Modern Romanticism

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

Words of Wisdom – “A Fantasy and a Possibility” – Philosophy on Madness – 10/9/2019

October 9, 2019

“Those scientists who reach for the impossible to turn into the possible, are who should be named, ‘Those who deny God, though long for His touch, His presence, His commandments.’ A scientist may say, ‘The impossible will become the possible, because those under the Banner of Democracy will be allowed to make any choice possible.’ And still, they meddle in those unknowns, reaching for darkness, for answers that may crack their minds; what is, I ask, the answers to life’s most amusing and entertaining questions? We ask questions, while we laugh in a comedy. We come to an answer, then the shock shifts us back to a tragedy. From certainty to comedy, then from tragedy to uncertainty; these are the maddening notions that make certainty aligned with fear. A scientist has to believe in God, if the denial of Him causes the scientist to still reach for answers. A scientist discovers, while God lays in wait; because, when we reach inside ourselves for those answers, we are finding more darkness rather than light, because light is only seen from an external source.”


Poem – “Blinding Tears, and Blinding Rage” – Depression

August 1, 2019

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 weight
Seemingly lost, and now,
The Earth possesses it.

Of blinding tears, and blinding rage
That seems to be all I feel.

As my emotions are frenzied,
Between these two voids,
These two bleak confusions,
These two natural diseases.

Failure stings as much as it bleeds.
Wounds are nestled on my heart,

Guilt has wrapped itself
Around my tired form.

My form, vivid in all its gleaming,
Of all wounds with ragged flesh.

I would never be proud,
Of anything I’ve conquered,
On either fertile shores,
Or watery deserts.

Love once made its way to my mind,
By a singular path
It drew so many marks,
On where I allowed it to roam.

And now a mirror blocks my path.
It is my own path;

And a path, with such a mirror
That shows my face.
Revealing death, I see two eyes like orbs of steel,
Made present in what they reveal.

A face of ruby, and a heart of stone.
A man of no mercy upon his tired body.
I draw emptiness around,
Like a frigid cloak taken from a tundra,
Love, at my left hand,
Death, at my right.

And I collapse them, together.

Flash Story – “The Sight of Oblivion” – Apocalypse

July 24, 2019

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 much as the women. And above this bloodied tide of many entrails and teeth, that has come from the many slaughtered, I see my own face. It is a face that has been swept over in emptiness. It is a face that is shown to be velvet in skin and fair in complexion; though, there is still question in the eyes.

The question repeats itself in still its trembling syllables, “Who had caused this destruction?” A world that shudders beneath panic and dread; a world that bleats the moans and cries of the wounded; a world that attempts to wield the threads of a savior. For I also ask, “Whose savior is this?”

It is a face of mine, revealed in this vermilion coating, at my feet. Though, there is also a form, dressed in a soldier’s uniform, and with arms that carry the gun. Carried as if cradled like an infant, this firearm is held close to myself; I seem to be in love with it. I have seen myself in this reflection; of my face, and of my form, and I ask the question again, “Who had caused this destruction?”

I have chosen to see within, to where one always originates in all their answers, soon to perhaps be muddied by a lacking clarity. I saw within to where other faces were seen, in memory of all of them; and beauty is instantly recognized for all its coloring. I have made a sculpture of flesh, and it melts as the candle of wax.

I see within to myself, and notice what creates all this dismay. It is for other faces, seen as well within this pool of blood, at my feet. I am, or have become, the soldier, the defender of myself, of all things perhaps external, using my gun to stab, and my bayonet to stab; and from this, I find answer, in myself. All faces seen in this blood, bleed tears from their eyes and add a clearness to the red.

After such clearness, there comes further answer. I see from all I’ve witnessed, that as a soldier, others are soldiers; as a man who bleeds, so do the women bleed. I am merely a contributor to the decimation. The destruction bleeds from me. The destruction bleeds onto me. For I say, “I am a soldier in grass drenched with blood. I am a soldier with a gun made from wood and metal. I am a soldier with a face so stern and vivid in its hardened shape. I am a soldier with and without emotions, barricaded by what I see, and what I neglect for myself. Sanity. That’s the ingredient to benefit the self. I recognize it. Bright. Clear. Never hazy. Never blurred. And I am, as well, the soldier whose reign of destruction is the same as all others of the same. I have looked within, saw my torture; I then looked outside, and saw blood.”

Words of Wisdom – “The Truth upon the Lie; and the Lie Upon the Truth” – 7/20/2019

July 20, 2019

“All truth cleanses, though is rarely embraced. When it is embraced, it creates no complexity as would the lie. When truth is embraced, it creates simplicity, born from realization. When a lie is embraced, it creates the intricate weaving within the heart, of all branching veins, and many paths. Confusion surmounts from the lie, as does unlimited question. Reason is the governor to the lie, while faith is the governor to the answer. The truth, when buried and deemed to be ‘obsolete’ only recedes beneath the soil, and awaits the next species to undertake answer, over endless question. It is because the answer is never complex. It is an end result. It is the path where content should be met, and kissed upon her cheek, and embraced around her waist.”

Poem – “The Sympathies in Her Kiss” – Erotica

July 9, 2019

The drenched sword,
By blood of birth,
Now receives the kiss,
Of a mocking sympathy.

A drooling heart,
A faltered start,
A destination,
Of enunciation.
A memory,
A tragedy,
Made to uncover,
My fragility.

Our love and its magic,
Is so quick to dissipate,
Is so quick to burn out,
Like any old flame.

We’ve known awhile,
How desires form,
Under the furnace,
Of a scented heat.

Of faces next to one another,
Of diseases made to float,
Made to wash,
Made to roam.

We are erotic in the arms of ourselves,
We are scented in our fields of passion.
We endeavor ourselves to want more,
No tragic failures,
No mocking souls,
No miserable falls.

We are death,
We are love,
We are safe,
We are above.

We will be children,
And run from one meadow to the next.