Modern Romanticism

When all colors have left a heart

That filled with the petals

Of a different world,

It is her, I see

With a painted stare upon pained hands

That hug her barren shoulders.

I have attempted

To lick away tears, so shallow as a substance

Beside a dried lake.

I sat at the edge, counting what she let go

To fill a void.

Tears are infinite

To a woman without fondness

In looking over shoulders without the hand to stop her.

Upon the white

Of a ghost deep in an erased mind,

I find

Only the path to a thorn

Covered with ice.

When all the world comes to see

Who had shed

The world’s leaves, from the trees

For an Autumnal ocean

To be wild as her,

We will face the gloom

In knowing eyes had been closed to the doing so.

Of a heart jumped by tension’s touch,

There is communion,

There is bread,

There is a woman wed

To the moon,

Black as it may be when it, too, is eclipsed.