Oh! The Praise of The Romantics

By Jayden Taing

Oh! The praise of the Romantics (By Jayden Taing):

And thus, I write your name into stone,

Yet, your kin belittle your name.

Worn, worth, truly found within,

And yet beyond glassy rouge she stands, absent minded in a trance,

For sainted names are dust, yet our hands create storm.

Centrepiece O' it all, and yet, here I stand.

Ego, yet he clinged till death,

Fingers wrapped round his quill,

And yet, as he, unamused with the tale,

Anchor, to the tinny and whale,

Soon to the penny of proud shinny blue,

A stunted belittle, tickled chest,

Down to the earth he was brought anew.

Thus they charged, O’ forsworn is we,

Yet unbeknownst to them, into the sea.

Before the one yet after the deux, lovely land no longer new.

With cries and shouts of hear galore,

Under the night as babies snore,

As the men, they sunk with wicked in their eyes.

True respite found within, never dies.

For as death to some and lays to rest,

Others seek the last mortal breath.

The oceans red and the streets were too,

Lovely rouge, and as through you.

And lovely cried with scourges gore,

Crumbled cries into a weep.

Underneath the void she saw,

And fell into endless sleep.

Soon enough, they took the town,

Of peaceful idle dream.

And tore it down to there upon,

To the sound of infants' scream.

To whisk aways should be my dream,

And yet, as I stand alone, my dear,

Those yet kiss their eyes of green,

And linger in the curtain seam,

Beyond the crowd shaven, driven applause,

Unto the eyes of many liars.

Instead O’ flee and run and expire,

Inevitable to this again.

I ask, my dearest angel high,

For one small favour, I require,

My name as is, etched in stone,

Not water earth or fire.

As soon as I step out of skin,

Out of cage of blood and tire,

I'll reach the gates of which I'll stand ready for the fire.

By Jayden Taing