Modern Romanticism

This beckoning
To my own faltering.
The kisses come silent
Blown upon the passing gusts.
The sails of mine
Are weathered by weather,
Folding in the ruining of my mind,
Twisting by the ruptures upon my heart.
My hail
Is your tale.

My tears, pour the ocean for me
To cross, while my loss is beside me.
Her form is loosened upon my deck
Showered with the hail, beaten by the specks.
I have poured my all in this love
Once more, and now I am grieving
All my leaving
Into this angered voyage
Upon the winds of fate,
The tortures of hate.

My slender spirit,
Her telling eyes.
Her woes, her weary cries.
Her form was a place of music,
Thudding the sound of a heart
When now cannot even start.

My weeping
Has created the seeping
Current for me to follow
Towards the next retreat.
For I face cowardice
With no remorse.

What would love be, if I had not sown its seed
In my heart, to reap a storm?