Romantic Archives - Modern Romanticism

Poem – “Love Has Breached a Corner in our Wilderness” – Romance – 10/16/2019

October 16, 2019
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I turn around to repeat,
In careless repetition,
All vows and emotions, upon a plate of fate,
You deny what was offered,
From a dying God,
From a man with all the might to his fight,
His eyes were upon you,
And faced the enormous creation,
Of a statue in what he’d not undo,
A love from all broken strings,
Upon one delicate harp,
Upon one frozen heart.
I fought to cleanse the hate from my plate,
From the dish that served rather coldly,
All the misfortune I spent for a night,
For you to eat up my words.
You are the child at the feet of God,
Born with wings, aflame,
Though, are crawling with those who are lame,
There is idleness to your eyes,
And serpent shapes to your fingers.
I was born to love and to swallow tears,
Puddles glisten in my palms,
Overflown upon what gently lingers,
The subject of pain placed at my heel,
Born to desert, and gracefully feel.
Your eyes are the scorn in the desert,
The desert wind under my command,
Is all to make me a man.
The faces in their frequent shadows,
Their hearts in puddles so shallow.
Face me, dear woman, with torn heart,
All memories come barreling down,
Upon the corner of our wilderness.
In the meadow of a tearful love,
Where droplets of dew form on grass,
There is your face of its gentle sight,
For my truest love made to last.

Flash Story – “Too Indebted to Move” – Romantic Literature – 10/14/2019

October 14, 2019
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“The heart races for one reason, to let one know the sound of a march; for there have been as many lovers upon this Earth as there have been deaths of bloodied soldiers.”

Between birds and stones, flesh and bones, we sing that song of love as like a message on the wind; though, where does it stray? It strays nowhere, if the lover remembers, and keeps hold of moments beneath trees as old as time. Surrender to it, and this means to surrender to the shudders from your heart. The heart races for one reason, to let one know the sound of a march; for there have been as many lovers upon this Earth as there have been deaths of bloodied soldiers. They drank the contents that flowed up into the esophagus, that should have been contents touched not by the flight of indifference, though by the comfort of love.

“I am too indebted to move onward from this flame, the love we are holding close to ourselves,” says a man with a glass of rose wine to his lips, staring upon a nude before himself, with glances heavy and long, “Your eyes, magnificent in shape; your form is a plaza of many stands, each showing ripened fruit for the occasion; and how I would hold a pair of breasts alike pears to be swallowed whole.”

Love is a sculpture, beheld before a man as a woman of his making, of the wholeness to his honesty; and, nothing is allowed to break it, for him to retreat back into the waves where his loneliness resides.

He approaches the woman, with flame to his mind, burning all weariness from former attraction to an enemy of rest. To a workforce, that had bought his time and sold him his fortune, for a place among a union of degraded and futile; they had all aimed to see a future too far. Too far, and too unknown, for love remains as the most unexpected thing to manifest itself before a one, and it is a wall.

He names himself as the “broken one” to her, before nestling his head in a bed of flesh. Warmth surrounds as easy as the sun may surround the Earth, so it isn’t winter upon every morsel of land.

Words of Wisdom – “A Man’s Manhood in Romance” – Philosophy on Love – 10/14/2019

October 14, 2019
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“Should a man smile upon the exiting from a romance, he is dirt. He is the fool, without the water that he ever drunk from being the waters of a woman’s heart. The path before him was always solid as dirt, and he never was inside a woman’s heart. He was sure, he was certain, without any place to soak himself in her tears, shower himself in her sadness; because, when he does, that is when he does the second thing to prove himself, after the first thing. Begging for forgiveness is the second time when a man submits himself to her might. A woman’s might, in this sense, places a man first on his knees, during when he proposes, and the second time on his knees when he’s committed a grave error that may end the romance.
The quote that describes a man’s home as his fortress, are the walls he keeps sturdy from within, because those walls are the walls of a woman’s heart. He is within it, and he is trapped, willingly so.”

