Poem – “Where the Moon Sheds its Glow” – 11/7/2022

I keep pondering. Looking over
your shoulders and mine,
caught in a sudden dance
of unified paranoia.
I bring you closer to find eyes
exactly like mine. I hear your sighs
comparable to breezes
that send leaves spiraling.
We dance in this continual twist,
hearing our names flooded
at our decaying feet.

All we have committed
in these regained hours
is a relit torch. A heart that burns
and never wants to cry.

But this moon, above,
will keep us forever motionless,
at least in what we know.
Love burns with the chemistry,
is a connection through our minds.
Are we fearful to know something else,
something that we cannot sow?

Would we begin a flame
that might, upon another heartbeat
find its way out?

A door would close at our touch,
our eyes no longer seeking pleasure
in another blaze. Here we stay,
remaining unfazed, while someday
we’ll go gray. We’ll have words
still to store in melded hands,
to bury under quaking lands.

Poem – “If you are Waiting” – Love Poetry – 11/5/2022

If those stars can be counted,
with the melting candles
baring their relit wicks with
our hearts repeatedly beating
for no other excuse, no other reason
that wind will only move us
to each other’s arms,
as we kiss, beyond our shells,
beyond our warming Hell.

If our eyes can be found,
let us know no sound
other than rhythms heard
deep in an ocean, brought down
from a capsized pair
of abandoned ships.

If lessons are yet to be learned,
reveal what we have found.
If lighthouses were too dark to spot,
we’ll wave our white flags,
hoping those stars will find us,
or the wind will lead us
while we glide on the wreckage
of our sickened flesh.

Land on those shores, in those
cradling arms. Never yearning
for more, for anything other
than a close moment in your,
your wings that soar.

Stay in those arms. Within what
still rocks, though never sinks.
Within a space that does not
ever find its edge to a brink,
nor ever looks down.

Poem – “A Third Curtain” – Love Poetry – 11/5/2022

Rush. Touch.
With faint eyes,
limp arms, nothing is ever
halfway to being over.
We have fallen
next to each other,
looking at our clouds,
dark, but never raining.

Barren stage. We are here,
counting seconds, before
another beginning,
another act to begin playing
our scores, our shallow insights
into a betterment,
other than simple blights.

Will we find something
beyond the clouds,
beyond haze? A curtain is often
a third one, after a second chance
will leave us finally hanging.
Drifting. Sifting
for something else,
left within the tearstains,
and the fog
upon and around our scripts.

A leading moment.
To twin roles clashing
against each other,
and always trashing the other
with dismissive criticism.

We wrote reviews
for our bleeding bodies,
our numb hearts.
To more despairing glimpses
of wasted time, departing seconds
that never matter,
while that third curtain
becomes a third arm
to reach for no one’s hand.

Poem – “Walk on Soft Breath” – Love Poetry – 6/12/2022

Some hand-written spell
breaks, to see all of me
inside of a hurting shell.
Life writes itself, inside and
out 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 sound
that grows restless in this
uncovered, unblanketed town.

Pain comes to play
at this year
of flavored tears.
Your cold, warm nest
where I used to sample
scents off your breast.

Reflections become empty
high upon ceilings.
I swear to being able
to hear your soft sighs
from a closed window.

A heart has shut its door
to strangers with their
gifts of consolation.

One moment with its next.
Two fatal eyes upon a hex
where magic always paralyzed.

I loved with each sound
harping on heartstrings,
incessant in never leaving
while oceans keep growing.

Poem – “What it means to Love” – Love Poetry – 6/19/2021

It is a pathway
Upon another, to a gateway
For another, towards her arms.
A challenge with no alarm
With the tears that run
To wake a man to the sun.

Someone says to the final word
That the shadows are all broken
With the fade of her.
A longing to a passage, a scripture,
One fault, alone in the winter.

One chance, to live for the summer,
For its winds to breathe us together,
For stretching faces to sing –

What kisses on smiles can bring.
Love quells the last residue
Tears can bring of nothing new.

Upon the arctic melt,
Forms awake, for all is felt.

Her stare, sending me to daylight,
While winter lingers here
For a shadow longer,
With miles of her curves.
In the dust, we never swerve.

Poem – “See you Stronger” – Love Poetry – 6/4/2021

A heart takes its journey,
Takes its toll
To the beats of a staircase
With the jog upon its slope,
To find you seated
With 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 curve across your face,
Placed as I am
Furthest apart from you.

Let me lose my hero’s self,
For I was never worth the honor
Of badges that have burned off
To the destitute soil.

I have torn this heart out
With my own bayonet,
While soldiers run on
In their closing wounds.

