Tag: Romance

Her Angelic Sombrous Place

The great art of her grace, knows not of the poor,
Now to crawl, along the sands,
To the rocks, upon the shore.

In simplicity, of revulsions,
There was joy, in her eyes,
One, who cared, for nothing more,
‘Cept, for an echoed cry.

For this, I had given her place,
Within my poor certain heart.

Of, my meager desires,
She offered, no surprise,
By the voice, that carried,
Her, through the earth.

She stole the fragrance, from blossoms,
As England breathed, its farewells.

She knew, of my own trials,
Through which, I only longed.

These were, the very contemplations,
That spoke, for empty years.

Yet, as I mingled stains,
With my soul, of winter,
To which, I now bequeath,
A word, of praise.

“I was the one, you craved,
The empty shell, you saved.
Neither one, could forge the tune,
That played below, the forest’s moon.
Nor could we, share the soil,
That will pull, our bodies down,
Let up, the one within,
My soul, which I opened.”

The great art of her grace, knows not of the poor,
Now to crawl, along the sands,
To the rocks, upon the shore.

While Her Heart Beats

You were the woman, who awoke, among strangeness,
Death, had divided your territory; life, had conquered you.
Beauty nestled itself, in the fragrance, of your neck,
Love crept upwards, to your lips, and laid kisses, deep.

In the strangeness, of my strength,
That which, would not wane,
All beauty, I tore, with bare hands,
Blood rose, to meet, my nostrils,
An enemy, I made, of myself,
Now bowing, to dine, upon hell.

I loved, with the music, of murder, and the torment, of guilt,
Death was the treat, of my sadistic art,
And the pill, that gave me pleasure.

I see with eyes, so bright,
A being, pale, and cold.
I melt into, the taste, of skin,
And fall upward, to a rising spirit.

Pain laid gently, on my conscience,
Soon to feel, for the next union,
Of another heart, that beat slowly, no more.

The Senseless Belonging

She sought, for an empire,
I sought, for her desire.
My weakness fled, the numbered rocks,
By finding her tangled, in locks.

To mourn love, by fallen, endeavors,
One somber love, I had held, forever.
Near to, the icy river,
That flows the beauty’s giver.

She sought, for an empire,
I sought, for her desire.
My weakness fled, the numbered rocks,
By finding her tangled, in locks.

Such tresses, that were many,
Fought through sadness, plenty.
She gave wickedness, to a hand,
Near this shore, in this frozen land.

These stones, I had observed,
Swelled the failures, to blur.
To drink the nectar, free from wine,
Her blood-red horror, sweet as mine.

The tempest began, to languish,
In currents, of withered wishes.
Near to me, to question longing,
Dreams for she, senseless belonging.

I obeyed, your courted blessings,
They, that played, for ornate yearnings.

All Beauty Falls without its Protection

We had loved, without glimpses, to our present,
Allowing its gift, to surge, through our hearts,
We had called upon, love to swell,
Dancing on shores, where waters collected.

I do love thee, with all the flames, of my heart,
I love thy beauty, with all the light, that flickers.

I leave thee, to roam, among the planet’s edge,
I leave, for the music, of my soul, has lifted,
To new heights, beyond thee.

I gave thee ground, to tread,
To see this empire, as meager, as soiled,
But to pity me, is to find emptiness,
You’d find it greater, than what I’d built.

In drawing upon beauty, a blade of skin,
Marking myself, my name, into your silk,
In conquering thee, I gave plentiful graces,
To the sea, and to the sky, my domain.

You are loved, no longer.
My beauty, my pain, my shame.

Utter demises, and utter bliss,
Therefore, to walk alone, is my wish.

A Spread of Darkness Across Her Lips

What had dominated white?
It was black, that dominated white.
It was the universe, that shrouded the moon.
It was the universe, that shrouded the sun.
Bombarded my guilt, to deadness.
And I grieved, no more.

When Mary, came to nurse,
A tree, by the lake,
I saw, with feeble eyes, and feeble heart,
A darkness, across lips, to kiss.
And she struck me, with a gaze!
Made me forget, my woes.
I danced akin, to the harlot’s motion,
When beauty, nestles only on black.

