Collection of 10 Poems – Romance Poetry – Stylistically Written – Love/Shame/Grief

Poem #1

Empty Yearning

There is emptiness in wishes,
As with the berries on your cheeks,
You would dance before God’s night,
To glorify the beauty of mornings.

Not to hold the dear,
Shores plundered by softness,
Empty hands of wishes,
Requesting the most wanted.

I was nothing to the Lord,
Empty, within the realms of Love,
Then, a bird arrived beside me.
In the form, of doom.

It was a gleaming trepidation,
Met by grief, and yearning,
Here, to bathe, to drink,
Pleasured to think of misery.

Though, I’m grateful for the gift,
Grateful for the thoughts.

Still, your eyes will weep,
For the wishes remain empty.

Poem #2

Remembrances, Drunk with Desire

Muses will bend lower to dynasty,
Serpents to show their deceit,
Grown over with thorns of Christ,
Birthed by fragrant bushes of red petals.

Men, who offer temptations,
Will birth only pain in her womb,
They become sad inside desire,
When drunk by this lonely choice.

When I stepped into her night,
I was within the dark,
Surrounded by walls of oak,
Pierced by echoes of a void.

There was misery folding upon me,
She poured a new day into dawn,
When I woke, I was lost,
Lost within the memory of Loss.

She, at last, gave guilt to God,
Called up the waves to Heaven,
Made wine from lead,
Gold from water.

Sickened, to see the ending,
Of a miserable afternoon.

Here, I lay, frozen, and shallow,
With a petal laid in my palm.

Poem #3

Petals Laid in Tears

You mourned the frozen wastes,
With tranquil beliefs, that shaped worlds,
I knew the ending to your plight,
But saw only my life in twists.

There is beauty in every love,
With statues cast from marble,
Risen towards the emerald,
In forests, of secret safety.

With the illusion that dips a leaf,
Adorned with petals, and thorns,
Into the silk of a woman’s breast,
I find the essences of worship…

…and those that destroy,
Shall break the evening tide.

With glances of blue,
Skin of ivory,
You shall wear a crown,
Dressed in simplicity.

There were moments, that were holy,
But, the meager silence that sought,
To poison the fruit above us,
Rained discolored wine, instead.

The joys that lovers hold dear,
Are naught, but ashes and snow.
Soft, with blessings of sadness,
Departure for the listless.

If I wished for the nothing,
My love shall grow anew.

Poem #4

I Bore the Fruit of Living

Messages of safety,
Were to me as dust.

They knew nothing of my torment,
A fevered woe begotten by silence,
In every winter paradise,
There is only the blooming ice.

I gave my pride to Satan,
Told Him to salvage the shame.

He said, “Thou shalt salvage plenty,
Should thou see pride for thyself.”

I cast my eyes towards my soul,
And, with humility, felt reborn.
Humility left me wanting,
Yet, to Satan, the intent was known.

He saw my burthened body,
And, he drew marks upon my back.

Shaped as symbols of ungodliness,
Left me crude, buried in a chamber.

I knew not of the untold moments,
That She offered to Adam.
Lilith, the Queen of Drear,
Pleasured my mighty disaster.

She spilled the kindest sympathy,
Took my hand, and said,
“Thou, with ignorance as pride,
Could only shower Love,
If Love was thy motive,
For pride to be born.”

Confused, I began to walk,
With hands at my side.

My face stern, my heart black.
I talked to God, once more.

He said, with commanding tone,
“If thou shall shoulder the grief,
That is the choice of thy own self.”
And, I began on a trek.

Everywhere, the leaves were frosted,
Quivering under the shade,
They spoke of whispers, belittling my mind.
So, I spoke heavily.

“I shall live not by either, or neither,
The world, is under command to me,
The world cannot, but bow to hands,
Hands, of frozen pride, and love.”

It was then, that the Heavens opened.
I saw, with tearful eyes,
The new moon, with a pale face,
She knew of my sins.

She was the identity to my soul,
The mere glistening of my winter.

Poem #5

Pitiful Plentitude

What would you gain,
From anguish-born love?
The great symphony of iron,
Drew the gates closed,
And, I knew the path forward,
Towards the closing hour.

If I centered our agony,
Within a martyred circle,
Of lonely subjects,
They’d ascertain your worth.

Here, Gods pity withered beauty,
Born from naked desire,
Aflame by unwelcomed distress,
And, I mesmerize your loneliness.

To die, is to be cured,
That, with ancient illness,
The pale that falls off your body,
Is all my emptiness, ascertained.

I shall be the drinker,
To this weary afternoon.

The morning of terrible frost,
Broken now upon the shores,
Ripples within lakes,
Scum within ponds,
There is none like the nothing,
That frowned upon the withered.

Come towards the plate of silver,
Anguish, and Holiness are known.

Strive for certainty, measure our distance,
Grief shall be your brush.

You’ll believe in what you wish,
Kept secret by empty shells.

The withered, Almighty God,
Was to you, the lover of souls.

Now, I draw close to me a cloth,
Ripe with a loving blackness.

And, I keep the distance close,
The pity, to whom I loved.

Poem #6

The Sheltered Parlor

Here, Beauty is stained,
She waltzed past me,
Carrying thorns for a rose,
I stood watching,
The eagerness of old.
I kept love driving,
The winter sleet.

