Modern Romanticism

My sadness leads me on,
With reigns that are whipped by the wind
That takes my tears ahead
Towards the abyss of my destination.
Will I simply fall over
To see her?
Or, will I simply fall?

I long have bent a knee
To the sky
With its current of flowing clouds
That dropped water upon my cheek.
My eyes see the ocean
Divided in two,
Poured over my solemn face.

I am still webbed in a heart
That does not wish to depart
From where I seat myself,
Upon a throne made of silver
As this color clashes with the gold
That descends from my stare.

I wanted her to catch all the droplets
That only fall for me.
For when relief can come to be
The simplest end to a sickness
Of a single drop
Over a cliff, that does not stop
The fall.

The fall of petals
From the springtime of my eyes
Does not mean for renewal
Except for the same pain of sadness
That does not leave
Except for the reprieve, the fall.