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Love is the Devil’s madness, as it will remain God’s laughter. We describe how such an injection from a divine one, will be for humans, in their evil, to be something unlike what they simply desire. Blue is the color of tears, while green is the color of growth. Can we have the latter, without
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Mental illness had sprouted from me, truly speaking, at the time I fell in love with the only woman I ever loved. I created this blog to write about every feeling I had with her, before our parting. It was only due to a specific medical condition that created our parting, as that condition would
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For more similar posts, visit this site: https://ricoveteran.wordpress.com/ /Missed Call /Incoming Voicemail Hello, my friend.I am saddened by the fact that you have locked all doors to me.These are the doors I can’t unshut. These are the nightmares that bind me to the past.And now I sit here knocking, hoping for the door to open,
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My poetry manuscript got accepted by a local publisher in my state’s county. I am thrilled about this. Perhaps I can finally get past my past, and focus on the future, for once. 🙂
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Why do I write so much poetry? I have written 450 poems in the span of 8 months. Were I to make 50-poem poetry books, I could create 9 of them. I guess I should be proud of that achievement, right? Poetry is the core of all the rest of my other work. Even my
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Blank face, and greatest of ways,Place my body before you,I test the weight of your gravity,The denial you’ve kept in the knowingOf all I knew to be,Your love, and your lust,Built on stones and steel,In a forge within a home. A face full of mirrors,Is where I see a past so amusing.Memories,Treasured, though buriedAnd you’ll
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Tolerance, and belligerence,Came together in untold charity.I was the man of fortunes unkempt in my mind,Ambitions of truest sadness,With faces that were many.Blame me, the boldness upon these handsStained with the eruption of grief.Pain is my reward,And your reward is my expression. An expression of what I’ve heldAs a delay to our arrival.Our arrival upon
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Dawn on me,Your shade of comfort,In my place of great sorrow.Hellish disdain,Among great pain,Has left me open,To the option, of having you near.And you are what is called,“Believable”. A great love, has left its mark,Upon a heart, fleeing in dark.A notion I’ve made clear,Under stars so bright and cruel,That I’ve seen plains full of flame,And
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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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Beloved, to describe what is before me,Would perhaps offer me,What to me, craves the plenty –The multiple aspects to your beauty.And as I sit before you, and before my gaze,Towards your marvelous captivity,You show to moon and star,A gaze full of idle awakeningTo what thumps a rhythm in your golden heart,Broken away, are those fragments
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Oh, realm of the wicked, where dreams drop from hands like droppings from the bottom of a bird; there is much admiration to stick upon beauty to admire; why withhold what should be offered? Love will lift it, beyond the realm of Men, where flesh is torn and raped. Faces are many that stare with
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Your eyes sparkle youth into being, But, what strength, And, what weakness, I behold, in this feeling! Without description, all that remains Is pure and undeserved pain, Stemming from life that built itself, Upon immoral and unneeded strife. I name all pleasure as our fortune, No home could be ever-more welcoming As your heart. The
Modern Romanticism 