Poem – “My Tears come as Pearls” – Romanticism – 11/28/2020

To you,
For you,
Can you wear the rain?
My love,
Petal yourself
In these stains.
My heart cloaks itself
In the cold,
Wearing a shroud of dark
Delicate and old.

I want to come to kiss
Those very pearls about your neck.
Your life
Is marked by the fallen droplets
From the withered rose,
That I am.

You are all
To the nothing I am.
I am just a man
With dust between his fingers.
Yet, you are
Love atop a waterfall.

My tears come as pearls,
Staining your cheeks,
Soaking your tongue,
Lasting as vapors over your chin.

Poem – “Wet Scars” – Romanticism – 11/27/2020

Finding fault
Where ruin lies
In the wakeful rain,

Where blue sheds with blue,
As storms reside above the mist,
While life hangs a curtain

Before the dreadful hour.

Two weeks close endless chapters,
Laden in everlasting warmth.

But, to touch would mean to fear,
If not to die.

I live on the wires
Of imagined contact,
Beyond the waves

To pierce the haze.

My love lies, torn,
Upon her empty eyes.
Does she waltz,
Or does she slumber?

Bleeding lives
Create burning oceans,
Scarlet in the sadness,
Desperate in the madness.

She holds a noose, tight,
With solace breathed
Through a nose,
Soon to collapse.

As water enters water,
While oil burns atop the sea,
I can hold, as I plea
For her return
To me.

Poem – “Lovesick” – Romanticism – 11/27/2020

A fever warms you,
Yet my arms cannot touch you.
The outline of your form
In the debris that nestles you
Has me cry with the falling
Of snow, in the haze.

I cannot even
Graze a cheek.
I cannot even
Touch a lip,
While yours grow old
In the welcoming dark.
I cannot even
Hold a hand
That trembles.

Fear blossoms
Bleak petals,
Between these floorboards.
I speak
From across this room,
Asking for leaves
To not drop from your eyes.
I tell you words
You already know.

How much sickness
Embraces you,
Outside my reach.

How much warmth
Reddens your cheeks
I cannot teach.

To kiss,
Would mean to die,
Together,
Under the sighing trees.

Poem – “Little Life in Autumn Leaves” – Romanticism – 11/27/2020

She starts to remember
How the ocean began,
Of naked tears, to outdrawn fears,
Little more than a scratch upon the sky
To cause this downpour,
Forming the largest puddle.

She starts to remember
Her heart, bleeding wide open,
As a doorway, without barrier,
Without restriction.

How much she loves in the morning,
With eyes full of dew!

How much she lives in the evening,
Broken, yet brand new.

I, too, can see the past
Remembering how we did last,
Of hearts swollen in the night,
Of teardrops creating shadows,
Losing light.

Her hair, full of embers,
Flame resides in the strands,
Individual and woeful,
Yet, I bring her aboard
A vessel, for the teeming ocean.

A life, lasted in pain,
To then a wife,

Graceful and tame.

Poem – “From Somewhere Deep” – Romanticism – 11/27/2020

How great to lift
Tragedy to majesty,
Concealed by the curtains
On greatest defeat.
Your life has smoldered in winter,
Drowned of ashes,
Then to ashes, you return.
Black decay has been your flavor
To comprehension.

I hold your hand in my burning own,
Gaping this palm
With the brightest, embedded nail.

I die for the horrors you keep,
As my mind has stung,
While my heart still beats.

I still live,
Though breathless, I act
As this fall of anchor in puddles,
In your tears.

I slow our caress to a strong grasp,
Blending blessing with burden.
You kiss the wind,

As I smelt words into a poem.

My love,
Blindly, as you recall
Your days, outnumbered by pain,
By washing, crimson waves,

Can you hold onto the hands of the clock,
Instead of my feverish own?

Poem – “Closing you, in Weak Arms” – Romanticism – 11/26/2020

Possessed
By a certain loneliness,
As was the creed of you,
The rule
To which you were bound,
Like the book with hardest cover,
Not to the truth of its pages.
Yet, I love what drops
From the wreath above your head,

As leaves to the Autumn awakening.
Here, your lips stream the path
For your feet, to my weakened arms.

Go across,
Speak this name of mine,
As it brands itself to your flesh.
Your tears come as diamonds,
As your fingers are like candles,
Wicked with flame.

What love,
You have lost.
Joys do not know you,
As trust has always left you
To dine on the dust
Beneath your feet.

My plan
To have you wrapped
In truest intention,
Places my heart upon the altar,
That you might hear it beat,
That you might live
Beneath the sheets
Where I possess you.

