Insanity
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“Love is the sickness to the cure. It is the vaccine. Love vaccinates. For love prevents the damages from being done, further. Love protects. Love shields. In work, a builder will raise all that was, at one point, mere pieces. A sickness, as that is love, being also the cure. We are, when in love,
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I am seated, with my head in my palms,And I ponder to myself over what I’ve lost,Besides another tear. Another tear,Another flake to the ashes,Another memory to the burial,Another fragment from the heavy weightSeemingly lost, and now,The Earth possesses it. Of blinding tears, and blinding rageThat seems to be all I feel.As my emotions are
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I stand above a pool of someone’s blood and attempt to notice the faces, in the attempt of my question, coming forth in trembling syllables, “Who had caused this destruction?” A wasteland surrounds me in echoes of crying women. Of weeping men over the graves to their beloved, they too, sing out. They feel, as
Modern Romanticism 