Modern Romanticism

She sits there

With messages to every breath

While eyes watch the sky and see death.

Love had blown her eyes closed,

Though her vision still notices

Uncleaned sculptures, and sucking parasites,

Deep within Heaven’s walls,

Like an artist had never mentioned

What a torment it would be

To create.

Like God would weep mercilessness

Outside His own range

To allow the murderer to Heaven.

Here is a woman,

Dead upon arrival

To the doorstep of a funeral,

To the doorstep of a church

That had awaited.

Her fall

Was a quiet one,

Pain and simplicity

Was hers to keep

Close to heart.