Modern Romanticism

Fold your face away
From the blade of dismay,
For I have found something entertaining
Among all the slaying.
These orchards
Where blood soaks the miles ahead of us,
Where the universe embraces the sun,
Where the forests tackle the lakes,
Where the world feasts on its own inhabitants
Like revenge for parasites,
I am imminent in my contemplation.

You are the muck that falls
From fingers that hang,
Rotten and lifeless,
Not even curling with reason.
What is it that you seek to admire
Among all I have ruined?

Of you,
To you,
As the woman of much atrocity
In this mind of a single man,
For his eyes sting,
As his breath brings, fire and havoc.

Will you admire,
Or will you aspire
To become as the man with filth in his hand?

Will you drown,
Or will you crown
The murk from the bottomless lake, above your eyes
While the moon feasts upon the sun,
While Saturn feasts on his son,
While the hospitals of the world
Spill blood for the dancing of nurses?