Modern Romanticism

You are weeping something aloud
For nothing
That can draw in the crowd,
For each of your children have departed.
Drink those tears
Let loose by your fears,
I will come to make whole what has shattered
Of you, beneath the blasphemous sun.
Of your worship,
You send splendor to my eyes.

Even to my quivering hands,
My perspiring palms,
I am relaxed
By the beautiful image to your porcelain face.
You are for paint's coloring,
When shadows have remained your thorns,
As hues have been what burned you,
With all voices that have scorned you.

I find in each strand
Of the naked brown texture
In your hair,
The world of mine that cannot collapse
Without being in its clasp,
Without being in its entanglement.
I cannot, as I would not yearn
To escape.

I now breathe,
For I would not seethe
Anger to rouse suspicion
Behind your reddened lips.