Words of Wisdom – “A Man’s Tears of Failure” – Philosophy on Love – 10/14/2019

October 14, 2019
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“When does a man weep, one may ask? It is when he has lost. Show a woman to him, and he will never again see the world in black and white, caught between success and failure. He will see the colors of her, from her smile, from her scent, from her garments.
Though, should he lose her, he will feel as though he’s lost, once more, receding him back to a former time. He will never want to see his own face, he will neglect cleaning himself, and his own garments will turn to rags.”

Words of Wisdom – “The Result of a Disheveled Romance, at the Fault of Man” – Philosophy on Love – 10/14/2019

October 14, 2019
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“Does a man treat love as a game? If so, then his woman will play along to the beat of however he plays her heart. She will dance to betrayal, so to speak, as his loss of loyalty will be the music of betrayal. To a woman, betrayal is subtle, and seen first by her, though kept as a secret for her gossip. How does a woman lie? It is through what she observes, and in what she has accepted to be the truth, even if what she has embraced is going to affect her enough to damage her. She cares not for the definition of truth, but merely embraces what is given to her, as that could be either anything at random, or everything in wholeness. And, it is up to a man to give himself, all of himself, so that she comprehends not the truth, but his honesty. It is this way, because she will not be able to differ truth from lie, though only the offering, in whatever a man has made up for himself, before he met her.”

Poem – “The Redhead with the Glass of Red” – Romance – 10/14/2019

October 14, 2019
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Before me, you sit with a sorry stare at a rim
To a glass made of the fibers of sand,
Love is a breath in the air for our breath,
As sweet as the redness in your hair
And as bitter as the very sight of death,
As the very sight of what sticks out in your mind.

A face with eyes engraved,
And hair that blossoms like thorns to roses.
Of those eyes that are either emerald or sapphire,
Alike the Earth or the sky,
Though, I am unable to tell.
Beauty fell upon me like those tides above,
And I was on the cross,
Dying for my own sins.
Your marble face and hair of fire,
Gleaming with random tresses,
Upon your breast,
Folding upon your shoulders.

Love has made us famous,
While our hearts make furious rhythms,
In the dead of this night.
We sit here, to stare at the curves of a glass,
Love is revealed at our left hand,
As hope is in our right.

We’ll deny ourselves as long as we can,
Or death will cast its own ring from shadows,
To place itself upon your fine, marble hand.

Face me, beautiful one,
You are as lovely as the awoken morn,
With hair as red as the liquid that stains your heart,
Upon each repeated sip,
As red as the rays cast away from the sun,
To the meadows of Heaven.

Poem – “One Idle Glance” – Romance – 10/13/2019

October 13, 2019
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I crawl atop,
And I falter beneath,
The swimming tears in eyes of emerald,
Your face is the picture of immaculacy,
In this dreaded room.
Come kiss me, beloved,
With all your majestic might,
This future has never been doomed,
Because, as I see above,
I see also the night.

I see the stars and their infinity,
The light that beams upon the back of your scalp,
Is mine for consumption,
As you say,
“Let us pray to a love made of fire,
Forged in our awakening to its light.”
Of night that grants us power of might,
There is to our passion,
The fires that caress, and cleanse the fright.

Your nakedness is a grail of wine,
Sweet with taste, as all is mine,
Bitter in the taste of Autumnal frost,
And sweet in the taste of November showers,
Of sweetest tears, and bitter blood,
You are beautiful, dear one,
I hold you in greatest esteem.

The Tena Poems – Truest Love – “Lay with Me” – Romance – 10/13/2019

October 13, 2019
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Lay with me, as the world sunders itself,
Go beyond with me, to the lines that seem themselves
To surrender, and surrender more
To the tragedies and comedies of love.
We are, in arms, crying and laughing, beautiful as one,
In our eyes, we hold sweet nectar,
And also,
Bitterness to the wetness
That smear across cheeks made of powder, porcelain, and ice.
We are only beautiful, when we are raised.

