Life
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Bold blackon the white contrast,I’m writing an ageof fossilized,buried tales.There are thosewho must find outwhere I’ve been,what I havebecome.There are thoseleft in the dark,for I believedtheir ignorancekept them clean.It was when a teardropfell in the directionof where I kneltthat I rememberedtheir hearts.It was when their lipsspoke of what Iwas instead blinded bythat I recalledthe entire…
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“Do more with less” is how the saying goes to define minimalism. Although, how was this initially observed? It had to be in knowing that the average person doesn’t know what to do with more. Then, in encouraging a person with less not to strive for more, a divide gets carried about between those with…
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I’m aware, but my eyes are closed. I cannot open them. Less than two feet from me, a woman’s soft breaths clatter together. It is my wife who cries. She’s holding my hand, squeezing it. My son is also close by. He doesn’t cry, and he doesn’t speak. Instead, he’s silent, just as he’s been…
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Some argue that we can find use in love. Although, there’s utility acknowledged in love only through the basis of what’s received, not in what’s given. Social bonding creates complex societies. Evolution requires an environment, like an intricate society, to increase adaptation’s pace. One advancement follows through to the next, and the theme of “expectation”…
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Warming eyeshave examined me.You’ve seen everythingI couldn’t believe,when drowned beneathdrenching sunlight.For wounds to berevealed when they bleed,I have been open,after being opened.It wasn’t enoughto know what to do.There wasn’t muchfor me to commit to.But you see what I don’t,dressed in your immaculate,snow-covered bandages.You’ve been to the bottom, when you exploredwhat few people find.You’ve come up,while…
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Love is not an emotion. If love is said to “conquer all”, then if it were an emotion, such a saying would refer love to conquering itself. What love conquers is what’s momentary, fleeting, and bound up more within lust over what’s timeless. All emotions pass, as they are feelings, not states of being. In…
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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…
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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…
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“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…
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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…
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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…
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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…
Modern Romanticism 