Modern Romanticism

The aspect of romance, divided between the heartening and the thoughtful.

Poem – “The Art of an Angel” – Romance/Descriptive

August 17, 2019
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How do I, describe the one,
Who has, lifted me, from deprivation?

How do I, describe the woman,
So beautiful, as to, unearth woes, from a, past life?

To make me see, all that, has come to be,
And the failures, from faiths, I transgressed, too horridly,

All mathematics, and all stars,
Point to an answer, I’ve long been, desiring to witness.
All of beauty’s image, stands before me,
In the caressing, of angel wings, and a lucid smile.

There, I see a face, engraved with stones, of purple, and red,
And a naked form, of ivory

There are, to each leg, the comparison
To pillars, of ice, or pillars, of marble.
I adore her shape, in her making, that trembles,
Under the warmth, of a dashing sun!

“Face me,” as I say it, to face me,
You are now loved, once more,

By a man, who made a woman, as a statue,
An admiration, for a life, so lonely.
I am in awe, as I’ve remained, in awe.
Movement? Is there movement, in a lifeless shape?

There must, be ebony,
A stain, on my fractured heart.
It is there, and I’ve felt it.

It has covered, and here, I know it,
Before the denial, I’ve kept.

Poem – “When Love Rains Down Against my Temples” – 8/17/2019

August 17, 2019
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I could see the necessity in wishing to know,
The love I’ve come to commit to my own atrocity.

My beauty, you have exquisiteness in every breath,
And a mark upon your shoulder has been to count,
Each subtle sigh under morning light,
In before I come to share my place near your death.

Love at my left hand, and my hope in the right.
I am a man of many angles,

And many divides to count for too many.
There has been desertion staining our hearts,
And now I find myself wanting.
“For what?” I ask, and then I comprehend it:

I am in awe for the woman who hasn’t rested,
Has been afield in the work of too many men,

Too many droplets of salt, have played a part on your stress,
Come to me, dear woman, when you’ll feel yourself
Wanting to fall, and create an imprint
Of yourself in the soil.

A devil had made this world,
And there is indeed purpose among it.
But, to find myself more wanting,
For the angelic tears that make a journey,
Across your withered cheeks,
Makes me find more meaning.

Words of Wisdom – “The Slavery of the Mind” – 8/17/2019

August 17, 2019
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“There are two forms of slavery, not merely one the one that comes to ordinary thought as chains, whips, and shackles. Mind and body are the two separations and the two focuses for each human. When the body is manipulated by the slaver, the slave begins to think for themselves. That is, the worker will have a personal goal. When the mind is manipulated by the slaver, the slave begins to have a personal focus on their body. In today’s time, when the body is a focus for women, it is because their mind has been enslaved. This makes the woman objectively never take proper care of her body. Should her intelligence be a focus for her, then her beauty comes as second-nature, and needs no obsessive focus. She can merely look beautiful, without thinking about it.

The slavery to the mind, is the second form of slavery seemingly made to be ‘subjective’ for today’s world. Drugs enslave the mind, and then when the mind is influenced by these drugs, the body is manipulated on its own. To enslave the mind, makes the body become the easy puppet. That is, the slave needs no direct master who calls himself ‘master’. That is, the slave will enslave themselves, and still call themselves ‘free’. That is to say that the body is what is easily seen, while everything for the mind is unseen.

Everything of the mind and its enslavement, will make the ‘slave’ cage themselves, for willingness to drop themselves below the face of power. In creation of Godhood, those only comforted resonate within the brain’s higher functions. Primate, and developed, and only through occasional distractions does any slave offer themselves comfort. And through this, that ‘slave’ will find such distractions to forever be temporary.

The mind, when enslaved, will not be the focus by the individual slave. The body, when enslaved, will not be the focus by the individual slave. This comes as the instinct to believe that the ‘master’ is ‘taking care’ of either the enslaved mind or enslaved body. All provisions are granted for the slave, so that continuation is made. That word known as ‘temporary’ holds its own meaning for the previous sentence to this one. From distraction, to the chore, makes the slave as life itself. To outlaw slavery would mean to outlaw life, and then to outlaw cruelty would only create a discouragement against cruelty.”

Flash Story – “A Woman Praised by Beauty and Steel” – Romance

August 16, 2019
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A woman’s heart is to me, the cherished stone. I walk from where I sat, to her face, and bury only myself in her tears. They come out from dark eyes as sweet to taste, for she is happy!

