Modern Romanticism

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

Novel – Chapter V – “To Pull Close a Corpse” – Romance – Excerpt from “Signs of a Man in Love” – 10/9/2019

October 9, 2019

He steps around his guilt, like iron coats the soles of his feet, and motions to a place before his departed beauty. A step more and he nestles a kiss upon her brow, swearing to himself that he could still hear her words. They were, before she hung herself, perhaps the words of an apology. Words unheard, meant to be heard by Joseph, this man who once loved the purest form of beauty. That was when he allowed himself to launch directly into her, to pull free the chains that seemed to shackle what was once not allowed to move.

For a woman’s memories are as dear to her, as they are sometimes tragic and sometimes comedic. Why is a man attracted to her smile? That is because the smile is there in the realm of deception. He sees what challenges him, being the uncertainties that have created every mistake attuned with his past. Those challenges spark him to lead a woman into the future, with only ever the confidence necessary to see that forwardness, logic, and directness. And, when he looks over his own shoulder, he should see only one thing: herself, the beauty that he won’t ever forget.

A deception challenges a man, because he cannot look forward and backwards at the same time. A kiss was all Joseph needed, pressed against her brow, to believe in her mind, her thoughts, her own concealments, and whatever else she had not ever allowed to open from herself. Does a man desire discovery, as a philosopher, or does a man discover desire, as a man?

He says to a closed and limp form, “There was never anything else for my past, besides you, since you have died, and I still live. What is my beating heart, if it simply beats without love? What is next in line for my future, if I am someone who sees such a heartbeat, as unnecessary to beat? Each heartbeat is like a step taken, and I am not ever in the present. I am trapped somewhere on a border, on the line itself, and closed in a grand world of fear.”

A kiss to the brow had made him form a tear. Tears are infinite when the eyes have seen something dreaded, because when the eyes have noticed, neither the memories nor the tears, ever cease.


Poem – “Your Savage Glare” – Romance – 9/28/2019

September 28, 2019

Too many damnable kisses,
Brought thorns to make me bleed,
And the face that holds a rose,
Between two lips colored by cherry.
A sweetness mingles over your form,
And all I feel is the seduction.

I dart with disarray against your eyes,
Those that show glare against mine,
Great beauty of feminine doom,
Show me your way of a common demise,
Rotted are you, in these arms of dust,
Once we were, by the altar of marriage.

You blew a kiss in my direction,
A farewell or a guarantee,
As Christ knew who to cherish and who to despise,
A lonesome shape he became,
Under the fashion of weathered clouds,
You are a woman of newest hurricanes.

A woman of storms so fierce,
And so great, against my lashed back.
I am, or was, a savior to a cause,
To make you see a lust that pierces a night’s aura,
Of candlelight and music played,
Upon a highlighted gramophone.

A savage glare is all I notice,
Under a mind, not of my kind,
And above a nose,
With beauty that surely grows.
I am alive,
Though, nothing has been made mine.

Face the dark, with yourself against me,
Squeeze the moon, to shed drops of truest gloom.
Find your smile, and nothing to remind me,
Of the pain that had been there to see.

Poem – “Accumulated Pain” – Romance – 8/30/2019

August 30, 2019

Take from me,
These shores of accumulated pain.
Drink from me,
The blood that spills like fragrant wine.
I have enveloped myself,
In its entire grace,
And have found myself depressed,
I have found myself miserable,
Dwelling in the deepest blue.
I am still so thirsty.

For a drink of love,
And not a drink of pain,
From the opened bottle, should smell of sweetness,
Not of the bitterness to blood,
I am to drink wine?
Am I to have what is mine?
I have loved, have I not?
My beauty. You will be my peace,
My surrendering from the tallest spire,
For that is because my heart would be doomed;

Without your touch, and without your love,
My heart is doomed.
Do you hear me?
My life is damned to Hell,
Without the touch from yourself.
I am sure to die,
Without your smile in my palms.
I am sure to perish,
Without possessing all I’ve yearned.
All I’ve yearned, a love that will make me whole.

Poem – “Brightest Lips and Starkest Curves” – Romance – 8/29/2019

August 29, 2019

In all my imagining,
While haunting memory is the music

To my mind in its longing,
I find myself to view a painting
That shows the curves of a naked woman,
While her lips are reddened
By the blood offered in my hands.
Would I reach to kiss?

I desire the wine, next,
For a mask is only a shape
To what has gaped my wounded spirit,
As I rely on awakening to push myself,
From the cruelest sleep.
Winter drenches me in her family
Of white bone and frailest tone,
As I have found your seat to be empty.

