Love Poems
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All of my painGoes into this kill,This one kiss upon the terrible formThat sought me to be stillThat sought me out,To be heavy with the weight of loss,For you were there,Until you were not. Your absence might appear kind,It is unlike the place I will findYourself, among the dust of a ruined city.Might it be
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Fall upon me with the world apart,And I will offer you a word,To see you married, to see you gladlyDressed in the adornments befittingElegance of all its domain. People do not know, the pleasures we makeOf each other.People will not know, the symptoms we create,That race forever.They will not ever see the subtlety of love.
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Love is a shell,When it is not covered,By something that will nestle itIn moments as sweet as beading facesOf a woman, hot in exercise. Cities as old as time,All bow before the might of love,When it is that blanket of eternity.A kiss, one heated kiss,Upon a mouth, sends through shivers. A blanket, for it is
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Why do I feel pain,When I am meant to feel love,When I am meant to feel strong?It is like the sun in my chest,Creating my weakness,Creating my heart,Creating the start,To a long road, ahead. Why don’t I feel strong,And all I feel is pain?It is a weakness, a sickness, a knowingTo know what isn’t meant
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Upon the day when you arrive,Adorned in something fragrant,Dressed in something treasured,It could be only love between, the threads of a garment,The threads of a worn heart, of a torn heart,That I’ve promised to mend,So much alike the garments, I’d do away with,So much alike the pain, I’d do away with. Upon the day when
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Fall down to ask,What will come to be,And lay down to bask,In the warm waters of fallen tears,Hurled from Heaven, laid in untold truths.You have sympathies growing large,And held memories upon a swollen shoulder.My eyes do see,What is meant to be,A beautiful memory.One beautiful memory kept ahead,So pleasantly. I light the way for us to
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Death has made you majesty,While I weep aloud melodies.I once saw the weeping sky, and now,I weep strewn tears to your closed lids.I once brought my hand out an open windowTo feel the droplets,And now,That sky has closed, along with yours.A sky has been buried, and shut,Your eyes, and above. There is dew along the
Modern Romanticism 