Modern Romanticism

The man in me
Is beginning to wane.
He sees his own grave
As more attractive
Than where he could be saved.

The mind of me
Is losing its affection
For something sane.
The waves
About him, look so grim.

Pull back your mask,
I say to my reflection.
Seal yourself, with a hollow lock
In a casket,
Size enough for a child.

Make your reflection
Wide enough,
Small enough,
To know your disgrace,
To see the blood on your face.

There are lies,
Running wild, upon the grass in a forest,
Upon the moss on the stones,
Upon the clouds in the blue,
While I attempt to look still, for truth.

For her.
For her sake,
For her cause,
I was found, to now be lost.