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Modern Romanticism

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

Poem – “As a Man who Loves Forever” – Romance – 8/29/2019

August 29, 2019
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I raise this curtain to show a face,
Streaming with the tears of fear.
Kiss me, beautiful one, before the noose wraps itself,
About my idle neck.

I have loved an angel,
And gave until I was emptiness,
I will remain as emptiness,
To focus on your delicate face,
And how the world could crush
All the beauty away from my reach.

Love has made me strong,
Love has made me fragile.
As a man who loves forever,
I still cling upon pain.

Confusion drinks the waters,
Of my frozen soul.
Love has a merry way
Of showing affection.
It is so, for I’ve become solitary
Against the waves of family.

I am so tired,
To find wholeness, once more,
And so, I will lay beside you,
In a bed of snow.

I would die, willingly,
To merely see your face still smiling.
For what haunts me the most,
Is the blood that may come,
And so, my mind cannot ever ease.
My mind cannot ever ease.

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Words of Wisdom – “On How Love Penetrates the Heart” – 8/18/2019

August 18, 2019
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“The seeming instinct for a woman is to close her eyes, during love-making, to focus on the feeling. What of love? It penetrates a woman’s yearning heart. The loveless woman is twisted, inside-out, and burns to know herself, love herself, because she trusts no one further than herself. It is the image of self-absorption, and colors of all shades of red, leak to create carelessness upon her skin. Grace has left her. Truth is shaped into any form. And dissatisfaction and change is continuous. She will transform. She will mutate. She will throw herself from bridges, skyscrapers, and cliffs to see some different color other than red. It doesn’t happen. She closes her eyes to see memories. To see the pain from the last year, the last month, the last week, and even the last second; and nothing will soothe it, but the lending hand. For a woman’s pride breaks, in an instant, once aid is offered. Offer a hand, and she will shatter. Offer a whisper of condolence, and she will crumble. She held herself high on two legs that trembled, and now she crashes to her knees. And for the first time, when she remembers the moment she first made love, it is for the next time, over and over again, that she is stabbed with the blade. Over and over again, she will expect more red, and more red than from the loss of virginity. A reminder, a bleak and morose reminder, to the first time, until it never is the last time, until a truth wields her body to make it as hard as her man.”

Words of Wisdom – “A Man’s Guilt” – 8/8/2019

August 8, 2019
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“It is not enough that ‘plainness’ makes the face beam with natural radiance, but to a man and his not liking to place a mask over his features when at home, he will see that stark plainness; before the mirror, he will see it. Whereas, a woman will apply the cosmetic, and she will say that the natural beauty lies in the mask not put on the features of her; and I will say that this encourages ugliness from the woman; and why is this, other than knowing what ‘plainness’ represents? The ‘plainness’ of guilt, when should a woman commit to the same enactments of a man, make such ‘plainness’ honest and direct. The mirror now sees no likeness of careful image, for a woman, as such guilt hails from the sameness in action from the woman envious of a man’s opportunity. It is only an additional corruption. An added bonus to the stockpile of bones.

Why is this? It is because that same repeated word called ‘plainness’ is why a man was never known to apply the cosmetic. It is why a man, never known to apply the cosmetic, is most truthful to himself without the mask. It is how guilt and shame is felt, by seeing enactments too barbaric and sinister to imply any gentleness that a woman would naturally emit.

For a man craves achievement and receives infinite opportunity for only one reason. That reason is compensation. A man needs no reminder of his guilt. A man needs no movement for that remembrance. It is objectively a cruel gesture to rub salt in the wound, the eternal wound, of a man’s instinct in guilt. His guilt is known, by that plainness, when revealed in the mirror. By no cosmetic, he sees it, and he turns away. By all plainness, and naturalism, he sees it, and sees stark hideousness. Are we taking a liking to choice, to Individualism, to subjectivity? Then, only comprehend that action is what purifies or corrupts the individual soul, after such a ‘logical’ mind of a man makes him the most guilty.”

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