Modern Romanticism

Keep thy aromatic form within the soil,

Anointed in oils,

To which the priests did select.

You were given praise by those of God,

For I am meager, in contrast.

My love is nothing, it seems

To His own.

Reincarnate yourself, in His womb,

In His paradise.

Leave the rest behind

In the dismal leaves, when times rewinds

To see each memory upon those eyes.

I soldier myself across the wastes

Without you, in my arms.

I face the grief, and the pain

With only a beating shell.

Nothing whole remains

Upon the mountain of dirt, that is my bosom.

It is hollow,

It is shallow,

Like the grave where I left you.