Modern Romanticism

Turn back to face
The storm that does not leave,
For that is where you feel truest
Without me.
I watch from the clouds
To sense darkness in the shroud
That encases your temples,
That throws over your light,
Smothers your sight,
In the agonies you face, in those deep dreams,
In the findings you did forecast, before they came.

Sing a song of round petals,
Grieving waters to your hands,
When covering your thirsty eyes,
Lonely where they watch
The storm at your feet,
Created by the fallen droplets.

Whatever you see
Cannot help but to plea
A storm to come calling
Waters down to your heels
When life has no more death to steal.

You seem to weep whenever the sounds erase
Any humanity from your heart,
Watchful as the storm will start,
As the rain descends through the currents
Of all the wars you drown
With the makeshift peace you implore.

Magnificence is your elegance
When life erases its own color.

You are the bleach within the mire,
Erasing color to grow higher.