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Part One – Human Nature I To Define Order It is order that encompasses what does not, or should not, divide. A responsible person will understand order, since to divide oneself from it is forsaking what it means to earn freedom. To earn freedom is to be ordered of the self, then in comprehension that
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“Love is the wind at one’s back, comparing it more to truth than a deception, by its inherent nature. It would guide through example, and would not force one to do for the self, when the self is not yet understood.” – Modern Romanticism Love is the origin. It defines the evolution of all species.
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“Whoever saves one life, saves the entire world.” – Oskar Schindler Once in a time of my life, I rescued someone from the brink of their disaster. Maintaining consistent contact, I constantly worried. I unendingly concerned over their well-being. Hong Kong was finding itself in ruin, at a slow crawl to that point. Mainland China
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“Running. A trek that will take miles to him, though is a mere rounding of a corner to sight of horror. “Will she? Will she be there? Here? Somewhere?” are the words he releases, torn off as shreds of paper at the corners of his mouth. Written in some place of his heart as the
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I “Helpless Disposal” Why have the clouds come together? Is the heart ever the same? He steps. He buries a foot in the soft earth, pushing himself against the gusts that tear into his middle-aged form. “I have to return home before the earth begins to tremble at the first sign of thunder.” Yet, the
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She sweeps. She keeps. Her music, unfolded of ivory pages in her heart. Sheets written with notes, both curled and straight. Love is of a porcelain structure. Though, she burns the pages in her conceit. She burns the paper for what she leaves. A heart, left behind, finding no need, no cure to her endless
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Poem #1 “Awaiting Fog” TranslateThe thicknessAround your eyes.Smother your discomfortWith ease and surrender,For defeat to shedAshes to your toes. Dance with the deepest sighsTo plume from reddest lips.Give finalityTo each falling grace.Grab your basketFull of the scenery you plucked,To birth taste, from your tears. Drunk on sorrows,Amorous with your fears.Laid there, not curvingTo the unkind
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Everything. It depends on the eyes. What do you see, when you look at myself? What do the Autumn leaves comprehend of Autumn? What do the fallen understand of the beauty in that arrangement of colors? Fire is what leaves a trail of decay. Scattered debris, a teeming season of fossils, as you can indeed
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Upon a time in my life, the only woman I ever loved, and will continue to love, was diagnosed with a Neurological issue. This specific issue, though not life-threatening, put a dent in our relationship, preventing us from getting married. For a while, our dreams seemed crushed. Trampled, by fate, itself. However, I have come
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I couldn’t suffer for a second more. I couldn’t suffer. Breaking the promise, was to break my own heart. Shattered as the Earth, when tears rain as the meteor shower. Like stars, breaking my hemisphere. Breaking my divide, between needed diversion from insanity. For I had found my mind, straight into your own heart. Straight
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“I reckon it’s the same as sleep, that to wait for it, with deliberate intent, makes it never arrive. How can patience be the thing for a dream, for a reality in the making of art, when it recreates itself into frustration? Believing ourselves to be Creators, will always make the waiting kind, when we
Modern Romanticism 