Modern Romanticism

She held a needle there,
Sowing black upon white
In the din of my screams,
Of my descension
In the fragile night
That I lost everything.

She wanted for me
Comfort, to be
Something identical to the one
I gave to her
In the throne room
While she sat, under the moon.

I threw her resplendence,
A shining wreath for her ascension
To an almighty uprising
Of glory atop majesty
That I said would never die down
To a state of black death.

She comprehends
Her life in threads and weavings.
She shares to me
A single black strand
From her hair that rains
To her shoulders and neck.

She wants me
In my darkness
To have a smile, lasting
On the drenched mile
Where sweat runs from forehead
To the underfoot.

I lay here
To count the blue stars
In her eyes.

I stay here
To feel the burns from running blood,
Among rawest lies.