Death
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I cripple myself,In horrid wings formed of bleak feathers,And I have pleasured myself in sadness,For it was a bottle I drunk from,That had your bitter tears. I found love awaiting me,And drew joy close to me.Love was stilled, as a heart, buried in dust,A milk-white breast glided past a heart,The Devil in me had awoken.
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Your eyes have surrounded,My aching morning,As beauty swims a fallen mile,A death that I drew close,You will be the woman I will raise,From a worn stem of flesh. You have a face that shows a yearning,For a merciful connection,A series of tears have washed my tired face,I am a man who knows truest torment,As I
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I could see the necessity in wishing to know,The love I’ve come to commit to my own atrocity.My beauty, you have exquisiteness in every breath,And a mark upon your shoulder has been to count,Each subtle sigh under morning light,In before I come to share my place near your death. Love at my left hand, and
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Pleasure me with the face of roses,And feed me your graces,Long, was your tresses, made of ebony.Stone-like, is your heart, and made of the same.Find me next to nectar,Let us leave the sacred altar,And play nude in the mud.Children are ignorant, while question is their infinity. My beauty with stains of descent,Upon soil, where your
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Beloved,With scars so engraved,Am I able to dig them out? Am I am able to see,That which has muddled thee,By the sin we both breathe,In bitter misery? Bandage these sores,For they’ve accumulated,Vast swarms of flies,Longing to feast. I have failed my own God,The woman I adored,And now see tragedy,Upon my doorstep.He calls himself, “Death”,And fails
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I so love you, among all the fairest angels, Death clings upon your tresses, And love upon your lips. Beautiful eyes of vivid gleam, And arms that trail the longest paths, Upwards to Heaven, and never to Hell.
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Fill me with the energy,To attack a traitor.I saw her playing with power,Under the sun.Under her round moon,A face of many.Ovular as eggs,To plant creation into a nest,A bosom white,Dropping the hued-red apples. Though, she’s betrayed all of love,All of the safety from a ruler.She faces the wrath of God.The downpour from His hand;The Hand
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Oh, when you’ve begun to weep in the sickness Of your unending pain. What embrace can I offer, Different from the last? What kiss may I give, More compassionate than the former?
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I falter to see,The fulfillment of me.Upon this universe,Where there are swaying reeds,Near to the banks of a river.It is the simplest thing. Upon this universe,Where Heaven is too ephemeral,And a government too happy,I struggle to feel,The euphoria unreal,The pain I sought to seal. Upon my body,I am the void,The many faces that mock,Are rather,
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Your tears know deeply, my futility,My shameful passion that I exalt, so easily.You have beauty running over youAs years of worn flesh. You have eyes that run nakedThe tears of a yesteryear. Of a past so dormant as the lastTime you had poured a tear from a velvet eye.Of all times where denial roams,I am
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Q: How is it that a scientist cannot look anywhere but down? A: It is because history has a habit of burying secrets. A scientist, in the denial of God, refers to life as opposite from death, inevitably so; for it actually is that love is opposite from death. It is not reason, but love
Modern Romanticism 