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 you
From, to see the area beneath yourself,
And to see where I aimed to lay down,
As you nested emeralds upon a crown,
And showed weakness to myself.As I laid down to look above,
I felt warmth spark,
From this endearing love.
All of pain, in my chest,
All of pain, in my heart,
Blossoms freely,
Plainly, from the start.My beauty, I feel your skin, so cold against mine,
Nestle your face,
Against this warm heart,
This flaming heart,
My flesh apart,
With my eyes upon thine,
Let us be true, becoming entwined.
Tag: #aestheticpoetry
Poem – “A Glance upon your Swollen Heart” – Romance – 10/25/2019
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 to meet you, in coming time,
Kiss you, beneath tree and star, combined,
Blessed beauty, you have been made mine,
Structured in a well of empathy,
Screams and sighs, we allow for each other,
For kisses and holiest rhymes,
To bleed upon another.
Destitute, we once were,
As children of a demonic world.
And we are now the crudest things,
Beneath wreaths of love, and greatest imaginings.
Once, we were brethren of faraway hopes,
And we kissed beyond a sea,
We suffered torments without vows,
And now,
We are lovers in swollen hearts.
Poetry of a Love – “I am in Love” – Romantic Poetry
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 hues,
In a pair of faraway eyes,
And still so close to me.
Your face, buried in my chest,
Yet, buried in your hands.
You have a waist,
That I could grip with one hand,
And a neck,
That could be kissed, tenderly.
The music to your sigh,
Would never allow a goodbye.
Oh, beauty! Come to me,
With ivory placed so evenly.
Give yourself to me,
And do not let go.
Grant me one wish,
To love forever.
Poem – “Behind your Shielding Hands” – Romance
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.
Where tears weep out to the hovering space,
I’ll say that it is you who cries.
Behind a closed curtain where farewells die,
There is you who cries.
There is the merciless destruction of a form,
A love had once protected it,
And protected a face,
From scarring.
Death is your only reward,
For your selfish abandonment.
What is my reward?
Where is my punishment?
I am the fallen curtain,
And the somber attitude.
The endless revealing of your bleeding tears,
The times we’ve kept to the unending dark,
Has played our emotions like distant notes,
Called from a rock,
Called from a wailing woman,
Whose lover has gone away.
There is shadow that creeps over me,
By the futility of a presence.
I am angered by my desire,
To still have you, by the moment I’m meant to hang.
Love has called me back,
To my selfish hopes,
Your selfishness is merely a stone,
To my boulder.
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.
Of grace and sickening aromas,
Of rouge and shadow and roses,
Of beauty and the chain to the whip.
There is all the desire to behold.
There is a reveal of madness in my swimming eyes,
There is a curtain of forgiveness upon my arm,
There are beauties who roam,
And kisses that touch.
I am nothing without a fever,
Without a love.
I am nothing,
And simply everything.
Epic Poem – “Long Beloved Beauty in Life” – Part One – Romance – 7/8/2019
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 lingers among rot,
As a woman,
As a soul,
As torment in its very incarnation.
What is my music?
It is death, as I see it.
What is my loss?
It was a woman, as I knew her.
What is my frailty?
My guilt, as I feel it,
What is my safety?
The suicide in an evening, guided by a dimming sun.
Oh, pain, empty yourself upon my lashed back,
Afore the pain was ever there,
Afore the lashes were ever struck to bleed,
My back; my love is gone.
And a truce was spoken,
To the nearly-open wind, and bound nothing.
Poem – “My Lady, in Silence” – Romance
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, and France’s cemeteries,
And made failure as her triumph.
For she dances with a sparkle to amaze,
The thwarting crowd, who reach
For the moon’s elongated arms.
I feel fate crawl upon us.
I feel the nectar unbind my wounds,
And cause misery to cease,
I am among the tragic few,
With fewer tears to name as new.
I am a man with no name,
And sees a woman with no face.
Her eyes, and her beauty
Struggles to fight the willful fight,
Beyond temptation, beyond dirt,
And so I may hold her in longer arms.
Her dreams and her woe,
Become nothingness, so slow.
Poem – “I Cast Thee in Marble” – Romance
With fewest steps to climb,
In an amorous avalanche of emotion,
Wandering upwards, to where a face
Glistens, 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 ruby
Paint; and listless, is thy worn face,
Because, thou art continually raped.
A face of so much shame, for what was lost,
A virgin to the sword, and a blameless sleep.
A state of grief to the most pitied sheep,
I am for thee, and must build ye, on high.
Death makes unique phosphorous,
Of deadened things, so that thy breasts
Will glisten, and make a sight to behold.
When I love, I love with a stricken self,
I love with all the sadness of the earth,
Because, it has all been placed in the greenest
Marble, and has been frozen by me.
Love at my feet, and sympathy in my arms.
I toss all thy kind messages to the skies,
Safety and gratuity, all hurled into the sharp winds.
Love is a blessing when found through comfort,
I know, for I have made the finest delicacy.
The woman of marble, made in tidiness,
Made with grace, with arms extended, and legs
Placed together, in firmness, and modesty.
When I love, I make, and in the making, I undo myself.
Poem – “The Dissertation of an Enemy” – Romantic/Sadism
How salvation has arisen,
Above and beneath the consequence,
Where thee was born,
Before Satan’s altar.
You destroyed light-years of work
For 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 that extends,
From your empty form.
A love and a woman; you are holy.
You had an aura,
A well-conceived aura of disuse,
And once held a message of broken verse,
Held it upon your breast, to say,
“Thus, the maker of me,
Has no longer eyes to see.”
I mean no harm by what I say,
Though, the notion to your beauty has voided
Itself, from the distance of my love.
Beneath God’s light, I cannot see upwards.
When Atheism dawned,
Through the petals of Heaven’s meadows,
There were thorns from Hell’s rifts,
And the portals spewed demons.
They cried, “Whenever will we arrive,
To see what has maddened us?”
A message, a god, and a woman,
Made fathomable by love and blood.
Where was God, in this moment?
When beauty felled like the cross?
Modern Romanticism 