Romantic Poetry
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In all the time, I had thoughtThe tears to be worth their sour taste,I was wrong in my mind, to knowThat in our place,There would be eternity. Love is a power against the impossible,And yet,I do not want to border myself on obsession. It is a madness thatMakes both those who reject it, and embrace
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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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Near the windowsill where you wept,While the wood still keptThe stains of reddest tears,Because, your wrists didn’t agreeWith the color of blueThat drained from the sky. Near the windowsill where you slept,And I’m still with the memory of a facePainted by sadness, despite my gladness,For your betrayal was a kindness upon the Devil’s door.And, when
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Open yourself up to meWhen you close your subtle glare,And point your deceitful direction, at the dagger to your womb.Allow your sorry stare to accompany itUpon when ecstasy reaches its height.Leave a sigh to my words,The one word,The lonesome word,That touched you deeper than this. Pledge your pain to me,Oh woman, of many nights in
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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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Track meUpon the pathTo safety,So that I may kiss your sweet lipsFor that one solitary moment in peace. I gave up my lifeTo see you safe.I gave up everythingTo make you proud,And I have nothing left, but the pieces to carry. Would I stab them in your heartIf you’ll allow me?Would I choke you in
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Within every bird, there is a song.But, yours seems to be missing.Figment of my little imagination, and I am deluded,But, the waves crest as your breasts,And the tides recede along your abdomen,So I go, to place my hands like the sculptor’s wayTo make sure a woman need not feel dismay. Your song shall be savedBy
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The arriving timeTo see my fortune set in line,Set upon the traveled roadPlaced with the stones once cast at my limbs,And I walk over them. I see your searing pain, at the end of this long pathThat does not twist,For I’ve no other feelingFor this lonely world,Where only the sigh of the wind, guides me.
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All vow to watch you bowDown to feast upon the grapes made from wax,And blow delight upon the sightOf ornamented delicacies from your heart made of silver.You will feel when we’ve already sealedDeep inside our minds, with the time we will unwind,So that you can walk in that gait we’ve left behind. Denial is a
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Love must have a way for usIn its seeming abyss.We are a wilderness apartStanding as stone statuesCarved by ravenous hands,Full of lust in how they trembled,And why do I feel you weep? Like the rain against my windowpane,I hear you cry along with the wind.Your repeated sighs,Makes me question why.It makes me question your current
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The wrong side we fell,The wrong form of Hell,The tears we drink up,The faces we sink through.Play me,Your eyes, and their sorry Nature,To weep, and expel a sorrowful sound.As we denyThe next dayTo arise. Where had we felt this torment, before?To go back, to allure itTo come back towards us.People are sick upon our errors,People
Modern Romanticism 