Anatomy of an Author

“I cannot help but to love what I have found. A heart. Hers. It would remain isolated, without a branded kiss. I leech my own, through the vessels that remain upon my discovery. I am the sailor who throws himself overboard. I cannot love myself, not for a moment. I sacrifice myself, to see her gaze, so resplendent and astute.”

– Peter A.W. Wyatt

Poem – “Feel what Pain I Bleed” – Romance – 4/8/2020

Send into
Me, when you’ll come to bleed
The song of a mocking siren.
Kisses are the texture of velvet upon your mouth,
While dreams lay wasted in fields that do not want to run
Amok with the seeds
For new beginnings.

Life has been a cruel display
Of utter dismay.

My desires flee from my parted lips,
Like sighs from one burthened widow.

Feel this aura,
The grave of your creation.
My eyes are sown shut
To new light.

There is sand that clogs my tears, from coming through
Upon my desolate cheeks.
Beauty once uplifted the sight of you,
Until ugliness possessed you.

My way with pain,
Is in the sight of you.

Poem – “A Lasting Trace” – Romantic Poetry – 2/9/2020

A lasting trace, is the smile captured for years
Beneath the fabric of long tresses, like curtains to rain over her eyes.
Eyes that blossomed many tears
For joy’s sake, and for the end of suffering.
I muse over her face, like an artist with his brush
To paint the many years in picture.

She was all the pain of love, and its exquisiteness.
Sorrow claimed its own path, in many moments.
She showed my world, its very color.
For before I knew her, all where my vision extended
Was the black and white drawing
Of charcoal against canvas.

Beauty is now for me, to a certain degree
Like timelessness.
Because, death will always claim it.
And, I soon come to rule over death, and then deny it
When in the memory of the face of love.
Because, I know that to remember her for her presence,
Is far better than knowing she’s absent.

Poem – “My Empty Hand” – Romantic Poetry – 1/20/2020

What had been lifted,
Is now fallen
Upon the fields where there used to sprout yellow,
And now only sprouts the red of shame.
What was once golden in the light of companionship
Is now a feeble mess of disgrace.

We had danced
Beneath the whip of survival.
Sought to kiss, beyond the waves and the endless morrows.
We had sailed
Under choirs that called for life
To come to our hearts, by the touch of our hands.

Love is that mark upon our watchful eyes.
For I marked every curve that entrenched itself
In your wondrous form.
I saw with astonishment
The beauty you folded over me
And went down to kiss it, to never leave it.

But, to break an obstacle, means to border on obsession;
To kill a problem, means to forget sanity;
To deny myself, means to forsake eternity.
I was in love, with a woman.
And now, she is broken, within,
Like two hands that never met.

Like two hands that never slept
In the other,
Where love and bliss was kept,
Because, that brokenness was the irreparable wound.

What can I save, now,
Besides myself?

Poem – “Agony Representative of my Eyes” – Romantic Poetry – 1/15/2020

Open yourself up to me
When you close your subtle glare,
And point your deceitful direction, at the dagger to your womb.
Allow your sorry stare to accompany it
Upon when ecstasy reaches its height.
Leave a sigh to my words,
The one word,
The lonesome word,
That touched you deeper than this.

Pledge your pain to me,
Oh woman, of many nights in caress.
Pledge your dear soul to me,
And say you won’t stray far from me,
Else you’ll make me act as the shepherd
To the lost lamb,
But, I’ll not groom you
As a groom,
I’ll simply slay you.

Nine times, I counted you crying
Into your own arms.
Eight times, I saw you breathing
Upon a cushion’s softness.
Seven times, and still you’ll repeat your vocabulary
Back into your heart,
Until all the world loves you.

Poem – “The Downpour you Cry” – Romance – 1/12/2020

Wishful moments, you hope for
To arise,
But, you’ll merely lay your head forward,
To cry.
To weep the lands infertile soils away,

And soon seen the end of days.

Your eyes hang heavy
Upon all times, when your head sinks on the harbor,
When your body sinks on the shoreline,
When your face digs into the sand,
And your tears soon create the ocean,
For that is where you believe it wise, to die.

A soul, as yours, flows outward to see the ships,
And where they rock.

You wish that was an infant,
The one you had lost.
What contempt do you notice, of yourself?

Within what life, do you truly see death?