#aesthetic
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Fall upon me, now,And un-shield your eyes,That sparkle from the dew of a newest morning,A cry for aid, when you came astray,Feeling pain as you did upon the birthOf our love. Your mind is a curse for your heart,Your heart is a feast for my mind.Your flesh is the place where I partThe breasts, to
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Love is a famous thing,My bird, my devil.You have sprouted wings for myself to see,Hoping for this face of mine to utter some sound,That will ignite the world around.Our garden of decay,Is where we share these notes of love,Alike our merry Heaven with a house of stone,Falling to our feet, from above. I will hope
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“Where loss encourages the will for survival, a human will each believe that there is more to do, more to gain, and more for the stride. Such is how life functions, in contrast to the forced contentment from death. Or, in love? How does love also evoke the stillness of gratitude?” She is the waltzer
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Save me, graces,The bleeding wound,In me,Has long thought of to be free.Your idleness matchesMy failure. And to the ship,Where there are sailors,They mask themselves in the breezes. Fate awaits me,Her dying body is a shelter,One that throws love overboard.Underneath my feet,There are many serpents.There are many insects I have crushed. There is a face,One so
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Step into me,Cold and broken,With pieces placed in your arms,Cutting flesh, already bruised.Tell me sweet verse,Over an idled curse.A swollen love,Not from above. From here,Two eyes do appear,From between shadows,So dense and heavy.You have curves that dance,Under vivid wilderness,And a beautiful face,Shown to magnify,My perception to be acute: – For I see of you,The bluest
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As you stand when I layAnd die over me.Tresses so bleak and heavy,As the newborn moon,As tears rain from a face,To see my face barren and white. As white as death,As crude as this soil.I am wrapped in a box,For your weeping. I was in pain,And now, I see your pain.Tears fall like the universe,Should
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With all my temples,And all my walls,It is not enough. It is not enough to speak,Of my wishes, and my admiration,Though, to be frugal and crude,So thou has died beneath my feet. I have been a devil,For but a moment,And made a bloodied floor. Your eyes were looking tall,To where I built a sculpture,And saw
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Your shielding hands do not wash tears, But merely keep your face hidden from the crudeness, Of my blatancy. Of balance and form, of folded wings that burn.
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The apocalyptic shadow,Of my eminent devastation.My salvation,Could not have come sooner,By the noose,To the box. To the soil, and attempt to rejoin,What I had lost.Was she lifted?Was she granted,The heart of God, of any God, of any faith,Rather than my own, for I failed? Indeed, I failed, as was my wont.Accustomed to failure,And now, she
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Unloved and made for pain,Here is me, made for the world to see,What is death with a breath?What is love without the sigh? With a face once so full of gold,And no more beauty to behold,Angel wings burned,A life upturned,Like mine,And I fell upon a thorn. Sympathy is the reward of the overthrown,Stepped down to
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The most beautiful of orchids,Has soon met her fate,By a dying rose,Upon her somber face. Her sorrow reaches to the Earth’s end,Away from my trembling hands.Disease and pestilence, are my only reward,For my fleeing from safety. Her number grew gradually,Among the rotten many.The many poor to which she brought herself,Low, for a kiss,Flooded London’s districts,
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With fewest steps to climb,In an amorous avalanche of emotion,Wandering upwards, to where a faceGlistens, and has been frozen.I, with marble, in hand,Smear its molten material upon thee,And make thee a face of beauty and frailty,Because, I have come from the realm of love. Eyes gilded as sapphires,And lips swiped upon, with rubyPaint; and listless,
Modern Romanticism 