Modern Romanticism

There is death around,

Stuck in the stench, upon nostrils around.

What ways to see the ground, for what it truly bleeds

When empathy cries a greater noise

Than ever does life, when it leaves.

Empathy holds instruments, as loud as the fate of others

Upon the turn of their eyes away from coming death,

For what they soon breathe, is love’s own sweet breath.

Beauty has many reasons to cry,

Though only one way.

The shoulder of a meteorite must receive the hand

For it to crash.