Poem – “God is Old” – Romanticism – 11/26/2020

Belonging is the house
Of unrequited belief,
Where flies are swatted
From lips, so pallid,
Beneath the storm, weaved by
Their leper hands.
I saw how they pierced the air
With their fingers,
Just as the curtain before
The blinded bride.

I saw the space between them,
As they drunk in the firelight
Of enemies so old in the night.
Belonging in the house,
To worship something of dust
Lingering on the books of tragedy,

Among unremittent success.

I saw their gatherings,
Fewest, with frailest voices.
A blind man was with perception,
Yet muted to the deaf.

Romantic pairings
Drew kisses from the orchards
Where apples fell.

Quote – “Pain, in Love” – 11/26/2020

“Do we ever forget who we love? Or, do we ever forget who loves us? Are we to reduce ourselves to the selfish fool, who cannot appreciate the selfless gesture of kindness? It is in our pain, that trust has died, not ever love. Love does not become torn apart, for that is not what pains us. Whether distrust, or impossibility for continued life, we are pained by the memory. We are only ever in pain, at the time of the beloved’s departure, because we still love them. Whether that be in death, or in a simple leave, the eternity of love is proven upon a singular realization: that, the rooms are empty, though they never left.”

– Modern Romanticism

Excerpt – Prose – “My Anger, the Addiction” – Romance – “A Description of Anguish” – 11/25/2020

Of her, I see something starless. Still, the shadows come to me, as they ache their remorse. For I have guilt that would set an ocean atop a scale, and weigh it to Heaven. Nothing could challenge the departure of myself to where I see, with eyes that are frail, the face of her at a certain place, a certain doorway. Love lives in it, as hearts beat soundly along the walls, within. Love is the certainty that challenges my clarity. For I am blinded by my sadness, as I am left to wipe tears with something so solid.

So solid, yet so weightless. It is fire that burns in my chest, leaving ashes to spread. Winds pick up what is left to be freely moved. As winds do carry what has been scorned, of what has been lashed by this hot sun in me, it was soon her who fled. Her face seared in anguish, while what a heart she possessed had been stung by hornets with venom.

I did love, yet I loved with a banquet of tears to consume, both of her and my own.

Though, I walk on, without her near. I walk, with a gait that slows to then speeds, upon a path where I’ve come to say is “familiar”. A familiar path? Oh, if all my world could cease where grows pain in my heart, I’d send her back. Just a flaming dove, with peace to behold, and still can set the sun apart from Earth.

Poem – “This Rope about your Feet” – Romanticism – 11/25/2020

This life
Holds you against
The fever,
This scorn
Where dust mires you beneath
Shadows above shelter,
Kisses from God.

I wish to love
Without watching you,
Staring across
Guiding tragedies,
Tremoring streets,

Leaving dust to settle
Upon those frozen lips.

Calling lions
To erase the guilt
I have to faith,
Of Heavens stooped in fervor,
Where passion displaces
Sound from travelling sound,
Love from senseless love.

Pointless hearts
Are the case of lovers,
Whose feet slip
More than their hands.

Poem – “Loving Waters” – Erotica – 11/25/2020

Exquisite,
Sublime passageways.
Aching legs
Know which direction
To spread,

Of a horizon’s edge,
To pleasure’s pledge.

Her face,
Sculpted of porcelain,
With ebony wire
Hanging loose,
Draping.
With rivers of black
Cleaning cheeks,

From raven eyes.
I lean.

I lean
For the burial
Of a man’s twisted ardor.
Loving
With an anchor
Upon my back.

There is bliss, here,
Sentenced with the kiss
Straight to disposition.

Hold her head back,
Drain nectar
From her lips.

Leave stains
On her leaking void,
That the dark might birth.

Poem – “A Heart in a Bottle” – Romanticism – 11/25/2020

I yearn
While the moons cross
Hazes upon the misty fields,
To you,
Listening to your heart
With its extended reverberations
To my unforgotten vows.

I hear you
Across the blue
Waves, we’ve come across,
Has been our barricade to an eternity,
In arms.
Is it an empty space
Or our time to speak?

Of loss and requiem,
Come to
Bandage the tears that roam
From East to West,
From pain to loving rest.
Hear to
The hearts that clash together.

Like waves made of our tears,
With movement forged
Of our sighted tension.
Your beauty
Is a begotten paradise,
Made of strolling tresses,
Among eyes that cease me.

Tasting temptation
From scents the ocean leaves,
Blotting our horizons,
As we see ourselves,
In back-to-back reflections.