Modern Romanticism

The aspect of romance, divided between the heartening and the thoughtful.

Poem – “The Doomed Harlot” – Romance – 9/21/2019

September 21, 2019

Where have graces taken thee,
When you shielded before fate and misery?

You play with the night,
Like a bouquet of roses,
Sniffed by children, and eaten by cats.

Believe me, in my woe,
You are the doomed harlot,
The failed woman of many curses.
Among that god between your legs,
There are eyes that cry a sorrow.

You glisten by day,
To glisten by night.
Both of body and complexion,
Does this aura arise.
And you make music through your sigh.

The sigh of pleasure,
The sickening sin of Lust
You bled for God and his herd of Shepherds,
Felt Hell crawl on your naked skin,
And mistook it for Heaven.

These fields of ruin,
Are of my design,
Destined to bathe,
Among the odorous wine,
Of virgin blood and castrated swine.

Stretch your form, will you?
To the ends of the cruel Earth,
You’ll see a singing shape,
The scrotum and the shaft,
Was like a tower of gold,
Now but only rotten,
Was once a key to the Earth,
Grim faces torn everywhere,
Evil politicians and their false smiles.

You doomed harlot,
What maketh yourself of ourselves,
When we praise thee, and never the Lords,
Who drop tears, as you drop both blood and sweat?


Words of Wisdom – “The Idiocy in Desiring Immortality – Pt. 2” – Philosophy on Life – 9/20/2019

September 20, 2019

“Through being immortal, each reality would become a vision through this Godhood. It would be each reality from death. We’d not experience Love, in this, because our immortality would become a new contagion. It’d be a dream, to be a God, though in this perfection, we’d not know Love, because Love is empty without its counterpart, that is Death. We’d even pray to ourselves, through being immortal, and perhaps see how miserable God is, not comprehending whether He has created himself, or if a demon has created Him. And, we’d pray to wonder whether if we’re in Heaven or still upon Earth. Earth, meaning Life, would be renamed Heaven, full of Gods, and an infinite amount of martyrs. Most of all, we’d see nightmares as real as when we were fools to deny God, and we’d see our creations becoming married to us; and that means, that nightmares, not a dream for life, but a dream for death, would be a vision for that immortality. This is to say that over life being raised, we’d raise demons, we’d raise the creatures from Hell; or, in more contemporary terms, we’d raise the people who murder, the people who slash their own wrists, and misery would be our life.”

Words of Wisdom – “The Idiocy in Desiring Immortality” – Philosophy on Life – 9/20/2019

September 20, 2019

“Why are there a number of scientists so bent on extending the human life beyond a mere century? To become immortal would embed the sheerness of the unfulfilled life into the individual. Because, to live forever, would never mean living one’s life to the fullest. The desire to live, stems from the fear of death. Therefore, the desire to live, would turn into the desire to die, should that fear of death be erased. Fear is exactly what drives life to fulfillment and accomplishment. It is a motivator, this fear, and no amount of science can ever comprehend this.”

Poem – “Death Stares, as Love Quiets a Scream” – Romance – 8/30/2019

August 30, 2019

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 destroy.

My fears are now disallowed,
I have silenced fear at my door,
It was death that awaited,
And I see survival by my two hands,
What is fear?
Fear is merely my truest friend,
I have befriended fear,
I now love fear, and pain, and my life.

She is the woman who screams,
A one who calls for aid.
A beauty I now make to be mine,
I see fear as the calling of death,
I see night to behold no shadows,
There are no shadows in nighttime,
There are no whispers that are true,
I create and I will love a truth.

Why would I sleep when love is there for me to breathe?
And to watch her breathe, with tresses of idle blackness,
Each strand to stroke and to breathe in a scent,
Of sweetness, and her lips, to taste and to wield,
For my own; she is who I devote my time.

Prose – “My Life in Your Hands” – Romance 8/23/2019

August 23, 2019


There is a face that I occasionally come to kiss, even in the dark of night. When torment has been my medicine, from a bottle that I drink to sink pain beneath my chest, I think only of her.

I think only of a woman, who has blackest hair, and darkest eyes.

I think of my failings, my undoings, or any small inaction that I form into the guilt of a man committing murder. I am dramatic by my heart, and fallen by my mind. My mind thinks, and it ponders while it wanders, because guilt has been my necessity. I love with a powerful love. I crave the burn, the sensation that drives me to thrill.

She has embodied that.

The burn, that is, and her form is a chaotic form, of bruised flesh that I have been aiming to make wholeness; for I would offer pleasure, and more-so the love. Her face is what I have found, to be desirous for my many kisses. I have found all of love in her, in its greatest definition conceived by me. Oh, love! It is an emotion, alike a fire, a conflagration, to burn my sins so that it is all I witness.

She is the beauty, and the task to which I devote my time. She is the woman of sentiment, and no photographs would I burn.

For the thrill of love, I commit myself to madness, to sadness, and to gladness; and I adore each sensation, clung upon them like a man I am, with claws, like upon skin that would not tear.

I see her eyes swimming in tears. I am devoted and loyal. I do not worship, but remain at a distance to see the ocean that show whatever loneliness is left to purge. And I cross them, and throw the water aside.

I see tears, and I swipe them away. I see the moon folding its pallid hues over herself, and I collapse the moon. I see the sun offering a greater love than myself, and I destroy the sun. I want no sadness for herself, though for me, for I will grow terrible to thwart away the disease called “distraction”. No sadness, and no misery, for herself.

I will love, and I will love, and I will love.

