Free Verse
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Life by firelightGoes unnoticedTo the world that sentencedHer, beneathCrippled stems without theirPetalsAnd radiance. I knew to love,Knew to lieWhile her flesh wasWithin faltering reach. Crippled,Stagnant for noReason to be unearthedFrom the grain,With all delicacyTo her pain. She had trembled among the leaves,Unable, as I was able to thinkOver which was, among the fall. Autumn’s breeze
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Picture howFinal terrorsWere warm beginningsFor the faces that did laugh,At the end. Picture nowThe stories caught at angles,Bleeding for miles acrossShapeshifted understandingFor the forests that meltedWhispers into glades. Emptiness in the hollow well,For no cement could encrustA depiction of her fall. I still wishFor the dawn to comeEven as the rose petals fallInto burning fields.
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RepetitionUpon the flowing curvesFor all blue-tinted veins,To the rivers a man wishes toPlunge himself,To sweep the pain clearFrom eyes that bleed moreFor the ocean. Life writes itselfIn verse,As a man holds his heartWithin the rhythm,For notes that gravitateInto rhymes. He wishesUpon no starsAmong immaculate sunlightTo breathe beneath the ocean,In her arms.To swim among the galaxiesShe
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How great,For how subtleTo never lose youIn the wild rain,Within the washed-up grain,Stealing a signAll over again. A ghost in the doorwayTo look upon you,As I falterIn this place,In the afterlife. Here, the heart screamsWith the churning of ironIn my cold bloodstream.Falling apart,In the wind. A look upon your lips,A scar to where I kissedYour
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His comfort,A dying collection of senses.His fire,Hidden behind his eyes.His words,Poorer than those decked in rags.Torn, though immaculate,As if Heaven met ruin. WanderingTowards Love’s holiest empire,Wanting an earTo listen to what has becomeOf a man, in his fear. His sadness is a requisiteTo Justice, in its depleted definition.His tears, to fallUpon his lap,Show no puddles
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God triumphedUpon the returnOf His fortune,Radiant in embellishment,Curious for His wayFor which He mayOpen her. Treasure of boundless extravagance,With little care in the tearOf folds, for the earth.God, whose sin was greatRevealed flesh,Too stagnant in weight.The He who leapt,The me who weptA rainstorm to decorate the liesWith the forty nights,Without sunrise. PersistenceOf savageryBled out for
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Describe youIn simple ways,I cannot.EnamoredBy engrossing details – A shoreline curve to a hip,Pebbled beachTo make both eyes and breasts,Fingers, like candlesBurn garmentsTo the ashen floor. WatchfulOf subtle hints,Bared auras,Scenery to taste,Loins to wasteIn the grave intoxicationIn the entrance, of womanhood. Lifted sights,Disassembled breaths,A face that does not surrenderTo the lifetime of age. Hair that
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Poem #1 “Awaiting Fog” TranslateThe thicknessAround your eyes.Smother your discomfortWith ease and surrender,For defeat to shedAshes to your toes. Dance with the deepest sighsTo plume from reddest lips.Give finalityTo each falling grace.Grab your basketFull of the scenery you plucked,To birth taste, from your tears. Drunk on sorrows,Amorous with your fears.Laid there, not curvingTo the unkind
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Facing stars,Running with warsThat never seem to die.Among all our childish wishes,Faces always cry.We never smileWhen we hoard the books,When we can allure shadowsThat never bondWithout breakingIn the light we despise. Letting the storm die,Letting the dark collideWith something other than light.It is the mind that withersIn winterWhen no spawn of rose,Nor face of infantCan
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I blacken, with such sounds,The motions of my feeble arms,The blue awakening of my skies,To drown in your cloudsThe harrowing blue curves of your tears. You count the petalsSpring unleashesTo the scented winds,Breathing sweetTouches of longing. You hold out a handThat I may kiss.You take a standWhere I may catch you,Should you fall. Your eyes,
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Bloody offspring Of mine, on the lakes Of debris, Call your nightmare Your chapter, Onwards to conclusion. Let your roar be for the moon’s own tears, Escaping your dreams, running from fears. Force sympathy apart, Wrench the compassion from stones, For you have licked ivory. You see the towers, You see the lighthouse, You see
Modern Romanticism 