Beauty
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The world fumbles aroundThe entirety of you, and that is meThe man who watches with eyes that can only glimpseYour bared and vulnerable beauty.My eyes were drowned in utter darkness,Though, now are stung by golden light.For you dance, before me,To show me,Something that will extinguish me of misery. Love glowsIn my hands, like hoops called…
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Miss Beauty,With all radiance to spend,Like what the sun does, to spread color,As you have done, to my mind of black and white. In losing you,My mind has turned to grey. I sought to see your hips move with the wind’s twists,And hear your sighs among the delicate sheets. Love was once all to be…
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Stare up to me,Child of my sight, beneath me.For I love, and have loved, a woman so frail in her plight.And among all the battles to fight,I have stopped hereTo see beneath me, a woman who stares up to my light.But, I make myself humbleEven in my radiance. Her kisses have been a wondrous consumptionOf…
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“When we love, we realize there is more to the world than simply ourselves. For if all we knew to repair was ourselves, we may as well live alone on some deserted island, never seeing any other reflection besides our own. In the glassy waters of the ocean, we will peer into them on that…
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Familiarity is where we place our trust… usually. Though, should we choose to not trust the familiar person, then we will trust more-so the animal to bring us peace. The unfamiliar, being the animal with fur adorning its face, is something we cannot see for an actual expression. We can see, from humans, their faces…
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He wells tears, up to the terrain of his conscious mind.Aware of his pain, and those from others,Brought to greater showersOf those same tears,Upon the sight of others, deep in their gloom. He has saved, and has saved, againWith a mask that does not show his eyes.They are too deep in the tears,Too deep for…
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What we feel for pain, is the practical wound, created for the practical application that is healing. Hunger, for instance, is a practical wound. This hunger, like all hunger, when felt by the self, is a practical wound, felt as physical pain, and it can only be cured with something else practical or physical, being…
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I once folded her memoryIn my arms,During the night.Her sight, so meant to be long goneWith the tide,With the currents that fall away from my eyes,As agony floats along. I once did thisWith feeling,With the same feeling,Of a million sleeping years. I had bled eternal blueFor as far as the sky stretched.To the horizon, where…
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How do I contrive these wordsTo say that I’ve surmounted past a thousand summersWith my dream?And then, only to fail, with her head atop my arms,And depression as the moon, as my heart. Like love to collapse, as it did,Like the sun to turn black,I hold only tears left for my consumption,And a million faded…
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How does one outliveA thousand-and-one heartfelt gestures?With a heart full of fear,I beckon you to hearHow I shower the walls with my tears. How would one burn throughThe ceiling of Hell?Beauty recedes with your eyesBack to memories inside your mind.Like silver tides, your tears are swallowedBy golden sands,And feral hands. Another penetration is neededThis time,…
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She walksWith a frozen movement,For upon the face of facesThere is astonishmentFor what is above her.A little round capOrange in hue,And shaded only by the coming evening. She roams, with a piercing stepTo the snow beneath her folded handsThat each sway past her side. And, within that cap,A long feather pokes outLike a remaining twig…
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Oh, idleness,Unchanging woman,Who I love.There is, to you, of what I observe,A frame, myself, and you, the painting.You have beauty that thunders a spark across the skies, above.Love cannot any longer, lift it up,All I may do is sculpt it, into a memorable form, of what I knew.I knew, through portraits that still enrage me,That…
Modern Romanticism 