Modern Romanticism

Throwing my heart to the moon,

Telling stories,

Wile my arms are empty and wide

As the moon is faceless.

Telling a past by my fault

Is as hurling pages to the flame

To be singed like skin

That had been touched by a woman's sin.

I want to adore

What I abhor.

Though, the fire only melts what had made me soar

Within love, in my bottomless core.