Pull me closer,
To what makes you shiver.
I promise, by what little strength
I still possess, to make you comforted.
I am in love with a promise,
As I adore the curves to a woman,
As I dream of kissing sweetest kisses,
Upon sweetest lips.

Sing to me,
Your song of wailing pain.
Reveal your sorrow,
As I reveal mine in this dim light,
Of a remaining winter.
I fail, when I have been brought down,
To be beside you, in a grave of soil,
As all angels, we’ll soar, nevertheless.

Words of Wisdom – “On How Love Penetrates the Heart” – 8/18/2019

August 18, 2019

“The seeming instinct for a woman is to close her eyes, during love-making, to focus on the feeling. What of love? It penetrates a woman’s yearning heart. The loveless woman is twisted, inside-out, and burns to know herself, love herself, because she trusts no one further than herself. It is the image of self-absorption, and colors of all shades of red, leak to create carelessness upon her skin. Grace has left her. Truth is shaped into any form. And dissatisfaction and change is continuous. She will transform. She will mutate. She will throw herself from bridges, skyscrapers, and cliffs to see some different color other than red. It doesn’t happen. She closes her eyes to see memories. To see the pain from the last year, the last month, the last week, and even the last second; and nothing will soothe it, but the lending hand. For a woman’s pride breaks, in an instant, once aid is offered. Offer a hand, and she will shatter. Offer a whisper of condolence, and she will crumble. She held herself high on two legs that trembled, and now she crashes to her knees. And for the first time, when she remembers the moment she first made love, it is for the next time, over and over again, that she is stabbed with the blade. Over and over again, she will expect more red, and more red than from the loss of virginity. A reminder, a bleak and morose reminder, to the first time, until it never is the last time, until a truth wields her body to make it as hard as her man.”

Words of Wisdom – “A Woman’s Submission” – 8/14/2019

August 14, 2019

“There is no greater power than the will to release.

To differ the necessity from the convenience is the direct difference between life and death. It is the difference between the simplicity and the complexity. In life, we dwell over death, over failure. In failure, we have failed, and we have nothing else, for we are dead.

The beauty in submission is to reject all external measures of ‘diverse wealth’, because that introduces death to life. Diversity, that is, is the death. The dwelling; the constant question; and then, the confusion, makes the one without simplicity, enough to draw upon the whereabouts of darkness, into life.

In death, beauty has been buried. Recognition rots, and we soon see a person’s skeleton as any other skeleton, for it was covered in flesh when the person was alive.

We had recognized the eyes, and now as a skeleton, there are no eyes.

We had recognized the lips, and now as a skeleton, there are no lips.

Submission comes naturally to a woman, when she will reject the multiple complexities of a world that offers her much.

To a man’s eyes, the only thing he desires for a woman is to see her dressed in simplicity. As if she were in the bedroom, bared in flesh, and not overdrawn in garments so much to clothe her naked form.

And there is nothing worse in a world than to tease truth.

To be half-clothed, turns truth towards uncertainty.

To be half-clothed, makes honesty only half-way released. It makes the orgasm only half-way expended, and the love only half-way given. One should not ‘slightly agree’ or ‘neither agree nor disagree’ as it would ask for in a survey, but only either say ‘yes’ or ‘no’. That is the honesty.

Honesty is never partially given, and should be known for its answer in the immediate moment.

For a deceived world, people will continually ‘work to discover their truth’.

They will unearth that ‘buried beauty’ and disturb graves.

Metaphorically speaking, they will do this.

They will unearth history, rather than leaving the past to rot. And why are the people who enjoy ‘discovering their truth’ more prone to committing suicide? It’s for the reason of what depression does to the human. Depression is, as a definition, a focus on the past.

Honesty is immediate and offered by Nature upon birth.

And soon, one will carry that truth until they die.

For submission, honesty and simplicity are very much important aspects to what ‘weakness’ stands for; and that is, to be vulnerable when one should never hold a statement back.

One is always vulnerable when conveying truth.

In tears, or in rage, that is when a person releases.”

Poem – “The Weight upon my Palms” – Romance

July 29, 2019

You surround yourself in an ebony shield,
An ebony garb, made by your loathing.
It feels to me like a weight upon my palms,
For I am the one who holds it close,
Like a man without the groping tension
Of one perpetual shame.

Disease and wine swim well with the other,
How famous we are, when in love,
But never so graceful as when we are drowning
In a current of pain and denial.

Have we love to behold?
Have we the moment captured?
Oh, beauty. Among you, there are flowers to rain
The petals and their thorns, on the soil
At my feet.

