Writing
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Where so much pain Resides in the Hell, called Earth, I desire no more Than to raise you From where you walked, alone upon the road Where I found you. You beautiful one, Who has broken you? Who shall I cast my vengeance Upon, when my hands are not very gentle? You have wounds, You…
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To be fed, or to be led.To drink the dew that falls freelyFrom her open eyes,Before her mind opens even moreThan ever her heart was closedTo the air,To my stare,To myself, still awareFor her, to be there,Among all the facesThat come to shareTheir tears, and straw-like hairThat both fall into hands, so fair. Like a…
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She sits there With messages to every breath While eyes watch the sky and see death. Love had blown her eyes closed, Though her vision still notices Uncleaned sculptures, and sucking parasites, Deep within Heaven’s walls, Like an artist had never mentioned What a torment it would be To create. Like God would weep mercilessness…
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Two places to weep Of sun and moon, Scorn and solace. Like featherless birds, we shed something for nothing As just the specks that flake from skin, Brushed free from a crown of thorns, For we don’t even bleed. Our bitterness accompanies distress, Fields laced with wire, Our forms were disturbed without shelter, Without care.…
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Should you die,Could you bury me with you?I’d like to not re-lift the memoriesDeep from undergroundIn my mind,For my pain has already surfacedFrom beneath an oceanOf the same tears we have both sailed uponBeneath starless skies. Love is the finality of our great devotion,And death has been its greatest enemy.Like two petals to cross either…
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Make me bleed Over thee The running wine from wrists that hold captives Riding endless currents To their bitterness. I have become one of my own, As just merely a vessel in these wrists. Love was once all we had For ourselves, And now I am fixated on the endless hurt, The endless war In…
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Like each pang of burn, Like every drop of sweat, To be hung From my cheeks, from my chin, There is you in mind For no reason at all. For I cannot discern The origin of this feeling. I cannot tell From what Hell, This anger springs from. It is just there And will not…
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When the tears stop flowing From the two sponges kept in sockets Floating atop lakes, Nestled before a mind, Where I gave up the sight for life, And the only vision before me Is a fleeting one. I saw her form, Bleeding upon the shore. Shells were fleeing From their mother. She was the broken…
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My poetry manuscript got accepted by a local publisher in my state’s county. I am thrilled about this. Perhaps I can finally get past my past, and focus on the future, for once. 🙂
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If I was never a poet, Pain would be so easy to feel. If I was never a poet, I would not care to see the outline of your face Embedded deep in memory. If I was never a poet, I’d not have fingers to press buttons Merged in the emotions, where I let tears…
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I have no right to speak To the one I have crippled. To the one I have slain, To the one I have drained Of all her tears, in the next day when she Will come to kiss death, And speak aloud to the open, Words that berate upon when I hear them, Words that…
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She gave into the choice, Not by what I offered, Ever offered To her cold and collapsed heart. The choice to seal a noose about her throat, The choice to strangulate the remaining love From the stillest ruby. From the ruby with the least gleam, The least shine, The least sheen. A little blackness hovered…
Modern Romanticism 