#aestheticpoetry
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Blanket and quilt,Heart shape and guilt,Collide upon the other,In merry do-overs.Blessed by thee,Your tranquil beauty.All so personal to describe,My heart, in its redness,And in bluest tears,I bellow out such oldest rhymes. We have faced the world over,In truest terror.You were upon the strength, I knew to uncover youFrom, to see the area beneath yourself,And 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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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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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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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,
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How salvation has arisen,Above and beneath the consequence,Where thee was born,Before Satan’s altar. You destroyed light-years of workFor the sake of a friendship.For the sake of a pitiful message,You broke ties with a God. I am a life well-broken,Deceived, and hand-made,By the artisans of Heaven,And your death means nothing. You hail nothingness,In each shivering limb
Modern Romanticism 