Modern Romanticism

My eyes show tears you’ll come to forget

In the many years

That follow you, and follow me, through the nighttime

Scenery.

Life has not been kind

To you.

It is because

Of the life you chose,

Being that of those

Who do not follow the tears

Wherever they go.

Whenever they show

Burns beneath the lids,

Burns from friction, continuous rubbing

By hands,

You will go.

You won’t follow the streams, nor even the rivers

I’ve created, from my sadness.

You will simply go.