Poet
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UnholyDynastyOf something so unfathomable,As the love from starless nights,There is sheWading among the terrorsTo a place without light,That I seekSomething so meek,In where she places her crownOf ebony mixed with ivory,Though the latter has no substance. She choosesDiversity for ways,While ICan collideWith the ocean’s breath,As IFlood the world with her death,Can sing praises that come
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To the pale skin,A void dripsTears to stain cheeks that were never taintedLike this,Like how the petals in your mouthEcho your lost screams.For to shower your existenceWith fireWill only seek to end the coldnessIn your relation. You have eyes that never burn a pathFor your naked feet to walk.You have shoulders, continually caressedBy the hand
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How much bloodCan erase the letters on these worn pages?I have become something elseTo the bitternessOf one heart, written in the soil,Of one droplet of crimson,Fed to my mouth.He glistens on the cross,He stays there,Sheltering his own eyes with the sun,Finding a place where I cannot runTo make my home. Upon my knees,Stranded in senseless
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Grief stills meIn dying sleep,For I have drunk too many tearsTo see where my yearsShall carry me.My fingers liftTo feel the warmth of a fading sun,To bleed caught sorrowsOver the evening’s forsaken tomorrows. Some stilled picture,Some glimmering reflectionOf her, in the skyWhere darkness can mimic my pledge,My vowAs nowMy lips are always buriedIn the soil,
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Oh, radiationOf your head to your arms,You have become won.Like leaves that have met the sun,In autumnal tempestsOf sorry rain to reach the streets,Of droplets from your faceTo cover your hands.You can twistStrain from your eyes,You can mergeYour petals with the gravelAs you lay to writhe. Just a closureTo a standing truthThat you have formed
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Blood-red leafletsOf autumnal scribblingsShower praises,Staunch phrases,Leave pagesUntied of her demise,Loosened of her chosenLife,And to the grave where sheKeeps her silence,I have grown a blood-redRose. BleedingHeavy tracesWhere cutting fleshIs for the facesWearied by shock,Toiled of the painter’s smock,Captured by the wandering clockThat drowns scentOf blood, in iron wellsWhere I can rise,And she can drown.This, too, I
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Despite me,You can riseOn wings folded by fire,Through eyes,That despite meCan rinse the terrors freeTo a glance of so much becomingNature,Lifting freeThe stains that have lasted. Despite me,You can swingFrom edge to edge.You can empty me,So that you can join the solace,Of a time awayWhere my yearning takes place.I simply longFor my failures to never
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How long until Heaven holds usWithin wings that can shelterOur oldest night?We have beauty racing everywhere,Where majesty falls,As love can be for the shine upon the templeThat says,“Tomorrow is forever.”How can love die?How can it? You were toldThat death could ceaseAll things to be.You were toldThat our eyes cannot seeThe dreams that can one day
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I crawlFrom graves that remindMe, of the agonyThat took you, alive.As I acheI will remain to breakWith arms that squeeze the lifeFrom me,As I saw youWith eyes that failed the sunlight,And a heart that was lostIn the plummeting dark. Like two steps aroundYour carved, broken heart,I fell alongThe stingThat fate brings. I see what love
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Reveal to meWhat can fall throughSilver clouds, and silver moon.Reveal to meAll I can catch for the timeless chordsChiming until the meadow’s end.For when you reveal to meYour eyes black as the night,I know you cannot reveal to meThe little things we both cried for. Reveal to meYour bosom for the consumptionOf Heavenly droplets of
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To those who would fail you,Realize the wordIn that I love you.For why your rain stops,I have caught tearsIn hands that have shared yours,Beside the lakes where dreamsCan be extinguished,Where liesCan be made our agonies.I have held youIn worlds apart. Sickness and rain,While life grows from a fragile teardrop,There is the here,As here is the
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White-petaled coversOver a mattress, made of blackVelvet,Caressing the back of one pallid beauty.Her dreams come as nightmares,Wading as the furnaceTo heat her face, pound her heart,Receding time like the grayest oceanTo a former shore. Just a dead love,That wed too quickly,And died too helplessly.TearstainsMock the song of the future,While bleaknessTreasures weakness. Unceasing painTo the woman
Modern Romanticism 