Beauty
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I thirst for the momentWhen I can peel back the skin from my tongue,And see,Only what I could not reach forward forIn the dimming haze of this winter forest,But only what I had tasted,Being the rain of different droplets,From different places on this Earth. Death and denial,Have an eternal place,A marriage in Hell,A hand waving…
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Upon highest waters,Where the currents match our tears,We were once in arms, tragic and longLike the moon with its great form,Bleeding newness into night,So that the sun may greet the paleWith its roaring hues. All I feel,Is this fiery pain,While a grave sleeps beside me,It had started before me,And now slumbers, continuously. Every gray fieldOf…
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My face and mind,As my eyes stare so blind,I believed in a love who did not awakeTo see,Me, in terrible suffering.Famous, though mild,Crude, though wild,She was the stench of filth,And terrible bliss. My own beauty,Where did it vanish?Where did it leave to,In this winter of duress?Among all the pain,There is hardly any shame,To weather my…
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The worst has passedWith the snow to a bleak yesterday.And I see her tresses rain from a frail head,To that path behind me,To a path, where I see,All my cruelest enemies,Little voices of laughter, from spiteful children,People who beg, and people who spit,People who destroy what worlds they ever had. Why would they want this?…
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When I cannot love,When I cannot drownIn the arms of a one,Who took me aboveTo see what could not be undone. A woman,A face,Of splendor and beauty,Each small bit of fervency,Each frail part of tragedy,Is hers for the closingOf my heart.One streaming face,One anguished expression,Laced with the marks of a pair of hands,That had ripped…
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My love,My beauty,My once-held power.Upon your hair, there are ornaments of ice,While there is pain upon my mind.There are great statues in the wildernessFor us both to see.Their splendor has been an easy achievement,To fill the void, of an artist,Of one forgotten creator. I once created, what has collapsed.What has been called “beautiful”,Is only now…
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His eyes are always weeping;His hands are always trembling;His mind is always fearful,Without her light,Without her warmth. “Love has fled,”Said the man, who bledTears, upon his knees, held closeTo his barren chest.A face of a withered personality. A man poisoned into dust,A man without the nerve to raiseHimself, from where he resides,Beneath a curtain,To keep…
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She would bow,And I’ll raise her up.She cannot disavowThe words we said before an altar,To go on towards another place,Another place I cannot conquer.What of her heart? What of the heartThat knows how to beat, only whenThe birth of beauty starts,During whenHer cheeks flare upon my touch to her skin?What of her heart,What of the…
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Now we speak the tuneAs it draws close to attentive ears,Among all our waning years,Failure upon our cold and scarred shoulders,The tune of how a clock ticksEach passing, miserable momentTo a barren winter. I have been in love for a while,Until I have drawn so close to emptiness.Misery is always a comfortAnd a reminder,A little…
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Romantic and justUs, ourselves, in arms,With tulips that surround,Primrose and all alike,Sweetness is aboundUpon our nostrils, and they cleanse!They were meant to turn awayOur Hellish nightmares,Our bleakness,Into the most pleasant of dreams. I am in love with the greatest of women,The feeblest of women,Who has ice upon her eyelids,And greater solidity in her heart.I have…
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Come closer,Frail one, to my door,Where you’ve heard these screams before.Where my limbs had once crashedTo the floor,And had then risenTo meet your throat,With a solid grip to drain life away. Pain and shame is now an empire,Among all the redness to your lips.You’ve tasted blood,Have you not?Your dream for lonelinessHas become a sheer reality.…
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Within one life of prior viewing,I once could see beautyBefore myself, with all its liveliness.I once saw a woman with darkest hair and darkest eyes,I once saw herself adorned in garments of black,I once saw her in pallid skin, readied for kisses.And I see myself now, painted in a mask,Of defeat and grief. How has…
Modern Romanticism 