Poem – “Love, by Sunrise” – Romance – 2/20/2020

We love, in the sunset.
What of the sunrise?
What of when I see you open your eyes,
Against the blue of a dispersing night?
And I see green?

Two emeralds
Deep in the fabric of our quilts and sheets.
This, I notice.

Two dotted portions of Nature,
Embedded deep in a face I’ve kissed
Upon numbered times.

We love, in the sunset.
But, what of the sunrise?
What of the moments, kept in so much awe
For the sunbeams that turn your skin into a shimmer?
What of it?

I can see it,
The happiness you had concealed,
When it was dark.
And beneath the covers,
It was darker.

Love can hold many hues and shades
In its moments.

Let us kiss, in this light,
For you are part of it.

“Sweet Maiden’s Breath” – Poem

Sweet maiden’s breath,

And sweet maiden’s tresses,

Of individual length.

Like a vision

Of something in a spectacle,

Dancing above a lake.

Her form, washed in the presence of water,

And her contours, as elegant as ever.

Love flows

With the currents,

And the ripples,

To her, in the bluest coloring

Beneath the welkin sky.

Does it wander her by?

Sweet maiden’s breath,

And a virgin texture,

There is a Kingdom awaiting

For you to drown in the embrace of unfolded arms.

“To Love, under Eyes” – Poem

To love,

As you shy

Away from the sadness, in your eyes.

A sweetness in the mirror,

Was only a glance.

Lust consumes,

Love blooms,

And the things that sprout

From shoulders and neck

Seem to be

The nectar that showers

Your hair in the sheen.

Little droplets of liquid sweetness

Running across

Your shoulders and neck, in the loss

Of what saddens your eyes.

I’ll share kisses

Beneath twilight

And under the blue in your skies.

“Do you Fight for Love?” – Poem

His mind resides on the edge

To obsession’s pledge.

He’ll never realize

He is making the suffering,

And not the love.

Why make her wield the pain, on her eyes?

Why sever the thing that could still make sanity flourish?

It is in the eyes,

Innocence.

Fear is on its opposite end,

And each tear drops to the world’s end.

I say to fight for love,

Though, to fight for it without clarity,

Bakes the bread of insanity.

“Beloved in the Dark” – Poem

Beloved, with curtains so dark in their texture.

You can see through them

To detect, my seeking gaze,

So that I may embrace you, beneath quilts of softness.

Like a book with two covers, to merge the story together.

We are felt as the pages, written with words from lonely sighs.

We are felt without the goodbyes, to make us longing in what waits.

The few droplets of sweat that rain from our minds,

The few droplets of blood that land to our hands.

And, like rabbits, we run through whatever had once made us dark

Behind the curtains.

Here is where we tell each other that nothing was wrong,

And everything is right.

Poem – “Love Holds the Stars Upright” – Romance – 2/19/2020

Love holds
The burning hotness
Of a five-pointed little thing.
You, as the star I discovered, in my universe of the infinite.

Arms wide, for the taste of the air,
And legs the same, for the allowance of my entrance.

Yet, I hold you upright,
Like an infant to be seen by a mother.
My love, you have eyes that beam upon me
The radiance of any star,
But, I chose you, because I came upon you
In the darkness.

Love cannot cool down,
Love cannot stifle its show of rays
Of this hotness
From your form, and from your sheer presence
Under the moon, where your tears used to soak
Your cheeks, for such will be no more.

No more sadness.
But, only sheer gladness
In the waking of my place upon Earth.
And, I will hold you upright,
My star, to see my scars,
In the twilight where we’ve ventured far.

“Wedged Between the Softness” – Poem

Twice, I’ll kneel

To remind myself, of my devotion

And my error.

I offered my name to you,

And here I’ll kneel, once more

To plead

For the forgiveness, so needed

To move past the grime

In our romance.

I bleed upon the floors, my heart with its sincerity

To never see you cry

Again in our time.

“Feathered Lips” – Poem

A woman’s breath

As yours,

Gives me reason, to walk with you

Through the current, unfurled

From feathered lips.

Sweetness as rosiness,

Like the face that melts from my touch

Upon your pallid cheeks.

I am in love

With a stream, occurring from feathered lips.

The storm is gone,

And the harshness of our lives has passed

With the harshness of stone.

And we can love.

And I can love

With all the softness upon feathered lips.

Poem – “My Darling Little Tragedy” – Romance – 2/19/2020

Love is spotted
Across your heart, as the empowered longing
To see everything meant to be,
Yet couldn’t be.

I was in you, upon a time,
With breath upon every bone in your form.
You breathed over me, in the past when
We knew love for the fields, and their scenery.

I am still in you, am I not?
The little memories, lost in a mind
That has become thwarted by fate?
Forever and again, the film reel of hurt plays around.

It turns,
Like a cog or a wheel, in the joints of a delicate instrument.
We feel, and remain to feel, each pain of movement
We will taste for coming and remaining years.

“Breathe Deep” – Poem

Words are the very chords

Echoed out from somewhere deep,

Plucked upon heartstrings, in the fullest moon.

Love lifts clouds

Away from your tired face.

Love replaces them

With the blushes of a sunset, vivid and wild.

Breathe deep, those notes

I will come to hear them

Even in my most hazardous trials,

Because, you mean the world.

“The Patterns in your Eyes” – Poem

Twist the velvet

Wrapped around your curving shoulders.

And breathe me a kiss

That is laced in the wine from our evening.

Your eyes hold a subtle

Hint of what I’ve come to notice

About you.

Just the fevered rays of a sun that I’ve been lacking.

Just the warmth of something meant to be staying.

Rather than run,

I will drown, in the sun and its heat.

My Experience with Bipolar 1 Disorder – How it Affects my Writing

In May of 2018, I was diagnosed with Bipolar 1 at a hospital, during a time I was weening off an anti-psychotic medication. I suppose that during the process of weening off that dreadful drug, I developed Bipolar 1.

It affects my writing by keeping it in two directions: an “aggressive” side, and a “sensitive” side. It is funny that I am in my “manic high” mode to write the aggressive work, that relates to philosophy. I am in my “manic low” mode so that I may write my sensitive work, that relates to my romantic writing.

I feel inspired and “lifted” in that specific state, when writing my philosophical and theoretical stuff, that is written purely based on observation. During that point, my mind is in a “hyperactive” state, moving at a 100 miles a second.

I feel downtrodden and slow, to write my romantic poetry and prose, and heavily suicidal, often reminiscing on past memories of a certain love I once had. I gain the inspiration then to listen to Barry White, or listen to the band that got me going with my writing, called My Dying Bride. Romantic and somber, and I write according to the slowness that seems to be objectively tied to love.