Writing
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Like love never wore proudlyThe mark of you,To sootheThe dark of you,Leaving flickers to set you to sleep,My deepest romance,Kissing you, under the vowTo never departFrom the heart, of you. I can restDeep below your shadow,Leaving drops to count a new light,Falling from my eyes,In tearstained loyalty. Your words,Your eyesAre to my every obedience.I love…
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SafetyEludes the shores,Of your form in the twist,Of your shades to be kissed,Of your wakefulnessHere to be missed. When you open your mouthTo breathe your horrors,Call through to me,When I can weep alongsideThe preciousness of you. When you can sighWords that catch the slopeOf sand once fertile,To new beginnings, I will runTowards the holiest sun.…
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How much warmth of summerDo you feel,When I touch you, in your trembling?My hands graze firmYour shoulders, your neck,To breathe in a million starsFrom your weathering eyes. Such coldness,So much oldnessScars you,Tears you down,In fields of waking memory,Bleeding your eyes dry. Feel whole,My bleeding beloved,For the world cannot scorn you,So much as I will warm…
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“Science has no purpose, other than the benefit for the flawed form. Yet, to make the form perfect, is to also make the mind imperfect. We are insane, when we realize not our own limitations.” – Modern Romanticism Mind and body, where the former is perfect, as the latter is not. No science comprehends the…
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Will it,Upon the day when I take youShower me in golden splashes?I want to hold all there is,Of youIn this wilderness of smogOf cities that weep their hatredOver streets made of flame. Will your breath be warm,Of golden arrows to pierce my heart?Will you echo the loudnessOf certain enamoringLucidity? I want youIn these arms,Where I…
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Why ever do rightness unto another, when distrust is gathered upon you, blanketed by those I once did love? It is you I love, yet it is they I am forced to resent. It is you I am forced to say is the most important essence. That, to go back to a former time, would…
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“Why should art be a thing of chaos, when it is a thing of order? Is it not a creation, revealing order, opposite from a causation that reveals chaos and disorder? This would mean that all art, of emotions, so disorderly, can only become order when they are confined to their place.” – Modern Romanticism…
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Wild,Strewn aboutIn nakedness,Leaving me my own tears,Consuming themIn one banquet of fears.How much hollownessFor how many graves? Love is the only worldThat knows not how to leave,Not how to depart,From my withered mind,DauntingAs a single petal at the edgeOf a broken stem.All I have is one candleTo see my faceIn her own. Love is herself,For…
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How ordinaryYou are,When you lift your headTo see the sun has setBeyond the banks of the ocean’s edgeWhere I have placed my lipsTo swallow its indulgenceTo me. How disciplinedThis fable has become,Outlining your form in the rust.How unwiseYou always were,When disease is your new ease. How many momentsOf your heartAre counted, as beats upon the…
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As love,With the subtle breathTo cull the windFrom her heart,With the gentlenessTo conceal the grieving sighsThat bleed out the echoes of goodbyes. Like the summer that never waitedFirmly in the plunging dayTo make the night on her shoulders. Like the winter that forever settledOn her loathing eyes,Forging moments that were never whole. As life,To face…
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Oh, how I have formed youOut of twine for stems,To make of the newest budsYour highest faceWith lips to kiss,With grace to never miss.My eyes are there for you,As your sigh wanders over hills,Believing in wondersWe could not ever kill. We could not ever sweepAll this stabilityFrom our side.We could not erupt volcanoes,Leaving tracesOf blood,…
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Love is the burial Of unkindness, Of my bleeding remorse In the soil. What grows? Who sings Besides her, who sees my swinging Form, in the bringing Of blue upon the deepest seas Of her sadness, To my departure. There is a smile, So deep, and wild, That did leave Me, without breath.
Modern Romanticism 