Poem – “As I Bury my Flag in Thee” – Romance/Erotic – 8/22/2019

August 22, 2019

Great beauty with detached flesh,
Forms a skeleton so vivid, like ice and diamonds.
Faceless visage, and a tear that descends,
To the mouth that is open.
Am I beloved to thee?
The ever-more worn beauty?

Your idleness is a naked curve,
A hip that extends outright,
For my hand to be placed upon it.
And as I give all myself,
I should know in the solitude, in the darkness,
That I have thee.

As I bury my flag in thee,
I have conquered a woman.
Most precious, my love, and my home,
The heart that is within, has been my holiness,
And also your holiness, for me to find it.
I am in love, so in love, that I will not release the hold.

I have found you, among wreckage,
Your flesh rent apart in the daylight,
And your eyes fallen upon your darkened breast,
Faceless beauty;
Of an escape to a place in darkness,
There is hope for me to crawl between you.

I have found love in a heart,
One that is your own.
I am so much in love, that I will count each scar,
Upon your transparent form.
I will count, and I will remove,
Each wound that has come around to exist.

Deny me nothing, and make me everything.
Make me music through every sigh,
Make me thousands raised upon your shoulders,
Of tears, that sing as happiness.
I will love, and I will love, and love,
And nothing more.

Poem – “The Many Tears that Seek Shelter” – Romantic

July 22, 2019

I fell beside thee,
And formed for us, quilt made of romance.
I love all that you are, of all eyes made to be orbs,
For the future’s peering, into its watery distance.
We sail in our fear,
And quake beneath tears,
Oh, how terrible are the stars under your eyes,
You’ve made a bed for us both,
A bed of love, made fullest in silken quilts.

Famed, we have become.
In love, we are as one,
As two creatures, of Buck and Doe,
A chase, a nest upwards in Heaven.
Oh, how desire sweeps us to the current and its edge
Near a river; for how does death think of us?
Love is a muse; It is made to be you,
As you are the loveliest pearl from this shore.

Give me kisses, sweet one,
Full of life,
Full of your eyes,
With no more raining stars,
With no more idle flesh,
No more death.
Nothing but the truly fascinating face,
Of white cheeks and bleak tress.
Lovely in form, anguished at heart.

I will cure the sorrow,
The one so much alike the Mary of Christ;

For how many times have we embraced,
As vulnerability! As vulnerability!
We are only made beautiful, when loved.
Oh, love, when will be reach the shores,”
You ask to me.
I say in response to you,
Soon as the sail is full of wind, and your eyes!
When they never fall another tear, we will reach.”

Give me the benefit of a morrow,
Of a delight, not made by sorrow.
What have I, when not among you?
Nothing, for am I not without the sanity,
And insanity, that love bequeaths.

Words of Wisdom – “The Message of Slavery” – 7/20/2019

July 20, 2019

“The sight of the slave, is a normal one. Who’d ever belittle the slave, or even praise them; and who’d ever belittle the human, or even praise them? The answer is that everyone has done this, and everyone will continue to both berate and praise both the laborer and the human, alike. What do we see of slavery? Cruelty? It is never cruelty, lest in what the slave themselves, believes for their treatment. The ‘expectation’ from any world, from any society, is inevitable. Should one wish to be drowned in laziness, they will reject work, and believe fully in Socialism. Should one believe in the truth that the word ‘slave’ is a word for everyone, and is a word that offers the human purpose, to work their hands, to undertake the task, so that the objective is fulfilled, no one of these laborers will be harmed. For beauty is meant to be envisioned as either the protected or harmed flesh. In what difference do we make of the hand that attempts to willingly harm their own flesh, to the hand that willingly attempts to harm their own flesh? For work, or for mutilation and insanity? The greatest achievers have been called insane, and those who are insane, are living fully in their truth.”

Poetry of Longing – “I Fell upon a Thorn” – Poem #2 – 7/8/2019

July 8, 2019

Unloved and made for pain,
Here is me, made for the world to see,
What is death with a breath?
What is love without the sigh?

With a face once so full of gold,
And no more beauty to behold,
Angel wings burned,
A life upturned,
Like mine,
And I fell upon a thorn.

Sympathy is the reward of the overthrown,
Stepped down to meet a nation of dust.
Empathy is my very foundation,
Where rust and floods are the foundations to my home.
I am made trivial, and swollen,
To the proverbs of a desperate age.

You drive the earth forward
With your gentle push.
You make my lips turn upward,
With your frugal song.
A song of light and plight,
A song that cries to open fields.

I am lifted by love and its grace,
Raised by age and despaired by loss,
What has become of me,
Upon this lonely sea?

Oh, love, without the breath, it is empty.
Without the death, we are empty.
Without the protection, we are frail,
Frail and alone.

Words of Wisdom – “A Man’s Desire to Fix” – 7/7/2019

July 7, 2019

“The tinkering of robotics, the malfunctions from the automobile, don’t come into closeness in comparison with the repairing of a shattered mirror. What gives a man a desire to fix, is his lust for being depended upon; though, should he break a woman’s heart, could he fix that mirror? A woman’s heart is a mirror, full of memory that might be shown as a worn face. A worn face that a woman desires to keep beautiful. Does she stare in the mirror for long? A man should blame himself, should he ever see her staring with contempt for her features. To fix the mirror, and to place the shattered pieces of her heart to make a whole, will allow her to once more see her own self as a whole, not a million divided faces that show distortion. She will not know where to look, and will leap from one shard to the next.”