Writing
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“Unlike hatred, criticism is its opposite. Criticism constructs. It lifts, just the same as love.” – Modern Romanticism To reject criticism is to reject the friend. It is to reject the one who doesn’t find you perfect. Is not the essence of friendships to show vulnerability around the other? Is this not the same as…
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Forever,The feelings gallopTowards the moon’s many faces.Holding hands in a twist,Of dual thorns, growing the rose,Dropping the ashesFrom petals, in the dusk. Entwined, we surgeWith the fears, in the love,Birthing newborn oceansFrom eyes,Staining hands,Though kissingIn crystallized rain. SensationCurves about you,Beauty of watery Neptune.Of flesh I have sculpted,Of bones, where you feelVulnerable, in the ache. I…
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“In this world, the denial of involvement is the confession of ignorance, not innocence.” – Modern Romanticism Those who deny their fate, are those who further construct their Hell. What point to blame the world, if not in the denial that our surroundings have been made by our own hands? If we blame the world,…
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Wide-openMoons that bring coldTo the glowing mouths,Parted for the gleaming night.WaitingFor the face that staysTo see patience,Eager in engulfing silence. He holds a ringAt the same lengthHe holds a tooth,For a bird upon wings,As exchange for the sum. Closed-inSuns, with restUpon the glaciers.Mounted rocks,Gold that sways, in flame,Sequence of days,Desertion of night,Stilled life upon waiting…
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To guideThe quietnessAmong silvery waters,Of lily to padded stream. To radiant skinWhere breast and feeble armsSustain and caressA weakness awayTowards the cliffs where fallsDescend with wildness. Churning softnessOf a heartThat leaves graves emptyOf simple song. Charm the vessel,Of veins where rivers reside,Towards a heartWhere beauty yet hides. We lookWith faces, that speakTemptation to fascination,On towards…
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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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DebrisUnderneathHer grave smileShe has slept with,Bending her mind,Silencing her heart. Alone,With the cruelest memoriesTo seal life in her veins,To hollow out loveFrom her soul. Calm the eyes,Surrender the fleshTo keep the release, still frozenUpon winter’s stroke.A caress to keep her low. Walking through a curtain,Setting scenery beneathBathing majesty. Cutting oceans in halves,Sending starsTo greater deserts.…
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Remember those daysChildren never cried?I do not. We are two tormented dollsOf lost strings,Worn of our eyes,Stained at our feet. We walkDown dim hallsHolding hands with a rope,Singing the same songAs lifeless birds. Bringing winter near,Singing through tears,Reusing the same symmetryAlready shattered. Remember those daysAdults never wept?I do.
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Makeshift smileTo keep the moon from changingIts slow fadeTo a time without rain.UndressingOur warmth, to a stirOf lost hoursBled in the dark. Erupting sunriseOf a morning where a faceShares tears of remembrance,Showers coldIn the summertime. CreatingScattered heartbeats,Clashes of ebonyIn the haze of fertile white,Atop destitute kindness. Remembering wine,Of red puddles at the bottomOf an hourglass.A…
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Whether your lipsBleed from bruise or kiss,Drink blood dropletOr tear,Kindness cannot imagineA greater waveTo take you. To save youMarks my famous desperation,Over cliffsWhere my voice cries outThe cruelty where desires bend,Inside, where sadness stirs. You will continueYour bleeding courseOf stains, weeping from your mindNames of all saviors that left you.The space for me to crawlHas…
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Come quiet,Let the rope bind our wrists.Emptiness had not beenSo sinful,While the wicked had beenRunning at our feet. The world marchesGreat patterns of disinterest,For we are no fond remembranceAs any fold of a paper. We dined on each otherIn the wake of smallest hours.Climbed upon the other,Stepped closerFor solace in the other’s view. We restedIn…
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HopingFor small sign of a fossilWhen your eyes were buried,Where your clothes were scattered,While your bandages were bloodied.A torn raven’s featherLays upon my fractured shoulderLikening to the fog that mountsTo the coldest sadness. Face your small nestOf loss,Where ocean after heavy oceanCan weigh more your eyesThan your heart,Than your soul. Feed your fireThe stains you…
Modern Romanticism 