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Modern Romanticism

The aspect of romance, divided between the heartening and the thoughtful.

Poem – “Love Has Breached a Corner in our Wilderness” – Romance – 10/16/2019

October 16, 2019
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I turn around to repeat,
In careless repetition,
All vows and emotions, upon a plate of fate,
You deny what was offered,
From a dying God,
From a man with all the might to his fight,
His eyes were upon you,
And faced the enormous creation,
Of a statue in what he’d not undo,
A love from all broken strings,
Upon one delicate harp,
Upon one frozen heart.

I fought to cleanse the hate from my plate,
From the dish that served rather coldly,
All the misfortune I spent for a night,
For you to eat up my words.

You are the child at the feet of God,
Born with wings, aflame,
Though, are crawling with those who are lame,
There is idleness to your eyes,
And serpent shapes to your fingers.
I was born to love and to swallow tears,
Puddles glisten in my palms,
Overflown upon what gently lingers,
The subject of pain placed at my heel,
Born to desert, and gracefully feel.

Your eyes are the scorn in the desert,
The desert wind under my command,
Is all to make me a man.

The faces in their frequent shadows,
Their hearts in puddles so shallow.

Face me, dear woman, with torn heart,
All memories come barreling down,
Upon the corner of our wilderness.

In the meadow of a tearful love,
Where droplets of dew form on grass,
There is your face of its gentle sight,
For my truest love made to last.

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Poem – “The Redhead with the Glass of Red” – Romance – 10/14/2019

October 14, 2019
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Before me, you sit with a sorry stare at a rim
To a glass made of the fibers of sand,
Love is a breath in the air for our breath,
As sweet as the redness in your hair
And as bitter as the very sight of death,
As the very sight of what sticks out in your mind.

A face with eyes engraved,
And hair that blossoms like thorns to roses.
Of those eyes that are either emerald or sapphire,
Alike the Earth or the sky,
Though, I am unable to tell.
Beauty fell upon me like those tides above,
And I was on the cross,
Dying for my own sins.
Your marble face and hair of fire,
Gleaming with random tresses,
Upon your breast,
Folding upon your shoulders.

Love has made us famous,
While our hearts make furious rhythms,
In the dead of this night.
We sit here, to stare at the curves of a glass,
Love is revealed at our left hand,
As hope is in our right.

We’ll deny ourselves as long as we can,
Or death will cast its own ring from shadows,
To place itself upon your fine, marble hand.

Face me, beautiful one,
You are as lovely as the awoken morn,
With hair as red as the liquid that stains your heart,
Upon each repeated sip,
As red as the rays cast away from the sun,
To the meadows of Heaven.

The Tena Poems – Truest Love – “Lay with Me” – Romance – 10/13/2019

October 13, 2019
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Lay with me, as the world sunders itself,
Go beyond with me, to the lines that seem themselves
To surrender, and surrender more
To the tragedies and comedies of love.
We are, in arms, crying and laughing, beautiful as one,
In our eyes, we hold sweet nectar,
And also,
Bitterness to the wetness
That smear across cheeks made of powder, porcelain, and ice.
We are only beautiful, when we are raised.

So, we rise,
And surmise, nothing,
We falsify nothing
To the sound of fluttering heartbeats,
And the light tap, of kisses.
Only ever does truth come forth,
From hearts so deep and transparent
In the infinite youth of summertime,
Bodies that are milk-white or dowsed in ebony.
Oh, love! Has it made its way,
To the places so full of dismay?
My love and myself, so strong in our song.

So weak,
As well,
In the permanence,
Of what swells,
In hearts so cold,
And so old,
A warmth, a comfort,
For faces to feel its searing touch,
From fingers that have been dipped
Into the blood of the birth
Of love.

Love is a triumph,
In all times of discomfort.
It embraces,
As it faces,
The facades to pull them off,
And reveal an image of tears.

Poem – “Your Eyes Cast a Burn” – Romance – 10/13/2019

October 13, 2019
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Glaring devotion, seems to
Keep you
So warm.
From loyalty, to that burning furnace,
Upon bed sheets made of fans,
To frenzy the flame,
That spreads over your gloss,
A shimmer to your form.

There is beauty crawling atop,
All the fragrance that has me
Succumb to it.

There is nothing so tragic,
As to see beauty’s release,
From love’s state of disease.
For as I lift you to see the Heavens,
Your eyes cast over the Earth,
Light greater than the sun.

There is greatness in each eye,
Though only one stare,
Only one glare,
Has ever been enough,
To scar a burn into my naked flesh,
For us both to see love same as death.

Words of Wisdom – “Love is a Glorious Illness” – Philosophy on Love – 10/13/2019

October 13, 2019
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“Love is an ailment, alike the state of dying from any ordinary illness, where we do not want, nor care for, a cure to either its symptoms, its pain, nor the disease itself. It is unlike life, where in that life, where we possess the energy for a voice, to state that illnesses must be cured.”

Words of Wisdom – “What a Man Cries for in Romance” – Philosophy on Love – 10/11/2019

October 11, 2019
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“Many fools will believe that men desire respect from a woman, though it is not so. A man cries for forgiveness, in his romance. Within every man, there is sheer guilt for his actions. A man does not think on what he could have done, but what he has done, and feels that searing guilt. A woman, however, feels guilt on inaction. Based on action, men desire forgiveness, so that he is trusted to do better, for the future. A man’s weakness is when he no longer acts to act for himself and is when he can bend his knee to the woman he loves, in pure and adoring devotion. It is when he can comprehend that he is no longer the giant, standing over her, but now makes himself the insect, showing a diamond. The diamond represents the heart. Its gleam, and her radiance, are conjoined. The diamond, for its size, represents the largest part of a man’s heart. It is revealing to a woman that his physical size and commanding voice, for his ability to partake in his brutal nature, are nothing, in contrast to his heart.”

