Modern Romanticism

And what seat have I placed myself
When beside me, seats only a space?
My Queen had bled
A drop of melted snow into the soil,
And its color was red.

For a King with his vulnerable self
Is merely a man.

I dreamed sweetness, of softness
Before the morning arose,
And when it died,
I imagined the sun as your rising face,
Delighted to see me.

I flood now tears to the pillow
Beneath my aching head.
Like a wilderness above my brow,
I hold negligence to myself,
In the many uncut tresses,
As though my tears are watering the wildness
Of my pain.

Late, when knights in armor turn to part,
I see shadows in their black attire,
And a woman’s form in the shadows.

I see merely the protection that still has kept me
Away from handling my fate.