Death
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She walksWith a frozen movement,For upon the face of facesThere is astonishmentFor what is above her.A little round capOrange in hue,And shaded only by the coming evening. She roams, with a piercing stepTo the snow beneath her folded handsThat each sway past her side. And, within that cap,A long feather pokes outLike a remaining twig
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Winter is my wisdom,My horror and my way.Little kisses are there to land, themselvesUpon your long and gifted neck,That I admire to its porcelain texture.I am enamored by you, and all the despair you throw out,To your naked feet.Beautiful creature of all my savage wisdom,I will kiss you, until the end of every new tomorrow.
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Sometimes, when the scar has seemed to heal,I reject its process to heal,By a singular motion of my right and dominant handTo tear it open,And release the tides upon my feet.I breathe the scent of iron,Soon as emotion is revealed, once again. I wanted to forget,And I wanted to forgive you,And yet, my strength had
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I thirst for the momentWhen I can peel back the skin from my tongue,And see,Only what I could not reach forward forIn the dimming haze of this winter forest,But only what I had tasted,Being the rain of different droplets,From different places on this Earth. Death and denial,Have an eternal place,A marriage in Hell,A hand waving
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His eyes are always weeping;His hands are always trembling;His mind is always fearful,Without her light,Without her warmth. “Love has fled,”Said the man, who bledTears, upon his knees, held closeTo his barren chest.A face of a withered personality. A man poisoned into dust,A man without the nerve to raiseHimself, from where he resides,Beneath a curtain,To keep
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I will live,Though, how can I breathe? How can I start a fire,A flameIn this heart of mine,Without the glance that brought me life? How can I state any moment of happiness,In the most genuine of words,Without what is needed,To keep me down? What finger will be placedUpon my blistered lips? What pair of eyes
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Three layers, meaning, three separate areas that can become three focuses for a world, filled with creatures identical to “intelligent beings” called Homo-sapiens… And these three layers are: Bottom layer: Death. Middling layer: Flesh. Top layer: Love. In a current world obsessed with “liberation” and “equality”, we’ve changed simply the words for the three layers,
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Before me, you sit with a sorry stare at a rimTo a glass made of the fibers of sand,Love is a breath in the air for our breath,As sweet as the redness in your hairAnd as bitter as the very sight of death,As the very sight of what sticks out in your mind. A face
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Beckon to me, slowly,And captivate me, with your childish breath,Listen to my tale in trembling sorrow,Slow melodies come as transparent.You have beauty glistening as the morning calls,Each deepening farewell,To the saddest song around,To the most miserable of notes,Each played upon an eroded harp. There is Heaven in your eyes,And bliss in your soul.There is strangeness
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Hope is a well that springs eternally the warmth of possibility. Though, for each individual possibility, there should be a guide so that further loss is not eventual, and never inevitable. A leader, that is, should reassure the sorrowful that there is greater light than such a hopeless one can ever consume, to fill whatever
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Death has eyes like two heated lanterns,And I am forced to learn survival.A promise I had formed,From hands that were once bleeding,And strength now raises me for a keeping.To make beauty my own from flesh that continues to writhe,From a woman I adore, and will never allow to scream.Any and all who threaten harm, I
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In all my imagining,While haunting memory is the musicTo my mind in its longing,I find myself to view a paintingThat shows the curves of a naked woman,While her lips are reddenedBy the blood offered in my hands.Would I reach to kiss? I desire the wine, next,For a mask is only a shapeTo what has gaped
Modern Romanticism 