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“To him, of her, he could not call what he’s seen as imperfections. He could not, for he viewed with an eye that held love to its sight. Almighty in its department, love perfected those imperfections, and they were no longer able to become broken.” – Modern Romanticism
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“Whispering through the soil, would ricochet the sheer emptiness that pertains to his defeat. Her defeat, too, runs through the dust and debris of the gathered earth, of miles into endlessness. One word from his mouth would not rupture a thing. One word from his mouth would not ever damage another thing. One finger, or…
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How is pain felt? Is it not like the storm gathered in its heaviest gray? Would the gray remain for long, before letting loose what it has carried, being of its rain? Are we not the same in what we dispassionately yearn to be rid of? It is that brief moment of logic where we…
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“How many tears could a man have concealed upon a time when he was hungry, when to soon realize upon his loss that he was only thirsty? A man lives, to drink in what he never felt.” – Modern Romanticism
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All dreamsBecome beautiful lightsWithout the sun that awakens us,Deep in our nights,Covered in our blindness. We stageDifferent acts,To attractDifferent flies,For we are the death, wilted over. Just memoriesThat bleed, for eternity.Staging nothingness,Beaming beneath a golden light,Hovering above cresting waves. We are movingWithout feet.We are tremblingIn the final burialOf our hearts, in the sand. We have…
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How many tears have you cried,My dear?Falling apart with your heart in your hands,Fragile, with broken arms,Somber eyes.Can you ease the dark around us?Or, shall IMerely breathe to stake us down with a kiss? Leave all lonelinessLeft to the restOf this forgotten world.Can we not be one lightThat no longer weepsWax over our fingers,Catching teeming…
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Blow me a candleThat I might spark a new daylightDeep from my heartTo the surfaced horizon.Just a false heap of a lineThat requires a heat.Kiss your markUpon my unfolded lips.I want to detect youOn this night, where the moonIs most resplendent. Please say you will leave a roseOn the bed,Where you shed more tearsThan petals.…
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Kill the moment,Could you,Little lie?No fire could wake youFrom your deprivationTo thirst.You want the drink,Kissing the edge to a bottle.You yearnWithout waiting your turn.No firewater,Could drown out these tendrils of flame. You placeYour face, in the earth,Breaking smog,For you have lifted it to face the sunlight,Where warmth has lifted a smokeTo cease the sun. And…
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Breaking between syllables, this painter is lost in his wreckage. A void for discovery’s sake, to see a face that looks back to his pain, to the absence. As this memory unites with himself, a hollowness begins to become so apparent in its torture. Just a single pang of loneliness, doubt, and uncertainty to keep…
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Simplest grief,Arranged wreathFloats byOn gentle breezes.One warming sighCannot beFrom the coldest cry.Your eyesWanderWith streaming gatheredTears.Warmth,Blue kissesBreathe down my throatThe song you want me to sing. I am to kiss your face,Exquisite one.Undress your form to the windsWhen they become one.Ardor and splendor,Are unified, becoming none.Just a modest sense,Equivalent to that none. I love,I crave,I wish,I…
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RespectIs the glance of distanceTo ease the side that concerns youThe most.Love is that,The distance.As I hold your hand,I flood the space between usWith waters you cannot see,Using eyes you cannot notice,Veiled behind a cloak of white. A filigree of vintage covering,So like snowThat rains in from an overcastField,From above.For I want to kissEvery draining…
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