Creative Writing
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Everything I writeIs a love poem,Broken of pen,Written of wordsWith my fingers,Once piercing my tearsBack to my eyes,Now to fold pages that never turnTo meet a better day. Everything I tie to my heartIs a poemFor your smile that sometimes fadesTo be liftedTo a watered-down grin.For you still catch the rainThat comes from Heaven, above.For…
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“A hole I have, for a heart. A raging ocean I have, for a mind. Cruelty is a sunset, that closes itself wide upon nothing that discovers comfort, when there is no warmth. Just an adulterous plague, that cheats the game of life, when it cannot follow the rules of loss. I hold residence in…
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A memory. A moment. Like one cruel awakening with Alzheimer’s Disease. Something gone from the mind, then the heart, then the soul. I blow my wind against the interior of this window. As I do it, I recall the definition to sameness. I recall what is left of it, as the words within a book.…
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A: How much to ever feel anger for? B: Nothing and everything. A: Do you love her? B: Like nothing could be loved. A: Do you trust her? B: Like everything could be trusted. A: Where does your anger originate? B: My love for her, though it may pass mountains as mostly fair clouds, there…
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How many gods worship dust?How many breaths come cold as rust,Upon the last sigh you’ll ever unleash?I can hold your handTighter than I can stand,Upon the two legs, marked as two pillarsTo hold up the fortress that crumbles,When your stare from the bare streetsCan leave me in frailty. Dining on death,Poisoned by muted breath,Open wounds…
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How to kill the past,Bury it in mud,To leave the leaves of an autumnal tempestFar behind,Back to where the sunCannot speak to those yesterdays,Written in brail,Believed by the blind. How to kiss your handLifted to the moon,Where tears are shared by the blinding noon,For no sun can see us,For no sun can findAll that can…
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Upon the Hell,Where heated momentsAre everyone’s misfortune,You seem to call to oneWhere hearts are lost,Failures are timid,Eyes are scattered, in glances,Leaving love to the well, where it drops,Like a curtain over an empire. I kissSweet roses, farewell,Over graves, cold and still.Yet, your handIs placed in mineFor me to speak words of warmthTo your crying eyes,Where…
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Pull myself togetherUnder your breathing form,In the circus of your entwining arms,Lurking in your shadowWhere I can melt my smileInto your veins. Like idle crossesWhere no savior resides,I can die, over again,For the faces that never wither,Bleeding and pulingIn the arms of their captured beloved.Pulling myselfDown, under your form,Not leaving. Hurts to love, hurts to…
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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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How often does a memory last, wrapped in the thorny shrub of one’s heart? I’ve often twisted myself on the realization that love is something that can be forgotten. Though, for how was my youth, it was only naivety that swung me in that direction. Love is never a rope traded, for a heart on…
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A: You must comprehend where his hatred originated, his anger originated, for it was not something he ever welcomed with open arms. B: How then, did it occur in his heart, when before, he was loving? A: To imagine a man, who once had a heart full of love. To understand him, to have paid…
Modern Romanticism 