Depression
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How is pain felt? Is it not like the storm gathered in its heaviest gray? Would the gray remain for long, before letting loose what it has carried, being of its rain? Are we not the same in what we dispassionately yearn to be rid of? It is that brief moment of logic where we…
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“How many tears could a man have concealed upon a time when he was hungry, when to soon realize upon his loss that he was only thirsty? A man lives, to drink in what he never felt.” – Modern Romanticism
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Breaking between syllables, this painter is lost in his wreckage. A void for discovery’s sake, to see a face that looks back to his pain, to the absence. As this memory unites with himself, a hollowness begins to become so apparent in its torture. Just a single pang of loneliness, doubt, and uncertainty to keep…
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“It is never that a person feels pain for what is present, though rather for what is absent.” – Modern Romanticism
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Just a wellTo dump the contentsOf her eyes.Deep blue as Neptune’s children,AwakenedAs puling infants,Close to no mother,Close to no otherBut the cruel hands of a Father,Of God’s sheltering darkness.For sheCan swear He created Hell. Water the cries,To water them, more.Water the lilies, upon the current to the brook,Draped as curtainsOver the stepping stone.She has lost…
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Stilled,Without a sign to the breathThat would raise youTo feel the morning’s showerAgainst your cheeks,To receive the gleamThat can display lifeFor your acrylic eyes. I could paint youIn the way you are,Blossomed from a rose in a grave,Written out as a song of sleep,As to you, I could not save,Though death whispered its lullaby. MarksCreasing…
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Watch the leavesTurn whiteThrough falling debris,Of clouds that never receive color. I am the enemyTo my own sunriseThat never welcomes my handDrowned in the sand. Too many clocksHave broken for the pieces put together,Except the hands,For about, they spinIn idle hours,Idle tears, that never descend quietly. Love has turned its face about,Motionless,Calmly,Greeting the warmest weather…
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A: What have you used to cure your pain? B: Love. A: You used love? B: I found love. I found it, because it wasn’t always available.
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You turnThe blue from the storm,Leaving me to grapple the wavesBy my hands,Upon this desolate landWhere the ripples break me. You churnThe waters beneath my crutches.I rotate these handlebars, slowly,To fathom your deepest apologyThat came riding from your mouth,When the last breath was taken. Like a church that never met winter,Like a lake that never…
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Can you lose the lightBefore I go onWith the womb I shelter myself in,With the hollowness I place my voice?Your tears stream a river for my defeat,Down beneath the crevices,Further down to the undertowingNature of these footsteps. I blow dark kissesThrough the ignited blue,I want to seek guidanceFrom something brand new.I shelter myselfIn a void,Forgotten…
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“How much grief is in the world, that one wishes for the return of life, rather than the rest of it?” – Modern Romanticism They will say that the mind still functions, for a time, after the heart has stopped. They say that during this, the mind is reliving memories. Though, wouldn’t it be possible…
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This entire blog is dedicated towards my only true love I’ve ever had. 1,000+ poems are written in her name. She was the only thing that ever counted towards me being “complete”. When the love left my heart, I grew mad. Mad… as in, I grew insane. This was no ordinary break-up. It was like…
Modern Romanticism 