Modern Romanticism

In the arms of the moon
I see a reflection deep in the white
Of an emptiness.

Her tears come down upon cheeks of the same hue
Of no hue.
I kiss them in the haze of a winter's sunset
For her to rise to blanket the night
Without direction for her light.

Just a bleakness
That encompasses the world over,
In the firm void.

I want to love,
To hold the woman of my knowing.
Though, her depression holds shoulders of its own.
She finds herself
Awed by misery.

When will the circle form a box?
A mere moon to find a home,
In the arms of something else than the sheer pain
That causes silver to run their courses over ivory cheeks,
Deep in the molded twilight.

Could I allow love to tread its way
To your hollow self?

To all that you wish, of me, to heed
Of a man whose limbs are astray
From the morning's light.