Modern Romanticism

Was it madness,

Or was it joy?

The fields where you roam,

Picking lilac from the thorns

Causes pain to never cease,

Though only to increase.

For in the shadow of you,

You are as much adorable

As the love I once called out to you

Deep in the grove,

Where pastel-like coloring to leaves,

Among ivory in the moon, above,

Left to me cherry cheeks,

Ruby lips,

To kiss, in the radiant scent

That lifted from your form, to me.

Was it all something I couldn't comprehend?

Was it all a misunderstanding of some importance

I would be able to fathom,

Were you never a ghost,

In the arms of a man, as me?