Love Poems
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Eternity is too true to be new,Like what had wetted her lips,As the softest gleam I ever knew,Like two petals,With one facing towards Heaven,And the other facing my feet,At the place she’d occasionally bleed. Beauty is always bound in the embrace of serenity,In that lock her and me, knew to beBoth warm and cold, in
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No seething kindness, could ever subtractMy hands from crawling across your naked shoreline,From dancing upon your fragile neck,And allowing your breath to force itself forward.To the wind of my might,To the Hell of my sight. Little beauty, you seem to have cracked,Under the weight of a life gone alack. I give to you, my best
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Glued, I am,Unto your porcelain hand,For there goes my lips,To kiss thy whiteness,Thy ghostly and ghastly selfWithin your turbulent Hell. And, among my beastly self,I’ve grown too old to tell,What awaits me, far down in Hell,Where I will sing among the loudest bells,Not among you, your form where I fell,To see the Earth’s shaken core.
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She rose, so well, in the time of morning,Stilled, my finger was, worn and broken,At the still of morning, by what laces the sun,Being, her face, as I trace every line and curve,By that same finger. What a kindness, unto me!What a world, that enraptures me!Her disease, called love,Is a wonder, to still be aboveMyself,
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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
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Here is the cruelest fate,That life has placed upon my plate.I have furnished the table with silverware,Of those to my type.And I will dine on what you have given meIn the Hell we are both living,And for the Heaven we are both missing,Upon the Earth where we are both grieving. The nectar of romance,A sweet
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Little birdWho weeps, and still creates songAfter bloody songIn her bath of red-colored water,As her garbs lie heaped upon one another,On the floor, outside of reach. I saw what twisted my vision,A hue in a bath of waterAnd it was the color of the sun, yet without the warmth,For a knife has drawn evenlyOver the
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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
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All distortion followsThe moon with its velvet hues,Its resplendence,Its call to men of blood-thirst,For it has a face as wicked as the heart above it,My own, that does writheBut, what does it say?Shall we have a listen? Syllables in repetition,Contrasts in transition,And the words spoken, aloud, are,“What is this wilderness, about yourselves?Have you forgotten,To call
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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
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I lay it, quietly,A kiss upon thy forehead,While music shudders around us,And destroys all tension,As I have kissed you. Resplendence, among beauty and grace,All are teeming in your bosom.You have a flower in your hair,And a heart that shimmers, like the wings flapping from the gulls,Radiant with the dew from the sea. A clever mind,
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Depression is a current moment, for youWhen you dip tears into the bowl of failure,I have not been good to you.But, I will surround you, in the venom of friendship.I will surround youIn the thorns that have been, all to us,The things we recognize,Are to us,The wilderness of sheer belief. We are not for us,But,
Modern Romanticism 