Poverty
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“It shows a great deal of insecurity and even a sign of one’s attitude of betrayal to forget those who are closest to this individual and soon focus on the world of what it, in its vastness of distractions, should be paying attention to.” – Modern Romanticism We cannot expect the world to care. It
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“It is only the label of greed upon the selfish man, that will return to the labeler. To their envious eyes, the rich man holds more worth of his pocket, than worth of his heart. Hence, the focus by envy is upon the pocket, not the heart. It is in the effort to punish the
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Never so muchKept in the dark,Holding upon soil, with an animalStuffed with paper,Paper disused,Misused,Meant for currency,Used for comfort. A bleeding,Rife,Opened soulTo the sounds of a distant fallingOf a woman’s voice.She sends him whispers,The child with the teddy bear,The child with a lonely stare. A spirit,A phantomClung to dirt,And from dirt, to debris. A little tearComes
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“The foolish pauper will believe in deceiving words, upon the time they look to leadership to state they are loving. For no human can be God, as no human can be perfect. Imperfection of leadership states that the politician is just as foolish as the pauper.” – Modern Romanticism If before a bridge, then why
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“For an Atheist to say that the ‘existence’ of God is none, is the same thing to say of a human who looks upon a pauper, and ignores them. It is of the same mindset. For to ignore the existence of God, the existence of love, would be to ignore the one who is denied,
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“For art to grow and prosper, it must be treated as any other life upon Earth. We are creations of other creations, are we not? Therefore, if art is merely ‘anything’, then it is ‘nothing’, referring the creators of this art to be those to keep people in their poverty. They dislike when anyone rises
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What kisses came across Your ivory skeleton. Your form had receded from its fullness Back to the elegance of death, And I came across as something far more frightening. I was far more truthful Than the bony fingers you used to run through Those black strips of hair. I was the hope you lacked, And
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Passed upon myself,Was her shadow.Like to pass over my disused and torn spirit,After a love shattered,Like the bottle I cling to. I attempted to ignore,Though, it kept calling,As it kept me company. Beside myself, flesh over a drunken spirit.Inside myself, with ignorance overdone,I only slept with myself, last night,Like some pauper in the wilderness of
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Oh, realm of the wicked, where dreams drop from hands like droppings from the bottom of a bird; there is much admiration to stick upon beauty to admire; why withhold what should be offered? Love will lift it, beyond the realm of Men, where flesh is torn and raped. Faces are many that stare with
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Three layers, meaning, three separate areas that can become three focuses for a world, filled with creatures identical to “intelligent beings” called Homo-sapiens… And these three layers are: Bottom layer: Death. Middling layer: Flesh. Top layer: Love. In a current world obsessed with “liberation” and “equality”, we’ve changed simply the words for the three layers,
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I see thee, upon a land so muddy, in the blood of sorrow,You’ve never, held onto happiness, for long.Here, I yearn, to be the one,To cradle your defeat, in longest arms, and trembling fingers,I fathom your emptiness, a lot likeThe families of sickness, in nations heavy, on poverty. We’ll not fall, with the tears, that
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There’s a famous way to recreate,What has always deprived my soul,Of recollection;Of the memory that sitsOn the crown of thorns above my brow,It drips smallest droplets,Of vermilion, to my tongue.What do I taste?I taste a love so sweet, and still, so bitter,I taste my failure raising from a daunting Hell,And I feel my beloved’s breath
Modern Romanticism 