Love Poems
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What worldEver wielded, aside from the one stained in black?Longing is our token, to betterment,Away from the association of togetherness.Like love, mistaken for a parasite,Like loss, perceived to be foremostIn line. A coming mileIs not what we walk.It only holds us to reap a new darknessThat is the one behind. In arms, delicate and un-moving.We
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Your strange aurasEmit a glow I’ve not seenWith these rotting eyes, nor touchedWith ever-more rotting fingers. What a horror, in meager contours,Drawn around your idle form.An outline that masks your fragilityWhenever you’ll wake up. I see,With eyes revealed for a grave,The listless shape of your countenanceExpressing the bliss that comes with the feeling of death.For
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I am watchful, upon your barren formThat no alonger moves with each subtle sigh.Your arms will no longer sway when you decide to dance,Your hips, the same.And for each ruby lip that I had always aimed to kiss,There is only Hell for the life I dearly miss. Hold your head in the snowDear beauty.You once
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Like two bleeding suns,My palms were crushedUnder the weight of your heavy formThat dropped from the bleak monochrome.I saw what would have shocked me,Were I not already knowing it. Your form is inescapable,Like a palette to an artist,He wields it like a shield,While his eyes are the color that he perceivesWith every carefully aligned strokeOf
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My love, my wine,I am drunk upon your eyes.Wind sweeps me aboard a vessel,And I am sailing on Bacchus’s temple,Where sweat pours as radiant as blood,When beneath the hovering sun. What wills me to land a kissBefore I land ashore? What wills me to never missThe great beauty I adore? I cannot treasure enoughThe saddest
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What had been lifted,Is now fallenUpon the fields where there used to sprout yellow,And now only sprouts the red of shame.What was once golden in the light of companionshipIs now a feeble mess of disgrace. We had dancedBeneath the whip of survival.Sought to kiss, beyond the waves and the endless morrows.We had sailedUnder choirs that
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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
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And what seat have I placed myselfWhen beside me, seats only a space?My Queen had bledA drop of melted snow into the soil,And its color was red. For a King with his vulnerable selfIs merely a man. I dreamed sweetness, of softnessBefore the morning arose,And when it died,I imagined the sun as your rising face,Delighted
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I cannot decideWhat to hideWhen I falter beneath what stirs me. Your beauty has hues, not alike the sun,And most unlike the shimmers in the rain.It has more brightnessThan ever a sunshineOr sun-shower.Brightness, that stings me, though soothes me;Brightness, that burns me, though soothes me;Brightness, that churns me, though soothes me,And I am still here
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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
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Poetry is but a glimpseTo your feeble story.Woman, who was once my beloved,My treasured soul,My song,My emotions,And, my mind;All has now fled far from me. Your eyes, a twinkle of starlight,Beside your cheeks, the porcelain sheetsThat were made as the bed to lay my kisses,Once adorned with pitiful tears. What is the causeTo your untimeliness?Where
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In all the time, I had thoughtThe tears to be worth their sour taste,I was wrong in my mind, to knowThat in our place,There would be eternity. Love is a power against the impossible,And yet,I do not want to border myself on obsession. It is a madness thatMakes both those who reject it, and embrace
Modern Romanticism 