Modern Romanticism

I did not grow tears from eyes.
I merely laughed from a gaping wound.
A heartless,
Senseless man,
I have become.
I do believe my arms could wrap your bleeding spirit,
Whole and wide
In them.
I do believe my blood is hotter than yours,
While yours stays stagnant
In the veins that neither run with red,
Nor can ever be bled.

Your beauty is an agony,
Running wild on shores of listless sorrows.
Waves reach for me
In my tormented symmetry,
For I keep myself whole
Beneath the quakes of my broken heart.

I do know this,
I have not grown this,
Being an example of so many others
In their birth.
So many men
With eyes dispelled from the raven
Who enticed their fleeting selves,
Deprived of all goodness,
Made with strands of sickness
Matted with the perspiration of thousands.

Her form laid in the earth,
My wounds are my new birth.
For I open myself
To show a dying world
What love can become
When it is broken.