Modern Romanticism

Love is the Devil's unkindness
In the arms that float on
To the next expected devotion.
She will
Sink on in gravity's mask,
As a face descends upon her, again
In the Earth's collapse.
I pleaded
Blood to be kept
In veins,
When all was stolen in a mere second
To the guided winds of fate.

I kissed
Only the air that made love
With me, on the distant shore
That remains broken,
Unkind,
Lashing my scarred back.

Her cries,
Her woes,
I want to blanket them
In my long arms.
I never wished
For pain to be this much wasted.

I blow kisses,
To be given back
To my eyes,
To my own series of mourning
Beneath the moon and its silver
Streams of light.

Her hair
Roars as a torrent of Earth
Upheaved from the grave
Of anyone.
Life has never been so cruel
To the emptiness between
Two fingers that draw themselves
Upon the flesh of a scarred heart.