Tag: Love

“A Lover’s Wine and Nectar” – Poem – Romantic

Death divides, my purpose,
Love had made, it wine,
Your lilies, when worn, on crown, so high,
Drew to knew, the nectar, from, the sigh.
As when God, bent his knee,
Your loving God, had bent, his knee.
And I gave a ring, to thy finger,
So that thou, would accompany me.

You are not devilish, on my barren lands,
You, with your ivory face, and porcelain cheeks,
A heart of ruby, though wrapped, in thorns.

A quake hurls, my empathy across,
A child pules, to the breast, and its emptiness.
I gave my platter, for the servant, to witness,
A mighty feast, on thy lips, of cherry.

Your beauty, and your fossilized form,
Were many, in the hues and shades,
I still allowed, a treat to be consumed,
Of perked lips, and even raven tress.

Lovely, when thou, would accompany me,
On the serpentine roadway, to my dwelling,
For thy frailty, is next to loathing,
At the pity, and scorn, of my promise.

“Veiled by Sorrow, beneath Murk and Wave” – Poem

Beauty was left unseen, for her, to satiate,
To satiate, all that left her, in sorrow,
Beneath the might, of my murk, and wave,
A growing fire, that made, me slave.

A glow for a heart, that was slender, and raw,
I fled to the other end, of an island,
And saw with eyes, her dusty shadow,
The pain that draws, close in shallows.

I made my way, to the earth’s end,
And found a place, for her hiding,
I grew fruit, in ample condition, new and true,
Afore the mast, peeled over dark soil, to undo.

To undo her heart! She was birthed, in nothingness,
A true misery, unfolded the clasp,
For my melted mark, to sate the yearning,
For my anguished heart, to bury mourning.

My child, as you feel the agonies, leaving you,
Know the grief, that were the truest feelings, plaguing you.

“The Opened Scar” – Poem

Since I knew, to trim thy locks, from a silver head,
I grew to look, to the moon,
Oh, beauty. With thy ivory smile,
And your nestled, face in my heart,
Come to my weary mind, and lay me down.

Lay me to see, the opened sky,
Opening as the scar, on my heart,
For thou would not, ever bleed when dining,
When dining, on my open wounds,
Oh, beauty. My heart is flavorful.

My heart is, as coldness’s touch,
My mind is heated, and will not rest,
Not in the twining limbs, that which are empty,
Empty, not of cane with sugar, and not full of flesh.
Deadened by sorrow, you have become.

I am leaden, and you are poison.
Yet, a poison, that is a cure,
For I’ll drink it deep, and keep each drop close.
Death and emptiness, are alike,
Where above is a sky, and below is a scar.

Dialogue – “The Empirical Assumption over a Man’s Awareness to Romance”

Q: As for your belief in a woman’s way to make herself attractive, are you able to explain why you believe it is always necessary?

A: Attraction is like butter, when melted, not frozen, and the connection of love and devotion will make a man melt into a woman’s attractive appearance. Should a woman be hideous, objectively so, then a woman will have made herself a stone, for the man to chip away. She will have turned him into a slave, working with pickax at grueling work. Love will not be smooth in this, and a man will see his romance as he sees his own life.

Q: What does a man want from love?

A: Rest.

Q: Rest should coincide together between a man and a woman. Is this not correct?

A: It is not correct, because it is not competition that drives a man to want a woman. At least, it is not competition against her. He will not want to challenge her mind, challenge her knowledge; he will want to challenge her heart. Her heart will be more attractive than her face or form. To think of her attractive appearances as melted butter, will be a correct assumption, because an appearance should be made easy. The heart of a woman challenges a man, and he will face external challenges to win it.

Q: And why should a man not challenge her mind?

A: It is because to challenge a woman’s mind will more likely cause him to befriend her, over romancing her. Love always begins at a glance. As for friendship, between a man and a woman, will be the same as a man befriending another man. He will feel like a homosexual, should he not be a homosexual, when he chooses to challenge her mind.

Poem – “Longing, Sent over Hills” – Poetry of Loss

“Those pained by our love,
Will yet bow low,
In the moment acquired,
By the words we share.”