Poem – “Fond of Love, Used to Death” – Romance – 10/1/2019

October 1, 2019
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Beckon to me, slowly,
And captivate me, with your childish breath,
Listen to my tale in trembling sorrow,
Slow melodies come as transparent.
You have beauty glistening as the morning calls,
Each deepening farewell,
To the saddest song around,
To the most miserable of notes,
Each played upon an eroded harp.

There is Heaven in your eyes,
And bliss in your soul.
There is strangeness that captivates every yearning,
As the strings from this harp seems to strangle
My potent breath
That brings bitterness to your mind.

Come kiss the night into day,
And make a song from your sigh.
There is twilight around,
And beauty beneath
The most fragrant of soil,
To cling upon your fingertips.

With arms like carved porcelain,
And lips like fine ruby,
I am deep in this eternity,
To see you raised from stillness,
And beckon to me, slowly,
With a face so full of rays.

Words of Wisdom – “The Worth of the Judgement” – Philosophy on Psychology – 9/28/2019

September 28, 2019
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“Each human perceives, but all humans believe, and those who believe are believing not in their perception, but in their teachings. And, should one state that their opinion towards themselves is all the worth for themselves, they are stating the epitome of selfishness. That is, they are believing that they are alike the last person to roam upon this Earth. To be the final person to roam, would make one not only roam, but seek like-minded people. As the final person upon this Earth, they’d have no choice but to seek a puddle. Those obsessed with like-mindedness are both lonely and obsessed as well with their image. Their reflection, that is, and it is a reflection that such people will state is not hideous. A judgement has worth because we are each formed by other humans who cast judgement. A judgement is the most believable thing, and why is this? It is because a judgement can only be placed upon life, and never death. We cannot judge a corpse, because a corpse can no longer respond to it. A judgement would be spoken by the one with wisdom, for life to make corrections. A judgement, therefore, is reserved for life, and never death. A judgement, therefore, if refused by life, is alike to say that the world is teeming with roaming corpses. Roaming corpses, being people whose minds are not of their own control, and whose bodies are alike puppets.”

Words of Wisdom – “The Idiocy in Desiring Immortality – Pt. 4” – Philosophy on Life – 9/21/2019

September 21, 2019
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“Curiosity is the branching stream of mortality, turning curiosity into what is placed upon existence, or reality. A curiosity over life, would make the theme of ‘existence’ hold the definition of ‘the existing moment’, before ‘existence’ becomes ‘non-existence’, perhaps during the next moment. For the same reason that an Atheist will repeat the words, ‘God is dead,’ is for the same reason that we’ll accept the death of a human. In life, we accept the death of existence. And, we deny continually the size and shape of anything never born, or never existed. Why is it, then, that in today’s time, we have retained a curiosity over the afterlife? Both religious folks and those of the sciences have studied the afterlife. Curiosity is born upon life, and life is the mark of existence. And should immortality be the custom for each human, we’d soon have a curiosity over death. Over creating life, we’d create death. Over creating beauty, we’d create ugliness. Even today, when we’ll name obesity as beautiful, we are leaning in that hideous direction. We no longer have a taste for beauty, nor a taste for life. We deny the spoken words of criticism, and name it negativity, despite criticism existing to better life. What is our curiosity? To see how the beauties of life flourish, or to see how the Hellish creatures of death flourish?”

Prose – “My Life in Your Hands” – Romance 8/23/2019

August 23, 2019
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Love!

There is a face that I occasionally come to kiss, even in the dark of night. When torment has been my medicine, from a bottle that I drink to sink pain beneath my chest, I think only of her.

I think only of a woman, who has blackest hair, and darkest eyes.

I think of my failings, my undoings, or any small inaction that I form into the guilt of a man committing murder. I am dramatic by my heart, and fallen by my mind. My mind thinks, and it ponders while it wanders, because guilt has been my necessity. I love with a powerful love. I crave the burn, the sensation that drives me to thrill.

She has embodied that.

The burn, that is, and her form is a chaotic form, of bruised flesh that I have been aiming to make wholeness; for I would offer pleasure, and more-so the love. Her face is what I have found, to be desirous for my many kisses. I have found all of love in her, in its greatest definition conceived by me. Oh, love! It is an emotion, alike a fire, a conflagration, to burn my sins so that it is all I witness.

She is the beauty, and the task to which I devote my time. She is the woman of sentiment, and no photographs would I burn.

For the thrill of love, I commit myself to madness, to sadness, and to gladness; and I adore each sensation, clung upon them like a man I am, with claws, like upon skin that would not tear.

I see her eyes swimming in tears. I am devoted and loyal. I do not worship, but remain at a distance to see the ocean that show whatever loneliness is left to purge. And I cross them, and throw the water aside.

I see tears, and I swipe them away. I see the moon folding its pallid hues over herself, and I collapse the moon. I see the sun offering a greater love than myself, and I destroy the sun. I want no sadness for herself, though for me, for I will grow terrible to thwart away the disease called “distraction”. No sadness, and no misery, for herself.

I will love, and I will love, and I will love.

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