Modern Romanticism

What a treat,

What a romance

To have the entrance, of a worn and bruised heart

That does not know

What path,

What vein,

To choose for the long road.

It is all endless to her,

All belonging to the infinity in her confusion.

She bleeds inescapable roads

At her feet.

She grows tears like stalks under her eyes,

That burn when they swell.

I am in love

With utter grief

And lonely pain.

There are more tears, than there are lakes

To swim.

For I bleed a river for you to cross,

But you set sail.

Nothing that I do

Will be a shore for you.