Happiness! So alien was the word, whenever I’d writhe in a torment back in my home. I’d spent the summer nights, in the heat, while a heart beat for the torment of an addiction. A substance, or so it was named, and I blew kisses in the direction of that pain, because I knew it was enhanced by love.

She bares her beauty resplendently. This woman of mine bares herself with a heart held outward, and I make myself famous in her touch. I feel the entire world look upon us, with so much envy. They can never know love. No; not them; certainly not the world I know to be dipped in selfishness and a desire for the self.

Our hands embrace; indeed, we have embraced. We have kissed, and we have embraced. We will love; yes, we will love. We will kiss, again, and we will find the moon to be radiant and the sun to be hot.

Above her brow is a strand of hair that I blow away from sight. I see an eyebrow that I, as well, offer a kiss. And I kiss it, and kiss it evenly in distance from her twinkling eye. So much love is in my heart, and my pain has been extinguished from its dancing and ephemeral flame. It was my life, that pain, and I have waved it a farewell.

My beauty, let us dance under stars and under the awing faces. We are the world made perfect. We are the moment made without distance. We are the ones for the other. We are beloved, and musical, and enchanted.

Words of Wisdom – “The Most Honest of Men” – 8/16/2019

August 16, 2019
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“Why would we ever be comfortable around the politician who never lies? To be comforted, is to be lied to, and this is factual. A comfort is a lie. A comfort is a stagnation. For even the heart moves, evermore rapidly while in love. And it stops, when we are dead.

What do I mean by this? I mean, that honesty comes out of the man, who leads, when he can stoop low to see, once more, his origin. When the King had fought in the battlefield alongside his unrelenting soldiers, his cries were louder than those who died by the sword, who were their opponents. What I mean, is that honesty comes out of a man when he allows fear to be his own strength, as very much it is the weakness of his people. As very much it becomes the strength of his people, it soon becomes the weakness of himself. That is, the leader should be compassionate.

And comfort will weaken, and will tell a soldier to no longer fight. Comfort will tell a man to kneel. A woman will let a man fall to his knees before her light. Her face is now the face which a man has implored himself to stand, and then to fight, again, for her safety.

I say it once more than an honest man is a man of no shadows, but light. He is a man who people will despise, and many others will look over with admiration. That is because in a world of lies and comfort, and nothing more else to name, honesty burns. Honesty burns a hole in the shadows, and comes to people’s hearts to make them wrathful with fury.

And those under the guise of comfort will no longer see their shadows, but the light they are forced to notice. And this light, is what they attempt to reject, only to find themselves swimming in it, unable to let loose its hold.”

Words of Wisdom – “The Emotion” – 8/16/2019

August 16, 2019
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“The emotion is alike the beast. Too wild to be free at the ultimate state, and too large to be truly caged. We, as humans, cage animals, for we cage emotions. We, as humans, believe ourselves to be beyond emotions. We, as humans, both cage ourselves, and the emotions we will enclose in our heart. The emotion is alike the beast. When free, it will roam, and we then have allowed it to escape us. We are without humanity through this action. The emotion should, in fact, be kept on a leash. With only enough freedom for movement, and enough control of the master to pull it backwards. The leash, however, is never unbreakable. For the emotion may be the beast with wings, or the beast with strong legs. Allow it to be truly free, and it will escape into total darkness. The master will search, being forced to search a void.”

Poem – “A Beauty with Roses” – Romance

August 15, 2019
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Pleasure me with the face of roses,
And feed me your graces,
Long, was your tresses, made of ebony.

Stone-like, is your heart, and made of the same.
Find me next to nectar,
Let us leave the sacred altar,
And play nude in the mud.
Children are ignorant, while question is their infinity.

My beauty with stains of descent,
Upon soil, where your ragged flesh lies loose,

And a heart burdened in heaviness.
I toss more soil to silence whatever flame
Is still left to light the Earth,
And all its failing dwellers.

Name yourself upon the shape of my arm,
Twist yourself about the beautiful objects that stone me,

Make me warm, and make me wild,
Find me as a man of nothingness.

I feel fame as easily as pleasure,
Death and denial go as well

As the evening to strife upon life,
When we said to ourselves,
“We are meant to be,
Pleasured by pain, so evenly.”

We are the workers of a plentiful tomorrow,
The roses you bring are the tears you’ve shed.

