Poem
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I’ll take your beautyTo the furthest banksOf the deepest riversWhere tears were meant to be shed,Where separations were meant to be wed,Where lives were meant to be stakedDown,With love, unending. Your formRuns wild, with the wind,Streams in the porcelain,Draws from the moonIts shelter. In your embrace,I weep.In your oceans,I seep.I weather my own storm. I
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Beauty is levelled, Feeds itself a rope. Hollowness recedes itself Back upon the slope. You crash into the dust you were born in, Bleeding with severity. Your dreams are blood-let, Soaking the grass beneath our worn feet, While tragedy sweep tears away Under the ashen rug.
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How long will the stagnant winds run throughMy rotten sails?I have once become eclipsed of eternity,Only to set myself at seaIn your swollen embrace,Full of tides to escape into,Full of tears, certain to be wept.My eyes run with Heaven,And yours,With Hell. Walk alongThe shore,Will you?Envy the siren,Drink of her venom,Her toxic claws.Breathe of her wingsThe
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How could ILive up to where she sees me low?How could I sunder myselfWhen my voice releases thunder? I break,But I do not fall.I stare onwardTowards the beast’s bloody call. I falterOn the wind,Making my sails tattered,Scorning my face,In the painted mirror.The terrible reflectionOf one merciless sea. There Neptune’s laughterOf my sympathetic drowning.There is Bacchus’s
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The soldier twists a limb,All seasons end on a whim,Never a day for a fallen petalToo soon for a fallen leaf. The perfection of loveResides in completion.A strategyOf chaotic logic.A straight lineWith curves of arms that wrapAround that which remains standing. A life,A rising orchid,A capturing of stillness,Of captivationIn beauty’s remembrance.A faceThat does not disperse.
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Only the heartCan cart you back to sunriseWhile the love is eclipsed,ShelteredBy the bones from a smelter,MeltedInto a white next to black. My canvas for this grief,Running like the pale oceanOut of my eyes.Sentences I conjureLeave winds to stir. Her eyes show the heartache,Manifesting on blue shallows.My place is designed in her,The flu, my cure,My
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I throw shadows,Comforting darknessTo smother the blaze,The heated nature of love. I am a funeral apartFrom a wedding.The castration of my youthHas left me unendingIn tears to falter well-beingBy my burning cheeks. She shadows my leaves,By clouds that depart rain.She holds her hands upon her throatTo seize the world, to sink the ropeDown to the
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Waters swerve,Arrows curve.The sideways attitude of destiny,The filtered agonyOf a final woe. She crashedUpon a shrub of thorns.She bledWithout stopping.She criedWithout seeing.She sleptWithout knowingI was near to hold her hand. A blue skyTurned blackAs the night without stars.I will not pick a one.I will not have another one. The infinity, nowIs just a remorse,An entanglement
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Incessant stalkingOfThe romanceWhere dwellsA petulance,A lacking relationBetween that of pitiful me,To encapsulated you. Walk with the waters,I’ll do.For once I spoke aloud the vowsBefore the altar of white.You were dressed in dashing ivoryTo accompany the sun,SplashingRadiance on decadent cheeks. I wiltBefore you.AlwaysOn knees, to pleadFor the oncoming forgivenessIn your tear-stained sight. The climbTo see the
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A reveling,A shower,A broken stem,Fewest petals that come to claimThe spots where no remainTo be there, as shadows. The iris of her,Watches.Her fingers possess each edgeAs colored of orchids,Dropping scents to a storm of grass,Reeds, and porcelain daisies. I run with the meadow’s touch,Taking glancesOver a shoulder where holds no consign,No submissionTo the woes of
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Chestnut hair,Winding downAs the covering cloakOver your pale face,Tortured cheeks. The wind comes through,Mocking enough.I plow my way to your arms,Hurling snow, overboardTo see that which floatsUpon the icy meadows,The icy shores. Your stagnant expressionMoves only when I sigh,Only when I cry. Your subtle motionsTo the sounds of sorrow,Make you come from waveTo wave.You become
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Hanging by a wire,Not falling from any higher,Your neckIs here, to be kissedBy the flame of tragedy.Your hand holds air,Your eyes do not stare,Your breath has fallen silent,Your wilted feet, remainTo hang, like your head. Upon the rope,I found youAs the stilled woman with no sound.What will remain of me,Keeping a heart that beats for
Modern Romanticism 