What had dominated white?
It was black, that dominated white.
It was the universe, that shrouded the moon.
It was the universe, that shrouded the sun.
Bombarded my guilt, to deadness.
And I grieved, no more.

Oh, Mary. By the well, where you dwelled,
Made to suffer, made for hell.
Your absence, was the darkness, of me,
As I turned, in Christ’s direction, to plea.
A sickness, reveled in me,
Drunken on curses, that sickened thee.
Mary with pleasures, thwarted,
Mary with children, bloodied,
Mary with jewels, become rotted,
Mary with misery, remembered.

The Music of Memory

Winter drained itself, upon my knees,
In holding the cross, to your grave.
I saw, with feeble stare,
The stars, upon your eyes.

They that saw, the infinity, in our love,
And knew, it to be a lie.
I would only fight, to see tomorrow,
And now, I cradle death, in transparent arms.
In a moment, that knows, how to weep,
I sing a song, to grieve.

Blessings told by priests, and their hymns, of loudness,
As if to awaken, the dead, from their slumber.
I drew white, around white,
A sheet, about a body,
While a rose, stood atop, your crown,
A nest, of tresses, shows the hue, of ice.

A tear falls, from my cheek, to my chin,
I left it there, for my kin to see,
And for my kin, to salvage.

Petals Laid in Tears

With glances, of blue,
Skin, of ivory,
You shall wear, a crown,
Dressed, in simplicity.

You mourned, the frozen wastes,
With tranquil beliefs, that shaped worlds,
I knew, the ending, to your plight,
But saw, only my life, in twists.

There is beauty, in every love,
With statues, cast from marble,
Risen, towards the emerald,
In forests, of secret safety.

With the illusion, that dips a leaf,
Adorned with petals, and thorns,
Into the silk, of a woman’s breast,
I find the essences, of worship…

…and those, that destroy,
Shall break, the evening tide.

With glances, of blue,
Skin, of ivory,
You shall wear, a crown,
Dressed, in simplicity.

There were moments, that were holy,
The meager silence, that sought,
To poison, the fruit above us,
Rained discolored wine, instead.

The joys, that lovers, hold dear,
Are naught, but ashes and snow.
Soft, with blessings, of sadness,
Departure, for the listless.

If I wished, for the nothing,
My love, shall grow, anew.

The Naked Viewing

Violet skin, when blushing bright.
Take all to sin, in desperate flight.
Send the priests, fleeing,
All full in hands, to the night.

What would I name, my empire,
Where this David, flies to fire?
To be handsome, or to be cruel,
You’d tease also, of love’s kind rule.

In ample markings, I observe,
The simple art, of highest curves.
What wickedness! In breasts.
Wine for lips, in bitter taste.
Allow, of the listless rest.
In one finger’s, lawful haste.

When noticing, the toes below,
To walk, in untold steps, so slow.
I am allowed, to fill my glass,
By all which flows, into thy mass.

Violet skin, when blushing bright.
Take all to sin, in desperate flight.
Send the priests, fleeing,
All full in hands, to the night.

When thy belly, of palest moon,
Is sweet in seed, in dismal bloom,
There shall come, to lovely sweat,
A shell of love’s, beauty kept.

In contours, I count, each falling tress,
To meager face, of sheer failing youth,
Uncover, each bit, of nestling skin,
In hearing shame, from weary red mouth.

To grip, the waist, of thy body,
Shall be there, for my possession,
To the deep place, of my pity,
Had we sold, our cries to ashes.

The Stable Grace

Here, the moon raises, to a peak,
To draw the curves, of your form.
I was right, when I asked,
“When, will I become forlorn?”

The sensible grief,
That turned upon a leaf,
Never clung to the tree,
For the world to see.

Your lonely heart, departs,
From the soul, of me.

I saw, the mark on your face,
Revealing sadness, in place.

I view, the sights you saw,
Of every, meager flaw.

Here, the moon raises, to a peak,
To draw the curves, of your form.
I was right, when I asked,
“When, will I become forlorn?”

Your dress, of rich blues,
Blooms my soul, brand new.
The Earth, knew,
How love, grew.

The empty, slender form,
Of which I, hold dearly,
‘Twas death, that parted love,
From my gray heart, freely.