Modern Romanticism

He heals pain,
Wallows in their shame,
Wants to conceal the cracks within life,
Wants to hold the world upright.
He turns it silver,
As his tears in the moonlight.

He holds a candle to the dim barrage
Of a halo above it,
To the moon, at its summit.
He holds the empty pages
For his sweeping tears,
The translucent ink.

He can curl himself,
As an infant.
He can lose himself
Without pleasure for the breast
To his mouth,
From the white.

He can tear
His heart apart,
Without a needed gesture
To the world's surrender.
He can love
Without gullibility,
As he can trust
Without futility.

He can leave sides alone,
To hold himself in the mirror.

Though, sweet comfort is his sadness,
The bitterness in his yearning.

He makes the world silent
Under his cries.