Modern Romanticism

Our chest lacks fruit,
Lacks the wisdom so red, in its sweetness,
Lacks the beauty of an ocean,
Lacks its depth.
We have lost a heart,
Along the trail to the never-ending mile.

As I lift a curl from atop your eye
Drifting from an unseen place, atop your head,
I witness a kingdom
I did not construct, deep in the nebula
Of your forsaken mind.

As I kiss your hand, before your lips,
I swallow a finger down my throat
To regurgitate, the faces, from else I've seen
Of the world, loosening their dying streams
Away from eyes so blind.

I am bleeding the desires
Out to a hidden slope, a lost mountain.
May I come to find
What has been lost behind, in history's frozen masses?
What blinds the fire so much as ice,
As the ice is awakened by the touch of the blaze?

You are beautiful, dear truth,
Dear Sophia,
Of a thousand lifted veils,
Of teardrops that do not wilt
The world, by the sword, upon the hilt.

I leave love to count the stars
You've granted, in those subtle wars
Your face has grown
Weary in the death, of beginnings sown.

Why won't lies ever
Hide your sweet face?