Modern Romanticism

Fall
Through broken arms
Reaching the blood
My eyes had carried.
In your hair,
The strands weave me to your fortune,
As I surprise myself
To the emptiness of all.

Your face,
A stream of petals.
My arms
Drop the leaves, shed from distance.
Are you the spring to take me
Apart from what I part with
In this season of reason?
Your gulls upon your shore
Shall know what I adore
Being all I allow to drift, far from me.

I don't see the music,
For I hear the writings
Of notes, scribbles, and blame
That drains me,
My ocean, torn wide in my heart.

You flood the sea with seeds,
Excepting something to grow
From a despairing loss
Of something I named to be a contrast
From you, in your wellness.

Play with the Earth,
Young one.
Oldness is to far upstream,
Drifting from the everything.