Modern Romanticism

Can you choose
Which part of your heart
To lose
Upon the path, the lonely road
That takes a dive
Into the plummet of Hell?

I seem to have forsaken myself,
For the gift to another.
Her eyes, bead back disgrace,
In tears that drop from weather's face.
Storms siphon humanity
From the melting pot, to the highest cloud.

I dream,
Though I cannot deem
Myself to see
What will not plea
For the life of me
Down on my frozen knees.

I bleed stars,
Rage tired wars
In my arms that are wet by blood,
Cut from my reflection.

In a mirror,
An old man stands
As he runs a current from two eyes,
Fields winter by his cold sighs.