As grief
Possesses voice,
Like the crossed showers
Glistening to the tears
Upon my streaming face.
White-wilted flowers
Form their stems,
To never the regrowth
Of more petals,
For I cannot love more
Than ever I did her.
Like voice
Given to the rain that pours
Love, through my storming heart,
As thunder bellows of a throat
So raw
To the stained vintage
Of a thousand photographs of deceit,
That a love had gifted only grief.
Just a memory of something shattered,
Just a one that never mattered,
And, now as one that merely showers.
Can I see
Through the rain,
To see you, in the gleam?
Can you walk back
To the puddles in my arms?
I wish to stare through
To eyes that never stare back.
Can you count the stars
With me?
With me,
Can you weary me
More than my heart ever could
When drowned by the feathers
Of your so-light love?
Modern Romanticism 
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