Writing
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Great fragrance,Warm remembranceOf what once wasIn the fog of ever-blue eveningsWhere you rain what is leftOf cruelty in your heart. Holding hands, nowWith an empty frame,As the spaceNear to me, in the rainOnce laid the porcelain figureWith cheeks as redAs the descension of a sun,With eyes as sadAs the lifting moon. Waking in flame,While the…
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Do notTo the one who barely breathesSpeak of deathly hope,That a future is as malleable as silver,That the unpredictableCan be so formed as the presentWhere the moon colorsThis world in its weeping. Do notTwist the fog towards the imageOf barren truthFor the one with dutiful desiresFor finality,With great dreamsOnly ever livedIn the world of the…
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Hollowed outOf her heart, in the everlasting webThat bleeds out the ironFor tracks laid,With screams buried. Funneling shame through a puddleWhere memories liveBy a circular rippleExtending for a mile,That the train can come sailing. Station stormsWhere it rains in her heartAmong all the notesPlayed for the pain of days,All within the waiting years. One playful…
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Blanket me. Warm me. Though, leave me. Keep me as you can see me. Though, leave me, as I am open. Hold me in the heart of your yearnings. There is wine sprinkled around, enough to be shed like blood. Do I look wounded, enough? Upon the surface, warmth is more the spots. The clouds…
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Echo. Echo out, and then, remain sad. We say to you, a little fog cannot blind those eyes. Hold your piercing scream to the wind, and then let us breathe of you. Allow ourselves. And then, we will dance to your tune. We will dream of what will sometimes never reach. Then, we will keep…
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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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It is of no better placeTo surround yourself withDelicate nature, in the bindingOf what shall nurture,Shall cultivateThis beaming to your understandingTo your rejectionist self. Love has shown you a full vessel,While you have emptied itUpon the floorIn disarray.Love wept for you,As you merely laughedTowards the nightWhen lust shall hunger for you. Though,You weepOn your own,To…
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How much are you unable toCross your mind, in the admittance of?Brokenness, to each wingWhere even the skies have departedFrom your wasted self.Each eye,Each tormented whine,As all of your visionFades into time. Of sadnessWhere skin becomes frozenIn the heat of this inferno,While eyes begin to shed dustAs flapping butterfly wings. Walking into an echoTo bleed…
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Chapter One Foundations make the Draft I “To Creation’s Preliminary” To the notion of what develops life, as it raises from somewhere, is of meaning. Though, for meaning’s sake, there is nothing that represents this, of the past. As it is, no person progresses to death, though away from it. An individual escapes death, to…
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Waiting without thorns,Holding roses to your hair,Giving simplest sentencesFor youTo be aware. Watching as your faceSettles itself,While the kissNestles itself,Tearing attentionFrom the frown,To the keen and fruitfulRomance of a crown. Bending night with night,With rays from the moonlight,Facing sideways downYour hollowness, around,Has made mePresent the bliss of a wildernessWhere limbs can soon shiverUnder the weight…
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Call to meEach dismal shapeOf your forgotten beauty.With halls that treasure hearts,Of stillness upon the wallsWhere portraitsKeep faces, with buried lips,With sadnessIn each of their words. Soldiers passGrim countenancesTo the talents of a queen,Ripped freeOf the fortune to love,As scenery runs from their eyes,Pledging boundariesFrom their mind, to Heaven. Children roamUpon where forests collideIn the…
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Glue togetherA burnt remnantWith one departed momentWhere our hands were joinedIn idlest fashion.Strained jointsTo seeIn the eyes of the otherSome farewell to the blue. I have lived for far too longWithout the warmthOf your touch,Frozen in the delicate frameOf a conscious,Unconscious mind. Wide openTo the sounds of rushing air,Between bird wings and coal mines,Within both…
Modern Romanticism 