Tag: #writing

Short Prose – 300 Words – “Mistakes and Promises” – Romance – 11/12/2020

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 into your arms, there was light. Though, upon the day when the promise was torn, there was to be me, reborn.

Like love never held meaning. It was the silence of myself, to become the howl of the aching beast. I was to, as it was perhaps the simplest gesture, to depart across the waves. For this ocean had been made from both our pairs of eyes. As streaming tears, of some black, with others clear and blue.

I could not suffer, not for a second more in this time of blindness. I could not, for if I did, I’d merely have you to look upon. Just the aches, in this vision of darkness, while you in my mind was not to the light for my eyes.

Not for a moment more, could I see the reflection. Not for any more moments, could I suffer myself, through you. Through your gaze, in the woe of an elongated promise. Here is you, the angel of a mistake of mine. I had broken your wings under a sinking vow. Like a ship that never docked, left to find solitude in the ocean’s cracks.

What could I, as the man without a grip upon his sane self, comprehend of your own gestures? You waved, when I had set sail to the waves. You cried, while I did, too. You sighed, along with the winds to myself, breathing over the ocean as the sea did, too.

Short Prose – 300 Words – “Broken Heart Surgery” – Romance – 10/11/2020

Emotion. Aflame, with attempted designation to the rope. The rope, for it cannot be cut with a knife. It cannot, for it cannot hold its weight’s own will. Its weight, of a form that wishes for death. A death that would leave countless tears to rot at the feet of their rejecter. Love waits. It waits, though spends years in the search. Has it found whatever whisper is so different from the wind?

She will plummet. She will fall to see her reflection, in an ocean she has spilled from her eyes. She will plummet to the glass, the recognition of her tiredness. She will soak herself in what she despises.

I can. I can cut that rope. I can loosen her from her end. I can bring tears back to her eyes. I can lift this whole ocean.

I can open her, for another time. Trust? Is it so much to yearn for, for how fragile she has become? Dust cannot offer trust. I am a man with regrets that stand at his feet, and do not rise to meet his nostrils. I doubt myself, and these fires will not be put out.

We loved with blue to the oceans, and green to the skies. We grew thorns that all died when the petals came loose. We breathed many scenes of our stories, where dreams were our tokens to a better life. Outside, we were nothing. Inside, we were everything. But, a new tear has fallen.

I cannot bandage this wound, anymore. I cannot burn the rope, to let her down.

My eyes sting with jealousy. Dreams crash, as the waves that recede back to realization. A recognition, for a mirror with fragments already so unlike whatever beauty she possessed. A recognition that stands on those fragments, bleeding from the nakedness of stilled feet.

Broken heart surgery. Broken heart melody. Broken heart catastrophe. I am ended, as she is beginning her transfer.

Poem – “When the Air takes Her” – Romance – 10/4/2020

Lace your hair,
Trace your flesh
Marble by whiteness,
Losing strain
With each of your twists,
Dancing on floors
Where your reflection mimics.

Dance this way,
Fall into my arms,
Awaiting when you can smile,
Far from the crowds
With their hurried glances.
By every love,
By every fallen vow,
I take you.

Like droplets from your eyes,
Becoming stars.
Like beauty that never withers,
From the frost of November,
I can breathe Heaven down your throat,
I can make your idle dreams
So much a reality.

Let fall your arms,
Go limp your legs,
I will wrap a cloak of undying love
Around your tired body.

Poem – “Reveal to Me” – Romance – 9/23/2020

Reveal to me
What can fall through
Silver clouds, and silver moon.
Reveal to me
All I can catch for the timeless chords
Chiming until the meadow’s end.
For when you reveal to me
Your eyes black as the night,
I know you cannot reveal to me
The little things we both cried for.

Reveal to me
Your bosom for the consumption
Of Heavenly droplets of ivory.
You can reveal sparkles in the crowd,
Revealing to me
No drawn shades about yourself.
Can you attempt to dream
Of something with light, though without
Your reveal to me
Of favored darkness?

If you can reveal to me
The eyes that would hold the sun,
I can reveal to you
A passage that I have scrawled on porcelain paper,
Textured like silk,
Yet, bandaged like the night.
Of unceasing stars
That reveal to the world
The bluest tears,
For a passage can be my expression to the twilight.

If you can reveal to me, say to me
That you can shine there for me,
Without the shades,
Without the darkness
Mimicking itself in your eyes,
I can reveal to you
My hurt.
For when you reveal to me
The love that needs no mention,
I can say that horrors never latched.

Poem – “Eclipse Me in your Body” – Romance – 9/20/2020

Why light,
Why
So bright?
What have I burned
Of the stilled tomorrow?
Her hair radiates,
Her skin
Escalates, the tempest,
Me,
And the fuses at the ends
Of her
Worn fingers.

Beauty
Smiles, one of heaviness
To my
Aching body.
Her own
Eclipses what I see of light,
So bright,
With giants to every step,
Every encroaching hour
To my feeble sight.

Lead on,
My woman
Whose arms crawl,
Whose legs drag,
Though still remains beautiful
To even the weariest of days.
Will she,
Or won’t she?
Will she,
Or wouldn’t she?

