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Fire,Firing,Hurling stones against a mattress,Eclipsing us,Faltering our streamsWhere we move, to realizeOurselves, among the naked vowsDedicated,Before a withdrawn Judge.He, the love,He, the crueltyOf a simple sentence.Words so simple, yet much for distortionWhen the banks of these streamsCan mute them. My blood flows,NaturallyOver a country’s dismal currentTo surrender’s feeble edge,Of the flag, buried in mud,While tears…
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How upon a river, when that stream comes as tears, you’d ever be swept aside? My hands are disfigured, so unlike yours that bare themselves to the sunlit moon. Mine do tremble, beneath my face that has been smeared. Smeared by ash, while your hands are not with scars, though with the purity I’ve kept.…
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“Whenever does the choice become clear to the awareness of finality? It is received upon the last effort to control, out of the lack of it.” – Modern Romanticism It is to the suicidal person, that a lack of control is their way to say that the end will be their way to have it…
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You are the turningOf a clock’s own broken hands,Matching where treatment has been madeUpon wounds so heavy.Your face, the music of my disgrace,For I cannot but leave these ambitions, behindTo make something of better signs. Treat your wounds,Dear sister of a better night,For my own shall find sadness, elsewhere,Other than for such grim misfortune.Leave your…
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I have alwaysIn my deepest of nights,Yearned for that whichCannot be burnedEnough.Of my heart,Where words are the sentencingTo another demise,Outside of the reachOf your extended eyesOf a gaze that fathom the milesAhead of myself. Straight to your eyes,Straight to the sunriseBlanketing the morningOf its gray, Autumn withering.I stream down your long armsTo a puddle, formed…
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“We say that love remains, calling our hurts forward, due to that trust was betrayed. We say we hurt, out of betrayed trust, due only to love being the haunt, being the memory that remains. Though, to love, divided from trust, it is to the former where we place the certainty of it. Not ever…
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Perhaps it could beUpon the time when you are slopedIn my long arms from the moon,That you will live,To raise yourselfAway from the rope,Away from the gloom. Perhaps when I kiss you,The scars in your heartWill become the stars that signalUs, to the start.Though, when I can hold youIs when I shall drown youIn the…
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“What leader is such, when their goal is not upon the future, though upon the passing moments? Their aim, in that sense, would be to freeze everyone in place, so that the future receives more anxiety than does the moment.” – Modern Romanticism Whatever fool believes one should “live for the moment”, pertaining to a…
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“Forgiveness cannot perceive fault, making all that possesses error go unsegregated from the perfected.” – Modern Romanticism Forgiveness perceives nothing of imperfection, that it might always be aligned with the perfect. A perfected thing, is always in the awareness of love. Love, to its essence, is always for the imperfect to become its very opposite.…
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Repetition is not ever in the comprehension of who needs their necessity. A necessity of something so needed, will not be met through repetition. For those who speak highly of mass production, in its relation to equal distribution, cannot ever tell of quality to that necessity. To need something of the time it is required,…
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Leaving seconds comfortableIn every fallen syllableOf a lie,Dancing in sweetest comfort,Making music of laughterBirthed by false mirth,As her hair glides to shoulder-top,While her fingers stain her lipsWith the red rougeOf a thousand misguided summers. For what she bleedsIs nothing outside,Marking where she may stepIs to measure the path where lava treads.Like heat is there for…
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DropletsRunning from the knife-wieldingMan, whose eyes are upon the dead glanceOf a thousand women, moreThan the fields where he buriedThose memories he adored. Cruelty stains the running mouthOnce of audible syllables, left uncouthTo the broken beautyWhose eyes may match the skies,Where Heaven subsides,As the daylight dies. She carried thorns, attached to a rope,Leaving a trail,…
Modern Romanticism 