Where has that classic romantic gone?
The one that writes lines of poetry on paper, on skin
The soulful sway of the heart, taking out time to separate
Away from the world
Within the world
Like the feel of music under the skin
In the veins warbling its majestic tune against the chilled goose-flesh of feeling
The heart on the sleeve
On the chest
In the mouth.
Gravity its working against me
Taking away my breath
Collapsing my wild heart under the suffocating weight
Of that ragtime dime
That jaunting beat of social feet
Pulling me against the current
To a colder tune
Something somber filled with the lonely blues.
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 12:07 AM UTC
Where has that classic romantic gone?
The one that writes lines of poetry on paper, on skin
The soulful sway of the heart, taking out time to separate
Away from the world
Within the world
Like the feel of music under the skin
In the veins warbling its majestic tune against the chilled goose-flesh of feeling
The heart on the sleeve
On the chest
In the mouth.
Gravity its working against me
Taking away my breath
Collapsing my wild heart under the suffocating weight
Of that ragtime dime
That jaunting beat of social feet
Pulling me against the current
To a colder tune
Something somber filled with the lonely blues.
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