Modern Romanticism

They, who crawled, naked, in grief,
Were beside the forests, in failing sleep.
Sinister shadows, were their playmates,
Begging unto God, for piety’s absence.

I slew, their lives, in amass,
Emptied their reflections, in glass.
For she, who called me abroad,
To taste the banquet, of my dreams.

She was, to the sinister playthings,
A toy, to behold, for their musings.
I sold, a love, for a lonely hour,
Folded plenty, the songs of shame.

Her music, which lifted, my fire,
Drew blood, into my desire.
I gave up, the world, for the stars,
Knew the beginning, for the almighty end.

She waved, a gentle hand, to me near,
Caused the tears, to erupt, in unquiet fear.
I singled out the prey, one by one,
Not for God, but for Heaven’s wrath.

For a beauty, to be in my name,
Is to me, a release of shame.
I gave the clinging, to her undying folds,
Of a dress, where children, threw their tears.