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Richard Blackrose

About me

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NY, NY, us
About me:
One of the great loves of my life told me once that she'd always saw me living in a Medieval castle on a hill, and that she thought of me as a romantic anachronism who stepped out of the pages of Le Morte D'Arthur. I care little for fortune or fame, my raison d'Ăªtre is "love above all." My life's quest now is to find one last great love, the woman I'll share the rest of my days with. I enjoy books, ballet, poetry, opera, plays, movies, travel, music, gourmet cuisine, pumping serious iron, CRPG's and, (being a Radical Moderate), making fun of Liberals and Conservatives. I'm a romantic poet of very modest talent and an aspiring professional caliber screenwriter who is working to replace aspiring with successful.
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"Language has not the power to speak what love indites; the soul lies buried in the ink that writes." (John Clare) Once Once, on a night such as only poets dream of, she who became everything offered me the precious gift of her body and we made perfect love under the mantle of a million incandescent stars. But, if she had given me her heart instead… we could have walked among them. All Roads But One All roads but one would I have forsaken, but you bar my passage through. So I must leave that choice untaken, the path that leads to you. Yet I can't help but wonder as I refrain, when you stand at last on eternity's cliff, will you then remember our untrod lane, and lamenting, cry, "What if?" Sometimes I Dream Sometimes I dream... and we're together again on that perfect night when Fate smiled upon the conjunction of two yearning souls. Seduced by the urgent need in each other's eyes, we embrace! Oh sweet release of desire too long denied. Our warm bodies intertwine and pulses quicken in rapturous bliss, moving to the rhythm of passion's synchronous harmony. Then I wake...and once again, she's gone. With infinite longing and quiet despair, I whisper her name to an empty room. Tears And Time I weep gray tears of futility; my empty bed whispers, "Too late!" So many hopes of her never to be, quixotic tapestries shredded by fate. All that I am lies within her name, but all she has left me is time. Now each night I bleed memory's pain, I cannot forgive that once she was mine. I had cast my net into a barren sea, that she loved me not this I must own. Our love was a dream real only to me, she shares my heart...but I love alone. Tears On Paper I stumbled across one of her letters this morning words long forgotten in the back of a drawer lost in the back of my memories the soul of a young girl laid bare her heart freely offered to her lover offered for forever. {"I want it all to be so perfect and beautifully written, but though the thoughts come I can't find the right words, the correct phrases. If you were here with me right now all this would not be necessary. You'd take me in your arms, I'd look into your eyes and then we'd kiss, and then you give me one of your ever so gentle kisses on my forehead. Everything is so muddled, let me make it simple. I love you, and want you and need you desperately, and if you want me, I'll be with you always, every night when go to sleep, and there in the morning to wake you with a kiss."} Upon her words I wept long, bitter and deep not for myself never, NEVER, for myself but for this beautiful girl I hurt so badly whose only mistake was to love me to foolishly love me. Tears on paper remembering two years later her tears in the rain. All That I Have I cannot offer youth; that is no longer mine to give. I cannot offer innocence; too much of life have I lived. I cannot offer a body firm; for the flesh has begun to betray. I cannot offer an unceasing bed; that bounty belongs to yesterday. I cannot offer infinite dreams; time has left me but a few to share. I cannot offer more than I am; duplicity leads but to despair. All that I have to offer thee, is the man that before you, stands; and a love that will forever be yours, alone, a love thrice what most men will e'er understand. That I Did Naught To Gain Her That I did naught to gain her, she, who was ever all, that I prayed for her love, she, who heard not love's call, that I sheltered her from my passion's storm, though my world crumbled from love's distraction, is because I loved her as I did, I loved her beyond my ego's satisfaction. That I did naught to gain her, though I could have shook the world with my screams, that I hid my pain in endless night, and never walked among her dreams, that I worshiped her in verse she'll never see, when each word remembered we're apart, is because I loved her pure and true, I'd sooner died than hurt her with my heart. The Chance We Never Had The chance we never had, is the dream that will not die, unceasing desire chasing impossible love, absolute obsession deified. That for one brief moment she was in my arms, that she eagerly came into my embrace, that she once willingly lay open before me, for me, her gift time can never erase. Now unable to end what she was afraid to begin, I will ever abide by her heart's portal, joy is ephemeral, but sorrow ever endures, thus love unrequited becomes love immortal.

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