bruised cufflinks, scarred trousers
bleeding ties, marks of violence bear
featherless fedora, kicked-in once too often
lumps and bumps seen ‘midst thinning hair
life in the cosa nostra’s romanticized
~ eviction notices served traumatized
The proposal would be outlined using a strategic written document.
"Trotts Folly" the business needed an achievement passement and
analysis, so that those who would serve on the board of chairmen
could vote on. The name likely reflects the romanticized, nostalgic,
and popular era it was developed in.;"The Trotts Folly Classic" an
event without details provides insight to what is expected.. Lender will use
the finacail plan to do analysis, a view of past performances and projections.
They told a story of several guy's at a party getting there Woman friends to tie Pigfeet bones into the word love you. It made the unmarried angry, it made the unwanted jealous it made some just plain mad.
In a world of wizards, I chose Malfoy.
Among superheroes, I chose Loki.
Among gods, I chose Medusa.
They say villains are often misunderstood—
that their pain outweighs a hero’s motive for peace.
But that’s not quite it, is it?
Villains were crushed to the depths of the earth,
yet they learned to grow in the dark.
They carried their cuts deep within their hearts,
tending them just enough
not to bleed—
until their reasoning felt complete.
And the world romanticized their suffering,
glorified their agony.
They were cursed,
and still chose to rise.
They were taught there was only one throne to sit on,
only one supreme power to attain,
only one man fit to rule the world.
And sometimes—
they folded before a woman,
forgetting empires, crowns, revenge and conquest
for the sake of love.
So don’t blame me when I choose a villain.
Because in doing so, I choose his desires,
his potential,
and the entirety of who he is—
not just the scars he bares
damp cold air
it’s finally that time of year
delicate cloudy skies
makes me want to cry
the most romanticized
in someone’s life
A quarter rest breathed into my consciousness, a playful pretense of a warm hand gently placed above my heart, calming my sedulous spirit.
—by the Poet
When Paris Was All The Rage
Slow sound of the sax; I lay back
and listen to good-old-day lyrics,
when Paris was all the rage,
and the time of love has past
for the old maid sipping wine
on a sidewalk café; staring,
are we, into the eyes of a painting
rainy and colorful; romanticized
by the simmering sound of the sax;
its notes buoyant on the Seine.
Raindrops of gray, blue and cherry
blossom; a scant smile on red lips,
reminiscing the fading beau and hours;
clicking heels and handsome dress.
Sedate and cocksure lyrics and vocables
regulate my heart, warm my pulse points.
A voice croons, as the ‘phonist’s fingers gyrate,
tingling all the senses; cabernet dimmer switch.
The worst day is never quite as bad
The best day always better
The valleys never near as deep
The mountains even higher
Its not optimistic fervor
Or romanticized observation
Its simply the effect you have on me
Every time you trust me more
Yes it's true you're beautiful
And sinfully sweet as well
But none of that holds a candle
To the way you lean on me without fail
I promised never to run away
But that seemed a slight cheat
If I'm honest
Because while you may think it's noble
Its the easiest thing I've ever done
So you may worry that I'll run away
Anxious you'll over share
But the only thing that worries me
Is that you won't when you know I'm there
I don't help because I have to
Not even to fill a want
But the reason that I do it
Is I can't imagine my life without
mirror on the wall reflects my pain
it is a witness of my harsh reality
the pain i romanticized about someone
is a fake reflected image of my thoughts
the pain i never wished to tear my flesh
is the real persona i try to hide
More recently, l’ve romanticized the idea of falling in love through silence.
Maybe it's because my mother pushes love on me through her tongue.
Maybe it's because I prefer the inner monologue of myself rather than what I think others perceive me as.
I don't want to faze the mind of whom
I desire by saying I do not wish to be loved by my exterior at all (in both appearance and demeanor). Although I find that,
according to my standards,
consciousness is more amusingly complex, and therefore more significant.
My dilemma: submission to another mind.
To truly know someone, do I have to force
my mind's sermon out of its cocoon?
If my comfort only ranges to falling in love
in silence, how important can my words be?
The easy answer may be to ignore the statement made about either account,
although my soul does not let me.
Tragic.
It may be impossible to find
another to be happily desolate with.
Note: Falling in love does not equal the concepts of marriage, sex, or romance.
In my version of equality, a blink of an eye
might cast the same spell.
You see him in photos of black and white,
standing atop logs drawn by big horses,
he wears a thick wool to stay winter’s bite,
almost as this as the draft team’s courses.
Then he’s in a shack built in the forest,
a table with food made by the cookie,
no time for talking, and no time for rest,
has to shovel down the countless calories.
He’ll burn them nothing big trunks with his ace,
he and another worker the cross-cut saw,
the days brings a strain to shoulder and back,
but it keep shim warm in weather so raw.
Romanticized photos, this I’ll allow,
but more rewarding than what we do now…
To the girl that got away:
I want you to know that I never intended to create any distance between us or make you feel like our reality fell short of the romanticized version I portrayed in my writing. I want to assure you that the stories I wrote were never meant to replace or diminish our own unique journey together. They were simply an attempt to capture the depth of my feelings for you in a creative way. But I now realize that the "you" I had and the "you" I wrote were two completely separate people.
I wanted to leave the world behind,
But she said, "I want our story to be romanticized".
So I buried us alive, side by side.
The sun painted the lake
in redness,
while the wind weakened
abandoned the dry leaves to
own fortune...
A thousand birds went to hide
from the brown fire...
All mesmerized, yearning for the night...
I, affable prentice poet
I simply enraptured romanticized
the show...!
The weather around is quite cold sometimes,
The glorious plants are now a frozen sight.
The always angry sea is locked in a frigid bite,
The beautiful sky is now grey, black and white.
The sound of happiness is now pitch silence and cries,
The oh so twinkling stars are now a sight for the sore eyes.
The crackling laughter now comes in a disguise,
Once wise thoughts are now depressing lines,
This always romanticized cold is now my dreadful state of mind.
Satan’s dealing with King David
Would have God made livid
And then came Ruling David’s ‘Sorry’
That God gave back His Glory
And a bit pleasant The Gory,
Hittite quit in a hurry.
Satan still spared David not
And king scored another Naught:
Famished Bread of Presence ate;
What then could determine Fate.
Goliath’s Sword he’d criticized
He later romanticized
“There is none like it”
Just, to escape King Saul’s pit
Saul’s Doeg The Edomite
To whom his life matched a mite…
Not long would count Whole Israel,
Even as Joab tried to rail;
Did not forget Shimei’s curse:
Solomon should his life pause!
Satan’s dealing with King David
Would have God made livid
And then came Ruling David’s ‘Sorry’
That God gave back His Glory
And a bit pleasant The Gory,
Hittite quit in a hurry.
Satan still spared David not
And king scored another Naught:
Famished Bread of Presence ate;
What then could determine Fate.
Goliath’s Sword he’d criticized
He later romanticized
“There is none like it”
Just, to escape King Saul’s pit
Saul’s Doeg The Edomite
To whom his life matched a mite…
Not long would count Whole Israel,
Even as Joab tried to rail;
Did not forget Shimei’s curse:
Solomon should his life pause!
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