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“A difference resides between love and hatred, in that this former state of being feels everything of another person, whereas this latter one feels everything oneself feels. Love feels all of another’s emotions. Hatred feels only what oneself has been feeling. This has been due to genuine hate coming from love. Hatred has always been…
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Talk to pain.Sweet mother of whispers,cradle this misfortune,blanket me in sleep.Wish me a better life,reprieve meinto better thoughts,beyond debris of failure. When you awakened meas an immature child,deep in folded arms,I recall those tearsI let go,as I could notlet you go. Have you understood me,inside my newly formed wombof a greater, older life?You have caressed…
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Wither off, come offwith waters revealed at eyes,while you dry uplakes, absorbing glaciers,among all ofHeaven’s rainfall. Naked, while dancingto sounds of griefbeckoning in a disused well,fading in a comfortable Hell. We kiss what cannot bedeserved, in thisgreat waterfall of life. We miss our old lives,wasted, in the numbness.Aren’t you aching? Aren’t you wantingFor union when…
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Lonely dancer, find your nestwith fruit still fresh.Love touches your breast,ceases our breath.Against all, we welcome death,facing views upon fragrant land,burning roses into hearts,stealing eyes into jewels. Walk among porcelain sand, cloud this night in mist,dashed upon lovelorn lips. We rain Heaven from a sunthat beats its furnace low.We tremble in naked vows,while faces sink…
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Both wishes.Love, within miles,these concealed smiles.We taste tears,have tasted fearsbeneath rose petals,where you lost. You lost your heartwithin the rapids. Unloved, you werewalking under stars.Water stays as all,as it remains our call.Foraged eyesbeneath soil, among toillives in our land. Both kisses.Upon a road,fading in our years,drowned in our tears.Unloved, as allsilences in our call. Buried…
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Not fromcruel backgrounds of coloredevenings.Not fromcalm faces upon glowingmornings.You never leave. Wasted, underspecks of diamonds during night.Lasting sightsto your silhouette,while memories tramplefavorite sceneries. If love held out a stone,I will toss itto become dust, in an ocean, wherepressure smeared us into veins,circulating into circlesback to beginning. One kiss is allI request,to bleed me into seas,to…
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Here, in Hell. Walking onunder smoothing rain, weepingwhile you live. I lovein your field of vision,changing ropes around you,watering dust,turning roses into rust. Collapse of towers. Heaven hascrippled all our shooting stars.While finality rendersour salience scarred,we rope, to pull, a garden closewith hope to raisethat crucified home. Bound, while kisses are blownto spread dust about,in…
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Come around,tell this night you wereour winter, upon sand.Tell these limbs of naked treesyou were life being broughtfrom storied glaciers,from an eye coveredin smothering mist. While Ican cry away all daylightfrom our side,this defeat has been amplein a stillborn moon,as corners are dried in fire,as pleasures are wiped cleanfrom mounting desire. All our love fadedwithin…
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Sifted curtains. Conceal a road,outdoor scenery uncovered,received with fog.Leave a kiss to your entrance,your residence in each room.Sounds of train’s whistlebringing waters of old men’s bagsbeneath eyes, beneath stares.In all I long forremains your breath,a sound in nighttime quiet. Fire in this morning’s sky.A fire in a lover’s heart,wasted in every cry.Lakes dried, lakes being…
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Speak in your tongueout for all you belong.Taste that smile under a sun,bending texture to burning bright,a feast for eyes, decor forheaven’s rush, Hell to run.Radiant passion in deep caress, as petals float about your dress.I feel close in one final stepto drown you in my resignationunder your wings, beneath those eyesI fathom as kindest…
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He held her at arm’s length, counting his feathers. Softness around him. Eyes of an eagle, the beak of an ancient pterodactyl. All to see, with all to bite from flesh. With all those things he saw, he saw himself to swiftly bring close her life in a sharp cancellation. Their romance, a feud with…
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“A concept as hate, as it is a concept, so rare that it belongs to a vendetta, reflects our judgement to it as if all knew each other. Do murderers always know their victims? If so, there would be nothing to fear. Do soldiers come to know their enemies? If so, they’d have less to…
Modern Romanticism 