As I am in love with the dead,
And I will play with the sand,
To share our story with those well-read,
To finally feel my heart enclosed in this hand.

Erotica – “The Roth Overlook” – Excerpt – “A Face that Replaces Majesty” – 8/15/2019

August 15, 2019
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Beneath the fire of the sun and in the warmth of their skin, two lovers unite in the holler and jeer of a morning’s session of passion. There is, imagined in this scene, a pair that dances on their own toes above the fruit that releases the nectar that is the sin of lust. One speaks of beauty, the other speaks of despair. Yet, the comfort that surrounds the aura to the dream is the enemy to love. One dream and one blaze cover a pair so embedded in simplicity.

Bastian acts as the man with an entire field below him in its radiance from the overhead sunlight, while she gleams with as much luster as the sun, to give Bastian the radiance that all know in holiness. Bastian is God to an angel covered in her own cotton garments.

He is as merciful as the holiest of saints, though tears into her the punishment that fits the description of any atrocious fiend. His face is shown with the emanations of regret. More than once, she questions why he is weeping, but not once does he offer an answer. He gleams in the aroma of love-making; it is softness to the angel’s defeat. A few drops from his face mingle in with the drops of his body, but his face is soaked in sadness. His temples are soaked in passion. His mind is drowned in sorrow.

In God’s realm, he has become the doer of good to an angel that envelops herself in simplicity. Her shoulders show loveliness through their roundness and their connection to a splendid stem of a neck! Her face is captured by the kisses given to her from the man above, and what a face it is! Bastian and his lips trace the skin of her breast, draining its plumpness. He allows himself to linger on her scent.

The scent of a beast lures; that is the Hunter which Bastian has become. It takes God and a Hunter to create a child in the womb of an angel. He takes in her softness in every inescapable delight. Every one of her tremors results in the creation of an empire devoted to wings and gold.

“I am sinister.”

“You are Bastian.”

A Perspective – “A Man’s Perspective of Womanhood” – 8/15/2019

August 15, 2019
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I am a man who has grown up around women.

No sisters and no siblings, but 4 aunts, a long-time girlfriend, a close grandmother, a mother, no father, and 3 female cousins…

I think I have a bit more understanding of a woman’s Psychology than the average stupid man.

From what I’ve known of them, in contrast to a man, a man will pick apart details, while a woman will see the whole. She will see the entire picture, call it beautiful, while a man will analyze that whole, and discover errors.

This is to say that a woman will listen to honesty without being able to differ a lie from truth. This means, that a woman will hear words, and perceive them in exactness. That is to say that she will expect honesty, especially from a romantic partner, and have no choice but to place her full trust in what she has heard.

In “perceiving the whole”, she will take what has been said, and embrace it. She will not tear the image apart, without the heartbreak. It is because any heartbreak for her, can only come once truth has replaced the lie, and now she sees her own heart split in two jagged fragments.

This means, that a woman will see her own shattered heart, and be forced to see her own flesh, her own face, not for how attractive she once made it, but for its plainness. She will see ugliness, and be forced to be honest with herself, coming to question the worth of love.

How truthful (mind the pun) are such words? I must know.

Poem – “I’ll Begin to Raise Thee” – Romance

August 15, 2019
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Up from deprivation, I’ll begin, to raise thee,
To my contemplation, I have seen, to pull thee,
By my regret, I have not been, to free thee,
From a slumber, from a pain, from a madness
That should only, be known, to me.
Why should thou feel, when I am only, to suffer?
Such confuses me,
Whenever I see thee,
Born with tears, pasted against, thy worn cheeks,
And so many tunes, that come as weeps.

Why much sorrow, when the world stands, seemingly true?
Denial is but a virtue, so that pain, no longer surrounds.
We are, in vain, nested, in pain,
Not by darker moments,
But by willingness, to express it.

Why much tears, enough to flood plains, with their wetness?
I find no meaning, in their existence.
I fail to see, thy complexion,
As anything, but tied to water,
And the great ocean, that surrounds, thy lips.

I have offered kisses, to quell thy mourning,
Of what, such a future, of disaster, may bring down
Upon thy quivering and aching form.

Let us, make us, miserable no longer,
What will pleasure, come as,

As birds, where we fly, with wings broken, like deadened gulls,
That have, met a storm, to bring them down.

Let us weep no longer,
No more, the feeling, of sorrow, of remembrance, to guilt,

We are living, in our dreams, in our oceans
When we, should be, living in arms.

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