Your face remains idle,
As not a tear more
Crosses your ruined eyes,
For your place
By my side
Has been the collapsing wave
For what we could not save.
Place your lips, running
Across the smears to each
Of those tapered fingers.
You have felt
Enough to die from,
In the blackness that recedes
To a heart that bleeds.
Cruelty finds more
Of you, over any song of life
Could exit from
Your beaming throat.
For stones you have swallowed,
As waters you have wallowed,
Of tears to your decay.
Leave the small moments
Next to
Where you leave the largest prize,
As you swim gently to the size
Of Earth, and its emptiness.
Modern Romanticism 