Modern Romanticism

The aspect of romance, divided between the heartening and the thoughtful.

Poem – “Slow Down My Sight” – Romance

August 17, 2019
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Slow down, this pitiful tear,
That has made, its merry mark, on my cheek,

I find it to be, too earnest,
And thwarting, from the sight, of someone, so vivid.
You have been beautiful, to this day,
A woman, as the moon, finally sees darkness.
The darkness, of a life
Turning, to death.

Go wishfully, to the naked forest,
And grow roses, in the bleakest parts, of that place.
Make me a blanket, of twigs, and deepest roots,
Full of berries, alike your eyes, like gems.

I am full of remorse, to the previous day,
I am a man, with many sides, to him.
And only a singular face, to ever kiss.

Show this tear, to perhaps a priest.
Let him shower it, with the contents

From God’s realm.

Fail me once more, why don’t you?
Curl upon me, with your body of silk.
You have eyes
Like the deepest, of green.
You have longing
Like the disease, that streams
From the nudity, of me;
Like my mind, that never seems, to heal.

Poem – “The Art of an Angel” – Romance/Descriptive

August 17, 2019
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How do I, describe the one,
Who has, lifted me, from deprivation?

How do I, describe the woman,
So beautiful, as to, unearth woes, from a, past life?

To make me see, all that, has come to be,
And the failures, from faiths, I transgressed, too horridly,

All mathematics, and all stars,
Point to an answer, I’ve long been, desiring to witness.
All of beauty’s image, stands before me,
In the caressing, of angel wings, and a lucid smile.

There, I see a face, engraved with stones, of purple, and red,
And a naked form, of ivory

There are, to each leg, the comparison
To pillars, of ice, or pillars, of marble.
I adore her shape, in her making, that trembles,
Under the warmth, of a dashing sun!

“Face me,” as I say it, to face me,
You are now loved, once more,

By a man, who made a woman, as a statue,
An admiration, for a life, so lonely.
I am in awe, as I’ve remained, in awe.
Movement? Is there movement, in a lifeless shape?

There must, be ebony,
A stain, on my fractured heart.
It is there, and I’ve felt it.

It has covered, and here, I know it,
Before the denial, I’ve kept.

Poem – “When Love Rains Down Against my Temples” – 8/17/2019

August 17, 2019
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I could see the necessity in wishing to know,
The love I’ve come to commit to my own atrocity.

My beauty, you have exquisiteness in every breath,
And a mark upon your shoulder has been to count,
Each subtle sigh under morning light,
In before I come to share my place near your death.

Love at my left hand, and my hope in the right.
I am a man of many angles,

And many divides to count for too many.
There has been desertion staining our hearts,
And now I find myself wanting.
“For what?” I ask, and then I comprehend it:

I am in awe for the woman who hasn’t rested,
Has been afield in the work of too many men,

Too many droplets of salt, have played a part on your stress,
Come to me, dear woman, when you’ll feel yourself
Wanting to fall, and create an imprint
Of yourself in the soil.

A devil had made this world,
And there is indeed purpose among it.
But, to find myself more wanting,
For the angelic tears that make a journey,
Across your withered cheeks,
Makes me find more meaning.

Flash Story – “A Woman Praised by Beauty and Steel” – Romance

August 16, 2019
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A woman’s heart is to me, the cherished stone. I walk from where I sat, to her face, and bury only myself in her tears. They come out from dark eyes as sweet to taste, for she is happy!

Happiness! So alien was the word, whenever I’d writhe in a torment back in my home. I’d spent the summer nights, in the heat, while a heart beat for the torment of an addiction. A substance, or so it was named, and I blew kisses in the direction of that pain, because I knew it was enhanced by love.

She bares her beauty resplendently. This woman of mine bares herself with a heart held outward, and I make myself famous in her touch. I feel the entire world look upon us, with so much envy. They can never know love. No; not them; certainly not the world I know to be dipped in selfishness and a desire for the self.

Our hands embrace; indeed, we have embraced. We have kissed, and we have embraced. We will love; yes, we will love. We will kiss, again, and we will find the moon to be radiant and the sun to be hot.

