Creative Writing
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Carry you On a rowboat made of shields. The wood is to your texture of skin, A velvet, A softness, Of many nights spent deep under Your caress. Blood runs as our water, Streaming from poisoned wrists. I am in love with a crippled heart, A disused soul That does not move In alignment with…
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How many of the Devil’s Marking Needs to fit your ear To hear My verse? Just scrawling As my hands reach to dip the quill Into a well full of blackness. I pain myself As a muse to your naked self. Your glimpses To my might. Our fairytale, This horrid fright. There is love atop…
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Under cloudless nights, The wind calls for our fright To be laid against the glade That has no pleasure to show its shape. We show tears as elegantly As we do our fears. You sway your hips In dancing curves Under moon that reveals the porcelain of you, With weaving gleams to the ebony trails…
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We had lacked All we can grant back To men upon their sailing oceans That reside In their despondent eyes. They cry waves To the maidens whose devotion they gave Upon the furthest lands across From themselves, in the saddest miles Of whole loneliness. In speaking of dust, There can be spoken of silver Gracing…
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Letting the rain Tuck your arms beneath the covers. Letting the fallen snow Filter your eyes from the remnants To a pitiful stream of sunlight. I am releasing you Of the guarded you. You held up your shield long ago When you resisted my kiss. I will wake you From this ebony sleep To come…
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Do you hold on To the rings we carry On fingers that have bled More droplets than beneath our eyes? We have held on, With hand upon hand, Wrapped in a circle, Not yearning to release. You squeeze, Though, are gentle In your tightness. Our arms are around. Wield me, As I wield you Under…
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A shattered world, A spurring dove, How my only love Could find it in her heart to bleed. Her porcelain flesh, Her chestnut locks, Her cheeks that fill the moon In an empire of doom. I want to have What makes me glad. I have turned roundabouts into lullabies, Where circles are but for the…
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Her eyes Cry aloud for the ebony skies. I wish to pull free her sadness, To turn stains into marks of glee In where she shall gently flee. I wrap arms around to pull her close, That I might soak in her bleeding skin. What a world That caves in To me in the solace…
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You are weeping something aloud For nothing That can draw in the crowd, For each of your children have departed. Drink those tears Let loose by your fears, I will come to make whole what has shattered Of you, beneath the blasphemous sun. Of your worship, You send splendor to my eyes. Even to my…
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You shelter Yourself, beneath your own rain. Your eyes have their own clouds, Burning waters to fall upon your face Marred from lucid terror. Beauty Has rained like fallen flesh, Like burning limbs Over your ashen, skeletal form. I am the man Who can hold your hand For a thousand more years Upon this land.…
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Leaves wash ashore In each blanketing curve, Tearing through Neptune’s might By what she represents, in sight. Her eyes, Two emeralds, engraved. Her lips, Two streaks of paint, gently laid. Her hair, The tallest grass, the closest reeds To curtsy to the passing rowboat. I am the lie, Gently of your kind, Swerving serpent of…
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Something as elegant As the everything of you, Lays there With the shore to melt blue over gray In the sadness of you. Warmth comes up Like a sunrise, Though the day ended Just a moment ago. There is so much to say To help you on my way Towards the altar. This ocean bathes…
Modern Romanticism 