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Modern Romanticism

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

Words of Wisdom – “A Nation’s Desire for Quickness” – 8/18/2019

August 18, 2019
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“A nation’s obsession with mass production has first utilized the woman’s womb for the mass production of workers. In turning her into a worker, she is less of a housewife. In being less of a housewife, the woman is more eager. In being more eager, she produces more, and cares less for the child. This creates the definition of mass production, and that is, the created product is never seen to have been built to last. It is soon cast off to a heap, whenever it has been expelled of all use. Everything built, when mass produced, is not designed to surpass the test of time. In the past, humanity focused on the millennium, until we focused on the century. As progress furthered, we soon focused on the decade, until we began to say, ‘We should take everything day for day’.”

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Poem – “A Beauty with Roses” – Romance

August 15, 2019
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Pleasure me with the face of roses,
And feed me your graces,
Long, was your tresses, made of ebony.

Stone-like, is your heart, and made of the same.
Find me next to nectar,
Let us leave the sacred altar,
And play nude in the mud.
Children are ignorant, while question is their infinity.

My beauty with stains of descent,
Upon soil, where your ragged flesh lies loose,

And a heart burdened in heaviness.
I toss more soil to silence whatever flame
Is still left to light the Earth,
And all its failing dwellers.

Name yourself upon the shape of my arm,
Twist yourself about the beautiful objects that stone me,

Make me warm, and make me wild,
Find me as a man of nothingness.

I feel fame as easily as pleasure,
Death and denial go as well

As the evening to strife upon life,
When we said to ourselves,
“We are meant to be,
Pleasured by pain, so evenly.”

We are the workers of a plentiful tomorrow,
The roses you bring are the tears you’ve shed.

As I am in love with the dead,
And I will play with the sand,
To share our story with those well-read,
To finally feel my heart enclosed in this hand.

Poem – “Famous Trail of Perfume” – Romance

July 15, 2019
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Between thy dancing arms,
Reigns the crudest form of symmetry,
Though, in its capturing,
I have made peace with an enemy.
I said ‘farewell’ to a mother in longing,
And threw my arms around a father in loathing.
I gave milk to children,
And sickness to daughters.

I waltz in arms with another,
Her face of violet eyes,
And rosy cheeks.
With a grace to a neck,
And a perfumed scent,
I am enticed!
She grips and she falls,
Through my universe.

She is still so listless,
As I dance with one phantom shell,
What a puppet I’ve formed to be life!
A making of a woman,
The sculpture of her form,
A failing of my sanity.

Make this moment matter,
In dastardly frailty.

We are the framed wild ones,
Among rotten corpses.
With ants eating at our eyes,
And children crawling with cries,
To our beaming faces,
Or rather, mine; whilst yours hangs as lifeless.

We fall upwards,
And drown in necrosis.

Poem – “The Sympathies in Her Kiss” – Erotica

July 9, 2019
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The drenched sword,
By blood of birth,
Now receives the kiss,
Of a mocking sympathy.

A drooling heart,
A faltered start,
A destination,
Of enunciation.
A memory,
A tragedy,
Made to uncover,
My fragility.

Our love and its magic,
Is so quick to dissipate,
Is so quick to burn out,
Like any old flame.

We’ve known awhile,
How desires form,
Under the furnace,
Of a scented heat.

Of faces next to one another,
Of diseases made to float,
Made to wash,
Made to roam.

We are erotic in the arms of ourselves,
We are scented in our fields of passion.
We endeavor ourselves to want more,
No tragic failures,
No mocking souls,
No miserable falls.

We are death,
We are love,
We are safe,
We are above.

We will be children,
And run from one meadow to the next.

Poem – “The Failures of Children” – Romantic

May 24, 2019
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They, who crawled, naked, in grief,
Were beside the forests, in failing sleep.
Sinister shadows, were their playmates,
Begging unto God, for piety’s absence.

I slew, their lives, in amass,
Emptied their reflections, in glass.
For she, who called me abroad,
To taste the banquet, of my dreams.

She was, to the sinister playthings,
A toy, to behold, for their musings.
I sold, a love, for a lonely hour,
Folded plenty, the songs of shame.

Her music, which lifted, my fire,
Drew blood, into my desire.
I gave up, the world, for the stars,
Knew the beginning, for the almighty end.

She waved, a gentle hand, to me near,
Caused the tears, to erupt, in unquiet fear.
I singled out the prey, one by one,
Not for God, but for Heaven’s wrath.

For a beauty, to be in my name,
Is to me, a release of shame.
I gave the clinging, to her undying folds,
Of a dress, where children, threw their tears.

We Breathed the Deep

May 2, 2019
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Oh, the evergreen,
Was beside the deep,
How She rose from blue,
To dance with the sun.

Oh, crescent moon,
Whose shape remains,
How Mary blessed Mars,
To roam with the vast.

Oh, roaring fire,
From the widest shore,
How simply it sparks,
To laugh with the lone.

Oh, caring mother,
With paleness of flesh,
How children cling on,
To shout with the strong.

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