Uncategorized
-
Bandage these wrists,For the blood is his to tell.The fable that runsIn idle smoothness, of salient releaseTo the deep-red wine of an hourglass,With roses, many for their petals,Crushed as hearts,In their due time. Wandering in the voyageOf pages, thickened with the chordOf a broken spine,Vanished strength.Walking on stepping stones,Concealed in the fractured imageOf a one…
-
“All lives are built upon Earth, or the place where others fell, or the place where others bled, or the place where others died.” – Modern Romanticism As death should be understood, it is what gives life meaning. People look to life, on its own, as though there can be meaning of each beating heart,…
-
Here, to recallThe waters, through the reflectionOf my faceless, unkind self.Counting the days of rain,When a sunshine came throughThe weeping skiesTo raise the sunken seeds. Here, to remissIn desperate recollectionOf all I could not, or did notCare to keep contained. Here, to kissThe fallen dropletsBrought down on her cheeks,Walking through a stare,Her puddlesFrom ivory eyelids,Hell-born…
-
As IStand, without a smileAbove the graveWhere I called my fellowBeing the bird of torture.The death of a love,Of all wasted years I spentSending sighsTo the ocean’s width. While IFade, among the pain,Wallow, among the grain,Wade, through the stain,Swallow, the future with shame,There is tunnel vision,With no vision for the tunnel. Crafting my book,The same…
-
“Writing patterns and schemes in the work, is a direct result of reading them in people.” – Modern Romanticism We can define all types of poets. Though, it can be believed that the universal aspect of a poet, is not by them simply penning the work, though to write about what they have read. Of…
-
Crawling amongTeeming sadness,A forest has bent its limbsTo the shape of your misery.Folding handsAcross your bleeding heart,A bosom as wideAs the ocean,With no smile you show. Why not awake the sun?I can come through,Kneel to you,Arrange your eyes with a gleam,Tend to your fallen heart,Handing smilesTo your stolen happiness,As loveCan be your banquet. Do not,As…
-
Fragile,MournfulOf the snow that takes shapeOf a man’s crumpled hand,With edgesThat carry him down. Weakened,OvertakenOf the breaking mind,Wallowing in sustenanceToo heavy to hold,Though he walks. BleedingSunrise, into the wastesOf burned fields,Sickened moors,Orchards that loose more applesThan ever he did of sin. Will waterQuenched the starved lips,Reminiscent of a kissNever allowed? Will the moonShow its true…
-
“Stripped from your wild self. Your yielding self. Of bare back, bald breasts, and kissable lips… How have others seen you? How can you foresee me, seeing you? Such beauty. Such admirable beauty. A simplicity to the arrangement of your hair. To your fingers, burning at the tips like candleflame. This is special, dear. This…
-
Poem #1 “A Collection of Fine Dust” SettleIn the stillness,Oh, memories of an afternoonWith frail longing to danceIn the debris of her absence,Tasted again. Like loose rocksFlown from the distant hurricane,The teeming tornados,With velvet to guide my handsAcross to her frozen waist,Among this, heated haste. Like tossed tearsRunning from the storm in her mind,The twisted…
-
Hold your hoursClose to sunrise,The warmth washes gentlyOn a splendid tomorrow.Deep red to curtains,Flowers grown in your hair,Time forgot usOn the road to being unaware. SmoothnessTo cheeks,TeardropsTo eyes.Let fall your garments,One by one,With the decay of secondsTo the unguarded earth. A kiss,And then we breakInto the final surge.A plunge,And undress ourselvesOf scars,Of useless stains,Of life,Of…
-
I am no longerThe man, who held you.Merely the fableOf another twist in the plot,Held with no moreWires to be straightened,For our connectionDied,On the spot. A cold stoneBuried, in a heart,Formed by words to collapseThe teeming alignmentOf mountains,Where a fragile echoCould pass the whiteInto children’s cries,Into innocence’sOpen mouth. Hold me open,Watch me, as I am…
-
Born apart,Given the startOn the longest journeyTowards endless arms.And to breastsBeing white with the milk,To the slightest grayOn the stilled cheeks of a raven,Where feathers bare oldness,Of white in the warmth,Onto black within coldness. Still the grainAt the bottom of us.A caress will notSoften the screams of laughter.Keep us fallingAnd leaking rainFrom eyes made to…
Modern Romanticism 