Modern Romanticism

Upon the dancing elements,

Fire will melt our flesh,

Singe our bellies,

Scorch our minds,

Reuse our desires,

Make us believe in a paradise

That lives only in our heads.

We have hearts as wide as the sea,

Though, with thoughts only as barren as the desert,

As ideals that do not speak even a drop of truth.

We are the paradox

Of something divided between a ruptured heart,

Moving in our stillness,

Living in our illness,

Feasting on other's flesh

As greedily as we thirst for the knowledge

As our ignorant selves.
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Without thee, a love I have designed to remain true,
I have come as the serpent to tackle the whale,
The next deceiver, as the world's healer,
For I am the coiling shape about the world's blue,
Another firmness for the world's sternness.

Leave me, without the love
Only to cool your hands on the fires
That come forth from your candlelit eyes,
That come forth, for you know the truth
That I have denied.

Without love, I crumble,
In hate, I stumble.