Uncategorized
-
Walk with a smile to bring back.You were meantTo walk atop your own puddlesThe clouds above your headLeave, for your reflection. Can you say we were meantTo cross lightning with lightning?A brief flashRevealed the lust more tragicThan each spark that never endedSlower than our tracksBeing covered by the snow.
-
Filter the sentence,Wear the pageWrapped where throats collapse,As lungs fill with the sootOf a thousand-and-one blood droplets. The iron,The taste of everythingWe hid, upon the tongue.Upon the wind,Your scent exits from the westWhere your light was burned out,Where your eyesKept lowering.
-
It wasWhile we loved to gather rainTo the drunken petals,That our darknessWas the faces we kept avoiding.Our kisses meant the tears,Our eyes meant the years,While loveKept feeding us the rope. We wereAlways on the brink of disaster,Holding skin as were the blue skies,Weeping to replace missing dropletsIn the ocean,Eaten by the shore.
-
“No human, the doll, the tinkered instrument meant to snap either of strings to physical realness or of blinding gullibility, will perpetually be the case. All humans, the sponge, the tank flooded within that will break no matter the toughness of exterior. There is no skin the metal, nor face the mask that can guard…
-
Driven at the mirth of your leaves,Falling at the same space to your feet.Creeping to the tears that leftTheir stains, to discover you bleedBeneath pale moonlight, at sceneries weptTo the fog that surrounds your formAble for hands to lift. While grace would grant you steps,Each petal, each rose scattered around youBends a nose to the…
-
“I think, that when I look at the night, I can see something still so mesmerizing of color as the day. I can see nothing missing in detail, never deprived of either vividness nor shape. A flawless form; though, dead with the teardrops that fell, while in desperation, attempting to raise a garden from a…
-
No more than a veinReleases, for the stains to grain.A droplet from red to the clearWarmth of some bitter pain.We love until the dawn sets,As the dusk rises,While histories keep us close in check,Weeping in each symptom, at all breaths. We love, while clouds remainTo bring tracks on the desperate roadTo smother, along with our…
-
You awake with the forest, in tearsTo repeat the wars, the countless yearsYour eyes radiated with the sun,Though drowned with sceneries shunned.Futures discarded at trembling arms, exalted fears,In the garden you raisedAmong all warmth cast aside. Forever to kiss the dropletsWorn as stones at my throat.Forever to finalize the melodyComposed beneath silver crescent,Before its eventual…
-
“I think, that when I look at the night, I can see something still so mesmerizing of color as the day. I can see nothing missing in detail, never deprived of either vividness nor shape. A flawless form; though, dead with the teardrops that fell, while in desperation, attempting to raise a garden from a…
-
Tend to the grassThat burns, within the forest pass,Upon the road that floodsOur thoughts covered in glass.Mirrors against where Heaven stood,Next to fall at the pinnacle – To an ocean, shredded of debacle.With stains against snow-touched cheeks,Presenting symptoms to the bleak. Here, the eyes have withdrawnFrom the sun’s rise at dawn.
-
How many womenBreathed fire through their lips?How many womenCusped water before the drought?How many womenWept for the sullen forest,Whether or notThe waters would raise enough? How many womenSpoke of sadness at the end,Wrote letters to be sentTowards crippled shores?
-
A sister’s hand reaches forThe loneliest pick of a feather.One forlorn smile among a thousand breezesShifting the currents, extending the eyes.As all was the wave crashing downIn the defeated heart where thunder ceases.A sister’s hand reaching for softness,Weeping for the mirror, a reflection’s weariness. Her eyes carve the daggers for the sight,While her talons are…
Modern Romanticism 