Prose
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Breaking between syllables, this painter is lost in his wreckage. A void for discovery’s sake, to see a face that looks back to his pain, to the absence. As this memory unites with himself, a hollowness begins to become so apparent in its torture. Just a single pang of loneliness, doubt, and uncertainty to keep…
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“How often to weep, dear one? We are not so much different, as you might believe. I bite my own tears, swear myself to my own fears, in dire belief that I will wake up to your silence. Why do you cry, my love? There is no danger. The world might be burning, though there…
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“Anything else, I could outweigh myself from, outmaneuver myself from, outclass myself from. Besides you, all else could be shut like the sun that crosses the gap of the entire sky. Left in the darkness, I begin to dream. I begin to stare. Upon walls that are buried in black, I still see you, imprinted…
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This tale depicts a mentally ill convict, who represents the anti-hero, who cannot help but to feel immediate regret for the disgrace he has placed upon his wife and daughter. For the certain mistake and crime he made, he has been placed in prison for 10 years. At the beginning of “No Love Barred”, the…
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“Oh, ocean. Oh, tempest. Love is a storm that subsides, only when the worriment no longer has thunder. It can die down to a flicker. It will not fully extinguish. For love has its fear, its quakes, its rumbling and the movement that releases great waves. Though, upon this woman’s face, there are only the…
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Can he wait? Can he satiate a thirst that continues to mark his lips with the dryness of salt? In that, he is holding onto the ocean. He is washing himself in her running suds. A love as glorious as the only-believed infinity of the universe, becoming finite just when we comprehend life cannot go…
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Lisa had walked. Now, she lays. Upon a back with her eyes to the sunlight. It is her ceiling. Such a golden wash of hues extends to her resplendent, ivory face. What woman, any like her, can be she who eclipses all the stars to make the pitch darkness? Then, to create a new sort…
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She entertains to the sight of this mirror, leaning against this room’s furthest corner. Upon her blankets to a twin bed, ruffled as they are to the outcome of a night’s soaring passion, she swims through the waves of them to partake for a closer look. She is adorable to her nature, agleam to her…
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“Her beauty is the leaves during Autumn, meant to fall, and be swept upon the road like tears across cheeks. ‘Why lie to yourself?’ might say any sensible person, to this disdainful soul. She counts Heaven for its stars, though never for its sole kingdom. A mansion has a place for her, though the beds…
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“There will never be a heart within a chest if that chest is not meant to be opened. It becomes then a coffin, holding something dead.” – To not Sink a Friend
Modern Romanticism 