Life
-
Sundering windslift up the flaps,the loose parts of me,those small areasI can no longer see.All I’m viewingis this descent,this long slope,one way down.All I’m hearingare echoes,those from other’scrying voicestelling me,pleading to meto turn back.I want what I want,while I knowit’s not what I need.I’ve built the bridgeI’ve set on fire,never crossing it.I was half-wayto finding
-
An expression is a confession. A confession turns into art because art will be taken seriously if it can’t be laughed at or ignored. It’s the distinction between tragedy and comedy that’s also the difference between beauty and ugliness. Someone who decided to turn their tragedies into hideousness will require a great deal of patience
-
“There can be something about a love so intense that it disrupts the stability in a relationship. It’s not what’s incompatible, deceptive, or malevolent between the pair that causes the eventual disconnection. It’s what’s too often filled with periods of yearning and ennui when they are far from the other. It’s what gets immensely passionate
-
Strength and weakness. Knowing your limits. It’s not to say that an individual should not be encouraged from reaching further. But to know where one is, at their current time in their own life, means that whatever’s being reached for cannot be instantaneously received. Any attitude of impatience seeks to bypass where does strength and
-
Sunset’s absence,as morning has turnedinto acute mourning.I’ve lived here,believing in everythingthat held a space,that had a placein symmetry.Who cries, what dieswhen nothing but soilis left to be buried?A shoulder expectingsounds of weepinghas disappeared,while it keepsthe smearsfrom the lastinvitation.I’ve needed to knowwhen it will snow.I’ve needed to believein a path, where footprintscan always representa hopeful exhalation.I’ve
-
I’ve been left numbedto the soundsof crumbling bridges.I’ve been burningwhat cannot be rebuilt,after a final voyage.I’m hearing screamsthat enter no oneelse’s ears.I’m tearing seams,attracting the decayon all in disarray.Love once erasedsuch signs of turmoil.Life returnedto remind me ofwhat falls from above.Just dust, buildingbeneath these wanderingfootsteps, in eachsecond that captivates.I am left with leavingmemories like wires,either
-
Finding me,amidst this falling rain,where downpoursare mere showersagainst a soiled soul.I want to be reflectedin each puddle,where reunionsare connected,dissected correlationsbetween the faultand the funnel.I want to travelthrough the spiral,twisting up uncertaintyinto a blue and green,reshaped tapestry.Find mein places where I’ll bewatering mountainsto grow higher.Lose me,like the diamondthat’s last to fade,in a dimming sky.Evening has eonsleft
-
It starts with the individual. It must. Everything started with something singular until it finds purpose within the plural. It had to find purpose and meaning for its own existence within a space that shares its own values. Like-mindedness is almost a necessity. But if catered to too much, it becomes a force where closed-mindedness
-
To tell those who deal with reality that their questioning of it has any merit is only because the one who speaks of such “merit” is someone who stands on the sidelines to observe suffering. Reality is only ever questioned by those who either observe it without being affected by it, or by those who
-
It has been all she’s chosen. With words, she find assurance. Even if a promise cannot be kept, she’ll return to the shell. She’ll return to where what had been audible was first a whisper. She’ll seek comfort in that. Wide-eyed, curious of mind, and with an appetite to want something that never moves, she’s
-
A shadow has been extending from a motionless figure. How long has it been going for? How long has she been seated there, counting leaves that descend due to meeting their time? In the corporeal world, it has been a mere minute. But in her mind, her presence in this position, this stagnation, has been
-
Some might hear or read the word “useless” as inherently having a negative connotation. Instead, one ought to refer to its meaning as having more of a neutral tone. There isn’t anything positive nor negative about what’s useless or even useful, especially in regards to where these words are often applied. If there is one
Modern Romanticism 