The light, you let loose,
Is a tired, tempest,
Yet, the shame, keeps us near,
Below God’s lit, brazier.

The mornings, of our love,
Sing the songs, of daffodils,
As in spring’s, loving tune,
Of piercing, delight.

Oh, grief’s, holy hour,
The books, of gospels,
Those wondrous, stories,
Kept secret, by our heart.

One lit, candle,
Upon, a mahogany desk,
Is enough, for a poet,
As I, to pour out.

One light, in my want,
Is the draught, of wishes,
My light, my pierced void,
The snow, of tall mountains.

Those pained, by our love,
Will yet, bow low,
In the moment, acquired,
By the words, we share.

Essay #1: “The Destitution of Truth, formed from the Denial of God” – “The Absence of Love Inevitably Creates the Search for Truth”

“Science is not ever directly related to beauty, because just as life is protected, a machine is always changed and enhanced. The “beautiful” thing that is changed was at first, met with dissatisfaction. This has all been born out of a denial of love’s importance, because love shields beauty from it ever being changed.”

Through history, the denial of God has been apparent, for the purpose of discovery. Science has bred this love of exploration into the unknowns and has made the love permanent. Though, the denial of God will eventually breed the denial of love’s importance. It is so, because as things that support love and beauty are supporters of things not meant to change, we have science, which is a thing born of change. Development and discovery is the essence of constant change, and constant change doesn’t differ at all from the truth being molded and shaped to one’s liking. The denial of God forms the denial of love, because the denial of love would make science as the denial of things that do not change. The only reason why science opposes God is in the fact that God is said to never change. God is said to never change, because God is said to have created love. Love does not change, though what does destroy perhaps a marriage is dissatisfaction. In the matter of the denial of love, there is only truth to discover. And that is, the truth that becomes changed, constantly. Love is what supports truth, while hatred changes truth, because hatred is defined as dissatisfaction. A dislike into what has already been implemented will entice that hatred, and the protectors will protect while the destroyers will eliminate. Those who destroy what has not changed, inevitably destroy beauty. Those who protect what should not change, inevitably protect beauty. For beauty is defined as the thing that does not change, nor even become “obsolete” as some technology to the last three months. Science is not ever directly related to beauty, because just as life is protected, a machine is always changed and enhanced. The “beautiful” thing that is changed was at first, met with dissatisfaction. This has all been born out of a denial of love’s importance, because love shields beauty from it ever being changed.

After a denial of love from the denial of God, there is going to be the molding of truth. A transgender will not see the genitals as linked to their truth. It is because just as Adam and Eve had encountered their shame, from the same sight, they soon covered themselves with fig leaves at the approach of God; this makes the flesh as the truth to be covered by love. When the Transgenders will see their flesh, after a previous generation of abandoning modesty and the rise of Pornography, that truth becomes molded like their own flesh to be sculpted. For a human is only ever divided into three categories, and those categories are: love, truth, and death. Should truth be molded enough so that it shows its disorder so evidently, then death will be the next thing to experience.

…

The Most Bled Wound

Yearnful heart, with sickness amassed,
I am the beggar, of all desires,
So that I may lift, the veil,
That shrouds, your shoulders.

I see Heaven, placed upon, your mantle,
I see Hell, swirling, in your bosom,
I see breasts, that swell, like beaten limbs,
I see, that compassion, has died.

A tear falls, from my eye, and to my foot,
Where lays, a stem, from some forsaken bough.
A sigh, is released, from my heavy chest,
To meet, with the coldest winter air.
And here is my demise, in seeing your shame,
Raving in the darkness, under your blame.

I know my heart, is cold,
It is ivory, and holds, no red,
The most bled wound, is yours,
That is a heart, squeezed of life.

I was cruel, and you remain, to see,
To see, the guilt, I harbor,
To see, the flame, of sickness,
A fever, I aim to end.

It is a fever, I aim, to make cold,
Cold in the tide, of my own blood,
When my hands, come, to know mercy.

Romantic Poem – “To Govern and Claim” – Poem #1

Oh, beauty! Taken beneath, bed sheets,
Disrobed of tattered veil, and dewy flesh.

You were made holy, upon death’s ground,
Made for, the chambers of kings.

