Modern Romanticism

Wasted tomorrows,
And grueling eternities,
Are in short supply
To the blow that struck upon innocence,
And created the loudest rhythm.
I have emotions, do I not?
I bleed the grandest colors,
To a world that cannot see them,
For they are divided,
Between success and failure.

Love is where we stare
To the sky.
Love is where we reach
To the other end
Of a lone and barren field.
I have come off
A carriage made from teeth and tombstones,
From which flesh was chewed
And death was made an art.
I have come to see where love has been dropped off.

I am immediate,
In my embrace, am I not?

Just a man with something to say
In the ear of a woman without a smile,
Though, coated in the worst denial
That could ever wet her skin.