#poetrycommunity
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A foolish criminal,For I murdered a love,We had shared with wine and blood,With sweetness and bitterness,Among the beauty and the ugliness,With sugar and sand. Love should be our Thanksgiving,A memory we should treasure,Though, I had murdered it, and left a bird to rot. I would thank myself,For being alive,But, I am nothing but a criminal,Who
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When the beloved takes her breath,When the beloved oversees deathAnd its wilted form,It is me, she’s placed her eyes upon,For one more caress on the roadTowards distant riversWhere tears fall at even greater length.And among the house of screams,A thousand-and-one of them,There is her gentle placement,Of one thin finger,Against my lips. I have been in
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What was love without the blame, again?A lash upon my own backFrom me, my own slave-master.I defeat myself,Blame myself,Writhe in the guilt of disappointment.And I see my tears fallingWithout a say to where they land. What was love without the coil,The constriction?The restriction,From life with sharp wings? What was love in all its devouringOf my
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Wasted tomorrows,And grueling eternities,Are in short supplyTo the blow that struck upon innocence,And created the loudest rhythm.I have emotions, do I not?I bleed the grandest colors,To a world that cannot see them,For they are divided,Between success and failure. Love is where we stareTo the sky.Love is where we reachTo the other endOf a lone and
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In all hanging eyes,There is but one,With a lone stare upon a someone,Though, he is too much a toiled man,With the same stains on his hands. Now when blood is shared with blood,His hands have only held another’s.A woman’s hands are as frail as the oldness she’ll grow intoUpon when the world looks to her,
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Known by Heaven,Of my own illness,That is linked by two.Illness of love, illness of death,And I am caught between,As life beneath the shallows. And I see where kisses hang loosely on your lips,The very beauty who has left me,For I see your phantom,A vision, born from a medicated body. I wish it were real,Though, you
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What world have we not believed inUpon the making of our love?Two streams run betweenThe sides of your delicate head.A tiny form is all you have,And I’ll not break itFurther, when our worlds collapse. As great enemies wanderTo where they shall battle,We’ll be ever-further apart,From the other.I see your face so aligned,With thin streams that
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Where beauty plays with its ashes,And sees romance in every word.Spoken by delicate and worthless eyes,Being the eyes of mine,I see, above me,Two swipes of scarlet brimming with a word. And, as that word falls onto my face,I begin to notice how it writhes,Soon when it touches my beaming forehead,Alike a drop of rain, from
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Here are glimpses for the world’s most benevolent,And you have a face that would make the Earth,Lean forward to kiss its heavenly smile. Allow ocean to meet ocean,And sorrow to die away,In all we know of each other. Your stare is but two visions apart,And I know not which,To put my own glance. Hand me
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Of all romance, and of all aromas,Romantic and aromatic,Footsteps fall onto the floor with grace,And allow the moon to drop that single tear,Upon her ever-worn and smoothed face,Alike the rocks that receive the wind. Love is a calling,To her feeble form.Though, she is but a stone,With the fragrant moss upon her gray skin,Still youthful, with
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White petals, makes paths atop your pale flesh,Unseen, alike wherever your eyes trail.Unheard were the words from your parted mouth,And the love we’ve made ourselvesTo care for, in a place of simplicity.A mourning,Upon one morning,A few droplets were against your hair,And had stayed there,For me to count their number,And for me to pull them away,Alike
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Of flame to forge,A love to dance upon waves,And swim beneath currents.You carried the most heated words,And breathed them upon my naked guilt.Of all waters to swallowThe buildings of Heaven,Structures meant to collapse,At the slightest movementOf a love unmeant to die. You died,Because I spoke words without leaves,Without the spring to renew it.Now you have
Modern Romanticism 