Romanticism
-
Winter has me breathingThis cascading silver air,Across your delicate forehead,As you’ll recede with your eleganceBack to where you belong.A den of darkness,Is where you find comfort,And I do not belongIn such a realm. I am sick,Though, you seem to be healthy.You have cheeks that sparkle the radianceOf that health, of all youthDisplayed for me, once
-
There is a waterfall beneath your eye,As though the eye pressed further into your head,To bring forth the liquid beneath it.I have seen you weep, a couple of times,And become drunk more-so on my own pain, for I caused your tearsTo flow more-like the lava from a mountain,Than ever a flow of water from a
-
Have you found what you needed mostBeneath the star and tinsel?We both once shared hands, to dive withinThe sea and its shining surface,So that we could send kisses to each other’s faces,Beneath that blueness,Beneath that openness.And yet, we stand beneath the tree with its most mournful appearance,And gaze with eyes upon each lit bulb, each
-
Had that pillow caressed your feeble headMore than ever my hand could?In such comfort that death could provideTo your ever-more feeble bodyWith its trembling motions, alike the quivering leaves during Autumn,I see your chest raise itself, to a peak,And fall down,You may be ill,Though, you are in comfort. And, I am jealous of death,“To have
-
An empty home is a tragedyTo what has revealed itself, upon a day in destiny.We are two petals over curves,And over our memories,Where salvation lies buried, awaiting,The new snows to descend, upon the beautiful other.The little face you show, revealing perplexity.The tears you rain from two eyes, crystalline, in form.Every piece of dread that was
-
Believe the beast who cried,“My shape is not how it should seem,Because, I belong in the arms of another,And not the arms of shadows!” Torment came over the beast who gnawed at its arms,A man with but a shadow for a reflection.One gaze into the mirror,And a silhouette was all to notice,Of himself,And of the
-
Before betrayal turned my heart into an orb of stone,Before the music of selfish attraction,Brought my listening ears close,I realized upon a day when truth glistened on my mind,That I was merely a child,With his feet dipped into the blood of a mother,A simple thingOf no complex ways. A massive enemy to innocence, made my
-
Together, and nowWhen we will allowOurselves, to spit upon the blight,The doubt,That held us back,There is green upon the leaves, when autumnal frost still cakes them.I am in belief, that this love will flourish, with a crown of blood droplets,Rubies, tears from the form,And sapphire, tears from the face.We are together, in arms, forever…To bleed
-
A night without the embrace from thee,Is a night I’ll never be desperate to see,Upon the time when you return from across the waves,To see the defiled me,And know that the sun has run from me.The sun, as you, my created light,A single candle that stands with tapered form,And a wrist that is scarred from
-
Should I have known to slow the funeralUpon arriving to it?When seeing your form, in a state of no tomorrow,I breathed a sigh that revealed the cold,And gave my grief my hat to hold. Your form is as lifeless as the winter, with no shadow to show.Because, the sun has bled its last into the
-
When Hell cannot be quelledOf its shaping design, to forge a fire in my mind,There are the eyes, I always followTo where they point,Upon my bosom, where a bruised heart, burns black.A little woman with her hair in tangles,And suffering as a stain upon only her skin,Because, she has tasted flame,The flame of deprivation, to
-
Like the pauper, sideways upon the roadways.Like the pauper’s eyes, with no stare that enters backwardsTo the trailing mind, like the road before him.Like the pauper’s mind, imagined to be HellishIn whatever dream he’s conjured to pursue,Because the sun seems too hot, and unreachable,As the gold he’s longed to breathe,It is us. A nothingness, in
Modern Romanticism 