Loss
-
Do not cross the manWith suffering where he stands,For he is bound to break youAnd leave with tears you do not seeRoaring down his pallid cheeks. Do not accuse the manWhose smile is never shown,When all you see is the frownWhen he is always downAs the most visible self. His pain has eclipsed his mind,To
-
Send intoMe, when you’ll come to bleedThe song of a mocking siren.Kisses are the texture of velvet upon your mouth,While dreams lay wasted in fields that do not want to runAmok with the seedsFor new beginnings. Life has been a cruel displayOf utter dismay. My desires flee from my parted lips,Like sighs from one burthened
-
Sunken beneath, the tides, as you wereMy solace, the source to my wellOf tears.I threw a line for your freedom, when I saw you were drowning.I threw it, to save you from the uncertainty that kept you weeping.For each drop in the tide, was yours.Though, the well was mine. I looked back to the well,For
-
Passed upon myself,Was her shadow.Like to pass over my disused and torn spirit,After a love shattered,Like the bottle I cling to. I attempted to ignore,Though, it kept calling,As it kept me company. Beside myself, flesh over a drunken spirit.Inside myself, with ignorance overdone,I only slept with myself, last night,Like some pauper in the wilderness of
-
My hands wet with the dewThat has crossed my eyelids,And dropped with graceUpon the flesh of my palms,As I fell to my knees. I bleed wine, from my wrists,And bleed the sea, from my eyes.And, bitterness encompasses both. Late when the feeling comes to subside,Under the boughs and brambles of this winter season,I dip into
-
Tired of all,When yearning to crawlAlong fields sprayed with your tears.Here is beauty,And there is sceneryFor me to weep over, in view of your slumber. Your darknessFights me off,Intrudes upon my light,The comfort I’ve aimed to grant. I have placed roses for you to wieldLike swords in this very field,To cast fire along the presence
-
What is thisBetween elongated limbs?What is this short figure, that does no longer kiss?It merely stares. I carved a portrait, from dust,And made a heart flutter, with rust,And, with a face I’ve come to love,Here it is, never knowing what’s above. It peers at meIn arms as cold as its gaze.It does not move,But, weeps
-
What fiend has caressed my shoulders,Besides the loneliness, I feel within my heart?It is yet a monster, without the need to sleep,Without the will to heal. She lays there, for my eyes to behold her presence,For my view, for my corrupt and trembling hand,To mimic her dashing and golden figure,Upon the life I aim to
-
Feverish marks, from where love had struck a solid chordUpon thy evergreen heart,Upon thy smoothened heart,Upon thy fabulous heart,Were as beauteous, as the next whore of a line,Of a waitingTo see,To plea,And then, to fleeAway from my fingers, that brought you to ceaseYourself, from how you breathed. A disaster,Upon alabaster,Upon the skin of velvet smoothness.Upon
-
As life would be, thrown in my directionWith all the smallest jingles from bells against it,And the scenario builds itselfUpon the rottenness of my withering shoulders,For my life is a crusade,A great raceAcross this treasured desert,Upon this harlot’s cross,Where she’d die for the nighttime,Where she’d die for the bedtime,Where she’ll kiss, through a cloud above
-
Winter has me breathingThis cascading silver air,Across your delicate forehead,As you’ll recede with your eleganceBack to where you belong.A den of darkness,Is where you find comfort,And I do not belongIn such a realm. I am sick,Though, you seem to be healthy.You have cheeks that sparkle the radianceOf that health, of all youthDisplayed for me, once
-
Upon sticks and brambles, and everything taken from the trees,Love, we do, with our hearts spread, over everything new.Like two fossils, once beautiful and full of scenery.Like two trees, now collapsed, with kisses running overAs the remaining twigs that caress. I am in love, or had I ever been?We are, as we’d always been, split
Modern Romanticism 