Love
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Paint your eyes red.Fold broken hands,praying to what is dead. Speak in gentle whispers,encasing your soul in a frozen tearheld back for many years. Love blooms on your back,with the rain, the dewfinding meaning in nothing new. Cry for departure,for the ships carrying your earthto bring you home, to birth. What time is love?Which day…
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Less to be, made to beabsent, apart from theeinside the wandering puddle.Straying too farbeyond the beating tunnelwith shadows, around. To the sun, to the eyethat was never meant to crywhile death created a nest,with babes against the breastteeming for the afterlife. The cradle, the fragile terrorsa reflection wreaks.The sun bent its touchto warm the coldest…
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Each whisperin a fading windbrings the stars closer,closes the scarsthat were never there. Wade to me in puddlesfrom imagined tears.Winter never warmed you,when it disillusioned us. Long arms carry you throughstoried storms, as I close the pageswith the grasp for a life,curving in the rivers. You are drawn in elegance,with beauty to your fear,among your…
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Retreating apart frombare sentences revealed in the sun.You grieved even inthe love we were buried, within. For orchids, we cross,as in sadness, we depart,having left golden glimpsesfor something among sentences. Bare words, abandoned in light,lowering eyes that see unity shattered.With grace, our sceneries mattereduntil turmoil had grown. Growing upon the next vine,all are always the…
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Straight line, barricadeon a path your eyes createwith enough to freeze for,with blankets of fleshbecoming raw beforethe moment of your death. Place love to the skies.Hold that smile, cover your crieswith the curtain around my form.In love, without being born,because God was a smile too manyto have, within grains of plenty. Soil stretches, along with…
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“What a person most expects is everything they shouldn’t. A gift can be expected, though only at the same level as offering a server a tip. It had been expected, that for the server’s excellent hospitality, they were given something for that reason. Although, what is a gift? What is ever defined as a true…
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You are the dust in my eyes,the water that never flowsuntil I let go. You were the shore of eternal grain.Countless, until you becamecaught in the eyethat leaks light. You were one beside the moon.You are none,as I follow gloom. Why has this mirror shattered? From white to the void,erased into the darkwith infinite flakes…
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“No one can regret to love. Because, to love wasn’t a choice. When we look back upon the first time we held a hand, can we analyze the circumstance? Can we ever come a conclusion or reason for that moment? Or is that merely us doubting what is has grown into something spectacular?” – Modern…
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Send wind to the torn waters.An ocean formed by summer,as love unbandages us. What breaks the skies to find us? Send letters as overturned leaves,leaking stones. We cried to find weight driftingin sudden rush. Winter was the deletion of our colors. Hold this promise, remember the vow.Repeat the famous wordsupon the waves. Arrest your eyes,…
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Wait in line, rust was a hundred timesthe potency to cripple our hearts on time. Under Heaven’s rain, sending a sad signalto a barren lighthouse that remained, without. Hands were shared, hearts were full,round with the waters at all sides. We kissed with ravens giving notice,losing tomorrow.Will the sun surrenderwhen the ocean reenters? Offer life…
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Wait, while the world enters sleep.We will fall, we will countdrops of iron written deepin the flesh of signature’s devotion,beside earthly murmuring motion. Walk this way,find yourself layingwithin the tangled thread. We have wanted pain to close,asked for another dose,as infants repeating first wordswaiting for the world to crawlto a second closest to night. We…
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Withdraw your eyesfrom embrace and trace.Waking to the stillnessof a one, frozen in mouthupon a sigh,stiff in fingersupon the crywhile the grasp was coming dry. A pull-back, a fallen curveTo your bodythat landed my collision,while worth was never served. Winter reversed itself,for Autumn to decorate our feetin summer’s decaying petals. Losing each tear, facing every…
Modern Romanticism 