Above her brow is a strand of hair that I blow away from sight. I see an eyebrow that I, as well, offer a kiss. And I kiss it, and kiss it evenly in distance from her twinkling eye. So much love is in my heart, and my pain has been extinguished from its dancing and ephemeral flame. It was my life, that pain, and I have waved it a farewell.

My beauty, let us dance under stars and under the awing faces. We are the world made perfect. We are the moment made without distance. We are the ones for the other. We are beloved, and musical, and enchanted.

Erotica – “The Roth Overlook” – Excerpt – “A Face that Replaces Majesty” – 8/15/2019

August 15, 2019
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Beneath the fire of the sun and in the warmth of their skin, two lovers unite in the holler and jeer of a morning’s session of passion. There is, imagined in this scene, a pair that dances on their own toes above the fruit that releases the nectar that is the sin of lust. One speaks of beauty, the other speaks of despair. Yet, the comfort that surrounds the aura to the dream is the enemy to love. One dream and one blaze cover a pair so embedded in simplicity.

Bastian acts as the man with an entire field below him in its radiance from the overhead sunlight, while she gleams with as much luster as the sun, to give Bastian the radiance that all know in holiness. Bastian is God to an angel covered in her own cotton garments.

He is as merciful as the holiest of saints, though tears into her the punishment that fits the description of any atrocious fiend. His face is shown with the emanations of regret. More than once, she questions why he is weeping, but not once does he offer an answer. He gleams in the aroma of love-making; it is softness to the angel’s defeat. A few drops from his face mingle in with the drops of his body, but his face is soaked in sadness. His temples are soaked in passion. His mind is drowned in sorrow.

In God’s realm, he has become the doer of good to an angel that envelops herself in simplicity. Her shoulders show loveliness through their roundness and their connection to a splendid stem of a neck! Her face is captured by the kisses given to her from the man above, and what a face it is! Bastian and his lips trace the skin of her breast, draining its plumpness. He allows himself to linger on her scent.

The scent of a beast lures; that is the Hunter which Bastian has become. It takes God and a Hunter to create a child in the womb of an angel. He takes in her softness in every inescapable delight. Every one of her tremors results in the creation of an empire devoted to wings and gold.

“I am sinister.”

“You are Bastian.”

Poem – “I’ll Begin to Raise Thee” – Romance

August 15, 2019
romanticindeed

Up from deprivation, I’ll begin, to raise thee,
To my contemplation, I have seen, to pull thee,
By my regret, I have not been, to free thee,
From a slumber, from a pain, from a madness
That should only, be known, to me.
Why should thou feel, when I am only, to suffer?
Such confuses me,
Whenever I see thee,
Born with tears, pasted against, thy worn cheeks,
And so many tunes, that come as weeps.

Why much sorrow, when the world stands, seemingly true?
Denial is but a virtue, so that pain, no longer surrounds.
We are, in vain, nested, in pain,
Not by darker moments,
But by willingness, to express it.

Why much tears, enough to flood plains, with their wetness?
I find no meaning, in their existence.
I fail to see, thy complexion,
As anything, but tied to water,
And the great ocean, that surrounds, thy lips.

I have offered kisses, to quell thy mourning,
Of what, such a future, of disaster, may bring down
Upon thy quivering and aching form.

Let us, make us, miserable no longer,
What will pleasure, come as,

As birds, where we fly, with wings broken, like deadened gulls,
That have, met a storm, to bring them down.

Let us weep no longer,
No more, the feeling, of sorrow, of remembrance, to guilt,

We are living, in our dreams, in our oceans
When we, should be, living in arms.

Poem – “Tena, Tena, offer Me your Lips” – Romance/Personal Poem

August 14, 2019
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Find me where wine surrounds,
An airport and its buzzing engines.
Find me, for me to nestle myself in your heart,
Find faces to feel their praise.
I will love until eternity is torn apart,
We will love until paradise is what surrounds,

With violet scents,
And beauty’s dose of awe.

Safety is where I will find your touch,
Your lips is where I will land my own
.
At an airport, where landings are general,
And your hair, I will run a hand
Through, like the running waves that guide
A man through the shapes of his own mind.