So, we rise,
And surmise, nothing,
We falsify nothing
To the sound of fluttering heartbeats,
And the light tap, of kisses.
Only ever does truth come forth,
From hearts so deep and transparent
In the infinite youth of summertime,
Bodies that are milk-white or dowsed in ebony.
Oh, love! Has it made its way,
To the places so full of dismay?
My love and myself, so strong in our song.

So weak,
As well,
In the permanence,
Of what swells,
In hearts so cold,
And so old,
A warmth, a comfort,
For faces to feel its searing touch,
From fingers that have been dipped
Into the blood of the birth
Of love.

Love is a triumph,
In all times of discomfort.
It embraces,
As it faces,
The facades to pull them off,
And reveal an image of tears.

The Tena Poems – Truest Love – “I Long, and simply Long” – Romance – 10/11/2019

October 11, 2019
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I long, and simply long,
For scent of longest hair, and eyes of furthest stare,
We are but two forms upon this Earth,
With steps so shallow in the mud,
And faces so tranquil,
As though starving buds, with quivering temples,
And blasted bodies,
By the wind and sand.
I am in love, and have remained in love,
With distortion to my eager form.
And, I see yours,
Where pleasure implores,
The widest sweeps,
Upon currents next to shores.
I desire all,
From thy Heavenly form.
I know that God,
Had made artisans of truest intent,
And truest skill,
To sculpt what I see,
In pure and utter beauty.
A face so full of life,
With lashes broken like bent needles,
And eyes that swell tears to their surface,
Alike the geysers of the Western States.
And with two cheeks that beg for kisses,
Against each… I do, with all for you,
And for the future, and for eternity,
That I will nestle my fears into thee,
So that you may cradle them,
Like crying children.
I simply do not want to die,
Before I come upon you, frozen,
Before I had said my goodbye,
Allow me to go,
Before you do go,
As I will vanish,
With heartbeat so slow.

Novel – Chapter V – “To Pull Close a Corpse” – Romance – Excerpt from “Signs of a Man in Love” – 10/9/2019

October 9, 2019
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He steps around his guilt, like iron coats the soles of his feet, and motions to a place before his departed beauty. A step more and he nestles a kiss upon her brow, swearing to himself that he could still hear her words. They were, before she hung herself, perhaps the words of an apology. Words unheard, meant to be heard by Joseph, this man who once loved the purest form of beauty. That was when he allowed himself to launch directly into her, to pull free the chains that seemed to shackle what was once not allowed to move.

For a woman’s memories are as dear to her, as they are sometimes tragic and sometimes comedic. Why is a man attracted to her smile? That is because the smile is there in the realm of deception. He sees what challenges him, being the uncertainties that have created every mistake attuned with his past. Those challenges spark him to lead a woman into the future, with only ever the confidence necessary to see that forwardness, logic, and directness. And, when he looks over his own shoulder, he should see only one thing: herself, the beauty that he won’t ever forget.

A deception challenges a man, because he cannot look forward and backwards at the same time. A kiss was all Joseph needed, pressed against her brow, to believe in her mind, her thoughts, her own concealments, and whatever else she had not ever allowed to open from herself. Does a man desire discovery, as a philosopher, or does a man discover desire, as a man?

He says to a closed and limp form, “There was never anything else for my past, besides you, since you have died, and I still live. What is my beating heart, if it simply beats without love? What is next in line for my future, if I am someone who sees such a heartbeat, as unnecessary to beat? Each heartbeat is like a step taken, and I am not ever in the present. I am trapped somewhere on a border, on the line itself, and closed in a grand world of fear.”

A kiss to the brow had made him form a tear. Tears are infinite when the eyes have seen something dreaded, because when the eyes have noticed, neither the memories nor the tears, ever cease.