Modern Romanticism

The faltering

She's thrown to the moon.

The tears

She has dropped to the Earth.

The ridicule

She has received from the sun.

All this, and then some

To remind me of what could not be won.

I bleed from arms that hold only empty air

Poured from my leaking throat

That has been slit to the gleam of blood

Marking a trail for her to follow.

I want to envision

What I have only ever imagined

To be her suffering

In a new light.

Perhaps when sunrise

Can capture itself, in radiance

Over her lovely face,

I won't shield myself.

Her beauty was once a place to escape

From the world's woes,

Thrown upon my shoulders, like thickening snow.

Why not warmth,

Like the thickest pelt, cover me

While I douse myself in the falling light

Of her face, turned from the night?