Writing
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Was it a brief sparkThat lit the pathwayFar apart?While our hearts burned on oil,Becoming the plume,The ashes we released fromLips most kissed, beneath the blue. Sequence,With many unfurled sentencesThat kept our eyes closed,Focused on the scars where daylightIs the evening through,As morning walks upon the thinnest wire. Once a beginningTo the sun being born, for…
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Kisses for trainsRunning through tracks, as youGo through feeble times,With infanthood in your head.An egg had fallenTo be the still-born, to be the same weather-wornRock of smoothness beneath fading sunlight.Near a river,Once the statue carved from a boulder.Now the pebble, becoming dust. Ravens overhead,Hearts that tremble from dread.Kissing the sunset,Same with your neutral expressionThat folded…
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RetractingWithout subtracting.WithdrawingWith the gun to shoot in the directionOf your vacant heart, in the dark. The open field,Where thunder struck to fuse two forms.Two eyes to seeBeneath a tarp that holds upThe rain.It cannot shield us. We love,Mystified.We build,Being deprived, next toOur aching oceans.While walking as Christ upon waves,We are faithful, and forsakenWhile bloodCovers our…
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What loveWas a purchase, not a sale?What lifeWas not stolen, did not resistIts abductionTo the imprisonment of a heart? Whose footstepsWere not covered by the snow?When lovers walk backwards,They were disguised. Whose eyesWere lifted to the sun?That bright, blinding spotThat were like motherly armsTo the love that was a guessTo a future without fear. This…
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Beneath the stones,Hearts just areThe same stillness in the rush,Among where empty voicesAre cartedIn the night’s wind. Funerals forThe deepest kiss,While eyes are never wateredTo raise a garden from the soul.Eyes are discardedTo look uponThe silver vapor from faint breathsIn the mesmerizing winter. Finding you,Beneath the waters.Living in the same state as you,Beyond borderlines.Beyond where…
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There were tracesLeft to the reminderThat your form took awayIts ease, in the play.You escaped,Round in cheeks.Bottoms up, faces lowTo the sound of another carnivalYou might show clown colors. Another moon for the dim arrivalTo another night without truth.You tremble to the same rhythmAs the final flickering lightTo a cursed day.
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Were we both miles apart,For faces open?With grueling smilesEven more expressiveThan the heart did beat itselfUpon the crippled pathway.With defeated glancesThat flood the waves,ApartFrom our wind-torn eyes – We will still reap what we sowIn fields still stainedWith sweat, with diseaseThat grants the same blue bloodTo the evening eyes –
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We were notMeant to be more than the sunset.Just humble twins,With aching heartsBleeding the same blood,Holding the same handsTo the sameConnected pulse. Rhythm stopsAt the choosing of tears.We crossed the same oceanWe also drowned in.We knew notIf the tides carriedNor abducted us.We kept our heart closeEven within storms.
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Is thereSome sentiment I have left,While this heart keeps beatingWithout breathing lungs?While this life move on,Is there a cliff I must findTo sing praises to you,Beyond the need to find the windThat will lift me? While this chest rises to fall,Same with the sun,I can step closer to your sideEven within dividing currents,Even among the…
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Devoured,Torn alive,Devoted,Made aliveWith the external endeavorsThat grow into appetite.Sworn to the routine,Without a hand by my side.Withdrawn from the shadowsCreated by light. While it was loveThat etched the scars,As thorns into revealed flesh.When it was a smileThat receded as just another waveFrom the open lanesOf an endless shoreline.
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“Human beings are fragile creatures. If there is any attempt to make us beyond our physical, breakable selves, we are meaning to become divine. However, as that is an impossible task, what becomes proven are even the flaws or imperfections to such ambition. Anything up, must come down, even the human who aspires to beyond…
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While everythingWas a field about to bloom,More than teardropsWatered each root,More than painWas felt from the thorns,More than our livesGrew to become worn. While everythingWas about to be born,More than eyesWere ever opened,More than criesGrew into panic,More than a handWas being comforted.
Modern Romanticism 