Love is the feeling to our universe,
Transferred in between time.

I want your lips, like the redness attached
To a petal from a rose;
Or like the blush just above your smile,

That has raised your rosy cheeks.

You’ll be my cure, will you not?
My pain shall fly away from this chest of mine,

As we embrace, and see that universe in eyes.
You will be my cure, and no one else
Shall take your place at my side.

Beautiful woman, holy and true,
I wield your hands like candles,
And take to the world no more disgrace.

Poem – “Cling upon Me” – Romance

August 12, 2019
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Cling upon me,
For your immediate comfort.
You have wept with a shivering form,
And eyes that obey all contention.
A face that needs no bliss, as mine
Or your own, for the coming deprivation.

Disease me, your wounds of many fields.
Kiss me, O woman of much gathered,
Suffer not, when the world comes tumbling
Upon our bosoms, so wide and heavy.
We are but deformed infants,
Birthed without care.

When we scream, who will hear us?
When we strike, who will we hit?
When we bleed, who catches such drops?
When we feel, who feels us?

We are so much the crime, the fear for a world,
That turns inside out, to see itself.
We are the parasites for them,
As we care for them.

Oh, beauty.
You have oceans too deep for this world,
And eyes that would strangle its own veins.
Deny me all, so that I may see me maddened,
Make me quiver as you do,
So that I may break your fall.

Words of Wisdom – “A Man’s Guilt” – Pt. 3 – 8/10/2019

August 10, 2019
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“There is no logical explanation on how a woman desires the same level of achievement gained by a man. Does she desire the same feeling of guilt? Does she perhaps yearn to become a rapist?

It is not ‘opportunity for the sake of opportunity’ offered to a man, strictly by a rule written in some book. Once more, his desire to achieve comes through compensation. His own personal compensation, that is, and such money that he gains holds the same definition of ‘compensation’. A woman, if not able to comprehend, then at least see a man’s torment in such guilt that has afflicted him since birth.

Once more, a man doesn’t receive opportunity through a right. He receives opportunity through relief. He is punished by guilt, and it is no secret that his brutality has turned him into a war or power hungry fool, and his innate ambition has brought on the territorial and land-marking crime organizations.

We should say also that his ‘love of gain’ becomes immediately simplified upon receiving the love from a woman. For he creates cycles within beginnings, through an injected seed into a womb. And why had it been a custom for him to want a son, over a daughter? Once more, it was not a rule, but an instinct of a man to continue this cycle, of this cycle of pride and achievement, and then, forgiveness.

Continuation, that is, and life must continue, and thus, comes the continuation and non-stop creationism, among numerous achievements. He is achieving for his own relief, to have an orgasm, perhaps, and continue the barbarism, and the brutality.

Forgiveness is displayed through the glassy eyes of a woman.

He was not willing to see himself.

Of all he has gained, now the guilt has turned into a oneness. A woman, and now his guilt has been erased. She offers him comfort, not further distress. She offers him silence, not further loudness from gunfire.

Keep the man locked up, and his thoughts are his only company.

Keep him alone, in the dark, and the monster sees all his wounds from those who’ve repeatedly tried to slay him.”

Poem – “My Dear, We will come to be” – Romance

August 10, 2019
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Fancy yourself dressed,
In the fanciest gown,
Decked with the rubies of a life once loved,

In all your aromatic kisses,
And eyes that glow in the haze of a summer’s night.
Beauty! Now, dance for me.

Find me in the garden,
With thy roses plucked,
And thy breasts revealed,
I find your loneliness a thwarting thing,
I find no pleasure,
From the previous day.

Give me imagery, dear one.
Give me wine, dear one.
Bend at my feet, and I’ll see into thine eyes,
Made like pearls, embedded in thy skull.
Oh, love. We have been made holy,
Upon God’s temple.

I desire no one else, but thy face upon mine,
No one else, but your kisses I smear.
You have a face, colored by ivory,
And tears that I drink, drained from cheeks
That seem to quiver in the dark.
My dear, have we come to be?

Find me in the garden,
Where the grass caresses my toes,
For I will see thee married,
To me, for me, upon me.

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