The agony, the desire,
The piercing mire,
Of a flamed breast,
Sought my destruction before.
The beast within, trembled,
She, as well, knew well.

All my knowing,
To be inducted by her grief.
Showers notes on a heart,
Within this cage to a soul.

And so, I approached,
With lifeless eyes of white.
“Come to the parlor,
As is my request,
There should be many colors,
To which the night shall dream.”

She took the offer strange,
Yet, to my eye, I was received.

She bought the love well.

I, was sentenced to death.

She, was sentenced to injury,

Inside a cauldron of romance.

With these lifeless eyes,
I admired her garb.

Pigmented with violet,
Adorned by fleece,
Her hair, a color of rye,
And skin, all to the ghostly.

The parlor was my realm,
There was yet, one candle,
With a heated glow,
That seemed to have frozen.

At once,
I drew her in,
I kissed with passion.

A woman met my lips,
With the agony of worship.

The fire beside the chair,
To which I placed her body,
Grew in form, and hues,
Greatly alighted her eyes.

They were not terrified,
Nor, even distraught.

Rather, her eyes were shifting,
Between my two pupils.

One was blue, the other gray.
One alive, the other blind.

She, at once, compared the moment,
To that which comforted my soul.

The screams she bellowed,
Not of fear, but of understanding.
Were to me, a symbol of reprieve,
From the numbness of my mind.

I felt pity, deep within,
And I drew beside me,
The emptiness to which my soul languished.

Poem #7

Watered Down with Envy

Sail with me, the oceans of white,
Up skip the fishes that dance.

Ahead is an island of gold,
Where our desires will grow.
And, in the meadows,
Our dreams will flourish.

Again, with your shallow words,
To shadow the day’s arrival,
Only pour thy grief overboard,
There, Poseidon will feed.

The sun grew the needless rays,
Over our glowing faces.

Then, swept the tears to sea,
Beneath stars of tranquility.

Do not wither in your pleading,
The great moon knows no dread,

The weeping of women,
Was to me, the sign of hope.

Here the waters are crystal,
The beauty marked on your lids,
Graces run over your back,
As many auburn tresses.

I was not the one to mourn,
As the resolve twists up sounds.

My place of envy,
Was the room of August,
That gives sailors their sworn judgement.

To die, or to flee,
Is a wish buried in me.

There is nothing to hold, but the sails,
That have held the colors of your heart.

Poem #8

The Empty, Shivering Soil

Beauty takes the shape,
Of a listless body.

You were the hope that sprung,
From the grasses of summer.
To weep, to mourn,
To give love, aplenty,
Is the shower of time,
That ends in desire.

I call to God for help,
He requests my silence.

The breathing that vanished,
Still, I hold for wishes granted.

There was beauty in her,
Now, cold in graven soil.

She emptied her stars into youth,
Able to forsake my lust,
Never wanted the blessings shed,
For the lifting of a strong love.

In our arms, the memories transpire,
Into old pictures, of portraits heavy,
She said the love shall last,
To the coming morn’.

Now, in my arms, is only a soul,
She, who used to drive the wind.

I desired nothing,
But the salvation to a treasure,
And, to fit the gilded frame,
Around a sizable coffin.

Poem #9

Measured in Winter’s Grief

Here, Love is known,
By the freckles of your cheeks,
You were lost in a memory,
Of old terrors.
Never worshipping any, but the ones,
Who offered their spirits.

I was golden, and you were stone,
I offered a different sympathy,
To the woe of a frozen heart.
Pitiful, by God’s Holy Kingdom.

You gave uncertainty, as expected,
So, I continued in strength.

There was much to abhor,
And, yet much to adore.
I lingered among your silk,
With runes of old words.

Grief stained a transparent heart,
Pained with a forgetful beauty,
The joys, I remain close,
Only offer a symbol of shame.

Yes, I offered a sympathy,
To a heart I knew well.

Nothing could tremble the Passion,
To which you offered kindness,
When I offered Love.

Poem #10

She Laid Uncertain in Arms

There was once joy that shivered,
In the form of a woman,
She delighted at my roses,
But, soon grew into dislike.

She reveled in my undertaking,
Of a renewed guilt.

Across the fields of dewdrops,
Where the pleasures remain old,
I caressed a body that froze,
Beside a fallen petal.
This petal, crushed by weight,
Of her body, and eyes!

Her eyes were the color of venom,
The message was that of doubt.

Were she to express it aloud,
I’d have fallen into tantrums,
For the symbol of worship,
In me, was only a miserable God.
I was desirous once more,
Ample were my passions.

She grew pitiful to my expressions!
Drew me close into a light bosom.

I spoke a lament,
In the form of despair,
“Fair lover, the harbored guilt,
Of a love, that was pure,
Seems to have given all to Satan,
With his realm of lust.”

Thus, I continued, further increasing my tone,
She emptied tears from porcelain eyes.

“Here lays the broken petal,
Pressed by a weighted body,
There, lays the broken petal,
A token to a broken love.
I cannot continue,
For the grief maddens me!”

At once, she wept, more so than before,
I held this body, which seemed as ashes.

She cried, with tears I knew not,
To be bitter, or sweet,
Here, she brought a face to mine,
Laid kisses many, kisses plenty,
I looked, yes, I looked!
To the petal, that was broken.

It regrew as a rose, of violet and pink,
It remains as the symbol to loyalty.


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