Modern Romanticism

Begin to write my name above the line you have drawn,

In the crushed stone,

In the sand.

When the hurricane comes to take the waves

To the bloody shores,

It will be graceful,

So wasteful.

It will be the modern looseness

Of all my ways

Hurried across ebony and ivory landscapes,

Of all my slewing destruction.

Fading into the Hellish interior of my form,

I have become washed

Among the streets,

Beneath the streets,

Beneath my feet.

I still the wars before me

With the trivial of me,

As you will write my name in the sand,

Upon the bloody shores,

To finally taste freedom, once more.

To finally say to the skies

That the lie did not take me,

To finally say to those lands before me,

That my mind was cleared

When the rope was tied about my feet

Not to be undone,

When the moon carries forth

To lift the current against its nostrils

For whatever face it wears.