Modern Romanticism

Let me haunt your flesh

To rise from its place beneath

Soil and trees.

I want to see how pale you've become,

Of how solemn your eyes have been stained,

Of how wishful your voice has hurried itself,

Of how morbid it is,

That those tears of yours merely hang there

To never fall.

Why has the sky passed a cloud

Not to storm,

Though give me you?

Why have such droplets come down

Singing frail verses, as upright epitaphs,

Though never yours?

Will you truly weep

When the curtain closes

To the shores of your life,

Where wind grows faster than the stems root up

To see where God left His kingdom.

Love leaves a liquid trail

For you to follow

Towards the ocean, so hollow,

Where trumpets flair,

When evenings dare

For another kiss to be piled against

The beauty that does not change, against the tide.