Modern Romanticism

Without me, in arms,
I bleed only reflection.
The memory of a forsaken vow
To the embodiment of now.

The world has deceit
Rising in reverse
Angles, made to mangle
Our eyes, to our very feet.

Love is a triangle,
An emotion without circles.
Blood rises, to then fall
Down to the distant call.

I marry the world's falling,
Stinging my own heart
With everything they've torn apart
On the horizon.

Fires spread about,
Desires, oddness, and doubt,
As life wets itself
Upon the wounds of Christ.
I am my own man,
Though, I cannot stand.
I can only hang
Cries of pain, I sang.