Poem
-
To him, all that has manifested in this aftermath might be said to be all he expected. All that destruction of a form, all because he took a different direction. Had he lied to himself at that second? All he wanted was relief. A different place to put his sanity. To whatever was left of
-
I keep pondering. Looking overyour shoulders and mine,caught in a sudden danceof unified paranoia.I bring you closer to find eyesexactly like mine. I hear your sighscomparable to breezesthat send leaves spiraling.We dance in this continual twist,hearing our names floodedat our decaying feet. All we have committedin these regained hoursis a relit torch. A heart that
-
If those stars can be counted,with the melting candlesbaring their relit wicks withour hearts repeatedly beatingfor no other excuse, no other reasonthat wind will only move usto each other’s arms,as we kiss, beyond our shells,beyond our warming Hell. If our eyes can be found,let us know no soundother than rhythms hearddeep in an ocean, brought
-
Rush. Touch.With faint eyes,limp arms, nothing is everhalfway to being over.We have fallennext to each other,looking at our clouds,dark, but never raining. Barren stage. We are here,counting seconds, beforeanother beginning,another act to begin playingour scores, our shallow insightsinto a betterment,other than simple blights. Will we find somethingbeyond the clouds,beyond haze? A curtain is oftena third
-
Some hand-written spellbreaks, to see all of meinside of a hurting shell.Life writes itself, inside andout of that dark residence.Sleeping with your shadow.Making love to your movements,while puddling around. Searching through broken bones,holding a round, sensing a soundthat grows restless in thisuncovered, unblanketed town. Pain comes to playat this yearof flavored tears.Your cold, warm nestwhere
-
It is a pathwayUpon another, to a gatewayFor another, towards her arms.A challenge with no alarmWith the tears that runTo wake a man to the sun. Someone says to the final wordThat the shadows are all brokenWith the fade of her.A longing to a passage, a scripture,One fault, alone in the winter. One chance, to
-
A heart takes its journey,Takes its tollTo the beats of a staircaseWith the jog upon its slope,To find you seatedWith blue to the skies of your eyes,While messages are folded in your hands,As Heaven was never warmer. Your smile,An elegance I have awaited.Though you will not trust me,Remaining in my flame,As I am,I adore the
-
Life by firelightGoes unnoticedTo the world that sentencedHer, beneathCrippled stems without theirPetalsAnd radiance. I knew to love,Knew to lieWhile her flesh wasWithin faltering reach. Crippled,Stagnant for noReason to be unearthedFrom the grain,With all delicacyTo her pain. She had trembled among the leaves,Unable, as I was able to thinkOver which was, among the fall. Autumn’s breeze
-
Picture howFinal terrorsWere warm beginningsFor the faces that did laugh,At the end. Picture nowThe stories caught at angles,Bleeding for miles acrossShapeshifted understandingFor the forests that meltedWhispers into glades. Emptiness in the hollow well,For no cement could encrustA depiction of her fall. I still wishFor the dawn to comeEven as the rose petals fallInto burning fields.
-
This way we keepHolding onto faint ruins,Slipping upon the puddlesMade from our tears. This way we keepFolding our arms into curtains,Concealing the hurt, beneathThe movement of winds. My love runs a circleAbove your head,Tiny in the depictionTo the burial of truth. I can stare, foreverTo the funeral beneathWhere you closed shut the hazeTo be covered
-
His comfort,A dying collection of senses.His fire,Hidden behind his eyes.His words,Poorer than those decked in rags.Torn, though immaculate,As if Heaven met ruin. WanderingTowards Love’s holiest empire,Wanting an earTo listen to what has becomeOf a man, in his fear. His sadness is a requisiteTo Justice, in its depleted definition.His tears, to fallUpon his lap,Show no puddles
-
God triumphedUpon the returnOf His fortune,Radiant in embellishment,Curious for His wayFor which He mayOpen her. Treasure of boundless extravagance,With little care in the tearOf folds, for the earth.God, whose sin was greatRevealed flesh,Too stagnant in weight.The He who leapt,The me who weptA rainstorm to decorate the liesWith the forty nights,Without sunrise. PersistenceOf savageryBled out for
Modern Romanticism 