#poets
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Upon the tragic shipsSending off collections of fragile paintingsStained with bled fears and imaginings,A singular heartbeat skipsOver the secular mistAs breath over winter is kissed.Inside the feathery miles – Dreams come undone, at the peakThe moon did display its final visage.A funereal, porcelain deceptionWeeping for pain’s conception. I can heal the waters, mend the oceansTorn
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For the crystal rushYou bend through, on the absent hushWhere love seems to dieIn a weeping flurryUpon the scent of what decayed,During Autumn’s touch.You fed the mile with a burn – A terrible sequence, a harrowed turnTo distort the petals with your churn,While veins are wrapped – About your form, upon the scraps.You will find
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To kiss you, beneath faded brush,As ice clings to mouth in hush.Each cricket worships its sound,Fading in a night of firefliesWhile softness is to your porcelain flesh. I would keep this embrace aroundUntil the dim apparent lightWill falter of the noon this night. I would love to breatheFrom the stars that never leave – Journeying
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For all directions you crossed,Waiting for arms to swallow you,Weave your smile into a curling crown.You kept to the haze,Saw you comforted in the loss.Weeping with sounds being emptiedTo the silent rooms that carried – Each tear upon the rugs,Each blood droplet from your hands,Concealed in shadow where it lands,Open to the rope that tugs.
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Allow what waits,Holding you in deepest prayer.Pull your form against shoreline,Leaving your laughIn areas I can crash.To kiss you before horizon-line – Let us love as nebulasSpread colors over the grey.Let tears run to our hearts,Keeping union before time parts – At the distant viewThat another era will overwhelmWith its change at the helm.In our
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Walking at your left hand,Weeping crystal shards from vanity’s look,Burning the histories in this holy book,As the moon shines upon the sand.At the last kiss before a lullabyTook you away to sleep.This last touch before the final hour,To keep weaving sunshine through your hair – Before the earth in its unending stare,Grows you for God
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How are the trees?Do the petals still remain,Without burning in their fall?Was the sun there to leave,Were we ever purposed to weep?Even while the trail partsAhead of the fiery bridge crossed,Were we ever always lost – Upon the lit pathwaysWhere candles guide usTowards those open gateways?A stumbling through arms, for us,While the earth begins to
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Pleasant seas come at their soarFor scented waves, never more adored.With sorrow’s guide for a beautiful hand,Symptoms are shared for one, abhorred.Sensation upon a distant land,Weeping between sealed fingersClutching the neck never kissed,Strangling barren love. She caresses her eyes in the glaze,Twin folding lids that conceal her hurt,While she fades through an hourglass,The sand to
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The ocean with its candle,A lighthouse above these tears.Walking with the folded pages,Carrying more than weight to handle. A perfect neck, once kissedWhile weeping through sincerityAs its blessing died in vanity.I pulled back the curtainTo find the waves – Sending back what was lost,A love that gave into her gravity.I signaled for the world to
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How many seeds plantedTo grow what never wantedTo lift from where it fell?The moon smiles to sorrow’s spell,Joining the vacant night,Leaving fog for the curtains,Exhaling vapor upon the windows. Is love able to clotheA senseless mind that loathes?One face here for light,One form there with fright,While sadness keeps tricklingMarble streams down cheeks of flesh.Blood keeps
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Build the waters, aroundTo see your reflection, in the sound.The hills kneel in their heavy weight,To bring you upon the mound.Your eyes recede to the battered stateIn being less than, when being moreThan all visions, to this love. Build the vessel for our veins,Rowing the waters pastWith much to push backOn the years that never
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Space between dust of meRunning through an hourglass of grief.Poignant in all the rush,A journey within despondency.You hold your cup,Weeping for one mile after anotherWhile the waters fade beneath our feet. Toss your coin, the one you keepAt the summit of all your vanityThe world sees as your third extremity.I can hold this hand before
Modern Romanticism 