Modern Romanticism

Everything has a place, in this agony,

Where winds are swept from wings,

As eyes can enjoy the loss.

Please let your cross down

From your milk-white neck.

I wish to hold you

As we cross the void.

My love, to the eternity where we go

To step low

To feel Nature's breath,

For how it creates death.

Offer my pain, your aroma,

Your fragrant field,

Your eyes, the shield.

I wish to be unlike what I am,

Upon where I stand, the sands.

The desert holds not even a flower,

But you.

I cannot escape my escapism

In these frozen hours.

Your face is a thorn,

Upon where I am worn

To the tears within the years

Of another mile to walk.

What can life be,

Without currents to dive,

Without death to arrive?