Modern Romanticism

Blackened sheets,
Wet by bad memories.
Blackened pillows,
Stained by her tears.
She gave up on the dream
In the cruelest fashion.
Still, I caught a drop of passion
Just as bright as the gleam
Fighting its way
Past her gaze to her lips.

For she whispered a desire
To me, buried beneath the mire,
To my heart,
Torn apart, on the rise
Of a setting sun,
Of her face in my mind.

I try to bury even further
What will not release
To be beneath
The countless drops to rage the ocean
Outside the subtler motions
Of my quiet cries on the shore.