Poetry
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Helplessly holdingthis passing wind,letting myself fall backinto your voice. I have heard a word,choosing to collapse,wanting to come down, fatal with the structureof an empire, gone coldwith this love, too old. You have said,“Who are you,when you are buildingyour presence, near to mypainful absence?” I rememberwhat keeps weepingits moments, into mine,into my wearied sight.You wereeverything…
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Hear this,knowing what’s leftof a sad manwith his beating heart,racing for apocalyptic fitsof senseless rediscovery. He wants to see,he wants to cryshapes of what he’s lost,holding hands with someonein the mist. Another pointless resupplyto that heart that lives onin ceaseless moments,though not without momentum,not without that pushtowards a bottomless hole,where reflections failto look back. He…
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Laying naked, among this forestof your quiet voice,like a hushed whisperthat keeps singing aloud a memoryI want to forget, I want to losealong with what I’ve lost. In letting you go,can I go? Can I runfar from your swollen arms?You were hurt, buried in life,beneath all that sheltered youunder a glowing sun.We had hope,though you…
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Turn to sleep.Turn, far from meinto your whispering winds,hearing what’s good for youto hear, while what’s coming nearare numerous thrown rocks. You’ll fall,weeping your open eyesinto your shadows,tossing in a bewildering delusionof surrounding peace. You want to hold closewhat’s comfortable to breathe,forgetting those soundsof your heart,bouncing from wallsinto closets. I am at your window,spying a…
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What am I,beneath this wreckage?A grasshopper without legs,hoping to leap from a cliff,though motion comes not.Just an unanswered shell,who has felt his Hellwielding him, deep withinhis unshed skin. What does the monster hide,if not for his reflection in an ocean?He dips his hands,writes his name on the horizon,hoping that morningwill forgive him from mourning. To…
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White pages,frozen in fragile sympathy,telling you what I havealways felt,since I have ever soldthis heart into those ashes.I continue to revisitwhat you have disposed of. I have kept caringabout a singular secondto speak to you.Behind these tears,a man speaks plainly.Although, he’s speakingto someone who runs behindher shelter, her fears. Upon a collectionof dust, I have…
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You were saying to methat all has been through chance,the fact that we’ve braved tides,sheltered under storms,raced through those mileswhile always tornin balancing upon a thread. That thread, it kept our journeyjust one step further,as we struggled, with all our kissesupon our throats that swallowed air,along with our pride. We humbled ourselves,loving our victories,though you…
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There’s a time for each of usto bury our valued fates,with nothing left to surrender,nothing left to rememberbut the black inkupon a faded sheet of loose-leaf,letting them go, beneath, letting them run, towards that nebula,towards that sun, where colorswill swell, before all goes gray. There’s these memoriestossed with hurled debris,from racing winds,while there are these…
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I held onto, as muchas I often thought was worth it,hearing your heartagainst my ear,going blank with thought,forgetting what I was taughtwhen pain was coming near. I believed I could keepyour eyes, smothered in clouds,in that peaceful wayof letting go of rain.I surrendered to that notion,while being enslavedunder blackening emotions. I believed I could keepwalking…
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Being fated, being fortunateto sentence this heart to a swell.To be nurtured, to be nestledin arms that wave awaythose distortions in a reflectionof myself in an ocean. Bathing this form, in knowingyou are near, as one other dropletconnected to this current,beneath these tired feet. One look down, all it will taketo see that surge in…
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It was the rosethat told you to goin hiding –finding your shadowsthe betterment,the fulfillment,leaving me with emptiness, surrounded byleaves, painted drywith deadness. You were telling methe weather could not liftyour foul garden,while our tearsran down to mouthsthat could not connect, while exhaling,pushing our cornersto fold. We paused, in memoryof what fell into ruin;are you looking…
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The one who stopped moving,he died at our final meeting.He perished, becoming an unheard wordunder your breath, far fromhis concealed death. You were the onewho stopped screaming,the one who had another stepforward, in your sacred life,your life that never wiltsin its garden of roots, but what will you reach for? Once, these handsfelt your tragedy,but…
Modern Romanticism 