I have wanted to cry
To the years we had, together.
Though with the final wave
To a glance that always mattered,
Your song will be kept in my throat
Always to speak in your voice.

Poem – “Poem of a Dead Girl” – Romanticism – 6/4/2021

Life by firelight
Goes unnoticed
To the world that sentenced
Her, beneath
Crippled stems without their
And radiance.

I knew to love,
Knew to lie
While her flesh was
Within faltering reach.

Stagnant for no
Reason to be unearthed
From the grain,
With all delicacy
To her pain.

She had trembled among the leaves,
Unable, as I was able to think
Over which was, among the fall.

Autumn’s breeze was a mile for me
To dream of death
Among its deceit.

I lifted her veil,
To kiss her onward
With the sail,
By the fall of Autumn’s remembrance
To keep her singing until deliverance.

Poem – “A Head among the Roses” – Love Poetry – 6/4/2021

Picture how
Final terrors
Were warm beginnings
For the faces that did laugh,
At the end.

Picture now
The stories caught at angles,
Bleeding for miles across
Shapeshifted understanding
For the forests that melted
Whispers into glades.

Emptiness in the hollow well,
For no cement could encrust
A depiction of her fall.

I still wish
For the dawn to come
Even as the rose petals fall
Into burning fields.

Place her
As she would be corrected,
Standing at sadness’s ending,
With disuse to each discarded
Ray of her happiness.

She was all to the touch
Of forever’s bite,
While enemies call to unknown
Parts of the sand,
Burning blame into everlasting shame.

Poem – “For Bittersweet Burial” – Love Poetry – 6/4/2021

This way we keep
Holding onto faint ruins,
Slipping upon the puddles
Made from our tears.

This way we keep
Folding our arms into curtains,
Concealing the hurt, beneath
The movement of winds.

My love runs a circle
Above your head,
Tiny in the depiction
To the burial of truth.

I can stare, forever
To the funeral beneath
Where you closed shut the haze
To be covered further
With mounds of false weight.

I want to hold, forever
The moon that rains the evenness
About you.
In the distance to limelight,
As I am forced to step back
To watch as God’s wisdom
Knows more.

He takes the faint raiment
From your crippled form,
Limp as the ruin to your limbs
To crawl backwards to His home,
As I am forced
To sweep a tear beneath a rug.

Poem – “A Devil in Tears” – Love Poetry – 4/16/2021

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.

Towards Love’s holiest empire,
Wanting an ear
To listen to what has become
Of a man, in his fear.

His sadness is a requisite
To Justice, in its depleted definition.
His tears, to fall
Upon his lap,
Show no puddles for the reflection,
No place for the recollection.

Towards Destruction’s descended house,
With a face full of many years
To never forgive this,
As the pain draws near.

Loose pebbles
Scattered by the ocean,
Wasted in the scenery
That bleeds on, for no reason,
That streams on, without season,
Wilting in the lack of fortune
To a soul of misfortune.

Poem – “As Heaven opened Her” – Love Poetry – 4/14/2021

God triumphed
Upon the return
Of His fortune,
Radiant in embellishment,
Curious for His way
For which He may
Open her.

Treasure of boundless extravagance,
With little care in the tear
Of folds, for the earth.
God, whose sin was great
Revealed flesh,
Too stagnant in weight.
The He who leapt,
The me who wept
A rainstorm to decorate the lies
With the forty nights,
Without sunrise.

Of savagery
Bled out for me
In the oldest sort of sickness,
With no reflection in the currents
To bare witness.

Undead form
To her forgotten limbs.
A tree for the hanging of fruit
That never ripens.
This dead world of hers
Beholds the cries, in disbelief,
Under the hot waters
Of their grief.

Lovelorn in the scorn,
Idle upon the mile
She was stretched on the shore
For God’s kiss, no more.

Philosophy – “What makes the Poet?” – 3/5/2021

“Writing patterns and schemes in the work, is a direct result of reading them in people.”

– Modern Romanticism

We can define all types of poets. Though, it can be believed that the universal aspect of a poet, is not by them simply penning the work, though to write about what they have read. Of others, in the world, as the poet must be empathetic.

The poet must have dug deep into the trenches of another person’s soul, to weep over their faults, to find inspiration in the work that might heal this brokenness. The poet, by their craft, simply sparks the feeling of company. As all suffering turns greater by the life of the hermit, the poet should demonstrate to the world the explanations that pain and loneliness needs not ever be the absolute combination.

While a person is alone in their pain, they have convinced themselves that no one could understand the hurt. This is, therefore, the role of the poet. Their task is to understand. It is not their task to be confused on the suffering of others. As that confusion should be understood as the primary error of a poet, then it is to the craft where actualized understanding can be expressed.