Creative
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He believed more in betrayal, than that of love. Watched, as the stars kissed his cheeks. Waited, as the haze melted him into a portrayal of surrender. Laughed, as the clouds mocked him among their height. He kept something. A locket. Of a face with two roses for cheeks, blush for the sake of the
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“Repetition is a cruel splash of the hardest hail upon our faces. Of life, where moments matter more than dreams. Of love, where sadness speaks more than the moments that indeed fade. For life, a person will always gain. For love, a person will always lose.” – Peter A.W. Wyatt
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Short Prose & An Example of a Blogger’s Life – 200 Words – “For your Love” – Romanticism – 2/19/2021
For what will transpire, I will breathe a thousand more words. Though, the one that is saved, is straight from the heart. While you were true, I merely lied half of the time to reach you. While you were real, only half of my heart stuck to this. Though, I could cry upon all the
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“Depression is not a cue for productivity. Nor is grief the cue for a need to neglect the immediate sensations. We discover something so pure, as the positive emotions, only when everything we currently feel can be converted over to inspiration.” – Modern Romanticism If research tells us that both positive and negative emotions can
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“Science has no purpose, other than the benefit for the flawed form. Yet, to make the form perfect, is to also make the mind imperfect. We are insane, when we realize not our own limitations.” – Modern Romanticism Mind and body, where the former is perfect, as the latter is not. No science comprehends the
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I have lifted. I have always cried. Of stones that were carried in my arms, while tears fell from them, soon as they were squeezed. I was expected. To release truth, I was expected. Like love was something I could fall through, beating my heart, burning in my skull. I released. I let go myself,
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My love, where you sing your cries on an empire of your Hellish loneliness. How can the churches believe you? How can your smile ever be parted, from you? I will bleed along with you, my love. Treasure yourself, for the funeral cannot be far off. I will kiss your hand, for as long as
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“A lie is imagination, burning an image into sight only ever convincing. The truth, however, is something that wallops you so hard, you will find it shocking.” – Modern Romanticism How far can a writer take creativity, when it comes to a fact? To comprehend creativity, itself, as unlimited in the human imagination, will make
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Emotion. Aflame, with attempted designation to the rope. The rope, for it cannot be cut with a knife. It cannot, for it cannot hold its weight’s own will. Its weight, of a form that wishes for death. A death that would leave countless tears to rot at the feet of their rejecter. Love waits. It
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How much bloodCan erase the letters on these worn pages?I have become something elseTo the bitternessOf one heart, written in the soil,Of one droplet of crimson,Fed to my mouth.He glistens on the cross,He stays there,Sheltering his own eyes with the sun,Finding a place where I cannot runTo make my home. Upon my knees,Stranded in senseless
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“To him, of her, he could not call what he’s seen as imperfections. He could not, for he viewed with an eye that held love to its sight. Almighty in its department, love perfected those imperfections, and they were no longer able to become broken.” – Modern Romanticism
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“Whispering through the soil, would ricochet the sheer emptiness that pertains to his defeat. Her defeat, too, runs through the dust and debris of the gathered earth, of miles into endlessness. One word from his mouth would not rupture a thing. One word from his mouth would not ever damage another thing. One finger, or
Modern Romanticism 