Poetry
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A moment of bleedingpalms, onto sands,hands into outstretched shores, dropping salt into a wound,carving into riverswhat were those unset letters,going downstreamwith the unheard criesadding more to the floodof words. What rose?From a horizon,a line that broke, on a promise,on a signature never written,because that heartthat came closebled, on an oceanwhere yearning was everyone’s error,everyone’s memorialized…
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Like leaking highways,running freelyto those endings,colliding against happiness,within sceneriesthat are desertinglove, at its goodbye,at the released sigh. Like what we could calla space, for our bliss.Like what we could namea face, for a kiss, we were once trapped,wanting moreto the torture,blowing out candles,to get grounded,in our roots,burning in thrashing limbs,wielding fire in our hands,our ancient…
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Heaven’s voicefills your lungswith something otherthan smoke, with somethingother than those tears,as it must bethat you are healingapart from the one,the embittered onewho held your throatin vaporous kisses. We disappeared,together, as we witheredlike petals that divorcetheir towers, their stems,into becoming fevers, as if we shouted at the sunfor a different kind of warmth. We wanted…
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Pathway,a doorway,an outside beyondyour radiance, to a shadowthat never forgetswhat it once heldinside empty palms. Blue in the face,suffocating in the spaceof what was leftpuddling here, among tears, of thosethat will not leavefor upcoming years, and among your fossil,the one that disguiseshistory’s blank curtain, for you are always one tokeep resurrecting.
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White-outyour name, amongthe temporary,for I wishfor pain to escape faster, needlessly goingfor heartbeats that whimper. I am astir,always in your air,exiting from the doorwaysof your lungs. Another hourleft, to be tugged,on a rope, upon a slope,yearning for the next yearwhen I will havean ocean of sweeter tears. Blossoms,ones that keep burningwithout much struggle, while there…
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No one knows as muchas the one who held onto the shadows, distant, in a cloud’s leavinga tearstained scenerybeneath, at these feetwhere you lay,bleeding in defeat. But I did, as I did notwish to keep youat that agonizing distance,though weather proved itselfthe miserable weight. You are reburiedin a shell, cast in stone,heated from a dispassionate…
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Dig me infrom previous disassociation,for you are the one drugto keep me runningon a guess, makeshift on an excuse,blinded to another’sfires of warning. Undressed skin,disrobed eyes;the leaves you walk uponare brittle,only in disguise. I can’t seem to fear you,as our faces are smearedin the white. In the white,where outlines are drawn,we were touchingmore than what…
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Come here.Drown there,relived in teeming agony.We’ll fall, coming closeto death, once more,being relit with a single candlenear an open sore. Kisses for this connection,an embrace upon that resurrection,with love, like a toolto fix what cannot be broken,even if, even whenpieces of our reflectionare decorating our flesh,on bleeding cuts. Taking down stars,raising wars,believing in things that…
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Tossing around, pushing throughtears and long-relived years,escaping embraces, inside tunnels,needlessly mourning the roadswe dared to defend, and always, if not foreverdenying what was meaningto mend. I am certainthat lakes will, one daydry themselves upon hearts,with no more sadness,nothing else to rainfrom those depleting yearswe were taking the fall. I am reassuredthrough oceans that werewalked upon,that…
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The same songcarried, from lipsmade of marble. Who were you,other than anotherlong-casted shadow? I felt sunrisesleaking into minutes more,hanging on like forsaken blessings,hanging like curtainsthat were draped over your face, at the final stage,the final mile. Who were you,other than one moreflake of dust, set upon a shoulder,with no hand, no glimmerof light from some…
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Was it too muchwhen candles were relit? Was it too muchwhen dispositions were relived?Revived – from the burning shell,a transparent hell,a forest fire,where all your life’s eternityhad been a tragic calamity. I knew too much.You grew too much,out from my bloody thorns.I laid a priceon my fiery forehead,a fever you constantly touched,but never judged. At…
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Maybe at the edgeof the bridge, you’ll seewhose rope you were tugging,while holding hands with the smokethat exited from mybloodstained lungs. Maybe you’ll see to the endof the universe, and whenyou get back, you’ll hear a differentrhythm to that heartbeat, the one you called “familiar”,the one you said wasn’t similarto your more recognizablefeelings, as ripples…
Modern Romanticism 