Modern Romanticism

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

Epic Poem – “Long Beloved Beauty in Life” – Part One – Romance – 7/8/2019

July 8, 2019

The apocalyptic shadow,
Of my eminent devastation.
My salvation,
Could not have come sooner,
By the noose,
To the box.

To the soil, and attempt to rejoin,
What I had lost.
Was she lifted?
Was she granted,
The heart of God, of any God, of any faith,
Rather than my own, for I failed?

Indeed, I failed, as was my wont.
Accustomed to failure,
And now, she lingers among rot,
As a woman,
As a soul,
As torment in its very incarnation.

What is my music?
It is death, as I see it.
What is my loss?
It was a woman, as I knew her.

What is my frailty?
My guilt, as I feel it,
What is my safety?
The suicide in an evening, guided by a dimming sun.

Oh, pain, empty yourself upon my lashed back,
Afore the pain was ever there,
Afore the lashes were ever struck to bleed,
My back; my love is gone.
And a truce was spoken,
To the nearly-open wind, and bound nothing.


Poem – “The Symmetry of a Broken Face” – Romance

June 22, 2019

You have symmetry,
For the world, to see,
And Mankind,
Crawls, out of thee.
You are full, for sleep,
As death springs, free from me,
Enough for graces, to pule and plea.
Sympathy, was never, a part of me.

I do not, see respect,
As more worth, my destiny.
To fold my long arms, about thee,
Would mean, to love thee,
And shed a single drop, into the sea,
Beauty and imagery, make a fine fold.

There is sorrow, clinging to thy, weighted bosom,
And a leech hangs, over thy weighted brow.
It is because of all, that we’ve grown heavenly,
And carved bread, from Adam’s teeth.

Eve and Lilith, are there as twins,
Their faces are symmetry, unbroken in beauty.

I have found, among you,
The curves, that entwine the earth.

With the moon’s, many faces,
Yours, is the kindest revealing.

Symmetry, and a ripened breast,
Alike an apple, hung from a tree.

Here is me, to see the sea, and drop a tear, upon thy plea.

I Bring Thee a Rose Made of Silver

June 20, 2019

I bring thee, a rose, made of silver,
For it clashes, with thy complexion,
That has formed itself, through silver tears,
And such sorrow, that quakes, thy heavenly bosom.

God knew, who to hire,
So that the artisans, would sweep their knives,
To carve, the most ebony-laced form,
Imaginable, to my keenest eyes.

Here has my sympathy, been withdrawn,
Over to the next statue, where there is she,
A futile attempt, of a portrayal,
To a woman’s depiction, in sight of Heaven.

He, the artist, lacked in skill,
So I bend my knee, to kick it down,
And make what I will, of its heap,
Of limbs, and scattered kisses.

Send to me, my love, the courier,
He has spoken, of messages, to whom, I say, there is
An Alexandria, a Bridgette, and a Charlotte,
My making hands, are soon ready.

Filled with the passion, and the simplest desires,
There is still much to make, of another,
To often am I, the artist, said to be God,
Just a man, with a keen devotion.

Poem – “An Ode to a Lover” – Romance

June 20, 2019

There is weight, under my legs,
Breath that drains, from my lips,
And the whisper, to which, I utter, the solemn note,
Has the message of breath, between the eyes.

I find no mercy, coming from your words,
You speak of discontent, and demise,
And there’s no comfort, for us.
You say you cry to sleep, each night!

Why has God, promised this?
A marriage born, in a somber realm,
I am at fault, for each thing,
My undoing, to my command.

I have lost the touch, with a living thing,
I once raised thee, to see the earth’s end,
And now the fall, has come upon thee,
So that you have died, beneath my feet.

In death, you tell me, it’s complete,
Our love, is faltering,
In dismay, we feel tragedy.
In love, we feel disorder.

Sympathy, is a tragic story.
Pity, is even less merciful.
I think of the blade, upon my wrists,
And the blood, against my eyes.

I am at fault,
Because, I could not save love,
From its inevitable end,
What am I, but an unkind fool?

Poem – “The Sweetness of thy Breast” – Romance/Erotic

June 20, 2019

I sit between, thy fragrant aroma,
And think, to myself,
“The beast, has finally arrived,
To call down, itself, upon a feast.”
I spoke to myself, a peaceful hymn,
Though, composed also, of heinous anger,
You threw danger, to the four winds,
And made yourself, the cherished queen.

I found thy breast, to be the sweetest,
Of all, womanly flavors,
As decadent, as the moon, against the sun,
As feminine, as the fertility, to make a son;
And to who, I call my “forever”,
It must be you, the woman, who I fall near.

Where was death, when I needed it, most?
Where was love, when I despised her, the most?
You have the beauty, that falters, God vision,
For He is me, the man, who has loved, a vision.
The breast, and its idle shape,
The face, with prettiest grace.

There is much madness, that I have spoken for,
And disease, that I crave, all-the-more.
You are, beautiful,
All the same, as the furthest tears.

Why does the world, despise us?
They have placed promise, behind pride,
They find more respect, among fear,
Over love.

We consume each star, with faces so alike,
We feel pain, that reaches deep.
We have faces, that show, such distraught,
And make enemies, who make war.

