotreturn its fallen leavesback to the cradles resting on its boughs.For it is likethe clouds unable to retrieve snow nor rain,the dandelion unable to returnthe lost seeds. It is all likea heart that cannot return back lovewhen it was sold to a stranger’s hands. It is too much likethe faces…
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A turnstile, gates unopened.Legs wide shut,fused in slender depictionto the fertile fields. Fertile flowers connectedwith unmatched reverieto the sun-droplets,the fires in the spaces untouched,most unexplored. Eyesfor a time in wanderlust.Romance, scattering the scarlet dusttowards a lost entrance.Arms for the form,the concealment to the onetoo artful to be everyone’s feast. Wide and entertaining. Loving and bewildering.…
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There was, to a sea where no sun chooses to rise, a morbid fascination with life. With the hope, with the face that would be shown in the reflection upon the waves; this was where someone did look upon. From his balcony, all he ever saw was reflections. Reflection of stars, of the moon, and…
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Sounds: alarm, orthe forest that burnsto a gentle wind,a breath of your bygone age. Stone, heavy,though the winds will break it.Release tears. A rock.Close connectionthat brings grace to open space.Were you never embraced? My love, – I see where you walked,danced upon the ruins,the wet ashes. Trickling streams,numbing melodies.A heart, a sad little rhythmthat fadeswith…
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Curtains pulled downto reveal brick, to reveal what’s sick.Two eyes – blinds,no purpose to tear awayat what is gone into yesterday. Tomorrow is the new season,yet all is dark. Life behind,death belowwith all the sounds in this heartechoing from stone walls. No blood, no floodto stop with fingers at the eyes.I keep calling – while…
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Wheelbarrows,walking sticks – water pipes.The filth, carried, the rotting man;who walks?Who, above the underground lakehas their pain takenbeyond the cremated shores? Emotion stirs.An ocean has been blurred.No one knows the depthhe holds in a heart.A bottle tossed with one written note – of written words,“Where did you go,when it started to snow?” A retrace, one…
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“Are we meaning to make more than what simply is, being the vastness of one subject or the landscape of different views of those meant or should be given light? There is a necessity to a divide. It comes during an era of complexity. Boundless complications require their simplification. If simplification wasn’t a response to…
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While we might in both our vacant hearts, live in each other’s memories, recede in the other’s tides, I am still avowed in the night, I am still waiting with a rippling heart that you will. Dreaming in fear, battling the dark, while I see you tearing pages from secrets, moments, buried in cages, locked…
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To assure the solemn, then begin to reassure that one in those depths. Assuming first that a man here is not crying because of the weather, as no dark clouds exist within the sapphire-blue skies. Omit then that they could have been the culprit to his mood. If the sun is great and bright, then…
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She undresses herself to the perpetuating tune. The offset of the offbeats, running ripples in soundwaves through heatwaves. There is an aridness to the room she stands in. Her clothes fall like landslides from her velvet flesh, though were loose to begin with. A pair of eyes, glancing to riveting nudity. A man sees a…
Modern Romanticism 