Christ
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A prophet’s surrender.One child’s messagescrawled into sands, whereblood became heavierthan everything carried.A mother recovers. Her eyes, no longerbawling for crippled landsthat her child uncovered.A world, ahead. Scarsdrawn into weathered hands.For eyes, that peeredthrough thorns, into skiessharing light like a moon,light like noon. For a heart,one that sunk beneath,before ascending above.He took his messageto be his
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“Did Christ die in vain, for only the smaller, less threatening, sins we can individualize and segregate from the greater horrors, on Earth? Surely, what with the crimson streams tainting the man’s flesh, upon the cross and dying, love is not to be symbolized as limited in its depth of forgiveness.” – Modern Romanticism We
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Count scars,Limitless as stars.Count truthWhole enough to be broken,As bread is consumed,Chewed,Digested,Not like the lieSo easily swallowed.A broken truthWas once, in preparation,A wholeness. A broken form,BeatenUntil bloody,Is always the truth, reborn,Though neverIn the eyes of who broke it. Would ChristBreak the truth,As he broke bread,As he gave wine?Broken bread, as beaten flesh,Drunken wine, as streaming
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Open eyes,Unfurled wings of a tiny newborn.He means to feel the warmth,To drench his mind in her vision,Her sight,Her gaze.A mother’s blessing upon the soon to beHailed as King. Bleeding woesWill beSoon to beThe stifling of a world’s silence.Can Heaven sing any louder? A tapestry unfolded,A Bible ruined,A journey so sublimeUp to the altarWhere folded
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“All love is not delicate, ever on its own. On its own, it is waiting to create. To imagine the universe as infinite, is to believe in love the same. All beauty is delicate to its creator. All beauty is shaped by hands so unseen, while through our submission, we allow them to mold us.”
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Too many damnable kisses,Brought thorns to make me bleed,And the face that holds a rose,Between two lips colored by cherry.A sweetness mingles over your form,And all I feel is the seduction. I dart with disarray against your eyes,Those that show glare against mine,Great beauty of feminine doom,Show me your way of a common demise,Rotted are
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Go belittle all else!Unto this rotten love,Of all else given,We’ve dismembered enough,As our cries show many agonies,Many moments of eternity. We are frail children,Tiny ones of no might.We have death as mothers,And cruelty as fathers. We are children perhaps of love?We are what remains of a rotten world,And its disguised future.Funerals surround us in antiquity.
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“In what a woman denies, it is the aspect of devotion. She still yearns for it. In what a man denies, it is his strength, the willpower he must possess to return to her. When we relate a ‘Second Coming’ of Christ to these differences, we behold denial and yearning. A woman’s lover, was Christ,
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She was the wind,She is now the sea,Calling out, for sailors to breatheTheir last, upon their own thirst.While gulls transport, from water to scrap.While faces of Heaven see downwards to her,They call no strength to her longing,Her suffering,Is for a hopeless muse.It is an ocean that brims darkness. A fever, she once caused,For the sake
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I fell with an idleness,Made to attract the many peasants,Made to attract my torture,The despondence and the belittlement. The upbringing of my guise,The romance of my mass.The church with its cross,Does all to be damned. It’s all the remains of a shape,One hung up, like a portrait on the wall,One of eyes that are listless
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Q: What you propose in your scenario is that flesh has a Necromantic emotive to it. Do you wish to elaborate? A: Necromancy is the emotion, or emotive, that arises from an inability to forget those who have died. This is to say that we should forget their physical form. What manifests the physical form
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Q: For those you believe to be in question of the unknowns to life, who are such people? A: They are such people, as both Christians and Scientists, who raise their heads in curiosity to see such unknowns. An unknown, being what is placed upon with a question. That question will receive an answer. What
Modern Romanticism 