Modern Romanticism

Our light

Originates from beyond the Heavens,

Or so I am told.

I cannot believe in anything higher than love.

What leaves, besides the light from her eyes?

What departs, besides the life that goes astray?

Even in death, she kills me.

I hang from her retinas,

The bold light and me,

To stare at the skies

Makes me wonder, contemplate, and ponder

The stories told in unlimited passageways.

The tunnels through her mind,

Make their trails to her heart

To create a labyrinth

For my starvation,

For my thirst.

I love what could be loved

By God above,

For her story is a long one,

As He is vast,

As He is long

As her darkened gaze find a way to a grave

To take its place on a pedestal

For simple admiration

Of a thousand faces who see the same.