Heaven
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Still youKeep running the tears that toMankind’s hurts, in the war for bloodied dirtFollow wails, will lead to worse.Leave sorrow as dewTo make the mourning as morningWithout the sleep of the sunStaying where we are entering. While love is warm, apartFrom faces scarred,We keep the bullets entering hearts – We send forth showers, towards eyes
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“When the world becomes more crowded with the bad, then all the more to endure for the good. The latter are soon to find there is no place for themselves, and so they take to the Heavens to find a realm where goodness is most alike.” – Modern Romanticism
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“Something so beautiful, identifiable, and familiar to us is enough to raise even portions of our physical flesh to the heights of Heaven.” – Modern Romanticism How real is it to feel something so lodged in the mind? Of something so dark, that only ever the depressed individual could understand, is never felt during a
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“That which becomes forgotten was meant to turn to ash. That which isn’t forgotten, is like the sun. As the sun continues to glow, and whenever it fades, we will not remember it. We only remember the sun, as it continues to warm us.” – Modern Romanticism Should a Pagan worship the physical, then it
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It is as if a human cannot comprehend what cannot disappear. Life, itself, that is, as it seems such activists are siding more with death. What pertains to existence? Is it what will not disappear, entirely? For something like death to disappear, would cause life to have no purpose, as life. As in, to die,
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“It is that pain of a monster, that urges their ongoing casting of shadows. Their light, when unearthed, burns a fierceness from buried beneath so much Hell. Love, the ultimate emotion, sees through Hell, sees beneath Hell, to comprehend the monster beyond the wounds. See their tears, comprehend their sorrows, for their lakes will be
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“Love is one fanciful reveling for a one who cannot depart away from it, to be among Hell. It is not Hell, this love, for humans without it, are demons. We uncloak ourselves, nude, so vulnerable, and cannot be anything other than honest, when we love. As we find more sweetness in seduction, we will
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“Is it all too unfortunate to never desire another love, another heart to belong to, another home in which to place your form? I have, as all it was yearned for, wanted nothing more that the discovery that forgoes all of science and its findings. Love. A love that would not shatter, unless within the
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“How far does empathy reach, besides beneath the Hell piled atop the guilt that one runs from? Empathy has, as I believe it to have, the power to burn a hole through the floor of Hell, of a person’s Hell, to see what the evil person does not wish to see, of themselves.”
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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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In admiration of your form,Upon the pedestal where you stand,The base to make you a statue,Raised high enough for viewing eyes.In loving you, I have made art,I have made a woman of marble. I love thee, with all thy famous beauty.Console me, dear one, with all the infamous tragedy.The fallen tears, down from your cheeks,Will
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She was the wind,She is now the sea,Calling out, for sailors to breatheTheir last, upon their own thirst.While gulls transport, from water to scrap.While faces of Heaven see downwards to her,They call no strength to her longing,Her suffering,Is for a hopeless muse.It is an ocean that brims darkness. A fever, she once caused,For the sake
Modern Romanticism 