Romanticism
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I knew to love,What was trusted deeplyTo the nuptial part of our romance,Before an altar with primrose and tulip,And the sight of Christ upon our faces. And, it was yours he shared the most attention,As you wept, among the repeated sighs,To the warm wind of this summer height.A little droplet of morning dew nested beneath
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A mind made with shelves, adorned in the booksThat read the past with much awareness,And a heart that recedes with the tideOf a bloody sea.No fault could ever welcome itselfInto your open arms,For you possess a form,That outdoes even the sea with its many currents,And many curves,From cresting waves. I am in love with a
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The distilled honeyFrom a thousand flowersThat blossomed nectar,To meet the sun,And shone there,High above,In the early noontide of this spring day. I came awayTo see thee,And soon set upon a pathIn a forest of green,Lost and unawareTo my motions,For they were as your own. Stumbling through these narrow pathwaysBeneath feet covered in stone,I groped for
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Downed by displeasureTo a dying day.And then, downed by your hands,To roaring sheets,To see the evening in your eyes,And then, the sunset upon your lips.For you were the oneTo kiss the day to vanish away. My beauty, with hair so vivid in its angles,And with body stark in its curves,Alike those to the Earth,And when
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Foiled by a pen,Wrote a word too embedded in love,Sunk the tip of the quill deep in the ink,And marked my heart,Words that should raise,Though thwartMy heinous mind. Fairy of the night,With wings that shed flakes of snow,There is, for you, a palace you should know.It was for when we created peace,By a night dipped
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Upon me, and over me,With blueish contrast from thy beaming eyes,To the tresses that rock over thy neck,Like a galleon that weens itself through,The fine waves and random gulls. Romance sprouts so evenlyFrom thy brimming shoulders, bared to be touchedBy my rotting fingers.You descend from the slope, from the mountainWith as much precision allotted to
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Decorate meIn your golden tresses,And rain upon meYour tears of nectar.I see so much sweetness in our minds,Released emotions upon the world’s green forests,As we breathe each other’s scents,We are so very simple. Death cannot come to us,When life makes us comfortable.In arms, we will dance, and dance, forever,Beautiful, in our marriage, in our love,In
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Why had love grownPast the thorn that we thought was higherThan the top of your crowned head? You are the woman with feeling abound,And the bitterness that surroundsMy mouth,Was from your timeworn kiss,From smallest lipsDripping with the yellowest poison,Displaying the fever between us. A fever, a warmth,Alike the sun, alike honey.Alike the sweetness from what
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I hold one wicked smile,Within one shattered palm,As I have tamed it,Made it a name,In my house of sculptures.Beauty and conscious mind,Suffering from my delusions,Becomes paranoia,And complete fear,Because, there is a state of agonyTo behold, before me.A place for me,Next to Satan, in my house of martyrs. Beauty and beauty,Becomes foiled at my touch,Turns to
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I thirst for the momentWhen I can peel back the skin from my tongue,And see,Only what I could not reach forward forIn the dimming haze of this winter forest,But only what I had tasted,Being the rain of different droplets,From different places on this Earth. Death and denial,Have an eternal place,A marriage in Hell,A hand waving
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Upon highest waters,Where the currents match our tears,We were once in arms, tragic and longLike the moon with its great form,Bleeding newness into night,So that the sun may greet the paleWith its roaring hues. All I feel,Is this fiery pain,While a grave sleeps beside me,It had started before me,And now slumbers, continuously. Every gray fieldOf
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My face and mind,As my eyes stare so blind,I believed in a love who did not awakeTo see,Me, in terrible suffering.Famous, though mild,Crude, though wild,She was the stench of filth,And terrible bliss. My own beauty,Where did it vanish?Where did it leave to,In this winter of duress?Among all the pain,There is hardly any shame,To weather my
Modern Romanticism 