There’s much that is missing,
From your stagnant heart, that does not beat.
There’s much that is needed,
Beneath this moon that is full of color
Belonging to glaciers from the North,
And sorrow from a mother.

Find our way to love, we will do,
Of daylight and nighttime, as both become
The celestial landscape, upon plains of ivory, now.

Love, with your eyes under lashes,
And a pair of nostrils that breathe the fragrance
Of death and its eternal playground.
I shall come to love, and love, for eternity.

Words of Wisdom – “A Paradise on Earth” – 7/22/2019

July 22, 2019

“To say that Heaven has a place upon Earth, is at once, believing that love is the obsolete emotion. For such has been the quote from the 1960’s of America, that ‘love is obsolete’, for whatever reason. This is very much the territory of the mind, in reaction to a belief in a ‘paradise on Earth’ when a human comes to say that they can create their own happiness in life. Such can only happen with one way that is split between two paths. Contentment, that splits between the road towards marriage and the road towards death.

Happiness is impossible to occur for a life not among the understanding of another. We understand each other through love and through death. No words need to be spoken in these experiences. Happiness never occurs through a so-called ‘independence’, because life is always seeking thrill. We brave death, through that thrill, and we enjoy the wildness of the ride. Inevitably, we enjoy the steps, in life, and the destination is always either rest or rest; as either reprieve from suffering or reprieve from suffering; as either love or death.

Poverty is, therefore, the life experiencing death, and marriage is the life experiencing love. Without marriage, without the lock, one is still the life experiencing life. One is still the life experiencing struggle. One is still the life experiencing pain and hardship, traits that are not meant to be among marriage. For the most important thing to remember among marriage, is that contentment and satisfaction is at place of marriage’s destination; that is, to never desire more, for that breeds the onset to infidelity.

How can Heaven have a place on Earth, when through marriage or through love, we, as humans, as life, place ourselves within Heaven? Life is the current of struggle, of worry, of fear; and in our lives, idealism should come natural in the marriage. The idealism that allows the pair in a marriage to not suffer. And we ask again, how can Heaven be upon Earth, when life continues to be discontent in wanting more? The pauper is not one to ‘want more’, any more than the pauper has anything for any amount of substance. They are not living. They are the ‘life experiencing death’ and of all life, there is a road to where each of us want rest at its end. The place where pain ceases, and it doesn’t occur for life. See ‘life’ as the word that resembles pain, and the two words ‘love’ and ‘death’ as the two words that resemble where pain has halted.”

Poem – “At Once, a Tear Replaces Her” – Romance

July 15, 2019

Fallen, and frozen,
From, my cold cheek,
To her form of white, and cloaked in death.
Where warmth, turned bleak,
And Heaven, drew a line, on her, raw flesh,
I, too, drew a mark, on sculpted skin,
Until sadness, was all I felt.

A mark,
A name, as mine,
Like mine, is mine,
It was the mark, to unity.
An abandonment, of my pride,
My fame, my graces, my stature,
Into, simplicity.

Here are roaring tears, for the woman I knew,
And loved, as though, she were
My child, born from, a cradle of straw,
I loved her; indeed, I loved her.
Her face, so round, and eyes, agleam,
A body, so full, and arms, so long,
I measured her, in my truest place.

My heart, is now, a place of grief,
I sing, its song,
I sing, the unmerciful song,
That has placed hatred, on my soul,
Sorrow, has morphed,
Pain, has absorbed,
All the soil, beneath my feet.

Her face, encased in ice,
Winter, has made a fine print,
Love, has been replaced,
With a tear.
Beauty, has been replaced,
With a sculpture, of ice,
And I still, draw it close, for a kiss.

Poem – “Depression… the Crudeness” – Personal Poem

July 11, 2019

As a man,
The night speaks harder than day.
As a woman,
I might falter to see the mirror,
For fear of seeing what asks to quicken;
And I am in pain for it all.

I feel tears,
More than I allow them to run.
I breathe pain,
More than I feel it.

I sing the song of sadness and heartache,
Even more than the world can empathize.
I feel disappointment greater than madness,
In my desperation, there is greater longing
For a touch, for a word, for a something,
To my shoulder, shoulder, and shoulder.

I find pain to dampen my distress,
Roses are comforting for their thorns,
Bruises are lovely for their color,
And death is much for the painting
Due to its very stillness.

Love has made herself a woman,
And she says to me that nothing is right
Where we live, or where we scream.
To the clouds, to the moon,
And never the sun.