Realism
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Beauty recedesAs the ocean and its fluidsUpon stark shores,Masking us in its amassing plenty.I still hold your hand,Despite my eyes upon this dark ocean. Each recession,Each regression,Is like swallowing another tear.And each wave against my feet,Is like one drop upon my knees,During when I am curled up against defeat. Love should hold hands with love,Beauty
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I fell upon, the highest romance,As an angel, centered upon his flight,Downwards, I descendedTo see, where I caught, my sight.Love was a plaything, once to me.Love is now a treasure, befitted to seeFor its ornaments, upon nuptial evenings,And songs sung aloud, in credible musings. Downwards, I flew, destined to showWhat I know, to be, the
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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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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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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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Why bow to the blame?Why bend a knee to the shame,That will cover my woes with greater stains? For tears to mark a path,Across my heavier cheeks,Must be why,I offered a goodbye,Must be why,I ate those tears as sustenance. For tears to make a journey,Across my tired body,Must be simply why,I was never the man,To
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Why had it endedWithout faultGiven upon the other?I am so much in the wonderment,So much in the Hellish endurance,Of pain and growing pain.What is so hard to describe,Is that you will love me as another friend,Is that you will drop tears for somethingThat faded as a distant sunset,That faded alike the tears which have driedUpon
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A bled wound upon the pageSeeks to rewrite virginity,In the named events to this day.I am something of a man,Loyal to loyalty.You were something of a woman,Loyal to realism’s mind.And I foresaw a place embeddedIn the white garb of a veil,In nothing uncertain for what I decidedWould only be my dream. My heart now bleeds,Flesh
Modern Romanticism 