Descriptive Poetry
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Why do I feel pain,When I am meant to feel love,When I am meant to feel strong?It is like the sun in my chest,Creating my weakness,Creating my heart,Creating the start,To a long road, ahead. Why don’t I feel strong,And all I feel is pain?It is a weakness, a sickness, a knowingTo know what isn’t meant…
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Upon the day when you arrive,Adorned in something fragrant,Dressed in something treasured,It could be only love between, the threads of a garment,The threads of a worn heart, of a torn heart,That I’ve promised to mend,So much alike the garments, I’d do away with,So much alike the pain, I’d do away with. Upon the day when…
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Death has made you majesty,While I weep aloud melodies.I once saw the weeping sky, and now,I weep strewn tears to your closed lids.I once brought my hand out an open windowTo feel the droplets,And now,That sky has closed, along with yours.A sky has been buried, and shut,Your eyes, and above. There is dew along the…
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My dear, you’ve kept building what ought to be thrownFrom the highest precipice,To the furthest ocean,And rent apart by waves acting as hands.Hands from God, hands from Satan,We are beloveds, always in arms, though I am angered.I am angered by a world,By a world that knows to seizeLove, at every opportunity,And replace it with the…
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In what I see, is nothing more than the drenching,From the skies, being my eyes.My face is sometimes,The kind wing,Though also the harsh leather.I see Earth beneath my feet,And I have crushed many cities,My guilt resonates as something I’ve condemned. I’ve said upon guilt,“Let yourself free from me,For you are free,And so should I be.”It…
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Pale skinned woman, and blue eyes of the North,Fill the Earth with your pleasure,For you have captivated me.I see newness in every shape,Each origin to what I have attemptedTo ever forget.Death deals upon me a greater restraint,Than ever love did. Your face and searing eyes,That burn holes in my own.Uplift me to the highest of…
Modern Romanticism 