Modern Romanticism

She wore a white flag

Pierced on her delicate bosom,

For some man of surrender

Annexed her form, during one dim night.

She wore her eyes,

Worn down to be discolored.

She wore her cheeks,

Swollen with the bruises of hands.

She wore her lips,

Always quivering beneath the moon.

Most of all,

She wore her tears

Like jewels across upon her discolored eyes,

To cross her bruised cheeks,

To end at her shaking lips.

I feel like the man who loved,

Pretended to love,

Pretended to care,

Pretended to dare, to be aware

Of one woman's Hell from above.

A white flag,

To be heartbroken with age,

Surrendering to the world around,

To all falling sounds,

To what leaves fire

Upon ships made of the same debris

That smeared her face.