Modern Romanticism

I dream of fog
Lifted to my sight,
Stilled in my bed
As I am,
Lost in the dream of burial,
There is a face that does not look back.

It sinks
With me, in its arms,
Away to the moon, away to mourn
The love of a departed figure
Who stood there within the mist,
Dancing and resplendent.

My eyes are of drear,
My wings shed more tears
Than feathers.

I speak, though I do not hide
The messages that come
From outside.

They whisper in elegant tunes,
Famous sonnets,
Nocturnal arias,
Blown from mouths, like wind that gusts
The flag from being buried
In my hands.

I feel the Hell on Earth,
I feel Heaven's new rebirth.
I feel morning in a different way
That merely goes to say,
"Nothing in the world can end this way
Without a breath to hold, a breath to stay."

Your leaves hold candles,
As your candles leave trails
In shadows, in phantoms
From passages written in old tomes.

I am the one without cause,
Without birth.
Beauty shows its worth
In the love one dies for.