Modern Romanticism

Bled upon a thorn,
New music hollows me
In the entrancement of singing voice,
By her entertaining sound
Of drums upon skipping beats
Whenever she's fallen
In arms as wide as the sea.

I created the ocean
For the faces of the moon,
Using hands that could not ever stand
Were my eyes to be laced to my soles,
To see Hell's birth of the sun,
A fawn of fires, blooming outright.
I dream, though I cannot see any higher.

Love is a note for me
To strangle of strings.
I would hang myself by my own veins,
Loosening myself to triumph,
For I have caught the sting of the flame
That has been birthed beneath my feet.
Her hair singes itself in the dawn of a swollen vessel.

Each strand to each vein,
Each lock to every artery
Clogs the light to be let through
That I might kiss what suffers
In the heat of her majestic nature.

Does she live to lie,
While I lay here to die?
The currents that race to the sea
Sprawl a new sentiment
That I might view her beyond.