Poetry
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Piloted on wingsCentered on springs.She had leaped, more than once, from cliffs made of collapsed Earth,Only for me, to see, what should not be, of this pain that had been birthed.Joy cannot settle on her skin,While I call to her, in unhealthy dins. Where were we, once?What were we, once?The purest things?The most fragile things?We…
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Blanketed by romanceIn the third degreeBurns upon my molten skin.And I’ll kiss my own wounds, under the sun,As the monster I have become. She sung her praises aloudTo me, the blamed fiend. When rivers stream their run of lavaTo the bloody lakes below.When beauty mocks perplexityAs my madness against her sadness,I’ll forever receive the burning…
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The cracks within me, smile,Burning tragedy away for a while.Love would have been gentleWith your hands upon my fragile form.I am a broken man,With a bottle of anger in his hand,As the cracks upon the bottleLaugh and laugh. Love is dutiful,Love is beautiful,When there are those to hold it in clearness.Though, the bottle shows spots,And…
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Love holds a soul,That which I cannot hold.Because, the tear that was descending my cheekIs falling from my chin, to meet my feet. I would kiss the stains at my toes,And hurl Hell upon new foes.Their words had cut us deep, in our treatment of sleep.Our sleep, our loving denial, and its gaze so sweet.…
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Sunken beneath, the tides, as you wereMy solace, the source to my wellOf tears.I threw a line for your freedom, when I saw you were drowning.I threw it, to save you from the uncertainty that kept you weeping.For each drop in the tide, was yours.Though, the well was mine. I looked back to the well,For…
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Above ground,You were grand, with eyes like the emerald watersOf two distant ponds.And, you had the clearest vision, as a woman of realism.And me, a man of idealismDrew fantasies in curves, and grew obsessiveOver our love’s successiveNature to disasters. I became the savior for you,As you had winter for blankets,And I removed themFor the summer…
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The worn feeling,The pressuring sensation,To move.The dryness in my heart, where should stir blood,The motion of my form, against the songs of sadness,Bellowed from my lips. The loss,The emptiness,Inside of me.The beauty that was with you, something held upon like gold,The form you would give to me, as something to hold in one arm,Has become…
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My heart fills with the solitudeOf a thousand-and-one waking nightmares,Up from the deep blue,Where each horror had slept in deepest rest.With the sun burning high above,Not nearly enough,To wear down my discarded loveThat does not dry on the soft sands. Love is a failure, upon my weary shoulders,For my death is near.I can hear them…
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Bled upon the leavesWas my sorrows.I held tears on the edges of my fingers,And swept them into rivers cold as ice.Love held a bitter burnUpon my tongue,As a feeble memory lingersIn my trembling heart. Love cannot be this miserableTo have undone.For why is itThat I have to begin at square one? Like two meadows apart,She…
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Sometimes, upon when I lay my headAtop a pillow, I will see the edges of your formTaking shape at the foot of my bed. I see the tears that begin to floatAway from my eyes,And you’d catch them, with hands open for their approach. What will you sayWhen the day comes,When you will see me…
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Swallow upThe tears that have made this well riseFrom the cracks in my soul. My love has fallen.She has fallenTo somewhere I cannot see,To a bleeding sea,And now lies in a sceneOf outspread limbsUpon a bloody shore. Love flows a mile and a half across,This tale of loss.Across a sea of treacheryAnd the sinew and…
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Like love held onto a melodyOf heartstrings plucked for the choir to hear,And it was your sighs among sorrows and tears.Like love that created the symphonyFor the each of us,To muse upon the two hands, held apart from the other,And over the aching stomach.It was for our fear,Among everything that came so nearTo coming true.…
Modern Romanticism 