Softness is, concurrent, to your realm,
That which I pull myself, down to enter.

Disease made ready, on my pillow,
Kisses made plenty, among all sorrow.

Of futile gestures, and strangeness, in sighs,
I sweep you now, aboard a vessel, of a face,
A face of marble, with gems gilded, like rose!
Ivory, is your flesh, and sapphire, are those eyes.

There were terrible lies, made for the stone road.
And I stuck love, in its place, solid, and formed.



A Critique on Feminism – “Smallness is Intelligence”

Q: What do you see what you stare upwards?

A: I see the epitome of success. I see those who have risen, and this height they have crawled to find, has made them topple over what was at that height. Like some bear that climbs a tree too light for its own weight, that tree will fall.

Q: Success is then defined as what?

A: It is something gained through intelligence.

Q: And what is slavery?

A: It is something that is divided between the mind and body. The body, being, what is sympathized, these days, leaving the mind vulnerable.

Q: And why is the mind vulnerable?

A: It is because the mind holds power when the physical size of the body is lacking. A woman in today’s time lacks intelligence, because she has focused much on her body.

Q: Why has she focused so much on her body?

A: That is because a woman will empathize with the wound, the physical wound, just as she did when women were nurses during the Great Wars. She can see the wound clearly, and feel empathy. This makes a woman the perfect nurse.

Q: And why has she neglected the mind?

A: It is because no one, neither a man nor a woman, can have two primary focuses. When the women of the past were protected for their bodies, it was men who did this; and now, their minds are enslaved, so much that they focus primarily on their bodies. However, as much as the mind has been neglected, it can only be neglected so much; and that is due to that “negligence” will reduce the secondary focus down to 1% to the primary focus of 99%. There is no such thing as a 50-50 “equal” focus, because no one, especially people of competition, are satisfied with a tie.

The Scent of Grief

Don’t die, for the lingering sigh,
In harmony, of shadows old.

As I saw your face, of white,
With folds, of skin, among iron,
Death had painted Hell, on a frown,
For my nose, to cling, to its scent.

What would Heaven offer, if Death denied her form?
God, who stalks the bramble, of empty skies.

I am loth, in beginning to toil,
In merciless, unfurling of grief.

You had hair, which tossed beneath, your eyes,
A frail face, of listless beauty, drowned by sorrow.

Where spiders crawl, on a grave,
And snakes, devour a carcass,
In your arms, I knew of Love.
In my soul, I knew of Hatred.

I gave God, his desired Beauty.
Where salvation, would bring, an eternity.
Though the rivers, were formless,
My tears streamed, in endless currents.

Next to my beloved, who lays mangled,
I notice an arm, which clings to your heart,
That heart, which lays bare,
A heart of love, not shared.

The Heavens Wept for Her

Never let, Heaven hear,
The great mockery, of my fruit,
I was thoughtless, yet here you are,
To bare the nakedness, of my suit.

The reckless approach, to danger,
My uncertainties, begone!
Never broken, never saved.
Never, but beloved, to the brave.

You wilted, as to my own,
Brethren, of my hope,
Abandoned, with my chalice,
Of frozen bitterness.

Unfurl the wicked remarks, of death,
Disgust, for the crude,
Burdened with grief, mothered by love,
Anguished, by God’s vanity.

The Great Frame of Love

Stillness evokes, the bitter strife,
Winter trees, tore off this life.
Lisette wore a mask, to conceal,
The terrors of love, to reveal.
She echoed a panic, of pain,
Within forests bleak, by shame.

I wandered, the terrible night,
Exploring Lisette, in bitter blight.
Some tune rung, from the trees,
Receiving, my crying pleas.
I questioned, “What dost God lack?
Behind the gale, or frozen black?”

Lisette, whom I sincerely praised,
With a cold distress, gently raised.
She, who rivaled, holy grounds,
Prepared to meet, above mounds.
Frozen brook near, tethered by fear,
I spoke once more, for Lisette’s lore.

She spoke, with winter as silence.
“Oh, pity you! Shall you enter.
Into kind domain, still withered,
Cometh colors of eyes weathered!”
Lisette, curves of fingers slender,
Gave forest night, its blackened light.