Creative Writing
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This fateful scar,one from a woundcaused to get youto find reason,to adopt an excuseto seek its desolate,replenishing meaning.In the dark,you see light,but it is therewhere you’ll begincrying on oneimagined shoulder.Who do you miss,or who would you kissto melt all these sorrowsinto all hopeful,immaculate tomorrows?What can you everreveal to the open?Shed your skin,unveil that whichwasn’t the
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I’ve been missing it,for time has a wayto get me to forgetwhere you’ve left it.The seductive rippleswithin history’s pages,upon oceans that upkeepthe pattern of theirunending waves,I cannot always do it,when you’re not here.Life has its waysto further my approachinto itself, distracting mefrom what I lostalong the way.Am I nothing when I’mliving here, finding outwhen the
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Something else, other thanwhat arrived at our doorstep,had swore at us, has uskneel to their secrecy.Something other than whatwe provided devotion to,brought us close to seeka different kind of worship.To its darkness, to its spacewhere openness is a blanketto soothe those like uswho’ve become lost.Water stirred in our heartsto leak through our eyes,blurred from vain
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She’s come hereto spread silk,to unleash her caress,after her velvet gazenotes the landing.She has arrivedfrom not much furtherthan an inch away.It is where she’ll stayon this newest of dayswhen skin touches down.Close the curtains,keep one light onto see the beckoningglimmer that attractssomeone to speakinto her ear.Bring her downon outspread layers,where bodies melt,where eyes will roamover
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I left my own world alonefor what I knew to bean uncertain eternity.I stitched up my vowin a book of blank pages,giving it to the only onewho could read it.Freeing my heart,letting it soar,allowing it to anchormy loyalty within place,I knew who to trust,who to come to.Only one, just the onewho was there to receiveall
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Our hopes were alwaysmeant to go gray,to restrict their meaninginto a lifeless monochrome.Our love did not panicas often as our lives,when racing over tundras,where a frozen pathwaywas ours to follow.Why did we commitour hearts, when all wewere able to accomplishwas that striking realizationof what we failed to admit?Our lights, divided undera universal countdown,until we ended
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How else does it go,when promises are leftto rot under snow?Who’s there to turn to,when eyes are blindedby frozen droplets?I am fossilized,left to be foundby hands that sift,by hearts that liftan imprisoned soulfrom its iron shell.I let go of the state,because my arms burned,after my fate floweredwithin disarray.I drank only whenit had been my turnto
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With the faces of Hell,we flooded whole plainswith our singing feelings,diseasing our cropswith unleashed despair,unloading our armsbroken beyond repair.We held on to knowthe time we had left,until we needed to go,until we would let goof what will be fallingwith the flakes of snow.We sunk our eyesightinto the other’s gaze,hoping that our historywouldn’t be our ruin.It
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Wilted, our surroundingsare blowing dust for us,reminding our mindsof what fell with us.We’re leaving our thoughtsback there, in their placeto forever curse us.There’s nothing more forthat final wish we made,under a dissolved sun.Nighttime crept our wayto fill us with a silver glow.We weren’t meant to be,but we were meant to leave.A storm will dragour traces
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To pluck their petals,they’ll feel aliveeven at the idea,for in coming closeyou’ll see their time,one that is comingto a close.You’ll seewhat they shouldhave remembered,during those seasonswhen warm weathercauses them to forget,when rainfallbrings up the colors,the surges of sensationthey’ll run from.You’ll seewhat they want othersto come to knowabout what they haveeffectively disowned,redoing a score,aligning their tragedyin
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Closure doesn’tcure the scars,even bandagethe bleeding wounds,among all thingsleft unattended.But you were close enoughto be speaking to me,close enough to providesome small reminderof what I already knew.I had always knownwhat deprived mefrom seeing the truthtoo pure to beembraced, while Iam finding my wayback to the lie.You were there to tell meto believe in what’s best,what’s
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Summer made us gentlewith the storms,those that approachedwith the leavesof a different season,left behind.We’d wiltwith the flowers,the rows of soft colorsthat leaked us tofracture a smile.We weren’t thereto smother the decay,having teardropsbe our weights,holding back an ocean,only for white sandto contain our history.In long traces,we’re forced to seewhat became to beits sudden sentiment,its constant arrivalat
Modern Romanticism 