Romance Poetry
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Without a crown,I am no empireFor you to call homeUpon the highest throneWhere thorns wrap aroundAnd feed our pain a greater wordThan mere want. Here is a wedding in spring.There are your lips, for the tasteWith droplets falling offLike from the tulip’s petals. Here are your eyesFor the cherishing,For the yearning,For the blessing, of our
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Let us start ourselves on a path Past the remembrances only seeped in the darkness. Dipped in the blackness of crudest oil That had polluted a current, so far back. I will love With many places to carve my name, For homes, and the shelters I build With hands made of iron. From spot to
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Come what will,As you, to me, the most potent pill.What will be, for my mindTruly kind?It will be you, within the greatest streams of bloodAs rolling fog.No longer will tears move their waves across my cheeks,Resulting from the sadness of absence,But, in everything from you, that delicately speaks. I see redness in everything beautifulAbout you.My
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Bled upon the leavesWas my sorrows.I held tears on the edges of my fingers,And swept them into rivers cold as ice.Love held a bitter burnUpon my tongue,As a feeble memory lingersIn my trembling heart. Love cannot be this miserableTo have undone.For why is itThat I have to begin at square one? Like two meadows apart,She
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Like two bleeding suns,My palms were crushedUnder the weight of your heavy formThat dropped from the bleak monochrome.I saw what would have shocked me,Were I not already knowing it. Your form is inescapable,Like a palette to an artist,He wields it like a shield,While his eyes are the color that he perceivesWith every carefully aligned strokeOf
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The door betweenOur stamped feet,While our forms rise out of bases,Sent forth towards the skies,Sent forth towards the blue,While our tears keep raining. I do not see what is outside of a windowAs the blissful blue of summer.Only the navy of lonelinessHas ever been my bitter kiss. And now there is a door before me,And
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All I wishFor you to doIs to say you want to live. For you seem to want to die,And leave memories behind. Is depression truly this deliciousThat you’ll forget what pleasures we hadIn times where comfort was wieldingIts own sword? A sword against poverty.A sword against insecurity.A sword without restraintAgainst the darkest currentsTo push them
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Your tears come new in the blue,Beneath the ozone layers and layers of ice,Beneath where you’ve seated yourselfUpon my lap,And dream of where we could seeEach memory collapsing. Your beauty is a for a womanWhose neglect is permanent,And whose face is casting off, upon the oceanTo notice the stars, and the open hazeFrom the setting
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Roses delight themselvesUpon your parted lips,While teeth chew upon the tears that run from bluest eyes,You smile with a message that sends a roaring painDown upon my feet,Your face is a homecoming,One kiss would tear it off,So that I may see your truth. Rose petals loosen themselvesFree, from the buds that ensnare themselvesUpon your parted
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I knew to love,What was trusted deeplyTo the nuptial part of our romance,Before an altar with primrose and tulip,And the sight of Christ upon our faces. And, it was yours he shared the most attention,As you wept, among the repeated sighs,To the warm wind of this summer height.A little droplet of morning dew nested beneath
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My love,My beauty,My once-held power.Upon your hair, there are ornaments of ice,While there is pain upon my mind.There are great statues in the wildernessFor us both to see.Their splendor has been an easy achievement,To fill the void, of an artist,Of one forgotten creator. I once created, what has collapsed.What has been called “beautiful”,Is only now
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Threads weaved about, curves among blessed curves,A small pup in your shadow,You’ll scorn the thing to its hiding,With lips made of scarlet stripes.To some painter with his wielded brush,To some sculptor with his hands in the white,To each golden bit of skin, with golden highlights,In satin and velvet, there is you, with face full of
Modern Romanticism 