In your honor,
Or in your horror,
In the fable of a devotion, upon a wreath that decorates
Your forehead and brow.
In the many words uttered on the tablet,
My mouth walks in the wild, of a forest made for the lost.In moments, keeping with your position
In history’s books, adorning the walls,
Upon the bookcases,
Adorning the halls
That are set along the road in your mind,
Where darkness surrounds,
I bleed for you,
I grieve for you,
I weep for you.In moments, when I recall the deepest of words
Pledged to you,
Tears stream to form lakes on my lap.In moments, when I can see your eyes, as one the sun,
And the other, the moon,
I choose the moon for my tears.Love has always been the raindrops that trail on their own paths
Across the many tresses
Atop your head.
Love has been
The many ways,
To see you.For the world seems to choose its way
Upon the death of your day.
Modern Romanticism 
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