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Modern Romanticism

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

Words of Wisdom – “Debunking the Obsession with Choice” – 7/28/2019

July 28, 2019
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“An internal or external choice, breeds either the individual or the slave, and nothing else, by the choice being of oneself or from another. We are all Nature’s slave, and no one seems to have fallen in love with the word. We are all our parent’s slave, our home’s slave, and our employer’s slave, and still, no one seems to have fallen in love with the word. The word ‘slave’ is a neutral word. Only emotions of either positive or negative turn a word into something else, other than how it’s defined. The choice of the murderer to slay his wife and children, was indeed a choice created by himself. Responsibility was not of him, to allow himself to be so corrupted in mind and heart. And he was the only one to have raised the gun to slay his family. Choice. It is a pathetic word, as loose as ‘slave’.”

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Poem – “At Once, a Tear Replaces Her” – Romance

July 15, 2019
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Fallen, and frozen,
From, my cold cheek,
To her form of white, and cloaked in death.
Where warmth, turned bleak,
And Heaven, drew a line, on her, raw flesh,
I, too, drew a mark, on sculpted skin,
Until sadness, was all I felt.

A mark,
A name, as mine,
Like mine, is mine,
It was the mark, to unity.
An abandonment, of my pride,
My fame, my graces, my stature,
Into, simplicity.

Here are roaring tears, for the woman I knew,
And loved, as though, she were
My child, born from, a cradle of straw,
I loved her; indeed, I loved her.
Her face, so round, and eyes, agleam,
A body, so full, and arms, so long,
I measured her, in my truest place.

My heart, is now, a place of grief,
I sing, its song,
I sing, the unmerciful song,
That has placed hatred, on my soul,
Sorrow, has morphed,
Pain, has absorbed,
All the soil, beneath my feet.

Her face, encased in ice,
Winter, has made a fine print,
Love, has been replaced,
With a tear.
Beauty, has been replaced,
With a sculpture, of ice,
And I still, draw it close, for a kiss.

Words of Wisdom – “The Earned Disrespect” – 7/14/2019

July 14, 2019
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“Some will repeat the words, ‘They have disrespected me,’ while others will repeat the words, ‘Respect is earned.’ And I say, ‘If respect is earned, then what about disrespect?’ Disrespect must have a foundation of that which is to be deserved to the proper person who deserves it. Respect is earned, then so should disrespect also be earned. No woman should say, ‘He disrespected me,’ without first thinking, ‘Perhaps I deserved it.’ And then knowing that she deserved it, might bring her peace.”

Poem – “My Final Companion” – Romance

July 13, 2019
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Famous and beaming with red,
Lovely until you fall dead,
With the stead of undying love.
Romance has quaked our realm,
While nectar falls from your breasts,
Live in me, oh, beauty from the North.

Give yourself to me,
My final companion.
We shall live and die with the union.
We shall make poetry from our voices.
Our marriage will bloom for many morrows,
And will sow seeds for crops to be reaped.
For a multitude of marriages
To be spawned from our one.

You are lovely, and fit for this occasion,
Your aura inspires awe.
Your face is a wilderness,
For me to be lost.
Your eyes are a darkness,
For me to be displaced.

Grow the garden for our nourishment,
And make merry the words that we’ve kept.
Do not long more for another,
When we drown beneath sheets of purple silk.
Famed are we, under faces that see
Our happiness and our home.
Made for governance to be
A lovely family, so close are we.

Poem – “Your Youth and your Resplendence” – Romance

July 13, 2019
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Save me, graces,
The bleeding wound,
In me,
Has long thought of to be free.
Your idleness matches
My failure. And to the ship,
Where there are sailors,
They mask themselves in the breezes.

Fate awaits me,
Her dying body is a shelter,
One that throws love overboard.
Underneath my feet,
There are many serpents.
There are many insects I have crushed.

There is a face,
One so smooth and so round,
One so much attuned with life,
That it mocks me.
By a smile,
With teeth that are porcelain-white.

Death came natural to her,
As life comes to me, as futility.
Her youth and her resplendence,
So white and so vivid,
That I desire to devour it,
Beyond the lighthouse.

Come as she may,
Oh, woman of tragedy.
To the faults of every mire,
Of every sea and every sire.
Of every tombstone that grows higher,
To love, and to her arms, is all I desire.

Poem – “I, as the Husband to Misery” – Romance

July 13, 2019
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I crawl and dwell,
Where faces embrace my Hell.
Where love is most potent,
Is where my misery is frenzied.

There are demons in this place,
This wasteland of remembrance.
This place so small,
I wish it would grow tall.

I am a husband to misery.
It is because of how late the fallen evening
Has begun.
Roses sprout along the sides of walkways.
Am I in love with them?
They do not move with the wind.

I am not a husband to any eternity.
One that I’d fathom, to be eternal, as long
As the world grows sideways.
It extends as vast as my lonely heart.
Is all the world two-dimensional?
As flat as people themselves?

We seem to live,
In a world that’s lost touch with the three,
To make a family.
I am a husband to cruelty.

A wickedness I’ve seen so very vividly,
It has coursed itself over me,
It has run over my face,
As endless tears.

Excerpt from a Novel – The Bruised Woman

May 1, 2019
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“Will there ever come a time when you shall forgive yourself for father’s passing?” questions Antoine.

“You would not understand a bruised woman like me, even if you are my son. There will not be anything that could save my spirit, and how it renders torment like another child. There is only the safety of such torment. It has become my bliss,” says Josephine, showing her voice to be alike to this season of winter.

“It is not to be your bliss, mother!” says Antoine.

“My son, your repetition is endearing. But you must be tired, so please retire to your room, and allow me to share a tear to myself.” Josephine casts a cold stare over to Antoine’s eyes, as it then travels beneath, to his nose. Her stare continues downwards to stop at his chin, where there is a mark there, identified as a scar. She offers a smile after the stare is withdrawn.

She says to him, “That scar is a leftover from when you used to grieve.”

“Mother, I am young. I do not need to grieve, forever,” says Antoine.

“And I am old, so I must grieve, forever. Now, leave me.”

He departs, once more.

And so, we have spoken on three departures. Antoine had committed himself to two, and a spirit from a man named as both a husband and father, departed from its body.

Sorrow is the clinging emotion, same as love. It is because sorrow is the aftereffects to a tragedy. Though, love will forever cling to life, enough so that we understand the peace that comes with death. And what creates eternity in love? It is the memory that creates eternity in love. Beauty is the flesh to which we do not yearn to see vanish. It is because death is the thing that will reflect hopelessness, and of the body to which death has touched by its cold, black hand, there is decay. The decay that comes as black and descends into the snowy ashes. How whiteness is the blank page! How blackness is the filled page! In seeing beauty vanish, we see black, then we see white.

For love is the shield to beauty, the shield to flesh, the shield to recognition, and the shield to protect from death. It is only through love that anyone will recognize the terrors of death, know also the oncoming throes of death, though wouldn’t be as paranoid as to never allow freedom.

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