Modern Romanticism

Piloted tensions,
Overwhelming decisions
To create the flames, that do not ever descend
Down towards the waters,
For not even such shimmers of such puddles
Wish to reach for their mothers,
For their skies,
Of where they were let loose.

Does rain fall,
Or do tears?

I have welcomed love, like a black cloak about my shoulders.
I have absolved my mind from me,
Growing alone with the insanity
That reaches a drear over the world, in its curves.

We are not reaching straight
Ahead to a destination of change,
If where we will go, will end up
At the place where we began.

As I kiss your barren cheeks,
White in the porcelain
The world has grown to resent,
Much like they've placed flame to form,
Never attracted to the sun.

How does love attract the darkness,
When the darkness wishes to merge itself
Deep in the well of loneliness?
In the destruction of others, we create warmth,
In the spilling of blood, we create warmth.

They warm their hands in blood, concealed against winter's breath,
While I warm my hands in the snow.