I promise thee, for a finger, of two,
That the world, will no longer, see our faces, in misery.
I promise thee, by a hand, that takes your own,
That I’ll love, with certainty, and growth.

Poem – “Devilish and Keen” – Romance

June 18, 2019

Romance, in thy very eyes,
How devilish are those very tresses,
That lash thy keenest neck,
That raises to even keener eyes.
I have perception to see thy wickedness,
And a mark I’ve burned into thy skin.

Where would God tell us to roam,
When in this embrace?
We have failed among Saints, who had watched
Our faltering.
We failed God in His expectancy.

I wish for being a King
Upon your lakes, and your sands.
I wish for you to be a Queen,
Who harbors the next population,
To commit warfare on those different.

Romance, in our very eyes,
And two faces that are within a mirror.
Sorrow clings to your lips,
While disgrace drives into my abdomen.
I want a world to find us as a muse,
For the widest plagues to be spread.

Misery has its own color,
That color is the crimson on your cheeks,
And the futility of my perception.

I feel those who say otherwise
To this love,
And I say, “Do not, as it is not your judgement!”

No judgement is allowed for our pathetic union
But mine, as I am the one who swallowed my words.

Poem – “My Love, Let Me Breathe” – Romance

June 17, 2019

Wherefore do we speak, when in an embrace,
From words that ripple through our forms?
Entwined, we dance between velvet stars,
Entangled, we have mourned in past memories.
I am your child, and I am puny.
You are my beloved, and I am in you.

Sheets surround us,
A rope is at our feet.
A love has groped us,
A love that set us free.

Are we in love, in this heat?
In this Hell, are we in love?
But, you are as beautiful as every dreaming night,
When in the haze of rising love.
A puddle now forms a color upon these sheets,
Something has leaked.

Romance, and petulance, made a form.
A love, we have grown, up to see a moon.
You have a body that would baffle,
The highest angels,
And all the gods would marvel at thy radiant face,
For it is better than the purest silk, or softest gold.

A breast that moves, like two ships upon water,
They roar a lapping on the heavy waves.
I am in love.
Yes! I am in love,
With a woman who is she,
The many gestures that I have freed.

Though, are you in love?
Have you found love in our heat?
I have struck a heart,
But have I played even a single note?

Poem – “Have We?” Romance

June 16, 2019

Have we expended our future,
Unto the stars?
Have we made ourselves saviors,
With mercy to our belonging?

I sit as a witness to your artful form
That shows shimmers upon a velvet torso.
You have made a God whimper before you.
He was me, the man to whom loves you.

I sit beside you at the elongated table,
And view your beauty in all colors.
You have eyes that show sparkles in blue,
And cheeks that have the deepest hues.

There are reds, in those cheeks,
There is a blue, in those eyes.
You have a face, that has been swollen from kisses,
I have made a mark, through the fame of you.

I am a father, to you, as my child.
So beautiful, with shades of black upon white,
You are desirous, though retain all urges,
To be upon the white, but remain in darkness.

Have we expended those stars,
That are above us in the clearest blue?
Will our kisses at once be shared,
So deep to reach the ocean’s bottom?

I had once made a child who knew to see,
The crystal, the caves, and the ebony.

Poem – “Upon the Bed, I’ll Lay Thee” – Romance

June 15, 2019

Your growing fragrance,
Matches this room and its aromatic candles.
And I have found it upon myself
With my hands to claw at the flesh of thee,
To tear and yank the burden of attire I see,
To match the nakedness to the maker of me,
Who is a demon that I cannot let flee.
You have sweat glistening upon an arm,
And a face that whimpers beneath the soaring skies.

When I choose to love, I live as the beast,
To devour the wholeness of your making.

When did you last submit?
Where will you see yourself in coming years?
Above the sands of shores where shades dance on a form,
That has never been nude.

I shall lay you upon a bed,
For myself to see,
And to glimpse a moving breast,
And two legs like the purest white from birch.

When I’ll make you mine,
I’ll differ nectar from wine,
And make the world find me tiresome.

When will I grow intolerant?

Poem – “The Beloved Woman’s Patience” – Romance

June 15, 2019

As I look upwards from this stance,
I see where my hands have laid.
Themselves, as palms, upon thy bare shoulders.
Shoulders, always bare, and made from ivory.

I have been the admirer to your form.
A form with curves alike to the Earth.
When I’ve seen the horizon,
What more to witness than to be blinded, by thee?

And I am below, at thy feet,
Martyred by love, to what I’ve worshiped,
I have place a circle of gold on thy finger,
Slender and smooth by the possession of youth.

As I peer upwards,
To see the bluest gaze and pearly smile,
Of two lips that are glazed by a merry pinkness.
I see all the happiness I’ve formed.

For two shoulders to which I’ve laid my hand,
To offer comfort, or so that you’ll weep.
I am for beauty and its shielding.
You are in love with bliss and its making.

Where are we on this earth,
And where do we travel?
What have we to do with the world’s suffering,
Else to see that which has made us?

I have formed the deserts upon thy abdomen,
And the ocean of milk on thy cheeks.

I have grown impatient to my own testing of it.
Though, you’ll live as happily as the next bird.