Move from her reign,
Should she?
Move as the stain,
Could she?

Drawn fingers,
Architected as something hideous,
Born of a disastrous mind,
Sculpted from their own kind.

What a woman whose eyes see keenest flaws,
Enough to swallow her shape.

Poem – “The Devil & I” – Romance – 9/20/2020

I cannot tell
Which part of the night with stars
Leads me to Heaven,
Or withers me to Hell.
I dream of drinks,
Of chalices full of tears,
Full of another’s blood.
There, to the winds that carry
The scent of a funeral’s pyre,
I effort myself to loathe,
Never to love.

Dreams can tell apart,
Day from night.
And I,
With hollowness to every scar,
Stare into the wildness of my reflection
In broadest daylight.

Stirring myself
Past fog,
Past train
That takes those from their roads
To a distant nowhere.
Their faces are the drunken solace.

A rope
Tugs at my throat.
A fear
Blankets me, near.

I am the man whose weight carries him,
While depression looms
Overhead,
By the foulest gloom.

Sunken by quivering might,
As I prostrate myself before shadows,
Sunken light.

Anatomy of an Author

“I cannot help but to love what I have found. A heart. Hers. It would remain isolated, without a branded kiss. I leech my own, through the vessels that remain upon my discovery. I am the sailor who throws himself overboard. I cannot love myself, not for a moment. I sacrifice myself, to see her gaze, so resplendent and astute.”

– Peter A.W. Wyatt

Poem – “How I Cry for You” – Romance – 9/9/2020

No one told a man
To dust off his skin, in the corner.
No one scolded the man
Whose eyes blazed a stream to the future.
No one could hold a man
Who would cry in that corner
Over the faint photograph of a face
That would never grow faint in his mind.

He had told himself
That his words are the loneliness.
He would scold himself
When the dust held more weight
Than his form.
He could only hold himself
When the beauty upon the faint photograph
Needed a recapture.

No loose storm
Could fell a tear from his tightened eyes.
No noose about his neck
Could restrict the gulps of breath,
The gasps
He could tell were the same as lips
Pressed to perform revival
Of his drenched heart.

No one gave this man
His wine,
When the bitterness is so futile
In contrast
To the gray stains from his tears
Pressed like clouds into the worn coat.

Poem – “On the Stream of Forevermore” – Romance – 8/22/2020

When will you walk
Without the hard stroke
Of your aching feet?
You impatient
Woman, with too many blocks
To wields in arms, meant to
Carry something far more soft.
You stumble
On iron.
You dream of empires
You cannot even kiss.

Why do you implore over
Disaster?
Why do you wish for me
To step aside,
That you might construct
Another Hell?

I love all waking moments
Of your eyes
Against the sunrise.

I kiss your tears back
Beneath the lids
Of your always-roaming gaze.

Why do you desire
The ever-roaring fires
To spark thoughts to flare
To bore down dreams to bare
Breasts by the cold ignition
Of your ever-more hollow stare?

Poem – “Beauty’s Capturing” – Romance – 8/8/2020

How may I see
Through the lens of a broken camera
She is to be
Viewed from each side
With admiration,
Upon adoration.
My eyes
Surface to the edge
Counting falling droplets
From ducts that never erased
Memories from the lakes.

Why despise
What I can love,
Forever-more?
Her beauty is captured in stillness,
Too still.

Death leaks overboard
My arms that held upon quivering movement.
I let her drop
From my loosened embrace,
From my sorrowful escapade.

She drew up,
Once drew up
A hand that reached for the moon,
As now the sun in my heart,
Grows dark.

I fanned the flame,
As I shall still do
To the next day.

Poem – “The Mute Angel” – Romantic Poetry – 2/10/2020

I gave from within
The merriment of a certain whim,
Gifted from a heart, made of solidified embers.
Of the sparks that dance sideways with the twisting breezes,
I was the angel without a voice, who gave unto the distant
My heart, with itself in drenched pale hues.

She, a woman with deepening hurts,
Deepening sorrows.
I could not let her see another bloody tomorrow
That aligns against the grain of her yesterdays.

I was there to console,
And even more, to take the toll.
Love was the sun, that kept its brightness
Shining on our golden faces.

Love, without the tears,
Will still exhaust
For the many spent years,
Held upon, in utmost fears.

I still believed, a dream to not fade from my sight,
Yet, it turned itself over to an apparent blight
That had nested in her form,
One that I hoped to embrace beneath the sheets, so white.
Love was but a dream,
That did nothing but scream.

Poem – “Like the Hell that had been Patient” – 2/9/2020

Hell is a patient sort,
Willing to wait for itself to cover
What we will name to be human.

What is it to be merciful?
To have said this, is to mean
That there are deeper things, than Hell.

For I believe,
That even Hell can be burned from our life.
Its fires are meager.

Hell is still a patient sort,
Willing to wait for someone to treat it
As the soil above a carcass.

Like what we do,
To bury a corpse, beneath the dirt.
And yet, it is only humanity suppressed, to no success.

It is only a memory attempted to be tossed aside,
But, buried deeper than Hell, even among the evilest sorts,
Is the memory of a time, when life was better.